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cherrychilli · 4 months

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Eddie Munson x AFAB reader, friends to lovers, mentions of nudity, brief mention of masturbation (m). Basically, Eddie finds you sleeping naked in his bed.

A/N: Idk I've had this idea in my head for too long now and I need to exorcise it out of me with this little drabble or I'll never be able to get on with my life.

Forest Hills trailer park wasn't your usual stop after clocking out of work but after the day you’ve had you don’t have it in you to wait for the next bus back to your apartment. Your place is 30 minutes away but the journey is sure to take even longer in the current downpour.

Staying over at the trailer wasn't anything new. A spare key was entrusted to you years ago and you made use of it on days like this to crash at Eddie’s for convenience sake. The key came with the promise that you were welcome to anything you needed even if both Eddie and Wayne were away – shower, food, an extra change of clothes, what have you, and you needed them all today.

With Wayne out of town for a few days and Eddie due back in two hours you sink into auto pilot, weary down to the bone from your shift. Maybe that’s why it doesn’t feel as weird as it probably should when you started to undress in their kitchenette, hanging your work clothes over the back of a nearby chair, rummaging through the fridge in your bra and panties for a quick bite to eat before heading for the shower.

There wasn’t much in it besides beer since Wayne hadn’t been around to stock it. Eddie always preferred ordering take out over getting groceries – something you were going to nag him for again when you had the strength to do so.

Cereal it would have to be.

You located a box inside one of the cupboards, tipping the wheaty, sugary contents straight into your mouth without bothering with a bowl and spoon. It’s not lost on you how similarly you’re acting to Eddie right down to the unruly state of half undress, wiping crumbs off your lips with the back of your hand. If you finished off with a belch it'd be like he never left the trailer this morning.

The messy mouthfuls of cereal prove enough to silence the toad’s croak of hunger that'd been gurgling noisily inside your belly, putting the box away.

Traipsing through, feet dragging, you threw your clothes into the washer next along with your underwear, completely nude now in the Munson trailer as you made your way to the shower – but not before reaching out for Eddie's Garfield mug that sat on a nearby shelf, turning it around so that the cartoon cat's lazy smirk no longer faced you. For your modesty.

You try to keep the shower brisk, not wanting to use up all the hot water but with the way it sprays down on your aching body, the steam and heat combo soothing your poor sore muscles, it’s so blissful that you have to keep yourself from nodding off right there.

You did make use of Eddie’s body wash, some spicy, woodsy smelling thing in a jet-black bottle but you didn't dare use the two in one shampoo that sat in their shower caddy. It might have worked fine for Eddie and his wild mane but you knew better than to apply the stuff to your own hair. Fortunately, experience had taught you to carry a travel sized bottle filled with your own shampoo whenever you stayed over, working over your locks in a lather scented with cranberries and vanilla.

Stamina depleting by the second, toweling off and brushing your teeth takes the last sliver of energy out of you. Eyelids slipping, movements sluggish, limbs feeling too heavy for your own body to hold up – you’re shutting down whether you like it or not.

Dropping the damp towel on his bedroom floor, you intended to change, you really did. You’d even picked out one of Eddie’s washed t-shirts and a pair of boxers out of the laundry and set them down at the foot of the bed to put on before you made yourself comfortable but that’s not what happened.

Still nude, you crawl into bed, seeking warmth and soft comfort, numbed down to a kind of tunnel vision with rest being your one and only goal.

It feels all the more natural because you’re used to sleeping naked in your own bed, much too tired to remember that you’re not in your bed, draping a blanket that doesn't belong to you over your spent body, surrendering to sleep seconds after your head hits the pillow.

It'd still been raining when Eddie returns later. Dragging himself through the trailer, nearly as worn down as you had been, shaking the excess water out of his hair like a dog trying to get dry.

The smell of your shampoo still lingering in the air tells him you're there, finding you curled up in his bed, all bundled up to your neck. The sight makes him smile.

It doesn't take too long for him to join you, following a similar routine – a quick bite with the addition of a beer and then a shower, only he doesn't skip out on clothing himself in his PJ's first.

If he’d shared the blanket with you he might have found out about your lack of dress sooner but as the gentleman that he can sometimes be, he pulls out a spare blanket from the closet so as to not wake you, prolonging the discovery. Being friends for so long meant that sharing a bed was never awkward even after you'd became adults.

That was until the next morning came.

It’s not the stream of morning light brightening from a cool blue to a warm amber peeking in between the curtains that wakes Eddie, or even the tinny smack of his neighbor’s broken screen door gusting open just a few feet away from his bedroom window. It’s the warmth of your ass pressed flush against his crotch and his nose nestled in your sweet-smelling hair that pulls him out of a dream he wont be able to recall later if he tried.

He shifts closer, eyes cracking open, remembering the tiny bottle of shampoo sitting on the bathroom counter. Remembering the new toothbrush placed in the cup next to his own. Remembering the powder blue towel that neither he nor Wayne ever used laying on his bedroom floor.

And then he remembers that he’s not alone.

Oh...

And then he wishes that he was.

Panic snaps up like a beartrap around Eddie when he realizes he's hard – his thick, throbbing erection pressed right up against your body.

Growing clammy, cold sweat beads on the back of his neck but he’s in luck because you haven’t noticed yet, still sound asleep.

This close together, he knows the slightest movement could rouse you. But what was the alternative? Wait it out? Hope to hell his boner goes away? Fat fucking chance. Not when the soft swell of your ass and your body heat alone had him questioning how he could ever go back to his calloused fist after this.

Carefully, desperately, he tries to inch back without waking you but just as he feared, you begin to stir. Your back arches instinctively, seeking out his warm, solid frame even in your sleep.

Shit shit shit.

The covers slip as you shift, your bare shoulders coming into view, eyes starting to flutter open. With no other option, Eddie swiftly rolls on to his back, his hard on no longer pressed up against you but the problem persists.

“Oh, morning”, you greet him through a yawn, pulling an arm out to rub at your eyes, blanket slipping lower but the frantic boy hasn’t noticed yet, too busy whipping his pillow out from under him to place over his lap.

“Uh-hey. Shower’s free if you wanna go first”, he offers quickly, smiling hard, hoping to subtly usher you out because he's too afraid to get up and risk you getting a load of the tent in his pants if he were to go ahead of you.

“Thanks”, you yawn again, still occupied with rubbing at your sleepy eyes to notice your best friend's pale face turning beet fucking red in an instant as you clamber out of bed, blankets no longer concealing you.

Eddie doesn’t know where to look first. His eyes dart everywhere, every bare inch of you on display. So much soft, naked skin it’s making him short circuit.

His gaze eagerly travels over the slope of your breasts as they jiggle gently with your movements, taking in your soft nipples, moving down over your belly and hips, noticing a few new freckles and beauty marks there along the way to the soft curls between your legs.

His erection digs into the pillow, brain dangerously close to fizzing because he’d been pressed up against you like that all night and not even known it.

A shiver works its way through you, making you question why it feels so drafty in his room all of a sudden. You turn back to ask Eddie if there’s anything wrong with the heating, catching the shocked expression on his face.

Looking down, you're met with the sight of your nude body, breasts bare, no underwear. It's a good thing the occupants of the trailer park liked to mind their own business, even if sometimes you thought they did so to a fault because in any other neighborhood your piercing screech would have had everyone within earshot dialing up the cops.

The scream ricochets off the walls at an ear ringing volume, causing Eddie to jolt and lose his balance, falling out of bed while you leapt back in. Grabbing his spare pillow, you press one half against your chest and squeeze the rest between your thighs to shield yourself.

Now he slaps his hands over his eyes.

---

More than anything, you try so hard to push it aside. To pretend that it hadn't happened but it looms over you like a cloud on the brink of bursting with rain.

After three whole days of walking around eggshells around each other it's Eddie who breaks first.

"I can't stand this I don't know what else to do, Can we just talk about it please?"

“Eddie…", you sigh, a gentle warning.

"So what if I saw you naked? you saw my boner!...sort of. I mean, I guess that doesn't exactly make us even but it has to count for something, right? you're not alone in this"

You immediately set your wide eyes on the only other patrons in the diner to see if they’d overheard – two older women swapping pictures of their grandchildren over coffee and cheesecake. When neither of them take a pause in the middle of cooing about little Tommy's third Birthday or little Emily's first day of Kindergarten you redirect your attention back to Eddie.

“Eddie! Keep your voice down!”, you whisper shout at him from across the booth. "There are literal grandmother's here!"

He rolls his eyes. Not mean spirited, just unconcerned by the ladies and what they may or may not have overheard.

And then, even though no one’s paying either of you any attention, you lean closer over your half-finished key lime pie, one hand shielding the side of your face like you’re trying to avoid getting recognized by an ex who’s just walked in.

"I'm so embarrassed...please can we just drop it?", you plead, voice hushed.

He gives you this look of mild incredulity. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about. Trust me", and the inflection in his tone almost gives him away, prompting him to double back immediately.

The last thing he wants is for you to feel more uncomfortable than you already do. So he doesn't need you to catch on that he's got every moment of your unintended strip tease memorized. Or that he likes to replay what he's since thought of as the best 10 seconds of his life over and over again when he's fucking his fist in the shower.

“I just mean that it's nothing to be embarrassed by. It could have happened to anyone. Who among us hasn’t napped in just their birthday suit before, am I right?” he finishes with a slight wince, knowing none of this is exactly helpful.

And you know he’s only trying to be nice in his own, sweet, bumbling way but you still feel terrible.

"I don't know if I can shake this feeling", you cast your eyes down, looking too close to despondent for his liking.

"Listen I- I don't know how to fix this but I want to. Please just tell me what I can do and I'll do it, okay?"

God, he's sweet and it makes you feel a little flustered being on the receiving end of that gentle stare, needing to shift the mood lest you drown in all that earnestness pooling in his eyes.

It's moments like this that call for a bad joke to cut the tension, right? some momentary and well meaning deflection before you're ready to address the matter at hand again.

Letting out a half hearted laugh, you make your best attempt to inject some humor into the situation.

"I don't know. Maybe it might help if you got naked too", you nervously scraped your fork against the buttery graham cracker crust of your pie, dislodging a few golden crumbs.

It was so very clearly a joke. At least you had thought so. Eddie? not so much.

His brown eyes go wide, looking scandalized, his voice coming out a little more quite than you're used to.

"What?"

"I mean, I showed you mine after all", you tried again in a cadence that was wholly unserious but once again, he fails to catch on.

"You want me to get naked for you?"

You should correct him and you mean to but before you're able to do just that, something about the way he's staring at you makes you want to match his seriousness. The fact that he didn't say no right away strikes you as weirdly intriguing.

"You don't have to", you clarify, adding, "It's just that – well, you asked and I think it could maybe help? to really get us on even ground?”

The words that come out don't feel like you own – foreign to your ears even though they're said in your voice, with your own lips forming them and your own tongue curling around every syllable.

What the hell am I doing?

Eddie pauses. Seconds drag on like nails on a chalkboard as he taps a ringed finger thoughtfully on the edge of his empty plate smudged with faint traces of cream cheese and lime zest.

"Fine. On one condition", he leans back, arms crossing over his chest, smiling wide and megawatt bright.

Oh my god is this really happening?

“...Yeah?”

"You're going to undress me"

---

Part two? who knows. Certainly not I.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things smut #eddie munson x reader

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nomnomnoona · 6 months

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ATEEZ: The Morning After (aka Round 2 from the night before) HYUNG LINE

Adult OT8 imagine drabbles. Minors, please do not interact. You can read the maknae line of this theme here.

The warmth of the daylight slipping between the split of the curtains hits your cheek as you lay beneath the softest duvet. You toss, attempting to dodge the daylight, but instead the movement wakes you. You stretch, allowing your eyes to gently flutter open when you kick off the covers. The cool breeze kisses your skin and you lightly shiver, not yet fully aware.

As your eyes open, you notice a silhouette sitting against the light of the sheer layer of the curtain. The silhouette was seated quite close to the bed, the duvet spilling out to their feet.

Then the smell of coffee steals away that last moment of slumber as you are jolted by the realization that the relaxed, seated silhouette had chuckled. You remembered who he was.

You look down with a hyper awareness that you're fully nude. In a panic, you reach for the duvet with your legs, but he kicks it aside.

"Hongjoong," you scolded, grabbing the pillow beneath your head to cover yourself up. The bed was now bare. He had completely kicked off the duvet while you sat up, hugging the pillow with your arms and legs.

"Good morning to you too," he chuckled. As your eyes adjusted, you noticed more details. He was in the bath robe of the hotel, one leg crossed over the other, his cup of coffee in one hand, while he held open a magazine in the other.

"Don't you have work?" you asked, trying to scoot to the edge of the bed with the pillow in place.

He wasn't paying attention to the conversation, "Where's the modesty coming from? You had no problem letting me watch you squirm while you were sprawled out beneath me last night."

"I'm sober now," you tried to defend yourself, hoping he didn't notice you blush.

He smirked, "Silly," a scoff followed, "You didn't touch any of the alcohol I ordered."

Hongjoong put the coffee down and stood to walk passed you to the bathroom. He entered and you heard the shower running.

"Can I go first?" you called.

Hongjoong didn't respond.

You walked up to the bathroom, but before you could even reach for the door, Hongjoong opened it and stood in the doorway. His eyes travelled to the pillow you were hugging for dear life.

He reached over to you and your knee-jerk reaction was to flinch, thinking he was going to yank the pillow from you. Instead, he gently placed the end of his bathrobe's tie into your palm, closing your fingers in to hold onto it.

"Get in," he gestured to the bathtub, "Since you can't remember last night, I'll remind you."

Hongjoong turned around and walked towards the tub while you held onto the tie, his robe unraveling in his wake.

It came as a complete surprise to you that someone as obsessively clean as Seonghwa made you feel so dirty--but not in the filthy way.

"Come here," Seonghwa had snaked his arms around your waste to pull your body against his. You didn't flinch. You liked it--heck--you loved it. Seonghwa was slender but strong, gentle yet firm. He was the type who made every effort to be in the same rhythm and heartbeat as you were.

If you weren't done, he wouldn't be. If you were at your climax, he would be right there with you. The man's seduction technique was pure synchronicity. He never left you alone. He was always right there with you.

So even if it took him a long time to wake up, you waited for him and stayed by his side to let him know you'd be right there with him too.

"I'm glad you waited for me," he said, his voice now muffled because he had buried his nose in your hair. "I love your smell. This is how I want to wake up."

"What do I smell like?" you asked.

"Sex," he drawled. But before you could reply, his hand was between your legs, "Breakfast?"

"Do we order in or--" never mind. He didn't mean coffee.

You stretched and then woke when Yunho's side of the bed was empty. Feeling a bit lonely, you sat up and rubbed your eyes, trying to gain a little more awareness so you could figure out where he was.

You stood up, not bothering to cover up, following the sound of the faucet in the bathroom. It was your first time sleeping over at Yunho's and he had been a bit nervous about you staying over. He had been going above and beyond recently to be hospitable, so you weren't surprised when you found him drawing you a bath.

"You're up," he jumped up, putting the bath bomb on the counter as he all but rushed over and let you sit on the edge of the tub. Before you could even speak, he pulled up a small basin with warm water and a towel, dipping in the towel and wringing it before he reached over between your legs.

"What are you doing?" you said with a laugh, tickled by the way he cleaned your thighs.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep right away," okay. Yunho must have looked up after care. This guy was really going the extra mile. You placed your hand on his.

"I feel comfortable," you assured him. "Come on," you stood, he looked confused as you guided him to stand. He towered over you.

"Take it off," you said with a smile as you tugged the hem of his shirt. "That's an expensive bath bomb," you laughed a little, "We should make the most of it."

With no less than stars in his eyes, he hurried to yank his shirt over his head, toss the bath bomb in, and pull you into an eager, delicious kiss, guiding you into the tub with him.

Yeosang was probably the most confusing person you have ever slept with. It was a good kind of confusion, because you were nothing short of satisfied, but confusing nonetheless.

