#I adore him with every fibre of my body

[thecrimsonvalley]

Me: being incredibly normal about this! I love him so much! Dale powered by hope even though things are so hard and I just adore this so much T3T

Hope, like a glimmer of gold. "Not only the key to the past, but the key to the future."

I personally imagine that Dale is powered by hope. It's what makes him go on, even in the darkest of time. Hopeful resilience. I really missed drawing him.

[pseudowho]

"Fushiguro, be honest--"

Yuuji stood in a freshly pressed suit, crisp and ironed and combed, and held his arms out for Megumi's appraisal.

"--would I make a good first impression in this?"

"No," Megumi intoned, without even looking up from his manga. Yuuji groaned, turning on the spot, his fingers tangling in his peachy hair as he whined, beseeching Megumi.

"Awww, c'mon Fushiguro...Nanami called me. Today's the day."

Megumi stopped reading, looking up with his eyebrows raised. A moment of genuine excitement ran through him as he leaned forwards from his pillows.

"Today? Are you serious? Are they sure?"

Yuuji fizzled, pacing and ruffling his own hair, alight with nervous anticipation.

"Yeah, they're positive-- it started in the night-- I can't stop looking at my phone--"

Megumi interrupted, flat and not to be argued with.

"I'll drive you to the hospital, when Nanami calls you."

Yuuji breathed out a shuddering puff of air, grinning, feet tapping.

"Yeah...okay, yeah. Thanks, Fushiguro."

Only Megumi's eyes softened, at the thrill running off Yuuji's skin. He looked at Yuuji, silently appraising.

While Yuuji had the body of a man, he had not the emotional maturity needed to truly fill the suit and weave it to his soul. A suit is so incongruous on one who is not yet a man. Still, Megumi continued, softer.

"You'll make a good first impression. Not that they'll remember it."

Yuuji's lip puckered up, watching the summer rain patter as he leaned on the windowsill.

"Yeah...but I will."

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"Yuuji." A low, tired rumble on the phone. Yuuji was breathless with anticipation, his heart thick in his chest.

"Da--...Nanamin, is...is it...?"'

"They're fine, they...she's here, it's over, it's...its finally over."

Yuuji felt tears prickle in his nose, having never heard Nanami Kento sound so broken and so complete.

Yuuji took one great sniffle, and nodded hard, grabbing a bouquet of flowers from his desk. Megumi stood, listening intently and grabbing his jacket and keys.

"I--I'll come, I'll be right there, Fushiguro...Fushiguro is driving--"

"Good. Great, I..." Kento's voice sounded thick, and Yuuji's stomach twisted, wishing he could reach through the phone and hold him. Nanami continued, his voice hoarse.

"...I'd be grateful for the company, Yuuji."

The drive took a thousand years. Megumi was smooth, flawless. He was closer to manhood than Yuuji was, but waited for him to catch up with an outstretched hand. When Yuuji jumped out at the hospital atrium with nary a goodbye, white-knuckled around his bouquet and smart suit, Megumi simply smiled, watching him go.

Claggy-tongued and numb footed, Yuuji made his way through the hospital, rendered dumb with nerves. Bowing, and bowing again as a midwife allowed him into the ward, Yuuji's heart squeezed again as he saw your room number on the wall; Ward Seven, Room Three.

He raised a hand, and in the half-second before knocking, Yuuji's life flashed before his eyes; every trial, every agony, every loss and every near loss, every tear and every smile and every embrace and battle and war and fear and pain and love that he had lost and love that he had won, hard fought, and he could only hope that it was enough that he could be enough to fill the suit because he sure as hell wasn't man enough to fill it yet--

Knock knock.

"Come in."

Yuuji swung open the door, his eyes wide, and stepped over the threshold into his formative memory of the moment he became a man. The sound of rain, the distant tiny cries, the smell of petrichor and new life. The edges of this new memory were rosy, flush with pink and gold.

You, sat in bed, tired and shiny-cheeked and exquisite, pressing one hand over your lips and about to cry for the boy you loved.

Kento, with his back to the door, his shirtsleeves rolled up, and his broad shoulders rendered gentle by the obsessive, adoring love that sunk into every fibre of his being. He held something precious in his arms.

When Kento turned, time stopped. A wee baby girl, just hours old, yawned a chubby-cheeked yawn against her father's chest. She scrunched and squeaked as she stretched against the blankets, and Yuuji uttered an involuntary 'oh'.

Yuuji dropped the flowers to the floor, stepping forwards, instinctually reaching out for such treasure.

Kento looped a hand out, pulling Yuuji in by the nape of the neck and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"Yuuji...she's here. Your little-- if you want her-- little sister--"

Yuuji hiccuped. Gingerly, tenderly he accepted the warm, blanketed bundle pressed into his arms. He looked down, shaking and blinking away tears, placing one thick finger in a tiny hand. Nanami rubbed a hand down his jaw, another hand on his hip, and huffed a single wet laugh.

"Why...why the suit, Yuuji?"

"I just...I wanted to make a good first impression."

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Inspired by that old video of the guy wearing a suit to go and meet his new baby niece.

[auggieblogs]

heartbreak girl | MV1 (pt.1)

part II

Summary: "I've loved you since we were kids, y/n, ever since I saw you at your 4th birthday party. I told my ma I was going to marry you someday."

Pairings: Max Verstappen x fem!reader

Warnings: language, mention of alcohol (and throwing up because of it)

Author's note: Heyyyy, hiii, lovelies. I hope you all are doing good!!! This fic is heavily inspired by "heartbreak girl" by 5sos, thank you to @navia3000 for requesting this (and thank you for LITERALLY breaking down the song for me😭🫶🏻). I know it's not completely based off the song but I tried my best. Anyways, happy reading, everyone<3

P.S.- This is definitely not my best work but I tried okay??? I really hope y'all like it and hopefully there will be a part 2.

―୨୧⋆ ˚masterlist

One thing you should know about Max Verstappen is that he harboured an intense loathing for one person in the world: Connor Smith, your now-ex-boyfriend. Max despised Connor with every fibre of his being. Connor was, in Max's eyes, a complete fuckwit, a lousy boyfriend who had repeatedly let you down. He never made time for you, often left your texts unanswered for hours, and failed to treat you the way you deserved. To make matters worse, he disrespected you, and that ignited something in Max, a desire to punch Connor's face every time he laid eyes on him, perhaps?

On the other side of the emotional spectrum, Max was head over heels in love with you. He was a silent, lovesick puppy, adoring everything about you – your infectious smile, your contagious laughter, your passion for music, and all those little quirks that made you uniquely you. Yet, despite these profound feelings, Max was too much of a pussy to confess any of this to you. His fear held him back, and it was the reason he watched you date Connor, even when he knew you deserved so much better.

But life has a way of unravelling complicated emotions. Connor eventually broke your heart. The pain was excruciating, the emotions raw and overwhelming.

Devastated, you found yourself in a mess, sprawled on your bathroom floor with a bottle of vodka in your trembling hand. Your face was flushed, your eyes bloodshot, and you felt like your world had collapsed.

Max's heart shattered into pieces as he saw you in such a fragile state. Without hesitation, he sank to the floor beside you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close to his chest. You cried uncontrollably, sobs wracking your body, and your breathing was ragged. Max's heart ached as he cradled your head, whispering soothing words to calm you.

Eventually, when your sobs ebbed to quiet sniffles, you looked up at Max. His face was etched with concern, but you hated that. You didn't want to be a burden to him. "He left" you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes once more.

"I figured," Max replied softly.

"I'm not the type of person who cries over a boy," you said, tears pricking your eyes again.

Max gently brushed away your tears, his touch comforting. "No, you're not," he said, still holding you close. You felt like throwing up, physically ill from the pain of your breakup. You had loved Connor, despite his flaws, and he had occasionally made you feel loved which only made you feel more confused and lost.

Unable to hold back any longer, you threw up, and Max was right there to help. He rubbed your back and held your hair, comforting you as a best friend would.

"Okay, shh, that's it," he said gently as you emptied your stomach. Afterward, he helped you off the floor, guided you to the sink, helped you brush your teeth, and washed your face. Max even braided your hair and performed your skincare routine for you.

Going to your wardrobe, he selected the comfiest pair of pyjamas and helped you change into them. Max knew he couldn't take away your pain, but he was determined to provide you with some distraction. After cleaning up, the two of you settled in to watch a movie in your bedroom. Max sat on the floor, close to the TV, and you were cozily nestled in bed.

Max still hadn't asked you about Connor because he knew you well enough to know that you would eventually talk about it. And you did.

Hours passed, and you finally mustered the strength to crawl over to Max and rest your head on his thighs. He looked down at you, a warm smile on his face.

"I'm really sorry," you said, your voice still trembling.

"For what?" he asked, genuinely puzzled by your apology.

"For being such a mess," you admitted, tears glistening in your eyes. "I know you had better things to do today. You shouldn't have to take care of me."

Max leaned down, brushing a gentle kiss against your forehead. "I want to take care of you," he said softly. "You needed me, and I'll always be here for you. You'd do the same for me."

A brief smile graced your lips, but it quickly faded as you voiced your deepest insecurity, "Do you think the reason he left me is because I'm not pretty enough?"

Max's heart clenched at your words, the overwhelming urge to kiss you and hold your face in his hands almost unbearable. But he knew this wasn't the right time, not when you were so emotionally vulnerable. He had to be strong for you.

"He left because he's an idiot, and he doesn't deserve you, y/n," Max said, his tone firm and unwavering. "Looks have nothing to do with it. You're beautiful, inside and out."

Tears welled in your eyes as his words washed over you. "He's the only one who's ever loved me. I've never had a boy like me, Max."

Max's heart ached for you, and for a moment, he allowed himself to stroke your hair gently. "You've always been loved," he whispered, his voice carrying the weight of years of unspoken emotion. "I've loved you since we were kids, y/n, ever since I saw you at your 4th birthday party. I told my ma I was going to marry you someday."

Max's confession hung in the air, a palpable tension that enveloped both of you. Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared into his eyes, the weight of his words sinking in. The room seemed to close in around you, and the tears welled up in your eyes as you whispered, "Max..."

[konigbabe]

Leon S. Kennedy headcanons

Random headcanons of Leon S. Kennedy that's been stuck in my head for what feels like forever. There's a small NSFW section under the divider 18+.

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x gn!reader

Word count: 1.2k

Tags/warnings: fluff; established relationship; smut; oral sex; gender-neutral reader; no y/n

masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3

He loves kissing.

This man is so touch-starved that kissing is sacred to him. He loves kissing; lives for it – but only with the right person. Someone who holds his heart in their hand. Soft kisses, unhurried and so indulgent. Leon’s kisses are a devotion of their own; they don’t necessarily lead to something more. He just enjoys the feeling of your lips on his. Knows when to add the right pressure, when and how to use his tongue…

He’s also a really, really good kisser (don’t fight me on this); loves to bite your lip as well.

His love language is physical touch.

(–or acts of service.)

Anyway; Leon adores physical touch whether it's inside or outside the safety of your shared space. If you join him on missions, you’ll always find him close – his hand brushing yours, palm on your back guiding you forward, making sure you're always within his line of sight. And if you ever get hurt, his hands gently grasp your body, checking to make sure you're okay.

At home, he just loves to touch you randomly – kiss on your temple carrying multiple meanings (‘thank you’, ‘you’re welcome’, ‘I love you’, ‘good morning’ and so on), arms sneaking around you to enclose in a bear hug. Or having his exhausted body to just lay on top of you, using you as his own personal pillow…

He struggles with the L word.

The words “I love you” lingered in the back of Leon’s throat for a long time; not because he wasn’t sure of it but because once spoken, they become real and tangible. Acknowledged. Something he can’t take back.

He secretly enjoys cooking and has a few signature dishes that he’s really proud of.

Leon isn’t really a chef. Often opting for rather simple meals but even those bring him joy. Solace lies in the simplicity of it all. As a man who has had little control in his life since childhood, the act of cooking provides a sense of control and satisfaction that he rarely experiences elsewhere; having his own space, doing something so insignificant that it becomes significant in its own way.

He’s definitely someone who would say something along the lines “Made with love, not skill.”

He’s a workaholic.

Leon cares about you; loves you. There’s no lie in the fact that he wants to spend every second possible with you. Every fibre of his being yearns to be close to you, to protect you from harm. However, as a seasoned agent, adrenaline courses through his veins. It’s a part of him, as natural as breathing. He craves the thrill of danger, the rush of a mission, even though it tears him away from you. Leon’s already learned to accept that his calling for epinephrine is as much a part of his as his love for you.

He has a bit of a sweet tooth and loves all kinds of desserts.

Leon's sweet tooth is undeniable. He simply cannot resist the allure of sugary treats, and desserts hold a special place in his heart. From gooey chocolate cakes to creamy fruit tarts, he loves them all. He is not shy about indulging in his favorite treats, often having multiple servings or even ordering dessert before his meal.

He’s a romantic at heart.

