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aemondsbabe · 11 months ago

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if only 😔

ty for the love bby!!!! 🩷🩷🩷

Homecoming

summary: reassurance & car sex || you're desperate to have tom before he ships off, but neither of your houses are exactly ideal options...

pairing: tom bennett x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, first time, loss of virginity, car sex, public sex (they don’t get caught, no one else sees, but it’s not in the privacy of a home so ig), fingering, fluff, tom being so sweet actually, v soft

word count: 3.1k

a/n: happy day two of 12 days of smuff!!! tom bennett makes my head spin!!!!!!!

12 days of smuff masterlist!

gif creds to @violaobanion!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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A loud peal of laughter erupts from Tom’s lips as the two of you stagger out of the small, neighborhood pub you frequented, each of you calling quick goodbye’s over your shoulders to your friends. The night air was crisp but thankfully not overly cold yet as you take Tom’s arm, your shoulder bumping against his as you step out onto the sidewalk.

“You’re a real firecracker, love, you know that?” He asks with a cheeky grin, draping a long arm over your shoulders as you begin the quick walk back to your family’s place.

You can’t help but chuckle as you glance over at him, the apples of your cheeks sore from how much you’ve been smiling and laughing over the last couple hours. “‘S just the truth, Tommy,” you shrug, slightly slurring your words, “I just love you sooooooo much! Like, more than anything.”

Leaning in, Tom presses a quick kiss to your cheek and laughs once again when you stumble against him from the movement. “Easy there, tiger,” he mumbles, a soft smile on his face. The two of you amble a bit further in a comfortable, giggly silence as you finally turn the corner onto your street, “D’you love me more than Cola Cubes?” Tom asks, giggling out the words.

You throw your head back and groan dramatically before turning to him with a playful pout, “That is pure evil, that is! Making me think of Cola Cubes during rationing!” You whine, reaching up to lightly smack him on his firm chest.

Tom merely laughs as the two of you finally come to a stop in front of your front door; spinning around, you let yourself fall back against the white-painted door, the material cool against your back through your thin blouse. You look up through your lashes at Tom, watching as he leans forward, balancing himself against the door with one arm outstretched above the two of you as his other hand comes to rest on your hip.

“Tell ya what,” he starts, a suddenly serious look in his cobalt eyes as he leans ever closer to you and rests his forehead against yours, “I’ll save you every single Cola Cube I get in my C-rations and y’can have ‘em all when I get back to ya.”

Your throat tightens at his words and your heart twists meanly in your chest, though you manage to turn your lips up into a small, quivering smile as you place a hand on his chest, the grey fabric of his sweater soft under your palm. “And you promise you’ll come back?” Your voice is softer than you mean for it to be, a slight hoarseness to it from how your throat pinches.

Tom sighs softly and gently cups your chin, his hand still cool from where it had been balanced on the door. “I’ve only had you for a measly two months, you think I’m giving you up that easily?” He teases, though there’s a certain sadness in his eyes that mirror’s your own; even still, you can’t help but chuckle at his words.

The two of you stand in a comfortable silence for a moment, simply enjoying being close as neither of you are willing to say goodnight yet. After a minute, your breath hitches in your chest as you notice the shadow behind the brunette’s eyes morph into a different kind of darkness as his eyes stray to your lips.

Without a second thought, you lean in and press your lips against his, eliciting a pleased hum from the boy, the small noise vibrating against the hand still on his chest as your other comes up to rest on his shoulder. Both of his skirt down to grab at your hips and he pulls you closer to him, your heads tilting in opposite directions as the kiss deepens. A small whimper escapes your lips as he licks into your mouth, his tongue swirling against your own.

“Tommy,” you whisper, your head tilting further to the side as he presses a line of kisses down your neck, “I… I want you.” You finish shyly, teeth biting into your lower lip as he pulls back to look at you.

His breath hitches for a second before he collects himself. “Are you sure, love?” He asks gruffly, “I thought you wanted to wait till–.”

You shake your head, your eyes searching his as you fiddle with the neckline of his sweater. “Changed my mind,” the corner of your lips quirks up into a nervous smile, “Think of it as a going away present.”

Tom smiles at your words and huffs out a small laugh before nodding to the door behind you. “Whatever you wish, love. Lead the way.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you shake your head again. “Are you crazy? We cannot go in there, both my parents are very light sleepers and if my dad catches you, you won’t even make it to the Navy, much less make it home. Can’t we just go round to yours? It’s only a couple minutes away.”

“No can do, love,” Tom sighs with a shake of his head, “Even if my dad’s asleep, there’s no way we’ll get past Lois. Bloody bat hearing on that one, I swear.”

The two of you sigh, defeated, your shoulders sagging as Tom crooks an arm up, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck as he glances around, the wheels in his head spinning frantically as he tries to come up with an idea; his eyes do a double take as he spots your family’s black car sitting idly on the small driveway in front of your house and he turns to you with a sly smirk.

“What say we christen your dad’s car?”

You start to giggle, convinced he’s merely joking, although you stop when you see the look in his eyes. “Tommy, you can’t be serious,” you say with a surprised smile, “If my dad finds out we took it he’ll–.”

“Who said anything about taking it, love?” He says with a proud smirk.

You guffaw at this, staring at him incredulously. “What, you mean just here on the drive?”

“Well, why not?” He questions, exaggeratedly turning his head as he looks around, peering up and down the deserted road, “You know as well as I do that all your neighbors are old as the hills, love. Only ones out round here at this hour are you and me.”

You stay quiet for a moment, unbelievably actually considering his proposal as you glance up and down the road and well… he is right. Most of your neighbors are quite a bit older and all of their windows dark and still as you peer around. Finally, you turn back to Tom with a sigh, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

“Fine,” you quip, blushing slightly as he chuckles lowly, clearly pleased with himself, “Let me grab the bloody key.” You mutter with a playful eye roll as you open your front door as slowly and quietly as you can possibly manage. You duck in and quickly snatch your father’s ring of keys off the small table next to the door before quietly shutting it behind you.

You hand the keys to Tom and follow him down the drive, a sense of giddiness quickly replacing your nerves; the brunette easily unlocks the car and quickly pulls one of the back doors open and slides inside before reaching a hand out to pull you with him.

He pounces on you as soon as you carefully shut the door, his rough hands eagerly bunching up the fabric of your blouse as he tugs it out from where you’d tucked it under your skirt while his lips move frantically against your own.

“You’re sure?” He pants, pulling back after a moment when he feels your hands starting to tug impatiently at the bottom of his sweater, “We really don’t ha–.”

You press a finger against his rosy lips, cutting him off with a soft giggle. “I want this, Tommy,” leaning in, you trail soft kisses up his jaw to his ear, “I want you.” You whisper, relishing the way he shivers on top of you and the way the muscles of his stomach and chest twitch under your touch as you slide your hands under his sweater.

With a nod, Tom dives in yet again and presses wet kisses against the column of your throat as he tugs you into his lap, careful not to let your head bump against the roof of the car. He groans at the feel of you on top of him and his hands move quickly as they pull your blouse up; he leans in and kisses wetly up your stomach, right down the middle until he reaches the bottom of your bra.

His blue eyes are nearly black as he gazes up at you, questioning. A whimper slips past your lips as you answer him with a small nod, fingers threading through his short hair as he eagerly slips your bra up.

He breathes out a low, satisfied groan when your breasts are finally free, not bothering to take off your bra or blouse before he dives in. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbles, lips pressed against the underside of your breast, “They’re better than I imagined, so much better.”

A giggle spills past your lips before it quickly turns into a moan, your head lolling back as he latches onto one nipple, happily sucking it into his warm mouth with a satisfied grunt. “T-Tommy,” you whisper, already writhing on top of him from a few touches, “Don’t stop.” Your voice is whiny as you speak, only for you to actually whine as Tom pulls back for a second to tug his sweater over his head.

“Relax, love,” he huffs against your chest, groaning hotly as you squirm in his lap, no doubt able to feel his cock as it hardens steadily in his pants, “‘M gonna give you what you want, gonna do right by you.” He promises, licking over your nipple before sucking at it and letting his eyes flutter shut at the way you gently tug his hair.

The windows of the car quickly begin to fog up as the two of you move together, your breathy sighs and whimpers filling the small space along with Tom’s harsh pants and groans. You squirm in his lap as his hands make quick work of your stockings and underwear, quickly tugging them down and off your legs before he tosses them somewhere on the floor of the car.

He looks to you for reassurance once more, which you happily give, before his warm hand cups your center, causing both of you to shudder against each other. Slowly, carefully, he parts your folds before gently rubbing a finger over your bud, chuckling when you buck into his hand with a loud moan. “That the spot, love?” His eyes flick up to your face, eager to watch your reactions as he touches you, “God, you’re dripping.” A soft sigh leaves his lips as he presses his fingers more firmly against you, flicking them over your clit.

“Mhm, Tommy, shit,” you whine, your voice only a breathy whisper as you press your forehead against his. Your eyes flutter as your hips move against his hand, seemingly with a mind of their own, “More, please!” You whine desperately after a few moments, eyes squeezing shut at the way your center clenches around nothing.

Nodding, Tom moves his hand a bit lower, groaning at how much slicker you are here, before he runs his fingers through your folds once more, making sure to get them wet before notching two at your entrance. “Ready?” He asks softly, only slowly pushing them in once you nod. He groans along with you, marveling at how tightly you’re grasping his fingers as his cock twitches in his pants at the thought of how much tighter you’ll be around him. “Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he groans lowly, blue eyes glancing down to watch your breasts heave as you pant on top of him, “Does that feel good, love?”

Wordlessly, you nod against his forehead, swallowing thickly. A loud moan is practically punched out of you as he curls his fingers, pressing perfectly against a small, sensitive spot inside you. Your mouth hangs open as unintelligible whines tumble from your lips, a shiver going down your spine when you see the pleased smirk on his face.

His long fingers fuck into you for a few more moments, his thumb coming up to rub at your clit in a way that makes you see stars as you cling to him tightly, your breasts pressed deliciously up against his warm, bare chest.

You whine, however, when his movements start to slow against you, though he’s quick to hush you, chuckling as he presses a kiss to your cheek. “You want my cock, love?” He asks, pulling his fingers from you slowly before gripping appreciatively at the fat of your inner thigh.

You pull back to look down at him, your eyebrows knitting together as a small, nervous pit forms in your stomach. “It… it won’t hurt, right?” You ask softly, the words of several of your friends echoing through your mind.

