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fioiswriting · 5 months

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Reunion | Sequel

[Part 1]

Summary : After the Battle Above the Gods Eye, Daemon returned victorious. Aemond was presumed dead, though his body was never found. Three years later, you've mourned your former husband and are ready to move on. But it seems that some ghosts from your past have come back to haunt you, and that the dead aren't really dead after all...

Rating : Explicit 18+, MDNI

Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader

TW : unprotected sex, breeding kink, mention of characters death, angst, possessiveness, p in v sex, oral f receiving, dom/sub undertones, mention of war, AU where the Blacks won the war, anxiety, Reader has a child, grief, fluff, pregnancy, not proofread.

Reader is Rhaenyra and Harwin’s daughter so I imagined her with dark hair like Jace, Luke and Joffrey but feel free to imagine her as you want of course <3

Words count : 9150

Author's note : Hello everyone!! Sorry for the wait, I've been very busy, but here's part two of Reunion (or at least the first part two, let's call it part 2.1 hehe). Thank you again for all you kind comments and the love you've given my fanfic omg!! Spoiler alert: this is the happy alternate ending! But I've got another bittersweet alternative ending planned 😈 If you think the first part was good enough on its own and the sequel may break the vibe, don't force yourself to read!! But if you need a happy ending, here it is <3 The plot still doesn't make any sense, but hey, we're here to have fun so enjoy ❤️

English is still not my first (or second) language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes <3

When you wake up, the first thing you feel is the reassuring embrace of his arms around you. You don't want to move, not even when the sunlight tickles your face through the opening between the wooden shutters, trying to make the moment last endlessly. But the growing anxiety in your stomach chases away the illusion of your fleeting happiness.

You close your eyes a little tighter. Perhaps if you try again, perhaps if you try harder, the world around you can fade away.

Perhaps you can wake up again, in a different reality.

But it's inevitable. You know that now you're awake, it's only a matter of time before the two of you have to say goodbye forever. Your breathing becomes heavier, and you have to fight the tingling sensation at the corners of your eyes.

Why have the gods decided to be so cruel to you? They grant you one last taste of his skin on your lips before taking it from you, again.

Haven't you given enough?

Could they not show you mercy?

You who had forgotten him, you who had begun to turn a new page, to seek comfort in the arms of the cold, far away from the fire and the ashes, why did you have to touch the poison that would once again stain your soul?

Behind you, Aemond buries his long nose in your hair. His hand absently caresses the skin of your thigh, just where the edge of the linen tunic you put on sometime during the night when you were cold ends. The fabric is pulled up, revealing the outline of your bottom, and you can already feel your uncle hardening between his thighs, but you don't move.

If you move, you'll make everything more real. Tangible.

You'll speed up the process of losing him, of him slipping through your fingers.

How can you let him go, now that your heart is full again, now that you feel complete in a way you haven't felt for over three years?

How can you let him go, now that your body has retrieve the extension of itself in the arms of the man who was the cause of your torment, your moments of joy, your pain and, paradoxically, your happiness?

"I know you're awake."

You hold your breath and Aemond inhales into your hair. His hand moves down the inside of your thigh, along the hollow that joins it to your groin. He doesn't venture any further.

His thumb rests there and brushes your skin, trying to arouse the desire in you with gentleness.

Subtly.

He doesn't want to hurry, he doesn't want to rush you.

Not when he's been harbouring the impossible fantasy of waking up with you in his arms since the day he nearly died.

He presses harder against you, as if he doesn't want to let you go, as if he wants to be one with you again, and you feel him pulsing against your buttocks, under the linen cloth that has been pulled up a little higher. He says nothing, but he is pleading, needy, in his gestures, which is rare for him.

Something has changed, after all, and perhaps something has changed in him too.

"I am awake, indeed, " you whisper in a voice that is still half asleep. The lump in your throat betrays the feeling of anxiety gradually creeping into your body, and Aemond seems to notice. Under your tunic, his hand moves up along your belly until it nestles against your chest, close to your heart. His thumb draws small circles, once again trying to bring you back to him.

Trying to calm your mind.

"Let us forget for a little longer," he whispers, his clenched jaw resting over your head. "Please."

And you know he never begs.

Aemond takes and doesn't ask.

Aemond believes he is owed everything and never gives in return.

Hearing him beg breaks something inside you, because this is the first time he does so.

Usually it was you, it was always you, begging for peace, begging for more, begging him not to leave you.

Part of him is as desperate as you are; part of him also dreads the moment when you will have to part again. Forever. It's comforting to know that his feelings are sincere, just like yours.

" Make me forget, then." You reply, moving your lower loins back against him, giving him tacit permission to explore your body once more. His fingers move down to your breasts, which he covers softly with his hand, his thumb skimming over a nipple to make it hard. You let out a gasp between your parted lips.

His hand slides lower, his palm flat against your lower belly, his fingertips brushing the light patch of hair at the top of your mound. You feel the familiar warmth growing between your thighs, in your core.

He sighs against the back of your skull, his head tilted forward. His lips search the skin at the nape of your neck, behind the long hair that has become tangled during the night, while his fingers intimately explore the secrets of your body that he knows all too well. The remnants of last night's lovemaking still smear the insides of your thighs and folds, but it doesn't matter; his fingers easily find the little bundle of nerves that they tease until you close your eyes, until your hand grips the damp, shabby sheet that covers the ragged mattress in the inn where you've spent the night.

Just the both of you, in the comfort of anonymity.

"Let me taste you". His voice, still husky, tickles the back of your neck and you feel him shift behind you. When you feel the warmth of his bare chest, against which you're nestled, leave your back, your body automatically tries to move back against him. You still need him. You still need him to chase away the lump of anxiety in the pit of your stomach and the voices that keep reminding you that you're only postponing the fateful moment. Your hand slips under your white tunic and wraps around his wrist to force him to stay there, to hold his fingers against the source of heat spreading from your core. Your hips are demanding, grinding against his hand. "On your back," he insists, and stands up on his forearms.

With reluctance you turn over. You obey, lying on your back, your hair spilled around your head on the flat, uncomfortable pillow on which you slept badly. The white tunic that serves as your nightgown is pulled up, crumpled, just above your crotch, which it barely conceals.

Aemond has swung over your body, silvery strands loosening from the braid that holds his hair behind his head and sliding down his shoulders, falling in loose loops on either side of his face, tickling your cheeks.

His lilac-tinted blue eye glows with a predatory gaze, a ray of light catching in the sapphire he hasn't removed from his socket.

He captures your lips with his own, begging for access. Aemond marks your jaw and throat with light kisses, sucking at your collarbone to make the violets of possessiveness with which he likes to adorn your body bloom. His lips travel down your chest, playing with one of the two small nipples raised by the cool air and by desire, and continue their journey past your navel.

Your heartbeat quickens as he settles between your legs, spreading your thighs to admire the part of you he covets so eagerly. At the same time you bend your legs, your gaze falling on him, on his unravelled hair, on his eye that locks with yours. He is so close to you, so close to your warm centre, and you know that between your folds the sweet nectar that your uncle longs to taste is already flowing.

But his lips trace the inside of your thighs instead, where the skin is soft and tender, and gradually they reach the hollow that connects them to your most intimate part. He takes a malicious pleasure in building up the tension, in savouring every millimetre of you like a fine delicacy, with only the tip of his lips brushing against your skin.

His thumbs spread the tender flesh of your womanhood and then he places a chaste kiss on the very centre of you. His tongue is shy at first, tracing the slit that connects your entrance to your little knob, collecting the evidence of your desire.

As his tongue wraps around your nub, your hands grip the sheets, knuckles white.

Aemond drinks from your essence like a thirsty man, his nose buried between your folds, rubbing your pearl.

The tip of his tongue catches what drips from your opening, and then the flat of his tongue tastes your slit, working its way up to the little nub gorged with desire.

He maintains the same rhythm, revelling in the moans that escape from your half-open lips. Soon his middle finger begins to draw circles against your entrance, the first knuckle sliding inside, then the whole finger. Your head is thrown back and immediately your hand buries itself in his silvery hair, gripping his braid in a messy bun behind the top of his head. Forcing his face against the most intimate part of your body, forcing his lips to work on your wet warmth, you seek more contact.

Aemond adds a second finger. He can feel you tighten around him as he searches for that particular spot, as his tongue continues to play with your bundle of nerves.

As he devours what is his, utterly his.

His fingers, the ones that aren't buried inside you, close around the flesh of your hip in a possessive grip. "Come for me," he whispers against your womanhood, his eyes lifted to you. "I know you can do it."

Your breathing becomes more erratic, faster too. You tighten the grip of your fingers in his hair, your thighs pressing either side of his face, and he collects the sweet taste of your release on his tongue with a hum.

You feel like you're floating. The waves of warmth still wash over you, less and less intense, your breast rising and falling as you catch your breath.

Your hand tucks a lock of his hair back behind his ear as Aemond lifts his face towards you, and you rest your hand against his cheek. His parted lips still glisten with your desire smeared across the lower part of his face. He stares at you without moving, his deep, regular breathing the only sound to break the silence that has followed your release. You stay like that for a moment, his gaze burning into yours. At any moment he might pounce on you. At any moment he might close the tiny distance separating your mouths and press his lips against yours like the starving man he is.

It's you who makes the first move. You taste yourself on his lips and your tongue entwines with his in a fiery, demanding kiss.

Straightening up, Aemond creeps between your legs, his hand on the underside of your thighs, holding them apart. He is still completely naked from the night before, he has not bothered to get dressed after your lovemaking, so you can catch a glimpse of his erect manhood, slightly curved. He wraps his hand around to guide it towards your still sensitive wet entrance.

He slides into you easily, in one slow movement. The haste of the night before, the urgency of the reunion, has given way to the tenderness and laziness of the early morning, and Aemond rocks inside you slowly. His hips undulate, punctuated by long, deep thrusts, in an illusion of domesticity.

But the damp sheets, rough against your skin, the discomfort of the hard mattress beneath your back, remind you that your lovemaking is anything but domestic.

For Aemond is still the enemy, for Aemond is supposed to be dead.

For your family is probably looking for you at this very moment, worried that you have not returned home for the night.

But you push those thoughts away. The weight of your uncle's body on top of yours soothes the knot that forms in the pit of your stomach at the thought of time slipping away, at the thought of having to leave him again, at the thought of this being the last time you will taste his lips, his skin.

Aemond is gentle, and that is rare enough to be worth mentioning. He has never been so gentle, so soft, in the limited time that you have been married.

Between you, there had been the devouring, consuming passion, the power play that in your submission had granted you dominance.

Between you it had been raw and devastating more than gentle and tender.

His fingers run the length of your body to your core, combining his slow, deep thrusts with the movement of his fingers against your clit.

There are only few words exchanged between you, as if you were both afraid to break the grace of the moment.

His panting, noisy breath echoes in the silence, skimming the skin of your throat, then mingling with yours as the shadow of his lips brushes against yours. He rests his forehead against yours, your hand cupping his cheek, sliding behind his neck, and you are transported into a cocoon of intimacy where nothing else exists around you.

There is only his body against yours, warm and reassuring.

There is only him inside you and the slow movement of his hips.

There is only your breathing, blending in the space that separates your mouths.

"Do you know how much I've missed you?" He whispers against your lips as you close your thighs around him. "How much I dreamed of this tight little cunt?" You swallow his words. Your hips meet his as he pushes against you. He is reaching deep inside you. Despite the intimacy of the moment, his body oozes power and darkness, and you can't help but be drawn to that side of him that complements yours so well.

You can't stop your body from aching for him.

"You could have been my queen," he says as his movements grow stronger. He won't last long, but neither will you. He's inside you, where you like to feel him, and your walls clench around his member. "And I would have set the whole world on fire for you." He thrusts. "Burned it to the ground" He thrusts again. "All for you." And again.

The old wood of the bed creaks with each of his movements.

You seek out his lips, just to brush them against yours.

Without sealing the kiss.

"And I would have accepted," you answer with a whimper. "I would have been your queen, qybor." In another life, you think you would.

In another life, in another universe, you would have been his queen.

A grunt escapes his lips and lands in the hollow of your ear. Aemond straightens on his bent elbow, right next to your head, and he plunges into you one last time, with more power, more vigour, just as his new position allows.

You close your eyes.

A second wave of warmth is about to engulf your body.

And you wait for it, you welcome it.

"Look at me when I come inside you," he growls hoarsely as his seed pours deep inside you, into the most intimate part of your body. "Look at me as I fill you up."

Your eyes lock with his, fiery as ever. A final moan escapes between your lips and you seal them to your uncle's in a feverish, wet kiss. You hold him in your arms for a moment longer, as if to allow yourself the luxury of illusion for a brief instant.

You delay the fateful moment a little longer, fighting the minutes that inevitably slip through your fingers.

"Stay inside me just a little longer," you whisper, burying your head in the hollow of his neck where you can feel the rapid rhythm of his pulse. His arms close around you, holding you tight against him, and you hear him purr against the hair on the crown of your head. He rocks you gently.

The silence welcomes you both into its embrace and you savour it like a treasure. Your body aches in the sweetest way, your insides throbbing around his softening manhood.

And around you, nothing exists anymore.

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

"I've changed, you know." His hoarse voice vibrates against you, but you refuse to meet his eyes. You keep them closed.

You're not sure if Aemond has really changed. Aemond is ruthless, cold, brutal, calculating, merciless. Cruel. You're not sure if Aemond can ever change, but he shows unusual tenderness, and maybe, just maybe, you allow yourself to doubt. You indulge in the illusion.

Perhaps Vhagar's death has broken something in him.

Perhaps it's true, perhaps he's not the same man anymore.

He's not sorry for what he has done. He never will be. He's too proud, even if you can catch the glimmer of remorse that colours his icy eyes when he is not looking at you.

Does he think of your little brother? Is he haunted by the memory of him, as you have been for so many years?

Does he think of the innocents he killed without flinching, the blood he spilled in the Riverlands that now stains the burned grass?

Is his sanity slowly being eaten away by the atrocities he has committed with his own hands?

He has changed. You are not sure if he's changed for the better or for the worse, but he has indeed.

Daemon has changed too. So has Rhaenyra. So has Jace.

You too have changed.

For war changes people, war makes them weary and wary, it shatters something in the body that will never be the same again. It hollows out the roundness of the cheeks, it deepens the dark circles under the eyes, it fades the sparkle of childhood that remains in the eyes.

Aemond seems to be waiting for an answer, but the words remain stuck in your throat. I know, you want to whisper, I know, but suddenly you've forgotten how to speak. His thumb draws the soft line of the underside of your breast.

The future terrifies you more than ever. You had made peace with your past, you had come to a conclusion that, even if it pained you, had given you some respite.

Seeing your uncle alive had reawakened your demons.

Spending the night in the embrace of his arms had revived everything you had buried deep, deep down.

The past had returned, creeping towards you, gnawing at the corners of your heart and at what remained of your sense of stability and certainty.

Now you are plunged into doubt.

Just as you were a little over three years ago, when you were informed of his death, when you had to learn to live with the choice that had never really been given to you.

Just as three years ago, when you noticed a familiar lilac-tinged blue in Rhaegar's eyes.

Like when you had to live with the memories that haunted you, that were slowly eating away at what little sanity you had left.

Like when you finally decided to leave for the North.

Aemond seems to sense your anguish, because his fingers get lost in your hair.

"What are we going to do now?"

Finally, you dare to utter the inevitable words that have been hanging on the tip of your tongue since you woke up, words you've swallowed so many times this morning. You immediately blame yourself.

Saying them only makes them more real.

They tear at something in the imaginary cocoon you've built for yourselves. You bury your face against his skin, breathe in his scent, as if you never want to forget him.

For you know how fleeting memories can be.

You remember how his face faded with each passing day.

You don't know if you'll ever be able to experience it a second time.

"We could leave," Aemond replies, as his fingers venture to your jaw, caressing the line of your cheeks with the back of his knuckles.

He's so pragmatic, as always.

Even in this situation.

Even now.

It makes you want to shake him.

"We could run away," he says again. His gaze, fixed in the distance, falls on you at the same moment. "To Essos. Pentos. No one would know who we are." You close your eyes, and let his hoarse voice lull you into silence. "To start our own family, the three of us."

You know he is not serious. Even though he looks at you with such insistence, with that flame that flickers in the centre of his iris.

You relish his fantasy, this impossible dream.

But you can't leave your family; Essos is not Winterfell. There, they knew where to find you. They knew you were safe. They knew you were sheltered between the walls of the northern castle, under the heavy furs, under the protection of Cregan Stark.

Essos is the unknown.

You cannot let your mother lose her only daughter, not after everything she has already lost.

The itch is familiar, tickling at the corners of your eyes. There was a time when you thought you'd lost that sensitivity. When you thought the war had left you cold, incapable of feeling anything. Incapable of crying.

"You know I can't." Your nose rubs against his milky skin, made clammy by sweat. You keep your eyes closed because you feel the weight of his cold gaze on you, his furrowed eyebrows as he stares at you blankly, his lips pursed in a long, thin line. You don't have the courage to meet his accusing gaze, let alone the wounded look on his face as you crush all his illusory dreams into dust.

When did you become the more pragmatic of the two?

When did you become the one responsible for bringing Aemond back to reality?

It used to be you, the one who filled your mind with unrealistic dreams, the one who dreamed of stories and fairy tales, back when you could still dream. "They need me, you know that."

A sneer stretches across your uncle's lips as he swallows a chuckle that sounds more like an ironic growl. You feel his whole body tense against yours, a sign that he's holding back his annoyance.

A sign that he has something to say, that he's upset, but doesn't quite know how to put it into words.

"Like they needed you back then?" he replies scathingly, bitterness on the tip of his tongue. "When they used you as a bargaining chip to achieve their ends, hm?"

Your red cheeks burn with shame, as if he'd slapped you. You don't move, merely swallow hard. You know there's something right about what he is saying, but you don't want to admit it.

You've done your duty.

You've done what is expected of you as a daughter.

It was not a question of them using you. It never was.

It was your duty, only your duty, what you were always meant to perform, wasn't it?

And yet a small voice in the back of your head had already given you a similar speech, a few years ago, but you had tried to silence it.

You refused to let Aemond admit it. You refuse to allow him to do it. He had no idea, no right to criticise your family when he'd acted like that.

When he has done what he has done.

He has no idea what it is like to be a daughter.

You don't answer, and silence falls between you again.

You wish so desperately that he could go home with you; that he could tell them that he's sorry.

You wish it were easier.

There is no one left to wait for Aemond but you, but his son, you know that. His family has been decimated, as has yours in some ways, though you still have your parents and your older brother.

For your uncle, there's nothing left but the shadow of his existence, the shadow of who he once was, long ago.

You let your hand trace the side of his throat, your nose buried against it, your lips hovering over his skin. You lean against him, your body on top of his, pressed together as if you were afraid to let him go.

"You could come with me instead," you whisper, but you refuse to meet his gaze. There's something shameful in the words you've just spoken aloud, something naive, and your burning cheeks are proof of your embarrassment.

Almost imperceptibly, he clenches beneath you, holding his breath. This is a bad idea and you feel stupid. Naive to have dared to suggest something like this.

His voice purrs in a hm that vibrates against you. He's about to say something. He searches for words. "You know that -"

"I know." You cut him off sharply - a little more than you would have liked, your eyes raised to silence him.

You know what he thinks.

He thinks that Rhaenyra will never be his queen. He thinks he will never bend the knee to his eldest sister and her authority, which he doesn't recognise.

He thinks that with the death of Aegon, with the death of the children his brother fathered with Helaena, the throne belongs to him.

And you are aware of his ambitions. You know how perfectly the conqueror's crown fits his head. You know how it sets off the sapphire embedded in his eye socket. You remember the look of greed in his eyes every time he stared at the Iron Throne, you remember the look of pride on his face every time he scorned anyone who dared to question his decisions as Prince Regent.

You know how mercilessly he made the soldiers at Harrenhal kneel, forcing them to contemplate their impending deaths. You know the terror he has sown throughout the Riverlands.

Even in the Seven Hells you could have found more mercy than at the hands of Aemond Targaryen.

Aemond may have changed, but you're not sure he's changed enough to put aside the pride that is consuming him from within.

You take a deep breath. "You don't really have a choice, qybor."

Fearing his reaction, you curl into a fetal position, your back to him, your knees drawn up to you. You close your eyes. You wait for his frustration.

You wait for his sentence.

You know that he is aware that he has no choice.

He has only two options: swallow his pride or sink back into the abyss, disappear into the dark meanders of oblivion.

Rhaegar needed his father, of course, but you found him a father in Cregan Stark.

That was a sacrifice you were willing to make.

There was no way you would give up what family you had left.

For Rhaegar needed his grandparents and his uncle even more.

Behind you, you feel your uncle's hand slip under your tunic and around your body, pulling you against him. He presses his bare chest against your back, tucking your head under his chin. His hand caresses your stomach, then his fingers brush the base of your breast.

"You know she will never be my queen. You know the throne belongs to -" But he lets the words drop without finishing the sentence, the knowledge of what he was about to say hanging in the air between you.

As long as he remains alive, will the embers of war never truly be extinguished?

You don't know, but you accept the risk.

You close your eyes, as if you're about to jump into the icy depths with both feet.

"The rest is up to you, Aemond," you whisper, barely audible. "And if you have truly changed, then you will know how to make the right choice."

He says nothing.

You savour the last few minutes of illusion you have left.

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

The fear of making the wrong choice never really leaves you, but your mother chases your fears away, as she so often did when you were a child, tucking one of your dark curls behind your ear. She has her distinctive little smirk on her lips, the one that pulls the corner of her lips up towards her nose.

The same one Lucerys had, you think sadly.

You still miss him, even after all this time, and sometimes you wonder what kind of young man he would have become.

"You're a clever girl, my sweet clever girl," she whispers against your forehead as she cradles you in her arms. She's as beautiful as ever, as gentle with you as ever, despite the years, despite the wear and tear of war that has hardened her features and hollowed her cheeks. "And I know you have made the right decision." She lifts your chin with her forefinger to look into your eyes, and you feel like you're turning back into that shy, insecure girl who disappeared somewhere in the violence of the war all those years ago.

"And if it should turn out that you were wrong... Daemon will be there to intervene. You know he is just waiting for that." You roll your eyes at her attempt at humour, and she plants a kiss on your forehead.

For a split second, you truly are that carefree little girl again.

But behind your mother's humour lie fragments of reality that make your laughter bitter.

The news of your husband's survival remains a hazy blur in your mind. Sometimes you're not sure if this conversation really occurred or if you're dreaming.

You're not sure if what's around you, if the night you spent in Aemond's arms, is real or an invention of your sick mind.

Sometimes you're not really conscious of the events or how long they lasted, the lump in your stomach grows back, and once again you're destined to carve half-moons marks in the palms of your hands to soothe the tension in your body.

