#it's been long enough that i think i can add these tags now without it hitting the top of the tag as a 'hate tag' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

simpjaes · 5 months ago

Text

renaissance man (p. js)

Taking note of the strangers you see day to day isn’t something you’d normally do. The only reason today is different is because the guy who made small talk as he rang you up for your intimate items was the same guy who showed up catering for your family reunion. or the one where jay is a dildo salesman, a caterer, a self-titled mechanic, and also your ride home. he is not an expert in any of his jobs, but he sure is an expert in wit and well, other things.

minors dni!! | pls reblog to show your support!

WORDCOUNT― 14.6k

PAIRING― park jongseong x afab reader

CONTENT― fluffy comfort smut, strangers to lovers like immediately, you buy a monster sized dildo, blatant talking of masturbation and toys, smut, cliche blooming an attachment to someone after (1) fuckening.

!!ATTENTION!!― read this before? that’s because I run two blogs and like to re-vamp fics i’ve previously written for other groups! [@/ncteez is likely where you’ve read it from. THAT IS ME!!!]

smut tags under cut::

smut tags― it’s kind of fluffy im so sorry i just have feelings for him, average cock size jay!!!![i am not of this belief, i think his cock is fat and huge], he is very much a service top, making out, hand holding, caressing, grinding, finger fucking, titty worship, unprotected sex, sweet talking as a form of dirty talk, missionary bc i refuse to pretend he wouldn’t want that, back scratches (sexual)

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Never have you been put in the position to make small talk about the sex toys you place on a counter to purchase. Then again, you guess it’s part of the job description that most people ignore or aren’t privy to actually doing.

Never have you been informed of the wide variety of lubricants, additional toy-cleaners, or the bigger and smaller alternatives to your chosen toy. You don’t show discomfort though, because it’s not uncomfortable. Sex is normal, masturbation is more normal, and the man in front of you appears to be normal too.

“There’s twelve different color variants if you prefer something less fleshy.” The man says, standing at the counter with some sort of a permanent pout on his lips.

“I’m fine, if you could just ring me up now I can get out of your hair.” You respond, glancing at the time on your phone and wondering how you got stuck with the only employee who actually does his job here.

“Are you sure you don’t want any lubricant?” The man adds, gazing at the size of your toy and then looking you up and down as if you clearly wouldn’t be able to handle your chosen toy without help.

The man with no name tag appears to be blissfully unaware of his invasiveness with that question as you tilt your head with a raised brow. Shocked at the very question, it’s actually quite laughable that he’s so monotone with the offensive comment. You imagine he’s done this for so long that he must be a manager trying to get the day over with, going through the steps in a bored mood with little to no regard as to how he must sound to strangers buying their first or twentieth dildo.

With your assumption that he doesn’t exactly care about the level of wet your vagina is when you use this toy, you respond. “I think I know my body well enough and I already have lube, but thanks.”

He nods, not even sparing you much of a glance before giving you a total and bagging your item.

Now, despite Jay’s lack of interest toward the purchase of toys, he finds it comical that he’s grown numb to the very fact that he knows what everyone in this town’s kinks are after they step out of the shop’s door. Someone’s gotta do this job and keep those secrets…he likes to think he fits the bill perfectly.

Lively as he may be outside of this shop, each job comes with a personality and this one calls for one of disinterest in your product but interest in the sale. He’s not one to lie to himself though, many times a pretty girl has marched in and bought toys far bigger than any man and he does tend to let his mind wander about it from time to time. When he first started this job, bright eyed and bushy-tailed, he found it hard to navigate a single sale without a flush of tints crossing his cheeks and ears. Now, he’s become a veteran at keeping his dick locked in place if he were to feel some type of way about a purchase and the one purchasing.

Shy as he was when he started, it’s all lost now as he handles dicks and dongs, pocket pussies and anal plugs, even whips and chains.

Shy. That’s definitely a word and surprisingly one that can describe him when he’s not on schedule within these walls of alien dicks and lime flavored lube to match the grotesque green color. At his other job, because he works two, he takes the praise of being the charming yet timid man who shows up with pans of food for events.

The guests seem to love him and many times during weddings and company parties he has been offered phone numbers or asked for one simply because he appears to be that of a friendly face with a kind sense of being. Someone you’d wanna bring home to mom, some might say.

It’s a stark contrast of jobs, and somehow he’s managed to dodge knowing many of the people coming into his night job to shop for ways to fuck themselves. The rare time it had happened, he was thankful to have another person in the shop to ring them up. Keeping up with two jobs is hard, and keeping up with two personalities is even harder.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You hadn't thought of that guy from the sex shop even once until he showed his face at your family reunion.

He noticed you before you managed to realize it was him though. Stealing looks in your direction as you chat with little cousins and elder aunts and uncles, mostly to double check in his brain if you’re really the girl who showed up and nonchalantly bought the newest dildo in stock. The fleshy colored one with rotating beads and a g-spot stimulator button. You know, the really fucking huge one.

Upon meeting his eye again for the first time, he could tell it really is you, simply because of the way you furrow your brow as you recognize him.

Jay couldn’t help but smirk. He knew that eventually someone at an event would recognize him as their local sex-shop manager, he’s actually shocked it doesn’t happen more often. At least it’s you though, a woman who looks near his age and clearly has a very healthy relationship with her sexuality. So much so that you weren’t shy or nervous in buying the toy from him. Because it’s honestly pretty common to see someone nervous or uncomfortable while buying items far less telling than the one you bought.

His smirk doesn’t go unnoticed by you before you look away from him and focus your attention back to your family and by the time he’s prepared the food and is standing aside to explain what ingredients the dishes have, you’re walking up with your empty plate and an awkward glance.

He follows you down the line of dishes, seemingly more interested in you than anyone else. You could argue it’s just an attempt to make you feel embarrassed, or perhaps even an attempt to ask you not to snitch on where else he works to make his money.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” You ask, a knowing look telling him that you’re already very aware of that ‘somewhere’ you know him from.

His pursed lips and snide hidden laugh at you is one thing, but the way he whispers to you over a pan of potato casserole is another.

“I think you know who I am.” He says, crossing his arms as he leans back again with a flicker of a crooked grin.

You leave it at that, looking him in the eye curiously and for some reason, smiling back at the strange second encounter with a man who appears to have a name tag now.

“Thanks, Jay. See you around.”

Heading away from the tables of food and toward the table that contains all of your favorite cousins, you are immediately bombarded with a raised brow from one of them. Ah, nosy.

“What was that about?” One of them leans over to ask, glancing at the man who is still overseeing the table of food and maintaining perfect temperatures. She doesn’t quite catch the way Jay’s eyes flicker back to you, over and over again, repeatedly.

“Huh? He was just telling me what was in the potatoes.”

She takes your answer as truth without issue, and the conversation falls away and into something else. College life, job life, family life.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Okay so, you’re trying to hear yourself out here. Are you somehow curious and interested in speaking with Jay? Yeah. Do you know why? Also yes. For one, he just sold you a fucking interesting sex toy last weekend in the most uncomfortable way possible, and now he’s here at your family reunion to remind you of what you do in your apartment when you’re alone.

His personality seems different this time too. He wasn’t monotone, he was snide with you about knowing who you are. He probably thinks its funny that he ended up at your family reunion over any other event.

So yeah, maybe you find yourself going up to the table for seconds even though you’re no longer hungry. Maybe you definitely wait until no one else is at the table and he appears to be tidying up the space and wiping up spills before speaking to him again.

“Just how many jobs do you have?” You ask in a sarcastic tone when you reach him, the table between the two of you creating a comfortable distance to poke and prod.

He jumps only slightly at your presence because he didn’t notice you walking up. The brief break he’s taken from stealing glances so he could actually do his jobs appears to be the time you feel the need to finally approach. Still, he’s smiling again, looking at you up and down.

“Plenty. How much lube do you have left?” He answers before shooting back his own question and getting right to the point.

You freeze in shock at his question, reminding yourself that his monotone voice from the late dildo purchase is no more and he now comes across as vibrant and charming to you. You check him out for a moment, taking mental notes of what may not or may not be to like about him. You can’t tell if it’s good news or bad news that you’re not finding anything to raise any red flags.

He’s bold, confidence, charming, clearly has a decent work ethic–

“I can’t imagine you have much left, that thing was a fucking monster. We have tons in stock if you wanna–” He pauses to cover his mouth, forgetting that he’s supposed to be timid and gentle during his day job. He’s not supposed to be himself.

You find yourself laughing though, leaning over the table and holding out your empty plate. Mostly just to get in closer to him without alerting your family of a new future husband or something.

“Why are you so interested in my ‘fucking monster”’ dildos anyway?” You narrow your eyes.

He pauses, easing up at the way you’re just as cheeky and playful as he is, despite being surrounded by your family. It’s mildly inappropriate, but it’s making his shift go by quickly. You’re making his shift enjoyable today, so he continues.

“I think anyone would be interested, with all things considered.” He checks you out again with a brief pause, knowing the size of that dildo you bought by heart, and fully aware that it probably ripped you in half if you really managed to put that thing anywhere inside of you. “Correction, they should be worried.”

“You’re different from before,” you comment, both of you now blatantly staring down each other. “I like this version of you more.”

Something inside of him feels giddy at that. Not to be cliche but he wonders if this is what it’s like to instantly have a crush on someone. Again, he’s not one to lie to himself. You’re pretty and you appear to be confident. Confident enough to take time from your family reunion to have a discussion about your plastic cock intake anyway.

“Maybe I’ll see you again sometime then.” He puts a hand forward, inviting you to shake it but you simply stare it down instead.

“Yeah, maybe you will.” You smile, slapping his hand as if you’re low fiving him before swirling around and walking away thinking hard about the fact that…yeah, he might actually see you sooner than he thinks.

Honestly, maybe within the next day or two because he was kind of right to ask about how much lube you have left, but it’s not like you’d answer that truthfully if at all. You might be running out after just two uses. He was right again about it being a fucking monster, because well, yeah. Maybe you’ll pop in and shop for bulk lube instead of rejecting his up-sale this time.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Unfortunately for you upon the reunion coming to an end, you get into your car and of course it doesn’t start. You drop your head to the steering wheel in a sigh and annoyed grunt.

The last thing you need is your father driving you home because he will lecture you about your car and how it’s got to be some fault of your own for it to not start. And you know, yeah maybe it was your fault. Why were your lights turned on during a sunny Sunday afternoon? Fuck if you know. Why were they left on for the entire nine hours you’ve been here at your parent’s house? You refuse to answer your own question.

And just as you go to accept your defeat, preparing to head back inside and take the walk of shame ten minutes after saying your goodbyes, a savior appears.

That savior is none other than Jay, walking up with his stiff button down shirt partially unbuttoned, hair now disheveled as he must have ruffled it up after the day of work. He watched you from his catering van for just a few minutes before finally getting out to offer his expertise.

“The battery is dead.” He smiles, slapping both palms on your hood and leaning to look at you through the windshield.

“Smart man, can you un-dead my battery before my dad comes out?”

Jay shakes his head apologetically.

“I already checked the van for the cables, could be a write up on my part for not checking before leaving. We are supposed to have all sorts of shit to prevent breakdowns on a job. Not today though, apparently.” He scratches the back of his neck as he walks to your opened car door.

“If you can hang tight for like ten minutes I can swing by after dropping the van off.”

Your eyes plead with him. You’d prefer this, yes. If he’s willing to help, you’re willing to accept.

“You sure I’m not too out of the way for you to do that?”

He shakes his head nonchalantly, waving you off as he leans into your car to pull your keys out of the ignition. He smells like food, obviously he does, but there’s a scent of something else on him that’s far more attractive. The dull scent of cologne that matches him all too well.

“Don’t try to turn it on anymore if you don’t want your dad coming out.” He laughs. “I’m sure he would help you but if you’d rather I help you, I am more than happy to do it.”

He’s teasing. His little crush pushes him to want to help you, but he’s gonna play it off as casually as possible.

“I’ll hang out here. My dad would lecture the fuck out of me.”

Jay nods, backing away and heading back to his van to fulfill his offer.

On another note, you’re shocked that your father didn’t hear the commotion, and even more shocked that he didn’t step outside once since the reunion ended. He must have been tired, and you know him, he sleeps like a rock and probably already hit the sack without even cleaning up the yard.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Oh, it’s dead dead.” Jay looks at you apologetically, peeking his head out from the side of your hood and through your window.

“Define dead dead.” You comment, taking your keys out of the ignition with a huff.

“Like, you need a new battery. This one is done for.”

You sigh loudly, knowing that now you’ll have to go ask your parents for a ride home. Knowing that your dad is going to add more to his lectures with each day your car is sitting in this driveway. This is so fucking annoying. At least you work from home though, so it’s not like you’re gonna lose your job over this or anything.

Jay unhooks the cables and turns off his car, then stands there and watches you for a moment. You look frustrated and annoyed, and it’s very much like him to offer more help.

Of course it is.

“Would it be too forward to ask if you need a ride home?”

You look at him confused, tilting your head and studying his body language much like before. You’re not one to decline someone making your life a little bit easier, and he is interesting to talk to. You nod slowly, then pause.

“You’ve worked all day, don’t waste your off-time helping me out.”

“I’m already wasting my off time on you though, might as well let me drive you home too?”

You stare at him.

“Okay.”

The awkward silence sets in shortly after you seat yourself in his car. You fill that silence with small sarcastic comments about said car though, and soon it becomes easy to be in the space with him.

“Where did this sticker come from?” You ask, poking your finger into a sticker with its edges rolled from the summer heat, probably.

“Ex girlfriend, I couldn’t get it off without it leaving a residue so I’m just letting the sun do its job and melt it off.”

“Oh, harsh.” You laugh, wanting to prod further. “Why’d you break up?”

Jay pauses, you can tell by the way his foot lets up from the gas momentarily that he wasn’t expecting you to ask that. Then again, he’s said some weird shit to you too, so you figure it’s not an end-all question.

“Was that too forward to ask?”

“Not at all, just wasn’t expecting it,” He shakes his head with a small smile, nearly reaching his hand from the wheel to pat your leg in reassurance. He holds back, wondering why the fuck that urge felt so normal for him to do. “It’s been like a year, so I’m over it and stuff. She just thought I worked too much and didn’t spend enough time with her.”

“Ouch, even harsher.” You smile in reassurance to him, also feeling it normal to want to do that for some reason. “Her loss, I mean, discounted dildos and food? Huge loss.”

He laughs at your comments, briefly looking over at you once he stops at a red light. Your eyes are shining with life, with interest even. At that moment, he feels something between the two of you. Which is quite strange considering this is your first time officially meeting him outside of his working hours. He can’t help the way his face softens though, it happens against his will, honestly, it does.

“You’re kind of cute,” You blurt, breaking eye contact with him and shifting in your seat. “and fun to hang out with.”

“Hang out?” He laughs at you, eyes now adjusting back to the road and lowering his speed just to have a bit more time with you. “This is hardly a hang-out, but if you’re interested, I’m more than willing to check my schedule to see when I’m free next.”

You feel confidence raise up in your chest, bubbling to be free in the form of a question likely too bold to actually consider.

“You’re free right now…right?” You comment quietly, glancing at him.

“Hm?” He asks, tightening his grip on the steering wheel and feeling your eyes on him. He heard you, but he wouldn’t mind hearing you repeat it.

“I said, you’re free right now.” You repeat, this time with more confidence. “Would it be too forward to ask if –”

“Nothing is too forward to ask, I literally sold you a dildo.”

You pause in shock, all thoughts leaving your head.

“Damn, alright,” You laugh, feeling kind of warm inside at how his forwardness matches your own. “If you’re free right now, we could hang out right now.”

How lucky for both of you. He’s actually not catering tomorrow and only has to be at work at the good ol’ sex shop in the evening.

“Alright,” He nods, glancing over to you. “Kind of fucked up we are hanging out after I met your entire family and still haven’t gotten a name from you yet though, wouldn’t you think?”

Oh fuck, he’s right.

“I’m sure you heard the kids yelling it all day. Don’t be dramatic.”

He laughs, already in love with the idea of spending more time with you.

And you hear him echo your name, asking where it is that you’d like to go.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

If your parents were to ask why you’re walking through your apartment building with the caterer following behind you, you’d have no excuse. Then again, as an adult, you don’t think you need one. It’s strange despite how open and casual you are with making friends though, because you never just invite strangers to your place for friendship. At least, not without hanging out a few times first.

You guess it’s not super awkward because it’s true that he already knows things about you that your family doesn’t. Such as, the things you penetrate yourself with when you’re alone. It’s a major ice breaker, and something that makes the friendship with him come easy even after barely talking to the guy.

The few words you have shared have been easy and fun, so it’s only natural that if your instinct is to want to be around him a little longer, you’d invite him in right? You weren’t really expecting him to accept your answer to his question.

“Where to then?”

You thought for a moment when he asked that. You don’t go to clubs or bars anymore, most places would have been closing within the hour, and it’s not like you didn’t eat to peak fullness during the family reunion so having a late dinner with him was out of the question too. You answered him so easily, and he accepted in a way that seemed just as natural to him.

“We could just hang out at my place, I’ve got plenty of streaming services, a gaming system, and wine.”

“Sounds good.”

It was so easy to become friends with him, and now with him following you up to your apartment, the typical awkwardness that should come with this type of thing isn’t swarming your mind at all. He’s even making small talk about the building itself after parking in your parking spot.

“This building is way nicer than mine, you got a door code and everything just to get in.”

“Wasn’t always like this. Being a single woman in a city like this calls for safety measures though.”

A little box in his head checks out. He didn’t even have to ask if you’re single, because he already assumed you were with the way you so easily invited him over. And in all fairness, you’ve been trying to find a reason to slip in your relationship status to him.

By the time you get to your door with him, he’s polite when he walks in and takes off his shoes. Polite in the way he looks around and studies your space, even polite in the way he walks into the living room and invites himself onto your couch and grabs your remote.

“I was going to say make yourself comfortable but–”

“Well, would you prefer I sit on your floor?” He shoots back with a sarcastic tone in his voice. “Would you prefer I start digging through your cabinets for snacks? Would you prefer–”

“You’re so much more talkative when I’m not trying to buy something from you.” You comment with a laugh, dipping into the kitchen for two glasses and that cheap bottle of wine.

“Speaking of, do you actually use that thing and like it? I mean, I see some weird purchases but that specific one is super popular with the fetish groups.”

For the first time, you feel heat rise to your cheeks. You should have known that the sex toy would be a point of conversation, considering the first time you ever met was buying it.

“Yes, I use it. I’m surprised you find it shocking considering it’s literally your job to know what people like in terms of getting off.”

He smiles at that, because you’re damn right he knows. Most of the time he would prefer not to know, but he always did wonder if, on the off chance, he ended up hooking up with a customer he’d have some prior knowledge of how they like it based on toys alone.

“You know, normally people don’t buy toys on a Monday at nine in the morning.”

“I buy toys at nine in the morning on a Monday,” You chuckle, carrying the two glasses and wine into the living room and plopping down next to him. “Why does that matter? I’m sure you make your quotas even on the slow days considering how hard you were trying to up-sell me.”

He shrugs as he watches you pour him a glass.

“It’s easy to up-sell when you know people’s kinks after a few purchases. I do that to everyone just to gauge what they need so if they come back I can make more offers.”

“A true salesman.” You laugh with a pitied voice. “What would you say my kink is?”

He studies you, looking you up and down without shame and thinking hard about your single purchase.

“Well, considering that specific item is, again, usually looked at by a specific type of person or couple, I’d say–”

“Wrong.” You interrupt before he even tries to make a guess. “I don’t have a kink, I just have a really high sex drive.”

You take a sip at his silence of being beaten to the punch, and then he takes his own thoughtful sip.

“Okay then, What do you think my kink is?” He asks slyly, cup still against his lips as he sips again.

“Wha–” You narrow your eyes at him, trying not to stare at him for too long because goddamn is he handsome. “Hell if I know, you probably don’t even have sex after being in a hyper-sexualized space like that for hours on end.”

“Wrong.” He pokes his tongue into his cheek and looks away from you with another casual chuckle.

“Are you telling me you have a pocket pussy or like, a buttplug or something?”

“Three pocket pussies, actually.”

You don’t know why you’re shocked. For some reason his sex toys becoming the focus makes you feel more shy than your own being the focus.

“I bet you named them.”

“Pocket 1, Pocket 2, and Jessica.”

“Jessica?” You raise a brow despite the sarcastic banter, wondering if maybe that’s based on his ex girlfriend or something.

He nods in a matter-of-fact tone with a proud smile.

You feel comfortable around him, never having a friend who openly talks to you about these things without any type of awkwardness. It’s the fact that he’s a man too. Usually they think with their dicks and he seems to have no qualms in admitting that it’s something he may do from time to time too.

You imagine he needs this type of personality to work such a job though, being casual about sex can be so difficult for your average joe because for some reason, it is embarrassing. It’s hard to talk about even to sex-shop employees. You like to think he’s probably someone who makes others feel comfortable about their sexual habits though, because you feel comfortable.

“I’m lying by the way.” He cuts through your thoughts, “I only have two.”

You nod energetically with a laugh.

“Variety is good.” You continue, not mentioning the array of toys you have stashed away.

“Yeah, I think experimenting with different things is good. I only really liked the two I kept though, I guess.”

“And yet, you’re shocked about my single dildo purchase without knowing of my other items of interest? I could have just been trying something new too, y’know.”

Another sip of wine, and another glance away from him because you were looking a little too fondly at that little scar on his nose, the birth mark on his neck, the way his lips crease when he swallows his drink and– yeah, you definitely glance away.

“No one buys that as a first time experience.” He comments, tapping the cup against his lips and looking at you.

You’re a little stunned by him, never having met a man so open to speaking like this, with a woman he barely knows no less.

“Okay, enough about my dildo. I actually have a question about something you might have in stock but I’ve kind of been too embarrassed to ask until now.”

He nods, his personality shifting only slightly into that as the manager of the sex-shop.

“Oh? Embarrassed? Since when?” He jokes at first. “What is it then?”

“Do you guys have like,” you pause, unsure of why you’re even trying to ask. Again, it’s not like masturbation is embarrassing, nor is the purchasing of toys. Asking for a specific item is a bit too intimate to you though, seeing as how you usually just buy those things online. “Okay hear me out.”

“Tentacles? Furry buttplugs with tails attached? Bondage rope? Paddles?”

“No…” You pause at his spewing of different types of toys. “I know you have all of that.”

He pauses, studying the way you make yourself a bit smaller compared to just minutes before.

“Do you guys have sex dolls for women? You know, like, just a doll with a very normal dick?”

Jay fucking snorts. How mundane.

Unfortunately for you though, Nope.

“Nah, the owner tries to cater more towards men and fetish stuff. We’ve got fem tantaly dolls and all sorts of blow up dolls but he’s never brought in just like, a torso with a cock, if that’s what you’re asking.”

You shrug.

“Guess sticking it to the wall is all I can do for now then. But like,” You pause, realizing that you’re actually going into detail at this point, which might be a little uncomfortable for him? Maybe? “It’s really annoying to have it sticking to the floor, and you’re like, riding it and it just pops off and stabs your thigh slipping out mid-orgasm.”

He snorts again, that pretty smile you’ve seen time and time again echoing the most attractive laugh you think you’ve heard in a long time. This time, his smile doesn’t fade as the seconds pass, no. He’s unable to stop laughing at the image of whatever orgasm instilled the frustration in you to even mention that happening. He tries to stifle his laughter with the last sip of his wine before choking it down and pushing his glass at you for more.

“Noted,” He snorts, nodding his head and almost hiding his face from you. “I’ll tell the boss we need male sex dolls so the women don’t get dick-stabbed where they don’t need it mid orgasm.”

You glare.

“Wait, no, because it actually hurts.” You frown at him. “I just wish your shop catered a little more to women who just wanna ride a dick without the dangers of riding said dick.”

“Maybe you should slow down next time so the full force of your–” He pauses, realizing how sexual the image in his head is of you right now. “Um…” He trails off uncomfortably, unintentionally adjusting himself in his jeans by spreading his legs slightly against your couch.

“Okay, wait. I’m sorry, is this conversation too much right now?” You ask, looking him up and down and giving him a new glass of wine. “You’re blushing.”

He tries to play it off.

“As if you could make me blush.” He laughs at you, downing half of his glass in one go. “To make up for our lack of product though, and if you don’t tell anyone, I’ll give you a discount on your next purchase just for embarrassing yourself telling me that.”

“Oh, I was supposed to be embarrassed?” You counter, knowing that all you need to do is point out that he got flustered to shut him up. You opt not to because still, the two of you barely know each other. Instead, you opt to laugh along with him, letting your gaze fall back to studying all of those features he has that you didn’t quite notice before.

While you did notice he was handsome before, it’s not like you paid that thought any mind. There are a lot of handsome men out and about after all. It only starts to matter when they allow you to get close enough to appreciate it more. Not to mention, in your experience at various sex shops, most employees of them are mundane and nonchalant. Some are strange old men, or cool old women. Jay though? Jay.

Hmm…how to explain him?

With his messy hair that covers his eyes every time he whips his head toward you in a laugh, with his sharp jawed smile and pretty eyes. The little marks and celestial kisses against his skin that shows you of a life he’s been living. He feels…warm. Like everything about him looks comforting, smells comforting, sounds comforting. And now, even compared to when you met him at the shop, even at the reunion just this afternoon…he’s so much more handsome in this moment.

Learning his personality, hearing his voice say your name, having him take the time to not only help you but befriend you?

His shoulders are broad, and he’s just… you don’t even know how to explain to yourself the attraction you have toward him at this moment. Handsome is one thing, and you would have continued calling him that if it weren’t for the fact that he’s laughing with you on your couch about a ruined orgasm.

“You know, Jay,” You start, looking into your glass and swirling the liquid inside, then you look up again and make eye contact. “I’m really not usually this forward but like,”

His brain stops for a moment at the serious tone in your voice, his expression softens and you can tell he’s listening.

“I know masturbation and stuff is normal, and like, you see and talk about these things all the time but I never really talk about it to other people, they always get weird about it.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true. I can’t say this is the most normal hang out I've ever had. Usually we talk about our favorite movies or books or something.”

You wave him off.

“Yeah, that’s a good point. We could talk about our favorite movies but I find myself, um–” You stop for a second.

“Is talking about it making you realize that it’s uncomfortable?”

“No, the opposite actually.” You laugh, now actually feeling embarrassed. “I keep thinking about you mentioning the other things you’ve bought and experimented with.”

“Oh? You’re curious?” He laughs, now feeling a bit shy himself because he’s pretty sure that’s you asking him to put images in your head. “I mean I could go into detail but it actually might be too-telling right now.”

You nod, unsure of why you even suggested.

“Maybe next time?” You change the subject with a smile, one that does seem slightly disappointed.

“There’s a next time?” He smiles, setting his glass down on your table and shifting toward you.

“I don’t see why not? I’m having fun, plus you offered me a discount.”

He nods, looking around the room and checking the time.

“I should probably head out then? We’ve both had a long day.”

You nod back to him, feeling a bit sad.

“When are you free next?” You ask, grabbing your phone in a way that seems a bit too excited. “Can you give me your number?”

He obliges, exchanging phone numbers and promising to contact you with his next free day or night to hang out. Just as he goes to leave though, for some reason both of you feel as though the satisfaction of this hang out wasn’t reaching full potential.

“Hey, um,” He stops before he puts his shoes back on. “Would it be too forward to say I’m not tired and wouldn’t mind–”

“Staying for a bit longer?” You finish his sentence for him, patting the couch as if that was also on your mind.

He doesn’t even respond, and instead makes his way back onto the couch where the cushion is still warm, unable to help the fluttering feeling in his chest.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It's almost two in the morning by the time he offers to leave again, and yet, he stays at your clear disappointment of the offer. Another hour later, the two of you are sitting contently and pretending to watch some shitty tv show in comfortable silence.

“We should say something.” He blurts, mid episode.

“What do you mean?”

He turns toward you.

“We should talk about this.” He motions at the space between the two of you.

You’re silent while you try to build up the confidence to meet him half-way again.

“You can correct me if you’re not interested but I actually really would like it if you kissed me or something.” He adds as you continue to process what he seems to be getting at.

You’re taken aback by his forwardness for some reason, and instantly you knew he didn’t communicate this earlier for your own sake. Thankfully, you’ve tried to make it easy for him to read you and he ate it up like his favorite meal. The content feeling between the two of you was buzzing up to this point. Very loudly in your brain where you were thinking of how to kiss him before the night is up. Even as just a “thank you” if he were to turn away from it.

“Oh yeah?” You ask, tilting your head and seeing him scoot closer. “Kiss you, or something?”

He nods his head, looking at you without much issue and searching for a reaction.

“Are you interested in me like that, in any way?” He asks, looking for confirmation.

“Oh, most definitely.”

The smile that spreads across his face is one that you can argue will be unforgettable. It’s an expression you hope to bring to every person in your life, one that seems to express nothing but relief, excitement, and maybe even a hint of bashfulness.

“You thought I'd invite you inside without being interested?” You smile at him, feeling a little bit fuzzy in the head at the admittance.

“I thought you were just being nice, or like, just interested in friendship,” He rambles on, stopping himself short to give more context to that statement. “I mean, it would be fine if this was all for friendship and I'm happy with that too but I can admit to coming into your apartment with maybe, uh, a small crush.”

“I can admit to inviting you in with a small crush, maybe.”

“Maybe.”

“Are we being too forward?” You ask, emphasizing the repetitive way that word seems to appear. “Even though you’re in my apartment at an ungodly hour and both of us are giving any and every excuse to keep you here?”

He smiles this time in a way that appears to be self-soothing, and you can imagine you are too. It’s always nerve-wracking to walk on eggshells with another person, the threat of wondering if you'll fall alone or fall with them into a new version of partnership.

You don’t think about the lack of knowing him past a purchase, a quick conversation at a family reunion, or the past several hours he’s huddled up with you on this couch. You simply don’t think it’s strange at this point. After all, you’ve met people online and invited them over without much more than a name, age, and quick conversation about what they want sexually. How is this worse? How is this strange?

“You’re right. Maybe we should stop being so polite when the reality of it is that I’ve been imagining what you’ve done with that toy since the day you bought it.”

Okay, maybe that was too forward but all is lost now as your image of him changes drastically within the mere seconds it took him to say that, not in a bad way either. Again, of course he’s comfortable admitting it, the dude stares at dicks and holes all day. But now he’s staring at you, and talking directly to you.

Your silence makes him shift a bit, shaking his head apologetically.

“Found the boundary, got it.” He shames himself with a timid voice, looking away from you and back to the tv with a hint of embarrassment. “I’m not lying though.” He adds after a few more minutes of your silence.

“Not much of a boundary if I admit that I was blatantly asking you earlier what you’ve done to experiment with your toys.”

“Aha! So I was right in thinking you were straight up asking for mind-porn of me?!” He feels instantly comfortable again, turning his entire body toward you as he folds up one of his legs to sit on with a little bounce.

“Maybe, but what do you mean you’ve been imagining since I bought it? You barely made eye contact with me that day.”

“Oh, I was checking you out the whole time you shopped. Imagine my face when I knew exactly what toy you were reaching for.”

You shove him by the shoulder with a laugh, realizing that this is the first bodily contact you’ve ever had with him, but he actually leans into your shove rather than out of it. Meaning, he barely budges.

“If I looked you in the eye at the register, you would have thought I was some pervert.”

“You are a pervert. You said it had, what? Twelve other colors?”

He shrugs with a pained smile at how cringe he must have sounded to you.

