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gimmethatagustd · 3 months

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morals on sundays | myg

You're still in love with your ex-boyfriend. Yoongi offers some help to get over him.

○ Pairing: BFF!Yoongi x f!Reader

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Friends with benefits, angst, smut, fluff

○ 6 / 100 Drabble Challenge (FWB)

○ Word Count: 2,177

○ Warnings: MC's boyfriend cheated on her, post-breakup blues, questionable decision making, fingering so good you'll try to run away from it, pussy eating, too much tongue sucking probably, Yoongi is a boob guy, they have matching Spongebob and Patrick coffee mugs so why aren't they married?? Idiots

○ Notes: Shout out to @sailoryooons for also writing about a daegu boy eating pussy tonight 😌 And, as usual, I wrote this with scrambled eggs for brains and didn't proofread it, so if you see any errors, no you didn't

○ Post Date: January 22, 2024

○ Masterlist | Send me ur thots

○ What was Jai listening to? Imported - Jessie Reyez ft. 6LACK

Lately, you’ve felt like disappearing – not into a crowded city street in another country or down an unlit dirt road into the unknown, but into the warm folds of Yoongi’s hoodie. You’re already halfway there, with your fingers interlaced with his, shoved into the large front pocket, and your face tucked into his shoulder.

“Fuck, I hate taking the bus,” he curses, his words turning into a cloud that disappears into the cold air.

“How much time do we have?”

Yoongi turns his head, and his lips briefly touch the cold curve of your ear.

“You’re mumbling. What’d you say?”

“How much time until it comes?” You squint up at him, cheek still pressed against his shoulder. It’s too warm here to want to move.

“Can’t check the app on my phone unless you give me my hands.”

“No.”

Yoongi chuckles and jostles your head by bobbing his shoulders.

“I thought our date would cheer you up.” His complaint is playful, eyes sparkling in the streetlights when he returns his gaze to the empty road. You should have gotten a taxi.

“I’m gonna die alone. Doesn’t matter how much late-night pizza I eat or how many stupid action movies I watch,” you grumble into Yoongi’s shoulder.

“Even when the action movie lead has a super hot sex scene that’s poorly timed and irrelevant to the plot?”

“Nope.”

“Even when the coolest guy on the entire planet was the one who took you?” Yoongi smiles cheekily, his gaze back on you. He wiggles his shoulders again, hard enough to bounce your head.

Annoyed, you straighten up, hands still shoved in his pockets. The movie wasn’t that bad. The pizza was actually great. You’re just depressed.

“I didn’t think it would take this long…” You whisper into the little space between your body and Yoongi’s. He knows you aren’t talking about the bus.

Yoongi squeezes your hands inside his hoodie. The rest of you might be freezing in the winter night air, but at least Yoongi keeps your hands warm. He keeps your heart warm, too, with his sincere gaze when he looks at you.

“You were too good for him.”

Yoongi’s right. He’s always right.

You’re sufficiently frozen by the time the bus finally arrives. Yoongi pays for you both because he’s trying to make life easy. No bumps in the road, no unnecessary stress. He lets you sit in a window seat so you can stare out at the blurry night scenery and have your sad main character moment for as long as it takes to get to your apartment.

Once you arrive, he follows you inside and heads straight to the kitchen while you slump down the hall to your bedroom. The cold seeps so deeply into your bones that the sweatpants and sweater you change into barely help increase your body temperature.

Maybe it’s because the sweatpants and sweater are your ex-boyfriend’s, and the universe wants to keep your body as cold as his heart was.

In the kitchen, Yoongi uses a wooden spoon to stir hot chocolate in a small pot, your favorite kind that comes in a block of chocolate that melts with milk. It’s likely been years since Yoongi has made you hot chocolate. Cozy winter nights indoors were once commonplace, the two of you alternating between apartments to make each other snacks and treat cuddles like currency. The appearance of your ex put an end to the comfort you shared with Yoongi. It put an end to most things that brought you comfort.

As you expect, Yoongi has two mugs out on the counter. You reach for yours, twisting it in your hands as you wait for him to finish.

“Remember when Spongebob tried to become best friends with Squidward instead of Patrick?” Yoongi asks, turning off the stove. He uses a ladle to pour hot chocolate into his pink mug, then pours some into your yellow one.

“Yes.”

“He was Squidward. I’m just mad I didn’t get to blow up his house–” Yoongi laughs and nearly spills his drink when you smack him in the arm, “–with bubbles! With bubbles. I’m not homicidal.”

Rolling your eyes, you set down your mug next to Yoongi’s, both drinks too hot to drink quickly.

“Thank you,” you mumble, hooking your finger into his hoodie pocket and tugging lightly, the action absentminded. You keep your eyes cast downward because you don’t want him to see your tears if they run. “I’m sorry I’ve been in such a shitty mood. I know it’s been a while, but, it just… I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about him, and everything fucking hurts…”

Yoongi slips his fingers under your sleeve and circles your wrist, pulling your hand away from his pocket so he can lace your fingers together. They’re so much warmer now, defrosted by the heat blasting through your apartment and Yoongi’s hot chocolate.

“Maybe you could start by not wearing his clothes?” Yoongi offers quietly. “Can’t imagine it’s easy to get over someone when you keep them on your body like that.”

You sniffle and nod. Again, Yoongi is always right.

“Easier said than done…” you mumble, giving him a weak smile when you finally meet his eyes. There’s something there in his expression, something that seems different.

You don’t move away when Yoongi steps closer, even when he has you backed against the counter, even when you feel like you’re going to swallow your heart.

“I could take them off for you,” Yoongi says softly. He lets go of your sleeve to pinch the hem of your sweater, tugging it lightly. “If you can’t do it, I can.”

“Yeah?” You feel out of breath, maybe because you suck in your stomach when Yoongi’s fingers brush against it.

“Yeah,” he echoes, fingers sliding along your ribs as he pushes your sweater up. “So you can get over him.”

It’s a terrible idea, but your stomach flutters when he looks at you with sleepy eyes weighed down by the late hour and lust. He bites his bottom lip, and you feel your resolve slip as easily as Yoongi’s fingers do beneath your clothes.

“I want to.” The declaration is desperate, and for a moment, you can’t do anything but stare into Yoongi’s eyes with an all-consuming sadness that eats at your insides, gnawing on bones and biting holes into your lungs. “God, Yoongi, I want to.”

Yoongi touches his forehead to yours, making you close your eyes because he’s too close and you’re too much of a coward.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi whispers. His voice is as gentle as his hands on your bare waist, his thumbs caressing your sensitive skin.