When you had met Yeosang, he was almost the textbook definition of "baby girl". He was sweet, gentle, and he even had a delicate laugh.

A few drinks down the line, he was beginning to flop onto your couch like a stuffed animal. You had offered him your couch for the night because he was much too drunk to drive. On top of that, you were also absolutely enamored with him. He was so beautiful, so fascinating to watch. You could have watched him sleep.

And then he pulled off his long-sleeved sweater.

His forearms were practically carved as his veins moved with every motion of his fingers. His arms were solid as rocks and your inebriated memory reminded you that your eyes tried to follow his veins from his forearm to his bicep to his neck.

You were seated next to him on the couch, stunned silent as he threw his head back, irritated that he chose to wear such fitted jeans tonight. Yeosang began to roughly yank his belt off, but failed.

Your last memory was the moment he grabbed your wrist and placed your hand on his buckle, his almost baritone voice demanding, "Take it off."

"What happened?" was his next question, 11:00 in the morning, clutching his temple as he sat across you at your dining table.

You poured him a tall glass of water and shrugged. You were intoxicated, sure, but not so much that you would forget the way he flat out fucked you senseless. You could still feel his iron grip on your hips. It was as though they were about to bruise.

Of course, it was wonderful. You would do it again in a heartbeat. You knew that he was someone who could get it from you anytime he asked.

You turned around and brought over toast, eggs, and a few sausages when your eyes locked with his. Your heart skipped a beat because he just had the most knowing smirk on his face.

He remembered.

"I'll have one egg," he said. "But if you're not yet sore," he pushed his empty plate forward, "I'll have two so I have enough energy to make sure you bruise this time."

Without a second thought, you straight up poured all four eggs you made onto his plate.

Maknae line here

#ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #hongjoong #yunho #seonghwa #yeosang #ateez fic #ateez scenarios #ateez yeosang #ateez yunho #ateez seonghwa #ateez hongjoong

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lovetei · 6 months

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Can you write Their reaction to Sheep!MC turning into their human form, naked, in front of them but with side characters please ?

I knew people would request for the side characters sooner or later, glad I can write them again :b

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Their reaction to Sheep!MC turning into their human form, naked, in front of them

Warnings:

Versions: Demon brothers, Side Characters

Links: Masterlist

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DIAVOLO:

You were just giving your normal report to Diavolo after you got in the student council

You showed up in an empty hall where his throne is placed in the middle of the other end of it

And he's there

Sitting while looking oh so high and mighty

And you're there

Insisting to fulfill your duties even though you're feeling weird ever since this morning

"Greetings, Lord Diavolo-" You're not even done saying your greetings but you already dropped on your knees

The pain caused by the unnatural feeling of burning inside your body taking over your senses

"MC!" He called out before he stood up from his throne and come down to help you up

"I'm sorry, Dia... I'm just not feeling well-" And then again, you got cut off

But this time, you're not feeling weak

You're feeling all better

You're glowing like some light bulb though

"What happened..." You asked not noticing the once familiar feeling of being on your human knees

"How..." Diavolo just uttered a word and yet you felt a chill down your spine

Your spine?

"How disgraceful..." His voice seemed to grew more deep and husky and when you looked up

You saw yourself naked in the reflection of his eyes

His eyes that are looking at you like you're some prey

Your mind is hazy and your eyes are blurry from all the tears that are streaming out of it "Hmm?~ Are you alright, Honey?" His sickeningly sweet voice asked as he thrusted his hips even harder.

You let out a gasp before your hands gripped the hands of the throne even tighter, trying to spot yourself from falling forward because of his harsh movement "S-Slow downn!~" You whined.

But instead of him following your desires like how it usually works you felt his hand wrap around your neck "But I'm already as slow as I can get..." He dissapointedly whined before he thrusted one more time, releasing his seed inside of you.

BARBATOS:

You have informed everyone that you're not feeling your best today

And Barbatos insisted that he take care of you

Even going as far as to ask for a leave, which he never did back then.

And now he's here spoon feeding you the soup he cooked himself

"I can eat by myself..." You insisted but he just slapped your hand away when you tried to grab the spoon off of his hand

"You're an important guest MC... You need to have energy." He replied to you before he proceed to feed you.

Wait a minute, he never told you what this 'soup' is.

"What do you mean I need energy..? For what?" You asked, confused, by his choice of words.

But he didn't answer you.

Instead he put the bowl of 'soup' aside and loosened his tie.

"It's finally starting huh?" His voice lacked the formality, the modesty.

What's starting?

The unusual heat rising in your stomach?

Or this transformation?

You've lost everything, he blindfolded you, he stuffed your mouth with his tie and your hands cuffed to his own hands while your feet is tied to the headboard putting you in a sinful position.

Saliva dripped out of your mouth as you orgasmed again "How many was that already?" He asked before his hands gripped your waist, making you completely defenseless.

"MHM!" You screamed through the gag as you felt his dick grow larger "You should- stop squeezing me so much." He demanded before his tail ripped the tie off your mouth.

String of saliva flow down the side of your lips as your body submitted to his "T-Thank ywu..!-" Is what you managed mutter before his tail forced its way down your throat.

SIMEON:

You're simply keeping him company as he wrote another chapter for his new book

Sitting on the sofa next to his desk as you scroll through the internet

"MC..." He suddenly called out catching your attention

"What's up?" You tried, putting your phone down.

"Have you ever thought about... You know... Getting your human form back." He suddenly commented

His stands still tapping the key board

"Well... Having this sheep body sure is hard but it's bearable." You answered

"If it's what keeps me alive in this place then do I really have the luxury to choose what my body will be?"

He was shocked by your answer

Shocked enough that he stood up from his seat and grabbed your jaw "Your body is the temple of God... Yous should know how to love it." He suddenly lectured

"How about I show you how?" And with that your whole body glowed bright

You grabbed the edge of the sink as he harshly pounded you from behind "F-FUck, wait..!" You moaned, asking him to slow down for just a bit.

But instead he covered your mouth with his hand and fucked you even harder, his cock achingly hard because of the sight of your saliva seeping through the gaps between his fingers.

“I love you-! S-So much!” Is all he can come up with as his hand moved to your hips and gripped them before his thrusts turned harder, much more erratic. If only his white wings weren't out you would've suspected him as a succubus in disguise.

SOLOMON:

Solomon has been giddy all day.

Always smiling at you whenever or wherever he saw you.

And based on experience, this man is up to something.

And your suspicion is confirmed when he dragged you into an empty hallway and asked you to meet him tonight in the purgatory hall.

But when you arrived in it

You thought no one was home since every light is off

And the lights in Solomon’s lab are the only light brightening the hall through the gaps of the door.

You knocked and he immediately opened the door as if expecting it.

He should be anyways

He let you in and introduced you to a potion, a dark pink one.

“And what does this do?” You ask as you swirl it.

He smirked, his hands behind “It would give you your human body back.”

Your now spread wide on his desk his cock fucking into you, his balls hitting your ass as your soft please and request to slow down fall on deaf ears “Hmm?~ Slow down? But I gave you such a good potion, bringin back this slutty body back to me.” His eyes darkened as you felt him throb inside of you causing you to moan again knowing his cum will be in you again.

“Don’t I deserve a reward for being so useful to y-you?!” He asked, his hips thrusting one last time before he shoot another load of cum in you causing you to orgasm for the third time this night, your eyes rolling back “Fucking hell, ever since I had you in the human world…” Not even long after and he’s already pounding you.

“You’ve been teasing me everyday.” His voice is deep, something you wouldn’t hear from Solomon on a normal day “I-I, NOT!” You tried to object as tears fall from your eyes while you shake your head “Oh, really?~” He teased definitely not falling for it “Lying is bad, little sheep.” With one swift movement he flipped you up, now your back facing his chest “I heard spanking works the best for liars.”

MEPHISTOPHELES:

Mephistopheles have not seen your human form

And he does “not want to.”

That’s what he tells himself everyday.

But his curiosity is way too great to ignore.

Especially how the brothers are constantly searching for answers and ways to bring your human form back

Just what's about you that can make them so desperate?

But luckily

As he is the son of the greatest clan in the Devildom

Their family has a hidden heirloom that can just be of help in this situation

But he won’t tell the brothers about this

And at least, he won’t tell Diavolo yet.

And now he invited you in his mansion

You’re sitting on his bed as he conduct the ritual

And you must expect… This is not how you expect the ritual to end

“Slutty fucking human.” His words are laced with venom as his cock pushed your limits, threatening to tear you apart and yet you’re here, ass up in the air as he tried to push his cock all the way in “I T-T-OLD YOU!” You screamed as tears continuously roll down the side of your face “IT REALLY WON’T FIT IN ME!~” You moaned, still feeling him pushing it deeper.

“Are humans really this sensitive or you’re just an exemption?” He smirked as he pushed another inch in almost knocking the consciousness out of you “Stop fucking squeezing my cock so hard..!” He commanded as a harsh spank landed on your ass making you sob even more “S-Shit… So sorry!” He smirked as he noticed how he’s starting to take a toll on you.

“I’m barely balls deep in you and yet you’re already this reactive?” He mocked you as a distraction before he slammed himself all the way in and holy shit, he tried to not cum on the spot because he knows he’ll really break you if he does but fuck, the way you moan his name is not helping at all “Does it feel good, baby?” His voice is deep and husky as he leaned closer to your ear before biting it.

RAPHAEL:

Oh poor MC

This place does not even let you live comfortably with your own human body

He started assisting you more after he found out that the sheep form is not your original form

And that you actually have a real human body

And then one day

You’re in the back of the library trying to get this book

Diavolo insisted that its safe

For him

But definitely not for you

Considering how the book is starting to attack you

He, of course, defended you with his spear

Not until the book exploded

And you started glowing

“Oh wow… You have your human body back.” His expression does not express it well but he’s glad for you.

He’s glad really.

What do you mean your body feels cold?

Ah… It’s alright.

He knows the best way to make it warm.

Your legs are around his waist, trying to pull him, push him deeper “Patience MC… You’ll start bleeding if I push it all the way in.” He reasoned, making you whine even more. He’s still expressionless but you’ve caught a glimpse of a smirk “Y-You’re just teasing me…” You argued as his hips pushed his cock further in you.

“D-Do you want me to stop?” He looked so shy… You thought you made him feel bad but you can’t help it, you buried your head on his neck and nodded and just when you’re about to reassure him a chuckle left his mouth before his hips harshly slammed in you, not even giving you time to adjust to his length.

A gasp left your mouth as you covered it up, remembering you’re still in the library “W-What’s wrong?!” His words sounded like a taunt as his hips assaulted yours like you two are some animals in heat “You want it like this right..?” His voice darkened even more.

THIRTEEN:

You and Thirteen have developed this habit of hanging out in her cave

It was actually clean

It’s nice, quiet and the temperature is nice.

Though, as the two of you hang out

“MC is your skin really that… Glowy?” She asked

You looked down at yourself and you saw that

Shit

You really is glowing

You looked back at her in horror and you saw how her eyes darkened

“This can’t be happening… I’m death!” She voiced out as she turned to look at your candle

It was bruning flamboyantly, nothing was wrong…

SO WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING TO YOU?!

She looked at the other candles threatening to blow them all off

If you don’t get to live

They can’t also-

“Thirteen…” You muttered, catching her attention.

She turned around with tears brimming on the bottom of her eyes

It immediately disappeared as soon as your naked form laid before her eyes though.

You whimpered softly as her tongue slithered inside your entrance “T-Thirteen… Give me a break..!” You mumbled as your fingers gripped the covers for its dear life and yet she just lifted her head up a little, a mixture of her saliva and your cum dripping from her mouth before she chuckled “You need to make it up to me… You made me worry and all ya know.”

Her lips started abusing your hole once again as her hands forced your legs open “So be a good little human and compensate me okay?” She managed to say between moans and slurps as she devoured you for the whole night.

--------------------------------------------------

#obey me #obey me fluff #obey me headcanons #obey me nightbringer #obey me scenarios #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #obey me smut #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me mephistopheles #obey me Thirteen #obey me raphael

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kechiwrites · 6 months

Text

gentle touch

könig x massage therapist!reader kinktober countdown day 5 (body worship)

synopsis: oh, the military boys were your favourite.

wc: 2.8k

cw: massage therapist reader doing bad medical-ish practice, body worship, light sub!konig, mentions of edging, hand jobs, a little oral as a treat, biting, konig being petnamed as he should (honey), size kink, hints at touch starvation, groping, begging, uncut konig, afab!reader, no gendered pronouns or language.

author's note: i know his dick hex code and it's glorious. mdni.

He’s your last appointment of the day. And what a fucking day it had been, ten hours that should’ve been eight, cinnamon scented candles instead of eucalyptus, a rushed lunch because a client had shown up early, not taking “I’m on break” for an answer.

You knock on the faux bamboo door, waiting for your appointment to allow you entry. When he does, so quietly you almost miss it, you open the door, only for your eyes to land on a broad, strong back, still wrapped in a dark grey long sleeve. He turns slightly, just enough for you to see the thin stubble on his chin, cheek and jaw.

"Hello! I didn't catch you undressing did I?" This time he turns all the way around and you are sure your swallow is audible. Hell, you hope it's audible, you want this dude to know just how impressed you are with what you're seeing.

"No." He shakes his head, rubbing his aquiline nose against the inside of his wrist. It must’ve been broken once before, if the uneven bump on his bridge is anything to go by. Why is that hot? That shouldn’t be hot. You eat up the motion, eyes tracking every twitch or movement of his massive arms.

“Oh…" you're ogling him. You need to stop ogling him. "I actually need you to strip down.” The words burn on your tongue. You must say that a thousand times a work week, but this time, when you say it to him, it sounds…dirty. Like a shitty porn set up. Makes your clean white polo feel vacuum sealed to your skin. He takes a step towards you and you shudder a breath, tensing until you realize he’s getting closer to the lockers to your left.

He’s huge, you think, and when he still doesn’t look up at you, content to let the strands of dark brown hair, nearly black hair, hang in his face, you figure he’s shy too.

Cute.

“And you can use the towel to maintain modesty, Mr. König.” You get the inflection of his name wrong, you know because you’d googled it prior, held your phone to your ear in the staff washroom and listened to a soft spoken German man lilt it to you. There’s a hard ‘g’ on the end where it shouldn’t be, and you apologize, trying again to master it. “König.”

“Right.” He murmurs, “Just around my waist, yes?”

Or it could go on the floor and I could rub my clit on your abs.

“Yes, sir. Around your waist.”

You exit the room, closing it softly behind you. You figure you’ll use the few minutes you have to get a bottle of water, or a sedative. Something strong enough to bring you back down to your customary professional detachment.

When you return, he’s where you expect him to be. Face down on his stomach, his head in the cushioned hole. “S-sorry.” He speaks, voice muffled by his position. The apology comes immediately upon the sound of the door closing and you worry his large frame has cracked the massage table or something. You peer around him, looking for any chunks of polished wood or loose screws.

When you don’t find anything you realize he’s apologizing for his scars, the pit marks of bullets dug out in haste and healed with spite, lacerations haphazardly stitched, then redone a second time with the careful, practiced hands of a doctor in no rush.

“Oh, please don’t be. We get military boys all the time. Nothing I haven’t seen before.” You murmur, and it’s a lie of course. Not that you’ve seen scars, of course, you’ve seen some really storied skin in your time here, being near a base and all. No, it was the man who was an oddity. Mandy at the front desk told you that he’d had to duck through the front door.

His skin is also ultra pale in a way military men usually aren't. Near transparent, the sprawling blue lines of his veins thread underneath his skin, and you can see yourself getting distracted tracing some of the pathways with your fingers.

He hums, and you hope you’ve put him at ease a little bit. You haven’t even touched him yet and the tension in his back is glaring. Anxious people tended to hold a lot of stress, anxious soldiers? You’re just glad he’d booked a two hour instead of the customary hour and twenty.

