a/n: bratty son of a millionaire CEO aerion being reader’s toxic ex boyfriend. english is not my first language
[optional] lore with valarr
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✴︎ you hated his fucking guts. he is a total jerk. pathetic, whiny spoiled brat who never lifted a finger in his golden life
✴︎ he is just a useless idiot, who got a job at his father’s company with his own spacious cabinet, his own corporate throne that he definitely did not deserve but still got because daddy wanted him to be a part of his legacy or some bullshit
✴︎ you think you broke up because of something stupid, when in reality your relationship were the epitome of a disaster. like his regular tantrums of jealousy, or his habit of picking up fights out of nothing, or how annoyingly irresponsible he was, or how he never forgot to remind you of his high status. it was a constant wild push and pull with him
✴︎ oh, the way aerion gaslighted and twisted everything he said or did, truly believing to outplay you, trying to make you apologise for the way you made him feel in the first place. the way you pushed back, calling him out on his bullshit, the way you yelled at him and the way he rolled his eyes. the way he guilt tripped you because of the money he has spent on you and the way you told he to go fuck himself with all the things he bought you. they way he pinned you to the wall, hissing in pure anger that you belong to him and the way you shoved his chest
✴︎ so eventually you broke up. loudly and violently. with screams and things flying around the room. it was catastrophic and final. and yet, aerion still was rearranging your guts every night, at least twice
✴︎ aerion was an awful boyfriend. truly. but he was a phenomenal fuck. you didn’t even know why it felt so good and hated him more for it, but the hatred was settling down very quickly, especially with his head between your legs, groaning against your core, greedy tongue lapping and teasing. eating you out was always his ultimate alternative to an apology. not that he didn’t eat you out on other occasions, the man was ready to nuzzle in between your thighs literally any given moment, no matter in what mood or condition he was. angry, frustrated, irritated, jealous, sad, affectionate, sadistic - he ate your pussy like it was his last meal
✴︎ it was also hard to be mad at him when he was splitting you in half at the backseat of his aston martin vantage. aerion's hands gripping your hips with a bruising force, his mouth lapping on your moving breasts as you ride him, his hand pressed firmly against your mouth to suppress the obscene moans that are coming out of you
✴︎ but still, you were not dating anymore
✴︎ you are not dating, he is just sending you videos of him fisting his cock and pornographically moaning your name, making you slam your phone screen down on the table during a work meeting
✴︎ you are definitely not dating, he just books you two a private villa because you ‘deserve vacation’ and he knows exactly how to make you relax just right
✴︎ aerion is still a dick though. even when he is not your boyfriend anymore, he views you as his woman, because you certainly didn’t mean all the things you said to him. aerion considers your breakup a ‘tantrum’ and lets you ‘play’ in it, but he makes sure no other person sees you as available ever. so dating or even seeing someone else is out of the question, he just takes up so much space in your life you physically don’t have time for other things except work, which he hates as well by the way
✴︎ in his eyes it is absolutely ridiculous that you have to spend so much of your time in the office doing nonsense while he is bored and misses you. aerion sabotaged your days many times by slutting out and making you stay home with him. he would kiss your neck, purring like a cat that if you were his wife, you would never have to work, he would pull you in his lap, while his hand snakes in between your legs, reminding you how good it would feel to give in and stay with him
✴︎ you still fight and argue a lot. mostly about his manipulations and arrogance, sometimes because of how jealous he is, occasionally because of you being ungrateful for everything he has ever done for you. aerion always tries to manipulate through luxury and the crazy rich lifestyle he provides. you yelled at him that you don’t want to see him again? expect a diamond bracelet at your door in two hours. you tell him you don’t want to see him? he sends ridiculous amounts of your favourite flowers to your apartment and work office. you tell him you need a break and it is better for both of you to not see each other for a while? he is already ready to fly you to france on his private jet
✴︎ when you refuse his every attempt at bribery, he just comes up himself and waits near your door, talking you into opening up and saying he will stay until you let him in, even if it means staying there till morning. aerion will use every tactic literally. he will sweet talk, threaten, beg, guilt trip, gaslight, seduce, bargain, you name it, he has done it
✴︎ no one ever told this mother fucker “no” in his perfect rich life. it is simply an absurd concept to him, he always gets everything he wants, from all the stuff his daddy bought him to, very literally, you. aerion is sure one day he will put a ring on your finger and treats it as an inevitable thing. maybe it is
a/n: basically kinda bratty slutty reader and kinda proper valarr in a corporate setting. i got possessed by a demon and wrote this
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✴︎ the reason why he notices you in the first place is because of how outrageously laid-back you are in any setting. entering the meeting 40 minutes late with a coffee and wearing a completely inappropriate outfit for the office, with wired earphones still dangling from your left ear, sitting, of course, in the back row, unbothered
✴︎ valarr, most of all, values discipline, rules, order. you are literally none of that and it irritates him, no, infuriates him, how you can just ignore the system and dismantle everything he believes in with just a glance
✴︎ he thinks you are the worst. literally the worst person to hire, to assign a task, to ask to do something, to rely on in any sense. valarr is so disturbed by your character orbiting around his life that he starts involuntarily watching you every moment he has
✴︎ in his head, he ticks your every mistake, your every rule violation, your every sin. valarr remembers how you put your feet on the desk while typing a report, how you talked on the phone during working hours, how you brought in food and drinks in a ‘no food’ areas, how you left early on some days without a reason, how you violated dress code. the imaginary list in his mind was endless, filled with your bad bad awful behaviour
✴︎ but that isn’t the worst thing. no, no, the worst thing is that nobody seems to mind you, except him. everyone likes you. he is alone in his weird fixation on you and your vagaries and sufferes from it immensely. you are constantly on his mind to the point that he starts to believe he is going crazy. how can he explain it otherwise?
✴︎ it seems nobody else sees how ridiculously off putting is, in fact, your behaviour. only he notices the black lace peaking right at the waistband of your baggy smart pants. only he notices you are not wearing a bra under that white buttoned up shirt. only he notices the way you glance at his crotch when giving him papers. only he notices
✴︎ it is so unfair how no one cares. no one cares that you use black ink instead of blue on important documents. no one cares that you flirt with the staff occasionally. no one cares that you leave your empty coffee cups with lipstick stains on the rim around the office. no one cares that your perfume is so strong he can smell it after you leave the room. no one cares you bite your lip when trying to concentrate. no one cares the skin of your lower back is visible when you bend over
✴︎ no one cares except him. he cares. he cares so much he can’t stop thinking about all these things. because he is a good worker. simple as that
✴︎ but what is even more insane is that you are a good worker. most likely the best in your department. all papers on time, all presentations delivered perfectly, all numbers precise. you earned his company more money in one month than your colleagues in six. firing you would definitely be the loss for the company, so maybe it is not that serious after all. maybe he can calm himself down. maybe he can pull himself together and forget about it
✴︎ but no. eventually, it reaches a point where valarr can barely think when you are in the same room as him. he is listening to a presentation by someone from finance department and you are in the corner of the room surrounded by your colleagues. he tries to focus on the speech, really tries, but his thoughts drift to you as usual. you in your white see-through long sleeve. you in your dark blue low rise pants. you with your black lace underwear subtly visible through the clothes
✴︎ his mismatched eyes are openly watching you instead of the speaker, how you are listening to him with a lazy smirk, looking the man up and down and whispering something to a coworker nearby, making the woman chuckle. what did you say? are you making fun of that man? or do you find him hot? do you want to fuck him? do you want to fuck the man from finace department??
