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eddiesxangel · 6 months ago

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Eddie’s Fantasy | Knight!Eddie x Princess!Reader

Semi proof read. Based off this blurb

2.4k

CW: Roleplay, reader addresses Eddie as 'sir' but not in a dom way, more of a respect kinda thing... it goes with the roleplay, you'll get it. Pure porn with some plot, oral (m+f), p in v, unprotected sex, breeding/cream pie, f!reader.

Needy kisses were passed between the both of you. You and Eddie sat on your bed, his hands gripped your hips, guiding them back and forth over his strained cock that was trapped beneath the black fabric of his jeans.

"Tell me your fantasies, baby," cooed him as you twirled a piece of his hair and sat in his lap.

The sex is always great and amazing, but you feel like Eddie is holding back on you; there is something he wants to share with you but is too timid to admit it. You’ve only just started dating. You’re at the stage where he just asked you to be his girlfriend, and you can’t keep your hands off one another.

"I-I-" he stutters as his eyes drift to the book sitting on the opposite side of your bed.

You follow his eyes and look over to see the book you had been reading before Eddie came over. You observe the cover he is looking at; a knight carrying a princess as he saves her from her capturers.

"Oh, baby, you want me to dress up like a pretty princess?" You smile.

Eddie nods his head profusely, mouth agape.

"Are you going to be my knight in shining armour? Do you want me to reward you for saving me from the dragon?" you ask with no judgment in your tone.

You hear Eddie curse under his breath as his chest rises and falls rapidly.

"Have my tits all pushed up in a pretty pink corset for you?" You lean in to brush your plush lips against his skin. "You wanna watch how they bounce as I ride my knight in shining armour?"

"Y-yes," he stutters.

"Okay, baby, I can be your damsel in distress"

You had it all planned out: You found your old Halloween costume, which you embellished a little with a pink corset like you promised, some petticoats for volume, and some extra jewels to really sell it. You curled and pinned your hair with smaller braids, just as he liked it.

You arranged to meet him at eight. As you were fixing your makeup, you heard a light knock on the door. You don't need to let him in, as he has his own key.

“Hey babe,” he calls out into the empty living room, seeing you were not in sight.

“Eddie! Quickly im in here!” You say with urgency.

You can hear his sock-clad feet pad down the hardwood floors as he rushes in to investigate, but he stops dead when he sees what you’re wearing.

You quickly turn, and he can see everything, the pink and blue lacy gown adorned with a lace corseted bodice that your breasts are pushed so far up his dick was hard in an instant. He loved the dainty curls that fell by your pretty face. You looked like a fairy princess, and he swore that’s when he fell in love with you.

“Oh, Sir Knight, thank goodness you are here!” You flung yourself into his arms. I never thought I would be saved!” You cupped his confused face and kissed him passionately.

“Baby, what is?—”

“Shhhhh, the dragon is so very hungry, they said I haven't much time.” You look around your room frantically.

“Ohhhhhhh!” And then Eddie gets it, and holy shit is he excited.

You give him a look to not break character.

“Oh,” he clears his throat. “I’ve travelled far and wide trying to track you down, Princess. It’s been an awful long journey.” He takes your hands in his and brings them up between your two chests to kiss the back of it.

“How could I ever repay, Thee?” You bat your lashes at him.

“It is my duty as your knight to protect you, Your Highness.”

“There must be something?” You creep closer and closer to him, letting your hands twirl a loose tendril.

“Well, there might be one thing,” he chides.

“Yes, Sir Knight?” You speak as you lean into his neck, gently brushing away his curls so you can leave a soft kiss on his neck.

“Shit, that’s good,” he whispers as your mouth travels lower to his collar bone and your hand glides down to his already erect penis.

“I would like to express my gratitude, Sir. Can I?” You start palming him through his cotton pants.

“Y-yes, Princess, I’ll do anything for you.” God, he was such a simp.

You give a satisfied smirk and sink to your knees. Your dress pillows out, and Eddie can’t help but moan, seeing your breasts falling out of the corset at this angle.

“Fuck baby, you’re too good to me; I am not worthy.” he cups your face, and you nuzzle into it. You’d do anything for him.

“Anything for my knight in shining armour.” You bite your lip, gazing up at him; your doe eyes don’t break contact until your hands finally help his cock out of its cotton confines.

You hear Eddie take a sharp breath as your glossy lips touch his reddened tip. You can taste the salty pre cum as you place it in your mouth.

Eddie wants to grip your head so badly in his hands but doesn't dare, knowing you spent all this time preparing for him. To be his pretty Princess. Just the thought alone was going to make Eddie cream his pants.

Eddie watches, not wanting to blink; he can't miss a moment of this. Your perfectly outlined glossy lips swallowing down his cock, your beautiful eyes gazing up at him lovingly.

You break eye contact when you feel Eddie's bush tickle your nose. Trying to slowly breathe, you swallow down and hear your knight moan from above. Slowly, you pull back, tasting every inch of him on your tongue before you push your head back into him at a much quicker pace.

You pump your hot wet mouth on Eddie's cock, enjoying every minute. You loved having this hold over your boyfriend, as you were the only thing he was focused on in the world.

"You suck my cock so good," he hisses, trying not to cum just yet.

With a pop, you release his cock from your mouth and replace it with your hand as you move lower to suck on his balls. No longer caring about your makeup, you smear your face into the wet skink of his undershaft, needing to worship him like he deserves.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck" Eddie was so close, your hand was jerking his so smooth and fast he almost exploded, but he stopped you just in time.

"I need you, princess, please." He begged.

"How do you want me?" You stand back up, and Eddie flips you around so you're facing the bed. You walk over together, and Eddie instructs you to lie down on your back while he undresses.

He gently guides your head down on the pillow, ever the gentleman.

"Need to treat you like the Princess you are." he hums as he gently peels up your skirts layer by layer to see you're not wearing anything underneath.

Eddie could see your pussy was already soaked, his mouth watered, and as he got closer, he could smell your arousal, which drove him insane every time.

The sweet aroma filled his nostrils; he had to taste you. Slowly, his soft lips trailed the inside of your thigh, leaving small bites to claim you as his. He crept closer and closer until the small hairs from your mound tickled his nose.

You hear Eddie take a deep breath and inhale sharply as you watch his eyes flutter shut, finally satiated.

Your eyes are closed, soaking up the moment; you feel a hand trail up and squeeze your breast as the other circles your entrance. You move your hand to cup the one that’s cupping your breast and guide it so the fabric releases your nipple.

Eddie loved your taste so much he could bathe in it. His sloppy kisses make your mind go blank as his saliva and the mix of your slick coat your inner thighs, the bed sheets and his face. You open your eyes and can see his face is glistening. You're absolutely dripping for him.

"B-baby! Baby! Baby! Baby!" You chant as your breath quickens. He loves seeing your chest rise and fall as he looks up at you through his lashes. Your sweet moans are his newfound favourite genre of music.

His tongue flicking over your clit over and over and over. Nipping and sucking and swirling as your wriggle beneath him. His strong large hands have your hips pinned down as you try and grind your pussy on his face. His fingers are diving into your plush hips, and the rough stubble from his chin and upper lip only makes the feeling much better.

Your orgasm hits you and your cum it's like liquid gold on his tongue. Eddie doesn’t hesitate to lap up your cum leaking out of your hole catching every. last. drop.

"Such a good job for me," he hums into you, sending waves of aftershocks through you. You gasp into his eyes, swearing you’ve never felt so loved, even if you have yet to speak those three words to one another.

“I need you, please, Sir.”

Eddie has totally forgotten about the roleplay until now. He was so consumed, pussy drunk, that your words only had him aching for you all over again.

“Time to show me your gratitude, Princess.”

You sit up and make room for Eddie to lie down on the bed because your usual position was for you to ride him. He loved to watch your tits bounce, to latch on your nipples while you bounce on his cock like his little bunny.

You go to take off your skirts because Eddie loves to watch as he disappears inside of you, but this time, Eddie stops you from undressing.

“No, please leave it on.” He asked while stroking his cock. You watch as his big hands grip the shaft, only making your pussy clench around nothing. No longer could you wait; the anticipation was too much.

Bunching up your skirts the best you can, Eddie guides your hips to be aligned with his shaft. He nods, and you sink down while he pushes himself up into you.

The sight before him is enough to have him cumming instantly. Your tits are so far pushed up that they’re basically falling out of your top, your head is flung back, exploding your neck, daring him to mark, your dress falls as you grip his shoulder for balance, and he is enveloped fully inside of you.

“Fuck you’re so tight.”

“You’re so big, I’m so full,” you moan as you raise yourself on your knees so you can ride him.

“You’re so perfect, my perfect Princess,” Eddie mumbles, leaning in so he can press his face in your chest. You start off slow, building up speed with each bounce.

A loud moan leaves your throat in reply to his praises.

Eddie is consuming you; even if he’s under you, you’re being devoured by him. His hands, his mouth, his thick long cock filling you so good you’re about to cry from the pleasure.

“Gotta take what’s mine,” he grits before he pushes the both of you up, and you land on your back, and he’s hovering over you. Quickly he pounds into you, eyes not veering from your chest as he watches your tits bounce.

“Are you mine, Princess?” His hips slap so hard into you that you feel his balls slap you with each hard thrust.

“Yours! All yours!”

Eddie swears his heart melts when the admission leaves your lips. He’s always waited for a girl like you to come around. Now you’re here, doing this for him and enjoying it? He never thought he’d be here with you.

“More,” you moan

“Not good enough for you, your Highness?”

“I-I-I,” you can’t speak, but Eddie knows what you need.

“Gonna fill up this pussy so good.”

Before you know it, you’re being flipped around, and your head is pressed so far into the mattress your neck is craned, and it hurts, but you pay no mind because Eddie has you propped up on your knees, your dress is flipped up, and you’re all spread out, and he is ravaging you with his mouth once more.

His nose pressed into your ass as he tongue fucks you.

Your moans are muffled by the plush pillows your face is stuffed into. A small wet patch is forming on it from your drool. Your eyes are rolled back, and you're in absolute heaven.

Eddie's hot wet tongue runs up your soaked slit before he pulls back with a moan before he breathes you in as his face is drawn to your pussy like a magnet.

“More” you need his cock once again. Nothing will be able to satisfy your needs.

“You want more Princess? You want me to fill up this pussy so good your belly will swell with my seed?

“Yes!” Your white knuckle grip on the pillow almost tears it apart.

"Mmmmm, that's my good girl. Tell me what you need. " he encourages as your mains rip from your throat.

“You, My Knight! You, you, you!” Your pussy clenches over nothing once more.

You're so close that you feel it building up more and more until you break. Eddie feels you quivering beneath him, and he pulls away and quickly inserts himself before you feel a sharp slap on your ass.

“Eddie!”

Nothing pleases him more than to hear you blissed out because of him.

“Oh, Princess!” He cried, flinging his head back, fucking you with reckless abandon.

Your legs almost give out as your body shakes with ecstasy. You can’t hold it any longer; everything is Eddie, everything is beautiful. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. You hadn’t even released. You were changing his name as your pussy clamps down on his cock like a vice.

Uneven thrusts continuously pound into you until you feel the grip of Eddie’s fingers dig into your flesh so hard as he cums deep inside of you, you squeak, and Eddie loosens his grip immediately.

“Need you,” you slur mindlessly.

“You got me, Princess.” You both collapse on the bed, and Eddie's weight is comforting.

“And they lived happily ever after?” You try and roll over to look at Eddie; he pushes up and but so you can roll back over.

He kisses your nose. “And they lived happily ever after.”

Tagging some mooties: @jamdoughnutmagician @littlexdeaths @voyeurmunson @ceriseheaven @munson-blurbs

#eddie munson x reader #Eddie Munson x you #eddie munson roleplay #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #Eddie Munson #eddie munson fan fiction

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deadsetobsessions · 10 months ago

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Your name is Tim Drake and you are nine years old.

Today, tomorrow, and soon, you're going to save Robin.

----

Tim stares at his reflection on the sink tap. It trembles, along with the plane, as he contemplates his situation.

His face is rounder, now, with unfamiliar baby-fat rounding out the sharp lines he'd come to expect. Even with the subpar reflection, Tim can tell that his dark eyebags are all but gone, replaced with youthful skin.

Magic. He's being quite literal, seeing as he's been tossed into the body of his younger self at the hands of a crazed magician.

He could find a way back... or he could create a completely different timeline by fixing everything that went wrong. It's not like he has anything to go back to, anyways. That crazed magician was actually competent and killed everyone he ever cared about. Tim barely got away with his life. He could go back to save that shell of a world- surrounded by people whose minds were broken beyond magical and medical repair- or stay here, fix his own personal troubles and cut off the magician before he could start with his world domination bullshit.

Well, Tim already has an idea of what he wants. So he begins a list, after having oriented himself.

Save Robin

There's no point trying to convince Bruce that he knows where Jason's being held. So, Tim finds himself on a plane to Ethiopia a day before Jason's meant to die. This was long before Barbara even thought of being Oracle, and the tech is ancient in his hands. In short order, nine year old Tim has a trust fund with millions in it, all siphoned from billionaires like Lex Luthor and his own parents.

Tim toddles back to his seat, after washing his hands because he still can't shake the extra bit of paranoia that came with a missing spleen. Oh. Tim blinks guilelessly at his seat neighbor, smiling like Timothy Drake, Angel of a Son as he reels from the realization that he still has his spleen.

Tim adds another box to his list:

Keep Ra's away from my spleen, creepy bastard.

What else...? Ah, the League of Assassins.

Damian

Tim pauses. Holy crap. Damian's only six right now. Tim moves Damian's box upwards in urgency. Tim might have a mildly antagonistic relationship with his younger brother back then, but he wants baby pictures of his siblings, dammit. He's gonna put that photography expertise to good use if it's the last thing he does.

Watch over Z, Owens, Pru

'They're alive!' His mind screams. Cold rationality slaps the sentimentality down with a quick 'But they won't be if I fail.'

His mind wanders to Dick Grayson. He scowls as something pops up in the back of his head.

Catalina Flores

Contact Nightwing- in space

He's gotta call Dick back from that Teen Titans mission, Jason's gonna need all of the support he's going to get.

Find Cass

Train Steph

Save Duke's family from Venom

Tim taps at that last point. He'll save them. But that might mean Duke might never join their family.

But he'll be happy and Tim... will deal with it. He'll be the only one mourning, anyways. To end on a lighter note, he adds something that he should have done ages ago.

Give Tam a raise.

