#Ice Velvet fabric
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Exploring the Elegance of Printed Velvet and Cotton Velvet Fabrics at Sanchi Velvets
Velvet is a fabric synonymous with luxury, and over the years, its versatility and beauty have only increased with the advent of modern fabric innovations. Among these innovations are printed velvet fabrics and cotton velvet fabrics, two styles that combine velvet’s plush texture with contemporary designs and natural materials. At Sanchi Velvets, we offer an exceptional range of both printed and cotton velvet fabrics, each bringing its own unique appeal to the world of fashion, upholstery, and home decor.
Printed Velvet Fabric: The Perfect Fusion of Texture and Design
Printed velvet fabric is a stunning evolution of traditional velvet, offering the perfect combination of luxurious texture and vibrant, detailed designs. Digital and screen printing techniques allow for an endless array of patterns, from rich florals and abstract designs to geometric patterns and even photorealistic imagery. The velvet surface, with its soft pile and deep colors, provides the ideal backdrop for these intricate prints.
Key Features of Printed Velvet Fabric
Vibrant Designs: The printing process results in sharp, bright patterns that truly pop against the plush velvet fabric. Whether you're looking for a traditional floral print or a bold modern pattern, printed velvet offers an unmatched depth of color and visual interest.
Luxurious Feel: Despite the intricate designs, printed velvet retains the signature luxurious feel of velvet, with its soft, rich texture that is perfect for both fashion and home decor.
Versatile Applications: Printed velvet is a perfect choice for creating high-end fashion pieces such as dresses, skirts, blouses, and accessories. It’s equally well-suited for interior design, from statement upholstery and cushions to curtains and bedspreads.
Customizability: At Sanchi Velvets, we offer printed velvet in a range of patterns and colors, allowing for full customization for designers and consumers seeking to make a bold style statement.
With printed velvet, you have the opportunity to create sophisticated garments and furnishings that stand out. The luxurious texture combined with unique designs makes it a go-to fabric for anyone looking to create pieces that are both tactile and visually striking.
Cotton Velvet Fabric: Soft, Breathable Luxury
Cotton velvet is an incredibly popular choice for those seeking the luxury of velvet without the weight and warmth of traditional velvet fabrics. Made from cotton fibers instead of silk or synthetic materials, cotton velvet offers a soft, breathable alternative while still maintaining the rich texture and depth of traditional velvet.
Key Features of Cotton Velvet Fabric
Natural Breathability: One of the main benefits of cotton velvet is its breathability. Unlike synthetic velvet, cotton velvet allows for more airflow, making it a more comfortable option for warmer climates or for designs that require long wear.
Soft, Smooth Texture: Cotton velvet maintains the soft, tactile feel of traditional velvet but is often lighter and less dense, which makes it easier to work with for clothing and upholstery projects.
Eco-friendly Option: As cotton is a natural, renewable resource, cotton velvet can be considered an eco-friendlier option compared to synthetic velvets, offering a more sustainable choice for conscientious designers and consumers.
Versatility in Fashion and Decor: Cotton velvet is highly versatile and can be used for both casual and formal clothing. It is a favorite for fashion pieces like dresses, skirts, and jackets, as well as home decor items such as cushions, bed covers, and upholstery.
At Sanchi Velvets, we offer cotton velvet fabrics in a variety of colors and finishes, perfect for creating both elegant garments and cozy, stylish interiors. Whether you're looking to design a flowy cotton velvet dress or transform your living room with cotton velvet cushions, our fabrics bring soft luxury to any project.
Choosing the Right Velvet for Your Project
When deciding between printed velvet fabric and cotton velvet fabrics, consider the intended use and the specific qualities you're looking for in a fabric.
Printed Velvet Fabric is perfect if you're seeking a fabric with intricate patterns, bold designs, or photorealistic prints. Whether you're designing fashion-forward apparel or want to create a statement piece in your home, printed velvet brings visual impact and luxurious texture to your project.
Cotton Velvet Fabric is ideal for those who want a softer, more breathable fabric that still offers the richness and depth of velvet. It’s a great choice for lightweight clothing, casual wear, or home decor pieces that demand comfort, elegance, and sustainability.
Conclusion: Discover Velvet’s Versatility at Sanchi Velvets
At Sanchi Velvets, we pride ourselves on offering a wide range of premium velvet fabrics, including both printed velvet and cotton velvet. Whether you're designing a high-fashion garment, crafting elegant home decor, or creating a unique, custom piece, our velvets provide the ideal combination of luxury, texture, and design flexibility.
Printed velvet offers the excitement of bold, detailed patterns, while cotton velvet provides soft, breathable comfort for a more laid-back elegance. No matter your project, Sanchi Velvets ensures that you'll find the perfect fabric to bring your creative vision to life.
Explore the luxurious world of printed and cotton velvet fabrics at Sanchi Velvets today and discover how these modern takes on a classic fabric can elevate your next design.
To know more about Sanchi Velvets visit us:
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AR636 260gsm Ice Velvet in Plain Color Sofa & Chair Fabric
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⋆ arcane but it's a private university au ( for the girls: pt. i )
ice princess!f!reader x multi. f!characters. men & minors dni.
synopsis: private university!arcane headcanons but it’s really specific bc it’s based on my time at catholic private school except this au is just a private hold the catholic.
cw: this part contains scenarios for caitlyn, vi, & mel. the second part will contain sevika & ambessa bc i went a little crazy. suggestive content. notes: this was really fun to write. after part two, my attention will shift to answering the requests you sweet angels have sent me. i love you.
part two.
the road curved sharply as the gates came into view, their wrought-iron edges glinting in the low sweep of your headlights. beyond them, the school rose like smoke, its silhouette dark against the velvet sky, lit faintly by the soft gold of its windows. the building exhaled exclusivity, from the ivy climbing its stone façade to the manicured hedges lining the long gravel drive. you rolled down the window slightly for a bit of air. the breeze was scented faintly with pine and the cold, metallic promise of winter. you straightened your posture without thinking, your shoulders drawn back against the cool weight of your coat.
inside, the warmth hit you immediately, clinging to your skin like a lover's kiss. the chandeliers sparkled, their light soft and diffused, casting fractured shadows against the paneled walls. voices floated in the distance—low, murmured, intimate. you walked slowly, your boots clicking against the marble floors, eyes drawn to the oil portraits lining the halls. the faces in them were familiar in their arrogance: sharp jaws, heavy brows, lips set in expressions that commanded you to keep your mouth budded shut, like a flower.
your room was at the far end of the east wing, the door heavy and hinting at the beginnings of rot. the key turned smoothly, the lock clicking open with an almost luxurious softness. the space inside was all dark wood and rich fabrics, a fire already lit in the grate. you dropped your bag near the foot of the bed, its velvet coverlet cool under your fingertips. for a moment, you stood still, letting the atmosphere settle around you. outside, the wind whispered through the trees, and in the distance, you could hear faint laughter—a reminder that this place was alive, spilling with bloodlines as silver as the spoon in your own mouth. you wondered what they’d see in you, these strangers you were destined to meet. you wondered what you’d allow them to.
caitlyn kiramman: the academic rival.
୨୧ caitlyn was under the impression she’d be occupying a single suite. she strolled through the double doors, chin high, expecting the echo of her own footsteps in the vast, empty room. instead, she found you curled on the floor, the soft creature of your body lightly clothed, flipping through a thick novel with its spine already cracked.
୨୧ you, too, had assumed the room was yours alone. after all, there was only one massive queen bed planted in the center, framed by ornate lamps that cast a soft glow over the wood-paneled walls. the two of you locked eyes, the silence loud with polite hostility. and then, as if on cue, both your smiles snapped into place—brilliant, practiced, and so painfully fake they practically gleamed. your families would be proud.
୨୧ you managed to get housing on the line after some deliberation over who would cave first. 'apologies, girls,’ the voice crackled through the old-fashioned landline. ‘there’s been an overlap in scheduling renovations. west wing residents have been moved to shared suites in the east. it’s only for a few weeks—after winter break, your single rooms will be ready, and you’ll receive a refund for the semester.’
୨୧ you clicked the phone back into its cradle and turned to caitlyn, flashing another dazzling smile. ‘well,’ you said sweetly, gesturing to her suitcase, ‘shall we get you unpacked?’
୨୧ during this time, you took her in—shamelessly, ravenously. she was tall and impossibly willowy, her movements languid like she’d been raised to glide instead of walk. her hair, a cascade so black it caught blue in the firelight (‘[name] it is blue.’), was swept into a ponytail so bouncy it could’ve been sculpted. she wore a thick knit sweater, tailored trousers, and a delicate diamond pendant—a ‘C’—that caught against her collarbone. her perfume hit you in waves: sweet, salty, like the black licorice you’d once eaten to excess in scandinavia. beneath it was something warmer—vanilla and caramelized citrus. you clenched your jaw to keep from leaning closer.
୨୧ at first, the sharing was civil. one of you curled up on the bed each week while the other resigned herself to the chaise in the corner. but one night, you woke to caitlyn’s face above yours, pale and soft in the moonlight. her almond-shaped eyes glittered as she pressed a deceptively strong hand against your stomach to wake you. her perfume cloyed your throat as she murmured, ‘come on,’ her voice rich and clipped with her posh english accent. she slipped back into bed, her braid glinting in the dim light, and you lay there, swallowing hard before following her.
୨୧ the real challenge wasn’t the shared space. it was caitlyn herself—her maddening proximity. the way her soft thighs brushed yours when she shifted in bed. the way her body, willowy as it was, still seemed to migrate toward you in the night, tangling with yours like it was instinctual. you woke up more than once during those weeks feeling hot, bothered, and frankly mortified, especially during the cruel timing of ovulation.
୨୧ to make matters worse, she was your equal in class. the professor announced your tied scores, and you caught her turning toward you, her bright blue eyes sparkling with something like satisfaction. she smiled, clearly expecting camaraderie, but this was your achievement. your moment. you forced a tight smile in return, already plotting your next move.
୨୧ and yet, caitlyn seemed determined to treat you as an equal. worse, a friend. she was everywhere—every party, every recital, every lecture. she linked your arm and whispered terrible jokes that you begrudgingly laughed at. she told you scandalous rumors about your professor and her husband, her lips brushing your cheek as the crowd jostled you.
୨୧ the glitter from her gloss smeared your skin, warm and wet, and when she tried to wipe it away, you told her it was fine. she blushed, and you hated how much you liked it.
୨୧ she was infuriating. borrowing your curling iron to tease out her perfect curls, dragging you to track practice where she outpaced you with ease, leaving snacks on your desk during finals with notes written in her careful script. she was just so—so perfect, framed in silk and lace and lit by courtyard sunlight, her laugh clear as crystal and echoing in your chest.
୨୧ wait.
୨୧ winter crept into the suite on silent feet, frosting the windowpanes and painting the air with a chill that settled into your bones. the two of you existed in an uneasy truce, navigating the space like chess players plotting moves several steps ahead.
୨୧ you thought you had her figured out, until one morning you stumbled into the kitchen to find her brewing tea, hair tousled and cheeks flushed with sleep. she offered you a mug without looking up, the steam curling between you, and you took it—hesitating only for a second.
୨୧ for all her elegance, caitlyn was infuriatingly human in ways that caught you off guard. she hummed off-key while studying, left tiny notes for herself tucked into the corners of her textbooks, and cursed like a sailor under her breath when she stubbed her toe on the chaise.
୨୧ it wasn’t fair how quickly she worked her way under your skin, the sharp edge of rivalry blunted by moments like these. still, you refused to let her win, clinging to the fire that flared in your chest every time she smirked at you after a particularly cutting comment in class.
୨୧ the tension came to a head one evening in the middle of finals. you were curled on the chaise, poring over notes, when caitlyn waltzed in, hair damp from a shower and wearing nothing but an oversized sweater that skimmed her thighs.
୨୧ she plopped onto the bed and stretched, a picture of unbothered grace. ‘don’t you think you’re overdoing it?’ she asked, her tone almost teasing. your pen froze mid-sentence. ‘excuse me?’ you shot back, eyes narrowing.
୨୧ ‘i’m just saying,’ she continued, utterly unruffled. ‘you’re going to burn out if you keep pushing yourself like this.’ the concern in her voice was infuriating, and you snapped. ‘not all of us can coast by on professors' favor and good looks,’ you said, your words cutting sharper than you intended. her expression faltered for a fraction of a second before she schooled it into something cool and distant.
୨୧ the silence that followed was unbearable. caitlyn moved to the chaise later that night, leaving the bed cold and empty. you told yourself you didn’t care, but the knot in your chest tightened with every passing hour. finally, just before dawn, you slipped out of bed and crossed the room, standing over her sleeping form. her face was peaceful in the pale light, and you felt a pang of regret so sharp it left you breathless.
୨୧ ‘caitlyn,’ you whispered, your voice trembling. her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, she looked at you like you were the only thing in the world. ‘i’m sorry,’ you murmured, your throat tight. she sat up slowly, her gaze searching yours. ‘i didn’t mean it.’ ‘i know,’ she said softly, her words a balm to the ache in your chest.
୨୧ before you could overthink it, you leaned in, your lips brushing hers with a tentative softness. she responded immediately, her hands threading into your hair as she deepened the kiss. the world melted away, leaving only the two of you tangled in one another, practically climbing into each other’s skin, the air thick with the heady scent of her perfume and the taste of mint lingering on her lips.
୨୧ the next morning, you called housing together. caitlyn leaned against the counter, her arm brushing yours as you spoke into the phone.
୨୧ ‘yes,’ you said, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. ‘we’d like to stay in the east wing for the rest of the school year.’ you hung up, and caitlyn turned to you, her smile soft and knowing. ‘looks like we’re stuck with each other,’ she said, her tone light but her eyes dark.
୨୧ you squeezed your legs together and let a finger sweep at the dip of her collarbones. ‘it wouldn’t be the worst thing,’ you told her. she smiled.
violet: the lacrosse prodigy.
୨୧ the first time you saw vi, she was slouched in a mahogany chair at your parents' alumni dinner, looking like rebellion incarnate. her suit was expensive but deliberately disheveled—probably borrowed, you'd learn later—with the top button undone and a black tie hanging loose around her neck like an afterthought. you noticed her instantly: the sharp cut of her jaw, the shock of pink hair (freshly dyed, still bleeding slightly at her collar), and the way she balanced her chair on two legs like gravity was merely a suggestion.
୨୧ she noticed you too. maybe it was the way you held yourself, spine straight as a ruler, chin lifted in that practiced way that screamed old money. or maybe it was the way your silver-blue gown caught the light, clinging to you like morning frost on glass. either way, when your eyes met across the room, her smirk said she'd already made you her newest fixation. you looked away first, but you could feel her gaze following you for the rest of the evening, hot as a bruise.
୨୧ by the time classes started, her reputation preceded her like a shadow. vi, the scholarship student who played lacrosse like she was outrunning her past. girls whispered about her in bathroom stalls and behind textbooks: how she'd grown up on the wrong side of the tracks, how she'd fought her way into this school with nothing but raw talent and a stubbornness that bordered on spite. how she moved like she had lightning under her skin, all barely contained energy and sharp edges.
୨୧ you'd dismissed her first attempt at flirtation—a low whistle and a comment about how your uniform skirt looked specially tailored. she'd winked, and you'd raised an eyebrow so cold it could have frosted glass before walking away. but vi didn't take rejection personally; if anything, your indifference seemed to delight her.
୨୧ each time you passed in the halls, she'd find new ways to try to crack your composure: a deliberate brush of shoulders, a murmured 'morning, princess' that lingered in the air like perfume.
୨୧ what she didn't expect was for you to show up at her first game of the season. you perched yourself in the middle of the bleachers, legs crossed at the ankle, oversized sunglasses hiding your expression. the autumn air was sharp with approaching winter, and you wrapped your cashmere scarf tighter as you watched her warm up. she nearly missed a pass when she spotted you, her double-take so obvious it made your lips twitch despite yourself.
୨୧ she played like she had something to prove that day—all controlled violence and graceful aggression. you found yourself leaning forward despite your best intentions, watching the way she moved across the field like she owned it, her stick an extension of her arm. when her team won, she shot you a grin that was all adrenaline and victory, her chest heaving and hair plastered to her forehead with sweat.
୨୧ you didn't smile back, but something in your chest tightened when she lifted her jersey to wipe her face, revealing a strip of toned stomach marked with old scars.
୨୧ it became a game between you—her constant pushing, your calculated resistance. she'd find you in the library, sprawled across a chair like she was posing for a painting, her lacrosse stick balanced across her knees. 'studying hard, princess?' she'd drawl, her voice rough like she'd swallowed gravel, and you'd glance up from your books, unimpressed.
୨୧ 'some of us don't get by on natural talent alone,' you'd reply, your tone sharp enough to draw blood. but she never bled; she just grinned wider, like your cruelty was exactly what she'd been hoping for.
୨୧ the weather turned bitter, and you started noticing things about her you wished you didn't. how she wore the same three sweaters in rotation, all slightly too thin for the season. how she'd blow on her hands between plays, her fingers red with cold because she refused to wear gloves. how she worked twice as hard as anyone else on the field, like she was afraid someone would realize she didn't belong here and take it all away.
୨୧ one evening, you found yourself alone with her in the common room, the fire burning low in the grate. you were curled into the corner of the sofa, a cup of tea warming your hands, when she walked in. she hesitated for a moment before sitting beside you, close enough that you could smell the sharp blackberry of her shower gel mixing with the leather of her jacket.
୨୧ 'you're quiet tonight,' she said, her voice softer than you'd ever heard it. you didn't look at her, but something in your chest unraveled slightly. 'just tired,' you replied, and when she shifted closer, you didn't move away.
୨୧ after that, the boundaries between you began to blur. she started walking you back to your dorm after late study sessions, her stride easy and long beside your measured steps. 'i don't need a bodyguard,' you'd say, but your voice lacked its usual ice. she'd just shrug, hands stuffed in her pockets. 'maybe i just like the company.'
୨୧ one rainy sunday, she convinced you to join her on the empty field. 'come on, princess, live a little,' she said, pressing her spare stick into your reluctant hands. your perfectly manicured nails looked absurd wrapped around the grip, and you gave her your best withering stare. but then she stepped behind you, her hands covering yours to adjust your grip, and suddenly you couldn't remember why you'd been protesting. her breath was warm against your ear as she guided you through the motion, her body solid and sure against your back.
୨୧ you missed every shot, but the way she laughed—not at you, but with you—made your cheeks flush with something other than cold.
୨୧ you told yourself it meant nothing. that she was just another scholarship kid trying to prove herself, that her attention was just another form of rebellion against everything you represented. but then came the night after her team's crushing semifinal loss. you found her in the empty locker room, still in her muddy uniform, staring at her hands like they belonged to someone else. without a word, you sat beside her on the bench, your expensive skirt soaking up puddles of field water.
୨୧ 'you played well,' you said quietly. she laughed, but it was hollow. 'not well enough.' you reached for her hand then, your fingers interlacing with hers, and neither of you mentioned how long you stayed there, sharing silence and something deeper.
୨୧ it happened during one of your late-night walks. the air was sharp with approaching snow, and the campus was quiet except for the crunch of gravel under your boots. she stopped suddenly, turning to face you with an expression you'd never seen before—all vulnerability and barely contained want. 'you know,' she said, her voice rough, 'you're not nearly as cold as you pretend to be.' before you could argue, she kissed you—hard and desperate at first, then softening when you gasped against her mouth. she tasted like cinnamon gum and possibility, and her hands were gentle when they cupped your face, like she was afraid you might collapse.
୨୧ the next morning, vi was back to her usual self, lounging against the dining hall wall with her teammates. but when you walked in, her entire face lit up, and the smile she gave you was different from her usual smirk—softer, private, just for you. you rolled your eyes but couldn't quite fight your answering smile, and when she fell into step beside you later, her pinky finger hooking casually around yours, you let her stay.
୨୧ you'd been raised to be ice—beautiful, untouchable, cold enough to burn. but vi had always run hot, all passion and impulse and raw honesty.
୨୧ and somehow, against all logic, against everything you'd been taught, you found yourself thawing.
mel medarda: the best friend.
୨୧ mel was your constant, like morning light through gauzy curtains or the first cherry blossoms of spring. she had been there so long you'd forgotten what it felt like not to have her around—her laugh echoing in your dorm late at night, her perfume lingering on your sweaters, her tinted lip balm marking coffee cups she'd left scattered across your desk like petals marking her presence in your life.
୨୧ you couldn't pinpoint when it started. maybe it was during those endless summer nights when you were sixteen, lying on her family's sprawling lawn watching satellites paint silver trails across the dark blue sky. or maybe it was in the quiet moments between lectures, when she'd fix your collar with careful fingers, her touch lingering just a heartbeat too long.