✴︎ it gets progressively worse with time. valarr’s control is slipping like sand from his hands. he can’t do a single task, read a single word, check a single file because you are wearing a pencil skirt today. he is forcing himself not to look but it is humanly impossible. his gaze is literally glued to your form as you slowly walk back and forth around the office, hips swaying in a way that makes valarr curse the damn glass walls in his cabinet. it is torture. sweet, hot, sick torture
✴︎ guilt and restlessness follow valarr like hungry dogs. he is sorry, he is truly sorry, and hates himself for thinking these inappropriate things about his own employee, but how can he not get hard when you are standing above him, leaning closer to check something on his computer, your eyes on the screen while his eyes are on you. your breasts are right in front of his face, your scent is filling his lungs, making his head spin. he turns his head away, hands gripping the side of the table till his knuckles turn white
✴︎ "you done?" he asks, still not looking at you. "almost," you murmur, and he exhales impatiently. "the numbers should be in columns—" valarr starts, but you don't listen. "who cares? it works like that as well. your welcome." you wave dismissively, quickly making your way to the door, leaving him furious, irritated and turned on
✴︎ it is clearly not healthy, he says to himself. valarr doesn't like you, but he also doesn't hate you, and god, he wants to. he wants to hate you so much and get free from this curse, he wants you to stop haunting his dreams, his reality, his conscience, and unconscious. he wants to stop noticing every fucking thing about you and to stop touching himself to the thought of you. how? he geniunly doesn't know, it seems impossible to get rid of you now, when you've already infected his weak mind
✴︎ everytime valarr closes his eyes, he sees eyes you. you spilling your water on your blouse. you biting the end of your pen. you bent over in order to make the printer work. then imagination gets involved, and then suddenly you are straddling him, whimpering into his shoulder as he grinds against you, kissing your neck. then suddenly you are leaning back against the desk, while he is kneeling between your legs, licking and sucking, making you cry out his name. then suddenly he is pounding into you from behind, whispering how good you are for him into your ear while you moan
✴︎ he hopes no one ever finds out about this, but also secretly hopes you want him back. valarr would never admit it, even to himself, but he had already imagined your first date and how perfect it would be. he is dreaming of you wanting him back
Word Count: idkkkk again, but I am pretty sure that it is longer than the first one.
Summary: Aerion is cruel but you, his wife are the complete opposite. After nearly being trampled by a horse, Aerion's young squire saves you in an attempt to save the sweet princess. You take full blame for his injury.
I haven't proof read because I just don't have it in me rn, so I am sorry if there are any spelling/grammar/punctuation errors- I will get to it eventually.
Warning: Mentions of violence, violence
Reblogs, comments and likes are very appreciated :)
First fic of this trope
Masterlist
My requests are open.
“Be careful, the hem of your dress will ruin.”
You heard your husband’s words clearly, yet chose not to listen. The floor beneath was muddy, and there was not much you could do to stop that. The last thing you cared for would be a little bit of brown mud stuck to your dress.
“It will only be a smidge of mud, my love. I have plenty of other gowns.” Your words were sweet like honey. In Aerion’s opinion, all of your words were sweet- even in the rare times that you lost your temper. Or your version of losing your temper, anyway, which usually meant a stern face and a huff. Aerion’s version of losing his temper tended to be entirely different.
Aerion let out a huff through his nose, a grin on his lips and clasped his hand in yours. “I am well aware. I paid a lot to ensure that they were all especially made to your liking.”
You paused your walk to plant a gentle kiss on his cheek, “I know, my love. And I adore them all.”
He smiled at you before deciding that a kiss on the cheek was not enough. Gently clasping your chin with his thumb and index finger, he too planted his own kiss, but on your lips- ensuring that it lingered for as long as possible. When you parted, he traced your lips with his thumb.
“My Prince, I-“
Aerion’s head snapped towards the direction of the high pitched voice.
“Not now boy, I am busy.” Your husband snapped at his young squire, not bothering to properly look at him- more focused on you, as he always was.
You pursed your lips slightly in sympathy as you watched the young boy. He stood there, forcing his body to remain upright, shoulders back. He looked at Aerion expectantly, despite his dismissiveness.
You weren’t sure how old your husband’s new squire was, roughly thirteen or fourteen, perhaps. Aerion had no want for a squire, yet unfortunately Prince Maekar had ordered it. As a consequence, since returning from the tourney, your husband had suffered being followed around by someone whom wished to aid him most of the day. His own personal idea of hell.
“Stop calling him that.” You scolded softly in a hushed voice to ensure that the child could not hear you.
“What is it, Edric?”
Aerion frowned, his eyes stayed glued to the side of your face, waiting for you to look upon him once again. Yet, you did not. Accepting defeat, he too turned towards his squire.
Edric now did not know who to look at, or speak to. He wanted to direct his attentions to the beautiful princess whom had shown him nothing but kindness and care since his arrival. Yet he forced himself to look upon the man he served- the man that terrified him to his core. The young boy felt grateful for your existence, daily, hourly even.
When his own father had told him where he would be going and whom he would be serving, he had cried himself to sleep.
You saw his fear, and had explained it to your husband. Unfortunately, your husband didn’t share the same empathy in which you did.
He stuttered, his body sinking lower to the ground as each moment passed. Almost as if a candle had been lit in his head, he propped himself back up, pushing his shoulders all the way back. You had to stop the giggle that wanted to escape your lips and Aerion just groaned.
“Gods, Edric what is it.” Despite the respect of using his name this time, his words were forced through gritted teeth.
“I erm, I just wanted to erm let you know that you,” the boy peered down at Aerion’s boots, “it appears that you have stepped in horse dung, I will clean them immediately.”
Your hand raised to your mouth with haste in a desperate attempt to keep your laughter at bay. Aerion cursed, and you prayed that he wouldn’t take it out on the child.
You knew your husband better than anyone in the realm, and you could feel the heat rising from his chest. You knew a Brightflame tantrum was about to take place.
“The world shan’t crash and burn over it, love.” Your soft words brought him back down to reality, your soft giggles warming his heart. He didn’t even care that you were laughing at him, he just loved seeing you smile. It was the only thing in this dreadful world that brought him happiness.
Aerion rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath, scraping his shoe against a small patch of originally green grass, that now had strokes of brown throughout it.
The young boy grinned at you whilst the Prince dug his boot into the ground.
“Don’t just stand there boy, come and-“
A nearby horse whinnied loudly, causing everyone in the yard to snap their heads towards the commotion.
From where you stood, you couldn’t see much, neither could Aerion. From what you could see, though was a group of men that you barely recognised, laughing so hard that they cried. You wondered why the horse’s noise would cause such delight. You stood on a tiptoe, nearly slipping as you did so in the mud below- Aerion caught your waist and held you as you steadied yourself.
“Oh dear.” You commented, now having gained a better view of the scene.
“What is it, Princess?” Aerion asked, despite not caring much. He inspected the nails on his free hand- dirt stuck inside one of them.
“There is a boy who cannot control that horse! Not one of those men are helping him.” You paused, watching the scene unfold. “Horses can be very dangerous you know, when they are not cared for and handled properly.”
You peered at your husband, who remained digging into his fingernails, his tongue between his teeth in concentration.
“Just like you.” You spoke again, a teasing smile.
Aerion peered up and rolled his eyes playfully at you. You felt a swift hand hit your bottom, and then felt the same hand grip it tightly.
“I would say I am far more dangerous when not cared for properly.”
A voice in the distance called for him, and he begrudgingly followed it. Now, alone, Aerion’s squire stared at you awkwardly, unsure of what to do with himself.
Suddenly, a loud rip rang through the air, and you heard the horse squeal once more. This time differed to the last, however, as this time you heard the panicked call of men, rather than laughter.
Your attention was drawn toward the commotion just as the horse veered sharply. It ran faster than you could ever have imagined a beast could move.
Straight towards you.
Aerion moved instantly, the man that he was in conversation with now on the floor due to Aerion’s own panic- he had thrown him.
He sprinted towards you, and as he moved closer a hand shot out for your arm.
But the horse was much faster than he had judged.
For the first time since knowing you, since loving you, Prince Aerion Targaryen realised he would not reach you in time. He would never live with himself if he allowed his sweet lady wife to be caused harm.
You braced, yet the impact did not come.
Instead, the boy lunged his whole body towards you, in front of the horse.
“My Princess!” He squeaked, his voice breaking.
A hard shove struck your shoulder causing you to stumble backwards, yet Aerion caught you before you landed on the cold earth. Harshly, he swiped the loose hair from your face and grabbed your cheeks inspecting your face and then body for any harm.
The huge horse thundered past. There was a sickening impact, and then the boy was on the ground.
You were fine, yet you knew the boy wouldn’t be. A wave of guilt flood through your bones.
