#say a little prayer for the roommates | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

crepezinhos · 4 months ago

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A Dream Come True

POV: Your favorite character’s banner, Wanderer, is about to come out in a few minutes, and, to contain your excitement for his launch, you decided to begin praying for him to ‘come home’. You’ve been now doing that for the past 5 minutes now while waiting for his splash art to appear in the game’s banners, but you suddenly hear knocks on your door, and the person behind it was a weird ‘cosplayer’.

⚠️ WARNINGS:

— This is a NSFW piece

— Reader is FEMALE and uses SHE/HER pronouns

— Contains: Degradation, praising, usage of toys, edging, overstimulation, slight bruising, power-play and oral/anal sex.

“Scara, please come home… Scara, please come home…” You recited that phrase over and over nonstop, each time making your volume become slightly louder than before due to your comfort in the room.

Your fingers were twirling around each other, your hands fisting against each other tighter and tighter, your forehead resting at the tip of your risen thumbs and your eyes using all their strength to keep themselves closed shut and not let your excitement take over you…

Uuuuuuuggghhhhhh!!!

How much longer do you have to wait for?! Can’t he just launch in the game already?! Why does Hoyoverse have to be so perfectionist about when they launch things in the game?! You’ve been procrastinating your duties for the past hour now just for this occasion!

You couldn’t help but open your eyes due to your overwhelming impatience and they immediately aimed at your screen in search of the current banner’s timer.

2 minutes left

Oh!

Ok! It isn’t that bad! Your praying has really helped time run faster, didn’t it?!

You smiled in joy, quickly switching the way you were sat in your gaming chair to one where you were kneeling at it, making your prayers more determined and realistic.

Scara, please come home…

Scara, please come home.

Scara, please come home!

SCARA, PLEASE COME-

Knock knock

Your whole body shivered in shock when you heard such triggering and recognizable noise, making you immediately wake up from your little fantasy.

For God’s sake! Who the heck could it be?! Can’t you enjoy a moment of excitement and joy by yourself for a single minute?!

You forced yourself to participate in reality instead of isolating yourself because of a screen, and got up from your chair to walk up to your dorm’s door, sighing in agony of killing a bit of your mood off.

It would really piss you off if the person behind it was simply someone making propaganda of some stupid, small project, instead of your roommate.

You gently grabbed and pushed the door’s handle down, opening it normally just like any other time.

“God, you really were determined to call my attention, weren’t you?! I’ve never heard any of my fans think this loud about me my entire life! Congratulations, woman, you have summoned me!” The man that was standing immediately begun scolding you as soon as your eyes were making contact, waving and gesturing his hands around to make his irony more obvious, ending his speech with them at his hips.

But you didn’t want, and couldn’t, say anything back in response, because you were too dumbfounded by the man’s appearance.

Why was the person knocking on your door… cosplaying… and acting like Wanderer?

“Hello? Woman on Earth? Cat got your tongue?” He leaned his body down to reach your eye level and brought a hand close to it, just to wave it side-by-side and snap his fingers repeatedly in an annoying manner.

“Who the fuck are you?” You had finally managed to process the information that was given to you, which caused ‘Wanderer’ to immediately sigh in boredom.

“Oh, please, don’t tell me you’re the kind of fan who pretends to be all innocent and unaware of what Genshin Impact even is in the first place...” He rose his body up again and crossed his arms while scolding your attitude.

“What are you talking about..? I’m not—!” You scoffed at what he said about you, but as soon as you remembered again that you were talking to some random, crazy cosplayer of your college, that probably had to stalk you to find out you played Genshin Impact, and that you had a duty to do, you stopped trying to defend yourself, and changed topics. “You know what? Just get out of my dorm, please.” You told the man while using a hand to push the door back to its place frenetically, trying to make him unable to react due to the lack of time.

"Wow, wow, wow, young lady!” You felt the door stiffen at one specific spot before it was fully closed, leaving a small gap between the interior and exterior of your apartment.

Your eyes widened in shock with the man’s audacity and strength, and immediately looked down to see what had happened with your door. ‘Wanderer’ had stomped his foot forward before you could shut the door, serving as an obstacle for the door to not be smacked in his face.

“Is this how you treat your favorite character after he makes the effort of coming all the way from another universe just to check on you?” You could see his eye showing up between that gap, trying to keep making eye contact with you.

“Are you insane?!” You screamed at him, trying to push the door shut with your both palms now, but it didn’t seem to affect him minimally.

You heard him sigh loudly in boredom again, and this time he sneaked his hand through the gap. Instead of doing something physical or harmful to your or your door, it actually did something that made your jaw drop.

An orb.

And not just any orb.

It was an orb that perfectly resembled how Wanderer used his Anemo powers in Genshin. It was a vertex with a black center and Anemo-colored, wind-like, effects around it. Something that also called your attention were the shiny flying wristbands around his wrists, spinning according to how intensely he used his powers.

It was jaw-dropping enough for you to accidentally drop your grip from the door, which finally made the man successful in opening it. Unlike what you would expected from a maniacal cosplayer or the actual Wanderer from Genshin Impact, he simply walked in and closed the door gently, crossing his arms later while staring at your dumbfounded face.

“Was that enough proof? Or do you need me to open a portal, bring to you Tevyat and talk to Nahida to believe that I’m the one and only Wanderer from Genshin Impact?” He asked while walking around your room like he owned it.

“I…” You couldn’t even mumble an answer to everything you had just witnessed.

This had to be some sort of dark joke being done with you, isn’t it?!

“Cat got your tongue again?!“ He turned around just scold you again while directly staring at you, but he frowned his eyebrows right after and put a hand on his chin to think. “Perhaps I wronged the address…” He mumbled quietly, his head frenetically looking at many corners of your room in search of something.

When he saw your computer, whose screen had turned black due to the lack of movement in the mouse, he rushed to it and sat on your chair, his back leaning in a very unhealthy angle. He quickly shook the mouse to turn it on again, meeting his own face stamped at the screen.

“This computer is yours, isn’t it?” Despite your lack of answer to his question, he simply took your silence as an ‘yes’. “Ok, you’ve saved more than 200 wishes… which I’m guessing is for me…” He mumbled to himself, showing a little bit of his ego, while pressing ‘Esc’ with a finger twice.

His eyes widened a little bit when he met the game’s menu and he immediately leaned his body up again with a big, proud smirk in his face.

“Aha! So you are a fan of mine, and a proud one!” He put his hands in the sides of your computer and spun it until the computer’s screen was visible to your eyes.

(Yes that’s my UID. Yes I had to change my name and bio to that for the sake of this fanfic.)

Your cheeks flushed.

How come you’ve never realized how embarrassing this description was?!

“H-Hey! That was a joke I did with my friends!” You ran towards him, trying to stop him from looking at anything else at your game’s account.

“A joke?! Alright then, bet.” He put a hand in front of your chest to hold your body in place, also grabbing on a wrist to make you watch him messing around with your computer.

With his other hand on your keyboard, he pressed Alt+Tab with his thumb and index, immediately landing at Google. You were thankfully not doing anything weird at the moment, after all, all he met on the screen was homework, but that didn’t seem to be what he was looking for.

“You named your AO3 tab ‘Calculator’?! Really?! That’s pathetic!” He pointed directly at the AO3 tab in your favorited pages until the tip of his finger was putting pressure on it, causing you to flush. “What else do we have here..? AO3, Wattpad, Tumblr… oh? I don’t recognize this one.” He clicked at the very last tab, which made you gasp in embarrassment.

“W-Wait, no! Don’t click on tha—!”

AzeruOfficial

The name immediately popped in big, orange letters as soon as his finger pressed on the left side of your mouse, causing him to explode in laugher.

“Azeru?! You listen to this guy’s ASMRs?! Oh, please, why did I even doubt this was the wrong address? The Nahida profile picture was enough to tell that you were a fan of mine. Do you think that’d bring you luck?” He finally rose from your chair and walked close to you while sitting for an answer.

But once again, you couldn’t answer. It would be really embarrassing to admit to your favorite fictional character that you were doing multiple mini rituals to attack more luck in your pulls.

“You know what, Y/N woman? I’ll tell you a secret… we, playable characters of gacha games actually have the powers to choose who wins and who loses 50/50. Nahida chose who won her 50/50s, Cyno chose who won his 50/50s… and I’m about to do the same now with all the desperate people that want me in their accounts, including you! But the thing is… you know how I am, don’t you? I’m gonna judge every little detail about the people who are wishing for me. That means you’re up to judged too! But… I’m gonna give you a personal chance to win my 50/50s… with a deal.” He rose his hands until they landed on your shoulders, massaging them slowly and got closer to your ear with a big smirk on his lips. “I’m gonna get rid of your sexual frustrations, and you’ll get rid of mine.” He initiated, immediately making your eyes widen again.

“WHAT—?!” You tried protesting, but he immediately moved a down to smack your mouth shut.

“We’re gonna have sex, and every orgasm either one of us have, we’ll do a ten-pull! That’ll happen until you finally get the luck of pulling a five-star, which will be around 7 or 8 rounds. There, I’ll be finally judging whether you should win me or not based on how well you satisfy me. If you fail to win the 50/50, then I’ll guess you’ll be owing me another 9 rounds with a total of 18 rounds…” His cheeks grew pink while he explained his idea, his smirk becoming more sadistic and horny within every second.

You pushed his hand away from your mouth while shaking your head side-to-side too in denial and still keeping your fingers around his worst to make sure he wasn’t going to make anything else to you or your home.

“No! You can’t just barge in my apartment, invade my privacy, and then ask me to have se with you?! I don’t care if you are the real Wanderer or not, this is too much for me!” You screamed at him, but it wasn’t enough for his confidence to die.

“Oh, Y/N, Y/N…” One of his hands moved to your face to hold and caress your cheek. “It’s obvious that you daydream about having sex with me, you’re no innocent woman. Nobody uses AO3 to read SFW shit or listens to Azeru for his SFW audios...” He shook his hand away from your grip and put it on his chest.

You watched his fingers teasingly rub his chest, making your fingers beg for them to be there, until they were at his shoulders, where he slowly pushed his white kimono away from his shoulder, revealing the black-transparent suit he wore under it in a way that made your stomach ache with butterflies.

“I’m the dick you want to proudly ride in that profile description, Y/N.” His forehead slowly leaned closer to yours until they were touching, causing your noses to touch each other next too, and finally… your lips were sealed together.

10 wishes:

Wanderer decided to begin his little game by making you do exactly what your description said: riding him. So, now he was sat lazily at your chair, legs spread, but still with most of his clothes on, while you were hopping up and down on his dick, naked, like you were addicted to it.

“Such a cute little fan… using all your strength to accomplish your sexual need of fucking your favorite fictional character…” Wanderer praised you while giggling in appreciation, deciding to move a hand to pinch your nipple playfully, causing you to scream in the spot.

“AAaaaaAHhh~! Fuck, Scara~!” You arched your back and scratched your nails on his shoulders to contain the pleasure he gave you with his touch.

He giggled again, and moved his other hand to your thigh, squeezing it while trying to also use it to pull you closer to him.

“Why are you arching away from me? You’re supposed to be be enjoying me! Come on…” His husky, dominant voice made you immediately push yourself at his direction until your head landed right between his neck and shoulders.

God, almighty.

Now you wouldn’t leave that position even if a teacher banged on your door with your test’s grades on their hands. Such an intimate position was making your pussy gush around his cock.

Your entire body was swirled with his, which meant that every part of your body touching a part of his body. Your legs spread apart, attempting to hug his waist, your arms moving to his back to feel and scratch his every cell, your mouth drooling on his skin…

You were like some true parasite.

“Oh, God! Oh, God!” The ecstasy of sex was numbing your mind into exactly what Wanderer wanted, a cock-hungry slut.

“Good girl… you’re doing really well…” His hand in your thigh rolled down until he was making contact with your ass, proceeding to tap one of the buttocks repeatedly. “You’re really fucking soaked, aren’t you? God, I’ve never heard a pussy doing such mushy noises…” He took advantage of how your head was positioned under him to whisper directly in your ear, making you shiver due to his teasing tone.

“It’s too much! Too much!” You whimpered pathetically, but Wanderer simply ignored and denied you and kept his hands where they were, refusing to help you in the slightest.

“Is my cock making you feel this good, hum?” He threw his head back in the chair, enjoying his peace in that position.

“Ah, yes! I can’t even… believe I’m actually fucking with you..!” Your arms moved upwards to hug his neck in pure need of more words coming out of his mouth.

“Worthless little whore… unwilling to fuck anyone in this enormous school to keep your pussy for a drawing you only see in your screen… I like the dedication, tho, don’t get me wrong~.” He unexpectedly slapped your buttock as an aggressive way to praise and degrade you.

Your walls clenched around him when he did that, causing a deep groan to echo in his throat.

“Oh-ho? Looks like I’m dealing with a masochist! I wonder how else you’re gonna impress me…” He teased you in the ear again.

“I think I’m gonna…” You couldn’t even finish a sentence due to the overstimulation, rubbing your face against his shoulder in worship for the man you were giving yourself to.

“You’re gonna cum? Own… what a cute little kitten… I wish I could help you with that…” He kept his body unmoved in pure laziness of helping you reach an orgasm, leaving you to do all the effort on your own.

You unfortunately needed to push yourself away from him to hop faster and preciser at his cock. Wanderer’s eyes glowed in joy miring at how your sexes were intertwined with each other like they were made for each other, specifically smirking at how his cock was glistened with your arousal.

Your hands instinctively rolled down until your fingers were threaded with his. Just like all the AO3 fanfictions described him to be, his whole body felt soft like pillows, but cold as ice, so his fingers were causing you to feel even more stimulated. You gripped them like you’d die if you ever let go, while he stared up and down at your bouncing body with a perverted smirk that only seemed to grow more and more. You couldn’t believe you were actually riding the cock of favorite fictional character. All you intended to do tonight was simply pulling for him and his weapon, but not plans have changed… for good.

And finally, the aching bulge growing in your womb had finally reached a peak of anticipation and blew all the way down to Wanderer’s cock, which you left perfectly placed at your g-spot, bullying it while your orgasm came down like an angry river. Your whole body trembled and shivered with the orgasm, saliva pooling your mouth.

“My, my…” Wanderer finally decided to move his body, and hooked his sandals in the floor to pull and roll the chair closer to the table where your computer was lying at. “Let’s see if that orgasm is worth an early pity to Hoyoverse…” He moved a hand to pat your head while the other moved to your mouse. “Look at it.” He fisted your hair right and angled it until at least one of your eyes could mire the screen.

The clicker was already resting at the ‘Ten Pull’ option, and he gave himself some seconds before clicking it.

✧ ✦ ✧

You sighed in broken expectation.

“Well… seems like we have some more rounds to go for, don’t we? Hey, at least you got a Faruzan! Perhaps she’s liking to see your determination in pleasing me… the man she was made for.”

20 Pulls:

You never thought you’d find yourself screaming so loud and shameless because of the precision of a man’s thrusts, especially because you knew there would be complaints about it tomorrow.

Shy, quiet, little Y/N being slammed against her own walls by an unreal man. Could it be any more pathetic?

“You seem to be really enjoying this, aren’t you? You even lost sense of your surroundings! You’re between hundreds of dorms, where everyone is quiet and asleep at this time, yet, you still keep screaming like a dog in heat because of the most basic pounding I could ever do to you.” Wanderer pulled your hair from behind using a hand, forcing you to arch your body even more than it already was, while the other one was being used to lock your wrists behind your back together.

Your hands were scratching the concrete walls you were being pushed against so deeply that you could swear you could break it at any moment.

“Or is that… you want people to know you’re being pounded like a whore in here..?” He giggled at that possibility sadistically, enjoying how fucked-out your face already was.

He suddenly pushed your head against the wall again.

“Let me test it, if you may…” His thrusts became faster, bullying your g-spot in a way that made your eyes roll up until you could see starts.

“Tell me, Y/N, are you enjoying being pounded like a fuck-toy by your favorite character, hum?” He leaned down so he could bite your ear while whispering inside it at such a teasing tone.

He grunted right after making it due to your pussy clenching around his cock once again.

“Aahhhh!! Yes! Yes, I am!” You confessed it shamelessly. It really didn’t matter if anyone could hear you screaming. You were usually a victim of these love-making noises, so, now it was your time to make those horny neighbors animals feel your pain.

“Fucking proud slut… Do you think your parents would like to know their daughter is fucking with a pixel?” He continued his degradation. “That their daughter is being used as a cock-sleeve for me while you won’t even get the opportunity to cum?” That line made your eyes widen in shock and slight fear, which made his smile grow in arousal.

“I… won’t..?” You could barely finish your sentence, but it wasn’t necessary for Wanderer, he could understand it all.

“Duh! I’m the one in control of everything in here! You’ll just accept everything that I give you, and I know you’ll enjoy every single second of it because it’s me who’s doing it! The 6th Fatui Harbinger… a puppet created by the almighty Electro Archon… a man who barely has any empathy in his heart…” He pushed the side of your head harder against the wall. “Now, hold your hat, missy! I’m about to cum and I don’t want you to waste a single drop of me, ok?” He talked to you in a sweet, ironic voice, trying to comfort you for the moment that was about to come, when the truth was that he was desperate to see you suffering.

But, finally, he stopped talking and degrading you to focus entirely on his cock bullying your cervix, ravishing your inside like a mush entirely for his pleasure.

Finally, Wanderer punched his cock shut against your cervix, beginning to blow all of his cum inside your womb. He didn’t dare let any of your body to move so you’d take every drop of him in. You screamed due to the slight burn in your womb that his orgasm caused that only fueled Wanderer’s pleasure while spasming.

“Good fucking girl…” He grunted with a deep voice while his dick still spilled thick ropes of cum inside you.

Finally, when it was over, he let your wrists and head go. You rested both parts against the wall, seeing how your wrists were now marked in red because of his gri on them.

He pulled out of you after a few seconds enjoying your warmth surrounding him so passionately. He couldn’t believe he was finding himself so addicted to the feeling of your puffy pussy, so a few butterflies kicked his stomach feeling how your flesh was swollen in arousal, and how its tone had turned into a light pink due to all the movement that has been happening to it.

“Come here, princess…” You felt his hands pull you backwards, quickly turning you over and lifting you up in the air, holding you princess-style while walking around the room.

He walked towards your computer again, your eyes meeting the wishing screen again.

“Go ahead…” He whispered in your ear, influencing one of your resting arms to immediately act in obedience.

Your trembling hand rested on top of the mouse, which was still landed on the 10-Pull button, and you clicked the left side of it.

✧ ✦ ✧

Wanderer giggled at the purple meteor shining at the screen, and even more when you managed to reach the top of the screen and click “Skip”, only to find out there wasn’t even a Faruzan.

“I’m very sorry for that…”

30 Pulls:

“Now, I wasn’t expecting you to accept such an inhumane treatment. When you find a real man to love and care for, are you willing to sell your dignity like this to him?” Wanderer asked while staring at your face like he wasn’t jacking off to you in the most embarrassing position you could ever find yourself in.

Wanderer had mysteriously pulled out two cuffs and a vibrator from nowhere. The cuffs were being used to lock your legs upside down, against your bed’s corner pillars, while he forced your hands to work on your nipples, pinching and squeezing them. While the vibrator was being used to fuck your pussy nonstop, with the extra tease of the vibrations. You didn’t even know your legs could be pulled away from their original position this much, but now, your pussy was entirely exposed to Wanderer with no obstacles, and with no chance of possibly containing that tortuous pleasure that was numbing your mind again.

“I… I..!” You couldn’t answer such an humiliating question.

“Of course you are. It’s written all over your pathetic face.” He suddenly leaned down closer to your face, simply to slap across your pussy hard, causing your legs to shiver, but the way the cuffs prohibited them from reacting too much, making loud metal noises, amused his eyes and ears. “Haha… you really enjoy this sort of treatment, don’t you? I might just take even more advantage of it as well…” You felt his fingers trace all the way down from your bellybutton to your clit, where he meanly pinched it using two fingers.

“NghAaaAHHHh?! Fuck, Wanderer, pleeeeasee!” You whimpered and screamed while a few forming tears glistened your exhausted eyes, and your hips and legs tried to contain the amount of overwhelming pleasure again.

Wanderer smiled like a maniac at the scene.

“What a lovely scene…” He looked down at your pussy, admiring the view of the vibrator thrusting you tortuously at a slow, medium force. “You know what? No need to torture your poor nipples anymore. Use your hands on my dick and worship me, you whore.” He grabbed your right wrist with his other hand and placed your hand right at his tip.

“I don’t know how to… do this…” You whimpered, begging for some mercy, but he simply sighed in boredom in response.

“How many times have you ever even slept with a man, huh? You never did a handjob your entire life?” He scoffed at you. But thankfully, he moved the same hand that was on your clit and placed it perfectly on top of it, and shaped it in a way that perfectly made your fingers hold his cock.

He started to stroke both your hands up and down, trying to guide you into the basic steps of it.

“This is mostly how to stroke a dick, now use your pretty mouth and praise me, bitch.” He guided you with a softer voice, a little merciful at your situation.

You sighed in relief when you felt clit relaxing from all the pain and overstimulation, which immediately called his attention.

“Oh, you think I’m being merciful?” He giggled at you, impeding you from even starting to think about a praise for him, and used his free hand to grab the vibrator’s controller again.

“Force: Maximum… Speed: Medium.” He repeated the adjusts he did to the vibrator according to how his thumb pushed the sliders of it.

Your head rolled backwards in agony of the vibrations being rougher inside you, reaching even deeper parts of your body at a faster pace. More tears rolled down at your face, and your grip tightened around his length instinctively.

“Hummmm… that’s it…” He licked his lips in satisfaction of what he was doing to you while running his other hand in your head playfully. “Keep jacking me off just like that until I cum again.” He took his hand away from yours, now leaving you without any sort of guidance.

But you kept going for it. Although your body was barely keeping up with the vibrator’s effects on you, your mind insisted on reaching both your and his orgasm like it was your only mission in your life, after all, it was your favorite character who you were fucking with.

“Faster, slut. I’m close.” He managed to step a little closer to you so you could stroke him faster, although his knees and legs were already being limited by your bed.

You swallowed all that pooled saliva in your mouth down, trying to stabilize yourself better and focus on achieving both your orgasms. Your clit was also slightly throbbing, slowly growing the amount and intensity of your soon-to-come orgasm.

Wanderer’s cock was slowly leaking pre-cum out of his tip, lubricating your fingers with the help of your own liquids that remained glistened around him. It facilitated your handjob, and it felt even better to Wanderer. To make his orgasm faster, you suddenly had the idea of letting most of your fingers go, only leaving your thumb and your index to do the stroking. You also made sure the size of the circle you did barely fit his length, making the experience slightly painful to him for squeezing him hard, but also suffocating his orgasm to come out as soon as possible. It’s like your fingers were tying to purposefully pump cum out of him.

“You freaking…” Wanderer’s degradations were fortunately being overshadowed by his own pleasure. “It looks like you’ll die without this…” He giggled at your pathetic face. “Don’t worry… it’s about to come. Are you cumming too?” His voice changed to a softer one again.

“Yes, yes! I am, I am!” You screamed in anticipation, enjoying the sensation of vibrator farming an orgasm from you just more and more, quicker than any dick you’ve ever taken.

“Own… that’s too bad.” He suddenly moved a hand down to the vibrator and ripped it away from your hole in a single move.

You screamed in agony feeling your womb ache in pain from the torture of being unfulfilled, trying to reach anything to cum. You desperately tried to reach a hand to your clit, but Wanderer immediately reacted and held it in place with a hand before you could reach it.

“Nuh-uh…” That was the last thing you heard from him before a sudden load of cum started spasming all over your face and chest while Wanderer giggled and moaned in appreciation and fulfilled pleasure.

Even if you were mad for not being allowed to cum, your hand couldn’t help but keep doing its job, even when he was already cumming, or if he had denied you so meanly.

“You look beautiful with cum thrown all around your face like a porn star…” He fisted his length and aimed it better on your face, just to make sure no drop would be thrown in the sheets or pillow. “Pathetic.” His eyebrows frowned, trying to focus his eyes entirely on you. “Are you enjoying having your favorite character cumming around you like some worthless cock-sleeve, hum?” He slapped your hands away from his length and proceeded to guard his dick back to his pants again and begun walking away from you, no matter how needy you were.

Your eyes followed his figure, meeting him leaning down at your table and messing with your computer again.

“I guess I do…” You answered him question.

“Pft… you weren’t actually supposed to answer it, but I’m glad you love me this much. Let’s see if Hoyoverse recognizes your love for me, tho!” He moved to a farther corner, allowing your eyes to mire the screen better as he clicked in the same 10-Pull button.

✧ ✦ ✧

“Tsk, tsk, tsk…” Wanderer crossed his arms and clicked the ‘Skip’ button at the top-corner of your screen before the wishing animation was even done. “Hey, at least Faruzan is watching us! She says you’re deserving of me.” He suddenly turned to you to make that comment.

“Faruzan is… what..?” Your eyes widened a little.

“She can watch us! Gorou and Yanfei can watch us too, actually. Want to say ‘hi’ to her?” He begun walking closer to you again.

“N-No..?!” You immediately nodded your head side-to-side, trying to somehow turn your body away from him, if their perspective came from his eyes.

“Ok, ok! Chill…”

40 Pulls:

“I think I should begin doing to every fan I visit, you know? God, my dick is fucking pulsating because of this shit.” Wanderer said between many deep grunts, arching his head all the way up to the roof while he rolled his feet in the floor.

He was now making you suck his cock while he peacefully sat on your chair, and you were knelt down, still with all that cum spat around your face and the vibrator shoved down at your pussy but in a lower setting. He also made sure to cuff your wrists together behind your back to make sure you had no control over your own pleasure, and just focused on him, no matter how bad the torture was affecting you.

“Sucking me so well… You’re a natural one, aren’t you? You’re just a little smarter for not selling yourself as the whore that you are. But honestly, what could be better than a slutty nerd for a straight man?” Wanderer patted your head with delight, but at the same time still pushing and pulling it up and down on his cock, making you do your job exactly how he likes it.

You were struggling to not choke or gag on his cock, but it was hard, especially when he was looking forward to push all of himself inside you. Luckily, he was being more merciful, for some reason, and you wouldn’t say ‘no’ to it, especially when you believed he would deny your orgasm again.

“This is getting a little boring… should I torture your poor pussy a little bit more..?” He suddenly used the same hand that patted you to pull your hair back, forcing you to do eye-contact with him. “Poor you… can’t even say a word to my question… I guess I’ll just guess that you’d like to say ‘yes’ because you’re a horny slut who’s love to be sucking my cock.” He moved his other hand and grabbed in the controller that was resting in the arm-rest.