Love letters that tug at your heartstrings, make you feel as if he’s by your side instead of fighting the infected and all the bad guys that team up on him. Testaments of his affection towards you. Morning messages a gentle reminder that he’s still here for you, whenever you need him. He believes that every moment in a relationship should be cherished, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, and he relishes in each one spent with you.

He let’s you braid his hair.

(He’s blond; I stand firmly by his game's looks.)

Sitting on the carpet, back comfortably resting against the sofa cushions as you throw your legs over his broad shoulders, feeling the taunt muscle underneath your thighs. Letting out soft sighs of contentment as you gently thread your fingers through the silky hair; braiding the sides or simply brushing it clean. His fingers wrapped around your ankle, drawing lazy shapes over the thin skin there while enjoying the tender scrape of your fingernails against his scalp.

He's socially awkward.

Outside the people that know him or the people he's forced into close proximity with (*cough* Luis *cough*), Leon is not a social butterfly. Not big on conversations, rather short and snappy answers. Oftentimes at a loss for words. Socializing exhausts him. His desire lies to be left alone; or with one person at a time but it has to be someone he's already familiar with.

He loves cuddling more than sex.

Don’t be fooled, Leon’s definitely sex-crazed around you. Loves to be buried deep inside you; feel your warmth, the velvety squeeze when his cock hits that sweet spot inside – but cuddling makes him happier. It’s his way to show you how devoted he is to you. That feeling of emotional security provided by your cuddles gives him pleasure far greater than the way your body responds to his cock.

He’s a switch.

Leon’s a curious creature – relishing in both submission and domination; intrigued by the duality of power exchange. While the daddy/mommy kink doesn't quite capture his attention, that doesn't mean he can't submit to your every whim, yearning to appease your deepest desires. The mood of the moment guides his actions, emotions dictating the course.

Leon’s a foreplay master and a teaser.

Absolutely addicted to the way your body reacts to his touches, to his kisses. Some days, he’s even capable of making the foreplay longer than the actual sex; having you writhing, begging with teary eyes to finally put his cock inside you. Leon’s certainly going to tease every cell in your body, setting it on fire, letting it burn until you’re nothing but a mere ember.

He loves oral.

Receiving or giving — he doesn’t really hold a preference. It’s not important whether he’s the one on his knees or you; Leon is someone who finds his own pleasure deep within yours, just feeling you react to his tongue, to his fingers. This goes the other way around, having your lips around his cock, feeling the tightness of your throat…makes him a mess.

He’s an ass man.

Leon can't help but love ass in every way imaginable. He runs his hands over the supple globes of your flesh, his teeth sinking into the softness. Pressed tightly against him, you can feel his hard cock straining against the fabric of his pants, yearning to be set free. He stares at it, touches it, spanks it, and bites it every chance he gets. It's predictable that he'll have you in various positions, pounding away while admiring your delicious curves - doggy, reverse cowgirl, and so much more.

He’s loud.

(– and he moans.)

There’s no denying that Leon will grunt, growl, groan, whimper and moan during the whole night. Very expressive nature. He’s not really extremely loud to the point someone might hear you through the walls; yet the room is always filled with the sounds of his own pleasure, only adding to that fire deep inside you.

[oceaneyesinla]

Hiiii! Congrats on your milestone! I hope you have many more followers! :)

Id love prompt #6 (giving them a head massage) with Umemiya from Wind Breaker. I’d love to run my fingers through his hair and just listen to him. 🥰

Steph!!!! thank you so much 😊🤍 i love Ume so much and i fear it shows - this is disgustingly soft even for me, and we all know how soft and squishy my fluff gets!

Part of my Fluff, Fluff and More Fluff Event - submissions still open!

Prompt 6: giving them a head massage while they listen to the other one talk about their day

Umemiya Hajime x gn!Reader

Divider by @/adornedwithlight

Umemiya Hajime is many things to many people. To the boys of Bofurin, he's a stalwart leader, a pillar of strength they can rely on through fair weather and harsh storms. To his inner circle, his Four Kings, he's a trusted friend, one they confide in and one they stand alongside with pride. To Kotoha, he's the older brother she will never admit she loves to have. She rolls her eyes and shrugs off his open, enthusiastic affection, but you know she appreciates the unconditional love he shows her. To the people of Makochi, he's a jack of all trades - the shop owners shower him in discounted goods and the elderly pinch his cheeks and remark on how he's a 'nice young man’ and the children idolise him, staring up at him with stars in their eyes as he tells them stories and lets them ride on his shoulders.

Umemiya Hajime is everything to everyone, But to you? He's your Hajime. Nothing more, nothing less. You love the man he is outside the walls of your home - strong, passionate and infinitely kind. He fights with his heart and loves with every fibre of his being and sometimes, when you watch him sing to his plants or mentor his kouhai, you feel like your heart will burst with all the affection you feel for him.

You know the responsibility he carries is a heavy load, and you feel honoured that he leaves that load at the door - shrugging off the weight along with his Bofurin jacket, hanging it up on the hook in the hallway and allowing you into the portion of his heart reserved just for you. Instead of being the caretaker, he allows himself to be taken care of. He puts the same trust in you as the members of Bofurin put into him, and you cradle his heart like the most precious treasure of all.

He lets himself soften when it's just the two of you, and there's a part of you that enjoys that fact. The great Umemiya Hajime placed his heart in your hands, and no-one else will ever see him quite the way you do.

Right now, if someone saw him, they would never believe his fearsome reputation. He's stretched out on the couch, silky hair free of product and falling into his eyes. His reading glasses are perched on his nose, though the book he was reading has been abandoned, now resting on his chest. His attention is occupied by the way your hand is gently carding through soft strands, nails lightly scratching over his scalp with each pass. A dopey, affectionate grin is stretching across his face, like he's some kind of Samoyed, and you're sure that if he was, his tail would be wagging,

He loves to be the centre of your attention, and lucky for him, you love to give it to him. It's as relaxing for you as it is for him - he's freshly showered, smelling of his favourite body wash and flowery shampoo, and the weight of his head in your lap is grounding.

"Do you feel better now, Haji? Do your knuckles hurt?” He came home roughed up, knuckles bruised and pretty face bloody. He looked far too content while you were patching him up, and you suspect he was just happy to have your hands on him, wiping the blood away with a gentle touch.

He slides his glasses off, mischief shining in his eyes, "If I say yes, will you kiss them better?”

You know the smile tugging at your lips is nothing short of adoring, and you reach for one hand, lifting it up and pressing a featherlight kiss to the damaged skin of his knuckles, "I'd do it even if you said no, baby.” You place his hand back on his chest, repeating your actions on his other hand. When both hands have been given your magical healing kisses, you lean down to press one to his forehead too, just for good measure.

He's beaming up at you, and your heart swells with love once again. Your hand slides back into his hair, and you resume your soothing rhythm, "Now, for the kisses to work, you've got to tell me about the seedlings we planted last month. Are they growing well?”

It's just an excuse to listen to his voice, and the little laugh that escapes Ume tells you that he's well aware. He indulges you all the same, just as you indulge him, and that's how you spend the rest of your night; Hajime gesticulating excitedly while he told you all about your seedlings, and his tomatoes, and the radishes a reluctant Sakura helped him plant - and you hanging onto his every word like he hung the moon and the stars in the sky, one hand still playing with his hair and the other resting over his heart. It's comfortable, it's familiar, and you're exactly where you always want to be - wrapped up in the love you share.

[viridescentelf]

!tw: body image! how the bg3 companions react to TAV having body image issues

astarion: thinks you’re joking at first. after noticing you‘re serious and not being cheeky back, his tone changes quickly to kind: „oh, oh dear. darling who the hell convinced you of this shit? look at you! who do i have to kill? who said something?“ as he presses further, he notices that‘s not exactly what you want. „darling, i cannot imagine a more perfect being. i wish you wouldn’t think so little of yourself, when i think the world of you. come here“ and pulls you in

karlach: „WHAT. WHAT DO YOU MEAN, SOLDIER? DID YOU HIT YOUR HEAD?“ as you shake your head, she grabs you and hugs you extremely hard. she lets you cry and let out your frustrations. you can tell she‘s getting warmer as you speak. „I cannot believe you think about yourself, MY BABY, like this“ there‘s a pause and she hugs you tightly again. „Taters, you‘re lovely. I adore every inch of you. Don‘t you ever think I don‘t“ then she kisses you all over until you giggle.

minthara: slaps you. „Shut up, moron.“ then grabs your butt

lae‘zel: „the ghaik have infected your vision. obviously you’re blind and cannot see the wild intoxicating warrior I have before me. but if you truly see something that isn‘t there, i can hit your head a few times until you see true again“ she grins, turns away to sharpen her blade and mumbles „beautiful idiot“

halsin: eyebrows go / \ and true worry grows over his face. „my heart, come here.“ you climb into his giant lap as he holds you close, rocking gently back and forth. „i see your pain. i feel it. let it out, if you need to. shall i tell you what i see when i gaze at your divine face?“ you nod after a while, face buried in his chest. „i see starlight in your eyes. every time you bless me with your presence, i get lost in those vistas. i could stare at them forever. your body is oak father‘s gift. and what a gift he‘s blessed you with!“ he pulls you even closer, if that‘s possible. „don‘t let those evil thoughts win, my love. i adore you, just as you are“

shadowheart: looks at you confused. „is this a test? are you trying to make me shower you in compliments and embarrass me with them later?“ looks at you further. „in any case, i don‘t understand why you think that way. but i know all too well what it‘s like to believe something untrue.“ she places a hand on your cheek. „the love i have for you is true. and it is unconditional“ she kisses you gently.

gale: misunderstands what you said. „what? like your armor? yes maybe a new one will make you feel better. we can go find something for you!“ once you explain to him again, he finally understands. „oh, wow. i just stepped into a big puddle of shit didn‘t i?“ takes your hands and holds them tightly. „i love you, with every fibre of my being. i see none of what you see, i only see love within your eyes, the warmth of your wonderous and strong hands, that fascinating brain… i am in awe of you. don‘t ever forget it“ he kisses you sweetly and whispers in your ear „i wouldn‘t change a single thing about you“

wyll: immediately pulls you into a big hug. „don‘t ever think like that. i won‘t let you“ he holds your face in his hands. „have i said something or done anything that made you think this way?“ as you explain, that it isn‘t him, his thumb caresses your cheek. „love, you are exquisite. i will do anything i can to help you through this. what can i do to help?“ as you talk about the issues, he holds you in an embrace, lets you speak and listens intently.

[drabblesandimagines]

Sweets

Barnabas Tharmr x female reader, fluffy, lil' bit spicy? @cryptictongues Not gonna lie, I wrote this for you so I hope you enjoy it especially!

Though you know Barnabas adores every fibre of your being - the ways he praises your body with both words and actions from his lips truly says it all - you still cannot help but feel a little forlorn as the Day of Lovers arrives. A staple in the calendar of your small village, a keepsake from the Kingdom of Veldermarke before it became the glorious Kingdom of Waloed, of course.

Barnabas had risen and left early – to where, you were unsure. You’d learnt not to ask, for if he thought it necessary for you to be aware he’d divulge, to let you know you’d be, regrettably, alone in bed for how many moons. You'd been yanked from the embrace of sleep that morning when he'd cupped your face with cold palms, assaulting your lips, greedily, wanting his fill before his departure and, wearily, you’d bid him safe travels.

Your handmaidens had brought you food and drink to break your fast in bed – as they always did when Barnabas was away – before readying you for the day. That was something you were still getting used to as they made sure not a hair was out of place, nor a wrinkle in your skirts before finally leaving you be.

You’d retreated to the parlour with a book – romance, foolishly - a place you found yourself spending most of your time when Barnabas was away. He often had you sit in on meetings with him, a hand on your thigh if he did not bid you to sit in his lap, as he took in correspondence and reports from across Storm. The hearth has been lit and you nod at the stoic figure stood against the wall, arms crossed, but from the glaze of his eyes you knew that Sleipnir was not yet present.

It was an unintended sigh as you read a passionate scene between the protagonist and his love interest that roused the silver-haired man.

"My lady, what troubles you?" Sleipnir is with Barnabas, of course, but another is still with you, in the way that the egi works. There is always one with you - Barnabas insists it if he can't be there in person. 

"Nothing, Sleipnir."

The Lord Commander walks over to you, slowly, and grasps your chin – forcing you to look up at him – and you are too slow to rearrange your features into a false show of contentment.

"It'll pain the king upon his return to see his heart in such turmoil. Allow me to assist."

“You cannot.”

“Try me, my lady.” It is clear he is not going to let the matter drop.

You pause, hoping to compile a diplomatic answer. “I fear that if the king discovers what I’m feeling forlorn over, it will upset him. I do not wish for that. He has many burdens.”

“You are not a burden to him. Tell me.”

You adjust your posture in the chair. "It’s silly... It is one of my favourite festivities on this day, but it hails from the Veldermarke.”

Sleipnir lets go of your chin at last – you wonder if he is feeding this back to Barnabas, how his queen is lamenting for the previous rule.

