brobf frank the pervert he is looooves taking pics and videos of reader getting fucked. by him, by robby, by mr. abbot, does not matter. when he’s teasing reader he makes her sit and watch them while he gives his filthy commentary
18+ mdni HNNNGGGHHH YES!!! he’s showing you a video he took a couple nights ago of robby fucking you, n at one point he’s pulling out slowly and your pussy makes a lewd squelching sound so you whine and turn away from the screen, but frank grabs your face and turns it back n pats your cheek till you open your eyes
“Baby, this is the best part—“ n frank moves in for a close up as robby’s big thumbs spread your wet, sticky lips to show off your fluttering hole <33 robby growls lowly in the video just as frank lets out a strained “fuck” right beside your ear <3
then robby gives your pussy two firm slaps that has you yelping and frank grinning ear to ear. “look at that pretty fuckin’ pussy, all swollen and messy for your daddy” UGH
cw: hurt/comfort, possessive aerion, sprinkle of fluff, reader is a bit of a crybaby, emotional distress, slight dacryphilia, face licking!!, making out, obsessed aerion, codependent relationship, (2kw).
a/n: i have an inkling aerion would lose his mind if his wife would only find comfort in him and no one else so i scrambled to write before i lost my train of thought!!
someone had made you cry. big, glistening tears lining your lash line as you tried to hold back more of those soft, hiccuped sobs. that plush, lower lip wobbling pitifully, already wet and salty with moisture.
his sweet wife.
so vulnerable, so sensitive, so emotional. the softest creature he had ever laid eyes on.
it should’ve disgusted him. how easy it was for you to be brought down to nothing but a heaping, wet mess in front of him, looking every inch more a pathetic excuse of a woman than someone who carried the targaryen name for moons now, since being tied to him.
your voice always shook. so soft, so brittle, like a bird's flutter of wings.
the look in his eyes should’ve been stern. unforgivable. so full of disdain it would make your sorrow grow. how dare a princess of your station, who will one day carry his legacy in your womb, stand there, soft hands reaching towards him with the urgency of a beggar, seeking solace?
but try as he might, denying you comfort has never been beneath him.
aerion’s pupils were blown so wide the purple was barely recognizable, breath hitching in his throat, broad chest heaving as he watched your fingers curl with hesitant urgency into the velvet of his tunic, the material scrunching in your grip.
“i’m sorry, husband,” you babbled through sniffles, barely able to keep your chin from wobbling as your teary eyes pleaded up at him, begging for consolation without words. for understanding. for forgiveness.
gods, you looked so fragile like this. a side of you aerion was expected to loathe. but gods, he craved it.
it was a sick, tormenting feeling that curled into the pit of his stomach and slithered its way to his chest, making it ache with the need to soothe. to appease the woman who carried his name, warmed his bed, and loved him without preamble, without ulterior motives.
aerion clicked his tongue once, twice, as if reprimanding her; a sound of disapproval, making your eyes brim with tears anew, thinking you have upset him with your wailing. but those poisonous thoughts dissipated when broad, warm hands lifted to cradle your flushed cheeks tenderly, encompassing your visage between them, rough fingers stealing some of the warmth in the ruddiness found against the apples of your cheeks.
“my sweet wife,” aerion crooned as he stepped closer, gaze never leaving your flushed face, so attentive it made a sob catch in your throat. his attention was always laser-focused, scathing in its intensity, like a predator on the prowl. a dragon in his might, his eyes onto his precious hoard. “why must you weep so? you’re debasing yourself beyond measure by taking courtly whispers to heart. those wenches know not of what they speak of.”
gods, you were so perceptive of him. every word out of his mouth curled around you, easing the tension in your body like a burning flame to a candle, dripping with reassurance rather than apprehension. you hung onto every single syllable, every softening of his tone, every touch that was meant to placate, to melt you back into something agreeable and content.
“but what if they speak truth?” you protested, not fully convinced that the poisonous words that have wafted through the walls and into your heart are without foundation. “if i am not meant to carry your name—”
aerion’s fingers pressed into your skin, dimpling the rosy flesh of your cheeks as his eyes narrowed, stealing the rest of your speech. his grip was unforgiving, but not bruising. he could never dream of marring your sweet features with his cruelty. it would be a disservice to his gaze, for how could he look at anything other than the dulcitude of your face, so soft and full of love for him, and see it blemished?
“you are my wife,” he spoke, barely above a whisper, but it sounded more like the edge of a sharp knife, glinting between you both. “not any of those simpletons of court, those painted whores with nothing to do but spit their venom at you.”
his voice lowered, pressing closer, lips brushing yours, feather light with each word. “you. the only one worthy of my seed in your womb, my name next to yours, my heart in the palm of your hands.”
aerion’s pupils dilated as he talked, always undone when talking about how much you belonged to him. how much of you he owned. it undid him more than anything else in the world.
but more so, how much of him you owned.
a prideful, conceited man such as him would rather plunge a dagger straight to his heart than admit such weakness, but he knew it to be true.
never before had someone relied on him as much as you did. he was your comfort, all things considered. even if he misplaced his anger at times, even if harsh words slipped unbidden from his mouth, you never wavered in your dependency on him.
he was needed. wanted. craved by you.
not in depravity, like all those years past when every courtesan and brothel girl would trip over themselves for a tumble into his bed.
but for safety, to soothe and console you in times of distress, holding you tight in his arms while murmuring gruff words into the crown of your hair.
all the gold in the world could not equate that small sigh you let slip past your lips as you calmed down, achingly content, as if all the troubles in the world vanished, nestling even closer to him.
and all because of him.
it made his cock twitch.
as it was now, as your tears glistened down your cheeks, eyes so wide with uncertainty, pleading for more solace, leaning into the rough grip of his fingers, even if it was uncomfortable.
aerion had to bite back a groan at the sight. gods, it was addicting. arousing.
your tears were wet and hot as they slid against his skin, and he didn’t think twice before adjusting his grip, fingers lowering until they cradled your jaw, tipping it up towards him, his mouth inches away from the damp, ruddy cheeks.
“they do not deserve your weeping, your tears,” aerion rasped against your skin, rough lips pressing against warm flesh, trailing the path of your sorrow with reverence. his eyes lowered, half lidded with mounting hunger as he felt the saltiness onto his lips, arousal spiking at the taste.
“only i do, my sweet wife,” he continued, tongue poking out to lick a glistening teardrop from your cheek, tracing its course back up, underneath your eyes, where another kiss fell, tender. the gasp that fell from you was delicious, the gesture dirty, uncommon, but done so delicately, it brought nothing but warmth to your chest, and between your legs. and a twitch of satisfaction to aerion’s lips.
you were so easy to unravel. to please. now that he started, he couldn’t cease the gnawing feeling of more, more, more.
his tongue met your skin again, lapping at every trace of tears he found upon ruddy cheeks, holding you firmly in his grasp, turning your face every which way he pleased to reach every single lingering tear. aerion’s breathing picked up with each lave of his tongue, eyes blown wide, the purple almost obscured by the black of his pupils as the salty taste coated his taste buds and stuck to the back of his throat.
your breathing matched his, only faster, small hitches of breath remaining as you calmed down your crying, interrupted by hushed whines whenever the tip of your husband’s tongue flicked against your skin, curling obscenely, almost reptilian. in moments like these, he was more dragon than man, the thought only making the warmth in the pit of your stomach flare hotter.
“a—aerion—,”
“husband,” he cut you off without preamble, followed by a hint of teeth against the apple of one cheek, as if in reprimand, before soothing it with a lick of his tongue, slow and warm. “my name is mine own,” his whisper was ragged, underlined by the hint of a growl. then he paused, enough for your breath to hitch as his lips descended to brush against yours again. “husband means i am yours.”
you gasped against his mouth, the raw possessiveness in his words lightning a fire in your veins, leaning forward instinctively to chase his lips, but he held you firm by your jaw. a twitch of his lips followed, accompanied by a self—satisfied hum from deep in his chest, akin to a purr. the gratification he got from your eagerness was addictive, like a drug.
“say it, my sweet wife,” he demanded, tongue flicking out against your lips, slow and filthy, not letting you pursue it, reveling in the whimper that vibrated against his taste buds. gods, he could almost savor it, sweet as honey suckle and twice as consuming. “who am i?”
he could see how wide your eyes got, how rapid the flush of your cheeks reddened, bright and embarrassed at being put on the spot like this, of being demanded in such a way. but the way your plush lips parted betrayed you, along with the hammering pulse aerion could feel where his fingers pressed beneath your jaw. his wife loved this, too.
“husband,” came unbidden, breathy and so, so eager, the last syllable dissolving into a whine, so overwhelmed that new tears glittered in those pretty eyes he loved so much. “my husband, my—”
one teardrop fell slowly down your skin, tracing a path towards your mouth, disappearing along a plush lip.
and aerion’s resolve shattered, tongue following the damp trail down after it, relentless, a groan rumbling from deep within his chest as he chased the wetness of the tear, tongue licking, broad and filthy between your lips now.
you were always so warm. be it your mouth or your cunt or your embrace, the warmth never ceased to pull him in, infallibly making him want more. always more from you.
he licked into your mouth, his grip on your jaw firm, pulling lightly to urge you to slacken, wanting you pliant and easy under his tongue. aerion couldn’t help it. you tasted so good, made such pretty sounds as he traced the roof of your mouth, the back of your teeth, and swirled his tongue around yours, slick and wet, the sounds echoing in the space between you.
his other hand slid towards your throat, wrapping his fingers around it. not to squeeze, just to hold, to possess. he could feel the telltale vibration of your whines, of your moans as he suckled your tongue into his mouth, and it gave him a thrill like no other.
his cock was so hard in his breeches, tenting it obscenely, almost brushing against your thigh if you would move even an inch closer. he hoped you would soon. aerion would have no qualms in rutting against your pretty legs to get off. you were his wife, and he would take his pleasure from you without shame, in any medium he could get it, using you to feel good.