You raise your arms for Yoongi to pull off your sweater. He’s confident when he squeezes your tits, doesn’t even seem caught off guard when he realizes you’re not wearing anything under the sweater. He brushes his thumbs over your nipples as he leans in to kiss you, his tongue tasting sweet from the hot chocolate when he flicks it against yours.

“Yoongi,” you call out with an airy sigh that harmonizes nicely with the sound of him sucking open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

“Hmm?” Yoongi hums against the base of your throat, the vibration sending a tingling sensation straight to your clit. He keeps one hand on the counter beside your waist, caging you in, while his other hand cups your pussy over your sweatpants.

“Oh,” you gasp, your hands immediately finding Yoongi’s firm shoulders when he starts rubbing your clit, occasionally dipping his fingers lower to press against your entrance, soaking the fabric.

“These are his, too, right?”

“Y-yes,” you moan as Yoongi pulls down your sweatpants, taking your underwear with them.

You can’t say you never thought about how attractive Yoongi is; it’s hard to ignore. It’s just that Yoongi is your best friend. If anything were to happen between the two of you, you don’t know if you’d be able to survive losing him, too. You love him.

But you also love your ex.

It’s hard to think about that, though, with two of Yoongi’s fingers pumping in and out of your pussy. They’re long, reaching deeper than your own can when you finger yourself, always late at night when you’re lonely. It never feels good after. The clarity always seems to hit too quickly, like being dunked in a pool of ice water.

Three months. That’s how long it’s been since another person touched you, since you found out your ex-boyfriend had been cheating on you. You didn’t realize how much you missed it until you’ve got your head thrown back and your thighs quivering as Yoongi fucks you with his fingers. You nearly climb up the counter, both wanting him to touch you more and trying to get away because it’s too good.

Your ex never searched for the spot that would make your legs shake, but Yoongi does. He curls his fingers against your front wall and keeps up his rhythm, moving with your body when you can’t control where it goes.

“Fuck, right there.” You’re burning up, veins turned to lava that’s rushing toward your core as Yoongi fucks you closer and closer to your orgasm until you’re on the verge of tears because you haven’t been touched in so long and you’re so lonely and you weren’t good enough. You weren’t enough.

“Wanna make you cum,” Yoongi groans, deep and gravelly, between licking a stripe up your tits and sucking your nipples.

“Please,” you moan, “Please, I’m so close.”

Your arousal gushes around his fingers, slicking them up and making your pussy squelch when Yoongi flutters them inside you. He keeps his thumb pressed against your clit, almost too hard. It stops you from bucking your hips, but you can barely stand as it is.

Yoongi’s lips are back on yours, red from sucking your nipples until it hurt. He whispers against your lips and opens his mouth to let you suck on his tongue with a pathetic whimper.

“Not yet, though.”

“Wha– Yoongi, no–” It’s embarrassing how loudly you cry out when Yoongi slips his fingers out of your pussy. You feel the fire in your core simmer until you’re left with a painfully throbbing clit and your juices smeared on your inner thighs.

“Shhh, you know I always take care of you.” Yoongi shuts you up with a bite to your bottom lip. He leans down slightly to squeeze the backs of your thighs and hoist you up onto the counter. “Lean back.”

The cold marble counter sends shivers across your body, but it can’t keep up with the heat of Yoongi’s mouth on your pussy. He kisses your lips so gently that you think you might actually cry before he pushes your thighs back, opening you up.

“Oh fuck,” you moan as Yoongi goes straight for your clit, sucking on it as he swirls his tongue around it. You dig your hands into his hair and tug the strands hard enough to make him moan into your pussy. “Use your, use–”

Yoongi laps at your clit in quick, consistent bursts that fall in line with the tempo he’s fucking you to with two fingers again. His free hand presses against your lower abdomen, keeping your body taunt so you don’t buck into his face or curl inward. It’s bad enough that you can’t stop your legs from shaking when one rests on his shoulder and the other drapes over the crook of his arm.

It’s messy and loud, Yoongi licking and sucking your pussy like he really is trying to empty your mind of everything but the way the tip of his hot, wet tongue feels swirling your clit and the stretch of his fingers when he slips a third inside you and focuses on massaging the sensitive part of your walls. It’s working. He completely consumes your senses, down to how gorgeous he looks staring at you from between your thighs.

Your Yoongi, fingerfucking you and sucking your clit like you’re his favorite meal.

You try not to bang your head against the counter when you finally cum, instead focusing the overwhelming energy into pulling Yoongi’s hair to keep his face in your pussy.

He continues fucking you with his fingers through your orgasm, to the point that you can’t lie still any longer.

“Yoongi, oh my god, Yoongi, it’s too much,” you whimper and gasp, thighs closing around his head until he finally eases his fingers out of you.

Strings of your arousal connect his lips with your pussy until he swipes his tongue along his bottom lip, cutting them off. His bangs are pushed off his forehead and his hair sticks up from you pulling on it, but his eyes sparkle and his cheeks are just as rosy as his pink, slicked-up lips.

“Shit,” Yoongi murmurs, leaning over you on the counter to kiss you. He shoves his tongue in your mouth and lets you suck your juices from it.

You think you taste better on Yoongi’s tongue than on your ex’s.

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories.

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie). Request an AO3 account here.

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#yoongi x reader #bts x reader #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi angst #bts angst #yoongi fluff #bts fluff #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #jai writes #gimmethatagustd #mos #100 drabble challenge

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tomriddleslove · 3 months

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Omg I have a THEODORE NOTT request for you

Super duper angst hurt comfort

Theo’s dad basically hurts the reader and sends her back to Theo as a warning to stay away from such mudbloods and its just heart wrenching guilt and hurt and tending to her wounds through treat

Song: Half a Man by dean lewis perhaps?

I already have.

✩Theodore Nott x Reader (request)

Summary: The one where Theo has the one person he loves the most hurt by his worst nightmare. Alternatively: He thinks he’d rather die than see you in pain.

A/N: I DID MANAGE TO DO IT BY TODAY!!! I’ll be responding to the next few requests soon. You said comfort but didn’t specify a happy ending 😺

Warnings: Mentions of Abuse, blood.

Theodore Nott never expected to fall in love.

It seemed rather bleak for him, to be honest. He didn’t have the time to think about love when he was too busy wrapped up in navigating the life he had ahead of him.

One couldn't blame him though. With his family as the only example of what love could be, he certainly didn't have a good impression.

Theodore couldn’t recall a single time when he had seen his father treat his mother with kindness or respect.

Let alone love? A truly laughable notion.

Theodore's father had not shown a single ounce of love to his wife, or Theodore. Even on that godforsaken day when Theodore had witnessed his mother die, his father had simply delivered a swift strike to his face and told him to ‘man up.’