The oil is cold straight from the bottle and you warm it between your palms before you make contact. He’s warm to the touch, bridging on hot, and he flinches when your hands meet his skin. “Was that too cold?” He groans, but doesn’t affirm or deny it, so you figure it must just be the contact. Slowly, you begin with his calves, tending to and pushing on knotted muscle and tense areas, working out kink after kink, soothing his compounded aches. The oil smoothes down his leg hair and you must be going insane because even that is hot to you. His thighs are even worse, strong and muscled and dimpled in the sweetest places. He shivers when your palms glide over his inner thighs, and he clenches them together when your fingers brush the hem of the towel shielding his ass from your greedy view. As quickly as it happens, he relaxes, murmuring another apology. You hum your own response, and push your thumb into an adorable cluster of moles you see just under the towel.

By the time you get to his lower back, König is almost purring, his gentle breathing often interrupted by drawn out, guttural moans. Whines and whimpers that make your blood hot. He’s holding the worst of his tension there, and you have to lean almost all your body weight into the motions of the massage. His hips jerk up and then down just as sharply when you crest your palm over her shoulder blades, and you don’t imagine the keening noise he makes as he grips the massage table. You’re used to military clients being a lot more stoic but it seems Mr. König is most assuredly not the sort. You reach his neck, framing his throat with your palms and using your thumbs to rub firm circles into his nape. His breath hitches and you find yourself cooing. “Breathe for me, I got you.” The soldier’s hips snap downward again, this time hard enough to shift the table beneath him. Which is more than enough to make you pause.

No.

It couldn’t be.

The soft music and sound of the water feature on the wall nearly drown out the curse König whispers, but you catch it, and can’t stop your lips from curling into a pleased little smile. This was just too good. You start to finish up his neck, brushing some of his hair out of the way so you can rub your fingertips into the skin just below his earlobes. You guide him to turn over and when he doesn’t respond, you wonder if he’d fallen asleep.

“Mr. König?”

He makes a wordless groaning noise low in his throat, laying motionless.

“I need you to turn over, honey.” You don’t even realize you’ve pet-named a grown man you don’t know. Which is just as well, because it seems to be what the soldier needs, and he rises from the table, clutching the towel in a tight fist to maintain his scant modesty.

You turn towards the side table, pouring more oil into your palm. When you return to face him, you witness why exactly he was so reluctant to face the ceiling.

He’s at least half-hard, a very noticeable ridge lifting his towel. You can’t stop staring at it, even though you know König is trying his best to ignore it. You circle around him, and begin at the foot of the table, going through the massage cycle again; feet, calves, thighs, arms. You zone out, following through your motions, listening to the man beneath groan and sigh his contentment. You reach his chest, spreading your hands over his pecs. They’re big, just like the rest of him, you think and it’s hard not to fucking drool on him. He’s firm but soft, still pleasantly warm, despite being exposed to slightly below room temperature air. He shifts again when you hit a stubborn knot right below his collarbone, and you pause to check in.

“Still good?”

His breathing is uneven, shuddering and laboured. His hands clench and relax from white knuckled fists.

“Yes.” he hisses through gritted teeth, and you’re worried he’s undoing every bit of relaxation you’ve tried to bring him. It’s painfully clear where the stress is coming from, hidden underneath a paltry white towel, the enticing elephant in the room. You put your hands back on him.

Still got 45 minutes left, after all.

You try your best not to look smug, and you fail miserably.

Every stroke and rub you perform across his chest makes his cock jerk and twitch under the towel. You can practically see the cloudy drops of precum that’d be beading as his tip. Your thumb nail skates across his pectoral and catches his nipple and the whine he makes is so sweet you just have to do it again. Soon, you’re barely massaging him, groping the poor man under the guise of your job. A weak grunt snaps you out of your reverie, and when you glance down his abdomen at that godforsaken towel, you can’t stop the quiet gasp of shock you release at his erection. “Ah, I’m so sorry. Very sorry” His flush spreads from his cheeks all the way down to his chest, a gorgeous stewed cherry colour that overwhelms the pale skin you’d worked into submission. His eyes are screwed shut when you can bear to drag your eyes from his cock to his face. His soft, pink mouth is pulled down at the corners, and the heavy, dark slashes of his eyebrows are furrowed together, creating a wrinkle between them you want to smooth out with a kiss.

“It happens all the time. Are you alright to continue?” Your voice is deceptively calm, serene and soft, when all you really want to do is snatch the towel off the battering ram he’d smuggled in here. Your blood thrums, and you ache at the sight of it, at the mere thought of the ungodly stretch he’d put you through.

You will yourself to keep your hands where they are, force yourself to look literally anywhere else. The faux waterfall ahead of you, the wireless speaker droning pleasant, melodic mood music, fuck, you even try staring at the dimmed light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. But every cry and whine forces your eyes down, tempts you to catalogue every inch of flushed skin and threaded muscle. You gnaw on your own lip, and find your hands drifting down, back around his abdomen. You’ve worked through the area already, there is no excuse to be down there, to slip your finger tips under the towel, to push your digits into the skin around his pelvis. “Is this okay?” You have the gall to ask, when you push your fingers lower still, and basically sign your own severance package. Oh but it’d be worth it, to get what you want, to make this big strong man sob with pleasure, to have his mouth on your throat while you stroked him to completion. The memory of his cock in your hand will keep you warm in the unemployment line.

König nods, turns his head towards you but doesn’t open his eyes. His hips cant upwards again, and his towel shifts, parting to reveal his angry, desperate hard-on. He raises a hand from the massage table, letting his mammoth paw land on your hip. He squeezes you, and exhales sharply through his nose when his thumb touches your bare skin, skating over your flesh underneath your work shirt. “Say it.” You mutter and his eyes crack open, just wide enough for you to spot the crystalline blue of his irises between his inky black lashes.

“Please.”

And that’s all you need.

He’s uncut, and the veins blanketing the length of his cock are visible under his foreskin. Pretty in a way you aren’t used to, a denser blush than the rest of his body, but still quite pale. It feels like your hand is moving in slow motion towards it, your fingers twitching in anticipation. The heat of his dick warms your skin before you even make contact, and when you do, wrapping your fingers around the root of it, your fingertips can’t touch. You press your lips together and try not to squeal happily, glee crinkling your eyes.

God is real and he’s an uncircumcised cock on a shy giant.

König’s erection is searingly hot. Soft skin and hard core, jerking in your palm, leaking steadily, nudging at your hand, insistent. Your brain is working full steam and connections necessary to utilize common sense are still not being made. Slowly, you tighten your hold on him, the weight of it is so imposing, you wouldn’t be surprised if imprints of the veiny surface were branded onto your hand once you withdrew. If you ever withdrew. You should fucking withdraw.

You do not withdraw. Instead, you slide your hand up slowly, choking up on the head of his cock before dragging your grip back down. You chance a glance up at his face, watching his Adam’s apple bob with each laboured swallow. The poor man’s jaw clenches and relaxes while you slide your palm over his flesh again and again. Somehow, he hardens further and your eyes widen impossibly larger, the pit of your stomach doing somersaults at the idea of where you want that thing to go, what you want it to do. You get fevered flashes of König bending you over the massage table in your mind, hands on your hips, rutting without sense or logic into you, so hard the surface scrapes against the floor, all while he sobs, his overwhelmed, overstimulated tears splashing against your back while he rearranged your insides. The head of his cock is exposed every time you slide your hand down towards his pelvis. By the third peek, you’re dragging the pointed end of your tongue over the tip of his dick, licking against his head, and coating your mouth with the taste of him. He grips at your side harder, his fingers digging into your hip as he chases the warmth of your mouth. He keens loud, almost mewling when you pull off him, using your spit to ease your hand’s path. By this point, your handiwork is audible, noisy and wet, König’s voice filling the small room. You use your free hand to guide his head to your chest, letting him bend toward you, press his nose into your tits while he begs for you to finish him.

“Are you gonna come, Mr. König?” You thread your fingers in his hair, letting your nails scratch against his scalp, drift down to his nape and up to his crown again.

“Yes, please, please. Fuck.” His voice is reedy and thin, and he wraps his arm around your waist, burying his face deeper in your chest. And then his whole body trembles, and his hips roll towards you, and for a fleeting minute you consider edging the poor bastard, sliding your hand completely off his cock and watching it twitch violently, uselessly in the air.

But he begs so sweetly. And his next session was already pre-booked.

The hand you kept on his head leaves his hair, and you rub the head of his cock with your flat open palm, jerking him off with firm, fast strokes. He bites down on the curve of your breast, and you’re grateful he still managed to retain enough brain cells to not break skin.

“Do it then. Come, honey.” You trill, feeling his tears wet your skin through your shirt. It’s almost instantaneous, so fast it’s kind of impressive. His body goes bowstring-tight, and he squeezes you so hard it almost hurts. Ropes of sticky white seed shoot from his cock, covering your hand and his spasming abdomen. You slide your hand up, milking just the first two inches of him through his orgasm, until he stops your movements himself, covering your hand with his own.

When you finally break contact, you stare at your hand for what feels like ages, thick beads of his cum rolling down your palm, sliding to your wrist. You extricate yourself from his hold, using your clean hand to brush his sweat damp hair from his forehead. You press that kiss you wanted to the space between his brows. Why start restraining yourself now? His body shivers periodically, and you turn to the sink, to wash your hands clean, clenching your own thighs together, his moans and sighs echoing in your mind. You turn to face him, grinning wide and cheery,

“So...I’ll see you next week?”

hoe, you are getting fired! at least you got a man outta it though.

support city girls who love gummy worms, reblog what you like.

find the rest of the masterlist here.

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darthannie · 3 months

Text

like real people do

pairing: Astarion x reader

word count: 788 warnings: fluff, kissing, cuddling a/n: For my first Astarion fic I really wanted to explore what other type of intimacy he could receive because dear god I just want him to feel loved and cared for. And that can happen through sex, but I didn’t want to include that in this one.

You were sore and wanted nothing more than a warm, relaxing bath. You’d come by an inn where you and your traveling companions could have a proper rest and a proper bath. However, you hadn’t expected to find Astarion sitting in the very bath you had your sights set on.

You immediately shielded your eyes with a sharp gasp, as if there was a need for modesty. As if you and Astarion hadn’t shared many nights together, exploring each other and all your capabilities.

“Oh come on, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” he said with a grin. You sighed and smiled, removing your hand from in front of your eyes. “Need something?”, he asked. He looked gorgeous. His skin glowed. The tips of his hair were wet from the steamy bath. He seemed relaxed.

You took him in as you responded, “Yes, I just… I thought the room was empty and I wanted to take a bath.”

He lifted his arm with a flourish, “Well, don’t let me stop you.”

Your weight shifted from one side to the other as you said, “You quite literally are stopping me.”

“Come on, there’s more than enough room for two. Don’t get shy on me now.”

You stood there for a moment, deep in thought until you relented.

You walked towards the tub and you removed your shirt, pants, and undergarments. Astarion’s eyes followed your movements as you got into the tub. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”

He could sense your hesitation. “Darling, relax. It’s just me.” He reached out for your hand and you laid it in his. He smiled at you before he decided he wanted more.

He propped himself up onto his knees and settled himself over you. He braced himself on the side of the tub while he grabbed your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb. He gave you a chaste kiss. He was unsure what a kiss would lead to at this moment, but he figured he’d rather find out.

He kissed you again, this time deeply. Lovingly. Your arm hooked over his shoulder and pulled him in closer. Your mouth opened slightly and you felt his tongue on your bottom lip. You opened your mouth wider to let him in. The kiss turned sloppy before you pulled away. You suspected that if you didn’t stop then one thing would lead to another, and you didn’t just want to fulfill some expectation. You didn’t want it to go that way. You loved it when Astarion was passionate, but you didn’t always want that type of intimacy. And if he was honest with himself, neither did he.

He cleared his throat as he started moving toward his side of the tub. The air was thick with steam and apprehension. “Wait,” you said, speaking before you were ready to. He froze.

“Can we try something different?”

“Oh, darling, I like the sound of that.” His all too familiar sultry tone took over.

“Come here.” You matched his energy.

“What for?” Thrown off by your command, he became cautious, unsure what he was in for.

“Just trust me.” Trust. It was something he had been working on. This was one of those moments where he thought he could practice it. He looked at you, quizzically.

“Alright, fine.” He got back up as if to kiss you but you put your hand on his chest.

“No, face away from me and come close.” You smiled at him and his eyebrows furrowed. He sat back down and moved towards you until his back was against your chest. You wrapped your arms around him and he let out an almost comical sigh of relief.

“This is… nice.”

You held him as close as you could to your own body. You could feel the scars on his back. You thought about all that Astarion had told you and your mind turned to your own past. He interlaced his fingers with yours under the water. You squeezed his hand as the thoughts started to take over. He squeezed your hand. Focusing on his presence brought you back.

His voice soothed you, “I like this,” he laid his head on your shoulder to face you, “I like us.”

“I like us, too.” You kissed his forehead. He hummed contently and kissed your cheek.

His head laid on your shoulder and you saw the bite marks on his neck. You felt so protective of him. So in love with him. You wanted to shield him from the world. You closed your eyes tight, promising to yourself, and him, that one day you could both live in peace. But until then, you were safe and he was in your arms til the water turned cold.

#i proofread this but no one is perfect #astarion x tav #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #bg3 #astarion romance #astarion x you #astarion fluff #astarion fanfic #had to get this out it was making my head spin

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servicpop · 1 month

Note

Hhhhhhh this is gonna be embarrassing 4 me to write out shshjsjs but I LOVE your writing and I have a request

If your like up for it, could you write another yanfic? But cowboy x ‘showgirl’ (a dude cross dressing for fun) it’s sfw

Like the cowboy goes to one of the readers shows and is immediately obsessed with the performer who he assumes is just a really flat woman, but when the cowboy goes backstage to find the woman he’s met with a man who looks identical to the woman on stage and realizes that the woman of his dreams was actually a man and to the cowboy that’s even better

N they go on a date and it’s fluffy and shit cus i love fluff and cowboys, i really fucking love cowboys

-🎱

✶ ﹑ love at first performance ﹏

NOW STARRING : Soft cowboy (Cole Hudson) x show"girl" reader

「ㅤSFWㅤ」ㅤCole goes to watch one of reader's show and was captivated by the performance but he didn't know that reader wasn't really a showgirl.

✙ warnings — fluff, reader cross-dresses, addresses reader as woman in the first bit (he doesn't know yet) use of her once! I'm not very good at portraying a cowboy well...

notes ,, this got me doing my research ! not too sure if this is accurate for show girls (⁠｡⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠) not proofread!

Dusty boots scraped on the floor as Cole navigated through the bustling crowd; his heart raced from how many people there were. As the cowboy wandered in the dimly lit venue, his gaze fixated on the stage where beautiful women dressed in flamboyant clothing that glittered and swayed with their movement, danced along with the rhythm of music blaring through speakers. One showgirl especially caught Cole's attention. The way your body moved like water was hypnotising and he coupling stop his heart from thumping against his ribcage.

At first, Cole wasn't interested in these loud events; always scarin' his poor cows and his horse, but this time his pal had really insisted for him to visit one. 'It would be fun,' he said, 'see lots of spectacular performances and maybe some cute girls,' he said. So, Cole rode his horse into the heart of town and here he was now, stuck between sweaty bodies and glaring lights in his eyes.

That one performer though, your radiance was brighter than the other showgirls. Cole was entranced by your dancing, oh how he wishes he was there with you, hand on your hips, slow dancing under the soft streetlights of his home town. He slid his hat off, placing it over his chest almost like he was trying to muffle the sound of his racing heart. The costumes were bright, dazzling, and flowed easily in the wind. They were also quite revealing, accentuating the girl's cleavage and showing off the performer's midriff. All but you.

Cole noticed the lack of well— a larger chest like the other girls had, but he just assumed you were flat-chested. That didn't matter to him, besides, he prefered modesty anyways. After a few minutes, your performance was unfortunately coming to an end. The music faded out and the vibrant lights dimmed as he watched you all bow. The venue filled with deafening clapping but Cole couldn't help but stare starry-eyed at you as you walked off stage. He needed to meet you in person.