“no more sorrow over petty courtly whispers,” he whispered as teeth nipped at your lip, a reminder of how this all came to be, of why your tears were now coating the back of his throat instead of sliding against your pretty face. “you are above every witless wench that dares speak ill of you, of us,” his words were rough to chide you, but he couldn’t help sliding his tongue against the reddened skin where he bit, as an apology.
you nodded, eagerness to please bleeding out of you and towards him, heating the fire always lying dormant in his being, caught to life by you. only ever you. “yes, husband,” came your whisper, lips brushing his, yearning to keep kissing, to cease his speech, but he didn’t let you yet, overly pleased by your readiness in giving him what he wanted. in letting him soothe the doubts that might still linger in the soft crevices of your heart.
“very well,” he crooned, pressing his lips to yours in a chaste but lingering kiss, rewarding you silently, pleased with the state of you now.
something something... art donaldson eating it over clothes
he's exhausted after a long day of practice or a difficult match and just desperately wants to be in your arms and unwind. curls up with you as you watch tv or something, head nuzzling into your lap. your hand cards through his hair idly, nails softly scraping across his scalp so casually. it could've lulled him to sleep if he wasn't so desperate for you. he presses soft kisses to your thighs, practically burying his face between them until you shift enough to give him room. his gentle kisses to the soft flesh of your thighs turn messier, more intent until he's straight up mouthing at your skin. his teeth nip at the soft skin there until your legs open up even more, the scent of you, the heat of you overwhelming him until his face is just buried right between your thighs, not even bothering with your shorts. his hands knead at your thighs, lazily mouthing at your shorts until they're all sopping wet and it's so much bc it's just not enough. but he's just so lost in it, eyes closed, humming and huffing each time your nails scratch his scalp or he draws another little moan from you. yeah.
trinity santos x black fem pitt princess!reader warning, this ship includes: matching accessories (socks, bracelets, rings), clingy!trinity, princess treatment, hand-holding, karaoke dates, protective!trinity, flirty eye contact, playful, “you know better” smiles, gifted jewelry, wingman!dennis, wingwoman!victoria, plenty of voice memos, reader waking up at trinity’s place, occasional packed lunches, a shared playlist, “did you just see/hear that?” looks, tons of workplace gossip sessions, reminiscing about college days, lesbian barhopping, trinity being protective of reader while barhopping (barhopping was her idea, by the way), and so much more!
✦ okay they’re cute or whatever… they’re extremely cute let me not lie. i think pitt princess!reader would be the end of trinity’s addiction to doomed wlw situationships. do you guys think dr. garcia would be annoyed/jealous though? ooo drama opportunity!
feat. Jacaerys Velaryon
ᯓ★ Stuck in a dull marriage with a man decades older than you, your childhood friend convinces you why he should have been your betrothed.
warnings! : NSFW 18+, fem!reader, non-canon timeline (no dance of the dragons and rhaenyra is queen), cheating, reader is married, jace is not engaged, mention of male infertility, YEARNING, protective!jace, possessive!jace, cuckolding but the husband doesn't watch, lots of build up, banter, biting, breast playing/sucking, cunnilingus, begging, dirty talk, unsafe sex, breeding kink, belly bulge, creampie, squirting, mild cum play, cum eating, love confessions
ᯓ★ kinktober m.list || read on ao3
Music and laughter swell in sync as the crowd of dressed up lords and ladies glide across the floor, twirling with bright smiles and reddened cheeks courtesy of wine and ale. You linger at the edge of it all, lost in thought. Your soft smile is practiced, the kind a lady learns to wear when she cannot bring herself to join in.
Around you, the world dances. You simply watch.
“Still hiding along the walls, I see.”
The familiar voice pulls you from your thoughts. You turn.
Jacaerys Velaryon stands proudly before you. He’s taller than he was the last time you saw him, broader in the shoulders, looking regal in house Targaryen’s signature deep red and black. He’s no longer the boy who chased you through the halls and played pretend with you in the courtyard, but his eyes are the same. Dark and earnest, always looking at you like he knows something no one else does.
“Still finding me wherever I hide,” you mutter, your smile dropping into a more genuine one.
His grin widens. “Some things never change.”
While you gaze longingly at the crowd, wishing like you could feel like you belonged with them, Jace studies your face like he’s memorizing every curve of it.
“Dance with me.”
He holds his hand out in front of you, but you hesitate to grab it. Instead, you turn to find your husband standing across the room. His goblet is tipped high, ale spilling into the silver of his beard. He’s deep in conversation with another lord, no doubt making some sort of political promise. You doubt he notices you’re gone.
Jace doesn’t follow your gaze. He doesn’t need to. He already knows what you’re searching for, what worries are on your mind.
He remains patient, his grin transitioning to a small smile, gentle and earnest. His eyes are reassuring, glimmering with youth. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs, his hand still extended. “He won’t notice.”
This isn’t the prince talking, the heir to the Iron Throne, but your friend who you grew up with, who you dreamed of exploring the world with, who once told you he’d never marry unless it was to someone who laughed like you did.
You take his hand.
The warmth of his palm comforts you, and he squeezes your hand gently—protectively, almost—as he weaves you through the crowd.
The music rises. Couples scurry to the floor, readying for another dance.
You and Jace move together seamlessly, able to easily read the other in the way only two people who grew up in rhythm can.
“I remember when we used to practice dancing in the courtyard,” Jace says quietly. “You’d step on my toes and blame me for it.”
“I remember you letting me,” you reply, a smile tugging at your lips.
His face lights up, eyes never leaving your face. “I would’ve let you break all ten toes if it meant you’d keep laughing.”
The words hang heavy in the air between you.
You look down, biting your lip and lowering your voice. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“I know,” he says, his fingers tightening in yours. “But I’ve spent years not saying things. And none of it made this any easier.”
You exhale shakily. “Jace…”
“You were supposed to marry someone who saw you,” he says, voice raw now, like it’s been caged for too long. “Someone who knew you. Who would cherish you. Not some drunken fool who your incompetent father promised your hand to when his status began to plummet. Not some lord twice your age who calls you “girl” like it’s your name.”
“Jace!” you hiss, your head swiveling around to ensure no one heard him.
He doesn’t waver. “I merely speak the truth.”
You sigh. “It couldn’t have been helped,” you whisper, soft enough only he can hear. “I should have been smarter to know that I had no choice in the matter.”
“When I take the throne…” he glances over to where his mother, the Queen, sits at the head of the room, looking as poised as she always does, chatting with her advisors. “I will fix it. I promise you.”
You shake your head. “Don’t make promises that may not be kept.”
Silence drapes around you and the music slows. Your bodies sway with it, and you lean closer into Jace without even meaning to. He welcomes you into his hold, one hand coiling around your backside.
The comfortability of his hold was dearly missed, something you longed for when you were stuck in the unfamiliar and cold confines of your new residence. But perhaps you got too comfortable in his arms, and in your weariness you let something slip you hadn’t meant to.
“There have been some…problems between us recently.”
He sucks in a sharp breath. “Has he hurt you?” His palm cups your cheek, eyes searching your face as if looking for an answer your words may not give him. “Say the word, and he will be dead before morrow.”
“No, no.” You shake your head furiously, removing his palm and taking it into your own. Your husband was more the type to ignore you when he was furious rather than come to violence—the only blessing in this arrangement that you had.
“We’ve spoken with maesters, and I’ve even snuck out in the night to talk with a healer. They don’t think he can give me children.”
Jace’s gaze sharpens, and his eyes flicker with something unfamiliar to you.
He doesn’t say anything, so you continue. “Everyone is expecting an heir. A son. He was furious at first, believing me to be defective, but now I just…exist. Remain ignored. He doesn’t know what to do.”
His jaw tightens, and his hand shifts slightly on your back, moving lower and pulling you closer, so close if you just stretched up and leaned forward your lips would brush against his.
“What if I said I could help?” he asks, voice quiet and steady.
You blink. “Help?”
“If it’s an heir everyone wants, if it’s blood they care about—then let it be mine.” His eyes meet yours, and they’re burning now with devotion. “Let it be ours.”
Your breath catches.
“I would give you a child not because he can’t,” he says before you could protest, leaning in just enough that only you can hear. “But because I’ve wanted to love every piece of you since we were young. And I’ve run out of reasons not to.”
The song ends, but you don’t move. Neither does he.
His hand remains at the small of your back, your fingers still tangled in his as you stare into each other’s eyes.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he murmurs. “But I won’t take it back.”
You don’t ask him to.
Instead, you draw your hand away, slow and measured. Your gaze flickers toward a table where your husband now sits—rather, slouches in his chair, oblivious to the two of you.
“He doesn’t know how to see you,” Jace says, stepping in front of you, blocking your view of your husband. “He doesn’t even try.”
You don’t say anything. You’re too conflicted, unsure of what words will come out of your mouth if you open it.
“Come with me.” Jace lowers his head, and you gasp as his lips almost brush against your own as he whispers. “Please.”
Your gaze shifts. “It would be foolish of me to.”
His eyes lower to your lips. “Perhaps.”
“But sometimes I am a foolish woman.”
His thumb rubs against your cheek. “I know.”
Then someone crashes into your shoulder.
A laughing nobleman, half-drunk, half-spinning, staggers backward into you before muttering an apology and stumbling on.
