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submalevolentgrace · 2 years

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Hi! I'm very interested in attempting to write a disabled character (not for this blog, I assure, for an book I'm writing) in which the story doesn't fetishize/objectify her prosthetic limb. I'm in many writing circles and have been for a long while, but I've never seen this issue brought to light which I realise is a very important one. I have much to change in my thought process, and thank you for bringing this issue to attention.

I'm curious, and I apologise if this has been asked before, but what sort of design could you see for a functional prosthetic that doesn't go for a plainly aesthetic appearance, or is soully to please others? I do note that you said prosthetics are generally... not that helpful. So is there a way that it could be? Or do you think it would always generally be better to not use a prosthetic, as its mostly for aesthetic purposes, as you said?

I apologise if this ask is too outright or anything, and I don't mean to intrude. Thank you for your time and have a beautiful day!

okay, i want to answer this as in depth as possible, because whenever i talk about having a prosthesis, someone will always tag some variation of "#writing reference" and i do wonder what message they're taking away, and i want to get as much of my experience out as possible to maybe help shape how this is all portrayed in the future. and yeah… this is gonna be one of those rambly smg posts that the expand feature was invented for, so i'll start with the very abridged TL;DR:

if you're writing a character with an upper limb prosthesis; don't. arm amputees are unicorn level rare even compared to leg amputees, and i've never interacted with or even heard of an upper limb amputee that regularly uses a prosthesis, let alone relies on one. fiction has lied to you for the sake of cool aesthetics, don't repeat the cycle. more in depth writing advice including nuance and "but i waaaant to" will follow.

that said, grab your donning parachute and let's get started...

context for everyone involved: i am an upper limb amputee that rants a lot about how prostheses suck, i lost my right hand roughly five years ago at roughly the age of 30 after a very rough decline in health… it was pretty rough. this question is being asked in the context of a previous rant post of mine, and i checked that the ask is about an upper limb prosthesis in particular.

the situation regarding the usefulness of lower limb prostheses is totally different; i am definitely no expert, but by all accounts, prosthetic legs are incredibly useful for many people. getting a good leg can be absolutely life changing and more or less necessary for day to day life for some; mostly because infrastructure and society is just so fucking hostile to wheelchair users. being able to walk - at the cost of pressure sores and rashes and increased residual limb pain - is a preferable option to many people than being unable to fit through a doorway or in a bathroom stall or find out that the key to unlock the only elevator is in the admin office up three flights of stairs (true story).

but upper limb prostheses… see, the thing is, hands are incredibly complex organs that rely on a lot of immediate haptic feedback to work at all. hand dexterity is all about control, you need fine granular movements of the digits yes, but you also need the subtle sensations of pressure and proprioception in order to adjust your movements on the fly. i speak from experience, in the years leading up to the full loss of my hand, i was slowly losing function of it, usually swinging between numbness that made it clumsy at best, or screaming overstimulation from moving it at all resulting in unpredictable spasms… and let me tell you, a half working hand is infuriating to try and deal with. you can never know if you have a good grip on something or if it's slipping because of the wrong amount of pressure, and there's only so many smashed bottles of pickles on the floor before you give up using it all together… so amputation wasn't a great loss there, i had time to adapt.

a prosthetic hand of any kind has all of those issues and more. they're heavy and bulky, the cosmetic faux fingers or gripping claw have crude movement at best, and there's zero feedback (put a pin in this). 100% of the time you're using a prosthetic hand you have to keep your eyes on the grip and visually guesstimate whether or not the thing you're carrying is held tight enough but not too tight, that is if your "heavy duty" prosthesis can even support the weight without the servos disengaging or the wrist attachment socket just busting loose. i dropped a whippersnipper on my foot last week when my socket couldn't take the weight and i think that was the final straw in me desperately trying to prove to myself that there is a single task my prosthesis actually helps with.

this is usually where fully two handed people start talking about bleeding edge DARPA tech, and how we just need to invest more,research more, develop more. better tech, more tech, neural integration, more more more. okay i promise the writing advice is coming! for starters on tech, my experience is already with a mid-to-high end ottobock terminal device: i've got a myoelectric nerve-signal operated proportional control heavy duty greifer; about the only upgrade left for me to get would be a rotating wrist joint if i could coflex. it's not military, it's not "rockclimber that owns a prosthetic company", but it's quality tech. it still fucking sucks. secondly, that high level military tech exists primary for PR purposes so they can say they treat their discarded casualties well, "we can rebuild him, we have the technology" style. every war vet i've read about or heard from that's been gifted that high level tech also abandons it for the same reasons; it's imprecise, there's no feedback (or the haptic interface has to be fully recalibrated every time they put it on), but mostly they're more capable without one.

okay, the transhumanist ableds say (i should know, i used to be one), what if we did more ~research and development~ and got that neural feedback working? then we could have fireproof superhumanly strong robot arms to fix up everyone! here's where i take out that pin we put up before and i tell you that a class of prosthetic arms/hands already exists that has perfect proportional control, fine motor control, and physics perfect pressure feedback piped directly into the patients' existing sensory systems! they're called body-powered prostheses, and they were invented in like the 1600s. you strap a whole bunch of stuff to your arm and shoulders shoulders, and control the operation of the terminal device and elbow through cable tension by flexing your shoulders. they do take a considerable amount of training to operate - though hell i spent 18 months training to use my myo - but based on everything i've read, body-powered prostheses are the best option if you're an upper limb amputee and absolutely need a second hand for some reason.

but they don't look cool and futuristic, and according to my prosthetist, most people give up on using them too. we all give up on our prostheses, no matter the type. my rehab OT was impressed i lasted the 18 months of my training. towards the end, they even asked if the clinic director could drop in to one of my sessions to see my progress; he expressed genuine amazement at me casually using my bulky robot claw to use a brush and dustpan, and made an offhanded (hah) comment about what someone can achieve "if they stick it out to the end", implying it was somewhat of a rarity for me to have done so. several years on, and yesterday i wedged the dustpan between my ankles to sweep up into it, awkward but exponentially less effort than putting my dusty robot arm on. which, by the way, is a whole thing. look up some videos, they're all awful to don. i don't actually know the official technical name of what my clinic calls a "parachute" but it's a bitch to use! have you ever tried to pull back with your arm whilst also pushing it forwards at the same time, and simultaneously lean in to and away from an external force pulling on you? that's how you get a myo socket on.

bare with me, i promise writing advice is coming, and i promise it's more than the tl;dr. but. remember when i said a half working hand is infuriating to deal with? any prosthesis, from fancy myo tech to pirate-era body powered, will only ever be half as good as a working hand, and being juuuust within capability to do something but not quite able to is maddening! but you know what works way better than a half working hand? no hand at all. using whatever residual/vestigial limb you have - whatever "stump" you have, i hate that word - is pretty much always better than trying to use a prosthesis. i can use the inside of my elbow to grip and carry things, i can use the nub of my arm to apply pressure to hold things, open doors, use a computer mouse, turn on taps and lights, if i put a glove over it i can use it to prep for cooking. i have full proprioception and pressure feedback with skin contact, i don't think i've ever dropped and broken anything from my elbow, unlike countless things slipped from my greifer - which, by the way, absolutely will start clenching as tight as it can if i get even slightly too sweaty around the electrodes, which has both broken things i'm holding and also injured me, because surprise surprise but servo operated robot claws have pinch points on them right near the "emergency disengage" lever for some reason!

but i am exponentially more capable without it on than with it. no, i'm not fully independent, i rely on housemates and loved ones to help me out with some tasks that simply just need two handed dexterity, but none of those tasks are things a prosthesis makes me able to do anyway. i used to imagine my prosthesis would be like a bra; a bit awkward and uncomfortable, but i'd wear it throughout the day because it's helpful and take it off in the evening to decompress. in reality it's actually exactly like a bra: an absolute bitch to put on one handed, unbearably uncomfortable because it never sits right, ugly af unless you're a millionaire, and absolutely useless except for the fact that i get gawked at and judged by strangers if i leave the house without it on.

and if you really want to discover how far "no hand is better than a half working hand" goes, brace yourself, and look up the patient's stories (not medical system stories) of people that have had hand transplants. the first man to receive one hated it, he was promised a return to normal function, and what he got was a nightmare worse than being one handed; he wanted it removed again but the doctors refused because it would undermine their grand achievement of the first hand transplant. the doctors and society wanted him to be fixed, they wanted him to be normal, they wanted him to be abled. they failed. they made him less able to do things, denied his autonomy, and left him with someone else's hand slowly rotting on him, prioritising the idea of "scientific progress" and "two hands good" over the physical health, mental health, and ability to function of this man.

he's not alone; every story from the patients' perspective about hand transplants that i've read goes this way, including a woman who was born quad limb different and was promised hands would improve her life, pressured into a double hand transplant, only to find herself after the surgery essentially experiencing disability for the first time ever, because she had lived her whole life getting by just fine with her 'underdeveloped' limbs, but half working hands are worse than useless. you can try to find these stories yourself, but i'm not going looking for sources on any of these cases, because if you look back through enough of my posts you'll get a glimpse of the horrors and abuses that i too was put through by doctors who prioritised trying to "fix" me at any cost, rather than providing me the best quality of life, and in turn traumatised me and left me more broken than any loss of limb on its own could. dear goddess, i promise the writing advice is coming.

so. why do upper limb prostheses exist at all? if they're so terrible and useless, what is their function? i want to borrow something someone else left in the tags of a previous rant here, from someone who i believe works in prosthetics and/or rehab, cleaned up and anonymised at their request:

"upper limb functions are wildly more complex than: 1) bear weight static, and 2) bear weight moving. but every single upper limb amputee i know has a fancy expensive prosthetic just gathering dust in the closet because there is literally nothing it can do like a few years of adjustment and if needed non-dominant hand retraining can't do. the existence of forquarter prosthetics to begin with is just kind of silly and useless and entirely to make OTHER people feel comfortable, especially considering they universally are UNcomfortable for the amputee. i hate the notion that as soon as you get the amputation the prosthetic is The Thing That Will Fix You And Make You Feel Normal again because it universally isn't! but every forequarter person i know had like this ideal of Being Fixed By Magic Prosthetic that they were then obviously wildly disappointed by and had to do yet another grieving process with, versus if the dominant narrative were just one of: yeah. it'll take time, there is no magic fix."

and i think that really nails down what the actual purpose of upper limb prostheses is: they're not for the user, they're for the sake of other people. and not just their comfort when looking at our bodies, although based on the pressure for both amputees and people born limb different to get functionless cosmetic plastic hands, there is a lot of that. but it's not just that.

i fully believe that the reason prosthetic hands exists is to comfort the fears of the two handed. "don't worry", they say, "we can fix you again. you don't have to fear becoming Disabled, you don't have to worry about adapting or your life changing. we can make you Normal™ again."

you would not believe the number of people that have approached me to shower me with pity, to tell me how horrific my life is, how they can't imagine it. people have told me, apropos of nothing, that they'd kill themselves if they lost a hand. indirectly, that my life isn't worth living. unless, of course, i happen to be wearing my cool as fuck looking robot prosthesis! then they tell me how wonderful it is, how lucky i am, how glad they are that we have the technology to fix me. that's what a prosthetic hand says, what all the happy fishing photos on limbs4life posters at the rehab clinic say: don't worry, we can fix you. that's what the bleeding edge DARPA flexi-whatever fully articulated neuro-feedback hands say: don't worry if you get IED'd while hunting civilians for us to drone bomb, if you get hurt, we will fix you, we will fix the fuck out of you, we will motherfucking adam jensen you into a cool as fuck cyborg that your son will idolise; come on boys, don't you wanna enlist just for the chance at being as cool as this? join the bomb squad for a ticket to the upgrade lottery.

and so we arrive at fiction. as much as his dialogue options protest, adam jensen loves his robot arms, they punch through walls, turn into fucking swords! they make him the most special man in the world. what would he do without them? learn to cope? grieve? practice acceptance? take up poetry? just, be disabled? there's no power fantasy for ableds in that.

in fact, can you think of a single fictional character that's an upper limb amputee that's, well, just an amputee? they all have robot arms. not realistic prostheses, not medical devices; robot arms. sleek or bulky, top of the line or broken down self built, steampunk or nanomachines or magitech automail; they're never without them. never just an amputee. never born limb different either! there's always that element of tragedy to overcome, always suffering and misery porn, always focus on the pain and the helplessness without the absolutely vital robot arm that makes them Normal and Whole. the closest amputee example i can think of is furiosa from mad max, who iirc fucking punches max in the face with her residual limb like a motherfucking badass! i can barely lean on mine wrong and she punches a guy! but she still apparently needs a dieselpunk robot hand to drive a truck, something you can do one handed so easily most drivers don't even notice they're doing it! please don't, by the way

and so many disabled fans love to point to robot armed characters as disability representation; the winter soldier, luke skywalker, edward elric, misty knight, that genderswapped furry girl from ratchet and clank, jet cowboybebop, finn the human, and yes, adam jensen…. these are all characters that someone disabled i know has told me they love because they "represent disabled bodies"…. and i know nobody wants to hear this, because i've been screamed at for saying it before, but… they do not. they are not disabled, functionally or within fiction. they are either perfectly able bodied Normal people with chrome paint on an arm, or tortured misery porn we are supposed to pity and feel lucky we're not them. sometimes both!

also you ever notice how it's basically always arms? lower limb amputations are orders of magnitude more common than upper, my prosthetist said i was probably only the 4th or 5th upper limb she'd worked with in her career, with literally hundreds of lower limb fits. but fiction doesn't seem to reflect that, huh? or any other part of the reality of disability. it's always cool as fuck robot arms, never cool as fuck wheelchairs or crutches or dialysis machines or colostomy bags. a fair few "i was blind but now i can see with Robot Eyes and also infrared and xray" around, which again, plays into that "we can fix you and make you cooler" propaganda.

by the way, up above when i was describing body powered arms, if you wondered to yourself why i went with a myoelectric one instead when i clearly believe body powered is better… yeah. i am not immune to propaganda! i too wanted to be cool as fuck. i spent years with deteriorating function in my hand for reasons that are still unknown, was misdiagnosed and medically neglected to the point that removing my hand seemed to be the only option left to offer some relief, and even that was a clusterfuck that left me worse than ever… of course i wanted to believe in the power and prestige of a cool robot arm that fiction promised me.

but fiction promises fantastical lies. and so.

we get to the writing advice portion of the novella that is this post. you asked for advice on how to write a disabled character with an upper limb prosthesis. you've read the tl;dr, you've read everything above i assume, you know i don't want you to do it. the obvious twist is that it's been writing advice all along, me trying to share my perspective on what it's like being an amp with a robot arm and how shitty it is, implying how almost any fully realised and realistic character that's missing an upper limb would give up on a prosthesis at all. you can already tell that every value judgement in me says "don't give her a prosthesis, no matter how functional or cool you make it. don't try to make the tech better to justify it, just let her be one armed, one handed. just let her be disabled, but not helpless. let her show off her elbow or underarm carry strength. let her love interest appreciate how soft and squishy her residual limb is in a moment of tenderness. let her natural disabled body be respected and valued."

but that's a personal value judgement from me, and you are the author of your own work. i know it's trite to say, but you are! even the act of deferring to someone with lived experience in the hope of doing a better job at representation is a value judgement, a good choice in my opinion, but one you needn't necessarily take. maybe you do want to write a character that has a cool as fuck unrealistic robot arm as a power fantasy, or a comfort blanket… i did.

i've been slowly writing my own probably terrible scifi epic for over a decade now, and when my arm was giving me hell back then, i'd take great comfort in this fantasy of my protagonist with her chunky robot arm, the terrible traumatic suffering of her loss, overcoming, the power and ability her advanced prosthesis gives her over others, that she alone has access to, because others are not willing to make the sacrifices required. inspiration porn. awful stuff to me now, but empowering to me then. as i grew and gained direct experience, i slowly reimagined her, rewrote her, ship of theseus'd her into an entirely new character; a reflection of me now, bitter at the whole thing, spiteful that her natural flesh arm evokes fear and distrust, but unwilling to suffer the pain and frustration of her unnatural prosthesis just to make others comfortable and respect her as "whole", however artificial that whole is. and as with the ship of theseus being two ships, once i realised the transformation, i re-added the old protagonist back in whole cloth as a separate character; proud of her robot arm and its power, but in new context, as a foil and antagonist, an in-universe military prosthesis propaganda figure to reflect how i now feel characters like her exist to us, the readers.

i'm not just sharing that as egotistical self promotion, but to highlight that, even if i sit here begging you all up and down not to write characters with robot arms for how bad and unrealistic they are; there's still something genuine and true that their inclusion can say. the great thing about the story that you're writing is that only you can write it, as they say. but i whole heartedly believe that to write to your best, you have to be aware of what you're writing and why. as tempting as it is to feel these characters form naturally in us and therefore we're averse to changing traits about them that feel organic and self evident; as authors we have omnipotent control over the text, every trait and detail is a reflection on us, so we'd sure as hell better understand why we're choosing to write a character with this trait. because anything you write without being aware of intent will take on its own meaning in the space between.

and on that note, if i don't say this, i'm leaving it to be inferred: i definitely don't want to appear to come down on the side of saying "you cannot write an amputee unless you are one", because we are rarer than single young bisexual unicorns! and it would be a tragedy if anyone read through all this and then turned away in fear, deciding to never write an amputee character (with or without robot arm) because they feel they can't do it justice… believe me, no matter what anyone says, some hack writer somewhere is going to keep writing adam jensens and winter soldiers. don't let them be the only voices in fiction! just try to do your best.

so my ultimate advice on the topic of writing a character with a prosthetic limb is to ask yourself one question in two different frameworks, and meditate on what you feel the answer is:

why does she have a prosthesis?

from a doylelist perspective as the kids say, as an author with omnipotent control, why are you choosing to write about this topic? why are you choosing to give this trait to this character? what does it say about how you view ability and disability, what makes a person normal, and what our society values? will you let her be in her natural body? or will you give her a prosthesis, force her to wear it by authorial fiat, or author her a meaningful reason to choose to? if yes, be sure you know; why did you give her a prosthesis?

and from a wastonian perspective, diegetically, inside the story, why does she choose to wear a prosthesis? what does it say about her inner character, and how she interacts with the world? how does she feel about doing it, is she prideful and loves the attention she gets, or does she resent whatever necessitates its use? how do people in this world view ability and disability, what does this society value? and above all, whatever the answer to these questions, whether or not she uses a prosthesis or is badass without one, how does she deal with the eternal freezing cold that every amputee ever feels constantly in their residual limb and why does nobody make a heat pack that fits over a nub without drafty gaps???

i can't outright tell you how to write a good upper limb amputee, but if you at least know why you're writing one and for what purpose, you're on track to write the best character that you can. that's the best advice i can give… other than, like, this whole rambly mess.

and, as a reward for reading this far, please have a very blurry cryptid photo of my cat doing his old man sit:

#prosthesis #prosthetic #disability #ableism

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thankyouivy · 7 months

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Slick Tongue - Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!reader Warnings: SMUT! (18+), oral [f rec], non-con voyeurism? (the team listens in), dryhumping, squirting, overstimulation, dirty talk, begging, HANDS, multiple orgasms, fluff! Summary: Instead of going out with the team for drinks after a stressful week, the only thing he wants to do is bury his head between your thighs. Notes: a gay and a lesbian attempted to write straight smut: this is that attempt. there is a significant lack of munch!spencer content on here and I am willing to attempt to fix that very serious problem. this is literally just 3k words of Spencer being a munch, enjoy! :]

———

“Reid, are you sure you don't wanna come out with us? I mean, after the last few days we all deserve a little fun time!” the grainy voice of Garcia speaks through the phone as Spencer makes his way into your shared apartment. Spencer chuckles and the ruffle of him taking his coat and shoes off can be heard on Penelope's side of the line. Spencer sets his bag on his desk on the way to your bedroom where he knows you’re waiting for him. “As much as I would like to spend more time with you guys, I have other things I need to atten- …”

You’re lying on your side of the bed, undressed except for the navy blue lingerie set Spencer bought for you in LA when the team flew there for a case, and one of his button up work shirts. This one is light blue and it complements the navy blue of your lacy bra and thong peeking out through the half-unbuttoned shirt. You look up from the book you have in your hand, and smile as you sip your red wine, and then place the glass on the bedside table. Spencer is just standing in the doorway and manages to get out a breathy “Hi,” before Garcia seems to snap him out of the trance he's in. He blinks a few times and looks around for a second before remembering where his coworkers' voice is coming from.

“Reid? Reiddddd??? Are you still there?” She says as he lifts the phone back to his ear. “What? Yeah, I’m still here. What- what is it?”

You giggle at him. Despite being one of the smartest people in the BAU, all of his concentration and genius goes out the window when it comes to you, it seems. Spencer can tell Garica is saying something to him, but he can’t really tell what it is that she’s talking about. “Hey, Garcia- I’m- um I’ve got to go- no it's- nothing wrong! I just have to- I- I’ll see you tomorrow, have fun at.. wherever- bye.” He stammers out quickly, and shuts off his phone and throws it onto the bedside table as he makes his way over to the bed.

It seems in Spencer's delusional state of mind, clouded by the nakedness of his girlfriend, he has forgotten that when you turn your phone off, the call you are on does not automatically hang up, unknowingly leaving Garcia and the rest of the team to listen in on the escapades that follow:

“Hi, baby,” You greet him happily as Spencer reaches your side of the bed and leans down to place a passionate kiss on your lips. “God, I missed you,” he mumbles into your mouth and you smile and hum in agreement into the kiss, running your fingers through his soft fluffy hair.

His mouth moves from your lips to your jaw, placing kisses along the edge of your face to your ear, and then down to your neck where he begins marking you up. You giggle happily as he works on his task.

He pulls away from the kiss momentarily to run his eyes over your body once more. You look absolutely delectable in this set, it's one of his favorites. He bites his lip and runs his hands over your sides and down to your hips. He leans back in to kiss you all while he makes quick work of your bra, unclasping the back and pulling it off as you work on taking off your shirt, it falls off of your shoulders gently revealing your gorgeous bare tits.

You bite your lip and the blush from your cheeks makes its way down the rest of your body, and Spencer groans at the sight of you. “Fuck, you look so good, baby… but in order for me to have any fun, these need to come off…” He says darkly, as his pointer finger slips its way under the strap of your thong and he places kisses along your collarbone.

You gasp as he grips your hips and slides you to the edge of the bed, dropping down to his knees immediately, and making quick work of taking his own shirt off, leaving him in only his work pants. You let him pull your panties down your thighs and off your legs slowly, already panting hard as he watches you open your pretty legs for him, giving him the perfect view of your tiny bare pussy and completely naked body.

“Fuck…” he says breathily as he licks his lips, obviously salivating. “Please baby…I wanna taste you so bad… been thinking about it for days…” He begs on his knees, and you moan at his words. He looks exhausted but eager, and that combination of things usually only means one thing; "Bad day?" you ask as he grabs the underside of your left thigh and places it over his shoulder, "Terrible."

You lace your fingers through his soft hair, and watch as he closes his eyes, tilting his head to the side to give the inside of your thigh an open-mouth kiss.

