#sex/life s2

[mixbrasilcombr]

Segunda temporada de Sex/Life exibe nu frontal de Jonathan Sadowski

A segunda temporada de “Sex/Life” estreou no dia 2 de março e exibiu o nu frontal do ator Jonathan Sadowski, o intérprete de Devon no sexto episódio a partir do minuto 17. Na história, após se separar da mulher, Cooper (Mike Vogel), amigo de Devon, decide aproveitar a vida. Em uma das saídas, os amigos acabam indo a uma festa regada a drogas e álcool. Acompanhado de duas garotas de programa,…

[blueiight]

when you are on a network that puts you on a timeslot that does not allow for explicit sex scenes , how do you emphasize the thread of sexuality being a relevant factor in the protagonist’s journey? divorce-by-incomplete-blade his marriage, before louis met armand, he was in cruising parks when he wasnt with claudia or trying to be a photographer. that is my one critique of this season i didnt see articulated - in that we did not have enough time to see the times in paris louis lived. we hear him speak of familiarity to gordon parks’s methodology [implying that he knows the man or knows of him very well at the very least] and tell claudia in earnest excitement at the dinner table abt the parisian multiracial avant garde. anyways... the cruising park is where armand decides to confront louis directly for the first time after following him & claudia for five months. the physical evidence of photographs cannot be altered so readily, but the story of them remains to be told by the photographer, louis. and what does he tell us?

“pictures are outward evidence, they do not lie, but neither do they tell you a thorough story.”

[sarucane]

Ed Teach's Stories

From practically the moment we meet him, Ed's identity is unstable. We know who is he (Blackbeard) from context, from the story told by the the room around him, by Izzy and the flag his crew. But the thing is, Ed doesn't fit the story of the Mad Devil Blackbeard. Two of his first few words are "good" and "love" for crying out loud. He's called "Blackbeard," but his beard is grey.

This instability exists because Ed himself isn't sure what story he's telling--or wants to tell. "I shouldn't be bored, I'm fucking Blackbeard!" All through his early episodes Ed is in increasingly desperate tension with his own identity. He's trying to tell stories within stories, wanting all the stories to be true at the same time, yet aware of the reality that the world is constantly trying to wipe one or another of the stories away. And not really trusting that he can tell the whole story of who he is.

In the first season of OFMD, Stede wears a different outfit every episode. Yet Stede remains the same: despite his internal tensions (almost despite himself) there's a stability to his identity. But all through both seasons of OFMD, Ed putting on a new outfit means he's trying to tell a completely different story about himself.

And underneath this cacophony, there's Ed. And Ed is himself a chorus of stories, a living contradiction. A patricidal murderer who was protecting his mother; a paragon of masculinity who longs for softness and fluidity; a man renowned for violence and madness who has in fact carefully cultivated that reputation and is extremely careful with his violence; a killer who doesn't kill, yet who does kill all the time just at a bit of a remove; a half a dozen names and personas and yet always Ed; unloveable, yet deeply loved.

At the beginning of the show, Ed isn't actually good at telling his own story. He's good at listening to other people's stories, and conforming himself to them often without conscious effort. But when he tries to really tell his own story--asking Stede to run off to China, singing his break-up song song, going to become a fisherman--he fails. We don't understand in the first season why his judgement clouds, why he becomes weak when he tries to tell his story. But in the second season after spending half an episode in Ed's mind, a painful truth is undeniable: Ed, like Stede, doesn't think he's worthy of telling his own story.

So instead of telling his own story, Ed let other people tell his story. In the first season, Ed built off what Izzy told him he had to be. But he couldn't lose himself in Blackbeard, no matter how hard he tried. So in the second season, when Ed couldn't face living with his contradictions anymore, he wrote an ending worthy of Blackbeard.

All this, because Ed thinks he can only be "himself" by telling one, single story about himself. By denying his contradictions, rather than embracing them. Splitting himself in two to tell himself a story, rather than telling the story himself.

What Ed doesn't believe or trust is this: For Ed to really be himself, he has to be impossible. Two contradictory things, at the same time.

The second season of OFMD is about learning to embrace all these contradictions. In each episode of OFMD, character look at the same object or situation (a wanted poster, a unicorn, a velvety suit, a relationship, a past trauma) and they tell two completely different stories about it. Sometimes one of those stories turns out to be wrong, but more often than not both are true, and something else--something beautiful-- is born from the place where those contradictions meet. And the characters, Ed most of all, learn to accept and balance this dissonance.

Thematically speaking, I'd argue that's why the second season of OFMD is more fantastical than the first: fantasies are contradictions, real and not-real at the same time. And isn't that what transformation is, in the end? What you are and what you are not, meeting and becoming "you"?

Transformation isn't all good. At first, Ed's fantastic stories hide his pain or invoke despair

But later, the fantasies make their way into reality. The impossible begins to shape reality--and opens a way for hope.

In the last episode of S2, Ed emerges from the waves as the kraken--but there's 3 musical tracks playing, three themes: the kraken, Ed, and Blackbeard. Then he reads a love letter, and has a deeply romantic moment with his boyfriend. He puts on a new outfit to escape the British, yet his personality doesn't change at all. When Izzy first apologizes to him, Ed says "I'm the one who should be apologizing," but then Izzy changes his entire understanding of their relationship. Becomes the first family figure to offer Ed permission to be himself.

Contradictions galore, and yet Ed is still Ed. Both who he was formed into by other people (his father, Izzy, Pop Pop) and yet who he is.

In the final scenes, Ed begins to finally accept the tensions of his life. He tells Zheng that yes, he wants to kill Richie--but he doesn't go on a revenge quest. And while before his forays into being someone else meant changing his name, his clothes and mannerisms, his whole story, he doesn't act like that at all in the last scene of the ep.

And Ed's been able to do all this, to come this far, because of Stede. Stede, who Ed was drawn to because he was a "fancy man who leads a brigade of imbeciles," yet had won a fight with Izzy. Stede, who looked at Ed at his lowest moment, after Ed had admitted that the entire basis of their friendship had been in bad faith, and said, "I'm your friend." Stede who, even knowing Ed wouldn't want to hear from him, poured his heart into letters about how their bond was unbreakable.

Stede is everything he is, all at the same time. And when Ed was drowning in his own contradictions, (a rope tied around him that he could not undo and yet had put on himself) trapped somewhere "inevitable, yet impossible," Stede appeared as a fantastic, beautiful creature and brought him home.

Stede lets Ed be everything he is, and sees it all as true and worthy of love. Even when Ed fucks up, it's all right.

And sometimes, telling two different stories about something doesn't lead to a fragmented self, doesn't drive people apart.

Sometimes, it means understanding. Means acceptance, safety, connection.

From discordance (contradiction), harmony. A gentleman can be a pirate. A man can be a bird, or a unicorn. Izzy can have been one of the good ones and a fucking nightmare. And Ed can tell all his stories, they can all be true--and he can still be Ed.

[lemonhemlock]

that gwayne/alicent scene is the one crumb of true affection that the greens have expressed all season to each other 😭

[insteading]

Years ago one of my housemates, after he nearly levitated suddenly seeing my reflection behind him in the microwave-- for the second time that day, I'd walked into the kitchen undetected-- said "Jesus! We've got to put a bell on you."

Which I've been thinking about a lot over the last couple of weeks, seeing Frenchie levitate when Ed suddenly materializes near him in s2e2, and seeing Ed actually wearing a bell in s2e5 as a condition of being on the Revenge.

(Image courtesy of ratcoffin69, as my ability to screenshot HBO Max seems to have vanished.)

Being a very quiet walker is an advantage if you're a cat stalking a bird. But it's also an advantage if you're a child trying to be invisible and inaudible to a volatile parent. I don't remember learning to walk quietly, but I do remember thinking my sibling who was cheerfully loud would probably suffer less by getting better at melting into and out of rooms.

I imagine there are adults who are quiet walkers because one of their parents took them on a nature hike and taught them if they were very quiet they might see a cool animal-- not necessarily to catch it, just to enjoy seeing a creature living its creaturely life.

Ed "I hate nature" Teach is much less quiet walking through tall grass and didn't learn to walk quietly in order to watch a deer going through its early morning routine (though his bunny-interaction skills seem promising?).

Per a current housemate's request, I try to remember to say "I'm walking behind you" when someone I live with might not hear me, at least in the kitchen where stoves are hot and there's a higher number of breakable and pointy things. Which I guess is kind of like wearing a bell. Just: it's hard to learn a new habit, especially when you had very good reasons for learning the old one.

[vegaseatsass]

Pick your fave of my faves!

Challenge: make a poll with five of your all time favourite characters, and then tag five people to do the same. See which character is everyone’s favourite. (ty @ameliarating!) I was so excited to do this meme but I have so many favorite characters from so many different types of media so... because the BL bracket's "most unhinged" polls lit up my brain let's just do 5 favorite balls to the wall characters. (Absolutely do vote for your favorites, though, not who you think the most OTT is or anything. Trying to give Mishil and Ming a fighting chance)

No Vegas because I wish to sidestep the KPTS bias in polls, but I absolutely long to see him and Xie'er swap tactics and become atticwifing-their-dad besties. Tagging @turtlesocksv2 @toomoonfic @lugarn @returning-spring and @timetoboldlygo!

[whim-pr0ne]

W A I T

A

D A M N

MINUTE

[thesundanceghost]

man okay like vida really was such a good show

[c0rpsedemon]

"romeo how could you like both alois AND hannah at the same time" well you see. alois's abuse of her is completely out of character and is only there bc one of the writers' barely concealed fetishes is her getting hurt so i've decided to pretend like it didn't happen

[yiangchen]

.

[procrastiel]

My observations from the Good Omens fandom:

Fanart and fics that are from the time before the TV series (1990 - 2019): Az & Co love each other deeply and there are no labels. Their love is very chaste and they usually kiss only. Ace vibes.

Fanart and fics after GO S1 (2019 - 2023): Aziraphale is a babe, a softie, and Crowley is the strong protector. The only fanart where Crowley is the one holding Aziraphale in his arms is from this time period. Fics are often explicit, but it’s very balanced between top Crowley and Top Aziraphale. There is a lot of play with different genitalia, but the main focus is still the strong, intense, unbreakable bond between the two, which defies all human relationship labels.

Fanart and fics after GO S2 (Aug. 2023 - present): Crowley is the soft, whiny baby who needs protection. Most fanart depicts Aziraphale as the strong protector and Crowley as the fragile girlfriend behind him. Crowley is very often depicted with black nail polish & long hair, more feminine character traits, unless both characters are female. Most fics are explicit, and Aziraphale is dominating Crowley, Crowley is desperately looking for approval or being a total brat and making Aziraphale’s life a living hell after the final fifteen, pouting and being angry/resentful. The main focus in the fics in now the sex and sexual pleasure. Now there is also a lot more exploration of different AUs and incarnations e.g. Crowley is very often a snake, they are drawn as robots or mouse & rat, AUs for coffee shops, gardeners, priests etc.

I am not judging this trend in any way, but I personally prefer the depictions and interpretations during the S1 era, because they feel the most true to the source material of the TV show for me. I wonder if after S3 it will diverge even further or if it will circle back.

[swordgrace]

𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐘.

༺ aemond targaryen x fem!reader.

SYNOPSIS: in the aftermath of rook’s rest, you seek aemond out to inquire about his wellbeing. instead, you find him somewhere else — somewhere unexpected. (set after S2 EP4).

༺ FORMAT: one-shot — not requested.

༺ WORD COUNT: 5.2K.

༺ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni) , spoilers for s2 ep4, public sex / risk of getting caught, knifeplay, imbalance of power, rough sex, darkish!aemond, dom!aemond, p in v sex (unprotected), oral (f!receiving), fingering, brief tiddy sucking, groping, biting / marking, hair pulling, choking, fucking right in front of the iron throne, inaccurate high valyrian, brief dirty talk, lots of aemond’s inner thoughts, breeding kink if you squint, aemond is extremely possessive of the reader to an unhealthy degree.

༺ AUTHOR’S NOTE: to preface, I am working on requests, this just happened to make its way out of my brain before anything else did. This was inspired by the single shot of Aemond standing in front of the Iron Throne in the S2 EP5 trailer, you can tell how desperate I got as soon as I saw it. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! There will be a Jace fic dropping tomorrow, too! ❤️

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐄 — a seat of power constructed by Aegon the Conqueror in the aftermath of a bloodied war, forged from thousands of surrendered swords.

In the days of Aegon the Conqueror, it was said that the Throne was sometimes too high to climb, a jagged labyrinth of blades melded by dragon’s fire, a throne fit for any ruler. Men impaled themselves upon one another’s blades for it, turned against one another, endless betrayals and treacheries ensued all for the sake of the endgame, to see themselves upon the Throne.

Brother turned against brother — you didn’t expect anything less from Aemond, whose desire to exact revenge boiled just beneath the surface. The Battle at Rook’s Rest had proved a slaughter on all fronts, between the decimation of both Cole’s armies and the castle they laid siege upon, to the death of the Princess Rhaenys and her dragon, Melys.

Whispers spread through the Red Keep in regards to King Aegon’s condition, bones crushed beneath the weight of Sunfyre, who plummeted from the skies in a ball of fire. His flesh was scorched, half of his body melded to the Valyrian Steel armor he wore, burnt beyond recognition.

If they were to be believed, King Aegon was gravely wounded — and if a fatality ensued, who would then bear the mantle of King?

A restless dusk gripped King’s Landing as the surviving soldiers from Cole’s armies arrived at the city gates, King Aegon amongst the wounded. In what you considered to be a mass panic and hysteria, Maesters rushed to diligently attend to their King, who seemed to be meeting a simmering grave inside of his armor — it would be his tomb if they weren’t careful.

Merely a handmaiden and servant to nobility, the antics of your masters didn’t interest you — you were wholly preoccupied with your own survival and self-preservation, amongst other things. It was said that Aemond and Vhagar had swarmed the battlefield and come to King Aegon’s defense, but by the time they had, Aegon had been swallowed by dragonfire.

Part of you had difficulty believing that Aemond truly attempted to save his elder brother, given Aemond’s embittered sentiments. Your relationship with the Prince had transcended all bonds of propriety — and if anyone were to find out, they would likely have your head for sullying his virtue.

Nevertheless, as chaos swarmed around you, you knew exactly who to seek out. Queen Alicent had little desire to be hounded by handmaidens while her eldest son struggled to hang onto his own life, something you could understand. Instead, you made for Aemond’s chambers, the route embedded into your mind.

You sought him — all of him. His lilac hue, a maelstrom of forlorn emotions, and his silvery tresses, like cascading silk, embedded themselves into your mind. His cunning countenance and beguiled expression were like hot-iron brands cast onto your thoughts, tormenting you with each waking moment.

As you stepped closer to the Throne Room, no longer guarded by Kingsguard, you saw the great door ajar — no King atop the throne. You wondered if he would live, Aegon — a drunken, broken man who preferred his cups and whores over ruling — or if he would perish.

You knew who would sit the Iron Throne, should Aegon fall.

A heavy darkness had befallen the throne room, fitting for the many tragedies, like the gloom of a shadow haunting all who dared to enter. Curiosity gripped you as you stepped inside, a place well above your station, yet you wondered if there was anyone inside.

The doors remained shut, save for the one you slipped through, the gap slim. Flickering braziers provided some illumination to such a grandeur hall, but it seemed so dour and lifeless without the presence of the day, without subjects fluttering in and out. Instead, it provided an ominous sense of dread, as if luring those inside with dark omens and false promises.

A familiar crown of silvery tresses stood at the very center, before the throne — he didn’t need to turn around for you to know who it was. He seemed entirely unscathed by the battle at Rook’s Rest, hands carefully folded behind his back, posture poised and dignified.

Aegon’s dagger flashed within his right hand, clutched tightly at his side. You wondered how he had acquired the blade so swiftly after a tragedy — but you knew. You had always known of Aemond’s nature, of his restrained resentment towards his brother, the King of the Seven Kingdoms.

“Aemond.” Your voice reverberated throughout the throne room, carrying a fair distance as you closed the door behind you. The studded mahogany groaned in protest, yet bent to your will as it closed with a noisy thud. Admittedly, you were surprised to see him here, and not in the comfort of his chambers.

He didn’t move, rigid and still as you quietly approached, dresses sweeping across the smooth stone beneath you. His violet hues remained transfixed upon the Iron Throne, a throne that would soon be his, if fate favored him. So many swords, so much strife and conflict that forged such a chair — so much bloodshed.

Aemond often wondered what the weight of the crown would feel like upon his brow — and even then, he knew he would wear it better than Aegon ever could. He had stood by the wayside for far too long, learned in his studies and a talented swordsman, wondering if it would all have some reward, some payoff.