When he officially slid the ‘Speed’ option to the right, meaning it has increased, you couldn’t help but open your jaw even wider to let a scream out in satisfaction, but it led you to gag on him right after.

“Good girl… not even daring to pull your mouth away from my cock even if it’s making it harder for you to breathe...” Instead of typically patting your head in praise, he tapped your right cheek with his palm a couple of times, with a strength that made your skin slightly sting, but not enough to make you complain about it. “I might even let you cum…” He angled his head, trying to admire the view of he had of your wet lips wrapping around him, cleaning the stains that were left by you previously, while also trying to act like he was feeling bad for your situation.

Deep down, Wanderer didn’t really care. As long as he got to fill your mouth with his cum and to watch you quiver because of it, he would edge you and fuck you however he liked.

“Prepared, my little proud fan?” His grip in your hair tightened as he stared deep down at your exhausted eyes.

You nodded and tried to relax your jaw for him to fuck your mouth as he desired. It was hurting, anyway, so it felt good to have a reason to do it without being degraded for it.

Wanderer stood up when he felt your teeth piercing his cock with less strength, knowing that would be the perfect position and occasion for him to fuck your throat.

He started thrusting you, and his hips immediately begun crashing against yours erratically, causing a few drops of saliva to gush from your mouth due to how overworked you were. You still could muffle a few moans from the stimulus in your clit and accept his dominance, which Wanderer deeply appreciated, while he allowed his head to angle in direction of the roof, and his own grunts and moans fill the room shamelessly.

“Don’t fucking swallow everything immediately, you hear me?” He took out some of his frustration on you, and you nodded to his order immediately.

With no sort of warning, Wanderer suddenly pushed and locked his entire length shoved down your throat, reaching the deepest he could, which caused you immediately gag. It was even harder now that he was also spilling thick ropes of cum around that overwhelmed your mouth so much, but you couldn’t get rid of them, or else your pussy was going to be a victim of lots of torture.

Wan while he orgasmed, Wanderer pulled and pushed his cock in and out a few times to make sure every corner of your velvety mouth had a little bit of him while he smirked at the roof in ecstasy.

After a final thrust and blow of cum, he pulled out, causing a ‘pop’ sound to come out from your moth, and a few saliva strings to connect your lips to his cock. He leaned his head down to you again and pulled your head upwards to meet his eyes. Luckily, your jaw had been so abused that it remained dropped even when he pulled out, meaning that he wouldn’t need to order you to open it and show the mess he had done in there.

“I hin I onna—” You tried warning him about your coming orgasm, trying your best to not close your lips together, but Wanderer didn’t seem to care, only focusing his eyes in your fucked-out mouth.

“Shh, shh, shh.” He kneeled down in front of you and used a hand to hold you by your cheeks, forcing your mouth locked open while he inspected it.

Wanderer couldn’t help but giggle at the mess he did on you, 100% satisfied with his own work.

“Pathetic fucking slut…” For some reason, Wanderer let go of your jaw for a quick moment just give your left cheek a quick smack with his palm, but before your head could recoil, he hooked your cheeks again back to their place. “Don’t you dare cum without my permission, whore. Now, swallow.” You slowly closed your mouth and sucked all the cum and saliva that pooled in the meantime down to your tongue, and you finally pushed it all in, trying to make it as visible as possible to him.

Wanderer licked his lips when he watched that bulge of cum run down your throat.

“Good girl.” He finally rose his knees up again, beginning to walk towards the computer.

Your toes curled while you tried your best to contain your coming orgasm, but your position really wasn’t on favor of that. But you insisted on that, anyway.

Wanderer held your mouse and turned back to stare at you while he pulled in his own banner. It was lovely for him to watch you worming in the floor while being edged by both a vibrator and a screen.

“Aaaaannnd…” He clicked the mouse gently.

✧ ✦ ✧

“My, my… today is not really your day, is it?”

“Scara, I can’t hold it anymore!” You whimpered for his mercy, your head curling down until your forehead was rubbing against the floor.

“Tch… can’t even get a grip of yourself.” He pulled out the controller from his shorts and slid both options of it to the left, setting both the force and speed to zero.

You couldn’t help but tear down a little bit, feeling that precious peak of pleasure flow away from your womb, while you could hear Wanderer hum a giggle in his throat in pure sadistic arousal of denying you.

50 Pulls:

Finally, your pussy wasn’t being degraded or neglected anymore.

“Holy shit, Scara! You’re gonna break me!” Your back arched against the bed, your head restless in the pillow, and your hands trying their best to push Wanderer’s tongue against your swollen clit.

“Was that supposed to be a bad thing?” His eyes angled up to meet yours, trying to contain a giggle to focus on licking your clit.

Wanderer was the one giving you a blowjob now. His mouth doing wonders in your clit and his middle and index fingers thrusting your swollen pussy in a quick, tortuous pace.

“Please, slow down!” You whimpered loudly but neither his tongue or fingers obliged to your pleas.

“Why?” He initiated, but paused to make sure your clit’s stimulation would not die. “I thought you wanted an orgasm…” His tongue’s tip immediately begun circling your clit to every limit it could reach, causing your thighs to tremble and hug his head tighter against their fluffiness while your mouth screamed high-pitch. “Fuck, your thighs are so soft… How come I haven’t messed with them yet?” You saw his other free arm circling your entire thigh, using his fingers to caress and squeeze it as he wished. “Fuck…” Wanderer moaned.

Before you could enjoy too much of his soft fingers in your thighs, Wanderer suddenly pulled a move that you weren’t expecting to happen. You felt him pull out his middle finger from you but keep his index finger, curling it upward and beginning to rub the tip of finger at your g-spot.

The scream that came out of your throat was feral. You had no idea such level of pleasure was even possible at the first place.

“Here it is…” You heard him groan like a hungry predator when he saw how you reacted to that, and proceeded to keep bullying that spot.

And of course, as soon as he stopped talking, he immediately placed his tongue back to your clit, teasing the most sensitive spots in your body mercilessly, chasing that orgasm like his life depended on it too.

Your hands were threading in the deepest roots of his indigo hair and you were sure you’d have a sore throat the next morning. Loud moans just couldn’t stop escaping your pretty lips, all of them reaching Wanderer’s ears like music. He was loving every second of that round of sex, especially being squeezed by your thighs.

“Oh my God!” You couldn’t hold it back when he started sucking your clit again, and your chest rose upwards in a blink, now sitting on the bed.

It gave you more power, and you definitely used the advantage to try grinding your pussy against his head harder.

“I’m close! I’m so close! Please don’t edge me again! Please, please, please!” You tried your best to lock your thighs around him with a strength that he wouldn’t manage to get rid off, but Wanderer didn’t feel slightly threatened by it.

He was going to make sure you orgasmed a river of cum around him. After all, it would be natural of you to cum hard due to all the edging he had done to you.

“Tease your nipples. It’ll help.” He ordered with a more serious tone, truly focusing his mouth and fingers into their objective.

A hand of yours slid upwards and begun touching your breasts exactly how you like it. The other hand obviously remained at the back of his head. Wanderer grunted in pleasure with the newest view he had of you sitting above of him, his bricked dick pushing his pants to get out of them, aching and trembling in need to get inside a hole as soon as possible.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You curled your body when the heat from pinching your nipples and squeezing your breasts started fueling the pleasure your clit felt.

It really didn’t take seconds until that building climax of yours was finally released by your womb, freeing your pussy from all that previous edging. You threw your body back at the bed, spasming in the sheets, but your hand kept pushing his head against your flesh forcefully, trying to make him take in every single string of cum of that heavy orgasm. Wanderer decided to oblige to you and your personal wish of cumming inside his mouth and moved his mouth down to your hole and pushed his tongue in, while pulling out his finger out of you.

Just like you previously did, Wanderer kept his mouth ready and open to receive every drop of cum that ran down to your tongue. Thankfully, you tasted bitter, which is his favorite kind of flavor, so he really didn’t mind the enormous loads of cum that ran down, licking and swallowing them all like a meal. His hands kept caressing your thighs, trying to keep stimulating you and your body to explode all that cum in your womb down his mouth and liberate some storage for the next rounds.

Your whole body melted down as soon as it was over, and Wanderer finally rose his head up again.

“You have a wonderful taste, dear.” He praised while swallowing the final drops of cum that hadn’t gone down to his throat yet.

Wanderer proceeded to get out of the bed, and once again walk to the computer like he hasn’t just fucked your brains out.

While whistling a melody, he clicked the ‘10-Pull’ button another time.

✧ ✦ ✧

“Still nothing… what pity are you on right now? I forgot to check that before beginning pulling.” He turned his head to you, staring at you aloof.

“I think… I think I was at 10 pulls before…” You mumbled an answer while you regained some consciousness. Having such a heavy orgasm had really exhausted your brain at the moment.

“Then we have approximately two rounds left if I believe you deserve to win your 50/50.” He begun walking to you again with a smirk already growing in his lips and his hand undoing his pants another time.

60 Pulls:

“Such a fucking receptive pussy you have..!” He grunted while trying his best to cage his moans in the back of his throat, his voice sounding husky and exhausted.

You left him really hungry when he decided to be nice to you and suck your pussy dry. When he was fingering your g-spot, all that ran in his mind was the imagery of his cock doing that to you instead, so that’s exactly what he decided to do. Fuck you in a mating press.

Down at your cervix, the tip of cock punched the depths of your pussy nonstop, his words suddenly becoming hungrier and greedier for you. It didn’t surprise you that Wanderer had a slight kink in breeding and just rough sex over all.

“You’re gonna take every drop of me inside again, okay? I bet it’d make you happy to be fucking pregnant with my babies, wouldn’t it, you fucking whore?” He endlessly pounded your g-spot, talking and acting like he wasn’t panting and sweating like a nasty dog.

Wanderer chuckled miring down at your fucked-out face, panting and drooling with his forceful thrusts, but still doing his best to not slow down.

“Such a cute little doll…” He praised you, but his tone made it sound more like a degradation. “Nahida was right when she let you win her 50/50… You were a dedicated fan to this game… and to me.” He giggled as he thought of all those little efforts you were doing to ‘attract luck’ for your wishes on him.

Wanderer’s hands, who were busy pressing your legs against the sheet, tightened around them, slightly scratching your skin. It caused you to hiss and look away from him, which he seemed to immediately repel.

“No, no, dear… keep your pretty eyes on me.” You decided to comply to his sweet, serious tone, but his indigo eyes, glistening and shining in arousal, were applying a lot of pressure on you and your performance, causing your cheeks to flush and your eyes to flick away from his a few times. “Now you’re embarrassed, hum? No need to be, dear… don’t you think I’ve seen it all already? All your intimacy? All the times this pretty pussy of yours clenched around me because of the most inhumane treatment, hum?” Wanderer approached his face to yours, your foreheads and noses rubbing against each other.

You swallowed some saliva down, trying to somehow gather courage to stare at his eyes in agreement with his words. It worked, but if you could turn your face away for the rest of it, you definitely would. You couldn’t believe Wanderer was that incited and determined to make you stare at him while having sex. Did he really find you sexy in this state? Pretty? Or hot? You couldn’t help but be embarrassed.

It didn’t matter. Something else was teasing you and taking your attention away at the moment. Your lips would sometimes touch his by accident every time he smacked his hips down against yours. It was making you go insane. You really wanted to kiss him and learn how does Wanderer from Genshin Impact kiss, but you had no idea if he’d accept it or if this was a good moment for it… Even if you couldn’t decide whether you did or did not go for it, your lips couldn’t help but grind against his every time they touched, and he obviously noticed.

“You want to kiss me, hum? I can see you trying to reach me every time we touch… Unfortunately I only do favors for people if they ask me very kindly, using the magic words… or making them beg for it…” He looked at you with shining eyes, already creating big expectations.

“Please, please, please..! Let me kiss you! At least once! Just once!” You whined while directly staring at his eyes like he desires, which was making him extremely passionate about you, his balls burning and yearning for more of that eager submission of yours.

“Good fucking girl…” His voice was hoarse and husky with how overwhelmingly good you were making him feel.

It was making him obsessed with the idea chasing a double orgasm.

“Are you close?” He asked while intensifying his pace.

“Yes… please let me cum this time with you!” You begged to him, which made his smirk grow in arousal.

“You want to cum with me, hum?” He looked forward to make you say even more pathetic things.

“Please..!” You whimpered while his cock poked your g-spots and wet slap noises from your hips surrounded the room.

“You know what? I’m gonna let you do that just because I want to make sure every little sperm of mine swims to your fucking womb.” The way his eyes widened and stared at the deepest corners of yours seemed to aroused your pussy even more. “Are you ready?”

“Yes!” You screamed while feeling your womb build just more and more anticipation.

And with a final pump of his cock, the both of your cores started spasming cum another time. You and him were grunting and scratching each other as if you were both going to pass out. Obviously Wanderer tried to maintain his posture to pose as this unbeatable, untouchable man to you, but you knew those thick loads of cum being ejaculated on you were all proof that he was loving every single second of those rounds of animalistic sex. And you simply let yourself tremble and worm under him, knowing it was something lovely to him.

When you two were finally done spilling cum at each other, Wanderer finally looked down at where you two were connected and begun pulling his dick out very slowly. He admired watching his cock making such wet, slimy noises due to its contact with your pussy, even if he was moving the slowest pace ever, revealing itself to be all creamy and lubricated the more he pulled out.

“Let’s see if this is finally it…” Wanderer stroked his cock a few times knelt down in your bed before jumping out of it to excitedly walk to your computer another time.

Click.

✧ ✦ ✧

“What a shame…” He punctuated every syllable of his sentence, trying to make it as obvious as possible that he was actually happy about the fact that you didn’t get any Five-Star pull yet. “At least you got two Faruzan copies for two orgasms…” He giggled at the final results of the pull.

70 Pulls:

Wanderer was genuinely more thoughtful and caring in this round, especially because the both of you believed it would be the last one. He decided to service your eyes and finally become entirely naked. It wasn’t anything jaw-dropping, but you did like the few Anemo-colored tattoos he had around his body, especially the one behind his neck, symbolizing his true identity.

You two were back to the bed again, but this time he was thrusting you sideways, while you simply laid down and tried to reach your hands in his body and feel his soft skin.

“You know…” Since he was fucking you nice and slow this time, you could finally have proper conversations with him. “What the heck did you mean with ‘Kabukimono and the Balladeer will cease to exist.’ in the trailer? Does that have anything to do with your redesign and your new name? It doesn’t look 100% good in my opinion, but what can I do about it..? I wish Hoyo had given you a better design…” Wanderer scoffed at that last sentence.

“As soon as you play the new mission, you’ll find it why, and you’ll regret those words a lot. Do you even have any idea of why I became a Harbinger in the first place? ” He whispered right at your ear while one of his hands squeezed a breast of yours gently.

His mouth was softly biting your neck, trying to get a taste of your skin with it and his hands too. His whole body was trying its best to wrap and feel yours, showing a romantic side you’d never expect from him.

You wondered if he ever made his way under another character’s pants… or other fans…

You hated that possibility. You were enjoying this intimate moment with him and daydreaming with the possibility of him being yours and yours only.

“No idea, Scara…” You tried rolling your body in his direction, trying to be closer to him.

“I won’t give you any spoilers…” Wanderer didn’t do anything about your need for his affection and closure, tho.

Perhaps it was still fun for him to deny you even in moments where kinks weren’t involved.

“You feel so good…” You decided to praise him, a hand of yours raising to caress his head while he sucked your neck like a vampire.

“You feel great too.” He pressed many smooches at your cheek and neck while you two shared compliments. “It even has me praying for you to not get a five star in the next pulls… Perhaps I can also make you lose 50/50 purposefully just to keep my dick in this pussy of yours for a little longer.” His voice has husky, moaning and grunting at how your gushy pussy was making a mess of him down there.

Wanderer gave a few glances down at your connected crotches, admiring your curves in the way, but wanting to admire the lovemaking scenario down there. Your gummy walls letting him slide in and out so easily, gushing some liquids all the way down to his balls due to the overstimulation, your sweaty skin rubbing against his... And now his hands were 100% addicted to your thighs. Even if he needed to occupy a hand to hold one of your legs up, he took the opportunity to play with them too, brushing the tips of all his fingers up and down your skin.

It was so stimulating to have him teasing so many parts of your body at the same time, you couldn’t help but begin whimpering again, desiring for more.

“Faster! Please!” Your desperate immediately made Wanderer react to it.

It felt like his dick naturally started going faster just for the sake of hearing you whine his name and desperate orders while his balls became heavier in weight.

“You’re gonna cum already, hum?” Wanderer chuckled in your ear, gently biting its lobe afterwards jokingly.

“Y-Yes! I can feel it coming soon!” Your hand desperately tried to reach his hips, trying to somehow make them go faster.

“Me too, dear… So, make sure to cum it all around me, ok? The same way I’ll be cumming it all around you too.” Wanderer suddenly jumped from his spot and pushed your shoulder until your back was turned to him, thrusting you from behind now while your face drowned in the pillow.

You weakly nodded, your hands gripping on the sheets for dear life as Wanderer’s pace increased erratically. You obviously took the opportunity to increase the volume of your pretty moans.

Seeing your body so arched for him was a view he’d love to watch for hours, especially since it helped his thrusts becoming more precise against your sensitive spots. He spent this whole finale staring at the wet mess you were making of his cock once again, enjoying it as if you were praising him with your voice.

No matter how repetitive they were, once again, your orgasm was breathtaking. Although you enjoyed the idea of being degraded by a man you adore so much, being loved and praised by him felt even better. It explained why it really didn’t take long for you to cum again. Meanwhile you trembled and screamed against the pillow, Wanderer kept thrusting you in that same tortuous pace since he hadn’t reached his own climax yet. At least he deeply enjoyed watching you taking all of him inside even if you were busy being so overwhelmed by your own body wasting all that peaked pleasure. He could now see a few ropes of your cum splashed around his length, truly making your already gummy walls a true mush for him to abuse.

“Good girl… I’m close…” He warned you with a husky groan, and you couldn’t help but try spreading your legs and arching your back even further for him, in arousal of hearing his noises and feeling his cock punching your insides accompanied by wet, splashy noises coming his hips crashing yours.

In a few seconds, Wanderer finally started orgasming too. While squeezing your fluffy buttocks, his tip trembled and ached while pumping his pleasure out of itself. Your body took him all in like it has already been accustomed with it. It didn’t really hurt, and it felt to feel him claiming the deepest parts of your insides all to himself.

Wanderer giggled.

“Did you enjoy this? Taking my semen inside your pretty cunt?” Wanderer leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“I… I did.” At this point, you were too cock-drunk to care if anyone would hear your pathetic self-degradation, your stupid screams or if your roommate would arrive home with such a pornographic scene happening.

You were happy that you had so many rounds of sex with your favorite character of your entire life.

“Good! You know your place!” The irony in his tone while his hand roamed around your body made you giggle.

You felt his hands stop at your shoulders, pulling you up from behind. After a few other tricks, he had on his arms, carrying you around princess-style once again.

“Go on. You do it.” He said as he walked close enough to your computer’s screen and sat himself on your chair, still with you on top of his naked lap. “I’m tired. Even if you don’t get a Five Star right now, I have no gas anymore anyway…” He arched his head against your chair’s pillow while waiting for you to finally reach ‘pity’.

Your shaking fingers reached your mouse.

You accidentally shook it away from the button you couldn’t wait to click, making you shake you head and focus, trying to act less lazily, desperately desiring to see what would be the results of all your efforts.

Click.

Your eyes widened.

“Oh-ho?” Wanderer’s attention was brought back to the screen seeing the golden sparkle shining around it.

Your hand froze in place as the first result of your pulls popped with a flash in your screen.

A 3-Star weapon.

You didn’t bother reading its name.

You slowly clicked the screen one-by-one, waiting for every animation of every weapon to load before advancing.

In the final clicks, finally, the big, golden, splash art finally popped.

It was him.

“Congratulations.” Wanderer giggled, tapping and patting the top of your head as if he hadn’t just controlled that.

“You…” You couldn’t even express all that joy you had been stocking for this moment. “Thank you! Thank you so much!” You couldn’t help but hug his neck passionately, which made his a smirk did and become grumpy expression instead.

That was it!

Your objective in the game was finally over!

Wanderer was yours!

“Ok, ok… no need to keep throwing yourself on me!” He rose his hands upwards, trying to avoid touching you while you simply rubbed yourself against him in pure joy of finally achieving your main mission in the game.

“I’m so happy!! Thank you so, so, so, so, so much!” You immediately let him go when he asked for it, and you threw yourself in the table, beginning to print the screen in front of you.

“I would do Weapon Banner round too, but unfortunately…” He paused for a beat. “It’s time to wake up.”

“What?” You expressed your confusion, taking a glance back at him.

“Y/N? Hello?” Those words didn’t match his previous ones, which just made you even more confused. You didn’t recognize that tone on him… but in someone else.

In a blink, all that world disappeared, and your body teleported from Wanderer’s lap to your bed again.

“Oh, God! I thought you were dead!” Your roommate made a ‘phew’ noise when she finally saw your eyes awaken at her perspective.

“W-Wh…” You rose your chest and looked around.

“Weird dream again?” She asked, leaning away from the bed to let you get up.

It was all… a dream..?

“Y-Yeah…” You awkwardly jumped out from your bed, immediately walked to your table, seeing your current main character idling probably for the twentieth time.

The Wish button had a red exclamation mark on it.

The Character button had no exclamation mark on it.

You clicked on it.

Wanderer’s banner was there, and it’s been 2 hours since he arrived in the game according to the timer.

Oh.

It was really all a dream?! All that pleasure and romance was just your brain helping you relieve your sexual needs?! Your romantic fantasies?! Well… you couldn’t deny you were a little thankful for it. The scenario you just lived was something many of his fans would kill for.

Before you could even think about actually pulling for him now, an e-mail notification in the game popped right at center-top of the screen with a little notification sound accompanied, contrasting the screen’s light blue background with its gray tone.

You pressed the ‘Esc’ key in your keyboard twice and quickly reached the e-mail option at the left bottom-corner of the screen. At least you’d get some gems for—

Wait…

What is this e-mail?

It doesn’t have a gem icon, or any item at all. It was just… a message? Coming from… ‘You Know Who’..?

You swallowed saliva while clicking the e-mail.

From: You Know Who

Good luck on the Weapon Banner, and good luck with the new mission too. ;)

(I seriously recommend you have a handkerchief while doing it.)

Taglist: @hitomisuzuya @kindofshyent @shyentsfoundherink @amoyanderes @the-stinky-winky @goofy-ego @bigmantiddys @alatusorrow @luminieee

Don’t forget to like and comment if you liked it <3

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covenofagatha · 2 months ago

Text

The Psychology of Love (Part 1)

The First Day

Your first class of Personality Psychology with Professor Agatha Harkness awaits

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: very light smut, slowburn, teacher x student

“Can you believe we’re graduating college in the spring?” your best friend and roommate, Wanda Maximoff, asks when you sit down at the table in the dining hall with a plate of toast and a cup of orange juice.

You shake your head, brain still foggy with sleep, and silently curse yourself for picking the nine AM class on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. It’s the first day of your senior fall semester and you already know it’s going to be rough. You really hope this is the kind of class that has optional attendance.

Wanda is much more of a morning person than you are, with chipper green eyes and a glow to her pale skin. She was more than happy to sign up for all early classes and you wish you had half of her energy.

“You have Creative Writing at nine and then Gender and Sexuality Studies at ten-fifteen?” you ask. Wanda’s an English major and you sometimes wish you had gone down that route as opposed to Psychology. It’s interesting, of course, but some of the courses you’ve had to take made you want to poke your eyes out with boredom.

She nods. “What do you have?”

Shrugging, you pull out your phone to look at your schedule. “Personality Psych at nine,” you say. “Physiological Psych at twelve. I really hope these aren’t bad.”

“Did you look up the professors? I did—apparently one of mine was fired for making racist comments and then rehired by the university,” Wanda scoffs and your eyes widen. “He apparently sued, it was a whole thing. So I bet that class should be fun.”

Her sarcasm makes you chuckle and then wince. “No, fuck, I didn’t look,” you say, inwardly kicking yourself. When you had registered for classes, there were only certain times that some of them were offered so you had to work around that. You didn’t get to be picky in your senior year, when you were down to the last few classes you needed to graduate.

You zoom in on the professor’s name for your first class on the screenshot of your schedule—Agatha Harkness. Typing it into google, you say a silent prayer that she’s an easy-A teacher.

Clicking on the first website, your face falls when you see that she has a two-point-nine out of five rating, with the average grade being a C. Difficulty level four out of five. Attendance mandatory. You scroll through the reviews and your heart sinks lower with each one.

Barely any homework, tests are about ninety percent of the grade.

I made two-hundred flashcards and still failed the final exam. Professor Harkness is a total hardass.

I didn’t wear my seatbelt while driving to class in the hopes I’d get into a car crash.

“Jesus,” you mutter. Some of them are a little better, saying that she’s a wicked genius, and that going to office hours will help. One of them says she has some unorthodox ways of teaching psychology and that she picks favorites—but it’s effective.

You put your phone away, not even bothering to look up any of your other professors. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss.

Wanda gets up to get some eggs and you bite into your cold toast, but you’ve lost your appetite. It’s your senior year and you can’t let your GPA tank this semester—you refuse to let that happen. If it takes going to office hours every day for the week before an exam, or buttering your professor up, you’ll fucking do it.

“Nat and I heard about a welcome-back rager that one of the sororities is hosting tonight,” Wanda says when she comes back. Natasha is her girlfriend, one of your other best friends. You take all the credit for them getting together. Both of them had confessed that they liked the other to you so you had made a reservation for dinner for the three of you at a restaurant known for its romantic setting and then you had texted them about three minutes before to let them know that you wouldn’t be able to make it.

Wanda didn’t come back to the dorm that night and when she had stumbled back in the next morning, her neck was covered in hickeys.

Your nose wrinkles. “A sorority?” Not that you have anything against them, you just imagine their parties being very guy-infested.

She laughs and rolls her eyes fondly. “It’s not what you’re thinking. They’re all invite-only and this is a queer sorority.”

“Oh. Yeah, that sounds fun then.”

“Maybe you can get some action,” Wanda smirks, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

Snorting, you take a long sip of orange juice to delay answering. Your love life has been complicated to say the least. Your first serious relationship was in freshman year of college, when a girl who had lived across the hall from you asked you out and no one had told you that it was a bad idea to date someone who lives that close to you. She was clingy and immature and you weren’t convinced that she actually cared about you—more just the idea of you.

