#what if she feels obligated to? cause i like her?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Meet the Family 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: I'm feeling very Little Lies about this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

"So this is the reason you missed Thanksgiving," a butter knife jabs in your direction as you poke at the white turkey meat; this? You look up then at Lloyd as he nearly chokes. 

"Uh, yeah," he coughs behind his fist and swallows, "we were out of the country..." 

"Yes, why would you bother to stay. No use in seeing your mother at the holidays, or the rest of your family," she reproaches. 

"Mom," he groans. 

"For ten years," William adds from his wife's side. "Now you show your face and you look as if you're eating rotten apples." 

"No," Lloyd argues. "It's just... I'm busy and I don't get a lot of time away from work." 

"We all have obligations," Gwenyth argues. 

"Well, I took her away so I could propose," he explains as he presses his fork into the whipped potatoes. "And it worked out perfect, right? Cause now I can bring her to meet everyone." 

Gwenyth hums flatly, "I suppose." She clicks her tongue and takes a healthy gulp of wine. 

"So, Pixie," Lillian drawls from further down, "what do you do for work? Oh let me guess. A librarian?" 

You don't let the suggestion bother you. You don't see it as an insult even if she says it like one. You shake your head. 

"No, I--" you begin and Lloyd stomps your foot so you bite down on your voice.  

"She is a corporate consultant. International corporation," he explains.  

"Oh, wow, sounds busy," Gwenyth remarks. 

"Yes, how will you have time for children?" Lillian challenges. 

"I'm sure they'll find time to make them," Benson chortles over his snifter.  

"Ben, please," William rebukes. 

"We're focusing on the wedding before all that," Lloyd says. 

You peer around as you chew your cheeks in frustration. You're annoyed by how they speak of you as if you're not even there, and so intimately. Yet, you don't have much to say for yourself. This whole facade is tiresome and you really don't care what they think about a made-up job. Or marriage, for that matter. 

"That will be done with quickly," Gwenyth sniffs. "And she will need to quit that job if she wants to do her duty as your wife." 

"I can handle a job and a husband," you blurt out. 

The table quiets as if stunned that you can speak. You blink and Lloyd puts his fork down and touches your arm, "sweet pea--" 

"I highly doubt you'd be marrying him for any other reason than that nest egg promised to him," Lillian scoffs. "You don't need to play a saint with us, darling. Marriage is a transaction in more ways than one; affection, money, sex--" 

"Lilly," William warns and she laughs. 

"Well?" She shrugs. "You do know, the wedding only guarantees a twenty percent payout. He needs an heir to get all of it." She pets her stomach smugly and smiles. "I can assure you it's well worth it. Once you meet Lorelai, you'll see." 

"Oh? Maybe when you meet her, you'll consider being a mother too," Lloyd retorts. 

"Excuse me?" Lillian snarls. "I love my daughter." 

"Of course you so," he sneers. "I'm sure she feels all that love right now as she enjoys her turkey and carrots with the nanny." 

"I can't have her around adults and alcohol. You can't possibly understand," she snaps. "And maybe it's better that you never do. I could never imagine you as a father, especially when you are such a child." 

"Takes one to know one," Lloyd growls. 

"Enough," William barks. "Both of you." 

Ransom laughs loudly at the end of the table. Lloyd shifts and Lillian rolls her eyes. You sigh at your plate. You miss your family. For the first time in years, you truly miss them. 

"What the hell are you laughing at, Hugh? The only reason you're here is because your grandpappy exiled you." 

Linda gasps, "He's not exiled--" 

"Oh, right, of course not, Lin, that's why you're here breaking bread with the peasants. That's what you called us at great grandmother's wake--" 

"Lloyd, watch your mouth," William snarls. "Better yet, shut it." 

Lloyd recoils in his chair and stiffens. His features sharpen then he lowers his chin and picks up his fork. His jaw is stone as he stirs the gravy into his potatoes. You wouldn't call him humbled, more whipped like a dog. These people make you feel something for him you never thought you could; sympathy. 

"I don't care about money that much," you say. "It can't buy respect. Besides, I would never marry a man without a prenup. Whatever Lloyd has will remain his." You push your shoulders back as a yawn tickles in your throat. "At this point, he can keep you lot as well." 

You stand up and take the cloth napkin from your lap. You fold it neatly, "Gwenyth, you can tell whoever cooked dinner that it was delicious. I appreciate you all having me but I'm going to go find a hotel and some peace." You step around the chair and push it into the table, "happy holidays." 

You turn, your insides jittering. What are you doing? Where did that come from? You could say you're tired and not thinking straight, but honestly, you're just so repulsed by these people that your head could explode. They're lucky they only got a a few pieces of shrapnel. 

You march out without looking back. Your cheeks tinge hotly with self-awareness. You've messed it all up. After years of harnessing your emotions under Hansen's thumb, you finally snapped. You blew it all. 

"What she said," another chair scrapes as Lloyd speaks. "Mom, dad, good night." 

You enter the hall and head for the entry way. You hear him beside you. You're still foggy with disbelief. It isn't until you sit to put on your boots that you notice Lloyd. 

"I know, I'm done. Fired." You pull on your leather booties. "I'll take the severance and figure it out." 

"I didn't say so," he says as he grabs a coat from the closet. 

"Um..." 

"You're completely right. We can't stay here. They're all a bunch of pricks and they wonder why I didn't come home for ten years," he pulls on his coat as he speaks. He pushes back his hair then smooths his mustache. "We're better off at the hotel. We'll sleep better there--" 

"We? Lloyd, please. Stay with your family. I need space," you stand and reach past him for your jacket. "Besides, I booked a single queen and it's Christmas Eve." 

"Queen's big enough. You're tiny--" 

"Okay, no, no," you hiss. "It's not happening. Stay--" 

"But I don't want to," he whines. 

"Mr. Hansen," you say. "You're out of your mind." 

"Well, after your blow up, I don't think I'm welcome," he puts his hand on his hip. "So this is your last chance to save your job. You made the mess, you clean it up." 

"Me?" You exclaim. 

He hushes you and step closer, "Pix, you already made a scene, let's not do the encore. I'm gonna grab my bags, alright?" 

"You can't be serious." You say. 

"Hey, I gotta play the loyal husband--" 

"And why exactly is that necessary? Why couldn't you get one of those Tinder girls?" 

"Woah, woah, come on, someone will hear you," he covers your mouth with his hand and you turn your face away with a blech. "Go warm up the car. We'll talk on the ride to the hotel." 

You stare at him. He watches you, as uncertain as you've ever seen him. In the silence, you can hear the din in the other room. 

"Always was such a baby," Lillian laughs venomously. 

"He could've chosen someone without an iron spine," Gwenyth adds. 

You grimace and throw your hands up, "fine, get your things." 

"You're the best," he grabs your shoulders but before he can kiss you, you put your hand up to pinch his nose. He recoils and rubs the tip, "ow." 

"No more of that," you say as you pull your keys out of your pocket. "Thank god I only had one glass of wine." 

You stomp out the front door. The frigid winter air hits you like a bus. Once one even ground, the swirling snow flecks onto your shoulders and hair. Great, now you get to drive in the snow with an unwanted passenger. 

You get in the driver seat and push the ignition. You turn on the heater and the heated seats. At least Hansen pays enough for the add-ons. Still, you’re not sure there’s any compensation equal to what you just went through. 

You look over as the front door opens and closes. Lloyd rolls a giant suitcase with him, another smaller bag strapped on top, and a third in his other hand. You don’t move as you watch him descend the steps, easing the wheels over the edge one-by-one. 

He comes down the long walk and jerks as his loafers slip on the icy pavement. It would be funny if you weren’t so damn exhausted. You steadies himself and continues on. You should get out and help him. You don’t. 

You pop the trunk with the button. He loads in his bags as you check the rear view. He comes around the passenger side and pulls the door open. He lets out an obnoxious ‘brrrr’ as he drops into the seat next to you. You shift gears as he shuts the door. 

“Ugh, I feel so much better getting out of there,” he says as he adjusts the seat, making room for his long legs. 

“Why?” 

“Um, why not? My family is the worst--” 

“No, why did you drag me into this?” You ask as you lean into the wheel and squint over it. The dark, the snow, the unplowed roads, it’s like the universe can’t stop throwing you obstacles. 

“You want the real answer or the nice answer?” He replies. 

“Mr. Hansen,” you growl. 

“Right, I had no other choice.” 

“No other choice?” You repeat. 

“Look, those long-legged beauties back home, they’re fun, but they don’t got much else going on. I needed someone who could play along,” he explains. 

“Play along?” 

“Yeah, I mean, you’re smart so--” 

“I’m smart...” 

“I wouldn’t hire you if you weren’t--” 

“Jeez, wow, Mr. Hansen, thank you so much. You think I’m so smart, so you should know I’m smart enough to know better than to believe you. You think I’m desperate,” you turn slowly onto the next street. “You think I have nothing else going on.” 

“No, that’s not--” he shifts in his seat. 

“It’s exactly what you think,” you huff. “Well, I do. I have a flight in...” you pause and check the time on the dash, “five hours so when we get to the hotel, I’m going to sleep and you’re going to let me. Then I’m going to catch my flight and the curtain can be pulled on this whole theatre.” 

“Your words, not mine. I don’t think you’re desperate.” 

You don’t respond. You’re tired. He just can’t leave things alone. He always has to say something. You wonder if he was truly left to his own thoughts, if his head would combust. 

“I’m actually impressed,” you says, “you held your own.” 

“Sir,” you utter. 

“It was good. Entertaining. I mean, all these years, you never once talked back to me but wow, that was... majestic, really. You didn’t even wait to see my mother’s face. Or my sister’s.” 

“Your family is weird,” you blurt out. “Sorry, uh, I didn’t mean--” 

“I mean, yeah, we probably are but I don’t really have anything to compare it to,” he says. 

You nod. He has a point. Yet, while that horde of entitled brats might explain his personality, it can’t excuse it. 

The hotel’s marquee shines like a beacon as you steer into the lot. You yawn and shut off the engine. You let yourself out and drag your feet around to the trunk. You take out your carry-on as Lloyd hovers at the other side. 

“All of your stuff, out,” you say. “I’m going straight to the airport in the morning. Checkout is ten so as long your gone by then, I don’t care what you do.” 

He’s quiet but he obeys. He takes his bags out and sets them on the ground. He pulls the rolling bag and slings his smallest bag on his shoulder. You snap the trunk shut and turn, shuffling across the icy tarmac. 

You enter through the automatic doors and cross the desolate lobby. You check in with your ID but as you look for your credit card, Lloyd flicks his between his fingers and offers it up to the clerk. 

“It’s on me,” he insists. 

You won’t argue. You really don’t trust him to leave by checkout. As you head for the elevators, he takes a deep breath. He doesn’t speak until you’re behind the sliding doors of the compartment. 

“You know, I’m still your boss so you can’t just order me around,” he says. 

You glance over at him. “Right, won’t happen again, sir.” 

“It could have been worse, you know? I could’ve actually had you come all the way out here just to drop off some gifts. If you think about it, you got a free dinner and some wine--” 

“Yeah, it was a great time,” you say dryly. “Mr. Hansen, I’m too tired to lie any more. Tonight was one of the worst nights of my life so no, I don’t think it could be worse.” 

The doors open and you stride out. You swipe the card at the door corresponding to the number written in the folio and let yourself in. He follows closely, nearly running over your heels with his suitcase. 

You take your bag to the bed and take out the cotton pajamas stuffed inside just for tonight. You bring them with you into the bedroom, doing your best to ignore your guest. Lloyd wanders along the wall and finds his way to the mini fridge. 

You’re in no rush to change, only to get to bed. You trade your dress and stockings for the cotton two-piece and emerge. You shove your bag and clothes beside the night table and slide under the blankets. You pull them up to your shoulders. 

“They got wine, tequila, beer--” 

“I’m going to sleep,” you insist. 

“The alcohol will help.” 

“No, it will make waking up even harder.” 

“After tonight, I think you need a shot.” 

“Mr. Hansen,” you grumble and cover your head. 

“Fine, more for me.” He snickers. 

You’re happy he can’t see the irritation on your face. You might just be better off to let him drink whatever. Eventually, he’ll have to pass out. At least, you can only hope he does. 

[idkyetxoxo]

Jacaerys Velaryon - Moth to a Flame

Summary - Bound by duty and trapped in a loveless marriage, her heart still belongs to Jace, the man she truly loves. The weight of her choices and the secrets she keeps threaten to tear her apart, while the tension between love and obligation grows unbearable.

Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2179

Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

'Cause he seems like he's good for you and he makes you feel like you should and all your friends say he's the one his love for you is true.

Jacaerys Velaryon had known from the moment he met me that I was the one.

His eyes held that quiet determination, a certainty that ran deeper than the tides that carried his bloodline, a certainty that defied logic.

It was as if the gods had whispered my name into his heart long before I even came into his life.

He didn't just see me—he understood me. There was something in his gaze that spoke of an unspoken promise, a bond that neither time nor circumstance could sever.

I felt it too, that inexplicable pull, that instant connection, as though fate itself had tied us together, long before we ever exchanged words.

From that first glance, my heart quickened in a way it had never done before as if it had been waiting for him all along.

I had heard of Jace long before we met. Stories of his valour, his grace in the air as a dragon rider, the weight of his lineage as a Velaryon, and his close connection to the Targaryen bloodline.

But none of the tales prepared me for the man himself.

The way his presence filled a room, not with arrogance, but with quiet strength. His every movement seemed deliberate as if each step he took was a dance between duty and desire.

There was no hesitation in him, no room for doubt. When he looked at me, I knew—I was his choice, not because he was told to make it, but because he wanted me, needed me.

In his eyes, I was not just a woman; I was the woman, the one who could match his fire with my own.

But life had always been cruel to Jace. It seemed as though the gods themselves took pleasure in denying him the happiness he deserved, casting obstacle after obstacle in his path.

From birth, he had been burdened with the expectations of his lineage, the whispers about his legitimacy, the constant reminder that despite his rightful claim to power, there were always those ready to question it.

His life had been a series of sacrifices, always doing what was expected, what was demanded.

And when it came to love, fate was no kinder.

It was not love or desire that would ultimately shape our paths—it was politics, a game played by those far removed from the human cost of their decisions.

I was promised to another before I could even comprehend what love truly meant.

To his uncle, Aegon.

Aegon, who was born with every privilege but none of the grace that should accompany it. Aegon, whose every action seemed to serve himself rather than the realm.

To him, I was just another acquisition, a pretty thing to claim and parade. He never tried to know me, never even bothered to see me as anything more than a symbol of power.

My hand in marriage was his prize, but my heart was something he would never possess.

How could he, when he didn't even attempt to understand the woman he had taken as his wife?

I would have endured it all—the cold indifference, the suffocating weight of being bound to someone I could never love—but now, I was trapped even deeper.

I was pregnant. Aegon's child. His legacy was growing inside me, sealing my fate forever.

The idea of it felt like chains tightening around my wrists, pulling me further into a life I had never wanted.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

The hall was brimming with life that night, yet it felt suffocating, like a cage woven from silk.

The air was thick, cloying with the scent of spiced wine and perfumed candles that clung to my skin like unwanted caresses.

Laughter bubbled around me, but it felt distant, muffled, as if I stood at the bottom of the sea, drowning in the weight of expectation.

Even the candlelight seemed dim, flickering uncertainly, like the fragile hope I still held onto. The low hum of courtiers sounded around me all gathered to celebrate Aegon's latest achievement.

A title bestowed upon him by the King himself, something hollow like "Lord of the Realm's Peace."

Everyone knew he was no bringer of peace. He had done nothing to earn the title except exist as the heir.

The court was filled with false praise, their cheers hollow, just as hollow as the man they celebrated.

Aegon stood there, basking in the adulation as if he had single-handedly won a great battle. His smirk stretched across his face as though he had conquered nations.

But all he had conquered was me—through politics, through duty.

I sat beside him, a hollow smile plastered on my face, though my heart was far from here. My hands rested protectively over my stomach, hiding the secret that only I knew.

I felt the subtle signs, the tightening of my ribs, the unspoken changes within me.

Soon enough, everyone would know. Soon enough, this prison I was already in would become one I could never escape.

My future was no longer my own, tied not just to Aegon, but to the child that grew within me.

"Another toast!" Aegon shouted, his voice thick with the slur of too much wine. "To my beautiful wife, who will no doubt give me a strong son—soon enough."

He winked at me, and the room erupted in laughter. I felt the eyes of the court on me, appraising, judging, already imagining the son that would be born of our union.

They had no idea of the storm inside me, the turmoil of being trapped in a life I despised.

My smile faltered, but I forced it back into place.

Across the table, Jace sat silently, his dark eyes burning into me. He hadn't touched his cup all evening, his hands clenched into fists as if trying to contain the fury he felt. He knew.

He had always been able to see through me, to sense the turmoil beneath the surface.

His anger simmered just beneath the surface, not just at Aegon, but at the fate that had brought us to this place, this moment, where the lives we had dreamt of were slipping further out of reach.

His gaze flickered to Aegon, then back to me. A question lingered there, unspoken but clear. How long will you let him claim you?

"Are you not pleased, my love?" Aegon leaned in close, his voice lowering in mock concern, though there was nothing genuine in his tone.

His fingers brushed my arm, cold and possessive, sending a shiver of revulsion through me. "You seem... distant tonight."

"Perhaps I haven't been giving you enough attention." His lips curled into a smirk, and I forced myself to meet his gaze, even though it took every ounce of strength not to flinch away.

His face was flushed from drink, the wine staining his lips, his eyes glazed over with self-satisfaction.

"I am tired," I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath. "It has been a long evening."

Aegon waved a dismissive hand. "Tired! You're always tired." His lips curled into a smirk.

"Perhaps you need more rest." He leaned in, his breath warm and sour against my ear. "Soon enough, you'll be resting plenty—with my heir in your belly."

The words sent a chill down my spine, and I had to swallow the bile that rose in my throat. He didn't know the truth yet, but he could feel it. The claim he would have over me, over my body, once the child was born.

There would be no escape then.

No more stolen moments with Jace, no more dreams of what might have been.

As the evening wore on, I found an opportunity to slip away. The hall had grown louder, the courtiers more raucous with drink and merriment.

I sought solace in the shadows, slipping out of the bustling crowd and toward the tall windows that overlooked the darkened gardens. I pressed a hand to my stomach, the life inside me already feeling like a prison.

The weight of it threatened to crush me, to drown me in despair.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Jace's voice came softly from behind me, but it cut through the silence like a blade.

I didn't turn to face him. I couldn't bear to see the anguish I knew was there.

"What was I supposed to say, Jace?" My voice trembled, betraying me. "That I am carrying the child of a man I hate? That I am trapped in this marriage forever?"

He stepped closer, his presence a storm at my back. "I would've taken you away," he said, his voice tight with emotion. "We could have left—before it was too late."

I finally turned to him, tears stinging my eyes. "And gone where? To what end? We would be hunted, disgraced. Aegon would never stop until he had us both dead."

I pressed a hand to my stomach, the gesture feeling like both a confession and a condemnation. "And now... there's no escape."

Jace's face contorted with rage, with grief. His fists clenched at his sides, and for a moment, I thought he might hit something or someone.

"This isn't how it was supposed to be," he muttered, his voice thick with pain. "You were supposed to be mine."

I stepped toward him, desperate to touch him, to feel the comfort I knew only he could provide, but I stopped myself.

Reality crashed down between us, a barrier I could never break. "I was yours, Jace. I still am, in every way that matters."

But his eyes darkened with bitterness. "But you carry his child. His blood will live inside you forever."

"I didn't choose this!" I cried, the words spilling out of me, hot and raw. "You think I don't hate it too? Every day, I lose a piece of the life we could have had. But what can I do? There's no way out now. I am bound to him, bound to this child, forever."

Jace's gaze flickered to my stomach, his expression torn between love and despair. "And what of the child? Do you even want it? Do you love it?"

The question struck me like a dagger.

I swallowed hard, trying to gather my thoughts, but the truth clawed at my throat, refusing to be silenced.

"I don't know," I admitted, my voice breaking. "How can I love something that represents everything I've lost?"

The silence between us stretched painfully, heavy with the weight of everything we could never say aloud.

Finally, Jace spoke again, his voice barely more than a whisper. "And Aegon... does he know? Does he know that you still dream of me, that you think of me every time he touches you?"

Tears spilt down my cheeks. "No. He's blind to it all. He thinks he owns me. But he doesn't know where my heart truly lies."

Jace's hand reached for mine, and for a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, we could still defy the odds. But before his fingers could touch mine, a sharp voice shattered the moment.

"There you are."

Aegon's voice, thick with drink, cut through the air like a blade. He approached us, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene.

Jace's hand still hovered near mine, and I saw the suspicion flare in Aegon's eyes. He smiled, but there was nothing kind in it.

"I was wondering where my wife had wandered off to," he said, his voice laced with malice. He wrapped his arm around my waist possessively, pulling me close.

His fingers dug into my skin, cold and possessive. "You've been talking to my nephew, I see."

I stiffened in his grasp, the air between us thick with unspoken tension. I opened my mouth to speak, to explain, but Aegon's laughter cut me off.

"No need to explain," he said, his tone mocking. "We're all family here, aren't we, Jace?"

Jace's eyes burned into mine, but his face remained impassive as he stepped back.

"Of course," he said, his voice strained. "I was merely congratulating your wife. She is... radiant tonight."

Aegon's smile widened, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "Radiant, indeed. And soon, she'll give me the son I've been waiting for."

His words were a death sentence.

They sealed my fate as surely as any chains could. And as Aegon led me back into the hall, his arm still wrapped around me, I glanced back at Jace one last time.

His eyes followed me, filled with a longing that mirrored my own. We were both trapped, prisoners of a world we had never wanted, bound by duty and blood.

