#troublesomesnitch

[saradika-graphics]

Hey, it seemed your requests are currently open? If not I'm sorry, just ignore this. I LOVE these floral dividers you did in pastel and navy blue, would you be able to do them in just plain black too? Or something like it in black.

tumblr.com/saradika/732106557501931520/you-and-cafekitsune-have-the-best-dividers

Thank you, your dividers are beautiful!

Hi!! They are! And yes of course, I can definitely do that! I added a couple other black flowers as well. Thanks for sending this in! 🌷🖤

[Free] Masterlist Headers & Dividers!

Please consider liking or reblogging if you use 💕

[helaelaemond]

Tom Bennett + 42! I literally used an online number generator for maximum game-ification

Plain Jane REMIX ft Nicki Minaj - 'suck a ***** dick or something'

Tom Bennett x unnamed sailor - dirty talk, allusions to oral, man on man action

The sailor gives Tom a tight-lipped smile, before walking past him. “Let me know next time you need a hand. Or a mouth.”

Infuriatingly, the words slide over Tom’s skin like silk, making it difficult to retort. He clears his throat. “You should be so lucky.”

“Yeah. That’s the hope.”

That tryst was three days ago now. Tom rolls over in his bunk with a clenched jaw, and decides enough is enough. His cock is hard, and his stomach sick with want.

Back to the dining hall he goes in the depths of the calm night. He glances over the edge of the ship as he slinks silently along. Below, the inky water laps gently against the hull. How good it would be to be back home. He wonders if the woman from the dock would welcome her back into her company. How warm her thighs were, how wet she got. Trying to remember her face is pointless. Can't even remember the colour of her eyes. Brown? Blue? Black? Green? Doesn't matter. He lost himself in them that night. The ocean offers no oblivion. Not the same kind, at least.

"Hello, Tommy."

Tom's lip twitches. "Been waiting for me?"

The sailor, sitting at a table in the shadows, laughs quietly. "Would you like that?"

"Don't bother me none either way."

"Well, you've got your choice tonight." The sailor shifts slightly and his face is caught in a sliver of light from outside. He's grinning, and then he nods his head towards the far side of the hall. Tom peers through the darkness, and after a moment he sees the figures of three men. He holds his breath, and through the quiet, the sighs and noises of wet mouths fills his ears.

His lip twitches again. Perhaps once, it would have turned his stomach, but he supposes that now, as he's already fucked a man, it shouldn't bother him as much. That being said, he did think about a girl the whole time.

"Sure they wouldn't mind you joining."

"Nah, I'm alright, thanks. Just looking for one mouth. All them look a bit preoccupied, don't you think?" Tom retorts.

"Yeah, a bit."

"So." He pauses for a moment. "You free?"

"I ain't gonna charge you."

Tom actually sniggers at that. "Ain't got nowt to pay you with, anyway."

"Saving up for a whore in Argentina?" he teases. Tom glances down, and sees the strain against the man's boilersuit.

"I don't gotta pay for it, here or on land."

"That much I believe." The sailor stands up and walks slowly to him. He reaches for the buttons on Tom's suit and watches his face. "Tell me what you want, Tommy."

The girl on the dock. His sister's smile. A proper pint. Even his dad, who doesn't laugh at his jokes. Nah, don't think about that, not now. Don't get soft. "What y'good at?"

"Everything."

Behind them, soft moans are choked back by the three men. Unseen movements become quicker, more desperate. There are butterflies in Tom's stomach.

"How's your mouth?"

"Not as loud as yours."

Tom grins again, and when the other man leans in to kiss his neck, he allows it. The man's stubble tickles his skin, and his lips are hard, but he closes his eyes and thinks of her - any her he's even been with, really - it makes him throb. "Use it properly, then."

"You can do better than that," comes a whisper in his ear.

"What?"

"Say it properly."

"You want me to talk dirty to you?"

The sailor bites just below his collar. "Just once. You owe me."

Teeth make him shiver but he smiles. "Alright." He drops his voice slightly, and runs a brave hand through the man's hair. It feels strange, hair this short, but it's the least he can do. "I want you to get on your fuckin' knees. I want you to put my cock in your mouth like it's the last time you'll ever get a taste of it. And I want you to suck me off until the only thing I know is the name of the Heavenly Father. Can you do that for me?"

His mouth hangs open slightly, and he nods. "Uh- yeah. I can do that."

"Good g-" good girl. "Lad. Good lad. Go on then. Get on with it."

He does as he's told, and quickly. Tom's head drops back, and he fights back moans.

God, he misses girls - but no one has sucked him like this jolly sailor bold.

[senditcolton]

Fire, Meet Gasoline

gasoline, pretty please, I wanna get off but you're such a tease..

summary: every time she stepped onto the motorcycle race track, Daphne Martin faced potential disaster. and yet, she was still able to ride. but when she is threatened with the possible destruction of two relationships she holds dear - her friendship with Jesse Compher and her tryst with Jesse's brother JT - will she be able to push through her fear. or will it all go up in flames? song inspo: reckless driving by Lizzy McAlpine word count: 10.9k warnings: forbidden romance [best friend's brother], alcohol mention, smut [fingering, oral - f receiving, unprotected penetration], and marijuana use. for Demi's (@wyattjohnston) Winter Fic Exchange to C (@comphy-and-cozy) - finally - with love

The can of beer in Daphne Martin’s hand was now lukewarm – a combination of time coupled with the fact she brought it into her shower. But she had needed both.

Her short, buzzed hair was no longer plastered to her skull from the sweat that gathered under her helmet. The lingering smell of burnt rubber that she always brought back home was no longer on her skin. And the two cans of beer dulled the ache in her shoulders and legs from where they hit the asphalt earlier that day.

First race of the season. And she failed. Spectacularly.

Her bike went flying. So had her body. And even though it was only one race in a season of twenty-two, it felt like her credibility crashed as soon as she did.

The first woman to climb the ranks of motorcycle racing, crashing out on the final lap. She bailed after an attempt to pass and now, all people would talk about is how she didn’t belong.

It didn’t matter that it happened between her and the racer in second. It didn’t matter that there was a significant gap between her and the next closest driver. Her failure was ‘proof’ to sexist fans, racers, teams, management – all of them – that she didn’t fit in the world of motorsports.

She had been hearing those whispers since she started. Most days, she could ignore them. But today…

So, yeah, she needed the shower. And the beers. And JT.

Her phone buzzes on the kitchen island, a text bubble popping up on the screen.

Almost there.

Speak of the devil.

The decision to call JT Compher was just as reckless as the decision to drink after a crash. If she was being honest, her tryst with JT had been a careless choice from the start. She should’ve thrown away the hastily scribbled number that he left on a scrap of packing paper six months ago; the morning he had shown up on her doorstep to help her move in.

Hell, she probably shouldn’t even had let him in her apartment. But perhaps the shock of her bar bathroom hookup from the night before turning out to be Jesse’s brother made all rational thought fly from her brain.

That was an excuse that she used when she thought back on that day. As for why she had kept his number and ended up calling it on a semi-regular basis for nights like these… she had no excuse.

Except the fact that JT Compher was amazing in bed.

There probably should’ve been some guilt in her chest about keeping this… relationship with JT from her best friend. But there wasn’t. Or, at least, Daphne didn’t think she had to face it. Jesse was still in Toronto, 372 kilometers away. There was no way that she would find out what her brother and Daphne were doing, barring a surprise appearance at one of their apartments while they were together.

However, that risk did still exist. Daphne was well aware that one wrong misstep could cause her to lose the friendship she shared with Jesse as well as JT. But as long as this was kept a secret, she was safe.

That was the compromise. This way, Daphne got to keep them both.

The knock on the door breaks her out of her reverie, her body unfurling from the sofa as she pads towards the front door. Her almost empty beer can is abandoned on the kitchen island before she unlocks the deadbolt, swinging the door open to find JT.

There is a brief pause as the two of them look at each other. Daphne can see JT’s dark brown eyes trace her face before darting down to glide over her body, the bruises and friction burns on her bare arms and legs plain to see.

“It could’ve been worse,” she says, simultaneously confirming and quieting his concern and Daphne notices the subtle relaxation of JT’s shoulders. But when his eyes lift to connect with hers again, a new expression flits across his face. One of understanding, most likely brought on by the heaviness shining in her own eyes.

“JT,” she whispers, the words quivering with a quiet plea.

The sound of his name is enough to make JT step forward into her apartment, taking her in his arms and kissing her. There is no stopping the sigh that escapes Daphne’s lips, her entire body melting into his hold.

This is why she kept calling JT when she knows she shouldn’t. No one else could make her mind empty with just a kiss. And that’s what she needed right now.

Daphne faintly hears the front door close; JT must’ve kicked it shut because his hands were still on her hips and his lips were attached to hers. He presses her body deeper into the apartment, manipulating her to his whim. And she lets him.

She feels the edge of the marble countertop dig into the small of her back, the sensation startling her enough to break the kiss. Her own brown eyes connect to JT, his own face desperate and she can feel his hands tighten around her hips. The silent implication of what he wanted is all she needs to plant her own hands on the island, helping him lift her onto the marble, even though her shoulders ache in protest.

The pain is immediately silenced by JT’s body slotting between her now outspread thighs, his lips reattaching to hers. Another sigh falls from her, this time unmuffled as JT’s kisses trail from her mouth to cross her jawline. His path forces her head to loll to the side, exposing her neck to his onslaught.

She can’t stop the way her hips roll towards him as he gently sucks a hickey into her pale skin, desperate and needy. The sensation of his calloused hands against the bare skin of her legs is sinful, as is the way his hands climb higher, dipping under the hem of her oversized shirt.  JT’s hands glide higher underneath the fabric, over the ridges and dips of her hips, waist, and ribs. He traces every curve deliberately as if she was a racetrack that he needed to memorize.

Daphne’s own hands scramble across his shoulders, relishing the feeling of his muscles moving beneath his cotton t-shirt, tugging at the fabric in a silent request. JT complies, pulling away from her before tugging the material over his head. Her eyes rake down, never tiring of the sight of him. JT lets her before his hands return to her body, this time removing her own shirt, leaving her perched naked on the countertop, except for a pair of underwear on her form.

Normally, the way JT’s eyes appraise her exposed skin makes a heat pool in her lower abdomen, his carnal desire always on full display. But when his eyes zero in on her torso, another flash of concern appears in his eyes instead of the usual hunger, Daphne knows the cause:

The bruises mottling her torso.

“I’m fine,” she says, her voice calling JT’s attention back to her.

“Are you?”

Daphne can hear the weight of the words and part of her knows that he is not just asking about the physical pain. It’s like he can see her completely. He didn’t just strip her of her clothes – it feels like he’s stripped her down to her soul and can see the deep-seated hurt lingering within her. How he can do that, Daphne doesn’t know. She doesn’t really want to find out.

It’s too intimate. It’s too close. It’s too dangerous.

She should make him leave. She shouldn’t entertain this anymore. JT was fire and she was gasoline. She knew that he would be her destruction. But at the same time, she wanted him. Desperately.

“I just need you,” she whispers, a sliver of truth falling from her lips. She can see the soft smile appear on JT’s lips as he steps forward again, his hands guiding her legs to wrap around his waist.

“You have me,” JT murmurs, his voice dripping with emotion before he kisses her again. His head once again ducks down, only this time, his lips move against the soft skin of Daphne’s decolletage before wrapping around one of her nipples. Daphne’s body leans back, her shoulder blades connecting with the marble. The contrasting sensations of the cool stone and JT’s hot mouth creates a rush of arousal.

“JT, please,” she whines, fingers brushing his ginger hair away from his forehead, her words emphasized with another roll of her hips. She can see those dark eyes dart up to hers, tongue never ceasing its movements against her chest. One of his hands however, glides over her hip and down her leg. A sigh of relief falls at the sensation of JT’s touch, dipping inward and tracing up her thigh, moving closer and closer to her molten center.

The mutual moans bounce around the space when JT’s fingers hook around the cotton of her panties, pulling it to the side before they slide over the slickness of her folds, no longer obstructed by the fabric.

“You really need it, don’t you sweetheart?” JT murmurs against her skin as he continues to stroke her pussy, more and more of her essence coating his skin. “That desperate, huh?”

Daphne’s only reply is a sharp moan as one of his fingers dips inside of her. The curl of his lips against her skin makes her more needy, her hips rolling as a silent plea for him to continue. JT doesn’t tease, wasting no time before sliding another into her heat, his hand almost covering her core. Daphne grinds her hips against him, her clit catching against the rough skin on the heel of his palm, making shivers run down her spine.

“That’s it. Take what you need,” JT mutters before his lips wrap around her other nipple, teasing the flesh into a stiff peak. His encouragement is all Daphne needs, her body desperately chasing that impending orgasm that she can feel coiling in her stomach.

When JT’s teeth gently scrape over her pebbled skin, the spring snaps, the warmth of her release rushing through her and her body stills. She can feel the vibration of his moan against her chest; a reaction to her trembling body as the high ebbs, her breathing returning to a steady pace as he removes his hand from the apex of her thighs.

JT finally lifts himself up to stand over Daphne splayed out on the countertop. Her eyes take in the sight of his normally plush lips now even more pink from his previous ministrations. His own darkened eyes glance down at her body, surely admiring his handiwork: her cunt exposed, tits slick with his spit, her neck and collarbones littered with the bruises that he had left instead of those made by the pavement.

JT’s hands move up her body, sneaking under her arched back to pull her up into another kiss. She holds onto him, practically clinging to his frame before their lips separate and Daphne voices the only thought bouncing around her mind.

“More.”

A wicked grin appears on JT’s face, all too willing to grant her request. He guides her body back down, hands dropping again, twisting in the waistband of her underwear. This time, he pulls the material down, sliding it over her legs before crudely discarding it somewhere in the room. The sensation of the cool apartment air hitting her core causes Daphne’s legs to instinctively close, JT’s body no longer between them. However, their path is stopped by JT’s hands instantaneously pulling her thighs back open, his fingers digging into the supple flesh.

Another gasp turned sigh escapes Daphne’s chest as JT’s lips reattach to her body, trailing across her collarbones and down. She thinks he must feel her heart beating against her ribcage as he places soft kisses in the valley between her breasts before descending even lower.

The feeling of his lips pressing against her inner thighs is both delectable and yet, still not enough to satiate the hunger thrumming through her body.

“Please,” she whines, her hips moving to coax him to the place she needed him most until JT’s lips finally connect with her soaked core.

A moan rumbles from him at the taste of her, the vibrations causing a similar moan to fall from Daphne. His mouth moves against her, his tongue tracing her folds and there is no stopping the curses that fall from her lips.

When JT’s lips close around her clit, Daphne’s entire body shudders, the muscles in her legs desperate to close around his head; which they would have if it weren’t for his strong hands holding her open.

“So fucking sweet, darling,” JT mutters before reattaching his mouth to her core. After having her in his bed multiple times, it doesn’t take long for JT remember what makes her writhe and gush, alternating between quick flicks of his tongue and gentle suction of his lips. But when his mouth dips down, his tongue plunging inside her, there is no stopping the way Daphne’s breath catches in her throat, body jolting upright.

“Oh god, fuck JT, right there,” she whines, one hand supporting her as the other tangles in JT’s red hair, holding him against her. Even though she knows he would never be cruel enough to pull away.

JT’s dark eyes lift to meet hers and Daphne whines at the sight of his face nestled between her thighs, tongue expertly continuing its movements, pushing her closer and closer to that edge. Daphne dissolves into a moaning mess above him, hips practically grinding against his face, head thrown back as her free hand attempts to find purchase on the smooth marble.

“Fuck, ‘m close,” Daphne gasps – as an encouragement or as a warning, she isn’t sure. JT isn’t deterred, keeping the same steady pace of his movements, those brown eyes glued to her face. The slow-building pressure finally comes to a head and Daphne can feel her entire body tense, the orgasm barreling through her.

