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eraenaa · 7 months ago

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Blessed Curse

Aemond Targaryen x Strong Reader Tag List

Synopsis: When a marriage between you and Aemond was arranged and forced by your grandsire, conflicting emotions arise, but which one will loom greater? Loathing or Love?

Warnings: Enemies to Lovers Trope, ¿Softer Aemond?, Arranged Marriage, Jealousy, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Fingering, Oral Sex (F receiving), Targcest, Not Proofread

Word Count: 6,803

A/N: Final tribute (maybe) to Season 1 Aemond, you have fed us with your crumbs for the past two years. Based on a few anonymous requests where they wanted a prequel of 'Loathe to Love.'

Aemond’s frown severed as he looked through the window and watched as you and your kin exited the wheelhouse. He felt his sneer severe as he spotted a look of dissatisfaction adorned your plain face as you had realized the lack of welcome provided for your kin’s return. “Spying, brother?” Aemond jumped in his spot, his sister taking him by surprise as she appeared by his side. “I am not,” he said defensively, and Helaena only hummed, gazing below as the day of your awaited arrival had arrived. “Then why have you been waiting by this window since the morning?” Helaena asked, and Aemond clenched his jaw and stayed silent, not giving a response to his sister.

“Come, join us, Mother, and I shall greet them,” Helaena invited, and Aemond shook his head, scoffing at his sister’s invitation. “I’d rather not subject myself to their… treasonous presence,” He said, and Helaena sighed, walking away in silence.

Jacaerys raised his gaze and caught the sight of a silver prince looking down upon them. He warily traveled his oak gaze to you, who stood by the side of your stepfather. “Should we not tell her already? How long must we keep her in the dark about our true purpose here?” Your brother whispered to your mother. “Your grandsire shall be the one to tell her. The king must be the one to impart to her his wishes and orders,” Your mother sighed, guilt heavy in her heart as the whole of your family had kept the true reason for your return to Kingslanding from you.

“Helaena!” You called out in excitement as you entered the walls of the keep, your aunt, along with her mother, welcoming you. Helaena smiled widely at you as you took her into an embrace; though you had a distaste for the capitol, Helaena was the only one you were actually excited to see once more. “How are you?” You asked, paying no mind to the tense conversation between your parents and the queen. “Well. I am glad of your return,” She smiled, and you only smiled as well as you could not lie and agree with her statement. “I’ve been told you now have three children,” You tried to converse, and Helaena nodded. “I do; little Maelor arrived just two moons ago,” She confirmed, “Would you like to meet them?” Helaena asked, and you eagerly nodded, slipping away from your kin who were to venture to your grandsire’s chambers.

Aemond stalked the halls and watched behind the pillar as you walked with his sister, arms linked. He rolled his eye as you strutted through the halls as if your mere presence were not damnable. “Are you spying, brother?” Aegon appeared by his side, Aemond being caught off guard for the second time that hour. “I am not,” Aemond spat and walked off, but Aegon still followed him. “I have to admit, even I did not expect our niece to grow so… enchanting,” Aegon hummed, looking steadily at his brother to see what reaction his words would garner him. Aemond shook his head, not wanting to concede or show agreement with his brother.

“If you’re still having qualms about this marriage, perhaps it could be I to marry her instead.” Aegon hummed, further testing his brother. “The conqueror had two wives, did he not?” Aegon added and noted the way his brother clenched his jaw and fisted his fists. “You are no conqueror,” Aemond gritted and made hastened steps towards the tiltyard to escape his brother. “I do not understand your animosity, brother,” Aegon still followed.

“Were you not so… overly fond of her years before?” He asked and made fast steps to match his brother’s furious gate. “If I had remembered correctly… you had even asked Mother if you could be betrothed to her when you were nine,” Aegon reminded, and Aemond halted in his steps as he was made to recall the instance. “Leave before I succumb to my thoughts and maim you,” Aemond gritted, his hand already clenched around the hilt of his sword. Aegon let out a laugh at his brother’s threat but retreated because there was a murderous intent in Aemond’s eye.

Aemond had a few moments of solace in the tiltyard before you once again began to haunt him. Aemond halted his sparring with Ser Criston as he heard a laugh so melodious he was certain it was brought by delusion. He turned to the side and frowned as he learned that the laugh he had heard came from your lips, the melodiousness he relished upon just moments ago; he now convinced himself it was aggravating. The prince huffed as he saw his older brother standing by your side, Aegon being the reason for your mirth, and Aemond could not help but wonder if his brother’s actions were genuine or just another ploy to aggravate him.

“I see your intended has arrived,” Ser Criston stated as his eyes went towards where the prince’s gaze was placed. “Aye, she has,” Aemond gritted and shook his head, twisting the sword in his hands and urging himself to continue training. “Have you spoken to her?” Ser Criston could not help but ask, curious as to what the marriage order by the king would entail.

The knight held no fondness for any offspring of the spoiled cunt they call heir, but he himself could not be so cruel to show any animosity towards you. You were saved from the insults that he had no trouble throwing at your brothers. Ever since childhood, you were kind and gentle and good-humored. You were the only one who genuinely showed kindness to Aemond even if he was being picked on by his brother and yours. You were the only one who never cowered away from Helaena and her odd demeanor. You were the only child of Rhaenyra that the queen and her sworn protector could tolerate. It also bodes well for you that you were not present during the ambush in Driftmark. Instead, you were sound asleep next to your aunt as her brother’s eye was cruelly taken.

“No,” Aemond answered, his tone held disgust that the knight was a tad confused by, but he made no mention of it. Ser Criston readied his position to return to sparring with the prince, but Aemond was still wholly distracted by your presence. His frown severed as the smile on your lips did not lessen whilst you kept chatting with Aegon. It would seem his brother would make good with his tease of taking you to wife as well, and though Aemond had no wish to marry you, there was a pestering feeling inside him that savored greatly of jealousy, but he did not wish to admit.

The one-eyed prince disregarded his training and walked in your direction. You were in the midst of a laughing fit, but it quickly died as he arrived, the wide smile on your lips lessening. “Niece,” Aemond greeted, the word said through his teeth. “Uncle,” you curtsied quickly, and Aegon smirked as the scene unfolded before him. “Well, isn’t this nice,” he stated, and you turned your gaze to your elder uncle. “A reunion that is well overdue, do you not think so, brother?” He asked and clapped the back Aemond, who stared daggers at him. You licked your lips as you felt tension now surrounding the air. Aemond’s eye shifted back to you, your gaze lowered, your fingers playing with each other, and your bottom lip in between your teeth. He swallowed thickly as he did not expect a sudden surge of an odd sensation to overcome him.

You parted your lips, ready to speak, but a call through the tiltyard caught your attention. “Tala,” Your stepfather called; the three of you turned towards the steps and saw the Rogue prince approaching. “Good day, uncles,” You said quietly and curtsied before them before running towards your father. Daemon eyed curiously his two nephews you were speaking with. Daemon offered his arm for you to take as he escorted you up the steps, and judging by the smile that was still on your lips and there was no horror in your eyes, he deduced that none of them had spoken about the true reason for your return.

Daemon tried earnestly to contest the marriage. To make his brother see reason and not cruelly tie you with his deformed son. He even went as far as returning to Kingslanding the moment he and his wife received the message of his brother’s order. But the king had made up his mind. You were to marry Aemond.

Two days had passed since your return to the Red Keep, and you were still clueless as to why you and your family had returned. “When do you think we’ll leave?” You asked Lucerys as he went along with you in the gardens, your younger brother carrying the flowers you picked and were planning to give your grandsire you were still yet to visit. “I do not know, sister,” Lucerys mindlessly said, his focus transfixed on your uncle, who stood by the side, glaring at him with his lone eye. You, however, were oblivious to the presence of a silver prince.

Aemond clenched his jaw as he watched you leisurely pick at the flowers. He had been observing you through the days of your return, and he could not fathom why you were not bothered by the whole ordeal as to why he saw no aggravation or anger in you as you both were tasked to marry each other. You exuded an entirely different outlook than Aemond when it came to this doomed union which made him wonder at the possibility that perhaps you wanted it. That you were willing to marry him. Aemond found the possibility preposterous, but it was the only answer to your lax, unbothered disposition. The more Aemond thought about the possibility of your agreement to the marriage, the more it left him unnerved. But it would answer his questions as to why you did not show any outward animosity towards him. Completely civil at any of your encounters— even going as far as flashing Aemond a ghost of a smile when you passed him by the hall. Were you truly in want of this marriage? Aemond was torn on how to feel or perceive this.

“Must we not already tell her? We’ve been here for two days already, and she is still completely clueless about the reason for our return,” Jacaerys asked his mother, who sighed deeply. “Aye, I would take she would not appreciate this secrecy— especially the severity of the situation,” Daemon added, studying his wife who stepped towards a window that overlooked the gardens where you spent the afternoon in.

“The king must be the one to tell her. He… he must be the one to tell her his wishes.” Rhaenyra said once more, unable to be the bearer of bad news. She could already foresee the anger, hurt, and fear in your eyes, and it made her stomach pit and twist painfully. She had made a promise to herself that her daughter would be saved from the political marriages most of them were subjected to— to save her from the heartache and the displeasure of having a husband bound to you not by love but by political gain. But even she could not protect you from such cruel fates. Having no choice but to watch as you would retell the plights of women before you.

“The king has been incoherent for days. The wedding ceremonies they prepared are set in a fortnight— we must tell her Rhaenyra. She must know of the matter now so she could prepare herself,” Daemon spoke, “Prepare herself to escape,” Jacaerys muttered under his breath, already imagining your reaction that would surely be filled with shock and betrayal.

Rhaenyra sighed heavily and shook her head, her hand unconsciously going to her forehead to soothe the throbbing pain as she thought about the matter. “If my father still has not regained his thoughts by the morrow, then we shall tell her at tomorrow evening’s supper,” Rhaenyra decided, putting a buffer on the matter, praying to the gods that her father shall regain consciousness and be the one to tell you of his orders.

You returned inside the castle walls as the afternoon sun was proving to be too scorching for you. Your younger brother went to the tiltyard, and you were left alone as you wandered around the castle you once called home. You were admiring a portrait hung on the wall, your eyes completely fixed on the bold colors and the detailed strokes of the work that your surroundings started to fade, and you did not realize someone had joined your company. “Quite luminous, is it not, your highness?” You slightly jumped, startled by the voice that made itself known. You turned to your right and saw a son of House Tyrell. “It is my lord,” You agreed with a small smile finding itself on your lips.

Aemond watched the scene steely-eyed behind a pillar as you acquainted yourself with the lord in the empty hallways, unescorted. There was a smile playing on your lips as you two conversed. He watched as the lord started to inch his body closer to you, daring to brush his hand with yours that held flowers in it. Aemond’s already impaired vision burned as he saw a blush rising to your cheeks. The scandal of it! Here you are, a betrothed woman still acquiring and entertaining the attention of eligible young men.

When Aemond saw the lord take a flower from your hold and dare place it by your ear, Aemond removed himself from his spot of observation and stomped towards the both of you. “Uncle,” You greeted in surprise as Aemond suddenly appeared in the hall. “Good morrow, my prince,” Lord Tyrell greeted, and Aemond could not make the effort to not let his contempt not show. “My Lord,” was all he replied with, feeling your confused gaze by his left as he stood by your side. “The Princess and I were just discussing this portrait. I had remarked on its luminosity and sh—“ Aemond rolled his eye and cut the lord off.

“If you shall excuse us, Lord Tyrell, I must speak with my betrothed. Alone.” He said, voice utterly cold and almost threatening. Your lips agape at his words, your mind unable to comprehend what he had uttered. “What?” You suddenly asked as Lord Tyrell bowed towards you before hastily walking away. Aemond turned to you, expression angered. “Are you truly this careless? Walking the halls alone, engaging with a lord without an escort. Do you not thin—“ You hindered him from completing his scolding. “What are you saying?” You asked in confusion. “Betrothed?” You added, and Aemond’s brows furrowed.

“Do not act simple with me; you know perfectly well of o—“ You cut Aemond off once more. “What are you talking about? Betrothed? What?” You continued to voice out your bewilderment. Aemond stared at you, calculating if the confusion on your face was an act. But as he stared at your eyes, he knew your confused state was genuine. “You do not know, do you?” He asked quietly. “Know what?” Aemond licked his lips and looked around the empty hall. Just hours ago, he believed you were in full knowledge of the upcoming union between the two of you— that you were completely fine with a marriage with him, for he saw no resistance or rebellion. But what is there to resist or rebel about when you are left utterly clueless?

“We are to be married,” Aemond stated, and you gazed up at him as if he had grown three heads. “Us… married?” You asked slowly, and Aemond gave a curt nod, waiting for the dread in your eyes, but he was left shocked as you began to laugh. The hall rang and echoed your laughs, Aemond watching you as you clutched your stomach and continued to laugh at the absurdity of it. He scowled as you gasped for air, your laugh still ringing in his ears and riddling his skin with gooseflesh. “You have an odd sense of humor, Aemond. But I am glad that after all these years, you finally learned how to jest,” you said in amusement, gazing at his lilac eye as you waited for him to break his peculiar act. However, when only seriousness was present in his Valyrian orbs, the smile on your lips faltered.

“Are you serious?” You asked, your tone dripping heavy in disbelief. “It is the order of the king,” he replied, and you shook your head. Aemond clenched his jaw as you still did not believe his words. “Why do you think you’re here? After all these years of informal exile, why do you think your family was summoned? You and I are to be married.” He explained, frowning at how slow you are to comprehend the situation. Now, the dread that Aemond was waiting for was presented greatly on your plain but pretty face. “I… I do not believe you; you are lying.” You say, and Aemond stepped closer. “Why must I lie about this unsavory matter? What I speak of is the truth. If you do not take my word for it, go ahead and ask your parents, and they will tell you the same thing: you and I are to be bound to one another.” Aemond said lowly, his face drawing closer to yours.

You shook your head and stepped back, your gaze still locked with Aemond, who stared at you undeterred, seriousness the only thing on his face. “You will be my wife.” He stated and watched as fear grew heavier in your eyes, and you ran across the hall in search of your parents. As Aemond stared at your departing figure, he began to wonder if it was satisfying to finally see the fear and rage in your eyes that he had been expecting ever since your arrival or if there was another pestering emotion that he wished not to entertain.

“Mother!” You called through the halls, eyes already threatening to spill with tears. When you reached her chambers, she and your father turned to you, worry shining on their faces. “My sweet girl, what is it?” She asked and took hold of your hands. “Tell me it is not true— tell me he lies,” You almost begged. “What?” Your mother asked quietly, not accepting the fact that you now knew of the betrothal. “Please, you’re not marrying me to Aemond, are you? That’s not true, yes? He was just teasing me,” You said desperately, willing your mother to confirm your theory. But as she said no word and only went pale, your knees felt weak, and a pitting of your stomach presented itself greatly.

“It… it is the order of your grandsire,” She said delicately, moving you to sit down as your breath had been rendered short through your cries. Daemon watched by the side, his hold on his sword tight as he could not bear to see you in such a state of distress. “No… please, you cannot make me!” You wailed as your mother tried to hush you, soothing you, running her hands through your hair, and patting your back just as she did when you were a child. “Please… I… let me speak with grandsire— he cannot marry me to him,” You pleaded, and your mother’s saddened eyes gazed at you, her warm touch moving to wipe the tears on your cheeks. “I’m sorry, my sweet… we have begged your grandsire, implored him that this union could not be. But he had made up his mind, and none of us could alter it, not even Alicent.” Your mother whispered.

You sniffled in your seat, your thoughts running with dread and confusion. “Why did you only tell me now? How could you hide this from me?” You asked in betrayal. Daemon sighed and went to where you sat, kneeling before you. “We wanted to tell you, tala. To prepare you, but we foolishly thought that we could still alter the decision of the king. We had not told you, for we did not wish to distress you with a matter that we thought we could change.” He said softly, watching as tears fell from your eyes. You bit your cheeks and shook your head, “When… when must we marry?” You asked in dread. “In a fortnight,” Your mother replied and felt her heart clench as you stifled a sob. “I’m truly sorry, my sweet girl,” She said softly as you cried quietly in her arms.

“It would appear they hid it from her,” Aemond remarked to his mother as he sat in her chambers. “They thought they could still alter the orders of the king,” She remarked as quietly as she observed her son, who stared at the fire. “I still have not asked you about your thoughts on this marriage,” The queen remarked, watching as her son clenched his jaw. “You need not ask; you already know of it,” Aemond answered. The queen breathed in heavily.

“This may not be what you want now… but this was all you had wanted when you were a boy,” Aemond shook his head, a scoff leaving his lips. “Will all of you stop reminding me of it? Aye, I did want her when I was a child, but I am a man grown. I do not wish for a marriage forced upon me— especially when my bride is to be so… plain,” Aemond frowned at himself as he sensed hesitancy as he uttered the words that used to roll off effortlessly. It was the truth; you were plain— your features nonconforming to the house they tried to sell as yours. But you had never been plain the sense of attractiveness, your beauty celebrated throughout the realm, beguiling the lords of Westeros and years before, Aemond as well. Alicent stayed silent, for she could not offer comfort to her son, who was bound to a marriage that was devised for the crown.

When the crown announced your impending matrimony with your one-eyed uncle, mixed reactions were shared. Nevertheless, the kingdom was made to celebrate the event. You tried to hide your frown as your grandfather made you and Aemond parade around the streets of Kingslanding, a picture of unity to be sold to the small folk so they could attest to the new age of dragons.

