#AND THANK YOU I HAD TO DRAW IT OR ELSE ALL OF MY BONES WOULD HAVE EXPLODED HAKDJAJD | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

swordgrace · 4 months ago

Text

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇, 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ aegon ii targaryen x wife!reader.

SYNOPSIS: in the wake of his burning, aegon’s recovery is marked by rage and insecurities. he pushes you away, but it is your comforting embrace that he desires above all else.

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anon.

{ WORD COUNT: 7.4K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), hurt/comfort, post rook’s rest aegon, aegon isn’t a good person but he’s tormented, unstable marriage, talk of insecurities, wound/scar descriptions, p in v sex, unprotected sex, gentle sex, body worship (m & f receiving), lots of kissing & comfort/reassurance, very desperate aegon, begging, sub-ish aegon, reader is on top, riding/cowgirl, mutual orgasm, fingering (fem!rec), soft ending + aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is my first time writing for Aegon, so please be gentle + any feedback/critique on his character is appreciated! He’s quite difficult to write for. Either way, I absolutely loved writing this, and I hope that you all enjoy it, too! As always, thank you for your continued love & support. ❤️

𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝, 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞. It spread its blazing roots to those cast within it, leaving them hideously scarred or deformed, or perhaps leaving them with nothing left at all.

Grand Maester Orwyle had said that your husband may never walk again — that he may never draw breath again.

The harrowing memory of soot-stained knights hauling your husband in on nothing more than a swath of linen tied to sticks, placing him gently onto your marital bed had haunted you for several weeks since its occurrence. You could recall the pungent scent of charred flesh, the ragged rasps of Aegon’s breathing, the labor and sweat of Maesters working tirelessly to save him.

It was the labored wheeze of his breathing that continued to linger within the recesses of your mind, a sound so hoarse and weak that you wondered if he would survive. Watching your husband become a shell of his former self was never pleasant — you wouldn’t wish it upon anyone, even your worst enemy.

Aegon showed a resilience that few thought him capable of — the will to survive, to endure and spite his brother served him well. Even if each breath made him ache and each step had rattled his bones, he continued to progress, showing an astounding level of improvement in a short amount of time.

Fire was the end of all things, but not for him.

The observant gazes of those denizens dwelling within the Red Keep often looked upon Aegon with despair, and perhaps pity — it was a pity that he despised, one that made him quiver with rage. He had been made a cripple by his brother, an undesirable.

No one would want him now — not even you, his resplendent wife, a dutiful creature who had solemnly stood by his side, even after his numerous sins he committed against you. He was burnt and ugly, half of his face marred by a web of scars, ear twisted, silvery hair missing on part of his skull.

It was contempt that fueled him now, and he continued to play the part of a wounded, forgetful dog whenever Aemond was near, but in the sanctity of his chambers, he cursed his brother to whatever Gods would hear him.

If they heard him at all.

With each passing day, Aegon regained strength, yet he used a cane to aid in his unsteady gait. He rarely emerged from his chambers, not wanting to be looked upon as if he were some wounded animal in-need of coddling. Wallowing within his own misfortune became commonplace.

You visited him each day when he was still unconscious, sitting by his bedside, holding his hand within yours, yet Aegon had convinced himself that you no longer loved him. What woman would sensibly love him, after everything he’d done? If you were intelligent, you would dissolve your marriage and find a new lover, cast him into the shadows where he belonged.

Aegon had forbidden you to see him for weeks now, likely out of his own fear of rejection, or seeing the horrified look on your face with his own eyes. Orwyle spoke of your tenderness, how you never left his side when he lay bedridden — he could scarcely fathom it, if he were honest with himself.

The evening was a dour one in King’s Landing, marked by the encroaching threat of war, and supposed riots that had broken out across the city. Aegon sometimes laughed to himself — Aemond never cared about the smallfolk nor their desires, and his former hand had discouraged him from catering to those less fortunate.

It gave him some twinge of satisfaction, knowing that he wasn’t that stupid — not as dull and thick-headed as so many believed him to be. The burden of being King had been forced upon him, even when he never wanted it, and so he had no choice but to simply adapt.

He molded himself to a role that never belonged to him anyway, attempting to fit himself into a puzzle that he was never in to begin with.

Acceptance — he had come to realize that perhaps, unseen forces had tarried and toiled to put him on a Throne that wasn’t his birthright. Even then, Aegon was still the King — but a broken one. Who would ever look to a shattered King for guidance, or to lead them?

Dusk blanketed the city, casting its shadow over the Red Keep, a starless sky — it was instead marked by the black haze of clouds that concealed all, even the moonlight. The Keep itself seemed wrought with tension, one that threatened to snap at any moment.

With Aemond on some warpath, the smallfolk calling for blood, and his own mother dismissed from the Small Council, part of him simply thrived within the chaos, the mess made by his younger brother. It was satisfying to know that even he was not fit to rule — not like he imagined himself to be.

His walk around the corridors had been cut short when he caught a glimpse of Aemond, with Orwyle taking him back to his chambers. Aegon could walk without assistance, yet the distance was never one of any merit.

Much of his unoccupied moments were spent drowning in Dornish Red, or perhaps the most surprising thing of all, reading. He was never the studious child — he preferred merriment and whoremongering over the study of High Valyrian and the histories. Being gnarled like this had forced his hand — perhaps he could still become a learned man.

The Kingsguard he had appointed were gone, sent to join the Night’s Watch or beheaded for insubordination — he had no friends here, nothing left except himself and his mind, still perfectly intact. Now, Aegon intended to sharpen what was left of it, if he could in such a short amount of time.

He spent many of his days in fear — fear of Aemond poisoning his drink or slithering into his chambers like the fanged viper that he was to torment him, or perhaps stick Aegon’s Dagger into his chest. There was time left still for his mad cunt of a brother to finish what he’d started.

As the doors to his chambers rattled, Aegon immediately grabbed the shortsword he kept alongside his cane, breathing becoming strained and heavy. “Who is it?” He barked, palm planted against the sturdy mahogany of his large table.

“The Queen, your Grace.” Ser Belgrave, one of the last decent Kingsguard left in the Red Keep, opened the door just enough for you to see your husband, alive and conscious. He stood watch for a beat, and then closed the doors behind him, leaving you alone with Aegon.

Aegon didn’t know what to say — he was rageful and bitter, and having you here to gawk at him did nothing to quell those feelings. He did admire you from across the room, taking in the plane of cerulean silk you wore, shrouded by a pale robe. Your eyes were indiscernible — he could not tell how you felt from where he sat.

You were, perhaps, the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon — and he had seen so many. He recalled when he first saw you in the Grand Sept in your wedding gowns, so shy and saccharine, like the first warmth of springtime. It wasn’t a union he cared for or desired, but duty demanded that he wed you, and you would give him heirs.

So much of his time was wasted in the arms of whores who cared for nothing save the size of his coin purse, when it all should’ve been dedicated to you — the last person who truly cared for him.

“Aegon,” There was not an ounce of reproach within your voice, and instead, it was all a breathy sigh of relief. You had only seen him in-passing, walking alongside Grand Maester Orwyle or Lord Larys Strong. He had not allowed you to see him fully, until now. “I …”

“Save your pity,” Aegon quipped, turning away from you as he turned inward upon his books, instead. Gods, he felt wretched for constantly causing you such agony, but he could not endure the sight of you seeing him. “Have you come to see the withered King?” He mumbled, voice riddled with disdain.

Aegon was not an easy husband — and your union had been fraught with strife, hallmarked by his love of whores and wine, his absence felt by you each and every moment. You had passed this off as reality — this was what marriage was, and you had no choice but to accept it or crack beneath the pressure.

Even now, you were willing to forgive him.

Instead, you gathered your skirts and inched closer, longing to look upon him again with your own eyes. He had always been a beautiful man, so handsome with those regal Targaryen features that it often stole your breath away — and that hadn’t changed.

“I missed you,” You confessed, and it made Aegon’s throat become unbearably thick. Tears stung his eyes, tears born of frustration, an inner hatred and disgust, a disbelief that you truly meant any of this. “I thought that I could stay with you this evening.”

“No,” Aegon retorted, voice trembling at the bottom of his throat as he shook his head. “I do not want you here. I forbid you from seeing me. What part of that do you not understand?” His rage swelled — but not at you. He was so angry with himself that it began to manifest in uncouth ways.

It stung you, but not as much as you thought. Aegon kept you away, pushed you out to arm’s length because he feared what you might think of him. Being beloved and liked by those around him, the desire for attention and adoration, was perhaps one of his greatest flaws. When he could not find validation, it was easy to find it with a whore instead, or in the simpleminded lickspittles.

If Dornish Red could talk, perhaps he would find whatever comfort he sought there, too.

He reached for his goblet of wine, hand unsteady as he held it to his lips, and even then, he looked absolutely pathetic when taking a swig. “I cannot even drink without looking fucking pathetic,” Aegon snarled, letting out a bark of humorless laughter. “I cannot walk without being gazed upon like a wounded animal.”

At last, you began to understand where this anguish came from, where it all manifested. As much as you pitied your husband for the tragedy that had befallen him, you admired his resilience, his desire to endure and push on, even if it was most unpleasant.

“Aegon …” As your soft palm reached to rest against his shoulder, he violently jerked away, recoiling as if it were you that had burned him. “I am here for you. We are still married — allow me to continue to be your wife.” You whispered, flinching when he let out a sardonic laugh.

The scars were everywhere, enveloping half of his body, still aching with a dull pain that he muddied with poultices and Orwyle’s draughts. Aegon refused to take Milk of the Poppy, enduring his agony in different ways, ones that many would consider to be harder.

“Gods, how cunning you are — you play the role of naivety so well,” Aegon hissed, attempting to pull himself up from his table, hand reaching for his cane. “I am burnt, I am disgusting, and I am a cripple. You are not here for me — I do not want your pity!” He growled, voice raising to a tempestuous level.

You did not press him further, but you could see the tears glistening within his lilac hues, spilling down his cheeks as he began to laugh. The sound was grating and hollow, devoid of any amusement — just emptiness. He used what momentum he had to stand, grip ironclad and white-knuckled around his wooden beam of support.

“Why must you continue to push me away, Aegon? Have you not done it enough?” You questioned, voice sharp and wrought with emotion, sentiments that you had been repressing for so long, for the entirety of your marriage. “Must I always justify why I want to be your wife? We are married — I love you.”

Aegon froze, tears spilling over his face, countenance one of complete and utter bewilderment. He could not discern if you were genuine or simply conniving, or if you were being true. You had told him that you loved him before, and he always cast it aside — maybe you had truly meant it all this time, and he was too indifferent to realize it.

His back was partially turned to you, as if warding you away from seeing him. Aegon had been made to think that he was a failure all his life, that he was insignificant, made to do nothing instead of act. Whenever he did act, it was impulsive and reckless, branded acts of stupidity.

Maybe the one thing he could do right was you — mend the divide, mend the bridge that had kept you distanced for so long.

That cold, bitter laughter soon dissipated into what were choked sobs, ones of despair — he had been holding himself together for so long, for the sake of the realm, for the sake of a family that cared so little for him. His body ached and trembled, and as much as he attempted to move away from you, he couldn’t.

The nearest settee happened to be where he fell, landing against the velveteen cushions, head hung in despair, body wracked with sobs. He was undesirable, undeserving of you and your love. He was some withered husk, a shell, a monster still dressing in the clothing of a King — he was nothing.

Yet, you made him feel like something.

Silently, you crossed the cold stone to join him on the settee, sitting at his side as you gingerly let your palm settle against his back. “You underestimate how much I still care for you, husband.” You whispered, caressing along his spine with a feather-light touch.

Aegon felt drawn to you, pulled into the warmth of your comforting fire, knowing that if there was still one person left in this world who cared enough, it was you. Tears stained his visage, leaving behind streaks of red, eyes wet with many left unshed.

“Why should you?” Aegon questioned, his voice beginning to lose the fury and rage it held before, and it was melancholy. Anyone would’ve asked themselves such a question, but you didn’t — you remained steadfast. “I have brought nothing but misery upon you.”

It was complex, his statement — you had been miserable for some time, but this tragedy that afflicted you both was something worth overcoming. You were beginning to see the true Aegon, the one buried beneath the weight of the crown, the weight of inferiority.

“There is still time for forgiveness.” Your words were poignant and soft, and they were enough to move Aegon to tears again. He sat there beside you, crying to himself, breaking down completely. You had never seen him like this before — and perhaps, it was long overdue.

The comfort you provided was one he so desperately sought, even if he felt so guilty. He hadn’t done anything to deserve this, to deserve you — and yet he welcomed the grace of your palm, the sound of your songbird’s voice, soothing him with your gentle smile.

He was ashamed for you to see him this way, a man lacking the strength of physicality, the strength to hold a shortsword. It often wavered within his grasp — he would never be able to protect you. His beloved dragon was left in ruins, recovering in the Dragonpit — everything he had that made him strong had been taken.

Aegon was terrified to look upon you in such close quarters, afraid to feel the bitter jab of rejection, the horror and abhorrence within your gaze as you found his scars. He dared not turn, only keeping the intact side bared to you, still perfectly handsome.

Orwyle had harkened this to some miraculous recovery, a sign that the Gods favored him — Aegon did not feel favored, nor did he feel that he deserved it. Whatever he used to think, that his father wheezed his last breath desiring him on the Iron Throne, was nothing more than a twist of words.

There was nothing miraculous or prophetic about him — he was a sad, drunken cripple left to rot.

As much as he commiserated over his woes and the foul hand dealt to him by his brother, Larys had convinced him to live out of spite — and you convinced him that being alive, even in this wretched state, was a reality that was worth seeking.

He nearly crawled away at the sensation of your fingertips brushing along his jaw, unmarred and unscathed by the garish tangle of scars. Aegon shivered at your embrace — he had gone so terribly long without it, wondering if he would ever feel it again.

“I remember when I saw you for the first time, in the Grand Sept — I thought that you were the most resplendent man that I had ever seen,” You crooned, feeling him nudge his cheek into your palm. You gently swiped away a stray tear beneath his eye. “You still are.”

Aegon scoffed — a bitter, vitriolic sound that made his breath turn hoarse for a moment. He found it incredibly difficult to believe you, to find any merit in what you said given the circumstances. Even if you still loved him, that did not include his horrific appearance.

Tears trickled down his face, ones that you collected with your thumb before he shook his head. “Do not patronize me,” He murmured, visage furrowing together. “You cannot mean any of that. Look at me,” Aegon hissed, only slightly turning towards you. “I am a loathsome creature.”

His misery was an understatement when it came to his appearance — he looked like some monster, gnarled and withered beyond recognition. Whenever he looked into the mirror, he screamed and raged until he fell, or perhaps lost his voice.

Any Targaryen was often regarded as beautiful — pale, platinum tresses and lilac hues, a countenance as regal and as beautiful as a god. He was nothing more than a cockroach, now. He couldn’t fathom that you still desired him in a conventional way.

With a soft, tender touch, your hand then moved to rest against his shoulder. “If there is a loathsome creature here, I do not see it,” You murmured, head canting to one side. “What must I do to convince you, Aegon? Do you not believe me?”

Aegon’s trust had worn so thin that it threatened to snap, threadbare and nonexistent. He could only allow himself to trust so much — everyone he thought he could confide in or rely on had now turned against him, or attempted to slaughter him.

“It is hard to believe anyone anymore.” He murmured, staring down at his hands — one trembled, wreathed in burn scars, and the other clenched into a tight first.

He was made to believe that he was the rightful heir over Rhaenyra, when that was never the case. He was made to believe that he was a good ruler, when his Small Council plotted behind his back without his knowledge. He believed that Aemond was loyal to him, that he loved him as a brother would.

Lilac hues flickered from the void of his chambers to you, peering at you from beneath the curtain of pale tresses that still clung to his head. Despite the accusations of disloyalty he had hurled at you, his mistrust and doubt of your true intentions, you still maintained an amiable gaze.