So to put it simply, The absence of love in his family cast a shadow over his perception of relationships, making it difficult for him to fathom the idea of falling in love himself.

Then you came.

You came, and god, Theodore doesn't remember how he lived without you. It wasn’t a whirlwind love, a sort of fell fast and hard, rather you entered his life like a slow and steady rain, seeping through the foundations of Theodore's life till you had consumed them completely, crumbling them down against his own will.

It rained, and you became the quiet storm, soft yet unyielding.

Love came like the easiest thing when he met you. It wasn't foreign, or a distant concept; instead, it felt like the most natural and effortless occurrence in Theodore's life. Love with you was as simple and uncomplicated as breathing, a seamless rhythm that he hadn't known was missing until you came along.

You were more than shocked when Theodore admitted he didn’t think he could ever fall in love. The boy, who loved you as though he was born to (he argues he was), who would so tenderly kiss your forehead and hold your hand, not capable of love? The one who would leave his coat for you during the winter months and bring a spare scarf because, he knew you were stubborn, and he was worried you'd get sick, not deserving of love?

You kissed him deeply and made him swear he'd never think of that ever again.

You reminisced on Theodore like some sort of lovesick fool separated by war from their lover, though it was merely only the summer holidays. Whilst Theodore would want nothing more than to come with you, his father demanded his presence back at home. You knew little about Theodore's mother, and even less about his father. Anything leading up to a conversation about them would simply result in Theodore immediately redirecting the conversation, becoming a tad more guarded for the next day or so.

It’s not that he didn’t trust you, because he wholeheartedly did. He would place his beating heart in your hands even if you had a knife in the other, for he trusted you that much.

No, in fact, it was the very opposite. Theodore knew you, and he refused to let you ever get involved in that part of his life. He swore he would never let his father even lay his eyes on you.

He would have loved for his mother to have met you. He doesn't remember her that well, but he's sure, some sort of instinctive feeling within him, that she would have loved you.

You had been back in Hogsmeade a mere 2 days before school had started, to stockpile on some supplies for school.

Students were permitted to start returning to Hogwarts three days before school began, and you would always go back early, valuing having the near-empty castle. It meant you could settle back into a school routine comfortably, and have some time alone before school resumes.

It also gave you time to do stuff for Theodore. You didn't know much about what went on at his house, but assuming from the way he’d come back absolutely exhausted with bags under his eyes, you figured it wasn't good.

It seemed to be the same routine almost every time you'd come back - he comes over to your dorm (luckily for you, all your dormmates essentially lived in their boyfriend's dorms, as they were all friends with one another, so you had it all to yourself 99% of the time). He’d kiss you hello and wordlessly take off his shoes and jacket. You’d lie on your bed and he’d come lie on top of you, wrapping his arms around your waist. He would rest his head on your chest, the sound of your heartbeat soothing him, as he listened to you talk about your holidays till he fell asleep, feeling safe for the first time, unburdened by his worries.

He’d sleep, and you'd trace the furrow of his brow. You ached for the ability to just, alivieate him of everything he carried so close to him. But you knew that healing was a long journey, and you'd be there for him on the way.

You wander around a little bookstore, finding a book for you and Theodore to read. You paid for the copy, turning to leave the shop when you bump into a man.

You quickly offered a polite apology, even though his cold gaze and disdainful demeanour sent a chill down your spine.

Those eyes. They were oh so familiar to the very striking eyes of the boy you so loved. Come to think of it, the hair was the same too. Was this…..

"Watch where you're going, girl," he spat, his voice dripping with disdain

You clenched your jaw, swallowing the anger that threatened to surface. Keeping your composure, you replied evenly, "I apologize if I inconvenienced you, sir."

His eyes then flickered to the books in your hands, a sceptical look crossing his face. "You are a student at Hogwarts? What year?" he sneered.

You took a deep breath before responding, "Final year, sir."

Seeing an opportunity to shift the dynamics, you gestured towards Theodore's family resemblance. "You must be Theodore's father. The resemblance is striking."

His eyes narrowed, and he asked with an air of suspicion, "How do you know Theodore?"

You hesitated for a moment but decided to be honest. "We're dating."

Theodore's father raised an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and derision on his face. "Dating, are you?" he scoffed. "Tell me, girl, who are your parents? Perhaps I've heard of them."

A small smile tugs at your lips as you shake your head, responding. "I doubt you would know them. They're Muggles."

His expression darkened, and a look of pure contempt appeared on his face. "Muggles? Muggles?" He snarls, taking a step closer to you.

Theodore's father's face contorted with disgust, and his voice dripped with venom as he continued, "You, a pathetic Muggle, dare to pollute my son's bloodline? You're nothing but filth, tarnishing the Nott family name with your presence."

You felt a surge of anger and fear. This is what Theodore was trying to keep from you. That his family were prejudiced against your very existence.

Without warning, he roughly grabbed your arm, his grip tightening painfully. The pain shot through you, and you winced.

"Listen closely, Mudblood," he hissed, tightening his hold. "You're nothing more than a passing fancy for my son. If you have any sense, you'll sever ties with him before you bring further shame upon yourself."

Without a second to let you answer, he releases his grip on you, spinning on his heel as he storms out of the store. It takes you a second to recuperate and process what the fuck had just gone on before you turn and quickly dash out of the store, trying to catch a glimpse of his father. Sure enough, you spot him disappearing down a narrow alley.

Before you can stop to think, you chase after him, shouting as you do.

“Hey!” You snap, closing in on the distance.

Theodore was correct in one thing. He knew you well. And he knew that if you ever knew of his father, you’d get involved.

His father’s long black cloak billowed behind him, disappearing down a narrow alleyway that seemed to swallow his wrath. Fueled by a mixture of hurt and anger, you hurried after him, determined to address the injustice he had just unleashed.

Desperation laced your anger-fuelled shouts as you closed the distance. His brisk pace showed no signs of slowing, and as you reached out to grab his arm, the narrowness of the alley made it easy for him to turn around swiftly.

"How dare you touch me, you wretched Mudblood!" he hissed, his eyes ablaze with hatred.

Before you could react, he unleashed a hex.

It hit you with an intensity that sent a shockwave of pain radiating through your body. The force of the curse flung you backwards, and you collided with the cold stone wall, gasping for breath. A searing pain radiates throughout your body, and you cough, looking down. It was akin to some sort of slash, as though he had hit you with an invisible thing, a clean cut on your thigh, and arm. You see a drop of blood drip down onto your skirt and, dazed, bring your hand up to your face. You feel something wet, and when you pull your hand back it has a crimson red glistening on your fingertips, and-

oh.

There was a cut on your face too.