Aerion, pleased that you were fine, picked you up and propped you on your feet. He pressed a loving kiss to your forehead and then whipped his body around.
His jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened- scanning the area for any of the men. All whom had witnessed the scene stood with their mouths open, knowing what would come next.
The man whom had lost control of the horse- more so whom had never had control of the horse, had been flung off in the process, now lying on the floor cradling his arm with his eyes closed.
“You!” Aerion shouted. His hand found his sword instinctively, forming a solidified grip on the hilt.
As he neared the injured idiot, he withdrew it forcefully from its sheath. He held it to his throat.
“Open your eyes you fucking imbecile.” He ordered.
The man’s eyes tore open, his mouth opening with the intention of speaking yet no words came.
“You nearly killed my wife.” Aerion pressed the sharp blade into his neck ever so slightly, the man let out a small gasp as the ice cold metal nipped his neck.
“Your princess.” He pressed the blade harder, causing a yelp. Crimson began to trickle from the small incision that Aerion had caused. You knew that you should have stopped him, but admittedly, part of you couldn’t have cared less. Despite your usually forgiving nature, you too were annoyed that you were nearly gravely hurt. And you were sure as hell annoyed about the sweet, young boy that now lay unconscious in the cold mud.
Aerion swiftly withdrew his blade, and the man’s hand immediately raised in order to clasp the small slit.
“Speak!” He roared. Even you were slightly taken aback- usually Aerion carried himself calmly when angry or upset, which was one of the reasons that people were so terrified of him. He was not calm now, though- the spit flying from his mouth as he shouted gave that away greatly.
“I didn’t mean too! My friends were taunting the horse and I don’t know how to ride properly and-“
Aerion silenced him with a hard kick to the stomach. While still clasping his neck, the man hurled over in pain.
Aerion’s body swivelled in your direction, “where are you hurt, my love?” His face softened as he saw you hunched over Edric, stroking his hair, ensuring that he was still breathing.
“My ankle hurts,” you gestured to the floor below you, “yet I am more worried about Edric. What will happen?” You didn’t seek an answer to the question- it was more of an inquiry to the gods.
Without a second thought, Aerion swung his sword as hard as he could onto the man’s ankle- chopping it clean off. The man squealed louder than anyone you had ever heard.
He leaned down, and spoke to the man in a quiet voice, “you hurt my princess’ ankle, so I have taken yours. If that boy,” he pointed, “dies, you will also.” His words were simple. Despite his agony, the man mustered a nod.
Aerion ordered his guard to take him away, and to find the other men who had all coincidentally dispersed.
Your husband walked back to you, his eyes as soft as they always were when he looked at you. You attempted to stand, but your ankle gave in as soon as you had put weight on it.
Aerion lunged forward, catching you once more.
“Thank you.” Your words came out shyer and quieter than you had intended.
He tutted at your thanks, still not understanding why, after five whole winters of being completely and utterly obsessed with you, you still felt the need to thank him.
He knew the answer though, it was because you were the kindest person whom he had ever met.
Placing his right arm on your back, and his left under your legs, he smoothed your skirt down first just in case anyone would dare peep at his lady wife. He began to lift you when you protested.
His brows furrowed, and his face scrunched.
“Leave me here and take him first please. Find him the best maester.” Your tone light but your meaning completely serious.
He let out a long sigh and peered down at the boy who still lay unconscious- his chest heaving up and down.
Aerion’s eyes rolled into the back of his head- he knew what he had to do now; carry the both of them. He couldn’t have given less of a fuck about the boy that had been pestering him constantly, always behind him, infuriating him with his very presence.
But what his princess wanted, she got. He knew you cared for him with your pure heart, and that was enough a reason for him.
He placed you back down gently, once again ensuring that your gown stay down, ironically now wishing it did touch the mud now.
He picked you up over his shoulder on the right side of his body, and then clicked at a nearby guard to help him with the boy. He could have commanded the guard to carry him, of course. That wouldn’t impress you as much though. He wanted to show you the true strength of the dragon that you had married.
The guard did as commanded and propped the boy up, aerion dipped his left side downwards slightly, and allowed the boy to claim his other shoulder. Aerion thanked the gods that he was light.
Weeks passed, and Edric lived. Thankfully. You had sat with him daily, he had woken up a night or so after his collision. You had been there when he awoke, as had your husband, unwillingly.
The boy thought he had died; your beautiful face lingering above him and smiling persuaded the boy quickly that he must be dead, or dreaming. Reality crashed down upon him when he moved his head slightly and saw Aerion’s harsh face also staring down at him. He had jumped, you had giggled, and Aerion had scrunched his face in offence.
Aerion found it adorable that you cared so much, but he was conflicted by the fact that he felt so neglected. Usually, you pandered to his every need- you fed him cake, you sat upon his lap, you kissed him tenderly, you stroked his hair- even in times of fume, you were there while he bathed. You did everything together.
Since the boy had been harmed, although you still pandered to every need, there were many times in the day that you instead sat with Edric. Aerion dreaded what it would be like when you conceived a babe. He had spent the entire time pouting, and sulking like a baby. He thought that you hadn't notice. Of course you had, there was no possible way of not noticing. He had been more loving than usual, and he usually poured his entire heart into yours. You quite liked this version of him, though. One morning he even got down on his knees and begged you not to leave the bed. You didn't.
After the third week (which had felt like an eternity), despite you spending less time with the injured child due to his recovery, he still begged for your attention.
While on his way to find you, one evening, Aerion caught wind of what his squire had been vocalising throughout the castle.
Passing through the kitchens one afternoon, he heard a roar of laughter- more so a cackle.
“Seven save us, please! The boy’s at it again.”
Aerion paid it no mind until another voice answered.
“Her smile is more beautiful than all the stars above Ashford.” The woman put on a dramatised voice, causing Aerion to stop in his tracks.
The kitchen erupted into more cackles. A third voice chimed in.
“No, no. My favourite was yesterday,” the woman cleared her voice, “the Maiden herself could not rival her grace, and beauty and gentleness.”
He’s only a boy, Aerion told himself, chewing the inside of his cheek as he internalised the words he had heard.
“Poor lad’s hopeless.”
“Can you blame him? The prince’s lady sat at his bedside every day for three weeks.”
“Still. If Prince Aerion ever hears half of what the boy says…”
The laughter died abruptly as the women noticed who was standing in the doorway.
A heavy thud of silence descended upon the room.
Aerion stared at them, eyebrows raised and his tongue touching his top lip.
The women immediately bowed their heads, a chiming of “My Prince” annoying his ears. He tutted at them, and flicked a finger upwards, signalling them to stand.
“My squire had developed a fondness for my princess?” He asked them.
They nodded.
Much to their surprise, he laughed. Loudly, while clapping his hands together. Without another word, he walked away, leaving the women to stand there, completely and utterly confused.
He was not surprised, though. Of course the pubescent boy had developed a fondness for you- you were the most beautiful girl in all of the seven kingdoms, and he thanked the gods that he barely believed in daily to have you as his own.
He searched for you everywhere, but could not find you anywhere. He even went to the room that the boy had been recovering in, yet it was empty.
The only place in which he hadn’t searched, were yours and his chambers. He walked swiftly, and completely ignored the large man that guarded the room. Pushing open the grand, mahogany doors to your chambers, he was delighted to see you laying there, your nose in a book.
You looked up at him, your eyes twinkling in the candlelight.
“There you are.” You propped yourself up, and laid your book down carefully. “I have been waiting for you.”
He smirked, kicking his boots off and forcefully laying next to you on the warm, fur covered bed. Instinctively, you lay your head on his lap. Also instinctively, Aerion’s fingers attached themselves to your hair, gently raking through it.
“I heard something amusing today.” He said simply. You made a noise in response, silently asking him to continue.
“Edric has been telling anyone that will listen about how much he adores you. I believe he may be in love with you.”
Horror flashed in your mind, Aerion was an extremely jealous and obsessive person, especially when it came to you, even if the subject of the matter was a harmless child.
“Oh dear, bless him.” You said cautiously.
Aerion bent all the way down and planted a lingering kiss to your forehead, causing your eyes to flutter shut.
“I cannot blame the boy, though I do want to kill him.”
Your eyes snapped open.