“The Day of Lovers.” He replies at last, his tone giving nothing away.

“Entirely foolish of me, I am aware. I-“

“I beg my lady’s leave – one of the Royal Intelligencers remains outside for your protection, however, until my return.”

Sleipnir spins on his heels and heads towards the door, pausing only to bow before he leaves you alone in the room, a lump firmly in your throat.

--

The Lord Commander appears hours later, bringing news of the king’s return. The lump in your throat has not shifted – had he gone to tell of your disloyalty? It is unwise to keep Barnabas waiting, though, so you get to your feet and allow Sleipnir to escort you to his side.

He leads you not to the audience chamber nor your bed chambers – two of Barnabas’ favourite places for reunion – but down a corridor you seldomly find yourself travelling, to see your beloved standing outside a door. Your heart swells to see him in the flesh – whole – but you cannot dismiss the twist of anxiety in your stomach. Surely what you had revealed to Sleipnir earlier has caused this change in routine. Barnabas’ expression gives nothing away, as usual remaining stoic until he has you in the very throes of passion where he allows himself a smile. However, he is picking at a loose thread on one of his sleeves. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was fidgeting. You curtsy and bow your head as you reach him. “I am glad you returned safe to me, my love.”

You brace yourself for his hand around your throat, fingers digging into your jaw to angle your head – he favours this method to draw you in for a bruising kiss, one of which he sets the pace and takes exactly what he wants – but it does not come. Instead, Barnabas takes your hand and presses his lips to the back of it in greeting.

"And I am glad to have returned to you, sweet one. Leave us, Sleipnir.”

“As you command,” the egi bows, before stalking back down the dark hallway.

“Come,” Barnabas tugs you forward by your hand still in his grasp, another now on the small of your back, ushering you into one of the less frequented rooms of Castle Black – one you’d never stepped foot in before.

Your eyes widen as you take in the scene before you. It is a small room, though there are windows allowing the last light of the day to trickle in. There is a large, roaring fire in the hearth and a multitude of furs have been draped over the stone floors, atop lie plates upon plates of various treats that you hadn’t seen in so long – berries, fruit, cakes, pastries - accompanied by two goblets and a large carafe of wine.

“Is this…?”

“Indeed. The Day of Lovers is not a celebration I ever partook in, so it was overlooked. This will not happen again.”

“You are not displeased?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Should I be displeased that my heart wishes to celebrate our love?”

“I thought it being a Veldermarke tradition…” You trail off, nervous.

“I will permit this one – only for you, my love. Let us sit.”

You make to walk forward to the furs but he sweeps you up in his arms before you can, taking a few steps forward before gracefully sitting down, adjusting you so you’re sitting sideways in his lap, an arm holding steady around your waist in support. He reaches for one of the sweets on the plate with his other – layers of thin pastry infused with berries, glazed with sugar - scrutinizing it like a foreign artifact. Though Barnabas indulges in wine and ale, you don’t believe you’ve ever seen a sweet food pass his lips in all of your time together.

“Sleipnir said sweet pastries were customary – how so?”

“Lovers sharing a sweet on this day is meant to bring them good fortune in their relationship.”

You can see him bite back a scoff, but he entertains you all the same. “And how do we share, my love?”

“We feed each other a bite.” You hesitate ahead of your question, unsure as to what his reaction would be in you taking the lead. “May I demonstrate?”

Barnabas purses his lips in thought. “Very well.”

You take the pastry from his hand and carefully tear a chunk off, holding it up to his lips. He smirks before opening his mouth obediently, and you place the piece upon his tongue, withdrawing your hand, your fingers feeling sticky, only for him to pinch your wrist in place, holding it still as he chews and swallows.

“Mm.” He licks his lips. “Sweet…” He draws your fingers into his mouth and sucks them, teasingly, before pressing a kiss to your wrist, “..but not as sweet as you. My turn?”

“Yes.” You answer, breathily.

He takes the pastry back from your hand, but instead of tearing a piece off he raises it to his mouth and rips a chunk with his canines. The remainder is dropped carelessly into your lap as he holds the offering between his teeth and growls – a demand for you to open your mouth.

You lean forward, mouth agape and awkwardly kiss him, swallowing back the bite of pastry as you try and retreat.

Another growl then, his hand now gripping the hair at the back of your head, staying your movements and forcing his tongue past your lips – both tasting sweet with sugar and fruit.

You moan into his mouth, feel him grin as he deepens the kiss, before he retreats once more, placing his forehead against yours.

"Does this please you, my heart?"

“Very much so.”

“Good.” He presses another kiss to your jaw, releasing his grip on your head and picking up the discarded pastry from your lap. “For we have many more sweets to share.”

---

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

[elegantsplendour]

Love is a Downfall Part II

Masterlist Part I

Summary

One girl, two dragons.

Bound to one, attached to an another.

Love is the most powerful form of magic.

Love is the fuel that leads to destruction.

Fear leads of anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x !Redwyne reader x Aegon ii Targaryen

Warnings / contains (in this part): fluff, angst, smut, dirty talk

Tag list: @marvelescvpe @snh96 @femmechaotic @heavenly1927

Friends: @purple-writer8 @vhagarswar @lovelykhaleesiii @boundlessfantasy @arcielee @amiraisgoingthruit @kaelatargaryen

“My Queen.”

She turned around and smiled at his approaching figure, slender and statuesque. It was rare for her prince to be dressed in such opulence, in the colour of his house, instead of his usual black leather suit, the attire of the protector.

She closed her eyes as his arms wrapped around her petite waist, restrained by the agonizingly exquisite wedding gown, adorned by jewelry and fine silk with a weight of its own. Aemond pressed a delicate kiss on the petal-like skin of her neck, a realm he had explored and worshipped boundless times, yet that kiss seemed like a sorrowful goodbye.

In two short hours, she would drift two gigantic steps away from him.

His brother’s wife.

The Queen of Seven Kingdoms.

“I love you,” the grip of his skin on hers grew tighter, Aemond savoured the touch of her body, a reminder that she was real and with him. The weeks of anticipation, whispers of joy among both the highborn and commoners around the city, and excessive spending on opulent goods appeared to the One-Eyed Prince like a cruel and ironic preparation of his own funeral, a mocking celebration of his own inescapable fate.

The second prince.

The second choice.

Always and forever.

But not to her.

“I know,” she leaned into his kiss, arching her neck backwards, locking eyes with her sweet prince, “I love you too,” she whispered with adoration while kissing his thin lips with a passion like the candles in the Grand Sept of her soon to be wedding. While the realm followed the Faith of the Seven, Aemond Targaryen was her faith, her dreams, her beyond.

As the hour of the royal union approached with an agonizing pace, the prince departed his lips from hers and extended his arms, “Shall we?”

She gracefully held onto his arms and nodded, “We shall.”

Just as the two were about to exit her chamber, she ceased their advance, “Aemond,” she reached to touch his cheek, “Nothing changes. We’ll still be together, the two of us. Just like what we three promised a fortnight ago.”

He smiled faintly, “I know,” pressing one last kiss on her lips, “My Queen, but it doesn’t make it hurt less.”

Her hands on his cheekbones quivered at his admission, with a pearl streaming down her left eye.

Aemond enclosed their distance, kissing away and savouring her bittersweet tear, “Don’t cry,” his long fingers stroked her meticulously braided hair, “It would ruin your regal appearance.”

“I don’t care about my regal appearance,” her breaths quickened with sobs, “I care about you.”

“But he does.”

“Aegon? Not in a million years,” she chuckled yet choked with emotions, “He cares not if I was embellished like a gigantic doll or drunken after a night of indulgence. He knows every inch of me.”

She bit her tongue and clenched her fists in regret as she caught a glimpse of the heartache in Aemond’s eye.

“I am glad,” he smiled with melancholy, “That he can give you what I cannot. Don’t apologize for it, my love.”

Every fibre in his being screamed:

If only.

If only it had been him born on the same day as her and not Aegon.

A moment later, the crowd of lords and ladies, including Queen Alicent herself, cheered as Prince Aemond escorted Lady Redwyne, the queen to be crowned, to the carriage.

The way to the Dragonpit was quiet for her. However, Alicent recounted relentlessly her overwhelming memories of Aegon and her youth, how he became more responsible for her, how they were meant for each other, and how glad and proud she was of herself succeeding in to marry children for love.

“Thank you, mother. I love you,” she smiled.

It was the first time she had called Alicent that name.

“What did you call me, child?” Alicent’s voice quivered.

She placed her hand on top of the queen’s, “Just the figure you’ve always been to me,’ she squeezed her hand, declaring genuinely, “I mean it, Mother.”

She gazed into the woman she grew to love with a slight giggle as she realized that Alicent was overwhelmed by emotions and was finding the right words to say.

“You know,” Alicent spoke with a light chortle, “Rhaenyra had never forgiven Erya for leaving you to my care. And it’s part of the reason why things between our houses turned out the way they did.”

She frowned momentarily, a distaste rising in her stomach at the name of the woman who had asked for her and Aemond’s torture, “Rhaenyra and my mother were close?”

Alicent nodded hesitantly, “More than close, we three shared a…” She lowered her head with a bitter smile, “Special connection. Especially Rhaenyra and Erya. Of course, that was before duty to our houses tore us to different paths.”

Alicent squeezed her hand with a rare display of authentic contentment, “Which is why you and Aegon…” the queen wiped away her tears of excitement, “You know, my dear child, I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but building a union for my children built on love… it’s the greatest thing I’ve accomplished.”

Alicent reached out her arms and held her in an embrace, sharing her daughter’s bliss and rejoicing in the fruit of her decisions that led to this day.

As the carriage reached Dragonpit, the mass awaited with anticipation as the dutiful, regal and commanding figure of Prince Aemond awaited for the bride.

“My queen,” he nodded courteously, yet his tone devoid of emotions, avoiding her eyes, “The king awaits.”

With a refined smile, she held her head high and held onto the prince’s extending arm.

Awe was painted on the assemblage, royalty, nobility, and even the commoners.

Aemond counted a hundred steps and fifty-three steps from the gate of the Dragonpit, crossing the path carved out by the solemn ceremonial guards, to the podium of the dome, to Aegon’s side.

The escort of the future queen was a great honour. Every pace he took symbolized the distance between himself and everything he desired, power, glory, recognition, legacy, her. Yet, the tormenting reminder was an unprecedented honour, a very one that his brother granted.

“My king,” Aemond lowered his head cordially as he gave her hand to the king-to-be.

She looked at Aegon with a mixture of pride, trust and love.

“What, my sweet love?” Aegon whispered in her ears as he led her to kneel beside him, awaiting the coronation, with a teasing chuckle, “Too smitten by how handsome I look today?”

She rolled her eyes, containing her laughter with efforts and whispered back, “Even being the king can’t make you less insufferable, but your appearance does tempt me to bite you tonight.”

Ser Cole and Otto Hightower frowned deeply at the playful exchange between the king and queen-to-be, yet the dowager queen seemed to be amused.

Within minutes, the Conqueror’s Crown was placed on Aegon while a platinum crown forged by the rarest of silver and diamond landed on her.

“All hail His Grace, Aegon, Second of His Name, King of the Andals, Rhoynars and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

“My king, my queen,” Ser Cole bowed, followed by the rest of the court and eventually, the rest of the mass.

As the cheering and applause gradually erupted among the commoners, the king and queen of the Seven Kingdoms raised in all of their might and glory. Blackfyre, the legendary Valyrian sword of the Conqueror, now was now drawn by his descendant’s hand, conveying the unquestionable order of succession.

With a gasp from the highborn, a few commoners threw joyfully bouquets into the king and queen’s hands.

She giggled uncontrollably and exulted in the sweet scent of the flowers, for it represented the genuine love from the people they have sworn to protect on govern.

The courtiers exchanged amused whispers at the scene, for the mass’ reaction wasn’t entirely surprising. The tales of the rebellious young prince and his beautiful and destined betrothed were etched in the memories of the old and the youth.

Suddenly, her vision swirled as Aegon pulled her into a breathless kiss, a bold testament to their union.

While the Septons and maesters looked at each widened eyes of disapproval and astonishment. Roars of cheers thundered in the Dragonpit.

She returned with an equal fever. Her hands pulling her king so close as if their bodies melted together.

At that moment, no one else existed, not the judging eyes of the Seven, not the courtiers, not even Aemond, just her and her husband, the person she mumbled her first word to, cuddled within the nursery, stole lemon cakes from the kitchen, cried and bullied together in the garden, blushed for the first time and explored the realm of pleasure together.

The king held her tighter, his tongue still dancing, exploring the depth of her mouth. The ebony of the Conqueror’s Crown and the silvery white diamond tiara glimmered through the solemnity.

All eyes but one mesmerized the scene that would later unfold into a fabled tale. Aemond fixated his gaze on the gray walls of the Dragonpit and relived the bitter memories of the mockery of lack of dragon he had endured in the hands of his brother and nephews.