“Is this truly necessary?” You asked your father as you were sitting in a carriage. Aemond was still to board it, but he and his grandfather were conversing. “It is what your grandfather wished,” You hear your stepfather say, his violet eyes shifting to your betrothed. “But why? Is he even of sound of mind? I thought others were now tasked to do his bidding; why did they let this happen?” You asked in a plea, ready to jump off the carriage as you felt it jostle and your soon-to-be husband sitting next to you. “Best stop your bellyaching. You are not the only one who is shortchanged with this marriage.” You gritted your jaw at his words, turning to your father wide-eyed, trying to discern if he had heard it as well.

Daemon clenched his fist around the hilt of his sword at his nephew, who had the gull to offend you, his precious daughter. “Your brothers and I will follow closely behind. It is only for a few hours, tala,” he gritted, and you unconsciously pouted as your father walked away, leaving you alone in the presence of Aemond.

You traced the patterns of your gown as you rode out of the castle gates. When you reached the streets, you straightened your back and plastered a slight smile to appear as if you were somewhat happy with the devised marriage. Aemond scoffed and rolled his eye as you greeted the small folk, smiling at them and giving them a small wave of your pampered hand. He frowned at how much you loved their attention, giving them a pitiful show. “You might want to lessen the scowl… the purpose of all this is to present a united figure,” You whispered as you passed a crowd.

“I will not be part of this farce,” Aemond spat and glared at a group of men whose hungry gaze were enclosed on you. “You are a prince of this realm. You have no choice but to be the crown’s puppet,” You said, with a tight smile as you waved toward a group of women. You feel Aemond’s glaring stare at the side of your face, but you willed yourself to ignore it. However, when the other small folk started to notice the glare of your betrothed, you turned to Aemond with a smile still on your lips, looking at him with your fictitious love-struck gaze, and you wanted to laugh as your act took him aback.

Aemond stared into your eyes, perplexed at the look you gave him. Soft, adoring, and… he could not name the other element in your enchanting eyes. He had to look away as he felt himself stagger, and his breath was caught in his throat. When the crowd lessened, Aemond returned his gaze to you, the smile on your lips at the look in your eyes gone within a snap. You turned to him angrily, “Play the part for the subjects, Aemond. I do not expect much from this marriage, and I certainly do not expect us to get along behind closed doors, but when in the eyes of the public… best not to dishonor our house with another display of a fraudulent marriage. As all have kept reminding us, this is our duty.” You say quietly, tone bitter and overly severe. Aemond pursed his lips and clenched his fists around the air as the tumultuous crowds started to return once more, and the counterfeit smile on your lips returned.

The day all had dreaded finally came. You stared blankly in the mirror as you were dressed like a doll. You were resisting the urge to run through the halls and escape a life of hate with a man who had only loathing in his heart for you.

You stood before the door of the great hall, your arms linked with your mother as she walked you down the aisle. “I don’t want to,” You suddenly said, cold and clammed hands holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers. You tried to walk away, but your arm was linked with your mother’s, and she prevented you from doing so. “I am so sorry, my sweet, but not even you are above duty… none of us are,” She said solemnly, and you breathed out a previous breath as trumpets sounded out and the doors of the halls started to open. You bit your lip as you planted yourself on the ground, resisting the pull of your mother for you to walk. Your knees felt weak as you took small steps towards your groom, your mother practically dragging you down, her body a step ahead of your reluctant frame.

When you reached the end of the hall, and your hand was placed upon your betrothed, you resisted looking Aemond in the eye. Aemond stared you down, the image of you wholly too much and all-consuming. This was all he had wanted. This was the dream he dreamt every night in childhood. You, in a white gown and a veil covering your comely face, and him standing before you as your groom.

He could not explain how— how he had kept up his act for this long. To fake his animosity and loathing just in hopes that one day it would turn true because hoping and waiting for you was only a dream he had. Pretending to hold distaste for you because it was easier than letting himself hope that one day you will be his. But now, all those years of yearning have finally come to an end because before the sun could set, you will forever be bound to him.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” Aemond recited and hesitantly looked toward you. Your hands were cold upon his, and Aemond took a deep breath before leaning in to seal your marriage with a kiss, your first kiss. The deafening roars and cheers of your guests were unheard as Aemond could only focus on the way it felt to kiss your lips. His mind only concentrates on the small taste he had of you— his entire being immediately starved for so much more than the quick and chaste entanglement of your lips.

You and Aemond were silent for the whole feast, a small smile plastered on your lips as to appear agreeable to the hundreds of eyes upon the both of you. You were too entranced to appear joyous that you were oblivious to the strong, calloused hand that had never left yours. Long, slender fingers drawing circles upon your flesh as if to soothe you.

You turned to Aemond, his eye on the sea of dancers on the floor. In disbelief that he was still holding your hand. You were in shock that he was willing to keep up the pretense so immensely— a pretense of unity that none seemed to notice, for your hands were tucked under the table.

When Aemond felt your stare, he turned to you, and you searched for the familiar cruelty and hatred in his eye; you found none. “Do you wish to dance?” He asked, and your lips parted in shock, taking a moment to comprehend his words. You could only nod, your husband leading you to stand. You were silent as he placed his hand on your waist and pulled you closer to his body. The other dancers disappeared to make room for you and your groom, a slow, mellow melody enveloping the great hall as the eyes of your guests were turned to you and Aemond.

You stared blankly at his chest, eyeing the metal buttons of his vest, and tried to ignore the erratic beating of your heart. Aemond took in a deep breath, your scent intoxicating his senses more than the wine he had indulged himself for the night in preparation for the later activities. When it was the end of your third dance, you finally spoke, “I’m quite tired,” You said lowly, and Aemond gave a curt nod, taking your hand into his once more and guiding you to your seats.

Five more songs passed with you and Aemond in complete silence when your sisters appeared by your side. “Sister… we’re to help you to prepare for the… night,” Rhaena said lowly and cautiously. You feel your stomach drop and your nod. You stole your hand from Aemond and excused yourself before disappearing with your sisters, Aemond’s eye following your frame until you fully disappeared away from his view.

Aemond gritted his jaw as he felt his brother clap his shoulder, “Are you ready for the bedding ceremony, brother? I hope you still remember what I have taught.” Aegon teased and took your vacated seat. Aemond stayed silent and downed another chalice of wine, ignoring his brother. “But it is fine if you are not ready… perhaps I could substitute in y—“ Aemond turned to his brother with a severe glare. “One more word concerning my wife, and I will cut your tongue,” Aemond gritted, and Aegon’s amusement only grew. “There he is— there is the boy who wanted no one else but our niece.” Aegon grinned.

“You are a great actor— you almost had me fooled, but no amount of hate you display could make me forget about the little boy who would follow around our strong niece like a lost pup,” Aegon’s grin grew wider, and he quickly stood to walk away before his brother turned violent.

Aemond downed another cup before he had no choice but to join you in your chambers. He stood by the door and took deep breaths; the shy little boy in him returned, and he had no idea how to cope. Aemond bit his lip and mustered all his courage to step inside your marital chambers. He knew neither of you could perform what was expected that night— as much as he wanted to perform his duty, he knew in himself he could not.

Aemond walked in quietly, his eye on the floor as he entered. Aemond heard shuffling, and he lifted his eye. Lilac orbs placed on a screen divider lit by the flickering light of a candle, your silhouette traced upon the thin paper of the divider as you fixed your shift. Aemond felt his knees weaken, taking a seat on a chair, his eye still fixed on your shadow. By just the outline of you, of your peaked apples straining through your shift and your graceful body turning behind the divider, he already felt pleasure wash through the whole of his body. His cock painfully straining in his trousers, he would think by the amount of wine he had downed, he would be left slack that night.

You took in deep, calming breaths as you stepped out of the divider and decided to wait for your husband, but to your surprise, he was already seated in your chambers. You looked at him wide-eyed, having the urge to cover your body, but you reminded yourself that this intimacy was part of your marriage— at least tonight.

Your gazes did not meet as you stood by a distance from where Aemond sat. The crackling fire between the two of you is the only sound surrounding the room. You gulped before you stepped close to your husband, footsteps overly heavy with every step taken in his direction. “Kneel,” You hear aemond grit, and you frown at his words, ready to fight his order, but you remind yourself that just for tonight, you will do your duties as a wife.

Aemond was left breathlessly as he watched you slowly sink to your knees. He bit his tongue harshly as his eye went to your plush thighs pressed together, having the urge to squeeze them and feel if your skin was as soft as his mind imagined.

You waited, wrapped in anticipation of what was to happen next. You shuddered as you felt his cold hand come to cup your face, his thumb grazing your cheek. Your eyes fluttered to a close at the surprisingly gentle touch, your body moving closer to him without any way of controlling it. As your eyes were still fluttered close, you felt the familiarizing way of his lips upon yours. You felt yourself already quivering and you placed your hand on Aemond’s leg to steady yourself. Aemond leaned forward to feel more of your lips, his cold touch placing itself on your shoulder, feeling the bare skin as the sleeve of your shift had dropped off.

You moved to part from him, out of breath with the kiss you shared. The taste of him and wine imprinted on your tongue. Rose your gaze to meet his eye, and you saw that the lilac orb had turned dark. Without another word, Aemond smashed your lips once more. Kissing you more fervently and pulling you to stand. You whimpered as you felt him bite your lip and pull down further the thin cover you wore. You were in a daze as his lips kissed your sand, and his hands roamed your body, harshly gripping your behind as he led you to the bed.

It was his turn to part your lips. You lay bare on the silk sheets of the feathered bed, his standing before you still fully clothed, and you feel a rush of embarrassment course through you, showing its evidence on your cheeks. Aemond hastily undid the buttons of his vest, eye still locked with yours; he did not miss the embarrassment and perhaps even scandal in your eyes, the tell-tale sign of your purity, and he could not help but succumb to more pleasure by the thought.

You shifted your gaze as Aemond stood bare before you, the image of him quickly engraving itself in your mind. You bit your lip as you waited for him to shift his weight atop yours, but you were left perplexed when, from the side of your eye, you saw him sink to his knees. You propped yourself on your elbows as he pried your legs open, a deep frown on your face as you tried to comprehend what he was doing. When you noticed his head straying closer to your cunny, your eyes widened in further scandal.

“What— Aemond, no!” You say breathlessly and try to close your legs shut, but his hold on your thighs is too strong. “You told me we must perform our duty, wife… let me perform them,” You could only fall back on the plush mattress as you felt the foreign feeling of lips upon your cunt. Aemond sucking upon the pearl of your cunt as his tongue would dart out and tease the bud. You breathed heavily and bit your lip to prevent any sound from being heard, which only made Aemond double his efforts, wanting to hear you be wrapped in utter pleasure.

Aemond groaned at the taste of you, palming his length as it already wept, crying to be inside you, but he knew he must prepare you first. That he must savor you like this, for he did not know if after this— after this initial duty, when would be the next time he’ll have the opportunity to have your cunt against his face.

Aemond finally pried a moan from you, smirking as he moved his finger to tease your folds, a louder moan coming from your lips as he teased your entrance. “A—Aemond,” You called as he inserted the digit, your body rigid and back arching the sensation. “Such a tight cunt… you kept yourself pure for me,” Aemond hummed and groaned as he felt your legs wrap themselves around his neck, pushing his face further to your cunt. He chuckled, and the vibrations from it made further wetness escape your cunt, your hips, your hips gaining itself upon his face; his finger found a companion, and the digits curled inside you. Brushing against the rough spot that spurred you quickly into your climax. Aemond groaned as he heard your muffled voice moaning his name.

You stared at the canopy bed as Aemond rose to his feet and finally placed his weight upon you, his lips finding yours again. You taste yourself on his tongue, and you cannot help but moan, Amend smirking as you find pleasure in tasting yourself; you were quite sweet.

Aemond finally gave in to his wants and aligned himself against your entrance, brushing away your tears that were quick to escape your eyes as he pushed further into your cunt. He was cautious with his movements, not wanting to cause you any unnecessary discomfort. He was patient, waiting for the pained furrowed in your brows to turn to a furrow of pleasure; when it did, his thrust was still cautious. It was some pleasurable torture; he needed more, but he could not be so cruel to present you with such pain.

“Faster,” You breathed out as you felt his thrusts were too slow to bring you to the climax you now sought. Aemond was uncertain if he heard you correctly, so he played it safe and kept his initial pace. “Aemond… please, I— I need it faster,” You urged, letting go of any pride in you as your body needed him. Aemond blinked for a moment, comprehending your quest before wholeheartedly obliging.

Your moans spewed loudly as his thrusts were deep and fast, his finger drawing circles upon your cunt and supper you further into your release. “Oh gods… Oh gods, Aemond!” You cried and clawed his back as you came undone. Aemond groaned into the shell of your ear as his own release was quick to follow, his lips finding yours as his seed rooted itself deeply in your cunt. The thought of heirs already festering in his mind.

That night, Aemond held you in his arms as you slept. His mind was made; he would do anything for your marriage to prevail, for the past to be shed and be forgotten. For you to be happy and contented in his arms, for he already was. As long as he had you, the only girl he had and will ever want and love, he was perfectly content with this blessing of a marriage they had disguised as a curse.

Part Two: Loathe to Love

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fatliberation · 2 years ago

Note

I saw a comment on your blog that says 'the way you eat does not cause diabetes'...are you able to expand on that or provide a source I could read? I've been told by doctors that my pre-diabetes was due to weight gain because I get more hungry on my anti psychotics and I'd like to fact check what they've told me! Thank you so much!

Pre-diabetes was rejected as a diagnosis by the World Health Organization (although it is used by the US and UK) - the correct term for the condition is impaired glucose tolerance. Approximately 2% of people with "pre-diabetes" go on to develop diabetes per year. You heard that right - TWO PERCENT. Most diabetics actually skip the pre-diabetic phase.

There are currently no treatments for pre-diabetes besides intentional weight loss. (Hmm, that's convenient, right?) There has yet to be evidence that losing weight prevents progression from pre-diabetes to T2DM beyond a year. Interestingly, drug companies are trying to persuade the medical world to start treating patients earlier and earlier. They are using the term “pre-diabetes” to sell their drugs (including Wegovy, a weight-loss drug). Surgeons are using it to sell weight loss surgery. Everyone’s a winner, right? Not patients. Especially fat patients.

Check out these articles:

Prediabetes: The epidemic that never was, and shouldn’t be

The war on ‘prediabetes' could be a boon for pharma—but is it good medicine?

Also - I love what Dr. Asher Larmie @fatdoctorUK has to say about T2DM and insulin resistance, so here's one of their threads I pulled from Twitter:

1️⃣ You can't prevent insulin resistance. It's coded in your DNA. It may be impacted by your environment. Studies have shown it has nothing to do with your BMI.

2️⃣ The term "pre-diabetes" is a PR stunt. The correct term is impaired glucose tolerance (or impaired fasting glucose) which is sometimes referred to as intermittent hyperglycemia. It does not predict T2DM. It is best ignored and tested for every 3-5yrs.

3️⃣ there is no evidence that losing weight prevents diabetes. That's because you can't reverse insulin resistance. You can possibly postpone it by 2yrs? Furthermore there is evidence that those who are fat at the time of diagnosis fair much better than those who are thin.

4️⃣ Weight loss does not reverse diabetes in the VAST majority of people. Those that do reverse it are usually thinner with recent onset T2DM and a low A1c. Only a tiny minority can sustain that over 2yrs. Weight loss does not improve A1c levels beyond 2 yrs either.

5️⃣ Weight loss in T2DM does not improve macrovascular or microvascular health outcomes beyond 2 years. In fact, weight loss in diabetics is associated with increased mortality and morbidity (although it is not clear why). Weight cycling is known to impacts A1c levels.

6️⃣ Weight GAIN does NOT increase the risk of cardiovascular OR all causes mortality in diabetics. In fact, one might even go so far as to say that it's better to be fat and diabetic than to be thin and diabetic.

Dr. Larmie cites 18 peer reviewed journal articles (most from the last decade) that are included in their webinar on the subject, linked below.

#diabetes #t2dm #type 2 diabetes #prediabetes #weight science #weight stigma #fat liberation #fat acceptance #inbox

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4unnyr0se · 7 months ago

Text

❥ OHMAMI | hajime iwaizumi

warnings: timeskip! iwaizumi, fem! reader, car sex, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, hickeys, degradation, manhandling, slight fingering, finger-sucking, riding, oikawa is mentioned a lot tbh, protective and possessive iwa

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 4.9k

a/n: okay i started this in early june and now im finishing it so im sorry if it doesnt make sense aaaa

❥ song: OHMAMI - chase atlantic

Iwaizumi was never the one people thought of when asked who their favorite member of the Aoba Johsai team was. He grew to accept it over time, albeit with spite and anger. Everyone was always wrapped up in what Oikawa was doing, wondering who would be his next girlfriend of the week. It was gross how Oikawa hogged all the girls; how could he be so selfish? Fucking jackass.

Naturally, it was a relief when he graduated. Sure, Aoba Johsai never went to nationals (and yes, it very much stung), but the memories were important, right? Hitting perfect spike after spike, smacking Oikawa around, hearing that glorious school cheer, Iwaizumi had to admit he would miss it. Not the part where Oikawa kept all the girls to himself.

Graduation came and went, and so did university. It was a breeze. Sports medicine was not a challenging major; he was just really good at the subject. Another graduation came, and Iwaizumi could only think about you and that pretty, perfect face. You were his closest friend in high school, and sadly, you drifted apart during university. You were studying Japanese literature or something, he didn’t remember. It’s not his fault; he was just too busy getting girls for the first time in a while. Totally not his fault…right?

Iwaizumi wasn’t doing himself any fucking favors, he thought about you too much for his own good. Whether Aoba Johsai lost or how insufferable Oikawa was, you were always there for him. You let him lean against your shoulder and complain about his day, his disheveled and messy uniform giving him an even more thuggish appearance. The way your soft, almost angelic hands massaged his scalp, assuring him that he would be okay. Oh, how he longed for your fingers in his spiky hair again. He had forgotten your scent, your sweet floral scent. Was it roses or lavender? Maybe lilac? Although all the girls in high school wore the same body sprays, yours was different. Was it because you were never scared of him to begin with? Fuck, he missed you.

