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loveshotzz · 1 year ago

Note

for your blurbs:

‘bent over a table while something bakes in the oven.’

with my favorite bartender. maybe it’s his birthday or somethin’ :)

Hi bf 🥰 I hope you enjoy your boyfriend being a birthday boy menace.

A/N: this blurb is with bartender!eddie from my whatta man au, but can be read as a stand alone. just know it’s your bartender boyfriends 32nd birthday.

wc: 1.9k

warnings: 18+ for smut,fem!reader, dirty talk, mild food play, spanking, cream pie for days

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to see the cake before the party babe?”

Eddie’s voice echoes down the hall from your bedroom, an annoyed sigh escaping from between your lips when you stop stirring the chocolate icing you’d just ask him to come try.

“That’s the bride before the wedding, and you weren’t supposed to be hereeee.” You call back in an irritated song when you remind him of his three a.m. decision to come and see you after his shift at The Foxy Lounge using the significance of today to get you to say yes. “But since you are, I want the birthday boy to tell me if this is sweet enough for him.”

You wipe your hands on your sleep shorts that you haven’t been able to change out of yet, turning around only to be crowded against the counter in a blur of black and ripped denim by mister thirty two himself. Your palms land flat against his chest as his full lips start peppering kisses all over your face and the giggles he gets only encourage him further. The hard formica pressing against your back becomes smooth against the bottom of your thighs when he lifts you up to sit on it instead. You squeal his name when he pushes himself between your legs with the kind of smile that gives you butterflies like the first night you met him.

“I really like it when you call me birthday boy.” Wiggling his eyebrows, you can still see the dimples that poke his cheeks under his scruff, while big ring-covered hands find a home on the curve of your ass pulling you closer to the edge. The silver chain attached to his wallet that dangles from his belt is cool against the skin of your calf from the A/C when you wrap your legs around him.

“I’m not surprised in the slightest,”You grin, unable to stop the way one of your hands fluff’s out his freshly washed curls. The softness from your deep conditioner is evident against your fingertips. “Now are you going to try this frosting or not before Steve takes you away.”

“I also really like when you’ve got a lil attitude like this,” Eddie teases, nudging the round end of his nose with yours as he leans to try and steal a kiss only for the plush softness of his full lips to hit your cheek instead and it actually makes him whine a little, “come on, it’s my birthday.”

“Try the frosting and maybe I’ll reconsider.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you catch the way he has to physically pull his eyes away from your now pushed up tits.

He sucks the skin of his teeth, looking at you with a narrowed stare before raising his eyebrows at you in a silent challenge. Nodding before shrugging a little too casually, he dips his index finger into the rich velvet, the boars head that dons it catching in the sunlight.

“Fine, I’ll try it. No problem baby, anything for you.” His tone is the only warning you get before the chocolate that matches his eyes is smeared sloppily across your lips.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of your open mouth when you gasp, doing what you asked of him while also still getting what he wants. His hand reaches up, cupping your cheek in his palm letting the pad of his thumb coax you open for him with a swipe of his tongue collecting the chocolate from your bottom lip before meeting yours in the middle with a low groan. It’s a battle for dominance before he sucks yours gently, getting your back to arch and fingers to bury themselves in his curls, melting into him just like the sugar.

He grins into the kiss when the heels of your feet start to dig into the curve of his butt, your irritation from before forgotten with a roll of your hips. He smacks his lips against yours once, twice, three times before he pulls away more than proud of himself when you look at him with a dazed smile and glazed over half hooded eyes.

“Mmm, I think I need another taste. What do you think?” His nose ring bumps against your heated cheek when he kisses you again, this one softer, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip while his finger makes its way back into the bowl of chocolate by your hip.

“I think it’s your birthday, you can do whatever you want.” The double meaning in your words doesn’t go unnoticed, black pupils taking over coffee ground eyes.

The sarcastic remark he has about your attitude just minutes ago is quickly forgotten when your hand wraps around his wrist bringing his frosting covered finger to your lips. He can feel the warmth between your thighs that lock him in place, cock twitching against the seam of his ripped jeans when you lick a long stripe up the side before bringing it entirely into the heat of your mouth. Hollowing out your cheeks as you suck, his eyes hit the back of his head with a muttered ‘fuck’ and a rock of his hips in search for the kind of friction only you can give.

You release him with a loud pop that bounces off the walls of your kitchen and you’ve never been more thankful for your roommate to be out of town. There’s a hunger in his stare that wasn’t there before when it meets yours and the fingers spread across your ass grab at the soft flesh pulling you closer. The evidence of your teasing makes you moan when it presses against your clit.

“Gonna let me bend you over then?” The gravel in his voice is unmistakable, leaning his forehead against yours as he looks at you from under thick lashes.

“Uh huh” you nod, letting your top lip connect with his bottom one in a dare, a deep exhale blowing through his nose when he smells the chocolate on your breath.

“That’s my sweet girl,” he grins, stepping back just enough for you to get off the counter, both of his hands finding your sides to help you down, “just like your icing.”

Your eyes don’t leave his as you make a show of letting your body slide down the length of him with a smile. Nipples hardening under your tank top as they rub down his chest. He curses under his breath, licking his lips when you turn around to press your ass firmly against the throb in his jeans. A teasing thrust from him has your palms find the counter top for support, while his hands wrap tight around your curves.

“Fuck, look at you.” He’s mesmerized by the dip of your back as you arche for him, the hem of your shorts stretching over the fat of your ass, riding up just below your cheeks. He wants it to be his birthday every day.

“Better hurry up before Steve starts callin’” You tease looking back over your shoulder with a wiggle of your hips.

“Hmmpf '' Eddie huffs with one more thrust, ringed fingers curling around the sides of your shorts, stepping back just enough to let them pool at your feet. “He can wait, this is more important.”

He grabs a handful of your ass, spreading you apart to reveal just how wet you already are and the sight of it makes him groan. He works on the button of his jeans, metal clinking when they fall to the floor.

Dripping for him, he slides the tip of his cock along the seam of your cunt with ease, catching against your clit making you keen. You push back for more and the heat of his palm connects to your cheek with a smack, the metal of his rings adding an extra sting that makes you gush.

“Don’t be rude baby, I’m the birthday boy.” He reminds you, watching how your ass jiggles the way he likes.

“Don’t get cocky - ohmygod” The air is taken out of your lungs when he lines himself up with your entrance and pushes in without warning, the stretch when he bottoms out with his chest to your back makes your eyes pinch shut with a whine.

“I think you like it,” His words come out right next to your ear in a breath of peppermint and chocolate that make goosebumps rise along the back of your neck.

He doesn’t wait for you to respond before he stands up straight, fingers digging into the dough of your hips when he pulls almost all the way out before filling you back up to the hilt. Circling his hips, his tip bullies the spot that makes your toes curl and the flutter of your walls encourages him to start his unrelenting pace. The first three strokes make your jaw go slack, fingers curling around the edge of your countertop, the ends of your nails scratching against the wood underneath.

“Always feel so good baby, Jesus - sucking me in like she can’t get enough.” The lewd sounds of your slick and the slap of his hips against your ass fill the quiet of your apartment, a low whine pulling from your throat when he adjusts hitting a different angle.

“Eddie - fuuuck.” You can’t find it in yourself to care how pathetic you sound, not when two calloused fingers start playing messily with your swollen bundle of nerves.

“Yeah sweet girl? That feels nice?” Hunching over you, his strokes get deeper the tip of his nose nudging the shell of your ear.

“S’good” you manage to get out, pushing your hips back meeting his.

His hold on your waist becomes bruising as he keeps making circle eights with the pads of his finger to your puffy clit, while the pattern of his thrusts start to get sloppy when he feels the way you tighten around him like you're close. The slow burn that started deep in your gut starts to become all consuming like this, one of your hands releasing its grip from the counter to cover on top of his between your legs. A low chuckle vibrating in your ear when he picks up the pace.

“Yeah, it’s like that?” You can hear the grin in his voice, and your smart mouth from before is gone. All you can do is nod, your arousal coating both of your fingers and leaving them to slide messy in a way that has your chest tighten, and your mouth fall open.

“Give me my present then baby, come on, give it to me then. Wanna feel you on me all day.” He grunts nipping at your earlobe, and it’s enough to get him exactly what he wants.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie!” Your eyes squeeze shut when you scream his name, your orgasm washing over you in a burst of heat as he thrusts into you hard enough to push you on to the tips of your toes with every one.

“Shit - that’s it, that’s fuckin’ itttt.” The feeling of your walls constricting around him so much that they try to push him out only makes him bury himself deeper as he paints your insides white. Muscles tensing with his release before they go limp when he melts back into you, huffing out a laugh that fans against your neck.

“The icing is great sweetheart, I can’t wait for the cake.”

#my writing #requests #whatta man #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x fem!reader #bartender!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic

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buckyalpine · 1 year ago

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Virgin Mob Bucky

Welcome to my horndog ramblings. Feel free to ignore this. You know what I need? Big badass Beefy Mob Bucky who is a virgin. Beefy mob Bucky who waited till marriage. Yes. Bucky who followed in his fathers exact footsteps, easily earning his place when he takes over the empire. He learnt about power, discipline and strategy from his father. He learnt about love, kindness and beauty from his mother. He mama raised him to wait for the right one, to wait until he was with someone he truly loved, someone he was ready to spend his life with, just as she had done with his father.

So he does.

I need this beautiful beefy man to feel shy for the first time in his life when its his wedding night and he has to help his wife out of her wedding dress. He's usually so confident but his hands shake when he feels the softness of her skin. I need him to feel nervous when she starts to unbutton his shirt. It's not like he's never been shirtless before but this is different. He hopes she doesn't feel the extra warmth of his skin as her fingers trace over the dark ink that covered his chest when she slips the shirt off. He doesn't know what to do with himself, seeing her in delicate white lace hardly covering her breasts.

Don't even get me started on how precious and flustered he is when his brief's come off and she sees all of him for the first time. He's not small by any means, his thick shaft curving towards his tummy, full heavy balls between is gorgeous large thighs. He can't help but feel self-conscious because no one else has seen him like this, not since he was a baby.

He has to will himself not to cum when they're both naked on his large bed, innocently exploring each others bodies with soft kisses in-between. I want him to lose himself when he pulls her nipple into his mouth, for his cock to start to leak. Her breasts are so soft and he could spend all night kissing and suckling off her. She gently palms him, wrapping her hand around his shaft, kissing down his neck while he nearly whines, humping into her fist.

He carefully slips his hands between her legs and he swears he's never felt anything more soft, more silky, her slick covering the insides of her thighs, that swollen button between her legs begging for attention.

She moves to lay on her back, spreading her legs to get him better access and he has no idea what to do when she displays her most intimate parts just for him. He takes his time finding out what she likes, rubbing her clit so carefully with the pads of his fingers before dipping into her entrance, moaning along with her when she drips onto him.

He never sounded more desperate, whimpering when she kisses down his body, his breaths growing heavier when she nears his cock. He lets out the might high pitched whine when she licks up his arousal, his length throbbing against her tongue.

Imagine his soft sweet babbles, his needy side showing which surprises himself-

"Hng-

"What is it Jamie"

"Mmmm"

"Tell me baby, what is it, am-am I doing okay?" She worries while he moans and squirms unable to form a complete sentence.

"It feels good prinţesă- just-it feels s'good"

"Do you like it?" She asks shyly, peeking at him through her lashes, already addicted to her husbands sweet taste. She loves how heavy he feels in her mouth, the smooth silky head of his pink cock begging to be sucked.

"You're making me leak dragă" He whispers with flushed cheeks, his adorably innocent face a stark contrast to his absolutely sinful body.

He already so gone, his mind turns into mush when he's finally inside her. He lets out the most guttural moan as he slides inside, his heavy body covering her, thick cock throbbing, ready to blow.

"I think m'gonna cum" He whimpers against her neck before he even gets the chance to move, taking a deep breath to collect himself and calm down. This baby isn't going to last long, hugging and cuddling his wife tightly while he ruts into her, moaning about how perfect she feels, dripping into her already soaked cunt. a few sloppy stokes in and hes pumping her full of his seed, unable to stop as stream after stream burst from his cock.

"Swetheart, m'cumming- I-oh-hng princess-" He practically rolls over with her, still buried deep in her cunt, their mixed arousal soaking the sheets. His body shudders and he continued to thrust his hips up, grabbing her ass to keep her flush against him, moaning into the crook of her neck, "m'cumming so much for you, god I can't stop"

He had no idea sex could feel this good, already addicted to the feeling, falling in love with his perfect wife even more.

Maybe at some point in the middle of the night they fuck again and he accidently calls her mommy when she rides his cock, her breasts bouncing in his face.

He learns he has a very subby side.

Then he grows more confident and when the house is empty, he has her wailing for daddy's cock while he eats her like a man starved.

Anyway, I'm sorry for this, back to wips.

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rodolfoparras · 10 months ago

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Thinking about soft sex with Price where he’s got you on to the bed, your wrists pinned behind your head and his thighs bracketing your waist. Usually this means you’re in for a rather long night but this time he’s looking down at you with so much love in his eyes and with a soft smile while murmuring the words “let me take care of you tonight yeah?”

Usually you’re the one to take him apart with your fingers or with your mouth but tonight isn’t like any other night. Tonight you arrived at the door, shoulders slumped as if carrying the weight of the world on them while looking for some sort of comfort.

And of course he’s here to offer that, has a wedding band on his hand to remind him of that but even with a bare hand he’d tear himself into pieces just to patch you up.

And it’s with a kiss to your lips that he offers you the first piece and he kisses you oh so softly, and oh so slowly, following the pulse of his heart.

His lips taste of the sweet mint tea he usually drinks before he goes to sleep, the one you’d initiated into his routine- just another way to show just how tightly intertwined the two of you are. With ever kiss you can feel his coarse mustache hair tickling your cheek and chin and you eagerly welcome the prickling feeling. His body feels warm and solid as he keeps you pinned to the bed. If this had been anyone else you’d be trying to escape- mind and reflexes rewired from your army days but this wasn’t just anyone this was your husband and therefor you feel at home, you feel grounded to the world.

He releases his grip on your wrists, one hand intertwines with yours, while the other hand drags along the side of your ribs, tracing every scar every mark, etching every curve and slope into the back of his mind, so that if he ever gets lost he can find his way back around.

It’s times like these that remind you just how experienced your husband is. Price has lived so many lives before he’s met you- the crow feet around his eyes and gray strands are proof of that, he’s had so many lovers before while you’ve only ever had one. He’s got so much experience so much knowledge and for whatever reason he’s decided to bestow it upon you, with his fingers with his mouth, and what a lucky man you are because of that.

You don’t even know when he’s stripped the clothes off of your body but all of a sudden he’s got your cock in the palm of his hand, easily setting a slow pace, and using the bit of pre collecting at the tip along with spit to aid his movements, all while closely watching you under him.

It’s almost like he thinks you’ll fall apart under his touch and for a second you want to make a joke- how you won’t break if he goes any rougher but you don’t want to do that because in this moment you feel like you could crumble under him but along with that you feel safe you feel at ease, like he’d glue all your pieces back together while holding you close to him.

It’s embarrassing how fast you cum under his touch, but he doesn’t seem to mind , matter of fact he seems endeared as ever, eyes shining brightly and smiling down at you sweetly.

#this was so therapeutic to write #call of duty #john price x reader #john price x male reader #john price #captain john price #captain john price x male reader #captain john price x reader #x male reader #male reader #sub male reader #dom male character

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circinuus · 10 days ago

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wardance, romance, and neutron bombs

jing yuan x nameless! reader. 1k words

crisis diverted and peace retrieved, the general caught you running around luofu catching the dust that settles.

the luminary wardance was an eventful experience.

the exhilaration of reclaimed peace keeps everyone afloat as much as how the loss weighs them an anchor. for you, a Nameless, it’s only natural to do what you can to help in these precarious times!

returning lost packages in stargazer navalia. passing by the seat of divine foresight and hope to meet general jing yuan. finding depressed broken cycranes in the exalting sanctum. checking general jing yuan-recommended puffergoat milk in aurum alley. throwing away suspicious package littering the starskiff haven. stare at the sky and imagine general jing yuan’s eyes-

“fudge! son of a!—“

“ah, careful, there.”

“—n-nice beautiful man..??!”

your voice chokes like a fish gasping on land. a warm hand steadies the box in your hands, the other keeps your waist still from a doom dive the viridescent stairs.

“i see you have been busy. luofu is truly blessed to have your assistance. but please, don’t let yourself get injured.”

there’s only one person with that kind of gentle voice. and it’s— it’s—

“has someone been asking you to do these errands?”

a petal from the ambrosial arbor drifts upon his face. you see forsythia as you gaze into the gentle, golden irises of the sleepy general.

in flesh. oh. in flesh?

(ahh. he’s truly, verily prepossessing. his arms are very secure. with the kind of gentleness that evokes the desire of domesticity.)

(can’t you just marry him, actually? who cares about trailblazing?)

“(Name)?”

“yes!”

jing yuan takes a step forward in worry when you jerk backwards, though your feet landed in the good fortune of a steady staircase this time. you miss the general’s safe arms as quick as how your common sense dictated you to not exploit the close proximity. but for your dignity, at least, you attempt to paint what you hope a thoroughly normal, reasonably reserved smile.

well, you failed, simply.

“general! thank you! i didn’t expect to see you here! erm, sir!” your palms are clammy against the cardboard box. “and no one forced me, if you still ask. i’m just doing it.. in the name of the wedding— err... the Nameless.. trailblaze, yes. that. haha..”

the general gives you a closed eye smile. (and a preceding single raise of brow. but you turned a blind eye and refuse to think that the general has noticed your battered dignity).

“haha, aren’t you a sprightly little sparrow?” he lets out a loose chuckle, and you think you can die happy, anyway. “things have quieted down. i reckon a stroll will be prudent to see how everyone fares.”

“a stroll?”

“a stroll, yes.”

…

“r-right! a small break, and to oversee how everyone holds. a pleasure to cross paths here, sir!”

jing yuan shakes his head with amusement, “could I trouble you by joining you for a moment, (Name)? allow me to extend my gratitude on behalf of all luofu. the alliance is the astral express’ ally. you’ve done more than enough.”

a sudden formal words of appreciation!

“y-yes of course!” you scratch the back of your head, “it’s.. i’ll be sure to relay the words to everyone. thank you, general.”

ah.

you wished the general would have opted to pat your head instead. the mole on his cheek seemed more vivid when he speaks. or is it his golden eyes? his pretty laugh?

laugh?

when your eyes refocused, the laugh is, in fact, sourced from the man perpetually orbiting your waking dreams.

“no need to be so stiff, (Name). there will be no more duties pushed upon you.”

“i-i don’t mind. ready on standby, general!”

“is that so?” jing yuan, at this point perpetually delighted by whatever you do, leisurely strolls along beside you, mouth curled in an easy curve. “when you are free, could you please spend some time sparring with yanqing?"

“if general thinks i’m capable, then yes, general!”

“ah, speaking of... the teahouse sent over a collection of new releases from immortal’s delight. i can’t finish the batches of tea, but didn’t want to refuse the teahouse’s goodwill...”

“i will head over as soon as possible to help, general!”

“on that note, I wonder whether you have the time for another game of xianzhou starchess as well?”

“yes! yes! I will not waste your past teachings. anything for you, general!”

“then, what of staying in luofu with me?”

you almost repeat a nod in obeisance. but the brain sooner short circuits before it processes the last clause of his proposal.

proposal.

proposal…

system hours slow down. you can hear the drop of a coin from the shop across the streets. witness the creation of the universe, the cosmic ripples from carcasses of dead aeons, the thread of fate dictating the universe. what did he say again?

soberness arrive in the form of warmth on your shoulder.

“apologies, (Name). I jest in good nature.” jing yuan starts, “I know the path of trailblaze entails tracing the vast universe’s untouched trails. and I know that spirit burns bright within you. who am I to tie down a sparrow bound to the skies?”

you were almost that close to pipe a, “who cares! it’s you!”

alas. rejoice that the spirit of akivili slapped your brain in time to force a polite cough from your throat.