Just like that, the moment shatters.
You step back from Jace abruptly, heat flooding your cheeks as reality comes rushing back in—the candles, the music, the people, your husband seated only a few paces away. The world has not stopped, and you have lingered in fantasy too long.
“I shouldn’t—” you start, your heart hammering in your chest as you begin to retreat further.
But Jace catches your wrist, pulling you back gently.
“No. Don’t do this,” he says. “Not now. I can’t have you leave again.”
“Jace—”
“Come with me,” he repeats. There’s no command in his voice, only a desperate plea. He doesn’t sound princely, merely vulnerable. Just like the boy from your childhood.
You take a deep breath and look around you. No one is watching you, all caught up in their own conversations. Your husband remains in his seat, having not spared a single glance your way.
You allow yourself to give Jace a small nod of your head. You hear his breath hitch as your fingers lace with his, hidden by folds of your billowing dress sleeve. He keeps his head lowered and his pace steady as he leads you out through the hall’s far side, past a heavy velvet curtain and into the quiet familiarity of a servant’s passage, devoid of any people to whisper and gossip about the two of you.
You can hear the sound of your heart pounding despite the music in the great hall carrying on and the chatter continuing behind you, the guests remaining oblivious to you sneaking away with their prince.
You recall the times you’ve scurried through these halls with him when you were children, hiding from the responsibilities that were soon to be placed upon you.
The corridor soon twists into a narrower passage, lined with old, unpolished stone. You pause once you're far enough from the hall, your voice soft as you whisper. “I remember this.”
Jace glances back, his eyes bright even in the dark. “I was hoping you would.”
He pulls you gently forward again, and you let him.
Finally, he stops before a wooden door, worn down from absence of care and tucked behind a shadowed alcove.
As he opens it, you spot a couple of flickering candles lighting up the room along with the small hearth already burning in the corner. The room is plain but warm, no doubt used as a spare chamber meant for temporary workers or maids. But it’s empty now, abandoned with all hands needed for the celebration you had just escaped from.
The door closes behind you with a soft click, and Jace turns to you. For a moment neither of you move. You’re unsure of what to do, what to say, how to act. You opt to fiddle with the seams of your dress, waiting for him to make the first move.
Jace watches you like he’s memorizing this moment, eyes full of awe, as though if he’d blink you would disappear from his sight.
Then he strides towards you, and you gasp as his hand reaches toward your cheek. He cups it gently, stroking your skin under this thumb.
“I’ve dreamt of this,” he admits suddenly. “Before the betrothal. Before they gave you away.”
You meet his eyes. “What did you dream of?”
The hand touching you trembles slightly, and he raises the other to brush against your waist, then your back, pulling you gently to him. “Of you choosing me. Even if it was just once.”
You breathe in. “And now that it’s real?”
“Now I’m terrified,” he says, a subtle quake in his voice.
You smile, just a little. “You hide it well.”
“I’ve always had to. Wanting you for so long, and never being allowed to show it…it’s made a liar out of me.”
You reach up and place your hand over his, a gesture of intimacy you’re not afraid to show in privacy. “You don’t have to lie now.”
And then he kisses you.
It’s soft at first, and your lips lock so perfectly it feels as though you’ve done it hundreds of times before. Jace’s hands frame your face with a light touch, as if he’s afraid you may pull away. But when you don’t, when your fingers curl into the fabric at his chest, he deepens it, all the heat and pent-up years pouring into the act, speaking for the unspoken words of your affection for each other.
You part, breathless, and Jace presses his forehead to yours for a moment.
When your lips meet again, there’s no hesitation this time. Jace kisses you like he’s starving, surging forward with so much force that your back hits the wall with a dull thud that neither of you acknowledge. You respond in kind, mouth open beneath his, your hands buried in his dark curls, pulling him closer to you.
“I want you,” he murmurs against your lips. “I’ve needed you so bad.”
His hands curl around your backside, fiddling with the closure of your dress. You gasp when the cool air hits your bare back, arching into Jace’s hold even more as your dress pools at your feet. You two move across the room hurriedly, still holding on to each other when your legs hit into the bed.
As you fall back onto the bed, the kiss turns messy. It’s hungry, and it’s desperate—a kind of desperation so unfamiliar to you that it has you whimpering, pulling back for air and for reason. But Jace follows you, his lips brushing yours again, chasing your touch as if he’ll die if he stops.
“This is wrong,” you breathe, the words practically muffled between kisses.
“I don’t care,” Jace groans, his voice ragged and frustrated with need. “Gods, I don’t care.”
He kisses you again, rougher now, and you don’t pull away. His teeth catch your bottom lip and you whimper, pulling him closer.
“It’s not supposed to be like this,” you whisper against him as he drags his lips down your throat.
“It was never supposed to be anything but us,” he rasps. “Your father stole that from us. I’m only taking it back.”
Your internal conflict, the push and pull between the anxiety of being caught and your carnal need for Jace, causes your heart to hammer in your chest. “My marriage, Jace—”
“Will be a problem no longer once I am king.” His lips move across the top of your breasts now, sucking into the delicate skin. “And he’s never touched you like this,” he hisses, taking a nipple into his mouth, your hands flying to tangle into his hair, “don’t lie to me.”
Your silence is answer enough.
“You will get your heir,” Jace affirms, pulling back to look at you in your naked glory. His hands slide across your waist and ghost over your stomach. “But it will be mine.”
Jace hurriedly sheds his layers and you unabashedly stare as he does so, propping yourself up on your elbows. You admire the chiseled curves of his body, no longer a boy but instead a man hardened by intense training.
When he sees you eyeing him, he smirks. “Staring, my lady? That’s rather improper of you.”
You scoff softly, but a smile tugs at your lips. “You brought me here, Jace. Don’t act so innocent now.”
As Jace sheds his final layer, matching your nudity, his cock stands proudly before you. You gulp, feeling the heat rising to your face. Your eyes drop briefly to his member, and Jace catches the motion.
“You’re still looking.”
You bite your lip. “How can I not?”
“I like it.” His hand wraps around your ankle, pulling you forward across the plush mattress. “I never want you to stop looking.”
Your lips part in surprise, but no sound comes.
He leans in again, leaving a trail of light kisses on your stomach and back up to your breasts.
“You have no idea what it’s taken to not touch you like this. Every time I would catch a glimpse of you, I wanted to take you away and never return.” He bites at your skin again, as if staking his claim on you with his mouth. “Every time I saw you with him, I wanted to break every rule there was just to have you.”
Your fingers run down his back, tracing the lines of his muscles beneath them.
“You have me now.”
The resolve in your voice almost shocks you at first, but as you stare into Jace’s wide gaze, eyes full of pure, unadulterated affection, you know now that you have never been more sure of anything in your life.
His mouth finally brushes yours.
“Then I’m never letting go.”
When he kisses you again, you finally allow yourself to submit to him completely, to submit to the irrevocable pull towards Jace that you’ve had since the moment you met him. There was no turning back now, and you relish in the fact that you no longer wish to. Marriages and politics be damned, all you wanted right now—all you needed—was him.
Jace pulls back, and you believe that he’s readying to enter you. You untense your legs and spread them but your brows furrow as you see him instead lower his head by your entrance.
“What are you…?” you trail off.
Jace gazes up at you through his lashes, as he begins to bite and suck at the skin of your inner thighs. “I want to taste you.”
Before you can respond, Jace bows his head again and licks at your already-wet slit.
“Oh,” you moan, the feeling of his rough tongue lapping at your entrance sends shockwaves down your spine, igniting even more arousal in your system. “Oh, Gods.”
Your fingers find their familiar place coiled around his curls, anchoring yourself to him as he delivers you unimaginable euphoria.
Jace watches your reactions carefully, the way surprise and pleasure plaster your features as you cling onto him for stability. “Has he ever feasted on you?”
You shake your head. “He was rather…simple.” You gasp as his tongue curls inside of you, hitting your walls in deeper spots than before. “I have never known of this feeling before.”
He scoffs. “Pathetic.” He thumbs at your swollen clit and you jerk at the touch. “But I will take great pleasure in being the only one to ever do so.”
His tongue swirls inside of you, and the noises he makes while pleasuring you are downright erotic. He moans into your cunt, as if it were a meal he had been desiring for years, and the vibrations enhance your sensations.
Your eyes, shut before from the sudden bliss, now open to observe him. Beads of sweat condensate on his hairline, his dark curls beginning to stick to his forehead. His cheeks are flushed as if he had been running, and his eyes are closed, relishing in your ecstasy.
You tremble under his mouth, body falling back into the bed as his tongue pulls out whines and whimpers from your throat.
“Has he ever made you feel like this?” Jace asks, practically growling into your cunt.
“Never,” you reply shakily.
“Only I can make you feel this good, right?” He plants messy kisses along the length of your slit. “Make you see stars, pray to the gods that you may never have to part from me again.” When you don’t answer, he nips at your clit. “Right?”
“Yes!” you cry. Your vision blurs as your eyes begin to water from the stimulation. “Jace, please!”
“Whatever you wish for, I shall give you,” he croons. His tongue breaches you again, and you believe in that moment that Jace may be a prophet with the way you truly see stars.
“Need you inside of me,” you whine, “now.”
He chuckles against your skin. “I was never one to deny you anything.” He lifts from your cunt as it drips from saliva and natural arousal. His fingers play with your swollen lips, twitching with need. You buck into his fingers, chasing his touch, but he pulls away. Jace crawls over your body, one hand placed near your head to steady himself on the mattress, the other reaching down to tug at his member.
Your heart pounds in your chest as you glance down at his erect cock. He was much larger than your husband, easily noticeable to you by looking.