“You seemed more like a sparkly pink girl rather than a normal flesh tone girl. Then again, this was before I knew you were looking for a literal male sex doll for super normal pretend-sex.”

You shove him again, your laugh coming out more forced now at the way he jokes with you. Once again, he doesn’t budge. In fact, he’s leaning in closer.

“Now hold on, you didn’t mention anything about one having glitter in it.” You joke, wiggling your brows.

“You trying to fuck a man or a magic unicorn?” He laughs yet again, all of it coming out more forced as the two of you drag out information just to hear the dirty words in a voice you’re only just realizing you like far too much.

“A man.” You dead-pan, this time not laughing, looking him dead in the eye and trying to pretend you don’t notice how close the two of you have gotten. “Why else would I go for more human skin tones?”

“Fuck if I know, I haven’t met a single man who has vibration settings or rolling beads though.”

You snort.

“Shame…but also, why do you think I’m on the hunt for the most mundane sex toy a woman can buy now? The rolling beads almost had me passing out.”

“Was it too much?” He asks seriously, hoping to god it was.

“A little bit, yeah.”

“I can imagine you want something to feel real after that.”

For some reason, his words hit you straight in the gut. Your stomach drops as your attraction heightens, and suddenly you’re just staring at him as you respond.

“I can imagine so, yeah.”

He stares back, almost no space between the two of you as the banter only brought you both mentally and physically as close as possible without becoming twisted together.

“When was the last time you felt something real?” He asks against his better judgment, wondering if you’re on the same page with him. Wondering if all this banter was leading to somewhere or nowhere. Because he could have sworn admitting to wanting you to kiss him, and you’ve yet to do so.

“A month and a half.” You respond dryly, suddenly needing something to drink.

He glances down at your neck when you swallow around your words, then stares at your lips before breathing in a sigh. One that was supposed to relieve the tension in this moment, but only building it more because he knows you see him do it. He knows you see him wet his bottom lip too.

“Are you going to kiss me, or are you planning to wait another month and a half to get what you want?” He continues on his streak of boldness as if to distract you from noticing the sexual tension, feeling his heart skip beats at the intensity of the moment.

“It’s not like we have anything better to do.” You start, leaning in and still looking straight into his eyes.

“Are you suggesting that I’m boring?” He narrows his eyes as he feels your breath against his lips, still sweet from the wine that did close to nothing in terms of altering the brain. The two of you are totally planted into reality, if anything, a little drunk on the other.

“Not at all.” You adjust your words from earlier, there, hovering just over his lips. “I’m just saying that nothing is more interesting than kissing you right now.”

Oh, the fluttering in his belly is so fucking intense right now. No eighteen inch alien tentacle dildo on a shelf could scare him as much as you do at this moment. Intimidatingly outspoken and aware of your wants and needs. His eyelashes flutter just like his stomach does, closing them slowly until he can feel your lips on his.

Your stomach, on the other hand, has been doing flips since the first instance he admitted to wanting to stay. All of the tension, all of the comfortable silence, all of the glances, the smiles, the laughing, all of it was leading up to this. The moment your lips hit his, they feel much like you imagined they would.

Soft, plush, warm. The thin lipped grins he’s given you all day now laying flat against your own lips, no longer grinning, now just wanting. And he’s gentle, so fucking gentle with it. Never has a man asked you to kiss him. Usually they close the gap to try and swoon you. It appears you’re both being swooned by each other at the moment though, and his soft kiss only pulls back momentarily before he leans forward, closer.

The third touch, save for you shoving him, his lips on yours, and now…his hand on your cheek. Caressing so gently as he deepens the kiss with ease. The heat rises up and through your skin at the simple touch. You think he must feel it with the way he chuckles into the kiss and starts peppering them against your lips over and over again. A split second between each lay of his lips, and then another solid kiss. One where you finally start moving yours too.

It’s slow and languid in the way he kisses you like this, barely even darting his tongue out but focusing more on your cheek against his palm. He can feel your jaw move as you kiss and can’t help but love what’s happening, and when you’re the one to lick against his lower lip, he falls in so easily.

That little movement from you, that little feeling of your tongue experimentally prodding his lips open releases the last bit of tension holding him back. He pulls back to look at you and you’re not backing down even slightly.

“Does this feel more real for you?” He asks in a snide way, swiping your bottom lip with his thumb of the glistening saliva before tilting his head with a smile.

You very nearly roll your eyes at him for that. And by very nearly, you do roll your eyes at him and can’t help but smile yet again.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” He says, palm still against your cheek, tips of his fingers toying with the baby hairs on your hair-line. “because I can imagine that the toy couldn’t ki-”

You shoot forward to kiss him again, only just realizing how awkward the positioning is considering neither of you were probably expecting more than a first kiss.

He laughs into it, knowing you were silencing him of something that could arguably be the most cringe-worthy thing he can say after kissing you. His laughs start to stifle though, as you press forward and somehow manage to have his back against the seat of the couch and you planting yourself on top of him.

“Can you shut up about the toy now? I thought we got past that,” You argue as you pull back, your cheek already missing the feeling of his palm against it. “You can’t just act like this and then say some dumb shit like that.”

You’re joking, he knows it. If anything, you’re complimenting him right now and he eats it the fuck up as he stares up at you.

“Was I wrong though?”

You take a moment to look at him, realizing that this is the man who you just kissed. With his hair a mess and fanned out on the cushions, strands falling in front of his eyes, but mostly swept back and exposing the entirety of his forehead to you.

You reach forward and brush a strand from his eyes.

“Actually, say whatever you want.” You correct yourself and manage to ignore his question.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” He half-chuckles as he brings his hands up to sit against your waist, hoping you don’t pull out of the intimate position the two of you are in.

“I don’t know, I was just looking at you and thought it would be stupid for me to try to argue with you right now.”

“Why’s that?” He prods for more compliments, feeling himself twitch at the way you look hovering over him.

“Are you trying to argue right now?” You tilt your head, adjusting yourself now to sit directly on his thighs and lay forward, both hands cushioning your chin on his chest as you straddle him.

“Would it be so wrong to admit that you’re fun when you argue with me?”

You can feel him breathe under you, nearly rocking you further and further into whatever headspace Jay seems to put you in. It’s too comfortable, and it almost feels as though you’ve been with him for years now. You barely know him, yet you’re lying on him as if you got married two years ago. Insane how this works. How the heart works, or the brain, or whatever drives the arousal you’re feeling right now.

“Will you argue if I ask to show you my room?” You start, lifting back up and away from his chest, now scooting forward a bit. You don’t dare sit on it yet, but you very much would like to if he were to suggest not moving at all from this couch. “My bed.”

He stutters and quickly quiets his excited words, replacing his voice with a nod and a sharp inhale.

“Hah! Telling me to argue and instantly buckling the second I mention my bed.” You laugh, pulling yourself up and sauntering out of his view.

He stares at the ceiling for a moment, in a daze over just how much he likes you. He wonders, would you be shocked to know he hasn’t had sex in much longer compared to you? One and a half months for you? That’s nothing to him. He’s been besties with his right hand for at least six months by now. Trust him when he says that it truly was difficult to not turn into a hormonal idiot when he saw you in the shop that day.

Finally, he shakes himself out of the spaced out horny brain staring at your ceiling and stands to his feet. He’s quick to adjust the bulge in his jeans, uncomfortably shaking his leg before looking toward where you walked off to.

“Um.” He stops, realizing you were watching him, looking directly at the spot he just adjusted. “I mean,” He tries to start again, adjusting again as he feels it slowly move out from its tucked place. “Listen,”

“No, I get it.” You say, snickering at his embarrassment as if he somehow doesn’t know you were suggesting at least some foreplay by moving to your room.

“Of course you do,” He drops his head, now blatantly shoving his hands down his pants to adjust before looking back up and taking a step forward. “You’re the one who sat on me like that.”

“Please, I didn’t even sit on it.”

“Didn’t need to.” He shrugs, now coming up to you and waiting for you to guide him through your space and into your room.

Once the two of you get there, him not even attempting to hide that he is very aroused at this moment, you’re very quick to turn and face him once he comes inside.

“We are on the same page, right?” You ask, looking at his lips and the way they still look so kissable.

“As far as I know, with all things considered.” He responds, looking down at himself and how pathetic he must seem in getting so aroused by nothing more than a kiss and a position change.

You smile, reaching for his hand and watching him tumble forward to you. Now standing mere inches in front of you.

“Do you want to see it?” You ask, a cheeky smirk on your face as you turn away from him and run to your bedside table.

He has no idea what the fuck you’re referring to until he sees it. There, in all of its non-human glory. Jay ticks his tongue, curiously straining his neck out to peek at what else is in your drawer as he walks closer.

You make no attempt to close the drawer and instead pull out another one, and another one, another one.

“If you keep pulling out toys I’ll start to think you were lying in saying you wanted to feel something more, um–”

“Real?” You say, turning from your presented line-up of toys to look at him.

He nods, gazing over the toys, four dildos all far bigger than he is.

“I can admit that men can’t vibrate, nor do they have those little rotating beats but,” You chuckle at the conversation, scooping the toys up quicker than you laid them out and tossing them back into the drawer. “They’re not warm, or attached to someone that can kiss me. They’re also not witty.”

You study his expression.

“They don’t make me laugh before getting me off.” You continue, wondering if you may actually be too forward about this now.

He’s rendered a bit speechless, which is rare for him in any given situation. He always has a quick response, not at this moment though as he looks at you. He wonders if you pity that obvious act of self-doubt upon seeing your toys.

“They’re not attached to you.” You add, this time stifling your chuckle, because it’s a pretty funny conversation if you look at it from the outside but you can imagine he must be feeling some type of way to be so quiet.

He thinks hard about it, knowing damn well where this was leading and pushing for it himself. Hearing you now though, so confidently say these things, all doubt erases from his mind.

“Before we do anything,” he starts, his shaky voice coming out more confident as he continues. “Is this just a hook-up to you or are you feeling the way I’m feeling right now?”

You look at him with a question in your eyes. He was kind of shocked that you didn’t finish for him this time, actually.

“Like, you know if we do this, I’m going to be calling to take you out to dinner at some point unless you say you don’t want me to, right?”

You hadn’t thought of anything past him since you’ve gotten here. You didn’t think about anything more than hanging out with him, and now, kissing him, and maybe you know, feeling him. For some reason though, despite the lack of sex you’ve had lately, him saying that only arouses you more. It’s been so long since you’ve intended to sleep with someone and have them want to stick around after. Some of the people you’ve been with didn’t even ask for your number. Is this what adult relationships are actually like?

“As in, you’d want to see where this goes in the–”

“Future, yes. I’m not just going to fuck you and pretend I didn’t when I see you again.”

Shockingly, that’s a first for you and you like the feeling it gives you. Plus, him implying that he’s about to, or very willing to, fuck you sends a wave of fondness through you.

“Alright. Let’s not call it a hook up then.” You say, the playful arousal from before stifling out at the idea of being intimate with someone who is making you aware that you’ll see him again, now being replaced with…feelings? Arousal with feelings?

“What should we call it?”

“A date?” You say back immediately, sitting on your bed and finally closing your bedside drawer.

“Oh, you fuck on the first date?”

You laugh at how quickly his wit comes back, especially with the way he crowds up and stands in front of you.

“With you? Looks like it.” You smile wide for him, feeling the tension bleed away and replace itself again with the arousal of him standing and looking down at you.

“How did we not meet earlier?” He asks, leaning down a bit as if to kiss you.

“Fuck if I know, I bought all of those toys at your shop.”

“Ah, right. Nine in the morning on a Monday. I don’t usually work mornings.”

“Guess I got lucky last time then.”

“I guess you did.” He adds like a period to a sentence, finally kissing you again and making no effort to hide the fact that he’s attempting to lay you down much like you did to him before.

You let him, falling back on your bed and feeling him nudge your legs to spread. Again, you let him, feeling your heart begin to race with excitement in the way he kisses you now versus how he did it earlier.

There is clear intent behind it this time, as he positions himself between your legs. Your heart only races faster when one of his hands slides down your arm and he tangles his fingers with yours. It’s all very intimate to be coming from a man you officially met today, but you really do feel lucky.

Lucky that he works two jobs, lucky that your family throws lame ass reunions every five years, lucky that you left your headlights on during a sunny sunday afternoon, lucky that your battery died.

It’s so normal already to smile into the kiss and feel giddy inside. Never have you smiled into a kiss save for laughing when a leg cramp happens mid-fuck. You can’t believe how much you’ve smiled and laughed today, and you can’t believe he’s making you react this way just by holding your fucking hand and kissing you this way.

He laughs when you react though, probably feeling at ease on your bed with you under him, squeezing your fingers tightly each time he licks against your tongue. And when he pulls back to breathe, you just look at him and the way his hair hangs in front of his eyes. He looks so pretty at this angle, even when he’s moving slowly, even when his other hand remains planted beside your head to hold his weight from falling onto you.

It’s not been since highschool that you’ve laid with someone simply making out, fully clothed, giggling. You’re unsure of how he’s pulled this out of you, because usually when a man is on top of you, you’re already trying to get his clothes off. But this? This is something that you want to last. You want it to be slower than a usual fuck, because you like when he’s here with you. Whether on top of you or not, there was a reason he’s stayed this late already and you already know it wasn’t solely to fuck you.

“Did you expect to be on top of me someday?” You ask between kisses, and he takes that as an invitation to laugh against your neck and tickle your cheek with his messy hair.

“Expect it? No,” He starts, leaving a kiss just under your ear before lowering his lips to the collar of your shirt and kissing there too. “Hoped I could, though.”

Your heart swells up at that. You realized he must have meant it when he admitted to having a small crush on you. Only now do you realize that the curiosity that brought you back up to the food-table during the reunion may have been the start of a crush on your end too.

You don’t say anything more after that and instead fall into the feeling of his lips kissing along your collar. For some reason the sensation of his lips pushing the fabric out of the way so he can kiss new exposed skin makes you feel incredibly wanted. Maybe it’s the pace, or maybe it’s just because you really really like him, and want him to want you.

“Do you want to take it off?” You ask after a few more of his kisses, wanting to control yourself but also very much wanting to feel his lips everywhere else too.

You can feel him nod in the form of his hair tickling your cheek more. But he doesn’t move from that spot at first, continuing to kiss you the same way and in the same places. You let him, up until he finally sighs and pulls back.

Looking at him now, even compared to a few moments ago, he looks even more pretty. His eyes are now soft, you can almost see the lines from where he’s smiled for you all day. His lips, looking more kissable than they did the past two times you thought they looked as kissable as they ever could. His eyebrows, showing no signs of tension but permanently arched in a way that makes him appear constantly moody.

You’re staring and you’re not intending to hide it. Even as he lifts your shirt from your waist and starts to pull it up. You barely budge as you stare, and stare, until you can’t because he’s trying to pull your shirt over your head.

“If you’d stop staring for two seconds maybe I could get this off of you–” He smiles knowingly, finally pulling it off when you arch your back and then prop yourself up slightly with your hands. “There.”

He sighs when he says it, going silent and almost frozen at the image of your nearly-naked torso. You watch him stare now, a smirk forming all too quickly.

“Now look who’s staring.” You chuckle, noting that his eyes still don’t leave the newly exposed skin or the fabric of your bra.

“Yeah, I am.” He admits, wetting his lower lip again and then flicking his eyes to you. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Suddenly, that eye contact makes you feel shy. You’re more naked than he is, despite mostly being dressed still.

“You know,” you start, avoiding his intense eye contact just to get the words out. “If we just take all of our clothes off now, it would probably be easier.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle at you but nods, already lifting his shirt off and going for his zipper and button.

“There’s no rush, but if you’d prefer we do,” He scoots back and away from you, standing to his feet to shove his jeans down his legs. “I don’t mind.”

You watch him undress and lose all ability to act on your own for a solid thirty seconds before you finally start panic-shimming the rest of your clothing off. Save for bra and panties, and he, now standing there clad in only a pair of form-fitting briefs.

You’re glad he isn’t as shy as you at this moment though, or rather, he appears to be entirely infatuated with your body and doesn’t look away from it for even a moment to feel embarrassed himself at standing on the side of your bed nearly nude.

“No rush?” You ask, when he finally trails his eyes up to you and takes his position between your legs from earlier. Except now, you can see his biceps and the way they flex, now, you can feel the immense amount of warmth radiating from him. Now, his hair is even more of a mess.

“I can try,” He says quietly, balancing on one hand and lowering his lips to yours once more, trying to ignore how dangerously close his length is to bumping against your core. “No promises now, though.”

You smirk, wondering where he lost his self control within that short span of time where you got undressed. He cuts your chuckle off mid-way though, now kissing you again and moving his hand up and down your waist. It tickles and causes goosebumps to form all over you, to the point that you can’t help but sigh into his kiss.

He continues, still holding his hips back from grinding against you, kissing you as good as he can until trailing back to your neck again.

It’s not until you run your fingers through his hair that he sighs himself. That relief and heavenly feeling of your fingers scraping the back of his neck— such a simple touch can literally send him straight to hell at this point and he wouldn’t care a single bit as long as it’s from you and your hands.

He lowers himself more, just to prevent his hips from intruding into this moment only to lock his lips onto the mound of your breast, other hand lowering so he can lay down and push your bra to the side a bit.

The cold air that hits your nipple is short-lived when you feel him immediately suck it into his mouth with a deep breath. You continue to scratch through his hair, now using your other hand to nearly hug his head in place as you feel the sensations shoot straight between your legs. Each flick of his tongue sends signals to your brain to go! go! go! But much like him, you hold back, even though your legs still manage to squeeze his body between yours in an attempt to find the friction he isn’t yet offering.

He continues this for a few minutes, and then works his fingers under the bra on the other side of your chest before switching his lips to that one. Perking them up so perfectly that he can graze his teeth against either nipple and feel your legs react to it. All of it is turning him on beyond belief, it’s dangerously attractive to him now too, to know that you have several toys that could have already gotten you off by now, but you choose this. You choose his lips playing with your tits, and your legs doing an amazing job of showing him your lack of control. After all, toys can’t give you the foreplay that he can.

His lips continue their work, up until he’s trailing further and further down, making your sighs hitch higher and higher in pitch. He kisses your waist, just above your belly button, then just below your belly button before leaning back.

There, he looks directly at the seat of your panties and smiles at the wet spot there. He plants a kiss right in the center of your mess before climbing back up and caressing your cheek again.

“You’re wet.” He comments in a huskier voice than he normally uses, balancing yet again on his other arm.

Goddamn, if this is how he sounds when he’s with a girl then you feel more lucky than before. You can’t imagine the amount of women who have fallen completely in love with this guy. And, before you can actually respond to him with another cheeky comment, his hand on your cheek disappears and is instantly between your legs, cupping you there and even scooting you up the bed with the force of how he grabs you.

You hitch out a sigh and look at him with a smile.

“Obviously.” You say back, rolling your eyes playfully before unintentionally bucking your hips into the pressure his palm offers against your clit.

“Cute too.” He adds, lifting his palm to run his fingers up the wet spot on your panties before pressing in slightly.

You can feel the fabric stick to you uncomfortably, but it still feels so fucking good. Any amount of touching from him feels good, if you’re being honest.

“And you’re teasing me.” You argue, looking away from his smirk as he plays with the wet fabric against his fingers.

“Just ask. I’m not teasing you if you're not telling me what you want.”

You shoot your eyes back to him, a mixture of curiosity and shock in your eyes. It’s true though, you are a little shocked. Most men really just do what they want, and so do you. Never have you been asked what you want.

Your eyes trail down as far as they can, what his hand is doing is mostly hidden between your legs but you focus entirely on the way his arms flex as his fingers travel up and down your panties.

“You want me to ask?” You question, hips bucking up again unintentionally.

“Not so much ask, but like, tell me what you want.”

He nods to himself as he says it, licking his bottom lip and pressing the fabric of your panties in yet again.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to do what he wants right now though, definitely not. He just figures you know your body far better than he does, and he’d rather not make assumptions and embarrass himself when you could just ask him or better, guide him. Who is he to assume you want his fingers right now anyway?

“I’ve never…” You start, swallowing your words as your brain goes back to focusing on his fingers momentarily. “I haven’t–”

He knows what you’re trying to say, so he attempts to make it a bit easier for you.

“Do you want me to pull your panties to the side?”

You sigh with a nod, looking at him and allowing him to guide you through telling him what you want.

“Do you want me to touch you?”

You nod again, pushing your head back against the mattress out of frustration that you, for some reason, can’t find the words to just tell him yourself.

He listens to your body though, more than your weak nods and frustrated sighs. The way your legs shake when he asks, the way you react to the air hitting your folds when he does push your panties to the side. He can’t bear to look down yet though, because he knows for a fact that if he were to pull back and look at you in full, he’d no longer be asking you what you want. He’d be embarrassing for sure.

You can feel his fingers now sliding through your folds though, bare pussy out and on display but not yet being looked at, only being felt. And arguably, all you can do right now is feel too, as he leans forward to kiss you in this silent moment.

His fingers continue to explore as he kisses you, collecting all of your arousal and swirling it around your clit before sliding back down and prodding at your entrance. You make a sound at that, kissing him a little harder than before when he lets out a hum.

“Hm?” He hums against your lips, and you nod to him.

There, he dips a finger in only slightly. Your arms reach around his neck at the feeling and pull him closer to you. To the point that you can feel him struggle to angle his hands right to slide in deeper, but you pay no mind to it. At least not until you kiss the fucking daylights out of him.

That, you do. Kissing him with full-force and making a show of how turned on you are for him. He feels it, with or without your kiss bruising him. The wetness on the tip of his finger only becomes wetter, and when you release your grip around his neck, he still doesn’t leave the kiss.

He goes back to gently kissing you, focusing more on his fingers than what his tongue is doing. He slides that same finger in all the way now, feeling your walls clench almost instantly and beg for more. Chuckling at the feeling, he fucks his finger into you experimentally before pulling them out and adjusting two fingers at your entrance.

“Hm?” He hums again, and you nod again.

So, two fingers slide in and you’re releasing a soft moan against his lips. Already out of breath from focusing so hard on how he feels when he touches you. Your lips fall slack just to catch that lost breath, and he doesn’t argue, going right back to that spot on your neck to kiss as he picks up rhythm with his fingers. Effectively fucking you open with them as you cling to him.

You hate to say you didn’t pay much attention to his hands until now. Having not noticed how deep just those two digits reach inside of you, and good fucking lord does he know how to use them too. Curling them up at just the right moment to have your legs shaking.

Never have your legs fucking shook for a man. This only happens with the g-spot stimulating toys. God, you open your eyes to look at the ceiling in thought, and it has you wondering if he even knows he’s doing it.

“Keep doing that–” you urge him, and he hums at you finally at least trying to tell him what you want.

He finally lifts from your neck to look at you, now placing his weight back on that one free arm that had been toying with the ends of your hair this entire time, and he’s fucking floored. Even if he pictured you before with those toys, none of those images came close to this. And it’s just his fingers? No where near the size of your toys, no where near as expensive, or warm…or alive.

Oh. You want to feel someone who wants you.

“I’ll do anything you want.” He says, doing exactly as you asked except a little faster, still hitting that spot inside of you so perfectly that you’re moaning out now.

He tunes in entirely to the sounds you’re making, the faces you’re making, and the way your pussy clenches around just those two fingers. He is aching at this point, pulling back from hovering over you to sit now between your legs, fingers still keeping pace, and sliding his other hand down his briefs.

You don’t notice at first, too enthralled by the feeling of his curling fingers inside of you, but when you do–

“God,” You moan, rolling your eyes at the image of him out of breath, both hands working to pleasure both of you. “Come here.”

He listens, already pulling his hand away from himself but keeping his fingers in you, in a daze as he takes his original position of hovering over you.

“No, I mean, come here.” You say, looking at him as you reach between your bodies and pull his fingers out of you, then reach to grab between his legs.

He immediately moans at the feeling, his hips pressing harshly into your grip with a whine as he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes just to feel it.

“Pull it out.” You continue, slowly becoming more and more comfortable telling him what you want.

Just watching him do what you ask is insanely hot. The way he pulls his cock out seems so natural to him, you suddenly imagine what he must look like all alone while getting himself off. Thankfully though, he’s not all alone right now, he’s with you, and you intend to be getting him off.

You look at him, between his legs, and then back at him once more before grabbing it again and practically pulling his hips to you by the cock. He groans all the same at it though, and only holds his breath when he feels your legs spread further and essentially press his cock between your folds and hold it there from the head.

“Grind.” You say, still holding your hand in place to keep the pressure against him, which also puts pressure against your clit when he does grind up.

You both shiver at it, and he still looks down at you, fucking smiling through his sighs of relief regarding the new sensations you’re offering.

“You’re actually fucking perfect.” He compliments, fucking his hips up and coating his cock with the dripping of your needy cunt.

Out of everything he’s ever said to you up to this point, out of everything he’s fucking done to you, that’s the one thing that has you spiralling into a world of fire. It makes you feel so warm, especially with the head of his cock bumping your clit. He has barely gotten any friction and he is still calling you perfect? Sign you the fuck up, forever, actually.

“Don’t be stupid,” You start, waving him off between moans and gripping his shoulders.

He grinds up harder at your words though, now propping himself up on his elbows and grabbing your face on both sides.

“You, don’t be stupid.” He says clearly, pointing his thrusts directly at your clit and moaning only slightly as he looks at you.

You swear, at that moment he could see your entire life. Everything about you. Everything you love and hate. The way he doesn’t look through you but at you?

“You’re actually insane.” You laugh, crumbling to his pointed gaze and thrusts, your legs automatically shooting up to wrap around his waist.

He seems proud of being called insane right now. Mostly because he can come up with at least fifty reasons as to why this is anything but insanity, but he remains quiet at the feeling of your legs squeezing around him.

Such a girl was looking for mundane sex toys to have normal sex with? Lucky you, this is his fucking favorite. Plain ‘ol missionary? Check. Legs squeezing around him, almost pulling him in? Check. Looking directly at the face of the person he wants to make feel good? Check.

You barely notice his lack of control by this point, the closeness alone feels like you’re already having sex but you realize you’re entirely empty still. This is fine though, until it’s not.

When does it not become fine? When his confident moans turn to soft sighs, and you notice his arms shaking a bit to hold his weight above you, and when his eyes go dead staring at you. You can tell he’s focused entirely on the feeling between the two of you, doing nothing more than aggressive yet…weak grinds?

“Jay,” You say, slightly out of breath.

“Hm?” He responds half-heartedly, releasing his weight from one elbow and dropping his head between your neck and shoulder.

“Fuck me.”

It’s like you can feel the switch in his head go from losing sanity to gaining it back in an instant at those words. He felt like he was pleasuring himself against you for so long, with so much friction between your hand and his abdomen constantly pressing into it. He could have gotten off from this, if you wanted him to anyway. It would have been an intense orgasm after working up for so long too, but now?

He doesn’t even say anything, he doesn’t even move his head from between your neck and shoulder. Instead, you feel him expertly adjust his hips and press in without much trouble. He finds exactly where he belongs so fucking fast that is has you spinning and clenching immediately.

“Shit,” He drones out with a long sigh, slowly sinking his cock into you. “You’re throbbing.”

You chuckle, because yeah. You definitely are, but so is he. You can feel his thick length spreading you open inch by inch, until he’s fully planted into you and twitching. Then he doesn’t move again.

“This alone could do me in,” He chuckles against your neck, breathing in a deep sigh and attaching his teeth to your lower ear lobe. “Honestly, I can't believe I didn’t already cum just from having my fingers in you.”

You’re both flattered and shocked by this comment, before you can even think to respond he’s talking again.

“You’re so tight, so wet.” He soothes himself through the feeling of your walls clenching around him by explaining how good your pussy feels, not yet wanting to move and just wanting to feel what your body does to him on its own. “It’s so hard not to move right now.”

“Please,” You manage to get out, struggling to focus on just one thing with the way he’s talking and the way he sits so perfectly inside of you. “Please, move.”

And he does, instantly. Pulling out and sliding back in so easily that the slapping sound is muted entirely by the matching moan you both release. You can feel his voice vibrating against your neck, and you can imagine he might be able to feel yours through your pulsing walls, because it feels like every sound, touch, and sensation is sent straight there for him to enjoy.

It doesn’t stop either. Both of you shamelessly moaning at the feeling of him snapping his hips into you at perfect speed, with a perfect voice, and a perfect hand moving up to grip your chest.

He’s practically blanketing you with his body, your legs holding him in this spot, his hair still finding a way to tickle your cheek with each thrust in. It’s so fucking much. It’s so good, and so…comfortable.

You’re comfortable. So comfortable you don’t even feel the need to rub your clit, you don’t want to chase the orgasm, you just want to feel him. And apparently, he’s still on the same page with you.

When he lifts his head, kissing the bottom of your chin and then your lower lip, still the two of you are groaning at each deep thrust in, but he manages to talk through it, somehow.

“Don’t stop,” he says, despite you barely doing anything. “Keep doing that.” He continues as his thrusts pick up pace.

Only now do you realize that you were doing something. Without noticing, your hands were nearly tearing his back apart. Not literally, but your nails may have dug in a few times. Normally, once you notice doing that, you would stop because normally men don’t want the trace of another woman on him. Jay though, he’s in love with the idea that you’ll leave a mark.

Obsessed with the sting of it, really, loving the idea of going to his night-job tomorrow and staring at all of the toys that don’t offer you a back to hold onto like this.

You do as he asks much like he does for you, gripping him so tightly that your nails have no choice but to leave half-moon shapes on his skin. Each thrust drags your fingers up, down, up down, and with each thrust it somehow feels deeper, harder, hotter.

When he releases your chest from his other hand and puts it back to your cheek, caressing much like he has each time he’s focused on kissing you, you think you’re a fucking goner.

As expected, he kisses you at that moment and thrusts once, hard, before holding himself there.

“I’m really close,” He whispers apologetically between kisses, “tell me how to get you there with me.”

You smile when he kisses you again instead of letting you answer, but you fall into it much like he does and you opt to grab that hand on your cheek and guide it to your clit.

Instantly, he’s rubbing harsh and sloppy circles around it, and you reward him for the perfect work of his fingers yet again with your fingernails digging into his back. He softly moans at that, and you swallow it up all too easily.

Tensing your muscles, his fingers on your clit work you up so quickly that you barely warn him of your oncoming orgasm, even as his cock sits leaking and heavy inside of you. You don’t even know how to tell him, all you can do is frantically moan out shortly.

“I’m–”

Instantly his hips are back at work, barely even thrusting but instead remaining buried into you for the most part. He pulls out an inch and slams back in, wanting your orgasm to get him off more than his own movements. And fuck, it does.

The way you clench when you reach your high, slack lips against his own, he releases at what he could argue is the best possible time. Your tenses muscles work him up perfectly, gently massaging his cock as he releases in full without too much overstimulation.

And you. You have never gotten off with a man staying mostly still inside of you. Actually, you’ve only gotten off that way with toys because nothing beats getting off while completely full. Jay really is something, or, someone.

The two of you release together, and his lips fall slack just like yours do. The kissing turned to that of desperate, orgasm-fogged moans into the other’s mouth. For some reason, it was incredibly hot to you that you both reacted that way. So insanely drunk on the other that nothing felt embarrassing.

Even the way his fingers moved on your clit through your orgasm, he somehow knew when to go and when to stop.

Even now, as your orgasm tapers off, you are so blissfully aware that you want to immediately fall asleep even with him inside of you. Jay is polite though, and gently pulls out with a small apology of the mess.

When he looks at you, looking so sleepy under him, maybe it translates to him too and he instantly yawns but tries to be strong for both of you.

