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#fine yes sometimes that counts as one
hershelwidget · 8 months
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wait hang on
HANG ON
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DO YOU SEE MY VISION
#professor inkling#count bleck#TELL ME YOU SEE IT. IM NOT CRAZY#*writes yet another octonauts crossover au-*#OK BUT LISTEN HEAR ME OUT HEAR ME OUT#H E A R ME  O U T#in case you're wondering if it's just the monocles NO IT RUNS DEEPER THAN THAT I PROMISE#1. both have been around a long time and founded some sort of group to further their goals (octonauts & team bleck)#2. fancy clothes (yeah inkling's in just a bowtie but remember he's straight up an octopus) that stand out among their peers#3. speaking of that last point: unusual anatomy (one does NOT look a fish and the other is a head torso and floating hands. nothin else)#4. i kinda don't wanna have to pull the mafia au card on this one but if I WAS then: tragic backstories and tragic motives#though then again do we REALLY know anything about inkling- like do we R E A L L Y?? his backstory could be tragic they just aint tellin..#5. avid book readers (bleck let a book tell him how his life was supposed to go this man is clinically into books)#6. defense mechanism that involves darkness (octopus ink & a bLaCk HOLE-)#7. if you see either of them walking it Don't Look Right#8. this is more of an implied thing for them but: knows a LOT about the people they gathered for their causes#9. both from children's media that gets DARK sometimes without warning#10. sometimes they say things and the people around them are just ''what''#11. love interests (ones outright saying it and the other is again just implied but STILL ITS ANOTHER POINT SOOO)#12. ok fine. yes it was the monocles at first but then i thought about it MORE so HA#feel free to add on if i missed something
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ragnars-tooth · 2 years
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You’ve all heard of tam/david/zanna, now may I introduce you to bergstorm/russ
I’ll forgive you if you can’t even remember who russ is - he’s the helicopter pilot that works at the chamberlain base in book 3 (and I believe he gets mentioned in 4 or 5 bc I honed in on that like a bloodhound). It’s probably my favourite part of the series lmao so it’s 90% of what I draw/think about even if a lot of the characters are barely there in the grand scheme of things
I just think they’re neat,, also bergstorm is very interesting as a character and I think it would be funny if he had his whole mysterious polar bear thing And a himbo husband who just hasn’t noticed that he doesn’t age and periodically teleports to the UK.
#the last dragon chronicles#tldc#anders bergstorm#tldc russ#tldc tootega#he’s up in the middle of that first one lol#does it even count as a rarepair or whatever at this point if the fandom is this small#like YES I will give it to you this is out of left field#but my brain did this one on autopilot during the reread#and imagine how extra fucking distraught I was when russ shot that polar bear [redacted]#ngl I don’t remember a lot of russ’s canon personality but I will be rereadimg this series again before my course starts lmao#but the like cool fun guy atmosphere then directly contrasted with all his friends dying over the course of a few hours/days???#I am in tatters and I can literally only blame myself#like yes he probably had more friends and there were more people at the facility but like… bergstorm literally ‘dissapearing’ for him#my poor fucking cowboy#and he doesn’t even know he did it!!!#he doesn’t even know that he DOES KNOW what happened to him#it makes me actually crazy#anyways to come back to my happy ends au david and zanna send them both baby pictures and go for coffee sometimes#it’s all GOOD and FINE I swear *kicks several large objects under the rug*#oh also I really should have gone through my notes for russ’s actual description but at this point oh well#I seem to remember him being blond now that I think about it but fuck itttt#I’ve already got my grubby trans hands on everything I think you can forgive me for the minor character not being 1:1#ragnar art#oop forgot that 1 billion tags ago#I had a david post 80% done then deleted it bc I find it too hard to talk about blorbos#but as you can see once I start I don’t stop lmaooo so that’s soon#OH ALSO I think russ hangs about round chamberlain even after it shuts down so I can only imagine how fucked up he was when dragons start#flying out of the North Pole. he is just So Character to me and I know it wasn’t even done on purpose
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piraticalwit · 2 years
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i’ve queued so many drafts today (yay, go me!) - but this is a public service announcement for all of you to please tell your muses to stop believing anything mine says. ever. it would make it less awkward for all of us.
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imperihoe-writes · 6 months
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Slamming Doors
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Simon 'Ghost' Riley / fem!Reader
Content:  civilian girlfriend, Simon is home from deployment, arguments + apologies, some sexual tension
Word Count:  1.3k
"Not now," Simon said dismissively, voice distant as he shuffled through several thick folders full of reports and papers that had chunky restricted or confidential stamps all over them. 
Boring. And definitely not how you thought you were going to spend your second weekend after his deployment together.
The thing is, it always takes Simon a while to get used to being around you again. 
Months spent apart, getting shot at and doing God-knows-what to God-knows-who left their mark, and it was becoming harder and harder for him to leave the Ghost persona at the door and embrace himself again. 
You understood, truly. 
There was no room for the soft-spoken, kind man on the battlefield. Simon, who liked to go out for a pint on the weekends and watched homebuilding YouTube channels to fall asleep to most nights, had to become someone else in order to kill on demand and wipe out entire districts with the push of a button. 
Sometimes you feared that, one day, there would only be an empty shell left, with violence and death filling the vacant spots where your boyfriend used to be.
"Yes, now," you pouted a bit, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning against his desk with your hip. "I'm starving."
"Go get something then," he snapped, turning another page over, dark eyes not even looking at you as he read on and on. "I'm busy."
It hurt more than it should have, that cold voice. Unbidden, your throat constricted, and you could feel the tell-tale signs of tears working their way into your eyes.
"Right," you said, and even to your own ears the word rang hollow. You pushed yourself away from the bent-over figure, and something in your tone must have caught his attention because Simon finally looked up, mouth twisting as if to say something.
Whatever it had been, he faltered, dark eyes scanning your face, but you brushed past him, fists balled.
"Love-" he started, voice tired but you really really didn't want to talk to him anymore. Especially since every second longer in that office felt like one too many, like being stuck in an elevator with a stranger. 
"Whatever, forget it."
You slammed the door behind you on your way out, blinking against the tears and scrubbing over your face angrily. What a silly thing to cry about! If that... idiot wanted to hole up and drown himself in more work during his time off, fine. He could have his stupid papers for dinner for all you cared!
You thundered down the stairs of the cozy townhouse you were renting together, tying your hair up in a ponytail and raiding the fridge in a huff. As you busied yourself in the kitchen, you tried to shake off the anger and hurt you felt over Simon's behavior, but it was hard. You loved him, wanted to spend quality time with him at any given opportunity.
Going out for dinner had been yet another attempt to break him out of his shell, but just like the proposed cinema afternoon on Tuesday and the daytrip to the coast yesterday, he'd been uninterested. Dismissive. Cold. 
You had to be extra careful as you angrily cut your tomatoes, fingers dangerously close to getting chopped off with how vigorously you were handling the knife. 
Throwing them into the pan, you turned around to let the onions meet the same fate as strong, tattooed arms wound their way around your middle, giving you a terrible fright.
"Sorry," Simon murmured into your shoulder as he hunched behind you, taking in the different ingredients on the counter. "Didn't want to startle you."
He paused, but when you didn't answer him and didn't lean into his embrace, Simon sighed and nuzzled his face into the side of your neck, pulling you back until his body was flush with yours. You were still gripping the knife tightly, angry at yourself for being such a crybaby, and at him for not being this sweet all the time.
"What are you making, doll?" Simon murmured, lips bushing over the soft and sensitive skin on the back of your neck, goosebumps prickling your arms instantly.
"Bolognese," you grumbled, then shrugged him off as you reached for the fridge door again, pulling out some meat. You didn't get far however, because just as you turned, Simon was there in your personal space. 
He roughly grabbed the plastic tub out of your hands and threw it somewhere on the kitchen table, caging you in with his arms until your faces were only centimeters apart and dark eyes swallowed up every inch of your face.
"Are you angry with me?" Simon asked, voice low and kind of sweet and dangerous all in one. 
"No," you frowned, looking away, but a strong, long-fingered hand curled around your chin instantly and turned your head back towards him.
"But you are very quiet now," he said gently, then his calloused thumb brushed over your cheek first before trailing over to your mouth, tickling the soft skin of your lips as he stared at you. "Usually you chirp so prettily for me all day long."
"Annoy you, you mean," you frowned, but didn't pull away from his hold. 
Simon frowned as well, eyes darting between yours.
"How can I be annoyed with you, when being here is all I ever think about while we're apart?"
"You have a funny way of showing that," you snapped. "You barely looked at me all week, let alone spent time with me!"
"I'm looking now, aren't I?" His voice was thick, and his thumb dragged over your lower lip again, burning gaze following the movement. Then his eyes snapped back up to yours and he pulled you close by your chin, licking his lips.
"'M sorry, love, alright? It was just some last paperwork I didn't get to, I didn't mean to- y'know. Be rude to you."
The air between you seemed to crackle in the dim overhead light of the kitchen counter, Simon looming in front of you and looking chagrined. 
"That was very rude," you pouted, and his mouth twitched up in a half-smile. 
"I know, but so was slamming the door."
That earned him the first giggle out of you, and you felt the tension leave your shoulders as he leaned down and kissed you softly, still holding the smooth skin of your cheeks and jaw. Simon withdrew way too quickly for your liking, breathing deeply as his other hand wound itself into your neck and hair. 
You stared up into the pale face of the man you adored, so open and vulnerable all of a sudden. His thumb trailed over your mouth again as though absentminded, and you stared back as you sucked it in-between your lips for a moment.
His breathing faltered and pupils dilated as your teeth gently nipped into the skin there, tasting, before releasing him again.
"Do you accept my apology?" Simon growled, leaning down towards your ear as he finally allowed his hands to wander, letting them rest on your back and generous butt, squeezing hard and making you gasp. "Because I can't concentrate properly when you're mad at me."
"Hm," you hummed in mock-consideration, arms wrapping around his thick neck and shoulders as you stood on tiptoes and arched your body into his. "I feel like you have to compensate me for the fact that I have to play housewife tonight."
"Oh, is that so?" He murmured, grabbing your behind in both hands before easily lifting you on the kitchen counter, legs wrapping around his middle as your hands played with his short curls. You could feel the hardness hidden beneath the grey sweatpants that were riding low on his hips. "And how can I thank you properly then, my dear wife?"
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Chin grabbing makes my brain go brr.
I hope you enjoyed this small chunk of what I imagine being with Simon would be like! If you want to read more COD content, spicy and wholesome, you can find my masterlist here!
Hope everybody is having a great weekend! 🫶🏻 - A ✨
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🌙 Requests, prompts and asks are always welcome!
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inkskinned · 1 year
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there are a lot of posts out there that are positive and healthy coping mechanisms for handling the holidays. this is not one of them :)
i think there's like. going to be times in your life you will be stuck in a social situation that you cannot escape from gracefully. i do not know why the internet doesn't believe these times exist. it's not always just that your physical safety is at risk - sometimes it's legit like "i just don't currently have the energy or time to put in the effort of responding to this." sometimes it's a coworker you hate so much. sometimes it's just like, fine, you know? like you know you can handle your aunt when she's cheerily horrible, but if you actually set a boundary around her, it's going to be weeks of fallout with your father.
i don't know why people think the answer is always just "cut them out!" or "don't let them get away with that!" because ... the real world is tricky and complicated. i think kind of a lot of us have an internal "radiation poisoning" meter for certain people. like - i'm talking about the ones who are absolutely giving you gradual ick damage. like, you can handle them, but you'll be exhausted.
and yes. you absolutely should listen to your therapist and the good posts about handling others and set good boundaries and take care of yourself. prioritize peace.
HOWEVER :) ...... since im often in a situation with a Gradual Sense of Ick person i cannot just "cut out" of my life (without losing someone else precious to me) - i have sort of developed the most. maladaptive form of mischief possible. because like, if i'm going to have to listen to this shit again, i like to have a little bit of private fun with it.
now! again, i am physically safe, just mentally drained by this man. you should only do this with people you are not in danger with. which leads me to my suggestions for when your Unfortunate Acquaintance shows up and says oh everyone pay attention to me.
my favorite word is "maybe!" said as brightly and happily as possible. whenever the Horrible Person starts in on a topic you do not want to go further with, particularly if they make a claim that you know to be inaccurate, do not respond to it. you and i have both tried to actually argue with this person, and it hasn't gone well, because this person just wants the drama of an argument. however, "maybe!" gives them literally nothing to go on. it is incredibly disarming. they are used to people having some response. they know they can't prove what they're saying, and maybe! treats them like the child they are. it dismisses them in the politest way possible.
i like to say maybe! and then, in their stunned silence, immediately change the subject. this is because i have adhd and i will have something unrelated to talk about, but if you can't think of topics fast enough, i recommend just pointing to something and saying, "isn't that lovely?" because fuck you let's bring in some positivity.
by the way. that second trick - of pointing to something and stating an opinion about it? - that just works on its own, like, 70% of the time. i picked it up from teaching preschoolers. it's an intentional "redirect". it stops children crying and it also stops grown adults from finishing their explanation on why women belong in kitchens. dual wielding!
keep it silly for yourself. i absolutely do not care if people think i'm fucking stupid (it's more fun if they do) and as a result i will purposefully misunderstand things just to see how long it takes them to realize i've completely removed them from the subject at hand. when they say "women aren't funny" i get to be like. "which women." "all women." "all women in america?" "no in the world." "like the mole people? the people in the world?" "what? no. like, alive." "oh are we not counting the mole people?" "what the fuck are you talking about." "you don't believe in the mole people?"
similarly, i play a personal game called "one up me." my Evil Acquaintance literally knows this game exists (my family & friends caught onto it and now also play it) and it always fucking gets him. i don't know why. you have to be willing to be a little free-spirited on this one, though. the trick is that when they make one of those horrible little bigoted or annoying comments they are always making, you need to go one unit weirder. not more intense, mind you - just more weird. "you don't look good in that dress." "yeah, actually, my other dress was covered in squid ink due to a mishap at the soup store." "you shouldn't wear such revealing clothes." "wait, what? oh shit. sorry, your son tears off strips when no one is looking and eats them. i swear it was longer before we left the building."
the point of "one up me" is to completely upend this person's narrative. we both know this person likes setting up situations where you cannot "win" and then they really like telling other people how badly you handled it. in a usual situation, if you respond "please don't say something that rude", you're a bitch. but if you let it happen, you're letting yourself be debased. they are not usually expecting door number three: unflappably odd. because what are they going to say when they're telling everyone how badly you behaved? "she said my son eats her dresses" ".... okay?"
if you can, form an allyship with someone whomst you can tagteam with. where they can pick up on your weird "soup store" story and run with it.
the following phrase is amazing and can be deployed for any situation: "oh, be nice :) it's the holidays!" i do not know why this works as often as it does. i'll say it for the most random shit. i think this is bc most of the time these people know they're being impolite, they just like to fight.
godbless. when in doubt, remember that you could always start stealing their pens.
the whole point of this is - if you can't escape. maybe see how long you can just be. like. a horrible little menace.
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Pity Party.
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Synopsis - Carmy just wants to see you treated the way he thinks you deserve. He decides to take matters into his own hands.
Pairing - Carmen Berzatto x Female Roommate Reader
Word Count - 3k
Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol mention. carmys filthy mouth.
Age Rating - 18+
Author's Note - hello hello hello!! i am back!! i had a wonderful vacation soaking up the sun, and i am feeling refreshed and ready to go. i have had so many ideas over the past few weeks, so i'm excited to get some of them written asap!! this was a fic that came to me randomly, as i was thinking about roommate!carmen and how much of a menace he'd be if you ever talked about other guys. this was written as a part of my carmen roommates collection. it doesn't follow on from Finders, Keepers or Sweet Dreams, but it does exist in the same universe - so you can decide if this takes place before or after!! as always, feel free to send me any ideas or thoughts or burning desires you have. so much love <3
as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3
Series Masterlist. Masterlist. Inbox.
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"You're back early."
Carmy had swung the door open, expecting to come home to an empty apartment. Instead, he's met with the sight of you, sitting on the couch, undoing the straps of your shoes.
"Fuckin' disaster," you mutter, loud enough for him to hear.
He breathes out a chuckle at the stormy look on your face. Carmy thinks you're cutest when you're angry. He aches to smooth the crease between your brows with his thumb.
"That bad?" he asks, taking a seat next you and kicking off his sneakers.
"You wouldn't even believe."
He rises and makes his way to the kitchen, filling the tea kettle and placing it on the stove top. Grabbing two mugs, he casts a glance over his shoulder at you, frowning at your body language. You look defeated.
Carmy steeps two cups of tea, placing one of them carefully into your waiting hands. He resumes his seat on the sofa, pressing his thigh against yours and turning to face you.
"You wanna talk about it?"
You think for a moment before replying.
"You're gonna laugh at me."
His face instantly crumples, confusion written all over it.
"I'll never laugh at you. I'll laugh with you, sure. But never at you."
He nudges your shoulder with his, urging you to go on.
"Okay, fine. The actual date was pretty good. He took me to that Italian place downtown-"
"Dolce Vita? Did you get the truffle pasta I told you about?" Carmy interrupts you before you can continue.
"Yes, oh my God. It was incredible. Do you think you can recreate it sometime?"
