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soleilapproves · 9 days ago

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catalyst - chapter 6

Life has many twists and turns- yours included getting rejected from med school and ending up as a manager for your burnt-out pro boxer ex. (sukuna x reader)

warnings: explicit sexual content, slight indications of dom sukuna, clit slapping (like once)

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Sukuna didn’t even give you a moment to straighten up before he pulled you into a searing kiss as he pressed the button for his floor. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long,” he mumbled against your lips. You mewled as his hands traveled down to your ass and squeezed it. Your body was on fire as you kissed him harder and let yourself explore all the new changes in his body. The therapeutic massages you’d been giving him only kept your touch chaste and professional, leaving you to simply gawk at his body's new corded muscles.

Now, you could finally explore him. “It feels just like back then,” Sukuna groaned as his kisses traveled down your chin to the column of your neck. A single hand traveled up to the back of your head, entangling his fingers in your hair so he could angle your head to give him no restraints with covering your neck with suckling kisses. The hand that was still on your ass pushed you closer to him, your body once again flat against his, breasts pressed against his hard pecs—center almost against center.

Every kiss he left on your neck made you feel like he had branded you with his name. That you were once and always his, refreshing the marks he previously left on his territory. His to be forever owned and his to be forever loved.

The small ding of the elevator pulled you both out of your little paradise, indicating that you had finally reached his apartment floor. Like before, you both tumbled into the place as a heated mess. Hands groping every part of the body they were touching, kisses wet and loud as they could be.

Sukuna ripped his tuxedo jacket off you as he continued working his warm tongue around your mouth. He tightened his grip on your waist so he could navigate you toward his room. You gasped as he slammed the door close.

You both finally pulled away to get some air, and you swore you were soaked just by looking at the sight in front of you–lipstick stains all over Sukuna’s mouth, his silk bowtie long discarded (you weren't sure where, but most probably in one of the dusty corners of the elevator.) Your eyes finally landed on his to see him already staring at your face.

Your hands became clammy after you realized his gaze was saying everything he wanted to do to you. The athlete was famished.

His eyes finally tore away from your face and landed on your shoulder–the lace strap of your dress now flimsily hanging down. One of his hands moved from your waist and latched on to the strap. His finger slowly ran itself under it. He placed a kiss on your shoulder and pulled your strap a little lower, testing the waters. His teeth nipped down your shoulders, taking your hand in his and lifting it so he could pepper his lips down its length.

“Sukuna this isn’t right. You’re my boss,” you sighed as he pulled you closer, hand still in his as he placed it on his cheek. He angled his lips to yours to be close enough so that they were just a hair’s breadth away. It was painfully obvious how badly he wanted you. You could feel it in the way he panted like a man starved of all sustenance.

You looked away. You knew that the moment you’d stare a little too long into his eyes would mean losing all sense of your rationality. Sukuna would become a phantasmic entity that would haunt every crevice of your consciousness.

“So? I don’t really see what’s wrong. People fuck their bosses all the time,” he selfishly reasoned, eyes still in a lovesick haze–you could tell even without looking at his face.

Dizzying. Your head felt like a feather lazily blowing in the wind around him, especially when he’d act assertive. A man as crass as him wasn’t charming to most women; only appealing for his rugged appearance. But something in him drew you in, like magnets of opposite poles. The man behind the rogue facade was a fervent admirer.

“Yeah, but I’m not the type of person to do that. Plus I–”

“Aren’t you tired of denying yourself peace for so long? I know I am. And now that you’re in front of me, I sure as hell will not let it go unless you genuinely don’t want this–which I know you do. I know you want this as much as me.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but Sukuna interrupted you again. “Hell, I’m pretty sure I love you more than you love me, and you know what? I don’t care. I still want you. Now do you want me?”

You could hear your heartbeat ringing in your ears as you licked your lips, prepping yourself, but it was all in vain when Sukuna swiftly turned your cheek so you could face him. “Look me in the eye and say it. And I won’t believe you if you just nod.”

Your mind tried to reason with you to the best of its abilities, trying to console you, tell you why fucking your ex-slash-boss was wrong. But the look in Sukuna’s eyes said that any protest was futile. You both were too far gone–falling down the bottomless pit together. Lust, love, and adrenaline coursed through your veins as you tried not to think about how his entire hand almost easily covered half your face.

Your hand was still on Sukuna’s cheek. Your thumb traces the outline of his tattoos and he inhales deeply, relishing the feeling of the soft pad of your finger. “I could never not want you,” you whispered. His breath shook as he exhaled, and before you knew it, his hand slid down to your thighs and he carried you to his bed bridal style.

He laid you down with the kind of delicacy that would make one think he was holding a porcelain doll.

“Do you know how often I think about you?” he asked as he leaned down to cover your mouth with his own, tongue licking yours. “How often I think about your beautiful body under mine.” His hands begin roaming around your body, groping any and every softness they could find. You whine as his blunt fingers dig into your hips through your dress.

His hands snake under your back to unzip your dress and he mumbles a small ‘up,’ as he pats your hip. Heat blooms in your cheeks when you see the flex in his jaw when your clothed chest momentarily touches his as he pulls down your zipper. He peels off the straps like they’re a nuisance to humanity and before you know it, your dress is thrown in a random corner of his room, leaving you bare and bothered underneath him.

He’s quick to lean over you, thick thighs straddling your own as his head dips down to kiss between your clavicles. You gasp as he nips his way down your sternum. His wet kisses burned the skin around your nipple until he finally took it in his mouth. Your legs crossed themselves, trying to find some relief for your wet core until Sukuna firmly grasped your knee and pulled them apart.

His mouth left your chest with a wet pop and he pressed his lips against yours. “That’s my job,” he mumbled against the corner of your lip. “Wrap your legs around me.” You do as he says, and he groans when your core slots itself right against his hardness. “So perfect. And all for me.”

All logical thoughts fizzle out in your mind when you see his calloused hand basically covering your whole breast, squeezing and undulating it in his hand. As cliche as it sounded, it felt like electricity was coursing through your veins with each kiss, suck, pull, and mark.

His kisses were getting messier as they trailed to the waistband of your panties. Wet splotches of saliva on your dewy skin. He groaned as he came face to face with the damp patch on your gusset. He ran a knuckle on your clothed slit. You hissed, toes flexing in anticipation.

With one swift movement, he cradled your thighs around his neck, holding them in place. “I missed your perfect pussy so much” he groaned as he kissed your slit. “Always so wet for me.” Another kiss, but with a small lick at the end.

Your hands planted themselves in his messy, gelled hair. “Quit teasing.”

The athlete smirked as he ran his finger under the waistband of your underwear. “It’s been two years, let me have my fill,” he said as he drew small circles on your thigh. “You’re acting like you didn’t think of me at all.” You could see him smirk as he pulled your panties down with his teeth. He placed himself back between your thighs and spread your lips. A deep guttural sound escaped him when he saw your clit glisten under the moonlight through his window.

“Now tell me, did you think about me while touching yourself?”

You didn’t say anything, too embarrassed to admit your perverted thoughts about him, despite, him knowing everything about your body. He slapped your clit and you let out a lewd yowl. “Tell me.” His tone was dark and menacing, terrifying yet arousing.

“Yes, only you.”

He soothed your aching clit with long, flat tongue, lapping up your syrupy wetness. You could feel the vibrations of his moan in your pussy when your fingers pulled his hair a little tighter–the only way you could ground yourself to the earth. Especially with how he was eating you out like it was his first drink of water after being parched for days.

His tongue rolled around your clit as his fingers pumped in and out of your spasming hole. The balls of your feet dig into the muscles of his back and he doesn’t even complain, enjoying the pain and soreness that comes with your squirming.

“Sukuna, I’m about to–hah–come,” Your tongue felt loose, like it would flail every time you’d try to ask him to back off a little, give you space to breathe, but the build up of the churning knot in your core stopped you. Body betraying mind.

Sukuna ripped away from you before you could come, and you whined, pulling him back to your glistening cunt, but he harshly pulled your wrists away. He gets off the bed and he starts to strip. Your mind quiets down at the realization of what’s about to happen.

His half hard cock is russet and angry as he pulls down his boxers, tip already shining with precome. He looks at your slovenly state and chuckles. No words are exchanhged between the two of you as he crawls back on top you. You can feel every inch of his searing hot skin as he’s face to face with you again.

His large paw grabs your hand and drags it to his bare cock, making you palm him. “You feel this? It’s because of you,” he groaned out. He shoves his nose in your neck and inhales deeply as he begins to guide your small hand up and down his length. “You smell so fuckin’ good,” he mumbles. Your mind splinters when you realize that you’d been wearing his jacket for most of the night.

When his dick finally hardens up, he removes your hand and lines himself up with your entrance, tip kissing the velvety skin there. “Before I fuck you, I want you to be a good girl and say something for me. Can you do that?”

You nod feverishly. He grips your throat and lightly presses his thumb at your pulse, enjoying the feeling of it thundering under his hand. “Use your words, baby.”

You choke out a meek ‘yes’ and he kisses you hard. His lips stay on yours even after pulling away, moving against them with every word he speaks. “Every time I push my cock in you, I want you to say that you’re my girl and that you love me, okay?”

“Yes,” you whisper. He gives you a sweet peck for being so obedient.

You inhale deeply, bracing yourself for what’s to come. You’ve had sex with Sukuna before, but nothing like this. He usually didn’t take the reigns all too much unless he was extremely frustrated. Even then, his possessive nature didn’t take its course when he was claiming you with his cock.

Now it felt like he was going to mold your cunt to only fit him.

“I’m your girl,” you embarrassingly cried out as he stretched your hole. He frowned as his breathing got quicker, leaning back down over you. “Put your arms around my neck,” he orders as he starts leaving sloppy kisses on the column of your neck.

“I love you,” you whimper into his ears and he growls, thrusting even harder, making the walls of your cunt pulse around his warm length. “Fuck–yeah, you’re my girl. Only mine.”

Your body shakes uncontrollably as he slots his lips against yours, swallowing your moans as his teeth clash against yours. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you? Always so wet and needy for me and my cock,” he pants.

You can feel the deep rumble of pleasure in his chest when you rake your nails down his back. You were sure it was going to leave a mark, but you couldn’t be bothered to worry about that. Not when he had you stretched so deliciously around his cock.

“I–shit–I love you,” your fingers went back into his hair, now greased with hair gel and sweat. His mouth moved down to your chest and he bit the fat of your breast, leaving a lovely red mark behind. The pit of your core burned as the sound of his skin slapping against yours quickened. “I think I’m about to come,” you gasped out, all air leaving your lungs with each passing second.

Sukuna sloppily kissed your mouth as he mumbled ‘me too.’ You felt his fingers tighten around your thighs, leaving half-moon shaped indents on your soft, dewy skin. “I love you so much,” he professed as he spilled into your cunt. Fat droplets of tears slid down the sides of your face as you felt his seed coat your insides and drip out in excess. His cock slowly softened inside you as he slowed down.

His eyes finally met yours and he kissed you in a post-orgasm haze. “You complete me,” he said with a lazy smile before wrapping his arms around your waist and passing out on top of you. Cock still wet and limp in your cunt.

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taglist: @7haze @sukubusss @kyo-kyo1 @kensqueent @totallygyomeiswife @missthatgirl @iluv-ace @emoedgylord @miakxn @sunasgf1 @lolilewenk @clp-84 @sodapop182 @therealjustpeachesback @msanimeotaku181 @aerareads @rebels-rewrite @emochosoluvr

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smilesatdawnmain · 29 days ago

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Reverse Taken (Wukong's rage- After Math)

I like this Au. If I had the patience, I would make an official fanfic. I do not. My life would not allow that patience. SOOO- Imma give you small parts. Parts that are in my brain, that I will put together one post at a time.

Summary: The Spider Queen considers her next steps while soothing her little spiderling.

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The silence of the dark was shattered by a sudden outburst of tears. In the background, water dripped and patters of movement could be heard. Sitting alone in this quiet space was the Spider Queen, her hair loose and knotted against her back. Her face and neck were marked with bruises, and her eyes glinted with a steely anger.

“Hush now,” her voice was like silk as she ran her fingers through the fur of the whimpering child that sobbed against her lap. Xiaozhizhu sniffled again, bawling into his Mother’s dress. “Shhh, spiderling,” she whispered, her voice laced with a tenderness that starkly contrasted with the shadows encroaching around them. She lifted a lock of his curly fur, twirling it around her finger as she stared ahead. She hadn’t expected that King to arrive so soon. She thought she’d have more time. Her plans would have to be pushed up.

In the midst of her thoughts, she glanced down at this boy. Practically a grown man now, no longer that little cub she found wandering the streets, barely able to breathe. It was her who took him in. It was she who put the clothes on his back and kept his weak little immune system stable. That King did nothing to make this boy who he was, yet he dared to show his face and act as if she were some villain in his upbringing.

... Was she?

This little cub was her ticket to great things. He was her pawn in making this world bow before her. He was her own personal battery. Her’s to do what she wanted with. She had saved his life, and thus to repay that debt, he would do as she needed. He was her insurance that the Monkey King stayed in line! He was-!

He looked up, his cheeks flushed and eyes puffy, leaning into her hand. As small as the day she found him in her eyes. Fragile and looking at her like she held the moon and the stars.

Xiaozhizhu hicupped, his tears slowly subsiding as he clung to the Spider Queen. "T-they destroyed everything," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Our home..."

He was her's.

He was her cub.

The Spider Queen’s heart twisted, a flicker of, perhaps doubt igniting within the web of her ambitions. She grazed her thumb over Xiaozhizhu’s cheek, the soft warmth countering the chill that enveloped the cavernous lair. The echoes of his sobs faded slightly, and in that intimate silence, she realized that even though she had molded him into a tool for her plans, somehow… he too had molded her to fit right in his heart. A spot she hadn’t expected to be so warm.

All at once, the whispers of her ambition felt like poisonous tendrils curling around her throat, choking the breath from her lungs. She had tasted power before—rich and intoxicating—but this was different. This was a taste of something too sweet, too pure, like honey laced with venom. A part of her wanted to recoil, to sever the ties that bound her to this moment. But the other part—the one that had cradled the boy against her breast during long, dark nights—longed to protect him from the world’s harsh claws.

She has his Mother. He was her son.

Her son would stand by her side when they took over the world.

“Mother?” His voice was shaky but filled with a thread of trust that she could not bear to hear. She had not always been the kindest. Many days, she pushed the boy to his limit- to ensure he grew strong. She ignored his tears, and his fear, believing discipline was a crucible that would forge strength. Yet here he was, looking at her with those wide, innocent eyes, and in that gaze, she saw the reflection of her own monstrous nature flickering like a dying flame.

“Mother, are you okay?” He reached out, his hand trembling as it rested against her wrist, grounding her in that fragile moment. “Did he-” his lower lips trembled, knowing the Monkey King had hurt her. Had nearly killed her before he arrived to get her out of there. His eyes had glowed a sickening red and gold.

She inhaled sharply, the scent of damp earth mingling with her conflicting emotions, swirling like fog around her heart. “I am fine, sugar,” she whispered, but even to her own ears, the words felt hollow. Carefully she lifted his chin.

The accursed Monkey now knew of this little spiderling. If today was anything to go off of, he wasn’t going to relent either. Now that he knew Xiaozhizhu was his biological son- her leverage had crumbled like a fragile silk thread underfoot. She could no longer play the game as she once had; she was now exposed, vulnerable.

The Spider Queen's fingers trembled slightly as she stroked Xiaozhizhu's cheek. Her mind raced, calculating her next move, but her heart... her heart ached in a way she had never experienced before.

"Mother," Xiaozhizhu whispered, his voice hoarse from crying. "What they said... it's not true, is it? That the Monkey King is-"

The Queen's breath caught in her throat. This was her moment, her chance to cement her hold on the boy, to twist the truth and keep him bound to her forever.

The Spider Queen's fingers hesitated on Xiaozhizhu's cheek. For a fleeting moment, she considered spinning another web of lies - it would be so easy to further vilify the Monkey King, to paint herself as the victim and savior. But as she looked into those trusting eyes, something inside her crumbled.

"Sugar," she began softly, her voice wavering. “It is true that I found you alone in this city, with no one to care for you. It is also true, that the King’s blood runs through your veins. Your power- your gift, they come from the other end of that blood- the six-eared Macaque.”

Xiaozhizhu's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. "W-what?" he stammered, pulling back slightly from his mother's touch. "But... but you always said..."

The Spider Queen sighed, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her deception. "I never thought it was important for you to know, sugar." The words tasted bitter on her tongue, but she forced herself to continue. "When I found you, I knew who you were. I knew of your heritage. But I still took you in.” she cupped his face, “You are mine. My cub.” her gaze narrowed, sharpening to a possessive affirmation. “I know not why that King casted you aside, but he did.”

Xiaozhizhu's mind reeled, struggling to process this new information. His whole world was crumbling around him, everything he thought he knew about himself and his origins suddenly cast into doubt.

“But... but why?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“I never hid that you were not a spider, spiderling.” she says, fingers cleaning the smudges on his cheeks. “You were never mine by blood, and you knew that. To admit you are the blood of that Monkey King-” she scowled, “It would bring you endless danger. Not to mention… one is not allowed to claim something that they cast aside. I never told you that you were his, because you are not his. Not anymore.”

Xiaozhizhu's head spun as he tried to process his mother's words. He supposed that was… true. "But... but MK," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "He said we were... brothers. Twins."

The Spider Queen's eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of the Monkey Kid, "Yes," she said, her voice tight. "It seems you do have a twin. The one the Monkey King chose to keep."

Xiaozhizhu flinched.

“I had never seen him before to really know you were twins.” she admits. “That Monkey King keeps his family safe guarded at his mountain. I cared not for what he did… You were my focus.”

Xiaozhizhu's breath caught in his throat, his mind reeling with this new information. Twins. He and MK were twins. The boy he'd befriended, the one who'd been trying so hard to pull him away from a life of crime... was his brother.

"But... but why?" he choked out, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why would they keep him and not me?"