And as I was pulled further into the crowd, I knew that the life I had dreamed of with Jace was lost forever.

But does he know you call me when he sleeps? But does he know the pictures that you keep? But does he know the reasons that you cry? Or tell me, does he know where your heart lies?

Where it truly lies.

A/n - Abel does things to me, his music is just 🤌🏼

[turn-my-hollow-purple]

Don't You Want Someone Crazy Like Me, Babe?

CALLING ALL ARCANE FANS! Here's a CaitVi slowburn I'm working on on Ao3 so go check it out on there (tagged), this is just the first chapter :)

cw: swearing, mental health issues (eating disorders, self harm), alcohol/drug addiction/abuse

Two years? Two whole years. Isn’t that insane? Vi finds herself thinking as she feels the warm rush of water against her pale skin. She swipes the back of her hand along her face, pushing the beads of water off her body. Her delicate fingers wrap tightly along the handle of the shower and push it off shut quickly. The abrupt feeling of cold air against her skin causes a bitter sensation to erupt along her body, goosebumps decorating her skin.

She shivers, shaking her head slightly, letting the water spray from her pinkish hair. She wraps a towel along her body, covering only a slight portion of her figure. It hangs loosely off her soft skin, clinging to the wet curve of muscles along her body. As she walks past the mirror to exit the bathroom, she catches a glimpse at her body and cringes slightly, hating watching her own figure.

Vi exits the bathroom and is greeted by the loud banging of hyperpop music from Powder’s room across the hall. Vi bangs a hand on her door and rolls her eyes.

“KEEP IT DOWN, I DON’T WANT ANOTHER NOISE COMPLAINT!” she yells to her sister. She doesn’t receive a response which isn’t surprising, but Vi gives up, grumbling as she makes her way to her own room.

She drops the towel lazily on the ground and pulls out a pair of gray sweat pants that are coated in various markings… dust, grime, paint. She slips those on and finds a loose fitting, cropped, black tank top. Her nipples poke against the soft fabric as she runs a brush through her messy hair.

It’s grown out to a lengthy mullet, creeping halfway down her back and strands of her hair are painted black in contrast to the brightness of the pink color of her hair. Vi sits on the edge of her bed and realizes only now that she hasn’t slept through a whole night in the two years it's been. Her phone lights up on the ground next to her towel and she shoots up and rushes to it. It’s just a message from Jayce… not the message she wanted.

It’s the group chat with her, Jayce, and Viktor called “Hexual Tension”

Hammerhead: vi, when u work next Knuckles: ??? Knuckles: which job dumbass? Clockwork: I believe he is referring to your job as a bouncer at the club downtown, Vi. Knuckles: alright hexpert Knuckles: why? Hammerhead: we wanted to visit u Knuckles: professor v wanted to visit me? Clockwork: Jayce asked if I would accompany him to your work and I happily obliged. I told him it is like a date. Knuckles: with hundreds of other people Knuckles: and me Hammerhead: long time no see Vi Knuckles: I know I miss y’all too Knuckles: I work tomorrow from 8 to 1 am Clockwork: Perfect, we will see you then.

Vi flicks her phone closed and sighs. It’s been awhile since she’s seen those dumbasses and as much as she doesn’t want to be bothered, she does miss them.

She jumps at the sound of a knock on her bedroom door. “Come in,” she calls out.

Powder peeks her head inside. “Can I come in?”

Vi just nods and scoots over on the bed to make more room for her sister, but rather she sprawls herself out on the ground instead of the bed. Vi just huffs.

“What’s up?”

“I know it’s the two year anniversary,” she whispers, her eyes glued to the ceiling. Her blue hair is messy, falling on the ground with strands across her pale face.

“I don’t need your pity, Powder,” Vi mumbles.

“Hey, street name, dumbie,” she grunts out.

“Sorry, Jinx,” Vi subconsciously corrects, not quite used to her sister’s new ‘street persona’.

“I’m not here to give you pity, just make sure you’re okay, that’s all,” she whispers, turning over on the hardwood floor and facing upwards at Vi sitting on the bed.

“I’ve… been better,” Vi finds herself admitting quietly.

“It’s been two years and-”

“-don’t expect me to get over it after two years,” Vi bites.

“Not what I was going to say,” Jinx informs, flicking her finger in the air disapprovingly. “I was going to say… it’s been two years and I haven’t seen you take care of yourself once or process it properly once and I’m not sure… that’s just not good.”

“You’re not exactly the queen of taking care of herself,” Vi informs, her eyebrows cocking slightly.

Jinx laughs loudly, an outburst that catches Vi off guard. “You’re not wrong… I have anxiety and an eating disorder and I blast my ears with music so I don’t hear the voices. But you… you have depression and anger issues and hurt your body physically.”

“I’m not proud of it, alright. I’m just saying I don’t think you’re one to speak on healthy behaviors.”

Jinx shrugs, turning onto her back again, eyes darting across the ceiling as if they’re searching desperately for something, perhaps an answer to a question that underlies Vi's words.

“I didn’t mean to bother you, just trying to be a good sis,” she says quietly.

Vi feels a sharp pain in her stomach and scrunches her nose up tightly at those words. “I’m sorry, Po-Jinx. I’m just processing everything. First love and first heartbreak are hard.”

“Especially since you’re gay.”

Vi makes a scowling face, shooting daggers at her sister, who doesn’t even look in Vi’s direction, but bursts out in a fit of giggles again.

“Yeah, okay, especially since I’m gay. But it’s just been hard when she was… my whole life, I suppose.”

Jinx just nods, her fingers dancing across her skin as she allows the tingles to fuel her body, letting her know that she’s breathing and thinking and alive. The cool wood of the floor helps. Jinx tilts her head ever so slightly in Vi’s direction and her lips tug into a small frown.

“Sorry,” she chirps.

Vi just shrugs. “I’m going to be fine. I just can’t believe you remembered it’s been two years.”

“How could I forget?” she whispers, her lips teasing upwards slightly. “You hadn’t spoken to me in years and you just appeared on my doorstep like a wet dog.”

“I know, not my finest moment. Dad died and I got fucked up and I’m sorry again.”

“Stop apologizing for it, dammit,” Jinx hisses, hating to relive their past trauma and mistakes.

Vi bites the inside of her cheek, feeling the same pang in her stomach at the discussion of past wounds. “But I’m glad I’m here.”

“Me too,” Jinx whispers. “Work tomorrow?”

“Both jobs, yeah. You?”

“Yup, both as well,” Jinx whistles out, a soft sound that has a childlike tone to it.

Vi just laughs slightly. “Glad you call what you do work.”

“I make money!” she informs, offense written across her face.

“Legally?”

“Money’s money!” she yelps, pressing her palms into the cold wood to help push herself up so she’s sitting upright and looking at Vi directly.

Vi just shakes her head and laughs. “Just giving you a hard time. And don’t get caught, alright?”

Jinx offers a mimicking salute as she stands up and bows, making her way to the door. She swings it open and lunges through it.

Vi’s voice cuts through the door before she can shut it. “Turn your techno-ass music down so we don’t get a damn noise complaint again, alright?”

Jinx rolls her eyes but smiles, the door open barely half an inch as she whispers “no promises!” through it.

Vi watches the door shut all the way and she finds her body collapse fully on the bed. Her dark room glows slightly in the low light of the lantern sitting in the corner. She doesn’t bother with overhead lights often as it costs more for the electricity bill. She contorts her body until her hand scrambles against the floor under her bed. Her fingers brush against the cold glass of a beer bottle that she pulls out and presses against her cracked, scarred lips. She shifts her hand under the covers of her messy bed and she finds her vape. She also brings this to her destroyed lips, breathing in the taste.

She blows it out in a low breath, her lungs deflating completely, leaving her weak. The room fills with the scent of blue raspberry and it’s stupid, but it reminds her of-

Vi tosses her vape across the room. It hits the wall and then the ground with a loud bam! sound and she hears the pieces of it scatter across the wooden floor. She hisses under her breath, regretting the mistake but not bothering to clean up the newly made mess.

The beer bottle finds its way back to her lips and she consumes the tart liquid. It coats her tongue and her throat, encapsulating her entire body in a way that turns her mind fuzzy and numb.

Vi can’t help but think it’s also been two years since she hasn’t been either high or drunk.

Her body sinks into her old mattress and she lets her muscles relax, feeling the coursing alcohol throughout her veins, fueling her body and her mind, leading her to exhaustion.

════❖════

Only the holy lord above knows how long Vi’s alarm has been blaring for. That is if there is a holy lord above.

Her head is pounding and she feels sick to her stomach, a sour feeling pulsing in her body. She lets her hand search her hand blindly search her bed for her phone, searching for an escape to the loud sounds that make her hangover worse. She gives up quickly and pulls herself out of bed, realizing it’s on the floor.

“Motherfucker!” she swears loudly, realizing the time. “I’m so fucking late-”

It’s already 11:30 am and she realizes that she had a class that started 45 minutes ago. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she cusses under her breath as she messily runs a hand through her long hair, not bothering to straighten or brush it.

She also doesn’t bother changing, just grabbing her shoes and her boxing gloves, along with her wraps and a water bottle.

“BYE!” she screams loudly as she darts out of the small apartment that she shares with Jinx. Vi doesn’t get a response from her sister, which isn’t surprising. She’s probably still asleep.

Vi sprints about four blocks to the small little boxing studio in the middle of the downtown area, bursting through the door, panting and scared.

Her boss stumbles over to her… his face does not look amused.

“The fuck you doing here so late. Someone had to take care of your class,” he shoots bitterly.

Vi’s lips quake as she attempts to breathe properly, to fill her lungs with the air required to talk and communicate with her boss. She scrunches her nose and rests her hands on her knees.

“I’m so sorry I had an issue at home and-”

“Not interested. Go take your class back,” he demands.

Vi straightens herself out, pulling her tape out to bandage up her wrists and put her gloves on.

“Oh, and Vi?” he quips as she’s rushing to one of the back rooms. “You’re late one more time, you’re fired,” he hisses.

She nods, her eyes stinging. She’s exhausted and worn out but she has a class to teach. She bursts through the door and notices all the young kids practicing with their sub. She plasters a smile on her face and waves at the kids. They giggle with excitement as they notice her and she tries not to deflate instantly.

“Sorry about that, guys! I’m here for the rest of your class. How was the sub? Shall we practice some kicks too?”

════❖════

“Morning, baby,” Maddie whispers, turning over and pressing a kiss against Caitlyn’s cheek.

Caitlyn is staring numbly at the ceiling. “Morning,” she whispers, her British accent thick with exhaustion.

“Ah yes, still cranky until you get your coffee.” Maddie attempts to make the joke to lighten the room, but Caitlyn doesn’t crack. “I’ll go make some when you get ready for work, yeah?”

Caitlyn just nods, her eyes closing and opening in slow, drawn out blinks. Maddie crawls from the bed, naked. She dawns a robe as she exits the room to fix Caitlyn some coffee and food before work.

Caitlyn pulls herself from bed a few beats later, fully clothed. Her face is cold and emotionless as she stumbles to her closet, pulling out a uniform-type look. Her high waisted trousers hug her ass and thighs tightly, constricting her slightly, but she doesn’t mind. Her nimble fingers make their way up the button’s of her dark colored shirt. She slips on her boots and an overcoat.

She finds herself in her bathroom. She’s a mess; her hair is dark with sweat and grease and is tossed in every direction except down. Her face is dark and smudged with makeup from the night before. She tosses cool water against her face in an attempt to wake her up and wash away the remnants of her makeup. She brushes her hair with her delicate fingers, pulling it into a high ponytail. Some of her strands are defiant, sticking out in erratic waves.

She stumbles into the kitchen.

“You look lovely,” Maddie chirps, handing her a cup of coffee.

“I wear this every day, Maddie, and I’m not wearing makeup today and my hair’s an outright disaster.” Her voice is harsh… harsher than she intended.

“It’s okay, babe, you still look amazing,” Maddie pleads.

Caitlyn exhales sharply, taking a long sip of her coffee, letting the bitter liquid wake her up as it hits her taste buds. “Thank you,” she finally whispers out after a few minutes.

Maddie just nods. “Be safe today.”

“I always am,” she informs, grabbing her car keys.

Maddie leans in for a kiss before Caitlyn leaves, but Cait dodges it, letting Maddie’s small lips plant against Caitlyn’s cheek. “Bye,” Maddie hums as Caitlyn leaves.

Unfortunately, Caitlyn’s entire drive she isn’t thinking about the rules of the road or what the day at work is going to look like, which is very unlike her.

Rather, her mind is plagued with thoughts of Vi. Yesterday was the anniversary of their two year break up and man, did that day wreck Caitlyn. She honestly hadn’t even realized it until she was almost home from work that night but it ruined the rest of her day. The bitterness and contempt she held for her fiance because of it was awful, but she couldn’t help it. It's not as if it wasn’t all her fault, but it didn’t matter. She missed her so bad and she regretted everything.

But it was too late to fix the mess she’d created, so why not let it be… let the mess sit? She wasn’t proud of that mentality, but it is out of her hands, for better or for worse.

Caitlyn parks her car, her head pounding as she realizes she doesn’t even remember arriving here; how she got here and everything. But she slips her badge on the belt of her pants and stumbles towards the police station. Being a detective is hard, but what better way to take her mind off of a broken heart?

But fuck, did she miss Vi.

[the-one-and-only-taffie]

AHHHHHHHHHHH

Yeah, the two endlessly go back and forth about the advice White tries to give and Sentinel ignoring them because he's the King of Iacon. Why of all bots should he listen to someone who isn't even a bot? She ruled an empire once but gave it up for (what he believes to be) dumb reasons. Why bother?

Of course, White Diamond would feel out of place in Cybertron. The cultural and social practices are different. The language is completely foreign to her. She already struggles enough to relate to her own people, so trying to connect to sentient transforming car robots is practically impossible. Although the bots are kind and patient with White, she knows its only out of respect for their beloved leader. She feels very out of place and isolated even when she's by Sentinel's side, and he tries to make her feel more comfortable for the sake of her literally not being blue all the time. She has tried striking conversation with Airachnid, but she either doesn't acknowledge her or outright says she's under no obligation to speak with her. Airachnid straight up doesn't like White. This'll be elaborated upon in a future post.

For the rules thing, I imagine one of them is not interacting with the miners unless it's for an event or something. White suggests holding a party just for them to show their appreciation for their hard work, and Sentinel laughs. He doesn't see the point and jokingly remarks they'd drag dirt and grime everywhere and ruin all the beautifully polished banquet halls. White simply says they could wash the miners, and Sentinel says that wasn't his point. White argued that in the past, she did not see the point in celebrating the accomplishments of or showing appreciation towards the laboring gems because that was their job. What they were expected to do. They were not owed anything for doing the purpose they were literally made to perform. But she's learned that anyone, regardless of their social standing, deserves to be given their dues. If not, they'll feel unappreciated and then forget to appreciate themselves. White giving voice to the little gem strikes again! Sentinel looks at her like she said a Unicronic incantation and tells her that isn't happening. He doesn't like the idea that White would become more popular among the miners if she were to actively spend time with them. He also doesn't want her to witness or hear about how they're treated by the Transformers and upperclasses.

But yeah. Everything White suggests would go in one audial and out the other when it comes to Sentinel. He believes he knows what's best for Iacon compared to a literal alien, so he never takes her seriously and makes that very clear. White despises being ignored like this. Then she's has an epiphany. Was this was how she treated Pink? Of course, it was significantly more cruel and abusive, but progress is progress.

White making little crystal friends. Please. My heart. I remember how Steven brought a pebble to life with his own diamond essence/sweat in the episode Familiar. I wonder if that could work for White, maybe she accidentally created them out of loneliness. I'll have to do more research regarding that. Sentinel would hate them and view them as little pests. He can't release them either. That'd cause a stir. So he let's her keep them until she has to leave for one reason or another. He insists on her taking them all with her. White obliges, but she does miss a few which Sentinel tasks Airachnid to, uh, deal with them. Luckily, they're a lot more slippery than she thought, and White briefly returns to pick them up. Sentinel and his right servo femme pretend they didn't just try to shatter them 10 seconds ago.

Is a headcanon of a headcanon any less canon? Lmao good ending Prime Diamond is cursed to me cause niether of the goobers deserve it, in my humble opinion. But it is cute. Sentinel being the one to put his pride aside for the sake of maintaining the peace instead of White having to do that 24/7 (at least the best she can). He listens to her advice cause he's that curious to see how it'd pan out, mostly to prove her wrong if it doesn't. Then he realizes wait... listening to gf is??? Good??? Lo and behold, he begins to genuinely respect her. Imagining White and Sentinel growing to genuinely love each other and treat each other better despite their flaws... only to have it literally torn away from them. MUAH HA HA HA HA. Hilarious.

Anyway, White fighting the Quintessons hmmmm.... Idk how White would do in a fight cause she isn't a warrior. That's more Yellow Diamond's forte. Her weapon of choice is her words, but chances are the Quintessons aren't the most open to diplomacy unless its tons of energon neatly wrapped with a bow. I don't even know how her diamond powers could affect beings that aren't gems. It would be cool seeing her beat their asses though, and Sentinel definitely would not complain.

And Sentinel and White calling each other "My Prime" and "My Diamond" respectively... I'm using that. Thanks for the idea!

Back with more White Diamond x Sentinel Prime crackship nonsense baby!!!

Ever since I first thought about these goobers, I haven't known a single day of peace (mostly cause the ideas are just racking around in my brain)

So here's a list of headcanons I came up with for Prime Diamond! If you have any questions regarding this ship, my ask box is open. Double if you have any thoughts or anything to add, go on ahead! I hope y'all enjoy!

I may make a part 2 when I come up with more lol

For this relationship to even be possible (as possible as a crackship between two characters from completely different franchises can be), it will have to take place Post-Steven Universe Finale/Future when White Diamond is in her therapy, self-help guru era. And when Sentinel Prime is... alive.

Also, I have been trying to do research regarding this but since the results are so inconsistent, I'm gonna assume White Diamond is around 80 to 90 ft tall and Sentinel is around 60 (based on how he's double Orion Pax's height and apparently TF One Orion is around 33 ft tall). If you know their actual canonical heights or anything close to that, please lemme know!

As mentioned in a reblog, White Diamond would take an interest in Sentinel Prime as a sort of little DIY project. Though he tries to hide it, White with her supernatural intuitiveness can tell there's more to him than meets the eye (he's an asshole). Having been inspired by Steven to see the worth and beauty in imperfections, she wants to give someone like Sentinel a chance like Steven did for her. Though she is making genuine strides to improve upon her previous controlling and obsessive behavior regarding perfection, this aspect of her will resurface in her attempts "fix" Sentinel while in a relationship with him. She adores and finds much interest in his "positive imperfections," but helping him improve on his more negative ones wouldn't hurt, right?

Other reasons she developed an attraction to him is for the same reason all the Sentinel fangirls did: he's just so... pathetic. When he tries to impress her with stories of battles he's never fought in and gives her a tour of his treasure room full of artifacts he didn't discover, she can tell he's trying way too hard to impress her. She finds this cute and charming rather than douchey and desperate.

Sentinel Prime pursued her because, as stated in a previous reblog, "his diva ass was always going to try and seek out a gem fit for a king." He laid his eyes on an 80-90 ft giant alien rock woman and thought,"I need her." As any sane person would. She was supposed to be nothing more than another symbol of wealth for him to show off to the other elites and officials of Iacon City to further cement the royal image he works so hard to maintain. He definitely underestimated how overwhelming White Diamond can be, and I am not just referring to her height.

Sentinel would rather have his spark be extinguished than admit to this, but his stabilizing servos get wobbly at the idea of his alien girlfriend being so much taller than he is. His pride would never admit to this, nor would it accept someone taller than him accompanying him. He believes that as a "Prime," he is supposed to be much taller, bigger, and more imposing than those around them.

Whenever they make a public appearance, Sentinel insists that White shrink herself to a height more tolerable for his fragile ego. He bullshits an excuse about their buildings not being designed for a being as tall as she is. White obliges, but given how Iacon was built when the previous actual Primes were all gigantic and alive, she quickly figures his lie and confronts him about it. He'd just lie again and say he didn't want the other Cybertronians to be intimidated... by her beauty. Clearly, it's not because of some Napolean complex or something. Still, White in her patience era takes the compliment for what it is.

The "guy who doesn't like speeches" vs. "professional yapper" isn't a joke. Sentinel can't stand how much White Diamond loves to yap. She's the kind of person to have thoughts and opinions about anything and everything. Given that she doesn't breathe, she doesn't even need to catch her breath in the middle of speaking, so she can go on and on and on, much to Sentinel's annoyance.

He tries to get her to quiet down at times, but as White tends to do, she either doesn't hear him or straight up ignores him. Her monologuing, along with her height and just how shiny she is, is very overwhelming for Sentinel at times. The only good thing he finds about this aspect of his sweetspark is when she dotes on him and showers him with compliments and attention. As if a attention hungry fame whore needed any more of it.

Sentinel even allows White to indulge in her psychoanalysis, playing up the whole "tragic hero whose brothers and sisters perished in battle and now has to face the pain and weight of protecting his people alone" that she eats up. White does sometimes hit dangerously close to home, so Sentinel shuts her down before she could dig straight to bedrock and uncover the more unfavorable parts of himself he wants to stay hidden.

Speaking of staying hidden, the way White carries herself in public makes Sentinel was to keep her locked away in a jewelry box. White is excellent when it comes to using her words to inflict psychic damage or to build someone up. When it comes to social situations where charisma, relatability, and poise are needed, this is when White is at her most alien. She is not the most socially adjusted given that prior to the finale, she spent thousands of years hidden away in a world of her own delusions. She doesn't have much of a filter, something she has been working on to avoid upsetting offending others.