"Mmmm.. I’m sorry work was bad baby…Y'can tell me everything after you make me cum, yeah?" and then he's groaning, "Fuck yes," nodding his head and sighing happily, before surging forwards and lapping at your cunt as if its the one thing he wanted to do all day.

Immediately your hips arch off of the bed as his lips press against your folds. "Fuck, Spence," you gasp, he parts his lips before dragging his tongue up your centre, circling the tip around your clit, "oh my god," you moan, fingers tangling into his hair to hold him there. This spurs Spencer on further, his body pushes further between your legs, his hands holding your legs apart while he starts to moan into you. “Tastes so fucking good, baby.” He mutters and licks his lips, before licking at your clit softly.

Your view is obscene. Spencer's large veiny hands are gripping your plush thighs, making his arms muscles flex as he holds them open. His gorgeous sharp jaw moves in a steady rhythm, his long hair falling in front of his face as his dark eyes look up at you, completely focused on pleasing you.

Your body feels like it’s on fire. It feels like too much and not enough at the same time. You shut your eyes and tilt your head back as his tongue runs over your pussy over and over again. “Fuck! Spencer, that feels so good!” You gasp out. You can feel his smile against you as Spencer sucks hard on your clit, vulgar noises fill the room as he leans into you, one hand around your hip holding you down and the other pressing against your abdomen. His nose rubs against your clit as he mouths at your opening, and that sends you over the edge. You cum hard and with no warning, letting out a yelp followed by a string of loud moans. Spencer groans against you as he licks you through it, the vibrations just adding to the intensity of your orgasm.

He kisses your thighs when he's done licking up your arousal to help you come down from your sudden high, and then stands to maneuver you onto the bed properly. “You know, the tongue is one of the strongest muscles in the body…and although cunnilingus isn’t the intended purpose of the genioglossus, styloglossus, and hyoglossus muscles, they really do make it easy for me to make you cum.” He speaks as he positions you up against the pillows so you have a clear view of him, and places a pillow underneath your hips to get better leverage. “Speaking of cumming, did you know the average woman can orgasm up 5 times per session? So if you think I’m stopping at one… you must be out of your mind, sugar.” He licks his lips.

Without giving you a chance to reply, he delves back into you, his tongue lapping over you slowly, suckling over your clit which has you shuddering instantly, still sensitive from your previous orgasm. Suddenly you feel his fingers tease at you, you gasp, then whimper with want, desperate for his long fingers to fill you. Without warning he presses two fingers into you easily with the aid of your cum-slicked opening. His gaze traveling up your body as you cry out and clench around him "fuck, baby, so fucking tight and desperate for me, huh?" Spencer mumbles.

He has you panting and whining whilst throwing your head back in no time. Your nails dig into his scalp, hips grinding slowly against his face and fingers as heat starts to form in the pits of your stomach. His fingers fill and stretch you in the best way possible as he works you open. Your orgasm builds again, embarrassingly fast, thighs shaking, back arching away from the bed while he plays with your body.

"Oh, fuck, i'm gonna- I'm gonna cum, baby" you cry out, letting your thighs close around Spencer's body, you feel him smirk against you as he lifts off you momentarily to mutter out a little “yeah? Gonna cum?”

"Mhm! fuck- Ungh- oh god!" you choke out in between your moans, stomach clenching underneath his hand as he doubles down, fingers speeding up slightly and his own moans sending vibrating pleasure straight up your body, "th- fuck, there, stay there,” he makes you babble, gripping his hair as you keep him where you need him. Spencer is revelling in the way his motions pull a string of pretty sounds from you; a mix of moans, whines and whimpers because words are failing to express how fucking amazing you feel.

“Doing so good, sugar" He groans, the heel of his hand pressed into your pelvis, the pressure making you clench around him. "So good," he groans as loud moans spill from your open mouth.

Spencer pulls his fingers out of you but before you can protest he's sliding them straight back in at a slightly different angle, hitting the exact spot you need him to. "Please," is all you can manage as the air gets punched from your lungs by a scream when he starts pressing and rubbing hard over it, knowing how close you are to your orgasm.

Your boyfriend watches your stomach tensing and he feels your knees trembling at his sides, your pussy walls fluttering around his fingers and clit pulsing on this tongue as he flattens it against you, “uh huh, come on, baby," he starts, fully aware of what his words do to you. "So close, I know..." He pauses when you interrupt with a high pitched whine, "cmon, cum for me," he finishes, moving his mouth to suck on your clit and curl his fingers inside you, and it sends you over the edge, your back arches away from the mattress, somehow pushing Spencers long, thick fingers into you even further, and you're done for.

Your cunt floods, wetness gushing from you and soaking the sheets beneath you. "Don't stop," you sob.

Spencer moans loudly as he continues his attack on your cunt with his mouth, greedily trying to lick up everything you’re giving him.

This time, he doesn’t give you a chance to breathe, keeping a steady rhythm of his fingers and mouth as he attempts to get you to squirt again. You loudly whimper and try to squirm away from his grip and relentless stimulation on your poor, swollen, fucked out pussy, but to no avail. He doesnt let up as he pushes your hips down harder, and all you can do is let out pathetic little cries and whines as he overstimulates you.

“I- I can’t again-” you cry out at him. It's all too much; his fingers inside you, the heel of his hand pressing into your folds, his lips and tongue toying with your clit, his free hand exploring your body, the stimulation is making your brain short circuit. He pulls his mouth away from you for a second, “yes you can. Just one more for me, sugar, yeah?” He pants, and then resumes his work when you let out a broken cry.

Spencer feels like he's harder than he's ever been in his life. The sounds you're making, the way you taste, the way you're trembling under his ministrations just spur him on more. The only thing on his mind is how he wants to make you squirt again, the very thought of it makes him lightheaded as he doubles his efforts.

In your haze of overstimulation, you can feel the bed rocking at a steady pace, and you realize Spencer is humping the bed. The thought of him getting himself off on the sheets below him, because eating you out is something he does for his own pleasure and not yours, goes straight to your core and your hips spasm upwards into his mouth.

“Spencer!” you moan, “I’m gonna- fuck-” one of your hands tangled in his curly locks, a silent plea for him to stay where he is as you grind your hips sporadically against his tongue. “Cum on my face, baby.” You could feel his smirk on you, and how it grew when your hips started to hump his face as he increases his pace.

"Uh huh, cum on my tongue," he hums against you, and that sends you hurtling over the edge for the final time. You come harder than before, you let out a scream as your body shakes and your thighs close around Spencer's head, trapping him there while your entire body spasms, eyes clamped shut.

His thumb presses and flicks against your clit as he eats you, and you're sure you black out, thighs practically vibrating from the intensity as your body releases even more cum than last time.

"Oh my god, baby," you barely hear Spencer over the pounding in your ears as your body continues to convulse and spurt liquid. His fingers move at an inhuman pace, desperately trying to milk as much cum from you as he possibly can, and all you can do is scream. When he is convinced you can't give him anymore, he gives one final lick through your folds and slips his head away from you.

Spencer looks incredible, his hair tousled and messy, the bottom half of his face completely soaked with your slick and his cheeks red as he catches his own breath and licks you off his lips. Gently, he slips his fingers from your body moaning softly to himself when your pussy squelches from the mix of ejaculate and his saliva. Strings of your slick connect his fingers together as he spreads them apart. "Were so fucking good for me,” He moans. Looking right at you, he slides those fingers onto his tongue, lips curling around them as he sucks you off them and hums at the taste, “so fucking good”.

After giving your hip a kiss, he lifts himself off the mattress and heads to the bathroom to wipe his face off and run a bath for the two of you. He comes back to find you still completely fucked out and breathing heavily, your body still twitching. He chuckles at you, completely spent and exhausted. “Want me to carry you, sugar?” he asks softly and you just let out a small ‘mhm’.

He picks you up with ease, holding you up by the bottom of your thighs. one of your arms wraps around his neck and the other grabs his face to kiss him deeply, whining when you taste yourself on his tongue. You can't feel his erection against you, but instead a damp spot on the crotch of his pants, which just makes you whine more, hooking your legs around his hips and burying your face in his neck.

He pets your hair and makes his way into the bathroom with you in his arms, placing you into the bath following close behind after making quick work of his remaining clothes. Your back presses against his chest as you both relax in the warm soapy water.

“So, what happened?” You ask in a sleepy mumble as his hands rub up and down your arms methodically. “Hm?” He mutters, burying his nose in your hair. “What happened at work?” You smile up at him, and he just laughs and places a delicate kiss on your lips.

Back at the BAU, Rossi, Prentiss, Morgan, Garcia, and JJ are still in the bullpen, and not out at the bar. Garica’s phone rests in the center of the roundtable as the entire team stares at it, slack jawed. “Well… now we know how he can talk so much without his jaw hurting.” Rossi says, dumbfounded.

The door to the room opens suddenly, Garcia snatches her phone and hangs up the call, that has now gone silent on Spencer's end, as everyone’s heads snap to Hotch.

“What are you all still doing here?” Hotch asks, receiving five immediate “nothing!”’s as they all scramble to collect their things and rush past him out of the room.

More of my stuff can be found here.

~ Ivy 🪴

#spencer reid #munch!spencer #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid fic

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pprodsuga · 7 days

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never to keep | heeseung

summary: heeseung was always a natural scene stealer, capturing the hearts and attention of those around him. it seemed predestined that he'd pursue a life that would take him beyond the cosmos and leave behind the constellations he once treasured. it's too bad that you were one of them.

warnings: angst and typos, probably.

word count: 8.6K (shorter than previous works, forgive me)

notes: ahahah. this is a therapy piece ... currently dealing with similar themes of a friend prioritizing work and people who don't care for her over people who do, and i feel veryyy conflicted as of late. i, like yn, am not a plaything. why not turn it into a fic. anyway, enjoy and happy reading! x

masterlist + taglist

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

If you love someone, they will always come back to you.

There’s no logic in love, only strong emotions that make people disregard all they know to chase the feeling of reckless abandon. Love is a wildcard that can catch even the most self-protective person off guard. You’ve read it in stories from childhood fairytales to watching strangers fall in love in your favorite books and television shows growing up. You believe the people who kiss on the screen must surely find an ounce of love, even if only for a brief moment.

It’s no surprise that you’ve come to love Heeseung the way you do. To love him is to know him, even if he’s too tired to see you on the weekends or too occupied to sit next to you at the lunch period because of his days training to become an idol. What you know at this point in your life is that love is unconditional; supporting your best friend to pursue a dream he’s talked about since he could speak feels right.

To love somebody doesn’t necessarily mean to devote oneself to the fullest extent, but somehow you feel as though this way of thinking never quite aligned with how you’ve come to love. Heeseung’s parents are a surrogate for your own, especially when it’s just you and your mother in the small, two bedroom apartment that sits on the edge of town and away from the city. They tuck you in at night during holidays and other special occasions when you’ve become too tired to drive back to your home.

Minjun, Heeseung’s younger sister by four years, warmed up to you quicker than anyone had expected. The fierce girl had a protective streak over her brother once he grew into his height and learned that winking at pretty girls could get them to do whatever he asked of them within reason. Minjun doesn’t recall when she met you for the first time because she was likely too young to remember, but her sweet nature towards you speaks louder than you could’ve ever anticipated.

Growing up with a single parent as an only child provides enough time to befriend loneliness. There are days spent idly in the apartment waiting for someone to keep you company, often wishing that the house was filled with people to keep the void full and lively. But now, because of the Lee family and how close you’ve become to their two children, it seems as if the idea of a central family is closer than you think.

Heeseung didn’t expect for you to become a prominent fixture in his life when the two of you were partnered for a science project at the ripe age of thirteen. He’d experienced a growth spurt and acne for the first time simultaneously, growing insecure in himself with every day that passed by. Heeseung hadn’t anticipated you sitting with his family at the dinner table five years later, listening to a mundane story about his mother’s workday at a boring corporate-level position Heeseung doesn’t bother to remember.

He never thought you’d be cooking with his father in the kitchen upon returning home from his training practices, talking about the art of seasoning as the meal preparations come to a finish. He doesn’t remember when you started coming over without the pretense of coming to see him either. Heeseung surely does not anticipate Minjun waiting for your arrival by the front windows just to insist on being the first person who welcomes you into their home.

Naturally, Minjun becomes a recognizable face in your life because of how often she spends time with you and Heeseung. The young girl sets up her homework as the two of you begin yours, her schoolbooks significantly lighter than yours but you make conversation anyhow.

“I think she likes you because you don’t treat her like she’s thirteen,” Heeseung says as he dries the dishes from dinner as you scrub them clean. “She hates it when people baby her.”

“Sometimes I think I need to watch how I talk to Minjun.”

“No, you don’t. Minjun likes that you talk to her like a friend.”

“That’s what she is, no? A friend?”

“More than me?”

You flick water towards Heeseung. “Yes, if you keep teasing me.”

“Seriously, though. Thanks for being nice to her. She complains that she’s the youngest out of everybody all the time.”

“I used to be like that.” You close the tap water and hand the last dish to Heeseung. “I hated being at the kids table when everybody else got to be an adult. Minjun’s at the age where she’s aware of it.”

“God, we sound like her parents, or something.”

You bite back a smile.

Caring for Heeseung is arguably the easiest thing you’ve ever done. He makes it simple when you receive a text from him hours before you wake up and just before you go to bed despite his busy schedule. You wonder at all how he manages to fit you into his life with all of his dreams and responsibilities, but Heeseung always tells you it’s because there’s room for you.

Being so close to his family helps internalize the fact that you are a permanent fixture in his life. Mrs. Lee drops off baked goods on Saturday mornings most times because she knows your mother likes to eat a sweet treat with her bitter coffee. Mr. Lee goes out of his way to fix faulty ceiling fans or kitchen drains when he has the time to spare your income. Minjun gives you drawings from her art classes that sit on your refrigerator. Integrating their life within yours feels natural.

Heeseung has always been somebody you’ve looked up to, poised for success after deciding he loved singing enough to make a career out of it. The eight-year-old boy who loved to choreograph dance numbers to famous songs carries this humble beginning when he talks about what life might look like for him when he’s crossed the threshold that separates his life from now.

It seemed as though Heeseung’s dream of becoming an idol never seemed too far out of reach, even if he had his moments where he felt like giving up. Things always worked out for him in ways nobody could explain, like moving to a new city because of his mother’s job and making friends within an hour of transferring to a new middle school. Or the time when he’d auditioned to train under a management company and hadn’t heard back from them for weeks–Heeseung prepared to stop giving himself false hope for his future as an idol until the fateful email sat at the top of his inbox, welcoming him to the company.

Life was always easier on Heeseung than it was for everybody else.

You don’t see him much between classes because he’s on a special path created for people who are like him. People who are destined to debut as an idol are given certain exemptions to ensure quality education while having enough time to train in all areas of performance art. It took a while for Heeseung to get used to his new life and the new routine set in place for him but you were always there to remind him that this is what he wants more than anything in the world. All of the stress and frustration that comes with change, no matter how brutal or unnerving, will be worth it when he sees his dream to the end.

You’re a young adult at this point in your life but it feels like you’ve aged beyond your peers because of circumstance. Spending time at the Lee residence when your mom’s at work or visiting her friends prevents you from feeling as lonely as you do in between four white walls that barely feel like home without someone else in it. Growing up quicker than your peers feels like something expected of you. Oftentimes, you wish you could maintain childlike innocence as Heeseung does, dreaming so big and far that everything seems like a possibility if you dreamed hard enough.

Watching him dance and hearing him sing feels like a reminder that there’s more to life than what you know. Your best friend is your confidant and the person you see yourself in the most. The boys and girls who befriend him because of his good looks and potential stardom don’t matter much to either of you when the promise of lifelong friendship looms in the future. You can’t imagine Heeseung not being in it.

Mr. and Mrs. Lee sit at the dining table over a cup of post-dinner coffee while Minjun scrolls through her phone by the couch with a Netflix show you’ve never heard of on the television. Their soft murmurs have become a familiar background noise. You sit next to Minjun and peer over her shoulder.

“I like these shoes a lot,” she tells you as she turns the phone for you to see. “All the girls in my grade are wearing these.”

“Do you like them because you like them or because everyone else does?”

She frowns. “What’s wrong with liking what other people like?”

“Nothing, but if you’re going to buy flats just for them to sit in the back of your closet, that doesn’t seem like a good reason to have them.”

Minjun has approached the age you’re all too familiar with. When you turned thirteen, the impending doom of fitting in hit you like a truck when you realized all of the girls in your grade had expensive clothes while you wore hand-me-downs from your cousins. Your backpack, which you had been using for three years because the straps weren’t broken, felt like a burden to carry when everybody else had pretty satchels. You felt juvenile in your too-worn sneakers and the two pairs of jeans you had sitting in your closet. But you were thirteen and your mother made enough money to make ends meet and put dinner on the table. Clothing and new school materials didn’t matter compared to eating before bed.

Part of this insecurity has always followed you throughout childhood, especially when you were old enough to be aware of the fact that you were one of the few people in your grade who didn’t have a nuclear family. The kinds of families you’d see on the television didn’t exist in real life because while these programs taught its audiences the value of a good, stable home life, you’d been watching them alone while you waited for your mother to come home from work. There would be no dinner at the table with both of your parents because you knew there would be just her.

Watching Minjun grow up with two parents who dote on her feels bittersweet. It feels like watching a version of what could have been if only your father had chosen to stay in the picture instead of abandoning his family for a promising career in entertainment. Minjun’s petulance often reminds you that you were not privileged enough to have this kind of grace because of how rapidly your circumstances forced you to grow up faster than your peers did.

There’s a small part of you that envies her life when you think about what yours could have been if he had stayed. Maybe you wouldn’t have had to watch your mother slave away at odd jobs to keep the lights on before finding a good, stable job after years of searching. Maybe you wouldn’t have felt so lonely in your adolescence because he’d take you to ice cream after school. Maybe the hollowness that remains inside of you would have been filled with joy and laughter on the holidays.

“You’re right,” Minjun sighs, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Seri told me my outfit would’ve looked prettier if I wore these.”

“People should keep their opinions to themselves.”

Minjun nods. “Agreed.”

Heeseung emerges from the kitchen a moment later and sits next to you on the couch. The dip in the cushion and his thigh being pressed against yours isn’t a new phenomenon, but the heat that creeps up your neck can’t be helped when he looks like a model from the corner of your eye. You swallow until your mouth feels dry to keep both Lee siblings from asking why you look like you’re about to explode.

It’s easy to fall in love with Heeseung. All of the girls fawn over him already, a promising sign that Heeseung will likely be just fine when he debuts as an idol. He’s always been good with people and speaks in a way that makes people root for his success even if it was unintentional to begin with. He’s charming in a way that seems humble. Heeseung has a skill for making you feel like you are the only person in the room when he talks to you. You’re sure it’s why people feel drawn to him and why everybody loves being around Heeseung so much. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same way.

Sometimes, you grow envious of how easy it is for Heeseung to get people to like him. Career prospects aside, it’s almost as if he can convince anyone he’s somebody worth being friends with. Cashiers love him because he doesn’t make small talk awkward. He’s not afraid to talk to strangers and strike up a conversation with somebody while waiting for his coffee order. Heeseung is bashful enough to come across as sincere and it seems to reel people in.

He inspires you in ways that you can’t fathom but simultaneously reminds you that you’ve got no future or prospect. It’s unfair to compare yourself to your best friend, but being in such close proximity where people praise him next to you are constant reminders that your life hasn’t begun and you don’t know if it ever will. Your life feels stagnant compared to his exciting one. While Heeseung spends his days and nights perfecting his dance techniques and vocal skills, you sit in your room and wonder what life would be like if you could touch the moon.

There are days where you wish you could be as suave and charming as he can be. You feel awkward around people you don’t know and limit yourself to new experiences when it feels too intimidating. You’re not somebody who’s confident enough to start a conversation, let alone with somebody you aren’t familiar with. Where Heeseung excels in the socializing department, you find yourself playing catch-up every time you see him befriend yet another person you aren’t familiar with. It’s a wonder how you two became as close as you are.

Meeting him had been by chance. You knew him from friends of friends and saw him in the hallways between class periods but never had a reason to talk to him until the two of you were partnered for a class project. The newfound partnership felt oddly comfortable from the minute Heeseung introduced himself to you with that same charming smile everyone knows him to have. His wit and humor brewed the perfect potion for you to feel like caring for him as deeply as you do would become inevitable. It wasn’t a bet on if you would fall for him as hard as you did, but when.

You’re inclined to believe you keep it hidden well. Heeseung is far too oblivious most times to see you as anything other than his best friend. You’ve treated him like a friend far longer than you’ve liked him romantically, so acting as if you don’t have feelings for him is easy when you remind yourself that having him in your life would be better than the alternative. Still, you have moments where you yearn to hold his hand and kiss him before he leaves for practice.

“Do you want to come to the next showcase this weekend?” Heeseung asks, nudging your side with his elbow. You pry your attention away from Minjun’s phone to look at him. “It’s gonna be a small one in the company theater. There’s going to be a bunch of important people in the industry. Allegedly.”

“Of course I’ll come, Heeseung. This is you we’re talking about. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The smile he gives you is blinding.

“I really appreciate you supporting me, you know that? I don’t say it often, but I should. Thank you for always supporting me.”

Your heart bursts.

“I wouldn’t be your best friend if I didn’t do at least that,” you tell him.

“My parents and Minjun are gonna be there too so you won’t be alone.” He smiles at you like he knew you were worried about who to sit with, let alone if there’s going to be important people that could determine Heeseung’s career.

“Thanks,” you mumble, an overwhelming feeling of shyness overtaking you. “It’s silly that you have to look out for me all the time.”

“No, not silly,” he says immediately, pushing his head to your shoulder. You don’t imagine this position is very comfortable for him, but Heeseung seems keen on staying in this position. “We’re kids, Y/N. You don’t need to have your life together. I’ll always look out for you and walk you through it if that’s what you need.”

You sigh. “You know, one day, you’re going to become so famous that you’ll inevitably be too busy for me.”

Heeseung shakes his head. “No I won’t. Who checks up on me every day after practice? Who do I come to when I need to cry? Who do I invite to my home when I’m not even here?”

“Technically, your parents invite me over when you’re not here.”

Heeseung pinches your thigh. “I’m serious, Y/N. You’re not getting rid of me. It’s like, scientifically impossible to separate the two of us.”

“Thanks, Hee.” You feel him nod against you before he lifts his head from your shoulder. “I just feel like I get in my own head sometimes. You know what you want to do for the rest of your life and I barely know what I want for breakfast tomorrow.”

“We don’t always have to figure it out. I know saying that feels like bullshit because I’m training to become an idol but I’m serious. There are so many people we know who don’t know what they’re doing with their lives.”

“It feels like my life could very well be over.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

You make a face at him. “I know.”

“You’ll find something for you, okay? You’re barely an adult anyway. You still have college and all of that shit to figure it out.”

“You’re right.”

“As always.”

“Don’t push it, Heeseung.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

Mr. and Mrs. Lee drive you to the showcase. They pick you up and the four of you have a quick dinner before heading over to the company’s theater and you feel somewhat like an important industry person when you’re given a badge with ‘VIP’ on it to signify that you’re part of the family and friends entourage. You see a group of people with clipboards and pens at the ready, dressed like they’ve just come from important meetings that determine the futures of each trainee. Perhaps that’s who they are. Some of these well-dressed individuals have younger people standing beside them, presumably assistants or something as such.