୨୧ all you knew was that mel had carved out a space in your life that nobody else could fill, and you weren't sure you wanted them to try.
୨୧ she moved through the world like she was made of starlight and ambition, all sharp edges and soft smiles. in business seminars, she was their star student, her neatly slicked baby hairs drawing the sunlight as she spoke about case studies and economic theory with the kind of confidence that made professors lean forward in their seats.
୨୧ but in your room, she was just mel—shoes kicked off, braids falling loose from their carefully styled updo, gesturing wildly as she talked about her latest thesis project while you pretended to study.
୨୧ you both had your rituals. every thursday night, she'd appear at your door with takeout from that little place downtown that knew your order by heart, and you'd share secrets like candy between your teeth.
୨୧ you'd curl up on your bed, papers spread around you like a hurricane of responsibility, and she'd listen to you complain about your upcoming presentations until your words turned soft and honest. sometimes, she'd fall asleep there, her head on your shoulder, her breathing steady against your neck, and you'd stay perfectly still, afraid to disturb whatever this was between you.
୨୧ it was the little things that undid you. the way she'd absently play with your fingers during long lectures, tracing the lines of your palm like she was reading your future. how she knew exactly how you took your coffee (one sugar, splash of cream and two extra pumps of vanilla, but only before noon). the way she'd look at you sometimes when she thought you weren't paying attention like you were a poem she was trying to memorize.
୨୧ you cataloged these moments carefully, storing them away like heirlooms.
୨୧ you told yourself it was nothing. that best friends always felt this way—heart racing when they walked into a room, breath catching when they smiled, skin burning where they touched.
୨୧ you convinced yourself that the ache in your chest when she dated other people was just protective instinct, that the relief you felt when those relationships inevitably ended was purely sympathetic.
୨୧ but there were moments when the pretense felt impossible. like the night she dragged you out dancing at that underground jazz club favored by grad students, her body pressed against yours in the crowded space, her breath warm on your neck as she whispered something you couldn't quite hear over the music.
୨୧ or the morning you found her asleep in your bed after a particularly brutal finals week, wearing one of your old silk robes. you stood in the doorway for too long, memorizing the way the early light licked her dark skin gold, how her braids spilled across your powder blue pillowcase like spilled ink.
୨୧ she wasn't subtle about her affection. mel had always been tactile with you—casual touches, long hugs, the way she'd rest her head in your lap during study breaks. but lately, there was something different about it. something charged.
୨୧ she'd trace patterns on your skin while you talked, her fingers leaving trails of electricity in their wake. when you'd dress for formal dinners, she'd zip up your dresses with agonizing slowness, her braids brushing against your back as she leaned close, her knuckles tracing your spine like a gentle claim.
୨୧ it was after one of the university's prestigious donor galas that everything shifted. you were both slightly giddy on champagne bubbles and shared glances, stumbling back to your dorm with your heels in your hands.
୨୧ mel was wearing dusty rose, the color melting into her skin, and there was something about the way the hallway lights caught in her hair that made your chest ache. she was telling a story about some legacy student who'd tried to copy her economics paper, her voice low and amused, but all you could focus on was the way her lips formed the words.
୨୧ 'you're not listening to me,' she said suddenly, stopping in the middle of the empty corridor. you weren't. you were thinking about how many years you'd spent memorizing her face, how you knew exactly which smile meant she was truly happy and which one she wore like armor in the halls.
୨୧ 'i'm always listening to you,' you replied, but your voice came out softer than intended. she stepped closer, and you could smell her perfume—something expensive and warm, amber and animalistic.
୨୧ 'then what did i just say?' she challenged, but her eyes were soft, knowing. you couldn't answer because you were too busy watching the way her pulse fluttered at her throat, visible above the delicate lace of her dress.
୨୧ 'mel,' you whispered, and it sounded like a prayer. like every secret you'd ever kept. like years of wanting something you thought you couldn't have.
୨୧ she kissed you first, or maybe you kissed her—later, neither of you could remember who moved first. all you knew was that one moment you were standing there, years of unspoken feelings hanging between you like morning mist, and the next her lips were on yours, soft and sure and tasting faintly of sugar cookie lip gloss.
୨୧ she kissed you like she'd been thinking about it for years, like she was trying to make up for lost time, and you melted into her with a sigh that felt like coming home.
୨୧ when you pulled away, her lip gloss was smudged, and you knew yours was too. she looked at you with something like wonder, her hands still cupping your face like you might disappear if she let go. 'how long?' she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
୨୧ 'always,' you answered, and it was true. it had always been mel, even when you were too afraid to admit it. she smiled then, brilliant and real, and kissed you again, softer this time, like she was making a promise.
୨୧ the next morning, you woke up tangled together in your sheets, her arm draped over your waist, her breath warm against your shoulder. the early light set her skin to flame, and when she blinked awake, the smile she gave you was everything you'd ever wanted but been too afraid to ask for.
୨୧ nothing really changed, except everything did. she still brought takeout on thursdays, still fixed your collar with careful fingers, still fell asleep in your bed. but now you could kiss her whenever you wanted, could wrap your arms around her waist from behind while she made coffee, could tell her all the things you'd kept locked away for so long.
୨୧ your love for her was reminiscent of wine spilled on silk, deep and permanent and impossible to ignore. and finally, wonderfully, you didn't have to try to scrub it out.
© hcneymooners.
#caitlyn kiramman#caitlyn arcane#caitlyn x reader#caitlyn x you#caitlyn x y/n#caitlyn kirraman x reader#vi x you#vi x reader#vi x y/n#mel medarda x you#mel x you#mel medarda#mel medarda x reader#mel x reader#arcane fanfic#arcane headcanon#wlw#lesbian#female!reader#fem!reader#sapphic#mine ; 🐎.
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His Lady Love (5)
pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader
taglist | to be added to the taglist just add your username to this DOC
word count | 6k words
summary | aemond goes to reader for comfort after murdering luke. aegon throws a feast and reader and aemond sneak out.
tags | mentions of death, angst/comfort, vampire powers, tensionnnnn, mentions of incest, SMUTTTTT (MDI), oral (f), unprotected sex, vaginal sex, p in v
note | born to give aemond heirs, forced to write fanfics about him. also I loved writing aemond's pov, though it is way more difficult than reader's. also I might be projecting with that finn incident.
likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated✨
𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫
In the dimly lit chambers of the Red Keep, the oppressive weight of the night enveloped you. The velvet drapes fluttered slightly with the soft summer breeze that whispered through the open window, a rare moment of tranquility. However, your slumber was a mere illusion, your mind cloaked in the abyss of darkness, devoid of dreams and visions that now troubled your sleep.
But your heightened senses—bathed in the echoes of vampiric instinct—felt the air shift, heard the soft footfalls quicken in the shadows. The atmosphere crackled with apprehension, jolting you into awareness. You turned, just as the chamber door burst open to reveal a figure cloaked in night and anxiety.
“Aemond,” you breathed, relief washing over you as you recognized him despite the disarray surrounding his presence. Yet, the relief was short-lived, for the anguish etched on his face struck you like a dagger of ice.
Without a second thought, you flung the silken covers aside, the fabric whispering against your skin as you stood, a vision of natural beauty in your nightgown. It was a modest garment yet beguilingly elegant, the way it clung to your form had no intent to seduce, but it still felt unseemly for him to be here.
“Aemond,” you intoned once more, your voice laced with concern that echoed in the silence of your chamber, frantic to breach the bubbling tension, “What troubles you?”
He remained mute, his expression haunting—a specter in the moonlight. Each heartbeat that passed deepened your worry, and so you closed the space between you, tenderness guiding your hands to cradle his sharp, angular cheeks, your thumbs brushing against his skin with a gentle intimacy. You sought to anchor him within your presence, as if your connection could dispel the shadows that clung to him.
“Please, Aemond,” you urged, your voice softening with each plea, like a lullaby meant to calm a frightened child, “Speak to me.”
At your touch, something flickered in the depths of his violet eye, swirling with shock and unutterable things. “I… I did not mean to,” he stammered, his breath coming out in ragged bursts, as though each word was a struggle against a tide of despair.
“Mean to what?” Your heart raced as you searched his gaze, desperate to uncover the truth beneath the turmoil. “Aemond, tell me what you have done that weighs so heavily upon you.”
He leaned into your touch, surrendering momentarily to the comfort you offered. “I have damned myself,” he breathed, a confession laced with the weight of the world upon his shoulders.
“Please, Aemond, tell me,” you implored, your heart thundering in your chest.
Aemond shook his head violently, his silver hair cascading like a waterfall of starlight, wild and untamed. “I cannot! You will condemn me.”
You withdrew your hands from his face, your fingers intertwining with his as you drew them toward your heart, your palms cooling against his warm skin. “I could never. Please, reveal it to me, Aemond,” you whispered, your voice insistent yet tender.
His breath hitched in his throat, a harsh swallow betraying the turmoil within him. As tears glistened in his violet eye—he turned away, shame etching deep lines into his brow. “I did not mean to. I did not mean to take the boy’s life, you must believe me.”
The air froze around you, a chill creeping in as your breath caught in your throat. You slowly led him toward the intricacies of your bed, pulling him with you into the sanctuary of silks and shadows. “What boy, Aemond?” you pressed urgently, your heart aching for the truth, a desperate need to understand the depths of his torment.
His voice broke, drowning in hysteria, a stark reminder of his usual composed personality made from steel, “I didn’t mean to— I swear, I didn’t mean—” he stuttered, desperation pouring from him like the dark tides of the sea.
Frustration welled within you, sharp and biting as the chill of autumn winds crept into the chamber. You pulled him down beside you, urgency fuelling your movements as you grasped his face, forcing his haunted eye to meet yours. “Aemond,” you said firmly, your tone dripping with the magic that came naturally to one of your kind. The allure of your compulsion wrapped around him like a silken trap, gently commanding his frayed emotions to still. “Calm yourself and tell me.”
Gradually, his breathing steadied, though the tremors of his fear still lingered. You held his gaze, and through the dark storm of pain reflected in his eye, he managed to choke out the words. “Lucerys. He was at Storm’s End. When I laid eyes on him, all I felt was fury—so I chased him through the skies, on Vhagar’s back…” His voice cracked like the thunder that often heralded the tempestuous nights, and he swallowed hard, “And then… I did not know Vhagar would react so violently.”
Your heart plummeted at the mention of Lucerys—Rhaenyra's beloved son. The weight of his loss hung heavily in the air, and the grim reality sank in; Aemond had killed him. The Blacks would demand retribution, blood for blood. "Tell me you lie, Aemond," you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper, desperation seeping into every syllable.
He turned his gaze from you, shame encasing him like a shroud. There was a slow shake of his head, and it felt as though the world around you had muted, the chaos outside overshadowed by his revelation. "I cannot bring myself to lie to you. There is no penance that could ever atone for what I have wrought."
The sadness in your heart twisted anew as you murmured his name, "Aemond," the pain manifesting in your voice like a lamentation for the boy lost beneath the weight of his rage.
In the stillness that lingered between you, it seemed he had finally drawn a breath of composure, yet he refused to meet your eyes, speaking softly as if confiding a terrible secret. "I went to Aegon first, and he laughed... whilst Mother..." He faltered, the memory flickering like a dying candle. "She looked upon me as if I were a stranger, as if I were no longer her son."
Your heart ached for him, your hands clasped in his, both a comfort and a tether to the boy he had once been. Finally, he looked up, his eye reflecting a glimmer of vulnerability. "May I stay here with you?" he asked, almost timidly, as if fearing your rejection.
In that moment, you were transported back to another time, a fleeting memory of innocence—of the boy who had fled from the ignoble raucousness of a brothel, a shadow of the boy who once sought solace in your presence. You nodded, and the words flowed freely, tenderly, "Of course."
Yet, unease lingered in the air, evident in the way he fidgeted, lost amidst his thoughts. So slowly, you knelt before him, taking his leather boots in your hands, gently easing them from his feet. He remained poised on the edge of the bed, lost in his struggles. Next, you reached for his finely crafted doublet, peeling away the layers that held the weight of his distress. He remained clad only in his trousers and a simple cotton shirt, the stark contrast highlighting the tension etched into his features.
Your fingers found their way to his tousled hair, and with a tender caress, you could sense him leaning into your touch, a semblance of solace in the storm raging within him. But when your hand drifted towards the eyepatch concealing his scar, he recoiled instinctively, shaking his head as if to banish the very thought.
“Please, Aemond,” you urged softly, noting the flicker of resistance in his eye. “Remove it; it cannot be comfortable.”
His response was a stubborn shake of his head, reminiscent of a petulant child, “No, it is… hideous. You will turn away from me, repulsed.”
A sorrowful smile etched across your face as you cupped his cheek. Your thumb traced the remnants of his scar. “I have seen your truth before, Aemond,” you promised, sincerity tethering your words. “I swear on my mother's grave, it will not scare me.”
There was a moment of taut apprehension, then, led by both fear and a flicker of hope, he slowly lifted the eyepatch. You fought against the shock that threatened to break through your calm facade, for nestled where an eye once was, a sapphire gleamed—brighter than the sky itself. It was an iridescent gem, the very one you had gifted him just before you had left.
Slowly, you led him with great care to lie beneath the sanctuary of your blankets, cocooned in the warmth of your bed. After a moment's pause, you nestled beside him, drawing him close to your chest, his face instinctively burying itself in the curve of your neck, your arms enveloping him in a protective embrace.
After a time, Aemond's voice broke the silence, a mere whisper against your collarbone. "Do you hate me?"
A heavy sigh escaped your lips, your grip tightening around him. “I could never hate you, Aemond.”
He offered no reply, but the silence spoke volumes as you held him resolutely, the weight of his unspoken thoughts pressing down upon both of you. In that moment, it felt almost surreal, how intimately connected you were to his emotions.
Gently, you began to hum, your voice weaving through the stillness like a soft breeze. The lullaby your mother once sang to you, a sweet melody birthed in the warmth of her embrace, flowed from your lips as if casting a spell of solace.
You wished, with every fiber of your being, to take all his sorrows and put it upon yourself, so he might find peace at last. You longed to envelop him fully, to draw him into the depths of your heart, to safeguard him from the malevolence and peril that lingered just beyond your chambers.
Aemond Targaryen loathed this wretched place, the shadowed halls of King's Landing, where the very stones seemed steeped in whispered betrayals and the lingering scent of ash. The oppressive weight of recent events pressed upon him like a heavy cloak; the death of Lucerys Velaryon hung in the air, suffocating him with its bitter aftermath. His beloved mother, Queen Alicent, having made her choice, had cast him aside, suspending him from his seat on the small council as if he were some wayward pup rather than the proud dragon prince he was.
Now, as the flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows upon the walls, Aemond found himself trapped within a feast thrown by Aegon — a disgraceful celebration in honor of Aemond’s brutal deed. The hall was alive with the raucous laughter of lords and ladies feigning joy, their revelry a cruel mockery of the bloodshed that had transpired. How could they toast to this, when the realm itself was a tapestry of grief and strife?
Aegon, reeking of wine and folly, reclined upon his gilded seat, a silver goblet clutched in his hand as he guffawed with a drunken abandon that made Aemond’s skin crawl. With each passing moment, the king grew more intoxicated, rejoicing in his own foolishness while the kingdom itself threatened to unravel under the weight of his incompetence. Aemond could hardly bear to watch. How could they hope to usurp Rhaenyra and her support when Aegon was unfit to rule, lost in a haze of mead and merriment whilst the fires of war devoured their domain?
As the raucous clamor swirled around him, Aemond's thoughts turned treasonous. He was the prince with blood of the dragon coursing through his veins, rider of Vhagar, the mightiest dragon in the skies; he had wrested mastery over sword and word alike. His studies had taken him deep into the philosophies of Targaryen history, strategy, and the art of war — all knowledge he wielded like the sword strapped to his side. Why must he remain the second son, languishing in the shadow of a brother who was more a child than a king?
The Grand Hall was stifling, heavy with the clamor of lords and ladies engaged in mindless revelry, their laughter slicing through the air like blades of Valyrian steel. The goblet of deep red Dornish wine— he had forced down his throat—now boiled in his stomach. He stood abruptly, ignoring the wary glances of curious courtiers, and stormed toward the moonlit balcony, pursued by a dread that felt all-consuming.
Upon stepping into the cool night air his breath hitched in his throat as his gaze fell upon you. There you stood, framed by moonlight, leaning against the aged stone balustrade of the balcony as you gazed at the stars above. In that moment, the world around him faded, the cacophony of the court silenced, as if the realm had been reduced to just the two of you—two souls adrift in the sea of night.
The moon cast a silver halo around you, illuminating your features as though the Seven themselves had blessed you. You appeared ethereal, a vision of solace amidst the tempest of his thoughts. You were an otherworldly being, a divine presence—you reminded Aemond of an angel gazing longingly at her heavenly home.
You wore a divine gown of crimson, its fabric clinging to your curves and accentuating your remarkable beauty, stirring memories of the first time he had beheld you in childhood innocence. Your hair was artfully braided, interwoven among the strands were glimmering rubies, and nestled between your breasts hung a necklace bearing your family’s sigil, a house still entirely foreign to him.
The last time his path had crossed yours was after the wretched deed had been done—when he had barged into your chambers, a storm of pain and regret in his heart after slaying Lucerys Velaryon. You had held him tight, drawing him into the warmth of your embrace, while your gentle whispers—sweet reassurances—had washed over him, as soothing as a dragon’s breath on a winter’s night. He recalled the way you had traced fingers through his hair, the delicate caress of your breath against his skin, and how he had surrendered to your comfort.
When dawn had broken and shadows had retreated, he woke before you, overwhelmed by that precious moment, and with the lingering scent of lavender and warmth still clinging to him. He had kissed your forehead tenderly and slipped away, haunted by what he had done and striving to shield you from the darkness that threatened to engulf you both.
"Are you not enjoying the feast?" Aemond murmured, his voice a soft cadence as he moved closer to you.
You turned, meeting his gaze with a fierce intensity. "Am I meant to revel in a celebration held in honor of someone's death?" With a sharp breath, you averted your gaze, a flicker of regret crossing your features. "Forgive me."
Aemond’s eyes remained locked on you, the truth like a weight upon his heart—he had taken Lucerys' life, a shadow he must now bear. “You speak only the truth,” he admitted, the gravity of his words mingling with the cool night air.
You shook your head slowly, those captivating eyes piercing through the veil of his turmoil. “It is Aegon’s folly to throw such a feast given the circumstances,” you replied, your tone laced with a mix of frustration and sorrow.
Aemond couldn't suppress the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth at your disdain for his brother's decision. "You tread upon treasonous ground," he teased, though there was an undercurrent of approval in his tone
With a resolute lift of your chin, an unbidden smile danced upon your lips, illuminating your beauty, "Do you intend to tell?"
In that charged moment, Aemond closed the distance between you, the space that once separated you now laden with tension. He leaned closer, whispering with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine, "You know I shall never."
With a soft sigh, you began to turn away, “I think I shall retire to my chambers now.” Aemond feigned indifference, though he struggled against the urge to let out an exasperated breath at your obvious attempt to distance yourself from him.
“Then I shall escort you,” he declared, a hint of determination flaring in his violet gaze. He noticed the way annoyance shadowed your features but sensed no protest forthcoming.
The two of you slipped away from the feast, indifferent to the lingering glances that followed your hasty exit. Festive laughter faded into the background as you walked side by side through the dimly lit halls of the Red Keep,
As you walked side by side, silence hung heavily between you, punctuated only by the soft rustle of your dress against the stone floor. Aemond cast furtive glances in your direction, grappling with the right words to breach the gap between you. The tension was palpable, and eventually, he settled on candor. “I wish to know more about you."
“Aemond,” you replied, and he could detect the undercurrent of hesitation in your tone as you reached your room.
With a sudden, almost frantic motion, Aemond pivoted to face you, his fingers brushing against your forearm, a firm yet gentle grip that sent a shiver down your spine. “Why do you persist in keeping yourself at a distance from me? You are like an angel I am forever barred from touching,” he implored, desperation edging his voice.
You yanked your arm away from him, your gaze fierce, betraying no hint of the storm brewing inside. “You must not perceive me in such a way! I am not the paragon of virtue you think I am.”
“Then share something,” Aemond pressed, his violet eye locking onto yours with an intensity that threatened to unravel your resolve. “Something dark, something impure.”
You scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “Is that what you seek? So you can soothe your own conscience?”
“Perhaps,” Aemond admitted with unvarnished honesty. He was, after all, a man well aware of his own self-serving tendencies, and he would not shy away from using emotional manipulation to achieve his desires. “But if you hold any affection for me, you will grant me this.”