“We should clean up.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

There wasn’t even a question in your head when he slept over that night. He didn’t even hint at leaving. Nor did he hint the morning after as you groggily opened your computer for your daily work.

He did hint that he would miss you when he eventually had to go to his own house and get ready for an evening at the sex-shop. He also hinted a few times at feeling like, when he looked at you, you weren’t a brand new person in his life. Part of you wonders if that’s because maybe you want to be permanent in his life from now on.

Later that night, he came back. Bright eyes and a stinging back.

For some reason, you feel it’s safe to say that neither of you can stand being apart for too long. So yeah, maybe this is what a normal relationship is like. If, you know, you were in a relationship with him.

Ironically enough, only a few days later that relationship is established in the form of a new car battery and a bottle of lube that he bought for you.

Not that you need it. (The lube.)

#enhypen smut #park jonseong smut #jay smut #park jay smut #enha smut

2K notes · View notes

artists-ally · 6 months ago

Text

{Fake It Like You Love Me} Azriel x Reader x Xaden Riorson x Cassian

*slowly creeps up from the depths of hell* Heeeeeeeey, glad you guys remember I still exist 😭😭 First off, THANK YOU for 600 followers. That's insane and I don't deserve you all so thank you so fucking much. SECONDDDD, here is another part of my Fuck Away The Pain series!! Sorry this has taken me so long to do, but I think you for your patience. As always, let me know what you think and feel free to drop a request if you have any!!! Enjoy! Title and series inspired by this song.

Part 1: {Show Me Where It Hurts} Part 2: {Dirty Little Curse} these do not need to be read in order to be enjoyed!

Word Count: 7,630

Warnings: Smut. Like... an alarming amount of smut. ACOTAR x FOURTH WING, Dom/Sub, MMMF, use of the nicknames "pet" and "sir", oral (M and F receiving), pet play, degrading, praise kink, choking, spanking, cum eating, unprotected sex.

Tagging: @lees-chaotic-brain @thelov3lybookworm @needylilgal022 @librafairy @cyrygher @agent-anna @blessthepizzaman @bubybubsters @highladyofterrasen7 @annabethgranger123 @acourtofbatboydreams @thatacotargirl @berryzxx @throneofsmut