It feels very formal and you’re wondering if the long skirt and long sleeve top you’re wearing is too childish. Everybody who looks important seems to be donning suits or dresses that make them look like they stepped out of a drama show. It doesn’t matter how many times you remind yourself that you’re young and not here to mingle with corporate executives. You still feel like the floor should swallow you whole and spit you out with a new wardrobe that matches everyone else’s.

Heeseung’s parents chat with a few people they recognize and leave you and Minjun to fend for yourselves (or, rather, it feels that way). The young girl beside you hooks her arm with yours when you’ve been quiet for a moment too long and starts to lead you down the aisles.

“Everyone in here looks so stuffy,” she whispers. “People working in entertainment should look like they’re having fun.”

“I feel a little silly in this skirt,” you admit.

“You look great,” Minjun tells you as she bumps your hip with hers. “My mom made me wear this stupid dress that I can barely breathe in.”

“I happen to think you look very cute, Minnie.”

“But I don’t want to look cute,” she whines quietly. “I want to look like an adult.”

“Yeah, well you can look like an adult when you are one. For now, just be happy that somebody finds you cute enough to do things for you.”

Minjun wants to argue but doesn’t. In the time that she’s known you, there hasn’t been a reason for her to distrust anything you say to her because you’ve never had a reason to lie. It’s why she’s likely to listen to you over her own brother, a fact that Heeseung holds a mild grudge over.

“I guess you’re right. I can’t even drive. I need people to drive me places.”

You stifle a laugh. “Yeah, driving can be a pain sometimes. Enjoy your youth while you have it, okay?” Minjun rolls her eyes in a way that lets you know she’s joking. Being outwardly affectionate doesn’t seem to run in the Lee sibling genes, but you’d like to think you know them well enough to tell when they’re being genuine.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.”

You try to tell yourself that, too. When everybody finds their seats and when the showcase begins, you’re in awe of how many talented people there are in the room when you hear their incredible vocal abilities and make performing in front of a crowd look easy. It’s easy to spot Heeseung when he’s dancing with a group of people you’ve never seen before. He always looks as if he’s floating on air, moving his body in ways you can’t fathom and he makes learning difficult choreography seem like a walk in the park. You’ve heard him sing before but not to this extent. The steady tone he delivers when he dances amazes you beyond comprehension and Minjun would later swear that she saw stars in your eyes when you watched her brother perform like this for the first time.

What Heeseung neglected to tell you was that he secured a solo spot after months of impressing his coaches. He performs one of his favorite songs and moves across the stage like he was always meant to be dancing on it. From here, Heeseung looks like a celestial being with the lights cascading down his body. You hold your breath the entire time he sings on that stage and clap the loudest when everybody gives him a standing ovation. You peek to the side to see the same, stuffy executives nodding after his performance and write down things on their clipboards that you can only hope are praises and nothing but.

Heeseung’s parents make their way to the front of the stage when the house lights turn on. They talk to people you don’t recognize and you find yourself following them instead of looking like an awkward mess, as everybody else has chosen to stand from their seats and greet the performers that have come out from backstage.

Your best friend looks magnificent with his makeup and the outfit he last performed in. He looks like a real idol in this light and pride swells within your chest when people applaud him for his incredible performance before he reaches you. His smile turns bigger when he sees you and Minjun approaching him behind his parents and makes his way to engulf you in a hug.

“You’re here,” he breathes.

“I’d always said I’d be here for you, didn’t I?”

“I think this was the most important showcase of my life.”

It would be hard to ignore Heeseung’s arm wrapped around your waist like he’s done it a thousand times before. It’s true that the two of you aren’t strangers to physical touch, but he never lingers on you like he is now. Still, you chalk it up to overflowing happiness and you can sense that Heeseung is genuinely pleased with himself. He isn’t pretending that he performed well like he does when he avoids going home after practice in lieu of spending time with you in your mother’s apartment.

“You’re fucking incredible,” Minjun praises.

“Language,” Heeseung chides, removing his arm from your waist to pinch her cheek. “Thank you for coming too. Where are eomma and appa?”

Minjun points to where they are. “I think they were waiting for you to come out and started talking to the coaches.”

“We should make our way there.”

“You should,” you tell him, pushing Heeesung towards his parents. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”

“Nonsense.” Heeseung shakes his head and grabs your wrist as best as he can with multiple bodies trying to squeeze past the three of you.

When Heeseung pulls you away, you’re sure to grab onto Minjun’s hand so she doesn’t get lost in a sea of people either. Mr. and Mrs. Lee beam when they see their son approaching and Heeseung drops your wrist in favor of being smothered with affection by his parents. You can tell he feels embarrassed to be doted on in front of his peers because of how his ears are turning red, but you sit back and laugh with Minjun when she points it out loud.

You let them talk and watch as people clad in business attire approach Heeseung and his parents. You're not sure if Heeseung knows them or not but he smiles and shakes their hands, going so far as to bow to their assistants as well. He talks to them like he’s been in this business for decades, making people laugh and remaining as humble as ever when people praise his performance skill. You’re not sure how Heeseung handles all of this attention and praise at the same time, or even what it must feel like to be talented enough to have people approach you.

As you observe everybody else, it’s clear that Heeseung is the star of tonight’s showcase. The other performers did a fantastic job as well, but something about your best friend draws executives to him, and you’re sure everyone who hasn’t spoken to Heeseung is waiting for their turn. It feels exhausting to watch people socialize. You can only guess how exhausted Heeseung might be.

Minjun joins her parents a little while later at their request, leaving you alone for the time being. You pull your phone out and text your mom that you’re still at the showcase and will let her know when Mr. and Mrs. Lee drive you back to the apartment. You use this as an excuse to look busy, replying to a few friends that you didn’t have time to respond to before coming to the showcase. But those conversations are dry and leave you without a distraction.

“Y/N, come here!”

Heeseung calls your name and your head snaps to where he’s standing. He beckons you over with a wave and you awkwardly waddle to where he’s standing. His family aren’t with him and you wonder just how long you’ve been looking at your phone for.

“This is my best friend, Y/N,” Heeseung says as he pulls you closer to him. “Y/N, meet Kim Namjoon. He’s the president and founder of Big Hit.”

“It’s lovely to meet you.” The bow is almost automatic and you’re sure to put on a good first impression to help any reputation Heeseung has with Namjoon. You bow at an angle that’s deeper than a common greeting but just shy of ninety-degrees.

Namjoon returns in kind. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. Heeseung’s a talented one, isn’t he?”

“He’s the best at what he does,” you say earnestly. “I’ve never seen anybody work as hard as him in my entire life. Pardon if I’m overstepping, but I think Big Hit is incredibly lucky to have him.”

He laughs at your politeness. “I feel the same. It’s not every day you come across someone who’s skilled at, well, everything.”

“You know, when Heeseung and I were younger, we had this ongoing joke that he could master anything on the first try. I think it’s what makes him special, you know?”

“Guys, please don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Heeseung whines. His cheeks are red but both you and Namjoon laugh in good fun.

“There’s a reason why I chose Heeseung to be tonight’s soloist,” Namjoon informs. “This showcase is meant for people in the industry and if I’m being honest with you, I think you’ll be getting good remakes on your review.”

Heeseung beams. “Wow…I don’t know what to say.”

“He says ‘thank you,’” you answer for him. “I can’t imagine what training must be like but I do know that all of it has paid off. Thank you for giving Heeseung a chance to prove himself.”

There’s a glint in Namjoon’s eye.

“Have you ever considered working in publicity?” Namjoon asks you.

“No, why do you ask?”

“I think you’d have a real talent for it.” Namjoon says it in a way that feels too casual for a showcase, especially if he’s the one in charge of the company Heeseung is training under. “You speak well for Heeseung.”

“Oh…thank you.”

He turns to Heeseung and claps him on the back. “There’s more to being an idol than training and performing. You need people who know you and know the business. It’s important to make your career thrive because you can be the most talented person in the world, but if you don’t have the right people around you, none of that will matter.”

Heeseung nods. “Y/N’s always been my champion.”

“I can see.” Namjoon smiles at you. “Entertainment is not for the faint of heart and there’s more to it than being photographed. You need to be in the right places at the right time and know the right people who can get you there. That’s what publicity does for you. Y/N’s already doing it and she’s not working in entertainment yet.”

Somehow, his words feel comforting. “I haven’t thought about what I want to do with my life but that seems like something I could do.”

“It’s important work. Heeseung can perform the shit out of his solo but it doesn’t mean anything if he has nowhere to perform it.”

Namjoon smiles at the both of you before his name is being called from behind him.

“Great job on your solo, Heeseung.” He turns to you. “It was nice to meet you, Y/N.” He bows once more to the both of you before departing.

“I feel like I’m buzzing,” Heeseung says as he puts an arm loosely around you. “It was like I was the only person in the room when I was performing, you know? The dance with the other guys was amazing and all of that but I feel like I was on another level when it was just me up there.”

“You were incredible, Hee. I mean that. I don’t know a single person more talented than you.”

Heeseung smiles down at you.

“You know, it means a lot that you come to see me. Sometimes I wonder if people talk to me because they know I’m training to become an idol but you never make me feel like that. It feels natural and genuine. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is, thanks.”

You push him away from you, a giddy smile tugging on the edge of your lips. Heeseung is affectionate but less so in his vocabulary, choosing to tease you because it’s his way of letting you know he cares for you. Hearing him be so open and vulnerable tugs at your heartstrings and it makes you feel like you could achieve anything.

“I’ll always be here for you, remember? You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

Heeseung’s life changes for the better after the night of the showcase when Namjoon tells him he’s secured a debut spot underneath their brand new label, Belift. Happiness flows within the Lee household and you’re nearly in tears when you realize all your best friend has worked for has finally paid off.

But with it comes uncertainty and your fears are slowly becoming a reality when Heeseung stops talking to you as frequently as he used to.

It comes with the job and you’re more than aware of how much Heeseung has on his plate between preparing for his debut and trying to fit in with the industry. You can’t imagine what life must be like for him now that his dream is just a few weeks away of becoming a reality but part of you wonders if it’s too difficult for him to keep you hanging on a leash.

He calls his parents and Minjun as often as he gets. You know because Minjun swings by your mother’s apartment with Mrs. Lee on Saturday mornings to drop off baked goods, updating you on the latest she’s heard from her older brother. You try your best to quell your jealousy because they’re his family after all, but part of you feels like you have a right to call yourself his family too after all he said to you during the night of the showcase and all you’ve done for him.

You’re sure Mr. and Mrs. Lee can sense it too. Heeseung no longer lives at home, having moved into his own dorm in the heart of Seoul, thirty minutes from you. You aren’t a stranger to their household without his presence but you’ve gradually stopped coming by unless Minjun calls you from Mrs. Lee’s phone to ask you to hang out.

Texts and calls slowly diminish with his new line of work. You went from hearing from him every day to every other day, to nothing at all.

Seeing the blue delivered messages without any indication that he’s acknowledged you, makes you feel like a second priority. But you don’t know if you get the right to feel like this when you know how busy he is and the weight of his debut. Heeseung’s got one shot to make a good first impression and the last thing you want is to distract him from achieving his childhood dream of being a successful idol.

Still, the silence stings.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

Heeseung knows you’re waiting on him and ignores the pit in the bottom of his stomach that tells him to text you back.

His new life has changed in ways he couldn’t fathom. When Namjoon told him the news about his debut and all of the details surrounding it, Heeseung felt as if the weight of the world was no longer a burden for him to carry, and that all he has ever wanted would eventually come to fruition. His new friends, namely the three guys around his age who have trained to become musicians, are people he gets along with more than he thought he would. Heeseung’s newfound excitement about the next chapter of his life takes him to new heights and he finds himself spending more time with Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon as they prepare for the debut showcase.

Heeseung knows you’re waiting for him back at home but it’s so hard to focus on you when he’s wrapped up in his new life. Making time to see you is hard enough as it is and he knows you’re as patient as can be. In the years he’s been friends with you, Heeseung knows that your resilience knows no bounds and all that you’ve experienced in your lifetime has built the strong-willed, confident person he knows you to be.

But his new life gets him caught up in the feeling of the present success. The three guys have known each other far longer than Heeseung has known them, only greeting each other in passing since all four of them were training in different areas of performance art. It wasn’t until they were living together that Heeseung started befriending them beyond practice and rehearsals. Jake’s the one who includes Heeseung the most on group outings or spending time playing video games in the living room. His entire life he’s been alone or with just you, seldom having a group of guys who just gets him.

Heeseung tucks away the nagging feeling in the back of his head when he and Jay are preparing a meal for the four of them when he sees a text from you.

hey hee, are you busy right now? it’s been a while since we hung out and i thought it would be nice to go get boba, or something. my treat !! <3

He shoves his phone in his back pocket before Jay can notice him staring at the screen. The message goes unanswered for the rest of the night as he basks in the company of his friends-slash-coworkers, the thought of getting boba with you far removed from his mind. Playing video games and getting to know the people he’ll likely be working with for the foreseeable future takes precedent. It’s what Heeseung keeps telling himself.

After a while, the guilt no longer eats him alive. You’re busy focusing on graduating and preparing to attend university in the fall while he’s made his debut with his newfound best friends. It’s no surprise to anyone that Heeseung’s fanbase grows at a nearly alarming rate after he makes his debut. He grows popular with each day that passes and it feels like Heeseung has become the face of the newest generation overnight.

He’ll wonder what you’re up to from time to time and let you know how he’s doing. Heeseung first sends a text to apologize, lying about not seeing your text sooner and that he’d love to get boba with you when he has the time. You tell him not to worry because you know he’s busy. He texts you pictures of his first performance and scenic pictures of the cities he visits because of his travel and promotion schedule. You update him on the end of the school year and how your mother is dealing with you moving away for college.

The texts become sparse as the two of you resume your separate lives and Heeseung doesn’t realize that you don’t text him until the day of your graduation–the day that he was supposed to graduate if he hadn’t deferred to the trainee program–wishing him well and that you’re thinking of him. You send a video of yourself pulling your tassel over the graduation cap and he feels nothing for the lost time when he’s on his way to promote his first album overseas.

It’s for my career, he tells himself when he realizes how much time has passed since he thought of you. I’m doing what’s best for me and everybody else needs to get used to it.

It isn’t until Heeseung is permitted a few days off that he comes home per his parents’ request. He doesn’t tell them that he’s a bit homesick even though his dorm is a thirty minute drive, but it feels oceans away when his days are packed from morning until night. He tells his parents about his travels and what kinds of food he’s been eating when he’s overseas. Heeseung gifts Minjun all of the trinkets and souvenirs he bought from his time promoting his album, and what his future holds for him when he returns to his life as an idol. Mr. and Mrs. Lee applaud their son’s hard work, yet they can’t help but feel like there’s a piece of a puzzle missing because you aren’t here to celebrate with them.

You make a visit at Minjun’s request. When you arrive, you’re stunned to learn that Heeseung is back at home and only has the evening until he needs to return to work. Heeseung can see the disappointment that festers in your eyes and the way your shoulder droops as you smile at him for his family’s sake, although he knows it’s false bravado because your grin doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

He leads you upstairs to his bedroom when Mr. Lee insists that the two of you spend some time together after not having seen each other in ages. It feels awkward to be in his childhood bedroom with the door just slightly ajar at this moment, but it isn’t anything completely new.

What is new, however, is seeing that you’ve dyed your hair a different color and that you’ve gotten your ears pierced.

“You look good,” he says, lifting his hand to toy with the end of your hair. “It matches your skin tone nicely.”

“Thanks.”

“Did you do it recently? It looks fresh.”

You don’t note that Heeseung also has a different hair color than his natural jet black.

“Two weeks ago. My cousin did it for me.”

He nods. “Nice. It looks good. I see that you’re wearing necklaces too.”

“Yeah. I decided it was time to stop being a child and get it over with.”

“You know, you don’t have to do things if you don’t want to.” You throw a pointed look at Heeseung and it’s an expression he’s unfamiliar with.

“I know. But I like earrings and that’s why I wanted to get them pierced.”

Heeseung wipes his hand on his pants at the awkward tension in the room. He knows he’s to blame. His schedule and priorities have pulled him away from you and the life he’s built prior to debuting, but can anyone blame him? Can anyone blame him for not being able to balance his life when he’s been given the keys to a new empire?

“Well, it was nice seeing you.” You throw a cheap smile in his direction and motion to open the door until Heeseung grabs your wrist, causing you to turn around.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “You have an early day tomorrow.”

Heeseung sharks his head. “It’s fine. I don’t have to be back in Seoul until ten anyway. I’ve missed you and I want to spend time with you before I absolutely have to fall asleep.”

You scoff. “That’s real funny, Heeseung. You missed me but all of my texts and calls go unanswered.”

He frowns. “You know that I’m busy most days.”

“And nights?”

“I’m with the guys back at the dorm.”

You poke your cheek with your tongue.

“See, I would know all of this if you bothered to talk to me at all but it sees that your new life is treating you just fine.”

You make another move to leave his room but he closes the door, startling you with the loud noise. He apologizes quietly and uses his body to block you from leaving for the time being.

“I’m sorry, I’ve just been so busy between promotion and rehearsal that it’s hard to keep track of who I keep up with and who I don’t.”

“You’re talking to me like I’ve never seen you cry before,” you say with a disappointed sigh. “You act like I’m somebody you once knew in a past life.”

“Not true. You’re my best friend.”

“Best friends would bother to talk to each other. You know that, right? I don’t exist just so you can pick and choose when you need somebody to talk to. It makes me feel like you don’t actually care about me, Heeseung. It makes me feel like you’ve ever cared about our friendship unless you needed a shoulder to cry on and I was the first person who would listen to you.”

“That’s not true. I’m just busy.”

“I get that, I really do. But it’s been months, Heeseung. I know that I can’t have your attention all the time and I know I can’t see you as often as I did. But would it kill you to let me know you’re alive? The only time I hear about you is when other people talk about you or when I see you on billboards. That doesn’t feel like a friendship to me.”

His fists ball at his side and his frustration surfaces. Heeseung is frustrated at everyone–himself for being unable to say ‘no’ to his new friends, you for expecting so much of him, and his company for keeping him as busy as he is. But he doesn’t know how to communicate that, not when you’re standing in front of him, looking like he’s the villain in your life when he feels like he’s not.

“Well that’s life, Y/N,” Heeseung settles. “Sometimes we need to learn when to prioritize things over others.”

You laugh humorlessly. “Is that the hill you’re going to die on? You’re too busy to send a simple text back or let me know that you’re, I don’t know, okay?”

“You can’t be a priority all the time.”

“I know that. I’m not asking you to drop everything for me just because I called you. I’m asking you to treat me like somebody you care about, Heeseung. Is that too much to ask?”

The anger Heeseung feels within him feels misplaced, but your inability to hear him about makes him even angrier. It’s unfair for you to demand such things of him when he’s pursuing everything he’s ever dreamed of.

“Yes, it is too much to ask,” Heeseung bites back. “You don’t understand the gravity of what I do for a living and it’s hard to appreciate it when you’re breathing down my neck. God, when did you become such a clingy person, Y/N? The world doesn’t revolve around you and I don’t owe you shit just because you can’t handle that I’m busier than you are.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“I’m being dead serious.” Heeseung steps away from the door. “You of all people know how badly I want this and now it’s like you’re not letting me enjoy what I’ve worked for. What kind of friend does that make you?”

The words tumble out of his mouth before he can catch them. His need to be the victim in an uncertain period of his life causes him to misdirect his frustration with adapting to his new life and the proof is written all over your face.

“Y/N, I didn’t mean–”

“Don’t,” you say sharply. “Just don’t.”

Frozen, Heeseung watches you open his door with such force that it nearly slams into him. He’s quick on his feet to follow you downstairs where he sees his family looking perplexed when you’ve opened the front door without saying goodbye.

“Y/N, I didn’t mean it!” Heesueng yells when you’ve crossed the threshold of his household. “Please come back inside.”

“You made it very clear that I have no place in your new life. Congratulations, I hope you’re happy.”

You walk away while the deep feelings of disappointment and uncertainty settles in Heeseung’s chest. He walks back inside and closes the door behind him to see Minjun and his parents in a deep stupor, trying to make sense of the scene that has just unfolded before them.

“What happened?” Mrs. Lee asks.

“Y/N and I…” his voice cracks. “I don’t think we’re friends anymore.”

The room is silent, save for the ticking of the wall clock.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Minjun says without a smile.

Heeseung wants to tell her that she’s wrong and whatever conversation they must’ve heard was a product of two friends having their first serious argument. Heeseung’s own frustrations towards his new life is something he doesn’t talk about often because he’s worked so hard to become the person he is, and it would be ungrateful to complain about what he has yearned for his entire life. It bottled up so much that hearing you accuse him of being a poor friend caused him to unravel and say things he doesn’t mean.

Mrs. Lee beats him to speaking.

“Don’t say that, Minjun.”

The young girl remains quiet and refuses to meet Heeseung’s eye.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

In the few years that follow, you resist rolling your eyes when you see Heeseung’s face in magazine ads and billboards across the city. Life takes you to university where you spend the next four years deciding on the rest of your life before you settle on something everybody said you’d be good at.

Graduation approaches far sooner than you’d like and it becomes bittersweet when you see the Lee family, sans Heeseung, in the stadium next to your mom, who are all equally shedding tears as your name is called. Heeseung being absent feels hollow, like another reminder that people choose to leave your life without a moment’s notice but for the sake of keeping up appearances, you smile at the camera when you accept your diploma.

It’s not a surprise to you when you find yourself working in entertainment like Kim Namjoon said you could all those years ago.

A job is a job, but he was right when he told you this would be something you’d excel at. Day in and day out, your responsibilities differ as you begin working at Hybe, formerly Big Hit, to manage the profiles and public appearances of idols and other public figures alike.

Heeseung doesn’t hear from you much. His parents update him on your coursework and send him photos of you at graduation. He cries every so often when he feels the urge to call you and tell you about his day, but doesn’t know whether he has the right to do that anymore. The years in his position has taught him what true life balance is, especially with the media and paparazzi taking an interest in his personal life.

It feels so exhausting to have nobody you can depend on. These days, it’s just him and the three boys he met at the beginning of his career. Heeseung’s popularity has grown so much that he can’t tell up from down. It drowns him in a way he never anticipated and the politics of fame and the industry wasn’t something he accounted for when he began dreaming about a career in the performance space.

Perhaps it’s why he spends his days feeling listless, like he’s got no real potential after achieving his dream. He knows his managers worry for his health and that the other trainees in the building can sense something has been off for a while. Maybe it’s why he roams the halls with headphones on to drown out the noise that’s become his everyday life, with talks of meetings and promotions and everything Heeseung wishes to get away from, if for only one day.

When Heeseung bumps into somebody on his way out of the company elevator, his first instinct is to lean down to collect the papers that have fallen haphazardly on the floor. He pushes his headphones until they rest around his neck and stands to hand them back to the person he bumped into. Only, he feels his body freeze when he sees who it is.

Like Heeseung has always believed, if you really love someone, they will always come back to you.