But above all, the memories of her, the enlightening memories of her smile, the touch of her hands as she whispered her faith in his strength, the conviction in her voice when she encouraged him to claim Vhagar.

A part of her is his, his only; Aemond repeated it repeatedly like a spell of a curse that plagued his mind as he forced himself to meet the reality, her bond with his brother that he would never share.

The rest of the day ended in exhaustion for the entire royal family, especially the royal couple. As everyone in court had anticipated, the bedding ceremony was out of the question. Despite whispers of the young king’s liking for thrill being no secret, his taste could never extend at the well-being of his “sweet love.” Not to mention the intimidating presence of Prince Aemond, the protective brotherly figure (as everyone presumed) threatened to murder any person who dared speak such a proposal.

As the final toast to the royal couple came to an end. The room yelped as the queen fell into the king’s arms. It must have been the effect of wine. Everyone murmured.

The guests looked at each other with surprise as they saw Prince Aemond’s calmness at the scene. Little did they know that it was because the prince knew his brother and his queen to the core…

“They’re all gone?” She whispered mischievously in Aegon’s chest as he carried her supposedly drunken body through the halls of the Red Keep to their marital chamber.

“Gone like how your annoying gown will be in minutes,” Aegon grinned as he practically ran into their freshly decorated wedding chamber.

She hopped off her husband’s arms and buried her face in the bed, “Finally…” she nestled in the softness of the pillows as she gazed at Aegon, amused and desiring, “This is perfect.”

He chuckled and joined her instantly by jumping on the bed and tickling her sides, making her laugh and protest.

“Stop it! I’m serious!” She playfully bit his arm, writhing in his embrace.

“Ouch, my sweet,” Aegon whined teasingly while sinking his lips in the fragile skin of her neck, “You really were serious about biting me earlier today, huh?”

Giggling tantalizingly, she rolled herself on top of him as swiftly as a viper, “Just make me yours already.”

“Gods,” the beast under her groaned as he sat up to undo her intricate laces, “But you have already been mine,” he smirked, “Over and over again.”

“Just rip it off,” she pouted impatiently.

With a growl, he tore the exquisite wedding gown off her body and feasted on her skin ferociously.

“I feel as if being strangled by that stupid dress,” she gasped for air as she wrapped her arms around Aegon and dragged him down on top of her.

They looked at each other deeply in silence for a moment.

They are husband and wife.

They’ve known that this moment had been their destiny since they came into the world together.

“Lord husband,” she purred, tracing her fingers on his chubby yet devilishly handsome cheek.

“Seven Hells,” Aegon grumbled as he felt his bulge growing hard in his trousers, “You’ll be the death of me, my sweet lady wife.”

“What?!” She gasped as Aegon lift her up to sit on his thighs.

“Ride me, little one,” the king bit her earlobe while caressing the scar on her thigh.

With a frown, she unbuckled his pants with her inexperienced hands and pouted, “You lazy dragon. It is your wedding night and you leave all the work to your lady wife.”

As soon she saw the smug and satisfied look on her husband’s face, the way he laid indolently on his arms behind his head, her breath hitched with annoyance and desire, “What would all the court think if they knew? That the queen has to take matters into her own hands to make an heir?”

Fuck that smirk on his face.

She cursed.

Aegon chuckled as she placed his hands on her round cheeks of her bottom, her body arched and leaned down, an obvious feigned innocence painted on face.

“If you cannot fulfill your marital duty, your grace, I would have to seek help from Prince Aemond,” she whispered, her words chosen very intentionally, “Since his cock works much more ferociously than yours.”

Oh those words awoke the dragon…

“On your hands and knees,” Aegon flipped her down on her stomach, watching his little creature obey his command with unconfined giggles.

“That’s more like it,” she purred while arching her back, tempting the most powerful man of Westeros, “I hear this is how they take whores on the Street of Silk,” she grinned looking back at him, wriggling her hips, in invitation, “Aegon, are you going to treat me like a whore?”

With a deep chuckle, the king delivered a form smack on her backside, “Yes, I am,” his hands gripped her hips tightly, pressing his hard length against her before thrusting into her roughly, “I will treat you like the most desirable whore in all of Westeros.”

She pushed back eagerly to meet his every stroke, occasionally looking back at him with teasing and provocative eyes, perfectly aware of their effect on the beast pounding into her.

“Spoiled little queen, always asking for punishment,” Aegon growled, thrusting hard and spanking her sharply as she tormented him again with her pretense of naivety, “But your king will spoil you rotten just like you deserve.”

“Yes… Spoil… me,” she moaned loudly in gasping breaths.

He hovered over her back and stuffed a pillow under her stomach, “Tell me what you feel, my sweet. Tell me everything.”

She couldn’t answer but moan at the exquisite sensation he was delivering, “Gods… I see Seven Heavens. You… you are so big.”

He grinned and met her hips with his with more force, “And your little cunny is doing so well, so good, tightening around for my cock.”

She whined at his crude language. Clenching onto the sheets, she responded in equal obscenity, “I love the sound of you slamming into me.”

Breath hitched. He took a strand of her hair and pulled it back with just the right amount of force, exposing her porcelain neck.

“Are you sure you’re not the one slamming into me right now, hmm?” He whispered wickedly, his hand still tangling in her hair, “So desperate. So eager to be pleased, so eager to please.”

She couldn’t do anything but to moan at her husband’s teasing met with the sinful slapping of their skins. Biting her lips almost violently, she demanded, “Harder, faster. Give me all of you,” she tilted her head back playfully, “I dare you.”

His immediate response was wordless.

Another sharp smack on her bottom before pulling her hips up and digging his fingers into her flesh once more, “Oh I will. I am going to fuck you until you can’t think straight,” he squeezed her backside, “My spoiled, sweet little brat.”

For what endured like an eternity, they were lost in each other.

Each moan, thrust and growl exacerbated the mind-blowing waves of pleasure washing them over and over again.

Finally, Aegon spilled inside her as she screamed his name.

“I love you, my sweet love,” Aegon whispered with adoration as he immediately pulled her into his arms, his arms enveloping her steadily.

She smiled and instinctively longed to return the affection.

Yet the words were choked in her throat.

I love you.

The words from the thin lips of her prince spread in her heart like a sweet poison.

She loved Aegon.

She loved Aegon.

She loved both.

Why?

Then why was it so hard to say it back?

“I love you too,” she bit her lips and nestled in her husband’s chest.

It was an answer from the mind yet not from the heart.

Her hands clenched around the skin of Aegon’s chest while a drop of bitter and confusing liquid formed in her eyes.

Aegon, seemed to have noticed the storm within her, but her earlobe and asked, “Are you thinking of him?”

She nestled closer to his neck and whimpered, “He’s not like us. He’s hurting.”

Aegon sighed as he caressed her cheeks, “I know. He’s my little brother. I hate to see him suffer.”

She wiped away her tears and gazed into his eyes, “I just wish he could be happy with our arrangement,” she squeezed her eyes again and sobbed, “I just want him to be happy.”

“My sweet,” Aegon spoke again with a heavy heart after a moment of silence, “There is something you need to know.”

“A moon ago, Aemond asked me to send him to fight the recent Dornish invasions,” Aegon confessed, holding her hand tightly, “He specifically asked me hold his request from you.”

“Does…” her lips trembled with hurt, “The idea of seeing us together truly pains him so much that he would rather fight a war and risk his life?”

“No,” Aegon patted her shoulders with assurance, “A part of it, perhaps. But, you know Aemond, he wants to leave a legacy.”

She opened her mouth to speak, the shock evident in her voice, “He… He wishes to be the one who conquers Dorne.”

She grasped the truth nervously.

Vhagar… Visenya…

Of course.

Aemond desired more than what he was handed to him.

He will never be satisfied.

He would not be himself without his thirst for the world.

“I guess if we truly love someone,” she smiled faintly, “We accept and embrace who they are.”

“When is he leaving?” She asked softly.

Aegon hesitated before answering, “In three days.”

She buried her face in her hands before jumping off the bed and directing to the window, bathing her her body under the moonlight.

The world seemed to shake as the news sank in her heart. That familiar yet distant burning and aching sensation consumed her again, like the night he had claimed Vhagar.

She had never told anyone about it, not even Aemond himself.

She held her hand against her heart, as the mere possibility of losing him, or even a new scar etching on his skin incited a sharp pain in her spirit as if a merciless falcon was feasting on her body.

“He is the rider of the largest dragon in the world,” Aegon’s voice slowly soothed her anxiety as he wrapped his arms around her waist, “And soon, he will be the wielder of Dark Sister,” his lips teased her cheek, “News from Dragonstone have it that our old uncle has been infested with a mysterious contagious disease. He won’t have long.”

The corners of her lips rose slightly at the news of the Rogue Prince’s soon demise, “That’s good to hear…”

She turned to face the loving face of her king again and smiled, “Let’s go to sleep. Everything can wait til morrow.”

With that, she led her husband into the bed and fell into a deep slumber.

Although the worries, confusion and longing still flawed her heart, Aegon’s arms, the embrace of the man was a part of her, always had the inexplicably magical effect of soothing the deepest of her turmoils.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Your Graces,” Aemond nodded coolly at the freshly attired and newly wed, royal couple.

Without reservation, she embraced him boldly, ignorant of the widened eyes of the passing servants.

She whispered, “If you ever call me ‘your grace’ again in private, I swear I will scream.”

The prince couldn’t help but to chuckle at her comment while the king smirked in approval.

“I’ve heard that you intend to ride to suppress the Dornish assaults on the borders,” she gripped Aemond’s cold hand, the desperation in her voice well concealed, “I simply hoped you did not feel the obligation to keep it from me. I would stand by you through anything, you know that.”

Aemond shivered at her touch.

She knows.

Selfless she had always been.

He could see in her eyes the depth of her anguish.

I will stand by you through anything.

He chose his path of legacy over her, over being there for the birth of her first child, his brother’s child.

Once he embarks on this journey, he shall not return for a year.

“Pardon me, your grace,” he addressed Aegon, avoiding her gaze and stepping away from both of them hastily.

Three.

Two.

One.

Since that abrupt meeting the morning of post the wedding night, Aemond was nowhere to be found except in the war council.

It was the night before his departure, the hour of the eel.

The queen stood still before the massive balcony of her private chamber. It was the first night Aegon and she had spent separately.

She never had to explain herself.

Aegon knew.

Every alteration of her heartbeat, every tremble of her hand, every worry in her mind, he knew.

“I’m sorry.”

She didn’t have to face him to recognize his presence.

“I did not mean to cause you pain,” the slender fingers entwined with hers.

She stayed in silence, her face stoic, still angry at his negligence, although her hands betrayed her.

“I hate you,” she nuzzled against his nose before pushing him away, muffling her sobs with her hands, “For a year I will suffer your absence, the possibility of losing you. And you shunned me out-“

Aemond silenced her with a kiss, tasting bittersweet mixture of her lips and wistful tears.

He lifted her body to the wooden table on which they’d made love many times before.

“We can’t,” she whimpered, “The first child must be Aegon’s.”

The ardour in the prince’s movements promptly cooled down as if being drowned in a bucket of ice water.

“Right,” Aemond took a stride back, his one eye gazing at her tears-stricken fragile figure with an intensity that could match the very dragon flame that had forged the Iron Throne.

“Did you know that you will wield Dark Sister soon?” She caressed his cheek, attempting to mask her sorrow with pride.

“What will they call me, my queen?” Aemond teased, “The second Rogue Prince or Visenya reincarnated?”

“Neither,” she brushed her finger in his nose playfully, “You will be remembered as Aemond Targaryen, the first of his name, the Conqueror of Dorne. I have faith in you. I always have.”

Aemond tightened his grip on her waist, his voice low and cracking, “You’ve always been with me.”

“Always, even if I cannot be there with you,” she gently wrapped her legs around his waist.

Suddenly, an idea birthed in her head. She hopped of the desk, grabbing the prince’s confused hands and led him to the vanity table.

“Sit,” she pressed Aemond’s shoulders mischievously, “Your queen is about to tend you a royal braiding.”

A bright red crept on the prince’s pale skin as she bent down, pressing a kiss filled with adoration on his cheek, “I will miss you, and Vhagar too.”

“She wishes to fly with you again,” Aemond confessed, “The dragon loves you as much as her rider.”

“I shall,” she chuckled as her fingers moved into his exquisite silver lock, “My aunt Bryana taught me the art of braiding. In the Reach, having your hair braided by a lover's hand is believed to bring good luck, though I do not think you need any.”

Aemond relished the sensation of her hands buried in his hair, her soft chuckles and jests.

Selfless, caring, gentle, pure.

That was who she was.

Since that fateful night on Driftmark, a profound resentment toward physical touches had grown within the One-Eyed Prince.

It was perhaps one of the reasons why he revelled and excelled in the art of the sword.

The proximity of the opponents, their vigilant posture, the mixture of fear and viciousness reminded him of the horror both she and he suffered under the hands of the Strongs.