Summary: It is just after the legendary snowball fight. Azriel, Cassian, Rhys and Xaden are in the sauna while you, Mor, and Feyre are inside the cabin. Once Rhys leaves, it seems that there is a vacant spot that needs to be filled.

~~~~~

“So, explain this to me again?”

“Every year, they have a snowball fight. They just keep going and going and going until there’s a winner,” Feyre explains. “This is the first time you and Xaden are here so I think they’re taking it easy.”

From off to the side of the cabin, we hear a shout and then a chorus of laughter.

“Maybe not,” Mor says, peeking out the window. “Cassian just decked Riorson in the face.”

I giggled, sipping my warm tea and curling my legs under myself. “Probably made fun of Cassian’s hair or something. Called him a wet dog.”

“You know damn well that animal will come in here and shake like one too.”

“And after the sauna? Yuck, it’s going to smell for ages in here,” Mor shakes her head.

“The sauna?”

Both of them stop dead in their tracks, exchanging a knowing glance. Feyre looks at me with a twisted smirk. “You don’t know about the sauna?”

“Should I be afraid?”

“Definitely,” Mor grins, setting down her cup. “After they get done, they all go into the sauna together.”

“Naked?” I dare to ask.

“Terribly so,” Feyre adds. “A few years ago, on my first trip to the cabin, I got Rhys kicked out because… well, he just couldn’t stop thinking of me.”

I damn near choked. Then I burst out laughing. I can imagine it. Rhys, Azriel and Cassian sitting in the sauna together. It must be some sort of rule they have. If one of them gets a little too hot and bothered, they’re out. But the thought of them all in there, Azriel and Xaden sweating… does some pretty magical things to my brain.

And the space between my thighs.

“Gods you are just as bad as they are, Yn,” Mor fake gags, coming to sit next to me. “Don’t get too excited. None of us have ever been in, and none of us ever will.”

“Really? That’s kind of shocking, honestly.” There hasn’t been one exception? “I know Cassian is a bit of a…”

“Male whore?” Mor fills in the blank. It makes me giggle.

“I don’t quite know everyone well enough to make those assumptions, but Cassian definitely gives off a certain… aura.”

“Oh please, he’d take it as a compliment,” Mor smiles, playing with some of my loose hair. “But no, not even him. Now, what I cannot believe is how you ended up with both Az and Riorson. That is truly a work of art.”

I can’t help the smile that blooms onto my face. “Some are just more blessed than others.”

Feyre barks a laugh, “I’ll say. You got lucky with those two, you know.”

“I know. We’re not like– together together, but they take very good care of me. I honestly kind of like it. It's all the best parts of a relationship without having to worry about if everyone is getting enough attention. They give me what I need, and I give them what they need.”

“Have you ever asked for more? To be in a real relationship?” Mor asks, curiosity getting the best of her. Feyre smacks her in the shoulder. “Ow!”

“Don’t be insensitive,” the High Lady reprimands.

“Don’t be silly,” I wave them off. “I’ve thought about it, but I don’t think that’s what I want. Sure, being in love is great and all, but why complicate it? We work flawlessly together right now, why change? If either of them brings it up, I’ll be open to the idea. But for right now I’m thriving. They are far too generous anyway. They constantly bring me gifts or invite me out to dinner. They’re doing enough for me. Far more than enough.” “Not to mention the world's best sex,” Mor wiggled her eyebrows at me. “What’s it like with the two of them? Are the rumors of the Illyrian true? What about Xaden, is he packing too? Gods I bet he is, isn’t he? Now, I am the last Fae in Prythian who’d want to be taken by two males, but… for the both of them? I might reconsider. Tell me, does Az-”

“Cauldron boil me,” Feyre sighs. “I’m getting a drink.”

“Ooh! Will you bring me-”

“No,” Feyre scolds, heading into the kitchen.

“Crony bitch.”

“I heard that!” Feyre shouts from the other room.

Mor and I share a laugh, snuggling in close together. “This is so fun.”

“Isn’t it?” Mor says, “You’re always welcome back, Yn. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Az so relaxed. He looks… happy. And I can’t vouch for Riorson but he looks like he needs this too.”

“Yeah it’s been a stressful couple weeks for Xaden. There was a huge issue in his homeland and he nearly lost his life. His dragon is bonded to someone else in his squad, and her dragon almost died. It was scary. I’m just glad he’s okay. On the flight up here he was giving me all his strategies on how he was going to win.” There’s a loud cackle from outside and the sound of bodies running into each other. I looked over the back of the couch, seeing Xaden at the bottom of the pile, snow being shoveled into his face. “Guess they didn’t work so well.”

“They’re probably done now,” Mor explains.

“Sauna time?”

“Sauna time.”

The door opens and the four males clamber in, shaking snow from their hair and clothes.

“I’m gonna get you back for that Rhys,” Xaden grins, evil intent behind those onyx eyes.

“I’d like to see you try. Hey Mor, hi Yn. Where’s Feyre?” Rhys pats the top of Mor’s head, offering me a kind smile.

“In the kitchen!” She calls, the High Lord following the sound of her voice.

Cassian makes a b-line for the couch, shaking his head like a mutt. Mor squeals, I just shut my eyes and take the damage. When I open them, he snickers and sits on the floor, sighing loudly. “And that makes 181 wins for yours truly.”

“Then he must have cheated,” Mor gags, wiping off Cassian’s grime with the bottom of her shirt. “For fucks sake Cass you stink.”

“I’m a hard working male,” he begs to differ.

“Only thing you’re working is gonna be my foot in your ass,” Mor chides, standing up. “I’m going to shower, I smell like a dog.”

“You wish you smelled as good as me. Sorry to catch you in the crossfire, Yn.”

“It’s all good,” I smile, rubbing the few drops I got off on my sleeve.

But the look on Xaden’s face when he comes to sit next to me reflects anything but. He’s got a scowl directed at Cassian, but he makes quick work of masking it, planting a kiss on my cheek. A moment later, Azriel does the same thing.

“Should you be sitting on the couch?” I ask. Xaden’s hair a soaking wet mess, his clothes more the same.

“Trust me,” Azriel chimes in, “There have been far worse things on this couch.”

I blink at him, wondering if I would need to burn my clothes after this. He plops down next to me, slinging an arm over the back of the couch behind my shoulders.

Cassian looks between all three of us. Clearly seeing the size difference and taking notes about it. “I should probably keep my mouth shut.”

“That would be wise, brother,” Azriel grumbles, stretching out his legs. “Where's Rhys? Im fucking freezing and I wanna go in the sauna.”

“He’s in the kitchen with Feyre,” Mor said, rounding the corner from the washroom. She clearly didn’t shower, but she smelled much better. “And we all know what happened the last time the two of them were left alone here.”

“What happened?” Xaden and I asked at the same time.

“Nothing,” Azriel, Cassian and Mor responded in unison.

The dragon rider and I shared a look, a silent promise to ask Az about it later. We had a nice evening planned, dinner with everyone, and then they were going to let Az, Xaden and I spend the night in the cabin. We’ve never been here before today so it was a generous offer. I can tell how much this place means to all of them.

No one needs a vivid imagination to get an idea of what’s going to happen later.

“Fuck him,” Cassian pushes to his feet, binding his hair back with a strip of leather. “Come on, let's get started. He can decide later if he wants to join.”

Cassian and Xaden head out the door, but Az stays seated next to me. “Having fun?”

“Of course,” I reassured, patting his thigh. “Mor and Feyre are very kind. And this is a lovely cabin.”

“Good, I’m glad.”

“Looks like you two had a lot of fun,” I smile, resting my cheek on his damp shoulder. “You smell far better than Cassian.”

“Naturally,” Az smirked. “And yes we did. Xaden needed it, you needed it. It’s always just been the three of us every year, but it felt right to have Xaden here in the mix. You too, obviously.”

“Glad I could make the cut,” I joked, receiving a pinch on my ear.

“Brat.”

“That’s not even close to me being a brat and you know it.” “Don’t I ever,” he grinned, covering my mouth with his. Despite the chill coming from his body, his lips were warm and soft. Full of life, vibrance, and need. “By the sound of it, Rhys won’t be joining us in the sauna. We won’t be in there long, will you bring us some towels around four?”

I looked at the analog on the wall, the hands reading 3:22pm. I nodded, “Sure.”

He curled my hair around his fingers before standing, following the other two outside.

In the meantime, I hung out with Mor and we talked about random stuff. She tried to get more details about Az and Xaden, but I wasn’t willing to give them up. We played a few card games, had a snack and a glass of wine before she winnowed off the mountain and back to Velaris to meet some friends at Rita’s.

Just as I was curling up with a book, I felt a cool whisper circle my wrist. A strand of Azriel’s shadow wrapped around and around in a never ending bracelet. I smiled, looking at the clock. Just seven past four. I head for the closet, grabbing three thick, soft tan towels.

Damn, it's cold out here. How do they not freeze to death? I carefully step in their footsteps so my toes don’t get frozen off. There is a little stone path to the sauna and I gladly jump from stone to stone. With the towels under my arm, I knock on the door.

“I brought your towels, they’ll be out here on this chest,” I shouted, unsure if they’d be able to hear me through the thick wood paneling. There was a small jut out from the roof over the door, ensuring they wouldn’t get covered with snow.

“Will you bring them in?” Xaden calls.

I skidded to a halt, damn near knocking myself over. Did he just say what I think he said? “I thought no females were allowed in the sauna?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cassian’s voice boomed. “We just need the towels so our bits don’t freeze off. You can close your eyes if you’re scared.”

Scared? I wasn’t scared, but I didn’t particularly care to see Cassian sprawled out with all his glory on display. Well, okay that's a complete lie. Ever since I first saw the Lord of Bloodshed, I thought he was… well… hot. He’s tall, all thick muscle and confidence. He knows he’s hot shit. I’d imagine if he were a closer friend that confidence might piss me off, but I think he’s funny. He knows what he’s got and he’s not afraid to show it.

“Are you going to bring them or not?” Xaden shouts.

Oh. Right. The towels.

I take a steadying breath and push open the door. A wave of humid, damp air blasts me in the face, instantly melting the flecks of snow on my hair and lashes. There isn’t a light save for a few windows to let some ventilation in. It's dark, but I can make out the three figures. Azriel and Xaden are to the left, and Cassian is to the right.

I keep my eyes on my boys and place towels in Xadens open arms. “Thank you, my dear.”

“Of course,” I smile, carefully avoiding any glimpses of Cassian in my peripherals. Just before I can reach the safety of the outdoors, Azriel’s hand wraps around my wrist, gently tugging me in front of him. His other hand curls around my hip, pinning me still. “Yes, my shadow?”

He all but purrs at the nickname. “Stay.”

Stay. Stay? As in… in here? With him and Xaden and Cassian? “You guys enjoy your time together.”

I tried to take another step, but he sat up, gripping my body to keep it positioned between his powerful legs. I trailed my eyes down his torso, seeing a bit of a surprise waiting for me. “I told you to stay.”

Heat flooded my body, a different heat than the one coursing through the sauna. I quickly glance at Xaden to see him exchanging a glance with Cassian across the way.

“I- I wouldn’t want to kick Cassian out just because you want me, Az. That’s rude,” I say, my breath hitching when he slides his hands under my thick wool sweater. He rakes his nails down my back and I momentarily forget that there is a third set of eyes watching.

“I don’t think Cassian would mind the show, would you, Cass?” Azriel looks around my torso at the Illyrian, and I have to force myself not to do the same.

There isn’t a verbal response from him.

Az roughly grips my hips, forcing me to sit down in his lap. His mouth attaches to mine before I can make a sound. I flinch momentarily when he bites down on my lip, his pace fast and aggressive. The sauna is silent save for the sound of our lips meeting.

Sweat begins to swell around my hairline, trickling down the back of my neck. He removes my sweater and tosses it towards the open door. I wasn’t wearing a bra, and the hot air coats my bare back. Azriel breaks the kiss, latching onto my neck and collar bone.

“Az,” I say, already breathless. “Wh-What are you doing?”

“Are you telling me that you’ve never thought about Cassian before?”

Shit. SHIT.

“I- well I didn’t- not in the way you think I would’ve I was just-”

“That certainly didn’t sound like a no, Yn,” Azriel looks up at me, a knowing glint in his eye. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“I- I didn’t think… I would’ve never thought that-”

“You have five seconds to tell me to stop. One.”

“Azriel I-”

“Two.” He pushes me back to my feet.

My knees buckle and it’s an effort to keep myself upright in the sweltering humidity. “Why would I have thought that you and Xaden would want-”

“Three.” He stands, towering over me.

I huff in annoyance. “Azriel, stop counting-”

“Four.” Az makes me take two steps back, advancing on me.

“Xaden will you please fucking-”

“Five.” His fingers wrap around my throat and push me back. Directly into Cassian. A second set of hands find their way onto my body. Cassian grips my hips, keeping me from falling. I am deathly still. I hardly breathe. I don’t dare make a noise. “You’d like it if Cassian joined, wouldn’t you?”

I don’t respond.

“She looks petrified,” Xaden points out very matter-of-factly.

“I like it when she’s scared, she obeys when she is. Isn’t that right pet?”

One word. One stupid nickname and I’m under his spell. Fuck, of course I want Cassian to join. I haven’t ever seen him without clothes, but he doesn’t leave much to the imagination. “I- I umm-”

“Just admit it and I’ll let you go,” Azriel demands, tightening his fingers for emphasis. It’s nowhere near a dangerous amount, but it makes my breath hitch.

“Yes yes,” I rush out, senses on fire.

“Yes what, pet? Come on, you know the rules. If you want Cass to join you have to tell him.”

Azriel releases me, and if it weren’t for Cassian holding me up, I would’ve keeled over. The combination of the restricted airflow and the density of the heat in the sauna was going to make a lethal combo.

And I craved it.

I quickly slipped under, fully ready to play with the three of them. I gently turn and look down at Cassian. His bronze skin is shining with sweat, hair still bound behind his head. I take a deep breath, swallowing. “Would you like to play with us, Cassian?”

His eyes dilate, tongue darting out of his mouth to wet his lips. “I thought you’d never ask, darling.”

Relief floods me and I smile. I am so thrilled he said yes. I look over at Az and Xaden, waiting for their command. I desperately need them to tell me what to do. This is already so overwhelming in the best way possible.

“Why don’t you be a good girl and welcome Cassian, okay?”

I don’t need to be told twice. Like he knows what I was thinking, his knees spread apart, inviting me in. I sink down to the floor and stare up at him through my wet lashes. “Messy or clean?”

A grin spreads across the Illyrians mouth. “Oh, she’s good. Messy, darling. I want to see you ruined.”

Cassian’s finger separated my lips and I sucked on his thumb. He pressed down on my tongue, and I swirled it around his digit. Meanwhile, his other hand fisted himself, and I couldn’t help but take a glance.

Cauldron boil me alive–

I delicately reach a hand out and replace mine with his. The warrior's head falls back and he shuts his eyes. My hand is so much smaller than… well, every part of him. I stroke up and down, gently thumbing the small slit at the tip. A few drops slide down onto my finger and I generously lick them off. He definitely tastes similar to Az, but nothing like Xaden.

The moment my tongue circles him, he cuts loose a moan deep from his chest.

“Fuck you’re so warm,” Cassian lifts his head, taking in the sight of me taking him in. I swallow around him, drawing more sounds out of him.

“I think what makes it so good is she loves doing it. Don’t you, Yn? You love being stuffed full,” Azriel comes up behind me, his presence stealing my breath away. Maybe it’s the added heat that makes my head dizzy. “That’s right, work him all the way down. Get him nice and deep.”

I push and push my head all the way down his cock, taking a moment to stay still, just emphasizing exactly what I can do. Cassian laughs at me, full on laughs. A mocking sort of sound that spreads goosebumps all across my skin. He bucks his hips, really testing how far he can push me.

“Oh, she’s good,” he grunts, head tipping back again. “Keep that perfect mouth moving, darling.”

My ears are ringing a little. Whether that be from the heat or the sheer overstimulation, it’s hard to tell, but I didn’t react right away. The next thing I knew, one of Azriel’s hands was fisting my hair, the other braced at the back of my head. I nearly choked when I was ripped away and then slammed down onto his cock a few times.

“You heard him, Yn. Take his cock like the good slut you are,” Azriel reprimanded. He continued to overpower me, making me work up and down on Cassian. I let my jaw go slack, along with my hands braced on Cassian’s thighs. I let out a content sigh as I was fucked on Cassian’s cock.

I rocked with Azriels movements. His grip singed my scalp and an ache formed in my jaw. It was familiar, ignorable, but present nonetheless. I was glad to have them doing all the work, it was far too hot in here to think clearly… even without the added exertion.

When Az decided I got the memo, he let go of my head and I continued the motions with steady practice. I closed my eyes, feeling every drop of sweat on my body. My thick, fleece lined leggings were beginning to soak through. Xaden’s calloused hands found their way to my waste and began to slide them off. With a pop, I pulled off of Cassian, giving my jaw a much needed break. Xaden peeled them from my legs, taking my underwear with them. But, before he let me sit back down, he laid down on his back, beckoning me to ease on top of him.

“Surely you’ll suffocate, it’s already unbearably hot in here,” I huff, catching my breath.

“Then I shall go doing what I love most,” the dragon rider replies. “Sit.”

I looked to Az, silently asking if this really was a smart decision. He just gave me a pointed nod with narrow eyes, a promise that if I didn’t listen he’d make working for my release miserable. So I obeyed without a second thought.

The moment his tongue curled into me, I sighed. Aimlessly, my hand worked tentatively up and down Cassian’s shaft, drawing a few sounds out of the General. “Let me fuck your throat, darling.”

There must’ve been a sparkle in my eye because I grinned, opening wide for him to do so. His length was thick. Almost too thick. And long. Fucks sake everything about him was big. I was up for the challenge. As it hit the back of my throat, I relaxed, letting his hands fall around my ears. It was gentle at first, his thrusts long and even. I moaned in tandem with the licks I was receiving from Xaden, my mind a melted, scrambled mess of ecstasy. With a particularly hard suck on my clit, I jerked the opposite way Cassian was going.

“Ah ah ah,” he chided, clicking his tongue. “You don’t get to run away from me. Take what you’ve been given. Be a good fucking girl, Yn.”

I glance up at him, throat too full to make any noise. A third set of hands– Azriels, so experienced and commanding, settled on my breasts, plucking and pulling. I could feel everything and nothing at the same time. My entire body was numb with pleasure, numb with exploration of the three of them.

Azriel. Xaden. Cassian. All three of them, the most powerful warriors of their respective worlds, all focused on one thing. One goal.

Me.

Cassian picked up his pace, the thrusts less deep, but far more firm. It was clear he was chasing his high, thick veins beginning to bulge in his arms… up his chest… in the column of his throat.

“She does such a good job at taking it,” Cassian praises. “Doesn’t gag, doesn’t complain. Look at all those pretty tears. All for me, darling? Do I fuck you so good you need to cry? It’s okay, I’ll lick them clean. Then make them spill down your neck again when I get to fuck your pussy.”

My heart thrashed in my chest, thighs shaking with the force of Xaden’s tongue against my core. I writhed my hips, breathing harshly through my nose every other thrust because that’s all Cass would allow. At some point Azriel’s hands left the mix. I couldn’t see him anywhere, but his presence remained. Those shadows replacing his skilled fingers.

My body was wound tight. I was already anticipating a fun night with just Azriel and Xaden. But now? With Cassian? A new fire had been set ablaze inside me. And it needed– no, demanded, to be let out. I tried to warn Xaden, I tried to ask for permission, but I couldn’t with Cassian’s grip on my head. I fiercely moaned, hips shaking so badly that Xaden had to lock me in place.

“You can let go,” Azriel commanded from somewhere behind me. I silently thanked him.

Like a crack of lightning, my release barreled through me. I came so hard my vision whited out, a faint ringing bounding between my ears. Moans of pure pleasure spilled out of me and right onto Cassian. The extra vibrations must’ve done wonders from him because his grip faltered, as well as his pace. His head slumped forward and his eyes rolled shut.

“Fuuuuck, whatever you’re doing to her, Riorson, you better not fucking stop. Keep her moaning like that. Fuck I’m gonna cum so hard. Want it, pretty pet? Want my cum down your throat, filling your belly?”

He released my head, bidding me to give a verbal answer. After what Xaden just did to me, I’m not sure that’s physically possible. “P-Please, sir” I sigh out, my voice in an atrocious state already. “Wanna make you feel so so good.”

The use of ‘sir’ must’ve really done something to him. He sat up, a corrupt, unforgiving smile creeping onto his cruel lips. “Sir? That’s a dangerous game, my darling.”

“She doesn’t mind a little bit of danger, does she?” Azriel grips my hair again, pulling my head back so I have to look up at him. I nod carefully, the strain in my neck almost too much. “Yes she does. Now get to it, I'm getting impatient.”

Bad things happen when Azriel is left uncared for. And who was I to make him suffer?

I stuck out my tongue, a silent beg for Cassian to slip back in. He did without further coercion. The first time my nose brushed the soft hair on his pelvis, I could’ve sworn it was an accident. The second time, I realized it wasn’t. I couldn’t breathe, a small panic settling in every crevice of my body. I tried to keep calm, but between a relentless Xaden under me and a ruthless Cassian in front, it was near impossible.

“F-Fuck fuck fuck fuuuucccckkkk,” Cassian shouted, the muscles in his thighs and abdomen flexing. “Gonna take it all? It’s gonna be a lot, can you handle it, darling? Yeah I think you can. I’ll make you either way. Stay niiiiice and still for me- oh fuck-”

At the last second, he pulls me off about an inch and the humid, sweat filled scent of air floods into my nose. I drink his release down. It’s thick and warm, salty and abundant. I hum around him as I swallow and swallow and swallow. My eyes fill with tears yet again and they escape down my cheeks.

Cassian shudders. With gentle laps of my tongue, I clean him up. He watches me attentively. I can’t help the smile that forms on my lips when our eyes meet.

“You…” he breathes heavily, chest swelling and falling. “You are a little devil, aren’t you?”

The Illyrians hand wraps around my throat and he pulls me to my feet, and off of Xaden. The way our tongues met could’ve moved mountains. He was not shy in showing how much he wanted me. I melted into him, straddling his thigh and letting my arms drop to my sides.

Azriel played with my hair, hands caressing my ass. Together, they brought me down, content to let me relax for a few minutes.

“You did so well, pet,” Azriel cooed, dragging his tongue over the shell of my ear.

“So fucking good,” Cassian murmured against my lips. “Such a good little girl.”

I could hear Xaden climb to his feet, the sound of his hand stroking his cock loud in the otherwise quiet room. “I will never, ever, get tired of making her cum on my tongue.”

“Should I have a taste?” Cassian asked, placing small bites on my throat.

“I actually had something else in mind,” I sighed out, getting lost in all the hands and tongues. He gave me a curious look, but I just smirked, easing onto shaking legs and turning around so my ass was in Cassian’s lap. “I want to play a game.”

“A game?” There is an obvious hint of danger in Cassian’s voice? “What kind of game?”

“I want you and Xaden to fuck me, and I want Azriel to tell you when to move and when to stop.”

I haven’t yet brought it up to Azriel and Xaden, but I’ve always wanted to do this. A game of red light green light. To give full control and power to him, making us work for our pleasure. I look at Azriel, gauging his response, but he just grabs my chin, bringing our faces level.

“Yeah? You wanna play a game? Want to be treated like a literal pet? Taking commands and performing tricks?” His voice is thick with desire, so low only we could hear it.

My heart skips a beat. I hadn’t thought about it like that before. But the idea is… it’s-

“Look at her face, Cass,” Xaden tilts his head mockingly. “She wants it so bad, don’t you, pretty girl? Would you like a collar, that way if you get lost they know who you fucking belong to? Gods she’s so red. Don’t be embarrassed, pet. We know just how much you love being fucked full of cock and cum.”

“Sit on his dick, Yn,” Azriel orders. “Now.”

Silently, I hover over his lap, letting Cassian guide my hips. At the first press of his tip, I gasp. A new thrill thrummed through me.

Azriel comes and stands in front of me, cupping my cheeks. “I know he’s big, but you’re gonna take all of him. And you’re going to like it because you asked for it. So, here’s your first trick. Sit.”

The Shadowsinger pushes on my shoulders, leaving no option but to take Cassian all the way. All. The. Way. My breath is lodged in my chest with no room to escape. I can’t think. Can’t hear. Can’t see. Can’t even begin to process what is about to happen.

“Oh, good girl Yn,” Xaden praises, still stroking himself. “Look at how pretty she looks, Az.”

Cassian grunts behind me, hooking my legs over his knees so the others can see him buried inside me. I cry out at the shift, feeling him go deeper and deeper. Gods, he feels like he’s everywhere.

“Cassian, why don’t you play with her nipples,” Azriel instructs, walking back and forth in front of us. “Xaden, give her something to suck on.”

“With pleasure,” Xaden grins, those onyx eyes narrowing on my mouth. I go to protests, but then I realize just how hard he is. How flushed his skin is. And I need to taste it, to relieve him of his torture.

He traces my lips with the tip, coating them in his slick. With a heady pant, I stick out my tongue to invite him in.

A hand cracks down on my thigh. I scream out, more in shock than in actual pain. Azriel’s hand was the culprit.

“Did I say you were allowed to taste it yet?” His eyes are swirling with lethality. I bite my tongue to keep myself from saying something stupid. “Well?”

“N-No,” I say meekly. “I’m sorry. May I taste it, Az? Can I please taste Xaden?”

After a minute of letting the question hang in the air, building suspense, he nods. Greedily, I take Xadens hips and bring his cock towards my mouth.

It’s such a glorious sound to hear when Xaden curses low. A deep rumble in his chest letting me know this is exactly what he needed. Without moving– fearful I’ll get another smack– I look at Az, awaiting my next instruction.

“Fuck her throat, Xaden,” Az says, eyes scanning out bodies. “Start fucking her nice and slow Cassian. Really savor her, make her moan just like Xaden did for you.”

At the same time, both of their bodies start sliding in and out of me. They find a rhythm instantly: Cassian fucks me forward onto Xaden, and Xaden fucks me back onto Cassian. It’s easy enough to let them do all the work, my bones and liquid at this point anyway. All I know is pain, pleasure, and unfiltered need for these males.

I moan deeply as Cassian hits that spot inside me. Xadens hip stutter, his head tipping back as Cassian hits it over and over again.

“Does that feel good, Xaden?” Azriel asks, gripping his hair at the root, whispering right in his ear. “To have our girls' mouths all around you?”

The dragon rider nods as best he can with Azriel’s grip. “Fuck yes.”

“Make her stop.”

“W-Why?”

“Because I told you to. Yn, stop,” Azriel demands. I instantly pull my mouth away from Xaden, even if it makes me want to scream and thrash and beg for it back. I need it, need to taste it, need to feel him cum down my throat. “See, she listens to me. Do I need to punish you too?”

“No,” Xaden shakes his head. “I’ll listen.”

“Yes you will.” Azriel gives a fake smile. “On your knees.”

Xaden sinks to his knees.

“Suck on Yn’s clit. Make her cum on Cassian’s cock.”

The sight of Xaden, on his knees, cock leaking continuously, does something to me. It gives me ideas for later. He helps push open my legs, even when the first brush of his tongue makes me see stars. Cassian has to wind his arms around mine to keep me from sliding off. I know he’s strong, but to be able to hold me still and keep fucking me is…

“Good boy, Xaden,” Azriel praises, brushing his hair away from his face. “Just like that, make our pretty girl cum.”

It’s not going to take long. His laps are so soft, so gentle, and it works far faster than I’d like to admit.

“Az- Az can I cum?” I ask, just to be cautious. I do not want to have this taken away from me. I can’t have it taken away from me.

“Yes, pet. Cum as much as you want.”

It’s like music to my ears. It’s building and building. In my core, at the base of my spine. Behind my eyelids. It’s fucking everywhere. My vision goes white and an embarrassing noise tears from my soul. I writhe on Cassian, driving him further and further inside me. Sweat is dripping off me in buckets. Fuck it is so fucking hot in here.

“Very good Xaden,” Azriel says. “What a good boy, making our pet cum so well. You can stuff your cock back down her throat. She looked so sad to see it go. Go ahead and cum, fill her up nice and full. Cassian, get up.”

Suddenly I’m on my feet being steadied by several pairs of hands. The way Cassian is looking at me, the way he’s breathing, tells me I’m in trouble. The glances passed between Az and Cass worry me. The next thing I know I’m on my knees and elbows, ass up in the air.

“Sit on the floor, Xaden,” Azriel commands. “Right in front of Yn. Yup, there you go, now just let Cassian fuck her onto you.”

A shudder runs through my entire body when Cassian slips back in. I swiftly take Xaden down, mainly because if I don’t I’m going to go crazy. The delicious, sweet taste of him fills me once again and I hum in content.

“Don’t hold back Cassian, chase exactly what you want. Fill up her pussy as much as you want, she can take it.”

“Fucking hell, Az. Are you trying to kill me?” Cassian chuckles, letting his motions pick up pace. Every snap of his body into mine sends waves of pleasure down my spine. It rolls through me and allows me to take even more of Xaden in my mouth. “I’ll never get over just how fucking tight she is.”

“Malek spare me…” Xaden curses. I get to watch Xaden fall apart and a new thrill fuels my motions. I lose all concept of time, I have no idea what is going on. All I know is Cass is fucking me like his life depends on it, and that Xaden is holding on for dear life.

I suck as hard as I can, pressing my tongue into the bottom side of his cock. I can’t pay attention to the most sensitive areas of him, mainly because Cassian if fucking me too hard to let me. Hopefully I can make him see stars anyway.

“F-Fuck Yn, I’m gonna cum,” he warns, knees falling open. “Oh fuck I’m gonna cum.”

“Give it to her, Xaden,” Azriel kneels beside Xaden, hand trailing over the muscles in his chest.

I watch the muscles in his abdomen clench with every breath. He scrunches his eyes closed and I brace for him, letting his hips rut as fast as he wants. With a long, drawn out growl, Xaden releases down my throat. I do my best to swallow it all, but between the angle and Cassian's relentless thrusts, I let a few drops spill out.

Xaden is throbbing on my tongue, his sounds of pure pleasure fill my ears, filling me with deep satisfaction.

“Can’t fucking take it anymore,” Azriel rips me off of Xaden and takes his place. I’m hauled up onto my palms, Azriel’s cock bobbing in front of me. Before I can take it between my lips, Azriel bends down to my level, licking the droplets of Xadens cum off my lips.

I went as still as a statue. Tingles spread from the tips of my fingers to my toes. I watched him swallow, his Adam's-apple bobbing. I was at a loss for words. If he wanted me to speak, it’d be impossible.

Thankfully I didn’t have to. He filled my mouth, not wasting a second.

“Xaden, will you go grab those towels?” Azriel asked, hands trailing over my shoulders.

“When I can move,” he responded, making the Shadowsinger and the General laugh. I swore I could feel the rumble of his laughter through his cock.

“Not gonna last much longer,” Cassian warns, adjusting his grip on my hips.

“Wait.” Azriel urges, “Give me one minute.”

Cassian stills, and I whine in discontent. A second later, his hand smacks my ass, undoubtedly leaving an imprint of his hand. “Don’t complain, pet. Or you won’t get anything at all. You should be grateful to be stuffed full of our cocks. That’s no way to disrespect a guest.”

Azriel is unforgiving as he fucks my throat, his pace fast and hard. To be fair, he has been waiting a long while for his turn. It doesn’t take long for him to start showing signs of nearing his high. He grabs both sides of my sweat-soaked head, and I feel drops from his own body–and Cassians–land on me.

“Want my cum?” Azriel asks, pulling me off. “Want me to cum down your little throat, pet?”

“Yes yes yes,” I slur my words together. “Please gimme all of it, need all your cum. Wanna taste you so bad.”

“Yeah you fucking do,” Azriel’s grin is sinister. He knows exactly what to say to make me squirm. “Drink it all up, slut.”

When he finally gives me what I want, I don’t dare waste a drop. I leave no mess to clean up as he cums all the way down. There’s nothing I can do but swallow, swallow, swallow.

I begin to lose some consciousness, the heat and over exertion finally catching up to me. I feel Azriel slip out, praising me and telling me how good I did. I think I nod, but Cassian resumes his motion and I forget about everything. I can only focus on him pounding into my pussy, getting so deep I have to let out little noises every time he does.

“She’s so fucked out,” Xaden says from… somewhere.

“Yeah she is, she looks so good. Limp and used. So fucking hot, Yn,” Azriel agrees.

I moan in response. It’s about all I’m capable of at this point. And it feels so good. Everything they did to me, every thrust from Cassian feels like I’m floating. I close my eyes and let him finish me.

As Cassian lets go, I feel him pin my shoulders to the ground, ramming his hips as hard as he can into me, filling me up nice and tight full of his cum. There's a big stretch, and then an almost immediate release. His warm slick flows out from around him and down the inside of my thigh. Tears or exhaustion and pleasure streak down my cheeks and fall onto the wood floor of the sauna.

Eventually, I’m laid on my back. I can barely open my eyes, but I feel a tongue lapping between my legs. I try to inch away, but firm hands keep me from closing my legs. I whine.

“Ah ah,” I hear Cassian chide. “He’s just trying to clean you up. Be still. Here, drink this.”

A cup is pressed to my lips and I hungrily drink down. The salty, briny taste is washed from my tongue and my blurry vision begins to steady. I look down, seeing Xaden between my legs, his curly head soaked with sweat.

Cassian’s thumb brushes my cheek, collecting a small tear. “Aww, poor baby.” I watch as he licks it from his digit. It… gets me going faster than I’d like to admit. Then his tongue trails the length of my cheek. I shudder, letting out a tiny squeak. “Told you I’d lick them clean.”

“Alright that's enough, Xaden,” Azriel says from up above. “Let’s get her inside and cool off.”

“I just couldn’t help it, her pussy looked so good full of cum,” Xaden winks at me, and I can feel a flush of my cheeks and neck. “Even after all we’ve done together, I still make you blush.”

“Zip it,” I glared at him, failing to keep my smile at bay.

Cassian lifts me up, hugging me close to his chest. We’re all covered in sweat, but I don’t give a fuck. I just want to take a nice bath, curl up with my boys, and sleep into next week. A cold burst of air greets me as we step outside the sauna.

“Is she doing okay?” Azriel asks. I think it’s him that brushes hair away from my face.

“Mhm,” Cassian responds, giving my body a squeeze. “She's gonna be alright?”

“Yeah,” Xaden added. “She always recovers really well. She’s not afraid to tell us what she needs. But by this point we know what she needs.”

“My only request is a bath.”

“See?” Xaden chuckles, then plants a kiss on my head. “Feeling okay? Not too lightheaded?”

I make a noise that sorta sounds like an ‘mhm’, but it kinda comes out as a garbled mess. All three of them give a laugh.

“That was… more fun than I thought it was going to me,” Cassian sighed contently, padding down the hallway to one of the bedrooms. I'm set gently on the bed, propped up against Cassian. I am way too tired to open my eyes, but my ears track them all around the room. I can smell the soft lavender wafting from the bathroom. Hallelujah.

“Yeah, I’m glad you joined,” Xaden agreed, his fingers beginning to braid sections of my hair. “We’re just waiting on the tub to fill up, pretty girl. Then we’ll get cleaned up and go to bed. You did such an amazing job, taking us all like that. And the game? We’re going to have some more fun with that, aren’t we?”

“Yes we are,” I nodded, peeking open my eyes to find them all huddled around me. Azriel smiles sweetly, cupping my face, stroking his thumb back and forth across my cheek. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he whispers. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah,” I nod, clenching my hands to get some of the tingling to go away. “It was so hot in there.”

“We even turned down the heat before you got in there,” Xaden explained, tucking some hair behind my ear. “Did you have fun?”

“I always do, did you?” I asked, looking up at Cassian.

“In the beginning I was a little unsure but… now I’m hoping you’ll send word any time you wanna play again,” He grins, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “You were unbelievable.”

“Isn’t she something else?” Azriel looks at me fondly. “Baths ready, want to be by yourself or do you want one of us in there with you? Or… well, I guess we all can fit if that's what you want.”

“Well I’m certainly not going to wash my own hair,” I grin.

They all share a look, smiles creeping onto their mouths.

“I’ll get the shampoo,” Azriel winks.

“I call the conditioner,” Xaden stands, following Azriel into the bathroom.

I can’t help but laugh.

“Are they always like this?” Cassian watches as they root around in a cabinet, smelling the different bottles.

“Yes, they’re too kind to me.”

“I think it’s well earned,” he smiles, helping me stand. “Come on, let's go.”

I let him lead me in, making sure I get a good look at his ass. Damn. just… damn.

“I could ask Feyre to commission a painting, it’ll last longer,” he says cockily.

I give it a smack. With a helping hand from Azriel, I sink into the tub, and let the water cool off my skin. I lean back, wondering how I got so damn lucky.

727 notes · View notes

cupcakeslushie · 6 months ago

Note

For your brainwash au, do we get so see exactly how Donnie got captured by Kendra? And would this au be a full comic or just bits and pieces here and there? (Not pressuring just curious) Love the au and I hope you’re having a good day! :)

Don’t know why, but I felt like writing this part out instead of drawing it! (Sorry for bad grammar. I wrote this lying in bed, sleep deprived and did no editing)

——

The sad, pained look on his little brother’s face is enough to set off that dark protective fire in Donatello’s belly. And Michael has been a tiny storm of negative emotions since Leo slapped the small cast on his ankle. Donnie may not be able to pick apart and decipher all of the subtitles his brother is feeling right now, but he knows he’s in pain, and that’s enough.

“How many strips of bacon do you think we can get from Meat Sweat’s corpse?” Donnie ponders as he wraps an arm around his little brother’s shoulders, and carefully pulls him closer. Mikey lets out a quiet huff, but the joke doesn’t land the way Donnie had been hoping.

“Michael?”

“I’m okay,” Mikey assures. Then a hesitant second later adds, “it’s stupid.”

“Oh well if it’s stupid, allow me to grab ‘Nardo. He might be able to help you better.”

That gets the laugh he was looking for.

“I’m not in pain or anything. It’s just, tonight was the midnight signing of Joshua Bear’s new cook book. He’s a YouTuber chef that I’ve been following for years, and I went to his first release…I really wanted the second for my collection.”

Donatello does vaguely remember Angelo telling Raph something about this event last night, during dinner. He’d been so excited, and now he looks crushed at the idea of missing it.

“What if I went?” At the suggestion, Mikey��s face becomes brighter than a super nova, almost too bright for Donnie to stare at directly. It takes a moment for Michael to really calm down enough to speak.

“You’d really go wait in line for three hours? Just to get a book?” Donatello laughs at the question. Any opportunity in which his brothers were interested in the world of literature, no matter the subject (except maybe geology) was a time to be supportive.

Mikey pulls him in for a tight hug, and holds up his phone to snap a picture of them. Donnie snorts and slides out of his little brother’s hammock, careful not to disturb it too much. Mikey is already bouncing enough that he’s in danger of falling out.

“Yes, yes. Sing my praises on all your media socials. Let the world know how I’m your favorite older sibling!” Mikey drops the phone to his chest and holds his arms up, practically vibrating for one more hug. Donnie complies. He’s long given up maintaining his bad boy image when it’s just the two of them.

“You’re the best, Donnie! Really!” The words do a hell of a job replacing that previous fury he’d been harboring, the smile and warmth coming from Mikey, now fully restored. The proper order of the universe righted with a simple solution. This was what he loved most about being a brother. Fixing his siblings problems, in any way he could. And if healing the broken bone outright was (for now) out of his control—at least he could do this.

Donnie glances at his watch and notes he should get going if the turn out is going to be as big as Angelo predicts. He sneaks past the living room where he can hear his other two brethren yelling over a game of Mario Kart. He has zero interest in either of his brothers tagging along. He loves them, but neither are suited to standing in a long line for hours. For the last Jupiter Jim reboot, Donatello was seconds away from a double fratricide before they were even allowed into the theater.

Besides. He’s practically 18 (in four weeks). He can run up to the surface for a few hours, without having to call upon the archaic buddy system.

———

He’s in line for about an hour, when he sees suspicious movement out the corner of his eye. A young woman, parting the line a little ways ahead from where he stands, walks quickly into the closest alley. That alone might be no cause for alarm—maybe it’s a short cut. But the tall, hooded creep trailing after her, has his metaphorical hackles rising. It’s a clear case of sinister intentions. He quickly glances around to see if anyone else has witnessed this, but he’s the only one who seems to be showing any type of concern. Typical New York.

