anareblogs-posts

𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭. 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 @𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐳-𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭

[anareblogz-posts]

introducing @anareblogz-posts this is my second blog where I reblog posts of all fandoms ⋆ my main blog is @anawritez-posts ⋆ she/her ⋆ twenty-eight ⋆ girly from Aotearoa/ New Zealand. content writer ⋆ obsessed w/ writing Slytherin Boys ⋆ and married to Renee Rapp ⋆ also if you like f1 be my friend ty ⋆

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ⋆ main blog ⋆ reblog blog ⋆

[pearlvirag]

r-18. ୭౿ stepdad dex eating u up after a small injury

"oh, sweetpea..." he coos at your skinned knee. you hiccup, pursing your lips together. big doe eyes trying to hold back pearls of tears. "you ought to be careful, did you forget?" he gently caressed the hair on the top of your head before sweeping it out of your face. you were sitting on the stairs of the porch. pastel-colored chalk scattered around in front of you, rolleskates hanging loosely on your feet. he then crouched down, untying them before slipping them off. his hand was warm on your ankle but somehow it couldn't make you feel better :( legs where shaking from the impact of you falling, pearls of tears dropping down in your lap from your face. "s'okay, let me take care of you." he slid his hand under your knee, other one steadily on your back as he lifted you up to take you inside. he places you on the sofa, like a little flower. "gonna patch you up and make you feel real good, okay?" he grabbed a first aid kit and set it down next to you. he lathers the wound with some antibiotic ointment, making you flinch and squirm around under him. "'s okay sweets. you're doing good." he placed a gauze pad on your knee and gently wrapped it around with a bandage. then he kissed it. "all done. you're such a brave girl. i've got something for ya." he reached in his pocket and pulled out a red colored lollipop and your eyes lit up, small hands reaching for it. he unwrapped it and held it to your mouth. "can you get it wet f'me doll?" you swirled your tongue around it while grabbing the stick. "good girl. see? already better." he played with the waistband of your shorts before slowly slipping it down your thighs and legs. your legs were closed. he gently massaged your thighs, closer and closer to your little cunny that was now exposed to him. the draught from the open windows felt harsh on your sensitive parts, and even caused goosebumps on your arms. "cold, honey? let me warm y'up, hm?" he slowly bent down, warm hand slipping up your thigh to pull your lips apart, exposing your glistening sweetness to him. he started to place kisses on your clit, then rewarded you with a few kitten licks. tongue barely even touching you. he would be so gentle, always. you unconsciously shifted your legs apart for him, giving him room to eat you up more. "can i have some?" he eyed the lollipop. before you could agree, he slipped it out of your mouth with a wet pop and he would swirl it against your sensitive cunt, up and down. the sensation made you feel icky but you couldn't help bucking your hips up :( it felt too good. icky felt good. then he's slowly pushing it into your little pulsing hole, just enough to stretch it out, no more. just to keep it stretched. he wouldn't want to pop your cherry just yet. his tongue laps at you again, then swirling and you can't stop squirming under him. the pressure in your lower belly is starting to ache and you're almost there. almost there. you keep chanting how good it feels and he keeps working his tongue, keeps slipping the lollipop just enough for you to feel the stretch of it. then when you're cumming he slips it out finally to make sure he can drink you up. you're whining so loud, and he hums and talks you through it. "that's it pretty, gimme all of it. good girl." when you're down from your high, he kisses your cunt goodbye. then he gets up to kiss your face all over, stuffing your lollipop back in your open mouth, but you're too gone to even realize it so he has to hold it in there because it'd just fall out. "fuck.." you sigh rolling your head back. "hey. language." he gives you a sharp look. you immediately just hide your face in the crook of his neck, pecking it and humming.

[moonymirah]

just watching dex eat the fuck out of you.

his face in between your thighs as you’re sprawled on the edge of your bed, legs quivering with one knee up and the other wrapped around the back of his head.

“oh fuck, yes !” you manage to moan out, eyes rolling up before your hands scramble to grip onto the sheets beside you.

dex is on the ground, holding you while his tongue spreads your folds apart before licking stripes and slurping all your juices. he’s practically humming inside of you, sending vibrations and shivers up your skin.

your whole body trembles, stomach feeling butterflies as you gather the courage to look down at him.

he’s purely in his element, far too focused on just your pussy, his strong hands moving to spread your legs further apart and grip onto your skin leaving imprints as if he doesn’t already have full access to you.

“just fucking delicious… mmh-ine. you’re all mine baby.”

almost impatient he’s kissing all over you, leaving pecks everywhere from your lower belly and clit all while not leaving out the beauty spot on the bottom of your right butt cheek.

you gaze with fluttered lids, blinking profusely as his tongue turns more intense and enters your gaping hole.

mouth wide open, you whimper out forcing yourself to lean your weight on your elbows to look at him with more ease. it’s almost like he remembers you’re there, eyes catching yours as you notice a glint peeking through. dex’s tongue works wonders as he stays holding contact with you and you can only breathe out his name softly. he begins moving his whole mouth from side to side, cheeks glistening with your wetness as his nose bumps the edge of your clit.

“ugh, p-please… i !” a hand of yours reaches out to entangle in his hair as you pull, only egging dex on to further bury his face in your soaking cunt.

it could have been from him resting a hand on one of your breasts, fingers squeezing on the surrounding skin and twisting your already extremely sensitive nipple or your pussy throbbing relentlessly needing a release.

ultimately your pelvis began rocking on its own to use his face while your hands controls his head to rub yourself out. he’s grinning against you, his clutch on you tightening as you shake, seeing stars.

he continues to inhale you and sucks on your folds until you slowly come to a stop, belly raising up and down. dex feels you twitch as your pulse comes to a calmer pace. heartbeat loud in your ears, you eyes flutter open and the fuzziness you see initially starts to disappear as you breathe out.

[succubusvalentine]

Simon Riley really delving into his oral fixation.

See, you'd asked Simon to stop smoking after reading that it would damage his sperm. Trying for a baby apparently meant he needed to give up his vice.

But you were his missus, and he'd learned a long time ago—don't fucking argue with the missus.

Already by day three Simon was buying multiple packs of gum a day. Grumbling around base and the house. But he wouldn't take it out on you, never on you.

Your tits? Different story.

Simon had been sucking on your tits for almost an hour, switching between your now swollen and spit slick nipples. Yes, it felt fantastic—but Jesus Christ what was his obsession tonight?

"Simon." You murmur, tugging at his hair to pull him up. "You're usually inside me by now."

Simon grumbled, licking his lips. "You had me quit smokin' my fucking mouth needs to be doin' somethin'"

After that confession, Simon was always on you.

He comes home from work, and he pushes your shirt up while you read some book on the couch. His mouth immediately locking around your nipple. The tension built throughout the day leaving his body.

He'd suck on your tits of a morning instead of going for his usual smoke. Though you point out that he spends a lot longer on your nipples than he ever did his cigarettes.

You can't even take your shirt off around him without Simon pawing at your tits and sucking on you for at least five minutes before you finally batt him off to go cook dinner.

After a long weekend though, you went to work with sore tits. Your coworkers getting excited after hearing you'd been trying for a baby and now you were adjusting your bra all day.

Simon only chuckled when you complained to him that afternoon, letting you frustratedly throw your bra at him. "Just tell them that your husbands helping you practice for when you're actually breastfeeding."

He then had to dodge your heel at that comment.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

Buy my cat a treat? (•˕ •マ.ᐟ

[yourgirlwritez]

PHONE CALL

StepDaddy!dex x Fem!reader

SUMMARY - You and your stepdad are spending time together watching a movie, but you both get disturbed by your mother.

TW - STEPCEST TO INCEST, jealous!dex, possessive!dex, , cunnilingus, fingering, sex while on the phone, doggy, mssionary, exhibition sex, Daddy!kink, nearly caught by your mum, rough sex.

AUTHORS NOTE - have been desperate to write this for a while. Inspired by this. and here is the masterlist for this lil series.

It's late in the afternoon, and the living room is so dark with the curtains closed. The only thing illuminating the room is the television, a movie forgotten. In fact, it's been playing on loop.

You're lying on the couch, with your shirt lifted up above your bare tits, legs spread wide your mini skirt lifted up, thighs resting on Dex's shoulders. He pulls you closer to him, making you screech, your back arching, almost falling off the couch.

Dex dives back in, causing soft moans to fall from your lips. Dex is kneeling on the floor, eating you out like you're the only meal he's had all day.

Dex pulls back for a second, his chin all wet. "Come on, baby girl, your mother's going to be home soon." He looks down at his watch. "She'll be here in an hour, so you need to come for me, princess."

"I'm trying, daddy," you sigh, your hand reaches up, trying your best to pinch and pull your tits, knowing the stimulation helps make you cum.

"That's my girl," and he goes back in once again, and the way his tongue swirls over your clit with broad strokes, two fingers inserted below.

And the way you're pinching your tits, you know your climax is close.

He's already made you come a couple of times. Once, the second you turned on the movie, he started to finger you, and once again, when a sex scene appeared. He's been eating you out ever since.

The way that Dex's lips cover your clit and the immense way he's sucking on it, and how deep his fingers dig into you. Your eyes roll back, and you know you're about to come, that is, until your heart leaps out of your chest when your phone rings.

But Dex looks unbothered. In fact, when you lean forward, you see your stepdad is smirking; he can already see who's calling you.

He teases you by slowing down, his fingers pulling back, just doing that, edging you.

"Daddy, please," you beg, but he shakes his head at you and literally pulls his fingers out of you and puts them into his mouth, cleaning your residue onto them, then reaches over to grab your phone and shows you the ID: mum.

He actually chuckles when he sees your breath hitch.

You shake your head, "Are you insane?" and he just smirks, "You better keep quiet, baby girl, you don't want her to find out what we're really doing," then swipes the phone and answers the call.

You quickly place the phone to your ear, murmuring a weak hello as Dex smirks, slowly moving back down.

You shake your head at him, pleading not to continue, but when he spreads your legs back around his shoulders and spreads your lips, you know you can't back out. Especially since only two seconds ago, you were about to come.

"Hey sweetheart, how's it going?" just to taunt you, just then Dex inserts three fingers into you, diving back in, licking so broadly and quickly, immediately you squirm against him.

"sweetheart?"

You put yourself on mute, just for a second, because you can't help but scream at how viciously he's eating you out, "Daddy!" he just smirks against you. Pulling away just for a second, "Take yourself off mute, now."

You do as he says, "Mum?" biting on your lip, squirming against your stepdad.

"Sweetheart, oh, is your dad there?" You place your hand over your chest, pulling down your shirt, having some decency while talking to your mother, despite her husband literally eating you out.

Dex just glares at you, telling you to lie. As your mother continues, "Are you home alone?" You just sigh, even though you're twenty-one, your mother still hates it when you're home alone.

"I'm an adult mum," and your mother just laughs on the other end; she wouldn't be laughing if she knew what her daughter and husband were doing behind her back.

"So he's not there?" and you look down, and he nods, telling you to lie. So you do, "yeah, I'm home alone," he smirks against you, rewarding you with another finger, making you shake for just a second.

"Good"

"Is everything okay, Mum?" Dex pauses, mouthing, " Put her on speaker, eyes intent on you as he kisses your thighs, silently waiting.

Her voice rings out, sighing. "I think he's cheating on me." You can't help but hold your breath at that confession because she's right.

"I just, he doesn't look at me like he used to. And we're barely intimate."

You know why, because he's busy looking at you, just like he's looking up at you right now. Like you're the best thing he's seen, and the intimacy part, we'll, that's because he's too busy being intimate with you.

"I just know he's been cheating on me with someone else, I just don't know who."

You stare down at your stepdad, who can't help but smirk teasingly at you, pecking your thighs.

Dex starts maneuvering you, turning you over so you're on your knees, then pushes you down so your ass is up.

Your breath hitches, and your eyes begin to well up with tears as he dives back down, his finger now inserted into your ass.

You put your mum on mute again, saying, "Daddy! Please!" He groans, telling you to "take yourself off mute—you need to learn to hide your moans, baby girl."

Of course, you can't, not with how rough he's being. He sighs and brings his hand down to your mouth to muffle your cries and whimpers. He really wants to push you down into the cushions, but then your mother would find out what you're truly doing.

"Does he say anything when he picks you up?" That makes him pause, just for a second.

"Or when you have your movie nights? You're having one today, right?" You turn to the television where the movie is on loop and almost chuckle because the sex scene that started this is currently playing.

"No, he's normal with me," you lie, because the so-called two-hour road trip you both make back and forth from your college seemingly turns into a whole day trip—because he's stopping over at the closest motel to fuck you.

"Oh, I'm sorry to be venting all of this on you, dear." You can hear her sigh. Meanwhile, your stepdad is licking even broader strokes against you.

"It's fine, mum," you gasp, as right then he inserts another finger into your ass. You spasm now, holding onto the couch with one hand while the other holds your phone, biting your teeth to stop the moan that threatens to slip. Oh, it's absolutely not fine. Why did she have to call now?

"It's fine, though, because I've been seeing someone else."

Dex literally stops, his loud slurping stops, and his fingers slowly pull out, making you sigh in relief.

"What-what do you mean?" you huff against the cushions as your stepfather now just glares at the phone. How dare she cheat on him, despite him literally cheating on her with her very own daughter?

He looks like he's about to take the phone away from you. You may not have known him for long, but something in the look in his eyes tells you he's about to expose your relationship.

You put yourself on mute, "don't even think about it," you actually glare at him, pulling the phone away from him.

Your stepdad actually has the audacity to smirk, ”yeah? And what are you going to do, baby?" he pushes you back down, grinding against you.

"Are you going to tell mommy about us?" He slaps your ass with a loud slap; you're glad you're on mute, so your mum couldn't hear it.

"That's when I'm picking you up, you spread your legs for me, and let me finger you for an hour till you come at least three times in my passenger seat?" he starts taking off his pants, going back to grinding against you.

Meanwhile, your mum continues to rant, none the wiser about being on mute. going on about how she's been seeing a co-worker.

"Does she know how desperate her little girl is, that we have to pull over to a motel so I can fuck her?" He's now grinding against you only in his underwear, your wetness getting onto them, making him groan.

"That her daughter and I have fucked in every nook and cranny of my car that she needs a bed for a change of scenery?" you just grind back into him, desperate for him, just like he's describing.

"We go to that motel so often that the receptionist knows us." You arch back into him, wanting him to hurry up and fuck you even though your mother is literally on the line.

"They only know me as your daddy, little do they know that I'm fucking my little girl," and you can't help but groan, "not right now, you're not."

Dex just chuckles, finally peeling off his last layer, tapping his cock against you. You lean back down, arching your back, swaying your ass, showing how much you want him.

But of course, a voice ruins it. "Sweetheart?"

You're literally too cock drunk to remember that your mother is literally on the phone to you, literally complaining about her husband, who's behind you.

Dex drives his hips forward roughly, leaving you no time to adjust. It's not like you needed to anyway. You guys have sex so often, it's like you're molded to him.

He reaches over and unmutes you guys, your breath hitched, eyes tearing up as you struggle against him, as one hand held the phone, the other pulled you back against him. Hitting it so deep, you can't help but gasp.

Dex's hand comes to your mouth just as you're about to plead for him, almost exposing that he's there, listening in, fucking you while on the phone.

"I'm-I'm here, Mum." You finally get out, tongue licking against his hand, making him bite into your shoulder, trying not to release a groan as you tighten against him.

"So you've been home alone the whole day?" You can feel Dex smirk against your shoulder as he pushes you back down into the couch.

