#— 𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓭 ��. ༯

[silkjade]

WICKED DRAGON, LAY WASTE TO ME

⤀ synopsis: neuvillette has always been the gentlest of lovers—and so tonight you ask him not to hold back ⤀ cw: afab!reader, unprotected + rough sex, size kink, praise, overstimulation, breeding + creampie, marking, monsterfucking (dragon cock), cervix fucking, multiple orgasms, dumbification, mentions of mates, lil bit of dom!neuvi (??) but he is still sweet — mdni || ꒰ 8.4k wc ꒱ ⤀ notes: leviathan fic for leviathan neuv ( i’m not talking abt his constellation ) rbs + feedback are always vry much appreciated ♡

“Well? What do you think?” You come home, twirling before him in a gown, different than the one you had left in. The short hem at the front lifts mischievously, teasing just a peek of what lies underneath, while the longer, flouncing layers of skirts behind you, wrap flirtatiously around your legs. Neuvillette feels his throat run dry.

“Navia and Clorinde thought it was high time I changed my look, and you know I can’t ever say no to Chioriya Boutique.” 

While he’s spent the better part of the night reviewing court documents in the parlor, you have been out with Navia and Clorinde, who he thinks have perhaps plotted to kill him. ‘Girls’ night,’ you had called it.

Draped in a vivid palette of the finest fabrics, decorated interchangeably with delicate metalwork and dainty ribbons, the blush on his pale skin is ever-present as he rakes his eyes up and down your body. The dark, patterned stockings, squeezing your thighs just enough, so that supple flesh spills obscenely over the top, the tight, whale-boned embrace of your corset, accentuating the curves of your waist, and pushing upwards the swell of your breasts…

A coy smile graces your features when you catch how his throat bobs in his silence. Giggling, you lean down, tracing the tip of your finger up the contours of his neck, skimming the gentle curve beneath his chin until you’ve tilted his gaze to yours. “Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, got nothing to say?”

How can he even think, much less find the right words to say, when the familiar scent of your perfume fills his head with indecent, lascivious thoughts? Everything about you is intoxicating, almost insidiously attractive, so would it suffice to say that he’d much rather see your pretty, new dress abandoned somewhere on the floor? 

That first pulse of arousal translates into the first twitch of his cock, and oh how he wishes to kiss away your teasing little grin, but his lust-driven eyes are drawn to the miniscule movements of your bodice sleeve, predatory as he watches how it begins to shift, ever so slowly, off your shoulders. 

“If you don’t like it, then perhaps…” You loosely roll your shoulder, letting the sleeve slide right off. “…you’d like to help me undress?”

That, he will gladly do. His hands fly to your waist, dragging you down into a straddle over his hips. 

“Temptress,” he murmurs into the skin of your neck, distracting you with a featherlight kiss as his nimble fingers waste no time in undoing the delicate clasps of your bodice, leaving the heavy outer garment to tumble off your shoulders, abandoned in a pile at your waist. 

Cool air licks at the now exposed skin, though it’s nothing compared to the warmth of his lips as he slots his mouth against yours, gently coaxing you open with a subtle swipe of his tongue. Your eyes flutter shut in honeyed complacence, allowing Neuvillette to kiss you slow and sweet; impassioned, ardent, each kiss an oath of love and longing and lust. 

Desire blooms like romaritime flowers upon water, and you just know the tension underneath his placid exterior, is ready to burst. It’s prevalent in the way his muscles grow taut, tense beneath your every touch, fighting to hold himself back as your legs squeeze around his hips. Demonstrated, again, by how he pulls apart your corset, impatient and haphazard as he unlaces each cross, before tossing it to the ground, forgotten. And of course, only you can attest to the searing sensations of his escalating kisses—gentle wisps, once faint and docile, now wanton and heated with depravity. 

You can already feel it in your chest, in your bones, in the wetness that’s begun to form between your legs; maybe it’s the anticipation, but despite the layers of clothing you’ve already shed, you find it even harder now to breathe, especially as he holds you so close, body pressed against yours, while he traces the bare curve of your neck with his lips. 

For one with such a carefully crafted visage of elegance and poise, Neuvillette becomes sloppier as his restraint fades and lust seeps through the cracks. Something about you drives him wild, draws out the more carnal side of him that he so desperately seeks to hide away from you, who he could never even dream of hurting. 

But perhaps he’s spent too much time amongst humans. Or perhaps he understands their nature more than he had initially believed, for he makes the most human mistake of all in letting his control slip—enough that his fangs graze upon your sensitive skin, sending a shiver that reaches all the way down to your core, eliciting a moan so mellifluous, he cannot help but utter a sigh of strained content as the undeniably sweet sound reaches his ears.

“If we don’t stop now, I’m afraid I won’t be able to hold back,” he mutters, tongue laving over the spot in apology. It doesn’t help that you voluntarily crane your neck, offering him even more access in your heated bliss. His fingers dig into your waist in a silent plea to still your rolling hips. 

“So don’t,” you breathe. “Don’t hold back tonight.” Desperate to have him closer, you arch into him, the loose material of his shirt firmly clasped in your hands, deepening the kiss with a quick tug, a silent request for him to let go, but he immediately halts his movements, pulling away in hesitance. 

Oh Neuvillette. Your sweet Neuvillette, who in spite of his stern exterior, is the gentlest of lovers—always so tender with you and steadfast in placing your pleasure before his. You know of his draconic origins, know that he holds back in fear of hurting you, but for all the times he’s pleased you to the fullest extent, you only wish to do the same for him.

Your hand reaches to cup his face and he leans into your familiar touch, steely eyes soft. “It’s okay, I trust you.���

It’s already difficult denying you anything on a normal basis, so how can he, now that you sit, straddled over him, determination colored in your bright eyes, and with nothing but flimsy cloth left between the two of you. His eyes linger at your chest, the scooping neckline of your lace slip doing nothing to hide the smooth crests of your collarbones, begging to be marked. 

Neuvillette sucks in a breath, and attempts to swallow his doubts, before exhaling. He can no longer ignore the tightness in his groin, and to you, it’s clear that the obvious erection poking from beneath his trousers, speaks much louder than the uncertainty storming in his eyes. Perhaps he just needs one more push…

Your fingers come to curve around the sharp lines of his jaw, unwavering as you tilt his head up into your gaze. “Don’t worry about me, I can take it.”

His heart threatens to leap out of his chest in a flash of excitement, gratitude, desire; it’s far from the first time you’ve lain together, but to choose to bear such vulnerability before him, to surrender yourself to a full-fledged dragon… He glides his hands over the round slopes of your shoulders, easily sliding off the straps of your slip as he goes. The silk garment collapses down your torso, piling atop your forgotten dress. 

“If that is truly what you wish…” He presses an openmouthed kiss to the bare skin between your breasts, and the warmth of his breath runs a chill even colder than the night air. His whispers hide a growl, and despite the blush apparent at the tips of his pointed ears, his hold on your waist tightens. One hand slides down to grasp at your rear, and you can feel him smile against your lips, the rattle of a faint chuckle rippling in his throat before your breath hitches as he picks you up in his arms, and carries you off to the bedroom. 

He sets you by your shared bed, tearing off his now wrinkled shirt, while you wriggle out of whatever’s left of your dress, until both sets of clothing are discarded somewhere on the floor, and you’re finally left in only your panties and your stockings.

Immediately, his hands find your waist, roaming up and down over your curves as he smothers you in hungry kisses, herding you along until the backs of your knees hit the edge of your shared bed. This Neuvillette nips at your bottom lip, not asking for, but demanding entrance into your mouth, and you have no choice but to let him in, what with the way he makes you whine as he sneaks his hands down to knead the globe of your ass, before lowering you onto the bed. 

The tingling sensations bloom in your stomach, buzzing with excitement while you ready yourself to surrender completely—pliant to his will, whatever it may be. Arousal swallows you like the sea and he has yet to even really touch you. Impatient, your hand wanders, though not far down enough before you’re caught in his grasp. 

“Patience…” he mutters, pinning your wrist beside your head, broad shoulders caging you in between him and the sheets. His other hand follows the natural lines of your body, tracing along the edges until he stops to fondle one of your breasts. 

It’s impossible to relax your speeding heart at this side of Neuvillette: less reserved in his touches, more candid in his wants. The untreated heat in your body makes sure to touch on every part of you, running like water through your veins, until you’re sure your dripping cunt is pulsing with a heart of its own. Unable to stand the ache any longer, you wriggle beneath him—rolling your hips and squirming until your knee unwittingly brushes against his crotch, eliciting a choked grunt from him, only slightly muffled by the fact that his teeth have dug their way into your exposed flesh. 

He immediately pulls away at the sound of your surprised yelp, eyes darting to and fro across your features in frantic search for even the smallest semblance of discomfort, completely missing the way your entire body had seemed to arch into his touch. His eyes finally settle at the light indentations now displayed upon your once unblemished skin.

“Forgive me,” he begins, “I should have been more careful.” Neuvillette is ever the gentleman, but his voice is clearly strained in a poor attempt at fighting back his instincts—instincts that demand a dragon to mark what is his. 

“There’s nothing to forgive.” A soft smile graces your lips as your hand reaches to cradle his face, curling around his jaw in hushed reassurance. It’s so easy to read the thoughts that plague him so. “It felt good, I promise.”

True to your word, his heightened senses easily pick up on the scent of pure arousal that drifts from between your legs, swirling in the air, and lulling him into a state he’s kept buried for so long, he’s unsure of whether he’d be able to hold himself back even if he wanted to. He admires your bravery for daring to poke at the slumbering beast; bravery he knows stems from a place of passion, but how can he release such inhibitions upon a mere human? So physically… fragile. 

“I meant what I said: I can take it. And I know you won’t hurt me so…” Your fingers clasp around his shoulders, pulling your lover down just far enough to whisper, low and sultry, in his pointed ear.

“Don’t you dare look down on me, o’ hydro dragon sovereign..” 

You lurch forward, manicured nails drawing light lines down his bare back, and he meets you halfway in a long, drawn out kiss. A quiet growl rumbles from deep within his throat, clearly aroused by the way you had drawled out his full title. He nips at your bottom lip, dragging out a single, short gasp before leaving to trail wet kisses down the column of your throat, never stopping until his lips hover over the very spot where he had previously made his mark. 

He doesn’t even have to touch you, just his presence, tangled with your own anticipatory excitement, invites a shudder so deep, you can feel it in your bones. The sharp edge of his fangs scrape along that still-sensitive patch of skin, lightly, as if testing the waters, though this time, he makes sure to take note of the quiver in your pretty little mewls. 

Slowly, he bites down again and a moan slips past your lips, forced out from the very depths of your chest as your fingers fly to tangle in his moonridden tresses. His hot breath seeps past the barrier of your skin, leaving every nerve privy to his effect, and combined with the building pressure, you’re left open for the stream of soft whimpers that leave the perfect ‘o’ of your parted lips. As he sinks his teeth deeper, you squeeze your eyes shut in the midst of all the pleasure.

“Do it again,” you gasp, “felt good… ”

And oh, he has absolutely every intention to, what with the way you’re putty underneath him. However, he must do something about how distracting your hands are when you tug at his hair: hard enough for him to groan with an ache so wanton, it sends tremors echoing down until his trousers feel far, far too tight. 

Neuvillette is neither here nor there when he alternates between kissing and sucking and biting at your tender flesh—anywhere is fair game when you’ve relinquished yourself to him like this. With how attentive his lips are along your body, you hardly even care for the absence of his hand when he reaches around to untie the ribbon in his hair… at least not until it’s too late and you're left bemused by the uncharacteristic display of boldness; after all, it’s all you can do when your wrists are suddenly so tightly bound overhead.

You whine as he wraps his lips around one of your nipples, suckling and swirling his tongue, while he ravishes the other between his fingers. Heat surges through you and the aching desperation congregating in your belly begins to boil; you’ve never felt so sensitive, never been more pervasive to his touch.

Inside. You need him inside of you. But with your hands currently incapacitated, you’ve no other choice except to buck into him, beckoning him with your hips in the hopes of redirecting his attention to where you throb. 

“Inside. Please. I need you. Need you inside.” 

He hums in acknowledgement of your wishes, tugging at the hardened bud with his teeth, successfully wringing another shaky cry from your throat, before he finally pulls at the delicate lace of your panties, and guides them down the length of your legs. You easily kick them off, but in his observation, his piercing gaze catches every thrum of your muscles as they tense underneath the hand that finally trails between your thighs. He drags his lithe fingers between your folds, coating them in your slick, while his thumb rubs your clit in slow, but firm, circles. 

“My apologies for the wait.” Neuvillette kisses you right above your heart, where his acute hearing easily picks up how it palpitates as he dips his fingers into your velvet walls. “Allow me to make amends, my love.”

With the way your cunt gushes so copiously, it’s easy for him to slide all the way down to the last knuckle. He flicks his wrist, pumping fast and hard, scissoring you open before slipping in a third digit, drawing out mewl after pathetic mewl, as you fail to pull yourself together. The bedsheets twist beneath your incessant movements: simultaneously squirming not only from the initial stretch, but also to feel him deeper.

The discomfort is all too familiar, but with just the curl of his fingers, it washes away into unadulterated pleasure, just as it always does. But with your arms tethered, leaving you open and powerless, everything—every touch, every twist, every curl—feels tenfold.

Plus, no one would even believe you if you were to say that the chief justice had such a playful side in the bedroom; his fingers have explored your insides far too many times for him to just miss the little spot that he definitely knows by muscle memory. Whining, you buck your hips, senselessly grinding into his hand, hoping he’d get the message, hoping he’d quell your heat right at the source. 

But something dangerous and wild and primordial shines in the blue-violet glow of his eyes. For all the times you’ve made love together, he’s never seen you like this: so desperate, so needy for him. He pinches a nipple, hard, before locking your jolting hips down; a show of strength to remind you of your place. 

“Please, more.” Your voice rises in congruence with how you struggle against your ribbon-bound wrists. His fingers tease the spot again, this time with more force, and he watches as you keen and clench around him—helpless and at his mercy. 

With a curl, his fingers crook inside your silken walls, pistoning in and out, fast and hard. Arousal continues to build, turning the low squelches into distinct suctions. Every nerve in your body is ignited, seared by the heat as he laps at the overflowing wetness that seeps out of your entrance. A satisfied purr sounds in his throat, and the vibrations dare your hips to buck in spite of the iron grip that holds you down.  

It thrills him to see you steadily fall apart like this, coming so undone before him, dissolving under the weight of your pleasure. It’s just as you had wanted. More. So you can take it, can’t you? You can take more? 

Neuvillette slots your throbbing clit into his mouth, hot tongue relentlessly striking the swollen nub with viscous lashes, while his fingers continue to bully your insides with no intention of slowing down. Sucking harder, fucking faster—you keen at the added stimulation, back arching clean off the bed in blinding pleasure, unable to do anything more than let out jagged sobs as you cum.

Your entire body grows taut as he sees you through the end of this high, before finally drawing out with one last sleight of his hand, so that his fingertips might graze along the velvet top of your walls, bidding farewell with another shudder-inducing wave of euphoria. He exits his soiled digits, clearly pleased as he inspects the amount of slick that coats his elegant hand. 

“You’re absolutely divine.” He hums whilst licking up the side of his wrist, so as not to waste a single drop of your liquid pleasure. It’s intoxicating how exquisite you are, more decadent than even the most pristine of waters. “Perhaps you’d like a taste?”

His offer is rhetorical at best, as he answers for you, already slipping his slender fingers into your open mouth, tangling them with your tongue, until the first bits of drool begin to dribble from your lips. 

He unties your wrists, releasing them from the ribbon’s hold; time and experience have proven that you’ll need something to grasp onto. In a haste, Neuvillette discards what remains of his clothes, and his cock springs forward in all its glory: long and thick, pale tip leaking and thrumming with desire. 

“You’re absolutely sure… ?” he mumbles, voice trailing off, almost embarrassed. He can no longer control the way his hips twitch in excitement, begging to bury his cock into your warmth, but for his gentle heart’s sake, he needs to hear you say it again.

You laugh out a soft ‘yes’ but just for good measure, you rake your nails down his chest, applying just enough pressure to tickle his nerves. “Use me,” you goad. “Come on. Be wicked, my dragon.” 

Neuvillette exhales, chuckling softly at humanity's arrogance. Wicked dragon. If that was what you wanted... “I wonder if you’d still say the same after I’ve finished with you.”

He pins you back down in one fell move, and aligns himself to your entrance, stopping after inserting only the tip. A delicate whimper leaves your lips as you wince at that familiarly sweet stretch, but you and your little cunt are both so eager to please—the continued arousal you churn out, weeping nonstop, and already clenching around just his cockhead. You wriggle into him, trying to fuck yourself deeper on his fat cock as you adjust to his size. 

Reaching up, you pull him into a seemingly reassuring kiss, hands smoothing over the framing pieces of his hair, before curving around his jaw. His lips follow yours, but as you pull away and the short pieces of his hair fall back into place, you notice how his slitted reptilian pupils are dilated almost round. 

“You wish for me not to hold back,” his voice comes in a low growl as he inches further into your cunt, “so please show me how resilient you are.”

It’s all the warning you receive before he slides the rest of his length to the hilt, burying himself in your creamy insides. A shattered sob tears through the room, and your arms fly around his neck in a desperate attempt to anchor yourself, but it only pulls him closer as he leans more of his weight into you, pressing down and reinforcing the heavy plow of his merciless hips. 

Taking him all at once like this burns like wildfire. Pain from the sudden, rough stretch spreads hot and fast, the small embers bursting into a blaze of arousal as pleasure breezes through just as quickly—like air infinitely adding to an already devouring flame. 

“You’re taking me so well,” he praises, turning his head to reward a small kiss to your cheek. Your hole gushes, rushing to quell the heat, and the added lubrication helps you settle into his pace. Still, the dual sensations wash over you like the tide. It pulls you under, drowns you and consumes you with absolute ecstasy.

And just when you think you’ve grown accustomed, Neuvillette lifts your hips, aiming for the spot he knows will drag out the most wonderfully broken cries from your throat. Your nails dig into his back, and he groans at the vice grip as you clamp down around his cock. With each powerful thrust, he buries himself balls deep with a force that has your tits bouncing along to his rhythm, letting the wanton sound of your sobs ring throughout the room, loud enough to almost drown out the lewd noise of skin slapping upon skin. 

The coil in your belly is wound so tight that you’re sure it won’t be long until it collapses into itself. That it won’t be long until you yourself are about to implode, like a star ready to burst. 

“I’m going… going to…” Between the ragged breaths and the overwhelming sensations of ecstasy, you can’t even find it in yourself to think straight.

Neuvillette hums, his liquid smooth voice doing nothing to hide his amusement. “You’d do well not to break so soon.”

He thumbs your clit, drawing tight circles, ignoring the way you convulse beneath him. As your back arches, he drags the flat of his teeth from the edges of your collarbones, down through the valley between your breasts. 

Your entire body quivers, legs jolting by reflex to the intensity of your orgasm, vision blurring white as your lover continues to pound relentlessly through your high. There’s a layer of fuzziness over your mind that leaves you feeling as if you’re floating atop calm waters, but the fingers still thrumming on your abused nub are quick to drag you back into the salaciously dangerous depths of your own pleasure. 

A string of pitched whines follow in the aftermath, but the pretty noises you make has him throbbing even from within your tight hole. You ask him not to hold back, yet here you are before him, so small and pitiful, already writhing from the intensity—and he hasn’t even cum yet. 

Tears threaten to fall from your eyes, your body struggling for a break from the stimulation, but Neuvillette finds it quite adorable, in the way that a predator might toy with its prey. He slows his thrusts, but reaches deeper with every roll of his hips, each languid stroke hitting the exact spot that fills your sight with stars. 

The lascivious sounds of your soaked cunt perfectly swallowing his cock, followed by the slap of his heavy balls on your ass—he’s mesmerized by the way he disappears and reappears, and disappears again inside of you. His heart skips, and he bucks, breaking his rhythm. You undo him like no other, and it spurs him on that he too, seems to have the same effect on you. The way your pussy holds on to him so tightly, the helpless cries of his name amidst your hiccuped whimpering… 

He lets out a small chuckle, breath hot and ragged in your ear as he sucks at the inch of skin below. “Surely you can give me another,” he murmurs, the low grumble of his voice reverberating all the way down, until you can feel the vibrations in the hollows of your collarbone. 

Your eyes flutter, desperately blinking away the wetness that has begun to gather at your lash line. Sweet Neuvillette, your Neuvillette who reveres you more than he ought to and touches you like you’re made of glass. Even through the numbing haze, you know that for him, you’d give anything. 