"well," you shift in your feet, half in mourning for the inevitable parting and half in lighthearted giddiness. “we can always visit luofu, and you are welcome to the express, too, general.”

jing yuan hums, content watching the bustling shops and streets. “that I am very grateful for your kind welcome.”

colored in his tone, painted in the subtle visage, you can hear a mix—although not potent—of melancholic acceptance. jing yuan is a man who has made terms with too many losses and enough unattainable dreams. you have talked of how his childhood dream as a galaxy ranger who roams the universe, of a shadow of an old friend when he sees dan heng, of the foxian nameless who left naught but a name. all the moments, with his distant expression, he eventually disregards in one same breath.

he seems to notice your gaze, as he looks back to you with an inquisitive tone, (and if he had worn the same distant, longing expression at your person, you never caught it, and jing yuan knows best to not let himself linger).

“—(Name)?”

“uh? sorry?”

that placating face marks another gentle, slightly charmed smile, “unfortunately, I think I’ve cut you off long enough from your agenda today. what were you doing?”

the spotlight is suddenly pressed on the box in your hands.

“oh, right, it’s nothing, general.” you readjust the cardboard cube.

“I found a bomb and it marked my bio sensors. something about exploding if I’m out of its proximity.”

“pardon me?”

this was supposed to be crack but please ignore the cringe either way. it’s from an actual quest if anyone wants extra jades and jy content!

#jingyuan x reader #jing yuan x reader #hsr jing yuan x reader #hsr x reader #jing yuan #honkai star rail x reader

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luffington · 5 months ago

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AAAA I LOVEDDD your Sanji fic smmm 🥺🥺 could you please hear me out on food play with Sanji

Like him licking cake batter off the reader’s chest

Please and thank you 🙏🥺 (I hope your having an amazing day)

➤ pairing: vinsmoke sanji x afab!reader

➤ word count: 1.6k

➤ warnings: dom!sanji, bratty!reader, food play, nipple play, praise kink, oral (f receiving), established relationship, fluff, fem reader

i'm so glad i got this ask while i was watching sanji bake big mom's wedding cake.... it did something to me. (and now i'm craving strawberry shortcake)

sanji's a giant tease in this hehe (⁄⁄ω⁄⁄)♡

NSFW under the break! minors dni thank uuu

Thick strawberry jam coated your lips like gloss and tinted them carmine. Swirls of whipped cream decorated your bare skin in a pattern of curves and dots, starting on your collarbones and trailing down to your hips and upper thighs. This design was interwoven with sliced strawberries and intricate designs made of pastel pink buttercream frosting. Two perfectly ripe berries and a generous coating of cold whipped cream topped your peaked nipples.

When your boyfriend told you he was going to try out a new strawberry shortcake recipe, you eagerly joined him. Watching him bake was mesmerizing, and he always let you lick the bowl. You did not expect to end up naked and sprawled across the kitchen table.

“Sanji…” You whined and shifted your body slightly. The first dollops of whipped cream he applied were beginning to melt, leaving uncomfortable sticky patches on your skin.

The blonde gently shushed you from across the room, occupied with putting the actual cake in the oven and hardly sparing you a glance. “Don’t move around too much, darling, you’ll ruin the design.” You wished he had secured you to the table with his silk necktie – your willpower wasn’t strong enough to stay still on your own.

Sanji set a timer for twenty minutes then slowly sauntered over to the table, setting down a cream-filled piping bag and a bowl of extra strawberries next to you. The cook appeared ravenous, his visible eye turned dark with lust as it raked over your sugar-covered body. He murmured about how delicious you looked as he leaned down to lick the jam clean off your lips. You moaned quietly when he slipped his tongue into you, noticing that his normal taste of cigarettes had been diluted by the fruity substance.

“Didn’t know my sweet girl could get even sweeter,” your boyfriend chuckled in satisfaction. He collected some leftover jam clinging to the sides of the bowl and brought his fingers to your mouth. “Taste?”

You gladly accepted, lapping at his digits and moaning in delight. The jam was a perfect balance of sweet and tart, expertly blended to the proper texture. His cooking never failed to amaze you. “Oh, Sanji, that’s incredible.”

A giant grin spread across his face and his chest swelled with pride. Coating his tongue with more jam, he pulled you into a passionate, strawberry-flavored kiss, letting you savor the saccharine substance.

Sticky lips slowly made their way down your jaw and neck until they reached where the sugary decorations began. Sanji paused and pulled away, sighing in mock disappointment. “This might be my best design yet. I would hate to ruin it.”

“I can’t stay like this forever,” you pouted cutely, causing him to coo and kiss your pretty lips. “What happened to never wasting food?”

“Don’t worry, I always stay true to my word.”

So he got to work devouring you, taking his sweet time to lick up the drops of sugar coating your body. You shuddered when the tip of his tongue swirled across your collarbones, carefully following a trail of buttercream. Gentle lips trailed down your sternum as they kissed and nibbled at every inch of skin he lapped clean. Sanji intentionally left your breasts alone so he could admire your cream-covered nipples in perverted pleasure.

This wasn’t your first instance of food play – Sanji was a big fan of dripping melted chocolate on both of you – but this felt the most complete. He had taken the time to elegantly decorate you, telling you how amazing his ‘dessert’ looked while he worked, and now he was putting in even more effort to consume you. Your pussy was completely untouched yet it was already dripping. You wiggled your hips to try to get some friction from the blonde positioned between your legs. Sanji tutted and nipped at your waist, reminding you to stay still.

Once your lower torso was licked clean of berries and cream, Sanji made his way to your chest. He was obsessed with your tits – he could play with them for hours if you let him (and you often did). Eating sweets off of them was a dream come true. He plucked off a strawberry with his teeth and hummed happily as he chewed it, then opened his mouth wide to engulf the big heap of whipped cream and your nipple all in one go. A cry spilled from your lips, and you tried your best to stay still but his warm mouth suctioned around your peaked nipple and sucking hard was driving you insane.

Sanji was in ecstasy, making lewd slurping noises and kneading the base of your breast before giving your other nipple the same tantalizing treatment. You braced yourself, expecting him to move between your legs next. Instead, he grabbed the piping bag to coat your tits with a second layer of cream, gladly swallowing all of it. Repeating the process until the bag was half-empty and you were shaking with delight, whining out his name and making his heavy cock strain against his pants.

His stubble tickled your breast as he whispered soft praise and smugly complimented his own whipped cream recipe for making your nipples even more addicting to suck. Then his hands moved further down, creeping closer and closer to your pussy until he nudged the tip of your clit –

The timer went off.

“Oops, gotta get that,” Sanji clicked his tongue and your eyes widened.

“You’re not really gonna leave me like this, are you?” Your cunt was drenched and one of your tits was still half-covered in whipped cream. He calmly strolled across the room like nothing was happening. “Sanjiiiii, I’m so wet for you.”

“Be patient, my love. I’m enjoying my dessert right now, but I want you to have the perfect slice of shortcake when we’re done. I can’t let it overbake for even a minute.” His voice had a teasing lilt – he knew exactly what he was doing to you. Loved seeing you desperate for him the way he was desperate for you.

While he carefully took out each layer of vanilla cake from the oven, you decided to take matters into your own hands. “Just a few more seconds,” he snickered, stopping you moments before you could touch your cunt. Damn Observation Haki.

When the cakes were finally resting on cooling racks, the blonde stalked back to you like a predator about to consume its willing prey. Rather than continuing where he left off, Sanji coated your inner thighs with swirls of cream and slurped them up. Pushing your patience to the limit as he slowly inched closer to where you needed him the most.

“You’re so cute when you’re needy for me.” Your boyfriend paused to grab a plump strawberry, pressing the larger end between your lips. His dick twitched at the sight of you so pretty and pliant. “Be a good girl and keep it in your mouth.” Great, another test of your willpower.

Sanji’s soft strands of hair tickled your inner thighs as he spread your folds wide, licking his lips and admiring you without making a move. You wanted to complain about him being a tease, but you settled for rolling your eyes in order to keep the strawberry intact. The blonde smirked at your brattiness yet indulged you, licking a languid stripe from the bottom of your dripping folds to your clit.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” He thumbed at the bundle of nerves which made your legs twitch around his head. “And so fucking delicious.” Swearing at a lady went against his gentlemanly code, but that self-imposed rule fell away the moment you took your clothes off. You were too fucking gorgeous for him to hold back.

Not wasting any more time, he lapped at your cunt like a starved man, coating his lips and chin in your delicious juices. The lingering taste of cream and sugar on his tongue only added to the experience. Tangling your fingers in his blonde locks and locking your calves around his back, you pulled him impossibly closer to your pussy. Sanji only moaned in encouragement, his nose firmly rubbing against your clit as his wet muscle wormed its way inside your walls and licked everywhere it could reach. He unzipped his slacks to palm his rock-hard cock through his precum-stained boxers.

You were embarrassingly close to cumming after just a few minutes, but nearly a half hour of licking sweets off your body did a lot. Sanji was also a god at eating pussy – though he was sexually inexperienced when you began dating, his enthusiasm and desperation overrode his lack of skill. When his tongue prodded against the sensitive bundle of nerves inside you, your grip on his scalp tightened and you threw your head back against the table, unable to stop yourself from biting down on your makeshift gag. Sweet strawberry juice flowed into your mouth as your own juices gushed over your boyfriend’s face. He gladly let them soak his skin and stain the collar of his shirt.

“Holy shit,” you gasped, chest heaving from the mind-blowing orgasm. “Fuck, that was amazing.” Sanji giggled at the praise as he stood and caressed your cheek, once again telling you how beautiful and perfect you were. But your heart sank when he took a step away from you. “Don’t tell me you have to frost the cake now. That’s too mean.”

Your boyfriend laughed, his bright smile never failing to fill your stomach with butterflies. “I’m just putting it in the fridge. Trust me, I’m not done with you.” The obvious tent in his boxers was proof of that. “We still have a ton of cream and berries left, and I plan on using all of it.”

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dilemmaontwolegs · 2 years ago

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Wild Nights || CL16 {1}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x songstress!reader Summary: After getting dumped before your wedding you decide to take your best friend on your honeymoon instead and end up having a whirlwind romance. Warnings: 18+only, NSFW, smut, oral, angst WC: 2.3k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Epilogue

The memories of last night ran through your mind like a montage that was powered by a strobe light, disconnected images and snapshots that blinded you and left your head aching. You blinked against the bright sunlight flooding the bedroom you didn’t recognise and tried to suppress the groan of pain that came with the hangover you rightfully deserved.

You had drunk far too much but you deserved to let go and have fun. Getting dumped right before you were meant to be married definitely gave you a free pass to go wild so you kept the booking for your honeymoon in Monaco and took your best friend instead.

“Shit,” you cursed under your breath as you spotted your iPhone on the bedside table and found the battery dead.

A soft snore had you freeze and you slowly turned to the sound with a racing heart as another memory resurfaced. The back of a head full of lush, thick dark hair rested on the pillow beside you and your eyes trailed down his spine to the curve of his ass that was obscured by the sheet hanging over his hip.

Angry red lines marked the otherwise smooth skin of his back and you remembered the pleasure of that moment. It had been the first time in a long time that you hadn’t needed to fake the orgasm that rippled through you. You had forgotten the feeling until you had collapsed light headed among the fluffiest pillows you had ever laid your head upon and fallen into the deepest sleep in weeks.

You slipped quietly from the bed and tiptoed across the carpet, collecting your bra and panties along the way until you found your dress in the living room. You bit your lip as you skirted around a broken vase, remembering how - shit, what was his name? - how he had picked you up with surprising ease and sat you on the side table between the desperate kiss you were locked in. The shattering of the glass hadn’t even fazed him when your ass had knocked it off.

You looked around the apartment as you crept to the front door, hoping to find some indication of a name, but the high end place must have been an AirBnB because there was nothing personal anywhere. The only notable item at all was a beautiful Steinway Grand Piano that you were envious of, wishing you had a few minutes to run your fingers across the ivory keys.

The thought of playing the piano drew the whispers of a memory that you couldn’t quite clutch.

Arthur? The name rang a bell but you shook your head as you unbolted the door and grabbed your clutch that was waiting beside it. There had been an Arthur at the bar but you didn’t think it was him in the bed. There were a lot of guys there last night, a lot of names to remember, hopefully Bea could fill in the blanks when you found her.

Your cheeks burned as you walked through the heart of Monaco, trying to figure out where your hotel was in the maze that was the city. You stuck out like a sore thumb among the men and women out enjoying a sunny Saturday morning and you swore some of them even pointed your way as you passed by.

This took the walk of shame to a whole new level.

Finally you reached the hotel and as a bonus you found the keycard had survived the night and was tucked inside your clutch along with your lipstick. Your luck seemed to be turning around as you took the elevator to the honeymoon suite and pointedly ignored the tv screen set to welcome Mr and Mrs Wallace.

The shower was running so you went straight into the bathroom, not even knocking since there was no need for privacy among best friends. “Bea, I just had the best sex of my life and I don’t even know his name.”

The water shut off and the steamed shower door swung open to reveal someone who was definitely not your friend. “Oh my god,” you gasped as you spun away. “Who are you?”

Bea stepped sleepily into the bathroom rubbing her eyes with a groan, “Shhh, my head is killing me babe.”

“Bea,” you whispered as you grabbed her shoulders and kept your eyes above them since she wore absolutely nothing. “There’s a naked man behind me.”

Her eyes darted over to the man who had at least wrapped a towel around his hips. “Oh, yeah, isn’t Monaco great?”

“Are you going to introduce me to your friend again?” the man asked with a charming smile.

“Again?” you asked with a frown.

“We met briefly last night.”

“At the bar,” Bea explained, though it didn’t really help considering there were a lot of bars. “Y/N, this is…Pe…ter?”

You were a terrible friend for feeling relieved that she wasn’t sure of his name either and you exclaimed, “Thank god, I’m not the only one. What the hell happened last night? I half expected to find a tiger in the bathroom.”

“And instead you found a lion,” the stranger winked. “It’s Pierre by the way.”

“Stallion more like it.” Bea dragged her eyes over his body before holding her hands up in front of your face, her palms about 9 inches apart and nodding. “Seriously.”

Your jaw dropped and your eyes drifted down her body before you could stop them. “Where did you put that thing?”

“Where didn’t I,” she fired back with a husky laugh before dragging you from the bathroom and jumping back into the only bed in the suite. “Tell me everything.”

“I only remember little bits, well, and one not so little, definitely not that big though,” you pointed out as you nodded your head to the man collecting his clothes from around the room. “Please fill in the blanks.”

“Oh that’s easy,” Bea laughed as she snuggled back into the blankets, tugging them all the way up to her chin. “We met Pierre and his friends at Casablanca.”

“Casablanca?” you couldn’t remember the name.

“Yeah, they had an open mic night.” You screwed your eyes shut knowing what was surely to come as Bea continued. “I signed us up and we fucking killed it, babe.”

You fell back into the pillow that held a masculine scent it hadn’t the night before and groaned at the new information.

“You were really good,” Pierre complimented as he pulled his shirt on and pulled his phone from the pocket of his dress pants, turning to Bea. “Can I get your number?”

“Why?” she asked with a laugh. “We’re only here for a few more days, you don’t have to try to let me down gently. I won’t cry into my pillow because you didn’t call.”

He seemed a little shocked at the rejection and you thought maybe he actually had wanted to keep in touch but he recovered with a smile and pulled his shoes on. “In that case, I’ll let you ladies enjoy your afternoon. Bea, it was a pleasure.”

“That it was,” she said with a whimsical smile that told you it was an understatement. Her eyes trailed after him and she didn’t snap out of it until the front door clicked shut. “I think I love it here.”

“You just love hot guys,” you corrected.

“And this city is drowning in them, and they are probably all stinking rich too.”

Bea reached for her phone on the nightstand and you remembered that yours was dead so you plugged it to charge in before scooting closer to her. You figured you could watch a few mindless Tik Tok clips with her before dealing with the day ahead.

A few clips turned to dozens and you were in fits of laughter at a compilation of fails when Bea swiped up and you heard a familiar voice. Bea screamed and shoved the phone on your face, her finger pointing to the likes. “Holy shit!”

You grabbed her phone as the short video started again and saw the camera was mostly focused on the man who was playing the piano beside you. “It’s him,” you gasped as you showed Bea. “That’s who I went home with last night.”

“Woah, nice! He’s a stunner. I always told you, piano players and gamers are the best in bed. Something about those fingers…”

“Shhh, you horn dog. I need a minute of quiet.” You rubbed your temples as you were flooded with freshly recovered memories.

—

You side eyed Bea when you heard your name called out and the MC shielded his eyes from the stage lights as he searched the crowd.

“She’s right here!” Bea shouted and pushed you forward, the heels unsteady under your feet after all the shots you had taken.

“I hate you.”

“You love me, now let’s go.”

Bea took her place at the upright piano while you grabbed an acoustic guitar that had seen better days from the stand and adjusted the height of the microphone stand. You were acutely aware of the crowd as you checked it was in tune and turned to Bea to see if she had a song chosen.

She leaned towards the mic set up on a boom above the keys and gave you a wink that instantly made you suspicious. “I wouldn’t be your best friend if we didn’t dedicate this song to that piece of shit ex.”

You grinned at the idea of slating him and heard a few cheers from the crowd that told you you weren’t alone in having a shitty ex or maybe they were fans of Olivia Rodrigo. “I guess that means we’re playing Traitor.”

Your fingers strummed the opening notes and the self consciousness faded away as you fell into the meaning of the song, letting all the hurt and anger fill your words.

The bar emptied as the crowd shifted away from alcohol and filled the dance floor, their bodies swaying to the rhythm. Suddenly their voices joined yours as the chorus came to an end. “Guess you didn’t cheat, but you’re still a traitor.”

Your eyes lingered on a group of guys that seemed centered around one who stared back at you, his eyes swimming with emotions you knew intimately. His eyes held yours as he raised his bottle in the air, saluting with the camaraderie that came with the shared pain and you couldn’t help smiling back through the heartache.

The song had ended but when you made your way off the stage the MC had blocked it and asked the crowd if they wanted to hear another. The screams had reverberated the stage floor and Bea had already said yes, going so far as to ask the crowd for a song request.

“The angstier the better,” she said. Quite a few shouts for Adele came up and she pointed at a young woman. “I love Someone Like You, but unfortunately I don’t know how to play it.”

“Arthur does!” One of the guys in the group said as he pushed his friend forward.

“No I don’t, Charles plays all the sad songs,” Arthur said as he elbowed the man next to him, the man who you hadn’t been able to look away from since he raised his drink to you.

—

“Charles,” you murmured as you remembered moaning the name, your fingers laced in his hair when he went down on you.

“What was that?”

“His name is Charles,” you repeated as you pointed to the handsome man playing the piano, his eyes remaining focused on you the entire time.

“Oh yeah, it’s all through the comments. He’s some racer or something, I dunno, never heard of him.” She shrugged and swiped off to the next video. “So are we going to lounge around here all day or hit the bars?”

Your stomach protested the thought of more alcohol and you shook your head. “Is there a third option?”

“How about the beach?”

“I can manage that, I’m just going to shower while my phone charges.”

“Good, you reek of hot sex and I’m lowkey upset you haven’t given me any juicy details.”

“The audacity,” you gasped as you thumped her with your pillow. “This whole apartment reeks of sex and my pillow smells like a french Chad. See, sniff it.”

“I’ll take that,” she said with a smirk before burying her face on the pillow and inhaling dramatically. “You have lived vicariously through my sexual adventures, sexventures if you will, now it is my turn. So, spill the tea.”

You groaned as you covered your face but she wasn’t going to let you off that easily and she pulled them away. “He was amazing, and I’m not saying that because I was drunk because I remember everything after we got to his apartment.”

“I already gathered that much, I need details.”

“Okay, well, he ate pussy like a champ, honestly, I didn’t even have to ask - he just wanted to, and I actually came.”

Bea snorted and buried her face in the pillow to scream before looking up. “Babe, that’s what real men do, he who must not be named was just a lazy asshole who never took care of you like he should’ve.”

“Jesus, I didn’t realise this was what I was missing out on all those years.” You shook your head ruefully and sighed.

“Forget him, you’re moving onto better things, fitter guys, and plenty more orgasms where that came from.” She leaned forward and pushed you almost off the bed. “Go on, my little whore, go shower so we can get out of here. You’ve made us girls proud.”

“You’re so fucking weird,” you said with a shake of your head as you made your way to the bathroom.

“Normal is overrated!”

Click here for part two.

Tagging: @alwaysclassyeagle

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf #f1 imagine #charles leclerc smut #pierre gasly cameo

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peakyswritings · 4 months ago

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Heart, Body and Soul || Tommy Shelby x OC

PART X

Summary: mistakes were made the previous night, and Tommy and Nina are forced to come to terms with what the consequences of their actions will be.