“Though I won’t.”
A sigh of relief escaped you. You sat up, scooting upwards so you lay next to him, allowing one leg to sprawl over his lap comfortably.
“Please do not, he is a child.”
He leant down and kissed you again, on the lips this time.
“I know my darling, and that is why I shan’t kill him.”
He smiled at you, and you smiled back. He raised a finger, as he had a thought.
“Though, I will take out my frustrations on the man whom rode the horse.”
Reader just yapping as Bobby goes to town downstairs only half listening as he munches away.
HOLYYYY!!! pussy obsessed ahh boyfriend lols
just an average afternoon w bobby eating you out ₊˚♡
"so then i told her, like, there's literally no way i'm paying 30 dollars for a basic t-shirt, you know? like, the prices at that place are just insane now. i remember when you could get a whole outfit for like, 40 bucks, and now one shirt costs almost that much. it's crazy, babe!"
you're gesturing with one hand, really getting into your rant about the mall, bobby hums against your thigh, his warm breath sending shivers through you as he nuzzles closer.
you barely pause in your story, continuing as he presses soft kisses to your inner thighs.
"mandy bought the shirt cause it was 'so her style'…"
his tongue traces the edge of your panties, and you gasp mid-sentence but keep talking.
"anyway, then we went to that new boutique downtown-"
bobby hooks his fingers into your panties, pulling them aside and exposing you completely. he groans appreciatively before diving in, his tongue flat against your folds as he licks a slow, deliberate stripe up to your clit as his cock strains against his boxers.
"oh god," you breathe, your hands tangling in his hair. "t-then i found this skirt."
"mmmhmm," he mumbles against your folds, his voice muffled.
he sucks your clit into his mouth, and your hips buck involuntarily. "bobby," you moan, your train of thought completely derailing for a moment. "the skirt was…uh…was on sale."
your boyfriend releases your clit with a wet pop, his face pressed against your folds as he rubs his cheeks against you like a cat. "mmmhmm," he murmurs again, the vibrations sending electricity through you.
you whimper, trying to continue your story but failing miserably. "the-um-the skirt was…oh fuck…"
he adjusts your legs, draping them over his shoulders to get deeper access, and you cry out as his tongue plunges inside you, your grip tightening in his hair.
he's making out with your pussy now, sucking and licking and kissing like it's your mouth he's devouring. his nose bumps against your clit as he tongue-fucks you, and you're seeing stars.
he's so turned on it's obscene, the wet spot on his boxers probably growing bigger with every second.
you try to pull away, the stimulation becoming almost too much, but his arms wrap around your thighs, holding you in place. "stay right here." he mumbles against you.
"s-sorry" you whimper, trying to squirm away from his relentless mouth. "anyway," you continue, trying to focus on your story, "so mandy and i spent a-all our money at this boutique…"
he just holds you closer, his tongue working magic on your clit as he slides two fingers inside you, curling them just right.
you tug on his hair again as he sucks particularly hard on your clit, your hips bucking against his face. "w-wait m'gonna cum- bobby don't stop baby-" you gasp, your train of thought completely derailed for a moment.
he looks up at you, his chin glistening with your wetness, a smug little smile on his face. "keep talking," he says, his voice rough. "i'm listening."
you nod and continue your story as he goes back to eating you out, his tongue doing this amazing flicking thing against your clit and his fingers curling up that's making it hard to form coherent sentences. "so…um…what was i saying?"
"spent all your money-" he reminds you, his voice muffled against you.
"oh right! so-" you gasp as bobby slides a third finger inside you, "fuck, okay, maybe we can finish this story later…"
your boyfriend just chuckles against you, the vibrations making your whole body tremble as he continues his assault on your drenched pussy.
blaise zabini x reader
summary: the two of you are over now, and draco may be your boyfriend, but when you're with him you're thinking of somebody else. and when he kisses you, you're disgusted with yourself. heavily based off of katy perry's song !
tags: fem!reader, one shot, angst-ish, yearning
word count: 777
Thinking of You
I woke up in bed, tired and uneasy. I had that dream again. It’s not bad, but it’s something I wish I had so badly it makes me sick. I slowly opened my eyes to see the blond lying beside me, still asleep. I looked down at myself, sitting up. I fiddle with my hands, trying to erase the thought of him out of my mind. Still, he was all I could think of. It feels like everyone has told me to move on, but I still miss him.
Draco eased out of his slumber and started to sit up next to me. As he looked at my face, I tried to avoid his. I felt his gaze on me. “Good morning,” he mumbled softly. “Morning, Dray..” I yawned; those were the first words out of my mouth in the day. I wished they weren’t. He pecked my cheek lightly. “Want breakfast?” I nodded, still looking down at my twiddling fingers. I sat in silence with myself under the duvet for a good bit. I didn’t think of the eggs, or maybe the toast Draco would bring upstairs for me. I could only think of his best friend. The boy who used to be my best friend. My boy.
A few moments later, Draco came upstairs and back into the bedroom with a plate of buttered toast, bacon, and pieces of fresh fruit here and there. I do admit, his cooking wasn’t terrible. But it only made me think of how delicious his flap jacks used to be. How he always knew to make my tea just right. As Draco handed me my plate and my small cup of coffee, I looked into his icy grey eyes, only imagining the long, slanted, dark eyes of the boy I missed so dearly.
“Enjoy,” he gently kissed me warmly once again. I appreciated his kindness, especially when he rarely showed any to anybody else. However, as his lips pressed onto mine, I could feel his mouth. Taste his tongue. I felt like crying in the moment. I thought I almost did. The taste lingered on my lips, only growing the feeling of regret and loneliness. I felt disgusted with myself. That I was even here, with Draco Malfoy. He was nothing like him. I guess that was a good thing, nothing to remind me. But I could mourn him on my own. I couldn’t manage to get him out of my mind. The thought lingered on for what felt, feels like forever.
Waking up in bed with Draco, spending the night with him, only made me wish it was with somebody else. Every time his cold, grey eyes glanced at me, I wished I was looking into his eyes. Every time I looked at his light blond hair, I imagined his buzzed, dark curls. I longed for what used to be mine.
Blaise Zabini.
Tall, dark-skinned, gorgeous. Everything about him was perfect. The way he spoke, the way he dressed, the way he looked at me in Potions when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. I wished he missed me the way I missed him. I thought of how I let him slip out of my fingers, how I let myself let him go.
Every time he held my hand, or touched my skin, it burned. He was everything right for me. His love hurt, but in the best, most addicting way possible. I couldn’t stop thinking of him, or the way he used to kiss my body, play with my hair, bite my lips. He knew every way to love me. Perfectly.
I wondered what we would have done if he was the one I spent last night with. Would he gently caress my hand the way he once did every evening? Would he rest his warm, comforting hand on my thigh like he always did at dinner in the Great Hall? It didn’t matter what he would have done. Because he hadn’t. He wasn’t mine anymore. I let go of him. Stupidly.
As I finished my breakfast and Draco left for whatever reason, I was left alone. Alone with my thoughts. Thoughts of him. If only he came through the door. Taking me back. Kissing me and loving me intensely once again. If only. I would do it. I would go see him. I didn’t know where he was, of course. Perhaps the Zabini Manor, or passed out in the aftermath of a party, or in the bed of another girl’s. I couldn’t blame him, obviously. I did the same. I betrayed him.
The most I could do was stay in bed and continue thinking of him.
dear kat, i am on my knees begging, please, please, please, more DM verse freak4freak, cunt4cunt, ls x aerion, i need her to outmatch his freak so bad. i need to know how he'd react if she's the one being freaky on main unprompted. please and thank you <333
⊹ ࣪ ˖ pairing: aerion targaryen x f!stark!reader
⊹ ࣪ ˖ wc: 2.6k
⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes/content: stark!reader, smut (p in v), sub!bratty!aerion until he isn't, biting/marking/practically primal & blood play tbf, freak4freak rough sex (they're both grossly into it!), praising, finger sucking (and lots of it!), jealousy, mentions of past you && daeron, possessiveness, unhinged aerion (water wet), but kinda soft!aerion too if you squint, he's obsessed with you in ways that are concerning to humanity! Anyway, hormones won, here's some smut, enjoy!
devour me verse.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Aerion is already inside the room when you enter, leaning against the stone mantel with that dangerous, lazy grace he wears like a second skin. His silver hair glows in the warm heat of the hearth as he angles his head towards your voice. The severe cut sharpens the cruel elegance of his face, making the violet eyes look even brighter while they flick up and down your body unhurriedly. He wears only a loose black tunic, unlaced to the sternum, and breeches of dark wool, one boot propped against the hearthstones as if he owns the room.