The next act slowly made their way to the stage but Cole couldn't care less about them; it was a horse show! He's pretty skilled with horses himself so there was no need to stay. Once again he pushed through the crowd of cheering people, weaving his way out of the venue. When he emerged out, Cole was hit with the crisp night air, a stark contrast of freshness compared to inside the venue. His eyes scanned the area, trying to find where the performers went after their show and he was able to spot a small tent that had light seeping out of the gaps. Cole walked over to said tent and grazed the fabric with his fingertips in hesitancy. He took a deep breath; his chest heaving before he shut his eyes and pushed the fabric aside, walking inside.

He opened his eyes as he walked in, a few showgirls turned around to look at him with confused faces and he just stood there dumbfounded. The words he wanted to speak were clogged by the lump in his throat. You walked up to him, waving your hand infront of his face, "Hey, are you okay?" You asked with a raised eyebrow. He blinked a few times before tilting his head down to meet your gaze. Christ you were beautiful, almost hauntingly similar to the showgirl he was infatuated with earlier. "U—um, I'm looking for a specific showgirl that performed tonight and I was wonderin' if I can... find her," He mumbled out, his eyes locked onto your features as if he was assessing your face. "Are you two, by any chance, relatives of some sort?" He questioned, his country accent shining through his voice.

The girls giggled while taking off their make-up and Cole shot them a confused glance. You sighed with a small chuckle and you looked down at your feet, "By any chance, would this 'showgirl' you're looking for, be me?" Once again, Cole stared at you with his jaw open. He felt his heart strangely flutter despite knowing that you were a guy. He swore he wasn't into guys but you were— different. Not like any man he's seen. He just couldn't shake off his attraction towards you.

"You're a fella?"

"Yeah, you got a problem with that?"

"Well I'll be damned, you are one beauty."

The mixture of his country accent and your more refined accent strikingly contrasted but for some reason complemented eachother. City boy meets country boy. It seemed like Cole had a staring problem because once again, he was blankly gazing into your eyes. It was charming though, how Cole always looked like he was admiring you. Pretty flattering to say the least. Out of nowhere he spoke up...

"How 'bout takin' a ride on my horse?"

How did you get here? Holding onto Cole's waist, you screamed pathetically. Your eyes were screwed shut and your cheek was pressed against his back, all you could hear were hooves thumping on the ground and Cole's warm laugh that echoed through the valley. You two were going so fast that you swore you'd fall off if you didn't hold on tight enough. "You enjoying the ride darlin'?" Cole chuckled, peering over his shoulder to see you clutching onto him like a koala, "Slow down, please!" He ignored your pleas to slow down, "C'mon sweetheart, open your eyes, the stars tonight are just somethin' else!" He yelled through the noise of the wind instead. When he saw that you didn't budge from your terrified position, he just let out a soft laugh and placed one hand over your ones that were clasped around his waist. The warmth of his calloused palm spread to your fingertips and you almost forgot how cold it was tonight. "We're almost there, don't worry," his voice was gentle and thick like honey as he reassured you.

You weren't used to this, not used to the serene silence of the nature, not used to the wind beating so hard against your body, not used to clinging onto a cute cowboy for your dear life as he rode his horse with such passion. You've grown used to the smoke filling the city, used to the loud noises of late night partiers and engines running, used to being by yourself in an apartment with only the warmth of your blanket to keep you company. When was the last time you felt so— free?

The wind died down and you two slowly halted to a stop; you didn't even realise. "You can let go now sugar," Cole giggled as he waited for you to look up from the comfort of his back. You raised your head, your eyes meeting the beautiful scenery of a small cliff with forests lining the background and a starry display of the night sky that seemed like the stars were winking at you. This was a sight you could never see in the city. Cole slides off his horse, planting his two feet on the floor before extending a hand up to you to help you get off too. Your hand reluctantly meets his, the warmth of his palm returning to your finger tips as he guides you down, catching you when you hopped off. The way he handled you was so gentle, as if he was a beast and you were a fragile butterfly.

"Guess you could say we're on a date, huh?" Cole's smile punched your gut from how soft he looked, his hand never left yours. You scoff at his remark — but in a light-hearted way — as your eyes leave his instead, and returned to the scene presented infront of the both of you. It really did seem like a date, far more romantic than any fancy dinner in the big city. Oh and the way his eyes aren't even looking at the sky. He's looking at you. "Ain't it a sight for sore eyes?" He marvelled, and you know he's not talking about the scenery.

"Yeah, it really is," You breathed out quietly like your breath had just been taken away. Cole's eyes finally leave you and he stared at the soil beneath him before he spoke, his voice hushing to barely above a whisper, "You goin' back to the big city soon?" He doesn't want you to leave. Not now. Not yet. Before you could speak, his large hands bring yours together and he traps them between his. His eyes were wide and his brows were furrowed, "Please don't go," he blurted out, embarrassingly higher pitch than he wanted his voice to be.

Your eyes soften as you couldn't help the giggles that escaped your throat. Your eyes lingered on his hands over yours and you noticed the way his fingers trembled slightly but his strength in his grip never faltered. He wasn't allowing you to leave. You did have time before your next gig so, why not?

"Maybe I'll stay for a little longer."

Your heart ached when you saw Cole sigh in relief, his eyes darting everywhere but yours with dusted rose cheeks. He let go of your hands, clutching his own. "I reckon I'll take you out to the strawberry farm my buddy owns. You can't find nothin' sweeter than the fresh grown strawberries out here," He proposed, his fingers skimming over his own knuckles. He was somewhat afraid that you'd reject him. You were so sophisticated, so refined that he couldn't help but feel silly next to you, a big performer who traveled the country to entertain. You, on the other hand, almost instantly fell to your knees from his adorable invite. Strawberry farming? With this cute cowboy you just met? Hell yeah!

"Sounds like a deal, um—" You just realised, you never got his name, "Oh! It's Cole, Cole Hudson," He replied, tipping his hat at you. Jotting his name down in your mind, you glanced at the sky, and noticed that it was incredibly dark, your manager and the girls would be worried if you were nowhere to be found in an unfamiliar place, "Well, I guess it's time to let you be. Let me take you back to your place for tonight." A whistle breaks through the silence in the air as Cole called over his horse, her hooves tapped against the floor in a trot as he took your hand in his and hoisted you up onto the horse's back before hopping on himself, "Hold on, sweets," He smiled, waiting for you to wrap your arms around his waist, securing yourself to him. With a gentle nudge of his foot and the flick of the reins, he guided his horse forward.

You were a little braver this time, keeping your head up as you tried to look around you but it was practically useless now as everything was pitch-black. You wondered how Cole could navigate in such darkness, maybe it was because he travelled up this same path multiple times and knew it better than the back of his palm. As of now, you put your whole trust in him to escort you to your hotel safely.

The lights of the town in the distance inched closer as you two finally made it back. The town was eerily quiet as many people were presumably asleep at this hour — it was so different to the city. "Thanks for the ride, Cole, I really enjoyed it," You thanked him while fumbling to get off his horse; you were still getting used to it. Cole had a hand gently caressing the mahogany-coloured fur of his mare as he looked at you with those hazel eyes of his.

"See you here tomorrow?"

"Yeah, sure."

You found yourself rushing to meet up with Cole the next morning. Something in you just— felt at home with him. You met up with him, he took you on his horse, and after a few long conversations about seemingly anything that popped into your minds, you and Cole arrived to the strawberry farm. It was a surprisingly big farm with green rows of leaves with a pop of red peaking out from behind the leaves. Cole helped you put on your boots and strapped a hat to your head to shield you from the harsh sun of the countryside.

"I'll teach ya how to find the sweetest ones," Cole grinned, flicking his head to the side as he encouraged you to follow him. He trudged along the rows of strawberries with his sleeves rolled up above his elbows, showing his well-built forearms. He had given you a little basket and labelled you on 'basket duty,' but you didn't complain. You stared at his back while he proudly walked infront of you, it was now that you realised how big he was compared to you, both in height and muscle. Could you grow to his height in the future? Probably not.

You were snapped out of your trance when Cole squat down and reached a hand out to one particularly red strawberry, "Here, this is a good one," he hummed contently before plucking it off the stem before handing it to you, "Y'see, a bright red tells you its a sweet strawberry, and these green caps are also good," Cole explained. He placed the strawberry into the basket and turned back around, walking forward with peeled eyes. He wanted to find the best ones for you.

"How 'bout you try, darlin'?" Cole asked, glancing over his shoulder before reaching out his arm to encircle around your waist, drawing you closer and leading you forward. "Alright," You hesitated on agreeing but why not give it a try? You couldn't get this experience anywhere in the city. Your eyes caught on specific strawberry that fit the 'Sweet Strawberry' criteria that Cole suggested to you. Vibrant color? Check. Green cap? Check. You picked it off the stem and showed Cole for approval. He placed a hand on his chin as he looked like he was lost in analysing the strawberry. A smile plastered on his face and his dimples appeared, "You'll ain't gonna know 'till you try it."

Bringing the strawberry to your lips, you sunk your teeth into it, the refreshing sweetness meeting your tongue. Your gaze was casted off into space as you took some time to process how to describe the taste until you suddenly felt warm fingers tilt your chin up. Before you could question it, Cole leaned down and pressed his lips against yours, savouring the taste of the strawberry that was lingering on your lips. It was only a small peck before he pulled away. You swear you were just swept off your feet and— was it getting really hot or was it just you? You stood there, frozen, unsure of how to act after that kiss. That was enough to send your heart running laps.

"It's real sweet, you sure did a good job pickin' that one sweetheart."

♡

notes ,, I loved writing this so much! Thank you nonnie ♡♡ I wasn't planning on writing this much but I just had to ,, anyways! If you wanna see more Cole please request scenarios/date ideas/etc etc, also, thank you for 400+ followers ♡ my read more thing keeps breaking so don't mind if its kinda weird!

#servicpop — fics/drabbles #oc x male reader #male x reader #mlm #male x male #sub male reader #male reader #cowboy oc #x male reader #m!reader #oc x reader #bottom male reader #x bottom male reader #fluff

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mems-sama · 30 days

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Emotions in writing

The following examples have been taken from the book The Emotion Thesaurus: A Writer's Guide To Character Expression by Angela Ackerman & Becca Puglisi - make sure to get the book!

Confidence

Definition: having faith in one’s own influence and ability

Physical signals: Strong posture (shoulders back, chest out, chin high) Walking with wide steps Strong hygiene and personal grooming Holding the hands loosely behind the back Touching one’s fingertips together (tapping, forming a steeple) A gleam in one’s eye, an inner light Smiling, a playful grin Winking or giving someone an easy nod Keeping one’s hands out of the pockets Appearing relaxed (drumming fingers against a leg, humming) Taking up space (legs spread wide, arms loose at the sides) Approaching people with ease Looking others directly in the eye Arms swinging while walking Choosing the middle, not the sides (be it a couch or a room) Using exaggerated movements to draw attention to oneself A booming laugh Showing comfort in the close proximity of others Initiating contact Telling jokes, adding to or steering a conversation Hosting events (getting the guys together for a football game) Openness when dealing with people Appearing unbothered by what others may think Leaning in to talk or listen Increased physical contact, becoming touchy-feely Running hands through one’s hair or flipping the hair back Assuming a pose that draws attention to one’s best attributes Wearing clothes that are flashy or dramatic

Internal sensations: Relaxed muscles Easy breaths Lightness in the chest

Cues of acute or long-term confidence: Doing or saying things outside of the norm without anxiety or concern Obsessively talking about an achievement or material object Reacting with anger or jealousy if one’s reputation is impugned Bragging, showing off

Cues of suppressed confidence: Minimizing compliments Modesty Changing the topic to bring others into the spotlight Downplaying one’s own comfort level to make others feel better Asking for opinions or advice

#emotions in writing series #writing tips #writing advice #writing help #writing tools #writing resources #emotions in writing #writing life #writingblr #creative writing #on writing #writers of tumblr #writing community #writeblr #writing references #emotions and writing

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newestcool · 7 months

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Schiaparelli f/w 2023 couture Creative Director Daniel Roseberry Newest Cool

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 5 months

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Practice On Me — Part Fourteen — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Reader is readying herself for the ball. Hot Daddy Fin™️ opens up to her a little and shares some worrying truths (and then some). Azriel and Reader reunite, body and soul.

Word Count: 8.2k

Warnings: Adult content, 18+, NSFW, minors dni.

Tried my best with this part but sorry if it's a bit iffy! This girlie is ill as FUCK. Still hope you enjoy, tho, loves!

“You know, I have to admit, I was dubious at first.”

Mor is knelt at your feet, and you think this might be the closest you ever come to having a goddess on her knees before you. A strange part of you wants her to snap out and sink her teeth into your thigh, leave a bright red mark on the skin — but alas, her attention is fully on the hem of your gown.

“My uncle, love him though I do, is a calculated bastard.” She pushes to her feet, straightening out the fabric. “But I think he actually enjoys your company.”

“He does.” Roza pitches in from her place on the couch. “I know Fin. Y/N has him eating out of the palm of her hand.”

Though she smiles, her tone is laced with clear concern. Not because she cares about Fin, but because she cares about you. Doesn’t want you to forget that this is the High Lord of the Night Court you’re meddling with.

“Males are vapid and predictable, every last one of them.” You shrug your tense shoulders. “Throw them a few pretty smiles and they’ll do anything for you.”

Mor steps back, a low whistle leaving her. “Forget the males. I’ll do anything for you.”

Her eyes rake over your gown. So do Roza’s. And you…you want to crawl out of your skin and hide.

You’ve never owned a beautiful gown like this, never been able to afford one. The couple of dresses you do keep amongst your clothes are plain ones that just about do for special occasions. What hangs off your body now is…a work of art.

Almost feels like sacrilege for the beautiful fabric to touch your marred skin.

It’s sheer, showing off more than you’ve ever before dared to, and yet there’s a modesty, an elegance, to the many whorls and swirls made up entirely of little blue jewels and pearls and beads. It gives the gown a weight that makes it cling to you, and it outlines a body that…that quite frankly, you’d never considered beautiful until this very moment.

A body that commands the garment, and not the other way round. That makes you feel like far more than just another mistreated, unfavoured Illyrian female that will one day be lost to history.

This gown makes you think: I do not need the wings I have spent my life longing for.

It makes you think: There is nothing more beautiful than a good spirit and soul, and I have both.

It makes you think: Never again will anyone — friend or family or foe — make you feel less than worthy. Less than deserving. Less than strong.

You have always had strength. And this dress somehow amplifies it. Will amplify it to a room full of people who will see, through that sheer fabric, your scars, your lack of wings, and they may pity you, or not pity you at all, or may even laugh.

But you will still be beautiful.

Movement has you realising that tears have blurred your eyes. You swipe them away, and Mor is smiling at you, and Roza looks like she’s a little choked up, too.

“You are so godsdamned gorgeous.” Mor says earnestly. “Every last inch of you.”

Indeed, you glance over your shoulder at the mirror behind you, your gaze immediately finding your scars sitting brutal and undeniable beneath the sheer fabric. You don’t hurriedly force your gaze away like you have done your whole life, don’t try to avoid them.

You just…look. Look at what has been a part of you for so long, now.

“…Mor?” Roza says quietly. “Can you…give Y/N and I a moment?”

“Of course.” Mor agrees. “Time for me to find a snack.”

The stunning blonde squeezes your hand as she strolls past, and as she leaves the room, the door is pulled shut behind her.

Roza rises from her seat, making her way over to you. And as she stops before you, her hands move up to cup your face.

“Did you know,” she murmurs, “that I’ve always thought you were one of the prettiest females in all of Windhaven?” A soft scoff leaves you, but before you can glance down, she’s holding your face firmly. “I mean that — even when Azriel brought you to the cottage that very first time, and you were covered in dirt and mud, your hair all knotted, a leaf or two in there — you thanked me for feeding you, and you gave me a smile that was just like…sunshine. Such a rare thing in Windhaven. I remember thinking, this girl deserves to smile like that, always.”

A single tear spills down your cheek, and Roza wipes it away. She definitely looks like she might start bawling, too — a rare thing for her.