Tim sighs as he gets out of the airport, the hired escort he found and vetted, delivering him to a predetermined hotel. They think his parents are already inside. He laughs and does not say anything to make them think otherwise. He has so many things to do, Tim laments as he settles down to track the Joker's movements. Here. That's where Jason's being held. Being tortured.

He can, however, knock two things off his list in one go. Tim picks up the burner phone he acquired. He doesn't have time, or else he would have done this sooner and saved them all the trouble.

[RR: Are you in Ethiopia yet?]

[Deathstroke: Payment confirmed. In Ethiopia.]

[RR: Third building by the docks.]

An hour.

[Deathstroke: Confirmed. Target spotted.]

Ten minutes.

[Deathstroke: Target eliminated. Bringing Robin to Safehouse.]

Twenty minutes.

[Deathstroke: Basic first aid applied. Leaving.]

[RR: Secondary payment sent. Confirm?]

[Deathstroke: Confirmed. Pleasure doing business with you.]

Tim sprawls on the king bed. He sighs a breath of relief. He'd check on Jason in person, if he weren't paranoid about leaving traces that would get back to him. Tim's pretty sure that Deathstroke's going to get hunted down in the near future, regardless, so he made sure to add a huge tip on top of the extra fees for burning one of Deathstroke's safe houses and the emergency first aid. He taps into the rudimentary camera Deathstroke had given him the access codes to, to stare at Jason's rising and falling chest. On a further table, the Joker's head laid in a preservation box.

He bypasses all of the security on the Teen Titan's tech to send Dick a message.

[Robin has been retrieved from the Joker. Contact Batman for details.]

Then, he sends Bruce the location of the safe house. Tim spends the rest of the day staring at Jason and watching his father in another timeline break as he huddles close to the broken body of Tim's Robin.

Timothy Drake destroys the burner phone.

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bamfkeeper · 2 months ago

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Winter Coat.

RQ: 'Saw your requests were open and I've gone through like 99% of your works so I just HAD to toss in a request (which, absolutely take your time on btw, I completely understand the burnout that can happen at the drop of a dime). I'm so impatient when it comes to weather and seasons that I desperately need it to be chilly autumn already. I'm sure you seen it but that one post about Kurt getting fluffier during autumn/winter got my gears turning. What do you think his reaction would be to a GN reader warming their hands in his fur? (Bonus prompt if reader can somehow get past all that lovely fur and touch his skin with freezing fingers ∩ω∩)' - @casualeylee

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x GN!reader // Warnings: Slightly suggestive themes

A/N: I love the idea of him growing longer fur so I enjoyed this a lot. Quick little drabble for the upcoming cool months! I have a few requests for his fur, which was sweet to see, I adore him fuzzy. I hope you enjoy <3 WC: 1.3k

"Mein Gott, your hands are freezing, liebling," Kurt remarked with concern, his gaze settling on your hand as it awkwardly intertwined with his own. You sighed contentedly, leaning closer to him for warmth as the two of you strolled leisurely around the dying garden of the mansion. The once vibrant blooms were now succumbing to the colder weather, which was taking its toll on the plants. Yet, despite the garden's current state, you found yourself looking forward to the cold months ahead and the festive holidays they would bring.

"I know, I'm sorry," you admitted sheepishly, glancing up at him with a hint of regret. "I should've worn the mittens you told me to put on before we left..." You pouted slightly, chastising yourself for being so stubborn earlier. Kurt chuckled softly at your demeanor, his little smirk spreading warmth through you and making you shiver, though not from the cold. His amusement was infectious, and you couldn't help but smile back.

Kurt's tail gently ran under your shirt and wrapped around your waist, holding you even closer as you walked together through the chilly evening air. You couldn't help but notice how his tail felt slightly more fuzzy than usual, prompting your free hand to naturally reach out and stroke the soft fur. "Are you getting fuzzier?" you questioned with curiosity, suddenly eying his face and observing that his jaw seemed to have longer fur too, as if preparing for the colder months ahead.

"Ja, I get a thicker coat when it gets cold...you complain about my fuzz now, just wait until I have a full-on winter coat and I am shedding all over your favorite sweaters!" he laughed softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement at the thought of you dealing with a living room filled with his fur. The idea of him shedding more fur made you smile, envisioning the playful challenge it might bring. Even if it meant a bit of extra cleaning during the winter season.

"Your hand still feels cold, liebe," Kurt observed with concern, his eyes filled with the usual warmth as he looked down at you. Gently, he pulled you closer to him, wrapping his arms around you protectively. "I think our walk is done...you are going to freeze out here if we stay any longer," he stated with a hint of urgency in his voice. Not wanting you to endure the cold any further, he effortlessly teleported you both inside the expansive mansion, determined to stop your shivering.

Now, you found yourself comfortably seated on the plush couch in your shared bedroom. The luxurious room was spacious, adorned with elegant furnishings, and boasted a charming small fireplace that crackled softly. Only the older X-Men were privileged enough to have a room this nice, making you feel incredibly lucky, especially when you were currently shaking off the cold. As you sat in front of the gently flickering fire, its warmth slowly seeping into your chilled bones, you couldn't help but feel a deep sense of happiness.

Kurt teleported back into the room with a soft purple haze enveloping him, his tail flicked away any remaining cloud as he walked over to you. He gently sat down beside you on the couch, causing the blanket that was draped around your shoulders to slip slightly as he made himself comfortable. He placed a steaming cup of hot chocolate on the small table beside the couch, its warmth and aroma inviting. “I made it just how you like.” Kurt noted and left it to cool off for a minute. You gave him a soft smile at the gesture, he always knew what to do to make you feel loved. He always went above what he needed to do, and that was one of the things you loved about him.

Kurt leaned back and went to wrap his arm around you, intending on pulling you closer to him to offer extra warmth to you before he paused. "Oh," he remarked thoughtfully, humming to himself and leaning back a bit to look at you, "Skin on fur might help..." With a slight shuffle, he began to remove his top, revealing his abdomen and chest. As he did so, you noticed that his skin had also grown more fuzzy.

You swallowed hard, feeling a mix of curiosity and admiration as you couldn't help yourself from eying his chest and abdomen. He stood before you, his attractive physique lean and toned, each muscle defined under the light from the fireplace. The fur that covered his body looked incredibly soft, inviting, you needed to have your hands on him. It was impossible to ignore the magnetic pull you felt towards his body at that moment. “Ah…you are growing a lot more already,” you rasped, your voice barely above a whisper, laced with an undertone of need. With a sense of awe and hesitancy, you reached out, your fingers trembling slightly as they made contact with his warm skin. Slowly, you let your hand trail up, starting from his belly button and moving upwards to his chest.

You swallowed nervously, feeling the firm and defined muscles beneath his soft fur, and as you did, you began to have some difficulty controlling your thoughts, which started to wander in unexpected directions. Kurt laid his hand gently over yours as you felt the warmth of his chest, his intense yellow eyes fixed on you with a playful grin. “Naughty…I know what you’re thinking. You always get this look in your eye…sinner,” he said with a teasing tone, his voice low and playful. His words and the cheeky way he spoke made your face heat up even more, feeling more flustered since you were practically feeling him up.

"Shut up...your fur is really warm on my hands...that's all." You muttered embarrassingly, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, your hands continuing to slowly rub his chest and feel the fur there. It was so incredibly soft, the longer bits curled around your skin, inviting your nosy fingertips to dig even farther into his fur, seeking more warmth and comfort in every stroke.

"Enjoying yourself?" He asked with a slight smirk, sitting still as you explored him with that stupid grin, allowing you to continue your gentle exploration. He opened his mouth for another teasing comment, but his breath hitched quickly as your freezing fingers unexpectedly found their way to his skin. "Ach...- Liebling..." he murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of surprise and endearment.

"What? Did I find something?" you asked with a mischievous grin, your turn to be cheeky now. You intentionally let your fingers wander over his skin, which was so incredibly, so wonderfully warm. With a playful determination, you weaseled your hands against his skin, feeling the contrast of your cool touch against his heat. Snuggling even closer to him, you couldn't help but smile as Kurt laughed and squirmed a little from the unexpected cold sensation of your fingers dancing across his body.

"The things I let you do to me..." he huffed, though there was a fondness in his voice, as he held you even closer to him. His arms and tail wrapped securely around your body, pulling you into a protective and affectionate embrace. While he often teases you relentlessly, it's always in good fun, because at the end of the day, he truly loves you. He is more than willing to suffer through the icy touch of your fingertips against his warm, sensitive, ticklish skin, as long as it brings a smile to your face and you enjoy every moment of it.

"Ach! Liebe!" he exclaimed, jerking up slightly in surprise as you playfully moved your fingertips to the sensitive sides of his ribcage. His reaction was both amusing and endearing, and you couldn't help but giggle at how it caught him off guard.

He looked down with a soft, affectionate smile, acknowledging your mischievousness with a twinkle in his eyes. "Cheeky thing..."

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight

Cover image: Nick Robles art credit, other images Pinterest.

#kurt wagner #nightcrawler #nightcrawler x reader #kurt wagner x reader #xmen #x men #x men 97 #🎠my works

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wonderlanddreamer · 3 months ago

Note

Maybe you could write something spicy with Tommy, where he just wakes the reader in the middle of the night cause he's needy.

Well, anon... this one was a genuine pleasure.

Sleep Vs Sex. Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Explicit sexual content.18+ Only.MDNI.

The room was enveloped in the soft, inky darkness of night when you were gently roused from your sleep by the sensation of Tommy's hands beneath your nightgown. His touch was warm and insistent, fingers tracing the delicate lines of your sides and sending shivers through your half-asleep body. You couldn't tell the exact hour, but the stillness of the night made it clear that dawn was still far off.

Mumbling sleepily, you began to turn toward him, still half-lost in the haze of your dreams. Before you could fully comprehend what was happening or ask what had stirred him, Tommy's lips descended upon yours with a fierce intensity. His kiss was fervent and demanding, silencing any questions and setting your pulse racing in an instant.

You couldn't help but smile against his lips, the taste of whiskey lingering on his breath. Tommy's kiss was a mix of desperation and passion, igniting a spark deep within you. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that made your heart race despite your drowsiness, the intensity of his desire palpable.

"Tommy," you mumbled against his mouth, your voice barely a whisper, still heavy with sleep. His response was immediate — another kiss, deeper this time, as if he needed to convey everything he felt without uttering a single word. His hands continued their exploration, sending shivers down your spine as they traced the contours of your body beneath the thin fabric of your nightgown.

Your mind was still foggy, but the intensity of his kiss was awakening every nerve in your body. You felt the warmth of his breath, the urgency in his touch, and the way his body seemed to press against yours, seeking more. His fingers grazed the sensitive skin of your waist, drawing a soft gasp from your lips.

"Couldn't wait any longer," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with desire. His words sent a thrilling jolt through you, and you found yourself responding to his urgency. Your own hands found their way to his neck, fingers threading through his hair as you pulled him closer, deepening the kiss.

Tommy's hands trailed down your sides with purpose, the rough pads of his fingers contrasting with the delicate softness of your skin. His touch was electrifying, each caress sending a shiver of anticipation through you. As his hands reached the hem of your panties, he began to massage your folds over the thin silk, the friction creating a delicious blend of pleasure and anticipation. The fabric was smooth against your sensitive skin, heightening every sensation. You could feel the heat of his touch through the silk, his fingers skilled and deliberate as they explored your most intimate area.

Your breath hitched as his fingers found your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. He rubbed slow, deliberate circles, the silk adding an extra layer of friction. Your hips instinctively arched towards him, seeking more of his touch.

"You're so wet," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive growl that sent a thrill straight to your core. His words only intensified your arousal, your body responding eagerly to his every touch.

Finally, his fingers slipped beneath the silk, making direct contact with your slick folds. His touch was overwhelming, both gentle and insistent as he explored you. He spread your lips apart, his fingers gliding through your wetness before finding their way back to your clit, circling it with a firm, steady pressure that made you moan.

"Tommy," you breathed, your voice trembling with need. His touch was driving you wild, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. He continued to pleasure you, his fingers moving with a rhythm that had your body writhing beneath him.

As his fingers delved deeper, slipping inside you, you felt a rush of intense pleasure. He moved with a deliberate, steady pace, curling his fingers to hit that perfect spot within you with every thrust. The sensation was exquisite, your body tightening around him as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

"Come for me," he whispered, his voice rough and commanding. His thumb found your clit again, adding to the overwhelming pleasure as he continued to thrust his fingers inside you. The combination of sensations was too much to bear, and with a cry of his name, you felt yourself shatter, your orgasm crashing over you in wave after wave of intense pleasure.

Tommy's fingers slowed but didn't stop, drawing out your climax as your body trembled and pulsed around him. When you finally came down from your high, he withdrew his hand, his touch gentle and soothing as he pulled you close.

As you lay there, still reeling from the intensity of your orgasm, Tommy's hands moved with a possessive gentleness. With a swift, fluid motion, he rolled you onto your stomach. The cool sheets beneath contrasted sharply with the heat of your skin, sending another shiver through your already sensitive body.

You felt the bed shift slightly as Tommy positioned himself above you, his strong, muscular frame pressing you deeper into the mattress. The sensation of his weight on top of you was grounding, yet exhilarating. His hands slid down your sides, fingers trailing lightly over your skin, leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake. Each touch was a reminder of his control and your surrender, intensifying the anticipation.

You could feel his arousal, hot and insistent, pressing against the curve of your backside. The sheer proximity made your breath hitch, a fresh wave of desire pooling between your thighs. His hardness brushed against your entrance, teasingly, the sensation maddening and tantalising all at once.

Tommy leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear, sending another shiver down your spine. "Do you want this?" he murmured, his voice a low, seductive growl that reverberated through you, igniting every nerve ending.

"More than anything," you breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation. "I need you."

With a satisfied hum, he continued to tease you, his tip sliding against your slick folds, making you gasp and squirm beneath him. The anticipation built with every slow, deliberate movement, your body aching for him to finally take you.

"Please," you whimpered, your hips instinctively pushing back against him, seeking more. You could feel his smile against your skin as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, his breath hot and heavy, sending a thrill through you.

Finally, he began to push inside you, the slow, delicious stretch making you moan. He filled you completely, the sensation overwhelming as he buried himself to the hilt. He paused for a moment, letting you adjust, his hands gripping your hips firmly, grounding you in the moment.

"You're mine," he whispered, his voice rough with desire, a possessive edge that sent a shiver of pleasure through you. He began to move, each thrust deep and deliberate, his pace steady but relentless. The feeling of him inside you, the pressure and the pleasure, was nearly too much to bear, each movement sending waves of ecstasy radiating through you.