The Spider Queen's eyes softened, a mixture of genuine sympathy and calculated manipulation swirling in their depths. "Oh, my sweet prince," she cooed, stroking his cheek tenderly. "I wish I had an answer for you. The ways of the powerful are often cruel and incomprehensible to those they deem... lesser."

Xiaozhizhu's eyes welled with fresh tears, his lower lip trembling. "Am I... am I lesser?" he whispered, voice cracking.

The Queen's eyes flashed dangerously. "Never," she hissed, cupping his face in both hands. "You are extraordinary, my little spider.” she drew him against her, patting his back as she had when he was so small. “I am your Mother,” she reminded him.

Xiaozhizhu clung tightly to the Spider Queen, his mind still reeling from the revelations. He buried his face against her shoulder, seeking comfort in her familiar embrace. "But why now?" he mumbled, his voice muffled. "Why did they come looking for me after all this time?"

The Spider Queen stroked his hair gently, her voice soft but tinged with bitterness. "Who can say what goes through the minds of such beings? Perhaps they finally realized what they had thrown away. Or perhaps," her eyes narrowed, "they simply want to use you for their own purposes now that you've grown into your powers."

Xiaozhizhu pulled back slightly, his brow furrowed in confusion and hurt. "Use me? But MK... he's always been kind to me. He's tried to help me..."

The Spider Queen's lips curled into a sad smile. "Oh, my sweet prince. Kindness can often be a mask for ulterior motives. Sugar, we must be careful. The King…” Her voice trailed off as a flicker of sorrow passed through the boy’s gaze. “He will come for you.”

Xiaozhizhu's eyes widened, a flicker of fear passing through them. "Come for me?" he whispered, his voice trembling.

The Spider Queen nodded solemnly. "Yes, my dear. Now that he knows of your existence, he will not rest until he has you in his grasp." She cupped his face gently, her eyes boring into his. "But I will not let that happen. You are mine to protect, to nurture. I will not let him take you from me."

Xiaozhizhu's eyes widened, a mix of fear and uncertainty swirling in their depths. He stammered, "But what if...” he licked his lips, glancing to the side- distant and wondering, “What if they really do want me?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "What if they're sorry?"

The Spider Queen's grip on him tightened slightly, her eyes flashing with a possessive glint. "Oh sugar," she said, her voice silky smooth but with an edge of steel, "If they truly wanted you, they would have come for you years ago. They had their chance, and they chose to discard you." She stroked his cheek. To her, this was no lie. She truly did not know why that Monkey would leave this boy- truly. And a woman like her was not likely to believe it was not without intention. If that simian wanted this boy back after all this time- he would need to pry him from her cold dead hands.

Xiaozhizhu's eyes welled with fresh emotion, conflicting sensations warring within him. Part of him desperately wanted to believe that his newfound "family" truly cared, that there was some explanation for their absence all these years. But another part, the part that had been nurtured by the Spider Queen's love and guidance, recoiled at the thought of trusting those who had abandoned him. "I... I don't know what to think," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Everything's so confusing."

The Spider Queen pulled him close once more, cradling his head against chest. “Then let yourself be confused. Trust in me, for now.” The Spider Queen held Xiaozhizhu close, feeling his body tremble with confusion and fear. She stroked his hair gently, her voice soft but firm. "I know this is all overwhelming, my little prince. But remember, I have always been here for you. I have never abandoned you, never cast you aside."

Xiaozhizhu sniffled, clinging to her like a lifeline. "I know, Mother," he whispered. "But what do we do now?" he asked, his voice small and uncertain. "Our home is destroyed. The Monkey King knows about me. MK..." his voice caught on his friend's - his brother's - name.

The Spider Queen's eyes narrowed as she contemplated their next move. "We'll rebuild, my dear. We always do." She gently tilted Xiaozhizhu's chin up, meeting his gaze. "As for the Monkey King and his... son," she paused, carefully choosing her words, "we must be cautious. They may try to manipulate you, to lure you away from me."

Xiaozhizhu's brow furrowed, a flicker of uncertainty passing through his eyes. MK wasn’t to be trusted… so then… why did he feel so much pain coming from his other half. Desperation, fear- MK was looking for him. Had always been looking for him. Instead of voicing this, he nodded his head quietly.

“Okay, Mother.”

With that quiet affirmation, the Spider Queen began to weave her plans, her fingers moving like silk threads through the air, as if crafting a tapestry of strategy and resolve. “Tonight,” she said, her voice laced with purpose, “we will gather the remnants of our lost home. In the shadows, we will rebuild our strength.” her eyes gleamed in the shadows, “Then, we reveal what Syntax has been hard at work on.” she gripped her cub’s arms- where small unseen puncture marks lay below his fur. Years of collecting, gathering, all coming down to this single night.

Xiaozhizhu swallowed hard, quietly rubbing his arm. “Yes Mother,” he bowed his head.

#lego monkie kid #lmk #Spider Queen #reverse taken au #xiaoxiao #au of an au #lmk mk #lmk wukong #shadowpeach #lmk macaque

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himefemme · 24 days ago

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bunny and her butch - ' strawberry scented '

banner not mine!

the night after your date, sevika woke up feeling as if she'd been doused in a cold splash of water, heaving. her body had caught a mean, sudden waking up. she narrows her eyes at her sister, shivani, who stands at the foot of her bed with a large, maroon bucket, beads of water still clinging to the curve of the top where the water had left only moments prior. shivani whips her dark, glossy hair over her shoulder and narrows her eyes sharply at sevika, who sends a pillow flying at her head- missing the original target, it lands on her desk with a crash. "very smart, sevika" shivani jabs, tapping her foot on the grey carpet where she was standing, the carpet had become worn from the years it had been there, it was sevika's childhood bedroom, though (plus their mother had since adopted three cats to keep her company). sevika lifts herself from the bed, damp sheets clinging to her skin like a dog had licked her, gross, she still couldn't understand why some people allowed their pets to do that to them willingly. "you didn't have to dump a whole bucket of water onto me, you could've poked me- or kicked if that didn't work!" sevika hisses, rolling her shoulders back- she still had a subtle, phantom feeling of relief when she'd stretch her arm- even though the other would have to be replaced with a mechanical one. with heavy footsteps she walks over to her desk, shivani moves out of the way as she watches her sister attach her mech arm- a hiss of pain filling the silence. it had been about a year since the accident happened, the family still hadn't grown completely used to it, but no matter what they stayed supportive of sevika, even though she insisted she didn't need help. but she couldn't make that excuse forever could she? as soon as sevika and shivani made their way down the stairs, they were greeted with kisses and hugs from their mother, ati, her grey hairs wrapped like wires around her face, framing her round cheeks- wrinkled with age but showing nothing but a life full of smiling, atleast that's what she said. she wore a plain white tee, joggers , which shivani introduced her to, her eyes a deep brown as was her skin. ati tiptoes to peck sevika's cheek, squeezing her face. "ah, sevika, i thought you'd never wake up! i made breakfast, pancakes, your favourite." ati smiles, pulling away from her daughter and sauntering off to the kitchen, dishing up a plate without sev asking. shivani nudges sevika with her elbow, a grin on her face reveals her pearly whites, it reminded her of her father for a split second but she cut the thought off as quick as it came. ' she still treats you like a baby ' shivani mouths before walking off elsewhere- likely the living room but sevika couldn't remember, she hadn't been home to visit in a few months and her mother was constantly changing the layout of the house.

by the time sevika left, it was around midnight, driving on the freeway whilst tapping her fingers on the wheel, your scent still lingering. she silently curses herself for not being able to message you the whole day, her phone pinged with your worried texts. in a debate with herself, she sharply turns into the next lane, apologetically holding her hand out of the window at the driver behind her. she needed to visit you. she didn't care.

you were in your room, after a 'self care sunday', freshly showered, wearing the cutest babydoll to sleep, hair fanned out evenly against your silk pillows and sipping on sweet chamomile tea. a knock at your window disturbed your nightly fanfic-reading, must've been the neighbours kids, they'd always throw tiny pebbles and stones at people's houses for a reaction. angrily storming over, you draw back the pink curtain, narrowing your eyes to see sevika, arched nose almost pressed up against the glass pane, a stupid smile on her face. "m' so sorry, bun, I was visiting my mother, then i got caught up in my thoughts, i had to see you and i couldn't just leave you wondering all night, im not like that, promise" her voice was muffled, she could tell because your face scrunched up in the same adorable way it would whenever you were confused. opening the window, she climbs in, you hear a crack and splintering of wood but choose to ignore it. once sevika had climbed inside she shut the window behind her, engulfing you within her beefy arms, the chill of the metal one against your skin was comforting, it was barely enough to hide how flushed and warm you were though. sevika took it upon herself to cook, as a gift- the fragrant aroma of spices and herbs was tantalising, you could picture sevika at the countertop, chopping carrots and potatoes, scraping them up skillfully with a knife from the board and allowing them to drown into the thick, brown stewed sauce alongside chicken breasts and another pot filled with steaming rice, air whistling through the gap of the lid. she served you up a plate and watched as you ate, all of your cutlery had hearts or pink on them as well as your plates- lined with bow patterns or cute bunnies, those ones sevika had gifted you for your month anniversary. "this is so good, sev, you're a great cook.." you hummed, the burst of flavours was simply divine, you couldn't get enough, scraping at the last grains of rice left. sevika's cheeks bloomed with warmth and she smiled, you washed the dishes together and sevika fed your cat before you both walked back to your bedroom. sevika wore the shirt and shorts she'd left here last time she visited, which were neatly folded in your drawer- the dark green and black was stark against all of your light clothes. pulling the chain of your lamp, it turns on- both of you bask in the ambience, enjoying the silence for a moment before finally falling asleep.

in the morning, you find that sevika has already left, which was a given considering the importance of her job. she'd left a note tucked among your plushies, which she'd neatly placed in a crowd beside you, where she previously laid. her pillow carried her scent of cologne and the rosewood incense that her mother would always burn. you read the note and smiled, her first words were 'sorry', though it wasn't her fault, duty calls after all. she'd left a bowl of freshly washed fruit on the bedside table, you pluck a green grape, perfectly sour. she really did know you like the back of her own hand.

#sevika x reader #sevika arcane #arcane

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asumofwords · 1 year ago

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Lighthouse - Sailor!Aemond x LighthouseKeeper!Reader - Mini Series

Summary: You work as a lone Lighthouse keeper on a small island just off the coast. Everyday was the same routine, tending to your duties and the lamp with not much time to spare. But what will happen to your routine when a storm rages across the sea, and a handsome man washes ashore?

Warnings: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. Warnings will be added in their relevance. She/Her Pronouns. Slow burn, pining, kiss.

Note: EEEE! Here is chapter two of my little mini-series! Thank you all so much for your patience for this update, to say it has been hard has been an understatement. An odd thing to put into the notes of a fanfic, but From the River, to the Sea. 🇵🇸

Chapter 2: Unfamiliar Changes

The next few days were the same routine as usual, but with a new addition; A man who had been at deaths door, recovering in your bed.

The lighthouse, you knew.

You knew the way to light it, tend to it, care for it. It had been your life for many years ever since your Pa had died, leaving its responsibilities to you.

It had been him who taught you everything. He who had raised you to know what you now do, to do as you now do each day. And you were thankful. Thankful to not be married to a Fishermans son, or market boy at a young age, to squeeze out child, after child, in a marriage that had no love or care but rather a societal duty.

But now, there was a man in your home.

A man on your small, little, isolated island which you sought refuge in. An island and isolation that had been all you had known, and yet now, here he was, laid in your bed with hair like spun silk that lay around his head, a violet eye you had only heard in the tales on shore, a scarred cheek and sharp mouth.

Was he a pirate?

You had heard of those, but for some reason, he didn’t seem to be as brash and roguish as those stories either. And whilst his presence was not all begrudged, it did throw your small little world into a loop. So with the duties of old, came the duties of new.

You would rest, only shortly, wake, and tend to the lamp, the storm slowly moving away inland, but the winds too high to take your small boat alone, or send your pigeon with a letter to alert them of the wreck and lone survivor.

Thereafter, you could come back inside, fix yourself a tea, and here began the new routine; you would make two instead of one.

Two plates or bowls of food.

Two cups or glasses of water, or tea.

Two of everything.

One for you.

And one for the man.

A man who still had not told you his name.

That was until that evening.

The winds had begun to yield, but the soft grumbling of thunder still prevailed in the near distance.

You were eating the last of your stew together, though this time, he was seated at the table. You having dragged the only other chair on the island down the many stairs of the lighthouse to the cottage.

He was still rather pale, and wheezed and coughed on occasion, but after his many days in your presence, you realised that he was not pale because of his ailment, but rather, his skin was just as white as the porcelain William’s wife owned. His cheeks however, gained some colour, and his lips were no longer cracked and dry, but now hydrated.

And plump.

And soft.

And-

“-Aemond.”

The spoon you were holding clinked back onto the side of the bowl.

“Pardon?”

“My name,” The man put another spoonful of stew into his mouth, chewing before swallowing politely, “Is Aemond.”

You tested the name on your tongue. It was definitely not a common name from around your part of the world.

“I take it you are a long way from home?” You chewed on a chunk of potato, watching as the man nodded.

“Aye.”

“Your ship-“

“-Vhagar.” So that’s what its name was, “Sunk to the bottom of the sea, I presume.” His lips pulled down at the sides.

You nodded solemnly, “Was your family-“

“-No. No family. Just me and my crew.”

You cleared your throat awkwardly before nodding, “I’m sorry. Though we have the Gods to thank. They favoured you when they washed you ashore.”

Aemond, the man before you, scoffed, “Favoured. Sunk my ship and my men. Drowned me.”

You sucked your teeth, feeling slightly guilty about your choice of words, “Yes, and yet you are here. I prayed-“

“-You prayed?”

A nod, though his gaze seemed more intrigued than mocking, “To the Drowned God. Prayed to anyone who would listen to spare your life.”

You watched as the corner of his lip twitched, “And why should a Lady such as you, pray for a sailor such as me?”

“I’d hardly like to deal with a corpse on my beach." You stirred your stew, "And I am no Lady, I have told you this.”

The snort from his nose made way into a smile that was contagious.

At least you could be blunt.

And in some ways, you supposed that he liked this bluntness.

You shared your meal together quietly, the crackling of the fire and sound of rain and occasional thunder outside. You found, much to your displeasure, that you did not mind having his company after all.

He did not talk to fill the space, and seemed to think deeply before he spoke, at least when he was not irritated or slightly offended by your own remarks. All in all, he was a welcomed presence in your modest home.

And that was what scared you.

“Do you often have drowned men wash ashore?” His spoon was delicately placed in his bowl, bread devoured shortly after given to him. The way in which he ate, the manner in which he sat back, rod stiff, indicated to you that he came from some form of high society, far higher than you, and likely came from money and wealth that you could do naught but try to imagine.

You smiled coyly, “You’re the first. An achievement to some end, I am sure.”

The corner of his lips pulled again, yet this time, it developed into a full smirk, “Then I am honoured to have been the first, Miss.”

A blush rose to your cheeks, and you had to look away.

The way in which he spoke, the way his voice became deep and smooth like the whiskey in your cupboard, had sent shivers down your spine with the implication that perhaps there was a double meaning to what he said.

To what you had said.

But then he continued, “And how does a woman of your stature become the keeper of this Lighthouse?”

“My Pa. He was the keeper before I. Taught me all there was to know. It was just me and him on this island for a long, long time, and now it is just me.”

“Is your father-“

“-Dead.”

“I see.” Aemond nodded, “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t be.” You gave him a small smile, “He died doing what he loved.”

A silver eyebrow raised above the man’s seeing eye, “And what was that?”

“Drinking on the job.” You poked your tongue in your cheek to stifle the laugh as you watched Aemond’s composure become flustered, “It’s okay,” You reassured him, “You can laugh. My father was not a solemn man. I like to think he enjoys my humour.”

A hum was all you received, though he did not smile as you had hoped.

You had not fully seen him do so yet, and although there was glimmers of a more playful and relaxed man, you wondered in that moment if perhaps he was simply just a rather stern and serious sailor after all. That his nature was to be stiff, and bold, and unbendable.

And if he was to be that, a small flicker inside of you wished to make him bend.

Gods, what was wrong with you?

Had you grown so lonesome in your isolation that the first man to wash upon your shore, literally, was whom you would grow some sort of desire for?

Sure, you were no stranger to pleasure, chasing your own peaks with your hands as often as you’d like, of course, if it did not endeavour to endanger the care of the lighthouse. And now, that a man was sat before you, kept in the confines of your home by storm and ailment, you wished to taste what it truly meant to be pleased.

It had of course crossed your mind once or twice on your rare travels to shore. Speaking to the locals in shops or on the street, friends of William, or any decent man who cast you a glance. You had thought about it seriously, allowing some sort of dalliance to form, to warm a mans bed and then leave on the morrow to go back to your life of solitude.

In fact, it had almost happened.

A sailor named Dalton Greyjoy had caught your eye on the occasions he would be on shore at the same time as when you were. He was sailor from a well known, and well to do family. He came and went as he pleased, and it was no secret that he liked his women. Dalton's hair came below his ear, curling slightly atop his head, the colour as black as night and with his eyes to match his hair; a piercing, deep black which captured and lured anyone who caught his gaze.

And you had caught his, on more than one occasion, and each time, he had tried to woo you. Tried to offer a trip on his sturdy ship which carried more than one hundred men. Or a tour of his home which lay on bountiful lands on shore.

He had even offered a drink in the local tavern, and a meal, with a desire to speak to the ‘beautiful woman who keeps my ship from ruin’.

And you had thought on it, had almost given in, and when you had rejected him the last time, you had meant to offer him refuge on your island, should he ever so need it. If he was ever so inclined to have a tour of your own homestead, of your lighthouse which kept him from ruin.

But when you had moved to tell him thus, he was gone, back to the seas for the Gods only know how long, perhaps months, before he returned to shore. And that had been two months ago, and you had almost kicked yourself at the missed opportunity of having a man warm your bed, and then leave.

The convenience was lost.

You were under no impression that it would be anything more than a release for the two of you, and in your eyes, it was perhaps, a perfect arrangement. Yet, you had strung him for too long, and the seas had called him once more.