"Fuck yeah. They're pretty secretive with their recipes, but I think I can figure it out. You can help me if you want - I'm gonna need a sous chef."
He pulls a reluctant laugh from you, the sound echoing off the ceramic of your mugs. You both know that being the sous chef involves you sitting on the counter drinking wine while Carmy does all the work.
"Of course. I'll always be your sous chef."
"I'll hold you to that."
You smile at him gently, a little taken aback by the sincerity in his voice.
"Anyway. The dinner went great. He seemed super interested in me, asked me questions, told me about his job, his hobbies, his dog. He was hot, and good to talk to. I thought I'd hit the jackpot."
"And then?"
"And then we went back to his apartment. And it all went to shit."
He chuckles, blue eyes glinting in the moonlight.
"Tell me more."
"You really want to hear about all of this?"
It's not like you and Carmy aren't close. You absolutely are. It's just that there's always been this unspoken connection between the two of you. A bubbling, fiery attraction that you both shut down repeatedly, screwing the lid on tight whenever it rears its head. So, you tend to avoid talking to Carmy about dating. You're scared you'll accidentally blurt out the truth - you compare every single date to him.
"Of course I do."
His answer is so genuine it makes you ache. You continue, hesitantly.
"Well... things got a little... heavy. He wasn't a bad kisser, I guess... he just wasn't... a good one? He kept biting my lip super hard and it kinda hurt. Then he pulled my clothes off like a high schooler, and he's on top of me, and I'm waiting for him to sort of... do... anything? And then he's finished. Like, completely done. And then he has the nerve to ask me if I finished."
Carmy's mouth has fallen open, shock etched across his face. After a long, heavy pause, he speaks.
"What the fuck?"
You look at him for moment, before bursting into contagious laughter. He joins you, both of you with your heads thrown back, giggles reverberating around the lowlit room.
"I mean, seriously," he pants, still laughing. "What the fuck?"
"I didn't even answer him. I just put my clothes on, grabbed my bag and left without saying a word."
Every time you try to stifle your laughter, a giggle escapes. The situation wasn't funny at the time, but looking back, it's hilarious.
All of a sudden, you both go silent. You're deep in thought, reflecting on the seemingly never ending stream of bad dates that you've endured. Carmy is watching you intently, ocean blue eyes glued to your face.
"Fuck," you breathe. "This is kinda pathetic."
Carmy inhales deeply, and turns his body so it's facing yours on the couch.
"The way I see it," he begins, "you have two options."
You quirk a brow in confusion and stay quiet, waiting for him to explain.
"You can sit here feeling sorry for yourself, or, you can let me fuck you the way you deserve."
Your mouth falls open in shock at the exact same moment your brain seems to shut down. You can't think. You can't process his words. All you can focus on is the way he's staring at you. You suddenly feel hot under his gaze, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. A shiver runs down your spine, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.
"Wh-... what?" you choke out.
"You heard me, honey. You can wallow in your little pity party, or you can let me show you what it's like to be with someone who can actually make you come. Your choice."
His voice has dropped an octave lower than usual, the tone warm and honeyed. He's still staring at you, blue gaze unrelenting.
"Is this gonna fuck everything up between us?" you whisper hesitantly.
Carmy reaches out and places a gentle hand on your cheek, thumb stroking careful circles into your skin.
"I don't think anything can fuck up what we have," he murmurs. "You're the only thing in my life that makes sense."
His confession seems to sober you up, the honesty in his words snapping you back to your senses.
"Okay."
He almost does a double take at the sureness in your voice.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Put your money where your mouth is, Carmen."
"There she is," he chuckles. "You scared me when you went quiet for a second there."
"Well, if what you say is true, you're not gonna be able to shut me up for the night."
He laughs darkly, and slides closer to you slightly.
"Oh, honey. You're gonna wish you hadn't said that."
He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, tracing the journey of your neck with his fingertips. He rests his hand lightly at the base of your throat, the heavy weight of it making you pant.
"If there's any point where you don't like something, or you want me to slow down, just say so. Okay?"
You nod your head, entranced by the sudden dominance he's displaying. You've never seen this side of him before. You can't believe he's been hiding it this whole time.
"Words, pretty. Need to hear you say it."
"Yes. I understand. I'll tell you, I promise."
He doesn't say anything in reply, just smirks. He lets you sit in the silence for a moment too long, the anticipation slowly killing you.
"Please, Carmen," you breathe. "Please."
"Fuck," he groans, shuffling closer to you. "You sound so pretty when you beg."
Carmy leans in and kisses your cheek gently, testing the waters. He presses a kiss to your other cheek, and pulls back to watch for your reaction. When he's happy, he tilts forward and leaves a careful kiss on your chin, then your forehead, then both of your closed eyes, before kissing you on the side of your mouth. His closeness makes you whine, desperate for him to give you what you want.
Finally, he connects his lips to yours, starting off slow and tender. When you tangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and try to pull him even closer, his resolve snaps. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, exploring eagerly. You clamber over him and climb into his lap, straddling his hips and pressing yourself into his body.
Carmy can't decide where to put his hands. He's grabbing at your waist, running his fingers up your back, pulling you into him by your ass. You're both groaning into each others mouths, enraptured by the other person and the all consuming way they kiss.
"Can I take this off?" he asks lowly, pulling at the hem of your dress.
Instead of answering, you pull it over your head, throwing it onto the floor in front of you.
"Fuck," he murmurs. "Most beautiful girl I've ever seen."
His hands are roaming all of your exposed skin, as if he can't get enough. He's terrified he won't ever get to see you like this again, so he's not going to waste a second.
You grind your hips down into his, eliciting a groan from the both of you. His hands tighten their grip on your waist, as he leans up to press open mouthed kisses to your jaw. Your fingers fly to the hem of his t shirt, pulling it off swiftly. You manage to shove his jeans down and off, before attempting to pull off his underwear. Carmy stops you in your tracks.
"Nuh uh," he tuts. "This is about you. Not me."
He pulls you off his lap gently and shuffles so his back is resting against the couch cushions. He spreads his legs wide, and gestures for you to sit between them. When you don't move, he looks at you carefully.
"Give me a color, pretty girl."
You take a deep breath, and smile at him softly.
"Green, Carmen. Promise."
You manoeuvre sideways, so you can place yourself with your back to his chest. He wraps his arms around you for a moment and holds you tightly, as if he's scared you'll disappear any second. You relax into his embrace, all the tension leaving your body. You have nothing to worry about. It's just you and Carmen, in the place you call home.
You drop your head back into Carmy's shoulder, and allow yourself to get lost in the feeling of his hands on your skin. He's begun tracing patterns down your arms, your sides, your stomach, until he reaches your underwear. He plays with the band, dipping his finger underneath in a feather light touch. Goose bumps rise across your body and you shiver, practically vibrating with need.
"Carmen," you whisper. "Don't tease."
"But that's half the fun," he murmurs into your ear, and you can hear the smile in his voice.
You can picture it perfectly, too. The way his eyes crinkle, the way his mouth curves, the way he bites his lip to stifle it. The image in your mind makes you melt into him further. You want to be as close to him as you physically can be. You'd completely disappear into him if you could.
He brings you back to reality by cupping you over your underwear, groaning when he feels the saturated material.
"Oh, pretty girl. Is this all for me? Fuck."
Suddenly, his game of teasing has lost all its fun. Carmy twists his fingers into your underwear and pulls them off in one swift movement, throwing them in the general direction of your dress on the floor. He places a hand on each of your thighs and spreads them apart, hooking them over his legs.
Carmy starts off slow, careful. He caresses over your skin, gentle and almost apprehensive. When he gets to your core, he swipes a finger through, testing the waters. When you buck your hips into his hand, he knows you're both on the same page.
"Just relax, okay? Gonna make you feel good."
His deep, smooth, whiskey like voice is doing nothing to help the heat bubbling in your stomach. You only whine in response, wiggling your hips to urge him to keep going.
Carmy throws one arm around your stomach, keeping you plastered to his body. You can feel him hot and hard against your back, and you so desperately want to feel him that your mouth is watering. You grind back into him, and he reads your mind.
"Not yet," he whispers. "This is about you, remember? Need to show you what you've been missing."
With that, he circles your clit with two fingers, slowly but surely. He revels in the noises you elicit. They're making him dizzy, disorientated. He never thought he'd be the one to pull a sound like that from you. He's quite convinced he's dreaming.
"Let me hear you. Don't hold back on me, okay?"
You nod your head frantically, willing to give him whatever he asks if you get what you want.
Carmy slips a finger into you slowly, moaning under his breath at your warmth. When he thinks you're ready, he adds a second finger, and sets a steady rhythm, trying to figure out what you like.
After he's set his pace, he starts to curl his fingers on the up stroke, grinning to himself when he finds the spot.
"Yeah? Right there? That's it, isn't it?"
You're nodding and shaking and pawing at his forearms, trying to tether yourself to reality in any way you can. You think you might be floating, on cloud 9, in some sort of euphoric trance. You can't believe no one's ever made you feel like this before. You're convinced no one ever will again.
Carmy quickens his pace and basks in the glory of your moans. He thinks this might be the most beautiful you've ever looked, spread out completely for him. Every inch of your skin is touching his, and it makes his heart skip a beat for a second.
He presses a kiss into your hair and keeps his mouth there, murmuring honeyed praises into your ear.
"Doin' so good for me."
"You got it, honey, that's it."
"Atta girl. Keep going. Almost there."
"You look so fuckin' pretty like this. Fuck. Gonna be thinking about this forever."
"I'll ruin you, baby. Nothing's ever gonna compare to this, to what we have."
All you can do is moan in response, his filthy words pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You're almost there, but something is stopping you. You whine in frustration, tears welling in your eyes. Carmy feels the tension suddenly grasp your muscles, and leans down to mutter to you softly.
"What is it, sweet girl? What do you need? Just tell me. Anything, and I'll give it to you."
You're not sure how much you trust your voice right now, so you decide to show him instead. You take the hand that he's using to hold you to him and move it up your body until it's resting against your throat. You tighten your fingers around his, and moan in response to the pressure.
"Oh, baby," he coos. "Filthy fuckin' girl. Here I thought you were so innocent, and this whole time you wanted to be choked like a whore?"
The way he degrades you so lovingly makes you mewl. You'd never ever trust anyone else to speak to you this way in such an intimate moment - but with Carmen, there's no hesitation. You know he's just telling you what you need to hear in the heat of the moment. And you love him for it.
"Fuck, Carmen," you manage to choke out. "Keep going. Don't stop, please."
"I'll do anything you want if you keep saying my name like that," he whispers.
"Carmen," you moan in response. "Carmy Carmy Carmy Carmy Carmy."
You're chanting his name like a prayer. He's rutting into your back, hips grinding and circling in time with his fingers that are maintaining their steady rhythm. His fingers tighten around your throat as he crooks his digits just right, and the result is a devastating moan from you that Carmy wishes to have on repeat for the rest of his life.
"So close," you whisper hoarsely. "Harder."
Carmy uses his thumb to circle your clit with one hand, other hand pulling you by your neck back into him tightly. He grinds his hips dirtily into you, and the feeling of him so silky and warm against you is what sends you over the edge. The corners of your vision go white as you arch into him, head thrown backwards into his chest. The sounds you're making are so melodic, so borderline angelic that Carmy almost cries. Heaven, he thinks. This is salvation.
Carmy finishes with you, climaxing onto the soft skin of your back. You both relax simultaneously, chests heaving and panting. He removes his fingers gently and wraps both arms around you, pulling you into him tightly despite the mess. He reaches to brush the hair out of your face, and the gesture is so tender it makes your lip quiver.
"Thank you," you whisper after what feels like hours of comfortable silence.
"Sorry I called you a whore," he murmurs back.
You let out a surprised laugh, vibrating with amusement in his arms.
"I know you didn't mean it."
"I mean I did give you the best orgasm of your life, so... call it even?"
"You're forgiven," you chuckle. "Completely forgiven."
You trace gentle patterns over his forearms with your fingertips, following the black ink of his tattoos. He sighs in contentment and places a kiss into your hair, relaxing further into the couch.
You sit together like that for a while, neither of you too concerned with the time. It's not often you see Carmy so relaxed, so serene. You're enjoying it for as long as you can.
"We should clean up," he says quietly, eventually. "Sorry about the mess."
"It's okay. Worth it," you tease, pinching his thigh. He pinches your side in retaliation, which makes you jump.
"Come on, trouble."
He stands from the couch, never letting go of the grip he has on you. You have no choice but to stand with him, yelping as he half carries you through the apartment towards the shower.
The sounds of both of your laughter bounce off of the abandoned mugs of tea still sat on the coffee table, melodic and joyous. The moonlight seeps through the windows, illuminating the beginning of something special in the living room of your shared apartment.
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intoxicated-chan · 10 months
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Okay this is an idea I’ve had for a while but imagine Miguel hasn’t had time to fuck his s/o due to spider duties and Alchemax shenanigans. And they’re soooooo fucking horny typically they come to Miggy whenever they have this problem but they don’t want to bother him so they bring out some old tools. Their vibrators from before they started dating. Miguel comes home however right during the middle of you using one of them and he’s soooo mad cause he wants to fuck you. I’ll leave the rest of the fic up to you. 💋 Love you so much!!
You Set My Soul Alight
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✿ฺ Paring ➳❥ Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader
✿ฺ Summary ➳❥ Miguel is always busy and leaving you in a mess. But you feel bad bothering him so you look for your past methods to get off.
✿ฺ (A/n) ➳❥ Inspired by “Supermassive Black Hole” by The Muse. Apologies this took a while.
✿ฺ Word Count ➳❥ 1k
✿ฺ Content Warnings ➳❥ Female reader, pet names (Mi amor, cariño) cock blocking, female masturbation, biting, blood, restraints, begging, choking, slightly mean Miguel…
Want more Miguel Content, check out my Masterlist!!
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“Miguel.” You moaned out and pushed up against the kitchen counter.
You felt one hand slip under your shirt and, the other went down to your pants, tugging them down.
“Yes, mi amor?” Miguel whispered in your ear, “Use your words.”
“Please… Hurry.” You whined.
His body was up against you. His fingers lightly graze your skin in fear but still were attentive as possible. But you jolted when you felt a finger push inside you.
“Slow.” He murmured, “Slow.”
You continue to whine and moan as his finger moves in and out, then a second finger was added.
“Migu-!” His hand that was previously toying with your skin was now clammed over your mouth.
“So impatient.” He chuckled, “I ought to-“
His phone rings loudly and he curses rather loudly. Marching over it and answering it, talking to whoever was on the other side. But by the looks and sound, it wasn’t good news.
“I’m sorry, (Y/n). I have to head back to the office.” Miguel tells you.
“Go back? But you just got home a couple of hours ago.” You questioned.
“Well, they let the intern do the filings. I have to head back and fix their mistake.”
You watched him head up to the bathroom, leaving you flustered and bothered.
It wasn’t the first time something like this happened. Whenever Miguel had the chance to finally touch you, something always has to interrupt him.
It would’ve been fine if it was for the last couple of days, but it just had to be weeks!
Miguel grumbles in his office, looking over the mess the employees let the intern make. And what’s worse? Oh yeah, he has to go back to the headquarters before Peter B. does something stupid. Why did he leave that idiot in charge again?
He grumbles even more when he gets the notification on his laptop, more emails sent, and more paperwork to look over. Sometimes he wishes he could just ditch work and head back to you. But he knows he’s the boss and he couldn’t be doing that.
And it wasn’t the first time this happened…
You felt Miguel’s crotch press up against yours, his lips kissed down to your neck, placing light kisses before biting down.
Your hands come up to his hair, pulling him away from your neck. You watch him as he smirks, licking the blood off his lips.
“What did I say before?” He murmurs.
“Miguel.” You huffed, “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please-“ His watch rang, making his hiss.
He grabs it, pressing a few buttons. A screen pops up, it’s Gwen, “Yes?”
“Um, how bad would it be if about a dozen villains escaped?”
“Gwen, you do not need me there.”
“Normally, yes. But if it’s all of them…”
“All of them?! How?!”
“I just got here!”
“I’m on my way.” He sighs, “I’m sorry, cariño, it’s-“
“Don’t apologize.” You sit up, “Go, I can take care of this.” Gesturing to the still-bleeding wound.
“I love you.” He places a kiss on your forehead.
“I love you too, Miguel.”
It wasn’t just frustrating for him, it was you as well.
You wanted to beg him to stay a little longer, but at the same time, it felt selfish. The HQ would’ve fallen to pieces if Miguel wasn’t there to control the situation.
And now, you laid back on the bed. Usually, you’d keep yourself busy with your work but the ache between your legs was getting unbearable by the second.
You huffed and opened the bedside table, last drawer, and hidden under a blanket was your vibrator. It’s been a while since you last used it, it was before Miguel became slammed with work. But desperate times call for desperate measures.
You took a deep breath and let it out, relaxing. With it up against your clit, you pressed the button. The vibrations made you jolt and your breath hitched. You closed your eyes and let yourself fall into your imagination while pleasure flows throughout your body.
You missed his touch. The way he made you feel. How careful he was with you like you were made of glass. But once he was sure of himself, he’d let himself go.
The way his hands come to your throat, squeezing it before his hands traveled down. But your favorite part is when he finally got to bite your neck. You knew it was his favorite and he wasn’t going to admit it.