You grab onto the cushion, biting into it, copying Dex, trying to hide your groans, whimpering as he reaches over to play with your clit.

"Are you there?" Dex slaps your ass, getting your attention. The slap is so loud it echoes.

"What was that?"

"Oh, I," you pause, looking back at Dex, who only gets rougher, getting closer to the edge. Who can't help but lean in and taunt his little girl, licking against your neck, cooing into your ear. "Answer her, baby girl, don't want mommy to find her little girl being such a slut for her daddy, do you?"

"Nothing, mum."

She's silent for a second, and you freeze, thinking you've been caught, that you may have slipped up. Well, Dex, turning to your stepdad to glare at him, but he gives you a look like I could slap your ass again, baby girl.

"Well, as I said before, I'm meeting up with a friend tonight, so-" you miss the rest of the conversation because that's all that Dex needed. He starts rocking deeper into you, lifting his leg and pulling you to his chest.

whispering, "Since mommy gets to play, so does daddy."

You had to put yourself on mute because now the obscene noises the two of you are making would definitely expose what you're currently doing, and once again, your mother is none the wiser.

"We'll probably be out all night, like Dex has. You'll be home alone tonight."

"Do you hear that, baby girl? We have all night." He starts to squeeze your thighs, just how you like it.

"I'll let you be darling, I'll see you tomorrow-" she doesn't finish her sentence because Dex hangs up and throws your phone, finally pushing you down into the couch like he wanted.

You finally let out the scream you desperately wanted, "Yes! right there!"

"Yeah? Is daddy hitting the right spot?"

"Yes! oh god, yes."

He maneuvers you once again, flips you over, His hand moves down to your neck, giving you a hard grip and holding you down, folding you in half, knees bent to your shoulders, and feet jerking over his head.

"Prove it, scream it out."

"Daddy, make me come." There's some part of you that wanted to call your mother back, and literally scream how your stepdad is literally fucking you, how yes, he's cheating on you with me. To force her to hear you scream his name, and to come while on the phone.

How messed up had you become? That is, until you look at your stepdad, who's looking at you like you hung the stars, like he wouldn't have you any other way. Like he wanted to do the same thing.

He just drives into you deeper, literally hitting the right spot every time. He literally has a gift, like he never misses. Even worse when he bends down to rub your clit.

Of course you're about to come.

"Look at me, look at daddy." You huff but oblige, nodding out of breath, trying to focus so you can come.

"Since we have all night, you're going to come on this couch, we'll stop and have some dinner, then I need you to spread yourself on my bed.

"Your bed-but mum-" and he proves his point by driving into you harder, "no buts, we're finally alone. And I will have you on my bed. Got it?"

You blink, too focused on coming to answer, that is, until he slaps your clit, "Got it?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Good girl," he smirks, feeling you tighten at that. He lowers your legs to them to lie against his elbows, opening you up just a little bit more so he can watch you come. Watching his cock pump deep within you, in and out until there's a white ring around his cock.

He just sighs in relief but still thrusts into you slowly, riding out your pleasure, sure you're oversensitive and can literally feel the wetness caused by both of you onto the couch beneath you.

But if you're messed up, so is he.

[darktargslut]

Are you real

Dark!Bobby X Reader

Summary; Before the Backrooms your biggest mistake was refusing to give Bobby a chance. Now, trapped in an endless nightmare of empty rooms and things that shouldn't exist, you would give anything to go back and change it. TW: Psychological Horror, Obsessive Love, Emotional Manipulation, Captivity / Imprisonment, Paranoia, Delusions, Mental Deterioration, Monster Mimicry / Doppelgängers, Injury Suffocation / Choking Scene, Dark Romance, Tragic Romance, Bobby Needs So Much Therapy, Situationships Are A Public Health Crisis, Local Man Develops Separation Anxiety, Local Man Has Lost His Mind, Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss vs Psychotic Breakdown Malewife, Malewife To Kidnapper Pipeline, Fear of Abandonment Speedrun Any%.

WC: 6K (wrote this in four days so if it's shit don't blame me)

The first thing you registered was warmth. A slow, honey thick warmth that had nothing to do with the pale sunlight trying to bleed through the cheap blinds. This heat was specific, localized, and moving. It was a mouth. Soft, barely there pressure planting a lazy trail up the knobs of your spine.

You kept your eyes closed, breathing in the scent of stale weed, faded cologne, and something that was just clean skin and sleep. Bobby. A hum vibrated in the back of your throat, a sound caught between a sigh and a moan, as his lips traced a path to the space between your shoulder blades. His warm hand splayed possessively over the dip of your waist beneath the rumpled sheet. The only thing you wore was the memory of the night before, a pleasant, heavy ache in your limbs and the faint impression of his teeth on your lower lip. You were both naked, tangled up in each other and a mess of charcoal grey cotton.

You felt the mattress shift, the lean, solid weight of him pressing a little closer, and then his lips were on your shoulder. It was a wake up call you’d become dangerously accustomed to.

Finally, you stirred, a sleepy sigh escaping you as you shifted onto your back. The sheet slipped, and the cool air of the room was a shock against your skin. You blinked your eyes open, and he was right there, propped on one elbow, looking down at you. The weak morning light caught the angles of his face, that highly defined, angular facial structure that was too sharp to be just pretty.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice a low, sleep roughened rasp. His nose brushed against yours as he leaned in. His hair was a tousled mess, falling forward onto his forehead.

“Morning,” you whispered back, your voice still thick with sleep. You didn't fight it when he closed the distance. The kiss was slow, deep, a lazy exploration that tasted of sleep and the last, faint ghost of mint. His full lips were soft, patient, a perfect counterpoint to the hard, sharp lines of the rest of him. When he finally pulled back, just a fraction of an inch, his eyes were still closed, his lashes dark gold crescents against his cheekbones. "Was starting to think you were going to sleep all day."

"Tempting," you murmured, already feeling the pull of the real world, the mental checklist of assignments and shifts waiting for you. “I’m so tired,” you hummed, the words a barely audible vibration against his jaw. You didn’t want to think, didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to do anything but dissolve back into the sleepy, satiated haze. You turned in his arms, presenting your back to him again, and grabbed his arm, a silent, demanding gesture. He understood immediately, wrapping it tightly around you, his hand coming to rest on your stomach. He let out a short, soft laugh, a puff of air against your hair. "Okay, okay. Message received." pulled you flush against his chest, tucking his knees behind yours. You were encased in him, a small spoon in a shell of sharp bones and lean muscle. You closed your eyes, letting the steady thump of his heart against your spine lull you. This, you told yourself. This was the part you liked. The quiet after, where he was just a warm, solid presence, and all the complications of your lives were held outside the door.

For a while, there was only the sound of your breathing and the distant, irritated chirp of a bird outside the window. His thumb traced idle, meaningless patterns on the soft skin of your belly, a gentle, almost hypnotic motion.

“So,” he said, his voice a quiet rumble that vibrated through you, “how’s that project been going? The big one. The one that’s been making you bite everyone’s head off.”

You groaned, the sound muffled by the pillow. “Good, I guess. It’s just… stressing me out. Feels like it’s taking over my entire life.” You didn't mention that your increasingly frequent escapes with him were the only thing keeping you from a full blown meltdown.

"That sucks, baby," he murmured, and the word 'baby' sent a tiny, treacherous thrill right through your middle. His hand, the one that wasn't pinned under you, moved. “Well,” he murmured, and you felt him smile against your hair, a slow, knowing curve. “That’s why I’m here, right?” His hand slid from your stomach, fingers trailing a light, teasing path down to your thigh. He gave the bare flesh a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Stress relief.”

You snorted softly, a sound somewhere between amusement and deflection. You didn't take the bait, just continued to trace idle patterns on the back of the hand you were holding. He ran his palm in a slow, soothing the curve of your thigh, his thumb tracing a lazy, circular caress on your skin. The touch was meant to be comforting, but it was also a test, a quiet probing to see if the mood of the night before could be rekindled.

“You know,” he continued, his tone shifting, becoming a touch more casual, the way someone does when they’re trying to mask something that actually matters to them, “we could go out this weekend, y’know. A change of scenery. I could take you out to dinner. Someplace that’s not a drive-thru or your kitchen.”

And there it was, the other game. The one he kept trying to play, and you kept refusing to learn the rules to. The bubble of sleepy contentment popped. You forced your eyes open, staring at the slice of light on the wall. Your body, which a moment ago had been liquid and pliant, began to tense.

“Dinner?” you repeated, as if he’d suggested a trip to the moon.

“Yeah, dinner. It’s a thing people do. They eat food, at a table, and they, like, talk.” His voice was still light, but you could feel the new tension in the arm wrapped around you.

This was the point where you always started to pull away. You shifted, gently disentangling yourself from his grip. This time, he didn’t fight it, his arm falling slack as you sat up, keeping the sheet clutched to your chest. You swung your legs over the side of the bed, your back to him. The floor was a warzone of discarded clothes, your jeans tangled with his black t-shirt, a lone sneaker by the door.

“I… uh, I’m pretty busy this weekend, actually,” you said, your voice coming out a little too flippant as you began to reach for your things. “College stuff. You know how it is.”

“Right. College stuff.” His tone had changed completely. The teasing warmth was gone, replaced by a flat, clipped edge. You heard him sit up behind you, the rustle of sheets. “You’re always busy with ‘college stuff.’ Except, apparently, when you’re not too busy to hit me up at eleven o’clock at night.”

You flinched, the accusation hitting its mark with sniper like precision. You grabbed your underwear from the floor and started to pull them on under the sheet, the movements jerky and hurried. “That’s different.”

“Is it?” You could feel his gaze on your bare back, and you imagined those striking blue eyes had lost all their post sex softness, sharpening into that intense, unblinking focus. “What’s so bad about going on a date with me, Y/N? Huh? You always do this. Every single time I try to… to just be with you outside of a bedroom, there’s an excuse. An essay, a shift, you’re tired, you’re just about to wash your hair. It’s a greatest hits album of brush-offs.”

You stood up, pulling on your jeans with sharp, angry tugs. “Because I just don’t want to date, Bobby! That’s not what this is.” You zipped them up, the sound final and loud in the suddenly quiet room.

You could feel the question coming before he even spoke it, a deadly, fragile silence that expanded to fill the entire apartment.

His voice, when it came, was quiet. Dangerously quiet. “You don’t want to date anyone? Or you don’t want to date me?”

You finally turned to face him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed now, the sheet pooling around his hips, leaving his torso bare. The morning light carved his body out of light and shadow, accentuating the lean, defined muscle. He was a work of art, all sharp angles and fair skin. The look on his face was one of pure, frustrated hurt, his strong jaw set, his full lips pressed into a thin line. The intense brow was furrowed, and his eyes, they were fixed on you with a vulnerability that was almost too painful to witness.

“Come on, Bobby. Don’t act like this,” you said, your voice softening despite yourself. You hated this part. You hated feeling like the villain. “Let’s not act like, before this arrangement of ours, you didn’t have a different girlfriend almost every other week. You were the king of no strings attached. The whole reason this works is because we’re on the same page.”

“It’s not the same,” he said, his voice rising, cracking with an intensity that froze you in place. He stood up, not caring that he was naked, and took a step toward you. His hands were clenched into loose fists at his sides. “Those other girls? They weren’t… it was just something to do, a way to pass the time. You’re different. You’re so different, Y/N, and you know that. You’re smart, and you’re funny, and when you’re not biting my head off for trying to be nice to you i can't stay away from you. You can’t tell me you don’t feel it.” He was right in front of you now, close enough that you could smell his skin, see the small, pleading furrow between his brows. “Just give me a chance. One real chance. That’s all I’m asking for.”

His plea hung in the air, raw and honest. It would be so easy. So terrifyingly easy. You could just say yes. You could let him take you to dinner, let him hold your hand on a street not littered with your own clothes. You could let your carefully constructed walls down for a guy who was always a little bit high, a guy you’d written off as a fun, temporary distraction, but you knew the look in his eyes. You’d seen it before on other faces, right before everything went to hell. The look that preceded “I love you” and was inevitably followed by “Who were you with?” It was a trap, a beautiful trap.

You were done picking up your things. You had your bag slung over your shoulder, your keys clutched in your hand. You had an armor of busyness and cynicism, and you put it on now like a shield. You reached up, placing your hands gently on either side of his face. His skin was warm, the stubble rough against your palms. You felt the tension in his jaw muscles as he looked at you, waiting.

“Bobby,” you said, your voice soft but final. You looked into those crystal blue eyes, a color so vivid it seemed manufactured. “I like what we have. It’s easy. It’s fun. Let’s not overcomplicate it.”

You saw the light in his eyes die a little, the hope crumbling into a resigned, weary disappointment. He knew this script. You’d made him rehearse it a dozen times.

“I’ll see you,” you whispered, and then you pressed a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. It was a full stop kiss, a seal on the conversation, a goodbye for now. You didn't let it last pulling your hands away before he could respond, before his full lips could part and say something that would completely undo you.

___

Time didn't work here, that was one of the first things you'd learned, one of the many cruel rules of this place, you'd been navigating by the sickly, jaundiced light that hummed from the fluorescent panels on the ceiling, a constant, maddening buzz that had burrowed into your skull and made a home there. You slept when your body collapsed, woke when the adrenaline spiked, and walked. You just kept walking. Endless, repeating rooms of damp, yellowed carpet and wallpaper the color of old bruises.

You'd gotten good at hiding, at holding your breath. At pressing yourself into the corners where the buzzing fluorescent hum was loudest, hoping it would mask the sound of your hammering heart. Some of them looked almost like people, if you didn't look too closely. A woman in a stained dress who turned and had three noses clustered on her face like a grotesque flower. A tall, lanky man shape with four perfectly blue eyes, blinking out of sync, who had passed within feet of your hiding spot, his head swiveling on a neck that was too long, too smooth. You'd stared at the damp carpet and not breathed, not thought, not existed until the sound of its dragging footsteps faded. Other things were worse because they were utterly alien. Scuttling, skittering shapes glimpsed at the end of long corridors. The sound of something large and wet breathing in a room you decided not to enter. The screaming. Sometimes, in the deep distance, you heard screams that were unmistakably, horrifyingly human, and they always, always sounded like him.

Bobby. His name was a wound you kept touching, a raw nerve you couldn't stop probing with your tongue. Every time your exhausted mind drifted, you heard it again. The sound he'd made when that thing had seized him. His scream had echoed down the endless corridors, a sound of pure, primal terror that had shattered into wet, choked gurgling. Begging. He had been begging for help. The sound of your name, torn from his throat, you cried every time you thought about him. At first, it had been violent, gut wrenching sobs that left you curled on the damp carpet, gasping for air that tasted of mildew and old dust. Now, the tears came silently, a hot, steady leak from your eyes that you'd wipe away with a grimy hand as you kept walking. You replayed the last morning in the real world on a constant, torturous loop. The warmth of his bare chest against your back. The desperate plea in his voice. You're different, Y/N. The way you'd placed your hands on his sharp, beautiful face and kissed him goodbye like he was a problem to be managed instead of a person who was trying, so earnestly, to love you. The guilt was a physical thing, a sharp, acidic lump in your throat that you couldn't swallow down. You'd give anything, anything, to take back that morning. To say yes to the damn dinner. To tell him he mattered. Because he did. He had. And now he was just a fading scream and a trail of blood.

On this day—was it a day? the lights never changed, the buzz never stopped—you were moving with a purpose born of pure, desperate stubbornness. You were trying to find the wall. The spot where you'd all come through. If you could just find it again, if it was still there, maybe you could get out. Maybe you could find help. Maybe you could wake up from this.