“What is it?” he asks, picking up on your stare.
“It’s just that…” you swallow. “You’re a lot bigger than him.”
You almost smack him at the way his eyes light up. “Oh really?” Pride drips from his words.
You cover your face with your hands. “Just be gentle with me, please.”
“Hey, hey.” He pulls your hands away and presses a light kiss to your lips. “I merely jest.” He searches your eyes for confirmation of your comfort.
You inhale deeply, smiling gently and nodding up at him. He breathes a sigh of relief and begins to pump his cock slowly, aligning it with your entrance.
“Say you want me,” he mutters, “that you want me just as much as I do you.”
“Gods, I want you so much, Jace. I have never wanted anything more.” You completely surrender yourself to him, relaxing your body into the mattress and spreading your legs further.
“Now fuck me, please.”
Jace doesn’t need to be told twice.
When he finally enters you, his first thought is that he doesn’t know how he lived this long without being connected to you.
His second thought is that he might cum way too early.
Your name leaves his lips like a prayer.
“Gods, you feel so good,” Jace whimpers, face scrunched up in bliss, “better than I could’ve ever imagined.”
He rocks his hips slowly into you, conscious of your hesitation at his size. It’s almost painful, the way his cautious movements make him keenly aware to his heightened sensations courtesy of you—the way your nails dig into his back and leave a pleasant burn, your soft mewls sends the blood rushing straight to his cock, your cunt stretching to accommodate his size and still clenching around him as if it never wants to let him go.
“Jace,” you moan breathlessly. Your head is thrown back onto the bed, neck bared to him. He can practically see your pulse racing against it. “Oh, Jace.”
Every utterance of his name that spills from your lips has his heart racing faster and faster. His cock twitches inside of you and his slow thrusts allow for your walls to suck him in, seating him inside of your cunt like a missing piece to a puzzle. It takes all his strength to not just pound you into the mattress, but he can feel himself slowly losing a grip on it.
“Please, please, can I move faster?” If Jace were any more lucid, he would be embarrassed at the high-pitched whine of his voice. But right now, all he’s focused on is pumping his cock into you and filling you with his seed.
You don’t open your eyes, and Jace isn’t sure if you heard him at first. But then you whimper, body quaking, and he hears it.
“Yes, yes, yes.” Softly, under your breath, you give him the answer he was so desperately searching for.
His hips start moving frantically, as if they had a mind of their own. His cock hits places deep inside of you that have remained untouched, so deep it feels like it's making a home inside of you.
Jace’s thrusts continue in their strength as his palm moves to press onto your stomach, fingers splayed as if branding your skin. He leans over you, curls damp with sweat, pupils blown wide. His lips are swollen kiss-bruised and part with uneven breaths. When he speaks, his voice is low and ragged.
“You’re going to carry my child,” he says suddenly. “ I swear to the gods, I’m going to put an heir in you right now.”
Your thighs quake at his assertiveness and your cunt weeps, practically acting as an open invitation, begging him to fill you up with his seed.
He feels the shift instantly. His grin is triumphant.
“Oh,” he breathes, “you like that?”
Your lips part, but you don’t deny it.
“You like the thought of it,” he confirms, watching your face, his hand sliding slowly up your thigh. “Of your husband” —he practically spits the title out— “in his cold, lonely bed while my seed takes root in you. While you swell with my heir.”
“Jace—” you murmur, breathless.
But he’s too far gone now, the words tumbling out of him—confessions from a man who’s been holding back far too long.
“When I’m king, I’ll name our children as my heirs openly. We’ll have no secrets or shame about it. Let the court talk. Let everybody talk.” He leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Let your husband choke on it.”
You shiver.
He chuckles darkly against your skin and his cock pulsates inside of you as he rocks into you with absentminded vigor, his brain now conjuring up the fantasies he’d been keeping close since the moment you were taken from him and promised to another.
“I’ll make him bow to you. Make him watch as I crown you my queen. And he’ll know that every time he sees you, every time he hears your name, that he was never enough.”
His hand is at your jaw now, thumb stroking along your cheek. “He’ll hear the stories, of course. About how you cry for me. How you beg for me. How I touch you in ways he never could. Ways he never even thought to.”
You’re aching just from his words, legs tightening around him as your cunt flutters succinctly.
Jace notices. Of course he does.
“Oh, you do like that,” he says, voice low and amused, full of heat. “You want to see him humiliated. Don’t lie.”
You can’t speak. You don’t want to, instead wishing to bask in Jace’s words, full of desire and possession over you. You feel cherished, feel chosen—something you haven’t felt since the last time you had spoken to Jace many months ago.
“Perhaps we’ll name one after him,” Jace adds with a cruel smile, “as a joke. Or better yet—” He presses his forehead to yours, seating himself fully inside of you. “—we’ll give our firstborn a true Targaryen name, and the realm will know why. They’ll know it’s because you wanted me. You chose me. Because he couldn’t give you what I could.”
You gasp, half-horrified, half-delighted by the image, the madness of it, the kind of a life where none of this has to be hidden anymore.
“You’re mine,” he whispers against your lips. “And I’ll have you forever tied to me. I’m done pretending otherwise.”
You arch up and kiss him with the kind of passion that says you believe it. That you’ll live out these fantasies with him.
Jace moans into the kiss, his hips stuttering. When he pulls back, he glances down, admiring the way that your stomach bulges slightly when he pushes his entire length inside of you.
“Fuck,” he mutters, gritting his teeth. He presses down on the area where his cock lies inside your cunt, causing you to whimper. “Can you feel me here? All the way up inside of you?”
The pressure has you reeling, clutching around wildly to stabilize yourself. “Jace! Yes!” You don’t even know what you’re responding to anymore, unable to tell if you’re even coherent or not, your senses jumbled as you try to navigate yourself back to reality.
“Do you want my seed?” His voice raises. “Do you want to carry my heir? Be sent back to your drunkard husband with your belly full of me?”
“Yes, yes!” At this point, you aren’t sure if any other words can come from your mouth.
“Yeah you do.” Jace thrusts into you so hard it pushes you back against the bed, your head pressing up against the stone wall. You hold an arm out to stop yourself from moving any more, Jace too far gone in his pleasure to notice how much control he has over your body.
His fingers dig into your waist, bruises no doubt going to show up later. Your limp body arches as he holds you up, the veins in his forearms bulging with intensity as he mercilessly fucks you onto his cock.
His rhythm completely falters and his eyebrows scrunch up. “Fuck, fuck, I’m cumming!”
A sudden warmth fills you as Jace’s thick seed barrels into your cunt. It feels as though he has filled your every crevice, and looking down you feel as though your stomach bulges slightly at the amount of cum that’s been released inside of you.
Despite his orgasm passing Jace continues to thrust into you, albeit more gently. You whimper at the squelching sound it makes, his seed becoming displaced by his cock.
“Wait.” Your voice is raspy, your eyes bleary with unshed tears. You ghost a hand over your stomach, “Don’t let it spill.”
Jace answers your request with the swipe of his fingers, gathering the thick white seed that dribbled down your thigh and pushing it back into your entrance. “I did my duty here,” Jace murmurs, treasuring the sight of you full of his cum. He then turns his attention to your clit, still throbbing with unfulfilled gratification, “but a woman’s orgasm helps to truly implant the seed.”
You feel more sensitive now than ever, on the cusp of your own release. There’s a good kind of pain in the way that your built up peak threatens to push you over the edge.
Jace’s movements are adept, reading your body language expertly as he begins to coax your orgasm from your body. He mouths at your collarbone, leaving sloppy kisses and bite marks that illustrate the journey he took in exploring your body.
His fingers press down harder on your clit, and you jolt.
“Oh fuck—I can’t—”
“You can, you can,” he coos into your ear, biting softly on the lobe as his fingers circle your clit hurriedly.
“Jace!” With a final cry of his name, your orgasm hits you like a thunderstorm. Your cunt spasms furiously as your juices spray out, soaking Jace’s cock—still buried inside of you—and his frontside.
His eyes widen in wonder and amusement. “Look at you.” He collects some of your arousal off of his stomach, sticking his fingers into his mouth and sucking it. “So perfect for me.”
He kisses you, his tongue pushing its way into your mouth. You’re met with the unfamiliar taste of yourself, mixed with his own essence. Your head is full of the thoughts of you two together—your bodies, your fluids, your children.
“It’s okay.” Jace mutters. You don’t even realize your entire body is shaking until Jace runs a soothing hand up and down your arm, and you instinctively lean into his touch. He lowers himself onto the bed next to you and pulls you to his chest. “Lay with me for a bit.”
He doesn’t even have to ask. He knows what you want to do.
The fire from the hearth crackles low beside you, becoming the loudest noise in the room as it casts soft golden glow over tangled sheets and your tangled limbs.
You lie half-curled against Jace, your fingers resting lightly on his chest as it rises and falls, now having slowed into nice, even breaths. His arm is draped around you, hand splayed against the curve of your bare back, possessively. It makes you feel secure, cherished, loved.
You tilt your head just enough to look at him. He’s already watching you with unblinking admiration.
“What?” You whisper, giggling in embarrassment at the attention.
“I love you.”
Your breath hitches at the unexpected confession.
You blink, suddenly wide awake despite the warmth of his chest beneath your cheek, the steady beat of his heart, the exhaustion in your limbs from everything you’d just shared.
He said it so easily. Like it hadn’t been simmering in him for years. Like it wasn’t a major declaration, a hidden truth finally brought to light.
You pull back just enough to look up at him, your expression unreadable. His eyes don’t waver, not even a flicker of hesitation is to be found within them.