“I know you were never given much of a chance to feel worthy.” She whispers. “Your mother abandoning you…your father taking your wings…they were the two people who were supposed to love you more than anyone, and they broke you and left you broken.”

“You put me back together.” A lump in your throat fractures your words. “You and Rhys and Azriel and Cassian. Your love—”

“My little dove, you put yourself back together. We just loved you through it. I just want you to know that…I just want you to remember, the next time you feel worthless, that you are beautiful, and you have always been beautiful. You’re strong, and spirited, and determined. You have a resolve like no other I have ever seen, and you can do anything — which is why I know you will achieve whatever it is you’re planning with Fin.”

Only then does your gaze drop. “I only wish to appeal myself to him enough that he’ll value my opinion — that this Fenlaros business cannot go ahead. But I still feel awful…he’s your mate.”

“Gods, in the loosest definition, Y/N.” Her hands move to yours, then, liking them together. “Believe me when I say that if it weren’t for my children, I’d never see that male again. I think you know that I do not hold him in high regard.”

“I do know. But I respect you and care about you more than anyone in the world. And if you feel even a shred of discomfort about what I’m doing, I’ll stop. I’ll find another way—”

“The only discomfort I feel,” she squeezes your hands gently, “is at the thought of any harm coming to you. But I’ll feel that way through everything you do in life, because I love you. I also feel awe, because you’re brave and brilliant, and you’re doing what’s right. What I will teach this little girl,” she places your hands on her swollen belly, “to do — to stand up against what is wrong, and do so without a lick of shame.”

“I’ll protect her with my life, you know — the babe. I’ll love her unconditionally.”

“And she will love you, my dove, just as I do. So,” she steps back, eyes your dress again. A smile curves her lips. “Do whatever it is you have to do, Y/N, to change Fin’s mind — you have my full support. I only ask three things of you.”

Your expression softens. Anything — you’d do anything for her. “Of course, Roz.”

“First, don’t get caught with your scheming.” She says. “And second — you may feel like murdering Fin. Gods, believe me, I get it. But please do refrain. He’s my children’s father, after all, and Rhys isn’t ready to be High Lord just yet.”

You breathe a laugh, dipping your chin. “No murder. Got it. And the third thing?”

Roza steps up to you, her fingers finding the beautiful, jewelled material that clings to you like a second skin. She smiles.

“Go to that ball,” her fierce eyes meet yours, “and show everybody there that your father didn’t take one bit of beauty away from you.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You pace the length of your room. Back and forth, back and forth. You’re restless tonight.

Day after day is swept behind you like the snow that blankets the mountains. Time is a racing thing. Starfall is fast approaching, and thus, so is the ball. But you still feel as though you can’t get a good read on Fin’s thoughts.

No matter how many dinners you share with him, how many walks through the city streets you take together, the shows you watch in the Rainbow…he does not offer you the candidness with which he spoke through that very first conversation in his study. Any attempts to talk about Tathaln, about Fenlaros, are promptly diverted. He wants to talk about you — wants to know you.

It feels like the opportunity to stop this shit show in its tracks is slipping through your fingers, and you can’t grab hold of it, pull it back.

So instead of sleeping, you think, and you pace, and you—

Gods, you just want to see Azriel.

How much space, you wonder, is enough space? You have respected his needs, have kept to Velaris, given him time to confront his innermost thoughts and feelings. But you don’t know how long he needs, and right now…right now, all you want is to see him. Look into his eyes. Hear that soft, quiet voice telling you that everything will be okay.

You need to know if he’s made a decision about Fenlaros. You’ve tried not to think about it, not to dwell on the possibility that he could choose to run from his feelings over embracing them. But the longer the silence stretches on…the more you find that hole in your heart gaping, threatening to swallow you whole.

You pace more and more, up and down in time to the ticking of the clock. It’s a wonder you haven’t worn a track through the carpet. You don’t know why you’re suddenly so antsy, but perhaps if you could just talk to Az, some of your worries could be allayed—

Before your thoughts can catch up with your body, you’re tearing through the drawers in the desk, scrambling for paper, a pen. Practically throw yourself into the chair. A letter — a letter will do the trick—

But you don’t know what to write.

You stare at the blank parchment like the words will simply appear by your willing. They don’t.

A love letter? No, no, not a love letter. Just a letter to…to remind him that you are still here. That you are reason to stay in Windhaven, and you think you could be reason enough.

Azriel… you picture him as you crawl his name. His honey-golden eyes and his silken hair. The sharp bone structure that could slice through paper, the full lips. The memory of how those lips feel is fading, and you want — need — it back. Your pen pauses, hovers at the parchment, and those lips are all you can think of, the urgency with which you crave them.

Azriel, you write again, I want to see you. I need you, too—

A soft knock lands on the door, and the pen clatters against the desk where you drop it.

The clock has just timed three in the morning — the knock is an unexpected obtrusion in the dead of night. One that makes you anxious.

But a second knock comes, and you shove the parchment and pen back into the drawer, scrambling to your feet. Perhaps it’s Roza — the more the pregnancy progresses, it’s not unusual for her to wake up in the night with need for something. You hurry over and tug it open.

Fin stands on the other side, looking…unkempt. His hair is mussed, like he’s been dragging his fingers through it. The first few buttons on his shirt have been undone, and a glimpse of a fine, chiselled chest peeks out. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. He looks as though he hasn’t been to bed.

He drinks in the sight of you in your nightgown, bathed in the room’s glow. He swallows. “Forgive me, I…I saw your light on. Thought you might be having trouble sleeping again.”

You incline your head. “I was.” You admit. “…And you?”

“Too much in my head to even attempt it.”

You’re not sure what to reply with, how to help. Fin watches you closely like…like he needs to. Like gazing at you brings him comfort.

You are treading a very, very dangerous path. But you shift on your feet and ask him, “Would you like to come in?”

A tiny nudge of a smile pulls one side of his mouth up. “I was actually wondering if you’d allow me to take you somewhere.”

Your eyes widen a little. The surprise isn’t for show, and it seems to please him. “Right now?”

“The City of Starlight doesn’t sleep. Ever.”

A fact you’ve learned all too well during your stay here. There’s always some sort of activity, something going on that sends a constant pulsing through the city streets. For some reason, you hadn’t imagined Fin to be a participant in the night life.

“It’s somewhere I go when I can’t sleep.” He explains, as though you’ve spoken your thoughts loud and clear. “I think you’d like it. And from one insomniac to another, I…I would be honoured to share it with you.”

How can you possibly say no to that? For all Fin is mysterious, for all he keeps his cards tightly pressed against his chest, you truly believe that he finds a strange sort of solidarity in this one affliction that burdens you both. You may have wildly different reasons for pacing your room at night — and you’re not sure he’ll ever tell you his — but when the world is too quiet and thoughts are too loud…there’s comfort in knowing that somebody else is staring down those early hours, also.

It almost makes him seem…normal.

And perhaps that’s why you offer him a dazzling smile that isn’t entirely disingenuous. “From one insomniac to another,” you say, “I’d love to come with you.

The way his eyes light up makes you wonder if you’ve played your role, appealed yourself to him, a little too well. “Then I’ll wait here while you get dressed.”

You incline your head. “I’ll just be a moment.”

He waits patiently as you change from your nightgown into warm clothes that will shield you from the freezing night air. With no indication of where you might be going, a sweater and breeches and boots seems like the safest bet. You sweep your hair out of your face and shrug the weariness from your bones. When you emerge from the room, Fin’s gaze traces you like you’ve donned an evening gown and not the thickest layers you could fine.

“I find you so very intriguing.” He comments unexpectedly, and you’re not sure what he means.

You plaster a smile on your face, all the same. “Where are we going, Lord of the Night?”

Heat stokes his hickory eyes, and he looks as though he’s actually trying to tamp down on a broad smile. “It’s a surprise.”

You hold a hand out. He takes it. “Then surprise me.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“Tilt your head up.” The instruction comes from close behind you. Near enough that a warm breath tickles the back of your neck. You dutifully obey. “Now, open your eyes.”

Your eyelids flutter open slowly, cautiously. What you’re met with has your next breath catching in your throat.

A dome of starlight arcs high above you. The twinkling jewels in the sky feel almost close enough to reach out and touch, and they shine brilliantly through the glass roof, an occasional transient one cartwheeling its way past in pursuit of another place.

You can only stare. Gape. Your feet move forward a couple of steps, but your face remains tilted upwards.

You were in this building only a couple of evenings before, but it had been so packed, then, so filled with music and chatter and laughter and activity, that you hadn’t noticed what sat above your head. You’d been far too enamoured with the performers, their poetic verses and fluid dances, the tragic climax that had brought you to tears.

Now, the largest theatre in Velaris’s rainbow is empty and bathed in darkness, broken only by silvery moonlight. You and Fin are the only two here. And standing on the gargantuan stage, a mass of empty, folded seats staring back at you, you have the perfect view of the night sky that gives a performance all of its own above you.

There are soft footsteps, and Fin is also stepping forward, stopping at your side. “In over nine centuries, I’ve never tired of that sight,”

You shake your head, a little dazed. You’re lost for words. “I can see why.”

“There is so much unexpected, so much chaos and burden, in being High Lord. But no matter what I may face, what choices I make, and what reactions they receive…there will always be the night sky and its stars.”

Only then do you remove your gaze from the domed glass ceiling — to drink him in and wonder how many layers deep his true heart lies. This male who is as cunning and cruel as he is handsome and charming. How many dimensions does he have that you’ve never stopped to consider?

“I know it doesn’t exactly support the imagine of a calculated High Lord who shouldn’t be crossed.” Fin says, staring had at the surface of the stage whilst a wry smile graces his lips. “Sneaking off to an empty theatre in the dead of night when sleep evades me. But I find…peace here.”

You eye the ginormous building around you, dipped in shimmering moonlight and the shadows of twinkling stars. All those empty seats, the vacant orchestra pit, the stage that has trapped so many beautiful voices and words, guided so many dances and echoed so much beautiful music. There’s a haunting loneliness to the desolation. And you can’t help wondering if…if Fin relates to that, somehow.

When you snap out of your thoughts, you find he’s moved again. Now, he sits on the very edge of the stage, legs hanging down and palms bracing him. He stares out at the rows and rows of red velvet seats, not one of them disturbed by a spectator.

You’re moving before you tell yourself to. Sitting at his side and tucking your legs beneath you. You spend a short time in still silence, but the heaviness of the High Lord’s thoughts seems to spread to every corner of the building.

“When you brought me here the other night,” you angle yourself towards him, “it was my first time in a theatre — ever. I never saw a show before.”

A very slight frown pinches Fin’s features. He seems to consider that. “One of my flaws, Y/N, I have to admit, is that I often forget that there’s a world outside of my privilege. That people lack where I never will.” He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. “Roza was right to take Rhysand to Windhaven. He’s grown with a humility that I very much do not have.”

You snort softly. “I spend a lot of time with your son, My Lord. I assure you he’s just as capable of arrogance. I’ve kicked his ass a good few times because of it.”

A quiet laugh rasps from him. “Somehow, I don’t doubt that.” He pauses, and then his elbow is gently nudging you. “I told you, anyway — it’s Fin. I consider us to be friends. Don’t you?”

In some ways, you really do. Ans what a lying, using, devious little friend you are.

Especially as you scoot closer to him. And you’re softening your features and staring openly at him.

You don’t miss the way his gaze falls to your lips.

“I do.” You say, and he lifts his eyes to yours again. “And as your friend, I’d like to know what weighs so heavily on your mind tonight.”

His mile falters. And you don’t want to lose him, to let the moment slip away from you. You quickly grab his hand before he can tense up.

“I want you to talk to me…” You make your voice soft as butter, sweet as honey. “I like talking to you, Fin.”

There’s a beat. A tense one. And then his body is loosening, relaxing, his eyes becoming infinitely warmer.

His hand wraps around yours, the pad of his thumb tracing your nail. “I like talking to you, too.” He admits, and pauses again. “…War is…a great likelihood, Y/N.”

It’s your turn to go still, then, to tense up. Icy cold surprise bolts through you. That…isn’t what you were expecting.

“War?” You breathe, your mind already conjuring images of your friends on a battlefield. “With whom? When?”

“I do not know when. It could be in a year’s time; it could be in a decade. That all depends on how long it takes for humans to rise up and rally against our kind.”

“Humans?”

“There has been more and more pushback, in recent years, from humans. Humans who are enslaved by our kind and are sick of it. More and more of them are beginning to stand up against it, to protest how they’re forced to live. They’re willing to go to war over it. I don’t know when or where, but they will. In years to come, they will.”

“As they should.” You sit up straight. Perhaps it’s the wrong thing to say, but you don’t care. “They should revolt. I think it’s barbarous, the way our kind treat them. Their purpose is not to serve us. They have just as much right to live freely as we do.”

You mean it, mean it with your whole heart. You know what it’s like to be used for somebody’s personal gain, what it��s like to have freedom always lurking just out of reach. And you’ve heard about the treatment of enslaved humans. Most would rather die that live under the cruelty of their fae masters. That the practice hasn’t been outlawed utterly sickens you.

Fin says nothing for a while. His hand continues to hold yours. His eyes drink you down with a muted intensity. Like this is the first time he’s ever really taken you in.

“I agree.” He murmurs, much to your surprise. “And when war comes — and it will, and I’m preparing for it — when war comes, I will fight alongside the humans. To liberate them.”

You look at him, then — a male who has lived for almost a millennia, but doesn’t look a day over forty. Who is so universally feared, who carries a reputation for things you can’t even bear to consider. You will not fool yourself into believing that the darkness hides an inner light, or that the cruelty is a front. He is not soft and he is not kind.

But perhaps he’s not totally bad, either. That he would put himself in the firing line for the liberation of innocent humans…it has to speak somewhat to his character.

It almost makes you regret your scheming, your manipulating.

Before you can muster a response, the High Lord is leaning closer. Your body tenses as his face stops inches away from yours.

“You need not be afraid of me, Y/N.” He whispers. “I find you…magnificent. I like that you don’t filter yourself in front of me, that you’re not afraid to speak your true thoughts and feelings. You…you are an asset. Worth so much more than you’ve ever been given credit for.”

Your gaze dips, cheeks burning at the compliment. “I don’t know about that—”

“I mean it.” His finger hooks under your chin, soothing the skin there. “Magnificent.” He repeats, and he’s leaning in closer, closer, until his lips are coasting your flushed cheek. The kiss he presses there is cold in contrast, but you have no chance to react as his mouth brushes its way to the shell of your ear and lingers there. “Absolutely brilliant. And do you know what?”

“…What?”

“After the ball is over,” his breath tickles your ear, “I’m going to bring you back here, to this stage. And those stars above our heads will watch as I strip you bare and fuck you hard enough to shake the building.”

It takes every morsel of your resolve not to start at the words. You release a shaky breath — one that makes you seem eager, responsive. It’s convincing enough that you don’t think you’d be out of place up here on this stage.

Thankfully, you don’t have to drag words from your spinning thoughts. Fin lets go, and he pulls back, rising to his feet.

“But until then,” he holds a hand out for you, “there is much to be done. Starting with you and I getting a good night’s sleep.”

You wear a mild smile as you allow him to pull you up. “A girl can dream.”

“And so can a High Lord.”

You don’t say much else to each other as he tugs you close and spirits you back to his palace. You are both pensive, and you are both tired.

But when he bids you goodnight outside your bedroom and strolls off to his own, sleep seems further away than ever. You’re thinking too much at once. Humans. War. Fin. Azriel.

You still desperately want to see Az, talk to him.

You dig back into the drawer, meaning to retrieve the letter you’d started to write.

But your hand merely knocks against wood, and the letter is gone.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You’re tempted — to write another letter, or note, or…whatever. You don’t even know what became of the first, unfinished one, whether it made its way to Azriel or not.

But days pass, and you…you begin to lose your nerve a little. Perhaps it’s better to live in ignorance for as long as possible than know, either way, what Azriel is thinking. Choosing. Can’t help feeling that the more time pedals on without a word…the worse the outcome will be.