You were in a long, wide corridor you didn't recognize, lined with doors that were just painted onto the walls, fake promises. The carpet squelched slightly under your worn sneakers. And then you heard it. Footsteps. Fast, erratic, a stuttering, uneven rhythm. Not the dragging shamble of the entities. Something running, human.

Your body reacted before your brain did. You dove behind a protruding wall, pressing your back against the cold, slightly damp surface. Your heart, that traitorous organ, slammed against your ribs like it was trying to escape your chest. You clamped a hand over your own mouth, stifling the ragged gasp of your breathing, and slowly, agonizingly slowly, peered around the corner and the world stopped.

It was Bobby.

He was there, maybe thirty feet away, moving fast down the corridor with a limping, frantic gait. His crop top was torn, a long, jagged gash across the front, and the sleeve had been ripped off completely, used as a makeshift bandage wrapped tightly around his forearm. The white fabric was stained a dark, rusted crimson. There was blood on him. Dark smears on his exposed torso, a streak of it across his sharp jawline, matted into his hair. He looked battered, hollowed out, his already sharp features now gaunt, the high cheekbones cutting even more severely against his fair skin. But he was moving. He was on his feet. He was alive.

Tears were spilling down your cheeks before you even made the conscious decision to move. A choked sob, a mangled version of his name, tore from your throat. "Bobby...?" It wasn't a yell. It was barely a whisper, ragged and raw, the fear of alerting the entities overriding the sheer, overwhelming shock of seeing him. You were already running, your legs moving before you could think, propelled by a relief so profound it felt like being unmade and remade in the span of a single heartbeat.

He stopped dead. His head snapped toward you, and you saw his whole body go rigid, coiled like a wounded animal that had just heard a twig snap. His blue eyes, those intense, focused eyes you'd memorized a thousand times over, found you. For a long, suspended moment, he just stared. His full lips parted slightly. His brow, furrowed in something that looked less like recognition and more like... confusion.

Then you crashed into him. Your arms wrapped around his neck, your body slamming into his with a force that made him stumble back a step, his bad leg buckling slightly. He was solid. He was real. He was warm. The feel of him, the scent of sweat and blood undid you completely. You sobbed against the bare skin of his shoulder, your fingers digging into the fabric of his torn shirt, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in a world that had dissolved into nightmare.

"Oh my god, oh my god, Bobby," you were babbling, the words tumbling out between heaving, ugly sobs that shook your entire body. "I thought you were dead. I thought you were dead. I heard you scream, I saw the blood, and I ran, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry." The apology kept spilling out, a dam finally breaking. "I thought about you every second. Everything I said that morning, it was all bullshit, I was just scared, I was so scared of how much I—" You cut yourself off with another sob, pressing your face into the curve of his neck. "I'm so happy to see you. I'm so happy you're alive. I'm never leaving you again. Never."

His arms, after a long, suspended beat, came up and wrapped around you. It was hesitant at first, almost mechanical. Then his grip tightened, his hands fisting in the dirty fabric of your shirt at your back. He held you so tightly it was almost painful, his body trembling against yours. You could feel the frantic, rabbit fast beat of his heart against your chest.

"Can't believe you're real," he mumbled, his voice a hoarse, strange rasp, scraped raw. It was so different from the low, teasing murmur you remembered. It sounded like he'd been screaming. Or maybe just not talking at all. "Can't believe... you're... no."

You pulled back just enough to see his face, to touch him, to prove to yourself that this was actually happening. You cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs tracing the sharp, prominent ridges of his cheekbones, smearing through the grime and dried blood. His skin was clammy, a cold sweat sheen on his forehead, but it was his skin. His eyes. God, his eyes, that beautiful, piercing light blue, they were darting back and forth, scanning your face like he was reading a document he'd been trained to distrust. There was a wildness in them, a fractured, feverish light that hadn't been there before.

"I'm real, Bobby. I'm here. I'm right here," you whispered, your voice cracking with the force of your emotion. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you ever again. I swear. I swear on my life."

You leaned in and kissed him. It was a desperate, tear salted kiss, a frantic press of lips meant to communicate everything you'd been too scared to say in the real world. I'm sorry. I was wrong. I need you. I think I— You poured every ounce of your relief, your guilt, your desperate, terrified hope into that kiss, your hands sliding from his cheeks into his matted hair, and he kissed you back.

At first. His lips, dry and cracked, moved against yours with a kind of stunned, automatic response. His hands on your back tightened. Then his grip shifted. His fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, finding the bare skin of your waist. They pressed in, hard. Not the familiar, possessive squeeze of a lover. Something else. Something searching. Palpating. Like he was trying to feel the bones underneath, the muscles, the solid architecture of a human body. Verifying.

"Can't believe it," he mumbled against your lips, the words vibrating with a strange, unhinged intensity. "You're real. You feel... you feel real. But you're not. You can't be."

"Bobby," you gasped, pulling back slightly, your hands moving to his shoulders. A flicker of unease, cold and sharp, cut through the overwhelming relief. His hands were still under your shirt, his fingers digging into the flesh of your waist with a bruising pressure. "Bobby, stop. Hey. Look at me. It's me. It's Y/N."

"Y/N," he repeated, but the way he said it, it wasn't a name. It was a word he was testing, tasting for poison. He shook his head, a jerky, birdlike motion. "No. No, I've seen you. I've seen you so many times. You're never real. You're one of them. You're another trick."

"What? No. Bobby, no." Your voice was rising, the unease curdling into genuine fear. Not fear of him—no, it was fear for him. You could see it now, the full, horrifying picture. The wild, unfocused dart of his pupils. The way his jaw was clenched so tight a muscle jumped in his cheek. The tremors wracking his lean frame. He hadn't just been injured. He'd been alone. Alone in this nightmare, hunted, terrified, his mind slowly grinding itself down against the endless, buzzing silence. "It's really me. I'm not a trick. I'm not one of those things."

"That's what the last one said," he hissed, his voice dropping to a ragged, paranoid whisper. His hands on your waist tightened, his fingers pressing so hard into your skin you knew there would be bruises. "The one with my mom's voice. The one that had Kat's face. They all say they're real. They all feel real, for a second, and then—" He broke off, a shudder running through him. His striking blue eyes, those eyes you'd spent so many mornings waking up to, were fixed on you with a desperate, shattered intensity. "Prove it. Prove you're real."

"How?" you whispered, your own tears still streaming, mingling with the grime on your cheeks. "Bobby, how? I don't know how to prove it. I'm just me. I'm the me who thinks about that morning every single second I'm in this place and wishes I could take it all back." Your voice broke, a sob hiccuping through the words. "Please. Please believe me. I'll say yes. To the dinner. To everything. I'll say yes, I promise, just please—"

Something flickered in his eyes. A crack in the paranoid wall. His brow furrowed, and for just a moment, he looked like Bobby again. The Bobby who'd kissed you awake. The Bobby who'd asked, with his heart in his throat, for one real chance. His lips parted. His hands on your waist loosened, just slightly.

"Y/N?" It was a question this time. A real one. Tentative.

"Yes," you sobbed, reaching up to touch his face again. "Yes. It's me. I'm here."

But the moment shattered as quickly as it had formed. His eyes darted to something over your shoulder, a flickering light, a shadow that wasn't there and the walls slammed back down. His face twisted, the paranoia surging back with a vengeance. "No. No, you're doing it again. You're all doing it again. Making me believe. Making me—" His voice cracked, a sound of pure, anguished terror. "You're not taking me again. You're not!"

His hands seized you. Before you could react, before you could even draw breath to scream, he moved with a desperate, wiry strength you didn't know he had. His arm locked around your neck, not in an attack, but in a panicked, desperate restraint. The crook of his elbow pressed against your throat, his other hand clamping down on the back of your head, holding you in place.

"Bobby—" you choked out, your hands flying up to claw at his arm. The pressure was immediate, terrifying. Your airway constricted, a high, thin wheeze the only sound you could make. You kicked, thrashed, tried to twist in his grip, but he held on with the unyielding strength of pure, animal terror.

"Stop moving," he snarled, his voice ragged in your ear. "Stop it. Stop pretending. Stop being her. I won't let you. I won't let you trick me again."

Spots were blooming in your vision, dark flowers unfurling at the edges of the sickly yellow light. Your struggles were weakening, your limbs growing heavy and uncoordinated.

—

The first thing you registered was the buzzing. That damned, eternal fluorescent hum, drilling into your skull, pulling you up from the black depths of unconsciousness. The second thing was the pain. A dull, throbbing ache in your throat, a raw tenderness that flared every time you swallowed. The third thing was that you couldn't move.

Your eyes flew open, and panic, cold and immediate, flooded your veins. You were lying on a bed. A real bed, with a thin, stained mattress and a metal frame that creaked when you shifted. It was pushed against a wall covered in that same sickly, yellowed wallpaper, and the room around you was small, almost claustrophobic, lit by a single, naked bulb dangling from a wire in the ceiling. But you couldn't move. Your wrists were bound to the metal headboard above your head with strips of torn fabric, your ankles similarly tied to the foot of the bed. The restraints were tight, digging into your skin, but they weren't painful.

You thrashed, a surge of animal terror overriding the pain in your throat. "Help—" The word came out as a broken croak, your voice shredded. "Help!"

"There's no one to help."

The voice came from your left. You turned your head so fast a sharp pain lanced down your neck and there he was. Bobby. He was sitting in a wooden chair pulled up to the side of the bed, just a few feet away. He'd changed his clothes somehow—or found new ones. A plain grey t-shirt, a little too big, hanging off his lean frame. The bandage on his arm had been replaced with fresher fabric. He'd washed the blood off his face, he was just sitting there. Watching you. His eyes were fixed on your face with an unnerving, unblinking focus. They were red rimmed. Exhausted and utterly, terrifyingly calm.

"Bobby," you breathed, the relief and the fear tangling into a sickening knot in your stomach. "Bobby, it's me. It's Y/N. Please. Please let me go."

He didn't move. Didn't blink. His full lips, chapped and pale, were set in a flat, unreadable line. He tilted his head slightly, like a dog hearing a strange noise. The motion was too fluid, too detached. It wasn't him. It wasn't the Bobby you knew.

"You look like her," he said quietly, almost to himself. His voice was a hoarse, ragged thing, stripped of all its old, teasing warmth. "You sound like her, too. The last one sounded like her. But it wasn't. It tried to... it got close. Got too close before I knew."

"Bobby, please, I'm not a trick," you said, your voice cracking. You tugged uselessly at the restraints, the fabric burning your wrists. "It's really me. I swear to you. I swear on anything. I'm real. I'm Y/N."

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes never left your face. "Are you real?" he murmured. "Like her?"

He turned his head, looking toward the corner of the room. Your eyes followed his gaze, and your blood turned to ice. There was a figure standing in the corner. A woman. It was you. It had your face. Your hair. Your body, dressed in the same grimy clothes you were wearing. But it was wrong. The face was doubled, two versions of your features laid over each other at a slight, sickening offset. Four eyes blinked out of sync, wet and staring. Two mouths, one slightly above the other, hung open in a slack, vacant expression. Two noses, a confused jumble of cartilage and flesh. It just stood there, perfectly still, its arms limp at its sides, staring at nothing. Staring at you.

A scream clawed its way up your throat, but all that came out was a strangled, wheezing gasp. You jerked against your restraints, your heart slamming against your ribs so hard you thought it might crack bone.

"I met her two days ago," Bobby said, his voice still that low, detached monotone. He was looking at the thing in the corner with a kind of weary familiarity, like it was a stray cat he'd decided to tolerate. "She found me. I thought... I thought it was you. At first. She doesn't talk. Doesn't do much of anything, really. Just stands there. Watches." He turned back to you, and his expression flickered, a crack in the calm mask. Something desperate and broken swam beneath the surface. "She's kept me some company."

"Bobby," you whispered, your voice trembling, tears spilling down your cheeks. You forced yourself to look away from the monstrosity in the corner, to focus on him. "Bobby, look at me. Please. Look at me. That thing... that's not me. That's a monster. I'm me. I'm the real one. Please. You have to believe me."

Something shifted in his face. A muscle in his jaw jumped. His brow, that strong, defined brow, furrowed deeply. For a moment, just a moment, he looked like Bobby again. Confused. Hurting. Lost.

"Why did you reject me?"

The question came out of nowhere, quiet and raw, and it hit you harder than any blow.

"Bobby..."

"No." He stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor with a harsh screech. He began to pace, a short, agitated track back and forth at the foot of the bed. His hands came up, raking through his hair, pulling at the light brown strands. "No, you don't get to just—you don't get to say my name like that and make it all—" He broke off, a frustrated, guttural sound tearing from his throat. He wheeled on you, and the calm mask was gone entirely, replaced by a raw, bleeding anguish. "Why did you reject me? Every time. Every single time. I was right there. I was right there, Y/N, and you just... you kept pushing me away like I was nothing."

"I didn't—I didn't think—"

"Exactly!" The word exploded out of him, and you flinched. "You didn't think! You didn't think about me. You didn't think about what I wanted. You just decided. You decided I wasn't serious. You decided I was just some—some stoner, some fling, some guy who wasn't good enough to be seen with you in public."

"That's not true," you sobbed, the tears flowing freely now. "That's not—I was scared, Bobby. I was scared that if we got together, I'd end up like the other girls. Just another week. Just another face. I didn't think you were serious about me. I thought I was just... I thought I was just convenient."

He stopped pacing. He stood at the foot of the bed, his chest heaving, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The thing in the corner didn't move. It just kept watching with its four unblinking eyes.

"You're lying," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, trembling whisper. "You always lie. You lied that morning. You lied every time you said it was just casual. You lied every time you said you didn't feel anything. It's your fault." His voice cracked, splintering into something jagged and broken. "It's all your fault. You're the reason I'm here."

"That's not true," you pleaded, pulling uselessly at the restraints. "Bobby, that's not true. I kept telling you not to go. I told you it wasn't safe. I told you to stay away—"

"I did everything for you!" he shouted, and the sound echoed off the close, yellow walls. The entity in the corner twitched, its doubled mouth opening and closing soundlessly. Bobby didn't notice. His eyes were wet now, tears tracking down his cheeks. "Everything. You think I wanted to work at that stupid furniture store? You think I wanted to follow Clarke around with a camera filming his bullshit? I did it for you. I did it so I could be near you. Because you wouldn't let me near you any other way. You wouldn't give me a chance. You refused. Every time. And I just... I kept trying. Like an idiot. Like a pathetic, desperate idiot."

The guilt was a physical weight on your chest, crushing the air from your lungs. "Bobby, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was wrong. I was so wrong, okay? I should have said yes. I should have given you a chance. I wanted to. God, I wanted to. I was just—I was a coward. I was terrified of getting hurt, so I hurt you instead. And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

He stared at you, his face a wreck of conflicting emotions. Rage. Grief. Exhaustion and underneath it all, a desperate, flickering hope that he was desperately, furiously trying to smother, he moved closer, his body casting a shadow over you as he stood beside the bed. His hand came up, trembling violently, and touched your face. His fingers were cold, rough with grime and dried blood. But the touch was gentle. So gentle. His thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone, the same way you'd traced his a thousand times before. A shiver ran through you, your breath catching in your throat.

"You're so soft," he murmured, almost to himself. His voice had changed again, the raw anguish smoothing into something quieter. Darker. Possessive. "You've always been so soft. I used to think about it all the time. The way your skin felt under my hands. The way you'd sigh when I touched you. I thought about it every time you left."