She hears JT groan at the way her cunt clenches around his tongue, her essence coating his lips and chin as he works her through her orgasm. Daphne’s thighs tremble against his shoulders as she slowly comes down, JT’s tongue lapping up every trace of her release before finally tearing himself away.

The sight of JT’s russet beard now soaked with her arousal make a soft whimper fall from Daphne. He lifts himself up onto his feet, one hand coming to cup the back of her head and pulling her in for another passionate kiss – one that she gladly melts into, moaning at the taste of herself on his tongue.

Daphne lets out a surprised squeal as JT’s hands slip under her thighs, lifting her off the countertop. Her legs hook around his waist as he carries her across her apartment before pushing open the door to her bedroom and depositing her on to her bed.

“Better?” he asks when he pulls away, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Much. Thank you,” Daphne sighs before glancing down his body. She can clearly see the outline of his cock straining against the fabric of his sweatpants, her mouth watering at the sight. “Want me to take care of that for you?”

“Nah,” JT chuckles, shaking his head.

“Are you sure?”

“Not necessary. Could I use your shower though?”

“Yeah, of course.”

JT gives Daphne another gentle kiss before he disappears into her adjoining bathroom. Soon after, she hears the shower turn on and she finally lets her body sinks into the sheets.

Unfortunately, the absence of JT causes the memories of earlier to return to her brain unbidden. That was the only bad thing about a temporary fix – when the high fades, the fears and worries are still there. However, she couldn’t even begin to fix her racing mistakes until a week later – the scheduled next race. Right now, temporary fixes were all she had.

Daphne rolls her body over, hand reaching for her nightstand, pulling open the top drawer and taking out the small box from the depths. She sits up in the bed, her legs crossing as she flips open the box’s lid, grabbing the rolled paper and a lighter from the contents. She places the joint in her mouth, flicking the lighter to life and igniting the tip. The smoke hits her lungs as she inhales and she lets out a sigh, climbing off the bed and returning the box to its place before wandering over to the window and cracking it open.

The night air cools her skin, which is beneficial as it both further relaxes her but also dims the desire that surges when she hears JT’s moans, not completely muffled by the sound of rushing water and her bathroom door.

She could join him. But the combination of the alcohol she had drank earlier, the two orgasms that JT brought forth, and the weed now penetrating her already tired muscles forces her to return to the bed, her body sinking further into the pillows.

Daphne looks out the window, breeze gently ruffling the curtains as she lets her mind go blank. The sound of the bathroom door opening, the released steam creating a delectable contrast on her bare skin causes Daphne’s eyes to return to JT. His sweats are back on his body, his damp hair now cascading over his forehead.

She wordlessly holds the joint out to him – an offering that he gladly takes after he climbs onto the mattress beside her. The roll is passed between the two of them until it burns down, Daphne snubbing it out onto the ashtray next to her bed. It is impulsive, the way she turns towards JT, her body curling around him but the cross-fade must’ve removed her inhibitions. JT has no such qualms, moving to wrap his arm around her, fingers caressing her bare skin as she rests her cheek against his chest.

“Are you okay?”

JT’s voice breaks the silence, soft and delicate as if he was afraid to shatter any sense of peace that had been created. A heavy sigh falls from Daphne’s lips, her shoulders raising in a shrug.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

The question could easily be seen as a dismissal – a sign that Daphne didn’t want to talk about it. Looking back at this moment, Daphne wishes JT would’ve taken it as one. But he didn’t – doesn’t.  

“I just saw the headline about your crash,” JT confesses.

Daphne lifts her head to look at him, catching the look in his eyes, much like the one he gave her when standing on her doorstep. He knew. And he was worried about her.

“Is that why you came over?”

“Is that why you called me?”

Daphne doesn’t give a reply because he was correct… but perhaps not for the reasons he thought.

Earlier that night, she had dialed JT’s number to give herself a distraction from the mistakes she made playing on repeat in her brain. But now, pinned under JT’s heavy gaze, the quiet voice that had recently grown louder over the months shouted a different reason for her call.

She needed him – not just as a distraction, but as a source of comfort.

And that need – that dependency on someone else – frightened her. It scared her back when she first realized how much she yearned for him, but it was even more terrifying now as JT looks at her with the utmost tenderness, his fingers still tracing mindless patterns against her skin.

That fear is what causes her shoulders to shrug again, her body lifting fully, forcing JT’s arm to fall from around her.  

“It was nothing. I tried to pass and bumped, causing my bike to spin out. Completely normal.”

“Then why do you seem so upset?”

“Because I’m the one that it happened to,” Daphne humorlessly chuckles. JT doesn’t respond and she looks over her shoulder to see him staring at her, his brows furrowed in confusion. “I’m a woman, JT. In a very male dominated sport. Any mistake I make is just fodder for the people who believe that I don’t belong. A chance for them to say, ‘look, we told you so’.”

Another sigh falls as she turns away, her fingers absentmindedly playing with a loose thread in her comforter. The cross-fade could be blamed for why the next words slip from her mouth.

“Maybe they’re right.”

“What?”

The incredulous voice of JT, coupled with the shift of the mattress as he sits upright partially startles Daphne before she realizes that she spoke that thought out loud. And now she had to answer for it.

“Maybe this is as far as I go,” she explains. “I’m tired, JT. I’m tired of having to constantly prove myself and it’s never enough. I’m tired of giving miles and getting an inch in return.”

“That – that doesn’t make sense. This doesn’t sound like the Daphne I know.”

A sharp huff escapes Daphne unbridled, her head whipping around to stare at JT. She couldn’t say whether it was her inebriated state that made her react so sharply, or whether it was his words – the presumption in them even as care hung on every syllable.

“How would you know what I sound like?” she retorts, not bothering to keep the venom out of her voice. “Who even are you in this equation, JT?”

She can see JT recoil at her viper sting, shock dancing across his face before it hardens into sheer determination.

“I’m someone that cares about you.”

“You don’t get a say in how I live my life. You’re someone that I fuck on a semi-regular basis. Nothing more. Hell, I shouldn’t have even continued to entertain the idea of you in my bed past that first night.”

“Then why do you keep calling me?”

Daphne knows the answer and yet it dies on the tip of her tongue. The fear kills it before she can speak. The sheer desire for JT just meant more to lose if she ever lost him. And considering who both of them were in this situation – brother and friend to Jesse – the chances of this ending sooner rather than later were exponentially higher.

Murphy’s Law: everything that can go wrong, will go wrong.

So why risk it?

“Because apparently I have poor judgement,” Daphne spits out, directing every ounce of malice into the words to mask the pang of her heart. 

The silence falls, weighted with every word said and every word left unsaid. JT just looks at her, those big brown eyes seeming to pierce through her ski, down to her bones. Whatever he finds there good enough as JT lets out a sigh before throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, removing himself from her sheets. Daphne watches as he walks across her bedroom, opening the door to the rest of her apartment.

“Where are you going?”

Her question stops him at the threshold, his hand gripping the molding around the doorframe as he glances back towards her.

“I’m leaving. If you want to quit, I’m not going to stop you.”

His words could be referring to her racing career alone, but based on the heartbroken glimmer in his irises, Daphne is inclined to believe that he’s also talking about them. He doesn’t confirm her suspicions though. Instead, he keeps his word, disappearing from her line of sight. A few seconds pass before Daphne hears the creak of her front door opening, followed shortly by the click of the latch returning to the doorjamb.

That click resonates through the apartment and penetrates her ribcage. The reverberation of that finality is what shatters her already delicate heart, the ache incomparable to the ache in her already bruised and battered body.

And this time, she knew temporary fixes would never be enough.

She was here for Jesse.

That was Daphne’s manta as she walks towards Little Caesars Arena. Her motorcycle was parked in a garage a few blocks away and her blue denim jacket hangs over her shoulders, the gold jewelry adorning her septum and ears sparkling in the downtown lights – a call towards the Toronto Sceptres logo and colors.

The PWHL had come to Detroit for their Takeover Tour and the city was blessed to be able to watch another Compher play hockey. The tickets had appeared in Daphne’s email months ago from Jesse, with a silly gif attached begging her to show up.

There was always a glint hesitation in her attendance, and although the reason for that hesitation had shifted and changed, it still existed. Because Daphne’s ticket was situated right next to the rest of the Compher family; Jesse’s mom, dad, her sister Morgan, and JT.

The initial concern was having to sit next to JT through a two-hour game, pretending like they were just friends and not each other’s regular hookup. Now, she had to sit next to JT and act like her heart didn’t ache for him still.

It had been almost a month since JT left her apartment and left her reeling. She had returned to the racetrack, to distract herself from feeling the shattered pieces of her heart piercing into every space of her chest. Heartbreak turned out to be a great motivator and she placed podium in the past three races she had competed in. Although the success didn’t fill the hole in her life where JT used to reside.

Daphne descends the stadium stairs, her hand gripping the railing a little tighter when she spies the bright ginger hair of JT, an empty seat next to him. She takes a deep breath before walking down the row, apologizing to the fans already sitting until she stops right next to JT. He must see her jean-clad legs out of the corner of his eyes, his hands finding the armrests as if he was about to lift himself up to let her pass. Until his face turns towards her and the action stills when he registers that it’s her standing next to him.

“Daphne.”

Her name falls from his mouth in soft exhale, so quiet that she barely hears it over the din of the other voices in the arena.

“Hey JT,” she replies, offering him a gentle smile. He doesn’t return her grin, his face reverting to a neutral that stings more than if he had glared at her in disgust.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for Jesse,” she explains, settling down into the vacant seat and trying desperately to ignore the woody scent of his cologne flooding her senses. “She invited me and, well, she’s my friend so I’m here to cheer her on.”

She swears that she can see JT’s face soften, his lips twitching into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes before it was interrupted by a feminine voice.

“JT. Who’s this?”

Daphne looks down the row to see the bright smiling face of who she assumes to be Jesse’s mother. It’s easy for Daphne to stick out her hand across JT towards the woman.

“Hi, I’m Daphne. I’m a friend of Jesse’s from Toronto. You must be Valerie.”

“That would be me! This is my husband Bob and Jesse’s sister Morgan. You seem to already know JT.”

“Yeah,” JT says to his mom, although his eyes never leave Daphne. “Jesse asked me to help Daphne move in when she first moved to Detroit.” His explanation is both accurate but also a little misleading – ignoring their actual first meeting was a little more illicit than JT unpacking boxes.

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Valerie replies, leaning back in her seat. “It must have been nice, being able to know someone in the first few days of moving to a strange city.”

“Yeah, it was.”

Daphne more so directs the words towards JT, letting them linger in the hope that he can read her as easily as he always could. Unfortunately, the lights dim before she can decipher any expression appearing on JT’s face, a cheer going up from the crowd. Daphne directs her attention to the giant screen hanging over the ice as the teams are introduced, cheering loudly when Jesse’s name is announced.

The game is fun and exciting, the Septres scoring a last-minute goal to win and collect 3 points (something that JT explained is different than the NHL’s point system). Daphne enjoyed listening to and learning from the Compher family – even if they might not have been the most unbiased source. But then again, what sports fan was? Even the people in the stands at the raceway were aggressive in their support for their favorite driver and the Compher’s weren’t just cheering for a team. They were cheering for their family.

Valerie insisted that Daphne join them afterwards, JT leading them towards the parking lot where Jesse would leave from. She tried to give an excuse as to why she couldn’t but before she could, Morgan linked their arms together and pulled Daphne forward. That effortless acceptance made Daphne’s heart skip a beat – the way that they allowed her to slot so easily into the Compher clan, getting lost in the chatter as they wait for Jesse to appear. It made her wonder how much she had really lost that night a month ago.

Her eyes occasionally dart to JT to see if similar thoughts are running through his mind but every time her gaze lands on his face, it’s entirely neutral – a pleasant smile but no sense of emotion directed her way.

An excited squeal breaks through the noise and Daphne sees Jesse running towards them, her arms outstretched. She steps back, letting Jesse embrace her parents first before hugging Morgan and JT in kind. Her heart softens at the sight of the family, so perfectly united and she has to push back the images of herself included in the group as JT’s girl, not just Jesse’s friend.

Daphne finally clears her throat, the sound catching Jesse’s attention and Daphne can’t stop the grin that pulls at her lips at the sight of Jesse’s jaw dropping open in joy.

“Hey girlie,” Daphne says, her voice lifting in a playful tease and it seems as if those words are what snaps Jesse out of her frozen trance, her body lunging forward and practically leaping into Daphne’s arms.

“Oh my god, you made it!” Jesse squeals, jumping with joy as she embraces Daphne before finally pulling away. “How have you been? I feel like I haven’t talked to you in months!”

“I’m good,” Daphne laughs, the bright energy rolling off Jesse in waves making her feel lighter.

“Has Detroit been treating you well?”

The question is innocent but Daphne can’t stop her eyes from flicking back towards JT. And for the first time that night, she feels like she can see a flash of some emotion pass over his face. Daphne sighs, turning her attention back to her best friend, not wanting to get lost in… whatever her and JT shared.

“As well as it can,” she answers truthfully.  

She isn’t sure if it’s the drop in her voice or the sadness that twinges the edges of the syllables that causes Jesse’s eyebrows to furrow, noticing the weight on her friend’s shoulders. But before she can press further, Bob’s voice forces her attention back to her family.

“Sorry sweetheart, but we’ve gotta go. Gotta catch an early flight to Chicago tomorrow.”

Daphne lets go of Jesse, allowing her to run back to her parents, hugging them both. She can hear the murmured congratulations that pass between them before Bob and Valerie depart, waving back to the four of them one last time as they melt into the crowd. It isn’t until they are completely out of sight does Jesse turn to the remainder of them.

“What about you, Morgan? Do you have to leave?”

“My flight isn’t until tomorrow evening.”

“JT?”

“I’ve got to get on a plane to D.C. but that’s not until the afternoon.”

Daphne laughs at the sight of a wide smile splitting across Jesse’s face as she glances mischievously at her siblings.

“So… drinks? I’ll buy.”

“Why would you be buying? Your team just moved into third place in the league,” Morgan teases her back before jostling her brother’s shoulder. “If anything, they should be on JT since his sisters are visiting his city.”

“I can see what you’re trying to do lil sis and it’s not gonna work,” JT quips in response, a soft grin on his face.

“Fine. Then I guess, Daphne’s paying, since it’s her city now too,” Jesse replies, turning her attention back to her friend. “What do you say? Down for a few drinks?”

“As tempting as draining my bank account sounds, I can’t tonight,” Daphne says, a light apology in her voice. “I’m planning on going to the racetrack early tomorrow morning, getting a few laps in before it gets too crowded.”

“So, you didn’t quit.”

The statement falls from JT’s mouth, forcing Daphne’s attention to turn to him. He is staring at her and once again, she can see some emotion flicker in his gaze. But her focus is interrupted before she gets a chance to understand it – this time by Jesse’s shrill voice.

“Quit?”

Daphne can understand her confusion. The two of them bonded over fighting through boundaries in a male-dominated industry after meeting at a Women in Sports conference in Toronto. Their shared sense of grit and determination is what really brought them together as friends. It was probably was unthinkable to Jesse that Daphne even considered quitting.

“I had a moment of weakness,” Daphne shrugs, giving the very abridged version of events. “I can tell you all about it over coffee if you’re still in town in the afternoon.”

“Yeah, the team isn’t heading back to Toronto until Tuesday. Text me the location and I’ll be there.”  

“Will do.”

Daphne hugs Jesse, murmuring a congratulations to her before turning to Morgan. Morgan wastes no time scooping her into a similar hug, telling Daphne that it was great to meet her and she replies similarly. They separate, leaving her and JT.