A long, stuttered moan breaks out from between your lips. As if biding his time, he drags the entirety of his cock along your walls, the large vein that wraps around the length gliding along just right, that your back arches and your knees bend. It’s not that he means to move so tortuously slow, but you squeeze him to such an extent that in spite of his aching need to cum, he cannot help but try and savor the delicious way your walls are gripping for dear life. 

Neuvillette pulls out with the sticky squish of your slick. His throbbing cock, long and flushed, glistens with the sheen of your juices. In the emptiness, you think that perhaps he’s taken pity on you and your now overly sensitive cunt, but that just isn’t fair. Not to him, nor you and your once again looming orgasm.

“You haven’t even cum yet,” you gasp, trying to argue through baited breath. The whole point of this was so that he could feel just as good as he always made sure you did. So why would he—

“I know.” 

You can feel him as he lifts you, flipping you over like you’re nothing more than a doll, and manhandles you onto all fours. Limbs weak, mind frazzled, you’re barely able to hold yourself up, so when he realigns himself at your entrance and slams back through your folds with just as much power as before, you quite literally fall apart. 

“Too much?” The low chuckle in your ear is dangerously taunting, wickedly amused and with no sign of its usual sweetness. You’re able to muster a pitiful whine, but the way your entire body trembles tells him everything he needs to know, as he reangles you mid-thrust.

“I believe you said you could take it.” With a particularly powerful snap of his hips, your arms buckle, and you collapse onto the mattress. The intensity continues to send you jolting forward, but his reaffirmed grip on your waist holds your hips in place.

Nothing deters him as he ruts into you, hitting deep new angles that have your fingers grasping at the sheets while your cunt grasps onto his cock. With every slap of his skin against yours, his tip threatens to kiss your cervix, the aftershocks rippling through you until they’re released as broken sobs, muffled into the bed. 

How unfortunate that such noises, so very sweet to his ears, would be hidden from the world. Tangling his fingers along your scalp, Neuvillette tugs at your hair, lifting your head back so as to hear the pretty melody you sing when your cries ring around the room. Good. Just as the whole of Fontaine should recognize a dragon’s mark on your skin, they too should hear it’s he who pleasures your body so.

Little bits of drool trickle out of your open mouth, your eyes rolling back as he keeps up the brutal pace. Everything feels too overwhelming, yet so tantalizingly good, that your back curves and you’re creaming around him again. 

Electricity shoots through your veins, your lungs desperately racing to catch up with the rapid beat of your heart. The stars painted across your vision drop down to your stomach, exploding with an intensity that rattles you to your core. It’s a flood with no remorse—taking and leaving nothing in return, easily washing away any and all thoughts, until you’re left mewling the name of the only one who could ever give you such a sweet taste of heaven. 

But Neuvillette continues to thrust into you, and as he, too, nears his peak, his tireless strokes finally melt into something a little more forgiving. Just a little. The long drag of his cock slides so smoothly against your slick walls, gentle enough to fool your delirious mind into loosening your grip around him. 

What trickery from the wicked dragon who slams his hips forward with enough force so that your body jostles with every push and pull as he hits all the right spots again and again. Trapped under the weight of his body, all you can do is feel: the heat of the room smothering all your senses, the fervorous thrusts pushing you to your very limit—all you can do is feel and take it as he kisses the spongy head of your cervix, leaving you without a semblance of sanity, blabbering indiscernible nothings that beg to milk him dry.       

“Want more,” you keen, voice as broken as the crystalline tears that roll down your cheeks and melt into the pillows. “Inside. Wan’ it inside.”

Neuvillette laughs, low and airy, strained as his grip tightens, fingertips digging into your hips hard enough that it’d be sure to leave bruises come the morrow. “Is that what you want?”

“Please, please I–” You stop to let out something between a pant and a moan. “Want you to, h-hah, cum inside, wan’ your cum inside me.” Your walls clamp down even harder, as if attempting to trap his cock deep inside you forever, as if you weren’t already tight enough around him. 

White fills his vision, and white fills your womb as Neuvillette cums to the knowledge that you love this. He takes in the sight of you, his precious treasure, now reduced to the likes of a common whore: legs quivering, ass in the air, cunt filled to the brim and leaking from where the two of you merge. All for him. By his doing. 

Such splendor automatically evokes the instinct to claim you in a way far beyond that of human understanding… but you’ve already let him indulge more than enough tonight; he couldn’t possibly ask for more. 

You whimper when you feel him stir again inside you, careful as he brushes past your too-sensitive folds, but even such simple movements hazard to relight the flicker of arousal once again. Every ridge and vein, drawn out so agonizingly slow, sends an inadvertent shiver down your spine until he finally pulls out with a squelch.  

There’s no hope in tearing those sharp, reptilian eyes away from your puffy cunt, abused and messy and leaking with your combined fluids. Neuvillette sucks in a breath, trying to suppress his urges as much as he’s trying to swallow down the desire quickly boiling over in his belly again. Cumming inside you—no, breeding you—was a privilege. For dragons such as he, it’s a ritual reserved only for mates, and given the difference in your physiology, he had never allowed himself to do so—at least not until now, that is. 

In his defense, you had begged for it, and how could he ever deny the very one whom he has entrusted his heart to—especially when you were so beautifully fucked out and unraveled on his cock like that. And perhaps he’s lived among humans long enough to forgive this indulgence as a paradigm of fleeting desire, though nothing of what he feels for you could ever be considered fleeting. 

He parts your folds with two slender fingers, giving himself a better view as his cum now seeps out with suent access. You whine again when you feel him drag his digits down the sides of your pussy lips, catching the overflow before it can fall onto the sheets, and stuffing it right back into your little hole. No point in stopping now, if he’s already committed his sin.

From your half-lidded gaze, you manage to steal a glance at your lover, and judging from the erection that still stands stiff as a rod, he has yet to be satiated. In the attempt to break through the shadow of delirium, you lift your head, shifting your weight back onto your elbows, and forcing your battered body to turn just the slightest bit over. 

“You’re still hard,” you note through staggered breath, “We can go again if you want.”

Neuvillette looks down as if he hasn’t already been feeling the near painful arousal throbbing in his groin. Of course he’s still hard—how could he not be; you’re so complacent before him, offering yourself to him like that. But perhaps he is too soft-hearted, for he only lets out a reassuring hum as he leans forward to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

“You were beyond perfect tonight,” he murmurs. “It… might not be pleasurable for you if I continue anymore. I can finish myself.” 

Lovestruck, you shake your head. “I can take it r’member?” Your large eyes, red-rimmed and dreamy, plead for him to use you—use you to his own content, use you so that he’d feel just as good as he always makes you feel. You nibble at your bottom lip, bashful. “You can even use your other form if you'd like...” 

Your words catch him off guard, and he immediately stills in a half-hearted attempt to collect himself as another wave of pure, unadulterated desire pulses through his entire being. Neuvillette swallows hard before letting out a slow, shaky breath. His cock twitches and his muscles tense beneath the creamy skin that now seems to gleam with a soft shine, revealing scattered patches of effervescent cerulean scales. You affect him more than you could possibly know, revitalizing such carnal urges that ignore his will and allow his body to react so enthusiastically.

“You’re sure…?” His normally polished tone is husked in a defiant strain. Despite the way his pupils are blown wide and wild with lust, conflict still swims in the shallows of his expression, made clear by the way his voice rasps as he desperately claws to retain even a semblance of his composure. 

The tips of your fingers trace the blue streaks that protrude from the crown of his silver head, now hardened into twin ribbons of ivory; his horns, delicate but strong, glow a luminescent azure—so warm and inviting in its radiance… You grasp them tight, pulling him down with you, as you fall back into the bed, his lips pressed against yours. Of course you’re sure. He’d never hurt you, your Neuvillette would never ever hurt you.

“Devious…” he whispers between kisses, your tongue and teeth clashing in a waltz of their own, as his body drapes over yours. 

It’s not the first time you’ve seen him in this form, crossed somewhere between a human and a dragon, as beautiful as he is powerful. But it’s certainly the first time you’ve ever attempted to take him like this. He’s bigger in this form—you can already feel it as he grinds up between your legs. Longer. Thicker. Ribbed and embossed with the same pearlescent blue scales. Beautifully intimidating, just like the dragon sovereign himself. 

And as you continue to marvel, he lets his cock rest across your lower stomach, sizing you up. His fervor shines through in the way he’s already leaking a mess of sticky precum atop the smooth skin of your belly. A satisfied hum vibrates in his throat, clearly enthused. 

“This is how deep I’ll be,” he muses, almost apologetic of the incoming stretch you’d have to endure. “I’m beginning to wonder if I can even fit inside you.” 

Would it be wicked of him to admit, even to himself, that he enjoys the way you wriggle and cry just taking him in his human form? And yet… he’s forced to steady his breathing in a poor attempt at grounding himself—a task near impossible as you roll your hips up, ardently shaking your head no, outright ignoring the last out he offers.

“I will… make it fit.” They’re the last words you manage to wrangle out before being overtaken by the need to be full and filled. There’s no reason you should be so terribly, terribly hollow, when he’s right there. Neuvillette chokes back a laugh; your unyielding determination sends blood rushing to his erection, desperate to feel your velvet walls crowd around him again.

Finally relenting, he teases your entrance—running his cock up and down your slit, spreading your wetness, before slapping your clit with the tip—reminding you just how sensitive you still are. Gasping, you jerk away from the stimulation that once again taunts your nerves. Your hole, however, clenches around nothing, eager to please. 

But perhaps you’ve greatly underestimated just how big he is, because he barely makes it past the threshold of your folds, before the pleasure pain of the stretch begins to take over. That, and the overstimulation from your previous orgasms, already have you instinctively trying to snap your legs shut, but the firm hold on your thighs forbid you from doing so.

“Ha-ah N-neuvi—” A twisted sense of pride swells in his chest at the way you can hardly speak as your breath hitches and your lungs desperately search for air. “’s too big,” you sob.

He gives you a momentary reprieve to adjust, while his hand snakes down to run sloppy circles over your clit.

“More?” he whispers. 

It takes you a minute to respond, but he waits until finally your voice shakes with the violence of each hiccupped sob. “More.. please…”

A baritone hum sounds in his throat as he pulls forward, pressing wet kisses to your jaw in a quiet reassurance, effectively sliding a couple inches deeper, as he does so. “You can take it, my love. You’re so pretty like this.”

Your arms wrap around his neck, your hold eliciting a long, low groan from the dragon. Wherever you squirm, he follows, pressing more of his weight onto you, burying more of his cock into you. Each ridged inch that slides past your folds, seems to push the thoughts right out of your head, letting them dissipate into thin air until you’re left mindlessly moaning sweet praises to his name. 

Desperate to accommodate the unfamiliar enormity of his dragon cock, your walls ripple and tense around him, back arching into him, wanting to feel ever closer to the love of your life, determined to push your cunt to its limit for him. For your Neuvillette. 

Neuvillette. Neuvillette. Neuvillete. He’s all you can think about; him and his monster cock that seems to split you so deliciously open. It’s wave after wave of heat that sets your insides ablaze, soothed by the waters of arousal that have you begging for more, and restarting the cycle until he finally bottoms out, and you feel as if you’ve been electrified. You squeeze your eyes shut, but with the way his bulbous tip prods at your cervix, your mind goes blank, and the tears fall regardless. 

“There…” you pant, eyes glassy from the euphoria of feeling so incredibly full. “’s all in.”

“Yes,” he praises, softly. “Look at you, so nice and tight for me.” 

He wipes the salt from your cheeks, distracting you with a delicate kiss. His fangs are more prominent in this form; you can feel them as he grins against your lips, whilst whispering breathy nothings that tell of how good you are for him, how perfect, how he should be so lucky to have you like this, to have you as his. 

When your body eases enough, he pulls away, though the subtle shift of his cock still drags a pitched whine out from your lips. If he’s to be honest, he cannot tear his gaze from where the two of you are joined. It’s mesmerizing, hypnotic, to see how he splits you open, to feel how you mold into the shape of him, to imagine just how much your little cunt had to stretch so that he might rest comfortably inside.

Though, comfortable might be an overstatement due to the way your muscles tense and release so tightly around him, clamoring for more of his attention.  Eyes darkening with lust, Neuvillette smooths a hand over your abdomen, cerulean scales cold upon your skin.

“Can you feel me right…” He draws a clawed finger delicately across the skin of your belly, where his cock rests parallel underneath. “Here…”

He leaves more than just a faint line of red where his talon rakes. Yes, you want to say. You can feel the faint prickle of his claw on your skin, you can feel how the sharpness sends a shiver ringing through your body, and of course you can feel how he’s sheathed his dragon cock right into the very depths of your cunt, deeper than anyone’s ever been, deeper than he’s ever been… But the only sounds that spill through your lips are another stream of broken sobs, fever touched by how close you are to cumming just from being filled.

“Go on, darling. Cum for me.” He can feel you pulsing around him, clenching and unclenching in search of sweet release, yet he makes no additional moves to help you, leaving you to your own devices.

At this point, you can no longer tell if you’re making things better or worse, as every little movement knocks you into reaction—like dominoes toppling over until every piece of you has been unraveled. You writhe atop the soiled sheets for any sort of friction, but it’s too much when his tip knocks against the entrance to your womb. So you shift away, letting the ridges on his shaft graze against your syruped walls, inciting another wave of need. The scales continue to tip between ‘too much’ and ‘more’, until you finally work yourself into a delirious orgasm, on nothing but his cock inside you and your own incessant squirming. 

As you continue to ride out your high, Neuvillete finally begins to move, tearing himself away from your fluttering vice grip with a tremulous moan, because fuck you’re still so tight around him, still so warm and wet even after cumming for what? The fourth time tonight? Pressure lands heavy over your frame as he begins to rock into you, folding you in half as he does. 

He fucks you slow and even, stretching you out even more with every new stroke. Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as this new position affords him the privilege to reach impossibly deeper. Despite his shallow thrusts, each drag of his cock still blooms an ache from all the hidden spots that he has no choice but to touch, though it’s quick to pass, as pleasure continues to coil in your belly. 

It’s so much all at once. You can’t take it, it’s too much. But the soul-shattering euphoria of being so utterly full, is unparalleled. You want more, you need more.   

“My pearl,” he whispers, though his voice is gruff, “my heart… I want to hear you.” 

And so you oblige him, wailing something broken and pitched and strangled, at the sudden snap of his hips, at the way he bumps into your cervix and seems to rattle your organs about. 

“F-fuck,” you cry, without thinking. Not that you can anyway, when the push-pull tide of his thrusts raises you to new heights of delirium. “H-ah god, fuck Neu–”

Another sharp, jutting thrust cuts you off as the dragon above you snarls, clearly agitated by your crass choice of words. “There are no gods to help you here.” Not in Fontaine where he rules, and certainly not here in his home.

There’s a feral wildness that shines in his bright vishap eyes, and his possessive streak flares—dragons have no natural inclination to share after all. It’s clear in the way his pace changes: faster, harsher, more ragged—a ferocity befitting of an elemental dragon ruler. But titles aside, he’s still your Neuvillette, and every move he makes is still laced with a tenderness, so as not to break you more than he already has. 

“Tell me you’re mine,” he commands, dragging his tongue up the length of your throat.

“Yours. ‘m yours, Neuvillette.”

In and out, in and out. His long strokes guide the ridges of his cock back and forth through your tender muscles, leaving you to mumble mindless nonsense as you convulse and keen beneath him. Whatever pain you had felt earlier has long chipped away into undeniable pleasure as you near the precipice of yet another orgasm. Eyes glazed over in all consuming ecstasy, all you know to do is to chase your lust, and so your hips grind back, rolling together like waves in a storm. 

Amidst the flagrant wet sounds of your rabid fucking, you cum again, lashes fluttering as your eyes roll, muscles tight as they tremble from such rapture—so lovely, so beautiful. Your siren call of pretty cries spill from your lips, intermingled with weak babbles of his name. You’re so breathtaking like this in your post-climax haze: fucked out and cloudy-eyed, panting into the cool air as his slowed thrusts still rack up an aftershock of shudders.

Neuvillette bows his head, once again trailing wet kisses across your collarbones, before pausing to hover his lips right over the juncture of your neck and shoulder, his warm breath a familiar spot of comfort in this maddening pleasure. Perhaps it’s some sort of sixth sense unique to only the most attuned of lovers, ones whose souls seem to harmonize in perfect resonance, but there’s hesitance in the way he suckles at the spot, fangs ghosting over your tender skin.

“S’okay… you can do it.” Your soft, dreamy sighs of approval are accompanied by the languid tilt of your neck, jeopardizing more of your delicate skin to the dangers of his teeth. “You can mark me… w’nna be your mate…”

Choking back a moan, Neuvillette pistons thrice more into your cunt—pulling out until just his tip remains, and then plunging back into your gooey insides, sending you into another round of dizzying convulsions. His own orgasm follows, seeing stars as he places an amorous bite to the crook of your neck using only the flat of his teeth. 

With how deep he’s buried, ribbons of his cum shoot right into your womb, spilling out into every cavity, and painting your interior white. Warmth blossoms from the inside out. Your heart is full, mumbling happy nothings of ‘mates’ in between sniffles, while a creamy ring forms around the base of his cock, thick liquid oozing from where he ends and you begin. His own chest rises and falls in jagged patterns, but his only want is to seek your lips, to drink in your mewls, and exchange sweet kisses, so that your soul and his, may meld together as they dance in the shape of your breaths intertwined.

He strokes your hair, planting easy kisses all around as he unplugs himself, letting loose the flood of cum that seeps out of your hole, but you whine at the loss, wanting nothing more than to be ever close to your newly consummated mate. Neuvillette only nuzzles into your neck, deep purrs of content reverberating from his chest as he lazily rubs his scent all over you. Meanwhile, a quick swish of his sapphire tail up the sticky underside of your thigh, teases another pulse from your cunt, and by reflex, you push out another dollop of white. 

A small tap tap to his shoulder distracts him from his scenting, and he looks up with a tilt to his head and a small furrow to his brow, his normally sharp eyes full of earnest concern, relaxing only once he finishes reading through the bleary, dulcet tones of adoration that glow in your half-lidded eyes. You poorly suppress your little giggles—although he often disagrees, your lover really can be quite adorable. 

Fontaine’s Iudex Neuvillette is elegant, poised, and meticulously polished… but here in the quiet night hours, in the privacy of your hearth, your Neuvillette is unruly-haired and damp-skinned from satiating the beastly desires of his still tender heart. You reach out a tired arm, first brushing back the pieces of hair that cling to his skin, then wrapping your palm around to cup his face. 

“Was I a good mate?” Your hand slips down from his cheek to play with the tips of his silvery hair. “W’nna be the best for you.”

“You already are the best for me.” His hand, no longer clawed nor scaled, brings yours back up for a kiss to your knuckles. “The only one for me.” 

He rolls off of you, sweeping you into his embrace, as he carries you off to the bathroom. Your head rests heavily against his chest, but your happy hums and quiet murmurs of ‘good,’ tell him that you have not drifted off into slumber just yet.  

“You truly are a wonder,” he breathes, dipping his head to place a soft kiss to your forehead. “And it would be my honor to have you as my mate… but not tonight.”

His instincts had urged him to do it, to permanently claim you as his, and mark you as a dragon would, but his heart vehemently disagrees. The most sacred bond known to his kind is an ultimatum in your relationship, and it is one he refuses to be the sole architect of, so perhaps the two of you can revisit this conversation again once you’re more clear-headed; his answer would remain the same anyways.

edit 10/2024: please Do Not Follow if you are “just here to read,” with the expectation that i will post more fics of this caliber, or any fics At All. this is mainly a selfship blog with VERY occasional writing, thanks.

notes2: writing this took years off my life, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless ! as always, thank u sm for reading, and reblogs + feedback are very much appreciated ♡

notes3: here is a little visual of how i imagine the dress at the beginning to look like, but of course you can always imagine it however you like since i’ve purposely left it rather vague : )

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

[starsomens]

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 1・𝓫𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓭

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿   ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Chapter warnings: language, mentions of violence, guns or blood, mafia scenario, Noah is depicted to be an asshole!

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿   ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

The day was one fo your favorites. It was a bit chilly, rainy and cloudy. Perfect to stay inside all bundled up, with a good book, and a nice cup of tea. That was until one of your siblings had walked into the library of your family home. You were the second child of 5 children, your older brother, and three younger sisters. You look up from your page leaving your finger where you left off to see your brother walking towards you.