You told your mother first because you knew she'd be more understanding. As a mother, as a woman, she knows the meaning behind certain silences, the weight of words, the unspoken words that float between sentences.

You know she can understand your pain and your doubts, but also your love and your compassion.

She was shocked when you told her that her younger brother was still alive. She smoothed her dress, paced back and forth, then took the time to sit down, her eyebrows furrowed, her eyes riveted to your face, looking for clues that would betray what you were thinking, what you might be hiding. She was afraid that he had hurt you. She was afraid that he would rip you away from her, just as he had once ripped your little brother away from her.

Her fingers had gently taken your hand and her thumb had drawn little circles on the back of your hand to comfort you. She listened to you first as you confessed everything.

Where you were that night when you didn't come home.

Who you were with.

And then she took you in her arms. She reassured you. Soothed you.

You had been so afraid of disappointing her, of disappointing all of them, that the tension paralysing your body had finally loosened and you burst into tears.

Things had proved more complicated with Daemon. When he learned that his nephew was alive, that he wasn't forgotten forever in the deep waters of the lake near Harrenhal, he refused to believe you. He was furious. He said he had seen him fall, that he was the one who had taken his life, tearing the sky apart.

You didn't know where to look, and it was in your mother's eyes that you sought support, comfort, anything in the face of your stepfather's rage. You could feel on you the look of disappointment of your brother, Jace, as he held his shoulders up and his chin high. He wanted to prove that one day he would be a good king. With his jaw clenched, he said nothing, looking at you as if you were suddenly so foreign to him. He probably didn't know what to say, for fear of being clumsy, for fear of unintentionally hurting you, even more than by his lack of support.

You know it wasn't his fault.

He simply couldn't understand.

The words stuck in your throat and you found yourself unable to speak, pearls glittering in the corners of your eyes while you waited impatiently for the final blow.

The final death knell that would seal your disgrace in everyone's eyes.

After all you'd endured.

Daemon stood before you, his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes hard. He was staring at you as if you'd committed the ultimate treason, and you knew he was controlling himself to keep his anger from exploding. "You're going to bring him to me," he had hissed, his hand closing over your shoulder.

" You will lure him here and he will be put to the sword." His tone left no room for argument. With the tension growing in your stomach, you sought your mother's compassionate look to calm you. You could see the fury in your stepfather's eyes, and also a mixture of fear and feelings of betrayal. You knew that, deep down, he was afraid for you because he considers you his daughter. Because Baela and Rhaena are like sisters to you.

It was his reaction you feared most, not your mother's. His fingers dug into your skin, the floor slipping out from under you, the room swaying dangerously, and your mother had come to your rescue, trying to calm things down with her usual diplomacy.

You can't quite remember the words your stepfather said; in anger he muttered something that sounded like are you really thinking of becoming his whore again? and the words hurt like hell, but you tried to swallow the pain.

Endure, hold your head high. That was what you had learned.

Your mother had suggested you go back to your room or spend some time with Rhaegar, her fingers gently stroking your dark locks, and as soon as you left the throne room you could hear their voices echoing through the door.

They were arguing.

Over you.

Because of you, again.

You took a deep breath and returned to the gardens, where your two stepsisters were making your son laugh by playing with him. They had fun running around in the damp grass to the applause of Baela's little daughter, who clapped her little hands in delight.

Your fingers were still trembling when you joined them.

In the end a solution was found, for your mother feared losing you a second time.

She remembered what had happened to Laenor, your father, when he had grown tired of the court.

She remembered what had happened to Helaena, your sweet aunt, when she could no longer bear to suffer.

It was her worst nightmare to see you torn from her again, now that she had the chance to hold you in her arms every day, to protect you again, to see you grow again.

It was her worst nightmare to see her only daughter, her only daughter and the second of her only surviving children, taken from her.

You and Jace were all she had left of her own blood.

After long negotiations with Daemon, you had managed to bargain for your husband's life in exchange for strict conditions; increased surveillance, no bonding with a new dragon, no carrying of weapons, and the assurance that he would be executed if there was the slightest doubt about him. You proposed that you and he leave the capital, with your son as well. To return to Dragonstone. To start over on a new, blank page in a book that was already too damaged.

For you, it was also a way to ease the tensions between your family and Aemond, and perhaps find a more intimate life with your husband and son.

Rhaenyra had declared that this was the best solution: a guarantee for her to have you by her side again, a guarantee for her that you would be there.

You had been afraid of Aemond's reaction, afraid that his ego would not bear it; that he would refuse, that he would rather sentence himself to his own death than to an existence as a prisoner within his own family, condemned to live as a shadow of the man he had once been in exchange for seeing his son grow up.

But in the end, wasn't he doomed to live as a shadow of the man he had once been, anyway?

He would never be the rider of Vhagar again.

He would never be the ruthless Prince Regent again.

He would never again be the second in line to the throne, the second son greedily waiting for fate to turn in his favour.

He hadn't been all of that for a good three years, lurking in the cold, gloomy corridors of Harrenhal like a lonely monster.

And if he went back, if he rejected your proposal, he would have condemned himself to eternal solitude at the side of a witch you would rather forget.

He had no choice, for he would never be that Aemond again.

When you joined your husband at the meeting place, you were relieved to see him swallow his pride and accept. It was difficult, but you convinced him.

For Rhaegar, for his son.

Aemond had suggested that you run away, far away from everything, and you almost hesitated. Running away would have allowed you to forget, of course.

But your deepest wounds had begun to heal. You had begun to be able to face the ghosts that haunted King's Landing, the ghosts that haunted Dragonstone.

To stop there was tempting, and yet so frightening at the same time.

The unknown terrified you. You needed familiarity now, something to fall back on, for you were so tired.

Now you can't help bringing your thumb to your lips, nibbling the skin at the corner of your fingernail with the tip of your teeth as you walk away from Rhaenyra. A handmaiden brings you Rhaegar, and you struggle to breathe.

You inhale.

You exhale.

The thick tuft of brown hair makes you smile. The sight of your son is enough to give you the courage to walk with a more confident stride. It's as if you were filled with new strength, for you know that he needs you more than anyone else. And for him, you've promised yourself to stay strong.

As soon as you reach him, you kneel and plant a kiss on his plump cheeks.

He's growing up so fast that sometimes you wish you could stop time.

"There's someone who'd like to meet you, sweet boy," you explain, and you can recognise your mother's inflection in your own voice. Sweet boy. Rhaegar looks at you with big, round, questioning eyes, and you wonder if he senses your anxiety, because he takes your hand between his tiny fingers.

"Who, muña ?" he babbles, striding down the cobbled path in the middle of the gardens, hopping on his clumsy little legs, and you smile at his carefree attitude. He stops to watch the bees foraging, bends down to pick up a flower and gives it to you. He's always so curious, so full of life. He's a ray of sunshine that brightens your dull days. You finally understand your mother, the agonising fear she has of losing you. You finally understand the horror she experienced when she lost her four other children.

You also finally understand why Helena threw herself from Maegor's Holdfast.

The thought of what Daemon did still revolts you, and you can't imagine anyone hurting your boy like that.

You turn around. Rhaenyra is still there, in the distance, her crown on her head, her hands crossed in front of her on the heavy fabric of her dress, watching over you. She won't move, a comforting, discreet presence.

A stone bench awaits you by the fountain, on which two cushions have been arranged. A dessert buffet has been set up under the gazebo and you immediately spot your favourite cakes, the strawberry one, the blackberry jam one, and you look down at your son. He hasn't noticed them yet, or he would have already run over, dipped his finger in the whipped cream and stolen a blueberry from one of the tarts, his innocent expression on his face.

He is definitely a lot like you. Mischievous and clever. An angelic air. He is an easy-going child who never throws a tantrum.

Who understands quickly, too.

"I love you. I love you more than anything, you know that, don't you, young boy?" your tone is soft, and you kneel down in front of him, your hands on his small shoulders to emphasise the seriousness of your discussion. You search for your words, hesitating. How do you tell a three-year-old that his father, his dead father, is back from the dead and about to meet him?

Of course, Rhaegar knows that his birthfather was valiant, that his birthfather rode the greatest dragon in the world, that his birthfather died in battle.

But there is so much he doesn't know, so much he will inevitably learn as he grows up, and it is precisely that future that frightens you. You hug him as if you're afraid of losing him.

"Princess."

The deep voice of your sworn protector echoes behind you, and you straighten your skirt.

You know he is there.

You know you will see him the moment you turn around.

Your heartbeat quickens.

Aemond Targaryen stands behind your sworn protector, surrounded by two guards. His hands are bound in front of him.

It is so strange to see your uncle in this vulnerable position. He who for so long has been on the other side, he who for so long has been the one who bent others to his will. He looks at you harshly, and you almost feel the need to apologise.

But you know it is a matter of caution.

You know that Daemon, you know that Jace and even your mother would never have agreed to bring him in if such precautions hadn't been taken.

You admire his resilience, his determination. You admire his ability to hold his head high, to be confident, despite the fact that he is being treated like a common prisoner, about to be sentenced to death.

You struggle to swallow the lump that has formed in your throat.

"Who's that, muña?" Aemond's eyes leave you and immediately drop to the small figure that has appeared beside you, reaching for your hand, huddling against your leg, shy and worried.

Immediately, your husband's icy gaze, his lilac-coloured eyes, soften.

"Thank you, Sir Rowan. You may leave us."

Despite the worry on his face, your sworn protector nods, unties his prisoner's hands and walks back to your mother, accompanied by the other two guards. You watch them leave, and a strange silence fills the space between you and your uncle.

He doesn't look at you; his eyes are riveted to your son, whom he observes with wonder. He looks as if he is admiring the most beautiful and fascinating discovery he has ever seen. You look down to see Rhaegar's reaction, and he seems as intimidated as he is hypnotised by that gaze, by that blue and purple eye so similar to his owns, by this man looking at him as if he were one of the most marvellous things in the world.

"Gods, he's perfect," Aemond murmurs as he looks up at you, emerging from his trance. He comes closer to embrace you. And for once, there is something other than his usual brutal possessiveness and ferocity when his arms close around you.

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Aemond is shy at first. Awkward.

He's shy and amazed as he follows your son's every move with his good eye. From time to time, his gaze rests on you, as if to make sure he's not dreaming. As if to make sure he is doing right, seeking your approval.

Rhaegar is shy too, at first.

When he sits on your lap, he snuggles up to you, buries his face in your neck, one of your locks curled in his chubby little hand and he rubs it against his nose. From time to time, he turns to give his father a curious look, recognising his own eyes in the unfamiliar face before him.

Aemond's expression grows gentler, a softness never seen in his features before.

Once he has tamed the stranger, the little boy pecks at the blueberries in the tart in front of him. He shakes his legs, hitting your knees in painful little jabs, and your arm wraps around his body to hold him down.

Rhaegar loves cake, and the sugar may be coaxing him, for he's regaining his appetite for talking.

"He really does have my eyes," Aemond whispers incredulously, and his voice, still foreign to his son's ears, causes the little boy to lift his head.

" It is definitely the only thing he has inherited from you," you reply, teasing him with a small smile at the corner of your lips.

Soon Rhaegar finishes the blueberry tart, the cream smeared over the bottom of his face and the tip of his nose.

"He inherited that from you, that is certain." Aemond grins, pointing with his long chin at the boy's voracious appetite for cakes and pastries.

You have to pinch yourself to make sure you're not dreaming. That your husband is really standing in front of you, with your son, like a normal family.

That he was truly trying to tell a joke.

This form of domesticity is so alien to your relationship, and yet so pleasant, that you find yourself thinking that perhaps you have made the right decision, indeed, if every day can be like this.

"Your muña deserves some cake too, what do you say, little one?"

Rhaegar giggles. Aemond cuts a slice of your favourite cake, the one with the strawberries, and puts it on your plate.

You blush. After all these years, he hasn't forgotten which one is your favourite.

You can't even really whisper a thank you because this apparent domesticity, this feeling of completeness, this interlude of happiness makes you uneasy. Anxious.

You have the feeling that at any moment you'll be plunged back into the horror of what you went through all those years ago.

You have the feeling that at any moment the Gods will be cruel and snatch away this happiness that you've barely been able to taste, leaving only the memory of its sweet taste on your lips.

You breathe in and out, as you often do when you feel your palpitations rising in your chest.

"Do you... do you want to take him on your lap?" you ask your uncle with shyness, your hand stroking Rhaegar's thick brown curls. Aemond looks at you as if you have spoken in a foreign language. Lips parted, he is about to say something, but not a sound escapes his lips. His lonely eye travels from you to your son, from your son to you, in silence.

"I don't know if -"

You can hear the doubt in his voice, and it's almost touching to see him lose his confidence in front of his own son, to see him so nervous and unsure of himself.

You let out a little laugh, not in mockery, obviously, just full of tenderness.

You know what he's thinking.

He's afraid of frightening him.

He's afraid of harming him.

"You won't hurt him, Aemond."

He answers nothing. He still doesn't like to look vulnerable, unsure, and you know it has to do with his childhood. With all he has kept bottled up inside him all these years. He will need time.

Your eyes fall back to the little boy sitting in your lap, and you draw his attention to yourself by stroking the curls on his forehead.

"Do you want to go to Aemond for a while? To kepus?"

you correct yourself immediately, and Rhaegar nods in agreement.

You are amazed at how easily he slips off your legs to run to his father, to pull himself onto his lap, when only a few hours ago he was so intimidated by the presence of this stranger with the eyepatch.

Your uncle automatically puts his arm around his waist to make him feel comfortable, his new role taking root in him. His fingers reach for the cloth on the table, and he wipes Rhaegar's face, who can't help but burst out laughing at his father's clumsy gestures.

For a split second you are lost in contemplating the horizon, the stillness of the sea. You taste the sea breeze on your face.

And then you turn your head towards the cobbled path where the guards and your sworn protector are still stationed.

Your mother is no longer there, and you notice that you have not at any time felt the need to seek comfort in her presence.

You smile, for in the end you know you've made the right decision.

*** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Dragonstone, 6 months later.

When you walk the corridors of the place that saw you grow up, you are no longer haunted by the ghosts and their incessant cries. A kind of peace has settled over you, a return to the pleasant familiarity you've waited so long for.

You still think of Luke, of course. Of Luke and Joff and little Aegon and Viserys, your brothers you will never see grow old.

But you no longer feel their disapproving glances at every step you take. You are no longer kept awake by their cries, by their tears, by the remorse that twists your stomach.

You no longer blame yourself.

Perhaps you've finally learnt to make peace with yourself.

The heavy door of the bedroom you share with Aemond is half open, and you slip your head into the doorway, piqued by curiosity.

Snuggled on your husband's lap, Rhaegar is staring at the pages of a large book, the corners of which you can guess are horned, the cover worn, from being carried everywhere. You can imagine the jam stains that mark the paper with children's fingerprints. You know exactly which page is missing, the one you and Aemond accidentally tore out and hid so the Septa wouldn't notice, so many years ago.

It is a book about dragons, the very one the two of you used to read hidden under the table when you were so young and innocent, long before the torment of war.

Without a sound, you lean against the doorframe and contemplate for a moment the perfect vision before you.

You don't have the cruelty to disturb them.

"This one is Vhaegar!" shouts Rhaegar, and you hold your breath, searching Aemond's face for any hint that might betray his reaction. The mention of his former dragon is still a sensitive subject for him, you know it.

"Yes, that's Vhagar." he pauses. "She was brave."

From the corner of his eye, Aemond spots your silhouette in the faint glow of the corridor, and his attention lingers on you for a moment. He's almost embarrassed to be caught in such a vulnerable, intimate moment, but you smile tenderly to encourage him.

"And big!" the little boy adds, energetically raising his arms to the sky to emphasise his words.

"Yes, and big." There's a suspended moment of silence where the words hang in the air, and then your husband gently ruffles his son's hair. It's a tender sight to see them bond like this, and your heart fills with happiness.

Taking a step forward, you step into the light of the room and Rhaegar expresses his joy at seeing you. You smile back at him and approach the chair where Aemond sits, your son on his lap.

Your uncle's hand instantly rests on the curve of your belly, which he still stares at with the same protective instinct, the same fascination, as the day you told him the news. His eyes sparkle.

"Your daughter is restless today."

He looks up at you, not without lingering for a moment on your breasts and their new shape.

"My daughter?" he asks, one eyebrow raised inquisitively.

"I'm convinced it's a girl. You reply, smiling wryly, and take a seat in the armchair next to the one where Aemond and your son are sitting, facing the fireplace. "And she took after her father, given her temper," you tease him, your hand on the top of your rounded belly to soothe the baby growing there.

Rhaegar's eyes close slowly. Nestled against the chest of the man who, just a few months ago, was still a stranger, he fights sleep, he fights to stay awake, but tiredness quickly overcomes him. And then he falls asleep, his mouth half open, the movements of his breath making his chest rise and fall rhythmically.

Aemond finally gets up. You follow his movements with your eyes as he approaches you, the child in his arms, and he plants a kiss on the top of his head.

"I'm going to put him to bed. I'll be right back." He straightens and lowers his voice.

"I wouldn't fail in my duty and neglect my wife." The heat rises to your cheeks, turning them red at the implication of what awaits you tonight. You're already wet between your thighs at the thought.

But you nod in agreement and watch him walk away.

You are left alone in the silence of the room. The only sound around you is the steady crackling of the fire.

It's strange, you think, to be back on Dragonstone, in the familiarity of the stones you've spent most of your life between, after getting used to the idea of not surviving the war.

To the idea of dying from a broken heart.

To the idea of dying, the umpteenth victim of the vicious spiral of conflict that has torn your family apart.

And yet here you are.

With your own family.

For once you have hope for the future. You hear the cries of your little brother, lost in the storm so long ago, but they are quickly replaced by the laughter of a happy memory.

And finally, you have the absolute confirmation that you have made the right decision.

*** *** *** *** ***

Thank you so much for reading!! <3

Tag list : @minttea07 @queenofshinigamis (I'm tagging you since you asked for it ❤️)

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #Aemond Targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fic #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x niece!reader #aemond targaryen fanfic

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another-lost-mc · 11 months

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SATAN x gn!Reader 2.5k Words | NSFW | Smut -> Prompts: Kissing on the Dance Floor & "Don't blush, I liked it" & Sleepy Cuddles Content warnings: Jealousy (Reader), making out/grinding in public, oral sex/fingering (Reader receiving), penetrative sex. [ Obey Me! Masterlist ]

The House of Lamentation is surprisingly quiet most Friday evenings. Lucifer goes to his private study and nurses a glass of Demonus while he listens to his cursed records. Levi stays up late playing online games with his friends. Beel goes out with his Fangol teammates after their practice, and Belphie usually naps in his room waiting for him to get back. Mammon goes to the casino or a modeling gig if he has one booked, and Asmo likes to spend his night at The Fall or one of the other clubs.

Before you and Satan started dating each other, he used to go out with Asmo most Friday nights too. It gave him a chance to blow off steam and he could forget about his troubles, if only for a few hours. If he was feeling particularly riled up, he followed a witch or lust demon to an empty bathroom stall or dark corner for a little carnal relief. Sometimes he accompanied Asmo to after-parties where he had his pick of whoever he wanted; he would go home afterwards, in the early hours of the morning, feeling more relaxed with no regrets.

Asmo still asks him to go out every once in a while, but his invitation naturally includes you, too. Most of the time, Satan prefers to stay home with you while the others are distracted with their own plans. He doesn’t always say it, but he cherishes your moments of quiet domesticity together and he doesn’t like taking them for granted.

Tonight he gives you the look, the one that says, I would love to dance with you tonight, but only if you want to, love. He smiles at you and reaches for your hand when you nod, and Asmo claps excitedly and urges you both to hurry up and change.

There’s a pop song blaring through the club speakers and it reverberates through the dance floor. Satan’s hands are on your waist and you’re both swaying together along with the music. His eyes stare into yours, and even in the dim club lights, you can see how fondly he looks at you. His smile is more reserved in public, but no less kind or loving.

You offer him nervous smiles of your own, but the crowd around you is distracting. All of the Avatars of Sin naturally draw attention when they go out, and it’s easy to forget that Satan is something of a celebrity in the Devildom. Some of the other club-goers hover in the vicinity, their faces displaying a mixture of unashamed desire for Satan and thinly-veiled jealousy of you. You do your best to ignore it, but dancing and nerves make sweat form along the back of your neck, and you think you need a break.

When the song ends, you point over your shoulder and let Satan know that you’re going to use the washroom and get some water. He offers to go with you, but you shake your head and tell him you won't be long. He doesn't want anything for himself when you ask, but kisses your cheek and urges you to hurry back. His beaming smile is infectious, and you wonder if you're worrying about nothing.

You’re only gone for a few minutes. The bathroom is surprisingly empty and you take a moment to splash your face with cool water and take some deep, calming breaths. You look better leaving than you did when you entered. You head to the bar next; the bartender smiles and slides you an icy-cold glass bottle of water. You gulp down nearly half the bottle in one go and laughter bubbles out of you as you finish your drink happily; you're not normally a jealous person, and you feel so silly.

The current song has a heavy bass line, and the atmosphere in the club feels heavier now too; the demons grind against their dance partners in a way that makes your cheeks grow warm.

You push into the crowd until you spot a familiar head of blonde hair peeking through. You’re about to call out to Satan, but you choke on his name—there’s a witch hanging off one of his arms and an incubus leaning over his other shoulder. You can’t hear them because of the blaring music, but Satan looks annoyed with their persistent attempts to lure him into a dance.

The jealousy you tried to ignore earlier surges through you all over again, and seeing others paw at your lover for attention so shamelessly causes something in you to snap. You march towards them—as best as you can, considering you have to fight the crowd of dancers to get there—and Satan’s face lights up with relief when he sees you. He calls your name while he nudges away his old club acquaintances, but you surprise him by reaching for the collar of his shirt and pulling him into a kiss. He isn’t expecting it and he stumbles towards you, and the busybodies clinging to him fall away.

He grunts against your mouth but it quickly turns into a moan as he melts into the kiss. He opens his lips so your tongue can flick greedily at his. One of his hands cradles the back of your neck while the other slides down your body and curls around your hip. Everything else seems to fade away except for the hot, needy kisses you share. You pull back with a gasp when the passionate kiss leaves you breathless, and Satan licks his lips with a dazed expression on his face.

The others who were trying to get his attention disappeared into the crowd. The victorious satisfaction you feel is quickly replaced by embarrassment, and you stare at your feet and mumble apologies for your impulsive behaviour.

Satan lifts your chin up with his finger and his eyes almost seem to glow in the dark, blazing brightly with affection for you. “I liked it,” he says loud enough for you to hear over the music as he leans forward to kiss you again. This kiss is softer but no less thrilling, and when both his hands are settled on your hips, he encourages you to move with him as a new song starts to play.