“I mean it,” Jace says softly, his voice rough and sincere. “I love you. I always have.”
You should tell him not to say things like that. That it’s foolish—dangerous. That it will only make it harder. But the words won’t come. You don’t want them to.
The silence stretches between you. Then, gently, you lay your palm against the side of his face, thumb brushing along the edge of his jaw.
He leans into it like a man starved.
“You don’t have to say it back,” he murmurs, eyes closing briefly. “I just needed you to know. I needed to say it.”
You let out a shaky breath. “Jace…”
His name is barely more than a whisper on your lips, but it grounds him. His eyes open again, searching yours.
“I think I was in love with you before I even understood what it meant,” he continues, rambling now, voice raw with emotion. “When we were children, I thought it was just…you being you. The way you laughed, the way you defied everyone without even trying.”
You smile, but your eyes sting of the memories from long ago, back when you were innocent children with no duties weighing you down.
“I wanted you even then,” he admits, threading his fingers through yours. “But now? Now I want everything. I want mornings with you. I want to see you carrying my children. I want to make you my queen.”
Your smile fades. Reality hits like a slap in the face.
“Is that really a promise you can keep?” you whisper, your voice cracking. “Don’t lure me in with false hope.”
“I meant every word I said,” he responds immediately, his tone fierce. “I’ll find a way. The throne will be mine someday, my mother has guaranteed that. And when it is…” His eyes flash. “I’ll name you Queen. I’ll strip him of every title, every land. Let the realm see who you’ve always truly belonged to.”
You bite your lip, trying not to let the thrill of those words show, but he sees it anyway, of course.
“You truly do enjoy it when I speak of him like that.” He hums in victory, a smirk overtaking his lips. His thumb brushes over your lower lip. “I bet you’re thinking of him watching you take your place beside me, him kneeling at our feet while you wear the crown of the queen.”
You don’t answer in words, but your lashes flutter, your thighs shift slightly under the sheets, and your fingers curl just a little tighter into his.
He groans softly. “Gods, I love you.”
“Jace,” you whine, trying to steady yourself.
“I promise you. I’ll make this right.” His hand brushes against your stomach, the unspoken commitment to your child sealed.
You rest your forehead against his. “I believe you.” And you do. You truly do. Jace’s devotion runs deep, and you know that he will find a way to make the impossible happen, for you to be together in a world that seems so set on keeping you apart.
He closes his eyes, like the words are enough to keep him breathing.
And for a long moment, you just lie there with him. Your fingers graze across the skin of his chest, tracing soft shapes, feeling the quiet rise and fall of his breaths under your palm as he buries his nose into your hair.
You swallow once, hard. Then again.
And then, you say it.
“I love you too.”
His eyes open slowly, as though he doesn’t quite believe the words have left your lips. But when he sees the open expression on your face, the soft vulnerability present, he exhales your name with a kind of reverence reserved for Gods.
You smile, small and aching, your truth finally tumbling out of you after being locked away and buried inside your heart for years.
“I think I always have,” you add. “Even when I tried not to. Even when I given away, when I wasn’t allowed to anymore.” You swallow, your throat feeling dry with the confession that has never left your lips before. “But I never stopped loving you. I couldn’t have.”
He lifts a hand to your face, cradling your cheek and saying your name with awe like he’s misheard your words.
“Say it again,” he whispers.
Your throat tightens, but you do. “I love you.”
His mouth finds yours then, slow and deep. It’s a purposeful kiss, like he’s kissing something sacred. Something finally his.
When he pulls back he rests his forehead against yours, your breaths mingling in the space between you.
“I won’t break my promise,” he says softly. “Whatever it takes. I’ll fight for you. For us.”
“I know,” you murmur. “But for now, hold me. Just be here with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
A pleasant silence settles between you again, lulling you into a peace you haven’t felt in years. Then Jace speaks up again.
“When we were out there, I just kept thinking…Gods, I was hoping your lord husband would trip over his own feet tonight and go face-first into the roast duck.”
You snort quickly, startled. But then a laugh—a real, unguarded laugh, escapes you before you can stop it.
Jace’s grin widens instantly. “There it is.”
You blink up at him, giggles still tumbling out as you fail to smother the sound. “What?”
“Your laugh,” he says softly, eyes fixed on you with great tenderness beneath the teasing. “I missed it.”
Your smile fades into something quieter. You feel the weight of his words in your chest, the meaning behind them.
“I haven’t heard it since before he took you,” Jace adds, voice low. “Since before they stole you from me.”
The joy falters just a little in your chest, the realization of his words washing over you.
You meet his gaze, more serious now. “I haven’t heard it either.”
He blinks.
“I haven’t laughed. Really laughed,” you say, your fingers brushing across his chest as if grounding yourself in the truth. “Not since you.”
The weight of your words lies heavy between you.
“I think…” You swallow. “The last time I laughed like that was the summer before my father betrothed me. You’d slipped in the training yard trying to impress me with that new sword move you learned. Fell flat on your back and refused to admit you were winded.”
Jace chuckles, low and quiet. “I was winded. Just trying not to die in front of you.”
Your lips curve, but the smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes.
“That was the last time,” you say, your fingers fidgeting with his. “Before everything stopped being mine.”
His hand curls more tightly around your waist. “You’re still you.”
You look up at him, admiration in your gaze. “Now I am. Now that I’m with you.”
He grins and kisses you again, and you let yourself laugh against his lips, the sound finally belonging to you.
You two settle against each other again, and as the fire burns low, you lie there in the arms of the boy you’ve always loved, his hand over your stomach and your hand over his, eagerly awaiting the moment you no longer have to hide in the shadows and conceal your love for him.
Her head tilted up at his entrance. Then she smiled.
Jace's fingers traced down the soft sheets of her bed until he made it to her side. Jace had a way with his actions. Smooth and soft. His chest brushed against her arm. "That's all?" he purred in her ear. "Just three dresses?"
"Three is a lot, Jace," she reasoned gently. "If we're going by dragon back."
"Take anything you wish. We hardly know how long we're staying."
She turned, giving him her full attention. He was in riding gear, no doubt going to visit Vermax and stretch his legs before they rode off to King's Landing tomorrow. Her eyes roamed over him for a while, letting her mind wander.
He smiled, the toothy one that made her head go fuzzy. The one where he was happy beyond reason. "What?" He asked as his head tilted.
She gave him a little shrug, going back to choosing dresses.
"No," he laughed, pressing his chest against her back and peeking over her shoulder. "Tell me." His hands ran up her sides, pulling giggles from her lips.
"Jace!" She laughed, attempting to pry his fingers away to no avail. He tugged her further against him, and wrapped his arms strongly around her waist. He was insistent on getting an answer.
"My pretty wife has decided to make me ask what she was thinking. It's awful," he teased. "I'd rather she just say it."
It felt taboo for a husband and wife to have such fun together. But the two were beyond tired of 'taboo' things. Targaryens often walked the line of acceptable and taboo, more wandering towards the latter.
"I think of you as handsome, is all," she giggled. "Am I not allowed to?"
"How caring," he mused. "My wife. Melting over the sight of me in riding gear."
They had been married a few moons now, but Jace still used every excuse he could to say 'my wife' or 'my lady.' And joy always spread through him when it spills from his lips.
"Please excuse us, mother. My wife and I must be going."
"I'll have to ask my lady before I answer."
"And how is my wife this morning?"
He loved it.
"You're handsome. I fear I can't help admiring you."
He hummed appreciatively. "You're exceptionally kind to marry a man like me."
Her hands faltered over the fabric between her fingers. She turned with a wide eyed expression. "It was an entirely selfish decision. I wanted you. And I have you now."
"Right," he said as if playing along to a game. "Selfish. As if you can be selfish, my love."
"I was!" She tried to convince. "Any dashing girl would be happy to marry you."
"To have Targaryen children, perhaps. I doubt they'd like me, though." It was a jest, albeit a poor one with a deeper insecurity flaring. "For a kingdom."
"Or perhaps for a handsome prince with mischief on his mind."
His breath tickled her neck as he spoke lowly. "Do I?"
"Always," she breathed, trying to not let his proximity melt her from the inside out.
"Perhaps so," He agreed. His hands trailed up her side again. "It's easy when there's a beautiful woman that occupies said mind."
"Don't you have a dragon waiting on you?"
He groaned, tucking his warm nose against her shoulder. "You have a dragon waiting on you hand and foot, my love."
It was true. The man was utterly devoted.
"That's not what I meant and you know it."
"But still," he smiled, his teeth brushing her skin.
A shiver rolled down her spine. He was all-consuming. "Go on," she laughed out. "You have so much to do. We leave in only a day-"
"-I can do a lot in one day," he playfully threatened, nipping at her neck.
…
"Well done, Jace. You finally got to lie with a woman."
Jace's jaw clenched in anger as he stared ahead of him.
Aegon loved to taunt him. Even more so now that he was meeting his nephew's wife. The silver headed man leaned over Y/n's chair to refill his cup. "I regret the disappointment you have suffered. But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied by a man, all you have to do is a-"
Jace's hands slam down on the table.
"Jace," you quietly scold.
He pauses, his hands still flat on the table, but he reluctantly cools himself back down with a slight twitch in his jaw muscles.
But she's knows him better than that.
So, when he stands and holds his goblet up for a toast, she's worried.
"To… Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles." There's a snide to it, though its still sweet considering its from Jace. And he sits down with a playfully angry punch to Aegon's shoulder, like good friends would do.
Aegon stares down at his plate. "To you as well," he remarks in an embarrassed fashion.
