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rainrot4me · 22 days ago

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Sick Days

Summary: The Creepypasta guys are feeling a little under the weather. You, their lovely partner, spend the day taking care of them (whether they like it or not).

Characters: {Separate} Jeff the Killer x Reader, Ticci Toby x Reader, Masky x Reader

TW: Very domestic and fluffy, slight bickering

Words: 6.7k

A/N: Sorry for the delay! More Christmas-themed works coming out shortly!

Seven days of pure snowfall and ice.

It had snowed a lot—a thick blanket of white across the forest deep enough to get your boots stuck in. Winter always seemed to roll around the Slenderwoods a little later in the year, but when it did, it was brutal. And, with so much pristine white covering the ground, the mansion was on full display in contrast to the grayed-out trees.

Slenderman gave his orders. This meant longer missions, longer days in the frigid temperatures, and even longer nights recovering. You would think natural-born killers would have some inkling of instinct to keep themselves alive, but when they all returned practically half-dead…

Thick jackets and worn shoes piled by the door, somehow still defrosting and leaving obnoxious puddles of water wherever you stepped. Dusty counters were littered with piles of nasty food and dishes, laundry untouched (that wasn’t unusual anyway), and a serious lack of arguing or hysterical fighting between the walls (that was unusual). It seems the weather hadn’t only brought down health, but moods too.

So, when things turn bad in the mansion, where do they end up?

Your front door.

Jeff the Killer ▸

Jeff knocked nonstop until you opened your door, a confused look as to what in the world the killer could need. It wasn’t unusual for Jeff to stop by unannounced; he had made himself at home in your house a long time ago, but it was unusual for him to show up in the middle of the afternoon (broad daylight and all).

“Jeffrey? Are you alright?” Glancing behind him, you could see where his boots made imprints on the fresh snow covering your sidewalk, dusty snowflakes melting in his dark hair.

But, finally glancing up to meet his gaze, you could see it.

He looked terrible. More so than usual. Skin raw-red from the cold winds whipping at him, hair tangled, and head pounding in time with his too-loud heartbeat. You knew about the missions, and you knew what being in the cold for too long could do, you just didn’t know someone like Jeff could even get sick.

Stepping aside, Jeff trailed into your home, shoulders hunched so low you thought he was trying to fall over. All he gave you were hoarse grunts and shaky nods as you helped him strip his heavy clothes, shaking the snow from the sleeves onto the doormat outside. By the time you turned around, Jeff was already halfway down the hallway towards your bedroom.

The killer was so exhausted he didn’t even get his muddy boots off before he was face down into the pillows and oblivious to the world.

Given the grueling retreat he had just returned from, this would have been a reasonable response. But, as his partner, you knew better than most: Jeff never sleeps, especially when he has a fresh mission to brag about. It only took his ragged coughing and blatant pitiful state to figure out you were going to have to help him.

The can of chicken noodle soup you poured into a bowl, then to the microwave, came out steaming hot. You blew on the contents; the smell was nice as you reached for a spoon, and you made a mental note that you would also need to clean his dirty clothes still caked in mud and (hopefully not his) blood. A small towel under the bowl, and you were making your way down the hall.

Jeff hadn’t even bothered to shut the door; his limp body spread across your mattress like a corpse. He covered his head with a pillow, gripping the fabric and muffling the sputtering snores laced with evident sickness. You had only left him alone to make the soup for a couple of minutes, but that seemed to be enough to knock him out.

Jeff never slept, only when his body really needed it. But right now, his body also really, really needed something in its stomach besides mucus. You set the bowl on your nightstand before slowly kneeling on the bed. What do they say about waking a beast? You couldn’t remember.

You cringed, teeth gritted as you gently placed your flat hand onto his back. His skin was burning, heat practically radiating from him as you easily rubbed up and down his spine. He didn’t even budge, the only sign of life being the gentle rising and falling of his back as he snored into the fabric of his pillows. You ran your hand higher, fingers rubbing across his shoulders and dipping to the arch of his shoulder blades until you felt his arms slowly shift.

His breathing faltered, consciousness rolling back into him as you shifted, letting one leg dangle off the bed as you sat beside him.

“Mhhmn…” He groaned, stiffly turning his face towards you and glaring through bloodshot eyes. You nearly choked out a laugh, scanning his flushed face and horrible eye bags, appearing even more dead than he normally did. It took the killer a minute to register what was happening, his messy bangs sticking to his forehead and matting wildly; it was evident he could’ve slept for the rest of the day and then some.

But it was only 3 pm, and the sun shining through his curtains was made even worse by the reflection of the snow. He needed to eat; there was no telling how much he had worn himself down this past week. Jeff was never very good at self-preservation, especially when you had become a net to fall back on.

“Hey man… You wanna try and eat somethin’?” You tried to keep your voice low, the killer rolling onto his back and rubbing his hands over his face. He grunted, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers and slowly blinking at the ceiling.

He nodded.

Reaching for the still-steaming bowl, you cupped the contents in your hands, shifting further onto the bed. Jeff shifted upwards, slowly but surely. It was odd. You had witnessed this man jump fencelines and tackle men double his size, but give him a fever and a headache that can’t be numbed out with alcohol, and suddenly he’s defenseless. You could’ve laughed, taunted him like he often did when you weren’t feeling hot, say something to get his gears going…

But he just looked so… pitiful.

One hand cupped under the bowl, you reached the other out, delivering soft touches with the back of your hand on his forehead. Jeff watched through tired eyes, blinking slowly when your fingers brushed his sweat-damp bangs out of his face, leaning closer to your every touch.

Always loud-mouthed and quick to anger, but right now, he was just calm. His body refused to move as quickly as he wanted it to, and his head was far too foggy with nausea to even consider pushing your helpful hand away. So, he just accepted it. Reluctantly, in his mind, but accepted it nonetheless.

“You don’t look so hot. What happened out there?” You paced the words slowly, taking the spoon in your hand and collecting a bit of the soup before bringing it to his pale lips. Jeff closed his eyes when he took the spoonful in his mouth, drinking the warm broth before letting you bring it back to the bowl for another.

“Forgot to bring extra clothes… Hada’ reuse the same wet shit every day…” His voice was so hoarse, too. He cleared his throat, letting you spoon him another drink of the soup before leaning his head back on the headboard. He sounded like he had been sucking down nothing but cold air, throat raw and scratchy with the sinus infection he was harboring.

A warm shower? Or maybe bringing him to sit in front of the fireplace you had crackling in the living room? You weren’t sure what he needed, but you knew he needed to sweat out this fever before it became a real problem. He reached for the bowl, cupping the towel underneath to set it in his lap before continuing to fish spoonfuls. The warmth of the soup probably did wonders for his sore throat.

You went to stand, pressing off of the bed before a rough hand wrapped around your wrist. Glancing down, Jeff was tugging you back towards him, knotted brows giving a silent question as to why you were leaving him. You smiled, kneeling back on the mattress to place a quick kiss on his way-too-warm forehead. “I’m starting you a bath, alright? Finish your soup.”

Another quick kiss and he was letting your wrist go, satisfied with your answer. The silence was awkward, but vulnerable and quiet. Jeff had no choice but to let you care for him; something about that made your heart so full.

Roaming to the bathroom, you pushed the curtain to the tub back and flipped the faucet all the way hot. Water filled slowly as you rummaged through the cabinet behind your sink mirror, reading various drugstore medicines and cough syrups before shaking a handful of sinus and head cold pills into your hand.

You heard the gentle patter of bare feet stepping onto the tile of the bathroom just in time to turn off the running water, the tub steaming with scalding water. Arms wrapped around your middle gently as you shut the cabinet, Jeff’s nose burying into the crook of your neck as he fell limp against your back.

“Sorry…” He mumbled, his face against your skin as he breathed deep, taking in your smell. You smiled, reaching back to brush his hair back before playing yet another kiss on his warm forehead. “Hush. You need to get better, and that mansion is no place to relax. Don’t worry about it.” Despite reassuring him, Jeff still held a defeated look.

Dropping the medicine onto your sink counter, you turned to help him take off his shirt, his hands doing their best to hold onto your arms the entire time. Clingy.

“I got it.” He huffed, tossing his shirt to the ground.

“I know you do.” You smiled up at him. You undid his belt anyway, undressing him the rest of the way with little protest. There was no flirtatious comment, no sly touches, just a weak, sick boy who wasn’t used to being this vulnerable. It was sweet.

Jeff stepped into the bath, and you left him to get a cup of water. He drank the pills down, skin blotching red with the heat of the water, but at least he looked more relaxed. He was so lengthy, he had to bend his knees to fit comfortably, which you laughed at.

You knelt beside the tub, using that same cup to collect water and rinse his hair. You ran your fingers through the messy strands, his quiet groans making you smile as you poured a small dab of shampoo onto the palm of your hand. Tired eyes watched you carefully when you began to scrub his head, lathering the shampoo between the strands and massaging his scalp. He was falling apart underneath you, soapy bubbles drifting into the water while you washed him off.

His hands cupped your own, kissing your wrists. He was being so gentle, it almost gave you whiplash. There was no off comment about you catering to him, or being a jerk just for the hell of it; he was being oddly sweet. Maybe his being sick wasn’t so bad.

Until you zoned back into his coughing fit, strained coughs that looked like they physically hurt. You rinsed his hair, careful not to get the soapy water into the gashes on his face as he settled down.

You wiped the water from his face, his clammy skin wet under your hands as you went to stand. Jeff leaned back, letting his head rest against the wall of the tub while you collected his clothes, letting him know you’d be right back.

You needed to do laundry anyway, so grabbing the rest of the killer’s dirty clothing and tossing them into your load was easy enough. They reeked of dirt and outside, splotches of dried blood staining the sleeves of his hoodie. You didn’t want to know about the mission; you didn’t want to know what in the hell caused these stains, but you were sure he’d tell you sometime anyway.

Starting the machine, you shuffled back to your room, rummaging through your drawers for something that the killer could wear. You ended up on a t-shirt that was baggy on you but would fit him perfectly, a pair of boxers he left the last time he was here and sweatpants that would be good enough until his clothes were dry.

You stepped back into the bathroom, clothes in hand, and Jeff turned to look up at you. He had already cleaned himself off, water slowly draining from the tub as you helped him climb out. “Feel better?”

He nodded, reaching for the towels you had hanging off the edge of the tub and drying himself off. You set the clothes down, hands reaching to dry off his hair as he dressed himself.

You knew it had to feel so much better to be in clean clothes, let alone something that wasn’t jeans and a hoodie riddled with filth. Jeff seemed content enough, but more than anything, he looked tired. Exhausted.

“Alright, time for bed.” The sun was just starting to set outside your window, thick orange light flooding through the curtains as Jeff followed you back into the bedroom. You wouldn’t be going to sleep for some time, but you were sure the killer would be out in minutes.

Pulling back the sheets of your bed, Jeff climbed in, body nearly giving out as soon as his weak body got under the warm covers. “I’ll let you rest, tell me if you need anythin-”

Jeff didn’t give you the chance, barely getting a foot away from the bed before he was dragging you in too. You smiled, his arms wrapping around your waist and throwing the covers over the two of you. “Aw man, you’re gonna get me sick-”

You couldn’t help but smile as Jeff delivered sickly sweet kisses across your cheeks, lying you both down as his arms caged you in, your head falling onto his shoulder. “Then I guess we’ll just have to be sick together then, baby.” You knew a sly smile would break out of him sooner or later.

You both relaxed into each other, wrapping the covers tight as the sun set slowly against the pretty snow. The fireplace still crackled in your living room, the whole house warm compared to the brutal cold Jeff had been forced into days before.

Running your hands through his now-clean hair, Jeff groaned, practically purring when his eyes began to close, tight grip around your back faltering slightly as you realized the sinus meds were finally kicking in, that dazed look behind his expression. As if he wasn’t tired enough, this would have him knocked for the whole next day.

It didn’t matter to you, you’d be there tomorrow to cater to him too, taking care of the killer who rarely ever let himself go like this.

Planting one last kiss on his jaw, you felt his chest slowly rise and fall, gentle snores dragging out underneath you. Leaning back, you grabbed the remote to your TV off the nightstand, turning some show you needed to catch up on with low volume. You realized you needed to relax too, the winter season having you run a mile a minute, so this would be a good excuse to worry about something other than your crazy life.

With one final tug on the back of your shirt, you let your own eyes close, the sun finally set as a pretty blanket of dark sky finally shown through the window.

“G’night [Y/N]…”

Jeff was there by your side when you became sick the week after, a terrible fever that wouldn't break no matter how many baths or rags he placed on your forehead.

He felt bad, sure, but he felt even better that he got to make fun of your terribly red face and nasty cough that he didn’t have to deal with anymore.

Even sick, you somehow managed to win every argument or put the killer back in his place. You made him repay his stupidness with healthy fast-food runs and kisses. He quickly learned to keep his mouth shut.

In sickness and in health, you guess.

Ticci Toby ▸

Technically, Toby couldn’t feel the pain of being sick.

He never got the sting of a sore throat, or the ache behind your ears when you sneezed too much, or even the pounding head and body aches that kept people from getting up. No, he bragged about never being defeated by strep throat or the flu.

But what he did feel was the pressure, and the fatigue, and the awful way your stomach just refused to hold down any solids.

So, when it got so bad he couldn’t shove it aside anymore to complete another mission, he found himself knocking on your door.

And he was not happy about it.

“Toby, you have got to lie down.” You huffed, his limp arms in your hands as you tried and failed to drag him towards your bedroom. He was acting as if he couldn’t walk, feet glued to their respective spots in your kitchen. The brunette always played a little childish, but right now he was just being plain juvenile.

“Nah. I just swung by to gra- grab some food, there’s nothing good at th- the mansion.” Even as you held him, the boy still browsed your cabinets and pantry for snacks. You would have been more than happy to offer, but Toby had already eaten a bowl of your chili leftovers, two bags of chips, and was going for pastries next. It was like being sick turned him into a human vacuum.

“I know, but you’re freezing, hun. Your face is so red it looks like you’re going to explode. You need to get under some covers.” Toby could blame that on lying face-down in the snow for an hour, completely oblivious to the pin-pricking sharpness of the cold on his cheeks, or the frostbite that was forming at the edge of his nose. He never felt a thing, completely lost in the weightless blanket of powder underneath him. He would’ve stayed there another hour or two if Tim hadn’t jerked him up and yelled at him for being an idiot.

But now he was here, sick as a dog and getting harassed by his partner who was just trying to help. Tim was sick at the mansion, too. What luck.

“I’m fine. It’s just a co-cold or something. Quit baby- babying me.” Toby couldn’t tell if it was his tics or the uncontrollable shakiness in his hands, but he dropped a pack of crackers he’d fished out of your pantry. He groaned in frustration, crouching down to grab them, but you snatched the package up first.

“You’re not fine, Toby. You’re pale as a ghost, your voice is raspier than usual, and you can’t even hold onto a pack of crackers. Just let me help you.” You set the crackers on the counter and put your hands on your hips, glaring down at him. He glared right back, his dark eyes narrowed and defiant.

“Don’t ne- need help,” he muttered, though the stubborn edge in his voice faltered as another violent shiver racked his body. He clutched his arms around himself, but you could see how badly his fingers trembled. The eye-roll you delivered him could kill.

“Yes, you do. Come on, Toby. Just this once, let me take care of you.” Your tone softened, and you crouched down so you were at eye level with him. “You’re not going to get better if you keep ignoring yourself like this.”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering away from yours. For all his bravado, Toby wasn’t immune to the weight of your concern. You perceived the world differently than he did, concerned with the trivial things of sickness or relaxation, while the brunette hardly cared if his skin was rotting off (it was). Finally, with a heavy sigh, he muttered, “Fine. But only for a little while.”

“Thank you.” You stood and held out your hand to him. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Toby reluctantly took your hand, and you helped him to his feet. He leaned on you more than he probably realized, his steps unsteady as you guided him to your bedroom. Once there, you pulled back the blankets and helped him sit down on the edge of the bed. In the light of snow through your window, you really got a good look at just how pale he was, lips a subtle shade of purple that would’ve had any normal boy in a hospital.

You helped him shed his ragged jacket, kicking off his boots until he was in the barest clothes he had stumbled into your house with.

“Alright, lie down,” you instructed, gently pushing on his shoulder. He grumbled something under his breath but complied, sinking into the mattress with a groan. You pulled the blankets up over him, tucking them around his shoulders.

“This is stu- stupid,” he muttered, his voice muffled by the pillow. He was facedown, something so childish, like a kid upset his mom was making him go to school.

“It’s not stupid. It’s called taking care of yourself,” you replied, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. “Now, stay put. I’m going to get you some water and medicine.”

He didn’t respond, his eyes were already closed. You smiled softly, relief washing over you as you left the room. Finally, he was letting you help. Now all you had to do was nurse him back to health—and maybe convince him that it was okay to lean on someone else every once in a while.

The next few days were a blur of soup, medicine, and relentless efforts to keep Toby in bed. He protested at every turn, grumbling about how he didn’t need to be babied, but his body betrayed him. The fever left him weak and sluggish, his usual energy reduced to mere fragments of what it once was. After having to literally calm him down with a healthy dose of cough medicine, he finally stopped berating you.

“This is the worst,” Toby groaned, his voice hoarse as he sank deeper into the pile of blankets you’d tucked around him. His hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction, and his cheeks were flushed from the lingering fever. What started as cold chills and sickly paleness had sprung into a hot mess of trying to break the fever the brunette wasn’t aware he had. Once his body actually laid down, got some medicine, and got under some warmth, it finally started trying to heal itself. The only good thing about this was his body was so busy trying not to combust that his tics were on the back burner. His muscles were so weak, they really didn’t hold the energy.

“You’re getting better,” you reassured him, sitting on the edge of the bed with a bowl of soup in your hands. “Here, eat this. You need to keep your strength up.”

He eyed the bowl with disdain but reluctantly took it from you. “You’re en- enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Enjoying what?” you asked, feigning innocence.

“Bossing me around.” He smirked weakly, but it lacked his usual snarky bite.

“Maybe a little,” you admitted with a grin. “But only because it’s for your own good.”

Toby rolled his eyes but started eating the soup anyway. You watched him carefully, noting the way his hands shook less than they had the day before. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

By the third day, the fever broke. Toby woke up looking more like himself, his energy slowly returning. He still tried to downplay how sick he’d been, but you caught the gratitude in his eyes when he thought you weren’t looking.

“Thanks,” he mumbled one evening, leaning against the doorway as you cleaned up the kitchen. He was wearing one of your hoodies, the sleeves too short for his arms, but all of his dirt-covered clothes were in the middle of a wash.

“For what?” you asked, turning to face him.

“For... y’know. Put- Putting up with me. Helping m- me.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze fixed on the floor. Even with sickness deteriorating, that pink still lingered in his pale cheeks. “I’m not good at this kind of stuff.”

“You don’t have to be,” you said softly, walking over to him. “That’s what I’m here for. Next time, don’t wait until you’re half-dead to ask for help, okay? One day you’re going to kill yourself just because you’re stubborn.”

He huffed a laugh, the sound light and genuine. “Impossible.”

“Toby.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll t- try.”

“Good.” You smiled, reaching out to cup his cheek, running your fingers across the scars that littered the skin. He cupped your hand, tired eyes roaming your features as he leaned in, pressing a firm kiss on your forehead. It was only when you reached up to ruffle his hair that he swatted your hand away, but your smile didn’t falter.

As the days went on, Toby fully recovered, though he still feined needing to stick around your house just to be sure. Your pantry was nearly run through, and every snack you had planned to eat mysteriously disappeared despite your boyfriend’s testimonials. But you didn’t mind. Seeing him back to his usual self was all the thanks you needed. He would be buying you more, though.

But knowing Toby, you weren’t holding your breath.

Tim Wright▸

The snow was relentless, blanketing the world outside in a thick, quiet stillness.

Tim was a shadow against the swirling white, his broad shoulders hunched as he trudged up the path to your door. His steps were uneven, his breath visible in harsh puffs against the icy air, and it was clear he wasn’t in good shape. You barely managed to open the door before he stumbled inside, shaking the snow off his coat and muttering a half-hearted apology.

“Tim?” you gasped, reaching out to steady him. He was freezing to the touch, his skin pale and his lips tinged with blue. “You’re ice-cold. What are you doing out in this weather? You should’ve called me.”

“Didn’t want to bother you,” he grumbled, his voice rough and strained. He tried to wave you off, but his hands trembled as he shuffled his heavy jacket off. “I’m fine. Just need to get out of all that.” The Operator had shoved him and Brian too far, Masky and Hoodie nearly ready to saw off some heads if they had to spend one more night in the frigid snow. He knew he shouldn’t bother you, shouldn’t cross that line of his affairs and your relationship, but he knew he wouldn’t make it back to the mansion tonight.

“You are not fine,” you said firmly, taking his arm and guiding him toward the couch. “At least come inside and warm up.” You were still in your pajamas, on your way to bed when you heard the haphazard knocks on your door.

Tim hesitated, his dark eyes flickering with something unreadable, but the weight of his exhaustion won out. He let you lead him, collapsing onto the cushions with a groan. The sight of him like this—so worn down and vulnerable—made your heart ache. Tim was always the strong one, the steady rock everyone leaned on, but now he looked utterly defeated.

You grabbed a blanket from the nearby chair and draped it over him, fussing despite his weak protests. “Stay put. I’ll get you something hot to drink.”

“I’m fine,” he repeated, but his voice was softer this time, less convincing. He leaned back against the couch, his head tipping against the cushion as he closed his eyes. You hurried to the kitchen, boiling water for tea and pulling together a simple plate of muffins that took less than a minute to heat up in the microwave. You would make him a proper meal later, right now he just needed to get warm. When you returned, he hadn’t moved, his breathing shallow but steady. You set the tea down on the table in front of him and nudged his shoulder gently.

“Drink this,” you said. “It’ll help.”

Tim opened his eyes, glancing at the cup before taking it with a quiet disgust. He sipped the tea slowly, his large hands dwarfing the mug, and you sat beside him, watching him closely. He much preferred the bitter taste of coffee, but something warm in his stomach was better than nothing. After a few moments of silence, he sighed, his shoulders slumping further under the weight of the blanket.

“I’m sorry, love,” he muttered, his gaze fixed on the steam rising from the tea. “I won’t stay long. You need to get back to bed.”

“I’m alright,” you said softly, “I’ll kill you before that storm does if you make it out that door again.”

He didn’t respond right away, his jaw tightening as he struggled to find the words. Finally, he set the mug down and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I’m alright. I’ll rest for a while, then get out of your hair. I need to get back before they send someone after me.”

“That’s okay,” you said, placing a hand on his back. “You’ve got at least the rest of the night before someone comes looking. Nobody is trudging through this storm just to get you, hun. You need to relax. You deserve to be cared for, too.”

Tim let out a shaky breath, his hand scrubbing over his face. He knew there was no fighting it anyway, you held some power over him even he couldn’t figure out. Your sweet words and touches were enough to stop him from war, he thought. “I- Okay, just until morning.”

“Good,” you said, your voice gentle. “Now rest, you need it.”

Tim closed his eyes, the tension in his body slowly easing as he let himself relax. It hurt your heart to see him so defeated, but if it took sickness to finally get him to relax, then so be it. You sat beside him, keeping watch as the snow continued to fall outside, a quiet reminder that even as big and strong as Tim was, he was still just as vulnerable to the cold as anyone else.

As the hours passed, Tim drifted off into a hazy state of staring at the fireplace, his breathing rough and uneven. The man didn’t sleep—he never did—but right now you really wish he would. You stayed by his side though, curled up next to him and monitoring his every cold chill.

You couldn’t help but feel a deep ache for him, seeing him like this—so worn down and fragile, yet still trying to be the strong, unbreakable as he always was. He let out a quiet groan as he shifted on the couch, his breath shallow, and for a moment, he barely seemed aware of his own discomfort. You were glad you had lit your fireplace hours before he arrived, the bright glow and gentle cracking of the logs under the flames, the heat radiating well enough to warm the whole house.

You gently touched his arm, trying to stir him from his restless half-awake daze. “Tim, you need medicine,” you said softly, your voice gentle yet firm. "You're burning up, and I need to make sure you don’t have a fever.”

Tim’s dark eyes blinked with confusion, and for a moment, he looked disoriented (meaning he was so far in the pits of his mind that there was no telling how disassociated he had become just from sitting here). The firelight danced on his tired face, casting soft shadows over the sharp lines of his features. “I’m fine,” he muttered hoarsely, but the words were weak, lacking the usual conviction. He barely had the strength to lift his head as he tried to wave you off. “I don’t need any medicine. Just a little rest.”

You frowned, your hand resting lightly on his forehead, the heat radiating from his skin like a warning. He was dangerously close to a fever, and no matter how much he fought it, he needed help. He just couldn’t see it. “I’m not asking,” you said softly, brushing back the damp strands of his hair. “A little rest won’t hold out.”

You wondered how Masky was taking the whole ordeal. You decided if his host was sick and weak, the alter probably wouldn’t want to front in such an unprefferable state.

Tim didn’t argue this time, his eyes flickering with mental strain. He let out a small sigh as you stood and walked into your bathroom, the quiet sound of your movements a comfort to him in the midst of his foggy, feverish haze. You pulled out the small bottle of medicine from the cabinet, one you always kept stocked for moments like these—when he pushed himself too far, too hard, until his body couldn’t keep up with the strain. This wasn’t the first time he had stumbled into your home due to his ailments, and you were very sure it wouldn’t be the last.

You returned to the couch with the bottle and a glass of water, gently helping Tim sit up, his body unsteady as you supported him. His gaze met yours, conflicted, but he didn’t argue. You could see how much he wanted to be strong, to be the one taking care of everything, but right now, he needed someone to take care of him. And you were more than willing to be that person.

“Drink this,” you urged softly, holding the glass to his lips. “It’ll help bring your fever down. You’re not going anywhere until it does.”

He hesitated, eyes narrowing in that familiar stubborn way, but the trembling in his hands gave him away. With a heavy sigh, he took the glass from you and swallowed the medicine in a few quick gulps. He winced, but when he set the glass down, his gaze softened, a brief flicker of gratitude in his tired eyes.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. You smiled, brushing a gentle hand over his shoulder, offering the smallest of comforts as he settled back against the couch.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you replied quietly. “Just rest. I’ll take care of everything else.”

Tim’s lips parted as if he wanted to say more, but his exhaustion overtook him, his body sinking back into the softness of the cushions, his glazing over once more against the firelight. You didn’t need him to say anything. You could feel the weight of his gratitude, the trust he placed in you without saying a word.

You moved to the kitchen again. His body was still weak, but it needed fuel to help fight off the cold and the fever. You knew he wouldn’t ask for a meal, never would. But you also knew he needed it. You’d learned long ago that showing care was sometimes the quietest, most effective way to love him—through the meals you made, the medicine you administered, the silent acts of kindness that spoke louder than words ever could.

But, a bowl of soup would have to do for right now.

The smell of broth began to fill the house, a gentle, soothing scent that would help settle Tim’s stomach once he slowly phased back to reality. You checked on him every few minutes, ensuring he stayed warm, covering him with an extra blanket when you noticed him shiver. His breath was a little steadier now, the worst of the fever easing off, and the signs of his discomfort had lessened just enough for him to be able to relax.

You made sure to brew a pot of fresh coffee, too. That breakfast brew he seemed to enjoy so much, the smell wafting through the house and silently altering the man.

Finally, when the soup was ready, you returned to him, holding the bowl and mug in your hands and a small spoon at the ready. He looked up at you, his eyes soft, tired but grateful. You helped him sit up once more, this time offering him the warm, comforting food he needed to heal.

“You’ve got to eat something,” you said gently, pressing the spoon into his hand. “You need your strength.”

Tim took the spoon and scooped a small portion of the soup, eating slowly, savoring the warmth it brought to his cold body. Each spoonful was another step toward recovery, and with each one, he seemed to relax just a little bit more, the tension in his shoulders easing as he let you care for him. He took gentle sips of the coffee, the taste seeming to steady him better than the tea had earlier, the tension lines in his face finally evening out.

When the bowl was empty, you set it aside and brushed your fingers through his hair again, a tender gesture. “Better?”

He gave a small nod, his eyes now fully closed, his body finally beginning to give in to the warmth and the comfort you’d provided. He didn’t speak, but his hand found yours, gripping it loosely, a silent thanks for everything you had done.

“Need anything else?” You brushed his cheek, the stinging warmth still hot on his skin, but evidently cooler than it had been. He scanned your face for a moment, dark eyes roaming over features he had studied a thousand times, but finally had an answer.

“I’ve got a cig pack in my jacket…” The way his eyebrows twinged upwards gave you all the hint you needed, a small chuckle rising from his chest. You slid over to the door where he had discarded his jacket, rummaging through compartment pockets that held tool knives or bullet casings, but finally landing on the half-empty carton of cigarettes, his lighter tucked neatly inside. You picked out one, lighter in hand as you sat back on the couch.

Tim went to reach for the thing before you shook your head, holding the orange end to his lips with a small smile. He took the cig, your hand following and cupping over the end as you flicked his lighter to a spark, lighting the end. It smoldered, smoke slowly rising from the stick and into the air of your house. You would worry about the smell later.

A deep breath in and you could phsyically see the tension in his shoulders loosen.

This went on for the rest of the night, the slow rotation between cigarettes and refilled cups of coffee as you stayed by his side, arms latched around his own as your head rested on his shoulder.

He slowly shed the blankets, too, the sunlight break finally hitting over the horizon and filtering into your living room. By the time his fever was gone (broken in one night out of pure stubbornness), you were quietly snoring beside him, body curled up under his arm.

He took the time to carry you to your bedroom, slotting you under the covers with numerous gentle kisses across your cheeks. He cleaned the living room and kitchen, washing the bowl and mugs he had dirtied and sorting them away, making sure to tidy everything as the early hours of the morning rolled around.

He was there to make you food when you finally woke up, returning every favor you had offered the night before. You found yourself at his side on the couch again, watching the snow in the daylight.

You stayed by his side, your presence a quiet promise that you would always be there to take care of him, just as he had always done for you.

In the warmth of your home, surrounded by the gentle sounds of his steady breathing and the comforting scent of the meal he had made, everything felt like it was exactly where it needed to be. You didn’t need words to say it—your love for each other was already in everything you did.

Thanks for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

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desireangel · 3 months ago

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A Good Girl's Reputation | Aemond Targaryen

Modern!Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: It was the last place you wanted to be but nonetheless, you found yourself pulled along to a party you hosted by none other than the Targaryen's, only for spilled wine to force you into Aemond's shirt. A sight that had him dragging you to his bed, eager to corrupt the well-behaved girl who had set him ablaze with desire.

Word Count: 6.7k.

Warnings: MDNI 18+ only!! Oral (f receiving), unprotected P in V sex, dirty talk!!, a major cliche on the good girl trope, reader is shy!, slight degradation, mean friends at a party maybe?, Aegon being sneaky, bad language. Unedited. Please let me know if I missed anything!