Your eyes blazed with righteous indignation, and for a fleeting moment, he questioned if he had ventured too far. Yet, as the heat in your gaze began to dim, he felt an uneasy tension settle in the silence.
You drew your arms around yourself, a familiar gesture that he now observed closely. Your gaze fell away as you began to speak, “The Targaryens... Your customs are indeed strange. Some might even call them sinful or abominable. Yet there exists a rationale behind them, no matter how obscure.”
“There can be no justifiable reason for my desires,” you whispered, Aemond's brow furrowed in confusion as he sensed the shift in your tone. But when the next revelation slipped from your lips, it left him reeling with disbelief. “I once harbored unnatural feelings for my eldest brother.”
A surge of jealousy twisted in Aemond's chest at the mere thought of you harboring feelings for another. He cleared his throat, the taste of bile rising, and asked, "Did anything come of it?"
"A fleeting kiss—one I initiated. He loathed me for it thereafter," you murmured, your gaze falling to the ground in shame.
A grimace contorted Aemond’s features. "Loathed you?"
"He could scarcely bear to look upon me after that moment," you replied, your voice heavy with sorrow. Aemond felt a visceral urge to take vengeance upon your brother, to avenge the hurt he had caused you. "That was the moment I realized I had lost the only one who truly loved me."
"I recall you speaking of your mother’s grave," Aemond said softly.
You nodded, a glimmer of sorrow passing over your face. "She is gone," you said, and a bittersweet smile flickered briefly. "And I dare say, my family may be worse than yours."
Aemond shook his head with an amused glint dancing in his violet eye. “Impossible,” he replied, the word rolling off his tongue like the soft murmur of waves against the rocky shore. Then, in softer tones, he pressed, “Do you still harbor affections for your brother?”
“No,” you murmured, the admission barely escaping your lips, “Not anymore. Not for ages.”
Aemond studied your features, the interplay of moonlight illuminating the subtle lines of your face. A low chuckle escaped him, like the rustle of leaves in a breeze. Your brow furrowed, an indignant spark igniting within you. “What?"
“A mere infatuation does not alter the truth of my feelings, nor my perception of you,” he said with an air of certainty, the tension between you thickening as he took a step closer, almost as if the distance between your hearts diminished with every passing heartbeat.
“Then you must be a fool,” you whispered, breathless and yet emboldened, as his presence encroached upon you like the tide reclaiming the shore.
“A lovesick fool, indeed,” he replied, his lips tantalizingly close to yours, a mere heartbeat away. The memory of your last kiss flared in your mind— so in that fleeting silence, Aemond’s voice lowered, almost reverent. “May I kiss you?”
He could see the tempest of emotions raging within you, wrestling against reason and desire, your heart at war with itself. Aemond, sensing your internal struggle, began to withdraw, the flicker of disappointment clouding his striking features, but in a sudden rush of bold resolve, you seized the collar of his embroidered doublet, drawing him close, your lips colliding in a swift, fervent embrace.
His breath hitched at the warmth of your touch, and he instinctively cupped your face, anchoring you both in this stolen moment as if the world around you had ceased to exist. Tentatively, his tongue brushed against your lips, seeking entry, a question hanging palpably in the air—one you answered with the soft, desperate parting of your mouth.
Aemond’s heart raced, a primal longing igniting within him as he explored the depths of your mouth, each caress of his tongue inviting a sweet sound of pleasure to escape from you—a sound that intoxicated him, filling the air with a heady blend of passion and unanswered yearnings.
In that dimly lit hallway of the Red Keep, time lost its meaning, turning to mere whispers around you. The world outside faded, and all that remained was the intoxicating exchange of breath and soul, each sweet caress a vow sealed in secrecy and yearning. But the moment was fleeting; the distant sound of approaching footsteps pulled you both back to reality.
Without hesitation, Aemond seized your hand, urgency painting his every movement as he pulled you into the sanctuary of your chambers. You could not stifle the startled gasp that escaped your lips at his haste. Before you could utter a word, his mouth found yours again, this time with a fervor that struck like wildfire. It was wild and fervent, a collision of passion tinged with desperation.
He broke the kiss, his breath mingling with yours, heavy and frantic. "I need you," he murmured, his gaze dark and intense, searching your face for any trace of doubt.
But all resolve melted away in the warmth of his presence, and you nodded quickly, breathless and eager. "Take me, Aemond."
Though reason whispered for him to temper his passion, to shield you from the storm he bore and not taint your innocence, the dragon's need screamed louder still. His lips found yours once more, his hands exploring the fabric of your gown, tracing the soft curves beneath the layers of silk and lace.
A soft whimper escaped your throat, the sound intoxicating him as it echoed in the chamber. You tugged at his doublet, your voice a barely contained plea, “Get this dress off me, Aemond.”
A wild grin spread across his features, the kind that promised mischief and fervor. “With pleasure,” he declared, the words a fervent vow rather than mere amusement. In a swift motion, he spun you around, deftly severing the laces that bound your dress. You gasped as the fine fabric slid away, pooling at your feet, leaving you clad only in a tantalizing shift that clung to your form like mist in the moonlight.
Without hesitation, Aemond gathered you into his arms, your surprised laughter ringing like bells in his ears as your legs instinctively locked around his waist. He carried you with ease, the weight of expectations and honor forgotten in that moment as he made his way to your bed.
He laid you down gently, his gaze a blend of fierce devotion and raw desire, like a dragon surveying its treasured hoard, and he leaned closer, whispering a question that weighed heavily on his mind. “Tell me, sweetling,” he began, his voice a low rasp, “are you still a maiden?”
You nodded, your wide eyes sparkling with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. The confirmation sent a bolt of need through him, further arousing him as he hastily shed his own garments, baring himself to you. He crawled over you, a predatory grace to his movements, and as you reached out to caress his face, he halted, your touch grounding him.
"I wish to see all of you, Aemond," you whispered.
His lips twitched with a mixture of hesitation and determination. With a deft movement, he removed his eye patch, exposing his scar and sapphire. In response to his bravery, you leaned forward, claiming his mouth once more, the warmth of your kiss wrapping around him like wildfire.
As his lips trailed away from yours, they descended to your neck—his warm breath sending shivers cascading down your spine. His hands roamed freely over your body, caressing and squeezing as if memorizing every curve. His fingers brushed against the hem of your shift, lifting the fabric with deliberate slowness, savoring the moment.
As his hand ventured beneath the fabric, his fingers brushed against the delicate curls of your mound, a low moan escaping your lips, raw and unbidden. "What treasure lies hidden here? Hmm?" he murmured against your skin, his voice low and intoxicating.
His smirk deepened as your hips instinctively lifted, surrendering to the ghostly touch of his fingertips gliding over your wet slit. In a moment of tantalizing tension, he withdrew slightly, seated back as he used two fingers to part your folds, exposing your glistening cunt to his keen gaze.
He was captivated by the sight—your essence glistening, beckoning him forth like a siren’s call across the sea. His breath hitched as he lowered himself, savoring the intoxicating scent that wafted from your cunt; it was a heady blend of desire and vulnerability. With a swift flick of his tongue, he brushed over the tender bud of pleasure, eliciting a startled gasp from your lips as your hips jerked in delightful shock.
Aemond’s dark laughter rumbled softly in his chest, a sound that resonated with satisfaction at your response. He ventured further, dipping into the folds of your drenched warmth, his tongue dancing along your slit as if tasting the sweetest of wines. Each movement of his mouth sent shockwaves of ecstasy through you, prompting your fingers to clutch at the silk sheets in desperate need of tethering.
You were ambrosia made flesh, a divine fruit of the gods that rendered him intoxicated with longing. He lost himself in the act, the rhythm of his tongue reflecting the primal hunger within him, driving him to worship at your altar without restraint or decorum. There was no pattern in his movements, merely the frantic need of a man raised in the crucible of ambition, now reduced to a ravenous beast by your taste.
His low moans vibrated against your skin as your fingers tangled in his silken hair, urging him closer, deeper. Each sound that escaped your lips heightened his fervor, sending him spiraling further into a haze of lust, where only the two of you existed.
He thrust his tongue deeper, igniting fires within you that threatened to consume all sense. A tremor raced through your body, a shuddering gasp escaping as his tongue flicked over your most sensitive peak. The intensity of the moment left him breathless with longing as he stole glances at your rapturous face, seeking the delight in your face as he skillfully coaxed you towards the precipice of ecstasy.
In one final surge of fervor, he took your pearl between his lips, sucking with fervent need. Your voice rang through the air, calling his name like a battle cry as your release washed over you, your body clenching and shuddering beneath his eager mouth, leaving him lost in the euphoria of your pleasure.
Spent and quaking, you fell back onto the sheets, your chest heaving, eyes fluttering shut as the final ripples of ecstasy coursed through you. Aemond watched you with an entranced intensity, his lustful gaze drinking in the sight of your debauchery, before he positioned himself between your thighs, claiming his rightful place.
With a swift, possessive motion, he grasped the neckline of your shift, ripping the fabric asunder with a growl that echoed his primal desire. The cool air met your flushed skin, and a fresh wave of longing washed over you, eliciting a soft moan as your hardened nipples strained against the chill. Aemond, unable to resist, descended upon you, drawing one of your peaks into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue, relishing the way your whimpers filled the air. He felt your fingers weave into his silken hair, tugging him closer, urging him on with your breathless pleas.
He reveled in the contrast of your previously cool skin, now warming deliciously beneath him, the heat of your body igniting a primal fire within him. He pressed his hardness against your lower belly, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through both. “I could be so good to you,” he murmured, his voice low and sultry as he nipped at your shoulder, “So fucking good. So why do you deny the need that lies between us?"
Your breath hitched, interrupted by a soft moan as he pressed against you with deliberate intent. “I do,” you gasped, desire flaring within you as his cock pressed against your pearl. “I do need you.”
“As I need you, sweet girl,” Aemond murmured, a predatory glint in his eye as he continued to grind against you. Though he was no man of debauchery, the fiery knowledge instilled by whispered secrets and that one fleeting encounter coursed through him.
You responded to his movements with an intoxicating sigh, rocking your hips to match his rhythm, a melody of desire unfolding between them. Aemond’s breath caught as he pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, and with a slow, deliberate thrust, he breached the sacred barrier that had kept the two of you at bay. A yelp escaped you, sharp and sweet, and he immediately softened, pressing featherlight kisses across your face, murmuring apologies as he reveled in your warmth.
Gripping your hip with a fierce intensity, he drew a sharp breath through his teeth as he buried himself deeper, engulfed in the sensations of your tight, welcoming embrace. You were exquisite—so wet, so warm, so perfectly crafted for him. Aemond began at a measured pace, savoring the glide of his cock within you, the exquisite stretch as you enveloped him, but the fire within quickly ignited into an unquenchable blaze.
Once he'd found a rhythm, he succumbed to the recklessness of desire, thrusting with urgency, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing in the chamber, a rhythmic drumbeat of passion. His hips snapped against yours with fervor, each thrust sending ripples of pleasure cascading through both of you, an unravelling of control as he sought to claim you in the way that dragons claim their territory.
Your moans echoed within the room, each sound a sweet melody, a heady mixture of fervor and abandon that filled the space with a primal energy. You had long since discarded any pretense of modesty, your voice rising like a songbird caught in a storm. His name spilled from your lips, fervent and loaded with longing.
With an urgency born from need, you surrendered yourself to him, your touch igniting a fire along his torso as your hands freely roamed, fingers tracing the hard lines of his muscles. You clung to him, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his with reckless abandon. Your lips found the curve of his neck, the warmth of your breath a tempting promise. There was a strange thrill to your bite, and Aemond swore your teeth felt unusually sharp, as you nibbled delicately at his skin.
Yet even in the throes of ecstasy, an insatiable hunger gnawed at him, a need for greater possession. He withdrew slightly, capturing your gaze with his own smoldering gaze. His hand gripped the delicate expanse of your throat, sturdy yet tender, while his other found purchase on your stomach, fingers pressing into your soft skin. “You are mine,” he growled, the primal command taking on a life of its own as he increased the fervor of his thrusts. “Say it.”
The intensity of his possession ignited a fire within you; you instinctively pressed against his hand, urging him to hold you more tightly, to claim you wholly. “Yours,” you breathed, “all yours.”
“Good girl,” he groaned, the phrase rolling off his tongue like a hot brand onto your skin. Your body responded eagerly to his words, an electric shiver rippling through you as you arched your back, another desperate whimper escaping your lips.
It was not long before the dam broke, your body convulsing around him, the tension unfurling like the petals of a flower awakened by the sun. Your breath hitched in a final, breathless moan, and in that moment of exquisite surrender, you tightened your grip around him, pulling him deeper into the abyss of pleasure. And with a primal roar of ecstasy, he followed you into that dark, consuming void, painting your insides with his seed.
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As the last waves of pleasure subsided, your smile glimmered like the stars beyond the castle walls. Reaching out, you traced your fingers along his jaw, drawing him back into a kiss that spoke of unbridled passion and afterglow—a sigh of contentment escaping your lips as you two joined once more.
#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x reader#aemond x you#hotd aemond#house of the dragon#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen#hotd fanfic#hotd#ewan mitchell#the originals#mikaelson#vampire!reader
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Miguel and Hobie Fighting for Your Love
Summary: Both men knew they were wildly in love with you. But, as you remain oblivious to their feelings, their conflict strengthens. A war is brewing.
“I won’t let you have her.” Miguel’s eyes gleamed between the velvet sheets of artificial night, the dim glow of the control panel at his back, casting a shroud over his front. Hobie stood before him, gripping his guitar by the neck, resting it over the back of his shoulders. His other hand sat in his pocket, creating the illusion of comfort. Yet, beneath his lax exterior, Miguel could hear his heart pounding. Racing. Hobie drew a breath, looked off to the side.
“I don’t think that’s your decision to make, Big Man.” Eyes half-lidded, he returned to Miguel, dragging his stare. Lethargy. Gave a thin smile. “Though, I suppose that if you knew that – really believed it – you’d know that you don’t stand a chance–”
Miguel’s fists clenched, the sound of his suit squealing beneath his grip causing Hobie’s gaze to flicker. He swallowed, shallow. He knew what Miguel was capable of – had seen how many lives he’d gladly put at risk for you. And he’d do it again if it weren’t for the fact that your friendship to both him and Hobie was what kept them locked in a stalemate; a spectral triangle; Bermuda. An anomaly in itself.
Of course, you had no clue that you’d captured the hearts of the two superheroes. The problem was that they did. Their softened attitude towards you, their care for the most banal of features of your life, their seemingly bottomless investment in your close circle of friends and beyond could have been construed as platonic concern. Friendship of the highest degree.
Once they realised that, individually, they were not alone in the pursuit of your heart, a competition was born. Miguel, ever the organised, careful individual he was, orchestrated your time together, manufactured it, monitored it – poured over it with a fine-toothed comb. Many a night had he spent awake wondering what your accidental brushing of hands had meant, whether the warmth that had flushed your cheeks was the result of his presence or the joke he’d just cracked, your laughter Calliopic. Persephonic.
He savoured every hug you shared, no matter how brief, sewing the patchwork memories into the fabric of his heart, the fragrance soaking into his bones. Your phantom warmth wrapped around him tightly, a second suit, whenever he needed it – needed you. He’d find ways of encouraging physical contact whenever he could, his heart throbbing at the feeling of your face pressed into his chest, your arms around his back as he embraced you.
He wondered what your kisses tasted like. Whether you thought of him when you used that chapstick he bought you, ice cream cake – the aroma of celebration. Because, to him, any moment with you was a celebration.
Miguel would offer to take you home after work. Though, not via ordinary means of travel.
He’d permit you to hop onto his back and slide your arms around his neck, taking you on a spin through the city, bringing you to the highest peaks, the pinnacles of human beauty through neon illuminations making the city sparkle like a sea of jewels. He’d feel his heart stutter as you shifted to get a closer look, your chin almost resting on his shoulder, cheeks just touching as you gasped, took in the scenery. In times like these, he was glad of the mask, of his ability to hide the effect you had on him, how you played his emotions like a string instrument.
“I’ve never seen the city like this before,” you told him, voice gentle at his ear, almost carried away by the wind. Miguel heard you. He strained his every spider sense to do so, no matter the conditions.
“Hobie hasn’t done this with you?” He tried not to let the hope in his tone show. You shrugged.
“He’s more of a stargazing kind of guy. Though, I’ll let you in on a secret,” your voice tailed off. Miguel leaned in. You whispered. “I think he just doesn’t want to go pivoting off buildings after a long day of already having done so.”
Miguel felt an idea spark in his brain. The start of a new ritual, routine, for just you and him. This would be for him what stargazing was to hobie – he’d bring you closer to the stars than Hobie ever could!
Whenever he’d return you home, whisking you through the midnight air, he’d place you at your door, imply what a good time he’d had. And, as always, you thanked him, eyes crinkling before parting with a hug.
Miguel would wait until you’d enter your apartment and locked the door behind you before leaving, and even then, he’d find himself perched atop a nearby building, waiting for something, anything to happen – for any opportunity wherein he could prove to you he was a hero. In times like these, he wished with a selfish heart that you lived in a more decrepit part of the city.
He realised how much he loved you – adored you – when you fell asleep in his arms after work one evening. He’d been carrying you to your room when you just nodded off. In his grasp, you were tiny, fragile. Weak. The responsibility of protection, the fierce need to watch over you, to possess you entirely, overcame him, overwhelmed every sensibility he’d cultivated throughout his life.
And so, he watched you. Eneamoured himself with your sleeping features, the trust you displayed to have fallen asleep on him. In his mind, this becomes a core memory. One which he turns into a joke between the two of you, his own fragment of sanctity – the beginnings of close friendship – one he’d use to build a statue like Hobie’s. A statue of you.
Hobie’s eyes narrowed. His nose wrinkled as his lips turned up in a half-sneer.
“You think the odd hug and a second of eye contact constitute as…what? A chance?” He scoffed. “A signifier that she feels for you more than she feels for the common man?” Incredulity danced in hobie’s eyes. Seethed from between his lips. The corner of his lips pulled back, revealed a smirk.
“Get over yourself, Mate. If she were interested, you’d know it by now.”
Of course, Hobie had his own collection of memories regarding you, his own wardrobe of moments sewn together with the thread of mirth to wear and fashion whenever and however he so pleased. He would wear it out to parties, on the town, to the Spidey-Station (as he referred to it with you). Show Miguel that his bare-threaded ribbon was nothing compared to his tapestry.
You and Hobie would wander the city when it was late and dark and quiet, talking about anything and everything that crossed your minds, more often than not leading the two of you to howl with laughter, leaning against each other as tears flooded from your eyes. The story, regardless of how funny it had been, held no weight compared to the joy that sparked in Hobie’s chest whenever you touched, whenever you simply existed with him. Fireworks.
You got him in ways nobody else truly could.
Many times had he come to visit you, only to lay his head in your lap and tell you what was bothering him. Sometimes it was trivial, others it was not. And every time, you’d sit and listen, playing with his hair and the badges on his jacket. And, of course, Hobie did the same for you.
One evening, you’d come banging on Hobie’s door, voice distraught as you called for him. He practically tore the door off its hinges when he heard how distressed you were, and, when he saw you, his heart tore. Your face was tear-streaked and your posture gave the impression of anguish, immortal and unrelenting.
“Hobie,” you cried. “Am–” your sniffing diced your words like meat in a kitchen. “Am I pretty?!”
Hobie blinked, unsure if he’d heard the question. And when he didn’t respond, you wailed.
Hobie knew what this was, for you’d spoken about it at length many times before. Insecurity was a powerful tool, especially when fuelled with sleep-deprivation and alcohol, one which Hobie wished he could destroy. But, while he couldn’t do that yet, he reached for you and took you in his arms. And as you cried into his shoulder, he told you how beautiful you were, how surprised he was that he was able to get a look in with you at all with how many men were chasing after you. And when you tried to say that no such thing had ever happened, he pulled back, gave you a smile, the visage of mischief.
“That’s ‘cause I scared ‘em all away!”
Your veneer cracked, and a laugh sprung from the concrete, the beginnings of life in an apocalypse. What Hobie wanted to say, though, what he nearly said, was everything he felt for you – how no word in the human vernacular could ever even begin to comprehend or compare how ethereal you were to him, how widely his love for you encompassed his very being, everything he said, did and wanted dictated entirely by the thought of you.
He opened his mouth, holding you close again. He could say it all now, while you were drunk – pretend it never happened if the exchange turned sour. But he knew he couldn’t live with your rejection, even if you’d have no memory of it.
He closed his mouth, swallowed the confession that teetered on his tongue like a pill. Consumed his contemplation, obscuring his feelings from you for just a little longer. While he couldn’t say it – not yet – he pulled you closer still, chest-to-chest, one hand at the back of your head and the other wrapped around your waist. A lover’s lock. And he held you. Tightly.