“What a town” Donnie sighs. He doesn’t bother asking the old man behind him to save his spot, seeing as he’s practically at the end of the line, and quickly races to the alley to play hero.

It’s a deep one, the lights of the street not quite hitting all the eerie nooks and crannies. Plenty of blind spots.

“Hello there? Stalker and or damsel in distress? Is anyone in need of assistance? Anyone hopefully bear maced and in need of a being escorted to the nearest precinct?”

No answer.

The non-existent hairs on Donnie’s arms stand straight up. Just as he’s reaching for his ninpo to materialize a bo-staff, something thick wraps around his neck from behind. The arm is almost as big as Raphael’s, if lacking in the muscle department.

But before his can break the hold, the solid feeling of a needle slides into the meat of his neck and something rushes into his veins. Within seconds he’s released and stumbling from the lack of support.

Someone is talking to him. It takes a second of his gaze bouncing around to pick them out. Mildly embarrassing, considering they’re standing right in front of him now. Out of all the colors popping in and out of his vision, Donnie only just catches the same turquoise hoodie that seemed to belong to the unassuming young woman.

A honey pot trap, he realizes, stumbling and falling pathetically backwards on his own ass.

He sees pink hair and is almost relieved, if humiliated. With all their enemies, the Purple Dragons are D tier. But the chances he can free himself before his brothers even notice his absence is high. Just the thought of the savage teasing he would be forced to endure if his brothers found out—Donatello is not eager to hear any of it.

As the nauseating colors finally bleed away, and start to leave black growing in their wake, Donatello swears to cause a big explosion on his way out.

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise donnie #rise mikey #rise kendra #Kendratello au #ask slushie #rottmnt writing #kendratello au ask

520 notes · View notes

bell4donn4 · 8 months ago

Text

Getaway truck | a western road trip with Luke Castellan

Tags: established relationship,Luke and reader are basically the mom and dad of chb, reader’s godly parent is not specified.

Author’s note: tbh I’ve been lowkey obsessed w western Americana and road trips. I wanted this to be longer but whatever

The humid wind coming from the rolled down window gently messed up your hair.

You sat quietly on the passenger seat of the washed out green truck you and Luke rented. It must have been a Ford 1967, or some other kind of vintage model.

You couldn’t tell, and honestly, you didn’t bother to anyways, too busy looking out of the window admiring the desertic surroundings; sipping on your coca-cola.

<<you smudged your lipstick>> he glanced at you, taking his eyes off the road to send you a lopsided smile. One of his big and rough hands rested on your bare thigh, exposed by your jeans shorts.

It was mid summer, almost autumn time, yet the western country side never failed to drain you out with its scorching weather.

<<did I?>> you pulled down the visor, inspecting yourself in the small mirror; but you could tell he was right by the red stain on the metal can.

<<oh yeah, I did>>

Luke laughed lowly while he took a turn to the left, hand strong and firm on the steering wheel. You admired him in silence, a sort of pride filling your ego as you looked at your boyfriend.

That day, he wore a white linen shirt, which he (purposely) left unbuttoned on the chest, making his Hermes dog-tag visible. A pair of sunglass used to sit in the bridge of his nose, but were now long forgotten on the dashboard. It felt weird to see him without the bright orange shirt.

This little getaway from camp was going more than lovely. Finally free from all the responsibilities you both had to take on. You couldn’t even imagine how the camp must have looked like in that moment, with both of the two head counsolers gone.

<<do you think they set the cabins on fire?>>

<<for how long have we been away?>> Luke said

<< half a day?>> you nodded

<<yeah then, the woods are probably already burning as well. Along with the cabins and all>>

he hummed in approval at his own answer, earning a giggle from you.

He caressed your thigh with his thumb.

<<im joking, I’m sure the kids will be alright>>

<<you sound like an old dad>>

He shrugged his shoulders, grinning; but just as it started, the conversation slowly died down.

In the background of your comfortable silence, a low melody coming from the radio filled your ear.

With Luke, you didn’t need to talk. No many words need to be spoken with a man like him. You have been together enough to understand each other in silence. Plus— that should’ve been a sort of vacation from the chaos of camp.

So you preferred not to add anything else, simply allowing the worries to occupy the back of your mind.

You turned the music up as Molly Parton started playing.

You enjoyed the song, humming along the robotic notes coming from the radio.

Fortunately, by the time you arrived at your destination— a lake far far away from the one you had to see everyday— the worries were all gone. Replaced by that fuzzy feeling that only being with Luke could give you.

545 notes · View notes

asteroshearts · 11 months ago

Text

Date Night

Itadori tags along for one of your date nights and wonders how you have a completely different Nanami Kento than the rest of the world.

Nanami x Reader

Tags: she/her pronouns, public nudity?, third wheel itadori

"Good evening, we apologize for the wait. Thank you for calling Gyomei's Ginza branch. How may I help you today?"

"Hello." You could never get sick of his voice. "I have a reservation for Nanami at 19:00. I know it's last minute, but can we add another person?"

"That can be done: we can add another chair to the table you selected," the hostess responded. Grinning wildly, you turned in the passenger seat and met your fist with Itadori's. "Do you have any special requests for this party member?"

"Don't include the drink course for him," your husband stated. Broken beams of white light from the street lamps came and went across his glasses as he drove by. "He's a child."

"Of course, will this extra person need a high chair?"

A gasp rang in the car.

"That won't be necessary." Quickly shutting off the call, Nanami huffed as you burst out into giggles at Itadori's sputtering.

"Aw, he's our son, Kennie."

"Nanamin!" his pink-haired student cried from the back seat. "Why did you say that?! Now they're going to think I'm seven or something!"

"You are a child." The man didn't even bother to glance at the rearview mirror.

"Maybe we should've gone with the long con," you teased. "Do you think they would've given us a discount if we said that Yuji-kun was twelve? That could save us a bit of money at a place like this!"

"Do you think I'm broke?" Nanami scoffed before pressing down on the accelerator, taking off in Tokyo.

Itadori hadn't initially planned to crash your date night.

Although they had finished the assignment efficiently, Nanami noticed something was up with the teen despite how quickly they exorcised the curse. From the boy's slouched posture and tucked shoulders, Nanami easily got the boy to confess what was on his mind.

"Oh…it's my grandpa's birthday today…" Eyes facing the ground, his voice suddenly grew quieter. "It's the first time I've ever had it without him."

It would've been so simple to say his monotone condolences, take a step away, and move on with his day. However, one call to you later, you had no problem with inviting Itadori along your night with your husband. In fact, you were even more certain you had married the right man when he asked permission to bring his student and help take Itadori's mind off his late grandfather's birthday.

But, Itadori didn't want to third-wheel at his pseudo-teacher's date, wouldn't that be kinda weird?

Nanamin seemed just, so – well – cold. Don't get him wrong, he enjoyed the man as a mentor, but to tag along for a date? He wasn't sure how the blond managed to score a pretty girl like you as his wife, but he didn't want to spend a night with you while Nanami silently ate at his side.

However, when he brought it up to the group chat that Nanami might be paying for his meal at this place called "Gyomei", Nobara yelled at him loud enough that he could hear it through text. A Michelin-starred and free meal was something a teen boy like him couldn't pass up.

"Um!" Itadori called out to you after Nanami had parked in the underground garage of the high-rise you were going to. "Thank you again for inviting me!" Pink coloring his cheeks, you had mentioned earlier when Nanami picked you up that if they didn't allow reservation modifications, you would just let the deposit go and find another spot to have date night at. Not only were they in the most expensive area of Tokyo, but he knew from Gojo's blabbing that Nanami's coveted date nights were never a spontaneous event. They were planned weeks, even months in advance, to get you to the best venues, restaurants, and events. To think that you had just easily let him drag along…touched him more than you realized.

You chuckled at his attempt to bow in the backseat, folding your legs so you could turn in your seat. "It's no problem at all! It's always so fun to talk with you, Yuji-kun! Good thing they let us add another chair though, I've been wanting to try this place forever."

Although, he wondered why you weren't making an effort to get out of the car. Nanamin had parked a while ago, and you still haven't opened your door. Were you waiting for him to pay for your parking spot?

"Yeah! Gojo-sensei tells me these places usually don't allow modifications for reservations."

"Oh. That." Your shoulders fell before a large smile broke out on your face, laughing at your own joke. "Let me tell you a little secret, Yuji-kun." Leaning in closer and lowering your voice, you confessed, "We lie to Gojo."

Huh?

"He wants to crash our date nights all the time, but Ken would rather eat rocks than invite him," you said with a laugh. "So we lie and tell him it can't be done."

Door opening on your side, you perked up as light flooded your car and you turned you head up to gaze at your husband holding the door.

"What are you laughing about?" your grumpy husband asked. Although his voice was dull and drab, Itadori wondered how you managed to brighten up so much just at the mere sight of the blond man. He was even more confused at how you only stepped out of the car after Nanami had opened it, so much more different than the blond he knew who was strict and hated doing anything beyond the required effort.

To the Nanami who told everyone to drag their own baggage, this seemed like night and day, yet here you were, not even lifting a finger.

Where was the real Nanamin?

"Not at you," you reassured, slipping out as Nanami stepped back slightly. "At Gojo."

Face souring as if he had eaten a lemon, he quickly told you that he didn't even want to think of the white-haired man tonight, not when it was your night. "If you wanted to laugh at clowns, I should've taken you to the circus instead."

Holding on to his arm, you looked up at your husband. "Well then, good thing we have Yuji-kun with us, right? At least someone will laugh at my jokes today."

Exhaling tiredly, Nanami pushed up his glasses to hide the small quirk of his lips.

"Itadori-kun, what are you waiting for? Get out of the car."

Eyes widening, he jolted in his spot, clumsily opening the door and trying not the hit the car next to you. "R-Right!"

"Aww, maybe you should be the gentleman and open the door for him."

Rolling his eyes beneath his round glasses, he placed his hand over your hold on his bicep. "Do you think I open the door for everyone?"

In the background, Itadori watched as you were eye-to-eye with your husband.

Oh, he realized. It's still Nanamin. It was just that you got special treatment.

"You were a sorcerer too?!" Yuji shouted in the restaurant, far too loud for your comfort.

"Itadori-kun!" Nanami snapped from beside you, wine glass held up to his lips. Gasping at his mistake, he quickly scanned the restaurant, eyes skimming across lavish tables draped with silky white cloth, dainty lighting up above, and flower bouquets scattered across the room, but thankfully no wandering or surprised eyes from other patrons that were caught up in what he had yelled out.

"Sorry…" he said, dropping his eyes to look at the first few courses in front of him. Sighing, now Nanami was even more glad that he selected the most secluded table in the restaurant, far away from the other booked tables where everyone got an obstructed view of you three, but where he could see everything in the room.

You waved off your husband's irritation and squeezed his hand underneath the table. You waited until his knitted eyebrows relaxed a bit before you even thought of looking away.

"That's alright, Yuji-kun." You had met him before this, but you were sure that you had given off the impression of someone who was pampered and privileged as you opened up the door for Nanami and Itadori that one day in nothing but a simple chemise (that Nanami covered up before the teen's eyes) and your face mask on with your hair up. Certainly not battle-ready. Not to mention, you had introduced yourself as another office worker, leading Itadori to believe that was where you two met.

"You didn't know," you said understandingly before your eyes softened. "That's actually how Ken and I met — Oh, he was so different back then. He actually gave me a whole box of poetry inspired by our favorite emo bands back in — "

"Darling," he said sharply, rather than affectionately.

Laughing off the intense aura Nanami was giving off, you continued. "You know, I come from a pretty old sorcerer family. We were a big deal back in the Meiji period, but we all died off since then." With a shrug, you added, "My mom never wanted me to be a sorcerer anyway, so I guess it all worked out that I ended up quitting after graduation."

"Huh?" Itadori tilted his head in confusion. "If your mom didn't let you, how were you able to join Jujutsu Tech?" With those old coots around every corner, it was harder to get into JJ Tech than leave.

Barking out a laugh, you grinned at the pink-haired teen. "Cause I thought I was sooo edgy back then. I thought I was being so cool." Then, suddenly — you grew pacified as the onslaught of memories hit you. When you spoke up next, your voice was a lot quieter. "I was obsessed with being different and finding myself, I thought…" When your memories conjured up a certain brown-haired boy you had lost once upon a time, you faltered. "At graduation, I realized I ended up losing a lot more than I had discovered."

A large hand landed on your thigh, and you were only called back to earth after Nanami had given your leg a quick squeeze. Nothing suggestive or intense, but as you focused on the warmth of his palm and the feather-like touch of his fingers brushing across your skin, you focused again on the present.

"I was just lucky and landed myself a good job. My brother-in-law was one of the co-founders of a well-to-do startup, and they got me a cushy position, so I'm more than happy with what I have now." Placing one of your hands on top of Nanami's you made sure to point those last words at him, just to assure him. Righting yourself up to push these memories behind you, "And besides, I'm sure Ken has the short end of the — "

Slam!

When you blinked the splatters from your eyes, you realized what had happened around you. A tripped-over waitress was hands and knees on the ground, three dishes of your lamb roast had scattered across the polished wooden floors amongst shattered plates, and furthermore, your pristine button-up shirt was warm and drenched in dark red wine sauce.

"Shit," you muttered into the quiet air, and that was all you needed for chaos to descend from every corner. Itadori was yelling something in your ear, your husband was quickly trying to pat your shirt dry, the tearful waitress was extremely apologetic on her knees, and all while the owner of the establishment came rushing forward to see what the commotion was all about.

"What is the meaning of this!" the man roared, red in the face before whirling in on the girl. "Hima — !"

"M-Ma'am, I-I'm extremely sorry," she said with her head bowed while she was still on the ground. "I hope that you can please forgive me — "

"Hey," you said easily. The last thing you wanted was for a young girl to cry. "It's alright," you tried to speak up against the overlapping voices.

"Please forgive us," the owner said, head bowed as well while he gave her a nasty glare from the side. "She's new here. I assure you that this behavior is unacceptable here, and I'll be sure to — "

"Hey," you sternly spoke through. "It's fine. Really. Everyone makes mistakes," you said gently, keeping your eye carefully on the young girl. "And it's just a shirt. This will come off." Tilting your head up toward the blond man who was worriedly hovering around you. This was something that he gifted you. "This stain will come off, right?"

Giving you a quick nod, Nanami carefully pulled out the strands of hair attached to the side of your neck from the spill. "If it doesn't, I'll buy you a new one," he said immediately.

Quirking up your lip at him, you said, "That's unnecessary. Like I said, it's just a shirt." Catching the girl's eye contact, you said calmly, "Everything's fine. Please go patch your knee up." You excused her.

The boss seemingly wanted to argue, opening his mouth to argue as the girl thankfully nodded, hidden behind a curtain of her hair before she rushed away, but the sight of your husband's dark stare from over your shoulder, as he stood large, muscled, and broad, shut him up.

"Where's your bathroom?" you asked. Your shirt was becoming transparent and sticking uncomfortably.

The owner looked extremely apologetic again. "It's currently closed for cleaning, but I'll let my employees know — no more than five minutes — !"

"That's alright," you repeated shortly.

"Go get my wife a laundry bag and a towel." The owner certainly wasn't going to argue when your husband stood like a pillar behind you. Holding his clean hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, he breathed carefully. "As fast as possible."

"R-Right away." With a bow, the owner made another uneasy promise of covering your dry cleaning, restaurant bill, and that he would send someone to clean this up immediately.

"Kennie," you called. As the spill cooled, the sauce stuck to your skin and was starting to become oily and coagulated, overall unpleasant the longer it lingered. Cringing, you said, "I don't want to wear this shirt any longer, can you help me?"

No further words were needed. With a quick flash of movement, almost as fast as how he took down curses with his ratio, Itadori watched as the older man pulled his blazer off his body and stood to hold it up around you like a curtain.

The man's large arms were nearly encircling you, muscles flexing as he tilted his body and blazer to give you all the privacy you needed to change. Facing the ceiling-to-floor windows that gave you the grand view of the Tokyo skyline, you began unbuttoning your shirt.

Although Itadori caught a peek of the top of your lacy black bra, he quickly averted his eyes with pink cheeks, both out of shame, and with how Nanami's gaze could've set him on fire.

"You can put your shirt here," Nanami gestured, nodding toward the back of his chair. Nodding, you quickly dropped your wet shirt out of your hands, allowing Itadori to see the LEMAIRE tag poking out from the folds.

You patted yourself clean with the cloth napkins you had around the table, and you thanked Itadori as he handed you his. Once you cleaned off as much of the spill as possible, your bare shoulders finally met with the sleek silk lining of your husband's jacket. As you slipped your arms around the oversized jacket sleeves, Nanami finished helping you button up his jacket.

Taking a knee, the blond man cleaned up your chair before he let you sit down. The blazer was comically oversized on you, giving you broad shoulders from the sturdy padding, and the lapels gave you a low cut where your bra could still be seen, but it was better than nothing.

The blond man let out a deep sigh. If he wasn't in public, no — if you two were the only people at the table, he wouldn't waste any time to tuck his face in your shoulder or rest his head on your lap even.

"Darling," Nanami started, and immediately Itadori was shocked at how the stern and reserved Nanami seemed so soft. "This date's been a mess, I'm sorry — " Weak even, against your presence.

"Why are you apologizing?" you said with a chuckle. "The date has barely even started yet! And now we get free food!"

Giving you a frown he added, "What's the point if you had to be embarrassed like this?" Beautiful brown eyes peered up at you, and you swore you could never get sick of the sight, not even to this day.

"Embarrassed? I've done a lot more humiliating things as a high schooler — willingly too." With a grin, you reached over to pinch his high cheekbone. "And I love wearing your clothes anyway."

"I — "

"Nothing a shower won't fix," you interrupted him by grabbing his face and leaning over to give him an Inuit kiss. "And what's the matter with one 'ruined' date?" Holding up your hand, you showed off your grand wedding and engagement ring. "You locked me down anyway," you said cheekily. "I'm not going anywhere."

Yet the blond man looked regretful anyway. Ashamed that he made your night anything less than wonderful.

You wondered where it all came from, this insane pressure to give you what he deemed as a perfect life — the perfect adulthood, rather. Perhaps it was from how you constantly repeated how much you valued and appreciated him when he was being bogged down by competitive coworkers who walked all over him.

Or perhaps it was from the look on your face as you sat next to Haibara's body in the morgue, as the light slowly dimmed from your eyes.

Heart swelling with true love, you couldn't resist pulling the man forward for a real kiss. One deep and hearty, skin against skin, until space had never existed, and you could get your atoms to touch.

"Um..." Itadori squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.

Did you forget he was here?

#nanami x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #nanami kento #jjk nanami #jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami fluff

934 notes · View notes

raz-writes-the-thing · 1 year ago

Text

Perhaps It's Time (Doctor Who)

Tenth Doctor x GN!Reader 18+ ONLY / requests are open and encouraged

Summary: You think you're finally ready to have your cherry popped.

CW: virgin!reader, sort of implied smut, discussions around sex

Doctor Who Tag List: @nyxiethesimp @quickslvxrr @midnight--raine (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

It’s not necessarily something you’d thought about a whole lot. You just assumed like most other people that you’d be ready when you were ready. It wasn’t for lack of interest, either. You’d had partners before, but you were younger then, and while conceptually the idea of sex was appealing- when it got down to it, you just weren’t ready.

But that was then and this was now.

You’d been travelling with the Doctor for at least a year. Probably longer, if you really stopped to think about it. The two of you had gotten together sometime around month six or seven, and you hadn’t looked back since.

The Doctor was the best partner you could ask for. He took you on plenty of dates, made sure you had tasty things to eat, gave you cuddles whenever he could, and was very respectful of all your wishes and boundaries.

He’d never so much as laid a hand on your thigh with sexual intentions. And yes, while this was good at the beginning of your relationship, you were finding yourself growing more frustrated by the day with his lack of instigation.

“Hey, uh, Doctor?” You ask him, surprising yourself as the words slip past your mouth. The being in question turned towards you, a stick of red liquorice hanging out of his mouth. He hummed as an invitation for you to go on. “How come you haven’t- uh, how come we haven’t… you know.”

The Doctor’s brows furrow in confusion, and he removes the liquorice from his mouth, clearly resisting the urge to play with it.

“Oh, erm- haven’t really thought about it,” he replies, making the short trip over to stand before you. “That’s not me saying I don’t want to. I want to. Oh yes, I want to.” This is the first time you’ve noticed that lustful gleam in his eye, the colour darkening just a shade as he looks you over hungrily.

Your cheeks flush a shade darker. Just enough to be noticed. Your eyes are trained on his lips and the way he licks them as though he’s thinking about all the ways he could make you come undone with his mouth alone. Let’s be real, though, it wasn’t like you hadn’t been thinking about that since you got together either.

“So why haven’t we?” You ask breathily. The Doctor crowds you up against the console of the TARDIS, getting as close as he can without making you uncomfortable (as if he ever could). He gives you enough room to move out and away if you need to. Always so considerate of your feelings, the Doctor was.

“Well,” he replies, brushing a finger down your cheek softly. “Thought you weren’t ready. ‘Sides, I don’t mind waiting. I’m here for you, and you can take as long as you need to. I’m not going anywhere, am I?”

The change in tone from dark and lustful to soft and caring almost gives you whiplash, but you also appreciate it. How could you ever fall for anyone else? Answer, you couldn’t. Maybe you’d never had your cherry popped because you were simply waiting for the Doctor.

“I think I’m ready,” you say, biting at your lip. The Doctor grins, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. He pulls away and kisses you hard on the mouth. His lips still taste of liquorice and you melt against him.

“I- I don’t want to right now,” you add dazedly when he gives you space to breathe. You’re flushed from head to toe, heart swelling with happiness. “But I’m ready, I think. For when we want to.” And when you have the time. That prerequisite was also pretty important for something like this.

“I don’t need it to be special, just- when it happens it happens.”

The Doctor winked, sticking his red liquorice back into his mouth with a wide grin.

“Sounds spontaneous. I like it.”

You bet he does.

694 notes · View notes

cheriladycl01 · 8 months ago

Note

Could you do fic for Checo Perez with wife reader? He had some insecurity about his abilities to race against the grid and she just hugged and comforted him. Add something else to it if you want to. Tag me later Thanks!! :))

The pressure is insane… - Sergio Perez x Wife! Reader

Plot: Checo replacing Alex was probably the best thing to happen to him in his Formula One career. However, so much pressure comes from being in that second Red Bull seat, not just the team but the fans too, and Checo doesn’t like the pressure on him.

When Checo came into the seat, and performance wasn’t great, people in the team told him it would be fine and to keep his head up because everyone knew he was getting used to how different the Red Bull Car is thanks to Max’s driving style.

But at it came to his second season, and it didn’t seem like things were improving much, Christian kept talking to him, explaining what was expected of him as if he hadn’t already informed him over 100 times.

He was just struggling with a car that was clearly built for their main driver, which is why Pierre crumbled under pressure and it’s why they couldn’t put up with Alex when he didn’t learn the car quick enough for them.

The gave Checo the benefit of the doubt throughout 2022, but when Red Bulls most dominant season came around it was without a doubt that your husband had to step up.

And in your eyes he had, getting two race wins under his belt, but he wasn’t consistent enough for Christian and it seemed that he wanted Checo to be actually challenging Max more.

It got worse when the Ferrari and McLaren started to beat him despite being in the worse car, and it was deemed a ‘driver issue’

Sergio felt awful, for a man who had been racing for as long as he had, he never felt doubtful of his abilities to put on a show and drive to the best of his ability.

But now, in the Red Bull seat, he actually understood the words ‘under pressure’ because he was under it constantly.

“Baby what’s wrong with you, you’ve been jittery all week” you ask your husband who was currently watching over some of his old races with a notepad.

“Hmmm?” He asks not even throwing a glance in your direction.

You knew he wasn’t listening.

“Well I just think that when aliens invade Earth that we should have a bunker ready and prepared so that you and I can help create a new civilisation after the government kill them all …” you say trying to grab a reaction from him.

“Hmmm yeah that’s really nice” he starts but then he looks up and his head cocks to the side as if his brain just processed the words you said. “Wait what?” He asks.

You chuckle and little bit happy to have his attention.

“I just wanted to see if you were listening, I asked what’s been up with you lately” you say softly, taking a seat next to him, reaching over to grab the remote and pause the race he was observing so his full attention was on you.

“Nothing wrong, I’m fine” he lies.

“Hermoso, we’ve been married for 6 years, I know when somethings up” you smile taking his hand into yours and kissing the back of it softly while watching for his reaction.

“I just … nevermind it’s stupid” he sighs looking down.

“None of your feelings are stupid baby, please let me in” you say calmly.

“I just feel like, I’m so singled out on the grid. You’ve got so many amazing drivers and then there’s me. Lewis is a 7x world champion, and and Max my own team mate has won 2, and he’s probably going to win this year by a landslide and then there’s Fernando again he has two championships, and then you’ve got all this new talent in Lando, and Charles and Carlos and now that Oscar is here, it’s getting tough” he admits and you softly smile at him.

“Where have all these doubts come from honey?” You ask, you knew he didn’t think he was the best driver, but he never once compared his abilities to individual drivers.

“Christian said that if I didn’t improve he’d replace me with Yuki, Liam or Daniel and that i might not even get a AlphaTauri seat as a replacement” he says putting his face in his hands with a soft sigh.

You pull him into a hug in which he nuzzles his head into your neck.

You are an incredible driver, there’s just such an insane amount of talent on the grid right now, you being one of them. World champion or not baby, your still one of only 20 drivers in the world that are here! Your a race winner and I’m so proud of everything you’ve done. You are incredible” you smile wrapping your arms around him while you feel him shake a little, presumably where he’s crying.

“Im just awful at it all. Driving, being a husband … you’ve been asking for a baby for 3 years and I keep telling you no because I’m so career focused but I can’t even seem to be good at that career” he complains and you almost laugh.

“Oh honey, I think you forget you are without a doubt the best thing that’s ever happened to me, child or no child. And where you aren’t ready because your at a point in your career that is crucial, I’ll always understand that darling. You are all I need, you are all I want. And I married you because I’m happy with you” you say tightening your hold on him.

“You know, I would never not be ready to have a kid. If you want one, we can have one. I’d never say no” he argues wiping his eyes and looking at you, only for you to release a breath of relief.

“Thank god, that night in Saudi Arabia really stuck” you admit and he cocks his head to the side not understanding. You take his hand and place it on your stomach, there wasn’t much of a bump, but a slight and minuscule weight gain was there. Enough that when he run his hand over your tummy he could feel it.

“Are you saying?” He asks and you nod.

“I know, I know it’s not the right time because your so stressed and I’ve been so nervous to tell you because I know you’ve had a lot on your plate since being in Red Bull and it was such a shock to me” you start to ramble thinking you should have waited.

“No this is the best news ever! This has made my day, my week, my year even!” He smiles before lifting you up and twirling you round.

“I love you” he says pulling you in for a kiss, happy with life.

And now he didn’t have anything to worry about, as long as he was able to provide for you and your child or children in the future he knew he could handle the pressure because now there was something else riding on it!

A/N: hey guys I didn’t realise tumblr only lets you do 50 tags per post! So I’m not sure what to do about taglist anymore? Any suggestions?

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @seomako @urdad-hot @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount @styl1shl1v

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfiction #sergio perez x you #sergio perez imagine #sergio perez x reader #sergio checo pérez #sergio perez #checo perez #sp11 x reader #sp11 #sp11 x you #sp11 fic

207 notes · View notes

kokomos · 1 year ago

Text

𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗬𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗦𝗛𝗘 𝗪𝗔𝗡𝗧𝗦

abby anderson knows what you're capable of, and she knows you can take it and still keep your manners.

tags: explicit content, soft! dominant abby, strap-on sex

It always starts the same way. Your hands, her muscles. Is it really your fault she looks so good in that shirt? She’d be simply toying with you if she didn’t let you feel her up. After all, you’re just appreciating the hard work she’s put into that body of hers.

Your hands alone are enough to send her own towards your hips, pulling you closer. She’ll take the opportunity to grab a handful of your ass while you keep yourself busy. Eagerly, she pulls you into her lap where she attacks your neck with a mix of kisses and soft nips. She’s known to leave a hickey or two if you really get her going.

Abby can’t take a lot of foreplay, she may be patient in other areas of life but the bedroom is not one of them. She’ll have you laying on the bed with your legs around her in no time.

It’s big of course, she prefers fucking you with something impressive in girth and length.

She restrains herself, going in slow for your sake, despite wanting nothing more than to fuck you into the mattress already. Her fingers help line the strap-on up before she puts the tip in, your thighs trembling slightly from the new stimulation.

"Fuck, how's that feel, babe?" She examines your face, looking for an answer without words. When you mutter a small praise to let her know you’re comfortable, she’s already moving to add a couple more inches inside. With your legs around her figure, she’s hitting such sensitive spots. But it’s too much right now, it’s been awhile since she’s fucked you properly and you’ve lost your once admirable endurance.

"Abby." You manage to get out between moans, "I can't, please."

She doesn’t miss a beat, slowing her stroke down in response to your pleas. Intricate kisses on your neck attempt to soothe the discomfort of the strap’s size.

"Come on, baby, I know you can take it. You take it so well for me every time." Abby's words of encouragement combine with the sudden sensation of her fingers on your clit. The discomfort from the size ultimately subsides as she puts all her effort into getting you used to the strap again.

"Faster." Your words of encouragement provoke a grinding stop in her movements.

"I don't think I heard a please, baby. Gotta ask nicely 'cause I'm being so nice to you, okay?" She insists.

You manage to spit out, "Faster, please. " And that's all she needs to hear before moving again; pulling the strap almost all the way out and pushing in at a now painstakingly slow pace to savor the way you take her size.

"You feel so good baby, so perfect." She’s practically grunting the words out at this point, "Gonna make you cum on this dick."

And the pace picks up again, she's slamming her hips almost relentlessly into yours. Her movements hold so much power that the bed starts shaking, the old frame creaking in sync with the way your bodies clash. It's not long with Abby before you're holding onto her, squeezing your legs hard as ever around her form. The noises and faces you're making are enough to make her cum untouched; but with each thrust, the fabric from the strap-on hits her clit just right, perfectly aligning with what she's making you feel.

"Cum for me, cum babygirl." She murmurs, kissing along your collarbone. You're so close, every touch on your body drives you closer to that edge; one thrust hits perfectly and it sends you over. Desperately pounding into you, she tries to get both of you to ride the long high together.

After the come-down, Abby pulls out as slow as possible, she likes to admire all your slick around the strap. It's hard for her to resist just fucking you again when you're all splayed out with your legs wide open for her.

She can't help but ask, "Another round?"

— ♡☆

#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson imagine #abby anderson x you #tlou #tlou2 #the last of us #the last of us 2 #the last of us x reader #the last of us imagine

672 notes · View notes

last-starry-sky · 2 months ago

Text

kinktober day 5 - foreplay only // knifeplay

ghost x soap x f!reader - (continued in day 6 here)

[MDNI - NSFW - MIND THE WARNINGS: 1k, NONCON: forced PDA, restraint, knifeplay, implied kidnapping. No actual sex but this is insane as hell! Stay safe and don't read if any of the above makes you uncomfortable! If I forgot any warnings, please let me know!]

tag list (lmk if you'd like to be added!): @slut-lmao, @mishaglass

“P-please! Please . . . n-no,” you sputtered out, hands held up instinctively in surrender as you backed away.

The large man just continued to stare at you. The alley is dark, barely lit from either end by the street lights. Dark enough that you almost ran into him. You backed away from him immediately, more embarrassed than scared. You can see he’s in all black, perfect camouflage to melt into pitch-black alcoves and back doors. That’s not what scared you, though. He could have been taking the same shortcut as you, or minding his own business, not that you cared now. It’s the oversized knife in his hand that has your heart racing.

“I didn’t mean to- I’ll leave! I’m leaving! Please just-” you try to bargain as you back farther and farther away from him. He continued to stare at you, broad shoulders hunched, face hidden in the shadow of his hood. When he makes no move to follow you, you allow yourself to think you’ll be safe. Just one more weird encounter to add to your list since moving to the city.

You relax your arms to your sides with a sigh. Your eyes are still on the man, just in case he decides to try anything. He doesn’t. He’s still standing where you ran into him, large size menacing enough to push you away without a single action or word. You’re just about to turn on your heels and run the fuck out of there (and all the way home, the long way) when a strong arm suddenly braces across your chest, pinning your arms uselessly to your side.

“Well, wouldjae lookit this now?” the man behind you said, his northern accented voice full of excitement.

Your mouth opened to scream, but his other hand was quick to seal over your mouth. His fingers press insistently into your jaw, not too hard but enough. A warning. His hand turned your head up to face him, strangely wanting you to see your attacker and all of his distinguishing features: his blue eyes, high cheekbones, the mohawk, and a mouth turned up in a cruel, elfin smile. You try to kick and wiggle away, but he, like the other man, is too strong. He effortlessly picked you up with just one arm, making you stand on your tip-toes, splayed open on the tops of his boots, pinned to his chest.

“Lively lil’ sprite, ain’t she Ghost?” he said to the other man.

As if he’s been activated, he began to move down the alley. His hulking, black-clad form was a terrifying thing to see in motion. Before you can even think to struggle again, he’s right in front of you, sandwiching you between their bodies. He towers over you and the man holding you. Good lord, you think. The knife you’d only caught a glimpse of before is right in front of you now. He held it casually in one hand, black gloved fingers dancing on the grip, making the cruel length of it bounce. The dull metal blade caught the weak light of the street lamp, winking at you.

He, Ghost, pressed the flat of his blade to your outer thigh, right below the hem of your skirt. You shiver against the cold metal, only your thin tights separating it from your skin.

“Yeah,” he answered, voice deep and rough as he slid the knife up your hip, not caring that your skirt was brought up with it.

You whine behind the man’s hand as Ghost carefully pivoted the knife under your skirt to trail along the elastic band at the top of your tights. You squeezed your eyes shut when you felt the knife stop. If they were going to kill you, it would happen right now. You know it. Ghost's other hand grips at your waist, thumb pressing up and under your shirt.

“Move yer hand, Soap,” Ghost instructed, flipping the blade of the knife around to face him before pulling against your skirt. The fabric doesn’t stand a chance against the sharp steel. With a barely audible riiip, it fell to the ground between your and Soap’s feet. “Wanna hear her.”

“Only if she’ll be gooood,” Soap cooed, sing-song sweet as he tips your head to press his mouth to your head. Just the sound of his voice sends you trembling. His thick fingers on your mouth splay open just a little. “Scream ‘n, well . . .” he said softly into your hair, the threat hanging as open as the blade stroking the center seam of your tights.

It’s the barest of stimulation, and, given the situation, it should not be arousing you. The hardness of the metal is nothing like your toys at home. Even fingers and real body parts have never had the same unforgiving press like the weapon in his hand. Still, you feel your slick cooling against your core now that you’re exposed to the night air. As the tip of his blade draws upward, catching the delicate knit of elastic, it ripples and whirs. When it paused over your clit you let out a little sigh. You thought it would be too soft for either of them to hear, but they did.

Ghost stopped, a surprised huff falling from his mouth, like he can’t believe what he’s heard. Soap groaned behind you. He dropped his hand from your face. Instead, he drew you tighter to his chest, squeezing your breasts with both his muscled arms.

“Hear that Ghost?” Soap asked, nuzzling his face down to your ear.

With a flick of his blade, Ghost slashed open the front of your tights, exposing your soaked panties.

“Sure did,” he responded.

With another quick flick of his hand, Ghost flipped the large knife so that he could grip it by the blade. Now wielding the handle, he brought the warm grip up to rest against the gusset of your panties. You jumped at the sudden feeling, feeling a blush spread across your face. How embarrassing, you thought. Two strange men were having their way with you in an alleyway of all places, and you were enjoying it. You had to be sick, truly not right in the head. You bit your lip to prevent yourself from letting any other noises come out. You couldn’t let them know how this was really making you feel.

The grip on your waist tightened as Ghost began to saw the handle back and forth across the lace of your panties. Your slick had already soaked the fabric, leaving almost no friction in his cruel movements. You whined behind your teeth when he pulled the knife back, letting the blunt end of the grip draw up through your covered folds, bumping your clit as he pulled away.

You watched, stomach dropping, as he brought the handle up to his masked face. He gave the handle an audible sniff. He hummed behind the skull-print balaclava, eyes falling closed in pleasure, before pressing it to Soap’s mouth.

“Wet,” he said, low and simple, to the other man. You managed to turn your head up in time to see Soap stick out his tongue. He licked a fat stripe of your juices along the handle as his own saliva dripped from his mouth. “Think she like it,” he added, pulling the knife away before sliding it back into whatever hidden place he carried it.