“Y/N?”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

potential part two ft. the rest of enha … this was a therapy piece lol

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

taglist: @enha-stars @karinasbaby @baevsxii @lillotus17 @syzavxy @mrmld @nikilvrfvr @luvyev @notevenheretbh1 @wvnkoi @seungiesgf @kgneptun @judeduartewannabe @iheartjayke @wonsbubble @ilyjxdz @foggysfrog @oddracha @haechansbbg @tobiosbbyghorl @ryunjin0 @sharksandminhos @jungwoneez @alex-is-sleeping @minjaexvz @woninluv @engeneeee-168 @friendlyuser57 @moony-mari @trdhgg @sleepyhoon @sunghoonsgfreal @i02hoonz @riksaes @021894s @zeeloveshee @jwnghyuns @vhuteryh @cloudiesblog @awsome209 @fleurixzs @xiaoderrrr @marshwatz @aeripark0703 @bambangan @papichulomacy .

apologies to all tumblr wouldn't tag. :)

#lee heeseung x reader #enhypen x reader #heeseung x reader #heeseung imagines #enhypen imagines #enhypen au #enhypen angst #heeseung #my writing #never to keep

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thekinslayed · 28 days

Text

The First Time You Called Me Baby

summary | The beginning of the story between you and a certain silver-haired man.

pairing | modern aemond targaryen x girlfriend!reader (saltburn au)

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! unprotected sex, blowjob, semi-public, pantyfuck, squirting, handjob, attempt at harassment, rough sex, Felix Catton’s nasty ass room

wordcount | 8.4k

note | this is the prequel to The First Taste, but can still be read as a standalone! this is set a little over a year from the events of that fic :) thank u for the love on that nasty little thing, and i hope u guys enjoy this one too!

song rec | The First Time - Hozier

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated! i am open for fic requests <3

(dividers by @thecutestgrotto)

You had first laid your eyes on him at the library. His silver hair was a stark contrast against the dark wood of the aisles filled with books. You were a first year at Oxford, and he was in his second. The simmering heat that still lingered at summer’s end licked at your skin, bringing about droplets of sweat down your back, despite the thin summer dress you were already sporting. He, however, was clad in a black henley, paired with dark jeans and sneakers, and looked utterly divine. It was unfair, really.

The mysterious man was absorbed in his reading, scribbling on a notebook with every couple of lines that he read. You perused through the aisles in search of a book required for one of your classes, and as you passed his table, he lifted his head to look at you, no doubt feeling your eyes peeking down at what he was reading.

You immediately looked away, pretending as though you hadn’t just been caught. Your cheeks flushed hotter than they already were, and as you scampered away, you missed the way his good eye followed your retreating form, curiosity filling his good eye.

In the weeks that followed, you kept seeing him around Oxford, in the halls, at the pub where you learned he was good friends with Felix Catton, and again at the library. It turned out you shared a class, Philosophy with Professor Quinn, though you had always sat on either end of the lecture hall, paths never crossing. Your interactions were limited to swift eye contact whenever you were in the same vicinity, never speaking a word to each other.

One Tuesday, you were seated in the lecture hall of your class, organizing your notes when a shadow cast a dimness over you. You looked up to meet the eyes of your mystery man, who had silver hair tied back into a low ponytail, clad in yet another black shirt.

“Is this seat taken?” was the first thing he ever said to you. He pointed to the empty seat beside you, awaiting your response. It was already a good month into the semester, and at that point, everyone had their unofficially assigned seats in the hall. The guy who usually sat beside you hadn’t arrived yet, rendering his seat vacant.

“Uh, no, not really,” You responded, shaking your head lightly. You anxiously bit your lip as the object of your curiosity sat beside you, pulling out his notes. When he had settled, the silver-haired man leaned back into the seat, turning his head to you.

“I’m Aemond,” he said casually. Your ears perked up at his unique name. Only a certain group of people would have such a strange name as his. He was a Targaryen, you realized, descendants from some sort of royalty, and filthy fucking rich. You turn your head to him staring at you, expecting you to introduce yourself.

“Oh!” You blushed, before telling him your name. Aemond nodded, before extending out his hand to shake your hand. You place your hand in his, gripping it firmly to shake it.

Wow, his hand is big, you thought.

You were surprised when he asked you a few questions about yourself, initiating a light conversation between the pair of you. Based on what you had seen, he didn’t really talk much, often just listening to Felix Catton run his mouth whenever you spotted them together. He seemed interested in your major, what classes you were taking, and what you thought of Oxford so far. You indulged him as much as you could, asking some questions about him yourself. Your conversation was cut short when the professor walked in, starting the lecture. Soon after, the guy whose seat Aemond had taken walked in, complaining to the man beside you.

“There’s some more seats at the back, mate, you’ll be fine,” Aemond said nonchalantly, pointing a thumb to the back of the room. The student, Kyle, looked at you, but you only shrugged and gave him a sheepish smile. He scoffed, before walking away to find another seat. You silently thanked Aemond for taking his seat, because fucking Kyle was always sneezing without covering his nose and sprayed his snot everywhere like a child.

Over the next weeks, you and Aemond became friendly acquaintances. You helped each other with the work assigned for the class and had a few study sessions together in the library. He was incredibly nice to you, in contrast to the intimidating aura he naturally possessed. You would be lying if you said you weren’t attracted to him, because that man had a face sculpted by the gods. However, you paid these growing feelings no mind. You heard he was seeing Floris Baratheon, and you were talking to Mark, who was introduced to you by your best friend.

Mark was nice, sweet, and had a way with words that made you laugh with little effort. Talking to him felt easy and casual, but something was missing. He lacked the intrigue you felt with Aemond, and the enigmatic, alluring way the silver-haired man looked at you made you feel a tingle in your stomach in a way no one else could. Still, Mark was good fun, but you couldn’t see things going further, not when your mind was always stuck on a certain silver-haired man.

It was a Friday night, and you were at a party with some friends. You nursed a beer while you sat with them, engaged in conversation. The whole thing was quite casual, which you were thankful for because the last one you were at had gotten so chaotic that you narrowly avoided being puked on by someone in the middle of the dark room.

You laughed when one of your friends’ started wildly waving her hands animatedly as she told her latest gossip, the alcohol in your systems made all of you warm and loose the more you drank. In the corner of your eye, you spot a familiar head of silver hair passing through the crowd of people. You turned your head to see Aemond, though he wasn’t alone. He was with none other than Floris Baratheon, who held his wrist as she guided him through the crowd to leave the party. You ignored the strange twinge in your chest at the sight, gaze following the pair.

Sensing a pair of eyes on him, Aemond turned to meet yours. You gave him a friendly smile and a wave, to which he responded with a nod and a small smile. All of a sudden, he forgot why he was letting himself get dragged by Floris, but made no move to stop her. He watched as you tore your gaze away from him, directing your attention back to your friends. The sight of you giggling at whatever your friend said was the last glimpse got of you before Floris led him away from the party.

You were walking back to your room, alone, after having dropped off all of your friends at their dorms. Having been the least drunk out of the whole group, you had made sure they got back to their rooms safely, before heading back to your own. You also were in a separate building, so you quickly made your way back, trying to stay mindful of your surroundings. Much to your luck, a student had stumbled out of one of the buildings you passed on your way, clearly intoxicated.

“Hey, all alone?” He slurred, giving you a lopsided smile.

“No, someone’s waiting for me,” You lied, trying to walk faster when he blocked your path.

“Oh yeah? I don’t see anyone, pretty girl,” He snickered turning his head around where you had pointed into the darkness. “Why don’t you come up to mine, can’t be walking around all alone! ‘S dangerous, you know?”

You expressed your refusal at his offer, pushing past him but he had grabbed your arm to prevent you from walking away. You struggled to pull away from his grip, but he was much stronger than you. Your heart beat erratically in your chest, starting to panic when he started to drag you despite your efforts to plant your feet firmly into the ground.

“Do we have a problem here?” A voice spoke behind you. You whipped your head around to see Aemond, whose good eye was filled with anger at the sight.

“Nah, mate, was just taking my girl back to my room,” The man chuckled casually, grip still unrelenting on your forearm. You subtly shook your head at Aemond, eyes silently pleading for him to not leave you alone. He studied your expression, before turning back to the drunk student.

“Yeah? Looks like she isn’t up for it, mate,” Aemond said, taking a step forward closer to you.

“Oh, fuck you, one-eye! Why don’t ya just leave us alone?” He spat at Aemond, his loud voice echoing through the night air. In a flash, Aemond’s fist sent the drunk man sprawling onto the pavement. You gasped in shock, stepping away. Relief flooded in your chest when you were finally freed from the tight grip on your arm. In his intoxicated state, the man could barely recover from the singular blow to his nose, moaning in pain as he lay on the ground.

Brushing a hand through his silver locks, Aemond walked back to you, the anger in his eye now replaced with concern. He called your name lowly, hand reaching to hold your elbow as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Hey, you alright? I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said softly, rubbing at your skin comfortingly. You nodded at him, chest still panting from the rush of adrenaline you felt.

“Y-yeah, thank you, Aemond, really,” you thanked him, giving him a shaky smile.

“No need to thank me. Can I walk you back?” He offered, to which you gratefully accepted. You both started to walk back to your dorm in silence as you took the time to calm down. After a couple of moments of comfortable silence, your head turned to the Targaryen beside you, curiosity sparking in your chest.

“I thought you were, um– I saw you leave with Floris,” You stuttered, cringing inwardly at your awkward tone. Aemond only hummed at your words, grimacing as he stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“I did, but, I don’t know…I figured I was tired of whatever it was we were doing, so I just walked her back to her room and left. Then I found you,” He explained, looking back at you when he finished speaking. You couldn’t help the flutter in your stomach at the revelation.

“Oh,” was all you could say. You bit your lip as your face warmed when his gaze stayed on your face, turning your attention to your feet while you walked.

“How are things going with you and Mark?” Aemond suddenly asked, much to your surprise. He rubbed the back of his neck, waiting for your answer. You had told him a bit about Mark, but you hadn’t divulged how you actually felt about him. An awkward chuckle fell from your lips as you pondered on what to say.

“I think we’re just gonna stay friends,” you confessed shyly. Your eyes studied his reaction, but he only nodded, sniffling at the cold breeze that whipped his silver hair.

“Oh,” was all Aemond could say.

You continued to walk in another comfortable silence until you reached your building. As Aemond walked you to the door, you turned around to look up at him. You could feel your pulse thrum in your ears, the tips of your ears growing flushed when his face had been much closer than expected. The icy blue of his good eye almost glimmered under the light illuminating the pavement, his prosthetic eye unmoving on the left side of his face.

“Thank you for walking me back, Aemond, and for… you know,” you said, implying how he practically saved your life earlier. “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been there.” Sincerity filled your tone, one that reached Aemond’s heart. He shook his head at you, thin lips lifting to a warm smile.

“I told you there’s no need to thank me,” he said. The night breeze blew a loose strand of hair into your face, and Aemond’s fingers carefully lifted to tuck it back into your ear. Your cheeks warmed up at his gesture, your lips lifting into a flustered smile.

“It’s dangerous to be walking alone at night. If you need someone to walk you home, I’ll always be there,” he told you, tone comforting. You nodded at his words, uttering another sign of thanks.

You stared up at him, studying his face. Your eyes ran down the faint scar on his left cheek, curious as to how he acquired it. You couldn’t help but shift your gaze to his lips, the warm feeling in your belly returning as desire pulsed deep within you. You wondered how it would feel against yours, how his hands would wander on your skin after he pulled you close.

Aemond caught the way your gaze fell to his lips, and with a surge of courage, he slowly dipped his head toward yours intending to capture your pink lips, soft and inviting. Your breath hitched when you realized his intentions, and before your lips could touch, you placed a hand on his chest, prompting him to pull away. You bit your lip guiltily, before leaning up to plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Good night, Aemond,” You whispered in his ear, before stepping away to turn around. You twisted the doorknob to the building open, stepping inside. You spared him one last glance, giving him a sweet smile, before shutting the door behind you.

As the door closed behind you, Aemond let out a heavy sigh, leaning his head back and closing his eye. His heart hammered heavily in his chest, his throat suddenly dry after being so close to you. He chuckled to himself as he walked away, turning back one last time to catch a light flicker on by a window on the second floor.

Your leg bounced as you fidgeted in your chair anxiously, eyes scanning the words on the book yet you barely understood what any of them meant. Beside you, Aemond scribbled down on his notes, lips moving as he mouthed the words he was reading silently. It was late, yet both of you were stuck poring over the material for your upcoming midterm. You had been in the library for hours, only taking breaks to get a breather and grab a snack. A big portion of your grade for the class depended on this exam, and you were wary of how you would do.

It didn’t help that Aemond smelled so fucking good. His perfume was not overpowering at all, but rather clean and inviting, the kind that made you want to press your nose against his skin to smell it more. He looked unbelievably handsome when his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, or when he leaned back to stretch, letting out a groan that went straight to your core.

As your eyes trailed over the notes scattered across the table, your gaze fell on his exposed forearms. You could see the fibers of his muscular forearms as they flexed with every moment, while the veins ran down to his large hands. Your thoughts drifted to what they would look like around your neck, or on your tits, or how his fingers would tease your—

Fucking hell.

You let out a frustrated sigh, leaning back on your chair and rubbing a hand across your face. Aemond looked up at you in concern, putting down his pencil as he turned to you.

“You okay?” He asked. His good eye ran over your features, taking in the way the skin in between your eyebrows creased while a frown adorned your lips. You have dressed in one of your adorable little sundresses again, paired with a knit cardigan to keep you warm in the chilly library.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘m just tired,” you mumbled. Aemond hummed, leaning back against his chair as well.

“Why don’t we take a break? We’ve been at it for a while,” he suggested, to which you eagerly nodded. You stood up from your seat, arms lifting in the air as you stretched. Aemond’s eye trained on how your short dress lifted ever so slightly, only a couple inches away from flashing him your rear. The silver-haired man gulped, ignoring the way his cock twitched at the teasing sight, before rising from his chair.

He followed you through the aisles as you walked around to stretch your legs. The library was practically empty, so it was safe to leave your stuff without worrying about it getting stolen. He watched your fingers trail over the spine of the books, stopping along with you when you paused to read some titles that interested you. You took the stairs up to the second floor, where there was not a single soul around.

Your eyes wandered around the vast, historical space, admiring the old architecture. Oxford was much more beautiful at night, with the moonlight that shone over its stone walls, and the amber glow from the lights casted a warmth in the quiet room. You craned your head back to admire the intricate woodwork on the ceiling, pointing up a finger to show Aemond.

“Isn’t it so beautiful?” You said to him, looking back with a smile. He was looking at you with a strange look. His good eye was filled with something intense, something that threatened to wash over him. It made you feel warm all over, and goosebumps rose on your flesh as you took the sight of him in.

“Breathtaking,” he whispered, though his eye stayed on you. He gave you a fond smile, one that caused your heart to thump heavily against your ribcage.

Since he took you home that night, the two of you had toyed with the line separating your friendship from becoming something more. The way he looked at you made you feel light as air, and his words caused your usually sure self to stutter in bashfulness. For weeks, you had felt as though you were on the verge of stumbling over, and the slightest touch would have you falling over the edge. You could only hope to be caught, and without any sign of that assurance, you willed yourself to keep your balance.

But with how he was looking at you tonight, you realized you were already in the wind, freefalling to whatever awaited you. It couldn’t be helped, not with the way you searched for him in everyone you came across, for the sensation only he seemed to arouse from you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked, careful yet hopeful. The tension was palpable, you could feel it in your fingertips. You knew, even without him saying it, but you had to hear the words. When his eye was usually analytical and cold, it now seemed to resemble the vast ocean, with nothing but fondness swimming in its waters.

“You know why,” he said softly. As he took steps towards you, you took steps back, up until you were pressed against the wooden shelf. His taller build caged you in, but it didn’t feel claustrophobic at all; it felt safe, comforting.

“Aemond,” you breathed out, suddenly breathless. His hand caressed the side of your face, and the pad of his thumb pressed down on your bottom lip.

“So pretty,” he whispered. Aemond seemed hypnotized, by the way his skin grew warm and his chest panted when he stepped into your space. You tilted your head up at him with big eyes, but his eye were stuck on your lips. Your lips slightly parted when you let out a gasp, and his thumb moved up to dip into your mouth.

Aemond’s jaw dropped ever so slightly when your lips wrapped around his thumb. You hollowed out your cheeks to suck on his finger, running your tongue on its underside. A grunt reverberated from deep within his chest, his cock throbbing at the erotic sight. His free hand came up to your waist, its warmth exuding through the fabric that separated your flesh.

You looked like a doe with shining eyes as you remained staring up at his face, the innocence in your orbs a sharp contrast to the erotic sight of your lips. As your spit gathered around his thumb you felt a similar wetness between your thighs. You subtly pressed them together in hopes of trying to soothe the pulsing ache from your cunt.

Aemond’s eye dropped from your lips to your legs when your knee accidentally knocked against his, catching you in the act. His mouth all but watered at the sight of you, coupled with the way your nipples poked through the thin fabric of your dress.

Pulling his thumb from your lips, Aemond’s lips surged forward to fill in its absence. Teeth knocking against each other, you let out a low whimper as he all but devoured your mouth. His kiss was hungry and all-consuming, turning you lightheaded. His hand pressed against the shelf behind you, fully caging you in. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingertips running through the soft silver tresses that had captivated you since the first day you laid eyes upon him. Kissing turned into gnawing, and you gripped his starlit hair, opening your mouth further to welcome his tongue. You wrapped a leg around his waist, the ends of your dress lifting to allow his bulge to press flush against your damp center.

You gasped into Aemond’s mouth when his straining cock rubbed against your clothed pearl deliciously. Your hips started to swirl against his, taking on a mind of its own. Breathless, you chased Aemond’s lips when he pulled away from you, earning a chuckle from him. He caressed the side of your head lovingly, before grabbing the end of your dress to lift the fabric.

Aemond cursed under his breath when the sight of your panties greeted him. There was a damp patch where your arousal started to stain the cotton, and the indent of your folds made for a mouthwatering sight. His fingers hooked to the side, pushing the fabric away to reveal your weeping cunt. Another whimper left your lips as the chill air blew on your exposed pussy, clenching around nothing. You gripped the fabric of Aemond’s shirt, silently urging him to touch you.

Two fingers swiped up your slit, arousal coating the pads of Aemond’s fingertips when he pulled it away. He brought it to his lips, letting out a low moan when he tasted your essence.

“Fucking delicious” he growled. His aquiline nose pressed against your cheek, taking in the sweet smell of your flesh.

“Please,” you pleaded weakly. His hand rubbed your waist comfortingly, before squeezing the soft flesh through the fabric.

“What do you want, hm?” He asked, placing a hand under your chin to make you look at him. You gulped, trying your hardest to keep your voice quiet. Despite the lack of people in the library, you knew you still had to be careful.

“Touch me, Aemond, please,” you begged, grabbing his wrist to place it back on your pussy. Aemond gave you a sweet kiss on your lips, before pushing his fingers past your fingers once more to feel your slick core.

You bit your lip hard to prevent moaning out loud when his middle finger dipped into your slit, teasing. Aemond smirked at the way your eyebrows furrowed at him, eyes desperately pleading with him.

“You’re adorable, you know that?” He chuckled, before pressing a kiss on your forehead. He decided to forego his teasing, entering his whole finger into your cunt up to his knuckles. Your walls swallowed him up deliciously, and he wondered how you would be able to take his cock.

One thing at a time.

You dropped your head onto his shoulder when his finger curled upwards, caressing the rough spot within your walls. His finger thrust into you at a steady pace, soon adding another. Your walls felt full, fuller than when you would use your own fingers to pleasure yourself. You panted into Aemond’s neck, letting out small cries against his hot flesh as his finger bent in a ‘come hither’ motion. You gripped his shoulders to ground yourself, your hips moving in tandem with the rhythm of his fingers.

“Aem– mm,” you moaned.

“Keep making those sounds for me, yeah?” He whispered into your ear, running his lips against the shell of your ear. You let out another whine, before running one of your hands from his shoulder down to cup his clothed cock.

Aemond’s breath hitched in his throat when you squeezed his bulge lightly. Your shaky hands unbuckled his belt, zipped down his jeans, and dipped past his briefs to grip his hard cock. Aemond let out a low moan of your name, biting your neck lightly when you began to stroke his length. He continued to fuck you with his fingers, keeping his grip on his sanity as your dainty hands rubbed at his flushed tip. He barely registered when you pulled out his cock to direct it to your pussy to replace his fingers, but he was able to stop you in time before you pulled on his wrist.

“Not here, baby,” he said, earning a whiny pout from you. He planted another kiss on your forehead to soothe you, mumbling a ‘next time’ into your skin.

God, he wanted to fuck you so bad, but he wanted to do it right. He wanted to take the time to devour you in all the ways he could, he wanted to see you take your pleasure from him, to fall apart on his fingers, tongue, before claiming you with his cock. It wouldn’t be possible to do it here, in a library where anyone could see you.

Instead, he directed his cock to rub on your slit, before pulling your panties back over to cover his cockhead with the fabric. The underside of his cock rubbed on your slit deliciously, its mushroomed tip getting caught by the curve of your folds to rub directly on your clit. You let out a pathetic whimper, slapping your hand to cover your mouth at the sensation.

The halls remained quiet except for the slick sounds coming from in between your thighs, and the heavy breathing from both of you. Aemond bit back a groan as the sensitive tip of his cock snagged on the cotton of your panties, the fabric now drenched with both of your juices.

Your thrusts moved in tandem with one another, chasing both of your releases. You gripped the back of Aemond’s neck to pull him towards you, smashing your lips together. Your hips had a mind of its own, moving desperately as you felt the warmth in your belly grow. You panted into Aemond’s mouth, who swallowed every moan that left you with his lips. A chorus of his name fell out of your lips, voice turning whiny as he hurled you towards your precipice.

The feeling of the protruding vein on the underside of Aemond’s cock rubbing at your clit was what sent you overboard, burying your head into the crook of his neck as you spilled in your underwear. In the dizzying haze of your release, you tried to catch your breath and watched Aemond pull his length away from you. His expert hand began to stroke it furiously, and you watched, mesmerized, as his face contorted into an expression of pleasure. Your hand fondled his balls to aid him towards his release, your mouth capturing his in another passionate kiss. You felt his stones tighten in your touch, and Aemond pulled away as he felt the coil in his stomach start to snap. His free hand hooked onto the top of your panties, exposing your cunt once more. He points his cock down towards your pussy, before ejaculating into your underwear. You gasped at the warm droplets of cum that painted your mound, relishing in the sound of his grunts of your name in your ear.

Aemond’s fingers snapped back the elastic against your skin, before cupping your clothed cunt that kept his seed, making sure it stayed there. He leaned back to look at your flushed face, tucking back some loose strands of hair behind your ear.

Your eyes closed when he placed a tender kiss on your forehead, breath shuddering as his lips trailed down to plant another one on your nose, your cheeks, and then finally, your swollen lips. The kiss was sweet and gentle, and as you pulled away you couldn’t help the sheepish smile you beamed up at him, to which he responded with a fond look.