“You’re the most beautiful woman in every universe, (Y/N). I should know.” he murmured. He felt you nestle into him. You’d heard him. He sighed. “I just wished you could see it, too.”
Both men viewed the other as possessing some unattainable advantage, the beginnings of a fabled proverb blatant in their desire to attain what they thought the other had. What they were both striving for.
You.
For Hobie, the very thing he had prided himself on was his self-believed downfall. Friendship. The two of you had been friends for years, basked in a platonic limelight. Initially, Hobie hadn't needed to worry about how you viewed him, but as he fell deeper and deeper in love with you the longer he knew you, the fact that you’d maintained such a close friendship with him without once giving the indication of romanticism frightened him.
Miguel had only waltzed into your life a few months ago. You didn’t have to see him in a platonic light, didn’t have to bear witness to his deepest faults or his subtlest of quirks. Quite simply, you didn’t know enough about him for his mystique to be shattered.
On the contrary, Miguel saw how close you and Hobie were, how, without saying a word, the two of you knew what the other was thinking. He found your incessant asking of “Do you think Hobie would like this?” when visiting a store to be intimidating. He wondered if you asked the same when you went out with Hobie. If he was the subject of your concern as your best friend often was.
Whereas Hobie knew your every thought and desire, Miguel knew he clutched at straws by comparison, drinking in every detail you afforded him, taking nothing for granted. He’d bring you gifts, stories, regalements from his time out in the field, and his chest would swell whenever you watched him with wide eyes. He hoped, with every fibre of his being, that your astonishment was confined to him and him alone. He prayed that your years of friendship to Hobie was enough to dull any excitement you may feel when he told you similar tales.
This war was simply beginning, no two ways about it. And as they surveyed each other, Hobie and Miguel, weighing up the other’s pull on you, their minds conjoined to speak once and for the last time.
“May the best man win.”
Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)
Masterlist Masterpost
Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3
#across the spiderverse#miguel o'hara#miguel o hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara x y/n#miguel ohara#miguel ohara x reader#miguel ohara x you#miguel ohara x y/n#hobie brown#hobie x reader#hobie x you#atsv#hobie brown x reader#hobie brown x you#hobie brown x y/n#spider punk#spiderman astv#spiderman
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The way you say my name
Feyd Rautha Harkonnen x female!Reader
Its pure smut and since its about Feyd, there are some warnings: he is not so gentle. There is desire on both sides and it ends up getting in the praise kink/forced orgasm territory.
Summary: Your planet has brought magic into the galaxy - a source of new spice- and upended the political status quo. You are the sole heiress of your house and the emperor decided that the best way to protect your family's survival is to betroth you to the most enigmatic but violent fighter in the known universe: Na Baron Feyd Rautha Harkonnen, dangerously seductive and very intrigued by you …
2.203 words
one shot ( for now)
_________
Your whole body was tense, filled with anticipation and nervousness. You noticed your fingers were unconsciously playing with your belt again, and with effort you made yourself refrain from doing so. It was not your first time in the Emperor's court, nor was it your first state reception. Still, it was the first time you had set foot on Kaitain since the new spice was discovered on your planet. Something that had been considered impossible for millennia and that would shake the existing power structures in the Landsraat and the entire known universe. From an insignificant house on a planet beyond Orion, blessed with centuries of stability because of it, your family has been catapulted into a position of a central political player. Your fate, albeit a small piece of a power play against the backdrop the these developments. "Our task is greater than ourselves. Our fears, smaller." The mantra that helped you hold a steady course. You relax your shoulders and notice how your back straightens.
At that moment, a festively dressed servant entered the room to announce Baron Vladimir Harkonnen and his nephews arrival. Even though you had been prepared for this encounter, the sight was a shock to her. At the first glance he is less imposing then Rabban, who moved into the room like a mountain of muscle and leather uniform. But there is a slow and steady menace in the way he carries himself. His demeanor, both elegant and commanding, reminded you of a marble statue brought to life; his skin almost seemed to illuminate the room, a contrast stark against the dim flicker of torches.
If he had eyebrows, he would certainly have raised one a little crookedly by now. But as it was, his ice-blue eyes suddenly started at you, and you sensed a hardness in his entire demeanor that you weren't used to at home and whose traces you might have felt in her upbringing with Bene Gesserit, but which had always been wrapped in a velvet glove. But power, violence and strength were clear to see in this man. The reason why the Emperor wants to make him your husband - the only one who can apparently guarantee the safety of your planet. He was not used to having to hide his true character. And that is exactly what you would make his downfall.
The formalities dragged on endlessly, time seems to slow down under his gaze. He cannot comprehend you, the strangeness of your features, the luxuriant curls of your hair falling over your shoulders in an elegant half updo, the waves of burgundy silk of your cloak adorning your shoulders, your dress of the same silk and lace - how can anyone appear so vulnerable and exposed? Especially one who holds the key to the most coveted of secrets - a new spice, as powerful as the one exported from Arrakis, but with fewer dangers, Fremen rebellions and more sustainable methods of harvesting. Only this thin fabric separates you from him, something his knife could shred in seconds. He notices that your eyes have left his and are now focused on his hand, gripping the blade at his waist so tightly that his knuckles turn white. He unclenches his hand and offers it to you, bowing slightly.
"My lady, would you allow me to escort you?"
You place your hand on his and he almost jerks back, surprised by its warmth.
"A mere twist of nature, I tend to forget how shocking it must be to someone not from my home. Our temperature has evolved to be slightly higher than the average, so that when the temperature drops at night, we never fall below a certain threshold".
He listens to you as you walk down the hall towards the banquet room, taking in your voice, the slight swish of your gown on the floor, the click of the delicate gold chains around your neck disappearing into the modest cut of your dress.
His thoughts oscillate between genuine intrigue with you and your planet, both of which he will soon call his, and a burning desire to test your seemingly obvious fragility, to see how many times he can take you before you beg for mercy, how many bites into your skin will make you whimper, how many slaps on your ass will bring you to your knees regretting whatever misdeed you may have done. You can see his hunger, thinly veiled by manners, and you are sure that he is not accusing you in front of everyone for being in the Emperor's house and not on Giedi Prime. He seems so lost in thought that you have to repeat your question.
"Are you all right, Na Baron? Is something wrong? My conversational skills must be truly dull to bore you so".
He seems to come back to the present, his eyes resting on yours again, the colour of pure blue, like a deep frozen mountain lake. You look down, and just as he finds his voice, the Emperor rises to end the banquet.
"Then I shall bid you good night. If you wish, join me in the botanical garden tomorrow before noon. Perhaps my conversation skills will have improved by then".
He nods and stands to pull out your chair, taking the opportunity to let his fingers slide down your spine through your dress as he moves the chair to the side. He will join you tomorrow alright.
_____
The sun flickers through the canopy of trees above you, leaving a mosaic of shadows on the small, flat cobblestones of the path. You have your hair in a braid that sits like a halo around your head, your arms bare in the sun, dressed in a light linen top and form-fitting trousers that allow for more movement as you tend to the plants. The small patch in front of you is half empty, with small plants dug up. Their purple roots are gnarled and wobbly, while the vines are the darkest shade of green. A tiny bead of sweat clings to your eyebrow, and you pull off your glove to remove it.
"Is this how my intended likes to spend her time?" His voice behind you, rough and deep. You are startled and drop the glove. He picks it up and holds it out to you, looking straight into your eyes again.
"Thank you. Sometimes I do," you give him an open smile and take the glove back from him, he holds it for a second longer than necessary, seemingly puzzled by your open expression once again. "These plants are from my home, the Emperor tries his best to cultivate them here, but we cannot figure out why they do not develop as they should," you look up at him, his gaze still unmoved from your face.
"Am I boring you again, Na Baron?"
"Not at all," his tongue moves over his lush lips, brushing his cupid's bow.
"Well then, these tiny plants are one of the main factors in the production of the new spice. Their sap is..." You take a small knife from the box beside you and just as you cut into one of the roots, your hand slips and a red streak of blood appears on your left hand. In an instant, a small trail of red drips down your palm and onto the light stones at your feet.
His eye darkens as he grabs your post, ignoring the plant in the flower bed, and brings the injured hand to his lips. A shower passes through you, his tongue brushing your skin, electrifying.
"You should be more careful, my lady."
His voice almost a growl, his soft and plush lips sucking lightly at your skin, leaving a red mark around them.
"Yes, I should, Feyd," you are not sure if calling him by his name was a familiarity you allowed yourself too soon, but his reaction proves you wrong. His arms are wrapped around your waist, his face inches from yours. You feel your breath mix, his scent sweet and musky around you.
"Say my name again" There is no politeness to hide his hunger now.
"Feyd..." An almost unbearable exhalation is all you can manage. And with that, he closes the gap between you and descends on your lips, devouring you. His kiss tastes slightly metallic as you taste your blood on his lips, his tongue touching your teeth, demanding entry. You give in, melting into his ministrations, your hands unable to stay still, reaching for his neck, nails digging into the porcelain skin, he almost Monas into the kiss, his hands clawing at your bottom, gripping the flesh in an iron grip. You make a small sound that seems to be all he has been waiting for. Leaving your swollen lips, his attack continues in your jaw and neck, leaving small marks. You feel his arrousal pressing against you and your right hand lets go of his throat and slides over the leather in a rhythmic motion. Before you can think how you can take so much, his size is obvious even fully clothed, he grabs the knife from before and cuts open your top, not bothering with the buttons, leaving your chest exposed to him. His mouth travels to your nipples, his tongue dancing around them before his mouth closes on them and his other hands pinch the other hard. You moan, the pain delicious and unexpected, making you arch even more towards him. He unties the rest of your clothes, leaving you bare to him. A drop of your wetness makes its way from your core along your inner thigh as you melt in his arms. His hand wanders deeper along your hipbones and thighs and as he catches the drop his predatory smile becomes a grin.
„My lady seems to be enjoying herself... Kneel down".
You obey, the hard floor hurting your knees almost immediately. He pulls his swollen cock out of his trousers and strokes the head along your lips. You open your mouth and begin to lick his shaft with broad strokes, sucking the tip in and letting it fall from your mouth with a wet plop. He watches your every move and pushes a lock of hair that has come loose from your braid out of your face.
"Yes, that's a good girl, keep going."
Spurred on by the praise, you redouble your efforts, disregarding the discomfort of kneeling on the pavement and look up at him to find him completely mesmerised. He cannot believe how willingly you give yourself to him, without reservation. He feels as if he has found something sacred, something so precious and wild that he cannot imagine ever getting enough of it. He steadies your neck and finds his own rhythm, fucking your throat hard, the gurgling sound coming from you like music to his ears, you are struggling for air but he is relentless, filling you with his cum until you swallow every last drop. Your eyes almost in tears, you try to catch your breath, but Feyd has other plans as he helps you to your feet and lays you down on the patch of fresh earth. He spreads your legs and caresses your core. The pain seems to dissolve into a sea of pleasure, leaving you disoriented and greedy, your hands pressing the back of his head into your cunt. He moans in approval, sending more delicious vibrations through your cleat and as his tongue fins you entrance, you lose yourself in the orgasm, chanting his name with more earnestness than any prayer that was ever to leave your lips.
He looks up at you and just when you think you are going to get a break from his ministrations, he pauses only to strip, his leather overalls falling to the floor and revealing his muscles. He grasps your hips and you spread your legs even wider, giving him an unobstructed view of you and your pulsating cunt.
"So ready to take me, my lady, so ready for my cock to fill you," he smiles, aligning himself with your entrance and thrusting in at once. His cock, thick and throbbing, disappears inside you as you continue to chant his name. He rams into you with abandon, his head touching your wall as his hands wander from your hips to your breasts, kneading them, whipping you into the frenzy of the second high, spasming even harder around his cock.
"I think you can come again for me, my Na Baroness," he whispers in your ear as he lowers himself over you, one hand loving your breasts to study himself on the floor, the fingers of the other circling your clit. You moan, overstimulated and hot, writhing under his touch.
"I know you can do it," he continues, not slowing down, and he is right as you cum again, this time sending him over the edge, his movements becoming ragged as his seed fills you. As your both breathing calms, you look into his eyes again and you know he is a goner, lost to the magic of your touch and how your desires dance together.
#feyd rautha#feyd rautha imagine#dune part ii#feyd x reader#feyd smut#feyd x you#dune movie#arranged marriage#shameless smut#feyd oneshot#feyd rautha harkonnen#house harkonnen#dune part 2#feyd rautha x reader#fem reader#reader insert#x reader#x female reader#praise k!nk
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Can i get some Luffy smut? If you don’t do smut i’d love some fluff!! ☠️💖
so hyped to write smut again let’s go <3
caught in the act - luffy x f!reader
SMUT!!
summary: while he’s missing you at night, luffy gets the urge to touch himself while his crewmates are sleeping, and this works out well… until you walk in
contains: handjob, established relationship, innocent but very horny luffy, light exhibitionism
words: 1.6k
________________________
They’re all deep sleepers, right? The crew around Luffy is unmoving, rhythmic breathing making blankets rise and fall against their chests. It’s dark out, he watches the moonlight rise and fall against the wooden floor and swaying bunks as the ship rocks slowly in waves. He’s been up for a couple hours, wriggling uncomfortably in his bed, he’s restless and he can’t sleep and he’s trying to figure out why. It’s one of those nights where he wants to go bother you, he’s missing the feeling of wrapping your body in his and falling asleep in your arms. But you’ve been put on watch tonight and told Luffy to go sleep somewhere warm, you’d be fine out on your own.
So he’s with the guys in the men’s quarters and he’s missing you greatly. He’s stressed, he doesn’t like being alone like this at night anymore, if he can help it.
How can he relax? How can he think of you but calm his mind but go to sleep? But then he remembers something you once told him, about how it’s sometimes soothing, and will help you with bad sleep, if you touch yourself between the legs for a while. He’s done it once or twice, out of pure curiosity, but usually that’s your job and it doesn’t feel that good unless it’s your hands and he’s getting kissed and held at the same time. But maybe tonight he could give it another go.
He’s still wearing jean shorts, the fabric tough and difficult to really feel himself through. Maybe he should take them off, but he doesn’t really want to do that here, he understands the implicit shame of getting yourself off around others, and getting caught.
So he palms himself, rubbing gentle circles over the zipper, building up a pleasant friction and now his cock is aching and twitching in his pants. He grits his teeth and wants to stop, this is getting embarrassing, but it’s feeling so good that his hand is almost moving on its own. He squeezes his eyes shut and feels his breathing get heavier as he presses harder, blood pumping in time with his heartbeat down beneath his legs, he feels himself filled there, swelling…
“Mmmgh…” he moans in a raspy, distant sort of way, unconscious now of his hands or his voice or his bed or his mind, it’s all his cock, burning up against him, desperate to be cared for.
Luffy yanks off his shorts in a fluid motion, feeling his dick slap his stomach, hard and needy. His hands find himself and he tries to imitate what you might do, how you stroke deeply yet carefully, how your thumb etches patterns into the skin, he’s sloppy and clumsy about it because he doesn’t know what he’s doing and now he gets more and more frustrated, heart racing.
So soft slaps fill the silent room as he jerks off furiously, squeezing his cock and rubbing in whatever way he can and just praying that something will be right, if he just tries over and over. Little throaty moans and gasps echo through the men’s quarters and thank god they’re drowned by the others’ snoring, and the creaking of the ship on the waves. He arches his back and squirms and he wants to cum so bad now, it’s hurting him. But he can’t, he just rubs and rubs, faster and more frantically.
You’re trying to find your jacket, meanwhile.
You thought the night would be warm like the day but the stars brought ice. You’re in your favorite blue velvet night dress but it only barely covers your chest, your arms and shoulders are exposed. You wander to your room to check the dresser but your jacket isn’t there. So you wrack your mind, where did you leave it?
Oh yeah, when you were helping Franky fix a leak in the ceiling. The ceiling of the men’s quarters. You had set it down on the table, right? Yes, it must still be there.
So you find the door and open it as softly as you can, creeping your way in through the crack of moonlight, and as you stand in the doorway you look up for a moment, and you meet Luffy’s eyes.
Deer eyes, frozen still, pants off and throbbing cock clutched in his hand. His legs are spread, he’s propped up on an elbow and he’s staring at you, motionless.
You’re in total shock, unsure of what to do. You stare into his eyes as your cheeks burn red and your first instinct is to turn and leave without saying anything. But behind the humiliation in Luffy’s eyes you see a burning need. He wants you really, really bad.
His chest rises and falls fast, like a nervous animal, he blinks a few times at you. He’s sick with anxiety about getting caught in the act, even if you’re his girlfriend, he feels gross and dirty all of a sudden.
But wordlessly you smile at him. You focus your eyes between his legs and his cock is leaking and begging for attention so you slowly, carefully walk across the floor. He’s on the top bunk, Zoro fast asleep beneath him. Luffy tilts his head to follow your every footstep, flushed and embarrassed still, but so excited all of a sudden. You gingerly climb the ladder, the set of bunks rocking a little which makes you freeze, but Zoro isn’t going to wake up, it’s fine.
Luffy scoots over a bit to make room for you, still twitching with nerves, still rubbing his dick a little. His lips are parted, shining with saliva.
Your hands slowly reach for his face, he’s still frozen but as your fingers stroke his cheeks he begins to smile, his eyes still begging, and at the smallest contact he groans and you shut him up with a kiss, pressing your lips to his quickly, eliciting a little squeak from Luffy, and a shiver that travels down through his stomach. Your legs are smooth against his as you slide closer, gathering him gently into your arms.
“[Name…]” he murmurs at last, drool coating his chin, eyes glossy.
And you say, “hi, Luffy,” under your breath. Reaching to hold his hand.
“Hi,” he says too loudly and you kiss him again and whisper a shhh into his mouth. Then you test the waters, you rest your hand over his knuckles where he grips himself, and Luffy practically spills his body over into yours with the promise of touch.
He bites your shoulder as he leans against you, heavy, sweaty, shivering like a little dog. His tongue rests against your skin and he makes some happy little noises, muffled by your body, you lift him to a better position and trace the curves of his knuckles.
So he lets go and lets your soft hands replace him. And there, this feels better. Luffy can relax and let his mind wander and your hands are so much more caring than his. Long, powerful, slow strokes. His skin vibrates and his cock is smelting iron under your touch, a kiln of white-hot sweat blooming beneath your fingers. He buries his face in your neck and looks up at you with huge, loving eyes, raw feeling overtaking his whole self. He reaches for your breasts and squeezes them to occupy his now free hands, he grounds himself in your soft flesh.
It’s a strange feeling, giving Luffy a handjob, because his skin stretches when you pull and you have to be more careful, but also more deep, squeezing with pressure and force so he can feel your movements and playing with him becomes like kneading dough.
He says something unintelligible and shoves his face up against yours as you continue to slowly stroke him off, you keep having to gently quiet him, he’s starting to forget where he is or at least not care anymore, those movements feel so good, this angelic massage.
He’s butter in your arms now, melting against you, he begins to nibble at your ear and writhe under you, his body unsure of what to do with itself now that he’s about to cum.
You’re not sure either and it’s too late now, you have to turn your attention to clutching his face and shoving your tongue into his mouth in a heated, long kiss so his yelling moan is lost in your throat. His cock spasms and he cums all over your night dress.
“Oh…” you whisper, flushed, looking down at the ribbons of white coating the blue velvet like sea foam. This is what waves are made of. Luffy is staring down at you too, curious, but he doesn’t seem to care about the mess he’s made and just wants to hold you now.
“Don’t go. I’m gonna hold ya. I don’t want you to go yet.” His gravelly voice is loud again in your ear and you pause to look around the dark room, the men still fast asleep, the shadows still moving back and forth slowly on the walls.
You don’t even wipe off your dress. You just grab Luffy in a tight embrace, pulling the covers over the both of you and settling into his bunk, snuggling into him.
“Fuck it,” you whisper happily into his neck, “I don’t wanna keep watch tonight.”
#luffy x reader#luffy#one piece#one piece x reader#one piece fanfiction#luffy x y/n#luffy x you#one piece smut#luffy smut#luffy x reader smut#luffy x f!reader
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Warnings: smut w/o plot, cowgirl, oral (m receiving), blindfolds and handcuffs, creampie, fem!reader, established relationship
Synopsis: you have a little idea of how to celebrate Itto's birthday in a steamy way
GENSHIN IMPACT
The night was warm and fragrant, the breeze carrying the scent of cherry blossoms through the open window. The stars glittered like a thousand diamonds scattered across a velvet sky, and the moon bathed everything in a silvery glow. Tonight was special – it was Arataki’s birthday, and you had planned an unforgettable surprise for him.