Something changes between you as the music’s rhythm guides your movements. Satan urges your hips to press flush against his so he can grind against you, and his hands slowly curl past the swell of your hip so he can grope at your ass. You’re pressed together chest-to-hip, and his hardening cock rubs against you as you move together. He brushes his lips across your temple and down the side of your face, and he licks at the sweat beading along your jaw and down your neck. He nips lightly at your skin with his teeth; you bite your lip to suppress the urge to whine.

He gives up all pretense of dancing when he slips a thigh between your legs and gives you friction to alleviate the burning desire building deep in your belly. Your fingers cling to his shirt and by the time the song ends, you’re nearly delirious with lust for him. He raises his head and his eyes are nearly blown black; his cock twitches against you and he moans when you grind against him just a little more.

“Let’s get out of here,” he suggests with a rough voice, and he doesn’t even wait for your response—he leads you by the hand off the dance floor like a demon possessed, and he takes you home the fastest way he knows how.

Satan kicks at the front door with his foot, and he crowds you against the wall as the door slams shut. He crushes his lips against yours and groans into your mouth when your fingers tangle in his hair and pull him even closer.

The hand on the small of your back coaxes your body into a deeper arch against him, and his other hand slides under the waistband of your pants and into your underwear. You break the kiss to tilt your head back against the wall and moan while his lips instantly latch onto your exposed throat. He scrapes the sensitive skin with his teeth and chases the taste of your sweat-slicked skin.

"Want you," you whimper even as your hands find purchase in his shirt and you give him more access to your neck. You bite your lip to muffle your moans as his greedy fingers explore between your legs.

"Fuck, me too," he pants, but he can't seem to stop touching you either; your skin is so soft and warm. "Your room's closer than mine,” he mumbles as he reluctantly pulls his hand away. The musky scent of your arousal floods his senses, and he's so tempted to drag you down to the floor and mount you right here in the hallway.

"Please," you beg, and he finally relents. You freeze in place when he lifts his glistening fingers and sucks them into his mouth. He hums appreciatively at the taste and smirks around his fingers when he realizes you’re staring.

You can’t take much more of this. You spin on your heel and head towards your room knowing he's not even a step behind you. You're already tugging your shirt over your head when you open the door to your room; he follows you inside and locks the door behind him. He fumbles with his belt and unbuttons his own shirt as his greedy eyes roam your half-naked body. You rummage clumsily through your nightstand for a bottle of lube and toss it onto the bed.

You lay down while he walks towards you, leaving a trail of his discarded clothing on the floor. He's completely bare to you by the time he kneels between your legs. He flicks open your button and fly, and you lift your hips off the mattress so he can shimmy your pants off and toss them to the floor.

You prop yourself up on your elbows and spread your legs for him. You feel so desperate as he leaves a trail of hot, opened-mouth kisses over the curve of your belly and down the inside of your thigh. He glances at you from beneath his lashes and finally licks along the edge of your arousal. He grins against your hot, slick skin when you tilt your head back and breathe out a stuttered moan.

You fall back onto the bed and wind your fingers through his hair as his sinful lips suck greedily, teasing more delicious arousal from your body. You scratch his scalp every time his tongue flicks against you, and you writhe against the sheets underneath him. "Come on, fuck me, please?" you whine. You're already so noisy and he's barely touched you.

Satan’s cock hangs heavy between his legs, and it throbs with every sound you make. No matter how much he wants you, he won't rush this. "Wanna make sure you're ready for me. Don't wanna hurt you," he mumbles against you before he continues his ministrations with his mouth.

He wraps one of his hands around your thigh to keep you steady while his other hand reaches blindly for the lube. It's rushed and sloppy, but he manages to flick the cap open and coat his fingers. He rubs them together so it doesn't feel too cold, but your breath still hitches in anticipation when he circles your entrance.

The slick glide of his first finger inside you rips a breathy moan from your throat. You roll your hips in silent pleas for more, and it's not long before you're fucking yourself on three of his fingers. Your body clenches around the thick digits and he feels how close you are already.

"D'you wanna come on my fingers or my cock?" he asks roughly as he crooks his fingers against the spongy spot inside you.

"Want you inside me," you whine even as you try to take his fingers even deeper inside. "Want you inside me when I come."

There's no way he can possibly refuse you now, and he withdraws his hand from between your legs when he raises up onto his knees and shuffles forward. Your trembling thighs wrap around his waist and the heels of your feet against his back urge him closer.

He braces himself on his arms above you, and you both moan as his cock presses against your entrance and finally slips inside in one long, deep stroke. When you nod, he pulls back and snaps his hips forward. You fist your hands in the sheets to anchor you as his thrusts become faster and harder, his pace quickened by all-consuming lust and unending adoration for you.

Your bedroom fills with the sounds of your bodies moving together, the soft, wet squelch of your body greedily sucking his cock inside your needy hole, and the rhythmic squeaks of your mattress as he attempts to fuck you through it.

You're both cursing and moaning your pleasure, loudly and more frequently as he drives you both towards the edge. He reaches between your bodies and strokes you relentlessly; the hot touch of his hand between your legs again makes you cry out.

"Come on," he pleads, his own voice quivering as he tries to hold back his pleasure so you can reach yours first. "Come on my cock, baby, fuck–"

A few more precise strokes of his hand and deep, grinding thrusts drive you over the edge, and his name stumbles from your lips in a desperate mantra as he fucks you through the aftershocks. Your release is warm and sticky between your bodies, and he comes undone watching you fall apart. He groans your name, a guttural sound from deep within his chest, and he pumps his hips sloppily against yours as he fills your hole with ropes of hot, sticky cum.

He gazes at your face with so much intensity, like he's trying to commit everything about this moment to memory. You're both panting heavily and covered in the evidence of your lovemaking. His cock softens and slips out of you, and you moan gently at the sensation of being empty again. He glances down between your bodies and stares with primitive satisfaction as his release trickles out of you and onto the sheets.

He collapses beside you on the bed and pulls you into his arms. Even though you feel overheated and tacky with sweat, you nuzzle into his embrace. He peppers your face with soft, lazy kisses, and he sighs tiredly against your temple.

"We should probably shower," he murmurs. He reaches for a discarded shirt on the floor and cleans some of the mess between your legs. He tosses the shirt away; he'll help you wash the clothes and bedding tomorrow.

"Too tired," you mumble against his chest with a poorly-concealed yawn. His fingers stroke your back gently and you tangle your legs with his. "This is nice," you whisper.

He nods and kisses your brow. "We should go dancing more often," he teases gently, and he laughs when you whine in embarrassment and bury your face in his chest.

#obey me satan #obey me x reader #omswd x reader #obey me satan x reader #satan x reader #obey me smut #omswd smut #satan smut #obey me satan x mc #satan x mc #obey me satan x you #satan x you #obey me fanfic #omswd fanfic #x reader #gn!reader #jes.2k event

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diarioculto · 4 months

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THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY ( sebastian vettel x fem!reader )

notes: hey everyone, and happy new year! that 2024 is a marvelous year for all of you ♡ here’s that piece that i’ve been promising you for all this time as a celebration for 200 followers! thank you so so much and i love ALL of you ♡ enjoy!

you had first met sebastian many years ago, when you were both kids.

he was quite the ambitious kind, always defying the laws of everything with his big desire to be the greatest, mainly in the field he loved: formula one.

you were more down to earth, the quiet girl who spent hours in her little corner, secretly wishing for a more exciting life. that’s why you followed the blonde everywhere to every little adventure he had set up, to every karting competition where you cheered him on and on as the chequered flag declared him champion. even to those playdates at the center of the city, chasing him around the water fountain, where he promised to never leave your side.

but you eventually grew up, the boy now taller than you. much to your appreciation, sebastian still had that childish spirit within him, but much more mature now. deep down, you wished that he was still a kid, so that he could forever stay with you.

especially when he told you that he was moving away.

“ i got a contract. bmw sauber. they want me to race for them next year. ”

you were both at the water fountain, like the old days, panting from running around.

you quickly turn to him, heart clenching inside your chest. sure, you had done bad things over the course of the years but this punishment was way worse than all of them.

“ oh, that’s— that’s great! i’m happy for you. ” you throw him a quick smile, adverting your gaze to your lap, playing with the bracelets on your wrist. sebastian cocks an eyebrow at you, cheeky grin on his face.

“ really? you don’t seem very ecstatic about it, schatz. ” he chuckles at you but you don’t respond, still focusing on your hands as they rested on your lap. the laughter around you quickly dies down, the boy taking one of your hands on his own.

“ hey— hey. it’s not the end and you know it. this isn’t a goodbye. ” he reassuringly squeezes your hand, trying to get you to look at him. you sigh, scared that it was all going to be a lot harder than you could deal with.

“ i’m afraid it is one, sebastian. ”

the whole world around him stops moving. his breathing gets heavier. he feels his chest eating him alive as his ears ring louder and louder.

in all the years you have known each other, not once have you called him sebastian. sure, he was your seb, your sunshine… geez! even vettel when you were mad at him. but never sebastian.

“ don’t call me that. ” his voice is just above a whisper and he isn’t sure if you heard him, your gaze still avoiding his. “ schatz, look at me. ”

you finally turn to him, tears in your eyes as you bite your bottom lip. you smile softly at him, and for a brief moment, he thinks it will all be okay, that you can get through this together. before he could promise you anything else, you gently cup his face as you kiss his cheek, leaving a wet spot right below his eye.

“ maybe it’s for the better. ” in that shaky voice, even though you were trying to reassure him, it feels like you’re doing it more for yourself. with no other spare second, you get up and leave him all alone by the water fountain. he just watches as you walk away, mind hazy and confused.

you didn’t dare to look back. he didn’t care enough to run after you.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“ last day in formula one. how are you feeling? ” he gets pulled out of his thoughts by britta, who looks at him with sad eyes.

“ nervous. ”

he wasn’t sure how they were supposed to go, the last days. hell, the whole thing hadn’t quite sunk in yet.

for many years, the only thing above everything else for him was formula one. he lived, breathed and bled formula one. it was his only ambition, his true desire.

from a young talent to a four time world champion, just to end up as a failed star and ending his career at a rookie team, doing more of a consulting job than exactly racing.

he had once ruled the world, got thrown away and tried to climb his way back up, enough to realize that it wasn’t worth it and it was time to give up.

he still loved racing like it was his first day, like he still was the young sebastian vettel, bright talent who could once continue michael schumacher’s legacy. the one who everyone looked at with hopeful eyes and hearts. but it was time to give the seat to someone else who truly deserved it. a young talent like he once was.

“ don’t worry. everyone’s out there ready to support you and cheer for you one last time. no one resents you for choosing what’s best for yourself, y’know. ” britta squeezes his shoulder reassuringly and all he can do is smile appreciatively at her. britta has been nothing but his supporting rock all these years, and he couldn’t be any luckier to have her by his side. “ you haven’t even left yet but i think i saw lewis throwing away a couple tears outside, by the mercedes garage. ” sebastian chuckles as he looks away and britta smiles, feeling happy to do the same.

lewis was the hardest one to convince once sebastian announced his retirement. who would’ve thought that, who was once his biggest rival on track, would be the one to say “ he will be back. ”

sebastian now looked at lewis like one of his best mates, and he was sure the champion felt the same way.

“ well— everyone is waiting for you outside. come out once you’re ready. ” britta squeezes his shoulder one more time before leaving the space, leaving him all alone in his old driver’s room.

sebastian sighs deeply, thinking back to how it all began. how he wished that a certain person had been by his side this whole time — you.

he wasn’t mad nor resented you for walking away, he understood it. you were hurt and the knife would only cut deeper if you hadn’t ended things before he left. the last thing he wanted was for you to suffer, but maybe he had done it without realizing.

there was nothing left to do besides trying to find you once he got back home. but for that, he needed to go outside and give a final goodbye to his friends, team and thousands of fans who were patiently waiting for him.

just as he was about to leave the room, he hears excited voices on the outside and before he can do anything else, the door swings open, revealing a smiley britta.

“ calm down, b. i’m not gone yet. ” he tries to crack a joke, which only gives him back a deadpan from britta, as she shakes her head. “ is everything alright? ”

“ uh— yeah! there’s just someone here to see you. ” she smiles as she moves to the side, revealing the mysterious person behind her.

and then, the whole world around him stops moving. his breathing gets heavier. he feels his chest eating him alive as his ears ring louder and louder. if it wasn’t for all the commotion outside, he would’ve surely thought that he was dreaming.

“ hey, seb. ” there you were. in all you glory and beauty, standing there right in front of him; angelic as ever, just how he had dreamt of all these years.

you were all grown up now, slightly taller but still shorter than him. you still had that childish glint in your eyes, but you were much more mature now.

you step further into the room with sebastian still paralyzed in shock as he stares at you dumbfounded. “ schatz. ” his voice is nothing but above a whisper as he calls out for you.

“ i’ll leave the two of you alone. ” britta winks at sebastian, who doesn’t quite pay attention to her, and closes the door before walking away.

you keep your chuckles to yourself has he hasn’t moved yet since he saw you. putting all you anxiety to the side, you become the bigger person and step closer to him, involving his body into a warm hug. and just then, you both realize how much you’ve missed it during all these years.

“ and before you ask me about why i’m here, it’s pretty obvious that i’m here to see you. idiot. ” he chuckles and finally hugs you back, your sweet laugh just beside his ear.

you stay like that, in silence, just absorbing each others presence for a while. a couple tears rolling down your cheeks and sebastian finally understands it all. nothing is a goodbye forever; there’s always a hello after it. maybe he could be back one day.

“ i’m sorry i didn’t run after you that day. ” he finally breaks the silence as you both pull away with runny noses and wet cheeks. you just smile fondly at him, cupping his cheeks so you could wipe away his tears.

“ i didn’t want you to run after me. i just wanted you to stay, but that wasn’t my choice to make. ” as his blue eyes stare into yours, everything finally feels okay again, and sebastian feels like he’s ready to face it all one last time.

just as you approach his face to plant a kiss to his cheek, a distant voice breaks you away from your transe.

“ hey seb— oh, sorry. i didn’t realize you had your lady with you. ” lewis walks into the room but quickly stops on his tracks as he sees both of you together.

“ she isn’t my lady. yet. ” you just laugh as you look to each other and sebastian swears he saw some kind of blush creeping around your cheeks, even though you denied it later on.

“ uh— okay. i just wanted to let you know that we’re ready for you outside. ” lewis says quite hurriedly before looking at you with an awkward smile. “ hi, i’m— i’m lewis, by the way. ”

you shyly greet him back before sebastian speaks up. “ i’ll be there in a minute. ”

lewis only nods at him and says his goodbyes to you before running away, leaving the both you alone again.

“ you should probably go out there. they’re waiting for you. ” you mumble while turning at him, swiftly patting his shirt. a big “ danke seb ” text was plastered at the front, which made your heart warm.

“ yeah. ” he looks at you with loving eyes, but is still a bit hesitant to leave. he wants, he needs more time with you.

“ i will still be here when you’re done. ”

“ i know. ”

and right there and then, he knows exactly what he didn’t that day, by the water fountain, where all his love flourished for you.

#sebastian vettel imagine #sebastian vettel fluff #sebastian vettel x reader #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #f1 fluff

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ghouljams · 3 months

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Bad news I just watched the VVitch and I have fae!Price and Witch thoughts.

You stand at the edge of the forest, the shadows within lengthening with the path of the sun. You hold your cloak tight around your shoulders, keep your eyes fixed on a single point. A crossing of branches. You've seen it once before, the way the leaves around them seem to twist and draw other branches in. Fae signs. Proof of magic in the area. Magic you want.

The shadows grow longer, the chill of evening settling in now, you haven't moved in hours. If your patience does not prove fruitful tonight you'll come again tomorrow, and tomorrow, until you get what you want. You have always relied on your own determination to make the impossible happen. Still, as you feel the sun's rays begin to sink below the horizon you feel your confidence wavering. Perhaps no one will come.

It's with the soft purple light of dusk that you hear it: the silent whisper of the forest. A low voice that rumbles in your chest, strokes over your cheeks. "What do you want?" It asks.

"What can you offer?" I don't want to be alone anymore, you think, tamping down your desires before the voice can hear them.

"The morning, the afternoon, the evening," the voice seems to smile, skirting around your perception, "a new perspective on the world, a pretty dress, a quiet hearth."

"Magic," you whisper to yourself, bidden by the voice to offer your own plea.

"For a price," it agrees, "You'd never know anything else." Not loss or heartache, never loneliness or isolation. You tip your head when fingers skate along your neck, eyes closing as they trace your jaw, grip your chin. "You are a pretty thing, aren't you?"

There's a man in front of you when you open your eyes. Tall, handsome, he has a beard to hide his mouth and eyes like the winter's sky. You blink at him, it would be polite to thank him for the compliment if he weren't fae. That knowledge doesn't stop the way your cheeks heat up at his continued staring. His rapt attention feels heavier than the stones you village would use to crush you if they knew what you were doing. Thank God they don't.

"You still believe in god?" The man asks, as if he could hear your thoughts.

"I don't know what I believe," honesty, you have the strangest feeling that you wouldn't be able to lie to this man.

"Is that why you came to me?"

"You have something I want," you tell him, "magic, freedom."

He tips his head, regarding you with a smirk, it's strange the chill the heat in his eyes sends down your spine. "Magic won't give you what you're looking for," he tells you in return, "but alright."

You can't help the smile that splits your face. Riddles or not, price or no, you're getting what you want. Something of your own, making the stupid choice for once in your life.

"I look forward to seeing what you do with it," the fae man tells you. You barely have the time to ask how you're supposed to do anything when you don't have it yet, before he kisses you. Pulls you in with an arm around your waist and kisses you as your fingers leave your cloak and twist into his shirt. It's a rush, like being dunked into cold water, your body filling with an unknown that seeps into every crack and corner. Magic that tingles and shivers in the tips of your fingers and the shake of your breath. He lets you go and you twitch to pull him in again, only to be met with a low chuckle.

"Next time little witch," he tells you, ghosting his lips over yours, "good luck."

He's gone when you open your eyes.

#cod x reader #x reader #x oc #cod x oc #captain john price #john price #captain price cod #captain price mw2 #captain price #captain price x reader #john price x reader #cod price #price x witch #fae!price #oc: witch #anywaaaaay im going to bed now #i had to get this out of my head and i dont know what it is but #yknow i never know what anything is

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yesimwriting · 6 months

Text

Okay?

A/n guess who watched the five nights at freddy's movie for matthew lillard and josh hutcherson and actually really liked it, so i wrote this :)

Summary: The one good thing about working the nightshift? You're always there when Mike gets back.

----

Your nails press into the fabric bundled on your lap. It's simple, the way you pinch and fold the corner of the blanket before straightening it again. The gesture is clearly subconscious, just something for your hands to do while your eyes remain focused on the TV screen. Mike should be doing the exact same thing.

He should be staring at the television, taking in the end of the movie you were watching when he got home from work. A classic, you had called it, expressing your shock when Mike had innocently mentioned that he'd never seen it.

Normally, a reaction like that would have left some small part of him tangled in on itself. But from you, it felt gentle. That's part of the appeal of having you around. You're warm and everything about you is so easy it circles around back to difficult.

Stop it. Mike's getting used to scolding himself on late nights and early mornings that blur together like this. He's always begging himself not to notice the way your presence manages to tug at him.

Mike swallows once, forcing his head to snap back to the screen. The credits are rolling and the only thing he's gathered is maybe the name of one character and the way you part your lips slightly to exhale when something intense happens. Great.

"See?" You turn your head, tugging at the blanket, pulling more of it onto your legs. "It's good." You shift so that you can face him, your knee briefly brushing against his leg. "Right?"

There's so much optimism in the way you're looking at him, wide eyes and an expecting, almost smile, that a part of him feels a little guilty for not having retained anything.

"It was...good," he starts slowly, his pace a beat too slow to feel natural, "But I don't know about classic."

Your mouth falls open in a dramatized display of shock before your lips pull together into an offended pout. "You know it was that good." Not your most profound argument, but it's late and your everything's starting to feel heavier. It's taking enough energy to keep the weight of your eyelids from overpowering the desire to talk to him. "You're just being difficult."

Mike's eyebrows draw together, equal parts surprised and amused. You're not exactly closed off when you're fully coherent, but his schedule and your position as an ever growing babysitter for Abby has let him learn that a drowsy you doesn't shy away from bluntness. You'll call him out more openly in a way that you'd just keep in your head if you were better rested.

"Difficult?" You nod, solidifying your stance. He lets out a partial sigh that's meant to hold the place of a laugh. "I only saw the last fifteen minutes."

You frown dismissively, like Mike should know better than to see that fact as relevant. "Then I'll have to show you--" Your sentence is broken by a small yawn that you cover with your hand. "The rest some time."

The potential for intentional plans hits him hard enough to briefly chase away his drowsiness. "Yeah." He blinks hard, trying not to think about it too much. You say a lot of things when you're tired. "Some time."

You nod, the motion distinct, like you guys really have just settled something important. A cruel sort of warmth begins to crawl up his chest and settles against his neck. He needs to let it go, to get back to only seeing you as an outgoing, friendly face that's always willing to help him out with Abby. Nothing good can come from him developing feelings for you that are more than friendly. He'd mess it up in one way or another and you'd walk away and he...

Mike can't deal with the thought of you walking away. And more importantly, Abby shouldn't have to.

"Good." You push yourself so that your back's off the couch. The blanket shifts, nearly sliding over your knee before you catch it. "I should--I should get going...it's late."

Right. This part of the night. The awareness of what comes next constricts his airways. It must, there's no other explanation for the way he struggles to take a full breath. "You didn't drive today."

For the first time since the movie ended, you drop your attention to your lap. "Uh...no." You squeeze your hands together. "The engine's still a little..."

Mike sighs. Sometimes it feels like your car is more of a topic of conversation than actual guaranteed mode of transportation. Maybe if you let him pay you for babysitting, you wouldn't constantly be fighting with an engine that's likely significantly older than Abby.

The thought of you being forced to brave the cold whenever your car's having what you usually refer to as an "episode" digs at him strangely. Mike also doesn't love the thought of you walking here alone so late.

"Maybe if you let me pay you for watching Abby." The sentence is more of a huff than Mike wanted it to be, a pinch of real annoyance leaking into his voice.

You frown. "It's too late for this." The TV's low lighting doesn't let Mike read your expression fully. "And I already told you, it feels weird to charge friends for favors."

The word friend sticks out in a way Mike doesn't get. It's meaning is suddenly too abstract and concrete all at once. "Weirder than guessing whether or not your truck's going to work every morning?"

You roll your eyes, pulling more of the blanket onto your lap. "It's not every morning." He raises his eyebrows at that. "Seriously. Rebecca is fine." The name nearly forces him to abandon his point. Abby had picked it out early on into knowing you. "She's just occasionally temperamental."

"Occasionally." He ignores your heavy glare. "You could..." Mike's throat goes dry. He knows what the next part in your usual exchange is. "Stay over..." The words feel much too slow, too careful, to come off as casually as Mike wanted them to. "If you want."