Author's Note: Okay, I wasn't going to post this one because it was purely self-indulgent and I kinda wasn't happy with my pen game in this but I was feeling bad about the delay in Dark Cherry part 5 so wanted to share something!! I also love the idea of Aemond being totally feral about seeing reader in his clothes. Share your thoughts my loves, I'm more than happy to discuss things, thoughts and feedback with you all - xoxo, kisses!! <3

There was a nonsensical grandeur about everything that Jilly dragged you into. This time was no different and you silently waited for the sound of the elevator ding while listening to your best friend chatter about the ‘world’s best fucking boyfriend–wait, do you think this makes him my boyfriend?’

“I don’t know, Jilly,” you nibbled on your lip, craning your neck to look around the corner of the entrance hallway. For what reason, you weren’t sure but there was a crawling nervousness on your skin and the urge to make sure there were no unexpected surprises was consuming. “It’s Aegon. Only he can answer that question for you.”

The elevator was taking an infuriatingly long time. You wondered if this was the building’s way of telling you to turn around and return to the dorm room that had become your safe haven over the last two years. Jilly had somehow gotten herself involved with none other than Aegon Targaryen, a man notorious for his partying and hedonism.

It was entertaining at first, and you were more than happy to remain a spectator of the ridiculous pairing. Jilly was entirely different to Aegon and tended to carry herself with a lot more modesty than Aegon was known for. She was calculating and calm where he was impulsive and excitable.

You thought back to the first time they had met. In a tutorial for a statistics class you needed to take to meet course requirements, the three of you paired together to facilitate a useless discussion on probabilities. The bickering between the two of them was amusing and the first greeting that Aegon had graced the two of you with was a grumbled ‘what kind of name is Jilly?’

And weeks later, Aegon had decided to hold another one of his campus-famous house parties. He had obviously invited Jilly–and by extension he had invited you because there was no chance Jilly would go to a party without you. In fact, before she had met Aegon, there was no chance Jilly would go to any party regardless.

A loud, excited hmph! fell from Jilly’s lips when the elevator doors finally opened. You had hoped it had broken down on its way to pick you up and that there was a rather convenient lack of staircase to climb instead.

“I don’t think–”

“Don’t say it,” Jilly held a hand in front of your face. She clicked on P with her other hand. For the penthouse, you guessed. “I know you don’t want to be here. But we are going to have a good night.”

You sighed, tugging the short, black skirt that Jilly had wrestled you into further down your thighs. It looked good paired with the white satin button down you had insisted on wearing for comfort but it was shorter than you were accustomed to. The thought of maintaining it enough so it didn’t ride up past your bum was tiresome but there was no arguing which you could do to wiggle your way into some pants instead.

Jilly snickered. “Quit fiddling with your skirt, you’ll poke a hole in your tights–Oh!”

The two of you shared a gasp when the doors opened. No wonder people had so much to say about the Targaryen siblings and their parties when their apartment looked like it was straight out of a Forbes magazine. For a moment, it seemed impossible that the apartment housed two students. It was incomparable to the wardrobe sized dorm you had been living in over the semester.

Distant chatter pulled you out of your thoughts and you followed Jilly further into the apartment, reminding yourself not to let your jaw drop as your eyes adjusted to the dimmed lighting. The party was an hour or so away from starting - Aegon had told everyone to head in after seven but had given Jilly an earlier time so that the two of you could join their pre-game.

Not that you would. The prospect of getting as drunk as Aegon planned at your (embarrassingly?) first student party was daunting.

Anxiously, you followed Jilly into the living area where a handful of familiar faces were lounging and drinking. There was a deep bumping of bass, and you could feel the floor vibrating with it, but you couldn’t make out the song that was playing.

“Jill!” Floris, Aegon’s friend who you had only ever seen on campus, pulled Jilly towards the nearest couch. Hesitantly, you followed, flashing Aegon and Cregan a purse-lipped smile as they made their way to greet you. “We were worried you wouldn’t show up. Is this your friend?”

With a smile, you introduced yourself. Floris only grinned at you before returning her attention to Jilly, who had started up an animated conversation with Helaena. Aegon whistled at Jilly, tipping the neck of his beer in her direction as if to say hello, and threw his other arm around your shoulder.

He laughed when you cringed, pulling back from him slightly. Aegon smelled like a mixture of beer, red wine and sandalwood cologne. “We placed bets on whether you’d show up. Glad you did. There’s multiple motherfuckers in here who owe me a silver stag each. Not that I need it.”

You spluttered a bit. “What-”

“Relax,” Cregan teased you from the other side of Aegon. He was clearly drunk. “You’re clearly not much of a party girl but that changes two-” he held up two fingers and then aggressively pointed them down at the floor with a jerk. “-night.”

Aegon laughed, handing you a glass of wine which suddenly appeared in his hand. You shook your head and he shrugged, downing it himself. He turned away from you, waving someone down. “Aemond!”

Oh gods, no.

You tried to keep your smile on your face. Aemond fucking Targaryen was leaning against a counter, a beer loosely hanging between his fingers. He was in the middle of a conversation with Criston Cole, a friend of their family who you had heard of only through mindless campus gossip. Aemond glanced toward Aegon in response, an eyebrow raised lazily.

If there were ever a man you had crushed on, it really had to be him. It was a little bit maddening because you were exactly like your peers in thinking Aemond may be the most attractive man you’d ever see in your lifetime. He was tall, had an air of darkness and mystery to him and his silver hair framed his defined cheekbones and sharp jawline perfectly. But it was the severity in everything about him that had caught your eye–right from the first lecture you had seen him in.

Aemond, as you understood, had no idea who you were. And while you knew exactly who he was, it wasn’t odd. Everyone knew of him and his family. He had practically been birthed into the public eye.

“This pretty thing here,” Aegon, much to your protest, had pulled you across the room to introduce you. “Jilly’s best friend. Much like you, dear brother, she hates parties and is not here by her own will. You’d get along.”

Aemond looked at you and you suddenly had no idea what to do with yourself. You met his eye, fiddling with the hem of your skirt and waiting for whatever this moment was to end quickly. Your skin was tingling under his gaze which dropped from your head to your feet and then back to your face.

When he didn’t say anything, you offered him a tight lipped smile and a timid wave. “Hi?”

He was going to respond. You could see it in the way he had moved but Aegon was quick to cut him off, ever the loud mouthed brat. As subtle as Aegon believed himself to be, he was an incredibly obnoxious drunk.

“Surely,” Aegon drawled, wrapping his arms around Jilly’s waist when she appeared by your side and pulling her into him tightly. Mockingly, he targeted his question at Jilly but switched his gaze between her and Aemond. “Your little-good-girl friend could use a bit of corrupting, Jills. Seems like Aemond would be entirely capable, from what Floris has–”

“That’s enough, Aegon,” Aemond’s voice was smooth and darker than you’d expected. He gave you a small, reassuring yet tight smile. “Don’t be an ass. Let her be.”

You were a little breathless. Sure, you didn’t quite let go of yourself as much as everyone else did but you were no prude. Right?

There was no offence intended in Aegon’s teasing but you couldn’t help but feel the sting. He was right–you were relatively good. All of your time and effort went into studying and working. Where you weren’t doing either of those, you preferred the solitude of a good book at a quiet cafe. There were very few bad habits in your life, the worst of which would only be the likes of a dependence on tea or coffee. Parties were a rarity but on the odd occasion you would tag along wherever Jilly would go. And, regardless of that, here you were.

It was embarrassing. You had hoped that if you were to ever introduce yourself to Aemond, things would go slightly better than this and your uptight prudish reputation (which you didn’t realise you had until today) would remain undiscussed. He was different and he didn’t tend to spend his time with people of your tendencies. Aemond was the object of everyone’s desires; if they didn’t want to have him then they certainly wanted to be him.

You were clearly different from his normal type. If only for the fact that he also had a reputation and that reputation consisted of a string of heartbroken girls who he had never pursued or never shared more than his bed with. Those girls were a lot more like his friends; confident, daring and well accomplished. Aemond was not Aegon; there was a lot more respect in the way people spoke of him and his academic and professional talents were impressive to most people.

Thankfully, Jilly had pulled you away from that dreadful conversation with a harsh glare pointed at Aegon. The kitchen, which was the closest place for you to hide, was filled with snacks and drinks almost falling off of the countertops. You recognised Helaena, and waved at her.

Helaena had been a friend whenever you had bumped into each other. She was sweet and kind and you actually enjoyed her company. “It’s nice to see you, Helaena. Didn’t think we’d ever run into each other at a house party but hey, it’s been an hour full of surprises.”

She laughed with you. There was an easy flow of conversation between the two of you and when Floris and Jilly had taken to what they called ‘Kitchen Karaoke’, you had even danced together. Jilly, as drunk as she was, pushed the bottle of wine in her hand to you, waiting for you to drink. With some encouragement from Helaena and Floris, you smiled and took a few sips.

The peace you had found in the kitchen was short lived and when Jilly, joined by Aegon and caught up in her exaggerated Lady Gaga performance, flung her arm out, the bottle of wine in her hand spilling right onto your chest and soaking through the white fabric of your shirt.

“Shit,” she winced. It was cold and you had a small sense of panic that raised goosebumps on your skin at the thought of wearing a wet, stained shirt all night but at the drunken apologetic look on her face all you could do was force a smile. Jilly giggled nervously. “At least it makes your tits look good.”

“Right,” you mumbled, fingers pulling the wet fabric off of your skin. It was uncomfortably sticking to your skin and the smell of the red wine was beginning to catch. “No problem.”

Aegon tapped your shoulder gently and gave you an animated salute. “Don’t worry, I’ll find you something from the fresh laundry.”

You followed him into the laundry, which was only just around the corner, waiting as he grinned and shuffled through the clothes that were sitting in the dryer. When Aegon turned to you, he had a stupid toothy smile and passed you a grey shirt. “Wear that. It’ll be big but it’ll still look good with the rest of your outfit if you tuck it in or something.”

The t-shirt Aegon handed you was a little long but you weren’t going to complain when you were much happier to be in dry clothing. It was a Slipknot shirt, the graphic on the front slightly worn down with time and washes. You figured it could have been worse–at least Slipknot were good. Aegon had long gone, giving you privacy to change and when you stepped out of the laundry room, you were surprised to see that people had started piling into the apartment.

Some hip-hop song you could barely recognise played loudly and you were a little thrown off by the crowds of unfamiliar faces. But everyone was having a good time, smiling and dancing among themselves.

Cigarettes, cologne and coffee filled your senses and you let out a small yelp as you met with a hardened surface, stumbling a little to catch yourself. Aemond’s hands reached out to grab hold of your arms, holding you steady against him so that you wouldn’t fall to the ground.

“Easy, missy,” he stepped back slightly, as if he were trying to get a good look at you. As Aemond dragged his gaze over you from head to toe, he smirked and hummed deeply.

The heat that rushed to your cheeks was quick and you wondered if Aemond had always smelled so delicious. Your mind was clouded by him and the way he didn’t remove his hands from you, his fingers still gently squeezing your flesh and keeping you far closer to him than you needed to be.

Whatever it was, if he continued to look at you with so much intensity and hold you as if he didn’t want to let go of you, there was a high chance you’d do something that would only leave you disappointed and embarrassed.

“Sorry,” you squeaked, pulling away from him in one movement and rushing into the kitchen. Jilly grinned at you, eyebrows wagging exaggeratedly in her drunken state.

The rest of the girls had found their way to the kitchen, which had actually quietened down even more in the short moments you were away. You found yourself once again at Helaena’s side, watching as Jilly danced with her bottle of wine in hand, and failing to listen to the conversation that was somehow still in flow.

If you were being honest, the party was a certain type of boring. There was a lot going on yet nothing at the same time and you chalked it up to the fact that you weren’t that friendly with anyone here. Helaena was only part of the crowd because she lived here and Jilly was becoming a part of Aegon’s group of mates, all of whom you knew of but had no real friendship with.

Floris, who had been staring at you on and off since you had returned, took a sip of her drink and flashed you an odd look. “Is that Aemond’s shirt?”

Helaena giggled beside you, watching you keenly as you frowned. When you answered, Floris looked at you with narrowed eyes. You cleared your throat, nervously nibbling on your bottom lip. “I assumed it was Aegon’s since he gave it to me.”

“What was wrong with what you came in?”

“Floris, you saw that blouse get ruined,” Jilly rolled her eyes, stepping closer to you when she noticed the gentle alarm on your face. “She couldn’t have stayed in a stained top. It won't dry out until tomorrow.”

Floris only huffed, regarding you with a harsh stare and a forced shrug. There was an odd silence that lingered and you considered offering her an apology. But you quickly realised that you didn’t really have anything to apologise for, even though it is probably Aemond’s t-shirt and it was no secret that Floris was all about Aemond.

The night was passing slowly and you continued to make small talk with the same few people you knew. But the weight of Floris’ glare never disappeared. And Aemond, with his gentle smirk and quiet confidence, had been lingering the entire night. You were half-certain that it was Floris who was the purpose of his prolonged presence in the kitchen, which had become somewhat of a break room for everyone at this point.

There was a pointed silence from him aside from the few words he had muttered in conversation with Helaena or Daeron yet his gaze was communicating more than his words could. Aemond kept looking towards you, his wanting eye holding yours assertively whenever you’d catch him watching you. You couldn’t help the heat that crept up your neck at the way he looked you up and down at every chance he got.

It was suffocating when paired with the daggers you could feel from Floris’ stares and Aegon’s vexing grin.

“I’m going outside for a bit,” you told Helaena, placing your glass down on the counter and flashing a pursed-lip smile at whoever caught your eye on your way towards the terrace.

The journey to the terrace wasn’t easy and you could feel your throat closing in as you tried to squeeze through crowds of people. It was sweaty and loud, shoulders knocking and elbows bumping as you finally pushed your way through to a secluded part of the terrace, sighing at the fresh air and solitude.

Once again, your peace didn’t last long before you caught a flash of silver in your peripheral.

Aemond stood beside you, so close that your shoulder brushed the leather of his jacket. “You alright?”

His proximity had turned your brain silent and you simply nodded, forcing your eyelids not to flutter shut at his delicious smell. There was a comfortable silence that followed. He rested his elbows on the railing as you were, relaxing against it and watching the street below.

A tickle on your cheek from a loose strand of Aemond’s hair following the breeze woke you up from the haze you were entering. “Not enjoying the party?”

“I don’t like parties,” he chuckled, reaching into his pocket.

You snickered, eyes trailing across his hands as he fiddled with a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. Taking a moment to admire the way his rings complemented his nimble yet clearly strong fingers, you couldn’t believe how attractive a man’s hands could be. “You’re not like your brother, then. That’s good–couldn’t handle having two Aegon’s about.”

Aemond shook his head, smiling as he held the box out to you. “Thankfully my brother and I are not alike. Cig?”

“Not for me.”

He hummed, popping a cigarette between his lips and holding the lighter to it. “Good. Do you mind?”

You didn’t have much else to say other than a shrug, letting him know it was alright for him to smoke. It would hardly be anything to complain about with the way Aemond seemed to look ten times sexier with a cigarette between his fingers and hanging from his lips.

“I guess your reputation isn’t a lie,” Aemond let his eye fall to you, holding a world of darkness and sin as he smirked at you. A cheeky grin played on his lips as he turned to his side, resting on his arm and leaning back a bit to look at you better.

You swallowed thickly. A wave of heat to your core had you turning away from him, the intensity of how he looked at you like you were tempting all of his urges. “I just try to stay clear of bad habits. It doesn’t really matter.”

“So you are a good girl,” Aemond leaned closer, his fingers gently tipping your head upwards at your chin. He was closer than he was before you had blinked and all of your senses were overwhelmed by him. “I like that. I wonder if Aegon was right about us.”

Because of the way he was holding your chin, firmly and gently at the same time, you had no choice but to meet his gaze. Goosebumps arose on your skin and you shivered despite the burn of his fingers on your skin.

“Let me take you somewhere more comfortable,” Aemond drawled. The air grew charged when he grazed his lips against yours, so softly it was almost nonexistent. “They all thought I would be the one to corrupt you but I can show you all the ways you’ve corrupted my mind instead.”

The small gasp that fell from your lips made his jaw tick and he let go of your chin, dragging the knuckles of his fingers across your cheek affectionately.

You nodded and cleared your throat quietly, surprised at your own eagerness. “But I don’t understand.”

“I think you do,” Aemond gently lowered his hand to hold your hip, letting one last puff of smoke out before putting his cigarette out. He guided you inside, keeping you right in front of him and his free arm loosely extended in front of your body to stop people from pushing into you. His lips lingered at your ear all the while. “You were already a pretty little thing, missy. But I never could have guessed that you’d be so fucking delicious in my clothes.”

You were grateful that you weren’t facing him. He couldn’t see the flush that had crossed your expression and had you shying away gently but only to sink further against his chest as he led you through a quieter hallway. When Aemond pushed open the door to his bedroom, he finally noticed your dishevelled state and let out an affectionate huff.

Only letting go of you for a moment so that he could close the door behind him, Aemond had turned you to face him and pulled you back to your place against his body. His bedroom was pointedly his; neat and collected, the walls decorated with a few posters of the bands he likes and bookshelves that were almost filled entirely. It smelled like clean linen and his cologne.

“Wait.” You remembered the girl who had been far more than unhappy to see you in his shirt and stiffened. “I thought you and Floris-”

“Floris and I are nothing,” Aemond was calm when he spoke, still watching you with that fierce desire that you had felt from him when you bumped into him earlier on. You swallowed down your apprehension visibly, avoiding eye contact. “I promise.”

Odd, considering you were well aware he didn’t need to promise you anything.

Aemond watched your chest heave with your heavy breaths, covered entirely by his favourite t-shirt which draped perfectly from your breasts. A hand returned to your hip, squeezing lightly while the other rested at the crevice of your neck and shoulder, his fingers tickling your warm skin.

He pursed his lips, hyper aware of how tense you were in his hands. “Tell me to stop and I will. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. We can just chat and get to know each other.”

“No,” you shook your head.“I don’t want you to stop.”

It was impossible to resist the way that Aemond was pulling you against him, as if you weren’t close enough despite how you were pressed flush against him and the fabric of your clothing was all that could fit between the two of you. Gods, he smelled so good.

Confident with your reassurance, Aemond dipped his head so close to yours that you were sharing air, his smirk returned when he felt you shiver against him. “Are you nervous?”

“I don’t usually do this,” you muttered, eyelids fluttering shut when he brushed the tip of his nose against your cheek and pressed a featherlight kiss beside your lips, dragging them to your jaw when you instinctively moved to try catch his lips in the kiss you only now realised you were craving. But you failed and he cheekily worked away from your attempted kiss. His lips felt good on your skin and a soft gasp in his ear had him squeezing your hip harder. It reminded you what you were telling him. “We technically just met.”

He never stopped placing the smallest of kisses along your jaw, moving them towards your neck. “Technically?”

“We have a couple lectures together.”

The thought that it was rather surprising that he had never noticed much of you crossed Aemond’s mind but when you let your hand fall to his chest, fisting the lapel of his jacket and tugging like you needed him more than oxygen, it disappeared into a haze of your perfume and warmth.

Aemond hummed as you noticed he did often. “Does it count if I take you out the day after?”

“I’m sure it does,” you bit your lip to hide your smile, frowning when he pulled away from your neck. “But only if you really want–”

All your thoughts were lost when Aemond swallowed your words, his lips finding yours eagerly. You moaned against him, stiffening for a moment as your skin flushed under his touch but returning his vigour when he laced his fingers through your hair, holding it in a tight fist. It was a perfectly coordinated mess of tongue and teeth, and Aemond never once faltered in his fervour.

Blindly, you let him guide you to the bed, pulling him down without breaking the kiss when the edge of the bed hit the back of your legs.

In the soft glow of candlelight, the both of you were enveloped in a world of your own. The air was thick with anticipation as your bodies drew closer, the heat shared between you palpable. You tilted your head back, inviting his lips to trace a path along your neck, each kiss sending your blood rushing to your core.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

“Everything, Aemond.”

As his hands found their way under his shirt, fingers gliding over your soft skin, you let out a soft gasp, arching into him. His hands roamed freely, seeking out the warmth beneath the soft fabric, craving your skin against his own.

You felt the weight of him above you, powerful and intoxicating. With a careful urgency, Aemond sat back momentarily, pulling you with him so that he could reach to unclasp your bra. When you moved to take the shirt off with a soft smile, he stopped you.

“Keep it on,” Aemond placed a kiss to your clothed shoulder, running his hand across the side of your leg as he let you get rid of your bra underneath the shirt. He pulled your skirt and tights off with steady hands, humming appreciatively at the way your underwear peaked out from where the t-shirt had bunched at your hips. “I want you in my shirt only.”

You watched him, entranced, as he took in the sight of you and muttered under his breath about how perfect you were for him, his eye dark with longing. Aemond moved downwards, nestling himself comfortably between your legs, pressing soft kisses along your inner thighs, his mouth warm and inviting.

When you whined impatiently he smiled, a wicked glint in his eye, and returned to his explorations, kissing his way closer to your core. Aemond never took his eye off you and you could see him watching you from where he teasingly licked at the skin where your thigh met your covered womanhood. The tension in your core tightened and you jerked when he wrapped his lips around your clothed clit and sucked hard.

Strong hands held your hips down as he wrapped his arms around your thighs, fingers pressing into the flesh of your thighs. Again, you whined at him. “You’re not very patient are you? Already so wet for me that I can taste your delicious pussy through the fabric. Tell me what you want.”

You propped yourself on your elbows, your arms quivering under your weight and breath hitching when you noticed his own clothes had been haphazardly taken off. Aemond was ridding you of your mind and he had barely done anything. “More, Aemond. I want more.”

“More what?”

“More of you,” you whined again, mouth watering at the way he gazed at you from where he was nestled. “I want more of you.”

Aemond complied, pulling your panties off as soon as your hips had lifted on his command. He gave you a pointed look, scolding you gently when you gave him a shy whimper, moving to shut your legs so he couldn’t see you spread for him.

“Spread your legs, pretty girl,” he let out a coarse breath when you wordlessly did as he said, baring yourself to him and gracing him with a sight more tempting than all the gold and jewels the world had to offer. Aemond’s hands guided your thighs apart encouragingly. “That’s it–little bit more.”

His gentle commands were both exhilarating and daunting. The weight of his gaze was both thrilling and intimidating, sending heat rushing to your cheeks and your cunt and the chuckle coming from the man between your legs was enough to tell you that he had seen you clench around nothing.

Trailing his kisses from your knees and down your thighs once again, Aemond groaned, fisting the bottom of the shirt that rested against your raised thigh and licking a long stripe between your folds. It had you sucking in a breath, the sensation of his wet tongue suddenly exploring your cunt taking over every part of your mind and body, your fingers grasping at the sheets when he lapped at your clit and moaned into your wetness.

“Gods, Aemond-” you made the prettiest noises but Aemond’s cock jumped at the way you said his name, giving him a newfound fervour as he ferociously sucked at your clit, flicking it with his tongue.

Nothing you had experienced with anyone had you trembling from sensitivity and pleasure so easily. His tongue and lips moved against you expertly and he let his arms wrap around your thighs as they rested against his shoulders, using his thumbs to spread you even more for him.

Spit mixed with your wetness, creating a slick that dripped from your cunt and tainted his chin and his cheeks but Aemond seemed only to revel in it. His cock grew painfully hard at the beautiful sounds you made and the sweet, slightly tart and metallic taste of you on his tongue.

At a particularly harsh suck on your clit, you jerked, legs clamping shut around Aemond’s head as you felt your orgasm building faster than you had expected. “Aemond. Oh fuck, it’s good-”

“Are you going to come for me, missy?” Aemond asked and the vibrations of his voice while he continued to feast on you had you moaning out an incoherent answer. He was watching you as you nodded, head thrown back so all that he could see over your body and his t-shirt was your chin and glimpses of your blissful expression.

Shuddering and struggling to even your breathing, a heated pleasure took you with surprising intensity. Aemond continued to suck on you, delving into you with his tongue and teasing you with his fingers as he helped you through your orgasm, groaning at the way your body tensed and your pussy clenched.

Placing a final kiss on your clit with a cheeky grin, making his way up your body, enjoying the way you continued to tremble and whimper under his touch. He took a nipple into his mouth through the shirt, teasingly only giving it a moment of attention before his lips were back on yours.

Sharing the taste of you, Aemond kissed you hungrily despite having done the same within your folds only seconds ago. It was unbelievably hot in the room and you became dizzy with how your body gave into his, moulding against him perfectly as his hips found their place between your legs.

Aemond’s voice was dark and confident, dripping with lust.

But you salivated at the thought of taking him in your mouth and tried to push him back. “I want you in my mouth too.”

“Not tonight.” His hand found one of your breasts, touching you over the shirt. When you pouted at him, legs still jerking around his hips, Aemond softly moaned. “Aren’t you full of surprises? Good girl like you, so eager to suck me.”

Hot and heavy, Aemond grinded his cock against you, pressing it deliciously to your clit and then taking its place with his fingers. He wondered whether the pout on your lips would disappear when he pushed a digit into you, satisfied to see it fall away and be replaced with a furrow of your eyebrows and a silent gasp.

Keening at both his words and the way that Aemond slid another finger in and curled them inside you, searching for that spot that had your toes curling, you were increasingly desperate to taste him now that you had felt how hard and ready he was for you. “Please, let me taste you.”

“You’ll have plenty of opportunities for that.” He sighed deeply when you moaned loudly, grasping at his shoulders and pressing your face into his neck. “I would kill to feel your pretty lips on my cock. Do you want to know what I think, missy?”

Aemond was intoxicating, sending your body into overdrive and your mind hazy with need. All you could do was nod, lost in the way he was perfectly bringing you to so much bliss.

“I think,” he purred. “That I’m going to make you mine. And that I’ll fuck the well-behaved girl right out of you in each and every shirt that I own.”

Gasping for air as he pushed himself into you, replacing his fingers with his cock, you clung to him as he stretched you out. There was a sharp sting from his size but it subsided quickly and you could feel the effects of Aemond’s cock in you all the way down your legs and to your toes.

Aemond’s breath hitched, his eye holding yours as he gave you time to adjust, jaw clenched and holding you tightly as if he’d fall to the pits of the hells if he were to let go of you.

For someone he had just met properly only hours ago, Aemond thought he had found his own heaven in you and your body.

You mewled, pushing your hips forward greedily. “It feels so good-so good, Aemond.”

He slowly moved his hips, hissing and letting his forehead fall to your shoulder where he bit down gently. The way Aemond pushed deeper into you at every thrust forward stole your breath from your lungs each time. He felt like he was a virgin once again, feeling the comfort of a wet, hot cunt for the first time, losing the control he had over the urge to claim you properly and spill into you already.

Aemond was no stranger to the pleasures of the body but never had he fallen victim to weakness by a woman and Aemond was of half a mind to understand that he would do anything you asked of him simply because your bodies were a carnally perfect fit. Right now, he would burn down cities if you asked him to.

Keeping the steady pace, Aemond’s thrusts became more forceful, driving into you harder and drawing out nonsensical murmurs and whimpers from you. It was white-hot, each thrust sending a barrage of pleasure and sensitivity through your body.

“If only they could see you now,” Aemond’s tone was deep, laced with lust and somewhat desperate as his hips snapped into you, the sound of skin against skin and his cock pushing lewd sounds from your wetness that couldn’t be drowned out by the distant thump of the party’s music. “The perfect, innocent girl that they all believe you to be, squeezing my cock like a good little slut. Just for me.”

Blissful, incoherent sounds that he pulled from only spurred him on further and you could feel how his cock twitched and moved within you. The way that Aemond’s body fit with yours was perfect and it had that tension return to your stomach, your skin tingling and toes curling as he sped up his movements. It was blinding and deafening at the same time, stealing your breath from you each time he dragged his cock out only to push it back in.

Shaking and trembling, your legs squeezed around his hips and Aemond grunted, his head falling to your shoulder as he grabbed the flesh of your thigh and pushing it up and holding it beside you. Angling your hips perfectly, Aemond’s rough thrusts found a sensitive spot and you gasped, back arching off the bed as you gripped him tightly in your arms. You were barely of the right mind to notice him hiss when your nails scraped across his skin.

Aemond was convinced he had found a version of peace in your body, the feeling of your warmth and wetness squeezing him, quieting the loud, painful thoughts that never ceased in his mind. He swore, his voice constrained and his fingers digging further into your flesh. There wouldn’t be a day that could go by in which he wouldn’t be haunted by your perfect cunt and pretty sounds. It was a thought that would have had him scoffing in any other circumstances but he was so lost in you that he couldn’t find it in himself to give a damn.

“You are so fucking-” he groaned. “Tight. Made to fit my cock perfectly.”

“Aemond-”

He chuckled, enjoying the way his name was the only word you could force out between your moans. Aemond’s hips stuttered as you clamped down around him, your eyes rolling back and falling shut as you turned away from him reflexively, pressing your head into the pillow and whining pathetically.

“Yes, missy?” Aemond’s voice was constricted but still smooth.

“Gonna come–I’m gonna come,” you gasped out between whimpers and moans, calling out his name as if he was your salvation.

Aemond let go of your thigh, his fingers clasping around your throat and squeezing the sides enough so that he could force your head out of the pillow. “Look at me when you come, pretty girl.”

When your eyes met his, you were surprised to see that his eyepatch hadn’t been discarded but couldn’t linger on the thought. Not with the way that overwhelming tension had become too much, coiling in your stomach and making you quiver underneath Aemond’s strong body, coming to its peak and snapping with an earth shattering, burning intensity that forced your entire world to go quiet.

With strained gasps, Aemond’s peak quickly followed yours and he pulled out, surprised to see how swiftly your hand replaced his. You felt the ropes of his hot seed fall onto your stomach, the warmth of his breath against your skin as he buried his face into your neck, heaving as he rode through the strength of his orgasm.

Strings of curses came from him as he let his body fall to the space beside you. Aemond barely wasted two seconds before pulling you into him so that your head rested against his chest as he held you against him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, letting yourself melt into him, too spent to spare a thought for the mess on your stomach. “But I doubt I’ll be feeling so great tomorrow.”

A deep chuckle vibrated against your ear. “I’d apologise but I’m afraid I wouldn’t mean it.”

“Cheeky.”

Aemond took a hold of your wrist when you slapped his chest gently, bringing your hand up to place a kiss on your knuckles before letting his hand fall to that spot on your hip. “I wasn’t lying you know.”

“About?” You raised an eyebrow, craning your neck so that you could see his face without moving away from him.

“I will take you out.” Aemond grinned, squeezing your flesh playfully. “And I will fuck you in every single one of my t-shirts.”

976 notes · View notes

district4loading · 12 days ago

Text

Just Hold Me

Twice Sana x Male reader

6K Words

Content Warning: smut, fluff, really sappy, mentions of depression and abuse, kinda unrealistic elements

Minors DNI

A/N: I came up with the plot for this one with a friend of mine who I met on here not too long ago. Super cool guy who enjoys my fluffier fics so I didn't mind writing this one.

Please enjoy this really... really fluffy fic. More to come!!!

That's what Sana does, and it's why you know that she's the love of your life.