Now, his opportunity was swiftly approaching.

Whatever anger he’d often kept leashed, it had struck out, like the bite of a poisonous viper, sinking into its prey with all its bitter viciousness. It was the same tempestuous rage that had lashed at Lucerys Velaryon, and now it had struck his brother, Aegon the Magnanimous.

A stupid sobriquet for a stupid man — a drunken fool. Aemond would simply pass it off as an unfortunate accident, with Aegon carelessly stepping into the line of fire whilst tangling with the Queen Who Never Was. Swift decisions had to be made on his part, his brother a victim of such action.

Any silver-tongued words that would placate his Mother, he was prepared to let them fly. Aemond knew enough to know that the consequences would be slim, and those of true action and cruel intentions would take Aegon’s place — men like himself.

Soft footfalls fell across black stone, and you called his name again, like a siren’s song luring the sailor into deeper waters. “Aemond.” It was saccharine, dripping with genuine warmth that the Prince was simply unaccustomed to.

The unexpected lull of your voice broke his fixation, and he looked to you with a gaze full of desire. It was a farcry from the frustrated, despondent man you’d encountered days prior following the incident at the brothel. There was a newfound fire within his eyes, a confidence restored — a sense of triumph.

Admittedly, you were rather perplexed by this invigorated side to Aemond — that wild gleam within his lilac eye only seemed to grow in intensity as you approached him. “I heard the news of what happened to your brother,” You began, pondering his reaction. “You have my deepest sympathies.”

The admiration he had for you only seemed to blossom, knowing that you were simply keeping up appearances for his sake. Aemond’s mouth tilted into the ghost of a smirk, feigning melancholy despite the truth of his own actions. “It was a horrible thing, what happened to the King,” He uttered, glancing toward the throne. “I wish for his swift recovery.”

A facade was a mere understatement — you could almost taste the smug bemusement that rested within Aemond’s tone. The slight quirk of his mouth, the manner in which he spoke — his sympathies for Aegon were nonexistent.

“As any good brother would.” You replied, stepping closer until you stood before the Iron Throne, gaze falling upon the thousands of swords swarming the seat, blades of many shapes and sizes. You wondered about the people behind each sword — who swung it, what their lives must’ve been like.

A brief hum escaped Aemond, who observed you hawkishly as you approached, violet hue greedily drinking you in as he had many times before. You had stood so faithfully by his side, never admonished him for the brash actions taken against his family, never deemed him pathetic for what happened at the brothel.

He cared little for your station, little for your status as a lowborn — if he sat the Iron Throne, he could have whatever he wanted. It didn’t matter if you were a commoner, Aemond could envision you as his wife, a Queen — no longer bowing to the whims of greater men and women who cared little for you.

“Did my Mother dismiss you this evening?” Aemond questioned, digits tense around the pommel of Aegon’s knife — now his. Seeing as he was no longer fit to carry the weapon, it was only just that it pass to his brother, his next of kin.

“She did,” A gentle exhale escaped you, one that allowed you to maintain your composure. Being in Aemond’s presence seemed to make you dizzy with desire with each passing moment — not a new sentiment, but an intoxicating one. “I was coming to find you, to see if you were well after the battle.”

Shamelessly, Aemond became quite aroused at the thought of you wandering about the Red Keep with the single-minded desire to see him. His blood ran hot after the battle — the surge of adrenaline did not lessen in your presence.

His jaw tensed slightly as he appraised you, taking a step closer, brazenly closing the distance between you both. He could smell your perfume, the warm bouquet of flowers and a touch of honey. “How thoughtful.” His voice dropped to a low purr, dripping with the first inklings of lust.

Your breath hitched, words turning to ash upon your tongue as your fingers curled into your dress. Aemond enticed you in ways that no man had before — and he saw you, a woman beneath the gowns of a servant. The hammering of your heart within your chest had stirred something powerful — your want for him consumed you like a tidal wave.

Before you could utter his name, he descended like a starving wolf to kiss you, open-mouthed and bleeding lust. You shivered, wanting to coax him into returning to his chambers before things became heated. His hand dropped to seize your hip, hauling you closer to him until no space was left between your bodies.

You reciprocated his kiss, able to hear a faint growl of approval building up within his throat. It was fiery and hot, with little concern of who might see you. Aemond was growing emboldened, brazen knowing the power he now held within his grasp.

“We should return to your quarters,” You whispered, a strained whimper tearing past your lips as Aemond kissed your jaw, sucking at the flesh of your neck. “Aemond, we can’t — not here.” Your breathy pleas fell upon deaf ears — what better place to claim you than before his new throne?

“We can,” Aemond murmured, pushing your tresses aside as he claimed your throat, laying waste to your flesh in his rabid kisses and hungry bites. “The rest of the Keep is preoccupied.” His reassurance was threadbare at best, but you were beginning to slip off of the deep end, fingers clawing at his tunic.

“What if someone sees?” Fear trickled into your voice, a subtle fright that Aemond found to be enticing. You worried for your own skin — he could understand that. A moan escaped you as Aemond nipped at your jugular, squeezing at your hips.

You failed to comprehend that he would protect you, shield you if needed. He did not need to justify his obsession for you, just as Aegon never offered any justification for his nightly whore hunts. Aemond seemed quick to soothe your worry, hand clasping at the nape of your neck.

“Then I will have their head,” His delectable purr dropped an octave, scratching the itch within your head. “You needn’t worry, ñuha dōna. I can do whatever I wish.” Aemond assured you, a great fire burning within his lilac hue. The leather of his eyepatch concealed the listless sapphire beneath.

He only needed to serve himself — his family cared little for him, and the world was often against him. He looked forward to facing Daemon whenever the time came, should he be bold enough to challenge him. Aemond dismissed it all — Aegon, his mother, Criston Cole — the only thing that mattered were the both of you.

Aemond’s streak of possessiveness had grown into something uncontrollable, a festering desire to keep you close, spiraling into obsession. You were many things to him, many things he coveted for himself.

After a moment of hesitation, you decided to make things tempting for Aemond, loosening the bodice of your dress. His breath hitched, the noise subtle if one wasn’t observant enough. He seized the back of your head once more, hungrily pressing his lips to yours, consuming you in another heated kiss.

A dour portrait of dusk hovers around the Red Keep, its shadowy tendrils slinking into the throne room. Only moonlight and dying braziers are your guide, and Aemond is at his prettiest whenever he’s touched by the silvery rays. It strikes his narrow visage, paints his silky tresses in pale light.

He is closer to a god now than he is a man — fortunately, you were willing to return to religion if it meant that Aemond was who you worshiped. As much as you liked to believe it was the foundation of your relationship, he thought of it alternatively, the roles reversed.

Your digits slip beneath the overcoat he wore, marred by speckled dirt and brimstone. His broad, sinewy shoulders are concealed by his tunic, and he seems vastly overdressed compared to you, still wearing your servant’s clothes. Aemond had gotten you a dress to wear with him before — you never wore it otherwise.

There is a certain intensity in the way he kisses you, as if each embrace might be your last. In the aftermath of a battle, you understand such sentiments, given the fate of the King and the Princess Rhaenys.

A growl reverberates within the depths of his throat as he pries his mouth away from you, gesturing toward the flight of obsidian steps that ascend toward the Iron Throne. “There,” He uttered, more of a command than a suggestion. “Lay down.”

A shudder rolls down the length of your spine, followed by an onslaught of goosebumps that snake across your flesh like a fever. Your stomach churned with anticipation, filling with the sensation of sloshing heat, burning brighter as each moment passed.

Without question, you step toward the throne, noticing the sharpness of some blades, the dullness of others. You find your footing upon the last step, feeling Aemond stalk closer. The rustling of his belt makes you shiver, only to find the steely chill of the Conqueror’s knife pressed against the dip between your shoulder and neck.

Aemond closes in behind you, caging you against his chest, like a predator swarming hapless prey. His narrow nose brushed along your soft tresses as he dragged the tip of the knife from your shoulder to ribcage. “Shall I cut this from you?” He uttered, digging the Valyrian steel into the fabric of your dress.

Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, you brace yourself for the bite of the knife, for the unruly tear of fabric, but it never comes. Instead, Aemond’s mouth pressed vigorous kisses against your neck, hand seizing you by the throat.

“Ao sytilībagon naejot nyke.” Aemond purred, feeling you turn within his grasp. Desire oozed between you both, an onslaught of carnality soon to follow. His lilac hue flickered over your countenance, drinking in your beauty with unrestrained rapture. You belong to me.

From what little High Valyrian you’d learned in the time you’ve been with Aemond, you strung enough of the sentence together to know what he meant. “Iksan aōhon.” A soft whimper emerged from between your parted lips, noticing the way his pupil dilated with amorous intent.

I am yours.

A flame of obsession roared within his gaze, enough to burn you alive where you stood. Aemond reveled in your submission to him, drank in your devotion — a devotion that would prove fruitful, should he ascend the throne. The tip of the knife prodded into your sternum, and you absentmindedly leaned forward.

Aemond captured your mouth once more, laying claim to you — his paramour. There was nothing sweeter than your desperate mewls and reciprocated passion, the succor of your mouth, the saccharine scent of your perfume.

The both of you descended to the floor, icy and stony as it prodded into your back. He knelt between your legs, gaze momentarily flickering between the shadow of the Iron Throne and your mesmerized visage. Aemond kissed you again, nipping at your lower lip before rucking up your skirts, pushing them toward your hips.

With one knee, he bullied his way in between your thighs, breaths heavier, wrought with anticipation as he lowered his mouth to your collarbone. In one smooth tug, he loosened your bodice, wrestling with the coarse material as he buried his face into your silky skin.

The throes of passion filled the air — short gasps and labored pants accompanied by the constant shuffling of fabric. “Aemond,” You moaned, watching as he bit the leather of his glove, removing the garment in one jerk of his head. Flesh to flesh, he moved to drag his digits along your weeping slit. “Aemond.” Urgency crept into your voice, strung-out by need.

“Hm,” His cajoling hum sent shivers down your spine, heat sloshing around within your stomach. Arousal pooled between your thighs, nectar sticky and gathering swiftly. “What a delicious gift you’ve given me.” Aemond uttered, slender digits continuing to stroke at your cunt, his pace agonizingly slow.

Lifting his fingers to his lips, he let them rest upon his tongue, gathering your juices to taste. A satisfied grunt of approval escaped him, one that made you meld into the floor. It was an uncomfortable surface, yet any thought of discomfort dissipated the moment Aemond’s lips pressed against the inside of your knee.

Instinctively, your hands flew toward his crown of silken tresses, digging in with an ironclad hold. Aemond released a low hiss of satisfaction, pressing hot kisses along the inside of your thigh. He dipped lower, breath fanning across your cunt.

His tongue raked hot embers across your aching core, delivering a series of deliberate strokes that were sure to make you squirm. Aemond preferred to savor you, consuming every drop of your nectar as if it were the finest of wines.

“Aemond!” Your voice rose above the cacophony of lewd noises ensuing below, noisy enough to reverberate throughout the throne room. It worried you, the potential of someone finding you with the Prince-Regent between your legs, but pleasure began to outweigh logic.

His name felt sweet from your mouth — if Aemond had it his way, he would make you say it a thousand times over. The sharp bridge of his nose buried itself into your mound, cock twitching within the leather of his breeches.

Another breathy moan left you, stomach pooling with a rush of molten heat. It oozed between your legs as your arousal fell upon the Prince’s tongue, much to his delight. He did not waste a drop, mouth traveling wherever he pleased, lapping at every inch of your cunt.

The Iron Throne overshadowed the both of you, a jagged mess of swords surrounded by dusk. Slats of moonlight trickled in from the stained glass above, falling across his visage, violet hue sparkling with lust. His lips greedily kissed at your clit, causing your hips to lurch forward.

“Look at me.” A pointed demand spoken from an edged tongue, one that commanded your attention without wavering. With a strangled moan, you turned your head to him, furthering the fire within your belly. Your doe-eyed stare locked onto him, lips falling apart.

As your eyes flickered over his poised features, your hand tightened within his tresses, coaxing him closer toward the apex of your thighs. Aemond wasn’t sly at suppressing the delight he felt in that moment, greedily lapping at your cunt.

You watched, enthralled by the ministrations of his mouth, the flick of his tongue, the tantalizing efforts made to draw you back in. His features were carved like marble, by the steady hand of a sculptor — godly, in the best way possible.

Aemond hoped that your blissful cries would alert the guards — perhaps, all could bear witness to his carnal delights, know that you belonged to him and him alone. His lips crawled to a sluggish pace, made only to torment you as he peppered feather-light kisses against your clit. The lack of pressure nearly made you wretch, digits curling into a fist.

Every fiber of your being felt as if it had been set ablaze, washed within the fires of his affection. He knew your body well, as well as he knew his own, tongue dipping to have a taste of your core as it lightly jutted against your entrance. You whimpered, the noise pathetic and pitiful, yet overwhelmingly eager.

“Please,” You moaned, breathy and clawing for some shred of release, canting your hips forward. Aemond retreated, just enough to leave you writing upon the steps before a sly chuckle reverberated between your thighs. His torture of you was playful and intimate, intended to make you beg. “Please, Aemond!”

How could he deny you when you sounded so sweet?

With a soft hum, Aemond returned to devour your cunt, drink from the nectar that oozed between your legs. His hands situated themselves against your thighs, nails digging in enough to leave behind traces of angered crescent marks.

The heat between your legs intensified, arousal stinging your bones, body bent underneath Aemond’s will as he lapped at your core. His lips were accompanied by his spindly digits as two fingers prodded at your entrance, feeling the crescendo of your whimpers before sinking themselves into your tight cunt.

Squelching intermingled with that of brazen pants and your myriad of moans, a cacophony of lust that permeated the throne room. It felt sinful, to defile the steps of a seat of power, but that shame swiftly contorted into bliss — it felt good.

It felt good to be desired, for Aemond to feel not an ounce of regret or remorse for being with you or for the carnage his actions wrought. The darkness that festered within his eye only grew, once a flickering shade, now growing into something sprawling.

At last, his lips pursed around your clit, stimulating that sensitive clutch of nerves. Your back arched from the stone, thighs rattling like falling leaves as he brought about your ruin. His digits viciously pumped in and out of your cunt, preparing you for the act that was to follow.

His tongue lashed across his lower lip, not wasting a drop of what sweetness you provided him with. Aemond’s mouth hastily abandoned your cunt, yet the curling of his fingers seemed to make up for the loss of pleasure. You felt his wet lips purse around the pebbled peak of your breast, suckling like a greedy babe.

Aemond’s senses drowned in desire, cock throbbing within his trousers, desperate to be inside of you. It wouldn’t be much longer now as he bit and kissed your chest, letting the work manifest as love bites, evidence of his carnal want for you.

“I need you, Aemond. I need you inside of me.” The suddenness of your words left him reeling, a snarl stirring within his chest as his teeth gnashed into the soft flesh between your breasts. You longed to feel his cock lay waste to your cunt, for him to fuck away his anger, his frustration.

Hastily, his hand flew to the ties of his breeches, loosening the threads of leather. You grabbed the front of his tunic, enough to effectively grab his attention as you pulled him in for a hot kiss. Passion bled through, and you could taste yourself upon his tongue as it danced with yours.

The warmth of his cockhead prodded against your folds, already slick with your cum and his own. It was messy, an entanglement born of desire, of the will to possess one another — a claim eternal. Aemond’s hand snaked toward your hip, the other keeping himself afloat before he snapped forward.

His cock invaded your cunt without any sluggishness to it, the deliberation gone entirely. A wild shimmer glistened within his eye, a domineering edge that seemed to wrestle with itself. Aemond wanted to submit to you, but in the wake of Rook’s Rest, adrenaline and a desire for power simply wouldn’t allow it.

As he fucked you like a hound, as Aegon had colorfully put it, Aemond could see you seated beside him, a crown upon your brow, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. A commoner, crawled from dirt and from nothing, into his arms — into a seat of power that none would dare challenge.

Fantasy consumed him, making him mad with lust. He wanted to crawl beneath your flesh, reside there, hear your heart hammering within your breast. He seemed pleasantly surprised when you claimed his mouth, your tongue advancing past his parted lips.

With your skirts having fallen to the swell of your hips, you hitched one leg around him, hand clawing at his back, between his shoulders. “Aemond,” You moaned, overwhelmed by his barrage of erratic thrusts. His stamina was something to witness as he kept a rather vigorous pace. “My King.”