Staying over used to be as casual as an extra throw blanket on the couch. Then, overly cold weather paired with difficulty sleeping and the kind of thoughtless decisions people only ever make while half asleep morphed it into something else. When it feels like more work than it's worth to get you back home, the two of you usually end up in Mike's room.

It's all perfectly innocent and carefully unspoken. The two of you barely let your hands touch and even when you're genuinely half asleep, you don't say anything you wouldn't say anywhere else, and yet it's still different. Sometimes it's different enough to help Mike sleep better than the pills.

You nod, eyes now focused on the the throw blanket. Something about your expression makes Mike wonder if you're debating something. "See? If I let you pay me, I'd have to worry about things like overstaying my welcome."

Mike nods, not quite meeting your gaze. "Like that'd stop you."

Playing into the bit, you pretend to gasp before sitting up a little straighter. You raise a fist, gently bumping your knuckles against his arm. The gesture leaves that uneasy warmth clawing its way up Mike's neck.

----

You can't remember the ceiling of Mike's room becoming familiar. The soft grooves that you have to squint to make out in the dark, invisible shapes that you pretend to trace when you need a distraction.

Usually, what you need to be distracted from is Mike's proximity. Tonight, though, Mike's so curled in on himself in a way that has to--at best--border on uncomfortable. That paired with his stiffer than usual demeanor has to mean something.

You don't get why Mike's positioning reads as concerning to you until it clicks. He's pulled into himself like he wants to disappear.

The thought cracks at your heart. You and Mike are a lot more comfortable than you were when you first met. But it hasn't been that long, and you get the sense that Mike and Abby move as a family unit that keep outsiders at a safe distance. Not cold or unwelcoming, just cautious. There's so much you appreciate about their friendship, about Mike, and you know that it'd be easy to blow up.

Maybe you can pretend to be too close to sleep to notice and cautiously bring up your concern in the morning. A passive comment, an opening that Mike can take if he wants to.

But then your body betrays the rational thoughts of your mind and you turn your head enough to see the slope of Mike's back. It hurts enough to force you to break your silence. "Mike?"

A beat of silence that has you contemplating the possibility that he already fell asleep like that. That could be a sign, the universe's way of intervening so that you don't ruin a relationship that has yet been given the opportunity to cement itself.

"Yeah," he mumbles, voice low and uncharacteristically raspy. Mike doesn't turn over, which might not mean anything, but still makes you frown. "You okay?"

The question snaps you out of your train of thought. Of course Mike's wondering if you're okay. It's not that the two of you never talk before falling asleep, but the two of you have been quiet for so long, and now you're bothering him because of--what? A gut feeling?

"Yeah," you whisper back, a little too quickly, "Yeah, I'm--" You cut yourself off, not sure where you're going with this. You're not even sure what you're worried about, or what you want to ask. "Are you?" Echoing the question makes you feel much smaller than you did a second ago. "Okay?"

Another stretch of silence. "Yeah."

It'd be easy to leave it at that. You should leave it at that. "Okay." You swallow, trying to figure out what you're even looking for. "Because if--if you--" You sigh, eyes focusing on his back. "I don't know what it is, and it might be in my head, but you seem kind of..." You trail off, incapable of explaining it any better.

Mike sighs. You don't know what to make of the sound until the mattress shifts beneath the adjustment of his weight. Mike moves so that he's lying flat on his back. It's instinct to push yourself back to give him the space he needs to adjust. Despite your exhaustion, you lift your head, propping yourself up on one elbow.

His eyes are open. You're surprised by how coherent he seems. "I'm okay."

You study him much more openly than you've ever let yourself. His tone is sure enough and even though it's dark, you can feel that his eyes are on you. It's convincing...a little too convincing when he could have just pointed out that you're acting kind of crazy.

"Abby's right," you mumble, "You're a bad liar."

"I'm not--" Mike stops himself, finding it a little harder to hold your gaze and keep his voice steady. There's so much patience in the way you're watching him. "I'm fine, just tired."

You don't fully believe him, but a part of you wants to and there's no way you're getting anywhere tonight. You'll keep trying, and when Mike's ready to talk, he'll talk. Rationally, you know that letting him think you believe him isn't the end of the world. It's not like you're giving up on him. But the word tired had come out so fragilely.

Without your permission, the hand that's not tucked against your cheek reaches forward. Your fingers brush against the back of his wrist. The contact leaves air tangled in your lungs. When the world doesn't end and Mike doesn't pull away or give any indication that there's something wrong, you start to intertwine your fingers. Mike lets you, so stiff you'd consider him passive if it wasn't for the way he squeezed your hand back.

Another wave of silence takes over, this one lasting so long you're not sure what's supposed to come next. Maybe you should have laid back down and fallen asleep already. "You guys talk about me?"

The question's almost enough to make you laugh. "Yeah," it's broken up through a partial giggle as you move to lay down again, "The other day, right after you left Abby started th--" His head is turned towards you, eyebrows pulled together skeptically. Maybe some things are left better said just between you and Abby. "Never mind, I--I forgot that when you leave Abby and I just sit in respectful silence until you get back."

"Mhm," he breathes, his hold on your hand briefly tightening in a comforting squeeze. "Are you going to sleep now?"

The question reminds you of the heaviness pulling at your eyelids. "Yeah." You're satisfied with ending it here. For now. "Goodnight."

He lets out a huff of air that you can't interpret. His thumb drags over your knuckles slowly. "Goodnight."

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #josh hutcherson #fnaf movie #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt fluff

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bellewintersroe · 8 months

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Charles Leclerc X Schumacher!Daughter.

Lila is the youngest of the 3 Schumacher siblings, at 22 shes catching the attention of the public eye. With the new found popularity through Drive to Survive, social media has dubbed her the next ‘it’ girl despite her constant desire for privacy. When her love interest becomes more or less the most sought after man in F1, how will she cope with being the internets fascination? Both Charles and Lila have dealt with immense amounts of loss and trauma, so their mutual understanding for one another fuels their so called ‘friendship’.

Part 5, here is the LINK to part 4. Lila is beginning to feel envious of the beautiful girls that surround Charles on social media. Does she even have a chance with him? It’s been weeks since she could last fly out to a Grand Prix and Charles is beginning to feel oddly rejected. It’s not until after one not so fun race, that he’s finally open with her, and the two can finally be honest with one another about their feelings…

A deep sigh escaped my lips, scrolling down through my Instagram page. It’s not real, it’s not real, none of it’s real. Everything was an illusion, I reminded myself as I zoomed in on the perfectly airbrushed girl, with flat abs, a sucked in waist and the best tan I’d quite literally seen. She was beautiful to be quite frank, and when I saw who followed her I let out an even heavier sigh.

charles_leclerc

“If you breathe any heavier you’ll fly away…” Gina, my elder sister informed me in German from the other side of the table. Social media was originally ruining me. One minute I was confident and happy with my life, the next I was being prayed upon by thousands of people, intrigued into deeper into my personal life than ever. I switched off my phone and glanced back up, to real life. “Sorry.” I forced a smile, eyes falling back down to my phone. There was no new notifications- sadly enough for me.

“Are you coming to Hungary with us?” My sister then questioned again, “what for?” “The GP?” She spoke like it was obvious. My stomach twisted in excitement. “Oh! Yeah!” It had been 3 weeks since I’d last made it to a GP, I was finding myself obsessively feeling the urge to be there, especially because Charles would ask when I was next there. Now was my opportunity to text him first with the good news.

There was only one issue I found myself struggling with, and that was my insecurity and anxiety surrounding this whole ‘thing’ with Charles. I didn’t know what the hell was going on, we hadn’t seen each other enough to become anything more than friends, and when I had to tell him for the seventh or so time I couldn’t make it to where he was, I felt disheartened and worried he’d think I was rejecting him. That’s why I hopped on the opportunity to tell him I’d be present in Hungary, cheering him on. Phone cameras now eagerly followed me around the grid, desperate to gather some footage of me interacting with the Ferrari driver. All the attention had made me nervous, I was constantly checking over my shoulder, and I felt the cold stares other girls would give me, threatened that I was taking their favourite driver. It was almost like I was in competition with all these beautiful women that practically lived in or around the Grid and Paddock. I felt inferior, my own insecurities eating away at me as I kept my head down and continued walking on to do my own thing.

“Ah, Lila!” A familiar voice called out, I caught a glimpse of Toto walking by. “Hello!” I greeted, the taller man bringing me in for a tight hug. “How are you?! Here to see your brother?” “I’m good, how about you? I Just come for a little wonder, that’s all.” I nodded. “I’m good, and yes, yes- looking around for Leclerc I’ve been hearing?!” His words jabbed at a delicate part inside of me, burning my cheeks up a scarlet pink.

“Oh, rumours, Toto! Rumours!” I played it off like I wasn't a nervous wreck, but when i noticed red uniforms out of the corner of my eye, I practically jumped out of the confinements of my skin. It was just a handful of Ferrari mechanics making their way towards their garages. “Oh, of course. You have a good day, I will see you after with Susie?”

“Yeah of course! Oh, and tell Lewis and George I say good luck!!”

“I will, thank you Lila!” Hungary wasn’t so lucky for Mercedes or Ferrari. With Lewis in 4th he’d just narrowly missed a spot on the podium, George came in at 6th, and both Charles and Sainz were in 7th and 8th. As I lingered in the Mercedes area of the garage, people were still fairly happy, but the disappointment lingered in the room. It was a little stuffy and awkward, so I wondered outside to get air, pulling out my phone to be bold enough to text Charles. Just as I was typing a message, I heard a faint voice call my name. “Lila??” Spinning around, I locked my phone, noticing Charles lingering. “C’mere.” He gently ushered me inside, “hi.” I felt a little breathless, following after him in the garage. We were just inside the doorway, a bustle of people around making me feel a little overwhelmed. I was all flustered from seeing Charles, and although he looked a little saddened he still had a gentle smile lingering. “I was just about to text you.” I held up my phone as his smiled widened slightly, eyes gazing over my face. “I was going to text you-”

“Charles!” Somebody called out as he glanced back to a woman calling his name. It looked like his publicist. He let out a sigh, “I am sorry- yeah?!” He called out, scratching the back of his neck. “Will you come do a couple interviews?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Sorry, it’s a bad time.” I shyly spoke. “No, no, ill- uh, Mia!! Mia, please would you take Lila to my- ah what’s it called?” He fumbled as a pretty blonde approached with a smile.

“Motorhome?” Her accent was thick, Italian I assumed. “Yes please- is that ok?” He quickly asked as I giggled at the slight chaos. “That’s okay, Charles.” I agreed as he gave me a gentle pat on the arm before he had to rush off to complete interviews.

“Hello!! Lila isn’t it? I’m Mia.” She smiled. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you.” We engaged in small talk as she led me to Charles’ motor home. It surprisingly wasn’t awkward at all, I really liked Mia, I learnt she worked for Ferrari as a media and PR officer, super cool, I found it fascinating. Eventually though, she had to head back into the garage and I was left sitting alone, nervously awaiting Charles return.

“Guys… I’m in Charles’ motor home. Don’t ask me why, I don’t know why- he’s, he’s doing some interviews but I am shitting myself, how do I calm down?!” I quietly spoke into my phone, voice noting my friends as my leg jiggled anxiously. 10 minutes turned into 20, and nothing seemed to cool my nerves. I’d swallowed a full bottle of water and gone through 3 pieces of chewing gum and reapplied my lipgloss four times over. Finally, I heard voices, and when the door swung open my head lifted from my phone. My breath hitched seeing Charles, he looked a little stressed but still smiled when our eyes met. “I am sorry.” He exhaled, sliding the door shut behind him. “Oh, don’t be sorry!” I sat up a little straighter as he pulled a drink from his fridge. “Would you like one?” He glanced down to my empty water bottle. “Yes please. And yeah, don’t be sorry, I came at a bad time.” I caught the bottle as he gently threw it over.

“No, no.” His face scrunched. “I wanted to see you Lila, now is perfect. Even if the race didn’t go so … good.” He awkwardly laughed at himself as I drunk a little more water.

“You did drive well though, I was watching.” I pointed out. “Ah, thank you… not where I want to be though.”

“I know, I can imagine it’s frustrating, I feel like you and Carlos are doing everything right it’s just…” “Out of our control.” Charles finished my sentence as I nodded. “Still… we move.” He cleared his throat. “How have you been anyway, miss Lila, it’s been weeks?”

“Good, I’ve been good, honestly nothing so interesting has been happening lately. My life’s been pretty boring.”

“Pretty boring, sky diving?” He stripped the top half of his full driving suit off, revealing his white fireproofs. He was sat on the couch to my right, a little further away as I leant back into the plush of the pillows.

I let out a laugh, shaking my head. “I do that all the time, my dad practically threw me out of aeroplanes as soon as I reached 12.” “12?!” He gasped out loud, looking astonished. “I don’t even think it’s legal anymore, we were in Australia, I was petrified, I cried all the way up. The poor man on my back must’ve been so annoyed.”

“Sounds… fun.”

“When you get used to it…” I giggled. “How about you, have you ever been sky diving?” “One time in Dubai… I got so- eh what’s the English- en difficulté.” (In trouble).

“In trouble? Why?!” I blubbered our a laugh. “Because I didn’t tell anybody and uh- I think they were worried I would ah fall and die or something.”

“That wouldn’t have been good.” I snickered. “I have the videos.” He showed his phone, ushering me over as I moved to sit besides him on the couch. He scrolled through his camera roll, finding the video where he showed me plummeting down in Dubai. “Have you ever done it in Dubai?”

“Done what in Dubai?” My eyes narrowed as his widened. “Not that! I mean sky diving!!” “No we were meant to but we ah… went Skiing instead.” I awkwardly recalled, scratching the back of my neck. If only we went to Dubai, maybe things would have turned out very differently for my family.

“Ah nice..” Charles nodded as I glanced to see a video of a monkey on his screen. “What’s that?” I pointed out as he attempted to scroll by quickly.

“That was nothing.”

“No, a video of a monkey. On the floor.” I turned up to look at his lips tugging into an amused smile. “You really want to see it?”

“I do.” What Charles proceeded to show me was a video of a monkey physically chasing him around a group of people whilst he sprinted frantically away. I cried with laughter, watching it three times over as Charles shook his head, holding it in his hands.

“That’s- that’s too funny.” I giggled to myself as Charles let out a low chuckle. “You’re crying!” Charles exclaimed, laughing again himself as he rested a hand on my thigh.

“I can’t help it, that was so funny.” I wiped at the tears that had fallen from my ambush of laughter. “I was frightened… for my life.”

“I could tell.” I giggled, glancing down to see his hand still rested on my upper thigh. “I like you, Lila.” Charles spoke on an exhale as I turned to face him now. “Hm?” My smile perked as my laughter settled down.

“I really like you.” His brows furrowed, causing me to swoon at the serious expression that covered his face. “I like you too, Charles-” I casually responded.

“No, like.. I really like you.” He nodded as my lips parted slightly. “Yeah, so do I…” I whispered, gaining the confidence to move forwards and press a gentle kiss to his lips. It surprised me how quickly the kiss happened, Charles’ hand slipped over my cheek and I swear I had to hold onto his arm so I wouldn’t go dizzy from how intense I felt kissing him. It was more than good.

When we broke apart there was a second or so of silence, it was comfortable, his eyes were gazing over my face, a gentle smile lingered as I let out a slight breath of laughter. “I wanted to do that in Spain but the paparazzi ruined it.” My face heated remembering our date. “Oh yeah.” I brushed the lip gloss slightly off the outside of my lip. “Now your lips are shiny.” I pointed out as he laughed, throwing an arm around me, the other wiping at the gloss.

“How long are you in Hungary for?” He then asked, eyes flickering up and down over my lips again. “Ah, just until tomorrow.” Charles eyebrows furrowed slightly. “What about Belgium?”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Will you come? I’ll take you out before- and after.” Charles shrugged. “Before and after?!” “Yeah, and I’ll even get pole position for you…” interesting…

#charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles Leclerc x schuchmacher daughter #Charles leclerc x OC

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pervysenpaix · 2 years

Note

But yeah I was thinking something a little more specific if that’s cool with you. Could you do something where reader doesn’t have many friends and gets a little sad when her boyfriend tells her he’s going to go out with his friends and asks her to come but she says no cause she doesn’t want to intrude but then he stays home and they cuddle and watch a movie, then they fuck. Please and thank you love❤️ but I’m probably finna go reread tech support kiri for like the 10th time cause it’s immaculate

nonnie this made me soft cause 🥺 why is she i? why is her me? feeling chatty but also lazy so we’re gonna just skip to the good bit, k? you like that, huh ? also i’m gonna twist this a bit because i’m in a mood ☹️

TW!ProHero Kiri, Shy!Reader (not with him), Gawk Gawk Super Soaker 3000 (oral!male receiving) idolization, coercion if you squint, yandere!reader if you don’t blink, pussy drunk Kiri , intimate riding, body worship

18+ NSFW CONTENT | MDNI

Eijiro Kirishima is the most caring and considerate boyfriend. He places you on this pedestal and dotes on your every whim.

He knows how you can get and he always tries to overcompensate just to make sure that you’re feeling okay.

That’s why when he heard the soft little “oh” you sighed when you saw him getting dressed he stopped dead in his tracks.

So what if the gang had planned a “boys night”, how could he have fun with the possibility that you’d be sad ? It wouldn’t work. So he invites you. You decline. So he simply undresses and joins you on the couch. Just like you knew he would.

Do you occasionally take advantage of your boyfriend’s kind and caring disposition with slumped shoulders and meek responses ? Yes.

But, who could blame you for wanting to keep a man like Kirishima to yourself? He’s literally perfect in every way. You’d have to be a fool to not appreciate it.

Still, you do feel a little guilt. He’s been working so hard and he’s been talking about this boys night all week. He claims to be content with watching reruns of Bob’s Burgers for the umpteenth time but how can you be sure?

So what do you do ?

Suck his dick of course.

Bringing that sweet persona full force you fall to your knees between his spread legs and bite your lip. Meekly gazing up at him with doe eyes and a pout. He always looks so good from this angle—towering over you like a god. Big muscles and powerful hands that could end you in an instant but the puppy like trance that befalls him as you present let’s you know that he would never.

Who really has the power here ?

His shorts lay discarded in the corner. Thick cords of muscle flex and ripple under the slow drag of your nails on his flesh. His breath hitches as you pepper sweet kisses up his toned thighs. Leisurely, you suck at the skin. Painting the canvas with darkened marks of passion. Eiji moans lustfully, placing a hand and cupping your cheek to which you meet with a kiss on his palm. You love his hands. Their so strong and beautiful. Those hands have helped bring peace and justice to world and normally you’d spend time servicing them deep in your throat but there’s something heavier that’ll settle against your tongue tonight. The object of your desire lies between his thighs too heavy to stand. Thick veins circle the girthy appendage with a purpling mushroom tip leaking pre. On instinct your tongue darts out and you can’t help the lascivious moan that tumbled in your chest. Eijiro’s brows furrow and his perfect lips part slightly revealing sparkling white, and deadly sharp, teeth. God he looks so beautiful—if you could stare at him all day you would but right now you have a job to do. One long strip from the base of his cock to his engorged tip has him rutting forward and whimpering your name. He hisses in pain laced pleasure when your nails break the skin of his thighs at the same time your wet cavern engulfs him. Eijiro melts into the sofa , literal putty in your hands as you Bob your head on the top half of his member. Your tongue swirls around his dick, spelling your name as if an enchantment. A low grow bubbles from his chest and you dare a glance at his face. Stray strands have fallen in his face, stuck to the beads of sweat forming. His lip is bruised with trickles of blood spilling in the corner from how hard he’d been biting them. God—he’s captivating. Deeper. Deeper. You urge yourself. Swallowing more and more of his massive length while your fondle his balls and dare let you fingers graze past his perineum. He jolts at the feeling but that’s for another time. You suck hard. Swirling your tongue around the tip before pulling off with a pop to spit the mixture of saliva and precum before shoving the entirety of it down your throat. Saliva drips down his heavy balls and you feel them throbbing in your hand a tell tale sign that he’s close to cumming. He does his best to warn. A strained “b-baby”, and a garbled cry of your name is all he manages before spilling his seed in your mouth. Allowing him no time to recover you pull up and sink down his fat cock. The painful stretch of it bullying into your unprepped pussy almost made you scream but you wouldn’t dare spill the liquid delight resting on your tongue. Big hands grip your cheeks slamming your pelvises together. You tangle your fingers into red strands as you pull him into a cum filled kiss. He moans at the taste , swallowing his own seed like a debauched whore. You’re so close now. The delicious curve of his cock is nestled in your womb and every twitch sends shockwaves to your gspot. Eijiro is babbling affirmations of love and praise beneath you but your too far gone to hear him. Instead you focus on the feeling of his silky strands between your feelings and his dick rubbing against your velveteen walls as you cum. He joins your climax— shooting ropes of cum until you’re both left spent and panting.

Who doesn’t like a good night in ?

#m’sorry this got out of hand #I hand to stop myself #I wanted to do bad things #god I’m biting my lip #brb gotta change my panties.#hope this meets your needs #kirishima smut #eijirou smut #eijiro x y/n #eijiro x reader #mha smut #eijiro kirishima #kirishima x black reader #kirishima x reader #kirishima x chubby reader #mha x chubby reader #mha x black reader #mha x reader #yandere reader

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otomes-world · 5 months

Text

When sun goes down

This piece takes place after New beginning. Another sentient twst works here

Tick tock. Tick tock.

Tick.

The clock ticks by steadily, not caring about the season or the time of day. The living room of the Onboro Dorm is dark, but the eyes have become accustomed to the darkness and can distinguish the outlines of objects. The curtains are drawn tightly, not even a ray of light from the street penetrates into the room. There is no desire to light candles or turn on the light.

In some places there is still a thin layer of dust; cleaning has not been done for quite some time. The cat was too lazy, you... barely had enough strength and motivation for yourself.

Tick tock.

Tick.

Quiet. The birds don't sing, even the wind suddenly died down that night. As if the whole world had stopped, as had all its inhabitants. Everyone except you and the stubborn clock. Every sound was like a mockery of your alien essence. Like you're a puzzle piece that's been forced into a picture that you're not a part of. As if hoping that it, you, would take root and the protruding corners would somehow miraculously disappear.

They didn't.

Tick tock. Tick.

Mechanical monotonous noise no longer get on your nerves. It was much more merciful than anything in this world. The clock simply did the job assigned to it. How great it would be if everyone took their responsibilities with the same passion. However, someone took this too seriously, outweighing the lack of interest of others.

It had long since passed midnight, maybe one in the morning, maybe a little more. You stopped tracking the passage of time. Closing your eyes and completely falling into the darkness, you tried to clear your consciousness, leaving only...

Tick tock. Tick tock.