Quickly, Tom shakes his head, one hand coming up to cup your cheek lovingly. “I promise it won’t,” he says softly, pressing a reassuring kiss to your lips, “I told you, I’m gonna do right by you.”

Hesitantly, you nod, though he must sense the nervousness that’s still pooled in your stomach. He sighs with a soft smile, his thumb caressing your cheekbone. “How about you stay on top, hm? That way you control everything.”

You blink a few times, considering the offer before smiling and nodding, which draws a bright smile from the boy underneath you. You shift back a bit on his lap, giving him enough room to unbutton and unzip his pants and pull them down just enough to free his cock; your eyes widen as he pulls it free from his boxers with a relieved sigh.

“A-Are you sure it’ll fit?” You ask softly, marveling at it as he runs a hand over his length.

He chuckles beneath you with a proud smirk as he pulls you back to him. “I’m sure, love, I promise you’ll enjoy it.” He assures you, pressing kisses down your neck as he does so. Your breath hitches as you feel the head of his cock prod at your entrance, and you lean into Tom’s touch as you let him guide your hips.

“Oh!” You shudder as you slowly sink down, breathing heavily as the head slips inside your warm center.

“That’s it,” he coaxes, his hands gentle on your hips as he lets you take him at your own pace, “Doing so well, pretty girl.”

His praises spur you on as you sink lower and lower, eyes squeezing shut as your thighs burn a little with the effort. Finally, after a few minutes, you breathe a sigh of relief as your thighs finally rest on top of his, his length pressing fully inside you.

“Y’okay?” He checks through a ragged breath, his eyes nearly slipping to the back of his head as he feels you twitch and pulse around him already, your walls suffocatingly tight against his length.

You nod as you let yourself fall forward and press a cheek against his warm shoulder before giving a small, experimental roll of your hips. You gasp as you feel him press against you, filling you with a delicious ache.

The two of you begin to move together wordlessly, your hands finding purchase against his firm chest as you gingerly bounce on top of him, breathily moaning in time with each thrust. Tom grunts each time you sink back down onto him, one hand gripping at your hip as the other kneads at your breast, his fingers pinching and pulling your nipple just enough to elicit adorable high-pitched whines from you.

Your clit, still sensitive from his earlier attention, rubs perfectly against the small thatch of hair at the base of his cock and sends shivers down your spine. “T-Tommy,” you gasp, nearly doubling over as you tilt your hips, causing the head of his cock to rut against that sensitive spot within you at the same time your clit grinds against him, “I think – I, oh!” You pant against his shoulder, unable to string together two words as sparks suddenly burst behind your eyelids.

Tom huffs out a loud groan as he feels you tense on top of him, your walls clenching around his cock wildly as your peak washes over you. He mumbles incoherent curses against your neck as his hips rut up into you.

He holds out for as long as he can before tugging you off of his lap, one hand quickly grasping at his length as he desperately strokes it. You watch, enraptured, as his head tilts back onto the car seat, his Adams’s apple bobbing beautifully as he moans, long and loud. His cock twitches in his grasp as he finishes, painting wet, pearlescent streaks against the trembling skin of his lower stomach, his chest heaving.

After a moment, the two of you giggle softly. You bite your lip as he bends over, only to open it in protest as he quickly wipes his spend from his stomach with your discarded stockings, “Tom! You pig!” You admonish, albeit through a surprised laugh.

He peers up at you cheekily as he deposits your stockings on the floor of the car once again, laughing as he pulls you back to him. “You’ll wash them anyway!” He huffs, wrapping his arms around you. The two of you grow quiet for a moment, rain softly pattering against the top of the car. “Or you could keep them like a trophy while I’m gone,” he teases, chuckling once again at your small sound of disgust, “Something to remember me by.”

“But you’ll be back,” you say softly after a moment, pulling back so you can look at him properly, your wide eyes searching his, “Right?”

He sighs with a soft smile, both hands gently cupping your cheeks. “I promise, I’ll come back to you,” he says earnestly, blue eyes boring into your own, “I will come home to you, love.”

You stare at him for a moment longer before finally nodding, tucking your face against his shoulder once more and breathing in his familiar scent.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @alerisc

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#thank you reblog #targaryenrealnessdarling #tom bennett #homecoming #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett x you #tom bennett smut

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the-dendrophile-bookdragon · 2 months ago

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Mister Targaryen's Curious Bookshop

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, mutual pining, slow burn, Aemond being obsessed with the reader, a little bit of self-loathing and low self-esteem (Aemond), flower shop/bookshop AU

Summary: Aemond thought he would be alone with his bookshop for the rest of his life. Until the flower shop next door came back to life.

A/N: This fic had been sitting in my WIPs for ages. @hotd-bigbang gave me the motivational push to finally write it. And @targaryenrealnessdarling visualised my words so wonderfully, helping me imagine and feel this fic more.

Masterlist Taglist

Aemond had been working at "The Curious Book Shop" since college. It had become his refuge from the chaos of his family life and a break from his studies. He would hide in the deepest corners, surrounded by rows upon rows of books, studying for exams or reading for pleasure.

It was during one of his early morning runs that he stumbled upon his fate. Just around the corner from his apartment complex, he noticed a small bookshop. Something about it pulled him in as if it were calling out to him. The smell of old books gently wafted into his nostrils, and he felt as though he had entered heaven.

Aemond wandered the shop slowly, lazily browsing the shelves. His fingers grazed the spines of both old and new books. He spotted classics like *Frankenstein* and beautifully bound editions of Jane Austen novels, but there was also an entire section dedicated to fresh voices, new writers waiting to be discovered.

Time slipped away from him until the bookshop keeper, a kind elderly man with snow-white hair, a stout build, and round glasses that made his eyes look larger—like a slightly overfed hamster—tapped him gently on the shoulder. With a warm smile, the man told him it was closing time.

Aemond felt a pang of disappointment. He had only explored half of the shop and longed to uncover every hidden corner.

From that day on, he became a regular. His visits were so frequent that the old man eventually offered him a job. Aemond accepted without hesitation; it was a dream come true to work in a place filled with books.

Though Aemond had completed his business degree at Queen’s College in King’s Landing, he didn’t pursue the corporate path his mother and grandfather had carefully laid out for him. Instead, he chose to put his skills to use at the bookshop. His mentor appreciated his knack for numbers and calculations, and Aemond soon took over managing the shop’s finances and budgets.

For a long time, Aemond was simply an employee. His mentor guided him through all the shop’s nooks and crannies, revealing the secrets hidden deep within the endless rows of books. But when the old man passed away, Aemond was shocked to discover that, in his will, he had left the bookshop to him.

"Old Valyrian magic," his mentor had said one day as they placed new arrivals on the shelves near the cashier, "is rooted deep in every corner of this bookshop—in every rug fibre, dust grain, and wooden splinter. It is like the skeleton of this wonderful shop."

Aemond could feel it too—the raw power lingering behind closed doors, in the creaks of the wooden floor, and the way the air seemed to hum with ancient energy. Or, at least, he thought he did. The truth was, sometimes the shop seemed to have a mind of its own. Doors would appear where there had been none before, opening to reveal strange, hidden rooms. Other times, doors would remain locked no matter how hard he tried, as if the bookshop decided he wasn’t ready to enter.

One day, after stocking the historical crime books, Aemond’s curiosity was piqued when a door swung open just as he turned away from the shelves. This door, unlike the others, seemed to beckon him. It led him not to another room but to an entirely different dimension—a space outside the normal laws of reality.

There were no books written about the bookshop itself, at least none he could find, and so he started documenting his explorations in a leather-bound notebook. In it, he scribbled down every detail, theory, and oddity he encountered. He spent hours after closing wandering the ever-shifting landscape of the shop, venturing through realms that seemed to exist only within its walls. The bookshop was playful—mischievous, even. It would open random doors, then lock them again, guiding him through magical adventures far beyond the world outside.

One room in particular had become his favourite: The Hidden Library. It was a vast, seemingly endless space filled with row after row of books, stretching far into the sky. There were books of every kind—small, hand-sized paperbacks, large encyclopedic tomes, volumes bound in leather with golden lettering, some in languages long dead. History, botany, astrology, science, philosophy—the scope of knowledge was overwhelming.

The towering shelves formed a maze, a labyrinth of wisdom and mystery. At the heart of this labyrinth sat a large oak desk, polished to such perfection that it gleamed like glass. Above it hung an ornate chandelier, casting a warm, amber glow over the desk, perfect for reading or studying in the comforting silence of the library.

But the labyrinth had its whims. The shelves shifted at will, reshuffling the paths and the books. It was both awe-inspiring and, at times, deeply frustrating. There were days when the maze seemed to toy with him, taking him in circles or preventing him from finding the desk. Yet, Aemond knew it was the bookshop's way of showing off—revealing itself bit by bit, granting him access to its secrets.

Aemond often imagined that the Library of Alexandria must have been like this—filled with treasures of knowledge, books and scrolls that held the wisdom of the world, guarded by time and mystery. Here, in his bookshop, he was one of the lucky few to uncover these treasures.

But The Hidden Library wasn’t the only room that fascinated him. There were other hidden chambers—each with its own magic, its own allure. He spent so much time exploring these secret places that he realized the bookshop had become more than just his workplace. It was his refuge, his second home, and perhaps, more than anything, a living entity he had come to understand like a dear, old friend.

Next to the magical bookshop stood an old, battered flower shop. The windows were dusty, and the paint on the rusty frames—once a bright blue—was flaking off. The sunblinds were torn and faded, their colour washed out from years of rain and weather damage.

Aemond’s mentor had once mentioned that the old owner couldn’t keep the shop open because her hands were no longer as nimble as they used to be. “The arrangements she made were as magical as this bookshop,” he would always say. “A shame she had to close it. She had no one to take over.”

The old bookshop owner had seemed melancholic whenever he spoke of the previous florist, smiling wistfully as if he had secretly admired her, perhaps even loved her in silence. Little did he know that he would share the same fate, leaving behind his beloved shop.

But one day, the flower shop next door sprang back to life. The scent of spring flowers began to fill the street, drifting into Aemond’s bookshop. The windows were freshly cleaned, and a new, bright yellow sunblind had been installed, replacing the worn one.

A week after the shop reopened, he saw her. She had messy, short hair in a half-up, half-down style, and a soft smile on her rosy, full lips. Her eyes sparkled as she quietly mumbled to herself, carefully arranging cut flowers in a vase outside the shop.