It's the sound of the rain hitting the glass, the endless thudding against your bedroom window that has your attention. You stare at it silently, waiting for her to join you in bed as you lay there cold and almost lifeless. There wasn't anything profound about the harsh rainfall outside, you just needed something—anything—to focus on besides your thoughts.

The rooms dark and everything just feels so heavy. It always gets like this when you're alone. You've gotten better at distracting yourself but on nights like these when there's not one single thing that feels right, it gets so hard.

So you find yourself thinking again, your eyes so empty and lost without any purpose. You were in one of your depressive episodes which came around every few months. You've been able to hide it from her for a while now. You kept a smile on your face, you were never not there for her and you found yourself only letting out your true emotions in the shower or any time you had by yourself.

(Usually in the car right after work)

Being all emotional with Sana is something you never want to do. She's too perfect, too precious, and way too pure to have to deal with the absolute train wreck that you are. Something tells you that you need to be the perfect man for her, be strong, be stoic, be a protector. It's in the back of your mind and it's so loud and persistent that you actually believe it.

You can't be there for her if you're crying in her arms about your problems

So when you see her beautiful face come through your bedroom door, you suck in every bit of sorrow and somehow manage to force a slight smile. She shuts the door behind her and climbs into bed right where she belongs, wrapped in your arms. You get the covers over you and then there comes the warmth that you've been longing for.

Even with her here, your mind is still going and your thoughts begin to swarm. You're too stuck in your head that you don't even notice the lack of words she spoke or the eerie and unusual silence that continues while she's in bed. You only hold her tighter and for the first time tonight you hear her soft voice and it immediately brings you back to reality.

"Y/n"

You only hum in response, staring into the dark room because the position you were in didn't allow you to face each other. You were both laying on your sides, your arms wrapped around her and your chest pressed flush against her back.

Sana brings her hand up and holds yours that rested on her belly "What's going on with you?"

The tone she uses nearly breaks you. It's how concerned she sounds, how genuinely worried she is about you. "What are you talking about?" You really try to make it seem like you have no idea what she means because you know that she shouldn't have to deal with this.

"You've been coming home from work late, you barely eat, and I feel like I haven't seen you smile in weeks"

Your heart sinks as you realize that you may not have been masking it well like you thought you'd been. Not at all.

You force a chuckle "I'm smiling right now"

She turns over to face you, the side of her face sinking into the soft pillow as she looks into your eyes with serious worry. She doesn't even crack a smile at your joke. "Stop it, I mean a genuine smile. Something's not right... I can see it in your eyes"

"It's really nothing, I promise. Works just been a little stressful"

"Is that all?"

"I promise, princess" You reach over to move her hair out of her face, then you caress her cheek.

Sana sees the way you nod and how you're looking into her eyes as you speak. She almost believes it but she still has a feeling that there's something you're not telling her. If only you knew how frightened she is about this sudden change in you. She's watched it happen in real time and it brings this uncomfortable twisting feeling in her stomach. One that comes anytime she thinks about it.

But she reluctantly nods after staring into your eyes for a moment "Okay" Is all she says before initiating a change in position. Sana nudges you to lay on your back then snuggles herself into your side, draping her leg just over your lower abdomen. Her arm comes next, landing on your chest. Then she kisses your cheek "I hope you know that I'll always be here for you if you ever need to talk, I love you" She mumbles into your skin.

"I love you too"

Those were the last words spoken before the silence came back and stayed for good. Sana holds you tight like she thinks you might go somewhere and then she falls asleep, leaving you to think about her words. The look in her eyes is now engrained in your mind. They were almost desperate, looking to you for any answer that could give her some knowledge or anything that she can use to help you. It couldn't be more obvious that you need it.

It's killing her and you haven't noticed until now.

You couldn't sleep much at all and by the morning, you found yourself solemnly sitting on the edge of your bed deep in your thoughts once again. It was getting bad. So bad that you didn't even notice when Sana woke up. The moment her eyes flutter open she almost immediately feels it in the atmosphere—the darkness accompanied by the rain knocking against the window.

She looks over to the digital clock on the nightstand.

Five AM

"Babe?" Sana mumbles through a stifled yawn, sitting up in the dim room. It's still kind of dark out but she can see you clearly. She rubs the sleep out of her eyes and gives in to a short yawn as she waits for you to hum like you always do, or turn around, or do something to at least acknowledge her presence.

She sits up and scoots over "Please talk to me, you're scaring me" She says it in such a cute and wholesome way with her voice as sweet as honey. She's navigated her way next to you, her feet hanging off the bed as she tugs on the hem of her shirt nervously.

It's only then when you're actually snapped out of every bad thought you were having. You look over into her wide eyes and you open your mouth to say something, to lie and tell her to go back to bed. But you can't because there's a lump in your throat so big you're unable to convey any words so instead you swallow and turn your head away.

"Please"

In one last effort to get you to say something, Sana pushes her hand through the space between your arm and your torso, then she holds your hand and interlocks your fingers. She squeezes her hand and you squeeze back to let her know that you're there. You look over to her one last time and she's silently pleading with her teary eyes. "Sana, I..." You pause and swallow again when your voice wavers.

She perks up "It's okay, take your time baby" She comforts you.

"I never told you but... I've been through a lot in the past and I'm fucked up because of it"

Sana gives you a look. It's pity and it's so prominent that you can't even bring yourself to look her in the eye. She's silent for a moment and you start to worry if it's all too much for her to handle. She shouldn't have to deal with someone who's got tons of baggage. "Why did you feel the need to hide it from me?" She asks as a tear rolls down her cheek. That's not the only one though, following it comes multiple, leaving streaks of clear dripping down her face.

"It's a long story and it doesn't matter now. All I'd be doing is wasting your time if you let me sit here and bitch about my problems all day long. You don't deserve that"

You turn your head away from Sana when you feel a tear threaten to fall and you blink it away as quickly as you can. "I will sit here for days and listen to your story if I have to! I'm your girlfriend, I deserve to hear it" She persists but you only keep your head turned away.

"It's irrelevant"

A heavy, punishing silence follows your statement and you feel Sana let go of your hand and pull it away. You assume that she's going to let it go like you've told her to but instead she puts her palm flat on your back. There's this feeling of relief you get from it and when she begins to rub softly in circles, you feel comfortable again.

Then you look over to Sana because suddenly she's stopped the comforting motions and her eyes have seemed to go empty and there's this look of devastating shock on her face.

The thing is, she's seeing it all. All of your past experiences, the abuse, the negligence, the bullying, everything. Her breaths turn rapid as she sees it so vivid and clear. Graphic images of the torturous violence you've faced when you couldn't have been more than ten years old and then the nasty words they've said that's engrained so deep into your brain.

"Worthless" "Useless" "disgusting" "Kill yourself"

She hears it loudly echoing in her head then she gasps and a new rush of tears falls from her eyes.

You don't know what's happening but it's fucking terrifying and you try your best to snap her out of this trance-like state. "Sana" You call her name and grab her by the shoulders. Then you shake her a bit and with a blink she seems to be back "Are you okay? What happened?" You ask, your heart racing wildly.

Sana comes back, then she looks into your eyes again. But this time there isn't any pity. It's more-so understanding. Something about her gaze feels like she sees you, like she gets it and you didn't even have to say a word. "Oh" She almost sobs, then she whispers "My baby boy" and she wraps her arms around you.

Your heart melts completely and you finally break.

You cry into her shoulder, your tears staining her top but she could care less about it, she only holds you closer and tighter. She runs her fingers through your hair "My sweet prince" She starts, then she has to breath for a moment "You're perfect... you're enough... you're my everything."

"Sana" You shake your head, trying to reject it all, trying not to feel as much as you are right now.

"No" She pulls away from the hug, then makes a quick move to straddle your lap "I fucking love you... I need you" She holds your face in her hands so you have no choice but to look into her eyes. Those beautiful orbs that are so easy to get lost in. So much so that you don't even notice when she leans in to kiss you until your lips are already connected.

Your eyes shut and so do Sana's as you allow this newfound warmth to bind you. The kiss is so slow and sensual, you move your lips in unison with one another. You understand each other like that. If she parts her lips, you know your tongue should be in her mouth. That's exactly what you do. You lick into her mouth with a passion that tells her how much you love her—how much you need her. "I love you" You mumble into the kiss "I need you" then repeat what she said.

You can taste the salty mix of your tears, but neither of you care, you just continue to enjoy this kiss. It feels so good that you actually forget, you actually can't think of anything but Sana right now. That's all you've ever wanted to do. Your hands run up her top and you get a hold of the warm skin of her bare waist then you pull her closer to you.

Sana's hands leave your face, she grabs a hold of your shoulders and begins to push on them. You take the hint and lean backwards until you're laying flat on the bed with her on top of you. You shuffle around so your feet are also on the bed and she helps out with that. Then in no time, your lips are connected again and now you're back to devouring each other.

"Please... I need..." Sana mutters through the kiss but then she breaks it completely and puts her hands on your chest "I need you" You nod your head and watch as she pulls her top over her head. You need her just as bad right now in this vulnerable moment when you have so much love to give--she's all you need.

So you take your tank top off, almost missing the way her breasts fall free from her shirt. Sana leans over again and kisses you, there's more passion in it this time and you reach your hands over to feel her body. Her skin is always so soft and warm. Moments later you let your hands gravitate to her breasts and you begin to massage them slowly, almost like you're kneading dough but with a bit less rigor and a bit more care.

She moans softly into your mouth and then she pulls away. Sana looks into your eyes for a moment, then scoots herself back so she's sat on your thighs. She grabs the waistband of your pajama pants and begins to tug on them. You raise your hips and allow her to strip you of your pants along with your boxers.

Sana takes your cock into her hand and pumps you to life with her soft hand (There wasn't much work to do because you were already halfway there). You prop yourself up on your elbows so you can watch the moment she lowers her head and sticks her tongue out. She licks the tip softly with her hand still holding the base firmly and then she takes you into her mouth. The first feeling of her soft, saliva coated lips has a low and long groan forcing its way out of your throat.

Her eyes lock with yours and she begins to descend, her hot mouth taking as much of you as possible. Once her lips, come into contact with her fist she comes back up and starts bobbing her head while she strokes you. "Fuck.. Sana - that feels so... good" You sigh while her velvety tongue scrapes against the underside of your cock.

It's one of the best feelings ever, the best part being that Sana won't take her eyes off of you. Although she can't speak, her eyes tell you everything that you need to know. She's looking at you with so much love and care that it brings you some actual comfort, like you two are the only living beings in the entire universe right now. Anything that matters or has ever mattered is now irrelevant, not even your demons could get to you in this bubble.

That's what Sana does, and it's why you know that she's the love of your life.

You've known it for a while now but never has there ever been a moment like this thats made the fact so apparent. "I love you" There's a shudder in your voice when you say the words because she's doing everything right. Both her mouth and her hand are working together to please you and it only feels better the sloppier everything gets.

In a moment, Sana withdraws her mouth with a popping sound following and she begins to jerk you off "I love you more" she smiles, then pokes out her tongue to let it rest against your tip so she can lap up the pre-cum leaking endlessly. "You ready for me?" There's a cute smirk that accompanies the simple question.

"Yes please" You nod and then you watch as she takes off her shorts and panties. Now her completely bare body is exposed to you and everything about it is pure perfection. "You're perfect" You sigh as she climbs on top of you.

Sana only giggles "Not as perfect as you my sweet prince." Her smile makes your pupils dilate nearly ten times as big as they already were. You didn't agree with her, but you let her have this one because there's no use in ruining this beautiful moment with something as morose as self deprecation. It doesn't at all change the fact that her words make you so feel warm inside that it might just be enough to make the thick ice in your cold heart thaw.

She leans over, laying her soft body on yours and she kisses you softly. Your hands find her waist again—because they're supposed to be there—and you squeeze her supple flesh "I need you... so bad" You mumble the words desperately against her lips and Sana kisses you harder, reaching her hand down to find your cock.

It's throbbing in her hold, only for her and you feel her smile when she notices it. Sana lifts her hips and presses your tip into her entrance, wasting no time to lower herself nice and slow. Her tight cunt grips you firmly as she sinks down and you can't help but moan into her mouth as your nerves begin to register the heat.

"Fuck" Sana breaks the kiss, her face only millimeters away from yours when her thighs land on your lap. Her face twists up, her jaw clenches and her eyes shut as she tries to get used to the stretch of your thick cock. "Your cock is so fucking..." She grits, exhaling a hot breath against your cheek before raising her hips and slamming them back down.

She connects your lips again and then she begins to ride you, moving her hips up and down in this slowed and steadied rhythm. It has you bucking your hips to meet hers half-way because she feels so fucking good. Sana moans into your mouth freely and loudly, struggling more and more to continue the kiss as she fucks you.

Soon enough, her mouth is hanging open and it's you doing all the work, kissing, licking and sucking her plump lips.

There's something so perfect about being inside of Sana, especially when she's riding you. Her pussy wraps around you just right, like a tight warm hug (only it's sopping wet). With each movement she makes lighting each one of your nerves on fire to make sure that you feel the almost electric pleasure. It's how she moves her hips with such direction and purpose that has your toes curling and your heart pumping. Then it's the way her cunt clenches occasionally when you're completely buried inside.

Sana's an expert at this, she's mastered the art of riding you at this point in your relationship. She knows exactly what movements make you tick, how to moan your name, how to praise you--all to get you reeling with her name on your lips.

She knows you like the back of her hand.

She lifts herself a bit then plants her hands on your shoulders and she begins to roll her hips back and forth in a way that has your eyes threatening to roll back into your skull but you keep them on her. You have to see it. How perfect her tits look bouncing with the force of her motions, the pleasureful look on her face, the lust in her eyes and the sweat beading on her flushed body. Sana looks too perfect right now for you to miss anything.

"Sana, your pussy... feels so damn good" You moan, hands still holding on so tightly to her waist that you're leaving marks. "I fucking love you"

"You're so perfect, my love" A warm smile shows on her lips, she takes your hands and interlocks your fingers, pinning your arms to the bed. "I can't imagine... fuck" She moans involuntarily and she's getting close already "I couldn't imagine life without you" She admits through her warm haze.

"I'm not going anywhere, princess" You promise with so much conviction it's like God himself is speaking through you.

Because Sana fucking needs you just as much as you need her and you just can't let this depression eat you alive when you have her.

You won't.

Sana's the opposite of a liability. She only uplifts you, she makes you feel so good about yourself that you'd think you were on top of the world. She makes life worth all the bad and she's probably the best thing you have in this life. She's someone you can brag about without fail or embarrassment.

That is where you find some hope. Some actual hope in the sea of despair you've been floating lifelessly in.

"I-I'm close" Sana warns, snapping you out of your thoughts and it's definitely coming. You see all the signs. The way her hips stutter, how she's just bouncing her petite ass on your lap with her eyes shut and her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. There's also that pulsing inside of her wet heat that you just can't ignore.

She's right there

When she starts struggling to make her movements smooth, you take her waist back into your hands. Then Sana falls forwards, some of her brown hair getting in your face as you hold her in place tightly so she cant move. Before Sana can even complain about it you're using nothing but your core strength to piston your cock into her at a speed so ungodly it has her jaw dropping.

"Yeah - Yeah just like that, princess. Cum for me" Your voice shakes as you sing her praises because your body could give out at any moment if you keep fucking her like this. You begin to break a sweat, your cock burning up as you fuck her soaked cunt. The noise is filthy. Now that she's gone silent, you can hear it loud and clear. Every sticky squelch when your hips meet the backs of her thighs is so obscenely loud in your ears. "Come on, Sana" You nearly heave into her ear.

Then she begins to shudder and you know you have her when "Ah fuck baby I'm cumming. I'm fucking -" she cuts herself off with a vocal moan. Her slick wets your entire lap, spreading everywhere as her hips go wild in an attempt to ride out her high. You never stopped grinding into her either, all deep and slow inside so she'd feel every inch as she cums. "God" She sighs and then she stops moving and you follow suit.

Sana weakly brings her head up and connects your lips again. You kiss back, immediately pouring your entire heart into this kiss because she deserves it. She deserves everything. When she starts moving again you stop her with your hands "Baby" She whines, then your lips disconnect. She pouts at you "I want to make you cum" She tries moving again but you don't say anything.

You flip her over gently, then get yourself between her legs "I want us to cum together"

She looks into your eyes then lifts her hand to caress your cheek softly "Whatever you want my sweet prince" You nearly melt at the term of endearment because it makes you feel so connected to her. The genuine tone in her voice accompanied by the softness makes it even more intimate and the 'my' signifying that you're hers because you'll always be.

It's one of your favorites.

Sana notices how your eyes soften as you look into hers and you don't even break eye contact when you guide your tip towards her begging entrance. As you slide in, her eyebrows furrow, but she keeps looking at you with those big beautiful eyes. You lean over to put your lips on hers once more and that's when you begin to move.

You make sure Sana feels every single inch, the way you fuck her with such a slow, burning passion. It lights her heart on fire. "I can't - baby.. you're so deep" She's losing it at the angle because nothing compares to the way your cock rubs against her walls, just brushing past all of her tender spots.

The only thing you do is kiss her harder, your tongue exploring the warm confines of her mouth. Kissing Sana has always been one of your favorite intimate acts to do with her and if she'd let you, you'd have make out sessions that last hours upon hours on end.

Sana takes your lip in between her teeth as you pull away and then she lets go, her moans soft when you pick up the pace. You duck your head into her neck and you begin to kiss, lick and suck on the soft skin "Do whatever you want, I'm yours baby" Sana assures you, running her fingers through your hair as you begin to leave sweet marks on her.

You increase your speed a bit, not so much that it feels punishing but enough for her to know that she feels so good that you almost can't help yourself. "So wet and tight for me, princess" You growl against her skin and Sana begins to lose her breath.

"Yes - right there - fucking hell baby" Sana gasps, her arms wrapping tightly around your body. She stops herself from scratching even if she wants to and in the back of her mind she know's you would never mind it.

Either way she only hugs your body close to hers.

"Princess... I hope you're almost there cause... I" You almost whimper the words into her neck.

"Shh- I know baby, just go ahead" She rubs the back of your head in a way that feels so good that it's almost like magic. "Inside" and then a small gasp escapes her lips and before you know it, your cock is spasming inside of her and you're filling her tight cunt, painting those perfect velvety walls white. A choked groan escapes your lips and tears begin to brim your eyelids as the pleasure takes over your entire body. It has you nearly shaking, making the most expressive 'O' face you've made in maybe months.

"Fuck" You groan as you keep thrusting, fucking your load so deep it'll probably slip past her IUD. Then when everything else subsides, your cock almost goes numb as you try your hardest to get Sana there no matter what because she deserves it.

"Don't stop" Sana begs, and her voice sounds so desperate when she does because she's so close. All it took was for her to feel your cock spraying your warm cum inside of her to get her there.

When Sana's chest begins to rise you know you've got her "There you go baby, cum for me" You whisper and that's when a strangled—almost sob-like—moan leaves her mouth. You keep the pace to fuck her though it as she shudders through her orgasm.

You stop completely and you two just lay there in that position for a moment. Soon Sana begins rubbing the smooth skin on your back and you take a deep breath "I love you" you murmur.

"I love you" She begins and you give her a moment to gather her thoughts. You'd give her all the time in the world if you could. "I know I said it already but you can tell me anything. No matter what. I don't care how long it is or how fucked up it is, I want to hear your story. I need to"

"You won't look at me the same after" You mutter weakly, still not moving from where you are.

Sana stays silent for a moment "Yeah, maybe you're right" She starts off and it catches you off guard a bit but then she continues "When I look at you, I'll see someone strong. Stronger than who you were before because whatever you went through, it couldn't have been easy to endure. Most people would've already given up"

You finally decide to get off of her and you sit up on the bed. "How would you even know that?" The question might've seemed harsh but Sana knows you don't mean it like that. The reason you ask is because its scary. So scary that she's saying all the right things.

It's almost like she...

"Because I saw it!" Sana sits up as well, kind of regretting how her words come off "Well, glimpses of it" She corrects, then begins to think again and you allow it because you have no clue what to say at all "When I touched you, before we..." She shakes her head "I saw like... small pieces of everything. I saw the abuse, I heard the words.. I just... I couldn't believe it"

You only tilt your head because it's all you can really bring yourself to do. This revelation is nearly bone chilling and so inconceivable that you force yourself to believe that she's lying whether or not if it was out of character for her to joke or lie in a situation like this. "Sana that's not funny" You sort of scold her, but your voice isn't at all cold about it.

"I'm not joking" She insists.

Then, in your bedroom at maybe seven-ish in the morning, with the rain still hitting the window, Sana explains everything she saw in her visions in detail.

That's when you come to really believe that she isn't joking.

The warm water from the shower head cascades down your body smoothly and comfortably, nothing like the harsh rain outside. You wrap your arms around Sana and rest your chin on her shoulder "So if you already saw what I went through, why do I need to re-tell it to you?" are the first words spoken for the entire duration of your time in the shower.

It started off silent, the two of you cleaning each other and kissing as you enjoyed the hot water and each others presence. It was a well needed contrast from the endless talking you did in the bedroom just before. You can see the soft smile on Sana's face in the reflection of the glass door "Well, I didn't see everything" She turns around in your arms "and it'll be good for you to say it out loud, I mean I don't expect you to be better in a day. I get that it takes time but-"

Sana stops talking when you put your lips on hers, leaving a small peck on her lips. "Listen princess, you're not my therapist. I don't wanna dump that burden on you. You understand that it wouldn't be good for us, right?" It's true, treating your significant other like a therapist can lead to many bumps in a relationship. But maybe that's just another excuse as to why you've been hiding everything from Sana.

"Oh? Where'd you learn that?"

"The internet" You shrug

Sana puts her hand on your bare chest and looks into your eyes, with those loving eyes. "Well, I may not be a licensed therapist but it's important for me to know because I'm your girlfriend and I want you to be able to open up to me like I open up to you about everything" You open your mouth to say something else but Sana shushes you then she reaches for the shampoo "Now wash my hair for me, pretty please?" You can't help but smile because she's so adorable.

When Sana turns around and tilts her head back, you grumble "I still think its super weird that you have like... superpowers."

"How do you think I feel? I'm still freaked out about it" She whines playfully as you lather her hair in her shampoo. The scent is warm and floral and you can't help but lose your breath trying to inhale more and more of it. It's one of those scents that only Sana has. So to you, it quite literally belongs to her, no matter who else may use it.

"The rain stopped" You mutter softly to the girl laying on your chest with her leg thrown over you. Sana only hums at your realization and you turn over to look at the window. It's covered by your curtains because you've both decided to go back to sleep but you can still see the sun peaking through.

You smile softly, thinking about how you agreed to tell her everything when you wake up. It doesn't feel scary anymore. In fact, you were actually looking forward to getting everything off your chest. You know you'll probably end up crying in front of her again--which you're still a bit embarrassed about--but you also know that she'll be there to hold you and knowing her she'll probably cry too.

That's when you eventually doze off, and for once it's easy.

"Babe?" Sana calls your name but she only hears your heavy breathing and from that she concludes that you're asleep. She innocently shifts just a bit to make herself more comfy and it happens again.

She sees something

At first it's kind of blurry so it's difficult for her to make out but as it gets clearer, she realizes that it's the both of you cuddling in bed together.

Then just like that, it's gone. Sana jumps, a small gasp escaping her lips and it wakes you up. "Whats wrong princess?" You ask tiredly, blinking when you notice the tears running down her cheeks. "Bad dream?"

Sana only shakes her head "No... baby, it's beautiful" she cries. You try to sit up because you're really concerned but Sana stops you. "Just let me hold you" She sniffles and you reluctantly nod, allowing her to wrap her arms around you the best as she can.

You're put at ease because she doesn't seem sad at all.

It's almost like she's right where she wants to be.

#twice #kpop gg #sana twice #twice sana #minatozaki sana #kpop idol #kpop smut #girl group smut #smut #sana smut #fluff #male reader

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globesiem · 2 months ago

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reminder. ★ lando norris, 4.

content porn with minimal plot, dirty talk, penetration, pr!reader, unprotected sex.

ideally, being lando norris’ public relations manager wouldn’t have to be such a chore. covering up every scandal, from the miami party rumors to every offhanded bratty comment he continued making to the media despite acknowledging their overdramatic reactions and nitpicky behavior.

sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder if his overly loose mouth was a product of his lack of media training, or simply because he rather enjoyed eliciting a reaction out of you. quickly skimping behind him, throwing apologies across the room for your boss’ uncanny comments.

also ideally, the snarky and arrogant comments he made into the reporters’ microphones, wouldn’t end up with you pinned against the wall of his motorhome. somehow the line between professionalism and carnal desire began to blur over the course of your laboral relationship, ending up in a mess of teeth clashing together, desperate hands roaming the other’s body in an attempt to earn satisfaction, along with a string of pornographic sounds that could easily be depicted from a sexual film.

“lando, you need to be more careful.” your voice was faint and exhasperated, interrupted by his harsh thrusts that caused you to almost hiccup after every word, shaky hands tangled into his hair, tugging at the sweaty curls just barely.

“that’s why i got you, huh?” his tone dripped of faux sweetness, a tint of mockery hidden under the charming english accent that made your head spin with every small undertone or enunciation.

“don’t do anything stupid—” you cut yourself off with a loud moan, gasping for air as his lips commenced their nip on your neck, peppering love marks where his teeth slightly bit down. “—is all i’m saying.” you managed to finish your sentence with a pant.

“well,” he managed to mumble against your collarbone, pausing momentarily to direct his gaze to yours, a small smirk evidenly spreading across his lips. “too late for that now, hm?” his voice came out in a lustful tone, seductive, even. he acted as if you weren’t completely at his mercy, waiting for his wandering hands to make their way to where you needed them the most.

it was almost pathetic, truly. the way you melted under his touch, fog clouding every ounce of judgement you ever thought you had, soft mewls escaping your pursed lips at every ghastly touch; hands gripping your hips in a possessive manner, pulling you impossibly closer with a shaky breath.

“oh shut up,” you breathed out, sentence ending up in more of a moan rather than a strong imposition, tone of voice betraying the supposed thread of self control that still seemed to reign within you.

“me?” he scoffed, rolling his eyes playfully. you knew you were playing with fire, evident in the way his eyes seemed to darken with every teasing word thrown his way, constructed to perfection to keep luring him.

you were like a siren to him, so irresistibly beautiful he couldn’t help to shove his cock down your throat after a while of getting to know you, stuff you full of his cum while having you moan out his name in an utter haze.

could you blame him? seeing you walk around the paddock with those tiny skirts and mclaren team shirts that occasionally, and quite coincidentally, had his number on them, made him grow possessive of you, a growing thirst he could only cure with his tongue on your cunt.

which is how you seemed to always end up in this situation, pinned against the wall of his motorhome with his cock shoved inside your dripping pussy. your panties were somewhere in the room, torn apart by the same veiny hand that held your hips in place to thrust deeper inside of you, making sure to hit every sweet spot he seemed to memorize after each encounter, lips openly peppering kisses along your jaw and neck, leaving a trail of purple bites as a reminder.

“so good for me,” he whispered, more of an affirmation to himself if he was to be completely honest. “wouldn’t want anyone else to fuck. beauty and brains, hm?” you were sure he never learned how to keep his pretty mouth shut, but you clearly weren’t complaining as your slick coated his cock perfectly with an encouragement of each word from him.

“please, lan.” you moaned out in a higher pitched tone than usual, head thrown back as he continued rutting his hips at a quick pace, a hand now trailing to your neck, gripping barely enough to increase your growing pleasure, another hand holding your hips tightly as a series of low groans escaped his lips.

“let go for me, darling. i got you,” he continued talking in a low voice, huffing as he pistoned his hips quicker, the sound of skin slapping accompanied with a louder moan from you, his lips carefully biting your collarbone.

“i’m, fuck—” you cut yourself off with a loud moan, needless to say your juices quickly coated his dick with a white ring of your juices as your orgasm washed over you, body slightly shaking.

with one final thrust and a few words you couldn’t quite make out in the haze of your post orgasm state, he came inside of you, shooting ropes of cum into your puffy cunt, continuing to rut into you momentarily to make sure it stayed inside deep inside, like a reminder.

“told you to be more careful.” you breathed out.

“and i told you, that’s what i have you for, angel.”

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arabellasleopardcoat · 8 months ago

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To Conquer (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Incest is common amongst Targaryens, Daemon assures you. Unfortunately, Alicent got to you first.

Warnings: Mentions of sex. Cursing. Arranged marriage. Periods. Daddy issues. Religious guilt. One death aside from canon ones (Daemon murders a man)

A/N: In which I rewrite the scene of my first encounter with incest in a book. If you get it, you get it.

YOU NEVER dared call Alicent mother out loud. But in your mind, she was.

The woman who had birthed you had passed away the same day you had been born. Out of her womb you had been pulled, alongside your twin. He had not survived the day.

Queen Aemma Arryn was a mere name to you, a woman who existed in paintings and shadows, a ghost that lurked on the Red Keep. Your father never once spoke of her too you, too consumed by guilt and grief. In fact, he did his best to never speak to you at all.

You were an uncomfortable reminder of the crime he had committed. Robbing a woman of life so a man may live. It hadn’t even worked in the end. Your brother had faded from this world, nothing of him remaining.

Against all odds, you had. You had clung to life, the Maesters would later say. Fought tooth and nail to stay in this world. And somehow, it hadn’t been enough. Your father avoided you like the plague, but Alicent, guilty, scared, lonely Alicent, did not. She was all you had.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror. Despite your dramatic entrance to the world, and your eventful first few months of life, your life had turned out to be quite lackluster. There were no exciting adventures or claiming of dragons, much less a moniker attached to your name like there was to Rhaenyra or Daemon. You wondered why this, out of all things, had to be different.

The robes looked graceful enough on you, you supposed. Your father had called you a true Valyrian beauty, the very image of your mother. You knew it wasn’t true. King Viserys didn’t remember her. How could he, if he had done his best attempts to erase her? He had replaced her at once, and he never once spoke of her again. At least, not with you.

His presence in your life could be defined with one word: Absence. But he had thought it fair to reappear when he needs you to do something for him. The least he could have done would have been asking for your input about the wedding.

If you had been asked, you would have chosen a traditional wedding ceremony, with a Septon and a hand fasting. You would have worn a Targaryen cloak… To be exchanged for another Targaryen cloak. No. Perhaps it had been for the best, not to desecrate such a beautiful ritual with this nonsense.

Still, you couldn't shake the feeling of not being really married. You didn’t like it. And you liked the man who was waiting for you on the other side of the door much less.

“Are you done, niece?” The knock on the door forced you into action, once again. You reached into the basin, watching the cool water shift under your fingers. There was something about the cold that cleared your head, helped you think. You took a deep breath, and tried to focus.

Alicent had told you that you should obey him in all things. That you had to do your duty, just as she had done hers. But you had seen the fear in her eyes when you were getting ready for the ceremony, and how her hands had grasped at you desperately during the feast. It had taken Ser Otto’s intervention to make her let go of you.

Your bedtime stories had not prepared either of you for this. When you were a young girl, plagued by night terrors, she would sit at the foot of your bed and pretend to read your destiny.