A low growl stirred within his throat, a stark warning not to continue with your current line of thought. Aemond bit at your lower lip, prompting you to moan into his mouth, but you surprised him again when you reciprocated. Things were intense, far more fiery than they ever had been before.

Battle made him hot — such a sensation wasn’t aided by your presence, intensified tenfold. With Aegon wasting away inside of his chambers, steel melting into his flesh, swarmed by flocks of Maesters, Aemond felt no remorse — none at all as he fucked you before the Iron Throne.

He felt no remorse when he ordered Vhagar to burn his brother, he felt no remorse when he brought you into his bed — and he would feel no remorse when he ascended the throne and made you his Queen.

His cock furiously battered away at your cunt, the lewdness of flesh and intermingled breaths being the only sounds that mattered. That lilac hue of his studied your countenance, the devotion and rapture that rest upon it, your complete and utter joy. Aemond had been blessed with the loveliest creature — you.

The stretch you felt as Aemond invaded your nethers was a pleasant one, your walls tight around his length as he continued to fuck you. Face to face, chest to chest — there was no room left for deception, nowhere left to turn to. With a groan, Aemond kissed you yet again.

“Kesan mazverdagon ao ñuha dāria.” I will make you my Queen; he growled into your ear, biting at the shell, the act enough to make you whimper. He filled your cunt with his cock, the only one that it would ever take. In the heat of the moment, he bit at your neck, hand gripping your thigh so hard that it was bound to leave bruises.

Darkness swallowed the hallowed halls — braziers flickering out completely, leaving only moonlight. Even through the silvery haze, Aemond’s face remained a picture of living perfection, his brow creased with concentration.

The fervor of his pace began to slow, cock throbbing with an onslaught of arousal, one that flooded his body with waves of bliss. He wasn’t neglectful of your needs, swiftly placing a hand between your bodies, thumb rubbing circles around your clit.

Heavy footfalls of guardsmen resonated from outside of the sealed doors, a nightly patrol, prompting you to shiver from worry, but Aemond did not stop — and he wouldn’t. His blazing eye bared down upon you, glistening with the sheen of lust, of obsession, a man starved of the love and devotion he so desperately chased.

Your lips felt swollen, a byproduct of Aemond’s biting, of the many shared kisses that had turned into hunger. You were ravenous for him in ways that you had little knowledge of, scraping the surface of what desire truly meant.

Silky, pale tresses fell through your digits as you threaded them within his hair, gripping it in fistfuls as you continued to kiss him until every wisp of air was stolen from your lungs. Aemond did not relent, continuing to adopt a rhythmic pace of fucking you, cock halfway out before he thrust forward again and again.

As the both of you approached the precipice, falling into a white-hot abyss, you could hear him murmuring something in High Valyrian, strings of sweet praises and compliments. His thumb continued to circle your clit even after you had your release, milking his cock with an onslaught of your nectar.

Aemond grunted, forehead nudging against yours as he snapped forward one final time, cock sheathed inside of you as he found a warm place to spill his seed. The recklessness of it was of little consequence to him — an herbal tea could remedy it, yet the thought of filling you with an heir became tantalizing.

Not yet — not now.

If his seed were to take, it would sow discord across his house, and there was enough of that already. Aemond huffed, gathering his composure as your whimpers dwindled into soft pants. His claws sank so deep into you, talons wrenched into your heart, your body, everything.

He placed a kiss upon your brow, a subtle gesture that reminded you of his lingering duality. Aemond pulled himself out of you with an onslaught of stickiness, a mess that would only be remedied by a long soak in the bath — something he would need you for.

Your chest felt tight, both from exhilaration and the intensity of it all. As you adjusted your skirts back into place, Aemond gently coaxed you to your feet, pressed close against you as he stared at the throne. “Perhaps, once I ascend, we will have to make use of the throne.” His salacious purr made you shudder.

“There is no law forbidding us from acting upon that now,” You challenged, and Aemond had to restrain himself from acting upon such a lascivious impulse. For as coy as you could be, you were just as lustful as he was at times, a quality that he greatly adored. “Your Grace.”

As much as the teasing title seemed to provoke him, Aemond grabbed your hips, lips twitching into his familiar smirk, a near-permanent expression. “Aemond,” He corrected, pressing a kiss against your jaw. “For now, I will need assistance with drawing a bath.”

The Throne’s harrowing shape cast its shadow as the both of you abandoned the dark halls and into the light of Aemond’s chambers.

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not attempt to steal or translate my works onto other platforms or claim it as your own.

[nadvs]

　 —⊹　♡　︵　∘　 pretty lies ⟢

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

summary you thought you could manage meaninglessly hooking up with your ex-boyfriend. you were sure that if you lied to yourself enough that you’re not still in love with him, you’d eventually believe it. it takes one bad night to see that you’re both still very much attached.

on loop “breakup tutorial” by laraw

content warnings toxic relationship, alcohol, smut

continuation of this blurb, inspired by this ask! started as a blurb but got very long! not necessary to read the previous works. takes place between s2-3. div credit.

You sit on your bed, the lump in your throat refusing to go away. You’ve been on the verge of crying since your friends left almost half an hour ago.

It was so embarrassing. You were hanging out downstairs, showing them something on your phone. That’s when Rafe texted you, the notification clear for everyone to see.

“Who’s Don’t Text?” one of your friends asked, confused by the contact name.

You locked your screen, meeting their cautious stares, sure they already knew.

Who else would you have saved as Don’t Text other than your toxic ex-boyfriend? It wouldn’t have been so damning if he hadn’t sent ok see you tonight.

So, you admitted it. That you’ve been hooking up with Rafe for the past few weeks, ever since the night of your friend’s birthday when you drunkenly texted him to ask for a ride home.

You knew what they were thinking. That you’re an idiot for inviting the man who you always cried over back into your life, the man who you repeatedly told your friends is an asshole, the man they watched tear your heart out when you tried to make your relationship healthier, just to be told by him that no, it wasn’t going to happen, he wasn’t going to try to get better for you.

While you thought it’d be a relief to have the secret off your chest, it wasn’t. The tension in the room was heavy, your friends piecing together that this is why you didn’t want them to sleep over on the one night you have the house to yourself. It’s because Rafe is coming over after they leave.

As you lean against your pillow, you read through your emotionless conversation with him, a noncommittal string of plans to hook up. Earlier this evening, you had texted my place later? He replied with time? You said around 1. He responded with ok see you tonight.

Your confession made your friends look at you with worry and contempt, asking “are you sure it’s a good idea?” when you told them it’s just sex and that he’s saved as Don’t Text because one day, you really are planning on not texting.

But they weren’t convinced. They said you’ll just undo your healing and wind up hurt all over again. And you’re angry because they’re right.

You brushed past the subject, saying that you’re unattached. It’s a lie.

Every time you see Rafe, you feel shameful relief. He’s a drug that gets better and harder to stop with every hit. Admittedly, you couldn’t wait for your friends to leave so you could sink into mindless pleasure with your ex.

He’s on his way now.

You scroll up to the top of the conversation with him. The oldest message is from when you asked him for a ride a few weeks ago. You had deleted everything, every piece of evidence of your relationship, when you first broke up so that you wouldn’t go back and reminisce.

But you still have a hidden folder in your phone. Of photos and videos and screenshots. And because you must love to torture yourself, you open it.

Photos of memories that you used to cherish and now wish you could forget flood your screen. You open your favorite photo of you and Rafe.

It’s a captured moment of you two on a couch at a house party, unknowingly being photographed as you laugh together, your head thrown back, Rafe gazing at you with a dimpled smile and unconstrained love.

Ironically, the friend who was telling you earlier tonight that he did nothing but make you cry is the one who took the photo.

You continue to scroll through the folder, stopping at a screenshot of a text he sent you. You remember reading it for the first time so clearly.

You’d been together a little over three months. You’d gone to the beach and settled on the sand by a hidden cove. Rafe brought a blanket and your favorite drink and you sat together and talked as the half-moon shone down over the water.

You had innocently asked if he had eaten yet and he opened up to you about how you’re the only person in his life who really cares about him. Nobody else worries if he ate or if he slept or if he’s been drinking too much. You hugged him and kissed him and stroked his hair, whispering promises of how amazing he was.

Your eyes travel over the text he’d sent you the morning after. I can’t believe you’re real.

Those sweet moments were dirtied when your relationship slowly descended into a twisted, toxic mess. Rafe became jealous and controlling and you became combative and unforgiving, both of you poisoning each other the longer you were together.

It’s day and night when you compare how your texts used to be to how they are now. Whether you were on good terms or arguing, at least when you were together, your messages had passion behind them. Now, every text is cold and clinical, making plans to fuck and nothing else.

Your phone buzzes. He’s here.

As you pace down the stairs towards the front door, you regret the way you dressed. After your friends left, you showered and slipped into your sexiest bra and panties and draped a silk robe over your shoulders.

It’s something you’d do when you were together, dressing up in something you know he’d love. But now, it feels silly, going the extra mile for a man who didn’t consider you worth fighting for.

Rafe waits for the door to open. It’s all he fucking does these days. Wait. Wait to get better, wait to be over you, wait to see you texted him and just ignore it instead of feeling his heart come together and break apart.

You keep the lights off, but when you swing open the door, he can see your figure in the muted dark. Your robe is barely held open by the knot over your waist. The sight of your cleavage sends hot electricity through him.

“Hey,” you say impassively, stepping away so he can come inside. You see that he cut his hair. It’s not hanging over his forehead anymore. He buzzed it and he looks so damn handsome that your heart skips a beat.

He grimaces when he notices your expression. This is why he’s been avoiding meeting your eyes lately. Because of that blank way you look at him, unaffected by his presence, only interested in sex, detached when you used to hold onto him like you’d die without him.

Rafe purses his lips, trying to act like seeing you doesn’t make his blood run hot, like one second of looking at you doesn’t make him hard. You’ve been broken up for nearly two months now, so he doesn’t understand why he has the impulse to compliment you on how pretty you dressed for him.

“How long are you alone?” he asks. He doesn’t want to deal with being seen by your parents. You’ve already told him how much your family and friends don’t approve of him. He can do without the reminder of how much he doesn’t fit in your life anymore.

“All night,” you say. “They’re not back until tomorrow.”

He follows you up the stairs, eyes trailing up your bare legs, already wanting to rip that robe off of you.

He hasn’t been in your bedroom in ages. He didn’t expect it to be so hard to be in here again when he owns the title of ex-boyfriend.

You pull him in immediately. You can’t deal with your thoughts anymore. You just want to drown in pleasure with someone who knows your body better than you know it yourself.

Rafe tastes like cinnamon with a hint of whisky, and you’re mad that he’s been drinking, but you think you forfeited the right to be mad at him for his choices when you ended things.

His tongue is warm against yours as you pull him down onto your bed. You sink into the mattress and he hovers over you. His hand roughly drags up your thigh, squeezing your ass, his cock already hard against you.

You hate how much you love the effect you have on him. Why does it make you so proud that you can get him so hard, that you can text him to come over and he does, savoring you like you’re forbidden fruit he’s been starving for?

Rafe’s kisses are ravenous, teeth nipping at your lips, kneading your ass, groaning against your mouth.

You spread your legs so that he’ll touch you and he knows what you want, because at this point, he reads your body like a book. He presses his fingers against your core, rubbing over your panties.

“Couldn’t wait for me, yeah?” he mumbles against your mouth.

Your brows pinch in sadness. Ever since you became exes with benefits, you play this game, dirty-talking taunts, fighting for power, as if one of you can win if you prove that the other needs this more.

But you don’t have it in you tonight. Not after the way your friends looked at you. Not after going through that stupid folder. Your heart weighs a thousand pounds.

“Just…” you breathe.

“Just what?”

He pulls your panties to the side, the warm pads of his fingers making direct contact, and you slightly buck your hips, a whine spilling from your mouth.

“Just what?” he demands, tracing up and down.

“Just make me feel good.”

It’s a plea much deeper than it sounds. You don’t just want the sexual gratification. You want to feel how you did before. Happy with him. Happy with who you are when he’s around.

Rafe’s lips press against your neck, taking on the challenge. He hasn’t gone down on you since the first time you fucked after your break-up, when you roughly pushed him down and sat on his face, using him, treating his body with so much anger.

He tells himself he hasn’t eaten you out since because it’s too loving of a gesture for two people who are just hate-fucking. But it’s not the truth. He doesn’t do it because he falls in love with you even more every time he tastes you.

He can’t bear to need you any more than he already does. You broke him in every sense of the word. You proved to him that he’s unloveable.

“Rafe, please,” you whisper, arching your back.

“What?” he rasps. “What do you want? Just fucking say it.”

You stay silent as he leaves open-mouthed kisses over your neck. He’s frustrated that you’re not answering.

“You want me to go down on you?” he says impatiently.

“Yes,” you whisper. He catches the shakiness in your tone. You don’t sound like who you’ve been since you started hooking up. You sound gentle and adoring like who you used to be with him. You sound like the woman you’re not anymore.

He ignores it, not giving in to ask what the hell is going on with you, not when he knows you’ll brush him off. He pushes your robe off your body, the silk slipping over your skin quickly, and shifts lower to put his head between your legs.

You moan when he kisses you over your panties. Your hands lace in his hair, but you don’t feel the locks you used to feel. Instead, you run your nails over the soft buzzcut, wondering when and why he cut his hair, knowing you won’t ask because you don’t make much conversation with him anymore.

He’s rough when he pulls your panties down, rushing to spread your lips apart and taste you as soon as he can. The heat of his open mouth against you makes you quiver in bliss.

Rafe’s head is swimming. You’re so soft and hot and wet against his mouth, sweet just like he remembered. He groans against you, starting to lap at every dip, your folds slick and delicate.

Your hand runs over his hair as you writhe beneath him, feeling his mouth working you, listening to the sounds of him licking and sucking.

He’s an addict relapsing and he wants to overdose, to replicate how this was when you lived in the promise of a relationship together, even though he knows it’ll kill him.

“Talk how you used to,” he murmurs.

“What?” you ask.

“Do it.” His voice is hoarse as he grips your thigh. He’s fucking mortified to be asking to be spoken to and praised the way he used to when he’d please you like this. But he needs it.

You look down to see Rafe’s head between your thighs, expecting clarity, but getting nothing else. He keeps his eyes off of you, licking you slowly.

“How I used to?” you whisper.

He shifts to run the tip of his tongue over your aching clit, pushing hot pleasure through you. You’ll do anything he wants if he makes you feel like this.

“I can,” you stammer breathily, willing yourself to fall into the old habit. He locks his lips around your clit and you shudder. “Shit. That’s good.”

“Yeah?” he pulls back to groan.

“So fucking good,” you say. “You know exactly what to do.”

Euphoria floods every one of Rafe’s senses and he lets himself believe, for just this moment, that you meant all the good things you said to him and none of the bad.

He sucks your most sensitive spot slowly, warm breaths pooling over you every time he pulls back.

“Just like that,” you whisper. “That’s perfect.”

Your words spur him on, his tongue flat against you, his lips and chin wet and sticky. He’s obsessed with the way you’re talking and breathing and moaning. He loves the sounds you make when you’re so deep in ecstasy that he’s giving you.

Your words are in your throat. You used to tell him you loved him whenever he did this to you, but you can’t and it’s a jarring realization that it’s not because you wouldn’t mean it, but really, because this is supposed to be indulgent and sinful, not loving and sweet.

“Whose?” he rasps. It’s what he used to always ask. Who your pussy belongs to. Whose you are.

You can’t say it.

“Whose?” he demands.

You give in.

“Yours,” you whisper. Saying it makes the tears that’ve been threatening to come out finally fall out of the corners of your eyes.

You’re his and you don’t want to be. Because being his means loving a broken man who doesn’t want to get himself together for you.

Your throat aches as you swallow down the pain, shuffling beneath him so he’ll take his mouth off of you. No matter how earth-shatteringly good it feels, you’ll cry if he keeps going.

You turn to perch up on your knees, looking back, but not meeting his gaze because you can’t handle him seeing you teary-eyed. Too many times in the past, you were vulnerable with him just to be called sensitive.

“Hard,” you say in a hush. You want him behind you, fucking you with force, giving you raw pleasure because you need the reminder that that’s all he’s capable of offering you.

Rafe’s pissed off that you cut it short, roughly tugging off his shirt and pulling down his jeans. He realizes you’re still in your bra and he unhooks it, because if he’s nothing but a fuck to you, he deserves to see all of you.

He holds himself at his base, on his knees, finding your entrance. The head of his cock sinks into you and you push back, needing him now.

Rafe smirks depravedly, revelling in the way you look with your ass up in the air for him, desperate for his cock. Good. Because he’s so fucking desperate for you that he still can only come to the thought of you.