“Think she likes us,” Soap sighed, eyes half closed as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. He squeezed you in another lung-compressing hug, forcing a squeak from you. “Comm’on Si,” he said turning to look at Ghost with large, begging eyes. “Let’s keep this one. Just this once. Please?”

Ghost sighed in annoyance, but something in your gut knew it was just for show.

“Olright,” he said gruffly. “Just this once.”

#mw2 #ghost/soap/reader #ghost x soap x reader #ghoap x reader #starry writes #kinktober 2024 #call of duty #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #yeahhhh finally writing my own insane ghoap fic baybeee 😎#crazy how easy this was to write lmao #now i know why all the bitches (affectionate) gravitate to these two

77 notes · View notes

hiraethwa · 5 months ago

Text

one summer day

10 epiphany. where ushijima has a sudden realization

<< 09 disconnect. | >> 11 epiphany.

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x reader a/n: we only go up from here, my loves - ave word count: 3.7k 💀 warnings: violence, threats, vile, misogynistic comments (by a rando), cursing tags: @lemurzsquad @daisy-room @integers -- (inbox me if you want to be added to the tag list)

april, third year

ushijima wakatoshi is by no means a people person. he is a highly motivated individual, mind always focused on the task at hand. he does not mind people interacting with him, although he can survive without it.

he enjoys playing volleyball and listening to his teammates, occasionally adding to the conversation, but he has never been a particularly talkative person like tendo. it’s not that he dislikes human interaction, he just finds that sometimes, some things are better left unspoken, or perhaps unnecessary altogether.

he never goes out of his way to befriend someone – he was already busy with volleyball as it is, and to add to it, staying on top of his school’s demanding curriculum. people has commented on his stoicism and general unapproachability behind his back, not that he cares enough about it. so naturally, he did not have a lot of friends to begin with.

wakatoshi thinks that he is satisfied with his way of life and intends on keeping it simple with just school and volleyball, and none of the drama that he’s heard going around his year all the time. or rather, he intended to.

and so, he finds himself confused, and irritated as well, when this guy from his year, apparently the captain of the basketball or baseball or whatever, he could care less, tries to start some kind of shit with him.

ushijima was on his way to lunch with tendo when this idiot came and started badmouthing him and the volleyball team, calling him a useless piece of shit and some other names that he stopped listening to. he wondered what the point of this confrontation is when he doesn’t even know who this person is.

with a blank stare and a twitching eyebrow, ushijima cuts him off, “i’m sorry, who are you again?”

it only made him angrier and humiliated, with the crowd that is starting to form around the commotion. “my name is yamasaki takeo.”

“i don’t recall asking for your opinion, yamasaki-san,” ushijima retorts irritably, eliciting a gasp from tendo who is next to him.

yamasaki gapes at him, as the whispers from the students around them grow audibly.

that ought to be the end of it, ushijima thinks, as he makes to leave the scene that yamasaki caused. he has better things to worry about, like the fact that you are still not on speaking terms with him, rather than this pointless confrontation that is clearly wasting his time.

“that’s right, because you’re too busy trying to get into miyamura’s pants than focusing on volleyball, aren’t you?”

tendo reckons that the idiot is relentless in picking a fight with him, and apparently has a death wish. for he had the balls to bring your name up when it is currently occupying the top spot in ushijima’s list of touchy subjects, which is very, very short. in fact, it only has one entry right now.

ushijima clenches his fists. now he is truly irritated, and his short patience is reaching its end.

yamasaki, noticing that he is finally getting a reaction out of the indifferent volleyball captain, delightedly goes on to drag your name through the mud.

“is it really that difficult to get your little girlfriend to sleep with you, captain, if you are so high and mighty? or is it just you that she is not interested in?” he mocks ushijima, a shit eating grin on his face now that he has ushijima’s full attention, discovering his weakness. “maybe she’s actually sleeping around with your friends. in fact, i wouldn’t be so surprised if she is, considering how close she is to semi eita as of late.”

if looks could kill, yamasaki would be long dead by now. his only saving grace being the thin fraying thread of patience that ushijima is holding on to. a very, very thin thread.

“if you know what’s good for you, keep her name out of your filthy mouth.” ushijima grits his teeth.

ushijima hates that he has you dragged into this spectacle. you’re not his girlfriend, much less his friend at this very moment. he hates that too, that you are so far away from his reach. he dislikes the hole your absence left in his meticulous schedule, and he misses the warmth your presence brings him.

for your sake, he has been keeping his temper in check. convincing himself that getting into a brawl with yamasaki would only serve to fan the flames of the situation when word spreads around school, and the one who would suffer the most would be you.

but it appears that yamasaki is asking, practically begging for it, as he continues his goading. “maybe i need to get a taste of her, considering how well she has you wrapped around her finger.”

the thread explodes.

red. red is all ushijima could see as someone grabs a hold of yamasaki’s collar and throws a fist into his cocky face. he is so full of shit. a killing calm descends on ushijima as he watches the person pull his arm back and send another punch to yamasaki. again. and again.

he vaguely registers his friend shouting his name and pulling on his arm with a few of other students. semi and ohira, he realizes. puzzled, he looks down to see his hand gripping tightly onto the front of yamasaki’s uniform, and his left hand is covered in blood.

oh. oh. that was him who punched the asshole.

ushijima releases his hold on yamasaki, breathing heavily as the gravity of the situation settles in. it isn’t some inconsequent drama to circulate around school anymore.

yamasaki struggles to stand, coughing out blood. his nose sits crookedly on his face, most possibly broken. but he has the nerve to smirk, as much as he could, at ushijima. “not so strong now, are you?”

“says the one with a sorry state for a face,” semi retorts, tense from the whole situation.

he merely wipes at his bloodied face, waving semi off. “i am not the one you need to worry about. i am also not the one who is risking his spot on the under 19 team for the youth world championship with a scandal.”

ushijima recoils, blood running cold. was that his goal all along?

“maybe, i will forgive your actions, if you get on your knees and beg,” yamasaki pauses, a dark glint in his eyes, “and give y/n to me.”

his words have ushijima struggling to break free from his teammates, caution thrown to the winds, ready to beat him to a pulp.

“let go of me!” ushijima growls. fuck the consequences, there is no way in hell he will let this asshole lay a finger on you.

he does not notice the crowd parting as the students recognize you and allow you space to get to the front of the commotion. the frown on your face from witnessing the latter half of the events unfolding after you yielded to chika’s curiosity of the commotion that sent students running in the hallways and getting their friends to join them. the sigh that escapes your lips from being the center of the drama.

“is that all it really takes?” your voice stops him in his attempts to break free, his head snapping towards you in shock.

ushijima has not felt fear in years, certainly not on the volleyball court, not since his parents had a messy divorce, but your words send his heart dropping to the floor. “y/n–”

“stay out of it.” you breathe sharply at him, needing your wits about you if you were to get him out of this situation unscathed. turned away from yamasaki, you let out a trembling breath and steel your nerves.

you’ve worn a mask in your own home for years, this is nothing, you remind yourself. sure, the whispers would spread, but for him, you would wreck yourself. to hell with this asshole if he dares to try to bring ushijima down. ironic, considering you distanced yourself to save your own heart. when it is all said and done, it still belongs to him.

“unfortunately, i am not an object that ushijima can simply give away, yamasaki-san, but am i worth the lengths you went to?”

you observe as his eyes dart behind you at ushijima. so that’s how it is. you are not what he wants. what he wants is to get to ushijima, for reasons you can surmise from the gossip that had been floating around the last week.

if you play your cards right, you could twist his arm behind his back, figuratively speaking. he would have no choice but to back down, you hope. if not… you don’t want to even think about it. this has to be enough.

“why don’t i propose you a better trade?” you bat your lashes at the scum in front of you, playing the role of the ever helpless girl using her body to get away with things. praying to the gods above that he will take the bait. just come a little closer and i will show you my teeth, bastard.

surely, you can’t be thinking of actually going out with yamasaki, ushijima tries to convince himself as he watches you smile at the asshole coyly. you are smarter than that, and he is not worth your sacrifice.

or is he? he averts his eyes as you lean in towards yamasaki. shoves the prickling sense of unfamiliar discomfort down. shushes the pealing bells in his mind. the urge to pummel his face to nothing.

he tries to put his mind elsewhere, but a sense of inevitability creeps in. dread, he realizes, crawls up his spine and makes its home there.

he wants to shout at you. something. anything. anything but this. he doesn’t need to be in the youth 19 team. he would rather risk it all. he doesn’t need anything, doesn’t want anything but you by his side. and the thought of it terrifies him.

“wakatoshi-kun,” tendo nudges him and grabs his attention away from his thoughts. he follows tendo’s gaze towards you and takashima, whose cocky smirk was completely wiped off his bloodied and bruised face and replaced by a paleness that looked like fear. “that’s your girl.”

“i’m so glad we were able to come to an understanding, takashima-san. i would hate for such a nasty argument to get even more out of hand, don’t you agree? now that we are on the same page, i’m sure this won’t happen again. right, takashima-san?” ushijima shudders at the underlying hostility in your fake cheery voice that is directed towards takashima. he never wants to be on the receiving end of it, he thinks.

you lay a hand on his arm, an eerily innocent smile on your face. and takashima winces, nodding quickly and too eagerly compared to his earlier behavior.

“i guess we will see you around?” ushijima catches on to the hidden demand under your nice words. you better stay away from us. “oh, do you need a hand to the nurse’s office?”

what exactly did he miss? but he is too awestruck by the way you turned the situation around that he forgot to correct tendo’s earlier statement.

he tunes out takashima’s stuttering response as you turn around, a frown finding its way onto your beautiful features as your cold eyes land on him. barely registers tendo calling “show’s over” and gesturing at the crowd to disperse and mind their own business.

he hates the mask you are wearing, pushing everyone, and him, away as a defense mechanism. he hates that he is the reason you had to don it today to protect him from his own actions.

ushijima finds himself reaching out to you to smooth out the furrow in your brows, only to be met by resistance. your slender fingers hook onto his wrist, halting his movement for a split second before dropping his hand like a hot potato.

“people are watching,” you remind him. your eyes catch on his left hand, where the skin on his knuckles was split, hesitating on your next words. “you should get that treated.”

he frowns, already missing the feeling of your skin on his. why would he care that people are watching?

the four of them end up walking to the nurse’s office with ohira dismissing himself from the group for some errand he had to run for his class. tendo being tendo, starts pestering you about what you did and how you did it despite your clipped answers.

ushijima finds himself staring at the back of your head, unsure if you are just a figment of his imagination from how long he went without interacting with you. next to him, semi nods his head at you, “she doesn’t hate you, you know.”

he stays quiet. if that’s true, then why are you so intent on avoiding him?

“you are both impossible,” semi huffs in disbelief.

finding the nurse’s office empty, semi lets your little group into the dark room. tendo beelines for the cabinet, rummaging for supplies. you didn’t have the energy to tell them that they should probably wait for the nurse to come back.

you keep to the door, fidgeting as if you could not decide to stay or go. “see you guys” you blurt, feet moving quickly out the door.

“y/n–” ushijima panics. is this it? is this all he has left of you?

“i’ll go talk to her.” semi promises, running after you, leaving ushijima in tendo’s hands.

they sit in silence as tendo cleans up ushjima’s bloodied knuckles, the latter unphased by the sting of disinfectant on raw skin with his entire focus on the doorway. wishing.

sure enough, semi returns with an uneasy y/n in tow, looking like you would rather be anywhere but there.

he makes you sit on the bed across from ushijima, an indecipherable look in his eyes. “stay, you two need to talk. tendo and i will be right outside.” translation: don’t think about leaving until you talk to him. to which you return an unamused look, crossing your arms in a defensive manner.

you wait until the door clicks closed behind them before stealing a glance at ushijima. his stare displaces you, as if there is nothing more important than you. unbelievable, you think.

you open your mouth to say something – something mean and hurtful so that he would stop looking at you like he cared, but decide against it, knowing full well your anger, the serpent that rarely rears its head is nasty when it does.

“why are you avoiding me?” he breaks the silence. the first words you’ve heard from him in a long while, not counting the short exchange earlier and during orchestra practice. you would be lying if you said you didn’t miss his voice. that it didn’t calm the wary hissing wild animal in you on some subconscious level.

“why do you care, ushijima?” the name still leaves a bitter taste on your tongue even though you have tried to get over it. you don’t actually love him, right? it’s just a schoolgirl infatuation. or at least, that is what you keep telling yourself, hoping that it will be true when you repeat it enough times.

“you are my friend, y/n.” his eyes snap to yours, begging you to understand.

the feeling of drowning creeps in, bringing you back to the first sleepless nights after you cut him off. how pathetic you were running after someone who did not even treat you as their friend. how worthless. how you went from wishing that he saw you as you are to wishing that he never walked into your life.

“no, if i am your friend, then why didn’t you tell me about the nationals? fuck, i had to find out from semi, and it was only because they needed me to stop you from hurting yourself. what the fuck am i to you, ushijima wakatoshi?” you snap at him.

he starts to say something, but you are not done, not yet.

“why bother? why save me from myself, tell me you’re my friend, when you certainly don’t act like it when it comes to yourself? do you think so little of me? or am i just some basket case to you?” your fists curl at your sides, angry tears threatening to escape your eyes, as you will them back.

why did you start the fight? why?

and then he is at your feet, kneeling and taking your hands into his, looking at you as if you are his salvation. “it was easy, caring for you. felt right, like second nature. you matter to me, but i–” he glances away for a second, almost too much, he thinks “–i don’t know how to let others do the same to me, even if it’s you, that didn’t come naturally. i’m sorry, y/n.” his knuckles are gentle against your skin, brushing away the tears that you didn’t realize started sliding down your cheeks.

the silence stretches, interrupted by your sniffles here and there.

“talk to me.” he tucks the hair that is covering your face behind your ear.

your voice is a pained quiet. “i was running away from you, afraid of what your answer could be. i was scared that you found me unworthy. i felt pathetic, yearning for your friendship if you didn’t feel the same way. but–” your throat tightens at your cowardice, realizing your own mistake.

“it could have been avoided if you just talked to me.” wakatoshi finishes your sentence for you.

“you’re a fucking hypocrite.” you retort, kicking his knee in pettiness. “don’t think you’re so easily forgiven.” and just like that he is forgiven. your heart once again safely tucked away in his hands, returned to its owner after weeks of being torn away bleeding and broken by yours.

it’s unfair, really. the effortlessness it takes on his part to make you whole unknowingly. maybe you were born without a heart, given away to ushijima by fate. maybe he is meant to come into your life and give it back, to remind you that you are alive, and to live.

you keep telling yourself that he is meant for more than you. which is the truth. but it is also because you are afraid of losing him forever.

but he recognizes the way you deflect away from your own vulnerability. “make me beg for it, i’ll do anything to redeem myself.” you mean too much to me.

“anything?” you tap your chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “how about going to the tanabata festival in your kuromontsuki haori hakama?”

you are trying to see how far he would go to satisfy your demands. usually people wear yukatas to summer festivals, the most casual traditional option, and the most comfortable one in the sweltering heat of summer. a kuromontsuki haori hakama is the highest rank of kimono for men and only worn for formal occasions like weddings and funerals.

but you would kill to see him in one, and it doesn’t hurt to ask.

“that would be a little difficult… how about a haori hakama?” which is less formal than what you suggested, though enough that he will still stick out like a sore thumb in the crowd, but– “fine.” you wanted to see him in a full formal kimono.

“i get the crispy ends of your katsu.” nod. “give me a piggyback ride home.” an eyebrow raise, but nod. “i want the only bottle of grape squash that you guys buy every single time.” nod.

“no more keeping secrets from me.”

“done.”

“i will have to think of more later, you’re currently on probation.” you narrow your eyes at him, gesturing with your hand, i’m watching you. he catches it deftly, getting all up in your space.

your breath hitches as he comes eye to eye with you, only inches to spare. “i’m sorry. i’ll do better, i promise.”

you hear his words, sure, but the thunderous beating of your heart is coming from every direction, deafening. in that moment, you forgot how to speak, tongue twisted in a way that cannot be undone. so you panic, feet kicking out instinctively.

several things happen in quick succession. wakatoshi grunts, curling backwards in pain. the door bursts open as semi and tendo comes running in to defuse the situation. you sit there in shock. tendo starts cackling at the scene in front of him, tears shining in his eyes.

“damn, one after another, y/n, you’re putting these boys down real hard.” he wipes his eyes with laughter.

“it was an accident!”

“sure, sure, if you say so.” he slowly backs out of the room, having a distinctive feeling that you may want to land one on him too.

“get back here, tendo satori! oi, where do you think you are going? you still need to dress toshi’s wounds.” you dash at him.

“back to toshi now, are we? why don’t you do it yourself?” he snickers, running away.

semi shakes his head at the two of you, glancing at his captain who is still recovering from your kick in the nuts. he winces at the thought of it. “you good?”

ushijima looks towards where tendo now has an arm thrown over your shoulders, affectionately ruffling your hair, utterly unfazed by the way you are snapping at him.

“i told you, i am not telling you! it defeats the purpose of what i said to that scum if i told you! get your dirty hands off of me.” you frown at the redhead, and then as if sensing his eyes on you, you point at ushijima. “you, don’t ever pick fights again even if i get dragged into it, it’s not worth it.”

“but he picked a fight with ushijima-kun first.”

“why, you brat. do you want to find out what dirty secrets i know about you?”

“wah, scary, y/n-chan. remind me to never get on your bad side.”

you make a face at tendo, which ushijima finds adorable. his lips quirk in a smile at the scene unfolding in front of them, finally responding to semi’s earlier question.

“yeah. yeah, i think so.”

“ushijima-kun, you’re down bad.”

looking for more? browse the collection

reblogs and comments are appreciated!

want to be tagged? don't be shy, send me an ask!

104 notes · View notes

yeonbinwyd · 2 months ago

Text

been away

pairing: sub fem!reader x softdom!yeonjun

synopsis: you and yeonjun had been fwb for while. It’s one of those nights he needed a fix although you’re trying to cut him off but you might be addicted too

genre (w/tags): smut, minors dni, aggressive sex

word count: 2,218 words

“hey” is the text that you received. It was 1:50 am and your bright phone screen woke you up. You look and it was none other than him. The same him that always texts you at this time of night. Half awake, you glance over at your phone. “u up?” A second one comes in. You roll your eyes and turn away from your phone. You didn’t want to keep indulging in these activities with jun but it was a habit you couldn’t break. Maybe not paying attention to them would answer your problems. A few minutes had passed and you felt a bit of relief. Your phone started to ring and panic started to rush over you. Do you pick it up? Deep down inside, you wanted to see him again. To feel his touch again. To feel his embrace again. Even for just a short encounter. He made it clear that he can’t commit to you. At first, it was fine. It was just. Nothing more nothing less. It’s been going on for months though. How much longer can you tolerate being one of his girls. It felt degrading but you would much rather just drop him than even express how you’ve been feeling towards him. In a bit of a spiral, you realize the phone stops ringing. You take a look at the screen just to see his unnamed contact show up. You know that number but you refused to add a name to it. It would mean something to you. While glancing at the missed call, you gain your senses and find yourself fully awake. Without a second to think, the phone rings again. He knows he can get you. He knows you’ll pick up and you do.

“Hello?” You manage to answer.

“Hey baby girl. You awake?” He asks. You take a long pause before responding.

“You should stop calling this late” you say with a bit of hesitation.

“Why? You sick of me now? You know I can’t get enough of you and you can’t stay away.” He says with much confidence. It drives you nuts but he’s right. You couldn’t get enough of him and it made you crazy. You pause again, trying to find the right words to say.

“Should I come over?” He questions. He knows you’ll say yes and is already ready to leave. He just needs you to say the word and he’ll be there.

“Come on. I miss you. It’s been a while and I’ve been away” he tries to convince you.

“Ok. You can come by” you finally respond to him.

“I’ll be there soon” he disconnects and doesn’t waste any time. Your gut filed with utter confusion. Deep down inside, you were excited and couldn’t wait to see him but also you thought,

Nothing would change

Not even fifteen minutes had passed and you heard a knock on your door.

You opened the door to see Yeonjun standing there, towering over you and taking in your body. You wearing a thin, simple tank and tight shorts. What you always sleep in but he always found a way to sexualize everything you do. Whether it would be you bending over to pick something up or even brushing your teeth, he would be staring. It almost felt uncomfortable how entranced he was with you. Not wasting any time he pushed you up against the wall leaning down to look you in the eye.

“Hey baby. You missed me?” He looked you dead in the eye with the biggest smirk. You can tell he came from being out. There was eyeliner on his eyes still and he smelled of alcohol.

“Why is your first thought to hit me up when you finish drinking?” You glared back.

“Aww you’re mad at me huh? I missed you though.” He tilted his head to one side, his arm still keeping you trapped under him. You remained unshaken while frowning your brows. He softens his gaze and takes a step back

“Ok I’m sorry. I won’t call you this late anymore.” He says while holding his hands up while backing away and admitting guilt. You rolled your eyes

and cross your arms as you turn from him. You lead him into the living room. He trails behind you, watching your every step, mesmerized by the sheer movement of your body. As the two of you take a seat, he sits down and grabs your thigh. One of his favorite parts of you.

“So where did you come from?” you ask.

“Hmm?” Yeonjun asked, reacting slowly to the question.

“Where’d you come from?” You ask again. He scoots a bit closer to you and grips your thigh tight.

“Oh just drinking with some friends. I had a show too” he responds with confidence. He moves his hand to trap it in between your closed legs. He could feel your warmth building up. He’s testing the waters and doesn’t want to make you more mad than you already are. He noticed that you weren’t reacting to his touch which gave him the go ahead.

“Did you miss me since I’ve been away?” He asked. You didn’t respond but instead looked the other way.

“I get it. You’ve got your own thing and have your own life. You don’t have time to miss me.” He starts. His hand wanders under your shirt. His cold hand make you jump a bit as he feels up you stomach. After that you relax a bit and he continues moving upward. He makes eye contact with you. “But you miss this…” he continues. His hand now cupping your breast. Yeonjun gives it a gentle squeeze. You wince while biting your lip. Satisfied, he continues by pinching your nipple, giving it a flick. He waits for your reaction but you refuse to be responsive. He decides to pinch a bit hard to get something out of you. A small moan escapes your mouth. He smirks then shakes his head. Now pulling away, he chuckles a bit at your despair.

“I knew you missed me.”

He pulls you on his lap. His hard on pressed against you. You’re now facing him and his precious lips. It’s obvious he has a lip stain from the makeup early in the day but it still drew you in. Both hands trail along your spine and draws circles on your back. “You can’t escape me now” he grips your waist and leans in close. So close for a kiss but he just takes you in. He sees the want in your eyes but you’re hiding it well. He presses light kisses along your necks and collarbone. He won’t kiss you first. He wants you to beg for it or make the first move. He locks eyes with you. What will your move be ?

Eyes locked. His hands moving from your back now to your thighs. He sits back taking you in again.

What is she thinking? He thought.

You caved and placed both hands on his chest, leaning forward. You kiss him on the mouth which leaves him a bit shocked. He gets it together kissing you back. Small kisses turn into a tongue war as he slides his tongue into your mouth. He shifts his focus to your neck while leaving a trail of kisses along your collarbone. He finds a spot where his lips can stay muzzled into your skin. He takes the chance and leaves small bites and tugs a bit at the exposed skin. You cry out with a moan so loud he didn’t expect it. It fuels him, tightening his grip around your waist, shifting his kisses from your shoulder to your breasts. Yeonjun can’t contain himself and buries his face in your chest. You start to moan and he raises his hand up to cup your mouth. He looks up at you. Excited and ready for more.

“We’re just getting started.” He lifts you and switches to be on top of you. As you’re lying down flat, he pins your arms above your head. He has an even better view of you. Every curve. He doesn’t even know where to begin. Without wasting any time, he slides his hand down your shorts to feel your wet pussy, just grazing it. You gasp a bit at his cold hand. He smiles even bigger grin than before. He’s proud of how wet he’s already made you. His finger flicks your clit a bit causing you to fidget a bit. His other hand still pinning both of yours down hard so there’s no fighting back. You kick your legs a bit but it causes him to flick more aggressively.

“Nuh uh ah. No fighting back.” He slips his finger in between your folds to feel your wetness. His eyes widen a bit and he takes his hand out. He licks his fingers in amazement.

“You did miss me. Mmmm you taste so good.” He quickly puts his hand back in your shorts. This time with wet fingers. Without hesitation, he sticks his fingers inside. You thrust your head back in pleasure,biting your lower lip. He can’t help but chuckle leaning in close to your face. You release your lips to adjust to him getting close to your face, making eye contact now. He applies more pressure to his hand inside your hole. At this point he’s teasing you like he’s just keeping his hand warm. He starts palming your clit. You moan under your breath then sigh.

“Come on beg. I wanna hear you ask for it” he demands. You shake your head and refuse.

“Ok that’s fine” he takes his hand out and removes his other hand from holding your wrists back. Yeonjun smirks while leaning back. The abrupt halt is brought to your attention. You sit up on your forearms to meet eye to eye with him. He raises an eyebrow in curiosity. The eye contact is so intense, it’s silent between you two. You knew he wouldn’t continue if you didn’t corporate.

“Ok please.” You beg.

“Like you mean it .” He retorts. You sigh.

“Please keep going. I miss you.” You enthuse.

“That’s a good girl. I miss you too” Yeonjun coos. He pushes your legs up, spreading them at the same time giving himself the best view. It pushes you back flat on your back. He licks his lips before diving in. Yeonjun licks your clit. He doesn’t waste any time. He flicks his tongue rapidly to really stimulate you. He begins leaning in to push your legs forward so you can’t fight back.

The pressure started building making your legs shake.

“Oh god” you cry out. He begins to suck on it forcefully. Yeonjun would take glances at you. Seeing you whimpering and almost in tears was driving him insane. He would get harder by the second. He slipped his tongue inside your cunt, taking in all the wetness coming from you. Trembling, you grip the pillow you had nearby, muffling your screams. Yeonjun, himself, couldn’t stand the teasing any longer. He lets your legs go and stands to his feet. In a swift motion he unbuckles his jeans and boxers in one go. His raging hard on, standing tall before you. You sit up once more but he meets you with a kiss. He grips the back of your head, pushing his tongue, forcing you to get a taste of yourself.

“Don’t you taste good?” He whispers into the kiss. He takes shirt off next then positions himself at your entrance. Every time you see him, you’re surprised at how big he is. Without any warning he plunges inside of you. You’re taken back a bit. Yeonjun moans lowly, gripping your hips. Your nails digging into his shoulders as he thrusts. Very fluid movement as he keeps at a steady pace, he’s been craving you for a while. He can’t stop, he won’t stop. Yeonjun presses his forehead to yours, shutting his eyes tight. You’re overwhelmed with how aggressive he’s being. Tears began building up in your eyes. He sees your tears and kisses them away but isn’t letting up.

“It’s ok baby. I’ll take care of you” he comforts mid kisses. Sitting back up, he grips your ankles. He’s much deeper now and can feel himself getting close but he shifts his focus so he can last longer. He looks to the ceiling but you grab one of his hands to start sucking on his finger. The sight along was putting him over the top. You could feel it too, clenching around him tight.

“Yes please.” You beg. He wraps that same hand around your neck and chokes you lightly. More tears leave your eyes as you cum. He feels you climax, unable to contain himself. He yells out y/n, spilling himself inside you. He collapses beside you while the two of you breathing heavy, in a trance. You manage to come down from your high first to sit up.

“Round two?” You ask.

#txt smut #txt hard hours #yeonjun smut #yeonjun x you

124 notes · View notes

kaidynsarell · 16 days ago

Text

Sebastian Sallow and the Day his Daughter Abused her Library Privleges.

🍁🌼🍁🌼🍁🌼🍁🌼🍁🌼🍁🌼🍁🌼🍁🌼🍁

Pairings: Sebastian Sallow x Female OC, Female OC x Male OC.

Rating: Sexual content is referenced/implied

Tags: Seb is smart but also kind of dumb, cannot compute his child growing up, dating and *gasp* Book Violence (Seb insisted on that last one)

The full fic can be found below(5k words)

One shot (unless the gremlins force me to add more. I am at their mercy😅)

The “rug” had been yanked out from under Sebastian approximately three times in a matter of a few minutes. Each displacement worse than the last, and only compounded by the growing smirks plastered across both his wife’s and sister's faces. They'd not even done him the decency of trying to hide their satisfaction. Even Ominis had failed to stifle his mirth and now sat attempting to suppress waves of silent giggles Sebastian knew only too well came at his own expense.

The whole terrible ordeal had started only fifteen minutes prior when he’d Floo’d back home from his office at Hogwarts.

The position of Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor had come as a surprising offer nearly eight years prior.

Dinah had been stepping down from the post and had, to Sebastian’s surprise, felt he would be the most suited for the position. He'd almost wanted to decline it, given his own dalliances with the Dark Arts.

Really, he'd thought, he was the furthest thing from appropriate for that job.

If only they'd truly known the history he'd left behind in that catacomb. He couldn’t imagine any of them would be singing his praises if they caught a glimpse of the marks he’d raked through his soul. But his wife had always had this uncanny way of reminding him, convincing him really, that he was a better person than he gave himself credit for.

That, and she’d never been terribly infatuated with the secrecy required by his work with the Department of Mysteries. The “Unspeakable” job title came with about as much useful information outside of the department as the title offered, which is to say, nothing.

So, with his wife's less than secretive encouragement, he’d left his work with the Ministry and set foot in Hogwarts to assist his former DADA Professor for the remainder of that school year.

He’d have been lying if he'd said he’d never thought of teaching before. That he'd not nearly written that as one of his interests on his Career Advice form in his Fifth year and imagined the slight possibility of following in his parent’s footsteps.

Though, that particular thought had twisted in a far more vulnerable place than he ever cared to admit to.

Months later, the 1st of September had seen his official first day as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor and his eleven-year-old daughter's first day as a student.

He'd watched her small frame perch on that stool at the center of the stage that day, her legs still too short to reach the ground as the sorting hat slid over her eyes and called out the name of his old house.

He'd known his Love would call him too sentimental when he blinked away tears as he'd watched his little girl with the wavy brown hair and the freckles that so matched his own hop down from the stool and scamper away to the Slytherin table without so much as a backward glance at him.

Professor Weasley had looked at him from down the staff table a little too long then, and he'd quickly swallowed several gulps of pumpkin juice in what he'd hoped was a convincing enough display to not let anyone think he'd just been crying over what was still his baby girl being sorted.

He'd deny it in any case.

Had it not been just yesterday, she'd been two years old and babbling incoherently while he balanced her on his shoulders?

Surely, she'd not actually been eleven yet.

Then, she'd joined the Slytherin Quidditch team as a Chaser in her third year, and his apprehension had tangled so closely with his pride it had been impossible to separate them. Each match had been met with both white-knuckled fear she'd be hurt and joy in seeing how she lit up with each goal she maneuvered past the Keeper.

Until the last game of that season had Slytherin facing Ravenclaw for the house cup.

He'd only just seen the Bludger before it hit her.

She'd not seen it at all, and there'd only been the collective gasp of the crowd as she'd crumpled the last twenty feet to the pitch below.

He would have bet galleons apparition couldn’t have moved him faster that day as he'd scooped her limp, unmoving form into his arms and carried her back to the Hospital Wing, ignoring the shouts of his wife and Nurse Blainey alike.

Hours later, she'd still not opened her eyes, and even the Hogwarts Matron’s reassurances that it was most likely due to the myriad of healing and calming spells placed over her had done nothing to stop the path he'd worn into the stone with the ferocity of his pacing.

She'd looked far too small and pale lying there.

Too much like...

But he'd shoved that particular thought away.

It had taken Anne, Ominis, and the witch he'd fallen for at sixteen to calm him enough to be convinced not to send his daughter to Saint Mungo's for further treatment.

"You need rest, Sebastian," his wife had said when she'd glanced up for what must have been the umpteenth time from her place in the squashy armchair she’d conjured beside their daughter’s bed to find him pacing again, book in hand. "You heard Nurse Blainey. It's a common Quidditch injury. She'll be good as new by morning."

Sebastian had only muttered a halfhearted acknowledgment before her fingers pulled through his, and she’d tugged him over to where their thirteen-year-old slept.

“This isn't like Anne, Seb.” She’d whispered so low he could just feel her breath along his cheek. “Little One is going to be okay. Her body just needs to rest.”

“I know that.” He had; it had done nothing to stop the icy lump forming in the pit of his stomach.

Somehow, he'd let her convince him to return to the large armchair. He’d pulled the woman down on top of him and buried his face into her neck.

Still, sleep never truly found him that night, and if his wife’s much too quiet breaths had been any indication, she'd slept about as well as he had.

Hadn't it only been a few days ago their daughter had turned seven and opened her first real broom--not one of those that skimmed a foot or so off the ground—but one slightly smaller than regulation that soared high into the tree tops? They’d spent hours above the back garden that day tossing an old Quaffle back and forth until the sun saw its last gold fade to ruby along the distant peaks and vanished below the skyline.

When she’d woken in the Hospital Wing the following day, the freckled girl had barely opened her eyes before asking about the match’s results. When Sebastian had gently suggested she might drop Quidditch to prevent further head injuries or, Merlin forbid, save her father a few sleepless nights, she'd looked so affronted one might have thought he'd asked her to kick a niffler.

Only two years ago had seen her sit her O.W.L.S and her career advice meeting.

With Aesop having retired at the end of the previous year, Sebastian had taken over as Head of Slytherin and sat with his little girl, for she would always be his little girl, while she'd prattled on about a list of careers she’d taken an interest in.

An Auror

A Curse Breaker

(And he’d made a mental note to have words with Poppy Sweeting, for this was clearly his daughter’s top choice for a career, and only the former ferocious little Magizoologist could have been behind this particular suggestion) A Magizoologist specializing in Dragons.

When Sebastian had dared offer the suggestion she might work for the Wizengamot or as an Archivist or study something as benign as Kneazles rather than Dragons or aim for a career with even a modicum of safety involved, the then fifteen-year-old had wrinkled her nose at him in that same way her mother always did.

"Ugh! Those are all boooorrring, Dad. I want to work with dragons."

"Absolutely not."

"But Mum and Aunt Poppy helped release a dragon from a poacher camp and returned its egg, and they were the same age as me.”

Sebastian had run a hand over face. "That was different."

That was when she'd settled back into her chair, folded her arms across her chest, and scowled at him in that way that reminded him too much of Anne, of himself if he were very honest about it. "I don't really see how."

She was more stubborn than both he and her mother combined, and Merlin help him; he'd be entirely grey before he was forty.

Hadn't she just been nine years old and still small enough to demand bedtime stories? Where had the time gone when she'd been satiated by the retelling of his and her mother’s adventures? Now, she craved adventure of her own, and he'd known he'd be a hypocrite if he stood too much in her way.

Still, the past fifteen minutes spent in the comfort of his own sitting room might have thrown him more than anything else he'd faced in the past seventeen years.

His first clue something was amiss had come only minutes before he'd taken the Floo home.

It wasn't often his daughter accompanied him back to their house in the evenings, but perks of having a parent as a professor, would occasionally return home with him once a month or so for ‘family weekends’. Sebastian would deny it if anyone suggested having his little girl home for the weekend was more for his own sanity than any amount of homesickness his daughter might have had.

Though, rather than finding her waiting for him in his office that day as he so often did, he'd found the room empty, and even a few minutes of waiting had not procured her.

It wasn’t terribly alarming. It wouldn’t even have been the first time she'd snuck home before him, ready to pounce out when he arrived home with some prank or another.

But when he’d stepped through the fireplace, she'd not been there either.

Anne, Ominis, and his wife had all been there, sitting in the living room. But there'd been no sign of his daughter.

He'd waited, still dusty from the fireplace, ready for whatever prank he was certain Anne was already in on, given the barely contained smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

He must have stood there a beat too long because his wife had tilted her head at him. "She's not coming home this weekend, Seb. Matilda’s just written. She's gotten detention for sneaking into the restricted section and for being out of bed after curfew last night."

Sebastian blinked but made no move to sit. It might have been a point of pride for him—the idea of his child sneaking off to obtain restricted knowledge— had he not already permitted her what amounted to nearly unlimited access to the Library anyway.

To any Library, really.

"But she doesn’t need to sneak into the restricted section." Judging by the looks on everyone’s faces, there was something he was missing, but whatever was had been proving frustratingly elusive. "She knows I'll write notes for whatever book she wants out of there."

That had been the deal they'd agreed to from the very first day their daughter had stepped foot into that school. Sebastian would sign for whatever book she wanted from the Restricted Section, so long as she kept him updated on what she was reading and, depending on the text, read the book at home or in his office where either he or her mother could keep supervision.