As you steadied yourself, you felt the searing pain intensify, a burning sensation spreading from the point of impact on your arm. Theodore's father approached with a malevolent satisfaction etched across his face. He looms over you, glaring down at you.

"You'd do well to heed my warning, Mudblood," he sneers, his voice low and menacing. "Stay away from my son, or next time, the consequences will be even more severe."

He cast a disdainful glance at your injured form before straightening up, his dark cloak billowing as he walked away without a second thought.

You took a deep breath, shuddering as you braced your palms against the cobblestone floor of the alleyway. You push yourself up, wincing as you try to ignore the throbbing pain in your body as you gingerly get up.

You gather your scattered belongings and look around, seeing nothing but the near-empty village. Summoning every ounce of strength, you began to limp back towards the castle, the weight of humiliation pressing down on your shoulders.

You felt exposed. The idea that Theodore had hidden such a massive thing from you, made you feel all the more humiliated.

You keep your head down and soon enough appear at Hogwarts. It doesn't give you the happiness it usually does, rather you just want to go back to your room and change, and sleep.

It was at this moment that you were rather glad that you decided to come back early, for you can only imagine the looks you'd get if it was packed full of students.

Exhausted, and simply just over it, you make your way up to the dorm. There are only two other students you spotted on the way, but they were far too busy snogging the daylights out of one another to notice you.

It reminded you of…

Theodore.

How would you face Theodore? Did you want to face Theodore?

No, you resolved, you didn’t. You couldn't comprehend keeping such a key detail from someone, let alone the person you loved. Why he did that to you, you’d never understand.

You unlock your dorm room door, dropping your bag at the door, You look up and to your utter confusion, see Theodore sitting on your bed. He looks up at you, the smile on his face very quickly replaced with a deep frown.

He gets up, and-

oh.

Never mind.

You did want to be near him.

You really wanted to be near him.

It was stupid really. You didn’t feel like crying at all, but the second you saw Theodore, that feeling very quickly resolved into the urge to bury your face into your chest, and not stop.

So you did.

Theodore's arms envelop you, and he holds you impossibly tight. He swears every sob that comes from you chips away at his being and he soothes you, rubbing your back as he holds you.

Theodore can count the number of times he's felt pure anger on one hand. Sheer rage. The type that consumes you from the inside out. Once when he was 8, and his mother passed away. He remembers hearing his father disregard the whole thing with such cruel indifference he felt as though a fire was blazing him from the inside out. As with many young wizards his age, he did not know how to control this magic.

He ended up setting fire to the library that day.

The second time, in 1st year, when Alicia Thornsby had made a cruel remark about Theodore’s home life.

“Well, my mother said that Theodore must have a horrible holiday. What, with his father being-” She starts, but she didn’t get to finish.

The teachers couldn’t comprehend under what vindication a child learnt a stinging hex strong enough to permanently mar the skin of the girl, but it was the first and last time anyone dared utter a word against Theodore.

That was the 2nd, and last time Theodore had felt unbridled rage, in his 18 years of life.

That was, until today.

Because, the sight of you, with blood on your cheek, sobbing into his chest, was enough to reignite that dormant flame of anger within Theodore.

“Who?” He manages to utter, voice strained.

You remain quiet, the silence punctuated by the occasional sniffle as you remain hidden in his chest.

He pulls back, lifting your chin. Your eyes are fixated on where the once-dried blood had washed onto his shirt, and he is fixated on you.

“Who?” He emphasises again, his eyes flickering down to the cut on your face. He runs his finger gently along the cut, and when he watches you wince he pauses, a flicker of pain crossing his face. The sight of you wincing, even at his gentle touch, shatters something within Theodore.

You hesitate before you speak, but ultimately, the words slip out of your mouth.

“Your father.”

The weight of those two words, "Your father," hung in the air, and for a moment, Theodore felt as if the very ground beneath him had crumbled.

His eyes widen momentarily, and he can't speak.

No, because there's a horrible feeling of fear, guilt, regret, perhaps a combination of all three, and it's lodged in his throat. It’s almost suffocating him, he can barely breathe, and it's constricting his airways.

The image of you, the person he held dearest, broken and bloodied, collided with the nightmare he had feared for years. He couldn't comprehend the cruelty his own flesh and blood had inflicted upon you, someone he cherished beyond measure. He speaks, and his voice is so heartbreakingly soft, a mere whisper weighed down by the burden of the truth that unfolded before him.

“I'm so, so sorry.” He utters, as though he prompted the hand that came down to hit you.

He believed he did. Because it was only by association, that you had been hurt by his father. That was why you were hurt, right?

His fault. All his fault. All his fault.

He has to take a deep breath and force himself to calm down and think.

Think.

His first priority was you. Always you. He leads you down to your bed and forces you to take a seat on the edge. You watch him as he disappears into the bathroom, reemerging with a damp washcloth in his hand. He kneels down in front of you, hesitating as he slowly lifts the hem of your skirt upwards slightly. He catches a glimpse of the gash on your thigh and that horrible feeling remerges again.

He gently wipes the cloth over the cut, leaning down to press a kiss on your skin. He mutters a few words, and with a small sharp pinch, the skin on your thigh begins to stitch up slightly. Not enough to fully heal, but to ensure it would in the future.

You don’t question how he knows exactly how to heal these wounds.

You know.

He does the same for your arm. Every second he stares at the cut, he feels his resolve shatter further and further, till he can tell whether he wants to cry or ensure the murder of his father with his own hands.

His hands come up to your face, and he lets out a shaky breath. He is ashamed to even look you in the face,

His own reflection of guilt and regret is etched into his features. He keeps his eyes focused on the task at hand, tending to the wounds inflicted upon you by the person who Theodore swore would never even set his gaze on you.

The room is filled with an anguished silence as Theodore continues his ministrations.

As he tends to your injuries, Theodore's mind is a battleground of self-recrimination. The echoes of your sobbing, the memory of your blood on his shirt, haunt him like a relentless ghost. "I'm so, so sorry," he whispers again, the words heavy with remorse as if he could somehow atone for the sins of his family.

With each stitch on your wounds, he feels the seams of his composure unravelling.

When he finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, the vulnerability in his eyes is palpable. The shame he feels is evident.

You muster a weak smile, a hand coming up to cup his face. Your thumb brushes against his cheek lovingly as you speak, your voice calm.

“It's not your fault,”

He wants to cry.

It is. It is his fault.

Theodore pulls you into an embrace, holding you tightly against his chest. The warmth of his embrace is both comforting and suffocating, a paradox of love and guilt; a conflict that threatens to tear him apart.

As Theodore lies down with you, the weight of his guilt still hangs in the air. He holds you as if trying to shield you from the world. He utters words of apology, repeating the words like a mantra.