There is a moment of awkwardness, the two of them just standing there appraising each other. Daphne doesn’t let it linger to the point of uncomfortable, choosing to finally utter a soft ‘see you later’ to him. She gives the Compher siblings a wave before turning and walking towards the parking garage.

She is almost out of sight when some instinct tells her to look back. She does. And finds JT’s eyes fixed on her retreating form, clearly not listening to a word his sisters say around him. Daphne finally has enough time to process the emotion on his face.

It was regret. It was longing.

And it gave her hope.

The bell over the café door rings out, entirely too cheerful for a Monday afternoon, as Daphne walks into the shop. She doesn’t need to scour the store for Jesse, the redhead’s hand sticking up and waving her over before Daphne even takes off her leather jacket.

A grin appears on her face as she makes her way over to Jesse, her body relaxing even further when she sees an extra cup of coffee sitting in front of the empty chair at the round table.

“White chocolate mocha, just how you like it,” Jesse says, pushing the cup further towards Daphne as she sits down.

“Thank you. You have no idea how much I needed this.”

“The coffee or my sparkling presence?”

“Both,” comes Daphne’s quick reply, a giggle falling from each of them.

The conversation starts with the typical catch-up topics of two people who used to live in the same city now living 372 kilometers away. Family, friends, adventures, work. Jesse regales Daphne with the PWHL season thus far and how exciting the Takeover Tour has been for the league – seeing the demand for women’s sports firsthand. It makes Daphne happy as well because this was the goal when they first met at that conference; giving women’s sports an equal spotlight. The conversation of their perspective careers eventually leads to the question Daphne was waiting to hear from Jesse. She is thankful that her friend at least waited a little while before confronting her.

“So, what was this moment of weakness that almost made you quit motorsports?” Jesse asks, her own brown eyes pinning Daphne down – so like her brothers. Daphne sighs, shaking her head as she often did whenever she replayed that night.

“It was stupid really,” she begins, looking back to see Jesse patiently waiting for her to elaborate. “I crashed during first race of the season and… I don’t know. Just let those doubts creep in and thought it might be best if I just stopped racing.”

“You usually never let those men get to you,” Jesse teases.

“To be fair, I was a little intoxicated when I said it.”

“How did JT know about it?”

The mention of JT’s name in the context of the situation catches Daphne off-guard, even though she should’ve figured it would be asked. The only reason Jesse knew about Daphne’s wavering self-confidence was because of her brother’s words. But it takes a moment for Daphne to think of a plausible excuse.

“I went to a bar that night. JT happened to be there with his teammates and found me.”

If Jesse notices Daphne’s hesitation before answering or even suspected her of lying, she doesn’t show it. Just leans back in her chair, her arms crossing as she takes in her friend.

“I still find it hard to believe that you even thought about quitting,” Jesse says with a shake of her head. “I mean, you hurdle down a racetrack at over 180mph while controlling a 350-pound machine, taking turns with your body nearly pressed against the pavement, risking serious injury every time you race. You’re fucking fearless, man.”

“Fearless,” Daphne mutters out, a sharp humorless laugh painting the words. “I’m fucking terrified.”

The confession clearly catches Jesse off-guard, her body straightening even as her head cocks to the side in confusion.

“You know what makes me a good racer?”

Daphne waits for a response from Jesse – which comes as a shake of her head – before continuing.

“Always being ready for the worst-case scenario. Motorcycle racing seems wild and reckless but I guarantee, every racer steps onto that track with the utmost preparation and control. Because it’s so dangerous. You can’t go in there half-cocked. You’ve gotta be ready because anything that can go wrong will go wrong.”

“That seems like a bleak outlook.”

“It’s Murphy’s Law,” Daphne says with a shrug, before elaborating. “An old adage from an aerospace engineer.”

“But I feel like you have to balance it,” Jesse says. “If you’re always expecting things to go wrong then it’s easy to stop believing things will go right.”

The truth in Jesse’s statement sinks into Daphne’s heart, those words echoing throughout the past month, the soundtrack to that night in her bedroom, another Compher staring at her with hurt reflecting those brown eyes. Daphne chuckles again, her head shaking before she playfully looks up at Jesse, her next words twinged with a gentle tease.

“Where were you a month ago?”

“What do you mean? You’re still racing so must’ve figured something out.”

“Yeah, but…” Daphne starts, her words halting as she debates telling Jesse about her personal failures. A deep breath rattles through her before she continues. “I think I might have quit on something else that I’m not sure I can get back.”

The story tumbles out of her mouth in a cascade, although with enough control to not mention the starring character was Jesse’s brother. In this moment, he was just Jay – a guy that Daphne met at a bar her first night in Detroit and had been regularly hooking up with since then. But Daphne tells her about the downfall: him coming over that night, the care that was so plainly painted on his face, and the fear that that look brought forth in Daphne’s mind.

“I could tell he wanted more. And I was just scared of that.”

“Scared because you didn’t want it or scared because you wanted the same thing?”

“The second, I suppose,” Daphne sighs. “Because the worst thing that could happen is that I could give my all to him and he would still leave me.”

“But you lost him anyway.”

There it was; the truth laid out plain for all to see.

Jesse just stares at Daphne, once again letting the words register before letting out a sigh of her own.

“Fear is a natural part of life, Daphne. You obviously know that – you’ve just told me that you are terrified before every race. That in your mind, you’ve played through all the worst-case scenarios. But you still get on the bike and ride. How?”

“I let myself only focus on what is right in front of me. The next turn, the next stretch of road, the next lap. Not what could happen, not what will happen. Only what is happening now.”

“Maybe you should try that in life as well,” Jesse says, the lightness and genuine care in her voice obvious, a small smile tugging at her lips. The sight of it causes a similar grin to appear on Daphne’s face as she leans back in her seat.

“God, what am I going to do without Jesse Compher knowledge when you’re back in Toronto?” she jokes, a light laugh falling from Jesse’s lips.

“I suppose you could try JT,” Jesse replies. “It probably won’t be good as mine but at least it’s Compher knowledge.”

The mention of JT’s name makes Daphne hesitate, her smile slightly faltering at the thought of being able to talk to him one-on-one again. Instantly, she takes a deep breath.

One thing at a time.

“He mentioned flying to D.C. last night,” Daphne says, a slight raise at the end of the statement indicating the question.

“Yeah, Red Wings have a like a ten-day road trip,” Jesse explains, her hand a dismissive wave before shooting another grin toward Daphne. “I guess you’ll have to wait until next Wednesday to see if he can compare to me.”

“No one can compare to you, Jess.”

“Damn straight.”

The conversation ends shortly afterwards, a text from one of Jesse’s teammates calling her back to the hotel. When Daphne hugs her outside the café in one last embrace, she almost didn’t want to let go. Having Jesse back in her life was a like a fresh breeze blowing in from the North and she didn’t want to lose it. But as Daphne rides away on her bike, her brain tossing over everything discussed in that small café, she knew one thing that she absolutely had to do: she had to see JT again.

There was no telling what would come from the conversation, every potential ending turning over in her head from best to worst. But at the same time, that didn’t matter right now.

Who knew what their future together looked like – if they even had one. That was miles down the road. All Daphne needed to do was find enough bravery to take the next step.

The wooden door in front of Daphne is familiar, as was the road that led her to it. She had been here before, had walked up these same front steps. The porch light gleams in the early evening, the dusk turning dark enough to trigger the sensor.

If Daphne wanted to turn back, now was her last chance.

Sure, she was here, standing on JT’s doorstep but he had no idea that she had come. There was no text, no call, no warning. Daphne didn’t want him to stop her before she even started. And so far, it was working. She managed to make it all the way here, after ten days of waiting for him to come back to Detroit.

The only thing left to do was knock on his door.

A deep inhale lifts her chest, her eyes fluttering close, grounding herself to the present moment. The same exercise she did before a race, telling her mind not to focus on anything else; not a setback that happened before, not an obstacle that you could encounter later. Look only to the road in front of you.

Daphne’s eyes open and with one final press of courage, her hand lifts, knuckles rapping gently on the door.

The pause afterwards is almost long enough to send her running until the sound of the deadbolt clicking open pricks at her eardrums. Her eyes stay trained to the door, watching as it swings open and JT appears in her line of sight.

Daphne registers the look of shock that dances across his features when he sees it’s her on his doorstep. The two of them stand there, letting the only noise between them be the quiet evening birdsong. Finally, Daphne manages to find her words.

“I’m sorry.”

The apology is barely a whisper, the words not seeming like enough to accurately convey how much she messed up. Daphne hopes that JT can hear it in her tone but when he doesn’t say anything – doesn’t even move a muscle – she starts to panic.

Daphne’s mouth opens again, ready to let every fear, every confession tumble from the deepest parts of her soul: how scared she was to lose him, how sorry she was for snapping at him, how stupid she was for letting him leave, how much it ached not having him around for those weeks afterwards.

However, she is only able to inhale. Because before she can utter a single syllable, JT moves.

His arms reach out, hands landing on her hips before pulling her into his embrace. And then he is kissing her.

Kissing her with such fierce passion, with such deep devotion that Daphne is helpless to do anything but let her body melt, pressing herself impossibly closer to him.

She missed this. God, she missed this. The smell of his cologne, the taste of his lips, way her body slotted so perfectly against his, the way he kissed her without pretense. There was nothing she wanted more than to spend her entire life wrapped up in his arms.

Her only regret was how long it took for her to realize that.

There is no more wasted time. JT doesn’t hesitate to pull Daphne entirely over the threshold, his lips still attached to hers. Daphne lets herself get lost in his kisses, lets him guide her around his space, lets him take the lead. Every kiss is a confirmation that he missed her too. Every kiss just sends more courage thrumming through her veins.

It’s impressive that the two of them even manage to get to JT’s bedroom, clothes discarded along the way, the desperate need for each other no longer hidden as hands touch newly exposed skin.

The way JT gently lowers Daphne onto his bed it almost reverent, his frame covering hers as their tongues dance together. Daphne can feel his touch trace each curve of her frame, travelling across the peaks and valleys of her body before dipping between her thighs.

A gasp falls from her lips as JT’s rough fingertips press against her, finding her wet and wanting.

“JT.”

His name falls from her lips like a plea, begging him for everything that he was willing to give. It is only emphasized by her own hand reaching down to wrap around his length, the weight and pulse of it in her palm only increasing her desire.

JT pulls away, his breathing heavy as he rests his forehead against hers. There is no hiding from those beautiful eyes, now staring into hers so deeply it felt like he was looking into her own soul.

Normally, the intensity would’ve frightened her; another reason to run from the things that made her scared. But she was done running. So, Daphne returns his stare and within those inky depths, she can see a glint of something – something she had seen before. The same something she saw a month ago.

Care. Devotion. Perhaps even… love.

“Tell me what you want, Daphne,” JT whispers above her, the pleading edge to his own voice cutting through the dusky evening. “Tell me what you need.”

Daphne isn’t sure if there is a combination of words in the English language that would encompass the depth of her desire for the man in front of her. What did she need? She needed his laughter. She needed his smile. She needed his encouragement. She needed JT’s fire to warm her, to fuel her, to set her life ablaze. That’s what she needed.

“You,” she whispers out, the words dripping with every ounce of sincerity she had. “I just need you.”

She watches as a glimmer of surprise flashes across JT’s face, he himself perhaps caught off-guard by her intensity. But – much like their previously shared moments – JT recovers quickly, taking everything in stride. A soft smile appears on his face before he leans down, his lips now mere millimeters from hers.

Perhaps it was another test. Perhaps JT was offering her another chance to turn away. But Daphne knew that she would never run from him again.

She lifts her head, closing the distance between them as her lips gently press against his, a hand coming to rest on the nape of his neck. A gentle tug pulls him closer to her as she pours every emotion into that kiss.

JT lets her guide him, lets her take the lead for a moment until his own desire surges forward, kissing her back with the intensity of a thousand suns. Daphne breathes a soft sigh into his open mouth, her chest arching into his, wanting him as close as possible. She can feel one of his hands tracing upwards along her body until it comes to rest on her jawline, pulling her deeper. 

It seems like it takes all of JT’s strength to break the kiss. He doesn’t move far, his retreat prevented by her hand still resting on the base of his skull, fingers gently playing with his hair. His own thumb caresses over the skin of her cheekbone and the action is so reverent it almost makes Daphne think that JT can’t believe she is real. That she is here beneath him, wanting him as much as he wanted her.

Her hand falls from his neck, down the sharp cut of his collarbone before dancing over the strong muscles of his chest. The soft ginger hair that litters his abdomen tickles her fingertips, guiding her path downwards until her hand wraps around his cock. Daphne gently pumps her hand over his silken skin, spreading the beads of precum along his length.

A muttered curse falls from JT’s lips as he buries his face into the juncture of her neck and shoulder, his lips coming to suck a mark into the thin skin there. Soft moans escape Daphne at both the sensation of his lips against her skin and the weight of his cock in her hand. JT finally lifts his body entirely upright, now towering over her, gently knocking away her hand away from him as he grips his length, his free hand now gripping her waist.

Daphne happily spreads her legs, opening her thighs as an invitation; one that JT accepts almost immediately, aligning himself with her center before slowly pushing in.

Daphne’s lips part in an almost silent moan at the comfortingly familiar stretch of him sinking into her heat. A similar expression crosses over JT’s face at the sensation of her walls wrapping around him, both hands now finding a hold against her hips as he continues to push forward.

“Still feel like heaven around me,” JT mutters as he bottoms out, pelvis flush against hers. Daphne can’t find any words, the only sounds falling from her lips come as soft mewls and desperate whines, her hands burrowing in the sheets.

The loss of one of JT’s hands against her hips pulls more whimpers from her chest, but it is the sensation of that hand now sneaking beneath hers that causes her eyes to open. She feels JT’s fingers wiggling against her own, silently coaxing her to release the fabric of his sheets. Daphne slowly relaxes her grasp, allowing enough space for JT to slot his fingers between hers, his grip around her hand tightening.

His body leans down again, their intertwined hands pressing into the mattress next to Daphne’s head before kissing her again, breaths mingling together as they both memorize the feeling of being so completely entangled in one another.

“Move,” Daphne whispers.

The single syllable is all the encouragement that JT needs as his hips roll, grinding against her body as he kisses her, swallowing every noise that falls from her lips. His pace is slow and sensual, as if he was making up for lost time, for all those nights he didn’t have her in his bed. Both of their breathing is staccato, the need for each other no longer hidden beneath sharp quips and homemade inner walls. The hand that had been holding Daphne’s hip travels down, gripping the back of her thigh, lifting her leg higher. The new angle makes every stroke of him brush against that damnable spot that had her seeing stars. There is no stopping the cries that fall from her lips, her head thrown back against the pillows, JT’s lips kissing her jaw.

“Always look so beautiful,” JT mutters against her skin, keeping his steady pace even as her body writhes against him. “So pretty against my sheets. Almost like you belong here.”

“I do,” Daphne gasps, the word wrapped in a strangled moan. “I’m yours, JT. I’ve been yours.”

“How long? How long have you been mine?”

“Since that first night. Knew it since then. I just wanted you.”

“I wanted you the same,” JT murmurs, nuzzling deeper into her skin, the heat of his breath fluttering against the shell of her ear. “Let me hear you. Prove to me that you’re mine.”

A whine falls from Daphne’s lips, her hips bucking up to meet his with every thrust, begging him for more. Her hand reaches up, wrapping around his torso and feeling the muscles rippling along his back, clinging to him like he was the sun and she had been abandoned in the darkness. JT’s hand on her thigh drops to her hip again before dipping in between their bodies, pressing against her clit.

The moans that fall from Daphne’s mouth increase in pitch as JT’s fingers rub against the sensitive bundle of nerves, a perfect contrast to the slow, languid tempo of his hips.