“One day, you will fly to the moon wearing spiderwebs as wings.” She would squint at your hand, making a show of reading the lines there.

“Tell me more!” You would squeal, fears forgotten. Despite not being the motherly type, she would always indulge you. Perhaps, because she saw herself in you. Another little girl, her mother dead, her father defined by his lack of presence.

“It says here…” Alicent would tickle your palm. “That you will grow up into a beautiful, beautiful princess who will marry a handsome lord. He will love you very much.”

Out of all the lies you had been told, it was your favorite. Each night, you would ask to hear it again and again, and think, tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow I will be all grown, and the lady of a great castle. My father will love me then.

It had been a consolation you had clung on through all your childhood. You were a princess, worthy of being appreciated by your future husband. He would love you, you knew. You would build something together, something only yours. You would raise your children to be better than you, following Alicent’s example. You would be happy.

You had never realized how much she had clung to that thought too. Her frustrated dreams for herself had been turned into hope for your future. Alicent had spoken them into the night like an enchantment, as if she could bring them to life by repeating the words over and over. So you could have what she hadn’t had. Like all parents wished.

What both of you had imagined wasn't this. You wanted to scream from rage.

“Just a bit more.” You said, your resolve hardening. The faith of the Seven dictated that laying with a relative was a sin, the same for laying with a man who was not your husband. They barely recognized Valyrian wedding ceremonies.

Had you really married him? Your High Valyrian was sloppy. Your mother had not taught you much, and your lessons had often been interrupted because of Aegon. Out of all your siblings, Aemond had been the most proficient one. He had not been present at the ceremony, being judged too young to attend.

It had been your parents, Daemon, Aegon. An intimate ceremony, just as they liked. Could your father betray you so? Give you away as a whore to appease his brother?

You opened the table’s drawers. Daemon’s bathing room was unfamiliar to you, but he must have used something to shave and you would find it. You riffled through various oils and soaps before finding the blade you were seeking.

With your non-dominant hand, you bunched the robes up. Bracing yourself, you used your other hand to slit your upper thigh. At first, you didn’t draw blood, despite feeling the sting of the blade. Your grip was too shaky. But your determination didn’t waver. Your father had asked too much of you already, there was no power in the world that could force you to share your Uncle’s bed.

Your second attempt was much more successful. Despite having tensed the muscles of your thigh anticipating pain, it didn’t hurt as much as you expected. Blood rushed out. You grabbed a rag and rubbed it on it. You examined it, coldly. No matter how Valyrian, you bled red, like any Andal.

You schooled yourself into faux embarrassment before you spoke.

“Could you… Husband…. Could you fetch my mother?”

Despite your calculations, you make the mistake regardless. The noun slips from your tongue, unprompted. A slip. The first of many to come. The temperature dropped in the room, Daemon’s anger a near palpable thing.

“Your mother is dead, niece.” He stressed the last word in a way you didn’t like. Despite the door separating the two of you, you could tell his mood had shifted from bad to something much worse. You feared what he might do to you, were you to backtrack in your plan. “Whatever Alicent has been teaching you, you should know you are not hers.”

“Queen Alicent.” You corrected, annoyed. How did he dare criticize the way she had raised you, when there had been literally no one else around up to the task. How did he dare speak down to you, as if you were a simpleton? You fought to keep your tone steady and stomped on the anger bubbling up. “I have… lady troubles.”

“Lady troubles?” Daemon asked, sounding puzzled.

You pondered the merits of skirting around the issue. You weren’t in the mood to enter a euphemism’s discussion, and so, decided to be more graphic.

The bloody rag was held gently between your fingers when you opened the door. No more words were needed. Daemon cursed and went to get your mother.

HE DOESN’T dare ask at first. Daemon understands that women’s bodies work different from his own. He has never bedded one in her moonblood, and doesn’t intend to start with you.

Despite your beauty, Daemon felt oddly disappointed. He had hoped, with you being fully Rhaenyra’s sister and not half, like his younger nephews, that you would be similar to her.

You weren’t. You lacked her fierceness and the respect for your heritage. The only thing Valyrian about you was your looks. You didn’t even have a dragon of your own, and were so damn timid, he might confuse you with a mouse rather than a Princess.

Because of that same reason, he let you be during your moonblood. While Daemon didn’t object to some blood, he doubted you would be the same. Bedding unwilling maidens wasn’t his thing. He preferred his girls willing, be it from the promise of coin or delirious from their own lust.

Somehow, he was getting the feeling you weren’t going to be the second type anytime soon. Every time he attempted to kiss you, you squirmed away, as if he were initiating something sinful and not simply trying to kiss his wife.

“Seven Hells, would it kill you to remain still?” He asked as you nervously avoided his grip on your waist. “I am not trying to initiate anything. I know you are still on your courses. Stand still. I command it.”

“I… I…” You had looked at him, all hesitant eyes. Alicent had done scarcely any things right when raising you, but at least she had instilled you obedience. But blood couldn’t be denied, and every so often your Valyrian nature reared its head. Mostly, playing against Daemon rather than in his favor. Little dragon that you were, you weren’t keen on following orders.

Ah, but bring you a Septa. Then you were jumping out of your seat to offer the damn woman your chair and observing her earnestly for non-verbal cues, tending to her every need like a commoner. Ridiculous.

“The Mother obeys the Father, from what I understand.” Daemon kept his tone matter of fact. He wasn’t certain that the Seven Pointed Star said that, but it sounded right, and it suited him, so he spoke the words with as much conviction as he could muster. In truth, Daemon had never opened the damn book in his life. A waste of time. The Septons he knew were a bunch of cunts and their followers weren’t any better.

“Maidens are supposed to be demure.” You protested. “Not indulge on indecent displays.”

“You are not meant to be a maiden any longer.” He grabbed you by the waist regardless, coaxing you to stroll next to him. “And wives obey their husbands.”

While you remained unconvinced, you allowed him to lead you around the Red Keep’s gardens. He kept a constant stream of chatter, using all his best lines, but you answered in monosyllables. Not only did Daemon wish to cultivate a better relationship with you, but he also wanted to flaunt his new bride. It was only fair that the other cunts here got a look at Targaryen superiority. Kept them from being too uppity.

Like everything else in this marriage, though, that too proved elusive. Soon, whispers began to circulate about his virility. One of your maids had a loose tongue, it seemed. The whole castle was snickering about it not even a week later. You, like usual, were oblivious.

In a fit of anger Daemon would later not be proud of, he got all the little chits whipped. But their attitudes about your moonblood made him begin to suspect something was amiss. A fortnight of bleeding seemed… Strange. While he was never particularly interested in women’s bodies beyond fucking them, something had to be wrong. An inquiry with the Maester proved him right. Apparently, over a week was unusual, a fortnight near impossible.

That night, he sat on the foot of your shared bed, watching you fret around the room. Daemon had asked for shared chambers, thinking it would bring the two of you closer. With his constant exiles and marriages, and the fact that Alicent had coddled you during your whole existence, you were a stranger with a familiar face. He had hoped to entice you by appealing to your curiosity about marital duties. Safe to say, it didn’t work.

You had put up barriers. Both metaphorical and physical ones. Right now, you were at it again. Laying down a towel on your side of the bed and a pillow in the middle of it. As he watched you, he found himself struck by the beauty of your hands. They were firm and precise in their movements, fixing down the towel and then neatly delimiting your side of the bed with the pillow.

You were wearing the most hideous nightshirt know to man, more adequate for a Septa than a newlywed. Slightly bent over, fluffing up your pillows, Daemon noticed that it was as white as fresh snow. Now that he thought of it, all your shifts were. And yet, none of them had ever been stained. Nor had the towel you placed on the bed and loudly proclaimed it was to avoid leakages. An effort to make yourself more unappealing, perhaps?

Somehow, the realization didn’t anger him. Instead, it made him more curious. Was this your way of rebelling? Were you scared? What went on behind your eyes, inside that skull of yours?

“Wife.” Daemon finally spoke, when you were starting to kneel for your nightly prayers. You paused, kneeling gracefully. You looked up at him, all curious eyes and nervous smile. “Have your courses always been this long?”

This time, he watches your reaction closely. During these past days, Daemon has not pressured you about it. But now, he waits on bated breath.

Your eyes widen. The hands you have clasped in prayer get even tighter pressed together.

“Oh, you shouldn’t… These are womanly concerns.” You are a terrible liar. He would laugh, were it not such a cruel thing to do when in the face of a little fool.

“I insist.” Daemon arches an eyebrow at you. You squirm on your knees like there are ants on your shift. You are visibly distraught. Does it pain you, pious girl that you are, to be committing a sin?

“Yes, they are.”

Another lie. He had asked some of the fools in Viserys’ employment. Yours didn’t last more than a week. But Daemon finds all the twitching you are doing entertaining, and so, decides to give you more rope to hang yourself.

“And yet, your father promised that you were fertile.” He drawls, cruel amusement almost leaking into his tone. He can’t help the way his lips twitch. This is too entertaining. It’s like toying with a mouse before eating it.

“I… I am.” You weakly defend yourself. Your face is looking more distressed by the second. And is that..? Oh, wonderful, you are starting to sweat a little.

“No, you are not. You are either lying about that, or about your moonblood.”

“I am not!” You protest, finally getting up from your kneeling position. A shame. You looked positively delicious in your predicament.

“Yes, you are! But I am giving you a chance to tell me the truth. Which one are you lying about?”

“I am not.” You look about to flee the room, so Daemon gets up and places himself on your path. You flinch a bit, but stubbornly refuse to admit the truth. His amusement at your attitude is starting to turn sour. Not only it is unflattering that you are making up excuses to avoid bedding him, but they are so stupid half the court is laughing at him behind his back about it. And you, absolute fool, can’t admit it.

“Wrong answer, niece.” He steps closer, trying to intimidate you. “I know the truth.”

“You do?” You startle. You take a step back, nearly tripping on the hem of that ugly nightgown. Daemon reaches to steady you, his grip on your arms punishingly. You twitch, as if sensing that you are caught in the maws of a hungry beast that could pounce at any moment.

“You are not on your moonblood. You can't be every single day of the moon!” He shakes you a little, making you yelp. But then, the most astounding thing happens. Because instead of going very still, as the frightened bird that you are, you shove him hard.

“What would you know!” You scream at him, pointing one finger at his face. Daemon wishes to say he is unbothered by your hysterics, but instead, he grabs your accusing hand and tugs it. The delicate bones shift inside his hand, threatening to snap, and you're left with no choice but go towards him or break your finger.

Wisely, you choose the second. You are breathing hard, and looking up at him in righteous indignation.

“Brute!”

“I asked your maids.” Daemon smirks at you, something ugly appearing on his face. In truth, whatever you see spooks you because you deflate a little. “So? Shall you tell me the truth? Or must I find it myself?”

He makes it as if to lift your shift. You bat his hand away, hard. Interesting enough, you harden then.

“What else is there to know? Beyond that I am not on my moonblood?”

“We can start with why you lied. Or why you don’t wish to lay with me.” Daemon suggests, gripping you tightly so you cannot escape. He brings his face closer to yours.

Your eyes are wide. Your face is frozen into a terrified expression, like you are realizing all your lies are catching up to you.

“I didn’t want you to force me.” You say, voice barely a whisper. Who do you think he is? Some sort of monster? Your depraved half brother, perhaps? Daemon had already heard the exploits that one was up to. Jerking off in a window, of all things.

“Force you! If I wanted to force you, I could already have.” Daemon rolls his eyes. You were not trained in any sort of combat, and you were the kind who had her head in the clouds more often than not. You were not a match for him. If Daemon wanted to force you, he just had to pin you down or pull out Dark Sister.

You stay quiet, perhaps coming to the same realization. You have gone to bed next to him for nearly two weeks, only in thin shifts. Every day, you have woken up untouched. Doubt starts to cloud up your face, as if you are noticing how vulnerable you truly have been and how well Daemon has behaved.

As if he were going to be deterred by a little blood. He was a true Targaryen. It was in his house’s words. Plenty of maidens bled when being split open on his cock. Your moonblood would not be very different.

Daemon decides to appeal to your more… Hightower side. Perhaps that would get you to yield to him. He uses his more Otto-like tone, trying to sound as cunty as possible.

“It’s your duty.”

You shake your head, frantically.

“We can’t. It's not right. You are my uncle.”

Your words are spoken with such conviction, he has to fight the urge to scream. That was your problem? You? A daughter of the house of the dragon, complaining about incest?

“It is not unprecedented. Our whole line begins because Aegon the conqueror had his sister wives. And then, Maegor married his niece, too.” Daemon’s words are sharp. He lets go of you and starts to pace the room. Good Gods, what had Alicent done to you? Had she twisted your mind so, you now thought marrying him was wrong because you were related?

“And their marriage was cursed. No child was born out of their union.” You reply, with an ugly smile. He wants to slap it out of your little face. Smug little girl, thinking she knows everything about the world.

“Jaehaerys married his sister, the Good Queen Alyssane. They had plenty of children.” He insists, trying to get you to notice the flaws in your argument. Everyone knew that the only way to preserve the Valyrian bloodline was by marrying other Valyrians. Otherwise, the magic in their blood would dilute, and they would no longer be able to claim dragons. It was common sense.

“All of them turned out very… queer.”

“My parents..!” But you interrupt him before he can finish.

“Exceptionally queer, too.”

Daemon feels his face heating up. No one before has managed to infuriate him so. He wants to shake some sense into you. His hands itch for something to punish you with. Impudent little thing, daring to suggest his parents had been queer!

Queer! The queer one here was you! A Targaryen who opposed incest!

“Listen here, you awful little…”

“Stop that. Stop insulting me, by the Seven. You won’t change my mind.” You raise one of your hands, in the universal halt sign. “I will never share your bed.”

At that, Daemon thinks actual steam must be coming out of his ears. Never. As if. You would change your mind, he knows it. No one can resist him for long. He is experienced, charming, and handsome. A prince and a true dragon. What more could anyone want?

He would make you regret your words. He would show you. Under all your repressed, Hightower ways, you were a dragon. Targaryen blood ran thick. Daemon would have you eating out of the palm of his hand before you could realize. Before, he hadn’t really been trying. But now? He was ready for war.

“Come here.” He orders. You stare at him, and do not move. “You will disobey me in this, too?”

You step closer, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I wish to make a deal.” Daemon says. You cross your arms over your chest. “You don’t have to bed me if you don’t want to. But you will have to give me something in exchange.”

“What?” You tap your foot against the floor, impatiently. Yet your face, as always, betrays you. His offer has made you lower your guard, interested in what he has to say. Probably because you are seeing a way out of this whole issue.

“I want you to let me be as affectionate as I wish with you.”

“Fine.” You snarl at him, trying to look fierce. But you are too new to this game of pretending for Daemon to not see through your mask. You are confused.

He steps closer. He gathers you into his arms, and hugs you.

At first, you tense. Your arms remain glued to your sides, body stiff in his arms. Daemon enjoys the feel of it regardless. You smell like innocence, sweet and young. Your body is soft and feminine, nothing like the hard muscles of his first wife. He allows himself to relax into you.

Eventually, your body sags a bit. You relax into the hug.

“I wish… I wish….” You start speaking, face hidden in his shoulder. Daemon doesn’t let go. His gut tells him that whatever you are going to say, it is important. “I wish I wasn’t ashamed. And that… In our wedding ceremony, I would have liked to know what was being said.”

Daemon’s heart aches. His poor little Hightower, denied of her birthright. And then, a giant grin spreads on his face. Here it was. The opportunity he needed.

“I will teach you.” Daemon whispers, against your hair. He kisses it. It’s a lovely thing, an icy blonde that doesn’t fit your warm personality. Now that you are not fighting him, he is starting to notice you are very sweet natured. “I promise.”

“You will?” You look up at him, wary. “And what will the price be?”

Daemon chuckles.

“No price.” He caresses the bridge of your nose, tracing your features. You seem bashful at the attention, and it is so adorable, he can’t help but kiss you.

You startle. All coltish, you nearly elbow him in your haste to move away.

“What are you doing? We said no bedding!”

“I know.” Daemon smiles at you, indulgently. Now is the time to tread carefully, less you spook, and he ends up losing all his progress. “I just want to kiss my wife. Affection, for the sake of it. Kissing doesn’t need to lead to anything.”

You nod. You don’t seem convinced. But he soon discovers your hesitance comes from something else.

“I have never kissed anyone.” You whisper, almost ashamed.

“Then let me teach you that too.” And he is leaning in, and capturing your mouth with his.

“I GOT you something.” Daemon suddenly says, one morning. You lift your gaze from your book, an historic account about the doom of old Valyria, and watch him with curious eyes.

Your husband is carrying a bundle of cloth on his arms. He is back from his usual shenanigans in the city. Betting and drinking, but no longer any whoring, he assures you. The Lord of Flea Bottom is no more, or so he says.

It is quite early. You have just broke your fast with your mother, after the two of you did your morning prayers together. It is a ritual you find great comfort in, despite Daemon doing his best to discourage you. He doesn’t like that you worship the Faith of the Seven.

He has grown slightly more tolerant of Alicent as time goes by. You cannot say the same for her. Despite the fact that Daemon treats you well, she still can’t seem to get over the fact that he is Daemon Targaryen, the same man who had terrorized her father, courted her best friend and possibly murdered his last wife.

The bundle of clothes moves in Daemon’s arms. You place your book down, and creep closer, wondering about its contents. It’s then that you hear it. A soft, quiet mewl.

A grin spreads across your face. You cross the distance between the two of you, and watch as a small paw reaches out from the cloth, flexing its tiny claws. It is covered in white fur, the cushions on the bottom of it a soft pink.

“A kitten!” You say, delighted. You take it from Daemon and cradle it against you. The kitten can’t be older than a few weeks. His eyes are already open, a cloudy gray that takes your breath away. It’s love at first sight. “Oh, husband, thank you!”

“I saw it when I was coming back this morning. Thought you would like the damn thing.” Daemon says, gruffly. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“I will name him… Quicksilver!” You say, cheerily. It makes his lips twitch a bit, unable to hide his amusement. This week, Daemon has been helping you practice your High Valyrian by reading a more recent text, accounting the times of King Aerys.

The language practice has brought the two of you closer. You are no longer as resentful or scared of him as you once were. You spend nearly all your evenings with him, pouring over gigantic tomes written in the language of your ancestors. Daemon patiently corrects your pronunciation, teaching you the right way of rolling the vocals, and how to accentuate your consonants.

You would have never thought you would enjoy learning so much. He is a very compelling teacher, clearly passionate about the subject yet stern enough to make you do all your assignments before their due date. Daemon is patient and encouraging, willing to explain things to you over and over again until you understand them fully.

The kitten yawns, showing a row of tiny white teeth and a pink tongue. You coo.

“Tiny but fierce.” Daemon smirks. “The Seven preserve us all.”

“How pious.” You tease, and Daemon steps closer. He grabs your waist and pulls you in for a kiss, Quicksilver still in your arms.

Despite having kissed him many times before now, you feel as weak to his advances as you had felt the first time he had kissed you. Daemon kisses like he is conquering, nipping at your lower lip until you open for him, and taking complete ownership of your mouth. His hands grasp at your nape, holding you against him. There is no escape from his kisses, and it fills you with a thrill you had never expected to feel before. Daemon wants you. He desires you, as a man desires a woman. There is no headier feeling than that.

At first, you had thought he was lonely. Why else would he ask for affection, when he was able to ask for anything else from you? That night, when he had found out you had been lying to him, Daemon could have asked for anything, done anything to you. Not a man in the realm would have judged him for it.

His behavior after that only seemed to confirm it. When the two of you were in public, his hands would linger on you, as if fearing you would leave his side. When someone told a funny joke, his eyes would seek yours before laughing, making sure you were still there.

It was an urge you understood too well. Abandonment was something you had learned to fear as well. Your mother had left you unwillingly. Your father and sister had both been eager to wash their hands from you. You guessed Daemon’s life had been a bit like that, too. From what you had heard, his mother had passed when he was a child. Your father had grown tired of him. And your sister… Well. That had been his fault.

When you grew up like that, you clung to every kindness, to every slice of warmth you could get. It was no wonder Daemon clung to you as hard as he did. It was difficult to live like that, not knowing what kindness feels like, grasping desperately to any scraps of it until you can almost piece together what the real thing feels like.

Despite having all reasons not to, Daemon’s attention never turned suffocating. Perhaps, you too, were starved for affection. You had gone your whole life with no positive male attention, being overshadowed by your sister and forced into almost a Septa-like life by your mother. His touches were never beyond the proper attention a man would show his wife in public. It felt almost… fatherly.

As a child, your father had never sat with you, or listened to anything you said. Daemon, instead, seemed to pay close attention to everything you did or told him. He sat for hours with you, pouring over myths and historical accounts, correcting your pronunciation of High Valyrian, teaching you the meaning behind old rituals.

It was as if a door had been opened for you. One you could use to glimpse inside his mind, and your father’s and even Rhaenyra’s. You understood now much more about how they behaved, and why they did. You didn’t necessarily agree, but you understood.

Some confusing feelings had begun to arise with all this new information stuffed into your head. You liked Daemon’s attention. He was charming, and it made you feel good about yourself, being able to keep someone as worldly and cultured as him interested in you. It made you wish, sometimes, to have been his daughter instead of King Viserys’. But at the same time, the way you felt and the things you did with him weren’t the kind of things you imagined daughters feeling for their parents.

When Daemon kissed you, as he did now, you felt your stomach swoop. His skilled mouth made your skin tingle, and all your hairs stand up on edge. It made you feel ashamed of yourself. You weren’t supposed to feel such things for your uncle. No matter how Valyrian, it was just not right.

What made you feel even more ashamed was the fact that sometimes, when he kissed you for too long, the place between your legs would get slick with arousal. You wanted him too, you realized, with the utmost horror. You wanted him like a woman desires a man. A wife desires her husband.

It is then the game starts. Daemon kisses you, and you kiss back, eagerly exploring his mouth and learning how to play his game. You make out with him for what feels like hours, until you feel drunk from his kisses and become as pliant and soft as clay being molded in his hands. It is then that you let him touch you a bit more, push the boundaries your previous truce has set. His hands grasp at your hips, his lips mouth at your neck. And when the edge of your shift starts to ride up, or his lips trail too close to the neckline of it, you jolt out of your stupor.

Shame licks at your spine, grabs tightly at the back of your head. Makes you stiffen under him, body set into a hard line. How can you be so wanton? Why do you behave in such whorish ways? You struggle then, overcome by the embarrassment you feel at your own behavior.

Daemon tries to subdue you. Sometimes, you fold, other times you spend the night tossing and turning on the bed, trying to get the upper hand. Sometimes, he wins, and pins you down on the mattress. But instead of forcing you, he kisses you again and the game begins anew.

You spend the nights like this. Kissing and struggling with anxious violence, until it has begun to replace the act of love. You can tell Daemon enjoys your struggles, the feel of your buttocks against his clothed crotch. You can feel the weight of him against your hip, burning hot and hard.

Eventually, he tires and heads out. You don’t know if he pleasures himself then, or if he just ignores his arousal until it goes away. You prefer the second when it comes to yourself. For hours, you stare at the ceiling, willing the heat in your blood to go away. Sleeps evades you, yet when it does not, it feels even more torturous. You dream of him, of the act, conjuring lewd positions and thoughts, until morning comes, and you feel like you have not slept at all.

This precarious balance could never last. You are not good at the court’s games, having been a wallflower most of your life. You are a stranger to waging tongues, and malicious comments, but Daemon is not. He is doomed to always be the center of attention, this husband of yours.

Someone notices that almost three moons after marriage, you are still a maiden And someone remembers Daemon’s lack of children with his first wife. One plus one makes two.

He comes to find you in the Royal Sept, as you are lighting candles with your mother. He grabs you briskly by the arm and drags you away, the match still alight between your fingers.

“Have you heard?” Daemon asks, breathless. It is clear that he has rushed to you. “What they are saying about me?”

You shake your head.

“How would I?” You are, after all, as isolated as you were before the wedding. Your only companions are Quicksilver, Daemon, your mother, and your siblings. And Aegon is at that terrible age, where he behaves like a little deviant. The others are too young to provide true companionship, Helaena stuck on her imaginary worlds and Aemond not quite a boy, not yet a man.

“They say I am impotent. That your womb has not quickened because I have not taken you. Because I am unable to.” The crude words Daemon speaks make your eyes widen. You have grown protected from the nastier side of court life, forgotten as you were. You cannot believe how someone would dare comment on a married couple’s bedroom activities, which are meant to be one of the more sacred things to happen between man and wife according to the Seven. Much less, how someone would dare to utter such poisonous slander.

“We know it’s not the truth.” You place your hand on his arm, trying to soothe his wounded pride. Daemon is, above all, impulsive. You fear he is about to do something rash, even if you do not imagine yet what.

Isn’t it enough that the two of you know the courtiers are in the wrong? You have felt the press of his member, hard against your hip, in the nights the two of you struggle. You have felt his hips rutting against yours, as his kisses mapped unknown constellations on your shoulders. What does it matter if Daemon hasn’t taken you? How can these people dare interfere, or even mention what the two of you do or do not do?

Shame, once again, grips you in its clutches. You feel your face warm at the thought of how these strangers must view you. Queer. Twisted. You wonder if they blame his inability to perform on your blood ties. If they think the Seven are cursing your marriage, just as they had with the ones of King Maegor.

“It isn’t.” Daemon says, coldly. He walks away, a tense line on his shoulders, and you walk back inside the Sept.

Alicent is still lighting candles. You sense that there are not enough of them to make a difference for what is about to happen.

That night, a disgruntled looking Harwin Strong wakes you up. He tells you how he is there to supervise your packing. You are leaving the city, he explains, to your bewilderment. Effective immediately.

As you place your dresses inside some linens, and ready Quicksilver, you manage to coax the story out of him.

Daemon had been at his usual haunt in Flea Bottom, betting on some cockfights. You could picture the scene clearly. Daemon, lazily counting his winnings with that infuriating smug look he got when he was proud of himself. An angry patron, getting up and on his face after losing to him.

“Maybe that cock will work for your wife!”

The whole establishment erupting into laughter. Daemon, cold smile on his lips.

“Go to your manse, and arm yourself. Because I am going to kill you tonight.”

After that, there was little he could say in his own defense to King Viserys. It had been a premeditated act, in front of multiple witnesses. No way of denying it, or trying to shift the blame.

You stood outside the city gates, observing Caraxes. He looked as done with Daemon’s antics as you felt. In front of you, stood the world.

Daemon strode by, being dragged by Ser Harwin. He was chained, but managed to look as carefree as any free man.

“You know the rules.” Ser Harwin said, unchaining him, before turning towards you. There was a bit of sorrow in his brown eyes, perhaps feeling pity for you. “Farewell, Princess.”

“Where to, Lady Wife?” Daemon asked, cheekily. There was no hint of remorse on his face. It seemed exile reinvigorated him like nothing else.

Your lips pursed into a thin line. You didn’t want to leave. It was scary, the thought of being away from home. The times you had been outside the Red Keep could be counted with the fingers of your hands alone. And what were you to do, friendless in the big world that opened in front of you?

You wanted to punish him. If he was giving you a choice, you were going to give him a lesson.

“To the North. Perhaps that hot blood of yours will fare better there.”

“ARE YOU sure?” You ask him, all pleading eyes. Daemon nods, already sitting inside the hot spring. You are strangely fearful of the warm water, perhaps, having already grown used to the cold of the North.

“If this scalds me alive, I will come back to haunt you.” You warn, turning to face away before beginning to undress. Daemon can’t help but let his eyes linger on your body, despite knowing how indignant it would get you were you to notice. He has promised to avert his eyes, after all.

Naive as you are, you never check to see that he actually does.

He watches as you remove your furs, and unlace your dress. It has taken him quite some effort to get you to feel comfortable enough to be naked in his presence. There might come a day when you are desensitized to nakedness, but Daemon guesses you are still far away from it. He has to keep trying.

You are worth the effort, though. His precious niece, sweet as the Maiden herself and twice as pretty.

“Dragons don’t burn.” He answers, absentmindedly. You are only wearing your chemise and your hoses, and as you lean down to remove those, he gets a perfect view of your cute rear.

“Perhaps. But I am no dragon.” You pull the chemise over your head, unaware of the fact that you are being watched. Daemon drinks in the sight of your naked legs, strong yet delicate, leading up to beautiful hips and a soft back. As you pull your hair up, he notices how the muscles of your arms and back move in a graceful combination that can’t be anything more but a natural gift. He spends a few seconds mesmerized by you, before you start to turn around and Daemon remembers he is supposed to be averting his eyes.

He fixes them politely on the other side of the hot spring, careful to not let you catch him looking out of the corner of his eyes. You are becoming sloppy in your old age, he scolds himself. Daemon can't help it. Lately, he feels more like the boy he once was than the man he is. His attempts at seduction are fumbled, he gets carried away by his passion, a single one of your smiles can render him tongue twisted.

Everything that you do is charming. The slight sway of your hips as you walk, the way your eyes light up when you laugh, but most of all, your personality. Freed from the cage of Alicent’s judgmental stares, you seem to be growing into yourself. Life on the road seems to suit you, despite your fearful nature. Surrounded by strangers, you no longer feel the weight of being judged for imaginary sins.

“You are. Just one with a more…. Fragile constitution.” How he wishes to be able to turn back time, sometimes. Gather the girl you once were into his arms and soothe all the old hurts. Raise you the right way, give you all the attention you had desperately needed and watch you bloom into an impressive woman. You were already a creature of impossible beauty. How much better could you have been, if they hadn’t stunted your growth?

You were too much of a Hightower, Daemon himself had thought once. But Alicent had thought you not Hightower enough, and she had tried to mold you into one, keeping you well away from what she thought of as queer customs.

Who had told you weren't a dragon? And how had they made that awful lesson stick, until you felt adrift, and belonged nowhere?

The sudden sound of water shifting, and you hissing makes him jolt out of his contemplation. Daemon turns his head the barest bit, managing to catch sight of your hips sinking into the water, and the shape of one of your breasts. There is one puffy nipple crowning it, hard and proud and begging to be bitten. He fights the urge to pounce on you, and instead remains sitting on his side of the natural pool and tries to relax into the warm water. Patience is of the essence in seduction, after all. You need to come to him convinced it is your idea.

“Ready.” You say, sounding a bit too close. He turns and there you are, right in front of him. You sit on the shallower end, water covering you to nearly your collarbones. Daemon playfully reaches out with his foot and touches your leg, making you jump. He laughs.

“It isn’t so bad, is it?” Daemon’s voice still carries a bit of mirth. He can’t help it, you have such cute reactions.

“No. Almost like a warm bath.” You fan your face with your hands. Seeing you lose your composure a little, Daemon feels a bit guilty about pressuring you to enter the pool. It’s true you are not as used to extreme heat as he is. He rushes to your side, uncaring of his own nakedness.

“Too hot?” He asks you, wiping away a stray drop of sweat before it can get into your eyes. You mumble something incoherent, so he presses a hand to your forehead. He doesn’t want you to swoon from heat exhaustion, out of all things. But your temperature is normal. It is then he realizes your eyes are fixated on his chest.