Those nights that were pure bliss always heeded carefully, he wanted to be sure that you were okay and-
“Didn’t think you’d miss me this much.” Miguel leans on the door frame. Watching you cover yourself you, “No, no, don’t stop on my account.”
“I-I thought-“
“Yeah, the others had it handled. Came back home once I learned.” Miguel closes the door as he enters the shared bedroom, “So, what’s this?” Snatching the now turned-off toy, “How long have you been using this?”
“Just now.” You tell him.
He climbs onto the bed, “Am I really that disappointing in bed?” Miguel forces your legs open and pulls you closer to him, “Is that the only thing that can get you off?” He starts stripping himself.
“No! You’re more than enough.” You try to sit up but he pushes you back down.
“Then tell me why do you still have these?”
“B-Because you’re so busy, I didn’t want to bother you.”
As if his smirk couldn’t get anymore wider, “All you had to do was use your words.” Miguel holds your hands up against the headboard, using his webbing to keep them secure, “So, tell me. ¿Qué quieres?” (What do you want?)
“Please…”
“Please what?”
“Please, fuck me, Miguel.”
“See, was that so hard?” He chuckles.
He doesn’t bother wasting time preparing, he shoved himself in a single thrust. His hand comes to your throat, apply pressure.
Your legs tightly wrap around him, if he wasn’t already close to you, he is now.
“I’ve got a lot of making up to you.” He growls, “We have all day for it, keep your eyes on me and I’ll give you want you want.”
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© 2023 Intoxicated-Chan, I do not allow my work to be copy, translated, or put my work on any other platform without my permission.
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wrayah · 1 month
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wriothesley x fem!reader
prompt: An overworked Writohesley finally accepts to get an assitant to help him around. Work begins to become smoother thanks to you, however you also make things harder for Wriothesley thanks to your innocent seductiveness. A small clothing mishap becomes the perfect moment for Writohesley to solve the throbbing problem in his pants.
notes: HERE IT IS THE (somewhat) SEX CRAZED WRIO I PROMISED YOU ALL !! can you guys tell i'm obsessed with this man ?? now please ask me for other characters i have no idea what to write now ( ;´ - `;)
word count: 3.4k
warnings: smut (mdni 🔞), dom!wrio, pet names, penetration, oral, no protection, ejaculation, curse words, handcuffs, overstimulation (kinda?)
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Wriothesley wasn't very fond of the idea of hiring an assistant, he could handle his work all by himself, he had been doing it for a while and could keep going that way. He simply couldn't comprehend why Sigewinne was so insistent, why she kept nagging him and telling him he should get help.
"'You really should consider it!" Sigewinne scolded Writohesley from her seat across from him, her tiny hands holding a cup of warm tea. "As the head and only nurse of the Fortress, it is my duty to take care of the people who work here, and that includes you!"
He chuckled at her puffed cheeks, she looked adorable when she was mad, and it was a challenge to take her seriously sometimes. He sipped his tea before looking at her, smiling.
"I'm okay, you don't need to worry. I don't need help-"
"Yes, you do! I can clearly see that you are extremely tired, and I have caught you working way past time lately!" She interrupted him, her tone stern but also caring. She looked at him in the eyes, dead serious. "How long has it been since you got a good night's sleep?"
His eyebags wouldn't let him lie his way out of this one, he couldn't actually remember the last time he went to bed and woke up feeling replenished. He frowned and looked down, having no answer to Sigewinne's question.
She scoffed at his reaction, closing her eyes and sipping her tea. She then placed her cup down, looked back up at him, and smiled. "Now that we've reached an agreement, I'll ask the guards to put up the flyers."
Writohesley sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index. "Fine."
And that's how you got into the Fortress of Meropide as Wriothesley's assistant.
You had been working as the Duke's assistant for a few weeks now, helping him handle paperwork, running errands for him around the fortress, and on the surface, basically helping and doing everything and anything to make things a bit easier for him. It wasn't all that hard, a bit hectic but you actually enjoyed what you were doing.
Your presence had completely changed Wriothesley's routine, he was now able to finish his paperwork in time every day and got to sleep correctly again. Sigewinne had teased him continuously about how he was doing better now thanks to her idea, and he couldn't help but admit that she was right, he did need help.
On top of allowing him to get back on his feet and feel alive again, it was an actual pleasure to have you around. He was reluctant at the idea of an assistant at first, he got to know you however with time and was actually not disappointed. You were a smart and gentle individual, always ready to help and accomplish tasks with a smile on your face, even the tedious ones. Whenever you had free time, you would bring him tea along with some sweets, which he highly appreciated. This imposed a timeout on him, which wasn't actually so bad. He enjoyed chatting with you, whether it was about work or whatever else.
Everything was going well, except for one thing. Everything was great, everything you did was perfect. You were perfect.
Writohesley couldn't keep his eyes off of you at times. Generally, he thought you were beautiful, your smile melted his heart, the way your cheeks reddened whenever you stammered or were unsure softened him, and the way you dressed pleased him, especially when you wore somewhat revealing clothing- shit.
It was hard for him to keep focus on work at times because of you, but forced himself to stay put. He could handle the situation well, but it was challenging at times.
On hotter days, like today, you would wear skirts without tights, leaving your thighs exposed for Writohesley to admire. Your skin looked so soft, and the way they looked when you sat made him want to dig his fingers into them so badly.
He could handle admiring your form, it wasn't the first time he had seen a beautiful woman in his life, he just had to put in a little more effort to stay focused.
He did almost lose his mind at one point though.
He was reading a dossier, holding it with his right hand and toying with his handcuffs with the other, spinning them around. He looked up at you once he was done to give you a new order but he caught you looking intently at his handcuffs, a light blush on your cheeks. Once you noticed his gaze, your eyes darted to his and you lightly cleared your throat, cheeks brightening. Oh, the dirty things that must have been going through your mind.
Ever since then, those same dirty fantasies have invaded Writohesley's mind, making his work, as well as something else, harder. All he could think of was cuffing you up and manhandling you.
He shook his head, bringing himself back to reality. Focus, Wrio, you need to finish this by noon.
"Is everything alright, sir?" You enquired, sitting across from him also handling a report file.
He looked up at you, his eyes locking onto yours. Your gaze was caring, worried, and so sweet.
He cleared his throat. "Yeah, um, could you get me some iced tea, please?" He needed something to soothe him as well as the growing heat in his pants.
"Of course!" You replied, a big smile on your face. You got up immediately and turned to make your way out of his office. You accidentally bumped some files on his desk in the process though, papers falling to the ground before you.
"I'm so, so sorry! I'll-I'll gather everything!" You stammered, bending down to pick up every loose paper and file, unintentionally flashing Writohesley while doing so.
He could see everything, the back of your exposed upper thighs, your beautifully shaped ass, your laced panties-covered crotch. Oh Archons, how could he keep his composure before such a sight?
Wriothesley cleared his throat again, this time to grab your attention. You squeaked, stood up, and spun around quickly, a messy pile of papers in hand. You were expecting to be scolded for your idiocy. You gulped as you looked into his darkening eyes, his face was deadly serious. You were done for.
"Don't think that what you just did is, let's say, inappropriate?" He questioned, a slight smirk emerging. Your terrified expression turned into a confused one, which he chuckled at. You weren't even aware of what you were doing to him, how cute.
"Your skirt is quite short you know, you should have kneeled down instead." Your eyes widened, realising what had just happened. You frowned and looked down, face becoming as red as a tomato. You placed your hands behind you, covering your behind with the papers.
"I-I'm sorry! I-... I didn't intend to give such a view..." You were so embarrassed you were barely able to pronounce the last part. You sighed ashamed. You wanted to dive into the deepest parts of the sea and stay there.
Toying with you was fun. "You know, it's not the first time your clothes have bothered me. To be fair, you sometimes dress quite inappropriately for work." He took out his handcuffs and began playing with them like last time, catching your attention once again. He grinned, canines showing. "Don't you think that, as your boss, I should reprimand you?"
You bit your lip, intrusive thoughts clouding your mind. That didn't go unnoticed, it only made his smirk grow wider.
"Go on, finish cleaning your mess up." He instructed, eyeing the rest of the papers on the floor. You did as told, kneeling down this time.
He got up from his chair as you placed the paper mountain on his desk. You watched carefully as he came up behind you, you didn't dare to turn around though.
"Hands behind your back."
"H-huh?" You turned your head to look at him, his frame hovering over yours, eyeing you down.
He cocked his eyebrow. "Want me to repeat? Hands behind your back." His voice was stern, he was doing his best to hide his lust.
You did as told, and soon enough you felt the cold feeling of metal around your wrists. He had handcuffed you. You choked a little on your breath, not expecting this to happen. Your darkest fantasies were coming to life, but you couldn't let your mind get the best of you, you were already embarrassed enough.
"You see, being naughty like that isn't very nice, you've been making things hard for me lately." He placed your hands on his clothed dick as he spoke, rubbing against them. Your breathing was shaky, and his pants felt so tight against him, that you couldn't help but imagine what he was hiding underneath.
"Since you're to help me, I thought you could also help me with this." He pressed his dick against your hands once more, letting out a shaky grunt. "Will ya?"
You nodded timidly, still not believing what was happening. "Good. Come on now."
He leads you back towards his desk as if he were leading a prisoner. Being treated this way was making you feel hot and bothered, but you loved it. He put his hands on your shoulders and with slight pressure instructed you to kneel down before his chair, which he would sit on soon after. He began undoing his belt, his pants coming soon after, all the while being attentively observed by you. He chuckled as he saw your big eyes look at his shielded cock, mouth agape with impatience. He finally slid his bottoms down a little, revealing his girthy dick to you, tip slightly swollen and shimmering with precum. You bit your lip at the sight, mouth-watering. He was so close, it was so close.
His hand came to caress your cheek tenderly. "Open your mouth for me, baby. Tongue out."
You opened up, tongue sliding out. You looked up at him, waiting for his next command. His hand travelled up to your hair, grabbing a handful lightly, before tugging your head down towards his dick.
As your tongue finally met his throbbing tip, you flicked it against it, tasting him. Salty but tasty. You began licking his tip, tongue swirling around it, pressing against his slit, doing all you can to take in all of that sweet precum. Wriothesley moaned lowly above you, hand caressing your hair now, encouraging you, praising you.
"Come on, don't be shy, take me in." Your mouth wraps around his wet tip, making its way down slowly. He was thick, but there was so much saliva that you were easily able to swallow him whole on the first way down, making him curse under his breath. You began slowly bobbing your head up and down, tongue against the underside of his dick.
"That's good baby, keep going." It felt so good he couldn't help but let his head fall back, breathy moans and curses leaving his lips as he tugged on your hair, instructing you to pick up the pace. You were doing your very best to go fast, but he was so big and your mouth so small that your cheeks began to hurt and so your pace began to falter.
He looked back down at you with glazy eyes, only to be met with lustful eyes looking back up at him, your mouth around his dick, drool dripping down from it. Fuck. The sight made something snap inside of him, it made him feral.
He got up from his chair, standing up before you, making sure your mouth never left his dick. You let out surprised noises around his cock, making him groan from the vibrations. He placed both his hands on your hair, gripping it hard enough to keep your head still and thrust into your mouth. You moaned around him with each thrust, both from pleasure and from slight pain, but mostly from pleasure.
"Look at me, baby." His husky voice sent electric shocks all day down to your core, making your thighs squeeze together. You looked up at him, the mere sight of his expression being almost enough to make you cream.
You look at him, tears in the corners of your eyes, cheeks red, drool all over, was enough to send him over the edge. He buried himself deep within your mouth and, with a loud groan, his cum sprung out onto your throat and into your mouth.
"Fuck." He panted, thrusting slowly to get every single last drop of his cum out before sliding out.
He grinned as he saw your puffed-out cheeks, your mouth filled with cum. He put his hand on your chin, grabbing it gently. "Swallow. All of it."
Your eyes widened at the command yet you swallowed the thick liquid without hesitation, small tears coming up from how weird it felt when it slid down your throat. He grinned and patted your head. "Good girl."
He picked you up from the floor with ease, making you gasp. He placed you down, feet on the floor, facing his desk, your legs against it. Your hands were still bound behind you, and your wrists started to ache a bit. He pressed up against your back, hands grabbing at your hips as he nuzzled your neck, taking in your fragrance. You tilted your head to the side, giving him enough room to pamper your neck with kisses. He licked long slow strips along your veins. You moaned, your core growing warmer with every passing second.
You felt something hard poke your hands, he was still hard. Mustering up some courage, you grabbed his cock with both your hands, it fits perfectly between them. You started pumping it, long slow, and sloppy strokes. He groaned against your neck, biting down hard. You both moaned and groaned, you from his sucking and biting on your neck, him from you pumping his dick.
He suddenly pulled his hips away, freeing his length from your heavenly grip. One of his hands went to your back, pushing your upper body downward against the table. "Stay there."
"Yes, sir." You whispered, body engulfed in pleasure.
He bent down, face in front of your clothed crotch. He pressed his nose against your wet panties. Oh, you smelled intoxicating. He pulled your panties and skirt down, the cold air of the room hitting your hot pussy suddenly, making you shiver.
Writohesley licked his lips as he admired you in all of your glory, folds glistening from how excited you were. He leaned forward, placing both his hands on your thighs, and lay his tongue flat on your pussy, licking slowly up.
"Mh, you taste so fucking good." He groaned against your folds, suckling on your sensitive bud. You were becoming a mess, unable to control the sounds leaving your body as he lapped at your wet pussy. You almost screamed when his teeth grazed your clit.
He suddenly got up, spanking you with one hand as he did. "Quiet down, will ya. Do you want everyone in the Fortress to know you were being bad? Do you want everyone to know that your boss is punishing you?"
You shook your head no frantically, going to bite your lower lip in order to keep quiet, but he placed one of his hands on your mouth all the way from behind. With his other hand, he pumped his length a few times before lining it up to your entrance, his tip getting wet as he pressed against you. He pushed inside you, not letting a single second go to waste. He needed you. Your moan was muffled by his strong hand, eyes rolling back. He was filling you up so well, touching your cervix with his tip with the first push. His other hand was on the handcuffs, holding them tight to keep you in place. He pulled almost all the way out, only leaving his head inside, and then snapped his hips forward, pushing back in violently.
“I’m going to fucking ruin you.” He whispered into your ear. Your little screams were silenced by his hand, he repeated the same movement over and over again, until you could barely hold yourself up, your legs trembling. His low grunts and your muffled sounds filled the room along with the wet obscene sounds your cunt was making with each thrust.
His grip on your mouth and chains suddenly tightened, his pace picking up. He was practically fucking you into his desk right now, each thrust more powerful than the last. You were barely keeping yourself together, drooling into his hand, eyes barely open, cheeks flushed; you were a mess beneath him, and he loved seeing you like this. With each thrust, he stroke all the good spots, making you come undone rapidly. The feeling of your cunt clamping down on him drove him crazy, he wanted more of it, more, more. 
“Look at your tiny cunt, hugging my dick so tightly. Are you coming for me, princess?” You could only moan and groan in response, making him chuckle at your condition. He kept going, his pace never slowing down, milking your pussy of its juices. 
After the second wave of full blown pleasure washed over you, your legs began to wobble, you couldn’t keep yourself up anymore and your knees started to bend. He didn’t let you fall though, he quickly let go of your face and hands and held you up by the hips effortlessly.
“We aren’t done yet babygirl.” The side of your face rested on the desk, your mouth agape, raspy, breathy moans leaving your mouth. Your throat was dry from all the screaming, you surely wouldn’t be able to talk properly afterwards. He pounded into you rapidly, his rhythm becoming sloppier with each passing moment, he was getting close too. For someone who had instructed you to be quiet, he sure was being loud now, but neither of you cared. 
“So good, so fucking good for me.” He groaned, leaning forward, placing his forehead on your shoulder. His rapid breathing on your back sent shivers down your spine. You felt another orgasm building up, and you knew Wriothesley was close too. 
“Wrio- I’m going to…” You could barely speak, every word you uttered being followed by loud gasps.
“I know, baby, I know. Just wait a little.” He hushed you, gripping your hips with so much strength his knuckles were turning white. After a few more pushes, he was losing it, groaning loudly on your shoulder. “Come for me, y/n. Come!”
You moaned loudly, your third climax hitting you like a truck. Your walls clenched his member, that was the last straw for him. He bit down on your shoulder, moaning as he did so. His cock pushed deep inside you and stopped there. His cum came spurting out into you, the warm and thick liquid filling you up, some even dripping out of you and onto the floor. 
After a short while, his teeth finally let go of your flesh and he pulled out slowly, more cum dripping onto the floor as he did so. You opened your eyes as best as you could and looked back hazeley only to find a flushed and panting Wriothesley trying to catch his breath, still holding you up.
He then picked you up and sat you down on the desk, taking a set on his chair afterwards. You both sighed of relief, finally relaxing a bit after that experience.
He looked at you and smiled kindly, then looked at the mark on your shoulder and his smile turned upside down. “Sorry about that.”
You put your hand on your shoulder, massaging it to soothe the stinging pain. “It’s okay, it isn’t too bad.” Your smile made his worries die out. 
You started to feel a bit chilly, after all your bottoms were still on the floor. Before moving to dress yourself, a question came to your mind. You looked him in the eyes. “So, should I stop dressing the way I do from now on?”