You had thought to wait to look for his ships arrival as it passed from you to shore, and lowered its anchor within eyesight. You had thought that perhaps at the sight of it, you would send your pigeon to her, the large ship, or to shore to send word of your request of his presence. But then, you thought, perhaps you would make a quick stop to the markets, weather permitting, and keep your eyes widened for the dark black hair which you sought.

But now, as the man you had come to know as Aemond, grew stronger with each day, the desire to meet your desires with Dalton faded, and were now replaced for the desire of a man who was the stark opposite.

No black hair, only silver. No black eyes, only lilac.

Would his lips be as soft as they looked?

Would he hold you passionately? Whisper in your ear? Give you pleasure that you had only read of?

This was what you thought of, thighs clenching as you pulled the old wick from the lamp to replace it with a new one, careful to not spill any oil around the lamps enclosure or yourself. You were exhausted as you lit the flame, night crawling towards you rapidly.

There was not much rest that you could get when sleeping on the worn down lounge of your home, mind reeling at the thought of the handsome man not too far from you in the warmth and plush of your bed.

Once you were positive the lamp was fine and well lit, you trudged down the stairs, eyes struggling to stay open as you made your way back to the cottage, the wind blowing your hair roughly as you closed the door behind you.

The fatigue dragged you down, limbs feeling as heavy as stone as you moved to make yourself some tea, feeling all the more exhausted than before, eyes half shut.

Once your tea was made, you sat on the couch and stared at the fire, blowing the steam away and sipping on it to warm your chilled bones. The lighthouse was cold inside, no warmth but the lamp, and despite wearing your warm layers, the cold still nipped you to your core.

There were no thoughts as you moved half asleep around your home, pulling the heavy waxed coat from your shoulders to place on the hook by the door.

Your boots came next, and then your socks, and finally you pulled away at your dress, untying your stays as it slid down your hips to the floor.

You trudged to your room, having extinguished the lamps and candles in the cottage, leaving the fireplace to burn through what was left of the night.

It was dark as you pulled back the sheets, mind in memory and eyes already shut, as you slid into bed in only your slip, pulling the sheets up to your neck as you lay on your side.

Then sleep came just as quickly as your eyes closed.

It was hot.

Too hot.

There was a warmth that radiated around you as you slowly rose to consciousness.

Then, came the weight.

A weight of something wrapped around you, behind you, heat seeping into your spine. You blinked sluggishly, confused as to what it was as you shifted, feeling whatever that warmth was shifting with you. Solid.

Arms.

Two arms.

One under your head, the other draped over your middle, hand splayed across your stomach as your back was pressed into the flush of someones chest.

Not someone.

Aemond.

You jerked, suddenly awake and out of the bed, looking down at the man who looked tiredly up at you, corner of his mouth lifting slightly as he fought away a smirk. Heat rose up your neck and into your cheeks in embarrassment.

You had been in bed.

With him.

Tucked into him.

Oh Gods.

Your mouth opened and shut as your brain misfired, unsure of what to do our say.

Do you apologise?

Gods, you had been so tired you hadn’t even realised.

You were suddenly mortified at the thought of what he must now think of you.

He must-

“-If you want to get into bed with me, all you must do is ask.” Came the low timbre of Aemond, who now smirked freely at you.

Your heart raced in your chest as you became flustered, a small squeak escaping your lips.

Aemond’s eye bore into your own as you stood there, bare feet on the cold flagstones below, chest heaving as you were at a loss of words. His eye then roamed lower, taking in your appearance as you felt the heat of his gaze blanket over you.

It was then, that you realised, you were in nothing but your thin shift.

“Gods. Fuck.” You swore, turning quickly to throw on an old dress, foregoing your skirts, stay and stockings.

You kept your back to him as you hastily did up the many buttons, suddenly cursing each and every one of them as your fingers struggled to do them up the more you become flustered, all the while you could still feel his heated gaze upon you from the bed.

You uttered an embarrassed apology, too ashamed to even raise your eyes to look at him, before you fled from the cottage, forgetting your coat, and not even doing up the laces of your boots as you shut the door behind you and raced towards the lighthouse.

You had never quite climbed the steps as fast as you had in that moment, desperate to get away from his salacious gaze, and your burning embarrassment.

What had you been thinking? Climbing into bed with him like that? He must think you desperate. Depraved. Unkempt.

Gods be good.

The embarrassment made tears prickle at your eyes.

Though the lamp in the lighthouse was fine, and there was no true reason for you to monitor it, the worst of the storm having moved away, you did not return back to your cottage. You stayed in the cold, no coat and shoes half tied, shivering in the stone walls of the lighthouse to avoid the mortification of that morning. And yet, despite trying to avoid him physically, there was no possible way, you had tried, to avoid thinking of him.

Thinking of his touch, how warm he had been behind you, how his large hand had completely spanned across your middle as he held you to him, how his fingers had twitched and pulled as you wriggled in first wake. How he smelt of the sea, and sweat, the stew you had cooked him, and the smell of your own sheets, but beneath it all, there was his natural scent, something earthy and musky and like sandalwood that surrounded your every waking moment.

If it wasn’t for his legs and his near death, you would think the man was a Siren.

You thought of how cold he had been when he washed ashore, how pale and almost blue he looked, and now he burnt hot, and although he was still pale, the flush of life coloured his cheeks and lips. His lilac eye devouring you every chance he had.

At first you had thought you were mistaken, that he was simply looking at you, but now you were sure of it. His eye, the seeing one, unclouded by injury and simmering a bright lilac, watched you almost always half-lidded and ablaze with something you now thought could perhaps be lust.

Gods.

You buried your head into your hands, deeply exhaling before standing up straighter, trying to erase the images and thoughts of him from your mind, but it was hopeless. He was all you could think of, all you could smell, or see behind your eyelids, and you yearned to reach out and touch him. Hold him. Caress him.

Your thighs instinctually squeezed together and you sighed, feeling a wetness that had settled between them.

Gods be good, you were in trouble.

You shivered again, rubbing your hands together as you looked out at the sea, mentally cursing yourself for not having more than two chairs on the island, but you had never needed more than that.

Your legs ached from not having sat in the hours that had passed, and you had turned to pacing the small landing back and forth to try and keep yourself warm.

A soft clunk came from the bottom of the lighthouse.

You mustn’t have shut the door properly.

You continued your pacing, back and forth, breathing into your icy palms as you tried to warm them, mind straying to a body of warmth that you knew, if you pressed your palms against him, would warm in an instant. Your hands coming beneath his tunic to splay against his stomach, working their way-

The sound of rustling came from behind.

You spun on your heel in fright, breath caught in your throat to find Aemond behind you. Now standing straight, the man towered over you, looking down his sharp nose at your shivering form. His hair was slightly wet, stuck down to his shoulders and dripping from its ends onto the floor of the lighthouse. The tunic he wore, stuck to his skin where spatters of rain wet the material.

In his hands, your coat.

“Gods be good.” You cursed at him, hand immediately shooting out to press against his forehead, having to rise slightly on your toes to reach, “Have you gone mad? You’ll catch cold and grow ill again.”

Snatching your coat from his hands, you threw it up and around his shoulders, pulling it together tightly at the front, watching as his brows furrowed at you.

His hands caught your wrists as you fussed over him, and you immediately could no longer meet his eye. The warmth of his hands seeped into your bones, and a barely contained sigh fell from your lips.

Aemond was so close, so close to you, you could feel his warmth, smell his-

“Go back to the cottage before you become feverish again.” You tried to pull your wrists away from his hands to push him back to the door, but the man did not budge, his grip only tightened.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Came his low response, jaw tensed as he watched you.

You swallowed, looking anywhere but his eye, “No.” You lied terribly, hoping he couldn’t feel the way your pulse quickened at your wrist, “I have to tend to my duties.“

“-You’re a terrible liar.”

You bristled, heat rising in your cheeks again before you met his eye.

Exhaling shakily, you tried again to get him to release your wrists with no avail.

“Please let go of me, Sir.”

Aemond’s cheek twitched, before finally he let go, and you begrudged his warmth leaving you the second he did.

As his hands dropped to his sides, your eyes flitted to the exposed skin of his chest, if only for a moment, where his tunic was ripped down the middle. He moved, arms coming up again as he pulled your coat from his shoulders, stepping towards you suddenly.

You stiffened, feeling his warmth envelop you and the subtle scent of salt and sandalwood engulf you as he wrapped you in your coat, pulling it tightly against you at your front. Your arms were trapped beneath it as he kept his hold on you, the coat pulling tighter as he stepped closer.

“You’re cold.” He whispered, head ducking slightly as he looked at you, long strands of silver cascading over his shoulder.

Okay. You were sure of it.

Perhaps he was a Siren.

And now he was going to drag you to the sea and-

You watched in a confusion, or horror and delight as his head began to dip down towards your face, eye watching you intently as you held your breath.

Oh Gods, was this really happening? Was this man-

“Sīr gevie.” Came a deep purr from the back of his throat, and there it was again, that half lidded gaze.

You parted your lips instinctually, feeling his nose brush against yours, your eyes fluttering as you looked down to his lips which were parted a hairsbreadth away from you, “I don’t know what that means.” You whispered, feeling his breath fan across your lips warmly.

“Beautiful.” Came his response, less purring than the last, more of a whisper, more delicate, like the silk that spun his hair, ready to break.

His face loomed closer, the tip of his pink tongue coming to wet his lips, and all you could think of was how you wished to close the distance, to press against him, taste him, have him.

Your lungs ached from the breath you had been holding, and a sudden gust of wind knocked at the windows of the lighthouse. It seemed to have broken the spell, jerking you away from the man in front of you, who blinked longingly at you.

Swallowing thickly, trying to ignore the ache in your core, you uttered, “I need to prepare supper.” Before you dashed away from him and down the stairs, almost tripping over your half laced boots in the process.

As you wound down the stairs, you felt a pang of guilt leaving him up there.

Would he be fine to get down himself?

What if he grew ill? It was cold, and he had no coat, and you had just-No. If he had made his way up those stairs, then he could surely make his way down them.

You wasted no time preparing dinner, darting about the kitchen noisily as you began to prepare your meal, cutting the vegetables on the chopping board, and moving for some more dried meats to add with it, soaking it in some bone powdered broth you had made days earlier.

When the door of the cottage opened, and then clicked shut, you ignored the mans arrival, keeping your back to him, pretending that you were all too busy preparing the dinner to spare him a second glance, and not only that, you were far too engrossed of thinking what was coming next, and not at all how his lips might have felt on yours.

You heard him settle at the table by the fire, and without looking, cast your voice behind you, “I still have my fathers belongings,” You told him, voice shy, “Seemed a waste to be rid of them when he passed. You may fit them. I’ll let you look through the trunk after supper so that you may have some cleaner, warmer clothes.”

A hum, and then, “Thank you. You are a gracious host.”

You blushed at his compliment, thankful that your back was turned to him so that he would not see you shy once more. Once your meal was cooked, you brought it over to the table for the two of you, including a plate of some of your scones, as well as the jam from Celia to go with them after.

It was a mostly silent affair, a tension strung between the two of you, pulled taught as the minutes went by. That was until-

“You are not married.”

It wasn’t a question, more of a statement of fact.

You blinked, taking your eyes away from your meal as you looked up at him.

He was already watching you.

But there was nothing malicious about his statement, more so curious as to why.

Aemond continued, “You are a beautiful young woman, a shame that you are not out in society.”

You swallowed thickly, feeling vulnerable at the turn of conversation.

You knew it was unheard of a woman of your age to be unwed, and not only that, alone in a usual mans position. You knew that the townsfolk at shore talked about it, whispers behind your back at why that was.

There had been a cruel rumour once that you simply enjoyed the coming and goings of the many different sailors who came to and from the port. It didn’t help that Dalton was not quiet about his interest in pursuing you, at least, not as his wife anyway.

“I am content where I am.” You sighed, “I have no desire to be flaunted on a mans arm as merely decoration. I have a responsibility to those on shore and on sea, and I doubt any man in town would know more about the mechanisms of working such a lamp than I do. They would be more of a burden than a blessing.”

Aemond blinked before lifting another steaming spoonful of food to his lips, “And do you not grow lonely on this little island?”

Did you?

You didn’t think you did.

At least, not until he arrived on your shore.

“Not at all.” And unconvincing lie, or perhaps not a full one, “William comes to bring my reprieve, and I go to and from shore as I wish for the whims of societal company.”

The man swallowed his mouthful of food, head cocked as he looked at you, “William?”

“An old friend of my fathers.” You explained, watching as he relaxed at the explanation, “Brings food and goods to me when I cannot get them my own, which is more often than not. His wife and daughters join him here on occasion.”

Aemond hummed, “It is a shame you have no feelings of loneliness.”

“A shame?”

The corner of his lip twitched, “I thought you might have enjoyed my company.” Before you could respond, he spoke again, “Though, perhaps it is not a shame after all. There is no husband that I need worry about.”

Heat rose into your cheeks fast, and a flush of hurt crept up your throat.

Of course he would make a comment about you being unwed.

He was just like the others in town.

“You mock me.” You grit angrily, hands twitching on the table.

You watched as a flash of regret creeped over his face.

“I don’t.” His tongue darted out to lick at his lips again, the hungry look in his eye not at all for the food on his plate, “I would worry that my attempt to court you would be burdened by a disgruntled husband.”

Court you.

Court.

Your stomach turned tightly, and you found yourself pushing your chair behind you quickly as you stood, grabbing your empty plate as you moved to take it to the kitchen, unsure of what to say, mouth dry and mind reeling.

As soon as your back turned, you heard a deep chuckle behind you, making your cheeks flush with heat once more. You did not even bother to clean your plate, instead dumping it into the dry sink before you snatched your coat off of the coat hook and moved to open the door.

“You cannot avoid me forever.” Came his low purr, and would if you tried.

The door thumped behind you as you swept yourself outside.

By the time you finally returned to the cottage, the night had flown away from you, having spent the majority of it trying to cool the heat in your body that he had stoked, resting your cheeks against the cool class of the lighthouse, anything to soothe the molten blood that coursed through you.

The storm had mostly passed, and your home was quiet as you snuck back inside, darkness filling the majority of the space bar the fireplace as you pulled your coat from your shoulders, back facing the room.

When you turned to walk further inside a small gasp pulled into your lungs.

“You’re awake.” You blinked at Aemond owlishly, watching as he leant back on the small worn couch, his long limbs stretched out in front of him by the fire, with one arm resting against the back.

“I am.” You shifted on your feet, unsure of what to do or say.

Damn your anxious mind, reeling in circles at the thought of him, and his desires and if he desired you as much as you desired him. And what if-

You shook the thought away, “Well, you must be tired. You need to rest so that you may go home. The storm is passing, and I’d wager that you could return to shore now.” You wrung your hands together.

You didn’t want him to go, but you knew it was logical.

He would have to leave. He would have to go home. To his family. To his friends. To his land. And then, you would be left alone with the spiralling 'what if's' of his stay.

“You speak of fatigue as if you sleep more than I, and do less.” Came his pointed remark, “I am well aware of my need to recover, and my abilities.”

Speechless.

That was what you were.

The fire crackled loudly between you as you watched him shift, moving to lay himself down onto the couch which was comically too small for him. His long legs stretched over the arm, feet dangling almost to the floor whilst his head was tucked at an awful angle on the opposite arm.

He looked like a doll that had been carelessly tossed onto the couch by a child.

“You need rest.” He mused, eye roaming over your body shamelessly, “I shall sleep where I am.”

Your brows furrowed, “You can’t suggest that you wish to sleep there.” Your hand pointed to where he was uncomfortably lain, “You do not fit. You shall see no rest and I will have to nurse you to health once more.”

“All the more reason for me to stay here.” His eye slid shut, seeming to make a point of sleeping on your lumpy and aged lounge.

You guffawed at him and his brazen flirting, mouth hanging open as your hands moved to your hips, “Go back to bed.”

His brow lifted, but his eye stayed shut, “A command or request?”

You blinked, “A request, if you know what’s good for you.”

“Will you be joining me?” Came his purr, eye cracked open at you, the bright lilac having turned as stormy as the sea once had been.

“No.”

Another hum, something you had grown used to by now, his eye sliding shut, “Then I shall stay put.”

You stormed towards him, looking down at him, trying to not notice how soft his hair looked, or how the pale skin of his chest looked like a cozy place to-

“Really, Sir.” You sighed, exacerbated, “I must implore you to sleep in the bed tonight. You will only hurt your neck and back. I am far smaller than you, and-“

“-Sīr byka.”

The language was smooth, the r curling in the front of his teeth, all creamy, and soft like syrup and warm. It sent heat straight into your core.

“What does that mean?”

His eye opened again as he sat up, “Would you like to know?”

Gods, he was infuriating.

“Yes.” You grit out, “Or else I wouldn’t have asked.”

“I said you were little.”

Embarrassment curled in your chest, but not only that, something else that sent heat striking through you.

You tried to blink it away, “An obvious observation. And the bed would fit you perfectly well, if only-“

“-Nyke kessa mazverdagon ziry-“

“-Would you stop that?” You snipped, chest heaving as you blushed, watching as the tall man pulled his legs down and sat up, looking at you predatorily.

You were in trouble.

Every hair on your body stood up as he watched you beneath his lashes.

“Stop what?”

You wet your lips, “T-that.”

“What, byka ōños?”

“That!” You pointed, running a hand through your hair, “You- You make a mockery of me.”

His head tilted, “I do no such thing.”

“You do.” You countered, looking anywhere but him, “You speak in tongues that I do not understand. For all I know, you could be throwing insult at my person. I know that I am not as educated as you-”

“-Do you want to know what it means? You only need ask.”

“What does it mean?” You breathed, watching as he stood from the couch, sucking all the air from the room as his head slowly came up to your height, then finally looming over you down his nose.

“What does ‘what’ mean?”

“Fine." You huffed, "You shall stay on the couch, and I shall send word tomorrow-“

“-Little light.”

You lashes fluttered against your cheeks as you felt him step closer to you, your chest heaving as one of his hands reached out to caress a lock of your hair, tucking it behind your ear. You shivered as his fingertips grazed a path down your neck, his eye intent on you.