After that little tryst, you and Aemond were practically inseparable. You would walk together around campus, study together, and of course, take classes beside each other. He had even taken the initiative to wait outside your lecture hall during your other classes, walking you back to your dorm or taking you out to eat afterwards if you were hungry. He was the perfect gentleman, always carrying your books or your bag and keeping a protective arm around your waist as you walked. Speaking of touch, whenever you and Aemond were together, he always had to be touching you in some way, be it with an arm around your shoulder, or through the kisses he planted on your skin whenever he got the chance.

He had even introduced you to Felix, who admittedly, Aemond could barely stand. He and Felix were childhood friends, having been around each other’s families for years because of their connections. He was only around Catton and the little bundle of people that followed his tail because of their familiarity with each other, but even being around their boisterous, mentally obtuse group for a short period did Aemond’s head in.

Still, you graciously accepted Felix’s invites to some parties, though you and Aemond only ever stayed for a few moments before wandering off hand in hand. After that night in the library, the extent of your touches only ever extended to making out and fondling each other. With exam week coming up soon, you both barely had the time to indulge in your desires. Your friends were excited for you, often asking you the juicy details about Aemond, to which you only shyly responded with vague answers, much to their protests. They warned you, however, about the Targaryens’ nonexistent commitment abilities. It wasn’t specific to Aemond, but to all of the ones that came before him. One of your girlfriends still harbored a bitter resentment for his older brother, Aegon, for having treated her like she was nonexistent despite being the reason for her pregnancy scare.

Their advice made you think, Aemond hadn’t explicitly asked you to be his girlfriend yet, so you weren’t technically together. Yet the way his hands squeezed your tits when you made out was certainly an indication you weren’t just friends… right?

These thoughts clouded your mind as you sat beside Aemond. It was the end of midterm season, and many students appropriately wanted to celebrate. You were invited to a pre-game by Felix, a prelude to the actual party later in the night. You were sat with Aemond on the couch, his hand drew circles around the exposed flesh of your thighs, while he listened to the group’s conversation.

Your best friend, Sarah, was on the loveseat to your left, her legs extended across the length of the seat. Her soft call of your name made you turn to look at her. She cocked her to Cerelle Lannister, who had been openly making eyes at your kinda-but-not-really boyfriend. The blonde was also another childhood friend of Aemond’s, and you wondered whether there had been something more between the two that you didn’t know about.

These fucking rich people, I swear, you thought as you glared at Cerelle from across the group. She had made a couple of passes at him throughout the night, shooting him teasing remarks despite it being completely out of topic from the group’s conversation. Aemond had only responded with a roll of his eye or completely ignored her together. However, his lack of shutting down her attempts only seemed to encourage the blonde, which enraged you.

Your eyes met Sarah’s, who raised her eyebrows at you, silently conveying, ‘Can you believe this bitch?’

You only let out a sigh, to which Aemond turned to you to kiss your temple and rub at your skin. You flashed him a fake smile, before downing the liquor in your cup in one go.

Besides his inner circle of friends, Felix also invited some people he knew, one of whom was Mark. The familiar brunette appeared, passing by you and Sarah on the couch. Your best friend called him over, greeting him. The friendly second-year greeted both of you with a smile, telling you both he was headed to the kitchen to grab another drink. Sarah grabbed you along, snatching you from Aemond’s touch to lead you away.

“I’m just gonna be at the kitchen,” you quickly said, already being dragged away before he could reply. Aemond watched as you walked away with Sarah, though his eyebrows furrowed in dismay when he spotted Mark trailing behind you. His eye stayed on you until you disappeared through the kitchen, debating whether to follow you or not. Aemond ultimately decided to let you be. If Sarah was with you, he doubted she would let Mark try anything on you.

“So… that’s why you aren’t seeing Floris anymore,” Farleigh spoke up beside Aemond, watching as the silver-haired man's eye still stared down the hall you disappeared to. He sighed at his friend’s words, returning to face him.

“I’m not seeing Floris anymore because she makes me want to get run over by a bus, Farleigh,” he responded, staring back at Felix’s cousin who stared him down analytically.

In the kitchen, you accepted the shot of vodka handed to you. You downed the shot, grimacing at the burn of the cheap liquor down your throat.

“Listen, I love you,” Sarah started, pouring another shot for herself, “but you have got to do something about that blonde little cunt before I do it for you.”

“She’s right,” Mark agreed, nodding at you. He had been debriefed on the whole situation by Sarah, pitching in his friendly advice.

“I know, but they’ve known each other since they were kids! What if I was the one clueless about something that has been going on between them?” You spoke, shoulders sagging as you thought about the prospect of your words being true. You contemplated whether that was the real reason why he refused to fuck you in the library.

“Well, then, tell Aemond to say bye-bye to that majestic hair if that’s true. He can’t be going around fuckin’ touching you and kissing you in front of everyone if he’s got another girl, and he most certainly cannot be leading you in circles!” Sarah exclaimed. The back of her hand slapped Mark’s shoulder, who jumped at the sudden strike. “Back me up here, Mark.”

Your eyes looked at him, frowning. He sighed at the sight of you, thinking back to the possibility of what could’ve been. Mark nodded, giving you a genuine smile.

“A girl like you shouldn’t be left waiting. He’d be the biggest idiot in the world if he let his chance get away,” he said, tone filled with nothing but sincerity. Your heart warmed at his words, deeply appreciating the friendship you maintained. You flinched as Sarah slammed down her shot glass after downing another one, now tipsy, before pointing a finger at you.

“Y’know what? If he won’t tell you, just go and find out for yourself. It’s fuckin’ 2005, babe! Chivalry’s dead and buried six feet beside Princess Di. If you want him, go get him,” Sarah persuaded you. With encouragement from both of your friends, you realized they were right. You can’t be waiting around contemplating Aemond’s true feelings for you. You wanted him, and hell, you were going to make him all yours.

You nodded with conviction, exhaling a deep breath as you gathered all your courage. Sarah passed you another shot, which you drank for liquid courage. Wiping your hands on your skirt, you turned away to walk out of the kitchen to find Aemond.

Walking back down the hall, you found the couch empty, with no Aemond in sight. Your attention was grabbed by a series of hollers from further down the hall, where everyone gathered around cheering on while some guy was chugging an entire bottle of vodka, encouraged by the chants around him.

You found Aemond off to the side, leaning on the wall as he watched on in amusement. He took a swig of beer from the bottle in his hand, still unaware of your presence. He looked absolutely godly. He sported a gray crewneck that hugged his lithe form perfectly, the sleeves were pushed back to expose his forearms, and the silver chain hidden in his shirt glinted in the dim light of the room. With a sudden surge of desire going through you, you made your way to him. As you reached him, your hand grasped his elbow, making him turn to you. Without any warning, you smashed your lips onto his, cupping his jaw as you kissed him passionately. His lips responded in fervor, hand slithering around your back to pull you closer to him. Aemond pulled away to look down at you, studying the dazed look in your half-lidded eyes.

“I need you, now,” you made known, a steady conviction in your tone. The man before you smirked, nodding and grabbing your hand to take you away. The beer bottle in his hand was discarded, and he guided you up the stairs. He led you down the hallway lined with rooms, stopping at the third door on your left. He twisted the doorknob to find it unlocked, opening it wide to let you in first. Your eyes widened at how easily he had found this room, looking up at him in confusion.

“It’s Felix’s room. Knobhead never locks it,” Aemond informed you, cocking his head to urge you to enter. You stepped into Felix’s room, which was a little bit messy for your taste. Aemond locked the door behind you, before gripping your waist to turn you around.

Your lips locked together once more, devouring each other as you blindly stepped towards the bed. You pushed Aemond down on Felix’s mattress, before kneeling on the floor before him. Aemond ran a hand through his silver hair, his hungry gaze stuck on you as he watched you unbuckle his belt. Your hands worked quickly, a sense of urgency in your actions to take him. Pulling out his cock, you kept your eyes on his while your tongue darted out to lick his tip, teasing him. He let in a sharp inhale, before groaning when you began to stroke his shaft.

“Fucking hell… open your mouth,” he rasped out, gripping your chin to tilt your head towards him. A whimper left your open lips when Aemond spat into your mouth. His large hand gripped the back of your head, directing you back to his cock. With the extra saliva as lubrication, you took his length into your mouth, sinking until your nose hit his pubic bone. You heard him let out a curse, before starting to bob your head up and down. You switched between sinking your mouth onto his length and stroking it with you hand.

Your pace increased fast, sucking his cock with an air of desperation. It might have been the booze, or the sheer fact that your desire for him overwhelmed your senses. Your confidence was boosted at the sounds falling from his pretty lips, his raspy voice sending tingles straight to your core. You blindly reached for his wrist and, while your other hand gathered your hand into a makeshift ponytail. You guided him to grip your hair, pushing on the back of his to urge him to use you however he wanted.

His grip was tight as he moved you up and down his cock to his liking. His grunts verberated off the walls of the room, while the erotic sounds of your throat taking his cock filled the quiet space.

All too sudden, he pulled you off his cock. You panted when you came up for air, spit running down the corners of your swollen mouth. Aemond’s gaze darkened at the sight of you, his perfect girl. His thumb wiped on the side of your lips before he surged forward to kiss you.

“My good girl,” he mumbled against your lips, earning a moan from you. His hands on your elbows urged you to stand, and you pulled away to pull your dress off in one swift motion, before dropping your panties to the floor.

The sight of your bare body took Aemond’s breath away. His good eye stared up at you in admiration, and his hand gripped the soft flesh of your waist to pull you closer to him. He snuggled his face into your stomach, breathing in the sweet scent of your flesh. You giggled at the kisses that he tickled you with, running your hand through his hair soothingly.

“You’re perfect,” he said, looking up at you with adoration. Your heart swelled as you blushed, before leaning down to recapture his lips. He pulled off his shirt while your thighs straddled his lap, caging him. Aemond could taste the salty tang of his pre-cum on your tongue, though he didn’t find it within him to be disgusted. He reached into his pocket to pull out his wallet where kept a condom, but your hand stopped him from taking the foil out.

“We don’t have to,” you said, biting your lips as you looked at him. Aemond’s eye stared at the way your lips were swollen, your cheeks flushed from the growing heat in the room.

“Are you sure?” he asked, to which you nodded.

“I’m on birth control, and I… I’m clean,” you tell him. He nodded at you, giving you a comforting smile, and caressing your cheek softly with his thumb.

“Me too, there’s no one else,” he said, to which you gave him a surprised look. Confusion graced his features at your surprise. “Did you think…”

You gave him a sheepish look, avoiding his gaze by keeping your eyes on the dragon pendant of his necklace. You saw his chest shake when he chuckled, slightly jumping when his hands squeezed your waist to prompt you to look at him.

“You’re so cute,” he teased, squeezing your plump cheek. You looked at him shyly, meeting his amused gaze.

“You’re my girl,” Aemond said softly, now cupping your jaw. Your eyes slightly widened at his words, joy filling your chest. “Really?” You beamed up at him.

“Of course you are, I thought I made it pretty obvious by now,” he responded. You huffed at his words playfully, shaking your head lightly. Idiots, you both were. You could have saved yourself a lot of confusion and torment if only you had talked sooner.

“Well, you didn’t really ask,” You shrugged, to which Aemond nodded in understanding. He pecked your cheek, and then your lips, mumbling an apology against your pout. Your look turned playful, hips scooting closer to press your wet slit against his cock that still stood high. “And I haven’t really given you an answer. Actually, I might need some convincing,” you suggested with a teasing tone. He raised his eyebrow at your words, lips pulling up into a smirk.

“Hm, why don’t I just show you then?” Aemond said. Before you could respond, he lifted your hips and aligned his cock to your slit. He impaled you on his length in a split second, causing you to let out a loud moan in surprise. His large hands guided you up and down his cock, giving you no time to adjust as he set a quick pace. From this position, his cockhead kissed the end of your cervix directly, the sensation making your eyes roll back into your skull.

Despite being on top, it was clear Aemond had full control, which was good because you lost your wits almost instantly. He wrapped an arm behind you to keep you bouncing on his lap, before leaning back to lay down. His feet propped up on the edge of the bed, allowing him to thrust up into you. You felt like a ragdoll in his arms, pliant and purely his to fuck. His free hand gathered your hair, pulling it back to expose your neck. Breathless whines freely fell from your slacked mouth as Aemond bit and sucked marks onto the expanse of your neck. His hips stayed relentless, and his balls slapped against your ass with his quick pace.

From his perspective below you, your tits bounced in Aemond’s face in tandem with his thrusts. They looked fucking delectable, and he took one in his mouth to suck on the plump flesh. The sensation made your toes clench, and the brewing warmth in your belly only grew the more he thrust into you. You felt him everywhere, his touch burned every inch of your skin, warming up your viscera. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, ‘Aemond… Oh, Aemond’, as though he were a god.

Tantalized, Aemond watched as your eyes clenched shut, mouth falling into an ‘o’ that released whiny moans. The flush from your cheeks had run down to the surface of your chest, painting your skin with blotches of pink. Sweat beaded on your hairline, some even trailing down the length of your neck. Aemond felt a spark at the bottom of his spine at the sight of you, the beginning of his end fast approaching. The air in Felix’s room started to smell like sex, and at that point it wouldn't be surprising if the windows started fogging up.

Hips never faltering, the silver-haired man dipped a thumb in between your folds, rubbing quick circles into your clit. You had met his thrusts enthusiastically, but as he started to stimulate your pearl, your pace turned erratic at the added sensation. You could no longer control the volume of your moans, not even registering your mindless babbling while you chased your release. A strange feeling started to spread, something akin to the sensation of wanting to pee. You had started to panic at the odd sensation, but before you could tell Aemond to stop, you squirted a clear liquid from your cunt. Felix’s sheets were stained with your release, though that was the least of your worries because Aemond continued to fuck you through another orgasm that quickly followed.

His climax washed over him not too long after, pulling out to spurt his seed on his stomach. He used his friend’s sheet to wipe the cum on his abs, to which you gave him an incredulous look.

“Aemond!”

“What? It’s fine. I bet these sheets have probably seen far worse than a little cum. Come here,” he said nonchalantly, pulling you flush against his now clean front. You snuggled into his warm embrace, burying your face into the crook of his neck. You laid there in a comfortable silence, basking in the afterglow of what may have been the best orgasm you’ve ever had. His hand ran down the expanse of your back with a soothing caress, and his lips planted soft kisses on your damp forehead. You felt Aemond’s chest expand as he sucked in a deep breath, before letting out a sigh.

“I feel like an asshole,” he suddenly said. You raised your head from his neck in confusion, brows furrowed as you met his eye.

“Why?” You asked. His icy blue glimmered from the dim light that filtered in through the window, and his starlit hair fell around him like a halo. He looked absolutely ethereal, otherworldly.

“I wanted to take you out on a nice date before we did anything else. I didn’t wanna make you feel like I was only after you sex or whatever,” he admitted, nothing but sincerity in his tone. Your eyes softened at his words, your heart warm at how sweet he is.

“You could still take me out, and then… we could, you know, do this again,” you suggested, making him chuckle at the inviting look in your eyes. He nodded, whispering an ‘okay, baby’ before pulling you towards him for another kiss.

After that night, everyone at Oxford knew you as Aemond’s girl. The pair of you were always stuck together, and at the rare moments any of you were caught walking alone, best believe you were more than likely making your way to meet the other. Felix Catton was none the wiser about the things you did in his room, but it was most certainly not the last time that happened.

By summer, Aemond took you to his family’s estate, Dragonstone. You spent your days in a heated daze, basking in the sun together with Aemond and his siblings. You had gotten incredibly well with all of them, especially Helaena. His mother, Alicent, thought you a doll, and always pestered Aemond to bring you back whenever he could.

You had taken him to meet your family as well, driving back to your childhood home. It wasn’t Dragonstone, but it was comfortable enough. Your parents absolutely adored what a gentleman he was, even managing to earn your father’s approval, a feat that no other previous boyfriend had been able to achieve.

By summer’s end, Aemond tried to convince you to move out of your dorm and into an apartment with him instead, one just outside of campus. Despite every fiber of your being begging you to say yes, you wanted to keep your own space for a while longer. As much as you loved Aemond, it would be best to not rush into things. You were still students after all, and you wanted to make the most of what university had to offer. You had the rest of your lives to do more things, this you were sure of.

As the first semester of your second year at Oxford started, you found yourself rushing through the halls towards your tutorial. You were running a few minutes late, and you hated being tardy. You entered the room quietly, throwing your tutor an apologetic look. The other student was already seated, flipping through a book when you entered. Slightly out of breath, you settled down beside him, before turning to give introduce yourself. You gave him a sweet smile as you extended your hand for him to shake. His eyes, covered by thin frames, shifted from your face to your hand, before hesitantly returning the greeting.

“My name’s Michael Gavey,” he said.

#bella writes ✍️#queued post #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen imagines #modern aemond #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic

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atypicalamortentia · 11 months

Text

Riddle's Diary || Tom Riddle

Synopsis - A few days into your last year at Hogwarts, you wake up to find an unusual diary nestled between your class books. After uncovering its secret, the diary very quickly becomes the only thing you can think about.

Warnings - SFW.

Notes - All characters a 18+

Word Count - 4k.

[Caffeinate Me]

You weren’t exactly sure where the diary came from. You had woken up one morning to find it neatly nestled between your class books on your bedside table. You had asked around Hogwarts to see if anybody had put it there, alas nobody had owned up to placing it in your belongings.

The diary itself was plain black and made of leather. The unrecognised name of ‘Tom Marvolo Riddle’ was written in gold on the bottom of the very back of the diary. As you studied the diary, your first instinct was to flick through the pages but when you did, you saw they were all empty. It was as if the diary was brand new. Unused. You shrugged and placed the diary neatly back where it had been and went about your day as usual, forgetting all about it until you returned back to your dorm room that evening.

When everybody had gone to bed and you were sure everybody was asleep, you grabbed the diary and made your way down to the common room where you sat at a desk facing a window, looking out at the clear night sky. You admired the diary for the second time today and sighed. “Where did you come from?” You muttered to the diary. You opened it to the middle page and inspected the lining of the book. You were looking for any evidence that there had been pages ripped out, but the lining of the diary remained intact suggesting that there hadn’t been. Just as you were about to close the book and head back to bed, words appeared on the page in front of you:

Hello.

You shook your head and squeezed your eyes shut tightly before reopening them and looking at the page the words had appeared on. There was nothing there. “I must be going mad,” you whispered to yourself. You were about to close the diary once more before words appeared on the page again:

No, you’re not going mad.

Then, as quickly as they appeared, they disappeared without a trace. You picked up the diary and looked closely at the page.

My name’s Tom Marvolo Riddle. What’s yours?

You gasped loudly. What sort of magic was this? You watched as the words disappeared from the page before you looked at the ink pot that sat neatly on the corner of the desk you were sitting at. “Am I really going to do this?” You asked yourself before picking up the feathered quill pen and writing your name on the page of the diary. You waited for a few seconds, not sure what you were expecting to happen but just like the words you had seen, your name simply disappeared from the page. In its place was a response:

That’s a pretty name for a pretty girl.

The words were gone and the page was yet again blank. Did a diary really just call you pretty? You shook your head once again and allowed the quill in your hand to glide across the page as you wrote your reply:

What is this book?

You waited a few seconds before a response came.

My diary.

“But why would somebody enchant a diary?” You asked aloud to yourself.

So I can live forever.

“Oh,” you frowned at the words on the page. Whatever it was, whoever it was, they could hear you speak? This was magic you had never encountered before, nor even knew was possible. You didn’t respond to the diary and instead looked out of the window as your mind whirled with possibilities. You still didn’t even know where this diary had come from and now you were up in the middle of the night talking to it? When you finally looked down at the page, you saw another sentence:

It’s late. You should go to bed beautiful.

You closed the diary without writing a goodbye. You were shaken and confused. “It is late,” you mumbled to yourself looking at the grandfather clock situated in the corner of the common room. This all had to be one weird dream. You would wake up in the morning to no diary that could hear you or write to you and you’d tell your best friends about it and you’d laugh about the weird dream. Yeah. That would happen. You grabbed the diary and stood up, making your way back to the girls dorm and climbing back into bed. You placed the diary back where it was when you found it and fell into a deep sleep.

You were the last to wake in the morning and the first thing you did was look for the diary. There it was, right where you left it. So it wasn’t a weird dream? You opened the diary and waited for words to appear, but none did. “Maybe I was just so sleep deprived I imagined the whole thing,” you whispered to yourself. You waited for a few more moments and still no words appeared. “What am I thinking?” You groaned and threw the diary onto the bed before getting ready for the day to come.

Your first class of the day was potions. It was probably your favourite class, but as you sat and listened to Professor Snape drawl on about various different potions you just couldn’t concentrate. No matter how hard you tried. Your mind kept lingering back to the diary and the night before. After potions class you had a free period. You tended to sit in the library and study, but yet again you couldn’t concentrate. You found yourself sneaking back to the common room and acquiring the diary, placing it in your bag before going to your second, and final, class of the day. You found yourself peering at the dairy in your bag throughout the lesson through the corner of your eyes, not paying attention to the Professor that was trying to teach you Defence Against The Dark Arts. The lesson was soon over and you evaded your friends to head back to the common room in an attempt to communicate with the diary once more. You sat at your bed, pen in hand, and began to scrawl onto the page in front of you.

Was I dreaming last night?

You waited a second and before you knew it, the words you wrote had disappeared leaving a response in its wake.

No.

Your eyes widened and your heart began to thump desperately in your chest. You shook your head and watched as the words left the page until it was blank once more. You were about to write back about how insane this was but the diary beat you to it.

You think this is crazy, don’t you?

You nodded and cried out, “yes!”

It’s not. It’s magic.

“Well duh,” you groaned loudly.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Your friend's voice came from the other side of the girls' dorm. You panicked and snapped the diary shut before throwing it under your pillow just in time for your friend to walk in.

“I’m fine,” you said, blinking rapidly at her.

“I heard you say ‘yes’ extremely loudly,” she looked around the room realising nobody else was in there but you. “Who were you talking to?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

You frowned and shrugged, making up a quick lie. “Just thought of the answer to some homework I have. Been thinking about it for days and it finally came to me.”

“That’s… good…” Your friend said slowly before backing out of the room leaving you alone yet again. When you were sure she was gone, you grabbed the diary back from under your pillow and opened it.

Ashamed of me?

The diary wrote. You raised an eyebrow and wrote back instantly.

You’re a diary.

That’s not a no.

You scoffed. You weren’t ashamed per say, just confused. It was a damn talking diary! You needed to find out more about the diary before you let people see you with the damn thing. You sat crossed-legged on the bed, pen in hand, and continued to talk to the diary.

So. Tell me about yourself.

The diary responded instantaneously with a counter question:

Why don’t you tell me about yourself, pretty girl?

You rolled your eyes. Out of all the magical things you thought would make a blush rise to your cheeks, a diary certainly wasn’t one of them.

Stop calling me “pretty girl”.

Why should I?

You bit your bottom lip as you wrote back furiously.

You don’t know what I look like.

Are you sure about that?

You paused and looked around the room. Surely your friends weren’t pulling a prank on you with this diary were they? When you didn’t answer, the diary continued to write to you.

Why don’t I show you who I am?