Your fingers gripped the sheets, knuckles white with the intensity of your grip, your body rocking in perfect synchrony with Tommy's movements. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure radiating through you. You could feel every inch of him, every deliberate stroke, as he drove deeper inside you, his rhythm unrelenting.

Tommy's hands were everywhere, roaming your body with a possessive hunger. One hand slid up your back, fingers tangling in your hair before pulling your head back slightly, exposing the vulnerable curve of your neck to his lips. The feeling made you gasp, the slight tug on your hair sending a delicious thrill down your spine.

His breath was hot and ragged against your ear as he whispered, "You feel so good, love. So tight around me." His words were a seductive growl, each syllable dripping with raw desire. The sound of his voice, combined with the relentless pace of his thrusts, sent a fresh wave of arousal coursing through you. Your body responded eagerly, every nerve ending alive with pleasure.

He increased his pace, each thrust harder, deeper, more urgent. The bed creaked beneath you, the sound of skin against skin filling the room, a symphony of shared desire and passion. Your moans and gasps mingled with his, creating a chorus of ecstasy. You could feel the tension coiling tightly inside you once more, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak.

"Tommy," you moaned, your voice breaking with need and desperation. His grip on your hips tightened, fingers digging into your flesh as he pulled you back against him with each powerful thrust, driving deeper, hitting that perfect spot inside you that made stars explode behind your closed eyelids.

"That's it, love," he growled, his voice rough, a primal edge to his tone. "Come for me. I want to feel you." His words were a command and a plea all at once, pushing you right to the edge.

The world shattered around you as his words pushed you over the brink. Your body arched, muscles tensing and quivering as a powerful orgasm ripped through you. Your cries filled the room, your body trembling uncontrollably with the intensity of your release. The pleasure was all-consuming, every wave of your climax crashing through you like a tidal wave.

Tommy followed soon after, a low moan escaping his lips as he found his own release. You felt him tense, his body shuddering against yours as he spilled inside you, filling you with his warmth. The sensation of him pulsing within you, combined with your own release, sent aftershocks of pleasure through your already sensitive body.

For a few moments, you both stayed like that, entangled, catching your breath, your bodies still intimately connected. The room was filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, the aftermath of your shared ecstasy still lingering in the air.

Then, with a gentle, almost reluctant motion, Tommy pulled out of you, rolling to the side and gathering you into his arms. His touch was tender now, a stark contrast to the raw passion from moments before. His lips pressed soft, lingering kisses to your sweaty skin, each touch a promise of his affection.

"You're incredible," he murmured, his voice soft and full of genuine admiration. You smiled, a warm, contented feeling spreading through you as you nestled closer to him, feeling the steady, reassuring beat of his heart against your back.

"And you're insatiable," you replied with a sleepy laugh, the sound light and filled with joy. Tommy chuckled, a deep, rich sound that made your heart swell with love. His fingers traced soothing patterns on your skin, each touch calming and reassuring.

"Only for you," he said, his voice a tender promise that wrapped around you like a blanket. The warmth of his words, combined with the comfort of his embrace, filled you with a profound sense of contentment. As you drifted back into a peaceful sleep, safe in his arms, you felt the world fade away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of your love and shared passion.

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby imagine #fanfiction requests #tommy shelby request

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starogeorgina · 5 months ago

Text

𝐔𝐧𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧

Paring: Aemond Targaryen × Targaryen reader, minor Daemon Targaryen × Targaryen reader

Warnings: Swearing, kidnapping, self harm

1.03

“Shh, shh,” you try to gently rock Daenys to sleep. “Please, calm down, sweet girl.”

Your daughter was brought to you in the early hours since she woke up fussy and wouldn’t latch onto the wet nurse. Luckily, she fed from your breast without issue, but your silver-haired baby was still unhappy and crying. From the flush in Daeny's cheeks and the redness in her gums, you suspect she has started teething.

“Princess,” one of the handmaids approaches you while nervously pulling on the sleeve of her dress. You often wonder how the servants who followed Rhaenyra to Dragonstone felt watching the way their beloved princess was treated. “The maester wishes to speak with you as a matter of urgency. There is a wet nurse in the room down the hall; would you like me to take Daenys to her while you dress?”

Reluctantly, you nod and hand your daughter over to the younger woman. As soon as you’re left alone, you bring the faded nightgown over your head and redress yourself, choosing to put on the light grey gown you were wearing the night you were taken. It was made to accommodate the swell of your stomach, and now the extra fabric hung loose down the front. You had others to choose from, but it was one of the only items you had that was truly yours.

In every passing moon, the maester would examine you for any sign of pregnancy, which was humiliating, so you’d at least attempt to try and maintain a shred of dignity. You comb your hair with your fingers and try to straighten out the creases on your dress. Just as you finish adjusting yourself, the door to the room opens, and the maester, followed by a handmaiden, enters.

—

You were cursed by the ghosts of your father's blindness and your mother's lies. Your mother claimed that before King Viserys died, he declared he wanted Aegon on the throne, and all the men who deemed a woman unfit to rule believed her. Your father turned a blind eye to your family's scheming for years, and now the future of the realm would be full of war, murder, and misery.

As you dig your nails into the palm of your hand to stop yourself from screaming, blaming your parents for this situation was an easy option. If the throne wasn’t usurped, then envoys would never have been sent; Lucerys would still be alive, as would Jaehaerys, and you and your daughter would be safe in Aemond’s arms.

And if your father had been stronger-willed, none of it would have happened.

Being so caught up in your own thoughts, you don’t notice Prince Daemon entering the room. It’s not until you feel his presence beside you that you finally address him, “What is it?”

“A raven arrived from the red keep; one of my little spies has informed Criston Cole and your cunt of a husband that we have taken you north.”

No, no, no.

“They are currently gathering the green forces and will leave in a couple of days. Which means the false king won’t have that hoary old bitch, Vhagar, to hide behind. With only Sunfyre on his side, we can easily take the city back with the mere threat of Caraxes, Syrax, Vermax, Moondancer, and Tyraxes.”

“Need I remind you, uncle, which side my dragon is on?”

Gripping your jaw tightly, Daemon shoved you against the wall. “Need I remind you, niece, that you’re nothing more than a prisoner? I’ve spared your daughter's life, something the fucking kinslayer didn’t do for Luccerys.”

You slap his hand away and say, “You’ve got what you wanted; you're getting another child. Do not fucking touch me again.”

Daemon places both hands firmly on the wall beside your head, caging you in. His eyes flickered over you; he didn’t quite believe what you just said. “The maester confirmed this?”

“I haven’t bled in two moons; the maester is convinced my stomach will swell again soon.” Sarcastically, you add, “Congratulations; I hope you're as excited as I am.”

—

After speaking with the maester himself, Daemon kept his original promise and had you move to a larger, more comfortable bedchamber with crimson colors and dragon decor, and soon a crib would be brought in and your daughter would join you. All you cared about was keeping Daenys close.

You feel the lavish oils soothing the ache in your shoulders when one of the handmaidens rubs them onto your skin. This was the first time in many moons you had bathed properly, and the luxury of having a clean body, hair, and clothing wasn’t something you’d take for granted again.

“My Prince,” the handmaiden nods her head at him, then attempts to cover you up with a towel, causing your uncle to chuckle.

“It’s considered bad manners to interrupt a lady while she’s bathing.”

“It’s nothing new," he says as he stands at the bottom of the tub, showing no attempt to advertise his gaze from your bare breasts. “Perhaps I wanted to join you in bathing.”

“I’d rather you drowned me.“

Daemon smirks, “Leave us.”

The handmaiden gives you an apologetic look, then leaves. No matter how many times Daemon spilled his seed inside you, the reality of carrying his child never felt real until now. You’d already suffered on the birthing bed out of duty; now you’d be doing it again to keep Daenys safe. You don’t even realize you’re crying until you taste the salty tears on your lips. “What happens if this pregnancy doesn’t end well?”

“What do you mean?”

“I had two other daughters once; both of them died.”

Daemon comes to the side of the tub and crouches down so he’s eye level with you. “I wasn’t aware.”

Red blotches appear on your chest and neck as you struggle to stop your voice from cracking. “The first girl's name was Anya; she came early after three days of labor.”

Your mother had remained by your side throughout your labor, and the look of horror on her face when she saw the ‘thing’ you delivered would be forever etched in your mind. Anya’s skin was covered in small scars that looked similar to dragon scales. But no matter how monstrous she may have appeared to others, you thought she was beautiful. Against the maesters advice, Aemond visited you before the silent sisters had come to take the baby, and it was the first time since the night he lost his eyes that you’d seen him cry.

“I gave birth to Rhaella the following year; she was born at the end of the fall but was taken by the winter fever.“

The expression on Daemon’s face was hard to read; he himself knew of the pain you and Aemond have suffered from losing a baby. And you could only begin to imagine the grief and suffering the blacks felt after Lucery's death. “And news of this never reached Dragonstone?”

Your eyes sting from crying. “Our family has always been divided; who would have told you?”

“My brother.”

“Ha,” you scoff. “You saw what my father was like in the end. He had consumed so much milk from the poppy that he became oblivious to everything around him; the only person he ever wished to speak with was Rhaenyra.”

Frowning, he skims his finger over the water.

“I feared I would never again bear a living child, but the gods blessed me with Daenys. But I shall ask again, uncle, What will happen if this pregnancy doesn’t end well?”

“You do not want to find out, niece.”

#house of the dragon #daemon targaryen/you #daemon targaryen/reader #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x you #house of the dragon fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond targaryen/you #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen/reader #unbroken

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leilanihours · 5 months ago

Note

OKAY IDEA kate martin x reader where they dated secretly at iowa but reader goes to new york liberty and they all LOVE HER and basically at aces vs nyl they basically do what kate and caitlin did and both aces and nyl are like 😮 bc THE ROOKS ARE DATINGGGG sorry this is a lot hehehehe

-🦩

# WHILE WE'RE YOUNG

pairing: kate martin x new york liberty!reader

word count: 1084

warnings: none !

summary: you and kate hard launch your relationship to your teams.

⭑ from lani: i kinda hate this but to my flamingo anon i hope it suffices 😣

masterlist !

YOUR KNEE WAS bouncing with excitement, your hands shaking with anticipation, your cheeks coloring a light shade of pink - and you couldn't tell anyone why.

you were currently sitting in your team's bus driving to michelob ultra arena, home of the reigning wnba champs.

your team, the new york liberty, was going up against your girlfriend's team, the last vegas aces. you two were the star rookies (the only rookies) of your respective teams, which meant all eyes on both of you to see how exactly you would improve the two best franchises in the league.

now, no one but your former iowa teammates and own family members knew about your relationship with kate. it was still early on in the wnba season, meaning you and kate were still easing into new environments with a completely different team. that is exactly why your relationship was kept under wraps from your vets.

you weren't completely sure about kate's circumstances, but off the court, your teammates loved to tease you and ask about your personal life. not in an invasive manner, of course, but simply to build a closer connection with you other than through basketball.

------

"girl, you gotta give us something," breanna practically begs.

the team had just finished a brutal group workout and were heading out to a restaurant for dinner to relax.

as you slipped on kate's your iowa hoodie, you shook your head and laughed at breanna’s attempt to discuss your love life.

"hey, i told you before and i'll tell you again, i got a girl," you stated vaguely.

"we don't get any other details?" she asks, "does she play ball? does she live here in brooklyn? does she-"

"dude!" you laugh at her eagerness, "all i can say is that you will be meeting her very, very soon."

"you better not be kidding, y/n, i'll tell coach to give you two extra gym laps tomorrow."

"i swear on the torch, if that makes you feel any better."

"okay..." she says as she eyes you suspiciously, "i guess the mystery continues."

"you're such a dork!" you hear sabrina exclaim as she walks out of the locker room snickering.

------

"alright, girls, i want all of you out on the court in five for warm-ups!" coach brondello yells, peeking her head through the locker room door.

you fix your ponytail one last time, making sure all your hair is secure before jogging out to meet up with the rest of the team in the hallway.

"so last week when you said we would meet your mystery girl soon..." breanna nudges you, "how soon would that be?"

"today, actually," you smile, "she's gonna be at the game."

a white lie. yes, she would be at the game, but you didn't reveal that it was because she would be in the game - specifically on the opposing team.

"for real?" she asks, eyebrows raised in shock.

"yup."

"how'd you swing that? i thought tonight was sold out."

"it is. but let's just say she has her own special connections," you smirk.

"yo, sabrina! you heard that, right?"

"yeah, i heard," sabrina says.

"you think we can get some embarrassing pictures or stories?"

"one hundred percent," she laughs, "i'm down."

"i can't with y'all," you sigh, shaking your head playfully.

"okay, ladies, the aces are about to finish their fifteen minutes so there's gonna be a bit of schedule overlap but that's fine," your coach voices before you're all faced with your opponents on the floor.

your eyes scan the room with a sense of urgency and excitement, your heart feeling light and warm at the thought of soon being in the arms of your girlfriend.

you find her expertly drilling a layup and chatting with the her teammates before she stops in her tracks completely.

as your eyes meet kate's, for a split second, you two are the only people in the arena. she lightly jogs over to you, smiles evident on both of your faces.

once you're in her arms, all your worries and stress fade away. she lifts you up for a second out of pure excitement before setting you back down.

"i missed you so much," she says, arms still tightly wrapped around your shoulders.

"i missed you, too, katie," you reply as you snuggle your face into her neck. you place feathery kisses on her skin, something you've been wanting to do for weeks.

when you pull away from the hug, you take a second to admire the fact that your girlfriend is actually standing in front of you. after spending everyday together for four straight years in college, a couple weeks away from each other felt like an eternity.

kate decides she can't wait any longer, hurriedly placing her lips on yours. you both grin into the sweet kiss, savoring the feeling before it was gone.

meanwhile, your teammates, aces and miberty alike, had been observing the interaction, smiling admiringly at your "friendship." at least until the kiss.

"OH MY GOD?"

"DUDE."

"Y/N!"

"did you know about this??"

"of course not??"

you and kate laugh at the veterans' reactions, enjoying their shocked expressions.

"surprise?" you offer to breanna and sabrina specifically, whose jaws are practically on the floor.

you leave kate to talk to her teammates while you converse with yours, already knowing that breanna will be the first to talk. the rest of your teammates simply smiled at you and offered silent compliments

"so when you said your girlfriend would be at the game..." breanna says with raised eyebrows and a teasing smirk.

"i mean..." you giggle, "i didn't lie?"