When Helaena gives a toast that is both sweet and sour in her own rotting way, Jace leans over to his wife, to which she nods.
He gets up and extends a hand to his dear aunt, asking to dance with her.
…
The moment the roasted pig is set in front of Aemond, Y/n inwardly cringes.
Jace told her the stories. Usually when the two of them were laid out in the minimal grass of Dragonstone, drunk and in love. He'd share anything with her. How Aemond's eye was taken. Who Jace's real father is. He would tell her anything she wanted to know.
And things did indeed escalate when Aemond decided to insult Luke and Jace about their father.
Y/n stands when Jace punches Aemond, but what she truly reacts to is Aegon's shoving of Luke onto the table.
It's over just about as quickly as it happens, and she's rushing to Luke with a worried expression. The two brunettes are being restrained by palace guards, but she goes to them anyway, trying to make them see reason.
"…Seems my nephews aren't proud of theirs!" Aemond further taunts, causing both the boys to struggle against their restraints.
Jace breaks away, only to be stopped by Daemon. He doesn't say a word, only motioning for Jace to back away. And he does.
…
"He is reckless and idiotic!" Jace scoffs, pacing a path into the floors of the guest chamber.
"He is," she quietly agrees.
"He questions my right to the throne!"
"He does."
"I am a Targaryen, whether my blood is Velaryon or Strong."
"I know that."
"Why does he do this?" That's finally when Jace pauses, seemingly out of things to rant over.
She sighs. "I don't know."
"And then Aegon," he begins again. "What did he mean by that? He thinks I cannot please you? I know that I can-"
"Jace."
He stops.
Y/n stands and brushes a hand across her skirt. "As long as you are bothered by them, they will continue to taunt you and Luke until you are malleable in their hands."
He steps up to her. "I will not let them taunt Luke. And I refuse to let them taunt you." He shakes his head at the thought. "I will not allow it."
She smiles, brushing a hand over his hair. "Then you must not let it bother you. Then we will follow." Her head tilts. "Where is that smile I adore?"
He huffs lightly, trying to shake off the last of his anger.
"Don't tell me Aemond managed to take that from you, too?" She asks with a knowing grin.
He scoffs, his lips pulling upward in disbelief. "As if he could! I'd like to s-"
He's interrupted by her lips on his.
When she pulls away, they're both smiling. Her eyes rake over his face, taking in every piece. "I truly am selfish," she quips. "To keep such a perfect man all to myself."
He kisses her forehead. "Do you intend to share me then?" He says as his grin turns toothy.
Her eyes flash with alarm and arousal. Her hands tighten their grip on his tunic. "Never." She pulls on him to get him closer. "Not with anyone."
"Then I'm the fortunate one," he says against her lips. "To be so desired by you."
The two could argue over it for hours, but it's soon paused as their words turn to gasps and moans.
After that… they forgot what they were arguing about.
synopsis: very loosely inspired by stupid song by olivia rodrigo. when an accomplished songwriter starts dating trinity, she finds herself in a bit of a writers block, unable to write about love whilst being in it. with a deadline fast approaching, her confession gives her the answer.
pairing: songwriter f!reader x trinity santos
cw: none, just pure tooth-rotting fluff!
wordcount: 2.5k
taglist: @pittsick @inside--her--fantasy @voidsuites @lvve-talks @iloverodentmen @carpenfaist @nyxmoretti @kill3ill @meetmeatyourworst @coochiemama3000 @scariffs @thryn-the-destroyer (to be added)
our love is a like a wild ride, i never want to get off~
'ew.' you mutter to yourself, discarding the page as quickly as you'd written it.
i'm drawn to you like a moth to a flame, your love burns
'nope.' you groan, scribbling out every last word till you were left with a page of black ink.
you heard the faint beeping of your girlfriend's alarm, and your blood ran cold. 5am, she'd be getting ready to go to work and you had less than three hours to pitch your new song idea to the artist and his producers.
resigning yourself to the fact that you won't be getting any sleep, you flick the switch on the cooker, again and then again till it finally lights up. making a mental note of how you need to get that fixed, you examine the barren fridge and opt for eggs on toast.
trinity appears in the doorway silently, rubbing at her dark hair with a towel.
'i didn't hear you wake up.' she purses her lips, confused.
your head spins to look at her, 'you were sleeping so peacefully.' you lie, with a sugary sweet smile.
trinity shrugs, though you can tell she doesn't believe you. she disappears into the bedroom and when she returns in her scrubs, you've laid breakfast out on your small rickety table.
'what did i do to deserve this?' she grins, eagerly scooping eggs in her mouth.
'can't i make my girlfriend breakfast?' you tease with a small smile, sipping juice.
trinity shakes her head, 'i should be making you breakfast, as a thank you for letting me crash here for the weekend.' comes the honest reply.
now it was your turn to shake your head, 'it was nothing. i don't mind.'
you don't mention that you wish she'd move in with you permanently, but the relationship was a little too early days for that.
'with whitaker playing farm boy, it's surprising how lonely the apartment gets.' she confesses with a hard swallow.
you nod, 'i get it. really, it's fine. i like having you.' you insist brightly.
she smiles back, a real smile that makes your heart skip a beat, and then stands. you follow instinctively and as trinity reaches for her jacket, you lean in to kiss her. she kisses back, not passionate but tender, and when you break away and she slings her bag over her shoulder, your face feels like a furnace.
'have a good day! try not to kill anyone!' you joke.
she just winks at you, door slamming shut behind her.
now you were alone in your apartment again and it hadn't even hit 6am. you decide to just head to work early, maybe a change of scene would encourage creativity to strike.
coffee spilling precariously as you swing open the large doors of the music building, you head up to your middling office and relax onto the spinning chair. at 7am, the building was mostly empty, save for the cleaners and a few boomers who never realised the work/life balance has shifted.
resigned to your cluttered desk, you chose dizzying yourself as you span the chair in circle rather than writing anything. no matter how much you racked your brain, you couldn't think of a single way to describe love. no grandiose metaphors or small notices, just a blank page and thoughts of trinity stuck at work.
it was only when you returned to the kitchen for your third coffee of the morning, that you were side-stepped by your boss.
'how's the track coming along?' she said brightly, fake smile plastered across half of her face.
you freeze like a deer in headlights, 'great! i really think you're going to love it.' comes the strained lie as you nod profusely.
'that's amazing news. i know it's rather unorthodox but the artist is in this morning. maybe we could set up a meeting? discuss the song?' she replied, formal and polite.
'oh sure, when?' the words slip out before you can even think to take them back, blinking rapidly.
'now? i think he's just on the way to the recording studio with his producer.' your manager stared at you, this wasn't a question.
'perfect.' you swallow, heartrate increasing exponentially. 'let me just grab my notebook.'
you scurry off and reach for the tattered book before falling back into step behind your boss. rapidly flicking through the pages, searching for anything salvagable, you decide to just make it up on the spot. it couldn't go worse than any of your half assed similies.
you'd been inside hundreds of recording studios but this one felt different, claustraphobic somehow. even as he shook your hand, you'd worked with this artist hundreds of times, fear still made your blood go cold.
'so... let's just paint the scene.' started one of his producers, the one you hated the most with his inflated ego and dismissive attitude, 'this is the big love album right? these tracks are all dedicated to his girl.'
he pointed at the artist, who nodded sagely. even as the producer spoke, he lounged on that leather chair like he owned it and it made you grimace.
'this is the lead single okay? we're thinking a slow, almost jazz type beat, a proper ballad.' he's nodding and therefore encouraging everyone else. the track sounds nothing like jazz but you're not exactly in a position to correct him.
with a big grin, he turns to you. 'and that's where you come in.' the produce points at you and then your notebook.
'right, yes, of course.' you ramble as you pretend to find the right page. 'so i was thinking, we could start with something like "our love is like a rollercoaster, we've had our ups and downs," um...'
everyone frowned.
'it's a little cliche, don't you think?' chimed in another producer, eyebrows knitting together.
'maybe but isn't love?' you attempt a sheepish joke but it doesn't land, 'okay um... "i love you like a flower loves the rain"...?'
'i just don't think you're understanding the message of the song.' comes the pursed lip reply of the second producer.
she's interrupted by the arrogant producer, 'have you actually written the song?'
you feel your cheeks burn, 'it's not quite finished... yet.' comes the squeaked lie.
all heads swivel to stare at you like your alien. your manager is mortified, you can tell be her frozen expression and the way she frog marches you out of the studio into her office.
'how on earth can you embarrass me like that in front of clients?' she snapped, not even giving you the offer of a seat.
'i'm sorry-' you start but she holds her hand up, silencing you.
she frowns, 'you told me it was done.'
'i know i just- i didn't want to disappoint you.' comes your awkward confession, clutching your tattered notebook to your chest like a lifeline.
'oh god.' your manager groans, collapsing into her plush office chair and pressing her hands to her face. 'i'd rather you lied to me and not them.'
'i know.' you repeat.
then, you turn to gaze out the window to avoid the disappointed expression on her face. you were almost eyeline with the clouds this high up and you had a near perfect view of pittsburgh. it made you wonder what trinity was doing on the other side of the city, and your heart beat a little faster just at the thought.
'-you're one of our best songwriters but i just don't know what's gotten into you lately.' she despaired.
'i'm just having a bit of writer's block.' you shrug, it was only a half lie, a downplay of the truth.
how could you possibly tell your boss that falling in love had somehow made it impossible for you to write about it? that every sweet simile or proud declaration suddenly felt like a emotionless stereotype?
your manager just shook her head, 'well, work through it. i want the song on my desk by tomorrow morning. if not then-' she shrugged, it was impossible to come up with a suitable punishment for an employee she was so reliant on.
you nod rapidly, 'i understand. i won't let you down again, i promise.'
the door's swinging shut behind you before her lips can finish dismissing you. however, by the time you reach your desk again, with genuine intent to finish the song, two of your colleagues peer over your cubicle with eager eyes.