Writohesley smirks, his head resting on his fist. “I won’t forbid you from dressing the way you want, but you must assume the consequences that will come with it.” 
At first, you blush, knowing well what he was referring to, but then you return the smile, answering with a confident tone. 
“Oh don’t worry, I will.”
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© wrayah, 2024
1K notes · View notes
vernoniekiss · 2 months
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jeon wonwoo headcannons
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↬ teach you how to play the games he would play. make you sit in his lap and everything. personal instructor. sometimes he would let you win in games to see you smile :)
↬ forces mingyu to make you ramen when you’re hungry at night👍. doesn’t care whether mingyu is sleeping or not. you come first then mingyu. he always feel a twinge of guilt after but he’s not gonna admit that cause it’ll hurt his pride.
↬ would wear his headphones half on like only covering one ear cause the other ear needs to listen to whatever you’re talking about. would give you small hums here and there to let you know he’s still listening to you.
↬ would be willing to try anything new with you. you’re into art ?? nah wdym where is he going ??? he��s on his way to get every essential you need.
↬ MIDNIGHT WALKS 🗣️🗣️.
↬ love it when you wear his hoodies. like wdym you need to buy your OWN hoodies when you have his ?!?!! plus it’s very warm and bonus, smells like him
↬ loves to accompany you anywhere you go. he loves anywhere where you are. though if he's busy... it's fine he can do the work another time.
↬ love to do skincare with you regardless. yes, he will wear your silly pink headband to push his hair away from his face. he will also be a skincare enthusiast.
↬ ALWAYS stares at you. even from afar. when he's conversing with someone else, his eyes would immediately flicker to you once in a while or always.
↬ is your saviour in situations where you are uncomfortable. he's very attentive after, making sure you are 100% alright before he can move on.
↬ a pouty baby on the inside when you don't give him any kisses. literally lives on your kisses.
↬ takes photos of you 24/7 whether it is using his phone or his camera. you can bet that more than half his storage is pictures of you. can always count on him for taking pictures at every moment.
↬ also a tease... learns from jeonghan of course. "awh my baby wants a kiss hm :((( ?". the damn smirk of his.
1K notes · View notes
pearlywritings · 7 days
Text
The scent of being mine
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synopsis: lately your husband has been staying deep in his thoughts as if bothered by something. It's only natural you want to figure it out and help.
pairing and characters: Neuvillette x fem!reader
tw: established relationship (marriage), tiny hurt/comfort, draconian features (scenting, growling, implied sharp nails)
word count: 3k+ words
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“Beloved, you are brooding. More than you usually are.”
Your comment snaps Neuvillette from his thoughts, long lashes fluttering in surprise. He blinks, primordially beautiful eyes finally focus on the document in front of him, and the man makes a frustrating discovery - he’s been staring at one single line of text for who knows how long.
“Beloved?” Your sweet voice soothes the momentary disappointment, and Iudex’s undivided attention is on you in a second. 
“Yes, my dear? My apologies, I didn’t quite catch what you said. Could you be so kind and repeat, please?”
You lower the book onto your lap, and the man can’t help but relish in the sight of you comfortably lounging on the sofa in his office at the Palais Mermonia, with your shoes neatly put near one of its legs and your legs hidden under the light embroidered plaid. Your back and side sink into multiple pillows, half of which he fetched for you previously from the second sofa, and you look pleasantly relaxed within the walls of his work space, knowing very well that he has no meetings scheduled for the day, and the only people who can enter his office are the melusines with document delivery. And who would be uncomfortable in the presence of their own ‘daughters’?
“I was saying that you are brooding. And It won't be superfluous to note your sour mood too,” you nod in the window’s direction, where the sky is cloudy and gloomy. It has been this way for a couple of days already. “I wasn’t bringing it up since I thought you were simply a bit stressed, but after observing you for some time, I am sure there’s something on your mind that’s been bothering you immensely.”
Neuvillette exhales deeply. How could he ever hide anything from the woman he’s been married to for so long? Not that he ever tried, but subconsciously he sometimes tends to push his own worries aside not to make you fret. Besides, usually it’s not something of a big deal…
Watching the thoughts overtaking his mind again, you grab the bookmark from the armrest and soon the closed book takes its place, at the same time as you push the plaid off. Not caring to put the shoes on, you make a quick way to the grand doors to turn the key left in the hole from the inside. But changing your mind a little, you take a hold of a handle instead and crack the door slightly open, enough for the melusine at the reception to hear you.
“Sedene, sweety, Monsieur Neuvillette is taking a small break.”
You can’t quite see her perking up in her booth, but you know she is aware of what that means.
“Thank you for informing me, Madame. Would you like anything to drink or eat? I could send someone to put an order in whatever restaurant you’d like.”
“Much appreciated, but we’ll be fine.”
You hear her hum in understanding and only then close the door and lock it, turning the key two times.
“Now…” glancing back at your husband, you slowly walk back to your previous place of resting, but making it past the sofa and then around the desk, stopping right at his side. Neuvillette lifts his head, looking at you, and immediately pushes the chair back to make room. Gloved hands take a hold of your waist when you step closer and help you settle down onto his lap. One stays gingerly on your hip, the other is placed upon your knees, as you adjust your position, turning half-around to face him. Mesmerizing eyes with slitted irises stare at you with hardly-veiled adoration, and for a moment it almost fools you into thinking that nothing is wrong. Until he inhales and white eyebrows furrow slightly.
“Neuvi, what’s going on? Is it something I can assist you with?”
The man leans forward, pressing his face to your neck, silky locks of his fringe tickling you when he releases a breath. Your fingers find the back of his head, softly scratching the scalp, making him groan in satisfaction. His own digits flex, and you think you feel the claws digging slightly into your flesh through the dark material of his gloves and the skirt of your own clothes, and you let the dragon be a tiny bit greedy in expressing his affections.
“It’s not something I thought would bother me,” you hear him murmur into your neck. Instead of rushing to ask him to elaborate, you encourage him to take his time with a soft touch, gently following the pointy shape of his ear with your fingertip. The man shivers, but quickly relaxes, leaning into your body a bit more.
“Why logically I understand I’m in the wrong, but on an instinct level it doesn’t give me rest. Remember the celebration Lady Furina threw three days ago?”
Ah, of course you remember. It was a nice little feast the Archon organized to mark another successful staging of hers, to which your husband and you were obviously invited. You can’t, however, recall anything particular that could upset Neuvillette. He wasn’t offered anything to taste he didn't enjoy - had his own supply of fresh water even; he had no cases to worry about, having finished everything rather important beforehand, and he was not engaged in any interactions he could potentially be uncomfortable with. Maybe it was something related to you? However, you can’t think of anything: most of the time you spent conversing with Furina, discussing her next outstanding and grand performance, or dancing with your beloved, happily twirling in his embrace. Sure, other people approached you too, but…oh. Wait, there was something.
“Do you mean the celebration during which that opera performer from Li Yue was flirting with me?”
Immediately his body tenses and a low sound, kind of sounding like a growl, escapes his strained throat. He quickly composes himself though, once you drop your hand from his head to his back, drawing circles there.
“...I apologize for that.”
“Please don’t, I don’t mind a bit of jealousy,” you assure him, and the man finally leans back, looking at you with those fairytale eyes.
“You think it was jealousy?”
“Well, maybe right now it was just a bit of frustration, but back then I think it was jealousy,” Neuvilette hums, lowering his gaze, processing the information. You meanwhile decide to ask more. “But what sparked it? You know I am yours and that no human will ever be able to steal me from you.”
“Ah, my love, I am fully aware of that,” gloved palm leaves your knee and cups your cheek instead. “I know all that, but…but what I felt is hard to explain in words.”
“Try,” you encourage, turning your head and kissing his palm, “I’ll get it.”
“Alright,” with a sigh he lets his fingertips outline the contour of your jaw and travel down the side of your neck, sending a pleasurable sensation down your back. “I suppose I should start with what happened before, when we were still back home. You looked so ravishing and regal - a true gem to an eye, - and I just couldn’t help but let some of my scent linger on you.”
Which is absolutely fine, you love doing the same for him.
“Keeping that in mind I felt all those strange emotions wringing my heart, as he was giving you compliments, especially about the scent, not realizing it’s mine. And then more and more.”
As he doesn’t find what more to say, you stare at him, trying to analyze the information. After a couple of minutes of silence, during which you absent-mindedly braided a little braid out of his straight lock, you decide to summarize.
“So… If I understood you correctly, it felt upsetting that, basically, he caught the whiff of you on me, yet didn’t stop his attempts to hit on me. Am I right?”
“Exactly,” a small smile graces his pale lips, and Iudex presses a delicate kiss to your shoulder. “I could not have worded it better.”
“Hmm… Now I see why you are torn. It is annoying for sure, but it’s not like an ordinary human could know of draconian peculiar properties.”
He nods, thumbing at the pulse point on your neck, staring a little bit past you. His state is saddening, really, even though a tiny slither of pride infiltrates your heart - knowing your husband wants the world to know you are his as much as you want to claim the same about him… Would’ve made you purr if you were a feline.
You shiver when Neuvillette brings his face close again, soft lips pressing to the side of your neck.
“You are so dear to me, my love…” he breathes in a way that makes your heart skip a beat, voice full of unbridled devotion, something not many can hear from this stoic man throughout their whole life. “There are days when I can’t bear the thought of you not being close to me, I overcome with desire to be in your presence, to hold you in my arms, to listen to your divine voice… When you call my name, I want to bring everything I have to your feet.”
“But you already do so,” you cup his cheeks, kissing his forehead. “You don’t have to say all of it - you sound like you are apologizing, like you are trying to excuse your natural behavior. Don’t do it, please. You are so precious to me, I’d be damned if I ever felt unnerved by something like this.”
“I apologize if it sounded like this,” he sighs, long lashes flattering close, when you proceed to kiss over his eyelids. “I just meant to express how thankful I am that you chose me.”
“Oh, Neuvi,” you chuckle, kissing the bridge of his nose and when the tip of it. “I adore when you are so affectionate in private. As for the public display, if we return to the topic of scent… I think I could figure something out for the both of us. If you trust my judgment, that is.”
“How can I not?” Those eyes are staring back at you, bottomless pools swirling with wonder and elation. “Only if you truly want this.”
“I do,” your lips hover dangerously close to his. “And I will find the way.”
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Soft thuds rhythmically yet quite leisurely cut through the lofty noises of the Court of Fountaine, catching the attention of the passersby. One hit of an elegant cane against the pavement equals two steps of yours, as you and your husband walk through the main square of the city. Your appearance - no matter together or by yourself - always gathers attention, and you could bet that if Fontaine didn’t have a law prohibiting photography of executives without their permission, your picture would’ve adorned tomorrow’s copy of The Steambird.
And you are a sight to behold - your hand resting in the crook of his elbow, gloves matching perfectly his today’s cravat of choice, jewelry specifically picked to mirror the beauty of their wearer’s partner, clothes tailored to clearly be a ‘couple outfit’... It is pretty evident that this outing is planned, if the Iudex’s absence from the Palais Mermonia didn’t serve as a clue.
You hold no conversation, rather relishing in the warm rays of sunlight (you did though tease Neuvillette upon stepping outside that his mood seemed to improve). Despite looking like it’s you who is clutching onto the man and him leading you somewhere, it’s completely vice versa. Your beloved has absolutely no idea what kind of ‘surprise’ he is soon to experience, but your previous words keep his mind at rest - you found a solution for his concern.
As a result, his high spirits are pretty apparent to the people who know him well. Or the melusines, if one is being accurate, who approach you two along the way with warm words of greetings and cute waves of their hands, which brightens Neuvillette’s features more evidently.
“I think we should soon visit the Merusea Village,” you suggest after bidding goodbye to Tristane. “And do a little gathering for our girls who work here, in the city. I am sure they have many stories to share with us.”
“I would really like that,” Neuvillette's smile is a heart-warming sight. You can only hope that you’ll get to see it more after today. “How about we start planning tomorrow after work?”
“That would be wonderful! I can’t wait to write an invitation to every single one. And to the village too.”
“Then it’s on you as always,” he agrees without objection, leaning a little to subtly kiss your temple when you turn the corner. Letting out a soft chuckle, you give him a fond look, and then focusing back on the street.
It’s barely a couple of minutes later when your partner sees you perk up. Trying to pinpoint what caught your eye, the man scans the signboards of the shops and boutiques lining up at both sides of yours. Jewelry? No, he doesn’t think so - you adorn each other with fine gemstones regularly. Clothes? Doubtful, given you’ve just received a couple of new outfits a week before. Maybe it’s-
You disturb these wandering thoughts, tugging on his elbow to catch his attention. Looking at you and then following the direction of your raised hand, Neuvillette lifts his eyes to read the signboard above the shop you’ve stopped in front of.
“Palais des parfums”
“So,” you start when he gives you a questioning look, “it’s a perfumery, yes. And my suggestion is the following - let’s choose a scent we could wear together. Before you get concerned about it becoming too popular, because we will use it, this shop has an option of creating something personal. We can just pay a little more to make it exclusive.”
“The same…scent?” Your husband hums, touching his chin in thought. This actually sounds quite good - created by a human master, it is to be perceived by humans, and by utilizing one fragrance on you both it will be made clear that the two of you are spouses. Not to mention the newspaper that will spread the fact for others to know. “My dear, that’s a marvelous idea.”
“Really?” A wide smile lifts the corners of your lips.
“Really. I like it a lot,” he assures you with a smile of his own. “And I do favor the possibility of making perfume specifically for us. How did you know though, my love?”
“Have done my research. And already spoke to the vendor before. Furthermore, I think we can order the creation of two perfumes. One for every day, and one for grand events where our presence is required.”
“I see you’ve done your research indeed,” his words are soft and gaze is full of admiration. It’s so hard to resist and not kiss him right in the middle of the street, yet let your fingertips gently scratch his forearm.
“I promised my husband a solution, didn’t I? Couldn’t disappoint you.”
“You can never disappoint me, if anything you astonish me every single day of our lives. Shall we get inside?”
“We shall. Just please, beware, there are a lot of fragrances mixed in the air. I am afraid your nose will be assaulted just like mine was.”
“I can bear with it, beloved. I would be a coward of a husband, if I turned back after the amazing work my wife did,” your cheeks heat up at his praise and you lightly dig your covered nails into his arm.
“Oh, stop it, no need to be so sweet, I already understood your appreciation for this,” your eyes motion to his hand resting on the hilt of the cane and fingers joyfully tapping against the wood. With a barely audible chuckle, the man unhooks your arms, wrapping his around your waist, and steps forward, reaching for the handle.
A soft chime caresses his ears, as the maddening mix of scents hits him right in the nose. Glancing to the side to check on you, he notices how you instantly switch to breathing through your mouth and follows your example. It, thankfully, gets better.
The shop owner is not hard to find, a sweet lady in her late 50’s welcomes you with a glint in her eyes upon recognizing you, which soon is replaced by the look of surprise when she sees your companion.
“Good afternoon, Monsieur, Madame, how can I help you?”
“Good afternoon, Mrs Deschamps,” you greet her with a smile, “I came by two days ago, remember?”
“Yes, yes, how could I forget our dear Madame? You were curious about my perfumes and if I do personal orders.”
“Right! This is my husband,” you motion to the man still courteously holding your waist, who bows in greeting.
“Pleasure to be meeting you.”
“O-oh! How could I not know you and your husband? Your wedding was the event of the century!”
“Haha, you flatter us,” you chuckle merrily, covering your mouth. “We are here to put in an order. We’d love to buy a newly crafted perfume. However, we have a couple of conditions…”
It’s almost evening when the doorbells chime again, marking your departure. Once again walking side by side and with arms linked, Neuvillette feels an almost primordial satisfaction. These hours spent in that stuffy, smelly box of a shop will be absolutely worth it when your order is complete. While he does feel the inevitable approach of a runny nose after test-smelling way too many fragrances, and it doesn’t feel like he left work today at all, as he was handling legal documents relied to the exclusivity of the product, he doesn’t regret a single mora spent and to be spent in the future for this.
Soft thuds once again cut through the sounds of the city, and they are gently lulling your mind. Maybe your head hurts just a little bit, but it pales in comparison to the invested state of your husband and how much evident fun he had in meticulously choosing the right aromatic notes to your future shared scent.
You can’t wait to help him apply it every single morning to come and get the same treatment in return. This is going to be a new, hopefully a long-staying option to your usual scenting routine.
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taglist: @meimeimeirin
996 notes · View notes
violetrainbow412-blog · 3 months
Note
Howdy! It's me again
How are you? I hope you are fine, and if not, then I encourage you from here!
Well, I would like to order something in which our dear Willy gets a little jealous because someone entered the factory and started flirting with his partner (reader) And that leads to a very affectionate moment between reader and Willy
Por cierto, qué le pones a los pedidos que escribes? Los siento muy emocionantes y me ponen a chillar a veces SJSGGWUW
(By the way, what do you put in the orders you write? I find them very exciting and they make me scream sometimes)
.—🌻
Tensions in the Factory [W. W]
Willy Wonka x fem!reader
word count: 1.7k
nota: ¡me hace muy feliz que te guste lo que escribo! creo que sólo se trata de hacerlo con amor (¿o algo así? jaja) Lamento haber tardado, entré a un trabajo durante vacaciones y apenas me queda tiempo, pero espero que sea de tu agrado, girasol:)
[ENG: It makes me very happy that you like what I write! I think it's just about doing it with love (or something like that? haha) I'm sorry it took me so long, I started a job during vacation and I barely have time left, but I hope you like it, sunflower:)]
taglist: @dyieying @reallysparklychaos [Timothée masterlist]
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“Your factory is impressive, Mr. Wonka,” said the man next to the boy, with a satisfied smile on his face after the tour he had given him.