And you felt more from just a few compliments from women twice your age than you did the entire time with her.

Looking back on it now, the whole thing was a bit of a mistake but you had gotten some experience from it and thankfully you had moved dorm buildings and hadn’t seen her again since.

There had been some hookups in the past two years—drunk calls and makeouts in the bathroom at parties—but no one had caught your eye.

“Yeah, we’ll see,” you say evasively. It just felt like something was constantly missing. You hadn’t opened up to Wanda or Nat about it, but you secretly longed for what the two of them had with each other. “It’s tonight?”

Wanda hums. “At nine. So Nat will come over around then and we can pregame and then head over? Can’t be too early.”

You shake your head at how egregious it would be before laughing. Natasha plops down next to Wanda, out of breath, before kissing her girlfriend on the cheek. They giggle to each other and you push your chair back.

“I should probably get going. I can only imagine what my professor would do if I’m late,” you say.

One of your general psych professors taught you that there’s only one type of person who goes out of their way to do a survey or write a review: someone who feels incredibly strongly about it. For each person who wrote a bad review about Professor Harkness, there’s surely five people who did just fine in the class with no complaints. That makes you feel a little better and you smile at your friends before trekking across campus.

Her classroom is in the Psychology building, which is possibly the furthest one from the dining hall, and by the time you get there and walk up the flight of stairs, your calves are burning and you have to make an effort to control your heavy breathing.

But you have five minutes to spare and the room is empty, so you lean against the wall next to the door on your phone. You’re already getting notifications of assignments for this week—why do you have five things to do for one class? A ball of stress starts to coil in your stomach.

“Nervous habit?” someone asks, and it takes you a moment to realize that they’re talking to you. You look up, surprised, and find an older woman, maybe late forties, with curly dark hair that’s tossed over her shoulders, dark blue eyes that pierce into yours, and large, black glasses resting on her nose. She’s wearing a navy dress with a black blazer and smart brown shoes. Her eyebrow is posed expectantly and you realize that you’ve been chewing on your thumb nail.

You clear your throat and straighten up, a feeling that you can’t quite name growing inside you. “Sorry?”

Her lips slowly stretch into a smile and you catch a whiff of her perfume—a unique blend of warm vanilla with a dark coffee and something extra that adds a little spice. “Are you here for class?” she asks.

“Yeah, um, Personality Psych,” you answer, feeling like you’re missing out on something. She looks absolutely delighted and steps to the side of you to open the door to the classroom. The pieces slowly click into place and your mouth drops open. “You—you’re Professor Harkness?”

She smirks. “Not who you were expecting?”

She is not who you were expecting at all. The reviews made it sound like she was a mean crone deriving pleasure from failing students left and right. Not an attractive older woman.

You swallow roughly.

Professor Harkness tilts her head to the side and you brush past her into the classroom, muttering a “Not really,” her scent lingering in your nostrils. It’s a small room and you sit at a desk in the second row on the left side, where the lectern is. You’ve found that it’s easier to focus when you’re close to the teacher.

More students trickle in and sit behind you or to the side of you. No one takes the desk in front of you, though, so when Professor Harkness sweeps through the aisles of chairs and stops at the front, you’re in her direct line of sight. Her eyes twinkle when they land on you and you squirm.

“Welcome to Personality Psychology,” she announces at nine on the dot. “I am Professor Agatha Harkness. I have a PhD in clinical and behavior psychology. I’m sure many of you have heard or read that this class is difficult.”

Out of your peripheral vision, you see some people nodding and nervously chuckling.

She slams a hand down on the surface of the lectern, making everyone jump. “They are correct. But, let me tell you something. A lot of the students that take this class think it will be easy. They hear ‘Freud’ and they think ‘Oedipus Complex’. They hear ‘biological approach’ and they think ‘nature versus nurture’. Of course we will cover that—but we will also go very deep into what each theory pertains and includes. People fail because they think there’s too much information so they give up. What’s the solution?Try.”

You wonder if she saw the review from the person that said they made two-hundred flashcards and still failed.

Agatha moves to the desk next to the lectern to log into the computer. Quiet chatter fills the room, people introducing themselves to each other, but you dig in your bag and pull out a notepad and a pen. Your psych teacher in high school taught you that writing down information helps your brain retain it better than typing, so you’ve grown accustomed to taking notes by hand.

She presses a button and the screen at the front of the classroom turns on and projects the syllabus. Agatha quickly goes through it, making note of the three exams and two research presentations that are scattered throughout the semester, and someone raises their hand.

“So we only have five grades?” he asks, a nervous tremor in his voice. You’re right there with him—it will be very hard to bring your grade back up if you do bad on a test.

Agatha stares him down. “If you do well on each one, you won’t need more than that.” The boy stammers but she moves on, telling everyone that attendance is indeed mandatory and that she won’t be posting the slides for notes online. You inwardly groan, hoping that your fear of failure will outweigh your lack of motivation.

When she closes the tab with the syllabus, you hear rustling behind you and you turn slightly to see a girl packing up. A quick check of your watch shows that there’s still thirty minutes left.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Agatha says. “Did I dismiss the class?”

The girl freezes before slinking back into her seat. “No, sorry, I just thought—”

Agatha laughs humorlessly and you flinch. “Well, you are dismissed. We’ll see you on Wednesday unless you drop the class first.” The girl’s mouth drops open, eyes glassy, but she holds her head high as she walks out of the door.

If you were her, you’re not sure you’d be able to come back.

“Alright, let’s get into it,” Agatha says, clicking on a new tab and opening a slideshow. There’s a quiet ugh among everyone—of course she’s making you take notes on the first day. “What is personality?”

No one moves an inch, no one says a word.

She scoffs and stands up, perusing the room. You’re sure everyone is doing the exact same thing as you—looking anywhere but the professor. Raising your hand to your mouth and biting your fingernails, you feel her eyes on you and you reluctantly meet her gaze.

“It’s the way you think and behave?” you offer and she smiles pleasantly. A feeling of warmth spreads through you at the validation.

She clicks to the next slide. “Very good. The definition I want you to know is that personality is first and foremost a construct. It’s an idea that we created. It’s a person’s overall, individual pattern of behaviors, emotions and thoughts. There are five basic approaches to how we can look at personality.”

You furiously scribble that down. You’re one of the only people who’s writing notes and she thankfully waits for you to look up before continuing.

“We have the Trait approach, the Biological approach, the Psychoanalytical approach, the Phenomenological approach, and the Behavioral approach. I’m sure some of you are familiar with most of these, but over the semester, we’re going to really dive into how each of these approaches views personality and what they think is the basis for it. There are a lot of different ways to assess personality, some a lot more legitimate methods than others.”

Someone raises their hand and Agatha nods at them. “The Trait approach is where we look at the Big Five personality test, right?”

Agatha sighs and clicks to the next slide. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to in an attempt to appear smart. It doesn’t work.” You stifle a laugh—she sees and winks at you and your cheeks flush.

She continues talking a bit, giving you a bit of information about each one, before telling everyone to take out a piece of paper.

“Draw a picture of a house and your family, whatever it looks like to you,” Agatha instructs. She sets a timer for five minutes while she walks around and glances at people’s work.

When she gets to you, her perfume invades your nostrils as she bends over your shoulder. You can feel her hair brush your back. She hums in your ear and your stomach heats up.

“This is an example of a projection test. You can tell a lot about a person based on how they drew the things,” she says, sitting back at her desk. “How intricate they draw the house. If it looks like the place they grew up in. Where they put themselves compared to the rest of the family. Who is even included in the family. I’m not going to collect these, but if you do want me to take a look at them so you can judge for yourself how accurate it is, stay after class. If not, then you may go and I’ll see everyone on Wednesday.”

You’re the only person who doesn’t immediately rush out the door and you slowly make your way up to her, paper in hand. Her eyes flick to yours and she smirks, like she knew she could count on you.

She holds out her hand and you give her your drawing. The lines on her forehead crease and she nods, analyzing it. You shift and scratch your head and resist the urge to bite your nails because of her comment earlier.

Agatha puts the paper down on the desk, faced towards you. “The house isn’t detailed—just a square with a door and four windows and a triangle as the roof. Maybe you’re just not an artist, or maybe you never really considered any place home.”

It feels like all the air gets sucked out of your lungs.

“There’s space between you and these people,” she points to you and then to your mom, brother, and father, “but there’s also space between your parents. Or that’s who I’m guessing they are.”

You nod.

“It seems like you don’t feel very connected to them, or to your home. Maybe their home specifically?” She looks up at you, lips quirked up. “So, projective tests—total nonsense?”

Chuckling shakily, you meet her eyes. “Total,” you joke.

Agatha leans back in her chair and studies you. “What made you want to study psychology?”

“Oh, well, I don’t know,” you say lamely, shifting your weight from one foot to another. “I guess I just like knowing how people think. What about you?”

There’s a dark glint in her eyes. “Understanding people, the way they think—” she gestures to you in agreement with your answer, “—it gives you power over them. You know how to get inside their head, you know how to get what you want.”

The air seems to thicken around you two and her perfume makes you dizzy. “What do you want?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. Her eyebrow twitches up.

“Right now, I want a coffee,” she asserts, standing up and handing you back your paper. Whatever spell, whether real or imagined on your end, is broken and Agatha smiles. “I’ll see you Wednesday?”

The unspoken question is if you’re going to drop the class, if you’re scared off by her demeanor. You meet her gaze firmly. “I’ll see you then.”

“Have a good rest of the day, y/n,” she says, walking past you and out the door, and you stand there, agape, realizing that you never told her your name. ~~~

“I’m Natasha Romanoff! I’m friends with Stacy,” Nat yells over the pumping music from inside the sorority. The girl at the door nods and moves to the side to let you, Nat, and Wanda into the house.

The lights are a deep blue and you see people in the corners doing shots and playing beer pong, there’s girls making out in the middle of the floor, guys outside in the pool. You turn to say something to your friends, but they’ve already gone off somewhere else and left you standing there alone.

So you go and fill a cup up with beer from the keg and take in the scene, perfectly content to just be a wallflower for the night. You’re not even really sure why you came, but you had nothing else to do and now the drinks you had earlier are settling pleasantly in your stomach, making your veins buzz and your head float.

“Hey!” someone says loudly and you look to the side to find a girl with dark hair and blue eyes standing there. “You look lonely.”

You laugh and take another sip. “My friends left me. They’re probably hooking up in a bedroom right now.”

She leans in closer and you find yourself mirroring her. “Do you want to go look in the bedrooms and see if we can find them?”

“What? Why would I—” She raises an eyebrow and it clicks. “Wait, are you hitting on me?” She nods and you down the rest of your drink. You’re about to apologize and walk away when you inhale and smell something.

Vanilla, coffee, and a hint of something else.

There’s a flicker of heat in your stomach and you reach out a hand to cup her cheek, bringing her closer to you.

It’s her. You can’t explain it, but energy thrums under your skin and you pull her mouth to yours. The scent fills your nose and your mouth and you moan. She pushes you against the wall and you don’t even know her name but you don’t care.

Your tongue licks into her mouth and she whimpers, hands frantically sliding down your body and around your waist. You’ve never done anything like this before, never this reckless, but there’s something about her that is driving you crazy.

Her fingers fiddle with the button on your jean shorts before sliding in, her smell the only thing you can focus on and it hits you.

It’s the same perfume as Agatha was wearing in class.

You should stop because it’s so fucked up but you’re too wet now to just walk away so you wrap your arms around her to bring her closer.

And when she slides a finger into you, in a hallway in a sorority house amidst fifty other undergraduates, your professor is all you can think about.

Part Two

@lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7 @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs @agathascoven1

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha x reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness smut #agatha smut #agatha harkness fanfic #covsfics #psychology of love

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helplesslypurple77 · 6 months ago

Text

Day 14 -Shower Sex-Hisoka/Reader

Notes: k so suspend your disbelief that Hisoka would ever need a roommate, that man is probably rich as hell, but this is my universe and I can do anything I want.

.....

Maybe your decision to get a roommate was a mistake. It had seemed like such a bright idea a few weeks ago, when you had put the last minute listing online. Because you could have a nice, large apartment in a central location and halve the price. And maybe you could make a nice friend out of it. You were even safe, requiring an online form as well as an in person interview. You weren't too worried though, you considered yourself pretty formidable when it came to ability.

But it was not going as well as you would have liked. You have received plenty of submissions, sure. But each one had something glaringly wrong with it. You shuffle through the forms you had printed out, sighing as each one passes through your vision. These are the better ones, you threw out the worse ones already. Now, only three remain.

The first one is a woman, who after a delightful interview where the two of you got along really well, she had informed you that she had four cats and three dogs, and a cow. And she would expect them to live with her. So she was obviously tossed. The second one had been a rather mousy looking man who had some clear stalker tendencies, and had asked you to compromise on rent. You had told him maybe, and shooed him away.

The last option was the one you were most hopeful about. It was another man, who was set to arrive any minute now. His answers on the form were promising, of course, but also very general. That was why you had set up the in person interview. To probe people and get their general vibes.

The doorbell rings, shaking you out of your thoughts. You jump up, straightening your dress and fixing your hair, before moving to the door. This is the last one. You send up a little prayer, begging that this one will be the perfect candidate, and open the door.

The man standing on the other side of the door with his hand on his hip is very hot. It's the first thing you notice, followed very quickly by the odd way he dresses. But have met many a weird dresser in your day so you try not to judge.

“Are you Mr Morrow?” You question, smiling up at him. He's very tall, looming over you a bit in your own doorway.

“Yes, I was informed you were in desperate need of a roommate,” The man says, offering a hand out in front of him. “You have such a lovely nen, dear.”

You take it, wincing slightly as he shakes it. He's a dramatic one. And probably a pro hunter, given the fact that he noticed your nen. And pointed it out at all. But that doesn't mean anything, not yet at least.

“I am. Come on in.” You say, yanking your hand out of his tight, cold grip and opening the door wide. The man breezes past you, sauntering into your house with no hint of hesitancy or fear. He shows only blind confidence, accompanied by a smirk tossed over his shoulder. He must be very strong. Or just stupid. You don't know which is better. You sigh, leading him towards the living room where you have your little interview area set up.

“Alright Mr Morrow, could you tell me why you want a roommate?” You ask, sitting down on the couch of the cozy little living room. He sits down opposite you, in one of the cushy armchairs and crosses one leg over the other.

“Hisoka is fine,” he says, brushing a hair through his red hair, pushing it back farther. “And it seemed fun!”

You raise an eyebrow. So he's an odd one.

“Not for a financial need or…” You say, trying to prompt him into a more in depth answer. His smiles, yellow eyes flickering between your face and the rest of the apartment, probably taking it in. It's a nice apartment, and in a central part of Yorknew city. That's partly why you were so desperate for it.

“Oh no, of course not. I could pay for this entire place if I felt like it.” He laughs lightly, and you chuckle. Probably a bad sign, you muse as he continues. “It's just that the address of my other residence got out and I had the most annoying visitors at all hours of the day.”

You raise your eyebrow high, so high you assume it's going to disappear into your hairline at any moment, and tap your pen. Hisoka shakes his head, pouting slightly and you kick yourself as it occurs to you once again how attractive he really is.

“It was so inconvenient, I'm sure you know darling. So I had to move.” Hisoka says with a frown, head tilting to the side. “But I soon discovered that I had been put on a no buy list. Like a no fly list? You understand?”

He leans forward, like he's telling some great secret, and you nod with a sigh. This one is a complicated one. No matter how attractive you find his arms as they flex, or his thin waist in that odd outfit he wears, you need to remain rational and not rush such an important decision because you thought this guy was hot as fuck. Hisoka smiles, somehow not disturbing the strange symbols painted on his cheeks.

“So I figured getting a roomie was the solution to both problems!” He says with a smile, pointing his finger in the air as if he's come up with the solution to a great puzzling problem. “No weak people will figure out my address, as your name will be on the lease. And paying you the rent mitigates the no buy list issue.”

“I see, how interesting.” You say, trying not to sound too amused. He sure is a weird one, alright. “Do you have any pets?”

“Oh no, animals don't like me.” He laughs, passing his hand through his hair again. “I couldn't tell you why, will that be an issue?”

“Oh, no.” You say, a beat of worry ticking at the back of your brain. “I don't have any pets, they make a lot of mess.”

It should probably be a bad sign that animals don't like him, but honestly all you care about is the fact that he doesn't have a pet, not any flags as red as his hair that answer might raise.

“And you wouldn't object to sharing a bathroom?” You question. The apartment is nice, but it's a two bedroom one bath. You didn't know why, an odd design choice on the part of the former owners. Hisoka chuckles.

“Oh, not at all~” He says silkily, recrossing his legs with a flourish. “I can coexist just fine with someone as lovely as you. I hear that taking showers together conserves water~”

He shoots you a wink, a smirk flashing across his face. You laugh, trying to ignore what he's laying down on the table. It's better not to think of anything like that, lest it urge you closer and closer to just giving up and taking him on as a roommate.

“How environmentally conscious,” You say, appropriately neutral as you continue. “And may I ask what you do for work?”

“Ah work. That's a little complicated, I'm afraid.” Hisoka says, tilting his head to the side with a bit of a frown. “I suppose officially, I would classify as a blacklist hunter.”

Ah, of course. You can't really say you're surprised, but perhaps it's a bad sign for your mental health that his answer doesn't actually put you off as much as it should.

“I see,” you say, noting that down on your little notebook. Hisoka tilts his head, eyes flickering curiously.

“You don't seem at all alarmed.” He questions, yellow eyes staring directly at your face. Not dancing around your face and body, not at the wall behind you. He must be very interested in your reaction.

“It's really none of my business, as long as you don't mess with the apartment,” You explain, running a hand through your hair. “And besides, I'm a hunter as well, and you don't seem to mean any harm to me. Right now anyway.”

Hisoka blinks, letting the silence stretch on for a moment, filling the air of the cozy living room. He seems a bit surprised by your answer, for reasons you can't understand. Maybe he was surprised by your total lack of fear? Or maybe your casual attitude. It was only natural, both your parents were hunters and most of your clientele were as well. You supposed you were a bit dead to what was normal and unusual. You did make specialty weapons for people all over the world. Some of your best clientele were the infamous Zoldyck family. You were kind of used to weirdos dressed in odd costumes who wanted strange things. The only thing you might need to worry about from Hisoka was how attractive you found him.

Hisoka chuckles.

“How interesting~” he purrs, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room. “What a strikingly brave person you are, doll.”

“I guess,” You say, shrugging off the pet name he’s already assigned you with a sigh. “Are there any questions you have for me? It's better to settle these things before you move in.”

“Ah, so you’ll have me then?” Hisoka asks, all smiles. You nod, shuffling your papers with a sigh. It seems he really is the best option.

“Questions, hmm.” Hisoka says, tapping his chin. You wait patiently as he considers, a bit worried. Finally, he speaks. “I have an odd friend. You don't mind him showing up out of nowhere do you?”

You sigh. You've been doing a lot of sighing lately.

“No, not really. Tell him my bedroom is off limits though.” You say, standing to your feet. You've known your share of weirdos, and as long as this one stays out of your private spaces you're fine. Hisoka smiles, rising smoothly to his feet with a slightly unhinged smile. He held out his hand, yet again. You eye it warily.

“So, we have a deal?” He asks, angling his hand upwards slightly, palm pointing into the ceiling. His nails are a bit long, you notice absentmindedly.

You reach out, taking his hand to shake.

“Yes, for now.” You say, “But we still need to sign the papers.”

“Yes, of course.” Hisoka supplies, mouth curving into a smile as he grips your hand, bringing it up to his cold lips. You push down a flush, biting your lips as he presses a long kiss to the back of your hand. His yellow eyes flick up, meeting your own and pinning you to the spot. Finally, after what feels like an age, he stands up, gently releasing your hand from his chilly grip. It falls to your side, and you clear your throat.

“Would you like a tour?” You ask, proud of how clear your vocal cords remain. Hisoka chuckles, crossing his arms casually.

“Sure.” He laughs.

You fear for your future self. You’ve certainly found an odd roommate.

⚀⚀⚀

Hisoka, despite the faults and red flags that constantly run in your vision, isn't actually that terrible of a roomate. He's quite clean, and not very noisy. He does cook at all, but you don't mind cooking for two and leaving leftovers for him as he comes and goes. In return, he cleans the kitchen for you, and often the rest of the house as well. The two of you end up not seeing each other as much as you would like, only meating for meals and the occasional free afternoon of dancing around each other. It's nice, honestly. You can ignore his other faults, like the makeup skin and hair products that are mixing with your own, and the incessant flirting. He flirts so much you assume it's just how he is. Because no matter how much you wanna fuck him, you doubt its returned. Because that's the other problem. You really wanna fuck him, and it can be reliably traced to a combination of a few things.

One, because of your new roomie, you cant bring men home to fuck anymore.

Two, He's just insanely attractive and touchy, a hand on your waist here, a brush of your neck there, and you're losing your mind.

And three, the walls are too thin for you to masturbate comfortably. You can only masturbate in the shower now. But that in itself is a problem. You try not to shower for too long because of the water bill and so you can only get yourself off way less than you need.

But it isn't really a big deal, you promise yourself. You don't find yourself spending long bouts of time with Hisoka anyway, so your obvious desire for him isn't on display. You can only hope you can hide it for as long as the two of your remaining roomies.

⚀⚀⚀

You survey the counters of your bathroom, the white of the countertop slowly being swallowed by skincare. Your own skincare addiction was a beast, but with Hisoka living with you the problem had only worsened. The shelves were covered in various masks and serums, the cabinets taken up by painkillers and mysterious under the counter drugs. The shelves to the side of the counter are laden in your makeup, with a small space devoted to the few products Hisoka used to draw his star and teardrop.

You shove a couple things aside to grab your hair brush. The mirror is clean, your reflection clear in the glass, a few little sticky notes stuck to one end. You eye them, your messy handwriting noting down the things you were running low on. It was better if you left them in the mirror. You looked at it every morning and night after all when you did your skincare.

You sigh, running a brush over your scalp in relief. The shower isn't running yet, but you're excited for the opportunity to wash your hair, and of course, to masturbate. Your body is thrumming with pent up energy as you eye yourself in the mirror. Hisoka had been especially annoying this week. It seemed he had nothing to do, so every morning when you left for work you encountered him in the living room, and he was there when you returned.

Sometimes he was on the couch, watching reality tv in a tank top and sweats, and sometimes he was clearly just coming from the gym with sweat gathering on his arms and face. Each time he was desperately tempting, and much too flirty for your sanity. Be it a wink and a flirty comment, or a brush of your waist and a breath on your neck. He was driving you crazy.

You sigh, shedding the towel you had been wrapped in and fold it neatly, placing it on the small shelf next to the entrance of the shower. You dig your feet ingo the bathmat, running a hand through your hair with a sigh. And then you see it.

A spider. A nasty, giant spider the size of your palm, sitting directly in the shower. In the path of your feet.

You scream shrilly, jumping backwards dramatically as you run to get as far away from the spider as possible. You hate spiders, more than anything in the world. You scream again, your shrill voice echoing off the bathroom walls.

“Hisoka!” You shriek, hugging your naked waist in fear as the spider moves a few inches closer. “Come here!”

The door slams open, Hisoka moving with a sense of urgency. His face betrays no emotion besides amusement as he takes you in, shivering and naked, glaring at the spider on the shower floor.

“Can I help you doll?” he purrs, moving closer to you across the bathroom floor. You don't even notice, too busy with your worst enemy, the giant spider watching you from the shower. The shower in the bathroom is only covered with a slight wall of glass, leaving about a space wide enough for someone to pass through comfortably into the shower cubby. It's also enough space for the spider to escape and hunt you down relentlessly.

“Don't you see it?” You hiss, body trembling in the chilly bathroom air. You shiver, holding your arms around your waist. You seem to have forgotten your nakedness.

Hisoka chuckles, folding his hands across his chest as his yellow eyes scan your body, pausing on all the parts of interest. He licks his lips, moving towards you across the floor. You don't notice, too busy keeping an eye on the spider.

“Look,” you whisper. “The spider. In the shower.”

“Ah,” Hisoka says, a slight laugh contained in his voice. “Afraid of spiders, are you?”

You roll your eyes, not happy with his sarcasm.

The spider jumps, moving out of the shower cubby and towards you on the floor. You shriek, jumping backwards and into Hisoka’s arms, clinging to his muscled body as you scream.

“Ugh, it's coming this way!” You yell, hiding your face in Hisoka’s chest as your legs clench around his waist. “Just kill it!”

Hisoka laughs, the sound rattling in his chest as you cling close to him. He has his phone in his pocket, poking against your thighs. It's odd, because you don't remember this pair of sweatpants he's wearing having pockets. The spider sits heavy on your mind though, and you grip his muscled shoulders close with a whimper.

“As you wish.” Hisoka laughs, gripping your thighs and holding your body close to him. Faintly, you inhale his scent, a mix of flowers and musk and the unmistakable faint scent of blood. It turns you on as fear runs through your blood. You hid your head in his chest.

“Is it dead?” You whisper, gripping him tightly. Your heart is beating fast against your chest, begging to escape and run away from the stupid spider.

“Yes, doll.” Hisoka purrs, other hand coming up to stroke your hair gently, an attempt to calm you down. “Your knight in shining armor has rescued you from the great threat lurking in the depths of the shower.”

You roll your eyes. He's making fun of you.

“Did you throw it away?” You question, not loosening your death grip on his shoulders.

“Yes, I'm delighted to report it’s out of your sight.” Hisoka says, a chuckle in his voice. You pull your head away from his chest cautiously, pearing backwards and scouring the bathroom floor for any remnants of the spider. The floor is empty, only occupied with the fluffy bath mat. You sigh in relief, your chest heavy distractingly against the black tank top Hisoka wears.

Then you realize exactly where you are. You're clinging to Hisoka like a tree, completely naked and clutching at his body. You shriek again, almost as loud as you did when you saw that damn spider and fly away from him like you've touched fire. Hisoka chuckles.

“Aw, come back.” he coos, running a hand through his hair. “You were so cute, all helpless and scared.”

You frown and bite back a groan at the same time, covering your tits and pussy with your hands as best you can.

“Get out!” You shriek, fighting back the arousal that leaks in as you take him in.

“How rude!” Hisoka chuckles, pulling his tank top over his head. “No thank you?”

You yank your eyes away from his pale chest, as your pussy twitches with arousal. He toys with the hem of his sweatpants. As he tugs them lower, and you take in the v line pointing lower and lower, you realize he's not wearing boxers. You yank your eyes away, but it's too late. He's seen your wandering eyes.