Your heart continued to beat rapidly in your chest and before you knew it, you were being sucked into the diary. You looked around the room and recognised it as your dorm room. The diary was nowhere to be found and so, not sure what had happened you smoothed down your uniform and began to walk out of the room. Things looked exactly the same and you made your way out of the common room to the grand staircase. There, you saw a man with curly hair and the most piercing brown eyes standing at the bottom of the staircase. He looked on as someone was taken away, covered by a sheet - someone had died? You didn’t recognise the man and his robes were slightly different to yours and it was then that you realised you were in a different time era. The cogs were turning in your head when suddenly you were interrupted by a voice you were familiar with. “Tom?” You looked to see Professor Dumbledore standing in front of the man, shielding his view as the body was wheeled away.

“Tom?” You asked loudly, but nobody turned to look at you. “Tom Marvolo Riddle?”

“What’s happened Professor?” Tom asked Professor Dumbledore who looked on sadly, placing his hand on the man’s shoulders.

As the pair talked, you walked next to Dumbledore and waved a hand in front of his face. When he didn’t acknowledge you, you began to realise what was happening. These were memories. Tom’s memories to be exact. The two began to fade away and suddenly you were left alone in the corridor before you were sucked back out of the diary and onto your bed. You blinked a few times and looked at the diary that lay on your bed. “What the hell was that?” You asked yourself, opening the diary to the first page.

That was a memory of mine, my dear. You see, I used to be a student at Hogwarts.

You raised an eyebrow before picking the pen back up and scribbling back.

Used to be?

Yes, used to be. A long time ago.

“That explains why I didn’t recognise you,” you said, knowing that the diary would respond to your mumbling.

Exactly. Who could forget a handsome face like mine?

The diary replied. You yet again rolled your eyes and scoffed. The diary wasn’t wrong though, he was extremely handsome.

What are you thinking about?

The diary asked. This made you think about what you were thinking about and instantly you shook your head as if trying to shake the thoughts from your brain.

Nothing.

Came your response. You continued to shake your head, not allowing the thoughts to re-enter your mind of Tom Riddle. You bid your goodbyes before closing the diary and placing it back under your pillow - not allowing the diary time to say goodbye.

An hour had passed since you last spoke to the diary and you were already itching to talk to it again… To talk to him again. Despite having your friends around you, sometimes you felt like an outcast. Somebody who didn’t belong. This diary was making you think… Was making you feel. “This is ridiculous,” you whispered to yourself as you walked down the hall to the Great Hall. You opened the large doors to the Great Hall and were met with crowds of people gathering around their house tables, eating away at the large feast that was spread out across the long tables.

“Y/N!” Your friend called, standing up and waving her arms to catch your attention. “Over here!” You smiled weakly at her and walked over to your house table, settling down next to your friend. “Where have you been? We haven’t seen you all day!”

“I erm…” You whispered, looking down at your skirt. “I’ve not been feeling well. I’ve been in the girls dorm for most of the afternoon, just resting.”

“Are you feeling better?” Another one of your friends asked you, to which you just nodded a response. “Good.”

You began to eat the food on your plate silently as you continued to think back to Tom Riddle's memory. There was no denying that if that man was Tom Riddle, he was extremely handsome. Charmingly handsome. His brown eyes were inviting as he looked past Dumbledore at the gurney the covered body was laying on. They twinkled as if they were harbouring a deep secret, one you were sure you could get out of the diary if you asked.

“Y/N?” Your friend shouted, grabbing your shoulder and shaking you, grabbing your attention from your thoughts. “I said have you done the potions homework?”

You looked at your friend with a mouthful of food and shook your head. Gulping the food down, you began to speak. “When is it due? I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

“Like what Y/N?” Your friend hissed silently. “This is our last year for goodness sake! Get your head in the game or you’ll fail your exams!”

You straightened your body and nodded. “You’re right.”

“I know,” she smiled, brushing off her shoulder playfully. You turned back to your food and continued eating in silence as your friends around you chattered and laughed. Before you knew it, you were making your way back to the common room quickly, alone yet again. You walked up the moving staircases, being careful not to get trapped on the revolving stairs as you hurriedly made your way back to your dorm. You got into the girls dorm and slammed the door shut behind you. When you realised you were alone you walked over to your bed and picked up your pillow revealing the leather diary you had been thinking about non-stop for the last twenty-four hours. You could tell in your gut that this diary was going to become a problem for you. You picked it up and sat down on your bed opening the book.

Did you miss me?

Your eyes widened at the words on the page.

No.

You lied.

Liar.

No.

This continued for several minutes before you gave in.

I suppose I missed the company you seem to bring me.

You wrote. Your heart was yet again thumping in your chest as you scribbled the words on the empty, yellow parchment.

How cute.

Cute? You wouldn't exactly call it ‘cute’. It was more sad than anything. Talking to a diary, memories of somebody from the past as opposed to your kind, caring and loving friends. You gripped the diary tightly between your fingers, folding the book ever-so-slightly. Your leg was bouncing off the floor as you thought about what to say to Tom next. Alas you didn’t have to think before more words were scrawled on the page.

How was your day?

“My day?” You mumbled to yourself, grasping the pen tightly in your hand as you began to write back.

My day was okay. I haven’t been able to concentrate on my studies today.

And why is that?

“This damned diary,” you said loudly. You placed the diary, open, next to you gently on the bed and stood up. With your head in your hands, you grasped your hair and pulled ever-so-slightly whilst groaning in frustration.

What is it about my diary that is so distracting to you, my dear?

You looked down at the diary on your bed and sighed. You picked it up again and replied.

It’s like having a constant friend in my bag.

You didn’t have to wait long for Tom’s reply.

A friend?

“Yes, a friend,” you whispered in a hushed voice.

But, that’s a good thing isn’t it? To have a friend with you at all times, no matter where you are. No matter what you do.

You thought for a moment. You supposed it was a good thing, but again you knew this diary was going to become a problem for you if you kept it.

I have to give your diary away.

You wrote on the empty page after much deliberation.

NO!

Tom replied. There was an urgency in his writing. The capitalisation of the letters sent your heart into a frenzy. This diary, this Tom Riddle, had been in your life for roughly twenty-four hours now and you were already starting to feel attached.

Why do you have to give my diary away, pretty girl?

You bit your bottom lip as you ran the pads of your fingers across the parchment. The words dissolve off the page in the blink of an eye. The thought of that handsome boy in the memory calling you a pretty girl brought a blush to your face. You shook your head. You couldn’t be thinking like that. You didn’t know a thing about this Tom Riddle, about this diary.

We should meet.

The words flashed on the page.

“Meet? How could we possibly meet?” You asked the diary, confusion laced your voice.

Magic.

Came the reply. In an instant you were sucked into the diary yet again. You stood up off the bed and brushed yourself off, taking in the room around you: you were in another memory. There was movement in the corner of the room and your eyes shot to the darkness of the room's corner. A figure loomed in the shadows and your heart began to thump, your ears began to ring and your legs began to shake. Were you trembling out of fear? Out of anticipation? You weren’t quite sure.

“I’ve been very anxious to meet you,” a voice came from the shadows. Stepping into the light, the curly haired male from the first memory stood in front of you.

“T-Tom?” You asked, ears still ringing.

The man took a few steps towards you, a twisted smile graced his lips as he spoke confidently in response. “Yes. It’s me.”

“H-How is this even possible?” You asked. You were breathless as Tom continued to stalk towards you.

“It’s simple magic really,” Tom replied. He was now standing mere feet away from you and you could truly admire his features in the girls dorm light. “Have you been as anxious to meet me as I have to meet you?”

You shook your head as your throat ran dry. You gulped down a lump and spoke, trying your best to sound unaffected by him. “You’re just a memory.”

“I may be just a memory, but that doesn’t mean I’m not real,” he whispered, bringing his face closer to yours. He looked deeply into your eyes before his gaze dropped down to your lips and back up to your eyes again. “It doesn’t mean that what I don’t feel is real…”

“What do you mean?” You asked softly.

Tom brought a hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. His face was so close to yours that you could feel his breath on the side of your face. It was warm, intoxicating almost. You felt your heart flutter as his hand dropped from your hair and to your hand that rested next to you. He held it up to his heart which you could feel beating in tandem with your own. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I feel Y/N.”

You shook your head a ‘no’ as he spoke to you, lips gracing your ear seductively. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He pulled away from your face and stood up straight. Brown eyes twinkling in the dim light of the room, staring into your soul. “Liar,” he whispered, a chuckle escaping his lips.

“Tom…” You whispered breathlessly. You sucked in a breath and moved closer to him, touching his shoulders gently with shaky hands. “I can touch you?”

“Of course you can,” Tom smirked. “And I can touch you.” He responded with a hand ghosting your hip, pulling your body closer to his. Your heart was skipping beats at his touch and you looked up at him. “I can even kiss you, if you want me too.” Tom’s hands cupped your face as he brought it closer to his own, gaze flickering down to your lips seductively.

“Why would you kiss me?” You whispered to him, eyes burning into his own. You desperately wanted to look away out of embarrassment, but you kept strong.

“Because I’m in love with you,” he said so nonchalantly.

Your eyes widened and you stepped back at his words, visibly recoiling. “Excuse me?” You asked, raising your eyebrow.

“You heard me,” Tom replied as he dropped his hands from your cheeks and gripped onto your hip, earning a squeak from you. “I’m glad you found my diary.”

“I didn’t find it,” you whispered. “It was placed in my belongings and was there when I woke up the other morning.”

Tom hummed and with his free hand, stroked his chin. “Fate has brought us together then, my love. Together, we can do it.”

You pulled away from Tom’s grasp and looked at him with confusion on your face. “Do… What?”

“Open the Chamber Of Secrets, of course,” Tom replied. The Chamber Of Secrets? What on earth was the Chamber Of Secrets? Your face must have asked the question before you could vocalise it, and Tom chuckled. “You don’t know about the Chamber Of Secrets?” You shook your head. “What are they teaching you at this forsaken school,” Tom said whilst rolling his eyes.

“Magic,” you answered softly.

Tom continued to roll his eyes at your answer but he leaned in closer to you once more, his breath fanning across your face causing your entire body to shiver in anticipation. “Will you help me?” He asked. Without even thinking, you found yourself nodding a simple ‘yes’. Tom pulled away from your ear and smirked down at you. “Good. Good. We shall waste no time and get to work immediately.”

“Okay…” You nodded slowly. You looked into Tom’s eyes and felt your palms get sweaty almost instantly at the way he was looking at you. There was a hint of need there, possession maybe. Whatever it was, you couldn’t quite place it.

“About that kiss,” Tom whispered huskily, stepping one step closer to you so that he was now invading your personal space. “Would you like it?”

Before you even thought about it, your head was nodding a ‘yes’. Tom was grinning at you, licking his lips before he placed them on yours softly. You whimpered the second his lips touched yours but melted into the kiss almost immediately. You felt Tom’s hands rest on your hips, gripping tightly and pulling you flush against his chest protectively. Tom wasted no time in deepening the kiss, pushing you backwards until your back hit a wall behind you. You were suddenly trapped and wouldn’t be able to get away from him if you wanted to. Your cheeks were on fire as you felt Tom bite down on your bottom lip between his teeth before he pulled away and looked at you.

“How was that?” He asked breathlessly. His arms had fallen from your hips and were now resting on either side of your head as he leaned above you against the wall.

“Best fake kiss I’ve ever had,” you whispered, voice low and nervous.

“I think it’s time I return you to your time,” Tom said, a hint of sadness in his voice. “I just wish I could keep you here with me… Forever.”

You blushed furiously at his words and before you knew it, you were being transported out of the diary and you were sitting back on your bed in the girls dorm. The diary was once again open and a few words were sprawled on the page for you to see:

Come visit me again soon sweetheart.

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom marvolo riddle #tom marvolo riddle x reader #lord voldemort #lord voldemort x reader #voldemort #voldemort x reader #harry potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle imagines #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle fluff

2K notes · View notes

umwillow · 3 months

Text

fated ~ lorenzo berkshire

stuck in a closet with your bestfriend? not awkward at all…

warnings: MDNI 18+, cursing, enzo is a little slow, smut, mutual pining, fluffy ish, switch!enzo, switch!reader, readers assumed gender is female, use of y/n, pussydrunk!enzo, oral fem!receiving, enzo being a slut for reader.

deafening silence spread through the dusty library atmosphere, the air smelling of burning fire wood, ink, mildew, and fresh iris’s.

sighing, y/n stood from her pile of various untouched astronomy books and swung her leather satchel over her shoulder, making quick steps out of the peaceful room. she was supposed to meet her best friend, enzo outside of the potions classroom, as he had sent her a note earlier at dinner explaining how he had to speak with her about something. probably to do with his herbology homework.

as she carries herself through hallways, stairways, arches and lanes, she finally finds herself stepping into the potions hallway. there she sees enzo, leaning up against the wall, one hand on the back of his neck, as if he was thinking hard about something.

“hey! what did you want to talk about?” she asked in a cheerful but questioning tone.

“oh, yes, hi. i just needed to run something by you if that’s okay?” he answers, nervously.

it’s just then that they hear loud footsteps from further down the hall when suddenly enzo grabs her arm and pulls her to the nearest broom closet. he pushes her in first and then follows behind her.

“what do we do if they catch us?! we’re out after curfew!” she worries, eyes wide, anxious about getting busted.

“darling, you’re forgetting, i am the slytherin head boy, they won’t bat an eye.” he soothes with a comforting hand to her shoulder. they soon begin to realize their close proximity and chests pressed almost perfectly together.

“ok…” she whispers, hearing the footsteps get louder and louder.

suddenly, there was a soft clicking sound, and some laughs that sounded like they were failed to stifle.

“oh my god THEO, MATTHEO WHAT THE FUCK!” enzo looked livid, and y/n just stifled her own laugh.

“sorry mate! have to get a move along, been delayed too long!” mattheo snickers from the other side of the door.

“what’s he talking about?” she questions with an arched brow, obviously suspecting it’s about her.

“nothing, darling just help me get this unlocked.” he brushes her off, intent on getting out of that closet.

“no can do, we can only unlock it from the outside! once you two have sorted yourselves out, feel free to give us a shout!” theo explains with malicious intent.

they heard them walking off quickly, as to speed up the process most likely.

“so what was that actually about enz?” she fully turns to him, face to face.

“darling, i really need to get something out.” he desperately breathes out.

“take your time, whatever it is you’re still my best boy.” she reassures him gently, even raising a hand up to caress his shoulder, making him swallow his nervousness.

“i want you to know, i NEED you to know, i’ve, um, i’ve been um…” he pauses, only restarting when she gives him a nod of encouragement, something sparkling in her eyes that tells him it’s okay, “i’ve been deeply, utterly, pathetically, completely, absolutely, paralyzingly, so inlove with you, ever since 1st year. now i know that you might think differently about me, and that’s fine with me, but i just needed to let you know, i will never, ever, expect you to answer to me right away, and if you don’t feel the same i can just go about my days like nothing ever happened, and i just really feel ridiculous now s-“

he gets cut off with a kiss of brute force and a grunt of surprise leaves his throat as he melts, her arms being thrown around his neck, fingers going to playfully tug at his hair, receiving a desperate groan and a pinch at her hip. they pull apart only to reconnect with more passion, his hands going up and down her sides, playing with her blouse.

enzo absentmindedly slips his hands underneath her blouse, rubbing his colder hands against her warm skin, resulting in her letting out a soft sigh into his mouth, still connected to hers. she runs her hands down his neck, to his shoulders and arms, finally down to his hands, still at her sides, picks them up, and placed them on her breasts. at this, he lets out a whine, and she breathily moans in response. his hands explore her chest, squeezing, rubbing, fondling. she finds herself addicted to his touch and sounds immediately, knowing she now needs more.

slowly, she pulls apart for air and he rests his forehead on her shoulder, looking up at her with a dazed look in his eyes.

“i need you enz…now.” she whispers out.

“i’ve got you darling, i’ll take care of you.” he pulls her up by her hips and sets her on the corner table, with her legs around him.

he feverishly kisses her as soon as she gets seated, almost as if she was his only air source. he trailed his kiss down to her jaw, then to her throat, and sucked and licked until he was satisfied with his work. in one movement, his hands left her hips, trailing toward the buttons of her blouse, making quick work of discarding the article of clothing. he slowly trails his hands to her back and caresses the soft warm skin.

“can i take this off love?” he checks in with her state of comfortability.

“yes, please.” she breathes out sharply.

fingers still caressing her back, now moved upward, toward the clasp of her bra.

“and this?” he asks again.

“please just do something” she whines out, desperate now.

“as you wish darling” and with those words, he snaps open the dainty clasp of her bra with his nimble fingers, gently tracing over her shoulders to lower the straps. as he begins lowering the garment, his finders brush softly against her, making her shiver in anticipation.

“please just touch me enz” she politely demands, getting impatient now.

“manners. love.” he shoots back playfully, moving his face down her collarbone, sucking lightly while moving his hands to her now bare breasts. she sucks in a sharp breath when he starts thumbing at her nipples, softly rubbing the sensitive skin between his pointer finger and thumb while his other hand stays at her hip.

she is now desperate for some friction, so, as desperate times call for desperate needs, she brings both of her hands to his hair and tugs him up to her face “i need you, any of you enz, i don’t care i just need you so bad. i want you so bad.”

and with that, he’s folded.

“of course darling, fingers or tongue?” he quips at her with a knowing look.

“what?” she looks confused, mostly when she hooks up with guys, they only want their own pleasure, so hearing him ask her how she wants to be pleasured before him is a bit surprising.

“well, i want to show you how much i worship you, if you’ll allow me to of course?” he tilts his head in question.

“fuck, i guess um, i’ve never even had anyone on their knees for me ever. if you’re sure you want to do it then go for it.” she feels lightheaded almost.

“would you like to try bossing me around? i’ve always gotten really hard when you order me to do my homework and stuff like that, it turns me on.” he cheekily smiles at her reaction.

“i don’t know how that would feel but i guess i can try” she answers him with an equally cheeky look “now come here already, i’m getting more wet by the minute.” he does as she tells him with no hesitation, his pants straining already.

she pulls him down to her face again to give him a hard kiss, when they break apart he kisses down her cheek, to her jawline, her neck, her collarbone, her tits, which he takes extra time admiring and sucking and licking. he’s at her stomach now, where her school skirt is just starting, with a look up at her, he silently asks her with his eyes if he can take it off, as to which she responds by taking his hands in hers and bringing them to the zipper of her skirt. he makes quick work of stripping her of her skirt, now she’s just in her navy blue lace underwear and her black knee socks.

he inhales at the sight of her bare thighs and stomach, the sight just takes his breath away, seriously she is one of the most beautiful humans ever (YOU ARE GORGEOUS)

“you’re so pretty enz” she whispers, gazing fondly at him.

he blushes, shifting in his spot on the floor, holding himself on his knees. she knows what she’s doing to him. he kisses her hip bones one at a time, while keeping his grip on her thighs. keeping eye contact with her, he slides his hands up her thighs and to the waistband of her underwear, hooking his fingers under the material, he looks up at her one last time for confirmation that’s he’s okay to keep going. getting the go ahead nod from her, he gently slides her underwear down her hips and legs until they hit the floor.

if she was wet before, she’s even wetter now. the way he’s looking at her with hooded eyes, already pussydrunk dispite not even tasting her yet.

“you’re so hot, fuck” he pants, trying to keep his composure.

“enough flattery, make me cum please and thank you.” she bluntly orders.

“don’t have to fucking tell me twice” and nothing else was said as he dives his face into her glistening folds, immediately moaning at the taste of her. he glides his tongue over her as she moans at the foreign feeling of his tongue on her pussy.

“oh fuck enz. good fucking boy.” she gasps out, gripping his hair tightly, pulling on the ends.

he groans against her, immensely turned on from the praise. he tongues at her clit repeatedly, in a circular motion, then swiftly switching to up and down motions. she arches her back at the sudden pressure on her clit, and whimpers out nonsense words. his hands have now migrated to her ass, keeping her hips level with his mouth, making it hard for her to buck her hips up into his face, not that he’d mind if she did.

“fuck, feels so good enz, s’good so fucking good.” she chants out, her whimpery moans getting louder.

enzo shoves his face deeper into her cunt (if that’s even possible) trying to savour the atmosphere of the moment, soaking up every moan, every jolt of her hips against his face, every tug on his hair, every praise that falls from her gorgeous mouth.

he wants to stay in this moment forever, on his knees for her, eating her out like he hasn’t eaten in decades. he whimpers against her, sending shivers down her spine at the vibrations of her pussydrunk boy below her. she feels a very distant tug in her abdomen, getting tighter and tighter as enzo’s tongue keeps its rhythm. she knows she’s gonna cum hard.

“enzo, oh fuck i’m gonna cum-i’m gonna” she cries out, feeling so much pleasure she’s about to cry.

he rubs circles on her hips with his fingers, as to let her know it’s okay to let go.

“fuck enz you’re so good, fucking hell i’m gonna-“

and then she’s seeing the fucking heavens, just from some head.

she rolls her eyes back so far into her skull that she gets lightheaded, and her back strains from arching it so hard, while her legs are shaking and trying not to close in on enzos face at the overstimulation of him continuing to ravish her like she was a fucking desert.

“enz it’s too much, fuck i’m gonna cum again if you keep going.” now shaking so hard and violently arching her back, scraping her nails through his hair roughly.

he keeps sucking as to say that he’s not stopping until she gives him another one. sucking ferociously at her clit, determined on getting her to another orgasm.

she feels the tug again, this time it comes quicker and explodes on her, and then she’s squirting on his face.

he moans, so loud. there’s something so fucking hot about the fact that he’s made her squirt just from his tongue, he’s so enamoured with the way that she’s clenching and shaking, all because of him.

“oh my god. fuck.” she breathes deeply and raspy.

“you did so well darling, taste so fucking good.” he kisses his way up her stomach, to her chest and neck and then back up to her lips. she can taste herself on him, it makes her smirk against his lips, running her hands down his chest, to his abdomen, and then back up to his chest to start unbuttoning his shirt.

he’s painfully hard at this point, almost cumming untouched just from pleasuring her.

“it’s ok love, really, i’m just fine with waiting until next time.” he reassures her as she halts her movements on his shirt.

“are you sure, i mean, you’re sure you don’t need to like…yknow?” she isn’t really buying it.

“i’m absolutely sure, let’s get you dressed and then i’m going to get you cleaned up okay?” he’s determined to take care of her, even through the torture of his rock hard boner.

she sighs, sinking into his arms.

“i love you enz”

hey guys

it’s been a hot minute🤞🏻but here you thirsty freaky fucks go!!! (i’m totally one too)

xoxoxoxoxo💋💋💋

#enzo berkshire #enzo berkshire smut #lorenzo berkshire #lorenzo berkshire smut #enzo berkshire x reader #slytherin boys #lorenzo berkshire x reader

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vxiphoid · 1 year

Text

SERENE SHENANIGANS

❨ summary ❩ twst › waking them up to tell them stories that don’t make sense

tags ✧ fluff, crack, savanaclaw boys, defo not proofread its like 7 am, cursing but nothing out of the ordinary, ooc(?), ruggie calls you a little shit like once (affectionate), jack is whipped for you

amanuensis’ message ⊹ I LITERALLY LOVE DOING THIS??? my friends hate me for it. but anyways hiii im back after like my month hiatus, how are thy sleeplings?😋 mb guys writers block has been really kicking my ass, i was spitting blanks on paper… i’m gonna hopefully post another pastry emporium soon for scarabia so stay tuned for that‼️

⌜ 300+ e/chara ⌟

♫ sunset boulevard - hohyun

twst masterlist

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

— “leona… pspsps….”