She has the habit of pointing out any interesting thing that catches her eye, especially about people, whether or not it's positive or negative. This has led to her unsettling the bots at best or offending them at worst. Sentinel then has to come in and use his charisma to difuse the situation and paint her behavior in a more positive light. Only for White to turn around and ask everyone if they ever noticed how Sentinel's wings move in accordance to his mood and how adorable it is. Everyone laughs. Sentinel is thoroughly pissed.

Sentinel definitely has more relationship experience than White Diamond. All of her knowledge comes from what she's heard from the gems that come to her for her advice or from that human show the little green Crystal Gem recommended (she can't remember her name). In her attempts to emulate the behavior of what she's heard of and observed, she ends up coming off as cringe at best or detached from reality. At certain points of the relationship, she even imposes certain "deadlines" on courtship behaviors she expects from Sentinel. All his previous relationships were private, casual flings. He only made this one public because bagging a bad bitch like White Diamond is an accomplishment he felt he had to show off.

This may come to bite him in the aft when her radiance catches the attention of other bots. On these occasions, he acts possessive and showers her with attention, gifts, and affection. He tells himself and Airachnid it's because he doesn't want her to outshine him in the eyes of the public. In reality, he gets jealous and doesn't want to lose her interest and, most importantly, her attention. As overwhelming and embarrassing as she can get, a twisted part of him really craves her attention.

In private, Sentinel can flip flop greatly in how he treats White. On some days he leans on her for support and wants her to pet his wings while he vents about all the dumb, annoying bots he has to fraternize with and all the boring meetings he has to attend. White occasionally interrupts him with advice or her own views on the situation, which frustrates Sentinel. On other days, he's completely detached, not even bothering to give her the time of day. He is at his most consistently sweet and romantic when they're both in the public eye, performing grand gestures of love. This intensifies when they're on camera.

They present themselves as THE Iacon couple, but Sentinel and White argue a lot about pretty much anything. More often than not, White is trying to advise him on how to improve himself and his city, and Sentinel kindly tells her to shut up and mind her own business.

They are both very prideful people who can't accept when they are wrong. White is more willing than Sentinel to admit to it and compromise. If she believes she is 100% in the right, she won't go down without a verbal fight. She has yet to figure out how to properly counter Sentinel's "NUH UH!" though. She believes this is normal and healthy as she hears time and time again how arguments are a sign of a functional relationship. White knows how in the past she never allowed anyone to express their grievances or criticize her. If they did, she'd twist their words to further force her own viewpoint or take control over their mind and body. Seeing Sentinel passionately argue back while White practices her listening skills and only sometimes speaks over him gives her hope that she isn't regressing back to her previous toxicity. No one has told her that disagreements are healthy and normal, but frequent fights and arguments are not. And the kind of hellish circles these two go in just ain't it

[erisolkat]

lord save me from cis lesbians

[nocturne-of-illusions]

hieee i got the first of the higu novelizations written with kanji (+ furi) a grade schooler could understand JKJAKLSD!!!! i'm gonna study with it!! just set up anki and everything. might mess around with anki while (re)reading some alice, try to learn some more basic kanji through that so i can avoid having to ocr / manually enter them for flashcards while reading the higu novel... but... super excited! i can already read the first bern poem w/o help which was a nice little ego boost <3

(cw talking about today in the tags, and while this year was Better, i do describe past xmases broadly. so Family Shit + mentions of heavy drinking.)

[jwooyoung]

idk why I put so much effort into doing things for my mother for mother's day when I know for a fact she won't appreciate it and also I don't even fucking like her lmao

[thrasherella]

Going from a human boyfriend that only eats you out out of obligation and isn’t really into it to a Werewolf Boyfriend who gets so excited about being able to eat you out that he’ll go for hours if you let him and he’s rock hard the entire time.

Yes, he wants to fuck you of course, but you taste so fucking sweet it’s hard to tear himself away.

...

"Wait!" she cried out, panting as she tried to catch her breath, face incredibly hot as a telltale crimson flush overtook her cheeks. He paused, looking up at her from between her thighs, the way he was making those puppy dog eyes at her driving her crazy. "I..." she hesitated, biting at her lower lip softly and breaking their eye contact; oh Christ this is so embarrassing...

"My last boyfriend, aahhh...heeee said that I, um, I don't taste good--" she could feel her voice staring to get choked up in her throat as the tears welled and threatened to spill down her cheeks, but before she could say another word his mouth was on her, and she gasped sharply, head falling back as his tongue drove straight into her soft walls, lapping at the arousal already dripping from her.

"What a fucking loser," he muttered into her, his hot breath causing her to shiver. "You taste like a piece of fucking candy...so sweet..." he gave a long, low moan as his tongue returned to her tight cunt, his cock swollen and dripping, begging for his attention, but he ignored his own needs for now. There would be plenty of time to stretch this pretty pink hole around his dick later; right now there was a feast to be had...

Her mind turned to static as he made out with her pussy, a symphony of ambrosial tones cascading from her lips; it was music to his ears. She hadn't known that this could feel so good, her blood running molten hot as his tongue plundered and tasted her relentlessly, pushing so deep he bumped up against her cervix, making her gasp and twitch; sharp teeth occasionally raking against her sensitive clit, her hips rolling and bucking as she squirmed beneath him deliciously. Chris had only ever put in the minimal effort when it came to eating her, acting like it was such a bothersome chore; this was like being worshipped, his lips taking full advantage of her, tongue filling her completely, those sharp, dangerous teeth testing her skin gently, lightning dancing along her spine as he threatened to break her skin but never did. She hoped she would bare his bruises tomorrow...

He let out little whimpers and groans that only fueled the wildfire that was raging out of control within her core, sucking her soft skin delicately, growling and grinding himself into the mattress in wonderfully agonizing anticipation.

He made her cum so many times she couldn't keep count; clawed fingers of one hand rubbing her swollen and throbbing clit until she was practically screaming, the other hand reaching up to tease and pinch her hardened nipples. She was unable to think as she came over and over against his mouth, onto his hand, soaking his face and the bedsheets with her sweet juices.

He desperately tried to lap up every last drop...

[marcepanowapani]

.

[monicahar]

“my wife.”

how they address you. why does it make your heart skip a beat each time?

characters; neuvillette, wriothesley

—female pronouns obvi, aaaa this is so random😭 fluff, tad bit of crack, has suggestive themes/dirty jokes cause that's my humor in general, just tryna get into writing again heehaa don't mind me ʘ⁠‿⁠ʘ

NEUVILETTE always accompanies the term with unmatched affection. it rolls off his tongue perfectly like a match made in heaven, coupled with the serene image of you instantaneously appearing in his mind before he even thinks of the uttering the endearing term. he still finds it surreal that you are both even lawfully married, yet the way he calls you his wife is already on instinct. is it too presumptuous of him?

well, in the end, he can't find any means to worry about it when you seem to equally adore the nickname.

“ooohh, say it again, say it again!”

he can't tell whether he married a child or not, but he still obliges your request and calls you his wife affectionately once more.

meanwhile, furina nearly gags everytime she hears him say it so softly—like using any other tone when referring to you would land him in the hands of the fortress of meropide. sure—she might've been the one who set up both of you—but the drama and thrill akin to watching a romance film has delightfully ended, and she can only meddle so much in marital matters. the iudex just might actually have her head in a platter if she were to do anything mischievous at that point.

but while a happy neuvillette is running around announcing 'my wife' this and 'my wife' that, you are currently stuck on what to call him in return, sadly enough.

“at this point, i think i'm just going to call you daddy.”

it was unfortunate with the way he choked on some of the water he was drinking—well, thank goodness he didn't spill much as before. for this wasn't the first time you said something unprompted while he was in peace with his water—he can only internally sigh.

“and what exactly has influenced you to arrive at such a conclusion, my wife?” he does not miss the tiny shudder of your body that followed the endearment. your face burns a tad bit at that, and he softly chuckles.

“your effect on me is no joke, you know?” you pout at his amused smile, “the way you refer to me so sweetly makes me want to call you my dearest husband everytime.”

“i don't recall voicing any complaints. is something else holding you back from doing so?”

you nod solemnly in agreement at that, which prompts him to raise a brow in mild curiousity.

“thing is, i really like calling you by your first name. same with monsieur neuvilette. there's something mildly erotic within it—you get what i mean, hehehe...” he only stares at you, clearly unimpressed, and a bit concerned at the implication. you clear your throat, apologizing under your breath.

“still—it's such a devastating predicament to be unable to choose between the three.” you sigh defeatedly, moving to slump your entire weight on his lap. you mutter, “my dearest husband monsieur neuvillette...mmm, no, that's too long.”

chuckling at your dramatic antics, he plants a soothing hand on your waist, the other fixing your wrinkled clothing as you practically melt against his hold. “and you thought settling on daddy was the appropriate option?”

“i'm not hearing any objections.” you jest, feeling cheeky.

“please refrain from calling me such a thing in the eyes of the public atleast.”

“...huh? you're actually allowing it??”

WRIOTHESLEY on the other hand, says it as if he's flaunting. it leaves his lips like a taunt each time, indirectly telling the other party 'i have a hot wife and you dont' even though most of the time the people he mentions you to don't even know what you actually look like. it's silly, childish even, but you still love it nonetheless.

sigewinne and the other inmates have collectively told you that ever since you got married, he has never uttered your actual name to anyone else. some find it weird, some find it somehow disrespectful, and some are now convinced he's crazily obsessed with you, and now he's showing it off every chance he gets, much to everyone's dismay.

it's arrived to the point where a small percentage of people have actually forgotten about your name, and now refer to you as the duke's wife, or even duchess, to which you made a face at. that's kind of pushing it by then.

anywho, in the end, it's funny and endearing, maybe even makes you a bit giddy, but there is no way you're telling him that. the situation might escalate even more if possible.

“you know, my wife is very mean to me today.”

as a pair of strong yet gentle arms wrap around your waist, you resist the growing smile on your face, deciding to mess with your husband for a bit.

“is that so?” you continue your chores without a care in the world. he huffs.

“mhm. she won't look me in the eye the whole day, even though she seemed sooo happy last night.” face instantly burning, you hiss as you slap his arm in a fit of embarrassment, pulling a hearty chuckle from the man behind you.

“—and now she's hitting me as well. i can't believe this.” you both know very well he was not fazed in the slightest bit.

“if her husband wasn't such a pervert then maybe—”

his facade cracks as he forces out an awkward laugh, “hey now, baby, you know i'm nothing like that.”

“wriothesley.”

he clears his throat awkwardly, “okay, maybe a little. it's exclusive for you though! my wife doesn't have to be so mean about it, you're making me reallyyy sad here, y'know?”

there it is again, you think. that nickname. that damned word that makes you want to turn around and smash your lips against his and—wait, hold yourself together! don't forget the reason you're being cold to him!

“you deserve to feel remorse. i've been struggling to even move the whole day because of you.”

you go rigid.

you didn't mean for that to come out so bitter...oh no.

“oh. so that's what this is about.” you don't even have to turn around to know that there's a smug look on his stupidly handsome face, his grip on your waist turning into soothing circles as he presses a kiss to your neck.

“if my wife wanted a massage, she could've just said so.” it's husky when it leaves his mouth, leaving you to shiver with the chills he enunciates.

flustered, you completely disregard the way your knees buckle at the endearment laced with that low voice of his, hitting his arm once more, earning a tiny 'ouch' from him.

“pervert. i want rest, not another round!”

“heh, i didn't say anything about another round, my perverted wife.”

“you—” you are abrupt cut off as you yelp in surprise when your feet are raised off the ground, your face now much closer to your husband's as he carries you gently in his arms.

“shhh, just let me take you to bed. if my wife was feeling terrible the whole day, she should've just told me in the first place so she could stay in, don't you think?”

he's right, but you're still angry. “shut up.”

“just letting you know i'm not completely at fault, wife.” you attempt to ignore the furious beating of your heart, face burning at his smug expression. “i'm not the only one who wanted it.”

hsr version...? if i feel like it...🤔🤔

[softspiderling]

est-ce que tu m’aimes? | j.v

summary:

“I am sorry, I-“ you pulled the door open, but to your surprise, you came face to face with the source of your sorrows.

“Jace,” you spoke, voice even, crossing your arms over your chest. “Have you come to throw some more insults? Maybe some at me this time?”

Jace clenched his jaw, his hand on the goddamned sword again. Was he itching to take your head off so badly?

OR; Jace’s reaction truly confuses you, you settle in at Dragonstone and a surprising addition to the team makes themselves known.

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x reader, platonic!daeron targaryen x reader

warnings: Jace being a little mean (we all know he’s capable of it)

word count: 5,6k

author’s note: yoooo pt. 2 is finally here!! i hope you love it sm!!! pls don’t forget to reblog/leave comments etc if you liked it!!!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“I cannot believe you would let her waltz into our home like that! She’s putting all of us in danger!”

In less than two days, you were sat outside a study as a heated argument about you took place behind closed doors. It was merely a coincidence that it was within the same family.

After Jace had stormed into the council room, meeting you with open hostility, Rhaenerya had asked you to give them some privacy. You had barely left the room before Jace had started spitting ill words about you.

“She saved me, Jace!”

“What if this is some plot for her to put herself in our midst and feed information back to King’s Landing?”

“Was she not residing in Oldtown with Daeron ever since we left for Dragonstone? It is doubtful she has been let in on the plans to usurp the throne.”

Jace let out a frustrated groan and it was silent for a few moments before Rhaenyra spoke again.

“It seems to me you have a different issue with her… Is it because you have feelings for her?”

Your breath stocked in your throat, your hand stilling against the door. Jace’s behavior towards you confused you deeply. It seemed like he harbored resentment, but you weren’t sure when it had started, when you had suddenly become a traitor in his eyes, instead of a friend.

“Don’t be ridiculous, mother.”

The way Jace scoffed hurt you more than ten daggers in your back, and you pressed your lips together, refusing to let the words of a man affect you.

“I only wish to protect you.”

Swallowing thickly, your hands balled into fists and you jumped back when the door suddenly opened, a knight gesturing for you to step in.

Hesitantly, you entered the room, the tensions still high and you looked at Jace, but he refused to meet your eyes, turning his head away.

Rhaenyra on the other hand stepped up you, taking your hand in hers, cradling it gently.

“I will never be able to repay the debt,” she said in a soft voice, her eyes warm. “You saved my son, even though you weren’t obligated to do it. For that, I will offer you a place here, at Dragonstone, and a place in my council, if you wish to take it.”

“Mother!-“

Rhaenyra ignored Jace’s protest, her voice unwavering. “I believe your insight into our enemies will give us an advantage to win this war.”

“I do not wish to cause a drift between you,” you said honestly. “If Jace does not wish for me to stay-“

“It is not his place,” Rhaenyra said and Jace only scoffed. You fought the urge to glare at him, you didn’t want to antagonize him even further.

“Thank you, your Grace,” you said, lowering your head. “I would very much like to stay.”

Frankly, you wouldn’t know where to go, had Rhaenyra not offered for you to stay, you weren’t sure what expected you, would you return to King’s Landing; it surely wouldn’t go over well.

“And the seat on the council?”

You pressed your lips together. It was an honor, an offer like that, but you could tell Jace wanted you to say no with the way he was looking at you when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

“May I think about it?”

“Of course,” Rhaenyra said, squeezing your hand. “Ser Lorent, escort the Lady to her chambers. I think the ones in the West Wing will be fitting.”

Ser Lorent bowed, before gesturing his arm out to you. “My Lady, if you please follow me.”

You bowed your head to Rhaenyra, turning to leave, but just before you stepped over the threshold of the room, you glanced back. Luke gave you a small smile, but Jace had turned his back to you again. You tried not to let it go to your head, but your mind was racing with questions after Ser Lorent had dropped you off in your chambers.

The sun was shining through the windows when you awoke the next day. You had chosen to take supper in your chambers the night before, trying to give Jace some space. There had been no maid to wake you, so it must still be early. A loud clang of swords floated up from outside and you wrapped a robe around your shoulders as you got out of the bed, glancing out the window.

It turned out that your chambers laid directly above the training grounds, where Jace and Luke were currently in the middle of training. It was nice to see Jace without a scowl on his face for a change, and you took the opportunity to look at him.

He had grown into a very fine Prince, his hair long, curling around his face, his cheekbones high. You had always known he’d grow up to be very handsome. It was hard to imagine he’s the same boy who had told you to write to him every day.

Now, he hadn’t spoken to you a single word after his agitated discussion with his mother.

“Lift your sword up higher when you are in offense, but when someone is advancing on you, make sure to defend the lower part of yourself as well.”

Luke sighed, dropping the point of his sword on the ground, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his tunic. “We have been training since the sun has risen, can we go break fast now?”

“No, you need this.”

“What am I to do with a sword when Aemond descends upon me with Vhagar? Slash at her wings?” Luke scoffed. “I’m not lacking in swordsmanship.”

You pressed yourself against the window as Jace laid a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder, lending him comfort similar in a way you have done with Daeron.

“It will not happen again, Luke. I will make sure Aemond will not get the chance to get near you again.”

Jace let out a breath, his face pained, you could even see it from a distance.

“It was foolish of me to suggest we go deliver the messages,” Jace sighed. “I should’ve gone with you, you had no protection. I never would have forgiven myself if something had happened to you.”

“Jace…” Luke looked at his brother, his forehead creased. “It wasn’t your fault. Our uncle behaved himself with no honor.”

“I should have expected that.” Jace smiled at him wryly. “You were lucky to escape Vhagar when you did.”

“I wasn’t lucky, I had help.”

Jace let out a loud sigh, giving Luke a squeeze on the shoulder.

“Let us go break fast, then.”

“Oh so now you want to end training,” Luke nagged, resheating his sword. “Because I mentioned Lady-“

“Do not speak her name to me,” Jace snapped, stopping Luke in the middle of his sentence.

Luke only sighed at his older brother.

“Jace… None of this is her doing. You cannot-“

A knock on your door quickly made you push away from the window, your cheeks red, almost having been caught eavesdropping.

The two young women standing in front of your chambers gave you a friendly smile, their hair - already twisted in intricate fashion despite the early hour - immediately told you of their parentage.

“You must be Baela and Rhaena.”

One of them, you assumed Baela, as she was wearing riding gear and last you had heard, Rhaena had yet to claim a dragon, inclined her head in yes. You gave them a smile.

“It is a pleasure to meet you. I’m-“

“Oh we have heard all about you.”

Rhaena gave Baela a jab in the side, glaring at her sister and even though Baela had fallen into your word, it did not seem like she had done it in chargrin, as she had a friendly look on her face.

“We were about to break fast. Her Grace asked us to extend the invitation to you,” Rhaena said and you nodded.

“Thank you. Let me get dressed and I will meet you in the dining hall.”

After getting dressed and making yourself presentable, you made your way to the dining hall. Well, you tried, at least. The keep was much bigger than you had anticipated. Finally you rounded the corner, thinking you had reached the dining hall, but instead you were standing in a hallway that split into three more hallways.

“I could have sworn this was the way to the dining hall,” you muttered to yourself, looking around in confusion, when someone called your name.

“… Are you lost?”

Luke stepped out of his chambers, lingering in the doorway. He must have gotten changed after training in the pit, his doublet a little askew as he walked towards you.

“I was exploring the keep.”

Luke gave you a suspicious look, a grin growing on his face.

“How long have you been wandering around?”

“Why do you assume I wasn’t waiting for you to walk me to the dining hall?”

Luke laughed, offering you his arm, which you accepted gratefully as the two of you walked together. You found it was easy to converse with Luke, he was telling you about Arrax and how he has been faring ever since you got back, and that he wished for some more meat instead of fish. His cheeky grin reminded you a lot of Daeron when he was pulling one of his jests on his uncle. It was nice, to have something to remind you of home in a place that felt so unfamiliar.

“And here we are, at the dining hall,” Luke announced as you stepped into a completely different hallway, the large doors to the dining hall open.

“I never would have found my own way here,” you admitted and Luke laughed.

“I know.”

Judging by the sound of easy conversation coming out of the hall, you were the last to arrive. You were hesitant, unwilling to cause any tension but Luke tugged on your arm, sensing your discomfort.

“Come. You shall sit with me.”

You relented, following the young boy inside. The conversation at the table ceased as you entered, everyone bidding you a good morrow. Well, almost everyone.

“Have you slept well?” Rhaenyra asked as you sat down next to Luke. You nodded, giving her a smile.

“Yes, thank you. I am very grateful that you have offered for me to stay. And for the clothes, of course.“

Next to Rhaenyra, her lord husband Daemon only gave you a subdued smirk.

“It appears we are the ones who have to offer our thanks,” he said, his fingers circling the brim of his cup. “You acted when it was easier to do nothing. You showed true courage.”

“Please,” you said, nearly melting into your seat out of embarrassment. “I did what was right.”

You ignored how Jace visibly rolled his eyes, turning his head as he took a sip from his cup. He seemed incredibly displeased by this all.

“You should have seen her,” Luke said, nodding fervently. “She leapt from Vhagar to Arrax just above the clouds like it was a small jump over a beck.”

“That sounds terrifying,” Rhaena said and you nodded.

“It was. I truly do not know what came over me in that instant.”

“Sometimes we don’t know how brave we are until the moment asks for it,” Rhaenyra said with an encouraging smile and you nodded, your cheeks red. Thankfully this scene of praising you was interrupted by the servants starting to serve food.

“You have been living most of your recent name days in Oldtown, is that right?” Baela asked curiously, leaning towards you.

“Yes, Alicent sent Daeron to Oldtown and asked me to accompany him to make the distance from home easier.”

You have always thought it cruel of Alicent to send Daeron away from his family, his siblings. But now you wondered if Daeron was better off for it.