Tick tock.

Rustle.

Rustle? Frowning instantly, you began to listen. Didn't it seem like it to you? Yes, most likely it was. Let's stop there.

Curiosity was a feeling long buried inside. It brought much more trouble than good. However, now you were not driven by it, but by simple and banal fear. How often did whoever it was come to Onboro? Do they go inside while everyone was sleeping?

A slight rustling sound, as if someone was carefully stepping on the grass. Barely noticeable, but difficult to ignore in the silence. The eyes opened again, but there was no difference. They needed to get used to the general darkness again. Another sound, but louder this time. Someone clearly came closer.

Your hands clasped together by themselves, nails dug into your skin, but you no longer feel the pain. The brain, trying to defend itself, “turned off” this ability. You didn’t want to decide, whether this is for the better or worse, now.

Now it was the obvious sound of footsteps on the wooden porch. Someone was walking very close. The curtains were drawn all the time, precisely because of the fear of seeing someone familiar. There's no need for another panic attack.

Stand up and carefully look? The floorboards would immediately creak and give away the location; you wouldn’t be able to accomplish your plan unnoticed. Would this be enough to scare off an unexpected guest? Probably not.

Freezing in place, you forced yourself to listen to the ticking with renewed vigor so as not to break down.

Tick tock.

There was a knock on the window. Someone knocked on the glass. Very neat, but at the same time too obvious to be attributed to an accident. Everything inside freezes, and your hand covered your mouth to prevent an sob from escaping. The silence began to feel heavier, and the ticking became unusually loud.

No! Heart beat stubbornly, nullifying all efforts to remain calm. The fingers still covering mouth trembled. The legs stood up by themselves, taking centimeter steps towards the window. Take a peek and make sure that the person who came would leave. The ordinary window seemed to emanate a black aura, the kind people usually like to depict in horror films. Is it worth mentioning that after recent events, you hated this genre with all your heart.

Only willpower prevents you from getting up and running into the room. Another light knock on the window followed by silence. Should you come up and ask to leave? Are you ready for a face-to-face confrontation? Have you recovered enough?

Enough. No longer worried about being heard, you ran on unsteady legs towards the stairs and then back into the room. A desperate piece of “Wait-.!” drowned somewhere behind under your deafening heartbeat.

Quiet. Even too much. As if someone had frozen in exactly the same way on the other side of the fabric and glass. Carefully touching the rough material like it might burn you, you pulled the curtain back just a little. The gap was no more than a couple of centimeters. There was an all-too-distinct sigh, and wide eyes met the exact same ones of yours.

This was enough for you to lose your composure, clutch the fabric in your hands and forcefully close it. The old cornice creaked in disagreement, but to its credit it held up.

The creaking of floorboards and a more desperate voice died down after some time. In the dark room, the only source of sound was again the old antique clock.

Tick..

#tenshi talk #written in the most honest way with the sound of a clock ticking in the background #disney twisted wonderland #yandere twst #twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere sentient twst #sentient twst au #self aware twst au #twisted wonderland self aware au

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sequinsmile-x · 10 months

Text

Tardy

They were running late.

-x-

Hey friends!

This is based on a prompt I got from an anon! I was asked for smut that leads to our favourite idiots being late for an event. I've posted the fic this way, instead of answering the ask, to avoid spoilers!

So, anon, and everyone else, I hope you like this <3

-x-

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: Smut, 18+, tiny little bit of dirty talk

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

They were running late.

Aaron adjusts his tie as he takes a step back from the large mirror he and Emily kept in their bedroom, and he takes a moment to look himself up and down, ensuring his suit is crease-free. He checks his watch and winces.

“Sweetheart, are you almost ready?” He calls into the bathroom, not looking towards the door as he ensures his cufflinks are straight, a gift from Emily that she’d handed to him with a fond smile last Christmas. “We’re going to be late.”

The bathroom door opens, the hum of the bathroom light filling the room, followed by her voice.

“What do you think?”

He turns to look at her and for a moment he’s knocked breathless, her beauty stealing everything from his lungs. The dress was simple but perfect, something she’d agonised over for weeks, and it accentuated her figure, tight in all the right places but still appropriate as it flowed down to just above her knees. Her hair is curled perfectly, falling around her shoulders in a way he’d call effortless if he didn’t know how long she’d taken to style it. Her make-up was a little heavier than usual, her eyes smokier, making them more beautiful, something he hadn’t thought was possible.

“Emily…” he chokes out, his voice trailing off. He has to clear his throat, choking on a laugh in the process. “You look…”

She smiles as he fades off, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she steps towards him, his affection for her settling over her like a warm blanket. She runs her hand over the lapel of his jacket, needlessly straightening it out.

“You look pretty damn good yourself,” she says, stamping a kiss against his cheek before she shifts, her lips catching the corner of his before she kisses him.

Her hands move up his chest so she can cup the back of his neck, keeping him in place as if there was anywhere else he’d rather be. His hands find their way to her lower back, the slope of it seemingly carved out specifically for him, and he pulls her closer to him, tasting her groan when she opens their mouth as their hips press together.

“Em,” he says, chuckling as he pulls back and she chases him, her eyes slightly dazed over as they meet his, her tongue licking over her lower lip to taste him. He smiles fondly at her, and he smoothes his hand down her back, the impossibly smooth material of her dress almost as soft as her skin, “We don’t have time, we’ll be late.”

Her smile deepens, a glint in her eyes that only ever meant good things for him that lets him know he hasn’t even come close to convincing her that they need to leave. She trails her hands down his chest, her fingers grasping at his lapels as she tugs him back towards the nearby wall, letting herself be crowded by him.

“They can’t start without us,” she says, rolling her hips against his, smirking when she feels him respond in kind, something he does without thinking he presses her closer into the wall, trapping her between him and the cool plaster against her exposed shoulders, the material of her dress only starting halfway up her spine.

“Sweetheart…” He can hear it in his own voice, the barely restrained desire for her, the woman he loves, and he sees the victory shine in her smile, both of them well aware that she had him exactly where she wanted him. He cups her cheek, smirking as she shivers at the simplest of touches, taking great pleasure in the that she was just as affected by him as he was by her, “We’ll have to be quick.”

She beams at him and pulls him in for a kiss, sighing into his mouth as his hand travels down her spine, counting the notches of it with his fingertips as he reaches the material of her dress. He goes for the fastenings, lingering over the tiny hooks and she shakes her head, already breathless as she pulls back.

“The dress stays on,” she says, smiling at the sight of him, his eyes full of desire and confusion, her lipstick smudged on his lips and chin.

“Em-”

“Do you have any idea how long it took me to get this thing done up?” She says, raising her eyebrows at him. She groans as he presses his thigh under the skirt of her dress between her legs, “Just don’t crease it,” she gets out, her voice thick as he tenses his thigh against him, “Or stain it.”

Aaron chuckles and leans in to kiss her cheek, capturing her lips in his as she turns her head, “No pressure then.”

She laughs as she leans back into the kiss, the sound giving way to a sigh as he trails his hand down her side. He grabs her thigh and lifts it, hooking it around his hip before he groans, a flash of her lingerie becoming visible as he pulls back from the kiss. He looks up at her face, his eyebrow raised as his words catch in his chest, a growl of appreciation that makes her flush, the tinge of pink to her skin standing out against the material of her dress.

“You weren’t supposed to see it until later,” she says breathlessly, her hips stuttering as he runs his fingers over the lacey material of her underwear, “It was meant to be a surprise.”

He feels pride swell in his chest as she moans as he rubs over her through her underwear again, still in awe after all this time that he could reduce this woman in front of him, someone he’d literally seen stare death in the face and not blink, to this. And he’d barely even touched her.

“I like surprises,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to the swell of her breast. He tries to picture the matching bra of the underwear he’d only seen a flash of. It makes him groan, and he gently sinks his teeth into the flesh of it right next to the scar there, something he’d done since their first night together. Laying his claim against Ian’s. She’s sure if it was anyone else she’d hate it, furious that anyone would try to act like she was something to own, but with Aaron she loved it.

She loved the mere idea of being his.

“No marks,” she breathes out, some sensibility pushing through the haze of desire that was flooding through her veins, burning her from the inside out, “Pen will insist on there being photos later.”

He nods, never having sunk his teeth in long enough to leave anything behind, the indentation already fading, and he licks at her skin instead.

“Later?” He asks, kissing up her chest, taking a moment to nip her collarbone, before he reaches her neck, breathing in the scent of her. She nods, her fingers trailing through his short hair, messing it up in a way she knows he’ll have to restyle before they leave.

It’s a promise that they’d take their time later when they got home. That they’d explore each other like they had countless times before, fingers and lips trailing over hills and valleys that were more familiar than their own.

“Later,” she says, her confirmation a kiss that she pulls him into, “Now,” she says, kissing him again, “I thought you said we had to be quick.”

Her smirk disappears as he pushes her underwear aside, his fingers slipping against her as she moans, her breath skipping over his lips, “Fuck,” he grunts, his forehead against her cheek, “So wet already, sweetheart. So wet for me.”

She nods, rolling her hips as he presses his thumb into her clit, rubbing firm circles against her, “All for you,” she breathes out, clenching around nothing as he continues his pattern, somehow firm and lazy at the same time as he builds her up, his desperation for her clear in the way his other hand grasps at her hip, his fingers digging into the soft material of her dress, “Fuck, Aaron, please. We don’t have time to tease-”

He cuts her off as he presses two fingers into her, and she gasps, her hands buried in his suit jacket, gathering it up in a way she’s sure will crease it but she can’t bring herself to care. She rolls her hips against him and throws her head back, not feeling the way it hits the wall as he continues to build her up, knowing exactly what to do to make her lose control.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he drawls, his lips against her neck as she tightens her grip on him as she clenches tightly around his fingers. Her thighs shake, a sure sign he was close, and he smiles, tilting his head to kiss the sharp line of her jaw, “Come for me.”

She tips over the edge, her moan loud in the mercifully empty house. Her vision goes white, and she knows if he wasn’t holding her up, if she wasn’t trapped between him and one of their bedroom walls, that the one foot she had on the ground would give way, her legs too shaky to hold her up.

“Holy shit,” she says, chuckling as she pulls him into a kiss, the action slow, almost lazy, as she comes back down. She smiles as she looks at him, her thumb pressing into his lower lip as she looks at him, the desperation for her in his eyes as overwhelming as it had always been. “Take off your pants.”

Aaron undoes his belt and pants, pushing them and his underwear down just enough to spring free from them, groaning as she immediately wraps her hand around him. She pumps him up and down, her thumb running over the tip of him as he buries his face in her neck, his grip on the thigh she still had slung over his hip getting impossibly tighter. And she’s sure he will leave in the shape of his fingertips, a tattoo of his love against her skin that will be covered by her dress when it flows back down past her waist where he’d carefully gathered it.

“Em.” He groans. It’s punched out, thick with want and desire and she tilts her hips against his, guiding him into her, gasping at the stretch of him.

“Fuck,” she breathes out, her forehead against his, her eyes screwed close as he pulls back and pushes back into her, starting a slow and steady rhythm, intent on building her up bit by bit. “Aaron,” she stutters, “We can’t....” she moans as he presses his hips against hers, carving out a space inside of her that could only ever be for him. She clenches around him, hearing his matching moan and feeling it skip across her face, “We need to be fast.”

They were running late, and at this rate, they would be very late, and whilst she knew she was right when she said things wouldn’t start without them, she didn’t want the others to pick up on what they’d been doing.

They’d never hear the end of it.

He smirks and pulls away, his pupils blown so wide his eyes almost look black, “You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?” He asks, increasing his pace slightly as he speaks, watching as she jolts with it and feels how her hips push against his.

“Yes,” she breathes out, her brain fogging over as she feels another orgasm building already, allowing her to forget why she’d asked him to hurry up in the first place, “Fuck, yes please.”

He growls and sets a punishing pace, her breath catching in her chest as he reaches between them again, his thumb gentle against her clit. The contrast between the soft way that he stroked over her and the hard thrusts driving her crazy, building her up so quickly all she can do is hold on to him as he whispers in her ear, his words only adding to the fire sparking in her belly.

“You’re going to feel me all evening,” he grunts, “You’ll be standing there with our friends, thinking of this. Of how I fucked you in our bedroom just before we-”

“Jesus Christ,” She gasps, cutting him off as she clenches around him in a way that makes him move impossibly faster. “Aaron.”

They come together, their matching groans echoing around their home. It’s followed by them laughing, Emily shakes her head as she pulls back to look at him.

“I love you,” she breathes out, kissing him quickly.

“I love you too,” he replies, kissing her again, his thumb pressing into her dimple as he cups her cheek. She can’t help but smile at him, but it fades as she spots the time on his watch.

“Oh fuck,” she exclaims, “We are so late.”

___

She breathes out a slow breath as Aaron rings the doorbell to Dave’s house before he turns back to look at her. They’d put themselves back together quickly before they left the house, ensuring that neither of them looked rumbled anymore. She’d redone some of her makeup and he’d wiped her lipstick from his face before restyling his hair.

“You look beautiful,” he says, reaching out and squeezing her hand. She chuckles and shakes her head at him.

“Careful, honey, that’s the kind of thing that made us late in the first place.”

He smiles and presses a kiss to her cheek, “We made it, that’s what’s important.”

Any response is cut off as the front door opens. Dave smirks at them as he leans against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest, “Nice of you two to join us.”

Emily clears her throat, “Sorry, there was traffic.”

It sounds pathetic even to her ears and she hears Aaron stifle a laugh next to her and she glares at him, making Dave chuckle

“Is that what the kids call it these days?” Dave replies, clearly not believing her, “You two are animals. It’s lucky that Jack was here with us all day.”

Emily shrugs, leaning into the truth because she knows they’ve been caught out, “What can I say,” she says, leaning into Aaron and smiling up at him, “I couldn’t resist,” she looks back at Dave, “Plus, it’s my special day I can do what I want. Including my soon-to-be husband.”

Dave shakes his head, “Whatever you say, Bella,” he turns and walks back into the house, leaving the door open so they can follow, “The bride and groom just arrived,” he shouts as he goes, getting the attention of everyone in the house, “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Aaron puts his arms around her and stops her from stepping forwards, smiling as she looks up at him. He kisses her, quickly and softly before he pulls back, “You ready?”

She nods, grabbing his chin to capture him and hold him in place as she stamps a kiss against his lips. She smiles when she looks at him, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, sure that her happiness, something she’d once told herself she’d never have, would make her burst.

“I’m ready,” she says, squeezing his hand, covering a groan as they start to make their way into the house, the ache in between her thighs throbbing as she walks, “Let’s go get married.”

-x-

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Sorry, Wrong Comms! : Hunter x Medic!Reader [Chapter 3]

Warnings & Information: Intended audience is 13+ (18 if you squint). Slightly heavier material. Real-life and Star Wars swearing. We're pretending we understand how both real-life and (the regulations of) Star Wars medicine works. Lol what's the layout of the Havoc Marauder anyways? Fuck it, we vibe. ✌️❤️ Injuries as a result of an explosive device during a secret mission. Uh oh, no surgical gloves (for drama, please use gloves whenever possible in real emergencies)! Mentions of blood and blood loss. Lots of medical paraphernalia: needles/autoinjectors, stitches, bacta, etcetera. Near death. Vague description of nausea and non-descriptive mentions of vomit. Loth-cat is out of the bag thanks to Wrecker once our brave Medic!Reader saves the day. Chapter gets happier/light-hearted towards the end as an apology. As a reminder: we really like italics in this house + doing my best not to be overboard with the Mando’a.

Tryin' real hard to avoid certain fanon characterizations of the Batchers. This whole series is absolutely RIFE with my personal headcanons.

Word-count: 7,761

The enjoyable breakfast at the Batchers' was a week ago. Strange how so much and so little can happen all within a week.

Between her decision to get recertified for battlefield medicine at Tech and Echo's encouragement - it would allow her to move through areas of Imperial control with little impediment with her documentation dated before the inevitable regulation tightening that would trickle down to independent medical facilities and practices - and a mission that an "old friend from… before" of the Batch requested their unique skill sets for, the seven friends had not seen or contacted the other in any capacity since that day.

Once in the morning when [____] had stepped away from the bottom of the short stack of stairs leading from their front door and wished everyone a good day. Twice in the afternoon to first announce she'd passed the earliest available crunch-test for recertification she'd signed up for around the dining table with Echo's help, then a second time to say she'd bought a private medical vessel after going over some specs with the recertification board regarding her own skill sets. She'd need a starship of some sort if she was going to reregister to be an independently-aligned battlefield medic.

One of Omega's newest drawings had been sent home with the medic at the youngster's insistence. A creature she called an Aiwha breaching the waves, and a doodle of Lula in the bottom left corner sitting in a flotation ring on the surface. It now sat taped to the door of the tiny cold unit in the snug kitchenette aboard the medical vessel. The first splashes of organic, cheerful color beyond the sterility of white and the ominosity of red that covered the interior.

[____] had decided that she'd close her clinic for the day and take the new craft on its maiden flight; get a feel for the controls, get a sense of how to navigate… him? her? … through the endless starfield of the galaxy this morning. Now getting closer to lunch, she'd originally decided she'd have a quick bite to eat, until a harsh screech of her comms sent the spoonful of warm stew across the little kitchenette table in a violent cough. Maker, what a mess.

"Captain Rex! Rex, come in! Where are you?! Hunter's been hurt, he-! Shit! We have to fall back!" That was Echo. He sounded so scared over the comms channel. What happened to make such a brave and courageous man sound like a scared child calling for his parents like a monster was about to get him?

She hit the button to answer the comms before she had a solid plan to answer it. "Echo? What's going on? What happened?"

Someone swore before Echo replied, his voice high and tight. "[__-]! Sorry, wrong comms! Disregar-!"

Like kriff she could. It wasn't just her duty to the insignia of the shattered cross, but a desire to jump in hearing a friend needed help. "No-no; what happened, Echo! What happened to Hunter?"

"He's been hurt, we have to fall back and get him to a medic on-!"

"I'M a medic, Echo!" she reminded him sharply, poking her head around the corner of the onboard kitchen unit to look out the viewport of her little medical ship. "Get to my ship! I'm gonna send you my position; if I'm reading this correctly you're… actually not too far from me?"

The screaming… Maker, the screaming. She could hear him just as the ships were properly attached to allow cross-boarding. Pure, primal agony. She had to hurry up the ladder with a heavy medbag. She didn't apologize when she shoulder-checked Wrecker with all her weight when she found her feet again as he yanked her up the last seven rungs by the back of her suit like a damn Loth-cat's kitten, he could take that kind of punishment without being phased. She had to get to Hunter. Rivers of sweat forged wiggling, jagged and forking lines through the grime and soot caking his half-tattooed face. His bandanna was missing. He'd been wrenched out of most of his ruined, ash-black plastoid armor and left in the bloodied tatters of his skin-tight black bodyglove beneath. Where the blood was coming from only the Maker could have known right now. That would be a headache and a half to scrub out of the thin mattress of the med cot, later. "What in the karking hells…" It looked bad. So very bad. Caught too close to a detonation? She'd seen everything from shredded muscle and bone when she had worked at a large-scale healing center ages ago to deep blaster-burn and blood in every color of the rainbow after a cantina fight in the spaceport as of just yesterday, but this… this was something that made her stomach twist so violently in her fear she was sweeping the room for a spare container just in case.

While not a wet behind the ears nurse, she felt that ancient-to-her overwhelming panic and dread to her very marrow. When someone screamed like this, it was just a matter of time before the far more frightening, chilling silence that came before the end. Before the cardiac crash. The flatline. A funeral. Hunter didn't have much time and she just looked like she was hesitating. She was analyzing as she forced down her feelings and stomach with a heavy swallow. What would he need? Sutures, stim packs, maybe all the bacta-gel and every last patch she had… and a damn miracle.

She needed to send some people out first. Calling out above the clamoring, crying sergeant on the med cot below her, she started giving orders. "Crosshair, Wrecker, Tech, you stay here. Echo, take Omega out of the medbay. Get his bunk scrubbed clean as you can. I need as few people in the room as possible. Now." Echo obediently hustled Omega away with a firm grip around her upper arm just under the armpit, forcing himself to become deaf to the protests and tears. (If it came down to it, Echo was not going to be able to perform CPR very effectively; something he and the medic were painfully aware of after a nightmare of Echo's some time ago.) It was an incredible kindness to not make his sister watch Hunter's suffering. It'd haunt the girl to no end if she didn't- no! No, she wouldn't lose him!

"Wrecker." The hulking Clone snapped to attention, and [____] hated how she was giving her friends orders like this, how she was treating these men like… like soldiers. That's what we are, burc'ya one of them had once said, but it doesn't take away how much she hated it.

How much she had initially, strangely, hated it when they spoke to her in their own version of Mando'a and the scraps of other languages beyond Basic they picked up during the Clone Wars and their service with the GAR and little phrases from the native tongues of the Force-wielding Jedi. What she would give to hear it now… something other than the sounds of agony. The threat of tears in her voice.

"I-I need you to hold your brother down while I give him the stim packs, Wrecker. Do not hurt him, h-he probably doesn't k-know-" Her words threatened to shatter unprofessionally before the stiff crack of skin on skin. Not now. She couldn't fucking cry right now. Hunter needed her! Taking a second, she tried again, voice much more level and clear with the encouraging sting of her own palm burning her cheek. "He doesn't know anything beyond his instincts and deepest memories to save himself right now, most likely. He might think we're trying to kill him. Especially me because I won't have my helmet on." She'd actually left her specialty-helmet back in her starcraft. She hadn't yet calibrated the thing and all its sensitive scanners that cost her a pretty credit.

"What's that got to do with it?" Tech demanded, failing to notice she didn't even have the damn thing. He never liked not knowing what was going on. There was no time to explain as the equipment screens the medic was turning on and had applied the appropriate sensors to Hunter's body signaled he was close to crashing if she didn't act fast. "Just do what I say: put on your helmets. Wrecker, hold him down exactly where I say. Cross, hold these." Prepping the autoinjectors she'd need, she handed several to the marksman, grateful for his long fingers to keep them all secure as she freed her bandage forceps and the trauma shears from the medpack to cut away more of the ruined upper half of the bodyglove. The sour tang of metal and soot would take forever to scrub out of her nails, cursing as she realized she hadn't restocked her gloves. She'd have to get her hands dirty, and the thighs of her pants would have to serve as the blood-rag in this dire situation. Thank the stars she'd washed her hands prior to boarding the Havoc Marauder and curse the Maker for forgetting to restock such a crucial item like gloves. What a rookie mistake!