“W-what?”

“Byka ōños,” Aemond purred, “It means ‘little light’.” He took a step closer to you, his chest brushing against yours, warmth immediately seeping into your dress as you craned your head to look up at him, "Byka perzys.”

“And what does that mean?” Your voice was quiet, unsure, the air around you crackling with the tension that had been building for days.

“Little flame.” He translated, large palm moving behind your neck as he gripped the back of it softly, fingers tangling in your hair. Your breath hitched as he moved forward, his eye on your lips, yours on his.

“Byka jelevre.”

“What does t-“

Aemond’s lips crashed into yours hungrily, silencing your question. You squeaked, eyes widening before they slowly slid shut, hands coming to the front of his tunic as you fisted them tightly, rising on your tip toes to meet him. His kiss melted you, a fire being stoked in your gut steadily as the fingers in your hair tightened.

Then as sudden as it came, it stopped.

You were both panting, looking at one another as his tongue wet his lips.

“Fuck.” He growled, before crashing into you again, teeth nibbling at your bottom lip as you sighed into his embrace.

His other hand wrapped around your waist pulling you tightly against him as his tongue licked at your bottom lip. It was unfamiliar, uncertain, and your lips parted in a small gasp, immediately feeling his tongue lick tentatively at your mouth.

You were still, frozen as you thought of what to do as the hand on your waist moved to pull at your skirts hastily, dragging them up your legs.

And then, it was as though the fog was cleared, and your mind re-emerged. You pulled back with a gasp, hand gripping the wrist that was pulling at your skirts, your eyes searching his face with uncertainty.

And then, slowly, it dawned on him, realisation washing over his features.

“You’re untouched?” Came his quiet breath.

You swallowed, shutting your eyes to avoid his prying gaze, too afraid of his next reaction as you answered him.

“Yes.”

The warmth of his body left yours, and you almost subconsciously followed it, eyes reopening.

He looked at you with a new expression you could not quite understand.

Your chest ached to be held again, to feel his want and his hands pressed against your body. To feel his chest against yours, his lips on your own, his tongue teasing yours as you sighed into it. You wished to feel the calluses of his hands, and smell the salt and sandalwood that lingered around him.

You felt stupid for having told him, for having stopped him. You wished you hadn’t. You wished you had just let him have his way-

“-Apologies, Miss. I did not mean to overstep.”

Any thought that you had vanished, and you found yourself gasping for air like a fish out of water.

“I shall retire for the evening.” He took another step back, his eye not once leaving yours as he shifted his body towards your bedroom, “But if I do take your bed, I would like to earn my keep around your home as I recover.”

If this man did one more thing out of the ordinary, you thought your head may spin off your neck.

“Your keep?” You echoed, feeling the tingle in your lips from his kiss. '

Did he mean-

“-Work around the island. Cleaning, gardening. Anything that you need or want from me. I am yours.”

You felt that his last offer meant more, but you did not have the wherewithal to ask for elaboration, nor did you have the courage.

Gods, what was it about this man that turned you to syrup?

You nodded slowly, watching as relief washed over his features, “It is much appreciated, though I will be hard pressed to find things for you to do yet.” You shifted on your feet, hands wringing together once more, “I shall send word soon of your survival to shore. My pigeo-“

“-No.” Aemond said hastily, to which he recovered a moment afterwards, “No need until I am hale and healthy again. There is no point for false hopes, I may turn on the morrow.”

You shook your head, a small laugh falling from your lips, “I see no possibilities of you turning to meet the Stranger tomorrow. You-“

“-Please.” Came his voice once more, rough and quiet, and more strained than before, “Let me stay dead for a while longer.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the general tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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genshinluvr · 1 year ago

Text

Burning Desire 4

Pairings: Various Genshin Men x Isekai'd!Reader (Al Haitham x Isekai'd!Reader)

Summary: Awaken from your slumber due to the burning pit in your stomach, you decide to take a shower early morning, hoping it will cool you off. After your shower, you leave your bedroom to see a shirtless Al Haitham reading a book at your desk. You weren't sure why Al Haitham is in your bedroom, but he has his reasons for visiting you.

Note: I've been busy dealing with some things outside of my fanfics, and I haven't been able to type as much as I would like. Therefore, Al Haitham's smut is a bit shorter than the previous routes in the Burning Desire smut series. Again, the smut routes aren't supposed to be as long as the first "chapter" of the series and Crave. It's pure smut and has no plot, so some smut will be shorter depending on how it flows. As previously stated in my previous smut-fics, I tried to keep the story as gender-neutral as possible. All of my smuts do lean towards female!reader/AFAB!reader with gender-neutral pronouns. As usual, minors DO NOT INTERACT! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: Horribly written smut, as per usual ✨ slight masturbation/groping (?), orgasm denial, mating press, fingering, handjob, cervix fucking, slight choking, doggy style, slight overstimulation, slight voyeurism

Word Count: 4.1k

Burning Desire "chapters"/routes: [1], [2], [3], [4]

You tried to sleep, but the burning pit in your stomach was unbearable. You’re worn out from getting dicked down by Scaramouche and Tighnari, and you can use some sleep. Unfortunately for you, it doesn’t look like that’s going to be happening any time soon. You would fall asleep for a few hours but wake up to the unbearable throbbing between your legs. You need someone to drill their cock into you, or else you will go crazy.

The first thing you did when you wake up for the umpteenth time in the middle of the night is to masturbate. It provided a small amount of relief, but the same feeling will come back. The same burning desire will hit you like a sumpter beast, causing you to writhe around on your bed despite having your fingers buried deep in your entrance and cumming multiple times. Okay, well, ‘multiple times’ is a bit of an exaggeration— three times is the correct number.

Archons, you even went as far as taking a cold shower at four in the morning while everyone was still sleeping in their beds. You’re hoping the men who have a keen sense of hearing and smell don’t wake up to your activities. That would be even more embarrassing. The shower lasts almost two hours— your body’s really hot, and the cold water raining down on you feels so nice that it nearly makes you forget that you inhaled a large amount of aphrodisiac.

You step out of your bathroom, hair still drenched from your shower. You stop in your tracks when you see the Scribe sitting at your desk, reading a book. You blink at Al Haitham and peek at the clock in your bedroom. It’s almost six in the morning, and yet the gray-haired man is in your bedroom, wearing nothing but gray silk pajama pants.

You rub your eyes and gingerly sit on your bed. “Al Haitham? What are you doing up around this time?” You ask, getting under your blanket.

You squeeze your eyes shut briefly when the ache between your legs spikes up when you press your thighs together. You’re hoping that Al Haitham either leaves your room soon or he buries his cock inside you until you wake up everyone in the abode. Your mind is constantly racing ever since you breathe in the aphrodisiac, and you can never get peace of mind. Al Haitham closes his book, turning to face you and spreading his legs wide open. You gulp and look away, running your hands through your damp hair to distract yourself from looking at the faint tent forming in his pajama pants.

Al Haitham rests his arm on the armrest, staring at you intently in the darkness of your room. Light peeking through the blackout curtains of your room, illuminating your bedroom. You gulp and hug your knees to your chest, waiting for Al Haitham to say something. Al Haitham sighs and leans back in his seat; you can see his muscles ripple and flex whenever he moves. Archons, he is so handsome.

“I wanted to check up on you. I didn’t think you’d be awake so early,” says Al Haitham, crossing his arms over his chest.

Archons. The way his biceps flexes when he crosses his arms over his chest. You gulp and lie down, not taking your eyes off the gray-haired Scribe. Why is Al Haitham acting so casual with you when he knows you’re having inner turmoil. You want to skin yourself alive for feeling this way. The intense need for someone to be buried balls deep inside your entrance until you’re crying and begging for them to give you a break.

You nod, trying to act casual. “My bedroom was hot, and I was sweating in my sleep. I didn’t want to lay in a puddle of sweat, so I went to take a shower,” you lie.

Al Haitham hums, nodding slowly. You curl up into a ball, waiting for Al Haitham to leave your room. Judging by the way he’s sitting on the chair near your desk, you don’t think he will be leaving your bedroom any time soon. Al Haitham suddenly stands up, stretching his arms in the air and yawning. You blink and quickly look at the tent in his pants before looking away before Al Haitham can catch you in the act. You pretend to look at the clock, gesturing to it.

“I think you should go to bed. It’s still early in the morning,” you say, pulling your blanket up to your chin and closing your eyes.

Al Haitham raises his eyebrows at you. “Oh? You want me to leave already? I thought you would want me to help you with your problem,” Al Haitham says nonchalantly, walking toward your bed.

You crack an eye open and nearly jump out of your skin when you see how close he is to you. Al Haitham kneels on your bed and towers over you, caging you against your bed with his arms on both sides of your head while you look up at him like a deer caught in headlights. Al Haitham tilts his head, cocking an eyebrow at you, waiting for you to respond.

You clear your throat, snuggling deep into your blanket to distract yourself from Al Haitham’s stare and the dampness pooling in your underwear. Al Haitham is so freaking breathless— the veins on his arms are driving you crazy. He’s so handsome, and he knows it. Al Haitham clears his throat, grabbing you by the chin to have you look into his eyes.

“Are you going to answer my question or not?” Al Haitham asks.

You nod sheepishly, making Al Haitham look at you skeptically.

“Is that a yes to the question I just asked or the previous question?”

You stare at Al Haitham and rub the back of your neck. “I do want you to help me, but it’s embarrassing, and it’s too early in the morning to be having sex,” you mutter.

Al Haitham clicks his tongue and releases your chin, now sitting at the edge of your bed. You sit up and rest your chin on your knees, staring at the gray-haired man before you. Al Haitham leans back and runs his fingers through his bedhead. Archons, his bedhead is too cute. For someone who’s aching to get railed, you act like a prude— despite having two men fucking a couple of orgasms from you.

Al Haitham strokes his chin. “You don’t have to worry about waking the others if you can keep your volume to a minimum,” Al Haitham comments, grabbing at his aching cock through his silk pajamas.

You gulp and watch Al Haitham stroke and squeeze his cock. Heat rushes to your cheeks when you realize Al Haitham is staring at you, waiting for you to respond. How are you going to keep your volume at a minimal volume when you have something thick or long pistoning into your entrance?

“But there are people in the abode that have a keen sense of hearing, Al Haitham,” you whine.

Al Haitham squeezes the base of his cock through his pajama pants, grunting quietly when you whine his name. You cover your face, trying to get the image of Al Haitham hovering over you out of your head. Al Haitham releases his dick and crawls over you, pinning you down on your bed.

“So? What are they going to do about it, hmm? I am helping you, aren’t I?” Al Haitham mutters, brushing the tip of his nose against your cheek before peppering kisses on your cheek.

Al Haitham is not wrong about that. The aphrodisiac is still in your system, and it doesn’t seem like it’s not going away any time soon. Plus, the aphrodisiac is just the same as it was when the symptoms kicked in. You don’t think you can handle the thought of Al Haitham plowing into you while the others are asleep and when Gorou and Tighnari can wake up to the littlest sounds coming from you.

You close your eyes, wrapping your arms around Al Haitham’s shoulders as he kisses down your neck, lightly nibbling and biting your neck. You shiver and dig your nails into his back as Al Haitham latches his lips into your collarbone, lightly sucking on it.

Al Haitham murmurs against your neck, “If you want me to stop, let me know, and I’ll stop.”

You run your fingers through Al Haitham’s hair, tilting your head to the side to give him some room to suck on your neck.

You let out a shaky sigh when he sucks on your neck. “I don’t want you to stop,” you whisper, tugging on his hair.

Al Haitham smirks against your neck and stops sucking on your neck. Al Haitham grabs your blanket and rips it off your body, leaving you only in your oversized t-shirt. You hear a sharp intake of breath from Al Haitham when he sees that you’re not wearing anything underneath the large t-shirt.

“You naughty little thing,” Al Haitham whispers, shaking his head with a smirk.

You whine and hide your face with one hand while attempting to pull your shirt down to cover your exposed groin with the other. Al Haitham clicks his tongue, shaking his head with disapproval. Al Haitham grabs you by your wrist and pins them over your head with one hand while lifting your shirt until your chest is exposed.

Al Haitham spreads your legs with his knees before kneeling between your legs. Al Haitham releases your shirt and lifts your leg. Al Haitham swipes his index and middle finger up your wet entrance, making you jolt with surprise. You tremble beneath Al Haitham as he continues to coat his fingers in your slick, muttering about how wet you are for him.

“Al Haitham, please…” You trail off, gazing at him through your lashes.

Al Haitham plunges his middle and ring finger into your entrance. You tense up and let out a choked gasp. You tried to cover your mouth to muffle your moans, but you couldn’t free yourself from Al Haitham’s iron grip. You wrap your legs around his waist as he pulls his fingers out from your entrance before slamming them back into your gummy walls, making you writhe and arch your back beneath him.

Archons, you’re so wet that every time Al Haitham thrusts his fingers into your sopping-wet cavern, you and Al Haitham would hear squelching, and your juices would coat the inside of your thighs. Al Haitham groans, feeling how tight you are around his fingers. Your back arches every time Al Haitham’s long fingers jab a particular spot inside you, causing you to choke out a moan and clench around his fingers.

“Al Haitham…” You whimper, attempting to free yourself from his iron grip.

Al Haitham suddenly pulls his fingers out. You nearly whine at the feeling of emptiness. Al Haitham releases your wrists before grabbing your shirt collar with both hands, tearing your shirt in half. You watch Al Haitham toss your shirt to the side carelessly before taking his pajama pants, leaving him only in his black boxers.

You can see his bulge clear as day— the tent in his boxers is bigger than it was before. Al Haitham cages you against your bed with his arms before pressing his lips against yours. You wrap your legs around his waist, pressing your bare entrance against Al Haitham’s pulsating cock. The only thing that is getting in the way of you feeling Al Haitham’s cock is his boxers.

Al Haitham breaks the kiss and presses his forehead against your shoulders, breathing heavily. Al Haitham begins grinding his clothed cock against your entrance. You panted, eyes rolling to the back of your head when his cock rubbed up against your swollen bundle of nerves. You clench around nothing, biting on your lips to muffle your gasps. Al Haitham blindly reaches down to his boxers and begins taking his underwear off and tossing them to the ground beside your bed. You sigh in relief when you feel his hot cock press against your entrance. You peek down to see Al Haitham’s cock— the bulbous tip is red with need, pre-cum beading at the tip.

Al Haitham slowly ruts his cock against your entrance, coating the base of his cock in your essence. You reach down to grab his cock by the base, gently squeezing them. Al Haitham hisses and squeezes his eyes shut. You gently stroke his cock before rubbing the mushroom tip of his cock with your thumb, spreading his pre-cum around.

“You’re incredibly sensitive, Al Haitham,” you murmur, giving his cock a light squeeze.

Al Haitham hisses again before burying his face into the crook of your neck, panting heavily against your neck as you continue to stroke his cock. You stoke his throbbing dick slowly, making sure to lightly squeeze the tip and rub the tip of your thumb over the mushroom tip. Al Haitham releases a guttural moan and bucks into your hands, his eyes rolling to the back of his head when you tighten your grip around his red cock.

You continue pumping Al Haitham’s throbbing member until Al Haitham lets out a choked moan. Al Haitham grabs your wrist and forcibly removes your hand from his dick. Al Haitham gulps, pinning your hand to your side as he tries to catch his breath.

You press your lips into a thin line. “I almost made Al Haitham cum.” You can’t help but feel proud of yourself for being able to (almost) have Al Haitham cum with just your hands.

Al Haitham looks at you and slowly stands, brushing his messy hair from his face. Al Haitham grabs you by the waist and pulls you down. You squeal and gasp when Al Haitham slaps your already aching entrance. Al Haitham grabs your engorged bundle of nerves and pinches them hard. You grit your teeth and curl your toes, legs shaking as Al Haitham rubs the nub at a fierce pace.

You grab Al Haitham’s wrists, attempting to get him to stop before he makes you cum. “Stop, stop, stop, stop! I’m going to cum if you don’t stop!” You whine as you flail your legs around.

The tight knot forms at the bottom of your abdomen, getting incredibly tighter while Al Haitham continues to pinch, twist, and rub your swollen, aching nub. You shudder and tense up, preparing yourself for your impending orgasm. When the tight knot in your lower abdomen is about to snap and unleash the floodgates, Al Haitham releases your throbbing nub.

You look at Al Haitham, eyes wide and chest heaving with heavy breaths. “Al Haitham! Why’d you stop!?” you whine softly, grabbing his wrist and shaking his arm.

Al Haitham spreads your legs and slaps your sopping-wet entrance, making you involuntarily clench around nothing. You rest your head on your pillow and close your eyes, trying to catch your breath while Al Haitham coats the underside of his cock with your slick. You gasp softly when you feel Al Haitham’s hot cock rubs against your puffy entrance.

You’re not sure if you’re feeling extra needy because of the aphrodisiac or if it’s because Al Haitham denied you of your orgasm. Maybe it’s both. Al Haitham lifts your legs by the thighs, having your calves rest on his shoulders as he lines the tip of his cock at your entrance. Archons, this isn’t going to be the first time getting railed by your boyfriends, but for some reason, you can’t help but feel nervous about it. Sensing your anxiousness, Al Haitham kisses the back of your calves and gives your thigh a reassuring squeeze. You smile at Al Haitham and swallow your saliva. You grip Al Haitham’s thighs, gently digging your nails into his flesh. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and brace yourself. Al Haitham rubs the bulbous tip of his dick against your fluttery entrance before slowly entering your drenched hole. Your jaws drop, letting out a string of moans when Al Haitham’s mushroom tip breaches your entrance. You unintentionally clench your thighs around his waist, tensing below Al Haitham the more he sinks his cock into your gummy walls with a semi-loud moan.

You whimper when Al Haitham’s thick cock stretches you out. You squeeze your thighs around Al Haitham’s waist, causing him to stop halfway in your hot cavern. Al Haitham pants, balling his hands into fists beside your head. Al Haitham closes his eyes, relishing the feeling of your gummy walls clamping around his throbbing dick.