Warnings: time-typical misogyny, talks of arranged marriage, talks of forced marriage, mentions of killing, mentions of violence, mentions of sex, angst, small age-gap (Tommy’s 30, Nina is in her early 20s). This is set between season 1 and 2. English is not my first language.

Important information for context: the honour killing and the shotgun wedding at the time in Italy were recognised by the Penal Code and were only abolished in 1981.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

SERIES MASTERLIST

Gif credits

Dividers credits

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

It took Nina less than a minute to realise that she had woken up in a bed that wasn’t hers, in a room that wasn’t hers, beside someone she wasn’t supposed to be lying with. Memories from the previous night flooded back to her mind in a powerful wave. The passionate but gentle touches, the reassuring words, the adoring glances of that man that had bursted into her life to sweep her off her feet and make her question everything, all in the name of something more intense than anything she had ever felt.

Her eyes trailed over Tommy’s face, tracing the regular line of his jaw, the small scar under his chin, the outline of his slightly parted lips, the curve of his nose, mesmerised by the way his long lashes brushed his freckled cheeks. There was no hint of the stern, cold facade he put on every single day. He looked relaxed. Peaceful, even. Once again, she found herself drawn to that beauty, a beauty that seemed carved from marble by God himself.

Shit.

Careful not to wake him, she got up to collect the stained bedsheet she had tossed on the floor the previous night, wondering how she’d manage to wash it without arousing the suspicions of her mother. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door just enough to make sure no one was in the hallway, half-convinced that her mother or her father would appear from nowhere and find out the disgrace she had brought upon the family.

Just fucking do it, she scolded herself.

After one last moment of hesitation, she walked out the room, closing the door behind her ever so slowly before sprinting towards her bedroom. As soon as she was in the safety of those four walls, she breathed out a sigh full of frustration, nervously dropping the items she was holding to the floor.

What the fuck had she done?

Her gaze was caught by the bloodstain on the bedsheet, red, vibrant. She kicked it in a corner of the room, unable to think under the accusatory looks it seemed to send her. What would she do now? Pretend nothing had happened, again? She couldn’t. She knew she couldn’t. How was she supposed to act normal around him, now that they had truly crossed the line? How was she supposed to even look Agnese in the eyes? She had betrayed her. She had betrayed her whole family. Not only had she ruined herself, she had ruined herself with her cousin’s future husband. A future husband who hadn’t even proposed yet because of her. Not to mention that she wasn’t just ruining a marriage, but she was ruining the only chance they had at peace for her own selfishness.

The scariest thing was that wasn’t even the worst part. If the thing were to come out, she’d be irremediably deemed as a whore. It wasn’t her reputation she was worried about, it was the consequences her family would face. The consequences she would face. She had tarnished the Ferrante name, and only her blood could wash that stain away.

Normally the options were two: a shotgun wedding or an honour killing, but in her case the choice was even more limited. Because while her father might consider marrying her off to Tommy, uncle Mario would never accept the offence. And everyone in the family would vote against the alliance with the Shelbys. She knew her father and brothers would never actually kill her. They would get angry, maybe even beat her, lock her in the family home for the rest of her days, but never that. They would’ve learned to live with the shame. But she had uncles, and aunts, and cousins who would want to clean their name.

No, the truth couldn’t come out. What had happened the previous night must never get past the walls of Tommy’s room. Even if it meant losing him forever.

That morning, Maria Ferrante was rather surprised to find out her daughter had woken up feeling particularly cooperative and decided to wash and change everybody’s bedsheets of her own free will. She was now hanging them out in the sun, under her incredulous stare.

“Even your brothers’?”

“Yeah, for when they’re back.”

That was new. Nina had always stubbornly refused to even set foot in Salvatore’s and Pietro’s rooms, adamant that it was their responsibility to keep their stuff clean. Maria figured that, just like her, she didn’t like it when her father sent them away on business, and that her worry had taken the shape of rare gestures of fondness. Or maybe she was just keeping herself occupied, as she always did when something troubled her.

The first assumption wasn’t too far away from the truth. Sure, Nina had her own interests behind that sudden prodigality, but getting their rooms ready for their return made her feel like they would, with no doubt, come back. Like nothing would go wrong.

“That cake I found in the kitchen,” her mother inquired again, and Nina had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes at her unrelenting interrogation. “Where did it come from?”

“I made it last night. Couldn’t sleep.”

A few seconds of silence followed, and it made her hope her mother was done with the questions. She had never been a good liar, not with the people who knew her well. Her face was an open book on which the truth stood out, black ink on pristine white paper.

“Nina,” Maria’s stern voice cut the air. “I know what’s going on.”

The blood froze in her veins. She thought she had been careful. She was sure no one had seen sneaking in or out Tommy’s room, all hell would’ve broken loose otherwise. There was no way she really knew. She swallowed, sending her a glance, completely unable to say anything.

Her mother’s face twisted in a sour expression, and her knowing eyes pierced right through her. “Stefano.”

Nina had to hold back a sigh of relief. She secured a pillowcase on the line, able to breath again now that she knew her secret was still safe. However, that name alone was enough to deepen the frown on her face, the mere sound of it making her skin crawl.

“You’re worried cause your father wants to give you to him.”

Give you to him. That sentence made her wrinkle her nose. She had always disliked that expression. Give you to him as if you’re a possession to be handed from one owner to another. Give you to him as if you’re a bargaining chip. Give you to him because you belong to me and you’re mine to give.

“I wanted that too,” Maria continued. “I thought he was good, but now I see. These men,” she lowered her tone, as if to tell her something meant for no one’s ears but hers. “They’re all the same. They’re cursed.”

It would’ve been an understatement to say that her words had taken Nina aback. That woman so defined by her role as a wife and a mother had now a look, an anger in her eyes she had never witnessed, that clashed with the meek acceptance she wore on her face every day. “Do better. Marry someone good. Someone honest, with an honest work. Leave this life behind while you’re still in time. I didn’t have that choice,” she shook her head, her features hardening under the weight of a pain that had been suppressed for too long. “I was poor, my family was starving, and when your father came to speak to my father I couldn’t choose. Your father has been good to me, and I grew to love him. But he is who he is and does what he does, and it’s not something easy to live with.”

Nina opened her mouth to speak, but closed it right away. Nothing she could possibly say after that was even remotely worth saying. All of a sudden, she regretted all the times she had cruelly told her she’d rather kill herself than end up like her.

Her eyes widened when her mother grabbed one of her hands and held it between both of hers, her calloused fingers a reminder of the years she had spent working to bring money to her parents. Maria Ferrante never spared herself when it came to show affection to her sons, but with her it was different. Nina had always believed it depended on the fact that she was not the daughter she would have wanted, or on the countless fights they had, or even on some kind of resentment she didn’t know how to justify. But the naturalness with which she brought her hand to her cheek to tenderly caress it carried a motherly love that left her speechless, and almost made her feel uncomfortable.

“Listen to me, find a good man. Or your father will choose for you and you’ll never get out of here. You will be cursed, and if you have sons, they will be as well, just like your brothers.”

Nina took a step back, the rage that had been simmering inside her ever since she was little threatening to rise to the surface and spill out. As a child, she had often imagined that feeling she couldn’t name as a stream of lava that would rise and rise until there was no room for it to grow anymore and it would overflow, implacable, ruthless, destroying everything it found in its path. Even now that she was older, even now that she had learned to recognise her anger, it still felt the same.

“I have a friend from church, who has a son. He lives in Florence now, but he’s here for the summer. I can arrange something-”

“Mum…” she interrupted her, not even listening at that point. But her mother went on, talking fast, as if she no longer had control over what she was saying.

“I can arrange something, and you can leave this life behind. You can come visit, from time to time. On holidays.”

“No one ever leaves this life, you should know it,” she murmured, trying hard to keep her calm. It was clear her mother wasn’t thinking straight, in her desperate attempt to spare her from the same destiny as her. Unaware that she was accidentally pushing her in a very similar direction.

As though that simple statement had managed to bring her back to her senses, Maria blinked, her expression changing.

“I won’t drag anyone else into this mess. And sure as hell I won’t marry a man just to escape another,” Nina said firmly. She wasn’t going to let Spinietta influence her decisions more than she had already did. She wasn’t going to let the fear make her stray away from her morals, her beliefs. She wasn’t going to lose herself.

Back to her composed demeanour, her mother straightened her shoulders, her voice hardening. “You’ll end up marrying Stefano this way. You know it.”

She was aware her mother was implicitly telling her that her father had made up his mind, and that she wouldn’t be able to help her. Yet, she wasn’t scared. Because she’d fight tooth and nail against it. They could drag her to the altar, take the vows out of her mouth by force, it wouldn’t matter. She would raise hell before she let them succeed. She would burn down the church and everybody in it, including herself. She’d die before she surrendered to a life that wanted her bent, broken, obedient.

“It shouldn’t be like this,” she said through gritted teeth.

“But this is what it’s like. It’s time for you to accept it.”

Bad news was received that day. Antonio Ferrante had written from England, saying that two of Sabini’s men had been caught trying to blow up his restaurant. In the letter, he specified that after a civil conversation about the motives of that unjustified attack, the two had walked away in cement shoes. A coded way to say they had been interrogated and then sent sleeping at the bottom of some river.

It was the first open act of war, and the family was worried it wouldn’t be the last. The strength they had demonstrated by thwarting Sabini’s plan and killing his men would buy them some time, but it wouldn’t be enough in the long run. That was why Tommy found himself sitting in Vincenzo’s office, trying to maintain his imperturbable facade as the Italian stood behind his desk in all his height, with a grave expression on his face. Tommy felt like he was studying him, searching for a sign of weakness that he could use against him, that he could use to make him cave. He recognised that look, cause it was the same one he wore whenever he needed to assert his power.

“I called you, Mr Shelby,” Vincenzo started, turning to grab a bottle of whiskey from a cabinet. “To remind you of your end of the deal.”

Tommy cleared his throat, sitting straight in his chair. “I intend to propose-”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Ferrante cut him off, brushing away the matter with a gesture of his hand. He took his time to pour the brown liquid in two glasses, before sliding one across the wooden surface in front of him and beckoning him to drink. Tommy gladly did as he said, the familiar taste of alcohol feeling necessary to face a conversation he wasn’t sure where would lead.

“You promised us men, in our war against Sabini.”

“And men you’ll have,” Tommy assured, switching to the tone he reserved for business. “As soon as I receive the compensation for the warehouse you blew up.”

That had been the result of strenuous negotiations, and to achieve it, not only had he given up on any kind of reparation for the two pubs under the Blinders’ protection the Italians had destroyed along with the warehouse, but he also had to offer some of his best soldiers. However, the war against Sabini was also in his interest, and the power and money he would gain were worth compromising.

With a single, satisfied nod, Vincenzo took a seat in his leather chair. “I am a man of my word, Mr Shelby. You’ll have your compensation,” he guaranteed, grabbing his whiskey. He swirled the drink in his glass, pondering his next words. “That being said, my brother has expressed his concerns to me…”

Here we fucking go.

“His concerns about your lack of a proposal.”

Tommy raised his eyebrows, bringing the liquor to his mouth to stall as his brain formulated an answer. “I still have two days, haven’t I?”

The shadow of a grin grew on the Italian’s face. “And you intend to wait until the very last one,” he pointed at him. “To keep us on edge,” he added, lowering his voice, the grin seeming to become less amused and vaguely threatening. Tommy’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t falter, nor did he break his stare, for the faintest hint of vacillation would make him as exposed as a prey in front of a beast that could smell fear.

But then Ferrante cracked a smile, his tone lightening. “Or to enjoy what is left of your time as a free man before being handcuffed.”

Tommy let out a forced chuckle, tilting his head in agreement. For once, he couldn’t think of anything to say. What could he say? ‘Speaking of enjoying my time, I fucked your daughter yesterday night’? He would have his head right there and then.

He was in deep shit, and until he found a way to dig himself out, he needed to keep up the act. For himself, for Nina. He couldn’t make any decision without speaking to her first.

“I heard you’re a man of your word as well,” Vincenzo spoke again, snapping him out of his thoughts. “So I told him he has nothing to worry about. Don’t make me regret it.”

Although the last sentence held a clear warning, the Italian spoke calmly, as though he was asking him a favour, rather than admonishing him. He talked and acted like a man who didn’t need to make threats, who knew his word was law and no one would dare go against his wishes. Tommy knew that feeling all too well, he had gotten a taste of it during the past year, and it hadn’t taken long for him to get used to it, and to want more. But in that moment, in that place, he was on his own. Sure, his reputation preceded him, and it protected him to some extent, but he was outnumbered and at a disadvantage. So he had no choice but to comply. To take a step back in order to be a step ahead in the future.

“I won’t.”

“Good,” Ferrante leaned back in his seat, more relaxed now that the important stuff had been cleared out. “Cause Agnese is the apple of his eye,” he added, taking a cigar out of the pocket of his jacket. “His only wish is to see her happy.”

Things were far more complicated than Tommy had anticipated, and despite all his efforts to come up with a plan that would cause the least damage, he couldn’t imagine one scenario in which things didn’t go wrong. He could only take risks.

“Ah, daughters have their own special way of giving you a headache,” Ferrante murmured, waving the cigar. “If you have one, you’ll understand. You may go now, Mr Shelby.”

Clearing his throat, Tommy left the office, his mind endlessly mulling over the matter. He had his hands tied, and that feeling alone was enough for him to fume. No, he wasn’t going to have his hand forced, and he wasn’t going to let anyone scare him into a decision.

A newfound determination made its way inside of him. He was Thomas Shelby, for fuck’s sake. He didn’t need to ask anyone for permission. He took whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. He made the rules. He held the power. Those people needed him just as much as he needed them, if not more, otherwise he would be six feet under already. He wouldn’t make a choice that would suit everyone, he would make the choice that suited him. Him and the woman who was now carved in heart.

Because Nina would suffer the consequences of their actions as much as him, if not more. He had taken liberties with her, and although he had no regrets, he couldn’t pretend he didn’t have a responsibility toward her.

But it wasn’t just duty. He wasn’t going to make that choice because he felt guilty, or responsible, or because it was the right thing to do. He was going to make that choice because he thought they could make it work. He knew her, and she knew him. She had awakened feelings in him he thought would stay asleep for the rest of his days, she had made him believe that even he could have a chance at happiness. She didn’t look at him like he was a lost cause, or a devil, or broken beyond repair, she looked at him like there was something beautiful in him only her eyes saw. And if those eyes had found even a fragment of something worth saving, that meant that he wasn’t utterly unredeemable, that there was still an amount of good, no matter how small, that had survived the bad.

As soon as he walked into his room, he opened the drawer of his bedside table. The small velvet box was sitting there, next to the gun he had carefully kept hidden since his arrival. He knew what he had to do.

The weather had turned grey. The afternoon sun had been covered by dark clouds, and the air already smelled like rain. Nina had rushed out to take the laundry inside, hoping the storm that was approaching wouldn’t cause the efforts of a whole morning to go to waste. When she had finally come out of hiding - hiding was definitely the right word - she had quite literally ran into Tommy, almost knocking him over in the process, before scurrying away like a thief. And now there she was, still deeply embarrassed by her graceless flight, hurriedly putting the clean bedsheets in a basket.

She had been openly ignoring him all day. Or rather, avoiding him. She hadn’t shown up for breakfast, nor lunch, and she sought refuge in the closest room every time she heard him approaching. She wasn’t proud of that childish reaction, but she genuinely didn’t know how to act. The intensity of her feelings scared her. She was afraid that they would get in the way when the time to push him away came, that she’d yield to him again the moment her gaze met his.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

That deep voice made her hasty movements come to a stop. Her heart raced in her chest as she heard Tommy’s steps coming closer, until he was mere inches away from her.

“Here I am,” she mumbled, not sparing him a glance as she resumed folding the laundry in the basket.

“We need to talk.”

“Be quick, they can’t see us.”

Those words burned on her tongue as she spat them out. It hurt her to treat him like that, when what she actually wanted was to have him close to her again. But did she have any other choice? Indulging in those feelings had only caused trouble. She had to let him forget about her just like she needed to forget about him.

Tommy didn’t seem fazed by her hostility. He put a hand on her shoulder, gently guiding her to turn around. The contact roused the memory of his warm fingers trailing over her skin, and a shiver ran down her spine. His eyes searched her face, and there was a tenderness in them, a fondness that left her completely disarmed.

A lightning split the sky, followed by a crack of thunder, and the first drops of rain began to fall, bringing Nina back to reality.

“There’s not much to talk about,” she blurted out, abruptly taking a step back. “What happened yesterday can’t happen again.”

Tommy’s eyebrows knitted as she hastened to collect the rest of the laundry. He reached out to her, but she swiftly escaped his grasp, taking another sheet off the line. “Nina…” he tried again, but the more he got close, the more she slipped away from him. He rubbed his eyes, inhaling deeply. His patience was wearing thin at that point. He clenched his jaw, willing to make one last attempt to get her attention nicely. “Nina.”

Still nothing.

Fed up with that behaviour, he testily collected the rest of the laundry himself and threw it in a mess in the basket under her astonished stare. “Will you listen to me now?”

Surprisingly, there was no anger in his expression, nor annoyance, but there was still a hint of sternness that made her eventually give in. She crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for him to speak.

Tommy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, Nina’s piercing gaze feeling like a knife cutting through him, unraveling and exposing the deepest parts of him. “What happened last night…” he trailed off, realising there were so many things he wanted to tell her that he didn’t even know where to start. “I overstepped, we-”

“We made a mistake,” Nina finished his sentence for him, trying to keep her voice steady despite the lump in her throat. “I made a mistake.”

She shouldn’t have opened up to him. She shouldn’t have gone to his room. She shouldn’t have kissed him. She shouldn’t have led him on when she knew nothing could ever happen between them. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them away, she didn’t want to let him see how much she was hurting herself as well, for she could sense that if he got even a glimpse of her real feelings for him, he wouldn’t give up. A futile attempt.

Tommy’s gaze softened at the sight. “Hey,” he whispered, delicately squeezing her arm. “Look at me.”

She didn’t. She couldn’t bear that look full of affection. It almost caused her to break down. The drizzle was intensifying, and she could only hope that if her tears betrayed her, he’d mistook them for raindrops.

He grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up to look at him. “We can make it right,” he said reassuringly.

“What do you mean?” she frowned.

Tommy hesitated for a moment, a nervousness equivalent to the one he had felt the previous night awakening in him. His hands started to shake, his heart to hammer in his chest. That was a point of no return which would either seal or break the bond that had formed so naturally between them. A bond he dreaded to lose. A bond he’d never have with anyone else.

Nina’s eyes widened as he took a velvet box out of his pocket, the realisation of what he was about to do crashing down on her.

“No,” she quickly took his hands in hers, keeping him from opening the box. “No,” she repeated, more softly.

“I know it’s a jump in the void,” he said, his hand going to cradle the nape of her neck. “I know. But we can make it work. You and me.”

“Tommy…” she shook her head. He was making it so difficult.

“I want you by my side. I don’t want a wife, I want a partner. Nina, I…” he paused, words getting caught in his throat. “I care about you.”

She squeezed her eyelids shut, pain spreading through her whole being at his revelation. She wanted to bring him close, to feel the warmth of his body against hers, to let herself be enveloped by the sense of safety his strong arms brought. Instead, she forced herself to pull his hand away from her, her fingers briefly tightening around it before letting it go.

“I don’t.”

Tommy looked at her as if she had just stabbed him. Hurt flashed across his face, causing a pang of guilt to hit her in the stomach. God, she felt like she could throw up.

“You’re lying,” he accused her in a hoarse voice.

“I’m not.”

“Liar.”

“Stop it.”

Why couldn’t he just leave? Why was he forcing her to inflict all that pain on him? Tommy was the last person she ever wanted to hurt, and in doing so she was hurting herself twice. By being the cause of his sorrow and by giving him up.

His body stiffened, and the heartbreak in his features disappeared to leave space for the coldness he constantly shielded himself with. “Say it. Say you feel nothing for me.” It sounded like an order, but Nina didn’t miss the crack in his voice. “Say it’s all in my head.”

Her mouth went dry, but she didn’t avert her gaze this time. “It’s all in your head.”

She felt empty. That one last lie had taken all the energy out of her, and left her with a feeling of numbness that made her lose all sense of herself.

Tommy nodded to himself, taking a step back. He wasn’t looking at her anymore. “You’re right. This was a mistake.”