“I love you.”

But amidst the soothing cadence of his voice, there's an undercurrent of resolution. The conflict within Theodore reaches its zenith, and a painful decision emerges. He knows he can't risk his father ever hurting you again. The love he feels for you clashes with the harsh reality of his future.

Theodore's grip tightens for a moment as if trying to hold onto the fleeting moments of solace. Yet, with a heavy heart, the decision he has to make is almost clear.

“It isn't your fault. Don't apologise.” You whisper, curled into his arms.

“It is. It's all my fault. I got you involved in this,” He utters, as though the admission is poison on his tongue.

“I’m not a good person. I have a horrible family, and he’ll want me to do horrible things, and I’ll have to do them.” He admits, voice breaking.

“No, you don’t. I’m here. I love you, Theodore. I won’t ever leave, and I swear you won’t deal with that alone.” You repeat, voice laced with conviction.

“I'm beyond help. Don’t give your heart to me.” He croaks.

You lift your head up from where it was resting, eyes gazing directly into his. You remain silent for a beat, then two, before you speak.

“I already have.” You respond.

Theodore should feel relief at those words, but he doesn't. Rather, he feels sick. Because he can’t, he won't risk you getting hurt again. He kisses you and pulls you back in, laying next to one another as he wraps his arms around you and holds you tightly, if only for one last night.

Because there was only one thing Theodore could do to make sure his father would never hurt you again.

He had to leave you.

#slytherin #slytherin boys #harry potter #tom riddle #draco malfoy #lorenzo berkshire #slytherin boys fic #theodore nott #blaise zabini #pansy parkinson #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theodore nott angst #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott fic

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https-yeonjun · 3 months

Text

house warming (k.mg)

wc. 756

genre. smut

tags. minors dni! mingyu x fem!reader, established relationship, cockwarming

a/n. i have been writing this for like 9 months and i really wanted to make it longer but i just want to post it because mentally i can't complete it, maybe there'll be a part two (most likely not) but yay!!! cockwarming mingyu yasss

more of my work

you really should have planned better.

it was like everything that could possibly go wrong did. you imagined that by now you would be wrapped up in a large, cozy comforter nestled on your cloud soft king size bed in your already furnished new house. but the movers got the wrong date down, so now your house was bare save for the mess of cardboard boxes in every room and the lumpy air mattress in the middle of your lonely bedroom.

the room lacked the warmth you had hoped for, and the chilly air seeped through the gaps. and to make matters worse, you found out that your heater was broken, in the dead of winter.

it was too much to manage in one night, so you decided to unpack your closet and go to sleep. everything else was tomorrow’s problem.

but in the middle of the night, you stir awake, a kink in your neck reminding you of your less than ideal sleeping arrangement. you turn to the man lying beside you, who is restlessly moving around.

“what are you doing?” you groggily snap at him.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbles. “”i’m just really cold.”

“there are extra blankets in the closet, i think.” you suggest, rolling over, trying to lull yourself back to sleep.

“i wanna feel you, baby.” he whispers, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck. you roll away from him, more focused on checking your phone, causing him to emit a low groan.

“no, baby, come back here.” he pleads, drawing out the last syllable of his sentence.

“mingyu, it’s two in the morning.” you retort, the harsh blue glow of your phone illuminating the room’s bare bones.

“i’m so cold,” he whines again, pulling the comforter over the two of you.

“baby, check in the closet for extra blankets.”

“but you’re so warm here,” he pulls you closer to him. he snuggles into your neck, breathing in the scent of your shampoo.

“god, we need to call a repair person to fix that stupid heater,” you groan when you think about everything that you need to do.

“we can do that in the morning,” he says, as he traces kisses along your jawline to your neck. “but in the meantime, we can keep each other warm.”

“mingyu, babe, i’m so tired, and the movers are coming at ten and we still have so much to do.”

“baby, baby,” he shushes you, wrapping you in his arms. “just relax.”

“i’m trying to go back to sleep.”

“please,” mingyu begs. “baby, it’s cold outside. i just want to feel your warmth.” you feel a shiver down your spine when he begins to nibble on your ear. “you don’t have to do anything, i just wanna be inside you.”

he slides your sweatpants down. slowly guiding his cock to your entrance, he rubs it up and down your slit. his tip pokes around your entrance and you push your hips back, encouraging him to enter into your tight cunt. his hands grip your hips tightly, his face screwing up in pleasure as he slowly pushes. you suck your breath as he bottoms out. “sorry,” he mumbles.

“it’s fine,” you sigh, melting into his embrace. mingyu, still mumbling sorries, moves around until he finally feels comfortable. when he does, his head returns to the nook of your neck. the two of you lie with your figures entwined, your limbs interwoven in an affectionate dance. your head rests against his chest, his heartbeat beneath you serving as a lullaby. his cold hands slide underneath your sweatshirt, and you clench around him.

“fuck,” he groans lowly and now it’s your turn to profusely apologize. “it’s fine, honey, just give me a moment to calm down.” you give him a moment before you place your hands on top of his arms where they rested at your waist. this was supposed to be an innocent moment – as innocent as it could be. it was supposed to be an opportunity to feel close to each other, but, as you’d expect with your boyfriend, innocence seemed to take a backseat to a different kind of intimacy.

slowly he rocks his hips against yours, prompting a soft moan to escape from your lips. “gyu,” you warn him slightly, but he ignores you, his hands slipping down to your hips to pull you closer to him. “what happened to “i just want to feel you”?”

“m sorry,” he moans out, “you know i can’t help it. you just feel so good.”

taglist: @dearlyjun

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#fay's works #mingyu #kim mingyu #mingyu x reader #mingyu smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #kim mingyu smut

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valeskafics · 4 months

Text

"Little Wolf" - Night's Watch!Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader

a/n: inspired by THIS fanart by @lonelymagpies and of course my beloved @huramuna's night's watch!aemond fic HERE 🩷

Summary: Banished to the Wall by his sister Queen Rhaenyra for the crime of kinslaying, Aemond grows restless. However, things change when you accompany your brother to Castle Black for a visit. You, the beautiful Lady Stark who was betrothed to Aemond before his banishment.

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, frightening/scary scene lol, forced proximity, fingering, loss of virginity, p in v sex, idk angst and fluff

Word Count: 4,500 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

Aemond knows he should be grateful to his half sister for sparing his life after the crime he committed. That he should be content to live out the remainder of his days at the Wall. His mother had pleaded for his life, saying that he would never have purposely killed Lucerys. And Rhaenyra took her words to heart. She stripped her younger brother of his titles and his family name, sending him to Castle Black.