Al Haitham leans over you, his chest pressing against your face while he buries his face into your pillow. “Try to relax for me, baby. Please,” Al Haitham rasps, reaching down to grab your hand.

You whimper, holding Al Haitham’s hands and interlocking your fingers with his. “I-I’m trying,” you whisper, eyebrows furrowing while trying to relax and adjust to Al Haitham’s size.

Al Haitham nudges his nose against yours, his lips ghosting over yours. Al Haitham presses his lips against yours, swallowing your moans and whimpers when he sinks further into your heat. You wrap your legs around Al Haitham’s slim waist, heels digging into his ass cheeks. Al Haitham grunts into your mouth, balls deep inside your entrance.

Al Haitham stretching your hole is painful— you could’ve sworn that if Al Haitham was any thicker than he already is, he’d stretch you out so much that your entrance would rip to shreds. You can literally feel the skin stretch to accommodate his girth. You wrap your arm around Al Haitham’s shoulders while squeezing Al Haitham’s hand with the other.

Al Haitham gently thrusts forward to test the waters. You clench around Al Haitham’s cock, panting into his mouth. Al Haitham pulls away from the kiss and kisses your jawline while pressing his chest against yours, refusing to release your hand. Your thighs are shaking as you try your best to relax and not tense up each time Al Haitham thrusts lightly into you.

Al Haitham can feel you tremble while peppering kisses on your jaws and neck. He gently massages your inner thighs, closing his eyes while trying to adjust to the tightness of your entrance.

You unclench your legs around Al Haitham’s waist and signal him to start. Al Haitham pushes himself off you and kneels between your legs, lifting your legs up, and begins thrusting into your drenched entrance at a steady pace. You pant, eyes rolling to the back of your head every time Al Haitham thrusts in and out of your hole. The veiny base of Al Haitham’s cock rubs against the gummy walls of your warm, tight cavern, sending you to Celestia and back.

“Fuck, Al Haitham,” you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut each time Al Haitham buries his cock into you.

Al Haitham chokes out a moan, hugging your legs to his chest while thrusting. Al Haitham lifts your legs up until your ass is hanging above the bed. Al Haitham leans forward, folding you in half until your feet are above your head. You grunt when you feel the muscles of your thighs strain under the pressure. Al Haitham kisses the back of your calves, pulling his cock out until only the tip remains.

Al Haitham plunges only the tip of his cock in and out of your entrance, making you wince and shudder at the strange feeling. If you could describe how it feels, it feels like Al Haitham is almost scooping your insides out. It’s hard for you to put your finger on it— it’s the best way you can describe it, and it feels strange. You don’t think anyone has ever fucked you with just the tip of their cock.

Al Haitham continues to plunge the tip of his dick into your entrance repeatedly. You tense up, whimper, and clamp your thighs together. Without warning, Al Haitham thrusts his cock all the way into your drooling hole. Al Haitham chokes a moan and collapses on top of you when your gummy walls clench around his member.

Al Haitham props himself up on his forearms and begins pumping his cock in and out of your entrance. Your thigh muscles strain under Al Haitham’s weight, making you whimper and grunt at the feeling. Al Haitham hooks one leg over his shoulder while wrapping the other around his waist without stopping or slowing down. Al Haitham grabs your throat with one hand before aggressively pressing his lips against yours, quickening his pace.

You bite Al Haitham’s lips, making him growl and slam his dick into you so hard that you see stars dancing behind your vision. Al Haitham swallows your wails as you try to keep your voice down. Much to your dismay, a familiar feeling starts building up in your lower abdomen as Al Haitham continues to abuse your hole with his thick cock sooner than you thought.

You break the kiss, panting and squealing as Al Haitham drills his cock deep into you. “Al Haitham! I’m going to cum,” you whine, weakly punching his shoulders.

Al Haitham slides his hands down from your throat to your groin and slaps your puffy entrance, making sure to hit your bundle of nerves. You grit your teeth and squeeze your eyes shut, tightening your leg around Al Haitham’s waist. Al Haitham starts rubbing your engorged nub aggressively, making sure to piston his cock into your g-spot.

Al Haitham leans down and bites your neck hard, his eyes rolling to the back of his head when your gummy walls squeeze his cock so tightly that thick ropes of hot cum spurt into you. You whimper cum around his cock, back arching, chest pressing against Al Haitham’s heaving chest, eyes rolling to the back of your head as stars spin and dance behind your eyelids. You go limp and lay beneath Al Haitham in a daze, trying to catch your breath as your groin continues to pulse.

Al Haitham pulls his cock out from your now-sullied entrance before getting off your bed. You peek at Al Haitham to see him standing at the foot of your bed. Al Haitham slicks his hair back before grabbing your ankles and pulling you toward the edge of your bed. You’re too tired to fight back. Instead, you let Al Haitham do as he pleases. Al Haitham spreads your legs, watching his and your mixed cum spill from your pulsing hole. Al Haitham flips you over on your stomach and bends you over with your ass in the air.

“Another round?” You mumble, rubbing your eyes.

Al Haitham grunts in response before slamming his cock back inside. You squeal and grip your bedsheets hard, burying your face into your mattress as Al Haitham pistons his cock into your entrance. Al Haitham spreads your cheeks, watching his and your cum coat his dick and spill onto your bedsheets. The only thing Al Haitham hears are the sounds of your moans and whimpers. Something in the corner of Al Haitham’s eyes distracts him for a moment. Al Haitham looks up to see your bedroom door cracked open and a shadow standing at the doorway. The shadowy figure watches Al Haitham pistons his cock in and out of your sulled, pulsating entrance. Al Haitham smirks at the person, grabs a handful of your hair, and pulls you back toward his chest. You groan and close your eyes, wrapping your arm around his neck while digging your nails into your thighs. Your gummy walls pulse around Al Haitham’s cock as you whimper and writhe in Al Haitham’s grasp. Al Haitham doesn’t take his eyes off the shadowy figure, making sure to give the unknown person a show.

Al Haitham hisses when you clench around his cock, taking his attention away from the unknown person at the door and down at you. You choke out a wail, cumming around Al Haitham’s cock for the second time before going limp while Al Haitham proceeds to pump and grind his cock into your entrance.

‘I can do this all day,’ Al Haitham pants, filling your hole with cum.

Al Haitham pulls his cock out of your battered entrance, wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. Al Haitham glances at the door, only to see that the door is now shut. You curl up in a ball and groan when the mixture of your and Al Haitham’s cum spills out of you.

You rub your eyes, muttering, “Now I know how creampuffs feel.”

Al Haitham snorts and lays beside you, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you to his chest, and pulling a blanket over your body. Al Haitham kisses the side of your head and squeezes you lightly. You moan quietly when you feel cum leaking from your hole as the burning pit in your stomach remains ravenous.

Note: I won't be posting next week because I decided that it would be a perfect time to take a break from writing and posting for this upcoming week. Not only have I been busy, but I haven't had the motivation to write/continue fanfics because of how exhausted I have been lately. But fear not, I will post the week after my break! I'm thinking about continuing Tragic Outcomes, but we'll have to wait and see about that 🤔 Anyway! Ready to vote for the next route in Burning Desire? Remember to vote for who you want to be in the next fic and read the instructions carefully— which should be simple enough, I hope. Vote for the next route [HERE]! Anyway, to all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Taglist for my Isekai'd!Reader one-shot series and my overall taglist: @ins4nebish, @skyyyyackerman, @w1s-t3r1a, @urlocalheizousimp, @crinklypink, @downbadforurmom, @jadedist, @kaoyamamegami, @vynniis, @4-34-am, @iamcherryblossomsbitch, @starrry-angel, @raidenshogunsboobasword, @worldhardtibbysoft, @sagekun, @imnothungry-45, @lucifarts-boxers, @ieathairs, @akemiixx01, @probablynoposts, @mortallyshamelessfella, @odevote118, @sunlightstarr, @hispasian-otaku, @toobytub, @toshikochan, @firesunflames, @nightlysunn, @vox34, @skyyyyackerman, @undecidingfate, @nightlysunn, @aethersclothes (Taglist for Burning Desire has been fixed and updated— sorry for the inconvenience ;v; )

Read more of my works on my Masterlist / Masterlist 2 | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories on there too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

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candycandy00 · 1 year ago

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Serve Me, Save Me - A Sukuna x Reader Fanfic Part 2

After Ryomen Sukuna inadvertently saves you while killing his enemies, you decide to devote yourself to him as a servant. But the trauma from the attack triggers panic when you find yourself in his bed.

Part 1 | Part 2

Smut. 18+. Oral sex. Masturbation. Slow burn. Softer Sukuna than I’ve written before but he’s still a monster. True form Sukuna. Rape and its aftermath feature prominently as a plot device but rape does NOT occur between Sukuna and Reader. Features PTSD, panic attacks, etc.

If you’d like to be tagged in future parts (I have no idea how many there will be), comment to let me know! You must have your age in your bio or intro post or just tell me you’re an adult in the comment! Likes are appreciated but comments and reblogs (especially with feedback in the tags) make me feel all warm and squishy! Seriously any feedback at all is so wonderful! Divider by @benkeibear!

Several days later, when Sukuna went into his bath, he found the same servant preparing the water and laying out fresh robes for him. The heat and the steam in the room had made her skin look dewy, her hair wet. The thin work robe she wore clung to her shape as she moved about the room.

When she noticed his presence, she bowed, touching her forehead to the floor. “Your bath is ready, my lord.”

He looked down at her as he untied the silk belt around his robe, but before removing the garment, he paused. “You’re the servant who refuses me,” he said. It was not a condemnation, but a statement of fact. If he insisted, she would let him do whatever he wanted. She was too obedient not to. But he didn’t have the patience to deal with whatever trauma that would cause.

She was otherwise a good servant, keeping the shrine spotlessly clean. Even Uraume had praised her, seeming delighted while reporting that she had organized their spices in a neat and efficient manner and always took care with the plates and utensils while washing them.

“Go and fetch another servant to attend me,” he said.

She slowly raised her head. “I can attend you, my lord, if you’ll allow it.”

“I don’t feel like hearing your screeching tonight. Will you go into hysterics again if you see my cocks?”

Her face reddened slightly. “I don’t mind seeing them, my lord.”

He sighed. “Alright then,” he told her, shrugging off his robe. She hurried to retrieve it from the floor, folding it in a quick and deft motion before placing it in a basket by the door. She didn’t stare at his naked form this time, but she certainly wasn’t avoiding it. Her eyes darted all along his body as he sat down on a stone stool and used the readied cloths and soaps to wash himself.

She didn’t hesitate to come closer, taking a soapy cloth in her hands and using it to scrub his back. He wondered where she’d learned how to wash a man’s back so well, being unmarried. She was using the perfect amount of pressure, moving at the exact speed that felt the most pleasing.

“You have practice at this,” he remarked.

“My family owned a bathhouse, my lord. I attended to the customers often,” she said.

She used past tense. Meaning her family had probably been slaughtered in the attack. Ah well, at least they’d left her with a useful skill. He could feel his muscles relaxing under her ministrations, any tension completely gone. She was very good at this, even knowing the right time to stop and move on to another task without being told.

She soaped up her hands and then used them to lather his hair. He found himself leaning back slightly, into her touch. He normally washed his own hair, but like with his back, she used skillful motions to make the experience as pleasurable as possible. When finished, she lifted a bucket of warm water as she said, “I’m rinsing now, Lord Sukuna.” Without waiting for his response, and with the practiced ease of someone who had done this countless times, she held the bucket over his head and tipped it forward, spilling the water over his form and washing away the soap.

He made a mental note to send for her every time he bathed in this village as she stepped around in front of him and offered a warm cloth to wipe his face. She watched him, her eyes flicking down between his thighs. She didn’t look upset or frightened. In fact, she appeared to like looking at his body.

She lingered in front of him, and when his eyes met hers, her skin looked slightly flushed. “May I… touch you, my lord?”

It was a surprising request, coming from her, but he wasn’t in the mood to tease her. “Do as you wish,” he said.

She gave a quick bow of thanks, and then got down on her knees, smoothing the fabric of her robe as she scooted in between his spread open legs. She lifted one hand to his upper cock and gripped it softly, her eyes fixed on the organ as it twitched and began to harden under her touch. She stroked it lightly, gently moving her hand up and down the length. His lower cock hardened almost immediately after, eager to be touched as well. She used her other hand to stroke it, using the same rhythm.

Her feathery touch felt nice, but it was a bit too soft for his taste. “Harder,” he told her, and she looked up at his face. With a hint of a blush on her cheeks, she nodded and took a firmer grip with both hands, moving them up and down at a faster pace. Eventually she paused and looked at his cocks for a moment before leaning forward and licking the upper one, coating it in her saliva. She then went back to stroking the now slick shaft with her hand while she took the lower cock into her mouth.

The servant’s warm, wet tongue circled the throbbing organ in her mouth, and with her thumb she mimicked the motion on the upper one. Sukuna watched her work, enjoying the way her pretty eyes darted up to his face occasionally, the way her full lips looked wrapped around him. He couldn’t remember the last time a single woman had pleasured both cocks so well at the same time.

Sukuna leaned his head back, closing his eyes and listening to the wet, slick sounds she was making, feeling her velvety mouth enveloping him, her silky hand stroking him. The lower cock came first, into her hot mouth, and she took in every drop, her throat working to swallow it all. Then, in the next instant, she quickly pressed her tongue to the upper one as it began to shoot out his seed, catching all but a few spurts that landed on her face.

Looking down at her, he thought she was exceptionally beautiful with his cum dripping from her chin. She slowly rose to her feet and gave a small bow, then motioned toward the waiting bath. “The water is at optimal temperature now, my lord, if you’d like to enjoy a soak.”

He stood and crossed over to the huge stone basin full of water. Several people could fit inside it at once, but unless someone snuck and used it while he was away, Sukuna was the only person who had ever been in it. He stepped over into the water and lowered himself into it. The water reached his stomach, and was perfectly warmed, with some sort of fragrance drifting into the air.

As he slid down a bit further into the water and relaxed, he looked at the servant. Across the room, she was wiping her face with a cloth. Her robe was so damp from the moisture in the room that it stuck to her body all over, hugging every curve. After watching her for a moment, he said, “Come join me in the water.”

She lifted her face and looked at him. Several different emotions seemed to flicker in her eyes. Panic, flattery, excitement. But she didn’t move from her spot.

He sighed. “I won’t touch you.”

Her face seemed to relax. “Thank you, lord Sukuna,” she said with a smile.

*******************

You opened your thin work robe and slipped it off your shoulders, folding it neatly and dropping it into the basket of used clothing by the door. Fully nude, you walked over to the bath and gingerly climbed into the hot, steaming water. It felt wonderful as you sank down, the water level hitting at just below your breasts. You could slide down further, but you had the feeling lord Sukuna wanted to look at them, so you remained sitting up straight, a few feet away from him.

“Did the men who attacked you not use your mouth?” he asked suddenly.

The question shocked you with its abrasiveness. “They did, my lord,” you replied, looking down at the water.

“And it didn’t bother you to suck my cocks?”

You could feel your face growing hotter. “It didn’t.”

“Hmm,” you heard his voice say. “Then what happened the other night in my bed?”

You glanced up at him. “I think it was being pinned down that triggered the memories of the attack, my lord.”

“I see,” he said, shifting slightly in the water to get more comfortable. “Still, it’s only sex. I don’t understand what’s so frightening about it.”

You’d heard sentiments like that before from other men. “It’s not just sex,” you told him, “it’s a violation. It’s having someone use your body for their pleasure, against your wishes. And in this village, it robs you of your future. I’m a used, broken woman now.”

His eyes had shifted to you again, and you worried that you’d said too much. “What a stupid custom,” he said, surprising you. “Being a virgin does absolutely nothing to increase a woman’s value. If anything, I find them less desirable.”

You blinked, gazing at him with wide eyes. “Really?”

“Of course. What does a virgin know of pleasing a man?”

He probably wasn’t saying it to make you feel better, but you were comforted nonetheless. If the god of your village thought you were still desirable, then maybe you weren’t damaged after all.

“Thank you for saying so, Lord Sukuna,” you said, dipping your head slightly in a subtle bow.

He stared at you for a moment, then spoke again. “There’s still one among the attackers of the village I’ve left alive. He’s been useful for extracting information. It would probably be easy to find the families of the men who raped you. I could have them executed or-“

“No, please!” you said, the water around you sloshing as you moved closer to him. When he looked at you curiously, you went on. “I’m glad those men are dead. I’m glad you killed them. But their families did nothing wrong, so I’d like to leave things as they are.”

He shrugged. “If you say so.”

The two of you sat quietly in the water for a while. He laid his head back, and after a few minutes you wondered if he’d fallen asleep. You watched his broad chest rise and fall with his breaths, the water droplets sliding down his neck. He really was glorious. You found yourself rubbing your thighs together under the water. Since the attack, the only times you’d felt aroused were when you with lord Sukuna.

Silently, careful to avoid disturbing his rest, you slipped your hand down between your legs, then gently rubbed your slick, heated flesh. You’d pleasured yourself occasionally before the attack, but never after. You just didn’t have the urge. Until now, sitting so close to lord Sukuna in the steamy water.

You pressed one finger inside, leaning your head back and closing your eyes, your breaths hitching in your throat.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Your eyes snapped open when you heard Sukuna’s silky voice. You looked over to see him wearing a grin. You hastily straightened up in the water. “I’m sorry, my lord, I was just-“

“Don’t stop because of me,” he told you, a look of delight in his red eyes. “Continue if you wish.”

“You’re not offended?” you asked.

He laughed. “Why would I be?”

“Then, I’ll continue, my lord.”

Under his crimson gaze, you began touching yourself again, sliding one finger back in, your thumb stroking your clit. Your back arched in the water as you moaned softly. You hadn’t felt this sort of pleasure in so long, and now it was overwhelming. Was it because lord Sukuna was so close, his incredible body almost touching yours?

You glanced up and met his hungry eyes as you came, your body quivering. You shivered in the water as you came down from the high of your orgasm. The way he was looking at you… it was like he wanted to devour you whole. Something about that thrilled you.