Aemond didn’t want to admit it, but he enjoyed watching her. Lost in her own little world, she crafted magnificent art with flowers, leaves, and other natural materials. He marvelled at her creations every time he passed by, often stopping to buy a bouquet—sometimes just to strike up a conversation, sometimes just to be near her.

It was nearly closing time when she appeared in front of him, a bright smile spreading across her lips. Her hair was messy again, with leaves and colourful petals woven into it—likely by accident, as some softly drifted to the ground whenever she turned her head.

"Hi, I'm your shop neighbour. Sorry for not introducing myself sooner; I had to unpack everything," she said, holding out her hand with a bright grin. "Lovely," Aemond thought as he shook her hand.

“I’ve been to your shop a few times. I should’ve introduced myself, too,” he mumbled sheepishly, a soft blush dusting his pale cheeks. His ears felt like they were on fire.

Her hand was so small compared to his, soft but marked with fresh scars—probably from working with thorny roses or other prickly flowers. She was always creating art, in any form or shape, and it showed.

Her voice was full of joy, and unlike so many others, she looked at him without a trace of disgust or discomfort. She didn’t flinch at his scar or the eyepatch. She didn’t even avoid his gaze, which most people did. She looked him straight in the eyes, seeing him as a whole person. A warm feeling washed over him at that realization—it had been so long since he’d felt this way.

“Oh! Yes, I remember you now. You always buy two bouquets at a time!” she exclaimed, gesturing excitedly with her hands. Her energy was infectious, Aemond noted, and despite the late hour, he felt more awake just watching her. “You must really like your life partner!”

His blush deepened, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at his lips. “Something like that,” he mumbled, feeling the heat rise in his face.

Clearing his throat, he squared his shoulders, trying to regain his composure as he towered over her. But she only smiled more, undeterred by his flustered state.

“No problem,” he whispered gruffly, shifting nervously from foot to foot. He averted his eye, staring down at the cashier counter. Why was he so flustered?

“Can I look around? I know you’re closing soon, but this is the only time I can visit because of my shop hours,” she asked.

He nodded solemnly, and her grin widened as she skipped off into the depths of the bookshop. Aemond couldn’t help but stare after her, his heart still pounding wildly in his chest. His usual calm demeanour was slipping, and his hands were growing sweatier with every passing second.

He watched her roam through the aisles, her fingers gently brushing the spines of books. A soft smile played on her lips, and her eyes sparkled with the joy that seemed to radiate from her. Her skin looked smooth, her hands had been as soft as silk.

Her hair was up in a messy bun, with loose strands framing her face perfectly. He tried not to stare too much, but he couldn’t help himself. She was beautiful—radiant, even. The flower girl from next door.

It was no longer unusual for her to visit him after her shop’s closing hours. Since their first meeting, it had become routine, and Aemond didn’t mind keeping the shop open a little longer for her. He enjoyed the peace, but even more, he enjoyed her presence. She brought a sense of chaos and life into his dusty, meticulously ordered existence—something he had always carefully avoided, but now realized he needed.

This time, she told him in advance where she intended to wander, mindful not to repeat the incident from her first visit. That day, she had innocently ventured into one of the magical rooms, and Aemond hadn't heard from her for hours. Panic had set in when she failed to respond to his calls. By the time he found her, it was nearly midnight, and both of them had early mornings ahead. She explained that a door had appeared before her, opening on its own, and she hadn’t been able to resist stepping through.

Luckily, it was The Hidden Library she had found, a room Aemond knew like the back of his hand. The labyrinth of bookshelves had shifted, subtly aiding him in locating her more quickly than it usually would allow. Other rooms might not have been so kind, and Aemond had been relieved when he spotted her amidst the endless rows of books.

When he found her, she hadn’t been panicked or distressed. In fact, she had a stack of books balanced in her arms, her face lit with pure delight. "This is magnificent!" she had said, her voice filled with awe as she wandered between the ever-changing shelves.

His heart had pounded in his chest when he saw her, but not out of fear anymore. Something else stirred in him—his heart skipped, or maybe it leapt with joy, something akin to a yearning he hadn’t felt in a long time. Aemond was no stranger to intense emotions, but this was different. It wasn’t the fiery anger or the cold, bitter loneliness he was used to; this was warm, fluttering, almost sweet in its intensity.

Crushes were for middle schoolers, weren’t they? He tried to tell himself that, but there was no denying it anymore. Watching her flit through his magical bookshop with that infectious enthusiasm, her joy at discovering something new—it made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t in years.

He stood there, watching her as she made her way through the aisles, completely at ease in the strange, shifting shop. She never seemed bothered by the oddities or the magic; if anything, it only seemed to fuel her curiosity and joy. And as much as he tried to keep his distance, Aemond couldn’t help but be drawn to her.

Maybe crushes weren't just for middle schoolers after all.

Aemond had never imagined he'd find himself standing in a magical greenhouse with the quirky flower shop owner next door, watching her flit between plants and books with the kind of excitement that only she seemed to possess. The realisation that he had a crush on her had grown stronger with every bouquet she brought him, each one slowly wilting or drying out under his care despite his best efforts.

When she playfully teased him about his inability to keep her gifts alive—remarking that she’d thought a magical shop would do the job for him—Aemond could only smile sheepishly. He had no explanation, other than perhaps his unfamiliarity with the deeper, older magics of the place. Maybe, he mused, if he had studied Valyrian magic more closely, he’d have been able to keep her flowers flourishing.

Then one day, they found it—The Glass House. It appeared out of nowhere. He had restocked some sections of the shop while she was aimlessly wandering around again. His eyes sometimes drifted over to her. Watching her read passages out of books quietly. Making a note of which book she held longer so he could give it to her when he bought another bouquet from her.

They both turned into the same aisle when the door appeared right in front of them. Just right at the end of the rows of bookshelves where usually a wall was.

She stared at him with big eyes. “Is this normal?” She looked up at him with a bewildered expression. He nodded nonchalantly, he was used to it. “The bookshop likes to play.” She giggled gently at his deadpan words.

“Tell me more.” Her bright smile made his lips quirk up slightly. “Well, I don’t know how the magic works. The old owner couldn’t tell me either. But I found out the doors mirror the moods, likes and needs of the person standing in front of it.”

“Like the Room of Requirement?” Aemond snorted at her question. “More or less. The door stays and only disappears when it isn’t needed anymore. To make room for another door. A few doors had disappeared when my mentor died. It felt like the shop had mourned him.”

He let his eyes wander over her face. To check if she understood what he was saying. She nodded lowly. She seemed to be deep in thought. Mulling over his words carefully. “There are multiple doors in the bookshop. Not one like in Harry Potter. Maybe even hidden ones. But most of the time they are prominent.”

She nodded softly. Looking at the door that had appeared in front of them. Vines seemed to wind around the wooden front like they were alive. Forming a large tree taking up nearly the whole door. To her, it seemed like the tree in the Nordic myth, Yggdrasil. "So if I would go through one of those doors, it is like I would go through a portal. Like the wardrobe in Narnia?” Aemond snorted as he put another book onto a shelf, holding “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe ” in his hands. Coincidence? In this shop, less likely.

“I see the shop more like the Tardis.” He mumbled. He was reaching up to restock the “Lord of the Rings” bundle packs back on the fantasy shelf. A classic he seems to run out of every week.

“Because the store seems small at first glance but it gets bigger with every new door opening?” She stood beside him, holding the stacks of Agatha Christi novels for him. “Yeah, like that.” He smiled at her, a rare occurrence that had happened more often since they spent time together. She hummed thoughtfully. “I like my Narnia reference more.” Aemond chuckled. “I am hurt.” He pouted playfully at her, making her giggle.

Suddenly the door opened next to her. She shrieked, which made him look up at her. His body was alarmed. Ready to fight whoever dared to scare her. He blushed slightly when he realised what he was thinking. And that he would fight a door for her.

Her fright was not long living. She was too curious to be scared for long. “I can make it up to you. Go on! Go inside and I follow you, Doctor.” He laughed gently. Putting away the last of crime mystery books before turning to the green door. “Well… Geronimo!” He mumbled playfully into her ear. Making her blush.

He turned the golden knop. With a gnarling sound, it slowly opened. A breeze of warm wind blew into their faces gently.

Aemond held the door open for her to go inside. She shyly thanked him. Her eyes grew big at the sight of what lay behind the inconspicuous door. Aemond had to keep up with her as she rushed inside the door.

She stopped in the middle of the room. Her breathing hitched in her throat as she took in the room overgrown with lush green plants. Her smile reached up to her ears. Her small body vibrates from excitement. “Look! A greenhouse library!” He smiled as he watched her flitter around the room.

Strangely, it wasn’t as humid as a typical greenhouse. It was pleasantly warm or cool, depending on what they needed at the time. On either side of the house stood hip-high plant tables made of stone, filled with plants both known and unknown, their blooms and colourful leaves on display for visitors.

In one corner stood two cosy-looking emerald armchairs with a table between them. They looked so inviting as if they had been waiting for him and his companion. Friend? he wondered about what he should call his shop neighbour. His little flower girl? His heart pounded against his ribcage. What was he thinking? His little flower girl? She was barely his friend—acquaintances, maybe? Slowly he started to confuse himself, distracting him from marvelling and listening to her.

But his heart knew what his mind refused to admit: he wanted her. He wanted to explore his magical bookshop with her.

They moved on. Going into the garden section. She already held three books in her hand. Opening them at random pages to read them at the same time. It was an endearing sight he didn’t like to avert his eyes.

She talked animatedly about the various plants, suggesting that he put her half-dead flowers from the front of the shop in the Glass House so he wouldn’t be so sad when they died. She stopped short when she realized she was alone in another corner of the greenhouse, having abandoned the orchids to return to the centre of the room—back to the two emerald armchairs. Back to him.

The sight of her wide-eyed excitement as they entered The Glass House was enough to make Aemond's heart leap. Plants of all kinds surrounded them, lush greenery spilling over the stone plant tables. Despite the greenhouse setting, the air was a perfect balance of warmth and coolness, catering to their comfort. In the centre of the room were two emerald armchairs, an inviting sanctuary in the midst of the botanical splendour.

He watched her eagerly explore the space, picking up books on gardening and flipping through their pages with a joyful energy that he found utterly endearing. She chattered on about the plants, suggesting with a grin that maybe he could bring her dying bouquets here, where the magic could keep them alive.

Aemond was about to respond, but the words caught in his throat. His mind wandered to the sensation of her small, scarred hand in his earlier—a hand that had felt soft, delicate, and utterly natural in his. He couldn't stop the warmth that spread through him, a feeling he wasn’t entirely sure how to deal with. What was she to him, really? His heart wanted to call her something more than just a shop neighbour or even a friend. Something like "his flower girl" seemed to fit, but it made his chest tighten with a strange kind of longing.