He despises the cold, how it seems to seep into the very marrow of his bones. He despises that none of his family bothers keeping in touch with him, save for the monthly raven that arrives from his mother. It has been nearly two years now that he’s been rotting in this wintery wasteland, nothing to do but go on patrols with the Rangers or train in the yard. Training used to bring him joy, not so very long ago, but now, it seems like a curse.

His days pass by in monotony, one blurring into the next. Does anyone remember Aemond One Eye? He knows his beloved mount, Vhagar, does. Until he dies, she will refuse to take another rider. At least someone has shown him some love, some loyalty. He stands upon the ramparts with two of his “sworn brothers”, feeling the chill sink into his fingertips, the exposed parts of his face. But none is worse than the pain in his socket, his sapphire growing uncomfortably cold against his skin. He sighs in annoyance, only to turn back and look curiously as a caravan approaches Castle Black. Before he can learn who it is that has arrived at this desolate place, he is called away by the Lord Commander. He rolls his eyes and briskly walks away, ready to do what is required of him.

After all, is that not what he has always done?

It is not until the next day that he learns who it is that came to Castle Black. When he is training in the yard, and feels someone watching him. He quickly turns, his breath catching in his throat when he makes brief eye contact with you.

Lady Stark.

He has met you twice before. Once as a boy, even before he claimed Vhagar. You seemed so homesick that every day, he brought you a winter rose, giving you a sweet smile and saying that he hoped you would come to enjoy King’s Landing someday.

The second time was when the two of you were a little older, eight and ten to be exact, your betrothal having been finalized by your brother Cregan and by Aemond’s mother. You took a walk in the gardens and, once again, Aemond gave you a winter rose, a soft smile on his face as he told you he looked forward to marrying you. He remembers the way you gazed up at him, the soft kiss you pressed to his cheek as you thanked him, telling him that you truly looked forward to becoming his wife.

That was before he ruined everything. Before he committed the crime most hated by the gods.

Before he became Aemond Kinslayer.

He isn’t surprised by the way you quickly turn from him, the way you try to hide your face. It stings more than he cares to admit, however. You have haunted his every thought, his every dream since he last saw you. Reminiscing about that simple brush of your lips against his cheek has kept him warm many a cold night in this godsforsaken place. Before Aemond knows what he’s doing, he’s following after your receding form, desperate to catch up to you. To hear your voice again.

A smile tugs at his lips when he sees where you have ventured. The archives. You greet the maester, though Aemond cannot hear you from so far away, and the elderly man leads you to a section of the archives that Aemond must admit he has not yet explored. After all, he has the rest of his life to rot here, he doesn’t need to rush his reading. He enters the archives, greeting the maester with a quick bow of his head, before moving toward the hearth, where you lie on your stomach, completely engrossed in your tome. You look almost as you did as a child, when the two of you would go off to the library of the Red Keep and devour every book you could get your hands on. Aemond cannot help the way his gaze travels along the curve of your backside, his throat drying up slightly. Your lips form the words you read, your finger moving across the page as you are completely engrossed by whatever it is.

Aemond approaches carefully, hoping not to startle, though the sound of his boots echoing loudly against the stone floor make that quite impossible. You let out a yelp of surprise when you notice him, standing to your feet, clutching your book to your chest as you try to steady your breathing.

“What are you doing, skulking about here?” You demand.

It is the first time Aemond has heard the voice of a woman since he came to this cursed place. The first time he’s been so close to one. And not just any woman, but you. His Lady Stark. His little wolf.

“I just wanted to speak to you,” he admits quietly, “It has been quite a while.”

You nod in agreement, “It has. They…” You trail off before meeting his gaze once more, “They betrothed me to Jacaerys. One year after you were sent here.”

Aemond feels his heart seize in his chest. The idea of another man with you… Not just any man, but Jace… It is too much to bear. He can feel that green-eyed monster rearing its ugly head as he tries to conceal the bitterness from his voice.

“What do you think of him?”

“He is kind. And handsome. But I do not wish to marry him.” You remain silent for a long moment, the two of you just gazing at each other before you ask, “Do you remember how I used to tell you of my dreams? Some of the past, some of the future?”

“Indeed I do,” Aemond replies softly, “I remember every conversation we ever had. How could I ever forget the day my betrothed admitted to me that she has the Sight? The day I realized she trusted me with her secret?”

He recalls that day vividly, but he wonders why you speak of it now. You bite down on your bottom lip, seeming as though you are struggling with whether or not to speak. Hoping to alleviate your stress, Aemond rests a hand on your shoulder and gives you a small nod, urging you on. But, he’s taken by surprise when, instead of speaking, you remove a pendant from your neck, taking his hand placing the small necklace in it.

“I carved this for you when we were still betrothed. It felt wrong to give it to Jacaerys. It was always meant to be yours. I suspect I will not be here when you return from your patrol, so I wanted to tell you that I miss you. Very much.”

Aemond looks between the pendant and you, shocked at the gift, his heart touched, warmed in a way he hasn’t felt in so very long. You were always a strange girl, something he has long admired about you. The way you see the world, the way you interact with others, it is all so different from the way he does. A perfect complement to each other, he believes.

He watches you walk away, his breath hitching when you glance back over your shoulder, for a brief moment. It tells him that you long for him as he has longed for you all this time.

Sure enough, when he returns from his patrol two nights later, he learns that you have snuck out of Castle Black, sometime in the dead of night, your brother a frantic mess as he pleads with the Lord Commander to send out a search party. However, there are not enough men at present, and it will have to wait until the following morning. Cregan goes to Aemond, beseeching the man who was meant to be his good brother.

“I know you care for her,” Cregan says, meeting Aemond’s gaze, “She is my only family. If anything happened to her, I would never be able to live with myself.”

Aemond’s jaw is set with determination as he assures your brother, “I will not rest until I find her, Lord Stark. You have my word.”

It is nearly three hours before he finds you. His face feels near frozen from the cold, but what spurs him on is knowing you must be worse off, alone and afraid in the vast expanse of the true North. You are about to enter a deeper part of the forest when he catches up to you.

“What are you doing out here?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” you tell him, urging your mare on.

Aemond grows irritated at your rebellious nature, though still he finds it enticing. You have always toed the line between infuriating and intoxicating and this is no difference. He keeps pace on his horse beside you.

“Try me. I might understand more than you think.”

You glance at him, taking a deep breath before revealing, “I had a dream. That something dangerous lurks in this forest. I do not know if it was of the future or of the past. If it was of the past, there is nothing to worry about. But if it was of the future…” You trail off cryptically before shaking your head, “I do not wish to frighten you.”

“I am a grown man, little wolf,” he says, recalling the nickname he used to have for you with much fondness, “I can handle whatever it is you tell me. What was your dream?”