You stared at him as if he had moved mountains, pulled the stars from the heavens for you — and he realized that no one, besides you, had looked at him in such a way before. It was profound and affectionate, wrought with a palpable adoration that came from a deep-rooted place of good.

Aegon’s throat grew tight, thick with emotion as he drank you in, tracing over the delicate plane of your features, the spark of warmth that brightened your eyes. Such divine beauty that he had robbed himself of for so long — he only felt like a fool, the greatest fool there was.

With an unsteady, quivering hand, he hesitantly reached out to you, unburnt fingertips tracing the curve of your jaw. He sucked in a sharp breath whenever you shuddered, face turning inward to press a kiss against his palm.

“I want to see you, husband.” You whispered, grasping his hand with both of yours, digits oozing with the radiance of heat that blossomed from you. The burn scars were carefully concealed behind silken garments, hidden from sight. Aegon grit his teeth together, not wanting you to see how disfigured he’d become.

“No,” Aegon quipped, shifting away from you with a scornful, wary expression. Whatever handsomeness he possessed before, it had all been burned away, turned to ash — and it left him, this husk of himself, with a physique that was repulsing to behold. “There is nothing pleasant about it — it is rotten.”

Rotten was perhaps a vast exaggeration for his wounds and scars, something that you found to be perplexing. Scars did not bother you, and you wouldn’t let your husband’s insecurities dissuade him from your comfort and care. Still holding his hand, you moved closer, pressing a kiss against his knuckles.

Aegon shivered beneath the chaste kiss, wanting nothing more than to collect you into his arms. The gnawing fear of your potential repulsion made him hesitate, and the bitter stab of rejection seemed to dig into him more than anything else.

“What woman would want this?”

Aegon’s forlorn, despondent inquiry hung above the both of you like some dour cloud. His grim outlook was something that you could sympathize with, given that his appearance had been torn apart within an instant. He swallowed the sob building within his chest, violet hues glistening with wet tears.

At last, he looked at you fully, exposing the marred, scarred side of his visage, tangled with a web of textured burns. His eye was sunken in, vessels having broken the white around his iris, ear nearly missing entirely, countenance partially mottled.

It was the same with his body, nearly half of it covered in the same fleshy web, scars spreading out like the roots of a tree. Aegon looked to you with a shattered expression, one that possessed a vehement swell of rage and frustration, yet still retained a sense of desperation. He was desperate to have your approval, for you to tell him that he was still perfect, regardless of his disfigurement.

Without a word, you moved your hand toward the maimed side of his face, expecting him to rip away or recoil entirely. Instead, he stayed there, rooted in-place, shuddering when the softness of your palm cupped his jaw. The pad of your thumb gingerly raked over his cheek, feeling along every scar and rough surface.

“I want you, Aegon,” The soft, silky resonance of your voice had brought him to heel, gaining his subservience, despite his inner battle with his insecurities. He feared being ugly in your eyes, as if his heart weren’t black and decayed enough. “I want you still.” Your lips twitched into an amiable smile.

For a moment, his eyes had fluttered shut, and he soaked in the sensation of your touch, warm and real against his cheek. It felt incredible, something he had craved for so long — it had left a gaping hole within his chest. Any tears that fell, you collected them with your fingertips, swiping them away.

Again, you inched closer, leg-to-leg with him, gaze drifting towards his lips. Aegon did not dissuade you from it, breathing becoming somewhat laborious as you pressed forward, mouth molding against his. It had been a long time since you had kissed him — truly kissed him.

A low, stirring groan reverberated within the depths of his throat, and at last, he reciprocated. Aegon’s kiss was done in a flurry of passion, realizing what he hadn’t had for so long. You tasted saccharine, warm and soft against him, mouth pliant and willing.

Gods, how blind he was — foolish, fragile, moronic.

He had abandoned you for unattainable things, for insignificant people that cared little about his wellbeing. Aegon had you — you, so devoted and loyal and forgiving, even when he deserved none of it. He very nearly sobbed again, knowing what error and sin he’d committed against you, but he shoved it down.

His insecurities seemed so small, as if they were wiped away by the curve of your mouth that so desperately kissed him. Aegon moved his good arm, bringing it to the swell of your hips, feeling your supple physique through the thin silk of your nightgown.

A sweet, simpering moan bubbled within your throat, a sound that so clearly vocalized your desperation for him, your repression and longstanding suffering. “Aegon,” You whispered, sending tremors down his spine as he kissed your jaw. “We don’t have to, we — you’re in pain.” You didn’t want to subject your husband to such agony.

Aegon shook his head, willing to push through the dull aching if it meant that he could have you again. Despite his fractured confidence, you made him feel so strong again, as if he still looked as he had before the burning. “Fuck agony,” He panted, hot breath fanning across your flesh. “I need you.”

That was enough to send a surge of molten heat throughout your belly, thighs rubbing together to alleviate some of your mounting arousal. “To bed, then.” You whispered, and Aegon swore that he moved quicker than normal, as if you had rejuvenated in some mystical way through words alone.

Using his cane to support most of his weight, he sluggishly walked toward your marital bed, feeling you hover around his side. You did not help him, and he didn’t want it, anyway. He was growing stronger by the day, capable of making it to his bed without support.

Fresh linens, silks, and feathered pillows had replaced ones used yesterday. It was all clean, smelling of lavender and honey. As he sat along the edge of the bed, he nearly chuckled at all of this — finally laying with you out of desire, and not duty, looking positively abhorrent.

If only it hadn’t taken him so long to get here.

“Are you certain, Aegon? I do not wish to hurt you, I —” Before you could prattle on about your concerns, Aegon silenced you with a kiss, coaxing you down by his side. His lips remained unblemished and unburnt, the taste of Dornish Red and sugar permeating his tongue.

“You won’t,” Aegon uttered, lilac hues raking over you, hungry and rapturous. “And if you do, you will not stop until I tell you to.” His tone retained a sternness to it, one that pleaded with you to allow him to drown in your affections, just like he always wanted.

With a gentle nod of your head, Aegon pushed your tresses away from your neck, thumb caressing along the column of your throat before he pressed a kiss there. You scarcely recalled the last time he’d done something like this, but you weren’t about to protest.

He wanted to hear your sighs and sweet whimpers, the sound of his name, breathy from your tongue. Aegon did not have the stamina he used to, but he would rather damn himself instead of stopping so quickly. He kissed and bit at your neck, soothing each mark with the languid lap of his tongue.

Gods, that sound — Aegon delighted in listening to your soft, wanton moan, pearlescent teeth nipping at your sensitive skin, kissing wherever he could reach. His burnt hand trembled, the flesh tender and still pulsating with a dull ache, but he elected to ignore it as best as he could.

Your hand pressed against his unmarred thigh, gripping into the flesh there as he groaned against you. He had finally gotten rid of that horrid, lengthy nightshirt, back to linen trousers and a silken, emerald tunic. His growing erection wasn’t subtle in the slightest.

“Let me see you.” Aegon murmured, wanting to look upon you with renewed eyes. You had always been beautiful to him, but now, you were captivating — a goddess incarnate, come to grace him with your presence. He watched as you stood, unraveling your robe as you draped it across the foot of the bed.

His mouth became dry, desire swelling within him like the urgent crash of a tidal wave. Aegon’s violet gaze remained transfixed, unable to tear themselves away from you and your perfection.

You stood in between his legs, shedding the thin, sheer gossamer of your nightgown, allowing it to pool around your feet before you nudged it aside. The last time you had undressed for Aegon, he was drunk and needy, several months ago.

His intoxication was of a different sort now, drunk upon your resplendence, your beauty, living and breathing before him. Aegon gripped your hip with his good hand, learning forward to press kisses all along your abdomen and stomach.

The sensation of your hand, so gentle and sweet, slipped against his marred cheek, gingerly caressing over his uneven web of scars, encapsulating over half of his skull. Aegon nearly groaned at your heavenly touch, the touch of a wife who loved her husband, scars and all.

He did not feel so monstrous anymore.

Aegon turned to press a kiss against the inside of your wrist, savoring the feeling of your fingertips roving across his scars. It was only when you moved to kiss the top of his head that he nearly faltered, breath warbled and wavering, surprise settling into his features.

He moved back, countenance twitching with pain for a fleeting moment, finding comfort within the silken duvet and soft sheets of your shared bed. You nearly moved to sit beside him again, but he stopped you, swallowing the growing lump within his throat.

“No,” Aegon whispered, tone a low, husky resonance, strung out with desire as he coaxed you into his lap with certainty. “Come here.” Those lilac hues were blown-out with lust and bewilderment, enthralled by you as he felt you settle down against him, thighs firmly caging him in on either side.

A grunt stirred within his chest, a dull throbbing pulsating throughout his body, but he persisted, feeling your plush form sit right in his lap. His good arm stroked along your spine and hip, faces mere breaths apart, and he kissed you with a blinding fervor.

Aegon never kissed you like this — not until now.

Whatever sentiments you felt for him, the ones that drove you to complete devotion, began to resurface — you still loved him fiercely, despite everything. “Will you allow me to see you, too?” You whispered against his mouth, digits dancing toward the hem of his tunic.

A beat of hesitation passed through your husband, who almost seemed to revert to his reclusive state. His jaw became tense, an inner war raging within him as he contemplated letting you disrobe him. Aegon looked at you, torn yet wanting, tugging you closer.

You gave him time to deliberate, not wanting to push him into something that he wasn’t prepared for. As if to soothe him, your fingertips traced along his brow line, and into the tangle of scars. “If you do not, I will understand, husband. It will not make me love you any less.”

That alone made him want to remove his tunic.

Aegon tilted forward, burying his face against your collarbone, mottled flesh textured against your own skin. He felt your palm glide against the nape of his neck, carding your digits through his wisps of pale hair. “It is hideous,” He uttered, insecurities bubbling to the surface. “I wouldn’t dare subject you to it.”

“Aegon,” The tenderness of your tone seemed to grab his attention rather swiftly, lilac hues drifting up toward your visage, perfect and comely. “It is all you — every scar and every imperfection, and I will love it all the same. My desires haven’t changed.”

His breath hitched within his throat, eyes swimming with an amalgamation of emotions, some of them too overwhelming to fully comprehend. He had sorely missed your embrace, and to further deprive himself of it seemed like an unimaginable torture.

You wanted him to take his time, neck craning as you peppered your lips against his throat — the burnt side, flesh marred and uneven, the sensation akin to a leathery surface. Aegon exhaled, gripping you tighter as he reveled in the feeling of your mouth.

It was he who initiated the removal of his tunic, attempting to pry it away and over his head, but he struggled, a low groan escaping him. Aegon wanted to feel independent, to do something himself, but he relented, accepting your assistance.

Removing the garment felt like an eternity, born out of his own nervousness and crippling insecurity of you seeing him this way, marred and mottled. Only half of him was covered in that tangled, leathery web of scars, spiraling down his entire physique.

Hovering your palm above his chest, Aegon’s lilac gaze silently pleaded with you to touch him, grace him with the touch of your resplendence. The scars were rough and uneven, innumerable and etched into his flesh like a blanket of leather.

Yet, you did not recoil or shy away, tracing patterns over his skin, pressing your sweet kisses wherever you could reach. Aegon felt his cock twitch and throb with desperation, longing to be inside of you. The tender care you showed him meant more to him than any crass or lewd act did.

You kissed his scarred shoulder, a gesture so comforting and kind that Aegon shuddered from exhilaration. That pattern of soft worship continued, as you kissed his scars again and again, reverence seeping into each grace of your mouth.

“Gods, how divine you are,” Aegon exhaled, quivering hand finally extending just enough to knead against your thigh. The palm that held your hip traced towards the warmth between your legs, and he shivered at the slick arousal there. “What a pleasant surprise.”

You squirmed, cunt aching for him in every way imaginable, hips jolting into the sensation of his practiced digits. Aegon was swift to reward your kindness with quick strokes of his fingers, tracing along your slit before caressing your clit, toying with the sensitive pearl.

The game of waiting was an agonizing one, as he longed to be inside of you, let you feel him again with renewed vigor, drown himself within your love. Aegon groaned when your lips met his, connecting with a thinly-veiled ardor, passionate yet tender.

Agony and pain became a thing of the past — even if his body ached and contorted with a continuous sting, he didn’t care. He wanted to endure for you, savoring each moment, digits greedily stroking away at your cunt in order to warm you up.

Desire made him dizzy, head beginning to spin in a delirium, induced by the growing haze of lust. He couldn’t recall the last time he laid with a woman and truly enjoyed it — but he was enjoying this — he loved your body, and above all else, he loved you.

“I want you inside of me,” You panted, hot breath fanning across the shell of his ear. A shiver cascaded along his spine, prompting him to slow the steady strokes of his digits. “Aegon, please.” With a pleading tone that brought Aegon to heel, he nodded, letting out a grunt of discomfort.

He gently removed you from his lap, but only to readjust, moving himself back against the mound of feathered pillows and cushions. Those violet hues silently observed you, rapturous and starving, like a hound preparing to devour its meal as you clamored forward again.

Your hands moved to the leather ties of his breeches, loosening them up enough to free his cock from its confines, flushed head oozing with tendrils of precum. Aegon wasn’t shy about how aroused he was, how desperately he needed you.

“Sit,” Aegon groaned, hand kneading against your hip, attempting to coax you onto his hardened length. “Please, I — I need you.” You hadn’t heard him beg before, but the sound was husky, timbre strung-out with desire as you crawled back into his lap.

As you gently lowered yourself onto his cock, Aegon nearly moaned at the sensation, head rolling back against the pillows as you sank down completely. He couldn’t move like he used to, guide you along or assist, but he did squeeze your hip, caressing all along your side.

Depriving himself of you for so long was perhaps one of the greatest faults he’d ever made, filling him with a wave of guilt. He could not make up for it anymore, properly ravage you in the way that you deserved, but he hoped that this was a start.

Everything began to ache with more of an intensity, a dull throbbing sinking into his bones, but he relented. Aegon would not deny himself, and he would not deny you, above all else. A myriad of throaty groans escaped him as you began to move, hips rocking forward, disarmingly gentle and sluggish.

You did not go quickly at all, each movement slow and steady, thighs stinging from exertion. Slowly, you reached for his hand, the one that had stayed closer to his chest, longing to hold it, if he was able. Aegon’s breath hitched when you did, gently twining his fingers with your own as you rode him.

His cock filled you perfectly, filling a void within you that had been left half-empty for so long. At last, you had your husband again — the one that you yearned for since your wedding day. With gentle gyrations, you moved yourself up and down along his length, continuing your sluggish rhythm.

The palm that cupped your hip and thigh soon slithered toward the apex of between your legs, hoping to stimulate you just as you did him. Your moans, breathy and high-pitched, filled your chambers, noises that he had been longing to hear.

The full, lovely swell of your breasts bounced gently atop your chest as you continued your ministrations, repeating the monotonous motion of rocking along his cock. Your stomach sloshed with molten heat, and it quickly spread to your loins when Aegon’s thumb caressed the pearl of your cunt.

He wasn’t going to last much longer in this state, cock throbbing with tendrils of precum that released themselves inside of you. The way in which you milked him, moved agonizingly slow, allowing him to feel your cunt tighten around him — it was nearly overwhelming.

Your cunt clenched pathetically, snug around his length as you continued to ride him, his cock bottoming out within you. It was a perfect storm of sensations, between the fervent circles he traced into your clit coupled with the feeling of him inside of you, you knew that your release was near and inevitable.

A breathy sigh of ‘fuck’ emerged from Aegon’s mouth, countenance contorted into a look of complete and utter ecstasy. “Gods, do not stop,” Aegon commanded through wanton groans, hips desperately wanting to buck up inside of you, but the pain was becoming too great. “Please.” He pleaded.

Everything felt so raw and sensitive, nerves set ablaze, arousal gripping him tightly as you continued to ride his cock, ensuring that you were still incredibly gentle. He thoroughly enjoyed watching you move, cautious and mindful of him, lips agape and visage one of sheer bliss.