“The water bill is getting too high.” You say out of nowhere, body tingling with arousal.

HIsoka tilts his head, biting back a smirk.

“Is that so?” He smirks, voice lilting seductively. “You know, I've been told showering together conserves water.”

You bite back a smile. A callback to your very first conversation. You let your hands drop, as you move towards the shower. All pretense is gone, just two people who really wanna fuck each others brians out. You giggle.

“What a clever plan.” You say, stepping into the shower and turning on the water with a sigh. Hisoka crowds behind you, smirking like the cat that got the cream. You suppose that's an accurate description for what's happening right now.

⚀⚀⚀

“How long have you known,” You whimper, boobs and face pressed against the glass divider. Hisoka chuckles, tick chock drilling your insides as you moan loudly. The steam of the shower floats through the air, obscuring his face slightly. His hair is down, dripping with water and plastered to his face, but he doesn't seem to care. You brace your hands against the glass as he grips his hips, hitting the spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

“Since your eyes first scanned my body,” Hisoka grunts, hands gripping you so tight you’ll bruise. “You aren't exactly subtle, doll.”

“Ah, how embarrassing.” you murmur, hair falling wet and heavy down your back, tangling in your mouth.

“Don't be too upset about it,” Hisoka murmurs, pressing his back against you as he drills deeper into you. “Your lustful glances were very mutual. You're simply a bit romantically oblivious.”

You whimper, hands scrabbling at the slick glass. The bathroom is filled with steam, the sound of the shower muffling your moans and the slapping of wet skin. You hope your neighbors can't hear you.

“Am i?” You whimper, head falling back as his steady thrusts bring you closer and closer to completion. “I thought you were just like that.”

“I am,” Hisoka mutters, sinking his teeth into your neck. You clench down on him, body tensing as pleasure and pain erupt from the bite mark, tangling and twisting into a heady cocktail of arousal.

“Ah, god.” You moan, nipples rubbing against the glass. “We should have done this sooner.”

Hisoka’s clawed hand reaches down, abandoning your bruised hips to rub circles into your clit. Stars burst behind your eyes, the bubbles and steam of the ballroom only adding to the floaty, dream like atmosphere. Hisoka chuckles, body hard and powerful against your own soft, curvy one.

“I think we'll be doing this a lot from now on.” He half chuckles, half groans, body pressing against yours, pressing you to the glass.

Your lips part as you cum, screaming his name into the abyss of hot steam and powerful muscles. And as the orgasms overwhelm your body, you smile to yourself against the glass.

It seems getting a roommate was shaping up to be the best decision you’d ever made.

.....

Endnotes: my sister is terrified of spiders. I channeled her fear for the spider bit. I don't like spiders very much, but she's genuinely terrified lol.

Also, guess who finished this before one in the morning, instead of at like three. Im hella proud of myself for that <3

#mariannacrxss #helplesslypurple77kinktober #hunter x hunter #hxh smut #hisoka morow #hxh x reader #hisoka smut #hisoka x reader

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luvyeni · 8 months ago

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RED STRING THEORY ,, 이동혁

pairings ‎⸝⸝⸝ lee haechan x fem!reader wc. 2k

genre. smut, soulmate au (?)

🦢◞ includes ... making out, oral sex ( male receiving ), unprotected sex

「 authors note 𖹭 」 this idea has been sitting in my notes since 2023 but I could never think of how to write it.

❪ masterlist! ❫

all your friends loved to say you and donghyuck are soulmates; tied together by a red invisible string, that you're destined to be together much like in your other lives— maybe that was true, and you did actually care for the boy in a another universe or timeline… but you knew for a fact in this time you wanted to wrap your hands around his—

“yn?” you were brought from your thoughts. “you okay?” you roommate yeji asked. “of course not the love of her life isn't here.” the irritating voice made your eye twitch. “you thinking of me baby?” lee donghyuck, haechan or your personal favorite jackass sat down next to you. “you know what yeah i was , i was thinking all about you”

everyone sitting at the lunch table stopped what they were doing. “seriously?” you hummed , nodding. “i told you guys she loved , tell me baby, what were you thinking about?” renjuns face turned in disgust. “i didn't consent to hearing your sex fantasy about haechan that you just had in public, might i add.” you turned to the boy , your hands resting on his shoulders, his eyes widened.

“i was thinking of taking my hand.” your friends watching, dragging your hand up his neck. “d-don't you think we should do this in private, not in front of our friends.” you started to squeeze. “i think she's trying to kill him.” jaemin whispered. “taking my hand , and squeezing , until your eyes pop.”

your friends erupted into laughter as you released the boy , he rubbed his neck. “yn i think you really scared him this time.” jeno said. “him? no.” you turned to the boy who was staring lovingly at you. “you see.” you rolled your eyes. “why can't you admit that you like me, love , make it easy for yourself?” everyone sighed knowing the rant he was about to go on. “we're perfect for each other.”

“yeah? how.” you said. “i'm hot and your hot , and it's obvious we were in love in our past lives,” he said. “haechan i’ve explained to you that the invisible string theory isn't real.” you argued back. “yeah how would i know about the birth mark on your lower back?” he did have a point , it was too low for anyone to see. “yeah how does he know that?” yeji asked. “because he's a creep that's why.” you stood up , needing to leave for your next class. “or maybe in our past lives our favorite position was doggy style , i couldn't forget that even in a new life.” he smirked, you shook your head. “i'm going to class.”

the boy followed behind you; sadly you had the same classes. “we're even in the same class.” he sat down next to you. “yeah and im still not sure if you did that on purpose.” the professor walked in before he could say something. “god heard my prayers.”

“there's a new project due , 30% of your grade for this semester.” you groaned , you hated projects. “let's do it together.” haechan said, he knew you were serious about school so he never bothered you during class , he actually never bothered you unless he knew it would stress you out. “why would i torture myself in such a manor?” he smiled. “I love our little talks.” you shook your head , standing up. “goodbye donghyuck.”

“wait yn, i'm serious,” he said. “you know me and you are the best in this class, we'll sure get an A on this.” you kissed your teeth, you hated when hebwas right, he loved to fuck around , but when it came to his work he was serious. “fine.” his eyes widened. “seriously?”

“yeah , let's go.” he quickly gathered his things. “you can't take it back now.” you rolled your eyes. “let's go.” he nodded. “back to your place?” you saw the smirk on his face. “yeji is home , and hell will freeze over before i ever come over to your house of horrors.” you walked away, he followed behind. “so that means there's a chance?”

“where are you going?” you opened the door to yeji about to leave. “jaemin called me and told me he saw you both walking towards our dorm together, i thought he was high again.” she stopped. “we’re working on a project together, sadly beside me he's the only other smarter one in the class.” haechan smiled. “see she knows how to compliment me.”

“i told him you'd be here so he would start anything.” you said , “but it seems like you aren't.” yeji shook her head. “work, one of my co workers called off , if you want groceries for the next month , i have to leave now.” she said , walk right out the door. “see even the universe wants us together.”

“my bedroom, let's go.” you walked. “if you like to be in charge i'm down.” he followed you. “haechan you're here to help with the project.” you said flatly. “i know , i know don't worry , i'll sit down and listen.” he sat on your bed , you cringed. “oh im sorry would you like for me to take my clothes off for your comfort?” you sat down in your chair. “no , i can just change it when you leave.” he smirked. “how about i give you a better reason to change them.” you glared at him , even though this time , you let a little smile slip. “fine, fine let's do the project.” he threw his hands up. “thank you.” you turned around facing your laptop. “but i saw that smile.”

you both actually did get half of your project done; you closed your laptop turning around in your chair, sighing. “you did good , kept your word and actually got work done.” you praised the boy. “don't you think i deserve a reward.” he laid back on your bed. “you can get your things and go.” he faked laughed. “no one is here, you can drop the act that you hate me.” you raised your eyebrows. “you think this is an act?” he nodded. “i do.”

“why is that?” you questioned, he shrugged. “you invited me to your apartment , you never do that even if it's with the other guys.” he said, “you invited me into your room with no one else home.” he smirked. “you love me.”

“you're cocky , that's why i don't like you.” you scoffed. “i think that's what you like about me the most.” he winked. “i see the twinkle in your pretty eyes , you mean to tell me you don't believe the string theory even a little bit?” you stood up shaking your head , walking over to your door. “and with that , good night haechan.” you opened it , showing him out.

he stood up, walking over to you and the door; you thought he was about to leave , but he stopped in front of you. “haechan what are you…” before you could even finish it , he was closing the door , pushing you against it. “hyuck.” he smirked. “now i'm hyuck , what happened to donghyuck?” he grabbed your hips , pulling you flush against him. “pretending to hate me this entire time; when in reality you're just as horny for me as i am for you.”

he closed the already miniscule gap in between you both; your lips dancing with each other , bodies grinding against each other. “bed.” you sighed , he kept his mouth on as he guided you to your bed , pushing you down on the bed. “what happened to letting me be in charge?” you said breathlessly. “that was before , this is now.”

he climbed on the bed , laying against the headboard. “come.” you climbed into his lap , straddling him. “look at you so desperate , take your top off baby.” you lifted your arms up pulling the shirt over your head. “nice tits.” he winked, you rolled your eyes. “i wish i had a gag.” he hummed. “oh , really?” you nodded. “get on your knees , i got one for you.”

you would've rolled your eyes at his corny ass humor , but you were too horny; getting on your knees in front of him , he unbuckled his pants , lifting his hands up , pulling his pants down enough to let his cock free , bobbing against his stomach , tan skin; red and ready to be sucked. “you keep looking at it baby, how about putting that pretty mouth to use.”

you finally put your hand around his length , giving his tip a kiss , he hissed. “fuck.” he sighed , he must've been in some sort of sex dream , but he didn't want wake up if it was. “k-keep going.” if someone told you that you'd be doing this to lee haechan , in your bed, you would've assumed they were doing drugs. “fuuuuck , just like i imagined, keep sucking my cock love.” his head was thrown back against the headboard , his hip bucking up into your mouth , you gagged around him. “sorry love -fuck- i'm about to fucking cum.”

he was loud , if yeji was to come home or if any of the boys decided they want to remember the password to your door like they sometimes do; they would for sure be able to hear him at least. “fuck im cumming.”

you pulled off him , he groaned; wiping your mouth. “you came so much.” you coughed. “ and do you purposely eat pineapples or something?” your voice was scratchy. “could never be so sure,” he said. “freak.” you crawled back into his lap. “yeah , why are you grinding on me then?” you softly moaned. “go-good sex.” he scoffed. “how will you know if i never fucked you?”

“if you keep teasing you never will.” he didn't say anything else , pulling your panties to the side , grinding his hips up, rubbing his cock along your folds , his tip catching your clit. “fuck hyuck , put it in.” you lifted your hips, he held his cock right at your entrance. “sit on it baby.”

both of you moaned out as you felt him fill you out. “g-goddamn.” you hissed. “you're fucking big.” he smirked, you wanted to smack it right off of him. “i know love, -fuck- you've been missing out.” he cursed. “could've been bouncing on my cock almost two years ago , but instead you've been such a bitch to me.” he moaned.

he was holding your ass in his hand as you bounced on his cock , his mouth on your tips , sucking on your nipples. “fuck hyuck im gonna cum!” you gasped out , he pushed your hips down , fucking his hips up at a fast pace. “hyuck fuck!” you screamed. “fuck i'm gonna cum.” you gripped his hair. “oh fuck i love that , pull it again.”

you gripped his hair as you came around him , your cunt sucking him in , cumming. “shit love , im gonna fucking cum.” he held you down , thrusting a few times , before he came with a sigh. “sh-shit.” he had a dumb smile on his face , as he came down from one of the best highs he's ever had. “did i fuck you dumb?” he scoffed. “it takes a lot to fuck me dumb baby , pretty sure that would happen to you before me.” you rolled your eyes. “you wanna bet baby?” he flipped you over with a smirk. “you better hope yeji doesn't come back.”

…

“wait hold on.” renjun said. “you came onto him?” you rolled your eyes. “i’ve been chasing her this entire time , and this one time she got me alone.” you scoffed at the boy who had his arm around your shoulder. “it was the bed line wasn't it?” yeji spoke up. “what bed line.” you said , “no more questions.”

“so i guess you kinda have to believe in the red string theory now.” jaemin said. “yeah , it just took a little longer to work this time.” jeno followed. “come on love , just tell them , you believe it now , even just a bit it.” you thought for a bit , smiling.

“okay maybe i believe in the theory just a little bit.”

©LUVYENI

#nct fanfic #nct smut #nct hard thoughts #nct hard hours #nct fic #nct x female reader #nct x reader #nct dream ff #nct dream smut #nct dream x female reader #nct dream x reader #nct dream fanfic #nct dream imagines #lee haechan smut #lee haechan x reader #haechan fic #haechan smut #haechan fanfic #haechan imagines

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eldrith · 4 months ago

Text

˗ˏˋ A Golden Cup ˎˊ˗ Jacaerys Velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x targtower fem!reader [part four of a golden cage series.] words: 14.2k. synopsis: The chains of faith are not so easily cast aside. notes: we are soooo locking in to trauma in this chap. we are soooo drinking from teacups and gossiping with our friends. we are sooooo going to an awkward dinner party. we are sooooo teaching our boyfriend how to pray. we are sooooo scared & sooooo miserable! this is sooooo unedited! but sorry to the people who are here for smut bc there is none in this chapter. enjoy the plot <3 xoxox (pretend i didn't disappear for half a year tyvm) warnings: emotional complexities. unreliable narrator. maybe premonition. canon-typical violence/blood/injury, angst. character death. religious trauma, all kinds of trauma, inner monologues, kissing and some fluff. doubting religion AND the crown. foreshadowing if that's a warning requests closed. this is for my irl roommate & personal kissing mannequin @dipperscavern . & for the loml & other kissing mannequin @systraes . you are the void i shout to. fate into flesh or whatever they say idk. febu previous. series masterlist. masterlist.

PEACE FINDS YOU IN THE MOST BIZARRE OF CIRCUMSTANCES.

It has followed in every step of life – the moment a foot slips from a stirrup, a smile in the first drop on dragonback. Quiet prayers whispered through the torrential downpour on the night your brother slayed Lucerys; Patient words under the scrutiny of the Queen’s entire court. A hand, unwaveringly gripped around sharp steel as your betrothed pointed his sword down your nose.

Perhaps it is a simple and base instinct, some quiet mechanism within the folds of your skittish mind – or, even more likely, a small cry out for mercy to the gods who watch upon those simply caught in the trappings of circumstance.

You were just a young girl, barely old enough to steadily hold yourself upright, when they’d placed the babe in your arms.

Such a small creature. Fresh from the womb, the Septas had pressed him to your chest, murmuring you would be fine for a few minutes; that you had the wisdom of the Mother already, although you'd hardly seen three name days pass yourself.

His skin was so very soft – wisps of those paled curls, the very same that grow from the crown all your siblings, glinted so gently in the muggy heat of afternoon; little shining threads of gold caught in the glaze of sunbreath.

And that violet gaze, locked up at you; an innocence so premature, so unassuming.

It had arrested you, that gaze: Devotion, love, those pure things which he only just learned and had yet to truly understand. All because he knew not any other way; a warmth that had entrapped you within your mind, reeling to recall any similar expressions of affection from your mother nor father at any point in your small life.

You’d come up with scraps: A half-prideful stare from your father, the whisper of Rhaenyra on his breath; your mother’s approving glance when you turned your nose at the presence of the boys wearing cloaks of blue and curls of deep umber. But Daeron - so little, so loving; it had sent such distraction through you that you noticed not as his skin grew rather flushed against the blanket, as his wails grew louder by the short-passing moment.

Your mother wrapped him herself – that, you’d noticed; in lovely cerulean stitching, etched with small embroideries of towers and dragons – but in your admiration of such needlework, his cries became shallow gasps and wails.

You’d known not what to do; entranced in such a calm, paralyzing shock – you’d never seen such light go out of a gaze, never heard such wails taper into pitiful whimpers.

Fear slapping your spine rigid, a solemn beat of your heart as you stared helplessly, flooded with an arresting, unnatural calm.

The Septas returned not moments later, and you still thank the Gods to this day that they did.

Daeron’s breath had been faint – and later that night under the blanket of dark, you’d wondered with tears in your eyes if he’d gone and met the Stranger while still in your hands, if just for a moment.

But the Septas returned.

The blankets had been ripped away and you’d remained in the corner, hands frozen still in the shape of his little bundle, eyes wide and fingers trembling. There’d been nothing within your mind as you watched the Septas scream for the Maesters, as they rushed to cool the expiring soul of your young brother – a wash of calm, in the fear that’d gripped you so tight.

You’d not understood until much later - only when the Septas whispered while you hid behind curtains thicker than your hair. He’d nearly died.

After all, one should know better than to trust children with children.

“Princess.”

And her voice comes to you in a song; or perhaps, a warm memory of silkspun silver tresses and a dreaming gaze – of gentle hums, of clicking legs, of fingers tracing delicate wings through golden cages.

“Princess.”

You swear, you could feel her fingers trace your spine now-

“Princess.”

Your eyes open; less than startled, though your inhale is sharp from your nose.

The tub is warmed with water, and you are bathed gently within it. Your sister is beside you, her gown a deep charcoal; a shade of burnt ash, of rusted spikes somewhere far below where you sit.

Her vision swims in the reflection of your bathwater; You suck in a breath.

“Helaena.” You whisper, blinking away the smudged drops of bathwater from your face.

A quiet moment.

“Pardon me, my Princess?”

Your blink is languid – water sticks to your lashes, clotting your vision until your sweet sister beside you nearly looks like a spider; then, she is a snake – a strike of fear, and sharp spokes which jump up towards you at the end of a long path, and you’re falling – another blink, and you jolt.

Helaena is gone; instead sits Elina, your handmaid. She watches with widened eyes as she tends to your tresses with a comb and soft hands.

A gentle shake of head, the motion snagging a tangle within the spokes of the comb – but you do not wince, eyeing the girl beside you with a bizarre stare. The world is cloudy; not only the skies above, but your own vision, your foggy mind.

“I’m–” You blink again, fighting a sheepish fluster from your cheeks – two other girls in your chambers attend to you, as well. One, scrubbing your nails, the other across the way, preparing evening tea – and they too have paused, hands slowing as they turn to watch you with owl-eyes.

Your lips flounder for only a moment. “Pardon me. I thought… I was recalling memory, I suppose. Of… the Red Keep.” You admit dreamily – you’re unsure why you admit such foolish delusion, though the two girls beside you keep their eyes focused nonetheless.

The maid across the way quickly turns her head away when you seek her; and with quick fingers, she pulls her sleeves over a glimmering spider’s silk scar. An inkling of recognition, slipping away in the afternoon breeze; she measures a dark red herb into a small steeper before the ridges of her spine straighten slowly. Outside, a bird calls. It sounds like a cry.

“Have you slept much as of late?” Elina wonders from beside you, a wisp of blonde peeking from her tied hair. She is a sweet girl – the fondness you hold for her is one tinged with only a piling guilt these days, one which adds in each passing moon. You clear your throat, unoccupied fingers trailing through the ripples upon the water.

A spiced aroma grows within the steamed room – the handmaid has begun pouring your tea, and it bleeds a crimson colour into the teacup. A flash of familiarity in the sweep of her face, though you blink and it is once again gone; It is not often you do not particularly recognize one of the members of household, though perhaps as of recent, such politeness has gotten away from you.

“Forgive me,” your voice is a dream of a far away land. “The Queen’s council has left me…weary this evening.” You admit, sighing.

In the quiet passing of time, eventually your nails and body are cleansed; your mind troubled with thoughts of marriage – but more so with lips, cherry and bitten, with a voice low and murmuring; with a warm gaze turned sharp in the fall of eve; of whispered words and promises in a room floating with ancient dust.

With a quieted voice, you dismiss the maid to your right.

Only moments before the tea is set for you, its tendrils curling up viciously and out towards your open window; the scent is spicy, foreign. “Is this a new blend?” You wonder aloud - the girl with skittish eyes nods, a small squeak from her throat, “Yes, Princess.” She affirms. “A gift from the Queen herself. In congratulations.” Her voice warbles, fingers twitching – a vision of nerves in court, of fingers against a dress of gold.

And there, in the mirror of her anxiety, is that phantom limb once more; a memory lost to a life that is far gone now.

You hum, transfixed on the steam which curls out in spools over the stone table beside the tub. A peculiar gift from the queen – the tea swirls opposite the steam of your bath, and its scent tethers you to the heavy pull of your spine. Your stomach rumbles in interest.

She bows and takes her leave; it is not until you are once again alone with Elina that you speak once more. Through the peace of eveningfall, you ask her of her love again – and as always, she flushes like a rose.

The island breathes in green, slowly blinking a sunset of orange and pink; Elina whispers of the boy she loves as tendrils of scented oils climb into your nostrils and soothe the aches in your muscles. It is a tale she has amused you with many times but one you have not grown weary of either.

A fisherboy from the east coast of the island – a sweetheart since her age of ten, if there ever was such a thing; he has brown curls, an upturned nose, and a laugh like the raucous sea.

Though times have indeed changed, perhaps just as much for the common folk as for you in your ivory castles; with the influx of wartime supplies to the island across the sea, she must only dream of him now; and her tales of youthful kisses and chivalrous walks upon a shoreline grow melancholy as you stare out the window before you, Moondancer’s shadow echoing in the rippled waves of the tides far away.

In the dawn of her tale, she murmurs gently, eyes glancing to the shore. “He says he’ll marry me after the war’s end.”

It is quiet for a long moment. You find nothing to say to her words.

It does not last long – after the final whispers of his name die on her tongue, she clears her throat, endeavoring to wrangle through the knots and tie back your hair. “Something troubles you, Princess.” There are more words waiting on her hesitant tongue; she does not release them.

It is a moment of gathering thought in which you decide she is far more friend than anyone else upon this rock – and that, even without her station, perhaps she’d endeavor to listen to your troubles anyways. “It was decided this evening,” You inform her in a rather formal tone, “that I am to wed Prince Jacaerys after all. Our marriage will be quite soon, and before all of the smallfolk on the Island.”

And then, an afterthought as you gaze to the peeking wander of ships headed west, “perhaps Driftmark, as well.”

Her hands slow in your hair, breath puffing upon the crown of your head. “-That is… quite wonderful news,” She agrees, though her tone bleeds through false words; she knows you all too well, it seems. “A royal wedding will bring a much welcomed recess from the times we live, my Princess.”

Her words fall hollow into the empty chasm of your wounded heart. Sardonically, you smile to your sullen reflection in the pooled bath below. A wedding… while the kingdom prepares to bleed.

Words, those buzzing pests of voices from the council not an hour past: “-And we are to assume that a royal celebration might distract the masses from the acts committed? From the war that brews?”

There’d been sharp looks shared at the news of you and Jace’s resurrected betrothal at council this afternoon; half-surprised, half-concerned glances from both your cousins across the Painted table, though you could not bring yourself to return their gazes. For Daemon’s stare, much too hot and much too amused, burning into the side of your visage; the slippery serpent he is, eyes glancing between you and Jacaerys, taking in the rigidity of your spines with a mirthful glee.

It would have been more excruciating yet had not the discussion been propped by more relevant topics to discuss, as to the efficacy of your union having any effect at all on the tides of war.

The realm watches, Lord Corlys had assured, many lords await the wind to tip the scale. Their marriage is not about turning heads.

Indeed, it is not - and such a burden even in youth, your betrothal was: A thin bridge held together by the grasp of youthful hands that did not wish to touch, an abyssal gap fractured into splintered verdant and carmine shards.

And in these more forgiving moments, when you may wish to let yourself down easy; what an inconsolably crushing weight on shoulders no older than ten and two. For all of those nights you spent lying awake upon sheets of down, wondering up at the swimming dark of the ceiling why the gods had chosen you as your mother’s branch of olives - as your father’s forgotten dove, the small creature who’d always been seen as the shadow of others.

This marriage is not about turning heads, Lord Corlys is correct. Now, it is about swaying swords.

And the thought had been floated – a fickle thing, some brush by way of wind through the chamber doors – boats, they’d said. Tidings.

“-to cause a shift. The Sea Snake’s blockade at the Gullet strangles the trade routes. King's Landing starves, yet Aegon dines easily in the Keep.”

Indeed even now, in the syrupy aftermath of the council, you must admit it is a clever move.

“Along the wedding celebrations, we send boats – as far as the Capital.” Though it’d been your own voice speaking such words, there coils such gripping guilt within you. And there’d been Queen Rhaenyra, nodding solemnly. The boats, to be laden with food - grain, salt, preserved meats; a gift from Dragonstone, tidings from a fruitful green and black union.

Their rightful Queen’s heir; a gift from him and his new wife, the Prince and Princess of Dragonstone.

In recollection, your brows furrow. “There is much more to be done than attend some wedding. It surely is not of much interest to the smallfolk in these times.” You sniff, brushing hair from your face in the swirling quiet. “Especially for the Usurper’s sister.”

The hand within your tresses pauses at your words; for a moment, only the sea breathes. “But the smallfolk love you.” She sounds nearly startled by your words, as if the sheep of thought had yet to cross her mind’s pasture.

You’d laugh, if you had the gall - the smallfolk? The smallfolk have never had the luxury to hate you, nor to love you; never truly had much power to do anything but bend beneath your heels. It is how it has always been.

In youth, a procession had spurred your urge to reach towards a commongirl who had called your name. The sun was high in the sky, and she, a girl of your age – it was then that your kinslayer brother had ripped you back into the cart with a sharp glance. They do not love you, he’d snarled; They are dogs at the foot of a table. Grateful, for scraps discarded from the hands that feast.

As it is, you are incredibly discomforted by Elina’s words, and perhaps it shows on your face – for she falls silent, instead beginning a series of braids from the crown of your head.

“The smallfolk endure us.” You murmur, “Because they have to.”

She does not much respond, and in the silence you hear the voices of the council, reverberating in the breaths from your lungs.

“In every tavern, at every hearth from here to Stoney Sept - the people will speak of your union, of your generosity. The Queen’s heir and his wife – gifting the smallfolk with life.”

Perhaps it is the most prevalent way to avoid bloodshed – noble bloodshed, that is – though it sits incorrectly in your chest. “A gracious gift – the masses will surely remember the ones who saved them from the crimes of war.”

Moondancer flies across the setting wildfire of eve, and you grow more pensive and dreadful by the minute.

“Your tea grows cold.” Elina observes with a concerned glance.

You cannot help the faint smile that befalls your visage at her concern; though you have no interest in its contents, you see her lingering stare, the interest in a pursing of lips. Steam spills from the saucer – it smells of wonderful spices from Essos.