“Y/N, dad wants to speak to you” you eldest brother, Mathew poked his head into the library where you sat near the fire place.

"Really? About what?" you ask setting your book mark on the page and stood from your seat

"He didn't say but he did ask you change into something other than your lounge clothes. There's someone else in there, so probably dress a little casual" he hinted. Although he was the only son he cared very deeply about his sisters. You being his first baby sister, you held a special place in his heart, along with the fact that he would be the next "man of the house".

"Alright, I'll go and get changed, do you know who's in there?" You ask as you start to head for the door

"Not in the slightest, it's the first time dad is so vague with me. It felt strange”

You and your siblings were born into a mafia family. For a mafia family many said you were very loving, and caring. Aside from the occasional cursing over the phone, guns on your father’s desk, and more than necessary guards around your home. Once you were old enough your father told you and your brother how you all had wealth and power. Your brother was to be the heir and next in line to continue the family business as the eldest child. Now you as the second child and first daughter, your fate was to be a bit different. You walk to your bedroom and change into some jeans and a simple long sleeve tee.

You walk down the Hall and up the stairs to the last floor where business was exclusively done. Your father's office, a file room and an interrogation room. You all had free roam of the large home and his office, but never the extra two rooms. The only strict rule in your household other than how much you all as his children were involved in the business.

You knock on the double oak doors and wait for the door to be opened by security currently in his office. Typically they are outside but since there is a guest they are inside the room.

"Ah, there she is," he said turning his focus to you, setting his drink down on to his grand desk that sat in front of the large and beautiful windows. He walks to you and gives you a kiss to your forehead and guides you to the seats that were in front of his desk. In one of the deep wine red leather chairs sat a tall man. It was strange to say, but the way he sat in the seat was if he had owned the place. His presence and energy was in some way intimidating and even chilling. As you approached he turns his head and stands from his seat. His sharp onyx eyes cut straight into your vision, his large tattooed hands held the glass of alcohol by the rim setting it down on the edge of the desk.

"Y/N, this is Mr. Noah Sebastian, Sebastian this is my daughter Y/N" he reaches his hand out to you and you take it in a firm hand shake.

“A pleasure” he nods taking a Quick Look at you from head to toe

“Y/N, sit down please, we have much to discuss” your father huffs as he sits back down in his chair “as you know, I am getting old in my age. I’m not able to do my work as I used to which is why Mathew will be taking my place.” He stated

“Right, we know this dad” you chime in

“But, then there is you.” You could somehow feel a change in the room as he said that “…to put it plainly sweetheart, you’re going to be marrying Noah here to seal an agreement”

“WHAT?!” You nearly fall from your seat “you’re arranging a marriage for me?! Dad!” You had no words. You had always had a great relationship with your father. Any disagreements you had would be worked out with just a conversation. But doing something like made your heart break and sink in your chest

“Y/N, please understand-“

“Dad. You’re setting me up in a marriage to someone I don’t even know! It’ll be a loveless, cold marriage!” You could feel your palms sweat, and your heart race. You wanted to yell and cry and scream….and yet all you wanted to do was ask your father “…why dad? Why would you do this?”

He hated seeing you so hurt. His first baby girl, he wanted nothing but the world for you. Yet here he was hurting you, and for what?

“To put it simply” Noah spoke as he remained calm in his chair “your father is no longer able to afford and keep up with his contract.”

“Contract?” You ask turning to Noah and then your father again.

“That’s Right Little Princess” the man mocked you as he stood from his chair and began to pace the room “you live comfortably because of me. Your father ran out of money and resources and so he came to me. He signed a contract for wealth, protection, and business of course, only now he isn’t able to carry it out.” He stops to look out of the window as the rain began to come down harder, darkening the skies outside.

“So why can’t Mathew continue that contract?” You ask him

His head turns to look at you over his shoulder, with a stoic expression he turns his body and begins to walk in your direction

“It was started by your father, and must end with his life and his family’s.” he said as he stood in front of your seat. His mysterious dark aura encasing and dressing you in your place. His frame towers over you as he looks down upon you, as he would the dirt beneath his feet

“So, to of course avoid the route that could have ended a bloodline he chose to spare all your lives including his own. Matthew with work for me as your father did, and you will be the new contract that ensures the lives of your family” a smirk grew on his lips. One of clever fox who has finally cornered its prey.

“…..and if I refuse?” You test the waters

“Then I hope you’ve settled any troubles you’ve had in life” you hear something heavy fall on to the desk. Looking up through your lashes you see the heavy gun that laid in front of you. Was this his way of threatening you? Letting you know he won’t hesitate to carry out his plan as he rehearsed it?

He walks behind your seat and his hands land on the arms of the seat. You can feel him lower himself to your height, right next to your ear to whisper

“Tik tok, you’ve got lives on the line, flower” his whisper sent a shiver down your spine. One of fear, disgust and anger. Your hand moves towards the pen that laid on the stack of papers in the center of the desk. The line that read ‘signature______’ seemed to have mocked you. The second you sign, you sign away your life to this monster who stood in the room with you.

You look at your father one last time. He kept his gaze towards the desk, not daring to meet your gaze. Consumed by grief and guilt of what he had done and gotten you into. You hand shakes as the side of your palm makes contact with the paper to sign. Your grip on the pen slips as sweat coats your hands. Even if you were to disagree, it still wouldn't benefit you, neither would signing these papers. But you couldn't wait forever, and you couldn't leave it blank

Your hand was heavy and your heart had fallen into your stomach as you sign your name. The shaky signature now permanent on the marriage contract. The paper is take from your view and tucked away into a file by Noah

"Perfect. I'll be seeing you tomorrow night Mrs. Sebastian" he smirks at you and turns to your father "Pleasure doing business with you sir." and with that he took his leave. You sat silently in the chair as a new atmosphere now hung between you and your father.

"Mi amor, please understand I did this for you-" he broke the silence

"No! You did this for you! You knew I would never agree to something like this!" your eye well with tears as you look up at your father "..I....I have to marry him now. A complete stranger, a monster!"

"I...I have no excuse. Please understand that if I did not agree, you, your siblings and your mother...you would have all been in danger or worse." you could see this was really eating at your father. You couldn't blame him, he wasn't given many choices for the lifestyle he chose.

"It's...okay dad. There's nothing we can do now" you stand from your seat and turn to leave his office without another thought

"Y/N, sweetheart wait," no matter what he said to call you back, you left and sped walked back to your room. You locked your door and sulk over to your bed and throw yourself on to the plush bed. This may be the last time you sleep in it, by your own choice, in your home. You bring your knees up and curl into a ball, and close your eyes. Hoping, praying and begging that when you wake up it would just be a horrible dream. A terrible nightmare... An ugly lie... just maybe....

Sure enough the next morning you woke up to knocking at your door. You stumble out of bed with a pounding headache and groggy eyes. You crack it open only to find your sisters outside of your door.

"what is it guys?" you asked

"..mom said to come and get you, we need to go out before tonight" Lauren spoke up, the third chld in your family. She was a lot like you mother and sometimes you wondered if she was the older one here

"So it wasn't just a nightmare huh?" you ask fully opening your door and allowing them in your space. You walk into the bathroom that was within you room as you sister still spoke to you

“We’re gonna miss you Y/N….” Emily, the 4th child spoke “…daddy told us what was going on and I….im sorry you probably don’t want to talk about it” she was mature for her age but also very considerate of others

“Well it’s happening today apparently so, there really isn’t a reason to avoid it” you answer from behind the door as you freshen up. “Where are we going anyway?”

“Mom said that we’re picking up your dress. Just have to make sure it fits” Lauren answers. You open the door seeming more pissed than you were before

“Wow, can’t pick my own husband or my own dress, it just keep getting better huh?”

In less than an hour you were on your way to boutique. The dress was picked for you, and had nearly perfect measurements. It fit you perfectly. This should be the part where you cried over finding your wedding dress, yet here you tear up at the soon to be loss of your life.

The dress was beautiful, you’d be a lot happier if you didn’t mean, you’d be marrying complete stranger. There was no use in crying over milk that has been spilled was there?

After the dress fitting and some quick altercations the dress was ready for tonight. In the way back, the car ride was quiet as if everyone could hear each others thoughts

“Why did I have to married the very next day? I already signed the paper, why do I need a ceremony?” You asked out loud

“Well…” your mother started “…they need proof of something that’s isn’t simply a contract. To show there is a legitimate marriage-“

“This is a contract mom. There is no marriage. No relationship! No proposal! I’m being signed off as a business transaction!” You blurt out “ now my life is over, I’m going to be trapped in loveless marriage, and I won’t see any of you again and…a-and…” burst into shaky tears. You were putting on a tough act before, but now it is fully hitting you as to what will become of you tonight. If he didn’t hesitate to threaten your family before, you could only imagine what he was capable of. Your sisters hug you and rub out your back. Your mother trying to hide her own tears having to be strong for you. It’s not getting any better as the night went on. Once you were home you go up to your room and take a long hot shower. Letting the water run down your face hoping to melt away the dread you felt in the pit of your stomach. You sat in front of your vanity as your mother fixed your hair and you sisters helped with your make up.

You looked the mirror and puttied the girl who stared back at you. After slipping into the sleek white dress you were helped down stairs to where your father and brother were waiting in their suits. Your father had tears welled in his eyes.

“Mi…precious…you look beautiful. Like an angel” he said bringing you into a hug

“Dad I…..” you felt something growing your chest as you thought carefully about the next words you were about to say “ I love you and mom so much….. I’m not going to like this, but I’ll do what I have to do means you will be safe…”

You had come to terms with what was going to happen. You were not happy about it. It’s not what you want. But in the end, what other choice did you have. And what cost would it be? You see father’s eyes widen at your statement.

“No please… I won’t be able to live with myself, knowing that you accepted this as your life you’re so much more than a contract. Please believe me.” His eyes pleaded for you to seemingly forgive him.

“ father, you need to know that I am doing this because I want to and I want to help you and sometimes helping those you love comes with a big sacrifice” give him a tight, smile

He gave you a tired chuckle,“ that was always like you you know. Always the fighter.”

You rode in the backseat with your father as you approach the chapel near your home. You get out of the car and stand in front of the grand doors. Knowing once they were open you’d be walking into a new and unknown world.

“How long could we last on the run from this guy?” You ask trying to make yourself feel something to her than dread

“Maybe about a week knowing how many food stops you’d wanna make” your brother responded. All three of you chuckle as your loops your arms into your fathers and brothers. The doors open and there at the alter awaited your future. Each step towards Noah was another step towards the beginning of a deep cave. Once with no light…hope…or signs of rescue. The ceremony carried on like any other. Your family on one side, and what you assumed to be his guests and friends on his half. Most of the words had gone in one ear out the other. Trapped in your head, thinking of scenarios and ideas to still find a way out…

You were only snapped out of your head when it was time to exchange rings. You were handed a wedding band and he held your ring.

“With this ring I take Y/N as my wife” Noah says as he slides the cool jewelry onto your ring finger.

Now it was your turn “with this ring…I take Noah as..my husband” you do the same slide his band in to his large tattooed finger.

“Nervous are we?” He whispered to you

“No….” Was all you answered

“We’ll be out of here in no time” he answers quickly before the priest continues

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife”

Oh god. No! How could I forget this part!-

“…you may kiss the bride”

His hands drag yours towards his body to bring you closer “with pleasure” he smirks and he bends down to capture yours lips. His large hands cup your face and hold you in the kiss. You didn’t fight back, nor did you really get into it. You could feel his tongue poke at your lips and break through into your mouth. Such a kiss wasn’t necessary for a small ceremony, but Noah did it to rub it in your father’s face. He pulls away leaving you breathless, he takes your hand and places it in the crook of his arm to lead you down the aisle.

The small amount of claps were split. Some of congratulations and others of pity. You walk to the end without a word and he leads you to his car. The driver opening the door for you to climb into. After you came Noah then the driver into his seat

“Where to sir?”

“Take us home please.” He said crossing his legs. You move yourself to the opposite end of the backseat, keeping distance from Noah

“Why so far? I thought you enjoyed that kiss back there” he scans you over and his chin rests on his hand, his elbow resting on the door. The passing street light creating a darker aura and giving him a dangerous presence in the small space

“I didn’t” you state “it was part of the ceremony and I let you kiss me. That’s all” you defend yourself

He chuckled with a smirk “whatever you say flower” Great a nickname, that’s the last thing you need “now this is Alfred (hehehe) if you need to go anywhere, he’ll be able to. Of course you’ll be limited as to where you can go and at what time”

“What?! Just who are you my father? Not even he restricted me that much” you cross your arms “I’m my own persona and can go wherever I please”

“Not anymore” he answers back

“Oh whatever, I’ll leave anyway”

“Not unless you want to be a target” he says as a matter of fact “now that’s we’re married, word will get around quickly and become more of a target then when we were not. That’s just how this works flower. Don’t hate me, hate the game” the car come to a stop and you simply just stare into his dark seemingly empty eyes

“The bitch you are” it was just anger that was completely boiling over

He scoots closer to you, coming impossibly close. His hand catches your jaw and holds you to look at him

“Look at me. Now.” He demands. You reluctantly stare into his eyes “if you want to get yourself killed go on ahead and do whatever the fuck you want. All I’ve done is what is meant to keep you and your pathetic little family alive. But you’ll watch your time with me, got that?” His voice was deep, and rumbled with authority. It honestly shook you. You give him a. Nod and he lets go

“Once we’re there you’ll have your own room. You may hate me but I won’t force you to sleep in my bed.” He says watching out of the window as the car passes people and buildings in the city. You do the same in your side trying to hold back the tears and sniffles that claw at your throat to escape.

It had only been 10 minutes and this is all you’ve experienced so far. From this point on there was no hope in your future. This was a dead end, no escape. You were a deer lost in a dark Forrest with a beast on the loose. Unfortunately for you, the beast had claim you as his own, and it was only a matter of time…

 ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿   ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

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[blue-eyed-kaiba]

"Heard it was your birthday?" Mai eyerolls, handing him a blue gift bag.

Several, actually. One contained a $10,000 bottle of wine. Another glittery blue bag contained a Blue Eyes White Dragon figure. The last gift bag, much smaller, contained a birthday card inside, sealed with a light blue hallmark envelope, of course. Remnants of her perfume lingered on the paper. The inside of the card? Happy birthday. With a kiss mark and a beautifully written message from Mai herself. ""𝓕𝓮𝓮𝓵 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓮𝓷𝓭 𝓶𝓮 𝓪 𝓫𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓴, 𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓬𝓴 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓬𝓴𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓲𝓷 𝓝𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻." ♡ 𝓜𝓪𝓲

Mai skips off on her high heels. Cheerfully. He could watch her leave.

His eyes narrowed at the gifts, a small tsk slipping through as he glanced up to watch briefly as the other skipped away. Did she really think she could sway him with all of this? Nevertheless his eyes lingered on the figure, it was quite well made and detailed and she at the very least had attempted something more within his expensive tastes with the wine.

A small scowl crossed his face, a scoff breaking through slightly clenched teeth. No. He didn't like this gift, these were useless to him. Seto inhaled a sharp breath, setting the gifts aside, picking up the card and staring at the envelope, debating even bothering to open it.

After a moment of somewhat awkward silence of staring at the blue envelope, he finally opened it, though upon reading it he immediately tossed it aside, his scowl deepening. Of course. He thought a bit bitterly, crossing his arms. At least she wasn't still around to see any of that.

[theguildedtypewriter]

"I was captivated by the end of the first few pages with an demon assassin named "Hope" (cue irony in the most delicious sense), the clear hints given by the playlist (as an audiophile I enjoyed playing the music while reading the book), and the rocking love story between Hope and Ciaran. Are there spots that are gory, gruesome, and not to be read if you are sensitive to the types of triggers in this story? Yes. Is the title a delicious irony and hint wrapped into one? Yes (and I hope the author continues doing this with future books). Do I want to know more about Dimitri? Yes, please - with a cherry on top. Overall, if you allow yourself to be open as a reader, you will find as I did that this book is a terrific ride, filled with depth, excellence in detail, characterization, plot development, and a hint of foreshadowing that keeps you excited to read the rest of the series." -Avid, Goodreads Thank you so much!! For a taste of this dark, spice world for yourself, pre-order now! 𝓟𝓻𝓮-𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓫𝓲𝓽 25! 𝓝𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓲𝓼 50- 𝓐 𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓗𝓸𝓹𝓮 𝓟𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓽! 𝓕𝓸𝓻𝓶 🔗 𝓲𝓷 𝓶𝔂 𝓫𝓲𝓸! 𝓐���𝓭 𝓭𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓰𝓮𝓽 𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓛𝓲𝓶𝓲𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓒𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓸𝓻'𝓼 𝓔𝓭𝓲𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷! 𝓟𝓵𝓮𝓭𝓰𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓚𝓲𝓬𝓴𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓷𝓸𝔀! 🔗𝓲𝓷 𝓫𝓲𝓸! (𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓼𝓮 𝓫𝓪𝓫𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓭𝓮𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓲𝓽𝓮𝓵𝔂 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽 𝓽𝓸𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓟𝓻𝓮-𝓞𝓻𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓘𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓮, 𝓽𝓸𝓸!) 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖆𝖑 𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊👄⁠ 𝕱𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖘 💞 𝕰𝖓𝖊𝖒𝖎𝖊𝖘-𝖙𝖔-𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘 💘  𝕭𝖆𝖉𝖆𝖘𝖘 𝕱𝕸𝕮 𝖜𝖍𝖔 𝖘𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖆𝖞 💯 𝕾𝕸𝖀𝕿 🌶 #smuttbook #spicybook #paranormalromance #enemiestolovers #romancebooks #spicybookrecs #bookstagram #darkromance #demons #assassin #soulmates (at The Forgotten Realms) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cj1JEEev9Y-/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[rootbeergoat]

𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓭

petition to let me eat sheetrock

[silkjade]

CLASSICAL CONDITIONING !

⤀ synopsis: careful how you tease the duke ⤀ cw: fem!reader, 'good girl', established relationship, unprotected + rough sex, overstimulation, use of handcuffs, lil bit of dom!wrio — ꒰ MDNI ꒱ ⤀ notes: i blacked out and when i came to, this was written && sitting pretty in my drafts

For the duration of your relationship, you’ve made it a habit to bring wriothesley tea every afternoon. It’s something that’s become so ingrained in his routine, that when the noon bell chimes two, he’s compelled to sit a little straighter, exchanging unrequited glances with the large double doors of his office.

As the minutes tick by, he finds himself a little more irritable, finds it admittedly more difficult to focus on the paperwork at hand. You're late and it's not until a quarter past, that he finally hears the familiar tap tap on the door, that indicates your much anticipated arrival.

By the time you make it to the top of the stairwell, the fragrance of freshly brewed tea has long filled the room, yet your boyfriend's eyes remain trained on the documents before him. Unbeknownst to you however, he's been reading through the same line for the umpteenth time, clearly distracted without your little midday pick-me-up.

“For your hard work,” you hum, setting the teacup to his side before stepping away and just missing—though in his opinion, dodging—his expectant lips.

Wriothesley blinks. It’s neither the tea nor the pastries that he looks forward to everyday, but the kisses that always follow — until today, apparently, where you’ve left him with the terrible notion that his lips are to remain grievously untouched.

He clears his throat. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Hmm,” pouting, you tilt your head, brows loosely knitted with cluelessness. “I don’t think so.”

Your duke leans back in his chair, arms crossed, before he huffs in amusement. “Single handedly halting the productivity of the warden,” he lets out a low whistle, “Could be a pretty hefty crime you know.”

“S’that so…” you seat yourself on the edge of his desk; it’s the playful little grin twitching at the corners of your lips that give you away. “Well what’re you gonna do about it, Your Grace?”

It's quite cute how you giggle at the way he’s wrapped around your finger, and given the lovestruck look in his eyes, he truly does not mind at all. However, that's not to say he finds it fair.

Because although they say it’s unwise to bite the hand that feeds you, this is not the nation of wisdom; here in Fontaine, justice demands an equitable arrangement, and as the formidable Duke of Meropide, it's in his right to enact his own... So it really should be of no surprise when Wriothesley shows no remorse as he drills into your gushing cunt, hellbent on conditioning you to cum on his cock and his cock only.

He makes sure to imprint the very shape of him into your walls: from the fat mushroom tip that first slips through your sticky folds, to the large bump of each vein dragging across your velvet insides — your little hole greedily swallows every thick inch of him. Over and over, every thrust sheathes him to the hilt, and the heavy sounds of skin against skin echo through the room.