Distractions help. But tonight, it would seem, there are none. And it’s strange, because everything around you is bathed in luxury, in excellence, but you find yourself missing the stripped back simplicity of Windhaven. The crumbling cottages, the mead hall, the rough-and-tumble way of life. There’s always something happening in that harrowing place, something to keep you occupied. As you stare down an evening in a huge, mostly empty palace, you’re actually struck by your longing for it. Both Roza and Fin are busy. Mor is away. Only the mountains and the distant sounds of the city are your companions tonight.

And once again, your thoughts take you to Azriel.

You think maybe this need for him is getting out of hand. And maybe it’s just the sugar-sweet things that Fin has been speaking into your ear, the knowledge that deep down, there’s only one person you want to make such promises to you—

No. It’s not just that. Not just a pathetic influence of suggestive words. It’s a need.

You need Azriel.

Your closest friend. Your safety blanket. The male who saved you and brought you into the fold of a loving, supportive unit. You stared down awkward adolescence together, faced such trying times by each other’s sides.

And you need him.

Your heart, your body, your skin, is hot and heavy with it. Restless. Like the craving is pulling you apart from the inside.

You need to do something, anything, to occupy yourself; take a late-night stroll, read a book. Anything to stop you from staring at the ceiling and being eaten alive by the fire that scorches your veins.

You’re so desperate to get moving that you don’t bother to grab a jacket — just shove your feet into your shoes. A spring mildness has blanketed the city, anyway. You’ll be fine. You just need to move—

But you yank your bedroom door open, and Azriel is on the other side.

His beauty punches you straight in the gut.

He’s a vision, stood there in casual clothing, a note — your note — clutched in his hand. He takes in the sight of you just as hurriedly.

“What are you doing here,” you breathe.

He opens his mouth. Closes it. His eyes rove you again, and he swallows. “I got your note.” He answers. “I wanted to see you, too, and…the High Lord summoned Rhys, Cass and I here…to warn us to be on our best behaviour at the ball.”

You can’t say anything. Can’t speak. You just gawk like a godsdamned fool.

A strange concoction of a frown and a laugh comes from Az. “I…snuck away after…to come here—”

Before you even know what you’re doing, your hand is bunching in the front of Azriel’s shirt, and you’re dragging him into the room with all your strength. He looks bewildered as you shove the door shut behind him.

“Az, have you lost your mind?” You round on him. “If Fin knew you’d come to my room—”

“He isn’t here.” He cuts you off. “Cass went straight back to Windhaven, and Rhys knew I wanted to see you, so…he’s currently having quality family time with Roza and his father in the city.”

There’s a lot to unpack. But all your mind wants to zero in on is that one little sentence — Rhys knew I wanted to see you.

Pathetic, how your entire stomach flips.

“…You call him Fin?”

It takes a moment for your mind to catch up enough to understand Azriel’s question.

“We’ve been living under the same roof.” You shrug slowly. “I…guess he got tired of me using his title.”

Az stares at you, assessing. You’re not sure what he’s looking for, but you fidget under the intensity of his gaze.

“What is it?” You ask him.

“I’m worried about you. I know he’s taking you to the ball. I don’t want you playing his games.”

You purse your lips. “…That why you snuck here to my room, Az? To give me a warning—”

“I came here because you said you wanted to see me, and I want to see you, too.”

So open — for him. So straightforward that for a beat, you’re not sure how to react.

But then you’re moving, and so is he, and your bodies slam together in a tight, long-awaited embrace. Feeling his arms wrap around you is…everything. Everything you’ve missed and longed for. Everything you will ever long for. Whatever happens…Azriel is the only thing you’ll need, when all is said and done.

And that’s why you’re suddenly crying, clinging to him.

On instinct, Azriel’s arms tighten around you. He moves a hand up to cradle the back of your head, and he whispers, “Y/N…”

“Please don’t leave Windhaven.” The words choke out of you. “Please, Az, just…don’t go to Fenlaros. Please—”

“Y/N. Look at me.”

Tears and all, you do. You remain as close to him as you possibly can as you lift your head to meet his eyes.

You don’t know how you know, but you do — from that one, heavy stare, you can tell that things have changed. That he has changed. He looks like the same, stunning male that you’ve always admired, but something else sits on his face.

Emotion.

Determination.

Fire.

He opens his mouth. Takes a slow, shuddering breath that you feel through every inch of your body. And then he says, with utter clarity, “I’m not going anywhere.”

You almost break all over again. But he keeps talking, keeps sharing.

“I love you. No — I’m in love with you. I love you more than I can put into words. I want you and only you, and I’m not leaving you. The only reason I would ever walk out of that camp is if you were by my side, and we were leaving together.”

You are…weightless. Boneless. Held up only by Azriel’s arms. A tear rolls down your cheek, and you allow it to fall to the carpet.

“My handling of my feelings,” Az stares down at you, “has been one huge fuck up. I loved you long before you offer to let me practice intimacy on you. Experiencing those things with you…the things you made me feel…only brought those feelings to the surface. And instead of facing them as I should have done, I hid behind Kaeda to avoid them. But it was never about Kaeda. It was always you. It will always be you. And I’m scared, Y/N, I’m fucking terrified. But I’m done running. Done hiding.”

Silence sweeps into the room on swift wings, and you are suddenly incapable of thought, and of somehow turning it into words. Without Azriel’s voice to distract you, you’re aware of the tremors that wrack through his body. As though this is the scariest thing in the world to him, and he’s trying to hold strong against it.

It probably is.

He studies you closely. Croaks out, “Please say something.”

And perhaps it’s giving him the wrong impression entirely, but you’re stepping out of his arms and putting space between you. You just…need to gather your thoughts. To remember how to speak.

“I…” You blink. “I handled it badly, too.”

“It doesn’t matter—”

“I made selfish choices. I…I acted out of jealousy because I wanted you, but you and Kaeda were…”

He shakes his head resolutely. “What I told you before was true. I never touched Kaeda like that. Even before I found out about all that Fenlaros shit, I think I knew that I wouldn’t. That I couldn’t.”

A fact that breaks your heart. Your eyes fill with tears again. “But I still did. Cass and I—”

“Cassian was there for you when I should have been, and I had no right — none — to react the way that I did. If anyone did anything wrong that night, it was me. But what you and Cass did…it does not matter. Not one bit.”

You’re pivoting on the spot, turning your back to him, before you can crumble entirely. He really means it. Really does not hate you for the choice you made, even though it hurt him.

“Y/N,” Az’s voice shakes behind you. “Please…look at me.”

Now you’re confronted with the situation, part of you wants to run — to hide.

But Az is being open. Honest. No matter how hard, how terrifying it is for him…he’s here. He’s trying.

And so you’ll try, too. And you think you might be shaking just as much as he is as you turn back to him.

The two of you stare at each other. Feel the situation out with your gazes alone.

Azriel is the one to break the extended silence.

“You said you need me.” He eyes you. He’s visibly trembling all over, and it has nothing to do with the chill in the room. Trembling like he’s trying to hold himself together against the weight of the situation.

“…Yes.” You swallow. “I do, Az…I think I’ve always needed you.”

“So show me.”

You pause. Blink, your eyes blown wide. “What?”

“Show me how you need me.” He steps closer, and though he’s shaking, he outreaches a hand and find yours. “Show me how to give you what you need.”

Your fingers brush his, and you’re forcing a lump down your throat. Drinking him in. He…he’s exquisite. “You mean…”

“I mean,” the gap is closed between your bodies, and his heat is reaching you, “I don’t want to practice. I want it all…everything…with you. I want you to take me. Only you—”

You’re surging forward with so much pent-up need that when your lips collide with Azriel’s, it almost knocks you both to the floor.

But Azriel’s arms are banding around you, and he’s a pillar against you, kissing you back with just as much heat.

You don’t know which of you makes what move. Your hands are all over him, and his are all over you, and he’s walking you backwards and groaning as the kiss deepens.

You find the hem of his tunic, dip your hands under, fingertips skating warm skin that shudders beneath your touch. “Can I take this off?” You murmur, and he swallows your words greedily.

“All of it — take it all.”

And so you do. There is no method to it. You’re a woman starved and crazed as you tear at his clothing, not caring about where it ends up, so long as it’s no longer on him. More and more tan skin is exposed, more muscles, more scars. And when he kicks out of his boots and breeches and his underwear is the only remaining barrier, you’re reaching for him, for the hardness that’s pushing through the dark grey fabric and taunting you.

But Azriel reaches out an arm to gently stop you. His hand brushes your cheek, and his eyes are pure hunger as he says, “Your turn.”

And it hits you just then that up in until this point, Azriel has never seen you naked — in this capacity, anyway. There have been plenty of non-sexual circumstances over the years in which you’ve gotten a glimpse of each other, but not like this. Even when he began practicing on you, you never took your clothes off.

And you’re fucking nervous. Even more so under the press of his gaze. He looks like he may combust as you slowly move your hands to your shirt and tug the front laces loose. You pull the hem out from where it was tucked into your breeches.

The fabric parts enough that it more or less slides off you and pools on the floor. You do not meet the heavy stare that watches you so closely. You may lose your nerve if you do.

But when the last few items of clothing are off and kicked away from you, and you’re left entirely bare, you hear a sharp intake of breath. Curiosity gets the better of you. You lift your gaze and resist the urge to fold your arms over your chest.

Azriel is staring at you like…like nobody ever has before.

Like you are the rare rays of sunlight that break through the grey landscape of Windhaven. Like the world around you was forged from your own two hands.

Like you’re beautiful, and worthy, and unruined.

“…What is it?” You clear your throat, shifting on the spot.

Azriel shakes out of a daze and takes a single step closer to you. “You are…” His throat bobs, “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

You almost laugh. Almost. But something stops you.

The sincerity in his tone, his eyes. The realisation that he truly means that.

Your eyes travel from his face, down his sculpted chest and stomach. The firm, toned legs and what sits beneath him. You’ve seen plenty of his body naked. But…not all at once.

You think the air might be punched from your lungs.

He’s hard as a rock — from looking at you. The tip of his cock is already leaking moisture. His wings flare proudly at his back.

“So beautiful.” He cups your jaw, guiding your eyes back up to his.

There’s nothing else you can say, in that moment, than the words that tumble from your lips.

“I love you,” you whisper.

Emotion crosses his face, and both hands are gripping your cheeks. He kisses you deeply; so deeply that it steals your breath.

And then he pulls away, and he’s repeating his earlier words, his forehead pressed to yours. “Show me — show me what you need. No games, just…you and me.”

No games, indeed. You cannot wait any longer.

You rise on the tips of your toes and claim his mouth with yours, and you’re guiding him back, back, until his legs are hitting the bed and he’s gladly falling onto it. He sprawls out, watching as you climb over him. As your hand caresses his stomach and moves down.

And when your fingertips brush the head of his cock, a deep, delicious noises rumbles in his throat.

You mop the moisture up with your palm, using it to slick the length of him and slide your hand up and down. He hisses between his teeth, hips jerking, hands bunching within the covers on your bed.

“No games,” he repeats through gritted teeth. “This is about both of us.”

And you know that, and you’re not patient enough, anyway, for foreplay right now.

It dawns on you that there will plenty of time for that.

He is not leaving Windhaven — not leaving you.

You will have experiences together beyond this one night.

And with that very fact warming your heart and making it set to burst, you place your legs either side of his body and stare down at him. His cock brushes against your centre, and he can feel how wet you already are for him. His eyes travel down.

You watch, and you ask him, quietly, “You’re sure about this?”

His gaze flicks up immediately. “I’ve never been surer about anything in my life.” He reaches out a trembling hand and brushes a strand of hair out of your face. “That doesn’t mean I’m not nervous — gods, I really fucking am. So scared. I just…want to do it right. To be good for you.”

The sentiment almost brings tears to your eyes. “You couldn’t do it wrong if you tried, Az. Do you trust me?”

“With my whole heart.” He sits up a little — angles himself closer to you. “And I love you with my whole heart, too.”

And that’s all either of you need, isn’t it? Love and trust. The need that exits between you. Everything that is just…yours and Azriel’s relationship in its entirety.

Your eyes remain locked with his as you gently reach down and position his cock at your entrance. He breathes shakily. Doesn’t look away from you once.

Not as you slide down onto him just a little. You pause at the first feel of your walls stretching to accommodate him. A pleasured frown furrows his brow. A moment passes, two, and then you slide down further.

More and more. Sinking onto him. Pausing. Adjusting. With every inch of his huge length that disappears inside you, you feel like every one of your nerve endings is struck by lightning. Azriel’s head lolls back, and he makes a soft noise.

“You’re okay?” You check, hovering over him.

“You feel—” He chokes on his words. “Fuck.”

It’s the encouragement you need to sink the rest of the way onto him. The last few inches slide into you quick, thanks to the slickness that soaks your folds, and then he’s pushed into the hilt and hitting a spot so deep inside you that you can’t stifle the noise that breaks from your throat.

“Did I hurt you?” Azriel gasps, and you can only shake your head. He seems to study your face for confirmation, before he’s pushing up to kiss you.

And you kiss him back. For a moment, that’s all either of you do.

But when he’s losing himself in your mouth, his tongue dancing around yours, seemingly distracted by your kiss…only then do you lift your hips and sink down onto him again. And then you’re falling into a slow, steady rhythm.

Azriel is gasping again, his mouth moving from yours to press kisses to your jaw, your neck, your collarbones — your breasts. As you rock slowly against him, the walls of your pussy squeezing him, coaxing him, he buries his face into your chest and explores you, lips and tongue paying attention to your nipples, teeth grazing with a gentleness that’s almost heartbreaking.

“So beautiful.” He whispers, and the hands that are sitting on your hips travel up your back — up to the scars that live in the place of your stolen wings. “Gods, Y/N, you’re everything.”

You moan, rocking harder on him and wrapping your arms around his neck. You just…want to hold him to you, to feel him against you. It’s like it all comes crashing down on you that he very easily could have left.

But he didn’t. He won’t. He is here and so are you. He is yours and you are his.

“Talk to me,” you breathe, raking your nails down his arms. “Tell me how you feel.”

“So good — feels so good with you wrapped around me.”

“Yeah?” You lean down, brush a kiss to his lips. “You like being inside me?”

“There is — fuck — there is no one, Y/N, that I want to do this with, besides you.” His mouth slants over yours, and he whispers two words — take me — before he’s giving himself to your kiss.

He’s so big, so deep. And the blood in your veins feels like molten lava as the pace picks up, as his trembling begins to subside, and he grows more confident. His groans are loud, and his hands roam over your body before finally landing on your hips. Fingertips dig into your flesh with a dizzying bite, and he’s rocking you, encouraging you to take him. To fuck him.

This is not practice. This is two bolts of lighting striking in the same place. The friction between your bodies is perfect, like nothing else you’ve ever felt. The pleasure may just finish you yet. It’s electric. Addictive. You want to feel like this forever, with him.

And more pleasure floods you as in one swift move, he flips you over — takes you entirely by surprise. You’re landing on your back, and he’s hovering over you. He stills as he stares down at you.

“This is perfect.” He says, dipping down to kiss you again. It makes him move inside you suddenly, and the different angle has you both gasping into each other’s mouths. “Gods.”

“Fuck me, Az.” You moan. “Just like that.”

What starts out slow quickly builds in pace. The roll of Azriel’s hips become thrusts — and the moans, the cries, the words that leave you, all guide them to be deeper, harder. You think you could stay like this forever, with him buried inside of you, wringing pleasure from every corner of your body. It snakes through your veins and zips up your spine, and when his hand travels down and his fingers find your clit, you fucking explode.

You cry out, bucking up from the bed as your orgasm hits you full force. Azriel fucks you through it, and his groans are growing louder, more desperate, as the walls of your cunt clench around him. He breathes out a fractured, desperate noise, leaning down to brush his lips over yours as he fucks into you harder.

“I can’t last much longer.” He chokes around his pleasure, pressing quick, nipping kisses to your mouth. “I can’t—”

“Come for me.” You gasp, locking your legs around his waist. “Come inside me.”