He doesn’t. It’s one of Winterfell’s oldest guest towers that serves as your private retreat when the royal party visits from the south. The walls are thick grey stone veined with frost, the air sharp with the scent of pine logs burning low in the hearth and the faint, clean bite of snow.
“Why not?” he drawls.
He watches you close the heavy oak door, lips curling into a sharp, goading smile that doesn’t quite hide the hunger beneath. You don’t grace him with a response right away, shedding your cloak and gloves. Aerion tracks every twitch of your body with predatory focus, his hunger like a hand around your throat.
“Well?” he repeats, voice low and mocking, the words edged with challenge. “You dragged me all the way to this frozen pile of stone just to stare at me? Or are you finally going to do something about that pretty little itch between your legs that Daeron never could scratch?”
You consider striking him, if only to shut him up. You’ve done so before, your hand still remembers the shape of his face, the burn after, the satisfaction. Instead, you loosen the strings of your gown silently, ignoring him as you do so. Something in the air shifts as you shed layers, warps, growing heavier by the moment.
From the corner of your eye, Aerion’s head tilts, and you can almost hear the eye roll in his voice, “Ah, yes, the wolf’s growler. Give me the order to leave if my presence irks you so much. Or are you afraid I’ll bite the hand that tries to tame me?”
The heavy woollen dress you wear slips down your body, pooling at your feet, leaving you in nothing but a loose robe. You back curves as you straighten, and you hear the hitch in Aerion’s breathing behind you. You cross the room slowly, robe already slipping from one shoulder, and stop just out of arm’s reach. Your voice comes out low, icy around the edges.
“On your knees, Aerion.”
For one heartbeat, his violet eyes flash with pure, vicious amusement. He straightens, crossing his arms, that mocking smile widening into something almost hateful in its open delight. He expected much from this attempt to catch you off guard, sneak into your room in the dark, but it’s clear he didn’t expect this.
“Make me,” he dares softly, dangerously, eyes dragging down your form. His tongue absently slips against the spot where you bit his lip last time, the wound long since healed now, even if the heat of your last kiss clearly still haunts him. “Or are you going to stand there pretending you don’t want to see me bleed for you? Daeron would have dropped the moment you snapped your fingers. He’s pathetic like that. I want to hear you earn it.”
You step closer and push two fingers between his parted lips without warning, and slide them deep. “Open for me.”
His eyes widen, then narrow into slits. For a moment, you see him considering something violent, something that would draw blood. He could close his teeth, could draw blood, could flip this entire game in a heartbeat, but instead, Aerion obeys with vicious enthusiasm, because it’s you. Because there's something sick in him that can't quite resist this dance between you.
His mouth closes hot and wet around your fingers, tongue swirling greedily, cheeks hollowing as he sucks them deeper. The obscene, wet sounds fill the solar: soft, filthy pulls, the faint click of his tongue against your knuckles, a low growl vibrating up from his chest that makes your cunt throb. He stares up at you the entire time, violet eyes burning, daring you even as he hollows his cheeks harder, saliva and the faint copper of his earlier self-inflicted cut coating your fingers and dripping down his chin in thin, glistening strands.
You let him suck for a long moment, watching the way his throat works convulsively, the way his cock strains visibly against his breeches, already leaking a dark wet spot through the wool. Then you pull your fingers free with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting them to his swollen lips, and smear the mess across his sharp cheekbone. Aerion’s mouth stays parted as he watches you, his stare glazed while you pop your wet fingers in your own mouth and suck on them. The taste of him explodes across your tongue. Aerion hisses a furious breath at the sight, his hand snapping out to grab your nape, burning fingers sinking deep into the flesh as he jerks you to him, your foreheads almost knocking together.
Releasing your fingers, you lick your mouth, and tilt your chin, “On your knees. Now.”
He laughs—low, vicious, practically silk—because you didn’t hesitate, because you’re matching him and pushing further than he ever thought you’ll allow. He might never get a chance like this again, and he doesn’t waste it. With deliberate, near-theatrical slowness, Aerion sinks to his knees on the white-bear fur, eyes never leaving yours, the challenge still flickering in his gaze even as his chest rises and falls faster.
“Happy now, wolf?” he murmurs mockingly, but his voice comes out too breathy, too starved. “Or do you need me to beg prettier?”
You stand over him, robe already slipping from one shoulder, and look down at the vicious, silver-haired prince on his knees for you. Your voice comes out and rings through the room with far more steadiness than his. “Open your mouth.”
Aerion’s head snaps up. He still thinks you’ll falter, that the wolf will hesitate at the edge of the abyss he has always dared you to cross and fall into with him, consequences be damned. His lips curl into a sharp, mocking half-smile, tongue darting out to wet them again like he can still taste your fingers there.
“You think you can give what I take?” he murmurs, his voice taunting, the words edged with something almost hateful. “Careful, pretty wolf. I bite back. Daeron never could have handled you like this. He no doubt knelt and begged for scraps. I was the one who always wanted to devour you whole, exactly as you are.”
You don’t falter.
You step closer, push two fingers back between his parted lips, and slide them deep, deeper than earlier, pressing on the warm, fleshy pulp of his tongue. “Then swallow your pride and suck. Daeron had no problems showing me how badly he needed me, and he earned me, which is more than you can say.”
His eyes widen, then narrow when realisation sinks in. You see the hatred burning there, coiling like snake, the need to step out of the visual you presented him with. That his drunken, fool of a brother got what Aerion craved for so long, that Daeron had you, and you gave yourself to him willingly.
This time, Aerion doesn’t hold back, doesn’t entertain you with goading little licks. He sucks your fingers down until you’re practically hitting the back of his throat, his hand wrapped around your wrist to keep you in place. You think, stupidly and wildly, that he means to swallow you whole. That now that you’ve given him another taste, he will eat you alive. But he doesn’t. He sucks, the wet heat of his tongue curling around your digits in masterful, lazy curls.
“Strip,” you order, your voice husky, pulling your fingers back, “And keep your mouth open. I want to hear how much you hate that I’m right about your brother.”
Aerion tongues his bottom lip, his breath heavy, but his hands move fast, tearing the tunic over his head, shoving the breeches down his hips until his cock springs free, erect and already flushed dark. He kicks the fabric aside and returns to his knees, chest heaving, his head angled in open challenge that says what now?
You drop to your knees in front of him without a word, and for a split second, his expression cracks, like he didn’t expect this closeness, for you to meet him as equals, forever expecting a fight instead. You cup his face with both hands, that devilishly handsome face, and Aerion’s long lashes flutter at the contact.
You use the lowering of his guard to lean close and kiss him hard. Teeth clashing, tongues sliding against each other, the taste of blood and spit mixing with raw want, flooding both your mouths. Aerion’s hand grabs the back of your head, unwilling to let you go as he threads his fingers through your hair with a low, pleased growl. He kisses you like you’re his last meal, and he intends to savour every last brush of your lips, eat you alive one nibble at a time. There’s no shyness in the kiss, no uncertainty, only animal hunger, and despite your best attempts to remain unaffected, the steadily building ache between your thighs pulses for him, urging you on.
When you finally pull back, you whisper against his lips, voice heady with heat, “You’re already dripping for me, Aerion.”
His answer is a snarl, his fingers sinking against the back of your head, teeth bared. “Then make me bleed for it, wolf. Or I’ll remind you exactly why Daeron never stood a chance.”
You push him onto his back on the white-bear fur. The silver strands practically blend into the thick pelt beneath him. You straddle his chest and rake your nails down his torso—hard, possessive, leaving eight perfect red lines that bead instantly. Aerion bows beneath you, spine arching clean off the fur, a harsh, vicious hiss escaping between clenched teeth. You lean down and lick each scratch with slow, thorough strokes of your tongue, sucking dark bruises into the pale skin between the lines until Aerion’s breathing turns ragged and his hips jerk helplessly beneath you, cock twitching against your thigh.