"whatever, rook," she laughs, "you guys are cute together."

"just make sure you can still beat their asses later," sabrina adds, walking up to you two.

"oh, no doubt about it. i know that girl like the back of my hand, i got this," you explain, "and, to be honest, her defense is not that great," you joke.

"hey, i heard that!"

you snicker along with breanna and sabrina at kate's response. a smile lingers on your face as the laughter dies down, even as you say goodbye to kate before having to play against her.

you truly were at the happiest point in your life: your dreams of playing with your favorite professional team came true, your veterans were the most supportive, helpful teammates ever, and you still got to be around your girlfriend who is also achieving her goals.

what else could you ask for, really?

— leilani signing off ! 📁

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moonstruckme · 1 year ago

Note

i am so BUMMED when i realized ive read all of your polymarauders works. can i get more of them please? especially the one like the 'casual dominance' fic omgg. that one made me feel THINGS. btw!!! congrats on reaching the 1k mark. totally deserved <33

-🥀

Wow babe, that's a lot! I'm really glad you're enjoying them! I know I've written a few since you sent this in, but I decided to treat this as a request for specifically casual dom!marauders because I'm weak for them too :*

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Your teeth chatter as you step out of the fastest shower of your life, barely drying yourself off before starting on your makeup. You’re so dumb. You’re so, so dumb. Of course it’d be the night before your presentation that you’d accidentally set your alarm for PM instead of AM. How many times had you stirred, thought about getting up, and decided to wait until your alarm went off? It had only been when you’d woken to an empty bed, sunlight coming in through the window, that you’d realized.

You’re still running on the adrenaline of that waking jolt, now mixed with the extra edginess from your frigid shower since you couldn’t afford to wait for the water to warm. You probably won’t be late, but you’re definitely going to be late by pre-presentation standards. You’d planned to get there a half hour in advance to set up and mentally prepare. Now you’re going to have ten minutes at best, and that’s only if you can get out the door in the next few. You finish with your makeup—your hair’s just going to have to dry on the way—and turn to where you’d hung your pre-selected and Sirius-vetted presentation outfit the night before. The hangers sit empty.

You go into the bedroom, hoping one of the boys had laid them out on the bed while you’d been in the shower. Nothing. Just your socks and shoes where you’d left them by the bedroom door.

“Shit,” you mutter to yourself, pulling the socks on because you can do that, at least. “Shit shit shit!”

You take off down the stairs, relieved to see Sirius on his way up. “Hey! Do you know where—” your foot hits too close to the edge of one step, slipping down to the next. It seems inclined to keep going, but Sirius’ hands catch you around the waist.

“Shit, baby.” He looks down at your feet as you get them under you again, eyebrows drawn together. “Running down the stairs is already bad enough, but with socks on?”

“Do you know where my presentation outfit went?” you ask in a rush.

Sirius blinks. “No. It’s not where you left it?” You shake your head and decide this conversation is no longer a productive use of your time, moving past him. “Don’t run,” he says after you, and you slow to a slight hustle down the remaining steps.

You practically skid into the kitchen, where Remus is just about to sit down at the table with his cup of coffee and James is running the blender. You raise your voice to be heard over it. “Do either of you know where my presentation outfit went?”

James stops the blender. “Morning to you too, sweetheart. Everything okay?”

You feel like you could burst into tears, but that would just waste more time. Why is no one cooperating with your need for efficiency?

“I’m going to be late!” you stress to James, turning around to survey the kitchen, the living room, like they’ll just be hanging in some random corner where you somehow forgot them. “I need my clothes, have you seen them?”

“Dove.” Remus sets his coffee down to take you by the shoulders. “Breathe. You’ve got time.”

You exhale, trying not to twitch as your skin crawls with urgency, or to lecture him on how little time you actually have. Remus watches you patiently. His hands slide up to either side of your face once you no longer seem like a flight risk, thumb stroking your cheek.

“Your outfit’s in the dryer,” he says in a soothing voice, still holding you as if to keep you from running off. “I was warming it up while you were in the shower.”

Your next inhale scrapes on the way in, a grateful pressure building behind your eyes. “Rem, that’s so sweet,” you say. “Thank you.”

Remus gives you a smile and a little shrug, more casual than the faint pinkness of his cheeks would suggest. He lets his hands skim back down your neck, giving your upper arms a light squeeze. “Why don’t you let it finish running while you have your breakfast, yeah? That way there’s no risk of spilling on it.”

You shake your head, aware this won’t go over well but too anxious to worry much about it. “I don’t have time for breakfast,” you tell him. “I need to catch the bus in, like—” Your eyes search for a moment before landing on the microwave clock. “—five minutes.”

“I’ll drive you,” Sirius says, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he comes back downstairs.

You glance at the microwave clock again in case you read it wrong the first time. “You can’t,” you say. “You’ll be late.”

Sirius shrugs. “I don’t have a presentation. They’ll deal with it.”

You look to Remus, expecting him to object to Sirius’ proposed tardiness, but he only nods, sitting down with his coffee.

“Are…are you sure?” you ask Sirius, trying to adjust to the sudden non-urgency of your situation.

“It’s no problem,” he promises you. “Stop looking so upset, honey, just eat your breakfast.”

“Drink your breakfast, is more like it,” James says proudly, coming in from the kitchen to pass you a glass of whatever he’d been concocting in the blender. It’s a murky brown-green, and you try not to wrinkle your nose for James’ sake.

“Thanks.” You take it from him tentatively. “It’s…it’s a smoothie?”

James laughs at your expression, and you think you hear Remus snort into his coffee. “Yes, it’s a smoothie. The color’s because of the chocolate protein powder and the spinach, but it’s got fruit, too, don’t worry.”

You swirl the glass a bit, assessing the color. “Why so much spinach?”

James sets a hand on your shoulder, encouraging you into your chair as he joins the three of you at the table with a smoothie of his own. “Iron, sweetheart.” He casts a pointed glance at your legs, spotted here and there with purple-and-yellow blotches of skin. “Seems like you need it. You’re bruising like a peach lately.”

Remus hums in agreement as you take a tentative sip of the smoothie. It’s not bad, though you can feel little bits of spinach sticking to your teeth. You make a mental note to have Sirius check your smile before you get out of the car later.

“And I saw that look in your eyes when you stood up too fast from the couch yesterday,” Remus says, quirking an eyebrow when you look at him in surprise. “You’re not as subtle as you think, dove.”

You bring the glass to your lips again to avoid making a response. Sirius laughs, and when you smile sheepishly, his grin turns goofy. “Hold it there,” he says, taking your jaw in hand. You keep your smile in place as his eyes narrow. “Front tooth on the left. My left.” You lick at the piece of spinach, and he nods, dropping his hand.

“Knew I could count on you,” you tell him. “Thanks, Siri.”

Sirius pecks you on the cheek. “S’what I’m here for, gorgeous.”

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dfortrafalgar · 8 months ago

Text

In Between

Law discovers that your thighs are the warmest part of your body and exploits that information.

Law x Fem Reader

Warnings: slightly suggestive, really just lots of fluff, reader is written to be chubbier but anyone can read this

Also posted on AO3

Law’s teeth were chattering violently as he stomped down the steel hallways of the Polar Tang. Light barely made it through the portholes with how deep below the surface of the ocean they were, his shadow only existing thanks to the few fluorescent lights that lined the hallways. He turned a corner near the stern of the ship and pulled open the door to the engine room with an unmatched fury.

“Why the hell is it so damn cold in here?” he hollered, gravely annoyed.

Ikkaku and Penguin were on the floor in front of the ship’s main boiler system responsible for regulating the temperature within the submarine. The sound of their captain’s voice made them jump and rapidly turn their attention toward him.

“Sorry, Captain, the electrical system for the boiler’s shot. We’re working on getting it fixed but it might take a few days.” Penguin waved his hand in front of the mess of the deconstructed boiler on the floor.

“Are there any extra blankets in the bunkhouse closet?” Ikkaku asked, turning her head back to her work.

Law grumbled. Of course he had already checked. Every single blanket that existed on the Polar Tang was currently being used by the other 19 members of the crew, huddled in a giant human ball in the common room with Bepo in the center. They looked like a flock of penguins in a blizzard, with the only difference being the human chatter amongst the group.

With a brief, and quite blunt, goodbye, Law closed the engine room door and held tighter onto Kikoku who held her permanent place perched on his shoulder. There was only one person he hadn’t seen in regards to the heating issue, or lack thereof. And he knew exactly where to find her.

---

Being the Captain’s beloved girlfriend came with many responsibilities, but also a great many perks. Your favorite being your new home in his private quarters. His bed was so soft and bouncy, and you got a great amount of sleep in it considering your boyfriend rarely did. He had a decently large space equipped with a small desk and bookshelf where he stored a few of his personal possessions, now shared with some of yours. Your favorite part, though, was knowing that Law would always return to this very room at the end of each day, and you were always in there waiting.

You were busying yourself with a small broom, brushing away a small pile of dirt, sand, and stray hairs that had accumulated on the metal flooring. Staying in motion was the best way to stay warm, and you were so warm, in fact, that you had tied the sleeves of your boiler suit around your waist, existing in the t-shirt you wore underneath. You crouched down with a dustpan to scoop the pile of dirt up and away from the floor when the door to the room was pushed open with urgency, making you yelp in surprise. You didn’t even hear him coming, but you giggled almost as soon as you saw the man in the doorway.

Law’s usually stoic face was dusted with a deep red along his nose and cheeks, and his teeth were clenched together. The fingers that were curled around his sword were also bright red. He didn’t look particularly pissed, more just uncomfortable.

“It’s cold,” was all he said. When he took note of your boiler suit being halfway off leaving your forearms and neck exposed, mild shock coated his features. “How are you not freezing without that suit on?”

You smiled as you finished brushing away the pile into the dustpan and dropping it into a nearby receptacle Law kept by his desk. “I’ve been doing chores all day, so I got kind of warm. It is a bit chilly though.”

“‘A bit’,” he responded, light-heartedly mocking your nonchalant attitude. He trudged into his room, closing the heavy door behind him and gently placing his sword against the wall before flopping onto his bed, hat rolling off of his head with the force of his movement. He immediately curled into a little ball, hands clutched towards his mouth in feeble attempts to keep them warm, which wasn’t working as planned considering even the breath leaving his lungs was tinged with frost.

You pulled your boiler suit back up, buttoning it halfway leaving it open where your chest was. You laid on the bed next to him, pulling him into your body as best you could with his current ball form.

“I thought you were from the North Blue, you should be used to the cold,” you chided, running your fingers through his mop of black hair. It was slightly greasy by the roots, he was due for a nice warm shower when the boiler was fixed.

“I have low blood circulation,” he muttered into your neck. “I get cold easily if I’m not bundled up to the nines.” Neither of you needed to say it out loud, it was common knowledge. Law was super lean and a tad scrawny in areas, it made sense why he would get cold more easily.

A smile graced your lips at the mental image of Law as a kid, wrapped in a multitude of warm layers to keep him warm, that grouchy expression lingering for the duration. He must have been so adorable like that.

“Well, you have me, I can be your personal space heater,” you responded, voice heavy with affection.

Law had to admit, he did feel like he was warming up already. He uncurled his hands and placed them on your chest to roll you more onto your back so he was on top of you, resting on you with his full body weight. His leg nestled in between yours and his nose was pressed into your neck, scruffy facial hair tickling your skin. His hands, following a growing path of warmth that radiated from your body, trailed down your sides to your hips, before dipping in between your bodies towards your crotch. In the divots of your hip joints, his hands were instantly filled with an almost scorching warmth that rapidly replaced the biting cold in his fingertips.

“Oh my god,” he muttered without even thinking.

You laughed, though your sound came out a bit breathy as his whole body rested atop your chest. “Warm down there?”

Law shuffled, rolling off of you slightly to weasel his tattooed hands between your plump thighs. You were so unbelievably warm in this one specific spot. He never noticed it until this very moment. A tiny voice in the back of his head made him wish the boiler could stay broken for longer just so he could keep his frigid hands locked between your flesh.

Breathless, he uttered, “How are you so warm right here?”

Your hands trailed up his own body to play with the wispy black baby hairs behind his neck. “I don’t know, I’ve always been pretty warm right there. Sometimes when my hands get too cold I sit on them to warm up.” You laughed. It sounded quite stupid when you said it out loud, but it wasn’t like you could deny it. If you’ve got personal warmth, you use it to your advantage.

And in this case, you let your popsicle of a boyfriend use it to his advantage.

Law was growing uncomfortable in this position, and with a few quick motions, he had you turned so your back was against his torso, becoming the little spoon as his long legs curled around you, one arm encircling your hips to once again dip his fingers into the warmth between your pelvis. His other arm rested below you, flush between your body and the bed, absorbing all the warmth it could. You were much more comfortable in this position too, curling your neck back slightly so his nose ruffled your hair. He took a long, deep inhale, fully relaxing into the moment.

“What time is it?” he lazily asked.

“Can’t be past 2 o’clock yet,” you responded.

The captain sighed. There was still so much daytime left and now he found himself in the position where all he wanted to do was warm himself with your soft body. He inwardly accepted the reality that he might be doing this for the duration of the boiler’s maintenance. Who was he kidding, he’d be doing this for the rest of his life, until you got sick of him, of course. But with the way you were completely nestled into him, your own hands held close to your chest, he didn’t think you had any complaints.

His previous grouchiness had all but melted away. He blissfully closed his eyes with his nose in your hair, planting a chaste kiss on the back of your head.

#trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #op x reader #one piece x reader #reader insert #x reader #fem reader #x female reader #law oneshot

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sinfulsalutations · 3 months ago

Text

𝕣𝕚𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕨𝕒𝕧𝕖 ⋆*･ﾟ 𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕖𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕙𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ꜱᴇʀɢᴇᴀɴᴛ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ☆ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴇꜱ ʜᴏᴡ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ʜɪꜱ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴀꜰꜰᴇᴄᴛꜱ ʏᴏᴜ.