With another clap of thunder, the sky broke open and the rain came pouring down. Nina rubbed her own arms in a soothing motion, watching as the lightning spread in the distance, drawing lines of light that flared and vanished into the grey above.

“You should go, Mr Shelby,” she murmured.

A muscle twitched in Tommy’s jaw, and for an instant he looked on the verge of saying something. Then he stormed off.

Nina let out a shaky breath, and the tears she had held back suddenly began to stream down her face. She covered her mouth to stifle a sob, the ache in her chest threatening to tear her apart from the inside. She shut her eyes tight, unable to watch his frame getting smaller and smaller as he walked away from her.

When she brought herself to look in his direction again, he was knocking on Agnese’s door.

NEXT CHAPTER

Heart, Body and Sould tag list

@zablife @queenofshinigamis @raincoffeeandfandoms / @justrainandcoffee @call-sign-shark

@kmc1989 @babayaga67 @kmhappybunny240 @diorrfairy @mariaelizabeth21-blog1

@gaslysainz @brummiereader @loverhymeswith @fairypitou @prettywhenicry4

@mysticalbouquetwolf-posts @woofgocows @girlwith-thepearlearring @goblinjnr @outlanderuniverse

@citylights31 @neonpurplestars89-blog @outlanderuniverse @red-riding-wood @evita-shelby

@look-at-the-soul @gathania93 @wonderlanddreamer

General tag list: @iamngoclinh08 @lilywinchesterlove @fandom-puff @capitanostella @caelys

@lucillethings @peakyxtommy @queenofkings1212 @lyarr24 @kmc1989

@call-sign-shark @jomarch-wannabe @ce1iat @red-riding-wood @optimisticsandwichgladiator

Tommy Shelby tag list: @50svibes

#peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fics #peaky blinder imagine #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby x oc

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emeritusemeritus · 2 months ago

Note

Hi I love your work can you do a george Weasley x reader at they wedding day at the end they make out ?

Hello my love! Please accept this gift as a token of my appreciation and forgiveness for taking so long to finish! When I tell you my inbox is FULL of George wedding night asks… keep turned because they are more coming! 🖤

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: none? A bit sexual in places much no graphic descriptions of sex. Wedding day bliss and slight torment with George. Slightly dominant George?

Waiting is the hardest part

You gulped down a sip of your champagne, choking slightly as your eyes fixed upon your new husband from across the dance floor, the hard look in his eyes making you wish that all of your guests could collectively disapparate right now.

It had been a truly magical day, right from start to finish, finally marrying the undisputed love of your life and best friend. George Weasley was everything you never knew you needed when you met aboard the Hogwarts Express on your first ever journey to school. The first meet turned into the first friendship, first friendship turned into first love and here you were over a decade later, still just as infatuated as you were right from the start.

The day was a jubilant celebration with friends and family, held at the Burrow just as you'd always wanted; now an official member of the Weasley family. It was rustic and homely, perfect in your eyes and a perfect representation of George, a little nod to all the summers you'd spent here with the family entwined in the best day of your life. The vows you made to each other were honest and personal, with a formality that Molly had insisted upon, though of course you didn't mind. It was perfect, everything was perfect, even with aunt Muriel there.

George's eyes were burning into your soul, feeling his gaze upon your body with a fiery sensation passing over you, as if he was setting you alight as his eyes roamed your curves greedily. You knew exactly what that look in his eyes meant and you forced yourself to be good, to not squeeze your legs together in anticipation. He looked devastatingly handsome in his wedding suit, a tailored fit that cling to his manly shoulders like molasses, accentuating his best features. Godric you were ready for your wedding night, hardly able to deny yourself any longer.

"Mind if I steal my husband?" You say to Angelina, who had been dancing with George when you approached. Your eyes flickered under your lashes up to George, who noticed your tone and demeanour instantly. Ang was none the wiser and excitedly giggled before dragging an unwitting Lee across the dance floor. George's hands upon your waist feel like a complete juxtaposition of fire and ice, soothing the ache of his touch but also alighting more flames deeper within you. Your arms stretched up to his shoulders, linking behind his head just as they had all those years ago at the Yule Ball when you'd danced together properly for the first time, but that in comparison was much, much tamer than this.

The darkness in his hazel orbs was enough to consume you, feeling like he was ready to devour you completely.

"Have I told you how absolutely breathtaking you look tonight?" He says, slightly breathlessly as he looks across your face and down to your cleavage.

"Not in the last 30 minutes," you smirk, reaching to okay with the little hairs at the nape of his neck.

"Straight to Azkaban for me," he smirks, "you look so beautiful, my beautiful wife."

He knew exactly what he was doing, so smoothly saying 'wife', just as you had moments ago saying 'husband', knowing how greatly it would affect him.

His big hands engulf your waist, etching closer to the curve of your bum with every shuffle as you glide around the dance floor slowly. You push yourself ever closer to the solid frame of his body, pressing your breasts against him as you seek comfort, wanting to feel him all around you. He senses it instantly, no doubt feeling the weight of your breasts against him. It's electric, the invisible spark between the two of you, an energy that seems to vibrate and resonate deep; the undeniable anticipation.

"Ready to slip away?" George says to you, leaning down to whisper closer to your ear, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl that makes you suck in a breath. You daren't speak, hardly trusting your voice and chose instead to simply nod in reply. He smirks, his eyes dangerously mischievous as he takes your small hand in his much larger one and leads you across the dance floor until you were handed over to Ginny for 'safe keeping'. You look around in silent reflection at the scene before you, getting one last glance to commit to your memory of this magical day. You glanced at your loved ones around you, watching your friends and new family mingling and dancing together with wide smiles. There were gifts and cards in abundance, piled high on a table near the back, a cake which had been cut that needed to be sliced and shared, decorations which were to be saved and some to be returned- all of which you knew Molly would sort out for you without hesitation. You couldn't think of those things, only of George and the night ahead.

"Oi Sis! Your carriage awaits!" You hear Fred shout and turn around, realising he was shouting to you, his new sister. You laugh and then laugh again when you realise both he and George are stood beside the Old Ford anglia that had been decorated with thick ribbon on the bonnet, metal cans tied to the back bumper and a huge 'just married' painted across the rear window in Fred's awful writing. George has a smirk plastered on his face as he holds out his hand for you to take whilst Fred stands beside him with a massive shit-eating grin on his face, clearly pleased with his decorations.

You go to take George's hand but hesitate, turning instead to Fred and throw your arms around him, catching him off guard with a little 'oof'. He chuckles and wraps his arms around you in return, being somewhat careful of your dress as he rocks you back and forth in his hold.

"Thank you," you whisper in his ear, knowing how much he'd done for the both of you not just today but in general.

"Take care of him," he says back, knowing that George would the able to hear you speaking this quietly on his left side. You smile, pulling away and give a subtle little nod to your new brother in law, who turns to his twin and slaps him on the back. They share a moment, which you try not to invade and within moments Fred had disappeared and George has opened the passenger door for you.

Your guests line in and cheer as George pulls away, driving down the familiar dirt road away from the Burrow, his left hand resting on your clothed leg as you excitedly wave at your guests. Once you're away from the burrow, driving through the winding roads of Ottery, you finally breathe out a sigh of relief, a smile still frozen on your face from the wonderful day.

"I can't wait to get out of this dress," you say to George, watching the hills sprawling around you at the last sunlight of the day crests disappearing into the landscape.

"My thoughts exactly," George says darkly, his grip on your leg momentarily getting tighter. You cast a glance at him and see that he's hardly paying attention to the road at all, his eyes gazing over your body hungrily. You bite your lip, legs closing as you work to steady your breathing, one little comment from him being enough to renew the arousal you felt.

Thirty minutes of driving felt like pure torture as the unspoken tension increased within the tight space, your need for George too consuming. You wanted him to claim you anew, make you his wife entirely. You were his now, officially, legally, shared his last name and in all the other ways that made his claim on you known.

You couldn't hold in your gasp when George stopped the car, pulling up outside a beautiful little cottage that had the coziest lights on it, a lit beacon that pleaded for entry.

"George, it's beautiful!" You gasped, turning to him with an excited smile that had him chuckling as he killed the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt.

"It's nothing compared to you."

You squeal as you soar through the air, George's strong arms pulling you into a fireman's carry as per tradition as he carries you over the threshold to the little cottage that is yours for the week. The mass of your dress is poofed up around you as he carries you as if you weigh little more than a feather, directing you straight to the bedroom. You hardly have time to look around as he walks directly to the bedroom before launching you onto the huge bed with a boyish laugh. You sit up and watch carefully as he doesn't move, stood resolute at the foot of the bed gazing down at you with hungry, dark eyes.

"I want to remember this forever," he says, the sentimentality of his words hitting you like a freight train. "You look so beautiful, so pure... I want to destroy that."

Your chest heaves to claim your lost breath, the harshness of his words and his eyes making you breathless. His eyes wander your curves in the dress, following a line up from your cleavage up to your face as he finally looks in your eyes. You sit up, finding your courage and begin to crawl over to him, wanting that beautifully tailored suit ripped from his body as soon as possible. His lips twist to a gentle smirk as his eyes follow your every moment. As you reach the end of the bed, your eyes trail up to his, the purest little doe eyes you can muster meeting his much more fierce gaze and you wait...

Part 2 posted HERE for the ✨Smut ✨

#emeritusemeritus #emeritusemerituswrites #harry potter #George Weasley #George Weasley x reader #George Weasley x you #george weasley masterlist #George Weasley fluff #asks and requests #requests completed #requests #request closed

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writingjourney · 7 months ago

Text

Benedict x fem!reader fic preview anyone?

It will be a cute 4+1 times situation with some wholesome (and spicy!!!) moments during their engagement period.

EDIT: FIND THE FULL FIC HERE!! OR ON AO3 ✌🏼

─── ⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆ ───

He stops, leans against the frame of the open door to the drawing room and drinks you in. The pianoforte is angled away from the open windows, your back turned to him. Bare skin shimmers in the sunlight, diffused by sheer white curtains that stream dreamily in the mild breeze. He follows the line of your shoulders where they rise and fall as your hands dance across the keys, then up the curve of your spine where your neck is exposed under pinned-up hair. The music seems to carry the easy with which you hold yourself.

He notes that your maid is not with you, a sign that the staff is kept busy with the wedding preparations. Or perhaps you sent her away as you are prone to do, craving solitude – and opportunities to meet him. Benedict finds himself chasing these moments in which he gets to have you to himself like they’re his sanctuary, so precious that he has to pile them up with care like gemstones in the shrine of his love for you. One day soon he will be able to display them more openly. For now he has to grasp them as they appear.

You only hear him when his steps have reached so close that not even the rugs can muffle them anymore. A few weeks ago you might have been startled by him appearing out of nowhere but by now it is rather natural that he should find you when you are alone. It seems he has a sense for it.

When you look up he is already urging to you scoot over. The double piano bench is rather narrow but you think he might be closing in more than necessary. You’re acutely aware of the press of his thigh against yours.

“Do not let me disturb you, dearest,” he says in the dulcet tone you know means mischief.

“Is your goal not to disturb me, Mr Bridgerton?”

“My goal,” he whispers, leaning in conspiratorially, “is to be closer to the music.”

His breath on your neck does nothing to enhance your ability to focus. The first few notes are not quite rhythmic as a shiver runs through your limbs and down your fingertips. You soon find your footing, however, and the song comes to life in the form of a moderately slow but all the more magical sonata of your own composition. Sheet music is quite expensive and your collection rather limited. To add some variety you recently began to write your own, significantly inspired by Benedict and his artworks.

“Beautiful,” he whispers to himself and you smile as you transition into a faster section of the song that reminds you of fairies frolicking in a meadow, drunk on honeydew and starlight.

However, you soon realise that he did not talk about the music. His hand dances along your back, fingertips drumming over your spine until they come to rest on the swell of your hip on the other side. It is the closest thing to an embrace, his arm a comforting support behind your back. His proximity, if thrilling, does not deter you. Your hands remember exactly what they must do – over a decade of tutoring has left its marks.

Your confidence is short-lived. His hair tickles your ear as he leans in, a soft press of his lips to your shoulder, devoted, sensuous and… lingering. Your fingers slip but for a moment. It is enough to draw the wrong tunes from the instrument, a cacophonous quake that has you wincing in surprise.

“You must stay focused,” Benedict warns, lips still warm on your skin, “or everyone shall hear that you are… rather distracted.”

“How fortunate that I am known for my stable countenance.”

“Hm, yes, that is what they say about you, my darling, “ he whispers. “If only they saw you as I do, falling apart at the mere idea of a kiss.”

You close your eyes and recollect yourself, trying desperately to ignore how he feels against you. Despite his warning he shows no signs of stopping, not even as you resume your play. The next kiss hits the crook of your neck. You feel his nose against your jaw as he inhales your scent, rose oil and soap. For a moment his warm exhale against your throat overshadows the fact that is fingers curl at your hip, a not so innocent squeeze that you feel somewhere between your legs.

You’re aware that both of your families are just outside in the gardens, that the open windows and the steady breeze carry your tunes far out on the premises. Muscle memory serves you and you finish the hardest part of the song without more than one or two off-key notes. Benedict has been silent, lips lingering just below your ear. Just as you move on to the conclusion his mouth gets more insistent, sucking gently at your delicate skin as he gets carried away.

”Benedict,“ you warn. Crooked tunes are one thing, a vivid red kiss mark another.

“Forgive me,” he whispers, pressing tiny kisses along your neck now. “I cannot help it.”

You finish the song with a relieved exhale, wondering if a musical number has ever felt so painfully long before. Benedict has lost his patience, it seems. His free hand comes to rest on your sternum as though he needs to feel the agitated rise and fall of your chest. You only have a moment to relish in the soft feel of his palm on your bosom before he curls his fingers over your jaw and forces your head to turn to him. His kiss is dizzying, starved. He tastes of the strawberries he must have had outside just earlier.

You allow him to kiss you breathless before you remove yourself. He tries to chase after you, as he is won’t to do, but a finger on his swollen lips has him halting. His expression rivals that of Newton when he is in want of a treat.

“We must go back outside before they find us,” you say. “It is already suspicious enough that I played off-key the moment you stepped inside.”

“I blame you for being such a flawless musician.”

“I blame you for being such an irresistible distraction. Now come on, my darling, I am suddenly in want of some sweet strawberries.”

He sighs woefully and you cannot help but kiss the pout from his face.

─── ⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆ ───

This fic is coming within the next week I would say, it will be 18+ so MDNI. Let me know if you want to be tagged in the full thing!! (just in case this lands in the hashtag and someone actually sees it haha) ♡

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton family

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alpydk · 5 months ago

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Confessions

You asked for a sequel to Consequences so here I bring it.

Part 1 - Tav slept with Mizora, Gale left as we all know. Hate sex ensues at the epilogue party. That's it. Part 2 - They have another encounter - sex ensues. That's it.

Word Count - 3950 words CW - Angst/Smut - Happy ending ^^

The wedding invitation lay on the table, ivory parchment with a cherry red embossed trimming.

Karlach and Shadowheart... Baldur’s Gate... Elient...

It had been six months since the party where they had last met up, where Tav had last seen and spoke with Gale. She gritted her teeth at the memory, one of silver cups splayed in front of her, of her braid pulled taut behind her as he controlled her climax with a sense of dominance she had never seen before. “Now, my dear Tav. Say please.” She smirked to herself at the image of him behind her, his cock pressed against her, his eyes darkened with desire and anger. They had lain on that table for some time afterwards, their hearts beating in unison, an unspoken apology between them which remained unspoken. And now would soon come a wedding, an event that always came with drama of some sort.

Tav picked up the nearby quill, the decision of whether to attend or not posed at her fingertips. To see him again or not after what had last happened...

---

“Leaving so soon?” Gale felt the shift of Tav’s weight from next to him, her ebony braid dragging across his tunic before he had the chance to realise what was happening.

She stood, pulling her scarlet dress down to cover her legs more modestly than where it had been hoisted up to. “It’s getting early, and I’m meant to be back in the city before lunch.”

The warmth he’d known for only a short while had again gone, replaced with the icy walls and defensiveness they’d started the party with. Despite the admittance of why she’d ran to Mizora and now the understanding of where each of them stood, it was clear one night of drunken, angry sex upon an oak table wouldn’t be enough to bury the hatred that had been spat between them with such venom and loathing.

He let out an exasperated huff of annoyance. Once again pushed aside, being punished by the one he supposedly loved. Maybe at this point he was the problem, constantly finding women to fill a void left within. He was certain there was some psychological aspect in play forcing him to go for women similar to his own strong-willed mother, and the concept sickened him, or possibly it was that of the bottle of wine which flowed throughout his system. “Gods forbid something be more important...” he muttered under his breath. Did he even want to give what they had a chance? Was it worth the pain, the heartache?

Tav selectively ignored his words, her body already bristling, a slight hangover drifting in with the taunting sunrise. How could she have been so reckless, so desperate to have him? She shuddered at the thought. “Well, I’ll be seeing you, Gale,” she said, collecting her black lingerie from under the table.

He could see the curve of her arse as she bent over, his body betraying his mind in one fell swoop, and he took the chance of her back being turned to him to sit up and hastily tie the drawstrings on his trousers. A little tighter than normal, he remarked internally, making sure not to make the same mistake as some hours before. “You don’t think we should perhaps discuss-”

She cut him off before the words could even be produced from his wine-tinged lips. “A drunken mistake made by two lonely and desperate people. No different than it was at Moonrise.”

---

They didn’t speak after she had said those words, the harshness of them still causing her to hang her head in shame even now. That night at Moonrise had meant everything to her at one point, how they had admitted their love to one another, how he had conjured the soft bedsheets that smelt of lavender before worshipping her for hours in more ways than she could ever have dreamt of. Yet six months ago she was done, tired of their arguments, tired of Mystra and Mizora, but most of all, tired of him. She had to say it, the worst thing she could ever come up with, just to give them both finally a chance of moving on.

Her heart had broken behind her built up walls. She would not show him how guilty or hurt she was by all that had transpired. She’d simply brushed herself down and walked away from the campsite, her braid hanging down behind the scarlet dress she’d never wear again.

Since that night she had dated others, worked her way through numerous men and women looking for that same spark that ignited the flames within her, causing them to burn so brightly. She’s tried being submissive with a few, allowing them to order her around, praise her, punish her if that’s what they desired, but none came close to how he had been that night with her. The sensation lived under her skin. It swelled with the memories of him: his dark eyes, firm hands gripping her hips, a voice that controlled her very essence.

As she glanced at the invitation, she let out a deep breath and stretched out her back. She knew she would have to be there, two of her closest friends finally tying the knot, Karlach’s infernal engine fixed after almost a year in Avernus battling for her life. Tav also knew though that he would be there too, dressed in his finest, his heart once again stitched back together after the damage she had done. Black ink flowed onto the parchment, soaking through a tad before she removed the quill. The date was set, the confirmation given, the anxiety building with the thoughts of what was left of the man she’d once loved.

---

The sun was slowly setting over the small chapel on the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate. It was a modest church, large enough for a small party of friends and family, far enough away from the city that the sound of hustle and bustle could not reach it. Its white wooden doors lay open, welcoming a soon to be married couple and their guests, and with it came a light wind blowing autumn leaves into the aisle.

Gale sat alone inside on a pew. He’d been the first to arrive, and it seemed only suitable to check over the readings for the ceremony: selected poems he knew all too well. Admiring the red lilies and night orchids, which had been woven together, creating elaborate floral displays over the altar and around the confessionals, he couldn’t help but think. The colours complimented one another well, the crimson shades merging with the hints of purple. His mind drifted back to his old, tattered robes, the cherry red shirt that often lay with them in the corner of his tent as the sun rose during their travels. Nights devoted to making her smile.

He shifted uncomfortably, moving his attention to his suit. He’d gone away from purples long ago, Mystra’s influence tainting the colour with reminders of their weave touched relationship and for this occasion he had decided that simple was best. The black waistcoat he had chosen showed the physique he had been working on the last few months, his forearms toned and displayed from a navy shirt as he rolled the sleeves to a comfortable level.

He was already feeling the nerves, ones that he had tried to shift so many times in the last few weeks, and as his fingertips drifted to unbuttoning his collar, he knew it wasn’t likely to pass easily just by sitting and waiting for company. He rose from his seat, rolling his shoulders to relieve the tension, and looked to the main doors of the chapel where moonlight was making its appearance. Soon the others would arrive, but now he needed to stretch his legs and enjoy the little peace that was available.