"Bobby..." you whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs. This wasn't relief. This wasn't the reunion you'd imagined. His hand slid from your cheek down to your jaw, his fingers tracing the line of it with a slow, reverent pressure. He was looking at you the way someone looks at a painting they've stared at for too long, searching for flaws, for proof of forgery. His thumb brushed across your lower lip, and you felt the slight tremor in his touch, the barely contained violence of his desperation.

"I held her," he said, his voice still that low, detached murmur. He didn't look at the thing in the corner. He didn't need to. "Your copy. The first time I found her, I thought... I thought it was you. I held her. I talked to her. I told her everything. Everything I never got to say to you." His jaw tightened, the muscle jumping beneath his fair skin. "But it wasn't the same. She didn't feel right. She didn't smell right. She didn't... she just stood there. Empty. Like holding a doll. Like holding a corpse."

"Bobby, please, you're scaring me," you breathed, the tears still streaming down your cheeks, soaking into the dirty mattress beneath your head.

He didn't seem to hear you. His hand moved from your face, trailing down the side of your neck, his fingers light, almost exploratory. You flinched, a fresh wave of fear coursing through you. He paused, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. That intense, focused gaze was back, but it was wrong. It was the focus of a man who had been broken and rebuilt himself around a single, obsessive point.

"I kept thinking of you," he continued, his voice dropping to a ragged whisper. "The whole time. When I was running. When I was hiding. When that thing had me and I thought I was going to die. I thought of you. Your face. Your voice. The way you'd wrap your arms around me and pull me closer in the morning, like you didn't want me to know you needed it. The way you'd always leave anyway."

His hand reached your bound wrists, his fingers curling around the fabric restraints. He didn't loosen them. He just held them, his thumb pressing against the frantic flutter of your pulse.

"I won't let you leave me this time," he said, and his voice hardened, the broken anguish giving way to something resolute. Something unhinged. "You always leave. You always find an excuse. An essay. A shift. You're tired. You're busy. You don't want to date. You don't want me. But you're not leaving this time. You can't. There's nowhere to go. There's no door. There's no morning. There's just... this. Just us."

"Bobby, I'm not going to leave," you said, your voice cracking with desperation. "I told you. I'm not going anywhere. I want to stay with you. I want to be with you. That's what I was trying to say before. I was wrong. I was so wrong. Please. Please just untie me and we can—we can figure this out together. We can find a way out. Together."

He stared at you for a long, suspended moment. His face was a ruin of warring emotions, hope and suspicion, longing and terror, love and something darker, something that had grown in the dark, empty spaces of his fractured mind. Then he smiled. It was a small, sad, terrible smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"You say that now," he whispered. "But you'll change your mind. You always do. As soon as you're free, you'll run. You'll find a reason. You'll find an excuse. You'll leave me alone again. Alone with her." He jerked his head toward the corner, toward the silent, watching thing with your doubled face. "And she's not you. She'll never be you. But I won't let you go. Not this time. Not ever again."

He leaned down, his face inches from yours. His breath, warm and slightly stale, ghosted across your lips. His hand tightened on your bound wrists, his knuckles white.

"I did everything for you," he said again, the words a mantra, a wound he couldn't stop pressing. "And you're going to stay. You're going to stay right here. With me. Until you prove it. Until I know. Until I'm sure."

"Until you're sure of what?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His full lips brushed against your forehead, a mockery of a kiss. It was cold. Possessive. Nothing like the lazy, teasing kisses he used to plant along your spine in the morning.

"Until I'm sure you're real," he murmured against your skin. "Until I'm sure you love me. Until I'm sure you won't leave."

[bruisedfig]

Stepdad! Soldier boy and stepdaughter! Reader making out on the couch, and nearly getting caught...?

this but he’s also got his hand between your thighs, rubbing at your swollen clit while you attempt to stifle your mewls from escaping into his mouth. oppositely to you, ben’s completely unashamed, murmuring about how badly he wants to get inside you, rubbing firm circles to get your pretty pussy aroused enough to fit him comfortably inside.

he’s in heaven, and how could he not be? you’re so filthily sweet, with your hips shifting to seek out more friction, getting so pathetically wet from just a few minutes of kissing and teasing touches. truly, all it takes is a “c’mere, babydoll. sit on daddy’s lap for a bit.” he pats his thigh as he mutters it and then watches you waddle over with that timid but naively needy smile, knowing he’s able to do just about anything he wants to his little stepbaby.

it’s a shame when a car pulls into the driveway, though, cutting the moment short. ben pulls his hand out of your soaked underwear, quickly licking the sticky remnants of you off his fingertips, and then taps your hip. “c’mon, off you go, baby. can’t get caught messing with my daughter.”

[prettybabybaby]

rating: 18+. mdni.

pairing: twin!regulus x reader

content: twincest

"mother makes sounds," regulus breathes, bare pale chest rising and falling quicker than usual as he gazes up at you perched on his hips.

"I can't. you said to be quiet." you stop your bouncing and rest on top of him. he shifts beneath your weight, his cock leaking against his stomach where it lays flat. your slick lips part around his shaft, the scorching heat making his eyes flutter. you tuck short inky curls behind your ear as you look down at him, longer coils draped over your exposed breasts.

regulus's fingers twitch, aching to push your hair over your shoulders and take in the unfamiliar sight of your bare skin. the milky expanse of your collarbones to the swell of your chest and expanse of your tummy. "just... just try."

“I don’t like this game,” you huff, resuming the bouncing on his hard cock. your cheeks heat as you begin to mimic the moans of pleasure you’d heard from your mother. you glance down, watching sticky strings of slick connect you to your brother as you work on top of him.

regulus’s eyes shut, his face contorting as an unfamiliar heat pools in his lower belly. “just a little longer,” he says through gritted teeth. “we can play your game next.”

[zaynezone]

“Oh thank god.”

Sylus barely has a time to greet you, let alone process your words, before you’re climbing into his lap and kissing him passionately. Your fingers fist his shirt, tugging at the fabric.

“Eager, are we?”

“Went to visit Zayne during his lunch. I was-fuck-two seconds away from cumming when he got called away.” The desperation in your voice is clear as your hips weakly grind against his.

“Poor thing. Have you been this needy all day?” Sylus’s voice is heavy, the desire coming off of you in waves that makes his right eye burn brighter.

“Y-yeah. Please Sylus I-I need you now.” You whimper, undoing his belt with a shocking speed.

“Zayne will be home soon. You can’t wait?” He hums, helping you out of your clothes. Clearly, you do want to wait for him, your head falling to Sylus’s forehead as you sigh.

“I-I can’t. Just m-make me cum once? And then we can wait, I’ll be good I promise!” You’re practically trembling already, the thin fabric of your panties soaked.

It doesn’t take much. He finds your clit with ease, coating his fingers with your slick and circling steadily. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly you cum, crying out his name and biting his shoulder.

“Didn’t I tell you to wait till I got home to cum?” Zayne’s unamused tone makes you go rigid, and Sylus raises a brow at this new information, clicking his tongue in disappointment.

“Sweetie, we really need to teach you a lesson in patience.”

[mwphisto]

Imagine Sylus realizing you haven’t called out of work in over 4 months so he gives you a proper reason to call out the following day by fucking you to the point you genuinely can’t walk without a limp...

“I can’t… I can’t feel… Sylus…!” You didn’t even know it was possible for your legs to bend this far, nevermind that you were this flexible in the first place. His grip on the back of your thighs only grows tighter, squeezing your flesh a little harder as he applies more pressure down.

“Yes you can… you can take it… you’re going to keep taking it like the good girl you are… like the good girl you’ve been…” You can’t control the whimper that leaves you, head tossing back as he presses more of his weight down on you… into you.

The mating press is brutal, your thighs are nearly crushing your breasts at this point. Your spine curves awkwardly, your hands are digging into your calves, you’ve lost all feeling below your waist.

Except for where his cock bullies your swollen, overstimulated cunt.

Throbbing with need each time he pounds down into you, swallowing him greedily despite your babbled pleas for him to maybe ease up or slow down. You have work tomorrow, after all.

“You’re not going, clearly I’m not… fucking you hard enough… if you’re still thinking about that …” Even with his stamina, he’s panting from the exertion. Face flushed and aether-core practically blinding. The sight alone is enough to have you crying out, cumming around his cock for the fifth or maybe sixth time since he’s entered you.

[ickytreats]

since it’s officially pride month…

could you write mom x daughter where they’re celebrating pride with each other? (i also i love your stories so much!! you’re an incredible writer <3)

Warning! ⚠️ This post is between fully consenting adults! This post includes Fauxcest, no one is actually related!

All I can think about is slow eating out. Like getting under moms covers and slowly pulling her panties to the side. Getting comfortable between her legs, laying your head close enough to her cunt yet laying on her thigh, and finally softly kissing her cunt. Soft loving kisses before slowly taking her clit into your mouth. Sucking softly before letting go and licking her up. Going back and forth before she's softly squirming in her sleep. Her waking up right when she's close to cumming. Confused throwing her blanket off just to see her pretty daughter eating her out.

Mom spreads her legs even more with a moan. What a way to wake up, she laughs and gets even more comfortable. Enough to be able to feel the pleasure and watch her daughter. Hands going into her daughter's hair. Her daughter sticking her tongue into moms pretty hole. Making mom gasp and tug on her daughter's hair. Mom cumming in her daughters mouth with a loud moan. Her daughter cleaning up all her mom's cum before pulling away. They watch each other pant before mom is pulling her in quickly. Sharing a needy kiss, mom can taste herself on her daughter's lips.

Happy pride, her daughter giggles as she pulls away and mom laughs. Happy pride, baby... Mom kisses her again. Mom starts playing with her daughter's tits as they make out. Slowly changing positions so she can get the upper hand. Until her daughter so caught up in the kiss falls back with a small squeal. So distracted by mama's kisses didn't even notice she was pushing you back, mom teases. As she climbs on top of her daughter, let me give you a gift too. Mom starts kissing down her daughter's body taking a second to suck on her daughter's tits quickly.

She continues her travel down until she gets to her daughter's cunt. Definitely going to be an amazing pride month, mom mutters as she looks at her daughter's cunt. All soaked and pretty just for her, she never wears panties. Mom doesn't take long to start eating her out. Loud moans leaving both of them, just like that mom. Her daughter arches her back and grabs her own tits. Playing with the pretty buds as her mom eats her out. Mom isn't as slow as her daughter, not having to be calm to now wake her drastically. Moms slurping up everything her daughter has to give her. Please mama! I wanna last, wanna last longer. Her daughter's legs are already shaking, she was always such a reactive girl when it came to her mom.

Mom wasn't having it, she wanted her daughters cum and bad. Wrapping her hands around her daughter's thighs to pull her impossibly closer. Looking up and watching as she pants and a loud moan leaves her. Cumming on her mom's tongue, left shaking, and tired. A small giggle leaves her as she feels mom pull away and kiss her thighs. Just the beginning, baby. Just the beginning, mom.

[caged-cherry]

stepdad!robby giving reader a vibrator for her birthday & offering to show her what to do with it when she's confused 👀👀

HELLO ANON I absolutely adore this idea it’s soooo juicy and Robby is suchhhh a nasty perv, he totally would get his stepdaughter that type of toy. I hope you enjoy this because I can assure you writing it was a blast :3

You had been so excited for your birthday today. Your mom had brought you breakfast in bed, your best friends were coming over to spend the day with you, and although you didn’t necessarily feel older - you were so happy about living yet another year!

Not to mention the gifts. You were grateful for every single thing. The $300 gift card to your favorite store and the lime green mouse toy your cat had dropped by your feet being amongst the best you received.

Also, the bottle of Malibu Trinity had brought with a grin and a mischievous look in her eye. The alcohol had promptly been confiscated by your stepdad, who demanded no liquor be drunk until later in the evening. Trinity had rolled her eyes with a huff before dragging you to another room, showing off the shooters she stashed in her bag because, “I knew Robby would be a hardass! He’s the same way at work, I swear!”

Speaking of your stepfather, he really hasn’t acted any differently today. Grumbling a happy birthday to you while mid sip of coffee, shrugging mindlessly when your mother had bragged about all the money he had spent on the presents you were about to open (which you hadn’t doubted that she used his money, you just doubt he actually knows what she bought. Most of it was probably for herself, as usual). Watching with crossed arms as you hung out with your friends, which also so happened to be his coworkers. Even Jack had shown up! Lingering by Robby most of the time, but you had been glad to see him.

The day was still fresh, despite all the festivities that’s already happened. Maybe you indulged a little too much with the fireball Trinity passed you down the hall, maybe you were already sunburnt lounging in the sun by Dennis, maybe you had been a bit pouty because your stepdad didn’t actually get you anything for your birthday. You weren’t spoiled! You just thought he’d care a little more than just handing his debit card to your mom. You were family, after all!

So, maybe, just maybe, you’ve been avoiding him a little. Pouting each time he’d speak, turning your head when he’d try to get your attention, smiling ear to ear whenever someone else would pull you away from him.

It was only a matter of time before you got stuck alone with him. You had ran in to grab a snack, only to faceplant right into Robby’s back because he just had to be in your way. “Woah, kid. Watch out, don’t need you hurting yourself.”

“M’fine.” You mumble, shifting to skirt around him and end the conversation. A large hand around your upper arm cuts you short, tumbling back into your stepdads side. “Robby, let go!”

“Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast.” He tuts, and then you see it. A sparkly bag dangling from his fingertips, a birthday bag. You blink owlishly, his teasing grin turns stern as soon as you meet his gaze. “Why are you ignoring me?”

“I thought-“ It sounds silly now, you don’t really want to admit it. Averting your eyes, his grip on your arm tightens until you look at him again. Your voice is barely above a whisper, “I thought you didn’t get me anything.”

Robby raises his eyebrow, big brown eyes studying you before he snorts. As if to tease you, he swings the bag in front of your face. “Who said this was for you?”

“It’s my birthday!” You squawk, smacking his arm and thankfully he lets go. His grip was starting to hurt. You feel like you’re burning alive from embarrassment as he laughs at you, “Who else would it be for?”

Avoiding your question, he turns his attention to the guests outside. Your mom seemed to be all too infatuated with a story Jack was telling, your friends arguing about something irrelevant. “All those other presents weren’t enough?”

“That’s not the reason why!” You protest, glaring up at him under your lashes as you continue with a softer tone, “I just- I thought you didn’t care, that’s all. It’s- it’s stupid. I don’t even want it, whatever.”

“Oh, baby. Is that it? Thought your daddy didn’t care?” He’s mocking you. He’s making fun of your feelings, you scowl as you shove at him. He doesn’t move a muscle, you feel humiliated. Why did your mom have to marry such a jerk? You feel like a crybaby when angry tears blur your vision, swiftly turning away to end this conversation for good. Robby grabs you by the hair, tugging just enough to make you spin around with a yelp as you lift your hand up to slap-

The bag is in front of your face, effectively saving Robby’s stupidly smug face as your palm lands against plastic instead. Your stepdad pushes it into your hand, leaning in a little too close for comfort as he murmurs. “Watch it. It’d be awfully rude to hit your dad for no reason. Go on, open your gift. Right now.”

You were still pissed, you didn’t want his stupid gift! Still, you pull the bag closer to your chest. You grumble under your breath, “Stop saying you’re my dad.”

“You’re right. I’m not. Your real daddy didn’t care enough about his little girls special day, hm? But I do, so I think I deserve the title.” You don’t have time to process that, he leans even closer than what could be considered appropriate. “Open it.”

You do as you’re told. Plucking the tissue paper out of the bag and furrowing your eyebrows as you stare at the contents inside. “A back massager? Why would you get me that?”