She pointed Tech into the farthest corner where he could see this delicate dance against death. "Tech: take notes and shut up. Blue: Emptying. Amber: Emptying. Cross, give me the red, then-" Hunter's chest buckled violently in a too-shallow rhythm under her palms, the lip-wrenching that bore his teeth with every harrowed, feral, bellowing call he was making through all this pain was frightening being that-much closer now. The heart-rate monitor screamed in warning: too high, the possible final hill before the plummet. "Red then the gold! That order is very important!" If she got the order wrong, it would kill him. She wouldn't tell Crosshair that. Not until later. Or ever. "Gold: Emptying! Good! Wrecker, hold his legs, Cross, his head. I’m checking for concussion if I can." If Hunter didn't clock her with a wild, frenzied swing. If they held him down entirely, he would only thrash all the more violently and with all the strength he didn't have, pain receptors long since shot and driven beyond overwhelmed. He'd been cursed with enhanced senses he could never take a break from, never mind whatever standard alterations Clones of this late Jango Fett have. "Tech: no concussion. Previously administered meds should be taking hold soon. Prepping a subcutaneous needle with a weaker sedative. Dosage: two hundred twelve, blue. Wrecker: strap his legs and hips down."

"Ti-tight?" the gentle, boyish giant timidly dared ask through the modulator, dark visor meeting the naked eyes of the medic just when Hunter's screams began to slow, but not the struggling. The monitors blipped rapidly for just a short moment, making Wrecker panic in the pause from the medic as she considered. "For now."

"'Kay. Whu' then?"

"Go comfort your sister." Wrecker was hitting his breaking point of being a useful, calm assistant to the freshly recertified field medic. He set the restraints with a tight-voiced "I'm sorry, vod." before he ducked out of the medbay, shucking the plastoid bell over his head with a quavering breath. (Omega might soon be comforting him as much as he was meant to be comforting her.) She'd now have to count on the callous but not uncaring marksman and the over-explaining navigator who was taking his silence seriously if reluctantly. "Cross: I need you to mind his arms for me. He's not going to like this." Hunter had now stopped bellowing, all these drugs dropping him in a delicate, subdued state. Nothing like two sedatives and the strongest painkiller she dared use in the cocktail of stim packs she administered, the monitors telling her in entirely-too-many numbers to the untrained eye that Hunter was stabilizing. Vitals are still elevated and too rapid, but falling at an appropriate speed. If they fell too fast…

Taking his position, Cross did as instructed, putting each hand firmly around Hunter's flexing, jerky wrists. "Yes ma'am."

"I'm sorry, Hunter." [____] offered fruitlessly, finally speaking to him rather than around him all while gingerly blotting a damp rag around a weeping wound to start stitching his largest laceration first to accelerate the closure before the bacta-gel was applied. "Hang in there, okay? I'm sorry for-" she pierced the lip of ragged, bloody flesh without warning him, if Hunter could even tell what she was saying, "-this." she finished. He heaved a guttural, strangled call of pain, instinctively attempting to wrest his hands from Crosshair's grip and shove [____] away before she jumped back out of reach, twisting and turning his legs in vain under the restraints. "...Nfg! St- … guhm!"

She steeled her resolve quickly and came back to the bedside, eyes flicking to the cardiac reading. High. "I know Hunter: this is not fun for anyone." [____] promised him, treating the stilted, choked gibberish as proper communication while pulling the threaded needle steadily. Maybe it'd help keep him calm. Just keep talking to him, add in directions to the others as needed. "Hunter, Crosshair is going to hold your arms really really still for a little while, okay? I'm going as fast and as carefully as I can to get you stitched up. Is the pain starting to feel less noticeable since the first stim shot?" That should have been recorded as the painkiller if Tech had peeked at the multiple stim pack and autoinjectors she'd simply dropped to the floor haphazardly once dispensed into unmarred patches of skin between abused flesh and muscle underneath the top half of the one-piece blacks she cut from Hunter's battered body to apply the thin gel-padded sensors. There was no response beyond ragged, harsh inhales and shallow exhales. "That's okay, sweetie," she promised as she fastened off the suture, hushing him tenderly as she painted a thick layer of viscous bacta-gel over the stitching with her first two fingers of her opposite hand, "if not, hopefully it will soon. Here, Cross can move his hands up to your left shoulder now and I can stitch this laceration up next. I'll be gentle, as I can be, I promise. Does this hurt?" She palpated the edge of his injury with the pad of her thumb, wondering if he could even make out such a sensation with everything else his nervous system had been assaulted with.

There was a stifled "en" sort of sound beneath the tight brow-bunching, the best could be done to muster up a "no" if one had to guess. "No?" Forced past pale, slightly bluish lips, Hunter tried with further effort. "N-uhh…" He was going to hurt himself if wasn't stopped quickly and gently. Oh Maker he'd really need some blood… dammit she should have gotten that set up to begin with, another kriffing rookie mistake! "Okay-okay; good - I think that's the stim shot working, then! That's what we want. Thank the Maker. Here, let's try something while I'm working on this in the meantime. Can you hold your breath for me?" A breathing exercise. Make the other readings on the monitor slow down, if she could. Better, but still too elevated for her liking. Hunter's chest spasmed with the effort, indicating that wasn't quite possible. "Easy, buddy, easy… Let's try a slow deep breath instead."

"Nu-hu- I-" It was a spasm in his stomach this time, strong enough she feared the stitches were about to tear torn flesh further, before she understood what was making his body react like this. Nausea. Hunter always had a uniquely sensitive stomach but was in no state or opportunity to soldier through the urgent nausea like any ordinary time. She tore at the emergency release latches to the restraint-leashes on his legs and hips, Cross guiding his brother and leader onto his side so Hunter could safely be sick off the side of the med cot without aspirating on the foul substance if he remained on his back.

Tech broke out of his corner and his silence where he'd been banished with his datapad to assist with the mess coating [____]'s new field-boots and the paneled floor of the Marauder's medbay. He sounded almost offended and childish over the mic and modulator of his unique, non-standard bucket. "Kriff! Gross!"

"Better than the alternative, Tech." the doctor simply chided the pilot, "and nothing any pair of my boots haven't seen before. Just these girls' first time. Crosshair can you grab a hydropack or something? Once he's sure he's in the clear he'll want to rinse the bile out of his mouth." She saw the sniper's throat bob stiffly, once, three times, before speaking in a distant, strained voice to mask the muted retching.

"Sure." Crosshair was all too happy to avoid becoming patient number two if he lingered here much longer when the doctor glanced down at her boots and remarked that she likes the blue travel-ration bars best as well, to no one in particular.

She stayed aboard the Marauder to monitor Hunter's vitals and had tenderly cleaned the soot and sweat from his face for good measure, musing to herself that Tech was probably messing around with her control panel of her (yet-unnamed) ship in the pretense of optimizing and calibrating your systems to better suit your occupation and skill set right about now while following after them in the hyperspace lane while she was busy with counting each inhale from the man across the medbay within a minute on the timer ticking away. Once the minute elapsed, she'd let Omega come in and see Hunter for herself. [____] noted how her head rung with the first hints of a building headache and the tugging ache in her throat; she'd had her ears uncovered the whole time Hunter had bellowed in horrid pain while she granted his brothers a barrier of comfort and emotional anonymity beneath their painted helms and dark visors, and had no mic to amplify the voice that instructed them how to assist her. But she felt that the unmodulated waves of comfort would mean so much more to him and prove helpful if he could hear a voice unaffected by a helmet crooning comfort to him.

The minute elapsed. Fourteen breaths. She made a note of it in the log that Tech had been keeping for her and moved to let everyone know that Omega could be summoned now to finally go see her brother. Wrecker was the only one [____] could immediately find outside the medbay. "Hey Wreck, where's Omega? She'll want to know she can finally go see her vod - but he's asleep, I think."

"Awh, she's either in the gunner's mount, or in Tech's seat in the cockpit now, I think? Crosshair went to take a long wash cycle in the 'fresher, and Echo's still getting Hunter's bunk reset. 'E's gonna be okay, righ'?"

She looked over her shoulder back into the tiny little medbay on the shuttle, nodding. "He's been stabilized. He'll need to come to my clinic for a full work-up and blood transfusion just to make sure that he really will be fine with proper time and rest." She tore her gaze away, the sight of Hunter's handsome face so slack in his exhaustion making her heart clench. The brute of a Clone with a boyish sense of humor just gave a quiet bark of laughter, arms looping around his chest much tighter without the shells of his various pieces of armor encircling him, stripped down to his black bodyglove at least above-belt. "HAH! Good luck with tha' for the rest of us… but, he'd probably listen to you, kid. Hunter likes you quite a lot… Has a lot of respect for you."

"Oh," [____] mused in agreement, a touched smile breaking free easily, "yeah, he's told me."

Wrecker looked so dumbfounded, sitting forward and arms unlocking in a surprised stupor. "H-he has?"

"Well yeah; Hunter's expressed his appreciation each and every time I've helped one of you guys, you know that, Wreck."

He looked more dumbfounded if possible, that mismatched gaze of melt-worthy brown and stark silver-white widening with a realization that his friend didn't know what he was alluding to. "I-I meant two separate things, ad'ika. M'sorry, I forgot a "and", and it- You don't know he likes you?"

It was now [____] who was dumbfounded, the implications just beginning to sink in. "Likes me, wha-? Wrecker hold on; you mean he likes me in the sense that he might love me?"

"If he doesn't, it sure looks that way!" Wrecker boomed, immediately flinching over the volume of his own voice above a breathy, soft volume. "Oops… Oh I hope I didn't wake 'im. I-I-I thought you knew after that night Crosshair suggested that Hunter accidentally hailed you an' then invited you to come over to our place and took care of your injuries an'-" Wrecker stopped and sucked in a hard, short breath just as his voice became loud again, hearing Omega scrambling down to the tiny medbay. "Cross said he'd heard you were… well first he'd believed you'd had, um, y'know, because he heard you moanin' an' all but- i-it wasn't that! I know now that Crosshair was just making a dirty joke, an' I know it was just a massage, but I… I-I-I thought maybe Hunter had finally gotten his nerves and told you." Wrecker was bouncing between the immature nervousness of a child who was afraid to admit knowing what sex was and the grown-up, prideful tones of recounting a coming-of-age tale. Wrecker was not stupid. Wrecker was not naive.

And Wrecker was so much more. Gentle-hearted but strong and dependable. Kind, tender and guarded when he could have been rough and uncareful of his strength with his enhanced Clone brothers or the 'Regs'. Wrecker could dislocate a Seppy's shoulder or rip apart a clanker with frightening ease and then use that same hand in the next breath to scoop a fallen, injured comrade from the rubble like he once often held his beloved Lula in his sleep. (He once boasted to Crosshair, according to Tech that "Clankers fear me, women want me!" for… some reason back in the days of the Clone Wars. He hadn't been sure what the friendly competition was on that particular mission beyond how many copper-tops they would lay waste to.) These days, he had been loaning Lula to his sister; while Lula was so important to Wrecker, he selflessly shared most of his scant possessions with his family. So it was no surprise to the medic to find Lula swaddled in Omega's arms when she approached brother and friend. "Hey, Omega…" [____] called to the young Kamino-born girl with a maternal tone, "come to see how your vod is doing? He's resting right now, likely asleep, but you're welcome to go see him now if you want."

"I'm not sure if I…" Omega stalled, 'want to see him in that state' or 'can go in there' was likely what the little girl wanted to tell the medic, but she only crushed the Tooka doll tighter to her chest with a wave of silence falling over her. "He's going to be okay, Omega, I made sure of it." [____] offered a placation of Omega's worries, silencing a beep of her datapad without even removing it from her belt clip or looking at it. "I can't be too far from him anyways, just on the off-chance those drugs I give him don't play so nicely with his stomach again. Why don't you come back to the medbay with me and see for yourself if my stitches are nice and even while I'm taking his pulse?" She held a beckoning hand toward Omega, a silent offer to comfort her and take her to the medbay.

One could have practically seen Wrecker's heart swelling in his chest as he watched his sister step forward with a timid "...okay." and lace her fingers with the medic's, careful not to bite into flesh with her nails in the nervous strength of her hold. "It's okay to be scared, sweetie. I'm right here with you." [____] promised, leading her back. She'd already covered the equipment screens and dimmed more of the lights, just since the sergeant was so heavily sedated it was more of a medical twilight sleep that he had the potential to wake from at any given moment. His sister took up position by his bedside, studying his tattooed face and the bandages she could see poking out from under a light medbay blanket.

"Hunter's…" Omega whispered, noting how deliberate the medic was to move quietly through the medbay. "... sleeping? Can he hear me?" She probably wanted to sit and talk either to [____] while she watched Hunter, or tune out the medic and talk to her brother. Let him know, if he could hear her, that he was going to be okay. They'd be back home soon. They'd be taking him to [____]'s clinic and she would make sure everything was taken care of. And that there was no reason to be scared. Returning the sentiment once said to her.

Maker and all the stars in the galaxy… these six Clones had a way of warming her heart. "Kind of sleeping. He's pretty sedated so he doesn't tear his stitching. It's okay if you want to talk to him, just mind your voice of course, sweetie." [____] promised Omega, laying a light hand on the girl's shoulder.

The medic busied herself with cleaning up the data log or padding it out with information for the next half hour while glancing over the sibling pair every few minutes, making sure she kept a proper eye on her emergency patient and the sister when the young girl was quiet for a few minutes every now and then. "... I was scared I was going to lose you, Hunter…" was a soft whimper nearly-missed under the sound of footfall as Echo joined the three of them in the medbay, a modified datapad strapped to the trooper's scomplink.

(Tech really loved tinkering around with their equipment.)

There was a ping and accompanying message icon on the medic's HUD. Clever man.

Doing okay, kid?

>Ask me when the cross is off.

Right, bad question. Still on the job.

Echo offered an apologetic smile over the top of his datapad to her, mouthing something that contained the word habits.

So… Wrecker told me what happened before he was sent out. Just finished talking to Cross in the cockpit about it, too. Sounds like it was pretty messy.

>It was. But Hunter's going to be fine, Echo.

No sense mincing words when there was a heavy cloud of strong antiseptic aroma hanging in the air.

>You guys will want to scrub out the cot in here within an inch of its life.

Careful, burc'ya. Tech may take those instructions literally.

They chuckled softly over his joke together. She didn't doubt his brother's words. Outside of those she studied with in medical school, Tech was probably the most fastidious individual she could think of when it came to maintaining a sterile environment in the best of times. Something they weren't afforded this go-around, but in all honesty Hunter's chances of infection were fairly minimal due to the regular upkeep of sterility in the attack shuttle's small "sick-storage". In the medic's previous experience, that wasn't typically exercised by the usual sort who utilized these ships; but time and time again all six members of this "Bad Batch" proved they were a far cry from usual, she had to remind herself.

>You'll probably have to air out the Marauder after he's gone through a ridiculous amount of antiseptic wipes and cleaners.

Oh, there's no "probably" about that… That's a guarantee. We'll be lucky if it's just the medbay.

The medic froze before she sent a return message, seeing a hitch in Hunter's throat as he stirred. His sister just took his hand softly, rubbing a circle into the knuckle of his thumb soothingly. "Shhh… That's just [____] and Echo "talking" in the background; all those beeps are their datapads," Omega chimed in softly as there was a second very brief stir from Hunter, "It's okay… you can keep sleeping. Won't be too much longer until we're home, I think…"

Wrecker's told me something else, by the way. That he let a "particular secret" out in his words.

>Yeah. Wrecker did.

He told me what he told you. Sorry: didn't mean to make that look like I was prying for information. And, sorry if that was rather… surprising to hear.

>It's… certainly something to think about.

The medic laid down the datapad for just a moment and signaled Echo to wait just a moment, lifting the cloth she'd dropped over the bright screen of some equipment to check the vitals it was set to monitor. Pulse-OX, BP, heart rate. All looked about the same as the last time she checked.

"Entering upper atmo..." Crosshair mused over the PA of the Marauder, breaking the silence of the ship in a voice bordering on boredom, "We'll be there shortly, suggest everyone get ready to leave for the clinic as soon as we land." No, not boredom. Carefully measured impatience as he was fond of saying. This was their vod who took care of everyone at his own expense (monetarily and otherwise), sacrifice, and personal comforts. It had been quite a long time since Hunter had been hurt so severely that he had everyone scared they'd lose him. Perhaps the last time had been during the Clone Wars. No one could really tell her for sure, but they were sure Tech would be able to give her a little too much detail from something in his records, Omega mentioned offhandedly as [____] updated her data log with the current readings from the diagnostic equipment.

"Don't be afraid to tell him to shut up again," Echo offered with a muted smile and choked laugh, now verbally referencing he's heard about the medic's further directives in his absence from Cross's recollection of events, "You know how he'll ramble your ear off at your clinic when he's trying to mask his fear of something. After what's just happened, he'll probably go blue in the face before he stops."

"Still can't believe 'e actually listened," Wrecker called from outside the medbay, wrestling past Gonky with a wide crate of something in the crook of his arm, "Techie usually talks your ear off when he's nervous at your clinic."

"I jus-" Echo started, ready to tell Wrecker he'd just told [_____] that same sentiment, but fell silent when a hand touched his shoulder softly, hushing him with a silent 'it's okay, Echo' when Hunter stirred a third time for just a moment. They were entering the atmosphere, mercifully he stayed asleep as the ship trembled and bounced through the transitional zone. "You call him Techie?"

Wrecker balked, almost dropping the crate. "Awh kriff, don't tell him I called him tha'!"

"I won't," the woman promised, carefully tucking back a loose lock of her hair, "I just thought it was sweet. You guys really care about one another. We should wake him just before we land since we'll need to find a way to hurry him to my clinic: would you like to do that, Omega?"

His sister nodded earnestly at the proposed task, anxious to have some part in preparation to land in the shipyards. "I've got this." Omega promised. "Just say when."

They landed in the shipyards at the height of lunch-rush, which made both Tech and the medic nervous. Tech, always prepared, had a map of the city loaded up on the screen, the fastest route highlighted in yellow when he met the others at the ramp to the Marauder. "Oh dear… there's going to be a lot of foot traffic between here and the clini-"

"I got this." Wrecker growled confidently, giving Omega a wicked grin as he held out his helmet to her. [____] was about to protest, worried that Wrecker carrying Hunter would injure him, and Hunter, half-awake in a rescue carry, shrunk back against Crosshair's chest. But as soon as his helmet was secured with Omega, Wrecker broke off from the Batch and the medic in a dead sprint at a speed that would not seem possible for someone his size to anyone unaware. People shrieked in fright as the demo-expert charged at breakneck speeds. "MOVE IT! MEDIC COMING THROUGH!"

Maker have mercy on anyone who didn't get out of his way in time… they'd have to go to another clinic if he toppled anyone over. "Oh boy… better follow after him." Echo groaned, knowing that he'd be best to tail after Wrecker and make sure he was going the right way, or apologize to anyone along the way.

"Ah," Tech marveled, taking the rear as everyone else followed behind Wrecker, watching his brothers' blips on the datapad for just a moment. "That's… one way to do it. But why is he going the way that would take us past our housing?"

"There's a theoretical shortcut Wreck and I have wondered about," Cross muttered, doing a visual sweep for something before walking just slightly ahead of the stoop of their housing, "hmm. Big guy actually did it." He sounded… rather proud of Wrecker's destructive capabilities. A fence across the mouth to a narrow alleyway had been run down, and from Tech's map, it cut across the horseshoe-structured street from their housing to her clinic by a significant amount. The fence's twin at the far end had been trampled, too. "Come on. After you, doc. Tech, why don't you drop off some of our gear at home and meet us there?"

"Certainly. Omega, come with me." Tech gingerly unclipped one end of the strap holding the Firepuncher against Crosshair's back and carried it out in front of him, afraid to touch it because he was afraid to drop it. That rifle was Cross's pride and joy, his baby, even. But the less weapons they carried into the clinic the better, understanding that the way Wrecker could still be bellowing to alert people to get out of their way, they'd be drawing a lot more additional attention if they went in with a scared medic armed to the teeth. Negative attention.

Hopefully his brothers wouldn't have broken down the clinic's doors and remembered to use their emergency key card once he got there, Crosshair thought to himself, stepping deftly after the doctor as she hurried up the space between high-rises. Hunter shivered in his arms, shrinking back against the chill in the shadows and into the far more inviting warmth of a brother. "Cr-Crosshair, w-wait…"

"K'uur…" he wrapped the med blanket back over the bare shoulder it slipped free of, "I'll tell them to get you some clean civvies once we've met up with Wreck. Don't worry." Crosshair had just enough time to realize that wasn't only the problem he was worrying about. That tell-tale jerking in the abdomen. Dammit not now.

"Doc!! Need an emesis bag!"

Tech and Omega met the rest of the Batch at [____]'s clinic, carrying a change of clothing for everyone in a large supply crate, most of it Hunter's in the way of various tops. They weren't sure if they would need to supply something loose or skintight for the task of redressing Hunter. Wrecker was laid on the floor of the waiting room, a too-small cold pack plastered over his head. Echo was massaging each of his cybernetic legs habitually, looking in pain whether it due to phantom limb pains or because he had tripped in his haste tailing after their strongman. Crosshair… he smelled sour, acidic, and looked at them over his shoulder from the farthest corner with a disgusted snarl, daring them to make a remark about it. Tech could guess why; another gastrointestinal mishap. He swiftly shoved Cross's clean mock-civvies into one of the many clear drybags and zipped it closed before it was tossed to their brother who was looking slightly green around the gills himself, as the saying went. "Here."

The drybag was snatched out of the air in a blink, and the marksman quickly stalked off down a short hallway to the men's for a second shower cycle in the appropriate 'fresher. He froze when [____] poked her head out into the hallway and called him back, saying Hunter wanted to say something but he'd need to step closer as his brother had kind of lost his voice after the last spell of nausea. "S-sorry, Cross…" Hunter offered from one of the private examination rooms nearby, voice soft and hoarse, as Crosshair had doubled back.

"Don't apologize to me," The initially cold hum of Cross's voice made the doctor flinch, just out of reflex, but had no initial effect on Hunter (at least negatively), "you can't help the side effects… It was merely bad timing." The additional teasing sentiment was enough to finally invite placation, and Crosshair helped Hunter slowly lay back into the mattress of the inclined hospital bed. "Don't be hard on yourself, sarge. Now, behave yourself for the doctor, hm? I'll be back soon to help get you dressed into something once she's gotten all the scans she needs."

Hunter's eyes flitted over to [____] at the utterance of the word doctor but were immediately returned to Crosshair before it could have been noticed by the distracted medic. She was too busy taking a reading from some of her equipment to have seen the break in eye contact or the way a wave of red swelled notably across the un-inked half of the melanin-rich skin of Hunter's face. "O-okay…" By Kamino's rain, Hunter looked so tired. He couldn't, didn't want to, remember the last time his leader, his brother, had looked so spent quite like this.

"Okay," Cross echoed, softer, tender, "be back soon." he promised once again.

Omega was quick to take Cross's position when he left the room, waiting patiently until Hunter gave her the go-ahead to join him up on the bed, perching herself on the edge and taking one of his hands free of a pulse monitor.