The delight you felt was immense, holding onto Aegon’s hand, wanting to grind yourself into his thumb. “Aegon,” You moaned, looking down upon him with reverence and awe, no inkling of disgust to be found — it was ardor and want, all tangled into one. “I—I’m close!” Your whine made him want to tear you apart.

It only took one more roll of your hips for him to fall apart, in shambles beneath you, hot ropes of virile seed filling your womb with desperation. Aegon saw stars from the intensity of his release, nearly collapsing in the aftermath of it all.

His breathing quickened, hoarse and labored as you tilted your hips forward, finding a much-needed friction as he caressed your clit even still. Watching you reach your release with his own eyes was a captivating sight, mesmerizing to behold as you shuddered, trembling and aching with relief.

He huffed, attempting to recuperate as you stayed in his lap for a moment longer, slick with your nectar and his own spent, its sheen coating the inside of your thighs. You removed yourself from him to give him some reprieve, stepping away to clean yourself up and retrieve your nightgown.

Aegon’s visage became one of immediate concern as he watched you move away, worried that he had offended you. “Where — Are you not staying?” He questioned, hastily maneuvering his breeches up around his hips again, doing his best to lace up the leather ties.

Surprised, you stopped near the basin of water sitting along the vanity, head canting to one side. “I intended on staying with you, unless you do not want me to.” You replied, sliding the silken garment back on after having taken a swatch of cloth to the warmth between your thighs.

“I want you,” Aegon’s tone had become a rather desperate resonance, as if imploring you to stay even when there wasn’t a need for him to do so. “I want you to stay.” He uttered, lilac hues somewhat shrewd as you approached, helping him put his tunic back on.

“Of course.” With a soothing voice, you pressed a kiss against the scarred side of his scalp, and then to his forehead, helping to ease him back down into bed. The draught left behind by Maester Orwyle assisted with the pain — not nearly as strong as Milk of the Poppy, but it was the best choice.

Taking a swig, Aegon sighed, feeling you climb into bed, curled against the good side of his body. He immediately collected you into his arm, feeling your cheek press into his shoulder. It was the most satisfying feeling in the world, having you by his side again.

“If you are agreeable to it,” Aegon began, tracing patterns into the small of your back, “I wish for you to stay here again, and share my bed.” He didn’t demand anything, nor did he use his title and power to force you into sharing your chambers again.

He would’ve understood if you declined, given everything that had happened between the both of you.

Aegon loathed the thought of being alone again, to return to his reclusive existence of self-deprecation and endless misery when you were still here, living perfection — his beloved wife. He turned his head just enough to kiss your crown, briefly inhaling your floral scent, one that he sorely missed.

“I would like that,” You hummed, comfortable by his side. It was the first time in many moons that Aegon felt almost entirely comfortable again, scars and all. “Know that I love you, Aegon — until my last days.” With a gentle touch, you reached for his marred hand, holding it delicately within your own.

Tears swam within his lilac hues, and he had to squeeze them shut just to alleviate that feeling of sobbing. To hear you say with certainty that you loved him — he knew that he no longer needed to fear the idea of living, not when he had you.

“I love you.” Aegon whispered, barely above a whisper. He held you tightly, cradling you close, grasp innately protective even when danger didn’t hang over your heads.

Perhaps, for the first time in his life, he was finally being transparent with himself — with his inner turmoil, with his very existence, and that he loved you too.

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not copy/steal my work and claim it as your own. please do not translate my work onto other platforms.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen #aegon the second #hotd smut #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon smut #hotd fanfiction #aegon ii targaryen x y/n

2K notes · View notes

snowballseal · 2 months ago

Text

How they react to you having a lot of tattoos

LaDS X Reader

Anon Request: I was curious if you would be willing to write the boys reacting to a partner with a lot of tattoos? I feel like MC is pretty covered up and as someone with full sleeves and a large back piece, it’s always interesting to see how people react to seeing them.

Note: Y’all killing me with these fun requests 🥺 I love this. I only have a few minimalist tattoos, but I want MORE. Thank you for the lovely request, anon. The scenarios were fun to think of.

Word Count: who’s to say 🤷about 1000 each

---

Rafayel

The first time Rafayel sees your tattoos is when you go on a date to the beach. You’re not even thinking about it as you change in the bathroom. When you decided to become a hunter, you knew you would have to cover up your tattoos. The policy, while being outdated in your mind, isn’t all that bothersome since you prefer to wear long sleeves anyways.

So it never occurred to you that Rafayel had never seen the full expanse of the ink on your body.

Which is why, when you step out and his eyes go impossibly wide as he looks at you, mouth dropping open, you’re first and foremost confused.

“What?”

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you feel an inkling of insecurity curl in your chest as you look down at your two-piece. It’s nothing immodest, just a blue bikini that you thought was cute and also met your standards for support. It’s a little frilly, but a part of you thought he’d love that.

“Do you not like it? I don’t uh, I don’t have anything else to wear…” Your voice comes out uncharacteristically meek.

That seems to snap Rafayel out of his daze. The artist shakes his head, the tips of his ears going positively red, as he still can’t rip his eyes from the lines decorating your skin. He reaches out, tracing the gentle petals of a flower on your waist.

“How come you’ve never shown me these, cutie?” He asks, voice touched with awe.

Oh. Heat creeps up your neck. So that’s what he was on about. You glance down at your body. You suppose it is a little jarring. It’s not like you’re covered head to toe, but you’re definitely a well covered canvas. Both of your arms have partial sleeves that curl up around your shoulders and continue along your collarbone. A large collection of flowers adorns the right side of your waist, traveling down your hip and turning into a pattern of vines down your leg. You have a few other ones, some silly, some heavy with meaning.

“Sometimes I forget I have them,” you admit a bit bashfully. Rafayel gives a low hum and your breath catches as his fingers continue to trace the lines on your waist, his touch warm and ticklish. “I’ve had some of them since before I started training.”

“I have to say, I’m a bit jealous that another artist has touched your body,” he murmurs, voice dropping to something low. His hand slips around your waist, drawing you closer so he can trace his lips over the intricate ink on your collar bone, ocean eyes glinting up at you with something possessive yet overflowing with adoration. “But even I have to admit this is beautiful work. Befitting my queen.”

Your cheeks go warm. As red at the tips of his ears. There’s something so reverent about his touch and it makes your heart flutter wildly, but you’re all too keenly aware that you’re still in public.

Not that it stops you from poking the fish.

“Would it make you feel better to know my newest one is for you?” You ask, reaching to touch his cheek with a teasing smile.

Rafayel’s face lights up. He draws back immediately, looking over your tattoos like an eager child until he spots the fresher ink on your left leg. You stifle a giggle as he drops to his knees, fingers curling around your ankle to pull your leg off the ground so he can get a better look.

“Rafayel!” You bark out a laugh, balance stolen away. It forces you to lean on him just so you don’t fall over. “Geez, I could have just sat down, you know!”

“This is for me?” Rafayel, oblivious to your complaints, grazes his fingertips tenderly along your skin.

Shaking your head, you give his hair a playful fuss, “Yes, you impatient fish. It’s not done yet, but it’s about us.”

It’s the beginnings of an ocean scene. A beach circles right above your ankle, depicting the silhouettes of two younger kids, their hands clasped in a promise. As the ink continues up your leg, it transforms into what looks like a night sky, but instead it’s water, swirling lines of blue and purple, full of schooling fish, one in particular standing out, bright red among the cool tones. A familiar symbol. And on the back of your calf swims a graceful looking figure, reaching for the light, edges blurred between fish and man and water.

A lump forms in Rafayel’s throat as he touches the red fish, a familiar warmths spreading across his chest as the same symbol glows faintly. Seeing it on you fills him with an emotion he can’t quite explain.

“You do realize what this means, right?” Those ocean eyes flicker up to you. They glint like dark pearls, iridescent and beautiful, yet carry a depth of emotion that makes your breath catch.

“I do,” you answer unwaveringly.

Rafayel’s lips pull into a small smile. He never expected someone to do something like this for him. Though, of course you would. And it’s beautiful.

“It’s a stunning piece,” he murmurs eventually, leaning forward to press a kiss to your knee, right above the ink, his hair tickling your thigh, “Though I still think the canvas is the most beautiful thing of all.”

A snort escapes you and you bite your lip, heat rushing back to your cheeks, “You’re ridiculously corny, Rafayel.”

“I know.” His smile shifts into a wolfish grin as he stands up, scooping you into a hug. You squeal as he spins you around, holding on tightly despite knowing he’d never drop you. It’s only when you’re positively red that he stops, his mirthful eyes watching your face. “It’s worth it if I get to see this face. I swear, cutie, if you do more things like this, I might become unbearable.”

“You never could,” you giggle and loop your arms around his neck, “Though, I was thinking maybe next time, you could come with me?”

Rafayel raises an eyebrow, “Oh? You want to get matching tattoos? I’ll admit, I’ve never considered it…but if it’s with you, I can’t think of anything more fitting.”

“You’ll have to design it, of course,” you hum, tone turning a little more excited, “Oh, I can’t wait! It’ll be so fun! We can do it the next time I take a break, and after swimming season, obviously.”

Leaning in, Rafayel gives you a short kiss, laughing against your lips, “Anything you want, my lady. As long as it’s with you, I’ll enjoy every minute of it.”

---

Zayne

The first time Zayne sees your tattoos is when you reunite at Akso. You’re not sure how long it’s been, having only seen him every so often at Grandma Josephine’s for dinner. All you know is that he’s been busy, and is now one of the most remarkable young doctors in Linkon.

And also your new primary care physician.

“Knock knock.”

You rasp your knuckles lightly against the door to his office, eyes lingering on the nameplate displayed prominently beside it. A strange sense of pride swells in your chest. To think, your childhood best friend would reach such heights.

“Come in,” Zayne calls, voice as aloof as ever.

You slip into his office and let the door shut behind you. The doctor sits at his desk, flicking through a file on his tablet. You hesitate on the edge of his peripherals, not sure exactly what to do or how to act. It’s been a long time since you two have been truly close, not since- But you’ve missed him.

A lot.

“My apologies, my previous surgery ran longer than expected so I am still collecting your records.” You blink, his voice drawing you back out of your thoughts. “You may take a seat if you’d like.”

“Okay.”

Maybe you’re the only one who feels weird about it. He seems completely unaffected, like you’re a normal patient, ever the professional. You awkwardly drag a stool a little closer to his desk, just far enough to not seem weird and so it doesn’t feel like you’re looking over his shoulder.

After the silence goes a tick too long, you can’t help but break it, fingers fiddling nervously with your sweater, “How have you been, Doctor Zayne?”

A faint smile ghosts across his lips. You haven’t changed one bit.

“I’ve been well, thank you for asking. Work has become quite constant, so I’m afraid I haven’t been able to accept many of Josephine’s dinner invitations.” His eyes dart over to you briefly before focusing back on his screen. “You look like you’ve been doing well since we last saw each other.”

“I have,” you chirp, anxiety easing up a bit, “I’m really close to being finished with training and finally joining the Hunters Association. You should try to make it to dinner this week though! Grandma really misses you. She talks about you all the time.” You falter, cheeks warming a little. “...We’re all really proud of you, Zayne.”

Zayne’s fingers freeze against the tablet. An indecipherable look crosses his face, but he schools his features quickly and gives you a small smile.

“Thank you…you both have always been so kind to me,” he murmurs and finally turns to face you, “I’ll try my best to make it to dinner this week.”

Your face lights up, excitement sparking in your eyes. “Okay! I’ll let her know! She’ll probably make all your favorites. They haven’t changed, right?”

Zayne shakes his head, and you can’t help but kick your feet giddily. It’ll be nice to catch up. You have so many questions, and also so many stories to tell from your training days.

“Now that those plans are made, shall we proceed with your exam?”

“Right, right.” You almost forgot that’s what you’re here for. Nerves coming back, you shuffle on top of the stool. “What do you need me to do?”

“First, if you would remove your jacket, I’ll take your blood pressure and listen to your heart,” he instructs, voice settling back into something professional and neutral.

As Zayne turns away to fetch whatever tools he needs, you make quick work of taking your jacket off. The room is a little chillier than you expect. You wrap your arms around yourself to chase away the goosebumps that erupt across your skin. Your eyes stay glued on Zayne though, watching as he pulls a stethoscope and blood pressure monitor from one of his drawers.

“Do you usually do exams in your office?” You ask offhandedly.

“Not usually. As a cardiothoracic surgeon, I don’t often conduct general exams,” he hums, cleaning off the blood pressure cuff with a sterile wipe.

“Am I special or something, then?”

“With the rarity of your protocore syndrome, I thought it would be most effective to handle your care myself, yes. Though if it makes you uncomfortable we can-”

Zayne’s words cut off as he finally looks back at you. Surprise flickers across his face.

You freeze like a deer caught in headlights, though you don’t know why. Is there something on your face? A stain on your tank top? You glance down, finding nothing of the sort.

“What? What is it? Do I have something on me?” Your hands flicker up to your face, but you don’t feel anything.

Zayne blinks and shakes his head as if coming out of a stupor. The lightest blush warms his ears.

“My apologies. I just wasn’t aware you had so many tattoos.”

Oh. Holding out your arms, you look over the expanse of ink on your skin. You guess it’s a lot. It has taken you a few years, but you’ve effectively covered your arms and shoulders in art. Most of it is florals, with small, meaningful symbols or items hidden in the foliage. You also have a few others, though they’re covered by your clothes.

“I guess you wouldn’t have seen them,” you hum thoughtfully, “I wear a lot of long sleeves to Grandma’s dinners. And work requires us to cover them up.”

“They’re quite intricate.” He sets his tools aside, drawing his chair closer to you. His hand reaches for your arm, but pauses, his eyes darting up to yours. “May I?”

“Go for it,” you whisper, feeling a little bashful now that his attention is focused solely on you.

His fingers graze your wrist lightly, as if he’s scared to press too hard. You watch as he silently turns your arm over, taking in every minute detail of your tattoos. He lingers a little longer on the small, anatomical heart at the center of it all, surrounded by gentle jasmines. They’re incredibly well done, even he can see that, and they all look like they were done some time ago.

Something melancholic and sentimental settles in his chest.

“I remember when you were just a little girl, crying over her popsicle…You truly are all grown up now, aren’t you?” His voice is thick with something you can’t quite pinpoint, his touch turning impossibly tender as he traces the lines up your elbow.

Your heart flutters a little too wildly for your likings. “You’re all grown up too, mister chief cardiac surgeon. That’s a lot bigger than some tattoos.”

Another smile pulls at his lips, breaking his impassive facade.

“These have all healed well, though,” Zayne says, a spark of mischief flickering in his eyes as that strange emotion recedes, “You must have taken good care of them, and that alone is an impressive feat for you. That’s how I know you’ve grown up.”

A mock gasp escapes you and you pull your hand away to press it against your chest. If only to break the contact so he doesn’t notice your racing pulse.

“Doctor Zayne, I am deeply offended at your insinuation,” you insist vehemently, “I am a responsible person, soon to be an amazing hunter! I know how to take care of myself.”

“Says the woman who walked on a sprained ankle for a week out of pure stubbornness.”

“How was I supposed to know it was sprained?”

“I told you it was.”

---

Xavier

The first time Xavier sees your tattoos is after a mission that doesn’t go quite right. You come home with a bandage wrapped around your shoulder and chest, and the added instructions to change the gauze once a day. Which, of course, you can’t do yourself.

“Xav?”

Xavier glances up from where he’s sitting in the sun, a book long forgotten in his lap. Those sleepy blue eyes land on you questioning. You shuffle awkwardly in the doorway, a roll of gauze in your hand.

“Would you help me real quick?” You mumble, a soft blush warming your cheeks, “I can’t uh, I can’t change them myself.”

“Of course,” he hums immediately, standing and stretching languidly, much like a cat. “I am at your service, my lady.”

“Thanks,” you sigh, shoulders sagging, which sends a twinge of pain down your arm.