Willy was pleased with the investor's recognition that he intended to finance a new branch for Wonka chocolates and if everything continued as expected, he knew that that same afternoon they would be signing a contract.
“I'm glad you like it. This is where all the magic happens, so I hope that with that new store things are even more promising for us.”
He wanted to add something else when, suddenly, he was interrupted by the vision of a person; it was you, beckoning to him from the other side of the factory with a board holding papers. He knew it had to be something important or else you would have waited, so he apologized to the young man at his side and walked quickly until he reached you.
“Oh, I'm sorry to bother you, but one of the machines that churns the chocolate is jammed and making a mess in there, do you think you can check it?” you murmured, sounding slightly worried about the situation.
“Yes, I'll go right away. While you will talk to Mr. Salt? Tell him to excuse me for a moment”
"Yes, I will do it"
“You're an angel, thank you for letting me know,” he said goodbye, gently caressing the side of your face and practically running to solve the problem you had just told him about.
The man looking at you curiously from the other side couldn't have been more than a couple of years older than Willy and he was handsome, dressed in a gray formal suit that was worthy of a businessman. You had heard that he had a lot of money and although at first the chocolatier was not very convinced, after thinking about it better he believed that it was a good time to expand his horizons; that included having more stores to sell more chocolates. He had told you about the idea and you had been excited about it, so you motivated him to contact interested businessmen.
Although you didn't really enjoy talking to strangers, you took a deep breath and walked over to where the man was to greet him.
“Mr. Salt?” you said timidly, to get his attention. He watched you for a moment and when he got a better look at you, then he smiled hugely.
“Just call me Henry, Henry Salt. It's my pleasure," he replied, reaching out to shake your hand a little longer than expected. "Are you Mr. Wonka's secretary?"
It wasn't the first time a guy thought that about you, after all you were always behind your boyfriend with that board in your hand, writing things down, checking the operation, and reminding him of everything, however, Willy had always said that you were his partner and he wouldn't expect anyone to disparage your position: this factory belongs to both of us, he always said. 
But it was easier to say yes than to explain all that.
“Something like that. He asked me to tell you that he had to attend to an emergency, but that he will be right back.”
"Oh, sure. There is no problem with it as long as you keep me company” he said happily.
The man was looking at you up and down, as if you were the most interesting thing he had seen in the factory so far, but you didn't notice it, because you were too focused on the thought of how Willy was handling the machinery.
“Did you like the factory?” you exclaimed, trying to get a topic of conversation that would kill the silence that had enveloped you.
You could tell that he was an educated man, because he immediately started talking to you about the structure of the building, finances, what a good investment it would be to open a branch and also about how much he loved chocolate.
“I have a daughter named Veruca. She is just a baby, but I hope to be able to give her everything she wants in the future. I only plan to work to fulfill her whims”
“Ow, that's sweet,” you tried to flatter. At least his motives were noble.
“She looks a little like you, actually. You are very beautiful"
You had to admit that the comment threw you off, but you still laughed nervously. Maybe he was just trying to be nice to you, so you could persuade Willy to close the deal with that man.
“Huh, I appreciate it, Mr. Salt.”
“What are your favorite chocolates? I imagine that being here you eat them in droves, right?” he murmured.
You hoped that with that the conversation would take a different direction, so you started talking to him about all the types of chocolates that Willy prepared for you: the sweet ones, some salty ones, the magical ones, the strange ones...
“But I think my favorites are definitely the mint chocolates. They may be simple, but Mr. Wonka prepares them in an exceptional way," you said dreamily, remembering that upon discovering it he had prepared an entire jar just for you.
“When the branch is open, you can stop by to eat all the mint chocolates you want. At a special price for special ladies”
You laughed at that, not so much out of desire but out of commitment to the potential client. Suddenly a hand was placed on your waist and when you turned in the direction of the body that had approached you, you noticed that it was who it could only be. You frowned slightly when you noticed that he was frowning, as if something had bothered him.
“I'm sorry I was late. Everything is in order now, would you like to accompany me inside, Mr. Salt?” he said. His voice sounded calm and stern, without that cheerful tone he always had, and he still had one hand planted firmly on your body.
“Of course,” the chocolatier made a sign for the opponent to start walking and he did not take his eyes off him at any time, noticing that Mr. Salt was looking at you with the same interest.
If he was unhappy with something, he didn't say it, and he just left a gentle kiss on your head.
“See you in a bit, okay?” You nodded and pushed him just a little, inviting him to follow the businessman you had just spoken to. He got lost down the hallway and you returned to your tasks, not imagining the feeling that was bubbling in your partner's chest.
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“That man is a complete idiot.”
You were surprised to hear the boy use those words and, above all, by the furious tone with which he had expressed himself. You interrupted your tasks of making dinner to pay attention to him.
“Who are you talking about?
“From Mr. Salt, of course! I didn't sign the contract with him. Don't even think about it, he's a… a complete nutcase”
"What are you talking about? What happened?" you asked, completely surprised by what he was telling you. You put everything aside to approach him and held his face to analyze his expression: it was extremely strange to see him this upset “Honey?”
“He was flirting with you! Don't think I didn't notice, when I left, he... he started talking to you that way. And not satisfied with that, he called you my assistant and then he hinted that he wanted a romance with you. He said punctually: I hope that, if I open this new branch, you will send your pretty assistant to help me with everything necessary” he was red with anger as he said that and he had to breathe for a moment to compose himself. "So I told him immediately that there was no deal if he dared to talk about my wife like that.”
There was too much to process at once. You felt disgusted at the idea that another man had shown interest in you, but at the same time you were surprised by how he had reacted. Willy wasn't a possessive husband, but right now you were feeling something strange about this side of him.
“You don't have to worry about that…”
“Of course I have to. You're beautiful and I'm sure everyone realizes that, but I won't let anyone look at you like he was looking at you. It is my job to protect you and that includes not entering into relationships with those who want to take advantage of you.”
He sounded sincere and passionate when he spoke, convincing you that he was very serious about the matter. Contrary to what he expected, you smiled and cupped his cheeks again to kiss him on the lips. He melted at the touch, you knew it by the way his shoulders completely relaxed and his hands came up to hold your elbows during the seconds you were kissing him.
Once he was more relaxed, you spoke.
“It's all right, love. Can you calm down?” you asked him. Your hand began to gently caress his cheeks and your eyes looked pleading, something he couldn't resist. “You shouldn't have wasted such an opportunity, but... I appreciate that you rejected it. For me"
“I would do anything for you,” he said immediately. Suddenly he felt the urge to kiss you again and he did, deeply and lovingly. You didn't resist.
“You're my only boy, you know that? No one in the world could take me from your arms” 
“That's not my fear, I know that nothing can separate us” he assured you, smiling from ear to ear. That's how sure he was about yours, that agreed with the pair of rings on your fingers “Besides, there will be more opportunities, you don't have to feel guilty about anything.”
“I don’t,” you exclaimed, to reassure him. You knew he had done the right thing and you loved him for it “Are you hungry? I'm making you something for dinner” you confessed and then he nodded.
He could smell what you were cooking and when you reached out to stir the contents of the saucepan with a stick, he hugged you from behind, starting to talk about something more trivial than that failed business and feeling clearly relaxed, now that he knew he was and he would always be the only owner of your heart.
1K notes · View notes
Note
i’m begging you please write about ellie or abby (or even both🤭🤭) overstimulating the reader
Keep The Pressure Up
ELLIE WILLIAMS X FEM!READER X ABBY ANDERSON
Word Count: 2K
18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!
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WARNINGS: Swearing, OVERSTIMULATION, dom!Abby, sub!reader, dom!Ellie, strap-on use, facesitting (abby!receiving), vibrator use (r!receiving), Abby and Ellie are married, modern!au, this is NOT noncon/dubcon, this one is literally just pure filth, slight pussy eating
SYNOPSIS: You loved being the girlfriend to this masc lesbian married couple... but sometimes, they push a little too far.
A/N: THIS IS SO FUCKING FILTHY!
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 “Abby, fucking hold her!”
“You think it’s easy? She squirms around too much!”
“Unbelievable; you’re built like a goddamn tank, and you can’t even hold her still.”
“You think it’s so fuckin’ easy? You hold her then!”
“Fine! Move, I got this.”
The shuffle on the bed was bordering on distracting as the two switched positions overtop of you. The blonde that attempted to hold down your squirming legs was now grabbing at both of your wrists with one hand, holding it over your head while picking up the discarded vibrator on the bed next to her.
The redhead had replaced her spot, cold hands digging into your shins and shoving your legs apart as far as you’d allow without trying to hurt you, keeping them down and letting them both see your glistening cunt that was slightly gaped out and dripping with the aftermath of the two stretching you out with the fat silicone toy resting on the nightstand.
You had already cum at least three times, but they weren’t finished with you. As much as you fought against them, they were relentless. At first it was simply Ellie holding your arms down and towering over you as Abby put her mouth to good use and licked your cunt until you were crying. Her hair was long undone from her braid and wild in golden waves around her head, tickling against your thighs as she feasted upon you.
But Ellie got impatient. After too long, she grabbed Abby by the hair and forced her to look up, demanding that they switch spots. You sobbed pathetically. Abby was the champion when it came to strapping you two, but Ellie? Ellie ate pussy like she was starving. You knew you didn’t stand a chance.
They traded off every few minutes, exchanging a few sweet kisses between each other before deciding on the ultimate torture for you. Abby kept your wrists pinned to your head and kept the vibrator in her hand, turning the toy on and pressing it against your lower stomach just to tease you.
“What do you think, babe?” Abby looked at Ellie who was grinning like a madwoman. “Think she needs more, doesn’t she?”
“A-Abby…” You looked up at the blonde who was biting her lip and pressed a little kiss to your cheek. “C-Can’t…”
“Oh, yes you can,” Abby ignored your fear and pressed the vibrator directly on your clit, smirking when you attempted to squirm away, but Ellie kept you down on the bed. “You will take it… gonna make you cum until we decide when it’s enough.”
The noise you made was borderline feral. You made a guttural cry of pleasure and Ellie laughed at your voice cracking. Her nails raked across your skin and admired how your hips twitched, bucking up against the vibrator in Abby’s massive hand and admiring how her veined hands flexed in place to keep it on your clit.
It hurt, but it felt so fucking good. You wanted them to stop, but also wanted more. You loved being the center of attention, and adored how they were trying so hard to make you speechless and a blubbering mess at their mercy. As if they didn’t make you like that all of the time anyway…
“Sit on her face,” Ellie said, almost like she was desperate to see more. Her hands flexed aggressively and you flinched when she touched a vein behind your knee, making your leg jerk. Abby looked up at Ellie, biting her lip and then licking over the teeth marks. “Go on. She keeps on screamin’, she needs to use that mouth.”
“Ellie—” Abby warned.
“Just fucking do it, Abby!” Ellie demanded. It was like she was also getting off to watching this, heart pounding as she held you down into the mattress. Abby shared a look with you and momentarily removed the vibrator from your pussy, making you gurgle on a breath of relief.
Ellie was getting impatient as she released your legs and crawled up closer, yanking the vibrator away from Abby’s hand and went back for the harness that Abby had discarded earlier. You were very distracted, watching the blonde strip off her black boxers and swing her leg over the side of your head, her pussy mere inches from your face.
“Fuck…” You salivated, hands reaching up and gently grabbing her ass, squeezing and playing with her strong muscle and making her blush with embarrassment. Had she been in her right mind, she would have been teasing you about having a thing for her ass, but it was your turn to knock the breath from her. “So fucking pretty.”
Abby bit her lip and rolled her eyes back for a second, reveling in your tongue against her slit and gently grinding down against your face. “Nnnn… that’s it pretty girl… just like that… just fuck—E-Ellie, what are you—“
The redhead grabbed a fistful of Abby’s long hair and kissed her desperately. She wiggled her way between your legs and Abby knew something was different when she felt your dull teeth graze her clit and she looked down to see Ellie sinking her strap inside of your pussy with little to no warning.
In protest, your hands began to smack at Abby’s rear, almost desperately begging for Ellie to slow down, but she refused. You screamed into the blonde’s cunt. In between huffs of pleasure, Abby told the redhead how you must have been feeling. “E-Ellie, Ellie slow down! It’s too much for her.”
Ellie chuckled. “Fucking bullshit, I saw you damn near fist her the other day… Not gonna fit? I’ll fucking make it fit.”
Abby held your thighs open and began to slowly rub your clit, trying to ease out more wetness from you and get your pussy nice and slick so you could easily take Ellie. A few extra seconds passed before Ellie grabbed you by the waist and slammed down inside of you. The tip of her massive toy cock kissed your cervix and you shrieked into Abby’s pussy.
Everything felt so overwhelming, and you thought you were drowning, and it wasn’t because Abby was wetter than a damn waterfall. There wasn’t much you could do other than keep licking and slurping on Abby’s clit like you were made to please her.
“Shit… fuck, she’s so good at this,” Abby praised you, rubbing one hand over your belly while the other reached up and grabbed the back of Ellie’s neck. “M-Made a really good choice with her, d-didn’t we El?”
Ellie was thrusting wildly, grip around your waist as she split you apart on her strap, pushing her forehead against Abby’s and peppering her handsome face in kisses like she couldn’t get enough of this woman in front of her. If she wasn’t being so rough, this moment may have been really cute and sweet.
“Wanna make her cum again…” Ellie huffed, rolling her hips and touching so deep inside of you with her dick that you saw stars behind your eyes. She scrambled forward, grasping the vibrator and when she pressed it to your clit where Abby’s hand was, you started screaming into Abby’s pussy once again.
Abby wanted to hear you, so she crawled off your face and sat down right next to you, watching how you squirmed and trembled in place, grabbing at Ellie’s wrist and trying to find some form of pause in her movements. There was none. Ellie wasn’t stopping. She had far too much stamina to let up any fucking time soon.
“Come on- Come on baby,” Ellie growled, her thrusts growing harder and harder with every passing second. You didn’t stand a chance. The buzzing of the vibrator, how she was hammering into your cervix, and the way that Abby was holding you at the shoulders to keep you down.
The noise you made when you finally climaxed was enough for Ellie to roll her eyes back in response, basking in the sounds you made. “Fuuuuuuck! Ohmygod, OHMYGOD! Ohfuckfuck! Nnnnnn…!! S-Stop! Stopstopstop Elliepl-please I c-cant—”
She didn’t turn off the vibrator or stop fucking you when you came. Abby had never seen her like this, and she was staring in wonder as her wife destroyed you without any form of mercy in her body. Her tattooed forearm flexed, and she pushed her other hand down into your abdomen, fucking deep into your cunt and watching you start to sob and shake against Abby’s hold.
“Not a chance, little slut,” Ellie barked meanly, angling the vibrator against your clit to give the maximum stimulation. Your hands grabbed at Abby’s arms, nails digging in and the blonde was so out of it that she almost didn’t notice your grip at all. She was too busy watching Ellie and how she was basically torturing you. That smirk on the redhead’s face was so beautiful and so terrifying… “You’re gonna cum again.”
You sobbed brokenly, squirming and thrashing around on the bed as your hips bucked upward, doing anything and everything to shake her off so she would pull the vibrator away, but this woman was uncompromising. Nothing in hell could stop her from making you cum again.
“Ellie,” Abby said, trying to gain her wife’s attention. She was seeing the tears streaming down your face and how your thighs were shaking so bad that you looked like you were going to break. “Ellie, you gotta let up—”
“She’s got one more in her,” Was all Ellie said, looking down at your pathetically whiny face and seeing how your eyes were rolling back in your head and you started screaming bloody murder. The neighbors definitely hated you all at this point. “Come on baby… cum one more time and I’ll stop…”
Your clit was going numb, and you wished her thrusts would stop, but you were falling into the dark again. The pleasure was blinding, and you had no choice but to comply with Ellie’s words. Your climax this time was so intense that your vision went spotty and you lost your voice, heart racing and eyes crossing so bad that Ellie started laughing.
“Fuck, look at her Abby,” Ellie teased, wiggling the vibrator around on your clit and pulling out more screams from you. “Look at how fucked dumb she is…”
“Ellie,” Abby reached out and grabbed her wife’s wrist, carefully removing the vibrator from your cunt and turning it off. “Ellie, ease up…”
The redhead complied this time, slowing her thrusts and then carefully removing her strap from you. A white ring was around the base of the cock, and she smirked, pulling off the harness and flopping down onto the bed next to you. She left soft little kisses on your neck and cheek, Abby following her lead and pushing the hair away from your face.
Your focus was only on breathing. Your muscles twitched a little and you felt like everything was going dark, eyes fluttering closed and body going completely limp on the mattress.
Abby chuckled and gently caressed your face. “That’s it, sweet girl… you get some rest, did so good for us, didn’t you?”
“Prettiest little fucktoy we could ever have,” Ellie taunted, kissing your face and then kissing Abby’s face.
“Really did a number on her, didn’t we?”