The groan your stepfather lets out makes you peek up at him, confusion etching itself across your face. He drags a hand down his own, shaking his head with a smile you can’t quite place as he breathes out a laugh, “Read it, sweetheart.”

Grabbing the box out of the bag fully, you feel Robby’s eyes on you as you study the box.

Oh, that’s not a back massager! Oh, that’s not a back massager.

“Robby? Why would you get me this?” You still feel lost. Is there something you’re not getting? Was there supposed to be a joke somewhere? A card to explain why you have such a thing in your hands? “I mean- thank you? But I don’t really, um… know why I need this?”

“You’re kidding.” Robby deadpans, snatching the box from you and shoving it back into the bag when Jack knocks on the glass door and beckons them to come back outside. Robby gives him the hand signal to wait, Jack puts on a show of rolling his eyes before turning away. “You’ve touched yourself before. I know it.”

“Yeah, obviously. I’m a grown woman with needs. I just don’t get why you’d get that for me! I mean… how do you even use it?” He looks at you like you’ve grown two heads, maybe you have.

“Are you… telling me you’ve never used a vibrator before?” He asks slowly, eyebrows raised in a way that has you laughing meekly in a feeble attempt to ease the tension. “Ever?”

“I’ve used toys, just not- why are you asking me this? You’re my stepdad. This is weird, I think you should take it back. The toy, I mean. Just, uh, give it to someone else.” You take a step back, and then another when Robby follows. He’s grabbing your wrist and dragging you off to your bedroom before you can even realize what’s happening. What even is happening?

Robby shuts your door a little too rough, locks it with a click, and lurches the toy at you so quickly it almost hits you in the head before catching it. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but a large finger is pressed against your lips to shush you. When he speaks, it’s low, as if he’s afraid everybody could hear him from all the way outside. “You’ve never used one of these before, right? Let me be a dad to you, baby. Let me teach you how to use it.”

You feel like you should say no. You should probably say no. You begin to shake your head, but then Robby starts to nod. It’s confusing, you’re so confused. You end up nodding along with him, smiling when he gives you a pleased grin. “Atta girl, knew you could listen to me. Need to know you’re not as naïve as you’re actin right now. I need you to understand I’m going to use this toy on you, m’not gonna do nothing if you say no.”

You suppose that’s sweet, he’s asking for your consent afterall. You’ve never thought he was a bad guy, just… a stepdad. A dad. The thought alone really makes you think the best choice is to say no. You don’t think you want to say no.

“Yes, please. Does mom know about this?”

“Don’t talk about her right now. Talk about me. Talk about us.” Robby, ever the gentleman, allows you to take the lead for the time being. Lets you unbox the wand at your own pace, lets you undress yourself however you please (naked, you want this after all), lets you edge him closer to your bed before he finally has to take charge once again.

Somehow he gets behind you, your naked back pressed up against the soft cotton of his tee shirt. His legs kick open your own, forcing them to stay put. There’s a hand around your neck, the other is holding the vibrator, he doesn’t turn it on. Not yet. “This is the best position to do it, trust me. Stepdads don’t lie.”

“Okay.” You whisper, and you bite your lip in embarrassment when he lets out a curse under his breath after realizing how wet you already are. “I’m nervous.”

“It’s fine, you’re fine. You’re being taught something brand new, it’s okay to be nervous. M’so proud of you.” The sudden praise is new, but very welcome. Would Robby have been nicer if you slept with him sooner? Or was he leading you on to unreachable heights? “You’re very beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Robby turns the toy on, lets you watch as he flicks through each different vibration settings, huffs out an amused exhale when he feels you swallow thickly. “Please just pick one!”

You feel a small wave of relief when he settles on one that looks less intimidating, allowing your eyes to slip closed in an attempt to relax.

You fail. Horribly. Because the next thing you know the vibrating silicone is bouncing against your nipple, a near screech escapes your throat and has Robby covering his hand over your entire face to shut you up. Your back arches a little too far for your age, the body behind you is far to strong to let you go far.

“Jesus Christ, kid! Be quiet!” Robby hisses, but you’ve felt his cock twitch as he scolded you. You heave for breath when he deems you’ll stay silent, the vibrator is still dangerously close to your tit.

“Don’t surprise me then!” You snap, though if there’s any bite in your tone it doesn’t show in your body language, squirming as you feel yourself getting more wet. You watch as he brings it closer, and this time you’re ready for the feeling as a low whine leaves your lips. “It hurts…”

“Does it actually?” The toy turns off.

“It’s too much.” You correct yourself, nervous. The toy turns back on.

“Oh, you’re just not used to feeling good, baby. Let me take care of you.”

Robby spends so much time paying attention to your nipples it almost gets you to cum then and there, only stopping when he deems you’ll unworthy of that sweet release. He taps your jaw lightly when you let out a pouty whimper, a reminder to stay quiet. The toy is against your hip now.

“Impatient as ever.” He tsks, yet somehow still has the mercy to not direct the toy to your aching clit and instead to tease. Every inch just to watch you gush in desire, to have your legs trembling uncontrollably from suspense.

Robby must’ve taught a lot of girls how to use a vibrator, because you don’t think you’re going to be able to last long at all when he presses onto that spot and presses hard.

He doesn’t even let up either, hand over your mouth even as you bite your lips to be good and not let everyone know what’s going on in your bedroom. Kicks your legs even further apart, presses the clothed length of his cock against you just right, and you’re gone.

It’s a miracle you didn’t die then and there, you thought. But then again, Robby is a doctor. He’d save you anyways, and then probably instantly kill you again with that absolutely dangerous toy.

Your stepdad is murmuring something to you that you really can’t understand, one hand now rubbing your side up and down while the other dips between your legs. You think you can hear the words messy and excellent before settling back into the aftershocks, only coming to when Robby grabs your chin and shakes your head roughly.

“Your daddy taught you something new. Say thank you.”

“Yes- thank you. Thank you.” Robby grins, and suddenly he’s rolling you off of him so he can get up. A moan of protest leaves you, and you roll over to stare at him with a pout.

“Does my girl need a nap? I’ll tell everyone the sun wore you out.” He’s mocking you. He has that slight edge in his tone that’s condescending, he’s challenging you. Your eyes dip from his face to the obvious bulge in his pants, you grab it firmly. Your stepdads hips jerk at the touch, he’s pulling your hand away a moment after. “Ah, be good. Haven’t taught you how to treat me yet.”

“My stepdad is a pretty good teacher.” You shrug, attempting to reach for it again. Robby’s grip tightens, you think it might bruise. You kind of like that thought.

“After everyone leaves.” He says through gritted teeth, despite the serious tone he still helps you put your clothes back on. Though you can tell his hands linger longer than they should. You don’t think you mind. He sweetens the deal, “I’m so proud of you, baby. Such a quick learner, so obedient. Just wait a little longer, you can do that for me. Can’t you?”

You nod, and he kisses the crown of your head at the agreement. Robby’s eyes flick to the toy disregarded by your side. “Better put that away before someone sees it.”

And then he leaves, not bothering to shut your door on the way out.

[loki--fics]

Devotion

Lucius Malfoy x Fem!Reader

content warnings: graphic smut, caught in the act, strong language, age gap

word count: 6,000+

summary: You and Draco have been dating for two years. The first year was great, but then things began to decline. He had longer hours at work, less time for you, barely looked your way anymore. Your final straw was him standing you up on your second anniversary, and you turn to his father for comfort.

~

   You had been sitting at the restaurant alone for two hours when you finally gave up hope - he wasn't coming.

   Flagging down the waiter, you asked for the bill, unshed tears burning behind your eyes. This is the last time he humiliates me like this, You vowed silently, paying for the bottle and a half of wine you'd managed to finish while waiting. You scribbled your signature on the receipt, tipping the waiter handsomely, then grabbed your purse and coat, quickly exiting the restaurant.

   The cool night air raised goosebumps on your skin as you stepped into an alley and apparated, landing in front of Malfoy Manor. You stormed up the steps, closing the large front door harder than necessary behind you, letting your back come to rest against the cool wood for a moment. A single tear fell, which you furiously scrubbed from your cheek. No! You told yourself. I'll not cry over him - not again.

   You removed your heels, holding them in your hand as you stepped quietly through the house, making your way to the room you'd shared with Draco for the past year. The two of you had been together since your last year at Hogwarts, and today was supposed to be your two year anniversary. You had the entire night planned, fine dining and fun, but it was all ruined now. You knew he'd been busy at work lately, but he hadn't even bothered to call.

   Fury was too tame a word to describe the level of anger and humiliation you felt. As you walked through the kitchen, you set your bag and shoes down on the island and poured a glass of water for yourself. You caught your reflection in the smooth chrome of the basin - you'd gotten your hair done, your nails done, you'd gotten waxed, bought a new dress, new shoes, had your makeup professionally done - all for nothing.

   With an incensed cry, you threw the glass into the sink, where it shattered and sprayed water all over you. A shard rebounded off of the metal, slicing your hand, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. Instead you sunk to the floor, back against the cupboards, hugging your knees to your chest, and cried. Sobs heaved from your chest, a mix of heartbreak, anger, and embarrassment, and you knew this was it - your final straw.

   You'd forgiven Draco for many shortcomings, but this one took the cake. Never had he mortified you so thoroughly - of course the Malfoys were a well-known family, and you had been roped into the craziness of their publicity from the moment you'd started dating Draco. The Daily Prophet had done a piece on your first anniversary, which Draco had gone all-out for, so when your second anniversary began to approach everyone wondered if it would be as grand as the first.

   No doubt Rita Skeeter would write some melodramatic piece about the poor girl who got stood up on her anniversary now, and no doubt everyone would read it. You'd be a laughingstock to all those who didn't pity you.

   The sounds of your sobs seemed to echo throughout the vast silence of the open kitchen, your tears falling in fat droplets down your cheeks and dripping onto the dark green fabric of your dress, now sopping wet from the water that had splashed on you. The expensive silk clung to your legs uncomfortably, the cold chill of the marbled tile seeping through the fabric, your forehead pressed to your knees like they could hide your shame.

   Then, you heard the soft, deliberate click of expensive shoes stepping across the floor. You didn't look up - there was only one other person who lived here aside from you and Draco:

   Lucius.

   Your throat tightened painfully, another burning wave of mortification washing over you, and your sobs grew heavier. You had endured two ignominious hours of waiting at that damned restaurant, endured the pitying stares of other patrons and the wind-carried whispers from mouths hidden behind menus, endured the creeping certainty that Draco wasn't coming as you had glass after glass of wine. You had endured until you broke, and now here you were - drunk, disheveled, and bleeding on the kitchen floor like some tragic parody of yourself.

   Lucius witnessing you like this was just the cherry on top of the shit sundae that this night had become.

   The footsteps drew nearer, then stopped, and you heard him gasp sharply. You didn't look at him, didn't lift your head, just curled up more tightly, like you could vanish entirely if you just made yourself small enough. You couldn't bear to see the look on his face as his eyes swept the scene - the shards of shattered crystal in the sink, the water sprayed all over the marble countertops, the bright red droplets of blood against the smooth chrome of the basin, and you, on the floor.

   You heard the swish of his robes, felt the warmth of his body as he crouched down beside you, flinched as his hand gingerly took yours, turning your palm upwards. You kept your face buried behind your knees, but you could feel the delicate swipe of a handkerchief wiping away the blood that slicked your skin.

   "Great Salazar, woman," He muttered, his voice tight with alarm as you felt the tip of his wand gently touch your palm. "Episkey."

   You hissed softly at the searing sting of your wound pulling itself closed, but within seconds the pain had dulled, then faded to nothing. Though your sobs had dwindled to sniffles and hiccups, you still didn't lift your head; you didn't want to see the pity - or worse, contempt - that you were certain you'd find if you met his eyes.

   But his voice broke through the silence at last. Low, smooth, gentler than you'd expected. "Y/N," He began, still holding your hand, his thumb brushing slow, comforting circles on your skin.

   "You don't have to say it," You cut him off, voice muffled and raw. "I already know what a spectacle I've made of myself, something I'm sure the whole of Britain will know by morning."

   He squeezed your hand gently. "That isn't my concern right now, you are. What happened?"

   You shook your head, biting back a sob. "It doesn't matter."

   His other hand closed over yours, sandwiching it gently. "It matters to me." His tone sharpened slightly, though not in anger - in supplication. You felt him lean in closer, his voice dropping to that persuasive, silken timbre you'd always found impossible to ignore. "I see your pain, whether you name it or not. Better to let it out than quietly bleed into yourself."

   Your chest tightened. "I... I waited for him, Lucius. For two hours, I waited. But he.. he never came." Your voice cracked, another tear trailing down your cheek. "He didn't call, didn't text, nothing. But I still waited, and I kept hoping - oh Salazar help me, I kept hoping he'd come sweeping in with some ridiculous excuse, that he'd kiss me and we'd enjoy supper and everything would be fine. I sat there, like a fool, while others whispered behind their menus and looked at me with pity."

   Your shoulders began to shake, quiet, broken cries falling from your lips. "Have you any idea how witless I must have seemed? Rita Skeeter must be frothing at the mouth, I've no doubt she's come up with some melodramatic piece about poor, jilted Y/N, abandoned by the Malfoy heir on thier anniversary, that'll be plastered all over the front page of the Daily Prophet come morning."

   A long, shuddering breath left your body. "I- I'm so sorry, Lucius, I.. I've stained your family's name."

   For a moment there was only silence, and you feared the worst - he was going to throw you out, publicly cut ties with you, disassociate his family from you. But then he spoke, his voice sharp as a razor's edge.

   "My son is the fool," He seethed. "You've made no spectacle of yourself. Draco has - this is his failing, his shame, not yours."

   You finally dared to lift your head, and Lucius was close enough that you could count the long, blonde lashes framing his steely eyes. You were sure you looked a fright - damp hair clinging to your cheeks, makeup running down your face, eyes red and glassy - but if Lucius thought so, his expression didn't show it. His expression was soft, sorrowful, a current of anger towards his son simmering under the surface.

   "You don't understand," You whimpered brokenly. "I'm going to be a laughingstock to anyone who doesn't pity me. They'll see me as weak, pathetic even-"

   He cut you off, his tone fierce. "There will be hell to pay for anyone who dares try to laugh at you, Y/N. Of that, you can be certain." Then he softened, his hand rising from yours to brush the tears from your cheeks with the pad of his thumb. "You deserved better than waiting, better than being ignored and humiliated. Better than him."

   Your chest tightened again, aching with how badly you wished you could believe him. "He scarcely even looks at me anymore, Lucius," You said, your voice a broken whisper. "I tried, I kept trying, I- I did everything tonight to try to make it special, to make him see me again." You sniffled, more tears slipping from your eyes. "And he didn't even bother to show up."

   "If my woman had sat at that table," He said slowly, his eyes searching yours as if trying to make sure you heard every word, "Dressed as you are, looking even half as radiant as you, I would have crossed oceans to meet her." His large hand rested on your cheek, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. "Only an impudent fool would have done otherwise."

   His words hit you like a physical blow, and your breath caught in your throat. "Lucius.." You whimpered, his comfort cooling some of the heat of your embarrassment.

   He stood, offering his hands to you. "Up. You needn't stay crumpled on the floor, it's no place for a lady."

   Your hands slipped into his and he pulled you to your feet, the room swaying slightly as you stood. He took a moment to steady you before snapping his fingers loudly, and a House Elf appeared, eyes lowered. "Y/N needs fresh clothing. Dry, soft, nothing cumbersome."

   The Elf disappeared for a moment, returning a moment later with neatly folded pajamas, holding them up in offering. Lucius took them, guiding you to the washroom adjoining his study, ushering you inside. "Go, compose yourself. I'll wait in my study."