It was a nasty cut. You had been so focused on fighting one wanderer that you hadn’t noticed another smaller one appearing behind you. It was your fault, and thankfully it didn’t hit anything serious, but it was in just the right place to make moving your arm difficult.

Xavier silently leads you back into the kitchen. Taking the bandages from your hand, he pulls out a chair and motions for you to sit. You do so carefully, not wanting to jostle your body too much. The hunter sets the gauze aside and kneels down in front of you, his fingers finding the hem of your sweater and pausing, placid blue eyes turning up to you in question.

Ever the gentleman.

A tiny smile pulling at your lips, you offer him a small nod. That’s all he needs to pull it off, his hands moving slowly, with the utmost care. Thankfully, the room isn’t too cold, the setting sun pouring through the window and warming the space. The fabric musses your hair as he slips it over your head, and you instinctively reach up to fix it.

Completely missing the way Xavier’s eyes go wide as he looks down at you.

There aren’t a lot of things that catch the hunter off guard. But the ink covering your skin certainly does. Even with the bandages, he can tell it’s expansive, curling around your shoulders, dipping down your upper arms, painting the entirety of your back. It’s reminiscent of Starry Night, hundreds if not thousands of strokes forming delicate lines that follow the natural curves of your body, flowing so beautifully that they practically beg his fingers to trace them.

And as always with you, Xavier has a startling lack of self-control.

You blink at the feeling of his fingers grazing your uninjured shoulder. His touch is so light, you could almost mistake it for a breath. Almost like he’s worried he’ll hurt you.

“Is something wrong?” You ask, voice twinged with concern as you try and twist to look at where his touch lingers against your skin.

“Stay still,” Xavier orders gently, and you freeze, brows arching in confusion. Realizing you're panicking a little, the hunter leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, offering a soft explanation, “You never told me you have so many tattoos. I simply want to appreciate them.”

“Oh.” Your nerves fizzle out, replaced with an embarrassed tinge of excitement. So that’s what this is about. “I forgot I haven’t shown you them yet. I guess I’m so used to them that I forget they’re there, especially since I have to cover them for work.”

Xavier shifts behind you, fingers following the lines over your shoulder. They bleed into a wash of color, dark blue and purple and pink splashes across your back. A small planet of light sits between your shoulder blades, numerous stars dancing around it. His touch lingers on the planet, a flicker of light spilling from his fingers as his evol reacts unprovoked.

“What made you choose this?” He asks, voice wavering imperceptibly.

“I’m not sure,” you hum, shrugging your good shoulder, “I’ve always liked space. My grandma used to take me to the planetarium a lot when I was young, and I used to have dreams about it, of floating between planets and exploring the stars. I always felt drawn to this one planet, it was so pretty and it looked like it was made of light, but I could never reach it…”

Philos.

Something twinges in Xavier’s chest. How strange. You don’t remember the planet, that’s for certain, yet some part of you was still connected to it. To your home. To him. All this time…

“It’s beautiful,” he all but whispers.

Heat tinges your cheeks. That’s not usually what people say. It’s not for everyone, you know that. It’s a lot of ink, but you dreamt for so long about getting it. Still, most people usually just make offhand comments, not exactly rude, but not exactly compliments either. Like, oh that must have hurt a lot. Or, you must have saved a lot of money, huh?

Never beautiful.

And yet Xavier traces your ink with what almost feels like admiration. It makes your heart flutter with an uncharacteristic shyness, shoulders jolting up to your neck.

That’s when you remember your injury.

Letting out a low hiss, you drop your shoulder quickly as pain sizzles down your arm. Both of you had practically forgotten about it, caught in the moment. Xavier’s brow furrows again, an apology floating past his lips as he draws his fingers away - much to your disappointment.

“It’s okay,” you breathe, offering him a weak smile, “I just pulled it a little funny. We should probably check it, though.”

“Alright, I’ll be gentle,” he murmurs as he reaches for the edge of your bandage.

“...Thanks, by the way.”

You’re not sure what exactly you’re thanking him for. Helping you or his sweet reaction to the art decorating your skin. Maybe both.

And Xavier must know. He leans down, lips ghosting over your shoulder is an adoring kiss.

“Of course, my star.”

---

Sylus

The first time Sylus sees your tattoos is, of course, on the night you attend the auction. There’s no hiding the ink covering your body when you’re wearing a dress, after all. If anything, though, you think they’ll help you fit in a little better in the N109 Zone.

And you love the reaction Sylus gives you when you step out into the foyer.

For the briefest moment, his eyes go wide. Shock, perhaps the rarest emotion you’ve never had the pleasure of seeing on him, flashes behind those carmine eyes. In an instant, it disappears though, hidden with his usual cocky expression, one of his fine brow ticking up in amusement.

“I’ll admit, sweetie,” the man hums, “You’ve surprised me.”

You flash him a cat-like grin, satisfaction burning deep in your veins, and give a little theatrical spin, “Not what you were expecting, huh?”

Hardly a single part of your body remains untouched by ink. Most of the designs are artistic. Flourishing lines twisting and curling around your muscles, strangely reminiscent of the form his evol takes. They form a network of delicate webs across your body, sometimes forming shapes, sometimes with words written along the fine linework.

It’s hauntingly beautiful. Sylus can’t help but let his eyes slowly rove over your form, taking in every detail. They’re like a map, and his fingers are itching to explore every part of you, to see just how far the ink slips below the hem of the dress. A dress which he bought for you yet can’t be bothered to even notice now, not with such a dazzling sight set before him.

“Who knew the kitten would turn into a tigress at night,” he murmurs, voice going low and teasing as he slowly circles around you, a predatory glint in his eyes.

Your boldness wavers.

Sylus always seems to have that effect on you. Like a lamb straying from the herd and being found by the wolf. Prey before a predator starved, maw open and hungry, as if he could consume you whole. And all you can do is hold your ground, even if your legs shake, like that little lamb’s.

“Careful, Sylus,” you whisper, trying to appear unshaken by not following him with your eyes, despite the unease you feel not knowing exactly where he is, “This tiger has claws.”

You feel more than hear his presence come up behind you. A shiver traces down your spine when his breath skates over your ear, warm and far too intentional. In the same way, his fingers trace reverently down your arm, following the path of your ink, until they can intertwine with yours and draw your hand up to his lips.

“And that’s how I prefer you.” His voice is low, a mere rumble against your skin as he kisses your knuckles. Another shudder. “After all, it would be a shame to declaw such a beautiful creature. Even if she likes to scratch.”

God, you hate him.

You hate that it takes everything in you to rip yourself away from his enticing warmth. You hate that your heart is racing against your ribs, like it’s trying desperately to escape. And you especially hate the absolutely smug grin that plays on his lips (and the fact that you want to kiss it so badly).

“You’re teasing me,” you breathe unsteadily, putting space between the two of you.

Something dark flashes in his eyes, “Whatever do you mean, sweetie? I was merely giving you a compliment.”

“Then you give weird compliments,” you fire back, arms wrapping around yourself. “It sounds more like you’re making fun of me.”

Sylus pauses. Those ruby red eyes narrow on you thoughtfully, his lips pressing into a thin line. A tick of silence. Then his expression smoothes into something almost soft, and he takes a few measured steps towards you. Long fingers graze your palm again. A question.

And you give in far too easily, not fighting as he intertwines your fingers once again. His other hand skirts along your exposed shoulder, following the lines of your tattoo as they fade at your neck. You’re frozen under the sudden tenderness of his touch, your pulse racing against his fingertips.

“My apologies, kitten. That wasn’t my intention,” he murmurs, eyes boring into yours with an unnerving genuineness, “I simply meant that your tattoos are...befitting of your character. You are truly…” He looks you over once more, his gaze leaving a tantalizing heat in its wake. That dangerous smile curls his lips again. “Captivating.”

You inhale shakily.

No one has said something like that to you before. Not that you can remember, at least. It would sound cheesy from someone else, but from Sylus? The intensity of his tone leaves you feeling as unsteady as your heart. Lightheaded.

All you can do is blink up at him, eyes wide and doe-ish. No smart retort or comeback. Your mouth, in fact, feels remarkably dry. It fills the man with a touch of pride, rendering you so speechless.

Not one to let you stay dumbfounded for too long, though, Sylus lets out a smooth chuckle and taps your chin, “Careful, sweetie. If you look at me like that, I might just think you’re falling for me.”

Which of course works. Because he knows you better than you know yourself.

“I am not!” You squawk, face going up in flames. “You just surprised me, that's all! I didn’t know you were capable of such niceties.”

Sylus grins, drawing away as you swat at his hand, “Then it seems that we’re even.”

You scowl at him. So not fair.

“Now, would you like to accompany me to this auction, sweetheart?” He offers his arm. You keep your pout up for only a few seconds before giving in and slipping your hand around his elbow begrudgingly. Sylus hums in amusement, leaning in to press a ghost of a kiss against your cheek. “Looking like this, you’ll have no trouble getting the results you’ve been searching for, tonight. You’ll be the perfect distraction, my dear.”

“Well then, let’s not keep them waiting, shall we?”

---

Not gonna lie, Sylus' was probably my favorite. In my head I was kind of picturing the tattoos that Anthony Padilla has (from smosh, yes, sue me), and I just think he would totally call you a tiger since he likes calling you kitten.

Hope y'all enjoyed!

I'm really feeling some angst next possibly...

661 notes · View notes

shadowdaddies · 3 months ago

Note

I would love an Azriel x reader where they are friends and they have a conversation and Azriel’s scars come up. And he talks about how he hates them and always tried to hide his hands. Then the reader says something about how they find them sexy because all the textures and bumps would feel amazing in the bedroom. Then Az just flabbergasted because he never thought of it like that

Hi! Thank you for the request, lovely. Sorry this took me so long, I hope it is worth the wait.💜

Your Touch

Azriel x f!Reader

warnings: smut below the cut, oral f!receiving, allusions to past injury

Cool autumn wind blew gently across your face, blowing strands of your hair to tickle your cheeks as you stepped outside to the training ring. It was a quiet morning, too early for anyone else to be up, or so you thought. The sound of metal brushing stone drowned out the birds’ morning chirps, drawing you toward the source of the disruptive noise.

Azriel’s dark form contrasted against the light morning mist, the Shadowsinger’s large wings folded tightly behind him as he hunched over his treasured blade. Eyebrows furrowed with focus, Az sharply dragged Truth Teller along the whetstone with more force than usual.

You were one of few who recognized the spymaster’s subtle tells, who knew when something was bothering him. The way he gripped his blade, scarred hands flexing with each purposeful stroke against the stone... With a flush you looked away just in time before hazel eyes flicked to you.

It was a practiced dance, a rhythm that flowed in flawless agony each time you caught yourself staring at your best friend. That tug in your chest that pulled you to find him in moments like this also let you know when he could feel you - your eyes on him, your presence - but you would not let him feel your longing.

He was the most thoughtful, loyal male you had ever known, and nothing was worth risking losing his place in your life. So you looked away, time after time, in hopes of keeping him around in any way possible.

“You’re up early,” his warm voice rumbled, snapping you from your spiraling thoughts. Forcing your gaze to his, you thanked the Mother for the cool breeze disguising the blush on your cheeks. You smiled, watching the gold in his eyes shimmer as he offered a small smile back.

“I could say the same to you,” you countered, willing courage into your bones and urging them forward to find your seat next to Azriel on the bench. His wrist flicked blade against stone once more, sparks flying as he huffed a tense breath. “Please be careful, Az,” you murmured, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him. “You’ll cut your hand,” you added, nodding to his other hand which held the whetstone.

A short, humorless laugh escaped him, no hesitation in his reply. “As if they could look any worse.”

You both grew immediately still, hearts pounding now louder than the birds in the trees, Azriel’s words hanging in the air like a dark cloud. You tracked how his throat rolled, another tell of nerves, of what he’d admitted.

“Azriel,” you whispered, taking the opportunity of his pause to reach for his arm as you looked into his eyes. You could see the emotions warring within them, the deep tortures of his past swirling, same as those thoughts eddied into darkness itself. “Your hands are beautiful.”

His eyes shuttered at your words, body tensing but not moving away from your reassuring touch. “Do not feel pity for me,” Az gritted out, his chest rising dramatically with unreadable emotion. “I know the hideous scars I have bared my entire life. Do not pretend they’re beautiful when I know they’re not.”

Something sparked inside of you at his words, as if the Mother herself propelled you to take his hands more firmly in yours. The intensity in your gaze drew Azriel from his stupor, his lips slightly parting as he looked at you in wonder.

“I do not ‘pretend’ anything about you is beautiful, Azriel. I know you are. And your hands...” You paused, allowing your gaze to drift to where you held him, his palms laid gently against your fingers. You stroked the skin there, the grooves and ridges surprisingly soft against your own. Earlier thoughts of those hands, how they might touch you, incensed your mind, leading your thoughts astray - for only a moment.

Azriel cleared his throat, drawing your eyes back to his own where instead of those earlier emotions, now lay a hint of mischief. “My hands...?” he questioned, brows raised in intrigue.

No weather could disguise the burning of your cheeks now, no birds to drown out the nervous laughter that escaped you. “I, um... I think they are very nice,” you managed, dropping his hands and quickly shifting slightly away.

“They’re nice?” Azriel pressed, his curiosity only growing from your statement.

Breathless, you continued, something in your gut giving you the bravery to finally share a small part of what you felt for Azriel with him. “Yes, they’re... they would feel nice.” Panicked gaze finding his, you amended, “I mean, they do feel nice. Just now, when I held them.”

Azriel was now smiling down at you with an amused grin. “No, you said they would feel nice... What does that mean?”

Fumbling over words, none came to you. Feeling like a rabbit caught in a snare, you prepared to run when those hands found yours. Azriel pulled you close, holding you in place more surely than gravity as one scarred finger ever so lightly traced your cheek.

“Tell me where they would feel good,” he purred, voice low and commanding as you leaned into his touch.

“Everywhere,” you breathed.

Instantly, Azriel’s hands were everywhere, grabbing any part of you he could as the two of you frantically stripped each other of your leathers. Laying you down against the training mat, Az’s black hair fell around his face as he grinned and lowered his lips to yours. Soft but precise, he knew exactly what he was doing as your body became aflame beneath his.

Lips and hands trailed down your body, leaving reminders of your pleasure in their path before he paused above your pussy, so warm against the cool autumn air. “I want to hear how good this feels,” Az murmured, giving no explanation before his finger barely grazed your clit, sliding down to your core.

You had never felt more vindicated than in that moment, when reality proved better than fiction. Azriel’s warm breath fanned over your heat as he watched your reaction to his touch, finger slowly teasing inside of you before he added another.

Your mewls and gasps echoed through the open air along with his name, giving Azriel satisfaction as his wrist flicked and curled his fingers, working you as expertly as his blade. The moment his lips touched your clit, you were gone. Back arched off the mat, you felt the cool breeze against your sweaty, writhing body.

Azriel continued working you through your high, pulling his hand from your cunt to hold it in the light for the both of you to see. Studying the glistening coat of your slick on his fingers, Azriel hummed. “That is beautiful,” he murmured, before turning to lock eyes with you while he licked his digits clean, openly groaning at the taste.

Smirking up at him, you lunged to pull Az back towards you, eager to have your hands on him now, but the shadowsinger held your wrists, stepping back with a ‘tsk.’

“We’ll have time for that later,” he winked, tossing you your clothes. “Training starts in two minutes.”

Jaw slack, you prepared to argue with him when you heard the doors open, Nesta and Cassian’s voices echoing as you scrambled to get into your leathers before they could see.

“Gods, it reeks of sex in here,” Nesta groaned, silvery eyes scanning until they landed between you and Azriel. A brief smirk graced her lips before she muttered something that sounded like “finally,” smacking a chuckling Cassian on the shoulder and settling in on the other side of the training area.

You looked to where Azriel stood in the spot where he’d just worshipped your body, gaze not shying away in the slightest from his satisfied smirk as you calculated the time until training was over.