As the cool breeze blew through the waves of his hair, he spotted Tav walking up the quiet path towards him. Her head was faced away from his, her eyes drawn to the line of wildflowers that grew along the verge. She looked as beautiful as she ever had. Her dark hair hung down around her shoulders, silver beads placed in thin braids glistened as they caught light. Tav had kept her pattern of wearing red; this time, her short figure-hugging dress replaced with one that pinched her waist but flared out at the base. Her pale legs were still on display just as they’d been at the party and for a moment, he was dragged back to the memory of running his hands up those thighs as he’d done so many times before.

He turned his back on her, choosing instead to walk around the other side of the chapel, hoping that before she noticed him, others would arrive, and their interaction could be kept at a safe minimum. He would not make the same mistake as last time.

---

“And now we will hear a brief poetry reading from Gale.” Astarion made sure to emphasise just how brief it would be as he left his position at the altar. Despite it being over two hundred years since his position of magistrate, somehow Baldarian law still gave him the allowance to operate and, as such, he had found himself in the unfortunate position of officiating the wedding of his two old friends. He stepped aside, letting Gale taking charge, hearing the nervous heartbeat that beat so relentlessly.

There were few guests in attendance who weren’t already at the party six months previously, but something about standing before them all, speaking words of love and commitment, filled him with an emotion he wished would vanish. A part of him knew this should have been his day, where the poem read would instead have been vows spoken with devotion to the one he loved. If only they had simply talked to one another.

“Good evening, my dear friends. It’s been some time once again since we last gathered like this. It’s good to see you all.” His eyes passed briefly over Tav; the words meant more for her than anyone in sitting in the room. He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Well-” A nervous breath caught him, but it was enough to help him focus his attention. “For this most splendorous of occasions, I have indeed prepared a short poem which I would like to present to our most beautiful of couples.”

Karlach and Shadowheart stood before him, their hands entwined, their eyes glued on one another. The world around them may not have existed as they gazed lovingly at one another, a way in which Gale himself had once looked at Tav. His smile at them briefly turned sad before he shifted the memory and moved on quickly to reading.

His eyes met Tav’s as she watched, words originally meant for her now spoken openly. He hoped she knew this was for her, how despite everything, despite the anger and the heartbreak, it was always for her.

She glanced away from him, a rogue tear escaping her, which she was quick to wipe away. His deep brown eyes glistened under the moonlight, and she wished things could be different between them. How they both wished all this could be different, how the longed-for apologies could be said between one another. How they wished they could find a way back to one another.

---

The ceremony ended, and Karlach and Shadowheart were eager to leave after accepting congratulations from everyone, a quick passing comment about seeing stars heard by a few at the exit to the chapel. Tav stood by the simple altar, rolling the petals of the lilies between her fingertips, lost in her own thoughts of the wedding and all that had occurred.

“A lovely evening, don’t you think?”

Gale’s tentative voice brought her back to reality, her hand quickly drawn from the flowers. Within the hallowed walls of the church, she did not want to fight as they had done the previous times, instead she kept herself quiet, hesitant, and watchful of his actions.

“Hm. It was. Your poetry was very...” She pondered over the words, trying to find something that would explain how much she enjoyed it, but not strong enough that he would see through to the emotions that had been sitting on her sleeve all evening. “...well written.”

He stepped closer to her, and he noticed the way her dress caught with the breeze from the open door, allowing him to catch sight of her inner thigh. “Well, it seemed an important occasion to put in a little more effort into rather than my previous dabbles with poetry.”

“I’m sure they both appreciated it.” Tav could feel as he grew closer to her, her eyes catching on the way he seemed leaner since their last meeting. His body seemed firmer, his trousers snugger upon his groin, the shirt hugging his upper arms in a way that made her want to bite her lower lip. She kept her composure. “You look really well, Gale.”

“I took some time after our last encounter to work on myself a little.”

“Well, it suits you.”

At the altar they stood facing one another, moonlight shining through the small windows, autumn leaves blown along the aisle. She looked up into his eyes, her heart beating in anticipation after what had occurred at the party. It felt as if something were in the air, a powerful force that could not be resisted drawing her to him each time they met, but this time, the anger was muted within the sacred walls.

Gale lifted his hand, brushing a lock of her ebony hair behind her ear, his touch soft and cautious, as if they were together at Moonrise once again and he was expecting rejection. “Tav...”

Just as last time she interrupted him, but this time not with venom filled words. Instead, she brought her lips to his, a resignation to the surrounding forces which bound their souls together. He responded in kind, a hand brought to her cheek and holding her steady, the other grasped to the fabric of her dress and pulling her hips towards his. He broke off the kiss, letting out a shaky breath, searching her eyes for the certainty that this was what she wanted.

She drew herself towards him again, an answer to his unspoken question, flushed lips on his in wanting, but when he did not return her kiss, she pulled back, a hint of rejection she did not wish to show lingering in her mind. “We both know how this is going to end,” she said, desire in her eyes.

“Precisely. We do.” Gale’s grasp on her hip loosened ever so slightly, the hand on her cheek moved lightly to her hair, his fingers curling between the locks. “We’ll share in each other’s bodies and as our souls return to their cages, we will part, just as we have before.”

“So, this is it? The end of everything?”

He looked to the braids in her hair, to how they twisted and turned just like that of the Weave he was so fond of. Everything in him screamed to let go of her, to walk away and never see her again, to find peace. But his heart whispered amongst the din. It ignored the arguments; it ignored the hateful comments they had shared; it ignored the lust. There were only the nights before Mizora, ones where he and Tav had lain simply together, her hand on his chest, their hearts beating together in sync. There had been unsaid acts of love before and after they’d even admitted their feelings, the day where she had held him close after Elminster had told him of his doomed fate, the night where they had simply cried together after Bhaal had killed her and she’d been born anew. How had so many moments vanished with that one mistake? How had so much hate been born from what was once unbound love?

“Gale, tell me. Is this it? If it is, I’ll accept.” Tav’s words were honest, the exhaustion she had felt six months ago bursting through. She didn’t want to fight anymore; she had no fight left in her. All she wanted was to move on, to know he could move on.

His gaze went from the braids to her eyes, moistened, reflecting the moonlight. The whisper grew into a shout that he could no longer ignore. It couldn’t end this way. They found one another again, a tenderness not shared in so long as hands moved from tight clasping to gentle strokes, as passionate kisses were replaced with delicate exploration. He found himself pushing her backwards, the confessional booth the only place of any privacy within the chapel. She was pushed up against the white door of it, the scarlet lilies brushing over her shoulder as she nudged open the door with the base of her heel.

There was little room and even less light behind the closed door, and Tav was quick to shift Gale onto the small bench that met them. “Forgive me, father...”

“Oh, none of that, my love. We do not plan to draw the eyes of any deities in here.”

She pressed herself onto him, feeling the growing bulge under his trousers, grinding her hips into him, allowing her own body to react with need. “Not much room in here.”

Gale smirked. He knew exactly what she spoke of as he felt the ache of his erection pushing on the tight fabric, but for once last time he play with her. “Well, there’d be more room if you hadn’t gained weight.”

“Prick.” Tav scowled, before slipping her tongue into his mouth, finding his and sucking it with wanton desire.

He reacted in kind, his hands moving up under her legs and positioning her straddled across his lap. As she arched herself into him, rubbing herself down against him, she released the slightest of moans and he could feel the way she quivered with each rock of her hips. He brought a hand further up her thigh, dipping under the cloth of her skirt and tracing the lace of her underwear.

A soft mewl told him how heated she was already, how she chased her climax so readily upon his lap. His fingers danced above the fabric, tracing a line down her cunt, feeling as she leaned into his hand instinctively. He released her mouth from his, letting her bury her head into the crook of his neck, heated breaths poured onto his skin. “You’re so eager, as always.”

“Only with you... Only ever with you,” she gasped, feeling as his fingertips slipped onto her naked flesh, languid lines becoming rhythmic circles where she needed them most. Her heart raced, her eyes closed, and all she could do was savour the moments as her wants and needs became a blessed reality. “Gods, Gale...”

A part of him was tempted to tease her as he had last time, a consequence of all she had done, but as she whimpered into him, his name on her desperate lips, all he wanted was more of her, to give to her again as he had done so long ago, to worship her, to love her. He increased his pace, listening as whimpers became moans, as she pulled her head back and bucked herself shamelessly into his hand.

She felt herself nearing her edge, felt the familiar swelling almost at breaking point, the knowledge that it was him doing this to her spurring her on and making it impossible to resist any longer. “Gale...” she gasped through parted lips. Looking down at him in the low-lit confession booth was all it took for the thin strand of control to snap, her orgasm hitting hard and fast, her muscles tensing and clenching. His hand was removed, but with that, she found herself perched again over his lap, his trousers appearing visibly uncomfortable as she lowered herself onto them, trying to ground herself as the world spun around her.

Gale sighed as she sat atop him, her breath slowly returning to normal. He was remaining patient, wanting each second to span an eternity should it all come crashing down again around them. It wasn’t long though before her hands found the rim of his trousers, tugging at them, and letting her mouth return to his. Very little time was spent taunting with what he had that she wanted more of, his trousers and underwear pulled down, hers left abandoned around one ankle and her dress hoisted up over his lap as she straddled him once again.

Through gritted teeth, he spoke as she hovered above him. “I have something to confess.”

“A little on the nose, don’t you think?” Tav purred, lowering herself onto him, sighing as her body adjusted to his size within her. She’d never forgotten how good he felt, never found anything that compared to him.

He breathed through the relaxed roll of her hips, but noted the way her arousal was building quicker with each thrust into her. “Maybe... but now or never...”

His words were falling on death ears as her hands explored the sides of his abdomen, more toned than six months ago, less to grip, but the sight made her wish she had the composure to remove his waistcoat and shirt, to see what lay beneath, teasing her. She wanted to reply, but words were escaping her, his rhythm, his angle, the forearm that held her close as she arched her body into him, wanting more of him, needing more.

A firm hand gripped her hip, preventing her from writhing, allowing him to plunge into her more firmly, to let him feel every needed bit of her. “I love you, Tav...”

The words hit her hard, the confession that he still loved her even after everything making her heartbeat quicken, her climax upon her in an instance.

He felt as she tightened around him, her walls contracting, putting pressure on him. His movements became more demanding, more focused as he sought his own release. Whispered words met his ears, words of love and care, confessions of her own singing out through satisfied breaths. His hips snapped into her, the bench beneath and her above giving little room for him to leave her fully, just a constant pressure wrapped around him, bringing him to his precipice.

The more he rutted into her, the more she began to whine, wave after wave of pleasure, an orgasm ending only to lead into another as one of his hands once again found her sensitive bundle of nerves. “I love you... I love you...” she screamed out from the confines of the enclosed stall.

Those words, the admission of truth were all it took. Gale gripped her closely, his body jerking as he spilled himself into her. Her neck was on his lips in seconds, the salted taste of her sweat upon his tongue welcome as aftershocks caused him to convulse into her further. With each one came another gasped moan, soon growing quieter and quieter as both relaxed into one another’s gentle embrace.

They held each other for some time in the darkened shadows of the confessional, as moonlight became the lazy rise of a sun within the chapel. They had shared how they both felt, forgiven each other without spoken apologies, shared their love just as they had once done. For now, all they had was this one night, one under stars and shadows of a stall, amongst scarlet lilies and dark purple night orchids. Talking could come later.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 gale #bg3 fanfiction #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale bg3 #galemance #consequences sequel #no more #pls be satisfied

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arabellasleopardcoat · 1 year ago

Text

Canvas of imagination (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: On the eve of Rhaenyra's wedding, Daemon decides the best gift he can give to the father of the bride is a dreamer. A shame said dreamer does not seem to share the joy of the occasion.

Warnings: Kidnapping. Period typical misogyny. Violence. Unflattering depiction of characters (You might hate me for this)

A/N: Remember please, Daemon is an unreliable narrator. Here is where things start to get dark. I researched genetics for this and ended up really insecure. Read the previous part here.

There are many ways of silencing women. Murder is, of course, one. It’s not an elegant solution, but it is an effective one. It ensures the victim takes her secrets to the grave. Daemon likes to think himself more elegant than that.

There is, too, the possibility of a ruined reputation. But that strategy is one that is only effective towards women of a certain standing. You can hardly ruin what are already damaged goods, and a bastard certainly counts as damaged goods.

Daemon still could chuck you off Caraxes mid-flight. Yet, it does not seem like a good idea, either. Each one of your servants saw you get chained to his saddle. Not even Viserys’s intervention could save him from the angry mob of commoners that would await his return to the Vale.

Besides, he likes you there, mounted on his dragon. For once, quiet, too scared of screaming and disturbing Caraxes. Daemon likes the lack of noise, but he likes your presence much more. It would be foolish to silence a dreamer forever.

You need other kinds of chains. To tie you to him. Silencing you, when he does not want to hear. One often used for Targaryen women.

Marriage. A Bronze Bitch for another. But not exactly, is it? Not if you can truly see the future.

Perhaps this was meant to happen, then. As a way of honoring his ancestors. Grabbing a pretty maid, one with Valyrian gifts and…

Well. Children are another kind of chain, right? He is still not sold on the perks of bedding you. You are wrong. Too dark, too different. Nothing like Rhaenyra, and slightly older than her. But Daemon knows the children you will birth him will be strong. The gift on you is, after all.

To be able to look so far into the future speaks of a power unseen before. Targaryens have not been blessed by many dreamers in the last generations, and the few times they were, their gifts were fickle and weak. Not far enough to allow them to see further than days. The last time someone was able to look further was in the age of Aegon the Conqueror.

It must mean Valyrian descent. Nothing else is an acceptable answer. Even if you don’t look it.

Daemon mounts behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You feel soft in his arms. Perhaps bedding you will not be as bad. He had been afraid that you would be like Rhea. Those inquisitive eyes of her, the body as hard as the body of any man. They were not features he enjoyed on a female partner. It always turned him off.

It was not that he had refused to consummate the marriage. He wasn’t able to bed her, the awful bitch. Not only were her features off-putting, but her attitude. She was constantly trying to sit on his hips, push him down, and he couldn’t stand it. Daemon felt trapped. Emasculated.

He had to chase the shame, the powerlessness away, somehow. That was how he got started fucking whores, collecting maidenheads. It was much better when women were maidens. Easier. He likes the contrasts, Daemon has realized. Half women, half children are always more entertaining to play with.

You are not Rhea. You feel different in his arms. Your body is soft, all sweet limbs. There are no harsh muscles on your arms, and you smell like fresh baked pastries. Rhea always smelled of horse.

You are a girl, not a warrior like your sister was. Yet, you share her wild spirit. All the delicious curves of womanhood are already formed, a delicious pair of tits and hips that could drive any man to insanity.

Your parentage is a bit more undesirable, though. As the daughter of a whore, your innocence could be sullied. Daemon would have to ask if you were passed around when younger. He doubted it, but just in case. If you had not, bedding you would be the most fun he had in years. Open-minded, hot-blooded, but pure. It was not often you found that in a woman.

You try to squirm, but are too well bound. Getting too comfortable for his liking.

“Soves. ” He orders. Caraxes obeys. You shriek in terror, and Daemon hugs you harder against him. That, too, he likes. The helplessness, the honest reaction of someone who was denied her birthright. The amazement, once you settle down and notice that Caraxes will not drop you.

Riding Caraxes is always a thrill. It’s even more thrilling when he has a captive audience. There is something about it that does it for him. Showing others the might of true Targaryens always makes him proud.

He wants to show you all the things you have missed, being born of a whore and a Royce. It’s clear you don’t belong here, among the bronze piles of the Vale. You belong with him, on dragonback. And no one is taking you away from him.

The servants, your servants, according to the Bronze Bitch’s will, can only watch as the dragon rises in the air. No one dares deny Targaryens anything, not when faced with the truth of their strength.

Daemon perches his chin right on top of your head, so close his chest is flush with your back. Your screams do not bother him. You might be terrified, after a life spent living on the ground. But Targaryens are born to be in the skies. You will get used to it.

“Oh, Lady Cuffs, you have much to learn.” He kisses your temple, once you have screamed your throat raw and finally quieted down.

The first time he had ridden Caraxes, Daemon had, too, screamed until his voice gave. He had thought back then, like many Targaryens did, that if his egg didn’t hatch, he would get no dragon. The moment is clear in his memory. Heart beating loud in his chest, screaming commands in High Valyrian, and the absolute certainty that Caraxes was going to burn him to a crisp. Then, as he came down from sheer terror to amazement, he understood why his egg didn’t hatch.

It was a lesson. To take what he wanted, what was his by right. Targaryens were conquerors, not whiny children. It was what had got him thinking about Lady Laena, in the first place. The amount of confidence one needed to claim a dragon that big, it spoke of a power within.

Not as yours was, of course. You may lack the confidence, but you had power in spades. Dreamers were often like that. Or they were supposed to be, according to his studies. Daenys had been. A fragile little thing, scared of shadows and set on leaving Valyria behind. It had been what saved them, in the end.

Daemon wonders what it must be like to be haunted by terrors in your sleep. Some real, some imagined. How could one possible tell the difference between the two? It would lead a fragile mind to insanity.

What had it done to you? Seeing your sister’s death, thinking it a nightmare, and then watch it come to life in front of your eyes?

Fear. Horror. A cornered animal reaction, wanting to fight an opponent that could crush you like a bug if he so wished. Your loyalty to Rhea was commendable, though.

The thought of you having to go through that makes him uncomfortable. Something about the death of a sibling upsets him. Viserys. Oh, Viserys. Can’t live with him, but can’t live without him, either.

No. He needs a distraction. He is not willing to go down that road now.

“Dracarys!” Daemon screams, fighting to project his voice over the wind. As expected, you flinch and let out a tiny scream. He hides his smirk in your hair. He wonders if you would squeal like that when he took you.

A bit of fear makes for a better fuck. Lovers tend to turn pliant in the face of pain. Women's cunts flutter delightfully when choked. And you are already so responsive.

“This cannot be happening.” You mutter, under your breath. Your voice sounds small and confused. Lost. “This defies all the laws.”

“Targaryens have married sisters before,” Daemon speaks over your ear. Despite knowing that's not how dreamers work, he can't help but taunt you. It's amusing to him, how you struggle and huff. “You must have seen this already. You will make a good wife, in time.”

“I am not a dreamer!” You scream, and if he could see your face now, he would bet you are scowling. It matters not, really. Whatever you say. You would do anything to get him to let you go.

Daemon knows the truth. He has done his investigation about you. It would be no good, if he were mistaken and presented Viserys with something less. His good gesture would be ruined.

You would earn him his forgiveness. Daemon is willing to share you with Viserys, if that's what Viserys wants. He wants to keep you, so Daemon wouldn't gift you to him. But share you? It's a good gesture to show the honesty of his words.

Let it not be said that Daemon Targaryen is not humble in victory.

“Deny it all you want.” Daemon turns a finger over the middle of your back, making you shiver and try to move away from the touch. Oh, such a fierce spirit. A shame it's wasted, with how well you are tied to the saddle. “You have some Valyrian blood in you.”

“I do not!” You scream, and tilt your head to the side to glare at him. You have pretty eyes and the most enchanting nose. Closer to a goddess than a woman. How can you not be a Targaryen?

Your hair is the wrong shade. So are your eyes. But most of the time, First Men features overpower Targaryen ones. Dammed your father. Useless rat, that Yohn Royce. But at least he had given him you.

“You will birth me silver haired babes.” Daemon can do the math. With you being half Valyrian, the odds of you giving him what he wants are higher. He places his hand on your stomach, sneaking it behind the apron and touching the soft linen dress you wear.

Daemon imagines what it will be like, to see you swell with his child. The skin over your womb is warm and soft. You are young, closer to Rhaenyra's age than his. You look healthy and strong. A good environment for a child to grow in. And by the look of your bosom, you would produce good milk, too.

The thought makes him suddenly hungry. His cock twitches in interest. Ah. Good to know that your coloring won’t bring forth the same performance issues Rhea’s had.

This time, you squirm harder. Your ass rolls against his hips. Daemon rolls his hips against you, delighting in the friction. "Oh, you temptress.” He laughs.

He can't wait to have you, pinned under him and forcing you to take and take until his seed breeds true. How you would struggle, hips trying to escape him before surrendering to the sheer pleasure of it all.