His hands are on your hips and he shoves into you, making you gasp, granting your wish to give it to you hard.

He pulls back, then drives back inside over and over, your skin slapping against his, your ass recoiling with each thrust. Every plunge into you is fucking perfect. You’re squeezing him so tight.

Your breaths quicken, both panting as he fucks you from behind, filling you with a deep, hard pressure. It feels so damn good, your moans uncontrollable, but you can’t shut your mind up.

It’s all too much. Loving someone who accused you of not caring about him as much as he did about you was exhausting, but having to pretend you don’t love him at all is even worse.

You bury your face into your pillow, asking yourself the hell you’re doing, getting dressed up for him, letting him continue to take pieces of you every time you meet like this. For the first time, you can’t get lost in the pleasure. The pain is louder.

Rafe’s fingers dig into your hips as his body tightens with the promise of an orgasm. This is what makes it all worth it. When he’s balls deep in you, he doesn’t have the self-loathing thoughts that haunt him every minute he’s alone, he doesn’t have to pretend he’s somewhere else.

It feels so right to be inside you, even though you’re someone he’s supposed to hate. He’s empty, but with you is the only time he’s whole and he so deeply resents that he’s not enough for you, that all this has to be so goddamn complicated.

He sees stars when he comes, pumping deep inside you, grunting a broken string of fucks into your quiet bedroom air. It’s embarrassing to come this fast, but eating you out got him so worked up that he couldn’t control it.

He’s weak, hunching over, one arm holding himself up as stays inside you and skims his other hand over your hip and between your legs, rubbing your clit exactly how you need to come.

Your face is against the pillow, now wet with tears. You won’t be able to come. You can’t.

“Stop it,” you say, voice thick with sorrow.

You shift forward, feeling him slide out of you, collapsing to your side.

“Fuck,” you mumble in the pillow.

Rafe is at a loss. You were just moaning, pushing back against him, and now you’re angry at him, not wanting to let him give you an orgasm.

“What?” he murmurs, moving to lean over you, his hand resting on your sweat-sheened back. “Did it hurt?”

“Yes,” you say impulsively, because while it’s not physical pain, it is emotional agony. You can’t do this. Casual sex isn’t all that casual when the person you’re doing it with owns you in every possible way.

Rafe stiffens. You’re crying. He can hear it in your voice. When you sniffle, he feels like the lowest of the low, the biggest piece of shit in the world. He must have lost himself in the moment, going too rough.

“Are you okay?” he asks. His hand runs up and down the curve of your back, watching you with worried eyes, but like always, you won’t look at him.

“You can leave now.”

Rafe pulls his hand off of you. The bed shifts when he stands. You hear the shuffle of clothes. You look up to see his broad silhouette leave your bedroom, in just his boxers. You wipe away your tears.

In the dim glow of the lamp light, you watch him come back into your bedroom. He’s holding a towel, damp with warm water, and you’re weak, so you let him lie next to you in bed, gently turning you onto your back and wiping between your legs.

It’s something he’d do as a boyfriend, knowing his way around your home, cleaning you up. Not as an ex who’s using you for sex. Every hook-up you’ve had since you broke up ends with one of you abruptly leaving, no concern for aftercare or pillow talk.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, dabbing gently. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Any and every shred of anger and disappointment he holds for you is silenced. He’s disgusted in himself for hurting you. No matter what you are to him now, you were once the sun in a storm, the only person who didn’t make him feel like he was in the background of his own life.

He sounds devastated and you wriggle in your sheets to get a look at his face. His gaze darts to you for just a moment, but it’s enough for you to see that his eyes glossed over with tears.

You feel a prick on your heart. He’s crying over this? You would’ve thought he’d be fine with hurting you during sex. After all, he’s fine hurting you every other way.

“It wasn’t… it didn’t hurt,” you say softly. It’s the first time you care about not hurting his feelings since your catastrophic break-up.

“What? You said it did.”

You gently put your hand on his, stopping his movements, letting your tears fall now because there’s no point in hiding them anymore.

“I meant… what we’re doing hurts,” you admit, looking down at your hands atop the towel because you can’t bear to look into his eyes. “Hooking up like this. It’s fucking with my head.”

Rafe takes a moment to breathe, his chest rising and falling with tears that won’t stop.

His hand slides out from under yours and he sits up, wiping at his eyes. You toss the towel aside, sitting up, too, finding your robe and draping it over your body, even though he’s seen you naked so many times before.

You watch him in the dusk of your bedroom, the light soft over his handsome features, his lips parted as he stares down and tries to gain composure.

“You’re saying you want to stop?” he finally asks through hitched breaths.

You don’t know the answer. You don’t know if you want to stop having Rafe in your life, even in this twisted capacity.

You’re silent, sniffling as your cries refuse to cease. You can’t believe you’re here, both crying on your bed, both having crumbled so quickly.

“You have to answer me,” he says, blinking fast, his tone on the verge of a whine.

Your face is pinched in misery as you gaze at him. He looks up, his eyes bloodshot and glimmering.

“Do you want to stop?” you ask. It’s mostly a cop-out, a test to see if he feels anything more than lust for you.

“Don’t turn it on me,” he mumbles, shaking his head. “You told me to leave. And I’ll go and never come back if that’s what you want.”

Rafe’s eyes burn from the tears. He’s in pieces. He’s not going to be the one going out on a limb here, asking you to keep this arrangement with him. You have to decide.

“Do your friends know that you still see me?” you ask. What happened earlier tonight with your friends won’t leave your head.

“What?” Rafe squints in frustration.

“Do they?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. How the fuck did he get here? He was just living in a fantasy, finishing inside of you, releasing all his stress, and now, he’s facing the demons that he’s constantly trying to outrun.

“Yeah,” he says. “Why?”

“What do they say?”

“What are you getting at?” he huffs.

“Do they tell you to stop? Or that I’m bad for you?”

“You know we don’t talk like that,” Rafe tells you.

You chew on your lip, gently sweeping under your eyes with shaky fingers. You were the only one he didn’t keep at an emotional distance. The only one he opened up to who never told him to toughen up. It seems that hasn’t changed.

“My friends found out tonight,” you admit. He’s immediately on edge. It was an ongoing theme in your relationship that they never liked him.

“And what, they don’t approve?” Rafe mutters. “So, you’re ending this because you live by their rules?”

You pull your legs forward, curling into a ball with your forehead on your knees.

“Please stop,” you whisper defeatedly. “It’s not like that.”

He stares at you, a hole in his chest as your shoulders skitter with your cries. He always hated seeing you cry.

It’s overwhelming dealing with his own tears, so it’s a million times worse seeing yours. His reflex is to tell you to stop. But when you were his girlfriend, you’d told him, screamed at him really, that it was cruel of him to tell you to quit being sensitive when your body was just letting out pain.

And he’s been ruminating over everything you ever said to him, trying to figure out if there was an exact moment you fell out of love with him. He doesn’t want to be called cruel again.

“What’d they say?” he asks.

You’re surprised to hear the gentle tone of his voice. It’s relieving to not be fighting with him for once.

“That I’ll just end up hurt again,” you confess, your words muffled. “And I am. Already. I don’t remember what it’s like to not hurt.”

Rafe aches, taken aback. You’ve been cold and apathetic every time he’s seen you since the night you drunkenly hooked up in his car as exes. He never knew you were hurting, that he still has the power to do that to you.

“Me, neither,” he admits, his voice brittle. You lift your head to look up at him, needing to see his face to believe it.

“What else?” you ask.

“What else?” he echoes.

“What else do you feel?”

He swallows. It’s odd, not having the urge to hide behind his pride. But your gaze is so sincere, your sniffles so hard to listen to.

Rafe has never been good at talking through his feelings. He prefers to show them by yelling and throwing things and fighting because those methods are easy and safe.

Crying never feels safe. At one point, it did. With you. Before you broke his heart.

“You can tell me,” you say. “I won’t start a fight about it.”

“I don’t give a fuck if you start a fight,” he says, a humorless laugh leaving his lips.

“What do you give a fuck about?” you say, keeping your temper in.

Rafe mumbles your name in frustration, shaking his head.

“I don’t want to… talk to you about this shit just for you to not…” he trails off.

You know your ex well, aware that he needs to be coached through hard conversations. He doesn’t think before he speaks when he’s vulnerable. He rambles, at times all over the place, making it hard to understand him.

“For me to not what?” you ask.

“Think what I think,” he admits.

You rest your cheek on your knee, your eyes stinging with tears.

“What are you thinking?”

“Goddamn it. That I miss you, okay?” he says sharply. “And you just… you look at me like I’m a fucking stranger now.”

It’s the last thing you expected to hear. You thought you were just hook-up to him. Not somebody he misses. Your throat is raw. Your pulse is loud in your ears.

Rafe looks down again, breath shaky as his crying gets closer to sobbing. He’s a mess. He doesn’t do this shit in front of people. He does it alone, when he can’t hold it in any more, letting his cheeks burn with tears when he lies on his pillow at night, knowing there’s no point in trying to stop.

“You miss me?” you repeat. He scoffs, as if he’s angry you pulled it out of him. “What do you miss?”

“Why are you asking me this?” he mutters, annoyed. You always do this, pull at the string barely keeping him together, making him speak. It’s what he always loved and hated about you.

You take a beat before you answer, accepting that you’re about to break the promise you made to yourself to never open up to him again.

“Because I miss you, too,” you admit.

It’s the first time in months that you see light in Rafe’s eyes. A few seconds of heavy silence pass between you.

The moment’s not even over, but you already know you’ll think about it for a long time, about the feeling of sitting with him in your dim room this late at night, practically naked together on your bed, wordless. Every sense of anything sexual is gone, the atmosphere much more fragile.

Even after weeks of hooking up, this is the most intimate moment you’ve shared in a long time.

Then, his brows furrow, uncertainty and anguish flashing on his face. He doesn’t believe you.

“I do,” you say softly, nodding to confirm it.

Rafe opens his mouth to speak, looking down again, another tear rolling down his face and dripping off his chin. You watch the way his glossy bottom lip trembles, as if his mouth is refusing to let him get the words out.

This is when he cracks all the way, holding his head in his hands, silently sobbing. You gaze at him with a broken heart. You’ve seen him cry, but never this hard.

Despite all the pain and anger that festers between you, you shuffle closer. Your bunched up robe falls off your chest and you don’t care. You rest your hand on the back of his neck, guiding him to cry against your bare shoulder.

“It’s okay,” you whisper.

He shakes his head no against you. It’s so far from okay. It’s not fair to meet someone and give them all of himself just to be ridiculed and told that all of him isn’t enough.

But impulse and muscle memory take over and he wraps his arms wrap around you, bare chests pressed together, his face in the crook of your neck.

“You said I was just like my dad,” he murmurs shakily against your skin.

You squeeze your eyes shut. You compared him to his father once, just once, during a fight when you were together. He’d gotten angry at you for being upset, and you knew his dad had done that to him in the past, and the vile, spiteful words came out of your mouth with no filter.

You regretted it immediately. You had no idea he held onto it, too.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, running your hand up and down the back of his hair. “You’re not. I said that just to hurt you. I didn’t mean it.”

He burrows his face deeper, smelling you, his heavy arms lightly trembling as they encircle you. It’s ridiculous how he wanted an apology from you for so long, but now that you gave it, he feels guilty.

“I hurt you, too,” he says. “Your friends are right to hate me.”

“They’re just protective,” you say, your voice wobbly.

“You shouldn’t…” He breathes in sharply. “You shouldn’t need protection from me. I know I fucked up. I fucked up so bad so many times.”

Your mind replays your vicious fights before and after your break-up, how deeply he hurt you when he hurled insults at you and accused you of cheating and blamed you for your problems.

But the good parts weave their way in. You were best friends. You made so many good memories. He loved you, took care of you, spoiled you. You always came together after a fight. Until too much damage had been done.

You can’t deny that he fucked up. But you did, too. You were mean. You were spiteful. You ignored him because you knew how much it hurt him.

“I fucked up, too,” you say, never having liked when he spoke low of himself, hating that you’ve called him names and insulted him in the past. “You deserve to feel good about yourself, okay?”

Rafe exhales shakily. He’s not sure he agrees. He knows there’s a screw loose, something missing in him. Maybe someone like him is fated to hate himself because there’s nothing to love.

“You know why I miss you?” you offer, not waiting for a response. “I had fun with you. I loved how full of life you are and how intensely you care. I loved how you called me your girl and how you much you looked out for me.”

It’s the best thing you could’ve said. This is why you owned his heart. Why you still do. You can unravel him, but you can also you tie him back together. You’re the only one who knows how to.

“Why aren’t you my girl, then?” he finally mumbles.

You swallow hard. It’s not that simple. Not even close.

“You know why,” you say.

Rafe wills himself to pull back, leaving your shoulder wet with his tears, sitting inches away from you.

Your eyes are glossy and red. The sight is pure torture for him. You sigh when he swipes his thumb under your eye, wiping away a fresh tear.

“No, I don’t,” he replies, because really, he’d rather be in a fucked up relationship with you than be apart.

His chest twists with unease. That’s why. He’d choose to be miserable together because at least you’re together. You’d rather be happy with him or be nothing at all.

You look down, frustrated that he still doesn’t get it.

“You always said you loved me more, but it was the other way around,” you say. “Loving someone means wanting to be the best person you can, because it’s what they deserve.”

You meet his hardened eyes, feeling dizzy.

“Why didn’t I deserve it?” you ask.

Rafe’s skin goes cold. He pulls you in, his hands cradling your jaw as he meets your lips tenderly, because he can’t go another second without kissing you. You let him. It feels too good not to.

“You do,” he breathes when he shifts back, his nose nudging yours, his hands still holding your face. “You deserve it. You deserve everything.”

“You’re everything,” you whimper impatiently. He expels a breath of relief. The tears welling in his eyes are from happiness this time. You still care about him. There’s no way you don’t.

“I’ll be better,” Rafe says. You’ve heard him say it so many times before. Your heart isn’t fully out of its cage yet, but you’re willing to listen.

“How?” you say.

It’s been tumbling in his mind nonstop. A world where you’re together is all he thinks about. He straightens, palms still on your cheeks, gazing down at your watery eyes.

“I won’t yell at you,” he says. “I won’t control you. I won’t ever hurt you.”

“You can’t promise to never hurt me,” you say, skeptical.

“Watch me.”

Your lips briefly curl into a sad smile that fades away. He nervously licks his lips, needing you so bad that he feels it in his bones.

He’ll make a fool of himself if he has to. He got this far. He’ll spill his guts to you and if you tell him to leave, he’ll pick himself up and go, because at least he tried. He’s half a person these days anyway.

“I was born to be with you,” Rafe whispers through his tears, staring into the beautiful eyes he dreams about every night. “You’ll always be my girl, alright? I love you.”

A wave of hope and fear and excitement and worry crashes into you. You need a second to understand that this is really happening, to come up for breath.

You gaze at him, taking in how soft and sweet he looks. This is Rafe. Not the man who makes you feel like you can’t do anything right. Beneath everything, beneath his anger and his trauma, the person looking at you is who he really is, someone who just needs to feel loved.

“Talk to me, please, baby,” he begs, thumbs stroking your skin. He can’t take the miserable look on your face. “What are you thinking?”

“That it’s impossible not to love you back,” you confess. “I think maybe we… we can try this again.”

Rafe kisses you hard, passion and joy blazing through him, every part of him wanting every part of you.

Even if you tried, you couldn’t keep track of how many kisses he’s leaving on your lips and your cheeks, overcome with love. You sink into the satisfaction and relief of hope. You never thought you’d feel that with him ever again. Hope.

“I’ll be good to you,” he whispers breathlessly, his forehead against yours. “I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you,” you say, your hands dragging up his firm, naked back. “I never stopped.”

Rafe kisses you again and again and again, his head swimming, his heart racing. He won’t fuck this up. He’ll die if he loses you again.

He gently pushes you so you’ll lie on your back and you sigh in pure relief when his hand dips between your legs, sliding his fingers up and down.

He’s painfully aware that you never got the pleasure he did tonight. He needs to give you an orgasm, to make you feel all the happiness he possibly can.

“My girl,” he says. “I’ll only ever make you feel good. I promise.”

He shifts to rest his head on your chest, fondling you as he lies right over your heart. He hears it pounding, feeling so lucky that you made space for him in it and so determined to never let it hurt ever again.

You wrap one arm around his shoulders and the other settles over his cheek, stroking softly as he traces circles right where you need him to. Your breath is shaky, your body loose, craving him in every sense.

“I fucking live for you, you know that?” he whispers, finding heaven in the way you’re panting and moaning.