While others’ closeness risked to trigger his monstrosity, hers awakened warmth and serenity.

As her fingers explored the depth of his head with delicacy, he could feel her hot breath on his lost eye.

The memories invaded.

His lost eye continued to flow streams of blood while the other was forced to watch Jacaerys’ training in swordsmanship overpowering her advantage in height, her being chocked helplessly on the cold ground.

Their eyes locked.

She looked at him with despair.

Sorry. Her eyes told him. I am sorry that I couldn’t protect you.

“I love you,” Aemond seized her hands as the last strand of his lock was weaved, “I swear to you, I will return victorious.”

Slowly pacing to his side to sit on his laps, she blinked, “And when you come back to me, I want to carry your little dragons.”

“Aegon does not object?” He asked while caressing that agonizingly beautiful scar on her thigh.

She rolled her eyes teasingly, “Of course, he doesn’t. That’s the least the king could do when his little brother fights a war for him.”

As the first ray of sunlight bathed the Red Keep in a golden glow, Aemond Targaryen and Criston Cole began their march southward, setting in motion a war that scholars and scribes from across the realm would pore over the tale.

As centuries passed, the Dornish historians recounted the bloodiest battles that shook the realm during the decades-long War of Westerosi Conquest. Among them, none rivalled the ferocity and chaos each time the One-Eyed monster returned from King's Landing, his silver locks intertwined with an elegance and grace that only the skilled hands of the Westerosi queen could bestow.

[lostmyremembrall]

NSFW & SFW HC for Amit Thakkar

Photo by Rezoeline on twitter

As an Ominis enjoyer and Sallow Worshipper, I adore them to death. But let me explain why Amit is so perfect for MC

SFW

The only character who doesn't ask anything of MC

Actually, in-game he only GIVES to MC.

The telescope. Assistance with Gobbledegook.

He’s devoted to MC.

Will literally do anything for MC.

He is bitter he can't protect MC like Sebastian

So he will find other ways to help

He will take care of MC's wounds when they come back to Hogwarts

Becomes an insomniac ever since meeting MC, due to his anxiety for their safety

A hopeless romantic

Love letters, roses and expensive gifts

His affluent background means he thinks it's NORMAL to spend galleons on you

Will always await MC's return with open arms

Inside his arms is the only time MC can escape from everything terrible about their life

As MC gets dragged further into dark magic because of Sebastian,

Amit will be there to bring them back to the light.

When MC feels like they're surrounded by enemies,

he will show that compassion still exists

When MC grows desperate, and is willing to do anything to protect their friends like use the unforgivables,

Amit will be the grounding figure, leading MC with his strong moral fibre.

He shows that there are ways to care and protect your loved ones without becoming a dark wizard

Literally, Amit is the Sun to MC.

Amit’s smile is so bright, so unbroken and untouched by the cruelty of the world

(Sorry Sebastian, Ominis, Natty, Poppy but we all see your pained smile)

MC will do anything to stay in his innocent world

Amit will shed light on the darkest corners of MC's broken heart.

And bring them back to the light whatever the cost.

Amit will compare MC to his moon.

He says MC "outshines every star in the night sky."

As much as MC outshines everyone, a moon cannot shine without a star.

He is in disbelief that he gets to have something so special all for himself.

And he will always remember that as he treats you with utmost love and adoration.

He will treat you like a literal star, plucked from the night sky that he gets to keep for himself.

NSFW

He IS possessive and a soft dom.

MC thought he was just a shy boy who needs to be led at all times.

But my god MC was mistaken. He was just raised very strictly to treat women with utmost respect and gentleness,

So he's learned to restrain any of his urges.

He was hesitant at first to display any desires for fear of scaring off MC or being rude.

Displays the amazing self-control that he was raised to have at all times.

He may be inexperienced and shy at first.

But once he gets comfortable, and learns that it’s okay to want MC, he will unleash everything.

His curious Ravenclaw ass wants to study MC.

MC's every moan. What works for them. What doesn't.

Everything is about MC.

He will go down on MC until they're shaking underneath him.

Smiling softly down at them as they have their fourth orgasm.

When MC starts to beg they can't take it anymore, Amit will tilt his head.

And gives the most charming smile as he asks "Your body seems to be begging otherwise,"

As he glances down at MC's core still pulling him in.

Studies everything about sex to please MC.

Reads up on Kama Sutra as he furiously blushes and tries to hide behind the pages.

Will literally train himself to last longer and come back quicker for round 2 and 3 so he can give MC the pleasure they deserve

---

There WILL be other guys who underestimate Amit and approach MC.

Sebastian offering his scarf to MC because it's cold.

Amit will somehow always find MC in dicey situations and intervene before things escalate.

"Thank you, Sebastian,"

Amit will smile, but his eyes are narrowed into threatening slits.

"But I can take care of MC just fine.”

Rest assured, he would later be taking MC in the Room of Requirement in a domineering display of possessiveness.

His favourite position is missionary.

Snaking his fingers with MC’s as he whispers how adorable MC looks underneath him

His favourite part is seeing a side of MC nobody else has seen before.

The fact that he gets to have their moans, their euphoric expressions, their incoherent babble all to himself

It ignites something he's never felt before

On particularly stressful days, when MC gets distracted by anxious thoughts about exams, ancient magic, etc.,

Amit will pound even faster, deeper, and rougher until MC can't think of anything but him

He pouts, "I want you to be thinking about just me."

He'll smile contently when MC begins to mutter his name like a mantra, knowing they're close.

Making MC come and forget everything is a massive ego-boost for him.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk. Based on the fic 太陽と月, which has thrusted me fully into Amit phase.

[colourstreakgryffin]

omg haiii it's my first time making a request😶‍🌫️ can u do a Douma x afab reader that is part of his cult? got an idea from one of the stories my mom used to tell me as a kid

It's called "Scheherazade" :DD The Sultan maries women at night and then unalives them by morning. So Scheherazade devised a scheme. She would tell a story every night and leave it on a cliffhanger every time. After 1001 stories, he made the decision of keeping her.

basically- before reader is supposed to ascend to paradise (get eaten alive lolol), she does that ^ so that he'll spare her and let her entertain him every night with her very intriguing stories until he finally doesn't even care about eating him until he doesn't even feel like eating her anymore👍

What’s Afab? Oh, nevermind! I’ll find it out myself with my magic ✨G O O G L E✨ hands! Okay. Hmm, I hope I can do this exactly as you want

Douma- Fascinating Tales

“Aaah~ really? Continue!” Douma hummed excited, tapping his mighty clawed hands on his dark Hakama pants rhythmically as he continues to flash his somewhat manipulative beam before you, encouraging you on pinpointing the interesting details of your next wild tale. Sat on your knees in front of his glamorous, shiny throne, Douma egged you on to speak once again in your immersive tone like you did just before

Your situation with the one and only Upper Moon 2, Douma was a truly fascinating one. More fascinating than the many stories you told him at the peak of black night. You were a prideful follower of the Eternal Paradise Cult, unaware of the fact you were truly in danger until the very final day you were a faithful sheep to the women body-loving demon. Your beloved leader, Douma himself on one faithful day, selected you as the special one to “ascend to paradise”, the special treatment he always spoke about

You, however, weren’t a fan of being eaten alive by your admired leader so you indirectly fought back on his offer and decided to stall his greedy need to devour you, such a pretty woman, by telling him a story so intriguing that he just couldn’t resist but let you finish up, sparing your life in the process. This precisely developed strategy always saved you from meeting a painful and cruel end as Douma grew eager to hear your far tales and kept you alive slowly to satisfy his curiosity

Over many months, you seemingly never ran dry of your tales and Douma’s almost mind-swallowing desire faded away into nothing, at his own surprise. He didn’t want to eat you anymore, he couldn’t really see you as a another walking lunch but as his all-so-interesting story teller, someone who comes into his throne room at a very precise time and tell him a new fantasy narrative that’ll shake his thoughts for hours on end afterwise

You couldn’t believe your efforts genuinely worked as you gently smiled back at Douma, parting your lips to persevere the lead you were weaving and Douma was all for it with every fibre of his bean. Even if you were to lose your material and spark, Douma knew he wouldn’t want to kill you. You don’t seem like you would taste appeasing to him and he was feeling a little but meaningful flame of passion for you burn within him. He wanted to keep you alive until you perished at natural means, he didn’t mind

He could always have you read him written books if you had nothing left to entertain him with. Douma traced his otherworldly beautiful rainbow eyes over your face, your cute defined face and those pretty sparkling eyes. He always found himself amused by your voice and your passion as you explained the plots to him. Douma found you adorable in every form

“Oh, right~? Is that so? What happened to the siblings after they traversed the woods, Dokusha, my dear~?”

[doodle-pops]

Dusk Till Dawn

Turgon x reader

Kinktober 2023: Squirting

A/N: My first time writing a single piece for Turgon and I enjoyed every second of it :)

Warnings: fem!reader, squirting, a slight overstimulation, Turgon being a tease and letting loose, dom!Turgon, a bit of power play, marathon sex

Words: 3.3k

Synopsis: Your King learns of your unique ability and makes use of it to pleasure himself all night.

List of Requests

“What’s the matter? Tired already?” His voice sounded mocking, and the uncommon nature of the King, as he stood at the end of the bed with an unphased and energetic expression.

How had you been going at it? Minutes that turned into hours that stretched into an eternity. You’d been tossed about the bed into complex positions to suit your King’s insatiable pleasure, a desire he kept sedated and suppressed out of fear and disgust. Now, he towered like an eternal being, body fit and filled with vigour for days to satisfy his hunger. The wickedly sinful lopsided smirk he gazed upon you with as his right hand roamed his body, slipping lower to grip his erect cock, stirred your rearranged insides. You could feel the tingling sensation building; your legs reacted, shutting themselves. His eyes didn’t miss the gesture, knowing it was the result of his undeniable wicked charm.

Panting the more you gazed upon his body, ripples of muscles just waiting to crush you under its weight, flexed and shifted for you to admire. Your eyes roamed from his pensive stare to his pectorals to his abdomen, all the way past his cock to his thighs. Those were the same muscles you adored whenever he trained in the early morning, now mocking you in delight of wanting more. It felt great to be pressed into the mattress by the giant stoic King; had you known there was the possibility he contained a loose bone, matters would have been enacted earlier instead of the tumultuous situation.

“My King…forgive me, but I was merely astonished by your raw power and strength. I require a moment to breathe,” you laboured, chest rapidly embarking on a journey to recover your momentum.

Instead of feeling sympathy on behalf of your problem, Turgon breathlessly grinned and hung his head to snicker. He warned you that this could possibly end wrong given his current disposition of not being enticed in years, and you informed him of your manageable abilities. Yet here you were, begging for resuscitation. Taking a step closer, knee touching the bedframe, his hand reached out to grip your thighs and pull you down. His body easily coveted your tiny figure with the devilish gleam in his eyes; who was this person? “Your expressions humour me milady. You would never expect a reserved person like me to have a display and appetite like this.”

Closing the gap by pressing his body against yours, his hands reached for you and intertwined them above your head. Without hesitation, his lips crashed against yours for another mouthful of air, swarming butterflies in your core. Your whines and moans were devoured effortlessly by his tongue the deeper he pressed on while your arousal slowly flowed out your cunt, adding to the stains already left on his cock. The friction from his erection rubbing against your fold accompanied by the waltz of your tongues left you shivering and covered in goosebumps. Each swirl of his tongue in your cavern left you panting and grinding into him aggressively.

Your legs, despite their soreness, wrapped around his slender waist and hooked their ankles to lock him in place. What an unorthodox contradiction you were exhibiting—it showed how much you craved him despite your mind pushing against the lethargy. Your body was your greatest traitor, and it did not please your mind knowing that Turgon manipulated its desires into feeding his salacious prowess appetite. His laughter echoed through the kiss and settled in the depths of your mind, melting the very fibre of your dignity and casting an enchantment. His sorcery was unmatched the more his tongue wrapped around yours and pulled sighs and indescribable moans out of your throat.

The yearning sensation grew when his grip around your wrist tightened and pressed greatly into the mattress. Now you understood what a warrior's grip felt like and meant. The deadliness and precision of his hands as they held you secure and firmly left you enjoying the pleasures of his hands. He was eating your lips and his body moved in great seduction. Grinding and gyrating against you in a mating ritual dance to hypnotize your body, soul and mind; to give your all and allow him to have his way.

Growing breathless as your kiss escalated, he broke it to stare with hazy turquoise eyes and reddened lips. “You told me you wanted this from the very start; can you handle the rest?” he whispered sincerely as he bit his lip.

Finding it impossible to reply as his hips slowly ground his cock through your folds, you choked on air, basking in the pulsation that developed from the motion. The little heartbeat in your cunt produced an alluring rhythm, preventing his erection from slowing its pacing, urging it to continue. Turgon was conscious of his actions, he bathed in your pheromones and body’s desire to satisfy the depraved beast. It was years since he had the bliss of indulging in pleasure in the highest form, and when you offered yourself to him so sweetly like a sacrifice, how could he refuse.