You slide lower, grasping him with one hand. Aerion snarls, leaning into the firmness of your grip like he’s chasing the edge of pain beneath the pleasure. His length sits heavy and flushed in your palm, pulsing against the heel of your palm, the tip already glistening. His fingers claw at your hips impatiently, and you can’t tell if he’s urging you on, or trying to tear your cloak and finally bare you to him. You don’t give him the satisfaction of succeeding, instead sinking down onto him in one slow, owning glide. The stretch burns beautifully; every inch of him fills you until your hips are flush, and Aerion is buried to the hilt. He groans—low, broken, pride cracking as his head angles back—as your walls clench around him, slick heat swallowing him whole.
There’s no patience in you for anything gentle; neither of you has ever been good at that, anyway, at anything other than bloody, raw need. You ride Aerion slow and deep, one hand braced on his scratched chest, the other feeding him your fingers again. He sucks them greedily, tongue swirling, moaning around them while you grind down harder, rolling your hips so the head of his cock drags relentlessly against that perfect spot inside you. His eyes never leave yours—wild, glassy, so dark you can see him memorising everything, every inch of you, every sensation.
Then you lean in close, voice a soft, goading purr against his ear, “Daeron could never fuck me like this. Never make me this wet. Never make me want to ruin him the way I ruin you. Say it. Tell me how much better you are. Or are you still jealous that I let him try first?”
The words hit like dragonfire.
A low, feral growl tears from Aerion’s throat around your fingers. In one sudden, fluid motion, he surges upward, flipping you beneath him on the white-bear fur, his body caging yours completely. He looms above you, eyes shining with something dark and dangerous, a type of animalistic gleam that’s usually preceded by his cruelty, by blood. He’s still inside you, still buried to the hilt, but now Aerion is the one setting the pace—deep, desperate, rutting thrusts that slam the head of his cock against your cervix with every stroke, hips snapping forward with bruising force that works a pleased moan out of your lips.
Aerion keeps your fingers in his mouth as he fucks you, sucking harder, tongue laving between them, teeth grazing the pads while his hips piston. Only when the need becomes too much does he release them with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting your fingers to his swollen lips. He bites your throat instead—hard, possessive, teeth sinking in until the skin breaks and blood wells hot against his tongue, making you squirm beneath him, fingers grabbing at the silky silver strands. He sucks the mark like a man dying of thirst, growling against your skin while his hips snap harder, the wet slap of flesh loud and obscene in the quiet tower room.
His hands pin your wrists above your head, fingers digging in as his thrusts turn erratic, cock swelling thicker inside you with every brutal stroke. He bites your shoulder next, harder, then your collarbone, then the soft swell of your breast, leaving dark, bleeding bruises that will darken by morning. Each mark is followed by a slow, reverent lick, as though he can’t decide whether to devour you or worship the wounds he leaves behind. Aerion’s hot breath burns against your skin, silver strands brushing your cheek as he buries his face in your neck, panting, biting, sucking, listening to your strangled moans.
“Daeron could never do this,” he rasps, voice raw, blood from his own lip and yours mixing on his chin. Your legs tighten around his waist, your insides clenching around him so tightly that Aerion closes his eyes, a snarl twisting his face at his attempt to control himself. He leans down to kiss you again, and again, tearing at the soft flesh of your bottom lip with his teeth. “Never make you shake like this. Never make you bleed and beg and come apart the way I do. I would carve your name into my ribs right now if it meant you’d keep… looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world worth wanting.”
He’s practically coming apart at the seams, you feel it. Trembling, sweating, hips snapping with desperate, all-consuming need to bring you together, fuse you together in some undeniable way. His fingers flex around your wrists, short nails digging crescents into your skin as his thrusts lose rhythm, cock pulsing violently inside you. The wet, filthy sound of your joining fills the solar, slick and loud, the white-bear fur damp beneath you both.
You feel him beginning to come undone, his thrusts turning more and more erratic as he buries himself to the hilt one final time and spills deep, flooding you with hot, endless pulses while he bites down on your shoulder hard enough to draw fresh blood, hard enough to send you over the edge so hard it’s like he’s shoved you off a wall. Near animal howl tears from your throat, leaving it bloody as your vision goes white, your back arching and muscles locking. Yet even then, Aerion doesn’t stop moving—slow, grinding rolls that keep him buried inside you, keep every drop exactly where he wants it, his violet eyes find yours, wild and shining with something softer, consuming, too fond around the edges before he wipes it away.
He licks the blood from your shoulder with slow, reverent strokes, blood shining on his lips, then presses his forehead to yours, breathing ragged, bodies still locked together in the firelit dark.
“I am yours,” he whispers, voice hoarse and dangerous, fingertips tilting your chin to him. “And you are mine. Forever.”
an: this was only checked once and written in period hormone haze so yeehaw, we move!!!! hope you enjoyed these two freaks!!!
frank likes to spread your pussy open with his fingers before he eats you out. likes to stare at your twitching clit, likes that you always get shy and nudge his shoulder with your toes as if saying "just get on with it". he likes to get really close and spit a fat glob of saliva on your spread folds. likes to hear your surprised gasp and the embarrassed whine that always follows. he likes to watch his spit drip down your cunt until your fluttering hole swallows it, his lips parted and cock twitching inside his boxers. when he looks up and sees that you're covering your face with your hands he laughs. a little mocking, a little delirious. he grabs your wrist and laces your finges together, then spits on you once more before finally diving in.
sloppy makeouts w langdon 😵💫 spit everywhere, grabbing n groping at his cock slurring "please"-es into his mouth n whining when he says "not yet baby, hmm ? gotta stretch u out" yeaaaaaaa
⚠︎ — MDNI. 18+. lots of humping, groping, denial, kissing, spit, heavy petting.
Frank Langdon has a perfect mouth— exfoliated lips, a sparse amount of stubble around his chin, and a he always tastes like mint chewing gum or strawberry flavored candies. It’s safe to say you’ve got a fixation on the way his mouth moves, and the pattern in which he slides his tongue across his lips for some extra hydration. You’re shameless about the way you stare, gaze focused on his mouth even during inappropriate times. Regardless of your bad habits, Frank is usually sweet on you about it, and most of the time, he lets you have what you want.
“C’mere. You’re staring again,” Frank pats his thigh, a signal for you to climb on his lap and take what you’re so desperately craving. He doesn’t need to tell you twice before you’re crawling over to him, sliding yourself onto his thighs and looking at his mouth in even closer proximity. His dry fingers, always raw from excessive handwashing, hook under your chin. The gap between you two is closed in a matter of seconds, and his tongue dances across you bottom lip, teeth nipping and pulling at the soft tissue. Drool accumulates at the corner of your mouth, threatening to spill over. It’s something Frank will lightly tease you about later. ‘You’re such a drooler, baby,’ and ‘my pretty girl, you’re drooling at just the thought, huh?’
Makeout sessions with Frank always turn into humping and groping over clothes. In most cases, you’re a whining mess, pawing at his belt buckle for some more, but he’s always hesitant about finishing the job once it’s started. Your legs spread on either side of him, hands filtered throughout his hair, using the locks as a grip while your hips roll against him. His length grows against his jeans, the hard outline of his dick is evident even through his pants. You can nearly make out what the tip looks like, even clothed.
“Please, Frank,” your eyes shut tightly, rolling your hips forward to get some stimulation from him. All you want is his cock tucked deeply inside you, pounding you until you’re a mess beneath him, fluids leaking everywhere. Drool, arousal, cum, whatever it may be. “Please… please,” your pleads are pathetic in between the kisses, and you know Frank is about to deny you when you feel his smile stretching across your lips, a knowing scoff sounding from the back of his throat.
“Not yet, baby. Gotta stretch you out first, remember? You want my fingers, wanna practice taking two this time?”
“No,” you groan against him, “wanna feel your… you know… wanna feel you inside me.”
“You can’t even say the word ‘dick,’ sweetheart. What makes you think you’re ready? Doctor knows best, right?”