The sudden cold of his fingers on your clit sends a shudder through your core, jolting as he begins to press and toy with the nub, legs twitching while his heavy balls continue to slap against your puffy pussy lips. You squirm in his hold — far too sensitive to cum again, but you're so close.

Your hips bounce back and forth, alternating between the hard edge of the desk that presses sharply into your skin, and the merciless ruts that penetrate so deep inside. But like the doting lover he is, Wriothesley takes note of your woes and makes a decision for you. He presses his weight into you, grazing his teeth lightly down the nape of your neck.

"Ah ah," he coos, "C'mon you can take it. Be a good girl for me, yeah?"

It’s a shaky, dreamy imitation of your voice, that nods along to the thin facade of agency; with your wrists cuffed behind your back, and body bent over, imprisoned between the warden and his desk, the only thing you can do is to take it.

Still, your walls tighten around him nonetheless, prompting him to angle his hips, hitting that spot with a precision that only comes with experience. You keen beneath him, spiraling into yet another dose of exhilarating bliss as you cum again, creaming all over the girthy shaft still buried in your wet mess of a cunt.

And as you're still shuddering from the intensity, consumed completely in the pleasure, Wriothesley continues to grind your insides. He's far from finished and intends to carry on until you’re blissed beyond any semblance of sane, drunk on the memory of being molded to his fat cock.

notes2: reblogs and feedback appreciated, as always ^^ ty for reading !

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

[silkjade]

FAIREST OF THEM ALL

alhaitham x mermaid!reader au ⤀ synopsis: mermaids, and their vanity, and their affinity for pretty things... who better to admire, than the fairest one of all? ⤀ cw: fem!reader, established relationship, mirror sex, fingering, praise, rough + unprotected sex, size kink, creampie, a lil bit of dom!haitham, overstimulation, cervix kisses, squirting, subspace, vry sweet he’s actually so in love — mdni || ꒰ 5.1k wc ꒱ ⤀ notes: recommended to read the affiliated series, but it can stand alone as well ! reblogs & feedback are always vry much appreciated ♡

series masterlist ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𓇼

Mermaids and their vanity and their affinity for pretty things…

Where Alhaitham lacks in idle conversations, he makes up for in his acute observation; taking note in particular of the way you glance at your reflection—not only in the mirrors of a merchant’s passing display, but at every turn, and every corner. In the stained glass windows of the Akademiya, in the bronze vessels decorating Lambad’s second floor…even now, on your excursion through the Grand Bazaar, he catches the quick flit of your head as you peer at yourself in the fountain beneath Zubayr Theater. 

Not that he’d ever fault a star for its beauty, when even the sweltering Sumeru sun is roped into your orbit—bending to your will as it dazzles behind you, like a halo in your backdrop. Perhaps the world is, but a shell…and a pearl such as yourself—beautiful and rare—ought to shine on a more veracious display. A familiar smirk plays on his lips, painting his handsome face in a devious shade of sly.

It’s clear from just your peripherals that he must be devising something terrible… Yet there’s a dance to your step when you stop him in his path; your hands clasped coyly behind your back, as you dip into his vicinity with your feigned innocence. 

“And just what are you smiling for?” you lilt, shifting your weight forward onto your tiptoes. He leans over to honor what he can only surmise to be a wordless request, but you pull away before his lips ever have the chance to meet yours. You gleam in that coquettish smile of yours—one that sits so perfectly atop your playful flirtations. “Thinking about me?” 

Alhaitham clears his throat, crossing his arms with a raised brow, despite the remaining wisp still tugging at the corner of his lip. “Am I not allowed to smile?”

By now, he can accurately read your tells and predict your actions: pursed lips and shifting eyes…all in a poor attempt to hide your grin as you quip back with something smart, or flirtatious, or on certain days, shameless—any of which might send a lesser man into a fluster. Not that he fares particularly better when it comes to you… 

So he cuts you off while he’s still ahead, his strong arm easily pulling you back into his sphere, and with a tilt of his head, gestures at the fountain, letting curiosity guide you as it casts your reflection onto the waters’ surface once again.

“Just thinking about how pretty you are...” 

And pretty you are indeed when he sits you between his legs, your bare back arching away from his chest as he curls his fingers in your cunt, hitting exactly where he knows you’d keen. His free hand kneads at the meat of your inner thigh, parting your legs wider in the process, your pussy lips following suit, blooming with the sticky sound of your wetness. 

Alhaitham huffs, impressed, as he glances into the mirror standing steadfast before you both. Large and unwavering, it’s resolute in its honorable pursuit to uncover the truth—the one with your cunt propped open and your head thrown into the curvature of his neck. The one you’re clearly not yet privy to, if your eyes are squeezed shut in the midst of all your pleasure. It’s a shame, really. For although he’s never had the ambition to conquer the unknown verities, if such beauty were the splendor of all the world’s truths, then he’d gladly partake down this endless road—as a scholar or as a madman. After all, who better to perfect his limited human perspective, than the fairest one of all? 

Tilting his head, he kisses his way up the column of your neck, feeling you curl into him as he paints intermittent bruises on your supple skin, stopping only when he reaches beneath your ear so that his teeth may tug lightly on its lobe. 

“I know how you love to admire your own reflection…” His voice gravels in your ear, the rich baritone sending a shiver whose reach extends all the way down to your core. “So don’t you want to see how pretty you look?” 

“No. That’s—” Whining, you continue to shake your head at the very prospect, ignoring the clear disconnect as you tighten and clench around the fingers still holed up inside of you. “‘s embarrassing…”

He hums from deep in his chest; thoughtfully amused at how such words could leave your mouth, when your cunt gushes as unabashedly as if she were attempting to lure his fingers further with a squelching song of her own. But there’s nothing to tempt, when there’s no iron will to break, for your bodies move like the moon and the tide: ebbing and flowing, ever connected, fates intertwined. Where his thumb spreads to draw harsh circles, your breath shallows in response, crying out at the sudden aggressive waves of pleasure that surge at your clit. Your nails dig into the sheets, hips lifting and squirming to no avail, as he continues to barrage you from the inside out. 

“Haitham…” you breathe, and he knows you’re close from how you moan through sealed lips, brows furrowed and teeth clenched, until the disappointing realization that he’s pulled out. Your doe eyes flutter open, perplexed and brimming with spoiled petulance at his amused brow and little smirk, whilst at the same time, your lips part with all the intention of asking your lover ‘whyyyy?’, if only for the fact that he’s simply…faster. 

Slick-coated fingers grasp onto your chin, slowly tilting your head down—away from that safe corner by his neck—so that you’d come meet him in the mirror, with all your vanity in tow. He holds your gaze, never turning away, not even as his head dips again so that his lips are level when he whispers low and sultry into your ear.

“If you look away, I’ll stop.” 

…And so you watch as Alhaitham turns his attention back between your legs, spreading open your folds until they’re well smeared with your free-flowing slick. And you watch as two lithe fingers penetrate past your slit, steadily pumping slow, smooth strokes, before splintering apart to stretch you open in preparation for the third prodding at your entrance, eager to join the fray.

“That’s it,” he coos, though his low voice does absolutely nothing to soothe how you squirm against him at the…discomfort? The fervor? Perhaps even the discomfort of such fervor, as it’s become nigh difficult to tell, when his free hand has migrated to fondle with one of your breasts, roughly kneading the mound to double your sensations. “Look at you…” 

Yet what is there to look at but the lascivious combination of your shame and desire? Both wrestle for a place in your reflection, battling to outweigh the other upon your visage…but it’s hardly a fair fight when shame has never been your forte—especially not when you squeeze around him so tightly, almost as if in resistance to how he’s scissoring you open.

It’s almost mesmerizing how your body reacts so eagerly: how your mouth falls open in a gasp and then a squeal, as your gummy walls concede to stretch by way of his provocation. Or that slight hitch in your breath, chest stuttering as you inhale the familiar stretch of three digits sinking into your cunt whilst you sink ever deeper into the watery depths of such hedonistic volitions.

Still, Alhaitham so greedily grasps at every open inch of you, ravishing your body with almost everything at his disposal. His chiseled frame looming behind you as he holds you open and bare, his grip the jaws of lust incarnate; his heavy breath crowding on your skin like a heated apparition of his own dire need to fuck and please and share in the admiration of just how beautiful he thinks you are—until like fine mist, it disperses across your mind, and the shame melts off your bones, replaced with only the desire for more, for him, for more of him.

“Haitham…” you mewl again, brows furrowing in an earnest attempt to keep your eyes open in spite of the rush, because god forbid he stop… 

But it’s tortuous, the way Alhaitham pumps his fingers in and out—slowly, steadily—so that you’d see in your reflection, just how wet you are, hear every squish that sounds as he repeatedly buries himself three knuckles deep. Your slick coats his skin with a layer of gloss at every re-emergence, wordlessly conveying that it isn’t nearly enough to satisfy the burning ache between your legs.

“Please more… ‘m so close…” Pleading, you do what you can to muster your sweetest voice, your most honeyed cadence, in the hopes that you’d persuade him to your cause, rolling your hips to embody your words, furthering both his reach and your intent. For all the time you’ve spent with your lover in the nation of wisdom, it’s certainly helped to remember that only praxes can truly validate such words of honesty, and you truly are honest in your intent to cum.

“As you wish,” he hums, and his breath wraps around the shell of your ear in a warm embrace (though it’s hardly even an ember compared to the heat quickly ebbing in your belly.) The want amplifies by tenfold as he digs the heel of his palm against your clit, forcing another wave of euphoria to course through your form, as he angles his fingers in pursuit of where you feel him most. 

Every twist, every curl, beckons at sweet release, as the tips of his fingers drag past each velvet inch of your walls at an ungodly pace, drawing out your orgasm with such magnetic fortitude that even your own lucidity seems to fade in the midst of such mental upheaval. It goes, and it goes, and it’s gone—as if the plug had just been pulled from your very being—and like a doll, your eyes fall shut to the joy of diving back into such revelry.

A sharp slap to your clit jolts you back to reality with a staggered gasp, your thighs nearly snapping shut at the sudden impact, while rootless static fills the emptiness in your stolen pleasure. Your perpetrator, however, only spares you a half-lidded glance whilst he continues to brandish the finishing touches of another hickey along your neck.  

“Keep looking,” he issues, one part a command, the other, a warning. His grip loosens from your thigh, allowing your legs to fall just the slightest bit slack, before his voice softens and he pries open the lips of your drenched cunt, strumming through your folds so unbearably lazily, as you situate your gaze back into the mirror. “I want you to see everything I do to you…”

“Like how pretty you are when I touch you…” He dips a finger between your pussy lips, unfolding the rippling petals on his way up your slit, carefully paving the way for his place beneath the hood of your clit. “Here,” he drawls, rubbing at the nub so deliberately, that the sudden titillation evokes your instinct to shrink away with a broken, pitched cry; for wherever you squirm, Alhaitham follows, and backed against his chest, there’s nowhere left to turn, but forward at your reflection in the glass. 

It's obscene. You’re obscene. But despite the disconnect with your head, your body still begs for more, and you think it’s almost pathetic how far you’ve sunk into his magnetism (though you vaguely recall it was once the other way around) that you hardly recognize the figure before you, so…distorted by the draw of lust. Your chest heaving with every breath that circulates through full, parted lips, your face bleary from carrying the heavy weight of pleasure on your lashes. Yet, the longer you watch, the more you glisten between your legs, clearly seduced by that perfect view of your own body on display. 

Perhaps there is something provocative about the way your folds are spread, barred open by his fingers while he taps away at your clit. Perhaps there is some coquetry in the way your empty hole drools, some enchantment in how your juices shine…everything to flaunt how you need to cum—how you need him and anything he’s willing to give. 

Your eyes begin to glaze, your focus drifting as you continue to stare at how your lover’s reflection so teases the hardened nub, every touch drumming your nerves with pleasure like the beguiling lull of gentle waves. At least your lungs seem to appreciate the monotonous pattern; your heaving chest adjusts to match his rhythm, the faint stimulus now an almost comfortable familiarity—one too easily shattered by the whims of another, as Alhaitham presses firmly into your swollen clit.

Renewed arousal swells in your belly, burning through whatever you thought had previously dissipated, and closing the window on any remnant of self-restraint, as you soon start to squirm with electrified impatience. Once steady breaths devolve into ragged gasps; your spine curves and your hips jolt, all from exposure to Alhaitham’s prolonged stimulation, writhing this way and that, until you inevitably grind against his cock, surprising him with his own throbbing rush of sensation. 

“Do you see how,” Alhaitham grunts, gritting his teeth as he holds down a groan, “erotic you are…” Even half-dazed, you can feel just how hard his erection stands against the small of your back.

You exhale, waveringly so, as you steady yourself before releasing your grasp on the sheets, clawing weakly at his toned bicep in an effort to garner his attention. Between your misty eyes and sweat-mottled skin, disheveled hair and trembling thighs…there’s a delicate show of tenacity as your reflection holds his gaze, daring to dance with the devil you’ve chosen to submit to. “So show me what I look like when you fuck me.”

“Gladly,” he chuckles, and there’s a wicked glint that shines from beyond the turquoise, accompanied by a dim clang and a quiet rustle, as he frees his cock from its fabric confines. 

A low growl rumbles from deep in his throat as his hands run a path along the concave of your waist, before scooping you up by the underside of your thighs, and shifting you further in his lap—spread open on wide display, behind the glaring pink of his leaking tip. 

Alhaitham drags his cock along your slit, gathering slick from your fluttering anticipation, as he tempers the urge to plunge into you right then and there. He swallows the thought, giving way for the honeyed lilt of your name to flow from his lips instead. You turn, looking up at him with that darling half-lidded gaze, and he breathes in the sweet image of your pretty face. Please allow him to have one good look at you—the real you, in the flesh—before he fucks you into oblivion. 

He presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, murmuring something you don’t quite catch. “‘Ayouni,” he hums, aligning his cock at your entrance. (My love, my eyes—as precious as the gift of sight.) “Nour ‘ayouni…” His tip dips past your entrance, wallowing in the tight fit, before finally pushing into your quivering insides—a resolute promise to fill both your desires, and your cunt as deep as you’d take him. (Light of my eyes, anything for you.)

Large hands secure themselves onto your hips, easily crowding you in until your knees are folded before your tits and your back is pressed flush against his chest. Every bead of sweat stitches your bodies together, skin on damp skin, though only you are locked on full, shameless display; your body and limbs tethered to invisible strings in his hands—his little mermaid, his little doll—to maneuver and fold as he pleases.

A pitched sob breaks the thickness in the air, followed by a few hushed whimpers and stifled moans, as you watch yourself take him, inch by overwhelming inch. It’s never truly occurred to you how big he really is—at least not until now, when you’re confronted before your very eyes with just how much your little hole must work to accommodate his size. That initial stretch when he first pushes past your folds, and how it grows wider little by little as he forges on… (it’s no wonder you always feel so delectably full.) Or how you can clearly see the protruding veins disappear as he glides deeper (is that how he’s always able to touch upon every crook and corner?)

The sight alone has you pulsing: your greedy cunt quite literally drooling at the prospect of swallowing him down to the base, churning out more slick to ease his descent, and melting any discomfort into delight. As his bonafide lover, it’s one thing to be fucked beyond belief, but to see yourself completely surrendered to your lecherous desires, and entirely pliable at his behest…? What a terrifying way to solicit your pleasure.

Still, you’ve no choice but to sputter out a moan as your walls constrict around his shaft, drawing out a grunt from Alhaitham with how titillating it feels when you cling to him like this. His rasp reverberates on the shell of your ear, travelling down your spine like lust-tainted fire to pass the message down between your thighs. And although dew threatens to blur your vision, from what you can see in the mirror, it’s clear that he’s yet to bottom out. Even worse, is that you can feel the emptiness—your insides so cravenly wanting what is amiss—because it’s just so inherently wrong that you aren’t full enough, that he isn’t deep enough.

An urgent hand flies to tangle your fingers in his hair, as you turn to pull him into a wanton kiss, your lips just as greedy as your hips that grind on his cock for more. “Want you,” you murmur between tongue and teeth, exchanging breaths as desperation and uncertainty clash in your throat, and crack like lightning in your voice. “All of you, all the way…please…?”

“Aren’t you, ngh,” he pauses, failing to swallow down his grunt, as disbelief rolls in with another tide of arousal that pulses in his cock. His attempt to taunt, ruined by his inability to resist any longer. “Aren’t you shameless today?”  

“Don’t care.” Though slurred, the words still tumble out of your mouth with a sense of urgency, your fingers curling against him, grasping onto the hope that he’d finally fill you. “Just n-need you.” In such a deliriated state, it’s difficult to tell whether you had imagined the way his breath rings through the hollows of your bones—the resounding echoes of a small, yet exasperated laugh reverberating through the very core of your being…but it was real, and his presence was there, and how could he ever say no when you’re asking for his cock so nicely? Per your request, of course he’ll drop you lower onto his shaft.

Alhaitham groans, powerless against the way you whine, tightening around him as he advances further and further, until he bottoms out with a guttural ‘fuck.’ He’s never had you in such a position, but with you atop his lap and gravity as his prerogative, it’s suffice to say he’s reached... 

“Too..d-deep…” you babble, eyes rolling back as your words disperse into the same nothingness that’s engulfed your thoughts. 

A soft tut tut clicks from his tongue, followed by a light roll from his hips…and suddenly your string of whimpers break into a shrill gasp as his eager tip kisses the entrance to your womb. Alhaitham is, after all, a man of his word, though this time, he lets his actions speak in his stead. (Where did I tell you to look, habibti?)

There’s little time to process any of his wordless cues—especially not when his stuttered breath is hot against your neck, the warmth just beginning to melt away the jarring discomfort of being penetrated so deeply, before equally warm fingers squish your cheeks to turn your attention back to the mirror in question. “Like what you see?” he whispers, and your dew-laden eyes flutter open to the sight of you and him: thighs spread, legs tangled, your hips on his, as you sit impaled on the entirety of his length. 

All you can muster is a whimper and a nod, because what else can you do when you’re so overcome by the feeling of Alhaitham…everywhere? On your tongue where you can still taste his kiss, in your veins where his love circulates to your heart, and most obvious of all, in your cunt where his leaking precum swirls with your slick.

“Show me where you feel me,” he rasps, gingerly plucking your hand away from that wrinkled patch of sheets you so desperately latch on to. His touch is sticky on the back of your hand—no doubt the remnants of your juices still clinging stubbornly to his fingers, like a souvenir collected from his last venture between your legs—but he serves well as a guide: directing you along your abdomen, letting just the very tips of your fingers, ghost across your sensitive skin. 

“This…” Starting at the apex of your thighs, he helps you along the path up your lower waist. “... is how far I am inside you…” 

You can’t help but wonder if it were even possible to be buried so deep within someone, but curiosity gets the better of you, and your hand begins to move on its own, absentmindedly glossing over where you feel his tip so deep, it almost seems…taboo. Not that you really care for the ins and outs of such moral standards, especially when it feels so right to be stuffed so full. Or perhaps your eyes are simply playing tricks on you—dirty work done by the fog that’s settled in your head with the sole intent of altering your cognition. 

“Don’t believe me?” Hand in hand, he presses gently down onto your belly, where even the slightest bit of pressure is enough to make you jolt. But from the way he struggles to catch his breath, to the violent throbs bursting all along his length, Alhaitham too, suffers from the repercussions of his boldfaced provocation—too human to act as if he’d been left unscathed.

For even as you cry in little songs of pleasure, your walls almost seem to be spinning a trance of its own: clenching and unclenching, the pulsating rhythm urging him to move… Which he obliges to of course—adjusting ever so slightly, until he’s perfectly angled and prodding at the divot that absolutely ruins whatever’s left of you, as you’re made to feel everything all at once. Every long, languid stroke comes as an electric current, reinvigorating dead limbs as the muscles come twitching back to life, conducting more and more arousal with every rough drag of his cock. Euphoria surges and sparks fly, overloading the wires in your head, with each thrust into the very spot that unravels you so. 

“Keep singing for me,” he murmurs, content with how the shape of his name breaks into pieces of fragmented  whimpers and moans, echoing across the room. It’s clear his words are largely lost on you—displaced by the fresh barrage of wet kisses down your neck, to be absorbed through your skin and used as fuel for your core. 

“My beautiful mermaid,” Alhaitham keeps his eyes locked on your reflection; eager, despite his own fraying disposition, to catch all your reactions. “My beautiful mermaid…who always…” 

His grip tightens around the meat of your thighs, while a dominant hand glides up to the back of your knee—effectively lifting your leg higher and spreading you open wider—before a quick, rough motion lands him somewhere inexplicably deep.“…takes me so well.” 