The only sound is that of the bugs chittering in the night and the wind howling around you for a few long moments before you finally break the silence and speak.

“A creature. Skin pale as snow. Brilliant blue eyes. Its fingers wrapped around my throat, choking the very life from me.”

“A White Walker,” Aemond whispers in realization, “That is why you went to the archives. You were reading about the Others.”

“It is my duty as a Stark to find out if they are back. The realm must be warned.”

“If that is true, you cannot go alone,” Aemond protests, “We need to tell the Lord Commander.”

“No, I must bring him proof. No one will believe me if I do not. They will think these the ramblings of a madwoman.”

“You saw it in a dream, how in the Seven Hells do you intend to bring him proof?”

“By finding the White Walker.”

Aemond is struck silent by your answer. You are the boldest woman - no, person - he has ever met. And you are driving him utterly mad. He stares at you for a long moment, the wind whipping his hair, mussing it from its usual pristine state.

“You will die alone in the forest if you go out there. I will not allow it.”

You scoff, declaring boldly, “You are no longer my betrothed. You cannot presume to command me.”

Your boldness, your defiance - they only serve to fan the flames of desire burning within him. He is angry at you, for certain, despising the fact that you seem to have no regard for your own safety. But you are also, without a doubt, courageous beyond measure.

“I may not command you, but I cannot sit idly by and let you die.”

You roll your eyes, climbing off your mare and tying it to a tree, “We camp here. I will gather wood. You set up the tent.”

He would say he is annoyed by you ordering him about, but your bossiness and assertive nature has a strange appeal to him. He enjoys the idea of you telling him what to do, mind wandering to a world where you are his lady wife, bustling about your keep, bossing him around. So, he agrees to your demands, and begins setting up the tent.

When you return, the exasperated tone to your voice as you question why there is only one tent only adds to your appeal. He grinds to himself, trying to hide it as he continues to work, only speaking up when he hears you grumble that you will sleep outside if this is the way it’s going to be.

“I will not allow you to sleep outside unattended. You will sleep inside the tent with me.”

You glower at him, shaking your head, “Let’s just build a fire and eat. I caught us a rabbit.” He arches a brow, impressed at your resourcefulness, and moves over to try and light the fire, though he fails miserably, prompting you to grumble, “That isn’t how you build a fire. Prissy Southron boy.”

You take over and the fire is roaring within moments. Aemond blinks at the sight before letting out a quiet laugh. Though his ego is bruised, he cannot help but think how glad he is to be here with you right now. The tension between the two of you is palpable, electric even as you sit side by side, eating your meal. Despite the fact that you are wearing a cloak, you shiver from the cold. Aemond frowns, not being able to stand seeing you in any sort of discomfort, and quickly wraps his furs around you.

“I don’t need it,” you protest, “I’m used to the Northern cold. You aren’t.” He ignores your words, rubbing your shoulders in an attempt to keep you warm, feeling more protective of you than ever before. You surprise him when you sigh and lift the furs, draping them around him as well, “Share it with me, at least.”

It is not the response he expects, but he is glad that you have somewhat accepted his help. His body is pressed against yours, the two of you curling up together under the cloak and eating your meal in an oddly comfortable silence. You break it after a few moments, turning to face him.

“Can I ask you something?” Aemond turns to look at you, his gaze intense, as he nods his head, “Was it an accident? Killing Lucerys?”

The question catches him off guard, but he quickly realizes that it shouldn’t have. You have always been direct, honest. And he wishes to return that sentiment.

“It was,” he murmurs, looking away from you, “I could not control my dragon.”

“I knew it,” you say quietly, “The boy who would bring me winter roses so I would not be homesick was not capable of such a thing.”

Your words touch him deeply. The fact that you see the truth of him, that he is not this evil creature that others paint him to be - your words touch that wounded part of him. And he imagines just how much deeper he can fall in love with you.

“Do you believe me, little wolf?”

You nod before asking, “Did you ever think of me? When I went back to Winterfell?”

He stares into the flames, as if praying for them to give him the strength to answer before replying, “I thought of you often. You plagued my memories. Haunted my dreams. So many of my waking thoughts were of you.”

“I thought of you too.” Your admittance comes as a shock to him, “When I heard I was betrothed to you, I remember thinking that I didn’t wish to marry. But that if it had to be someone, I’d rather it be you.”

The way you look at him, with those gentle eyes that gaze upon him with no fear, they make him want to bury himself deep inside of your heart, your soul, and never emerge again. You finish eating in silence and put out the fire, entering your tent. You move to the far side, curling up into a ball under your blanket, eyes closing. Aemond, however, decides to take a chance, sliding closer to you and pressing his front up against your back, an arm wrapping around your waist, trying to convince himself that this is only to keep you warm. You do not move closer to him but you do not push him away.

Instead, you only whisper, “Goodnight.”

Aemond is unsure how many hours later it is that he wakes in the dead of night to the feeling of you squirming out of his grip. And within moments, he realizes why you have done so. He hears the same rustling noise outside that woke you, moving to sit beside you at the entrance of the tent.

“Where are you going?” He whispers.

“To see what it is.”

He pulls you back so that your back is pressed flush against his chest, his breath tickling your neck, “It is the middle of the night and we are deep in the forest. You are not leaving this tent.”

You let out an annoyed huff, squirming out of his grip, “I’m going with or without you.”

He groans, watching you grab your cloak as he mumbles, “Fine. I’m coming with you.”

The two of you walk, Aemond carrying the oil lamp from your tent, the sound of the snow crunching beneath your boots echoing through the forest. Aemond continuously glances over at you, stopping immediately when you do.

“The air is so still,” you observe, “The forest makes no noise.”

Aemond realizes you are right. The forest is eerily still, the silence is deafening. No wind blows, no animals make sound, no noise whatsoever. It is as if all nature has gone mute. All the two of you can hear is the sound of your own breathing, your own footsteps. Suddenly, Aemond feels you pull him behind a boulder. He glances around, an intense feeling of dread filling his heart along with the instinct to protect you from whatever may happen next.

“It was of the future,” you say quietly, “My vision. They are back.”

Everything inside him turns cold when he looks in the direction where you point and sees the creature that he always thought of as a bedtime story. The dead beyond the wall. An old wives tale no more. There it is, white-skinned, blue eyes, with a white mane of hair, its face gaunt. It does not seem to notice the two of you, lumbering about aimlessly.

When you move to climb over the boulder to get closer, Aemond immediately grabs your arm, pulling you back to him, “No.”

His jaw clenches as you glare at him, “Let go. I need to get proof of their existence to take back to CAstle Black.”

He does not ease his grip, no matter how hard you glare he remains unmoved, “I will not allow you to go anywhere near that creature. I would die to protect you. I will not let it happen.”