Ah. Poor thing. Daemon can feel his lips stretching into a proud smile. Finally, succumbing to your lust. He should press his advantage, but he finds himself hesitating to do so. Despite how appealing he finds you, he understands that you are different. A being that walks the world of the divine and the mundane that skirts the two but was not made for the more carnal things.

Instead, he commits the sight to memory, for when he decides to touch himself. Perhaps tonight, even. It is something he has been doing more and more often. Daemon has found intercourse with whores is nowhere near as fun as laying on the bed, with you by his side, and tugging at his cock until completion.

He is never quiet about what he is doing. Soft grunts and moans fill your chambers each time he does. You pretend to be asleep, but Daemon can tell you are listening. The next day, you turn fevered with lust. It is you who kisses him, who rakes her claws along his back.

There is no consummation yet. But it is becoming clearer than once fully freed from the judgment of your family, there will be.

You sway slightly. Daemon opens his arms, and lets you curl into him. He guides the two of you into a sitting position, placing you firmly on his lap. Your hair falls into a mess of curls thanks to the humidity, up do barely resisting. He fixes it for you, tightening the ribbon keeping it up. Then, he starts massaging your neck and shoulders.

The pleasure of your bare skin under his hands is undescribable. It’s a luxury he has worked hard to get, and for that, tastes even sweeter. Your sweet little face is scrunched up, in a rare show of pain and pleasure. Daemon wonders if it is the face you would make when he spears you open on his cock.

An annoying hardness begins to make itself known in his groin. He feels like a mere boy, getting excited about the smallest touch. You are driving him mad. And Daemon is enjoying every second of it.

Almost as if listening to his inner monologue, you shift on his lap. Something seems to be bothering you. You can’t get comfortable, and you squirm on his lap more than a seasoned whore. Daemon can pinpoint the exact moment you notice what you are squirming on. Your eyes go wide and you freeze. An embarrassed look takes over your face.

He fights the urge to laugh, wrapping his arms more firmly around you and encouraging to rest against his chest. Daemon could spend years like this. Denial is a fun game. Months have passed, and he has yet to grow tired of it, of taking away your innocence little by little.

You lean in. You give him a playful little smile, and you bite, hard. The pain from your teeth blooms on his shoulder, making his cock throb.

“Impudent little thing.” He chastises, softly. “I should spank the defiance out of you.”

You laugh. You have come to realize that he is not as much of a brute as everyone painted him to be, and that he is too soft to make good on his threat. Ever since your argument, Daemon has never hurt you. He likes you too much for it. He wouldn’t force you to bed him, nor would he willingly do anything to upset you. Not even if you announced you didn’t want him touching you ever again.

Was this what love felt like, he wondered? Being happy with just sharing the same air you did, watching you play with your cat, being honored that he was trusted enough to feed the damn thing?

It probably was. But hell, if he was going to let it stop this corruption of your innocence. No. Instead, Daemon grabbed you by the shoulders and bit down on the hollow of your throat, playfully. You made a small sound, like a caught animal. He could tell you were getting ready to succumb to pleasure once more. His hedonist little wife, always ready to be put in a kiss drunk state. You turned liquid in his arms when it happened, going lax over him.

Daemon could tease you some more. Or… He leans in, breathing in your scent, before blowing a giant raspberry by the side of your neck. You shriek in laughter, squirming on his lap. Water is sent flying everywhere. He peppers your face and neck in kisses as you do, laughing st your squeals and squirming.

“Daemon.” You say, after a while, when the both of you have calmed down. Your head rests on his shoulder, expression hidden.

“Little niece.” He whispers, and you tremble at the endearment.

“I have decided something.” You whisper back. Somehow, your voice feels loud in the cave of the hot spring, nothing but the soft murmur of water being heard.

“You have?” Daemon asks, heart thumping in his chest as if he has just taken to the skies in Caraxes. He pulls you out of hiding, lifting your head towards him.

“I want to marry you right.” You say, shyly. You look deeply embarrassed. “Under my faith. So we can…” You trail off, averting your eyes.

“So we can..?” Daemon asks, feeling a triumphant grin spread over his face.

“Have a child.”

And oh, it is the most wonderful thing he has even heard. He will buy you a cloak, and a couple of ribbons for the hand fasting. He will find the two of you a home. Daemon says all this, as he presses his forehead against yours. Not even his conquest of the Stepstones felt as sweet.

2K notes · View notes

zhongrin · 2 months ago

Text

i'm tired, darling.

featuring... ❥ zhongli, al haitham, jing yuan, blade

involves... ❥ hurt/comfort(-ish), implied self-harm, suicidal thoughts/behavior, probably incoherent, not proofread

through the thousands years of his life, through the plethora of sounds that could bring both fear and sadness to the god of stone’s heart, one stands out most; and he is forced to relive this moment as his ears picked up your heart-wrenching wail and loud sobs from the bedroom. he pays no mind to the clatter of his shoes nor the crumple of his signature coat to the floor, missing its intended place at the coat hanger. all he knows is that you’re in pain — his mate is in pain.

zhongli finds you curled in your nest, trembling and buying your head into your favorite pillow. his chest tightens when you peek at him, and he sees the rain of tears staining your cheeks, eyelashes matted and lips quivering. a variety of emotions wells inside him, but he’s sure it’s nowhere near intense as what you’re experiencing right now.

“darling…,” your husband whispers, stepping closer slowly, reaching forward cautiously like he’s approaching a wounded animal, “can i come closer?”

you can’t seem to reply, busy hiccuping and teetering the edges of hyperventilating. wilting and rotting like a flower that’s been rained for far too long. struggling to stay alive, and yet the petals are falling, the leaves crushed, the thin stem drooping.

your skin is marred, and in turn a pained frown mar his face. his gloves are taken off haphazardly, and they gently settle on your back, trying to rub soothing patterns. he knows not to speak, yet he makes sure you won’t be in further danger for yourself.

it’s a slow process, for you to unlatch yourself from the pillow and delve into his embrace instead. but when you finally do after a series of patient coaxing and comforting touches, he holds you tighter.

just hold on, please just hold on. his warm hand cradles your nape, reassuring and solid, while the other squeezes against the flesh of your back. this too shall pass. his lips press against your shoulder; reverent, loving, apologetic. i love you.

for a man who has his way with words, there are just as many unspoken words in each of his silent actions. he can only hope it's enough to tide you for tonight. at least for tonight.

“everything hurts.”

“i don’t know what's wrong.”

“i’m so tired.”

there are many things al haitham knows the answer to. those that he doesn't would normally require some deep research, but at the end of the day he comes out a renewed man who could potentially give a few presentations about said topic if he so wished. but matters of the heart are notoriously fickle, complicated, and perhaps ironically beyond human understanding.

“i don’t know how you can help. i don't know how to even help myself.”

all he can do is hold you, and he is plunged into the enlightening pit that is the realization about the powerlessness of a mortal, as he feels the shaking of your body within his arms. the sharp mind he is often praised and insulted for and the body he trains daily for precautions are useless against this intangible enemy.

what was he to say? “it’s okay”? when he couldn’t guarantee that it would be? “you’ll be okay”? wouldn’t that imply you should have the capability to make yourself okay? “it’ll get better”? wouldn’t it be overly optimistic and naive to believe the world will just somehow align itself to pave a path of flowers for you?

too many uncertainties. too lacking of valid evidences to support his case. broken and as worn out as you may be, you are not a fool, and such is a trait that he will continue to adore about you. the treatment as an equal is what you deserve, even when you’re in your lowest moment.

so he settles with something he knows will be factually true and has a complete control over:

“i’m always here for you.”

everyone equates silence to peace, yet often fails to account silence as suffering.

centuries of living, and jing yuan too manages to make the same mistake. there’s something haunting about the way you lay on your shared bed today. and now that he thinks about it more, yesterday… and the days before, too. something unnatural in your smiles, in the way it slips far too quickly and the way you always close your eyes, as if to hide something. the way you keep your nails short, the nail clipper making itself home on your nightstand and used every morning and every night, almost in desperation. the nights where he would fall asleep to your snore are quiet: the room listens to his breaths and the tranquil chirps of the cicadas outside.

silence.

“darling, something’s wrong, and you’re not telling me.”

you look at him like you’re tired of life itself, and his heart freezes. in a second, he drops onto the bed and cups your cheek. by now you should have berated him not to wear his work clothes and climb onto bed with them, and yet all he’s met with is

silence.

and a shaky breath, before you finally speak, soft and uncertain and numb.

“why can’t it all just end, yuan?”

he can give you a hundred reasons. because it means he won’t be able to see you smile anymore. because it means he won’t be able to make you laugh. because it means he won’t be able to kiss you, make love to you, treat you like the priceless treasure…

… that he has utterly failed to do.

“i’m sorry, darling. i was ignorant. when did this start?” he pleads. the man commanding an entire ship that may as well be a nation in itself grovels willingly before you, his hand cradling yours before bringing it up to his lips. your knight nuzzles your palm, observes the way your eyes turns glassy, a tear slowly sliding down your temple onto the halo of your hair.

“let’s end this silence and talk to me…. please?”

“countless times. countless. times…,” his breath shudders, jaw clenching before his lips reopen, “… you tell me, again and again, to be careful with my body. and yet i come back to see this…”

blade’s breath hitches, and perhaps a stab to the heart would be less painful than the way his body seizes up with hurt at the way you promptly apologize, with those godforsaken tears continuing to make a stream of sadness stain your cheeks.

he’s always seen you as a tempered steel, resilient and sharp, yet comforting and reassuring. the star to his night, illuminating and guiding. the sun in his orbit, ever present and shining so brightly.

he forgets that even the strongest blades, too, can break. that any stars can disappear in an instant by a supernova. that a sun continuously burns itself just to shine and will one day, too, burn out like a fizzling candle.

your voice is as cracked as the weapon he wields and it cuts deeper into the scarred remains of his cursed heart. he swallows thickly, yet the lump in his throat refuses to cease. rough hands tightening before his arms bring you into a painful embrace. just like the way you hold him whenever the nightmares visit. he tries to wipe your crystalline tears with his fingers, watches sorrowfully as your swollen eyes glazes and the whites of your eyes fills with red lines. the grief you experience is harrowing, and he wonders if this is how you feel whenever you see him suffer: powerless, bleak, tortured.

“don’t cry.” would it truly suffice to just hold you like this?

“don’t cry.” would it be better to kill everything you’ve ever interacted with so you won’t be hurt further?

“don’t cry.” would it be better to remove himself from your life…?

“i’ll give you everything,” he finds his own voice break, “everything… so please stop crying.”

#genshin x reader #hsr x reader #zhongli x reader #al haitham x reader #jing yuan x reader #blade x reader #zhongli #al haitham #jing yuan #blade #rin writes #genshin impact x reader #honkai star rail x reader

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seospicybin · 3 months ago

Text

I DARE YOU.

Felix x reader. (s)

Synopsis: The shy you meet the charming stranger, Felix, through a dare that leads you both into a whirlwind of a night filled with new, unexpected things. (17,6k words)

Author's note: It’s a late bday fic for Felix. I had soooooo much fun writing the smut in this one and I rarely said that so I hope you had fun too reading it x

Not this—being in a loud, dark club with Rex and her friends, a group of people you barely know, and the alcohol in your glass isn't any less foreign, a poor substitute for your usual chamomile tea.

A typical Friday night for you usually means snuggling on the sofa with your favorite blanket, a book in hand, and a cup of tea.

The music is thumping, the strobing lights flickering incessantly, and the sheer chaos of it all overwhelms your senses. It's overstimulating, like stepping into a world where you don't quite belong.

But here you are, trying to push past your comfort zone for one night, specifically for your best friend, Rex. You make the exception because it's her birthday.

You've known Rex since high school, and to this second, you're still not entirely sure how you two became best friends.

Rex is everything you aren’t—fierce, vibrant, and unapologetically confident—while you are introverted, shy, and awkward. Yet somehow, in that contrast, you found something that clicked. Maybe it's the way she effortlessly pulls you out of your shell or the way she always has your back without needing to say much.

For almost eight years now, this unlikely bond has stood the test of time, bridging the gap between your quiet, dull world and her wild, colorful one.

However, at times, the stark contrast between you and Rex pushes you to the edge. She thrives on excitement, constantly seeking new experiences, while you cling to routine. You like the comfort of predictability—having the same breakfast every day, enjoying the calm of your familiar surroundings. Rex, on the other hand, is always nudging you, sometimes even shoving you, to break free from that comfort zone. She wants you to explore, to live a little, and while you appreciate her intentions, it can feel overwhelming. She never seems to understand that trying new, exciting things isn’t natural for you the way it is for her.

Just like tonight. Rex has convinced everyone to play Never Have I Ever, and it quickly becomes apparent how out of place you are.

Every statement, every confession, is about wild, reckless things—everything you’ve never done. With each round, your glass remains untouched while everyone else takes shots, laughing as they reveal their mischievous pasts.

By the time the group is tipsy and lightheaded from confessing their wild and naughty escapades, you are still as sober as ever, quietly sitting there, feeling even more like a fish out of water.

Rex eventually notices your lack of participation. She puts down her glass and says, “Alright, this is getting boring. Let’s change the game!”

You notice her eyes flicking to you, and you feel your heart sink. “But I’m having fun,” you assure her, forcing an awkward laugh.

Your words are not entirely false. It isn’t like you aren’t having fun—it just isn’t your kind of fun.

Rex smirks, knowing you too well. She can see through your calm façade. “Sure you are. Alright, Never Have I Ever cheated on a test?"

Everyone else laughs, raising their glasses to take a shot, but your glass stays put.

“Guys, you shouldn’t cheat on...” your words trail off as you notice the looks they give you.

“See?” Rex says, turning back to you. “It’s not fun if you’re not participating.”

You scoff, but you can't really argue. It's true. The game isn’t exactly designed for someone like you.

“I’m still having fun,” you insist with a faint smile, but even you can hear how fake that sounds.

Rex lets out a sigh and scoots closer to you. “It’s my birthday, and I want my best friend to have fun on my birthday.”

One of her friends groans, putting her glass down with an exaggerated eye roll. “Whatever, I’m hitting the dance floor.” She slides out of the booth, and the rest follow, leaving you and Rex alone.

Maybe Rex’s birthday has become a bit boring because of you, but you told her before that you would’ve preferred a small gathering at your apartment, maybe just the two of you.

“I’m sorry I’m ruining your birthday,” you mumble, feeling guilty for being a party pooper and aware that it's unfair to her.

However, Rex’s attention has already drifted elsewhere—on someone, to be exact. She turns her head back at you with her eyes twinkling with mischief.

“He’s been checking you out,” she whispers against the loud music.

You snort and shake your head in disbelief, glancing in the direction she subtly nods toward, checking if she's telling the truth.

Across the room, a guy with bleached blond hair and tattooed hands sits casually, dressed in a leather jacket. His fair skin and delicate features are striking, but you can’t help but laugh to yourself. There is no way he is checking you out—not when Rex, your stunning, lively best friend, is sitting right next to you.

Before you can argue, Rex turns your head toward him. Your eyes lock with his instantly, and your heart skips a beat. You tell yourself it's just the loud, thumping music making your chest pound like that. He smiles faintly at you, and you quickly look away, feeling heat rise in your cheeks.

“Okay, new game!” Rex suddenly announces, clapping her hands.

You blink in shock. “Wait, what?”

“Don’t worry, it’s just between you and me,” Rex says with a mischievous grin, taking a second to sip her drink.

You raise an eyebrow, wary of what she has in mind. “Okay...?” you respond nervously.

“Truth or dare,” Rex finally reveals, her eyes gleaming with trouble. “But here’s the twist—there’s no truth.”

“Rex, I don’t—” you begin, but she cuts you off by covering your mouth with her hand.

“It’s my birthday,” she says, her voice low yet commanding. “You’re obliged to do whatever I ask.”

You sigh, nodding reluctantly. Rex removes her hand and holds yours instead, her fingers cool and reassuring despite her devious smile.

“My dear best friend,” she says, that mischievous grin lingering on her red-painted lips, “I dare you to kiss that guy.”

Your eyes follow her finger, and it's pointing at the bleached blond guy with the tattooed hands across the room.

“What? No way!” You blurt out, eyes widening in shock.

“Come on! It’s just a kiss. You can do it," Rex says casually, showing how different the two of you view this dare. She then squeezes your hand and adds, "Besides, he’s been staring at you all night.”

Your heart pounds, not from the music but from the sheer terror of Rex’s dare. Kiss a stranger? In a club? You aren’t Rex—confident and fearless. You’re the girl who barely participated in Never Have I Ever because the wildest thing you’ve ever done is stay up late to study for finals.

“But I… I don’t know him,” you stammer, your palms getting sweaty on your lap.

“That’s the point of the game!" Rex says lightly. "And it’s not like he hasn’t noticed you. He smiled, didn’t he?”

The idea terrifies you, but there is also a small part of you—buried deep under all the shyness and caution—that is curious. What if you step out of your comfort zone for once? What if you do something wild, something you’d never do on your own?

As if she hears your thoughts, Rex leans closer and softly says, “You’ve spent your whole life playing it safe. It’s just one kiss. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You glance back toward the guy. He’s still sitting there, calm and collected, his long bleached-blonde hair falling effortlessly around his face. He hasn’t looked away since your brief, flustered glance earlier. Instead, he seems… unfazed, but there’s something curious in his eyes, like he’s still watching, waiting.

“I can’t,” you mutter again, shaking your head, feeling that familiar wave of discomfort rise in your chest.

Rex leans in closer, holding your hand gently. “Look, I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable. I just want you to have fun for once, not think about everything so much. You trust me, right?”

Of course you trust her. Rex has been by your side for eight years, through thick and thin. As wild as she is, she always has your back, no matter what.

The logical part of your brain screams at you to refuse, to stay in your lane. But there’s another voice, quieter but growing louder with each passing second, telling you to just do it, to be bold, even if just for one night.

You inhale deeply, your hand still in hers, and with a shaky voice, you say, “Fine. But if I make a fool of myself, I'll kill you and leave your body in a ditch.”

Rex bursts out laughing, not finding your words threatening at all. “Deal! Now go get him, tiger!” she says, giving you a playful slap on the butt.

“I can’t believe I’m about to do this,” you mutter under your breath, standing up on legs already turning to jelly.

You look over your shoulder and find Rex grinning, clearly delighted. As encouragement, she gives you a nudge in the guy's direction.

As you walk toward him, each step feels surreal, heavier than the last. It doesn’t take long before the guy notices you, and to your surprise, his faint smile grows.

When you finally stop in front of him, you don’t know what to say. Your throat tightens, and for a moment, you regret even considering the dare. But despite everything, you hear your own voice ask, “Do you mind if I kiss you?”

There's no turning back now, and it’s not like he's the type to say no, not with the way he's looking at you—intrigued. And despite the panic in your chest, there’s something thrilling about the way he watches you.

He looks at you with a mix of surprise and amusement, then his smile turns soft. “How could I say no to that?” he says, his voice surprisingly low and deep.

Not giving yourself time to overthink, you close the gap between you and him, leaning in as he does the same until your lips and his meet in the middle.

The kiss isn’t wild or reckless like you imagined it would be. It’s gentle, slow, and—much to your surprise—perfectly in tune with the moment. It feels like the first time you’ve ever kissed anyone, full of nerves, fluttering excitement, and the kind of tenderness you hadn’t expected from a stranger.

When you pull back, your hand flies to your lips, barely believing you’ve just done that. Your heart is still racing, but this time, it isn’t just from fear. You feel the thrill and rush of stepping out of your comfort zone, and you think... maybe you can push yourself a little more, just a little bit.

Absentmindedly, you open your mouth and ask, “Do you want to get out of here?”

It's a typical Friday night for Felix—hanging at the club with his friends, having a few drinks, casually watching the scene. The same kind of night he's had countless times. His eyes wander across the room, drifting from one group of people to another, and then… he sees you.

You're completely out of place, dressed in something someone would wear to church on Sunday, your glasses slightly sliding down your nose, sitting with your hands clasped tightly in your lap. The glass you're holding? He's pretty sure it's just an accessory for your idle hand. Then he observes the people you're with—they're clearly here to let loose and have fun, his usual type—the kind of girls who are bold and uninhibited. But you? You're different, and that’s what intrigues him.

Felix isn’t being judgmental. He knows everyone needs to blow off some steam once in a while, but there's something about seeing you in this environment that captivates him. You don’t belong here, not really, and yet here you are. The juxtaposition of your quiet presence amidst the chaos of the club fascinates him. He finds himself watching you without meaning to, drawn to how out of place you are.

Then, your eyes meet. You look right at him from across the room, and he doesn't look away. He holds your gaze, wondering if you’ll hold it too, but you drop your eyes almost immediately.

The shyness in that simple act is oddly cute because most girls he meets in places like this are bold, forward. They don't shy away from eye contact, but you? There is something sweet in your hesitance.

The second time you glance over, Felix notices a change. You're a little braver, and this time, you don’t just look—you stand up. Your steps are hesitant but purposeful as you cross the room, and before he can think too much about it, you're right in front of him.

“Do you mind if I kissed you?” you ask, your voice soft, small yet determined.

Felix raises an eyebrow, surprised but amused. He can’t help but smile at the way you asked for permission. Most girls don’t ask—they just do. But your politeness, your shyness, the way you're so out of place in this club yet standing in front of him, asking so sweetly—it's irresistible.

He looks at you, his smile widening. “How could I say no to that?”

A kiss has always just been a kiss for Felix—a simple way to satisfy some biological need, with no deeper meaning behind it. But this? This kiss doesn’t feel like that.

The kiss takes him back to something he hasn’t felt in years—the thrill of a first kiss. The kind that's innocent, pure, and full of nervous excitement. He can’t remember the last time he had a kiss that made him feel like this—something chaste but electrifying all at once.

As you pull away, Felix almost groans in protest. He wants more, needs more of that flutter, that spark. His lips tingle, and he can tell yours do too, as your hand flies up to your mouth as if you can’t believe what just happened.

"Do you want to get out of here?" you ask, your voice shy, but with a daring edge that Felix hadn’t expected.

Your charm is something else—shy and demure one moment, then bold and forward the next, endlessly fascinating him. There's just something about you that makes this feel less like a random encounter and more like something worth exploring.

Consider his curiosity piqued, eager to see where this unlikely encounter will take him next. He meets your gaze, a playful smile tugging at his lips, then he says, "Lead the way!"

You turn, feeling the heat of his presence close behind you as you make your way through the packed club. The noise slowly recedes, replaced by a focused, almost intimate atmosphere between you.

As you reach the exit, Felix places a hand on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd. Once outside, the cool night air hits you, a refreshing contrast to the club’s stuffy heat.

Felix glances at you, his smile still in place, and asks, “So, what’s the plan?”

To be honest, you have no idea why you asked him out. You acted spontaneously, which is unlike you, but you know what you want. You crave the thrill and the excitement, and ultimately, more of that explosive kiss.

Without thinking, you reach for Felix’s arm, pulling him toward the dimly lit alley next to the club. The urgency between you both is palpable, the energy from that brief kiss still simmering just beneath the surface.

As soon as you're out of sight from the street, Felix pins you against a stack of old crates filled with empty beer bottles. His hands find your waist and pull you close. Your lips collide again, this time more passionate, more intense. Your heart is beating out of your chest as your fingers tangle in his long hair.

In the intensity of the moment, you lean back slightly, misjudging the proximity of the crate. Your head strikes the edge with a sharp thud, and the sudden pain makes you wince.

You gasp and accidentally break the kiss for a second, but you decide to laugh it off—you don’t want to ruin the moment.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice tinted with concern.

“I’m fine," you say, half-laughing.

Felix smiles, though concern fills his eyes as he leans in close. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m okay, I’m—” you begin to blabber, wanting to resume the heated moment by leaning in for another kiss, but you immediately stop when you notice the shift in his expression.

His hand reaches up to the side of your head, and that’s when you feel it too—the warm, sticky sensation spreading through your hair. Then, he shows you his fingers, coated with your blood.

“I don’t think you're okay,” he mutters, his voice suddenly serious. “You’re bleeding.”

You can feel the adrenaline and embarrassment mingling as the pain begins to set in.

Felix gently touches your shoulder, trying to comfort you as he guides you away from the alley. “We need to get this checked out. We need to go to the hospital.”

Oh, no! This was supposed to be your night of finally breaking out of your shell, not a night where you make a fool of yourself in front of a hot guy.

“It’s not a big deal. I don’t need to go to the hospital,” you insist, trying to brush off the situation.

He shakes his head firmly, but his hand remains gentle on the small of your back. “We’re getting this checked out. You can’t just ignore it.”

Without taking any of your excuses, Felix hails a taxi until one stops and pulls to the side of the road. He helps you get in, and on the ride to the nearest hospital, he checks on you every once in a while, asking if you're okay. His tatted hands and rough exterior are such a contrast to his gentle, attentive demeanor.

That only makes you hate how the night has taken a turn. The two of you could have done more than just kiss by now if it weren’t for you bumping your head on a stupid crate.

“Come back if you feel dizzy, nauseous, or if there’s a ringing in your ears,” the doctor says as she takes off her latex gloves, leaving the nurse to finish the rest.

Despite the night’s earlier excitement, you feel a tinge of embarrassment about the whole incident. You're thinking of faking a concussion just to stay the night in the emergency room, but you're aware that would only make him worry more about you.

Guess there's no other option but to push your way through this humiliation.

As you step out of the emergency room, you see him standing against the wall, looking impossibly cool in his rough leather jacket. With his striking features, he could’ve been doing a photo shoot for a magazine.

“Hi,” you nervously greet him.

The adrenaline has drained from your body, leaving you feeling deflated. It's like the girl who kissed a stranger in a dark alley has vanished, replaced by your usual shy, awkward self—plus, you now have a bandage on your forehead.

The magic of the night has faded, and you wouldn't blame Felix if he decided to leave now that he’s met the real you. He glances up from his phone, a soft smile stretching across his lips.

“Hey. You okay?” he asks, putting his phone back into the pocket of his leather jacket.

“Three stitches, no concussion,” you say, trying to sound casual.

“Oh, that’s a relief,” Felix sighs, visibly relaxing.

“You know, you don’t have to wait for me. I can deal with this myself,” you say, feeling a little guilty. He’s already done enough by helping you get to the hospital.

“I can’t do that,” Felix says, his voice steady.

“Why not?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“I can’t just leave when you’re hurt,” he answers simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

That's such an unexpected answer from an unexpected man. He barely knows you, yet here he is, waiting outside an emergency room just to make sure you're okay. That thought warms you—but then it hits you: you don’t even know his name.

“Unless I’m actually concussed… do I know your name?” you ask with a shy laugh. “Or did we skip introductions?”

Felix chuckles, holding out his hand to you. “Felix,” he says, his deep voice sending a pleasant shiver through you.

You take his hand, offering your name in return. “Nice to meet you, Felix.”

It's about to get awkward from here, you can feel it. The momentum of the night has stalled, and now you aren’t sure what to say or do. You like him, but it feels like the window to continue this spontaneous night has closed. Maybe it’s better to retreat.

“I’d better head home,” you mutter in defeat, but deep down, you hope the end of the night won’t feel as anticlimactic as it seems.

To your surprise, Felix straightens up from the wall and turns toward the exit. With a warm and genuine smile, he offers, “Let me take you home.”

As Felix stands outside the emergency room, leaning against the wall, he notices you stepping out, looking more like yourself again—shy, awkward, but also kind of endearing. He can see the hint of embarrassment in your eyes, like you're expecting him to vanish now that things aren't as wild as they were earlier. But you have no idea he isn’t that kind of guy, not when it comes to this.

You walk over, your voice soft and uncertain as you greet him, “Hi.”

“Hey. You’re okay?” he puts on a smile, relieved that you're okay.

“Three stitches, no concussion,” you answer, trying to play it down.

“That’s a relief,” he sighs.

Honestly, if anything worse had happened to you, he would’ve felt responsible, and he can’t live with that. Sure, his appearance might have given off the wrong vibe, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. You need help, so he helps you.

“You know, you don’t even have to wait for me. I can just deal with it myself," you awkwardly clasp your hands in front of you and keep avoiding his eyes as you speak.

“I can’t do that,” he says; there’s no way he leaves you alone after everything.

“Why not?” you ask, genuinely confused.

Felix doesn’t really have an answer to that, so he slowly shrugs and says, “I can’t just leave when you’re hurt.”

You give him this look, like you're trying to figure him out. He guesses you don't expect him to care, but he does, and that is that.

A moment passes in silence, and you shift awkwardly in front of him. “Unless I’m actually concussed... do I know your name, or did we skip the introduction?”

It only hits him now that you both indeed haven't introduced each other. He chuckles and holds out his hand. “Felix.”

You take it, and your hand feels warm and delicate in his. “Nice to meet you, Felix.”

You seem like you're about to wrap up the night, but he can see it in the way you're fidgeting, like you're ready to go but also unsure about how to end things.

“I’d better head home,” you mutter, your voice almost apologetic.

But Felix isn’t ready to end the night, and he can tell you don’t want to, either—you just don’t have the nerve to ask. And honestly, he doesn’t want the moment to slip away, so he decides to give you an out.

“Let me take you home,” he offers, and when your eyes meet his, he can see the relief flicker across your face.

When the taxi pulls up outside your apartment building, he watches you try to act cool, but he can tell you’re hesitating. You don’t want the night to end any more than he does, but you aren’t going to say it.

Felix has been with enough people to know when someone is too shy to speak up, and you are definitely in that space. He leans in slightly and asks, “Do you mind if I come in for a bit? I’m afraid I need to use your bathroom.”

Your face lights up with a smile you can’t hide, and he has to hold back a grin of his own.

“I don’t mind at all," you say, trying so hard to conceal the excitement in your voice.

The two of you head inside. You lead the way to your apartment, climbing the stairs, giving him a view of your back as the hem of your dress sways while you walk until you reach the fourth floor.

Thank God for that! If you climbed another flight of stairs, he would have followed his intrusive thoughts and dropped to his knees to peek under your skirt to see what kind of underwear you’re wearing.

Felix bets it's white, cotton, probably with cute floral prints. He shakes the thought away when you abruptly stop walking as you arrive at the front door of your apartment.

Once you unlock the door, you open it and step aside to let Felix in. He flashes you a smile as he steps in the small yet cozy apartment. He glances around and sees the pictures on the wall, mostly of you and a tall girl with curly brown hair. He remembers her as one of the girls you’ve been with at the club.

“The bathroom is that way,” you tell him, and Felix makes his way down the hall.

Once inside, he wastes a bit of time washing his hands, fixing his hair, checking the hair products, all the while giving you a moment to settle.

When he comes out, you’re in the kitchen, your hair now tied back into a low bun, exposing your neck and the soft tendrils of hair on the nape of your neck. You look… different, but still really cute.

“Would you like a drink?” you ask, sauntering your way to the fridge.

“Anything cold would be nice,” he answers.

You take two cans of soda out of the fridge, bringing them with you to the living room and sitting on the small sofa.

“Sit down, please,” you say, permitting him to sit in the space next to you since there’s no other place to sit.