“You have it,” you decide after only a moment, eyes fluttering shut as she finishes the braid upon your left temple.

You feel her hesitation in fingers, hear it in the surprised giggle she belies. “Oh, no, my Princess, it is for you.”

You smile at her uncertainty, keenly aware of her similarities to the golden-locked sister you left across the sea. “I insist, Elina.” You nod, gesturing to it, eyeing the tendrils of steam which rise from your heated skin. “Go, now. You must have it, it smells much too pleasant to be wasted.”

Her grin is bright when she gives in – and with a giggle that you nearly reciprocate, she lifts the teacup to her lips; a long sip, one which heats her cheeks perhaps at the action of using utensils higher than her station. Her flickering eyes and giddy cheeks are endearing – the tea is red upon her lips for only a split moment as she pulls it away.

She enjoys her cup while you leave the bath – a preparation she aids you with while still reposed by the table upon your insistence; supper has been called, and you must meet your family once more for a rather excruciating celebratory feast.

Despite your trivial woes, the evening falls in serenity; you, Elina by your side, sipping gently on tea and whispering about the beasts in the sky.

YOUR GAZE FINDS HIM BEFORE HE IS EVEN AWARE.

Jacaerys, with a templed posture down the flickering hall, a soft clinking of fine leather and metal. A set jaw, one that turns in his sweep – and then eyes of amber find yours. There is a light within them you can still yet see, like feathery papered wings, drawn to your own flickering flame.

A less hurried stride – though no less purposeful than your own – Jace slows his pace when your eyes lock, far enough that his tousled curls blur around the edge of your vision.

Beneath the sleeves of your mahogany gown, your fingers pluck at skin; you still your own pace, swallowing under the weight of silence heavy around you.

There’s a brief moment of recognition, some momentary breath from both parties – and yet after a glance from both pairs of skittish eyes, the hall is deemed empty of lingering stares.

And quite rapidly, the distance between you and your betrothed shortens.

It is bizarre, your pull – and yet you stop only a step away, closer than you’ve been since the Painted Table this afternoon in such heated fervor.

A twitch in his hands, a shift of his weight – he is rather awkward now, and you bite your lip as you both hover in the middle of the stoned floor. Your hands ache to feel his heat, though you linger in your yearning, waiting with baited breath and heated cheeks.

Your name, syrupy and unsure, is the only thing to fall from his lips.

The Prince’s eyes flicker between your own, head declined just enough to stare straight into your own gaze. You’re arrested only momentarily before you snap back to the present, clearing your throat – a rush of heat through you at the soft turn of his gaze, the downturn of his brows that more than likely mirrors your own expression.

There is so much to say.

“Hello.” You select dumbly; though it is received with a small flicker of amusement, some repressed grin that yields a soft turn of dimple in his grin.

“Hello,” He echoes, and it is too much at once – his soft echo of your own awkwardness, the huff of amusement you share. Your face turns hot under the memories of activities held in common between you just hours ago, at the stupidity of your hushed tones, the odd giddiness as if between childhood lovers finally permised to embrace: But that is, as ever it could have been, not the case.

And then, in the groaning whispers of falling nighttime, in the empty hallway, you and your betrothed reach an understanding.

Dark eyes turn upon yours and you sway just so upon your feet, unsure if speaking would worsen this feeling that dances on the tip of your tongue.

And when he is quiet, when he is just as unsure of what to do as you are, he is so very handsome.

A curved jaw, the turned slope of grace he shares with his mother; and a fire within his gaze that sets you warm. Are you truly of the opinion that my actions are driven by nothing more than desire?

Your lips press tight as you cast your glance away, the chiding ramble of your mother in your mind: Rather hypocritical. You sin.

Your inhale is sharp; the amber that flickers over your face, a look twisted in pity – you clench your teeth, clearing your throat. “Jace.” You perhaps plan on guiding your foolish jolts towards conversation in a certain fashion; though his brows lift, a flash of concern through his stare.

His lips, glossy upon the light of torches, press together in some twistedly alluring mix between a smile and a frown.

A hand finds yours; palm warm, soft against your own, and it sends your mind reeling; so delicate a touch. Your brows lift only slightly, fingers lacing with his own after your eyes flick over his tailored shoulder warily.

“Are you…” He does not continue for a brief moment, instead urging closer with half-step — your spine straightens, swept in the woody scent of the forested Dragonmont that accompanies his presence, towered by his imposed height, charmed by the searching warmth in his eyes. “-are you alright?”

He finishes his canvassing in a bent whisper, with knitted brows and pouted lips. After all, it is an odd question — one you’re unsure how to answer; and it lingers, heavier than perhaps it was proposed. Yet Jacaerys waits patiently, teeth worried within the cushion of his bottom lip.

The sting of embarrassment — of a hawkish stare from the rogue prince, the shame, the stupidity of limbs tangled in the dusty light of day — a spoil of some war of bodies upon a table, of fingers knotted in desperation.

And your answer comes easy as ever in a nod and a forced, falsified fable, a lie so often told through your teeth. “I’m fine,” You murmur, “Are you?”

Perhaps it is this moment it hits the prince before you; with a gaze that trickles in a slow leak to the floor separating your pointe shoes from his own boots, he hesitates.

“…I’m not sure.”

It’s a vulnerability; a gaping wound, putrid flesh forgotten in the sun, that festers with each passing day — I don’t know, you agree — I don’t know, but I am scared.

It has never done well to reopen a wound not yet healed.

Your thumb runs over roughened knuckles, his fingers twitching within your grasp, jolting at your very faint touch, though you pretend not to notice.

He seems to find words to fill the absence of sound in the halls. “It’s been some time, but I… tried speaking to them.” His eyes flick away as red lips press together. Your stare must be a breath too blank, for he continues, “–The gods,” He elaborates; your brows raise at his candor. “I suppose for some guidance.” He decides.

His words find you with surprise; not particularly due to what he says but rather for the sheepish way in which he delivers the information, as if unsure how you’ll react. He searches for something, you realize; perhaps the same very thing absent in your own heart.

His eyes are wide, specks deep through a ring of ambered honey – though some twisted thing, that same seed that unfurled and sprouted within your older brother; that envy – it blossoms in your chest, unruly and vicious.

“The gods don’t listen,” you retort swiftly, a sardonic grin flickering miserably across your smile.

His head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing in faint surprise; it’s only now that you register your previous words, a slithering lick of shame curling up your spine.

“No?” Jacaerys wonders – a flicker of surprise that you are not foolish enough to believe is any semblance of disagreement; rather Jace’s preconceived notion that you ring true still among the devout.

Your cheeks are warm, and his eyes are low upon your face. Does he see your mother staring back at him?

A clearing of your throat as you nod, “Not to me, at least,” the edge of your voice is mercifully smoothed by something almost playful; your fingers shift within his grasp, brushing over the calluses on his knuckles. “Perhaps you’ll have better luck, my Prince.” You smile – and though he delivers a less than skeptical look, you’re thankful for his restraint.

And of course, the very dimple of his you so admire blossoms upon his smile when he looks down in the scarce light. “Let us hope then, Princess.”

And despite yourself, a jump within your stomach at his tone, a skip in your heart. Some giddiness, perhaps in reaction to the dread which surrounds the castle, leaks through your chest.

As though deciding within his mind, he looks back to you, clearing his throat. “I know that– that we’ve not had much time to ourselves,” He starts, “Though I’d hoped we could–”

But as his mouth opens once more, footsteps: A sharp laugh muffled only by the separation of stone walls; and then your cousins round the corner, their smiles bright.

Perhaps through some instance of habit, your hands drop each other immediately – you, pulling back and Jacaerys taking a half-stagger towards the wall at the startle as if mere children caught stealing bread from a feast table – both of you glancing down the hall with burning visages.

A weak breath from your lips as you clear your throat uncomfortably, nodding to them as they wave down the tunneled hall.

But Jacaerys’s invitation, half-swallowed by the ignominy of unexpected company, still draws necessity from your gut. “We should, Jacaerys,” you agree with a murmur, sending him a small nod as you turn to him once more.

He need not elaborate; you know well enough he wishes to speak in private. “Perhaps on the morrow?” You suggest, fighting the tension of strained courteousness.

A press of his lips in a concealed, tight-lipped smile brings forth a dimple to the curve of his cheek; a flutter at the sight as he casts his gaze down once more, awaiting your approaching cousins as their conversation tampers to greet you.

DINNER AWARDS NO REST OF TENSION FOR YOU AND JACAERYS.

The hall’s table is set in a long stretch; The scrape of dishes against forks, the crackle of the hearth – you drown in it, not well used to such calm manners of gathering; more oft than not since you arrived upon the island have the feasts with the crowned family ended in sharp tongues and bitter stares. Such instances are, momentarily, absent from the dinner tonight.

Candles drip tallow slowly from their silvered limbs across the walls, backlit and outshined by the bright licks of peat flames – and you, sewn together by the numb acceptance of change, resign quietly in your chair to be gawked at in some form as plans are proposed, rather casually, for the location of your upcoming union to Jacaerys.

At the head Queen Rhaenyra sits – and with a fold of her hands, nods towards a proposed setting. “Perhaps we hold the ceremony here on Dragonstone," she suggests, “Once more, a Targaryen marriage on Targaryen soil.”

It is a thought you’d given little attention – spare for this afternoon as Elina had sipped upon your tea and you’d laid your eyes to watch the free churn of silvery purple wings against the sun in the distance.

And a voice from aside Queen Rhaenyra, slumped in the frame of his chair. “I might remind you that the sept here isn’t exactly grand. It gathers dust with each day.”

The mention of the Sept bristles you; There is a rippling agreement through the table, though with a spare glance to your side, you find Jacaerys fixated upon the vegetables before him, eyes far-off and consumed. Rhaenys carries the same bemused practicality as you’ve always known within her as she begrudgingly agrees with your uncle. “Nor has it seen a ceremony in years. It could hardly hold enough folk for our intentions.”

And the thought of the sept – its cold, hardly adorned walls which whisper in echo to your own quiet prayers; a place uninhabited by any besides the Septas and your own festering thoughts.

The goblet in your hand is gilded with curves of thorned flowers along the base of the cup, your visage corrupted and warped in the golden reflection. You can only stare back at your warped countenance in hopes the conversation will soon end.

It is your cousin’s voice from across the way which gains your attention next, as the contents of your cup slip into your stomach. “It may gather dust,” Rhaena agrees rather gently, casting a quick glance at you, “But it’s hardly abandoned.”

And if the many pairs of eyes were not already upon you, they find you then; Lord Corlys, sitting at the far end of the table, hums.

“There is but one person who keeps that sept from falling entirely to ruin.” His eyes land on you not unkindly – and perhaps in desperation, you find some kind of warmth in his words, as if to acknowledge a quiet dedication he perhaps admires, or simply acknowledges. Your cheeks burn in the shadow of the woman left across the sea, who sits dowager and whispers prayers into the wind of your dreams.

Though in turn of their intentions of setting you at ease, the thought sends a new wave of guilt swirling through you, well-aware of the true purpose of visiting the sept so habitually.

A faint smile curves on Baela’s lips, and she leans forward. “Perhaps it would be appropriate, then? Breathe new life into it, make it…” Though it seems any hope leaves as she trails off, aware of the tepid spirit that surrounds the wedding, of the uncomfortable breaths that fall in tandem from your lips and Jacaerys’.

“...Sacred again, in a way.”

The thought is wholly unpleasant to you; perhaps in your mother’s stern voice in the back of your mind, whispering sharp daggers of criminality into your veins.

Daemon chuckles softly, a sardonic smile tugging at his mouth as he glances at Rhaenyra. “Forgive me, but the future king and queen marrying in a sept nearly swallowed by time is hardly a fitting legacy.” His gaze flickers to you, as though assessing how you might take such a slight; you level him with a stare mirrored in equivocation. The king consort lifts a shoulder. “We’d hardly want it to feel like a funeral.”

A needle carefully placed to sew a new line, red and thin. He aims for the eyes with his sharp point; some stirring amusement within his stare that causes your stubborn proclivities to roar, but you know better than to let temptation unravel you. People much worse than him have tried.

We’d hardly want it to feel like a funeral.

“If it were more frequented, perhaps it wouldn’t feel as such.” You choose instead of the lash of tongue you reign in; the words are sharp and whipped relentlessly – a vision of your mother in green, spilling her words from your tongue as easy as letting a breath into your lungs.

The table falls quiet at this, and in a cold wash of shame, your eyes fall back to the table.

Around you, wary eyes flicker; in a sickness bouting through your stomach, a youthful Jacaerys’ words follow your echoes: It’s like she opens her mouth and her mother speaks through it.

It is a moment in which shame floods the features of your face; and you, awkward as a newborn doe, swallow back your pride.

The room is quiet, but through your embarrassment you register a sudden pressure against your leg; A warm surprise of pressure against your calf.

It is, in a moment of breath, merely a boot sliding against your gown and pressing against your leg under the table. A gesture of reassurance. It is your nature when your gaze flicks momentarily to the prince sat beside you – his jaw remains terse but his gaze has grown quite warm when he returns your glance.

A small nudge from him in the quiet moment; and with a swallow of affinity, you nudge Jacaerys back. His lips twitch just so; you pretend not to notice.

It is only a breath of a moment after that you realign your face into a more serene expression – and with that, you feel a tinge of pride, breathing through the ravaging sea of spite that crashes against the cliffs of your heart. The blood of a Hightower is thick in ambition, you’d once heard Lord Corlys say; perhaps, he is correct.

The smile upon your face might be plastered, but it is radiant.

“Apologies. Though I appreciate the dramatics as always, Daemon,” You address the man with a thinly veiled tone of respect, “Perhaps we should find somewhere… more large. Alive. To gather a larger crowd of folk.”

It is the smallest of gestures — a soft victory within some inlaid battle of words — but you sense Daemon, for all his sarcasm and derision, recognizes it as such. His mouth curves slightly, but the tilt of his eyes does not soften, nor does the rest of Jacaerys’ foot against your own slide away.

There is a brief silence at the table as the meal is served; roast lamb, stew with wild rice, fish – and a few more cups of wine for you and your intended both – in which Daemon proposes a toast.

“To the realm’s future,” He lifts his cup; the others follow suit, as you lift yours with a stare burnt into the man’s jaw. “And to the union of our future King and Queen. May you have a long, happy marriage.”

The words from his lips have scarcely fallen before you see the tense ridge of Jacaerys’ spine, one which straightens your own in a rise of hackles. It is a harmful thing, really – and with a practiced grace, you and Jacaerys both receive the toast with smiles and kind words.

And it would be a lack of verity if you said you did not feel a growth of warmth through you when Jacaerys turns his cup to you, sharing a small glance and smaller grin.

It is a private thing, a quiet moment: A hand, reaching across a tumultuous river. You grasp it back with a clink of your goblet to his own.

The dinner rolls on; the sun is well past its set into the horizon, and even with the light of candles brings you a breath from the oppression of daylight. The food is hearty, enjoyable – it is unlike the many times you’d sat at this very table, surrounded by eyes which saw you a serpent.

And the poison which drips from certain cups this evening is not that of distrust; nor those of old wounds well festered and sored: No, they are instead some foolish urge to prod a slumbering beast, to dangle a fool by his ankle atop a spire and laugh.

In a shimmering glance away from your warped reflection in the boat of gravy before you, a voice brings you to the surface. “I’d assume it would,” Daemon agrees half-heartedly to some forgotten sentence from his daughter; he sits forward, “Though there is much to plan for beyond merely the smallfolk. We must gather arms from the Houses, as the Prince reminded us at council earlier.”

At the mere mention of his title, a stiffness grows once more in Jacaerys’s gaze, though he tamps it down with a measured exhale; a rather thin line to thread now, as you stir your tea and watch its tendrils of steam crawl from its cup.

“All is merry to plan a wedding. Though perhaps some of us will find some plans to put our passion to good use beyond the Painted Table.” a glance to you and Jacaerys both, his eyes mirthful, “Yes?”

A moment too late you register your own irritation; the gall of your uncle to believe he has any right to dangle such foolish deeds over your heads – as if he himself is any vision of the Father.

The thread has been pulled; Jacaerys unravels shortly.

“–If you have something to say, Daemon,” Jace’s voice is controlled in that threadbare way it can be, and his jaw is clenched sharp enough to reflect the light of the hearth behind you. “–then speak plainly,” His voice is low and volatile, “We all tire of your riddles.”

In a rush of shock – or perhaps worry, should Daemon take Jacaerys’s challenge in its face-value, your hand flies to the side.

You find yourself grasping Jace’s forearm below the table, a warning or comfort - Perhaps something in between.

His hand flexes just beneath your grasp, though he does not shake it off.

Murmurs and clink of silver slow around the table; your eyes meet the Queen’s, and with a helpless blink, you look away. In the wake of Jacaerys’ hiss, Daemon’s brows lift, eyes flickering deviously between you and Jacaerys. “Dare I?” He wonders, the sparred bounce of gazes at the table alarming you. “I merely remind us all, there are matters to consider besides the wedding. After all, some bonds are forged long before vows are spoken–”

“-Enough.” You snap; it is a sharp whistle of wind over a peak, though it does enough to quell the tension that courses through your betrothed’s muscles.

“Right,” A voice deep from down the table, and Lord Corlys shifts upon his seat, “There are more pressing matters at hand than whatever game you’re playing.”

Daemon chuckles under his breath, lifting his goblet again in mock surrender towards you, murmuring into the rim, “Pressing matters indeed.”

Your blood boils; but in lieu of any burst of emotion, Jacaerys simply turns to you with a gaze more molten than honey atop a boilpot; an exasperated glance, one of disbelief and a vague sense of panic.

You respond with a subtle, helpless shake of your head – an acknowledgement of your shared misery, one that nobody else in the room is keen to. And then in some exasperated moment, a flicker of amusement in his stare, shared only with you. You share it in return.

An odd thing, to keep close the simmering truth, a thing so wrong and iniquitous. Jacaerys takes your hand and squeezes it gently under the stone table before dropping it to reach for his cup.

And though the conversation around you carries on rather rocky, you bathe in the silence for the remainder of the dinner.

JACAERYS ACCOMPANIES YOU AFTER THE FEAST.

Though not explicit, you see the glint in Rhaenyra’s eye when he offers his arm to you – and it is not until you’ve rounded the corridor away from the stone drum do you and Jacaerys drop the masks woven onto your visages, the tense square of shoulders – and your hand uncurls from the crook of his elbow as a cat would wake from slumber.

A memory from a time so recent, though it feels ages ago – Jace and you, walking quietly towards your chambers; though tonight, you have warm cheeks from wine and not from the remnants of his lips.

It is not until you approach your doors, with your swordsman posted outside, that you slow to murmur, away from wandering ears.

Your hand stops at the crook of Jace’s elbow, coaxing him a step closer as you sigh. “Daemon is…a vexing character.” You put it rather lightly, some form of apology or complaint lodged within your throat. “I often wonder if he lurks in corners merely in hopes of stumbling into matters that are not his,” You attempt a joke – though your heart thumps oddly at the word matters, and you ignore it steadfastly.

Jacaerys huffs, clearly just as thorned as you are by the entire evening, though a direct tick of his lips lets a breath pass before his murmur. “Like flies to shit, that one.”

His bluntness chips away at the emotions swirling within you; and a surprised laugh escapes your lips, bubbling into something warm.

Laughter pools from you before you can stop yourself.

Jacaerys, perhaps startled by your reaction, looks to you; at the sound his own face lights up – a genuine, bright smile. A smile which softens his features, which gives way to those boyish looks that are so often concealed beneath princely decorum and furrowed brows.

And in a soft mix of laughter, Jacaerys’ chuckles murmurs as unfeigned as your own giggles – in the fading of the harmony, your eyes catch the sight of the guard at your door; his eyes flick away, and you swallow back the heat rising in your chest.

There is a mountain of words unspoken between you and Jacaerys. Though it is a late hour, and there are many things to be done in the morrow; so Jacaerys, with a hesitant touch, takes your palm into his grasp swiftly, eyes glancing to the stone beneath your feet.

A thumb brushes over your knuckles – and then he bends, his lips ghosting over the back of your hand; an earnest gesture, perhaps, as it heats your face more so than the wine did at dinner.

Your hand falls to clutch your skirts when he steps away, amber pools of honey taking in your own gaze, searching perhaps uncertainly for your response. You smile in a poorly concealed heat of awkwardness, clearing your throat as if that might ease the moment.

“Sleep-” He clears his own throat, “Sleep well, Princess.”

You nod as he turns, watching the glint upon his glossy tresses in the torchlight. It is only as he’s taken a step away that you respond, calling to the rich slope of his shoulders. “–You too, Prince Jacaerys.”

THE PRESENCE OF YOUR DREAM IS IMMEDIATE.

The wind is sharp in the lick of shadows; and you know you’re not in the realm of the living, no – you’re melded to the ground upon which you stand, stranded in a field of bones. A figure stands just ahead – a girl with pale hair that drips over a gown of gold; your sister turns to you.

Helaena’s eyes, painted in a flickering violet stare as you stagger; paled lips crack open, though no sound escapes - only the flutter of wings, delicate, fragile, frantic.

A butterfly, circling above her head.

A deep unsettle leaks into your subconscious as the sky above, an inky chasm, shifts just so – and the butterfly flutters; climbing frantically upwards, yet looms above a monstrous, scaled form that growls with ancient breath. You cannot seem to warn the butterfly of the impending jaws above, and it strikes fear through your quivering breast.

It is not until you’ve pulled your legs from the gnarled roots of ricages and spines which litter the ground that you reach Helaena; her eyes, slipped as dying stars anchored on a bright heat that rumbles in breaths high above.

Wings turn to ash above you; they find your inhale, seeping into your lungs in one quick gasp. The butterfly is gone – its papery embers burning away into your blood.

Hands, cold and spectral, shove you back into the darkness; you fall upon bones which crack in whispers of your name below your weight, and Helaena steps forward, her lips still moving in whispers you cannot hear.

Her hands hold a chipped teapot; an old one, with etchings of flowers and dainty ladies washing against a peaceful brook.

It is cracked, though. And with her absent stare, you watch in horror as out crawl spiders from the teapot’s fissures – into her palms, skittering down her arms, crawling up her neck.

Your scream is silenced by an echoing crack of ancient stone; a tower in the distance, cracking in half as a shadow falls from high above where it kisses the clouds, a thunderous plume in the wake of its descent. The ancient breaths from above grow hot with unrest as ashy wings of butterflies fall to bless the decaying ground around you.

“The girl,” Helaena mouths, her voice swallowed by the rising wind. There is a searing pain in your eye - the glint of a knife, a breath forever held by the crashing of some distantly cold waters. “The girl.”

You wake with a gasp, tangled in your sheets, the remnants of the warning still burning in your ears.

The girl.

A jolt to the living realm brings a trickle of clammy sweat down your chest; the hearth across the way is surprisingly stoked and well alive.

And then, a strangled noise – a groaning mewl, some doe struck by a hunter’s bow, awaiting the mercy of a quick knife.

The edge of the room stirs with movement and you’re jolted with shock – you blink sleep from your eyes with the gust of wind upon dust-blown streets, sitting up with a thickening pulse. You leap out of your skin when your vision adjusts to the light of the hearth in the room, a gasp flying from your lips in fear.

At the foot of your bed, a spectre of a girl – hair loose, her skin ashy in the moon’s whisper; a gasp from a mouth much too crimson as she sways upon uneven footing.

“Elina?” You croak, heart within your throat – but that gasp, again; and she is doubled over, breathing in sharp gasps. Unease awaits you in the cavern of your chest.

“What’s happened?” You ask quickly, rising from the sheets with a shaky fear.

There is no response: but the girl stumbles forward, her throat beginning to pulse unnaturally – you leap to your feet, wider awake than ever before.

“P-princess,” she chokes out, her body trembles - fingers fall against the post of your bed frame, her voice weaker still than her hallowed visage. “I– didn’t–” but her breath is not correct; it heaves out laborious, sickly.

Her eyes meet yours, and your heart sinks below your stomach; a drop of crimson rolls from her nostril, and then a cough full of wet blood that sputters into her palm, darker than you’ve ever seen.

“S-something’s wrong.” her voice, desperate. Bare feet slap against stone as your hand grasps her arm; skin yields clammy. Panic pulses through you – her lips are a frosting purple, marred only by stretch of bloody string which pulsates from her nose and has begun to drip its way upon her dress.

Your chamber doors are heavy, though you rip them open and spit into the hallway, shaking as the dredges of murky sleep are wiped away by alarm.

Your shout is sharp as a dying hound, “Fetch Maester Gerardys!” You tremble as you nod to the guard, “Now! And alert the Queen– tell,” You look down the hall, unsure what to do, breathing ragged and sporadic, “Tell Jacaerys, tell–”

A yelp, startled as a kicked kitten from behind you and you can only stop yourself, snapping back to your maid’s side, letting your chamber doors remain open as the guards rush down the corridors.

Elina’s frame collapses as you reach her; you fall to your mattress, pulling her into your arms with shaking breaths – and she, with weak effort, presses her hand into your own.

There is no such moment for you to do anything but sit; and so you do, a sense of numb calm washing over you as you coo to her, wiping hair away from a sheened forehead. Her head lolls heavy against your shoulder, tears soaking the sleeve of your nightgown – veins protrude, purple and ghastly, from her eyes and forehead, spreading down her chin under a trail of blood. Any offer of water is slapped across the stone floors of your bedchamber.

“I’m scared,” she whispers, her voice trembling as she curls closer to you, her breath coming in shallow, pained gasps. “It hurts.”

Your throat tightens – her eyes are wide, terrified; a gasp of striking resemblance to that haunting stare from your dreams.

You can only hold her tighter, cradling her head against your chest as if you could shield her from whatever is eating away at her from the inside; though she has begun a series of horrifying convulsions, and you scramble to remember any such prayer for the sick in the recess of your cobwebbed mind.

“I can’t… I can’t remember-” You mutter helplessly, fingers shaking as you stroke her hair, whispering useless comforts as her body shakes against you.

Her hands are tight; wrapped in a clutched embrace, her muscles spasm and kick, marring you with short bursts of pain as you hold onto her, your own tears falling onto her face as a violent foam of bloody saliva begins to brim through her paled lips.

“No-” You hiss, palm cupping her cheeks �� but the blood spreads, it taints; eyes have rolled back, her body convulsing as blood pours in a leak from her nose, drips of crimson tears from the corners of vacantly yellowed eyes. Trails of it foam over your grasp from her mouth – choking, she’s begun, and you’re helpless to watch, your breaths eerily calm in the wake of her gasping gurgles.