You keen, nails digging into whatever they can, anything that might still tether you to this reality when every sensation has been ignited into something far too big for you to handle. Your back curves in response, arching away from his chest, but the shift in position only sits you deeper on his cock, and a shrill sob cracks from your throat, as your stomach coils and your teary eyes flutter open to the direct image of your reflection. In the mirror’s shallow abyss, your looming orgasm stares back as its own depraved monster—inhabiting your body and tainting your pretty face with lecherous intent, as it urges you to let go. 

“Come on, let go…” Or perhaps the fiend whispering in your ear is Alhaitham himself. “I promise you’re just as ravishing when you cum,” he croons, speeding up his pace to climb the heights of his determination. “Maybe even more so…”

The sheer intensity of his rough fucking is overwhelming. The extensive depth, the meticulous precision, the impressive girth—they’re all things you’ve come to expect in the bedroom with your less-than-feeble lover. But to exploit your vanity, whilst simultaneously feeding you with praise…to hold you open with his own hands, to make you a spectator of your own base instincts…

It’s a dangerous combination. It’s too much. It has your entire body trembling as the pressure peaks—your muscles wound taut, and your pussy clenching tight. 

“‘m c-cumming…” you sob, though your quivering voice soon falls flat from the sheer enormity of the orgasm that races to smother you in its fervor, replacing the blood in your veins with liquid bliss, and allowing that to circulate through every inch of your being, until it becomes the only thing you can even bear to breathe.

The name ‘Haitham’ tangles with your cries, and he loves it—addicted even, to the sound of you, the sight of you—finds it near impossible to tear his eyes away from that perfect view of your pretty little cunt, obediently stretched and fully stuffed with every inch of his length. Warmth blooms and engulfs him at his mushroom tip, and Alhaitham bucks by reflex, desperate to chase your waning orgasm with his.

He’s close too; you can feel it. The familiar (yet delusional) way in which each throb seems to fill you out even more, the relentless increase in speed and force, unapologetically running his veined cock along your sensitive walls, over and over until he drags you back to the edge. His own breath skips and stutters in his lungs, but still he punctuates each word with power and precision, jutting in as deep as you’d allow him to follow. “Just. Like. That.” 

And so, when it breaks, it shatters—like skipping stones across the water, rippling and disruptive as they bound on and on in a path of hedonistic destruction—until your vision blanks, and your body convulses, and your mouth falls open in a silent moan. Your release comes in a violent torrent, uncontrollably battering through your body as you drench him in your juices, leaving the remaining splice of your consciousness trembling, spent, and completely surrendered to the pleasure. 

Somewhere in the white noise, you hear the echo of your name, said with a pleased lilt, as if he were…impressed? Proud? Maybe even both, for Alhaitham finds himself mesmerized by the undeniable, tangible evidence, that he’s pleasured you this far beyond belief. It’s surreal—the only word in any of the languages he’s studied (including yours)—that could even begin to describe such eroticism. For a moment, he loses track of his movements, lets his hips fall to an irregular rhythm as he fully takes to the reflection in the mirror: colorless, liquid pleasure still dripping from your hole, glistening as it runs down his shaft with every shallow draw…only to be pushed back with a squish and a squelch from the wetness that now finds a rival in the soaked sheets. 

Without hesitation, he pummels back to reality, thinking only with his cock, as he pounds into you with a newfound ferocity that seems almost inhumane…but then again, a mermaid like you isn’t quite human after all.

“Can you, ngh, hold out…a little longer…?” His voice is low and strained, yet still retaining a softness reminiscent of morning mist above the waters, grazing wisps atop your skin. (Just a little longer, I promise.)

“‘kay…” The word spills from your mouth, melted and slurred into a weak mewl, too dazed to process much, other than the fact that you’d do anything he asked of you, even at your own expense. Just a little longer…(but ignore the tears that prick of overstimulation.) For him, for Alhaitham, anything for Alhaitham (in spite of how your body screams ‘too much,’ as you cream around his cock again, this time faster than all the others had come.)

Any sense of clarity found in your mantra, only serves to prove that perhaps your head truly has been scrambled to nonsense, because the only thing you could even fathom to think of, is the desperate need for him to finish inside you. For him to paint you with a white fire so hot, it’d cleanse away even the smallest remnants of your tortuous embers. The final few thrusts come sloppily—too busy drowning in your deluge to care—while the very last stroke nuzzles deep against your womb, as he fills you full of his cum. 

Two sets of labored breathing resonate around the room, and in the afterglow, Alhaitham sets your frail legs down, knees buckling and knocking into one another, as your feet are finally brought to rest on something solid. (Though mentally, you don’t feel any closer to the ground.) Still, the drastic change in position shuffles his cock against your sensitive walls, breathing life to another soft groan that escapes into a silent harmony. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, peppering you with soft kisses wherever his lips can reach. The unyielding grip, once pressed so firmly into your thighs, melts away—replaced by gentler hands that work to sooth the tenderness in your flesh. “I’m going to pull out now, okay?” He readies himself to withdraw from your warmth, but you blink your bleary eyes, and the distant stars in your pupils illuminate just a fraction more. 

Alhaitham studies the ‘you’ in the mirror; watches the steady rise and fall of your chest as your breathing evens out, and your red-rimmed gaze drifts down the length of your body. One of your hands absentmindedly wanders, delicately brushing over the dark imprints left upon the skin of your thighs, color-matched to the hickeys blooming along your neck and shoulders—each one a bruise forged from his passion. And nothing could ever attest more to the throes of passion than the very reflection of your bodies, melded seamlessly together: his cock in your cunt, leaking with shared essence.

‘How…beautiful…’ 

You shake your head in dreamy opposition. “W’nna stay like this…for…a bit longer…” Your words trail into a content sigh as you rest your head back against that comfortable nook at the juncture of his neck, angling just enough to still catch your reflections in the mirror.

notes2: mirrors in his kit -> mirror in the bedroom pipeline, am i right (๑>؂•́๑) … i wasn't able to complete this in time for mermay this year, so consider this a little something for kinktober, i suppose ^^;; but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless ! as always, thank you so much for reading, and reblogs + feedback are very much appreciated ♡

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

[silkjade]

MIRACLE ALIGNERS

neuvillette x reader ⤀ warnings: none ! ⤀ synopsis: the melusines play matchmaker ⤀ notes: do they need an ideal mother

Your relationship with fontaine’s melusines started when you took on the menial task of helping menthe tailor the sleeves of her too long cuffs, and was solidified after your wholehearted support for aeval’s aquabus tour. In such a small community, word travels fast and your popularity skyrockets when mamere paints your portrait as her muse of choice. 

It’s not like you mind, as they’re quite easy to get along with—very sweet, if not a little naive—and you do enjoy their company when they greet you on the streets or invite you to tea. Still, it comes as a bit of a surprise when a few approach you, absolutely convinced that you’d be a great companion to their ‘very lonely, very human friend.’ 

…Which is how you come to find yourself seated at cafe lucerne, impatiently tapping your fingers at this supposed ‘friend’ who would be so rude as to make you wait more than 30 minutes past the designated meeting time. You take a deep breath to keep your irritation at bay, convincing yourself that any friend of the melusines, especially one they speak so highly of, must be a good person.

As you continue to wait, one table away, something very blue crosses your line of sight, and you look up to discover that it’s none other than the esteemed iudex himself, the chief justice who radiates such an air of refined elegance that you cannot help but sit up a little straighter in his vicinity. Seems this day just got a little more interesting as it’s not everyday you run into the notoriously elusive monsieur neuvillette just out and about on the streets of fontaine.

You yourself have been to your share of trials at the opera epiclese, seen him from his seat up above, looming over the courtroom, high and mighty. Up close, he’s still all sharp lines and perfect etiquette, the very personification of grace, but you can’t deny the fact that he’s so much more handsome in person. 

He casts a glance towards a nearby clock, and while his expression remains largely neutral, his violet eyes dance, perturbed. Perhaps he’s also meeting someone here? You deduce that it must be so, judging by the fact that he’s seated at a table clearly meant for more, and since you obviously have the time, you might as well play detective, which now begs the question: who could he be meeting?

You highly doubt it’s lady furina, so perhaps another official? Except an outdoor cafe is hardly the place to conduct such business. Besides, the average fontainian would be much too intimidated to dare keep someone of such high regard waiting. Maybe a friend, then? 

Your head tilts as you think through your observations. At least outwardly, monsieur neuvillette is…cold. He presents himself the same way in and out of court: untouchable as the sun, but with none of its warmth. He’s private and stays out of the public eye, only ever seen interacting comfortably with the archon and…the melusines… 

You lean back in disbelief at the way it all clicks. Impossible. The friend the melusines so adamantly wanted to introduce you to is…monsieur neuvillette? What a ridiculous notion to even entertain. Besides, it’s public knowledge that he’s much more of a father figure to them… although it does explain why they seemed so tongue-tied describing this so-called ‘friend.’

And…he does look quite forlorn sitting there, face blank and fingers laced together. You make a mental note to remind your little friends that as amiable as he may be with them, they cannot just blindside you with the chief justice of fontaine. Still, a meeting is a meeting, and it’d be terribly rude of you to just up and leave.

“Um, pardon me monsieur neuvillette but you wouldn’t happen to be meeting anyone here, would you?”  

Neuvillette blinks. What a pleasant surprise; not many approach him of their own accord. “As it happens, I was supposed to meet a few melusines for tea.” He gestures to the evidently empty table, though his sharp ears catch the faint whispers amidst the rustle of leaves to his side. 

“However, I suspect they may have forgotten to inform me of their change of plans.” He clears his throat, tilting his head towards a nearby bush where the tips of a few very colorful pairs of ears wiggle in excitement.

The corners of your lips quirk into the beginnings of a small smile. “That’s funny—a few melusines insisted that I meet a very human friend of theirs, though he’s yet to show up.” For obvious reasons, you decide to drop the fact they called him lonely behind his back.

Ah. So you were the kind individual his melusines often spoke so fondly of.

“Perhaps he attended the trial this morning. It did run longer than anticipated.” Yes, you knew there must have been a valid explanation to the tardiness. 

“Well, maybe we can keep each other company while we wait?”

Neuvillette gestures at the empty chair across from him and you swear the sun seems to shine a little brighter. “I would very much like that.”

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

[silkjade]

alhaitham x mermaid!reader (3.5)

⤀ cw: afab!reader, first time (w. him), lots of teasing, cunnilingus, praise, fingering, unprotected sex, lil bit of size kink + overstim, creampie, fluff???, true love but they don't know it yet — mdni || ꒰ 6.2k wc ꒱ ⤀ notes: recommended to read the previous part first, but it can stand alone as well ! hope u enjoy my smut debut + reblogs & feedback are always vry much appreciated ♡ next ﾉ series masterlist ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𓇼

When you had taken him up on his half conscious, pseudo challenge to visit Sumeru City, Alhaitham never imagined you’d cause him so much trouble. It’s not in the sense that you’d drawn too much unwanted attention, or that you’d spent his mora on frivolous things. No, it was your lack of understanding for the human notions of shame and intimacy. 

He’s never entirely sure of just how nuanced the unabashed things you say and do are. You’re shameless whenever you’d ask him for compliments point-blank, or when you’d waltz out of the bathroom only half-dressed in his clothes. Other times, you’d surprise him with words so naively honest, brush against him in ways that feel far too tender.

To his dismay, it’s becoming increasingly clear that your actions always come with a price—one that he pays, not with mora, but with his dignity. Much like the smooth caress of the waters you came from, it’s all seemingly harmless, but the depths of your intentions remain aggravatingly unknown. Especially when your very presence is enough to enfold all his senses in a lull of desire.

He runs a hand through his hair before turning the knob of his bedroom door, only to find you in your human form, lounging on his bed, lazily flipping through one of his books. The robe you wear is one of his; too large on your frame, with the silky material falling off your shoulders, dangerously close to revealing too much. 

Not that it isn’t a welcome sight—he is a man after all. And while he prides himself on his exceptional self control, it becomes an issue when he feels himself grow hot and the loose clothes he likes to wear at home begins to feel too tight. He can’t rub one out while you’re here, so perhaps a cold shower might ease his condition…

But you’re more perceptive than he’s given you credit for.

“It’s not as magnificent as my tail, but this body is still quite impressive isn’t it?” 

“I’ve never met anyone as shameless as you.”

…

“Well, I don’t think you’ve ever met anyone like me at all.” You flash him an amused smile, but the sultry look in your eyes relay a different message entirely. He can’t lie, it excites him.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he mumbles under his breath. To his chagrin, your curious hum cuts through the room and he hears the heavy thud of a book slammed shut.

Of course you heard him. With renewed interest, you swing your legs over the edge of his bed, sauntering over until you’re close enough that he can smell the faint scent of his mint shampoo in your hair. 

“Oh? And what could I possibly be doing to you?” Your fingers walk up his body, slowly, from his toned stomach to his chiseled chest, leaving his skin hot through the fabric of his clothes, “Won’t you enlighten me?” 

You look up, that wide-eyed gaze of feigned innocence flickering into something sharp and dangerously seductive. A hand settles on his shoulder, pulling him in until you’re close enough that your lips are only a hair’s breadth away from his sensitive ears. The other reaches down and ghosts against his obviously growing bulge, before pressing down, palming him through his pants. Alhaitham bites back a groan. 

“Or rather, what would you like to do to me?” Your voice rings low and smooth as silk to his ears. It leaves a wave of desire to bubble in the pit of his stomach, one that doubles down on the dull ache at his crotch.

His mind sifts through a thousand thoughts. Lascivious thoughts, sinful, perverted thoughts that only seem to make their presence known when in your company. Just one glance down at you and he can see how ridiculously easy it would be to untie the lazy knot that’s hardly holding your—no—his robe together. 

“I…” 

It’s hard to think when you overwhelm all his senses, poking at the urges he has so carefully suppressed up until now. His robe, his scent. He’s no fool to the way Sumeru City ogles at you—the mysterious stranger who’s able to so casually hang onto the aloof scribe’s arm. It only makes him want to stake his claim across the empty canvas of your skin as well: his mermaid. Perhaps just this once, he’ll let himself indulge in his own selfish desires. 

“Come on, Scribe Alhaitham,” you emphasize,“use your words.” 

A smug smile forms on your face as you calculate the risks of your next words. 

“Although…if you’ve got nothing to say, why don’t you just show me,” you press close, voice deceptively soft. “I’m more of a hands-on learner anyway.”

For once, Alhaitham lets his body override all sense of rationality, flipping your positions, and pinning you against the wall as he captures your mouth in his. It’s uncharacteristically sloppy and haphazard, with none of the craftiness he displayed on that first and only night you kissed, but it’s intoxicating all the same.

His teeth graze against your bottom lip, demanding entrance, and you’re forced to grasp onto his toned bicep to keep yourself steady as you devour each other with the intensity of all your repressed thoughts. With every second his mouth remains slotted on yours, with every inhale and exhale of breath you exchange, you think that this time, you’re the one who might drown.

He finally tosses you a lifeline once he decides to leave the vicinity of your mouth, and begin his campaign across the rest of your body, starting with the little spot right along the underside of your jaw. Alhaitham takes his time trailing down your neck, catching you off guard when he stops to suck down, hard, on a particularly sensitive patch of skin.

An involuntary gasp escapes, and you can feel him smirk against you, though it quickly fades into a half strangled groan when your hips roll into his. He only continues downward from here, carving kisses into your body and leaving behind colorful little bruises that send liquid fire running through your veins. The further he goes, the more he must uncover, and the only thing standing in his way is the robe you’re hardly wearing.

“Can I…?” he asks in a hoarse whisper, fingers already toying with the sash. 

“Not like you haven’t seen everything already,” you mutter, pulling his face in to kiss him again. 

His free hand snakes down to squeeze your ass while the other tugs on the loose knot, the silky material now free to tumble down your body like a waterfall, hitting every curve along the way. In one fell swoop, Alhaitham takes you to his bed, picking up right where he left off: with a depraved kiss that speaks more than he ever could in relaying the underlying lust that clouds his mind.

“Beautiful.” The word slips out without a second thought. It’s the first time he's ever said it outright. Beneath the fervor, there’s a special sentiment that cushions his tone. It has you buzzing with warmth from the inside out, but whether it’s contentment or embarrassment, you don’t know. Biting your lip, you turn your head to the side, refusing to meet his gaze. 

He finds it infinitely amusing that for all your openly brazen flirtations…

“You’re not getting shy on me now, are you?” 

You respond by stubbornly grappling at the edge of his shirt, nails grazing against his muscled abdomen in the process. The startling sensation crackles through his nerves, sending his cockhead twitching in delight. 

“It’s only fair I get to see you too,” you mumble, in what little time you have between kisses. Alhaitham pulls away, a brow quirked in mild amusement. Pausing, he takes this chance to drink in the sight of your naked figure for the second time, though tonight there’s no need to look away. 

It’s exhilaratingly surreal to see your body marked by the undeniable testaments of his touch. It manifests on your skin, where you’re decorated with clusters of little bruises signed by his lips. In your chest, as it heaves for air after all the breaths he’s stolen from right out of your lungs. It persists in the way your eyes draw him in, inviting him, daring him to do more. In how your lips, though slightly swollen, wear the same coquettish grin that’s enchanted him time and again. With no other choice but to surrender to your demands, Alhaitham lifts his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side without a care.

You’ve always thought the man to be handsome, but you’re left wonderstruck as your eyes wander across his bare skin. It’s not like his usual attire leaves much to the imagination, but Alhaitham undressed, is still a sight to see. His toned chest and sculpted stomach, well defined arms… Chiseled by the gods themselves, you think as the corner of your lips quirk just the slightest bit upwards. 

“Enjoying the view?” It’s funny how much his smug smile contrasts with the mottled pink that colors his shoulders and dusts across his cheeks. His skin only flushes more when you trace a finger over the gem on his chest, tantalizingly slow as you make your way down his sternum, and only stopping to lightly flick at one of his nipples. Alhaitham’s breath hitches and you can practically see his muscles as they tense.  

 “Very much,” you answer, hands sinking lower. “So won’t you show me more?”

He catches you by your wrist when he feels you tugging at his waistband, and it takes everything for him to ignore the wanton desperation that’s quickly clouding his mind. It’s difficult, but out of sheer will, he manages to hold back, if only by a thread. 

Gently, he pulls your chin up to face him. Want hides beneath his teal gaze, but there’s a softness that truly shines through, encapsulating the delicate balance between risk and reward.

His hands shift to caress your cheek, before he moves in to steal another kiss. This time it’s sweeter, more chaste. Alhaitham kisses you slow and passionate, interwoven with a tenderness that causes your heart to swell in your chest.

“You sure you want to do this?”

Your resounding ‘yes’ breathes a renewed ardor into his actions as he lowers you onto your back. Little by little, he makes his way down your body, leaving wet kisses everywhere except where you want him most. A kiss here, a lick there—the heat that pools in your belly only grows by the second, but a harsh suck right below your hip causes your breath to hitch and your cunt to drool more in response while you whine and attempt to rub your legs together for any sort of friction.

They are, however, aptly spread back apart when he hooks his arms beneath your thighs and pulls you closer to where he kneels at the edge of the bed. 

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs, “and we’ve only just begun.” Alhaitham lets out a low chuckle as he presses another kiss to your inner thigh. It’s enough to have you shivering in anticipation, the reverberating tremors of his deep voice going straight to your pulsing hole, wet with the slick of your arousal. One of his hands moves to hold you down as you jolt when his teeth graze against the delicate skin.

“Will you please just hurry up,” you’re barely able to get all your words out before your voice breaks into a breathless gasp as he takes you by surprise, dipping his head down to lick a long stripe up your glistening folds and flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue once he reaches the top. 

Talented in more ways than just words, you find out firsthand exactly how good he is with his tongue. Like a man starved, he laps up all you have to give, while your gushing hole happily churns out more slick. But it isn’t nearly enough. Especially not with the way you’re grinding into his face and singing praises to his name.  

Alhaitham doesn’t consider himself an arrogant man, but he’s never loved hearing the sound of his own name more. It falls through your lips in a trail of whimpers, your pretty little cries music to his ears, delicate and lyrical. His tongue prods at your entrance, occasionally dipping into your warmth, and as he closes in, his nose bumps against your puffy clit. It has you keening, and your hands come flying to tangle in his ashen hair as your voice splits into a sharp gasp. 