You writhe beneath him, adoring how he knows what to do, knows when to dip a finger in you, when to move back up to your clit.

You whisper that you love him over and over as you reach your orgasm, mind-blowing pleasure ripping through you, sure you’ve never felt this much physical and emotional relief at once.

As you tumble down into a blissful fog, Rafe continues to gently run his fingers over you, moving up to kiss you again.

“I live for you,” he repeats against your mouth.

You feel the same way. You know now that you two weren’t destined to fall. You were meant to be happy together. It just took some time to get there.

[tiktaalic]

s1 dean: it's not gay to suck a dick or three or ten you're just making sure you're not gay

s2 dean: getting notes from my team that sometimes it is gay to suck a dick . i would like to formally announce that i never did that. and i never would.and also i'm masc. i'm masc. i'm literally masc.

s3 dean: too busy with dying to think about being gay i'm pretty sure.

s4 dean: really enjoying that cas is unaware of social norms so that dean can oscillate between preening when he teaches him how to be a man (+1 masculinity for being more of a man than cas +1 masculinity for being so much of a man that you can teach others how to do it) and. taking advantage of the no social norms thing to rationalize his OWN behavior with cas because he knows cas isn't going to call him on it not being normal which MAKES it normal because there is no one to refute that.

s5 dean: much of the same but there are now emotional stakes in play because they Are friends he is now Emotionally attached in a real way to this man he was engaging in one way gay chicken with.

s6 dean: mfw my brother tells me to be normal so i marry a woman. ratchets him all the way back to i have never liked a man and i never will.

s7 dean: very similar emotionally to endverse dean / s14 dean in my mind. kind of in the same place as s6 dean but crucially s6 dean was sad and wet and s7 dean is walled off and apathetic. attraction to men does not factor into his worldview.

s8 dean: he literally was in a foxhole with benny and got a spraytan and had a gay thing. this man begrudgingly puts one (1) rainbow ornament on his christmas tree after sending out christmas cards of him embracing another man while their gay ass dog sits at their feet. the sticking point HERE is "cas doesn't feel stuff like that".

s9 dean: We Cannot Get Into All That but. they literallyyyyyyyyy had to make cas sleep with a woman and get banished forever to sidestep The Implications. which are. dean winchester would fuck the gay angel given the FIRST opportunity. i'd probably fuck cas but my brother is dying so idrc about that rn. etc. this is a man who is conscious of his attraction to 1) men and 2) cas and WOULD act on it given the chance.

s10 dean: this is where it gets love triangle-y with crowley and cas. this is because dean DID fuck crowley and WANTS to fuck cas. textually. this is where he stands. moc dean has sex with men and doesnt care because hes normal. POST moc dean is like. the same sex attraction was a metaphor to show that i was evil and corrupted by the mark.

s11 dean: i'll be honest. i remember fuck all about season 11.

s12 dean: his mom is around which means he will not be out. this is also. iirc? where dabb gets his grubby little showrunning hands on things. which of course. means dabbification. which of COURSE. means destiel eating plain toast and raising a baby domestically. which. of course. translates to dean using cas as a girlfriend stand in. which. imo. is reflected in dean's mindset. like s12 dean is aware that cas is the most important person in his life, and he is not interested in deviating from that formula with a woman at all.

s13 dean: gay man realizing the love of his life is dead and he never said or did anything -> gay man whose love of his life comes back so he doesnt have to grapple with the consequences of never saying anything and they can jump back into pseudo relationship.

s14 dean: this is a gay man coparenting with a gay man and telling his father that he has a family. has accepted his fate as a life long ambiguous bachelor who lives with a man and sometimes sleeps in his bed nonsexually. very much dead inside staring down the barrel of throwing himself on a grenade does not have Time to push the boundaries of his relationship.

s15 dean: too many twists and turns to get into in the stinger of a post.

[spacerockfloater]

Alicent and Criston have every right to be together.

I’ve read a lot of posts regarding their non-existent hypocrisy and I’d like to clear some things up.

First and foremost, stop using Alicent’s “Where is duty, where is sacrifice?” line against her or Nyra’s outrageous “Exhausting, wasn’t it?” speech because you think you’re eating when you’re, in fact, starving. Alicent has done her duty and sacrificed herself. It’s the only thing she’s been doing for the past 20 years. She gave the man she was forced to marry four children and she took care of him despite all the shit he put her through. She has lived all her life based on her principles and now her husband is gone. She mourned him, she buried him, it’s been more than 10 days since his death (confirmed that E1 S2 takes place 10 days after Lucerys’ death) and she is finally fucking free. She deserves a sliver of comfort. Alicent is the only one in this series that’s been faithful and dutiful to a T, yet look where that got her. If someone has the right to break the law a little bit, it’s definitely her.

That being said, I don’t know when it was decided that Alicent is a pious saint that can do no wrong, but I need to remind y’all that following a religion does not magically prevent you from sinning. Is she committing fornication? Obviously. However, you are all under this impression that this is hypocritical on her behalf because she berated Rhaenyra for it when they were younger, without considering that her anger was justified for a myriad of other reasons, such as (but not limited to): 1) the fact that Rhaenyra’s freedom to marry whomever she pleased was a privilege granted to her thanks to Alicent’s efforts, who supported her even if Rhaenyra hated her, yet her friend casually threw that away, 2) the fact that Rhaenyra lied to her by swearing on her morher’s grave and never even mentioned Criston, 3) the fact that Rhaenyra had the guts to call her “sister” while lying to her face, 4) the fact that her lies resulted in Otto getting fired since Rhaenyra misled Alicent so that she speaks to Viserys in favour of her friend and betraying her own father by siding against him (a decision she wouldn’t have made if she knew the truth), leaving her completely alone and friendless at court, even if he was right all along and finally 5) the fact that Rhaenyra is the most sought after bachelorette in the whole world and by having sex she undermines herself (Rhaenyra knows this well, hence why she denies these accusations) and literally endangers herself, because had she been married to any other man but Laenor and had this man found out his wife and future queen is not a virgin, imagine the fucking horrors she could have been subjected to. Like, I hate to break it to you, but a 40-year-old widow, who’s had four kids and has completed her duty to the point where she is actually no longer needed and could leave the palace to go live the rest of her life in peace somewhere else and no one would notice her absence (literally though, she has birthed heirs, her husband is dead, her son is a grown adult king, her job is done there), having sex, is not the same as an 18-year-old princess and future heir in her prime, whose purity is linked to her worth, getting caught drunk in a brothel, hooking up with her uncle and losing her virginity to her guard, all in one night. Viserys himself was outraged. There’s lows and then there’s lows, y’all.

By the way, the crazy assumptions that Alicent has been cheating on Viserys with Criston for a while now need to stop. When Olivia Cooke said that they had filmed a messy sex scene with Fabien Frankel in a recent interview, she never said this was for S1 of HOTD. I don’t know where y’all got that from, but even if it was true, that scene has been scrapped so it is not canon. And don’t make me laugh about Daeron, a dragon rider who canonically has Valyrian features, potentially having brown hair. You’re all so blinded by your hatred for Alicent that you want her to be a lying hypocrite in order to make yourselves feel better about Rhaenyra’s mishaps, that you don’t get that the whole point of her and Criston getting physical is that she is a tortured woman who is finally able to break free, not that she has been a hypocrite all along. You’re heavily misunderstanding her arc.

Finally, when it comes to my good man Criston, y’all have lost it completely. No, Alicent is not raping him, unless he tells her to stop and she closes the door behind her like Rhaenyra did that is. No, Criston did not lie about how important his honour is to him. There’s a whole article on how Clare Kilner, the director of E4 S1, decided that Cole removing his armour slowly was necessary because it symbolises his inner conflict and uncertainty over breaking his vow: should he soil his cloak for the sake of the woman he loves? And he does soil it, because he thinks she loves him back. But that honourable man dies the day Rhaenyra tells him that he’ll never be anything more than a side piece to her. This man stops giving a flying fuck about his honour, oath, position and life. He is trying to kill himself. And you know what stops him? Alicent. Alicent is the only thing between him and death, the only person to show him kindness and understanding, to pull him up from the lowest point in his life. I don’t think you heard Alicent in E7 S1: “No, you’re sworn to me!”. Y’all. His life is hers. He doesn’t care about Rhaenyra, his job, Viserys, anyone else at this point. Only Alicent exists in his mind, Fabien himself has said time and time again that his loyalty to her is unwavering. He only exists for Alicent’s sake. He’s who you wish Daemon was. Crying that “Criston is a bad knight and a liar because he broke his chastity oath yet again!” is so pointless because that knight has been dead since Rhaenyra’s marriage to Laenor. What does an oath mean when you find out the people you swore it to have betrayed you? Why should he keep his promise to the people who abused him?

[sundrop-writes]

Precious Time Alone

Gar Logan x Fem!Powered!Reader

aka the fic where Gar has a knot

Summary:

Even with the ability to see the future, you never would have guessed that your life would lead you to falling in love with the perfect man - someone sweet, caring, funny, cute. Someone with the passion and fire to protect the ones that he loves no matter what. A precious guy with green hair who had the ability to transform into a tiger at will. And when you finally made love to him for the first time, you never could have guessed how that unique ability affected his sex life.

You weren't exactly complaining, but you wished you had seen this coming. At the end of the day, it was just another thing about him to love.

Or - Neither you nor Gar knew that he has the ability to knot, and you both find out for the first time when you have sex together.

Gar Logan x Fem!Powered!Reader. Established Relationship. Smut/PWP. Set during Season 2, Episode 9.

Word Count: 11,800

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, to make my masterlist for this fandom more complete, and to help new people discover my old fics.

Detailed warnings and author’s notes below the cut.

Important Note: for reference, this is not an A/B/O fic - I have nothing against A/B/O fics and I love them very much (it's one of my favourite genres, and I really need to write more A/B/O fics and post them) - the reader character is 100% human and does not have any traits that fall into the A/B/O category. This fic is based off the concept that Gar has a knot due to his animal traits/animal DNA, and it is something that happens to his body because of his ability to transform into an animal. This could be considered a hybrid fic, but Gar's knot is the only animal trait he possesses during sex. If this is your thing, I hope you enjoy. If not, come back later, and I might have something more your style. Or you can check out my masterlist in the meantime.

Warnings: the reader character has a vagina and uses she/her pronouns; this is an established relationship - Gar and the reader have been dating for a while now; mentions of canon events from S1 and S2 (so there is some spoilers from the show - if you haven't seen the show yet and you want to watch it unspoiled, be warned); mentions of canon level violence, including Gar being tortured at the asylum; this is set during 2x09 when Gar is 'home alone' (and the reader is there with him); the reader character suffers from insomnia; the reader character does have powers but they don't really have major involvement in the plot of this fic (idk if I should have even labelled this as 'powered!reader') - the reader character has psychic visions; mentions of clothes sharing - the reader is implied to be bigger/plus sized because Gar wears her clothing and it's 'oversized'; the reader is attracted to Gar's more 'animal' side - she admits to being attracted to him because he protected her with his powers; this fic does use Y/N (I am a proud Y/N truther); Gar and the reader have engaged in sexual acts before (handjobs, fingering, oral) but this fic features their first time having penis in vagina sex; Gar's knot is a surprise to both of them due to it being their first time having penetrative sex (his dick only swells up once it gets inside of her body); though this is both of their 'first times' with each other, I didn't put any big emphasis on virginity in this fic, especially because they have done other sexual acts before; this could be considered Crack Treated Seriously - but like I said, my brain just took the concept and ran with it; there is something in this fic that could be considered consensual somnophilia - the reader character starts performing oral sex on Gar in order to wake him up, but she's not specifically turned on by the fact that he's sleeping, and there is an unspoken consent due to them being in a relationship; this whole thing fluctuates from making love/passionate sex to rough, animalistic sex; slight praise kink - Gar verbally praises the reader and compliments her a lot; there isn't really defined roles here, but Gar is more dominant and the reader is more submissive; as mentioned before - penis in vagina sex; unprotected sex - they don't use a condom (the lore of knots and condoms bothers me anyway, like how would a condom not break under those circumstances??); possessive!Gar; biting kink/marking kink (Gar bites the reader - a lot); Gar cums inside the reader - a lot, because of his supernatural dick (though this doesn't quite make it to cum inflation levels); Gar knots the reader (if you don't know what that is, just stay away); creampie kink - NOT breeding kink; there is mentions of pregnancy in a discussion after the sex is over, but not in the breeding kink sense (Gar and the reader both want kids and there is no mentions of alternate forms of birth control, so if that gives you the ick then don't read this one); slight warning for VERY BRIEF painful sex/pain after sex - Gar tries to pull out not knowing what the knot is and accidentally hurts the reader's vagina because of it (the pain only lasts for a few seconds, and he stops trying to pull out once he is unsuccessful); scent kink - Gar loves the way you smell after being fucked by him; (I was not planning on adding a bonus scene when editing this fic, but it's Gar and I got carried away) more consensual somnophilia toward the end - Gar fingers the reader a bit while she is sleeping, and then he masturbates on top of her and cums over her thighs before cleaning her up (again, this is operating off the pre-existing consent in a relationship, or you can imagine that they had a consent conversation about this before the fic, idc); the ending of this fic is just pure fluff.

A/N: This is one that I wrote in 2022 and I had kind of forgotten about it? But I was going through my older fics on AO3 and I was like 'omg I love that fic, I forgot how much I love that fic'. And because I am trying to post some easy stuff before my move (which will be exhausting and it will mean that I will post pretty much nothing for a few months) - I realized that this fic was an easy re-post because it didn't need a lot of work before being re-posted. So - here ya go! If you haven't read this fic before and you don't know what a knot is (in terms of fanfiction/smut): run away. Run away now. I don't need to be the one to corrupt you lmao. But yeah - this fic was inspired by someone on Tumblr (I wish I could remember who it was and link the post) posing the theory that if Gar is 'part animal', then he might have a knot. And my brain felt the need to exorcise that idea once it entered my mind and literally possessed me, and thus, this fic was created. I think it is one of my better Gar fics - with a very straightforward concept. And if this is your thing, I hope you enjoy it!

...

It was entirely strange to wake up to the Tower actually being quiet. 

Well, quiet aside from the sound of Gar’s snores rumbling beside your head. But there was a lot less noise than usual. 

There was no distant beeping of the coffee machine where Dick had it pre-set to go off at an ungodly hour. No grunting of Jason training because he couldn’t sleep. No rumbling bass tones of Rachel’s music where she played it aloud, thinking no one else could hear. 

No arguing voices. 

Strangely, that was something you missed most of all. You had come to love the chaos of so many people living in your new home. And you had secretly hoped that Dawn, Hank, and Donna would stick around for a while, even if they insisted that they were just going to take care of the Dr. Light problem and leave once again. With them cooking meals and hogging the TV, it had started to feel like a real family. 

You had definitely not expected all of the Titans to barrel out faster than cockroaches fled from light when Dick told them of his past transgressions. But boy - they fucking ran. And naturally, when Gar volunteered to stay at the Tower with Conner in order to hold down the fort, you stayed with him. 

What else would a good girlfriend do? 

You had stuck by him through everything else, so of course you would stick by him through this. 

And even though you missed everyone dearly, and you worried about the long-term impact that Dick’s confession would have, you did see the appeal of The Tower now being completely empty. You would be lying if you said that it didn’t bring some salacious thoughts to your mind. 

Maybe it was that morning silence, truly reminding you of the lack of occupants in the house - or the burning hum between your thighs that had you awake at this hour in the first place. But you couldn’t sleep, and now your mind was brimming with better, hornier things that you could be doing with your time. (Things that you likely already would have started if Gar had been awake along with you.) 

You were sometimes jealous of his ability to sleep so well. Typically, sleep was an area that you did very poorly in. 

Usually, having Gar’s intense warmth curled up next to you did help. And you thanked that perfect human furnace for what little sleep you had gotten the night before. Especially after all the anxiety and the fighting, and the unexpected charge of everyone leaving so suddenly. 

You lifted your head from Gar’s rumbling chest as he snored and snorted away and you looked at the clock on his nightstand - 4:15am. You sighed deeply to yourself and decided to get out of bed. You knew from your experience with insomnia that it was no use trying to fall back asleep again. 

You untangled yourself from Gar’s grasp, careful not to wake him - and then you grabbed a piece of clothing off the floor to shield yourself from the morning chill. 

It was an oversized hoodie that you and Gar often shared. It had originally started off as yours, but now your things had migrated into Gar’s room and it seemed like your lives were easily blending into one. He found himself wearing one of your socks mix-matched with his own, and he often slept under a fuzzy throw blanket you had brought when you moved into The Tower. You used his body wash in the shower, and had some of his nerdy pins on your backpack. 