As he stood there, lost in thought, he barely noticed her wandering off to the other side of The Glass House. He only snapped back to attention when he realized she had returned, her presence suddenly close again. She held out her hand, a playful glint in her eyes. "I saw another door opening," she said softly, her voice filled with excitement. "Your bookshop is telling me something. Want to come with me?"

He looked down at her outstretched hand, feeling a mix of emotions he couldn’t quite name. Hesitation flashed briefly before he took her hand, its warmth seeping into his. “Let’s explore the rooms together, then,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with resolve.

She led him through the new door, and they entered a room unlike any other he had ever seen. The ceiling stretched impossibly high, filled with swirling stars, planets, and constellations that shimmered and moved like they were alive. The smell of ancient books filled the air, wrapping around them like a comforting, familiar blanket. It was peaceful, serene—a perfect contrast to the excitement they’d felt in The Glass House.

They both stood in silence for a moment, awestruck by the beauty of the room. Later, they would come to call it "The Sorcerer’s Room," convinced it had once belonged to a powerful wizard—a figure out of legend, someone like Merlin.

But for now, Aemond was content. Content to explore the wonders of his magical bookshop, not alone this time, but with her by his side. And more than the magic of the shop, it was her wide-eyed wonder and infectious joy that captivated him the most. As they wandered deeper into the room, he felt her hand tighten around his, and for the first time in a long while, he realized how much he enjoyed sharing this world with someone who made it feel even more magical.

Since the discovery of The Glass House and The Sorcerer’s Room, she had spent most of her time in both rooms—studying the plants or curling up in the emerald armchair to read. She looked like a cat when she did it.

In The Sorcerer’s Room, she would lie on the floor and point out different constellations. He would lie next to her, hanging on to every word that left her lips.

“Black tea, steeped for nearly ten minutes with a dash of milk.” He set the large yellow cup with white daisies in front of her on the small coffee table. She smiled softly up at him.

“Thank you,” she said. She had lost track of time as she read in the emerald chair in The Glass House, a blanket she had crocheted herself thrown over her lap. At his sweet gesture, her heart thudded harder against her rib cage.

His heart leapt again at her soft smile.

“Am I here often enough now that you’ve already memorized my tea-drinking habits?” she chuckled softly.

He grinned involuntarily. “It’s an odd way to drink tea,” he teased, “but I like odd things,” he wanted to add.

She giggled softly, making his heart flutter again, before taking a sip. She closed her eyes and let out a content hum.

“Perfect,” she whispered, her bright eyes twinkling in the soft glow of the light in The Glass House, like stars sparkling in the night sky.

His body warmed at her smile. A rare smile crept across his own, thinner lips. He leaned slightly closer, inhaling the floral scent of her perfume—so fresh and light. He wanted to fall asleep with his face nestled in her neck, to wake up to her warmth every morning.

The realization hit him hard. His body grew tense, every muscle and fibre rigid as he looked down at her. His knees nearly buckled as he stared.

Her perfect little smile haunted his dreams and every waking moment. Her eyes hypnotized him whenever they caught his gaze. She was an enchantress, though she didn’t know it.

He cleared his throat and sat down in the other emerald green armchair next to her, trying to focus on his book. But every five seconds, he lost his place, and after a few paragraphs, he had no idea what he had been reading.

The reason was clear: she, his shop neighbour. The sweet florist next door. A woman so kind and warm that he wanted to envelop her in his arms, keep her close, and never let her go.

He was growing possessive. He caught himself growling at male customers from time to time, surprising even himself. He had never acted like this before. Not with his ex, Alys, or with Floris, the girl he dated for one semester at university.

This was different—a deep, primal urge. To be close to her. To take care of her. To provide for her. To be hers, just as he wanted her to be his.

The more he thought about her, the more horrified he became at how deeply in love he had fallen. His heart raced, his hands grew sweaty, and they trembled lightly, clammy with nervous energy.

The most fatal mistake he made at that moment was looking over at her. His lone, piercing pale violet eye drank in her worried features.

Strands of hair had fallen into her face, and he watched as her nose wrinkled slightly, one strand tickling it. Her bright eyes examined him carefully, her worry growing the longer he sat like a statue in the emerald armchair beside her.

“Everything alright, Aemond?” she asked, her voice soft. The sound of his name on her lips was enough to make him swoon. So sweet, so innocent.

“Yes,” he rasped, clearing his throat. “All is well. Never been better.” He rambled, trying to regain his composure.

She raised an eyebrow at him, clearly unconvinced. He felt trapped, like a rabbit staring into the eyes of a predator. What was she doing to him?

He couldn’t keep feeling like this—trapped in his own body. It was a sensation he had tried to avoid since childhood, an unhealthy way to cope with anxiety. He knew that well enough.

Aemond abruptly stood from the armchair and rushed out of the room into the main selling area of the bookshop, trying to hide between the shelves. But he could hear her soft footsteps following him. She had thrown the blanket aside and followed him as fast as her shorter legs could carry her.

He tried to outrun her, taking sharp turns every few steps but suddenly stopped at a dead end. Cursing himself for not paying attention to his own shop’s layout, he glared at the wall. A part of him wished for a new door to appear so he could disappear, but nothing happened. The wall remained still, unmoving.

She chased after him the best she could. Her legs were much shorter than his, and while he could take one step, she needed four to keep up. She tried anyway, her eyes fixed on him as he turned corners.

But one of his turns was too fast. He managed to shake her off, leaving her out of breath and disoriented. Her mind raced, trying to figure out where he had gone. Her gut told her to go left, but her head insisted on right.

Finally, she found him, standing rigid at the dead end. His back stiffened as she approached. "Why are you running from me?" she asked, her voice soft but tinged with confusion. He didn’t turn, as if trying to ignore her.

She stepped closer. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No!" he immediately shot back. She jumped, startled by the suddenness of his response, a gasp escaping her lips.

Hearing the sound, he turned toward her. He had scared her—a thing he vowed he would never do. "I’m sorry," he murmured, reaching out, and she let him touch her arm. Her baby blue jumper felt soft under his hand. "I’m so sorry," he repeated, his voice quieter this time.

"It’s alright," she said, stepping closer. "I’m just a jumpy person."

She looked up at him, her eyes shining even in the dim light, like stars in the night sky.

"You’re so beautiful," he whispered under his breath, but she heard it, smiling bashfully.

"Thank you," she replied, her cheeks heating up.

They moved closer—toe to toe, chest to chest. Aemond looked down at her while she looked up.

"You have beautiful eyes," she mumbled.

"No, I don’t," he responded, his tone harsher than he intended.

She frowned at his self-deprecation. "They’re both unique in their own way, and I think they’re beautiful." Her protest was met with a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Don’t tell me what to think," she said, glaring at him playfully.

He chuckled. "If you say so."

She huffed in disbelief, frustrated by how low his self-esteem was. Words weren’t enough, so she let her actions speak for her. She leaned up and kissed him gently.

His breath caught in his throat as their lips met, and a tingling sensation swept over his body. Slowly, he pulled her closer by the waist, careful not to make her stumble. Her arms wrapped around his slim frame, her fingers digging into the wool of his jumper.

The kiss lingered, electric sensations running through both of them. Eyes closed, they held each other tightly. But eventually, they had to come up for air.

Their chests heaved, eyes wide and pupils blown, but big grins spread across their swollen lips. They didn’t need words—silence spoke volumes, carrying more meaning than a thousand words ever could.

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fan-goddess · 2 months ago

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Author recommend for dark!Aemond & dark!Aegon?

Of course my dear! I’ve gone through my whole following list and have found authors who write at least more than once for either dark!Aegon and dark!Aemond or if they write both! Hope you enjoy reading them all, I certainly did!

There are probably a lot more authors but like I said these are just from from following list. I encourage other authors to tag people they think should be added!

Dark!Aemond authors:

@asumofwords

@adragonprinceswhore (one or two not too many but still so delicious to read)

@thought--bubble

@aemondsbabe

@youraverageaemondsimp (THEY WRITE SUCH GOOD DARK!AEMOND!!!!)

@themotherofhorses (SO GOOOOOOD)

@ripdragonbeans

@targaryenrealnessdarling (you’re looking for dark, ‘consequences’ will change you)

@flowerandblood

@ewanmitchellcrumbs

Dark!Aegon authors:

@lovelykhaleesiii

@scaly-freaks (they write in pretty sure mainly on AO3 but the link is on their tumblr page)

@aegoniiwifey

Authors who write both:

@asharasasylum

@sylasthegrim

@bucknastysbabe (they’ve written more dark!aegon than dark!Aemond but their dark!aemond in space is so good I’m on my knees every time I read it!)

@factorydefaultlu (note they don’t write for HOTD anymore but looking back in their work it’s so good. You’ll need to search a bit for what you want but it’s so worth it.)

#author recommendations #dark!Aemond Targaryen #dark!Aegon Targaryen

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humanpurposes · 1 year ago

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Michael Gavey Headcanons

Main Masterlist

Warnings: smut, me being insane for this freak

A/n: I've never done headcanons before I just needed to get this out of my system because I am in a MOOD

Michael Gavey being a virgin loser boy when he starts at Oxford, obviously.

Completely falling for a girl at his college.

Their first kiss being slow and soft and innocent.

But once he starts to get a taste for this, the close contact, the feeling of her lips and her tongue, her body beneath his hands, it starts to drive him insane.

A study date in her bedroom turns into a makeout session and suddenly she's pushing him back against the bed. He's just so happy to be here, getting to see all of her, pawing at her waist and her hips as she straddles him.

He's a desperate, subby little mess, so eager to follow her instructions and make her feel good. And trying so hard not to come too quickly but she's so tight and wet and warm, he can't help it :/

After that he's insatiable. Any spare minute they have he wants to be between her legs, make her come with his fingers and his tongue. He wants to feel her skin against his, fuck her and feel her fall apart.

He's a perfectionist, and you know once he get a bit more confident and knows what he's doing, his meaner side is gonna come out.

Him gradually finding all her weak points, discovering what she responds to.

He's obsessed with bimbofication, taking this intelligent, beautiful girl and fucking her stupid, pinning her to the mattress with his body while he pounds into her, making her come over and over again until her mind is hazy and her body is limp.

And he'd be SO SMUG about it!!

“Does that feel good? Come on answer me, sweetheart, or have I fucked you dumb?”