657 notes · View notes

bunnys-kisses · 3 months ago

Note

Hi there! I was wondering if I could get mushroom pie and ice cream bars with a side of juice and ✨Vampire! Max Verstappen? ✨

I love your writing so much! And the bakery theme is my favorite thing 🥰

bakery menu

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu!!! want more vampire!max or something else that might tickle your fancy? then the bakery is open for requests!! thank you so, @fictional-babes-inc for this darling of a request. i've been pondering vampire or monster!max, like oh god! so thank you for this treat, it was great to make for you! enjoy!!

mushroom pie ("if you don't shut up. i'm going to shut you up.") + ice cream bar (“did you see the way he was eyeing you? he needs to know you're mine.") + juice (cockwarming) served by vampire!max verstappen (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, vampire!max, vampire au, possessive behaviour/jealousy, cockwarming, human!reader, mentions of blood, biting, facetimes (exhibitionism), degrading language, clit playing

max thought that the marks on your neck were enough to let others know what you were taken. bringing a human into the fold with a bunch of vampires could cause some problems if one of them got the wrong idea. you belonged to max, and any vampire with at least one working eye could see that. how you tucked yourself neatly into your lover's side, let him taste your blood. docile and beautiful doing so.

but max knew charles well enough, the two had been immortal for about the same time. he knew that if you had max's name printed across your chest, charles would still flash those boyish smiles at you. get in a little too close, let those green eyes of his hypnotize you the way it had so many women.

max was a possessive creature of the night and charles loved to get under his skin.

"max."

"i don't want to hear it." you were both in the car. it was well into the night and max was driving you both back home.

his eyes were on the road, he refused to make eye contact. the thrum of envy engulfed his stomach. he gripped your soft thigh a little harder, if he wanted to, he could break the bone.

but max didn't break his toys. even if they disobeyed him.

"if you don't shut up. i'm going to shut you up." he said, his eyes flickered to you for a moment. they were blue, but a dangerous kind of blue. like the deepest part of the oceans. the all consuming nature of him.

you swallowed, "charles meant nothing by it. you knew how he is. he's a flirt. you know i'd never leave you. i promise." you bottom lip wobbled. humans, always so emotional.

as if max wasn't seething with jealousy.

when you both got home, you were brought to the couch in the living room. you cunt ached at the feeling of him tugging down your skirt, threatening to rip it at the seems.

your vampire boyfriend really hated the idea of another undead creature of the night putting his hands all over you. like he owned you.

he ran his fingers across your clothed slit and watched your squirm. oh, you were just lovely weren't you. he felt something rise inside of him as he eyed your heated body.

you looked so innocent, so human with all that blood in your body. sizzling under the heat of his sexual advances.

he got you out of your blouse and pulled the bra off of you. he stripped you bare and got his face up into your neck and sank his teeth into you. not enough to draw blood, but enough to bruise the sweet peach he called his beloved.

he got you up into his lap, seated upright against him. he got his cock out of his slacks before he pushed you down onto him. the sudden feeling of his cock inside of you made your breathing stagger for a moment.

you let out a small moan, but soon you were bent over as max propped his phone up on some books on the coffee table. you whimpered instead of asking what he was doing.

he just said, “did you see the way he was eyeing you, my love? he needs to know you're mine." he said it like a promise which made you stomach do a flip.

soon he was facetiming charles as you stayed seated on his cock. this possessive vampire! you squirmed a little but, max stayed close and started to play with your clit.

charles answered it, he was in bed and his eyes went wide at the sight before him. there you were, in max's lap with his cock stuffed into your pretty hole and his large fingers rubbing against your clit.

vampires really didn't have a sense of decency did they? regardless it made you run hot, your throbbing pulse enticed him.

"holy my." charles said as he shifted a little in his spot on the bed. you could feel the leer of his gaze through the phone screen, "you're certain she wasn't a prostitute before you met, max?"

"no. her father of a vampire hunter wouldn't have let her. she had never ever sucked cock before i got to her. poor thing, completely taken apart by the vampires."

you looked away, but max's words were biting as he told you to face his phone. look at charles while you did your job and kept max's cock warm. they spoke of you like you weren't in the room with them, like max's cock wasn't spearing you.

but you wouldn't move your hips as his cock filled you. you tried to get some sense of control by holding onto your knees. but soon max held you throat with his other hand, keeping your back to his chest.

"so, charles." max said as he continued to play with you. his fingers were methodical as they moved.

charles chuckled, "possessive, max? you could've just sent a photo. but, no, you have to put it right in my face.... but you know she'd look better with my fangs in that soft stomach of hers."

max sneered, "shut up, charles. you see this." he held your throat a little tighter, "this is mine. you have all of monaco to seduce. she is with me."

charles laughed at the petty jealous words, it was honestly funny to him, "oh max. i'll get her soon. you and i can have a take about what to do with your little pet."

vampires always so high and mighty.

you were a little beauty to max, the favourite thing to keep his cock warm. and he made sure you did a good job, he wouldn't have you slacking. he kept you seated on his cock, unmoving while he worked your slick pussy.

"max. ah!" you whimpered.

max sighed, "keep quiet. bad pets don't get to complain."

you clenched around his cock as you tried to grip onto his forearms. you looked like a debauched mess against him. letting charles drink in the sight of you. the other vampire didn't touch himself, rather he was enticed by the sight of you.

all the men, women and others in monaco, and charles yearned to dig his cock and fangs into you. see what the lover of his rival and friend felt and tasted like. was it rich like a large meal, or was it sweet fruit in the late summer.

what did you taste like, little human?

max took you by the jaw and turned your head to the side, exposing your neck and letting him take a bite into you. once again, only enough to bruise. the intimate act of drinking blood was only for his eyes.

you felt your head grow heavy from the entire thing. the pleasure damped any bad thoughts you were having. you could hear charles' voice when he said, "seems she enjoys this too much, max.'

max worked your pussy harder as you remained soaked around his hard cock, that was dribbling pre-cum into your poor cunt. he smirked at charles before he sank his teeth in fully.

to damn with convention, he wanted to make his stake clear.

it sent you over the edge. you came around his cock and it made him tense up. he licked at the blood as he slowed down his fingers. you went soft against his chest and let your lover do what he pleased.

"and charles... don't touch what is mine again." he could see how flustered charles was. max then ended the call before you were shoved over the coffee table, the books shoved off the table. your ass up in the air as he tossed his phone to the side. he needed you.

he needed you now.

the following week, you were with the vampires once more. they had been nice enough to give the human guests something to nosh on while the creatures discussed all matters.

you could feel charles' gaze from the couch. you felt heat run through you once he approached you. his hand on your thigh, pushing up the short dress you owned.

he chuckled, "a sundress for the lover of one of the most important vampires on the continent." he leaned in a little closer, "i think you'd look pretty in something darker. something that didn't make you look like prey."

you felt your heart stagger.

"charles... that's enough." max said as he cut into the little scene on the couch.

charles just smiled, "i wasn't actually going to bite her."

max raised his eyebrows then said, "if you're going to try and fuck her, charles. i must be present there too." it was his compromise, if charles leclerc wanted you so badly. then what was stopping him? but if he was going to take that chance, it would be under the watchful eye of your vampire lover. <3

437 notes · View notes

runicarbiter02 · 2 years ago

Note

How would each CoD character react to you touching their cheek for the first time? (In a caressing way)

A/N: Oh my god, this is actually the cutest and I couldn't think of a better way to start off this blog, thank you for this, love! I hope you enjoy! ~ Hannah

ALEX KELLER

Oh, this man is absolutely melting the second your hand cups the side of his face.

The goofiest damn grin on his face, corners of his eyes crinkling, soft laugh rumbling in his chest.

"How ya doing, sweetheart? Hanging in there?" Man is always concerned with you and your well-being.

Absolutely is the type of person to just completely nuzzle into your touch, soft sigh of content leaving his lips.

You aren't getting your hand back any time soon. Try and pull away, and he will absolutely pull the kicked puppy look. You can't bring yourself to pull away anyway.

ALEJANDRO VARGAS

"Oh, is there something you need, mi vida?" This motherfucker and his sweet, smooth voice. Love him.

He will gently draw you in close with a hand on your waist, that signature cheeky grin on his lips. He'll gently take your hand in his and just press sweet kisses to your fingertips.

This will lead to him pulling you aside for a moment, peppering you in sweet kisses and showering you in the most endearing compliments in Spanish.

Expect to be walking away with a spring in your step and a flushed face.

GARY "ROACH" SANDERSON

At first, he will look wildly confused, his brows furrowing slightly and his head cocking to the side.

"What's up, hun? Everything okay?" He signs the term of endearment with so much passion every time, it is absolutely the sweetest and most heartwarming thing. Any term of endearment he uses is always signed with more passion than anything else.

Once you let him know you just wanted to love on him, this cheeky little shit is flirting with you like crazy.

"Oh, just wanted to love on me, huh? Well, there's more ways you could-" He cuts his signing off with his own laughter when you playfully shove his face away, and he follows after you, making obnoxious kissy noises.

He makes it up to you, though, with the most affectionate kisses. He's goofy and that reflects in how he shows you his love.

(Can you tell I love Roach? I love him very much.)

JOHNNY "SOAP" MACTAVISH

Johnny will take your other hand, place it on his other cheek, and will gently press your hands against his cheeks to squish his face.

He hums happily, reveling in your touch as his eyes shut and his lips curl into a smile.

"Always know what I need before I even do, mo chridhe." This man is so, so whipped for you. Looks at you with so much love and affection that you might as well melt before him.

Do expect this to end up with you wrapped up in his arms, snuggled close, the Scotsman whispering some of the stupidest jokes known to man to you in an effort to get you to laugh.

JOHN PRICE

I have like a very specific image in mind for this one!

He tends to work himself to the bone, getting lost and caught up in his work, and its very, very hard to get him out of it. It's one of those nights where you find him hunched over his desk, nose buried in his work.

You walk up behind him, gently resting your hand on his cheek and he pauses, tilting his head back to look up at you.

Despite the exhaustion, his expression softens, the tender smile on his face highlighting the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes.

"It's late, isn't it...? Mmm... Alright, dearest, I'll head to bed."

He gently grasps your wrist and tilts his head to press a fleeting kiss to your palm, and then to the pulse point on your wrist. It takes a bit more convincing before he's off to bed.

(I'm a bit biased, I'm a major John Price simp if you couldn't tell.)

KEEGAN RUSS

Look, I firmly believe our resident masked men are softies, but they're all different in terms of their softness.

This man is a softie with you, but good god, is he suave and flirty.

"Mmm, what's up, kid...? Just looking for an excuse to see my face, hm? All you had to do was ask." It should be illegal how much this man's voice sounds like a silky purr.

Soft kisses to your fingers, knuckles, and the back of your palm. Fleeting kisses that barely meet, brushing against your skin and leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake.

"Always so sweet for me, kid."

KÖNIG

(Apparently this man is a colonel? And from what I've seen, if he joined at 18, and if we take the average amount of time it takes to get to that rank... This man is likely in his early 40s. Dilf König? Dilf König.)

Masked man number two! Softie, but different from Keegan. This man is the shy sort of soft.

I imagine this would happen after he shows you his face for the first time. He grew up bullied for his appearance, among other things, and its made him rather insecure about his looks.

When you gently cup the side of his face after studying him for a moment, he heaves a shuddering sigh and averts his gaze shyly. But, the second you tell him how handsome he is, his face goes pink and he flushes shyly.

"Ah, meine Sonne und Sterne... You're going to make me melt." He then proceeds to kiss you softly on the forehead and tells you how much he loves you.

KYLE "GAZ" GARRICK

A pleasant flush works its way onto his cheeks and he gives you that beautiful smile full of sunshine.

"Missed you, lovely. You been taking good care of yourself?" Sweet, heartless man that he is, worrying about you even though he looks exhausted after his most recent mission.

Gently draws you into him and just hugs you tight, pressing his face into the crook of your neck and sighing happily. The second your cologne or perfume washes over him, all tension leaves him completely.

"Missed this. Missed you." Whispered words against your skin. He gently sways in place with you as you two embrace, his hand coming to rest on the back of your head. Fully cherishes the moment.

"How's about some takeout and we finally watch that show you've been talking about? The House of the Dragon, right? Hopefully its better than the last few seasons of Game of Thrones." You have a stellar date in as you binge the entirety of The House of the Dragon and make up for lost cuddling time.

(Gaz does NOT get enough love and it's criminal. Perfect boyfriend/husband material right here. I adore him. Also? Man is absolutely gorgeous? Best man.)

NIKOLAI

(Russian dilf? Yes please! Underrated man right here.)

Late nights in bed, curled up with him are always the sweetest. Soft whispered nothings as you both lay together, skin on skin, fully content in a post sex haze.

He shoots you a lazy grin as you cup his face, his hand gently rubbing up and down the expanse of your back. "What's on your mind, мое солнышко? Laying there looking so stunning..."

Soft, playful kisses are placed along your jaw, a cheeky smirk on his lips when you begin to protest, laughter in your voice.

"One more round wouldn't hurt... We can sleep in tomorrow morning, Золотце." You know damn well you're going to be exhausted in the morning as he takes the time to worship every inch of your skin.

RODOLFO "RUDY" PARRA

(Rudy, my darling, my beloved, my SWEET! This man is also criminally underrated even though he's PERFECT husband material. SHAME!)

He happily returns the favor as you rest your hand against his cheek, his hand cupping your cheek as he rests his forehead against yours.

"Long day, cariño? Mmm, I understand... I'll draw us a bath and we can relax." He takes your hand, pressing sweet kisses to your knuckles before he draws a bath for the both of you.

You both spend most of the evening in the tub, you resting against his back as he holds you close, featherlight kisses pressed to your skin as you both talk about your day.

The both of you take such good care of each other, and there's never less than 100% put into your relationship on both sides.

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY

Masked softie number 3: Tender and longing edition.

His night terrors don't often wake you; he's usually fairly good at hiding them. The first time he does wake you is during a particularly violent one that has him thrashing and crying out in his sleep.

He wakes not long after you do, sweating and panting, his voice hoarse from how much he had been crying out. Once you're sure he's fully conscious, you gently rest your hand against his cheek and guide him through a grounding routine: 5 things he sees, 4 people he knows, 3 foods he likes, 2 things he hates, and one thing he loves.

As he talks, you become his sole focus as the night terror fades into the back of his mind, the grounding method working wonders.

And when it comes to the one thing he loves, he shuts his eyes and presses further into your touch, a few tears streaking down his cheeks. One hand gently clutches your wrist while the other rests against yours, holding your hand against his cheek. He doesn't need to say it. You know.

You always, always know. And with a kiss to his forehead and your thumb stroking against his cheek, you let him know. I love you too.

[I'M SORRY IF ANY OF THE TRANSLATIONS ARE INCORRECT, I TRIED MY BEST TO GET THE PROPER ONES!]

Mi vida - My life; honey

Mo chridhe - My heart

Meine Sonne und Sterne - My sun and stars

мое солнышко - My sunshine

Золотце - Honey; darling

Cariño - Honey; dear

TAGLIST:

@floral-force

7K notes · View notes

sarahs-library · 1 year ago

Text

Forgotten

In which an unfortunate turn of events leads to Azriel forgetting his very pregnant mate.

Words: 2541

A/N - Hi everyone, this is my first foray into publishing work online and like everyone else I am preparing for CC3 by re-reading all of SJM's work. I've been inspired by all the lovely Azriel/Reader pieces I've seen on tumblr as of late and have decided to contribute my own.

Part Two ☪ Part Three

Forgotten Universe: Pretty Eyes

Azriel

Heavy waves of unconsciousness threatened to drag Azriel further, deeper into the abyss. The roaring in his ears drowned out rational thought. Tongue dragging against the roof of his dry mouth he reached out for something to anchor him, carting his hands through silk sheets. His skin burned.