He sat on the bench in the empty locker room of the gym he worked at, a hot towel draped around broad shoulders as he began to lose himself in his fond high school memories. Images danced around in his mind of your sweet face smiling at him for the first time, the words “Don’t worry, I’ll help you study for the English test!” leaving your soft lips. At least, Iwaizumi thought they were soft. No, he knew they were soft. God, you were so kind to him. You even ignored Oikawa’s advances towards you, which made him blush and gain so much respect for you in an instant. “Man, I’d really like to punch that guy in his dumb face.” you snickered, covering your bright smile. Iwaizumi swore he could marry you right then and there.

From that moment on, he was your closest friend. You went to all his practices and games, cheering for him when no one else would. “Nice kill, Iwa!” you would shout from the bleachers, proudly wearing a spare version of his jersey. His jersey. If Iwaizumi had no supporters, you were dead. The two of you were inseparable until university rolled around, and Iwaziumi became stupidly popular with the ladies. And sure, college girls were pretty and incredibly loose, but they weren’t you. No one was you, and he missed you every day.

Iwaizumi grunted as he stood up, tossing the towel into a basket. He stepped out of the locker room with his hands in his pockets, whistling a song from his cardio playlist. It was around ten at night, and his gym was one of the few open so late, so there wasn’t anyone there except the front receptionist girl who flirted with every guy who walked in. Truly, he couldn’t ask for better entertainment.

“Yo,” Iwaizumi leaned across the desk, stealing an electrolyte drink from the employee minifridge. There’s no one here; you should just go home. It’s getting late.” The cool drink touched his lips, the cherry flavoring subtle. “If the boss gives you any crap, you can blame me. I don’t mind.”

The receptionist eagerly stood up and practically ran out the door, throwing her time card at him. “Clock me out!” she shouted halfway out the automatic door. Iwaizumi sighed and shoved the time card in his sweats. She really was a ditz, but at least she got people to sign up for VIP memberships.

He clocked her out and went to his favorite spot in the gym where he usually deadlifts. Unfortunately, there was no one to spot him. Iwaizumi was a jock, but he certainly wasn’t dumb. There was no way he was dying because he got crushed by a fucking barbell. There is no chance in hell.

His rough and calloused hands decided just to lift weights instead. That was simpler, more safe. He flipped on his headphones and selected a tune from his more…sensual playlist. It's a sensual indie R&B song that could make anyone feel like a sex god. Why was that song on his playlist? He couldn’t tell you. Once again, Iwaizumi became lost in his thoughts as he lifted the weights up and down with such ease. He worked out for health benefits, but just something about staring at his physique in the mirror made it all worth it. Damn, did he look fine as hell. He was ashamed of how long it took him to realize that he was stupidly attractive, and it took a lot of skill not to develop a massive ego around his looks.

The automatic doors slid open, the dinging sound drowned out by his noise-canceling headphones. His green eyes locked on the floor mat below him, concentrating on passing the time by any means necessary. He paused briefly when he saw two tiny white sneakers enter his field of vision, standing considerably close to his muscular form. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled, placing the weights on the ground. “Music’s loud, y’know?” His eyes trailed upwards until they finally met your gaze, his pupils shrinking in shock. His hands gripped his headphones, softly filling the room with sensual music. “Holy shit.” Iwaizumi’s mouth was agape. He looked like a fool. “Uh, hi.”

“Hi, Iwa.” you smiled brightly, taking his headphones from his rough hands and placing them around his thick neck. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Three years, I think.” Fuck, he forgot how much smaller your hands were to his own. It’s so cute.

“Three years since university, yeah,” Iwaizumi mumbled, wiping the glistening sweat away from his forehead. “I can’t believe it’s been that long. You don’t look any different. Not that it’s a bad thing!” he stumbled on his words, silently cringing at his immature actions. He never got this flustered. He hasn’t been in a while. Less than a minute talking to you, and he was a stammering mess. This wasn’t like him at all. His tough persona might as well be tossed out the window.

You offered him another sweet smile and rubbed his shoulder, the sweat not bothering you in the slightest. “Change is a good thing, y’know,” your words were gentle and comforting, oozing with wisdom beyond your years. Another thing Iwaizumi thought was perfect about you was that you always knew the right thing to say. “You’ve changed too. You’re way more buff than the last time we saw each other!”

“Damn right,” he smirked, subtly flexing his biceps. Were you looking? He hoped so. “I’m a personal trainer, so I gotta stay in shape. Plus, I train Oikawa, so whenever I’m pissed off, I just do a couple sets.”

“You still hang out with Oikawa? I thought you hated him.” you raised an eyebrow, placing a hand on your hips quizically.

“I’m getting paid to tell him what workouts he should do. Can’t complain about that money,” Iwaizumi rubbed the back of his head, fluffing out his spiky hair. “Besides, I’m allowed to kick his ass whenever I want. That asshole deserves it. He somehow got even more cocky after he got back from Argentina.”

You rolled your eyes and found a nearby workout bench, crossing your legs over each other. “I didn’t think Loserkawa could become even more full of himself. You’d think being in a foreign country would humble him slightly.”

“Right?” a deep chuckle escaped his chapped lips as Iwaizumi sat beside you, minding the distance. He bit down on his lower lip slightly, just for a moment. Would you mind if he sat closer to you, like in high school? “He even started speaking Spanish, but he’s not allowed to do that around me.”

“Because you’ll throw a dumbbell at him?”

“Because I’ll throw a dumbbell at him.”

You giggled and scooted closer to Iwaizumi, the scent of sweat mixed with his cologne filling your nostrils. He smelled more mature than in high school, but that’s a given. “I see you’re still the same ol’ spikey-haired guy.” you ruffled his hair, knowing that you were the only one who could do that without getting a beatdown.

Iwaizumi blushed, averting his eyes from your gaze. Fuck, he really missed your touch. “So, uh, what brings you to the gym? Were you looking for a membership or something?”

You shook your head, casually wrapping your arm around his shoulder. Were you trying to kill him? “Nah. If I’m being honest, I saw you in one of the windows while I was out for an evening walk. It’s been a while, so I wanted to say hi.” You momentarily looked down at your shoes, a faint blush gracing your cheeks. “Besides, I missed you.”

“You walked here by yourself? At night? Are you crazy?” Iwaizumi shouted, grasping your shirt to pull you closer. “It’s not safe at night. You didn’t have anyone to protect you! Do you know how stupid that sounds?” his nostrils flared, a mixture of anxiety and rage overcoming him. “What if something happened?”

You gasped, your brow furrowing. “Well, excuse me! I didn’t know I needed permission from someone I haven’t spoken to in three years to take a fucking walk!” you ripped his hand away from your shirt.

Iwaizumi groaned, hanging his head. “You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s just…” he took a deep breath. “It’s not safe for someone like you at night, and I’d never be able to forgive myself if something happened to you because you wanted to see me.”

You rolled your eyes and pulled his chin up, staring into his oceans of green. “Just because you’re worried about someone doesn’t give you an excuse to be an asshole about it,” you smiled in assurance. “Next time, I’ll bring something to defend myself. Okay?”

Iwaizumi smirked. “You’re the only person allowed to call me an asshole, y’know that? If you were anybody else, I’d beat your skull in.

“Then I’m lucky that I happen to still be Hajime Iwaizumi’s favorite person after all these years,” you bit down on your lower lip. “Unless…you have a girlfriend. Then she’s probably your favorite person.”

“No girlfriend, I don’t have the time,” he shook his head, moving himself closer. “I had a girlfriend before, but then-”

“Oikawa took her from you?” you cut him off.

“Fucking Oikawa took her from me. He dated her for two weeks, then dumped her for someone he met at a bar. Can you believe that?” he clenched his fist.

“Unfortunately, I can,” you gave an exasperated sigh. “I guess Oikawa will always be Oikawa.”

“God help us,” Iwaizumi chuckled. “Hey, I gotta lock up the gym. Can you wait outside, and then I can drive you home?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? I don’t wanna be a bother.”

“Why would you be a bother? I’m just keepin' you safe, dummy.” Iwaizumi assured you, getting up and brushing off his pants. “Wait here. I’ll come to get you. I don’t want you standing outside. There’s a lot creeps around here who want nothing more than to get close to a pretty girl like you.” he turned around, not realizing that he had just complimented you. You were left with a brighter blush on your face, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Did Iwaizumi think you were pretty after all this time?

Eventually, he finished what he needed to do to close up the gym: he wiped down all the machines and ensured everything was organized for the morning shift. He grabbed you by the wrist and practically dragged you out of the gym, having an unusually tight grip.

“Dude, what are you doing? I know how to walk,” you tugged your wrist away from his hand, rubbing it. “You’re acting weird. Did something happen when you were cleaning up? “I just don’t want you to stray too far, that’s all. Keep close to me, or else I might end up killing somebody.” he shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweats, making his way to the car. He was weirdly protective over you, but it only bothered you slightly.

Having your big, strong best friend wanting nothing more than to keep you safe in a parking lot was…well, it was sexy. Iwaizumi was sexy, and he knew it. You wondered if he knew that you thought so, too. How, when you were in high school, you would daydream about him pinning you against the wall and kissing you until you couldn’t breathe. How your mind would wander in college, staring at him from across the dining hall, watching as he unconsciously flexed his biceps in such a way that made you swoon every single time.

With his hand wrapped protectively over your shoulder, he clicked the keyfob and unlocked his car. It was a larger vehicle, boasting proud rims on the tires. “You can get in the passenger seat. I have snacks in the glove compartment if you’re hungry.”

“Since when do you have snacks in the car?” you sat in the passenger seat, buckling up. “That doesn’t seem very healthy, Mr. Personal Trainer.” you giggled, making air quotes.

He playfully rolled his eyes, getting into the driver's seat. “I have to drive long distances for work sometimes. So, to keep me sane, I keep little snacks in my glove compartment. Granola and crap like that. Protein bars.”

“Oh, so snacks that aren’t actually snacks?” you winked.

“Shut up,” he clicked his seatbelt in, revving the car. “Do you wanna choose what we listen to or not? Also, type your address into the GPS while at it.”

“Or I could look through your messages.”

Iwaizumi shot you a glare. “Don’t even joke about that.”

You giggled, typed in your address, and then opened Spotify. “You have a lot of playlists. Why?”

He shrugged his shoulders, flexing the muscles. Fuck, he was so fucking sexy. “I dunno, I guess I just have one for every occasion. When you’re working with Oikawa, music typically helps,” he smirked, raising an eyebrow. “You can pick from any song on any playlist.”

“Then I choose this one,” you selected OHMAMI, handing him back his phone. “It’s from your playlist that has a heart emoji as the title. What’s that for?”

Iwaizumi felt his face become overrun with a blazing blush. His hands gripped the steering wheel as he pulled out of his parking spot, turning the car towards the exit. “Oh, uh, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“But I wanna know!” you whined, crossing your arms over your chest. “C’mon, we just caught up a second ago, but you never kept any secrets from me.”

He sighed and bit down on his bottom lip. “Fuck, okay. Fine,” he took a deep breath. “It’s…this song is from my sex playlist. Specifically from college.”

Your pupils blew up, your hand immediately flying to your mouth to stifle a chuckle. “You have a sex playlist? And this is a song on it?”

“That’s what I just fucking said, didn’t I?” his face was red and anger and embarrassment. “See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you!”

“Iwa,” you tapped his thigh. “Sorry for laughing. It’s just that sex playlists are usually romantic and, no offense, but you never seemed like a romantic kind of guy.”

He furrowed his brow. “I can be romantic, “ he made a sharp left turn. “I just haven’t had a reason to in a while, that’s all.”

“Aw, I’m sorry, man,” you pouted. “I’m sure someone will come along that can make you want to use this playlist again.” you smiled at him, flashing your teeth.

“Yeah, hopefully,” Iwaizumi sighed, stealing a glance at you. You were perfect, absolutely perfect. He was mentally kicking himself for not making a move. But then again, there was a sexy song playing, so the mood was set. Maybe you wouldn’t mind if his hand squeezed your thigh, dancing lower and lower. Maybe you wouldn’t mind at all.

He continued to drive, the music from the stereo being the only thing to prevent the car from being silent. His mind wandered places: obscene, filthy places. He wondered what noises you would make if he ate your pussy out in the passenger seat. Would you taste as sweet as he imagined? Iwaizumi just knew your pussy was tight, how it would flutter around his cock as he bounced you up and down on it in the backseat, your hand flat against the roof of his car with the music blaring. He was so deep in thought that he neglected to realize the tent growing in his sweats. But you noticed.

Your eyes darted back and forth to his hard-on, squeezing your legs together at the sight. You suspected he was hiding a monster down there, and now you were sure of it. Surprisingly, Iwaizumi never got hard around you before today, at least not to your knowledge. It was like it was calling you to, desperate for your hands to slide up and down.

“Uh, Iwa?” you groaned, crossing your legs over each other.

“Hm?” he didn’t take his eyes off the road.

“You have like…a huge boner right now.” you blushed furiously, cringing to yourself. Could you have chosen a more awkward set of words?

Iwaizumi choked on his breath, swerving the car slightly. He glanced down at his sweats, and lo and behold, he was hard. “O-Oh, fuck. Shit, that wasn’t supposed to happen.” he groaned, clenching onto the steering wheel once more.

You squirmed in your seat. “Hey man, don’t worry about it. You can’t control when you get hard, right? S’not a problem.”

He thought for a moment, mumbling under his breath. He canceled the navigation and pulled the car into a parking lot by an abandoned gas station frequented by local teenagers. Luckily, there was no one there right now. “I can’t,” he breathed in, refusing to meet your gaze. “I can’t control it when I’m around you,” he parked the car. “You drive me so fucking crazy.”

You squeezed onto the leather seats, your face still blazing red. “You’re telling me that I made your dick hard?”

“Yeah, that’s what I just fucking said.” he groaned, unclicking his seatbelt. His eyes finally met yours, full of want. “You made me hard, princess.”

Princess. The nickname rang in your ears. Fuck, it was like hot honey rolling off his chapped lips. “Iwa…” you breathed out, gasping as he tugged on the collar of your shirt, pulling you closer to him. The center console was the only thing that separated you two.

“Princess,” he whispered. “I’ve wanted you for so fucking long. Ever since you said, you wanted to punch Shittykawa in the face.”

“Really?”

“Really.” his eyes landed on your lips, beautiful and begging to be kissed. “I’ve wanted you for so fucking long. Please,” his hot breath grazed your cheek. “Please tell me that you want me to. But I’m warning you right now,” he kissed your burning skin. “Once you tell me you do, I won’t hold myself back anymore.”

A sensation began to bubble inside your belly, his words causing your core to throb with want. You parted your lips, wetting them with your tongue. “Iwa,” your voice was barely a whisper. “Please, I want you.”

Iwaizumi let go of your shirt, his eyes flaring with passion and lust. “Get in the backseat, now.” he growled, climbing over the center console. You eagerly followed him, finding a spot on his lap. His hands secured themselves on the fat of your hips, making sure you didn’t go anywhere. It's not like you wanted to, anyway.

“I’ve been waiting for this for so fucking long, princess,” he groaned before slamming his lips against yours in a frenzy. His lips assaulted yours, greedy and shameless. Your mind became TV static, your lips dancing with his as if it was a reflex, as if you had done this a million times before. You moaned into the kiss as he groped you without a care, his hands slipping under the hem of your gym shorts. You gasped as his warm hands wandered, exploring you as if he was attempting to map out your perfect curves.

His hand was scolding hot as it ventured to finger the elastic, ripping the cheap fabric. He swallowed your surprised gasp, smirking into the kiss. “Fuckin’ cheap fabric,” he growled, his hand massaging up and down your panties. “I’ll buy you a new pair, don’t worry, your pretty lil’ head about it.”

Iwaizumi broke the kiss, resting his head in the crook of your neck while his fingers continued their gentle dance across your clothed, dripping cunt. The digits ran up and down the soaked material, causing him to shudder. “Fuck, you’re this wet from just a kiss?” he groaned against your neck, the sharpness of his canines grazing the sensitive skin. He could have sworn he could hear your heartbeat coming from the veins. Your pulse was thundering, it was fucking addictive. His lips ventured up and down your delicate neck, leaving wanting, open-mouthed kisses in the spots that made you squirm so beautifully on your lap. His teeth nibbled down on your sweet spot, causing your hips to buck into his hard-on.

“Needy fucking girl,” his voice rumbled, fingers dipping into your panties to toy with your sobbing slit. You whimpered, resting your forehead onto his own as the calloused pads of his thick fingers teased your clit. “Fuck, you’re soaked. D’ya even need me to finger this pussy, or are you such a fucking slut that you’re this wet all the time?” his hands cracked against your ass. “Hm? Talk to me, princess.”

“Only you!” you yelped. Iwaizumi chuckled darkly, lifting his head from your neck to greet you with a blown-out stare. His eyes told you everything you needed to know; they told you that he wanted to fucking ruin you on his cock like he’s been wanting to all these years.

“That’s what I like to fucking hear,” he slapped your ass again, making you gasp and jolt. His lips quickly met yours once more as his finger bullied its way inside your cunt, curling inside without mercy or forgiveness. “Shit, you’re squeezing around my finger. Do you really need to get fucked that fucking bad, hm? Is my girl a little slut?”

“M’not a slut!” you sobbed, tossing your head back. Your hands gripped his muscular shoulders with white-hot-knuckle strength, making Iwaizumi hiss in pain. Not that he was complaining. He fucking loved it.