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴘᴏʀɴ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴘʟᴏᴛ, ꜰᴇʀᴀʟ+ʜᴏʀɴʏ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ, ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪꜱ ᴘʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴄᴀʟʟʏ ɪɴ ʜᴇᴀᴛ, ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴋɪɴᴋ, ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴀɴᴛᴀꜱɪᴇꜱ, ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴘɪɴɪɴɢ, ʀᴇꜱᴏʟᴠᴇᴅ ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ, ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ ɪꜱ ᴛᴏᴏ ꜱᴇxʏ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪꜱ ᴏᴡɴ ɢᴏᴏᴅ, ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴜʀʙᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ɢʀɪɴᴅɪɴɢ, ᴍɪʟᴅ ɢᴏʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴡᴏᴜɴᴅꜱ, ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʟᴍᴀᴏ

➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ☆ 9.1ᴋ

➼ ᴘᴏᴠ ☆ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ

➼ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ ☆ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ - ᴇᴛʜᴇʟ ᴄᴀɪɴ, ᴍᴏᴏɴꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴋ - ᴇɴʜʏᴘᴇɴ

⋆ ★ … ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛᴏᴏᴋ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴀᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇxᴀɢɢᴇʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ, ᴀ ꜰᴜʟʟ ʏᴇᴀʀ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴɪꜱʜ. ɪ ʙᴇɢᴀɴ ɪᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴊᴜʟʏ ᴏꜰ 2023 ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ᴘᴜᴛᴛɪɴɢ ɪᴛ ᴏꜰꜰ ꜰᴏʀ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴘʀᴏᴊᴇᴄᴛꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀꜱ ɪ ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ᴡᴏʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ɪᴛ ɪᴛ ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜʜʜʜ ᴏᴏᴘꜱ ɪᴛꜱ ᴀʟᴍᴏꜱᴛ 10ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ. ᴀʟꜱᴏ, ʏᴇᴀʜ, ɪ'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ. ʏᴀʏ? ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ.

➼ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ 18+ ᴅɴɪ

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

Despite the gradual (yet quite quick, in retrospect) increment of your feelings toward the skilled soldier, you do, in fact, notice the blunt sexual appeal of Hunter when you first meet Clone Force 99.

It’s difficult not to; with his long hair you can’t quite place how the Kaminoans allow him to have, the striking skull tattoo, his toned body, and discernable shape even through the heavy armor, you can’t help but flutter your eyelashes and rock your feet back and forth like you’re a schoolgirl all over again. Hunter is the Bad Batch’s essential leader, the closest in appearance to the rivaled ‘regs,’ leading them as their Sergeant and CT-9901, and he stands out more than any other clone you’ve interacted with.

His warm, welcoming, yet slightly wary smile is just as firm as the handshake he gives you when you first meet him, leaning down a little to your height (you’d think clone defects would be the same height, or maybe even shorter than a veritable trooper, but instead you feel enveloped by his vertical. Not that you don’t enjoy the feeling, of course) and nodding firmly.

Then you hear his voice.

It’s only a short sentence; a brief introduction and warm gratitude for joining them as their medic before you acquaint yourself with the rest of the squad. But your ears wrap around the waves of his rough, musky baritone like a magnet. Everything feels as though it’s finally clicked into place and created the perfect picture of your desired man.

Your mind immediately begins to create dreamy rhetoric, wondering silly things to yourself.

Had your mind been aimlessly wandering the galaxy for this long, circling like materials until you finally found an opposite —An opposite so charmingly rugged?

The feeling that rushes through you feels so destined.

Lucky for you, Hunter seems to express his commands frequently with his voice; sometimes hushed through a link, the vibrations of your comm humming pleasantly between the soft undersides of your fingers as he talks.

It always during the times when you’re deep past enemy lines, taking down clankers more efficiently than a Starfleet. Initially too, as you were still trying to memorize their master list of designated plans and being weighed down by the extra weight of regulation armor.

“Don’t go through there yet. Squad of clankers waiting for us.”

“You sure, Hunter? I don’t hear any steps.”

“Take it from the person with enhanced hearing, little medic. Just wait for me.”

Other times when he speaks to you, it’s thunderous commands; ones that he yells out across a field or war front. It frightens you at first, your shoulders jolting and hands instinctively clamping over your ears to deafen the noise, but you quickly realize he’s ordering you to act. Once you get used to the intensity, you come to equally enjoy and indulge how his voice takes on a new edge in fleeting moments of urgency and demand; a once blissful burning of wood turning into threatening crackles, and from there a bleeding forest fire.

“Wrecker, move in! Now, now! Crosshair, how’s the bird's view looking?”

It’s incredibly embarrassing how something as simple as his voice can leave you this breathless. Even from the snide comments he can’t seem to help himself from saying when Wrecker retells stories to you, either from their days as shinies and cadets to missions where you stayed back on the Marauder. Between Tech’s rambling and Wrecker’s enthusiastic narration, the sound of Hunter’s voice becomes even more of a calming sedative to you.

Though it equally arouses you in other moments.

How his morning voice is somehow even lower and raspier than his regular tone is a study that must be researched and conducted by only the galaxy’s best scientists. It seems just so impossible, unbelievable; none of it is inauthentic either—the grogginess is always equally spread through his body, from his tired slouch and ruffled hair, lolling eyes, the unkempt composition of the clothes hung over his broad shoulders and slim waist. It’s unspoken the things you might do if you felt there was even the slimmest chance of starting your every day with that sound so deep and lovely right in your ear.

When he addresses you directly before you both allow yourself the time to sleep, asking you to check on old injuries or patch up new ones he got on the last mission. He always manages to get hurt in the most menial yet bothersome ways, and you’re once again forced into close proximity; you’re beginning to consider paying a few scientists and investigators to study the sexy phenomenon that is Hunter. But either way, you sit legs crossed at the ankles in the cockpit, forcing yourself to zone out on anything he might be saying every few minutes so you don’t have to squirm and change your position in your seat every so often and prevent showing how damn flustered and hot he makes you; in more places than just your cheeks and ears.

In flitting moments you get time to relish in his conjured wavelength, take in the scene you can create with just the sound of his voice; he transports you to a world of the dark morning fog, the red of his bandana the most vibrant sight in your nearest vision as he takes you on the forest floor just like that, no civil thoughts daring to come to each of your minds as he finally gives you the relief you crave for in real life.

Your depraved fantasy of Hunter is all you can dream of when you sit yourself on your fingers, holding back as many of the impoverished whines you wish to let out due to your true desperation for such an attractive man.

And the sweet indulgences you luxuriate in make you selfish. You want more, need to know how he’d sound grunting, moaning your name while his cock lay on your tongue. Or how the oscillations of his words feel on your inner thighs, against your clit when he pushes his fingers past your tight barrier. There’s much more you could learn, could explore if you could attempt an advance. Or simply given something more than slight moments of suggestion that he might have the same deviant desires as you to allow the green light.

You’ve yet to receive such signals. And flimsy fantasies, the work of your fingers to chase unattainable pleasure, and insistent memorization of his voice can only keep you quenched for so long.

“Hunter,” The inadvertent, pathetic whine crawls up your throat the moment you feel his breath on your neck, lingering over your skin even as he pulls back after hearing the noise you make.

“Just a little more,” He reassures you. The hand not firmly gripping your wrist pats your shoulder, and your cheeks flush at the passing fondness. “Let’s try to get one more shot on target and we’ll call it quits, how does that sound?”

With the warmth of your flushed face spreading to the rest of your body, you mutter,

“Sounds good,”

and try to softly shake off your arousal, eyes zeroing in on the middle of the tree, the finger hovering over the trigger surprisingly still. You’re about to take the shot before he starts instructing you again.

“Fix your foot stance,” Hunter gently guides your legs apart with one of his own, fixing the positioning of your feet planted onto the dirt and you take in a deeper breath than you intend to. The fire kindle of his voice and the fire kindle of your core are equal matches now; the husk of his chunked honey tone will certainly turn you to mush if he continues any further, it feels.

Really, how does this oblivious, heart-seizing bastard expect you to keep your focus on this pointless shooting practice when he’s got you this compromised?

“Try again now,” he says after he’s got you in the position he wants. You huff again, letting the fiery stimulation fall to your diaphragm, and breathe down your arousal. Just one hit on the target and you’ll be free of this torture.

But as you lift your arm again, eyes narrowing closer and closer to your prize, the imminent feeling of his leg between yours rears its head. You become so incredibly, annoyingly aware of it, and grimace, biting your lip softly and knitting your eyebrows together to fully get him out of your mind and body. You tug on your bottom lip and pull the trigger.

The bullet lands left side.

A deep groan of frustration leaves you; it sounds much quieter with Hunter’s rumble and grunt in your ear. You gently pull away from his grasp, handing him the blaster, and turn to face him directly. And when you catch that damned expression you promptly decide that you don’t like to see him disappointed; at least, it looks as though he’s disappointed. Eyebrows pinched together with the smallest frown, his chin curled into himself as he looks down at you (Maybe you should look into research for lawyers in the case of when you sue Hunter for the neck pain he’s caused).

“It’s alright,” He assures you, but it doesn’t feel right. And from the way he looks at you, it’s not alright.

“No, it isn’t,” You tell him exactly that, your fingers curling and interlocking together by your stomach. His eyes dart down for a brief moment of scanning, and they don’t linger too long; Maker, you wish you had the power for your eyes not to glue to him and his absolute stature instantly when you enter a space. “I should be better at this by now.”

Hunter clicks his tongue and turns away, as if deep in swirling thought. His gaze comes back to you before you know it.

“You should be,” He agrees, but nothing is degrading or critical in his voice. In his eyes, the wave of gentleness that cascades and shifts his expression, there’s unconditional empathy that you do not deserve and he wouldn’t grace you with if he were to know what you beg him to do to you in your dreams.

“We can try again,” You then insist, but Hunter quickly shakes his head.

“We’ve been working on this for an hour,” He tells you, slickly spinning the blaster back into his holster. He sounds tired as well, a new jaggedness in the smoke tendrils of his voice. “That’s more than enough practice.”

“But I just want to–”

“I know.”

Somehow, those words are more devastating than anything else he’s said. You look back and catch the mysterious glint in his eye, almost as elusive as his words might connotate on a foggy day.

“Trust me,” He continues. You don’t even realize his hand has wandered and softly taken your chin between two fingers until you feel the soft pads brush against your skin; your jaw slacks. He pinches your chin a little tighter to ensure your eyes are fixed on him. “You just want to prove yourself.”

Well, of course, you think to yourself vindictively. It’s enough that you feel ever-so-slightly out of place in a squad of clone troopers, let alone defective ones; not being able to properly handle a blaster in the mere presence of your crush is even more embarrassing. How juvenile.

“We can try again another time. But you’re tired. I can feel it,” He continues. There’s the slightest hint of gentleness you only pick up on because of how you hone all your focus on dissecting and admiring every single crevice of his articulations. Suddenly, he drops your chin, and your head lolls back into place, rather sloppily, and you look up through your eyelashes. “Time for us to sleep, I think.”

With that, Hunter whips around and heads toward the ramp to the Marauder. You’re left there with a smarting jaw, discreetly trying to rub your legs together and take the heat out of the area.

“Alright,” You sigh, glancing around before trotting after him, the white noise keeping your thoughts off of the man in front of you.

Yet, you still picture what his knee had felt like parting your thighs open only half an hour later. Attempting to recreate it with your arm and then your pillow, you give yourself a foggy release and whimper a jumbled version of his name into your pillow before drifting off, body still buzzing with frustration.

The next week, as if the weeks and months before weren’t as excruciating, is pure sexual torture. Not to say it’s entirely filled with frustration and dull aching, however. When you and Hunter have a moment of silence, alone by the cots or the engine or the cockpit together, you both relax into the same, comfortable silence that fills the time.

It’s better to have him not running his mouth off, for sure. You still have to deal with it on deployments and missions, but it’s manageable when you’re knocking down clankers or trying to listen to Tech’s very confusing instructions on how to fly the plane to a certain location to pick them up. But he’s allowing the silence to fester between you two. All the better to preserve the actual sweet, steady relationship you have aside from your fiery attraction, you think.

Hey, it could be worse.

But then the dumbass decides to get himself injured. Get pushed into and dragged against hard durasteel, leaving a gash across his stomach that could challenge Wrecker’s spiderweb scars in its damage. Your jaw practically drops when they return and you see the wound out in the open; you can’t stop yourself before you lurch forward with worried eyes and grasp his wrist around your fingers, pushing him down onto a bench.

As Tech pilots the ship off the planet, the rest all recline and lick their minuscule wounds beside him, while you and Hunter remain cramped in the back, avoiding his gaze and praying to the Maker that he keeps his voice to quiet rough grunts of pain as you try to unclip each different plate of his armor and lay them neatly beside him, tutting when more of his wound is revealed to you.

”Oh my goodness, oh my goodness ohmygoodness,” You stammer to yourself, more and more strained with each breath you take, peeling off the tarnished fabric of his blacks.

“It’s not too bad,” He argues with a soft grin, which slowly fades away when you glare.

“Don’t,” You retort, firm and simple, flashing a genuine look of empathy, and even a drip of fear. If you didn’t know any better, you might think Hunter practically melts under your look with how he slumps and his expression droops. But he’s still an oblivious, sexy fool, you remind yourself.

You don’t even have the energy to fawn over how incredibly attractive he sounds with the rough baritone and anguished sigh-like tone he wears; you instead scramble to open the first aid kit. You can feel his gaze set selectively on you and it doesn’t help. In the corner of your eye, he tilts his head.

“Is everything alright?”

You nod automatically.

“Everything is fine.”

The Marauder jostles in rough air; the ship tilts, your stomach dropping with the altitude change, and you’re unwantedly yanked onto Hunter’s lap with a yelp.

You still for a moment, waiting for the ship to steady again before you become acutely aware of how your chest is almost completely pressed up onto his face. And how your knees are caged over his thighs, your pelvis way too close to his wound for each of your comfort. And pressure against your waist, not too firm but still weighting you to his body–wait, is Hunter holding you to him?

Your eyes widen and you stumble off, stammering nonsensically and afraid to gaze upon his face. You don’t for a long moment, before grabbing the disinfectant and pouring it onto a cloth.

Silence festers between the two of you. When Hunter does speak, it’s not to you.

“Tech! Get her steady, would you?” He yells across the ship, vexed and evidently not in an ideal mood. Tech immediately retorts in his typical, inappropriately casual, intellectual tone,

“That is not a light request, Hunter. I am already trying.”

Hunter scoffs and you finally get the gall to look at him. He exchanges a mutual look of annoyance and manages to grin wider for you. The sight soothes your frayed ends ever so slightly, and you stare down at his stomach again at the wound, biting your lip as you inspect the damage.

Your hands come to the hem of his blacks and you give him a silent ask with your eyes.

“Is it alright if I take this off?”

He hums, which you take as a yes, and you slowly peel it off of his skin, trying very, very hard to ensure your stare doesn’t linger. He looks at you with a mysterious gaze that's too hard to place for your liking. But you just try and shake it off as you slowly dab his wound with the bacta-dipped cloth, pressing it firm against the injury.