“This is a nice apartment,” he comments, his eyes glancing around while his hand works the tab on his soda can.

“Thanks,” you mutter with a smile, holding the can of soda in both hands. It has been opened, but you're not drinking it.

"I can safely assume you live with a roommate?" he asks, then takes a gulp of his soda, which instantly refreshes him.

"Yes," you answer. "Rex, she’s one of the girls... back in the club," you awkwardly explain, confirming that he's right—she's the same girl from the club.

"Is it short for Tyrannosaurus—" he pauses for dramatic effect, "—Rex?"

You let out a chuckle and push your glasses up your nose. "Her real name is Rebecca, but she insisted on being called Rex because it's..."

"Sounds cooler?" he easily guesses.

"Yeah," you nod in confirmation, "and it's her birthday today, so..."

"That's why you were at the club?" he asks, slowly getting his curiosity answered.

"I think it's obvious that I wasn't there because of my own volition," you openly admit.

Felix can see it now—the way you seemed out of place back at the club. It isn’t your scene, and it makes sense now that you explained it is Rex’s thing. He hesitates, feeling a question burning in his mind, one that he needs an answer to, regardless of what it might reveal.

"And the kiss?"

Oh, no! Not this again.

Please don't say that Felix is actually interested in Rex and that he was checking her out instead of you. This wouldn't be your first time, but what a pity! What a pity it would be if that turned out to be true.

Until Felix asked about the kiss and whether it was Rex’s idea or not.

Your throat tightens, but you know you have to be honest. “Rex dared me to do it,” you admit, your words tumbling out faster than you wanted.

He nods, but you can see a flash of disappointment in his eyes—brief but noticeable. Before he can respond, you rush to explain the rest of the truth.

“But the one we shared in the alley? That was me. I wanted that,” you add.

Felix gives you the chance to explain more, so you continue, determined to make him understand. You put your can of soda on the table and inhale before speaking.

“Earlier, during this game Rex and her friends played, they were talking about all these wild things they’d done, and I just sat there... realizing how much I’ve missed out on.” You pause to let out a sigh as the weight of your confession settles between you. “I’ve spent so much time focused on studying, hitting all my academic goals, that I never gave myself the chance to live. And I don’t want to wake up one day full of regret for not taking chances.”

You look up from your lap at him—not necessarily meeting his eyes, or else you'll be a nervous wreck. “So tonight, I decided to push myself for once. The kiss might’ve started as a dare, but when I pulled you into that alley… that was real. For the first time in my life, I felt so alive.”

Felix remains quiet for a moment, his eyes searching yours, taking in every word. You can feel his hesitation, though—a cautious distance. His concern isn’t just about your head injury; it's something more.

“You don’t have to do all that just because your friends have done it,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “You do it when you’re ready.”

His words hit home, and you feel a wave of realization. The thrill and the pressure you’ve felt earlier are starting to clash with a deeper understanding of what you really want.

You may be naïve and know little about this intimate stuff, but you're also the one who knows you best, and you know what you want—you want this.

“I’m doing this for me. I want it. I'm ready," you unequivocally say, full of conviction.

Felix’s expression softens, but doubts linger in his eyes. “I think you know what kind of guy I am. I don’t do relationships. I… casually date. I’m not a good guy.”

You can’t help but smile at that, shaking your head in disagreement at his last statement. “You insisted on taking me to the hospital, waited until I got treated, and then made sure I got home safely. If that’s not a good guy, I don’t know what is,” you lay out all the facts on why he isn't what he says he is.

He sighs, clearly conflicted, running his hand through his long, bleached hair. “I’m just not sure if you really want to do this… with me.”

“I want to do this with you," you say without the slightest doubt.

There's a reason why he's here when he had his chances to walk out of this situation. He could have ditched you back there in the club, in the dark alley, or at the hospital. He could have gotten into that taxi and gone home, but instead, he chose to come in here.

Felix is quiet again, his eyes locked on yours as he considers what you said. Then, after what feels like an eternity, he lets out a sigh, letting the last bit of hesitation slip away from him.

"We should go to your bedroom," he says, his voice low but confident.

The excitement flares up in your chest, your heart racing as you rise from the sofa. This is it. The feeling you’ve been chasing all night—the sense of truly living, of stepping out of your comfort zone. You lead him to your bedroom, each step heavy with anticipation.

When you open the door to your bedroom, you pause for a moment, suddenly feeling vulnerable. It’s strange—no one ever warns you how personal it feels to show someone your bedroom. It’s not just a room; it’s a reflection of you, of your habits, your life. You close the door behind you, your breath catching as Felix steps in and takes a quick look around.

He glances over the shelves, where countless books are crammed into every available space. A small smile tugs at his lips, a look of slight amusement crossing his face as he takes it all in. It’s like he doesn’t expect this—your quiet, introverted world clashing with the chaotic energy of the night.

But then his eyes land back on you, and your pulse quickens. You’re alone now, really alone, in the privacy of your bedroom, and the reality of it all settles over you. You can feel the weight of the moment, not knowing how to begin but wanting to. You step closer to him, hoping he’ll take the lead.

Felix sits down on the edge of your bed, his eyes still on you. He pats the space beside him, an invitation, and you sit down next to him, nerves tingling under your skin.

"You have a very interesting room," he says with a playful smile, but there’s no mockery in his tone—only genuine surprise.

You shyly chuckle, your hands fidgeting in your lap. "Yeah, I’m… very aware."

He turns to you, his gaze softening. He’s studying you, taking you in, and when he looks into your eyes, you feel like he’s seeing something deeper. Then, as if realizing something, his brow furrows slightly.

“Can I take them off?" he asks, nodding toward your glasses. "Will you still be able to see without them?”

“I’m nearsighted, so yeah,” you confirm, your hand halfway to your face to take them off, but Felix gets ahead, gently removing them for you. Then he places them carefully on your bedside table.

The world around you becomes a soft blur, but Felix… Felix is in perfect focus. He’s all you can see. His delicate features stand out, his warm brown eyes locking onto yours, his freckles like tiny constellations dusting his cheeks and nose. It’s like he’s become the center of your universe, and nothing else matters in that moment.

You get a little overwhelmed as you take him in—his beauty so striking, so close, making your heart beat out of your chest. You wonder if he can hear it too.

"Can I take your hair down?" Felix asks, his voice soft but deliberate.

Unable to provide a verbal answer, you nod. His hand is quick to reach behind your head, releasing your hair from the tie, and you feel an unexpected wave of relaxation wash over you, like the tension you’d been carrying all night had been held there, in your hair.

Felix’s fingers move through the strands gently, combing through them, letting the ends slip through his fingers. The tattoos on his hand catch your attention, and as his sleeve rides up, you notice even more ink snaking up his arm.

"How many tattoos do you have?" you ask, unable to hide your curiosity.

"I stopped counting a long time ago," Felix chuckles, a lightness in his voice that makes you smile.

He notices your lingering gaze on his tattoos, and without hesitation, he starts unbuttoning the cuff of his shirt. He lets the fabric fall back, giving you a clearer view of the designs that cover his skin. The sight of his muscles beneath the inked patterns, the veins trailing down his arm, captivates you.

"Is it okay if I touch you?" you ask, your voice quiet, unsure if it’s too bold.

"You can touch me," he says with an encouraging smile, "anywhere."

The last word unexpectedly provokes you; it was just a word until Felix gives it a new meaning now, and it's been echoing in the back of your mind in his deep, low voice. Anywhere.

With a tentative hand, you reach out, slowly rolling his sleeve up higher. The tattoos become more detailed—the lines and shading intricate—but what holds your attention is the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. The combination of the ink and the physicality of him makes you feel a strange sense of intimacy. Afraid that you're overstepping, you let the sleeve fall back and flash him a smile of gratitude.

“You know this will be easier if you sit closer,” Felix says, his tone suggestive but gentle.

You shift closer, trying to keep your breath steady. The space between you shrinks, but the heat from his body seems to rise, making your heart race.

"Closer," Felix murmurs, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You move another inch.

"More," he says, his voice a bit firmer this time.

You scoot a little more until finally, there’s no space left between you. Your body is pressed against his, and the warmth from him feels overwhelming, your skin tingling from the proximity.

"I think you should put your hand around my neck," Felix suggests, his voice a low rumble.

"Are you sure?" you ask, still worried about overstepping.

"Of course," he reassures you, guiding your hand up to his shoulder.

From there, you let it drift to the back of his neck, feeling the strong line of muscle beneath your palm.

The two of you are incredibly close; you can feel his breath brushing against your cheek. As if the proximity isn't enough, his hand cups your jaw, his thumb softly rubbing your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine.

It doesn't take a genius to know what comes next; you can feel it coming as the tension intensifies with each passing second.

"I'm not a good kisser," you blurt out, your insecurities successfully breaking through the haze of the moment.

"You did just fine earlier," he says, watching as his thumb swipes across your lower lip.

You try to argue, but before you can say another word, Felix presses a soft kiss to your cheek, leaving a searing warmth behind.

"Stop thinking and just..." he trails off, kissing just beneath your eye, sending a shock of sensation through you, "… do it."

Before you can process his words, his lips find yours. The kiss is electric and powerful, wiping away every doubt and insecurity. The world narrows down to the feeling of his mouth on yours, the sound of your breath mingling in the quiet of your bedroom.

Felix pulls away just enough for you to catch your breath, his hand moving to brush your hair to the side. He does it carefully to avoid accidentally touching the bandaged wound on your forehead.

"Now," he says, voice deep with desire, "we’re going to put in a little tongue."

Dazed and a little disoriented from the kiss, you nod, your brain unable to compute a word.

He kisses you again, this time slower, more deliberate, teasing you with his tongue as it slides across your lips. It’s sensual and intimate, and when you let him in, the kiss deepens, and you try your best to move in sync with him.

When Felix pulls away, he’s grinning, looking impressed. "See? You’re a natural."

Flustered, you look down, but he isn’t having it. He wants your eyes, your full attention on him, so he puts his hand under your chin, gently angling your face back toward his.

Not giving you a moment to think, he plants a kiss on your lips again—gently, but there’s intensity to it, a sense of hunger that needs to be satisfied.

At the same time, his other hand travels down to your back, tracing down your spine before he withdraws it back to your front, reaching for the button of your dress.

You've been handling it well so far, but when he touches you there, it triggers the alarm bells in your head. You try to convince yourself that it's okay; you trust Felix, and he's not going to harm you, but your body abruptly freezes, and you stiffen against him.

Felix notices immediately and takes his hands off of you, concern painted on his small face.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asks softly, not wanting to alarm you further.

First, it was Rex’s birthday party, and not long after that, you did it again by bumping your head during a makeout session in the dark alley, and now this. You sigh and look down at your lap, wondering why you keep sabotaging your life like this.

"I’m sorry, I just... I–I wasn’t ready for that," you meekly say, looking down at your lap, feeling embarrassed.

"That’s okay," he says with a soothing voice. "I’d rather you tell me when you’re uncomfortable."

Anyone else might have been annoyed or disappointed, but Felix—he’s patient, gentle, and very understanding. You feel a rush of gratitude for him.

"Okay," you murmur, nodding.

"Or you can just slap me next time," he jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

Slapping his face would feel like vandalizing the Mona Lisa, so you shake your head in strong disagreement while softly laughing, "No. I wouldn’t do that."

Thanks to you freaking out without reason, you have to start all over again, and you can only hope that Felix has some patience left for you.

You watch as he glances toward your bedside table, eyeing the small stack of books. "Are these the ones you’re reading?"

"Yeah," you reply, your smile returning.

"You’re telling me you’re reading five books at once?" he asks. His tattooed fingers trail along the spines as he reads the titles under his breath.

"Three are for school," you say, chuckling, "but the other two are for fun."

"Oh, so you do know how to have fun," he teases you with a charming smile that makes his eyes lively.

You know he's trying to lighten the mood, and you feel thankful that he indeed still has some patience left in him.

Felix picks up the smallest one from the top of the stack and flips through the pages. "Poetry," he remarks.

"Yeah," you nod, feeling a bit shy.

He looks at you with something new in his eyes. "Would you read me one?"

"A poem?" you stammer.

"No, the index page," he teases you yet again.

You laugh, feeling a bit silly for asking, and then take the book from him. You open it, easily finding the page you marked as your favorite poem.

"Okay... I’ll try," you say as you clear your throat.

Your fingers nervously brush the edges of the page, eyes glancing at the words, but you’re aware of Felix’s gaze on you. His presence is overwhelming—his closeness, the subtle intensity in his expression.

Despite everything, you begin reading, your voice low and a little shaky.

"Somewhere I have never travelled, gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which I cannot touch because they are too near."

Felix leans in closer, his breath warm against your cheek. His hand moves to the back of your neck, brushing the loose strands of your hair away.

You pause, feeling the pressure of his nearness, but he nudges you gently.

"Keep reading," he whispers against your skin, the warmth of his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

You swallow, forcing yourself to focus. Your voice is a little shaky as you continue.

"Your slightest look easily will unclose me though I have closed myself as fingers; you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens—"

Felix’s lips press softly against the corner of your mouth just as your voice falters. You draw in a breath, trying to steady yourself, but his kiss lingers, feather-light and teasing.

You glance at him, the lines of the poem slipping from your mind.

"Go on," he murmurs, his mouth now brushing your jawline. His hand slips to your waist, holding you in place as if keeping you tethered to the moment.

"I... I—" you stammer, your focus crumbling under his touch, his lips trailing a path down to your neck. You grip the book tighter, trying to maintain the thread of the poem, your voice coming out as a breathy whisper: "you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose—"

Felix presses another kiss just below your ear, making your breath hitch. He’s being gentle but deliberate, his lips grazing your skin with an intention that makes it almost impossible to concentrate.

Your heart bursts, the words on the page becoming blurry. "Felix..." you murmur, caught between the poem and the sensation of his kisses.

"Don’t stop," he whispers again, this time against the curve of your neck, sending a rush of warmth through you. "I want to hear the rest."

Your voice quivers as you try to continue, the lines of the poem mixing with the feeling of his lips.

"Or if your wish be to close me, I and my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending—"

His kisses grow slower, more languid, as if savoring every inch of your skin. Each one draws you further away from the poem, your pulse quickening under his touch. He pulls back just slightly, and his eyes meet yours, his gaze heavy with desire, but still, he urges you on.

"Finish it," he says softly, his thumb tracing your lower lip as he holds your gaze.

You exhale shakily, barely able to focus anymore, but you try.

"Nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility..."

Before you can finish the last line, Felix’s lips capture yours, cutting off the rest of the poem. His kiss is deeper this time, not asking for permission but claiming the moment as his own. The book slips from your hand, forgotten, as you lean into him, your breath mingling with his.

The poetry becomes a distant memory as his kisses consume you, every touch drawing you further into him. And for the first time, you don’t feel the need to pull back or hesitate. You melt into the moment, into him, as the poem fades into the background, replaced by the quiet intensity of Felix’s lips on yours.

The poem may be incomplete, but the moment is whole.

Felix watches as you fumble with the edges of the poetry book, your nervousness plain in the way your fingers tremble. He can sense how hard you’re trying to focus, trying to find your voice in the moment.

There’s a certain charm in how unsure you are, the way your eyes keep darting up to him, like you’re looking for some kind of permission. But he knows you don’t need it. You want this—he can feel it in the air between you.

When you finally start to read, your voice is soft, hesitant.

“Somewhere I have never travelled, gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence...”

Felix can barely concentrate on the words. It’s your voice—that shaky, uncertain quality—that pulls him in, and you’re so close. He leans in, pressing the warmth of his lips against your cheek, testing, teasing. He feels the way you stiffen, your breath catching. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but the urge to touch you, to close that gap, is too strong.

"Keep reading," he murmurs, his lips brushing your skin, barely above a whisper. He feels your pulse quicken beneath his touch.

You take a deep breath and continue, your voice even softer now, trying to hold it together.

"Your slightest look easily will unclose me though I have closed myself as fingers..."

As your voice trails off again, Felix can't resist. His lips graze the corner of your mouth, light and fleeting. He watches your eyes flutter, sees the way you're barely hanging onto the thread of the poem, and it makes him smile inwardly. He pulls back just enough to see the heat in your cheeks, the uncertainty fighting with desire in your eyes.

"Go on," he urges, this time pressing his lips to the soft skin just beneath your jawline. His hand slips to your waist, fingers curling lightly around you, holding you steady, grounding you as he teases.

"I–I..." Your voice falters completely as his lips trail lower, brushing the sensitive spot near your neck.

He loves the way you stammer, the way your breath comes in shallow gasps.

"You open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens—"

Felix hears your voice waver again, and he chuckles softly against your neck. He knows exactly what he’s doing. The poem doesn’t stand a chance against his kisses, but he likes this game, this slow unraveling of your composure.

"Felix..." you murmur, barely able to hold onto the words.

He pulls back just enough to speak, his breath warm against your ear. "Don’t stop." His voice is low, coaxing, as he brushes another kiss just below your ear. "I want to hear the rest."

You try—he can see you trying—but the way you tremble beneath his touch makes it almost impossible for you to concentrate. He watches you struggle, a mix of amusement and desire in his gaze as you fight to continue.

"...Or if your wish be to close me, I and my life will shut very beautifully..."

Felix’s lips move slowly across your skin, savoring every inch. He can feel the tension in you, the way you’re holding onto control by a thread. But then, something shifts. He presses one last kiss to your neck, soft and lingering, and watches as your resolve crumbles. The book slips from your hands, your breath hitching in your chest.

“Finish it,” Felix whispers, his thumb grazing your lower lip. He can see the words have all but left you, but he waits, eyes fixed on your trembling lips.

"...The power of your intense fragility..."

Before you can finish the line, Felix presses his lips to yours. The words are lost as he kisses you, claiming the moment. There’s no hesitation in the way your body responds, melting into him as if you’ve been waiting for this all night. The book falls from your hands, forgotten, as his hands move to pull you closer.

He feels the way you surrender to the kiss, how every bit of uncertainty you held before dissolves. His kiss deepens, slow but deliberate, until he pulls back just enough to look at you, lips still close, your breaths mingling.

Felix takes a quick check to see if you're comfortable enough to continue, his thumb brushing across your cheek as he leans his forehead against yours. He can feel the way you’re still caught in the moment, still wanting more.

His hand slides down to your shoulder, tracing the curve of your spine. He brushes your hair to the side, kissing you again—slower this time, deeper. The way you respond, your lips meeting his with growing confidence, only pulls him in more.

Felix takes your hand and gently places it on his chest. He feels the way your hand stays immobile for a moment, but then it starts to move, roaming curiously over his body. Your touch is tentative but warm, and soon enough, your fingers tug at the opening of his shirt, revealing a peek of inked skin underneath. Felix notices the way your curiosity lights up your face. “Do you want to see the rest of my tattoos?”

You hesitate, biting your lip as you think about it, unsure if you should say yes. To avoid letting him hear how eager you are, you nod instead.

“But you have to help me with the buttons,” he says, glancing down at his shirt.

It’s a subtle invitation, but the way he says it makes you feel like you’re in control. You start undoing the buttons, one by one, your fingers working carefully, as if each button is a gateway to something unknown. When you finish, you stop, leaving the fabric still draped across his chest. There’s a moment of hesitation, as if parting the shirt will reveal something too intimate, something more than just skin.

Felix senses your nerves, so he does the rest; he shrugs the shirt off his shoulders, revealing the ink that covers his chest and arms. Normally, he’s confident about his body, but under your gaze, he feels a flicker of vulnerability. You’re studying him, and he can feel the weight of it, like you’re looking past the surface.

“It’s all over you,” you mutter in awe.

One, in particular, seems to draw your attention—the dragon on his ribcage. Felix notices the way your hand lingers there, eyes fixed on the intricate design. He smiles softly, taking your hand and pressing it gently against the dragon.

“Here... feel it,” he says, guiding your touch.

Your fingers trace the lines of the tattoo, feather-light and full of wonder. Every slight graze of your fingertips sends a rush through him, and the way you’re touching him so delicately is like you’re trying to memorize the feel of each tattoo.

“Do you like it?” he asks, his voice soft but laced with curiosity.

“I had no idea I liked tattoos until now,” you innocently answer.

There's something so honest in your words, and Felix can’t help but smile, feeling the tension between you shift into something deeper, more intimate. He watches you as your fingers continue to explore, and for the first time in a long while, he feels a kind of peace in this closeness, like it’s more than just physical. There’s something in the way you touch him, like you’re seeing him for the first time—not just his body, but all the stories inked into his skin.

Then you take your hand back and fidget in your seat. You open your mouth, but no words come out. After a while, you ask, “Should I undress?”

“Only if you want to,” he says, not wanting to pressure you and also trying to make it clear that this is on your terms.

With a shy nod, you start moving, fingers flying to the buttons of your dress, fumbling a little in your nervousness. Felix notices and, sensing your discomfort, turns his head away, giving you the privacy you need. He helps by dimming the lights on your bedside lamp, knowing that a girl like you prefers the softer glow to ease the tension. Now, the room is bathed in a quiet, warm light, making everything feel more intimate, more comfortable.

“Do you need help?” he offers after a moment, his back still to you.

“I’m done anyway,” you respond, your voice softer now.

Felix hears the faint sound of your dress hitting the floor, and he inhales, preparing himself for what he's going to see. He turns his head slowly, careful not to look directly at you until he’s sure you’re comfortable. His eyes first meet yours, searching for any sign that you’re nervous, that you want him to stop, but you hold his gaze, and that’s all the permission he needs. His eyes travel down, finally taking in the sight of you.

The first thing that catches his attention is the unexpected—the matching silk and lace set you’re wearing, soft and delicate against your skin. It’s a contrast to the image he had in mind, and it takes his breath away. The colors, the fabric—it all highlights your natural beauty in a way that almost overwhelms him.

Beautiful. That’s the only word that comes to mind, but even that feels like it doesn’t do you justice. You’re beyond that. You’re captivating in a way that makes him hesitant to even touch you, as if the act itself would somehow break the spell between you.

“I want to touch you,” he admits, his voice trembling with restraint, overwhelmed by how much he desires you but not wanting to rush.

“Okay,” you say, so simply, so openly.

The intimacy of the moment is overwhelming. Felix is sitting there, shirtless, and the way he’s looking at you makes your skin tingle. The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken questions.

After a while, you finally manage to speak. “Should I undress?”

Felix’s gaze is soft, his voice gentle when he responds, “Only if you want to.”

His words reassure you, but still, your hands tremble as you reach for the buttons on your dress. You fumble with them, nervous fingers struggling to move faster. Felix, sensing your discomfort, turns away, giving you a moment to compose yourself. It’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel better, like he understands without needing to be told.

You manage to undo the last button, letting the dress slip down your shoulders and fall to the floor with a soft thud. You glance at Felix, and he still isn’t looking. He’s turned the light down, creating a softer, warmer atmosphere that eases some of the tension in your chest. It’s as if he knows that you’d rather not be fully exposed in the harsh glow of bright light.

“Do you need help?” he asks, his voice careful, like he’s afraid of pushing you too far.

“I’m done anyway,” you reply, your voice shaky but steady enough.

Felix exhales, turning back to face you slowly, almost cautiously. He looks into your eyes first, making sure you’re okay before letting his gaze travel down. When his eyes finally take in the sight of you, you see something shift in him. His expression softens, and you feel your heart pounding in your chest, almost painfully so.

You weren’t sure what he’d expect to see, but the look on his face—like he’s in awe—makes you feel beautiful in a way you’ve never felt before. You're wearing your favorite matching set, silk and lace, in a color that contrasts perfectly with your skin. You chose it thinking you might need something that makes you feel confident, but now, under Felix’s gaze, you wonder if it was the right choice. But then you see the way he looks at you, like you’re something precious, and all your doubts melt away.

“I want to touch you,” Felix says softly, his voice trembling, almost as if he’s afraid to break the moment.

“Okay,” you answer, trying to sound calm even though your heart feels like it’s about to explode.

Felix doesn’t rush. His movements are slow, deliberate. He brushes your hair aside, his fingertips barely grazing your skin, but it’s enough to send a shiver down your spine. His knuckles trace down your chest, stopping at the center, right between your breasts. His hand rests flat there, and you feel the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin, the beat of your heart thudding loudly under his touch.

“You're so beautiful,” he softly murmurs as he looks into your eyes.

You can feel heat spreading across your face. You want to say something, but the words get stuck in your throat. Instead, you just look down, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, by how gentle and caring he’s being.

Felix leans in, and when he kisses you, it’s not rushed. His lips are soft, and the kiss is gentle, as though he’s trying to coax you out of your shell. You kiss him back, a little more confidently this time, the warmth of his body pressing against yours making everything feel more natural.

The more time you spend with Felix, the more certain you feel that you’re in the right place, with the right person. His presence is calming, his touch patient and careful. Every kiss, every gentle brush of his hand against your skin reminds you that he’s giving you all the time in the world. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t push you beyond what you’re ready for, and that thought alone is enough to make your heart swell.

Felix holds back so much—it’s evident in the way he slows his movements, adjusting to your hesitance, waiting for you to catch up, to feel comfortable. You notice how he looks at you, always checking, always making sure you’re okay with what’s happening. He’s so understanding that you can feel your insecurities start to melt away, one by one, like the weight of them no longer matters in this space you’ve created together.

As the kissing becomes more intense, your breathing picks up, and the room feels warmer. You feel his strong yet gentle hand resting on your shoulder, his fingers playing with the strap of your bra, and you know what comes next.

This time, you decide to take the initiative and ask, “Do you want me to take these off?”

“If you allow me to,” he answers with a soft smile.

You’ve always known your body isn't the kind men fantasize about, or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. “They’re not—They’re not my best features,” you meekly admit.

Felix’s eyes don’t waver, and his smile turns into a playful smirk, one that both teases and comforts at the same time. “How can I know for sure when I haven’t seen them?”

You feel a smile tugging at your lips; he has a fair point, and you can’t argue with him when he looks at you like that—like he sees you, not just the parts you want to hide.

You nod, giving him permission, and lean forward slightly to make it easier for him to reach behind you. His fingers find the clasp of your bra almost immediately, without hassle.

The sound of it unclasping makes your breath hitch, anticipation swirling in the air between you, and then he pulls back just enough to let the bra fall away, his fingers gently sliding the straps down your shoulders. His movements are slow, with excitement simmering underneath, as if he’s unwrapping a precious gift.

And then, you’re bare in front of him, vulnerable in a way that sends a nervous thrill through you.

Felix doesn’t rush to fill the silence. He doesn’t gawk or make you feel exposed. Instead, he looks at you with a soft, quiet admiration that makes your heart flutter.

“They're perfect,” he says, and the sincerity in his praise makes your insecurities seem small, insignificant.

Felix's breath catches in his throat at the sight of you, bare in front of him. The soft curves of your chest stir something deep inside him, and for a moment, he has to hold back from letting his hands act purely on impulse. He swallows hard, trying to keep his cool, even though the urge to touch you is overwhelming.

“They’re perfect,” he says softly, his voice rougher than he intended. He means it. It’s not about size or shape—he just likes seeing you, just like this.

If he's being honest, you’re not what Felix thought he always wanted. But now, with you in front of him, he finds himself thinking that you’re more than enough—perfect, in fact.

He lets himself lose a bit of that self-control, his hand reaching out, grazing your skin before cupping your breast, his gentle yet curious fingers exploring the softness of your chest. They fit perfectly in his tattooed hands, and he feels heat rising in him.

“See? They’re perfect,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin as if to prove the point.

You remain quiet as he touches you, but your eyes go wide, lips parting slightly, and then, unexpectedly, you run your palms over your own breasts, fingers grazing your nipples with a restless, almost nervous motion.

The sight of you touching yourself, so innocently but also with that hidden desire, nearly drives him over the edge. He has to clench his jaw to stop himself from groaning aloud.

"Why are you looking at them like that?" you curiously ask in a shy voice.

“Like what?” he asks, his voice deep and low, almost a growl as he leans in closer, needing to hear you say it.

“Like you want t-to…” You hesitate, stumbling over your words.

“Lick them? Suck them?” he finishes the sentence for you, the words falling from his lips with an intensity that makes you look down at your lap, cheeks heated.

You nod, too shy to say it aloud.

Felix exhales slowly, his restraint hanging by a thread. “Come here!” his voice is rough, almost commanding as he gestures for you to sit on his lap.

Biting your lip, you crawl onto him and sit right on his lap.. You freeze for a moment, probably feeling his hard flesh prodding under you.

"You can ignore that," he tells you, at least for now, but he knows both of you can’t ignore that for long.

Somehow, that thought worries him, and he expected you to sit stiff as a board on his lap, but you immediately settle in close, and when he puts his arm around you, you let out a ragged sigh, instantly melting into him.

Fuck, you're so close, especially that part of you, hanging so close to his mouth. He gulps air and reminds himself to take things slowly. This is about you, not him.

You put your hand under his arm and grasp at his back, your hard nipples grazing his chest in the process, and Felix can’t resist cupping your breasts and rubbing his fingers over them.

Soon, your body softens around him, but his hands grow rough as he touches you, molding you to him as he claims your mouth. The kiss is a savage thing of teeth and tongues, but there’s no hint of protest from you. Instead, you match his roughness for roughness, kissing him back until you run out of breath.

As you come up for air, he covers your nipple with his mouth and sucks hard. He pulls you close so he can do the same with the other one; this time, he has your nipple rolling on his tongue. Oh, he can do it all night, just playing with your soft mounds.

Your fingers make their way through his hair, tugging at it as you arch your back with unconscious demand. It's apparent that you love this, losing your mind over his touches.

Felix lets go of your breast, then drags his lips upward, climbing the column of your throat until they find yours, kissing your mouth with such intensity that it causes you to sharply inhale air.

As he's kissing you, his hands refuse to remain idle. He cups your breasts, stroking the buds until they ache and pinches them, sending a burst of sensation straight to your core. With caution, he takes it to the next level, shifting his focus to another sensitive part of you. He's smoothing a hand over your stomach, and he can feel your muscles clench. Cautiously, he slides a hand up your inner thigh.

“I want to touch you here,” he says while gently palming your sex with a bold grasp, and the heat of his touch spreads through the fabric of your panties, searing hot.

Your hand immediately flies to grip his wrist, intending to pull him away, but your hand stays there; if anything, you pull it back and let it rest on his inked forearm.

“Is that permission?” he whispers into your ear.

He sees the conflict in your eyes. He guesses the reason you hesitate is that this is new to you, and you don't know how to handle this side of yourself. After a while, your body wins over your hesitant mind as your hips arch against his hand, asking him to continue, asking him for more.

He pushes your underwear to the side, and as he kisses your neck, his fingers trace your bundle of nerves, circling it, then applying the gentlest of pressure to test whether you like it or not.

A low moan slips out of you, and he can feel you tugging at his hair, hard.

"Do you want me to keep my hand there?" he asks as he looks into your dazed eyes.

You innocently nod.

"All right. I'll do that," he says with a hasty kiss on your lips. He continues by tracing your slick entrance with his fingertips, touching you there lightly, trailing around and around in dizzying circles.

"Does that feel good?" he asks, barely audible.