“Fuck, I can’t take this anymore,” he pulled his finger out of your weeping cunt, licking off your slick. “Ya taste so fucking good, shit,” he groaned, sliding off his sweatpants and boxers so that his cock could spring free. You moaned at the sight, taking in his magnificent length. He was small by no means necessary, boasting a lengthy and girthy cock with an angry red tip that was leaking precum. “Turn around and hover above it.”

You did as he instructed, pushing your ruined panties to the side so your pulsating core was just above his angry cock. His hands snaked around the small of your waist, pulling your flush up against his chest. “You’re gonna be a good fucking slut and let me fuck you on this cock, yeah? If I think you’re being too quiet for even a second,” his voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “I’m gonna fuck you stupid.”

“Iwa,” your words died on your tongue as his fingers were abruptly shoved into your mouth, making you gag.

“Don’t fucking call me Iwa,” he demanded, his cock teasing your entrance. “It’s Hajime now. Don’t be a dumbass and forget it when I’m breaking you on this cock. Am I clear, pretty girl?”

You nodded, tears swelling in your eyes. His fingers slid out of your mouth and back onto your hips, squeezing the fat. “Be a good little slut and take this cock,” he growled, biting down harshly onto your neck before slamming you onto his cock without mercy, refusing to give your tight pussy anytime to adjust.

“Oh god, yes,” Iwaizumi moaned against your neck, bouncing you expertly on his length. His eyes were hooded with lust and desire as he looked over your shoulder. The sight of your pussy swallowing his cock was magnificent. Especially how you struggled to take his length, you poor thing. Maybe he’ll be nicer to you next time. “Do you see yourself, princess? That pretty pussy is swallowing me whole. Good fucking girl.”

You writhed and squirmed on his lap, helpless as Iwaizumi used you like a toy. His hands reached around to pull down your top, exposing your bralette to the hot atmosphere. He pulled your bra down as well, shamelessly pinching and squeezing your pillowy mounds as his cock drove itself inside you with reckless abandon.

“Y’been hiding these perfect tits from me too? Naughty fucking girl,” his hand dropped your breast and smacked your clit, earning a shriek from your bruised lips. “Can’t believe I waited this fucking long to grope these tits, fuck. I wonder what else you’re hiding, hm?” his hips never relented, continuing their rushed and desperate pace in harsh and fast strokes.

“You look like such a slut right now. God, I wish I could see that pretty face,” he purred against the shell of your ear, licking the cartilage. His praise was so fucking addictive, making you shamelessly clench on his cock. “Oh, y’like when I call you pretty? Get fucking used to it.”

“I’m gonna make you ruin yourself on me,” his voice rasped, the tip of his cock twitching inside of you. “You’re gonna cum all over this fucking cock, and then I’ll cum inside, yeah? No one’s ever gonna fuck this pretty cunt again unless I say so. Until your Hajime says so, okay, princess?” he smacked your clit again, gathering your slick on his fingers. “Who’s the only one that can fuck this pretty pussy?”

“You! It’s yours, Hajime!” you sobbed, the rest of your meaningless rambling dying on your lips as he shoved his fingers inside your mouth once more. Your tongue wrapped around the digits, tasting your delicious slick. Your pussy fluttered around his cock, trying to pull him impossibly deeper inside of you. You were so fucking greedy.

Iwaizumi snarled against your neck, fucking you even harder. His hips continued to snap as he drove himself deeper and deeper inside, the sensation of your pussy doing its best to milk him being all that he needed. “You’re gonna fucking cum, yeah? That’s it, princes, make a fucking mess on me. Get your Hajime all sticky with your cum like a good fucking girl.”

With Iwaizumi’s encouragement, you finally let go. You came with a wanton sob, the bubbles in your belly boiling over to send you crashing over the edge and into oblivion. You could have sworn you saw white. Iwaizumi fucked you through it, whispering sweet nothings as your release coated his cock.

“Oh, shit,” he groaned into your neck, biting down once more on the bruised skin as his cock twitched one final time, his release spilling inside to fill your cunt up so nicely. “Good fucking girl, take it all.” his hands fell to his hips, slumping against the leather seat.

“Hajime,” you groaned, reluctantly pulling yourself off his cock. His cum ran down your ruined thighs, mixing with your slick. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to do that.” you offered him a weak smile, staring at your ripped and forgotten-about jean shorts. “Dammit, you ripped them! These were my favorite pair. And now I don’t have any pants!” you scolded him, hitting him over the head with the fabric. “We’re in a parking lot, and I have no damn pants!”

“Relax,” he sighed, pulling up his pants and boxers. “Did you forget I was driving you home? Besides,” he pecked your lips. “I’m coming over, and we’re gonna cuddle and shit. Whatever you want.” he blushed, not meeting your gaze. He was still scared of you seeing him blush even after you were so intimate.

“Whatever I want?” you teased. “You’re cute when you get all flustered, Hajime.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

#haikyuu smut #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#timeskip iwaizumi #hajime iwaizumi #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi smut #iwaizumi x reader #aoba johsai

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shrimperini · 11 months ago

Text

drops these doodles here … i played aperture tag some days ago and i rly enjoyed it. there was an attempt at designing android nigel hehe

nigel wears orange goggles because he loves orange. real

#my art #aperture tag #portal nigel #aperture tag nigel #test subject 18 #i need to come up with a name for that lady smh #portal 2 #portal fanart #portal android au #lia

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nocturnowlette · 8 months ago

Note

do you have any hypnosis audio files youd recommend?

Honestly, the answer is a "maybe".

In my opinion, in my 8 years of listening to files, not even 1% qualify as something I'd consider well made. The vast majority are nsfw, and the vast majority of those just throw any actual hypnosis away for a sake of roleplay. That being said, here are some files that, in my estimation, are at a minimum decent.

And always, read the description of every file before listening, even after reading my descriptions.

There's puppy ones at the bottom, by the way.

First, not an audio file, but an itch.io game.

brainwasher_program by sleepingirl (18+)

This is the most competently made thing I will be showing. Sleepingirl is someone I would consider a good hypnotist skillwise.

There is also test hypnosis game1 and ithinktherefore, also itch.io text hypnosis games/sessions.

Next, to my knowledge, the best file I've personally stumbled on (though it still didn't quite wow me),

Failing to Resist by Jack Drago (18+)

This file is a trance trainer, as in a file meant to use the ideas of resistance and turn that idea against you. It does a passable job, and you might find it quite powerful and helpful if you have some stubborn tendencies as a subject.

Next is another passable trance trainer,

Mind Melt by LilithUnleashed (18+)

This file uses arousal to bring about a specific philosophy of trance, one you might find more conducive to effectiveness: enjoying trance for the sake of trance itself, not just using it as a means to an end. There is no wakener at the end.

Next, a twin pair of files,

The Call of the Void and Hypnotic Acceptance by LilithUnleashed

The Call of the Void is a sort of run of the mill hypnosis file meant to be looped, and designed to condition you to trance and specifically to Lilith to some extent. Hypnotic Acceptance is a conditioning file meant to be played out of trance and doesn't bring you in to it. It's a nice idea that can have some small potential benefits, it's also relaxing.

Lilith, in general, is a competent hypnotist, if not a bit... much... at times. That's more of a taste thing, though. She does a good job, and these files are good.

There is also this conditioning loop file by her which is also nice, as well as this one.

Next is one for the pups,

Collared Obedience by LilithUnleashed (18+)

This one is, at a minimum, a very enjoyable time. It creates a mental collar and links it with actual collars if you wish and have the means. It forms one made out of various concepts relating to obedience. The suggestions didn't stick for me, but I'm a tad stubborn.

Obedience 101 - Welcome to Class! by FlowLikeTea

If you haven't noticed, I like trance training files. It's primarily because they're some of the only ones that aren't trying to just do erotic roleplay with the facile idea of hypnosis and hypnotic aesthetics. It reminds me of the ASMR sphere in that way.

Anyways, this file is just nice. Not much else to mention.

Slow and Gentle Hypnotic Induction by GoddessSoft (NotSoftForWork)

Thank you, Ms. Soft, for making an actually competent SFW hypnosis file. Soft is quite the competent hypnotist, and we'll be showing a few of her files coming up, but this one remains my favorite. It's simply a very well done relaxation file by someone who knows her stuff and has a good understanding of most aspects of audio trances.

Good Puppy Clicker Training by GoddessSoft (18+)

This is a beginner-centric clicker training file by Ms. Soft. It's thorough, long, and pleasurable. If you haven't noticed, I have not recommended files intended to make you finish in any way. I don't like them. They do not work for me. You'll have to ask someone else. That being said, GoddessSoft's page on the link has many different puppy files to listen to. Most deal with that.

Puppydog Fractionation by GoddessSoft (18+)

Another not-specifically-nsfw-focused puppy file from Ms. Soft. If I recall right, the sound balancing might be a little iffy on this one, though. Fair warning.

That's all I remember for now, but I might have more recommendations in the future. I hope you enjoy, and be sure to tell me how you respond to some of them. Enjoy!

#owlette #hypnosis #puppy space #puppy sub #puppyposting #dogposting #puppy brain #dog brain #dumb puppy #mind control #mind conditioning #mind break #hypnok1nk #brainwashing #hypnoposting #hypno pet #hypnosis advice #hypnosis files #brain drain

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im-ovulating · 3 months ago

Note

For Kinktober: anything with Jasper Whitlock, but preferably size kink (short reader), voice kink, hand kink, and some on top of the clothes action / sex in the clothes. Choose all of it or one, I don't care, just having a brainrot about him: my ovaries explode every time I see this gif

(A/n: Kinktober Day 6/15! I wanted to keep all of this year's kinktober fics below 2.5k, but this one got away from me ;v;)

Word Count: 3,842

Summary- Well, you HAVE to take on his challenge -I mean, experiment. It's only the responisble thing to do as his study partner.

Warnings: Strip game, Fingering, PIV, Creampie, Cocky! Jasper, Not proofread

Age Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Jasper Whitlock x Fem! Reader: Study Buddy

----------------------

"Did you know that predators have front-facing eyes, but prey normally have eyes on the side of their faces?" You ask Jasper as you scan your textbook. He had agreed to help you study for an upcoming test. "It's because the prey has to be able to look out for danger."

Not only is evolutionary bio not your strongest subject, but your professor is an asshat so you really can't afford to fail this test.

"I did," he mumbles as he highlights a section that he thinks you should go through again. "Did you know that when two animals make eye contact, the first to look away is the submissive?" Jasper asks back.

"That's gotta be BS, right? What if one just doesn't want to look at the other's ugly mug?" Your retort is weak, but your tone has the confidence of a straight, cis, white man who's telling you what your own name means.

Jasper lets out a small, huffed laugh and finally looks up at you, warm gold meeting e/c. "I don't think animals think that way, darlin'."

"Are you an animal whisperer?" You snark, crossing your arms with a cocked eyebrow.

"Do you really think it's not real?" He gets back on topic. When you shake your head, he turns his chair towards you before doing the same to your own so you both face each other. "Really? Then, let's test that theory, hm? You seem pretty confident in yourself, so what's the harm?"

"I seem pretty confident because I am pretty confident." You mark your place and shut the textbook.

He chuckles with a small shake of the head. Leaning back in his chair with one arm thrown over the back, Jasper says, "Let's play a game."

"We're supposed to be studyin-" "It's a science experiment."

When you fall back against your seat, he continues. "We'll make eye contact, we'll stare at each other, and the first to look away loses. And if you lose..." he smirks a little, "you lose a piece of clothing. Best out of five wins."

You chew on your lip as you mull it over. You're confident that you can keep eye contact. And the submissive thing is bullshit, anyway, so it's not like your pride will take a hit. "So, strip poker but with a staring contest?" He nods.

"Exactly."

"...okay."

You meet Jasper's warm golden gaze, determination etched on your face. There's no way you're going to lose this little game of his.

"I know what's going to happen. You're going to give in; you can't take the pressure." You ignore him, zeroing on a small fleck of dark gold in his eyes to ground your thoughts.

As the seconds tick by, you resist the urge to look away, focused solely on holding Jasper's stare. His voice, low and smooth, sends shivers down your spine. "That's a good girl, keeping those pretty eyes on me."

Your breath catches at the sudden praise, your lips parting in a small, silent gasp. You won't let him distract you that easily, though. You're in it to win it.

Jasper's long, slender fingers drum lightly against his jean-clad thigh, drawing your gaze for just a moment before you force yourself to look back into his eyes. His lips curve into a knowing smirk.

It takes you a second to realize. "...fuck!"

"That's my round, darlin'." He goads.

With a small grumble and more force than necessary, you all but rip your socks off and throw them at his head. He catches them before they even get close. You're less coordinated in your attempt to dodge them, and all you can do is grumble more when they hit you square in the middle of your face.

"Stop looking so smug - there's still plenty of time for me to whoop your ass." You can't decide if you want to wipe that dumb-ass, unfairly charming smirk off his equally handsome face or if you want to pull him in and kiss him silly. Probably both... Yeah, both is good.

Jasper's eyes gleam with amusement as he watches your continued huffing and puffing. He leans back in his chair, his fingers still tapping against his leg.

"Don't be so sour, darlin'," he grins, his voice low and velvety smooth. "The game's just getting started."

You narrow your eyes at him, determined not to let his distracting voice and looks throw you off this time. "Just shut up and start the next round, Whitlock."

He chuckles, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he holds your gaze. The air crackles with tension as you both refuse to back down, each daring the other to be the first to look away.

The seconds tick by, the only sound the quiet rhythm of your breathing. You can feel the weight of Jasper's stare, intense and captivating, drawing you in. Your pulse quickens, palms growing sweaty, but you refuse to lose again.

Just when you think you might actually win this round, Jasper's lips curve into a slow, predatory smile. "You know you want to look away. You want to give in, to submit; it's in your DNA. C'mon... Just look away, prove what we both already know: that when it comes down to it, you'd do nothing but roll over and show your belly..."

You roll your eyes in a subconscious attempt to ignore how his words, no matter how much they were shit talking, made your heart leap into your throat. With a triumphant smirk, Jasper declares, "My round again."

"That's not fair! You shouldn't be able to annoy me into losing!" You lie through your teeth about the true effect he's having on you.

Barking out a laugh, he says, "The only rule was that we can't look away. We never decided talking or touching were off limits. You lost fair and square, sugar, so lose an item."

"But-" "Three seconds before i decide which one," he interrupts with a cheeky grin. "and you might not like what I choose... Three. Two-" You let out a frustrated groan, quickly removing your shirt and tossing it to the side. His laughter only serves to further stoke the flames of your competitive spirit. "There we go! Good girl."

"I thought we're supposed to be studying." You try to feign nonchalance as you sit there, bra exposed and with only three items left. Technically, you're tied in terms of clothing remaining, but it's also not lost on you that it's currently 0-2 in Jasper's favor.

"We are studying; this is a science experiment, remember? Unless you're ready to admit that you're wrong AND that you're submissive. That would be quite the win on my end." Well, shit. Now you can't back out. You'll be damned if you let him have something to hang over your head.

"Just you wait, Whitlock," you snap, trying to regain your focus for the next round. "I'm just getting warmed up."

You narrow your eyes at Jasper, determined not to let him fluster you again. The stakes are higher now, but you've got this.

Taking a deep breath, you meet his gaze once again. The tension in the air is palpable as you both refuse to back down.

Jasper's lips curl into a challenging smirk, his long fingers still tapping a steady rhythm against his thigh. You force yourself to focus solely on his eyes, blocking out everything else.

Seconds turn to minutes as you hold his stare, your heartbeat thundering in your ears but you refuse to waver.

Just when you think you're finding a groove and might stand a chance at winning, Jasper leans forward, his voice low and sultry. "You're doing so well, darlin'. But I can see it in your eyes - you're starting to crack."

A shiver runs down your spine at his words, but you grit your teeth and push on. You will not lose this round, no matter what underhanded tactics he tries.

The room fills with an intensity that almost makes it hard to breath as you continue your silent battle of wills. Jasper's gaze is unwavering, a predatory gleam in his eyes that makes your breath catch and waver.

Jasper's hand suddenly moves, his fingers slowly inching up your thigh. Your eyes widen and your pulse quickens but you refuse to look away.

"Good girl," Jasper acknowledges, his cool touch burning through the fabric of your jeans. "Just keep your eyes on me."

His fingers continue their slow, tantalizing trek up your thigh, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. His gaze is electric, drawing you in despite your best efforts to maintain composure. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, but you refuse to break eye contact, stubbornly holding his molten stare.

"Jasper…" you breathe, unable to keep the quiver out of your voice. His lips curve into a knowing smile, fingers inching higher.

"That's it, darlin'," his voice is low and velvety smooth. "Just focus on me. Don't look away. It should be easy for you, right? You're a strong, dominant girl, after all."

The temptation to give in, to let your eyes slip shut, is nearly overwhelming. But you dig deep, summoning every ounce of willpower to maintain the intense eye contact.

Jasper's hand reaches the waist of your jeans, his fingertips dancing along the sensitive skin just above. Your pulse quickens and a shiver runs down your spine.

"J-Jasper…" you stammer, grip tightening on the arms of your chair.

His eyes shine with a predatory gleam as he watches you. "C'mon, sugar. Just a little bit longer… You can do it. Keep those pretty eyes on me.

"Or you can look away, let me take these pants off." he adds with a self-satisfied smirk.

You know you're teetering on the edge, your resolve rapidly crumbling under the onslaught of his touch and his words.

The seconds stretch on, the tension in the room palpable. Jasper's fingers continue their torturously slow ascent, and you find yourself struggling to keep your focus on his eyes.