“You are disgusting!” You buck against him, all wild mare. You have yet to be mounted and it shows. He bets once he does, you will be all sweet. Daemon is not cruel enough to deny you the pleasure. But you seem upset, and so he tries to reassure you.

“Just think, how strong, how true our children will be. With the blood of Old Valyria, flowing through their veins.”

It seems like the thought is not as reassuring for you as it is for him, since you start tearing up. He will have to tread more carefully. It’s clear your time with the Bronze Bitch has affected you. Perhaps, too, growing up in a whore’s house. You must have some strange ideas of women not needing marriage, or men, to lead their lives.

It was good, that Rhea got you when she had. You could have been sold or auctioned like any other woman. Taken up the profession of your mother. But you hadn’t. He knows it by the way you flinch, when he trails his hands over your ribs, when he presses his lips to your temple. Whores are used to touches like those. They melt into them. Not you.

“I’m not Valyrian!” You scream, trashing. Daemon smooths your hair down, tenderly. Perhaps this will soften you, he thinks. Many bastards share the longing for learning about their origins, after all. You should be no different.

“Your mother was, though.”

“What? No, she wasn't!” Your shrill tone makes him flinch. Gods, what a pair of lungs you have. And you are so set on disguising your origins, too. As if Daemon can’t tell. As if he can’t recognize one of his own when he sees them.

“I asked the servants about you.” He squeezes your shoulder, trying to sound encouraging. He wonders what it must be like, to carry so deep a shame you are set on denying the obvious. If Daemon had been born of a whore, without his Targaryen blood, he would be ashamed too. “They said you bathed every day. Only whores do that. And you don’t keep male company.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Your voice comes out high and questioning, confused. Oh, his poor, sheltered girl. Thinking your behavior was normal.

“You must have learned it somewhere.” He brushes his thumb against the shell of your ear. It’s a tiny thing, and soft. You give a sweet shiver, and it confirms his suspicions. You have not been touched in such a way before. Not a whore. Only the daughter of one. "Your father was said to frequent a brothel in King’s Landing, one that I’m well acquainted with. They only have Valyrian stock.”

You splutter, and whip your head to the side. You are not allowed much movement, with your binds. But gods, you try. The sliver of your face he can see is twisted in righteous anger. Similar to when he confessed to finishing the Bronze Bitch.

“Stock? How can you refer to women like that!” And it comes out so righteous, so fierce. His little warrior. Yes, it’s clear he is right about your origins. No one else would launch themselves in such a passionate defense of whores. A shame, he can’t seem to resist to riling you up.

“Oh, I have much lovelier names for women. I called your sister the Bronze Bitch.”

You let out a fierce little scream, now bucking and twisting and shifting, trying to get any kind of retribution for the slight. What a joy you must be in the sheets, all that unbridled force and passion, turning into a single objective. You just have to learn to aim it right.

“Don’t you dare speak of her like that! She is the most…” And you choke up a sob, realizing that Rhea was, not is. You do not speak the words, curling into yourself like a scared child. Hurt and sad for the first time since he took you.

“Was.” Daemon says, very quietly, and this time he is unable to distract himself from the thought. Daemon thinks of Viserys, of how angry he would be were someone to hurt him. No matter if they had parted in anger, no matter if they had not spoken a word.

He hugs you to him. You fight him, at first, but then you are sobbing too hard, too panicked to do anything about it. He presses a kiss to your nape. Even in tears and sweaty with your efforts, you smell perfect. All sweet pure maiden.

Eventually, your body sags. Daemon wonders if you accepted your fate or merely fell asleep. He doesn’t ask. The rest of the ride is uneventful. You wake up, later on, squirming in your bounds before sagging in defeat. No more words are exchanged between the two of you.

Landing is quite the interesting experience. Lyonel Strong, wearing the Hand's brooch. Next to him, stands the Kingsguard and a couple of Citywatchs.

“Is that a serving girl?” Crispin, Chris, whatever his name is, asks. He must think himself so sly, muttering under his breath.

“You were vanished.” Lyonel deadpans, eyeing you with vague interest. You scowl at him and tug on your bonds, again. Admirable persistence.

“Ah, Lyonel.” He gets off the saddle and carefully unchains you from it, making sure that your hands remain bound. Daemon keeps a tight grip on the chain from your cuffs, as he pulls you down into his arms. You kick and scream. The Kingsguard look vaguely concerned, but the gold cloaks don't even blink. They had been his men a few years back. They are used to such things.

He is not getting any younger, Daemon realizes. With you, he might need to get a better training regime because he is winded from the struggle. It's almost thrilling. You will keep him on his toes.

Daemon addresses Lyonel once again, dragging you forward.

“Summon Viserys, would you? I have something to show him.”

Good thing it’s not Otto Hightower anymore, or else he would have been detained on the spot. Lyonel is slightly softer to him, too honor-bound to let his personal feelings get in the way.

“Another of your whores?” The man asks, face unchanged. He would look at ease were it not for the way he is pressing his lips together in a grim line. No doubt remembering the Mysaria episode.

You keep struggling, rubbing your poor wrists raw. Daemon will have to tend to that later.

“Help! Help! Please!” You plead to Lyonel, once he is close enough. His lips twitch. Ah, the Strongs. Always ready to jump in rescue of a fair maiden. Your cries seem to be weakening the resolve of the Hand, and Daemon can’t have that.

Daemon places a possessive arm over your hips, showing you off. The possessive gesture will distract Lyonel from his rescue attempt, he is sure. No one gets between a Prince and his lovers, willing or not.

“No, actually. This time, the Lady is still a maiden. Although she won’t be much longer.” He smirks.

You flinch, your whole body tensing under his grip. Lyonel looks torn. He can’t order Daemon to let go of you, as for all he knows, you are but a serving girl. If you were a Lady, what he is doing might mean war. No one here cares about commoners.

Surprisingly, your rescuer is another. The dornish knight, jumping in, without the bow of his commander or the Lord Hand.

“I’ll go get the King, Lord Hand.” Good gods, what were they teaching the dornish these days? Not an ounce of respect on that one. He was getting too cocky for Daemon’s liking. He might have unseated him, but he lacked manners.

Daemon glares at Lyonel. Lyonel glares right back. The Kingsguard square behind Lyonel, menacingly, but the City Watch remains undecided on the side. Daemon grips your cuffs harder.

Crispin, Chris, whatever, comes out again after a few minutes, with an aggravated looking Viserys. You start shrieking, again, and trying harder to escape. No one pays you any mind.

“I told you I didn’t want to see you again.” Viserys says, but his eyes crinkle. He has cooled down. Daemon lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He still has everything to play for. Forgiveness is on the way.

“I think she might earn my forgiveness.” He tugs at your cuffs, bringing you slightly forward. You scowl, fiercely. “A gift, brother.”

“You come to offer me a whore? You are insane. Or drunk. Or both.” Viserys arches an eyebrow, but takes a good look at you. Daemon can’t blame him for it. You are a pretty thing, young and healthy.

Despite someone who claims offense at being offered a whore, Viserys surely looks interested. He steps closer to him, trapping you between them both. It’s Viserys, in quite the bold move, who tilts your chin up with a finger. You snarl at him, bucking backwards and right into Daemon’s chest.

“Careful. She bites. Special breed, from the Vale. All bitches.” And it’s not even funny, but it makes Viserys laugh, and that’s all that matters to him. Viserys’s laughter prompts the rest of the sycophants knights to do so as well. Only Lyonel and the dornish man remain disapproving.

“I’m quite busy at the moment, brother.” Viserys steps back, giving Daemon a long look. Unable not to twist the knife because otherwise they wouldn’t be related, he adds. “I’m in the middle of planning a wedding.”

“Ah. Congratulations are in order, then. Think of this as a wedding gift to the father of the bride.” Daemon pushes you forward, and then, insistently, to kneel. You resist, impudent little thing that you are. He pushes harder, until you kneel in front of Viserys with a sullen expression. “What better omen for a marriage than a little dreamer?”

Viserys goes suddenly serious, the hint of a smile at his antics long gone. This time, when he looks at you, his eyes are much more searching. First, to your hair. Then, your eyes. Then, to his face, incredulous.

“If this is your idea of a joke, Daemon…”

Daemon gives him a look. He would not joke about it, knowing how much Viserys has longed to be connected to that side of their heritage. He never understood it. Dreams were a powerful tool, but could be hard to differentiate from just nightmares. And what had made them conquerors had not been dreams, but dragons. That had been the part that interested him.

They had talked, once, of sharing a woman. Back when they were much younger, much less troubled. He tried to let that shine in his eyes, too. This was not something he was keeping to himself, it was a gift to his brother. If Viserys asked, Daemon would say yes in a heartbeat. Anything to make him happier. To protect him. Your dreams might not get him another kingdom, but would help keep Viserys safe and secure Rhaenyra's claim.

The silence stretched. Then, Viserys, looking absolutely fascinated and dumbfounded, stepped aside.

“Inside the throne room. Anyone else, leave us!”

As the guards scrambled to obey, Daemon tugged you inside. Viserys entered the room first, and grabbed the chain, as Daemon made sure to close the door after them. Working together with a fluidity not seen since the days of their youth.

Daemon smiled. Not even a day in your company, and you were already fixing things in the way he had wanted you to.

Viserys let go of your chain, eyeing you with quite a bit of precaution. All for naught. Instead of attacking, you tried to flee. Daemon grabbed you, and spun you to face him.

“You say she is a dreamer.” Viserys sits down on the throne, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“She is. The bastard sister of my newly deceased wife.” Daemon can’t help but boast. He is proud of finding you. Of the smile that has formed on Viserys face. “You know how it was. Yohn Royce and his precious Silver Dragon.”

“Lady Rhea is dead?” Viserys frowns. Still, he doesn’t look too upset. Perhaps a bit angry, but Daemon knows he will forgive him for it. What is the murder of a woman no one loved to the acquisition of a dreamer?

“He killed her!” You scream, unable to help yourself. Ah. Curse him, he was mistaken. Someone loved the Bronze Bitch. But it didn’t count. You were her sister and she had rescued you from a brothel. You were morally obligated to. It didn’t count.

“Shut up, little girl. I didn’t.” Which, yes, he had, but it would be better to give Viserys plausible deniability. Safer that way.

“Yes, you did. I saw.” You grin at him, menacingly. Daemon arches an eyebrow. It seemed your nap had given you the energy to be defiant. Again. Good gods, you were like a child. Having to be put to bed, pacified, taken care of. On and on the list went. Daemon was not sure that he was ready for the responsibility of parenting a recently legitimized Targaryen. Your manners were atrocious, and you were so young and so soft.

Rhea had taught you nothing of use. Perhaps to read books and ride horses, but it was clear she hadn't hardened you as she was. You had no idea of politics or respect for your King. Soft. Sheltered. A blessing in disguise? Or a curse?

“That will be a problem, dreamer or not.” Viserys interrupts. It’s clear what he means. Daemon has to fix it. Because the Seven forbid Viserys is the one to get his hands dirty. He likes to believe he is above Daemon, in that sense. That he has some sort of morals that go beyond caring for Rhaenyra.

He has not. His tastes are the same as Daemon's. Fire and blood and all that came with it, but with the delusion of having some great sense of morality.

“Give her to me. The Bronze Bitch left her everything she had. I can keep the Vale and the little girl in line.” Daemon quickly says, ignoring your indignant yelp and trashing. “I’ll marry her.”

“Allow you to own a dreamer?” Viserys raises his brows, looking doubtful. “Don’t you think it’s too much? If she truly is one, of course…”

“Show him, Lady Cuffs.”

You remain in obstinate silence. Daemon feels the urge to scream. Clearly, the Royce genes ran strong because Seven Hells you were infuriating.

“Didn’t you say you could keep her in line?” Viserys taunts, amused. Oh, if Daemon could, he would spank your pretty arse red from that defiance. Little brat that you are, it would be a fitting punishment.

He can’t do much more, not without endangering you. Neither Viserys nor him are experts on dreamers. They have been oddities during the history of their house. Their lessons on them were far less detailed than on dragons.

The upkeeping and care of one would require research. But some things are clear from the start. Dreamers shouldn't be hurt. Or too traumatized. They might get nightmares, and that would make their powers wane.

Daemon needs to scare you into thinking he will hurt you, but not actually do it. How to scare you into compliance and punish you, but not hurt you? He looks at the Iron Throne, and suddenly, an idea sparks into his mind. You are, in many ways, a child. And a man is allowed to discipline his wife.

Daemon unsheathes his sword, making as much noise as possible. You flinch, clearly recognizing the sound. He bangs it against your vulnerable behind, making you jolt forward and yelp. Not only it must have hurt, but the sound echoed in the throne room. You turn to look at him over your shoulder, surprised and a little teary-eyed. Viserys smiles.

"Answer his question. Properly." Daemon orders. You look between him and Viserys, clearly unsure. He gives you a few moments, but when you are taking too long for his liking, Daemon raises his sword again. The words nearly tumble out in your haste to speak.

"I… Your wife. Aemma, she held on to you and begged you to not let them cut her. You held her down. Monster.” You say to Viserys, now openly crying. Daemon blinks. Now that was something he didn’t know.

Viserys’s anger at the “heir for a day” comment is suddenly framed in a new light. Guilt. The fool. Daemon would never do something like that to you. A dreamer is too valuable of an asset.

“Something more pleasant.” He orders, swinging the sword. You try to dance away from the hit, but you are unable to. You give another cry.

“You have a dagger. With Aegon’s dream. And the Lady Alicent visited you in your chambers, wearing one of her mother’s dresses, after Aemma passed.” This time, Daemon keeps a close eye on Viserys’s face, instead of you. His face is slack, jaw hanging open. Apparently, you are telling the truth. He wonders what other seedy secrets about him you know.

Daemon raises his sword, ready to hit your bottom again.

“That’s enough, Daemon. You proved your point. You can marry her.” Viserys says, voice shaky. He is clearly overcome by what you know and by the methods needed to extract the information from you. Viserys is about to give you to him. He has realized he will not be able to handle you.

Daemon doesn't mind. To be kept safe, every King needs someone willing to get their hands dirty. He has done much worse, and that was not even in the hopes of protecting Viserys and Rhaenyra.

“No, no, no…” You protest, pitifully. Your whole face is streaked with tears.

“Thank you, brother.” Daemon answers, smirking. Never has he felt more victorious. He gives another slap to your behind, this time with his hand. Viserys nearly smiles at your indignant shriek. “Oh, Lady Wife, no one asked for your opinion.”

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen smut #daemon x y/n #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon smut #daemon x oc #daemon x reader #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon #divine intuition series #cristi angers her followers #part... who knows

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toms-cherry-trees · 1 year ago

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Fires of Harrenhal || AemondxReader/AlysxReader

Summary: Secrets and deceive always find their way through the stone halls

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: Angst I think? Betrayal. Character death. Very mild NSFW. Canon divergene from both book and show. Mention of war crimes and murder. Idk how else to do this without spoiling. No beta reading I have no one to beta for me

Author's note: Never. EVER in my life had I written something so long. And it has me very anxious. Also I don't know what this is exactly. It is not angst, nor fluff. I don't know. Enjoy!

A gentle drizzle fell from the overcast skies. Fine droplets of water collected on the braids in her hair, beading in her eyelashes, rolling down the curve of her neck to the swell of her breasts. The fabric of the green gown slowly soaked, and the air around her chilled, but she did not feel the cold. The measly mizzle could do little to match the frost spreading through her bones, born from the very depths of her soul, turning her to ice from the inside out.

His emblazoned cloak still hung loosely from her shoulders, heavy and comforting, even though the warmth of his body had been long lost to the rain. His scent lingered, smoke and leather, a faint hint of spiced wine; and something else which is entirely his own, indescribable and unexplainable, but it evoked danger. And death.

Words befitting to the place she stood. Harrenhal had been long cursed, ever since Harren the Black mixed blood in the mortar which kept the bricks together. Ever since the Black Dread torched down the fortress with the King and his sons inside. The passing of the years only added to the jinx. Death and misfortune followed whoever dared to settle within the crumbled and slagged walls. Entire houses and lineages exterminated, most recently house Strong; from the eldest man to the babes in the cradle, put to death by Aemond’s command. All of them but one.

A Strong bastard, from all people.

Aemond’s infatuation with the wetnurse stunned those who bore witness to the affair, and speculation soon arose that the so called witch of Harrenhal had laid an incantation on the Prince, for otherwise it could not be explained that such proper and devoted man, always guided by rules and correctitude, devoted of the Faith, could so brazenly take a lover, an unworthy one at that, while his beautiful, perfect, dutiful wife awaited for his return at King’s Landing. No, Aemond could never.

But he could and he had.

Alys hadn’t been the first one. Others had been fleeting affairs or pleasures of one night, both before and after their wedding. Ladies from the court, his mother companions, town girls, even the occasional maidservant that caught his eye. But unlike with Aegon, they all came willingly, ensnared by the mystery of the one eyed prince. All of them forgotten as soon as dawn broke through, their silence bought with gold or jewels, and a cup of herbal tea drank under the watchful gaze of a maester.

She didn’t let their existence bother her too much. Always keeping her head held high and her gaze ahead, haughty, beautiful and proud. Aemond took great care to not leave a trail of bastards in his wake, unlike brother dearest, and never flaunted them in the open. No, before the court he only had eyes -eye- for his wife. A gentle hand on the waist, glances across the table, a kiss on the hand when they parted, and one in the forehead when they reunited. A most perfect and devoted husband, whose mask fell as soon as the doors closed behind him.

Some days she wished he would openly hate her, because at least it would prove him capable of any feeling towards her. Instead, he only offered her an impenetrable barrier of indifference bordering cruelty. Aemond would walk the Godswood with her, barely rewarding her with a hum of acknowledgement when she tried to engage conversation of any sort. She tried to show interest in his heritage, but he said she would never understand the history without carrying Valyrian blood. When she suggested meeting his dragon, he retorted that Vhagar didn’t take kindly to strangers, citing false concerns for her safety.

Even the bedding he treated like a chore to be dealt with. Methodical, efficient, and dreadfully boring. He laid with his wife as little as possible, just enough to avoid any whispers or bad talking. He would send a servant to inform her in advance that he would visit her bed so she could be “prepared”. A quick affair, his body always on top, not a sound heard other than the occasional creaking of the bed, done. He rolled over and fell asleep before she had finished cleaning herself. Hells, she didn’t hold great expectations of the act, but for a man who took so many lovers she hoped for a bit more effort.

When he became Regent, the weight of the borrowed crown awoke something deep within him, something that had always been there, dormant and expecting for its moment of glory. An obsession with control and power. He became possessive. He had to have her in sight at all times. If he sat the throne, she stood right next to him. When he held council, she acted as cupbearer, but only to serve his cup and his cup alone. If Aemond decided to sit in the library until the hour of ghosts going over scrolls and maps, she had to be there, dutifully waiting by his side until he decided to retire for the night.

They no longer slept separately, since he simply had the maids move all her belongings to his own chambers, while also disposing of things he decided she no longer required, like her childhood dolls, books of fantasy or any gown not made in green and gold. He also kept her diary in the drawer of his desk; it had to be back there every night without fail. She did not know if he read her entries, but decided to not risk it and write only about things he would like. The hours became long, since he allowed her to speak only with people he approved of; very few had earned that trust; and those who did she would rather not speak to. Even her servants had been swapped, her maids and guards replaced with former attendants of the Queen, more loyal to the Dowager than they would ever be to her.

Aemond’s departure for Harrenhal came as a relief, his presence having slowly grown into a suffocating weight on her chest and lurking shadow on her back. As soon as Aegon could rise from bed again, he sent his brother to retake the dilapidated fortress from their uncle, although she suspected it more to be a cock show off; to remind the people that even though the Greens had less dragons, they still had the biggest one.

Aemond requested his wife to accompany him, but Aegon swiftly refused. A warzone is no place for a lady, he said. She did not trust his intentions, but given he could barely do anything other than speak and drink, she felt confidently safe in the newfound solitude, dividing her time between accompanying Helaena, prayers with her good mother in the sept and her own recreations, in which she could now indulge fully, free of her husband’s criticism.

Bliss, however, proved to be fleeting. One day Aegon summoned her while she broke her fast, to his bedchamber of all places. The alcove smelled stale, a combination of souring wine and the sickly scent of various medicines and tinctures, all mixed with the pungent stench of something unidentifiable decomposing somewhere. Perhaps the putrefaction within finally caught up to the surface, and Aegon himself had begun to rot from the inside out. Which wouldn’t surprise anyone, given his current state.