Still unable to give him a verbal answer, you nod again.

He aims his parted mouth toward your neck and purposely scrapes his teeth against your skin before he licks and kisses you there, causing goosebumps to spread over your skin.

"Will you let me get inside?" he asks for permission as his fingers tease your entrance.

It's obvious that you want it from the way you're arching your hips against his hand, but he doesn't want to risk losing you to the nerves again; he needs to hear you say it this time.

"Yes," you breathlessly say with a small nod.

With your consent given, his fingers search through your folds, coating them with your essence, and he lingers around your entrance for a little while before pushing one finger into you.

He feels your sharp intake of air as your head rests so close to his, your teeth faintly biting your lower lip to muffle the noises you make.

Felix gives you time to adjust before adding another digit. Two fingers are inside you now, pumping them, and he curls them, finding that spot that makes you...

"Oh!" you gasp, your hand grasping at the end of his hair like it gives you a lifeline. Your legs tremble, causing you to lose your balance, and you almost topple back, but Felix is quick to grip your waist to keep you steady.

The whole thing is so cute. Felix rubs his lips to hide a grin as you steady yourself on his lap and fold your hands in your lap. He knows that if he continues, you’d likely fall to the floor. You're the kind of girl who gets weak when you get hot, and don’t get him wrong; he loves that. If anything, it makes every bit of effort it has taken to get past your guard worth it.

"It's better if we lay down," he suggests as he removes the strand of hair caught between your lips.

"Okay," you say, your voice small and filled with obedience.

Once you get off his lap, Felix takes the lead again. He stretches out near the center of the bed, propping himself up on an elbow, and pats the space next to him. No moment of hesitation this time, you crawl across the bed and lay down next to him.

Felix leans over you and kisses you, starting right back at the beginning with innocent brushes of both of your lips and teasing licks before taking your mouth once again. He wouldn't say you're that great of a kisser, but it's entertaining feeling you learn. You may lack in skill, but you make up for it with your eagerness.

He puts your hand on his bare chest, letting you roam free from there; he needs you to feel him too, how his body heats all over from his desire for you. You drag your hand down his chest, fingers trailing the hard ridges of his abs, and then you keep heading down south, meeting the waistband of his jeans.

Felix is unprepared when your hand suddenly goes to his crotch and strokes over the fly of his pants. Pleasure courses through him, and his cock jumps in excitement, a hoarse groan slipping out of his parted mouth.

He remains calm even though you've just awakened a part of him that he wants to keep tamed, for now. He notices the curious hand and then the curious eyes.

"Want to touch it?" he offers, his eyes half shut, heavy with lust.

"Can I?" you ask back instead of answering.

It's about time to set it free anyway; his jeans have been tightening around the crotch for quite some time. He unzips the fly open, then tugs at the waistband of his jeans and pulls it low enough to let his swollen member out of its confines.

Your hand lingers on his abdomen, hesitating to put your hand on the thing you're curious about.

He takes your hand, puts it on his cock, and then makes you close your fingers around it. The sight of your soft, delicate hand wrapped around his cock makes his heart thrumming inside his chest.

"This is my cock," he says, trying to keep his voice calm.

He guides you to stroke your hand on it, pumping it up and down his length, showing you the pace he prefers: slow but steady. "I want you to tell me when you want it."

You swallow air and look down to see that he's no longer guiding you; you're stroking his cock on your own, and he must say, you're doing so good at it.

He returns the favor by reaching down between your legs, touching you there again. His fingers meet your wetness, hot and slippery, tantalizing him.

After a moment, he decides to hover above you, letting go of your lips to start making a trail of kisses down your front. Your chest is heaving as he gets closer to your core, but he does the unexpected by detaching his mouth.

"Do you mind if I take this off?" he asks, fingers tugging at the elastic band of your underwear.

You lick your swollen lips and lowly mutter, "No."

He flashes you a soft smile before doing what he asked. His palm scrapes up the outside of your leg as he pulls your underwear down. You help by lifting your hips to make it easier for him to take it off.

Felix stands at the end of the bed with your underwear in his hand. He lets you watch as he takes a long sniff of it; you smell so heavenly that he wants this smell all over him. But first, he has to make it fair. He takes his jeans off along with his underwear, exposing his naked body in all its glory for you—just for you.

In return, he gets to see all of you, your body wrapped in miles and miles of soft skin. His eyes feast on every part of you, but you cross your thighs together, blocking him from seeing the thing that tantalized him all night.

He runs his tattooed hands down your legs, offering you his warmth and comfort as a way to assure you that he wants nothing but to make you feel good. When he deems you're relaxed enough, he parts your legs open, and his eyes widen as if he sees something that goes beyond what his brain can comprehend.

"You're so wet for me," he says, swallowing air as the sight suddenly makes his throat dry.

Felix satisfies his need by taking a closer look at it, his eyes darkened and fixated on the thing that endlessly tantalizes him. He licks his lips in reaction to the overwhelming urge to taste you.

He uses his thumb to circle your clit, which engorges with every motion. "It wants my mouth so badly," he tells you, his eyes dark and heavy with lust.

Felix presses his cheek to your inner thigh and, ever so softly, places a long kiss on the skin. It's close to where he wants to be but not enough. His need grows desperate.

"Put us both out of our misery and let me taste you."

Felix is perfect. He stands there like carved stone, but his skin is smooth and hot to the touch, firm but giving, alive. His muscles hunch and shift as he moves, and the dragon tattoo winks at you as he steps out of his pants; the motion alone is so sexy.

This is Felix in all of his naked glory. He is perfection, even that part of him—gosh, especially that part of him. His erection demands your full attention, hard and veiny, in flawless proportion to the rest of his beautiful body. You have never given a man oral sex before, but your mouth waters at the sight of it. You want it.

You can’t remember how to breathe as he puts his tattooed hands on you, rubbing them up and down the outside of your legs, making you tingle down there. You see how he quietly inhales air before parting your legs open and lets all the air out of his mouth as he shifts his eyes to see what's between your legs.

It's the most private part of you, and you expect him to see it in disgust, but the way he looks at it... you see nothing but pure admiration. He puts his focus there, needing more time to process what he's seeing.

"You're so wet for me," he says, barely audible as he holds his breath.

He bends down close to your wet flesh, making your nervousness spike to heart-pounding levels, and his eyes never stray away from what he wants. Then his thumb meets the peak of your sex, gently rubbing it, and you quietly moan under your breath.

"It wants my mouth so badly," he says, receiving your body's signals too well.

The little kisses he places on your inner thighs feel soft, but you can see that it's not quite what he wants; he's so close to it, yet he handles his self-control really well.

He closes his eyes for a second, and when he opens them, they immediately find yours. Then he murmurs, "Put us both out of misery and let me taste you."

It hits you now that he truly wants this, you. He likes what he sees, and his craving for your most private parts is real. It's dirty but highly erotic and exciting. You want to give it to him; you do, but you doubt that the reality will meet his expectations.

“Will you be disappointed if I don’t like it and I don’t respond like other women?” you ask, feeling a little anxious, thinking that you’re about to ruin the moment. Again.

“If you don’t like it, then we’ll move on,” he simply says, spreading your legs wider and then landing a gentle, closed-mouth kiss on your clit, catching you off guard.

Your body stiffens for a second, not expecting that sensuous jolt, and then you relax in the next second.

"Hate that?" he asks with wistful, downturned eyes.

"I..." You still can't decide if you like it or not; you need more—

Felix lands another kiss, followed by a slow tasting of his tongue on it. He hums his approval and covers your sex with his mouth, sucking with slight pressure as his tongue laps over your clit, repeatedly.

Your mind shuts down; your body slowly goes limp as heat blooms inside you, and your face buries in the blanket as the pleasure intensifies. This feeling is new to you; your body is in a state of shock from the immense sensations, and you feel like you're about to cry when he abruptly stops.

"You don't like it?" he asks after getting no answer from you. "Let me try it another way..."

Felix pushes two fingers into you, and your eyes roll to the back as he begins a steady pace, combining it with his tongue flickering over your cunt, and somehow, you can’t stop your hips from rising to meet his thrusts.

Oh God! You're riding his hand and smothering his face with your wet cunt. You tell yourself to stop, but you can't; you find your hands tangled in his long, bleached-blond hair instead. You're tightening around him, so wet now you can hear the slippery sounds every time he pumps his fingers into you.

"I'll stop," Felix says as he licks his glistening wet lips, then rubs his tongue over you fast and hard, making you clench helplessly around his fingers.

"Felix..." you breathlessly call his name. You can't believe how needy you sound—almost pathetic even.

"One last taste..." Felix says before planting his mouth on you again. He sucks with perfect pressure, his tongue cleverly dragging out the pleasure to keep your release out of reach. He presses a parting kiss to your sex and lifts his head, stopping for real this time.

"Yeah, you look ready now," he says it so low it's almost like a whisper.

Truthfully, you've been ready for a while now, and you love the idea of demanding his... cock and him providing it; you just can’t get those words past your lips.

Apparently, the look on your face tells it all. As he props a hand next to your waist, he looks at you and asks, "Do you want it?"

You stifle a nod, and you're aware that's not enough to convey how much you want it.

His hand reaches for the strand of hair covering your face and asks again, "Do you want it now?"

Want, want, want. You eagerly respond in your head, but you force yourself to remain calm and say, "Yes."

Felix nods and lands a kiss along your jaw, then drags his lips close to your ear. With a hoarse voice, he whispers, "I'll give it to you."

His warm, soft yet firm body blankets yours as his lips bombard you with kisses, each kiss peeling away your senses along with your worries and insecurities; you eventually stop thinking altogether.

"Excuse me for a second," he says with a kiss on your lips, getting off the bed to look for something on the bedroom floor.

As Felix picks up his jeans from the floor, you watch the muscles on his back bunch and shift as he moves, admiring the twin indentations at the base of his spine. The view is nothing compared to when he turns around, showcasing his ethereal visuals and a godly figure of chiseled abs, not forgetting his cock in a size that demands your attention.

He gets onto the bed, kneeling and using his teeth to tear through the foil packet to extract the condom.

"Want to help me with it?" he offers, his eyes sparkling in the dimly lit room.

You swallow air and say, "Yes."

Your hands aren't steady, so you and he end up doing it together, and once you’re both done with it, he pulls you close. You shiver at the feel of your skin coming into contact; your nipples graze his chest, and his length burns against your lower belly. You suddenly feel very self-conscious.

Felix runs his hands up and down your back as he angles his head, trying to catch your gaze but keeps failing.

“Why won’t you look at me?”

You look at the hollow in his collarbone and hunch your shoulders forward. "I feel—I feel naked."

“We’re both naked," he states the obvious with a light smile.

You don’t know how to explain that you’re not only feeling naked on the outside but also from the inside, and that if he looks into your eyes, he’d see all of you. No one wants to see that. This is supposed to be fun and educational, not soul-baring.

Felix flashes you a smile as he tilts your head by your chin, and you catch a glimpse of tender eyes before you close yours, knowing that he's about to kiss you.

Soon, his warm lips brush over yours, tasting of him, you, and sex. His hands caress you, gently kneading the flesh of your waist before grabbing you by the thighs and hooking them around him.

Slowly, he lowers you onto the bed and then covers your body with his. He places sweet little kisses on your jaw, your neck, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, and eventually, your lips.

“If you don’t like it, if something hurts... I want you to talk to me, okay?"

As always, you give him a nod before saying the words, "Okay."

"Okay," he repeats, then sweetly kisses your lips. "Now, can you turn over for me?"

You obey him, turning over on the bed and lying on your stomach, taking in the sight of the rumpled pillows and wooden headboard.

"Lift your waist for me, please?" he politely demands, and you do what he asks, lifting your waist off the bed as he slips a pillow underneath.

It takes you a moment to understand what he's doing. In this position, he chooses not to let him see you, and at the same time, it makes you less self-conscious.

"Is this better?" he asks as he places a hot kiss on the skin behind your ear.

"Yes," you say, feeling comfortable already, but you don't think about how you can't see him and what he's going to do to you.

A low sigh escapes your lips as his rough hand glides down your back and massages the flesh in voluptuous motions. His firm chest brushes against your shoulder blades as he props an arm on the bed next to you.

You take a deep inhale as his hand reaches between your thighs, his fingers searching through your folds and sinking deep, pumping fresh essence out of you until it drips around them. As if that isn't enough, he teases your clitoris with gentle touches.

"Felix..." you desperately call his name.

"You're ready, mmh?" he asks, planting a soft kiss on the nape of your neck.

Soon, his hard length prods at your entrance and pushes its way inside, painstakingly slow, as if he wants you to feel every inch of that delicious cock stretching you out.

All this time, you thought sex was repulsive, uncomfortable and painful—something you kept avoiding because your past experiences validated those thoughts—until now. With Felix, you feel nothing but intensifying pleasure even after he is fully sheathed inside you.

"Oh, you feel too good," he whispers into your ear with a low growl.

His words make you feel all sorts of things, and you should say something about him too—how good he feels inside you, how he fills you perfectly. You try to speak like he’s asked you to, but all that comes out are gasps and sighs of pleasure. Instead, you try to communicate with your body, spreading your thighs wider for him and trying to match him thrust for thrust.

His tattooed hand propped against the mattress captures yours, and he interlaces both of your fingers together.

“Now, it's perfect," he whispers.

For a timeless moment, you're hovering on the brink until orgasm crashes over you. He knows, but he relentlessly drives into you. You try to meet his thrusts, but you can’t quite match his strength and intensity.

With your eyes closed, you dare to look over your shoulder, and he immediately captures your mouth, stroking his tongue deep into you. Before the last orgasm has finished, you feel another building. You're clenching hard, the tiny muscles fluttering around his cock.

With a hoarse groan, Felix surges into you one last time, hard and shallow, sending you both to your highs. He rubs his lips against your jaw and neck, then lowers your shaking body to the bed. He holds you, wrapping his tattooed arms around you and drawing you even closer, holding you like his.

With your eyes still shut, your fingers trail his forearm, feeling the defined muscle and the smooth skin—a combination that is utterly distracting. His scent, his warmth, and his solidness surround you, slowly lulling you into a dreamless sleep.

Now, it's perfect, you say in your head.

Felix breathes in deeply, letting the warm, comforting scent of your space envelop him as he burrows into the sheets, a happy sigh escaping his lips.

Slowly, he pushes himself up from the bed, and your room looks slightly different basked in the morning sunlight. Like this, he can see the colors of the books on the shelf, the hats and scarves hanging on the bedroom door, and the succulents you keep on your windowsill. Under a different light, your room looks a lot more alive.

It's also illuminating the memories of last night—your shared laughter, the sweet sounds of pleasure that echoed around him, the rustles of the sheets as your naked bodies tangled under the duvet. A rush of warmth fills him at the recollection, but as he looks around, reality settles in: he is in your room, in your apartment, and he shouldn’t overstay his welcome.

Collecting his clothes from the floor, he dresses methodically, and once in a while, he can't help but glance back at the bed where you shared such an intimate night.

Once he's decent, he steps out of the bedroom, finding you right away in the kitchen. Your hair is in a messy bun, glasses perched slightly askew on your nose, and you're dressed in a simple white t-shirt and pajama pants. You are focused on reading something on your phone while quietly eating from a bowl.

“Morning,” he greets, his voice deeper in the morning air, startling you slightly.

“Morning,” you reply, a soft smile lighting up your face.

As he continues buttoning his shirt, he slides onto a vacant stool at the small dining table.

“Orange juice?” you offer, “or do you prefer coffee?”

“Not a coffee person,” he honestly replies, and you immediately pour him a glass of orange juice, your movements easy and familiar.

You turn around to put the carton of juice back into the fridge and come back with a plate of breakfast for him, serving it in front of him.

“I don’t know what you like for breakfast, but this is what I usually cook for my roommate,” you say, sliding a plate of scrambled eggs and toast toward him.

“Wow! Thank you,” he says in utter gratitude.

Felix can’t recall the last time he enjoyed a nice breakfast with the person he had a one-night stand with; usually, he’d be gone before his partner even woke.

He glances toward the door of your roommate’s bedroom, wondering if she's inside.

“The birthday girl isn’t home yet?” he asks as he lifts his fork.

“She’s probably staying over at one of her friends,” you reply, your tone casual, suggesting you are used to this arrangement.

Felix finds it convenient this way. He enjoys the intimacy of just the two of you in the calm of the morning. The presence of another person would only ruin that.

“Is that what you usually have for breakfast?” he asks, peeking into your bowl, which contains slices of fruit, granola, and yogurt.

“Yes,” you answer with a small smile.

“Ah, that explains…” he absentmindedly says, not realizing the implications of his words until you catch his gaze.

“Explain what?” you ask, your curiosity piqued.

“Uh... that explains why you’re so smart,” he lies with a casual smile, hoping to brush off any suspicion.

The truth is, your diet explains why you smell and taste so good; the thought makes him bite back a smile, recalling the events of last night.

"Oh..." your reaction is a mix of surprise and gratitude, but he's still unsure if you understand the meaning behind his words. If you do, just know that it's a compliment.

After breakfast, Felix uses your bathroom for a quick wash-up and retrieves his jacket from the sofa. He adjusts his shirt before putting it on, realizing the time has come to leave, even though he wants to stay longer.

With heavy steps, he approaches you as you stand by the door, sensing the moment is drawing to a close.

Your eyes are on him, but your hands are clasped behind your back, your eyes shimmering with a different kind of light than when he first met you. They seem more alive now, filled with warmth.

“I want to thank you for last night,” you say, a smile creeping onto your face as the memory flashes through your head as it does for him.

“No need to thank me,” he replies. He refuses to accept your thanks when you're not the only one gaining something from last night.

“We had fun last night,” he remarks, not fully realizing he is speaking for both of you.

“I mean, I don’t know about you, but I had fun last night,” he corrects himself with an awkward laugh, pressing a hand to the pulse point on his neck out of nervousness.

“I had— I had fun last night,” you shyly remark, looking away for a second to compose yourself before looking back at him, a shy smile still lingering.

“That's good to know,” he replies, catching your shyness as it creeps into his demeanor.

A moment passes in silence as you look at each other. He has so many things to say, but no words are spoken. He can see that you're struggling to fathom your thoughts into words too.

“Felix,” you call in a different tone from the way you called him last night, yet it makes his heart flutter the same.

“Yes?” he answers, his heart beating in anticipation.

You open your mouth, but no words come out, then close it again, thinking hard about whether to say it or not.

“You can talk to me,” he assures you, his hand flying to your elbow and gently holding it.

Taking a deep breath, you finally close the distance between you, pressing your lips against his in a quick, unexpected kiss.

The surprise electrifies him, but the briefness leaves him wanting more. He quickly decides it's best to ask for forgiveness later rather than permission. He cups your jaw and leans in for a proper kiss; eventually, his lips meet yours in a kiss that means so much more than that: it's a tender connection that feels just right.

As much as he likes it, he knows he has to let go eventually. He slowly pulls away, only to see a smile blooming on your face, and his lips reflexively follow suit, smiling back at you.

“I hope that’s okay,” he murmurs, but he knows he's not sorry at all for what he did.

You nod, your smile shy yet genuine. "That’s—”

Suddenly, the door swings open, and Rex stumbles in, making a ruckus with her arrival as the keys jangle in her hand and her shoes drop onto the floor, oblivious to the intimate moment unfolding between you two.

“Oh?” she gasps, stopping in her tracks when she finally notices the two of you. Her eyes glance between you and Felix.

“Oh!!!” she exclaims again when she recognizes Felix as the guy you kissed for a dare last night.

Realizing she's interrupted something private, she hurriedly clutches her purse close to her chest and dashes into her bedroom, shouting, “I’m not here!”

The moment is shattered nonetheless, and Felix knows he can't stay here for as long as he wants, not when your roommate is now present.

“I'd better go,” he says, even though he hasn’t planned anything beyond that.

“Okay,” you say in a way that makes you sound defeated.

“Okay,” Felix repeats, hoping you would say something to extend the moment just a bit longer.

But good things often come to an end. Felix shoves his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and takes a good look at you one last time, imprinting it in the back of his mind.

“It was nice to meet you,” he earnestly says with one hand on the doorknob.

“Me too,” you reply, your smile soft and genuine, lingering in his thoughts even as he steps out of your life.

At least, for now.

Here you are again, surrounded by the pulsing energy of the club with Rex and her friends. You’re still the same shy, nerdy girl, yet somehow, you handle the scene better now. It's a familiar chaos, except that tonight, it's harder to ignore Felix’s absence.

Noticing that you're not having fun like everyone else, Rex leans in closer to talk against the loud music playing in the club.

“Are you disappointed that he’s not here?” she asks, her alcohol-tinted breath brushing your ear.

“Why should I be disappointed?” You scoff, trying to mask the truth. But deep down, you are counting every second since you walked in without seeing him.

“You think I didn't know that you’ve been secretly watching the door?" Rex chuckles, almost spitting her drink. "Or the way you get a little excited whenever you spot a blonde guy?"

Guilty as charged. You are caught, but admitting it feels like opening a wound. You tried not to dwell on it, convincing yourself it was just a one-night stand and these feelings... they'll eventually fade, right?

“Don’t worry,” Rex says as she gently squeezes your knee. “He’s probably still on the way.”

“He didn’t even ask for my number, Rex,” you confess, finally voicing the disappointment that has been gnawing at you ever since that day.

“Then fuck him!” she exclaims, fierce as always. “There are plenty of cute guys, and I'm sure we can find one tonight.”

"No, thank you," you flatly reject the offer.

"Why not?" Rex asks, her eyes studying you.

You scoff again, but inside, the truth lingers: you're still hung up on him.

“Because you’ve already drunk too much," you choose to lie instead, taking her drink from her hand.

Suddenly, someone enters the booth, and you recognize him instantly, even with his bleached hair slicked back. Your heart leaps at the sight of Felix. He looks just as perfect as you remember, but doubt creeps in. Does he remember that night as vividly as you do?

He stands across the table, drink in hand, smiling at you, but you manage a polite smile back, not wanting to set yourself up for another disappointment.

“How about a round of ‘Never Have I Ever’?” he suggests out of the blue, his deep voice drawing everyone’s attention.

"Yes, let's do that!" Rex enthusiastically responds while raising her drink higher in front of her.

Felix trails the rim of his glass with his tattooed finger as he thinks of something, and a while later, his eyes fiercely stare at you with a sly smile dancing on his face.

“Never have I ever... made out with a guy in a dark alley, bumped my head on a crate, gotten three stitches, and still proceeded to give him a night he can’t forget?”

A rush of warmth washes over you, either from his eyes that don’t stray away from yours even for a second or the fact that he still remembers everything. You smile nonetheless, feeling the flutter in your chest returning.

Everyone goes silent, glancing around, unsure who might have done that, except for Rex, who squeals next to you like a giddy child.

“I have,” you confidently say, out loud with a proud smile.

You take the drink from Rex’s hand and drink it in one go, wincing at the bitter aftertaste but recovering quickly.

You daringly stare back into his eyes as you take the next turn. “Never have I ever regretted not asking someone for their number?”

“I have,” he replies without missing a beat and downs his shot in one gulp.

Felix places the empty glass on the table, walks over to you, and holds his hand out to you. “Now, I dare you to come with me.”

It isn't a dare when it's exactly what you want; it's a wish come true. You take his inked hand, feeling the warmth radiate from his skin, and let him lead you away from the table and into the night.

In the dark alley where it all started, Felix pulls you close until your bodies collide, wrapping his arms around you. Impatiently, he kisses you hard and deep, full of longing.

The kiss is intoxicating, even better than you remember, and as he steers you away from the crates lining the alley to avoid any mishaps, you softly laugh.

Felix leans his back against the brick wall and holds you close, his face lingering only inches away from yours, breath mingling in the cool night air.

“Let’s avoid visiting the hospital tonight,” he playfully says.

In that dark alley, with the world falling away around you, you realize you don’t want this to ever end. You lean in, capturing his lips once more, and you melt into the kiss, bracing yourself for what you're about to ask and the answer you'll get.

“So, what now?” you ask, your fingers caressing his cheek, tracing the contours of his face.

“We can start by finishing the poem,” he says, a playful glint filling his eyes, reminding you of the lines you have barely gotten through that night.

You grin as the weight of the time you spent worrying about not seeing him again lifts off your shoulders. “Okay, but I think I need a new beginning for this one.”

This time, you know what you want, and what you want is more nights like this, more moments, and more of whatever this is between you and him, and that’s the only dare you're doing tonight: to find out what that is.

“(i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens; only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands.”

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bahablastplz · 10 months ago

Text

Best friend's brother: Chan x reader

Thinking about best friend's brother Chan that has always been secretly obsessed with you Content: extremely fluffy, slight hurt/comfort, smut, really vanilla smut but super sweet Warnings: Oral sex (f! receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex WC: 2000

Obviously, you and your best friend were inseparable. You grew up right next door, and her parents considered you to be another one of their children. You and Hannah were, for lack of a better word, siblings. Her older brother, however… that was a situation that you weren’t sure how to explain.

You had always harbored feelings for the older man, despite the guilt that ate away at you. You could never tell Hannah that, however. Nor would you ever tell Chan or let your desires come to fruition.

Which is why, once you came home for summer break you had no problem getting ready for your date at Hannah’s house. Though the thought of her brother being there made you gulp, you would just have to hope you wouldn’t run into him and everything would be fine–

“What’s got you dressed all up?” Of course, Chan appears from behind and makes eye contact with your reflection in the mirror. Hannah is sprawled across her bed and scrolling through her phone.

“She’s got a hot date,” Hannah replies, snarkily.

“Hot date?” Chan inquires while crossing his arms. He holds a slightly disapproving glare.

“Yeah, with some guy she met online. He’s a real smokeshow–”

“Hannah!” You say sharply, willing your best friend to somehow spare you the humility.

“Where is he taking you, hm?” Chan says with a small, teasing lilt to his voice.

“We’re going to a club…,” you whisper.

“On the first date? No no no, that’s just a recipe for disaster, Y/N.”

“It’ll be fine, Chan!” Hannah says. She doesn’t even bother to look him in the eye, so he bores holes into your own instead. He mutters out something about how he doesn’t like this and that you should really be careful before returning to his room.

As you finish getting ready, you admire yourself in the mirror. Your black dress hugs your body just right, and your makeup brings out just the right contrast to your face. Hannah says out loud exactly what you were thinking:

“You look hot.”

As you share your location with her and get ready to leave the house, it is almost 9 p.m. and your uber has arrived. Though you know the night will most likely not end up with you falling head over heels in love, you’re still hoping to have a good time and maybe get to know the guy more. However, before you step out the door you feel a hand grab your wrist.

Chan is looking at you with a look you don’t recognize in his eye and you pause, waiting for him to speak.

“Please, be careful. If anything happens, you have my number. I don’t care what time it is, you can reach out. It doesn’t matter if he’s being a creep or if you just don’t want to be there anymore, I will come and get you,” he says. He looks at you softly before adding, “And even if you don’t need me to get you, please text me when you’re home safe.” You could tell he was genuinely worried and this made your heart pang slightly, making it harder to will away the crush you have on the man.

Your date shows up late, for starters. After twenty minutes you take your first shot, and your second drink arrives when your date does. He is unapologetic and starts touching you the second he sees you–that’s when you realize he is already wasted. Letting out a groan, you humor him with one dance, but when he immediately starts grinding on you you decide you have had enough.

“I’m not really feeling it,” you say. “I think I’m gonna call it a night.”

The man scoffs and immediately becomes defensive. “C’mon darling, you’re not going to show up looking like that and then act like a prude, are you?” He spits out some more mean insults that you don’t hear, because you’re already out the door and dialing Chan’s number.

He picks up on the first ring.

“Are you okay–”

“I’m fine, can you please come and get me?”

“I walked out the door the second I saw your name flash on my screen,” he says. You hear his engine start and know he is telling the truth.

It’s cold outside, but Chan has the heat pumping in his car when he pulls up. You curl into yourself, feeling embarrassed at the situation you’ve found yourself in. The ride is silent, though it doesn’t go unnoticed that he’s playing your favorite music.

When he pulls up to your driveway, he puts his car into park.

You start talking before he says anything, even though you know he wasn’t going to force you.

“He showed up completely trashed and started touching me before I even really talked to him,” you said. Tears start streaming down your face and you hope that Chan won’t notice, but of course he does. He always does. He leans over the center console to wipe a tear away.

“He showed up drunk? Oh, I’m so sorry… you don’t deserve that,” he says. “I knew it was a bad idea.”

You know he’s trying to console you but you feel so defeated. “Why is it such a bad idea for me to want to go out and have fun?” You practically cry out. “Why does everybody else get to have a normal dating life and get to hook up with people and enjoy college, but when I try to do it it never works out?” Chan just nods along to your words.

“You just haven’t tried with the right person yet, Y/N…”

“There will never be a right person, because the one I want is you and that’s never going to happen!” You slap a hand over your mouth and stiffen when you realize what you had said, and when you meet Chan’s gaze you see that he’s staring at you with wide eyes. You’re completely sober now.

You are out of the car lightning fast, slamming the door behind you and racing to your house. You’re fully sobbing now as you unlock your door, but when you go to slam it behind you Chan sticks his foot in, holding it open. He uses the opportunity to invite himself in and immediately you’re in his arms, in a warm embrace.

“I’m sorry,” you say against his shoulder. “I didn’t mean it, I–”

“Don’t say that,” he warns. “Don’t you dare take it back.”

“Chan, I–” He pulls you away to meet your gaze, placing his hands around your face and using both his thumbs to wipe your tears away.

“Y/N, I have known you for as long as I’ve remembered and I’ve never seen a part of you that I hate,” he says. “I have fallen deeper and deeper in love with you every day, so to hear you say that… Please don’t take it back. Please don’t tell me that you don’t want this,” he trails off, his eyes darting to your lips.

You crash your lips into his at full force and breathe against him, completely enamored. He picks you up so that your legs are wrapped around his waist and carries you to your room, the one he had been in more times than you could count, all while keeping his lips locked against yours. He drops you onto your bed with a flop and you bounce, observing his admiring gaze. His lips are on you again, then they trail to your neck, leaving long burning kisses behind as he trails lower. His thumbs press into your waist.

“It made me sick,” he confesses. “The thought of you going to the club with some guy that was just going to use you. Some guy you had never met, someone who would never in a million years make you feel the way that I could.”

He drops to his knees at the edge of your bed, pulling you closer to his face by your hips. He pulls your legs apart, slotting his body in between them, and starts pressing soft kisses to your thighs. You watch his every move, your body relying on your elbows to keep you upright so you don’t miss a second of this.

“Say it again,” he pleads. “Tell me you want me, that you need me as bad as I need you.”

“Chan please,” you breathe out. “Wanted you for so long… Thought you’d never like me like that.”

“Are you kidding?” He chuckles. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted. Let me show you.” And with that, he lifts your dress up. It bunches against your waist messily and his nose presses into your clothed core. You groan out at the contact and he does as well, placing agonizingly slow kisses and licks against you. He grabs at your waistband and you lift your hips, allowing him to slide them off of your body. He wastes no time before diving back in and your head lolls back at the feeling.