Later, after you both left the water and dressed in fresh clothes, lord Sukuna turned to you. “From now on, you’ll be my bathing attendant.”

You bowed your head. “It is an honor to serve you, my lord.”

After he left the room and you began cleaning up, you smiled to yourself. You finally felt like you had a purpose again. And maybe, you thought, you might be called to his bed again some time, and things would be different. Maybe you were beginning to heal.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #x reader #tw: rape

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puuuders · 6 months ago

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Paranoia

Terzo is physically weak after laying in a coffin for 6 years. Omega takes care of him after his resurrection.

I've never written a fanfic before so this shit sucks but it gets that idea out of my stupid brain at least

1.3k words

Content warning: It's not NSFW but it does talk about nudity and sex jokes. Also describes stitches and scars. Not for minors.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

“You don't have to babysit me, you know.”

Terzo spoke playfully, yet there was an undeniable undertone of concern behind his words.

“I've already showered once. Do not worry. My muscles are fine."

“Still,” Omega scoffed as he closed the bathroom door behind him, “I don't trust that. 6 years of… not moving, and you are fine? Bullshit. Why is it that you are using a cane for support, and taking physical therapy if you are fine?”

Terzo didn't have a response. He simply let out a single breathy laugh as he leaned against the counter. After a few moments, he spoke again with a grin.

“If you wanted to see me naked, you could have just asked."

Omega chose to ignore his comment. Now was not the time. Omega wrapped his clawed fingers around Terzo's black cane, slowly pulling it away while keeping a watchful eye on Terzo. Terzo stood still, attempting to appear as if he could support himself just fine, but soon stumbled forward with a surprised huff. He was caught by his ghoul, who dropped the cane to the ground to catch him.

“Uh-huh, that's what I thought.” Omega sighed, though he couldn't help but feel a bit cocky about it. He gestured to a stool in the corner.

“Sit down.”

Terzo mumbled to himself as he sat down on the small, blue cushioned stool that was there for the shorter ghouls to reach the cupboards above the sink. Omega positioned himself in front of the shorter man. He froze for a moment, looking down at him anxiously.

“I need to… take your clothes off now.” Omega murmured.

Terzo raised an eyebrow.

“Okay?”

Omega narrowed his eyes.

“Are you okay with that?”

Terzo tilted his head, a confused look on his face.

“You've seen me naked many times. Why would I care?”

Omega hummed quietly to himself as his white pupils darted away. It seemed the time did not pass the same for both of them. Yes, Omega did see Terzo naked many times, but those many times were 6 years ago. Terzo seemed to think it was only yesterday.

“I can do it myself-” Terzo began to unbutton his own red, silk pajama shirt. Omega watched, crossing his arms. It didn't take long before Terzo's arms grew tired, and he dropped them back to his lap, his shirt only half unbuttoned. Omega shook his head and began to finish the job.

“I'm going to have to carry you out of here.” Omega said playfully. His normally gray cheeks were flushed with purple blush as he removed Terzo's shirt.

“That would be okay.” Terzo chimed, watching with interest as Omega knelt down in front of him. Omega then began to slowly remove Terzo's pants. He looked up at Terzo briefly before looking to the side, his fingers anxiously finding their way to the rest of his clothing and removing them. He refused to look at Terzo now. Terzo found it adorable.

Omega stood back up, holding Terzo's arm with the crook of his elbow as he guided him to the tub that was already filled with steaming hot water. Terzo grunted as he lifted his leg up high enough to get in, flinching at the heat of the water. Omega held his waist as he sat down in the water, sighing with relief and leaning against the walls of the tub.

“Mmm…” Terzo closed his eyes, basking in the warmth of the water and how his muscles relaxed from it.

“You are right, ghoul. I am too weak… Wash me.”

Omega rolled his eyes as he grabbed the shower head that was actually positioned lower than his tall stature. Terzo observed with a tilt of his head.

“How did you manage to shower when I was gone?” Terzo asked as Omega turned the knobs to turn the shower head on. Omega looked at him and knelt down.

“What do you mean?” Omega asked.

“You would not fit in here.”

“I just washed my hair by leaning over the tub like this.”

Omega demonstrated, leaning over the side of the tub. His white hair dangled in front of his face, almost touching the water in the tub.

“And how did you bathe?” Terzo asked. Omega stared at him.

“I am not demonstrating that.”

Terzo cackled before he was interrupted by Omega playfully spraying the water in his face. He spit it out and Omega moved it to his hair, letting out a low chuckle as Terzo's hair was pushed in his face from the weight of the water.

“That's not nice. You are picking on a weak, old man. For shame.” Terzo shook his head and clicked with his tongue.

“You are weak, but you are not old. I can pick on you if you want.” Omega reached over and picked up a bottle of mango-scented shampoo, dumping some into the palm of his hand. Terzo grabbed Omega's arm before he put it in, took a long whiff, and then nodded in approval.

“I had to make sure it was manly enough.” Terzo stated, closing his eyes.

“You are not manly.” Omega began massaging the shampoo into his black hair. Terzo was about to argue back, but quickly melted into the feeling with another groan of pleasure. It was such a bizarre sight for Omega to see. Terzo's facial expressions, his sounds. He was real. This was not one of the many torturous dreams he had over the years. Thinking about it too much would spark a tightness in his chest. Remembering how long he somehow managed to endure the excruciating loneliness. How close he was to begging Sister Imperator to be sent back to The Pit so he could at least exist somewhere that was not nothing but a reminder of the one he had lost. And even worse, the way he felt when he failed to protect Terzo. He kept a tight grip on that man for months after he was forcibly removed from the stage. He let his guard down after a while. And he suffered the consequences.

But now, there was no reason to remain so distraught. His love returned to him and the murderer was gone. Yet in the absence of loneliness there was an unbearable paranoia in its place. Everyone was his enemy except Terzo.

For now, though, all that was real was cupping Terzo's cheek so tenderly, running the shower head in his hair to rinse the soap out of it. He grabbed the towel he had hung up on the curtain rod and wiped Terzo's face, gently pinching around his eyes to make sure he did not get any of the soap in them. He held his small, wet hands, standing him up and this time allowing his eyes to roam around his body that dripped of water and left over soap. He had no lustful thoughts at the moment. Only thoughts of bliss, comfort, and that unfortunate layer of paranoia that spiked when his eyes landed on the fresh stitches wrapped around his lover's neck. It was graphic. It was still stained with blood, and he could almost see the pulsing of his veins in the purple-bruised area. Omega leaned in and gently kissed around the border of the bruise. Terzo hummed and squeezed Omega's large hands, tilting his head up to allow Omega to kiss. Omega trailed up his neck, to his jaw line, across his cheek and then finally landed on his lips which Terzo long awaited for. After a few moments, he slowly pulled off, clearing his throat and wrapping the white towel around terzos shoulders.

“You need to dry me now.” Terzo grinned after licking his lips, taking in the taste of Omega. Omega nodded shyly.

“I'm gonna have to be dried, too.”

#the band ghost #ghost #ghost bc #terzo #papa emeritus iii #terzomega #omega ghoul #Omega #omega ghost #ghost fanfiction #omega3

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ottiliaxwritten · 5 months ago

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Behind Closed Doors - A Kamala Harris Fanfic NSFW

Fem!Reader sum: the Vice President and her assistant have gotten close and start having their own fun in the office. warnings: smut, big age-gap, oral sex, risky sex, sex at work, assistant x boss

Your black heels click against the marble floor of the White House hallway. It’s only been a week since you started as Kamala Harris' personal assistant, and already you feel the pressure.

You carefully walk, trying not to drop the heavy stack of documents in your arms. The weight seems to grow as you hurry towards the grand door marked "The Vice President."

She smiles warmly as you almost stumble into her office, barely managing to place the documents on her desk.

"Here," you say, catching your breath.

"You could have brought them one by one," she laughs, standing up to help you with the papers. Her laughter is light and charming, and you’re instantly captivated.

You blush from embarrassment and admiration. The way she moves with such grace and poise is simply enchanting.

You watch her as she reviews the papers in her elegant black blazer and the white silk blouse that fits her perfectly. There’s a beauty in the way her outfit highlights her every move. You find yourself admiring her more and more with each passing moment.

"You could actually help me go through these," she says, her voice gentle and inviting, pulling you from your daydream.

The room falls into a quiet rhythm as you both work on the endless lists. You keep glancing up, mesmerized by the way she handles a pencil with her slender fingers. The soft movement of her nails against the wood is almost hypnotic.

There’s something magnetic about her. The way she takes charge, the intensity in her eyes—it’s all so captivating.

She suddenly looks up, her eyes meeting yours with a playful sparkle. "A bit distracted, darling?" she purrs softly.

You quickly refocus. "Um, sorry, Ms. Harris."

"Come here and check this out," she says with a warm smile.

As you move closer, you feel the air between you become charged. You try to concentrate on the task, but your thoughts keep drifting to her graceful movements and the warmth she brings.

"See, you're already better at this than I am," she says with a teasing smile. "You might just replace me one day."

"I'm really grateful to have you here with me," she says, her voice full of appreciation, keeping the compliments coming.

You can’t ignore how she looks at you. The office seems to fade away, becoming just a backdrop to the connection between you. It feels like the boundaries between you are blurring, and you both sense it.

The tension in the room is almost palpable. Every glance and touch feels filled with unspoken desire. You try to stay focused, but you keep thinking about the way she looks at you, the heat in her gaze.

She reaches across the desk, her hand brushing yours. The touch lingers, sending a thrill through you. When you look up, her eyes are locked on yours, full of a longing you can’t ignore.

You can’t stop yourself anymore. The pull you feel toward her is overwhelming. Every stolen glance, every time your fingers brush—it’s all been leading to this moment. Your heart races as you lean in, unsure if this is what she wants too, but you have to know.

Without thinking, you lean in slightly, testing the waters. She doesn’t pull back. Instead, she meets you halfway, her lips brushing against yours in a tentative kiss. The kiss is soft at first, as if both of you are gauging each other's reactions. When you realize there’s no resistance, it deepens.

Her lips are soft, but there’s a hunger behind them. You can feel her breath quicken, her body inching closer. She’s giving in just like you are. All those moments you wondered if she felt this too, it’s all clear now. She’s wanted this—wanted you—just as badly. Your hands on her hips, pulling her closer, it’s like you can’t get enough of her.

A muffled groan escapes her as you draw her tongue into your mouth, encouraging her to take control.

She presses your body against the wooden desk, her hands sliding down your sides as you continue kissing. Her movements become more urgent, almost aggressive, as she explores your curves.

Your hands find her hips, gently squeezing them as she leans into you. "I've wanted you ever since I first saw you," she whispers, pressing a kiss against the crook of your neck.

You find yourself momentarily breathless.

Suddenly, a loud knock on the door interrupts the moment. Kamala quickly adjusts her blazer and returns to her desk. Her eyes flick to yours, and in that moment, you both silently acknowledge the shift. The passion fades behind her professional mask, and you know it’s time to pull back into reality.

In a moment of frustration and urgency, you decide to hide under her desk instead of leaving. Just as Kamala is about to protest, the National Security Advisor enters, and her expression turns neutral.

"Ms. Vice President, we have an issue," he begins.

You sit beneath her desk, taking in the sight of her elegant legs and soft feet in some sleek black heels. She rests her legs to the side, maintaining her professional demeanor even in this tense situation.

An idea crosses your mind.

You scoot closer, your breath warming her legs. Kamala shifts in her seat, unaware of what’s about to happen.

You gently push her legs apart, rolling her skirt up her legs to reveal her black panties. You run a finger along the curve of her thigh, feeling the heat radiating through the fabric.

"Uh, yes, of course. I’ll make that call tomorrow," Kamala responds to the advisor.

You rub her through her panties before slowly pulling them down her legs. She adjusts in her chair, appearing both anxious and eager to assist.

The view is striking, her mature form glistening before you. You run a finger through her folds, making her slick and ready.

When you push her legs further apart and lean in, the intoxicating scent of her fills your senses. You can hear her struggle to keep her voice steady as the advisor speaks. You revel in the fact that you’re the one breaking her composure.

As your mouth connects with her center, her thighs twitch and threaten to close around your head. She sighs, trying to maintain her composure as she asks, "Was there anything else?"

The warmth of her thighs against your cheeks and the feel of her wetness on your chin is intense.

"I… ah… I actually asked the secretary about that, and he said… uh…" she struggles to finish.

You continue to stimulate her clit with your lips, and she squirms, her thighs trembling. The skin around you is warm and soft, almost soothing enough to coax you to sleep.

She can’t reach climax due to the pressure... or so you think.

Her constant shifting indicates she’s nearing the edge. You quicken your pace, suckling and licking even more intensely.

"God… damn… it," Kamala whispers, confusing the advisor with her subdued response.

Every shift of her body tells you she’s right there, on the edge. You can feel her tightening around your tongue, her thighs twitching uncontrollably. She’s about to lose it, and the thought that you’re the one doing this to her, that you’re the one making her fall apart—it’s almost too much. You want to see her come completely undone for you, to hear her lose that control she holds so tightly.

You listen to the wet squelching of your bodies and the adorable efforts of her trying to write above you even during this intense moment. Kamala is known for her determination, after all.

Kamala goes still, her body shuddering with each pulse as her release floods over you. Time seems to hang in the air, her breath shaky, your heart racing in sync. Even with her orgasm spent, the heat between you lingers.

When the advisor finally leaves, Kamala rolls her chair back and looks at you with an unreadable expression. Anxiety washes over you as she hurries to pull her panties back on, pushing her heels through the openings.

"You dirty girl…" she purrs, wiping her juices from your lower lip with a satisfied grin. "You’d better leave now… before this becomes a national issue.."

As you hurry out of her office, your mind can't help but fill with questions. Tomorrow, you’ll have to walk into her office again, but now everything is different. Will she pretend nothing happened? Or will her eyes give away the secret you now share? You wonder if you’ll ever be able to look at her the same way without feeling that pull, that desire to be close to her again.

#smut #kamala harris #fanfic #fanfiction

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fioiswriting · 1 year ago

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The sea and the fire

“Fire and water looked so lovely together. It was a pity they destroyed each other by nature.” - R.F Kuang

Rating : will be explicit 18+ later, MDNI Pairing : Aemond x Velaryon/Strong!niece!Reader, Cregan Stark x Reader later TW : mention of blood, mention of murder. TW will be added as the story progresses. Words count : 4361 AN : Hello everyone! I'm back from the deads hehe. Sorry, I've been busy with a lot of things lately, I've had a couple of exams and I'm also in the process of writing my (second) master's thesis. Sooo anyway, I've written the first chapter of my new fanfic. Yes, it is YET ANOTHER story that involves niece!reader x Aemond and it is adapted from an RP with my girlfriend. If you're tired of this trope, if you're uncomfortable with this dynamic, I suggest you find another fanfic (there are plenty of masterpieces on tumblr anyway!! 💕). It's been on my mind for a long time, and I finally found the time to finish this first chapter. I don't know yet how many chapters there will be or how often I'll post, but I hope you like it! 💕 As always, be nice, I know there are probably some inconsistencies, but we're here to have fun, right? (BTW, I've been bingewatching Vikings and I know the fandom is kinda dead, but I want to write some x readers now)

Also, English is not my first (nor second) language, so sorry for the grammar mistakes!!

Thank you for reading!!

Chapter 1 : Silk Street

War of heart - Ruelle 🎶

The streets of King's Landing had the peculiar quality of being both enticing and repelling; like a unique, curious spectacle that you discovered with every hesitant step you took. The smell of fresh fish mingled with that of fire and sewers, tickling your nose with unfamiliar smells. It was new to you, these smells, these sounds too; the hammering of the blacksmith's tools on the metal, the shouts of the merchants, the rolling of the cartwheels on the cobblestones of the winding streets. It was different from what you were used to; the steady rocking of the waves, the calm of the rain, the ups and downs of the tides. The only turbulence in your daily life were the storms you were so fond of, and the thunder, the lightning, the wind that shook the stones and lifted the waves had an untameable yet terribly soothing aspect.

Unlike King's Landing.

If it wasn't the natural elements that threatened to unleash their wrath here in King's Landing, it was the unpredictability of the people in the streets, the danger lurking around every corner, the risk of disappearing forever into the shadows of a forgotten alley.

Apart from the hustle and bustle of the forbidden streets you were discovering for the first time after so many years - and the adrenaline rush of breaking the restriction on venturing there - King's Landing was, objectively speaking, a deadly bore.

But it was still less boring than going round in circles in the castle.

You knew it was the dream of every lady in the Seven Kingdoms to live within the walls of the Red Keep, for it had been yours for a long time. Back when you lived in your childhood bedroom - the one on the second floor - you had no trouble imagining yourself spending your life in the gardens of the Red Keep, with your husband, enjoying the strawberry cakes and the books in the great library.

After all, you and Aemond were inseparable.

But in the meantime, fate had decided otherwise, and the mild climate of King's Landing, where you were born, where you celebrated your first words and your first steps, had been replaced by the vagaries of Dragonstone's weather. It was the sea, the storm and the rain that raised you, and it was with your feet in the water, on the shingle, that you grew up.

Living in King's Landing now was different from anything you'd ever imagined before.

King's Landing tasted bland. Boring.

Your mother had promised that the stay would be temporary, a few weeks at most, just to settle some business with Alicent and Viserys - your grandfather. The aim was to find a way to keep the peace between your families, but you weren't an idiot. You knew that the rift between your families was growing wider and wider.

And that one of the only ways to prevent a total, irreparable rupture was a promise of marriage.

Then again, wasn't it your duty to be sold into marriage, to strengthen the bonds, to carry the family's shaky balance on your shoulders?

You already missed Dragonstone. You missed the sea. You missed walking on cold water.

King's Landing was like a golden prison you couldn't leave because everything around it was too dangerous.

And you were bored. You had been reading. You had been embroidering. You had wandered far and wide through the gardens. You'd listened kindly and attentively to Helaena talk about her insects, and you'd spent several afternoons sharing court gossip with Baela and Rhaena.

You spent much of your time avoiding your uncle. Or watching him from afar.