When he hisses, you perk up with wide eyes.

“Did that hurt?”

Hunter clenches his teeth and nods slowly, and you pull away with shaky hands. His arms reach out, encircling his fingers around your wrist, and guides them back tenderly.

“It’s alright,” He says, his tone dropping down an octave as your hands tremble again in his grasp. You gain the courage to look up at him, biting your lip softly. The grin he wears manages to soothe your nerves, just a little. “I’ve got you, girl. Just let me guide you so you don’t hurt me.”

You let out a shaky exhale of relief, and he sighs, dipping his chin down, but keeping the intense eye contact.

“How does that sound?”

“Good,” You squeak, the rise and fall of your chest the only constant managing to soothe your fried senses. After a couple of breaths, you finish your thought. “Better.” You press onto a side of his wound, softly spreading the bacta onto it; your eyes don’t separate from his once. “How’s that?”

He huffs, not of frustration or annoyance, but more a comforting relief.

"Fine. Keep going."

The rasp stirs between the space between the two of you, and you take a deep breath before you can do anything else.

With the firm grasp on your wrists and the low tendrils of his voice softly directing you, you continue to tend to his wound, your hands moving deftly over his skin. The thick, intoxicating tension in the air is palpable; the lingering silence between you weighs heavy despite your best attempts to snap yourself out of it and take care of him like you're supposed to.

It's not your fault he just sounds so damn sexy all the time.

"Careful, careful," He tuts when you're stitching up a particularly bad spot, pressing your fingers around the skin and holding it there as you thread the stitch through. "Just a little gentler, please."

Then, "Avoid that spot, please. I can't even-- shit -- breathe without it hurting. Just stitch around it. Yeah, just like that. Good job, little medic," As you're finishing up.

Once you finish wrapping the bandage firmly over the wound and around his waist, taping it firmly to him, he dislodges his fingers from where it's wrapped around your wrist, bringing it to your chin and manhandling you slightly to get a better look into your eyes.

"See, ‘wasn't so bad, was it?" He flashes you a grin, obviously masking the pain etching into his limbs, all to calm your nerves. The fact that he's making such a constant effort to make you feel better despite his state makes you positively soft. "You did great."

You grin back, nodding and averting your eyes.

"Thank you."

There's a pause before he bludgeons you with his next sentence.

"You enjoy getting instructions."

Your eyes widen; you almost drop the first aid kit; everything stills, your chest tight as you process his words. Shit, what the fuck?

What the fuck?

"Wh--What?" You stammer, taking a small step backward and tilting your head to appear more confused and insulted by the accusation. Maybe if you appear offended, he’ll take it back. "Who said that?"

"You don’t need to say it. I can feel it," He continues, gaze thoughtfully fixated on you. He doesn't even falter when you seem to panic. "I can see it." You try to gawk at him to make him feel stupid, make him retract what he's saying, but either he's so certain or you don't seem very convincing.

No matter; you're still fucked.

"You like getting told what to do."

Your heart pounds, and Hunter just sits there, legs spread leisurely, his eyebrow slightly raised in expectation. Seriously, what does he expect you to answer with? Does he want you to fess up and admit how depraved and desperate you are for his touch, then run off mortified to never speak to him again? Surely he doesn’t expect you to take.

Defeated, you sigh and softly run your hands over your work again, avoiding his burning gaze.

"Only from you," you mutter, then immediately pray devotedly to the Maker he doesn't hear. Hunter hums, a tone of question in his voice, then you proceed to figuratively jump off a cliff as you remember this fucker has enhanced senses.

"Why’s that, mesh’la?" He asks. Instinctively, your eyebrows knit together when the new nickname graces your ears.

"What does mesh’la mean?"

Hunter doesn't seem very phased. Can't you just throw him off his rhythm once?

"Don’t worry about that," He quickly excuses your question as a distraction from the question at hand. "But tell me why you only enjoy getting instructions from me."

There's something smug to the way he talks, hidden behind insistent concern and curiosity.

"Why’s that, tell me."

Your hand comes up to hide your face, but he takes it and keeps it away from disfiguring his view of your expression. You want to babble; you can feel your face heating up. Instead, you frown.

"I, uh," You try to discreetly rub your thighs together languidly, easing the tension and buildup of heat in between them. A huff leaves his lips that sounds oddly close to a chuckle.

"Come on," You lift your head, perplexed for a split moment, but then he pats the top of his thigh. You blink once, then twice, then another time for good measure, just to make sure you're seeing correctly. Is he... what's he even implying?

"Sit down. On my lap."

Oh. That’s what.

Your mouth opens, a strange sound bordering on a choke leaving your throat as you try to retort or deny him. He only raises his eyebrows and dips his chin down, gesturing toward his lap again.

You huff, eyebrows knitted, and take a small step toward him, slowly, and you envelop his figure, trapping his legs between your knees and careening slightly, hands still meeting at your stomach, unsure of where to move. He nods encouragingly.

“Good job, just like that,” He praises you, hands slowly rising to rest on the handles of your hips, fingers tracing your waist. You take a sharp intake of breath, eyes drifting down to where your bodies meet, and look back up at him again. Hunter’s wearing this oh-so-innocent, deer-in-headlights expression you know is bantha-shit. “What’s got you so hot and bothered?”

You sough vindictively, averting your eyes.

“Stop teasing me.”

He laughs— though it’s more of a snarky, yet affectionate chuckle. You feel so naked in his presence, given such focused, vehement attention.

“I’m not teasing. Just concerned,” He tells you. The problem is, Hunter does well making you think he’s actually this clueless when he does know and just wants to hear it from your lips.

“Mhm,” You hum sarcastically with a pout.

He manages to grin at you, the corners of his eyes scrunching up as he looks at you. You let your eyes come back to him.

“I can do both, can’t I?” He offers.

“Sure,” You retort.

Squinting his eyes, he casually rubs his hands up and down the sides of your body.

“I’ll figure it out, one way or another,” He affirms, ending the sentence with a wink; you take a deep breath, letting your jaw slack. Hunter keeps talking like there’s nothing thick in the air between you.

“Put your hands on my shoulders.”

You furrow your eyebrows; he pouts like an upset child. Chastising, you huff and do as he says. When your hands shake slightly, he continues giving you instructions. They are so simple, yet they seem so alluring and nuanced in this context. In his voice.

”Steady yourself. Yeah, like that. Good.”

You wiggle your hips slightly, and something boils in his stomach slightly, something bordering on a groan. Your legs are warming up but you have no way to close them and satiate yourself. So all you can do is squirm.

Hunter perks up in concern.

“Are you comfortable?”

You take a moment to respond but then nod.

“Good.” Hunter grins softly, patting your left hip. For a moment, he decides to rake his eyes over you appreciatively, almost in the same way you do when you assume he isn’t looking. “I’m glad.”

Offering a civil smile of mutual understanding, you wiggle your hips, trying to find a better position if you’re going to be compromised on his lap.

”Trail your hands down for me.”

It's hard to deny or disobey him with a voice like that, especially when you know it’s directed toward you. So you slowly let your hands slip from his shoulders and descend his chest and torso.

“Yeah, down,” He encourages you when you reach the top of his wrapped wound. “Maybe try to avoid the gash.”

You lift your hands and let only the pads of your fingers place feather-light touches over the wrapping. When your hands begin to tremble again the further you descend, reaching his pelvis, he tuts to stop you. “That’s a good place to stop.”

You look up again with wide eyes, trying to stop your erratic (embarrassing) trembles and tilt your head. There’s more he’s going to say. At least it seems so.

“Whenever you’re ready, put your hand over my crotch.” He gives you a soft look of reassurance, making sure you’re completely comfortable in this position, before finishing. “I want you to feel me.”

Gasping softly, you pull your hand away, fingers curling into your palm and gripping tightly. A shiver runs through you, and you can’t seem to figure out if it’s from shock or pleasure.

“What?” You begin, eyes flitting from his face and back. “H-Hunter, I shouldn’t.”

“I’m asking you to.” Polite insistence is the game he plays. If this truly is a trap, you might happily fall if it means you get to touch him. He runs his hands over your curves again. “I want you to.”

You tense further, something bordering on fear in your eyes. Hunter notices and frowns while he clarifies:

“Unless you don’t want it. ‘Cause then… we can stop. No hard feelings…”

You can see how he’s getting lost in his thoughts. For a split moment, that perfect composure he holds in your presence fractures; he seems insecure and nervous; anticipating inevitable rejection because he’s pushed you too far.

That isn’t the case.

As you finally press your palm to his bulge, you contain your gasp. He’s big. And so hard.

“Fuck,” He groans, head tilting back. “Feel that?”

Oh kriff, that rumble. It’s warm and smooth yet rough all the same, creeping its way over your skin until you’re forced to keep the faintest whimper from leaving your throat. You string your lips tight and nod.

“Mhm,” Is the only thing that manages to leave your mouth, whiny and soft. You palm him further, as if the fabric would simply tear away and you could finally feel his skin on yours. He hums again, and you’re left looking doe-eyed in his direction. “Shit, Hunter.”

He throws a heavy statement onto you.

“It’s my voice, isn’t it?”

You tilt your head up, containing the urge to gasp.

“What?”

“What’s making you so hot and bothered,” He continues. You want to look away, hide your face in your hands with humiliating embarrassment, but you’re trembling so much on top of him that you can’t even flit your eyes away. “You like my voice. And you like it when I tell you what to do.”

You gasp lightly when you feel his warm hand on your thigh. Your cunt twitches and it really shouldn’t. He’s barely doing anything.

“Well,” he continues, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going to deny it?”

The answer is delivered non-verbally. You relax into his lap, palm pressing further to his bulge, and then you squeeze oh so gently. That heavenly groan graces your ears and you devoutly catalog it into your mind for later recollection.

His chin dips down to catch a glimpse of your hand before he meets your eyes.

“Mesh’la,” he says; even without knowing what it means, just hearing how he speaks with such beguile and worship tells all that you need to know. “Mesh’la… can you do something for me?”

“Yeah. Of course. Anything,” You stammer out with a slack jaw, far too enthusiastic. Hunter doesn’t seem to regard it as anything distorting the absolute utmost respect that he must feel while he has you in his lap with your hand on his dick.

“Slip your pants off.”

It’s practically instinctual how efficiently you gingerly push yourself off of his lap and follow his order. With your hands chastely placed above your waistband, you let your thumbs push past, then await Hunter to grant you to pull them off. His eyes dilate with the view, and he nods.

The pants find their way to the ground clumsily, and you cringe internally at your lack of grace, but when you finally catch sight of Hunter’s expression, perhaps it’s nothing to worry about.

He looks… starved. Hypnotized by the splendor in front of him, for his eyes and his hands and his body only to touch, feel, hold, take.

“You’re… fuck,” he sighs, sounding out of breath, as though you’d just swept his leg and taken him off his feet. His hand methodically strokes up and down his thigh, only lightly grazing the tent in his pants as he takes his eyes over how you look, over and over again.

“You’re stunning,” he finally manages to say. His hand stops stroking to pat his thigh lightly, and his voice simmers in a way you know is on purpose. “C’mere, sit on my lap again.”

“Are you sure?” You ask for permission despite rocking your feet back and forth to shimmy your way back. As you gesture toward the bandages wrapped around his middle, Hunter huffs and frowns with miffed frustration. “You’re still injured.”

Hunter gripes to himself as he pushes himself up, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you to the free space between his two hard, firm thighs. His dexterity surprises you. The warmth radiating from his body does even more.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

Oh.

Shit.

He looks the part, certainly; you only try to feel the faintest tremble of his fingers when his hands float away from your hips to sit on the top of his legs again,

“Okay,” You mutter aimlessly, reaching up to your face to brush your hair away in a measly attempt to look more presentable. Your voice is just a squeaky little thing, and it’s so incredibly humiliating. “Okay…”

“It’s alright,” Hunter tries to soothe you, and you breathe shallowly.

“I know that.” Your tongue runs over your bottom lip and you heave. “I just…”

Before you’re able to process what’s happening, Hunter’s reaching a hand out to cup your face. Despite the coarseness of his skin, his callouses fall on your cheek, it’s so tender, and you melt into his touch.

“Do you need some guidance, little medic?”

With a slight whine, you nod, letting your lashes flutter. Hunter lets his thumb swipe over your bottom lip, and your mouth parts. He grins at your unprompted compliance.

“Then let me tell you what to do. Let me tell you how to touch yourself and make you come from that, and my voice too.”

A depraved noise is choked out of you.

“Fuck,” your head careens to the side, but his firm hold on the side of your face keeps your gaze on him. His grin turns more into a cheeky smirk.

“How does that sound?” He asks. You nod adamantly before he tries to change his mind, so worried that he’ll push you away at any moment. As though he can read your mind, the hand that was still on the back of your thigh takes a gentle squeeze before trailing up your body, taking appreciative feels of your ass and hips before settling on your waist again.

“Mm…” You hum, reveling in the sensation. “Really good.”

Hunter gives you a half-crooked smile, and you want to cuss him out, or yourself, you’re not sure who to be fed up with.

“Come on, little medic,” He urges you on, patting your hip. “Slip your hand down your panties.”

Wordlessly, you let a trembling hand descend down your body. You have little dignity left in you to try and make yourself appear more seductive, but you hope your image isn’t so repulsive. The moment your fingertips make contact with your heat, your fingers grazing over your mons and clit, your mouth falls open in a silent gasp.

Hunter tilts his head.

“How does it feel? Are you wet?”

He should know already, smug bastard.

“Yeah,” you nod, keening further into his touch when he tilts his chin down, leaning toward your ear.

He takes a gentle lick, so light that if you weren’t in his grasp you wouldn’t have noticed.

“How wet?”

Your hips instinctively buck to rub yourself over your hand, a rush of arousal washing over you.

“Re–“ You swallow a wad of spit sitting on your tongue. “Really wet.”

Hunter’s lips are gentle when they undulate as he speaks oh so close to your ear, quiet and warm, words just for you.

“Just from my voice?” When he asks this time, you don’t detect much smugness; he wants the confirmation and credibility for a foundation of fact he’s built for himself.

You nod, but add on more.

“Not just that.”

“Hm?” His dark rumble travels down your spine and you squirm with pleasant upheaval. Your hand is still awkwardly lodged down your panties with nothing to do.

“Tell me more,” he demands with an assuasive croon. With one last kitten lick that lingers on the shell of your ear, he allows his lips to wander, mouthing against your skin, leaving delicate kisses on your temple, your jaw, and any moles and freckles in his nearest vicinity while he awaits your answer.