He’d never been one to limit his child’s knowledge.

Perhaps he'd taken that from his parents as well.

If his daughter had wanted to sneak anywhere, there were a plethora of other off-limits areas she could find. But the Library? That didn’t make sense.

Anne had giggled behind her hand. “She wasn't alone. She got caught there with a boy."

"What does she need a boy in the Restricted Section for?"

If his twin had meant to offer an explanation, she'd done nothing more than confuse him further.

His wife sighed. "I don't imagine they were there to study, Dear. Not books, in any case."

That had earned another round of barely contained giggles, and still, they'd all sat there looking at him like he was the butt of some great cosmic joke. Waiting for him to get it, but none of the information formed a logical conclusion. Even glancing at his twin had offered little in the way of answers, and he’d generally have been able to read her better than anyone.

"And here I thought you were supposed to be intelligent, Sallow." Ominis quipped from the place he'd perched next to Anne. “They let you teach? Merlin help the children."

That was when the pieces had snapped together.

"What?! No?!" He’d hated how high his voice had climbed and how much further it climbed as he’d held his hand out at his daughter's height, just about the height of his waist. “But…but she's only—"

Anne snorted. "Sebastian, she hasn't been that tall since she was about ten."

That was when he'd made his most devastating mistake. "Who?"

"I'm not certain it matters right now," His wife had started.

Sebastian whirled around. “It does if he's snogging our daughter."

"I think you mispronounced shagging" Anne chirped.

Sebastian had made an embarrassing, strangled, screeching sort of noise then.

Images had flooded behind his eyes of his little girl crowded against a bookshelf by some faceless man pressing lips against her neck in the throes of passion. Precious tomes toppled from their shelves; spines splayed unnaturally, pages creased. The faceless man's hands maneuvering into places Sebastian had never intended to let anyone near. Ever.

He’d be having nightmares for months.

"Who?" This had now become vitally important information. He needed to know whose fingers he would be breaking.

"Oh, he's sweet.” His wife had chirped. "He's one of your favorite students, you told me so just the other week—"

Sebastian had quickly run through a list of his students and immediately decided not one of them was worthy of his little girl. Not that anyone ever would be.

Really, now that he thought of it, touching his daughter should be tantamount to a life sentence in Azkaban. Did Onai still sit on the Wizengamot? Perhaps he could get it written into law.

"--Oliver Weasley."

"WEASLEY!?!?" His voice had climbed octaves into a territory that could only be described as screeching, but Sebastian had long since stopped caring.

His fingers had clutched around his wand so tightly it might have snapped had his wife not leaned forward and pulled it from his grip. Years since he'd used dark magic against another person, and fifteen minutes had him itching for unforgivables.

"Oh, aren't they adorable?" Anne, this time, and Sebastian had snapped his gaze to his twin. "You know, Poppy says they've been spending quite a lot of time together since she partnered them on that assignment with the Dirwicals a few months ago. That must have been when they started courting."

"Months!" It came out as a squeak. “This has been going on for months?!"

Make that the fourth rug.

He may as well stay on his ass while he was down here.

><><><><

The night was for stillness. Those quiet moments whispered between shooting stars or, in Sebastian's case, breathed against his wife’s hair as she sprawled across him. Her skin bare and tacky in the early summer heat against his own, her fingers tracing constellations between the freckles on his chest.

He tipped his head down to her again and brushed his nose against those soft strands still clinging to the scents of citrus and wildflowers. "Why didn't she tell me?"

"mmm?" The witch tipped her nose up to him.

"Why didn't she tell me she was seeing Weasley? I thought she told me everything." He'd whispered that last bit so quietly a part of him hoped she hadn't heard.

But the woman in his arms just slid her hand up his neck and into the short beard he'd kept for the past seven years. "Because she knows how much you worry, Seb.”

"I don't worry that much."

It was the second time she'd laughed at him that day.

"You stayed home from work for a week and threatened to send her to St. Mungo's when she had the flu last year."

"It was a bad case,” he muttered. Cool fingers stayed against his cheek. He closed his eyes and pushed his face against them. "What if Weasley’s pressuring her into things?"

"I really don't think he is.”

Sebastian scrunched his face at that. “How can you be sure?"

Another hand in his hair, and he thought he might melt into the mattress. "Because you've shown her how she deserves to be treated, Sebastian."

He wasn't prepared for his wife to be hovering over him when he blinked his eyes open again. Nor was he ready for her lips against his jaw

"Besides," she continued, “she's as brilliant and quick with a wand as you are, and I’ve already talked to her about it.” He was already brimming with a retort when his Love placed a single delicate finger over his half-parted lips. “Trust her.”

"She's still not old enough." It seemed the only thing he could manage.

"Sebastian," another trill of laughter, "She'll be eighteen next month, and she and Oliver will both have left school. We weren't so much older than them when we got engaged."

And that sent images of white dresses and vows and his little girl’s fingers on his arm as he walked her toward a tall redhead at the other end of a long aisle racing behind his eyelids.

And that

that.

He was not prepared for.

He wasn't sure he ever would be.

It was enough to pull his Love back against him and bury his face against her hair again. "She wasn't ever supposed to grow up."

He'd deny it if anyone said his voice broke.

><><><><

Now that he was aware of his daughter's relationship, he saw evidence of it in too many places. He'd curse himself for not noticing before, or maybe they'd just stopped being as secretive about it.

His daughter and Weasley holding hands in the corridors. His daughter and Weasley sitting together at meals. The two of them leaning over the same book in the library, Weasley attending all of her Quidditch practices. The both of them in the Astronomy tower, wrapped in blankets and sipping hot chocolate after curfew.

That last encounter had earned him such a ferocious glare from his daughter Sebastian was convinced she’d been trying to shoot fire from her eyes. His wife had floo'd into his office an hour later to drag him back home and demand that he ‘stop following them around.’ Whatever arguments he’d prepared about Weasely’s egregious crime of keeping their daughter out after hours had been brushed aside as she’d informed him the aforementioned would be joining them for dinner that coming Saturday.

Weasley.

His wife had been right. Oliver was ,surprisingly, one of Sebastian’s most gifted students. Where his father may have shone as a potions prodigy in their youth, Garreth's son had a remarkable talent and understanding of defensive magic. There was a natural cadence to his dueling Sebastian had seldom seen, and the creativity of his spell combinations had been nearly unmatched that year.

Sebastian, as much as it now pained him to admit to himself, had liked the boy.

Had being the operative word.

That was before Weasley had started running hands over his little girl.

><><><><

Saturday evening rolled around to slap him across the face before he’d managed to find a proper excuse to keep the young Weasley out of his house.

Sebastian had not missed how his wife had tugged his wand from his grip when he'd stepped out of the fireplace. Nor did he miss the conveniently rounded cutlery with their meal. A hearty beef stew with chunks of a thick golden bread she’d already sliced

No need for any sharp objects at the dinner table.

Pity.

Still, Sebastian prided himself on keeping his emotions level throughout the entire meal, even if it was partially owed to his wife digging her fingers into his knee with every twitch of his jaw.

Despite all of it, Weasley had been perfectly polite and respectful. Perhaps that irritated Sebastian more as it gave him less space to cling to his newfound dislike of the boy.

Weasley had held the door for his daughter and offered his arm over the doorstep. He'd dressed practically enough not to over-emphasize his pureblood origins–not that the Weasleys were known for holding quite the same ideologies–but intentionally enough to show he'd taken the dinner seriously. He'd brought flowers for Sebastian’s wife and complimented her cooking. He’d pulled out his little girl's chair but otherwise kept his hands a respectful distance from her. He'd kept engaging conversation throughout the entire ordeal.

And why couldn't the bloke mess up just once so Sebastian could have an excuse to scream at him?

And then,

and this might have been the worst of all.

When they’d all finished their meals and retired to the sitting room for a drink, Weasley made his daughter laugh.

Not the small polite flutter through her nose he would recognize had she been trying to be nice, but hysterics that had the both of them snorting and doubled over, clutching their bellies.

Laughter genuine enough, his daughter had forgotten all pretenses of decorum and dipped her head against the boy's shoulder.

Then Oliver had looked at her.

In that gentle way, Sebastian recognized all too well, like he might have found poetry written across his daughter's skin.

And Sebastian was not ready.

Not for anyone to look at his little girl like that.

He couldn't remember what excuse he muttered when he left the rest of them in the sitting room and climbed the stairs to the small balcony just off the Study.

><><><><

The summer night was calm. Long faded past the last remnants of sunset and jeweled with the wide expanse of starlight.

Sebastian had already downed the rest of whatever amber-colored liquid his wife had poured into his glass and leaned his arms against the wooden railing. Still, even the delightful tilting buzz did nothing to distract from the patter of footsteps behind him.

"Professor?...I mean..Sir?"

Could he not have a moment's peace?

"What do you want, Weasley?"

He'd be lying if he said he'd not taken some satisfaction in how the young Weasley had flinched at his brusque response. Maybe Sebastian was still at least a little intimidating.

Even if he had needed to curl his fingers around the railing, pressed them against the wood until they might have fractured purple across his fingertips to stop his hands from shaking.

"I...well, I'd just hoped to talk to you about your daughter and...um...my intentions with her and—"

"A bit late for that, don't you think." Sebastian snapped.

"I...erm...right–" He heard the boy shuffle his feet a bit, but Sebastian made no move to turn around. He couldn't have in any case with the way he was bracing himself against the railing and fighting the dark spots in his vision. “–We...I mean, I should have insisted we talk to you first and–"

Sebastian slammed his eyes shut and forced himself to breathe. He had to breathe.

“–I apologize for getting her into trouble," the boy continued. "I'd just like you to know that I care for her deeply. She...she's...well, she means quite a lot to me, and I promise I'll—”

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

“–and I wanted to formally ask your permission to–”

Fuck.

Not this.

He couldn't do this.

"Not...not right now, Oliver." He was certain he'd muttered something to that effect past the rush of blood in his ears, and still fighting his painfully blurred vision, he shouldered past the young man and back into his study.

><><><><

Sunday greeted late afternoon haze before Sebastian heard his daughter come up behind him.

He'd been given word that morning that she and Weasley would be spending several hours at the coast with his Wife and Anne. With that, Sebastian had suddenly felt the need to blister his hands over copious amounts of physical labor if only for the hope his aching muscles might be an adequate distraction from any thoughts of Weasley or his intentions.

She'd already settled herself on the grass beside him before Sebastian turned from the rose bush he'd been pruning. She hadn't even noticed he'd turned, engrossed as she was in plucking the wild daisies from the grass and stringing them together.

Less than five minutes and dirt had already smudged across her nose. She might have had his chestnut curls and sprinkling of freckles, but she looked so like her mother in every other way.

And that was his little girl

Except she wasn't really so little anymore, was she?

Not with her longer skirts and her hair artfully arranged on top of her head.

When had she started wearing her hair up?

As though he'd somehow given her permission to enter society and invite questions upon him about intentions, and courtings, and permissions. And hadn't she just been six years old and snarking at him because he’d plaited her hair the wrong way?

She twisted another daisy into place. "Oliver said he talked to you last night. Or tried to?"

"He did."

"He said you were angry–"

Sebastian tried not to look too pleased about it. So, the young Weasley had found him intimidating. The confirmation was good, given he'd only just managed to keep himself from collapsing on that balcony..

But Weasley didn't need to know that.

“–You shouldn't be mad at him," she added. "He wanted to talk to you a lot sooner but....but..I...."

Sebastian leaned over. "But what?"

Her fingers twisted against another white flower, but she didn't look at him. "I wanted to be sure he was worth telling you about."

"You know, you could have told me sooner."

A part of him wished she would have.

"Daaadd!" and that was when she looked up, her eyes alight with mirth. "I wasn't going to tell you about every single bloke I decided to–"

"There's been more than one?!" It was far too close to a squeak than anything else, and Sebastian decided his daughter was determined to send him to an early grave.

But when the laughter faded, her hands busied themselves against the little white flowers again. "It....it's different with Oliver, though."

Sebastian sighed. "You really like him, don't you?"

"Yeah, Dad. I really like him."

But her eyes spoke too clearly of another four-letter word, and Merlin help him; his daughter was in love with a fucking Weasley.

Another daisy twisted between her fingers. “He invited me to come with his family to the south of France this summer.”

“Oh?” It was the most noncommittal noise he could muster between clenching his fingers into the grass.

“Because of his dad. They…well, a lot of really good potioneers come out of Beauxbatons, so they travel there sometimes.” She paused a moment, and Sebastian could see the hesitation pinched in the corners of her face. “But I told Oliver I wouldn't go unless he got your permission first and—”

“Sweetheart, It’s not my permission he needs.”

It wasn’t, as much as he was loathed to admit it then.

It never had been.

“I know that it’s just—“

“Do you want to go to France with him?”

“I do!” Her fingers twisted the last white daisy of her crown into place. “But I won’t if you don't think I should.”

Was it that simple? Could he hold to the last of her kite strings? Keep her in this moment where the last of her childhood still clung to the daisies between her fingers and the smudges of dirt over her nose?

“The south of France is beautiful this time of year. You’re going to love it.”

She might have outshone the sun with how brightly she smiled at him.

“But,” Sebastian held up a finger, “ If I so much as think he’s hurt you–”

“Yeah, Dad, I know.” He wasn’t sure she could have rolled her eyes harder at him. “You’re well versed in magics that make the unforgivables look like something out of a children’s story, and there wouldn’t be enough left of the body to find.”

Sebastian couldn’t decide if he should be offended with how bored she sounded or proud she’d recited his threat so thoroughly.

He didn’t have much time to think about it before his daughter popped to her feet, dropped the crown of daisies onto his head, and bent to kiss his cheek.

There was only the softest. “Love you, Daddy”

breathed next to his ear before she was scampering off again.

And that was his little girl.

Always would be.

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy sebastian #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #sebastian lives in my brain #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian is very upset about the books #Why can't his child stay small #one day I'll go back to posting my long fic #yes I wrote this a while ago and never put it on here #facepalm #Dad!Sebastian Sallow #dad sebastian #he gives such girl dad vibes #sebastian dad

58 notes · View notes

damn-stark · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 22 Hanging tree medley

Chapter 22 of Moonlight

A/N- ;) Closer and closer to our boy Cregan

Warning- VIOLENCE, GRUESOME DEATH, swearing, talks of pregnancy, and blood, angst!!, fluff, SPOILERS FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 462-463

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

*3 DAYS LATER*

Dull blackened walls. Leaking roof. Rain, rain, and more stupid rain for 3 days!

Besides, seeing Alys for breakfast, lunch, and dinner all that you have is stupid dull walls, a leaking roof, and rain! All because of Aemond! All because he’s under some stupid mind trip! You don’t know how much longer you can take it, you don’t want to stay trapped in the same stupid four walls or you’ll go mad! You need to get out, you desire it with every fiber of your being, but there’s no way out besides the front door and that’s heavily guarded.

All that you have as an alternative instead is staying busy inside your chamber while it’s day. Yet when you’re awake you think of what Aemond did and tears escape your eyes, so you sleep. Sleep and dream apparently.

Of what? You don’t know, but it’s clear though. You’re in some unknown house with the sun casting through a window, looking out at a cobbled street, and a clean and beautiful white house. You want to feel the sun on your skin after being stuck under gloomy skies for so long, but ‘tis a dream. You can only see the sun dancing on your fingertips.

“Laenor.”

You freeze with your hand reaching for the beam of light and hold your breath as if any slight movement that you make will make this dream disappear.

“Stop! What are you doing?! You know you can’t go!”

The voice is familiar, but no matter how hard you try to connect it to a memory of someone, you’re unable to find it in your mess of a mind.

Footsteps quickly approach soon thereafter though, but you remain frozen. Even more so as you wonder if what you’re dreaming of isn’t some dream at all, but something made by Alys. A vision of the past foretold in a dream.

“You can’t stop me Qarl,” a different voice counters in a faltering sharp voice. And this voice, unlike the other one, is easy to connect to a person. This voice…belongs to your father. You can’t forget it no matter how much you have tried—“I need to go. I am going to see her,” you hear your father add before you see his figure in the corner of your eyes as he approaches the front door.

You want to look, you want to see him, and you know you will because this dream is too clear, too vivid for it to be a figment of the inner workings of your mind, but the best you can do is lower your hand back to your side and let out a shaky breath.

You can’t look, not even as another pair of footsteps quickly make their way over before slamming the door shut.

“What if you are caught, huh?” Qarl, the man with the voice you can now identify, argues. “Do you think that 5 years is enough for people to forget how you look?”

“I don’t…” your father trails off and you hear his feet shift against the wooden panels. You think that he’s going to follow up with something quickly, but the silence lingers, making you grow insatiably curious to the point you slowly turn and finally see him; it’s the side of his face, but it’s him and he’s so much thinner, he has eye bags, and sunken in cheeks. He almost looks sickly. Is he?

“I don’t need to make some big public announcement,” your father's voice quivers. “Qarl, I just need to see her. It’s been five years, she should have returned from Winterfell already, meaning she’s in King’s Landing, which leaves me the perfect opportunity to see her without getting caught.”

“That’s if you can even get near, it’s been five years, Laenor. She’s changed, the girl you knew is gone. What if it’s not possible to see her?” He queries and lifts his brows to press him to answer, but your father just scoffs and lets a faint smile appear on his face.

“I do not care if she’s changed,” he retorts and lets his bag slip from his arm. “I welcome it. I just need to see her, Qarl. I’m dying and all that occupies my mind is her. I…dream of her. She fills my every thought. Her. My daughter. My little girl.”

His words are simple. They’re so simple, but oh do they have a way to puncture your chest and make it ache. No matter how upset you want to be over the choices he made, at this very moment as you hear him, as you see him desperately pleading, you can’t stay upset. Not even a bit.

“I made her,” he says shakily with a wobbly smile to match his shaky words. “Me. She's the best part of me and I left her behind. You don’t know what that feels like, the guilt that torments me so, because she’s not your daughter. You’re not a father, but I am and I left her,” he cries as he touches his chest.

“I left them, and now I’m dying so all I need is just to see her,” he continues softly. “I don’t need her to see me even though I wish it. I don’t need to embrace her even though I dream it. I just need to see her from afar, I just need to make sure she’s okay and happy. If I die there in the stinking city then at least I would have gotten to see her one last time, so no Qarl you cannot stop me. I’m going so you can either stay or come with me.”

He was coming to see you. After you had all this doubt about his love for you, he was going to come see you before he died.

He still left you behind and made you believe he was dead, but he still thought of you, he still loved you after all that time, how can you stay mad at that? How can you forsake him when he has never forsaken you?

Albeit does that really aid your agonized soul? No, it still aches, perhaps even more so now that you know this truth. But past that agony that you feel, a part of you doesn’t hurt as much as it used to when you thought he forgot about you. A part of you feels at ease and healed, and it’s thanks to Alys.

For whatever reason, whether from the kindness of her own heart or a tactic used to motivate you out of your depressed state, you’re thankful and motivated. You can say that you will actually fight to get out now.

However, no matter how much you do wish to escape this past vision given to you through your dream, you can’t. You can’t leave yet. Instead, your surroundings slowly change. Where there were once walls from a house, now there’s an endless horizon, sand beneath your feet, and crashing waves against the shore.

Confusion is quick to take over you, polluting your every thought until you hear violent hacking from behind you. After that curiosity slowly creeps through, making you turn and freeze in horror when you see the vast ocean scene polluted by the remnants of a wrecked ship. Which means the hacking you heard…

You don’t want to see who’s lying on the sandy ground. You don’t want to, but you must, so you turn around slowly, and there on the ground lies your father, bleeding out from a puncture wound in his stomach.

“Father!” You cry out and before you know your feet carry you to him and you fall by his side. “Papa,” you whisper and reach over to grab his face and tilt it over.

When his eyes find you before him, face to face, his gaze begins to narrow as he seems to try and work out if you’re real.

“It’s me,” your whisper quivers. “It’s me. Your little Siren. Papa. You must know it’s me.”

His eyes slowly soften, making his pupils dilate, whilst his lips tug to a relieved smile. “It’s you. My little Siren.”

“Papa,” you mewl.

He chuckles out of joy and doesn’t hesitate cupping your face. “Look at you,” he coos. “You’ve grown into a beautiful young lady.”

You break into a smile and stroke his cheek. “Papa…I thought…I thought you didn’t love me. I thought you left me behind because you didn’t like me.”

He scoffs and shakes his head. “No, no. How could I ever hate you? I love you. That’s why I left, you must know.”

You nod. “Yes, I know,” you assure him and keep stroking his cheek. “I know. I have so much to tell you, like—like you’re a grandfather. Aerion is my boy's name. He’s so beautiful.”

His smile softens, and he pulls your face towards him so you can press your foreheads against each other. “Will you…sing me a song? One last…time,” he whispers.

You nod as tears crawl out of your eyes. Yet before you can even think of a song to sing, his grip slips from your cheeks, and his head falls back limply as he takes his last breath.

“Father!” You weep. “Father, please don’t leave me again. Papa!” You cry out and slide your hands down to shake his shoulders. “Papa! Please, please.”

No amount of pleas will bring him back, you know that. It’s just a vision of the past, you know that, but you still try your hardest. “Please, papa. Please you must live. You must stay. You have so much to see, like Aerion. You have to meet Aerion and the twins. Please papa. Please.”

It’s no use though. His heart isn’t beating and no breaths escape past his lips. He’s gone, and all you can do with what little time remains is bury your face in the crook of his neck.

When he slips away and the scenery follows, you wake up to the dull and blackened walls, you wake up with your cheeks pampered in tears, but a fury lit within you that makes you want to fight your way out. After all, you’ve proven that you can. Even if you’re pregnant you can do it because you can’t stay here a moment longer. You need to leave, you need to see Aerion, and most importantly not be here when Aemond returns.

Thus after you take a deep and shaky breath, and wipe the tears off your cheeks, you slip off the bed. And since you have no weapons you simply walk to the doors with the intent to lure inside one of the guards standing outside the doors.

However, when your hand hovers over the knob a thud hits the door making your shoulders jump and a breath to escape past your lips.

What are they doing out there you wonder. And to satisfy your curiosity you lean forward with your breath held to peek through the crack between the doors, noticing your guards dead on the ground and two strange men standing over them with different colored outfits that don’t match the guards left to protect you. These men also have a more rugged appearance and don’t use armor like your men do. Are they Rivermen?

They must be, and you can’t take it for chance. If they’re here killing your men after Aemond and the army left then they’re not here on good terms, and it’s doubtful that whoever is leading them will let you have your freedom.

If it was you leading these men here then you would take yourself as a prisoner; you’re valuable on both sides, and unless they’re stupid then they’ll take you captive and cut some deal with your Mother or Aemond.

Which means you have to go to Astraea and leave at last, so with that in mind you quickly search your chambers and when you find a dark corner to hide in to get a jump on them, you start to move to it.

Yet just as you make it past the door, they swing open and the men make themselves in, ruining your chance to hide.

“Your Grace,” one of the men greets you mockingly and bows their head.

You’re at a standstill so you just pierce a glare into them and try to find something to use against them as they immediately become combative, proving they’re not stupid.

“We saw the purple dragon fly out and assumed you were gone,” the second man says, telling you at that moment Astraea must have gone hunting, she wouldn’t leave otherwise. Not while you’re here against your will—“We came into the castle, saw the guards, and thought nothing of it until there were two at the door. Must be our lucky day that the Kinslayer didn’t take his wife with him.”

You can’t find something to use against them, not while they both have swords, so you start to inch toward the doors.

“If you’re going to take me captive do it,” you try to end your torture. “At your own risk, you are Rivermen, you serve under the Queen, and she won’t be happy to hear you took her only daughter captive.”

The men look at each other unaffected by your threat and one of them proves that. “Aye, she won’t. Neither will the Kinslayer find joy in hearing his wife got taken, but Lady Frey wants Harrenhal, I imagine either of them will grant us the keep and the lands for you. Whoever does it first gets you back and gets our support.”

Lady Frey? As in Lady Sabitha Frey?

Of course, the Frey’s are up to no good.

Regardless, you don’t want to let Aemond respond to their deal first. He is closer so he will arrive here faster. And if he does he’ll only leave you in the same predicament someplace he will deem safer, which will be probably someplace like Oldtown or somewhere your mother nor anyone else would dare attack, and even thinking of being kept locked away in some isolated place terrifies you more than what these men could do, so you have to reach Astraea. But first, you have to escape these men.

You are close to the door so you can slip away when there’s an opening. You just need one more step. And you take it while not looking at the door to avoid giving them the idea that you are planning to escape. You just lift your foot up and put it back to get ready to quickly slip away.

Yet just at that precise moment, one of the men catches what you were plotting and immediately pulls his sword out to lunge forward, pointing the tip of the blade at your belly, the only place that will guarantee you to come to a complete stop.

“Not so fast,” he taunts and clicks his tongue.

Your breath falters but you don’t show your fear through your expression, you instead lift your nose in the air and clench your jaw to show frustration.

“Easy Angelo,” the second man warns the man as he sees where his friend points the blade. “We need her unharmed.”

The first man, Angelo scoffs and side-eyes the second man. “I’m no idiot. She just won’t try anything now, will you?” He directs at you as he starts walking around you without letting his threatening aim falter. However, you don’t respond, you just follow him with your eyes until he gets behind you with the tip of the blade now pointed at your back.

There’s room for threats, you could tell them that Aemond has Vhagar, the biggest dragon in the world, who can easily burn them to nothing but ash, but they know that. They know the firepower both sides carry, just like they know that you have a dragon of your own, so it means that they don’t care because they have you. They have the advantage, that’s what they know. But what about what you know?

No matter what has spread about you, they still doubt you. They don’t believe in your wrath, they’re ignorant to the picture others have painted of you because you’re a woman, a Princess who can’t have the capability of spreading such destruction.

That’s where they’re wrong though and you’re glad for it. You can thank their ignorance and their misogynistic views for that. And it’s because of the way they think that you easily find an escape. It is a bit more gruesome than you anticipated, but without a weapon of your own, you have no other choice but to be violent. They left you with no other choice but to fling your fist back just as he puts his sword away in an attempt to tie your hands together, and hit him right in the throat, making him stumble back as he starts to choke. You then swiftly spin around before he can recover, catching him reaching for his sword with one hand, so you hastily run at him and suddenly jump on him.

Once you’re clinging onto him the other guy shouts, whilst Angelo grabs a fistful of your hair to try and yank your head away, but since he’s still choking you manage to throw your head forward and sink your teeth on the side of his neck.

At first, your mind forbids you from sinking your teeth any deeper than you’re supposed to, but adrenaline and fear take control, so before you know it you bite through his flesh, causing blood to immediately flood out in your mouth and spill down your chin. You then yank your head back and rip a piece of flesh from his neck, rendering him nothing more than deadweight at that very moment.

No more taunting, and no more doubting. There’s just his blood as it squirts all over your chest and face until you let go of Angelo, and let him fall limply to the ground with a loud thud as you spit out the piece of him you ripped out.

“Angelo!” The other man shrieks, reminding you he’s there after feeling the rush of the moment cloud your mind.

“<That's right,>” you murmur in High Valyrian as you turn around and see how horrified the man is, to the point he stands there paralyzed with his widened eyes on his dead friend. He doesn’t seem to notice that you’re there anymore, not until you snatch the sword from the man’s corpse. Even then he fails to counter, it just seems like his eyes are almost going to pop out of his skull when he sees the bottom part of your face, and your chest covered in his friend's blood.

Yet it’s his inability to react that makes him an easy but also disappointing target. You want him to put up a fight, but he returns his gaze to his friend and with his last breath utters the name, “Angelo.” You then lunge the blade through his stomach so hard that the blade comes out of the other end.

After both men are nothing but corpses spilling blood over the ground you drop the blade and lift your nose in the air as you take in heavy breaths and think of what to do next. There’s no doubt more Frey men are here, Lady Frey wouldn’t be stupid enough to come with just a couple. She should have come with a handful of men, and a handful of men is just enough to overwhelm you and lead you back to the same problem you were just in, but worse because you wouldn’t be able to escape more of them.

It’s why you need to take your chance now that you have it. There’s no more men coming. They don’t all know you’re here, not besides the two that you just killed going by what they said, so you can make your escape.

Alys is here too, but you don’t need to worry about her, she can take care of herself. And Ser Jason? Aemond had him locked away so he wouldn’t get you out, there’s no way you can reach him without getting caught, so…you have to make the hardest choice and leave him behind. You can’t get caught or you’ll just be locked away again, you’ll fall into the same trap that put you in danger in the first place, so you have to leave before they see you. Ser Jason will understand that.

“Sorry, Ser,” you murmur to yourself as you drop the blade and don’t hesitate a moment longer before you leave the room.

Once you're in the hallway though you come to a stop to try and hear if more men are approaching. When you hear nothing, you stick to the shadows and sneakily make your escape. Luckily the castle is large, with a lot of area to cover, so none of the men or Lady Frey have reached the corridors you stride down. They don’t occupy the courtyard you run down, but you do hear voices in the distance once you’re outside, they sound close, but they’re not on top of you yet, so you just quicken your pace.

When you make it out of the walls you stand against one and glance at the woods and open area. If Astraea is hunting she’ll hunt for deer or some bear or something since you’re not close to the sea for her to hunt her fish. The woods don’t offer her the space for her to catch her meals so she’d be roaming over the tree line, over the open fields where she has space and more visibility. That’s where you’ll find her, so going off instinct, you continue to run.

Running while pregnant is not easy though. Especially not with twins, not when you're six months along; they weigh you down and make you slower, but you don’t let that stop you. Not at this moment, you push yourself as much as your body lets you. Your heart quickly begins to race, your rushing blood thumps in your ears, and beads of sweat form on your forehead, but you don’t care, you keep running and running.

The need to keep straining yourself in order to find your dragon only grows tenfold when you hear men in the background shouting to catch you and return you to the castle before you can reunite with your dragon somewhere in the distance. And since they’re not carrying twins they’re faster than you. Since their legs aren’t throbbing with the additional weight or out of growing exhaustion, they’re faster.

They get closer and closer, making you keep pushing yourself, making you try to run faster because you can feel her nearby. She’s close, you can feel it. You just need to run faster. She’ll scare them off.

However, your efforts are proven useless when one of them manages to get the lead out of the others he’s with and throws his arms around you to yank you back, pulling you to a harsh stop, and preventing you from reaching your dragon.

“Let go of me!” You bellow and try to throw your elbow back, but two more men catch up and take ahold of your arms, making your efforts to escape fruitless. “I’m your princess!” You throw out and kick your feet as they start pulling you back, but they don’t care. They see the blood staining you and don’t care. And since a lot of men are returning you to the castle they don’t care about you kicking or squirming.

Your fight is nothing to them, which makes returning to the castle an easy effort and once you're inside you're taken to the Godswood right away where you're pushed to your knees in front of none other than Lady Serena Frey, an old shrewd who was recently widowed, and who apparently has nothing better to do.

“Princess,” the old woman greets you and curtsies which means nothing when you’re on your knees with your hands tied behind your back. “It’s an honor meeting you. I will say you look nothing like your brother.”

You clench your jaw and narrow your glare on her at the mere mention of your brother.

“I expected to come to a weakly defended castle, but alas you’re here,” she continues to talk confidently with her chin up in the air, relishing in a confidence she can only gain because there’s no dragon nearby, you’re on your knees, and she knows Aemond and your own mother are far to do her any harm. “You truly are a sight for sore eyes, Princess.”

You tilt your head slightly and finally break the silence you had kept since you were put before her “You would be rewarded handsomely if you deliver me to my mother without strings, don’t you know?”

Lady Frey steps forward and lets out a deep breath as she seems to weigh on what you say before she sighs and nods stiffly. “Perhaps I would be rewarded, but what’s better than the jewel to the Riverlands? I was promised to be its Castallen but alas the one who made the promise is dead. Killed by arrows I heard.”

Your breath falters, and you drop your eyes to the ground as you make the connection that it was Jacaerys that she was referring to this entire time. It was your sweet and now deceased brother. You realize that and the memory of him only stomps on the ashes of your heart, making you ache.

“And with you as my prisoner, the Prince Regent and The Queen would both willingly give me what I want without the need of waiting until the war has ended,” she adds as her eyes burn into your downcasted attention. “The only question is who will offer it to me first with good benefits.”

“You have dominion over the twins, what more do you need? Surely this castle can’t be worth more than that?” You spat as you slowly roll your eyes up to meet her gaze without that ache reflecting in your eyes. You make sure not to demonstrate your sorrow when meeting eye to eye.

“With your brother dead you will most likely be heir now, if not you will rule over somewhere important, and if not you will always be a spoiled princess pampered until your death, so you will never know our struggles,” she rebuttals spitefully. “You don’t know what it's like having to fight to live. Holding Harrenhal is a promise for a better life, and respect. So yes, Your Grace this castle is worth far more than the Twins.”

Alright…

You remain speechless and just hold her gaze fueled with determination for a moment, and actually feel a speck of admiration for her need to fight for better, but you know now nothing will get her to let you go. You know Aemond will answer first and you know where he will leave you. He’s leaving you no choice…

You didn’t want to fight back with fire or blood. Whatever the case the Frey’s are allied with your mother, they let the Northmen cross and some have fought alongside them for your mother, so they have been allies, but if you let them take you you know where you’ll end up. And the fear of being locked away, of being useless when you can be the key to something great, or even something small that can give someone an advantage, is consuming.

It’s why you can’t stand the idea of being locked away. It’s why you won’t stand being locked away a moment longer, or for a far longer time, even if it’s what Aemond thinks is for the best. Which is funny to think about as you're currently on your knees with your hands tied behind your back because this need to keep you here where he thought your safety was guaranteed is what put you in your current situation. And it was only 3 days after he left. Not months, days! So it’s kind of funny, no?

He surely wouldn’t think so, but it sure as hell is funny to you. You could almost laugh at the irony of it, and all for what?

If only he could see you now. If only he could see the situation HE put you in. Him. Not anyone else, him, him, him, and only him. And all because of what?! A fear you don’t understand after he’s witnessed your ability to fight, and to survive fire. And maybe yes he’s just looking out for you, for your unborn children, but the paranoia that held him by his throat put you in one of the very situations he was trying to avoid. His paranoia put you in this situation, him, and only him! And now he will see what he forced you to do to escape. You will make sure of it.

“Take her inside,” Lady Frey orders the men. “Being under the open sky is too dangerous.”

Smart, but alas not quick enough. You feel her nearby like a magnetizing connection pulled apart and aching to reconnect and become one again. Yet she’s not on top of you yet, close, but if they take you inside now she won’t be able to help you. Thus as the man grabs ahold of your arm and starts to pull you up, you snap your head around and throw your face forward to chomp down on the man's crotch.

The man screams out, of course, but does what you wanted him to do; he lets you go, letting you slowly push yourself to your feet with your eyes cast on the ground all while meeting no fight back. They know after all that hurting you would guarantee no offer to be met, so they don’t retaliate even if the other men itch too. They stand there in confusion watching you draw in and draw heavy breaths out while your eyes stay focused on the ground, unknown to the fact that your mind is thinking about what you’re being forced to do, and what you’re about to do.

They see you there at a standstill and see an opening to recapture you. However, they quickly come to a stop before they can try anything when they catch you slowly lifting your head and slowly painting a different expression on your features.

Rather than expressing disappointment and guilt, your eyebrows start to pinch together, the corner of your lips begin to curl, your nose flares, and in your eyes, a fury is lit within that was not burning there before. One so threatening and furious that Lady Frey starts to realize something is looming nearby; something big, and something far more dangerous than any human, than you, or anything here. Something that is finally heard in the cloud bank above. Something they know to escape right away, but alas they’re far too late.