Maester Gerardys enters first; followed closely by three pairs of feet slamming against stone, but still you rock gently, a horror encasing your mind as you stare at the girl, stilled in your arms.

Your lips are still mumbling, though your chest burns in the need of breath that will not come; the small bird of a girl in your arms, her blood staining your pillows, her heart stilled after a rapid acceleration and a heaving rattle of breath through blood-stained teeth.

You do not let go of her when Maester Gerardys arrives to your side; with a wail and a panicked grasp, you shoot daggers towards the man with a snarl; a cornered hound.

Your name rolls gently from hesitant lips, though, and it arrests your panic.

Jacaerys is just beside you – clad in a sleeping tunic and trousers, cheeks flushed, eyes wide in concern. Your grip loosens around Elina at Jace’s whisper; And when you back away, his arm is around your waist, pulling you away gently.

Queen Rhaenyra, hand over her breast as she watches; and Daemon, eyes dark as he stares from the girl upon your bed to the blood that stains your hands. In the light of the hearth, Jacaerys lights the few candles beside the bed, and you watch with a hitched breath broken only by the sound of your quiet sobs.

Maester Gerardys pulls back from her figure, his voice laced with a gentle, perturbed sorrow. “She’s with the Gods.”

Time escapes you.

Your fingers shake in the fabric of Jacaerys’s tunic as he holds you steady, easing you onto the settee across from the hearth; he remains as Daemon and the Queen repose in succession.

And when Rhaenyra’s palm finds the stillness of your knee, as your stare smolders into the roar of flames before you, Daemon’s voice is shockingly gentle, quiet. “What happened?” He asks – and you stir only then from your halted fear, glancing to where Maester Gerardys and the guards gather the body from your sheets.

Your lashes flicker, and though the press of Jacaerys’ thigh upon your own is warm, you cannot look away from Elina’s stained blonde hair, tresses marred by a thick paint of blackened blood as it sways in the arms of the guard passing by.

The girl, you hear your sister’s voice whisper. You swallow thickly, shaking your head faintly.

“I…” You croak, shaking your head, “She… woke me. Elina. She’d helped me prepare before I went abed – she acted rather normal, though she’d mentioned a stomachache…” Your brows furrow as a distant memory strikes you. “Her pupils were the size of saucers.”

They had been, truly. Pupils blown wide, her lips slick with saliva she wiped with a sleeve – and a whisper, once more as she undid the hair she’d braided into place just hours before – we’ve kept the chambers quite sweltering this evening, haven’t we, My Princess?

“Did she act any differently?”

Your mind stumbles in its tirade down a dark staircase of trivial moments through the day; And then, some horrifying thought that pierces your stomach, paranoia rippling through you.

“Tea.” You murmur, shaking your head, “The tea you gifted me, that’s all,” You murmur, eyeing Queen Rhaenyra. A blank visage flickers in the lick of flame beside her, though her countenance furrows in unfamiliarity.

A slight shake of the head, a bewildered breath from her breast – she need not say it; the tea that was served was not from her. Three pairs of eyes watch you, though in your panic, you jolt upright, only aware of the sleepgown you wear once Queen Rhaenyra places a blanket upon your shoulders.

“-I was served a new tea this afternoon,” You glance at the table in the corner of your chambers, where the odd girl had prepared it. “I- I was told it was a gift, from the Queen–” in a sickening memory, you exhale, “she drank it this afternoon. Elina. It was prepared by a new handmaid who said she’d come from the kitchens, though I swear I’d–”

And it is as if the storm breaks.

In a flash of a moment, memories flood through you in a pounding horror; the girl with her wrist scarred, flickering eyes behind doors of the Hand of the King.

A sea away, and moons ago yet – a green gaze that ducked away when you and your siblings haunted the halls of the Red Keep, and young, dutiful ears which listened to each word uttered by you and your kin.

“She was there. The Red Keep.” You utter, eyes burning a hole through the stone table, mouth open. The shoulder that brushes your own tenses; a shared glance between the three that you nearly miss in your dissociation.

Daemon is upon his feet within moments, voice barking at the men who crowd the room – an order of the kitchens to be torn apart in search of a tea, red and spiced; and to find the girl with the scar on her wrist.

THE MORNING COMES.

It always does; despite it all, the morning comes – and this time, it kisses your shoulders with a chill, seeping into bones weary and plastered heavy to foreign sheets.

Not foreign, particularly – for you know the softness upon you as though a touch of a familiar palm, the quirk of a familiar boyish grin. And you wake slowly, eyes heavy enough to keep you asleep, but you wake smelling of him.

You are not sure what weakened part of you reaches out – to find him, in the chasm of darkness that returns as you do to consciousness; but your hand drifts over the empty space where he should be, only to find a soft crumple of parchment left in his place.

Before your eyes open, you already know.

His absence does not surprise you, nor does the cold weight of realization that settles upon your chest.

The girl. A poisoned cup; the last shuddering rattle of breath from a sweet friend. Dreams of the sister you left, of a thick thread that wound your wrists and tethered you to hands that wanted nothing; a murder of an innocent because of…

Your eyes are weary, and they burn.

Jacaerys brought you to his chambers last night when your shaking slowed; after Maester Gerardys checked upon your tongue, tracked the flickering motions of your eyes, heard the beats of your heart. Jacaerys had not followed Daemon out the doorway upon some warpath once the whisper of poison fell from Maester Gerardys’ lips – he’d remained instead with a hand hovering over yours, his eyes upon his mother, who had taken you into her side as a mother would a hurt child.

You recall, as you stir under his sheets, how you’d heard his heart beat beneath your ear last night - too steady, too forced.

The rhythm, a caged fury for the sake of a girl who’d barely looked at him without baring her teeth; a buzzing regret for the unripened detestation harvested towards her over fields of youth past. Guilt can be a fickle thing.

And it is indeed a frequent visitor at the doors of your mind; it slides in through the cracks when you sit up in bed, head pounding, aching for sustenance though the thought of food leaves your stomach hollowed in fear.

The note is unfolded slowly; Jacaerys’ hand is scribed with no lack of care, though they are quick, speaking of duty and matters with Daemon.

Though he says nothing explicitly, you know. The handmaid who prepared your tea yesterday - they search for her, or worse, they have already found her; and what is left now is that cold calculation of the Father: of justice.

With a shiver, your fingers twitch to your sternum - some odd remainder of a habit formed in youth, watching your mother clutch her seven-pointed-star round her neck in times of strife. You come empty-clutched instead - a seven-pointed chain that’d been casted into the ocean along with the ring your mother gifted you for your nameday many moons ago, now.

Jace’s request sends a strike of warmth through you as you blearily read the scrawled words to send Ser Steffon to fetch Jacaerys when you wake.

Maester Gerardys, too, is mentioned, and the thought of him fussing over your health makes your chest tighten; there is no such relief in the notion being tended to, not now – not when your heart crawls up your throat; a creeping spider up the spout of a teapot, a coil of serpent wrapping around your neck.

Blood still clings to the gown you’d held Elina in, as it sits rumpled and untouched upon the floor of Jacaerys’ chambers – you wear a simpler one now, retrieved from your boudoir by the hands of your betrothed.

You leave the mound of furs and sheets behind in a slow slide towards the window upon Jacaerys’ far chamber wall.

The fog still clings stubbornly to the sea, curling like a serpent over the rocks, refusing to retreat beneath the morning light.

It is not the attempt on your life – that itself has yet to soak through the surface of your ever-porous skin – but rather the absence of the voice which rouses you from slumber each morning, who combs and styles your hair; who bathes you, who laughs with you, who whispers. She is gone.

Along the distance, the fog eats at the fishing villages; mere dots, no larger than gnats even when you squint. You wonder where Elina’s love lies, and if he woke with the same emptiness in his heart that you did.

Below Jacaerys’ window lies a glance at the Sept of Dragonstone; a pierce in your chest that calls upon the emptiness of your heart.

You do not heed your betrothed’s wish to seek him when you wake; instead, you pull round the cloak draped along the table beside you, tying it doubly to account for its larger size; and you slip past Ser Steffon, who watches and trails behind you at a measured pace.

IN SOME LINGERING SHAME, YOU’RE KNELT BEFORE THE GODS BEFORE DAY FULLY BREAKS.

It is not until you step out into the bailey, wrapped in a cloak that is not your own, does the sky split and begin to weep. It laments its sorrow upon the walls as you blink hard ahead, hoping to cease the endless churning of torment spiraling in your mind.

When you find yourself within the dry stone walls once more, the cloak remains upon your frame – a comfort, in its lingering scent; or a repentance, in its damp chill upon your shoulders.

The gods watch as you kneel in silence; the storm blossoms, cackling at some ancient jest in the sky, and you keel over in your grief, sinking to the soil buried far below the stone.

The Maiden’s face watches you – and in her, you see Elina; in that sweet laugh, the ceaseless effort to remain your handmaid, your friend – despite it all. And the reward she was given for such trust, such loyalty: To die on a mattress of the one she served, one final breath sacrificed for the truth:

It hurts. I’m scared.

“Elina,” You whisper with watery words, watching the candle before you light in flame. Your throat constricts. That sacred little lamb, taken upon the altar of your very own mattress.

Innocence, a token offered to gods who never answer – and, mutedly, you wonder. That death was sent for you, after all – so how would you look, eyes wide and unaware of the sharpness of a blade descending towards you?

Across the hall, someone slinks through the shadows. Smoke swirls. A candle is lit with shaky hands.

And there is the blue lamb, too, you think - the one I could not save either. Fingers shaking, pressing the flame against the wyck beside it; it catches with only an extra breath.

“Lucerys,” You whisper, watching the candle flicker.

And nothing changes.

The rain falls outside. The pit lingers within your stomach.There is a scuff – perhaps a Septa, crossing somewhere behind you. A heavy door drags open from the Bailey outside, and in a breeze of the world’s breath, someone enters.

You duck your chin in prayer, that way you did in childhood under the watchful gaze of your seven-pointed mother.

Today, you worry.

Like some favored cup that you’d grasped too tight, afraid it would fall from your clutches and break into thousands of shards – and how instead you’d watch it shatter in your protective, ignorant grasp. Red rivers of disbelief from a trembling palm; pain, that naive version of love.

Father - you look upon his statue, disbelief in your heart. I worry that love is merely a mirror of violence.

That pathetic something – that yearning, an empty chasm that blossomed even in the days of your youth – with cheeks still cherubic and eyes still bright; five children, white of hair; youthful play, ruddy cheeks, fattened legs. Giggles and breathless yells from behind curtains – from a time when whispers were nothing more than a playgame.

The Crone remembers – and you wonder, then, as you look upon stone shrouded in a cloak. What has become of them, now? Of any of you?

And who are you, but the sister who fled? Who are you, but the one who haunts the halls of the Black Queen, with blood of emerald and a dragon that could turn on them in a moment’s notice?

Fingers grasp the stone before you, and white wax drips in slow tears. Crone – you gaze into eyes carved in sorrow, of sagacity unreachable. I worry that wisdom comes only when it is too late.

In your youth, you’d been gifted a plant in an achingly beautiful painted Braavosi pot; the joy of your nameday, you’d insisted upon tending to it. It’d been hours – each day, admiring its pebbled leaves, bursting with budding fruit from within. Hours curbing away the prying, destructive hands of your elder brothers and cousins, of sitting in awed silence watching the leaves change in the sunlight with your sister.

And then came the day you’d woken to its dead leaves. In your devotion, obsession, you’d given it too much water. Mother – you look upon her statue, disbelief sewn far into the creasings of your heart. I worry that my care only brings ruin.

The face of mercy watches you, and it brings nothing but a tremble of hatred through you.

A flash of your own resentment – and of the tarnished beauty which once beheld your own visage, marred by the presence of you upon his side. Despite efforts taken by others to ensure otherwise, you will still remain forever haunted; forever wondering how you could dare stand with Jacaerys when you so taint the memory of his lost brother.

It is a horrible thing, the chain of fate.

A fate written long before you two were placed into cradles as babes, far before you two were given each other’s name as a promise, then as a threat, then as a promise once more. Smith – your heart aches, and it aches for what is to come. I worry that I cannot shape what I wish to mend.

It is the most difficult perhaps, to regard the young woman etched in stone to your left.

In her face is each that you’ve ever come to know. Baela, the first and best of your friends upon this island; Rhaena, the girl whose company you seek with the knowledge that she will regard you as kin, not adversary.

The humming of your sweet sister in her chambers; in quiet harmony with the buzzing of insects, needles pricking her fingers and singing softly to the blood that beads from her flesh. You’re nothing like Helaena, your mother said. And what tragedy, you think as you consider the draped innocence of the Maiden aside you, what a regret that is.

And your mother, for all that she isn’t – for all that she is. For the girl she lost in her youth; for the distaste, perhaps, in the aspects of you that much too echo the girl she once called friend – through some the absent admiration of a father who held you close, who whispered Rhaenyra instead of your own name when he spoke of his love and admiration.

That name, too – still after these years a stinging sore of regret, jealousy; Rhaenyra, the name you cannot help but reach toward, hand forever extended into emptiness. Rhaenyra, the one you’d picture when you watched yourself in the mirror as a girl, tilting your chin as if there were already a crown upon your head.

Rhaenyra – you’re just like Rhaenyra, your father would whisper, proud; and it is, indeed, why your mother watched you with serpent stares, why your family turned chin upon you each time you dared speak her name in years after.

Perhaps there is no particular malice in the end.

You are no fool to believe that Rhaenyra resents you for what has been done by the hands of your blood; but knowing you are bidden forgiveness is not the same as accepting it. And in that festering void within your breast, the one which vies for affection, for the love of a mother’s touch, for acceptance – there lies one small residual pool of envy.

Rhaenyra, Helaena, Alicent, Baela, Rhaena, Elina – your throat, tightening as you consider then your very own name, that cursed name that falls from lips spitting and serpentine; what are you, to them all?

To the girls here on the island who wear red and black maid uniforms and speak with you like you are one of their own, just to die by the hand whose grasp searched for your own throat?

Maiden, you wonder with worried eyes, I worry I will swallow the women I love.

There comes no such reply, but still you remain in folded grief for some time.

The rain falls outside the stoned walls of the Sept, but in here you remain dry. The island is drinking – or perhaps it cleans itself.

It is a pity you are not there with it.

A candle burns out, and in a shaky lump of grief, you move to relight the wyck.

The doors behind you scrape against the stone, and a wet onslaught finds your ears as you shiver in the breeze. Your fingers shake against the stick, watching the flame dance.

“Lucerys,” You say once more, voice less of a whisper and more a plea.

The clink of metal behind you startles your focus – you turn to face the visitor with an open mouth and wide eyes. In a breath of panic, you start.

A boy, shrouded in the swimming shadows of the Sept’s rounded columns – waterlogged breaths, curls that breathe with his chest, alive, sinking, but alive – and the slip of water rushing around him, swelling like the tide as he moves from the shadows.

Luke, you almost call out – but the black of the tunic catches with the silver scars of a wettened sun – and there, a familiar face, searching eyes, the lick of a tide in the slope of his nose.

Jace.

The pearls of lost memories sink to the depths and you are no longer with that ghost – but instead alone with the Gods and with your betrothed.

There is no greeting, but instead the locking of your eyes to his in acknowledgement – and he approaches you as you turn back to the altar, hands clenched to avoid their shake.

“–Do they listen today?” He wonders, breaking the shell of silence; a tentative thing carried through the space of the Sept, a ripple on a calm pool. And though he delivers the query with all intentions of seriousness, you cannot help the small blushing of warmth that floods your cheeks at his recalling of yesterday’s spite.

The gods don’t listen.

You crack the first smile, toothless and small – but he almost eagerly follows suit; and in the small grins shared between you, there is a breath of peace.

“Not any more than they have before, I’m afraid.” You affirm, brushing invisible dust from your sleepgown; it is only when his eyes dip over your frame do you register the cloak you still don, its embroidered sigils of red and black upon the nape of your neck and boyish scent still clinging in the aftermath of the dampened path to the Sept.

You have made no motion to rise to him; though he indeed, still as a pole, has remained without effort to sink to you either, and so you stare up at him. Jacaerys clears his throat, eyes flicking to the two lit candles before you and back to your gaze. “I’d hoped you’d send for me when you woke.” He whispers, some kind of warmth blossoming upon his cheeks.

You watch the flush stain his skin with some assurance; a live boy stands before you, swaying upon his feet, hands perched upon the pommel of a sword and eyes lit with some hesitant kind of hope. You nod absently, “I didn’t much feel like being poked and prodded.”

You’d meant by Maester Gerardys; though in a moment, you see something almost like amusement reflect in Jacaerys’ eyes – though he nods, concealing his dimpled grin and a small laugh. “I cannot hold you to blame for that.”

In the silence, a gap of beamed gray sunlight finds his tresses; and streaks across one amber eye of his, melting in warmth as he watches you warily. You swallow down the part of you that blossoms at a face so beautifully made, and you wonder how he sees you now.

“Why do you come?” His question strikes you once more in the quiet walls.

Perhaps a Septa crosses the way – though your sights are anchored on Jacaerys and his wandering tongue as he glances towards the stony faces staring down at you. He, with an absent voice, continues: “If it’s not for them?”

You swallow hard, fingers knotted like roots within your lap. A ruminating silence, until your voice finds its quiet whisper. “The chains of faith are not so easily cast aside, I suppose.”

His gaze follows your own to the statue of the Mother, looming before you; a shift upon his boots as rainwater slides down the leather to kiss the stone floor.

“And I know here no one will disturb me.” You add as an afterthought, some attempt at humour in the dreary silence, “Some say this Sept is gathering dust these days.”

Your words achieve their desired effect: The prince gives you one of those rare smiles, hands held in some mocking surrender. “I am not some.” He defends; to which you nod with a rare smile of your own.

“No, you are not, Jacaerys.”

It comes much warmer from your lips than expected – the moment passes thickly between you. A rusty memory, to converse so casually with each other – a talent perhaps still being honed, though you feel a birth of warmth in his presence, against the shell of cold that this day has woken.

Still he steps closer, hesitant in footing but deliberate in air, and you tilt your head, curious. “Still,” he speaks, “I hope you might… Let me join you.”

In the moment following, his gaze flickers to the altar; then rises uncertain back to you. His words are awkward, falling hesitantly from his lips, yet still genuine; with their insistence strikes within you a tenderness that must have been absent for far too long. An effort.

“You wish to pray?” you wonder, brows suspended in your surprise.

He merely nods, fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve; a boyish vision despite the burden of his station weighing around him – and your heart skips.

“If you’d show me how,” he says, quieter yet; and a half step towards the altar so that you are nearly in line, you on your knees and he wavering in his height. “I’ve never been quite… good enough at it. Septa used to take me by the ear and scold me when I was young.”

It’s a memory faint but easily recalled in your mind – Jacaerys and Lucerys, with youthful smirks plotting across the altar. A shove, a snort concealed in hands folded to prayer – a pious posture from you, though your eyes flickered so often to their whispered snickers, pressing your lips together when the Septas struck across the back of their heads.

You take in the sincerity of his expression, the slightly placated feeling that has spread from the rare childhood memory so lacking in strife; and how he stands before you, as if asking permission for something far more intimate than prayer.

Slowly, you incline your head, gesturing for him to kneel beside you. “Alright, then. Come.” You instruct shakily.

The sword lies first upon the stone; then comes the sinking of his knees, slow to drop; you resist a squirm, the sight of him joining you sending a quiet warmth through your chest.

It is quiet when he finds himself knelt aside you, hands loose and lips bitten. His tunic brushes your cloak – though you piously fold your hands, looking forward once more if only to avoid the heat that has inconspicuously grown upon your cheeks.

A beat, then two. Slowly, through a glance, his hands fold like yours, though they shake in the reflection of the dreary sunbeams.

Outside, the rain ravages the walls; your breaths fall in quiet releases, echoing each other in the dust.

“I’m not sure what to say,” his voice is rough as it interrupts the silence; a cascade of shivers involuntarily tumble down the ridges of your spine. You’re struck with some spare memory of hands, warm against the line of your back as sleep took you last night; hands that have taken their own time to slide over planes of goose-prickled skin, that have held, and wished, and reached.

Your eyes fall to the candles, unable to meet the gaze searing into your profile – it strikes you, the peculiar kindness of it; the bittersweet, stilted understanding that ties your heart to his own.

There is that lingering feeling – that knowledge that, should last night have gone peacefully instead and you’d woken to Elina with comb in hand, Jacaerys would not be here; But still, he’d still have such warm, open eyes – such pouted lips, such a face carved by worry and patience. A change, rung through the effort made to be by your side; You scrub the thought from your mind and clear your throat.

“I often start with a blessing,” you whisper into the air before you, “These days, it’s been for the realm.” At this, he says nothing; harboring a rather absent stare into the flickering candles.

His hand drifts to the light; and soon, it wavers with the flickering flame of an incense stick. His hand suspends, hovering in apprehension, but then his voice comes in a quieted whisper. “For the realm,” he echoes your words.

You do not dare glance at him; though in the corner of your vision sits his profile, softened by the gentle glow of flame and backlit in the torrential gray leaking from outside. Vulnerability drips from plush lips as he moulds over the words he endeavors to speak; and a moment of silence yourself as you shift, the emptiness in your chest warmed by the presence of his heat.

He whispers his prayer quietly, and you do not wish to impose; you remain beside him, blinking hard against the rising guilt that crawls up your throat, that reminds you of soft girlish smiles and gentle boyish laughs.

You do not hear his words, but you feel the gentle rumble of them from his chest to your own as you begin a silent whisper of prayer, Elina’s name falling from your lips.

And then comes the song of your voices, hushed and solemn in the Sept; it is in its way just as similar, just as reverent to choruses sung by your lips shared in the past – though for instances much different than now.

“–For those I’ve failed,” his voice washes into your consciousness, head bowed low and words whispered for none other to hear. Your eyes open at this; pulled from the depths of your own swirling grief, your head bowed in a beat of regret and vision flashing with a blue lamb, submerged in the cold sea.

Palms, damp and shaky, press to the stone altar. Your eyes find his, open and wettened with memory; it strikes your heart. “Now, I’d pray for the future,” Your voice, so quiet, faint. “That it might be more… kind than the past.”

His swallow is silent, but you see his chest expand with a breath. The air, so heavy in the weight of shared grief. “For the future,” he echoes once more; and his gaze, though still fixed on the flickering candles, seems distant – seeking out a vision only he can see.

His tongue swipes over his parted lips, brows furrowed in a soft emotion; you cast your gaze to the candles burning before you. He hesitates, his voice faltering before it firms again, quiet still in the empty Sept. “That I might be worthy of it. Of the realm, and–” His voice tapers off only momentarily. “ –And of those who are beside me.”

It is in the breath that his small confession catches your breath almost imperceptibly; your chest tightens at his struggling tension of jaw, of that countenance so often set with the sternness of duty.

There is a softening in his glance to the side, not nearly reaching you, but perhaps trying – something so close to vulnerability that it makes your heart lurch.

His gaze meets yours after a final moment, and in them you see your own reflection, your own yearning heart that beats against the restraints of awkwardness, of regret, of grief and of disdain.

His gaze is yours, and it feels like it has been for some time.

“That’s–” Your voice comes choked, uneven; you take a moment to gather yourself once more, cheeks flaring as you hold his stare. “A noble thing to wish for.”

The tension between you hums into the heavy silence of the Sept. You should look away — ought to, even — but you don’t; for it is a miraculous thing, to gaze into one’s eyes and feel yourself stare back.

Perhaps his hands fall first, but yours fall just after – and in the silence, your heart slams in your throat, mind hazy with the feeling of being seen and known. A furrow, gentle and longing, of his brow as he watches you; a ghost of his hand upon your arm, trailing along the cloak’s embroidered sleeve.

Perhaps you lean first, or perhaps he does.

It is not until your breath brushes his lips and his warms your own that you give in to the ache in your breast; And it is clumsy when your mouth finds his own. A kiss born not of passion but of some grief, some shared loss, some unbearable weight of what cannot be undone and what looms in the weight of crowns upon your heads and a war of fire and blood upon the weeping horizon.

There is some hesitancy that, if ever before, has grown between you; a soft caress of his neck with your quaking palm, a warm presence of his hand upon your hip, turning you towards his kiss. Your hands grasp without thought, without purpose – a search for life in a crumbling plane of ruin.

Salt upon your tongue, your nose slides upon his own; a fragile solace, this connection is.

But the haze of such vulnerable intimacy is dissolved in a breath: Jacaerys stills completely, and his warmth is gone from you in the very next moment.

“Jace,” You murmur as he shakes his head gently; a wet gaze between you, though you’re unsure whose it is. Perhaps both. “No,” His voice is strained in that quiet, pained way you recall – from early days finally released from your cell below the castle, from nights when the agony persisted in heated glares and serpent tongues.

He does not look at you before he rises, movements slow, deliberate – and you take the moment to gather your own mind, to swallow down the rush of surrealism that has fallen into lead upon your stomach. Seven stony faces watch you as you rise beside your betrothed at the altar, a slump in your shoulders that mirrors his own.

“I shouldn’t have,” He admits, shaking his head as his hand tentatively grasps your own; his palm is moistened with the tremble of regret, and you swallow down whatever stab of guilt rushes up your throat. A squeeze in return; a flush of embarrassment upon your cheeks as the remnants of his lips linger upon your own in some dizzying breath.

You shake your head as you brush nonexistent dust from your nightdress. “I shouldn’t have, I-”

“Please,” He murmurs; a plea, true and genuine – and he tugs your hand just so. “I am sorry.”

It is surprising to see such earnesty from him, though his words bring about a warmth to your chest. It goes unspoken, as so often things between you do – now is not a time for such recklessness; and though Jacaerys might perhaps be a sole comfort while the world weeps, you know now is not the time to escape in such securities.

Your nod is gentle, as is the kiss you deliver to his warm cheeks. They grow even more red in the absence of your lips.

“It's alright,” You agree, clearing your throat at the sudden memory of his lips, plump and warm, against your own.

Though with his words dissolves any distraction you’ve sought in the previous moments: “There is something else,” He explains, “I come with word from the Queen and Daemon.”

Despite his hand in yours, dread welcomes you once more into its embrace.

“They’ve found her?” You wonder; and there once more crashes a bout of anxiety into your ribs. His eyes swim – pity, perhaps, hiding in the folds of gold, of reverence, of verity.

He nods only slightly, eyes searching between your own.

“Yes.”