His fingers dance along the underwire of your bra, "And after that, I'll pull those panties off of you with my teeth; maybe dive right in and see if that pussy tastes as good as I think it does." Your eyes flutter shut as a white-hot spike of arousal shoots straight to your core. He pulls his hand away and when you reopen your eyes, you see a triumphant grin has spread across Jasper's face. "That's my girl." Your eyes widen as you realize - you've lost. Again.

"You've got two chances left. Still think you're going to win?" Jasper asks. "I'm sure you can do it. Right? You can turn it around. Round 4."

As you settle in for yet another round, he gets in another jab. "You're gonna break. You're going to and it's going to be really fast."

His hand returns to your thigh; this time it only takes a second for him to reach the hem of your panties, his fingers dancing along the elastic. You swallow harshly, but keep his gaze. "You're not even trying to fight it; you're just letting me touch you."

"You're gonna keep looking me in the eyes when I move your panties to the side and slide my fingers in, aren't you?" Your breath hitches. "No, don't lose yet. Come on, look at me. Don't look away, I don't want you to look away." It's hard to fight against the urge to hide your face but you manage. You can feel how hot your cheeks are, and you can only imagine the expression on your face.

"Good girl," Jasper murmurs. "Don't look away. Don't you dare look away." You start to squirm a little, clenching your thighs desperate for some friction. "Why are you turned on?" He teases, his fingers still threatening to dip under the thin fabric. "Is it because you're submissive and you like losing? There's fight and flight, but you... you freeze. And you're gonna let me take what I want."

He finally tugs your panties aside and dips two fingers into you. your teeth dig into your bottom lip as you try to focus. You're so wet you swear you can feel it dripping down towards your ass. Fuck this is embarrassing but you realize you'd rather die than stop now; you want this. You want to just let go and let him take and take and take.

You crave his touch, crave to be used by him.

Jasper's fingers crook up into a spot that has stars dancing in your vision. Somehow you manage to just barely keep your eyes on him.

"C'mon, don't lose. I only have three pieces of clothing; you can still win this..." he taunts. "Don't look away, don't look away. Don't look away. Don't lose. Come on, look at me in my eyes. Good girl- don't look away."

"There it is..." He muses, pressing his fingers into your g spot as your back arches away from your chair and a debauched moan rips from your throat. "You lose again, darlin'." He brings his hand up to his mouth to clean your arousal off his fingers.

You let out a frustrated whine, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Jasper's smug grin only infuriates you further - he's clearly enjoying this power he has over you.

"That's not fair," you pant, your body still tingling from his touch. "You're cheating."

Jasper chuckles, leaning back in his chair as he examines you hungrily. "Darlin', I don't need to cheat to make you submit to me. You want this just as badly as I do. Like I said earlier- we never agreed 'no touching'."

You can only glare half-heartedly at him, knowing he's right.

"Hey," Jasper ducks his head to catch your eyes as you look at the ground to avoid his gaze. "You got one more. It's the last round. You're still in this; you can still win. You've got to get at least one piece from me. you can't lose every time - that would just be pathetic..." You go to smack his arm, but he avoids it.

With a resigned and frustrated sigh, you unhook your bra and let it fall to the floor. "Let's get this over with already." you grumble. you want this to end partly to stop the embarrassment of losing this badly, but mainly because the sooner this is over, the sooner you can fuck him.

As the final round starts, Jasper reaches up to grab your chin, tilting your head up to barely brush his lips against yours. His eyes never leave yours as he asks, "Why don't you just look away on purpose so I can take these off and fuck you?"

His other hand reaches down to press his thumb against your clit, causing your eyes to shut as you let loose a shaky moan. "Oh- you lost..." The grin he gives you can only be described as devilish.

Faster than you can process, he is picking you up by the thighs and setting you on the table.

True to his word, he drops to his knees between your legs and. after pressing a few possessive kisses along your belly and the apex of your thighs, he takes your panties between his teeth and starts to slide them off of you.

You shudder with anticipation as Jasper's cool breath ghosts over your most intimate area. With painstaking slowness, he tugs your panties down, revealing your glistening cunt. His eyes never leave yours, molten gold boring into your very soul.

A playful smirk graces his perfect lips as he tosses the flimsy fabric aside. Calloused hands caress the soft skin of your inner thighs, urging them to part further. You comply willingly, heart racing in excitement.

Jasper hums appreciatively, drinking in the sight of your exposed cunt. Leaning in, he trails feather-light kisses along your dripping folds, teasing you mercilessly. Just when you think you can't take the anticipation any longer, his talented tongue darts out, parting your swollen lips and delving deep.

An involuntary moan escapes your lips as pleasure courses through you. Jasper sets an agonizingly slow pace, savoring every twitch and tremble of your body. His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he explores every inch of your most sensitive area. "Fuck, I knew you'd taste amazing..." His low groan vibrates against you and forces another small gasp to leave you.

Jasper's skilled tongue continues its agonizingly slow exploration, eliciting more breathless sighs and whimpers from you. His grip on your hips tightens as he senses your growing desperation for release.

With a low growl, he suddenly picks up the pace, licking and sucking with purpose. Your back arches as the coil of pleasure tightens, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

Just as you feel the first tremors of your impending climax, Jasper pulls away, leaving you panting and aching. He gazes up at you with hooded eyes, a smug expression on his face.

"Not yet, darlin'," he murmurs, his voice dripping with dark promise. "I have other plans for you."

Jasper's hands grip your hips firmly as he effortlessly maneuvers your body, guiding you to bend over the sturdy table. A gasp escapes your lips at the sudden change in position.

With your upper body pressed against the cool surface, you feel impossibly exposed and vulnerable. The long-forgotten books and scattered papers crinkle under your weight as Jasper's powerful frame looms over you, his presence radiating a primal dominance.

A shiver runs down your spine as his fingers trail along your spine, eliciting goosebumps in their wake. Leaning in close, he places a series of searing kisses along the back of your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin before pulling back and undressing.

Trembling with anticipation, you arch your back, silently begging for more of his touch. Jasper growls low in his throat, the primal sound sending a shiver down your spine. His large palms slide up your sides, calloused fingers caressing the curve of your waist.

You whimper, desperate for him to finally fuck you.

Jasper chuckles, the deep rumble of his voice sending sparks of desire through your body. "So impatient," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "Don't worry, sugar, I'm just getting started."

Jasper's grip on your hips tightens as he slowly, teasingly, presses his body against yours. You can feel the hard lines of his muscles and you ache to have him inside you. His hands slide up your sides, caressing and exploring your body.

Finally, after what feels like ages, he lines his cock up with your sopping pussy and starts to press in.

You gasp, arching your back as the head of his cock teases your entrance. "Jasper!" You moan, shuddering with anticipation.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he slides into you, inch by delicious inch. You feel every millimeter of his legnth as he fills you up, stretching and claiming you. His grip on your hips tightens, and you can feel the way his forearms bulging as he struggles to maintain control.

"Fuck," he growls, finally bottoming out inside you. He holds still for a moment, his lips pressing against your neck as he regains his breath.

Then, without warning, he begins to move, pulling almost all the way out before plunging back in with a force that takes your breath away. Over and over, he thrusts into you, his hips slapping against yours in a rhythm that is both primal and possessive.

You drop your head to the table, letting out a long, keening cry as you feel his cock hit your sweet spot, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. "Jasper!" You cry out, your voice echoing in the room.

His hands move to your breasts, tweaking and pinching your nipples as he fucks into you harder and faster. You can feel the heat building between your legs, the sensation growing more intense with each passing moment.

"I knew you were a submissive little thing," he says between grunts. "We could've gotten here a lot quicker if you had just dropped the act earlier, darlin'." You can feel his shit eating grin against your shoulder.

"Really?" you gasp out, body sliding against the table with each thrust. "You want to argue about that now?"

His chuckle is low in your ear. "Just making a point, sugar." Jasper presses a kiss to the space just behind your ear before leaning back and fucking into you harder.

The rough wood of the table bites into your shoulders, but you don't care. All that matters is the feeling of him inside you, claiming you.

"Jasper," you moan, your voice filled with pleasure and desperation. "I need… I need you to cum inside me." You beg, your back arching impossibly more as he reaches around to toy with your clit.

He picks up the pace even more, slamming into you over and over again. "Almost there, doll," he says, his voice rough with lust. "Just wait for it."

You clench around him, trying to draw him deeper inside you. The sensation is almost too much to bear, but you're so, so close.

You feel your body tense and then release in a wave of pure pleasure. Your muscles clench around Jasper's cock, milking him as you experience your orgasm. A loud moan escapes your lips, and your hips buck against the table unconsciously. Sweat beads on your forehead, and your skin feels flushed with heat.

As your climax subsides, you feel a cool rush between your legs. Jasper's release. He groans deeply, his body shuddering against yours.

After a minute of him staying plastered to your back, keeping you bent over the table, you feel him slowly pull out of you, and you can't help but whimper in disappointment.

"Don't give me any of that, doll," Jasper gently chides. He scoops you up in his arms, cradling you against his chest. You wrap your legs around him, holding onto him tightly. The chill of his skin against your heated sex is comforting, soothing the ache.

He carries you to the couch, setting you down gently before standing up and pulling his boxers on and heading into the kitchen. While he's gone, you take the opportunity to catch your breath and compose yourself. When he returns, he has a damp cloth. He gently cleans between them, his touch soft and careful as he wipes up the remnants of your tryst. Neither of you speak as he cares for you, reveling in the comfortable silence that blankets the both of you.

Once your cleaned up, he helps you redress; he helps you pull your panties back on along with his shirt. He scoops you up into his arms again as he lays on the couch. As you curl against him once more, he kisses the top of your head. "There's my good girl," he whispers. "I've got you."

#jasper hale x reader #jasper hale smut #jasper whitlock x reader #jasper hale x reader smut #jasper whitlock smut #kinktober 2024

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reasonsforhope · 15 days ago

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"When Ellen Kaphamtengo felt a sharp pain in her lower abdomen, she thought she might be in labour. It was the ninth month of her first pregnancy and she wasn’t taking any chances. With the help of her mother, the 18-year-old climbed on to a motorcycle taxi and rushed to a hospital in Malawi’s capital, Lilongwe, a 20-minute ride away.

At the Area 25 health centre, they told her it was a false alarm and took her to the maternity ward. But things escalated quickly when a routine ultrasound revealed that her baby was much smaller than expected for her pregnancy stage, which can cause asphyxia – a condition that limits blood flow and oxygen to the baby.

In Malawi, about 19 out of 1,000 babies die during delivery or in the first month of life. Birth asphyxia is a leading cause of neonatal mortality in the country, and can mean newborns suffering brain damage, with long-term effects including developmental delays and cerebral palsy.

Doctors reclassified Kaphamtengo, who had been anticipating a normal delivery, as a high-risk patient. Using AI-enabled foetal monitoring software, further testing found that the baby’s heart rate was dropping. A stress test showed that the baby would not survive labour.

The hospital’s head of maternal care, Chikondi Chiweza, knew she had less than 30 minutes to deliver Kaphamtengo’s baby by caesarean section. Having delivered thousands of babies at some of the busiest public hospitals in the city, she was familiar with how quickly a baby’s odds of survival can change during labour.

Chiweza, who delivered Kaphamtengo’s baby in good health, says the foetal monitoring programme has been a gamechanger for deliveries at the hospital.

“[In Kaphamtengo’s case], we would have only discovered what we did either later on, or with the baby as a stillbirth,” she says.

The software, donated by the childbirth safety technology company PeriGen through a partnership with Malawi’s health ministry and Texas children’s hospital, tracks the baby’s vital signs during labour, giving clinicians early warning of any abnormalities. Since they began using it three years ago, the number of stillbirths and neonatal deaths at the centre has fallen by 82%. It is the only hospital in the country using the technology.

“The time around delivery is the most dangerous for mother and baby,” says Jeffrey Wilkinson, an obstetrician with Texas children’s hospital, who is leading the programme. “You can prevent most deaths by making sure the baby is safe during the delivery process.”

The AI monitoring system needs less time, equipment and fewer skilled staff than traditional foetal monitoring methods, which is critical in hospitals in low-income countries such as Malawi, which face severe shortages of health workers. Regular foetal observation often relies on doctors performing periodic checks, meaning that critical information can be missed during intervals, while AI-supported programs do continuous, real-time monitoring. Traditional checks also require physicians to interpret raw data from various devices, which can be time consuming and subject to error.

Area 25’s maternity ward handles about 8,000 deliveries a year with a team of around 80 midwives and doctors. While only about 10% are trained to perform traditional electronic monitoring, most can use the AI software to detect anomalies, so doctors are aware of any riskier or more complex births. Hospital staff also say that using AI has standardised important aspects of maternity care at the clinic, such as interpretations on foetal wellbeing and decisions on when to intervene.

Kaphamtengo, who is excited to be a new mother, believes the doctor’s interventions may have saved her baby’s life. “They were able to discover that my baby was distressed early enough to act,” she says, holding her son, Justice.

Doctors at the hospital hope to see the technology introduced in other hospitals in Malawi, and across Africa.

“AI technology is being used in many fields, and saving babies’ lives should not be an exception,” says Chiweza. “It can really bridge the gap in the quality of care that underserved populations can access.”"

-via The Guardian, December 6, 2024

#cw child death #cw pregnancy #malawi #africa #ai #artificial intelligence #public health #infant mortality #childbirth #medical news #good news #hope

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saltymarshmall0w · 2 months ago

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Another Dp x DC prompt inspired by a Danny Phantom episode.

Identity Crisis- The episode where Danny flies through one of his parent's inventions (A dream catcher, but let's all replace that little detail with a net or a strainer) and separates into Phantom and Fenton. Fenton is glad to give up being a hero and be lazy with his friends while Phantom turns into the embodiment of a heroic archetype.

----

There was an empty, gaping chasm in him nestled somewhere between his spotty memory and the apathy that constantly settled over his brain like a weighted blanket.

He could see it in the way it felt like something was missing when he looked in the mirror.

In the way Danny enjoyed things but couldn’t list what exactly he liked.

His parents knew it too. His dad didn’t look him in the eye anymore, and his mom always made a disappointed “tsk” noise when they tested his blood to “check if his levels were going down yet” then questioned if he was using the decontamination soap. He did, even if it made his hands burn and left Danny feeling lethargic after every shower.

They moved to Gotham of all places overnight, before Danny could so much as say goodbye to his friends.

(He knew it was weird. He didn’t even remember packing his stuff—but he didn’t have to do the work so, whatever)

They locked him in the house all day as if he would go out on the streets and fight crime while they weren’t looking or something. They were being controlling freaks!

(He should probably run away. It was obvious, even to him, that he was being abused… but that sounded like a lot of effort and not all that fun, so he’d rather just stay in his comfy bed and watch tiktok. He could ignore the sounds coming from the basement until he was 18.)

Uncle Vlad would occasionally stop by to say thinly veiled threats and act all weird– once or twice asking about “Phantom” or a “core” whatever that meant. It was easier to just let Vlad send him to a rich-people school and drag him to a couple galas. At least he was actually getting out of the house.

Whatever was going on with Danny was probably something he should be concerned about. He should go to a doctor, or the police, or his obviously-a-vigilante classmate for help rather than attempting to create half-thought out inventions to solve a problem he couldn’t even describe that he inevitably would forget about in favor of watching tiktok.

According to google, the headaches, the tiredness, the dry skin, the disorientation- it all pointed toward dehydration. So, he was just overreacted anyway and should probably just drink more water.

Whatever, Doomed came out with a mobile version for phones so, he’s way more interested in that anyway.

Basically, Human!Danny does not remember anything to do with Phantom and he’s missing a lot of his key components.

lots of procrastinating, lots of apathy and emotions are extremely dull.

He doesn’t realize how much he misses his friends or his obsessions unless they’re directly in front of him.

I think it would be a fun writing exercise, questioning how Danny would act without Phantom based on the events in Identity Crisis.

-Emotional incompetence. (He’s awful at identifying how he feels about things)

-Shameless Dopamine-seeking behavior.

-Doing things without thinking of the consequences.

-A completely gray moral compass

Meanwhile, with Phantom—There are different levels of messed up we could take this.

After Jack and Maddie separated Phantom from Fenton, they tried their best to get their son (who, thankfully, doesn’t remember being possessed for nearly a year) to decontaminate fully by moving to Gotham, while keeping their subject in the lab so they could keep running tests on it.

Unfortunately, the ectoplasm levels in Danny’s blood aren’t going down, despite weekly tests.

Last night, Danny had a nightmare where his parents cut him open.

It was only a nightmare, of course. His parents were inventors. They specialized in making every-day objects into the shape of his dad’s face; they didn’t work in biology.

Still, the phantom pain of his mom snapping his ribcage open was too realistic, and he still didn’t have an explanation for the surgical scars he kept finding on his body.

Jack and Maddie separated Phantom and Fenton and decided it was time they gave up ghost hunting for the safety of their son. So, they sold the ghost to the GIW and used the funds to move to Gotham, the city with the least amount of ambient ectoplasm in hopes to fully decontaminate their son.

Phantom is in the hands of the GIW until Fenton comes across him (probably due to Bat-related shenanigans) and instantly goes “Oh, shit. That’s my soul. I kinda need that back.”

-I’d be kinda funny if at this point the bats all know Danny as an extremely relaxed civilian who’s smart and figured out all their identities, yes, but also has zero interest in vigilantism.

-They’re going to get the “soul” thing Danny was freaking out about back Asap but they need to do a bit of reconnaissance first and–

- Oh—

-Danny’s mission-impossible-ing his way into the highly secure government base.

-and he’s, like, GOOD at it. WTF

Phantom, separated from his human half, turns into Little Baby Man. And just tries his darndest as a tiny little cat-possum-snake thing to find his human half… and protect everyone he sees… and collect shiny things. Okay! It’s not his fault he keeps getting distracted!