Pushing his glasses up his nose while he watches his cock move in and out of her.

“Just like that, my perfect girl, my stupid little slut, mine.”

General taglist (comment to be added or removed!): @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @targaryenrealnessdarling

#Michael Gavey #saltburn fanfiction #michael gavey fanfic #michael gavey headcanons #michael gavey fanficiton #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey x oc #michael gavey smut #michael gavey x you #michael gavey x y/n #headcanons #smut #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell smut #ewan mitchtell fanfiction #michael gavey oneshot #my fics

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assortedseaglass · 1 year ago

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Michael Gavey x Reader

When Michael Gavey insults a fellow Oxford student one day, he thinks nothing of it. It's nothing new; he's unpopular, awkward and pretentious.

But when the girl he insulted seeks him out, the two enter into a flirtatious game of intellectual cat and mouse.

Genre: Strangers to Lovers, Ridiculous Flirting

Warnings: Language, Smut

Chapter One

Chapter Two

✍️ Chapter Three

Inspired by Talk by Hozier and this interview he gave about the song.

Tags: @arcielee @targaryenrealnessdarling @babyblue711 @exitpursuedbyavulcan @theoneeyedprince @ewanmitchellcrumbs

#ewan mitchell #michael gavey #michael gavey x reader #saltburn

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jacevelaryonswife · 6 months ago

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— My Recommendations | HOTD, TLK and Ewanverse

Throughout my years of reading I’ve come across incredible works (some even life changing) in this vast universe of wonderful writers. I brought some fic recs that I think you guys should read!

Back to the Puzzle | Ettore x fem!reader (+18 and dark content) from @missglaskin , the most canon version of Ettore I’ve ever read.

An Eye for An Eye | Aemond x fem!reader (+18 and dark content) also from @missglaskin prob my Aemond’s favorite fic.

Silver Coins | Osferth x fem!reader (+18) | from my darling @arcielee 💜 this is soo canon!Osferth and such a comfort fic.

No Pain, No Gain | PersonalTrainer! Aemond x fem!reader (+18) | from @targaryenrealnessdarling one of my favorites Modern!Aemond fics ever.

And It’s Just as Good I as I Knew it Would be | Jace Velaryon x fem!reader (+18) from my dear @astrumark 💙 such a good fic!

Three's Company | Sihtric x fem!reader x Finan | (+18) | from our Finan’s Queen content @gemini-mama 💙 this fic is mind blowing.

This Party is Boring, Wanna Leave? | Michael Gavey x fem!reader (+18) from my dear @venmondiese ugh such a serve for us Michael girlies, this story is hot and fantastic!

No Shortage of Sordid, No Protest from Me | Jacaerys x fem!reader (+18) from @sunnyhvnny this is sooo damn good! 100% slay factor.

The Sapphire Spell | Ghost!Aemond x fem!reader (+18) from @aemonds-fire such a creative and good plot 💙

+ more to be added 💙

#jacaerys velaryon #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #michael gavey #ettore #ettore x reader #michael gavey x reader #aemond x reader #sihtric x reader x finan #finan #sihtric #tlk #osferth #osferth x reader

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 1 year ago

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Her Voice | Mini-Series Masterlist

ONGOING

Summary: You are introduced with the prince as his second option for a marriage in your family. But how will the Prince react to you own affliction.

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Part One (Her Voice)

Part Two (Her Words)

Part Three (Her Vows)

#masterlist housekeeping #targaryenrealnessdarling

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vhagar-balerion-meraxes · 2 months ago

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Thank you for the tag @lemonhemlock 💕

rules: do this picrew and share the last song you listened to ✨️

No Pressure Tags: @thought--bubble @dr-aegon @vipervixxen @anjelicawrites @itbmojojoejo

@pendragora @just-some-random-blogger @livmondcole @st-eve-barnes @heretherebebookdragons

@kingaegond @aegon-the-elder @please-buckme @arcielee @aemondstark

@peachessndreamss @peachysunrize @snowblack-charcoalwhite @very-straight-blog @thesunfyre4446

@zaldritzosrose @alicent-archive @sylasthegrim @babyblue711 @flowerandblood

@targaryen-dynasty @the-dendrophile-bookdragon @theoneeyedprince @targaryenrealnessdarling @worms-on-multiple-strings

@aemondsbabygirl @jamesfrain @gemini-mama @joekeerys @mermaidslabyrinth

#tag game

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targaryen-dynasty · 4 months ago

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𝟑𝐤 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

this is the masterlist for my milestone celebration. i have brought in several talented authors to help me with this. each piece that's listed here has been written based on one request i've during my time here in the asoiaf fandom. and if you ask me: i am glad i did so, because couldn't have written these any better. thank you so much to everyone who's joined me on this wild ride!

𝐚𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

Rȳbās by @zaldritzosrose

In the Night by @anjelicawrites

Unabashed by @targaryenrealnessdarling

Tear Down My Reason by @ewanmitchellcrumbs

When He Breaks by @thought--bubble

Oathkeeper by @aemondsbabe

The Warm of Both Bodies by @venmondiese

𝐚𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐢 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

The Warm of Both Bodies by @venmondiese

𝐝𝐚𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

Shared Future by @happilyhertale

Perfect Size by @the-dendrophile-bookdragon

#hotd #house of the dragon #milestone celebration #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond #daemon targaryen #prince daemon targaryen #the rogue prince #aegon ii targaryen #aegon the elder #aegon the second #aegon the usurper

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 10 months ago

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Schism

Pairing: Ettore (High Life) x f!reader Warnings: Allusions to dub con and non con, mentions of masturbation, humping, smut. Word count: ~1.3k

Summary: Part of The Hand That Feeds universe, but can be read as a standalone too. Ettore can't sleep, and can't resist the urge to pay her a visit while on his way to The Box.

Author's note: A little birthday treat for @targaryenrealnessdarling. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

It has been lights out for hours, or at least it feels as though it has. Ettore has been laying flat on his back in his bunk ever since the ship’s systems switched to sleep mode, with a dim blue illuminating the corridors. The glow of it seeps through into the cell, serving to amplify the irritation he feels that unconsciousness evades him. He could simply close his eyes to block out the light, but in the quiet, empty blackness is where his mind is loudest. The cacophony of intrusive thoughts are far more jarring than the faint cerulean gleam that casts faint shadows against the sterile white walls.

He cannot silence his thoughts tonight and he sighs restlessly, finally giving up on the idea of sleep as he throws the blanket back and pads quietly out into the hall, wearing only a loose fitting pair of boxers. There is no point in dressing, he only plans to use The Box; if he can quickly get himself off he hopes it will clear his mind and exhaust his body enough that he can slip back into bed and at least get a few hours of rest before the lights flicker back on to full brightness, signalling the start of a new day.

As he passes her room, he does his best to steel himself to not look in, to ignore the invisible thread that tugs him to her like a moth to a flame. Ettore has not yet made sense of the feelings she elicits from him. He is not yet comfortable to have her touch him, but relishes in the fact that she allows him to touch her, setting clear boundaries for him when he pushes too far. He still doesn’t fully trust her, doesn’t trust himself not to give in to the temptation to ignore her when she tells him no, to stop, or that that’s enough. Indulging his desires with her is like walking a razor’s edge, if he lets his guard down for even a moment it will all fall to ruin.

That is why he cannot afford to spare a glance into her room. If he looks in upon her sleeping form, he cannot guarantee that he will be able to control himself, that he won’t take what hasn’t been given freely. If he pushes too far, gives in to the voice at the back of his mind that whispers to him that he doesn’t need her permission, then she will take away that permission entirely. Without that, he does not know what he will do. He isn’t sure that life onboard this floating prison cell is survivable without the warmth of her gaze or the softness of her flesh beneath his own.

His body betrays his will, or perhaps his will is simply not strong enough to withstand his desperate need to look upon her, Ettore is unsure which. However, he finds his head turning, his eyes fixing upon her prone body, the outline of her visible beneath the blanket that’s draped over her. His breath hitches, his throat growing dry as his gaze darkens, lingering in the doorway as he stares at her. Would it really be so terrible if he went in just for a moment, felt the heat of her skin beneath his palm? Just the slightest of touches.

It would not be just a touch though. It never is.

“Can’t sleep either?”

Her quiet voice startles him from his thoughts, and Ettore blinks, swallowing thickly before shaking his head. “No, was on my way to The Box.”

“Something holding you up?” She asks playfully, moving to sit up.

Ettore says nothing, continuing to stare at her. Every breath he draws feels shallow, not enough.

She sighs, sensing his intent. “We can’t. Had my check up with Dibs earlier, she reckons I’m ovulating. Can’t risk anything.”

His hands clench into fists at his sides, her denial sending a sudden flash of anger sizzling through his veins.

She takes in the way his brow furrows and his jaw clenches. “I know you want to lash out because you’re disappointed, but if you behave yourself, we can compromise.”

Ettore lowers his gaze, nodding and stepping forward into the room.

“Come here,” she instructs, shuffling over in the bed and pulling the blanket back.

He climbs in beside her, a shiver rippling its way down his spine as his body occupies the warmth of the space she’d been laying in previously. Her sleepwear consists of a plain white tank top and matching briefs, a stark contrast to the blackness of the ink that decorates her arms and thighs.

“I wanna touch you,” he murmurs.

“Go on then,” she whispers, parting her legs to accommodate him as he moves to kneel between them.

She keeps her hands clenched upon the pillow above her head, a preventative measure to ensure she doesn’t touch him, just as he’s asked her not to countless times. He smirks at this silent mark of respect.

His hand trails over the thin, white cotton of her knickers, moving downwards until he feels the outline of her through the material. He presses his fingers against her with more force, moving them up and down her clothed core, his gaze fixated on the way the gusset shapes to her folds as his fingertips repeat their motions. Her soft sighs encourage him, and he hooks a digit into the elastic, pulling it to the side, drawing in a sharp breath as he takes in the sight of how wet she is already.

Before meeting her, Ettore had never had the opportunity to properly study what lies between a woman’s legs. He is certain he’ll never tire of looking at it, the way she twitches when he touches upon just the right spot is almost hypnotic. The faint scent of her arousal when he’s this close makes his cock ache, and he pushes his boxers down, taking himself in his palm and stroking from root to tip and back again.

He wants to feel her, and before he can stop himself he’s pushing the head of himself through her wetness, his eyes screwing shut at the white holt jolt of pleasure that causes his balls to tighten.

“Not inside!” She hisses.