“Look at me, please,” he begs. ��Let me watch you fall apart.” Your eyes snap back to meet his gaze and you immediately feel so comforted and seen from his expression. It allows you to let yourself relax as he flicks and swirls his tongue around your clit.

He watches your every expression, every hitch of your breath and every buck of your hips, expertly making you fall apart on his tongue. One finger slides inside of your pussy, pumping in and out experimentally, and you feel yourself coming to your peak.

“God, Chan, please–”

“I gotcha, baby,” he says. “Come for me.” You fall apart for him completely knowing that he will be right there to put you back together, and he helps you ride out your high, observing the fucked-out look on your face as if it would be the only time he would ever see it.

You pant and reach for him and he interlocks his hand in yours, coming up to kiss you even more passionately than before. He presses his clothed bulge into your center and you hiss at the contact, still sensitive.

“Can I?” He asks.

“Please,” you respond. His pants are slid down and he pushes himself into you in a moment. You feel emotionally overwhelmed, looking down to see where you are completely and utterly connected. The way his breathing becomes shallow, you know he’s thinking the same thing.

He picks up one of your legs, wrapping around your shoulder and starts pistoning into you, and the change of angle makes you go utterly weak. Your back arches and his lips are against your skin, anywhere they get a chance to meet.

“All mine,” he grunts. His hips start slamming into yours faster, and one hand reaches up to cover your mouth, muffling any noises that might be starting to slip. “Say it… say you’re all mine and only I get to… fuck, see you like this.”

You can tell he’s close, and the hand that reaches down to start rubbing against your clit confirms your suspicions.

“Chan… so close… I’m all yours, Chan, please, please…” His name releases from your lips like a mantra, and as you feel yourself come to your high once again and clench around his length, he pulls you even closer, releasing himself into you.

Your arms wrap around him and your fingers run through his hair comfortingly as he collapses on top of you.

You and Chan have always been relatively close by association, particularly given the situation, but at the moment you and him are so intertwined you aren’t sure you can ever let go.

He holds you as you fall asleep that night.

“Do you think Hannah will be mad?” you ask.

“No way,” he mumbles against you. “She’s been trying to get us together for years.”

You laugh incredulously against the man. Though you weren’t expecting to find your true love that night, you guess life had other plans.

*** First real ff post on tumblr yay!! Welcome to my skz blog, I wanted to start off with something tame lol...I have a lot of really exciting things planned to post so stay tuned <3 Masterlist Recs

#bang chan x reader #chan x reader #bang chan smut #chan smut #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz x you #bang chan x you #stray kids x you #stray kids #skz #bang chan #chan #kpop #kpop smut #kpop x reader #smut

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nicholasluvbot · 3 months ago

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୨୧ JUST FRIENDS ?

( things they do that make you question your friendship > < ) 886 words includes sungho , jaehyun , riwoo. fluff , slightly suggestive. @onedoornet , @k-films , @kstrucknet

feel like reading something for the other three members? click here !

JAEHYUN

his hugs always linger a little longer, chin on top of your head and arms wrapped tightly around you, like he never wants to let go.

always saves a seat for you! and sits so close that your knees are touching and shoulders are pressed together, even though there’s plenty of space.

so many casual touches!! jaehyun is naturally touchy, its like second nature to him, so you didn’t think too much of it in the beginning. but as he does it more and more often, you think that maybe there is something more to it. playfully nudges you, pokes your side just to get a reaction and see you squirm under his touch, soft touches on your arm that linger a little longer and overtime you can’t help but wonder what if.

leans in closer whenever you’re talking. and it’s not even on purpose, he just does it subconsciously to let you know that you have his entire attention.

pouts if you refuse to cuddle him during movie nights. casually drapes his arm around your shoulder halfway through the movie, and then before you know it, you’re under the blanket with his arms wrapped around you and head snuggled in his chest. he doesn’t say anything about it, but it feels much more intimate than just friends hanging out.

his playful side might come out during your domestic hang outs as he would start tickling you or wrestling you playfully, while you burst in a fit of giggles. when you try to push him away, he does NOT move. his hands are always there, on your waist or arms, sometimes even sneaking under your shirt to your stomach as he tickles you, like he’s testing the waters.

SUNGHO

he is such an acts of service guy when it comes to you!!

whenever you’re out with your girl friends, he offers to pick you up before you can even ask him. and he’s always on time, greeting you with a sweet smile when he sees you.

you don’t have a care in the world when you’re with him. follows the sidewalk rule, holds doors open for you, offers to carry your bags, this man is a dream!

you don’t realize it at first, but then you notice that he’s constantly ditching other plans to be with you. like skipping and event he was excited for just because you were bored and wanted to hang out.

his crush on you is really obvious, you’re stupid if you don’t notice. whenever its just the two of you, his voice is softer, sweeter — like you’d fade away somehow if he’s too loud.

gets really shy and giggly when you complement him.

“hey, this shirt looks good on you,” and then watch as he proceeds to wear that shirt everyday for the rest of his life.

“your hair looks nice today,” he doesn’t look you in the eye after that and starts to stutter if you ask him something.

your problems are his problems. you mention something small, like wanting to get a broken zipper back on track, and then you forget about it. but the next time you pick up that piece of clothing, the zipper has already been fixed. and sungho probably went out of his way to do it (which he gets scolded for, but he doesn’t mind cause you’re quite cute when you’re mad)

he acts like you’re his responsibility. will probably think its his fault when he senses that you’re uncomfortable (it is NOT, you could never feel that way when he’s around). if you’re out together, he’s always making sure you’re comfortable, that you have everything you need, and that nobody’s bothering you. he treats you with a level of care and attention that a girl would expect from her boyfriend, and not a guy who’s just a friend.

RIWOO

he’s just so sweet

goes silent when you talk about other guys. you just mention a conversation you had with a guy last month, and his responses become curt like “oh that’s cool!” and his voice lacks the usual enthusiasm.

when he’s around you, especially when it’s just the two of you, he’s in his element. maybe you’re watching a movie together, and he’s a little quieter than usual, but every now and then, he’ll nudge you and say something that could easily be mistaken as a playful flirt. you call him out on it, and he just chuckles, brushing it off like, "oh, you wish," but you know better because that slight blush doesn’t lie.

prefers hanging out alone than in groups. and you kind of like it that way too, because he’s extra cute when you two are alone.

he seems a little less enthusiastic when the group is involved, constantly making excuses to have you all to himself, like offering to help with something that’s clearly not a two-person job or asking if you want to grab something to eat, alone, after group plans.

he notices the small things—like when you're cold and offers you his jacket, or when you're tired, suggesting you rest your head on his shoulder without saying much, just quietly letting you know he’s there.

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livelaughlovesubs · 3 months ago

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~ 07.10 - Nikolai ~

Dom!reader x sub!Enemy!nikolai - reader is gender neutral

Warning: sounding, edging, a bit orgasm denial, consent is kinda questionable, hair pulling, dacryphilia, begging, scratching, cum play, cum eating, violence, dick slapping, marking, pinching, bruises, mind break, sub space, teasing, use of pet name ‘good boy’, Nikolai being a masochist

~ Word count: 4.9k ~

Nini!rant: The idea’s from an anon and @me1z0 ! Ty guys~

Kinktober list 2024

The walls were damp, and green moss crept up the corners of the lifeless cell. It was dark and grey, rid of anything interesting, not even a lamp was present in this room. Instead, the light emerged from a huge window on one side of the wall, its weak lighting barely lit up his cell. Other than that, there was a sturdy door along with an equally strong chair. The chair was placed in the middle of this prison out of stone, and on top of it sat a white-haired male who wore tight clothes. His hair was loose and it reached the floor, his hands were tied carefully behind the chair and a grin spread across his lips.

Sounds of footsteps echoed throughout the tranquil room. They were rhythmic, eager, and firm, he could already guess who it was. What followed next was the loud slam of the heavy door. It got yanked open within seconds and a person emerged from the frame, then the passage shut tight again, destroying any chance of escaping. Your eyes scanned his room, eyeing him up and down suspiciously, trying to read his thoughts. That proved to be more difficult than desired since he was still keeping a psychotic expression under such circumstances, not caring about how he was being perceived.

You could basically smell the moisture in the air, how damp and humid it was. It wasn't an exactly pleasant smell, but neither of you seemed to be bothered by it. Slowly you made your way to the center, dragging another chair behind you. With a swift move, you positioned it before him and sat down comfortably, crossing your arms. After waiting for a while, you scoffed, “Not gonna say anything, jester?” He has always been like this. Unpredictable, illogical, and drop-dead annoying.

He laughed, before raising his head to stare at you. His eyes were heterochromia, they somehow appeared creepy, causing you to feel uneasy. “My, I get to have the first word?” Nikolai chirped, looking totally unfazed by the whole situation. “Go ahead, ask away, I can’t guarantee an answer though.” You replied, slumping back against the lean. Finally, after all this time, you managed to catch this clown of a man. It’s not that you failed previously, rather, he kept escaping with his bothersome ability and nullifying handcuffs didn’t seem to work well on him.

But you learned from your mistakes and perfected your plan repeatedly to get to this point. Since he needs his coat to activate it, simply removing it should suffice. On top of it you also had to prevent him from creating a new makeshift coat, hence the tight clothes and lack of sharp objects. “How nice you are, is it because we’ve been acquaintances for so long?” The male chuckled, and you slammed your fist against your chair, cracking it slightly. A few scratches remained on your skin, though you didn't notice the supposed pain. The man thought your vein was going to pop from how tight you bawled your hands.

“Don’t refer to us so intimately.” You snapped then continued with, “You’ve been nothing but a pain in the ass. It seems you don’t have anything important to say. My turn to pose questions.” After threatening him a little, he immediately yelled, “Hey! Don’t be so mean~ We do have a long history after all.” You listened to his complaints, to which you responded, “I’m not proud of that.” A fake sigh left his throat as he winced, “I’m so hurt~ then lemme ask, you wanna play some games before the interrogation?” Again with his unreasonable antics, you could feel your lifespan shortening whenever he opens his mouth.

No normal human would ask something this out of pocket while being interrogated after all, he was a special case in the worst sense possible. Someone deserving of the tightest surveillance for his creative methods. Yet you knew better than to question his motives because there’s simply no logic behind it other than what his twisted mind can come up with.

“No, it’s not the time for games and chitchat. My turn now.” He pouted at your answer, calling you a killjoy under his breath or avoiding your gaze. Such a childish man, how did someone like this get an ability? You furrowed your brows before interrogating him, “Tell me, who do you work for?” Nikolai tilted his head to the side, smiling innocently. “Why don’t you guess?”

Within a fraction of a second, you pulled out a gun and pointed it towards his head. You growled, patience running thin with each passing moment, “I don’t want to repeat myself, jester-” Despite the threat and importance of the situation, he interrupted you, correcting your choice of vocabulary with sarcasm, “Not jester, I’m a clown.” It was obviously just to spite you, look at him playing petty games. The corners of your lips twitched into an intimidating smile, eyebrows raised as you snapped, “Is that so? Then pardon my rudeness.”

He didn’t look nervous, eyes on the muzzle of the gun as he replied, “Such a brute you are, this is no fun at all.” Then the male exaggerated a sigh again, moving his head back to the point you could see the bottom of his chin before he turned back to stare at you, “Fiiiine, I’m a member of a terrorist organization, the decay of angels- or was it the death of angels? I don’t remember~” Nikolai joked, watching you in awe as your anger threatened to boil over. He could swear he saw smoke coming out. Your hand tightened around the weapon, gritting your teeth as you listened to him yap. It was time for the next question, that’s why you asked, “What are your motives?”

“Motives? Each of us has our own reasons. As for mine… don’t you know me well enough to have a hunch?" He taunted, his tone had a layer of mockery hidden behind it and his eyes suggested the same thing. This overconfidence of his was going to be his downfall. “Who can ever know what’s going on inside that brain of yours.” You spit back at him, a fierce look plastered on your face, unwilling to lose. “Are you saying you can’t fathom my thought process?” When he said that, it hit a nerve inside you. Was he calling you stupid?

“Then let’s make it into a quiz! If you can guess about 50% correctly, I’ll tell you everything.” He suggested a guessing game again, and you couldn’t help but click your tongue in annoyance, “Tsk, your iconic quizzes again. What happens if I lose?” The boy squeezed his eyes shut, seemingly deep in thought before chirping, “Absolutely nothing! It’s a win-win situation for you!” That was unexpected, you thought. After much contemplation, you eventually agreed, “Alright, I’ll consider this your last wish.”

You stared at his face, trying to recall all the information you had on him. He was a carefree, reckless, and dangerous man. Words like cold-hearted, crazy, and apathetic could also work. Was there more to him? It was hard to believe there’d be any reason behind his actions, considering the gruesome ways he killed. “You are a sadist who enjoys killing innocent people, which is why you joined a terrorist group. Also, you are a fucking maniac." Despite you outright spitting insults at him, he didn’t stop smiling and stayed calm. But a faint breath of disappointment stuck to his never leaving smirk, as if he was saying ‘told you’.

“Eh ehh, sadly that’s wrong~ I don’t actually enjoy killing people.” He admitted, wearing a sorry look on his face. “Who knows if you are lying or not.” You spat, eying him up and down with a skeptical look. “Do you have sooo little faith in me?” Nikolai tilted his head to one side, giggling and enjoying your baffled expression. “I’ll give you one more chance then, or old times sake!” He said as if he pitied you. Of course, this agitated you, how can he act like he has the upper hand when he’s your prisoner?

“Is someone forcing you? Not that your sentence would lessen.” Since you’ve been presented with another chance, you proposed a different answer but were met with the same response. “Also wrong! No one is forcing me, as I’m striving to achieve true freedom~” The boy sang the last part, like an eccentric, enjoying the situation even. His words or hints, no matter what he said, didn’t make any sense to you.

For you, these were sentences without any connections, or you had too little background knowledge to grasp the concept. Though you knew he wasn't all that dumb, well, to some degree. “Now, guess, how much of it was the truth?” Nikolai announced, a sheepish, amused grin spreading on his lips. How he loves to play mind games and to annoy you. “Now you know why I don’t trust you. You only talk in riddles.” You mumbled under your breath, taking your gun back while his gaze followed the weapon.

Once more, he found it boring how little reaction you had, calling you boring in his mind. “Not gonna kill me anymore?” The white-haired boy asked instead, raising his chin high in the air. “You know the answer.” With a sigh you rolled your eyes, he was smarter than this, he knew his worth as a hostage and source of information. It’d be a waste to have him dead already, and exactly because of these reasons you were annoyed beyond measure. If it wasn’t for the rules and regulations, you’d had his head rolling by now. “Consider yourself lucky.” You scoffed with an eye roll, standing up and walking towards him.

With his curiosity peaked, he waited impatiently, were you finally going to make a move? The uncertainty clutched his racing heart in a tight grip, feelings of unknown origins emerging from the depths of his consciousness. “You are getting excited. I wonder how long you can laugh, clown.” Much to your dismay, his eyes sparkled as he uttered, “Wahhh~ You remembered?! I guess all that time spent with you wasn’t for nothing!” Yeah, you shouldn’t have done him that favor, someone like him didn’t deserve any shred of kindness. He’d only use it against you in the end.

Without listening to him any longer you leaned over, pulling his pants and underwear down only enough to take out his cock. A slight blush crept onto his cheeks, he jerked when you touched his member. “H-huh..? What’s going on?” The tremble in his voice was apparent as his pupils followed your hands, arousal building inside him. This was an unexpected turn of events, was there more to your cold facade-? “Don’t get the wrong idea, it’s a torture method.” You smiled at him, a reassuring smirk dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh? Are you really gonna use such underhanded methods to make me speak?" Nikolai tried to bargain with you, all while doing his utmost to appear unaffected. In the end, he was all about having the act of an unpredictable clown. "No need to get frightened, I'm sure you'll come to enjoy it, considering your personality."

After listening to your prediction, he was almost eager to know what you were going to do, leaning forward to get closer to you. A slight pout on his lips as he thought sharply about what you had in store for him. His binds were uncomfortable and forced him to stay put, causing him to try and break them for a while, before slumping back into his seat, giving up on the idea of escaping. The boy sighed unsatisfied as he mumbled, "Alright, show me what you have in mind."

The two of you may be enemies, and your organization is not all that innocent either, yet you made sure to use enough lube on him. You didn't want to hurt him in that way, it seemed a bit too cruel. Minutes later, you covered his entire lower body with it, bathing his dick in lubricant. Afterward, you pulled out a thin metal rod and smeared it in lube as well. The way his expression twisted the moment he saw your little surprise for him was satisfying, to say the least. How his pupils shrunk ever so slightly and hands gripped the binds tighter, enough to bruise his own wrists, all while a hint of fear or lust built inside him. This was definitely going to be a new experience, one that he won't ever forget.

“Can you guess what I'll do with this?" You asked him, teasingly, to rile him up and make his emotions explode. "You are going to fuck me up with it, aren't cha?" Nikolai grinned widely, sweat dripping down his cheeks while he spread his legs a little further apart to grant you more access. It was also to signalize you that he was ready for it. “Since you know what this is for, I won't need to explain." You commented and held it elegantly as if you knew what you were doing, preparing the tool as well.

His breathing hitched at the sight of it, somehow watching your fingers work so diligently made his heart race. Then you lined the rounded end of the rod with the slit from his dick, slowly pushing the tip inside. On the other hand, Nikolai closed his eyes, biting his lip, and trying his best to not trash around. He could feel the toy stretching him from the inside, poking at places he never explored before.

Small whines escaped his thinly pressed lips, sounding like the painful groan of a hurt animal. "Nghh... d-dammit... ah." The man cursed as you pushed more of it in, cheeks flushed red as his dick got hard, leaking some pearly precum already. You could see the struggle just by looking at his body language, how he trembled and shook, sweating so furiously. A sense of arousal coursed through you at seeing this new, unfamiliar side of his. To think he could pull such an erotic face, watching him try to hold himself back was more than entertaining.

"Can you even take this?" You asked playfully, testing him. His eyes opened just enough to glare at you, squeezing out a 'of course' before going back to his muffled moans. You let him keep his pride for now, and focused on pushing more of the pole in, saying, "Fine, as you wish then." With each millimeter that was entering him, his blush darkened and his voice turned louder. At some point, his eyes became teary and his dumb grin returned. "Hmm!! Uh-uhgghh~ ah.. so rough, h-how much more...?" You could swear you heard some desperation in his voice, licking your lips before answering, "We are halfway there, be a big boy and take it~"

Then you used a little more strength than before to penetrate him, ending with him losing control and screaming your name with such ecstasy, "yyY/NN!! NggGHh~! Ahh it hurts, hurts so m-much ♡♥︎" Even though he was complaining, his expression was a totally different one. He was enjoying it, so much that his cock twitched while leaking twice the amount as before. God, he could swear he almost came in that moment, and he was sure you knew it too. "I didn't expect you to actually enjoy it this so soon." You chuckled, sticking your index finger through the ring at the other end to have a better grip.

The male in front of you was already a twitching mess, gaze unfocused as he stared at his own crotch, watching his dirty fluids seep out of himself. His voice hitched and he gulped loudly, whimpering at the slightest movements, "Nghh~ uh-uhmmf!" You waited until his excessive emotions calmed down a bit, then gave him a quick warning, "M' gonna move now." Before slowly using your finger to pull the rod out of his cock. "W-wait.. aaAAhHHH ♡～"

He threw his head back almost immediately, tongue rolling out while bawling his hands, his grip on the binds were strong enough for his knuckles to turn white. This time he couldn't hold back and trashed his legs around, which is why you put your hand on his soft thighs and pressed down, stopping him. "Don't move now dear, or I might break something I shouldn't." You warned him, pushing the toy back inside him. "MHhhh!! Ah-oohHH, i-is this supposed to be the to-torture?" Nikolai sneered behind broken sobs, those pretty tears finally spilled from his eye sockets.

"Concentrate on not passing out first, or this game will get boring,” you told him, tracing circles on his inner thighs to calm him down. He listened to you with defiance, obviously not happy with your answer. But all those thoughts were pushed aside the moment your hand began moving again. There's only one problem, you were painfully slow. It took so long for you to stick it in or to pull it out. Sure, it was still stimulating, but he needed more than that. He wanted you to be rougher, to really torture him. Oh if only you knew what a- "y/nnn~ please g-go faster? The Pain feels g-good ♡!" ...a masochist he was. Well, now you know.

"Such a perverted slut, boys like you don't get to tell me what to do." You snarled, pushing the whole thing inside again and grabbing his gland with your fingers. Crawling at it with your nails, scratching the skin. "AaaAAAHH..!! Y/n y/n!! H-hurt so much~!" Nikolai let out a scream akin moan, head thrown back and arching his back, all while his charming voice graced your ears. He was very loud, but his whines and sounds of pleasure were adorable, enough to serve as encouragement for you to continue.

"Why don't you stop the joking and tell me everything then, sir Clown?" You teased him, letting go of his dick not due to some pity, but rather because you wanted to try something else. This time, you spun the sounding rod around while it was still placed inside him, rubbing against his urethra and watching his face twist into some erotic expressions straight out of a porno. Eyes rolling back, hair sticking to his forehead and bouncing around, drool running down his chin.

All his blood was coursing to his cheeks or lower abdomen, precum getting everywhere and wetting everything. There was a puddle on the ground beneath him, and it only grew in size. "NGhh~ oOOhh, y/n it f-feels MHh! I-I can't, no m-more, please haaahHH♡♥︎" For a split second you were concerned if you went too far, yet all worries vanished the moment you saw the blissful expression he had. How his tongue hung out like a lewd doggy, figure shaking uncontrollably. "Oh god? Are you sure you want me to stop?" You asked him with raised brows and blatant irony, now changing your actions again. This time you moved it in and out of him as fast as you could, fucking into him, watching his pre gushing out like a fountain whenever it went deep inside him.

"HMnnGGHH..!! Oh- FuuUckkK! Ah-ah, too fast too fassst!!" He was groaning about the speed now, all while crying and shaking in his seat. His toes curled and a thin layer of sweat covered his skin, causing him to shine or glimmer. That once clean silver hair turned slightly dirty at the ends, his chest and ears now turning red as well. He could feel the stimulation coursing through his veins, gnawing at him, intertwining with the pain and being blended into an inseparable mixture. The hurt was turning into arousal, and soon his body, his nerves, and his heart couldn't keep the two apart anymore.

Each time you spat at him, insulted him or were mean, he could feel himself losing a piece of his sanity. "D-don't ghHuu, stop ♥︎, keep going, until m' sa-satisfied..." He was crying now, limps calming down a bit. The boy didn't squirm around as much, keeping a somewhat collected composure while watching you with heart-shaped pupils. "Tsk tsk tsk." You clicked your tongue, shaking your head in opposition at him, sighing as you uttered, "Have you already forgotten what I told you? You have to ask nicely, you don't get to tell me what to do, clown." And just like that, he lost any chances he had to cum.

You stopped moving your hand, or at least went as slow as before. "Ah..! D-damn it.. y/n~ can't you please go faster? I'm so cloooose!" He realized his mistake and decided to not argue too much, this time betting his chances on his puppy eyes. A small pat to his head followed, and then you cupped his cheeks before pinching them.

“How about~ you promise to tell me whatever I want to hear without any games or lies?" You should step up your game and remind yourself of your duty, which is why you proposed it multiple times, hoping he'll agree and obey your command. To push his buttons even more, you added a pinch to his milky thighs and said, "I'll let you cum if you do." Then you stopped doing anything entirely so that his stupid little brain could catch a break to think about your words. He snapped back from his short-lived subspace, staring at you with a dumb, frozen grin. "T-that's hmm~! so sly y/n, so meaan.. haaHhnn..”

"I've made it clear since the beginning, that this is supposed to be torture." You scooped up some of the filthy liquid dripping down his shaft and brought it to his lips, making him lick you clean. He winced at the taste but was obedient enough to just swallow it all. "Now, what will be your answer, clown?" Nikolai thought about it, though this time his thought process got interrupted when you began moving again, leading to him whimpering in full volume, "Ughh.. aAAHhhh.?!! I-i dun- mhm, know..?"

Suddenly you slapped his dick, and he groaned again, "mmMMHh!! Gu-ghHgnnn!! Y/nn~!!" A low sigh left your lips as you pressured him, saying, "You have to decide soon, I don't have all day and I don't mind leaving you like this." His ears perked and he begged for a tad more time, but to his dismay, you didn't listen. "HNg, Wa-wait.. ah..!! Too much, to-too fast mhhh~" With his long-awaited release coming soon and your little threats, the boy was overwhelmed, head spinning and malfunctioning.

It took so long for him to make up his mind, a melting expression on his face as he nodded, whispering meekly, "I-I'll tell you.. p-please, hnngg, lemme cum." That was easy, you thought, smirking at him gently and answering, "Since you agreed to cooperate, cum my little clown ♡" As soon as you finished your sentence, you went down on him again, abusing his red and swollen cock with the little metal pole.

"UHhmmm!! Oh please please pleaaaase, aAAhh! Don't s-stooOop!♡♥︎" He started blabbering without thinking about his words, too far gone to form coherent sentences. The veins on his hands became apparent, eyes unfocused and all fucked out. Knuckles as white as his hair due to his tight grasp on his binds, thighs shaking like they were made out of pudding. Sticky pre flowing down his now bruised thighs. Red dots plagued that area of his skin due to you repeatedly pinching and groping him there.

His toes curled, arch arched so beautifully into a crescent form, and shining fat tears decorated his naturally handsome features. That voice of his has become hoarse at this point, from all the shouting and moans. If only his personality wasn't so annoying, and if only he wasn't your enemy, you would have found him cute, maybe a little attractive as well. With a swift motion, you pulled the sounding rod out of him while wrapping your free hand over his tip, trying to catch as much of his cum as possible.

And god, heavens, the pleasure in that moment was too much for him to handle! His brain had already turned into mush at that point, but now it was even more broken! Chocked out whines and stuttered moans slipping past his filthy lips and he cried out for your name, calling out to you multiple times and begging without any reason, "y/nnnn!! Y/n y-y/nNN! So good, too much AaAHGGgnNn!! Please, I-i beg you please~♡♥︎" A shiver ran down your spine at this sight, this scenery of him being totally wrecked and pathetic. How vulnerable and helpless he was, and so awfully submissive. Who would have guessed he'd have such a lewd and adorable side?

Nikolai felt a knot tightening inside his stomach, it clenched and twisted, about to burst. This strange yet pleasurable feeling gnawing at him, tugging and squeezing him, it was too much, he couldn't ignore it any longer. "NGhHHH, gonna cum!! Cummin' cumminnn'!! I'm- aaAAAhHHHG!♡♥︎～" He yelled one last time, screaming until he choked because he didn't have enough air in his lungs anymore. Coughing violently while more broken noises left him, his voice cracking whenever he went too high.

Thick robes of cum spurt out of him, covering your hand, and running down your palm slowly. That was proof of its disgusting texture, it looked like slime and was still warm. "God you must have been pent up." You joked, watching it drip down your hand for a bit. While most of his semen got caught by your hand, some of it still landed between his legs, on the cement floor.

You gave him a few minutes to calm down from his high, watching his blurry eyes return to life. It took him almost three minutes to snap back to reality, to leave that little subspace he was in. Sweat and tears mingled, making his skin shine. The tips of his bangs were wet and stuck to his forehead, his eyes were half-lidded and swollen from weeping so much.

Once you deemed him conscious enough, you brought your hand over to his lips, ordering him to lick it. "Even if this is a prison, you are not allowed to defile it with your filthy fluids." Then you grabbed his chin, not bothering with his muffled protests, and clasped your hand over his mouth. Now he had no choice but to lick it, and like the little whore he was, he enjoyed it.

His wet and hot muscles moved across your skin, trying to lick up as much as possible to then swallow it. A heavy blush on his cheeks, one that hasn't left since the beginning of your session. You watched him with an amused gaze, saying, "You agreed to tell me everything, right? Otherwise, I might have to edge you even longer." He shivered, shoulder jerking upwards as your little threat. The now somewhat docile boy nodded to show he understood what you said, while his tongue rolled between your fingers. "Good boy. Never thought the day would come when you'd earn that title." You praised him, and a breathy and sarcastic laugh came from you.

Right now, he was still cleaning up the mess he made, frowning a little at the taste, or rather the thick consistency. It caused him to feel sick, but he loved every single second, it was just so arousing, and he could feel himself getting hard again~ in the meantime, you stroked his hair, patting his head, waiting for him to finish patiently. And as soon as he did, you grabbed his hair by the roots and yanked on them. The sudden pull was enough to make the chair trip over, ending with him not even having the time to gasp before landing face-first on the ground.

“Y-y/n???" How baffled he must be, hands still tied without any chances of escape and face now pressed into the mutt. "Clean it up, your mess." You muttered, finally letting go of him. Then you sat down on the chair you brought with you, arms crossed over your chest once more, this time wearing a relaxed expression, looking at him from above. The subtle power struggles made his heart flutter, blood rushing to his lower part again. He stared at you wide-eyed, then turned to look at the ground, seeing some drops of his white cum splattered there.

A low whine escaped his throat before he lowered himself, sticking his tongue out and licking it from the dirty ground. It was a bitter and unpleasant taste, he could feel the sand crunching and his stomach rejecting it. Yet he persisted, swallowing all of it and showing you his tongue after every gulp, to prove to you he did it. Nikolai could hear your light chuckles and see that content smile, he tried his best to position himself steadily and looked up at you.

What met your gaze was the face of a fanatic pervert who enjoyed every second spent to the fullest. Eyes bore that familiar haze, sweat still soaking his skin and body twitching with each word he voiced out. He used a meek yet lustful voice as he whispered with his remaining strength, "Like seeing me be your 'good boy'?"

Tags: @showtime-ss @thisisnotangel @ghostgoosygoose @i-dont-fooken-know @chuuya-brainrot @allyfoxglove @thigh-o-saur @fallenthemisticalyingyang @fem-dom-roze

Nini!rant 2.0:

Since I didn’t research anything for this one let’s talk about HIV (idk man)

Hiv is a virus, and it’s often mistaken for aids. Now let’s see, what are the differences between the two?

First, hiv is not the same as aids, though it can become aids over a long time (after ca. 10 years). While it’s developing, it doesn’t have any visible effects except when you get infected with it. Cuz then you’ll get symptoms akin to the flu, or about a week or two, and because it’s identical to the flu, many people get hiv without knowing.

Even though there is no cure for hiv, it can be neutralised with medicine. There are also tests you can buy to see if you have it, but it’s still the best if you do a check up. And the great thing is, if your body takes the treatment well and if you also eat according to your then given diet (by your doctor) it won’t develop into aids. Instead, it will just be a virus that lives with you and does nothing. Like, you won’t even be infectious to other people and can have kids or live long.

The only downside is the repression medicine makes your body weak, so it’s easier for one to catch illnesses or have the symptoms stronger than the average.

Anyway, people with hiv who are undergoing treatment are safe, there is no harm in engaging in intercourse with them since they aren’t infectious. Also from what I’ve heard, they do check-ups every month to see if the medicine works so rest assured.

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