'so... what was that about?' grinned one, desperate for gossip.
'did she find out about trinity?' gasped the other, eyes glinting almost hungrily.
your neck snapped up faster than the speed of light at the mention of her name, heart swelling. 'what is there to find out?' you retort, nose wrinkling up as you try to feign nonchalance.
'yeah, who's trinity?' chimed in the first, bewildered.
you could hear the sounds of whispers tickling ears as you tried to return back to your sprawling notes.
'oh you lovesick fool!' he crowed, guffawing.
your eyes widen, 'shut up!' you hiss, looking around nervously.
both of you were shushed by the second colleague, 'we're getting side-tracked. what was the meeting about? come on, spill.'
you shrug, 'just that i need to hurry up with the lead single, i'm behind on my deadlines.' the lie slips out easier then, enough of a titbit for them to leave you alone.
'well there's a first.' smirked one of them, before they both marched back to their desks, satisfied.
with a groan, you try to think. memories pulled from previous hits, but it all felt artificial, fake. you'd written all of this before meeting trinity, before falling in love and experiencing what it's truly like. there were no words to describe how to you felt about her, no catchy lyrics or memorable bridge. you were screwed.
hours passed, you skipped lunch in the hope that genius would come falling into your lap but it hadn't yet. the afternoon sun started to set in, bathing the office in a warm, soft glow. your thoughts shifted to trinity, unbidden.
how nervous she was on the first date, but how you saw her true personality unleash when you went for drunk karaoke on the second date. how she'd sit on the bathroom counter as you got ready for bed, ranting about her work day but always stopping to help, handing you a skincare product or wiping a stray eyelash from your cheek gently. even how she couldn't always understand your high maintenance traits but welcomed them with open arms.
'still not a word, huh?' called one of the gossipers, resting his arms on your cubicle and jumping you out of your trip down memory lane.
'nope, i've got nothing.' you slump shamefully into your chair, 'my career is over.'
he tilted his head to the side, 'but you love this trinity girl, right?'
'sure.' you reply, 'i mean it's not like we've said it yet-'
'then write about tha- wait you've not told her?' his expression shifts from one of help to one of horror.
'it's only been a couple of months! and we don't even live together and-' you protest but it's futile.
'write this for her. tell her how you feel.' he urges, it's the first earnest thing he's said to you in weeks.
you nod with a small smile, 'thanks.'
yet, the more you thought about it, the more you turned his advice over in your head, you realised you couldn't put your great confession into a song. you couldn't reveal your truest feelings to the masses, trinity might not even realise it was for her.
you had to tell her yourself, you had to tell her now.
grabbing your bag and hurriedly shoving your belongings into it, you were out of the door before the poor doorman even had a chance to open it. the pittsburgh sky was darkening, the sun just starting to disappear behind the clouds. it always made the skyline look more imposing from down below, towering over you.
you took off running, tearing down the cobbled streets on pure adrenaline. even kitten heels and a pencil skirt clinging to your legs couldn't slow you down, blouse billowing like a disney hero and hair growing increasingly windswept. for the first time in your life, you didn't care that passer-by's were staring, some startled and some mocking.
the only thing that kept you going, street after street, was thoughts of trinity. the fear that she didn't feel the same didn't even cross your mind. you'd noticed the way she looked at you, across sticky bar floors and curled up watching movies on her dumpster sofa, especially when she thought you weren't looking.
rounding the corner into the parking area of the PTMC, you slowed down. unbelievably out of breath and heart like a jackhammer, you smoothed out your office clothes, reapplied your lipstick and hoped to every god that you hadn't missed her.
the automatic doors slid open with a hiss, and there she was, in all her glory. backpack slung over one shoulder, jacket was only half zipped and she looked exhausted, yawning and swaying as she stood. clearly, over the course of the shift, her half up half down had failed, soft tendrils of hair falling out to now frame her perfect face, and it made your stomach fill with butterflies.
her expression shifted to one of pure confusion, 'what are you doing here? are you okay? it's late.' trinity hurried over, checking you over in that clumsy medical way.
'yes- i'm fine-' you pant, fighting the urge to double over to catch your breath properly, 'i just- i knew you'd stay late to finish your charting and god the fact that i know that!' you yelp, a big grin plastered across your sweating face.
trinity blinked at you, 'what? are you sure you're okay?'
you nod rapidly, composing yourself. 'i love you, trinity santos.'
for a brief, sickening moment, the words hang in the air with no reply. it was too late to take it back, so in your panic, you just keep talking.
'i know it's early and i know that we've barely labelled it but-'
you're interrupted by the sound of trinity's bag crashing onto the concrete floor and her grasping your face and kissing you hungrily.
'oh shut up. i love you too.' she breaks away just to utter those words before pressing her lips back on yours.
you're so elated that you're kissing her back instinctively, hardly processing her confession. when your brain finally makes the connection, her tongue is already sliding over your own sloppily.
even you pull apart, chests heaving and she starts to kiss along your cheek and jaw, you've hardly come down from your high, it's like you're dreaming. you never want this moment to end.
'i love you so much...' comes your whisper, 'more than any stupid song could ever say.' you smile dopily.
she pauses, turning to you look at with that familiar confused judgement that you can't help but love anyway. 'what?'
clamming your lips shut, 'nevermind.' you reply sheepishly.
skipping to work the next morning, the sun shining on your back and a cheesy smile that hadn't faded since last night. you slid a laminated page onto your manager's desk, the title at the top.
Summary: At a loud party, you get overwhelmed and hide in the bathroom to cry. Steve notices you’ve disappeared and comes to check on you, but he doesn’t force you to open the door or explain what happened.
The music downstairs was too loud.
Not in the normal party way, where everyone shouted over the bass and pretended they could hear each other. It was loud in a way that got under your skin. Every laugh sounded sharper than it should have. Every conversation blurred into one big mess of noise. Somebody dropped a cup in the kitchen and the crash made your whole body tense.
You didn’t even really decide to leave.
One second you were standing beside Steve, trying to smile at something Robin was saying, and the next you were pushing through the hallway, mumbling something about needing the bathroom.
You locked the door behind you and just stood there for a second.
Then the tears came.
Annoying, hot, stupid tears that made your throat ache. You pressed your hand over your mouth like that would somehow make it less real, like if nobody heard you, it wasn’t actually happening.
But of course, Steve noticed.
He always noticed.
You heard footsteps outside a few minutes later, slower than everyone else’s. Then a soft knock.
“Hey,” Steve said gently. “It’s me.”
You quickly wiped under your eyes, even though he couldn’t see you.
“I’m fine,” you said, your voice immediately proving that you weren’t.
There was a pause.
Steve didn’t say anything for a moment, and somehow that made you want to cry harder. You expected him to ask what happened. You expected him to tell you to open the door. You expected him to panic a little, because Steve Harrington was good at a lot of things, but being calm when people he loved were upset wasn’t always one of them.
Instead, you heard him slide down the wall.
The bathroom door shifted slightly as his back rested against the other side of it.
“Okay,” he said. “You’re fine.”
You blinked at the door.
“And I’m also fine,” he continued. “Even though I’m sitting on the floor of Tommy Hagan’s upstairs hallway, which I’m pretty sure has seen things no human should ever have to sit near.”
A weak breath left you, almost a laugh, but not quite.
Steve took that as a good sign.
“Seriously, this carpet is suspicious. Like, I don’t wanna be rude, but I think it’s sticky.”
You sniffled, pressing your sleeve to your nose. “That’s disgusting.”
“I know,” he said, sounding pleased with himself. “That’s why I’m telling you. I’m suffering out here.”
“You don’t have to sit there.”
“Yeah, I do.”
His voice was quieter then.
You stared down at your shoes.
“No, you don’t.”
“Yeah,” Steve said again, softer this time. “I kinda do.”
The party carried on downstairs. People laughed. Music changed. Someone yelled something from the kitchen that made a whole group cheer.
But outside the bathroom door, Steve stayed.
He didn’t ask you why you were crying. He didn’t try to fix it before he even knew what was wrong. He just sat there, close enough that you could hear him breathe when the hallway went quiet.
Then, after a minute, he spoke again.
“Do you think ducks know they’re ducks?”
You frowned through your tears. “What?”
“I’m just saying,” he said seriously. “Like, do they have a concept of it? Do they wake up and think, damn, another day of being a duck?”
You let out a shaky laugh before you could stop yourself.
Steve went completely still.
Then you could hear the smile in his voice. “There it is.”
“Shut up,” you mumbled, but it came out softer than you meant it to.
“Nope. Too late. I got a laugh. I’m basically a professional.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” he said. “But you’re laughing, so.”
You leaned your forehead against the door, eyes closing.
For a while, neither of you said anything.
Then Steve spoke, gentler this time. “I’m not gonna make you talk about it.”
Your throat tightened.
“Just so you know,” he added. “You can. Obviously. I’ll listen. I mean, I might say the wrong thing because I do that sometimes, but I’ll try really hard not to.”
You smiled a little despite yourself.
“But you don’t have to explain it right now,” he said. “You can just sit in there and I’ll sit out here.”
Your hand rested on the lock.
“You’re missing the party,” you said quietly.
Steve scoffed. “Oh no. How will I survive without watching Kyle attempt to shotgun a beer and miss half his mouth?”
You laughed again, a little more properly that time.
“Exactly,” he said. “Tragic stuff.”