Daphne can feel her orgasm gradually building with each thrust. The sounds falling from her have become almost incomprehensible – a jumble of curses, moans, and JT’s name. She can feel JT’s body heat depart from her, his body lifting upright. His dark brown eyes take in her body beneath him, her eyes screwed shut, their hands still intertwined.

“Open your eyes,” he says, the quiet demand floating through the bedroom. There was something about his voice, his plea that has Daphne’s eyelids fluttering open without hesitation. And when her own brown irises land on JT, she can feel her breath catch in her throat.

It could easily be blamed on how good JT is making her feel, his ministrations never ceasing. It could be caused by the mere sight of him, strong and stunning over her, that ginger hair falling over his forehead.

But the real reason her breathing stalled was the look of pure adoration painted so plainly across every feature. And for the first time, the sight didn’t scare her – didn’t cause butterflies to erupt in her stomach, didn’t cause her heart to do somersaults in her chest. Instead, she felt… calm.

It was the same feeling she felt when driving on the open road, the whole world laid out in front her. It felt like freedom. It felt like peace.

“Please.” The beg falls from her lips, keening and needy. “Please, JT.”

JT doesn’t speed up his movements, slowly but steadily driving her to that delectable peak, her cunt fluttering desperately around him. It was a pleasure that she would welcome time and time again. It is a feeling that she never wanted to live without. She watches as JT leans himself down, his body heat washing over her like the summer sun before kissing her again. Daphne’s body arches to meet him, kissing him back fiercely.

His lips depart from her but don’t move far, his forehead pressing against hers as their eyes connect again.

“Let it go, sweetheart,” he whispers, the warmth of his breath fanning across her cheekbones. “Come for me.”

Daphne is helpless but to comply, her entire body tensing as her orgasm rushes through her. A quiet muttered curse rumbles from JT as he continues his movements within her, fucking her through her release, prolonging the pleasurable sensations, the muscles in her legs trembling around his waist.

The high fades, her breathing turning from staccato to deep sighs. The hand that wasn’t tangled in his lifts to cup JT’s face, pulling his lips to hers again. She can feel JT’s pace increase, chasing his own orgasm and Daphne gladly swallows the groans that fall from him, matching them with her own whimpers.

It doesn’t take long for JT’s body to still and there is a mutual moan that sounds from both of them at the sensation of his cock pulsing inside of her.

They stay there for a moment, still entirely tangled in each other as their breathing slows, sweat drenched foreheads pressed together. JT’s hand is still locked in hers as Daphne lets her gaze rove over his face, a soft smile tugging at the corner of her lips which JT blissfully returns before kissing her once again.

A soft whine falls from her as he slowly pulls out, his body collapsing against the sheets next to her. He pulls her close, hand gripping her waist until they are face to face. JT’s thumb strokes the taut skin of her hipbone as the two just rest there. Daphne’s own hand lifts to trace the outline of his jaw, memorizing the feeling of his beard against her fingers.

The silence remains but as the time passes, Daphne can feel the tension tug at the corners, the unanswered questions pushing to the forefront. Although JT doesn’t push. Instead, he just continues to stare at her, the lines of his face soft and patient.

“You were wrong,” Daphne says, finally breaking the silence.

She can see JT’s eyebrows furrow in a question, the first words spoken surely not what he was expected. But despite his apparent confusion, JT stays quiet, letting Daphne continue.

“I never really wanted to quit. On racing or on us. But I was scared. Scared of putting all that work in and losing you anyway. Scared of committing to this and then something happening that forces us to separate. Because you’re my friend’s brother, because you got traded, any reason. I had feared that ever since this started. It felt like you were fire and I was gasoline. And every time I was with you, I was always aware that one mistake could make everything incinerate. I thought it would be better – safer, really – to just let you go before that happened. But as soon as you walked out of my apartment, I knew I was wrong.”

Daphne’s words stop, the silence returning once again as JT takes in her confession. She waits, offering him the same level of patience that he gave to her, the only movements she makes is her thumb brushing against his hand, still intertwined with hers. JT’s eyes lift, a sparkle of humor glinting in those familiar dark irises.

“You do know that gasoline needs fire to work?”

There is no stopping the laugh that falls from Daphne’s lips at the gentle tease, the lightness of his voice banishing any form of heaviness that had settled over them previously.

“Are you really mansplaining motors to me?”

“Never,” JT chuckles with her before his face turns more serious. “I guess, that was my way of saying that I always thought we would work out. I knew you were scared – I think I figured that out from the look on your face when I showed up on your doorstep that first morning. When you learned that I was Jesse’s brother, not just some random stranger at a bar. But I never thought that would be a problem. I thought it might actually work to our advantage. She knows you and she already really likes you. You do know that, right?”

“I do,” Daphne says, the smile returning to her face.

“I could see the fear but… I mean, you can’t live your life in fear. Or else you’ll miss all the best parts.”

JT’s words enter Daphne’s brain, tugging another memory forward. The appearance of it in her mind makes another giggle fall from her lips. She can see JT’s head tilt and she shakes her head.

“I had another Compher recently tell me something similar,” she explains with a grin.

“Maybe you should listen,” JT teases in response.

Daphne doesn’t verbally respond at first, choosing instead to lean her body closer to JT, connecting their lips in a kiss, her hand pressed against his cheek. His own arm wraps fully around her, her body slotting perfectly against his until she breaks away.

“I’m listening now.”

Daphne always loved April. It was the month of renewal and it felt like hope was dancing on every gentle breeze. The weather had slowly been turning warmer, the promise of summer right around the corner. Unfortunately, on this April day, she was nervous.

The Red Wings regular season had ended a few days ago which signaled a few things. First, the start of the playoffs which Detroit had claimed a spot in. But second, and more importantly to Daphne in this current moment – it signaled the Red Wings annual gala.

Which JT had invited her to. As his plus one. As his girlfriend.

The two of them had been dating quietly for the past month and even though some of the guys on the team had met her already, this would be their first large public outing as a couple. This would also be the event where JT’s family would learn about them… the entire family. His mom Valerie, his dad Bob, his sister Morgan, and his sister (and Daphne’s best friend) Jesse.

That detail was what had Daphne standing in her living room with multiple pairs of shoes strewn around her, trying to find the ‘perfect’ pair.

JT was sitting on the couch, simply watching as she works through her nerves – mostly because nothing he had done previously had helped. Not the joint he rolled that they had shared. Not the orgasm that he coaxed out of her with her body splayed against the couch cushions, head between her thighs.

The vibrating of a phone against the coffee table sounds out, Daphne looking over to see if it was her screen or JT’s that had lit up. It had been a toss-up all afternoon: JT’s family and teammates asking where he was, Jesse asking Daphne if she’s seen JT. Right now, it’s JT’s phone, which he picks up to look at the message.

“Babe, we really need to go. We’re late,” JT says, his gentle eyes looking up at her, voice not pushing but still firm.

“I know,” Daphne replies, zipping up a pair of tall black boots. “How’s this?”

“You look beautiful.”

“You always say that,” she teases.

“Because it’s always true,” JT quickly shoots back, before holding out his hand to her. She takes it, following him downstairs to his car.

They drive through the Detroit roads, the sunlight glinting off the skyscraper windows as Daphne tries to breathe, grounding herself to the moment. Just like she did before a race. The weight of JT’s hand on her thigh is an additional comfort, letting her relax as he pulls up in front of the hotel. He helps her out of the car, his arm looping around hers.

“Nervous?” JT asks, his voice light and teasing.

“Tell me why I can hurdle down a racetrack at 300kph and yet this is more terrifying,” Daphne replies, her eyes staring at the glass front doors, knowing that a whole host of people were waiting inside.

“Need some fire to fuel you?”

JT’s odd turn of phrase snaps Daphne out of her nerves, a smile appearing on her face as she turns to look at her boyfriend.

“If that’s an innuendo, you should’ve made it in the comfort of the apartment,” she jokes, a laugh falling from JT’s lips.

He doesn’t say anything else, only leans in to kiss her and she’d be damned if the taste of him doesn’t make her feel braver. When they pull away from each other, she gives him a small nod and they walk forward.

They find the ballroom where the gala was being held, walking in to a room decked out in red and white. Teammates and their families mingle around the room, a few of them nodding in Daphne and JT’s direction. The nerves slowly start to dissipate as they continue to move through the crowd. Everything would be fine – it was just a normal day.

At least, it was. Until an all too familiar voice to both JT and Daphne rises over the din.

“I FUCKING KNEW IT!”

a/n: could I have just had Homecoming: Crush be the exchange fic? yeah, probably. was it way more fun to do this instead? absolutely! is this fic entirely different than what I originally planned? 100% but do I love it anyway? duh! am I now a JT Compher girl? still debatable but I will always turn into one for my bestie 🖤

taglist: @laurenairay @fallinallincurls @svexhenthusiast

sign up for my taglist here! support my work through Ko-fi here!

[arcielee]

Writer ask game, except I made up two extra questions:

a) How do you come up with a title for your fics?

b) was there a fic you really wanted to finish but for some reason just couldn't?

2023 In Review

Hello my darling 💜

How do you come up with a title for your fics?

Sleep Walking Animals and Florence + The Machine also helped a lot, but naming things... I am terrible and indecisive. Luckily, I have wonderful Tumblr kindred spirits who sometimes help me out. 🥰

Was there a fic you really wanted to finish but for some reason just couldn't?

Hmm. I was editing The Sapphire Prince on ao3 to bring to Tumblr, but lost the motivation. That story is technically complete, but I am never satisfied.

I have some WIPs right now... but I have nothing that I abandoned, I think? The ideas thrum inside my head and I have faith it'll spill from my fingertips when it is time.

Thank you so much!

[lauraneedstochill]

this was truly a fascinating read! it’s quite a delicate subject, so the fact that you managed to write such a beautiful story speaks volumes of your talent, honestly. I like how realistic it all was but then you also gave us moments of softness and hinted at the bond that definitely started forming between these two ✨

and oh, how you describe him! I LOVE IT

Prince Aemond’s face is always handsome, but never more than when he is on top of you, in the throes of ecstasy. His brow is furrowed and his eye squeezed shut, and the tension in his body makes the damaged side of his face convulse, his lip twitching up towards the scar. He wouldn’t like for you to see that, but in this state he does not feel it happening.

💙

Make Your Hands Unclean

Aemond x Wife!Reader - Period sex drabble

Premise and bits of dialogue shamelessly stolen from The Borgias.

Contents: drabble, pure filth. Menstrual sex, p in v, anal touching, graphic imagery. Internalised misogyny and harmful attitudes towards menstruation. Aemond is an asshole. Porn with weird plottish vibes.

Words: 2300

idk what this even is, this thing kind of wrote itself and I just went with it. It is kind of a mess tbh.

You were supposed to marry a lord.

That is what you were raised for, and those are the skills you were taught. To sing, to dance, to play the harp; to make yourself look pleasant. Your septa taught you to sew, and a woman from Essos taught you to weave, and in the afternoons the maester taught you history and linguistics, astronomy and arithmetic, and other things that ladies rarely speak about, but nevertheless must learn. 

For it is the lady, not the lord, who runs the castle. Who manages the household, and oversees the people it employs. Such a lady must ideally be both kind and commanding, generous and frugal. She must know how to handle serfs and noblemen alike, and she must be proficient in numeracy; able to record expenses and perform difficult calculations. 

To be a prince’s wife requires no such skills. 

This castle already has two queens, and besides it is not for royal women to concern themselves with practical matters. There are ladies-in-waiting for that, and stewards, chamberlains, maids and matrons; an army of servants hundreds strong to ensure that you may always be spoiled and idle. More than a lady, but less than a queen, left to twiddle your thumbs and wonder when, if ever, the oppressive walls of Maegor’s Holdfast will begin to feel like home.

You do not like it here. 

The days are long in King’s Landing, and the air is foul, polluted by the smoke of ten thousand hearths, by the stench of filth and unwashed bodies. It seeps through every crack and crevice, and you like the early mornings the most, when a cleansing mist blows in from the sea, and the ship’s bells ring over Blackwater Bay. 

Your husband rises early too, though it is for different reasons. Prince Aemond adheres to strict routines, to noble pursuits and rigorous discipline. He is exactly as people say: a stoic, severe in both temper and countenance, condemning indulgence and deriding depravity. 

Yet for all of his moral posturing, he does seem to have developed a taste for it rather quickly. 

You couldn’t say the exact number of times the prince has had you, but it has been many, and often, and in every position imaginable, and you dutifully report it all back to your family. As they have instructed you to do.

Before you were sent off to the capital, you were relentlessly reminded that there will never again be an opportunity such as this. That a marriage to a royal prince is a rare honour for your family, and one that was only made possible because the crown finds itself at war. Your house is not a great one, and your father is not the noblest lord, but he is very wealthy. And on the field of battle, wealth does tend to triumph. 

You do not know what other promises were made, what lands or titles were negotiated. Only that so much now depends on you; on your ability to please your husband and give him healthy children. Preferably male, but even a daughter would markedly strengthen your position. So you play your part as best as you can , and you pen your secret letters, divulging all the details of your intimate affairs. That the prince sleeps with you frequently, and seems to find great pleasure in it. That he performs his movements to completion, and expends his semen inside your body. 

It is a grave responsibility to have on your shoulders, and you were utterly crushed when you woke to find your insides churning, and your sheets stained with blood. 

They will be most displeased, your mother and father. Your brothers and uncles, and your cousins too. Prince Aemond's seed has not yet taken. 

-

In the evening he knocks on your door. Two determined raps, and you are thoroughly surprised. Your maid will have told his mother of your ailment, and she will have told him, and he too must be disappointed. But you know it is the prince, for there is no one else who would visit you at this hour. 

You know very well what he has come for, too. 

“We can’t tonight,” you sigh. 

“And why is that?” he says, amused, as if the idea that you would refuse him is ridiculous. 

“My blood - I am bleeding.”

Prince Aemond hums, but he walks to your couch and begins to undress himself, unbuckling his doublet and unlacing his breeches, tugging off his boots while you wring your hands. 

He can’t be serious. He can’t mean to take you like this. 

“It’s not - it isn’t proper,” you protest. “Our maester said it is ill-advised - most men find it unclean - “

“I am not most men,” he scoffs. 

There is no arguing against that, and he says it with all the confidence of someone who knows it to be true. Aemond is a royal prince. A dragonlord, a scion of a greater people. Second to no one but his king and brother, and if he wants to get himself all bloodied, then you suppose that is his right. 

He rids himself of his undershirt, and you reluctantly move to the side to let him join you in bed. It isn’t proper, but your insides flutter when he pulls you against his naked body, letting you feel the warmth of his skin, his manhood against the back of your thigh. It is hard, and twitching when he runs his hands over your figure, your breasts and your stomach, your waist, your hips, the tops of your thighs -

“No, you mustn’t - ” you squeak, but he rucks your gown up anyway and slips his hand in between your legs.

You are wet there, with blood as well as with desire, and you can feel the stickiness when he spreads your lips, curving his fingers and sliding them back and forth along your slit. His breathing is hoarse just from caressing you, from feeling your wet, your warmth, your little swollen nub begging to be touched. You whimper when he circles it with the gentlest of strokes, light and teasing, until you arch your hips up in frustration and breathe oh please. 

Prince Aemond likes it when you beg. Only then does he press down, but not enough to bring you to a peak. Just enough to make your insides tighten, and more blood gush from your womb.

You always did find it strangely beautiful, the blood of your cycle. Deep maroon, and scarlet red - but you are ashamed to see it coating the prince’s fingers when he withdraws them. It is thick, and clotted, and he takes a moment to study it before he wipes his hand clean on your shift. 

“Are you not displeased with me?” you whisper. He should be, given that you have failed to conceive. That there is no way of knowing if you can bear children at all. 

“One mere month is not cause for concern,” the prince says. 