He takes a mental note of your reaction before moving to suckle on the sensitive bundle of nerves, drawing out another beautifully broken sob. With every exhale, and every swipe of his tongue, Alhaitham breathes life into your cunt—leaving it to drip with arousal and clench around nothing. Your fingers curl in his tresses and you tug hard. The low groan he emits reverberates through your body; the rumbling vibrations of his own pleasure sends you crawling to your high. 

But he soon pulls away and you’re quick to let out a pitched cry in protest. He peers up from between your parted thighs, sharp eyes hungrily taking in the sight of you squirming at the loss of contact. 

“Haitham,” you whine pitifully, hips blindly stuttering in search of his touch, “don’t stop.” 

Oh how the tables have turned. Before him, your tiny hole clamps around nothing and a sly grin creeps onto his face, devilishly handsome and glistening with your essence that so freely drips down his chin. You’ve teased him relentlessly during the span of your partnership, and as per your logic, it’s only fair he gets to do the same.

“Beg for it,” he purrs. His warm breath fans across your folds, sending you into a frenzied fluster from the bottom up, and you feel as if you’re going to melt.

“P-please…” It’s difficult to come up with any words, much less the right words, to say when the overwhelmingly wanton desire for him to just touch you again, has your brain enveloped in a thick haze. “Need you…Haitham please…”

His name, entangled within the sweet pleas that fall from your lips, has his cock twitching again, eager to be freed from the constraints of his pants. But if he can ignore the wet spot forming from his own precum, then he can do the same to the way his hips seem to move on their own, slowly rutting against the bed. He’s a patient man, he can wait. You on the other hand… 

You’re so needy for him, so lost trying to chase your own pleasure, that it doesn’t even register when he wets two fingers in his mouth, unable to process anything until you feel the faint stretch in your cunt that has you trembling in anticipation. His fingers slide easily into your creamy insides, and he only watches in amusement at the way your hips buck, silently begging him for something more than the painfully slow, lazy way he’s pumping in and out of you. 

“You’re already so tight...” He lets out a breathy chuckle as he scissors you open, resisting the way your velvety walls come down, hugging every inch of the digits inside you. “How are you even going to take me, hm?” 

You open your mouth to respond but nothing ever comes out, save for the faint breath of a moan that manages to escape. If you were in the right state of mind, you would’ve been sure to fire back something smart, however, your thoughts have been reduced to fixate on Alhaitham, who’s rather keen on keeping it that way.

He moves his wrist, twisting and turning, relentlessly searching until the pads of his fingers press against a spot just right, that it has your toes curling and back arching off the bed in a loud cry. He curls his fingers, bullying the spongy spot until echoes of your melodic mewls are undeniably present amongst the lewd squelching of your wetness. It sends him reeling and growing impossibly harder—oh how he so adores the way you unravel before him. 

Your body runs hotter than ever and you feel the coil in your belly tighten, ready to snap. You’re going to cum. You’re so close. Just a little more. It repeats like a mantra in your head, but your impending climax dissipates as he draws both fingers back out, leaving you dangling at the precipice with a distressed wail, frustration pathetically painted across your face.

Why did he just do that? Your eyes are large and laced with tears that quiver and threaten to spill down your face. Ignoring your futile attempt at garnering pity, Alhaitham only continues to taunt you.

“Will you look at that?” he says, toying with the messy slick that glosses over his middle and index fingers like webbing, stretching and breaking along to the movements of his hand. It’s such damning evidence of how much you need him, but it’s also somehow mesmerizing, so much so that you’re unable to look away. It doesn’t help that your sopping cunt only weeps more at the sight, absentmindedly fluttering around nothing.

He drags you out of your thoughts as he unexpectedly takes your clit back into his mouth. His hot tongue swirls around your bud, effectively setting your veins on fire, then takes the chance to throw your earlier words back at you. 

“Tell me what you’d like me to do,” he says, mouth never leaving the little nub.

You want him to make you cum, is what you want to say—or rather, you want him to let you cum, considering how he so cruelly ruined your earlier orgasm. But it all only translates into a litany of unintelligible whimpers, and Alhaitham smiles, the mischief twinkling in his eyes now glaringly apparent. He can’t help how endearing it is, that you, who always has so much to say, is now struggling to answer even the simplest of questions.

“Use your words. I want to hear that pretty voice of yours.”

“I want… I need…” you’re only able to make out a few words in between your ragged breaths before you’re interrupted by your own broken sob as he sucks down hard on your abused clit.

“Hm? What was that?” 

“Want to cum…” you choke out, eyes sliding shut as you try again with your best efforts.

The latter half of your sentence warps until it rises an octave and melts into a shaky moan. Alhaitham barely gives you just enough time to finish before three lithe fingers find their way into your cunt without warning, slipping past your wet folds with ease. The dull pain of an added finger stuffed into your tiny hole, has you keening, your own knuckles turning white from your steel grip on the bed sheets. 

With a sweep of his tongue, he laves over your swollen clit again, sending shivers through to your core as you feel the tension return in your abdomen, this time wound even tighter from the way he continues to fuck your already sensitive cunt.

“ ‘m so close…please,” your breath catches in your throat as you whimper and squirm. “Please Haitham, please-” 

It’s beyond his own belief how he managed to wrangle you into his bed; the beautiful mermaid who had first tried to drown him, who was always so outspoken and bold— now reduced to a begging, whimpering mess on his sheets. For that, he mentally pats himself on the back and decides to take pity on you. 

“Come on, mermaid. Let me hear you sing.” 

Immediately, you feel his fingers curl, right up against the very spot that has you seeing stars, exactly as he had intended. He drags his teeth carefully, lightly grazing your swollen clit, effectively ripping out a loud, visceral scream as you finally tip over the edge in an earth shattering orgasm. 

Waves of pleasure continue to wash over you as Alhaitham finger fucks you through your high,  vigilantly hitting that sweet, spongy spot over and over again without mercy. You’re left quivering, fingers desperately grasping at the bed sheets, trying to find something, anything to hold on to. His hand, the one that isn’t three knuckles deep inside you, moves to hold your hips down as they twitch in the settling overstimulation. 

A satisfied hum rumbles in the back of his throat as he finishes off with an easy kiss to your inner thigh. He finally slows down his movements as you ride out your high, though the shallow, wet noises as he rocks his fingers in and out of you, seem all the more erotic against the backdrop of your dissipating cries. 

“Can’t get enough of you,” he coos. “Such a pretty thing—so gorgeous when you cum for me.” Alhaitham continues to whisper sweet flatteries that have you preening until he feels you clench weakly around his fingers once more. He raises a brow, the beginnings of a small smirk forming on his face.

“Of course you like to be praised.” Despite the lilt in his voice, he draws his soiled digits out with care, though you still shudder as he passes through your sensitive folds.

“Shut up.” 

Even as you sit up to catch your breath, your eyes wander over to the man’s bare upper body, before they drift down to the impressive tent bulging from his pants. Suddenly, you’re made painfully aware of how utterly empty you are. Arousal pulses through you, once again dripping out of your cunt at the thought of being stuffed full.  

Your obvious staring doesn’t go unnoticed; and neither does the way you shift as you’re rubbing your thighs together for more friction. Your shamelessly perverse act only reinforces the thrum in his already rock hard cock.

“Open up.” You do as you’re told, intuitively wrapping your lips around his long fingers, cheeks hollowing as you clean off the mess you had left. It spurs him on, the way you hold his gaze with those large doe eyes, blinking so lasciviously when he draws them back out, leaving behind a trail of saliva that snaps like gossamer on your lips.

“What, haven’t had enough of me yet?” He teases you, yet the slight waver in his voice as he struggles to mask just how much he’d like to cum right then and there, says otherwise. 

“Not nearly enough.” 

Your playful wit is nothing new to him. And while Alhaitham considers himself to be quite well versed in how you love to play coy, an expert in navigating around your flirtations—he’s far from immune to your coquettish displays. He’s only human after all… 

So it’s no fault of his own that you drive him absolutely insane.

Pupils blown wide and dilated with lust, he dips down until you can feel his hot breath on the shell of your ear, “I hope you don’t regret that.” His smooth baritone sends a shiver down your spine until it pools between your already sticky thighs, a vague promise of what’s to come.

Before you know it, he catches you in another eager kiss, rough and hopelessly greedy, as you fall back onto the mattress without a care. It only heightens your sense of urgency that he can’t help but grind into you.

His normal attire barely hides his bulge, but even underneath these loose clothes, the outline of his cock stands tall and unmistakably erect against the fabric—which you desperately need removed now, as you fumble with the waistband. Alhaitham chuckles lightly into the kiss before pulling away. Message received. 

He moves quickly, pants and underwear hastily thrown to the side and forgotten, because how could you possibly think of anything else when he stands before you, hands fisted around his magnificent cock, grunting at the little ounce of relief as he gives himself a few quick pumps. Precum dribbles from the flushed pink tip and your eyes follow as he spreads it along the impressive length. You can’t help but think that it’s…pretty. And oh how you adore pretty things.

He lines himself up at your entrance, cockhead just barely dipping inside as he hovers over you, and for the first time tonight, you realize just how incredibly vulnerable you are now, laid bare before him, ripe for the taking. But it’s okay if it’s him. Whether it’s the fuzziness mulling in your head, or your cunt that’s thinking for you, anything is fine as long as it’s Alhaitham.   

Above you, he swallows harshly and you can see the slow bob of his throat as he does so. “Tell me if you need to stop,” he murmurs. The rasp in his voice makes it apparent that it’s taking every ounce of fortitude not to just slam his entire length into you. 

The first hiccupped gasp that escapes your lips has him smiling smugly as he pushes in, splitting you open with ease from how wet you are. But the stretch as you struggle to accommodate his girth burns despite your previous preparation; he’s just so much bigger than his fingers. Inch by agonizing inch, he stretches you wider, whispering sweet nothings while he stuffs you full of his cock. 

“You’re doing so well,” he praises, though it’s quickly drowned out by the sound of your heart beating in your ears. Every time you think he’s done, he only continues to push further inside. Your head spins at how full you already feel, unconsciously tightening around him and drawing out a choked curse that rolls tactlessly off his tongue. There’s no helping the way his self control fades when you’re squeezing him like that, your needy cunt intent on sucking him all the way in. 

“Fuck,” he rasps. It’s foreign and depraved and so vulgar compared to his usually eloquent speech—not that it isn't also incredibly attractive hearing him lose his composure like that—but it’s even more so especially because you’re the one making him feel this good. Your heart flutters at the thought and the vibrations of another muffled grunt ripple against your skin when you reflexively bear down again.

Alhaitham bottoms out in one final push, sending you reeling at how the thickest end of his shaft forces your little hole to stretch even wider to accommodate the width. A hitched cry leaves your throat and your arms fly to wrap around his neck, pulling him close as he presses soothing kisses along your jaw, though it does little to quell the heat rapidly igniting throughout your body.

“Are you alright?” There isn’t an ounce of teasing in his tone when he pauses to glance down, giving you a moment to adjust while ensuring you’re okay. 

Your hum of approval is all he needs to start moving in languid strokes that fill you to the brim, his shallow thrusts so lewdly squelching to the tune of your wetness. Each slow drag of his cock forces you to feel very ridge and vein as he grinds back and forth, pulling soft mewls out of you until they melt into breathless whines pleading for something more.

“Faster…f-faster please.” 

Who was he to deny you, when you’ve been taking him so well? Sliding ever so slowly, Alhaitham all but pulls out, leaving only the very tip of his cock to kiss your entrance. You don’t even have time to process the jarring emptiness before he slams his entire length back in with a single thrust, powerful enough to send your entire body jostling from the impact. Your back arches in pleasure, your head thrown back in a silent scream as your mouth falls agape, the sound dying before it’s ever able to leave your throat. 

Alhaitham is relentless when he starts fucking you in earnest. The gentleness from earlier is gone, replaced by the callous way he repeatedly pounds into you, burying himself to the hilt every single time. He’s hitting depths you never thought possible, with each thrust sending shockwaves that ripple through you until it scrambles your mind, shattering that last piece of lucidity stubbornly holding you together.

“That’s it. Take it, just like that,” he coos, but you're too fogged over to comprehend his words. It’s clear your mind is currently occupied by other matters; matters such as the chant of his name atop your long string of strangled cries.

He revels at how pliant you are underneath him—so stimulated and keening out in pleasure at everything he does, greedy cunt eagerly swallowing every inch he offers, pulling him in with every snap of his hips. 

His mouth latches onto one of your nipples, sucking on the nub while he twirls the other between his fingers, groaning when your nails dig into his shoulders, imprinting crescents onto his skin. The added stimulation elicits another set of frantic whimpers, and the familiar tightness in your abdomen returns.

“Haitham I’m…I’m so…” Close, he deducts. He can tell by the way your walls close around him.

Half of him wants to watch you struggle with your words in between all your panting and moaning, wants to withhold your sweet release until you can speak properly while he continues to piston in and out of you. The other half, driven by his wanton throbbing, slides a hand over the curve of your ass, lifting your leg to angle himself just right before plunging deep inside you, hitting that same spot from before that had you seeing stars. 

Loud, broken sobs tear through the room as his tip mercilessly drills into the spongy spot with pinpoint precision. Your nails rake down his back, and a sharp hiss manages to escape from his lips. It only fuels him more, makes his movements more erratic. Over and over, hit after hit, Alhaitham delivers an exhilarating pleasure that drives you to the edge of delirium. Warmth blooms in the pit of your stomach threatening to spill over and seep into every crevice of your being. 

It’s too much. It’s so good. It’s not enough. You’re not sure how much more of this you can take. 

“I can feel you falling apart around me.” The corners of his mouth lift in a smug grin, ignoring the fact that his voice comes out in ragged huffs, uneven from his labored breathing.

There’s no use denying how much you affect him as well—not when fire licks his body, coloring his pale skin flush. Nor when his expression is clearly strained, trying so desperately to hold on to his crumbling composure. You’d notice if you still had the capacity to process anything at all, but alas…

He lowers his head into the crook of your neck, nipping lightly at the tender skin before switching to your native tongue. “C’mon my beautiful mermaid…give it to me. Cum for me.”

The white hot bliss that sweeps across your body is maddening and it leaves you absolutely shattered. The vibrato in your voice cracks as you scream and sob, body going impossibly taut. You’re desperately gasping for air, drowning in the waves of euphoria that wash over you, but it pulls you in and drags you further down into delirium. You can’t think, you can’t speak. You can’t stop the trembling in your thighs and you can’t stop your cunt from spasming as he continues to fuck into you.

His pace slows but his strokes are longer and deeper, as if he’s trying to ingrain himself permanently within your walls. Your moans rise in pitch, turning to whimpers when his thrusts continue past your orgasm and into the settling overstimulation, his cock still taking from you where there’s no more to take.

You’ve never felt more like a paradox than you do now. Your head is the clouds, while your body feels heavier than ever. You’re painfully sensitive, squirming to get away as he chases his own release, yet your cunt still pulses and begs to milk his fat cock dry.

Weak arms reach up to cup his face, pulling him in for a lasting kiss, breathing him in like the air you so desperately need in your lungs. When you pull away, your eyes are so dazed and lidded, not yet recovered from the intensity of your orgasm, but already prickling with tears from the burn of overstimulation. 

“Make me yours.”

Alhaitham buries his head in the crook of your neck; there’s no hope of keeping up his composure now. In fact, it’s a wonder he didn’t come from those words alone. You already are, he tells himself. There’s nobody else he could ever want; nobody else could ever compare to how perfect you are for him. 

With a few final thrusts, he presses his weight into you and sinks his cock as deep as he can. He lets out a tattered moan and his hips stutter as he follows you over the edge, the warmth of his hot cum spilling into your insides. 

A fleeting thought crosses your mind: Maybe you want to stay like this forever. So warm and tingly and speared open in all consuming pleasure. 

His body slumps against yours, relaxed and utterly at peace. In the numbing midst of his high, Alhaitham’s mind is for once, a couple beats slower than his palpitating heart.

“I love you.” 

He wasn’t thinking when it had slipped out of his mouth. The words came so naturally, rolled off his tongue so easily. It’s too late by the time he realizes just what he’s said; he hopes to god you didn’t hear him, but it’s the only thing you catch amongst all the white noise. He loves you. Alhaitham loves you. 

It replays on a loop inside your head but your jumbled mess of a brain can only process so much right now. “Love…you…” you barely manage to scrape out. He quiets your empty babbles with another kiss, muffling your whines as he gently—though reluctantly—pulls out of your embrace. You shudder and whine at the loss.

“Easy now,” he soothes, distracting you with praises and soft pecks to your temples. To you, the emptiness in your cunt feels all too foreign, but he can’t help but stare at the lecherous sight of your combined fluids dripping out of your hole. He can already picture it in his head; the wet noise of your slick and his cum, all shoved back into you so that not a single drop is wasted…

Alhaitham shakes the thought from his head, forcibly tearing his eyes away before his own mind can betray him. He excuses himself before soon returning with a glass of water and a warm, wet towel in hand.

Slowly but surely, your lungs steady, and the fog dissipates, and you’re finally able to anchor yourself back to reality. A reality where your throat is dry, hoarse from all the retrospectively embarrassing sounds he had dragged out of you, and your limbs feel so heavy, as if your bones have all but dissolved into jelly.

“Gonna clean you up, okay?” 

With your permission, he helps sit you up, passing you the glass of water before he begins wiping off the excess fluid between your legs. The towel is rough against the still sensitive skin of your inner thighs, making you jolt. Immediately, he utters an awkward apology, looking up to gauge your reaction. 

Water, split from the sudden movement, drips down your chin. Loose pieces of hair stick to your forehead; the thin sheen of sweat that coats your skin makes sure of that. To look so disheveled yet so gorgeous at the same time…you’re absolutely enchanting in the afterglow. A flicker of pride rushes through him—he did that. The proof was in the bites and bruises littered across your skin. He smiles, sheer adoration present in his eyes. 

Your soft giggle breaks his train of thought. “What are you—” A yawn. “What are you looking at?” The chirp in your tone peaks just the tiniest bit out of your sleep-laden voice, but you’re too worn out to wait for an answer, opting to fall back onto the mattress instead. It’s not long before you fully yield to the exhaustion.

You look so peaceful in your sleep, so human, that he almost forgets you’re not. Still, he wonders how it would feel to hold you in his arms as he sleeps. To wake up beside you and watch as the sunlight illuminates your features.

Would it be selfish of him to indulge just a little more?

Tossing the towel aside, he joins you under the safety of his covers. He wraps an arm around your frame, pulling you close, holding you right next to where his heart beats in his chest. Alhaitham presses a soft, last kiss to the top of your head before he too, drifts off to sleep. 

When morning comes and the golden sun arises, everything will return as it was. Dreams and other such wishful delights are of the moon’s sovereignty, so tonight, let him hold on to this reverie for just a little while longer.

next

a/n2: This was my very first smut piece so I hope you enjoyed :’) Since this is an extra chapter, I tried not to include any details that would drive the plot too much, but ending it with just a tiny bit of angst to transition to the next part. thank u for reading ! ♡

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

[silkjade]

MIDNIGHT VICES

alhaitham x reader ⤀ synopsis: a year older, and none the wiser… doesn’t the birthday boy know not to mix his alcohol ? as alhaitham grows incessantly needy, he sneaks you away for a quickie behind the tavern ⤀ cw: fem!reader, established relationship, drunk sex (more of a buzz + everything is consensual), unprotected + rough sex, fingering, creampie, exhibitionism, very sweet — mdni || ꒰ 2.5k wc ꒱ ⤀ notes: it is still feb.11 in my time so happy birthday to the loml ! ♡ slightly selfship coded, prev titled ‘places we won’t be found’

10 minutes before the clock strikes twelve, Alhaitham takes note as you slip away from his side with a quick kiss to his cheek, promising to return in haste. 2 minutes before the clock strikes twelve, you return with a round of shots for the table—Snezhnayan firewater, of course.

“And an extra for the birthday boy,” you tease, sliding the remaining glass towards your ashen-haired boyfriend. 

And thus, at midnight of his birthday, Alhaitham takes two shots of firewater—and in the 10 minutes it takes for the liquor to mix with the wine already in his system, he realizes that his wisdom has yet to catch up with his age. Because despite turning a year older, he feels none the wiser when you sidle up to him so nonchalantly, as if every brush of your bare skin on his, isn’t crackling with electricity that makes his hairs stand on end. As if he doesn’t wish to drag his tongue and teeth down the curvature of your neck and shoulders. As if you were not the direct cause of the lecherous, alcohol-induced thoughts forming in his head or the tightness quickly growing in his pants. 