He nods, breathing shakily, opening his eyes to watch how his erection slides against her, glistening with their combined arousal as he rubs it from her opening to her pearl over and over. His grip on the base of his length is tight, a means to ground himself and resist the urge to simply thrust forward and sink inside of her, yet the sensation is maddening.

The hand holding her underwear to one side lets go, as he lowers it to the mattress, supporting his weight upon it as the movement of his hips grows quicker and less controlled. The material pings gently back across, covering the sight of him rutting against her, adding additional friction that makes him groan low in a quiet throaty rumble.

Despite no longer being able to see precisely what he is doing to her, the sight still borders on obscene. Their combined moisture creates a dampened patch upon the crotch, turning the cotton almost translucent. She moans softly, her own hips canting to meet the movements of his own each time he pushes against her delicate bundle of nerves.

Warmth licks at Ettore’s lower spine and he knows he won’t last long, especially with the feeling of her thighs trembling either side of him. She’s getting close too. Panting, he pulls her knickers back to the side once more as he feels himself begin to pulsate. She slaps a hand over her mouth, muffling the strangled cry that leaves her as she falls apart, bucking against him as he paints her with pearly ropes of his spend. His cock twitches as he strokes himself to completion, stomach muscles contracting as warmth envelopes him from head to toe, and his mind finally goes blank.

As he comes back down to earth, eyes raking over the parted lips and glossy eyes of her blissed out expression and down to the mess he’s made between her legs, he can’t help but wonder what might have happened if she had been asleep when he’d looked in on her. He almost wishes she had been.

#ettore x reader #ewan mitchell #ettore x you #ettore x y/n #ettore smut #ettore imagine #ettore high life #high life ettore #ettore fan fiction #ettore fanfiction #ettore fan fic #ettore fanfic #high life #high life fan fiction #high life fanfiction #high life fan fic #high life fanfic #ettore

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asumofwords · 1 year ago

Text

Treat - Ettore x Reader

Warnings: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Somnophillia, rape, non-con, slight dub-con, masturbation, creepiness, sedation, assault, drugs, induced vomiting, blood, spitting, cum play, violence, degradation.

Pairings: Dark!Ettore x Reader (It’s Ettore… come on)

Synopsis: The cold of space had nothing on the cool glare of Ettore, another inmate on the spacecraft you were sentenced to life on. At the mercy of the Doctor onboard, Dibs, all are a part of fertility experiments and used as test subjects. Said Doctor has increased your sedation dosage as part of the trials, what will happen when suspicions arise for the unusual things happening to your body?

Word Count: 6.1k

Notes: @targaryenrealnessdarling and @ewanmitchellcrumbs inspired this hedonistic fucking abomination by creating an obsession with a man I shouldn’t even like. This is DD:DNE territory, so you have been warned. I blame you both for making me so fucking feral for this man. Enjoy ;) <3

It was cold.

It’s not supposed to be cold, but it was.

There was no way to keep out the chill of outer space. No way to keep the sub zero chill outside from seeping into metal ship you drifted in. No way to keep the unnatural of being in space away from your bones.

Your senses.

There was heating, and it was warm enough inside for you to wear shorts and a shirt, some mandated clothing given to you, but even then, the artificial warmth couldn’t keep the chill from seeping into the walls or floors.

Or perhaps it was the chill of being watched.

But you were always being watched, prisoner and a body for human experimental trials, or ‘guinea pigs’ as Boyse says, another inmate who hates being there just as much as you. She was sweet enough, but you kept her, like everyone else, at an arms length.

Being put on the floating jail in space was a combination of a shit routine and being stuck with other not so great people. When you first arrived, you had kept to yourself, quiet, head down, methodical. You didn’t want trouble, you just wanted peace. And anything was better than the Super Max they had you in before back on Earth.

So you were good.

Took your meds when told, took showers when commanded, ate and slept on the clock like a well trained pet. And sometimes, if you were feeling particularly inclined, which was more often than not, you found yourself in The Box. A crude space for you to go in and get out your ‘urges’.

'Fraternising' with the others was a big no no, but really, what were they going to do? Shoot you out the hull? You doubted it, and if you were honest, you didn’t care much either way.

You were going to die on this ship, lost in the same fucking routine for the rest of your days if you didn’t all go absolutely bat shit insane and cannibalise each other, which was a real fear Monte had whispered to you once.

Not much of a talker that one.

But Ettore was worse.

He barely even spoke a word. He just watched.

Listened.

Like he was sizing everyone up, writing invisible notes in his mind of who was who, and what was what. As though he was collecting intel from everyone like a secret government plant, or as though he was waiting to sell secrets, not that there really were any, all of you were there for crimes that warranted a life sentence.

Death sentence in your case.

And the way Ettore watched you, watched Boyse, or any of the other women on board, gave you an inkling as to what he may have done to deserve being locked up with the rest of you.

But it didn’t stop you from being intrigued, nor casting an extra glance here or there to watch him. Pine over him even, bent over, shirtless scrubbing the floor, but what else were you to do? You hadn't been touched in months, maybe years, you couldn't tell how long it had been with no natural rise or set of the sun, and he wasn't bad on the eyes. Leaning against the wall of the hull, waiting for whoever it was in The Box to finish.

Because thats where he always was.

The Box.

You would say it bordered on slightly neurotic. Obsessive. Insatiable.

And it was the moments before he went in that really rivalled the chill of space.

His pale blue eyes would always find you.

Always.

And although it sent shivers down your spine in fear and disgust, it also settled a warmth within you too.

It was hard.

Not being able to touch anyone.

Being surrounded by people, all day, all night, and not once having a chance to feel them. Hold them. Be with them. You had thought that perhaps Dibs would have at least let same sex interactions slide because there was no possible way for conception, but it was as if the bitch was edging herself. Or had some sick fetish of having everyone in a fucking cube strung out to shit in space.

Not the smartest of moves to whoever gave this experiment the go ahead, but you had to give them props for their misplaced faith.

You padded down the hall, making your way to the Doctors office, ready to collect your meds; sleeping pills which knocked you flat on your ass about half an hour after ingesting them, and then go to bed.

You saw the door up ahead and sighed, it was not that you didn’t want to sleep, you just hated the idea of constantly being pumped with this shit.

Surely it wasn’t good for your body?

But then again, being in space and stuck where you were with no choice to go outside in fresh air, noting that there wasn’t any air outside the craft, wasn’t good for you either.

Unnatural.

But it was all unnatural.

And in some ways, better than death row.

Sometimes.

Just as you moved to round the door, Ettore’s large body ducked beneath the frame, strolling right past you. His eyes flicked over your body quickly, predatorily, lashes blinking softly as he brushed past you and went on his way back to his cell.

There was that cold again.

It surrounded him like a wraith.

You slid into the room, Dibs barely sparing you a glance as you stood behind her, her long fingers fucking about on the table as she took her time to give you the meds you got from her at the same time, every fucking day. You thought that perhaps she may be a little more organised since all she did was sit around on her ass and be a prat.

But she wasn’t, and you waited, standing beside her as she swivelled in her stupid little chair to face you.

You had always had a pretty good read on people. Ever since you were young, you could spot the bad ones from the good, but it never really kept you away from the bad. Your ex's more bad than they were good.

It excited you, if you were going to be honest.

The rush of adrenaline, feeling of fear as your fight or flight would kick in when you looked at someone and just knew they had a more sinister part of them simmering beneath the surface.

And the moment you had spotted Ettore on the ship, being strapped in beside him, the alarm bells had rung in your head, blaring red DANGER behind your eyes. And you had felt the same fluttering in your chest as you felt his eyes on you the whole time.

But Dibs?

She was different.

There was something more malevolent than what meets the eye. Something that hid behind her dark gaze. And as you stood inside the make shift infirmary, doctors notes spread out on her table, shut curtains behind you, you felt as though perhaps you would have been safer stuck inside The Box with Ettore.

Dibs held out a small plastic cup to you, two pills inside.

Usually, it held one.

Your brows furrowed as you looked up at her.

"Changed dosage.” Was the only thing she offered you.

“Why?”

The Doctor blinked up at you with no answer, silence falling over you. You asked again, and were met with the same blank stare. And so you took the cup begrudgingly, snatching it from her hand and throwing the two little pills into the back of your mouth to dry swallow them. You could feel them catch on the back of your throat, sitting heavily like a lump, and so you swallowed once more to get them down.

Dibs gave you a sterile smile, and turned away back to her notes, scribbling.

You stomped away, walking back down the corridor to go to your cell, feeling the acidic, briny feeling on the back of your tongue.

No matter how many nights you had swallowed those things, it always made a bad taste settle in the back of your mouth, and a hollowness in your stomach.

When you had first arrived on the ship, you struggled to fall to sleep knowing that you were drifting in space, and couldn't get off even if you wanted, with the low hum of the ship in a constant drone keeping you alert, and so Dibs had given you sedatives to help you drift off.

There was already sedatives in the water Dibs gave you all, but the other girls in your cell followed suit soon enough, asking for the little pill so that they could sleep undisturbed in the night.

The closer you go to your room, the more your mind felt clouded, as though a thick layer of fog had crossed it, obscuring your thoughts and making each one feel as though they had been dipped inside a vat of molasses.

Even your limbs felt heavy, and so you hurried your uneven pace to your cell block, stumbling against a wall where you flopped down onto the bed, too exhausted to pull yourself beneath the sheets as the room around you spun.

You could feel and hear the others making their way to their bunks after you, but your eyelids grew heavy, and soon enough, you were out like a light. As though a switch had been flicked by the manicured nails of Dibs.

There were no dreams to be had, not even an awareness of sleep, just a deep, black abyss that swallowed you whole and completely, with neither complaint nor fight from your limbs.

When you woke the next morning, the first thing you noticed was how tired you still were, as though the medication still lingered in your periphery like dark little tendrils that rubbed smooth and soothing hands upon your mind, trying to lure you back.

But the day had to move on, and you were unstrapped from your bed, limbs feeling entirely too heavy to lift as you hauled yourself out. You didn't understand the need for the restraints, especially since you would be sedated and unable to move anyway, but you supposed they were there to keep you put in case you did.

Behavioural issues and that.

Who knows what the others had done to warrant a death row sentence. Yours certainly wasn't a light one.

The moment your feet hit the ground, your stomach lurched. Pain rippling up through your stomach.

What the hell?

You rubbed your face blearily and sighed, chalking it up to your period making an appearance early this month, or perhaps Dibs' experiments had finally stuck, or were melting your insides by the feel of it.