The open letter in his scarred hand and the knavish smirk on his lips gave her a bad feeling. He sat unabashedly naked in his bed, his immodesties hidden only by a sheet soiled with something indescribable. She tried and failed not to look at the ruggish and reddened skin marring his left side, the movements of his arm clumsy and stiff as if Aegon had been coated with tar. Although that probably would have been a kinder fate than his armour melting into his flesh.

When her eyes met his own, she saw a twinkle of delight sparkle on them. A sick pleasure earned from her evident discomfort at the sight of himself.

“Your dearest husband summons you to his side, now that Harrenhal is back under our command. And I, ever the benevolent brother, will allow it”

Suspicion gnawed at her insides. More so when she tried to take the letter from Aegon’s hand, and he kept waving it teasingly out of her reach, displaying surprising agility despite his wounds. Right before she could snatch it away he tucked the paper under the sheets, in a place where he knew she’d never reach out, even under threat of death by dragonfire. His smile reached his eyes for the first time in months as he dismissed her, pleased like a child who got away with a prank.

Sleep refused to come to her that night, forcing her to toss and turn as she went over the day. She didn’t trust Aegon more than she’d trust a dog guarding a roasted pig. Aemond summoning his wife at his side would not be inconceivable; the brother who fulfilled his duty to the Crown and now demanded his prize. But Aegon’s willingness to let her go told a different story. Nothing entertained him more than toying with his little brother, and what better way to do it than denying him access to his wife only because he could.

An ulterior motive had to be there for the King to grant such freedom. Something she could not yet see.

Aegon even arranged her departure himself. A messenger went ahead so everything would be arranged for a proper welcome. The retinue, albeit reduced, included fine soldiers and swordmasters, all dressed in plain cloth and without pomp. Ser Criston himself joined in on the journey, wishing to also meet up with Aemond to discuss war strategies and their next moves.

Green and gold banners and soldiers in formation awaited them in the immense courtyard upon arrival. The whistling of the icy wind through the cracks in the masonry made sounds like the fortress wept and howled, the souls of those who died within the walls using the wind to disguise their lamentations.

The steward and a knight led them inside, up the Kingspyre tower and towards where she assumed her husband awaited. Large double doors of blackened wood stood slightly ajar, allowing a sliver of light into the hallway. The steward pushed the door open and announced Criston and herself. Both stepped into a large dining room, a table laid out with a feast to feed a dozen. Yet only two sat at the table.

Aemond presided over the supper, at the spot of honour in what could only be described as a throne. In his lap sat a woman of milky skin and raven curls, cherry lips pulled into a seductive smirk, her elegant fingers carding through Aemond’s silky tresses. The bodice of the woman’s silk gown had been unlaced, one breast out of the garment and firmly captured in Aemond’s mouth.

She didn’t have time to see Aemond’s face before Criston pulled her away by the arm, his broad form standing between the disconcerted woman and the indecorous scene. But she made eye contact with the black haired woman, the woman who sat her husband’s lap, the woman whose fucking tit he suckled like an indefence infant. Green eyes bore into her own, resplendent and alluring like emeralds. The last thing she saw before the door slammed shut was the woman winking at her, as if they shared a secret.

Everything made sense now; the scattered pieces falling into place perfectly. Aemond had never written. Why would he, when he had a woman keeping his bed warm and his needs fulfilled, a woman whom he craved like a drunk craves a drink. Someone, no doubt a carefully placed spy, had surely written to Aegon to report the affair. And the King, in pain, scarred and woefully bored, allowed himself some entertainment. Soon enough he would be doubling over in laughter at the picture of his perfect brother caught with the Strong bastard’s tit in the mouth.

The tension in the air could be cut with a knife in the days that came. In order to preserve her own dignity, she had to act as if nothing had occurred. She broke her fast every morning with Aemond and Criston, not a single word spoken besides the usual morning greetings. Aemond could not look any of them in the eye, especially not his fatherly figure, who had never gazed upon the prince with such disappointment before. The silent treatment hurt Aemond more than the cut of a sword, that much was evident upon his face. But his wife didn’t feel an ounce of pity for him; in fact, she rejoiced in his shame. She wanted Aemond to feel at least a fraction of the silent disgrace she carried with herself. She wanted him to be the one who had to keep his head down and his mouth shut.

He hadn’t even tried to come to her chambers, aware of the reaction that would await him if the thought so much as crossed his mind. Which is why the knock on her door, late on the seventh night, came as a surprise. On the other side stood no other than Alys, the so-called witch, wearing the same gown of that first day. The wife tried to slam the door shut, but not fast enough to keep the woman out. Alys entered the chamber and sat near the fire, her skirts spread around her as she stared into the dancing flames.

Before she could hurl insults and perhaps something more tangible at the whore, her voice echoed through the alcove. She had never heard Alys talk. Sweet and velvety, every word slipping past her plush lips in a mellow murmur. Even though they stood away from one another, the witch’s words resounded in her ear like a close whisper.

“You are unhappy”

Not a question. An affirmation.

“Unhappy because your husband doesn’t love you like he loves others. Because he refuses to show you care and adoration like you always dreamed of. He doesn't know how to cherish you, and you think you deserve better. You know you do”

Every fibre of her being urged her to scream insults at that brazen whore, to drag her by those perfect curls of hers and push her out the window. Yet she found herself unable to move or speak. Because, deep down, Alys had only said the truth. As if with just one look, she had been able to read her deepest thoughts and laid them out plainly in a way she never could. Tears pooled in her eyes, but her prideful nature kept her from letting them out. Crying in front of her husband’s mistress was a disgrace she would never recover from.

Alys stood, eyebrows knit together and features contorted in what could only be described as pity. Her soft, motherly hands cupped the younger woman’s cheeks, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her thumbs. They stood like that for a moment, the tension dissolving into a comfortable silence as they assessed one another. At last, it was the wetnurse who broke the spell.

“I have seen your life in the flames. Not even diamonds shine as bright as your future”

The witch gave her a brief kiss on the lips and walked out silently, her steps silent in the flagstone, leaving behind a flabbergasted woman.

After that, Alys came to her chambers every night. And for some reason, she didn’t turn her away, not even once. Maybe because she knew, deep down, that the woman could not be blamed for Aemond’s weakness of mind. Because her words had struck a chord inside her. Because if not her, she had no one to turn to at the moment, alone and isolated in a place where everyone bowed to Aemond’s bidding.

Maybe because she found herself enjoying Alys’ company more than she ever did his.

She found in the witch a friend she never had in the Red Keep. They strolled through Harrenhal together, Alys narrating the story behind those walls, and the lives born and lost there. She taught her about medicinal herbs and plants, knowledge forbidden to them as women. Alys had a voice suited for melancholic songs, and she would sing to the lady as she brushed her hair at night before bed, and before returning to the Prince’s rooms. Shared between two spouses who refused to look at one another, and whose only thing in common was their infatuation with the Rivers woman.

The arrangement felt ideal for her, having found in this odd circumstance the closest thing to happiness she had experienced since the day she recited her vows in the Sept. But Alys kept pushing for reconciliation between her and Aemond, urging her to salvage the feeble bridge of their marriage before it sank into the abyss. She felt unwilling, finding great comfort in not being forced to endure his presence. But Alys brought forth a greater problem, a problem which grew by the day under her dress.

“It is only you who can help me, my girl. One day he will tire of me, and me and my babe will be put to death, just as he did my entire House. He had the infants smothered in their cribs before the eyes of their mothers, and the women bury their children with their own hands before their heads rolled. What do you think he will do to a bastard born of another bastard?”

Panic and rage bubbled in her stomach at the thought of losing Alys. She had been witness to her husband’s cruelty during his time as Regent, which only grew after being given free will at Harrenhal. Servants lashed at the faintest of errors, maids with their heads shaved and fingers broken. Executions on the daily, followed by new servants being forcibly dragged from their homes to Harrenhal to maintain the cycle. Anyone who tried to flee ended with their head on a spike and their body fed to Vhagar. It seemed like the curse of Harrenhal had slipped into Aemond’s mind, filling him with blackness and slowly pushing him to the brink of destruction like many before him. And it disgusted her to no end.

No, she could not allow herself to lose Alys. She needed her like she needed to breathe. She needed those motherly hands braiding her hair, that sweet voice entoning the saddest melodies ever written, the scent of her skin embedded in her pillows to soothe her into sleep as nimble fingers caressed her hair.

For her, she would try.

That night Alys came to her chamber as usual, Aemond with her. Husband and wife stood face to face at last, infelicitous and tense like their first night, their unspoken words lingering heavy in the air. Alys moved to stand behind her, hands on the younger woman’s shoulders. Soft fingertips tracing the curve of the neck, up to the crown of the head and then down to the collarbones; calmness spread through her veins like a salve, warming her to the tips of her toes. Alys’ lips caressed her ear, her words seeping into her brain like smoke and clouding her thoughts.

“Trust me”

Trusting Alys came as easy as breathing. Even as she undressed the lady slowly, taking her time to undo the laces of the bodice and the clasps in her skirts. Peeling away silk, lace and linen, baring soft skin and feminine curves. Aemond’s pupil widened with lust as he stood spectator, witnessing his mistress caress his wife with the greatest love and care. Kisses brushing down the neck and collarbone, gentle hands tracing the curve of the hips and the descent of the thighs, moving over forbidden places as warm lips met into a shy and delicate kiss; tongue against tongue, small sounds of delight escaping through.

When Alys finally passed her into Aemond’s embrace, she whined in protest. Aemond didn’t know how to touch her. His coarse hands were clumsy on her flesh, too harsh where she wanted featherlight, and not enough effort where she wanted more action. When her husband laid her on the bed, nestled between her thighs, Alys sat at the head, kissing, teasing and fondling while Aemond chased his own pleasure amidst grunts and pants. Alys’ hand snaked down her body slowly, between the breasts and past the navel. She screamed her climax into the woman’s neck, legs instinctively wrapping around Aemond’s hips as he too found his release.

The routine repeated night after night, for weeks on end.

And the more they did it, the more she found herself wishing it was just her and Alys; Aemond’s presence having gone from a necessity to a nuisance. His wife no longer wanted him to touch her, and only withstood on the promise that it would be her favourite witch the one to rip the highest throes of ecstasy from her body. This no longer was just about securing Alys’ safety; she wanted her safe and sound, by her side. Forever. And as she said, one night long after Aemond had left them, only one way they could secure such idyllic future for themselves.

The news of the fall of King’s Landing had reached them not long ago. The relief of Aegon’s disappearance alongside his children could not placate the terror Aemond felt at knowing his mother and sister remained at the Keep, now prisoners of Rhaenyra and her mad husband. Aemond wished for nothing more than to climb Vhagar and torch down the Crownlands, burning the last leaf on every tree to retrieve his family. But he stood put, on Alys’ command.

“You do not need to chase the war, my Prince. It shall come to your door through clouds of storm”

So they sat and waited, as day after day passed with sunny and clear skies, the God’s eye reflecting the blueness, waters calm and inviting. A fortnight after Alys’ vision, the night chilled and the wind picked up. She stood behind the lady, a silver comb in hand as she untangled her hair before bed. Her scent filled her nostrils and eased her fears. Picking up her uneasiness, she brewed her tea, which she fed her slowly, one spoonful at a time.

“All will be well, my child. Our troubles will vanish and our futures will be clearer than the waters in the God’s Eye”

That night Aemond didn’t come. That night belonged only to Alys’ and her little lady. To taste in the seclusion of the chamber what would be theirs for the rest of their lives.

The next morning, grey clouds hovered over Harrenhal, the breeze carrying the smell of rain mixed with sulphur. The high pitched dragon cries echoed in the mountains around the keep, alerting of the approaching danger. Aemond emerged from the tower, a vision of black and gold in his armour, his sword hanging from his belt and a cloak with the three headed golden dragon in his back.

First he bid Alys farewell. She whispered secret words in his ear; whatever she said, it made him set his jaw and tighten his fist around the hilt of the sword. Then he moved onto his wife. He had shown himself warmer and more loving since Alys’ intervention, blissfully unaware of his wife’s feelings. He cupped her cheek in one hand and kissed her like never before, humming against the softness of her sweet lips. She fitted his helmet over his head, tucking the silvery white braid away. The first drops fell from the clouds, and he unfastened his cloak to wrap around her shoulders, providing warmth and safety.

“I shall see you at the end” He murmured the words against her hairline, placing a tender kiss upon her brow.

And with that Vhagar rose to the skies with a deafening screech, the flapping of her leathery wings sending gushes of warm wind around Harrenhal’s dilapidated towers, the empty halls and vast chambers echoing with eerie wails that forewarned the battle to unfold. On the opposite side of the God’s Eye, Caraxes appeared as well, high pitched roars and puffs of smoke sent as a warning, his misshapen body cut over the greying clouds. Once more, dragon against dragon would clash in the sky, and tears would be shed in the wake of their fire.

Any witness would assume Aemond had the upper hand, the deformed and younger Blood Wyrm being no match for the considerably larger and more experienced war dragon. But dear Alys’ visions had never failed her, and they wouldn’t betray them now. Nor would the gentle poison she had concocted for the occasion, spread across the wife’s lips just moments before she kissed Aemond farewell, not strong enough to kill, but the right dosage to ensnare the senses and befuddle the mind.

Calm, deliberate steps took her to the top of Kingspyre tower, her path illuminated by the blazing glow of the fire coming in through the windows, the skies tinted in bright hues of red and orange. The wind blew warm and strong as she approached the ledge, ground trembling beneath her feet, reverberated by the clashing of colossal bodies. For a brief moment she feared for her own life when they flew too close to Harrenhal, but the vision had been precise and showed no threat to her life.

Her hands rested on the stone, ancient dust sticking to the sweat of her palms; heartbeat quickened in anticipation. As predicted, in perfect synchronisation, both dragons widened their jaws. Caraxes pierced Vhagar’s throat, while she tore his wing to shreds and slashed his belly open. Both beasts spiralled downwards, locked onto one another. From afar she couldn’t tell, but it seemed as if a small, black blur fell from Caraxes’ back. Whatever it was, it was soon obscured by the spray of water that rose from the Eye as both dragons sank, the gout as tall as the tower she stood in. When the lake finally settled, all that marked the spot of such a great battle were bubbles and steam rising to the surface, and then silence. A silence like never before had existed.

She remained rooted, hands on the stone, eyes fixed on the middle of the lake until the last bubbles popped under the raindrops. She did not move from her lookout post. Not even as the rain fell stronger, droplets hitting her skin like icicles, aiding into the ruined shell of the freshly grieving widow she pretended to be.

A knight came to her, nervous and apologetic, calling her attention with a sharp clearing of the throat. She looked up, rapidly blinking away unexisting tears, and dabbing at her cheeks with the back of her hand. Composed but frail. Dignified even in the face of loss. He waited for any sort of acknowledgement, and when none came, decided to speak.

“We share your sorrow, my Lady, and our thoughts are with you. This has washed ashore, and we thought you may want it” The soldier’s voice did little to sway her, and she didn't even grace him with a look.

The heavy, loaded silence between them was broken by the soft tapping of female slippers and the rustle of stiffened skirts. A brief exchange of hushed words later, the knight left the rooftop; she remained silent and still until she could no longer hear the metallic clanking of his armour.

Alys stood by her side, dark curls fluttering freely in the wind. In her pale hands, resting lightly atop the curve of her swollen belly, was Aemond’s helmet, still in pristine condition, not a scratch upon its surface. The older woman stared at it for a few moments before placing it in her hands. It felt final. Like closing a tedious book, or awakening from a bothersome nightmare. The last word in another chapter of history. A chapter written by their own hands.

Alys called her name, moving to stand behind her. A soft kiss pressed at the nape of the neck, slender fingers running down the length of her spine soothingly, making her shiver pleasantly. The smell of sandalwood, lemongrass and honeysuckle engulfed the girl.

“It’s over” Her words tickled her ear “His name will not be called again, and no good thoughts will be evoked upon his memory”

Another kiss behind the ear, hands on her breasts, pulling her flush against her body “I know your thoughts are troubled, my child, but the right thing has been done. His fire burned too strong, and he would have brought the realm to ashes, including you and me”

Her words were soothing. She was right; Alys was always right. Aemond would have been their demise. They did what they had to protect themselves, and protect the realm. A kinslayer could not be trusted; it had been his nephews before, and any day would be his brother and anyone else who stood between the sapphire Prince and the Iron Throne. He had to be stopped.

“My only regret is that he died not knowing it was me. The one he would have never suspected. I would gladly give all my family’s gold for the chance to tell him, even if it meant paying him visit in the Seven Hells where he belongs”

The neckline of her gown was pushed aside, plush lips leaving a trail of kisses down her neck towards the collarbone, hands sliding down from her bosom to the hips, digging into her flesh.

“Worry not your little head, my girl. That does not matter anymore. His bones will rest forever at the bottom of the God’s Eye. And whatever you wished to tell him, you will soon be able to pass the message along”

Alys and her cryptic words. She loved to speak in riddles and rhymes, unnerving those who heard them and didn’t know better. She only smiled and nodded.

And then the helmet rolled down.

Her hands remained mid aid, fingers curled around nothing, every muscle tense and trembling. She looked down past them towards the crimson stain growing upon the fabric of her bodice, and the sharp length of blade protruding from between her hips, coated in a red so deep it seemed black, viscous drops falling from the tip onto her husband’s last possession.

The scream died in her lips as the dagger was twisted and dragged upwards, effectively slicing her open like a squeaking boar. But she had not made sound, nothing aside a choked cry of agony as the weapon was brought down again, ensuring the cut along to be neat and thorough

“I truly didn’t want things to end like this, my sweet flower” Same gentle voice and soothing tone, words dripping venom and malice mixed with honey and sugar. Her index traced a slow line from her neck down to the point where the hilt of the dagger was pressed against her back, the carved handle still firmly grasped in her hand

“I truly enjoyed our time together, and you could have been so much more. You have the guile and the guts to match, and your mind is a most resourceful place. You could have achieved greatness, and with my nurturing, no one would have been able to stop you”

Both of her tender, motherly hands placed upon her lower belly, right under the fatal wound. The blood soaked her hands, red on white, and she gasped almost excitedly, basking on the feeling of life spilling on the stone. She did not know how her body was still standing. Perhaps it was the witch’s doing. Dragging on her demise, enjoying the wicked pleasure that came along with having power over someone else’s life.

She made a shushing sound against her ear, tenderly rubbing her abdomen in circles as the first tears finally poured from her eyes.

“I see it all, you see. Everything and more. I have seen what lies ahead of you. Trust me, I am sparing you from a lot of pain and grief”

The edges of the world faded to black, vision narrowing until all she could see was the dagger. That and the puddle of her own blood growing at her feet.

“His blood cannot carry on beyond the confines of Harrenhal. Only this cursed place can halt the strength born of his offspring. But there can be only one”

Her voice sounded distant. The last thing the lady saw was the courtyard, far down but growing closer as her body felt weightless in the air.

“Only one son can be born”

#marsie writes #aemond targaryen #alys rivers #aemond targaryen one shot #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x alys rivers #alys rivers x reader #aemond x alys x reader #aemond targaryen x alys rivers x reader #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond one eye

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tomssexdoll · 7 months ago

Note

heyy!!

can you please write smut where its the wedding night of tom and reader after they got married?? like she wears sexy lingerie and shit??

hii ofc!

Can't help falling in love with you

PAIRINGS: Tom 2014 x Female reader

CONTENT: FLUFF + SMUT

SYPNOSIS: It's Tom and Y/NS wedding, finally after 12 years of being together and 4 years of engagement they had the wedding, one that they both dreamed of for years, but when they get back home, Y/N wears something naughty, intruging Toms dirty mind..

A/N: hi pookies

WARNINGS: dom!tom, sub!reader, eating out, fingering, p in v (missionary), teasing, sucking d

Me and Tom have been together for 12 years, engaged for 4 and just recently wed. There's never been a day where I wasn't happy with Tom, we had our fights yes but he always made it up to me at the end of the day, never missing a chance to cuddle with me at night.

We met when we were 13, it was like love at first sight, the moment we layed eyes on each other I knew we had something special, a type of chemistry I've never expierienced before. He worked up to the courage to start talking to me, we had mutual friends and we started ditching classes to be with each other, go on cute "friend" dates and then eventually he asked me out.

I'll never forget that day, he made me go around the school and collect roses from 30 people, by the time I got to him he had a huge sign and a megaphone, making the most beautiful speech I think i've ever heard, everyone around me smiling like idiots.