“It was really different from King’s Landing. The grandmaesters were incredibly wise and I have learned a lot from the them,” you told her, a smile on your face. “Daeron of course always dragged his feet, but I knew he enjoyed it as well.”

“How old is Daeron now?” Luke asked, swallowing his food.

“Eight and ten,” you answered. “Not quite a man just yet, even if he believes otherwise.”

The family laughed, and even Jacaerys cracked a smile, though it seemed more unkind than the rest.

“That seems to be running on his side of the family, no?” he asked, taking a sip from his cup. His voice was so cutting, and the light mood seemed to dissipate at once. “Aegon, Aemond, none of them display characteristics of a what a real man is… I wonder if Daeron turned out any better than his usurping and kinslaying brothers, though I-“

Before Jace could continue, you slammed both of your hands on the table as you stood, the tableware clattering. The table grew quiet, the tension thick as everyone laid their eyes on you, but you paid them no mind, your focus on Jace as you glared at him, and he seemed surprised at your outburst.

“Please excuse me,” you pressed out, eyes gleaming with anger. You barely waited for Rhaenyra to excuse you as you left the table, your food still untouched on your place.

As you hasten out of the dining room, you could hear Rhaenyra raising her voice.

“-unacceptable behavior!”

“Why are you all rushing to her defense? Or Daeron’s? She’s just being sensitive!”

“I have lived with you about as long as she has with Daeron,” Rhaena argued. “Would you not come to my defense if someone spoke ill about me?”

You didn’t wait to hear Jace’s answer rushing past the Queensguard that was standing by the door. By some miracle, you easily found your way back to your chambers, the heavy door falling shut as you threw yourself on the bed, letting out a scream of frustration.

You were at a loss.

Jace seemed to use every opportunity to antagonize you, treating you like an enemy instead of a friend he had grown up with. You were no damsel in distress who couldn’t handle tough words, but it was to hard to hear them from someone you harbored feelings for.

You wished you could talk to someone about this. You wished you could talk to Daeron about this. A part of you longed for the days when you were in Oldtown, before any of this occurred.

A knock brought you out of your thoughts and you lifted your head from the cushions, frowning.

“I wish to be alone for a little longer,” you called out. It was probably a handmaiden Rhaenyra had sent to check up on you. You hoped she would respect your wishes, but the knocking didn’t cease and with a small sigh, you pulled yourself up, heading to the door.

“I am sorry, I-“ you pulled the door open, but to your surprise, you came face to face with the source of your sorrows.

“Jace,” you spoke, voice even, crossing your arms over your chest. “Have you come to throw some more insults? Maybe some at me this time?”

Jace clenched his jaw, his hand on the goddamned sword again. Was he itching to take your head off so badly?

“I have been told that my behavior this morning was unbefitting for a Prince,” he ground out, the words like gravel in his mouth. “I’m here to extend an apology.”

You bit back a scoff, rolling your eyes. “Fine. Go ahead, then.”

He guffawed at your words.

“If you are going to be like this, I am not sure it makes much sense for me to apologize,” Jace said haughtily and you snorted.

“If I were to believe that a single word of your apology were genuine, I would readily accept it.”

Jace only scoffed, shaking his head but not denying your accusation. His nostrils were flared and you searched for his eyes, but he refused to meet your gaze. Exhaling softly, trying to let go of your anger, you uncrossed your arms, letting them fall to your sides.

“Why are you so angry?”

Suddenly, Jace’s eyes snapped up to yours, his lips parted in disbelief.

“My mother’s claim to the throne has been stolen by her usurper brother, my uncle! Whereas my other uncle tried to murder Luke, and you ask why I’m angry?”

You let out a small sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Forgive me, I should have been more clear. Let me rephrase,” you said. “Why are you angry with me?”

Jace took a step back, surprised by your question.

“You treat me like I myself have usurped the throne, Jace.”

You looked at Jace expectantly; his mouth opening, like he wanted to say something, before he closed it again, his words unspoken. Before you could demand an answer, hurried steps came down the hallway, Ser Lorent appearing, stopping next to your chambers. Jace seemed relieved at the distraction as the knight inclined his head at him.

“My Prince, the Queen has requested your presence for the council meeting.”

Jace nodded, giving you one last glance before stepping towards Ser Lorent, expecting him to leave right away, but Ser Lorent turned his eyes on you.

“You as well, my Lady.”

Jace let out a scoff and turned on his heel without waiting.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath as he stalked away. You sighed, glancing at Ser Lorent but he only extended his hand in silent invitation, leaving you no choice but to go with him.

The painted table in the council room was already fully seated, save for one empty space, two seats down from Jace. Most of the council consisted of lords of various houses, who eyed you sceptically as you took your seat next to Baela.

“What is a girl like her doing at a council meeting?” The Lord sat across from you asked, clear disdain on his face. You only stared back at him, not knowing how to answer yourself, but disliking his tone towards you only for the fact that you were not a man.

“This girl,” Jace replied, and you already resigned to another slight at you, “Has saved my brother up thousand feet on the air with no training. What have you achieved for my mother, Lord Bartimos?”

Lord Bartimos only let out an aggrieved sigh as he leaned back in his seat, while you turned to Jace with a surprised look on your face. He didn’t meet your eyes. Luke on the other hand, was ducking his head to hide a grin, failing miserably.

“She can offer us insights into the plan of the usurpers,” Rhaenyra said, effectively stopping any more arguments. “I hope we can avoid any bloodshed.”

“Avoid?” Daemon asked, leaning forward with a crease in his forehead. “They blatantly attacked a messenger after you wished for some time to think about their offer.”

“Daemon is right.”

Jace’s voice was strong as he agreed with Daemon, his shoulders tight.

“This is not the time to sit back and watch their plans unfold. We have come too close to unimaginable tragedy.”

Jace’s eyes flickered to his younger brother, before he turned to look to his mother. “We need to fight back.”

Rhaenyra opened her mouth, seemingly to disagree with her eldest son, but a commotion outside caught everyone’s attention.

“Dragon!”

“It’s a dragon with a rider!”

Everyone at the table looked at each other, unsure of what was happening when a knight from the watch outside came storming into the room.

“Your Grace!” he called, bowing quickly. “There has been a dragon sighted with a rider, he’s headed straight for Dragonstone.”

Rhaenyra’s forehead creased in concern.

“Do we know who it is?”

“No, your Grace.”

Rhaenyra stood, her strides quick as she walked outside, the rest of you were not too far behind her. Outside, the folks were rushing in, trying to get to safety from an imminent attack from the dragon.

“I will mount Moondancer,” Baela said, already turning on her heel but Rhaenyra stopped her, shaking her head.

“No. We do not know his intention yet, another dragon might provoke him into attacking.”

You lifted your eyes to the sky, sight blinded by the sun for the first few moments. The dragon’s movements seemed familiar to you, and as your vision adjusted, you let out a laughter, relief coursing through you.

“That’s Tessarion!” you exlaimed, turning to Rhaenyra with a smile. “It’s Daeron!”

You broke out in a run, skirt of your dress lifted as you skidded down the stoney hill, ignoring how Jacaerys was yelling after you to wait.

Tessarion landed on the green grass, stretching her orange-blue wings, as Daeron slid off his saddle, feet on solid ground again. He oriented himself looking around, before relief took over his face when he saw you.

“Sister!”

“Daeron!”

You fell around his arms like countless times before and he held you so tightly, you were afraid he’d never let you go.

“You promised,” he whispered into your neck in a choked voice. “You promised you wouldn’t abandon me.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry,” you mumbled, squeezing Daeron. You didn’t let go of him until his hold on you lessened, knowing he needed to realize that you were, and not gone. Pushing his hair out of his face, you gave him a watery smile.

“How did you know I was here?”

“Brother.”

Rhaenyra’s voice brought you back to reality, as the both of you stood straight, Rhaenyra’s face null of emotion. Jace was furious, his eyes flitting between you and Daeron continuously, while Daemon stood behind Rhaenyra.

“Are you here to deliver a message from the false King that is your brother?”

“I am not a messenger,” Daeron said, his voiced heated. “And as I recall he’s your brother as well.”

His tone is starting to border on disrespect so you glanced over to him, your eyebrows creased. Daeron let out a small sigh.

“I hold no loyalty to my brother,” he added, his voice softer. “Nor am I here to deliver any messages.”

“Then what is your purpose of being here?”

“I’m here because she is,” Daeron answered simply, squeezing your hand. “She has been more kin to me than either Aegon or Aemond. I want to stay on Dragonstone, if you allow it. Fight alongside you.”

“Are we offering shelter for anyone who comes here now?”

Jace’s voice was directed at Rhaenyra, but Daeron narrowed his eyes at him.

“What happened to him?” he muttered to you under his breath. “I do not recall him being this miserable.”

“Daeron!” you hissed, the corners of your mouth tugging up anyways. Jace scoffed, taking a step forward, only to be stopped by Rhaenyra.

“If you are willing to trust me, you have to trust Daeron,” you said, looking at Rhaenyra. You understood that she was wary, she and Daeron barely spent any time together, he was a stranger to her. But you hoped that her trust in you was only half as strong as your trust in Daeron. “If anything, it adds another dragon on your side.”

Rhaenyra regarded you with a impressed smile, giving a small nod.

“Very well. You might stay, Daeron,” she said; behind her, Jacaerys and Daemon exchanged a look, neither of them happy about her decision. “However, I wish to speak with you, alone.”

Daeron nodded, and you squeezed his hand as you followed Rhaenyra back inside the keep, trying not to let Jace’s piercing eyes on you bother you.

“I think it odd. Seeing Rhaenyra again after all this time. My sister.”

You were sitting out in the grass, Daeron’s head in your lap as he talked. He had spent the last two hours in the council room speaking to Rhaenyra. You weren’t sure what exactly they had talked about, but when they both came out, they seemed calm, almost peaceful. You didn’t pry, knowing that Daeron would share whatever he felt comfortable with.

“Does she feel like kin to you?” you asked, knowing how distant Rhaenyra was to Alicent’s children, even when they were younger.

Daeron shrugged, ripping up a blade of grass with his hand.

“She was polite enough. She knows what advantage she has having me on her side. I cannot see us become closer,” he said. “Like us.”

Daeron peered up at you with a grin and you rolled your eyes. Something was still nagging at you, and you knew it wouldn’t leave your head until you had answers

“What happened when Aemond got back? How did you know I was here?”

Daeron’s smile dimmed a little and he looked away, his eyes focusing on the blue sky above you.

“I was already searching for you by the time Aemond returned. I could tell by the look on his face that something had happened, so he told me that he had been out in Storm’s End to secure pledges for Aegon, and that you had come with. Luke had arrived just shortly after Aemond had negotiated with Lord Borros and he got angry, starting a fight, bringing up what had happened at Driftmark.”

Your brows furrowed. You had suspected that Aemond wouldn’t tell the truth, but blaming Lucerys for his bad temper? Anything to paint you as the villain.

“Aemond said you took Luke’s side, your feelings for Jace swaying you.”

Your cheeks reddened. You hadn’t realized that your affections for Jace were so apparent that Aemond would take notice. Daeron continued, unperturbed.

“- and that was when Aemond returned to King’s Landing.”

“That’s not-“

Before you could finish, Daeron interrupted you, his eyes finding yours again.

“I know, Rhaenyra told me what truly happened.”

“But did you really believe what Aemond had told you? That I would just go with Luke because of an argument, leave you?”

Daeron shrugged with his shoulders, his eyes downcast.

“I did not want to. But what was I supposed to do? Call Aemond a liar? I don’t think that would have gone well,” he argued. “I did not have choice but to accept his truth as mine.”

“Then why did you come here if you thought me a traitor?”

Stilling, Daeron pressed his lips together.

“Helaena… She was behaving peculiar… I was sitting with her in the day room, watching Jahaerys and Jahaera play, and all she kept saying was “To save her brother, you must trust your sister” while looking between me and Jahaera,” he told you and you frowned.

To save her brother, you must trust your sister?

“What does that mean?”

“I am not quite sure,” Daeron said, shaking his head. “But I knew it must mean that Aemond was not telling the truth, that you had left because of something else.”

You bit back a smile; it amused you how Daeron did not hesitate to think of you when someone mentioned his sister, but hummed in thought, unsatisfied with his words.

“What if she did not mean me? What if she was talking about Rhaenyra?”

The sound of footsteps crunching on the gravel leading up to the small cliff made the two of you paused. You both looked up just to see Jace arrive to the top, stopping at the edge of the field stiffly. Daeron propped himself up on his elbows, glancing to you, then back to Jace slowly before he got to his feet, dusting off his clothes.

“I should go to the dragon mount. See how Tessarion is faring.”

You knew exactly what he was trying to do and you shook your head quickly, pulling yourself up.

“Daeron…!” you almost shouted, but the young Prince already departed. As he passed Jace, the older gave him an almost imperceptible nod, before Daeron disappeared down the hill. You let out a small frustrated huff, your eyes flickering to Jace before you turned away again. His steps were careful as he came closer, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, not looking at him as he came to a stop next to you.

You were the first to speak.

“I am surprised you didn’t call Daeron a traitor as he passed you.”

In hindsight, you could have chosen less biting words. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Jace clench his jaw.

“I wouldn’t.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I am not!” Jace sighed. “I did not come to argue with you.”

“Then what have you come for?”

Jace fell silent again and you shook your head in exasperation. It was hard for you to read him; he seemingly had made it a habit to guard his emotions. When Jace finally spoke again, his words surprised you.

“I always envied him.”

“What?”

“Daeron,” he clarified. “When you wrote to me that you were to be sent to Oldtown with Daeron, I was furious. I begged mother to let you come with us, but she said it would be seen as disrespectful towards Alicent. She wanted to avoid a fight.” Jace scoffed, shaking his head. “The irony does not escape me.”

He paused, his gaze on the horizon. Two dragons had made their way out of the dragon mount, flying in the sky, stretching their wings. One, you were able to recognize as Vermax, with his orange green scales. He had grown exponentially since the last time you saw him. The other dragon was unfamiliar to you, but the dragons seemed to have a bond as they flew around each other playfully. You took your eyes off of the dragons to look at Jace. He was already looking at you, his cheeks pink.

“I looked forward to your letters every day,” Jace admitted, ducking his head. “… It eased my longing, if only slightly.”

Your lips pursed into a pleased smile.

“You longed for me?” you teased.

“Did you not long for me?” he asked quite bluntly, his eyes searching yours. “Or was what you had enough for you?”

Letting out a small huff, you shook your head, knowing what he was insinuating; the same thing that Aemond had hinted at only a few days prior.

“Daeron and I are like brother and sister, I do not long for him in any way than you do for Luke.”

Jace nodded, his smile delighted. But you let out a sigh, wringing your hands.

“If you truly felt like this… Why have you treated me so horribly ever since I’ve been here? Why have you stopped replying to my letters?”

“It’s not…” Jace trailed off, pulling his face into a frown. “After we received the news of my grandsire’s passing, mother has been on edge, preparing for war. We all have. And I felt guilty, I didn’t want to be distracted by anything, and whenever one of your letters arrived, I couldn’t get my mind on anything else than sitting down to write back to you. So I just… Stopped answering. And I thought I could write to you when all of this is over, but then you were suddenly… Here.”

Jace broke off, pressing his lips together. “You were supposed to stay in Oldtown, far away from the war that is brewing. Now you quite literally launched yourself right into the middle of it all. I thought it incredulous that you would just show up and save my brother… Like in a dream.”

Your chest ached. You had not realized how worried Jace was for you.

“But you thought I was spying for information,” you reminded him.

“I didn’t really believe you would be capable of doing so… But I couldn’t let my feelings cloud my judgement. Mother counts on me, and as her heir, I have to fulfill my duties.”

Biting your lip, you nodded, your chin low. While you understood why Jace had been behaving the way he was, it still hurt to be treated that way.

“I dislike causing you anguish,” he said quietly. “Can you find it in yourself to forgive me?”

“The way to forgiveness may not be easy,” you warned him, a small smile on your face. “I am not known for being very forgiving.”

“Then it will be so much more rewarding,” Jace quipped, smiling at you.

The both of you fell into a comfortable silence, staring out in the distance, the dragons dancing in the sky. You almost flinched when you felt Jace hesitantly reach for your hand; it was the first time he let go of the hilt of his sword since you got to Dragonstone. Swallowing nervously, you laced your fingers with his, feeling the tension bleed away from his limbs. For a while, you just stood there, hand in hand, lending each other comfort in the silence. A silence Jace soon broke.

“Do you want to go for a ride on Vermax?”

Your eyes lit up at the sudden invitation, but you held your excitement at bay, not wanting to seem too eager. Seeing Jace’s face however, it told you that you better work on masking your emotions. While the imminent war brewing in the near future scares you, you didn’t want to forego small moments of happiness, you were sure the war held plenty of misery and frustration. You would enjoy every single smile you could shed.

“I’d love to.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author’s note: before you ask, i’m not planning on writing another part! maybe a few drabbles in the future! 🫶🏼

[ellecdc]

Part two of feisty slytherin reader where it’s just the boys being like kinda in love with reader and everything you can pick how reader responds

this ended up taking me way longer to complete than I thought it would! it also ended up way longer than usual. here's the lead up to our infamous poly!marauders x feisty!slytherin reader!!! 🫶

poly!marauders x feisty, fem slytherin!reader

p1 // p2 // p3

CW: head injury - not graphic or detailed but mentions blood.

“Okay Moony, if you’re going to help us win over Y/N, you should know she does not like dramatic public displays of appreciation.” James said sagely as he walked into their shared dorm room.

Remus spared Sirius a confused look from his seat in the chair, but from the way James was currently rubbing his arm Sirius had a pretty good idea of what just took place.

“Yeah, erm, I don’t think you have to worry about that with me, bubs. Thanks for the heads up though.” Remus added bemusedly.

“Let me guess.” Sirius taunted, rolling over onto his stomach so that he faced James. “The charmed roses following her around the halls wasn’t a hit?”

“No, but she did...” He sulked, pulling his uniform shirt off to expose a small albeit quite red welt on his upper arm.

“Awe, poor Jamie. Come here bubs.” Remus cooed at him, opening his arms to invite the boy into his lap. 

James obliged all too willingly and snuggled up to the werewolf like he was a small toddler and not a giant beefy man-baby. 

“Don’t mollify him when he’s out here botching our grand plans to woo the girl of our dreams.” Sirius said, causing Remus to roll his eyes and James to scoff indignantly.

“Well at least I’m working on it! What are you doing to woo her?” James retaliated.

Sirius offered him a wolfish grin. “Oh, I’ve got a little trick up my sleeve.”

You had to get out of the castle. You could still feel everyone’s eyes on you, ogling you like you were some kind of freakshow. 

You don’t know what kind of game those Gryffindor’s were trying to play, but you were not about to be the butt of whatever sodding joke this was.

Roses, really? Charmed to follow you around the castle as Potter smirked from the sidelines. Did he have any idea how humiliating that was?

       So, yeah. You walloped him. In the arm. With your fist. Hard. But what else were you supposed to do!? You’d confronted him and demanded that he end the charm and all he said was ‘you look so cute when your nose scrunches up like that’.

He and Black have always been a bother – seemingly having taken some kind of interest in you for whatever reason. Lupin had always been more reasonable; one would think that he’d have evened those two out during their relationship, but apparently that was an impossible task. You supposed it was because he was all but one man.

But lately, even he was starting to stare at you a little too long, smile a little too softly, find too many excuses to be in your vicinity. It was infuriating.

So, you were outside.

It was nice outside. 

Well, it was nice enough outside. 

You packed yourself some snacks in your book bag, two blankets and an extra jumper to go sit by the Black Lake. You figured you should be able to enjoy some peace and quiet out here on your own.

You unfolded one of the blankets to lay onto the ground before sitting on it and then laid the second blanket over your lap. You could hear other students on the grounds in the distance and the soothing sound of the water lapping gently against the shore. 

As luck would have it, a certain dog with long-black hair would set out to disrupt that.

“What are you doing here?” You asked the dog as it approached you calmly. You wondered for a moment if you should be scared before it stopped at the edge of your blanket to sit and tilt its head at you, his tongue falling out of his mouth haphazardly. 

He didn’t look too scary, ignoring his size.

You craned your neck to look around, checking if perhaps he was here with someone, but it appeared that you were, in fact, alone on this side of the lake.

You felt something cold and wet nudge your pinkie, and you turned to see that the dog had laid down beside you with his head between his paws, nose next to your hand.

“If I pet you, are you going to bite me?” You asked him. He answered by nudging your hand again and offering it a little lick.

“You better not have fleas.” You muttered as you scratched behind the dog’s ears. You would have sworn he had furrowed his eyebrows at your comment if dogs could do such a thing. You noticed then that the dog had startling silver-blue eyes. 

“Where are your people?” You asked, glad no one was around to see you conversing with a dog. He answered you by rolling over for belly rubs.

You scoffed out a laugh but acquiesced. “Fine, you can stay. But I came out here for peace and quiet, ‘kay?”

The dog seemed fine with that plan and let you read through two chapters of your book, only interrupting every paragraph or so for more pets. Eventually however, it grew too cold, and you decided to pack up.

Confirming your suspicions, the dog began to follow you towards the castle. You pretended like you hadn’t noticed or perhaps just didn’t care until you were near the greenhouses.

“For future reference, Black,” you said, turning to the dog who seemed to pause mid-step as you considered him. “I really am more of a cat person.” You smirked, turning to walk back to the castle alone.

“Here, let me get that for you.” James said, opening the door for you rather chivalrously in Sirius’ opinion.

“I’m not a delicate flower, Potter, I can open a door.” You muttered angrily, storming past him into the classroom.

James deflated a little as he followed you in, but perked up when Remus placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“I thought that was very sweet of you, Jamie.” He placated.