“I, uh,” you begin, awaiting to land on a coherent stream of words loosely strung together to fall on your tongue. “your—“

Just as you feel something begin to tie, your gaze drops down. Hunter palms his full erection over his blacks, languidly as though without a care, and the thought of him being aroused by this, aroused by you, slaps your mind into a render less zone.

“—fuck.”

He chuckles right in your damn face, and Maker he’s just too pretty not to kiss. But you resist the temptation with the festering worry of crossing the barrier past simple attraction into affection.

So you swallow slow and hard and try to compose a sentence.

“Your, face—“

Yeah, real eloquent, idiot.

“—That skull tattoo, it’s, well, shit…”

Your tongue wraps around itself again, words becoming more and more hard to piece together the longer you think about it. All that your primal mind begs you to think of is the olympic man presented under you, and the heat that radiates off the both of you.

“Alright now, you don’t have to continue,” Hunter huffs with no real malice contained in his words. It still makes you cringe nonetheless.

“That bad?” You ask with a clenched jaw.

A simple head shake is all you receive, but it’s more than enough to sedate a growing burn in the pit of your stomach. The hand not pressed to his crotch gently holds your hip, thumb swiping over your panties and bare skin; he even dares to let it slip past the waistband. The accurate awareness of your hand pressed to your pussy returns to you.

“Don’t want you to focus your energy on that,” he clarifies, eyes looking into yours with a softness you’ve never associated with Hunter. You’d find it peculiar in a regular conversation, but everything about this interaction has been anything but normal.

You suddenly realize you’re at a loss again. “So what do you want me to do?” You ask because you feel humiliated just straddling him like this.

Hunter puffs out his chest and you prepare yourself for the worst.

A coarse hand presses to your navel, trailing up underneath your shirt to sketch an image of your body underneath, stopping right where “Rub your pussy for me.”

It’s worded like a demand, but he voices it as though it’s a request. Your body wants to tense and retract, but the palm spread over the expanse of your stomach prevents you.

“You can do that,” Hunter encourages you, almost as though you were a creature he’s saddled on to ride. Though in this instance, you’d much rather be the one to ride. “Can’t you? For me?”

With a huff, you look away and nod bashfully. It’s wordless when you begin to move your hand, let your fingers get soaked as they rub up and down, up and down… you’re almost too tense to really feel the sensation, but Hunter’s doting gaze and his firm hand on your stomach keep you grounded. As you collect slick, running your fingers through your folds, it takes heavy petting for you to relax your jaw and let out the most pleasantly pathetic whimper.

Hunter groans, adding fuel to the flame flourishing in your pants, a dark sound of thunder rumbling in the sky, forewarning something much more devastating.

“Yeah, just like that,” he encourages you in that same husky tone following the groan. “Rock your hips too.”

You do so diligently, using your palm to press against your clit as a foundation for the rest of your hand to move leisurely while you rock your hips into himself. Hunter’s hand retracts from your stomach, fingers curling into his palms as he lets his knuckles graze against your skin. When you shiver, he takes it as an invitation to shush you gently against your temple, before his hand falls to your waist again.

The moment you glance down, you have to tip your chin back with an ascendant sigh. He’s got his hand over his clothed erection, palming it with a firm hand, almost absentmindedly as he keeps his eyes on you.

“Fuck, Hunter…” The desperate, embarrassing whimper comes out of you far more loud than you intend. Hunter shushes you gently.

“Keep quiet for me,” he commands; how are you meant to be by him when he speaks like that?

“Good?” He then asks, seemingly seeking approval good enough for him to continue. “Do I sound as good as you imagined?”

You want to say yes, declare it to the entire galaxy, and tell him just how wonderful this man is, but you’re far too overwhelmed by all the pleasurable sensations disrupting your thought process. So instead you nod.

That seems to satisfy Hunter, and the smallest smirk curls on his lips as he watches you squirm and rock your hips into your hands.

“Don’t you as well.”

With a hum, you try to dismiss the comment. But only as you let it sit does the implication of his words sink to your stomach. But he doesn’t allow you to dwell on it for too long, it seems, as he continues,

“I want you to keep touching yourself. Do whatever you need to for me. Whatever makes you come.”

He pats his incredibly intimidating bulge as though it’s an invitation.

“Right here, on my lap.”

You resist the dizzyness that threatens to overtake your senses, but as you steady your breaths, you suddenly feel so exposed. Far too exposed compared to Hunter.

So you try to level the playing field.

“Would you… er…”

If only your words could come out correctly. Hunter raises an eyebrow, perked with a cheeky glint in his eye.

“Hm?” He hums.

You grunt and attempt again to tunnel out the words. Like a plow shoveling out snow or sand.

“It—It feels unfair that I’m the only one here getting off.”

You wince as you finish the sentence. Maker, you sound so clunky and awkward. So much for being seductive.

But Hunter hums with total compliance, letting his hand trail up to where his bottoms cling to his skin.

“‘Guess you’re right.” Slowly, oh-so-slowly, Hunter peels back the waistband of his blacks, letting his hand slip through to free his cock from underneath the garments.

You think you’ve been knocked out for a healthy minute when you get a proper look. You’d never imagine describing a cock as pretty, but just like everything else, Hunter may become an exception. His fingers curl around the base with rather ease, before reaching up with it to his chin. He opens his mouth, letting a wad of spit collect and drop onto his palm, allowing him to stroke his cock with a more slick movement.

Maker, he’s so… so…

No, that can’t be right. His cock is far too thick for his hand to wrap around it so easily. But then you remember his proportions, especially compared to yours. A small chuckle leaves you when you imagine how you might try to wrap a full hand around his length.

Hunter leisurely strokes himself, eyes set on yours with an intensity that makes your stomach leap bounds up to your chest.

“Now it’s more fair, little medic,” he says. “Don’t you think?”

You nod adamantly with no hesitation.

“Yeah, yeah…” Your fingers deftly move to trap your clit between your index and middle, your mouth falling open when you feel the pressure hum over you. “Shit.”

Hunter huffs with a smugly saccharine look, his hand slowly stroking up and down his cock, lingering at the tip before he returns down again.

“You look really good like this.”

You tilt your head and grunt in disbelief. It’s hard to believe him when you feel simultaneously so powerful and so humiliated. Even though he’s just as physically exposed as you, you still feel more vulnerable.

“Do I now?” Despite being sarcastic, you try not to come off too mean.

But then Hunter sighs out the most exasperated, “ Fuck yeah,” his chin tipping upwards as he gathers his breath, tongue darting out to lick his lips, eyes half closed while he squeezes the tip of his dick, and you’re left render less to your own attraction again.

He seems to see the disbelief in your eyes.

“Don’t you believe me, mesh’la?” He asks. You remain still. “You really need me to spell out just how hot you look right now? How sexy .”

“Hunter,” you whine.

He continues without regarding you.

“I’m trying so hard not to— fuck—“ he tenses his stomach as he tries to compose himself. “—just blow my load right now. You’re just so— so pretty and pliant and so damn obedient .” You tremble slightly, and Hunter reaches to hold the back of your neck; not before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, of course.

“Listening to my every order,” he continues, oddly affectionate.

A rush of confidence flows through your veins. You try to smirk, but instead it comes out toothy and bashful.

“That’s my job, sergeant.”

Hunter groans, his fingers curling into your neck, one pressing to your pulse point so purposefully.

“Fuck, don’t say stuff like that,” he says, shaking his head, though he doesn’t seem too displeased. “Or else this’ll be really short.”

You giggle, trying to look away, but Hunter’s grip on your neck keeps your head in place. You blink rapidly, suddenly overwhelmed by his stare. But you can’t. Move.

You whisper out a weak, “Keep talking,” before your eyes shut close. You press your palm to your clit, whining softly. Hunter uses the grip on your neck to bring you in closer, whispering slow and softly into your ear with purposeful oscillations of his lips,

“I wonder how you’ll feel around me.” You sigh out the faintest hint of his name in surprise, just as you begin to press a finger into your entrance. “I bet you’re so tight you’ll squeeze me out. Warm, and hot, and loud .”

“Fuck,” you swear, both in response to his words and to the feeling of a single finger pumping in and out of you. You’ve done little to stimulate yourself and cum, but somehow you’re already feeling an anticipated crawl up of an orgasm.

The things Hunter does to you.

“I want your mouth on my cock too.”

You clench involuntarily o over your finger, bucking your hip so your clit catches against your palm. Oh. He isn’t done.

“‘Thinking we’d both have fun if I tried a hand at commanding you around, fucked your face a little.”

Hunter tilts his head. as though expecting a response, so you nod your head — or tilt your chin down, you’re unsure— and he grins in deep settled approval at your compliance.

“How does that sound, hm?”

In a split moment of respite, while he awaits your response, you gaze down, watch his hand wrap around his cock with more insistence than before, stroke at the same rate you move. The hand on your hip drifts down to hold your hip again, rocking you with more fervor. Inadvertently, the movement forces your fingers in a new direction that grazes your g-spot just so perfectly, and you’re sighing again.

“ Oh… ”

The silence becomes too long for Hunter to bear, and he grunts.

“Answer me, mesh’la,” his tone is commanding, yet not overbearing. You appreciate it considering the sliver of shame remaining in your stomach. “Would you like that?”

“I’d–I’d like it,” you stammer out, slowly rubbing a second finger down your folds before pressing in slowly to meet the other. “A lot … fuck.”

With a tilt of his head, Hunter leans in closer, lips dangerously close to yours and for a split moment you consider pulling away.

“Something the matter?” He asks, but he knows the answer. Hunter can damn well see how your legs begin to twitch and shake more rapidly, the unsteadiness of your breathing as you simultaneously calm yourself and try to bring about your high.

“You fucking know what’s the matter, Hunter,” you bark back.

“I don’t think I’m sure exactly,” he responds dismissively. “Could you say it clearly, just in case?”

Something you hope sounds like a playful growl leaves you, but in reality, it probably sounds like a moth cat purring.

“You bastard .” There’s no real bite to your insult, and Hunter knows it, so he grins.

“I do my best.”

Your pleasure overtakes you and a shiver runs from the top of your spine to your legs, your thumb moving to properly rub your clit.

“Oh, fuck, I’m close,” you’re moaning out before you know it, voice dwindling so you’re not too loud.

“Ah,” Hunter hums, affectionately rubbing your hip. “That’s what I thought. ‘Was just making sure.”

His strokes have become more erratic and frantic, but his composure doesn’t give it away. If you weren’t to gaze down, you’d have no tell how aroused he truly was. Though perhaps that’s how he wants it to be— you’re a pretty mess while he’s the foundation to keep you upright.

Suddenly, he’s talking again, using the hand on your hip to encourage you to keep rocking.

“Come on, you pretty thing,” he rumbles. “Come for me and I’ll come for you.” Then you’re remembering what brought you to this attraction in the first place; that damn voice of his. Truly, and you mean truly, never saw yourself being in this position; situated over Hunter’s lap, touching yourself for him while he gets off to you and only you.

With one more curl of your fingers against your g-spot and your thump insistently rubbing your clit, you’re over the hill, and you’re twitching and rocking your hips over and over in arches of your back, jumbled syllables vaguely making up Hunter’s name spilling from your lips like sticky sweet sugar.

That’s when you hear it. When you glance down to catch his spend start to spill on his bare skin the bandages of his, he groans out the most pleasant incantation of your name you’ve ever heard. The moment the noise graces your ears, you’re certain that you never want to hear anything else. Or at the least, any other version of your name.

A few moments pass where you remain panting in each other's presence, his hands remaining render less at your side, rubbing up and down in uncoordinated patterns, while your hands grip his shoulders. You only start to pull away from him as you catch your bearings— and your dignity.

Hunter interrupts you by grabbing the wrist of the hand you had stuffed down your panties. He leans in closer, tongue darting out like a teasing little offer.

“Can I get a taste, mesh’la?” His voice is slow, and warm, like honey pouring into a pot of tea—in any other situation, it would sedate your nerves. But those words ignite that fuel inside you. You press your fingers still coated in slick to his lips, and he opens his mouth graciously, letting his tongue swirl around your digits with a gracious hum that vibrates your skin. Your other hand drops to his chest just before where the gash begins and holds onto it with a tremorous touch.

Hunter pulls away with a resounding ‘pop’ that makes you cringe, but not pull your eyes away.

“Delicious,” he remarks.

Your face is hot again and Hunter is smiling wide, but you’ve figured out by now he means no malicious intent with his mannerisms. His hand reaches out, cradling your face

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Hunter admires you with a glint in his eye you’ve never seen before. Sure, you’ve seen affection— plenty at this point— but there’s a tenderness to his words as he continues. It still doesn’t feel fair to not return the compliment, however.

“You’re one to talk.”

The only response you get is a scoff.

“Have you ever seen yourself?” He asks, posing the rhetoric as if you’d go out of the way to compliment yourself. It’s hard to feel anything more than pretty when you have the most handsome man trapped between your thighs.

Hunter doesn’t budge — states it like a fact, as though he truly believes it. “I always get ravenous just looking at you.”

“Oh,” You reply dumbly. “I… I didn’t think.” Your ability to talk to Hunter improves after getting off for him, it seems.

“You thought wrong,” he replies, shaking his head slightly with a smile. He leans his head down, looking better at your face before reaching with his palm to hold your cheek with hands so calloused they feel soft.

“You’re a capable woman, a great addition to the batch–” Your cheeks heat up, and he smiles. “--And I think you’re beautiful. Mesh’la. That’s what that means.”

Your hand crawls up slowly against his arm, unknowingly following the pattern of his skeleton tattoo before your much smaller hand is placed against his.

“Hunter…” You whine.

He tilts his head, that goofy smile still stuck on his face. “What?”

“You flatter me.” With a shake of your head, you unpeel yourself from his lap, and Hunter whines so, so soft as you do to the point you almost leap back onto his lap again.

“I’m being honest,” Hunter insists, lazily using the underside of his blacks to clean his spend off his skin and the bandages. You’re standing idly, stupidly, and you know he’s waiting for you to say something— and you do, you do, but you don’t know what.

“Well, thank you,” you finally answer, attempting to compose yourself. You awkwardly place your feet back into the holes of your pants, pulling them up in a swift motion that leaves you put away wet, but you care very little at this point.

You look up at Hunter, appreciatively looking over his features, before a forlorn feeling fills your stomach when you gaze down at his lips. You felt them delicately graze against your ear, wrap around your fingers to gently suck and lap at the spend coating them, yet you haven’t felt them against yours once.

He notices the look on your face.

“Something up?” He asks.