You glanced around the room one last time, ensuring everything was perfect. Soft candlelight flickered across the walls, casting a golden hue over the intimate setting. The bed was adorned with rose petals, and a bottle of his favorite sake chilled in a bucket of ice on the nightstand. The anticipation was almost palpable, and you could feel your heart racing with excitement.
The silk robe you wore clung to your curves, teasingly translucent, hinting at the lace lingerie beneath. You could feel the pulse of excitement quickening your breath, the anticipation of his reaction making your heart race.
Finally, the door creaked open, and there he was. His eyes immediately locked onto you, widening with surprise and darkening with desire as he took in the sight. His breath hitched, and for a moment, he seemed frozen in place, captivated by your allure.
“Happy birthday, Itto,” you purred, your voice a seductive whisper. You sauntered towards him, each step measured, every movement designed to tantalize.
“It’s already the best birthday ever,” he murmured, his gaze raking over you hungrily. His hands reached out, almost hesitant, as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes.
You smiled, a slow, sultry curve of your lips. “It’s about to get even better,” you promised, taking his hand and guiding him towards the bed.
You pushed him gently onto the bed, straddling his lap.
His hands immediately found your hips, gripping you with a possessive need. “You look incredible,” he breathed, his voice thick with desire.
You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear. “I’ve got a lot planned for you tonight,” you whispered, your breath hot against his skin. “And it starts with this.”
With a deft movement, you untied the sash of your robe, letting it slide off your shoulders and pool around your waist.
His eyes widened, his hands tightening on your hips as he took in the sight of you in the sheer, lacy lingerie. “Dear archons, you’re beautiful,” he groaned, his voice rough. He leaned forward, capturing your lips in a fierce, passionate kiss. His tongue swept into your mouth, tasting, claiming, leaving you breathless.
You broke the kiss, your lips trailing down his jaw to his neck. “Just relax,” you murmured, your hands roaming over his broad chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his shirt. “Let me take care of you.”
His eyes darkened further, a primal hunger in their depths. “You’re driving me crazy, Y/N,” he muttered, his hands sliding under your lingerie to grasp your bare skin.
“That’s the idea,” you teased, sliding off his lap to kneel between his legs. You unbuttoned his shirt with deliberate slowness, savoring the way his breath hitched with every touch. When you finally pushed the fabric off his shoulders, you leaned in, pressing soft, lingering kisses to his chest.
He groaned, his hands tangling in your hair as you kissed and licked your way down his chest, each touch eliciting a shiver of anticipation. You could feel his cock straining against his pants. Taking your time, you savored every reaction, every shudder and moan. With a deliberate slowness, you unbuttoned his pants, sliding them down just enough to free his rock hard cock. The sight of his shaft made your mouth water. You glanced up at him through your lashes, your lips curving into a seductive smile. Slowly, you leant in to take him into your mouth.
His reaction was immediate and intense. “Fuck,” he whispered through parted lips, his hips bucked, a guttural moan escaping his lips as you enveloped him with the warm, wet heat of your mouth.
You worked him with slow, deliberate strokes, each movement designed to drive him wild. Hollowing your cheeks, you swirled your tongue around the mushroom head of his cock, tasting the salty essence of his precum and drawing more desperate sounds from deep within him.
Every groan, every quiver, spurred you on, the pleasure of his reactions sending a thrill through you. You increased the intensity, taking him deeper, your hands gently massaging and teasing his balls as you rubbed the underside of his shaft with your flexed tongue.
Itto’s grip in your hair tightened, his breathing becoming ragged as he struggled to hold back. “Gods, you’re amazing, doll,” he gasped, his voice a raw, desperate plea. “Don’t stop.”
You had no intention of stopping. You continued your assault, feeling his dick pulse and throb against your tongue. The taste, the scent, the feel of him overwhelmed your senses, and you knew he was close as well. You were taking his tip all the way into your throat until you coughed and gagged on his shaft.
“Fuck,” he grunted, running the tip of his tongue along his lower lip as it went incredibly dry. Arataki could feel his testicles churning as if they wanted to send a hot load up his throbbing shaft already and down your throat into your tummy.
You slid him out slowly, your soft, moist tongue caressing every inch of his thick shaft as you pulled back just far enough to catch your breath. Then, with a fierce determination, you took him in your mouth again, even deeper this time, the intensity causing you to gag slightly, your body reacting with an involuntary shudder. Your top lip gripped the shaft firmly as you bobbed your head back and forth, sucking hardly.
Finally, he shattered, a powerful release that left him trembling and moaning your name as he spilled his seed over your tongue.
You savored every moment, every drop of his cum, drawing out his pleasure until he was utterly spent.
Slowly, you pulled back, licking your lips off his semen as you looked up at him, your eyes sparkling with satisfaction. Then, you disentangled yourself from his embrace, earning a sleepy murmur of protest from him.
“Wait… Where are you going?” Itto asked, his voice husky with lingering desire as he took his dick in his hand, jerking it slowly, spreading all of the remnants of your spit all over his shaft.
“Just a little surprise,” you replied with a teasing smile, slipping off the bed. “Stay right there.”
His eyes followed you with a mix of curiosity and anticipation as you crossed the room to retrieve a small, intricately wrapped box from the dresser. You returned to the bed, kneeling beside him and holding the box out.
He sat up, taking the box from your hands. Arataki carefully unwrapped the gift, revealing a sleek, black silk blindfold and a set of silver cuffs lined with soft velvet. He looked up at you, his eyes darkening with a mixture of surprise and excitement. “So that’s how you wanna play, doll?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.
“A little something to make tonight even more interesting,” you replied, leaning in to kiss him softly. “Do you trust me?”
“Always,” he murmured against your lips, his breath hot and inviting as he grunted lowly upon tasting his own cum on your tongue.
With a smile, you took the blindfold from his hands and tied it gently over his eyes. You then took his wrists, guiding him to lie back against the pillows as you secured the cuffs around them, attaching them to the headboard.
He tested them lightly, a soft growl of anticipation escaping his lips.
You slowly stood up on your knees, letting your lingerie slide off your body, revealing yourself fully to him. You straddled his hips, your hands trailing over his chest. "Can you feel how much I want you?" you whispered, your voice laced with desire as you ground your slick pussy against his cock. You reached down, taking his hardened length in your hand, lining him up with your entrance. With agonizing slowness, you began to sink down onto his cock, your body enveloping him inch by inch. The sensation was intense, a delicious mix of pleasure and pressure as he filled your pussy completely.
You both moaned in unison.
You paused, letting him feel every part of you, your breath hot against his skin as you leant forward to lick the stripe over the pulsepoint on his neck. Then you began to move, setting a slow, teasing rhythm, your hips rolling as you let his cock slip deeper into your slick hole.
His reactions spurred you on, the blindfold amplifying his every sensation, every gasp and groan of pleasure.
"Do you like this, Itto?" you whispered, leaning forward to kiss his neck, your voice a sultry purr as you rolled your hips, letting the tip of his cock hit all of the sweet spots inside you.
"Yes," he groaned, his voice strained. "I love it. I love you."
You smiled, increasing your pace. Your hands roamed over his chest, feeling the muscles tense and relax beneath your touch. The pleasure was mounting, a fiery heat spreading through your body as you rode his cock with increasing intensity. You were riding him like a racehorse now.
Every movement brought you closer to the edge, his moans and the sound of your bodies slapping together driving you wild. You leaned back, putting your hands to his ankles and changing the angle, and felt him hit a spot deep inside you that made you cry out in pleasure. "Oh, Itto," you gasped, your voice trembling with need. "I'm so close." Itto’s dick felt like steel, and as you humped him, you made sure to direct it to all the right spots inside of your pussy.
"Come for me," he urged, his voice a low growl as he pulled at the cuffs. "Fuck, I need you to cum for me.”
His words pushed you over the edge. The orgasm crashed over you, a wave of pure ecstasy that left you trembling and gasping. Your movements became erratic, the pleasure overwhelming as you rode out your release. You grabbed his shoulders and dug your nails into them as you shivered all over your body. “Oh, fuck!”
Itto followed moments later, his own climax a powerful surge that left you both breathless as with a loud grunt he came deep inside of you. His cock pumped the contents of his balls into your tight pussy, making you take it as you had so many times before.
You squeezed his cock in your tiny vagina and gave him a few long humps up and down the shaft of his dick to milk every drop of cum out of him. You then pulled yourself off of his shrinking dick, gasping for air. You collapsed onto his chest, your bodies slick with sweat, your heartbeats slowly returning to normal.
For a long moment, you lay there together, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You reached up, gently removing the blindfold and uncuffing his wrists.
He pulled you close, his lips finding yours in a tender, lingering kiss.
"Happy birthday once again, Itto," you whispered against his lips, your voice filled with love and satisfaction.
"Best birthday ever," he murmured, holding you tight.
And as the night continued, you knew that this was just the beginning of an unforgettable celebration.
#arataki itto#itto#arataki itto x reader#itto x reader#arataki itto smut#itto smut#genshin impact#genshin#genshin itto#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin smut#genshin impact smut#itto x you#itto x y/n#itto drabble#arataki itto drabble#arataki itto x you#arataki itto x y/n
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~Manhwa AU- A Fairytale Do-Over~
A/N: Holy shit look at this. the first chapter of the manhwa AU! Hope you guys enjoy! I'm gonna look into making a story title card for this series, to be added later! Word Count: 2.5K Pairings: Crewel/Crowley (They hate each other but they are married) Warnings: Mentions of blood Next
Yuu snaps awake, body thrown forward by the force of a scream that had refused to leave her throat finally ringing out into the air. She pants, eyes wide, blurry vision focusing over time as she calmed herself. Her hands traced along her surroundings, the soft covers of a bed, the fur of a stuffed animal…
Her breathing had finally slowed, allowing her to slump back into the overstuffed pillows that normally adorned her bed. She…survived? That was the most terrifying experience of her life. The echos of summer bugs buzzing in the garden, the harsh light of the sun in her eyes, the burning of the stone on her skin that slowly grew wet before she slipped away…
Looking out the window she noted how it was nighttime. A question of how long or how many days she had been out was barely pondered before she noticed her curtains. The color to be more precise. The soft, chiffon pink that ombred into a deeper shade with gold threaded stars scattered closer together near the bottom of the fabric. Lovely drapes, but not the ones in Yuu's room at that moment. She had a set of thick, light-blocking dark teal drapes, as she had her room redone years ago, they matched better.
But, she had owned this set of pink curtains since she was a child.
She blinked, staying down, her eyes started to roam around the room. Taking it all in just how soft and whimsical the design was. The dream room of a little girl on the edge of leaving social infancy and still not allowed to be called a young lady. Not at all the room of her twenty-year-old self.
Looking down, she didn't see her dark-colored long nails with delicate gold designs. Instead, she saw two tiny hands with short and neatly cared-for nails. Her eyes travel upward on her right arm, crisp white ruffles leading into light purple velvet sleeves. She scrambled out of bed, falling onto the plush carpet face first as her legs were tangled in the soft grey duvet. Recovering, Yuu made her way to the full-length tri-fold mirror stationed in the corner of her room. She stood before it, drinking in her appearance.
Small. She looked so small.
A round baby face stared back at her, large black eyes with perfect baby doll lashes. She was wearing a long-sleeved nightgown; cozy and warm, buttery soft and intricate lace almost bursting from every opening, small pearls used as buttons keeping her collar closed.
She looked like a doll, an adorable little doll. Just the way her papa would dress her until she turned 13 and he allowed her to finally have more say in her wardrobe. Yuu slowly lifted her hands (So tiny), one to pat her soft cheeks and the other to run down a braided pigtail of two-toned hair. She breathed out in a shudder, her voice higher than she remembered, before she turned and ran out of her childhood bedroom.
Running down the hallway, Yuu Crowley realized she was eight years old, again, for some reason. But she couldn't complain. It was better than meeting her end by bleeding out at the bottom of the hot summer stairs of the royal garden…her feet were cold now that she thought about it. Looking out the grand windows of the manor as she ran, she realized they were frosted over. Bare trees seen in the distance through the ice in the chilly late hours of the night. She should have put her slippers on; Papa had made her a knitted pair that looked like his snow boots that she loved…
Soon she came to the double doors, or what she remembered, of her parents' room. Yuu reached a small hand to one of the levers and quickly shuffled her way inside.
She doesn't remember entering her parents' room much, never had a need to. She scarcely remembers them even entering her own room, but maybe that could change; maybe she could spend more time with her parents and learn more about them this time. Yuu looked around, noting the room looked different from the most recent memory of the space. She did really like the look of the iridescent curtains covering the door to their large balcony. The sheer fabric casting the room into an almost eerily shifting color tone, making the area calm and dreamlike even in Yuu’s awake state. Catching her breath, Yuu Walked closer to the lavishly dressed bed, staring down at the rare uncovered face of her father.
Dire Crowley, Grand Duke of the Noctorn Empire, arguably one of the most powerful men in the land. And if you asked her papa, without a doubt one of the most frustrating. He snored, mouth hanging open with his star and moon printed button-up pajamas messy from his tossing and turning; a loveable embarrassment…
A gasp calls her eyes to look at the other side of the large bed at her papa. Divus Crowley nee Crewel, Grand Duchess of the Noctorn Empire. He had his hair wrapped up in a fine patterned scarf and a hand clutching his silk robe closed, his eyes wide as he stared at her before huffing.
Divus leaned into his hand, taking care to not smudge the cream spread under his eyes as his lips turned into a scowl, “What are you doing up, puppy? I know it's far past your bedtime…” To any other person, Divus looked as though he was annoyed to be dealing with his child, and he was. But after years of knowing, loving, and being loved by her papa, Yuu was aware he was annoyed that his method of putting her to bed seemingly needed to be worked on again, not that she was bothering them.
“...” Yuu looked at her papa, blinking before taking in a shaky breath and whispering out her question, “Can I sleep in bed with you?”
“...Oh, puppy…” Divus groans, an elegantly sharp nail tapping against his creased brow. His darling daughter was eight now. Close to the double digits and being expected to start behaving in a mature manner, yet still so painfully young. He had somehow managed to train his clingy toddler to sleep in her own bed years ago, a feat that was hard enough as is. But how was he to deny his puppy his comforting embrace when she was still so cute!?
Clasping his hands over his mouth, he breathed in. Raising an eyebrow at his strangely still daughter he asked, “Why do you want to sleep in our bed, puppy? You haven’t asked since you were four…”
Yuu blinks, taking in another quivering breath as it all seemed to be hitting her at once. The years of her friendship with the men she grew to love that meant nothing in the end, the years of cold eyes and harsh off-handed comments. The fall, the crack, the pain, the blood.
“...I died…”
“...” Divus sat up straighter in his bed, eyes gaining a new worried flicker as he stared at his daughter, “What?”
“I-I…I…” she hiccuped, the tears finally welling in her eyes as her hands clenched onto her nightgown. Words were lost as all she could do was take in shuddering gasps and let out pitiful chokes, unable to stop the grief fully settling into her body.
Divus slapped Dire's chest, each hit coming quicker and harder the more distressed Yuu's cries became, “Dire. Dire! Wake UP, you crow BASTARD!”
Dire blinked his eyes open, bewildered as to why he was being forcibly woken in the middle of the night. His remark quickly lost on his tongue as he noticed his crying child right beside him, “Oh, my darling! What's made you cry like this?”
“Stop asking stupid questions and pull her into bed!” Divus slapped Dire’s shoulder, nearly punching the other man in an effort to bully him into doing as he said.
“Ow! I am!”
Yuu started to sob as Dire gently pulled her into the bed, placing her between the two fretting adults. She could feel their arms wrap around her, trying to soothe her tears with soft words and gentle pets. Her father had rung his service bell like a madman, no doubt sending the servants into a panic and scrambling to heed his call. Soon a flustered servant ran into the room, Dire ordering them to bring a midnight snack selection of his daughter’s favorites, anything to ease his child's crying. Yuu didn't get the chance to eat any of the snacks, having slipped into a pitiful slumber locked in her papa's arms.
She had somehow traveled back in time over a decade, long before her death and the betrayals of her closest friends. And as she laid curled between her loving parents, she made the decision to not look this gift in its mouth. For whatever reason, she was given a second chance and Yuu didn’t plan on dying the same way twice. Her old life wasn't worth repeating a second time, she knew her heart couldn't take it again…
The morning wasn't much better. Dire and Divus had canceled all of their meetings, choosing to crowd and dote on their daughter. Yuu had been strangely quiet since she woke up. Even throughout Divus's daily outfit selection, she had remained silent, letting her papa hold up dress after dress to her body without complaint. They had moved to the family lounge of the home to spend time together after breakfast.
The family lounge had always been Yuu’s favorite room past her own bedroom. Dark wooded panels caging in forest-printed wallpaper that was so detailed it almost felt real. Artwork of dogs and crows littering one of the walls as though they were locked in a never-ending war as her fathers keep replacing portraits with their favored animal. Couches framing a large and elaborate bricked fireplace, the fire's flickering warmth in contrast to the bleakly white outside.
Dire and Divus were quiet, each almost afraid to speak to break the silence. It was concerning, the way things had progressed from the early morning hours. Dire looked at his family from his armchair, watching Divus fuss and pick at their child in an attempt to engage her in conversation. Yuu would only give weak answers, seeming content yet still so tired. She would give little sighs and nuzzle into the fur-lined collar of her papa's long-tailed vest whenever Divus pulled her into a hug. His sweet, rambunctious child had never been so reserved and passive. Not even as a baby…
Divus was barely keeping it together, emotional yet holding it in for the sake of his daughter. The fur-clad man moved to busy himself by brushing Yuu's hair into more styles he had been meaning to try. The fact she let him only made his nervous energy stay and slowly fester, “Hmmmm…half-up styles look more elegant for you right now. But you still look positively adorable with pigtails…which do you like best, puppy?”
“...I don't mind what you pick.”
The comb in Divus's hand snaps, the man holding back his growl and stomping away, muttering he was going to gather more hair accessories. He loved his daughter, he truly did. But she was possibly the most argumentative, wiggly child he had ever known and he knew it was from his blood. While any other day he would have been overjoyed at Yuu allowing him to dress her up to his heart’s content, knowing she had a breakdown no more than ten hours ago ruined whatever joy he could gain. A feeling that was only growing as she refused to explain herself.
Dire watched his husband stomp out of the room, standing from his seat and kneeling with a smile at Yuu, “My darling, do you want some cake? Or maybe a new doll? Tell your papas, we will acquire anything your heart desires…”
Yuu was quiet, unable to look at her father. As the seconds passed, she couldn’t stop the hiccup of her breathing as another wave of tears crashed over her.
“Oh, my sweet girl…” Dire quickly gathered her into his arms, patting her back when she clung onto him. He shushed her cries, walking with her as he would have when she was younger to soothe her.
He and Divus share a worried glance across the room as the other man re-entered the lounge. Yuu had had nightmares before, that was simply a staple of childhood. But they were always told to them with a smile in the morning over breakfast. She'd describe them almost with a sense of pride at how hard her little mind had worked to terrify her. But this dream of her dying had truly terrified her. They were quickly reaching past the realm of simple concern and into the fields of trepidation; Crowley worried if it was a dream of foresight. If he needed to prepare for an unseen threat to his child.
A pair of servants announce their presence with a knock from the doorway, both wearing excited smiles. One of them stepped forward, almost giddy as she bowed and presented an ornate silver tray holding a few letters in a neat line, “The mail, my lords!”
Crewel and Crowley lock eyes, both of them smiling. New years had passed and the next major event of the empire was the young prince's birthday party. Malleus was one of the people Yuu adored most; without a doubt, the invite was the item needed to lift their child's mood.
Divus rushed to the servants, snatching the black letter from the tray and holding it up in excitement, “Oh, puppy! Look what's arrived!”
Dire beams, trying to pull Yuu from his shoulder to look at the elegant black and silver lined envelope sealed closed with the enchanted green wax of the royal family, “Darling~! The prince's birthday invite has arrived, now you and your papa can finish your dress! And the present you were so excited to give-”
“No.”
…
The servants looked at each other, the girl holding the tray quickly scurrying back out of the room with the other close behind. Excusing their presence, they closed the doors of the private family room and left the three in their silence.
Divus's hand was shaking, eyes looking toward Dire with a barely contained fury as though he were the one to cause this dramatic change in their child.
Dire nervously averted his eyes, his arms holding Yuu tighter to use as a shield against his husband's anger, “Dearest…what do you mean ‘No’? Do you not want your papa to pick out your dress-”
“I'm not going…I don't wanna see Malleus”
…
Divus felt the letter flutter to the ground from his slack grip, his face ashen at the shock, “...CROWLEY!”