Dibs was going to have a field day with you, you knew it. You would have your legs pried open by stirrups and have her shove a million and one swabs inside of you like she did every month.

Like clockwork.

Well, cycle really.

You hated it.

Another thing to add to the misery of it all; being prodded by a stone faced bitch who only showed kindness to the men on board. Couldn't even get off to the way she shoved those cotton swabs or fingers inside you, fishing around as if she was going through a pocket for spare change.

Except this pain was sharp, and stung, but was dulled by whatever lingering sleeping pill was dragging your body down. You would have to tell the eager Doctor to be more gentle about turkey basting you with whoever's cum she picked from her cups.

Boyse had told you once she could have sworn she saw Dibs dipping her fingers into the 'donation' cups to taste test each one. You had laughed so hard you cried, and Monte had eyed you from across the canteen.

You yawned and stretched, ignoring the ache and hit the showers with the others, beginning your day of chores.

Today you were cleaning, something you actually didn’t mind. It was methodical, time consuming, and there was a clear outcome at the end that you enjoyed.

Cloth and cleaner in hand, you polished handles and doors and any surface that you could reach, wiping down the metal and other surfaces to sterilise them.

Boyse was on floor duty that day, and so she cleaned alongside you quietly, the occasional whisper or conversation had as you moved. But you truly struggled to hold one, your mind still muddled from the lurch of the changed dose.

You would need to speak about lowering said dosage back to normal with Dibs. This was like trying to think and exist when shitfaced at the pub.

God you missed the pub.

It was the little things you missed most. Things that you had taken for granted, like wind, or rain, or bugs. You missed the itch of being bitten. How fucked was that? Missing mosquitoes? Dibs needed to check your head rather than your fertility.

And so the day ended, and every surface in one wing of the ship was spotless thanks to yours and Boyse’s work. You ate alongside the others quietly and couldn’t help but feel that chill again, covering you in an icy blanket.

Lifting your head, you spotted Ettore watching you.

Still.

Like those nature documentaries you used to watch, when the lions would be hidden in the tall grass, still as a rock, watching and waiting to pounce on the galloping gazelle.

Your mouth felt dry, and the hunger you had felt left, pain winding its way inside of you as you stood slowly, careful to not set anyone off, especially him, and moved to clear your plate to go to Dr. Dibs.

You were more eager to get away from Ettore’s piercing gaze than anything, feeling like a game of cat and mouse, waiting to turn your head and see him chasing after you down the halls. It set your skin alight.

But he didn't.

Your journey to speak to the doctor about your dosage was a waste. Dibs didn’t budge, and in your hand ,the small pill tub was dropped with two inside.

You watched her intently, mouth parted to argue.

“You done yet?” Ettore’s voice swallowed the artificial air in the room.

Your head snapped to the door, watching as he slowly walked in, like a predator, looking at you intently. You blinked up at him, his lean form towering over you in the sterile cream room. You could smell the soft scent of generic soap you all used and the musky undertones of him beneath.

“I want my treat.” He spoke again, hand held out to Dibs, who placed a pill in his palm, no cup holding it. Simply placed into his palm with her fingers, as though there was an element of familiarity between the two.

The cold of his gaze contrasted the warmth of his body as it loomed over you.

Dibs spun on her chair to look at you through her lashes, eyes dropping pointedly to the pills still un-swallowed in your cup, “Take them.”

You threw the pills into the back of your throat, locking eyes with Ettore as you dry swallowed them, holding back the grimace as they slid down the back of your throat roughly. Ettore followed, smacking his palm over his mouth as he swallowed his own, then turning his head to open his mouth in show to Dibs, who gave him a soft smile.

“Smashing. Thank you.” He spoke down to her, accent thick on his tongue. His eyes flicked over you once more before he sauntered out the room.

Your feet felt stuck on the linoleum flooring until Dibs cleared her throat at you, “Go back to your cell.”

Taking her command, you left, winding down the corridor, falling onto your bed again and succumbing to the heavy sleep.

This went on for days, the same dosage, the same medicated sedation, and the same groggy rising with a continued ache that never seemed to leave your core. You waited for the blood to come, but there was only the occasional bit of spotting.

Perhaps a lighter cycle this month.

It wasn’t until that morning, when you went to the showers did you notice something was not right. Something that justified the inkling in the back of your mind that something was afoot with the pain that wracked your body.

That the pain wasn’t due to your monthly cycle, and something far more sinister instead.

Washing down with soap, the others in their cubicles beside you, your eyes were drawn to colour that should not be on the skin. Dark blotches of purples and blue, streaked with pinks across your hips and inner thighs. Your fingers pressed into them, hissing as pain shot up through you. But the pain wasn’t what made you blanch. It was the shape of them. And how your fingers fit perfectly within the large blooms of colour.

Fingerprints.

More specifically, finger marks, littered across your body.

Your heart raced in your chest as you looked at them, horror and sickness skyrocketing inside of you. Bile rose in your throat, and the urge to scrub your skin raw became an immediate compulsion, your nails scratching at the bruises roughly.

Dressing rapidly, you raced to the Doctors office, shoes not even on as your feet slapped on the floor loudly as you made your way down. But of course, whatever high power above controlled the fate that surrounded you had other plans for you, and your body collided with a body of steel.

You neck craned up, meeting the icy glare of Ettore.

“Watch it.” He sneered down at you, hands at his sides in fists.

You didn’t know what to do but blink at him, and it was all you did, looking up at the man who set your skin alight, a blush creeping along your cheeks and fear shimmering down your spine.

“You gonna move?” He asked again, lips pulled into a sharp frown.

You took a step back, then another, and another, Ettore’s eyes grazing over your body, settling on your chest as it heaved, wet patches of your shirt sticking to your skin.

You swallowed thickly.

“Quiet one, huh.” Ettore mused, eyes becoming half hooded as he watched you, “They always scream the loudest.”

You sneered, watching as Ettore walked towards you, leaning his head down just a bit as he whispered to you, “I’ll be in The Box.” Before he was on his way, body swaying with his walk.

Your heart leaped through your chest as you watched him.

“Somethings wrong.” You sat on the doctors bed, legs in stirrups as Dibs looked at you in annoyance, clinical eyes roving your body as you pulled your shorts high on your hips to display the bruises on your thighs.

Dibs didn’t even blink at them, just glanced at them shortly before writing in her notes.

“Something is-“

“-Vitamin D deficiency, Iron deficiency.”

“Fuck you. It looks li-“

“Take these.”

Her hand was held out to you, a small circular brown pill and an oblong pink one sat inside a medical cup. You blinked at her hand as she held them out to you.

“I don’t fucking-“

“-Take them. Or you will be marked as refusing treatment.”

Snatching the cup from her palm, your own nails scratching her hand, you threw them back into your mouth, staring at her angrily as you swallowed them.

“Good girl.” Dr. Dibs spun in her chair away from you and back to her desk, already looking through her notes in dismissal.

You swung your legs out of the stirrups and sat on the edge of the bed looking at her, staring daggers into the back of her head.

It could be so easy.

Who would know it was you?

You could just-

“Are you refusing to leave now too? Very naughty of you. Monte will have to come deal with this behaviour, little birdy.” Came her slimy voice.

"Fuck you."

Grunting, you hopped off the bed and stormed out the room, muttering beneath your breath in agitation and anger as it poured out of you.

"Fucking bitch."

Something was wrong, and you knew it.

Fucking useless cunt.

You went back to your chores, but found that you could scarcely concentrate with the anger that seemed to mount within.

You needed a release, and fast.

The Box was made for just such thing, and so you dropped the clippers in your palm in the garden and made your way to your destination. The anticipation of going into The Box made way for excitement over the anger, but all in all, it still rippled through you in waves.

All you needed was a good and rough fuck.

Get the anger out.

Your ex was always a good source of inspiration when inside The Box. The way his hips would snap into yours brutally, his teeth in your flesh, hands slapping, pinching.

Choking.

The Box would calm you down.

Your legs carried you down the ladder before you jumped down the last few impatiently, the light in this part of the ship far darker than the rest. You walked forward, looking at the closed door before feeling ice wash over you.

Who else would be waiting outside of it but Ettore.

His cool eyes flicked to yours as your steps slowed, looking to him and then the closed door. His lips pursed together into a pout and one corner pulled down into a smirk.

Shit eating bastard.

He leant back against the steel wall of the hull, head turned to look down at you as you leant beside him. Too frustrated to turn back, and not willing to let him scare you out of a reprieve that you needed.

“Gonna be waiting a while.” Ettore hummed, suggestive grin on his lips before he swiped a tongue against the front of his teeth noisily.

You looked him up and down, no mood for his attitude or creeping glares, “You look like it’d be quick.” You purred.

Ettore’s nostrils flared and his lips pulled down into a sneer, he pushed off of the wall, looking down at you as he adjusted his jaw, the muscles clenching tightly, blue eyes narrowed.

Your head connected with the metal behind you as he jerked you back into it roughly, forearm pressed against the top of your chest. Pain bloomed in the back of your skull, but that didn’t stop the small mewl that escaped from your lips.

Ettore’s eyes widened before they narrowed, face looming in closer to you as he watched your chest rise and fall rapidly, heat blooming in your stomach.

The door to The Box opened and Boyse stepped out, eyeing the two of you suspiciously.

Ettore stepped back dropping his arm to his side as he spun around and entered, facing you as the doors began to close, his eyes roaming down your body slowly as he sucked his tongue.

A shiver rolled through you.

Boyse watched you carefully, “You right?”

You cleared your throat, feeling your heart beat like a drum in your chest, “Yea, I’m alright. Asshole.”

Boyse nodded and left, and you waited for your turn, waiting for the door to open again, but it didn’t.

The moments flew by and it almost felt as if he was taking his time because of your comment. Punishing you.

Proving a point.

Fucking cunt.

You huffed and pushed away from the wall, making your way back to work again, knowing that dinner would be soon, and then the deep and dreamless sleep once more.

Dinner was quick, and in no time you were walking down to collect your sedatives from the Doctor who made your skin crawl almost as badly as Ettore. Your mood had not improved, and you would say that the want that simmered inside of you made it even worse now that it had gone unattended.

When you entered the infirmary, Ettore was already there, talking quietly with Dibs who was seated, craning her neck up to look at him with a soft smile on her lips.

Fucking pick-me.

Upon hearing your arrival, both turned to face you, and Ettore instinctually held out his hand, a pill placed in its palm, before it put it in his mouth, his eyes on you, narrowed and almost angry. But when he looked down at the doctor, a soft smirk wound its way on his lips and he whispered a small ‘thank you’ to her, brushing past you with a sniff on his way out.