You breathe a faint sigh of relief. It is a comfort to know that at least your husband doesn’t hold your failure against you - yet. 

He tugs on your shift, eager to expose your body, but you cross your hands over your chest.

“Let me keep it for tonight,” you plead. 

You can’t rid yourself of the thought that you are unclean, and you would feel so much more at ease if he didn’t see your heavy, aching body. But you don’t want to entirely deny him access to it, either. Seeing as you are bleeding, the chances of begetting a child are small, which means that his wish to sleep with you must come from genuine desire rather than obligation. And that makes you very happy, as you imagine it would any wife. 

You will make sure to include it in the next letter you send back home. Hopefully it will lessen their disappointment. 

The prince looks somewhat displeased, but he lets you keep your dress, resorting instead to bunching it up around your waist. He is stern, but never cruel to you, even if he does pull at the neck to bare more of your breasts. He pinches your nipple, and then his hand moves downward again, and you throw your leg over his hip to give him more room to touch you. 

This time he does it properly. His fingers find your pleasure right away, and he swiftly brings you to your rapture, impatient as he is to have you. It leaves his hand stained and tainted, and once again he wipes it off on your shift, but this time you don’t care. 

With the position you’re in, it is easy for him to crawl over your leg and take his place between them, and he kisses you as he presses against you, deeply and hungrily, rocking his hips, his manhood throbbing and leaking between your legs. 

Your parts are soaked, but he is careful when he pushes inside. Despite the prince’s relentless pursuit of knowledge, he must not know all that much about a woman’s blood, at least not in practical terms. Where it hurts, and how much, and whether this intrusion will make it worse. You can’t hold it against him - you don’t believe there are many scholars who would want to write about the topic, and how then was he supposed to learn?

“Harder,” you pant, and he obliges, moving faster and pushing deep inside. 

You let him find a steady rhythm, hooking your legs over his hips, and letting your hands wander over his body while he has his way with you. You stroke his balls, imagining that what he keeps inside will take root in you. You pinch his nipples, all hard with pleasure, and you slide your hands down to his lower back, to the base of his spine, where the skin is dusted with downy hairs. Where you can feel each of his thrusts; the rolling movements of his hips, the rhythmic clenching of his buttocks. 

Your dainty touch makes him shudder, and you move your hands to his arse, and then further still, slipping your fingers in between his buttocks. To where he is warm and tender, and where his skin starts to pucker. 

It is filthy, the way he twitches there. The way he throbs. A dirty place to touch, and a sinful thing to do, but you have found that the prince likes it. No added pressure or attempts at entry, just gentle strokes with the tips of your fingers. Soft caresses over his opening. 

He buries his face in your neck and groans, and you can feel that he is nearing his peak. His movements are fast and shallow, his chest heaving and slick with sweat. 

“Yes, my prince,” you whisper. “Fill me with your seed, put a son inside me - “

He likes that. He hisses loudly, gripping the headboard for purchase, and you look up at him when his hips stutter. Prince Aemond’s face is always handsome, but never more than when he is on top of you, in the throes of ecstasy. His brow is furrowed and his eye squeezed shut, and the tension in his body makes the damaged side of his face convulse, his lip twitching up towards the scar. 

He wouldn’t like for you to see that, but in this state he does not feel it happening. 

You lie still as he peaks, allowing him to rut into you wildly, groaning and grunting as he spills his seed. Hot, and wet, and adding to the mess inside you. He lies limp on top of you to catch his breath, and when he finally withdraws, the blood is everywhere. On his softening organ, on his sack, and crusted to the soft hairs on his thighs. 

“I’ve made you dirty,” you state. 

“Yes, you have,” he says. “In more ways than one.” 

You look the other way to give him some privacy when he rises to tidy and dress himself. On your wedding night he stayed with you until the morning, and he has done it a few times since, but it is not a common occurrence. Prince Aemond prefers to sleep alone, and your mother chastises you for that too. She says that to rouse a man’s desire is less than half the battle, and that you must make your husband love you.

Of course if it were really that simple, then there would be no unhappy marriages and no children born as bastards, and if you knew how to make a man fall in love, you would be the richest woman in all the world. 

But you must at least try. 

“Won’t you stay with me?” You ask. “It is - important, for a woman to be embraced - to be treated gently, afterwards…”

“Next time, I will,” he says. And that is the end of that, for you will not stoop so low as to beg for his company. 

He smoothes out his shirt and pulls on his breeches, and you sit up and comb your fingers through your tangled hair. When you look down there are stains on your sheets, and a thick rosy fluid trickling out between your legs. 

“You may want to abstain from riding,” the prince says over his shoulder. “It is known to upset the balance of the womb.”

You nod, bound to obey what is clearly a command posing as a suggestion. 

“Did you know,” you muse, “that the blood of the womb is the only blood that is not born from violence?”

Prince Aemond looks at you with a thoughtful expression, one that suggests he had in fact not considered that before. 

“Quite the philosopher you are,” he remarks, with a little raise of his brow. Coming from him, that is the highest praise. 

It does not change his mind about staying, but he does press a noble kiss to your temple before he leaves you. Sore and bloodied, but content. 

You did well tonight. 

Notes

“Most men find it unclean/I am not most men” is from S1E7 of the Borgias. 

“Menstruation is the only blood that is not born from violence and yet it’s the one that disgusts you the most” is a quote by artist Maia Schwartz. I couldn’t find any more information about her unfortunately. 

Tags. @arcielee, @targaryen-madness.

[thekinslayed]

Thy Mission

summary | The lines between desire and duty blur between the Targaryen brothers on their last night before a battle.

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI, oral sex (m), p in v sex, anal, mentions of war, double vaginal penetration, incest, Aemond Fucks™, porn w little plot, mentions of sex work, just pure filth tbh

wordcount | 5.1k

note | this was inspired by Uneasy Lies The Head by @troublesomesnitch! her work is absolutely amazing and i highly recommend for everyone to check them out!

likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated! <3

(dividers by @targaryen-dynasty)

Aemond marched across an array of tents that lined their encampment. He passed horses being fed, blades being sharpened, and fires where the men roasted game for supper. A sneer adorned his lips as he passed by a group of soldiers sat around logs, giggling whores on their laps. How these women managed to follow their army and could stand being around these stinking, grubby men, he knew not the reason. They were at war, and he had no time to indulge in such depravity.

He hastened to reach Aegon’s tent, situated at the far end of the camp. The King’s accommodation was larger than the rest and was well guarded, or rather, it usually was. His Kingsguard were nowhere near their station, making Aemond stop in his tracks to search for any White Cloaks. He found none.

Ever the wary soldier, his hand gripped the hilt of his sword in case of any threat that may jump out of nowhere. Strange sounds came from behind the tarp of his brother’s tent, a bemoaning from Aegon that made Aemond rush in through the flaps of the tent. 

“Aeg– Seven Hells!” Aemond cursed, the sight of the King’s pale arse greeted him as he entered his tent. Aegon’s standing figure barely covered your figure kneeled before him, taking his cock earnestly as he thrusted into your mouth. Groans left the King’s lips, his pace never faltering despite his brother’s intrusion. Aemond lifted a hand to shield the sight from his eyes, quickly turning around to leave, but is stopped.

“Fuck– Brother, wait!” Aegon called out, panting as he chased his release. 

“I can wait outside.”

“Just give me one sec– fuck, that’s it.” Aegon breathed out, praises falling from his lips as you took him further down your throat. The sound of your mouth eagerly sucking his cock filled the room, coupled with the moans falling from the King’s lips. Aemond rolled his eye and doesn’t leave, but instead turned around to face the wall of the tent. The elder chuckled as he turned to the sight of his brother’s back. Fucking prude.

The intrusion and the feeling of having an audience drove Aegon closer to his release. His hips picked up its pace, his cockhead hit the back of your throat brutally almost to the point of gagging you. You whimpered around his length, tongue pressed on the underside of his cock as you fondled his stones.

Breathy moans grew louder as he gripped your hair, rather exaggerating for his audience of one. His balls tightened at the thought of cumming while his brother watched, looking back to see if Aemond had turned around. He had not. As he approached his end, Aegon took his cock out of your mouth and tugged at it furiously. Coughing lightly from the assault on your throat, you hastened to free your breasts from your shift, presenting it to your King to accept his seed, just like he liked it. Your jaw fell agape as Aegon’s cock spurted his white, hot release, painting your tits. A final groan left his lips, before stepping away from you.

“What is it, brother?” Aegon asked after a moment, chest still panting. 

“Cole needs your input on th-”

“Turn around and face your King when you speak.” The elder ordered. Aemond gritted his teeth, sighing in exasperation as he turned around to face his brother. He is met with the sight of you, still on your knees, and Aegon’s glistening cock that started to soften. He is granted a better view of you as his brother walked away to fetch a cloth.

One amethyst eye fell on your chest, the royal seed still dripping around your mounds, some even had trickled down to the skin still covered by your shift. His cock stirred in his trousers at the sight, gulping at the flame that started to ignite in his belly. Tearing his gaze from your breasts, his eye flickered to your face. Your eyes met, and you gave him a meek smile. 

With a rag in hand, Aegon returned with a smirk on his face at his brother’s hungry gaze on you. His softened cock swayed as he walked, tossing you the clean cloth to wipe yourself before approaching the serving table where a jug of wine and clean glasses sat. He poured a cup of red, taking a small swig before handing it to you, which you accepted with a gracious smile.

“So…” Aegon spoke, tearing Aemond’s attention away from following your lips as you sipped your wine. “Is something the matter?” He asked as he began to dress.

Aemond cleared his throat, before meeting Aegon’s eyes. The tips of his ears warmed up at the amused look on Aegon’s face, no doubt having caught him staring at you unabashedly. 

“Cole requires your presence in the council, your grace. The plans need your approval before the move on the morrow.” The younger prince informed him. Aegon let out a groan at his words, rolling his eyes as Aemond gave him a stern look.

“You know of these plans, yes?” The elder asked. You rose from your place on the ground to assist him with putting on his doublet.

“Of course.”

“Do they seem acceptable to you?” The king asked once more. Aemond clenched his fists as he tied them around his back, his patience was running thin at his brother’s lack of urgency. “I think we have favorable circumstances.”

“Then why do you need my approval?”

“Because you’re the fucking King.” Aemond snapped. Your eyes shifted warily between the brothers as they stared at each other, fingers hurrying to finish securing the last clasp on the King’s doublet. Aegon’s lips quirked upwards, which caused Aemond’s nostrils to flare in annoyance. Your hands smoothed down his chest as you finished, stepping off to the side as they left wordlessly. 

As the brothers left, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in. A thickness in the air dissipated from the tent with their departure, a blazing tension that can burn a mere lowborn like you, but one only dragons could handle. You had never seen such fire between two people, especially not in brothers. Curiosity sparked within you, an eagerness to witness what these Targaryens must get up to, or if they had acted upon these desires at all.

“Does your whoring know no bounds, brother? Even at war?” Aemond berated as the brothers made their way to where their council waited. His longer legs made for bigger strides, Aegon having to walk faster to keep up with the younger, grumbling under his breath.

“That is exactly the point, brother. We face the possibility of dying at any given moment. Would you rather die having never known the pleasure of having your cock sucked?” Aegon retorted, earning a scoff from the other silver-haired prince in return. 

Aemond’s had his cock sucked before, of course. He’s fucked through young ladies and servants at court almost as much as Aegon had. As much as his brother thought him a blushing prude, he was still a man who had needs. He just did a better job in keeping his head in authority over his cock, and his… endeavors kept within the confines of his chambers.

The pair paid no attention to the people that bowed and greeted them as they passed, and continued their path to where Cole awaited them in the tent located at the center of camp. As the brothers approached, one of the men standing guard lifted the tarp to let them through.

“You know, if you ever decided on getting off your high horse and fucking live a little, I am more than happy to share,” Aegon suggested, his tone teasing as the back of his hand slapped the one-eyed prince’s firm shoulder. Long silver tresses whipped across his face as Aemond turned back to him briskly before he could react.

“Enough.” The younger hissed, before turning back around to dip through the tent's entrance. Aegon let out a cackle at his brother’s dramatics, following after him.

“Deny yourself all you want, brother, but I know you love a good pair of tits.”

At the hour of the owl, Aemond was ordered to the king’s tent. For a pressing matter of the utmost discretion, the squire had said. His tent was right beside Aegon, and he knew not the reason why the fucker couldn’t have made the short walk if the matter was so urgent. 

Nevertheless, the prince made his way to his brother’s pavilion, clad in only his cotton tunic and breeches, ducking through the canvas to enter. There was no Aegon in sight, however, Aemond was met with the sight of you kneeled on the cot, leaning on your elbows with your arse on display. His eye widened as your eyes met, watching as you scrambled to cover your bottom half and sat up. 

“My prince!” You greeted him, cheeks flushing red. Aemond’s eye trailed over your garments. A thin, almost translucent, white fabric covered your front, tied behind your back by a golden-colored rope. Your back was exposed, and the fabric dipped down to drape over your rear. He could see your breasts through the glow cast by the oil lamps scattered around the vicinity, the shadows emphasizing the way your nipples pebbled in the cold night air.

“Where is my brother?” He asked, tone stern as he clasped his hands behind his back. His discerning eye caught the open vial of oil on the wooden table beside the cot.

“H-his grace’s attention was needed elsewhere, my prince. Something about feeding his dragon.” You stuttered, growing anxious as the prince closed his eye and sighed. He turned to leave the tent, but your sweet voice called out to him.

“He should return any moment.” You said, getting up from the cot to stand. “Would you like a cup of wine as you wait?” You offered, hands wrung together as he stared at you.

You felt like shrinking under his sharp gaze, gooseflesh formed on your skin as his pupil seemed to dilate at the sight of you. He let out a hum and nodded, stepping back into the tent. You hastily poured him a cup of wine, reaching out to offer it to him as he sat on the edge of Aegon’s cot. A gasp threatened to leave your lips when his warm hand covered your smaller one as he took the cup. It is raised to his thin lips, tongue darting out to lick at them as his throat bobbed when he swallowed. 

“Where are you from, girl?” The prince asked, another hum leaving his lips as you told him of your homeland. You watched as his veiny hand traced the embellishments adorning the shiny cup, long fingers trailed along the rim. “You are a long way from home.” He commented.

“Indeed, my prince.” You responded, smiling bashfully. You had been on your journey to work in a brothel in the Street of Silk when word had reached you and the girls you traveled with about the King’s army taking camp not too far from where you were. All of you made your way over to the encampment, eager to provide your services to the soldiers weary from battle. There was no doubt most of you hoped to be called upon by one of the royals who resided at the site, well aware of the King’s proclivities. Tonight, it seemed, was your lucky night.

“I imagine a tent in the middle of the woods is far from the comforts of your own home, my prince.” You mentioned, boldly taking a step closer to his seated form. His head leaned up to look at your face, his eyelid hooded as he regarded you.

“There is little comfort to be expected during war.” He uttered, earning a nod from you.

“Still, solace can still be sought out anywhere, should you look hard enough.” You remarked, a smooth tone in your words. His knees had bumped lightly into the outside of your thighs as you stepped into his space, looking down at him with a seductive smile. Aemond’s hand twitched when he felt an urge to touch you, causing him to grip the cup in his hand tightly. “I could provide that for you… if you would like.” You suggested, voice dropping to a whisper. 

His eye darkened at your words, igniting a spark of excitement within you. You stared at each other for a moment longer, your heart thumping loudly against your chest in anticipation. The prince dropped the cup of wine to the grass with little regard, before gripping your hips to pull you into his lap. 