Ellie snorted. “We? Please, I did everything.”
“Oh, bullshit, you did not!”
“Yeah? You wanna bet on that?”
Before Abby and Ellie could prove their dominance by fucking each other, you let out a whine of protest and grabbed at Ellie’s waist, holding her down onto the bed and whining. “Don’t go anywhere… please…”
Ellie smirked, loving when you got clingy and whiny like an attached puppy. She fell down onto her back and turned to her side, holding you close and resting her head on the pillow above yours. Abby sighed, ignoring the throbbing in her cunt as she laid down next to you, gently rubbing your tummy and soothing your trembling muscles.
“Once she’s rested,” Abby breathed slowly, looking up to meet Ellie’s eyes. “We’re gonna double-team you.”
Ellie snorted. “Good luck doming me. Couldn’t even hold her down.”
“Ugh, can’t wait to fuck that attitude out of you.”
3K notes · View notes
cozage · 7 months
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congratulations on reaching 2k 🫶💕
For the event, I was wondering if you could do option one with reader being hit on right in front of them? With shanks, Sanji, zoro and if possible Nami <3
Hehe I love your writing so much!!
Hii thank you! And thank you for the request :)
Characters: gn reader x Shanks, Sanji, Zoro, Nami Cw: creepy bar guys who can't take a hint Total word count: 730
Take a Hint
Shanks
Shanks’s reaction really depends on the kind of mood he’s in. 
Sometimes, you both go into a bar in a competitive mind, trying to see who can get more free drinks throughout the night. 
He enjoys watching guys trying to flirt with you. Plus, free booze is free booze. It’s funny how they never seem to ask if you’re there with someone before they buy you a round. 
But sometimes it really rubs him the wrong way (especially when he’s in the middle of a conversation with you and someone interrupts him to talk to you). 
He usually says some snarky comment like “If you’re going to buy one for my friend here, you should probably buy one for me, considering we’re together.”
He doesn’t ever start a fight, but he will finish them. And he will always take up for you if someone says something rude to you or tries to put their hands on you. 
Sanji
People rarely get the chance to try and flirt with you because Sanji is literally all over you 24/7. He wants everyone to know that he belongs to you. 
However, there are some brave (and foolish) souls that sometimes try while he’s got his back turned or he steps away from a moment. 
The moment he is back, he immediately steps between you and the man who’s trying to shoot his shot. “Is this guy bothering you?” he’ll ask.
He’ll turn back to the guy, his curly brows furrowed in anger. “Unless you want to get your ass kicked, buddy, you might want to move along.”
Afterward the flirter leaves, Sanji will fawn over you, asking if the man hurt you or did anything that made you uncomfortable. He won't relax until he knows for sure you’re okay. 
Zoro
Zoro knows you can handle yourself. And besides, it’s amusing to watch. 
He lets you handle the situation. Most of the guys take rejections pretty well, but there are a few stubborn ones who insist on buying you a drink even after you’ve turned them down. So you accept a drink.
When you accept, Zoro’s focus on you usually sharpens slightly. He watches carefully for any passes this guy might try to make on you. If you show even an ounce of discomfort, Zoro’s hand is resting on his blade, just in case. 
Your eyes meet his, and he’ll mouth “You okay?”. If yes, he’ll leave you be. But if it’s no, he’ll take action. 
He’ll position himself between you and the man, taking a nice long drink of the alcohol the guy bought you. Then he’ll plant a kiss firmly on your lips and smirk at you, ignoring the fussing happening from the other man. 
“Listen man,” he’ll say, resting his hand on his blade as he turns to him. “I think you need to learn what rejection is. So why don’t you just buzz off, and leave us alone to enjoy this fine alcohol?”
If it leads to a fight, that’s fine. Zoro has never minded fighting for your honor before. And he’s never lost a bar fight. 
Nami
Listen, Nami is no stranger to people flirting with her. And neither are you. 
Plus, free things are always better. Which is why you two set up a system. 
If a guy starts flirting with you and can’t take a hint, well, he’s basically just inviting in some unfortunate circumstances. 
So you let him buy you a drink. Maybe two, if you’re feeling crazy. You keep him distracted, telling him stories about your life. 
Of course he thinks you need saving by a big strong man or whatever he imagines he is. He has no clue you could knock him out in about 3 seconds flat. But you just smile and listen to his clearly made-up stories. 
Meanwhile, Nami is absolutely robbing him blind. It’s actually hilarious to watch. She starts out with his wallet, but she slowly gets more confident as he gets more drunk. She steals his necklace, watch, even his rings. She’s truly amazing at thievery; you can’t help but be in awe at her skill.
At the end of the night, he goes to pay his tab, and you and Nami quietly slip out together hand-in-hand, serenaded by the screams of panic from that dreadful man.
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kneelingshadowsalome · 4 months
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Christian Woman
(König x Nun!Reader)
Word count: 5.2 k Summary: Yup it’s König with a Virgin!Nun!Reader folks. This is all @wordstome 's and @melancholic-thing 's and their König & religion post's fault! :( Tags/warnings: PINING. Eventual smut, eventual blood & minor injuries. A cute, sweet, silly story with undertones of religious despair. Watch out for possible mistakes concerning Catholicism, I was more interested in the forbidden love trope.
Part 1
You don’t know how it even happened, but you became friends with a foreign man visiting your city. 
You bumped into him one day. Literally bumped into him, or then he bumped into you; you’re not entirely sure who’s to blame here, but you would’ve fallen to the ground had he not grabbed you by the arm and hauled you back up and against him. 
It was just to prevent you from hurting yourself, but your mind short circuits for a moment when you’re pressed against the broadest chest you’ve ever seen. The man is tall, so tall you have to crane your neck to see who has such lightning-fast reflexes.
Worried eyes look down at you from above, but the man’s expression softens when he sees how frightened you look.
“I’m so sorry. Are you ok?”
“Yes… Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”
He starts to fuss about being in such a hurry without any particular reason and asks if he can make this up for you somehow.
Could he offer you a lunch or something? No, how about a drink? He’s truly so sorry.
His accent is charming, and the genuine regret and worry make you quickly judge him as a safe enough person to grab a coffee with. Accidents happen, and it’s not illegal to sit down with a man you just met, right?
You tell him you don’t drink drinks, but a coffee would be nice. The man raises an eyebrow when you reveal to him that you’re not only a teetotaler, you’re also a nun. 
“Ah… So you prefer a simple life?” 
He takes you to a dark, cosy cafe around the corner. His inquiry leads to a conversation on the joys of silence and simplicity, then on philosophy, faith, and the cons of modern life. By the time he grabs you a table for two, you’re already discussing how people are always on their smartphones nowadays, looking for instant gratification and pleasures and how it wrecks their brains. You both gush about how nice it is to steer away from all that. 
You find yourself talking to him with ease about your life choices. How the anxiety reached a point where you wanted to get away from all the fuss, and how much peace this solution has brought you. How you have meaning and purpose these days, and how you doubt you’d be able to adjust into a modern society anymore. He gets what you mean immediately, saying he only feels at home when he’s alone in the mountains. How he’s been alone his whole life, really, and that it doesn’t scare him anymore, on the contrary.
You feel warm and safe with him, lost inside a soft bubble you quickly create in the corner table of a cellar cafe. Perhaps it’s the dimly lit environment or perhaps it’s just him, but you have one of the deepest conversations ever with this mysterious man.
He’s attentive and curious without being your usual pervert on the sly. You’ve had enough of men looking at you like you’re the forbidden fruit after hearing about your life choices. 
This man doesn’t try to seduce his way into your pants; he listens to your insights and agrees with you on how silence does you good, especially in times like this. You wonder what he does for work and why he’s here because clearly, he’s not local. You never get to ask him because the conversation ends far too quickly. 
He receives a message on his phone, cruelly reminding you that the magical bubble has burst and you’re back in the modern world. He looks crabby about the interruption too, especially when he says he has to go.
You both agree that you had a nice talk and should continue it sometime – why not tomorrow? Same time, same place.
So you meet him again. 
And again… And again. 
You find out he’s in town for at least two weeks, but when he finally reveals what he does for work, your stomach sinks. He tells you he’s working for some private military contractor and can’t really share any details about his work. When you ask him does this mean that he kills people for money, he falls silent.
“I guess you could put it like that.”
He’s looking at his shoes when he says it, somewhat embarrassed or sad. His feet barely fit under the table, so he has them stretched out, leading to a waitress almost tripping on them one day. Your heart is squeezing inside your chest when he rises immediately and apologises like the perfect gentleman, helps the lady up and never gets insulted by the murderous glares the woman shoots at him. 
He gives you his codename, König, and that he comes from Austria, but then refuses to share any other personal details. You don’t even get to know his first name. You do talk about your childhood, you talk about your schools and what you were supposed to become when you grew up. He tells you about his love for hiking, and you tell him about your dance hobby. 
The usual “Oh? Nuns are allowed to dance?” comment has you laughing. 
“Well… I don’t do twerking, but yes, nuns are allowed to dance.”
“What’s ‘twerking’?”
It’s so funny how you seem to know about modern trends more than him. You know about Tinder and TikTok through your friends; it’s just that these things are really not for you. Still, this König knows even less about dating apps and internet challenges than you. 
It makes you intrigued: he could have dozens of women right now if he wanted to. And not only because he’s attentive and kind: he’s so big and tall that most women would beg him to whisk them away. All he needed to do was go to a hookup site and deal out some likes. 
Most of his muscles are packed in the shoulders and chest area, making it challenging for him to fit through a door. You can see he hasn’t skipped a leg day either, and immediately chastise yourself for checking out his butt in the coffee queue. You ignore your filthy thoughts of wanting to get pressed against those pecs again, you pay no attention to the fleeting musings on how good that short stubble would feel against your neck if he ever chose to kiss you there.
A soldier and a nun make an odd pair, but you find yourself enjoying his company more than anyone elses. He seems to wait for your meetings with eager but polite enthusiasm, too. You know it’s an attempt to make you forgive his choice of career when he reveals to you that his best mission was when he saved thirty women from sex trafficking. And it does make your heart crack open a little. Killing is a sin, but he has tried to protect life in his own crude way.
You start to include him in your prayers. First, you ask for the Lord to guide this man away from the path of killing. Then, slowly, you ask him to be protected from harm, you only pray for him to be safe. 
And you say nothing of this new acquaintance to the others. You ought to, but your lips remain sealed.
You’re allowed to have friends and visit them, and it doesn’t matter if the friend is of the opposite sex as long as the meetings are purely platonic. Which they are. This man could be your brother, you tell yourself. He could be a long-distance cousin. There’s nothing fishy going on around here, and he’s just visiting, so why would you bother to tell anyone? It would only lead to troubled sighs and concerned questions, and you really don’t feel like answering them right now.
You miss a few midday prayers, and once, your chores. The relationship turns out to be far from platonic.
König can’t even keep his eyes in check. 
They travel down your neck and land on the smallest amount of cleavage, barely visible in the loose, dull shirts you wear. They slip further down and stop to admire your breasts next, then quickly rise back to your collarbones as if this was just a mistake, just an absent, wandering gaze. You know you’re wearing a semi-helpless stare by the time he meets your eyes. The blue steel in his is completely swallowed by hunger.
You want to believe it was only a momentary lapse, but then he does it again. Actually, you catch him looking at your breasts, scanning your body and cherishing the tender spot between your collarbones more times than you can count. They’re quick, stolen moments, so harmless that you choose to stay quiet. He usually starts to talk about something trivial right after, or asks you a quick question as if nothing ever happened.
Those stolen glimpses stay with you for the rest of the day though. They give you intrusive thoughts during morning prayers and evening silence. You’ve never felt this… adored.
He has a quiet, commanding presence, and you feel like a mouse under his gaze, a mouse who’s always thoroughly examined. At the same time, he’s so polite and so charming that you can’t think ill of him. He always takes your coat and brings you coffee, always asks how your day or week has been, and actually listens to you speak. He listens to your every word with a softening glow in his eyes, a shimmer that spreads across the table and makes you feel warm all over. 
König always softens in your presence... You always tense up in his. 
Your face is flushed, and you blame it on the overcrowded cafe. You feel both safe and in danger with him, and it must be the virgin inside you talking. But you sense there’s something more at play here. He’s simply not like other men. 
You fear he’s seen hell; in fact, he must walk there every day. From what he tells you, you understand that he has suffered a lot and could use your prayers. But it’s also quite clear that he’s not a victim anymore. 
It’s difficult to see this utterly charming teddy bear in front of you, enjoying his large cup of coffee and giving you the occasional husky laugh, then imagine the same man bursting through a door and starting a massacre. Marching in some dark, dirty recess with a rifle or a shotgun in his hands, hunting down screaming people and putting down his already bleeding enemies.
Because that’s what you imagine in your mind when he tells you he’s sometimes used as an insertion specialist; a human battering ram in short.
You look at his hands around the mug, long fingers curled in search of warmth. He has short, trimmed nails and no sign of blood under them… But that doesn’t mean it’s not there.
"Oh honey. Soldiers are the worst," your friend sighs when you meet her at another cafe, different from where you meet your killing machine. It’s bubbly and lively and colourful, just like your friend; it’s the opposite of König, the special operations soldier who’s dark, intriguing, and intimate, just like the dimly lit cellar cafe you meet him in secret.
"He probably owns a Fleshlight," she mumbles with her mouth full of croissant.
"A… A what?"
She starts to cough at your innocent inquiry, and you know you didn’t hear ‘flashlight’ in the first place, it’s just that you’re not sure if you want to know what on earth she’s talking about now.
When she finally survives the munch she almost choked on, she politely tells you what a fleshlight is, and you find yourself not rolling your eyes, but actually thinking about König using one with need.
Christ have mercy…
"Soldiers are crazy. I once dated this peacekeeper,” your friend continues in her usual chirpy way. “Couldn't hold a conversation for his life. Unless it was about guns... And when I went over to his place, the walls were covered with pictures of naked women. It was so pathetic I had to keep myself from laughing. And oh god, now I remember! He offered me microwaved mac and cheese for dinner…"
You sip your coffee and listen politely to your friend ramble about some guy she used to date. She has a lot of these stories, and all of them are worth hearing. Sometimes you think if you’re living your unlived sex life through your friend, the way you’re so curious about hearing all the different descriptions of male genitalia and the crazy, funny, downright unbelievable scenarios that have happened to her. 
Some of the tales are so gross you’re quite happy you haven’t indulged yourself in casual sex. And at times, hearing about all the things your friend has gone through, being an onlooker to all that heartbreak and pining and loss, has managed to strengthe your resolve.
Being a nun isn’t so bad... At least you haven’t wasted your time on shallow men.
"He put so much chili in that shit that my makeup started to run," she continues her story about the poor excuse for a dinner and a date. Usually, the food leads to sex in these tales, and you’re a hypocrite for wanting to hear more.
"Did you sleep with him…?"
"After that? No thanks," she looks at you and raises an eyebrow. "I pretty much fled the building."
Even the most sad, pathetic, crappy tales make you both laugh, especially if enough time has passed. You laugh now, too, both at your friend falling for a man simply because he was a hot soldier and at the poor man who was in obvious need of an interior designer and a cook. Or a girlfriend… Or a mom.
"Look. I'm saying this because you're my friend." She says after wiping a few tears from her eyes, "And because you’re a virgin and a goddamn nun. Like come on, how many years have you been locked up in that dreadful monastery?"
"Convent," you correct.
"Whatever. I'm telling you this man is just looking for some easy pussy while he's deployed."
“I wouldn't call a nun an easy…ugh, you know.”
“Perhaps he likes a challenge then, “ she shrugs. “Men like to hunt.”
"It’s not like that,” you quarrel, trying to ignore the way her lips purse with amusement. “He's been very nice to me and… we have these great conversations. We talk about really deep stuff, you know? He explained the difference between Schopenhauer and Kierkegaard to me last time we met–"
"Ok, that's even worse. That's a red flag."
You look down at your beverage, sullen and beaten. She’s the first person you’ve told about meeting a man over a coffee, and you’re already doing it wrong.
"Does he ever look at your tits?" She asks all of a sudden.
"What?"
Your friend crosses her arms over her chest and tilts her head, looking like an overly self-satisfied detective.
"Do you ever catch him staring at your breasts," she rephrases the question as if she’s talking to a lame person.
"Well… Uh. Yes, sometimes–"
"Well there you have it. Man's just bored with his fleshlight."
"Shh! Keep it down, would you…? Good God..."
"Don't take the name of the lord your god in vain," she chimes. “But seriously, it’s no wonder. If only we could get you out of that convent, there would be a line of men at your door.”
“Oh for God’s sake…”
“No, seriously. We’re talking about fistfights and broken bones. Dating apps would explode. People would get killed.”
You roll your eyes - your friend always loves to exaggerate things. If anything, you’re scared of men, and you loathe the dating world. You’re put off by shallow commitments and one-night stands and getting ghosted and God knows what else. That’s why you became a nun: to find something stable in your life. You always told your friend that Jesus Christ is the most stable man you’ve ever met, and you will stick with him. As always, your friend was not on the same page with you.
“Stable? Excuse me, but didn’t he start a riot or something at the temple? Are we talking about the same dude who lead an uprising against the Romans? Hung out with whores, raised corpses from the dead, fucked around and found out until someone nailed him at the cross? Stable my ass!”