   You stepped into the washroom, nodding graciously as he closed the door behind you, but one look in the gilded vanity mirror cracked your composure all over again. Your cheeks were stained with mascara, your delicate pin-up hairdo now frizzed and damp, the front of your dress darker where the fabric had gotten wet, your lipstick smeared and faded from chewing on your lips. Fresh tears burned your eyes, and you forced yourself to look away as you peeled yourself out of the ruined dress, stripping off your bra and slipping into the soft cotton pajama set - a cropped, dove grey t shirt, with matching shorts.

   Grabbing a cloth, you turned on the water and washed the remnants of makeup from your face, then carefully unpinned your hair, combing through it with your fingers. Once you felt less like a drowned swamp creature, you emerged from the washroom, stepping into the study.

   Lucius stood when you entered, walking over to meet you and led you to the plush sofa near the fireplace, guiding you to the seat with a kind of courtly patience. "Drink?" He asked, and you nodded. With a flick of his wand, two crystal glasses appeared and filled with amber liquid, and he passed one to you as he sat next to you, leaving several inches of space between you.

   The burn of the liquor grounded you, the taste - spicy and expensive - lingering on your tongue. You exhaled shakily, your eyes fixed on the fire, but Lucius's gaze never left you.

   "My son's failure," He said, breaking the silence, "Is not your own. You must understand that, Y/N. He has proven himself to be unworthy of you - your loyalty, your beauty, your devotion."

   "My beauty?" You scoffed lightly. "What beauty? My face is a mess, my hair is ruined, I-"

   "And yet, you are still radiant," He cut you off, gently but with conviction. You turned your head toward him, watching as his eyes flicked over you with something akin to reverence. "Even undone, with tears streaking your cheeks. Draco's neglect reflects only upon him, not upon you. You are not diminished by his failures; if anything, you shine all the more brightly against his shadow."

   "Not diminished?" You asked, somewhat bitterly. "I sat there like a lovestruck fool waiting for a prince, only to be left alone. Everyone saw it, they'll be talking about it for weeks."

   His eyes met yours. "Let them talk, words from the envious have never tarnished what is truly beautiful."

   Your hand gripped your glass tighter as you shook your head. "I'm not beautiful, I look like something discarded."

   "You look exquisite," He said smoothly.

   "Even with ruined hair and mascara running down my face?"

   "Yes. Rare beauty such as yours is not painted on, it shines through - you could be undone, disheveled, and still light up any room you walk into."

   You swallowed, your throat tight. "If that were true, he would have come," You replied sadly.

   Something dangerous flickered across Lucius's features before he smoothed it away. "Were he not such a fool, and had an ounce of good sense, he would have. His failure does not erase your worth, Y/N. It only reveals his blindness."

   You looked away, back at the fire, to escape the weight of his gaze. "You regard me as if I'm some sort of goddess."

   "And why shouldn't you be regarded as one?" He asked, and your eyes flew back to his.

   "A goddess wouldn't get stood up at a restaurant."

   "A goddess," Lucius countered, his voice silken, "Is radiant regardless of who does or does not appear. And any man worth the air he consumes would never dare neglect her." He paused, his eyes holding yours for a long moment, suggesting a deeper meaning to his words. "You deserve a man who will not only see you, but cherish you - a man who will protect and adore you. I've long wondered if my son was capable of such a thing." His voice dropped lower, hushed, like he was confessing a secret. "I know I am."

   You went quiet for a moment, looking at the glass of amber whisky in your hand and taking a long, slow sip. Then your eyes met his again, the firelight warming his handsome patrician features in shades of gold. You shifted to face him, settling in a few inches closer, close enough that your knee brushed his. "Your words... well, they hardly sound like something you'd say only to ease a woman's wounded pride." Your tone was soft, cautious, but threaded with something sharper underneath.

   Lucius inclined his head slightly. "They are truths," He replied, low and deliberate. "That my son has been too oblivious and impertinent to see."

   Perhaps it was the alcohol, but you suddenly felt quite brazen. Your voice was soft, tentative, but carried a challenge. "And... what do you see, Lucius?"

   He regarded you in silence for a moment, his expression unreadable save for the faintest tug of a smirk playing on his lips. Then he leaned closer, his voice pitched low enough that it felt like it belonged to you alone. "I see a woman whose elegance demands attention, whose presence alone could silence a room. I see beauty," He paused, his gaze sweeping over your face, lingering on your lips before meeting yours once more, "That tempts a man in ways he could scarcely admit aloud."

   His breaths were slow, deliberate, and you felt as if the fire itself could not compete with the heat that threading in the space between the two of you at that moment.

   "Tempts a man how?" You breathed, your pulse quickening.

   He inhaled slowly, as if steadying himself. "You tempt him," He murmured, voice threaded with heat, "To imagine the feel of your skin beneath his hands... the taste of your mouth when he finally dares to claim it." He finished his drink, setting the crystal glass down on the coffee table before leaning a fraction of an inch closer, close enough that you could feel his breath caress your cheek. "You tempt him to picture you close - so close, he can breathe nothing but you - and still be left starving for more. You tempt him," He leaned his lips close to your ear, "To forget reason... to cast aside restraint and risk everything, for even the smallest taste of what it would be to have you."

   You felt a shiver run down your spine as he leaned back slightly, breath catching and heart hammering so loudly you were certain he could hear it. The fire crackling was the only sound as you shifted closer, brushing your leg against his, a sudden recklessness stirring in your chest.

   You finished your own drink, setting the glass beside his before raising your hand, fingers ghosting along the lapels of his robes, toying idly as though you needed something to occupy your trembling hands. You didn't quite meet his gaze, instead watching the way your fingers brushed the dark fabric, the weight of your pulse quickening in your throat. "And what," You said softly, almost absently, "Do you think I would feel like?"

   A small, coy smile tugged at your lips as you finally lifted your eyes back to his, looking at him through your lashes. "What do you think I would taste like, Lucius?"

   He stared at you for a moment as though you had struck the very breath from his chest, his eyes flicking to your lips, his hand reaching up and gently brushing your cheek. "What I would give to know..." He murmured, his eyes meeting yours once more, dark and stormy.

   You leaned closer still, your lips inches from his. "Why don't you find out?"

   His inhale was sharp, and his jaw clenched as if he were physically restraining himself. "You tread dangerous waters, little witch," He muttered, a warning laced with something darker, enticing.

   A smile blossomed across your lips, daring and bold, and you tilted your face up toward his. "I've always found danger to be quite... thrilling."

   The ghost of a moan slipped from his lips, hovering a breath apart from yours. "And what of Draco?"

   Your eyes went molten. "What of him?" You breathed sharply in retort. Your fingers clenched his lapels, emboldened by his nearness. "You told me that I deserved better, deserved to be cherished... Why don't you show me what that feels like?"

   "And if he returns home and... happens upon us?"

   "Then let it be a lesson to him, to show him how to properly care for a woman."

   With a low, gutteral sound that was equal parts growl and groan Lucius closed the distance, his mouth claiming your with a ferocity that betrayed just how long he'd held himself back. His lips were demanding and hungry, stealing the breath from your lungs as his hands, too, abandoned their restraint, one resting at the nape of your neck as his other arm snaked around your waist. With no hesitation, he tugged you onto his lap, your legs resting on either side of his hips, the prominent bulge in the front of his trousers pressing squarely into your heat.

   You gasped into the kiss, a soft whimper at the sudden friction against your most sensitive area, and he greedily swallowed the sound. For the first time in what felt like forever you didn't feel alone or abandoned, you felt wanted - every brush of his lips, every desperate tilt of his mouth, was declaration of it.

   Your fingers fisted the expensive fabric of his robes, holding tightly as though afraid he might pull away as he shifted beneath you, his tongue sweeping your mouth like it was always his to claim, deepening the kiss until it was no longer just a meeting of lips but a consuming hunger. Another broken sound slipped from your throat - half whimper, half moan - which only spurred him on, his grip tightening on your hips like he might never let you go.

   When at last he pulled back, it wasn't to retreat - his lips trailed along your jaw, down the column of your throat, where your pulse fluttered wildly beneath the delicate skin. "Salazar help me, Y/N," He muttered, his voice low and rough against your skin. "If you only knew the restraint it's taken not to do this sooner..."

   "I wish you had," You groaned, your head falling back as his lips devoured your skin.

   Whatever thin thread of composure he had clung to snapped with a feral, low sound that vibrated against your throat. His hands, no longer gentle, claimed you with a certainty that left no doubt about his intent - one hand pressed you against him more firmly, forcing you to feel the evidence of his desire straining against the fine cut fabric of his trousers, while the other traced from your jaw to your torso, his long, elegant fingers splaying posessively over your chest as though he was marking what was his.

   "You have no idea," He murmured darkly against your skin, "How many times I watched my son squander your devotion..." His hand trailed under your shirt, gripping your breast as his teeth grazed your collar. "Knowing, that I could make you feel more, better, than he ever could."

   You moaned as his fingers toyed with your nip, his words dark as sin and hot as fire as he continued. "How many nights I had imagined this... You, pliant in my arms... your taste on my tongue... the sweet sound of you-" He punctuated his words with a nip at your throat, earning a whine from you. "-breaking, for me."

   Almost without meaning to you felt your hips rock against him, desperate for friction, touching your forehead to his as your fingers tangled in his white-blonde hair. "Lucius..."

   The sound of his name falling from your lips, half plea, half provocation, nearly unravelled him. He seized your mouth again, rougher this time, deeper, urging you closer, harder, his tongue sweeping in to taste you as his hand left your chest to grab the back of your thigh, rocking you against him. The friction left you crying out into his mouth, sounds he drank down like wine, his grip tightening as he ground you against him harder.

   Breaking the kiss again, he trailed his lips to your ear, his voice husky. "Tell me to stop, and I will... But if you don't, right now, I won't be able to stop myself from what I'm about to do to you."

   He pulled back, and you looked at him with dark eyes. "Good," You whispered. "Don't."

   That was the final blow. He captured your lips again, kissing you like he intended to devour every last breath from your lungs. His fingers lifted the hem of your shirt, and you lifted your arms, allowing him to pull it over your head, tossing it aside as he hungrily took in the sight of your bare chest.

   "Exquisite," He murmured, lowering his mouth to your sensitive nip, tongue circling, teeth grazing, lips worshipping until you were arching into him, a helpless sound escaping your throat as you rocked against him. His free hand slipped lower, lower, slowly tracing along your inner thigh, deliberately torturing you, until his fingers finally pressed against your heat. The thin fabric of your panties and pajama shorts did little to conceal how ready for him you were, in fact you'd long since soaked through both.

   He slipped his hand into your shorts, pushing aside the fabric of your panties, his fingers slipping between the raw folds of your slick heat. Your head fell back, a loud cry ripping from your lips as his his fingers stroked, teased, dragged you closer to the edge with every careful, deft movement.

   Your fingers fisted in his silken hair, tugging him closer as you moved your hips desperately against his hand. "Lucius, please..."

   The sound of his name on your lips in that tone - the plea, the abandon, the desperation - snapped what little restraint he had left. His arm hooked around you, lifting you effortlessly, flipping you into your back as he held himself above you. His eyes locked on yours as he pulled away your soaked shorts and panties, his voice hoarse with desire. "I will show you," He promised, "How to be adored properly. How to be ruined and treasured, at the same time."

   His lips found your thigh, your leg hooked over his shoulder as his mouth travelled up, higher, stopping just shy of your throbbing core. He looked at you devilishly, pausing, and you looked at him, confused. "Lucius, wha-"

   His mouth locked on to you mid-sentence and a strangled cry forced its way from your lungs as your head fell back against the cushions, your back arching as his tongue swirled circles around your clit. One of his hands grabbed your wrists, pinning your hands to your stomach as he devoured you, the other slipping two fingers inside of you, beckoning slowly at first, then faster, until you were delirious with pleasure.

   You could feel your climax rapidly approaching, the knot in your stomach beginning to build as Lucius consumed you. Every stroke of his tongue and fingers was pulling you apart, piece by piece; your thighs trembled against his shoulders, your voice breaking on his name as you arched into his mouth.

   "That's it, little witch," He murmured against you, lips wet with your essence, voice decadent and rough, his fingers curling faster. "Give in for me, sweet girl. Show me how badly you've needed this."

   Your back bowed so violently you felt it crack as the dam broke, a wail spilling from your throat as stars clouded your vision, shattering, trembling, as Lucius coaxed you through it, drinking down every last shudder. You collapsed back onto the cushions, flushed and gasping, as he rose above you. He pulled his fingers out of you, cleaning your climax off of them with his mouth before kissing you again, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

   "Lucius," You whimpered into the kiss, your hands pulling at his robes with desperate need. "Please, I- I need..."

   He silenced you with another searing kiss, and with a wave of his wand, his clothes were on the floor. His arm slid beneath you, lifting you effortlessly back onto his lap, straddling him once more, this time nothing between you. His length, hot and hard, pressed against your entrance, and the low groan that escaped him was feral.

   "I should resist you," He gasped, dragging the thick head of his member through your slick folds, tormenting you both with the tease. "But Salazar help me, I cannot."

   Your nails dug into his shoulders, your voice needy and desperate. "Then don't," You breathed. "Don't resist me."

   That was all it took. With a gutteral sound, Lucius pulled you down onto him, thrusting himself into you in one deep, claiming stroke. Your scream filled the room as your walls stretched around his impressive size, his grip bruising on your hips as he buried himself to the hilt.

   "Perfect," He growled against your throat, sinking his teeth into your skin. "You feel perfect."

   He gave you no time to adjust before setting a relentless rhythm, driving into you with each thrust, every stroke a blend of ravenous hunger and worship. His lips dragged over your skin, biting, marking, kissing, as if to brand you as his. You clung to him, nails raking down his arms, his name falling from your lips in shattered gasps like a prayer.

   "Is this what you wanted, sweet girl?" He groaned between gritted teeth, his voice wrecked with desire. "To be cherished like this? Claimed like this?"

   "Yes, Lucius- oh, Salazar, yes!" You cried, meeting his thrusts with equal desperation.

   And then-

   The door burst open.

   "Father, have you seen-"

   Draco froze in the threshold, his voice catching, his face draining of colour as his wide eyes took in the sight before him - his father, buried deep inside his woman, your body writhing in ecstasy, crying out his father's name.

   Lucius didn't stop, didn't even slow, just continued with his relentless pace as Draco stood there, his face a taut mask of fury, jaw tight, fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned white.

   "Father! Y/N!" His voice came out a strangled cry. "What in Salazar's name-"

   "You've squandered her devotion for months, Draco," Lucius snapped, cutting him off, slowing his pace a bit as he eyed his son with contempt. He pulled your body against his, as if shielding it from the boy, something no longer his to see. "You had every opportunity to cherish her, adore her, to see to it that she was never left wanting. You failed."

   Draco's fists trembled at his sides, rage radiating from him, but he was powerless to intervene. Lucius trailed his fingers up your back, a gentle reminder you'd not be neglected again.

   "Father, this- this is unacceptable!" He seethed. "You can't do this, Y/N-"

   "I'll do as I please," Lucius interrupted, his voice icy. "As will she."

   He began to thrust harder, faster, the sound of your cries and his hips slapping into yours filling the space. His voice, low and smooth, vibrated against your ear.

   "Do you feel that, sweet girl?" He murmured. "Every cry, every shiver... this is what you were meant to receive. To be worshipped, cherished, never ignored."

   You gasped, tilting your head back as you arched into him, clinging to his shoulders. "Lucius... please," You whimpered, feeling a knot forming, low in your stomach.