You climbed onto his lap eagerly, thighs caging his own. His lips smashed onto yours in a frenzy of teeth, tongue, and spit. You moaned against his lips as his hand gripped the hair on the back of your head. His free hand slithered around your lower back, pushing your weight down onto his growing bulge. Your hips ground down on him with expertise, fingers lifting the hem of your garments to show him your center. His jaw dropped ever so slightly at the sight of your cunny humping on his clothed cock, your essence started to smear on the dark fabric of his trousers as your hips circled his lap. Pink lips attached to the pale skin of his neck, licking and biting on his flesh. You preened at the sounds of his low grunts in your ear and the appreciative smack he delivered to your rear before squeezing it.

Large calloused hands trailed the smooth expanse of your back, the warmth radiating from him a satisfying contrast from the chill night air. His fingers reached the knot on the back of your neck, toying with it.

“Take it off.” Aemond commanded, tone stern and commanding. You immediately obeyed, rising from his lips to stand, before reaching back to undo the tie holding up your garment. The thin fabric dropped into a puddle of white on the floor, your flesh bared to the prince’s eye. A small smirk rose on your lips as you watched how his gaze ran down your body, delighted at the hungry look that clouds his purple eye. You turned around and bent over, giving him a view of your glistening pink folds. 

Aemond could feel the throbbing in his trousers at the sight of your cunny, a warmth spread from his chest as the urge to ravish you threatened to overtake him. What caught his eye, however, is the way your puckered hole also gleamed in the warm glow of the tent. His mind recalled the way you had been on your knees when he had entered, as well as the vial of oil that sat open beside you. He all but salivated at the mental image of you stretching your tight back hole as you waited for Aegon.

The younger prince always had a bad habit of wanting whatever his older brother was given– the crown, the Conqueror’s sword, and the glory that came with sitting on the throne. If he had the chance he would snatch everything that wastrel was freely given, he was more deserving of it after all.

And now Aegon wasn’t here, and Aemond would be a fool to not claim the delectable morsel of flesh before him. 

He stood from the cot and threw you onto the feather mattress, ordering you to get on your knees. You wordlessly obliged, excitement pooling in your belly at the younger prince’s dominant nature. The king often had contrasting personalities in bed, you had discovered, depending on his mood. There were some moments when he would take and take all that you could give, treating you as a mere hole to fuck, but oftentimes he would be a babbling, pathetic mess, and you would have to soothe and take care of the tearful man that suckled on your teat like a baby lamb. You enjoyed your time with the King, but the dark look in Prince Aemond’s eye as he manhandled you as if you were a sack of grain exhilarated you, causing your core to clench around nothing. He grabbed the vial of oil from the side table, before untying his breeches as he took his place behind you. Your position prevented you from getting a view of his cock, but you heard the slick sounds of his hand slathering oil on his shaft, and a few sighs falling from his lips. A breath hitched in your throat as you felt his cockhead align with your hole, a whine falling from your lips as he started to breach.

Aemond cursed at the way your tight ring of muscles gripped his cock. It took almost all of his restraint to not push into you in one motion, your walls clenching as you struggled to take his length. It seemed to take forever for him to bottom out, more whines fell from your lips as he still slowly thrusted into you inch after inch. Though you haven’t caught a glimpse of his length, you were sure he was longer than Aegon. 

“Ha, so fucking tight…” Aemond cursed. His hands squeezed the plump flesh of your arse, hips still unmoving as he gave you a moment to adjust. As he felt your hole start to relax, your hips wiggled against him slightly to urge him to move. His hips started to set a steady pace, a groan fell from his lips as he felt every ridge of your walls.

“Here I thought a whore like you would be looser than a worn-out glove. Isn’t that what you were doing when I came in, hm? Stretching out this tight little hole of yours?” Aemond questioned, earning only a moan from you in response. A dark chuckle fell from his lips, before delivering another smack to your rear.

“I haven’t started fucking you yet, girl. Have you gotten drunk on my cock already?” Your cheeks burned at his words, your hands fisted the soft sheets as the prince thrusted deep into you. Aemond’s hips started to pick up their pace, his thrusts growing harder and harder. The sounds of his flesh slapping against yours started to fill the vicinity along with your moans, no doubt heard by anyone close enough to the King’s tent. The silver-haired prince continued to ram into you, his own moans of delight left his lips as he threw his head back in pleasure. 

More slaps to your ass caused the flesh to sting, and the soft rub from his hands soothed the reddening flesh. Tears started to gather in the corner of your eyes, sobs fell from your lips when Aemond pulled on your hair to lift your head back. You felt his bare chest press to your back, unaware of when he removed his tunic. The weight of his warm body on yours was a welcome sensation. His lips positioned right next to your ear, biting at your lobe before whispering.

“Touch yourself. Go on, show me how you cum with my cock in your tight hole.” He ordered you, warm breath fanning the side of your face as he spoke. Your fingers immediately fell on your pearl, urgently rubbing circles on the nub to hurl you closer to your release. Aemond grunted as your walls close in around his length, making it almost too tight for him to continue thrusting into you. Your moans increased in pitch as the coil in your belly threatened to snap, uncaring of whoever might hear you. A particularly harsh thrust from Aemond threw you over, a long whine escaped your lips as your juices gushed out of your empty core.

The prince continued to fuck you through your orgasm, thrusts still unrelenting as he chased his own release. A heat licked at the base of Aemond’s spine, crawling upwards as he neared his end. He was so close, your spasming walls pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

“What do we have here?” An amused voice spoke, cutting through the cloudy daze both you and the prince found yourself in. Aemond grunted in annoyance, hips stilling at the sight of his brother stood with a devilish smile on his face. “How long have you been standing there?” The younger seethed, cock still buried in your hole as he regarded Aegon. The entrance of the tent faced his blindside, making him unaware of his brother’s arrival, nor of how long he had been watching them.

“Long enough to see how much you have been enjoying yourself. Please, brother, carry on. Do not let my presence hinder you.” Aegon urged on, stepping into the pavilion, the scent of smoke following him. He shot you a wink when your eyes meet, before walking over to the serving table to pour himself some wine. The high that was close to washing over Aemond had died down at his brother’s intrusion, and if it weren’t for your hips wiggling against his and your shining eyes staring back at him, he would have left and brought himself to release in the privacy of his tent. Keeping his eye on you, the prince tried his hardest to ignore the sound of Aegon moving around behind him.

It wasn’t long until he was lost once more in the sweet sounds that fell from your lips, uncaring about his brother’s eyes on his back as the coil in his belly tightened again. He clenched his eye shut, focusing on the delicious sensation of your ridged walls. When he opened his eye, Aemond was taken aback to see Aegon, somehow already naked, directing his cock to your lips.

“What the fuck are you doing?” The younger snapped. Aegon doesn’t stop despite his brother’s annoyance, sighing as you started to suck on his cock.

“Oh please, Aemond, she has enough holes for us to share. She’ll be happy to have both our cocks.” Aegon scoffed, his hips setting their pace. “Wouldn’t you, darling?” He cooed, caressing the back of your head as you nodded at him as much as you could, whimpering.

Aemond’s eye fell on the sight of Aegon’s cock disappearing into your mouth, his brother’s stomach tightening. The tips of his ears flushed red as a spark ignited in him that made his cock throb, one he convinced himself was from the squeeze you gave him. He tore his eye away from the sight of you and Aegon, pulling out of your hole with a sigh of frustration. Aemond had started to tuck his still-hard cock back into his trousers when Aegon stopped him.

“W-where are you going?” His brother asked, breathless. The younger only stared at him, observing how Aegon’s face contorted in pleasure when you started to fondle his balls. Forcing himself to withdraw from your mouth, the King turned to face Aemond.

“Our father and uncle must have shared women all the time, Aemond. Don’t be such a priss.” Aegon remarked, causing his brother to scoff. “Come on, you haven’t even tried her cunt yet. It is heavenly!” He encouraged, gesturing to you. Still on your knees, you turned to meet Aemond’s gaze, giving him an encouraging smile. His eye falls on your dripping cunny, the flames of his desire being stoked once more.

You turned around to lay on your back, spreading your legs wide for your prince. Leaning on your elbows, it was then you finally got a good look at Aemond’s cock. It was long, as you expected, and veiny. His cockhead blushed a deep red, the slit dripping a clear liquid. The sight made you gulp as another gush of arousal dripped from your core. You looked between the two men, assessing their sizes. Aemond had the length, while Aegon had more girth.

The prince looked at you, then at Aegon, who slowly stroked his cock while looking back at him.

Fuck it.

The younger prince pulled his trousers down, stepping out of them before gripping your thighs, pressing them to your chest. A gasp left your lips in surprise as he enters in one swift motion, the intrusion giving you little time to adjust to his impressive length. Immediately, he fucked you with an animalistic pace. There was a sense of urgency in his thrusts, having been denied his release twice because of Aegon’s presence. Moans openly fell from your lips at the way his tip kissed your cervix deliciously, another wave of release drawing closer with each thrust. Before you could react, a hand grips the side of your face, the elder turning you to his cock once more. He thrusted into your mouth, resuming his earlier pace as you sucked on his length. The King threw his head back as your moans vibrated around his cock, sending a spark of pleasure through his veins. The two silver-haired men chased their release, both equally unrelenting in their thrusts. However, you were the first to break among the three of you. Your thighs spasmed as your core clenched, your eyes rolling back into your skull. Aemond’s cock continued to drive into you as a broken moan fell from your cock-filled mouth when you spill around his length. He moaned as you pulsed around him, his long-awaited climax starting to wash over him like the tide. The prince pulled out of you in haste, furiously tugging at his shaft, spurting hot seed onto your stomach as he groaned in delight. 

Seeing his younger brother spill his seed triggered the older Targaryen’s release. With his eyes locked onto the way Aemond’s cockhead let out spurts of cum, Aegon spilled his own royal seed onto your breasts with a curse. You moaned at the warm sensation of their seeds painting your flesh, turning to look at the two royals who were catching their breath. 

Their cocks were still hard, which meant there was still more to come. Another spark of arousal coursed through you, making you clench your thighs together. The two brothers met each other’s gazes, the air shifting into something different as their eyes met. Aemond felt a strange feeling in his chest, unable to tear his gaze away from his brother’s flushed expression.

With his eyes still on his younger brother, Aegon ordered you, “Why don’t you ride my brother’s cock, darling?”

Both you and Aemond settled into position at the King’s authoritative tone. The prince sat on the edge of the cot, gripping your waist as you aligned yourself above his cock. A sharp inhale left the both of you as you sank onto his length, your core still sensitive from your last peak. You started to ride his cock, his hands guiding you up and down. Aemond was tantalized by the sight of your tits bouncing in his face. They were still covered in Aegon’s seed, though the prince paid it no mind as he took one of your breasts into his mouth. The cum tasted salty in his mouth, though he continued to suck on your teat while burying down the shame building in his consciousness. Aemond could sense his brother approaching the two of you, hard cock sitting heavy in his hand. Aegon’s hand urged you to lean forward, causing Aemond to lean back onto his elbow as your hips stilled momentarily. You felt Aegon’s cockhead run down your puckered hole, expecting him to claim it. But before you could react, Aegon started to breach your already full cunt.

“Your grace, wai– Oh!” You squealed, the sensation taking you by surprise. You had never felt this full before, and the stretch made you bite your lips as you struggled to take both cocks. Aemond was equally caught by surprise, his grip on your hips tightening as you clenched. When Aegon had managed to insert his cock into you fully, you clung onto Aemond’s shoulders at the overwhelming feeling. The two Targaryens started to thrust into you, finding a uniform rhythm.

With a whine, you wrapped your arms around Aemond’s neck, pressing your front, still sticky with both their seeds, against his firm chest.

With your head buried into his shoulder, Aemond had a clear view of his brother’s face. Purple eyes met, sparkling in the warm glow of the pavilion. Aegon let out a small moan, brows furrowed as his hips continued their ministrations. His eyes fell onto Aemond’s lips as his brother bit them, biting back a grunt of pleasure. The King’s head ducked down closer to his brother’s face, with the intent of capturing his lips, but the prince turned his head to the side in avoidance. Aegon ignored the slight pang in his chest at Aemond’s rejection, turning his gaze instead to the sight of your cunt taking both their cocks.

The underside of their shafts rubbed together, sending a delicious spark of pleasure that licked at the base of Aemond’s spine with a familiar warmth. Shifting his weight to one elbow, the prince pistoned his hips into you roughly. You were far gone, drooling onto his shoulder as your jaw fell slack, uncontrollable moans and whines coming out of you. 

Without warning, your third release washed over you. Goosebumps rose on your flesh at your most intense climax yet, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut. Your core compressed both cocks together even tighter, which caused both men to grunt in your ear. Black spots covered your vision, mind far from earth as they chased their release. Aegon was the first to break, his release overwhelming him, making him double over. The elder gripped onto his brother’s shoulder for stability, accidentally gripping some of his brother’s long tresses as he spurted his seed into you.

When Aegon pulled out, Aemond ground his feet, thrusting up into you as he chased his own end. You had gone limp in his arms, but your core still pulsated around his cock. With your body fully laid on him, your pearl rubbed on the base of his cock. The friction sent you into overdrive, triggering another orgasm that prompted Aemond’s. The prince couldn’t resist the loud groan that left his lips as he spurted another round of his seed into you.

He could feel the top of his head buzz at the aftermath of his climax, laying there for a moment with you still draped on top of him like a blanket. 

After gathering his bearings, Aemond carefully laid you on the cot. A hiss left both of you as he pulled out, the mixture of the brothers’ seed spilling out of you. You laid there on your stomach, eyes closed as your mind floated away. One of them, you weren’t sure who, wiped you clean. You let out a hum as a sign of gratitude, dozing off almost immediately from exhaustion.

Aemond wordlessly dressed while Aegon settled into his cot beside you. He spared your blissed out figure one last look before moving to leave.

“Good night, brother.” Aegon called out to him, prompting Aemond to stop and look back at him. The two silver-haired men locked eyes once more, the strange feeling in Aemond's chest returned as he looked into his brother's round orbs. Pursing his lips, Aemond gave his brother a nod of acknowledgment before turning to leave.

On the morrow, they shall ride together at the head of their army. The memories of this night shall remain unspoken of as they charge forward together in battle, presenting a united front.

[dinsbeskar]

Subjugate the Devil (Sauron/F!Reader)

Sauron has a nightmare. You are only too happy to oblige in making him forget; or:

Sub!Sauron makes a lengthy appearance. Plot, what plot?

Set in my In The Dark series, but works as a standalone (alludes to trauma mentioned in other chapters, but it is literally just smut) // AO3 Link

Soundtrack: Disease by Lady Gaga, Don't Let Me Go by Raign, Like a Prayer by Madonna, Oh You Are Not Well by Chloe Foy

Playlist!

Warnings: 18+! Dom/sub - gentle dom, needy sub; just pure smut; literally Plot What Plot (though there is a bit if you squint); P in V sex; oral sex (male and female receiving); copious amounts of bodily fluids (sorry, like for real); cockwarming; dry humping; handjob; begging/denial/teasing; praise kink; multiple orgasms; overstimulation; unresolved trauma; tiny bit of violence but it is just an illusion; very soft!Sauron, so tender. We make him cry and that's all I wanted to do.

A/N: I've been working on this for a few days, it is ummm filthier than anything I've ever written, like I really don't know where it came from. The warnings are just what's on the menu at this point idk.

I pictured Annatar for this one, but you guys can imagine whomever you like (@troublesomesnitch he's got that chest hair though!!) Sub!Halbrand would be a treat ngl.

Excuse the gif guys, I just want to see him cry :)

Word Count: 4.2k (!!)

Sauron does not sleep. Ordinarily.

However, you make it look so peaceful, he has to try it occasionally. Of course he usually finds you in your dreams, takes all the attention you can spare and more, leaving you wanting until waking when he can ravage you again.

Sometimes however his dreams come unbidden. Instead of slipping into your mind, he falls deeper into his own, unearthing old memories he'd rather stay buried, burned beyond recognition.