“Look, even if he wants something more, I’m not up for it,” you try to convince - both yourself and your friend.
“Mm. What a shame,” she smirks. “Is he handsome?”
“Yes, but–”
“Mmh. Deep voice?”
“Umm… It’s memorable?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know,” you cry. “Okay fine, it’s nice and deep and I like it. And I love his laugh,” you confess, and your friend does a silent little ‘yay’ and ‘I knew it’ cheer. You know it would be a field day for her if you finally got laid. As cliche as it sounds, you’ve always treated your friend as some sort of devil’s advocate.
You allow yourself to gush a minute, maybe two, about his muscles to your beloved devil. You tell your friend about his broad back, how wide his shoulders are, you tell her about the easy smiles he always sports with you. You describe the tactical pants and the snug black t-shirts he wears in detail, you confess he has a nice butt and that he’s so big he can't even fit the table. 
You tell her how König starts to talk with his hands if he gets excited and how you have to fear he’s going to knock something over and make a mess. You tell about his blue eyes and the way they always soften when he looks at you, and looks at you often. All the time, really. He doesn’t even see other women, uh, you mean, other people in the cafe. He’s polite to the waitresses but never fully acknowledges anyone else but you.
Your friend's enthusiastic grin turns into an uneasy, pitying smile when she realises how deep into this man you actually are. 
"I'm sorry babe… Someone has to give you the tough love," she reaches for your hand across the table. "Do you understand that if this guy is not working for the regular military, he's probably doing some war crime type of shit?"
The way you rush to defend your steadfast soldier who probably has his hands covered in blood, would make your abbess sigh.
"No, no, actually, he's working against these human trafficking cells–"
"Ok, he shoots human traffickers too, that's great. Good for him. You're still about to step into a pile of traumatised, immature, emotionally unavailable soldier shit. Trust me."
"Just because your soldier was like that doesn't mean mine has to be," you blurt.
Gosh - that was a good old Freudian slip...
"Yours now, is he?"
"No, that was… It just slipped."
"So you've actually thought about banging this guy?"
"What?! No."
"You have," she insists with a widening smile.
"No. No, I–"
"Oh my god. You're about to forsake your vows," she brings her hands together in excitement. "Oh my god, oh my god. This is amazing!"
You feel your lips snap into a thin line.
Just whose side is this woman on? Does she want to protect you from heartbreak or push you into some man's lap just for shits and giggles? 
If you're chosen by God, your friend is chosen by the Devil, that's for sure. Nothing exciting ever happens behind the walls of your 'monastery', nothing but endless prayers and boring lectures and monotonous chores. Of course she thinks it's about time you got a round of good dick. She just wants to hear a filthy story when you return from your secret little fling, a fling that could get you kicked out of the convent for good. 
"How tall is he exactly...? Does he have big hands?" 
Your friend's eyes are shining with excitement - apparently the possible war crimes and atrocities König has committed are forgiven and forgotten.
"What does that have to do with anything…?" 
"I can tell you what to expect in the dick department," she smiles with an impish grin.
You eventually leave the cafe with a dirty soul and a skittish heart.
The way your friend described your new acquaintance's probable blessings in the "dick department" left little to the imagination, and now you're actually scared. 
This man has been so polite towards you, so kind to you. He's offered you coffee and pastries and cake along with an intellectual challenge, but now it's all ruined because all you can think about is what's inside his pants. How big his hands are, and how they correlate with what's downstairs. How nice it would feel to lay under him, with his chest pressed against yours, how divine it would be to get pinned down by him. How those strong, narrow hips would fit between your legs, broad shoulders eclipsing the view above as he slowly crawls on top of you. How he'd kiss your neck, your collarbones, your mouth, with such hunger that your legs eventually give in and spread wide open.
You return to the convent with a heavy heart and distressed thoughts, but find some solace in your evening prayers.
Nothing has happened, you remind yourself; these are only thoughts. You have seen a man who's interested in you for half a dozen times. You took part in a shallow, mundane, earthly conversation today with your friend, but nothing carnal or wrong has happened. Everything is the way it has always been.
You’re safe now, completely safe here. There’s no chaos and no guns and no tall men with big dicks, no Austrian war criminals trying to seduce you and then discard you after their deployment ends. 
There’s only a man with a kind smile, warm eyes, and a nice, husky laugh. Some good coffee with distant notes of chocolate and perfectly civil conversations about European philosophers and the crisis of modern thought.
Sturdy walls support you; they have held you for centuries, and the crucifix above you has given hope to so many people before you. The ever-safe embrace of your faith envelops you, and you can always trust that you are loved, even when you’re flawed and incomplete.
Even with indecent thoughts, you can pray for mercy and ask for forgiveness. Even if you have impure urges towards your Austrian mercenary, you can still pray for him... It’s the least you can do to repay the kindness he has given you.
But the heaviness follows you to your room; it makes your chest feel dark and thick. You don’t say your last prayer before bed. You don’t want His eyes upon you tonight.
You don’t want to draw the Lord’s attention to you while your hand travels down beneath the sheets, your thoughts wandering to a certain god-like soldier with eyes like burning ice.
The next time you two meet, he crosses a clear boundary. 
König has started to take you for walks, sometimes suggesting you two could visit a museum, clearly wishing you’d show him around the city. In truth, he’s the one parading you around like you’re his cute little lady. He pays for your museum tickets and brings you ice cream while you sit on a bench at a park, grabs your arm to draw your attention to a few swans swimming in a pond. And that’s ok - physical touch like that is ok. Holding hands is not.
Because…
One time, when you’re walking down a hill path, admiring the sunset, a big, warm hand wraps itself around yours. 
It finds you in silence, envelops your tiny palm completely, squeezes you softly and emanates so much heat that a cord of fire shoots across your arm and straight into your heart.
You allow yourself to bask in the warmth of the huge, calloused palm for a few more seconds before ripping your hand away. You take a few hurried steps and turn, noticing he has stopped to look at you with guarded hesitation.
“I’m sorry,” you apologise even if König is the one who went off limits, “but this is not appropriate.”
“Entschuldigung… I know. That was out of bounds,” he raises a hand over his heart and bows his head a little, watching you from under his brows. You could keel over from how the gesture reminds you of Arthurian romances, of knights who place their hand on their heart to swear they’ll never disgrace a lady again. 
Instead, you nod, your soul saved but your heart sinking like an anvil dropped in the sea. You’d want nothing more than for him to do it again, to grab your hand in his and never let go.
The rest of the walk happens in awkward silence, and you thought he would keep his distance - Christ, you thought you would keep your distance - but he insists on walking near to you, and so you continue down the path with your fingers still touching each other every now and then. You don't even try to move your hand away.
I’m going to die, you scream internally while looking at the bleeding sunset in the distance. You can’t look at him; you can’t even talk to him. It’s like your body is pumped full of some drug these days.
Falling for someone so hard is making you feel faint; your insides are churning and turning and your brain is a mess. Your heart is racing so fast that you’re afraid you’ll end up having a heart attack one of these days.
He’s probably used to this: the thrill and the adrenaline, a world laced with rush and extremes, indulging in things such as guns and explosions and blood and women and darkness.
You only have your safe routines, your sisters, a few friends you meet over coffee, a family you visit thrice a year. You’re not used to being bombarded with hormones and raw emotion like this. You have never, ever lusted after a man like this. The only thing you ever craved for was another slice of cake.
“Do you still want to see me?” He asks apologetically when you approach the convent which has now started to resemble a frigid, uneventful prison.
“Of course,” you hurry to say. “Just… No more holding hands. Ok?”
“Ok,” he chuckles softly, and you stop and turn.
He’s never been this near to where you live, and you’re afraid someone will see you if he escorts you to the door. You can’t be seen with a man in your current state, that would be a catastrophe. Anyone in the building could tell that this friendship is far from platonic.
“I’m sure you’ll find some other girl to… hold hands with,” you say, hating how bitter and self-pitying you sound. You even swallow when you look up into his eyes. They’re so soft now that the ice has almost disappeared, devoured by longing, a thick and sinful darkness.
“What if I don’t want some other girl?” 
His voice is so wickedly gentle too.
You can see he’s fighting an inner battle to not touch you again; he’s standing toe to toe with you, towering above you, with his shoulders slightly hunched. If someone walked behind him, they wouldn’t even see you’re there because of how close you two are standing to each other. You can’t back away from him because you’d bump into a tall iron gate - in fact, you’re half-pressed against it now. 
“I’ve enjoyed our conversations,” he continues with a throaty voice. God, how you would melt if he used that voice in bed…
“So have I,” your voice comes out as a wavy whisper. “But there can’t be anything more than that... I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too,” he laments, but the corner of his mouth curves slightly up. “So sorry you wouldn’t even believe…”
It’s mischief and seduction, darkness and deception, and your insides squeeze into a tight little knot.
“Please… Let’s just keep it the way it was,” you plead with eyes that beg the complete opposite.
“Sure... I will try my best, Kätzchen. Is this your convent…?” 
You wonder if he’d pay you a visit if you told him where you sleep. You wonder if your single bed would creak if he tried to make love to you on it... You wonder if you could muffle your cries when you clenched with him inside you. If he’d groan too loudly when he reached his peak…
“It’s just around that corner,” you explain with a frail voice, hating how it betrays every single thing that crosses your mind.
“Good to know,” he replies, with no shakiness to his voice at all. He seems to enjoy making you so flustered; he seems to draw strength from people weaker than him. Which is probably 99 % of the population…
“How so,” you peep, already praying that he wouldn’t come to try his luck with the poorly locked windows. The back door is always open too because some of the nuns are smokers. König wouldn’t even need to use his insertion skills to get in.
“Now I know where to find you if I come to work here again,” he shrugs as if innocent. As if his eyes didn’t betray a few filthy thoughts too.
“Are you… Are you leaving then?”
“Soon.”
Your heart is about to break after two weeks of knowing some random guy, and you feel like the silliest woman in the world.
You try to remind yourself of what your friend said: this man just wants some easy pussy. He’s just bored with his fleshlight. Men like challenges, they like to hunt. You think about Lucky Luke and all the other cowboys who came and went as they pleased, breaking hearts and then riding into the sunset.
This cowboy only got to hold your hand though... And he’s saying he doesn’t want “some other girl”. Of course there’s a chance that he simply visits a brothel after discussing philosophy with you, or goes to a club or whatever, but you don’t want to entertain such horrible thoughts. 
“I’ll miss you, then,” you try to sound neutral while he’s looking down at you like you’re his first love.
“Ganz sicher, I will miss you too. Perhaps I’ll visit you, work trip or not?”
“That would be nice.”
“It might take a while. But you won’t forget me, ja?”
“Of course not. I will pray for you every day,” you smile with a good amount of affection. It has the same effect as saying something like “I want to blow you right here on this street” because your Austrian giant gets visibly excited. His breath quickens, and his eyes start to wander again. 
“...Are you sure I can’t hold your hand?”
You give him a shy smile, then quickly guide your eyes to the pavement. This König is definitely taking it as some love confession when a girl says she will pray for him. Your insides turn to jello when you see his hand close into a loose fist, then open with a spasmlike stretch. He wants to touch you so badly that he has to physically fight against it.
“No…?” He inquires high above you, so desperate that you’re quite sure he’s not frequenting any brothels in the area. He might stroke his cock to the thoughts of you, though…
You shake your head softly, then raise your eyes back to his. What a silly, silly man. If only you weren’t a nun, you’d let him do whatever he wants with you. Even abandon you after using you in every which way, because to be under that adoring gaze is worth a thousand heartbreaks.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
There’s more desperate hope in that question, and you wonder if tomorrow is the last time you’ll see each other. Soon could mean anything, but you can’t bear to hear the exact time and date when he leaves. Not tonight.
“Yes. Same time, same place,” you agree, then flee from under the dark, adoring stare to the safety of your cloister. 
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cherry-leclerc · 5 months
Text
thinking of her ☆ cl16
genre: angst, marriage trope
word count: 1.8k
You and Charles take a visit to marriage counseling.
inspired by this !
req!... had some free time to write so thought i would work on a request i just got! short one, but i hope you enjoy :)
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“Tell me why you’re both here.”
The room is silent and slightly cold. A large canvas hangs right in front of you as you take time to pretend you care about the family painted on it. Part of you actually does.
“Well, she thought it would be a good idea to drag us into this.”
Your eyes flicker to Charles and you would only hope that he could tell that you weren’t impressed by his answer. It was true, it was your idea to go to couple’s counseling, but only because you cared. You cared a lot. Sometimes you thought for sure he didn’t anymore.
“Honey, tell me what made you decide this.”
You wanted to burst with anger. To prove to her that this wasn’t completely your fault. He wasn’t perfect, he tested your patience and despite it all, you still loved him enough to try and salvage your marriage. 
Your therapist stares back, pen ready to scribble possible solutions as if her words would really matter. Maybe, deep down, you didn’t like being here either, but you wanted to prove to Charles how he’s been a shit husband. 
You wanted someone to back you up.
Taking a deep breath, you play with your wedding band. The one that you would normally admire, but now it just felt like pure suffocation. “He’s given me plenty of reasons to not trust him the way I once did and now I sit here like a fool thinking he might change.”
The way her pen glides is something you hate. 
Looking back up at you both she takes a moment to analyze the couple. Charles sits with a blank expression, as if he really did have somewhere better to be. In his mind, he did. Then, there was you. Regardless of your words pouring with pure vexation, your body language displayed something else. 
Your eyes were sad and tired. She easily noticed the way your hand would want to reach out to Charles, but would quickly grip tighter to your lap.
“Please, if you don’t mind, would you care to explain.”
You press your lips together. “I first noticed a difference 2 years into our marriage.”
-
“Chicken or fish?” 
It was Charles’ day off from work in a long time and you were currently on a call with Pascale trying to figure out what to surprise him with. He always raved about how much he loved what you cooked for him. 
“Fish. You guys were just here yesterday and I made grilled chicken, remember?”
You hum as you get into your car and start driving to the market. The conversation is cut short when you finally reach your destination. Walking through the aisle you decide it would be a fine idea to grab some wine you both love. 
“Charles?” The brunette looks up, red wine in his hand, as you smile a bit confused. “What are you doing here? I thought you were playing padel with Lorenzo.” 
“I was! Finished the game early and thought I would grab us some wine for later.” He gets closer as he kisses you and takes the kart from you. “Shopping for dinner?” You nod.
“Thought it’d be nice…” You look at the bottle and yes it’s red, but it's not the kind you both like. “Honey, you got the wrong one.” A panicked look flashes his face before he lets out a nervous laugh. Of course! I’ll change it right now.
-
“It only took a couple more slip ups for me to find out.”
The therapist nods as her attention turns to Charles, where he plays with his bracelets. “And what made you stay?” You want to laugh. Are we just going to spend time on me? She shakes her head. “We’ll get to him, I just want to hear from you first.”
“After I confronted him he swore he’d stop seeing her. I guess it was my fault for even believing him.”
-
“Amour!”
He runs into the living room, kitchen, basement, everywhere. Breathing hard he looks around the house as if the furniture will give up and tell him where you are. A loud thud echoes from upstairs. Two steps at a time, he darts up quickly into your bedroom. His heart stops when he sees you packing a suitcase. What are you doing?
You don’t answer. Don’t even spare a passing glance. Instead you slip the gold band off your finger as you throw it behind you. It only falls a few steps in front of him. He picks it up as he makes his way to you. “I’m so sorry.”
Your back faces him, but you don’t dare make a single sound. You curl your hand against the dress you were folding, bite hard on your lip to not let out a single sob. But your chest hurts, your tears feel like acid against your skin and you’re almost thankful for pain like that, that way what Charles did wouldn’t be the only thing that hurt.
He makes his way to kneel down in front of you as you stare down at the carpet. You had begged him only a few days ago to put down the deposit on it and for a while he said it wouldn’t be financially responsible, but later agreed. You hated the carpet now.
“Why? Just why?”
He’s far too embarrassed to even come up with an answer. “...I don’t know.”
When you finally look up at him he sees what he’s caused. Your eyes are bloodshot as your nose is rosy. Cheeks are so bright pink, it almost looked as if someone pinched them. 
You let out a wet laugh as you drop your hands against your lap. “You know, when I woke up this morning and you were gone I thought to myself, ‘Wow. What did I do to deserve a husband who wakes up early enough to get me breakfast on my birthday?’ And I waited. And waited. But whatever! That’s fine! He probably got busy. Then Pascale called to confirm if we were still going out for dinner, to which I said, ‘Yes! Of course!...Yes, the gold bracelet! It was beautiful, thank you for helping him pick it out.’ I thought it was sweet, I did, but you never came. And again, the presents are not what mattered, but it was you. I texted you. I called you. I told myself you were probably too busy planning something sweet the way you always did. They all asked where you were and I had to lie and tell them you were going to be late. Do you know how stupid I felt when I saw you and her enter the restaurant holding hands? And then what did I do? I purposefully had you see me run out so you could chase after me, so that your family would never find out about your…fling.”
Charles keeps bowing his head lower and lower almost as if to hide from his mistakes.
“...So where’s my bracelet, huh? Because you got it for me for my birthday, right?” Extending your hand out hurts because you know deep down it was never for you. 
“I don’t have it…” You click your tongue as you retract your arm. Of course you don’t, you seethe. With all your strength, you stand with wobbly knees as you start to walk away. 