You held out your palm in the same manner he had, eyes still on the door Ettore had walked out of, feeling the plastic of the small cup being placed in the centre. You looked down at it.

Two sedatives.

"You're a fucking bitch, you know that?" You grumbled, and tilted your head back, letting the two pills roll onto your tongue, Dibs eyes watching.

But there was something about it.

Something about her watching you like that, that made you shiver.

“Show me.” She commanded and you swallowed both dryly, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue obscenely at her so that she could get a closer look.

The Doctor nodded and turned away, back to her notes.

But fear scrambled in your throat.

You all but raced out of the office, making your way straight to the toilet, dropping to your knees in front of it as your instincts took over, shoving two fingers down your throat. You gagged quietly in the space, daring to not draw attention to what you were doing.

You did it again, and the bile and bitter taste of stomach acid flooded your tongue. You bent over the rim gasping, looking down into the water to see if the pills were in the bowl with your dinner.

You spotted one and collapsed down onto the floor feeling some sort of relief, though your stomach still turned, and bile coated your tongue. You sat there for a moment, feeling the cool of the bathroom floor on your thighs and hands before standing.

You couldn’t get caught.

You flushed the toilet and brushed your teeth carefully, cupping water into your mouth to rinse the acidic taste that settled behind your teeth. And yet still, you were still wrought with nerves.

As you lay in your bed, bottom bunk opposite to Boyse, you stared up at the top one, the restraints strapping you down by your arms as the beginnings of sedated fatigue gnawed at your vision.

So you had only gotten one pill out.

No matter.

Better than both.

At least it calmed your heart, and you turned your head to look at Boyse who was already out like a light, the soft curve of her nose shadowed in the dim of the room.

You wondered what she was here for often, but never had the courage or want to learn.

Some things are better left unsaid.

You tried to resist it, tried to fight the way your eyelashes sagged and your limbs fell heavier by the second, but in no time at all, you were sucked into the usual dreamless state that you had been in for god knows how long you had been on that goddamn ship.

It’s dark.

So dark.

And warm.

Soft pressing in the back of your mind, drawing you just below the surface of consciousness.

Why was it so warm?

There was pressure.

Pressure on top of you.

Pressure inside of you.

A thing.

Or two.

Maybe three.

What?

The pressure turned to a dull ache.

A pain.

Pleasure?

Why was it so warm?

It curled in your gut and you groaned, mind foggy, limbs of stone as you felt the weight of your body come back to you. Come back to the room.

The bed.

Soft sheets.

Grunts.

Weight.

Warm.

Pain in your thighs. Pain between them. Weight on top of you.

Breaths in your ear that are not your own.

Grunts.

Moans.

Hisses.

Eyelids feeling like lead as they fluttered, the sound around you louder, rustling, wet, clapping, breathing.

The room spun on its axis, mind reeling as you were pulled from the depths of your sedated sleep, your body reacting to whatever was being done to it.

It was hard.

Hard to stay awake.

You drifted again, bobbing beneath the surface only to rise back up again, eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks. Blurred vision making it hard to focus.

Heavy mind making it hard to comprehend.

Hard to see.

“Whas-“ You slurred, head being rocked backwards by movements, making the nausea that rose within stronger, barreling through you with a spearing sensation.

A loud grunt in your ear as the jolting of your body picked up. Something moving inside of you.

Atop you.

You could see movement above you, hair, a body.

A face.

Ettore.

You blinked, his sharp jawline coming into focus, comprehension wading through the thick fog of your mind as you continued to look up at him, mind reeling to figure out what was going on.

Eyes half lidded, lips pulled down into a sneer, Ettore rutted into you from above.

“Wha-“

“Shut the fuck up.” He growled, hand slapping over your lips as he fucked into you.

Your eyes widened, pain blooming through you, strength dulled, senses foggy, but knowing.

Knowing.

You knew now.

Ettore’s length fucked into you roughly, the tip beating against your cervix painfully. The stretch stung as he drilled into you, splitting you apart on his cock. Each thrust was just as brutal as the other, the sound of his hips clapping against yours loud in the cell of the others sedated, still in their dreams.

Was this a dream?

It felt too real.

You writhed beneath him sluggishly, trying to get out of his grip, breathing heavily through your nose as his hand stayed pressed against your mouth, small whimpers and grunts spilling into his palm as his cock bullied your walls repeatedly.

Ettore watched your face, lips pulling up into a smile as he gave a particularly harsh thrust, your eyes scrunching shut in pain as you yelped, sensing you had come fully to the surface of consciousness to feel the truth of his assault.

Pain pinged up you, your walls clamping down on him as your hips tried to angle away from him, restraints cutting into the skin of your wrists, legs too heavy to lift. Tugging at them for dear life as he watched you struggle from below. He laughed, deep in his chest before a groan fell from his swollen lips, eyes closing in pleasure with his mouth hung open.

You tried to scream beneath him palm, to try and wake the others, to call for help, for anything. But the hand at your mouth did not budge, and so the muffled sound of your cries fell on sedated ears. Tears prickled in your eyes from the pain as you tried to shake your head away from him, mouth opening.

You bit down on his palm.

Hard.

Ettore cursed, flinching as he pulled his hand away from your face, fist reeling back before it connected painfully into the side of your mouth.

You could taste blood. Coppery on your tongue, and you didn’t know if it was his or yours. Probably a mixture of the two. But your bite did not deter him, and his thrusts only became crueler, your body jolting beneath him as you felt wet beneath your hips.

How long had he been doing this?

How many times had he done this?

But the wet was not just from the man above you.

It also came from you.

Small sparks of pleasure wound its way up through your gut as he rutted into you in fervent, animalistic thrusts. Each one a sharp grunt or hiss falling from his lips. Each one, his tip bullying the soft and sponge spot within you. Each thrust winding the coil within tighter and tighter.

Ettore slapped your cheek, a small cry falling from your lips as you looked up at him, tears running down your cheeks as you sobbed quietly.

From the pain.

From the shock.

From the pleasure.

“Fuck you’re tight.” He growled, “Fucking dirty bitch.”

Another sob, mouth opened to cry out.

His lips pursed, and warmth sprayed across your face, the wet of his spit landing across cheeks and lips, hand coming to grab your jaw painfully as he squeezed, the joints protesting with pops as he continued, no doubt bruises to be seen in the morning.

Your walls fluttered around him, each snap of his hips grazing your swollen clit sending euphoria racing up your spine.

It was all too much.

“Look at you.” He sneered at you meanly, “Gonna cum on my cock aren’t you? Feel you tightening up. Fuck. So fucking disgusting. Asking for it. Always looking at me with those fucking eyes. Take it.”

It was a peel of words that continued to fall from his lips, his hips stuttering as his pace faltered.

He was near his end, and you were too.

With two hands, he wrapped them around your neck, leaning his weight down on it as he fucked into you, black spots blooming in your vision as he cut off both air and blood supply. You wheezed beneath him, thrashing against the restraints, hands in fists as they rubbed the skin raw.

You felt light, airy as you looked up at him, the lead of your limbs lifting with the lack of oxygen, the angle he fucked you in having changed, and each rut of his hips jabbed against your G-spot violently.

“Take it, you fucking cunt.” He growled, your eyes fluttering shut as you began to feel weightless, beginning to drift back to your sleep. A nice sleep. Comfortable one. Soft and warm and-

You came violently, a silent cry ripped from your throat, eyes shooting open as you looked up at the man who bit his bottom lip roughly, eyebrows knotted together as he fucked you through it.

The hands left your throat, gasp sucked into your lungs as you writhed beneath him, his thrusts pulling painful pleasure from you as his hips stuttered, one hand clawing at your hip, the other tugging your head back by your hair, exposing your neck to him.

Ettore came with a grunt, head dipping down to bite into the sensitive skin in the crux of your shoulder, teeth piercing the skin as you whimpered below him.

Hot ropes of his cum filled your walls, his thrusts stilling as you felt him throb within you, teeth still in your neck that he lapped at with his tongue, breathing hotly through his nose against the skin.

Another tear fell down your cheek as you lay beneath him, staring up at the cool, darkened grey of the ceiling. Pain and pleasure swirling around each other hotly in your core and gut, walls still fluttering around him from your own release.

You swallowed dryly, throat hoarse from where he choked you and wriggled beneath him, stirring his rest as he grunted into your neck, finally releasing the skin from his teeth. Small incisions and blooming bruise beginning to take its spot there, a dribble of blood leaking from where a crooked tooth pinched flesh between another.

He huffed above you as the world spun, slowly pulling out of you. You whimpered and half whined, feeling sensitive. Stinging pain and pleasure winding its way around your entrance.

Too much.

Ettore sat back on his haunches, cock softening in front of him as he looked down at you, fully naked. Your eyes roamed his body, muscular and lean all in one, watching you with lust filled eyes and hatred.

Another tear dripped down your cheek as his eyes roamed down your body, to the torn shorts he had ripped to the side, watching as his spend leaked out of you. His hand shot out, scooping fingers through your folds as you hissed, playing with his cum and smearing it into your folds and along your thighs.

Your heart pounded in your chest, nausea turning painfully in your stomach as he moved to loom over you, looking down at your tear streaked cheeks and the blood on your split lip, bits of his saliva dried on your face from where he had spat on you.

His lips pulled into a smirk, sticky fingers coming to smear themselves on your cheek as he pulled your shorts back into place, adjusting you roughly beneath him.

“Wasn’t too quick for you I hope.” He mocked, giving your face a rough tap before he stood, pulling on his pants and shirt as he looked down at you, chest heaving as you cried quietly, adrenaline pumping through you.

His eyebrows lifted on his face, grinning once he was dressed, grabbing your face in his hand and shaking it as he cooed at you.

“Good girl.” Another tap.

He left without another word, leaving you strapped to your bed, body aching and bruised as his cum leaked out of you, pooling wetly into the crotch of your shorts. You could still feel him inside you, thrusting atop you, his breath fanned in your ears.

You sucked in a steeling breath, shaking in the restraints, skin raw and bleeding in some places where you tugged too hard, pulled too violently as you shook beneath him, pleasure exploding within.

You didn't drift back to sleep, no matter how hard you tried, the sedative had worn off and adrenaline kept you alert.

You simply laid in your bunk, in your cell, surrounded by people who were none the wiser to your attack, sleeping soundly in their own restrained cots as your eyes stayed to the doorway, waiting for him to return.

Knowing that he would.

And not minding it either.

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