Beneath the table, he reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers in his. You smile into the rim of your drink; Alhaitham has always been clingier in private, and even more so with a drink or three in him. Leaning over, you rest your head on his broad shoulder, turning just a smidgen to press a kiss into the mottled flush of his skin, but it only makes the throbbing worse. 

Maybe—no—it was definitely due to the influence of that firewater, but it’s a thrum like no other. He cannot think, he cannot will it away, he cannot ignore it. Frustrated, he squeezes your hand, just a semblance of a warning before guiding you to his crotch, showing you just what you’ve done. I need you, his actions say, coughing to stifle the grunt that escapes when you inadvertently palm him through his pants. 

You blink, eyes wide in revelation. Ah. 

“I think I need some air,” you lie. “Haitham, would you accompany me?”

Though really, it’s Alhaitham who’s dragging you out the back door of the tavern, where you’re immediately herded until your back is pressed flat against the wall, and your lover’s lips find their place firmly against your own, the lingering notes of wine still apparent on his tongue as you follow his lead. He’s bolder than usual, uncaring of who might turn the corner, and hungrier in his kisses, biting, tugging at your lip for an audience with your tongue, entitled in the way he steals the breath from right out of your lungs, as if it were his air to breathe in the first place. Perhaps it’s the alcohol, treating his veins like marionette strings, but you’ve lit a fever in his belly and he’s resolute to soothe the heat fogging in his head. 

You’re no better as your nails graze down his chest, one hand scrambling to undo his pants, while the other slips beneath the opening, working along the hard length of his cock, pumping his shaft, and glossing over the leaking tip until he bucks into your fist, groaning, because a handjob just isn’t enough. 

The grip on your waist tightens—pulling you in, ever closer until your hips are aligned, and you can feel how his standing erection rubs against your belly, wordlessly asking for something more. One of his hands roams further down: smoothing over every curve your body offers, but only settling upon the underside of your thigh, slowly oscillating up and down over your tender flesh. It’s not long before you feel his touch slide higher, up past the edges of your skirt, fingers hooked between the waistband of your panties.

Elegant, romantic… Alhaitham knows you’re well versed in his preference of lingerie, knows that he could quite confidently, recognize each pair by touch alone… and so he notices when something feels different—the pattern alien to the very fingertips that have traced and memorized the details of every piece you own. And though the alcohol has burned through the last remnants of his inhibitions, the pleasant buzz in his veins surges anew, and the lace material shifts as he feeds into his earthly desires—tugging the flimsy cloth down just an inch, then pausing as if to ask permission before tearing the little thing apart.

“Are these new?”

You whine at the halt in his movements, wriggling and grinding your hips so that maybe he’d get the hint to touch you again. “Was supposed to be a surprise,” you breathe.

And though he has yet to lay eyes on your salaciously thoughtful gesture, Alhaitham hums low in his throat, delighted. “Then I can’t wait to unwrap you later,” he whispers into your ear, trailing wet kisses down the sides of your neck, and leaving you to shiver in his wake. 

Alhaitham is not a frugal man by any means, but he’d never let a gift like that go to waste… so he’ll try to be careful, he tells himself, for he dares not make it a promise. Between the alcohol swirling in his head, and your familiarly pavlovian scent, there lies a nebulous cloud of lust and want, blowing air directly into the heart of the fire, urgently demanding him to quell the almost painful erection that threatens his good sense. 

Still though, he tries—willing himself to untangle his fingers from the gossamer threads, opting to migrate just a bit further south, comfortably cupping his large hand around your dripping cunt, thumb rubbing firm circles onto your clit, from across the lace. Hips jerking, your arms tighten around his neck, fingers lacing a crown in his head as you hug him close, crushing your lips back against his in the hopes it’d muffle the whimpers begot from the sudden spike in stimulation. 

At your wordless insistence, two deft fingers swiftly push your panties to the side, running back and forth, feeling the wetness between your folds, as more kisses line across the edge of your jaw, down the column of your throat, and in the spot at the juncture of your neck, where he knows you’re most sensitive. 

“I want you,” he mutters, jagged breaths painting an irregular warmth onto your skin, like droplets of cold fire that melt into your flesh, teasing arousal to twist and churn in your belly until it breaks through the barrier, leaking out of your cunt and coating his fingers in your slick.

“You have me,” you promise. 

Without warning, his digits slip through the threshold, immediately beginning his campaign within. You buck at the sudden, but welcome intrusion—tipping your head back against the wall, fists clenched and eyes squeezed shut, as a quiet, stuttered gasp sounds from your lips. 

Alhaitham fucks you harsh and fast—sloppy, though that’s not to say it isn’t without his usual precision. The way the pads of his fingers rub upon all your hidden ridges, and how his knuckles angle to brush against all the right spots—every twist and curl is deliberate, every movement a tribute in working you wet and open, until you’re lightheaded, and rocking into his slender digits, desperately in need of something more. 

Adjusting his position, he digs the heel of his palm against your clit, mercilessly bullying the nub until the rough sensation draws a low moan as you clench around him. Liquid fire continues to run its course, and then again and again through your veins, and you’re unable to fathom how your legs could still possibly be standing. By your trembling alone, you’re sure you’ve already melted to putty in his hands. 

“H-haitham—please…” You all but moan as he crooks his fingers again, once more prodding where you need him most, before drawing out, ignoring the way your cunt clenches and sobs, begging him not to go.

But he too, is eager to remedy the loss, and you’re quick to feel it by way of the thick tip—far wider than a mere couple fingers—lined against your entrance. Guided by the hand still on your thigh, you wrap a leg around his waist, locking him in close, as he breaches beyond your sticky folds, plunging his cockhead home into your silken insides.

Alhaitham swallows your moans for you, slotting his mouth onto yours, deepening his kiss just as he deepens his cock, easily slipping to the hilt in spite of the stretch. He starts moving immediately, long thrusts, powerful and relentless as he slams in and out of your hole, desperate and haphazard and messy. There’s little time to waste in this indeterminate window of privacy, but he cannot help but savor the way your cunt rejoices with every drag of his cock, grasping onto every inch, every vein. You’re so tight when you squeeze around him like that, trying to milk him for all he’s worth, and at this point, he’s quite sure that no amount of alcohol could intoxicate him the way you do. 

His tongue in your mouth, his cock in your cunt—all your senses seem to be overridden by alhaitham. The subtle spice of harra fruit in his cologne, the sweet notes of wine still lingering on his tongue. The wisps of hot breath as he pants and groans quietly beside your ear, and the bruising grip on your ass and thighs, digging into your skin, guiding your other leg to, too, wrap itself around his waist so that you’d fall ever deeper onto his length. 

Haitham! Haitham! Haitham! Your mind churns up a cacophony in your head, screaming in lieu of what your voice dares not utter so close within the vicinity of the public eye. But holding it all in does nothing, except heighten your sensitivity, both that of tangible and intangible nature. 

You feel as if you’re about to burst at the seams, because how lucky you are that even in his inebriation, your lover still fucks you so well, like a beast in rut—careless, merciless, but you’re so, so full. Your lashes flutter with tears, opening the gates for a litany of soft mewls and whimpers to escape out of the depths of your throat, unwilling to be silenced.

“Any louder and someone might notice,” he whispers, nipping at the skin beneath your ear as he teases you with a playful chide. “It’s a packed house tonight.”

Immediately, you slap a hand over your mouth, hoping it’d be enough to muffle your moans because there’s no way you can suppress anything any longer—not when Alhaitham can feel your walls convulse at the threat of discovery, and especially not as he further feeds into the not-so-distant fantasy. 

“Unless that’s what you want,” he rasps, shifting you on his hips. “For someone to stumble out the tavern, find you fucked out. Cockdrunk. Exposed…”

With each word, he makes sure to follow with a soul rattling thrust, letting gravity do its work as he prods even deeper, sinking you further into a delirious haze. But you shake your head no as you bury your face in the juncture of his neck, sobs racking through your body, more slick gushing from your hole. Your hand, previously clamped over your mouth, now joins the other as it digs into the flesh of his shoulders, holding on for dear life.

“Only want you to,” you hiccup, pausing to break, singing gasps as his languid strokes hit a particularly delicate spot. “Only wan’ y-you to see me like this.” 

And the wires in his head short-circuit in the drunken pool of his thoughts, clearly pleased at the fact that you share his sentiments. Because he should be the only one to ever lay eyes on this lascivious sight. Cheeks flushed, imprints dappled about your skin, cunt split open, stuffed full of his cock, from the fat tip all the way down to its even girthier base… He could care less who happens upon the grand scribe engaging in such perversions; the worst case scenario is but public discourse. You however, well…he isn’t one keen to share in his gifts.

“Then cum for me,” he coos, and he shifts his hand between your bodies, searching for, and stroking your clit as he finds it—until you’re writhing in his arms, between he and the wall, thighs quivering around his waist as you cum and clench and release around his cock. 

Your chest heaves, hugging your lover close, chin digging into the dimple that sits on the back of his shoulder. His thrusts grow uneven, stuttering as he too, fractures into his own high. Ribbons of his cum run hot as he fills your insides, cock pulsing with each spurt that paints your walls with his seed. The two of you stay like this for a minute, hearts syncing between the breathless wake, panting in the warm afterglow of two bodies strained, breaths mingling into something sweet. 

“We should—” He starts, breathless.

“Before someone sees us,” you interrupt, nodding at what you can only assume would be the most logical end to this tryst. 

But Alhaitham only lets out an airy chuckle, pressing a chaste kiss to the crest of your cheekbone, before resting his forehead against yours. “I was going to say we should stay like this a little longer.” 

“Oh? Did one birthday suddenly turn you into a romantic?” you tease, yelping as the hand still gripping your ass pinches at the soft flesh. 

“I’m always romantic.”

“That’s debatable,” you quip back, “But…since it’s your birthday, I suppose I must agree that you are the most romantic man in all of sumeru.”

“Not all of Teyvat?” Alhaitham smirks, and you can’t help but melt, giggling as you kiss at the crooked corner of his lips. His hold loosens as he begins to untangle your limbs, snapping those new lace panties back into place, and setting you down gently, though never fully letting go until he’s sure you can stand, albeit on wobbling fawn legs. 

It takes little time for him to redo the buckle of his pants, and even less for him to notice the nefariously lecherous state he’s left you in: your hair’s a mess, clothes wrinkled, lipstick smeared upon kiss-swollen lips. And who could ignore the drying stains of your cum and slick staining your thighs, or the white trails of his cum leaking out from your folds, slowly making its way down the insides of your legs.

“You should head back in first. I…need to clean up a bit, clearly,” you mumble, but Alhaitham only scoffs. As if he’d ever allow anyone in that tavern to see you in such a state. His fingers reach for the sharp end of your chin, tilting your face up towards him, and drawing your doe-eyed gaze back into his orbit. If he remembers your words correctly…

“I want to be the only one to see you like this,” he murmurs. “So let’s go home. And if I recall, you still owe me a surprise, no?”

notes2: wrote this in one day so it’s not my best T^T and it's far from optimal posting time, but i wanted to post while it's still alhaitham's birthday in my timezone :'D anyways, thank you for reading, and as always, reblogs + feedback are greatly appreciated ! ♡

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

[silkjade]

THE UNBEARABLE LIGHTNESS OF A PORCELAIN HEART

alhaitham x reader ⤀ synopsis: even the most resilient of hearts must shed its armor, and despite your efforts to appear strong, alhaitham still senses your distress ⤀ cw: gn!reader, your heart is referred to as 'she', insecurity issues, fear of vulnerability, hurt/comfort — ꒰ 1.5k wc ꒱ ⤀ notes: this is a vent drabble, so reader is based on me. extremely self indulgent + selfship coded. ending edited 8.26.24, prev titled ‘still with hearts beating’

“tell me atlas. what is heavier: the world or its people’s hearts?” — darshana suresh

Although he prefers to keep his nose buried in a book, Alhaitham is still as perceptive as ever, taking note of all the minuscule changes in your demeanor, even whilst you don a mask to stifle your woes.

He sees it first in the wistful sighs scattered amongst your too calm breaths, in your crafted smile, too practiced to be natural, and the strained words that fall too heavily out your lips, each in a race to prove that everything is normal and fine — that any anomalous behavior might only be the ramifications of an exhausting day.

Your name rolls so naturally off his tongue, as he reaches out to you, catching your wrist before you can disappear into the bedroom and sleep away your swallowed emotions.

“Are you alright?”

He asks out of courtesy, but to him, the signs are clear as day: the sharp inhale and slow exhale as you rally to fabricate another facade, chin tilted just a smidge too high as you turn to face him, dull eyes glistening with the remnants of unshed tears, forced to retreat by the winged flutter of your lashes.

To him, the signs are clear as day that you are not, that you are only putting on a brave face, something which he finds odd within the threshold of your shared home.

“Just tired is all,” you reply, speaking in half truths. After all, it's exhausting trying to keep up appearances when all you wish to do, is to curl into yourself and rot into your bed.

You flash him a quick smile, small and devoid of warmth; a lame imposter to the very one he’s grown so terribly fond of.

He repeats your name, this time softer, brows knitted with equal parts skepticism and concern at your empty words. Empty words filled with even emptier spirit, he notes.

Nonchalant, rehearsed, refined — and yet, he can hear the melancholia that spills into your tone. see the downward twitch of your lead-laden lips and the watery shift of your eyes as you avert your gaze in self-consciousness.

“You don’t have to hide from me,” he murmurs, and you want to believe him, want to believe that you’re brave enough to lay down your defenses, that you can trust him to hold your porcelain heart in his hands without threat of endangerment.

You open your mouth to speak, but not a sound comes out as the words turn to bile in your throat. To swallow the bitter liquid, or to spit your heart out and lay it bare for him to see. For Alhaitham, who is more than just an Akademiya giant, but a cornerstone of Sumeru itself: brilliant and brave, kind in spite of his unconventional displays. The sun who shines by the heat of his own radiance.

His moon, he calls you. And yet the moon does not glow; the moon whose only light is a reflection of the sun.

You purse your lips, internally willing yourself to believe that these tears will not spill. It'd be egregious — like coughing up blood when you too have a reputation to uphold, a certain presence to be perceived. For even the moon, who shines by grace of borrowed light, is steadfast in its quiet elegance.

“It’s fine,” you insist, “really.” It’s heavy under the weight of your pride, but at least your heart is safe here in your chest, isolated and tucked away.

You push until he relents, relaxing his grip around your wrist. Good, you think, he's given up. But then why does it so painfully squeeze your heart in a way you cannot convey — like a hair-lined fracture upon your brittle bones.

But Alhaitham is no fool; he intends to prove he’d catch you before you can shatter, freeing your wrist, only so that he might pull you into his arms instead. There is no shortage to the vast infinity of words he can say, but matters of the heart have never been his forte… and so he hopes that his actions might speak more profoundly than his words.

The sudden impact blows your eyes wide with surprise, tears already threatening to spill from the solace of just his embrace. There are no sounds other than his steady heart and even breaths, no scent besides the faded woody fragrance of his cologne. It's safe here, cocooned in his arms, and you think that for a moment, perhaps everything is and will be fine.

You relax against him, basking in his warmth, as you rest into the crook of his neck, absentmindedly staring at the patterns on the floor.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” he whispers, “but please don’t hide from me.”

Your hands, pressed flush against his chest, curl into themselves, relieved that he cannot see the tears welling in your eyes. He does, however, feel that first crystalline droplet that slides freely down your cheeks, melting into the fabric of his clothes as more follow. Alhaitham runs his fingers through your hair, while his other hand hugs you by the small of your back, holding you ever closer. The occasional sob racks your body, silent and reluctant, but it’s a start.

A heart is a complex web of earnest emotions, floridly woven into secrets he cannot fault you for keeping locked away in a vault. Perhaps one day, you’d rely on him, let him in to share the burden. and if he should be so lucky, perhaps you'd deem him worthy to be your home, so that you might rest with him, without armor... but as for now, he’ll gladly cushion your fall, give you a soft place to land.

In the night’s dark embrace, the moon’s milky light paints patterns through the stained glass window of your bedroom, and behind you, your lover’s arms stay wrapped around your waist, holding you close beneath the blankets.

“… Alhaitham?” your voice is delicate, spun from silk amidst the quiet of the night.

“Hmm?” he peaks an eye open at the unfamiliar use of his full name.

“If I ask you something, do you promise to answer honestly?”

“I don’t see any reason not to.” The low vibrations of his tone tickles your skin as he replies with a kiss to your shoulder.

“Am I…,” you hesitate, voice wavering as you contemplate whether words whispered into the wind might write itself into stone. “Am I… enough for you?”

The seconds seem to stand still, as if all the world and even the sky itself, were holding its breath in bated anticipation.

Finally, a creak cuts through the silence as the bed shifts alongside Alhaitham, who now hovers over you, his body and arms trapping you in between. The intensity of his gaze prompts you to look away, but he reaches for your chin, holding you gently so that you have nowhere to look, save for his technicolored eyes.

Enough for him? Is that what you were upset about? What a shame, he thinks.

“If you could only see what I see,” he murmurs, with a kiss to your forehead. His moon, his stars, his entire night sky, who guides him in the dark.

“You're intelligent and intuitive,” he murmurs, kissing along your jaw, and down your neck in between each word. “Beautiful and independent—sometimes too independent—but that just means you're strong. Capable of anything…”

Alhaitham glances up, only satisfied once the insecurity is dispelled from your features, and replaced by an absolute reassurance.

“…which I knew from the moment you made me fall completely in love with you."

He peppers your face with little kisses, and you can’t help but let out a soft laugh, almost embarrassed. “Haitham…”

Alhaitham pauses at your first genuine smile of the night. “I mean every word — I love you because you're you. I know you like to pretend otherwise, but you have a gentle heart, and I only hope you'll deem me worthy of it one day.”

Guilt flashes in your eyes as you open your mouth to speak, but anything you had intended to say, is drowned in the depth of his kiss. A part of you wishes to stay like this forever so that you might melt into his embrace — he who loves you so dearly, he who hopes his true feelings are adequately translated into this kiss...

...but your heart sighs in understanding, finally calm as she's held afloat by the strength of his affection. It's familiar, it's safe, it's home.

And if not for the lack of air, Alhaitham knows he'd kiss you forever, irrational as it may be. Pulling away, he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead — another promise of his affirmation. “You don't have to say anything, I'm happy to wait. Just know you’re more than enough, just as you are. And no one should be able to take that away from you, so…”

He rolls back into bed, pulling you with him as he goes, so that you might drift to sleep with your head resting atop his chest, listening to the steady tune of his heart, as it sings to you in your dreams.

notes2: this was actually vrie therapeutic but i did not intend for it to get this long, and so i m a bit embarrassed (don’t perceive) however if u have made it this far, as always, thank u for reading ♡

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

[silkjade]

OF GOSSAMER THREADS

wriothesley x reader ⤀ synopsis: all this for a new set of clothes, wriothesley never imagined he’d be this sensitive while having his measurements taken… and so you offer a way to help him relax ⤀ cw: fem!reader, pet names (princess + girl), blowjob / oral (m. receiving), deepthroating, little bit of dacryphilia + corruption — mdni || ꒰ 2.5k wc ꒱ ⤀ notes: finally the fic version of this little thing i posted, that has actually been in my drafts for months

“Don’t tell me the duke’s never had his measurements taken before.” Your eyes flicker up from beneath thick lashes, a brow raised at the peculiarity of the situation: Wriothesley, the infamous warden who just about radiates confidence, stiff at the prospect of a simple fitting.

“Unfortunately, there aren't many special occasions that call for your services here at Palais Meropide.”

You hum in agreement, nonchalantly giving him a sharp tap tap to his toned bicep, as you circle around him, ducking out of his line of sight. He's right of course; the fortress doesn't often call for the services of a seamstress such as yourself, but it seems even its great duke must adhere to the rules of society events, whenever his nation so demands.

“Arms up,” you instruct, when he fails to respond to your simple gesture.

From behind, he feels the bite of cold air run through his self for the first time in a long while, as he flinches from the way your fingers dance like ice at the bared nape of his neck. Your tape measure stretches down the length of his spine until a perfectly manicured nail marks a hatch into the fabric ruler, pressing just the slightest bit into the dip at his back. He arches away from your touch, all but jolting in response.

It isn't you, per say, nor is it the process itself, but rather that dangerous combination of both. How you're so casually intimate with your ministrations, walking the line between close and closer, with nowhere else to stray. Touching him in places he had never imagined would be sensitive, and doing so without ever batting an eye.