— he hums gruffly when his name was called the first time, only opening his eye thinking you called him a second time when it was really just noise that you would make to get the attention of a house cat. he instantly pins his ears back. how dare you. “hmm?”

— “so i took our snail for a walk and i had accidentally left my feet here to wash the dishes because the grass was blue.”

— huh? you could see him trying to process everything you just said as you explained, his lips parting and eyebrows furrowing. it took everything in you not to laugh. he does one of those blinks, the really delayed ones, one eye opens before the other…

— he’s half asleep too so the confusion is just adding up altogether. if chicken scratch wasn’t a writing term, this is literally it in words. its like the books back at home he picks up to read (derogatory) its, what, 4 am? dont do this to him😭

— you’ve never seen him so expressive💀 this definitely makes his eye and ear twitch at the same time. what type of fucked up fever dream is this?? its usually a blessing seeing you as the first thing he wakes up to, not when you wake him up with some bull strung up in a sentence with your beady eyes staring at him while he sleeps. he loves you, yes, but what does he even say to this…

— “what…”

— your forehead met with his chest as you struggled not to laugh at the uncharacteristic break in leona’s voice. how many cups of coffee did you drink? he asks you to repeat yourself even though it kinda a mind mush decision so you did and by the end of it, he looks absolutely restless.

— “that’s… yes. that’s great, herbivore. can we go to bed now?”

— you note that leona is surprisingly patient when half asleep

┏━━━━━━ ━ ─ ╴⋯ ⟢

JACK HOWL

— deep sleeper. tug his ear. though he practically springs up before your hand makes contact, giving himself whiplash.

— “jack?”

— almost instantly relaxes when he realizes its you, tail wagging subtly☹️ “hi, baby. s’something wrong?”

— “hiii, do you remember a year ahead ago when i had to go to the dentist to get my spine fixed and the cats were barking at the flying dogs because the sky was in the water?”

— bro feels like he just had a stroke💀 he’s blinking rapidly, rubbing nose bridge as you explain. he really wants to understand, he does, but wtf did you just say??? it was the innocent “hi” before you unapologetically bashed his head in with the entire dictionary. its so ridiculous he couldn’t help but laugh.

— “jack, this is serious.” even as you told him that, your voice was not steady at all which made his shoulders shake violently in silent laughter.

— “im listening, i swear. tell me one more time?” yk his ass is not listening. he pulls you into his lap while his thumbs idly rubbed your sides, responding to your stories with “uh-huh” and “yeah?” with a lovesick smile on his face.

— eventually holds your face and starts pressing heart squeezing, fluffy kisses all over your face which truly made you more tired then you were. you honestly start forgetting what and where the story was going.

— jack only pauses his kissing attack to respond when you take a small break but even then he doesn’t pull away fully, he’s just speaking against your skin

— “—and the duck had my arm while i was taking it on a walk because gran tammy was in a flying shopping cart.”

— “oh wow. and then?”

— he’s listening but he’s not, mostly because he’s like two seconds away from dreamland and his brain isn’t registering half the shit you’re saying. he wants to see how many stories you can jumble up.

— “yeah, i think it’s bedtime for us…”

┏━━━━━━ ━ ─ ╴⋯ ⟢

RUGGIE BUCCHI

— omfg he wakes up like a mom. like yk how you would barely touch them and they would gasp like they were just given cpr?? he wakes up like that.

— and you’re just standing there awkwardly 👁️👁️

— takes a quick look around before looking at you. “what happened? is it time to wake up leona already?” you shake your head and ruggie flops back, an arm draped over his eyes. “you scared me… come, lay down with me?” he held his free arm out for you and you did take your place cozied up against his side. to your surprise, you did actually scare the living shit out of him from how fast his heart was racing.

— “ruggie, yk i just found out you’re related to turtles, right? and i had to take uncle bobby to the vet to get a dna test because the fish drowned in air.”

— slow roblox turn towards you but instead its his head as he cranes it down to stare at you. you can practically hear the gears in his head turning and you literally could not look at him or you’d blow your cover.🧍🏾

— “i’m sorry,, what the fuck??”

— he’s genuinely confused, asking you questions about your story while his brain tries to put together the pieces. each question he asks, the more its harder to speak in full sentences other than wheezes

— “what are you laughing at, ya little shit? explain this to me!”

— “i’m trying!”

— and you are😭 its like when you have to explain the family tree really slow bc you cant say, “my father’s girlfriend’s son” without him like ???? and you’re trying to explain it to him slowly, eventually forgetting what you said in the first place…

— “…and the fish drowned in air.”

— “yes.”

— “sweetheart, you still haven’t explained how i’m related to turtles—”

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goldenlikedayl1ght · 7 months

Text

the lakes - m. murdock

a/n: hey guys so i've been struggling a lot with the fact that i might have hearing loss (i'm going to the doctor next week) and as always i am projecting, but i am not 100% sure everything in this fic is accurate and for that i apologize. but it's my little passion project and i hope you enjoy <3 as always, comments and reblogs are always loved and appreciated! warnings: hearing loss, hearing aids, tinnitus, reader struggling with being disabled, some parts are more vulnurable and don't have the reader being like overly confident in their disability, matt being soft, some suggestive behavior at the end, kissing, nicknames, pretty pg-13 honestly word count: 3.0k summary: your hearing aids run out of battery, and you're forced to struggle through a day of ringing ears and being deaf. matt helps, as he always does. pairing: matt murdock x hard of hearing!reader now playing: the lakes - taylor swift "take me to the lakes/where all the poets went to die/i don't belong/but my beloved, neither do you."

“Are you deaf?”

“What?”

You’re eighteen, home from college for the first time since fall break. Your family sits around for Thanksgiving, and there are so many people talking. There’s about thirteen people at this long dining room table, and they are all talking at once. You’re sitting next to your sister, but you can’t hear her well.

You know she’s speaking, and you’re sure you’re yelling, but you’re frustrated.

“I said, are you deaf? I repeated myself like, four times!”

You feel your face flush.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you. You’re mumbling, and it’s loud in here.”

Your sister looks at you like you’re crazy.

“I’m right next to you, and I’m not mumbling. In fact, no one is yelling, either.”

You poke your fork at your sweet potatoes and feel hot, angry tears in your eyes as you avoid everyone’s gaze.

Your mom sits across from you, and frowns, planning to tell you to make an appointment at the student health center when you get back to campus.

She doesn’t even have to. You’ve booked one by the time she says it to you.

At the student health center, they administer a hearing test, and then refer you to a specialist for further testing. You call your mom, crying and she gently comforts you, before driving to the nearest bookstore and picking up a book on hearing impairments and a copy of ASL for Dummies.

At the specialist, they do another round of tests. Your doctor tells you that you do in fact have hearing issues and that you should come back in a year for more testing, to see if your hearing gets worse. For now, you get a doctor’s note that requires all your professors to take your hearing impairment into consideration. The process for getting that applied at your university is painful, and only gets worse through your years there.

Before you get to law school, your doctor tests you again, and tells you how your hearing has been decreasing in quality in the past few years. He says that you’ll need hearing aids to regulate it. You cry because you cannot afford that.

You get captioning accommodations throughout law school, as well as a note taker for certain classes that are entirely lecture based. You still try to take your own notes, but it frustrates you that suddenly you need all this help. Your own notes are incomprehensible and often miss key parts of the lecture as you sit for a few minutes trying to decipher what your professor had said a few minutes prior.

You go into corporate law after law school, choosing to stay out of court initially because you find yourself frustrated that you wouldn’t be able to process all of what’s going on due to the many voices.

You stay at this company long enough to get your hearing aids, long enough to pay your loans, and long enough to save up a good fund for your hearing aid needs.

You quit your job and get hired at Nelson, Murdock & Page as an interim while you decide what you want to do.

With your hearing aids, life isn’t so frustrating anymore. You find yourself enjoying casual chatter and not worrying about processing what your friends are saying. At family dinners, you take your hearing aids out when you’re mad at your family, to which your stepdad, another hearing aid user, always laughs.

And, despite the pay not being stellar at your job, you love it. You love working with people who need help, love fighting injustice, and you love your coworkers.

...

If only Matt Murdock would reciprocate your feelings towards him.

You’ve been dancing this dance for months. You come into work with coffee and stutter when you get to his doorway.

You wonder if he’ll ever know how desperately you want him.

You go about your days quietly, going to the bar with them at the end of a long week. You love your friends and find yourself hoping they know how much you love them.

Karen and Foggy, as well as Foggy’s fiancé, know about your hearing aids since they sit sort of clunkily on your ears.

You don’t tell Matt, though, not at first.

You know how bad it is, to not even tell your blind crush that you have hearing aids. But you’re embarrassed. It makes you sound like an old person even though you’re in your twenties.

But when Matt crawls into your window late at night, bleeding, you don’t even flinch as he crashes onto your floor behind you. You’re reading, your hearing aids out, and he’s unsure why you can’t hear him. Your heartbeat had no reaction, it’s like you don’t even realize he’s there.

He taps you on your shoulder and you turn quickly, and gasp, before starting to sign at him. Even in his disoriented state, he knows you’re doing something with your hands and moving your mouth. At first, he thinks that he might have stuff clogging his ears, but then he realizes you’re signing, probably because you think Daredevil isn’t blind.

He takes off his helmet.

“Matt?” You say, and it comes out a little louder than it should, because you can’t hear yourself to gage how loud you’re being.

He says something, and your gaze focuses on his mouth, where you can barely make out what he’s saying.

“I can’t hear you.” You say, softer now. You reach over to your bedside table and put your hearing aids on. By the time you look back, Matt has passed out on the ground. Oh fuck.

You get your first aid kit and begin to work on his wounds. When you’re done, you pull him onto your couch, now stained with his blood, and watch as he sleeps. Blood covers your hands, and you listen to him breathing.

When he wakes up that morning, you’re asleep on the couch, and when you feel him start to stir. You grab your hearing aids, and turn them on, before watching him wake.

He says your name softly, and you take his hand in yours.

“Hey.. You.. You’re Daredevil...”

“You’re deaf.”

“Hard of hearing. Not fully deaf, just… My right ear is a lot better than my left, but without my hearing aids I’m close to deaf, yeah…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were Daredevil?”

“I was scared. Scared that… That you would view me differently, scared that you wouldn’t like me as much.”

“I was scared too..”

“When did you start losing your hearing?”

“In college. I realized it when I went home for Thanksgiving, and then it got worse from there..” You tell him. A hand reaches out to your face, and you lean into it, letting your cheek rest in his palm. His fingers trail up towards your ear and gently run his fingers over your hearing aid.

“Thanks for stitching me up.” He says softly.

“No problem.”

“The hearing aid does explain the buzzing I always hear when you’re around.”

“You can hear my hearing aids?”

“Apparently. I can hear a lot of things. I have heightened senses. You use pomegranate shampoo and had red velvet cake for dessert tonight. Your heart is racing.”

Your face flushes.

“I can turn them off if it’s bothering you.”

“How would you hear me, then?” He has a point.

“I just don’t want them to bother you.”

“Don’t offer to hide your disability just to make other people more comfortable.”

You kiss him when he says this, in a careful way. You’re gentle, making sure not to hurt him as you do. He lays there and lets you kiss him, his hands on your face. You realize you had no reason to be scared that Matt might reject you for your disability, because he is the only person in your everyday life who really gets how it is to have a disability that affects all aspects of your life.

You trace the healed scars on his skin as you kiss him gently, careful not to hurt him. You promise that you’ll kiss him more passionately when he isn’t freshly stitched up.

• • •

A few weeks passed after that night. You and Matt start seeing each other more and more as you fall deeper in love. You find it silly that you wasted so many days, afraid of talking to each other and maybe disappointing each other over the fact that you both lack a vital sense.

But Matt never views it that way. You wear hearing aids and it’s perfectly fine because most of the time, you aren’t struggling to hear him and cannot communicate with him, and he can’t see when you can’t hear him.

Instead, Matt loves that he can hear your hearing aids buzzing softly because it always alerts him that you’re there. He can hear your heartbeat and smell you, too, but it’s not quite the same as this soft little buzzing that reminds him often of a bee.

Except for this one day.

You slept over at Matt’s on a Thursday and really, you should have known better. You knew your hearing aids were going to need a battery change soon, but you’ve been so busy with work and with Matt, and worrying about him at night, that you’re tired. So tired that you forget to pick up batteries before your hearing aids die.

You sneak out of Matt’s apartment early, sending him a text that you needed to go get changed before work. Really, you want to avoid the fact that you wouldn’t be able to hear him. But he didn’t respond to your message. You decide that you don’t care at this moment and head out to work, debating the right way to tell your coworkers about your predicament.

When you get to work, Foggy is immediately talking to you, and you are tense.

“Foggy—” He’s not stopping. It sounds like he’s mumbling, and there’s this ringing in your ears. “Foggy, I can’t hear you.” He finally looks to you, and says something, you make it out to be a phrase of confusion. “My hearing aids died.” You tell him. You’re frustrated, and Matt isn’t in the office yet.

You deem this as a blessing and a curse. Foggy goes to tell Karen what’s going on and as you’re settling down for the day, you get a text. You hope it’s from Matt, but when you see Karen’s name, you falter slightly.

‘Hey! Foggy told me what was going on. We’ll have your calls redirected to one of us and you can spend the day doing housekeeping and paperwork.’

‘Thanks’, You respond, “Sorry about all this. I’m usually on top of my battery life.”

“Don’t worry about it. These things happen.”

“Still, thanks. Did you hear from Matt at all?”

“No, he probably just slept in late. He should be in soon.”

You try to ignore your anxieties over his absence even though you know that when he does come into the office, you’ll have to struggle to communicate with him all day.

So, for the first hour or so of your day, you try to get some work done but there’s a light ringing in your ears that’s getting worse and worse as you attempt to try and focus on other things. Everything sounds so muffled. You’re so focused that your teeth grind against each other, your muscles tense, as you attempt to try and block out the ringing in your ears.

You have a feeling that by the time you leave today, those hot frustrated tears will be threatening to pour once more.

You don’t hear Matt as he steps into your office and stands by your left side, where you’re almost completely deaf. He stands there for about ten minutes, trying to get your attention before he realizes the light buzzing of your hearing aids are not there.

You must not have them in.

So his hands find your shoulders gently, and instead of tensing, you actually relax under his touch, because you realize that it has to be Matt. A slight turning of your head confirms it and you lean into his touch.

Neither of you say much for a while, deciding to let your frustration slowly dissipate as you lean into his warm hands. They stay on your shoulders and upper arms, rubbing gentle patterns into your skin.

After a good ten minutes of this, his body shifts to your right side and he leans down, before speaking at full volume, maybe even a little louder, just to make sure you can hear him. It still sounds like he’s mumbling, but you can hear him.

“Forgot your hearing aids?”

“Batteries died.” You tell him. “You never answered me.”

“My phone died. I forgot my charger, too.. Are you gonna be okay to work all day?”

“Mhm..” You smile softly, “You’re gonna have to help answer calls, though.”

He kisses your cheek, and you lean into the warmth.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” He says, a soft smile on his face.

The day goes by pretty much as you expect it. You spend it doing paperwork and dodging phone calls, your tinnitus gets worse as the day goes on. By the time the day is finally winding down, Karen sends you one final text.

“Matt’s staying a little late to catch up on some work. Want me to walk you home?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

You realize that because she and Foggy are heading home, you’ll be able to sit with Matt, maybe get a little bit of peace. You’re thankful, too, because you’re about to lose your mind over all of this. The ringing is just getting to be too much.

You wait a few minutes after Foggy and Karen head home before you go into Matt’s office. He smiles at you and gestures for you to come in, and you do. You lean against his desk, as he speaks loud enough now that you can hear him.

“I’ll just be a few more minutes, Bee.” Even the soft-spoken nickname doesn't get you out of your funk, too busy wanting to get on your hands and knees and beg God for your hearing back.

That doesn’t usually happen, but every once in a while you ask him for a normal life.

God sends you a blind man as your soulmate, because he must think that the whole thing is quite funny.

“Okay…”

You feel hot tears pooling in your eyes as you bite your tongue and dig your fingernails into your skin. You almost draw blood.

“What’s wrong?” He can tell that something is wrong. He can always tell, and you’re foolish to think anything less of him, and even more foolish to forget his super senses. A part of you bites back a bitter feeling, since you wish you could’ve had super smell, super sight, super taste, anything in exchange for your hearing. You were not given an exchange, only forced to give, with nothing in there for you.

You forget that your boyfriend has super senses and can taste and smell your salty tears and blood in the air. Damn him.

“Loud… Ringing in my ears, my tinnitus is always really bad when I don’t use my hearing aids for a while..” You say softly. “It’s just.. it really hurts...” You confess, tears slipping down your face.

“Sweetheart..” He takes off his glasses and rests them on the desk in front of him. “C’mere..” You can’t hear that last part, but the way he opens his arms gives you the hint.

You sit on his lap, burying your face in the crook of his neck with a shaky sigh. You feel the thumps of his heartbeat and hold onto it, the ringing in your ears slightly muffled by his skin. It doesn’t fix the problem, but it helps.

His hands linger on your body, gentle caresses of your knee or thigh happening here and there. He just wants you to know he’s there, in the same way he desires when everything becomes too much for him.

“”m sorry..” you say gently, and he just hushes you softly, kissing your head. He traces patterns into your skin. He traces words into it as well.

L-O-V-E.

S-W-E-E-T-H-E-A-R-T

He traces your name, his, and your last names.

You kiss him softly, realizing that you might never be 100% okay with your hearing, but Matt will help. He’ll understand. He loves you, and it’s enough to be confident in your future again.

You spend only a few minutes more in the office before you decide to head home, his hand never leaving yours.

You make it back to his apartment and Matt plugs his phone in in case you need to text him and get his attention. You wind up stealing a pair of sweatpants, a tee shirt, and a pair of fuzzy socks. The two of you wind up tangled together on his couch.

Your ear is pressed against his chest as he gently caresses your skin, occasionally moving your hair from your face. He mumbles sweet nothings, and while you can’t hear them, you feel the rumbling vibrations in his chest, and you relish in them. You bathe in the feeling of his heartbeat thumping against his skin.

You fall asleep like this, with Matt touching you and talking in this low tone to make sure you can feel the vibrations of his voice in his chest and in his throat. It’s enough just knowing he’s there. That this thing you thought would deem you unlovable is no match for Matt Murdock, who on your wedding day will throw up the sign for ‘I love you’ in ASL.

For Matt Murdock, who, when you’re taken for loving the devil, will find you and take you into his arms and kiss you so that you know he’s real.

For Matt Murdock, who touches you in all the right ways so you can hear the sounds of your own pleasure.

For Matt Murdock, who will gently trace patterns into your skin when you need to be grounded. For Matt Murdock, who feels himself slipping further and further in love with you and finds himself searching for the soft buzz of your hearing aids when you walk into the room.

#matt murdock #matt murdock fic #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #matt murodock hurt/comfort #matt murdock angst #matt murdock imagine #daredevil fic #daredevil x reader #daredevil fanfiction #hoh!reader #hard of hearing!reader #deaf!reader #self indulgent

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tastesousweet · 5 months

Text

⭒ the girl with the tattoo (i)

grumpy!matt sturniolo x sunshine!fem oc / reader

summary : matt is a grumpy tattoo artist and y/n books him for her first tattoo.

warnings : needles and pain (not very detailed tho)

mickey speaks : i don't have any tattoos so i actually know nothing ab the procedure lmaooo just guessing but i’ll be writing multiple parts for this. also i am very much self indulging bc i headcannon y/n as poc! but obvi anyone can read there's not much exclusivity ab how i write her, i js wanted to note that for any poc readers <3.

THIS IS PART 1 BTW!!!!

“SHITTT,” you draw out the last syllable at the rumble and screech of your car engine as you continue your attempt to start it.

eventually you throw your head backwards in defeat, annoyed by the unbudging car. this is the actual worst timing. you're supposed to be at the tattoo shop (that is a 12 minute drive from your apartment complex) for an appointment in less than twenty minutes.

you truly want to scream and border on throwing a tantrum but decide it would probably be better to find a solution than complain about the agony further.

you quickly find your roommate's contact, raising your phone to your ear and pinching your eyes shut as the vibrating ring hums through your skull.

"y/n? what's up?" andrea answers confused as you had only just walked out of the door five minutes ago.

"hi drea... so i know you have your own plans right now but is there any way you can give me a ride... please?"

you hear shuffling on the line, "mmm, where to?"

౨ৎ

“thank you again for driving me,” you smile at andrea and squeeze her hand before reaching for the door.

“yes, of course. you can call me when you’re done and i’ll head over here- m’sorry i can’t stay with you.” she replies and exaggerates a frown.

"i'll be fine, i think- i hope..."

"you will be fine. just don't stress or it'll hurt more."

౨ৎ

your arms are crossed tightly over your chest as you make your way into the shop (in its form of an oversized warehouse, fixed up to look stylish and comfortable- something you’d never really seen before). the rickety jingle of a small bell kindly indicates your presence to the rest of the shop.

a few people sitting in a waiting area look up before continuing their conversations (though some continued to stare as you walk by). you see a surprising amount of people crowding in a brightly decorated lounge area, housing many arcade games and a kitchenette.

you reach the receptionist desk and are greeted by a young man dressed casually, humming along to the music playing in the background of the space.

“um, hi. i’m here for my 1:30 appointment.” you state with a smile, you’re suddenly aware of how nervous you truly are.

the brunette looks over to a desktop screen with a soft scrunch of his face, “for y/n, right? huh, that’s crazy…” he rubs his chin, “1:30 was like nine minutes ago,” he looks up at you, almost like he was questioning you; who do you think you are? and why do you think you’re important enough to be late?

as soon as your face begins to morph into fear and embarrassment his own face splits into a large smile as he laughs softly. “i’m sorry- i’m such an ass but i had to- your file said you’re new clientele so i just had to fuck around.”

“you’re sick! i was fully prepared for a fucking lecture on timeliness or something,” you let out a soft laugh.

the boy comes from around the desk holding a paper and clipboard. “yeah, sorry, i’m chris,” he reaches a hand out to which you willingly return and restate your name to him, “‘m not usually up front so you probably talked to asha over the phone when booking.”

you nod and smile at the familiar name, “yeah, she was so helpful over the phone.”

“she’s awesome, i miss her,” he touches each of his shoulders then forehead before kissing his hand and pointing to the sky.

"oh my god? i'm sorry for your loss."

his eyes squint and lips pucker in confusion, "oh, she's not fired she's just on vacation right now."

"so why'd you...?"

chris cuts you off by handing you the clipboard and grabbing a pen from a cluttered mason jar on the desk as he explains, “okay, we’re just gonna have you fill out this quick consultation form; just so you and your artist will be on the same page about things.” you nod in understanding. “keep it brief, matt’s not big on reading large bodies of text,” chris laughs.