   He growled, teeth grazing the sensitive pulse at your neck, lips tracing along your jaw, every kiss and nip deliberate, demanding. Your body trembled under him, shuddering with every perfect, punishing thrust, and your cries only seemed to drive him faster. He watched the way your body pressed into his, your hands clutching at him, lips parting in ragged gasps as you rode him.

   He let his eyes meet Draco's, pale and stunned at the threshold. "Take note, Draco," He said, voice low and dangerous, "This is what it looks like to truly cherish a woman. Every touch, every movement... this is how she deserves to be treated."

   You cried out his name again, fingers threading through his silver hair as he lifted you slightly, grinding into you, claiming you fully, and he pressed a rough, searing kiss to your lips that stole your breath. You arched, shuddering, helpless in his lap, and he whispered against your mouth. "Do you feel how much you're wanted? How much you're needed?"

Draco's jaw tightened, his fists clenched, but he remained frozen, unable to leave or avert his eyes. And Lucius, still in complete control, continued to drive into you, each stroke a blend of worship and hunger, proving in every deliberate movement exactly what it meant to treasure a woman.

"Father, this... this is-" Draco stammered, but Lucius cut him off, voice low, dangerous.

   "I suggest you leave," He said smoothly. "Your presence is not welcome here."

   With a final glare, Draco stormed out, slamming the door behind him. The echo of his anger faded, leaving the room warm and charged, the only sound your shaky breaths as Lucius thrust into you slowly. He growled, teeth grazing the sensitive pulse at your neck, lips tracing along your jaw, every kiss and nip deliberate, demanding.

   Then he began to quicken again, his hands gripping your hips, fingers digging in as he thrust into you with a controlled, punishing rhythm that made you cry out, arching hard against him. Your body trembled, every nerve alight with the combination of pleasure and the electric shame of Draco having seen you riding his father.

   "Look at you, sweet girl..." He murmured against your lips, teeth grazing your jaw. "So perfect, so yielding... do you feel how badly you've been wanted?"

   "Yes... oh, Lucius..." Your voice broke with each gasp, each cry punctuated by the heat that pooled in your belly. You pressed closer, grinding down against him in time with his relentless thrusts, hands tangling in his silvery hair, clutching at him as if you could anchor yourself to him and never let go.

   His hand trailed down your thigh, sliding over the soft skin, teasing you until you shivered violently, ready to tip over the edge. His fingers pressed to your heat, feeling himself sliding in and out of you as he expertly circled your clit. "Do you feel it?" He whispered, voice rough and low, brushing his mouth along yours. "The fullness of what you deserve... of what you've been denied?"

"Yes... yes, Lucius, please..." Your words were ragged, breathless, a mix of pleading and demand, and he responded in kind, driving into you with deliberate precision, hands claiming, lips worshipping, body and soul fully devoted to the pleasure he was giving - and taking.

Your back arched, nails raking his shoulders as your body tensed, trembling, and he could feel you nearing the edge, every heartbeat, every gasp a drumbeat to his own rising need.

"I've waited far too long for this," He murmured against your throat, voice hoarse, husky. "To show you what it means to be truly cherished." His fingers moved faster, your breath catching as your eyes squeezed shut. "That's it, sweet girl... Let go."

Your cry ripped through the air as you tipped over, shuddering violently, the pleasure coursing through your body leaving you helplessly clinging to him as you gasped his name brokenly against the crook of his neck. Lucius groaned low in his throat, pressing you down into his lap, taking you fully as you rode the wave, his hands firm and unrelenting on your hips, his mouth meeting yours to claim every sound you made.

And when he finally reached his own edge, he hissed your name, gripping you completely, thrusting into you with one final, consuming claim that left you both gasping and trembling. You leaned into him, still trembling, body sticky and flushed, hair falling into wild tendrils around your face.

"Lucius..." You whispered, voice ragged, and he shushed you with a soft kiss at your temple.

"Let me take care of you," He murmured, sliding his hands to stroke your back, smooth and deliberate, tracing the curves of your body with reverent gentleness. "Let me make sure you come down from this properly."

He guided you to rest your head against his chest, long fingers brushing the hair from your damp forehead, tracing the line of your jaw. Every touch was slow, deliberate, possessive, but soft, almost worshipful.

"You’re exquisite,” He murmured, voice low and husky. “Even now, you are still absolutely radiant. Any man would be lucky just to breathe the same air as you." He let the words hang, then added with a softer intimacy, "Myself very much included."

You shivered again, curling into him, lips parting in a soft sigh. Lucius continued, his hands stroking your arms, shoulders, back, lingering over every place his hands could reach without pressure, just warmth and reverence.

"You deserve this," He murmured, kissing the crown of your head. "To feel safe, desired, cherished... never humiliated or abandoned again."

You let out a shaky sigh, nuzzling against his chest, breathing in the faint scent of him - rich, smoky, unmistakably him - and for the first time in months, you felt safe, entirely seen.

"Lucius…" You whispered, barely audible.

"Shh," He murmured. "No one else matters. Not now, not ever while you’re here with me."

Your fingers drifted to his chest, to the fine fabric of his robes, hesitating before tentatively tracing the line of his collarbone. "You... you make it sound like I’m something to treasure," You murmured, voice thick and vulnerable. "After everything... I feel like I should still be ashamed."

His hand rose to cup your jaw, tilting your face up so you met his gaze. His pale eyes held yours with an intensity that was both gentle and unrelentingly magnetic. "The shame isn’t yours, sweet girl,” He said softly, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “It’s his. Draco’s failure, not yours. You’ve done nothing wrong, except perhaps to be far too patient.”

A faint, breathless laugh escaped your lips. "Patience," You echoed, voice still trembling. "I thought it was love. But I was waiting for nothing. And now..." You paused, hiding your face against his chest again. "Now I feel ridiculous."

"You are far from ridiculous," He said, lowering his mouth to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Any man would be foolish not to worship you."

You lifted your head slightly, eyes meeting his, heart hammering at the implication. "You really mean that?" You whispered.

He smiled, a slow, knowing curl of his lips, and brushed his nose against yours. "I do. Every word. And I intend to show you, in every way I can, just how true it is."

Your hands drifted up to his chest again, and he leaned back slightly, allowing you to curl against him, to rest your head against his shoulder while his fingers threaded into your hair, brushing and stroking with languid care. He kissed your temple, your jaw, the side of your face, and every soft touch was a deliberate contrast to the intensity you had just shared - an unspoken promise that he would always handle you with this combination of hunger and tenderness.

"You’ve been betrayed before," He murmured, his breath warm against your hair. "Ignored, humiliated... but I will make sure you never feel that way again. Never."

Your lips parted in a soft sigh, leaning into him, and he whispered lowly, teasing just enough to make your pulse quicken without breaking the calm of the moment. "Do you feel it yet, sweet girl? How much you are wanted, how completely cherished you are? Because I want you to feel it not just once, but always.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, eyes bright and vulnerable, voice barely a whisper. "And if I forget?"

He smiled, brushing a finger along your lips. "Then I’ll remind you, every single day. With every glance, every touch, every moment you spend with me, you will never forget again."

[cyber333angel]

STEPDAD! DEX TWITTER P*LINKS <3

eating you out

bouncing on fbi stepdada!dex after begging all day

covering your mouth when you get too loud :(

pet play

somono with mean stepdad!dex

fbi stepdad!dex using your hole after getting overwhelmed with work

stepdad!dex after cornering you into your room

under his desk while he works

feeling dex’s wedding ring during your pussy inspection..

fingering you after being a brat all day

dex soothing his sweet girl after she was clingy all day

sneaking away in the car

sucking him off after being needy for it

in the kitchen when moms not home

[seduzist]

marriage lesson

alicent hightower x rhaenyra’s daughter! reader

cw. totally based on this drabble, but can be read individually. pseudo-incest smut but mentions of real incest (uncle-niece by arranged marriage), age gap (alicent is old enough to be reader’s mother), can be interpreted as being taken advantage of but it’s consensual so i will add dubcon just to be safe.

as not only a princess, but a targaryen, you knew you had your duties with the throne, doesn’t matter how much you tried to run and hide from it, it was useless, and the time finally came, viserys, the king himself, decided that a marriage between you, the loved daughter of rhaenyra targaryen, and aemond, his middle child, would seal the peace between his children and wife when he’s gone. you had no choice but do it, aemond wasn’t that bad, he always treated you with respect, respect he didn’t have for your bastard brothers and you resented him for it, but decided to ignore since you would have to marry him. you didn’t think many things would change between you after your marriage except for the fact that you would have to have his heir, to lay with him. and that’s exactly what made you nervous.

the anxiety running through your veins on the night before the marriage made you unable to sleep, so you thought that walk around the garden would help to calm your nerves, maybe even fully accept your undeniable future. you ordered your sworn sword to ignore your midnight walk, with the promise that you wouldn’t leave the castle. your steps silently echoed through the dark halls of the red fortress, trying to find anything that could take your mind off the day followed, until you saw the queen at the garden, sitting on a bench next to the middle tree.

“princess.” her soft voice reached your ears before you could think about going back to your bedroom, scared that she might be mad about your late night walks, but she seemed nothing more than pleased at the sight of you, she looked beautiful with her long hair down in curls falling over her back with her white nightgown exposing her arms and shoulders.

“your grace… i couldn’t sleep.” you said, taking a step closer to her, explaining yourself without any hesitation.

“it’s fine, it’s normal to be nervous before your marriage.” she scoffed, suggesting you to sit by her side with a hand gesture. you obeyed, feeling much more comfortable to be on her side, maybe comfortable enough to voice some of your thoughts.

“it’s not the marriage that bothers me… it’s the consumption of it.” you refused to look at her face, preferring to face the garden instead, but you were sure that she was smiling.

“what are you scared of?”

“my mother said it hurts the first time.” the queen let out a little chuckle at your response and you felt like an idiot for a second, before she speaks again, in a much lower tone, something different in her voice.

“indeed, it’s much easier for the man gain the pleasure in the first time than for the woman, perhaps… there’s something you can do that may ease the pain, and give you just as much satisfaction.” that’s when you face her, curiosity in your eyes while doing so.

“what that would be, my queen?”

she seemed very pleased by your question “we should not talk about such things here.” that’s what you remembered before end up in her chambers, almost begging her to teach you how to not feel pain during the act, her answer would be the relief of all the agony you felt the last days, you said, and the merciful queen couldn’t help but give in to your pleads.

“lay down on the bed, i’m gonna show you.” you obeyed immediately, waiting for her next instruction, but that didn’t come, instead, she sits by your side, looking at you for a minute or two, almost like she was in a intern battle, about to do something she could regret later, but soon enough her hand rest upon your leg, going up and hiking up your silk nightgown till your thighs, your entire body shivered at her touch, and she seemed just as much as affected as you. when her hand reached under your core, she stopped, breathing heavily, almost telling herself that was her last chance to stop, she didn’t.

“he’s gonna be on top of you, like this.” she opened your legs slowly and gently, positioning herself between them, but not laying down on top of you, unable to do such a thing, one of her hand held her body up and the other hand was touching you, watching carefully your expressions, mixed in shyness and nervousness, but she could tell you were aroused as her fingers pulled your underwear to the side, finally contacting your warm core. “oh gods…” she paused, whispering those words to herself, still unbelieving she was really doing it, but the whine you let out at the contact made her smile. “when he enters you… that’s when it hurts.” her voice was just above a whisper, if you were just a few more inches away, you couldn’t hear her, the whole atmosphere felt like a secret. “but then, if you touch yourself right here…” her middle finger made contact with your clit and your body had a entire reaction, you put your hand on her shoulder, by reflection, your mouth opened in a loud, surprised sigh, the queen’s smiled grew as she saw your reaction, she could feel her own excitement start to create a discomfort between her legs, but she ignored it.

her fingers started to rub your, once untouched, pussy, playing with your clit, rolling under her fingers in circle motions, you lets out moans under her, as a thin layer of sweat started to form on your skin, your reactions seemed to please the queen.

“see? how good it is? you can ease the pain, you can pleasure yourself.” her words were sincere but you wasn’t the one pleasuring yourself, no, it was her, your queen, right on top of you, her experienced fingers playing with your most sensitive part in the best way on the night before your marriage with her son. you could be naive, but not dumb, in someway, this was wrong, a sin, could be the reason why you were even more eager for it.

“feels really good, your grace.” the title slipped of your lips as a reminder of her place, of your place, but she couldn’t help herself at this point, she was dripping wet and your needy voice whispering those words felt intoxicating, a encouragement for her to continue, she approached her face of yours, and your immediate reaction was leaning in to kiss her, but you couldn’t reach, so you tried again, free from any shame, looking like a adorable desperate mess for her eyes, that’s when she gives in, not just kissing you, but claiming your lips, you were inexperienced, but learned quickly her pace as her tongue entered your mouth, exploring eagerly, you tasted like candy for her, the sweetest of the candies with a pinch of forbidden.

“gods, you’re gonna be the ruin of me.” she finally lets herself fall on top of you, whispering those words before kissing you again, your skins in much more contact, warm and sweaty, eager and hot, she was all over you, her fingers worked so well, her presence intoxicating all your senses, all you could feel was her, the pleasure she was giving you, the pleasure she felt just by touching you, you called the gods name, lost in your pleasure, but that was in vain, not even the gods could help you now, she would be the ruin of you.

[viesroses]

Summary | In the quiet of the Red Keep, a daughter and her mother, Alicent Hightower, confront the years of distance, longing, and unspoken desires between them. Amid whispered apologies and hesitant touches, they explore a forbidden intimacy, discovering comfort and vulnerability in each other’s arms.

author's note | I'm not very confident about smut.. but I hope you enjoy reading it!

！warning ！ mother!alicent x daughter!reader so if you'll be uncomfortable with this, please don't read it. targarcest—incsest—fingering. • 1.7k word.

The Red Keep had gone quiet in that peculiar way it only did at night. When the torches burned low and even the walls seemed tired of listening.

You were sitting on your bed, a book resting loosely in your hands, its pages long forgotten. Your eyes traced the same line over and over as your thoughts wandered far beyond the words, drifting into places you hadn’t meant to visit.

You barely noticed when the world returned to you—only the soft, tentative knock at your door pulling you back, right then and there.

Alicent Hightower stepped inside without waiting for an answer, her green dress whispering against the stone floor. There was something different in her tonight. No sharpness, no reprimand, only a tired stillness she didn’t bother hiding.

“I hope I’m not intruding...” she said, though her eyes had already found you, lingering as if this room were the only place she could breathe.

For a moment, she simply stood there.

Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, fingers tense, as if she were waiting for you to say something, anything.

You set the book aside and shifted to sit upright, finally meeting her gaze.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, even though you already knew the answer.

So many things were wrong.

Alicent had lived her life as if walking on thorns for as long as you could remember, every step careful, every breath measured. Since Aegon had taken the throne, that tension had only deepened, settling into her bones.

And yet, despite the years, you had never quite managed to give yourself fully to this family. Something had always felt misaligned.

You were different.

You had never truly felt like you belonged—not when whispers of duty replaced affection, not when childhood ended abruptly and you found yourself thrust into the heart of politics before you had learned how to want anything for yourself.

While everyone else spoke of war with certainty and conviction, all you had ever wanted was quiet.

Alicent let out a slow breath before walking toward the bed, careful not to sit too close as she settled beside you.

She said nothing.

You could see the exhaustion in her face—the kind that went deeper than sleep—but you still didn’t know how to offer comfort. Some nights she came only to sit beside you, saying nothing at all. Other nights, she stayed awake in the corner of the room, watching the candlelight flicker until dawn.