The noise that your words coax from him is downright sinful. He grabs your hips in his hands, slants his mouth over yours. He slams into you again, again, again, and then he’s roaring his pleasure with enough force to shake the bed, and you feel every rope of come that he spills into you.

You’re trembling. Or maybe that’s him. Or both of you. Both slick with sweat, and both shaking, and both unable to hold yourselves up any longer.

Azriel collapses beside you, his body still tangled with yours. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, his heavy breaths heating your skin. You sink a trembling hand into the strands of his hair.

“That was—” His voice hitches, “I can’t…can’t put it into words.”

Neither can you. It’s all you can do to nod as you catch your breath.

“Thank you.” A kiss is pressed against your neck. Another. Az’s arm drapes over your chest, and he moves his mouth to yours. “Thank you.”

Still void of words, you settle on kissing him. Deep. Slow. Unhurried. Your hand cups his cheek, and your tongue strokes into his mouth. Lays out a litany of sentiments that you’re currently incapable of verbalising.

It feels like you kiss each other forever. But then you’re pulling back, pressing your foreheads together. And you stare into Azriel’s eyes as you tell him once again, “I love you.”

Emotion floods his eyes, and he holds you as close to him as he possible can, murmuring onto your mouth, “I love you, too. I think I always have.”

You know you always have. You tuck yourself into his side, content to feel his skin against yours. The rest of the world floats away. There is nothing and no one but you and him. Your Azriel.

Your eyes are growing heavy when he brushes his lips against your forehead, and he whispers the words you’ve needed to hear for so, so long.

“Whatever happens, Y/N,” another kiss joins the first, “you and I will face it together.”

pom tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @hihelloitsbooktimeppl

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bellewintersroe · 3 months

Text

Jenson Button Smut ~ mile-high club

jenson and unnamed fem character get it on thousands of miles in the air- except they’re not alone on their trip…

smut x reader 18+ - oral, semi-public sex, penetrative sex, established relationship.

Jenson’s jaw tightened as his eyes darted frantically around the cabin of the darkened private jet. At first it was just him and her, the two of them having the whole cabin to themselves. Then it was another one, two, three, four people that joined on their flight to Mexico where they’d celebrate some time off together. Jenson didn’t have it in him to deny them the transport- but he was wishing he had now.

Her mouth was wrapped around his hardened cock, stiff and rigid in between her glossy lips that drooled down his member. The only thing hiding this was the seats in front of them and the blanket covering Jenson’s lap and therefore her bobbing head. He felt the swirl of her tongue around the head of his cock before she pushed down, all the way down, reaching as far as the base of his cock.

Jenson squirmed, sweating hand gripping the armrest tighter as the other snagged at the blanket she hid under. It was erotic to say the least. He felt her gag and choke around his cock, he looked down, seeing the slight movement and only imagining how fucking sexy she looked spluttering around his dick. Jenson could’ve easily pulled back the covers, but he didn’t want to risk exposing her in case the others woke up. They strategically picked the seats at the back of the plane, with nobody sat beside them to ogle on them. But still, plenty of people still slept or at least rested, nose deep into their books, blissfully unaware of what was occurring only meters away.

With another gag came more movement and she began bobbing her head much faster, only imagining how good he was looking from above her. Jenson couldn’t control his jaw falling slack, he momentarily let his eyes fall shut and head fall back, a hand resting gently where her head was to guide the movements further. She was sucking the living shit out of him, and only when Jenson heard a noise up front did he snap out of his daze. “Fuck.” He swallowed under his breath, shifting subtly so he could grind himself deeper inside her. She felt his hand press on the back of her head, stuffing her down and holding her there against the base of his cock as he attempted to thrust quietly into her mouth. The sounds of her small mouth being fucked were slightly concealed by the high pressure of the plane and the blanket, but loud enough so Jenson could enjoy them.

Growing confident, her hand slipped down over the edge where his joggers were pulled down to, attempting to sneak a finger between his legs, down, down, down to a forbidden area he and her had only explored in the confinements of their home.

Jenson made a slight noise of discontent, pulling her off as she sat up besides him, hair dishevelled and mascara ever so slightly running. Jenson ran a thumb under her lips, catching the fallen spit before looking down to his cock with a pant. Her lipgloss left a glossy sheen over his cock and smudged on his shaven pubic bone. Jenson thought it was the hottest thing ever, his thumb continuing to smear her lip makeup further.

“Please fuck me.” She hushed into his ear, placing the blanket back over Jenson’s lap to protect his modesty. She was fully dressed, Jenson didn’t like that, her lips kissed at his jaw tenderly. He stuffed one hand under the blanket, fisting ever so gently at his cock as he almost became speechless at how dirty the moment was.

He let out a shaky breath, stuffing his hands down her shorts for a second time in the journey, pushing a finger in her with ease as she sat open legged on the seat. Fuck. She looked so hot, Jenson couldn’t contain it, he had to pull his hand away from himself or he’d bust too soon. She watched, head lolling back and lips parted as he looked over her, mesmerised by the beauty of his girlfriend. With his other hand free, he turned her cheek to face him, eloping in the deepest kiss he could muster, tongues swirling as they made out relentlessly in the chairs. “Can you be quiet?” Jenson asked, pushing his finger deeper inside her again. She gasped. “Yes.”

“C’mon then.” He nodded, indicating her to climb on top. He knew it was risky, but the smirk on her face indicated she didn’t care. Without even glancing around, she looked nowhere put him and pulled her shorts fully off, sliding down onto his large member. Jenson felt his mind go foggy as he felt the stretch of her wet cunt. No matter how many times he stretched her out she was still just as tight as the time before. Both their jaws fell slack, Jenson had to tense his jaw to avoid letting out a groan. When it was the two of them he wasn’t a man to stay quiet, but right now the thought of anybody finding her like this was worrying. Jenson wanted her all to himself, he wanted to preserve her modesty, protect her, she was his little dirty secret like this.

She bounced away, hair swinging in the loose ponytail she’d tied it back in, her hands gripping into his shoulders. Her eyes were focused on his, red in the face with brows furrowed. She knew he looked like he wouldn’t last long. Hendon’s eyes darted frantically behind her, slipping a hand over her smaller back as he lifted her up in the seat slightly. She didn’t stop moving, she was grinding against him, milking every inch of his cock as she felt the press of him deep inside her. Settled that nobody was paying attention, Jenson’s attention was back on her, pulling her in for a deep kiss to which he moaned against her lips, fucking his hips up inside her.

“People are gonna hear…” she giggled into his ear, leaving a nibble on his lobe as he couldn’t stop the thrusts he pushed inside of her. Jenson didn’t reply, he couldn’t, he panted into the front of her neck, hand finding her mouth as he attempted to move faster. The chair squeaked with each movement and they had to give that up quicker than it started. Jenson was never a man for sloppy quickies, he preferred taking his time, but fuck- with her he was at it like a rabbit. His head turned to the bathroom and he tapped at her thigh. “In the bathroom. C’mon.” The minute the door closed Jenson had her bent over the toilet, fighting against the gasps and moans that she desperatly wanted to release. His hips were pushing into her ass, squeezing and grabbing with each time the flesh would bounce.

“Fuck me, Jenson.” She whined, a borderline cry from below him. “Oh god.” He groaned, head falling back as he felt a familiar warmth fill his stomach. No. No. Too soon, he’d barely been inside her, he couldn’t cum yet. Instead, he fell to his knees, panting heavily and manhandling her into the position he wanted before pushing his face up to her core. His cock was throbbing, on the verge of release, if he touched himself he’d explode, and just the thought of tasting her like this drove him crazy. His mouth shoved deeper into her, tongue licking her clean, her clit, her hole, he ate her like he’d been starved. Fuck she tastes so good, the small sounds she was eliciting indicated he was doing a good job, and just with a little more she’d be- “right there! Fuck, right there!” Her volume increased, chest heaving as he desperatly pushed a finger inside of her. He didn’t care about them being loud, he seemed to forget that the bathroom on this thing wasn't sound proof real quick.

“Jenson! Jenson!” She gasped at his name, he wanted to smirk, proud he’d pushed her to this as he flicked at her clit, finger causing the sound of her wetness to echo in the small room they were in. “Yeah? Who’s making you feel this good, baby?” His confidence grew as she choked out, legs quivering. “You are!” The girl cried out with a prolonged moan, the sound of Jenson’s fingers squelching becoming louder and louder, his pace quickening as her whimpers turned into outright moans, somewhat concealed with the bite of her thumb in her mouth.

“Please! Please!” She borderline screeched, feeling the core tighten so hard she was shaking all over, crying out each time she’d exhale. “C’mon then. Cum for me baby, fuck, fuck. That’s it.” Jenson praised, the vibrations of his voice against her clit sending her over the edge as her juicer began squirting out of her, her orgasm taking over so much she couldn’t even push him out of the way in time.

Watching her orgasm was quite literally the hottest thing Jenson had ever seen, he wiped the back of his mouth clean, licking his lips and gaining once last taste of her before his fingers were replaced with the push of his cock once again. Through her orgasm, Jenson fucked her, she was feeling so much pleasure her eyes rolled back from overstimulation. His pants became heavy and louder, frantic as he fucked into her, repeating how “so fucking good” she was with each slap of his hips against her legs. Her legs grew weak, Jenson was the only thing supporting her now and as he reached his orgasm, he came crashing down on top of her with a satisfied groan, pumping his cum deep inside her.

“You’re so fucking good.” She cooed with a sigh, eyes closing as her forehead was pressed to the wall, chest rising and falling heavily. Jenson cursed behind her, coming around from his hot pleasure, letting out another manly moan with a trail of kisses left along her spine. Their bodies were flushed and hot to the touch, Jenson could’ve stayed there all day. “Babe.” She laughed, feeling him hugging her closer to him as he rolled his hips gently, milking the last of their pleasure. “Mmmh?” Jenson could barely respond, feeling lightheaded.

“You think anybody heard us?” She whispered. “No.” Jenson dumbly spoke. Little did they know on the outside of the door mouths were hung open, mortified from the sounds coming within the aeroplane bathroom…

#jenson button x reader #jenson button imagine #jenson button fanfic #Jenson Button smut #Jenson Button x reader smut #F1 x reader #f1 x reader smut

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s-brant · 9 months

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With his pregnant wife with ordered to rest by the maesters until her labors begin, Aemond must find new ways of entertaining her.

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Warnings: smut, p in v, hair-pulling, come swallowing, strong language, and pregnancy. this can be read as a stand alone or part three to Judas.

Pregnancy has coaxed out a new side of Aemond.

Of course, he had always been protective and caring, even when he was trying to stifle his feelings for her in the first few months of their union, but once she was with child, it intensified. From having the handmaidens tend to her every minute of every day to insisting upon following her around as though he is one of the royal guards assigned to protect her. It is always toned down in the presence of others due to his general discomfort with public displays of affection, but everyone noticed his constant proximity to her whenever he wasn't attending to his duties as a prince.

"You needn't breathe down my neck, I am quite capable of doing this myself," she said when he had once insisted upon helping her bathe once she got into the late stages of her pregnancy.

Truth be told, she did appreciate his incessant caregiving, but when caregiving shifted into being treated as though she was weak, that positive mindset soured slightly. Still, she rolled her eyes and allowed him to help her into the sunken tub filled with steaming hot water and bathing oil that gave off an aromatic lavender scent. He could tell that underneath it all, there was a part of her that enjoyed being looked after. A part of her that reveled in the protective nature he allowed to take control once her belly began to swell noticeably with his child.

The maesters suspect she will go into labor at any moment and insisted upon her getting bed rest during the day in preparation for it. So, that is what she has been doing all day long, and it threatens to drive her mad.

"Truly, how much more needlework and reading can I do? I have read nearly every book in the library at this point. Can you not escort me to the Dragonpit to visit Vermithor?" Y/N asks Aemond from where she lays back against the headboard with a hand cradling her round belly.

Clad in nothing but her shift to keep herself from sweating in the summer heat, she is left with nothing to do, and in her ill-tempered mood, she has resorted to begging her husband for his assistance. Unfortunately for her, Aemond is equally as cautious regarding her condition as the maesters. The very last thing he would do is encourage her to exert herself with a trip to the Dragonpit.

He offers her a stern look as he dresses for the day in the morning light that shines on his half-nude figure. The eyepatch he wears in the presence of everyone else sits on the table behind him, allowing her to admire how the sapphire eye glitters in the sun. While he cuts her a commanding stare, she trails her eyes down the length of him. The shade of his skin is strikingly pale against the warm colors decorating their shared chambers, only shadowed in the areas where skin dips into muscles to emphasize the strong lines of his abdomen. And, of course, he notices the hunger that is present in her gaze but says nothing about it.

"I cannot escort you anywhere outside these rooms, ābrazȳrys." Wife. "Tis my babe inside of you. If the maesters order you to rest, your duty commands you to listen."

He doesn't miss how her eyes follow the movement of his hands as they button his trousers. Filthy little thing, she is. His suspicions are confirmed by the smirk she gives him when she next speaks.

"Perhaps you could distract me some other way?" She hooks a finger around the hem of her shift to lift it slowly up her thighs. A muscle in his jaw tightens at the sight of her baring herself to him without anything to protect her modesty. "You know, I heard the strangest thing from Nyla"—one of their handmaidens—"a day ago. She said that a healer she once met told her that coupling with one's husband can induce childbirth."

Aemond stares at her with predatory intent, as though he's considering it for a moment, then shakes his head. Although they have pleasured one another in other ways, they have not had sex since her bump began showing. It was already scandalous for them to continue their marital duties after the pregnancy was confirmed, to do so when she's heavily pregnant would be even worse.

"We have been through this," he says. "It is not proper."

She does not miss a beat.

"Says who?"

Neither does he.

"The maesters, along with every other upstanding person of noble birth such as ourselves." He pauses, then says before she gets the chance to, "Aegon excluded."

A wry laugh escapes his dear wife at this, and she can't help how the beautiful sound is cut short by the feeling of the babe kicking her palm. Those pretty eyes go wide as she reaches out with her other hand in an invitation for him to come to her. Based upon the panic that flashes across his face, though, he must mistake her excitement for fear. A fraction of a second later, he's already at her side before she can hear the heavy footfalls on the floor.

"What is it?" he asks, throat constricted with terror.

She smiles at him. It's a lovely, placating type of smile, and it washes away every worry present in his head when he sees it. Wordlessly, she takes his hand, calluses and rough from sword fighting, in hers and places it on the top of her bump where the movement can be felt.

"Feel," she whispers.

Her fingers mold overtop of his to keep his flattened palm pressed down on her. Beneath both the linen fabric of her shift and her warm skin he feels it.

"He must be coming soon. He's in the right position for birthing."

Then, her head tilts back to allow her to look up at him in on. It's unfathomable to her— the fact that a child is dwelling within. Not only a child but their child. She can't help but wonder what they will look like or which one of them they will favor. It's all too easy to picture what she may see as soon as a few days or weeks from now. Aemond, half-dressed as he is now, with their newly-born son resting against his chest as they lay together in the quiet of their rooms. The babe will look so small, so fragile and new, when cradled against his Kepa's larger body. And when she pictures that, she feels complete in a way she never has before.

It seems that he is having similar feelings when his eyes light up at her hopeful declaration. What she doesn't know is that he is imagining the very same thing, yet reversed. His mind conjures the image of their days-old daughter suckling at her breast, making soft coping noises throughout. Although he has never known himself to be the tender-hearted type, that thought warms him to the bone.

He rubs the spot where the babe kicked as though to soothe it in the only way they'll understand at this point in their development. No spoken words or language yet, just the communication of touch. The same instinctual form of communication animals use to soothe their children. The touch is firm yet soothing. Constant in a way that one's father should always be yet rarely ever is. It says, "Kepa is here. Don't fret. We will meet you soon."

"She," he starts, meeting her gaze with a stoic face, "will come tomorrow. Helaena told me so when we dined with mother last night."

Her eyes narrow.