Dire was already across the room, Yuu still in his hold as he fumbled with a telephone, “I'M CALLING! I'M CALLING!” He rang for a doctor, demanding they come to their home at once to give his daughter a check-up.
Their worry had fully bubbled into a hysteria. Yuu Crowley, refusing the invite of the crown prince Malleus, his child had clearly fallen deathly ill…
#twisted wonderland#twst#disney twst#twst wonderland#yuu oc#papa crewel#dire crowley#divus crewel#manhwa au
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Home Alone, 1990
Pairing: Reacher x Reader
Word count: 2.6k
Notes: Hi!!! It’s time for Kinkmas!! I’ve been preparing for weeks for this….and still didn’t finish everything 😀😀 it’s fine. It’s fine I just forgot they had to be in order it’s fine
There’s something special about tying Reacher up.
You sit on his waist, humming softly as you tie his wrists back to the headboard. He can get out, you both know that, but he’s giving you control and that’s what makes it hot.
He’s got a funny little smirk on his face, while you wrap him up in the brightly colored garland and boop his nose. You fix the Santa hat on his head and pat his chest.
“You look good”
“Do I?” He flexes his wrists a little as you toy with the band of his red boxers, teasing both of you.
“Mhm…” You toss your hair over your shoulder, displaying your perky tits in the pretty red lace bra you’d greeted him in when he came home. You took his hand, pulling him toward the bedroom with a mischievous glint in your eye, he immediately knew he was in for it and eagerly followed you back.
“You comfy?”
“Sure am… you like what you see Peaches?”
You nod slowly and grind against him gently, rolling your hips seductively. He struggles against the restraints slightly, wanting to hold your hips.
“Well shit” He looks up at them and tugs a little harder and you swat at his chest.
“Hey! You said you’d be good!”
“I don’t know how long I’m gonna be able to keep my hands off you, but fine” He lets his hands hang again and you stroke his cheek, your hand looks so small against his face. He turns his head to kiss your hand and you gently pull away.
“So what’s your plan, hm? " he asks lazily. Though his body betrays him, you can already feel him hardening underneath you.
“I’m glad you asked” You reach over for a red velvet bag with gold drawstrings. You pull them apart and wriggle your eyebrows playfully at him. He raises an eyebrow as you slowly pull the device from the bag and present it to him. It’s a purple wand-looking thing with a large marshmallow-looking tip, you set the bag to the side of him and smile wickedly.
“I thought…maybe it was your turn to feel what you put me through every time you want one of your little marathon sessions”
“You fully enjoy those”
“Shut up, that’s not the point! The point is-“ You narrow your eyes at that stupid smirk he always seems to have on his face “The point is, I think it’s your turn to suffer”
He tests his bonds again, they tickle his skin but he feels comfortable. He settles into the bed and grins at you as he bucks his hips. You squeak and slap your hands on his chest, bouncing on his cock.
“Do your worst”
You frown at him, your little nose crinkling as you stick your tongue out at him, of course, he’s trying to still be in charge…. It’s fine, you’ll change that soon.
Reacher's eyes widen as the vibrations from the wand send jolts of pleasure through his aching cock. He lets out a low groan, his hips bucking involuntarily.
"Fuck, Peaches," he growls, his deeply strained with need.
"That feels...intense."
The thin fabric of his boxers does little to dull the sensation, the vibrations seeming to penetrate right to his core. His cock throbs, growing even harder as you tease him with the toy. Laughing evilly. He rolls his eyes at you but lets you continue your little torture session.
"You're gonna make me bust in my damn underwear if you keep that up”
You smirk and leave it at the base of his cock for a moment
“Maybe that’s what I want… maybe I wanna see you cream your pants like a lovesick bitch.”
His chest heaves with ragged breaths, his abs flexing as he fights the urge to thrust into the vibrations. His blue eyes are dark with lust, boring into yours with an intensity that makes you shiver.
“You’re treading on thin ice, Y/N”
“It’s on the lowest setting you big baby”
You turn it up a notch, stroking his cock slowly with it through his underwear, you lick your lips when you notice the wet patch of precum on the front of them. You lean forward and lick it, your tongue dragging along his boxers as you moan softly.
Reacher lets out a guttural moan as you turn up the intensity of the vibrations, the toy sending shockwaves of pleasure through his hard cock. His hips buck involuntarily, seeking more of that delicious friction.
Suddenly these stupid little restraints feel like metal shackles as he fights the urge to rip them off and grab you to pull you down on his throbbing cock.
His breath hitches as your tongue drags along the outline of his shaft. The sensation is driving him up the damn wall, and he can't help but thrust his hips forward, seeking more of that wet heat.
"C'mon, Peaches baby, don't tease me," he all but pleads, his blue eyes staring into yours with a level of intensity that makes a delightful shiver run down your spine.
"Wanna feel that sweet little mouth on my cock. Wanna fuck that pretty face till you choke on it."
He doesn’t miss the way you squeeze your thighs together.
“I like it when you do that, fuck my face”
Your cheeks flush as you suck on his cock through his underwear. It’s just enough to keep him on the edge but he can’t feel your mouth with his underwear in the way as much as he desperately fucking wants to
He gasps as your hot mouth envelops his cock through the thin fabric of his boxers, the vibrations of the wand adding to the intense pleasure. His hips buck upward, seeking more of that wet heat, but the stupid freaking barrier of his underwear keeps him from feeling your lips directly on his skin.
"Fuck, baby, that's it," he growls, his voice deeply strained with need. "Suck that cock like you mean it. Gonna fuck your pretty face till you're gasping for air."
He watches you through heavily-lidded eyes, drinking in the sight of your flushed cheeks and the way you squeeze your thighs together again. It turns him on that much more knowing you’re enjoying this just as much as he is, he can hardly stand it anymore.
"You're killing me here, Peaches. This what you wanted? Reducing me to a moaning mess while I cum in my pants??”
“It’s exactly what I wanted”
You purr seductively as you keep sucking him through his underwear. The front of his boxers are soaked in his precum and your spit as you put the vibrator on his balls and leave it there.
Reacher's body tenses, his muscles straining to not rip those wimpy little tinsel restraints as your words push him to the brink. The vibrations from the wand buzzing against his balls, the wet heat of your mouth on his soaked boxers, it’s almost too much to bear.
"Fuck, baby, you're gonna make me cum" he moans, his deep voice strained with desperation.
He bucks his hips, grinding his throbbing cock against your face, smearing his precum and your spit across your cheeks. The scent of his arousal fills the air, musky and strong.
"C'mon, darlin', don't stop," he pleads, sending a shock straight down to your core. "Wanna see that pretty face covered in my cum. Wanna mark you as mine."
His chest heaves with each ragged breath, his abs flexing as he fights the overwhelming urge to cum.
"Gonna- fuck...baby," he pants, his voice barely above a whisper. "Gonna cum for you"
With an animalistic moan, his cock pulses, spurting thick ropes of cum into his boxers. The fabric turns warm and wet as he empties himself, his hips jerking wildly.
You pull his messy boxers down as he comes down from his high and scoop up his cum rubbing it over your pussy as you finger yourself, rubbing fast little circles over your clit. You wanted him to finish first, wanted that moment to be about him, but now you want load after load from him.
“Fuck baby you did so good” you pant softly as you touch yourself, your head falling backward as you roll your hips against your fingers “So so good”
"You're so fuckin’ hot," he watches you with wide eyes, his deep voice teeming with a new growing desire.
"Playing with yourself like that, rubbing my cum all over your sweet little pussy."
Even if he’s just cum, his cock twitches, already starting to harden again at the dirty show in front of him. The tinsel restraints dig into his wrists as he tugs at them, desperate to touch you, to feel your wet heat around him.
Reacher's hips buck again, his half-hard cock sliding against his stomach, smearing his cum over his torso.
"I just wanna fill you up, baby. Wanna pump you full of my seed till it's dripping down your thighs."
He licks his lips, his gaze fixed on your fingers as they work your clit.
"You want that, don't you? Want me to fuck you senseless, make you cum on my cock over and over again."
You swirl your fingers through the messy cum, spreading it all over your pussy as you listen to him try to convince you to finally ride him.
“I don’t know… maybe.. maybe I want something else first… like, your mouth?”
His eyes light up at your hesitant little suggestion, he can work with that, fuck can he work with it.
“That sounds good to me sugar, I’ll eat that pretty little pussy until I’m suffocating and you’re screaming”
His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he watches your fingers keep working, the little cogs in your brain turning. He can’t help imagining the taste of your arousal mixed with his cum.
"Come on Peaches, perfectly good seat right here just waitin’ for you”
He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You climb over his torso, hesitating for just a second as you settle on his face, his head securely between your thighs. You roll your hips against his lips for a moment, letting your head fall backward slowly as you moan. You grab the headboard, thighs shaking as you press your forehead against the headboard.
“Ooh my god” You mumble softly, giggling a little as you grind against his face “Holy shit”
He’s had enough of playing good for you as he snaps the tinsel and grabs your hips, pulling you down harder against his mouth.
You shriek and grip the headboard as he laps at you eagerly, his tongue dipping deep inside you.
“Fuck you taste so damn good” He moans, His voice muffled by your body.
"Gonna eat this sweet little cunt till you're screaming."
His tongue swirls around your clit, flicking your sensitive nub as he sucks it between his lips.
His nose nestles in between your lips as he buries his face deeper, inhaling your musky scent. He licks and sucks at your pussy, his tongue diving as deep as it can go, trying to reach your womb.
He seals his lips around your clit and sucks hard. At the same time, he slides a finger into your tight hole, pumping it in and out as he finger-fucks you.
Reacher adds a second finger, stretching you open as he curls them up to rub that spongy spot his fingers reach so perfectly. He can feel your walls fluttering around his digits, your arousal dripping down his chin.
"That's it, baby," he growls "Cum for me. Wanna taste that sweet honey on my tongue."
Your body falls apart as you cum on his tongue, grinding against him wildly, your hips rolling, you know he can take it. You know that he wants to take it. You scream his name, gripping the headboard with all your strength as you cum in his mouth, splashing down his chin and soaking the sheets. He keeps his fingers pumping in and out until you fall off of him onto the bed, your body shaking as you pant into the pillows.
He reaches down, stroking his aching cock a few times to coat it in your mixed fluids. Then he lines himself up with your entrance, the head of his cock nudging slick folds.
"Ready for me, darlin'?" he asks, his voice a low growl.
You shake your head no, unable to even answer him you’re so overwhelmed by the force of your orgasm.
“Oh… that’s too bad” With that, he thrusts forward, burying himself to the hilt in your tight heat. You both moan loudly at the sudden fullness and the way you clamp around his cock like a vice.
He sets a brutal pace, pounding into you with powerful strokes. The headboard slams against the wall with each thrust, the vulgar sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.
“Look so pretty when you’re crying” He pants as the overstimulated tears fall down your cheeks, enjoying the dazed look in your eyes.
He grips your hips bruisingly tight, his fingers digging into your soft curves as he pulls you down on his cock over and over. He leans down to capture one of your nipples between his teeth, biting and sucking at the sensitive bud, thoroughly enjoying the way you keen loudly and scratch at his shoulders. His other hand snakes up to wrap around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp.
“That’s my good girl, so willing to be fucked raw” He pistons his hips faster, the bed creaking beneath you as he fucks you into the mattress. His balls slap against your ass with each powerful thrust, stretching you wide with each hit to your cervix.
With a guttural moan, he pushes himself inside you all the way to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he fills you with his hot seed. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place as he empties himself deep inside your womb.
“Jesus fucking Christ” He pants heavily, collapsing on top of you, he thrusts shallowly as you cum again, falling apart underneath him messily. He buries his face in your shoulder, kissing your neck gently as he keeps his weight on you. Sure he’s crushing you but he’s so big and warm and you’re so delirious you don’t give a fuck.
“You did so good” Reacher shifts slightly, mindful of his softening cock still buried inside you. He rolls you both over so you’re sprawled on top of him, your head resting on his chest. His large hands splay across your back, one dipping lower to cup your ass possessively.
“You okay?” he murmurs, his fingers tracing little patterns on your skin and you nod slowly, curling into him more. He nuzzles into your hair, breathing in your scent, and smiles
“You gonna say anything? Miss hearin’ that cute little voice of yours”
You look at him, your chin resting on his chest and he smirks
“I don’t think I’m gonna be able to walk for a week”
He squeezes your ass in his hands, jiggling it a little “Mmmhm that was the goal I had in mind… make sure you can’t run from me”
Your mouth drops and you swat at his chest as he snickers and pulls the blankets over you two.
“You know what this means right?”
“Nuh huh” You shake your head and he grins absolutely wickedly, sending a nervous shiver down your spine.
“It’s my turn to tie you up next time”
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The Modern Elegance of Foil Print and Digital Print Velvet Fabrics at Sanchi Velvets
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AR635 260gsm Ice Velvet With Embossing Upholstery Fabric
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Moon Crazed *Mature*
Summary: Henry seems especially crazed on his birthday, and you don't understand why, until you check the calendar again.
Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader
Word Count: 2.9k
Warning: M - Fluff, Angst, Banter, Pet Names, Language, Gray Hair Appreciation, Cuddles, Supportive Spouse SMUT - Birthday Sex, Oral (F receiving), Fingering (F Receiving), Unprotected Sex (Wrap it!), Possible Voyeurism, Sneak Attacks, Doggy Style, Hickeys, Dirty Talk, Rough Sex, Super light Anal, Rutting, Hinted Breeding Kink, Light Spanking, Body Fluids, Biting
Inspiration: Henry's 40th Birthday being on a literal Full Moon!
Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy this! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!
If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLISTand turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy! @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY
You hummed softly, standing at the refrigerator as you filled your water bottle with ice from the dispenser. Unaware of the predator stalking up behind you. Until strong hands grabbed a hold of your hips, causing you to let out a startled scream and drop your bottle, the ice chips rattling in the black plastic as it struck the hardwood floor.
“Henry!” You yelped as he spun you around to face him, but smiled, nonetheless. “What are-” You started, but he captured your lips in a hungry, heated kiss, that had you breathless before you could finish your question.
There were black spots in your eyes, when the kiss finally broke and you were dizzy, only vaguely aware of a coolness from your waist down, then Henry's hands were back on your hips and he was lifting you onto the island in the middle of the kitchen. You hissed, feeling the cold butcher block on your bare skin, Henry having stripped you of your pants and underwear.
“Whoa, Cavill!” You huffed, pressing your knees together and planting your palms to his collarbone. “The fuck has you so crazed?” You asked, seeing how bright, clear and wild his blue eyes were, his pupils blown out from his mounting arousal.
“This.” He purred, his voice rumbling, as his fingers swiped at your exposed folds.
“Oh, holy Jesus!” You gasped, off guard, wiggling on the counter. “Right, Okay.” You panted, softly. “Birthday boy is in a mood.”
“Birthday boy is hungry.” He growled, dropping to his knees and yanking you to the edge of the island, your legs draped over his broad shoulders, while his mouth showed no mercy at attacking your womanhood.
Your hands flew to his head, fingers tangling in his curls. “What is it? A full moon!” You cried out, eyes crossing and rolling back, feeling Henry's tongue swirl against your swelling clit. “Hen-Ry.” You moaned, hands slipping from his hair as you fell back across the counter, the muscles of your thighs twitching under his onslaught.
“Such nice red velvet.” He cooed, his breath hot against your wet folds, as he licked your icing off his lips.
“You're crazy.” You wheezed back, your head lulling side to side, while you gazed up at the vaulted ceiling.
Smirking, Henry pressed his lips to your humming pearl, drawing a breathy moan from deep in your throat, with the gentle suckles that only grew with intensity. His tongue flicking out to tease, torture and collect your sweet nectar, but never yet permitting the mounting rapture that balanced on a knife's edge. You tried rolling your hips against his mouth, antsy to feel that sweet relief at the mercy of his skilled mouth. But Henry's hands gripped them, pinning you to the counter with a near bruising strength.
“It's my birthday.” Henry huffed between your thighs, glaring up the length of your heaving body, feeling the throb of his clothed girth at the sight of the mounds of your breasts, nipples hard through the fabric of your shirt. “Behave.” He growled, slipping a hand into your shirt to pinch and tease one of your peaks, while his mouth left a dark purple mark on the inside of your trembling thigh.
You shivered at the contact, whimpering, but laid as still as you could. Henry chuckled, loving the madness he was driving you into. He laid an open mouth kiss to your pearl and took a deep breath, filling his senses with your heady scent, that only seemed to drag him deeper into his own psychosis. You hiccuped at the feel of his teeth nipping at your dripping petals, lifting your head and letting out a shocked huff at Henry, whose eyes only regarded you mischievously, not willing to stop and lift his head.
His tongue finally split you open, licking and snaking down your tunnel, chuckling at the hums and pants you were making at the attention. He removed his hand from your hip, his thumb easily finding your clit and applied just the right amount of pressure as his tongue found your spot.
Starting to hiccup, with surprise at the rushing of the orgasm that hit you, your back curving off the counter, before it caught in your throat, face twisting in ecstasy. “Henry!” You cried out, breaking through the surprise, “Oh god, Hen!” You mewled, falling limp as it wore off.
Henry stood up, a heavenly and satisfied look on his face. “Mmm.” He moaned, smirking at you. “You taste so damn good, baby girl.” He chuckled, wiping at the droplets on his lips and chin, before tugging down his sweatpants.
“Shit!” You cried out, nails clawing at the butcher block underneath you as Henry eased his weeping cock into you. “Warn a girl!” You barked, hooking your shaking legs around his thighs.
“That was your warning, babe.” Henry laughed, gripping one of your hips and planting his other hand on the counter, as leverage.
You looked up at Henry and saw a familiar glint in his blue eyes, but it seemed a bit more than usual. “Christ alive.” You sighed, gripping the wrist he had at your hip.
“You're all strapped in, honey?” He chuckled, rubbing your hip with his thumb.
“I know you, Cavill!” You answered, clenching around him.
Moaning, Henry bit his bottom lip and pushed his hips forward into you with as much strength as he could, rocking you further up the counter. With his pace set, Henry didn't relent, not even when your nails broke the skin of his wrist.
“Filling you up never gets old, babe.” Henry panted, recovering from his climax. “Unlike somethings.”
“The hell does that mean?” You wheezed, gulping thickly.
“Nothing.” He sighed, pulling you up and kissing you sweetly on the lips. “Just rambling. Come take a shower with me?” He asked, smiling at you.
“Of course.” You nodded, sliding off the island and following upstairs to the master bathroom.
Later that afternoon, you stood in the laundry room tossing things from a hamper into the washing machine, when you looked up and saw Henry's reflection in the window that was behind the machine.
“Hey there, handsome.” You cooed at him, leaning into the hamper to grab the last handful of dirty clothes. “Did you have a good workout?” You asked, tossing them in and closing the lid.
“Mmhm.” He replied, resting his shoulder against the door frame to watch you.
“Good.” You smiled, pushing up on your toes to reach the controls and started the machine, just as Henry pushed off the door towards you, trapping you against the vibrating appliance. “What—Oh, this again?” You purred, feeling his hand slip around you and into the band of your leggings and panties. “You are in a randy mood today, Puppy.” You said, in a sultry voice.
“Just today?” He husked back, gently rubbing your still, slightly, sore delicates.
You chuckled softly, unsure how to answer that or if it was rhetorical. “You always make me feel good, Henry.” You moaned, letting your head fall back against his shoulder. “Above other things.” You smirked, kissing the underside of his jaw.
“Mmm.” Henry moaned back at you, working his fingers a little more vigorously against your privates. “What other things?” He asked, pushing your shirt up and cupping one of your breasts in his paw.
“I think you're currently do-doing a goo-good job.” You gulped, pressing your back harder against his chiseled chest.
“Oh yeah?” He smirked, pressing his lips to the top of your head, as a finger crooked into your entrance, teasing. “You like when I finger you?”
“Like is an inadequate word.” You whimpered, toes curling against the tiles of the laundry room floor. “Love it. Get off on the mere thought of. Have a yearning for most hours of the day.” You confessed, bracing a hand on the edge of the washer to help keep yourself up.
Henry smiled into your hair and allowed you to give in, feeling your wet warmth wash over his hand. “I love pleasuring you, more than almost everything else.” He cooed, turning you around to cup your face in his sticky hand, kissing you deeply.
“More laundry.” You giggled, after breaking the kiss, taking off your leggings and soiled panties, opening the washer machine to toss them in, yelping as Henry's hand connected to your bum.
“If I had it my way, you'd only be naked at home.” He grinned, biting the corner of his lip at the mere thought of getting to see your naked body at all hours in the privacy of your home.
“Oh, of that I am sure, my love.” You snorted, nodding your head. “And the feeling is mutual.” You added, tugging on the front of his shirt.