Releasing his left hand from your wrist, his fingers ghosted over your sweaty skin—dancing and adding to the sensations—to grip his cock and align it with your entrance. No time was wasted after seeing your response; Turgon slipped in to relish in the temporary absence of your warmth. His body crumbled momentarily, dropping more weight and immobilising you completely. The shudders of his pleasure rippled violently throughout his body, heightening all your senses and pushing you to the edge.

The very weight of his cock resettled within your heat, surrounded by the warmth and softness of your gummy walls pulsating and massaging his cock had his hips gyrating against yours. It had only been six minutes since he had returned to your heavenly temple, and it felt like a lifetime; your walls contracted to adjust to the sheer thickness he was endowed and Turgon swore to the heavens that it felt like the first entry. “It doesn’t matter how many times I have you tonight; you’ll always squeeze me so tightly,” his voice was raspy and stuffy as he struggled to focus.

The weight of him once more filled you to the brim; you should know that a King as regal and elegant as him would no doubt carry proportions to display his sophistication. Where he lacked in grith, he fulfilled in length and weight, and that one single vein that ran alongside his length. A hollow groan escaped his throat as your warmth enveloped him like a cocoon, swaddling him in a blanket.

Look up, your vision was blurred by the dark locks of his head buried in the crook of your neck. The warmth of his breath as he panted and slowly made the first move to pull out, produced ripples of goosebumps across your body. Your free hand shot out to dig its nails into his back while your body arched into his. The delicious friction of your nipples gliding across his sweaty chest, and the grip his hands fought to hold on your thigh sent shivers down your spine. Turgon had no time to build any momentum and went straight for his target, to get you incapacitated before the night was over.

Straightening his posture and rising from your body, you had a curt moment to breathe before your body was being manhandled and dragged further down the bed to meet the edge. Tossing your legs haphazardly over his shoulder, one hand rested on your thigh while the other released your hand and rubbed at your clit effortlessly. The slick sounds of sweaty skin slapping against each other reverberated off the walls of his royal chamber alongside his grunts and groans. You watched as he majestically stretched his neck backwards to present his elongated, swan-like throat to moan. The way his dark strands fell over his shoulders and cascaded down his back was meticulously thought out; he knew what he was doing with every action of his, and it was astonishing to see him so relaxed.

Struggling to keep up and fighting to swallow the whiny moaned as his hips continued to drive his cock deeper, your hands came down to grip his wrist for stability. You could feel the pressure easily building as his thrusts grew with expertise and sin. Toes curling and eyes rolling, Turgon had you in an ensnared and eating out of the palms of his hands. The way his thumb would thoroughly rub circles on your clit, meeting the rolls of his hips that caused his tip to forever brush against your sweet spot; you were close to paradise.

“I can feel something coming love. Are you giving it to me like you promised?” he asked, lips running across your chest before latching to your left nipple.

Nodding and whining some incomprehensible response because the pressure was building at insurmountable heights, your grips around his wrists tightened synchronically with your walls. The loud hiss escaping his lips as he felt your gummy walls clamping down on his cock forced his hips to stutter before regaining their momentum. He laughed into your skin and continued to suckle your breast, switching from left to right.

“T–Turukáno… Please, My King—oh Eru!” you wailed into the air, eyes shut and body convulsing as the pressure snapped. You released; you came.

Sensing the insurmountable build-up of pressure pushing against his cock and movements, he slowed his thrusts and was met with the surprise of a lifetime. Caught in between watching you spasm and enjoying the liquid expelling from your cunt, Turgon pulled away from your breast to cast sparkled turquoise eyes at your orgasm. He didn’t stop, only slowing down to ease your sensitivity and observed the volume being expelled, a dazzling smile struck him. With a bite to his bottom lip followed by a lick, his thumb returned to your clit without hesitation and regained a languorous rhythm.

Turning his thrusts at snail’s pace at first, he arched over your body and hovered his lips above yours. “My, my, my. Is this why you didn’t want to continue in the first place darling?” his whisper was enchanting, prompting you to peek at him through slithered lids. Your chest heaved laboriously as you fought to catch your breath and maintain a focused gaze on him. The urge to roll your eyes again was beckoning from his torturous actions was dire.

Not a soul would suspect their King having qualities to classify him as villainous, but physical intimacies always brought out another side to people. As timid and skittish as he appeared, the key factor was the blood of Finwe coursing through his veins. The hunger and passion to perform like his life was dependent on it was crucial. “N–Not at all my King, never!” Your voice was faint and softer with a soreness lingering; courtesy of all the screaming he had you performing earlier.

“Really? Then you will oblige should I desire another, and another, and more…” He brushed yours before he took your bottom lips into his mouth and nibbled on it. The serenity of the lustful aura he released had a chokehold placed on your fuzzy brain; you couldn’t tell up from down, left from right. If your King said to be his mistress, wife or anything else, you’d happily oblige without insurgency.

Small trickles of your release flowed out and soaked his entire length as its pace picked up. Your legs dangled over his shoulder and your body perfectly pressed you into the mattress. All the rings of cream you left on him earlier disappeared as he was cleansed by the essences you withheld. As his pace doubled and tripled, the obscene slapping of sweaty and wet skin against each other reverberated throughout the room. Loud gasps and small chuckles as his hand slipped while gripping the back of your thigh followed. You were folded in half while your feeble attempts at gripping his thighs to slow him down were futile. A roll of his hips and your moans were stuck in your throat.

“Fighting me now, hmm? Ngh…don’t want to serve your King and give me what I desire?” he tantalisingly whispered now that his lips were ghosting the shell of your ear. “You promised to satisfy me all night; why are you running?”

Trembling in his hold as he pounded into you, the force creating creaks in the bedframe, you struggled to shake your head at him as tears pooled and cascaded down your cheeks. The shakiness in your breathing as your body moved up and down the bed from his powerful thrusts, knocked all the wind out of your lungs. He was rattling your skeleton and you could feel it jiggling inside.

As the temperature of the room rose, so did the heat in your breaths and bodies. He felt uncomfortably hot as his skin was stuck to yours; sweat dripping down his muscles and rolling over the curves as his body clung to yours. Chest to chest, his was rubbing against your nipples creating a luscious friction that synchronically fell into a rhythm with his thumb drawing circles on your clit. If your head wasn’t spinning then, it most certainly was now. “Oh Eru…hmm, fuck! So good, so good, fuck!” you screeched into the heated air, nails digging into his thick, muscular thighs as his cock drove deeper hitting your sweet spot.

You couldn’t begin to compare how artfully magnificent his thrusts were. With each sinful roll of his hips, you felt like a story was being told; one of lust and desire, another one of loneliness and a yearning for companionship and one of unfulfilled desires treated shamefully. You knew of his loneliness after the passing of his wife, all his frustration pent up without an escape. He was a like bubbling pot with a sealed lid, waiting to explode. It was safe to say, you considered yourself lucky to catch his eyes to relieve his sexual tendencies and he was living up to all your fantasies and more. The King of your city had you sprawled out on his bed with your legs dangling over his shoulder while plunging his cock into your cunt for his satisfaction. You were a gift in his eyes, and he would choose no other to be with at that moment.

Shutting your eyes to relish at the moment properly, a yelp slipped out when he pressed more of his weight onto you, leaving you immobilised, thoroughly. Dropping your hands from his thighs, they reached for the bedsheets, not caring if you tore them apart as he battered your insides. His vigorous thrusting left your ass reddened from the weighted impact with every collision. In addition, his heavenly grunts and moans in your ear were a melody crafted by the Gods, it made your essence trickle from your cunt. “Your cunt sounds so sweet, music to my ears,” he cooed, “but I want to hear it squirting for me. Can you give me another release love? I know you can.”

Whining to look up at his face as he pulled back to hover, you could barely get a syllable out. A hand left your thigh and slithered up your torso, stopping to grope your breast and tweak your nipples before arriving at your face. He wasted no time cupping your chin and forcing you to look at his turquoise eyes. “Is my Lady going to cum for her King? Are you going to give it to me…” His eyes bore holes into yours, and his sinister smirk wasn’t helping as your walls began contracting and the pulsation grew in tempo.

You could feel your heart beating in the core of your cunt, right where his tip met your sweet spot. All the butterflies that swarmed your stomach left and travelled to your cunt to meet your heartbeat and increased the sensations. The widening of your eyes as your breathing shortened and released in small intervals had your muscles clenching around his cock tighter. The choked sob and stutter in his hips were no escape to cease performing, for he tunnelled through your gummy walls and left them battered. His goal: rearrange your insides and get you to squirt now that he knew it was possible.

“Tu–Tur–…fuck! I can feel it, it’s there…ngghh!” you wailed. Your nails had tightened their grip on the luxurious fabric and tugged with aggression as the pressure built with nowhere left to run.

“That’s it, good girl, just like that,’ he praised as the motion of his thumb steadied and he felt a force opposing the thrusting of his cock. For now, it was pleasant if he had not cum and painted your walls in his release, he was taken caught up in the bliss of knowing that he could pull such a reaction out of you. It went to show that he still had his abilities after all those lonely years without practice. Now all that meant was for him to continue his ministrations to regain his prowess.

Without a second to lose, Turgon wanted to savour the moment you squirted everything on him and drew closer to capture your lips. Eating your lips and moans, he breathed into your mouth at the insurmountable pressure that collided with his cock and sprayed all over his lower abdomen and thighs. You could feel your body shuddering as the dams broke and expelled everything you had all over him. The moans of satisfaction that vibrated in his chest through the kiss alerted you of his contentment. Shivering violently in his arms, your hands slipped in between and pushed against his stomach to cease his thrusting; he was still going without any remorse for your sensitivity. “Turukáno, ease…ease up on me, please. Sensitive,” you cried out.

Reluctantly he slowed his thrusting until they came to a stop, he eased out with an obscene squelch and stood climbed off the stand at the edge. Curling up as your legs flopped off his shoulders, your body convulsed and shook as though you’d been electrocuted.

The chuckle that followed when he gazed at your fucked out state, lips swollen and red, eyes hazy and teary, loopy smile, tear-stained cheeks, hair tangled and a sweaty body, he mentally gave himself a pat on his back. You observed the way he licked his lips as his eyes roamed your body while grinning and shutting your eyes with a dazed smile. The image of him stoking his cock as though he wasn’t tired was painted vividly in your imagination. Enough to tell you that your night wasn’t over.

“Tired?” his voice rang with concern, eyes cautious gauging your reaction and body for injury.

Squinting through your right eye, you noticed his arched brows, meditatively waiting for your reply. “Well, what you suspect Your Majesty? You’re the one who laid the damages.”

Chortling, he placed a knee beside your limped body and beamed, “You look like you could do with another round to remedy your fatigue. I’m still becharmed by your little trick for I desire to see more.”    

Flashing a look of scepticism at him, both eyes were opened staring at him with livid horror. “Your Majesty—Turukáno, you can’t be joking?!”

“I’m not. You commanded that you would be the source of my pleasure tonight, and to that I oblige,” he charmed with a magical grin as his body slid over yours like a snake. “Now be a good girl and spread your legs for me, I wish to note if my fingers can do the same.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @eunoiaastralwings @koyunsoncizeri @ranhanabi777 @someoneinthestars @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @rain-on-my-umbrella @the-phantom-of-arda @singleteapot @wandererindreams @asianbutnotjapanese @ilu-stripes @justellie17 @justjane @silverose365 @bunson-burner @batsyforyou

[dreaminrainbows]

✨Masterpost✨

Perfect now

"Sweetheart" he says softly, always so soft. He moves the hand that was scratching Harry's scalp to his jaw, cupping his cheek "i want to tell you something i never have before." This gets Harry's attention as he moves to rest his chin on top of his hand on his chest, looking at him with tired, heavy eyes. Louis smiles softly at him as he starts to slowly caress his cheekbone and the thin skin under his eye." Or Harry sometimes has bad days, but Louis is always there to make it better

It's just us (in this world)

Harry expected many things when he moved to London for university. He expected wild parties, to study hard and get his diploma, to meet a couple of cute alphas to have some fun with. Harry genuinely expected to experience life to its fullest. What he didn't really expect was to meet Louis. Or Harry is happy with how his life turned out, he really is, he's just not happy that their unborn baby likes to keep him up at night. Louis is always there to keep him company and take care of him

Can't keep my hands to myself

Louis has new tattoos, Harry breaks the rules. Or Louis teaches his baby a lesson, but not really

For you i would lose my mind

He’s been waiting, hasn’t he, waiting and waiting, on the other side of the world while his man, his husband, his Daddy, not theirs, was throwing himself at fans every night. Letting them touch him, choke him, rip his clothes off of him like Harry doesn’t exist. Like Harry hasn’t spent a better part of the last twelve years of his life mapping Louis’ body, learning him and knowing him better than he knows himself, better than he will ever know himself. Like Harry hasn’t spent half of his life learning what Louis likes and what he dislikes, what gives him pleasure and what doesn’t, where to touch him and how to touch him, how to give him everything. Like Harry doesn't live and breathe Louis Tomlinson, like he hasn't spent every second of every day trying to be the best baby for him. Like every single fibre in his body doesn't scream Louis' name every time he so much as glances at him. Like Louis’ isn't his and his only. or Louis is a total menace on stage and Harry has had enough of it

Just let me adore you (pretty please)

"I think you are quite lovely, pup." Louis shrugs his shoulders, he shrugs like it's no big deal, "And quite pretty, may I add." "You…y-you do?" Harry asks bewildered. No, no, this cannot be real. Surely this is not real. He probably fell or dropped and hit his head and now he's lying in some ditch on the verge of dying and this is just his oxygen-hungry brain showing him his wildest dream before completely shutting down. Or Harry is convinced he'll never have a chance with Louis, Louis thinks Harry doesn't like him, all it takes is one bad party to realise how wrong they both were

I'll drive all night to keep you warm

Louis is hastily trying to put on his boots and the stupid laces just don’t want to fucking work. Maybe it is the fact that he is in a hurry and they can probably smell it on him or maybe it’s the fact that his hands haven’t stopped trembling since Niall called him, to tell him he’s lost Harry. Because Niall has lost Harry!! Harry is a whole Harry- tall, gorgeous, beautiful, the sweetest Omega Louis has ever known- Harry, and Niall has lost him. Niall had called him in panic, because when one loses their friend at a party they do definitely call said lost friend’s best friend knowing damn well that said best friend’s Alpha has been under the impression for the past year that said lost Omega is his (minor details), to go and find said lost friend because he couldn’t find him anywhere at the party nor his coat, but can’t be arsed to go out looking for him himself.