“Dracarys,” you utter one single word just above a whisper. And without the need to repeat yourself or even be heard by the creature hidden in the cloud back, a great fire rains down from above, ridding the sky of every cloud that hid her, and bathing you and every single soul around you except for one, in a life-consuming fire that leaves only you standing there with your nose in the air, heavy breaths escaping past your lips, and tears of anger welling in your eyes. All while the sole survivor runs away without looking back. All he knows is you came out unscathed, that’s all he cares to acknowledge after his escape because he fears you’ll go after him.

Albeit how can you when your mind is stuck on the fact of that matter that you didn’t want to kill them? You didn’t want to burn them and leave yourself naked in the middle of the Godswood, but Aemond pushed you to. Aemond left you here…and it’s because he left that you had to do it.

Why? Why did he have to leave? Why did he leave you behind?

You were going to leave after he accidentally pushed you, but if he had asked you to accompany him on his wrath around the Riverlands you would have accepted. And why wouldn’t you? But he left and he put your life in danger. He left and you had to burn them, you had to use fire. You had to kill the other two and leave your face covered in blood. You had to because of him. Him. Him!

Well, now he will see what he forced you to do. He will see what his actions led to. He will return expecting to see you still locked away in those chambers, but you’ll be long gone, all that will be left of you is the remnants of what you did, what he caused, and what his fear pushed you to do.

Aemond will return and see burnt bodies on the ground, and Lady Frey and a few others hanging from the Weirwood tree. He will see that he was wrong. He will face his mistake and your wrath.

He will see and you make sure of it all by yourself. It is taxing, only because you had to fling the bodies over the branches, but you did it. You left a gruesome scene and even though you have done bad things before, usually you’re basked with pride and confidence since you’re proving that you’re so much more, that you are strong, but this time as you look up at the bodies from the ground all you can do is cry as you’re hit with a wave of guilt for the first time.

You try to wipe the tears off your face, but hot streaks keep rolling down your cheeks, breaking through the dry blood that pampers your face, and only making your emotions clear to anyone with eyes. And when it comes to Alys and Ser Jason finally coming out to meet you in the Godswood that confidence that you usually carry like some mask after you fight is even more impossible to be bothered to be put on.

You try to paint yourself as unfazed. You try hard, after all, they were just stupid people who threatened your life. Yet when you turn to face Alys and give your back to the Weirwood tree carrying those burnt bodies, your bottom lip starts to tremble, your pinched eyebrows falter from their hardened hold, and your eyes, oh, your eyes, they scream your agony in such a way that Ser Jason thinks your pain is ethereal, and that the gruesome scene behind you is like a part of some beautifully tragic embroidered art piece on a tapestry.

“I have to go home,” is what you can muster through it all. “Will you come with me?” You direct at Alys, and she first approaches you to block your exposed body from your sworn protector and then gives you a response that comes easily to her.

“No. My place is here,” she says and only makes more tears run down your face, reminding her how young you really are in the grand scheme of things. You might’ve recently had a name day, but as she sees you before her with your face screaming the agony you’re under, she remembers that you shouldn’t be put through these trials and tribulations. You’re too young, but you’re forced just like many before you.

“But don’t fret my friend, will see each other again,” she uses a soft voice she had forgotten she was able to use. “Soon.”

You believe her, no doubt about it, so you nod gently.

“You send me a raven if you find yourself in trouble, and if Aemond—”

“I know how to avoid him,” she cuts you off to assure you. “Don’t worry. You just go back home to your boy and your mother. I will be fine. I always have.”

You nod again and just before you can go change, you take in a breath to say something else. “Thank you, for letting me find peace with my father,” you say shakily. “And for…letting me find myself. I know who I am, and what my place is in this story now because of you Alys, so…thank you. I will never ever forget what you did for me here, and I know you said it already, but if you want we can be lifelong friends. I don’t want to lose our friendship.”

Alys blinks repeatedly and her own lips tremble but she musters a confident but sweet smile. “Of course. I would…really love that.”

You swallow thickly and nod in comprehension before you wrap your arms around her to pull her in for an embrace. “Thank you,” you whisper and hold onto her tighter, feeling her carefully return your embrace.

After a moment of lingering in each other's arms, you pull back and look at Ser Jason past Alys’ shoulder. “Get ready, Ser. We’re going home.”

———

*SOMETIME LATER*

The last time you returned to King’s Landing was after leaving Dragonstone, and you were met with an arrow that barely missed your dragon. There was hostility where there shouldn’t have been any, and this time around it’s not all so different. Sure, an arrow isn’t shot at Astraea this time, so your life isn’t put in danger, but you are met with perhaps a more dangerous threat; two dragons roaming the skies they never lose sight of you as they approach you the closer you get to the city, fearing that the monster of Aemond’s dragon would descend at any moment.

Alas, their fear is misplaced, you don’t come as a threat. You could be one, the two people upon their dragons know that, but you’ve come home in peace. And perhaps now you look like some dog running back with its tail between its legs. And in some form, you are running back home, but it’s not out of cowardice. More so realization that your mother’s side is where you always belonged.

Hopefully, she gets to understand that and hasn’t given up on you even though she’s had every right to, and has most likely had snakes whispering in her ear telling her to stop putting a candle out for your return—and yes, you may still have some sort of hateful bias toward the snake called Daemon, that he doesn’t deserve any more. It’s been proven that he’s just an asshole and nothing more, but still! He’s most likely told her to view you as an enemy because it would make fighting her war easier.

And perhaps she should kill you. The whispers that have spread about the realm are not cruel rumors, you supported Aemond in taking Harrenhal, and you took part in the massacre of House Strong, so yes you were a devoted Green. You are a traitor to your mother’s side!

But you’ve seen your wrongs, you’re not tormented anymore. She needs to see that. You keep pleading to yourself that she does, that she forgives your wrongs and doesn’t truly cast you aside like you’ve feared she would so many times before.

She needs to see it. Please, please don’t let her forsake you.

“Give me your hand,” Ser Jason offers his help, but you jump off the ladders hanging down Astraea and land perfectly on the ground—“o-kay.”

The flapping of dragon wings claps in the sky louder and louder way before a long shadow starts to cast over you.

Yet even as the dragon is approaching you you avoid giving them your attention, you direct it to Astraea instead as you approach her head and lift your hand to gently stroke her face.

However, after a moment passes you can't help yourself from drifting your attention to the sky where you see Seasmoke.

You see him and your mind immediately goes to your father, what you just found out not so long ago in the form of dreams, and in some way, in some form a part of you expects him to be on that dragon. You wish for him to be on that dragon, but the truth breaks through your delusion just as quickly as it built up and you come out disappointed that you know it’s just Addam.

“And so the prodigal daughter returns,” his taunting voice hits your ears, making you press your hand firmly against your dragon whilst you slowly drag your attention to Daemon now on the ground departing from his dragon. “Which begs the question, friend or foe? Should I expect your Kinslayer of a husband to surprise attack us?”

You see him now, and not just a glimpse of him, you see all of him and he has his hand resting on Dark Sister with a not-so-lax hold as if anticipating a fight. Which is smart on his behalf.

“No,” you deadpan with no effort to sound kind or warm. “I have escaped his clutches while he’s away. I have returned to fight for The Queen…if she’ll have me.”

Daemon's gaze roams your body, noticing how tense your shoulders are, but not seeing any part of you twitch in a form to give away that you’re lying. Your voice is harsh and serious, no taunting or cockiness clings onto it, it just gives away your distaste for him but not anything else that should worry him. It’s why he chooses to trust you, and well, your mother had already told him that she wanted to see you when your dragon was first sighted in the sky.

“Of course, she’ll have you,” Daemon mutters, making your breath falter. “But your sworn protector needs to give me his sword, and Astraea needs to go to the Dragonpit.”

You snap your eyes to Astraea, and her own gaze turns to you which only makes your turmoil that much worse.

“It’s for safety measures,” Daemon adds as he takes note of your hesitance “Just hours ago you were the enemy. And even now when you enter the Red Keep and I follow you in who knows what can happen, do you understand?”

You swallow back nervously, and as you keep looking at Astraea as if your actions will physically wound her, you nod gently in agreement.

“Good.”

You can’t say it hurt you more to chain your dragon in the dragon pit because she’s been spoiled most of her life, so now she’s restless when it comes to being in chains and unable to sleep under the endless sky, so she’s hurt and when she’s hurt you feel it too.

Yet that pain doesn’t compare to the agony that you’re hit with when you step inside the Red Keep and forget Jacaerys is gone. You were so used to having him greet you whether it be with a furrowed brow or warm smile that you wait for him to come meet you and Daemon when you’re walking to the throne room. You expect him to walk around a corridor in a very heavy and quick stride. You anticipate seeing him—no, desire seeing him meet you halfway, but just as you turn the corner to reach the throne room, it hits you, he’s gone. Not temporarily, he’s not off handling something for your mother, he’s gone forever. He’s never going to come meet you ever again with either a smile or a bothered look.

You remember that and it shakes what little confidence you had mustered to talk to your mother. Now when those doors open and you’re greeted with the great image of her on that throne tears accompany your eyes, the corners of your lips are downturned, and sorrow and anxiety make themselves evident. There’s no holding them back anymore, it’s clear to Rhaena and Baela standing at the foot of the Iron Throne, and your grandfather, The Hand, standing below the steps that lead to the Iron Throne. And most importantly your emotions are loud and clear to your mother. Not the Queen, your mother.

Yes, she looks at you like she can’t believe you’re walking down the great hall. She couldn’t believe you were returning when she saw Astraea, nor could she believe she was hearing your title and name be announced the moment the doors opened, but alas here you are, striding to her with no pep in your step, no air of cockiness and arrogance around you. All she sees is her wounded daughter. Her weakness that crumbles her own mask and softens her heart hardened after Jacaerys death.

“Your Grace,” you greet and immediately go down on one knee, causing Ser Jason to do the same behind you.

Like before when you came to greet Aegon as King for the first time you keep your eyes downcasted. This time though it’s not to fake innocence, this time you can’t lift your eyes out of fear of what you’ll see, especially as you hear her get off the throne and hear her footsteps descend the stairs.

“I have come to swear my fealty to ward the Queen,” you proclaim with an attempt at confidence. “I know my word means nothing. Word has spread about what I was a part of at Harrenhal, and I will not say it happened against my will because I would be lying. I did it. I took part in killing House Strong, and I don’t regret it. I had my reasons. Just like I had my reasons to leave your side…” you trail off as you avoid giving those reasons so no problems would arise.

“But,” you add with a hint of softness. “I see my wrongdoings. I was wrong, I see it now. My place is here, by your side, My Queen. My place has always been at your side.” You nod in agreement to your words and still don’t look at her even if she now stops before you.

“I’m sorry I fell astray. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me. I wouldn’t have to take part in fighting, or any royal matters. I just want your forgiveness and for you to let me return to my place by your side…please,” your voice quivers on that last word. Not to make yourself sound more convincing, you just couldn’t control your emotions.

And either way, no matter how you would’ve sounded, or what word you used at the end, your mother still presses two fingers under your chin and tilts your head up to make you meet her gaze, and let you see tears that well in her eyes and the softness that reflects back at you.

“Rise,” she orders, and you slowly stand to your feet, letting her eyes fall to your belly that sticks out now before her gaze finds yours again.

“Your Grace,” you say breathily with the need to say so much more. You’re on the verge of a breakdown, but as you’re on your feet you can see the other people in the hall, you feel their eyes on you, so those two words are all you utter.

“Should we expect an attack from Vhagar now that you have left?” Daemon interrupts the moment, causing you and your mother to snap your gaze to him at the same time—“It’s said Cole has taken his army away from Harrenhal, where does he march?”

“He aims to join the Hightower,” you don’t fret to share. “But alas they’re taking the most obvious route so it’s a waiting game now to see if they can win against the Northmen and the Rivermen.”

Daemon scoffs and you continue more hesitantly now.

“And Aemond…is smart, once he finds out I’m gone he’ll be upset, but he wouldn’t dare come when he knows he’s at a disadvantage, besides, he wants you to go out to meet him.”

A teasing smile flashes on Daemon’s face that he hides by looking down.

“He left me at Harrenhal, locked me in our quarters to be protected, but Lady Serena Frey invaded Harrenhal with the intention of taking me captive to give me to the highest bidder,” you share and look back at your mother. “She said she was promised Harrenhal and wanted to take it by force. She's dead now,” you announce coldly. “They all are. That’s how I escaped.”

Your mother looks at you, not with fear at what she heard, but with a curiosity that she doesn’t express. It just gleams in her eyes.

“Good,” Daemon praises you.

“My sword is yours now,” you reassure your mother. “I will bleed for you, and I will use fire on your enemies now and until the day I die.”

Your mother draws in a deep breath and blinks repeatedly as she very lightly shakes her head before she grabs your shoulder with one hand and then cups your cheek with the other, making you draw in a deep shaky breath.

“Don't turn your back on me again,” she says, but not threateningly. There’s not even a hint of it, it’s more like she was pleading you not to more than anything.

“I swear,” you immediately respond, making her lips twitch up but not to form a smile just yet.

“<Welcome back home,>” she whispers and presses her forehead against yours, making tears slip out of your eyes, but not feel assured just yet. Not until you tell her everything you have trapped in your throat.

“<And thank you. For saving your brother, Aegon,>” she adds, making you pull your head back to offer her a smile and sweet words.

“<Of course.>”

You then step back and glance at your grandfather and offer him a stiff nod to acknowledge him, but that’s all, something venomous still churns inside at the thought of him.

When you look at the twins though, you can muster a short smile before you look back at your mother and finally get to what you’ve been itching to address. “Aerion?”

“Guarded by your dog,” Daemon chuckles, making you roll your eyes to him—“he’s as loyal as a hound that one. That’s the only reason why he still breathes.”

So Ser Cane has been protecting him this entire time? Good!

“May I go see him?” You ask your mother just in case she wants to touch on other matters and to let her take care of other trivial matters now that you’re back.

“Of course,” she doesn’t keep you waiting. She lets you go without anything else to add. Nothing to restrict you, after all, you’re her only biological daughter, you’re her child, and after losing three already, how could she even think of doing anything to hurt you in any way whether it be emotionally or physically?

If she could, she would lock you away like Aemond did, that would guarantee your safety, but she knows her limits, so she lets you go without any interjections.

Yet, close is all you get to Aerion. Before you can turn the corner that leads to his chambers you hesitate out of slight fear.

He’s a baby, nine months old to be exact, but it’s been four months since you last saw him. What if he cries when you try to hold him? What if he wants nothing to do with you? You would deserve his rejection, you haven’t been in his life for a short time, but it doesn’t mean that you want to mean nothing to your son.

But if you do mean nothing, if that fear becomes a reality then you have to face it, don’t you? You have no other option. Thus you draw out a deep breath before you turn the corner and get greeted with Ser Cane outside the door.

“Ser,” you announce your presence and gain his immediate attention.

“Princess,” he tries to sound serious but you hear the hint of surprise that matches the surprise in his eyes. “You've returned. Welcome back home.”

The corner of your lips tug to a gentle smile at the sound of his warm greeting. “It’s good to be home,” you say in return as you come to a brief stop before him. “I’m glad they have spared you, and I’m sorry that you had to go through that. I didn’t know it was going to happen.”

Ser Cane shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me, Princess. I have been through worse.”

You shake your head gently. “In any case I am sorry.”

Ser Cane shakes his head as well and speaks with determination clinging to every word. “I am your sworn protector and that of your son. My life and my sword are yours. To die protecting you and the little lord would be a good and honorable death. I would want it no other way regardless of which side you decide to fight on.”

Your breath hitches and you nod in comprehension. “Thank you, my good knight,” you whisper, making him bow his head before he opens the door for you.

“Go on, I’m sure he’s still awake.”

You swallow back nervously and take a peek inside first, but don’t see him, Vanessa, or any of his caretakers. You hoped they would be just across the door, but alas you have to step inside. And when you do, you do so with your eyes averted as if you’re ashamed of walking in.

“Princess?!” You hear Vanessa’s voice call out to you from across the room, bringing you to a stop but not making you raise your gaze just yet.

“You’re back? When did you arrive?” She continues asking so you answer.

“Not so long ago,” you speak quietly with shame clinging onto every word as if high-born ladies didn’t leave their children for long periods of time, as if being gone was such a great sin when it isn’t. It’s common for high-born ladies to be away from their children, but that’s not the mother you wanted to be because that’s not the kind of mother that raised you.

“I’m sorry,” you can’t hold back anymore, striking Vanessa with surprise and bringing herself to a stop as she made her way to you.

“For what?” She queries.

You blink repeatedly and then slowly drag your eyes up, feeling your breath escape your lips when you see Aerion awake in her arms, looking right at you with his father's blue eyes.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Vanessa adds to try and reassure you. “He’s okay. We’re okay.”

You glance at her and nod in comprehension before you look back at Aerion as he’s unable to keep his eyes off you as if trying to figure you out.

“<Aerion,> You coo and whatever fear and hesitation you held falls completely when you see how big he’s gotten, and how big and healthy he looks

“<Hello, my little love,>” you continue as you slowly start to make your way toward him, hoping he won’t turn away from you.

“Look at you,” Vanessa interjects. “Six months along and you look so much bigger. I suppose twins do that though, huh? Are you feeling okay? Do you need anything to eat? Tea?”

You look at your handmaiden and shake your head. “No, no, I’m fine. Just…relieved to be back with Aerion. And you.”

She huffs and when you walk over and reach her you cup her cheek first, letting her mirror your action but then also start stroking your cheek gently.

“I’m happy you have returned,” she says sweetly, making you smile. “You must tell me everything, and I will give you something that came for you.”

You scoff at her cheeky smile but offer her an agreeing nod before you let her go and give your attention to your son, feeling your eyes soften right away, and feeling a spark where your heart once used to be.

“<Hello my boy, it’s me, your mama.>” You whisper in the most gentle voice so you don’t startle him, and he spares a glance at Vanessa before he meets your gaze and leans towards you to reach his hands out.

You gasp softly and feel your eyes sting with tears as you don’t hesitate to take him and carry him yourself, feeling how much heavier he is now. “<I have so much to tell you>,” your voice quivers as you stroke the side of his head whilst he reaches for the siren necklace Aemond gifted you. “<Like I missed you so much, and,” you laugh softly. “Guess what? I met your little brother in a vision. Not the twins, someone we have yet to meet.>”

With no care to what you’re saying Aerion lays his head on your shoulder as he clutches onto the Siren, making you let out a happy cry before you hug him tightly against you with the inability to stop pressing kisses on his head.

“I love you,” you whisper against his head and then nuzzle your nose in his head of white-silver hair, going unaware of the fact that your mother stood past the doors with the intention of walking in, but stopping the moment she catches you sharing such a sweet moment with your son and not being able to help her blissful smile.

It’s been a while since she’s smiled, since she’s felt bliss, but as she sees you with your own little one that’s all she feels, bliss.

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens

118 notes · View notes

scoops-aboy86 · 3 months ago

Text

Last Party of the Summer

Prompt Used: Pool party (@thehairandthebanished) and make-up sex (@steddiesmuttyseptember) | Last Party of the Summer | Rating: E | CW: hurt comfort, weight gain, body image issues, mildly intoxicated sex | Additional Tags: chubby Steve Harrington, miscommunication, breakup to makeup, makeup sex

also on Ao3

It’s hard to keep tabs on someone at a crowded pool party without being obvious about it, especially while working at getting drunk. But Steve, pausing to shotgun another beer, thinks he’s doing pretty good all things considered. He’s not glaring literal holes through Ed— through Munson’s stupid leather jacket, at least, so he can’t be that obvious. Even Tommy hasn’t commented on it, and Tommy isn’t one to notice things and not run his mouth, so there you go.

He’s not being obvious at all.

Then, out of nowhere, Eddie emerges from the crowd and uses a firm grip on his upper arm to propel him from the side of the pool back inside the house. Steve hadn’t even realized he’d lost track of the guy among their peers, which only adds to the unreal feeling of being frogmarched up the stairs and into his bedroom, ringed fingers burning like a brand through the sleeve of his t-shirt.

“Alright,” Eddie snarls after kicking the door shut behind them. “You are the one who ended things, so what’s your fucking problem, Harrington? Mad that the riff raff got in to supply this dumb shindig with party favors?”

Indignance kick-starts Steve into scowling and yanking his arm away, crossing them across his chest. (But also, hearing his last name roll off Eddie’s tongue when just a few weeks ago he’d been ‘Stevie,’ ‘baby,’ ‘sweetheart’ makes something twist painfully in his chest.) “Watch what you’re calling dumb, Munson. You’re the one who snuck in uninvited.”

“It’s called working. It’s what some of us have to do when we don’t have daddy’s money to fall back on!”

The words make Steve take a sharp step back, because Eddie knows his parents throw money at him as though it’ll make up for never being around, never paying much attention to him unless there’s something to scold him for. How he’s gotten checks in the mail after making the winning shot or run or lap in an important match or getting a good grade on a big test, but they’re never there to actually see any of it; how he feels more like an employee or an investment than a son.

And maybe it’s because he’s toeing the line of drunk, but his eyes sting. A little.

“That’s a low fucking blow, freak,” Steve sneers, blinking hard. His crossed arms tighten further over his chest like he’s trying to keep something from breaking out, and he doesn’t care about the way Eddie’s face twitches. He doesn’t! “But I guess that’s par for the course with you, isn’t it? Never pull a single fucking punch.”

“I’ve pulled plenty,” Eddie sneers right back.

Which is. Oh. That’s worse.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone, huh?” And Steve can hear his voice going humiliatingly tight, there’s just nothing he can do about it. Fucking beer. “I told you to go, what’s the point in dragging me up here just to rub it in more, huh?”

Almost worse, what if someone had noticed them going up the stairs together? He could’ve withstood that before, when they were still… But now Steve is all alone, painfully unwanted even by the town loser, who must have pulled his punches long enough for the sake of getting laid for a while, just like all the girls who had ever found Steve wanting after a few dates. All he wants is his own sad business to stay pathetically his own, but Eddie just had to be out selling tonight.

“Maybe I just wanted a little fucking closure, Steve.” Eddie leans back against the closed door, like he’s trying to get as far away as possible without leaving the room, glaring. There’s nothing soft in those eyes now, not anymore, not even as he says Steve’s first name instead of his last. A concession? No, it must just be a lapse. A lingering habit of familiarity, soon to be broken. “You kicked me out without any warning, and now you’re following me around with this look like I’m the one that did something wrong. Rub in what? What the fuck did I even do?”

Steve feels his jaw drop. “What did you do? Are you stupid or something?”

They’d been in Steve’s bed, plaid comforter kicked to the floor in their hurry, too wrapped up in each other to give even half a shit about the chaos of sheets around them. And maybe Steve had been a little self conscious about taking off his shirt that night, because it was between sport seasons and he hadn’t been keeping up with his workouts lately, too wrapped up in Eddie and shared joints that set his mind free from what Eddie called the ‘shackles of conformity.’ He’d still done it, stripped as eagerly as if he’d never noticed the way a few extra pounds had gone to his ass and belly lately. Because surely Eddie wouldn’t care. It was conformity to worry about that kind of shit so much, and Steve was trying to be better. To be someone Eddie could not just like, but respect, too.

At first it was fine. Eddie pounced on him like he usually did, with a demanding kiss before lavishing attention on the constellations of Steve’s moles that lead from check to neck and further. He latched onto a nipple, teasing at the quickly tightening bud with teeth and tongue until pulling back in satisfaction and diving for the other. Then further down, raking his blunt, black-painted nails down Steve’s sides until he reached his waist, gripping… then, unusually, pausing. And then, then he’d—

“You laughed at me,” Steve spits, and oh god his eyes are really stinging now. That’s all he’s got, that four-word complaint, but it’s anything but little. Humiliation and hurt and shame coiling in his gut and making all the beer he’s downed tonight churn unpleasantly, because he’d been stupid to think that what they’d had wasn’t as superficial as everything else in this stupid town that Eddie wants to ditch the second he graduates. Everyone knows what the Freak of Hawkins High thinks about jocks. Probably sits around snickering to himself in his free time about how Steve’s let himself go—

“When the hell did I laugh at you?” Eddie is still pissed, still scowling at him, but there’s an undercurrent of bewilderment in his voice. (Steve recognizes it from the time he’d tried to explain the rules of baseball.) “Before or after you shoved me off, bare ass fucking naked, and told me to get my shit and get lost?”

“Before!” Steve can’t believe this. What is Eddie trying to do here, pretending he doesn’t know? “Right before that! When you… felt my stomach.”

Face burning at the admission, Steve is looking anywhere but Eddie and doesn’t know what to make of the sputtering noise at first. Until the lack of response gets to him and he glances, then focuses, then frowns, the tight cross of his arms loosening infinitesimally in distraction.

Eddie is just… standing there, pointer finger held aloft in a ‘hold on a second’ gesture, his other hand pressed hard against his mouth and his eyes downcast in deep thought.

It’s the same thing he does when he has a light bulb moment about a new plot point in a campaign and is trying to sort out in his head how all the threads of it mesh with what’s already there. The recognition makes Steve’s heart ache, regardless of how baffled he is to see it in this context.

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters after a second, rubbing his hands over his face and sighing heavily, a hint of frustrated growl to it. “Well… fuck, okay.”

He presses both hands together, tapping both pointer fingers against his lips and breathing out heavily through his nose, and finally looks up to make eye contact.

“Okay, I just heard it how you must have heard it, and that’s—” A grimace passes across Eddie’s expressive face. “I wasn’t laughing at you, Steve. Pretty insulted that you’d just assume I even would, but that’s… that’s not the point.”

Steve blinks and keeps blinking, hard, not sure how the argument has turned into… this. He’s still mad, hurt, everything he was a minute ago, but now he’s confused too. And kind of indignant, a little unsure, half ready to tell Eddie to just get out again. “What? Dude, I heard you!”

“Not a laugh!” the metalhead insists. “This is so—For fuck’s sake, Steve, I liked it. I was excited, and I… I fucking giggled, alright?”

And… what?

“Giggled?” Steve repeats.

“Yeah,” Eddie bites back, embarrassment coloring high on his cheeks. “Like a goddamn schoolgirl. I wanted to bite you there, you asshole,” he adds, but it lacks heat. His voice has gone tired, the fight draining out of him as he realizes—and as it occurs to Steve, if he’s telling the truth—that what they’d both been hissing mad about was a complete and tragic misunderstanding.

“But… I don’t get it,” Steve says numbly. Maybe it’s the beer catching up to him, but his conviction is wobbling now and he feels off kilter. He shuffles a few more steps backwards until he runs up against the bed and sits so fast it feels like falling. “I’ve let myself go and you… I thought you…”

He’d been so sure. That laugh has been ringing through his head ever since he’d heard it, but suddenly it sounds like a caricature, like something out of a cartoon.

Not how Eddie sounds at all.

“It’s not ‘letting yourself go’ to not be skin and bones, man,” Eddie says, shoving both hands in his pockets and looking down at the toes of his own sneakers. “Some padding never hurt anyone. I like it, alright?” Defensive, defiant, but… a little subdued now.

Sad, Steve thinks, and then suddenly that’s all he can feel. It hits him that he’d pushed Eddie away, ended things between them… for no reason?

His shoulders are already hitching up before he even registers that he's crying, wetness trickling straight down to dampen the hair at his temples. It’s been weeks. Weeks of being angry—he’s so tired of it, but the only alternative was to feel horribly lonely so he held onto it anyway, a rope burn on his soul to distract from the pain of his heart cracked in two.

And he’d known as he watched Eddie earlier tonight that his gaze bordered on more pathetic than mad. Not quite cooled off enough to realize on his own that he’d made a mistake, but enough to recognize it now that reality (and Eddie) stares him in the face.

It’s over for no reason. Eddie hates him now and if it was just a dumb misunderstanding then, then Steve absolutely deserves it—

The bed dips at his side. Not close enough that they’re touching, but that it happens at all is a surprise. And then Eddie murmurs “Stevie?” so hesitant it makes Steve choke.

It’s the barest hint of an olive branch, and he’s absolutely going to blame the beer for how it makes the tears drip faster. He hasn’t felt this pathetic since the car ride home after one of the few basketball games his dad had ever bothered to attend, where Steve had missed not one but two easy free throw shots.

“I’m so s-stupid,” he gasps wetly, and immediately feels even more pathetic for saying it out loud, as if it’s not obvious. He turns away, away from Eddie, trying to hide—his face, his body, everything. This is the worst pool party ever and he’s never drinking again.

“You're not stupid, you dumbass. Hey.” Eddie touches his shoulder, keeps his hand light but there when Steve tries to shrug it off. He sighs heavily, almost a huff. “It’s not stupid to react to me pressing a button I didn’t know was there. Look—Would actually saying something instead of jumping right to kicking me out been better? Absolutely. That really fucking hurt, man.”

“Sorry,” Steve squeezes his eyes shut. “And sorry I called you a freak. You’re not, I don’t… I don’t really think that.”

There’s a pause, and then Eddie squeezes his shoulder. “Thanks, man. I’m, uh… sorry for the crack about your dad and calling you an asshole.”

“I am an asshole.” Steve’s eyes are already shut; he squeezes them tighter until colors start to bloom across the inside of his eyelids. “Fucking ruined everything over some stupid thing that was only ever in my head, so I… I deserve this. But you didn’t and I’m sorry, I hope you—” and here his throat tightens up, because he wants to say I hope you can forgive me, but that would be even more pathetic than he’s already being. “I hope you find s-someone who treats you better.”

This pause stretches out for a lot longer, so long that Steve would think Eddie had left if not for the remaining dip in the mattress and the hand-shaped brand on his shoulder. He’s just waiting for the agreement and for Eddie to finally leave for good, holding in a wordless, futile scream for when he’s alone. Fuck the party downstairs, he’ll call the cops himself if he has to just to clear them all out, and suck up whatever punishment he gets if the Hawkins PD decides to notify his parents.

Finally, after a thousand fucking years of that scream burning a hole in Steve’s throat, Eddie says quietly, “Or, you could just… not do that again. Think you could do that for me, Stevie?”

Absolute fucking whiplash.

Steve is so shocked he actually turns back to look, and all it takes is the sight of the other boy’s big brown eyes and the softness there, the tender flaming hope in them. “Yeah,” he croaks, doesn’t even think he sounds like himself anymore but at least he gets the word out. “Yes, Eds, please—”

And then Eddie is on him with a bruising kiss, scrambling to kick his shoes off while Steve scrambles at the black leather jacket, pulling it off to grab desperately where Eddie’s bare sides show through the intentionally ripped shirt beneath it. Ripped denim rasping against swim trunk fabric as Eddie straddles him, grinds down hard, refusing to let either of them up for air. Steve is just as hungry for it, just as desperate.

It’s different. They’ve still got their residual hurts, he can taste it in the way Eddie bites at his lips, bites all the way down to his neck and sucks a dark claim on the side that Steve can’t help arching into with a moan. A breach of their unspoken rule not to mark each other because they can’t be out, not in this town and definitely not while they’re still only going into their junior and senior years, respectively—but Steve is in just the right mood not to give a shit about that right now. Although…

“Door,” he gasps, trailing off with a whine when Eddie rolls his hips down into his again. “Did you lock it?”

Eddie pulls back fluidly with a curse under his breath, which Steve takes as a no. “Get these off while I’m gone,” he says, voice rough, and tugs at the waistband of Steve’s swimsuit. A second later he’s on his feet, backing away with a smoldering stare until Steve gets the hint.

With a jolt, Steve shoves the trunks down, bracing his heels on the bed to tug them over his ass. His cock bobs free, and his breath catches at the way Eddie keeps watching until he backs into the door.

“Good boy,” Eddie breathes, turning the lock behind his back. “Scoot back on the bed. After tonight, I’m going to make sure you’ll never think I’d laugh at you ever again.”

Steve does as he’s told, partly because he’s still shivering from the good boy (what is it about Eddie taking charge and calling him that, gets him every time) and partly because Eddie turns away to his tape player. Downstairs, it sounds like the party has seeped into the house; the living room speakers are thundering out don't you want me baby? at a volume that will probably spur the neighbors into action—morons. But all the better that the door is locked, if the party is going to ramp up unchecked; it’s only a matter of time before couples start breaking off to find any free privacy they can get.

Eddie puts in a mix tape, one of the ones he’d gifted months ago for what he’d called Steve’s ‘auditory re-education,’ and moves the smaller player close to drown it out.

In that cocoon of some of the metal songs that Steve actually likes, Eddie comes back to bed stripped out of his jeans and shirt. He crawls up between Steve’s legs until he’s hovering over him face to face. Then he gathers up Steve’s wrists, moving them to cross against the headboard above his head, and Steve lets it happen because it makes breathing pick up, makes his pulse throb faster between his legs.

“Keep these here,” Eddie says, and then kisses him so gently that Steve is shaking with the need to pull him closer, to have more. But the second he reaches to do so, Eddie catches him again. “Stevie…”

“I missed you so much,” Steve groans. Pouts, too, but lets Eddie replace his wrists above his head, not sure if he’s fully forgiven yet—doesn’t m is if this is penance or a reunion, or to what degrees it’s both. “Eds, please—”

He’s interrupted with another kiss, just as gentle and slow, but so unchaste it makes him feel like he’s melting. And then Eddie murmurs against his lips, “Missed you too. Let me show you, sweetheart.”

Before Steve has a chance to answer, Eddie wraps a hand (when had one of them left his wrists?) around his cock and drags a slow thumb over the head.

“Just keep your hands up here for me and be good.”

With a shuddering breath, Steve tries. He keeps his hands in place while Eddie nuzzles down the front of his shirt to the soft swell of his stomach, no less noticeable than their last night together. (Watching what he eats is hard, okay? He’s a teenage boy, he gets hungry. And maybe he’s still a little bloated from the beer even though he can’t really feel the alcohol slowing him down anymore.) There’s a faint red line, visible when his shirt is lifted, where it’d pushed slightly over his waistband all night; Eddie presses a gentle kiss to it and sighs.

A good sigh, like this is exactly what he’s been waiting for. Steve’s heard it before when taking the other boy in his hand, in his mouth—and even if his mind is inclined to overthink it, his body is hardwired to respond. Precome dribbles onto Eddie’s fingers, easing the glide as he slowly, slowly starts to stroke. Makes Steve shiver with dueling sensations of shame and pleasure because Eddie is still kissing the little pooch of his tummy, free hand kneading gently over the softness at his side, starting to tip the scales with how good the combined attention feels.

“That’s it baby,” Eddie tells him breathily, almost crooning. “That’s it…”

And slowly, slowly Steve starts to relax into it. He does try to look away a few times, overwhelmed, but Eddie answers each attempt by turning his face gently back and staring him down while kissing him more, tummy and soft sides and chest. Leaving love bites here and there. The sounds Eddie makes, pleased hums and low moans and quiet praise and Steve’s name, over and over.

It feels like coming home.

The next morning, Steve wakes up to Eddie kicking the door shut behind him as he comes back into the room.

“Everyone’s cleared out, but you do not want to look out there,” Eddie announces, setting a tray piled high with easy breakfast foods (scrambled eggs, bacon, buttered toast, jam, poptarts, fruit), two mugs of coffee, and a jug of orange juice on the bed with a flourish before crawling back into it himself. “At least not before noon.”

Steve doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t care, because Eddie is here. Eddie is here. With a breakfast that perfectly suits his level of hungover—not bad, but not great.

“Eds,” he starts, another apology ready to spill out, but Eddie pops a piece of toast into his open mouth and settles at his side.

“We’re good,” the other boy says simply. “It was a dumb misunderstanding that made you feel hurt and sad and made me feel hurt and pissed off, but it’s untangled now. Just never try to dump me like that again and we’ll be fine, alright?”

“Uh-huh,” Steve agrees quickly through a full mouth. He’s struggling to chew the big bite that had been shoved in, reaching for Eddie’s hand. Eddie loops an arm around Steve before letting him take it and twine their fingers together. As soon as he swallows, he adds, “I don’t want to dump you.” Not ever again, he hopes, but it doesn’t feel like the right time to say so. Not right now, not something so big that it’ll sound like a grand empty promise right after making up.

But Steve is pretty sure the fact that it hurt so much to push Eddie away means he’s capital L in love with him.

“Good.” Eddie kisses him, a hint of sweetness on his lips that suggests he sampled some of the jam while cooking. “Now, eat up sweetheart. That makeup sex wiped me out, and we’ve got a lot more celebratory banging on the schedule for today. Gotta keep that strength up.”

And, he has a point. Steve feels the grumbling of his empty stomach, along with the easy throb of all the little marks Eddie had left on his body the night before as a form of… of worship or something. Reminders that maybe letting go isn’t such a big deal. Because if he skimps on breakfast when it’s what his body wants (needs), sooner or later he’ll get restless and cranky and risk ruining everything all over again. “Yeah, keep my strength up,” Steve agrees, feeling his face heat a little. But Eddie beams at him, starts fussing around with the pillows so they can recline comfortably while they eat—while offering Steve forkfuls of scrambled eggs and bites of this or that, really—and slowly, slowly relaxes into feeling like everything’s going to be okay.

Permanent tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @irishvampireboy @oatmilk-vampire

@wheneverfeasible @hamiltonswiftie @grtwdsmwhr @yesdangerpls @theseaofdespair

#wg steddie #chubby steve harrington #chaser eddie munson #scoops words #SBTSB24 #steddie smutty september #steddie smut #steddie events #yeah there's a fade to black and i'm sorry but i was running out of time

85 notes · View notes