You always know when this happens; your usually calm and collected lover wakes in a cold sweat, clutching at your skin, his face in your neck, desperate to forget what his mind has shown him. He has never told you the details, but you can only assume it has something to do with his master, with his cruel and unusual forms of punishment.

Tonight is one of those nights, worse perhaps as he moans and writhes in his sleep, rousing you immediately. You can't seem to wake him from his torment, every gentle touch, every kiss to his temple only seems to fan the flames. You end up atop him, each of your thighs either side of his abdomen, trying to shake him awake.

Visions of Morgoth in his wrath; illusions of you partaking in his torture at his master's hand; pain and terror in his heart, as the nightmare refuses to cease, even as you try to soothe him.

What makes you think a servant as worthless as you deserves a love like hers?

Morgoth's words hold him in a vice grip; he can't break free, the unshed tears behind his closed eyelids threaten to leak onto his cheeks, stricken with fear and pain.

"I've got you, you're okay, you're here with me." You stroke his face, your hair brushing his chest, unsure of what to do except hold him.

When his eyes finally fly open, he grasps your arms, and with a leg hooked behind you, flips you onto your back, a dagger at your throat.

You're fairly sure his weapon isn't real, but he is a master of illusion, and pain is merely a construct of the mind; he could hurt you if he wanted to.

In this state, you're reminded of just how dangerous your husband is, even between dreaming and waking. His eyes are black, unseeing, with a terrifying expression you're sure would have annihilated any enemy he could have been dreaming of.

Your hands shaking, you reach up slowly and try to take the knife; surely enough, when you clutch at it, it disappears like smoke between your fingers, so you take his hand instead, still clenched unfeeling around his shattered illusion.

You pull his hand to your chest, letting him feel your racing heart flutter against his fingers.

Slowly but surely, you bring him back to you, his daze broken but his psyche bruised and bleeding.

Your shallow breathing evens out as the light returns to his eyes, and for a moment he looks at you confused as if his position above you is of your own making.

His eyes dart from his hand on your chest, to your fiercely fixed expression, attempting to soothe his nerves but unable to hide how shaken you are.

"Is this real?" He's still breathing hard, for someone who doesn't really need to breathe. "Are you really here? Is it you?"

He's so tender, tracing your cheekbones, your cupid's bow, gently raking your hair with his fingertips.

"Of course, beloved, I'm right here, I'm always right here." You try to hide your confusion, assuming he's still walking the line between dreaming and waking.

He slowly pulls himself away to nestle at your side, reluctant to break eye contact with you as he does so, still clutching at you to ground himself.

"What did I do? Tell me I didn't hurt you, love." He's so quiet, it's unnerving, but you take him in your arms anyway, crading his head to your chest.

"All is well, my love, it wasn't real, you're here with me, no one can touch you here." Some nights, holding him close and murmuring sweet reassurances in his ear is enough to soothe him; tonight he needs a little more from you.

All you want to do is tell him you love him, that he deserves you, that you're his, that he deserves everything you want to give him, that you ache for him when he's not by your side.

But he's hard against your hip, a fact you're trying to ignore; taking advantage of him is the last thing on your mind, not that he would protest, even when he returns to his right mind.

He listens to your heartbeat for a while, focusing on the strong rhythm to forget his waking nightmare, marvelling at how your heart beats in tandem to his, running his trembling fingers across your exposed skin, up your arm, across your collarbone to your throat, watching the artery jump in time with your heart. He knows you so well, so intimately, that when you notice his erection, your heart skips a beat, and he can guess exactly what you're thinking, not needing to peer into your mind for himself.

You feel him grind against you and you release a breath you didn't even realise you'd been holding.

"Love..." You murmur into his hair, absentmindedly running your fingers over the sensitive pointed tips of his ears. "Come now, you need to rest, darling."

He can't show you what he saw, what he went through, the horror and the agony of his master's worst torments. The image of you performing the worst of it is tattooed on his eyelids, a reminder of Morgoth's favourite form of punishment. He can't show you, can't tell you, but he can ask you to make him forget.

"I need you," he whispers in your ear, strangled groans peppering his sentiments, making you gasp, "need you to feel good, need you to know how much I adore you-"

Your eyes widen as blood rushes to your cheeks, the heat of his words enflaming your core.

"I want you too, love, but right now? Are you sure?" You ask him through ragged breath as he turns his attentions to your neck, licking and sucking and blowing cool air over your wet skin, before warming it with his tongue once more.

You're so close to giving in, wanting to give him all he craves and more, and he knows it.

"Use me," his breathy moan breaks on your skin like a wave on the shore, tingles washing down your spine, filling your core with empty warmth as he bucks his hips into yours, which respond in kind as you turn your head to meet his hungry kiss.

"I'm yours. Make me yours."

His words thrill you, but his tone makes you feel incredible; needy, wanton, desperate to please you.

You glide your hands over his torso, relishing in his hot velvet skin and the soft hair that covers him; taking your time as he tries to kiss you senseless, his heated skin glowing with sweat that you can't resist tasting for yourself, salt and smoke on your tongue.

"Use me... take me... love me..." he begs you, with less and less breath left in his lungs with each command, as you gently lay him on his back, straddling his thighs, grinding your core into the hard muscle.

You slide your hands between the layers of fabric separating your skin, stripping him slowly and laying him bare for your viewing pleasure alone.

He arches his back for you, baring his neck and thrusting his hips into the ghost of your touch, chanting your name and praying for you to take his aching cock in hand.

You trace the contours of his thighs, his firm abdominal muscles, the stiff peaks of his nipples, earning you a shudder and a moan that shoots straight to your core, hot wet arousal dripping onto his thigh.

His fingers move to gather your nectar instinctively, wanting to savour every taste of his wife, but you grip his wrist and raise it above his head, and he gasps. You've never denied him before, not in the eons you've adored him, but it turns him on beyond belief.

Sauron watches you hazily, through heavily lidded eyes, in disbelief that the goddess above him is his and his alone to enjoy and to ruin. You are a sight to behold, as your hair cascades down your back, lips parted and breath ragged; your breasts bounce as you ride his thigh, hypnotising him, drawing him deeper into your thrall.

He tries to lean up to kiss you, lave every inch of your skin with his desperate tongue, but you push him back to the bed.

"Not yet, soon but not yet." You want his mouth on you, the aching between your thighs only amplified by the distinct lack of your husband’s throbbing length inside you, but tonight is for him; he needs to surrender to you first.

"I don't think you've let go quite enough yet." Your warm breath breaks on his sensitive neck, washes down his spine, straight to his cock, throbbing in his need for you.

You haven't touched him yet, hands firmly in place on his chest; his eyes plead with you to be lenient, and as his loving wife, you're only too happy to oblige him as he continues to beg for all the care and attention you can give.

"Please, love, please, need you to-" he gasps as you run your fingers over the head of his cock, gathering the copious amounts of precum pooling on his stomach to ease the glide over his flesh.

"Is that better, love?" You can't help but smirk at his pained gasps, as you languidly stroke his shaft, circling the sensitive head with your thumb, your eyes locked on his.

His cock twitches in your hand as he moans your name, begs for release, begs for your cunt, begs to be remade.

"That's it, love, let yourself go. All you need to do is feel good for me, my love," you lean down, whispering in his ear, "please me, show me how much you deserve your release."

His breath hitches and you hear him swallow hard; his expression is a masterpiece, eyes wide, jaw slack, as he begs you to show him mercy, groaning and whimpering as you pump his length.

"Please..." It's only one syllable, but it feels like a lifetime as he chokes out his plea, tries to touch you to no avail as you hold his hands above his head, placing them in a death grip on the headboard.

"Please, what? You might need to be more specific, my darling." You edge down the bed, holding him in place as he tries to follow you, until your head rests on his thighs.

"Need you to... fuck!" He growls and curses and grips the headboard as his hips jerk and writhe to meet you.

"Need me to...? What, my sweet, tell me?" You are enjoying teasing him, perhaps a little too much, and you will pay for it later, but right now he's so deeply needy for your love and attention that he'll take whatever you bestow upon him.

"Touch me..." he groans, as his cock visibly throbs with need, "your fingers, your mouth, I don't care, I need you, you're the only one, only one who can make me feel like this..."

His pleas and whimpers cut off with a sharp gasp, as you take his cock in your mouth as deeply as you can manage. He feels the opening of your throat on his tip and loses his mind, his oversensitive flesh shooting stars up and down his spine, heat pooling in his abdomen that almost immediately spreads like wildfire throughout his body, as your fingers and tongue and lips work together like an orchestra, drawing an irresistible melody from the depths of his pitch black soul, and all the seed his cock can muster.

You pull away and let him spill himself over your thighs, your abdomen, your hands; he looks mortified but he can't stop now he's started, pearly white splattering your skin, making you his.

"I belong to you," he keens and stutters but you hear him through his orgasm, his whimpers becoming moans that reverberate through you.

You can only watch him adoringly as he finishes quaking and moaning beneath you, unable to quite believe that he is yours, even after all this time.

You sit up, licking him from your fingers, and your smile is so radiant, he forgets where he is, who he is, all the evil he has ever done. For one shining moment, it is just you and him, all he'd ever need.

"Proud of you, love, so good for me." You murmur as you lean down to kiss him softly, giving him that tiny confirmation of your affections he needs right now.

"...thank you, needed you. Ahh- Need you." He is grateful, oh so grateful, but his still-hard cock betrays him, and you can't help but grin.

"Oh love, did I not do a good enough job? Have I left you wanting?" Your faux sincerity pains him and he immediately starts apologising.

"No, no, not that, never that, always so good to me, my beautiful wife, love you so much, my sweet..." His cunt-drunk ramblings are adorable but you put a finger to his lips.

"It's okay, I know, I've got you," you smile at him; he returns it so radiantly, you have to kiss him, to be the one to destroy it.

His pretty moans flutter to your cunt, arousal dripping from you like honey from the hive, and he looks up at you, gloriously wide eyed, begging to be allowed to taste your nectar, to sate his thirst for you.

You can't help but feel absurdly powerful, a Maia fallen apart at your fingertips, never mind this Maia, this beautiful demon who vowed to never relinquish his control again. It's an honour and a privilege to see him submit to you like this, submit to himself like this, let himself just feel without exercising his need to dominate, to just let go with the one person in the world he knows he is truly free with.

"Please, my love... remake me, make me yours," His breathless plea is like no music the Valar have ever sung, his moans a spell all their own, enrapturing you even as you hold the key to his release, as you take command of the Maia who values his control of others above all else.

"I do believe, dearest, that you made quite the mess, actually, perhaps you'd be so kind?" You gesture to the cum that still drips down your thighs, sticky and uncomfortable and definitely ready to be washed from your skin.

He is only too happy to oblige.

You lie back and beckon him to you; he works his way up your body, methodically but no less desperately, licking up every drop to please you, content to savour every inch of you. When he tries to make a detour to your mound, you gently yank his hair, reminding him of his task, revelling in the absolute control he's given you.

"Oh love, you did make a mess," you moan as you stroke his hair, "so good for me, cleaning me up, such a good husband, always so good to me."

Receiving such praise is almost cruel and unusual for Sauron, who is frankly more used to giving it to you, and receiving wrath from all others. A tiny voice in his mind tells him he should be embarrassed; but what is worship if not praise? Your devotion, your care, your undivided attention; all for him, giving him that for which he yearns above all else.

He can't resist stealing a kiss, crashing his lips to yours as he cradles your face. You taste his seed on his lips, something that feels strangely forbidden, thrilling in its taboo. The aching in your core has only intensified with his efforts, and you feel it is about time he served you with his silver tongue in the way you both crave. You push his head to your cunt, with which he gladly complies, settling between your thighs, gripping your legs firmly apart to allow him to feast on you.

Before his tongue can delve into your folds, he holds back, locking his gaze on yours.

"Please? Let me taste you, let me show you how much I love you."

"Fuck, yes, love, yes," you chant his name as he finally puts his tongue to excellent use, seeking out your swollen clit, lapping at your entrance, sucking at the velvety skin of your inner thighs.

He keeps his hands in view; you haven't told him he can touch himself, and he won't break this spell now.

Like a starving man at a banquet, he indulges in you, exquisitely. Every tiny moan that escapes him vibrates over your folds, making you whimper in return; he flicks his tongue over your entrance before sliding two fingers deep inside you, hooking them and stroking that delicious sweet spot inside you that makes your toes curl. He watches you the whole time, basking in the chorus of your pleasure.

You feel the heat coil in your abdomen, and you pull him away sharply; his disappointment is evident but you want him inside you when you finally claim your orgasm.

"Lay back, love, hands on the headboard." It is intoxicating, having your husband obey your every command, and as he settles into the mattress, looking up at you expectantly, you vow this won't be the last time the two of you play this game.

Sitting astride him, you feel as if he's never been so deep inside your cunt before now. You hiss a little at the intrusion but he's so familiar, every time he enters you, it feels like coming home. You grind your hips into him, capturing with your lips every whimper that forces its way past his clenched teeth. Tracing his firm chest, running your fingers through the smattering of soft hair, feeling every curve and contour slowly, languidly, while he writhes beneath your thighs, caging him inside your wet heat.

His strangled moans and gasps echo throughout your chamber; every time he reaches for you, you press a kiss to his palm and hold it above his head, until he learns to behave.

"No one could love me like you, care for me like you, knows how to take their pleasure from me like you, beautiful wife, only yours." He feels like he's losing his mind, slipping further into some deep quiet space where it's just the two of you, where nothing matters but you on his cock.

"Only you can put me back together, can sing the song my soul yearns for-" you interrupt his pretty words with your fingers in his mouth.

"Hush, my love, focus on me, only me, you don't have to speak, you don't have to beg for me unless you want to, just let it happen." You trace the shell of his ear with your tongue, savouring the tiny sighs that escape him, before nipping the pointed tip and relishing his sharp moan.

"Bound together, you and I, for all eternity... and I wouldn't have it any other way, sweet husband." You groan out between thrusts, every movement within you the sweetest form of torture.

No other thrill in the world will ever compare to this; your divine husband laid out beneath you, looking up at you with blissful wonder, eyes black with lust, golden hair mussed and tangled by your fingers, your name tumbling from his swollen lips like a prayer and a curse. Right now, you'd take either.

"Darling, please," his broken gasp spans an octave, jumping to a breathy moan as you descend on his cock once more.

"I know what you need, love," you moan as you ride him, the drag of his cock inside you fucking delicious, but the look on his face is a feast in comparison.

His eyes widen as he clutches the bedsheets, refusing to look away but requiring every iota of self-restraint to stay present with you, not to lose himself to the unearthly sensations you've introduced him to tonight.

"I've got you, just let it go, give yourself to me, beloved, let your mind empty-" you kiss him deeply and swallow the groan building in his chest.

"So proud of you, so good for me, doing so well," you let out a throaty moan as you clench your walls around him, feeling his cock throb within you.

"I know what you need..." You murmur as you lean over him, slowing the rhythm of your hips, "nothing in that head, cock wet and wanting, heart full and happy."

His ragged breath hitches as the last shred of self-control slips through his fingers. He thrusts up deep inside you, throbbing, aching to fill you, as you grab his hands and pull them to touch you finally, a precious relief to you both.

As he runs his hands up your bare skin, he kneads your soft flesh, worshipping every inch as if he's never beheld anything so perfect in his long life. His large hands encircle your abdomen, grasp your hips, pull your ass impossibly closer until you can't tell where you end and he begins; not that the distinction is important anymore.

He rests his hands on your back, fingers splayed as if to encompass you within his flesh, as if being wrapped around you, caged inside you, isn't enough contact, like the two of you enjoined in body and soul isn't enough, will never be enough to sate his hunger for you.