A breath catches in your throat – some odd angst of mourning for your adversary, then; to the girl she perhaps was before your grandsire wrapped his talons tight around her. Jacaerys lifts his hand, and soon your hair is brushed behind your shoulder.

“You do not need to go.” He promises, “I can have the dragons readied, or tea sent to the library. Or I could have a bath drawn–”

Kind suggestions; though you shake your head sharply, glancing to the Father and then meeting Jace’s stare. “No,” You protest, hand dropping his own to gather yourself. “But will you–” A cleared throat, biting your lip at the pain that echoes through the empty caverns of your chest. The words do not come commonly; an odd thought, some secret in front of the gods - and so you whisper in that tongue you both share. “Kessa ao māzigon lēda nyke?”

Will you come with me?

His lashes tangle in a slow blink, though he acquiesces immediately to your request. “Of course. Hēnkirī.”

Together. Your swallow is thick, and the pit of your stomach eats at you. It is a slow march to prepare your leave; the beating of a heart not your own, faced upon the gates of some shadowy fate – but the hand in yours warm and guiding, and his voice is slow and quiet.

Bells ring in the near distance, and in their warbled way, they sound of wedding bells. Some part of you blossoms reborn, a bud at the first breath of spring after years of winter; Jacaerys sends you a smile, and it is soon mirrored upon your own visage.

Fate is a peculiar thing, yes - but you are relieved that Jacaerys is the name of yours.

And even when you and your betrothed pull up each other's hoods in preparation for the rainfall, you do not realize that you’ve just risen from below the watching shadow of the Stranger. You do not realize that the shrouded figure has watched over your every prayer; and when you turn, you do not notice as its shadow follows the train of your dress.

You do not notice the snuff of the two candles, blown in the wake of your leave - and you do not feel as the Stranger watches you leave the Sept, arm in arm with Jacaerys.

taglist; it has been so long, pls message me to remain on the taglist otherwise you will be removed to avoid unwanted tags: @annedub @feyres-fireheart @reyndaisy @glennussy @ladyofvelaryon @paasrin @kookjipao @miksde @falcvns @still-jon-snow @kitdjarin1 @bitchydragonparadisee @lukehughes43 @rhea-ripley @chloe-petrichors @jottositto @uhnanix @knight-of-flowerss @lenadoerrer @saccharineseas @greenvita @honk4emoboyz @uniquelyabnormallyoriginal @darylspersonalwhore @taestrwbrry @withjinkoo @realporcelainkat @burningwitchobject @meowmeowmauve @bigolidioot @eleana-aerrin @miraakswhore @kenna-the-cosmic @softspiderling (hi elle i love u) @fluorescentadolescent1 @withlovenessie

#a golden cage ; series #holy hell #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys x reader smut #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon x reader smut #jacaerys velaryon x targ!reader #<- is this ok for filtering unwanted fics yall #jace x reader #jace smut #hotd x reader #hotd smut

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gurugirl · 1 year ago

Text

Don't Speak

*images are for aesthetic only

priest!harry x subby!reader | soft dom!harry x bratty/sub!reader

Summary: Y/n accidentally says something in front of everyone at prayer group that gets her in trouble with the priest.

A/N: I know it's been so long since I gave y'all any priestrry but I missed him and his pet so I was compelled to write this! Hope you enjoy! And if you're tagged it's bc you are either on my main general taglist or you asked to be tagged in anything for priestrry (even tho it's been so long) just let me know if you want to be removed and I will! xoxo

Word Count: 2,692

Warning: 18+ only, NSFW, religious mentions, smut, sub/dom dynamic, spanking, punishment

Forgive Me, Father masterlist

She hadn’t meant to say it in front of everyone during prayer group. It didn’t have to mean anything if no one read too much into it. She was only responding to a simple question but she said we.

We plan to eat after the meeting.

We, as in the mention of herself and Harry. The two of them doing something together. She hoped they interpreted it as her saying -with someone other than Harry. But she also looked at Harry directly when she said it. Maybe no one saw that.

But Harry certainly did. And the look she received from him was scalding. She knew she was in for it once everyone had gone.

No one followed up to ask who was the other part of this we she spoke of. She wished they would. She could say anyone and make up a little lie. Her brother. Her roommate. Anyone. But no one asked.

And she wasn’t sure if the room felt tense or if it was just her. Because after she said it, she felt like everyone was suddenly looking at her differently. And of course, the way Harry was warning her with his eyes wasn’t helping matters.

So she kept her head down and her mouth closed until the end. And when everyone began to leave, like always, she walked out of the house and to the side to wait until everyone was gone.

And even when the coast was clear she hesitated for a moment. But ultimately going back inside with Harry to face whatever kind of reprimand he was going to give her was better than waiting and wondering about what he might do. Perhaps she could plead her case.

Stepping into the living room she found Harry folding up the metal chairs and placing them tidily in their little wooden cubby behind the couch. He walked across the room without even a glance in her direction and into the kitchen with a glass. Standing still in her spot she could hear the glass being placed in the sink and then his footfalls as he began to walk back to the living room.

“Father, I’m sorry. It just slipped out. I don’t think anyone noticed–“

“Go stand and face the corner. Don’t speak.”

She gulped and gave a quick nod as she scurried toward the corner of the living room and let her limbs fall loose as she waited for the priest to finish what he was doing. She wanted to protest. To tell him it was an accident and to go easy on her but she knew better than to resist.

Minutes stretched on as she listened to Harry cleaning up and moving back and forth from the living room to the kitchen before she heard him approaching behind her and then stopping.

She could feel him standing behind her but he kept silent for a beat or two before she felt his breath at the back of her neck, “Tell me what happens if someone finds out about us, Y/n.”

She inhaled a shaky breath and squeezed her eyes closed, “Well, you could face expulsion from the church. Everything you’ve worked so hard for that you love the most would be gone. Or they’d transfer you and after penance, you’d have to promise to permanently end our relationship.”

The floorboard creaked as Harry stepped in closer and she felt his warm hands at the tops of her arms, “I could lose what I love, yes. But if it came to choosing you or the church do you know what I would do, pet?”

“Father, I would like to believe you’d choose me. But I would understand if you chose the church.”

“Do you doubt how deep my love for you is?”

Y/n opened her eyes and took a deep breath, the plaster of the white wall in her view, “I don’t doubt how deeply you love me. I feel it every moment. But I also know how deep your love is for God and for your vocation.”

“I’m angry that you let it slip out like that so freely in front of everyone. But I know you didn’t do it on purpose. I want you to know that I’ll always choose you. Over everything else. Over my priesthood. Over God. You’re the most important thing I have.

A stray tear escaped her eye as he pressed his chest into her back and suddenly lifted his hands and she felt her red leather collar being placed on her neck as he adjusted the buckle, “Besides, I’ve slipped up too haven’t I? When I thought no one was watching. But you slipped up in front of many sets of eyes and ears. Let’s hope they didn’t notice the way you looked at me when you said it.”

She turned to look back at him to respond but one of his hands gripped the back of her neck, “Face the wall. I’m not done with you yet. As much as I understand it was a mistake, there are consequences for your actions, pet. Take off this dress.”

Biting her lip she silently pulled the fabric over her head and Harry noted she was not wearing panties. He imagined she did that on purpose. She often enjoyed leaving things uncovered in case they were in a situation where he could just take her. But she was cheeky too so maybe it was just to get a rise out of him.

“No panties while we were all sat here praying to our Lord. Fucks sake, Y/n.”

The first strike to her bottom had her wobbling forward, palms on the walls, and bending slightly at the waist. She was used to being spanked and when he did it with his hands it was a treat. She loved his hands on her. No matter how they were touching her.

Another open-palmed swat and then another had her dipping her head and closing her eyes as she braced herself.

She felt his hand smooth up her spine and press down between her shoulders, “Bend down further. Keep your hands on the wall, legs together. Think about what you can do to not make the kind of mistake you made today while I get your paddle.”

A big gulp was pulled down her throat as Harry stepped away. What could she have done differently? Maybe just be on top of her thoughts at all times? Never waver in front of people? She wasn’t sure. How was it possible to not accidentally slip up once in a great while? She had been so good all this time. Never doing anything that would really tip anyone off. The slip-up was bound to happen at some point.

When Harry returned she felt a kind hand rub over her bottom, “You get five on each side and no crying. Once I’ve given you five you’ll tell me what you could have done differently and if you haven’t come up with something you’ll get another five on each side. Understand?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Count for me.”

Every strike to her sensitive bottom had her keening and gasping. She counted each one, five on each side (so ten really and she would have complained but now wasn’t the time).

“Now, tell me. What can you do to make sure that never happens again? How can we avoid it?”

She took a deep breath, still reeling from her stinging bottom and knowing she was about to get five more (ten more) because she hadn’t come up with an idea quite yet.

“Uhh… I just need to think harder and not let myself really look at you… uh… I can keep my mind sharp so I don’t say things I shouldn’t on accident.”

“No. That’s not it. Count for me.”

The next round hurt more. The smooth leather landing against her sore ass had her arching her back away from him and hissing between numbers she pushed from her lungs. Every one biting a little more than before.

But when she got to her final five (ten) she thought of an answer that she felt would suffice and nearly hopped up with a grin, but knowing better she stayed in her position.

“Have you come up with an answer for me?”

“I can just not speak. I’ll say my throat hurts and keep my mouth closed the whole meeting.”

“That will only work once or twice. But every meeting, pet? You can do better than that. Count for me.”

She let her tears slip out of her eyes as she racked her brain for the answer he might want. Every number she counted got lost in her fuzzy brain and the ache from the paddle on her bum started to numb and the shift in how it made her feel manifested in arousal, which the priest did not miss as he could see her pussy with the way she was bent for him; That obvious glisten beginning to seep out from her labia.

“Tell me what you can do to avoid making comments like you did today.”

She inhaled and moaned softly, “I think that I should maybe not come to all the prayer meetings. I can stay in my cage if I’m feeling a little off maybe? Then I won’t have the opportunity to at all. And me not being at all the meetings would be good I think. Because no one is always at every meeting. Probably good for me to sit back for a while.”

The paddle fell to the floor and she felt Harry’s hands gently caressing her bottom, his fingers gliding over the raised skin left behind from the paddle, “You are so smart, pet. See? That’s perfect. Don’t move from your spot. Keep your thighs together.”

She heard the clank of his buckle and smiled to herself. She loved it when he had his way with her. She didn’t even care what he was about to do, she welcomed him wherever and however he wanted.

When his hands returned to her back and gently pressed over her bum she sighed as he leaned over and kissed her shoulder blade, “I love you. I know you didn’t do it on purpose,” she listened as he spoke and could tell he was stroking himself behind her the way his voice was wavering, breathy. “No matter what happens, you’re mine and I’m keeping you, okay?” His voice hitched up just a bit as he scraped his cockhead through her folds. She was tempted to spread her thighs but she resisted since he’d been very clear with her to keep them together.

“Yes, Father,” she breathed as she felt his smooth tip collecting her arousal, gliding up and down through her crease.

“And since you didn’t do it on purpose and I’ve given you 15 spanks as punishment,” 15 on each side, she corrected in her mind, “I’ll let you come but you may not move. I don’t want you spreading your legs to keep steady either. I’ll hold you up if you start to fall.”

The sudden slicing of his wide cock through her delicate pussy entrance had her groaning and dropping her mouth wide open. She was so wet and gushy already. She felt her arousal seep down to the back of her thigh as he began to thrust into her, juices leaking down from her opening.

Harry’s hand landed on the wall next to her head as his other clutched her hip tight, thick crown splitting her in half, and it all felt even tighter inside with her thighs pressed together. But her legs started to sway as he took heavy strokes, hips smacking against her ass. A deep moan vibrated from his chest and the way she was squeezing around him was like heaven. If he had to go to hell for his sins it would be worth it. She was worth everything to him.

When the priest noticed his pet having difficulty keeping steady he pushed into the brim, filling her completely, and gently nudged and nudged deeper into her, rutting in with hips pasted to her ass, “Being so good for me, pet. Keeping your legs together as I asked. Feels so good with you around me…”

She could hear the tightness in his voice. Her priest was enjoying her pussy. His pussy. Everything was his. All of her belonged to him. She kept her palms on the wall as he fucked into her, keeping his body tucked against her, spreading her open completely and fitting right up against her cervix like she needed.

“Want to be good for you, Father. Want to make you happy and give you everything I can. You own every single part of me.”

He groaned and rutted forward making her inhale sharply, “I do own you don’t I pet? That’s why I call you my pet. Because you’re mine and you always will be. Isn’t that right?”

No one would have ever guessed the pair stood together in the corner fucking in the small living room had the kind of secret they did. No one would have ever guessed the man was a priest and the girl on his cock with the red leather choker was his dirty secret. His divine secret. No one would know the kinds of sinful things they did together every day. If they glanced at the marks on her bare bottom they wouldn’t have assumed they were from the hands of a priest.

“Yes! Father, I’ll always be yours. I’m your possession, your property…”

They both panted as Harry’s cock worked its magic inside of her hot cunt. The wetness of her walls surrounding him and coating him was the perfect spot for him to snug into and spill his seed into.

Her lip curled up as she coughed out a loud moan and arched her back, eyes closed and in sheer bliss from her insides being rearranged. She was weak for him and her orgasm couldn’t wait any longer.

“Please! Can I come, Father? Oh my god…”

He could feel her shaking, thighs trembling so hard he had to hold her hips on both sides so she didn’t tip over.

“Aww poor thing. It aches, doesn’t it? Little pet needs to have her release, doesn’t she? Got all stressed out after misspeaking. You can come. Give me your orgasm, Y/n. Let me feel you… want to feel you milking my cock…”

Harry’s own strong thighs were beginning to quiver as his balls began to squeeze up against his body, his release just moments away.

She cried out and tensed as she spasmed and clenched around him, wave after delicious wave of wet orgasm gushing from her until she felt his grip tighten and then his chest brush into her back, his lips on her shoulder, “Come for me, pet. Holy fuck…”

He groaned at how her walls pulsed, beckoning him to come, sucking his cock deep into her tummy with every squeeze until he growled and bit down on her skin, cock pumping and throbbing inside of her.

The priest had considered not letting her come at first. But he was glad he changed his mind because there was nothing better than to have her siphoning his come from his cock as she fluttered around him and her pretty voice whined and begged…

His hot come began to leak out of her pulsing hole as he thrusted in and when he stood back to watch as he pulled out and plunged in again he saw her cream coating him.

Her legs were still wobbly as he pulled out and gently turned her in his arms and pushed his lips to hers. She felt his warm hands on her face and she knew she had nothing to worry about with her priest. He loved her and she knew it without question. Misspeak or not, he wasn’t going to just give up on her because of an accident.

Bumping his nose to hers he whispered against her lips, “I’ll always choose you. Over everything. Don’t ever doubt my love for you, pet.”

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hp-hcs · 1 year ago

Text

• smut• and lead us nott into temptation — asshole! pureblood! dom bottom! theodore nott x male! muggleborn! catholic! sub top! reader

requested by 🦈 anon! (aka my silly goofy lil guy <3)

WARNING: if you don’t like sacrilegious shit or gay male reader inserts, KEEP SCROLLING

i’ve got enough religious trauma to last me many lifetimes, so writing this one was just like ✍️🥲📿

tws: ⚠️dub-con⚠️, 🔞smut mdni🔞, literally no plot, manipulation, coercion, amab reader, virgin reader, corruption kink, pure blasphemy ngl, inappropriate use of religious prayers, lot of shit talking about the catholic church, gratuitous use of em-dashes, gratuitous use of the pet-name “angel”

you and theo are dormmates or something? idfk man this is literally just 2.2k words of depravity

not edited cause tbh i’m hella embarrassed that i wrote this

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“…hallowed be thy na— Theo?”

“What are you doing?” your roommate asked as he stepped inside your shared dorm, his eyebrows furrowing as his gaze focused on the rosary in your hand.

“Praying,” you mumble, cheeks flushing under his heavy stare.

“You’re religious?” he asked, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “You believe in all that Muggle deity bullshit?”

“Yes.” You stiffened, lips twisting in distaste at his choice of words.

You could physically see his pupils dilate at your affirmative answer.

“Shit,” he mumbled under his breath. “So you’re…what, celibate, or whatever it’s called?”

You startled at the sudden change of topic.

“Um…abstinent, yes,” you corrected, taking a step backwards as he moved closer.

“Shit,” he cursed again. “That’s fuckin’ hot.”

He kept moving forward, crowding you back against the wall. You squeaked when he rested his hand against the wall beside your head, blocking you in on one side. He gently, but firmly, gripped your jaw in his other hand. His gaze raked up and down your body.

You gulped. “Th-Theo, what’re you d—”

He cut you off with a harsh kiss.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft or sweet. It was Theo biting your bottom lip hard enough to bleed, tightening his grip on your jaw to wrench it open, and shoving his tongue in your mouth.

You were frozen, the rosary slipping from your fingers and hitting the floor with a loud clatter. After an aggressively…passionate? possessive? minute, Theo pulled back.

“My sweet little angel,” he cooed, gently stroking the side of your face. “So pretty and pure.”

Your skin prickled under his touch, at the way his eyes darkened with hunger. The way his gentle caress belied the drop of blood running down your chin.

He looked like sin. The way his hair curled above his ears, his pretty pink lips dotted red with your blood…

He looked like the Devil himself.

“I want you to fuck me, Y/n,” Theo murmured unabashedly into your ear.

Your knees trembled. Your heart raced. Your eyes were so wide, it was near painful. “Wh-what?”

“Please, angel? I want you to fuck me,” Theo whispered against your lips, a sensual tone in his voice.

“Or,” he sighed over-dramatically, really playing it up, “if you want to remain a prude, you can tell me to stop right now and I will; no hard feelings.”

You trembled. What were you doing? Why were you even considering this?

Theo’s hand remained on your waist, and he ran his thumb across your bottommost rib in a steady pattern, back and forth, as he waited for your answer.

“L-Leviticus 18:22,” you spluttered, doing your damn best to ignore the way the sunlight streaming through your dorm window highlighted and accentuated Theo’s gorgeous bone structure. “Th-thou shalt not lie with m-mankind, as with womankind: it is a-abomination.”

“That’s not a no.”

“That’s not a yes!” you argued. “Besides, lust is a sin of its own!”

“No, this doesn’t count.” He waved a hand dismissively. “It’s an abomination, not sex. Says so right in your little book. So therefore…” his fingers wandered down to the waistband of your trousers, dipping teasingly underneath to ghost over your hip bone before retreating. “Therefore it can’t be lust.”

It was the most backwards logic you’d ever heard.

But it was hard to think about turning him away when the heel of his hand was suddenly pressing against the front of your trousers.

“I-it…it isn’t?” you choke out, a confusing new sensation sparking in your stomach. “A-are you sure?”

“Of course,” Theo said, so confidently that you couldn’t help but believe him.

“I-if you’re sure…” you trailed off, eyes widening as Theo dropped like a rock, his knees hitting the flagstone with a resounding crack that you wished you could record, just so you could listen to it over and over and over again.

His impatient fingers fumbled with the button of your trousers, yanking them and your boxers down to your mid-thigh in a single smooth motion.

You flushed bright red at the mere notion of being naked from the waist down in front of another person; let alone Theo, the boy who’d been your roommate for the last eight years.

He kept his gaze firmly locked with yours, those unnervingly dead eyes framed with sinfully long lashes, as he flattened his tongue against the base of your dick and licked a long, slow stroke up the length of it.

“Oh, fuck—” you cursed, your head falling backwards and hitting the wall behind you with a solid thunk.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse before.” He grinned, his thumb swiping over the head of your dick and collecting the dribble of precum that was steadily leaking from the tip before spreading it around.

You whined pathetically, your thighs shaking as a moan was wrenched from your lips. Theo grinned wickedly at how debauched you already looked.

Without a speck of hesitation, he closed his mouth around your dick, his clever tongue teasing the underside. He hollowed his cheeks around you and you gasped out a choked-off moan.

Theo’s hand snaked up and found your wrist, guiding your hand to the mess of curls on the top of his head. Your fingers tightened in his hair, gripping onto a handful of it for dear life just to keep yourself from passing out from the overwhelming pleasure. Honestly, the only thing keeping you from falling over was Theo’s tight grip on your hips.

“Shit shit shit shit—”

He pulled off of your dick with a sinful pop.

“Keep reciting,” Theo rasped, his voice already rough and breathless.

“Wh-what?”

“I interrupted your prayer when I walked in here. Keep reciting.”

You gulped, licking your lips nervously as you tried to remember where you’d left off before fully giving up and just starting the Our Father over. “O-Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Th-thy kingdom come, thy w-will be done, on Earth as it— hah~”

Your head fell back against the wall again as Theo sucked furiously on the tip of your dick, all of your thoughts going out the window.

Theodore, that bastard, pulled off again.

You whined at the loss. “No- d-don’t—”

“Ah ah ah,” Theo chided, patting your thigh. “You stop, I stop. Keep going.”

You hissed out a displeased grumble before returning to your prayer as he returned to his S-tier dick sucking. “O-on Earth as it is in H-Heaven. G-give us this d-day our— Theo— daily b-bread—”

His fingers slipped down from your hip to brush against the sensitive skin behind your balls.

Your hips jerked forward on instinct, and Theo moaned like a cheap whore around your cock as it was shoved down his throat, his nose suddenly buried in your pubes.

“And f-forgive us our tre-trespasses…” you panted, fingers tightening their grip on his hair as your eyes squeezed shut.

There was an odd sensation, like a coil tightening, behind your belly button. It was strange, although not unpleasant.

“…as we f-forgive those who— who trespass aga-against us.”

Theo pulled away again. You opened your mouth to curse him out—Heaven knows he deserved it, the damn tease—when he got to his feet and promptly shucked off his shirt and trousers, dropping his boxers without a hint of modesty or insecurity.

You stared, mouth agape, as Theo wandered over to his bed, seemingly in no hurry. He slowly splayed himself out on his bed for you, casting a wandless lubrication charm with a sly grin and an easy, relaxed posture that was belied by his achingly hard cock practically touching his stomach.

“Close your mouth, angel,” he purred, beckoning you closer with two fingers. “You might catch flies.”

You took a small step forward, entranced by the sight in front of you.

“Keep praying, angel,” Theo murmured, running a hand through his already-disheveled curls—which only served in making his just-fucked hairstyle even more pronounced.

“A-and lead us n-not into temptation,”—Theodore Nott was nothing if not temptation in its purest form—“but deliver us from evil.”

You took another step closer, then another, until you were by his bedside. “Amen.”

“Amen,” Theo echoed, reaching for you with one hand. His fingers knotted themselves in your shirt, yanking you down on top of him.

He grabbed the back of your neck and smashed his lips against yours. You wiggled, kicking your trousers and boxers off from where they were still stuck around your knees before pulling back to gasp for air.

Theo grabbed the front of your shirt again, yanking on it. “Off.”

You complied without a second thought, tugging your shirt off over your head in one fluid motion.

Theo groaned at the sight of your body as you tossed your shirt God-knows-where. He grabbed the back of your neck again and tugged you into another passionate kiss.

“One day, ‘m gonna ride you,” he mumbled against your lips, running a possessive hand over your stomach. “My fuckin’ gorgeous boy. But today, you’re gonna fuck me.”

He pulled you fully on top of him, your knees between his, your forearms flat against the mattress on either side of the boy underneath you.

“Y’know, I never told you to stop praying,” Theo murmured, reaching downwards. His fingers tightened around your cock, stroking it a few times before guiding it closer to his ass and pushing his body down against it.

You swallowed nervously as you took the not-so-subtle hint, taking a deep breath before slowly pressing the tip in and continuing your Rosary. “H-Hail Mary, f-full of Gr—ah!—ace—”

You had to pause then to bury your head in the crook of his neck, your breathing coming in shaky gasps. Your body zinged with pleasure, your toes curling.

“That’s it, baby,” Theo cooed, petting your hair gently. “Doing so good. Keep going. Makin’ me feel so good.”

“Th-the Lord is with thee. Blessed art th-thou amongst women—” you whispered breathlessly against his sweaty skin, pausing again for another second to compose yourself before you very slowly and hesitantly pressed in further.

Theo’s knees tightened around your hips as he dug his heels into the backs of your thighs, urging you closer. “Sh-shit— angel, I need you to go in all the way. C-can you do that for me, pretty boy?”

You nodded and took a deep breath, and slowly and carefully pushed yourself all the way in, bottoming out inside of him after an agonizingly long moment.

Theo gasped sharply as soon as you were fully seated inside of him. His fingers tightened their grip on your shoulders until his nails managed to break the skin. You leaned down to press your lips against his—much more gently than he had—and moaned into his mouth at the slight sting from his nails.

Theo sighed in pleasure against your lips and returned the kiss. “M-move, angel. Need you t-to move.”

You slowly pulled nearly all the way out, your eyes fixed on his face. You wanted to document every facial expression, every muscle twitch, everything that Theo did while underneath you.

Watching his lower lip tremble as a moan spilled out of him had to be your breaking point. Your hips snapped forward of their own accord, quickly filling him back up. “A-and blessed- is- the- fruit- fuck- of thy w-oh!-mb, Jesus.”

His head fell backwards with a loud cry, his nails raking up your back as he scrambled for anything to cling onto. “Yes! Fuck— harder!”

“H-Holy Mar— shit! M-Mary, Mother of G-God…”

You sped up, driving into him faster and harder with every frantic demand that left his lips. You let out a high whine as Theo leaned up to suck on the tender flesh under your jaw with a feral-like possessiveness. Red and purple marks had already begun to bloom along your neck and jaw.

The coil in your stomach tightened even further.

“Th-Theo, I don’t— wh-what’s—?” you stuttered, panicking at the unfamiliar sensation.

“Y-you about to cum, angel?” he panted. He stroked a gentle hand over your lower abdomen. “You feel s-something funny right here?”

You whimpered and nodded frantically. “P-please— I’m gonna—”

“No. Hold it, angel.”

“Wh-what?”

“You don’t get to finish until you finish your prayer, baby boy.”

You hissed in discomfort. “P-pray for us sinners—”

Your words were interrupted by a high-pitched moan from Theo as his back arched off the bed. He started chanting your name, over and over again, like a prayer of his own.

His fingers scrabbled for a hold on your shoulders as he tightened around you. “Shit shit shit— ‘m not g-gonna last— fuck! Cum for me, angel,” Theo pleaded, his nails digging further into your back and leaving long marks that quickly blossomed into a rich pink color.

“Nowandatthehourofourdeath!” you rushed the last line with a near-shriek as the coil in your abdomen exploded, your toes curling again and your vision going white. Your arms buckled and you collapsed on top of Theo, who was experiencing the exact same thing as you.