“I can fix that.” Henry laughed, blue eyes glittering.
Laying on your bed, arms folded beneath you, exhausted from the events of the day, you were again unaware of Henry coming for you, until you heard the floor creak.
“Christ alive!” You spooked, looking at him, before busting out into a smile, finding he was stark naked. “What has gotten into you, Henry?” You asked, rolling onto your back to look at him. “Twice already today we've had shenanigans throughout the house.” You said, running your eyes along his godly body. “Not counting our regular morning meeting.”
“Is it so hard to believe I can't get enough of you.” Henry asked, cocking a brow in your direction.
“No, not in the slightest, husband.” You purred at him, feeling his waves of need coming off of him, even from the gap between you. “It's just strange. You haven't been this needy in quite a while.”
“I've been on a mission to correct that.” He confessed, closing that gap. “Get undressed.” He ordered you, standing at the edge of the bed.
Smirking at him, you pulled your shirt off over your head, breasts bouncing as you did, much to Henry's delight and increased arousal. But when it came to your shorts, thumbs hooking in the waistband of them and your panties, you pushed them down painfully slow, your eyes dead on Henry's. You watched his throat bob and his fingers flex, as he pulled out every ounce of willpower not to launch forwards and rip the article of clothing off of you, himself.
His willpower finally broke and he snatched your pants off the rest of the way, tossing them carelessly aside, then climbing into bed with you, rolling you back onto your belly.
“Oh, we're just being a ball of fun today!” You giggled, as he used his knees to push your legs apart, one thick arm wrapping around your waist and hoisted your hips and bum up, while rutting his hard cock against the valley of your cheeks, grunting in your ear.
“I'll show you fun.” He growled, biting the side of your neck, while grasping himself at the base.
You let out a breath, feeling his tip run down between your cheeks, making the space slick with glossy droplets. He paused to tease your special hole, causing you to gasp and clench in surprise, a rumble of a chuckle bubbling out of Henry as he carried on, rubbing your pleasantly weeping entrance.
“Do you like it when I play with you?” He rasped, pressing his forehead against your temple, his eyes dark, like a storm over an ocean. “When I fill you up.”
“Hm.” You hummed, pushing back against him, eager and impatient to feel him fill you again. “I love it.” You whispered, breathily. “It makes me feel good, Henry.”
Smirking, Henry slowly eased himself inside of you, wanting to feel every little bit as he did. A shiver ran down both your backs as the last inch of his manhood came to rest in your sensitive canal, flexing and molding around him. With quick snaps of his hips, Henry drove himself into you without giving away any ground.
You moaned, hands twisting up in the duvet beneath you as Henry rocked harder into you. Arching your back more, adjusting him and causing you to let out a sweet, almost deafening, cry. Henry grasped the underside of your jaw, pulling your head back to rest on his shoulder and closing his mouth against your throat, timing his sucks and bites with his thrusts.
Leaving behind yet another mark of his passion for you.
“Henry, please.” You moaned, brows creasing. “Touch me.” You gulped, licking your lips.
He moaned against your neck, removing his hand from your face to slip it beneath you, finding your swollen bud, drenched in your combined fluids. Henry was torturous at rubbing clit, but did nothing to rush the pace of his hips. You whined, kicking your feet a little bit and shifting your knees to try and get more leverage, but Henry used his own body to keep you in place.
“You devil.” You sighed at him, yanking your neck away from his mouth.
“Mmhm.” Henry hummed back, not missing a beat, but smirked at you devilishly, before pulling away from you, standing up on his knees to watch himself slide in and out of you. “What a beautiful sight this is.” He purred, rubbing his palm up and down your glistening back, squeezing your neck for a moment.
“Pity you can't see it yourself.”
“Feels amazing as is, big boy.” You answered, propping yourself up on your elbows.
Henry popped you on the ass, applying more pressure to your clit and increased his thrusts, rocking the headboard against the wall. You gripped the duvet for leverage and rocked in tune with him, feeling the hot build of your climax, soft whimpers leaving your parted lips and tears blurring your vision as it finally boiled over, surging around Henry's shaft, the hot pulse intensifying as his own orgasm mounted.
“Henry!” You cried, the sensation of him pumping searing ribbons of his seed into you just as maddening compared to your own.
Pulling out of you, Henry dropped to his side beside you, flushed, sweaty and panting. You rolled onto your side, unfazed by the massive wet spot on the blanket the two of you made, and looked at your husband, smirking. Reaching out for him and gently brushing the damp curls off his forehead, your eyes softening at the sight of the grays you saw in them. Especially at his temple. They drew a smile across your lips.
“What are you smiling about?” Henry asked lazily, cracking an eye at you.
You giggled at him, wiggling in closer. “Just noticing all the new grays you have.” You cooed, resting your head on his bicep and twisting the graying curl around the tip of your index finger, fondly, only to have Henry turn his head out of your grasp.
“Old man.” He huffed, a frustrated crease between his brows.
“Hardly!” You laughed, amused, pressing a kiss on his sternum. “Just because you turned forty today, doesn't make you an old man, Cavill.”
“I damn well feel like one.” Henry growled, fixing his blue eyes on you. “Never this winded after making love to you.”
You sucked your bottom lip in, biting down on it, as you regarded him with understanding and loving eyes. “Is this what everything's been about today?” You finally asked, cupping his bearded cheek. “You sneak attacking me everywhere in the house.” You smirked, your body tingling at just recalling them, but your smile faded seeing the look in his eyes and face.
“Do you think you can't--” You struggled for a moment, a lump in your throat.
“Satisfy you.” He finished for you. “Yes. I've been worried that hitting forty meant that I would lose the ability to keep satisfying you. Seeing the gray hairs in the morning, when I get up to shower, has only increased that anxiety.” He confessed, looking away from you.
“Henry.” You mewled, heartbroken at your husband's words. “You have never lacked there, or anywhere. Today is a fine example of that.” You tried to get him to understand. “We were intimate four times throughout the day, on top of the festivities for your birthday. You have nothing to be concerned about.”
Henry looked back up at you, a look of relief in his cerulean orbs. “You don't think I look silly with them?”
You huffed and clicked your tongue at him, rolling your eyes. “Henry Cavill, I've known and seen you with a great many looks over the last eight years, because of your occupation, and I've never known you to look silly.” You told him, honestly. “Even when you thought you would with the Kingstache.” You giggled, grinning at that memory.
“Lord, that was an identity crisis.” He huffed, shaking his head.
“But,” You looked him squarely in the eyes. “You with gray hair is rather dashing, in my opinion, and I can't wait to see a few more.”
“Oh, that's how it is!” He said, wrapping his arms around you and rolling onto his back, so you straddled his waist. “You like being married to this gray fox!” He laughed, pawing at your butt.
“What is this! A full moon!” You whooped, wiggling out of his grasp to grab your phone and pulled up what phase it was. “Sure as hell!” You laughed, looking over at him. “Your birthday is a full moon!” You smirked, setting your phone back on the nightstand and crawled back into bed with him.
“So, my gray fox is Moon Crazed!”
“Crazed by something.” Henry purred, pulling you in for a kiss.
#Henry Cavill#Moon Crazed#Moon Crazed *Fic*#Viking-Raider Fics#HenryCavill#henry cavill x you#henry cavill x plus size reader#henry cavill x y/n#henry cavill x smut#henry cavill x female reader#henry cavill x black reader#Henry Cavill x Reader#Fluff#Happy Birthday Henry Cavill#Henry Cavill/You#Henry Cavill/Reader
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Day 16 of 25 Days of Christmas: Night at the Ballet
Pairing: Toto Wolff x Reader
Rating: PG
Words: 983
It was a chilly evening in late autumn when Toto and I stepped out of our apartment, the air crisp and brimming with the faint scent of falling leaves. The city had wrapped itself in a tapestry of soft lights that twinkled like stars against the inky blue sky. Your footsteps echoed in the quiet streets, and the touch of Toto's hand in mine brought a comforting warmth. Tonight was special as we were headed to the ballet, specifically "Les Patineurs," a performance that promised to whisk us away into a world of grace and elegance.
As you walked hand in hand, you could feel Toto's warmth beside me, his excitement palpable. He had always loved the arts, and tonight, you could see a spark in his eyes that told me how much he relished sharing this experience with me. "I can't wait to see the skaters," he said with a broad grin. "They always make it look so effortless."
You chuckled, nudging him playfully. Should I try out for the next performance? You could be my biggest fan!" You could already picture him sitting in the front row, cheering for me as you clumsily tried to execute a pirouette. He'd be the first to laugh, not out of mockery but from sheer pride and love.
The theatre loomed ahead, a grand structure illuminated by golden lights. You felt a flutter of anticipation in your stomach as you approached the entrance. Toto glanced back at you, his eyes sparkling with delight. "Ready for a magical night?" he asked, pulling you close for a quick hug before you two entered, the thrill of the performance ahead palpable in the air.
As you entered the foyer, the atmosphere enveloped us like a warm embrace. People milled about, dressed in their finest attire, laughter, and chatter filling the air. You could see families, couples, and friends all buzzing with excitement. You went to the bar for a quick drink before finding our seats. You sipped on a glass of bubbly, letting the effervescence tickle my senses, while Toto opted for something a bit stronger—his usual whiskey on the rocks.
"To a night filled with enchantment," he toasted, raising his glass to yours. You clinked gently, already lost in the anticipation of the performance ahead.
After a few moments, we settled into our seats, the plush velvet fabric comforting beneath us. The stage was stunning, adorned with simple yet elegant backdrops that hinted at the winter season. Soft music floated through the air as the audience buzzed with collective excitement. You could see children clutching their parents' hands, wide-eyed and eager.
The lights dimmed, and a hush fell over the crowd. The orchestra began to play, filling the theatre with a beautiful melody that swirled around us like a gentle snowstorm. You leaned into Toto, who was already enraptured, his gaze fixed on the stage.
As the dancers began to glide into view, you felt your heart skip a beat. They moved like whispers on ice, their movements fluid and enchanting. The choreography was captivating, a mix of elegance and exhilarating energy that took my breath away. You couldn't help but steal glances at Toto, who was utterly absorbed, a smile playing on his lips.
"It's like watching poetry in motion," he whispered to you during a slow part of the performance. You nodded in agreement, trying to capture the beauty of the moment.
As the ballet unfolds, we lose ourselves in the artistry, the skaters blending seamlessly with the music. The narrative tells a story of love and longing, winter's chill, and the warmth of companionship. The skaters' movements are like poetry in motion, each step a delicate brushstroke on the canvas of the stage. And there we are, Toto and me, ensconced in our own little world, feeling the story resonate deeply within us.
Each act brought forth a new wave of emotion. You found yourself laughing at the playful choreography and wiping away a tear during the more poignant moments. Toto reached for your hand, squeezing it gently whenever he sensed you felt particularly moved. It was as if he could read your thoughts, understanding the beauty of the experience you two were sharing, creating a deep connection between you.
The finale was breathtaking, a whirlwind of movement and color that left the audience spellbound. The skaters took their bows, and the crowd erupted into cheers. You turned to Toto, your heart full, and saw him beaming joyfully. "Wasn't that incredible?" he exclaimed, clearly thrilled, the beauty of the performance still lingering in the air.
"Absolutely," You replied, unable to contain my smile. "Thank you for bringing me here, Toto. This was perfect." Toto's eyes sparkled with joy, and I could see the happiness in his smile. "I'm so glad you enjoyed it," he said, his voice filled with warmth.
As the audience began to exit, you both lingered for a moment, allowing the magic of the night to settle over you. The theatre lights cast a soft glow around you, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for evenings like this—where art and love intertwined, where every moment seemed to shimmer with possibility.
The cool air refreshed against your flushed cheeks as you stepped back outside. "Want to grab a late-night bite?" Toto asked, his eyes still alight with enthusiasm.
"Definitely! I'm starving," you replied with a laugh. Then you made your way down the street, hand in hand, the sounds of the city enveloping you again.
That night, under the stars and the gentle hum of the city, you realized that every moment you spent together—whether in a grand theatre or a cozy diner—was a cherished piece of your love story. And with Toto by your side, every experience felt like a dance, weaving you closer together uniquely in your world.
#f1#formula 1#f1 fandom#formula one#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 x y/n#f1 scenario#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#toto wolff x reader#toto wolff fanfic#toto wolff imagine#toto wolff x y/n
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romance — leon kennedy
author’s note: i am sick this is actually a really cute fic. although i might be a lil mentally ill. this fic is for @ovaryacted so i hope u like it nic :3 feeling re6 leon vibes hehe !!
wc: 4.7k
content: detective leon x psycho reader, fem!reader (reader wears a dress and is referred to femininely), no d/s dynamics but reader is slightly more in control, lots of pet names (sweet girl, pretty girl, princess, my girl, sweetheart, sweetie, pretty wife), talks of marriage, unprotected sex, blood as lube. reader is like actually insane but leon loves her.
warning: this fic is dark content, containing moderate amounts of blood and gore depictions, along with discussions of murder, torture, bodies, weapons, etc. please read with caution and take care of yourself.
—
notes:
"i'd love to see you in a beautiful dress," he says softly.
“i would look pretty just for you.”
leon chuckles and squeezes your hand again, it's funny how he can go from fearing you to becoming utterly enamored with you in a matter of moments.
"i have no doubts about that, sweetheart," he replies, "now come here."
—
“what… have you done now, princess?” he stumbles, because when you said you look good in red, he clumsily thought you meant you were going to wear a red dress for him.
“the guy was asking for it, lee,” you tell him, taking a step closer to reach out to him, but he steps back, “are you… afraid of me?”
“kinda. i also just… i don’t want you to get blood on my work clothes,” his smile is always gentle towards you. there’s no reality where detective kennedy can get mad at you, though. he adores you too greatly.
your eyes drop from focusing on his soft, warm gaze, to trailing down his body. he really does make himself pretty for you. black blazer and black dress pants on top of a red wine button down, top two buttons left unbuttoned because obviously the s in leon s. kennedy stands for slut. or maybe selfless? sensitive? submissive? who knows?
either way, you have the eyes of a predator. he knows you know that, yet you make no attempt to ease his mind, to tell him, ‘oh, it’s alright baby. i would never hurt you’ because neither of you are sure if that’s true.
“blood on your clothes, huh..?” you murmur, almost distantly, like your mind was somewhere else.
“we, uh, have dinner reservations, baby. why don’t you get cleaned up and we can go? i don’t think… the restaurant would appreciate blood all over their chairs and tables,” he looks away, and then back to you. your eyes are hungry, but he tries to keep you focused, “baby, you got rid of the body, right?”
“well.. not necessarily… i wanted to dismember him myself,” you pout, like you were asking for something a lot less gruesome. like, ‘leon, could we please get ice cream after dinner?’ but instead you were asking something a little bit more on brand for you. he doesn’t even know why he’s surprised.
“just… okay, whatever. just c’mere and kiss me, sweetie,” he welcomes you into his arms again, refusing to even pay any mind to the viscous scarlet liquid that saturates his velvet suit, your hand staining his neck and you reach to rest it on the back of his neck. he stopped caring about the mess and wrapped his arms around your waist.
you kiss him feverishly, stained hands and tainted souls clashing together. leon was rotten before you met him, corrupted and dark. you feel a bit more comfortable with the fact that you have not ruined him. there was nothing good about him to ruin. he lies, fabricates and destroys evidence, forces confessions, truly a brutal guy.
and yet, for the pretty thing that clutches onto him, only feeling truly happy in his arms, he is comfort. he’s safety and goodness. he is everything that’s right in her world. your world.
you are awful. but so is leon. that is why he loves you so dearly. if people like you both are even capable of such emotions.
your dress is carmine and if leon didn’t know any better, he’d think you were a victim of a heinous crime, but he does know better. and he knows there is not a single scratch or bruise on you.
leon holds you close to him, hands wrapped around your waist, giving you his complete soul, enjoying the warmth of your embrace and the familiar feel of your lips pressed against his. he squeezes you tightly and runs his hands along your hips, his touch smooth and gentle.
leon is your complete opposite. your touch is forceful and aggressive, but leon is gentle. all your body knows is his softness. you are erratic and violent, but leon is composed.
as you continue kissing him, leon's breath becomes heavier and his heart beats faster. he pulls away for a moment, panting gently as an expression of pure joy and relief crosses his face. leon leans down again, this time capturing your chin between his fingers as he looks into your eyes, soaking in the sight of you.
“you… are beautiful,” his voice echoes, low and full of an adoration even leon can’t wrap his head around. scarlet covers your figure, and all he can see is utter beauty.
“you got anywhere to be, detective kennedy?” you smile as you address him professionally, but it’s only teasing. your hand is moving to help him shrug off his suit coat and he thinks he might be here a bit longer than he thought. you throw it onto the table.when your hand starts moving to help him take off his jacket, his eyebrow raises in interest, and his eyes follow the movement of your hand until it touches his shoulder and starts undoing the buttons.
"no, nowhere in particular," he says casually, watching his coat get thrown to the side. you’re careless. that is expensive velvet, and your red hands definitely just ruined it. it’s alright he muses, he’ll just replace it.
the coat, he clarifies to himself. he’ll replace the coat. not this memory with you.
"excellent," you tell him, crimson fingers tangling into his blonde hair, “i wasn’t going to let you leave anyway.”
"i figured as much," he chuckles playfully, enjoying the feeling of your fingers digging into his scalp, massaging the tension away. leon's body relaxes against yours, savoring the feel of you pressed against him. he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer.
"i've been working way too hard today," he sighs, and he sees the soft pout that comes to your face. it’s gotta be the cutest thing he’d ever seen, "don’t look at me like that, baby. i just didn't get much of a chance to relax. it’s my job, princess.” leon squeezes you tightly against him, the warmth from his body radiating against yours.
“how does your brain work for that long?” you shake your head, “i feel like i would start losing it with how long of days you work. you shouldn’t have to work so hard, lee.”
"i swear, i was staring at the same case file for like, ten hours straight," he sighs. "i can't look at those numbers and words anymore."
"i bet," you mumble, noticing the way the blood is drying up in his hair and on both of your clothes and skin, "you look like you're the murderer now," you chuckle, "i think i'm going to have to lock you up."
leon lets out a laugh, looking down at himself and noticing the dried blood caking up in his hair and on his suit, "i bet i do," he chuckles, "i look like i've just come from a crime scene."
leon looks up at you, his eyes shining mischievously. "then i guess you'll have to arrest me," he teases, "do you have the handcuffs ready?"
you laugh, mostly because you know he’s making shitty jokes, but also because you might enjoy restraining him a little too much, “oh yeah, except the jail cell is my bedroom.”
"well, you're the officer who has to bring me in," he says with a smirk, "i don't think i'll be resisting arrest too much."
“oh, shut up, dork. just kiss me,” you groan to him, pulling him in by the hips. his white button up dress shirt being stained by your red hands feels indicative of what you’ve done to leon. it’s not like he’s perfectly pristine, he’s been a corrupt cop for years, but… you have only made him worse.
it's as if he's addicted to the touch and affection of your hands, his body becoming hot with desire. he enjoys the way you press against him, your red hands staining his shirt and staining his soul. your fingers dig into his hips forcefully as you pull him in close to you, your tainted hands staining his clothes as you do so. you've definitely made him even more corrupt than he was before you came into the picture, and he's loving every second of it.
you pull away to whisper to him, in his ear, wet blood covering his skin and his clothes, "i love you."
now, he’s known for a long time that you love him, even if that love is twisted and tainted. as blood drips down the both of you, he wraps his arms around you more tightly, burying his face in your neck as he whispers into your ear.
"i love you too, princess,” he whispers back, not caring about the dried blood coating you both, "also, wait, where is your victim? did anyone see you? please tell me you were careful, baby."
"i destroyed his body parts already, don't worry. no one saw me."
"thank god.. or should i say thank you?" leon replies with a cheeky grin. to him, you are god. you are a religion. you are a deity who visits him in his dreams and treats him like her beloved human pet. he looks at you for a moment, his eyes trailing over your body, the dried blood of your previous victims making you look even more beautiful to him. god, you are so fucking pretty to him.
"though, i do need your help destroying evidence.." your fingers draw sweet little hearts onto his back once you throw his dress shirt off entirely, but he's certain your bloody hearts left literal, physical drawings on his skin. you are so fucking deranged and he adores you.
"i can help you with anything," he murmurs, leaning his head down to plant kiss after kiss on your neck, “that’s what i’m here for, baby.”
every trace of your blood-stained heart has been embedded and melded into his skin, like a stain that can never be washed out with bleach. he loves his psycho princess.