Flowers for your crown

Louis places a kiss on Harry's sternum before laying his head there, looking up at his Omega whose fingers are playing softly with his hair. "Are you thinking about pups again?" Harry asks him softly, smiling down at him. "You have your pup face on." Harry giggles as an answer to his raised eyebrow. His pup face probably means a dopey smile and crinkles by his eyes that he usually sports every time he thinks about their future children. "Can you imagine?" He tells Harry with wonder in his voice, "you'll be all swollen and big and gorgeous carrying our pup, the most beautiful Omega," he daydreams, imagining Harry pregnant, "and then we'll have our little angel with your eyes and my nose." He can already picture it, a little bundle of joy created by them. "Soon, Alpha." Harry tells him the way he usually does, but there is a new layer of softness in his eyes and the way he smiles at Louis, like maybe this time he believes it too. *** Or Harry has a little secret that is not really a secret and Louis is oblivious.

You are so gorgeous (it makes me so mad)

It's not Harry's fault Cheekbones is drop-dead gorgeous and Harry feels like he would literally drop dead if Cheekbones looked at him with his ice blue eyes for more than the minute it takes to order. Or Louis is a hot bartender and Harry is pathetically obsessed with him

This is our place (we make the call)

“Lou, Lou,” Louis is woken up by a soft poke into his shoulder and an even softer sounding voice. It takes him a few minutes for his brain to actually start functioning again. “Haz,” he grunts, groaning as he lifts his head from the pillow he was drooling on just now. He turns around sluggishly to lay on his back instead of his stomach to look up at his boyfriend who's standing next to their bed. The lamp in the hallway shines enough light into the room for him to see Harry standing in his pink satin short PJs, pigeon-toed, his knees locked and his toes digging into the carpet nervously. He's looking down, pinching his lower lip with the thumb and index finger of his right hand and hugging himself with the left, shiny chestnut shoulder length curls falling around his face, almost hiding it.

I'm trouble with you

“Harry,” Louis says in a soft voice, ”in less than a year you'll probably move out and I need to know now, I need to know tonight if I'm going to lose you forever. I'm done guessing!” He says demanding, but soft, his voice low and almost trembling. Harry's whole body is shaking. All of the feelings he tried to bury with studying, alcohol and weed, or sex are coming to the surface now and he can't deal with that. Can't deal with Louis sounding like he is actually afraid Harry is not going to be in his life. Because if Louis is afraid of losing Harry it means that he cares and Harry cannot deal with Louis caring. Every single illusion he's built in his mind of painting Louis as the bad guy will crash down along with all his resolve and walls and he cannot (!) have that. or the friends to enemies to lovers aka idiots to lovers aka they just don't talk until they FINALLY do

Even if it's handcuffed I'm leaving here with you

The arrestee stops squirming around as both Liam and Niall look up at him like deers caught in a headlight. Their frightened looks almost makes him laugh but he does his best to keep his composure neutral if not a bit annoyed. The arrestee, whose face was obscured by their long hair, lifts their head tossing their hair back from their face, a sly smirk plastered on their face upon locking eyes with Louis. “Sheriff,” Harry purrs as he sees Louis standing in front of his office, hands akimbo, “please tell those buffoons to unhand me immediately,” he asks, fluttering his lashes towards him like any of his tricks have ever worked on Louis. They have, all of them, but he's not about to show that in front of all his personnel.

I just wanna be yours (wanna be yours, wanna be yours)

Harry studies his sixteen year old self’s face for a long moment and it's truly pathetic how in fourteen years nothing has really changed. He's had enormous success throughout the years, has a couple of Grammys to prove it, yet he'd still be Louis Tomlinson’s vacuum cleaner in a blink of an eye. Louis does like his coffee hot and Harry would gladly be his coffee pot. He groans again, throwing his phone to the other side of the bed. He's been trying to get a grip on himself for the past fourteen years, the only grip he's gotten is on his man.

Look what you made me do(when you look the way you do)

“Lou,” he practically whines, knees knocking together, looking at him with those beautiful big doe eyes under his lashes, an innocent seductress,” Wh-what are you doing here?” he pulls at the hem of his pink tee, big black letters reading TOP sprawled across his chest, he looks like he wants to simultaneously cross his hands over his chest and hide but also show it off. Louis knows he wanted to show it off, otherwise he wouldn't have gone outside so boldly with it.

[auspicioustidings]

Farah rides a "cowboy" (specifically, Alex Keller).

Congratulations on your milestone of 1k followers! Thank you for considering our celebratory requests. 💖

This turned out a lot softer than I was intending but I cannot write these two as anything but an unreal level of in love :')

Keep Quiet

Words: 1k

CWs: smut-ish (it is very soft)

“You need to keep quiet habibi, don't want to disappoint the old man do you?”

Alex groaned low and pained. He knew this would not only disappoint Captain Price, it would probably earn him a beating from the man. After all Farah Karim was his favourite and he had punched out soldiers for even looking at her the wrong way. What would he do if he overheard them and came in to find Alex in his chair with her speared on his cock, his fingers squeezing bruises into her hips and her claw marks on his chest.

It wasn't his fault really. If Farah asked him for the stars from the sky he would find a way to the cosmos for her, so it was hardly a surprise that when months ago she had asked him for his body he had been eager to give it.

“I care for you Alex Keller. I do not want to die without your taste on my tongue” she had said, as if that wasn't completely ruinous to him.

He had let himself be taken right there and then, slow and agonising as all of the adoration he had been trying to bury came spilling from his lips. He had held her after and finally felt what contentment was like. Farah Karim had brought him back from the dead and given him purpose. He was certain the purpose was to love her with every fibre of his being.

Even when she was being a horrible woman like right now. She had asked him into the nearby office, John fucking Price's office, to “discuss the supply chain”. It was small and bordered by the rec room, the wall thin enough that usually anyone getting a bollocking had every word of it heard by whoever was making themselves a cup of tea or watching TV.

So he hadn't really suspected anything. Had been pretty scandalised when she had pushed him into the Captain's chair and unceremoniously moved around clothing so she could sink down onto his cock in one go, knocking the wind out of both of them.

“Fuck, Farah you're tight” he hissed through gritted teeth, trying to follow her instructions and keep quiet.

She smiled and he wanted to cry at how beautiful he found her, his fingers flexing and burying themselves further into her softness. She lifted herself nearly all the way off of him and hovered, looking into his eyes as they both took a moment to brace before she achingly slowly lowered herself all the way back down, choking out a gasp.

“I think my love that it is that you are too big.”

He bit off a curse and his self control evaporated, hips starting to snap up as he fucked into her in earnest. Fuck she was perfect, walls hot and wet and strangling his cock. He had no idea what he could do to possibly deserve her, but he was willing to spend the rest of his life trying to earn it.

“Alex, ah!”

Farah usually went slow, she liked being able to focus on the feeling of how he stretched her out, how her body would caress around him. She liked how he would look at her with love and neediness too, how he would tense and fight his own desire to take control.

But this? Fuck this was something else. When Alex Keller broke, he was pure unbridled passion. She dropped her head to his shoulder, muffling her cries into his skin and clinging on for dear life as he hammered up into her, the wet slapping sound obscene. Her pussy was practically drooling at the uncharacteristically rough treatment, the bulk of him underneath her the only thing stopping a wet patch being left on Price's chair.

“Fuck, sorry” he panted as he slowed.

He could feel her trembling in his arms and he knew that he was probably starting to hurt her. Farah shakily raised her head and pressed a soft kiss to his lips as they both stilled and recovered. She was unused to him treating her roughly and while it was exciting, she was thankful he had sensed when it had gotten too much.

There was a soft keening from him when she started to slowly roll her hips again, muttering an “I love you” onto his lips. His fingers started to massage gently at the bruises he feared he may have left as he sighed into the kiss. He was close and he was happy and he did not care that this was absolutely wrong on so many levels for them to be doing this here and now.

“Darlin’, I'm close” he said, moving a hand to gently play with her clit.

He was a gentleman and would rather die than cum before her. She needed at least one before he got off, ideally a few after too. It was how he liked to spent the afterglow, lazily lapping between her legs to bring her to a slow and gentle second or third orgasm. He imagined that wasn't on the table given where they were, so at least he'd like to give her one.

“Inside.”

“That safe?”

“One day.”

They both chuckled softly at one another, his fingers then bringing her over the edge nice and soft.

They had spoken about it at the start. Farah would not risk bringing a child into the world before it was safe for them and Alex had gotten a vasectomy almost immediately so she would never have to worry about it. But they had talked about reversing it once the war had been won. It wasn't sure to work of course, but they'd leave it to chance. So this little exchange was their way of alluding to that dream life beyond the fighting, the idea that one day they might feel like they had made their world safe enough for a family.

She circled her hips through her high, walls flexing around him until he hugged her to his chest with a choked off sob and followed her. They both stayed like that and just breathed for a moment, holding one another close.

A loud knock at the door made them both jump and then groan at the overstimulation it caused.

“At least invite me next time!” Gaz yelled from the other side of the door before his laughter disappeared down the hall.

[valentine-cafe]

. ˚◞♡ 𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐 𝒂𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂 𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒔 9948 𝒆 — the scorned sorcerer◞ ₊˚

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ “ it's still me. please, look into my eyes. see this love for you. I'd never hurt y — that. . . was a mistake. please believe me, I need you. I need you with every fibre of my being, heart and mind. so stay. . . or I'll make you, ” ꒱

. ˚◞꒰verse꒱ 9948e

. ˚◞꒰face claim refs꒱

. ˚◞꒰species꒱ enigma ( sorcerer )

. ˚◞꒰ethnicity꒱ italian-spaniard

. ˚◞꒰age꒱ 27

. ˚◞꒰gender꒱ male

. ˚◞꒰mbti꒱ intj

. ˚◞꒰aliases꒱ the viridian sorcerer, the scorned, the emerald hex, the witch, the blight’s favourite

. ˚◞꒰appearance꒱

𖹭. viridian eyes that were once emerald. typically wears dark eye shadow and eyeliner. eyes go solid viridian during particular spells without pupils or sclera

𖹭. dark, slightly messy and wavy medium-length hair

𖹭. fair olive skin tone that might appear quite pale. androgynous and sharp features

𖹭. stands at 6’3” ( 190cm ) with a slender, slightly frail body type

𖹭. has dark runes and patterns running up his forearms to his elbows as a result of some magic

𖹭. gothic style that can range from elegant and dark academia to vintage goth. lots of poet shirts and corsets. does not mind dressing feminine-like either

𖹭. nails are usually painted black, he has silver rings and bracelets

𖹭. in general wears a lot of thin silver and black jewellery, such as necklaces, chokers, earrings and so on

𖹭. often wears black lipstick, labret lip piercing that is silver with a little viridian gem

𖹭. silver septum and navel piercing and horizontal snake eye piercings

𖹭. standard ear lobe piercings with a stacked helix piercings on his right

. ˚◞꒰personality꒱

𖹭. quiet and reserved, an observer by nature. seems cold at first especially with his typically monotone features and dry voice. would often spend his days reading, filling up his sketchbook or composing music

𖹭. seemingly chronically tired. has a dry humour and is quite sarcastic

𖹭. serene and calm. not one to show his emotions through physical expression

𖹭. poetic whenever he does speak. often speaks in short sentences

𖹭. became something entirely whenever he was on stage, a bold and passionate lead singer who sent the crowd wild

𖹭. once a kind and gentle soul despite his aloofness. deep down, is a very shattered and mentally drained individual

𖹭. soon morphed into something that was quite the opposite. despite keeping his serene nature, a newfound maliciousness rose after the loss of his beloved

𖹭. becomes callous and uncaring of whatever sacrifices that he may have to commit

𖹭. can come off as still quite serene but now holds no regard for the things he does or the people that he hurts, as long as he succeeds in his mission

𖹭. can come off as very obsessive and insensitive

𖹭. deep down does feel guilty over what he has done but does not know how to stop. especially with all the voices in his head and his desperation to see his lover again

. ˚◞꒰with a lover꒱

𖹭. former alessio would have been very gentle with a lover. affectionate beyond measure and always eager to be around you, should that be something that you are okay with.