It always just felt right. 

The hoodie smelled delightfully like your boyfriend - and you couldn’t help but to press the fabric to your nose with a small contented sigh while you walked down the hallway to check on Conner. 

The young man was still deeply unconscious - not making a single movement or a flicker of acknowledgment toward you when you walked into the room. His vitals were stable, with his puppy asleep on his knees. The dog looked at you with curious eyes as you checked on the machines and even used a stethoscope to listen to Conner’s heart just to make sure that he was doing alright. Krypto made no moves to get off the bed, entirely protective of his half-human companion. You shut off the light and partially closed the door as you left (leaving enough room for Krypto to get out if he wanted to). 

Then, without much else to do, and feeling a slight grumble in your stomach, you went to the kitchen. You ate a bowl of cereal as you scrolled your phone, listened to music, and checked for messages from any of the other Titans. There were none. 

After you had eaten, you were still bored and the sun wasn’t even up yet - so you decided to take a shower. 

As the hot water poured over your body, you couldn’t help but think of Gar. 

The two of you had been together since your psychic powers led you to Scooter’s Roller Palace. 

Before that, you had lived a somewhat normal life, even with your visions. You had the very typical ‘loving family, suburban home, thriving at school’ type of life. 

You had been trying to achieve your goals while completely ignoring your visions. 

Visions that you had previously denied had even been able to predict the future - until a horrifying dream of your parents’ double murder came true. You were unaware at the time that the same doomsday cult that was attempting to track down Rachel was also looking for you. A group that had been watching your abilities carefully and wanted to use you to track Rachel and to perceive better outcomes for ‘their work’. 

So with the realization that you could see the future, you knew that you had to act. Especially with visions of the dark, crumbling end of the world plaguing you. You let your powers guide you to that roller rink in search of a purple haired girl who could save everyone and a green haired boy who could transform into a tiger. And since then, you hadn’t let him go. 

It was only when you had been captured at the asylum that you and Gar became truly close. The day that he had first come to your rescue. 

The ‘scientists’ there hadn’t been unable to taunt or shock him into his transformation like they had been planning to. But the moment he had heard your screams of torture and torment from down the hall, he had transformed into the tiger and ripped the cage’s door off its steel welded hinges with his teeth just to get to you. 

When he witnessed them torturing you in an attempt to demand predictions of the future out of you - Gar had snapped. And then, a bizarre vision that you’d had years ago came to life before your very eyes. A vision of a giant green tiger ripping apart a group of men in white lab coats, making them bloody in order to save you. 

He later told you, as you were traveling on the train, that he had never harmed another person before that. He had never used his powers to harm someone before that. But he also told you that he absolutely didn’t regret it. He had told you that if it meant that he got to save you, then he would do it a thousand times over. And that was something that warmed your heart and drew you to him like a moth to flame. 

If you had a schoolgirl crush on him before that, then in those moments, it grew into a heated, womanly lust. You started falling in love with him on that day. 

That animalistic strength, that passion, that courage was what had drawn you to Gar immediately. He claimed it was ‘hero syndrome’ - the thing that made you pull him close and kiss him on the train. The thing that made you call him your boyfriend. He claimed it was only because he was the one that saved you, and if it had been someone else, then you wouldn’t have ended up with him at all. 

But no - nobody else had the primal drive that he did. Nobody else had the same protective instincts that he had. Nobody else looked as good with blood dripping from their teeth. 

It was a dangerous thought to have. But it was one that got your clit throbbing every single time. 

Of course, you loved Gar for all of his soft parts. You loved him for his dorky smile, his smooth laugh, his shy gaze. He was a soft place to land when you were hurt, upset - when you needed comfort the most. But you also loved him for his sharpened edges - his undeniable passion, the way he wouldn’t hesitate to harm an enemy when it came to protecting the ones he loved. The way he bit down on your lip whenever you gripped his cock just the right way. 

You sighed hard through your nose as the water went cold around you. Had you really been in the shower for that long?

Disappointingly, you and Gar had never actually had sex before. 

You had done plenty of sexual things - but it always felt rushed, and it never quite scratched that itch in the way you needed it to. 

The fact that the two of you were pretty much never alone together meant you never had the time to indulge in each other, to properly touch each other the way that you really wanted to. Everything you did together was always quick and haste. Grabbing and groping each other through clothes, shoving your hands into each other’s pants, panting breaths down each other’s throats, desperate to cum as quickly and quietly as possible. 

You wanted nothing more than to feel every single inch of his naked skin against yours. You wanted to be able to spend hours worshiping his body, getting your tongue onto every perfect muscle you had seen when he trained shirtless. You spent far too long fantasizing about him laying you down in the middle of his bed and pounding into you, roughly and savagely - showing off that animal side you loved so much. 

As you wrapped a towel around yourself and wiped the steam off the mirror, you realized something absolutely wicked. The house was empty. This was the perfect opportunity to get exactly what you wanted - what you needed from Gar. 

You dried off your body, abandoning the fresh clothes you had brought into the bathroom with you and simply walking down the hallway naked. It was a strange feeling, to say the least. You were aware of the fact that there were cameras in literally every common area of the Tower (as Gar had pointed out to Rose a few days prior) but you took for granted that nobody would have to review this footage for any reason. 

You slipped into Gar’s room, where he was still fast asleep - splayed out on his back, his jaw wide open as he puffed out air and snorted loud snores. 

He was adorable, almost innocently so. He was so peaceful when he slept. He was wearing a tee shirt with a cartoon of Link from The Legend of Zelda on it - something you only knew about because he had explained it to you in great detail. His green hair was messy in a beautiful way that suited him, his limbs sticking out from the covers at odd angles. Even though you did have some idea of the not-so-innocent things he thought about you on a regular basis, you did feel slightly guilty for disrupting his sleep with your lustful corrupting force. 

(Just not guilty enough to stop what you were about to do.) 

With the morning sun rising at your back, just slightly orange through the curtains, you pulled up the covers and crawled in on top of Gar. Instantly, you were warmed by the natural heat radiating off his body. Apparently something about his ‘condition’ - that thing that made him half-animal, also made him incredibly warm. At any given time, his skin was near-burning, almost like a fever to the touch. It made him so pleasant to sleep beside, so nice to hug and cuddle up against. It was just one of the many, many things that made him the perfect boyfriend. 

With that heat gathered under his blanket like a sauna, it almost made you want to lay down on top of him and fall asleep again. But the prominent hum between your thighs was a bit more persistent - and you knew that there would be plenty of time to fall asleep with Gar later. His clothes did slightly irritate your sensitive, bare skin - you knew that you wouldn’t have to tolerate the feeling for long. 

Gar liked being naked more than you did. So he certainly wouldn’t mind you undressing him. You knew the only reason he even bothered to sleep with clothes on was because of the general pretense of others being around. 

You pressed yourself on top of Gar, not worried about your weight disturbing him - not after the many times he had told you how much he enjoyed the feeling of being cuddled with you laying fully on top of him. You pulled the covers up over your body as the chill of the room bit at your still somewhat damp skin, and you leaned in to kiss across Gar’s neck. He moaned quietly in his sleep and began to stir. 

You smiled to yourself, loving the feeling of his muscles so relaxed underneath you. It was something that had been too rare as of late - with all the intense training sessions, and the stress of Rose being brought into your home, Jason being kidnapped, and then Conner being shot. For the past few weeks, whenever you had hugged Gar or cuddled against him in bed, he had been nothing but a tense ball of stress. 

You certainly understood that stress. He was worried for his friends and wondering what would happen next. Even though you had the ability to see the future, you couldn’t simply predict what would happen on a dime. You had helped to secure Jason’s safety, but you had been nervous that the others wouldn’t be able to get to him in time. Even though everything had worked out in the end (debatable, seeing the emotional scars Jason had come away with), the stress had taken a toll on you and Gar. 

Life as a Titan was stressful. And you knew that you and Gar were both well deserving of a break. Even though Gar marked this as a tense fracturing of the group, something else to stress about, you knew that everyone simply needed a break. 

And you knew exactly what kind of relaxation Gar deserved now that you had the time on your hands. It was something you hadn’t been able to give him since a late night in the bathroom many weeks ago, when he had to muffle his moans into a hand towel for fear of being caught. You laid a few more gentle kisses against the skin of his neck, and then began to descend downward. 

You wiggled yourself completely under the blanket, loving the warm cave that it created around you - a pleasant fog of Gar’s body heat that easily made your cheeks scorch. It raised your body temperature more already, and made your cunt clench in anticipation. 

Of course, you were going to focus on him first. You pushed his shirt up his stomach, gathering the fabric lazily around his midsection, not really making an effort to take it off. You appreciated the skin that was revealed to you, especially seeing as every single part of him was beautiful. 

You had seen him naked before.

Gar was a smart person - but he wasn’t always clever. So he had unintentionally shown off his ‘goodies’ on more than one occasion when transforming into that mighty tiger that you loved so much. He didn’t always rush to cover himself if he thought that nobody was looking. It was a strange juxtaposition - the fact that you had made him cum before, but you had only seen him completely naked when he used his powers publicly. 

During the times when you had been intimate, you had both been forced to keep most of your clothes on - your trysts entirely secretive, shoving your hands down each other’s pants or dropping to your knees and taking his cock out, keeping everything haste and ready to easily redress in case someone came upon you. 

Now, you were more than ready to make love to him. You were fed him with never having enough time - never having enough of him. You so badly wanted to have your naked body pressed against him completely; to have him naked in bed for hours where there would be absolutely no disruptions. Your pussy throbbed with excitement at the very thought. 

(Perhaps Dick coming clean of his transgressions and pissing off all the Titans had been the best thing that had ever happened to you. Not that you would ever admit that out loud.) 

You kissed along the now exposed skin of Gar’s stomach, loving the little moans he let out as you did so. Clearly, he was still floating somewhere in sleep, his sounds still dull and adorably sleepy. Perhaps on his way to waking up as your wet mouth worked a trail down to the edge of his sweatpants. 

His stomach muscles flexed under your touch as your tongue darted out and traced the light trail of hair leading down from his belly button and dipping into his pants - definitely one of your favorite things about him. You laid a few more light kisses near his hip, causing more cute little jolts, before you lovingly eyed the outline you saw forming inside his pants. Even though the fabric, his cock looked perfect. 

You knew that Gar pretty much never wore underwear. 

It was something he had given up on because it was just another article of clothing to rip off, previously impeding his transformations. And then he simply never wore them in his off-time because once he had stopped, he found them too uncomfortable to wear casually. It was a dirty little secret of yours - but you absolutely loved his commando lifestyle. 

It always made the outline of his dick so obvious through his clothes (even when it was soft). You had never admitted that you ogled him on a regular basis. Especially when he trained - his movements when sparing causing his cock to bob around and move in a devilishly delicious way. 

Maybe you were a bit of a pervert. At least, that’s what some people might call the way your mind worked. But you couldn’t really help it. It probably had a lot to do with the fact that you had found the most gorgeous man ever and he had a sex drive that seemed just as potent as yours. (Though - as previously mentioned - you had been horrendously impeded by a barrage of housemates and multiple crises interrupting your alone time. Until now.) 

You were quick to undo the tie on his sweats, and from there, all it took was a firm tug to get his pants down. The fabric became slightly trapped between the plushness of his ass and the bed - thankfully he was still limp and pliant with sleep, and you didn’t have to put too much effort into getting the clothing down. You took the edge of his pants down to just past his hips, letting his cock free. 

This gave you a perfect view of his long, thick cock - freshly awakened from its slumber and easily half-way to hardness. It was as remarkable as always - pretty pink cockhead (just like the sweet pink of his lips), pale and seven inches long - about nine inches long when he was fully hard. Tugging the fabric of his pants down a bit more, you gently pet your fingers over his round, full balls - one of your favorite parts of him, even if you felt shy admitting it aloud. 

You also loved his so beautifully Gar, bright green pubes. The first time you had seen that his green hair was so entirely all natural (well, natural since the injection of Dr. Caulder’s serum) - you had been shocked and absolutely amused. 

You loved every inch of him, and you definitely loved how this was a solid reminder of exactly who your boyfriend was, even when you were making steady eye contact with his dick. 

You placed your hands on the tops of his thighs and leaned in, taking the head of his semi-hard cock into your mouth. You couldn’t help but to be pleased with yourself, knowing that this was how he was going to wake up. His skin was delightfully smooth under your tongue and he tasted slightly of a musk that was so uniquely Gar. 

You wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, thumbing down over his balls as you bobbed your head down - with your tongue loose and your mouth wide open, you gave a few good, greedy slurps on his cock, simply enjoying the feeling of him hot and thickening up in your mouth as he became harder. You couldn’t help but to moan around him, and he let out a startled snort, and then a deep groan. 

You felt movement above you as his tired arms grappled with the covers - he was definitely awake now. 

His dick throbbed under your tongue as he swelled to full hardness - and you held back laughter as he momentarily pushed on your head through the covers. Clearly, still not quite awake enough to know what was going on - just enjoying the feeling of a warm mouth on his cock. You squeezed your grip tighter around the base and prodded your tongue into the slit, gentle and exploring, lapping up the first bit of precum that he leaked out. 

He let out a perfect shuddering gasp. 

“Wha-? Hmm? Y/N?” He mumbled out, confused in that tired, dumbly adorable way. 

A moment later, the covers were ripped off your head, ruining that lovely cave of warmth you had going, causing a rush of cool air to prick at your skin. With your lips wrapped around his cock, bobbing down over the first few inches of the mighty, thick beast while gently pumping at the rest with a casual grip, you looked up at Gar through your eyelashes. You attempted to look sweet, knowing how sinful you looked with your lips stretched around the girth of his cock. 

You suppressed a moan of your own when you taste more salty precum and his jaw dropped open with a broken moan. 

“G-good morn-ning.” He said, voice tight and raspy, partially from the haze of sleepiness and partially from the lust coating his throat. 

He propped himself up on one elbow and stared down the length of his body at you. He moved to wipe the sleep from his eyes, clearly stunned and awed to be woken up this way. His gaze was hazy with that half-awake look and his chest moved in thick beats as he began to struggle for breath, partially holding back his moans in a practiced way due to your living situation. 

You simply continued your actions, widening your lips to suck more of him down. You bobbed your head slowly as you took the first half of his impressive length like a popsicle, swirling your tongue around it and using your hand on the base. Gar’s chest became tight with trapped sounds, and his hip muscles seized tight as the urge to fuck your mouth overtook his body - but he held back with intense self-discipline. 

“You - oh - you-you’re naked.” He quickly observed, struggling to speak through the pleasure of your tongue on his cock. 

His eyes scanned over your naked body with intense hunger, and he rushed to move the blanket back more, wanting to reveal your bare ass and thighs. When he managed to do this, you quickly felt the coolness of the room against your bare pussy and realized just how wet you were. 

Gar’s eyes went wide in an almost cartoonish way as he drank you in. 

He had only been able to get glances at your naked body before - when you were coming out of the shower and flashed him in an attempt to rile him up, or during your trysts when he had been able to pull off pieces of your clothing, but not everything all at once. Now, seeing you entirely bared to him, in the warm light of the early morning, something that made your skin glow - it caused his heart to speed up inside his chest, and made his dick throb. It was something you felt under your tongue that brought you another thrill. 

You popped off his perfect cock with a wet sound, much to Gar’s disappointment, so that your mouth would be free to speak. 

“I had a shower.” You told him, giving him a little smirk. “I didn’t feel like bothering with clothes afterwards.” 

You leaned back in and licked a broad stripe across Gar’s dick as you waited for his reply, causing a sharp breath to shake his chest before he could speak. 

“But what if someone-?” He glanced toward his bedroom door, thinking of the other Titans. Thinking about the possibility of being disrupted yet again. 

Perhaps he had forgotten of the debacle that happened the day previous. You were quick to remind him. 

“No one else is home. Remember?” You said, your breath fanning out over his cock before you gave a few kitten licks to the leaking, pretty pink cockhead. 

Gar shuddered with delight, gripping the sheets with tight fists. He hadn’t really forgotten, but he had been hoping that someone else would have come home by now. That they all would have gotten over the argument and just wanted to be Titans again. But he couldn’t find himself too upset about those hopes being dashed with your hand pumping his cock and your tongue swirling around him like that. 

“Fuck.” Gar breathed out, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, desperate to compose himself. “What about - what about Conner?” 

“He’s still asleep.” You told Gar. “That lady - his Mom, guess? She said that he would be out for at least a few days.” 

You paused for a moment, and then, you gently confirmed:

“It’s just the two of us. We’re all alone.”  