੭꣒ ˖ ❛ bf!langdon who takes the phrase “kiss and makeup” a little too seriously.
c.ws :: mdni , smut , slight degradation , missionary so you can continue arguing , dirty talk.
"stop being so fucking mad at me." frank grumbles out from above, driving the point home by grinding his cock in deeper inside you. your thighs quiver despite yourself where they're hooked around his waist, lewd slapping noises permeating the room just to tease you. “i said sorry an hour ago.”
you keep turning your face, trying to angle it out of reach, or at least force the fury back into your expression. you can’t fight the scrunch of pleasure that crosses your face, however. he can see that too. the grudge held like a stone dam, meant to keep your pride immune and well guarded from the way he's fucking you into the mattress. but it never works.
"m’not-"
"you are." he nips at your shoulder, voice muffled. "you keep clenching up when i talk.” his hips rear back steadily, a wet squelch sounding from where you're joined, then he sinks back in with a grunt of effort. "except down here."
the truth stings worse than the fight itself: frank knows you like the back of his hand. the front and back. he knows exactly how to fuck you until your resentment feels misplaced and petty.
hands that had been pushing against his chest find the silky sheets instead, clutching tight.
"it was a stupid fight," he pushes in again, slowly, allowing you to relish in the thick ridge and veins dragging along your walls while he explains the situation to you.
"and you know it." pride makes you not answer, of course, the only thing you can manage is a soft whine.
"sweetheart," he sighs. "you really gonna let me cum in this pussy while you're busy pretendin' to hate me?" you blink up at him in silent retort. defiance radiating from every inch of your face.
"mmm." the man even has the audacity to pinch the bridge of his nose, like you're the one being unreasonable. like he’s not currently balls deep. "always so fucking stubborn." he reaches between your bodies, thumbing lazily at your clit. "you think i like walking out?"
rage bubbles back up your throat at once, rolling your eyes with the little attitude you had remaining. "you slammed the door — our door — and left."
"you knew damn well i'd come back…” he grunts, not missing a beat to retort. an especially brutal thrust has you seeing stars. "you’re a smart girl, stop acting stupid, yeah?" you try to hitch your hips, to hurry him along but he only holds you down, eyes narrowing.
"go ahead and scream all you want, curse me out, break something if you need to. but don't fall asleep hating me.” he rambles on, shaking his head faintly. “can’t take that shit."
your words come out sharp, bitter once you find your voice. "so what’s your plan, fuck me into forgiveness?”
there's no hesitation in him when a toothy grin splits across his face, "there you go. if we fight in the morning? before work? fine. but if we're sharing a bed like this, we fix it before we close our eyes. understood?" no thought forms twice before your head's nodding stupidly, not an ounce of resistance (or dignity) left in you as he sinks back in.
langdon telling reader all the cool procedures he got to do at work while she rides him...
"— so I realigned his spine," he laughs breathlessly, shakes hair out of his eyes and squeezes at the fat of your hips while you ride him. "his spine, baby. without neuro."
"that's so hot,” you gasp into his mouth, “you’re so hot.”
“had his head in my hands and then i j-just—snap,” his laugh is more delicious this time, and then it gets cut off by a moan when you squeeze around his cock. “fuck, sweetheart, you feel so fuckin’ good.”
“better than a spine realignment?” you smile n bite his lip while he chuckles.
“i don’t know if I’d go that fa—” the rest of his sentence is muffled by a pillow over his face while you gasp in faux outrage through a fit of giggles :’)
dr. dennis whitaker x bombshell!nurse!reader who gets a hickey at work ✿ 1.3k words
summary: dennis accidentally gives you a hickey at work, leading to lots of speculation, a bet, and a confession
cw: fem!nurse!reader, dennis is v insecure, reader is not really in this part it just revolves around her
AN: literally went to post this earlier this afternoon and i got broken up with lmao so hope y'all enjoy this, i'm going to go cry :(
the pitt masterlist
°˖✧✿✧˖°
Dennis doesn’t mean to give you the hickey. Really, it’s entirely your fault.
If you didn’t melt in his arms every time he latched himself to your neck, if you didn’t encourage him by trailing your nails over his scalp and whispering pretty words in his ear, he wouldn’t have done it. But, you do, and you make the sweetest sounds Dennis has ever heard, so can anyone blame him when he’s unable to detach himself from you?
It’s not horrible, but it is… noticeable. And oh, do people notice.
The gossip spreads quickly, especially given the fact that the small, purplish mark just below your jaw was certainly not there when you arrived for your shift at 7 am. Now, it acts as a beacon to your whispering coworkers.
Dennis thinks you must not realize it’s there, given the way you don’t try anything at all to cover it up.
“It has to be one of the doctors, right?” Perlah’s voice reaches Dennis’ ears from across the nurse’s station, and he wouldn’t doubt if they perk up like a dog’s, trying to listen closer. “Someone she could sneak away into a supply room with.”
“My bet’s on Dr. Park.” Princess speaks up, the corner of her mouth lifted and eyes alight with mischief.
“Park the Shark?” Perlah leans in, and Dennis does too, despite knowing exactly who placed that hickey on your neck and the gross, dark feeling that grows in his stomach at the idea of it being anyone else. It backfires though, when the two women seem to notice his eavesdropping.
“What do you think, Dr. Whitaker?” Princess leans her elbow on the counter, voice low and conspiratorial.
Dennis jumps at the mention of his name, eyes wide like a deer in headlights when he looks up to meet the gaze of the two nurses. He tries not to look guilty and stutters out a, “What- uh, what do I think about what?”
“About our bombshell!” Princess’ gaze is as bright as her smile. “Who do you think managed to get her alone and mark their territory?”
Oh. Oh no. Dennis hates the way his scrub pants seem to tighten at the idea of him ‘marking his territory.’ That wasn’t was he intended at all, but now that he’s thought about it…
He lets out a rough cough, shaking his head and hoping the two of them think he’s just blushing at the idea of you having a hickey, and not because he’s the one that put it there. The words feel like sandpaper in his throat. “I uh- I haven’t thought about it at all, actually.”
“Hmm.” Princess turns back to Perlah, whispering something in Tagalog that Dennis doesn’t understand, and they go back to giggling. He’s pretty sure he hears Princess whisper something about Robby, but he’s darting away toward the bathroom before the two of them can question him again.
A bet is started not long after that. Dennis hears about it a few hours later, when he finally has a moment to sit down and chart, and he’s interrupted by Trinity.
“Hey, Huckleberry, you getting in on the bet?”
His heart stops, but he tries his best to look uninterested as he lifts his gaze. “What bet?”
Trinity’s eyes roll so hard Dennis is worried she might hurt herself. “The bet about a certain nurse you always seem to have your eye on. Although it seems like someone else might’ve gotten to her first.”
Dennis hates the way his stomach flips. No one even considers for a second that it might be him. Not even Trinity. She stands there, smug with maybe the smallest amount of pity for him, twirling her pen between her fingers.
Maybe it’s the look on her face, maybe it’s his frustration that no one would ever consider him good enough for you. But something forces the words from him, even if they’re murmured and unconfident.
“It was me.”
Trinity’s brows furrow, and she looks at him like he spoke in Latin instead of English. When she questions him, it comes with a confused chuckle. “What?”
“It was me.” It’s steadier this time, though not much louder. Trinity’s response is immediate.
“What do you mean it was you?” Her voice echoes more than it should, and Dennis feels like suddenly everyone in the ER has their eyes on the two of them. Before he can think of what he’s doing, he’s grabbing Trinity by the wrist and pulling her into the stairwell.
Her arms are crossed the second the doors close behind them, ripping her wrist from his grasp and eyebrows raised like she’s giving him a silent command to explain himself.
“I’m the one that… it was me. The… the hickey.” He can barely even say the word, face cringing when it manages to escape his lips. No wonder no one even looked his way.
Trinity’s first instinct is to laugh, a giggle far higher than anything he’s ever heard from her before, that turns into a cackling that makes his insides burn almost as much as his face.
“You-“ She can barely speak, words muffled by laughter, “You’re saying it was you?”
“Yes.” It’s Dennis who crosses his arms this time, wanting to curl in on himself. “Why is that funny?”