In retrospect, it must’ve been a rush of confidence through your veins after having him in such a vulnerable state only a moment ago, but you truly don’t know where your next words come from.

“Can I have a kiss?”

You expect, hope even, for Hunter to be thrown off his rhythm so he can be on the same level as you for once. Rather he takes a step closer to you, his hand methodically wrapping around the back of your neck again, thumb pressing the juncture between your jaw and throat for that extra leisure, feeling your pulse as he pulls you in for a kiss.

In your dreams, Hunter's kisses are wholly devouring. But in reality, it’s warm, tender, brimming with an underlying passion you least expected. As his lips press against yours, you can feel the velvet caress of his skin, the exchange of breath between the two of you that makes you hum into him.

His other hand rises to gently stroke your back before pulling you closer, and you feel so enveloped in his embrace that neither of you will be harmed again. You press your foreheads together and pull away, each taking slow, savoring breaths.

Truly, you never expected to be in this situation.

“...I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” you mutter shyly, a bashful look on your face. It’s that little smile, that damned voice of his, that delivers the final blow, sending you back into his striking orbit.

“Of course,” Hunter tells you, smooth as ever. “I still haven’t gotten to be inside you.”

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idksmtms · 24 days ago

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no body, no crime (Daemon Targaryen x Niece!reader) - evermore series

evermore series

A/N: 2 fics in one day?? Am I trying to make up for the month I was away?? (yes, yes I am...)

I feel like I only write Niece!reader with Daemon because he is the perfect hot incesty uncle on HoTD and why would I want to change that??

Summary: When Rhea Royce is found dead in a riding accident in the Vale and Daemon returns to King's Landing, you wonder if it is all because of you…

Word count: ~3k

Trigger Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, kinda scary Daemon, creepy vibes, mentions of death, suspicion of murder, kinda stalker/obsessive Daemon, era typical marriage habits, slight spoilers for HoTD S1, (please let me know if I missed any)

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

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

You had always known that Daemon was dangerous. No person that lived in King’s Landing should think otherwise, because the ones that did often ended up a consequence of his danger. He was reckless, ruthless, impulsive. He had killed and was always ready to kill again. You knew of the proverb the common folk often quoted, “Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. When a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin in the air, and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.” You often wonder which side the coin has landed on Daemon, whether it has even landed yet or you are merely witnessing a point in time when the face with madness is tilted up to the earth as it rotates through the air.

You had always been intrigued by your uncle, by his harsh manner and sultry tongue, by his ruthless quest for power and his weakness for women. As a second daughter, you had much more idle time than Rhaenyra ever did, and you often used it to skulk about the Red Keep and spy on the doings of others. You had grown an early infatuation with watching Daemon in the training yard, or simply following him as he made his way around the Keep.

Of course at that age you had thought yourself a master of secrets, one with the shadows, and you hadn’t noticed the little smile that always graced his lips when he noticed you following him, or that he took extra long, winding, paths to reach his destination.

Then Daemon had defied your father and gone to fight the war in the Stepstones, and that had been the end of that. In the long while Daemon had been gone, the realities of womanhood had raised you quickly. You were burdened by responsibilities, by the slowly growing urgency of finding you a suitor. You were so changed that when Daemon returned victorious and supplicant, he almost did not recognise the woman you had become.

It was now him who was found trailing you, watching you when he could and forcing his company onto you. It was now he who was infatuated with you, and while you would have enjoyed the attention once, would have revelled in it and preened girlishly, you had also become aware of the realities of men, and particularly Daemon in the time he had been gone. You had become aware of his violent tendencies, his gallivanting habits, and most of all, his marriage.

His hatred of Rhea Royce was famous throughout the land, he had made it clear to any passerby, but you still valued the sanctity of marriage and would not take any part in helping him defile it.

“Would you care to accompany me on a stroll through the gardens, darling niece?” He asked one day after finding you perusing scrolls on Targaryen history in the library. You had jumped at the sound of his voice, looking at him warily as he seemed to appear out of the shadows. His dark eyes scared you.

“Unchaperoned? That would not be wise uncle,” you had mumbled, turning back to the tome placed on the table before you.

“You are my niece, why would a chaperone be required?” He asked as if you had posed a ludicrous concern and you frowned at him again.

“Yes, but we are also Targaryens,” and while you had believed that to be the end of the conversation, Daemon had simply scoffed and forcibly threaded your arm through his and walked you out of the room.

You couldn’t deny that the walk had been pleasant. He could be funny when he wanted, and he was immensely clever despite his impatience and brutish behaviour, and you had found your hands gripping him voluntarily, found yourself enjoying the feeling of his firm muscles under your fingertips. But you also couldn’t deny that there was something that always had you on edge. There was an underlying violence, a darkness that always lingered around him, and you knew that you could never trust that you were fully safe in his company despite no obvious threat.

More walks were posed in the coming days that you happily agreed to, and enjoyed all the more. You could physically feel his charms working, at the gentle way he caressed the back of your hand when he was lost in thought while listening to you speak. Or the way he gazed directly into your eyes when he spoke, his gaze never once wavering. And he had a certain affinity for presenting you with gifts. The first was still your most cherished, a necklace with a pendant of Valyrian steel shaped in the sigil of house Targaryen. You often felt equal parts scared, excited, and happy in his presence.

When it was decided that Rhaenyra was to tour the realm to find a suitor, your father decided that it would be best for you to accompany her and try to find a suitor of your own. Of course Rhaenyra would have first pick, but you could choose from the others and it would be best to be done with the complications for both princesses all together. While you weren’t particularly looking forward to the prospect, you were content in the knowledge that you would be allowed to pick your own husband, a luxury you were highly aware few were afforded in the realm.

A fortnight before you were due to leave, in the late evening when the Keep was lit only by torches and candles, Daemon cornered you in the library. Your space was lit only by a few candles scattered around the table you were sitting at, and when you noticed him lingering at the edges of the light, you jumped out of your seat, ready to scream for help. Your heart beat out of your chest, your entire body was clenched and you wanted to run, but then he stepped into the light and you felt yourself unfurl in your seat. Relief was like a wash of cold water and you began to giggle, hand pressed to your chest as you gulped air in like you had never tasted it before.

“It’s just you,” you breathed out, closing your eyes for a moment before opening them and refocusing your gaze on Daemon now that he had stepped closer to you. He walked over and kneeled down in front of your seat.

“Do not leave on this tour,” he said it firmly, almost desperately, but you could only frown at him in confusion.

“I- what do you mean, kepus?” You clasped your hands in your lap, fidgeting a little with your index finger. He quickly wrapped his own hands around them, gripping them tightly as he looked at you.

“I mean that you should abandon this worthless search for a suitor, and marry me instead.” You let out an incredulous laugh but found nothing funny about the situation. You pried your hands out of his grip and quickly stood up, stepping back from where he stayed kneeling in front of you. Not for the first time did you realise how tall and strong his body was that you were not much of an intimidating presence even while he kneeled at your feet.

“You cannot be serious, kepus,” you mumbled.

“What makes you think I am in jest?” He asked, and you could see no humour in any part of him. He looked hewn from stone.

“Because you are married, Daemon! By the gods, how do you forget this each and every day of your life?!” Your body felt like it was overflowing with panic and hysteria. “You are married, and have been married for a long while. Just because you leave Rhea Royce in the Vale does not change that fact. It is sacrilege for you to even suggest marrying me while she lives happily and healthily.” The sudden pin prick of tears caught you by surprise, and you wiped at your cheek before they had even fallen.

Daemon stood from where he had kneeled and stepped closer to you. When you began to back away, he followed, and only when your back was pressed to the wall and you could move no further did he stop. He refrained from pressing his entire body to yours but his face was so close that your noses brushed and his eyes had blurred into a slash of black.

“Is my sham of a marriage the only reason you deny me?” He asked, low and whispery, his voice a snake slithering up your arms and legs. You gulped, the urge to run like a raging storm inside of you. “Answer me.”

“Yes.” You said it so quickly you weren’t sure you spoke it for a second, but once it left your mouth, you knew it to be true. If he was not married you would say yes. If he was not married you could actually see yourself loving him. But it was simply not to be.

He stood there and stared at you so long that you wondered if this was your end. Were you about to die at the hands of your uncle? You began closing your eyes, readying yourself for the inevitable when he pressed his lips to your cheek in a chaste kiss then pulled away and walked out of the library. You opened your eyes and nothing was amiss. It was almost as if he hadn’t ever been there and you had stood from the chair and pressed yourself to the wall of your own volition.

You stood there for a few minutes more, just waiting for something to happen, for Daemon to return or the Stranger to come and guide you to the next life. But the world had returned to the stillness it inhabited in the hour of the ghosts.

The tour had been unsuccessful for Rhaenyra, but ultimately it had been unsuccessful for you too. You could not marry before Rhaenyra, but after meeting the men on the tour, you didn’t want to marry any of them anyway. They were all either young, immature, boys who didn’t know their right from their left, or men as old as your father, backs already curling over their walking sticks and servants already wiping dribbled wine from their chins.

In the days after your return to King's Landing, you had discovered Daemon’s sudden disappearance with Caraxes and it had left you in a certain dowerness. You had already spent so long at sea with little to no entertaining company, and you had looked forward to returning to your walks with your uncle. It seemed not to be.

But soon enough you were whisked away to Driftmark to secure Rhaenyra’s betrothal, and despite being rather annoyed that you were forced to join this journey, you ended up glad for it. Laena Velaryon, close to you in age, swiftly became a favoured companion of yours. She was strong but kind, fun but sensible, and you found yourself excitedly seeking her company in the time you spent at Driftmark before the betrothal was finalised and you all began making your way back to King’s Landing.

While you were happy for Rhaenyra, happy that she found someone she could spend the rest of her life with in Laenor, you began to worry once more for your own prospects. Who would you choose? Or worse, who would be chosen for you? But all these worries were put to the side upon discovering the news that awaited you on your return to the Red Keep.

Rhea Royce was dead. Mourning bells had rung through the Vale upon the discovery of her crushed body under her horse. But all you could think about was the determination in Daemon’s eyes that evening in the library. All you could think of was the question he had asked, the harsh whisper and the quick exit. Where was he?

With each day that passed, your nerves grew. Your mind was plagued with the thoughts that this was all Daemon’s doing, a desperate attempt to end his marriage so he would be free to love you openly. And with every day that he did not return, your heart grew more fearful that your suspicion was correct.

There had only been one letter from him, sent from some unknown location, claiming a grief over the tragic accident that befell his wife, and nothing more…

On the day of Rhaenyra’s wedding, you had almost spilled your goblet of wine down your dress when he had entered the hall. He looked clean and fresh, as put together as ever, and something inside you turned cold at the smirk he wore as he sauntered down the aisle and waited for a chair to be placed for him at the table just to your right.

Laena, blessed Laena, sitting directly to your right was your rock. You had requested that she have her place at the head table with you, and now you were more thankful than ever that you had requested the placement.

“So,” she whispered right in your ear, “what killed her then?” You jumped, turning to Laena with wide eyes and shaking hands.

“What? What do you mean?” If others didn’t know any better, it would surely be assumed that you were somehow guilty for the death.

“Well, you said so yourself, Daemon is claiming he simply heard the news of her death and that he believes it was a tragic accident, but the Royces believe he had something to do with it, that Rhea was too good a rider for it to have happened the way it looked. What do you believe?”

You said nothing, let Laena get bored of your silence and move on to other topics and judgements of the people in the hall. But when she stood from her seat to go greet her family members on one of the lower tables, it took everything within you not to cling to her skirts like a child and beg her to take you with her.

As soon as she left you sitting there, your eyes were pulled to Daemon like some magical force controlled your actions. You couldn’t stop watching him, lips almost shaking, and he watched you in return, jovial to an almost sadistic degree. Just as he was about to reach for your hand on the table, a man walked up and stood just in front of him, glaring so viciously that you bristled. Daemon didn’t even bother glancing in his direction until he cleared his throat aggressively.

“Yes?” He asked, frowning in confusion and annoyance in the man’s direction. “Who are you?”

“Sir Gerold.” When Daemon continued to look at him like he was some random fool, you could almost see the smoke pouring from the man’s ears. “I am Sir Gerold Royce. I am cousin to your late lady wife.” Your eyes widened as you looked upon the man, pressing yourself back into the seat warily as Daemon seemed to relax further into his, leaning back, palms pressed to the table, and a look of clarity dawning across his face.

“Aah, yes, terrible thing, I’m positively bereft, such a tragic accident.” His lack of expression was almost comical. If you hadn’t been so terrified of the situation you were sure you would have laughed uproariously at the fake grief Daemon so easily wove to further antagonise the Royce man. The man’s jaw looked close to cracking at how harshly he clenched his teeth together.

“You know better than anyone it was no accident.”

“Are you confessing some guilt, Sir Gerold?” He asked, and you could see that Daemon was enjoying the interaction immensely. He had that mischievous glint in his eye, that subtle quirk to his lip that gave him such a self-superior air and made him ten times more dislikable than he already was.

“I am making an accusation.” And there it was, out in the open now for all to see, the uncomfortable suspicion that had bounced around everyone’s mind since the news of Rhea Royce’s tragic passing had spread.

Daemon said nothing, simply continued staring at Gerold Royce with those black eyes of his that made the world feel small and harsh. Ser Lyonel was listening on your left, and you wanted to melt into the wood of your chair, never to be seen again. The air was thick and painful and watching Daemon quickly deposit the man with no thought to the grief he was going through, you leapt out of your chair and scurried out of the hall, ignoring the footsteps that chased after you.

You weren’t quite sure where you were going, just that you had to leave that situation and were now fruitlessly attempting to outrun the thoughts that chased you so relentlessly. Your breaths were shallow and painful, your hands felt full of blood, heavy and swollen, and you couldn’t quite see where you were going through the panic.

Your trusty feet led you to the library and you only stopped once you were inside and at the table you usually chose to sit at. As the breath began to return to you, so did the awareness that you were not alone. You whirled around to find Daemon turning the corner with his long strides. He paused just at the edge of the little area you occupied and watched you with a calculating gaze.

“Did you do it, Daemon? Did you kill your wife for this?” You asked hurriedly, voice hushed and lips stumbling over one another as you spoke. Your pulse was thrumming in your ears, and while you were all fidgeting and pacing, Daemon stood still and stoic, as immovable as a wall. When you paused to look at him, chewing on your lip as you frowned the longer he made you wait for an answer, he stood to his full height before leaning down so his face was pressed as close to yours without actually kissing you.

“I would do anything for us,” and his voice was a dark whisper, a promise…

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