"Omega-" Tech started sharply, disapproving.

The ARC tapped the back of the goggled Clone's head sharply, just below where their inhibitor chips once laid, and Tech whined in complaint indignantly. Echo was not going to let Tech spoil the moment. "K'uur, vod."

The finger that meant he was going to interject shot up, climbing to the ceiling sharply. "But she-"

Wrong move.

"K'uur, vod! It's. Fine."

"Th-the equipment? The… tubing for the blood infusion…?" Tech offered feebly, eyes following the thin medical wires that were affixed to and in Hunter. His voice was impossibly timid and small, feeling himself shrink in his posture under the pale, piercing eyes that made one thing clear. Echo was this close to pulling rank or reminding him that in Omega's affectionate use of Mando'a familial terms he was an Ori'vod like do I call him Ori'vod or Ba'vodu Rex? if Tech was not smart and shut up right now. He turned his head and stared pointedly at the wall painted in a cool gray-green with a chalk-base mix (Soothing Sage, he recalled the color being named), trying to mask the unpleasant wave of nervousness he felt when Echo directed his scrutiny and anger at him like this.

The medic planted a soft hand on the shoulder of each brother, breaking the spell of tension from years of practice. "Omega knows to be careful."

"Right, of course… I just…" Nails bit a little deeper into the shoulder of the change of clothes Tech had hastily shimmed into, breaking his explanation.

Just two words to disarm him. "I know." was all that was simply spoken for the time being. She most certainly did. His analytical nature. The black and white thinking. A filter that was both too tight and too loose with his squad and the scant few he dared label a friend. His bad habits… and she had more patience than all 2,000 seats of the Galactic Senate for him all the same. "Can I get you anything, boys? Something to drink?"

He shrugged stiffly. Echo's shoulder to the residual limb bearing the scomp link bounced up and back in languid fashion, the flexing of the elbow joint so fluid it looked organic. "Do you have any of those bottled teas?"

"I have one left, as a matter of fact-" [____] started, moving toward the doorway with a nod when Omega asked if she could have one of the cartons of sweet jogan juice.

"Oh."

Just when he was about to mention that water, no ice, would be plenty fine, the medic continued, halting in the doorway. "And since I know it's one you like, it's been sitting in the itty-bitty cold unit in my back office with your name on it."

"O-oh?"

Indeed it did. In her tidiest handwriting, she had written ECHO in the usually stiff letters of Aurebesh over the glued label on the bottle of tea, the seal freshly broken for him already. There was a unique personality, a feeling to each of the letters - esk, cresh, herf, osk - that tugged a touched smile free of the cybernetically enhanced soldier's surprise while Omega had some help opening the thick, wax coated paper carton of juice. "Thanks, kid… That was incredibly kind of you to save it for me." Those four letters had been written with thought of him, saving a mutually-enjoyed imported beverage for him. A selfless, conscious choice.

Sands of Tatooine, no wonder she has Hunter's heart.

"Heh, you're very welcome, Echo," was sweetly spoken, no indication she was at all distracted by all the individual health-puzzles around her. "Now, I should go make a trade with Wrecker before we check how the blood transfusion is going." She grabbed a second, larger snap-activated cold pack for Wrecker and stepped out into the waiting room to swap it for the comically undersized unit she'd first given him. "Doing okay out here, big guy?"

From how close the voices of the medic and the strongman were now, it was clear Wrecker had gotten on his feet and was following her back to the private examination room. "Heh, feeling better now. Don't worry about me… I'll be fine, ad'ika; wha' about Hunter? He okay? What's with all the tubes? Thought he didn't need as many anymore…" With care and caution to keep his voice low, Wrecker squeezed himself into the doorway and craned his neck inquisitively.

"Two of those tubes are for blood and plasma transfusions; erm, the ones in his arm anyways. The others are all the same as the ones I used on your ship." Wrecker sighed heavily at the word transfusion, thinking for a second he should brace for bad news. A gentle hand found one of his nervously crossed arms and gave it a tender squeeze. He recognized the squeeze. The medic's familiar, comforting it's okay, don't worry squeeze. "I'm just being precautionary, he's going to be okay Wrecker. He is okay. He might be really damn tired once the transfusion is done; so it's really important that he gets some rest once he's home. No. Stims."

Hunter just chuckled wearily on the exam room bed, giving [____] a soft, promising smile. "Don't worry. Wasn't planning on it to begin with…" Everything hurt too much, he was hardly in any shape to do anything when he knew he'd cheated death. The stitches itched and burned underneath the cold bacta-gel and the barrier of gauze was minimal comfort. The weight of his thick, textured hair was uncomfortable on his brow with the absence of his bandanna holding it back and up. He was thankful, touched, she'd dimmed the overhead lights directly above him and the brightness was set to LOWEST: AMBER on each medical monitor. "...plus there's an acronym Echo's told us about…" he added softly.

Dee-something-something. Hunter knew the first word was don't but couldn't recall the rest. Crosshair returned from the men's fresher, the acrid odor of bile gone now.

"Oh yeah?" their friend pressed, a single brow quirked in interest. "What's the acronym?" The galaxy and all her stars, he hoped the monitors wouldn't betray the irregular beat of his heart when she soothingly swept the hair back from his brow and smiled at him while applying a damp rag when he offhandedly mentioned his face feeling warm. The gesture was innocent, just a habit she's picked up with her profession, he reminded himself. She probably did this for every species in the galaxy capable of growing hair. The "intimacy" - the specific variety he was thinking of - of the act was just his imagining…

"That'd be 'D3M':" Echo supplied before Hunter could give him the brother, help me out here expression. "Don't. Make. Medics. Mad. Learned that pretty quickly as a fresh ARC Trooper. You listen to the medics and do as they tell you; otherwise they can and will go to your commanding officers and share exactly what kind of secret shit you've been up to to get yourself in the medbay this time." It made Omega giggle brightly against Hunter's side and [____] laugh half knowingly and half in surprise. Cross chuckled softly in the corner of the exam room when Omega met his eye, still giggling.

"You mean to tell me you weren't quite so straight-laced well before you joined the rowdy rule-breakers of CF99, Echo?" The smile was entirely playful, or at least meant to be. She'd heard the stories of Domino Squad. (She'd heard a select few stories of a Clone with a jokingly self-proclaimed easiest designation to remember ever! of CT 27-5555, the sole-surviving brother named Fives, through stifled tears and hiccups on a few occasions.) She'd been given enough bits and pieces to know what jokes were safe to make. The ARC just gave [____] an impish grin that the other brothers and sister quickly mirrored.

Rowdy rule-breakers.

"Heh! Maybe... Maybe not..." Echo chuckled warmly, lacing his arms across a chest puffed in pride. "I'll let you come to your own conclusions about that, kid."

Every last one of 'em in their own regards.

Whatever that secret mission of theirs was with this “Captain Rex” that resulted in Hunter’s injuries, one could only hope they’d managed to hurt the Empire far worse than that.

[MASTERLIST] [PREVIOUS] [NEXT]

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golden-rats · 10 months

Note

So I saw more bottom secondo? Maybe you could do with a female reader this time? No pressure if not.

Sure :) I like to keep it gender neutral for everyone to enjoy but I don't mind gendering the reader sometimes!

Secondog

Words: 2,320

Warnings: Explicit, MDNI

Tags: bottom secondo, ghoulette reader, oral, face riding, footjob, coming in pants

You can also read it on AO3 here

Secondo sat at his desk, as usual. A knock pulling him out of his thoughts. Frustrated at the disturbance his eyebrows furrowed. "Come in..." He reluctantly invited the visitor. A ghoulette came in, fixating him with her eyes. Slowly strutting closer.

"What may I help you with? I'm busy, this better be important." A sly grin appearing on your lips. "Oh you will be busy..."

Secondo was already in a bad mood and wanted this all done and over with. He gave you a quick stern look as if to say 'Don't test me now...' You stopped in front of his desk. Leaning on it with both hands, eyes still on him."I heard you were a naughty Papa... I wanted to see that with my own two eyes." Your voice was tinged with a playful desire. He on the other hand looked like he was about to have a stroke. "You little..." His face contorted with anger before he took a deep breath and collected himself. Getting up from his chair. "What... What do you want."

"Mhm, you? On your knees?" You looked up at him. Not feeling threatened in the slightest. A smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. Secondos eyes widen as he released a low growl. "I'll..." He was losing his temper and control. Then, in a split second, he suddenly stood right in front of you, his hand grabbing your collar, his head just inches away from your face. He looked like he was about to bite you. "I will NOT have a child of mine act like this!" He spat, not completely done yet. In a single motion, he pushes your body against the wall with an audible thump. After some initial shock you let out a chuckle. Eyes narrowing as you looked at the antipope. "There's nothing wrong with your desires, Papa. Let me take care of you."

His voice sounded menacing as he responded. "Watch. Your. Tongue. You speak like this again and you'll see what happens." Your eyes flickered with mischief. Stepping closer from the wall to him again. The faint pain already subsiding, it wasn't a hard push really. One hand running over his chest once you were near enough. "I have to admit that tone of yours is arousing... Yet, I want to make you feel good in such a different way... What are you afraid of?" You leaned in a little closer.

"No! You're... You're..." His face turned red, his breathing getting heavier. Out of anger or because he was flustered. Who knew. "I'm not going to tolerate your behavior." He tried to force a stern expression on his face, but it's clear he's losing his self control. You chuckled. He was about to break. He needed just a little more. So you rounded him with slow steps. Hands sliding from his chest over his shoulders. Stopping behind him, you leaned closer to his ear. Your voice dropping to a husky whisper. "You like to give out orders, but how good are you at following them?" Your hands on his shoulders tightened their grip softly.

You could feel Secondos body shaking slightly. He grabbed one of your hands and pulled it down, away from him to the side. His breathing growing agitated. It's clear he's losing all his grip on the situation. "I demand... You leave." He managed to get out, his voice low and just ever so slightly shaking.That poor attempt at recovering control drew a giggle from your lips. "Do you really want that, tesoro?" The hand that got removed from his shoulder now came to rest on his waist. He felt your breath on his neck, slowly lowering his head. "Don't..." He stuttered, struggling to form words as you could see him visibly trembling. He looked down and his lower lip quivered slightly.

"Mhm what was that? You need to speak up amore." The other hand now joined his waist. Holding him close, pressing your body against his back. Secondo tried to fight for control but momentarily gave in. You felt his body relaxing slightly. He pressed close to you and you heard him whisper. "Dammit..."

The smirk on your lips just grew. Turning him around in your grip, facing him once more. Immediately locking your eyes with his. "No need to be so shy." A hand came up to stroke over his cheek, a finger tilting his chin. "I need you to be good for me now, yeah? Can you do that?"

"I..." He sighs heavily. You saw him take a deep breath, then exhaling, almost a whimper. "Yes...." He looked at you intently as he breathed heavily. Nodding, agreeing to your request. "Yes..."

Your hand stroked over his cheek once more before resting on his shoulder. "Good, good..." A smile played around your lips as your voice got softer. "Now down on your knees." You saw him nod again and without another word he sank to the ground, falling back to rest on his knees before you. Staring up. That was truly a sight to behold. He looked good down there. The longer you stared at him, the more he couldn't hold back from blushing. "I will use you as my special little toy." At this point your voice sounded almost like singing.

The look in Secondos eyes and his overall body language was that of a man who got defeated. He gave you a soft, pleading look but then lowered his eyes. "Yes..." He whispered. You chuckled. Stepping a little closer. Your tail swaying softly as you tilted his head up and bent down. Just locking your lips together with a soft kiss. It was demanding, yet gentle. His lips part as he felt yours land on his. Melting into the kiss, leaning into it as he couldn't resist. He started to feel light-headed and began to breathe in short, swift breaths. Despite cursing himself, he leaned forward, kissing you back. A slight moan slipped from his throat as he got lost in the sensations of the kiss.

You pulled back after that moan. You couldn't have him enjoy himself too much yet. Wiping some saliva from his lips. "That's not so bad, no?" Smiling you stood up straight again. Secondo stayed down. Seeming kind of breathless, his cheeks getting a shade of redness. Looking up at you, his eyes pleaded for more. "More..." His voice was low and surpisingly soft. It was another side of the stoic antipope.

"You're not in a position to make demands, love." The way he looked at you, full of desperation. It was exhilarating. You lifted your skirt, revealing no underwear underneath. "Now, head back and tongue out. Stay down and don't even think about using your hands." Secondos eyes widened for a split second. In a flash his body did exactly as you said, his head fell backwards and his tongue poked out. His cheeks turned a shade darker as he made short, gasping breaths.

"Oh look at you. Panting like that with your tongue out? What are you, a dog?" You smirked, eyes narrowing as an idea struck you. "You'll have to bark for your treat." Wiggling your hips to accentuate your words. He tried so hard to keep himself in check and stop himself from just losing it completely. But then he heard you and his body reacted. He began to whimper a little and tried to do his best dog impression as he gave out a soft bark.

"My my... How can I resist when you play along so nicely?" Moving closer you rested one hand on his shoulder as you stepped over him. Your legs left and right from his, lining yourself up with his face. "Now do what a good doggy does and lick." With that simple command, it was like a switch being flicked on in Secondos head. His whole body started to move autonomously as he went into complete submission mode. Letting out a low whine and then a soft woof. Then he just started lapping away at the spot you told him to. You closed your eyes briefly. Allowing yourself to feel the sensation. Feeling his tongue on your slit, on the sensitive spot above. A content sigh escaping your lips.

His ears perked up as he heard the sigh. Trying so hard to stay focused and not to lose himself in the feeling. But you could see that he loved this. His body slowly began to relax, looking up at you intently when he could. His eyes filled with longing for you, his hips wiggled slightly. Shifting his leg position. Your hands came up to cradle his head. He whimpered softly when you held him like that. Then you started to move yourself. Riding his tongue. Glancing down at the pathetic figure. Noticing the movements of his hips. Smiling while panting slightly. Seconds tongue moved with expert precision. You saw him looking up at you eagerly when his tongue broke contact.

You raised an eyebrow, looking at him displeased. Your breath already quickening. "Did I tell you to stop?" "No... You didn't..." He whined when you spoke to him so harshly. Then you grinned. "Is it getting tight in your pants down there?" He stared up at you from the ground with that same look of desperate longing in his eyes and it's obvious he'll do anything you tell him to. He gave off another soft whine as you spoke and nodded when you asked him the question. "Y-yes..."

After a mere second of thinking you placed one foot between his legs. Pressing down softly at the bulge. "You better continue if you want that pleasure." With a more forceful pull you positioned yourself on his mouth again, rolling your hips. Secondos eyes rolled back and he let out a gasp. Gazing up at you with desire and immense pleasure in his eyes, his body began to tremble. Lowering his head quickly he got back to work, his tongue going harder and faster than before. Continuing doing exactly as you told him to.

"That's it... You feel so perfect..." Your voice got a little shakey, clearly pleased by the sensations. Your foot softly pressing and releasing the boner underneath. Massaging it as your hips moved more intensely. "Am I doing good?" He whimpered as he continued his tongue work. His breath was heavy now and it was clear that he tried to do his best to make you feel as good as possible. You felt soft vibrations as he spoke between your legs. Making you audibly moan as your rhythm got slightly faster. "Tesoro, you're doing very good~" Closing your eyes, your head tilted back. Suddenly gasping as you felt his tongue inside.

He let out a grunt. Trying so hard to please you and now he could see that it was working. You could see him starting to get flustered again but this time it's not him trying to hide his feelings. This time he just let devotion take over him. He was moaning audibly now, his eyes closed in absolute bliss.

The game continued for a while. The air filled with panting and soft growls. The wet sounds of his tongue against you. Sliding in and out. Your foot working him. Feeling how it affected you as his mouth got more aggressive. "So good... So perfect... My fucktoy..." Secondos ears perked up when he heard the words. "My..." His eyes shot open. It felt strangely praising when you said it. It almost felt like something had snapped inside his head. There was a sudden change in his demeanor. He looked up at you, letting out a little whine. "Caro ghuleh..." He said softly.

Your lips parted, another growl escaping you. Feeling almost on edge. "What is it? Do you want to come? Is that it?"

"Y-yes." Squirming under you when you spoke to him. You could see him struggling to make a sentence in his complete daze. You took his head in both hands again, pressing his face right between your legs. Needing more friction. Just a little bit more contact. "F-Fuck.." You were loosing a bit of composure. "I allow you to." You breathed and immediately saw his eyes roll back again. His breath hitching. It almost sounded like a command. You could see it in his eyes, he would do anything you told him to.

He tried to speak, but it was clear he couldn't think very well right now as his body worked on instinct. "Ghuleh..." The sound muffled between your legs. Sending another shiver through your body. Goosebumps pleasantly spilling down your spine. It was only moments after that a wave of pleasure crashed down on you. Swallowing every rational thought. Your mouth hung open as moans and growl rolled through your body. Feeling the ecstasy in every vein. Secondos breath came to a halt and you saw a look of absolute bliss on his face. He continued for a few seconds, then his whole body quivered. Letting out a deep, long moan. Breathing heavily.

It took you some time to be steady on your legs again. Releasing his head, looking down. His cheeks flushed, mouth and chin wet. He looked just so pretty. Through his pants formed a dark spot. He tried to calm his breathing as he looked up at you with that same look of complete devotion. He felt complete and in a total high. "You..." He whispered in awe of you and what just happened. He smiled at you, the warmest smile you ever saw from him.

You held out a claw to him, helping Secondo up again before straightening your skirt. He took your hand and was up on his feet a moment later. A smile still lingering on his face. "Thank you..."

Calming your heartbeat and breathing you returned the smile, fixing your hair. "I told you I know what you need…"

#no beta we die like secondos dignity #papa secondo #papa emeritus ll #papa emeritus ii x reader #the band ghost #ghost fanfic #rat rambles

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takohebi · 6 months

Note

If I may ask. Can we please have more 16+ stuff with Jamil (while i'd prefer JamiYuu or AzuJami, the ship used is up to you)? I'm thirsting for him and there's too little content about him 😭

Hello Anon, unfortunately yeah, Jamil is not as popular as other characters I think. I was missing my ot3 recently so your ask helped me write a small jamiyuu ficlet. (Please be nice, it hasn't been beta'd or edited because I've been pretty busy with work this month)

Jamiyuu (gn!Yuu) , mildly spicy I guess (they're making out, so)

"Shh, you don't want anyone to find us, do you?" Jamil whispered against Yuu's ear, his silken voice teasing but laced with want. He had the prefect pinned against the far side of the row of lockers in the NRC Basketball Club's currently empty locker room. They were out of sight for now but the invisible space was narrow and they could quite easily be discovered by other students (or worse, Vargas).

Yuu whimpered, their mouth going slightly slack as Jamil kissed their ear and then their neck. They had come only to see their boyfriend at basketball practice. But one thing led to another and very soon the two found themselves entangled with each other in rather compromising ways.

What started as a simple kiss was now desperate clawing, needy whines and low, sighing moans. Yuu's hands slipped under Jamil's loose jersey and ran over his toned back. His body was slick with sweat but that only served to exacerbate Yuu's desire. Everything about him drove them crazy- his voice, eyes, scent… and Jamil knew this. And often took advantage of it. Like now.

One of Jamil's arms supported his weight against the locker while the other coiled around Yuu's waist. Jamil nipped lightly at Yuu's neck, eliciting a sharp gasp from them. Smirking, he kissed their exposed collarbones and teased his lips lower as his leg parted Yuu's, and pressed his thigh against them.

"Ja-Jamil, I can't…"

"can't what?" Jamil unbuttoned their shirt a little, rather nonchalantly, exposing their skin to him.

"Please…" Yuu bucked their hips against Jamil's leg.

In lieu of a response, Jamil kissed Yuu in the middle of their chest. Yuu's breathing grew heavier, louder. As if on cue, voices sounded very close to the room, probably coming from students just outside. Yuu looked at Jamil in panic but he kept his cool. Not letting go of Yuu, Jamil kissed them deeply, muffling their sounds.

The students voices grew closer as a couple of them began to open a locker door and casually chat, unaware of the scandalous scene taking place just a few feet from them.

Jamil, hand ghosted over Yuu's chest, as he placed feather-light touches over their clothes, clearly intending to rile them up even more, despite the danger lurking (literally) around the corner.

Yuus body visibly relaxed when the voices finally grew faint.

Jamil pulled back a little to observe his lover's face.

Their eyes were glazed and they were panting very hard, chest heaving. Their hands were now fisting his jersey. Their hair and clothes were a big mess. A slight pang of guilt pierced through the surge of pride he felt as he regarded them. Perhaps he could escort them to somewhere… safer.

Kalim's club activities would take another hour to finish and that's plenty of time for him to enjoy Yuu's company.

"Let's go to your room?" Jamil asked, his voice low and slightly sympathetic. He found Yuu's reactions to him rather flattering but he didn't want to overwhelm them at this time. That could happen later, depending on Yuu's reply.

"Y-yes. Let's do that." They nodded weakly.

Jamil smiled and helped Yuu fix their appearance, all the while stealing little kisses from them. They swatted at him, a mock frown on their face as they continued scrambling to make sure they looked neat.

The pair headed out, sighing in relief when the whole area outside the room appeared to be deserted. Hand-in-hand, they shared a look of anticipation and genuine affection, a warm feeling flooding both their bodies as they make their way to the Mirror Room. They couldn't wait to taste each other again.

#jamiyuu #my writing #not edited or proof-read so there are probably mistakes and flow issues but eh #hnng i miss jamil #i havent touched the game after i didnt get masquerade azul again this year OTL

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bramble-scramble · 1 year

Text

Of Verses and Curses: Chapter One

HELLO EVERYONE!! Wow, it’s finally arrived, the big big Phantom x Woodrow fic I’ve been working on for like a month and daydreaming about even longer!

Fanfics aren’t really my thing normally, so why am I doing this? For the fun, for the challenge, to cement to myself that I am truly cringe and free these days, to justify a crackship between two characters who have never canonically met, I don’t know. I just know I’m enjoying it, and that it’s a story about the difficulties that can arise when art is your foremost method of communication and bonding with others, so it therefore has become very personal to me.

A little bit of introductory author’s notes. I’m going to make a masterpost eventually for all the chapters, and will repeat this info there (along with the summary/teaser), but I’ll go ahead and put it here on the first chapter as well.

Genre info: Ok so, I haven’t been a big fanfic person historically (as stated above) and I can’t provide you with a super-intricate list of tropes or micro-genres or anything, but this is basically a pseudo-slow-burn romance. Lots of yearning and angst, hurt/comfort, but also fluffy soft and happy bunnies... it’s going to be long, so there’s room for it all!

Content warnings: Nothing TOO dark, and nothing nsfw/explicit, but there will be confrontation of depression, self-loathing, characters wishing they hadn’t been born, etc. And depiction of (accidental) injury. Not until later on, really; will try to warn on individual heavier chapters if you’re not in the headspace to read that kind of thing.