“got it,” you smile before turning to find a chair and begin writing. you truly were relieved that chris wasn’t hard on you about being late, for a second you thought you would be lectured and have to carry the guilt of dissapointing someone into a room where you'd be paying to lie in excruciating physical pain. (damn, double homecide)

the sheet had general information to fill before the questions specifically about the tattoo you’d be getting today came.

you go back up to chris once you’re finished.

“cool, follow me we’ll set you up with matt.” he leads the way and your nerves are suddenly back as it's feeling more and more real with each step. you pacify your thoughts by looking around at the many images and messages written in sharpie along the walls of the hallway. there's also plenty of hanging shelves around with vintage trinkets and succulents that compliment the space around.

chris reaches a curtain and dips his head past as if he were checking for something before giving you a chance to see. you notice the small "Matt" embroidered on the black curtain. chris then opens it wide enough for the both of you to walk into the surprisingly large space.

(who you can only assume to be) matt sits comfortably in a wheeled desk chair, legs spread. his elbow rests on the arm of the chair and he holds his head up with two of his fingers, as his middle finger grazes his irritated mouth with a stern look on his face while he scrolls on his phone.

he doesn’t move his position when he looks up at the two of you.

“alright! matt this is y/n,” chris motions between you two. matt hums, placing his phone on the desk and placing his hand out expectantly for the clipboard. chris goes to hand it to him and whispers, “fix your face, jackass,” then turning around to leave you some reassuring words, “good luck y/n, the tat’s gonna look amazing.”

but chris doesn’t see matt exaggerating a large, sarcastic smile from behind him in defense of chris’ words (he immediately drops it though). something that would make you at least giggle if you weren’t so nervous.

“thanks,” your voice is a little hoarse as you haven’t used it in some time. matt watches the boy leave before looking over to you. he rolls the chair closer, reading over your short (as requested) responses.

“you can sit down.” he forms it almost as a question like are you going to sit down or do i have to direct you to do everything?

you sit on the black cushioned bench, lined with a disposable white cloth and begin to fidget with your fingernails as matt goes over your paperwork quietly.

“''kay, so you’re getting a small hello kitty on your lower hip?” he summarizes while checking and signing a few lines on a paper.

“yeah, um, i told asha over the phone that way you could have it sketched already- she told me that’s best and saves time for the both of us.”

his response is a slowed nod and a breathy, “yep,” as he rolls over to his desk and places the clipboard on the surface before opening a drawer and digging through it.

you gaze around the room and wonder if he decorated the space himself or if he wasn’t the type to be bothered enough to add personal things to his work area. almost all the posters are of music artists or tattoos, the most personal things you see are a small picture frame on his desk and a pokémon plushie sat on a chair in the corner of the room. all of which just pose more questions in your working brain.

you notice him switching to a different swivel chair that is lower to the ground and bringing himself (as well as a moving table with already prepared supplies) closer to you.

you’re nervous again. even after your roommate and older brother have both given you advice on first tattoos and the pain expected you’re still finding yourself scared of what to expect. your ear piercings would have nothing on this.

“first tattoo?” matt clarifies, as if he could read your mind. you nod and go to speak but stop when he gestures for you to lay back on the cushion.

you’re sure that he only was searching for a quick confirmation from you and is not too interested in your life or what brings you here but you’ve found that talking relieves your own stress and you absolutely cannot just lay there and only speak when spoken to.

“yeah, i guess m’nervous. i just hope i don’t, like, die from pain or hate the outcome or curse myself in a couple years for the placement- but it's not that i'm doubting that it'd be cute. younger me would be screaming at the fact that i'm even here..." you pause just for a second. "but then again i'm not sure how much forty year old me will appreciate it. so i guess i just don’t know. you know?”

you lean yourself up to get a look at matt, only to realize he has airpods in and simply has not been listening or interested in you (just as you expected). he’s moving his head the smallest amount to the beat as he works on his sketch.

he notices your movement though and takes a headphone out of his ear, “are you okay?” is all he asks.

a pretty broad question. and an anxiety inducing question to ask a girl who's been questioning her decisions as much as you have. you hope you’re okay. will you still be okay when this (mostly) permanent decision is etched into your skin forever? is he okay? will he give you any sense of encouragement or comfort during this process? are tattoo artists typically like this or are you just considered especially needy clientele?

“yeah, i just was- like, curious, i guess.” you mumble a little and internally hate that you feel so insecure in this situation. so out of control.

“was just adjusting my sketch to be a smaller. nothing crazy happening over here.” he shrugs. “you can go ahead and pull your shirt up, though. i’m just gonna clean the area and prep before inking.” he explains to you very straight and to the point.

you fall back into place and obey, inching your shirt up further to expose your lower stomach. you drape your arms over your face to gain composure as you hear matt rip some packaging.

the coolness of the cleaning pad sends your stomach butterflies and you try to not think too hard about the fact that matt’s hands will be on your lower stomach and hip for a good length of time.

eventually matt speaks to you again, “i’m starting so if you’re feeling the need to get the fuck out you gotta do it now or for forever hold your peace.”

you smile a little at his dry joke but when you turn your head to see him fully serious you blink, “no, i’ll be fine. thanks though.”

he just nods his head and goes to put his airpods back in before you’re interrupting again, “wait. whatcha listening to?”

he’s suprised by the question. his clients rarely get too involved in what he’s doing. mostly because he does a great fucking job no matter how few words he may utter over an entire session. there's a mutual understanding there that he's never had to speak up about to anyone. other artists use a strong bond or charisma to secure returning customers but matt finds there’s nothing better to display than his pure talent and passion for his craft. that’s how he keeps clients. they ask and he will always deliver; and that’s how he particularly likes it. no questions and minimal conversation.

the sound of the tattoo gun begins and just for your sake he decides to answer the question without malice, “just some frank ocean instrumental tracks." he places his hands back onto your skin, "don’t start moving.”

you pinch your eyes shut and squeeze your forearms as soon as the initial pain takes over. it’s a feeling you can only describe as a needle poking into you a trillion times at once. which is literally what's happening to you.

you’re not oblivious to matt’s disengagement with your attempts at conversation but you need him to continue to speak to you or else you’ll think too much about the needle actively puncturing you. “oh yeah? i’ve never listened to him before…”

“surprising. he’s pretty big.” matt mumbles slightly, focusing on his work far more than his slight interest in your knowledge of frank ocean.

“mhm. i’ve been meaning to give him a listen. could you share?”

matt’s eyes just move to look up at your face as he tries not to beg you to just be quiet and let him do this so that you both can leave within an hour. “i’m good on that.” he returns to tattooing.

“huh? you can’t share music?”

“i would prefer not to but-” he doesn’t even know why he’s continuing to fuel this anymore.

“what if i add a pretty,” you pause to wince a little as the needle moves lower, “pretty please?”

“i’m almost done,” he mumbles the lie.

“matt?”

he pauses for only a second to glance over to you. he’s met with a face scrunched in pain with an attempted smile that he thinks makes you look more like a doped up hippie than the cute effect you were going for. you plead after his glance, “pretty please?”

he rolls his eyes and sets his tattoo gun down, reluctantly swiveling over to his desk. before you even realize what exactly he’s doing there’s a airy beat of drums and piano playing from a small speaker in the room.

once he's back over to you he can tell you’re smiling even though your face is mostly covered by your arms. “thank you, i needed a distraction or something.”

he mumbles an “mhm” and returns to his work.

౨ৎ

there was generally no talking after that. only a few moments you observed (due to your need to cling on to literally anything going on besides the pinching at your lower side) that were any indication of matt's quiet presence. you noticed when matt would softly hum the lyrics to the instrumentals over the speaker and when you began to tap your fingers out of boredom and nerves, to which he simply placed his hand over them to force them flat while muttering a small “stop.”

when matt was completely finished he asked you if he could take a picture to add to his instagram and you agreed eagerly. he then added a strip of tattoo film over a layer of protective ointment. after he helped you to fully stand he explained how to care for it and how important cleaning is because “that shit will get gunky as fuck.” and you told him that you promise to do everything he said. he also gave you a detailed list on a card for you to follow just in case you forget.

you glance down at your tattoo one last time before you begin to leave the room you’d just spent a lengthy hour of your life in. you assume matt doesn’t want much else from you until he calls your name from his desk. you turn and see him still looking at his phone before glancing up, “uh, what’s your insta handle, so i can tag you in this?”

you don’t know why you’re surprised but you are.

you agree to exchange handles with him before deciding to compliment him once more, “my tattoo is perfect, by the way. i love it so much, thank you.” you want to tell him that you hope you didn’t annoy him too much but you don’t know if that will annoy him more. so you take his nod and hint of a smile as his way of showing appreciation, keeping your own smile bright to mask the crushing feeling of someone seeming so indifferent towards you.

after walking past the curtain and through the trinket-filled hallway you’re back to the main area of the warehouse. you see a different collection of people gathered playing pool and some more huddled on a couch looking at a girl’s phone in awe. chris is busy talking with what seems to be a close friend when you walk up to the reception desk.

when his eyes find your bright expression he’s bouncing back with energy, “hey! i’m assuming it went well?" he asks.

"very well. glad it's over though, i can't lie." you laugh while taking your debit card from your purse.

"yeah, definitely not the best feeling. especially when matt's ugly face is that close to you." chris jokes and takes your card to cash you out.

you laugh along with him but assure him that matt's looks weren't an issue. he raises his eyebrows and has a growing smirk that travels to his eyes when he gives you your card back. you try not the blush at the implication, "i didn't mean it like that."

"right," he nods and chuckles softly, "well hopefully you'll be back for another eventually?" he hands you a receipt.

"i mean how could i not with such a sweet receptionist asking me? i'm sure you get everyone to come back," you joke.

chris shrugs with a cocky grin, "somethin' like that."

౨ৎ

"oh my god it's fucking adorable, what?!" andrea exclaims with a spoonful of frozen yogurt still in her mouth.

she initally begged to see it as soon as she picked you up but you dramatically told her you had just experienced the worst pain of your life and you'd need a sweet treat if you were planning to not sleep the rest of the day away. so she just rolled her eyes and demanded you show her once you both arrive at your favorite frozen yogurt shop (conveniently down the street from your apartment complex).

"i knowww," you respond and quickly pull the lower part of your shirt down with a smile, taking a seat across from drea.

"how'd it go, though? i'm curious. i've only been to warehouse 79 like once, and it was for an event."

"it was good, they were all generally kind and my guy did exactly what i wanted. i'm pretty happy."

"'my guy,' oh okayy?" she takes a bite and smirks.

"not what i meant! i should have just said matt. like, the guy who did my tattoo-"

"mhmm."

"stop.” you smirk, “i mean he was not ugly by any means but he seemed to not care to get to know me at all. which is fine, he's not paid to care about me. but i doubt i'll ever see him again." you shrug taking another bite of frozen yogurt.

꩜⋆ ˚｡⋆🎱˚

#this took way too long #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets fan fiction #sturniolo triplets smut #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fanfic #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #tattoo matt n yn

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madaqueue · 2 months

Text

What the Books Don't Teach You

pairing: ryomen sukuna x reader

themes/content: dark content. dubcon. language, smut. name calling (slut, whore), hair pulling, choking, orgasm denial, fingering, sex. 18+, MDNI

word count: 2.5k

a/n: i'm so sorry if this is the first thing of mine you're reading or if you followed me for cute content AH it's dark and intense but i am such a sukuna apologist :'/ forgive me (also i know this isn't perfectly canon with the name stuff but shh)

The library is dim, illuminated only by the flickering candles that surround your workspace. Books upon books, pages of notebooks sprawled around you, trying to uncover anything you can about the curse that has plagued your best friend Yuji.

It’s been months since Sukuna first appeared. At first he was easy to contain, surely owed to Yuji’s strong willpower, his need for nonmaleficence. But as he consumed more he grew increasingly powerful, a dark presence that constantly hid around the corners of his mind. Yuji could sense it, too - there would be moments, barely just flashes at first, where it’s like he wasn’t there. You’d be talking to him and his eyes would glaze over, the ever-present grin on his face dropping slightly. “Sorry,” he’d mutter sheepishly as returned to himself, “what were you saying?”

Inside his mind, you knew what was happening: Yuji was talking to him. The “King of Curses,” a title he demanded to be called, one that you refused to use whenever you were forced to acknowledge his presence. You’ve seen him kill over the name when it was not honored, yet you would rather die at his hand than utter an ounce of respect to him.

As time went on, Sukuna appeared more and more often, a fact that every Jujutsu sorcerer desperately tried to ignore. When he did appear, the man was cruel, selfish, and sadistic. He taunted those he knew to be weaker than himself and purposely placed himself in harm’s way to prove his own strength. He left a path of destruction and desecration in his wake, forcing Yuji to clean up the pieces.

Sukuna had ruined Yuji’s life, and you couldn’t stand by and let your friend suffer under the weight of the curse for any longer. You began sneaking out of your room every night to the library, trying to collect any information on how to rid him from existence. It didn’t matter if he had to be exorcised or killed, so long as he relinquished control of Yuji.

Unfortunately, information was sparse. In the weeks you’ve been searching you haven't even been able to find the source of Sukuna’s cursed energy, let alone how to eliminate it. As your eyes skim the pages of text in front of you, something catches your eye:

‘Ryomen Sukuna holds a true form unlike any other. He is a demon, with four arms, two faces, and an additional mouth on his torso. This grants him inhuman strength and senses.’

Okay, you think, now we’re getting somewhere. Learning his appearance can give you insight into his strengths and, hopefully, his weaknesses.

As you begin copying the notes onto the paper next to you, the candlelight flickers.

A low laugh echoes through the room. “What are you doing in here all by yourself, little sorcerer?” The deep voice makes your blood run cold. As you start to turn towards the source of the sound in the doorway, a tattooed hand grabs your cheeks and holds your head in place. Another hand appears on your waist, digging into your skin with sharp black nails.

Shit.

Sukuna’s presence suddenly becomes overwhelming, his body pressing against your back, heat radiating off of his bare chest. You still can’t see him, but his cursed energy is unmistakable.

Your mind races as you feel panic setting in. How did he find you in here? How did you miss him entering the room? How did he take over Yuji’s body this time?

Another laugh erupts from his lips. “Aw, are you reading about me, little one? How adorable,” his voice dripping with fake sweetness.

“Su-” you start before he tightens his grip on your face.

“I didn’t say you could speak, now did I?” he rumbles. “You really should learn some manners. Besides, I know you’re aware that I don’t much care for that name.” A chill shoots up your body as you try to steady your breathing. His hold on you never wavers as he shifts so his mouth is next to your ear. “But lucky for you, I’m feeling quite forgiving tonight,” he whispers, breath hot on your skin.

Your face flushes at his words as your heart races in your chest. At first you think it’s just fear coursing through your body, until you notice a dull ache between your legs.

No. No. No. This is not happening.

His deep voice pulls you out of your spiraling thoughts as he places his head on your shoulder, looking down at the open books in front of you. “Ah, I see you were just starting to learn about my true form. I was glorious, you know. This fucking brat is nothing compared to what I once was,” he spits, mentally gesturing at Yuji’s body. “Fortunately, I was able to take one piece of my old body with me.” Before you can ask, you feel a tongue suddenly slide against your lips.

The feeling makes you jump in your seat, Sukuna’s hold tightening on you. Another laugh booms through the room as your eyes glance down to see a mouth formed on the palm that grips your face. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it, woman. I’ve seen the way you stare at the brat, just think of me like him, but better,” he smirks.

He was right - you had caught Sukuna’s eyes staring at you whenever you stole glances at Yuji out of the corner of your eye, but it was nothing serious. The poor boy already had enough going on with this curse, you couldn’t bring yourself to add to his stress by confessing how you feel.

This fucking curse.

“For what it’s worth,” he continues, “I have taken quite an interest in you myself. Don’t think I don’t notice when you purposely drop something just to bend over, or when you wear those tight shreds of cloth you could barely call a uniform. You fucking tease,” he growls.

The space between your legs throbs at the low vibration of his voice against you. What is happening? Is he doing this to you?

As if he hears your thoughts, he speaks again. “I know you’ve thought about it too, there’s no need to be so proud. Before I was stuck in this brat’s body I had whores like you lining up for me every day, not because I made them, but because they wanted me.” He pauses, using the silence to lick up your neck and bite at your ear. “And I have a feeling you want me, too.”

Fuck. His words have your knees weak and pussy throbbing. You’re grateful to be sitting down, otherwise you know you’d be visibly shaking, no longer from fear.

Suddenly the hand on your waist loosens, but instead of releasing you, he drags it down between your legs. His nails scratch softly against the skin of your thigh, bare beneath your skirt. His fingers reach your clothed cunt, and from his soft chuckle you can tell you have soaked through your panties.

“I knew it,” he mutters, tracing up your covered folds. The feeling forces a soft moan out of your mouth and you feel Sukuna’s lips curl into a grin against your neck. “Say it, little sorcerer. Say you want me.”

You gather every ounce of restraint left in your body to answer. “N-no,” your voice waivers.

Your response seems to amuse him as he practically giggles into your ear. The hand that previously held your face drops down to your neck as he squeezes your airway closed. “And here I thought Jujutsu sorcerers were supposed to be some noble, honest breed. But I guess some of them can be lying whores, huh?”

With that, he grabs you and throws you against the desk, your chest hitting the dark wood with a hollow thud. Your hands land under you as you try to brace yourself against the sudden impact and Sukuna takes the opportunity to yank your skirt down your legs, throwing it across the room. You yelp as a hand crashes against your thigh, pulling you back towards him. He presses his hips against you, feeling the bulge growing through the black sweatpants Yuji must have been wearing to bed. “See, my cock knows it wants you. Even I can be honest, so what’s stopping you?” he growls. He grinds himself slowly against you, the pressure against your needy cunt driving you insane. “I know this pussy wants me, just admit it,” he sneers.

“I-” you try to start again before Sukuna shoves the side of your head down against the desk, your cheek hot against the cold wood.

“The next words out of your mouth better be the truth, or I won’t hesitate to kill you,” he rasps into your ear.

Think, think, think. How can you get out of this? What can you say to appease the man - no, the curse - that’s currently pinning you down?

As you’re trying to think of a way out of your current situation, he thrusts his hips up against you. The action, still done through two layers of cloth, forces another moan out of you.

Fuck, that feels good.

“I…I want you,” you whisper, the words leaving your lips before you can realize what you’ve said.

“Louder,” he commands.

“I want you,” you whine. “Please, Sukuna, please.”

Boisterous laughter fills the empty room again. Leaning back over you, he whispers into your ear. “Was that so hard?”

He steps back behind you, suddenly ripping your now-drenched panties into shreds, making you gasp as the cold air hits your heat. Finally free from the hold he had on your head, you turn your body slightly to look at him for the first time. In the candlelight, he looks haunting - tattoos outline the contours of his body, covering his face, arms, and chest, the flickering light casting shadows across the hollows of his scarlet eyes that are currently focused between your legs.

Sensing your gaze on him, he smirks. “Admire it while you can,” he says while lowering the waistband of his sweatpants to release his fully erect cock, a drip of precum leaking from the tip reflecting in the dim light. “Liars don’t get to watch while I fuck you.”

His arm shoots up to the back of your neck, pushing your face back down against the desk. The other goes to your pussy as he shoves two fingers roughly inside of you. Before you can even process the new sensation, you feel a tongue form on his hand and begin lapping up your folds. “F-fuck!” you scream, pressure suddenly forming in your stomach.

“So close already?” Sukuna chuckles from behind you. “I’ve barely even touched you, you needy little thing. Must’ve been waiting for this for a while, hmm?” he purrs. Your back involuntarily arches as your legs begin to shake. Right as you feel yourself approaching the edge of an orgasm, his hand pulls away from you. “Not so fast. You still have to learn some manners, remember?”

The hand that was previously on your neck moves to grab a fistful of your hair as the other grabs your waist, pulling your ass up into the air. You hear him adjusting himself behind you and your eyes widen as you feel the tip of his cock press against your entrance.

“Now, say my name, whore,” he barks at you.

“Sukuna-” you whimper.

“No.” He yanks your hair, pulling your head off the table.

You hesitate. You know what he’s asking for, but you also know you vowed to never, ever call him that.

“Say it,” he commands, voice stern.

As you contemplate your next words, Sukuna slowly starts sliding his cock inside of you. The sensation of your walls stretching around him, a mix of pain and pleasure, makes you whimper.

Something in you needed more, and you only knew one way to get it. Fuck.

You take in a shaky breath, knowing what your brain has to do to get your body what it wants. “K-king…King of Curses.” Your voice waivers as the title leaves your mouth.

He smiles. “Good little sorcerer,” he hums. Suddenly, the hand on your hip grips you hard enough you can almost feel his nails breaking skin. He thrusts his hips forward, forcing the rest of his length inside you. Sukuna grunts as he enters you, relishing in the tight, warm grip you have around him. He pulls out of you before roughly shoving back in, tears welling in your eyes from sheer pleasure.

Pulling your hair further, he brings your body flush with his. “Now,” he growls into your ear, “let’s see if you can behave well enough to cum on my cock.”

The words alone have you dizzy, pussy clenching around him. You want to open your mouth, you want to scream, beg, do anything for him to let you finish, but something tells you to wait. He continues to pull out and thrust back in, his hips circling in rough, imprecise motions. The wet sounds of him pumping in and out of you fill the air, the noise so lewd you pray no one else happens to be walking past the library. You feel so full, his cock splitting you in half, and you still want more.

“Well?” he questions, breaking your silence. “Aren’t you going to ask?”

“You…you didn’t say I could speak,” you respond meekly, trying to hold yourself together as he continues to thrust into you. Skin on skin, the sounds of his balls slapping against you, pelvis ramming against your ass, echoes through the room.

Once again, he laughs. “What a surprise, you really did learn your manners. What a well-trained slut you are,” he hums. You feel your core tighten again at his words. “For behaving so well, I’ll let you cum.”

Upon hearing his permission, something inside of you snaps. You throw your head back, moaning, as you tilt your hips to take him even farther inside of you. His tip pushes into that sweet spot, bringing you closer and closer to your release.

Finally, it hits. Your eyes roll back into your head, your mouth opens as a sound, somewhere between a scream and a groan, escapes your lips. The pain, the pleasure, the everything of Sukuna’s cock surges inside of you. He never relents, never slows, as your pussy twitches around him. Your legs give out and he releases your hair, letting your body drop to the desk beneath you.

Your head spins, vision clouded as you lay on the table. The first thing you feel is Sukuna pulling out of you and you whine at the empty feeling you’re left with. He walks toward you and leans over, face to face with him for the first time, his red eyes burning into yours.

“And that, little sorcerer, is why you can’t learn everything about me from a book,” his voice low. All you can do is stare at him, eyes glazed over. “Maybe next time you’ll earn my cum, if you can remember how to behave,” he smirks.

Without another word, he tucks his still hard cock under the waistband of his sweatpants and turns to walk away, presumably back to Yuji’s room. You’re left in the dimly lit library, panting, aching.

You may not know much about Sukuna, certainly not from your reading, but you do know one thing: you need more of him.

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