James gave him a half smile in response. “Thanks Moons.”

“I mean, what are we supposed to do? What bird doesn’t like dogs!?” Sirius grumbled, opting to ignore James’ whining. 

“Don’t call her a bird, Sirius.” Remus chided.

“Probably didn’t help you’re a big ol’ mangy mutt.” James muttered petulantly.

“Oi!” Sirius called. “That’s not what you say when Padfoot snuggles you to sleep.” 

James had the good graces to turn a little red at that.

Their conversation was interrupted (quite rudely if you asked Sirius) by Professor McGonagall as she began the instructions for today’s Transfiguration lesson: turning buttons into butterflies. 

Sirius stole a concerned glance towards James to see Remus doing the same; they were horrified to see a mischievous look adorning their boyfriend’s face.

“Prongs...” Sirius warned, whilst Remus whispered a “remember what we talked about.”

But they both knew it was too late; there was no stopping him once James set his mind to something. 

Sirius is quite sure it was the fourth butterfly that did you in; you seemed to consider the first a fluke, the second was annoying, the third made you suspicious, but by the fourth you’d had enough.

With little to no warning you turned and lobbed a large hard-covered tome at the group.

“I don’t know which of you tossers are behind this, but it reeks of Potter. So help me gods I will gut you and string you up to the rafters from your intestines if you don’t leave me alone!” You screeched. 

“But how else will you know I’m crazy about you?” James pouted, causing you to groan exasperatedly.

“If you’re looking for some cutesy princess who will swoon at your sodding roses and butterflies, then you’ve got the wrong witch.” You spat.

Sirius smirked. “Oh, we have exactly the right witch.”

“I swear to Circe if you don’t leave me alone, I’ll sic Barty on you.” You threatened.

Sirius and James both scoffed whilst Remus smirked. 

“Please dollface, you insult me. I’m not afraid of Junior.” Sirius taunted.

You narrowed your eyes at him menacingly before realization dawned on you. “Fine.” You said simply, giving Sirius a distinct uneasy feeling. “Perhaps I’ll tell Regulus.”

Sirius slammed his fist on the table and leaned forward. “You wouldn’t.” He seethed.

You smirked deviously. “Just try me, Black.” You sneered in response. 

Did...did Sirius have a degradation kink?

Sirius was ashamed to admit that he had to take a very cold shower after that.

You had been sitting in the library trying to work on your Potions essay. You had felt fairly safe here seeing as the Gryffindor’s (at least the most problematic ones) had been sanctioned from using the library during quiet study hours on account of their typical foolishness.

Except one.

“Mind if I sit here?” Lupin’s lilting voice sounded from your right side before he sat down without waiting for your response. 

“Why bother asking if you were just going to sit anyways?” You grumbled. 

“Well, it was the polite thing to do.” He said, turning to face you. You held his gaze (his gaze, your glare) until he finally sighed. “I’ll leave if you want me to.”

You considered him for a moment. You couldn’t deny he was the least buffoonish out of the so-called Marauders though you’re not sure that amounted to much.

But he was quieter, kinder, softer around the edges. And he had been far more polite to you than his boyfriends.

“Are you going to flirt with me?”

One of Remus’ eyebrows (the one with the scar running through it, you noticed) raised expectantly as he considered you.

“Let me rephrase that.” You barked quickly, realizing your mistake perhaps a touch too late. “You may sit here, but if you flirt with me, I will stab you with my quill.” You punctuated your threat by blotting his hand which rested on the table with ink from the tip of your quill.

Remus smiled at the sight before returning his amber coloured gaze to yours. “Fair enough. I promise to try to restrain myself, but perhaps you ought to hold onto this hand for me just in case I slip up.” And he – the absolute sodding bastard – slid his left hand comfortably into your right.

You’d never seen someone make a move so assertively and smoothly before. There was nothing to say that any of this even affected Remus as he immediately turned his attention to his book. Was it hot in here? Your hand felt sweaty. Your throat felt tight. Your mouth was dry. Why didn’t you think to bring a bottle of water?!

“Erm,” you started, having to pause to clear your throat. “Just how am I supposed to get my work done with your hand in mine, Lupin?”

You had tried to sound threatening, but based off Remus’ smirk, you’d only managed to goad him further.

“You’re left-handed. Figure it out.” 

These boys were going to be the death of you if you didn’t end up killing them first.

“You held her hand!?” James screeched in their dorm room that night whilst Remus smirked to himself. Sirius would make fun of James for his dramatics if he wasn’t just a pissed off about this.

“I’ve been working at this the longest out of either of you, and she lets you hold her hand?” He continued.

“She doesn’t like dogs,” Sirius grumbled, gesturing to himself, “she doesn’t like James. But the werewolf? Really. No offence Moons because I absolutely get the appeal.”

James snapped his fingers as he had a eureka moment. “I’ve got it! Remus; bite me!”

“James!” Remus scolded. 

“It’s not fair.” James muttered as he fell onto his bed in defeat. “I’d be so good to her.”

Any ire from Sirius and Remus drained at that as they both moved to join their boyfriend on his bed.

“We know, bubs.” Remus conceded. 

“We just...have to give her time. I’m sure she’ll come around, yeah? I mean, with Remus’ smooth moves, my undeniable charm, and your muscles? We’re unstoppable.” Sirius added, eliciting a smile from Remus and a gentle chuckle from James, though his usual light was diminished.

“We’ve just got to be patient, Jamie.” Remus concluded, causing James to groan.

“Patience.” He spat spitefully.

“A 'James ADHD Potter' special.” Sirius winked before kissing any further protests away from James’ lips.

“We’ve got Moony on our team now, bubs. We’re unstoppable.” He whispered, truly believing what he was saying.

If anyone could break through your hard candy-coating shell to reach the chocolate inside, it was certainly Remus Lupin.

You’d had the lovely idea of sitting outside on one of the few sunny days that Scotland got to see this time of year. Unfortunately, it seemed that everyone else had the same idea too.

A few Hufflepuffs were playing with a charmed muggle football, kicking it back and forth between the two of them and chasing after it when it opted to fuck off on its own. You didn’t understand the objective of the game, nor did you care to.

Remus and Peter Pettigrew sat on a bench not too far off playing a game of Wizarding Chess that, from where you were sitting, looked like Remus was winning.

You got so caught up in watching Lupin’s game with Pettigrew - in the way that the tendons in his wrist and hands flexed as he moved pieces across the board, and the way that his honey blonde curls fell in front of his eyes causing him to have to blow air upwards so he could see the board - that you noticed something flying at you far too late. 

“Look out!” One of the dumb Hufflepuff’s shouted far too late as their charmed football soared into the side of your head, knocking you clean over where your head cracked painfully against a root of the tree you were sitting under.

You scrunched your eyes tight and tried to will your heart to start beating again and your lungs to cooperate, every part of your body seeming to have tensed out of instinct to protect itself.

“L/N! L/N! Come on, dove, open your eyes.” You heard a voice above you.

Why was the voice so worried? How long were your eyes closed? A gentle hand grabbed your chin and wiggled your head back and forth, causing you to hiss in pain.

“Sod...off.” You gritted through your teeth.

The voice chuckled and wiggled your chin once more. “There she is. Open your eyes for me.”

You hated being told what to do but decided to comply anyways.

You probably should have kept your eyes close because the sight made you feel dizzy for a completely different reason.

Hovering above your frame was Remus Lupin; his knees on the ground beside your elbow, one hand gripping your chin and the other gently moving hair away from your face and head.

“Atta girl.” He said with a smile.

“Get away from me.” You grumbled as you moved to sit up. Though Lupin hissed in protest, he helped you sit up nonetheless. 

“Is...is she okay?” a timid voice spoke from somewhere behind Lupin’s shoulder causing his expression to darken considerably.

“You stupid wankers are so dead.” You spat as loudly as you could manage, though in your current state – that wasn’t very loud at all.

Your message was received loud and clear, however, as the two Hufflepuffs took off in fear.

“My sentiments exactly.” Lupin muttered as he turned back to you, jaw still tense.

You snorted indelicately as you brought a hand to your head. “Please, don’t tell me you actually care about me, Lupin.”

You hissed in pain as your hand came in contact with something warm and wet and slightly sticky. You pulled your hand back in front of you to inspect, only for Lupin to grab your hand rather harshly and wipe the blood away with a handkerchief.

“Is it so impossible to believe that we could actually care for you?” He muttered quietly, eyes focused on your hand, pointedly avoiding eye contact with you. You watched as his curls bounced with each wipe of his hand against yours. You thought of his gentle hands brushing hair away from your wound moments before. You thought of him begging you to open your eyes. You thought of him being the first one at your side when you were hurt.

And you thought about Black finding ways to be with you even when you staunchly refused his company. You thought of him taking time out of his day to tell you how ‘smoking hot’ you looked that day, even though he said it every day before that, too.

And you thought about Potter who always held the door for you, saved you a seat even though you never accepted it, showered you in affection even though it was public and quite embarrassing. And you thought of the way he always had a smile to give you, even when you gave him no reason to smile at all. 

It wasn’t hard to imagine the three of them caring for anyone, quite frankly. Caring seemed to come second nature to those boys.

“No.” You admitted quietly. “It’s not impossible to believe that you could actually care. It’s just impossible to imagine why.”

He stopped rubbing at your hand and met your eye, seemingly contemplating what to say.

“Let’s get you to Madam Pomfrey.” He opted for. “Pete, let the boys know where I’ve gone when they’re finished with practice?” Lupin called over his shoulder.

“I can walk myself, Lupin.” You grumbled as he helped you up by your elbow.

“Yeah, yeah.” He grumbled back. “You’re not a delicate flower, we know.”

The two of you more or less muttered back and forth to each other the entire way to the infirmary, Lupin supporting more of your weight than he likely needed too but you didn’t feel the need (nor desire) to complain.

Madam Pomfrey was in the middle of looking after a first year Potions class who accidently set off an explosion of incorrectly brewed Cure for Boils which ultimately left each student (and Professor Slughorn) covered head to toe in painful boils.

“Mr. Lupin, if you could clean the wound for me. And Miss. L/N, drink the pain potion. Do not leave until I’ve had a chance to do a proper examination, okay?” She ordered as you positioned yourself more comfortably on the bed after she determined you weren’t about to die (or currently crying, as most of the first years were). 

You took the pain potion dutifully and placed it back on the table beside your bed before you startled at the sudden cold wet cloth on your head.

“You are not seriously doing this right now, are you?” You spat.

Remus’ eyebrows drew together as his hands continued on in their task. “You heard the matron; I’m supposed to clean it.”

“I can clean it myself, Lupin; I’ll conjure a mirror.” You argued, causing the scarred boy to scoff.

“I do what I’m told L/N, and quite frankly, the matron scares me more than you do.”

“I must be doing something wrong then.” You sighed, thinking you hadn’t said that loud enough to be heard, but a startled laugh escaped Lupin’s lips. 

“Why do you act so volatile?” He asked amusedly.

“It’s not an act.”

“I call bullshit.”

“Well, you call wrong, then, Lupin. I’m an arse and I find everyone exhausting. Deal with it.” You snarked sharply.

Lupin breathed a laugh through his nose. “Maybe we can find out what the hell your problem is over dinner sometime, then.”

Rotten bastard and his smooth talk...

“WHERE IS SHE!?” a voice echoed through the corridor just outside the entrance to the infirmary. Madame Pomfrey needn’t even look up from the boil she was currently draining of puss to know who she was about to scold.

“Mr. Potter, I will have you banned from this infirmary so fast if you raise your voice above so much as a whisper, do not try me. That goes for you too, Mr. Black.” She barked; eyes still focused on the first year’s arm in front of her.

Sure enough, a mop of curly hair, impossibly more wild than usual due to the flight on his broom, poked around the privacy curtains a second before it was joined by a fuming looking Sirius Black.

Potter’s eyes flew to where Remus’ hands were positioned on your head and your stomach lurched at what looked like tears pooling in Potter’s eyes.

“Potter...please, erm, please don’t cry?” You asked awkwardly, leaning away from Remus’ touch as you suddenly became very uncomfortable with this amount of attention.

“She’s alright, Jamie.” Remus sighed, pulling you back over to him gently by the shoulder and continuing his prodding at your wound.

“Who did it?” Sirius spat, arms crossed defensively across his chest and jaw tight as he stared hard at the wound on your head. You were horrified to admit to yourself that he was hot. You’d never really seen it before, how all the girls in your year (and other years) fawned over the long-haired boy.

But he was currently standing in front of you still adorned in his quidditch gear, hair pulled back into a low bun - though he had many fly-aways on account of his recent time in the air - his cheeks still dusted pink from the assertion, and he was currently fuming on your behalf.

Yeah...he was hot. 

“Easy.” Remus warned.

“Answer me!” Sirius spat back.

“Pads. I mean it, leave it.” Remus said with finality.

Your eyes darted nervously between the two boys currently staring each other down, but Potter’s eyes were still steadfast on you.

“Let me, Rem.” He finally said gently – the most gently you’d ever heard from the rambunctious boy as he gently moved Remus aside and took over.

“I’m okay, you know.” You offered, not liking how worked up these boys were currently over you.

“I know.” He agreed. “I just hate to see you hurt.”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Yeah, why.” You pressed. James looked like you just asked him to calculate the distance between the galaxy of Andromeda and our solar system using the measurement of broomsticks.  

“I... I don’t want to see you hurt?”

“You want to see Snape hurt.” You countered, causing James’ face to harden.

“Snape’s a tosser.” He muttered darkly.

“I’m not any nicer than Snape.”

“See, Y/N. You’re so smart and lovely and perfect, but you are way off on that front.” James said through a laugh. “Snape is prejudiced, vindictive, and a racist blood supremist. You’re just combative.” He explained, punctuating the word combative with a gentle boop of your nose. 

You wanted to break his finger.

But that would be combative, and you would rather die than prove Potter right, so you opted to roll your eyes instead. 

“Did they even hang around to see if she fucking survived or did they just take off to avoid detention?” Sirius spat at Remus, not looking any calmer than he did when he arrived.

“They stayed.” You answered tiredly. “They took off afterwards, and not to avoid detention, but to avoid me.”

“And me.” Remus muttered quietly, looking dangerously close to going back out there to find them himself. 

“Did you threaten them?” Sirius asked severely, though you weren’t sure who exactly he had asked.

“Yes.” You and Lupin both answered exasperatedly. 

Sirius looked between the two of you before letting out a sigh. “Fine, but if I run into them, I’m hexing them into oblivion.”

“Not if I get to them first.” You growled.

Sirius’ face finally softened as he sat on the end of your bed and cautiously touched your ankle under the blankets.

“You sure you’re okay, Y/N?”

And you aren’t sure what did it. 

You weren’t sure if it was the softness you saw in Sirius that you were sure you could have never even imagined possible from a person, let alone someone related to the infamous Black family. Or if it was the eyebrows of Remus Lupin that were furrowed in concern as he dutifully watched his boyfriend finish plastering a bandage to your head, or if it was the unbelievable softness of James Potter’s touch – in complete contrast to his fast, rough, bouncing personality that you were usually subjected to.

But dammit, you felt a tear slip down your cheek.

You wiped it away quickly and nodded your head in yes.

You braced yourself for the teasing, the cooing, the dramatic displays of affection. But Sirius quickly stood and disappeared behind the curtains, James began pouring you a glass of water, and Remus reached into his bag for something.

Remus returned to you first, breaking off a square of chocolate for you. “It’ll help.”

You were too embarrassed to argue and took it, popping it into your mouth dutifully. 

“Here.” Sirius said as he appeared back at your bedside, handing you a vial. 

“What is it?” You asked, your voice taut with emotion.

Sirius’ eyes softened again as he offered you a sad smile. “Calming draught. You can’t have any more pain potion, but this might make you feel better.”

“And if not, maybe you can convince Moony to share more of his chocolate.” James commented with a soft smile.

You grimaced at the taste of the potion and chased it with the water James had poured for you.

“Thank you.” You admitted quietly, shame colouring your tone as you looked to your lap.

“None of that.” Remus said as he handed you another piece of chocolate.

You took it skeptically. “Why do they call you Moony?”

No one said anything for a moment, but you could tell that neither James nor Sirius were moving a muscle as they watched Remus who in turn watched you.

“Because of my lycanthropy.” He said plainly.

You looked at the various scars before you started to laugh. Sirius’ face drained of all colour while James visibly tensed.

“Of course you are. Remus Lupin. Named after a man raised by wolves and the lupus, or wolf constellation. Oh gods, it was predestined, clearly.”

“Are...are you laughing at me right now?” Remus asked incredulously.

“It’s a little funny...no?” You asked back.

He looked as if he were torn between laughing and crying. “I pour my heart out to you – my deepest darkest secret, and you laugh at me?” He asked again, some amusement colouring his features.

“I told you, I’m an arse.” You said with a shrug of your shoulders.

“Does it bother you?” Sirius asked cautiously from the end of your bed, face appearing impassive for all intents and purposes. 

“I don’t see why it should, it’s none of my business.”

“It could be.” Remus input.

“You don’t want me. I’m no good, Lupin.” You stressed, looking back down at your hands.

“Neither am I.” Sirius agreed.

“Me neither.” Remus added.

“I’m n-” James started.

“So what if the only one of us worthy of love and affection here is James?” Sirius said, cutting James off. “It’s not going to stop me from cherishing what I can get - deserved or not.”

You groaned and threw your head back onto the pillow, cringing at the effect the fast movement had on you and the pain that the movement elicited in your neck.

“Okay, what about this.” James conciliated. “You don’t have to agree to be with us, just give us a chance? The time of day? One Hogsmeade trip to let us fawn over you.”

You looked up at his deep brown eyes that felt so warm you wanted to make a home in them. Sirius, in all his bravado, looked pained as he waited for an answer, and Remus smiled encouragingly at you.

“Fine!” You acquiesced with a groan. “One Hogsmeade trip.”

Much to your chagrin, though not really at all, it ended up being way more than just one Hogsmeade trip.

Thank you to @unstablereader who gave us the library handholding prompt 🫶

[kenjakusbraincum]

can you pls write something about reader being sick and like not the cough and cold kind of sick- like really really sick, and sukuna realising how much he doesn't want to lose her to this sickness and how if she dies, he'll be alone again..🥺

You have NO idea how much I love this idea!!! I did go a bit overboard with it cause I love suffering though 👍 Still, this was SO much fun to write and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Vows

Sukuna x Reader

Word count: 4.5k

Tags/warnings: gn! reader, true form! sukuna, master/pet dynamic, fluff but most importantly ANGST, mentions of weight loss, mentions of violence, implied nsfw, reader dies in the end :( (sorry)

It's not the first time Sukuna has been made aware of your mortality. He recalls many instances when he's been reminded that you are human. Finite. The first time he wrapped his hand around your throat and squeezed with calculation while you were laying under him, and you looked up at him in fear for your life. Your little hand couldn't even wrap around his wrist, much less provide resistance. Or when he'd pull your hair a little too roughly, and hear a crack in your delicate spine. When you'd get sick, and humbly refuse his healing. So little as a tummy ache had you writhing on your bed.

You are so weak, so small, clinging to life like there was anything for you in it, beyond Sukuna. By all means he hates all of these things. So what witchery is this, and why does he care about you so much? Why does he keep you for years, and why does your company bring him comfort he hasn't ever known in his lifetime?

Still, as much as he cares, he doesn't notice when it starts. He's trained you to tolerate pain, after all. It's no wonder you hesitate to tell him. Little things like tummyaches and colds occur to you all the time anyways, and you never complain. Sure, you've grown closer to Sukuna, but he was still your master, and the rules he instilled in you from the start were always fresh in your mind, not to be crossed. Bothering him with everything that feels off always seemed inappropriate.

And Sukuna is just like that. If you're not screaming or crying, he won't know you're in pain. But he notices that you're acting off. And how he reacts really doesn't help your case, or encourage you to speak up about your condition. ''I don't have all day. What is wrong with you?'', he sneers when he catches you pacing too far behind him.

So you just sleep longer and preserve energy for when you are with him. You don't skip around as much anymore, or spend time doing your hobbies. Food doesn't taste so great anymore. You have a cough that gives you sleepless nights because it just won't calm down. And the time you owe Sukuna starts to feel like an obligation. You start to dread it. Dread slipping up, dread annoying him or failing to satisfy him. Dread being disposable.

When things start getting worse, it's hard to hide it even from him. He was taking you from behind one night, and you were grateful he couldn't see the look on your face. You thought you could do it. Sukuna was always demanding, but he would never force you to do anything. If only you told him before you felt yourself struggling for air, and your chest closing in on itself in tightness. You reached one hand back, frantically grabbing his wrist.

''Feathers, feathers!'', words came out as gasps, and you slumped forward when he let you go. You were panicked and crying by then, this kind of discomfort being foreign even to you, even after weeks of pain behind you. He hovered next to you with a puzzled look on his face. He wasn't even being that rough.

''What's wrong? Tell me.'', he said, and reached his hand to feel the warmth of your tears streaming down your face. He swiped your cheek gently. He didn't seem mad at all. Why didn't you say anything from the start?

''I just feel so sick.'', you muster up in between sobs, and shut your eyes. You were too embarrassed to even look at him.

''I see.''. His hand leaves your face, and he traces it from your neck down your spine. The pain subsided slowly, allowing you to relax and find comfort in his arms.

But the effects of his healing were short lived. Just a week later the feeling of fatigue creeps back into your life. Manageable, but lingering. And the cough persists. And it gets on Sukuna's nerves too. He's been quite patient with you, but his patience was reaching it's limit.

You're sitting by his throne as you often do, and as hard as you try to hold the cough in, you just can't help it. His hand finds the back of your neck and squeezes, turning you to him. And he looks at you with all four, terrifying eyes. ''Can you shut up?''