You stopped your actions, simply holding his dick in your hand and looking up at him with a small grin, giving the words a moment to sink in. Gar stared down at you, letting it truly work through his brain.

The two of you were alone. You were naked. You were naked in his bed. You were holding his hard cock and you both wanted it to happen - very badly. 

There was nothing stopping the two of you. 

“This is so awesome!” Gar’s voice was pure enthusiasm as he grinned widely at you, his hands quickly moving to rip off his shirt. 

You sat back on your heels, giving Gar room to fully shed his clothing, knowing that he was likely just as excited to be fully naked and uninterrupted as you were. He was slightly clumsy in kicking off his pants - something that made you giggle as he got caught up in the fabric. After a moment of struggle, you reached out and helped him untangle the pant legs from around his ankles and toss the unwanted item to the floor. You were now both fully free and absolutely ready for each other. 

“C’mere,” You let out a joyous laugh, quick to pounce on Gar. 

The second that you were close enough, you got your mouth on his, engaging in hot, open-mouthed kisses while he wrapped his arms around you. He was quick to roll you onto your back, leaving you lying slightly awkwardly, diagonally on the bed with your ankles tangled in the sheets. Not that you cared about any of that for a moment - not with his whole body shadowing over yours, bringing more of that amazing warmth to cover you. 

Then, for the first time, you felt that ultimately satisfying press of pure skin on skin. The feeling made you both moan loudly into the other’s mouth as he leaned all of his weight onto you and pressed your bodies almost completely together, from knees to chests. You felt every single inch of him: his warm, muscled thighs pressing against your own, his hard cock up against your pelvis, creating a deep hunger that caused your pussy to throb hard between your legs, his smooth stomach and chiseled chest pressing against you - the beating of his heart racing in tandem with your own. It was topped off by the breath-taking sight of his big, brown eyes staring into yours as he looked down at you with utter adoration. 

It was so utterly perfect.

He leaned in for another long, hot kiss, and you moaned heavily into his mouth.  After a moment, he pulled away from the kiss with a nip on your bottom lip - something that made you whimper from the back of your throat. A hard, hot pain throbbed between your thighs as your pussy cried out for him, desperately needing him inside of you. 

You had waited far too long for this. His fingers had always felt good, but you knew that his cock would feel so much better. 

“So fucking perfect.” Gar told you, his voice taking on a deep, lustful rumble that had you clenching around nothing, yearning for the fullness of his cock inside of you. “You are a goddess, I swear.” 

As he said this, his eyes raked over your naked body with an intense heat that had you squirming. 

His voice caused even more heat across your skin - an intense tingling raking over you like goosebumps. You felt his words with the genuine intense passion that he intended them with, all the affection that boiled inside of him breaching out and spilling over you. It was something that made you feel more beautiful than any expensive dress or makeup ever could have. 

“You’re perfect too, Gar.” You echoed back, feeling lame and uncreative with the compliment, but absolutely believing it to be true. Every inch of him was something to love. Inside and out. 

Gar drowned any further words - perhaps afraid he would get too emotional - by shoving his tongue past your lips. He ran his hands up and down the sides of your body while yours settled on his gorgeous, plump ass. Your legs naturally fell open for him, your knees coming up to sit on either side of his thighs. 

You let out a moan as his tongue mingled with yours, his hips grinding into you, moving his cock against your mound and partially bumping against your swollen clit. It was a beautiful sharp shock that made you gasp and pull him closer into you. You wrapped your ankles around the backs of his knees, setting yourself in the perfect position to take his cock. 

You were dripping and needy, and you weren’t prepared to wait much longer. 

“Gar, please,” You moaned, pulling away from the kiss to puff the words out against his now wet lips. 

You angled your hips up in a way that directly dragged the wet folds of your pussy along his hardness, beginning to hump yourself against him, showing him the true depth of your desperation. This caused him to groan and buck into you. He echoed the movements right back, humping his cock along your pussy, rubbing across your clit again and sending sharp jolts through your whole body. 

This made you even needier. 

“Gar!” You gasped out in response. “Please!” 

Your voice was a lilting whine that you barely even recognized. Of course, only he could do that to you. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He mumbled back. 

His brow furrowed as he stared down between your bodies, clearly captivated by the sight of your pussy drooling wetness all over his cock. He was now very purposefully jutting his hips to slick that glossy wetness across his dick, to feel the essence of you covering him for the first time. 

“You want me to just-? You-? Are you ready?” He choked on his own words, his mind hazy with lust. 

“Yes.” You were becoming absolutely short on patience, your tone demanding. “Just get inside me. Please.” 

Gar simply grunted in affirmation, reaching down to use a hand on his dick to guide himself inside of you. You hitched a leg up over his hip, opening yourself up more to give him better access. It was only a single moment of staring at his concentrated face - something that was entirely arousing in the situation - before you felt it. 

The thick head of his cock breaching your slicked, needy hole. Your body was so prepared to take him, having taken his fingers (and your own thinking about this very moment) so many times before - you practically sucked him in. He let out a breathy, desperate sound as he let go of his cock and gently rolled his hips into yours, sinking home for the first time. 

It was something that made you dizzy. You were so fucking full. 

You knew how large his cock was - you had seen it, felt it in your hand - but having him fully inside of you for the first time - it knocked the air out of your lungs in the best possible way. The press of his pelvis fully against you, the slight coarseness of his pubic hairs up against your most sensitive skin, his heavy balls brushing your ass - all of it sent jolts across your skin and had your mind so beautifully blank. 

All you could do was grip onto him tightly, and let out a breathy moan of his name. 

“Gar.” 

“Y/N.” He moaned back, his voice absolutely thick with pleasure, lost in a deep haze as the feeling of your pussy clenching him for the first time. You were so perfect - so tight and hot around him, leaking wetness around the base of his dick. The feeling easily sent hot waves rolling over his body. “Fuck, so perfect.” 

He was absolutely smothered - the feeling of you gripping his cock like a vice driving him insane in the best way. His thighs quivered and he struggled for breath as he resisted the urge to pound into you - resisted the urge to selfishly chase his own pleasure inside the irresistible, velvety feeling of you. 

He didn’t want to hurt you. 

The last thing he ever wanted was to hurt you. 

There were the tiniest echoes of logic still chanting in his brain, screaming at him that he absolutely couldn’t risk hurting you. That he had to use self control. 

Even as he looked down at your gorgeous naked body, your tits heaving with your breaths, the slight gleam of sweat across your skin, your kiss-bitten lips, the gloss of lust that had come over your eyes. You were a sexy goddess; you were so perfect, and you made his cock ache, and he wanted to pound into you until you were screaming, and filled with his cum and dripping white around his cock. 

But he could never hurt you. 

“Move, please.” You begged. “Need you, Gar. Please make me cum.” 

With that perfect plea, how could he resist you? 

Any semblance of Gar’s scared self control flew out the window. 

And you became all too thankful for that. 

In seconds, it went from a feeling of perfect fullness to a blur of flesh, his hips pulling back and slamming into yours. His animalistic instincts kicked in, and absolutely took over. That thing in the back of his head chanting at him, telling him to fuck his cock into the perfect hot body beneath him without stopping. 

Don’t ever stop. 

That thing told him that he needed your pussy to live now - and he couldn’t find a lie anywhere in that feeling. 

He let out a growl that shook your chest - a sound that turned you on far more than you expected it to - causing you to let out a whimper in response. He gripped at your inner thigh, holding you open as he dug his knees into the mattress and pounded into you with impressive might. The thickness of his mighty cock splitting you opened caused sharp pleasure-pain shocks from your pussy that quickly stole your breath. You didn’t think that you would enjoy the slightly venomous bite of the pain so much, but mixing with the pleasure, it made you even more beautifully delirious. 

You knew that you would likely have difficulty walking after this, but you really couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

The pure force of Gar’s hips easily shook the whole bed. 

You were mildly aware of the headboard hitting the wall behind you - a sound that seemed so distant in your sex-hazy mind. It was easily drowned out by the wet, sloppy sounds of your pussy drowning his cock; the wicked slaps of flesh to flesh, and the whiny whimpers you let out. Followed by his near feral groans and deep growls that were absolutely programming a response into you that would likely get you untimely turned on the next time he transformed into the tiger. 

(But that was something you would have to mentally unpack later.) 

It was all so perfect. 

The hot, shocking tingles flowing from your pussy in waves, the perfect pain of his pelvis bruising you every time he slammed into you, splitting you open with his cock. But you needed one more thing. You reached a hand down, needing some form of touch on your throbbing clit. 

When your hand found its destination, Gar was quick to smack it away - something that surprised you. He had never been so rough with you during a sexual encounter before. You absolutely didn’t hate it, though. This new side of Gar sent dizzying waves through you. You fucking loved it. 

“No.” He said, his voice edging on a growl. 

He went so far as to grab your wrist and pin your hand down to the bed - and you let out another loud moan at the feeling. 

Before you could question him, he went on to answer the silent query - why didn’t he want you touching yourself? 

“Mine.” He grunted, his voice almost unrecognizable, coated hazy with lust. 

He moved his touch away from pinning your wrist down, and in a second, he had a thick thumb on your needy, swollen clit in place of your own touch. 

He was possessive - claiming your pussy entirely as his own. The action sent your spine into a sharp curve against the bed as you felt even more waves of white-hot pleasure shooting through you from the touch. He made quick, demanding circles against your clit in time with his hard thrusts, leaning down to dig his teeth into your neck as you desperately gripped at his upper arms for something to hold onto. 

“Mine.” He grunted again, the word solid and demanding against your neck. 

“Mine.” The second time, it became lost, a slur against his teeth as he bit down into your skin again. 

“Gar!” You gasped out. 

You already felt your orgasm coming to fruition, tight and hot in your belly. His touch was so perfect against you - he was so perfect. 

“All yours.” You murmured back, your throat tight and almost too weak to form words. You hoped he even heard and understood what you were saying. “Yours.” 

He sunk his teeth harder into your neck, a sharpness that stung in a delightful way, and then pulled back to lav his tongue over the blooming bite mark. 

“Mine.” He growled into your neck once more - a powerful, possessive statement that made you quiver. 

He pressed his thumb harder into your clit as he felt your pussy fluttering around his cock, as he felt your thighs jumping from pleasure, heard your needy whines. He knew you were tumbling over the edge. He gave a few good, hard slams of his hips - almost as if he was attempting to break your pelvic bone - but it was a roughness that had you gasping with delight, chugging air past your moans. It was a wonderful, harsh fullness that sent a perfect ache through your pussy. Gar played your body as well as played his favorite video games. 

He had you cumming around his cock with a strangled sound, digging your nails into his biceps so hard that you likely drew blood. 

“Fuck, Gar! Oh, oh!” 

It was a dizzying orgasm. Blood pumped through your ears, your whole body tingled - your pussy clenched down on his cock hard, as if determined to keep him inside of you. You felt like you were floating - the only feeling you had left being the hard throbbing where you were connected to him and the dryness of your mouth. Your tongue turned to sandpaper from being exposed to the open air by your slack-jawed moaning.  

You were beyond words. You couldn’t even get out the single syllable of his name, left gargling your own spit and gasping for breath as he fucked you through it and groaned into your neck at the wonderfully wet feeling of you cumming around him. 

He slowed his hips after a moment, still hard and throbbing inside of you, and moved his head up to lay gentle kisses across your hot cheeks and jaw as he finally moved his touch away from your almost numb clit.

“So perfect,” He murmured into your skin, clearly delirious with pleasure himself, his eyes closed as he leaned into your skin. “So beautiful. So good, Y/N. So good. I love you so much, baby. So much.” 

“I love you.” You breathed back. 

You were barely capable of speech, but you knew that you had to return it. Especially after something that spectacular. As you came down from your orgasm, you found yourself still hungry for him at the feeling of his thickness perfectly motionless and full inside of you. 

“Wanna make you cum,” You told him, your voice raspy and rough. 

He laid a gentle kiss on your mouth before he took a breath, gathering his words to make a request. He pressed his forehead gently into yours as he spoke. 

“Can you -?” He paused, attempting to think of the right words or gathering his breath to say it. “Can you turn around?” 

You were slightly confused by this. Fuck-drunk from your orgasm, feeling numb and positively unsure how to move - you had no clue what he meant. 

Gar saw this on your face and drew more words from his mind. 

“I wanna - I wanna see your pretty ass.” He spoke out, hot breath fanning across your cheeks. “Wanna grab it. Wanna fuck you from behind.” 

Those words sent a hazy wave of pleasure through you, and caused you to unconsciously squeeze around his cock - which drew a whiny groan from him. 

“Yeah.” You told him. “Yeah, okay.” 

Gar hesitantly pulled out of you, drawing a small gasp of disappointment at the empty feeling. This left you absolutely gaping from the absence of his large cock. But it was only for a moment as you situated yourself and got comfortable with a pillow under your chest and one under your hips at Gar’s insistence. 

Though that pillow did little to support you, seeing as a moment later, he was using his animal strength to man-handle your hips into the air. He positioned you with your knees bent and your ass high up, your chest and face pressed into his orange tiger striped pillow case. 

He didn’t hesitate this time before plunging his cock back inside of you - something that had you absolutely alight with pleasure, showing the animal inside of him shining through. Especially as he let out another sharp growl and didn’t waste any time before he began drilling himself into your tight, wet warmth. 

“Fuckin’ love you.” Gar grunted out, his words quiet compared to the loud slapping of his hips against your ass as he fucked his cock deep inside your wanting pussy. “Love how you feel on my cock.”

His filthy words had you clenching around him, moaning out so whiny that you barely recognized your own voice. You were so pliant to Gar, so needy for him. But you loved it, because you loved him. You couldn’t help but to love everything about him. You felt like you belonged with his cock inside of you. 

“Love you too.” You gasped back, barely able to summon words at all with the powerful fury of his hips fucking into you. 

Gar groaned out, his head tilting up to the ceiling in a moan as he grabbed a handful of your ass. Just as he had promised, he took a possessive hold on the flesh, tight enough that it would likely leave marks behind. He pistoned his hips into you with a mighty fury, fluctuating between staring at the space where his cock disappeared into your dripping, wanting pussy, soaking his cock with your wetness, and closing his eyes for fear of cumming too soon at the delicious sight. 

You gripped the pillow underneath you, desperate to hold onto something. Your face was half-shoved into the fabric with some drool leaking from your open mouth onto the pillow case as you struggled for breath and involuntarily let out an increasingly loud string of moans and whorish cries for Gar. His cock was so perfect inside of you - a perfect, hot length filling you up. 

Your pussy was dancing somewhere between pain and pleasure, well used by him and tingling with shocks every time he fucked back into you with the sharp movements of his hips. So you almost thought you were mistaken when you felt that thing. That extra bit of thickness prodding to fight its way inside of you. 

“Gonna cum.” He grunted, his voice garbled down to a broken mess of consonances by now. At this point, one word syllables was all he was working with. 

He was already so big, it seemed impossible that there was more of him. But you definitely felt it. That extra bit of something at the base, that extra girth of his already impossibly long cock that he was shoving inside of you with each pass. More and more of him with each time he fucked his hips forward. 

It felt so fucking impossible. 

“Gar!” 

Your voice was a whiny, high-pitched howl that you couldn’t even recognize, a plea for him to slow down, or give it to you - you weren’t entirely sure. Your pussy ached with a hot fire that you had never felt before and you wanted more. You really couldn’t imagine him stopping at this point. If this was going to break you - then so be it. 

“Take it.” 

He growled, shoving his hips so close to yours, spreading your pussy open with the impossible thickness of his cock, and that even thicker thing blooming at the base. It felt like it was going to split you in half, but it felt too fucking good to stop. 

“Take it, fucking take it-” 

His words dissolved off into a shuddering moan as he gripped your ass even tighter, pulling you back into his pelvis, shoving his cock impossibly deep inside of you as your pussy somehow accepted his gigantic size. 

His words had you faint and hazy, the sound of his voice like that making you more drunk than any booze ever could have. You knew that those words - his voice in that ravenous tone, it would echo inside of your mind forever. It would be something that you thought about every single time that you touched yourself from now on. 

He leaned down to drape his body over yours - creating a wonderful slick of sweat and damp skin on skin that warmed you in the coolness of the room as he pressed right up against you. 

He mouthed at the back of your neck and across your shoulders, leaving more sharp lines with his teeth, determined to mark you. Your pussy was almost numb with the pleasure, absolutely throbbing around him, but the feeling of him swelling even more inside of you was unmistakable. Somehow, his already large and impressive cock was growing larger. 