Of course, as an employee of Chioriya Boutique, it's nothing new to you — nor is it anything out of the ordinary to the men and women you dress over at the court of Fontaine. But you cannot help but find amusement in how this rugged wolf of a man squirms beneath the lightest of touches.

Wriothesley stretches, rolling his shoulders to alleviate the unfamiliar soreness in his arms. Boxing, fighting—all of that he can do, easily and proficiently—yet his arms have never felt heavier than they do now, as he holds them out, so as not to obstruct your path. A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips, but you refocus onto the matter at hand, trading your tape for a pen as you quickly jot down the length of his back. Cute, you think.

He almost breathes a sigh of relief when you finally allow him to rest his arms, that is, until he sees you down on your knees, near-hugging his frame in order to grasp the measure of his hips.

“I've always heard the duke was a skilled boxer — didn't think this little session would be enough to do you in,” you say, in an attempt to lighten the mood, because it'd be near impossible to get accurate measurements the way he's tensing up all his muscles.

You glance up to check his reaction when he doesn't respond. Not that he isn't listening, but it's difficult to focus, difficult to breathe, when the sweet scent of your perfume—marcotte, he notes—sends him into overdrive, his brain directing all his senses to congregate at his crotch.

“Hey, relax,” you remind him, but his mind as already decided to wander astray. How can it not when you look up at him with those eyes, large and wide, and how he'd like to see them brimming with tears, perhaps with his cock in your—

He forcibly drags the thought out of his head, setting an iron foot down as he shakes away the apnea, exhaling with a low puff to his breath, and a light tint to his cheeks. “It's a bit easier said than done.”

He laughs it off, yet despite his smart remarks, Wriothesley clears his throat as if his voice hadn't near cracked at how your knuckles had brushed against the inside of his thigh while you were garnering its circumference; your phantom touch sending shivers to his skin, even through the fibers of his clothes. You hear him swallow down a grunt, and from the corner of your eye, you see the real issue now.

“Would it be easier if I helped with... this?” Manicured nails graze across the fabric covering his crotch, cheekily avoiding the obvious outline of his cock.

Wriothesley lets out a small chuckle, wondering if he's perhaps hallucinating at this stroke of luck? Fate? Whatever it is, who was he to deny what's come knocking at his door, especially as you're already taking steps to smooth back any loose hair from your face. He backs into his own desk and sits at the edge before gesturing with a wave of his hand and a lilt to his voice.

“By all means... ” so you undo the buckles at his belt — his pants and briefs quickly following suit, as you tug both remaining garments down, one after the other, before greeting his bulbous tip with a quick kiss hello.

Your thumb glosses over his slit, collecting beads of pre, as you run long strokes up and down his shaft. Strained, Wriothesley exhales through gritted teeth; you can feel him pulsing in your hands, throbbing with need. Your touch is searing — it burns like ice, crawling up his veins until his scattered thoughts are frozen in place, stuck on the ever persisting need to buck forward.

“Easy there, Your Grace,” you tease, heat accompanying your tongue with every lave around the underside of his cock. From his thick base to his leaking tip, the flat of your tongue traverses a wet path along the upward curve, before finally, you take him in the warm engulf of your mouth.

Wriothesley stifles a breath, tossing his head back as he leans into his desk, exhaling a soft grunt at the way you suckle on just his tip, tongue swirling as you wrap the head in a sweet caress, and take him just a little deeper. From your peripherals, you easily catch on to how his grip tightens around the edge of his desk — a reluctant companion to the slight, yet ever present tremble in his hips, daring him to break at the growing pleasure between his legs.

Sucking in your cheeks, you hollow them in until there’s nothing left to feel except the angry pulse of his cock in the wet maw of your mouth. You drag your lips slowy—tantalizingly so—off his cock, as if imprinting the feel of his veins onto your tongue, savoring the taste of his arousal before suctioning off with a nasty pop.

The air is immediately striking, an onslaught of sudden cold that sends his wet cock twitching in impatience. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were toying with him, but a single glance down only confirms the duke’s suspicions in that you absolutely are. Because oh how you so sweetly bat your doe eyes, looking up at him with anything but innocence, as delicate strands of saliva still connect your lips to his leaking cockhead, snapping as you force yourself to hold back the haughty little smile threatening to appear at how you’ve left the man equally flushed in face and cock.

Carefully, you rub along his slit until your fingers are curled around his girth, pumping his fat cock in a mix of spit and pre, kissing down his length while your free hand presses against his sensitive hipbone, your breath tickling his skin, as you take one of his balls in your mouth, suckling as if it were the sweetest of confections.

He grunts, bucking into your fist. Duke Wriothesley who has never had his measurements taken. Duke Wriothesley who perhaps has never been teased as so. Duke Wriothesley whose hand snakes its way to your chin, and with a slight jerk, tilts your gaze to the ice in his half-hearted glare.

“Hey,” he chides, “enough of that.” But his air of authority is tainted by the rasp in his voice, undermined by his own traitorous eyes that drift to the residue surrounding your lips. Oh, how terribly he'd like to see such a pretty, pristine thing tainted and stained by his touch... and so he runs his thumb over your bottom lip, dipping into the wet heat of your mouth, and subconsciously guiding you back onto his cock.

Any resolve left in the duke crumbles as you part those sinful lips, throat opening as you attempt to swallow him whole, and he sucks in a sharp breath, head thrown back as his fist races to smother his groans, teeth clinging to the skin of his knuckles.

You nurse his cock just a little bit deeper with every bob of your head, your palms—still slick with spit—pumping the length of all you cannot fit. His impressive size no doubt adds to the weight, your jaw falling slack just to fit his girth, but you persist, tongue swirling and painting and lapping up sloppy strokes all around. He rocks his hips, irregular and shallow, but it nonetheless has tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. you quickly blink them away, opting to refocus on holding down your gag reflex, rubbing your thighs together as a distraction and nurturing your own wetness that accumulates in between.

A moan rises from the back of your throat, the vibrations pulsing and weaving around him like silk threads, cocooning him in a pleasure that you can so clearly feel from the way he throbs on your tongue, which so desperately tries to maneuver around his shaft until he caves to the tightness — too warm, too welcoming, for him to resist any further.

And so by no will of his own, his hips jerk.

The impact makes you choke, convulsing around him as the force of his thrust sneaks him a little further down your throat. Spittle leaks from the corners of your mouth while you do your best to swallow all you can, but the sting of tears immediately returns to haunt your visage, this time successfully leaving a number of streaky trails in its wake.

You send him a weak half-glare, but Wriothesley only stutters out a weak apology before his sharp eyes are drawn to the subtle movement of your hips and thighs, and of how your knees readjust in search of any friction that might serve as an alleviant to the cock knocking at the back of your throat. Even so, the whine vibrating around his cock begs for attention back to your pretty face.

Beneath gossamer lashes, your eyes glisten with the promise of more tears; playful embers now vaporized by the saturated lull of lust, that he hates to admit thrills him. You, who had arrived at the fortress like an overworld princess; so prim and pretty, with the heels of your shoes click-clacking throughout his metal abode. Your fashionable attire, so perfectly ironed and flouncing along with every step…

But where is your composure now, as you kneel before him, with his dick in your mouth?

He smoothes a hand along the top of your head before stopping at the crown. You can feel the tangible twitch of his cockhead, and you whimper in nervous anticipation, because you already know what's to come.

“You can take more than that,” he rasps, challenging you, all the while tilting your head down just a little further. “Almost there, princess... relax. Just a little more...”

His sweet words loosen your nerves, opening your throat to the realization that somehow, you must have relinquished control over to the duke, handing him the reigns as you let him pull you down, down over that last stretch of his length, bit by bit until the tip of your nose finally presses into the thatch of dark curls at his hilt. You flutter and squeeze around him, drool trickling down your chin as you splutter and gag.

And gracious as he is, Wriothesley grants you a moment to breathe, through your nose, of course, if the large hand still weighing atop your head was any indication. He stretches a thumb over, gently brushing away a piece of hair fallen loose onto your face.

You really are so pretty — resting parallel to his balls, looking up at him with dew on your lashes and water in your eyes, lips pooling with spit at where you’re stretched around his base. he pulls out a little, throbbing with the desire to fuck and ruin… but slowly, he grinds himself back in, tapping the back of your sputtering throat every time he runs a pass along the palate of your tongue.

Wriothesley throws his head back, groaning loud and raw through his teeth. You feel so good; so hot it makes his blood run cold, so tight it has him coming undone. and he’s so close. You can both feel it.

You moan again, despite the struggle to do so while his tip remains busy fucking your throat. Behind his thighs, you dig your fingers into his bare flesh, bobbing along, hugging him even closer because after all, it was you who had offered to help with his problem, and it’ll be you who sees him through to the end.

“Dirty girl,” he breathes, wholly impressed at how you take him like a sleeve, rolling along with his movements, and leaving him to shudder so close to completion. His face twists with pleasure, fingers tightening in your hair when he feels that pleasantly familiar barrage of tremors bubbling from your throat.

The wet sound of skin and spit rings in your ears. Dirty. Yes, that’s exactly what this was. To think you’ve never felt so sloppy and messy, gagging on cock, much less one like his… and yet… you think you love this. That, or you must be dizzy off delirium because his words have heat rushing to your cheeks and your cunt, stifling another choked moan that reverberates through the entirety of his shaft.

When he cums, he cums in your mouth, spilling in spurts with no restraint — and you swallow as best you can, as much as you can, really. Still, he continues to rock his softening cock 'til the end of this high, savoring the last remnants of your sweet lips before you slowly pull off.

That first breath of real air is sweet, even amidst the iron-tainted walls of Meropide, though you're apt to remember that even too harsh a breath would send your battered throat into a fit of coughs. You slump down to your heels, panting softly, entirely too aware of your current predicament, as you run a thumb across the tip of your chin, slimy with your combined fluids. It's sloppy, dirty, and oh how you're forced to swallow your own spit, when your clit pulses in rebellion.

Above you, Wriothesley chuckles, kneeling down to your level, yet still broad enough for his back to cover the dim light of his office, tall enough that he must tilt your head to catch those lovely eyes in his wolfish gaze again. He pulls a handkerchief from his breast pocket, wipes the mess from your lips until you're prim and pretty and perfect, ready to be unravelled once again.

“Shall I return the favor?”

notes2: my first (and probably last) time writing a blowjob so i hope it was ok lolz this is so embarrassing so i’m posting n fleeing anywayz tysm for reading as always, and reblogs+feedback are very much appreciated ♡

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

[silkjade]

alhaitham x mermaid!reader (2)

⤀ warnings: fem!reader, no pronouns mentioned a/n: recommended to read the previous part first, since this is a direct continuation next ﾉ series masterlist ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𓇼

For the past three weeks since your last encounter, Alhaitham returns to the cove as usual, only to be met with no one. On the fourth week, he finally spots you lounging on a large rock, moonbathing under the pale light. The thought that it’s no wonder sailors are so easily enraptured, flits across his mind as he wades towards your rock.

It’s a shame that the moment your eyes meet, you dive back into the sea, the clear waters darkened under the blanket of night. He calls out your name only once, betting on the assumption that you’re still lurking close by. Sighing, he continues.

“I apologize for last time. I’d like to take you up on your offer.”

“… if it still stands of course,” he adds quickly.

There’s a hint of hesitance that lines alhaitham’s words, which is unusual for one normally so confident. Even more so, you notice he isn’t wearing his headphones — not over his ears nor around his neck. How interesting… perhaps you will surface.

“No ‘soundproof earpieces’ tonight?”

“They’d never last in the underwater pressure, so I’d really prefer if they at least stay intact for use on land.”

“And what if I decide to drown you right now? You wouldn’t be able to resist my song.”

It’s true, he probably wouldn’t. But logically speaking, a mermaid who’s chosen to aid him in perfecting his linguistics (multiple times), likely wouldn’t pose a huge threat. On the other hand, he did possibly offend you during your last meeting. In addition, mermaids were notoriously known to be headstrong and fickle as the sea itself. If that were truly the case…

“Then that would be bad luck for me.”

Always so cool, always so calm. The back of your fingers graze past his ear, tempting fate.

“Aren’t you afraid?”

“No.”

To be honest, Alhaitham isn’t sure if you’re somehow testing him, what with the way your voice comes out honey sweet to his ears. But his mind is clear and his resolve is strong. He just hopes it translates well to you, despite the slight waver in his hushed voice.

“I know what a kiss means to you humans…” you say, tracing your fingers down the side of his neck, stopping only to toy with the gem on his chest. It’s faint, but you can feel his heartbeat pick up. Blinking once, twice, you look up, holding his gaze, and repeat the question that had left a questionable mark on your correspondence. “Do you trust me?”

There’s no denying that Alhaitham is a smart man; he’s learned from his mistake and knows how to answer this time around. Lifting your chin, he gently pulls you in and seals the distance between you with his lips. Your arms wrap around his neck, deepening the kiss, before sinking below the surface, effectively tugging him along, and sending him tumbling into the water with you.

The coldness of the ocean is worlds apart from the warm sumeru air. Alhaitham jerks away, expecting to feel the familiar sting in his nose, but it never comes and he finds himself breathing water like air. You grasp his hand, dragging him into a world unknown — at least to him. You will happily be his guide.

“Well come on. Enough floundering around, we’ve got lots to see.”

After a night of swimming, Alhaitham is absolutely exhausted by the time the two of you make it back to the little cove. Even with the ability to breathe underwater, his human body is still no match for the strong currents of the depths.

“I’ve always wondered why you call yourself feeble, but I see it now,” you tease.

He really only has the energy for a halfhearted retort. “Come to Sumeru City, and then we’ll see.”

…

It’s a long pause before either of you speak again. Only the rolling of tides breaks the silence in the night.

“Do you mean it?” you ask softly, glancing at your tail. The remaining water droplets glisten under the full moon; you’d have a pair of legs once completely dry. Some of your kind yearned for the world above, but you’ve never quite understood the appeal until now.

“Mmm..” It’s a half conscious hum before drifting off to sleep against the cavern walls.

Behind some rocks lay his usual belongings which he had left hidden earlier in the night. You drape his strange half-cape over his sleeping form, recalling how humans tend to get cold easily in the sea breeze, especially while wet.

“Hey, wake up. It’s noon.”

And so Alhaitham opens his eyes to find your face hovering inches from his. Upon further inspection (and after blinking away the sleep from his eyes), he notices that not only has your tail been replaced with a pair of legs, but that you’re also… completely bare.

“What are you—”

Immediately, he turns his head away, choking on his words as a heated blush tints his face. With the reveal that you did in fact know the human implications of a kiss, he’s sure you also know what you’re currently doing as well. But for now… he swiftly gets up, tossing his cape in your direction. He’ll have to make a stop at port ormos to buy you some real clothing later.

It’s amusing, how a man so collected falters in the face of intimacy. With a sly grin, you cover your naked figure, though it quickly fades when you see him packing to leave the privacy of the cavern.

“H-hey help me up!”

“Oh? Feeling feeble, are we?”

a/n2: help i'm so invested in this au i'm probably going to do a third part, so send me an ask or just reply below if you'd like to be added to the series taglist ! thank you for reading ♡

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

[silkjade]

alhaitham x mermaid!reader

⤀ warnings: fem! reader, no pronouns mentioned a/n: another thing sitting in drafts that I was actually saving for Mermay ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𓇼 next ﾉ series masterlist

He was out at a cove, a little ways off from port ormos, studying newly discovered runes carved along the sea cavern walls. Your song was supposed to lure him to his watery grave, but….

“These earpieces are soundproof.” You’re caught by surprise when he responds in your language. His pronunciation is a little off, but to be fair, merfolk are an ancient race and haven’t been sighted in a very long time. As such, whatever linguistic knowledge that’s been preserved up until now is… distorted at best.

The two of you strike up a deal: you help him perfect the language of your people, and he’ll introduce you to the wonders of the world above. A fair exchange. You agree to meet at this same cove on nights of the full moon, although the interval between these meetings grow increasingly shorter, so much so that you find yourself visiting this human once a week. He’d always arrive just as the sun sets, skipping a chunk of crystal ore out into the sea, indicating his arrival.

“And what did you bring for me today?”

“These are called zaytun peaches.”

“Ooh they’re sweet! And jucier than bubble berries…”

“I wasn’t aware fruits could grow underwater.”

Alhaitham is a scholar with an eager mind, so when things peak his interest, it’s second nature to want to satiate his curiosities. He asks his questions, but never pushes you to answer. With time, you grow comfortable enough around him to openly divulge your life beneath the waves, and it becomes a wonderful exchange of language and culture.

“Would you like to come underwater?”

“I know you didn't like the harra fruit today, but I thought you'd given up trying to drown me. Soundproof earpieces remember?” he says, tapping said headphones.

You roll your eyes, pulling yourself further up out of the water, until your faces are only mere inches apart. That's not what you meant at all.

"They say a mermaid's kiss will give you the ability to breathe underwater...let me show you my world." Your voice, hypnotizingly low and sultry, immediately send alarms ringing in his head. Your fingers brush against his cheek, your touch feather light as you whisper into his naked ear, "Do you trust me?"

In the time Alhaitham had spent with you, he had never forgotten about the dangers of a mermaid's seduction. But at this proximity, with you so close and your voice so enchanting... he feels his head spin, like he's in some sort of trance where it's nigh impossible to deny you anything. As if by instinct, Alhaitham subconsciously reaches for the headphones hanging around his neck— his safety net, his life raft.

You pull away, sinking back into the waters. So he doesn't trust you. It's no surprise due to the nature of your very being, and to hope otherwise would be foolish. Still, its difficult to hide the irritation and hurt that laces your words before you bid him an awkward farewell.

Once you disappear into the sea, Alhaitham lets out a groan, burying his face in his hands. Next time you meet, if you decide to return at all, he'll remember to teach you about the intricacies of human courtship rituals.

a/n2: alhaitham is allergic to rizz ;\ this was supposed to be just a short brainrot but i had so many thoughts about this (and still have more unwritten) anyways i love mermay what a great month to be online, so much pretty art

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform

[silkjade]

& IF WE’RE ALL DRESSED UP, THEY MIGHT AS WELL BE LOOKING AT US

neuvillette x reader ⤀ warnings: implied fem!reader, nothing specific + no pronouns mentioned ⤀ summary: making your debut as a couple at the hallow's eve ball ⤀ notes: wrote this last minute but i'm in one of the latest timezones, so happy halloween ! (written before 4.2 aq)

"Furina might be upset if we steal her spotlight tonight," you mutter, fingers nervously straightening the cravat resting at Neuvillette's neck for the nth time tonight.

"Let her be upset then. It’s not a storm I haven’t weathered before," he replies, wrapping his hands around yours before lowering them back down to your sides. He's sure you've fixed his cravat to be more than perfect already.

"Yes, but garnering our archon's contempt isn't exactly something off my bucket list..."

A low hum ripples in his throat as he tilts is head in earnest trepidation. "Are you having second thoughts?"

You shake your head — absolutely not. A secret relationship is no easy feat, much less one with someone as high profile as Neuvillette, who in spite of his distaste for lingering within the public eye, is still often thrust into the spotlight by those hoping for a glimpse into the chief justice’s private life.

"Just a little nervous I guess," you breathe.

To reveal the nature of your relationship, is a decision you've made as a united front. The gossip columns of the steambird already run rampant with thinly veiled monikers, and there's not much either of you can do when an 'Honorable Monsieur N' is once again spotted with a 'mystery someone'.

It'd open the floodgates to an onslaught of curiosities, but Neuvillette would have the city be his witness, for though he still has much to learn about the ins and outs of human nature, he knows for a fact that his entire heart is yours. So whilst no authority in this land can truly stop the peoples' whispers, if Fontaine wishes to talk, they can do so on your terms, without the threat scandal.

Before the two of you, stands a pair of large double doors; the only thing between you and focalor's hallows eve ball, the only shelter from the costumed elite of Fontainian society who's predatory eyes would land on you the second you step past the threshold.

To your left, Neuvillette stands with an arm behind his back, a perfect gentleman costumed in the finest fabrics, the gold metal details glinting under the chandelier's light. with a deep breath, you straighten as you exhale, carrying the weight of your own matching costume with a dignity befitting of the iudex's lover.

Coppelia and Coppelius, two individual entities, who when together, waltzes amidst a flurry of ice and wind, persevering through any storm. Gingerly, you take his outstretched hand, nodding as the doors creak open.

notes2: tbh i only wrote this cus i thought coppelia & coppelius would be a super cool couples costume HAHA anways thanks for reading, and as always, reblogs + feedback are super appreciated ^^

© silkjade — do not steal, plagiarize, translate or repost any content onto any other platform