“Azriel?” Elain’s sweet voice floated through the darkness. Azriel fought against the fatigue to open his eyes. The brightness strained and he tried to focus. Light filtered through the window, highlighting beautiful features and the golden hues of her hair. She leaned forward, taking a pitcher of water from the bedside table to fill a glass, holding it up to his lips so he could drink. A small smile quirked the corner of his mouth in gratitude and he worked his dry lips around the rim. One hand came up to support the glass, holding it over Elain’s own, an excuse to feel her smooth sun-kissed skin.

He hadn’t seen her since the disaster of the almost kiss and his words, ‘this was a mistake’, had haunted him endlessly in his sleepless nights. The regret hadn’t stopped the images that plagued him. How she would look underneath him, or riding him, the faces she’d make as he brought her pleasure, the sweet songs she’d sing for him as she climaxed. Even Rhy’s warning hadn’t been able to tame the desire he felt for the middle Archeron sister; in his half delirious state he was content to take advantage of the closeness the opportunity offered. His eyes roamed her face, following the tantalizingly exposed skin of her neck down to where the bust of her pale pink gown hid her breasts from his view.

Satiated, he pulled his head away and managed to croak out a small word of thanks. Elain’s brows furrowed as she searched his face for something, finding it lacking.

“We’ve all been so worried about you.” Azriel frowned, finding it difficult to care about anything other than admiring her beauty in the light provided by the rising sun. He made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat and traced the delicate bones of her wrist under his fingers where his large hand still dwarfed hers. She pulled back, placing the glass on the bedside table and he felt words of protest trying to break free. Come back he thought, his appetite to feel more of her supple skin under his own ignited.

Contentment rose in him as she leaned closer once more, this time placing the back of her hand against his forehead. Perspiration clung between their skin; Azriel resisted closing his eyes and basking in the warmth erupting in his chest. Memories of his mother flooded back, in a daze he felt himself being carried through the few times in his childhood when she’d been able to care for him as he had yearned for. This position brought Elain even closer to him, affording him a delightful view of what lay beneath the top of her dress with a downward cast of his eyes. He soaked in where the tan from her time in the gardens morphed into untouched alabaster and ruminated on how it would taste under his tongue.

“You’re still burning up, I’ll send for Madja.”

“No,” he reached to grasp her hand as she pulled back. “Stay.”

Elain worried her plump bottom lip between her teeth as she fixed her rich chestnut eyes on his face. Azriel couldn’t draw his gaze away from how the baby-soft skin looked trapped under her incisor, imagining how it would feel under his own. He watched as her eyes lost focus, she seemed to stare straight through him. He knew the look; could recognise the blankness imposed by communicating with daemati. Which meant that Rhys would be coming soon.

He sighed, perturbed by the impending interruption. He reached for his shadows, hoping that they would at least give him some advanced warning but found them missing. Frowning he tried to sit forward, tearing his eyes from Elain’s face he scanned the room. His room, at the House of Wind. All the times he'd dreamed of her in here with him, what they would do, he'd never quite imagined it like this.

“What happened?” He still clutched at Elain’s hand but lowered it to rest against his thighs. His chest was exposed, naked and flushed with fever. The muscles in his wings protested as he moved to unfurl them slightly and he drew in a sharp breath through his teeth. Such a small motion, but it brought the catalogue of pain to the forefront of his mind through the haze.

The dark silk sheets pooled at his waist and rubbed against the stark whiteness of clean cotton bandages. He could feel where the membranes connecting the sinewy muscle and delicate bones of his wings pulled tighter in places over almost healed wounds. The room smelt of antiseptic; underneath his own scent was stale as though he hadn’t stayed there in a long time.

“I don’t know all of the details, you’ll have to speak to Rhys and Feyre.” Elain seemed to falter under the intensity of his gaze. “You arrived a few nights ago, winnowed to the River House poisoned and half-dead. Madja’s been working on you for days.”

"You've been here all this time?"

He leaned closer to her, his chest warming at the thought that perhaps he hadn't destroyed this, not like everything else he seemed to touch. Elain was frozen under his graze, eyes wide and lips parted. He drew closer, inhaling the scent of jasmine and honey, unable to resist her magnetism.

"Oh." She started and moved back in her chair, putting distance between him and his advances. "No, I arrived about half an hour ago. Y/N needed to get some rest." Her face seemed to implore him to do something and his thoughts were drawn to the failed kiss at solstice. Perhaps this was a gift from the mother Azriel reasoned. An opportunity to do everything over.

His eyes fixed on hers and an unfamiliar sensation bloomed in his chest. Azriel frowned as he felt a tug, it seemed to come from inside his ribcage. He brought his free hand, the one that was still clutching at Elain's, to rub at the skin over his heart. Confused he trailed his eyes down Elain's face to look at the skin his scarred fingers danced over.

He started as he saw it, the thread of pure gold. He reached in a tugged, feeling the answering wave of love and relief. If Azriel felt like he was drowning earlier it was nothing compared to the joy and elation that threatened to swallow him whole. His eyes burned as tears brimmed.

"Elain," he breathed. "I can't believe..." He trailed off, fixing her with a gaze of awe. If he wasn't still suffering from the lingering sluggishness perhaps he would have taken more stock of her confused stare. His hand stilled against his chest and he continued to stare at her. Whatever permission he was looking for, he thought he found in her gaze.

He reached up to caress her neck, following the delicate arch upwards to tangle his long fingers into her curls. His other hand dropped hers to cradle her cheek.

"Azriel." Elain tried to move back further in her chair to escape his wandering hands but found no further retreat against the back of the hardwood. Azriel followed her, shifting forward on the bed so only a few inches separated their faces. His breath mingled with hers.

Taking a deep breath he closed the distance between their lips, fire pooling in his gut with anticipation of finally getting to taste her like he had dreamed of. Claiming her full bottom lip between his own he revelled in the sweetness of her mouth. He pressed harder, her soft lips yielding against his own as he moved to deepen the kiss by tracing his tongue over the swell of her bottom lip. Elain softened in his arms and her fisted hands moved up to rest against his bare chest, not pulling him close but not pushing him away either.

He pulled back slightly, her doe-eyes meeting his firey gaze as he smiled contently at her. His left hand was tangled in the roots of her hair exposing the delicate skin of her ear which he moved to trace with his nose. His breath grazed the supple skin of her neck and his lips danced over the skin of her neck.

"Azriel, wait." Elain seemed to be roused by his actions, opening her hands to press her palms against the plain of his chest. He paused his movement against her throat, inhaling more of her scent deeply as he began to pull back.

"Azriel?"

The voice was unfamiliar, husky and choked, holding back emotion. Hurt bloomed through Azriel's chest and it startled him away from Elain. Anger rose within him at this stranger's interruption, at the hurt they'd caused Elain. Elain who was his mate. His lips pulled away from his teeth in a snarl, driven by instinct. His eyes moved towards the doorway. He felt naked, at a disadvantage without the shadows that had followed him for most of his life, always whispering, always alerting him to the movement of others.

His eyes fixed on the feminine figure in the doorway, taking a cursory gaze over the long golden hair that pooled to her shoulders. She wore night court attire, loose-fitting dark trousers, and a thin-strapped top that hugged the top of her form and flowed out over the obvious swell of her abdomen. The trousers cut off at the calves and a swirl of shadows danced around her feet. Azriel started. They were his shadows.

Elain jumped to her feet, the wooden chair pulled up beside the bed hit the carpeted floor with a thud as she made to move away from Azriel. His hands moved to grab her, to pull her behind him as he struggled to his feet, to protect her from this thief that had infiltrated his home.

"Y/N...This isn't...We weren't, it was..."Elain trailed off, seeming to be at a loss for how to continue. Azriel, now upright but still unsteady, staggered forward a few steps to place himself in between the stranger and Elain.

"Who are you?" He demanded. Elain obviously knew this woman. His mind spun, thoughts still heavy from the lingering fever as he tried to piece the information together. He gestured at the floor, a signal for his shadows to return. Some of them peeled away from winding up the calves of this stranger and slithered towards him across the floor. He took comfort in the familiar cool trail left as they crawled up his legs and chest, curling around his ear to report to him.

Safe, they whispered. Safe as you instructed. Azriel frowned, clearly they were mistaken. He fixed his eyes on the female again, drawn to her face. Chartreuse eyes, lined with tears and framed with long lashes and dark charcoal, stared back at him. They weren't fae he realised, they possessed the otherworldly quality he'd only seen when looking at Amren. There was a deep sense of other about this female that heightened his feelings of unease, coupled with the rogue shadows that flaunted his command and stayed at her feet like loyal guard dogs Azriel automatically grazed his thigh looking for the reassurance of the heavy weight of truth-teller. He found none.

Elain was speaking again, trying to move forward past him, and this time he successfully caught her arm, gently angling her away from the infiltrator to shield her with his body once more. The female's gaze moved from his face to fix where his hand remained on Elain's bicep, rucking up the delicate pale pink fabric as he gripped it with his scarred fingers. Her eyes widened more, Azriel studied as her pouted bottom lip began to tremble and the tears began to spill down her face. She took a step back from where she stood in the open doorway, retreating into the hallway. Azriel was torn between the instinct to follow, to press the advantage he'd unwittingly gained and staying to protect Elain.

Elain who was violently shrugged herself out of his grip, whirling to face him her face filled with anger he'd never seen on her delicate features before.

"What in the cauldron are you doing?" Elain's teeth were bared, her chestnut eyes blazed as she gestured at him widely as she continued. "Have you lost your mind?"

Azriel, surprised at her sudden anger, felt a deep sense of unease that he'd misjudged the situation somehow. His mind whirled, this wasn't how this was supposed to go. He was so used to having the upper hand, having all the information, that without it he was lost for words. Elain continued to back away from him and his eyes darted from her to the doorway which now stood empty, no signs of the mysterious female remained. Azriel's eyes fixed again on Elain's face as they stared at each other. He tugged at the cord in his chest, hoping to receive a response, some kind of assurance that he hadn't imagined it.

A deep sense of betrayal coursed back through the bond, anger mingled with hurt, the sensation was so strong that it almost brought Azriel to his knees. As quickly as the sensation came it stopped, the thread no longer sung and Azriel tried to follow it to the source. A source, he realised flinching, that didn't end with Elain but seemed to trail off and lead elsewhere.

The clap as a pair of powerful wings moved through the air was the only warning as seconds later Rhys landed on the balcony. The doors flew open on a wave of darkness as he sauntered into the room, violet eyes scanning the scene. A dark brow crooked as he took in Elain's rage and his brother half-naked, still flush with fever his shadows swirling in agitation.

"What happened? Azriel, should you be out of bed? Where's Madja?" He addressed his brother first, but his eyes drifted to Elain as he cocked his head for the answer to the second question. Elain took a deep breath and seemed to steady herself, before closing her eyes - an obvious invitation, she wanted to show Rhys. Azriel decided that she could show him whatever she wanted. The more pressing issue, the unknown female, would have to take priority over whatever punishment the High Lord wanted to concoct over Azriel's blatant disregard for his orders.

"Rhys, the stranger - you have to find her. I don't know how she got in. I woke without my shadows and they were with her, she took them."

Rhy's eyes moved between him and Elain as he seemed to piece together the course of events. He took a step forward, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender as Azriel bristled.

"Az." His voice was low, comforting, like he was trying to soothe a cornered predator. "Everything is okay, why don't you take a seat. Feyre's on her way, I think we need to talk."

A/N I'm hoping to start working on Part 2 asap but not sure how long it will take, I have so many ideas for this and committing to them is so hard

#azriel x reader #azriel x female!reader #azriel x oc #acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #elain archeron #elain x azriel

2K notes · View notes

hansoeii · 7 months ago

Note

Hello! Hope you're having a great day/night! I absolutely adore your art, you are one of my favourite artists. I love the way you shade and do backrounds. Also everytime I get into a new show I immediately see your art for it??

I was wondering if you had any advice on drawing more realistically (backrounds, anatomy etc) but still keeping a style?

Hey hey!

Thank you so much!

I have a pretty good understanding of facial structures, because before I got into drawing more semi-realisticly, I heavily focused on realistic portraits. Here are some example, these are from around 2019!

(yes, I was really into danmei and kpop back then, haha)

I just always loved drawing/painting faces and it was all I did. But at some point I realized that I wanted to do more than that because just portraits felt super restricting. So it took me around 2-3 years to somewhat find my style. Thought it would be fun to show a little timeline! Advice will follow afterwards :)

2020

I began working on my OCs in 2020 and since I didn't have an exact reference to work off of, I struggled a lot. My art from this year is super wonky.

2021

Still wonky, but the Lokius obsession was the jumpstart into finding my style! My work from this year is all over the place haha, I was experimenting a lot.

2022

This first ofmd piece is pretty much the first drawing where you can see where my style is gonna go, which I think is pretty cool! This is the year I made the biggest progress cos I was drawing SO much. These two pieces are only six months apart. The one on the right was the first time I gave drawing a background a proper go, too! It was a good year.

2023

And this is where I am now! I'm still constantly learning and improving, but I'd say I have a style you can recognize now!

Now here comes some actual advice, haha:

What I highly recommend you to do is to study your favorite artists as much as you can! I have like 5 A4 sketchbooks all from 2020 that I filled with sooooo many studies, where basically all I did was look at artists I like and copy how they draw stuff, to try and figure out how to stylize certain things. Some of my favorite artists are Ami Thompson, Velinxi and TB Choi. But I also liked to just scroll through pinterest and study all the art I came across that I liked! For example, if I saw a really great drawing of a pair of pants I would copy it many times in my sketchbook and try to learn how they stylized the folds. Doing this for a prolongued period of time will naturally improve your own work! It'll be difficult at first, but you gotta push through, it's gonna be worth it!

I also highly recommend studying unique faces to try and avoid the same-face syndrome. Find some cool looking people and try to draw them as simple as you can! Maybe even draw a little timeline where you first draw them as cartoon-y as you can, and keep going until you end up with a more detailed, realistic drawing. Maybe in the middle of it you find a step that feels the most fun to you, so you can try to build on that! It's a great way to figure out what kind of style might be the best for you.

Here are some cool faces I found on pinterest!

I have a pinterest board with many more!

One REALLY important part of learning how to draw all kinds of things is to understand forms and shapes and how to manipulate them. I have so many pages in my sketchbook filled with just shapes that I drew from all kinds of angles without any references.

This is a great video on it:

6 Ways to Draw Anything by Proko

Learning how to do this is so crucial! Young artists often think they first have to learn all kinds of detailed anatomy before doing anything else, but all that's gonna do is make you tired and hate drawing. Shapes are where it's at! Once you understand how shapes work and which ones to use for certain parts of bodies or objects, drawing is gonna get so much easier! Once you understand them, you can get into details such as muscles and bones!

And honestly the most important point is to just absolutely love what you're doing! I wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't for the fact that I get extreme hyperfixations on certain media that turn me into some kind of beast where I can suddenly draw 10 detailed illustrations a week, haha. Just be passionate about what you do, find something you REALLY love and go crazy!

I really hope this was somewhat helpful! My inbox is always open if there's any more questions :)

#responding to these has made me realize how much I love helping you guys out #it's genuinely really fun and I just hope it's actually helpful haha #my art #art advice #art resources #ask #anon

479 notes · View notes

wholoveseggs · 1 year ago

Text

~♡~Dating the Mikaelsons~♡~

One-Shot Edition

18+ ---- {Masterlist}

♡A date with Klaus♡

After a long day at work, you just want to go home and relax. Fortunately Klaus knows exactly what you need to unwind.

In celebration of getting to one-hundred followers♡ I wrote some smutty one-shots based on my dating the mikaelsons headcanons.

♡ Thanks for all the love and support ♡

Warnings: smut, rough sex, biting, blowjobs, rim jobs, all the jobs...I firmly believe Klaus loves booty.

{Part Two -Kol} ♡ {Part Three - Marcel} ♡ {Part Four - Elijah}

After an exceedingly long day, exhaustion had fully seeped into your bones, leaving you feeling burdened and emotionally numb. Exiting your workplace, you headed towards your car, desperate to get home and relax. Rifling through your bag for your keys, you extracted them along with a neatly folded piece of paper.