"but i don't want to think about that right now," you lean your head on his shoulder, "i just wanna be here with you.."
leon nods, enjoying the feeling of your head pressed onto him, the warmth from your body radiating gently, "i know, i know, baby," he says softly, "no worrying right now, just you and i."
after a moment of peace and calm, you perk your head up suddenly, a contemplative look on his face, "do you think... will i ever go to prison?"
leon chuckles, shaking his head as he continues stroking your hair, "no, you won't," he replies confidently, "not as long as i'm around, and i'm not going anywhere. i'll always keep you safe and make sure you're never caught."
leon feels the weight of your worries melt away from you. he enjoys being the one to calm you, tame you in a way. you are a monster, but with him, you’re his sweet girl with her.. mildly disturbing hobbies.
"you’ll be okay," he says gently, "i mean, if anyone does find evidence pointing to you, i'll get rid of it before it can even be used. i'm not going to let anyone come between us.”
“yeah?”
“you’re stuck with me forever, princess. i’ll make sure you never spend even one night in a jail cell. only the most comfortable living arrangements for my baby.”
you chuckle, pressing sweet kisses to his neck, “you’re the one that’s stuck with me. who knows? maybe my thirst for blood will include you some day.”
leon laughs, his body trembling slightly at your sweet kisses against his neck, he doesn't even want to think about the possibility of you deciding to kill him one day, but he also knows that it's not an impossibility. he swallows the lump in his throat and decides it's better to just push that thought away for now.
the worst part is… he knows you’d enjoy it. you’d watch the light slowly leave his eyes with glee. makes him nauseous.
"maybe," he says with a teasing tone, but it’s impossible to miss how his voice shakes, "but i'm more valuable to you alive, sweetheart."
“i know, i know.” you giggle, hands digging into the waistband of his fancy velvet slacks, “i just like playing with you. you get so nervous.. it’s cute.”
leon grins in return, but a hint of a nervous chuckle escapes his lips when he feels you start unbuttoning his pants.
he feels his heart rate start to pick up, both from anticipation and a little bit of anxiety, “you like playing with me huh…” he says in a lower, somewhat panting voice, “don’t play with your food, baby. do what you gotta do.”
you smirk, pushing him down onto his office chair, the same one you bought him a couple months ago when he was complaining about his old one. you sit yourself down on his lap, hands resting around the back of his neck, caressing him so sweetly. god, if leon closed his eyes, he could pretend this was normal and you were normal and you were both just two young lovers that adored each other.
his hands grasp your waist and keep you close, as he's afraid you'll leave him. you can't leave him now. not after all he's done for you, to protect you, to save you from yourself. he's ruined himself for you, he's destroyed evidence and burned bodies and lied and lied and lied for you. you can't leave him now.
his psychopath. his monster. his sweet lover. him. you belong to him.
he doesn't understand why you're so gentle with him, but you are and he's grateful, so he doesn't push the subject. when your hands pull at the waistband of his boxers, his eyes become soft and glassy and he rests his head back against the chair. you may do what you please with him at this point.
leon lets out a contented sigh as he relaxes back into the chair, his head leaning against the backrest as he gazes up at you. you are… breathtaking. a beautiful dove covered in her victim’s crimson blood.
your touch is soft and delicate, much different from the usual roughness that you've had with your previous victims. yet he can't complain that you're choosing to be so gentle with him, letting him keep this illusion of you being a normal person, just for a moment.
"can i have you, lee? right here, right now?"
it's almost amusing how normal that question sounds to him. after all this time, after everything he's done for you, after all the murders he's covered up for you, the bodies he's burned and the evidence he's destroyed... it almost makes him chuckle to hear that sentence. it’s remarkable, honestly. you’re vicious and violent and cruel… and you’re asking for consent? how adorable.
"of course," he says softly, his tone slightly pleading and desperate, "please. take me, baby... i'm yours."
you smile sweetly, though the sweetness is undercut by the blood on your face. he would almost assume you're possessed by something demonic if he didn't already know you were evil to begin with, "you make me so happy, baby." you muse gently, "you keep me safe, protect me when i mess up... i'm gonna be your perfect little wife someday."
leon chuckles softly at your words, but there's a part of him that's a little bit terrified. in his mind, he knows that this isn't the beginning of some fairytale romance, and that your intentions aren't quite pure, but he chooses to ignore those thoughts. he's already fallen down such a dark path because of your influence, so what's stopping him from falling a little bit deeper and going all the way down into this fucking madness with you?
"i'll protect you from everything," he replies, his fingers gripping tightly around yours, "nothing will ever hurt you again, my sweet wife. i’ll keep you safe and happy, always.”
"we should get married in a big, beautiful chapel. i don't need a lot of people there, i just want to be there with you."
leon grins, "you'd be happy with just a small wedding?" he asks with a hint of surprise in his voice, "i thought you'd want something big and extravagant to show off to everyone."
“all i need is a pretty dress and you,” you whisper to him.
leon chuckles, brushing your hair out of your face with his hand, his fingers slightly trembling. a part of him can't help but wonder how this would all end: would it actually end happily? with you two walking down the aisle to an altar, exchanging vows? or would it end up with his body buried deep in the woods?
he forces himself to ignore those thoughts, for now he should stay focused on the moment. you look at him so sweetly, so earnestly, so he decides to trust your intentions with him for now.
"i'd love to see you in a beautiful dress," he says softly.
“i would look pretty just for you.”
leon chuckles and squeezes your hand again, it's funny how he can go from fearing you to becoming utterly enamored with you in a matter of moments.
"i have no doubts about that, sweetheart," he replies, "now come here."
you smile as you lean in to kiss him again, hands finally resuming their movements to get into his underwear.
leon lets out a soft groan, his muscles tensing as he feels your hands slip through the fabric of his underwear, pulling out his cock for you to play with, or so he assumes you’ll do. you play with it like it’s a toy, something you can just have fun messing with while he sleeps or before you fuck him. he uses the verbage of ‘you fucking him’ because this is in no way him fucking you… even if it’s his dick. at some point that dick attached to his pelvis became yours..
he wraps his arms tightly around your waist as you begin to caress him. he's just so vulnerable to you, he's yours in every aspect of the word, physically and emotionally. yours, yours, yours.
"i'll be gentle, i promise. i'm just gonna stroke your cock, nice and slow.." you murmur. your touch is warm but teasing, and when you notice the tension in his body, you can't help but giggle, "i can't go too quickly just yet.. can't make you feel too much too soon."
leon chuckles softly, a part of him enjoying this teasing routine. he knows that eventually you'll give him what he wants, so he doesn’t mind waiting. whatever his girl wants, she gets.
"i know" he says panting slightly, "just take your time, princess..."
it's just so hard not to adore him, so malleable and soft, you could mold him into anything you want.
leon's eyes are starting to get hazy, his breath hitching in his throat and his body trembling. your touch is so delicate yet so powerful, it's making his entire body quiver. he’s not even on the edge but he feels like he is. both of your hands jerk him off so slow and sensual, and he knows the only reason they’re moving so smoothing is because your hands still have wet blood on them… which means you’re practically using that guy’s blood as lube and… this is so fucked up. you are so fucked up. you are awful and he can’t wait to make you his wife.
leon’s not necessarily the most submissive man alive, but he does listen well and you always get what you want, so take that as you will. he's always been so easy to mold into whatever you want him to be. he's followed along like a loyal dog, doing everything you ask of him. he's done such despicable things in your name, knowing that at the end of the day, you'll love him enough to keep him by your side.
he feels your thumb massaging his tip and he suppresses a nervous whimper, eyes fluttering closed as he takes in the feeling of your touch. you’re too much of a tease, but leon is patient.
“promise that you’ll always stay with me, lee. promise that you’ll never leave,” you whisper. he doesn’t know why you expect such a deep answer from him when his brain is becoming more and more mushy by the second.
“i promise," he whispers back, still panting slightly from pleasure. “i'm never going to leave you. i'll stay by your side for as long as we're alive. i'll never stop protecting you, loving you"
“i will sink my claws into you and never let you leave,” you growl.
he leans his head back against the chair again, a smile creeping on his lips as he lets out a shuddering breath. "i'm all yours, princess, and i have no desire to be anyone else's."
just as he starts to get close to the edge, riding the fine line of pleasure, you pull your hands away from him. you feel bad for denying him, but you're only doing it so you both can finish together. leon lets out a soft shiver as you tug your hands away, your teasing just making him more and more desperate.
he lets out a tense, groaning sigh as you pull your hands away, a small whimper escaping his lips as you did so. he's so close, but you're not quite ready to let him cum yet.
leon tries his best not to show his disappointment, the build up has been intense and it's frustrating to feel himself denied, but he knows you love it. you love making him desperate, making him beg.
he concedes: this is what you like, so it’s what he likes.
but his disappointment is quickly brushed away as you get up off of him to take off your beautiful bloody dress, and your undergarments too. for all of the blood on your face, neck, chest, and arms, the rest of you is mostly untouched, and he finds the difference rather amusing. your stomach and thighs look so soft and innocent.
he gazes at you lustfully as you remove your clothes, his breath catching in his throat as he stares at your naked body. he can’t think, can’t breathe, his eyes going everywhere they’re not supposed to. he can only try so hard to be a gentleman.
"you.. are going to make me your wife," you say, voice carrying an air of certainty. you are not suggesting. you are telling him what's going to happen, and he will obviously obey, “you’ll buy me a pretty ring. nothing expensive, don’t waste your money on something stupid like a diamond. and you’ll take me on a beautiful honeymoon, and we’ll spend every moment of those days together just fucking like rabbits. understood?”
marriage was never something he considered until you called yourself his ‘pretty little wife’ to be honest, but with the way you're demanding it now... it's something he'd easily give in to, "okay" he finally manages to whisper back, "anything for my beautiful wife."
you smile gently, settling back onto his lap, pussy aching for the cock in front of you, so desperate to fill you up, “you ready, baby?” you ask.
leon nods, his eyes fluttering briefly at your words, “yeah, i'm ready," he mumbles, his breath already short and his heart beating so hard he's surprised that you can't hear it.
you slide him inside, giving yourself a moment to adjust. leon can't help but find the slight discomfort in your face cute.
you moan gently, resting your hands on his shoulders, "o-oh, ah..."
he can hear every soft sound and breath that escapes your lips as you begin to move, and he can't help but let out a soft groan as well. his hands grip tightly around you, tightening every time you moan or gasp.
leon holds onto you for dear life, he knows he's already so close to finishing, he could really blow any second, but the longer this goes, the longer this moment lasts, the more intense it gets. you’re going to kill him one of these days.
"l-lee.." you gasp, hips rocking back and forth, almost circular motions.
"oh god.. baby..." he lets out a tense moan as you ride him, movements gentle but somehow still so overwhelming. his fingertips dig into your shoulders as he tries to keep himself restrained, but he's at the very edge of his control.
every movement sends a jolt through his body, his muscles flexing and releasing with everything he's got to keep himself from finishing before you.
“leon…” you groan again, and he never really realizes the effect he has on you until your body is trembling as you ride his cock. your voice isn’t quite begging, but he almost hears it like that. it sounds like a love confession wrapped up in his name. he doesn’t see it until all of your defenses are down, but you love him so helplessly that it must be scary.
god, he wants to hold you in his arms forever and never let you go. protect his serial killer for the rest of her days.
he lets out another tense, breathy moan as you start to move even faster, you're pushing him to the limit. every sensation that he feels is so intense, he can hardly handle it, it takes every ounce of self-discipline in his body to keep himself from finishing early, but that’s what you get for edging him right before. you put him at a huge disadvantage.
“wait for me..” you whisper, “wanna cum with you..”
he nods his head, his eyes squeezed shut as a trembling breath escapes from his lips. he's trying his hardest to wait for you to finish, the urges and sensations within him are overwhelming and he feels as though he might explode at any moment.
and he does unfortunately, just a moment early, but it kick-starts your orgasm so for the most part, you’re both gasping and moaning and breathing fast and shaky and helpless together, hands grasping at any skin they can reach as you’re pulled ever closer to him. he sticks his head into the crook of your neck as your pretty pussy squeezes around him. he feels breathless and helpless, holding you like he’d die without you. he feels your heavy breath and your hands tightly gripping him, you must be completely gone, orgasm hitting you in waves that squeeze every drop of cum out of him.
you’re his, he realizes. completely, utterly his. you need him. you can’t go on without leon and there is nothing more pleasing than being your lifeline. your face makes that cute little pout, dried bloody fingers making his shoulders red, but this time it might just be his blood. your nails are digging into him, but he can’t blame you. you’re too lost in pleasure to realize what you’re doing.
once you both start to slow and calm down, breathing returning to a more normal pace, you lean down to rest your head on his chest.
after a moment, you ask him, “are you really gonna marry me?”
“mhm,” he hums, fingers brushing against your head, licking his thumb to try and rub off the dried blood on your forehead, “i'll get you a ring and get down on one knee and everything.”
“what will our wedding be like?”
“whatever you want, princess,” he closes his eyes, “i don't have a single care in the world about what flowers you pick or if you want to invite people or if you just want it to be us two and an officiant in the empty wedding chapel. i just want to call you my wife. my sweet, pretty wife. my girl. my only love.”
you giggle, nuzzling closer into his chest, “detective kennedy. my husband,” you grin cutely, “my leon. mine.”
burgundy drips from his fingertips as he brushes them against your cheek, “yours.”
#leon kennedy#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x you#leon s. kennedy#leon kennedy smut#resident evil#leon kennedy resident evil#resident evil smut#sub!leon#moon.dc#moon.g#resident evil x reader#resident evil leon#resident evil imagines
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part three of the distraction series. (part one) (part two)
overlord!husk x fem!reader. following a disappointing game, your overlord needs help to take his mind off of it. you, of course, are more than willing to oblige him. after all, how could a pet possibly refuse her master? 1.4k
featuring: oral sex (husk receiving), dom/sub relationship, smoking, drinking, pet names like 'daddy' and 'good girl'. reader is afab and fem presenting.
The last of the players clear out well into the early hours of the morning, loud voices and raucous cheers for more booze, more women, lingering in the room for a few moments after the door had closed behind them like so much ether. Your Overlord remains seated, sunk deep into the plush of his chair, the custom curves of it cradling his wings comfortably. The smoke of his cigar is exhaled in a long, slow plume towards the ceiling as he tilts his head back, eyes closed. You tuck your hands together in front of yourself, teeth catching the inside of your bottom lip.
It wasn’t often that the Gambling Overlord lost. And true, this wasn’t a real loss; he’d still come out on top. But he hadn’t gotten what he wanted out of the night, and it had soured his mood.
The Overlord knocks back the rest of his drink, the two claws he holds his cigar between tapping against the arm of his chair. They catch slightly in the fabric, and you make note to have the housekeepers take care of it. The half-gone ice cube rattles against the glass as he lowers it again, and you reach immediately for the Wrath Ring Whiskey he’s been favouring the last few nights. You have it uncapped and have crossed the floor to his side before he can turn his attention pointedly towards you.
Husk’s eyes flick up to your face as you pour his drink, the hint of a soft smirk flickering over his features for a second at your attention. He lets his gaze linger, trailing it lower to follow the line of your sternum, the swell of your breasts. You’re wearing a dress tonight – managing to somehow manage to still look professional and demure, and downright sinful without your usual buttoned blouse and skirt. The top of it hugs your chest in a way that makes his pupils dilate, and that smirk reappears at the ever-presence of those fucking whorish stockings you wear.
“Doll.”
You straighten, holding the bottle against your stomach. Husk brings his cigar back to his mouth, holding your gaze as he inhales slow, exhales. The scent of it teases at your senses, floods them, as the smoke curls around you, and while you always hated the scent of cigarettes while you were alive, now the smell of it sets excitement tightening in your belly.
Your lips part, but you can’t find anything to say.
“On your knees for me.”
The husky cadence of your master’s voice makes you shudder, and you set the bottle on the table, the heavy glass making a dull thunk against the velveted surface. You take the skirt of your dress in your hands, fingers curling in the fabric to lift it a few inches so it won’t catch under your knees as you kneel in front of him.
And fuck every damn ring in hell if it ain’t somehow one of the most erotic things Husk has ever seen.
Husk reaches down to catch your chin between two fingers, tilting your face up to him, more gently than the brusque way he’d intended. Your lips part at the touch, the tip of your tongue darting out to wet them. He feels himself harden at the sight of it, and he brings his glass down to you, smirking as your lips part further in immediate, silent obedience. He tilts it carefully, pouring a mouthful down over your tongue.
You swallow, determined to keep your reaction to the liquid fire he’s just poured down your throat off your face. You exhale the burn slowly, and the Overlord smirks as he pulls the glass away again. “Good girl.”
Oh, God, how you’ve missed hearing that. You can feel yourself beginning to flush under the golden glow of his gaze, kneeling before him as though in subjugation, in worship. And, when you consider the way you’re still spending every moment alone with him hoping for exactly this… maybe you are.
“You know what I want from you, don’t you, pet?”
You nod, eyes wide. You’re sure he can see the desire you can feel deep between your thighs reflected in them.
Husk’s smile widens, and he takes another drag from his cigar. He exhales through his nose, the smoke curling slowly around his face, making your head swim. The register of his voice lowers into something almost hypnotic, smooth and velvet and so deliciously dark.
“Then be a good girl for daddy.”
You’re reaching for him as soon as the words are out of his mouth, and Husk breathes a pleased chuckle at your eagerness. You run your fingers up over his thighs, massaging into the muscle lightly. The Overlord growls lightly as your fingertips graze the firm line of his erection, his eyes closing for a moment as you squeeze him through his pants. You stroke him like that for a moment, listening to the way his breathing grows slow and deep. He’s thicker than you remember, and you squeeze your thighs together as you unfasten his pants and slip your hand around him.
Husk exhales a sigh at the first touch of your hand to his naked cock, his tongue curling over the side of his muzzle for a moment as you begin to stroke him. The barbs lining the length of him tickle against your palm as they rise under your attention, and you suddenly almost ache with the idea of how they could feel inside you.
You’d only barely gotten a taste of him the last time he’d asked you to play with him, and you lick your lips as the first bead of precum leaks from the tip of his cock.
“You better not be teasin’ me,” he warns, breaking off in a low moan as you lean forward and take him into your mouth. “Ohhh, doll…”
You take him in greedily, keeping your hand wrapped around the base of his cock and squeezing as the head of it meets the back of your throat. A rumble sounds in the back of Husk’s throat as you suck up the length of him slowly, tracing along the underside of his cock with your tongue. The barbs drag along it in a way that almost itches but you don’t care, and when you roll your tongue around the tip he groans.
“That’s it, baby…” he drawls, and you watch from under his lashes as he takes a mouthful of whiskey and tips his head back as you suck him. You do it slowly, savouring the way he swells against your tongue, the soft ache in your jaw from the way he fills your mouth. Rolling your tongue against him each time you take him back in, you feel the barbs growing more rigid with every bob of your head. “That’s it, fuck…”
God, when he calls you ‘baby’…
He shifts forward slightly and you hear him set his glass on the table, feel your Overlord run his hand through your hair. He curls his claws into the locks at the back of your head, urging you forward. You deepthroat him obediently, gagging loudly as the head of his cock meets the back of your throat. You force yourself to linger, swallowing around him. He growls, claws tightening, the sharp points grazing your scalp.
Husk thrusts his hips up and you choke, pulling back with a gasp. Drool hangs from your lips, marking your chin and trailing to his cock.
“Ain’t you jus’ the prettiest thing?” The Overlord asks in a rough voice, his hand releasing your hair so he can cup your cheek. You turn your head, press a kiss into the heart-shaped pad of his palm. Husk’s ears flick upward in surprise at the sudden tenderness of it.
He swallows, but then your mouth is on his dick again before he can formulate a reaction.
Your hands bunch in the front of his pants as you suckle at the tip, tightening in the fur underneath as you take him in again. Husk thrusts up to meet your mouth, claws clenching in the arm of the chair, in your hair again. The feeling of it sends thrills through you, makes a shiver run down your back, and the way the Overlord moans when you hollow your cheeks and suck makes your eyes roll back behind the lids.
You open them to watch his chest rise and fall with disjointed breath, watch his eyes heavy-lidded and pupils blown wide stare back down at you. When Husk cums its deep into the back of your throat, and he holds you in place, fucking himself up into your mouth until he’s spent.
He strokes your cheek afterwards, streaking the teara staining it across yiur cheekbone. You're still coughing, chest heaving and mouth full of cum, when he leans down and, despite himself, brushes his lips against your forehead. “Good girl.”
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Tagging @irkimatsu @monstrousvoice and @mckeeks as requested for this series :)
#husk#husk x reader#husk fic#my fic#hazbin husk x reader#hazbin hotel#husk x you#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel husk x reader#hazbin hotel husk#husk hazbin hotel#hazbin husk
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