For he had changed terribly; for better or worse, you weren't sure. You only kept the memories of your shared childhood, somewhere in your heart, like a buried secret, like a triple-locked treasure you'd sworn never to open again.

The memories were painful. They created a lump in your throat, they kept you awake at night, they made your tears flow.

And that was why you locked them away and threw away the key that kept them locked.

You decided you weren't that child anymore - you stopped being that child when you went your separate ways, when you went back to Dragonstone and he stayed here. Now he wasn't the little boy you left either: he had become this cold, tall, ruthless young man. He had that cunning little smile, that air of self-assurance he wore with his head held high and his chin up.

Boredom drove you to follow Aegon into the city. He suggested it and suddenly all sense of reason left your body. Weren't you the most reasonable of your siblings, the most prudent, the most intelligent? An inexplicable feeling had urged you to accept, like two hands behind your back pushing you towards him, like a voice in your head encouraging you to abandon your model daughter's appearance: the call of transgression. Curiosity. The desire to be bold. The danger. For once you were making a decision, your own decision, without your parents or brothers knowing. You were the master of your actions, and in a way, it was an act of rebellion that gave you a feeling of freedom, that awakened a sense of excitement in you.

Ser Erryk protested, of course, when he realised your little ploy, but you had already vanished before he could stop you. You laughed as you followed Aegon, his mischievous smile at the corner of his lips as he led you through the secret passage that allowed you to sneak out of the castle, your hand in the crook of his elbow so as not to lose you.

And everything went well. You enjoyed your newfound freedom with a mixture of curiosity and fear, your body pressed against your uncle's, the hood pulled down over your forehead. You had the advantage of dark hair - the opposite of the Targaryens' emblematic features. It attracted less attention, you knew it. But your curious gaze, your round eyes that discovered the ordinary life of the lowborn must have intrigued the most observant ones, for Aegon nudged you in the ribs when he caught you looking a little too intently at the work of a craftsman.

"You make a poor peasant," he whispered in your ear. "Well... You're obviously too pretty to be a peasant, that's for sure. But try to be more discreet." He paused. "Those men are looking at you like hungry dogs" he lowered his voice. You rolled your eyes and patted him on the shoulder.

To tell the truth, you weren't comfortable with all those men giving you lecherous looks, but Aegon's presence was reassuring.

He showed you the shortcuts he knew, the secrets, the curiosities of the city, and he talked to you. You wondered if he, too, had changed. You wondered if he'd gone from that stupid, mocking, annoying child to a secretly vulnerable, secretly lonely young adult. You knew about his bad habits; alcohol and sex, but this secret escapade showed you a side of him you didn't know. When had he become nice?

"Wait for me," he said as you looked around. The streets had changed, they had become busier, and suddenly you realised that you were frightened. "I'll be quick. Don't move and keep this on your head."

You wanted to protest, to hold him back, but your uncle had already slipped away.

You were all alone in the Silk of Street.

Your heartbeat quickened. You weren't sure you'd find your way back, and Aegon had ordered you to stay there, not to move, not to talk to anyone. Fuck.

Fuck.

Had he done it on purpose? Was it a plan he'd been hatching all along, a bad joke he'd decided to play on his niece, on Rhaenyra's only daughter? Was he still the mean boy who bullied his little brother? Or did he actually have a real reason for leaving you there, all alone, in the street where brothels piled up and nobles went to satisfy their needs?

You were angry at yourself for trusting him. You blamed yourself for being so naive. You couldn't believe he'd really set a trap for you, not after the complicity you'd shared just before.

Or maybe he was just being Aegon; irresponsible and immature, oblivious to danger, and so stupid as to think that waiting for him here was a good idea.

You sighed. Tears tickled the corners of your eyes with fear, but you tried to chase them away, to swallow them down, to calm your racing heart. The last thing you needed was to draw attention to yourself.

But there were these men all around you, looking at you as if they were ready to pounce. Was this how you would end up, abducted, and sold into a cheap brothel? Murdered after serving the needs of a few old men? You shuddered at the thought.

The voices around you mingled with the tumult, blurred images drawing unidentified shapes before your eyes, and you took a deep breath to try and calm yourself, rubbing your sweaty palms against the fabric of your cloak.

"So? What do you say, girl?"

A hand on your waist.

You weren't sure you understood what the man in front of you was saying. The words were bouncing around in your head without you being able to make them out, but his hungry smile was enough to reveal their nature. You froze. He was joined by another man, and you took a step back, then a second. It was as if your body refused to obey you, as if your brain stopped working, and you hated yourself for it.

You hated yourself for being so weak.

You had a dragon. You were a Targaryen. So why were you trembling? Why couldn't you gather your courage and run, gather your courage and plunge your dagger into someone's chest, fight and scream?

One of them, the older-looking one, closed his hand around your wrist.

"Let me go!" You screamed, but the words caught in your throat, escaping your lips like a distorted cry. "Go away!"

Simple commands that couldn't get through the space between your lips with the authority you wanted.

You closed your eyes, trying to resist.

Fuck. You were going to die. You were going to be raped and then you were going to die, or be sold into sex work, or -

Something splashed in your face and suddenly you felt free.

"Didn't you hear her? She said let me go," a hoarse voice growled.

Your blood ran cold.

You knew exactly who it was.

That calm but sharp tone belonged to only one person: Aemond Targaryen.

How had he found you? Why had he found you? You opened your eyes instantly, your cheeks still red with shame. You knew you'd been irresponsible, and that wasn't in your nature at all, quite the opposite. But the fact that Aemond had caught you in such a weak position bothered and annoyed you.

It was supposed to be your secret, your act of rebellious transgression, your forbidden escapade with Aegon. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

It wasn't supposed to be Aemond rescuing you.

You opened your eyes. Facing you, the older man was kneeling on the pavement. He was clutching at his right side, blood trickling through his fingers to the ground. He was suffocating, blood pouring from his lips, but Aemond wiped the blade of his sword with a satisfied smile.

The crowd had gathered to watch what was happening, a mixture of fear and curiosity on their faces, but Aemond was already hastening to chase them away in a tone that left no room for discussion:

"There's nothing to see," he thundered. "Go away. All of you. Or I'll serve you as food for Vhagar."

The crowd dispersed, frightened; women grabbing their children by the shoulders to force them to move, barefoot beggars hurrying to gather their bowl and few coins to find another place, prostitutes closing the curtains with an irritated sigh, old men almost stumbling, and soon the street was deserted.

Despite the hood that covered his face, you could see the flat line of his grin and the cold, accusing look with which he stared at you. He was furious.

Perhaps he expected you to thank him, for Aemond approached you without a word. You looked up at him, your cheeks still red with shame. You were too proud to thank him.

And you were still too angry, too.

Angry at his silence all these years, angry that he'd let you down when you'd stood up for him, angry at the man he'd become.

"Are you coming or not?" he asked in his icy voice, his hand already closing around your wrist to force you forward, but you didn't move.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, frowning. You'd suddenly regained your repartee.

You knew you had to calm things down, thank him and follow him in silence. Accept the humiliation and beg for his silence. You knew you were making things more difficult than they already were, but that was Aemond. And once again, in front of Aemond, you had a pride to uphold.

"What am I doing here?" he repeated, his voice sharp. He froze, his dark eyes glaring at you as if you'd just insulted him. Suddenly you felt so small in front of him. "I should be asking you that question," he added dryly, obviously trying to keep the tone of his voice under control. "You're even more stupid than I thought."

The sentence had the effect of a slap in the face, and you felt your cheeks burning. Like a little girl caught red-handed, you lowered your head. What had been going through your mind? Why had you decided to follow Aegon in the first place?

Aemond lifted you with ease and slung you over his shoulder like a sack of flour, as if he wanted to be sure you would follow him, as if he feared you would escape again, as if he didn't trust you.

And in the end, perhaps he was right.

As he carried you to the Red Keep, your fists pounded on his back. Small blows that he ignored, painless on the width that was his back.

He seemed to ignore you, perhaps more annoyed that you wouldn't stay still than anything else. But you didn't need him to play the perfect knight, not when he'd been ignoring you all this time. Not when he'd barely spoken to you on your return to King's Landing. Not when he drew a line under your childhood as if nothing had happened.

Not when he kept harassing your brothers.

It irritated you. He played the role of the ideal husband-to-be, impassive and calm; as if he'd always been the knight in shining armour he never was.

"You could at least let me go," you sighed, seeing that nothing seemed to disturb your uncle's icy calm. "I know how to walk. "

He had a moment's hesitation where he stopped, and then you felt him readjust your position with a flick of his shoulder. You had no trouble imagining the corners of his lips curling upwards, painting his face with his usual insolent grin, you had no trouble imagining him chuckling at your condition.

"Stop it, you are only making it harder for us," he growled in an authoritative voice. "And if you are not happy, I can always leave you here." He paused. "I did not know you dreamed of working in a brothel."

The comment was enough to send another wave of heat up your cheeks, colouring them red, but you tried as best you could to keep your composure, as if not to betray your embarrassment in front of the prince.

You refused to show him that his remark had affected you.

You just gritted your teeth and sighed.

The position was becoming uncomfortable: Aemond's bony shoulder was digging into your stomach and your legs were going numb, as if thousands of little ants were crawling all over them.

You hoped no one would see you when you got back to the castle. Your excursion into the city was supposed to be discreet; you weren't supposed to come back with a blood-stained tunic, nor hanging over your one-eyed uncle's shoulders.

If Aemond knew anything about the impending official announcement of your betrothal, he said nothing, walking ahead of him as if you were as light as a sack of grain.

"Qybor." You whispered again, this time using High Valyrian. Uncle. You hoped the nickname would make him react. "Qybor," you repeated a little louder. "I can walk by myself now."

If the nickname had any effect on him, Aemond didn't show it. But you had no trouble imagining the stupefaction you would have read on his face had you been face to face with him. You were proud of your skills in High Valyrian: you learned faster than Jace, faster than Luke, but then again, you'd always loved books and history, languages and learning. Aemond would probably remember that, it was what brought you together as a child in the first place.

You could see the tall towers of the Red Keep in front of you, their red bricks standing out against the blue sky. From a distance, you could understand the fascination of the people. There was something great, something sumptuous about the sight of this building, and you understood why it had taken three reigns to build it.

But despite your pleas, Aemond had not moved an eye. You knew that if your uncle hadn't intervened, you would probably have ended up in a dark alley, or in a filthy brothel, used as a plaything by a bunch of drunken lords, or in the dirty hands of ill-intentioned men. The thought made a lump grow in your throat that you found hard to swallow.

You were definitely naive and stupid for agreeing to follow Aegon like that.

Still, you hadn't bothered to thank Aemond.

You had too much pride to thank him, a flaw you'd inherited from your family.

You were stubborn, never satisfied, and always had something to say.

But Aemond, it seemed, had as much - if not more - pride than you.

Your engagement promised to be surprising.

"I am serious, Aemond," you added. It felt strange to call him by his first name when you hadn't addressed him that way for years. "I am a..." strong woman, you wanted to reply, but you chose another word instead, not wanting to give him the occasion to mock you: "independent woman".

As you approached the entrance - you prayed Aemond would choose one of the secret passages, you couldn't bear the humiliation of being carried off like a piece of merchandise by your presumed future husband - he stopped and set you down. His single eye searched your face, as if looking for the slightest trace of gratitude, but he knew he wouldn't find any; he knew it would have been too easy, and he knew it wouldn't have been you.

You weren't easy.

Pulling your arm to make you walk faster, Aemond forced you to follow him, around the ramparts, glancing around to make sure no one was following you. He pulled a little harder. "Mandianna," he began, his husky voice vibrating, the tone sending a wave of heat through your lower belly.

There was something incredibly pleasing about hearing the intonations of High Valyrian roll off your uncle's tongue.

But that was Aemond. And it was out of the question for you to feel anything for Aemond.

Around the bend in the ramparts, out of sight, he slammed you against the wall, both hands pressed firmly against your shoulders to prevent you from fleeing. "What exactly did you think would happen when you went to Silk Street, tell me?"

You knew what he was thinking. That you were irresponsible. That your actions were unworthy of someone of your station, and even more so if you were to be his future betrothed. That he wondered if your time on Dragonstone had made you reckless and wild, that he wondered if he might need to teach you some manners before he could marry you.

His judging gaze swept you from head to toe. As if to say that though your father's legitimacy was often questioned, Aemond knew that you were indeed Rhaenyra's daughter.

You avoided his gaze, your eyes fixed on a point beside his face. You wanted to say something witty, but the young prince had robbed you of any chance of intelligent thought, and you hated this feeling.

"I didn't think you'd come looking for me, Qybor," you replied with a grin as you looked up at him. "I thought you were a busy man."

You felt his fingers tighten on your shoulders, his nails digging into the fabric of your cloak and tunic underneath. Your behaviour was childish, like a petulant brat, but secretly you enjoyed seeing Aemond lose his temper. You liked to push him to his limits. You liked to see the subtle signs of his irritation; the moment when he clenched his jaw, when he straightened his neck, when his breathing quickened.

If you were to marry him, then you would be poison, ready to corrupt his soul.

He grabbed the collar of your linen tunic and pushed you a little harder against the wall. "I thought you were smarter than to follow my brother into the city." His body rigid against yours kept you pinned to the wall.

The expression on his face betrayed his inner conflict: part of him thinking that he shouldn't care about his niece's actions, about you. Part of him reminding that you were soon to be betrothed.

And you knew that the thought of other men putting their hands on you, on his bride's body was lighting a fire in the pit of his stomach.

Jealousy.

Possessiveness.

Aemond was a man driven by duty. On this level, you were the same; the model son and model daughter of your respective families, charged with performing your duties to prevent the gulf that separated your families from widening.

Both the eternal seconds of your families.

Both the pride of your mothers.

Suddenly he released you. His hand found your wrist again and he pulled you through the corridors of the castle. Had anyone caught you now, your hood pulled down over your forehead, your clothes hiding your appearance, they would probably have frowned and wondered if Aemond had suddenly decided to follow in his brother's footsteps, his taste for debauchery, by bringing a common girl or a cheap prostitute into his chamber.

For at that moment, you did not look like the daughter of royal blood that you were, not with your simple linen clothes, not with the thick cloak that covered your body, not with your hair tied up carelessly. You looked like a servant girl, a smallfolk girl, not like the Pearl of Dragonstone that you truly were.

Aemond's fingers burned around your wrist. You wondered if he felt it, too. If you were causing the same effect in him.

But he was impassive, always so difficult to read. He hid his feelings, buried them under a cold, mysterious shell, as if to protect himself.

He stopped in front of the door that led to your bedroom. Fortunately, the corridor was deserted. You didn't have the courage to face your parents' disappointed looks, you didn't have the courage to realise that you had betrayed their trust, even if, for a moment, you had forgotten your duty, you had forgotten the responsibilities that weighed on your shoulders, you had tasted a feeling of freedom, so new, so delicious. A foolish act of transgression.

But you were safe and sound, and that was the most important thing.

"You'd better get changed," Aemond suggested. "It would be better if my mother didn't see you like this."

He clenched his jaw. He looked concentrated, as if he wanted to add something, as if he wanted to reprimand you but had to force himself to remain silent. An instant of silence hung between you. The urge to ask him if he was going to report your little escapade burned on the tip of your tongue, but you thought better of it.

Aemond's single eye was riveted to you. Piercingly. Fierce.

For a brief moment, a very brief moment, your uncle's ragged breathing caressed your face and your heart raced.

He was so close.

"Why? Don't you like to see me dressed like a common girl, my prince?" you asked, teasingly. Like a common girl you could bend over in some dark and gloomy street, you thought. But Aemond was not Aegon, and you felt him hesitate, as if the words had taken him by surprise. His hand, about to find your jaw and make you swallow your insolence, had stopped halfway.

You smirk. Aemond had nothing to worry about. For the official announcement of your betrothal, you had planned to wear a dress that would honour your Velaryon origins.

"Rest assured, qybor," you continued, taking a step in his direction.

Poison in his soul, you repeated in your head. That's what you'd be to your uncle. You took the time observe him, as if studying him, as if imagining the effect the words you were about to say would have on your uncle. Your eyes sparkled with mischief, and perhaps with something else. "Your betrothed is still intact for her wedding night," you finally whispered in his ear.

He held his breath. You knew that you would break down, brick by brick, the barriers he'd spent years building around his heart.

You wanted him raw.

But before you turned on your heel to enter your chamber, you summoned all the courage you had left in your body and stood on tiptoe to plant a kiss on the prince's jaw.

"Thank you for coming to my rescue, my prince."

And then, you were gone.

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #Aemond Targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fic #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x niece!reader #aemond targaryen fanfic

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kometqh · 9 months ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐝

Viscount!Captain Rex x Maid!F!Reader Pt. 2, Pt.3, Pt.4 The Viscount is a renowned bachelor, known for his kindness, his wits and his charm. Ladies from across the planet swoon over him, visit him, are denied by him. He is a respectable, well-known man. What nobody seems to know is his knack for venturing out into the night, returning home with treasures, jewels, drinks, and most of all, ladies of the night. What does one do when they are caught red-handed, by none other than a lowly maid? Word Count:3,474 Warnings: Descriptions of sexual activity, minor swearing, also halfway unedited (will work on that). If I missed anything (pls im not good with tags) please let me know! ^^ A/N: This Rex fanfic idea took over my brain and I already have the whole story planned out and I'm in love <33

The evening burned so hot; the arid August air grazed through your lungs like gravel. The usually rackety crickets were unusually quiet, except for the occasional croak. The steady drip, drip, drip of water filled the still evening. And then, as your hands wrenched the dirty water from the rag, a hushed groan trickled from around the corner. It was quickly suppressed, but you had heard it. Slowly, you stood up from your crouched position, you abandoned the rug on the concrete. As far as you were aware, all the residents of the Viscounts’ manor were asleep. You took a step forward, craning your head in the direction of where the sound came from. Nothing. Just the occasional hum of crickets and your steady breathing.