''I'm sorry, I'm trying -'', you stutter, but just end up coughing more. He doesn't wait for you to stop.

''Get out of here.'', and pushes you away. You stumble down the pile of bones and fall, landing on your hands and knees. You don't remember him being this cruel to you in a long time. You look back at him with teary eyes, and he looks back like the merciless monster he is. The villagers awaiting him moved to make space for your fall, taking note of the tense situation.

That day, Sukuna sends word that he doesn't want to see you until you get better. You're forbidden from going outside again, in fear that that is making your 'cold' worse. It's a lonely week in your room, until Sukuna starts to crave you again. It didn't take him a while, counting the couple days he spent convincing himself he doesn't miss you. He does. So when he sends word for you again, and the servants come back to him saying you're still not feeling well... he's worried. So worried he comes to see it for himself.

Sukuna rarely comes to your room. It's the only space you have for yourself, and he doesn't want to take that away from you. Your room is modest. You have a bed, a carpet, and a couple shelves to house the books he's gifted you. There's a desk where you can eat and read, and a doorway to the garden. There's an empty glass of water and a napkin next to your bed. You're still sleeping, but the door shutting behind him wakes you up, so he doesn't get to enjoy observing you in your natural habitat for long.

It's not the first time doors opening and closing woke you up. But you know this time is different. The servants are always quickly shuffling around the room, cleaning up and moving around. Uraume clanks with plates. There is no noise now, other than your strained breathing and a cough brewing in the back of your throat. Besides, the aura that Sukuna brings with him everywhere he goes is recognizable. Especially to you. Heavy.

You turn around, and meet the gaze of his four eyes. ''Master...'', you struggle to sit up, and even a little action like that has spots forming in your vision. Then a coughing fit hits you. You pick up the napkin and put it to your mouth.

Sukuna sees your whole body strain with the effort of coughing. And when you call him master, even your voice sounds different. He knows your morning voice. He missed hearing it, but this... this is not it. You sit with your head hung low, staring at the napkin between your hands. There's a fresh splatter of blood on it. But Sukuna scares you more than the progression of your illness.

''Are you mad at me?'', you ask timidly, meeting his gaze.

''I'm concerned.", he says and sits next to you. You curl up to make space for him. "Two weeks is a long time for a frail human like you to be sick.", he looks at you, scanning your form up and down.

"I rested and drank every tea Uraume told me to!", your defense mechanism kicks in, and you start babbling.

Sukuna dismisses you with a hand and a pained facial expression. "I know.", he says. His brows are furrowed now, and he's looking at the ground, lost in thought.

You feel guilty for annoying him again. You feel guilty for the whole thing, getting sick, draining the energy it takes him to heal you, robbing him of the time with you that he deserves. Owns. He is very generous with the way he treats you, having all that in mind.

You tug on his sleeve. "I'm sorry, Master... You deserve better.", and you're sobbing again. Sukuna gives you a pathetic look, but smiles as he pulls you into his embrace.

"Silly pet. I can survive a couple weeks without your assistance.", he says, rubbing your shoulder.

You run your fingers against the back of his hand mindlessly, not knowing how to respond. Caressing his knuckles, bones, veins... feeling his nails and their sharp tips against your sensitive skin. When you bring his palm up to your lips, your kiss stains it red with blood.

-

You still sleep with Sukuna sometimes. Less frequently, only on days when you feel well enough, and those are rare. You've lost weight by now, sickness making itself visible on your body. You're sitting on his lap and clinging to your robes, scared that he won't like you as much, that you won't live up to his standards. But Sukuna's demeanor about your illness has changed, as he seemed to sense something unusual about it. He flips you over so gently, like you're made of glass, and peppers kisses from your neck downwards, slowly undressing you as much as you allow him. When he takes you, he's so careful. Constantly checking you're comfortable and enjoying yourself. You feel so loved and relaxed, and pleasure comes so easy when you're in this state. It's not the first time Sukuna is this caring with you in bed, but this time is different. This time you can't help but feel like he's saying goodbye.

He holds you afterwards, tracing his fingers over the ridges of your spine and your shoulders. You were always little in his grasp, but now that he feels your protruding bones under his fingertips, you seem all the more vulnerable.

"Will you kill me?", you ask, breaking the silence.

Sukuna frowns. "Nonsense. Why would I do that?"

There's a gulp in your throat. "It won't be long before I can't even do this. I won't be of any use to you then...", you say.

"Stop.", he says sternly. "There's a lot more to you than what you provide me with in bed."

You smile to yourself, but there's still a hole in your chest. Your statement is still true, and you aren't comforted. But this is Sukuna, and you know that he's offered you quite a lot even with that little bit of reassurance. To your surprise, he speaks again.

"Don't upset yourself. It's been a long time since killing you crossed my mind.", he says. "Save the energy for something else."

You nod and thank him. Just moments later, you're asleep. Quicker than ever before, he notes. You usually love it when he lets you cuddle and talk to him. You would force your eyes open when you were sleepy, just to enjoy it longer.

He feels guilty. He's your master, he's responsible for your well being. Yet nothing he does seems to help you long term. Healing you is temporary and he knows that without accessing the source, it will never work. If he could, he would find what was making you sick and rip it out of you with his bare hands, crush it with the force of his palm. He would have to look deeper, open you, and for once, he thinks he can't open a human being. He thinks of you trashing, screaming, and worst of all, looking into his eyes. Just the thought of you like that makes his chest feel like a gaping cavity. Worst of all, he's sure you would let him. He's sure you would forgive him for spilling your blood, and find comfort in his arms again. If you survived, that is. What has he done to you? And to himself?

Now, your head rests on his chest, and you're snoring lightly. For once, a repetitive noise like that doesn't annoy him. For once, he wishes he could listen to it every night. One day, that noise will be the only thing audibly confirming you're still alive.

-

Months pass and you're only getting worse. You barely leave your room now, too weak to even do so. You eat little, and it's showing in your sunken cheeks and eyes. You feel yourself withering away, loosing color, drying like a dying flower. Sukuna is in grief. He struggles to look at you, and visiting you falls heavy on him every time. He always finds himself thinking afterwards. Regretting that he let himself get this attached, wishing that he could simply forget you. But it doesn't work that way.

He goes to see you, after avoiding you for a week. He's Sukuna, he doesn't have any shame. You're sleeping, like you usually are when he comes to visit you. Your snoring is laboured, and it sounds painful. This time, the doors and the silence don't wake you up. He watches you, curled up under a stack of blankets, rising and falling with your struggles to breathe. How foolish he was, to think forgetting you would be as easy as avoiding you for days. How evil he was, trying to forget you while you are still alive under his wing, still his responsibility. Still his.

He sits next to you and leans over you, fingertips ghosting over your face. The snoring stops and you flutter your eyes open, turning in bed and feeling his body next to yours. You smirk at him, eyes adjusting to the light, and smile when you recognize him. ''Master.'', your arms wrap around his neck as you welcome him, your voice dry, but lively as you beckon him closer. ''I missed you.''.

He comes down to plant a kiss to your forehead. ''I missed you too, darling.''. Oh, the things that escape his mouth when he's alone with you. He cups your face, enjoying how much healthier you look with a smile on your face. ''Feeling any better?'', he rubs your cheek, lingering closely above your face.

You nod, but both of you know you only feel better because you saw him. Still, the little surge of happiness that brings you gives you more energy than you've had the whole week. You wiggle to the edge of the bed, making space and inviting him to join you. Sukuna lies down, hooking one arm underneath your neck and pulling you flush against him.

You wrap your arm around him and lean your head against his shoulder. He's still as big as you remember him, unfaltering in the face of your illness. It's comforting. ''You didn't visit in a while. Were you busy?'', you ask, stroking his back. ''How were your days?''

''Monotone.'', he says. ''The villagers bring remedies for you every day, and wish for you to get well.'' It's no wonder. So many times, Sukuna found himself hesitating to kill just because you were sitting on his knee, dressed in something too pretty to be splattered with blood. In the local villages, word spread that you have ''domesticated'' Sukuna. As if such a thing was possible. Or was it?

''Oh?'', you smile. ''I didn't think they would notice my absence.''. You always were supposed to be Sukuna's accessory and nothing more. Remedies and good wishes make it sound like you're more important than just a pet. So it really is that obvious...

''They did.'', he says, and lowers his head, brushing his nose against your face. ''Some took that as an opportunity to gift me new pets.''

You blink at him, a bit taken aback by his honesty. You keep smiling anyways. ''Did you take any?'', you ask, and he sees nothing but genuine curiosity in your eyes. The truth is, you've had a lot of time to think about your place in Sukuna's mansion. You knew, especially in sickness, that you were never entitled to exclusivity with him. You knew that at some point you would have to be replaced, just by the virtue of being a mortal. A human, who would age and become ugly, wrinkled and useless. You were just unlucky enough to meet this fate sooner than you should've.

Sukuna sighs, the weight of the conversation shifting to him. ''Not to bed, no.'', he says.

You're quiet while you think of what to say. You still have a habit of picking words when you're with Sukuna, but the times when he would punish you for improper formulation are far behind you. "Why not?", you settle. You hope the implication is there, that you wouldn't be so mad even if he did.

Why not? Because he thinks it might break him. Because the image of someone else in your place, under him, feels unnatural and wrong. He thinks the guilt might eat him alive. For once in centuries, someone else's needs come before Sukuna's. He is gone, so far gone. You've raised his standards, and he's not sure anyone he takes now will be able to live up to them. Besides, training a new pet to fit your mold would take years, and even then... He couldn't train someone to love him. Not like you do.

''I wouldn't want you to hold back because of me.'', you say, and he realizes he's been quiet for too long. Years ago, if you dared to imply that Sukuna would do such a thing as hold back because of you, that he cared, you would've been minced meat ready for dinner. Now, he looks down at you tenderly when you say it. Well, a tender look from Sukuna is a docile one. You've gotten used to the way that Sukuna communicates love. Subtly, innocuously.

''Worry about getting well, pet.'', he shuts down the conversation, and moves away from you, sitting back on the bed. ''Any wishes? Food? Activities?'', he asks, and feels your forehead with the back of his hand.

Food? No, but... ''I'd like you to stay, please.'', you say, and take his hand with the two of yours, feeling it up with your thumbs.

Sukuna resists the urge to roll his eyes, knowing the thought of annoying him would upset you greatly. ''That's a given. Anything else?''

You pretend to think, then just babble your favorite food. Sukuna takes your order to Uraume. But when he comes back, you're already asleep again. He waits by your side, but you don't wake, so eventually he leaves. By the evening, the plate of your favorite food remains untouched.

-

You can't leave the bed on your own anymore. Sukuna carries you outside when you're feeling good enough. You barely have the strength to latch onto him securely. Still, it's hard to slip out of the grasp of his four arms. He says you've gotten pale. You lay in his lap and bask in the sun, while he tells you about his day or reads a book out loud for you to enjoy. You wish you could talk to him more, but your voice leaves you as days of endless coughing wreck your throat. No herbs and teas ease your condition anymore. You wait for your final day.

And Sukuna doesn't know when he's given up on the idea that you might get better. But he starts spending whole days with you, leaving your side only to sleep in his bed. He tends to almost all your needs personally. You think that if you asked him to get on his knees for you, he would. He is not familiar with this ache that brews in his chest when he looks to his side and doesn't see you there. It feels violating. To be as powerful as he is, and yet completely helpless in the face of the sickness that drains you in front of his very eyes.

He plays with your thinning hair one morning, and you look at him from his lap, as adoringly as always. ''Isn't it funny?.'', you say, and he snaps out of his thoughts to look at you. ''I always imagined dying by your hand.'', you kiss his hand again, planting your dry, blue lips against his knuckles. ''Who would have thought?''.

You, you little human. You made him feel like a fool, like a coward. You made him feel powerless. Who could ever get away unscathed with making Sukuna feel like this? The thought of killing you now, even out of mercy, fills him with horror. He thinks he couldn't live carrying the burden of your death on his back. It's already hard for him as is.

When he's not with you, he withers away in his room, waiting. And when the servants finally come, and tell him you're at your last strengths, he feels as tense as he feels relieved. The servants shake in fear of his reaction, and he simply dismisses them. In a thousand years of his existence, he doesn't remember having to prepare to enter a room. His hand trembles as he brings it up to push the door open. He dreads what awaits him inside.

He expected blood, hysteria, chaos, yet there's none of it when he walks in. Just the pained noises of your breathing. A servant, your favorite, sits by your side and wipes sweat off your forehead. She talks to you in a comforting tone and pats your head gently. When he walks in the room, she lowers her head and moves to leave. It's only a second, but he sees the sad look on your face. ''Stay.'', he orders, and the servant bows and thanks him.

You move your attention to him, raising your hand to greet him weakly. He picks it up and bends down to kiss it. There's tears in your eyes as he settles into a seat next to you, and you open your mouth in an attempt to say something.

''Easy now.'', he shushes you, and helps you into his lap. You lean back, looking at him through a blur. His features appear even more doubled through the tears, and you still find his beauty mesmerizing. Your master. Your own little god and protector. Although he regrets it, you've never claimed the title of his spouse. Yet, he still stuck by your side, until parted by death. In sickness and in health.

He wipes your tears, and the mouth he conjures onto his hand kisses your forehead. One set of his hands caresses your face, the other massages the tension out of your bony shoulders. Sukuna knows how important it is for you to pass in peace. He doesn't want to curse you, or have despair turn you into a curse. "Relax now.", his voice is so soothing, as if lulling you to sleep. "It won't be long". You weep. What did an ordinary human like you do to deserve this honor? To be comforted on their death bed by a god. To be guided to death by him.

"Master.", you sob. "I'm so scared..."

Delicate touch against your skin. Sharp nails grazing your cheek ever so slightly, just barely enough to make their presence known. "Have no fear.", Sukuna looms over you like a snowdrop. "Where you go now, pain won't follow.". You speak to him a little longer. Tell him all the things you always wanted to tell him, but were scared of the consequences. Dangerous words, ones that were rarely associated with Sukuna. Love. And Sukuna is attentive, so human. Your blinking slows and you find comfort in his voice, as he returns every loving word back to you. Your pained breathing follows, and your eyelids are so heavy. But the sight of him is so hypnotizing, you wish you never had to look away. "You are so brave, my little dove. Go now, be free.". You were too good for this wretched palace anyways. The sight of him is etched in your memory as you close your eyes. "It was a pleasure to have you by my side.", you listen, feeling control over your body slip through your fingers. When you can't move, or feel his touch, you still hear his calm voice. "When you're ready, come back to me. I'll be waiting for your return.". Then everything is quiet, for you and for him. The servants cries are muffled by the sheets, where she has her head pressed by your side.

The hallways, silent except for the busy tapping of feet. Outside, the wind blows petals off of blooming flowers, leaving them bare and stranded. Autumn is here to carry you away.

Servants hold their breath when Sukuna walks by. One wrong look at him and the walls would be painted red. Just like before. Before you. And it's not long before Sukuna looks like a monster again - red eyes and a permanent frown etched on his face. Villagers bring bouquets, and lay them to the right of his throne, where you used to sit. He stares them all down, and only for a moment thinks that maybe, humans are not the scum he thought they were. But then he remembers, they only mourn you because you held him back from his destructive tendencies. Scum.

And he kills again. The first is a villager from afar, where news of your passing hasn't reached. Ripped to shreds for mentioning you. The women who screamed, their blood soaks the carpets and seeps through the wooden floor, dripping down to the cellars. He feels like himself again, unhinged, unbeatable.

Until the day is over, and he goes back to his empty room. His cold, empty bed, and the old habit of reaching for you in his sleep, only to grab nothing instead. And the crocheted figures of the two of you on his nightstand, watching him as he struggles to sleep alone. He can't bear it. So he leaves, and doesn't come back for days, weeks, months.

Smoke clouds the skies on the horizon once again, after years and years of peace and clarity. As far as the eye stretches, the world will know of Sukuna's wrath. But as thrilling as it feels to conquer again, when the village is burned and ash covers the grass on the ground, the thought of you still lingers. Your devastated eyes the first time he's killed before you. The first time he's felt guilty about his monstrous nature. When he comes back, no one's warm embrace awaits him. No one's there to brighten up his day. No amount of blood shed and villages burned replace the emptiness you left behind in his heart.

The grief settles, and sits heavy in Sukuna's chest, as he assumes position in his lonely throne again, and gazes at the row of people waiting to beg, talk, offer... bore him. Another eternity of boredom. An eternity of picking through thousands of humans, in vain hopes of finding you again. In vain hopes of recognizing you, even if it's lifetimes from now, when the last memory of your face has already faded from his mind. When generations change, and the thought of a monster like Sukuna being capable of tenderness vanishes. When the fire in his chest, ignited by love, is already a memory so distant, that recalling it feels surreal.

Maybe he will forget you by then. Maybe times will harden him again, and the idea of a pet becoming his lover will make him laugh. But for now, the thought of finding you in a crowd, taking you in his arms and never letting go, is his comfort and safe place. For now, he will wait for you. As long as it takes, like a stone, unyielding against the passing of time.

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

anniversary antics

pairing: joel miller x f! reader

cw/tags: pwp, breeding kink (literally that's the fic), unprotected p in v (duh), dirty talk, established relationship (they're happily married?!), not beta read, written in one evening

summary: literally breeding kink

wc: 1.3k words

You’d always heard that married couples don’t have sex very often. You’d been warned about these ‘dead bedrooms’ by friends of yours, read about it on the internet – it was basically common knowledge. 

Maybe there’s some truth to it, but you wouldn’t know because you married Joel Miller who gets older and sexier every day. Joel Miller, your husband who took you out to a nice dinner for your anniversary and sat across from you acting all polite and charming in his brand new suit, your husband who ripped your dress off the moment he got you through your front door. 

Now you lie naked under him, already disheveled and ready to take whatever he’ll give you. You’re face-to-face with the man who makes you weak like no other. You affect him equally, you drive him wild, fill him with a fiery need that surpasses all other desires.

Though it takes all of your mental fortitude to fight the pull of arousal, your sensible self still peeks through for a moment.

“Joel, I’m pretty sure I’m ovulating right now.”

Joel slips back into his serious, practical, typical demeanor easily. A completely different man from the one who was sucking marks into the taut skin of your neck just a moment ago.

“Okay. You want me to pull out or do you wanna use a condom?” he asks as if those are the only two options.

“We can do whatever you want.” You shouldn’t tell him what you want.

“It’s not just about me. It’s your body, baby.” He leans in and whispers his next words into the shell of your ear: “tell me what you want.”

His voice is low and commanding. It makes you nervous for all the wrong reasons. You should be worrying about the consequences of doing this while you’re ovulating, you should be assessing the risks, but you can only think of the reward. 

“I, uh- what if you didn’t do either of those things?”

“You mean you want me to cum inside you? Is that it?” He remains straight-faced, seemingly unfazed by something that’s been a kink you’ve kept secret for so long, believing it to be too taboo.

He’s not even inside you yet, he’s looming over you, skin barely ghosting over yours, but his words alone make you exhale a breathy moan, and he knows.

“You do want that, huh?” He gets that cocky grin on his face, proud of himself for figuring out what makes you tick, though it was hardly a mystery. 

One of his hands remains by your head, balancing himself above you while the other is wrapped around his dick as he drags the head along your folds.

You grip the pillow and turn your head to the side, burying your face in it, determined not to let him hear the sounds coming from your mouth right now.

“I know how bad you want it, baby, but I think she wants it even more than you do,” he says, focusing on your cunt, playing with it and reveling in the lewd sounds that come with every swipe of his tip along your slit. “Listen to that,” he says

He’s silent for a second, letting you hear the slick noises of your wetness.

“I need you to look at me, sweetheart.” He ceases his teasing between your legs and brings his hand up to your face to cup your chin.

Hesitant to meet his eyes but desperate to have him inside you, you give in and look at him.

“Baby, she’s cryin’ ‘cause she needs it so bad. Are we gonna give it to her?”

“Only if you want to.” Translation: yes, please.

His tone is deeper, voice thick with conviction, when he replies. “Baby, you have no idea how bad I want it.”

You shouldn’t be surprised, and yet you are.

“Gimme your hand,” he says. “I want you to feel how hard I am right now.”

You oblige, let him take your hand and guide you to wrap your palm around his cock. It twitches in your grasp. “I didn’t know it could get this hard,” you say.

“Only when I’m with you.”

You shift your hips while you hold his cock steady lining it up with your entrance. “Please,” you whine, gazing up into his eyes.

His answer isn’t verbal. He eases into you, letting you feel his length stroke your inner walls as he gradually presses himself deeper.

“It feels so good,” you moan. 

You wrap your arms around him, holding onto him like you’re afraid you’ll lose him.

“I know.” His voice is raspier now, barely hiding his own desperation. “Baby, just so you know, if you want me to stop-”

“-No! Don’t stop.” You wrap your legs around his hips, keeping him inside you, using your heels to force him even deeper.

He laughs – so much as one can when they’re running out of breath. “Or if you want me to pull out.” There’s a glint in his eye, he’s not ‘checking in with you’, he’s teasing you. “If you don’t want me to get you pregnant…”

On cue, your walls clench around him, betraying any facade of composure, and the smirk is already waiting on his face.

“I knew it,” he says. “You want me to get you knocked up, huh?”

In a haze, eyes half-lidded and empty of all thoughts but Joel getting you pregnant, you mumble in agreement, “uh-huh.”

“I could put a baby in you right now,” he says as if it’s some revelation. He continues to act flippant to tease you, but it’s getting to him too – you can hear it in his voice, rough and raspy.

The coil inside you tightens, so close to snapping, you can feel it. “Joel, I’m gonna cum.” It’s urgent, a warning, not a plea.