You both just laid there in a sweaty heap, limp and boneless from your respective mind-blowing orgasms.

“Amen,” Theo said softly, finishing your prayer. He casted a wandless cleaning spell on the both of you before gently wrapping his arms around you and stroking your scratched-up back as you both came down from your highs. You let out a pleased purr at the feeling of his soft touch gently brushing over your stinging scratches, a wordless spell from Theo methodically coating the marks with a numbing topical ointment.

You echoed the sentiment after a moment of catching your breath, content to just cuddle with him in this moment. You pressed a kiss to the side of Theo’s throat and whispered a singular word against his skin, “Amen.”

#harry potter #hp #fuck jkr #hp x male reader #x male reader #x reader #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theo nott #theodore nott smut #theo nott x reader #male reader

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concretejunglefm · 2 months ago

Text

Obsession.

Have you ever craved somebody so much that you literally ache?

Summary: Ever since Noah first laid eyes on you, you’ve been the object of his desires and occupied his thoughts. However, there’s one catch—you’re Jolly’s girlfriend.

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x f!reader (Jolly's girlfriend) with mentions of Jolly Karlsson.

CW: Heavy pining and slight patheticness from Noah.

AN: The timeline and progress of this little story may be skewed, and there’s definitely an unreliable narrator in the form of Noah.

Dividers: Silent-stories.

Noah can’t stop thinking about you. Since Jolly introduced you as his new girlfriend, you’ve been the only thing on his mind.

There should’ve been some guilt for this, especially when his thoughts about you turned to lust, leading him to fantasize about you and give in to his urges, where he would say your name like a prayer every time he came over his hand and stomach. Even when you were just meters away in the next room, completely unaware of his actions.

It didn’t start that way, though. Initially, everything had been innocent. You were kind, funny, and pretty in a way that made everyone joke that you were too good for Jolly. However, Noah was aware that you were too good for him.

During late summer, when the guys all decided to have a last-minute barbecue, Jolly chose that time to introduce you.

Noah was aware that he'd been seeing someone, but he didn’t realize how serious it was until he brought you around, eager to show you off like a new trophy. Admittedly, Noah felt a twinge of envy the first time he laid eyes on you.

“And this is Noah,” Jolly breaks the ice, introducing you. Noah offers a timid wave, already feeling the nerves fluttering as he was in your presence. “He’s also my roommate, so you’ll be seeing his pretty face around quite a bit.”

Noah’s eyes flicker to Jolly and widen with a ‘what the fuck’ type of expression, but the moment you let out a laugh, his eyes fall back onto you, completely captivated by such a beautiful sound. Now all he wants is to hear you laugh again, even if it comes at his own expense.

As the party progresses, everyone starts to mingle and unwind in the relaxed atmosphere. Meanwhile, Noah has become preoccupied with overthinking how to initiate a simple conversation with you. He is so caught up in his own thoughts that he is startled when you finally break the ice.

“That’s a cool tattoo.”

He glances down to his thigh, where you had gestured to one of his favorite tattoo designs peeking out from beneath his shorts. “Oh, that? Yeah, it’s pretty cool.” He pulls up the end of his shorts, revealing the full Itachi design, standing up slightly as he tries to show it off to you.

“So cool,” he hears you murmuring as you lean down to fully examine the design. Having you so close to him makes his head dizzy and his heart race.

He quickly fumbles over his words, trying tries his best to prevent himself from being overwhelmed by the thoughts that are rapidly entering his mind. “It's from my favorite anime, Naruto. Have you ever heard of it?” He barely takes a breath before pulling his short leg back down and settling into the garden chair once more.

As he rattles off random facts and Easter eggs about the show, he can’t help but feel slightly self-conscious. Even as he hears himself, he wants to stop, but your soft smile and nodding in response has him continuing. Somehow, your attentive listening makes him feel compelled to keep going, his lisp occasionally slipping through, causing him to stumble further over his words.

As he finally catches his breath, you speak, “Oh, so is that Naruto?” You point down to his thigh.

If it weren’t you, he would likely have lectured the person asking, about the difference, but instead, he simply laughs and shakes his head. “No, that’s Itachi.”

“What can you tell me about him?” You ask.

Noah can't tell whether you’re genuinely interested in knowing more or not. However, before he can continue, Jolly intervenes, sweeping a hand across your shoulders while glancing down between you both.

“Don’t get him started on his anime shows; he’ll never stop talking about them.” The Swede chuckles, and you join in, as does Noah in a manner which feels forced because that comment makes him feel inferior and like Jolly's mocking his interests.

Noah knows that he’s not. Jolly never says anything with a malicious intent. Nevertheless, he can’t help but feel slighted by it, especially when Jolly invites you to come inside with him, and you bid them all a; “It was nice to meet you all.”

And it was, nice to meet you.

That was six months ago, and somehow, you’re still stuck in Noah’s system. He’s tried dating, hooking up with random girls, and even the occasional girl he knows, but nothing seems to extinguish the flame he holds for you or satisfy the gnawing need he feels for you.

His inability to perform in those moments also brought any attempt to move on from you to an abrupt halt.

And you accompanying the band on tour only intensified Noah’s longing for you.

Instead of being able to hide out in his room or leave the house, he was forced to spend the duration of the tour with you. If you weren’t in the sound booth, you were at the side of the stage, watching them perform. If you were staying at the hotel with them, you shared a room with Jolly, which always conveniently seemed to be next to Noah’s own.

This proximity to you drove him crazy, and it was his reasoning for sneaking into your room one day, just to get himself off over the smell of you still lingering on your sleep shorts—the same pair that he held onto for the rest of your time on tour before they conveniently reappeared in the laundry when you returned home.

Being back has only continued to worsen the situation, especially since you’ve been staying over more frequently than ever. Although Jolly hasn’t officially declared it, you’ve essentially moved in. You spend more nights over than you don’t, and when Jolly isn’t home, you spend your free time with Noah.

While Noah enjoys and savors these moments, it's still not enough, he still needs and craves more from you. He’s becoming desperate, seeking ways to spend time alone with you that are inconspicuous enough to capture your attention and possibly even your affection, without it becoming too evident what he’s seeking from you.

Tagged: @fadingangelwisp @deathblacksmoke @geminigirlfromfinland @fuck1ng-queen @xxkittenkissesxx @lacy1986 @ami--gami @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @blade-dressed-in-red @bloody-spades @halfalgorithmhafdeity @dominuslunae @tosoundlessdarkistare @xmads-omensx @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @lonelydragonlady @th4t-em0-k1d @amelia-acero

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian x reader #concretejunglefm fics #joakim jolly karlsson fanfiction #joakim karlsson x reader

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thegamingcatmom · 7 months ago

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BIRB MAMA LET´S GO 🐦‍⬛

(I can´t get over how adorable/goofy she looks here. How am I supposed to fear any of that?)

If Mother Miranda were to take an interest in you outside the whole vessel thing, it would include:

(Yall know the drill by now: Don´t like my dark and twisted stuff, don´t read my dark and twisted stuff. 🖤)

having to listen to her ranting and gossiping about her "children"

sometimes, it´s straight up just death threats

she´s scary when she gets like that

especially because she tends to breathe down your neck to calm herself (your scent is quite helpful)

having to listen to her feverish prayers when it comes to Eva

Eva is a big topic in general

helping her in her lab

which basically means cleaning up her mess (and she is rather messy, it has to be said)

we´re talking mountains of papers as well as mountains of bodies

ofc she´s gonna make sure to snuff out every last bit of life before she lets you near her failed experiments

she won´t take any risks when it comes to you

as for the papers-

...it´s a mess

and it´s very scary (and very unfair) when she gets all hissy and murderous over you trying to do your "job" and clean up her mess just because, out of the millions of papers, there´s one that she still needs

"How dare you throw that away?!"

"Well, how tf am I supposed to know?!"

...you think to yourself because there´s no way you´re gonna say that to her face (you quite like breathing, tyvm)

Eva

whenever she has one of her downright terrifying smash-things-against-the-wall "tantrums" (as you like to call them not to her face) she gets all purry and touchy-feely after

probs her way of apologizing (cause there ain´t no way she´s gonna use them words)

you hate that it´s working

despite being a mass murderer/mold monster smt who doesn´t require eating or using any stuff that humans usually would (like toilets), she does appreciate you cooking and cleaning for her

things she tasked you with ofc

she quite...enjoys the sight

(smt about that domestic view just...does things to her)

(you force-wearing an apron drives her wild)

Eva

preening

she does have feathers, after all

and those need lots of TLC 💋

makes you clean her mask too

or her hand chains

anything, really

in return, you may wear it

(honestly? totally worth it)

we won´t talk about the fact she´s doing it more for herself (just like pretty much everything else) because seeing you wearing what is hers just...yknow?

but also to demonstrate to you just how good it feels to be bad

"Hm... What do you think, little bird? Do you like it? I certainly do..."

Eva

forces you to attend meetings with her so she can show you off

and also because it almost always gives her a reason to rip into her "children" because that bunch just doesn´t know how to behave around you

especially the tall one who keeps throwing you looks that make it seem like she wants nothing more than for you to drop dead

you kinda share that sentiment

anywhere would be better than here

...she´s scary

something Miranda takes note of as well

one look is all that is needed to put the tall one in her place

in moments like this, you truly appreciate your roommate´s/abductor´s murderous side

when you´ve been especially good for a (long) while (no escape attempts, no talking back, no disobeying her whatsoever) she indulges your childish urges to see her transform into different animals

she will deny any and all accusations of smiling at that, down to her very last breath

(she could be persuaded though...)

Eva

one day, you´ll probs have to go from cleaning that mess to making it

which means actively helping MM with her experiments

cutting someone open etc.

there´s no way out of it, let´s be honest

it´s her livelihood, ofc she wants to share that with you

(isn´t she just precious?)

spying on the villagers for her

(she will find out when you´ve been lying, so don´t even think about it)

Eva

(This actually got way less dark and twisted than I anticipated. Gotta work on that, LMAO.)

Basically, my HC for Miranda includes her getting an absolute kick out of anything family/domestic life. She goes absolutely nuts when it comes to her daughter, so I imagine this would count for an s/o as well. She gets obsessed to the point of no return, and she´ll fight tooth and nail to keep them with her always.

I could go on, and on, and on, and on, and-

But, alas, it is rather late and, unlike some mold monster smt, I do need my sleep. ;3

I might do more posts like that cause I have thoughts. 😩🤌

CYA THERE! 🫶

#mother miranda #birb mama #miri the mad scientist #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #re8 #re village

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paperclip-skz · 11 months ago

Text

Late Night Snack

fem*Reader x Bang Chan

*WARNING*

contains: mention of nightmares (reader cannot sleep), slight mention of sleep depravation, oral (f receiving), lots of teasing, overstimulation, denied orgasm, praising, thigh riding, over clothes stimulation, and pet names, let me know if I missed anything.

WC: 3.5k

**************

You're startled awake in bed. Clinging your hand to your chest, Your mind is frantic. You can’t seem to keep your breathing under control until you rub gentle circles on your chest. You close your eyes trying to remember where you are.

I’m safe. I’m home. No one is chasing me. I’m safe. I’m home.

You repeat in your mind like a prayer. You start to calm down, slowly. Your body feels weighed with sleep, but your mind has been frightened awake, leaving you no choice but to stay awake. Nightmares like these have become routine.

You're startled awake in the middle of the night and too afraid to go back to sleep, so you just wait for your body's tiredness to drift back into a calm state.

You lay back against your pillows and let them swallow you in their embrace. You lay there begging your brain to drift peacefully, but there is no use. Your mind is awake therefore you are.

You get up from your bed and charge to the kitchen, thinking some cold water would help ease your mind.

It's dark, but you know your way around your friend's house pretty well. You go to the kitchen fridge where you grab a bottle of water.

“Can’t sleep?” a voice says.

You jump at the sudden intrusion, spilling some water on your T-shirt.

“Who-” You squint your eyes at the couch. A hidden hue of blue light radiated off of his face. He’s silently clicking away on his computer, working on some new project. “Jesus Chan you scared me”

Your friend had several roommates, there was Hyunjin (Your friend), Jisung, Chan, and Changbin. You stayed in Hyunjin’s room while he and his three other roommates were on a trip. You loved your best friend's flat, his room was filled to the brim with art and literature and you could stay in there forever. Needless to say, when you got kicked out of your apartment, because of some construction noise forbidding you from sleep, Hyunjin offered this little arrangement pretty quickly. Hyunjin had told you Chan might stop by the flat, but it wasn’t likely.

“I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry,” he says without looking in your direction.

“What are you doing here, Jinnie said you most likely wouldn’t come to the flat, let alone in the middle of the night” You walk over to the sink where a small towel rests.

“Well, he thought wrong” he's still glued to his computer.

The cold water seeps into the fabric of your T-shirt. You're wearing an oversized T-shirt and your panties, you don’t normally wear a whole lot to bed to begin with and didn’t have any reason now to change that fact. But now, you're silently regretting not putting on some shorts, feeling overly exposed with Chan in the room.

Chan lets out a ragged sigh and gently shuts his computer. He stands up walking effortlessly to you. He sits down on one of the stools behind the counter. You're still in front of the sink/other side of the counter, so he can't see anything past your T-shirt.

“Why are you up?” He asks, tilting his head at you, but not giving any sign of a smile.

“I could ask the same about you” you banter back. You and Chan haven’t had much interaction with each other or any sort of friendship. You just know him as your friend's roommate, nothing more. Now and then You’ll see him around the flat, you admit, he’s good-looking, almost too good-looking, but you’ve never really gotten to know him so your thoughts ended there.

“I’m working, can’t sleep because my brain won't shut off” he answers tapping his index finger on his forehead. You turn to look at the time the stove says on its clock, 2:30. Jesus it's late. “Your turn.”

You look back at him, he's still staring at you. “Um…” suddenly you feel embarrassed, he’s up because his brain won't calm down either, but why do your reasons sound childish compared to his? “Same as yours I guess, my brain won’t shut off” You turn your attention back to the water bottle you had placed down, tracing your fingers around its surface.

“You guess?”

“Yeah, I mean it's not work-related or anything… it’s just… it's um…” You're struggling to find the words to explain yourself. Why is this so hard to admit?

“Y/N what is it?” with nothing but concern written all over his face, you feel the wash of self-doubt leaves your body.

“I had a nightmare, and now I think my brain is too scared to go back to sleep” You answer honestly. Chan leans back in the stool, only studying you.

“What was it about?”

“That's the thing, I never remember.”

“This happens regularly?” he asks again, he knows he’s playing in dangerous territory and he knows these questions are far too personal, but he can’t help his curiosity about you.

“Yeah, almost every other night” You hang your head, the heat of embarrassment clawing at you.

“What do you try to do to stop it”

“I’ve tried a lot of things, music, medication, etc. But nothing works the same, usually I just wait till I tire myself out. Sometimes all I have to do is just lie in bed for a while, other nights I physically have to tire myself out by staying up later into the night” Why am I telling him all this? You're opening up to him more than you’ve ever opened up to Hyunjin. Hyunjin knows about your nightmares, but that's all he knows. You’ve never gone into any sort of detail about them or what you do to help them, and he knows better than to ask.

“Oh, I see” he breathes out. You look back up at him, trying to study what he's thinking, but it's almost impossible. He just stares off into the palms of his hands with a neutral expression.

The finger you’ve been tracing the indents of the water bottle with has become cold and almost numb, so you decide to take the water bottle in hand and slowly make your exit. “Don’t let your brain take control for too long. Try and get some sleep” You pat his shoulder before walking back to Hyunjin’s bedroom.

Until Chan’s hand wraps around your free hand preventing you from walking any further. “Are you going to sleep, or are you just going to lie in bed and stare at the ceiling.” His stare bores into you, he’s completely unreadable. His touch sends fireworks dancing across your skin.

“Um-”

“If you're not gonna sleep, at least stay out here with me” he pleads. He actually pleads, you’ve barely had a conversation with him and now he's pleading with you to stay up with him.

All thoughts leave your mind, his pouting lips and desperate eyes make your heart ache. “Okay” you agree, you don’t know exactly what you're agreeing to, but he's pulling your hand back to the kitchen counter. His grip remains holding your wrists, he doesn’t let go, not even when you're being pulled to be face to face with him. Instinctively you lean your body against his, resting one of your hands on his shoulder to steady you.

His grip isn’t tight, but it isn’t unforgettable, and he doesn’t move his fingers or glide his thumb across your knuckle, he simply squeezes your hand in reassurance. You can’t help but stare. Stare at his soft features or his parted lips.

Your thoughts become rapid, thinking about those lips and what they could do, all while the feeling of his grip isn’t lost. Your imagination peaks at the thought of his hands roaming your body, gently grasping at the base of your throat.

The thought sends your lip tugging between your teeth, “don’t” Chan says instinctively reaching out his thumb to break your lip free. Your plump lip springs free and Chan keeps his thumb resting on your chin. The intimate contact sends sparks through your body.

Chan keeps staring at your swollen lip, it's not bruised or indented, just red and plump. He stares at his like it's his last meal and he's a man deprived.

“If you're gonna kiss me, please do it already” He chuckles at your impatience. Chan’s hand reaches up to caress your hair, touching it lightly. Painfully slowly Chan inches closer to you, looking at you for any sign of retreat. Until his lips finally meet with yours in a slow tamed kiss. You notice his lips are so soft yet so skillful, as you snake your hand to cup his cheek in place. You crane your head to the side, deepening the kiss. He groans at the feeling of your tongue grazing his bottom lip, silently asking for permission.

You’ve completely forgotten that you’re half naked in front of him, but that thought is long gone, as his clothed thigh wedges and skims your bare ones. The pressure you didn’t know you needed makes your thighs clamp, trapping his leg under you. You sigh into his mouth while his kiss becomes desperate. You swing your arms around his shoulders, a subtle attempt to rub your clothed core on his thigh, and you quickly become fully aware of the dampness between your legs. Chan notices your not-so-subtle attempt and flexes his thigh, making you whimper at the stiffness.

Chan sucks every whimper, every moan, every sound you make when he kisses you, his tongue never misses a beat. His tongue swipes along your tongue, making your head spin and your walls clench around nothing.

As you ride his thigh, his hands begin to roam over your body. Chan travels one of his hands from guiding your hips along his leg to brushing along your stomach with his fingertips and finally slightly squeezing one of your breasts. His other hand stays on your hip leading its motions along his thigh.

Surly the stain from your panties has transferred onto his sweats. You're the first to break from the kiss, letting the stimulation take full control of your actions. Your head falls back and your eyes roll closed, the only thing Chan can do is stare. Stare at your body arching into him as you pleasure yourself on his thigh, staring at the way your hair falls perfectly along your back, staring at your breasts faintly bouncing.

His hands rest on your lower back holding you steady as you continue your assault on his leg, painting his pants with your juices. Your pace quickens, becoming sloppy, but rapid nonetheless.

The release builds in your lower belly. Your whimpers become louder as you chase your high, Chan hears them as music to his ears, a new song he wants on repeat.

“Come on baby, fly for me. Let it all go for me” Chan chants like a mantra. His hands on your back grip you like a vice, while his head rests lazily on your clothed breasts. He’s so close, so intimate, you can feel his heavy breath send goosebumps over your body.

“Chan” you cry out. You bring your head forward to meet Chan’s, his boner promptly tenting in his pants.

“That's it baby” The stimulation on your clit begins to rile your body up with an overpowering feeling, a wave that eagerly wants to crash.

Your body begins to shake and your legs begin to tremble. Chan’s hands become your only source of stability as your release washes over you.

Chan holds you close to his body, his head still resting between your clothed breasts. You bring your head down to rest on Chan’s shoulder and try to catch your breath.

You're still lying your body tiredly on Chan’s, while one of his hands caresses your back. An act so endearing a warmth spreads through your heart, a feeling that's so unfamiliar, but so welcomed.

Finally, you bring your head up and reach to cup Chan’s jaw, bringing his eyes to meet with yours. You linger into his chestnut eyes, and your lungs fill with a need to speak, but nothing comes out. A breath escapes your parted lips.

You decide the only thing you can do is kiss him, so you kiss him tenderly, letting your tongue swipe across his bottom lip tenderly and letting the kiss last. His hands find a perfect place on your hips.

You both break away from the kiss, regaining your breath. His hands alone make your body needy for more. He hasn’t even really touched you and he’s already made your body quiver. The image of his hands exploring your naked body, of his finger gliding in and out your wet fold, the thought, automatically, sends your lower lip between your teeth.

Chan chuckles slightly. He reaches one of his hands to pull your lip free once again, “what am I going to have to do for you to stop doing that?”

Your mind races with images of Chan on top of you, of his hands on every corner of your body, of his tongue everywhere. Chan sees the smirk spreading across your lips.

“Oh” the realization is evident in his tone “What should I do first”

*****

You find yourself in Chan’s bed. Your oversized sleeping t-shirt somewhere lazily on the floor, while your black lacy panties still hang around your hips.

Chan stands at the foot of the bed, staring at your slightly naked body. He leans his hands on the sides of your legs, looking down at your body, his eyes screaming with hunger. You force yourself to resist biting your lips, if anything Chan has made it clear he doesn’t like your little habit.

Chan licks his lips as his eyes rake down your body. “What am I going to do with you”

His words send chills straight to your needy core. With the tip of his pointer finger, Chan glazes across your skin, from the valley of your breasts to the string of your panties. Your body arches from Chan's touch, begging for more.

With a simple act, Chan lowers himself to place a soft kiss on your stomach just above your core. His fingers dance the line of your panties slowly bringing them down your leg. His teasing is so impossibly tender, so slow, so intimate.

Your hand comes up to stroke his dark locks. Chan breaks his lips away from your skin to look up at you with lidded eyes. He can see you trying to hold back from biting your lip, he smiles at the thought of you picking up on his silent request.

Your hand travels down to his cheek, gliding your thumb across his cheekbone. He leans into your touch and closes his eyes. “Chan” you whisper, you don’t know what you're asking of him, but you need something from him. You need him to touch you, to worship you, to do something about the wetness between your legs.

He chuckles. That small, adoring chuckle, warms more than just your heart. “Eager?” he whispers back.

The only thing you can do is nod your head. He places another soft kiss on your skin and brings himself to the edge of the bed. He grabs your ankles and gently drags you closer to the edge of the bed. He leans on his knees becoming face to face with your bare cunt.

You lean on your elbows watching Chan's lips come closer and closer to your eager core. Anticipation grows within you, anticipation that has you sighing when Chan kisses your inner thigh, mere inches away from your throbbing center.

He places another kiss on your other thigh, this time a little closer to where you need him most. “Do you like this?” His voice is husky and it sends an unfamiliar vibration through your body.

The whine that escapes your lips is foreign, but Chan basks in your reaction to his touch. Chan leans in closer to place a chaste kiss on your drumming clit. “What do you want?” another chaste kiss “all you have to do is tell me”.

Your breath hitches in your throat. His words making your body shiver in delight, chan breaks away from you to look you in your eyes. You can’t bring yourself to speak, for some reason his touch is so distracting it stops any whisper of a sound from escaping your lips.

“I-” you're interrupted by the feeling of his fingers tip-toeing over your folds, spreading your wetness all over. You suck in a breath when his fingertip teases your entrance.

Chan watches you with hungry eyes as you breathe a sigh and your body readies for a welcomed intrusion. “What do you want, baby girl?” His quiet demand makes your core throb.

“I want you” you know he wanted you to be more specific with your words, but what are words when you can be more accurate with your actions. You bring your hand back into his roots, slowly easing him downward closer to your bare sex.

He takes the hint with ease as he delicately kisses your clit, swiping his tongue along the rim. He takes his time licking your sensitive bud teasing you a little more before applying pressure to it with the tip of his tongue. It makes your body tense and your back arches. The familiar feeling of his finger enters your folds, but not all the way, just enough to tease your entrance and clench your walls around the fingertip of his finger.

Your body writhes on the bed. “Stay still doll” he breathes against your core. You can’t help it, your body flutters at his words. “If you keep moving like that I’m going to have to pin you to the bed”

His threat makes your mind go wild with desire, “is that a threat or a promise?” you challenge.

With a new determination in his eyes, he wraps his hands around the underneath of your thighs. His steel grip claws at your skin, pinning you in place. You let your back fall onto the bed.

“You might want to hold onto something babygirl”

You chuckle at his cockiness, “you can’t ser-” you words are caught in your throat the second Chan dives into you. Sucking, licking, teasing your clit with enough force to turn your whimpers into screams.

His grip on your hips keeps you trapped in place. You fist at the sheets, pulling as hard as you can while Chan devours you. His assault on your sex fills the room with sloppy dirty noises, you would normally be embarrassed about.

That wave of release builds quickly and it crashes even quicker. It's not long until your body is shaking, your legs are trembling, and your eyes are rolling to the back of your head in pure bliss.

Chan lets you ride out your orgasam and your hand reaches down to caress his hair once again. You expect him to pull away, but when you continue to feel his tongue swiping along your folds, collecting your remaining juices, the overstimulation sends you screaming again.

“Chris” you scream.

Suddenly he stops, lifting his head, “say it again” you whimper at the loss of his tongue. Even though the overstimulation was almost too much, your second wave was about to crash so easily.

“Wha-”

“Say. it. Again.” he emphasizes each word like it's his last.

“Chris' ' it comes out as a mixture of a moan and a whisper, but it's enough to send a growl to vibrate through his chest.

He dives back into you, chasing back that second wave of release. It comes quickly and unexpectedly. You scream his name when the wash of relief shakes through your body.

Chan removes himself from your dripping cunt and licks his lips. He makes a show of it, showing you how he savors every taste of you. Your body is limp, you can barely move. He leans up to give you a kiss, swiping his tongue along yours so that you can taste yourself.

You can feel his hard length pressing against your thigh. Your hands rake up and down his back, bringing him closer to your naked form.

“Someone is entirely overdressed” you tease.

“He chuckles along the corner of your lips, when he pulls away you find yourself shivering from the loss of warmth. You lean against the bed on your elbows.

You stare as Chan makes a show of taking off his shirt. His muscles flex and you admire his toned torso. Next are his pants. He’s so slow when undoing the buttons that cage his prominent boner tenting his pants. Once his pants are fully removed, he quickly swipes down his boxers down his legs, letting his length spring free.

Without wasting another second Chan pounces on you. Caging you within his arms and forcing your legs apart with his thigh. “I could ruin you” He whispers in your ear. His hot breath makes your body arch into his, silently begging him to be closer.

“Do it” you challenge

********************

: i tried something different, please let me know what you think! Everything and anything is greatly appreciated! :

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