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”
And he should feel relieved, but instead he feels like a complete asshole. How could he ruin things with his wife who swore to love him with all her being? He knew you well enough to know that you always will and he couldn’t let that go. He would fix this.
He runs to the door to close it. Move, you spit out. He shakes his head as he hugs you. 
“S-stop,” you say in a shaky voice as warm tears begin to flow once more. “It’s okay, just let me go…”
You go stiff when you realize he’s crying into your neck. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…He just keeps repeating it and you can’t stop yourself from hugging him back. He loved you and you loved him. That’s all that mattered.
“Just don’t do it again, okay?”
-
“So he cheated: you forgave him. He put her first and your marriage second.”
You flinch at her words because they only remind you how true they are. For a while, you thought you could both get over it, but you never really did. Not when you were already both standing on opposite sides of the road.
“Mom always did say I always saw the best in people.”
“And you…” Charles gulps. “What made you fall into an affair?”
Months ago, when you first found out, he didn’t have any answer to that question. But he did now.
“I wasn’t smart enough to appreciate my wife.” He looks at you as you avoid eye contact because you know the moment you looked into his eyes, you would fall all over again.
But you still did.
His eyes are sorry, you could tell, and the way his hand makes his way to you is enough for you to grow warm despite the cold room. 
“I’ve made plenty of mistakes - I know that - but none of them could compare to what I did to us. For putting you through so much doubt…For making you think I didn’t love you, but I always did.”
You're crying now as you nod because this is all you ever needed to hear.
“If this was the bump in the road that we had to overcome to grow closer then I accept it because I love you too, Charles. It’s about time you realized that.”
-
Charles feels lighter, happier. Now that he gets to hold your hand after many fights, he’s reminded about all the things he loves about you. But nothing could have prepared him for you to let go of his hand.
“I want a divorce.”
He’s stunned. W-what? We just decided that we were fine, that we were moving on…
You shake your head as you laugh. “My apologies, God, did I make you believe a lie? Feels awful, doesn’t it?”
He furrows his brows as he tries to reach out for you but you keep stepping further back. “Back there you almost had me…You said, ‘...none of them would compare to what I did to us.’ Us. Did you suffer? Did you spend countless, empty nights, crying yourself to sleep wondering what you did wrong? No, because it was all me. It wasn’t what you did to us, it's what you did to me.” You spin your ring one last time before slipping it off and placing it in his hand. He wants to say something to make you change your mind, to oversee his past mistakes one more time, because he swore to himself it would be the last time. But he could tell you’ve made up your mind. You twist your heel, ready to walk away before taking one last look into his green eyes you once loved.
“And the baby is getting my last name.”
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valeskafics · 8 months
Text
"Seeds of Love" - Hades!Daemon Targaryen x Persephone!Reader
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a/n: the second installment of my greek gods/goddesses au! the next one will be hephaestus!aemond or dionysus!aegon 🤭
Summary: Daemon, the God of the Underworld, claims you, the sweet Goddess of Spring, for his own.
TW: dubcon, canon typical incest (reader is a velaryon), profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, abduction, fingering, oral f receiving, p in v sex, size kink/breeding kink if you squint
Word Count: 3,200 words
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️
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Sometimes, Daemon loves his position as God of the Underworld. He is not tied to King’s Landing and all its politics, rather, he is free in his own domain. Perhaps it is a bit dark and a bit gloomy, full of the dead, of course, but it is his home. His kingdom. He was always meant to be a king, he thinks, and in a way, Viserys has given him that. So, he does his best to be grateful for the life he has been given.
However, there are days when even his three-headed dragon, Caraxes, is not enough to bring him joy, days where his nymph lover, Mysaria, is not enough to soothe the emptiness inside of him, the darkness that threatens to consume him whole. On those days, he travels to King’s Landing, walking through the gardens, the Kingswood, anywhere he can bask in the sun, if only for a moment.
It is on one of those days that he sees you for the first time. The Goddess of Spring, the sweet daughter of Corlys, the God of the Sea, and Rhaenys, the Goddess of the Harvest. From what Viserys has told him, your parents have kept you safely cloistered away, far from the eyes of any gods who may wish to claim you. The God of War, Aemond, and the God of Wealth and Luck, Jacaerys, both sought your hand but were swiftly denied by your mother, who went so far as to hide you on Dragonstone for a time, fearing that one of them would steal you away.
However, it would seem that you have returned to King’s Landing. Daemon remains in the shadows, watching as you walk, adorned in a dress of fine white silk, a symbol of your purity, flowers in your hair denoting your status as the Spring Goddess. He watches as you walk, flowers blooming everywhere you step. He cannot take his eyes off of you, admiring the way the sunlight glows on your skin, your dainty bare feet that prompt flowers to bloom, the curves of your body barely hidden beneath your dress…
Daemon watches as you enter the Kingswood, accompanied by your entourage of nymph attendants, one of whom begins braiding your hair. You look beautiful, he muses, as you braid one of the nymphs’ hair in return before turning your attention to weaving yourself a crown of flowers, specifically daffodils. Daemon notes with no small degree of delight that your mother is nowhere in sight. So, he approaches you, the nymphs scattering when they see him approaching, his presence formidable.
You, however, do not notice him at first, a fact which amuses him greatly. He takes a few steps closer before saying your name in a soft, almost whispering voice.
You turn to look at him, your lips parted in surprise, “Yes?”
He smiles at this, finding your reaction to his presence adorable. His violet eyes seem to almost pierce through you as he stands tall before you, taking another step closer, his gaze flickering down to your lips, so soft and so very kissable. He feels a heat growing in his chest, a desire to take you back with him to the Underworld and claim you for his own. However, seeing the trepidation in your gaze, he realizes he must be careful.
“You are the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld,” he says in a smooth baritone.
You stand up, backing away slightly, seeming to recognize him, “Does my mother know you are here, Prince Daemon?”
Daemon is not in the least bit put off by your reaction. In fact, he feels excited by it as he takes a step closer to you, his eyes greedily drinking in the sight of your curves as you move, so graceful and smooth.
“No, we happen to be away from your mother,” he says, not once looking away from you.
“Aren’t you meant to be in the Underworld?” you ask him, curious little thing that you are, gazing up at him, “Mother says you hardly come to the Keep.”
Daemon grins at you, moving in ever closer, “Sometimes I feel the urge to leave. To revel in the sun and its warmth. And when I do leave, I enjoy the company of beautiful women such as yourself.”
“She’ll be quite angry if she sees me talking with you,” you trail off, a bit uncertain as you continue moving away from him.
He continues walking toward you, slowly, almost like a lion getting ready to attack its prey, his gaze appraising you, “Why? Does your mother not trust her sweet daughter?”
“She trusts me,” you protest, your back hitting a tree, stopping you in place, “She says that it is men who cannot be trusted.”
Daemon’s grin grows wider at the realization that you cannot continue to move away from him. He moves closer to you, a primal urge deep inside of him taking control, a hunger growing in his stomach, though not for food. His eyes are filled with lust and his breathing grows heavier. He swears he can hear your heart beating just as fast as his.
“Does it not bother you to have people treat you like a fragile flower?”
You glower up at him slightly, bristling with annoyance, “I am a goddess. I am not fragile.”
Daemon enjoys the way you stand your ground, the fire in your eyes, as a mischievous smile graces his lips, “Oh, I know that, sweet one. The only fragile thing here is the restraint I am having to show in not just taking you and claiming you as my own.”
You arch a brow, crossing your arms and looking at him with an unimpressed expression, “I see why my mother says men are not to be trusted.”
He chuckles, loving the way you hold your own against him, your pride only further intriguing him, “That is a very narrow-minded thing for you to presume, my sweet, most men may be bad but not all. But,” he leans in close to you, his breath tickling your lips as he murmurs, “I do have bad intentions.”
You gaze up at him through your lashes and question, “And what bad intentions are those?”
Daemon’s eyes run the length of your body before returning to your eyes, then down to your lips, “My intentions are bad, wicked. Dark. I have never felt like this before, but right now I feel like I have to have you, no matter the cost.”
You are about to answer him when none other than your mother appears, giving Daemon a scathing look for having dared approach you. She drags you off, Daemon is sure, lecturing you all the way on the dangers of speaking to him. Yet, you turn and glance back at him over your shoulder, curious, as you disappear back into the Red Keep. Daemon’s gaze on you is hungry. You may have eluded him this time, but there will certainly be another day.
Daemon, for the first time in a long while, goes to Viserys, the God of Lightning, his dear older brother, for advice. And Viserys, happy to spite Rhaenys, is glad to give it. After all, a goddess of your age should not be sequestered away in the Red Keep, as far as he is concerned. So, the two hatch a plan, one that will ensure that Daemon gets what he wants.
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He finds you a few days later, gathering flowers, looking as beautiful as ever. He observes you for a few moments, the heat inside him rising to new heights. He thinks of the plan he and Viserys concocted, his blood feeling as though it is boiling beneath his skin. Daemon makes his approach, grabbing you by the hips from behind.
“Hello again, my beautiful goddess.”
You freeze in place, though not for fear of him, he realizes as you respond, “I am not supposed to speak to you.”
You turn to face him and Daemon stares you directly in the eyes, moving closer, “Your mother?”
“Yes,” you say, slowly backing away, dropping the flowers you were gathering.
There is something in your eyes that Daemon cannot quite put his finger on as he gazes at you. Curiosity? Or perhaps something akin to desire? He has every intention of finding out. He grabs your wrist, though not roughly, pulling you flush against his chest.
“I think you ought to learn to listen to how you feel rather than what others tell you,” he says, eyes darting between your lips and your beautiful eyes which continue to gaze at him.
That is when you hear it. A rumbling. You gasp, looking around as the ground begins to shake. And soon, a great chasm opens near where you and Daemon stand.
“What’s happening?” you breathe, panicked.
Daemon grins at you as he pulls you into his arms, dragging you down with him, murmuring into your ear, “You are coming with me, sweet flower.”
You close your eyes in fear as the two of you fall for what seems like an eon, but truly isn’t more than a few moments. When your eyes open, you realize where you are. Daemon’s domain. The Underworld. You look around, realizing you are on the bank of the River Styx, staring somewhat awed at the sight, only to panic once more when a restless spirit attempts to drag you into the dark waters. You yelp and cling to Daemon, your chest pressed against his side in a way that allows him to feel you in all your splendor.
Your sweet little noises excite the God of the Underworld even more as he holds you close, “Do not panic, little one. There is nothing to fear. I will take you to a place where no one will be able to find you, not even your mother. A place where you will be mine.”
You mumble under your breath, “I do not like it here…”
Daemon lifts your chin so that you meet his eyes, “You will soon,” he pauses before adding, “Have you any idea how badly I want you right now?”
You are about to answer when you are interrupted by a low growl, one that does not come from the man beside you. You all but shriek and grab onto Daemon even closer as his great three-headed beast, Caraxes, approaches, staring you down.
“Fear not, little one,” Daemon chuckles, “You are perfectly safe with me. Caraxes knows you are under my protection.”
As if on cue, Caraxes approaches you, one of his heads licking you playfully, the other nudging you, prompting you to laugh softly, resting your hand against his warm scales, “He… He is quite friendly.”
Daemon pats his third head, smirking, “See, my goddess? He likes you. Perhaps he knows you are meant to be my queen. Even he can feel the connection between us.”
You turn to Daemon as Caraxes wanders off, no doubt in search of food, and speak, “The Goddess of Spring is meant to remain untainted-”
Daemon raises an eyebrow, resting a hand against your face, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb, “Do you truly think you remain untainted, my sweet? You so enjoyed the attention I gave you in the woods, did you not?”
He places his free hand on your lower back, moving it upward until he reaches the end of your dress, his fingers tracing your bare skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He feels you shiver slightly, your body responding to his touch.
“I know you enjoyed my touch, your body responds to me in a way you cannot deny,” Daemon whispers, his thumb moving from your cheek to your lips.
They are so plump and soft that all Daemon can think about is kissing you, feeling your lips against his skin. You part them slightly and he moves his thumb between them, into your mouth. You gaze up at him in surprise, your lips closing around his thumb, suckling at it slightly. Daemon feels his breeches grow tight at the sight, loving the way you so naturally seem to know what it is he wants. He removes his hand, unable to rest any longer, pressing his lips to yours.
Daemon kisses you with an insatiable hunger, as though he wishes to devour your very being. And you do not wish to deny him. Your kiss is more shy, hesitant really, but you wrap your arms around him, returning his kiss with ardor. He bites your lower lip, just enough to get you to gasp and part your lips, his tongue moving into your mouth, dancing against your own as they meet. He picks you off the ground, carrying you off to his chambers, dropping you gently on the bed, staring down at you, his gaze ravenous, famished.
“But where will I sleep?” you ask curiously, looking around.
Daemon smirks, “Right here with me. We will do more than just sleep beside each other, however. You will be my wife.”
“My mother will never allow it,” you say, a bit bitterly as you watch him move to lay atop you on the bed.
Daemon smirks, “She will have no choice in the matter.”
He runs his hands down your sides, caressing your waist, down to your hips, then your thighs. Your back arches off the bed as you gaze up at him, entranced by his every move. You weakly protest that your parents will be furious but Daemon quells your fears with his lips against yours. Your body is so soft and supple against him, it drives him almost mad with want. He moves to kiss your neck, biting down on your soft skin, leaving his mark on you, evidence of his desire for you. His mouth moves toward your collarbone, your hands threading through his hair, nails raking against his scalp.
Daemon makes quick work of your dress, sliding it down your body, his eyes greedily drinking in each bit of your exposed skin, your bare breasts, your hips… He removes his tunic, smirking as your delicate hands reach for his breeches, unlacing them with haste. You take his cock in your hand, so long and thick and heavy. He throws his head back as you move your hand along his length, slow and curious, before gently pushing your hand away and pressing his lips to yours, wanting to feel you.
He moves his hand to the apex between your thighs as he kisses you, his fingers teasing your entrance before he pushes one in. You feel so tight around him that it’s almost hard to move when he adds a second finger, but he continues, reveling in the little mewls of pleasure. His mouth moves to take one of your pert nipples in his mouth as he adds a third finger, pumping them in and out of you at a languid pace, his tongue tracing over your sensitive bud as he gazes at you, his eyes hooded, pupils blown wide with lust.
He brings you to your peak, feeling your walls squeeze tight around him, soaking his fingers with evidence of your arousal. He soon replaces his fingers with his tongue, wanting to properly prepare you for the moment he takes you, lapping at your folds eagerly, keeping his eyes on you all the while. Your hands fly into his hair yet again, fingers twisting in his platinum locks, both wanting to push him away and pull him closer. He alternates between suckling at your pearl and licking and sucking your sensitive core, making you cry out his name, reaching your peak against him once more.
Daemon pulls back, his lips shining with evidence of your arousal as he moves up to kiss you again, making you taste yourself on his tongue. The sensation is erotic, to say the very least, and you moan against his lips, whimpering slightly as you feel him running the tip of his cock along your center, teasing you yet again. You squirm, slightly oversensitized by his previous ministrations, but that is long forgotten when he pushes himself inside you.
He fills you up so perfectly, and gods, the way he makes you feel when he begins rutting against you, the the head of his cock brushing against your sweet spot with every thrust, his lips attached to yours, hands holding yours, his thumb tracing over your pulse point in a gesture that feels so very intimate. He’s so big that it is almost painful, but not quite, all you can concentrate on is the mind-blowing pleasure he is giving you. He pushes your knees up to your chest, allowing him to fuck into you at a deeper, faster pace.
Daemon feels you squeezing around him, knowing your release is imminent, and moves his thumb to circle your pearl, your release triggering his own, as he spills his seed deep inside you. As he pulls out of you, he replaces his cock with his fingers, eager to make sure his seed takes, to breed you. And you simply smile at him, blissed out in your post orgasmic haze.
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Daemon makes the arrangements for you two to marry shortly thereafter, and as he said, you come to see the Underworld as your home. He has one of the minor goddesses, Alys, the Goddess of Magic, create a garden for you to tend so that you may be near your beloved flowers, something you find to be entirely thoughtful and romantic.
However, your blissful time as newlyweds is cut short when Viserys arrives with Rhaenys and Corlys on his heels, declaring that you must be returned to your parents, that Rhaenys has kept the mortal world in a perpetual state of winter, demanding your return.
You try your best to tell your parents that you love Daemon, that you want to be with him, but they refuse to listen. Your mind wanders to something Daemon had told you months ago, that if one partakes in food from the Underworld, they are bound to return, mortal and immortal alike. He never wished to trap you here, so he had Alys or one of the others go to procure you food from King’s Landing.
But you see a juicy, ripe pomegranate sitting on a plate before you, one that Daemon was just about to eat.
You look between your mother, her face stern as she stares back at you, and at Daemon, who seems entirely forlorn at the thought of you leaving him forever.
And so? You do the only thing you can think of.
You walk to your husband and take the pomegranate from his plate. You take a breath before biting into it, allowing the juices from it to drip down your chin, almost making it seem as though you are soaked in blood. And you kiss your husband once more, in full view of the Goddess of the Harvest, the God of the Sea, and the God of Lightning.
Never again will you allow your fate to be decided for you.
You have chosen him, and you would choose him again, given the chance.
Your Daemon, your husband.
Your king.
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