𖹭. was not the verbal type, but pours all of his love and affection into physical touch and gestures, always trying to show you that he loves you, despite his on and off distant attitude.

𖹭. it involved a lot of hand holding, torso hugs and sometimes just pulling you into his lap.

𖹭. you would also become one of his muses, and while he might be timid to show you; he does draw you in any way that he can, adoring the process every time

𖹭. another activity he would have enjoyed was simply having your head rest upon him while he strummed away at his guitar or read his latest book with you. good morning and goodnight messages, walks in the park and late night stargazing.

𖹭. however, after alessio’s fall, he would grow to be quite possessive over you.

𖹭. he cannot lose another lover, he cannot let you slip away from him.

𖹭. he affectionate side of him would still shine through, however, he would become hyperaware of what you are doing and where you might be.

𖹭. the witch would try his hardest to remain his usual self around you. . . if you behave and do as he says, that is.

𖹭. keeping you locked away from the world, fussing over you way more than he usually would. . . you understand, don’t you? and if not, well, he has his ways

. ˚◞꒰strengths꒱

𖹭. witchcraft: possesses the ability to manipulate various forms of magic and cast a wide variety of spells. has a vast knowledge of mystical spells and incantations invoking names and aspects of various extra-dimensional objects, beings and sources of power.

𖹭. chaos magic: ability to manipulate the powerful magic known as chaos magic, a dark magic, which allows him to alter reality and control various forms of mystical energy.

𖹭. energy projection: the ability to turn his magical energy into tools, objects, weapons, and other items to suit his needs. he can use these projections for other purposes as well, such as create powerful energy blasts and forcefields.

𖹭. illusions: the ability to cast and create illusions.

𖹭. reality warping: an ability that he is not in full control of — he can create a mini pocket dimension in which he creates a miniature reality unaffected by the world around it.

. ˚◞꒰weaknesses꒱

𖹭. d’akar: an anti-magic material that can greatly weaken him if he comes into contact with it.

𖹭. overexertion: while he is quite powerful, overexertion of his powers can result in the magic having a physical backlash on his body.

𖹭. voices: has voices in his head that may at times make him act erratic or are result to dark thoughts in his head.

𖹭. mental instability: he has poor mental health greatly affects his powers and makes them erratic. in severe breakdowns, he loses complete control of his powers. he also hallucinates quite a bit

𖹭. perception limit: he cannot cast spells on beings and objects if they are not in his direct view.

. ˚◞꒰relationships꒱

𖹭. zhào jìngyí: boyfriend, deceased

𖹭. rishen aryielus: guardian angel

𖹭. yùe mèng yáo: motherly figure

𖹭. zhào hàoyú: ex best friend

𖹭. zhào xīyáng: younger brother figure

𖹭. zhào haitāo: younger brother figure

𖹭. zhào yizé: younger brother figure

𖹭. zhào yŭ xī: younger sibling figure

𖹭. zhào mùchén: enemy

𖹭. valerio agresta: father, deceased

𖹭. elena arias perez: mother, deceased

𖹭. lorenzo agresta arias: younger brother

. ˚◞꒰story꒱

born a powerful sorcerer, alessio has experienced an array of magic fatigue and a series of voices within his head. after all, when a child of such power is born, what creature - demon or spirt - would not want to get their hands on it?

one voice in particular seemed to be the loudest, and throughout his life, alessio attempts to suppresses the urges. supress the destructive magic trying to leak out of him. with a challenged childhood and not the best father, he relies upon his childhood best friend, zhao jingyi and the zhao family as a whole.

the need to be in control of himself is all that he ever knew, but when tragedy strikes and the one person who was his everything is lost to death; it seemed to have been the final nail in the coffin.

snapping at last, alessio now leans into his magic. listening to that one, never-ending voice. delving into necromancy in hopes of bringing back the one he holds dear.

. ˚◞꒰extra꒱

𖹭. he plays the guitar

𖹭. he was a lead singer in a band

𖹭. he is extremely powerful on the magic scale, however, he does not know exactly what he is capable of

𖹭. fluent in spanish ( castilian ), fluent in italian

𖹭. his main medium of art is painting

𖹭. he has a white cat named luna ( scottish fold )

𖹭. he was the lead singer of his band

𖹭. has a habit of stopping in his tracks to pick wildflowers

[self-shipping-doll13]

#4 - Rest | Bandages

Chapter Two of Summer War Saga

Spooktober prompt: Rest | Bandages

Wc: 815

Everything was hurting.

Every fibre in Ivar’s body was screaming in pure agony. He could hardly move, and opening his eyes seemed impossible. He couldn’t move a muscle.

Ivar’s mind slowly was catching up on what had happened, and as the memories slowly came back. A fierce fight. Swords clashing, the thundering wheels of his war chariot, arrows flying by, and pain. Excruciating hot pain, as if a blazing magma spear had been lodged deep inside in his chest.

Then a pair of blue eyes came into his blurry view.

She was laying there, right by him, on that half of the bed where she always slept, in her place by his side.

“Dagny,” Ivar managed to croak.

Her voice was hoarse. “You’re awake.”

“I am,” he said quietly. His throat seemed full of sand.

Ivar forced his head to move down enough to look at his own body. Under the heavy fur blanket, thick white bandages were wrapped around his chest, and fragrant pine-green poultice had been smeared on to ward off infection. Fresh, applied by a loving hand.

“How long…?” He asked, his lids drooping again. It suddenly took immense effort to stay conscious.

“Two weeks and four days,” Dagny told him.

Two weeks and four days that he could not remember. As a völva, she had prophesied the conclusion before it had occurred, he knew that. But it was one thing to be told of it and one thing to truly experience it. Never before in his life had he felt this hurt and fragile.

Dagny slid over until her head rested on his shoulder, avoiding all the parts of his body that were hurt. With great effort he turned his head to look at her, into those deep blue pools of love.

The injured area felt impossibly tight, like the giant Ymir was sitting on him. He was a mess of sensation, but he thought it was likely that familiar pain in his leg was a bone fracture.

“But that doesn’t matter,” Dagny said, swallowing. “What matters is that you’re here. Alive. With me.”

She presented a cup of water that must’ve been left out for her by servants, but had been untouched. “Drink,” she murmured as she held it to his lips. She urged him to take careful sips, and it trickled down his throat like the waters of the clearest spring.

“You're going to recover, my love,” she said thickly. ”And you’ll heal well. The healers say this. I say this.” Dagny buried her face in his chest. “It’ll all be fine…”

Blinking in disorientation, Ivar tried to bury his nose in her hair. It had visibly suffered from lack of care, but he could still draw in the scent of the lavender she adored.

“Don’t think I have a choice,” he mumbled as the corners of his lips twitched. “You won’t let me die.”

It took a moment for him to realise that dampness on his shoulder was her tears. She was wiping them away by the time he said it, and she looked at him seriously, her eyes shining wet. “No. I won’t,” her voice trembled. “I am not ready to give you to the gods.”

Ivar looked at her, his heart swelling in his chest. It did not matter how much glory awaited him. The thought of leaving this woman behind was unfathomable. No matter what, he had to remain.

“You’d never let go, my sweet witch,” Ivar whispered, forcing a weak smile. He managed to lift his hand and stroke her cheek with his thumb. “I couldn’t die. Not before tasting your lips again.”

Dagny leaned forward, so carefully and gently, and gave him a tender kiss. Ivar reciprocated as much as he could, tasting the salt of her tears, her own sweetness on her breath. He would have given anything to wrap both his arms around her, to hold her tight against him, to feel her warmth spread throughout his injured body. The soft strands of her hair were tickling him like the wingbeats of butterflies.

“I… love you…” He said breathlessly once they broke apart again, and the quick motion made him dizzy.

“And I you.” Dagny pressed her mouth to his temple, and he felt a sense of nostalgia, as if recalling it in his unconsciousness, the previous days he was asleep. “Rest,” she whispered to him as she nestled into the crook of his neck, stroking his upper arm slowly. “Regain your strength. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

A wave of drowsiness hit him like a warhammer, making his eyelids drop. He struggled against it, trying to stay awake and relish this moment, but it was futile. Finally, he allowed himself to drift off. The last thing he was aware of was the sound of Dagny’s breathing, her body against his, and the faint thrum of her heartbeat.

Dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[bullet-prooflove]

The Wedding Night - Jimmy Lanik x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @annieradcliff @cosmic-psychickitty @random-sofi @giuls-ver @crazy4chickennuggets @thebewingedjewelcat @iworldlywriter @genius2050 @infinity-mars @elizabeththebat @emma-dawson @legit9thlunaticwarrior @depxiety

Jimmy trailed his fingertip down along the smooth soft silky skin of your navel as he lay beside you on the plush king-size bed. The wedding dress was long gone, Jimmy had unzipped it from your form and allowed the material to drop away from your skin hours before. The white bra you were clad in was strapless and made of French lace. It hugged and lifted your breasts, extenuating your figure as you lay before him in that slender g-string.

Your hands were stretched up above your head, bound to the wrought iron headboard in your hotel room with the tie he had worn for the ceremony. There was a blindfold over your eyes as his fingertip traced along the line of the delicate underwear, chasing down over your naked mound. He dipped lower teasing over your slick core causing you to whimper in anticipation.

The idea of being at Jimmy's mercy filled you with a sensual thrill, he had awakened you sexually over your time together. You had never known the act of making love could be so euphoric. He was dynamic and wondrous underneath the sheets, chasing your pleasure instead of his own.

"I like having you like this, teasing you with my mouth and fingers. Keeping you at my mercy." Jimmy whispered in your ear as his fingertips grasped a chilled strawberry.He used the small piece of fruit to trace a line down along your throat.

Jimmy's molten hot tongue followed the pattern left by the cold fruit before he guided it between your breasts. He kissed that delicious spot, his thumbs teasing your nipples through the confines of the lace bra as you writhed and gasped in response to his touch. He was so good at manipulating your body, stroking over those delicate strings, seeking out the perfect chords to bring you to completion.

He used the strawberry to trace the outline of your lips, your breathing hitched at the light caress. He popped the strawberry into your mouth, kissing away the juices.

Your desire was more than evident, he had used his fingers and tongue to lead you to climax twice over the past few hours and each orgasm had been more powerful than the next. He knew what you really wanted, what his wife was craving right now, and Jimmy was finally ready to consummate the marriage. He longed for the fulfilment that came with making love to you, there was a sense of urgency to his ministrations. The mild bondage was his own chance to worship you, to show you how devoted he was to your pleasure.

"I want to see those beautiful eyes." Jimmy murmured as he lifted the blindfold and removed it from you.

Your skin was flushed rosy pink from the foreplay, your gaze was bright and dazzling as you stared at him with arousal and want.

"Have you finished playing with me Jimmy?" You asked him in a breathless tone.

Jimmy was already stripping the restraints from your wrists. His fingers nimble and gentle as he searched for bruises, thankfully finding none. Your hands were already entwining in his tousled hair, bringing him even closer so you could kiss his finely sculptured lips and taste the salt on his skin. Jimmy's fingers caught on the thin straps of the g-string before he guided it from your thighs.

"Make love to me." You whispered against Jimmy's clean-shaven jaw. "I want every fibre of my being to belong to you."

"You already belong to me." Jimmy told you, his voice husky as his cock brushed over your slick folds. "Just like I have always belonged to you."

The moment Jimmy sank inside you, you were lost. Your hands roved up Jimmy's muscular back, fingertips brushing over his shoulders as you arched your hips taking him deeper, until he was buried inside you to the hilt. Your head tipped back into the pillow, exposing your throat to Jimmy's adoring lips as he thrust inside you with long intense movements. His fingers interlaced with yours, pressing your hand into the mattress as you chanted his name like a mantra. He hit just the right spot, your body stretching taut underneath him.

Jesus, you were on the edge again, tightening all around him, your eyes on his as you hurtled over the precipice. The ecstasy hit you hard, euphoria exploding through your synapses as it stole away your breath. Jimmy spilled himself deep inside of you, hips locked against yours as his fingertips caressed the apple of your cheek.

"My wife." Jimmy whispered against your lips. "My beautiful wife."

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