“Mm-hmm. You can cum for me. But I’m not gonna stop until I get you pregnant, baby.”

And that’s what brings you over the edge. Your walls clench around him, keeping him inside you, and your nails drag down his back, leaving marks, claiming him, knowing he’s about to make you his too.

You cum so hard you nearly scream but it’s all unintelligible aside from his name.

He doesn’t give you a second to catch your breath as he chases his own orgasm. All you can do is cling to him and sob out your pleas as you continue to soak the sheets.

“Look how deep I am, baby,” he says, eyeing the bulge his cock makes in your abdomen. “Gotta make sure I cum deep inside you if I wanna get you knocked up tonight.”

Joel’s not usually this talkative during sex. He’s the kind of guy to swear through gritted teeth and grunt with every thrust, but now, he’s talking dirty to you like he’s an expert. Like he’s practiced. Maybe in his head, he has. 

It’s the look on your face, the way you can’t seem to shake yourself out of your last orgasm while teetering on the edge of the next, the way you’re losing yourself to your own pleasure that spurs him on.

“You feel so good, baby. I’m getting’ real close.”

“Me too.”

“Yeah?” His hand snakes its way downward so that his thumb can circle your clit in time with his thrusts.

His hips falter and he cums deep inside you with a low groan. You’re so caught up in your own that you struggle to focus on him. You want to see him, but your eyes screw shut when the intense pleasure courses through you. You gush around him, leaving him equally as messy as he leaves you.

Basking in the post-orgasm bliss, you slowly regain your senses. 

“I could really be pregnant,” you say

“I doubt it,” he says. 

“Why’s that?”

“Just my intuition.” He shrugs and a small smile graces his lips before he adds, “but we can always try again.”

[erisolkat]

i dont wanna sic dad on mom cause she never gets any goddamn proper alone time (he thinks when she says shes going to bed it means he's meant to go with and he works from home and barely ever leaves) but also im finding it harder and harder to focus with him still downstairs

[aegonstradwife]

long nights | tom glynn-carney x reader

summary: you and tom are costars, who have to share an intimate scene together. afterward, you go out for drinks to unwind. and after that? it's anyone's guess.

warnings: drinking, friends to lovers, smut. (tipsy sex, oral, fingering, squirting.)

a. note: first thing i've written in a while. please be kind.

Nerves are already eating away at you as you approach Tom's trailer. Unsure what you're looking for, you rap on the door. Reassurance? Comfort? The director to jump out and shout, surprise!, the scene has been scrapped? Maybe all three?

Tom's smiling face appears as he opens the door for you, gesturing for you to join him inside. "Hey. You ready for this?"

You greet Tom with a smile as well, albeit one much more nervous than his, and step past him into his trailer. "Hey. I mean.... as ready I can be? You?"

You take a seat beside him; though you're finished for now, clad in a fluffy robe supplied to you by the crew, Tom still has a few more minutes of makeup left. Underneath your robe, you have only a skimpy nude-colored outfit on in preparation for the scene that has you so worked up.

Tom's gaze flickers to that robe, obviously wondering what's underneath. You're too busy plucking nervously at your own fingernails to notice, and when you finally glance up at him, he quickly composes himself and nods.

"Yeah, I think so. Well, as ready as I can be too, I guess." He picks up his script, fiddling with it as he watches the makeup artist put the finishing touches on his face. "This scene is going to be.... awkward, probably."

The way he says it causes a dead weight to settle in the pit of your stomach.

The artist currently dusting powder on Tom's cheeks pipes up, though, with, "Oh, don't worry too much about it, you two will be just fine!"

As she retreats, giving Tom the okay to leave, you roll your eyes and sigh, "Easy for her to say," as you hold the door open for him to follow you out.

He chuckles nervously, right behind you as you make your way to set.

The crew has done an excellent job of transforming a standard sound stage into a comfortable bedroom. Two chairs are set up beside a large bed and lights shine down on the room, already hot from the heat of the bulbs.

Tom swallows heavily as the two of you approach and the director motions for both of you to take your places on the bed.

Tom motions for you to climb on, muttering, "Ladies first," and you oblige with a stifled sort of laugh, disrobing and lying back. As he crawls over you, you try to make yourself as comfy as possible beneath him.

"You alright?" He queries softly.

Though you notice his gaze roaving over your mostly naked form, you try not to read too much into it - a half-nude woman could lie underneath any man and it probably wouldn't matter much what she looked like; he's probably going to stare no matter what.

You nod spastically, throat having suddenly closed up with embarrassment and nerves.

He nods back at you, trying to give you a reassuring smile. He props himself up on his elbows above you, trying to ignore the fact that he can feel your body heat through the very small gap between his body and yours.

The director calls for quiet on the set and it isn't long before a loud "Action!" follows.

All in all, the scene isn't painful - with someone like Tom, it can't be. He's so patient and sweet, putting you at ease and cracking jokes whenever the director yells cut.

It's becoming increasingly hard to ignore your own arousal, however, with Tom's bare, toned chest inches from your own and his soft lips searing against yours with every cry of 'action!'

Eventually, the intimacy coordinator calls an end to this particular scene for the day and as you move to roll off the bed, you can't help but notice that Tom is hard. He's wearing a flimsy little piece of flesh-colored cloth that barely covers his lower half, same as you, and it's making it very difficult to ignore what's going on down there.

Tom, however, rolls off of you quickly, trying to hide his erection and avoid drawing your attention to it. Despite his best efforts, it's still very obvious to you, and the way you blush as he looks at you isn't helping any.

You clear your throat anxiously, scampering off the bed after Tom and slipping gratefully back into your robe.

Tom is scrambling to his own feet, quickly grabbing for his robe and tying it around his waist as he watches you with a mixture of embarrassment and - desire?

The crew has begun to disperse, but Tom hesitates for a moment as he stares at you. He clearly wants to say something, but it seems he's not quite sure what. Instead, he stands there in uncomfortable silence, watching you as you fidget with the tie on your own robe.

You shoot him a small smile from across the room. "Not too bad, huh?"

He chuckles softly, returning your smile with a small, somewhat bashful, one of his own.

"Yeah, not too bad."

He sighs, raking a hand through his already-mussed hair and avoiding your gaze. He doesn't know how to bring up what just happened without feeling like an absolute creep.

"Hey.... listen. Erm, this...." He waves a hand down near his waist. "That was just.... I mean, I didn't make you uncomfortable, did I?"

God, how could he ever make you uncomfortable?

"No, no, not at all." You wave a hand, completely dismissing the idea while also trying to find a way to tell him you're actually flattered. "It was.... fun. You made it fun."

His shoulders relax slightly at your words, as though flooded with relief. But there's still obviously a part of him that's worried that he messed up.

"Good, that's.... that's good."

He rubs his jaw, avoiding your gaze and looking anywhere but directly at you.

"And.... you're not upset at me for...."

He gestures downward again.

You laugh lightly, tying your robe tight together. "Tom, everything's okay. It was a really intense scene, so it's only natural something like that would happen." Right? You're sure it must happen all the time with other actors. You're still relatively new to this, so you're not positive, but it sounds right. "Hey, why don't we get changed and go for a drink? Just the two of us?'

Tom deflates even further at the suggestion; he must have seriously been worried you'd be upset or worse.

He nods enthusiastically.

"Yeah, yeah, that sounds good. I could use a drink after that."

"Well, don't make it sound like I tortured you," you groan, a blush flooding your cheeks.

Tom runs a hand through his hair again as both of you share a bout of breathless laughter. "I'll meet you outside in five?"

"Mm, yeah."

Once out of your robe and back into your normal clothes, you feel much better and back to your usual self, waiting for Tom outside of his trailer.

He emerges a few minutes later, looking a bit more put together and much fresher than he did in costume. He spots you waiting for him and smiles.

"Hey. Sorry to keep you waiting." He starts for the lot exit, gesturing for you to follow. "I did a bit of exploring around set the other day; I know a great little place not far from here, if that's alright?"

You're always struck by how handsome Tom is out of costume - he certainly has a much better style than his character does.

"Sure, lead the way." You fall into step beside him, loving the heat radiating off of him with every step.

As you go, Tom stuffs his hands deep into his pockets. You glance at him and wonder if you imagine the peachy blush blossoming on his face. The air between the two of you feels charged somehow, the memory of the scene still fresh in both your minds.

He steals glances at you every so often as you walk, though you're unsure what exactly he's looking at or for. And instead of making you uncomfortable, you feel warm and safe under his constant gaze.

"So, what do you do to unwind after a long day on set?"

His voice takes you by surprise in the silence.

"Well, I do like a stiff drink from time to time." You gesture in front of you as if to say 'as you can see from where we're headed.' "But I also like to listen to music, play games, take a dip in a really hot bath.... how about you?"

He chuckles. "I'm not much for baths, to be honest. I'd rather shower, just take a quick rinse to feel clean."

He grins at you.

"But I do enjoy having a nice cold beer.... and occasionally I'm persuaded into a game of FIFA, if the right person is asking."

"You should seriously try a bath some time, they're so relaxing and they really help with soreness and tight muscles...."

Both of you are absolutely thinking about bathing together right now, but not one of you says this aloud.

"Oh God, you would be into FIFA, you're so incredibly British. I mostly play RPG's like Final Fantasy, Persona, that kind of thing."

He snorts a laugh at your remark.

"Hey, don't knock it 'til you try it. We can't all spend our free time saving the world from monsters and fighting evil overlords. Some of us just like a good bit of football."

He grins, coming up short when they reach a pub about halfway down the street.

"Right in here, my lady."

-

A few hours later, and the two of you are drunk off your asses, laughing at something Tom just said while sidled up at the bar.

You laugh so hard, you lean back and almost fall off your stool.

Luckily, Tom is quick enough to catch your arm and keep you from toppling backwards, but in the process, you end up pressed against his chest as he grips you in a tight yet gentle hold.

"Whoa, whao! Careful there, you're almost as accident prone as I am."

He chuckles, his breath warm against your ear as he steadies you on your feet once more. Even inebriated, you're still aware of the way you fit so perfectly against his body.

You shake your head, staring up at him. Both of you are quite drunk, but Tom at least can still keep his eyes open all the way.

You blink heavily, grasping for his hand, petting over his fingers. "Sorry, I just.... I still can't believe FIFA is your favorite game. It's a disgrace."

You devolve into a fit of giggles once more.

He rolls his eyes playfully, gently squeezing your fingers in reply.

"Oh, and you've got a better idea? Let me guess, something with swords and magic and.... y'know, dungeons and stuff."

He's a little too tipsy to notice the way you're playing with his hand, or how much it's affecting him.

The world spins as you rest your head on his shoulder, still gazing up at him. ".... oh, I'll put you in a dungeon. With a pair of nice fluffy handcuffs."

Another bout of giggles, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Nothing exists right now except you and Tom - not the bartender, not the other guests - just the two of you, drunk and hanging onto each other.

Tom goes absolutely still as you rest your head against his shoulder, his heart skipping a beat at your comment about handcuffs. He's suddenly finding it very difficult to breathe with you so close, the sound of your giggles making his stomach flutter with something other than alcohol-induced nausea.

He swallows hard, trying to gather his thoughts into something less perverted and more appropriate for public consumption.

"Is that a.... promise, or a threat?"

With your head on his shoulder, your nose is very close to his neck. He smells.... divine. A fair bit like stale alcohol, but still divine.

"Mm...." You wriggle, getting situated in his arms. "I don't typically make a habit of threatening people. So.... it must be a promise."

He takes another shuddering breath as you burrow your nose deeper into the crook of his neck, the feel of your breath hot across his skin making him shiver.

God, you feel so good against him, so warm and perfect. He wants so badly to wrap his arms around you, to pull you into his lap, to bury his face in your hair and just hold you.

"And.... if I said I hope you follow through on that promise?"

You take a deep breath and let it out on a sigh, fingers coming to tap against his jaw. The way his throat works every time he swallows is captivating you. "Then I would say.... Maybe we should head back, to my dungeon.... so I can make this fantasy a reality."

He shuts his eyes and lets out an involuntary, needy little groan at your words. His entire body is on fire, his thoughts hazy and scrambled with desire. The only thing he can focus on coherently is the feeling of your body against his, the sound of your voice in his ear, your fingers on his jaw.

He nods, his voice thick and raspy as he finally manages to speak.

"You have no idea how badly I would love for you to take me back to your dungeon." He hoists you up further, supporting you against him as he pets a hand over your waist. "But.... you're very drunk. We really shouldn't...."

Oh, that moan.... he must want you, otherwise why would he make that needy little sound? The implication of it is enough to make you press your thighs together in desperation.

You swallow thickly. "Then.... at least get me home and help me sober up? Would that be okay, Tom?"

Tom is drunk, but not so much that he can't still think straight. Seeing how needy you're becoming, how much you're obviously wanting him, makes his heart ache with desire, but he refuses to take advantage of you now. He'll do anything else for you, but not that. You need to be in full control of yourself when you take that step with him.

"Of course. Anything you want."

He nods, a hand gripping your hip as he helps you out the door and onto the street.

You're a stone's throw from the filming location, but much farther from the hotel they have you staying at.

You fish in your pocket for your phone. "Here, let me get us an Uber back."

Tom stays by your side as you tap at your phone, his hand still on your hip to steady you as you type. He hopes the driver will get there quickly, because having such easy access to you is proving to be more and more difficult as the alcohol continues to swirl through him.

As you wait, you list against him, arms wrapped around his solid torso. "Tom...."

He grunts softly as you practically meld yourself against his side, and he has to hold himself back from wrapping you in a tight, desperate embrace. He can feel the heat radiating off of you, the way your body fits against his like a puzzle piece.

He tries to force his mind to focus, but alcohol and the feel of you pressed all up against him makes it difficult.

"Yeah....?"

"Will you at least kiss me?" You can't stop yourself from asking. "When we get in the car."

He chokes on his own saliva when you ask him to kiss you, a jolt of need running through him at your words. He wants to kiss you, oh God, does he want to kiss you, but he's still worried about taking advantage.

You can sense he wants to say no, so you cling to the front of his jacket and whine, "Please?"

But then you're looking up at him with those big, pleading eyes and he can't say no. He won't.

He nods, his voice coming out as a hoarse whisper. "When we're in the car, I promise I'll kiss you."

A grin overtakes your entire face, lighting it up, and your car pulls up in no time. Tom lets you slide in first, making sure you don't just drunkenly fall in, and as soon as he's seated and the door is shut you slot yourself against him with a sigh. "Now, Tom? Please."

He barely has enough time to slam the door shut before you're on him, pushing your body against his with a needy whine. He groans as you press into him, his hands coming up to rest on the bare skin of your waist. The feel of you is almost too much and he has to fight against the urge to just grab you and kiss you senseless right now.

His voice is rough and low as he replies, his lips close enough to brush your jaw.

"God, yes, so impatient, aren't you?"

"Yes." You've always been impatient, always wanted everything now, as soon as you can, and Tom is certainly no exception. "Although.... if you wanted to keep kissing my jaw like that, I wouldn't say no."

He chuckles softly, the sound rumbling in his chest as he leans closer, lips tracing along the line of your jaw before moving up to your earlobe, where he gives you a playful little nibble.

"Just your jaw? I'm not that generous a man. I want to kiss every inch of you, mark you as mine."

"But you don't want to take advantage of me?" You ask softly, remembering his words from earlier as you pull back just enough to see him properly. Your whole body is heating up, the tension between your legs growing unbearable.

How long have you wanted this, wanted him, and now you have him and he refuses to go any further? Will he still want to in the morning, when you're stone cold sober?

You hate these thoughts, these doubts about yourself.

Tom groans, his fingers flexing on your hips as he forces himself to pull back from you. He knows he has to, but he hates it. He wants nothing more than to hold you tightly and kiss you until you're screaming into his mouth. But he can't. Not like this. Not when you're drunk, not when you're not fully in control.

"Damn these principles of mine," he chuckles dryly. "Because I really, really want to."

With a trembling hand carding itself through his pretty blond hair, you lick your lips in what you hope is a seductive way and not a 'shit I'm about to pass out' kind of way.

"Well. You did at least promise to give me a proper kiss. So. What're you waiting for?"

He stares at you through half-lidded eyes, his thoughts growing more and more incoherent the more you touch him and the more you speak. He swallows, his gaze flickering down to your lips, your jaw, the exposed skin of your collarbones over your shirt before dancing back up to meet your gaze. He looks completely wrecked already.

His grip tightens on your hip, fingers flexing against your skin as he considers his options. He clearly wants to do more than just kiss you.

"God, you're really not making this easy on me, are you?"

You whine, hating how much time he's taking, hating that he might change his mind and refuse to touch you at all.

"Tom, please.... you promised."

The sound of you whining, begging for his touch, is more than he can handle. His resistance falters, and he gives in with a heavy sigh.

"God damn it, you're going to be the death of me."

With another needy sound, he takes your face in his hands and finally, finally, he kisses you.

If the sound that came out of you before could be described as a whine, this one can only be described as a whimper. All your need and desire for him escaping you in one long, low sound.

The driver probably thinks Tom is hurting you with the sense of urgency imbued in that one sound.

"Oh, Tom...," As you part from him, you continue to peck his lips over and over, smaller, messier kisses than before. One at the corner of his lips, one to his chin, another as you nibble at his bottom lip. "It's not enough.... it's not going to be enough. Not until I have you."

The sounds that are coming out of your mouth make him shiver with want, and each little kiss on his face fuels the fire burning in the pit of his stomach. His grip on you tightens, his fingers digging almost painfully into your skin as he fights the urge to grab you and pin you down against the seat.

"You.... God, you're so impatient. You're not always this easy to read, you know, making all these needy little sounds."

He nuzzles against your mouth, his breath coming in hot little pants against your skin.

You know. God, you know how unreadable you are from day to day. Can't ever let any true emotion show, can't let the boy you like know you like him, lest he use it against you.

"I'm afraid," you mutter, fingers splayed against his neck. "I'm afraid to let anyone know.... how I really feel. Silly, isn't it?"

His fingers move softly against your skin, his touch gentle as he strokes up and down your bare hip where your shirt has ridden up.

"No, not silly. Just.... careful. You're very careful about how you portray yourself to the world. It's not a bad thing, it's just...." He lets out a quiet huff of laughter. "It's just frustrating sometimes, because it makes it so damn hard to read you."

You laugh too, accompanied by a shiver at the feeling of his fingers on your hip. "So.... if you could normally tell what I'm thinking.... how much I want you.... What would you do?"

His eyes darken at your question, a smirk playing across his lips as his fingers tighten again on your waist.

"What would I do? If I knew how much you truly wanted me, how badly you need me...."

He leans closer, his mouth hovering over the pulse point of your throat. He can feel your heartbeat, quick and erratic, beneath his lips as he murmurs against your skin.

"I'd take you right here in the backseat of this damn car, for a start."

Your hold on him tightens, that tension between your legs finally breaking as your clit starts to actively throb with desire. "Oh, Tom...." You hook a leg over his, rubbing against his thigh. "I don't care where we are or who's watching.... take me now? Please?"

Tom grunts, a feral sound that comes from deep in his chest, as you rub against him. His grip on your waist is almost bruising, but he doesn't care about that right now. All he can think about now is burying himself in you. Claiming you as his.

He pulls back just enough to whisper in your ear, his voice thick with hunger. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Anyone could look in and see you falling apart under my touch, knowing how badly you wanted me...."

You nod, unable to help yourself. You would like that, would get so soaked to know someone - anyone - was watching you get fucked by the hottest guy you'd ever met.

Just then, however, the car pulls to an abrupt stop outside the hotel.

Lower lip caught hard between your teeth, you attempt to right yourself and your clothes as you exit the Uber with a muffled, "sorry," to the driver.

Tom climbs out after you, offering a similar apology before hurrying after you, walking so close that he's almost on top of you. His hand comes to hover near the small of your back, desperate to touch you but refraining from doing so until you get inside.

As soon as the elevator doors have closed behind you, Tom grabs you and pulls you flush against him, pinning you against the wall as he groans against your neck.

"God, you don't know what you do to me."

Another full blown smile graces your face as Tom pulls you close. "I didn't embarrass you too badly back there, then?"

He laughs, the sound low and rough. He brushes his nose against the line of your jaw, his mouth seeking the sensitive skin along the side of your neck where he can feel your pulse fluttering quickly beneath.

"Embarrass me? No. But you are going to kill me if you keep making those little noises. And you made a lot of those little noises in the car."

The elevator chimes to a stop on your floor, and you tug him out into the hallway with a hand in his. "I can make a lot more of those 'little noises' in my room."

At that, he lets out an almost inhuman sound, a low growl that comes from deep in his chest.

"Don't say things like that, or I might make you right in the middle of this hallway."

He pulls you down the hall towards your room, nearly breaking the lock on your door in his haste to get inside.

You hand him your card key, and the minute you stumble inside, Tom is pressing you back against the closed door and kissing your neck again. "Tom, seriously.... I need you. I've needed you for a while. Since I met you, honestly."

You wouldn't be admitting these things if you weren't drunk, but that doesn't make them any less true.

A desperate sound catches in the back of his throat at your words, at the admission that you've wanted him for a while. That you need him, as much as he needs you right now. He pulls back to look you in the eye, drinking in the sight of your flushed face, your disheveled hair, and he almost forgets how to breathe.

"God, you're going to be the death of me. I've wanted you so damn bad. Wanted to hear you saying my name, begging me to touch you."

You nod, lip caught plaintively between your teeth again. "Well.... now I am. And you.... you want me too. So.... what are we waiting for?"

To your dismay, however, Tom steps away and sighs. "Not like this, not while you're drunk."

You shake your head, and the room goes spinning again. Stumbling against him, you grabs onto the front of his shirt. "I'm not - not even really that drunk. I feel good, Tom, please...."