You allowed it.

Perhaps she felt some kind of peace here—or perhaps that was just another lie you told yourself.

“I’m tired.”

At the sound of her voice, you lifted your head. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. The strange intimacy of the moment left you tense, unsure.

Your gaze drifted to her hands resting in her lap.

You hesitated, then slowly reached out.

Alicent startled at the touch. It was clear she hadn’t expected it. Her eyes lifted to your face, searching, while you quickly lowered your own.

She took your hand in hers, warm skin against your cold hand. Her thumb moved gently, absentmindedly tracing over your knuckles, and you swallowed.

“You’re cold,” she murmured softly.

“You always were.”

Your brows knit together slightly—you understood the implication beneath her words.

“You didn’t want to warm me when you had the chance,” you said quietly. “Don’t blame me now.”

Your voice was tired, but the edge in it was unmistakable.

Alicent offered a sad, fleeting smile. She knew she had failed you—especially you. You hadn’t been an unwanted child, not truly, but she had always struggled to give you the tenderness you deserved.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “It won’t mean much, I know, but…”

Her words faded, leaving the space between you heavy with things left unsaid.

For a while, neither of you spoke. Your hand slowly began to warm in her palm, and just as you were growing used to it, she lifted her free hand—hesitant, careful—and reached toward you.

She stopped just beside your cheek.

She didn’t touch you yet.

Instead, she searched your face, waiting—quietly—for permission.

You met her gaze, swallowing hard before placing your hand over hers.

Alicent didn’t hesitate after that.

Her touch settled gently against your cheek.

She stepped closer. As if wanting to feel your soft skin more clearly, she leaned into you, closing the distance between your bodies. Her eyes were glassy; the look beneath her lashes drifted to your neck, then lingered on your lips.

“I didn’t mean to push you away…” The words slipped from her mouth with effort. “I love you. Believe me, I do. But— I don’t know how to show it to you anymore.”

As if that weren’t enough, the kiss she pressed to your forehead became the final blow. Your vision blurred with tears, making it hard to speak; your throat had tightened into a knot. She wiped a falling tear away with her thumb, then followed it with a gentle kiss. You weren’t uncomfortable with the attention, but it frightened you all the same—you didn’t want her to ignore you again in the morning.

Still, you gave in. As her kisses traced every part of your face, soft and unhurried, you closed your eyes and let yourself surrender.

Alicent leaned toward you. Without realizing it, your body stretched back slightly; as you tried to pull the book that brushed your hand from behind you, it slipped from your fingers and fell to the floor. The sound made your eyes flutter open—only to find her hovering over you. Her touches were so slow, so careful, as if she were afraid that even the smallest sudden movement might make you pull away.

You reached up in return, letting your hand rest against her cheek before sliding down to her neck. Taking courage from the contact, she leaned closer. When her lips brushed your chin, you held your breath, your chest tightening with anticipation.

“Let me show you,” she murmured. “I’ll make up for every day I left you without affection.”

You answered only with a small nod. Still, she studied your face for a moment longer, as if making sure—really sure—before lowering herself to you. When she exhaled softly against your lower lip, you were certain every hair on your body stood on end.

She kissed you softly at first—once, then again—testing you. When she noticed your lips parting in quiet invitation, she deepened the kiss, slow but certain. One of her hands continued to caress your cheek, while the other found your wrist and gently pinned it to the bed, not forceful, just enough to keep you there with her.

The moment she pulled away from your lips, she moved to your neck. She breathed you in, as if memorizing your scent, then tugged lightly at your silver hair to clear space before pressing more kisses along your skin. You didn’t know if your body was this sensitive because no one had ever touched you like this before—or if it was simply her, something uniquely hers.

When she slipped a small bite between her kisses, testing you, a soft whimper escaped your lips.

“Alicent—”

The way you said her name was the last thing she cared about. Without waiting, her hand slipped beneath your nightgown; as her fingertips traced along each of your thighs, she memorized every shiver she drew from you. She lingered at your inner thigh, watching the way you shifted your hips, silently asking for her touch.

Then her fingers found the fabric of your underwear. She paused there, over your clit, and began to stroke you slowly, deliberately. You could feel yourself growing wet—warm, hazy, your thoughts slipping out of focus.

The teasing wasn’t enough; you wanted more, and she knew it. She didn’t make you wait. She nudged your underwear aside, her middle finger gliding down until it met your heat, and she moaned as if she were the one being touched.

“I’ll take care of you,” she murmured. “My beautiful girl.”

You gripped the sheets beneath your hand. Between her touch and the way she spoke, the knots twisting in your stomach finally began to loosen.

She eased her finger into you slowly, patiently, as if she were teaching your body how to open for her. While she did, she made sure no part of your face or neck was left untouched—soft kisses, lingering presses of her lips, each one grounding you a little more in the moment. When she added a second finger, your body reacted before your mind could stop it, tightening around her.

“Shh… it’s alright. Don’t tense,” she whispered, her breath warm against your skin as she placed a kiss just beneath your ear. “I won’t hurt you.”

You focused on breathing—slow inhales, careful exhales—letting your body relax under her guidance, trusting her enough to make it easier.

Her movements found a steady rhythm, unhurried but deliberate. When you became aware of the soft, telling sounds between you, a sharp wave of sensation rushed through your head, threatening to pull you apart. Her thumb didn’t neglect you, drawing slow, knowing circles on your clit that made your thoughts dissolve.

A broken sound escaped you before you could stop it. Alicent immediately captured your mouth with hers, silencing you with a kiss that was both possessive and tender. As much as hearing you like this made her wet too, she didn’t want anyone else to hear you. This was only for her.

After a while, her fingers kept their rhythm; when she sensed how close you were, her movements grew surer, more confident. You couldn’t even find the strength to speak then—pleasure drowned out everything else. With her kiss sealing your lips, a low, muffled sound slipped free as your body finally let go, easing into the feeling.

Only when she was certain you’d settled did she withdraw her hand. Her gaze lingered first on your spent body, then on your face.

“Would you like me to stay here tonight?”

You nodded without a second thought. Alicent answered with a small, fond smile, bending to place a lingering, wet kiss along your inner thigh.

“Come,” she murmured softly. “Let’s get you cleaned up, my darling.”

[daemonlovergirl]

KINKTOBER DAY 22 ⎯ Massage

PAIRING ⎯ Alicent Hightower x Female Targaryen!Reader

WARNINGS ⎯ 18+, stepcest, teasing, dirty talk, squirting, fingering, au elements (no animosity between families), infidelity

\\ note: thank you so much to my friend who helped sooo much with writing this!! <3

The Queens’ chambers were quiet, yet they were not empty.

Alicent Hightower sat at her vanity, taking out the last of her hair now that the day-long feast had come to an end. Her auburn curls spilled over her tight shoulders, cascading down her back. Burning candles were spread far and few around the room, her scowl illuminated by a dim orange hue as the candle closest to her flickered.

With quiet steps, you entered the room⎯having followed her from the great hall where everyone else were still gathered for an extravagant party. You’d watched Alicent all night, noticing every sigh, every roll of eyes, and every time her expression went blank whenever her husband, your father, dismissed her words. Even at this moment, she seemed lost in thought, a distant look in her dark eyes.

A clearing of your throat caught her attention, meeting her gaze through the mirror she was facing as you approached. “Another busy day, I presume?”

She looked away from your gaze for a brief moment, a heavy sigh leaving her lips. “I thought it might never end.”

Her sour words were met with a small smile from you as you came to stand behind Alicent. “I can only imagine,” you purred softly, hands coming to rest on her tense shoulders. Alicent sat stiffly, shoulders raised high. Tentatively, your fingers began to press down into her skin through the fabric of her gown in gentle strokes. “Spending long hours with the Small Council and then having to entertain the crowd with your loving husband…It could make anyone feel quite…tense.”

Alicent’s breath caught in her throat at your actions, her eyes widened a fraction as she gazed upon you in the mirror⎯not quite brave enough yet to meet your gaze without the mirror’s assistance. Your thumbs continued to work at the base of her neck, the tension coiled deep beneath her skin. It made you feel pity for a brief moment, wishing you could take away any and all hardships she felt. Though, you could but provide a moment’s respite. She tensed under your touch, eyes locked on you as the words remained lost on her tongue.

Eventually, she found her voice. “We… I…I do not think we should continue…”

“How come? After all, it would not be the first time we have done such a thing,” you murmured, eyes low and focused on the tender skin that peeked out from the collar of her dress. Alicent shakily exhaled when you let your hand wander down her arm, trickling onto her stomach to trace indistinct patterns. Lowering your head, you rested it on her shoulder as you placed a gentle kiss against the crook of her neck. “I can do so much more to ease your tensions, my Queen.”

Her eyes fluttered shut when your hand brushed against her clothed thigh, cursing the wretched fabric that was in the way of your true motive. You smirked to yourself in the mirror as you always enjoyed playing with Alicent. You stood straight and removed your hand, chuckling when you noticed the offense written across Alicent’s face when you began to massage her shoulders once again⎯pretending as if you had not hinted at anything else.

Alicent rolled her eyes, but did not stop you. “You are a terrible tease.”

A soft laugh left your lips. “I wished to see how far you would let me go.”

She pursed her lips, her gaze dropping to her hands for a moment. Your eyes followed, noticing faint scars along her fingernails⎯ones she had for a long time and you wondered if she, once again, felt the urge to pick at her nails again. You did not say anything, attentive but allowing Alicent to have her space as well while you continued to massage the tension from her shoulders.

Then, she looked at you again with a solemn gaze. “Your father⎯”

“⎯will be none the wiser,” you interjected, shaking your head.

Alicent said your name, a protest building upon her tongue but it died quickly when she met your eyes. The same desire burned in you both, one that had existed for a long time, one that did not vanish even when Alicentmarried to your father, Viserys. 

Gently, you undid the green ribbons that held her dress together before assisting her out of them. She moved slowly, aching from the long day of sitting straight and tall. Alicent seemed much more relaxed with you once she had shed her clothing. You remained behind her when she sat back down, pressing gentle kisses against her skin.

A soft moan left Alicent’s lips, leaning into your kisses as she instinctively spread her legs. It made you smirk, always enjoying the reaction you earned from the otherwise stoic and rigid Queen.

“Just… Just give me what I want,” Alicent moaned, breathing deeply as she leaned against the back of the chair as her skin flushed red in the dim candlelight. “No more teasing, I cannot handle it.”

“As you wish, my Queen,” you muttered, continuing to suck at her skin. A part of you wanted to leave your mark, wanted everyone to know what you had done to Alicent Hightower⎯wanted your father to know that you were the one who brought such pleasure to his wife.

Slowly, your hands moved from her shoulders down her side. Normally, you would have taken the time to lavish her breasts with the attention she deserved. But, you could see Alicent’s desperation as she watched you with needy eyes. Your hands gripped her thighs, spreading them open. Alicent gasped at the crude action, but a chuckle left her lips when she noticed your playful smirk.

Your fingers eased through Alicent’s folds, her needy moan escaped her plump lips as she leaned her head back. Her hair cascading against the back of the chair, brushing against you. Her moans urged you on, swirling the wetness. And Gods, she was wet. You inserted a finger into her dripping core, brushing hard against the fleshy inside to earn yet another deep groan from Alicent. With a few heavy-handed thrusts, you inserted another finger.

It was then, Alicent gripped your wrist tight and pulled you around before pressing you against the vanity. Your fingers were still deep inside her, thrusting slowly as you watched Alicent work to remove your clothing. With shaky hands, she undid the ribbons of your dress. You only pulled out for a brief moment, allowing her to remove your garments until you both stood nude.

She kissed you on the mouth, holding you tight as if you were also something that might be stolen away. Her touch was ravenous, greedy and full of longing. She had you pinned against the vanity, helping you sit on it. A groan left your own lips, feeling her hand find your soaked cunt. Alicent smiled at your reaction and leaned forward, pressing her lips to yours. You firmly kissed her back, moaning against her lips as her fingers worked to swirl up your essence and bring it to your clit.

“You touch me so well, Alicent,” you hummed, leaning against the mirror as Alicent continued to touch you gently. Her touch was hesitant, but lingered with the need to be the one on top of the situation.

Her darkened gaze fell upon your features, mimicking your smirk as she tilted her head. “Perhaps, I have learned a thing or two from you.”

Yet, you would not let Alicent get away with making a mess of you. Reaching forward, you hooked an arm underneath her knee and lifted it up to the vanity. The stretch made Alicent wince for a moment, not used to moving her body into such a position before. You held her close, keeping her between your spread legs. Her fingers still deep inside you, plunging in and out as the sound of the wetness carried through the room. You grinned, pulling her cunt against your thigh for a brief moment.

“Tease,” Alicent muttered, grinding her cunt against your thigh for only a moment before you pulled away from her. She narrowed her eyes, shaking her head as she scolded. “I thought I told you none of that.”

“And, when have I ever listened?” you cooed, finding yourself grinding against Alicent’s hand. Her touch had improved from the times before you had spent in each other’s embrace.

Your hand gripped her waist, fingers finding themselves back into Alicent’s warm cunt. The two of you kept close, breasts brushing against one another as fingers found themselves lost within each other’s cunts. Your knees started to shake as you let most of your weight fall onto the vanity, groaning. Her fingers moved faster than yours, urging you toward a climax while you moved slower within her. Your eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, leaning against her as you pressed an open-mouthed kiss against her shoulder.

“Ohhh, Alicent…”

She panted slowly, adding yet another finger into your tight cunt. It earned another moan from you, feeling the burn of the stretch and relishing in it. “Are you almost there, my darling?”

You meekly nodded, arching into her each time she hit a particular spot deep within. “Yes…oh, Gods…”

Yet, you wanted her to find release at the same time you did. You quickened your pace, still just two in her cunt as you listened to her moans. You moved deep within her, no more shallow thrusts but deep and purposeful as your thumb circled her clit.

“Oh⎯!” she gasped, the leg that was on top of the vanity had begun to tremble with exhaustion and pleasure. Her head fell back, a whimper leaving her lips. “Yes, please, just like that… Do not stop, keep going.”

It made you grin, a fresh wave of wetness drenching your cunt at the sound of her pleading. You pulled her flush against you, devouring her lips into another battle as the two of you balanced on the edge of a climax.

And, finally, with a final, deep thrust of Alicent’s fingers deep inside your cunt, it had pushed you over the edge. You came hard with a shout of her name, slamming into the mirror as you trembled uncontrollably. Still, you kept enough control to continue thrusting into Alicent.

“Oh! I’m…I’m coming!” Alicent shrieked, surely loud enough for anyone to hear if they had been walking the halls of the Queens’ chambers. She came undone on your fingers, her essence gushing out to coat your fingers.

The two of you continued to grind against one another’s hands, chasing the ends of your orgasms as your breaths began to steady. It had been quite a mess made, things knocked off the vanity and the mirror fogged because of the two of you and the burning candle. Her thighs were covered in the mess she made.

She softly smiled, falling back into the chair as she struggled to catch her breath. You approached, pulling her into an embrace as her lips brushed against your breasts for a brief moment. Gently, you brushed some loose hair away from Alicent’s eyes, warmly smiling.

“How do you feel?” you asked softly, holding her close.

She returned the smile as she looked up at you, eyes relaxed for once as she trembled from the aftershocks of her intense orgasm. Very softly, she pressed a kiss against your breast as a thank you. “I feel lighter, better,” she whispered, eyes clouded with lust and peace. “Always better with you.”

The two of you shared another kiss, gentle and full of a love that was only reserved for one another. And in that moment, you truly felt as if she was yours and that you were hers.