Intrigued, you unfolded it, revealing a charming sketch of your profile gazing out of a café window. The guy you were seeing must have snuck it into your bag. You smiled, the thoughtfulness of it warming your heart. You pulled out your phone, sending him a thank-you text.

You

"I found your drawing, thank you. I've had a tough day, and this made it a bit better."

Nik

"Which one?"

You paused. There had been multiple drawings? You hadn't seen anything else in your bag. You typed back a quick reply.

You

"There was more than one?"

Nik

"Maybe..."

You unlocked your car, climbing into the seat, closing the door behind you, and pulling your bag onto your lap.

Sure enough, there were several more folded pieces of paper. You pulled them all out and unfolded them. The first was an intricate study of the hands of a man and woman, fingers laced together, palms touching. The second was a silly doodle of you, looking grumpy and flipping off the viewer.

You giggled. It was actually a great likeness. The next one made you blush and look around. It was an illustration of the two of you, nude, kissing in an intimate position. Your face was obscured by his, but the details were quite erotic.

Your body flushed at the thought of him touching you; you hadn't even kissed yet, let alone seen each other naked.

You

"I found the other ones, very creative,"

Nik

"I'm glad you like them, are you busy tonight?"

You paused. What did he want to do? You had planned on vegging out and watching some mindless television. But that sounded incredibly dull.

You

"No, why?"

Nik

"Good. I'll pick you up,"

You sighed, leaning your head back against the seat, feeling the butterflies in your stomach start to flutter. You had a feeling you were going to be staying up late.

You had no idea where he was taking you; Klaus hadn’t given you any hints, and you couldn’t help but wonder what he had planned.

You were sitting in the car with him, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. It was a beautiful evening, the sky painted a brilliant hue of purple and blue.

You glanced over at him, admiring how attractive he was. You knew that he was a vampire, a powerful one at that, but you didn't mind. You had known others, and none of them were dangerous. At least not to you.

"I thought we could take a walk; I want to show you some of my favorite places," he said as he drove.

"I would love to see them," you replied, smiling at him.

He parked the car, and the two of you climbed out, making your way down the street. It was a clear night, the air crisp and refreshing, and you could hear the sounds of traffic and the chatter of people from a distance.

Klaus walked close to you, his shoulder brushing against yours every few steps. His presence was soothing, and you felt comfortable with him. He casually took your hand in his, lacing his fingers with yours.

You looked up at him and smiled. He returned the smile, squeezing your hand.

"This is the park I like to draw in," he explained. "It's quiet, and the light is beautiful in the morning."

The two of you walked, talking and enjoying the view. He seemed to know a lot about the city and pointed out different buildings, sharing stories from his past.

You found yourself growing more and more attracted to him, the more he shared about himself.

"What was it like here, one hundred years ago?" you asked.

"It was different, but not that much. There were fewer people, and the buildings weren't as tall. It was quieter, I suppose."

You nodded, enjoying the sound of his voice. You loved hearing him talk; his accent was so alluring. You walked in silence for a while, and then he led you over to a bench, and the two of you sat.

"Can I tell you a secret?" he asked.

"Of course." you replied, giving him a gentle smile.

"I love this city; I helped make it what it is, but as time passes, sometimes I feel like I'm a stranger here."

You nodded, understanding, "You must see time so differently from me," you mused. "I can't imagine how it must feel."

He was silent for a moment, his eyes staring out into the darkness.

"It can be lonely," he said, finally. "But with you, I don't feel that way."

You intertwined your fingers with his, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. He leaned in, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. His touch sent a shiver through you, and you found yourself wanting him.

You leaned forward, capturing his lips with yours. He kissed you softly, his lips warm and inviting. You felt his arms wrap around you, pulling you closer to him. His hands wandered, caressing your back, and tangling in your hair.

You broke the kiss, looking into his pretty blue eyes, "Do you want to show me your place?" you asked, your voice a breathy whisper.

His eyes flashed, a smirk spreading across his face, "It would be my pleasure."

He took your hand, leading you back to the car. The drive to his place was filled with a heavy silence, both of you knowing what was about to happen.

You had seen the outside of the compound many times, but you had never been inside before; it was gorgeous, the décor was expensive and tasteful.

"Wow, your home is beautiful," you remarked, your heels clicking against the floor.

"Thank you," he said, smirking. "I decorated it myself."

The compound was quiet; everyone else was out or asleep. You followed him into his room, your heart racing.

He closed the door, turning to face you. He reached out, cupping your cheek. His touch was gentle and loving, his eyes filled with tenderness.

"You are so lovely," he murmured, his thumb stroking your skin.

You blushed, the heat rising in your cheeks. You placed your hands on his chest, running them up to his shoulders, feeling his muscles beneath his shirt.

You stepped closer, closing the distance between you. Your lips brushed against his, and you kissed him.

He wrapped his arms around you, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You moaned, your fingers digging into his shoulders. You pressed your body against his, feeling his hardness.

He pulled away, his eyes flashing yellow. He picked you up, carrying you over to the bed, laying you down gently. He climbed on top of you, his mouth trailing kisses along your neck and collarbone.

He lifted the dress off of you, tossing it aside. You laid there in nothing but your underwear, his gaze raking over your body.

"Nik," you breathed, your voice full of need.

He leaned down, his mouth on your breast, his tongue swirling over your nipple. You moaned, arching your back. You gasped, feeling his fingers sliding down your abdomen, and under the waistband of your panties.

"I've wanted this for so long," he whispered, his hands caressing your skin.

"So have I," you replied, lifting your head and pressing your lips to his.

His fingers circled your clit, eliciting moans from your lips. You closed your eyes, his touch was quickly driving you crazy, pushing you to the edge. He watched your face, a wicked grin on his lips.

"How do you like it, love?" he whispered, his voice low and seductive as his lips grazed your skin.

You blushed, heat pooling between your legs. "I like it a little rough," you breathed, the words tumbling out of your mouth.

"I always suspected you were a naughty girl," he whispered, as he nibbled at your ear. You gasped, pleasure coursing through you.

He began to move down your body, leaving a trail of soft bites and kisses. He paused at your breasts, sucking on your nipples, his tongue swirling around them. You moaned, squirming beneath him.

He continued down, his teeth grazing your skin. He hooked a finger under your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs. You were completely exposed to him now, a blush creeping up your cheeks.

"Just beautiful," he breathed, as he dragged his teeth along your inner thigh.

He moved lower, kissing and licking your stomach. His hand slipped between your legs, his thumb grazing your clit.

"Nik," you moaned, your hands gripping his shoulders as he moved further down.

He removed his hand, his tongue taking its place. He licked and sucked on your clit, his hands pushed your thighs up, giving him more room. You bucked your hips, grinding against his mouth.

He chucked, the vibrations causing a wave of pleasure to course through you. He pushed his tongue inside of you, moving it in and out, his nose grazing your clit.

You moaned, your hands tangling in his curly hair. "Fuck," you breathed, as his tongue drove you closer and closer to the edge.

His tongue moved lower than you expected, teasing your ass. Your eyes widened, a thrill of strange pleasure running through you, your hips jumped and you instinctively tried to push away from him.

"Mmm, love," he whispered, "you like when I do that, don’t you?"

You blushed, heat rising in your cheeks. You nodded, biting your lip.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No," you whimpered, your head falling back against the pillow.

He returned his tongue to your ass, teasing and probing it, sending sparks of pleasure through you. Pressing his thumb firmly against your clit, Klaus maintained a rhythm that matched the dance of his tongue. Circles and teasing strokes sent waves of pleasure through you, the combination of sensations leaving you breathless, gripping the sheets as you trembled underneath him. Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, he pushed his tongue in your ass just as he lightly pinched your clit and you cried out, your whole body shaking from the force of your orgasm.

You were spent and panting, gripping Klaus’s hair so hard you nearly tore it out. He chuckled and buried his face deeper in your ass, groaning in pleasure. He swirled his fingers around your clit, feeling how wet you were before he pushed two fingers inside your pussy, hitting your sweet spot.

"Fuck!" you moaned, unable to believe how good it felt. He smiled and continued his assault, pumping his fingers in and out while keeping his mouth busy. His grip on you was almost painful as he held your hips in place, burying his face between your cheeks, his tongue deep inside you.

The soft, wet sounds of his fingers sliding in and out of your pussy mingled with his labored breathing. He pushed them in deeper, fucking you harder, each thrust making you moan uncontrollably. You were in a state of pure ecstasy, your whole body tingling, every inch of you vibrating with pleasure. You could feel his groans and grunts reverberating through you, and you pushed against him, desperate for more.

The pressure built inside you until you felt like you were about to explode. You pulled on his hair, pushing back against him with everything you had as you reached your climax. Your whole body trembled as you came, your orgasm washing over you in waves of pure bliss. The sound of his groans as he devoured you filled the room, adding to your ecstasy.

You slumped against the bed, a trembling wreck. Klaus withdrew, leaving you feeling empty, but sated. He wiped his mouth and chin and grinned, looking at you with half-lidded eyes. He kissed his way back up your body, his hands caressing your skin.

"No one's ever done that for you before?" he asked, his eyes dark with desire.

You shook your head, blushing.

"Good," he replied, he hovered over you, giving you a mischievous grin. Your fingers trailed down his chest then towards his stomach, tugging at his shirt. He lifted his arms, allowing you to remove it. Your hands explored his body, fingers tracing over his muscles, committing him to memory. He smiled, enjoying your touch as you placed soft kisses on his chest, looking up into his eyes.

He leaned down, his lips capturing yours. His kisses were hungry and desperate, his hands squeezing your curves. You grasped at his belt, unbuckling it, and pulling it off. You reached into his pants, wrapping your hand around his cock, smirking as he lets out a low moan. You began to stroke him, feeling him grow harder, maintaining eye contact as you watched him groan with pleasure.

"Love," he panted, his voice thick with arousal.

"Can I taste you?" you ask, your breath ghosting over him. He nods in response, his hips bucking as you continue to stroke him.

He moved on to his back, keeping his eyes fixed on you as you lay kisses down his neck and chest, the feeling of your warm lips making him pant. Your hand never left his cock, never once slowing, and he watched as you used your other hand to gently pinch his nipple, making him hiss out a breath, his teeth clamping together. You felt empowered as you watched him melt under your touch, the big bad hybrid brought to his knees with just your hands. You trailed your tongue from his chest, lower, and lower, not even trying to hide how much you were enjoying his responses.

You finally reached his cock, settling yourself between his legs and looking up at him with innocent, doe eyes. You smirked, holding his gaze as you gripped his cock and slid the head between your parted lips, swirling your tongue around his tip, eliciting a deep guttural groan from him. You lowered yourself down on his throbbing length, taking as much of him as you could handle. Then you slowly pulled off, his cock wet with your saliva, and he moaned, his hands fisting the sheets.

"Do you like that, Nik?" You asked in your most innocent tone. Giving the head of his cock kitten licks as you watched his face.

"Yes," he moaned, his hips jerking. You plunged him into your mouth again, and took him deeper than before. He moaned and thrust his hips up as you worked him with your mouth, his hand coming to tangle in your hair, guiding you. You teased him with your tongue, licking and flicking it over the veins, taking him deep into your mouth and then pulling off with a pop.

"What about this?" You asked, teasing him some more, relishing in the power you had over him. You felt a surge of heat and wetness pool between your thighs, anticipating what he was going to do to you if you pushed him too far.

He growled in frustration and grabbed your hair roughly, pushing your head down on his cock, holding you in place as he thrusted into your mouth. You reached between his legs, stroking his balls, and he groaned, his grip on your hair tightening.

You continued to bob up and down on his cock, loving the way his hips jerked as he got closer and closer to his orgasm. You could feel his balls tighten, and you knew he was about to come.

You pushed your head all the way down, your nose pressing into his pelvis, you let out a soft hum, pushing him over the edge. He let out a low groan as he came, his cum spilling down your throat, you swallowed every last drop.

He released his grip, and you pulled off his cock, gasping for air. You held out your tongue to him, showing him you swallowed it all, and he let out a low, primal growl, snatching you by your hair and crashing his lips against yours. You breathed heavily, your heart pounding as you kissed him back, feeling the stubble scratch at your chin.

His hands slid down to your waist, his fingers digging into your hips and suddenly you were across the room, pressed against the wall, you let out a shocked gasp, clinging to his shoulders. He gripped the backs of your thighs and hiked your legs around his waist, using one hand to tease his cock up and down your entrance.

"Nik," you whispered, your voice full of surprise and desire.

"Have you ever been bitten?" He asked, you could feel his warm breath against your neck.

"No, I've never been with a vampire before," you replied breathlessly, gazing at him from under your eyelashes. You felt a rush of excitement and your legs started to tremble.

He raised one eyebrow and a sexy, playful grin formed on his lips. "I'm a hybrid, love, far superior," he teased, kissing your neck softly, then tracing your jugular with his tongue.

You moaned, his fingers digging into your hips, holding you still as he scraped his fangs over your skin. He slowly pushed himself into you, and you threw your head back, moaning as his thick, hard cock stretched you open.

"Fuck," you moaned, as his lips captured yours. He kissed you with such ferocity, sucking on your bottom lip, it was almost violent, and you loved it. You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging on it, feeling him groan into the kiss, causing his thrusts to speed up and intensify. You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders, urging him on. You bit your lip to suppress your moan, knowing someone could be in the compound.

"Don't be shy, sweetheart," he teased, his pretty accent giving you goosebumps as he continued thrusting into you, "It's just us. I want to hear you."

You flushed and tried to stay quiet, but the things he was doing to you had you moaning, crying out, and begging for more. You buried your face in his neck, biting down on his shoulder, the pleasure overwhelming you.

"Fuck, yes, bite me, love," he encouraged, his hips snapping into yours.

You obeyed, biting down harder, hoping to leave a mark. You gasped, your jaw going slack as his fucked you senseless against the wall. Your head was swimming, and all you could focus on was the feel of his cock buried inside you, and the iron grip he had on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin so hard you knew they would leave bruises.

He pounded into you, his lips finding yours, swallowing your moans. He broke the kiss, his voice hoarse, "So pretty and all mine," he murmured, his eyes meeting yours, full of adoration.

"Nik," you breathed, his name sounding like a prayer on your lips.

He moved a hand up, wrapping it around your throat, gently squeezing, restricting your breathing. You moaned, a shot of adrenaline mixed with pleasure coursing through you. He increased his pace, and you knew he was close, his cock swelling, his pace becoming erratic.

"Are you gonna come for me, love?" he whispered, fucking you harder.

You couldn't answer, his grip on your throat was too tight, but he growled, sensing your closeness. He ground his pelvis into your clit, sending you over the edge. Your whole body was trembling as you came, pulsating around him, he growled, sinking his fangs into your neck, the sharp pain only adding to the intensity of the orgasm.

You felt the blood rush out of your neck, the orgasm ripping through you in waves, his hips never slowed, still fucking you hard, his cock throbbing as he continued to drink your blood. You cried out as his thrusts became frantic, his pace inhumanly fast and you knew he was about to come. As your orgasm started to ebb, you felt his cock pulse, and his release spilled inside of you.

He retracted his fangs, pressing his lips to the wounds and began to place soft kisses along your neck, his hips jerking as he rode out the last of his climax. You clung to him, your whole body throbbing as your orgasm finally began to subside, and you felt weak, your strength gone. He groaned, pressing his forehead to yours, panting heavily.

"Bloody hell," he said between breaths, giving you a wild smile as he kissed you. His hand moved to the side of your face, his thumb caressing your cheek. He carried you to the bed, laying you down gently. You sighed, closing your eyes, feeling his weight on top of you.

"That was incredible, love," he whispered, placing kisses on your jawline. You lay there, panting, enjoying the post-orgasmic glow, letting his lips wander.