He's trying so damn hard to do the right thing here, to not take advantage of your current state, but the moment you stumble into him and grip his shirt he can't help but shiver with need. You look so small and needy right now, holding onto him like you can't stand up without him.

He swallows hard, his throat bobbing, and he grips your waist to keep you steady as he speaks.

"Let's get you a drink of water, alright? And maybe a snack." His fingers are gentle at your jaw, steadying you. "Then we can talk. How does that sound?"

You suppose you should be grateful for Tom's self control, how gentlemanly he is. Not many men could - or would even try to - stop themselves at this point, especially with a woman throwing herself at them like you are.

You take a moment to thank your stars, and nod. "Sure." You let Tom lead you into the room proper, and set you down on one of the beds. "There should be some water bottles in the mini fridge. And some crackers on the night stand."

Tom takes the time to rummage in the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water and handing it to you before snatching a packet of crackers off the bedside table. He comes to sit beside you on the bed, watching to make sure you're stable before opening the packet and holding it out to you.

"Eat." He's gone into full-on 'protection mode' now that you're in a safe spot. "And drink your water. You'll thank me in the morning."

You lean against Tom as you do as he says, biting into your crackers and washing them down with a mouthful of cold water. "Thank you, Tom. Seriously. You're so sweet.... how did I get so lucky to grow so close with someone so amazing?"

He sighs quietly, his arm curling around you as he pulls you closer against him. He presses a soft kiss against the top of your head, his voice deep and soft.

"I'm the lucky one, darling. Being your friend is an absolute privilege. I don't deserve such a wonderful woman."

You take another little nibble of a cracker, turning into him. "What if.... what if I want to be more than friends?"

His breath hitches at that, and he has to resist the urge to wrap his arms around you and pull you on top of him.

Instead, he runs his fingers through your hair, his gaze roaming over your face. "Are you sure you're sober enough to make these kinds of decisions, love? Because if so, then I'm all yours."

"Give me like, five minutes," you answer truthfully. "I'll finish these and drink my water and I'll be perfect. I promise."

He lets out a quiet chuckle, his thumb stroking gently against your cheek. "All right, love. Drink your water, eat your crackers, and I'll wait however long you need, okay? I want you to be sure about this. I'll be here, right beside you, until you're ready."

The two of you sit and have a casual chat as you eat and drink, and gradually the room stops spinning so much. It's more like 20 minutes than five, but eventually you toss the wrapper and the empty bottle in the trash and fix Tom with a measured look. "Well.... I'm ready."

All the while, Tom had continued to quietly hold you, his strong, steady presence beside you like a pillar. He had chatted along with you, his voice a low murmur at your ear, until you were done eating and drinking.

When he feels you turn to look at him, he gives you a small smile, his eyes dark with desire. He takes a moment to study your expression, making sure you really are as sure about this as you seem.

When he apparently decides you are, he moves in closer, one hand gripping your waist to pull you up against him.

One of your hands curls around his shoulder, the other going to his slim waist. "May I have another kiss?" You ask quietly.

He hums, his hand tightening on your waist, his thumb rubbing small circles on your hip again.

"Of course, dearest."

He doesn't hesitate to lean closer, his nose nuzzling against your jaw before pressing his mouth to your throat. He places soft, fluttering kisses along the sensitive skin there, his warm breath making your skin tingle.

Your breathing quickens, your hold on him tightening. "Tom.... don't take this the wrong way, but.... you could do whatever you want to me right now and I wouldn't say no."

A shudder rolls through him when he hears the breathless need in your voice, and his hand comes up to bury itself in your hair, gently tugging your head back as he nips lightly at your jaw.

"Darling, don't say that or I really won't be held responsible for my actions.”

You've already surrendered herself to him, leaning back against the pillows as his teeth work at your neck and jaw. "But I'm serious. What do you want to do to me?"

A harsh, almost feral, sound rumbles in the back of his throat at your words, and he gives your hair another gentle tug to expose more of your neck to his mouth. He traces a trail from your jaw to your collarbone, nipping and biting along the way.

"I want you to lock me up in your dungeon, of course," he says, and you both chuckle.

Then, "Baby, I want to touch you. Taste you. Make you moan my name until you're pleading and begging for more. I want to...." He hesitates, as though nervous. ".... I want to take one of those really hot baths you were talking about earlier with you...."

"Well, which do you want to do first? Touch me, taste me, or bathe with me?" Your heart is hammering against your ribcage, a frightened bird fighting its way out.

Having Tom, here, looking at you like this is making you feel so weak.

He considers his options for a moment, studying your face intently as he decides. He's practically shaking with need right now, and being given the choice is almost too much for him. He can't wait to get his hands on you.

"I think...." His voice sounds wrecked, his thumb tracing a path up the side of your ribcage. "I think I want to touch you first."

"Then what are you waiting for?" You ask, with a bite of impatience in your voice. You lean fully back against the pillows now, letting your shirt ride up over your abdomen. "I'm all yours, Tom."

His eyes darken as he notices your shirt riding up, revealing a strip of bare skin just below your navel. He runs his hand up your side, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake, until he can tuck his fingers under the fabric. He pulls your shirt up further.

"God, you really are, aren't you? Such a beautiful, perfect little thing, all mine to explore."

His words cause you to inhale sharply, spreading your legs so he can get between them. "Tom.... keep talking like that. I can't get enough of it."

He lets out a gravelly groan at that, shifting to kneel between your legs. His hands come up to gently run along your sides, to your ribs, finally coming back down to rest on your hips and holding you still as he speaks.

"You want to hear more, love? I'll tell you anything you want. You just have to ask."

Your hands find his toned forearms, skimming up and down. You like feeling him, it sets you at ease to know he's here with you. "Keep telling me I'm yours, keep saying I'm perfect. Keep.... keep telling me how much you want me. Please."

He tightens his grip on your hips, his broad chest rising and falling with his rapid breathing. His eyes roam over your body, taking in every dip and curve.

"You're mine, darling. Absolutely mine."

He moves down, his nose running along your stomach, his hand pushing your shirt up farther to expose more of you.

"Perfect. So damn perfect. Can't even believe I get to have you like this. It's all I've thought about for weeks."

"Really?" For some reason, you're more embarrassed to learn that Tom has been pining for you than you are of the fact that his face is now level with your bare chest. "Why didn't you say anything?"

He laughs at that, the rumble in his chest making his muscles ripple against your skin. He ducks down, placing a kiss between your breasts before speaking.

"I don't know, darling. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable in any way, I suppose. You're just so damn hard to read. I could never tell if you wanted me to leave you alone, or if you just didn't want to let yourself show it."

"I'm sorry," you apologize, petting his hair back, letting your nails traipse down his neck. "I promise not to be so hard to read from now on, but only if you promise me something."

He lets out another low moan when your nails run along his neck. He moves his mouth down, peppering the soft skin above your hip bone with little kisses. When he speaks, his voice vibrates against your skin, sending shudders all through your body. "Anything...."

You worry your lower lip yet again, hands still busy in his perfectly soft hair. "Be mine? I mean.... I guess I'm asking you out. Wanna be my boyfriend?"

He stops. His mouth on your hip, his hands on your waist, his entire body frozen still as your words sink in. His brain seems to have short-circuited, and it takes a good ten seconds before he manages to get it working again.

"You.... you want me to be your boyfriend?"

In the time it takes him to form words, you've had a full blown panic attack. "I mean, only if you want to. We really don't have to. In fact.... It was a mistake of me to ask, seriously, let's just keep it at this."

He shakes himself out of his shock at your panicked rambling, and his hands grab for your wrists, holding you in place.

"Stop. Stop apologizing and stop rambling, darling. Of course I want to be your boyfriend. You really think I could say no?"

"Well.... you didn't say anything at first. I sort of thought you'd had an aneurysm, you weren't saying anything...." Your wrists shake in his grasp.

He tightens his grip on them, holding you still as he levers himself up so he can look you in the eye. His eyes roam your face intently, taking in your anxious look.

"You didn't wait long enough to get an answer before you started panicking, sweetheart. I was just.... surprised. I didn't expect you to ask me." He laughs quietly, and you notice the redness spreading across his cheeks. "I hadn't really thought I'd get that lucky."

"So you will?" You reiterate. ""Please say you will. You want to. Be mine. Please."

Tom huffs a chuckle at the needy sound in your voice, gently moving his hands from your wrists to grasp your face instead, his fingers sifting back into your hair as he holds you in place.

"Yes, darling. Of course I want to be yours. You have no idea how much I want that. I can't believe you even felt you had to ask."

You surge up to kiss him, your hands at his waist dragging him down on top of you.

And he kisses you just as desperately, his mouth moving against yours, his tongue slipping past your lips to taste you. He lets out a low moan as he's tugged down on top of you, his body falling between your legs and pressing you harder into the bed. His arms slide around your body, holding you against his chest as he slips his tongue into your mouth.

With a desperate, searching hand, you cup him through his pants, squeezing gently.

That pulls an utterly guttural noise of surprise from his throat, and his hips lurch forward, pressing his hardness into the palm of your hand. His breath catches, and he gasps against your mouth, his hands tightening on your waist.

"Oh, sweetheart. That.... that's dangerous."

Not caring exactly how 'dangerous' it might be, you start to gently stroke his growing erection through the soft material. "Tom? What gets you harder? The thought of being locked in my dungeon or the thought of taking a hot, steamy bath with me?"

His eyes roll back, and he gasps harshly as you start touching him in earnest, his hips rocking forward against your hand. His body is like a coiled spring, on the verge of snapping at any moment.

"Both of those things are going to get me in trouble at some point, you know that? Those ideas drive me Goddamn crazy. But right now, all I want is to be yours, in any way I can please you, my love."

Your face is heated, feeling him growing in his pants. "Then please me. However you want."

He drops his head, burying his face in your neck. His lips trail along every inch of skin he can find, nibbling and sucking at your pulse point. "Are you sure about that, darling? Because I.... I have so many ideas. Things I want to do to you. How can I choose just one?"

Your shirt is still rucked up around your shoulders, and you take a moment to reach up and yank it off. "Just choose one. Just one, for tonight. For me?"

Tom leans back, just a bit, as you take your shirt off. His hands are on you again in a moment, running up and down your newly exposed skin, exploring every inch of you. He takes a moment to process your words, his eyes hungrily digesting your exposed body.

"Just one, for tonight. I can do that." He slides a hand up, gently gripping your jaw between his fingers. His touch is firm, dominant. "Close your eyes, love."

You trust him enough to obey, immediately, closing your eyes against the light and waiting for him.

You hear him hum, low, approvingly, as he watches your eyes flutter shut. He takes a moment, just to look at you like this. So pliant and perfect. All his to do with as he pleases. You then feel a shiver roll through him, and he has to take a steadying breath before he speaks again.

"Keep them closed. Now, no speaking. Not until I say so, okay, darling? You're going to be so good for me, aren't you?"

"Ye-" You make to answer before remembering his orders - no speaking. You merely nod instead, reaching out to ground yourself with your hands on his arms.

A smile spreads across his face - unseen by you - his hand on your jaw rubbing a thumb back and forth lightly over your skin. "That's my good girl. Just keep those eyes closed for me." He moves his hands to your hips, gently maneuvering you to roll onto your stomach.

Surprised at the change of position, you still gladly curl yourself around a pillow, getting comfortable on your front, your legs spread for him still.

Behind you, Tom lets out a low sound, somewhere between a growl and a moan. He runs his hands up the backs of your thighs, slowly, tracing little circles with his fingertips as he moves them up to grasp your hips. His fingers dig into the skin there, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to hold you in place.

"Perfect. You know how to follow instructions so well, darling. Just like I knew you would."

He said no talking, but. As his hands skim over your shorts, you can't help but ask, "Would you like to take them off, Tom?"

His hands still on your hips as he takes in your words. He gives your hips a gentle squeeze, before sliding his fingers under the elastic of your shorts.

"Well, that sounds like a question, love. And I specifically said no talking, didn't I? But I'll let it slide just this once. Do you want me to take them off, sweetheart?"

You make a small sound, canting your hips up and nodding, making it easier for him.

He hums approvingly as he watches your hips lift, and his hands slide under the fabric, pushing the shorts down and off your legs. Once the cloth clears your feet, he lets it fall to the side before gently rubbing his hands up your legs, from your ankles up to the backs of your thighs again.

"God, darling, you're just a perfect vision, you know that? So beautiful. And all mine."

Your pussy is positively leaking as you bury your face nervously in the pillows and wonder what he's going to do next.

Apparently reading your mind, Tom leans down and whispers in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "Don't be nervous, my love. I just want to make you feel good." He then begins to trail light kisses along the back of your neck and down your spine, pausing at each vertebrae to nibble gently at you.

With one hand, he begins to slowly stroke between your legs, brushing lightly, teasingly, over your sensitive clit as you moan softly. His other hand continues to wander over your back and shoulders, massaging your tense muscles and sending shivers rippling all over your body.

Even the barest brush of Tom's fingers over your clit have your hips bucking, pushing back, wanting more of him. It's all you can do not to speak, to beg him to fuck you already, especially since he's instructed you not to.

You want to tell him that you love how dominant he is, but how gentle at the same time. He wouldn't ever hurt you, you trust him more than anything.

Tom continues to tease you, his fingers moving in slow circles around your clit, never quite giving you the contact you crave. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Do you like it when I'm in control? Do you like when I make you wait and beg for release?" His voice is low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine.

He pauses for a moment, pressing his lips to the curve of your neck before continuing, "I want to hear you say it. Tell me how much you love when I take control."

You're making the most desperate little noises, grinding your aching cunt back against his hand. "I-I thought I wasn't allowed to talk…."

Tom chuckles softly as he continues to tease you, his fingers still working expertly between your legs. "That rule doesn't apply right now, my love," he murmurs, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin behind your ear. "I want to hear you beg for me."

He drags his fingers higher, teasing at your wet entrance before pulling back down to circle your clit once more. "So tell me. Do you love it when I'm in control?" He punctuates his words with a particularly firm stroke over your clit.

"Ah! Oh my god, yes, Tom, I love it. I love when you're in control, I love that you're so dominant, but so gentle with me. You don't know how badly I needed this."

You tilt your hips down, trying so hard to get Tom's thick fingers inside of you.

With a grin against the side of your neck and his hand continuing to work its magic between your legs, he sighs. "I knew you'd like it, my love," he murmurs, slipping just one finger inside of you and pumping it slowly in and out as he continues to circle your clit with his thumb.

He leans down and bites lightly at your shoulder, whispering again, "You're so wet for me, baby. You want me to fill you up, don't you?" He adds another finger, thrusting them faster, harder.

You swallow thickly, wanting him to give you everything. Everything he possibly can. "Please, Tom. Want your fingers, more of them. Want your cock too, and your tongue, and - and…."

Your fingers are tearing so hard at the pillowcase you're afraid you'll rip it open. Your hips are working furiously back against his fingers, it's embarrassing how much you need him.

Tom groans softly at your words. He adds a third finger, stretching you and curling them just right to hit that perfect spot inside of you.

"You're so greedy for me, aren't you?" He murmurs, his voice husky with desire. "Don't worry, darling. I'll give you everything you want."

With that, he leans down and presses his lips to your neck, trailing soft kisses along your skin as his fingers continue to pump inside you.

When his fingers hit your g-spot your entire body spasms underneath of him. "Oh, f-fuck!" There's that undeniable tension, as though something inside of you is held taut like a bowstring. And he doesn't let up either, continuing to abuse that little spot inside of you with his insistent fingers. "Fuck, Tom, I…. be careful. I'm gonna squirt if you keep.... " You trail off on a whine.

He can feel your body responding to his touch, and he doesn't let up, increasing the speed and pressure of his fingers on that spot, knowing exactly how to push you over the edge.

He whispers huskily in your ear, "Well, it's a good thing there are two beds in this room.... Let go for me. I want to see you come apart under my touch."

His voice is a potent mix of command and desire, fueling your need further as he continues to pleasure you, driving you toward that edge where you can finally release all of your built-up tension.

Every breath you take is now accompanied by a desperate moan, your hips working so hard back against his fingers. That tightness is about to break, and you bury your face in the pillow you hold as you do finally squirt, releasing all that fluid over his hand and arm, and probably on his pants too as you shake apart around his lovely fingers.

Though you can't see him, Tom is reveling in the sight of you unraveling under his touch, your body shaking with the force of your release. He feels your wetness gush over his hand and arm, soaking him in your essence, a clear sign of how much you needed this release.

As you shake and tremble, he continues to caress you gently, soothing you through the aftershocks of your orgasm. His own desire burns brightly, knowing that he's brought you such intense pleasure. With a satisfied smile, he whispers softly, "You're so beautiful when you come undone for me, my love."

You can barely catch your breath, Tom's drenched fingers still inside of you, soothing your poor spasming walls. "T-Tom…. when I told you to choose one thing to do to me tonight…. I didn't think it would be that…."

Tom chuckles softly, withdrawing his fingers carefully from inside of you and sitting up on the edge of the bed. He looks down at you with a playful glint in his eyes as he sucks all of you from his fingers.

"What can I say?" he says with a grin. "I always like to exceed expectations."

He reaches over and tousles your hair affectionately with his dry hand, before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. "But if you want something else, just let me know," he murmurs. "After all, tonight is all about giving you exactly what you want."

"I want so much more," you mutter, turning finally to look at the damage. "Jesus Christ, it looks like a swimming pool in here…"

Tom chuckles at this observation, taking in the sight of the wet mess he helped you create.

"Well, I did promise to give you everything you wanted," he teases, pulling you into his arms and planting a soft kiss to your forehead. "And if you seriously want more, just say the word. I'm all yours tonight." He flashes you a mischievous grin, his eyes full of desire as he waits for your next request.

"Well, let's not get cleaned up just yet because…. I do want more. A lot more." You glance down; Tom's cock is now hard as a rock, straining against the zipper of his pants, which are very stained with your squirt.

Tom grins, his eyes also lingering on the dark stains.

"Anything you want, my love," he murmurs, standing up from the bed and pulling you with him. "Let's move over here."

He moves you gently over to the opposite bed, which is still pristine. For now.

"Can I ask you to take some of your clothes off?" You ask quietly. "Please? I can't be the only one naked here."

A sly smile playing on his lips, he nods and slowly starts to undress, revealing his toned body inch by inch. He makes a show of it, letting each piece of clothing drop to the floor with deliberate slowness, enjoying the anticipation building between you.

He stands before you, his gaze locked with yours, completely exposed and ready for whatever desires you have in mind.

You lean forward toward him, anticipatory, and once Tom is just as bare as you are, you can't help but ask, "Can I suck it?"

A primal growl rips from him as he moves closer to you, nodding eagerly.

Without another word, he takes hold of your hair gently, guiding you down towards his length. As you take him into your mouth, he lets out a low moan, his fingers tangling in your hair as he begins to thrust his hips forward gently.

You wrap your lips eagerly around him and start to suck earnestly, head bobbing as he eases the way with his hands in your hair.

His head falls back slightly, a guttural groan escaping his lips as he feels the heat of your mouth enveloping him. The sensation of your eager sucking sends shivers down his spine, his arousal building with each flick of your tongue.

He tightens his grip on your hair, guiding your movements as he rocks his hips gently, matching your rhythm. His breathing becomes shallow and rapid, consumed by the pleasure you're giving him.

One gentle hand comes to squeeze softly at his balls, the other steadying yourself with a hand on his thigh. You gaze up at him, wide eyed, as if to ask, 'am I doing alright?'

Tom's eyes flutter shut at the sensation of your hand on his balls, the pleasure mounting with each passing moment. When he opens his eyes to look down at you, he sees the pure desire reflected in your gaze and can't help but smile.

"You're doing amazing," he breathes, again almost as though he can read your mind, his voice heavy with arousal. "Just keep going like that."

He continues to guide your movements, hips thrusting forward with increasing urgency as the sensation builds inside him. He knows that he's getting close, but he wants to savor every moment of this incredible experience.

The movement of his hips is making you gag a bit now, not used to having something so big in your mouth. But you soldier on, wanting to pleasure him just as much as he did you, trying to relax your throat so Tom can slide in further.

It's evident that the effort you're putting into pushing past your limits is only adding to Tom's desire - he groans softly, feeling you relax your throat further, so he can slip even deeper.

The sensation is overwhelming, and he can't hold back any longer. With a whine, he reaches his peak, his body tensing as he releases himself into your mouth. The pleasure washes over him in waves, leaving him breathless and utterly spent.

You squeak delightedly, and in surprise, as Tom starts to cum. Letting yourself rest fully on your knees now, you brace herself with both hands on his hips. Trying to swallow everything, only a few dribbles of cum spilling out and down your chin, you pop off with one more lick to his dripping head.

He looks down at you, a satisfied smile on his lips, grateful for the intense pleasure you've given him.

"I really did okay?" You gasp, wiping at your chin. "I've only done that once or twice before, and to be honest…. never on an actual human, only ever with toys."

He nods eagerly, pulling you up to him and planting a kiss to your swollen lips. "You were incredible," he murmurs, his fingers tangling in your hair once again. "It was so fucking good, baby."

He pulls you in for another kiss, not caring that the taste of himself is still on you. "But we're just getting started," he says with a grin, his trembling hands roaming over your body.

You still the movements of his hands with your fingers around his wrists, taking the time to really see him in the dim light of the room. "Before we do anything else, Tom.... I really did want to thank you. For earlier. I probably wasn't.... okay. To consent to any of this. Thank you for waiting."

The heat in Tom's eyes blazes brighter, and he disentangles his wrists to card his fingers through your hair. "Of course, love. You don't even have to thank me. I couldn't let you make that decision while you were like that."

With one last peck to his lips, you push him playfully down onto the bed and crawl over him. "Time for round two?"