You wiped your cheeks, taking a slow breath.
“I just got overwhelmed,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.
Steve didn’t jump on the answer. He didn’t make it bigger than it was. He just let it sit there for a second.
“Okay,” he said gently. “That makes sense.”
That nearly undid you more than anything else.
You unlocked the door before you could overthink it.
Steve turned his head slightly when he heard the click, but he didn’t move until you opened it yourself.
He was sitting exactly how you imagined him, knees bent, hair a little messy, one arm resting over his leg. He looked up at you like he wasn’t shocked by your red eyes or tear-streaked face. Like you hadn’t ruined anything.
Like he was just happy you’d let him see you.
“Hi,” he said softly.
You gave him a tired look. “Hi.”
His eyes flickered over your face, careful but worried.
“Can I come in,” he asked, “or is this a one-person breakdown situation?”
A small laugh slipped out of you. “You can come in.”
Steve stood up, brushing off his jeans with a grimace. “God, I’m never recovering from that carpet.”
You stepped back to let him in, and he closed the door behind him, shutting out the noise a little more.
For a second, neither of you moved.
Then Steve opened his arms, not pulling you in, not assuming.
Just offering.
And that was somehow worse.
You crossed the tiny bathroom and let yourself fold into him.
His arms came around you carefully at first, then tighter when you tucked your face into his chest. He smelled like laundry detergent and beer he hadn’t really been drinking and whatever cologne he always pretended he didn’t care about.
“You’re okay,” he murmured, one hand rubbing slowly over your back. “I’ve got you.”
You breathed him in and felt your shoulders finally drop.
Downstairs, the party kept going without you.
For once, you didn’t care.
Steve pressed his cheek against the top of your head and said, “For the record, I still think the duck thing is a valid question.”
( 1.5k / nsfw ) frank langdon, cassie mckay, and dana evans x fem pornstar!reader. you’re an amateur pornstar who just got offered a new deal: help make medical fetish content and get paid handsomely for it.
cws: blunt but likely unrealistic porn industry depictions, misogynistic, objectifying, + cruel language (from comments), & medical fetish content. + masterlist.
✦ “FUCK HER HARDER next time,” one comment reads. “i would’ve made the slut choke on it,” declares another. it’s a shame that the crude and cruel remarks barely phase you anymore. under every video you post, there are tons of them. anonymous digs at your looks, or maybe a detailed description of how they’d have fucked you if they got the chance. or, if you happened to be flying solo in a video, comments about how you shook as you came, as if you didn’t fucking know that. (the title of the video in question was “edging myself until i shake”, so yeah, you’re pretty aware of how fucking shaky you were).
whatever.
you take another bite of your crunchwrap supreme, barely bothering to check if you were spilling food on your shirt. it wouldn’t be the first stain on your clothing, certainly won’t be the last… laid back on the couch, you hold your phone over your face, the light from the screen illuminating your every feature. some might think of this as a sad life, posting porn online for quick cash while still working a day job. some might think of it as a power move, using the ever-growing population of porn addicted losers to help pay your apartment’s rent. you tried not think of it as too much of either. truthfully, you tried not to think too hard about it all.
it’s only in these quiet times, times when your roommates’ have both left for work (which is often, considering they work at the local er), times when you’re not just alone but lonely as well, that you end up thinking about your work in the form of doomscrolling through your own comment sections.
“love that ass!”
“literally prime goonbait!!!”
“my favorite slut on here. an amateur, but i kind of like that.”
“does she do birthdays????”
you’re almost amused by that one.
“creamy, dreamy pussy >>>>”
“in the next video can you sit on a cake? you can stay clothed :) just show the view from the front and back.”
“i wish i could keep a foid like her chained in my basement so i could fuck her whenever i wanted…”
surprisingly— depressingly, really— that last comment isn’t the one that makes you pause. it’s an offer two or three comments down that stands out, causing you to raise your eyebrow and set your crunchwrap down the nearby ottoman coffee table.
“hey there. if you’re looking for extra money, we’d love to work with you at dirtydoctor.com. we’re a niche medical fetish site with hundreds of thousands of users already, searching for fresh patients for our little hospital. we focus on staged roleplay experiences and feature real doctors against people like you to ensure realism. if you’re interested, send us a message. we’d love to have you visit our doctors in your area soon. :)”
the profile picture of the user isn’t the anonymous, grey blob you’re used to. in fact, accurate to their message, their profile picture showcases a group of smiling doctors, all varying in race, gender, and even age. their username, dirtydoctor.com, only reinforces the comment. if it’s a scam, it’s a well-made one. if it’s not, well…
careful not to like the comment, you switch tabs on your phone’s browser and begin to look into the offer. as it turns out, dirtydoctor.com is a real site. the videos are all there, although there’s not many of them. in each video, there’s one of three patients: a young, south asian woman who seems to play into the trope of a nerd with no sexual experience, a fit, blonde guy who seems to go both ways (for the camera, at least, he does), and a black woman who’s always dressed in pink, a real-life barbie doll. it’s an interesting lineup already, and still, they’re looking to add you into the patient rotation.
another thing you notice rather quickly about the videos is the doctors. they’re all wildly attractive. there’s men and women, everyone catering to different fetishes and dynamics on top of the medical kink. you watch, thighs pressed together, as an older, ginger-haired woman curls her fingers deep inside of that aforementioned black woman. her hand goes to hold the doctor’s shoulder, pink nails biting into the blue of the older woman’s work uniform.
“it’s okay, babygirl,” the doctor coos, “you’re nice and tight, nice and healthy… just a little more examination, alright sweetpea?”
fuck, if you’re not soaked. for the first time in a long time, you feel the genuine urge to touch yourself, fingertips trailing down to the waistband of your pants before slipping underneath and gliding further down. she’s just so… so hot….
✦ ONE ORGASM LATER, and your head is suddenly clear and focused on business again. after washing your own stickiness off your fingers and cleaning yourself up down there, you settle onto the couch once more. figuring that the site’s clearly legit, you decide to switch back to the tab still opened on that comment under your video.
it’s a tame fetish, all things considered. at least, all the videos seemed pretty tame. the doctor’s are hot, the other patients seem fine… before you know it, you’ve already sent them a message. money is money; work is work. you’d decided that a long time ago. it only helps that the work happened to involve actually sexy people this time instead of people you had to fake attraction to.
“hello dirtydoctor.com. i’ve decided that i am interested in working with anyone you might have in the pittsburgh area. my schedule’s flexible, but i opt for evenings when shooting content. early mornings are second best. it would be preferable if a meeting could be set up before any content is shot so that i can speak with one of your doctors and lay down some ground rules.”
while waiting on a reply, you finish the rest of your crunchwrap, licking your fingers clean before drying them with a nearby crumpled up napkin. tiktok manages to capture and keep your attention for about an hour or so before you remember to check on that dm you’d sent. turns out, they’d messaged you back right away.
“greetings, patient four! we have several dirty doctors in the pittsburgh area that we think would suit you. we love your eagerness! a meeting will be set up as soon as you’re matched with your first one. please fill out the following form to be matched in accordance to your preferences…”
✦ BY THE NEXT morning, your new employers at dirtydoctors.com have sent you a legal contract to look over and three partners that would suit you best for your first video. the digital paperwork, as thrilling as it may be, is immediately ignored in favor of browsing through the short candidate profiles they’ve sent you.
"DOCTOR L: a playful personality perfect for beginners like you. pure switch. enjoys eye contact. very verbal. also caters to somnophilia, intoxication, and more."
. . .
"DOCTOR M: a stronger personality, but careful with beginners. flows between soft dom and hard dom. also caters to dumbification, mommy kinks, and more."
. . .
"NURSE E: of course, we have nurses, too. be careful with her. hard dom. caters to more aggressive, degrading kinks, but offers wonderful aftercare off screen."
doctor l, doctor m, and nurse e… their names must be hidden for privacy’s sake. you don’t recall hearing any names in the videos, although it’s not like you were paying much attention to the details of the dialogue in the first place. they all seem quite charming, each with their own perks. indecision creeps up on you the more that you look at each profile, your eyes darting between the two women and then to the man, and then back to doctor m— wait. you realize, suddenly, that she was the doctor from that video you jerked off to, a fact that only makes the decision harder.
how could you go out for coffee with a woman whose voice you masturbated to? a small voice in the back of your head chimes in. it would be less embarrassing to just fuck her, honestly!
ignoring the familiar tune of anxiety, you decide it would be best to give yourself a day or so to make the decision. you’re sure you’ll be passed around to each of them at one point, anyways, so there’s no wrong answer… right? right. right, right, right.
you let out a small huff and go back onto tiktok, still in the mood to doomscroll. with every video you watch, the pressure of the decision slowly melts away, leaving your head numb. clip after clip, reaction after reaction, you scroll, filling your head with nothing and everything at once. there’s little processing going on, just pure consumption; it’s like eating out of boredom, taking in more stimulation than you need just to have something else to do.
and sure, some might think of it as a sad way to finish out your night. sure, others might think of it as a simple way to comfort yourself.
but, just the same as with most things, you preferred not to think too hard about it at all.
CHOICE: who should you meet with?
doctor l <3
doctor m <3
nurse e <3
Voting ended onJun 19
jaded numb pornstar reader my newest beloved… this is the beginning for (hopefully) a series! obvi it’s gonna be pretty smut heavy butttt i have a few ideas outside of that, too. i’ve just decided to start with frank cassie and dana, although i plan on introducing more characters later (and some are already implied in this piece, just unnamed).
2087
baratheonpilled
izzy806
yousharknotpass
dailybridgerton