Finally, you let him lean up to join you, his torso flush with yours, gliding against you, slick with the sweat you've provoked in your teasing. He kisses you hard, tongue tangling with yours, teeth hungry, lips swollen, your breath mingling just as your souls are entwined, a maelstrom of pleasure in which you'd be happy to be imprisoned forever.

You brush back his soft hair, grip the roots, and pull his head back, bearing his throat to your greedy lips. You grind on his cock as you press harsh kisses, soft bites, to his tender flesh, laving his skin and savouring his moans under your tongue. He fucking whimpers under you, and you pull away to take him in, in all his ruined glory.

There are tears in his eyes, his lips wet and parted for your kiss; his expression is nothing like you've ever seen, so completely has he given himself to you and your pleasure.

You softly trace his throat before grasping him firmly, feeling every breath, every sob, every whimper, reverberating through you, inflaming every nerve in your body.

His Adam's apple bobs under your fingers, firm in your grip but tender in your passion. Tears spring unbidden to his eyes, falling down his glorious face and filling your heart with such love, such adoration, such utter and complete devotion, that it scares you for a moment, pushing you over the edge at last.

You clench around him, milking his sensitive cock for every last drop of seed, as you ride this new high, this indescribable feeling of power that his submission has wrought in you. You think if you could just hold onto that feeling-

"I feel it too-" his strangled moan is cut short, all the stars in the sky paling in comparison to the pleasure he feels beneath you right now.

You feel him paint your insides, his cock throbbing and twitching inside you until he is spent. Your foreheads pressed together, your limbs entangled, every breath shared in tandem; you would stay here forever. And he would gladly grant his goddess that wish, and any more that your heart desires.

You roll onto your side, limbs shaking with exertion, pulling him to join you, refusing to allow him exit from your wet heat. He huffs a small, relieved sigh, not wishing to be parted from you either.

His iron embrace never fails to comfort you, and it is especially firm tonight. Your heart swells at the thought that even after surrendering to you so entirely, so perfectly, he still needs to hold and shelter you, can't give up his role as your protector even at his most vulnerable.

"We should do that again, love." You murmur, feeling his smirk against your neck.

"Whatever you desire, my Queen," he peppers your neck with tender kisses, sensing you are close to sleep. "I am yours, you are mine-"

"And always will be." You interrupt with a sleepy smile, provoking a chuckle.

Sauron can only watch you enthralled, as you drift off, content, your limbs entwined with his, reluctant to follow you into sleep after tonight's events. Perhaps, yielding control is something he should master, he muses; after all, you did seem to be utterly delighted with the turn of events, and he is nothing if not a loving Lord, a devoted husband enthralled by his wife to distraction.

You slip into dreaming, holding onto him as if for dear life, relishing in the feeling of being so loved, so obeyed.

Your brain is empty, but your cunt is full, and your heart is happy.

[thought--bubble]

Aemond Fic Recs

This one will be kind of long but all of these stories are really good!

Back to my Masterlist

Aemond fic recs

Page 1,

☣ @arcielee☣

We Gave our Time to Something Undefined

Zȳha lyks

☣ @marthawrites☣

Knees

Greed

Darkened Corridors

A Ladies Thrill

Teaching a Dragon New Tricks

Red Lions and Hidden Dragons

A Surprise in the Library

☣ @sepherinaspoppies☣

Whatever May Come Series (Dark Aemond)

Only if for a Night (AU Aemond)

☣ @barbieaemond☣

Iron on Silk

Lykiri

☣ @vsnyarbll☣

I Never Want This to End

The Wound on his Hand

☣ @namelesslosers☣

How long can we be a sad song

A Moment Everybody Knows

A Worthy Exchange (Aemond / Hunger Games AU)

☣ @targaryen-dynasty☣

A Caution for Young Girls

Depravities

Sinful Revenge (Aemond/Aegon)

Lechery

A Dragon to Share (Aemond/Aegon/Daemon)

The Curse of Curiosity

To Stoke a Flame

Dragon Dreams

Rewrite the stars

Forbidden Temptation

Serenity & Can you stay up all night?

☣ @troublesomesnitch☣

Uneasy Lies the Head (Aemond/Aegon)

☣ @the-dendrophile-bookdragon☣

Knife Play

Braids

☣ @aemonds-fire☣

Lady, Wife, Whore, Woman

The Sapphire Spell Series (Ghost Aemond)

Your exquisite suffering calls to me

☣ @happilyhertale☣

Emerald Eyes

Battlefield of Women

Morning Delight

☣ @sylasthegrim☣

To Love and Cherish

Solace in the Silence (Aemond/Otto)

The present is an interlude

The Romance of certain old clothes

☣ @tumblin-theworldaway☣

Heir

Prey

☣ @st-eve-barnes☣

By Your Side

☣ @adragonprinceswhore☣

Warm Me Up

☣ @flowerandblood☣

Stay and Love, Leave and Die

Flowers & Thorns & Hopes and prayers(sequel)

☣ @zaldritzosrose☣

Sanguine Obsession

☣ @almondmilktargaryen☣

A son for a son (a debt paid)

☣ @ewanmitchellcrumbs☣

NSFW Alphabet (Headcannons)

Cockwarming Drabble

Asshekhqoyi Vezhvena

Fall Into Me

Relaxing Drabble

Choiceless in Grief

☣ @anjelicawrites☣

Nipple Piercing drabble (Osferth/Aemond)

☣ @exitpursuedbyavulcan☣

Studious

☣ @sapphire-writes☣

Flowers

☣ @venmondiese☣

Playing with fire & Burning Fire

☣ @ladythornofrivia☣

My Scavenger (Star wars Crossover)

☣ @wackyharpy☣

A Small Appetence

☣ @fairysluna☣

Truly Yours

☣ @madame-fear☣

Chasing the flame of my desire

☣ @superprincesspea☣

Ghost

☣ @kckt88☣

Demon in my dreams

☣ @cluz1babe☣

NSFW Alphabet

☣ @youraverageaemondsimp☣

Incomprehensible Horror

☣ @kate-mccannon☣

The Art of Intimacy

Last Updated 2/15/25

[a-snake-makes-moodboards]

Edwin Payne from Dead Boy Detectives with related gothic inspo

requested by: no one, self indulgent

[divider creds: @troublesomesnitch]

(all images were found on Google images, including bg)

song to go with it: 'Tear You Apart' by She Wants Revenge

Reblogs are appreciated, requests are open!!

[vhagar-balerion-meraxes]

~ get to know your mutuals ~

Thank you for the tag @alicent-archive 🥰🥰

1. If you could be any animal which one would you choose to be? (can be fictional) (and you can explain why if you want to)

A jackalope. Or a dragon.

2. What would you choose to wear when you're in a hurry and have nothing to wear?

My Ewan Mitchell fit (aka full tracksuit and Adidas trainers).

3. Are you a witch, vampire, fairy, dryad, siren or mermaid (and why do you think?)

Vampire. Sunlight burns me when I’m outside. I sleep all day, and cry party all night. 

4. What is your style?

None, really. Very casual.

5. Regular milk or plant based milk?

Lactose-free semi-skimmed milk. I’ve tried many plant-based ones before and it’s just not the same.

6. Which one do you put first milk or cereal?

Cereal.

7. Fave way to kill someone?

Drowned in a vat of wine, Duke of Clarence style.

No Pressure Tags: @thought--bubble @heretherebebookdragons @livmondcole @vipervixxen @peachessndreamss @anjelicawrites @aemondstark @silcoangel @schniiipsel @theold-ultraviolence @lonelyvampx @barbieaemond @just-some-random-blogger @sylasthegrim @kingaegond @aegon-the-elder @thomascromwelll @the-dendrophile-bookdragon @very-straight-blog @snowblack-charcoalwhite @mermaidslabyrinth @st-eve-barnes @venmondiese @dr-aegon @pendragora @zaldritzosrose @flowerandblood @aemondsbabygirl @troublesomesnitch @lauraneedstochill @playlistashton @ara-meyy @gemini-mama @all-that-glitters-is-goldfish @theoneeyedprince

[barbieaemond]

From somewhere within (teaser)

moodboard by the queen herself @zae5

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x maid!reader

Warnings: angst, smut, grinding, fingering, oral sex (more to be added)

based on a request from @troublesomesnitch

Coming soon!! 💚

SNEAK PEAK

The smell of roasted pig twisted his stomach, lingered inside his nostrils all night long, tossing and turning in bed, trying to quench the pent-up anger painfully rattling his bones, only to find no release, no peace to the ceaseless raging pit buried inside him since Driftmark.

That spineless bastard and his mocking smile were etched before his eye, hammering his nerves until every breath taken came with a shudder. Until he hastily removed the sapphire from the ugly socket and threw it away.

Her name glided on his tongue like a command shrouded in honey, a plea hidden by thorns.

But he paused, blinking into the quiet dark of his chamber, and the word slid back down his throat.

She’s not here.  

Of course she wasn’t. Her duties as servant were long over. There was no reason why she should have been in his chambers at that hour late. But there was one reason, however selfish and dangerous that might have been.

It had always been there, since the very first day she attended to him as his maid.

They had filled the distance with words, formal words and then words of different nature. Words excavated from his violent lungs but spoken with a quiet tongue. He didn’t know why.

Perhaps it was the gentle touch of her hands while she helped him with the ointment for the socket.

Perhaps it was the sound of her voice when, one night, the hole was pulsing harder than usual and he had asked her to read to him.

Perhaps it was the way she looked at him, as if she had not seen the sun for ages.

[helaelaemond]

I saw this pic on Pinterest and it's giving INSANE Billy W energy to me!

THIS IS SOOOO BILLY WASHINGTON LAZY MORNINGS ON THE SOFA WITH BILLY MOOD WHILE YOU STROKE HIS HAIR AND PLAY WITH HIS HANDS AND GET TO SEE HOW HE SMILES SPECIAL JUST FOR YOU

[flowerandblood]

✨ Appreciative Post ✨

My favorite fanfic’s by other authors

Many of you ask me if I have any favorite authors or stories written by others. Yes! I’d love to share them with you if you haven’t read them yet.

⭐ Deep Rivers Run Quiet by @sylasthegrim

⭐ Finding the courage by @happilyhertale

⭐ His Property by @aegonification

⭐ Rev. 22:20 by @ewanmitchellcrumbs

⭐ Duty, Sacrifice by @ewanmitchellcrumbs

⭐ mad prince by @aemvnd

⭐ Smoke, Fire and Ash by @asumofwords

⭐ The Sublet by @asumofwords

⭐ Consequences by @targaryenrealnessdarling

⭐ Pearl of The Realm by @targaryenrealnessdarling

⭐ Breeding Kink by @troublesomesnitch

⭐ What is Broken by @exitpursuedbyavulcan

Thank you, thank you, thank youuu guys for your quality content! Check other works of this talented writers too! ✨

[slaytheusurper]

Spreading some love in the HotD fandom. Share your favorite fic that you've written recently, and your favorite that you've read? Or tag a fellow writer you'd love to show some love to ♡

Took me so long to answer but spreading some love to some of my moots and fellow writers 🫶🏻 My favorite fic(s) of 2024 we're definitely the little Michael Gavey one shots that were born out of insane horniness 💀

My favorite fic I've read recently is still an ongoing one by @cherrysweets-world about Geta and Caracalla (where a servant catches their attention 🤭 I believe its eyes of the gods), am excited to read more of their fics!

Showing love to all these amazing, talented writers; @venmondiese , @sepherinaspoppies , @sylasthegrim (had to include you 🫶🏻), @aemsgirl , @aeralux , @livmondcole , @sapphirevhagar , @st-eve-barnes , @thekinslayed , @troublesomesnitch , @aemondsbabe , @divinesolas

[ladystarksneedle]

Medieval picrew tag game

Create an Aemond/Aegon self insert/OC love interest.

Thank you so much for tagging me @snowblack-charcoalwhite and @sylasthegrim 💖💖

I admit I didn't see the first part and just made her quite randomly at first picturing a lady from Dorne but I came up with a small story which I'll post under the cut too

Here is the link for the tag game. Thank you for starting this @troublesomesnitch ! Loved designing her💖

Tagging (no pressure): @barbieaemond @pendragora @worms-on-a-single-string @hieronymph @snowprincesa1 @witheredoffherwitch @starstrucksnowing @sahtinekryze @moonshine999 @liv-cole @sidraofthewildflowers @fatherforgivethem @bohemian-nights @theothermaidoftarth @theoneeyedprince @humanpurposes @randomdragonfires @themoonofthesun @very-straight-blog @sunnysideaeggs @terrorofthetrident @tell-them-the-north-remembers @dr-aegon @inthedayswhenlandswerefew @arcielee @aegonx @khaleesihel @lynnbeth5172 @st-eve-barnes @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @zaldritzosrose @cyeco13 @boundlessfantasy @scaly-freaks and whoever sees this because I'm forgetting most of the people I want to tag

So she's a Dornish lady belonging to House Allyrion of Godsgrace. Their words are "No Foe May Pass". They're an ancient house, basically established by the Andals who settled in Dorne.

The Greenblood (river) lies near the banks of the castle, flowing east to the Summer Sea, with olive and lemon orchards surrounding the Keep. She spent her childhood mostly within Godsgrace surrounded by peace.

She's the first born child of the second son of house Allyrion so there isn't much left for her to inherit leaving her father to prioritise a good match as well as an elaborate education for her.

This is probably her maiden portrait or something he had commissioned to be sent should an eligible suitor present himself.

She's sent to the Martells on her seventeenth name day to secure a match, basically to learn how to integrate herself into larger circles of influence. (The Martells are her maternal cousins, Aliandra Martell being her first cousin who she houses with, as she's being prepared to rule by her father.)

Around the time of the dance of the dragons when Otto Hightower writes to Qoren Martell for his support, he considers rejecting it before deciding to consider the benefits of increased trade and influence should the greens succeed. He offers conditional support sighting his reluctance to engage with the Targaryens due to their historical rivalry but willingness to negotiate should Otto's plans succeed.

After he learns of the battle at Driftmark, he plans to send Aliandra reluctantly as an envoy at her behest, to negotiate a deal with the greens in kings landing. She accompanies her cousin to the city much to the dislike of her own family.

After arriving in kings landing and learning of the death of Prince jacaerys which was kept hidden, both women find themselves stuck. Aliandra wishes to lend her support to Rhaenyra, return home and change the terms of the deal, angry at the greens for keeping valuable information hidden, yet both find themselves under the eye of the newly appointed Prince Regent who forces them to honor the terms their house laid out or come up with a revised and mutually beneficial plan to honor their shared agreement.

[arcielee]

Question Time!

Thank you my darling Tumblr kindred spirits @lonnson @itbmojojoejo @bhxrdy @poetic-fiasco for the tag! 💜

What is a bad habit you have? Picking at my nails when I'm nervous/anxious

What‘s your dream job? Published author (unrealistic) or some level of product analyst for the internal software with a company (realistic).

How many times have you been pulled over by a cop? Oh boy... too many times to remember, which makes me sound like an absolutely hellion, but fuck it.

What are the top two words your friends would use to describe you? Trusting and reliable or kind and clever. DM me and you can decide for yourself. 💜😆

Dream travel destinations? Germany or Ireland.

Are you more independent, or need lots of people around you? Painfully independent.

Have you ever had sex in a public place?

...maybe I have hellion tendencies.

Favourite beverage? Water, or Celsius Sparkling Strawberry Guava energy drink. Their grape is pretty nifty too.

No pressure tags: @annikin-im-panicin @azperja @zaldritzosrose @zae5 @snowblack-charcoalwhite @dr-aegon @fan-goddess @lynnbeth5172 @elizarbell @schniiipsel @aegonx @thought--bubble @troublesomesnitch @persephonerinyes @chattylurker @primonizzutto @pendragora @hoosbandewan @fallingintoyourlilaceyes and if this comes across your dash, please tag me because I am nosey. 💜