You continue trying to move, crying out as the White Walker lumbers out of sight, “It’s getting away!”

He pulls you toward him with all his strength, your bodies pressed closely together, an intensity about him as he speaks to you, “You will not go.”

You glare up at Aemond furiously, “I came here to obtain proof of their existence! It is my duty as a Stark!”

His grip tightens as he pins you between the boulder and his body, his voice low and stern as he leans forward, a burning heat ignited in him, the desire of a dragon to protect its treasure, “I refuse to allow you to go.”

You scowl, shoving past him as you walk toward the campsite, muttering to yourself in annoyance that you never should have allowed him to come with you. The fire that burns inside you, your stubbornness - it all serves to drive him crazy. He follows you back, resisting the call of his body to grab you and kiss you, his passion nearly overwhelming him.

“Did you want to get yourself killed?”

“I wanted to get proof of their existence!” You exclaim, “Who will believe me now?”

Your recklessness and your disregard for your life angers the former prince, his voice thick with rage as he stares you down, “You will not ever put yourself in danger again.”

“It is the Starks’ duty as wardens of the North! What is one life compared to-”

Aemond shakes his head, growing more furious at the suggestion that you sacrifice yourself, his voice a low growl, “You will not put your life at risk again.”

You narrow your eyes, “Why do you care so much?”

He inhales sharply through his nose, his eye ablaze as his breath intermingles with yours, “You mean everything to me. Every breath you take is dear to me.”

Your lips part in surprise at his words, his gaze fixed on them. All he wants is to kiss you. You are his, you were always meant to be his. He could not give less of a damn about the vows you remind him of that he swore to the Night’s Watch, of the fact that your betrothal is broken. All he feels is the primal urge to take the beautiful woman in his arms, the woman that he loves. He leans in, his lips claiming yours in a deep, passionate kiss, one that he has dreamed of for so long. You rest your hands on his face, kissing him back passionately, heated. The intensity grows with each moment as he presses his body to yours, kissing you with a hunger that he has not experienced before.

“I have seen this so many times in my dreams,” you whisper against his lips, “I never thought it was a vision of the future, only a dream.”

Aemond stares at you longingly, content to just look upon your face before embracing you tightly, pressing his lips to your neck, nibbling at your sensitive skin. You help him out of his furs, and he pulls off your cloak, the two of you shedding article by article of clothing until you are fully bared before each other, flesh pressed against flesh. Aemond gently pushes you to the floor of the tent, his fingers moving to circle your pearl before trailing down to your cunt. He continues kissing your neck, moving down to your chest, nipping at your sensitive skin, reveling in the cry of his name you let out as he pushes his fingers inside of you. You feel so perfect and warm around him that between the sight of your bare body and the feeling of your cunt wrapped around his digits, he grows impossibly hard.

Everything is perfect, your warmth, your scent, all of it.

“You and I are bound,” you breathe, gazing up at him as he pumps his fingers in and out of you at a slow pace, “This love… It could either be our salvation or our ruin. I have seen two paths. One where you lay dead at my feet, the White Walker wrapping its fingers around my throat and stealing the air from me.”

Your words terrify Aemond, but he must now, “And the other?”

“You and I in a manse by the sea in Pentos,” you murmur, moaning softly at his fingers brushing against your most sensitive spot, “We leave Westeros. All of this. Two little boys and a girl. And one day, our line returns to our homeland. The Prince that was Promised.”

He cares not for prophecy nor glory anymore, not when you come undone around his fingers, your face twisted in ecstasy as you cry out his name. Not when he thinks of you becoming the mother of his children, your words fanning the flames of his love. You and him, children and a home by the sea.

“A dream beyond all dreams,” he murmurs, pressing himself against you, aligning his cock with your core, desperate to feel you, to be one with you.

“But what if it is my other vision that comes true? What if giving into this love dooms us both?”

His voice is hoarse and intense as he joins your bodies as one, pushing inside you with one fluid thrust, “I would rather die loving you than live the rest of my life without you, little wolf.”

You two lay like that for a long moment, Aemond waiting for you to get used to the sensation of having him inside of you. He shifts slightly and you let out a mewl of pleasure, your nails scratching against his back as you wrap your legs around him. You buck your hips up, pleading for him to move, which he is all too happy to oblige to. Aemond pulls back, slamming back into you with a low groan of your name, the feeling of your cunt wrapped around him being the closest thing to divinity he has ever felt. His hair falls like a silvery curtain over the both of you as you go to remove his eyepatch. Aemond winces slightly, only to melt into your touch as you kiss his scarred skin.

“My beautiful dragon,” you whisper, admiring the sapphire, his scar, all of him.

You have always loved all of him, he realizes with no little amount of happiness, feeling your walls fluttering around him, every word from your lips, every kiss like a balm for his weary soul.

And when he finally reaches his peak, his thumb pressed to your pearl, feeling you come undone moments later, he realizes that this is the closest to the Seven Heavens he could ever hope to be. Your embrace… It is everything he ever dreamed of, everything he ever hoped for.

He kisses your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, lost in a state of bliss.

“We will return to Castle Black and I will ask for you as my escort to Winterfell,” you say softly, drawing circles on his chest with your fingers, the gesture being so glaringly intimate that it makes his heart ache, “But we will go to White Harbor. We will take a ship to Pentos and leave this place. To the Free Cities. To Pentos.”

Your words send a jolt of excitement through him as he presses his lips to your temple, “Our new home, little wolf. Our new life.”

You nod, smiling up at him, “Anywhere we go is home so long as we are together, my dragon.”

He nods, resting his forehead against yours, gazing into your eyes, “Anywhere and everywhere, so long as we are together. My heart is yours, my soul is yours, my life is yours, my little wolf.”

You smile, eyes fluttering shut as you whisper, “I love you, my dragon.”

“I love you. My sweet, brave little wolf. My destiny. My everything.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond fic #aemond x fem!reader #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond x reader #ewan mitchell #house of the dragon #my writing #aemond oneshot #targaryen!reader #aemond #stark!reader

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highvern · 2 months

Text

Soft

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x fem! reader

Genre: fluffy smut, 18+

Warnings: sleepy soft domestic sex, oral (m. receiving), praise, cum swallowing, face fucking, soft cheol, mentions of butt stuff (this is becoming too frequent), mentions of thigh riding, begging, dom-ish cheol, sub-reader

Length: 1.5k

Note: inspired by this soft thought. like i literally haven't stopped thinking about domestic cheol the past few days and just loving that man up so here is a short fic to get it out of my system. not proof read!!!! also @bbychocolat thank u for ruining my night with domestic cheol thots