Until!! He found his human!! Well, it wasn’t actually his human, but Phantom could tell his human had been around this human. Besides, he sure did like this human. And the human said he was cute. Which actually made him explode with happiness!!

(The Waynes adopt little Baby Man, thinking he’s just a really weird alien cat)

So, now for the DC part of this I’m gonna throw some ideas out there for some interactions and you can decide if you like ‘em or not. I basically just really liked the idea of Danny finding out his classmate’s/friend’s secret identity and just… being completely apathetic to it.

I really flip flopped on his Designated Gotham Bf being either Tim or Damian, bc i think both would have a really interesting dynamic with a really apathetic yet insanely smart Danny, especially if you throw in Damian adopting LBM Phantom.

You, (yes, You! The reader!) can take this as whatever Wayne child you chose and I’ll just refer to them as Robin from now on.

Each of these separated bits are just a different new way I thought an identity reveal would happen, none of them are connected.

*Danny, standing way too close to an active rouge attack, watching Robin and Batman fighting*: You know… that guy throwing around the stylized R’s around looks kinda like that cute guy from physics.

Goon, currently trying to take Danny hostage: Yeah, whatever kid.

Robin: Hey, so, I know the school is under attack right now, but I really need something from my locker so–

Danny *The new kid who so far has only slept in class*: Dude, I know you’re Robin. It’s, like, really obvious. Just go, I’ll cover for you.

(while Fenton would not be inclined to help in a rouge attack, he still has the overconfidence of a super-powered being and some of the instincts that were ingrained into him after hundreds of fights)

Robin: Hey, Kid-I-don’t-know! This is an active gunfight! You should run!

Danny: Don’t worry Robin, there are no civilians around! I have time to wait around so when you’re done kicking ass we can get back to our group project. *thumbs up*

Robin: B, this is my friend, Danny. Please be nice to him.

Danny: Hey Batman. Rad.

Bruce: Hrm

Robin: *spluttering* Pfft- Bruce- Bruce isn’t Batman! Haha! What makes you think that?

Danny:

Danny: Wait– We’re friends?

Robin *very angsty moment*: Danny, I’m sorry. I only befriended you because I thought your parents were shady and wanted to investigate. The truth is… I’m Robin.

Danny *This is a total shock to him. He had no idea. He should probably react appropriately*: If I had a nickel for every time I dated a vigilante’s civilian identity I would have two nickels, which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice, right?

Robin: Are you seriously quoting Phineas and Ferb right now??

Robin: Wait– which vigilante have you dated before?

Robin: Danny? You can’t just leave me hanging, Danny.

Robin: Was it superboy? Because- Danny! I’m way cooler than superboy

—

Alternatively, consider the shift in dynamics when Danny is back “complete” and can finally feel regular emotions again.

Like shame, for example.

Robin: Hey :)

Danny: *Remembers anything he did as LBM and calmly moves to the floor so he can curl up and die of embarrassment*

Robin: ??? Are you okay?

Robin *bats his pretty eyes*: So? You and Phantom are finally back together again. How do you feel?

Danny *hasn’t noticed his Paulina-level attraction or Sam-level crush on Robin before*: Bisexual.

Misc:

Phantom: *growling at a mirror and repeatedly trying to attack it*

Robin: Yeah, we don’t really know what it is, but it’s cute.

Robin: This is weird, He doesn’t usually warm up to people so quickly. Usually he’s really protective.

Danny *completely calmly*: Oh, yeah. That's probably because it’s my soul.

Bruce: Listen, I know you like my son-

Danny: Woah, hold on. Yeah, Robin is pretty great. Dopamine goes brrr around him, but I don’t have a crush on him or anything.

Bruce: *gestures to Robin on the other side of the room, where Phantom is repeatedly giving Robin butterfly kisses and nuzzling into him*

Danny: ooh.

Anyway! if you're at all inspired by this and write something the only requirement is that you have to tell me so I can read it too :) otherwise, go crazy!

#The longer you read this post the more it falls apart #I spent really long trying to put this idea on a page correctly and I still have so many ideas I didn't even put in #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc #danny phantom #batfam #danny fenton #lbm danny #little baby man #dp x dc au

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amorisxx · 2 months ago

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Snickerdoodle pt. iv

pairing: Art Donaldson x reader, Patrick Zweig x reader, Tashi Duncan x reader summary: Art comes out of retirement to test out his coaching skills. Your relationship with him continues to spiral. warnings: smut 18+, cheating, divorce, rough sex, piv, marijuana use, slight angst, hastily proofread word count: 7.7K divider by @cafekitsune <3 prev part | next part

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

Kaleb decides he wants to play tennis. Or that he wants to “get serious” about it. He’d done tennis camp every summer along with soccer camp, and he’d enjoyed it enough. But for some reason, he’s determined to be a tennis player now. You blame it on how much time he’s been spending around the Donaldson’s. Between the various play dates and carpooling, he and Lily have been attached at the hip.

The two of you are enjoying a quiet evening on a weeknight when he brings it up.

“Lily doesn’t really like tennis,” he tells you in between bites of mashed potatoes.

“Well that’s okay. Sometimes our friends end up having different hobbies,” you say.

“Hm,” he puts his finger to his chin, “kinda like you and Mr. Art?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well he’s like the greatest tennis player ever,” he says, spreading his arms out wide. “But you’re terrible at tennis. And you guys are friends right?”

His assertion has you placing your fork down. “Okay, first of all, I’m not terrible at tennis. Secondly, it’s really not fair to compare me to a professional tennis player, K, he’s had years of practice.” Then, you reluctantly think of the last thing he said. About the two of you being friends.

Images of Art kneeling above you in bed dance through your mind. You think of the last time you were with him. How he’d laid his cheek on your thigh while you threaded your fingers through his tufts of blonde hair. His gaze searing as he watched you in all your post-orgasmic bliss. Your chest was still heaving as you tried to recover.

You clear your throat.

“Yeah, um, I guess we are friends.” You avoid eye contact with Kaleb and pray he changes the subject. You don’t want to think about Art.

Unfortunately, your son is too young to properly read the room. If he was, he’d see the way you’re clenching your fork in your fist. Or he would’ve realized by now that his mom is a harlot. Instead of calling you out on your immorality, he turns to you with express earnestness. “I wanna play tennis like Mr. Art,” he says definitively.

He then furrows his little eyebrows and asks you, “you think I can be as good as him one day?”

You smile, reach over to smooth your palm over his curls, and tug his ear. You say what every parent would. “I think you can do whatever you put your mind to, my little monkey.”

He grins at you, dimple poking out.

After all, you’re almost certain this is just an eager phase prompted by Lily bringing Tashi to school for career day. Tashi mentioned to you that Kaleb was very eager to ask questions about her job. Apparently, he thought it was super cool that she “got to coach the best tennis players in the world.” You’re worried that before dinner is over he might ask you to put in a word with her about coaching him.

Once you’ve finished eating, tucked Kaleb in, and tidied up the kitchen, you finally get to relax with a cup of lavender chamomile tea.

Before you settle into the refuge of your bed, you make a note to sign Kaleb up for club tennis.

ᯓ

You’re at a gas station near Kaleb’s school when you realize your dumb credit card has a faulty chip. You grab your purse and lock the doors to your car, having been forced to go inside the store and pay for your gas the old fashioned way.

The door shuts behind you with a ring of a bell. The unmistakable smell of fuel fills your nostrils as it mixes with stale coffee and the emblematic stench of small convenience stores. You grumble when you see there’s a short line.

With a sigh, you take a detour down one of the narrow aisles to grab a pack of gum. You pick out a random pack of spearmint, but your inner child lingers on the yellow packaging of juicy fruit bubble gum sitting beside it. When you were little, your mom would’ve made you pick one or the other. Without a second thought, you pluck the yellow pack out from the shelf and head back towards the front.

On your walk back, you glance out the windows, checking to make sure the pump you’re parked at is still number 5.

The line is shorter now. There’s only two people. You think you recognize the dark head of the person standing at the counter. They’re digging through the back pocket of their jeans and pulling out a leather wallet when your cellphone dings. It’s an email notification from your boss. You read the subject header before dropping the phone back into your purse, hoping to avoid whatever stressor awaits you there for a couple more hours or so. When you look back up, you’re met with the face of the dark haired stranger.

His eyes meet yours. Patrick Zweig sends you a mischievous smile of recognition as he saunters toward you. He snaps his fingers. “I know you.”

“Hi, Patrick,” you say through your tight smile. The last time you’d seen him, he tried to blackmail you into going out with him. If he wasn’t so attractive, you’d probably be repulsed by him.

“Long time no see.” He pockets his package of Marlboros. “How you been?”

“Um just busy you know,” you hum. “You?”

He nods. “Same, same.” He looks you over, smile growing wider when he meets your eyes after lingering on your cleavage. He doesn’t even attempt to be discreet.

You scoff, rolling your eyes to the side.

Thankfully, the bald guy in front of you finishes up his transaction so you have an excuse to say “excuse me” to Patrick as you approach the register. You glance back when you hand your money to the bored cashier, catching one last glimpse of Patrick as he exits through the door. You nibble on the inside of your cheek, feeling the tiniest hint of disappointment.

You accept your change and two packs of gum and make your way back to your car. Not wanting to waste any more time at this point, you toss the plastic bag into the passenger seat and hurry to pump your gas.

You’re leaning against the trunk while the fuel fills your tank when you hear a small “hey.”

You’re startled as Patrick approaches you again. You look around suspiciously. “Um are you stalking me?”

“No.” He huffs out a laugh. “I was standing over there taking a smoke.” He points towards his beat up suv. You wonder why he doesn’t have a better car. You thought tennis players made money. “And I saw you. Didn’t get to say goodbye earlier.”

You click your tongue. “Well, bye.”

“Wait—I hope I didn’t rub you the wrong way last time.” He rubs his palm over the back of his neck. “I kind of have a fucked up sense of humor.”

“It wasn’t the joke,” you supply. “It was more so you trying to blackmail me into going on a date with you.”

He laughs. “Yeah, I don’t know why that didn’t work.” The grin he gives you sends a shiver down your spine.

This time, you smirk, your gaze tracing the length of his body, from his Nikes to the curly wisps of hair flying in the wind. The gas pump clicks, signifying that your tank is full. You don’t remove it right away because you’re busy letting Patrick type his number into your phone. You wish you could say you played hard to get, but that would be a lie of monumental magnitude.

You don’t actually intend to call him, content to let his number go forgotten in your phone. After all, what type of woman would get involved with the best friend of the man she’s having an affair with?

Later on, when you’re having a glass of wine, mommy duties complete for the night, you pause on his number as you tap through your phone. You inhale, take a sip from your glass, and quickly save his contact before swiping out of the app. You can blame it on your being slightly tipsy when you notice that he’s saved as “for a rainy day.”

ᯓ

It turns out that the tennis thing isn’t just a phase. You don’t mind of course. You’d always support your kid in whatever he pursued. The only issue is that Art fucking Donaldson thought it would be a good idea to train little Kaleb. As if you needed more reasons to be around the man.

You’d told him that you didn’t think it was necessary because your son was only eight years old. Surely, he wouldn’t need a retired professional tennis player to train him. His tennis lessons at the local club would certainly suffice. Plus, you imagined he had more important things to attend to than give private lessons to a third grader.

On a random weeknight, you’d gone to pick Kaleb up from a play date with Lily, hoping to grab him and get back home before the rain got any worse. Art had greeted you at the door, placing a hand on the small of your back.

He decided to bring up the topic again. Even Tashi, who was usually busy with training of her own, chimed in, claiming it would be a good opportunity for Art to find real meaning in tennis again. Whatever that meant. Patrick, who you had been avoiding thinking about, once again inserted himself into a conversation, pointing out how young he and Art were when they first started playing tennis. According to him, it was never too early to learn how to properly hit a ball with a racket.

ᯓ

The thought of Art spending time with Kaleb through tennis is an endearing one if you’re being honest with yourself. But you know you would have an intense fight on your hands should Chris find out.

Ever since Art had stepped in with your ex at the fall festival, he’d harbored an attitude toward him. He’d gone as far as complaining about all the time Kaleb spent at his house, accusing you of trying to turn your son against him. If it weren’t for the court mandated visits, you’d have simply told Chris to go to hell. But in an attempt to maintain peace for your son’s sake, you reassured him that Kaleb only spent so much time around Art because Lily was his best friend.

You asked him if it was worth destroying his son’s friendship. He conceded for the time being, but you’re sure if he found out about any extra tennis lessons, he’d blow a gasket.

Ironically, you had never been offered the freedom to express such possessiveness. You had to be content each and every time your son stayed at his father’s new house with his new fiancée that you barely knew anything about. You handle some occasions better than others.

This time, though, when you watch Kaleb go through the front door of their luxurious home, Spider-Man backpack affixed on his back, your stomach churns. Chris’ fiancée smiles and waves to you with her left hand. Bitterly, you think it’s a miracle she can even lift it with the large diamond wrapped around her finger. She places her hand on your son’s shoulder, pulling him into their home, as if she wasn’t the one that helped wreck yours.

Maybe it’s the fact that this past week would’ve been your anniversary, but your shoulders shake with sobs throughout the entire drive home. You sniffle as you think about Kaleb building a life with his soon to be step-mom. You hope she treats him right, but, ultimately, you wish he didn’t have to know her at all.

It doesn’t help that you aren’t able to bury your sorrows in Art’s chest or on his dick. He’d already told you about the gala he’d be attending that weekend for the Donaldson Foundation. You haven’t seen him since last weekend, and you ache to call him, but the thought makes you feel nauseous when you think about the wretched irony of seeking comfort in a married man. In a decision that’s almost homogeneously pathetic, you sit in your lonely driveway and send a “hey” to ‘for a rainy day.’

ᯓ

It doesn’t take long for Patrick to offer to come over. You send him your location as you pop open a bottle of wine.

You reach for a glass, your eagerness causing you to apply too much force as you slam the glass down. It breaks under the pressure of your haste, immediately cracking at the stem. The inconvenience is too much for you. You curse before bringing the entire bottle up to your mouth. You take a swig, red liquid spilling out of the corner of your mouth. With a gasp, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Pitifully, your vision starts to blur again as your eyes swell up with hot tears. You resort to sitting on the kitchen floor, taking the occasional drink, and wallowing in your despair.

You’re propped against the cabinet, knees to your chest as you cradle the green tinted bottle of red wine like a toddler holding a stuffed animal, when you hear your doorbell ring. You stumble to your feet, dragging them as you move toward the door. When you swing the door open, Patrick is standing there with his hands in his pockets. He looks you over once, mumbling that you “look like shit” before stepping into your home as if he’d been there a thousand times.

He lifts his eyebrows when he sees the neglected pieces of glass on your counter. He looks back at the bottle in your fist before groaning. “Please don’t tell me you’re an alcoholic.”

You roll your eyes. “No, I’m just having a pretty shitty day.”

“No shit,” he snorts.

You send him a glare. “I don’t even know why I called you,” you say and rub your temples.

“Because I’m obviously easy and you know it.” He smirks.

It makes you laugh, your red, puffy eyes squinting back at him.

Patrick eventually convinces you to smoke the joint he’d brought with him. You haven’t gotten high in years, and you find yourself mindlessly rambling about your life as you pass the joint back and forth to him. You’d stopped crying a while ago, your eyes now red because of the weed.

You and Patrick are lounging on the floor of your living room. You’re dragging your fingers through the shag rug underneath you and leaning your head back on the sofa when you hear him laugh. He sounds like he’s far away, down through a tunnel, but when you turn your head, his face is right beside you.

“What’s funny?” You grunt.

He shakes his head. “S’nothing.”

You frown and shove his bicep. “Tell me,” you say, scooting closer to him. “I hate feeling left out.”

His smile falters for a second like he’s remembering something, but when you blink he’s sporting a melancholic grin. “It’s just—you kind of remind me a lot of Art.” His head falls to the side to really look at you. “I mean not like completely, and not really how he is now, but when you’re upset—it reminds me of when we were teenagers.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not,” you say. It comes out as a whisper. Your faces are so close that you don’t want to startle him.

“Hm.” His eyes flicker to your lips. “Not a good or bad thing. Just a thing.”

“That’s why you like me?” You mumble teasingly. “Because I remind you of your boyfriend?”

He smirks, lips so close to yours you feel his breath fan them. “Who said I liked you?”

“You don’t have to.” You’re just the slightest movement away from kissing him. If you tilt your head just the tiniest bit—

He lets out an almost imperceptible moan when he finally presses his lips to yours. It’s so quiet, you think you might’ve imagined it. It all happens incredibly fast, but feels like slow motion. Your head is fuzzy and your body is tingling as Patrick grabs your waist, hoisting you onto his lap. It takes you a moment to build momentum, your sensory overload working against you.

When you’re finally able to match his energy, the kiss is searing. He’s sucking your lip into his mouth like you’re already his, hands roaming everywhere he can get them. When he bites your bottom lip, you suck in a breath, giving him room to thrust his tongue into your mouth. You mewl at the way your mouths seem to fit together like velcro. Your toes curl and you tighten your fists into his dark locks when you feel his hot tongue traveling down your throat, leaving white hot bites that feel like being branded. His teeth sting and your cunt throbs as you impulsively rut against his length.

Patrick rubs his large palm over your ass before abruptly smacking it, making you release an embarrassingly airy moan. His teeth tug on your earlobe. “You like that?”

You only nod, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Hmm?” He mumbles, continuing to lave over the skin behind your ear. His hand comes down on your ass again, harder this time.

You let out a pathetic squeal and slam your hips down against him in search of some kind of friction to relieve the ache between your legs. “Oh god—please fuck me—“

His mouth meets yours again. You can barely kiss him properly, panting about needing him to fuck you right now.

He really is easy, you think, but it’s not like you have room to talk.