In your babbling haze of pleasure, you couldn’t find your voice to relay this strange feeling to Gar. So you were only able to lay there and clutch at the pillow as he dug his fingers into your hips - hard and possessive, as he shoved his cock even deeper inside of you and began spilling his cum inside of you in hot, thick waves. 

“Y/N, fuck - love you,” 

Somehow, his cock continued to expand inside of you. It was an entirely strange feeling, but not an unpleasant one. It was something your body began to take pleasure in. Something that had you letting out a strangled moan as he bit at the back of your neck and groaned into your skin, gently humping his hips into you as he rode out his orgasm. 

He was so swollen and thick inside of you that it felt as though your pussy might burst, the outer ring of your muscles almost stinging with pain, stretched to the limit where the base of his cock was lodged inside of you. He was slick with your wetness, but not a single drop of his cum had leaked out from where you were locked together - you could definitely feel that. 

Gar moved to pull back, seemingly unaware of the strangeness going on down below. When he did so, a sharp pain rocked you as he pulled at your most sensitive, stretched-out muscles. 

You loudly winced in pain and he immediately stopped his movements. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, breath puffing out over your neck, his voice returning to its usual brightness as he was shaken from his pleasure haze by his worry for you. 

“Just stay still.” You instructed. 

Your legs were shaky, your muscles weak from the intensity of the sex. You were still high up on your knees where Gar had put you, tiredly trying to support your own body weight. Struggling with that task as your thighs quivered, so fucked out from his excellent job fucking you. You unconsciously squeezed yourself around him and he let out a groan - clearly still sensitive. 

He tried again to pull himself out, not yet understanding the situation, and you let out a sharp hiss of pain as the thickness of his cock tried to breach through you without success. He was stuck inside you. 

The realization flashed through your mind. Oddly enough, you knew exactly what was happening. One too many late nights plagued by nightmares (that had turned out to be glimpses of the future) had caused you to end up reading some… interesting fiction to fill your late night hours. So you knew what this was. At least, a fictional approximation of it. That’s what you get for dating a guy with animal DNA in his system, you guessed. 

“Gar.” You said, a warning in your voice. “Just. Stay. Still.” You gritted your teeth, praying he would listen this time. 

“What? What’s wrong?” He said, his voice quickly escalating with panic and worry. 

He raised his head up from your neck, moving to look down toward the space where you were joined, looking to inspect the problem. This was a movement that jostled things, and caused another a small jolt of pain. 

“Gar!” You gasped, voice warning him to stop once again. “Just - just lower us down so I can lay on the pillows, okay? Be gentle. Please.” 

“Why? I can just pull out, right? Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to, I swear, Y/N-” Gar began a rambling panic, and you knew the news you had to tell him wouldn’t calm him down at all. 

“You’re stuck inside me.” You told him. 

“Stuck?!” Gar shrieked with shock, his voice sharp right next to your ear in a way that made you flinch. “Wh-what do you mean? Did I do it wrong? Fuck - I must be the only guy who messes up having sex, I am such a fa-!” 

“It’s not your fault, Gar.” You said, quickly cutting him off. Your legs shook more, and you yearned to rest against the bed. “Just lower me down to the bed, please.” 

He began to do so, easing your joint bodies down toward the bed, letting your legs untangle and stretch out - the soreness from how roughly he had fucked you was already setting in. 

“What the hell is happening, then? How did I get stuck? I’ve literally never heard of this happening to anyone ever.” Gar said, clearly exasperated. 

He settled in, laying against you. As he put his weight against your back, his cock sank somehow even deeper inside of you. This sent latent shocks through your overly sensitive, worn-out pussy, causing you to let out a quiet whimper. 

“Sorry.” Gar mumbled as he heard the quiet sound. 

You really didn’t need him to apologize. It had been the best sex of your life. 

“Just - just pass me my phone.” You said. 

The only way you could think to properly explain it to him would be to look up some diagrams and perhaps show him your AO3 history. It was strange to see, and feel some of those wild fictional concepts coming to life right between your legs, but hey - at least you weren’t as unknowing and freaked out as him. 

Gar glanced at both night stands flanking the bed and then sighed. 

“I don’t see it.” He told you. 

Right. You had left it in the kitchen before you went to shower. 

“Then… pass me your phone.” You said. 

He would end up with some very weird shit in his search history, but this was quite literally, his problem. Technically - it was both of your problem, considering it was currently between your legs. And he was your boyfriend, and you definitely weren’t going to break up with him over this. Especially with your reading history, you found it to be more of a turn-on than you were willing to admit. 

Gar reached out to the night table on the other end of the bed, something that caused more jostling and another sharp gasp of pain from you. He mumbled a chorus of ‘sorry, sorry, sorry’ as he grabbed the phone and then returned. He blanketed his body over yours once more, relaxing into his position on top of you as he passed the phone to you. 

It took you about an hour to fully explain the concept to Gar. There were a few diagrams available - ones that had been drawn by writers in the genre. But most of the explaining was done by your hand movements, showing him how it was possible to get ‘stuck’ because he had moved smoothly and pleasurably and first, and then essentially - based on biological instincts, and no purposeful intent of his own: he had knotted you. 

“So you know this from a story?” Gar asked, trying to confirm the source of the information. 

“A few stories.” You told him. 

You didn’t want to divulge just how many stories of the genre you had read and fantasized about before. You were glad that your face was half-buried in the pillow, and Gar couldn’t see the expression of partial guilt on your face as you tried in vain to hide your kinkier side from him. 

“So how do you know it’s true?” He asked. 

“Because you’re literally stuck inside me right now.” You said, voice dancing with a laugh. “And in fiction, it’s usually something that happens with characters who are half-human, half-animal. I think we know which part of you is doing this.” 

Gar sighed, leaning down to rest his head between your shoulders. Clearly he was frustrated at the lack of predictability. He was frustrated that this was just another aspect of his life that couldn’t be normal. 

“Fiction is the only good reference we have to go off.” You said. “Rachel can bring people back from the dead, Kory can literally shoot fire out of her hands, and you can turn into a giant tiger. I think we passed reality a long time ago.” 

“So… when does it stop?” Gar asked. “As much as I enjoy being this close to you, I don’t wanna hurt you.” He rubbed his hand lovingly along your bare side, a genuineness in his voice that made you absolutely thick with love. 

“In the stories I’ve read…” You were also hesitant to share this answer. “Anywhere from a few minutes to… several hours.” 

“Hours?!” Gar let out another indignant shriek, and your muscles tensed. “We’re gonna be stuck like this for hours? Wh-what if it doesn’t go down at all? What if we have to call 9-1-1 and get my dick surgically removed?” 

“It’s gonna be fine, Gar.” You told him, trying to be the soothing calm to his unnecessary panic. “It’s your body’s natural instinct. Your body knows what to do. Just relax. It’ll probably help.” 

“My body’s natural instinct?” Gar echoed back the words. “So what… the animal inside me wants to get you pregnant?” 

Your face burned at the words, and you wondered if Gar felt your pussy flutter around him. 

That did appear to be the truth. A large part of you had wondered why this had never happened to him before. His cock had reacted differently when it had just been your mouth or your hand, or when you had made him cum in his pants dry humping against each other. It was like some animal instinct inside him took over when his body felt your pussy around him - like that thing inside of him really was determined to get you pregnant. 

It was a thought that made your stomach roll with heat. The part of you that loved being Gar’s, the part of you that loved him and everything about him so dearly. Of course you wanted a family with him. Of course you wondered what your little green haired babies would look like. 

“That seems to be the case.” You said, slightly breathless in your reply. 

Gar wrapped his arms around you, tucking his strong grip between your stomach and the mattress to hold you tightly. 

“Would you wanna keep it?” He asked, voice quiet. It was something he did when he was afraid to know the answer. “If you did… end up pregnant?” 

He was leaving the choice entirely in your hands. As though he had no say in the two of you starting a family. But he was good like that - he knew that it was your body you would be sacrificing for those months, he knew it would be asking a lot from you. 

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.” You told him. “I’d wanna have your baby.” 

Gar moaned quietly at this realization. 

… 

You chatted about other things for a while - what you were gonna make for dinner, hopes of the other Titans to make-up and come home, wondering when Conner was going to wake up, wondering what Krypto would eat because you didn’t have any dog food in the house (wondering if you should go out and buy some dog food). Eventually, you dozed into sleep and Gar fell asleep on top of you. 

… 

Gar woke up before you did. 

His cock had slipped out of you while he had slept, and he felt an insane sense of relief to look down and see his usual soft member hanging out between his thighs, no longer stuck inside of you. 

Then - he became very distracted by something else. 

The sight of your pussy - fucked raw, slightly gaping, with white cum flowing out of you. So much cum. 

Gar bit his lip, suppressing a groan - he wanted to be quiet. It would be rude to wake you. 

His eyes flickered over to your sleeping face, wanting to check - and yes, you were in the middle of a deep, peaceful sleep. You had been worn out from the intense, rough fucking. You deserved to get all the sleep that your body needed now. 

Gar’s eyes went back to your pussy, and entirely against his will, his cock stirred to life between his thighs. He was still covered in the mixture of your wetness and his own cum, and god - the smell. He knew that his sense of smell was infinitely more sensitive due to that animal part of him, and fuck - this had to be his new favourite smell. 

The tang of your natural wetness mixed with his own cum. The undeniable scent of him just pouring out of you. The fact that he could smell how well he had claimed you. 

Gar itched to touch you more, and gripped a fist tightly, resisting the urge. 

It would be rude to wake you. 

But maybe - he didn’t have to. 

While sitting back on his heels, he inched his touch forward, and oh-so-gently eased two fingers into your pussy. He just needed to feel you - he needed to feel what he had done. Your pussy easily gave way to his touch, and more of his cum came gushing out around his fingers - he was met with another pungent burst of that perfect smell, and his cock ached between his thighs. 

He couldn’t help himself. 

He gently scooped through the mess, careful not to be too rough with your sensitive, fucked-out pussy as he gathered the mixture of your cum and his on his fingers - and then he brought this hand toward his hard cock, spreading the mess across himself. He choked down a loud moan, wanting to stay quiet for you. 

He wrapped a tight fist around himself, and began jerking off earnestly - he needed to cum. He needed to capture this moment in his mind forever. 

His eyes couldn’t race fast enough to take all of you in - your beautiful, peaceful sleeping face, the soft muscles of your back, the way your breasts were pressed against his pillows, showing off the gentlest peak of the side, round fat. The thickness of your spread thighs, slightly marked by his dull nails scratching you earlier, the perfect plumpness of your ass, and your perfect pussy leaking his cum - the ultimate mark of his claim on you. 

All of it had Gar fucking his own hips into his fist fast, biting down on his lip hard to conceal growls deep within his chest. 

Within a minute, he was overwhelmed - by your beauty, by the perfect smell, but the idea that he had you, perfect you, and he would get to have you forever - and all too soon, he was cumming again. Not nearly as much this time - a meager few stripes that leaked across his fist and sprayed out across your thighs and his own. 

Perfect. 

He felt much better now. 

He knew that it would be polite to clean you up, so that you wouldn’t have to wake up to the mess. The first thing he spotted was his own shirt that he had shed off in a haste earlier, and he wiped you down with that (and let out a growl when even more cum came spilling out of you the more he wiped) - before he went to the bathroom in order to get a warm cloth. 

Once you were as cleaned up as he could get you (he was partially impressed and partially embarrassed by just how much cum he had fucked into you) - he found a pair of your panties and slipped them onto you, leaving a small kiss on your ass through the fabric before he covered you up with a blanket. He could have spent all day in bed with you, but you had requested pasta for dinner. And he was nothing if not a servant of your every need. 

… 

You had dreams of a green haired little boy with your skin tone, and you wondered if it was purely fantasy, or your powers trying to tell you something. 

… 

You woke up feeling unpleasantly empty. 

You knew in a moment that Gar’s knot had gone down and he had successfully pulled out of you. It left your pussy sore, but not unpleasantly so. He had also managed to dress you while you were sleeping. Well, he had put a pair of panties on you. 

Your body must have really been exhausted from the sex for you to sleep so deeply, but it was something you were grateful for, considering how many nights you had laid awake sleepless due to your nightmare-like visions and the worry they caused you. 

With your upper half bare, you still felt a slight chill - you got up and grabbed an oversized, cotton band tee shirt that Gar often liked to steal from you and shoved it on. As you moved, you noticed that the modest cotton underwear he had put on you were slightly damp against your pussy. You didn’t think much about it. 

You continued on, shoving your feet into a pair of slippers you had left in Gar’s room to shield you against the coldness of the floors. You heard music coming from the kitchen and followed the sound, smiling widely when you saw Gar stirring a pot and swaying his hips, dancing to a Cardi B song. He was dressed in an oversized green hoodie that made him look delightfully cozy and a pair of sweatpants. The moment he saw you, he put down the spoon he was using and turned to pause the music. 

“You’re awake.” He gave you a small, lop-sided grin. “I tried to clean you up as best I could, but there was a lot… a lot of… cum.” 

His hesitance to say the words was entirely adorable - especially considering how filthy his mouth had been just hours before. His persona outside of sexual encounters shifted entirely, and it was one of those things you loved so much about him.

That would explain why your panties were damp. 

He cleared his throat, quickly shifting the tone of the conversation when you didn’t respond. 

“Look, I’m sorry about earlier, I kn-” He began to apologize, and you were quick to cut him off. 

“Don’t be sorry.” You said. 

Gar’s brows curled with confusion and you stepped closer to him, leaning your body against him, reaching up to smooth your hands over his arms and across his shoulders. You pressed your forehead into his and his hands took a natural place on your waist. His expression softened as he realized that you weren’t mad at him or upset with him in any way. 

“Don’t even think about apologizing, Gar.” You told him firmly. “You don’t have to apologize for what happened earlier, because I loved it. It was fucking amazing. That was the most amazing sex ever.” 

Of course, you had to start by assuring him of this fact. His skills were well pronounced and he had to know that he had made you feel a multitude of pleasure that you had never felt before. Something that you knew you wouldn’t be able to get with anyone else but him. 

“The ending… I know it was… weird. Neither of us really saw it coming. Which is strange, considering my powers.” You said, chuckling lightly as the joke flowed naturally from your lips. 

Gar let out a laugh at this. 

“But I love that side of you.” You declared, absolutely certain. “I love the animal part of you as much as I love that sweet, soft side of you.” 

You leaned in and gave him a gentle kiss, skimming your teeth along his bottom lip in a tentative bite as you pulled away, showing him a little roughness of your own. 

“I’ve never been afraid of the tiger, you know.” You added on, your thoughts on the matter absolutely final. 

Hearing you say that made Gar’s heart flutter. It was something you had told him before - after he had taken down your attackers at the asylum. But back then, he had been convinced that you were just trying to placate him. He had thought you were just trying to soothe his anxieties about hurting someone for the first time. Now he heard it for the genuine sentiment that it was: you saw his animal side, and rather than being afraid of it, you embraced it. 

“I love you so much.” He said, a heartfelt whisper that warmed you from the inside out. 

“I love you so, so very much.” You told him, and he kissed you again. 

“I made dinner.” He announced. “The pasta you wanted.” 

It was something you had discussed earlier, when you had still been locked together in that slightly uncomfortable position, a lovely food smell now filling your nose. He was a talented cook. Just another thing about him to love. 

Krypto wandered in, the padding of little doggy feet catching your attention. When you leaned down and began petting him, cooing at the dog with a sweet little baby-talk voice - Gar couldn’t help but imagine the two of you in your own family home, with your own pets, making dinner for your kids some day. Maybe it was a pipe dream to think a couple of super-powered freaks like the two of you could have the white picket fence dream, but Gar wanted it so badly, because he wanted it with you. 

“I also made cookies, but they turned out weirdly… flat.” Gar said, moving to the counter, and picking up a large plate that was covered in plastic wrap. 

He presented them to you, and you couldn’t help but giggle as you saw something that you easily recognized as an amateur baking mistake. He had either set the oven to too low of a temperature or neglected to refrigerate the cookie dough before baking them, causing the butter to melt before it actually started cooking. 

“I’m sure they’ll still taste good.” You assured him. And to make sure of this, he handed you one to sample. You tasted it - the mixture of sugar and butter and chocolate chips could never go wrong. “Delicious. Everything you do always turns out right.” 

It was a clear hint at what had happened earlier, and Gar grinned at you. 

“Everything I do for you always turns out right.” He corrected. “And I’m thankful for that.”

...

A/N: Please keep in mind - this fic is a oneshot, and there will not be a continuation or a 'part 2', so please do not ask for one. If you are going to comment, please comment about the body of work that has been written. Reblogs and comments are appreciated, and if you want to check out more of my Gar Logan fanfics, definitely check out my DC Titans masterlist!