We never stopped going on dates, even when he was touring with the band, he'd always bring me with him and show me off to their fans. He was the best boyfriend, getting me roses every week, kissing and hugging me in public, despite how embarrassing it was.

I never stopped loving him, not even for a second, he was the love of my life and I didn't want anyone else, I didn't want anyone but him, to hold and to cherish him forever, I always dreamt of our wedding and now it was finally happening.

I was in my dressing room, my heart pounding in my chest as the time went by, each minute agonizing. "I'm so nervous, what if he doesn't think I look beautiful?" I whined, turning to my maid of honor. She rolled her eyes, "for the last time y/n, he's loved you for 12 years he isn't going to look at you any different, now cmon."

I wore a beautiful ball gown looking dress, the bodice fit my torso perfectly, hugging my curves and making my tits look amazing. The doors opened to the church, everyone turning their heads to look at me, I slowly walked down the aisle, when I was in eyes view for Tom his jaw dropped.

I smiled brightly, holding the beautiful bouqet of pink flowers in my hand. He turned away briefly and wiped his tears, I could hear him trying to contain himself, Bill rubbing his back softly and reassuring him.

As I got to him, I looked into his eyes, our love for each other very obvious to the others. "Do you, Tom Kaulitz, take Y/N L/N to be your wife?" the priest said, "I do," he smiled.

"And, do you Y/N LN, take Tom Kaulitz to be your husband?" I nodded "I do.." I said, my voice a little shaky, all the emotions coming to me all at once. "You may now kiss the bride," as soon as the priest said those words Tom grabbed my face and smashed his lips into mine, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me close.

I smirked against his lips, pulling back, the crowed stood up and cheered. As we left the church everyone threw rice at us, all saying how happy they were for us.

I threw the bouqet behind me and celebrated with everyone, singing and dancing, playing games and drinking A LOT. By the end of the night, everyone was wasted, either dragged out or asleep on the floor. We walked hand in hand to our limo, driving back home, desperate to get our hands on each other.

We stumbled into the house, giggling and walking into the bedroom, "stay here baby.." I smirked, walking into my walk in robe, picking the sexiest pair of lingiere I bought just for our wedding, it was a white, lacey bustier, paired with some thigh high socks. I slipped it on quickly before heading to the door.

"Close your eyes and don't open till i say Tom!" I called out, "okay honey!" he yelled back, when I stepped out his hands were over his eyes, I tapped his shoulder, "you can look now," as he uncovered his eyes they widened, staring at my tits.

"Holy fuck.." his breath hitched, reaching out and grabbing my breast softly, "you like what you see?" I grinned, caressing his cheek, "like? baby..i love it.." he grabbed me by my waist, carrying me to the bed and plopping me down, standing at the foot of the bed and going in between my legs.

"Such a beautiful girl...my beautiful wife.." he mumbled, leaning down and kissing my neck softly, trailing down to my chest and slowly unclipping the lingiere off, revealing my hard nipples.

"Fuck.." he groaned, latching onto one of my nipples and sucking softly, "tom.." I whimpered, running my hair gently through his hair, tugging at it when he grazed his teeth over my sensitive bud.

His hands moved to my hips, holding them tightly as he trailed down from my tits to my stomach, "so sexy..so elegant," he murmered, complimenting me in any way he could, making me feel special like he always did.

"Tonight I want us to make each other feel good, explore each other in ways we haven't before," he smirked, looking up at me for my approval. I honestly liked the idea, personally pleasuring each other instead of a quick fuck and straight to bed.

He continued to trail kisses all the way to my lower stomach, peeling my panties off and gently pushing them aside, "spread your legs baby, I'm gonna make you feel so fucking good," he grunted, I complied and spread my legs as far as I could, my glistening pussy staring back at him, begging for attention.

"Jesus christ you're already so wet, and I haven't even touch your pussy yet," he chuckled, "well I can't help it, you know you turn me on" I smirked, he lowered his head and started to place soft kisses on my clit, "fuck!" I whined, already super sensitive.

"Sorry baby.." he grinned, swirling his tongue slowly on my clit, waves of pleasure coursing throughout my body, driving me crazy. "Tom.." I whimpered, "yes baby?" he continued to lap his tongue on my sensitive nub, "faster, please!" I begged, my legs slightly trembling.

He accept my request, flicking his tongue at a rapid pace, sliding 2 fingers in my cunt, stretching me out slowly, "mmm!" I moaned loudly, rolling my eyes back as the pleasure was hitting me like a truck.

When he ate my pussy, he was usually rough, fingering me until I squirted everywhere but this time he was gentle, making sure that I was fully satisfied, this night was very special to us, we had discussed it before and agreed to take it slow when the time came.

He was such a loving man, I knew for a fact he'd be an amazing father, I couldn't wait to have his kids, I wonder if we'd have twins like Tom and Bill.

"Fuck..so wet and tight for me.." he moaned softly, pounding his fingers into me, my hands reached down to his hair again and I tugged lightly, Tom enjoying the pain.

Tom's tongue flicked out, teasing me before diving deeper, lapping at my clit like a starved man. "Mmm...so good.." he mumbled, stuffing his face fully into my pussy, removing his fingers and dipping his tongue into my hole, savouring the taste.

"Shit!" I cried out, squirming slightly in his grip, trying my best to not lose control and cum everywhere, he sucked on my clit, using his finger to spred my folds apart and rub his tongue all over every into of my wet pussy.

"That's it honey, come for me," he smirked, feeling my legs shake as I came closer to my release. He kept licking and sucking at my clit, using his fingers again to fuck me deeper and harder as he pushed me over the edge.

I groaned and clenched around his fingers, my orgasm dangerously close, "gonna cum! fuckfuckfuck!" I cried out before spilling my juices all over him, he removed his digits and licked every drop of cum I gave him, wanting to taste every party of me as he drank down my juices. "You taste so fucking good.." he smirked, standing back up and licking his lips, climbing onto the bed and laying back onto it.

I smirked and crawled close to him, untying his belt and flinging it across the room, he helped me by taking his shirt and tie off as I dragged his pants down, his dark grey boxers left. I could see the imprint of his cock, desperate to be let free.

I tugged his boxers down, his cock springing out and slapping against his abdomen, precum leaking from the tip. He grinned, waiting for me to work my magic. I started to slowly pump my hand up and down his cock, "oh baby.." he whined, throwing his head back.

Tom hissed in pleasure as I picked up my pace, his cock throbbing hard and throbbing in my hand, "fuck," he groaned, letting his head fall back. He was already hard from eating me out, but it felt even better with my hand on his cock. He thrust his hips forward, letting out a low moan as he felt your fingers tighten aroundp him.

I leaned down and engulfed his cock with my mouth, "fuck yes.." he groaned, fisting his hands in my hair as I deep into my mouth. He let a low growl as he felt my tongue swirl around the head of his cock, tracing each fidge and vein as I worked him deeper.

"Such a good girl..sucking my cock so well.." he praised, guiding my head up and down his cock, "mm.." I moaned, his tip hitting the back of my throat. He rolled his eyes back, his grip on my hair tightening, my scalp stinging a little.

I continued to suck his cock, saliva building around my mouth as it got sloppier, squelching noises coming from his sopping cock, "ohhh baby, you're take my cock so well don't you" he grunted, slamming my head on his length, filling my mouth with every single inch.

I choked a little, holding onto his thighs desperatly as he started to take control, my jaw hurting. "So close!" he cried out, "fuckkk!", I smirked at the amount of pleasure he was experiencing, it looked like he was ascending into heaven.

I felt his cock throb in my mouth intensely, signalling his upcoming release, getting me ready for his cum. I started to suck harder and faster, wanting him to experience bliss when he came, his hips bucking slightly as he felt my tongue flick against the head of his cock, teasing his tip.

"Oh my fucking god!" he groaned loudly, shooting his load down my throat, "shit.." he collapsed onto the mattress, pulling his memeber out slowly. "Swallow.." he commanded, tapping my chin, I instantly obeyed and swallowed it, opening my mouth and sticking my tongue out, "good girl, come here," he panted, pulling me closer.

My pussy hovered over his aching cock, still in need for more attention. He flipped us over, now hovering over me, lust washing over his eyes as he grabbed my legs, slinging them over his shoulder.

"You ready?" he panted, still not recovered from his recent orgasm, desperate to feel my pussy around his cock. I nodded and he slowly pushed his cock inside me, quickly bottoming out and creating a rough pace.

"Fuck!" I cried out, holding onto him tightly, his cock pistoning inside me, leaving no mercy. "So fucking tight..so good for me.." he groaned, slamming his hips into mine, skin slapping loudly.

His tip instantly started to pound into my g spot, my back arching to meet his thrusts. "Oh baby..oh fuck.." I whimpered, burying my head into the crook of his neck, leaving small, sloppy kisses.

"You're so perfect, mine.." he mumbled, drunk off of my pussy, watching as his cock slid in and out, mesmerized by it. "Mmm!" I whined, throwing my head back. His cock pounded into me roughly, his thrusts only getting harder by the minute, a wave of euphoria washing over me.

"You like that? My big cock buried in your pussy, fucking you like the good girl you are?" he grabbed my chin, forcing me to look up at him. I nodded eagearly, unable to produce any words, my throat blocked with moans "say it baby, say it to me!" he growled, tightening his grip on my jaw.

"I.." I moaned "I..I love your cock so much, feels so good in me!" I rolled my eyes back, my thighs trembling. "Good girl.." he praised, diving his head down and smashing his lips into mine, kissing me roughly, our lips interlocking into a rough embrace.

I felt tension build up in my tummy, my orgasm slowly building up, "cum for me again baby, need to feel that tight pussy clench around my cock," he moaned, pushing his lips back into mine, not stopping for anything.

He continued to slam his cock into me cruely, urgently needing me to cum all over his cock, the sensation addicting. "Holy fuck!" I yelped, my legs shaking as my orgasm crashed down, cumming on his cock, juices spilling everywhere.

As he felt my pussy clamp down on his needy cock, he spurted his seed into me, coating my walls. "Fuck.." he groaned, falling forward and resting on my bare chest. "That was amazing.." I giggled softly, running my hands through his hair, massaging his head softly, wanting him to relax.

"Mmm.." he mumbled, super fatigued from his 2 powerful orgasms. "So glad I married you, 'm so proud to be your husband..i'll love you forever.." he smiled softly, wrapping his arms around me tightly, resting his head on my chest, slowly drifting off to sleep.

"My sleepy boy.." I smirked, kissing the top of his head before drifting off to sleep myself.

@itsmealaiah @itsangelll @kaulitzsbabyy @ballhair @tomsonlyslut @charliesgoodboy @bkaulitzlover @ge-billsgf @miyukafujii @estxkios

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crystallinestars · 1 year ago

Text

Precious Memories

Kaveh x Fem!Reader

Kaveh owns an old sketchbook he used since he was a child to record things important to him. Some pages at the start of the book were filled with scribbles he made as a little boy practicing his first architectural blueprints that had terrible proportions. Other pages had newspaper clippings, sketches of building and interior designs, and random doodles. Every major entry had a postscript describing the meaning and significance of the entry to its creator. The sketchbook served as a diary, scrapbook, drawing tool, and schedule keeper all in one.

Though a good portion of the pages had already been filled, there were still plenty of blank ones.

Kaveh continued to doodle in the book when he wanted some downtime. Most of the doodles were of inanimate objects, sometimes interspersed with a detailed sketch of an animal. Sketches of his friends were more rare, but their faces occasionally popped up among the random scribbles. After Kaveh met you, your face became one of such occasional doodles.

At first, sketches of you started out as another simple doodle, no different from the rest of the sketches of his friends.

However, if one were to flip the pages, they would see sketches of you become more frequent, combined with greater attention to detail of your delicate facial features. As sketches of you progressed, they evolved from your face having a neutral expression, to one of joy. There are entire pages dedicated to sketches of you smiling in various ways, from joyous laughter to coy smirks to a sweet curve of the lips.

One sketch in particular was of special significance because it was the only sketch of you that had a postscript. The drawing featured you smiling and looking at the viewer while wearing a flower crown of Padisarahs and Sumeru roses. The postscript, written in pretty cursive, described how the drawing was of you wearing a flower crown Kaveh made you earlier that evening when the two of you were out looking for plants for his next commission. The comment is short, but it’s filled with such reverence that anyone reading could instantly tell the architect had only just realized his feelings for you.

From there, the next few pages are filled with Kaveh’s anxious thoughts about confessing his feelings for you, one entry with particularly sloppy writing and wine stains describes his despairing thoughts about not having a chance with you.

The anxious mood in his entries persists until one certain drawing comes up of him and you holding hands. In the drawing, you’re both smiling at each other as if happy about something that you share only between yourselves. The postscript is written in all capital letters, and only says a short sentence about you accepting his feelings and agreeing to be his girlfriend, but it clearly expresses his overwhelming elation.

Flipping further through the sketchbook, one could see a collection of photos of him together with you accompanied by detailed descriptions of your first dates and fun experiences.

One page after that has a messy sketch of an elaborate house with messily scrawled comments littered all over the page, criticizing the design and what the architect wants to improve. The postscript has a vague comment about wanting to build a house for you and hm, but that this dream would need to wait until his debts are all paid off.

The subsequent pages are filled with schedules and deadlines for commissions and projects, with a few beautiful interior sketches thrown in here and there, followed by a page full of various ring designs. Many designs are scratched out, with only one, extremely intricate and elegant ring design circled with a list of materials and their prices listed beside it.

More messily scribbled schedules could be seen in the next couple of pages until one flips to the most recent entries. These pages contain photographs of Kaveh and you both dressed in white, with Kaveh wearing a fancy suit and you in a gorgeous wedding dress. In the photos, your smiling pair is surrounded by your friends who are also dressed in formal attire.

One other photo captured Kaveh’s teary eyes as he gazed at you in front of the altar while holding your hands in his.

The pages are filled with carefully placed photographs of the events from the wedding, everything from you walking down the aisle, to the two of you eating cake, dancing, and even sharing a kiss. There are postscripts under each photo going into great detail about what occurred in each scene and how Kaveh felt during it.

Though old, the sketchbook contains some of Kaveh’s most precious memories that he likes to revisit from time to time and see how his life changed for the better ever since meeting you, the guiding light of his world.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kaveh x reader #kaveh x fem!reader #kaveh x female reader

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nagiseishirro · 1 month ago

Text

— "Reo Nagi".

a reonagi fan fiction, if you couldn't tell, where nagi tries to buy a ring for reo.

pairings: mikage reo with nagi seishiro.

warnings: 1.1K word count, fluff, intended lower case, slight mention of reo in a wedding dress (nagi's thoughts), reonagi are alumni, proposal. it's fluff trust me :x

"bolded dialogue" = nagi's dialogue.

'what a hassle...' nagi thinks, but refuses to say aloud. because for reo, nothing is a hassle. because being with reo, isn't a hassle. because reo, is the furthest thing away from a hassle.

but everything else? nagi sighs internally—because it's a hassle to physically breathe harder. who knew buying a ring would be so difficult? should it be silver, or gold? plain, or fancy? cheap, expensive? matching or individual? the same shade as his skin or contrasting, elegant or simple, smooth or bumpy, with gems or withou—

"mister nagi?" he was harshly pulled out of his train of thoughts, but honestly, he couldn't be happier by it. thinking was too much of a hassle, he'd never had more than just video games or reo on his mind.

"mm?" nagi hums in response, the most efficient form of a reply. he needed to save energy to think. "have you made your choice?"

nagi sighs, mumbling out a soft "no..." to only receive a slightly impatient look on his attendant's face—nagi had been here for at least an hour. ...or three.

"this girl must be really important to you, for you to be slumping at the table for three hours straight? i bet a dime she's spending another three hours looking for wedding dresses on her part."

nagi almost choked. he'd completely forgot the people here were unaware he was dating a male, and a very attractive one at that. ...then again...

he stuffed his hands further into his pocket as if on cue, softly nestling the bottom half of his face into the collars of his hoodie in an attempt to hide the subtle flushes of red dusting his cheeks. "...yeah." nagi replied, pictures of his dear reo in a big puffy white dress brewing fresh in his brain. 'i've enough allowance for that.' nagi notes mentally for the first time ever.

he was pulled back into his train of thoughts, calculating the best fitting ring for reo through the process of elimination: silver, because reo has all the gold he could ever want. plain, because fancy is a daily occurrence in reo's life. cheapER, nagi needs money to buy that dress. matching, to remind reo that they're bound together. contrasting his skin shade, the world has to know he's taken. simple, this one's easy. and finally, smooth because one thing has to be straight.

nagi lifted a finger to point at two adjacent rings near the left of the glass box—one's a shining silver, simple, smooth, plain. and the other, the exact same. the best part? he didn't need to call reo for a loan.

"finally decided, i see?" the man looked like he could finally breathe, hands scrambling to collect the two solitaires.

the rings were tucked into a tiny white box each, both in the shape of a heart. nagi stuffed them into his pocket, "put them on my tab", and ran out.

83 messages from reo🤍💜.

there was a slight crinkle in the the corner of nagi's eyes—in the language of reading nagi, it's considered a smile.

—

nagi tapped his foot and fiddled with the rounded piece of alloy in his hoodie pocket, a little too much for his liking. it was draining his energy, and he needed that energy to down one knee for reo. he didnt like that he couldn't calm his veins.

"Seishiro!", was the voice that had nagi's head shooting up and forwards, to have him actually feel excitement in something. anything.

"reo!" nagi nudged forward just by the slightest centimetre. oops, he let his excitement slip. he gently dragged his thumb over what felt like a rough outline of a diamond in the rough.

"did you need something, sei?" reo flashed, curving his inner arm down to his abdomen and taking a playful bow. "i'm at your service, my treasure!"

'not that again...' nagi stuffed his face back into his collar, covering up the pink that lined his cheeks—but not the hue on his ears.

"....reo..." he mumbled. what was he so afraid of? "...i— wait, no. start over. ...um, reo... let's... let's—no, wait. again. i want reo to—wait, no, that doesn't sound right. reo, reo. reo reo reo reo...."

it was like watching nagi rehearse his lines in front of a mirror, taking the very big hassle of trying to perfect his tone when calling out reo's name. ...something he really, really, really should've done before asking to meet up.

"...sei...shiro..? are—"

"no, stop, don't say anything. ...um, yet. i need to think." nagi rambled on for about half a minute or so, incomprehensible string of syllables spewing out from his mouth faster than his fingers could tap on his phone. actually, maybe not as fast, but you get the point.

eventually, he ended up crashing down on the floor; on purpose. reo could've sworn his heart nearly hurled out his throat, but in all reality, it stopped beating for a second when his purple orbs landed on a silver, circular band mounting a perfectly cut diamond.

"...m— ....marry... me... ....reo."

nagi's head was tilted down, looking at the tread of the guy he had just proposed to's shoe. nagi was hardly interested in the pattern at all, but he really didn't want to look reo in the eye. ...then again, reo loves nagi. reo wouldn't reject him, right?

...

slowly, he tilted his head up, only to be met wide-eyed with a salty, familiarly warm feeling falling moist onto his cheek. nagi quickly stood up.

"re— reo..! wait, 'm sorry! if you don't want to it's totally fine with me, i didn't mean to— ommf...–"

the pressing warmth against his lips felt like drug to his senses. he'd been apart from it far too long. he wasn't even aware he'd missed this feeling so dang much.

reo slipped his hand into nagi's, gaps twining perfectly as his ring finger eased right into the ring nagi bought—it was the perfect size. reo was crying a little, but who wouldn't?

reo pulled away, the heat leaving both their lips had nagi in a small pout. "on one condition."

nagi's eyes widened, partly because he didn't think reo would actually accept, and also partly because he didn't think reo would agree on a condition—he thought he'd do it unconditionally! whatever, the moment's too good to think.

"i have to take your last name."

"mm." though, it did surprise nagi quite a bit. "...not quite how i envisioned it. i imagined that i'd be taking your name. Mikage Seishiro sounds nice."

"yeah, but Reo Nagi sounds better, right, my treasure?"

it really did.

"...okay, then... deal." this was the most energy he'd had ever poured into a nod. something tells reo that, the white haired genius would've accepted his offer anyway. and something tells the seishiro, that, reo would've accepted his proposal unconditionally.

┈

"...also, can you wear this at the wedding?" seishiro hands a bag to reo—a bag with puffy, white laces of a dress sticking out the top.

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