ᯓ

The first time Patrick Zweig sinks his cock into you, you’re on your knees, face pressed against your rug. The slam of his hips threaten to take your breath away as tears cling to your eyelashes. He’s rough, possessively grabbing your flesh with no regard for potential damage. When he experimentally grips your hair in his hand, tugging your head back gently, you see stars behind your clamped eyelids.

Patrick nearly whimpers at the way it makes you arch your back into his thrusts with increasing intensity. He groans something about you being a slut and fists your hair with less restraint. Your walls clench around him when he wraps his hand around your throat, pulling you to his chest.

He grunts into your ear. “I knew you liked it rough, could tell from the first time I saw you.”

The tears have started to spill now. Whether it’s from the humiliation or the utter ecstasy, you aren’t sure. All you know is that you almost sob when Patrick drags his tongue alongside your face, collecting the salty tears.

ᯓ

He buries himself inside you for a second time no more than twenty minutes after you’ve both cum. You gasp and claw at his back as his body presses you into your couch cushions.

You have to admit that Patrick knows how to fuck. Knows how to read your body, tapping into just the right frequency to get you off.

It’s obvious that you’ve been craving this type of treatment from the way you’re responding to him. But you’re sure that he must have a sexual sixth sense because in the midst of fucking you wildly, he grabs your ankle that’s dangling by his ear, turns his head, and plants a sweet kiss to the bone. It makes you melt into the sofa.

He leans down to shove his tongue into your open mouth. Softly pats your cheek, relishing in your cock drunk state.

“Does he fuck you like this?” He murmurs into your neck.

You don’t have to ask who he’s talking about.

“Huh?” He prods.

You choke down a moan. “Better. He—“ You cry out when you feel him start rubbing harsh circles into your clit. “He fucks me better.”

He huffs out a laugh through his smile, but his hips slam down harder as if he’s determined to change your answer. In less than a minute, you’re biting down on his shoulder when you feel another orgasm rack through your body.

ᯓ

You take a longer break this time. Stopping to pour yourself a real glass of wine. One with its stem intact. Patrick lazily inhales from a cigarette as he watches you, with hooded eyes, attempt to hold a throw blanket over your bare torso. In contrast, he nonchalantly spreads his thighs over your couch, body on full display.

His eyes leisurely meet yours. They shine prettily in the dim lighting of your home. His dark lashes flutter on each drag of his cig and it makes the corner of your mouth curve up when you take a sip. The lamps have cast a cozy shade of amber over the room. It blankets Patrick’s skin in a golden aura reminiscent of something being baked in an oven.

Patrick reminds you of the gingerbread man, you think. It makes you press the tips of your fingers to your lips to stifle a giggle.

He tilts his head at your odd behavior, but he assumes the weed must still be affecting you.

Once you’ve placed your glass on the coffee table, and he’s put out his cigarette, Patrick is pulling you by the ankle, tossing your blanket to the side and kissing his way down your abdomen.

You yelp when he captures one of your hard nipples in his mouth but let him press his hot kisses into your skin nonetheless.

You end up cumming for the third time that night with his head buried between your legs.

ᯓ

Patrick leaves while you’re asleep.

When you wake up around 3am to an empty house, you think it’s for the best. You check your phone. You have a missed call from “a.d.” and a text from Patrick that says “had fun” with a winking emoji. You don’t respond to either, instead, opting to pad your bare feet to the bathroom. You desperately need a shower.

In the morning, you tidy up your home from the events of the night before, cringing at what took place on the terracotta colored sofa.

When the buzzing in your head doesn’t stop after cleaning your entire living room from top to bottom, you find yourself in the kitchen, pulling out ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies.

You’re frantically kneading dough when the doorbell rings. You frown, not expecting company, but clean your hands as best you can as you make your way to open the door. Sometimes, your talkative neighbor, Mrs. Taylor, likes to come knocking on your door early in the mornings.

You’re surprised to find that Art is standing on the other side with a latte and a bag containing a chocolate croissant. You assume it’s for you. He places his things down on the table by the door, the one that holds your catch all tray, and scoops you up into a hug.

He groans into it, making you smile. “Hi,” you mumble into his chest.

“Hi, pretty girl,” his voice comes out equally mumbled. “Missed you.” You can hear the grin in his tone. It makes your heart clench.

You allow yourself to hold onto him, despite the ever present worry that you should be reining yourself in when it comes to him. He moves to let you go, grabbing your face in his palm and kissing the side of your head. You whine and lock your arms around his waist in protest. You inhale his scent, all warm and familiar. You’ve missed him.

“Baby,” he laughs into your hair. You grunt, squeezing him tighter. “Okay, c’mere.” He pulls you into him, securely engulfing you in his arms. “I got you, I got you.”

You eventually release him long enough to walk into your home.

You’re relieved that you’d been overtaken by a cleaning spell this morning because you fear that Art might take one glance at your couch and figure out who had been here. That he’d smell him in the air.

You’re afraid he might’ve detected it anyway when he freezes in the walkway separating your kitchen from the living room. You nibble on your lip as you try to search his body for any signs that he’s onto you.

To your relief, Art is actually focused on the copious amounts of cookie dough you have on the counter of your kitchen island. He turns to you with the all knowing look of a father, his eyes creased with concern. “Oh no, what happened?”

ᯓ

After a therapy session in which you decide to stop letting your ex influence your decisions from afar, you finally relent, allowing Art to begin practicing with Kaleb on their private tennis court. It seems like since you got involved with their family, that’s all you ever do, give in to everyone’s requests. In any other context, it would be disturbing, but the sight of Kaleb racing to the court with an oversized tennis bag fills you with joy. The bag threatens to pull him down, but his excitement keeps him upright as he makes a beeline for Art.

You don’t know who’s more excited to see Art between the two of you. Your son’s tennis instructor waves at you from across the court. And you have to fight the rush that flows through you, threatening to cut off your oxygen, and give a simple wave in return. It makes you feel like a kid with a fervent crush. You could gag.

You remind yourself that you’re here for Kaleb. Not you.

You think that as long as you get to see him happy like that, you’d agree to anything. It’s a scary notion, but becoming a mom has made you aware of a lot of terrifying realities.

ᯓ

It’s this maternal need to preserve your son’s happiness that leads you to another prolonged encounter with Tashi Duncan. She’d caught you when you were dropping him off for tennis lessons one day. Apparently, she had a free day. Lily was spending the day with her grandparents, and Patrick is, thankfully, nowhere to be found. You try to hide your relief when she tells you that. You don’t think you can face him right now.

She insists you join her in their sunroom while the boys practice. You try to think of an excuse to turn her down, but you decide your karma from sleeping with her husband has built up too much to take the chance of tacking on more. So, when she offers to make you a cup of tea, you oblige and sink down into the fabric of a warm sofa.

When Tashi reappears, she sits down with a cup of steaming hot tea for the both of you. You thank her with a smile, letting your eyes trail over her figure. She looks ethereal. The sunlight pouring through the glass forms a halo of light around her, illuminating her like a Madonna painting. She has her hair pulled back into a low ponytail that causes her to have to tuck the loose strands behind her ear every now and then. The motion makes you take notice of her slim neck and the way her collarbones dip into her loose-fitted button down. Even dressed casually, she looks like a goddess.

You feel your heart start to beat a little faster and reach to take a sip of your tea. You wonder how she knew that lavender chamomile was one of your favorites.

It’s only awkward for a moment because the two of you quickly fall into a conversation about what she’s missed now that Art has taken over attending the PTA meetings. That’s how you’d initially met her. She had actually been the one who you exchanged communication with about carpool and play dates. Art’s retirement allowed her to focus on tennis and other aspects of raising Lily that she preferred. You giggle when she admits that she never really liked those meetings anyway. You don’t tell her that you always had that inkling.

When you mention that Cynthia is still advertising her knitting business at every single meeting, she sucks in a laugh before leaning toward you. She presses her lips together, holding in her giggle. “Guess what?”

You squint at her, your expression already anticipating a joke. “What?” You all but sputter out.

“I’m probably responsible for like half the sales on her Etsy shop.” She says like she’s admitting to something top secret. It’s a lot like the expression Lily takes on when her and Kaleb are playing “secret agent.”

“Girl, what?” You didn’t think she’d be a fan of crocheted animal figures.

“I ordered one for my mom for Mother’s Day,” she explains. “She fell in love with the thing I swear, thought it looked just like her little Yorkie, next thing you know she’s asking for the link to share with all her friends.”

You’re snickering into your mug imagining Tashi unintentionally being Cynthia’s best saleswoman.

She smiles at you. “I’m serious. Apparently, amigurumi is the new thing. It’s gonna be flying off the shelves. That’s why I had to go ahead and put in my order.”

“Of course you know the official term.” You toss your head back. “What’s yours look like?”

“It’s a little tabby cat,” she smiles wistfully. “Like the one I had growing up. Her name was Aphrodite.”

It’s a fitting name.

You’re biting back a grin as you take a sip from your tea. You sigh at the taste. “How’d you know what type of tea I liked?” You ask absentmindedly.

“Art mentioned it to me.”

You freeze. “Art?”

“Yeah he says you like to make it before bed. Now, he’s hooked on it.”

All the blood in your body rushes to your head. You feel that unwelcome yet proverbial sinking in your gut. You think you might start projectile vomiting.

“Are you okay?”

You don’t respond. It’s hard to speak when you feel like you’re dangling upside down on a roller coaster.

“Wait… you didn’t think I knew did you?”

For some unintelligent reason, you decide to play stupid. Usually, in times of danger, humans resort to fight, flight, or freeze. You choose fucking idiot. “Knew what?”

“That you’re fucking my husband.” Tashi says quite unceremoniously.

“What—what do you mean?” You squeak out.

“Don’t.” She laughs. “I’ve known the whole time.”

“How?” Your voice is shrinking smaller and smaller to your ears. The sound of Tashi’s voice, her pert laughter, drowning it out.

“Art tells me everything.”

“And you’re okay with it?” You attempt to ask though you can barely hear it.

You know your question reaches her ears because she shakes her head and tells you, “I suggested it.”

Your eyes go wide. Her divulgence seems to propel you forward on your metaphorical roller coaster. In a snap, it brings you out of your stupor.

“I told Art that he should fuck you.” She says it like it’s nothing. Like it’s as simple as telling him to pick up some carry out on the way home.

You’re confused, and your head is starting to hurt from the whiplash, and you wish this ride would end already. “I’m—I’m not sure I understand what’s going on here.”

“Okay, well, Art’s been attracted to you since the day he met you,” she says plainly. “But he’d never actually do anything about it because that’s just who he is. He needed that push—“

“That push?”

She nods. “He needed to know he could do it and everything would be fine. He’s still figuring out how to be open to stuff like this.” She explains, gestures vaguely in the air. “He’d never break up what seemed like a happy marriage, but when it was clear that your marriage was far from happy…well he started to warm up to the idea.”

“What do you mean far from happy?” The shock has you feeling unreasonably defensive.

“Clearly something was off. You never seemed happy with him. You’ve said it yourself that he was a dick.”

“Um—okay, well, I’d say something has to be off if you’re coaching your husband into sleeping with unsuspecting women.” You shoot back. Your gaze is sharp and accusatory.

She lets her eyes fall down to her lap, picking at little buds of lint being exposed by the sun’s glow. “You’re right, something was off between us,” she says like it’s something in the past. Like maybe they’re good now, but at one time they weren’t. “But Art knows how I feel about him.” Then, her gaze returns to you. “Something tells me your husband either didn’t know or didn’t care.”

Her comment strikes a nerve. Chris did know something was off, and she was right, he didn’t care. He made you feel like needing more from him made you selfish. As if the reminder of the vows he made to you was an affront to him. He knew you were unhappy. That you felt ignored. But he didn’t care. When you’d served him the divorce papers, you naively thought that he’d realize what he might lose, that he might beg for your forgiveness, promise to be better. Instead, you watched him sign the document in the same way he’d signed receipts for dinner before closing the tab and tucking the pen inside.

You think you envy her. Because she has a husband that actually doesn’t want to leave her.

“Hey.” She grabs your attention. Her voice softens when she sees your glassy eyes peering back at her. “I’m not judging you. I’m just trying to offer an explanation.”

You work to swallow down the onslaught of emotions threatening to rise up like bile. You release a fractured noise from your throat, letting the revelation fully soak in. “So you really knew this whole time then? Or rather you orchestrated it?”

“Okay, that’s a little extreme,” she says. “When we found out you were getting divorced, I mentioned to Art that he should pursue you. That’s all.” She shrugs. “I never knew if he’d actually do it or when he’d do it. All I know is that the first night he came home smelling like you, he fucked me like he did when I first agreed to be his tennis coach.”

“Then, he was constantly meeting up with you or staying to talk after PTA meetings,” her fingers curl to form quotations around the word, talk. “But I knew what was up.” She bites her lip. “It was honestly kind of hot.”

You frown. The thought of him sleeping with her immediately after being with you has your stomach in knots. The worst part is that you can’t stop wondering if he’d showered first. If he’d cleaned himself up or if he’d went straight to her, buried himself inside her, cock still sticky with your fluids. In a way, it’s like you had also been inside her. If you think about it long enough, you can imagine what it must feel like. So, you don’t think about it. Instead, you fix your gaze on the golden pothos plant sitting on top a table to your right. The tapping of your nail against the ceramic mug fills the silence.

She gives you a questioning look.

Ignoring the implications of what she just told you, you settle for the anger you’re feeling instead of dwelling on any confusing arousal. “Do you not realize how fucked up this is, Tashi?”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah! It’s fucked!” You throw your hands up. “I mean I’ve been running around feeling guilty, thinking I was a fucking homewrecker while the two of you get off on a cheating kink!”

She can tell you have more to say, so she leans back and lets you go on.

“I mean how could you do that? I was fucking depressed.”

She snorts. “Not so depressed that it ruined your libido. You two have been going at it like rabbits.” Her smirk makes your cheeks burn.

You place your mug down onto the table. “Wow. You know what?” You’re on the edge of the couch now, body rigid. “You and Art can go fuck yourselves! This is seriously messed up.”

She raises her eyebrows. “As messed up as you fucking another woman’s husband?”

Her words drip with mirth, and it pisses you off that the fiery look in her eyes is poking at a budding desire in your belly. “This is ridiculous,” you mumble to yourself. You’d rather focus all your energy on being outraged than interrogate why this is kind of turning you on. You’re about to stand up to leave when she places a hand on your arm.

“Are you seriously mad right now?” She asks you.

An incredulous look takes over your face. “What do you think?” You spit out.

“Well, would you have preferred I not know?” She asks as if you’re the crazy one here.

“I—“ you squeeze your eyes shut, and try to gather your thoughts. “Obviously not, Tashi.” You glance up to the glass paned ceiling. “I just—it would’ve been nice to know what was really going on. I mean he never even told me that you knew.”

“Well, did you ask?” She asks simply.

Did you? You think back to the past couple of months. The more you and Art hooked up, the more you avoided directly mentioning Tashi. He didn’t bring her up more than what was necessary, so you suspected he was actively trying to keep it from her.

To be fair, he did mention a couple of times that he’d told Tashi you two were going to meet up for lunch, but you thought he must’ve been leaving out the activities that followed. And if she happened to call him while the two of you were together, he would casually tell her he was with you. You obviously assumed he was downplaying your friendship because there was no way Art would be so nonchalant about a mistress. But, apparently, the word mistress didn’t even apply to you.

“I mean, I guess I didn’t.” You stammer. “But I feel like that was on him to bring it up to me.”

“Well that’s where you went wrong. Art can get in his own way sometimes.” A pensive expression works it’s way onto her face. “Or maybe part of him did kind of get off on feeling like he was sneaking around.” The thought seems to bring a small smile to her face.

It still doesn’t make sense to you. You try to tamper down the sinking feeling that you’ve been nothing more than a pawn. “I just don’t understand why you two couldn’t proposition me like a normal couple looking for a third,” you say.

“Who said you were our third?”

“Oh, so there’s other women you’ve sent Art to fuck?”

“No. I—I don’t just pimp out my husband, okay?”

You back down.

“We already have a…third I guess.”

You look at her with furrowed brows.

“Patrick.” She answers.

“Patrick? Like Patrick Patrick?”

She nods.

You laugh cynically. You didn’t think this situation could get any worse.

“I know.” She sighs. “I know how it seems—”

“Was that part of the plan too?” You’re out of breath, chest heaving.

She looks genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Me and Patrick,” you blurt.

“Wait a minute, you’re sleeping with Patrick?” She’s scooting closer to you.

You shake your head. “It just happened once.” You think of how he’d shoved your face into the rug, fucking into you as he grunted out various obscenities. “I was high. I haven’t spoken to him since.”

She looks away for a moment, brows drawn together tightly. She’s piecing together what you’ve told her.

“I—I didn’t know he was with you guys,” you try.

She waves you off. “No, it’s not that.” She sits back. “I’m just not surprised that he wormed his way into your pants. He just couldn’t take that Art had something to himself.” She’s speaking to you, but her eyes are trained ahead.

“So, you really didn’t set that up too?” You ask meekly.

“God, no!” She says. “I had no idea.”

You believe her.

“Look I don’t care what type of weird shit you tennis players are into, if you guys have wild orgies or whatever. I just would’ve liked to have known that I wasn’t a hypocrite.”

“A hypocrite?”

You nod. “I mean I sit here and give my ex shit for cheating on me with that skinny ass whore from Modesto. Hell! That’s why I got so much fucking alimony.” You’re rambling now. “And, then, I go and let Art fucking Donaldson screw me and then send him back home to play loving father and husband like it’s nothing. God! And on top of it all, I also sleep with his best friend! I became the whore from Modesto.”

Tashi’s watching you like you’re a kid experiencing big feelings.