"Helaena, I believe. However, you, dearest, are not a dreamer. You cannot know the babe is a girl. I, on the other hand, can sense it. We will have a male heir. One whose birthright will never be disputed as mine has been."

The part about wanting a male heir out of fear for their claim to the throne being challenged causes his mouth to shift into an imperceptible frown. Most people do not know how to read those changes in his expression, but she can. Since her pregnancy began, she has become well-versed in his non-verbal cues. For now, he bypassed the worry she so vulnerably laid before him. That is a matter they can discuss later.

He asks, head tilting slightly in curiosity, "You can sense it?"

"Yes, of course," she says and weaves her fingers into his to hold his hand. "There is such a thing as motherly intuition."

To this, he hums quietly, and it's such a distinctly him thing to do that she finds herself fighting a smile.

"If motherly intuition does, in fact, exist, why would my intuition as her father be any less accurate?"

She stifles a laugh at this, easily recognizing from his tone that he is merely teasing her. Something he never once pictured himself doing with his eventual wife. A marriage of duty was what he anticipated, yet this is far from it. He realizes right now that he would do anything for her. He would die for her if it came to that, but not just because their wedding vows brought her under his protection and Daemon would hunt him to the ends of the earth should anything happen to her. It's because he cares.

Y/N cups the bottom of his chin in her free hand and forces him a bit closer to say, "Because I am your very pregnant, very ill-tempered wife, and I said so. If you dare to question my authority, I may be inclined to use your knife on you again." There's a pause. "Also, while I have your obedience, I would like to dine with the family tonight one last time before our son arrives."

Although they both know they are jesting, Aemond's eye darkens the second she calls him obedient.

"If you were not carrying my daughter, I would bend you over my knee for that."

It's wholly true, and she knows that. He did it once before but knew the whole time she was simply allowing it to occur as a result of her own sexual gratification. He knew that if she wanted, she would break free and have him fleeing her wrath on Dragonback.

She smirks and pulls him closer until their lips nearly brush.

"Don't say those things if you are refusing to fuck me. It is cruel," she whispers. "It arouses me, and you know I cannot satisfy myself the way you can."

His body goes still in the wake of her brazen confession.

Knowing she has him right where she wants him, she decides to hammer the idea home. The strap of her shift has "accidentally" fallen from her shoulder as she kisses him just long enough to entice but not satisfy.

"Lest you've forgotten, the maesters told me to wait two moons after the birth to allow myself to heal before taking you to my bed again." The tremble in his exhale brings a triumphant gleam to her eyes, and she pulls her mouth back out of reach to tease him as he leans in to kiss her. "It would be a pity to waste such precious time, would it not?"

Their lips brush, and the hand that holds his chin breaks away to palm at his half-hard cock through his trousers. It swells eagerly beneath her touch after ages of restraint and self-pleasure, growing harder by the second until he is fully, painfully needing her.

"Come," she says and spreads her legs in invitation. "What the maesters tell you is largely myth and outdated theories. The babe will remain unharmed."

At last, the patience of her devoted husband runs thin, and he is unable to stop himself from kissing her with an unashamed lust that indicates she will be getting what she wants. The suspicion is proven true when he kneels on the mattress between her legs to crawl onto her without breaking the passionate, open-mouthed kiss shared between them. But before he can try to settle his weight atop her and prevent her from reaching for his trousers, she finds the waistband with fumbling hands. This halts him for just the right amount of time—long enough for her to undo the button and push the clothing, along with his small clothes, down his slender hips.

The disappointment he feels at her refusal to allow him to bury his fingers or head between her thighs in hopes that she will be satisfied without penetration is visible on his face. Yet he says nothing. In truth, he cannot do anything to stop this. If he truly did not wish to fuck her, it would be easy to deny her. The issue at hand is that he does wish to, and now that his cock is being pumped in her hand as he stares down at her pleading eyes, it no longer matters to him what is proper or not.

It's when she starts to guide him to her sweet cunt that he realizes that she would have had the chance to thwart his sabotaging efforts no matter how quickly she pulled his trousers down. What halts them in their tracks is the protruding belly, larger than it was the last time he took her to bed, preventing him from laying comfortably against her.

This would be the perfect opportunity for him to redirect himself back to his original intentions, but, instead, he says, "Turn over."

Her cheeks burn hot at this, at the sheer commanding nature of his words, before she obliges him. She turns over cautiously to avoid falling on her stomach and settles into a semi-comfortable position on her hands and knees, back arched just so to present herself to him. Though she cannot see it, he smiles.

His voice is soft yet stern when he next speaks.

"Down onto your arms," he says. "It will feel better that way."

She stares daggers at him over her shoulder and asks, half jesting, half jealous, "We have never done it this way, so how would you know, husband?"

Aemond rolls his eye at her dramatics.

"You already know, now do as I command."

He isn't wrong. They've been quite honest with one another about their past transgressions with members of the opposite sex, although hers was little more than a shy peck on the cheek while his were, well...Aegon took him to a brothel on his thirteenth name day, that much she knew before they were wed due to her eldest uncle's loose lips, but what no one else knows, save for her, is that he had a few lovers. Likely a result of the time he was taken to a brothel, he never sought his pleasure out with whores.

It began accidentally. He didn't intend to fuck a widowed lady in court, but it happened, and he was glad it was her. From then on, he followed the rules unintentionally set by his first time after the brothel. The first rule, of course, was to never lie with a maiden to prevent ruining her reputation and being forced to marry below his station as consequence.

The second was to never go back to the same woman more than a few times. This kept his time with them to a minimum and prevented any of his lovers from forming delusional attachments. Another rule was to never kiss them, and, the last, most important one was to never finish inside them. Though she was overwhelmed with jealousy upon first starting this conversation with him, his explanation for the last rule did well to soothe her.

It did not matter whether he chose to fuck whores in brothels or older women of noble birth, no one but his wife deserves the seed of a dragon prince. He would not dishonor her by fathering a bastard, he explained. Not like his brother did many times to poor, sweet Helaena.

So, she does already know that his skill at pleasing her comes from his experiences with the older women who now have husbands again, who sometimes try to meet his gaze as they pass to no avail. Still, it doesn't make her less jealous, nor does it make teasing him any less fun.

Y/N hardly has the time to shift her weight down onto her forearms before he nudges his cock into her with his hands gripping her full hips until his knuckles turn white.

"Aemond!" she cries out in surprise at the sudden intrusion, but it soon gives way to a soft giggle. Her explanation comes seconds later, once she has regained her composure. "I will hear no complaints of me forcing myself on you later. You are just as responsible."

The first few motions of his hips pushing in and away from her are tentative, holding back when his fingers brush her belly to remind him of her condition. In spite of his guilt for doing this, it feels too good to stop after months of nothing but his hand and, sometimes, her mouth when he wakes to the sensation of her sucking him deep into her throat. That is good, always, but this is incomparable, and it has been so long that he almost forgot. But, it's impossible to forget now. Not when he feels her rocking her hips back against him, meeting his thrusts at a pace that encourages him to keep up.

The pillow is soft on her cheek where it sinks into it with one of her hands gripping the corner for dear life. Soft noises leave her without realization as Aemond finally lets go of his reservations and surrenders to the primitive instinct that tells him to fuck her. He cannot wholly allow his instinct to take over, however. If he did, he'd get far rougher than he's comfortable being with her in this condition. It's a constant battle to keep himself from unleashing the full extent of his lust, ages in the making, on her the way they both enjoy.

Although he's holding back, she reacts with an enthusiasm often reserved for nights when he brings her to release over and over again. Anyone else would think she is exaggerating, but he knows her well. He knows that all this time they've abstained has made her ravenous, and from the times he has brought himself to his peak alongside her with her fingers trapped between her thighs, he knows pregnancy has made her a touch more sensitive.

He lets one hand leave her hip to clasp over her mouth and muffle the lovely little gasps and moans. His cock plunged into her harder as if in punishment for being too loud, hitting a spot that makes her squeeze her walls around him and whine into the hand over her mouth. His other hand uses its hold on her hip to tug her back to meet him stroke for stroke, quickly forgetting his internal promise to be gentle. It isn't nearly as intense as usual, but she can sense it. She can sense that he's starting to give himself over to the pleasure and allow himself to enjoy it.

"Quiet," he snaps and presses his palm harder against her lips to force them shut. His words seem to have the opposite of the intended effect, if the way she cries out has anything to show for it. "If the servants hear and gossip about me defiling you like this, Aegon will never stop talking about it."

The hand over her mouth leaves for an instant to reach for the belt looped into his undone trousers. Her body jolts with every hard thrust, and she cannot help how she moans now that her mouth is uncovered.

She yelps in surprise when he pushes the leather between her teeth and says, "Bite on this."

There's nothing else for her to do but listen.

It does a satisfactory job at keeping the sounds confined to their chambers. Not as well as his hand, but it will have to work. It allows him to hear her and revel in every sound without worrying too deeply about servants overhearing. If anything, he is the one who now risks getting them caught with how he groans and sighs with every smooth, wet drag of his cock inside of her.

The physical sensation is so overwhelming and euphoric, it almost feels torturous to him. Knowing that he cannot live in this moment forever is the cruelest form of torment he's endured, even above Lucerys blinding him and Aegon encouraging his nephews to bully him for lacking something they were all born with the privilege of having.

They made him feel inadequate, small, and he cannot deny the truth in what she said to him once before, in the midst of their coupling, regarding him deriving a sick pleasure from having stolen their sister away and making her his own. Fucking her full of heirs and taking solace in the fact that it is his blood, not the blood of the Strong bastards, that will continue their family's great dynasty. It's invigorating. Vindicating, even.

The muffled sounds of her moaning as he watches her, transfixed by the urge to wrap his hand up in the curtain of white silver running down her back like a flash of shooting starlight, brings him so close, he can almost feel it. His eye squeezes shut to allow him to focus on preventing himself from coming before she can, and it's only when he feels he's regained control over himself that he warns her.

"I won't last much longer," he says, breathless.

She knows that the words in and of themselves are an apology, so she shakes her head and murmurs, too far gone at this point, "Don't care."

There's a groan from behind her, then a harsh snapping of his hips against her ass as he says, "I do."

The feeling of the rough pads of his fingertips rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs has her writhing under him. She's grasping onto the pillow with one hand and braces the other on the headboard to keep her head from hitting it with the force of how he fucks her. Teeth biting down on leather, she cannot do much else than take it. She cannot call his name or warn him of her imminent climax, but she does not need to. By now, he knows when she's close to her peak by the feeling of her cunt spasming around him.

It's an addictive feeling. So much so that he doesn't quite enjoy his peak if it doesn't involve feeling, hearing, and witnessing hers first. It never fails to drag him under.

Another brush of his fingers against her, along with a well-aimed thrust, is all it takes to send her careening over the edge.

Her jaws goes slack and allows the belt to fall onto the pillow as she cries out for him at the intense crest of the wave that overtakes her. It's a mumbling, incoherent mixture of expletives, as well as his name, that pushes him closer to his satisfaction to hear it. To think that the beautiful creature beneath him, rendered useless in his hold and swollen with his child, is solely his and his alone is a fact he can hardly comprehend. All he can think as he chases his release is that he loves her. They have yet to say it, but he feels it. It's the kind of love that starts wars and ruins lives, and that is the most startling revelation he's ever had.

It takes little time—seconds, actually—for Aemond to succumb to the near-explosive feeling he has tried to stave off for the sake of satisfying his wife first. He is careful enough, even in the blissful reverie of climax, to not let his weight go on top of her and risk making her uncomfortable. Or injuring her or the babe in any way. Although exhausted from the relentless exertion, his body finds a way to hold itself up after he collapses onto her back and continues to rut into her as he fills her sensitive cunt with his seed until there's nothing left to give.

His softening cock slips out of her after he's taken the better part of a moment to come back down from the heavens she sent him to, and Y/N whines at the sudden emptiness. It isn't uncommon for him to remain inside of her long after they've finished sometimes. The first time it occurred, it was a result of mutual exhaustion, but the next time, it was a conscious choice.

His chest rises and falls rapidly with his panting breaths as his eye flutters shut for a second as though to take the time to burn the image of her now into the back of his mind. When he opens it again and moves back to see his come leaking from her hole, he has to keep himself from flipping her onto her back and kissing her sweet cunt until she's licked clean and lacks any evidence of the sin he committed today. But, he can't. He was already meant to be meeting Criston in the training yard, and nothing would be worse than the knight searching for Aemond only to find out he's been locked away in his chambers with his wife.

To pacify himself, he swipes his middle and forefinger between her slick folds to gather some of the dripping fluid on them. His other hand wraps itself up in her hair as he wanted it to moments ago to gently pull her head up from being buried in the pillow. Her head turns to the side only enough to allow him to see the side of her face, and he doesn't need to say anything to get her to open her mouth for him. All he does is bring it to her lips as he waits for her to obey his wordless command, wrapping her lips around his fingers and moaning at the salty taste on her tongue before swallowing it all.

When he watches this, he can't stop thinking to himself that he's lucky. Not only does he have a rare jewel of a woman as his wife and future Queen, but he also has a wanton whore who is quick to comply with his every wish and begs him to fuck her even when she is far along with child. Desperate for him and him alone.

"Mmm," he hums in approval at how she sucks his fingers clean and loosens his grip on her hair until it falls loose around her shoulders again. The hand that held back her hair slides down her back and rubs in soothing strokes up and down the length of her spine. The next words are barely a push of air, spoken so quietly that no one else in the world could overhear. "Sȳz riña." Good girl.

With his fingers falling from her lips, she sinks back down into the bed and rolls onto her back to allow herself the pleasure of looking at her husband. The adoration visible in her gaze never fails to catch him off guard. No one ever looks at him like that. With such fondness. Not even his own parents or siblings.

"Umbagon lēda nyke tubī, ñuha jorrāelagon?" Stay with me today, my love? "Jikagon udir naejot Criston bona iksan tolī va naejot ñuha sikagon syt ao naejot henujagon ñuha paktot. Umbagon kesīr, sagon iā sȳz valzȳrys, se qogralbar aōha ābrazȳrys ēva se tubis iksis toliot." Send word to Criston that I am too near to my labors for you to leave my side. Stay here, be a good husband, and fuck your wife until the day is gone. Her bold request draws a scoff from him. A second passes, then she says softly in the common tongue, "You have been quite protective of me as of late. I am sure people will not think anything of it."

There's a second of contemplation during which he weighs the costs and benefits. On one hand, he does need to train and maintain appearances in court. On the other...Well, he would very much like to spend the day in bed with her, testing out the theory the handmaiden presented to her about sexual activity inducing childbirth.

Screw Criston, he thinks.

"Sagon careful skoros ao epagon yno. Kostā jiōragon ziry," Aemond says to give her one last chance to rescind the offer. Be careful what you ask of me. You may get it.

Her expression turns stony as she asks, looking up at him through her lashes like she once did as a demure little cocktease of a newlywed, "Ao kivigon?" You swear?

And in the midst of the night, after a day of laying together—reading, fucking, talking, and giggling like little kids—they discover the theory regarding sex and childbirth to be true, and it's in the late hours of the morning that their little dragon finally decides to greet them in the form of a wailing infant girl.

Tag list: @m-indkiller, @tinykryptonitewerewolf, @hopebaker, @bcon24, @eleganttravelercloud, @aemond-targaryenx, @the-blue-banshee, @saramayu, @merakiaes, @its-sam-allgood, @grungegrrrl, @singitoutgirl26, @scarlettmoon98, @cicaspair418, @itisjustwhatitis, @cl-0-vr, @d34d-4c1d, @hargrovehoe, @vainillasmil157, @leahjean, @captainweirdo42, @magnificantmermaid, @dark-night-sky-99, @kaicyl, @ladybug0095, @bellaisasleep, @blackravena, @isaxbella749, @reneki, @heylosers06, @izzicle, @bucky-thorin-winchester, @hangmanscoming, @harrypotteranna23-blog, @fan-goddess, @glame, @muthafuckingstargirl, @barnes70stark, and @shintax-error.

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #fanfiction #wrote most of this in my notebook at the psych ward last month ✌️

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