I will try to post updates twice a week or so (maybe Mondays/Fridays?) as I have a bit of a buffer built up, but it depends on what’s going on in my life and when I have time to write/edit. I’ll do my best!!

So, without further preamble...

Chapter One - The Letter

The Paletteville Post Office was a quiet place. Throughout the rural planet of Palette Prime, the residents were so close-knit and interdependent as to usually make deliveries to each other in person; such occasions offered an excuse to ask for some spare vegetables, or to borrow a farming tool, or to gossip besides. But the mailroom had an important and irreplaceable purpose: sending and receiving interplanetary messages.

Every few days a mail-ship came whirring out of the atmosphere, bearing letters and packages from elsewhere in the galaxy. The post office also held one of the few computers on the planet, the society of which was rather technologically un-advanced by choice. The massive, yellowing machine buzzed and beeped away in a corner, taking up a rather large portion of the room. And one of the jobs of the sleepy Rabbids who worked there, who were generally just as ancient and tired as the computer, was to print out any emails that came in and ensure they reached the paws of their desired recipients.

Quite often, the desired recipient was one T. S. Woodrow. Whether it was business missives about the pumpkin spice harvest, reviews of his latest work, or communications from other wardens, quite a bit of the inbox was dedicated to the infamous poet. It was perhaps in anticipation of this that the residents of Palette Prime had voted for his Wardenry, hoping the responsibility would keep him too busy to write; that the stress would suppress the poems before they sprang from his brain to his mouth.

But it hadn’t. Nothing could.

And so it was that the poet visited the post office almost every day, as part of his morning routine. On this particular morning, slightly misty and cold, the bell of the office door tinkled, and a grandmotherly Rabbid in a bonnet looked up from behind the desk. “G’morning, Mr. Woodrow!”

“And a pleasant morn to you, Matilda,” came the low, somber voice of the poet, whose looming figure was silhouetted in the doorway. His chaperone cloud seemed especially dark and stormy today, as if to distinguish itself from the surrounding fog; but as he stepped inside, it was polite enough to wait behind the threshold. “I trust you are well?”

“Well, the fog makes these ol’ knees ache - but I get to sit here all day! No workin’ in the pumpkin patch like when I was a younger lass - can’t complain! Ah- but I’d best give you yer mail - ya’ve got quite a few things today, sir.”

She had already set aside a stack of several letters, and these she slid over the desk to him.

“Thank thee most kindly,” he said, taking them and tucking them away in his briefcase. He tipped his hat to her, and said, “I shall be taking my leave 'til the morrow. But, ah… hm…” he touched his chin for a moment, his ears bending forward slightly in concentration. Then his ears perked up, and with a wave of his arm, he began:

“May sun or rain disperse the mist,

Like pain leaves a wound once tender kiss’d-

May your agony soon be replaced with bliss.”

“Thank you, Mr. Warden,” said Matilda with a polite smile, as a picture frame fell off the wall behind her and crashed to the ground, its glass shattering into sprinkles on the floor. Woodrow did not notice, however, as he was already gone.

—-

Having had other business to take care of in town, it was a couple hours before the poet wended his way back to his home. As he opened the door, his raincloud drifted low around his ears for a moment - its way of a goodbye kiss - before zooming up to take its resting place, merging with the larger cloud above his roof. Woodrow entered his house, closed his door behind him, set down his briefcase, and hung up his hat and umbrella. Then he made his way to the kitchen, zigzagging slowly through his living room to avoid the familiar leaks and rain-buckets.

The kitchen was small; he didn’t need much room, as he hardly ever cooked. He had tried, when he was younger, and… well, the other Paletteers had been so generous as to help his family rebuild from the fire. Twice.

But he could make tea; that was safe enough. He had a little electric kettle that operated on battery; very futuristic. And quite fireproof. Sweetlopek had been so kind as to order it for his birthday some years ago.

He waited by the kettle before pouring the water slowly, ever so slowly, into his spill-proof mug, along with a bag of spiced black tea. Had he known the letter that awaited him, perhaps he would have hurried up - or perhaps procrastinated even more.

Finally, the mug in his right hand and his briefcase hooked around his arm, he stood at the foot of his stairs. With a long sigh he looked up at them, and set his jaw in resolution. Leaning his left hand and his weight against the wall, he carefully ascended, creeping his paw along the peeling and water-damaged wallpaper, slowly, step by step. “Easy does it, old boy,” he mumbled to himself encouragingly. “There… we… go…” Why did he ever think to buy a house with the bedroom on the second floor, anyway? “Almost… there…” and huzzah! He had made it without incident, and was soon in his bedchamber. That would be another tally-mark in his journal, counting the days since his last fall. He was trying to decide whether a cot on the ground floor was worth investing in.

But for now… seated in his favorite shabby armchair, the poet took out the stack of letters. Something about a coffee sponsorship for the Palette Prime Pumpkin Fest… he would deal with that in his business hours. One letter seemed to be some kind of fan-mail, although he couldn’t tell if it was ironically written or not; he was never quite good at parsing sarcasm over writing, or in person to be quite honest. He put it aside to come back to later. A few envelopes were obvious junk. And then finally, something interesting: a printed email.

ATTENTION ALL WARDENS:

Heya, this is Edge. Just sending out a reminder that if any of the old Spark Hunters show up on your planet, PLEASE let me know! If they start to cause you trouble, I’m there. And even if they don’t, just let me know anyway.

RP helped me set up my own email so I don’t have to use hers. It’s [email protected], so use that to get in contact with me from now on. Pretty cool, huh? Should be easy to remember.

Hope you’re doing good and all that. Remember, if there’s any trouble in your neck of the galaxy, reach out. Seriously, it’s not a problem.

-Edge

Steward of Sparks

A frown passed over Woodrow’s face as he read the message. He felt for the girl. This was not the first message of this nature she had sent, and he knew that behind her desire to protect the galaxy from the straggling Spark Hunters was the desire merely to find them. There had been fleeting sightings of them here and there in these past months since Cursa’s defeat, but they never stayed in one place long enough for her to catch up. He laid the printed message on his side-table to file away, vowing that of course, he would let her know if he heard anything of their whereabouts. But he hadn’t, and-

Woodrow choked on his tea when he saw the return address on the final letter, which was now lying in his lap.

It was a fine red envelope, with a lacy gold pattern along its edges. The address, handwritten in beautiful cursive calligraphy:

T. S. Woodrow, Warden

Paletteville, Palette Prime

And the return address:

The Phantom

Spooky Trails

The Mushroom Kingdom

After composing himself and coughing a bit to clear the tea out of his throat, Woodrow set his cup down and sat straight up in his chair. He raised the envelope to his face, and squinted at it through his glasses, his mouth slightly agape. Surely this was some kind of prank. He turned it over, and saw it was closed with a small gold seal embossed with a music note. Ever so gently, he took his letter opener from the table and cut open the top of the envelope, and gingerly pulled out the paper inside.

Monsieur Woodrow,

I hope this letter finds you healthy. I know we have never spoken, but I know of you and your work, and I trust you know of me and mine.

As you surely know, my singing career was most tragically cut short some time ago, due to strain on my voice which I was quite pressured to maintain. In the hopes that I may someday recover, I have sought specialists of both a traditional medicinal variety, as well as those who may help me with the rather more unique and delicate mechanisms which power my voice. While no one has been able to truly solve my woes as of yet, one bit of advice I have received is that I spend time in nature and seek a variety of healthier climes. I am ordered to indulge in fresh and clean air, leaving behind the clammy mists of the graveyards and swamps of my home, as they shall do my health no favors. As I am partially a spectral being, I question the relevance of this advice, but I have little else to go on.

I have heard much of the natural beauty of your planet, perhaps rivaled only by Terra Flora, where I most certainly shall not go. And thus I should like to visit Palette Prime and stay a while. As I still make a fine living from royalties and album sales, I am willing to pay what you need. A quaint bed and breakfast should be nice, if you have a vacancy.

I should like to come without delay, so if arrangements can be made for my arrival, please write back as soon as you can. Do let me know if you have any questions.

Yours,

-Tom

Woodrow stared at the beautifully-inked words on the page in disbelief. And this was after he had read it through five times.

HE had written this! With his own paw! The… the Phantom…

It was not uncommon for celebrities to visit Palette Prime, commonly called the romantic capital of the galaxy. There was a reason that Woodrow, despite the pained memories of his youth, could never imagine moving away from his home. This place was beauty itself; it was inspiration, it was love. And yet the warden was not commonly a fan of celebrity visits; they disrupted the very peace that made the planet so enchanting, and thus, he surmised, many such visitors ironically never experienced the world’s true character.

But this was not just any celebrity…

There weren't many people that Woodrow considered an artistic inspiration who were actually still alive. He had mainly grown up reading the work of long-dead poets and playwrights; he liked classical music; most everything he adored was from before his own time. But the Phantom, and his explosive popularity throughout the galaxy, had brought the world of opera to a wider audience than ever before. It was something the warden found quite wonderful and admirable indeed.

Woodrow gazed over at the old gramophone set up on a table in the corner of his room. On the shelf next to it were a number of records, one of the few joys in life on which he spent his meager earnings, and among them were the Phantom’s albums; every single one. He had never quite agreed with the thematic nature of the singer’s work; especially after meeting Mario in person. But it didn’t matter, because his voice - that voice! The voice which was now cracked and broken… but still… still his.

The warden blinked and looked up. He didn't know how long he'd been lost in thought, but he was still clutching the letter tightly in his paw. With his other he reached out for his mug and finished off his tea; it had gone cold.

He stood up suddenly, in almost a panic. There was so much to do! He had to find one of the local inns that would take in a celebrity guest on short notice, for an unknown duration. He had to make sure the restorations in town after the joint destructive forces of Bowser and Bedrock were nearing completion. And most importantly-

He had to tell Sweetlopek!!!

[Next time: Woodrow makes a realization, and a vow.]

#Mario + Rabbids #Mario Plus Rabbids #Fanfic #Phandrow #woodrow #ts woodrow #the phantom

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t0kidal · 11 months

Text

Note: Minors? No. Just... No.

Ok! So due to the realization that there isn't enough Balam smut to match the sheer size of Yes emanating from this man, I have decided to take it on myself to write some.

Minors So Help Me Do not touch this post with a ten ft pole.

This is an add on to Succubus reader and Human Balam. (who might be ooc)

tw: strong language, biting, tongues and teeth

Explicit, Moving ON (first smut please be gentle)

It was one of those days, yes those days where you just couldn't help but let your eyes wander the wide expanse that it Balam Shichiro who'd just stepped out of the shower and is gloriously indecent save for the little towel around his waist.

You and Balam have been living together for quite some time now and while his studies have been thorough... they've also been non-intrusive.

Which unfortunately for you is the wrong kind of Intrusive.

As a succubus you need things from affection to more explicit intimacy to keep you going, food is nice and while Balam being the skin-ship addict he is has appeased your hunger...

A certain recreational desire keeps popping up.

You had plans to never tell him this, the two of you were quite comfortable with your friendly cuddles that... sometimes bordered on the line of a little more than a little friendly.

But then Balam has a meeting...

And he's gone the whole day...

The whole day...

No touches, and due to your contract this meant no going out and fixing your issues through other means...

Well shit.

~~~

Balam sighs as he returns home from work and the meeting with Human Border patrol to plead their case... Apparently an older Naberius was making it harder to extend their allotted contract time for the sake of little Iruma...

'The nerve... honestly...'

But he can only sigh as he opens the door, his sigh turning into a little scream at seeing his gaunt succubus on the floor... face down and arm outstretched for the door.

He's quick to drop his things and turn her over thankfully noting that she was just... dazed... not sleeping but she wasn't fully there either...

"H-Hello?! Y/n!? What's wro- HMm!?"

His concerned words were cut off as, in a sudden show of strength, she lurches forward, pushing his mask out of the way to connecting her lips with his in a kiss... her teeth coming to nip at his lips as he gasps out in surprise... a sudden scent filling the air that prompted his face to fluster and a tight feeling to grow in him. Her tongue takes that opportunity to slip into his mouth... curling around his tongue as she sucks playfully...

He's not sure how long this goes on as his breaths get heavier and heavier... eyes meeting hungry ones that seem to glow with the sheer lust as his eyes start to drift closed from the lack of oxygen....

And as quickly as she started it... she finishes it, quickly splitting from him, flapping her wings furiously to clear the pheromones from the air as he sits there panting... a bit of drool trickling from the corner of his mouth and a thread of it connecting them... he's not sure if its his or not but he stares dazed at her till she snaps her fingers in his face.

"Oh, hell! Shichiro! Shichiro are you ok!?" she seems... worried...

"Y-yeah, I'm fine..." He slowly rises to his feet... a serious expression dawning on his face... "What was that?"

She looks down, almost ashamed, truth be told... she is ashamed.

"L-look..." she starts "before any ideas of contract violations or.. anything else... I'd like to apologize... I... I was starving. I still am but that's not quite important right now... you... You got a face full of pheromones didn't you?"

"H-huh? Was that... what that was?"

Ah shit... he's delirious, face pinking as a hazy look comes into his eyes...

"Hey! Hey, no, do not!" she pats his face a few times before grabbing his arm and dragging him to his room, this would arguably be the worst decision she made that night.

Arguably, it would be the best.

She pushes him down to lay on the bed while she opened all the windows but closed the blinds, casting a cool breeze through the room as the sounds of nightlife slowly came alive.

"Alright, Alright, what do you smell? how do you feel?" She asks him... unbothered by his desperate attempts to cover his mouth... unbothered but rather surprised by the scar exposing his teeth...

His strangely sharp teeth...

With a start she realized she was staring as his flustered and pheromone inflicted face seemed to droop with apprehension and embarrassment.

She turns away to face the wall away from the window and let him do as he pleased, which he seemed to appreciate.

She's not sure for how long she stared at the wall... feeling like a vulnerable idiot, what was she? a fledgling? But she curses as she feels a big warm hand on her shoulder... when she turns her head she feels her cheek being poked by his finger, telling her not to look... shit she would love to have one in her...

A choking sound behind her tells her he heard that...

She clenches her teeth and tries to ignore the hunger that reignited itself in her belly. A maddening desire, a base instinct.

She almost doesn't hear him till she feels his warm breath on her ear, his deep gentle voice filled with a tone she wasn't quite used to hearing from him... his breath shuddering as her pheromones drew him closer, his initial words dying on his lips as he can't help but press his forehead to her shoulder in an effort to hold back...

To hold back the sheer want. Both parties unsure and hesitant to fuck and find out...

"Sh-shichiro." she clears her throat, "Are you feeling alright?" she gently puts her palm to his forehead to create space as she steps away... distancing her scent from him as the cool breeze swept it out the window.

"I'm fine... I think..." his voice comes out like a growl that she'd expect to hear from a demon... and she shakes her head.

"No... I think... you should rest here, ok?" she smiles gently gently... a soft look on her face as her hands come to cover his lower face from her prying eyes... eyes that were so kind to him...

"You're hungry aren't you?" the growl turns into a low rumble... She feels him kiss her palms... tender and sweet just like him... but the hulking human before her was almost unrecognizable from his usually sweet countenance...

She was reminded once more just how big a man he was as her eyes roamed... not aware of her lips parting as she swallowed dryly... not aware as he steps closer... her eyes laser focused on his chest as her hands come down to press against glorious pecs through his shirt.

"Starving..." she whispers...

"May I help you?" she's reminded briefly of that kiss that started this contract... he asked for permission then too...

She shakes her head, she couldn't do him like the others before...

"Pheromones, Shichiro, you don't really want that..."

He pauses... "While I would love to study that... it'll have to wait till later..."

He tilts her chin up... the scar on the side of his teeth going unnoticed as he leans in to whisper in her ear...

"Please... let me help you..."

"Tsk..."

But that desire... that hunger... almost without realization, she nods... and his burning breath goes from her ear to gently caress her lips, pausing to meet her eyes, she nods again... and closes the gap.

It's a gentle, almost delicate kiss, sweet...

Till it wasn't.

Large gentle hands trail up her arms coming to brush his thumbs on her shoulders... warm... but burning hot as the succubus whimpers from such tender touch. Oh how long had it been since she was desired so reverently... Her hands reach up and seize his collar, heart bursting out of her chest, electricity in her veins and a fire raging from her core through her body, her breath stutters coming out in desperate little gasps and pants.

A protestant whine breaks through as he parts his lips from hers. She watches, dazed with her desire as his tongue comes out to lick his teeth... savoring her taste... he tilts his head down a bit, gently nipping her jaw as he moves down to her neck... his arms gently coming under her to hold her... his body pressing her between him and the wall.

Devi it feels hard to breath... light headed and dizzy from desire... was it just her desire? could it be that sweet Shichiro-

"Oh~!" she feels him nip her pulse point... a chuckle rumbling through his chest as she mewled out, the air heavy with their heated breaths, the scent of her pheromones... relief coming only in the occasional cooling breeze...

'H-he's... He's big!'

Her thoughts were only proven by the feeling of his jaw... unhooking to gently hold her neck in his mouth... teasing sharp teeth... like he might tear her throat out.

The succubus could hardly believe that this man was human.

She curses a whimper that leaves her throat at the sensation... as a shiver shot through her spine at the feeling of his tongue gently licking before he pulls back as if to catch his own breath...

His eyes screamed of want, he wants her, he needs her...

And it seemed the impatience was mutual as she leaned down to kiss him once more... hard... teeth knocking... tongues tangling themselves together as he brings her back down on the bed... her claws ripping through his shirt like it was paper... his hands gently removing her scanty clothes... till they were both bare... one in their nudity and so engrossed in each other that all senses of shame leapt out the window to make room for...

Desire

Her hands entangled themselves in his snowy hair... gently pressing and tugging at his scalp as his reverent kisses and touch grow bolder and bolder as they trail down her body... a brief nip to the underside of her breasts... a hickey on her hip... squeezing and teasing her body... her soft body... he just can't get enough as he takes a moment to bury his face in her belly... to just... breath...

He chuckles again when he hears her impatient whine... hands trailing down to the underside of her thighs to hook under her knees as his weight presses her further into the bed. His hips grinding against hers making her gasp at what she felt there as he seals his lips over hers once more in a hungry kiss...

She pulls away... leaning her head back against the bed as his mouth goes back to her neck...

His hips never stilling... teasing his erect member through her soaking folds... catching on her sensitive pearl pulling little mewls and moans from her throat.

"Shit... Shichirou... don't tease... please" she whispers, she begs, his name passing through her lips once more like a prayer.

"Please... please... Plea-!" she's cut off by his slow breach, his painfully slow breach. His girthy cock gently pressing into her hole, it feels like a tease, like torture as she stretches around him... gasps and hiccups escaping her as her hot breath brushes past her ears, the sound of his growls and groans rumbling through his chest to hears responding in turn as he gently rocks his hips... inch after glorious inch filling her... veins and texture rubbing against her in ways no one ever had before... her thighs trembling on either side of his hips...

"Shichirou... please~! ... More~! I won't break, promise~!"

It's a spell, a prayer, a plea, a curse she casts on herself as she feels him still... a whine on the tip of her tongue till with one roll of his hips he sheaths himself entirely... his back arching and subsequently pushing deeper inside as a low groan spills past his lips.

'Breathe... BREATHE'

She hiccups, she moans, she pants at the sheer size of this monster inside her... trembling as the mere stretch edges her closer and closer to her end... needy tears prick her eyes and trail down her cheeks as he leans back down to the succubus to kiss them away.

"Still ok?" He asks... deep voice rumbling gently as his own heaving breaths ghost over her lips...

She curses the stutter in her breathing, in her voice as she nods her head.

"Y-yes... please... k-keep going~!"

He chuckles... holding no malice or harm but still it sounds so sinful to her ears as his hips pull back to gently rock into her... She whines... snarling as her hands seize his hair, pulling his head back to reassert some kind of dominance, some kind of status as the demon in the room.

"Harder~" She demands, her eyes burning with a strong need, a desperation and a frustration that he dared to look down on her like she was glass.

Course, both of them new that this would never be the case... but his eyes glaze over a bit as he looks at her flushed face.. damp with sweat and tears and need.

His answer was a large gentle hand around her throat... pushing her back down against the bed... his other hand leaving her thigh to brush her hair out of her face before it brushes back his own.

He leans back down... putting a little pressure on her neck... his hand going to her hip now... almost encompassing it as it gently lifts and angles her... his cock brushing against that spot that made her see stars as he started to grind...

She was about to whine when she felt his hips withdraw... only to slam back into her.

A loud and breathless moan rips from her throat like a cry as she lays there... wondering what just happened... her dazed and confused face sending sparks of something dark into his eyes as he repeats the motion... slow and powerful thrusts... consistent... breathtaking... she wonders for a moment only for that wonder to fade into passion as his thrusts keep going... he's not stopping...

Even after she comes undone around his hard cock... her fluttering velveteen walls clenching around his rod as it pistons slowly in and out of her... stars flashing in her vision as she babbles... only to scream when his thumb meets her clit... pressing down hard on it to prolong her release...

"It's too much too much too much!" and barely finishing her first, she's already on her second mind shattering orgasm of the night.

Problem was... he wasn't done yet.

As she clenches like a vice around him for the second time his own guttural groan passes through his lips. Fluids from her release making it easier for him to thrust... he loses himself... hips losing neither their power nor rhythm as he bullies his cock in and out of her... leaning down to whisper in her ear as his pace gets faster... and faster, faster!

"You feel so good" ...

"There's a good girl"...

"Thank you for this" ...

"Are you enjoying this?" ...

"You can have it... Take it... Take it. Take it-"

"Take it"

Sweet gentle questions peppered with lust filled phrases only make her heart pound, her moans louder yet, and as she clings to him... nails digging into his back as he drives her to oblivion, her cunt clenching around him... their lewd sounds echoing through the room... !

Her gasp turns into a scream, her scream a moan as she releases one last time... biting down on his shoulder as his hips stutter... slamming into her once, twice more before stilling his hips against hers, a roar passes his lips, blunt nails clawing clawing at the sheets beneath her.

His white hot seed, burning her, coating her walls with white as his hips gently grind... riding them through their high...

He withdraws... but doesn't pull back as his tongue gently laves over her throat once more... her chest heaving with heavy breaths... eyes fluttering as her body trembles with the aftershocks of their pleasure...

He pulls her close... pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead... and they fall asleep.

~~~

Aftermath~

~~~

She sits up... looking down at the sleeping man beside her... wondering briefly if he really was as human as he claims to be... shaking her head of the ridiculous thought... her hand coming to rest on her lower belly... satisfied... for now... and pleasantly sore...

Safe to say she wouldn't be shy about asking him for more later that day.

_______________________________________________ end

(hope you enjoyed!)

#balam shichiro #succubus reader #fanfic #oneshot #smut #balam shichirou

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