“I felt like a home wrecker.” You sniff. “But apparently I’m actually not…because it was your idea, well only Art, not Patrick, and I—it’s all just fucking with my head.”

Tashi swallows. “I honestly thought you’d be relieved to find out.”

She looks at the frown on your face, takes in the way your plump bottom lip is jutting out. She reaches for your hand. “We’ve never really been the best at communicating. Me and Art. For the past year or so, we’ve gotten better at talking to each other, being honest about what we want, but we’re still working on doing that with other people I guess.” You let her thumb rub the back of your hand before you gently pull away.

You grab your mug again. The handle is cold to the touch.

“I promise we didn’t mean to fuck with you. Honestly, I think Art really likes you.” She offers you a small smile.

You look into your mug trying to still your reaction. You don’t care.

Tashi’s gaze feels heavy on the side of your face as you feel her watching your expression. You start to fiddle with your watch. Checking for the time. Except your watch is too busy displaying your increased heart rate to offer the time.

You sigh.

She reaches out to you again, but this time she brings her hand up to your face, moving the curls falling down over your eyes. You let her nimble fingers caress your cheekbone before trailing down to your chin, guiding you to look at her.

She gives you a steady, knowing smile. “You fell for him didn’t you?”

Your cheeks go ablaze, and you try to look away from her.

“Hey.” She grasps your chin in a firm, but gentle hold. “It’s okay.” She nods as if it’ll telepathically make you agree.

You clear your throat. “I know you say that, but this is all new to me.” Your voice is slightly wobbly and you think you might cry. “I—I didn’t think it’d happen but it did. I thought I could get him out of my system but now,” you inhale and press two fingers against your neck, subconsciously trying to self-soothe. “Now, it’s like—it’s like I can’t stop.” Your voice comes out almost like a whisper. Like you’re afraid to admit the truth.

And, really, you are afraid. You’re fucking terrified.

You’re scared to fall in love with a man who already has one—two people in his life that he’s in love with. The last time you entrusted a man with your love, he was only meant to love you, and he couldn’t even give you that.

What if you realize you’re absolutely enamored by Art Donaldson and he realizes the same thing Chris did? That there’s something about you that makes you unworthy of love. That the depth of you is as deep as your cunt goes and that’s it.

What if he realizes that he already has what he needs in Tashi, even Patrick? What if they realize they actually aren’t willing to share?

You apparently voice the last bit aloud.

Tashi tilts her head, some of her strands have fallen loose again and she wears the prettiest pout on her lips. “Do you want me to prove it to you?”

You gulp when her hand presses into your thigh, and she brings her face impossibly close to yours, forcing you to hold her gaze. “You want me to prove that I’m okay with it?” Her eyes flit between each one of yours with a level of seriousness you’d expect from someone like her.

Her expression demands an answer, and so, you give a faint nod, transfixed on the woman in front of you.

You gasp when you feel her mouth on yours.

You learn that Tashi tastes sweet when she has her tongue in your mouth. You think you can taste the tartness of the lemon she’d sucked on earlier. It’s good, and you realize you’re fucked because you really like kissing her.

Her tongue twirling around yours has you panting quietly, and you keen when you feel her manicured nails press into the nape of your neck. You haven’t kissed a woman since your last girlfriend in college, and you find you miss it. Something about it feels like drinking sweet tea on a hot summer day. Climbing into cool sheets at night when you’re bone tired. Or the feeling you get when you discover the song that you’re going to replay for the next week.

It also makes you feel absurdly wet.

The two of you work up a rhythm of pulling away for a breath before coming back together like magnets, letting your foreheads gently press together as you breathe deeply, thumbs caressing skin, eyelids fluttering.

Your tongue is sweeping across Tashi’s lip, on a path to enter her mouth again, when you hear someone clear their throat.

There’s an audible smack as you yank yourself from Tashi, eyes flying to the doorway of their sunroom.

Art is standing there staring at you, gaze shifting from your face to the hand you still have placed on his wife’s neck. His jaw is clenched, and his bulge is painfully evident in his pants.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

a/n: I've been waiting for this since the first post. Let me know how you feel about the reveal <3 as always, my asks are open!

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #pta!Art x reader #art donaldson smut #tashi duncan #challengers 2024 #challengers fic #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig smut #tashi duncan x reader #hint at #artashi x reader

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venmondiese · 17 days ago

Text

ONE MISSING POINT

-ˋˏ| summary: Failing the class just for one point, and you ask Michael Gavey his help to pass the exam. Tutoring isn't his strenght, neither is yours.

✧ | Pairing: Michael Gavey x reader

✧ | word count: 2.8k

✧ | Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, public masturbation (m receiving), humilliation, Michael is a virgin and he doesn't last long.

It was practically a tradition that Mr. Bynes posted the results of the class in the (most important) headboard in the whole university, and people practically crowded around the single paper sheet searching for their grades and to see if they were at risk of failing the course entirely. If so, they had to do the mandatory exam which was by no means friendly.

He isn’t as worried as people around him, trying to make his way in the crowd to see the paper. He had to awkwardly pass through some people crying over it before he could see the paper.

He approved it all. He expected it, of course, since he always participated and was one of the few who understood something the professor said. Sure, he didn’t have straight 100%, but nothing lower than 80%, which was really good upon seeing some people had more than one 0.

It was a relief, but again, expected. He shrugs and goes on with his life as he walks away, thinking of going to his dorm and annotating his grades to later on calculate his final average score.

“Michael! Michael Gavey” a voice calls him, as he sets his feet on the grass. He turns around, seeing you walking closer to him, as quickly as you could.

“Ehm… yes” he says, awkwardly, looking at you.

You shared calculus and some other classes, and you were good. Not bright, exceptional or anything, but good. And you were so much better at other things, more social and bold things he doesn’t dare to do.

“Hi… how did you do?” You ask, slightly out of breath as you try to be polite.

“Ehm… fine, I guess” he doesn’t get why you talk to him now.

“You passed?” You ask tentatively. “I… I saw your grades, and it was awesome, really impressive…” You hesitate before adding “I am sorry, I know… it’s weird, but… You were like one of the few people who actually passed.”

Michael shrugs. as he nods. “I guess so.”

“And you see…” You say taking his arm to interlock it with hers, as you and your friends did when walking together. It was so womanly, he felt weird. Or maybe everyone did it and he didn’t know…? “I had good grades, I did well in that essay that everyone hated… But I had one test in which I got 40%, because I transferred badly one of the gross numbers, and before you ask, I did calculate it… But since I transferred it wrong, the final value was wrong”

“Ah…” he says, not sure what to say “That sucks”

It didn’t suck. To him, it was like a stupid mistake easily avoidable.

“Well, I was one point away from pass the course, and I explained this to the professor but… didn’t listen, you know him, he said that one point is missing, so I have to give the exam, and I need like 20%, but still..., and now I desperately come to you to beg you to please help me and tutor me” she says, as she turns to look at him.

He blinks. He didn’t do tutorings on his free time. He did them for extra money, for credits or whatever reason.

“Please Mikey!” You say, grabbing his hands. “Please please please, I only needed one more point to pass the class, I know about the subject, and it was a silly mistake. You don't even have to teach me from zero, only... go over the things we studied and that... please!”

He isn’t willing to do this. He doesn’t want to do this, yet he is weak. After all, he is a man. And he isn’t blind, you are pretty. Like out-of-his-league pretty. And you are prettier closer.

“Fine…”

You lean to kiss his cheek with a smile, and you nod. “It’s a date then. Tomorrow in the library? Could it be at four?”

He blinks a few times, trying to process the whole thing. He was supposed to finish the semester quickly, and… now he is caught up trying to teach you so you don’t fail a course, all because his mind betrays him.

So, he tries to do the whole ordeal as smoothly and quickly as possible. He doesn’t want to do this but whatever. At least you are not dumb on the matter, you know something. He has heard some of the answers you give in the classes, and they weren’t as bad as one would hope.

He’s sitting at one of the study desks, right beside a large shelf, and the library was with a few other students, concentrated in their own thing. He brought his notes with him, even if it was illegible. He tries not to be impatient, as he checks the clock on his wrist.

“Sorry for being late, I– I got caught in something and…” You say, and you were breathing a bit heavily.

“No big deal…” he stutters, as his gaze darts down to your blouse. Logically, since summer was getting closer and closer, you wouldn’t be wearing a sweater, but he didn’t expect… Well, he didn’t know what he expected.

Why was he being so weak around you?

“Sit, I have my notes to show you…” He says, and so you take a seat by his side as you curiously lean to check his notes. Surprisingly, or not so surprisingly, he was very neat in his handwriting, even if they looked like the handwriting of someone in the 1700s.

You are not such a bad learner, and he was rather enjoying teaching you after some time. You actually heard him, as he explained in depth how to have the correct answer for all, as he tries to address everything. You asked good questions, and pointed at the mistakes he had given you, to see if you could identify them in an exercise.

As close as you were, Michael could smell how your perfume was nice. It smelled sweet, but not so much that he would like to throw up. Besides, everytime you stared at him, he could feel a bit uneasy, since he got a bit nervous. Your gaze was deep, and he didn’t know what it meant.

Clearing his throat, he writes a new problem for you to solve. He had done a lot when studying, so he copied one of his. He hopes that focusing on the study will help him to distract himself from the weird feelings around you.

“Here, try this one” he says, handing the notebook to you. It is complex, but doable.

He manages to explain really well, as he gets into the theme and all. You do the work, and slide it over for him to check it.

“You have a girlfriend, Mikey?” You ask softly.

He looks at you, before turning back to check the answer. “Eh… no” he mutters, trying not to be ashamed.

You were actually great, you are very tidy when unfolding the exercise and actually took in his advice, he can see it. Yet, you make the same mistake, you took the gross value as the final one.

He made a circle, and he was ready to explain.

“He-Oh” he gasps, feeling your hand on his thigh. He was frozen.

Maybe it fell onto it. Maybe it was by mistake, it was surely by mistake, there was no way it was intentional. And surely it was a mistake how you caressed his inner thigh so… slowly.

“Oh, did I get it wrong?” You ask, looking at him as if you didn’t have your hand at his thigh.

He felt his head doing a short circuit, as if trying to understand what this meant. Was he imagining things? He surely must be.

“Y-Yes, here… here you took the gross value…” he mutters pathetically, he was confused, he didn’t know what was happening. He wasn’t complaining, at all, but what does that mean?

What did it mean that you had your hand on his thigh? Surely, it was something… reasonable.

“I’ll re-do it” you say, taking the notebook. And you didn’t take your hand away.

He was frozen. This can't be happening. He's supposed to be helping you with your studies, not... not whatever this is. And yet, his body is betraying him, his skin tingling under your touch, his pants beginning to feel uncomfortably tight.

He grips on the edge of the table, looking at the ceiling of the library. Suddenly, he is very aware of his surroundings, looking around as if everyone knew that your hand was sliding up as you did the exercise. Women surely can multitask…

“Eh, well, now… we can use the formula… you-you know it” he says, his throat feeling dry as he tries not to whimper.

“Yeah, yeah. Like the rosary.” You say with a confident nod.

“Yeah… so, what’s the next step?” He prompts you, as your hand is higher and higher, and he is starting to lose his mind.

“Replace the values, a… with this, and b…” your hand brushes higher and he lets out a little whimper, thinking you were about to stroke his cock… yet it doesn’t happen. It’s a pathetic sound he emits, and he gets red after it. “With this…”

He sees you replace the values, rewriting the formula, ready to be used.

“Right?” You ask, with one of your sweet smiles as if you didn’t know what was happening.

“Eh, yeah… yeah, that…” he says, trying not to sound that pleased, even if he starts to feel the arousal pool on his stomach.

He starts to feel himself straining against his pants. It was painfully arousing, and he tried to play it cool. He didn’t want for you to notice, as you caressed his inner thigh.

“I… I need a break” he says suddenly, looking at you.

You look at him a bit pouty even, as he grips on the edge of the seat trying to breathe in and breathe out. “But I am learning” you say to him “I really am”

You were driving him insane. He didn’t even know if he should address the elephant in the room. Maybe he’ll say something about it, and you’ll stop, be disgusted and leave.

But he tries to keep inside his whimpers, since the library was the worst place ever to do this. Everyone quiet and it’s open for anyone to see.

“I think… I..” He hesitates, falling to being able to finish a sentence. He moans softly, feeling your hand brush against his notorious erection, and he can’t bear it anymore. “Ah, please…”

Michael was blushing, embarrassed of it all as he tries not to move his hips to follow the touch of your hand, since it isn’t where he really needs. How could he be so weak? His cock wasn’t even being touched now, but he felt so dizzy already. Maybe it was because, okay, he had never been with anyone else, but it was… embarrassingly little time to be so… needy.

When he feels your hand on the tent of his pants, he whimpers, the sound too loud and filthy that his left hand goes instantly to his mouth, covering it to mute himself before he does another embarrassing thing that gives them away.

“Y-You.. You have to stop” Michael murmurs, the words muffled against his palm as he looks at you, glasses sliding through his nose slightly. He was so flustered, he looked cute.

“Why?” You ask in a pout, not wanting to.

“I can’t– I need…” He tries to say, to make a coherent thought as your hand moves to follow the shape of his erection. It sends shivers on his spine and he practically melts on the seat as his eyes are rolled back in pleasure. How could it feel so good? “I… I… We can’t…”

He seems so confused with his own thoughts. “We can…” You murmur, looking around as nobody was actually watching them. “If you really want me to stop… I’ll stop”

Michael doesn’t want you to stop. He really didn’t. But he didn’t want to get caught, it would be embarrassing.

“We are in public” he says, his eyes searching yours.

“Yes, I know” you say, not stopping the strokes on his cock above his clothes “But look at how much you like it”

He’s already made a small, wet patch at the front of his pants. Oh, god, he thinks. He looked away, it felt embarrassing, his face feeling hotter as embarrassment creeped into his gut alongside pleasure.

He liked it, but he was trembling with a mixture of emotions, and he didn’t know what to think. He was so close too…

“Please…” He begs senselessly, he doesn’t even know why he is begging. “I don’t wanna make a mess…”

Your hand touches him with the clothes in between, but the fabric of his light brown pants was thin, and it felt almost delicious. He would hump your hand if you two weren’t in a library.

“You are making a mess…” You coax him softly, as he tenses his shoulder and falls slightly against yours, as his body was trembling with arousal.

“I don’t wanna stain my pants” He murmurs embarrassed, in a little voice as he feels his balls tighten up as your hand insists on the head of his cock, stroking it through the fabric.

“It’s hot” you murmur back to him, and your hand is on the wet patch “And when you cum, I’ll feel it here”

He can’t form a proper sentence as he feels you hand caressing his dick, he felt the wetness on the tip of his cock, and even if it was so unlike him, he found himself so aroused. He is on the verge of cumming on his pants, just from the touch of a woman. Damn, you aren’t even touching his cock directly.

He felt like a teen, needy and so hormonal. He wasn’t like this fromages ago, and he finds himself leaning on you, his forehead against your shoulder as he whimpers softly, his hips searching your touch as he is close.

The thought of cumming in his pants, making a mess was both humiliating and arousing, as his body tense with each stroke. “I can't… i… I'm going to…”

His hand goes to cover his own mouth as he reaches his peak, a strangled moan coming from his throat and his hand muffles the whimpers he lets out. He can feel his cock spurting cum into his underwear and trousers. He doesn’t want to call attention, but he cums so hard, his body basically slumps back in his seat as he feels his balls tighten with each rope of cum that his cock leaks.

You are awfully quiet afterwards, moving your hand away as you clean it and he tries to gain his breath, feeling dizzy already and so pleased. He wants to hide his face in shame, and the other wants to beg you to do it again.

“I’m sorry” he murmurs.

“Don’t be” you whisper back to him, looking at his wet spot on his crotch. “To me, it was amazing. You definitely made one of my fantasies come true”

He blushes, he feels very self conscious all of the sudden, and he makes sure no one in the library paid attention to them and what they were doing. He moves slightly as if trying to cover up the wet patch on his jeans.

“You enjoyed it?” You ask him, not pushing him too hard.

“Yeah…” He admits, slightly embarrassed but also very much pleased.

You look at the forgotten notebooks, and then to him, as he accommodates on the seat and moves his hair slightly as if that would make him go unnoticed by everyone else.

“If it is worth anything, your tutoring did help me tons” you say, taking your notebooks together to save them in your pack.

He is glad that he could help. Maybe this was your way of repaying? He couldn’t know or decipher it. He takes his things and saves them up in his bag as well. He wanted to go to his dorm and take a shower, and put on pajamas and think about this.

“I’m not great with words…” He starts, his tone hesitant but trying to overcome it. “But… Thank you. I really… Hm. It was cool”

You smirk, nodding slightly as you appreciate his words.

“A bit riské” you tease him playfully.

“Yeah…” he chuckles softly, scratching the back of his neck. “I am a mess”

As he adjust the glasses on his nose, you hum, “Well, nobody really cares but you and me”

“I can’t believe we did… that… in here…” He mumbles, dumb founded. “And I was… so… I completely lost it…”

“Do girls usually make you… lose it?” you ask in a whisper. “Or do you last longer, and I happen to have magical hands?”

He blushes to the blunt question, looking anywhere but to your face as he avoids answering. “Well, um…” he doesn’t want to admit his lack of any experiences with girls “Girls don’t…. touch me like that” he says in a whisper. “So I can’t say…”

You didn’t judge, looking at him, and you nodded.

“Well, next time we’ll see”

Next time. He looks at you with eyes slightly wide, as he tries not to stutter his words. “Next time?”

“Obviously” You say smiling to him. “If I pass the exam, we are doing it without the pants” You say smugly “And… more”

He was so lucky you missed one point to pass the course.

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