"Enjoy yourself?" he teased, rolling off of you and pulling you into his arms, your head resting on his chest.

"Very much," you replied, turning your head to kiss him.

"Good, because we're not finished yet."

You giggled. "We aren't?"

"Not even close, love."

{Part Two -Kol} ♡ {Part Three - Marcel} ♡ {Part Four - Elijah}

Authors Note: I find calling him Nik really hot... anyone else?

645 notes · View notes

gloryofroses19 · 5 months ago

Text

It was Inevitable

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x mate!reader

T/W: Sexual themes and allusions to sex

Amidst the ball, the Summer fae’s voice was white noise. She supposed she could figure out his name if she thought hard enough but she felt no need. She had heard enough to know that she was receiving a backhanded compliment about the treaty she helped foster between their courts. That despite the all nighters and negotiating, she was just a pretty puppet at the hands of another.

The white noise was becoming deafening, but [y/n] supposed she should be thankful for something to focus on. Something that wasn’t the tide of fear pulling her back to the cage Under the Mountain. To the time where she was forced to be a spectacle. A time where some fae chose to revel in it all and how some haven’t forgotten it.

“I need the emissary.” With such an assertive tone and a high status, there is no room to question. The Autumn Court heir only needed to draw her into his embrace and the interaction was over.

[y/n] didn’t realize she was shivering until his arms folded around her shoulders, didn’t realize how cold she had become until she felt the heat of him.

Eris doesn't talk as he guides her from the main ballroom. And for all her tenacity, she does not ask or care where they are going, so long as it was somewhere else.

Eris had started the evening eager to push her buttons, he had grown to love to ruffle her pristine feathers. Grown hungry for the challenging fire in her [e/c] and the teasing tilt of her words.

Because Eris Vanserra, heir to the Autumn court, had wanted to be the one to break her. Break her pretty mask of polite perfection. Break her with his mouth and hands. Break her and make her realize how this was a losing battle, that they were inevitable. Just like she broke him.

But he did not want it like this, not by the hands of a lesser fae and not with the fear that kept her up at night. Not with a panic that left her trembling and unfocused.

“What do you need?” His deep voice asked softly, breaking the silence between them and the stillness of the empty room. “Firefly, answer or I will think you are purposely trying my patience.”

“I…I think I'm going to have a panic attack.” She whispered, tucking herself into Eris’ arms. Arms that she had never allowed herself to rest in more than the length of a kiss on the hand or the duration of a dance.

Eris didn’t need verbal confirmation of something he felt in his bones. She had been panicking from the moment that Summer fae approached her. He didn’t need their bond, their fragile yet persistent bond, to carry her fear to him. He knew it from the moment he gazed upon her and saw a fear he knew well.

“Tell me, I’m okay, tell me they can’t touch me, remind me that I'm safe.” Speaking in shallow breaths, [y/n] leaned further into Eris’ embrace. The smell of pine and ash never felt like home until their bond snapped and [y/n] was never more thankful for it than in that very moment.

Their bodies pressed together, one shaped to fit the other perfectly.

“Breath, Firefly.” The sharp command was softened by his touch. Slipping his hands under the opening in the back, Eris smoothed warm lines down her back. “Nobody will hurt you, I will ensure that.”

Later, he will recall her shuddering breath and the way her body arched into his touch. In the darkness, he will recall how her cheek was molded for his shoulder and his hands for her waist.

There were just so many questions to be answered, she thought breathing in the calm Eris brought. Would he come looking for her? Would she ever overcome this? Was this all a game? Why did being in his arms feel right? Would this be their downfall?

Gripping her chin, Eris guided her gaze back to his. “What do you need, Firefly?”

Later, she will recall the way he felt safe and willing to burn the world for her. Willing to make the world nothing but smoke and ash to allow her some warmth. But in that moment, peering into his amber, all she wanted was to be enveloped in his fire.

And so she did.

She kisses him with a bruising force. The kiss is sharp and deep, stealing air and thoughts of nothing but each other.

Eris is there, pressing her forward, until her back hits the nearest wall. And she is there, drawing him in until there is no space between their bodies. Letting him know that he is what she wants, that he is what she needs.

He tastes like faint traces of woodsmoke, of a fire dying in the dark. He tastes like the forest and somehow, of destiny.

She tastes like morning dew, of the new dawns and beginnings. She tastes like the first light in the morning and somehow, of home.

The kiss had been a long time coming, they had been testing the confines of their bond for months now. Many sleepless nights of denying their bond had given way to ghosting of hands that they wished were the others. Of touching themselves and allowing the other to know the ways to make them sing with pleasure.

She had broken the kiss to breath but Eris stole it away. Stole it by searing a line of kisses down the column of her throat. He was an enticement, so willing and eager. She didn’t fully understand why he was doing this now, she had to understand why.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked breathlessly, moaning loudly as he bit the space where her shoulder and collar bone met.

“Because you are mine.” He slurs softly, muffled against her skin. Drunk off the intoxication of her, of the elation of how her dreams taught him so much, he lavishes the spot with nips and kitten licks. Marveling at the sounds he can pull from her, he thinks of his foolishness. He had thought that his father’s throne was power but she was power itself.

Cradling his jaw, [y/n] guides his gaze to hers. Despite centuries of knowing each other and hours of being at the same party, they regard each other as if for the first time.

“If I am yours, then you are mine.” She says, letting the possessive nature bleed into each syllable. He had once promised her Under the Mountain that she would never be anyone’s toy again and she hadn’t forgotten it. Hadn’t forgotten how his promise had become tattooed on her heart and guided her toward seeking an equal, even unaware that it was to become him.

“I am yours, [full name],” was the earnest reply.

Was it true? Was this their breaking? Will they finally learn that some bonds, even when not accepted, couldn't be controlled? That in the darkness of dreams and in the faelight of their teasing, theirs devolved into a passion the more they attempted to deny. As if the Cauldron was warning them that it was a futile attempt.

And there in the faelight, she sees that peculiar shade of amber. The shade she has begun to learn was associated with her. Was it love? She didn’t know but the care of his gaze was enough for her to close the gap again.

When their lips meet, it leaves only a burning desire to consume. There is no caution or pulling back, only hunger. They each have kissed many faes over the centuries, but none will ever compare. They know they have ruined each other.

Grasping her left thigh, he guides it to wrap around his waist. Groaning, he bucks into the intimacy of their sexes meeting. Matching her moans with his own, Eris doesn't remember the last time he was ready to come apart so easily and so willingly.

It was said that the Autumn fae had fire in their blood and fucked like it too and [y/n] never consider those words until this moment. She felt like she was stifling under the heat of him. The gossamer gown in her court colors resulted in too much fabric between them. His clothes had to go, she decided. Eager to see how deep the fire ran, she began unbuttoning his formal jacket and shirt.

“If I knew it would only take a well placed bite, I would have bit you centuries ago, girl.” A feminine lithe voice mused, halting the frenzy before her.

“Amren.” Despite her hair spilling and bite on her shoulder aching pleasantly contrasting the ache between her legs, she was thankful her voice held strong. She wondered why she felt no shame, she should, this was her family.

“Run along little fox,” Amren teased, tilting her glass of champagne towards the door. “The adults need to talk.”

Eris lifts his chin, offering a cruel smile. “I prefer the monsters in my bed rather under them, care to come join us, Oh Ancient One?”

Matching his cruel grin, Amren regards Eris, a study in disdain. “I can smell the possessive desire for her rolling off you in waves, we both know you wouldn’t share.”

His own smile stretched and it offered no denial, his claim had been staked. For pure carnal desire or deeper bond, it did not tell.

With a wave of a hand, Eris’ magic returned himself back to the pristine mask of an heir. “Let us play again, Emissary.” Emissary, her title, a ploy to write this off merely as a game and leave her with the explanation.

With a deep breath, [y/n] arranged herself looking at Amren’s back as the creature watched Eris swagger off. “I thought you would have given in to Helion before you touched that fire.”

“It was just a kiss.” She replied coldly, attempting to use the ice to douse the lava burning inside her.

“To that dog Cassian, yes.” Amren turned her calculating gaze at her, as if sensing the depth of their desire. “But to you? When is a kiss ever just a kiss?”

With a sigh, [y/n] knew she should have taken a page from Rhys, Az and Cass’ book and slept her way through her youth. Ignoring Amren’s pointed question, [y/n] instead focuses on glamoring the mark on her neck. “You reek of arousal and him, you do realize? Your magic won’t hide that.”

With a final check that she was presentable, [y/n] walked toward the door.

Amren was a creature of nightmares and nightmares didn’t like to be ignored. “I see the ways his eyes follow you!”

A/N: Feedback is always appreciated! Special thanks to Bridgette @thedeviltohisangel who is always providing the best inspiration.

#eris vanserra x reader #eris x reader #eris vanserra fanfic #eris vanserra x you #acotar x reader #acotar imagine

196 notes · View notes

narcissistshandler · 10 months ago

Note

are you still making hobie fics 🙏

ps omg ur stuff is sooo delicious its crazy

req; please make a fic of hobie squirming from the reader's suggestive teasing/touch in a public place (diner, movie theater, school etc.) thanks so much !!!

𝗔𝗧𝗠𝗢𝗦𝗣𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗖𝗔

pairing. hobie brown x gn reader

warnings. dry humping, frottage, cumming in pants, everything happens in public, reader has no gender or genitalia mentioned.

a/n. I don't think you guys have any idea how happy I always am with your compliments, I really hope you like this.

The chaotic, loud and fast symphony reverberated through your ears, the notes that sounded between a mix of rock and hard-hitting singing echoing through the speakers and filling the small local bar that was not much more than a joint where young people gathered to drink, listening to music and criticize the government — everything Hobie liked most, and that's why you had brought him here for a 'date'. Date. This wasn't exactly most people's idea of a date, but seeing the smile that never left Hobie's face as he jumped up and down and sang along to the familiar lyrics of the famous song the band covered, you knew this was exactly the ideal type of date for your boyfriend.

Everything was perfect. The band was a little out of tune, but that was ok, the stage presence made up for it. It was too crowded, and you could barely move without bumping into someone, but people were at least polite. Although, when Hobie was wearing the tightest leather pants, tall boots, and a fishnet top under the jacket that hid absolutely nothing, it was hard to pay much attention to anything else.

You gripped Hobie's hips, fingers against the cold leather hanging right over the protruding bones, tight enough to feel like a second skin. The set of belts purposely left a little loose over his pants and the silver of the thin strap around his neck reflecting under the lights. Hobie's body was warm, sweat running down the back of the neck under the black frizzy curls and you couldn't help but lean in and press your lips there, taking in the cold of the choker and the heat of his dark skin.

It was difficult to talk here and very easy to get lost in the small, lively crowd, which made it convenient for you to stay behind your boyfriend's body, holding him close to prevent you from separating —and from anyone getting the privileged view of Hobie's round ass.

Hobie chuckled, the bass of his laugh vibrating against your chest pressed against his back, otherwise it would have been difficult to notice. "Wanting to mark territory, huh?" he teased, turning his head a little to meet your gaze. The soft lights of the bar reflected in his leering gaze as he continued, "Not that I mind, but we're in public, babe."

You smiled playfully, fingers drawing circles on his hips. "I can't be blamed for wanting to keep the competition at bay. This privileged view is reserved for my eyes only."

Hobie opened his mouth and you leaned in even closer so you could hear what he was saying over the ferocious drums, "Well, in that case, I'm all yours. But let's not make it too obvious, or we might end up stealing the show."

“You’ve never complained about being the star of the show before,” you say, tone heavy with innuendo that precedes your hands inching up the sides of his hips, towards the toned stomach that ripples under your touch.

“Not when you're my only audience,” Hobie says back, but he doesn't pull away when your thumb traces his belly button piercing.

Although it was impossible to ignore the bodies pressing against you from all sides, elbows occasionally finding a target and feet stepping on each other, the atmosphere was dark enough that it was difficult to make out faces and between the euphoria, the alcohol and the music, you knew that something was missing for this date to be the best for Hobie, unforgettable. And he knew it too.

“I’ll still be in the front seat,” you said amused. Your fingers found the hem of his pants and Hobie's body shook, as if an electric shock had coursed through him. "Watching you, adoring you. No one else matters. What if someone sees? I'll still be the only one touching you."

Hobie turned his attention forward, seeming to look to see if anyone was paying attention. “I don’t know,” he said and you almost didn’t hear him, hand already flat against the front of Hobie’s pants. "[name]-" He tensed against you. You felt his erection through the leather, feeling the delicious heat of it radiating through the fabric. The contact made Hobie shudder.

Your lips pressed against his ear, wanting to make sure every word was heard:

"But you're already hard for me. You've been practically since we arrived. Don't think I haven't noticed you rubbing your ass against me."

Despite the stiffness in his shoulders from contact, there was still amusement and pride in his tone when he answered you, "I'm sure I wanted you to notice that last part."

"I'm sure you did, dirty boy."

The music pulses and the bass chords dance at the same time as your fingers run down the front of Hobie's pants, tracing the familiar outline of the member that presses against the leather. It felt like touching bare skin. "[name]," Hobie calls again, you don't hear the sound, you just read his full lips moving.

"Yes?" you ask, giving him a chance to stop you even if you don't stop touching him, rubbing the palm of your hand against him and pinching the tip between two fingers. Your other hand holds his hips, feeling the tension that ripples through the muscles. "Come on, Hobie, you know you want this."

His hips snap at the touch, slamming against your hand, then back against your crotch and back into your hand. There's still tension there though, and maybe it's because of the danger of doing this in public, but his every movement feels restrained and hard, like a poorly oiled gear trying to work.

Hobie is all hot against you, pulse racing beneath your open lips over the salty skin of his slender neck. He turns his head back, almost bumping his head against yours and searches for your mouth. "You're wicked, [name], you know I would never say 'no' to you," he pants, drowning the words against your mouth, forcing you to swallow your own name. He kisses you then, desperately, breathless and completely weak to the pleasure coursing through his veins as you slowly run your thumb along the sensitive tip of his member, matching the rhythm of your tongue sliding into his mouth.

One of your hands slides across the smooth leather, dragging your palm against his cock as you kiss him, the lyrics that sought to remind of all the weight and filth of the society clicking in your ears. Your other hand moves up, running over the bumpy fabric of the fishnet until finds a bulge that presses against your finger. The cold metal slides against your touch, pulling with it the pointy brown nipple peeking out from under his top and Hobie moans against your mouth, asking for 'more'. It was as if today, before leaving home, Hobie had chosen his clothes thinking about how you could touch him without difficulties or real barriers.

You drink in the sounds Hobie makes against your mouth, their volume is lost beneath the music, but the vibration of every moan and every utterance of your name reverberates against your lips, right into your mouth, like a song that only you had access.

Hand wrapped awkwardly around Hobie's dick, fingers practically digging into the sides of it, digging into the leather to get enough precision to pull him hard and fast through each thrust. Hobie writhes against you and melts and it's the most beautiful show. He keeps his mouth against yours even when the kiss ends, humming along to the guitar chords, cursing and following the lyrics of the song. He seems lost in his own head, his brown eyes shining with lust and one hand reached back and gripping your hair, using the support to swivel his hips in a sensual circle, the belts slapping against your arm.

"[name]," he sings through the song's lyrics as he moves against your hand, taking what he needs. "That feels good... you are... I need more... can you...? Fuck."

In the low light you doubted anyone could see the vision of the beautiful man coming apart beneath your fingers to the point where tears glistened in the corners of his eyes. It was a good thing not. You didn't want that in the end — soon — when the night reached its climax and Hobie followed, spilling for you in his pants, anyone else could watch his mouth falling open, hips erratic and his entire body shaking as he became unable to say anything other than your name. The most beautiful spectacle of all and that belonged only to your eyes.

#x male reader #x gn reader #dom reader #across the spiderverse x reader #across the spiderverse x male reader #hobie brown x gn!reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x male reader #hobie brown smut #hobie brown x reader #across the spiderverse x gn reader

375 notes · View notes