Trinity wipes at her eye, waving the other hand in his direction flippantly. She tries “No, you’re right. It’s- It’s not funny.”
Dennis’ stare is blank and unamused. His self worth is plummeting by the second. “You’re laughing.”
This only causes a new outburst of giggles. “I’m sorry!” Her voice gives away that she is absolutely not sorry. “I’m sorry, it’s just… you? It was really you?”
Dennis purses his lips. “Yes.”
Trinity’s face shifts. Away from amused and more to… confused.
“You?”
“Yes!”
“And you’re sure?”
Dennis feels like he must explode. “I think I would know if I gave someone a hickey!”
Trinity raises her hands in innocence, though the corner of her mouth twitches with the effort of holding in another chuckle. “Sorry! Sorry, I just… it’s a little…”
Dennis’ brows pull together, his eyes narrowing at her. “A little what?”
“Just… surprising.”
Dennis scoffs. “What’s so surprising about it? Why does no one think it could’ve been me?”
“Well…” Trinity looks like she’s choosing her words carefully. “You’re… you. And she’s…” Her voice trails off and Dennis raises his brows as he waits for her to finish her sentence. She does, shrugging and playing with the ends of her stethoscope. “You know… super hot?”
Dennis can’t deny that. He himself never thought in a million years that you would give him a chance, and maybe that’s why this whole thing is hitting him so hard. No one would believe him, everyone would assume you would go for someone like Dr. Abbot or Dr. Robby. Someone bold, loud, and in charge. Not… little Dennis Whitaker.
“Well, it was.” He shrugs, and that’s it.
Trinity stands there for a moment, eyes tracing over his face like she’s searching for something and she’s unsure of where it is. She seems to find it though, if the sparkle that appears in her eye and her slowly widening grin is anything to go by.
“What?” Dennis is uneasy now. Trinity turns on her heels to head back into the ED, and Dennis asks again. “What?”
She turns, walking backward through the door as she shoots him a wink. “I am so winning the bet.”
contains… blaise zabini x reader, suggestive material, ass grabbing based off this request (masterlist) (nav)
“blaise!” you giggle, running up to the tall man that stood less than a foot away from you. he had just finished one of the biggest quidditch matches of the season, obviously you went and supported him. blaise was the best player on the slytherin team in your opinion — totally not biased.
he embraced you in his warm arms, holding you tight as you hugged. you could feel blaise’s chin resting on your head as you tried to get as close to him as possible.
“you did great out there baby.” you get on your tip toes to whisper in his ear. “i told you,” he said back, you could feel his hands lowering greedily. “you’re my good luck charm.” he finally said with a firm squeeze of your ass.
a giggle left your lips as you hit him softly on the shoulder. “c’mon, we’re in public” you said quietly. blaise grabbed your ass like a man starved, all while holding you and peppering kisses to the top of your head.
“can’t help m’self,” he mumbled. “seeing you all excited in the stands, here for me. makes me go crazy.” his words made you smile, he always knew what to say.
“well, how about when we get back to the dorms i’ll give you a reward for how good you did out there?” you asked, already knowing the answer. within seconds, blaise had let go of you and swung you over his shoulder as he bolted for the dorms.
tessa’s notes… guys i’m so so sorry for how absent i’ve been lately:( may is gonna be a very busy month for me, but after that i should be back and writing regularly!
"how much time until ya find someone new when i'll die ?"
you stopped in your tracks, turning around to look at simon. you studied his face for a few seconds, looking for any signs of humor, you found none.
"simon" you walked closer to the bed, he was laying under the covers. "you just broke your leg, you're not gonna die" you chuckled, trying to warm the atmosphere a little.
he simply looked at you, watching you slip under the covers with him, cheek flat against his chest.
"no" he exclaimed urgently. "get up, ya gonna make it worse" he put his hands on your waist, preparing himself to push you away.
"make me" you jokingly said, hugging him even tighter. you giggled at his silence, you didn’t even have to look up to know that he had given up. his arms now circling around your waist. it was funny to you how lieutnant simon riley was a huge baby when injured, he hated having to be helped for everything.
"'love ya" you heard him say with his hoarse voice, "love you too, simon".
"but i swear if ya find another bastard i'll fuckin’ kill" you cut him off by hitting his stomach slightly, earning a small huff from him. it was surprisingly enough to shut him up.
you know when men slap their dick on your pussy a few times before they put it in? i feel like the 141 each have their own ritual.
simon? he slaps with weight. his cock is heavy, girthy, and he sort of just lets it drop against you, wet, blunt smacks across your lips and clit until you’re slick enough that every smack sounds obscene and you’re whining for him to just put it in already.
price slides his. he doesn’t tease so much as he just wants to watch his cock coat with your come. dragging the length of himself through your lips slowly, getting himself nice and wet until his fat head finally catches at your entrance on its own.
kyle’s the kind to feed you only the tip just to pull it out and drag the whole length of his cock up to your clit and back down, notches the head in again, pulls out, drags it back up. he’ll get lost doing it too if you let him, ten-fifteen minutes of it.
johnny slaps your cunt with his cock because he likes to watch. eyes locked on the way you twitch every time it lands, bringing it down in quick, smacking succession. distantly wondering where the hell he left his phone.
captain john price who bangs his pretty cute girlfriend over his desk while the rest of his team sits awkwardly on the other side.
“open your eyes,” he commands you, his voice deep and rough. “I said, open em. are ya gonna piss me off too?”
and so you find it in you to open them despite the embarrassment that sits low in your gut as he ruts himself into you. It’s not hard to make out who’s in front of you. his warm skin and signature hat makes him easy to identify and as your vision focuses, you can make out the crimson on his cheek and the sweat building on his neck.
you look at him, almost apologetically, as if saying “I’m sorry you have to see me like this,” because Kyle truly is an angel and the idea of his knowing what your eyes looked like when all fucked out seemed like a sin on its own.
first, he calls out soap for texting you late at night. john fists the hair on your head till you’re facing the scot who’s not looking at your eyes, but somewhere lower. “y’know what couples do at night, Mactavish? I’ll give you a hint.” price snakes his arm between your legs, pinching and rolling your clit to which you let out a pained and delicious mewl.
and next in line is gaz, whose gesture of buying you your favorite foods has gone unliked by price. luckily, Gaz is sitting right next to soap so you don’t have to strain yourself to find him. Gaz knows he shouldn’t stare…but he can’t help himself and surprisingly, the captain hasn’t told anyone to stop so he swallows the lump in his throat, and commits the sight before him to memory.
then there’s ghost, who refuses to acknowledge he has actively done anything. “bullshit. wanna tell me why you’re always staring at her ass?” which shuts the brooding man up immediately.
your orgasm comes quick, as it always did. your words come out broken and desperate but they barely register to your boyfriend who has his own agenda.
your eyes roll back as you climax, the euphoria sending you into a blissful state of haze. but john doesn’t stop, not when he has a point to prove.
so he fucks you through your high, and then he fucks you more. your hand presses against his thigh with no real pressure, sobbing cries of overstimulation.
“after today, i want no more foolery from any of you. I’d suggest you take today for all it’s worth because after tonight, you can all go to your beds and jerk off your pathetic cocks to the memory of this and. nothing. else.” he punctuates each word with a sharp thrust, willing either your legs or the desk legs to give out.
“do i make myself clear?”
and the answer all comes in unison. “Yes, Captain.”
Simon Riley is the kind of man who will be staring at his tray in the middle of the mess, poking at whatever slop they’ve been handed, and say something like “my wife used to make this. Hers was better” in this low, hollowed out voice that makes every man at the table go quiet and exchange a look.
Nobody says anything.
Oh, they’re all thinking. She’s gone, then.
He keeps a folded photo in his front breast pocket, worn soft at the creases from how many times he’s handled it. He doesn’t show anyone. He just takes it out sometimes and looks at it with this expression like he’s being slowly gutted and then puts it away again.
Half drunk at the pub between deployments, leaning heavy on the bar, he’ll say “I just miss her, s’all. Wish she was still here with me” and someone will quietly offer to get him another pint because what else do you say to a grieving man.
Whole time you’re at home perfectly fine, he just really fucking misses you.