With a few more steps forward, your heart leaped to your throat. It wasn’t nothing. Someone was there. Hidden behind the arched wall and doorway that separated the manor from the extensive, plush green, mile-long fields. Were they intruders? But the manor was so far out into the countryside. It would take hours to get there by carriage, never mind by foot. Who would bother going that far? But it was a possibility. An unlikely one, but still a possibility.

The grass was soft beneath your bare feet, cold and tickling as you inched closer and closer. Your thoughts were racing, and your heart was punching vigorously on your ribcage. What were you going to do, if they were in fact, intruders?

As you reached the wooden doorway you noticed it was slightly ajar. Enough to fit an arm through it, enough to not be seen by anyone unless they were standing directly in it, watching. The wood was harsh against your palm as you leaned against it, scraping warningly on your fingertips.

Your heart dropped. Your throat dried. Your breath hitched in your throat as you looked up.

Breathy, desperate muffled moans, the ruffle of expensive silks and fine cotton, the rhythmic sound of skin against skin. It felt as though a bucket of cold water had been splashed in your face. This… You’d been hired as a House Maid. Previously you had worked in a number of different roles, so you had seen all the different kinds of dirty and awful in homes and manors alike. This wasn’t one of them. This was a situation you found yourself stunned at. Confused at. What were they doing?

The woman’s hair covered their faces, lending them some privacy in such an intimate, and yet such vulgar moment. Who were they? Servants? No. The clothing was too expensive, this place too hidden. All you knew was that this was deliberate. Whether you were meant to find them was a coincidence or not, you weren’t sure.

Unexpectedly, the woman leaned her head back. Her lips, coloured some finest shade of red, gaped openly at the sky above. You didn’t recognise her. But the male who had trapped her against the wall – you knew his face all too well.

He was your employer.

The Viscount.

A light gasp escaped you, realisation crashing into you like a carriage into a boulder. His head snapped in your direction.

Surprise gleamed in his eyes, but he continued his ministrations, his gaze locked onto you. As if he had casted a spell, you found yourself unable to move. Your feet were cemented to the ground, your lungs still as you held your breath. You were a mere statue, your gaze forever stuck on the pair before you. There was a glint of a warning in his irises, as if he was daring you to make a sound, daring you to interrupt him.

Your gaze wavered, straying to glance at the darkness behind.

The amber glow of a nearby lamp was the only source of light, the only thing that allowed you to comprehend what was truly happening. It flickered with each gentle breeze that passed, swaying alluringly on the burning wick. It burned warm, so warm you could almost feel the scalding, waxy trail of it across your skin. The fields behind were pushed away into the background, swallowed in complete and utter darkness, the forests looming in the far distance like a shadow. Whatever was lurking out there would have been a more welcome disturbance than what you were witnessing up close. You felt like a meagre, frightened insect tangled up and struggling in a sticky web you had no business soaring into.

The Viscounts’ voice snapped your attention back to him. No, it commanded you.

“Look at me.” He rasped out, and for a moment you faltered. You weren’t sure whether the command was directed at you, or the mystery woman. Were you beginning to get caught up in a fantasy you had no right to dream?

With another moan, she gripped the Viscount’s face, pulling it towards her. “Kiss me.” She uttered, looking up at him through a fan of thick, dark eyelashes. He was quick to oblige, leaning forward, pressing his lips against hers. His gaze slowly abandoned you, and so did the spell with it. Your feet no longer felt stuck, your hands no longer felt ice cold, and your breaths no longer felt suppressed.

Like a fawn, you scurried away, bunching your skirts in your hand. Your feet carried you as fast and as quiet as they could. Your sight landed on the wooden bucket you had abandoned, and with one hand, you reached for it. You couldn’t leave any traces behind. You couldn’t risk losing your job.

“What was I thinking?” You muttered to yourself as you entered the manor again, heading straight for the kitchens. How long had you spent staring and gaping at them? Surely long enough for the images to replay vividly in your mind, long enough for all the floors to dry up. The tiles sparkled like thousands of miniscule diamonds under the low glow of candles. Vases of ruby pink and white, carefully picked out roses littered the hallways, spaced exactly five metres apart until they stopped just before the kitchens.

One hand reached for the door, pushing on it with vigour.

In your hurry, you forgot one thing.

The doors creaked and protested loudly, the sound bouncing off the walls. You flinched, gripping the doors. You stopped them from moving, and warily glanced over your shoulder. Not a living soul in sight.

“Thank the lord.” You whispered, and silently slipped through the small space.

The door closed behind you with a soft thump, and you allowed yourself to take a deep breath. Through the nose, into the chest. You counted to three, holding your breath, before slowly exhaling. You repeated the motion as you emptied the bucket and hung the rags to dry. You continued it as you made your way to your small, closet-sized bedroom. Your steps were small, timid as you feared of walking past someone, anyone. Fear prickled at your skin; every sound of the manor caused goosebumps to flare up on your skin like a rash.

You couldn’t feel more relieved when the small, wooden door came into view. Gently, you twisted the doorknob, letting yourself in.

You let it stay open, just long enough to light a single candle.

The flame flickered as it grew, warmth extending from the wick to your fingertips. It engulfed the room in a fading orange glow as you closed and locked the door. The only sound in the room was your deep inhales and exhales, and the light creak of your bed as it dipped under your weight.

Your heart was pounding, blood thrumming deafeningly in your skull. Your stomach twisted in an unfamiliar knot, and a burning sensation settled at your core long ago. Your thoughts were quiet, replaying the sight like a melody on a gramophone.

You had stood there long enough to imprint the sight into your memory.

You could recount every second of the encounter, every drawn-out breath, every sound a scullery maid like you shouldn’t hear, as if you were a sinner in church.

“I’ll be lucky if I still have a job and a roof over my head in the morning.” You muttered to yourself as you stood up, readying for bed. You had a long day ahead tomorrow, to be sure.

But as you lay under the duvet, your mind couldn’t stop replaying the memory.

Those golden, dangerous eyes.

Morning rolled around faster than you had expected, your eyes snapping open when someone knocked loudly on your door. You scurried out of your bed, wrapping a stray blanket over your chest.

“Coming!” You shouted, searching for your shoes. You searched under your bed, and next to your small closet. They were nowhere to be found.

Two more knocks, and you moved towards the door. Screw it, you’d find your shoes later.

As the lock turned and the hinges swung, you were greeted with a surprising sight. The Housekeeper was at your door.

“Mrs Opal? What can I do for you?” You had asked, fighting hard to keep your surprise at bay.

The woman scorned you with a glare, her lips drawn into a thin line. She looked you up and down, her hands neatly folded behind her back. After a silent moment, she spoke up.

“The Viscount has requested your presence in his study… He says there is a matter he must discuss with you. Get dressed and make your way to the First Floor.” She said promptly, walking away before you had a chance to even think of a response. Confusion was clear on your features as you peered out, watching the Housekeeper disappear round the corner.

What did the Viscount himself want to do with you?

You shook your head, mumbling profanities under your breath. The door closed with a loud thud behind you as you began searching for your neatest piece of clothing. The best you could do was the violet petticoat given to every member of staff. Working as fast as you could, with practiced, experienced hands, you were dressed within minutes.

As your hand landed on the doorknob, your stomach churned. What could be so strangely important that the Viscount wished to speak to you?

Your footsteps were light and hurried as you made your way through the hallways, your voice soft as you greeted the other members of staff. The kitchens were already busy, with cooks and maids scrambling about to deliver breakfast to the family.

The footmen were at their stations, nodding lightly to you as you passed each one by. The rows of ruby pink and creamy white roses were a welcome sight, and a sense of calm washed over you. Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been so bad. Maybe, possibly, you were about to receive the opportunity of a lifetime.

Your thoughts didn’t stray even as you made your way up the stairwell, the soft thud of your footsteps the only sound coming from the lower floors.

And, as you reached the first floor, you were greeted with the sight of the Housekeeper and the Steward moving animatedly, deep in discussion. They seemed to be… Aggravated. No, perhaps quarrelling.

They stopped as you approached slowly, your hands entwined together at your front.

“There you are. You look presentable.” Was the highest appraisal Mrs Opal could lend out. You gave a curt nod, thanking her quietly. The steward remained silent; his bird brown eyes trained on you. “Now follow us. The Viscount shouldn’t be made to wait.” She continued, leading you down the hallways. More light flooded the upper floor, and you couldn’t help but admire the view of the windows from afar. The ground floor and basements lacked natural light or windows, and it was more common for you to be scrubbing something during daylight hours.

Mrs Opal and the Steward exchanged no more words in your presence, choosing to remain distant and silent. Their footsteps remained as light as a phantom’s, almost floating on the soft, teal carpet. They served their purpose; chilling you to the bone with anticipation and uneasiness.

The air felt cleaner up here, you noted. More windows had been opened, allowing fresh, countryside air to waft in. Along with it came the harmonious chirps of songbirds and insects alike. You rubbed the material of your skirt between your fingers, doing your best to wipe any sweat off as the doors to the Viscount’s study came into view. As the three of you came to a stop, Mrs Opal and the Steward exchanged glances, before turning to you. This time, the Steward spoke up

“When in the presence of the Viscount, you do not speak unless spoken to. You do not look at him, unless you are requested to do so. You do not sit unless you are permitted to. And last of all, we refer to the Viscount as ‘Lord’. Are we clear?” His voice was like a nail under a tool, sharp and unrelenting as he hammered the rules into your skull.

“Yessir.” You answered quietly, not looking up.

“Wonderful.” He responded, and inched closer to the door. He raised a gloved fist to the door, and knocked three, distinct and perfected knocks, as if the rhythm and consistency of a knock varied from situation to situation. The doors opened before him, the hinges silent, unlike the ones on the ground floor.

“Come in.” A soft voice instructed, and the three of you walked in in a single file. The Steward led at the front, Mrs Opal stationed in the middle, and you at the end. The doors were closed behind your figure, and you failed to hide your jitteriness as you jumped slightly. However, you did succeed in supressing the urge to look back. Your head remained tilted downwards, your sight focused on the diamond-patterned carpet beneath your feet. A short-lived relief surged through you as you remembered; you had lost your shoes. You were essentially barefoot on the Viscount’s expensive carpet. The morning had already had a rocky start, what was next?

“This is the House Maid you requested to see, my Lord. Is there anything else you need, my Lord?” The Stewards’ voice softened, his stern posture shrinking under the gaze of the Viscount.

He must have whispered or something, as you were caught by surprise when both the Steward and Mrs Opal stuttered in confusion, and you once again had to fight the urge to look up.

“Must I repeat myself?” The Viscount asked, his voice deep and gravelly. Someone must have had an early morning, you thought to yourself.

The Steward shook his head, gesturing for Mrs Opal to follow him.

The doors opened, the sound of a few pairs of footsteps retreating reached you, before they swung again.

Your heart thrummed in your chest, flapping wildly like the wings of a hummingbird. Were the two of you alone? If so… Why?

You swallowed the forming lump in your throat, rubbing the pads of your thumbs on the cotton material of your skirt. Why was he so quiet? Were you meant to look up? No. The Steward – you really should have asked for his name – was stern on telling you to avoid doing so.

So what was the Viscount waiting for?

“You may look up, little one.” His voice was coarse, finer than the most miniscule, smoothest grains of sand on Tattooine. Heat rushed to your face, and you questioned whether it was from the uneasiness you felt or embarrassment. As your eyes met his, recognition rushed through you.

Those golden eyes. Stern, solid and unrelenting. And yet… There was something else. Something you couldn’t quite decipher as your heart leaped into your throat.

“Recognise me?” He asked softly, his voice just barely above a whisper.

Should you lie? Should you be truthful? Which option would ensure you’d keep your job?

A soft laugh bubbled in his chest. Your gaze wavered, and you found solace in focusing on the cedarwood desk separating him from you. You decided on the latter.

“Y- Yes, my Lord. You’re the Viscount, my e- employer.” You stuttered out softly, wincing as you seemed to be doing everything but looking confident and calm. Surely, this was some cruel joke. You were sure you had dreamed up the events of last night after collapsing into your bed from exhaustion. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be real.

You allowed yourself to look up at him once more, and your chest tightened at his expression.

He seemed to be amused by all this.

“Let us not beat around the bush, and get straight to the point. I know what you saw, little one. But do you know what’ll happen to you now?” He questioned once more, challenging you to look away. He was relaxed and yet domineering, confident, his form leaning against the chair, his legs spread wide open. He was the one with all the power here, as much as you wished he wasn’t.

You took in a deep, shaky breath before replying.

“I’ll be removed from my position as House Maid immediately, my Lord.” Your voice was steady as you maintained eye contact, your breathing method calming you down.

He remained quiet, observing you like a hawk watching its next meal. His thumb caressed the plush softness of his bottom lip in slow, circular motions.

“If I may be dismissed, my Lord, I shall go and pack my belongings.” You tried again, before you paused. You broke Rule Number One. Do not speak unless spoken to. The Viscount betrayed none of his thoughts at your mishap, though he quirked a curious brow at you.

But what did it matter if you were about to lose your job anyway? And with that, you went against your better judgement once more.

“If I’m honest, though, you shouldn’t be so… Intimate with a strange woman at late hours of the night in your back garden, my Lord. At that point you are begging to be caught. So, technically speaking, it is not my fault,” You paused, pursing your lips, “If it were any other servant, the whole manor would know by now.”

Kriff. What were you thinking?

He gave a soft hum in response, his posture straightening up.

“You dare speak to your employer so… Callously?” He questioned, but you didn’t grace him with another smart-ass response. You had dug yourself a deep enough grave already, you might as well forget your headstone.

“To ease your confusion, I wasn’t aware that any servant would be working at such late hours of the night. I also own this manor, and do you know what the word ‘own’ means?” He questioned, quirking a brow at you, again. “It means it belongs to me, it means I can do as I please, with whomever I please, wherever I please. Does that aid you in your confusion?” He rounded his desk, his footsteps light and calculated right until his chest was inches from yours, his figure towering over you. Your breathing stopped completely, your eyes almost bulging out from their sockets as your heart raced faster than a horse. You had royally, majorly pissed him off, haven’t you?

Unexpectedly, a soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The crease between his brow eased up, and for once, the Viscount looked relaxed.

“I admire your confidence, little one. No one has ever spoken to me so… Plainly. Rudely, even. But I’d reign it in a little, for future reference. I’m not going to dispose of you, no.” He whispered, searching your eyes with his own, as if there was a lost treasure buried deep within the vibrant colours of your irises.

“You’re… Not?” You asked again, swallowing harshly. Clearly he wasn’t too bothered by your obvious disregard for the rules he imposed on the servants.

He shook his head, still smiling down at you.

“No. I’m instead promoting you. You’ll work as my personal servant, after all, I can’t have you be free to gossip about my nightly endeavours to anyone. Wouldn’t you agree, little one?” He cocked his head to the side, eyeing you up and down.

Heat rushed over your face like a flame, burning and scalding until you were left as nothing but ashes. Why was he so relaxed? So calm? What was going on?

You blinked once, then twice, before remembering to breathe. His scent flooded your senses, until all that you could think of and feel was the Viscount himself. He smelled like a warm, wet spring day, of pine needles and steady streams of water. Was this man anything but perfect?

His fingers gently cupped your chin, tilting your head upwards until he had your entire attention focused on him.

“What do you think?” He inquired again, dissatisfied with your lack of response.

You fought your way out of his touch, shaking your head.

“W- What?”

Tags: @actuallybarb <33

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arcielee · 8 months ago

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solace

paring: Suguru Geto x female reader summary: "You can take it, you've done it before." Prompt #14 warnings: reader afab, refusing healthy communication and using sex as an escape, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v unprotected pull-out is not a valid bc method but this is fanfic sooo word count: 1.7k+ author’s note: The jjk brainrot is real. This stemmed from a separate short series that I am also working on, but this became something else entirely. I do plan on posting the series, but we shall see. 💜

He had already showered and was waiting for you, sitting on your couch. You watched the water droplets fall from his silk hair and wet the collar of his shirt; you could smell the body wash he borrowed on his skin. There was a stretch to his sweats from how his legs were spread and his oversized shirt was draped over his lithe frame; shadows framed his unfocused eyes and you knew that he was lost in his thoughts.

“Come here.” Geto finally noticed you, his voice low and tired.

You moved closer to his reach and his large hand curled around your wrist, his touch warm and calloused and careful to pull you onto his lap. His arms curled around your waist and you nestled back into his chest, feeling his heart thrumming beneath.

You already knew the answer, but you asked him anyway. “Did you want to talk about it?”

He gave a contemplative hum, shaking his head and burrowing his face into the curve of your neck. “No,” he said, pressing a kiss to your pulse.

It fluttered through you, alighting through to your nerve endings, and you squirmed on his lap, feeling him half-hard and pressing against your ass. His fingers bit into your hips with a low groan that vibrated through you. “Stop that,” he growled, but his teeth were nipping playfully at your skin.

“That tickles!” You squealed your protest, trying to move, but his hold on you only tightened. He only relaxed once he realized you were twisting to straddle his lap, turning to face him. His hands settled to your waist before moving to cradle your lower back; he pulled you close to press another kiss to your collarbone and your hips rolled for friction, feeling him pulse against you.

He groaned, his lips curling upwards slightly. “That tickles,” he teased. His palms pressed to follow up your spine and his chin tilted to capture your lips. You wrapped your arms around his neck, melting against him; you sighed sweetly into his mouth.

Geto echoed you with another low groan, a deep inhale to take in your scent. “So beautiful,” he murmured against your lips.

You blood seared to the surface and you pulled back, looking at him from under your eyelashes. He watched as your fingertips reached to trace his cheek, trailing his sharp jaw and tucking his hair behind his ear. He leaned into your touch, and you saw the glimmer of hope in his eyes, the rose dusting that now warmed his features.

“Suguru,” you tried again, your other hand reaching to cup his face. “What happened?”

Geto said nothing, but his eyes bore through to your bones beneath. You could see that something unspoken, something internal was decided behind his heady gaze; now was not the time for talking. Instead, he surged against you with a renewed passion that pulled the air from your lungs, a clash of teeth and tongue, his grip moving to dimple into the softness of your hips.

You gasped at his passion and he deepened the kiss, slowing to simmer, to taste. You felt dizzy, your fingertips biting onto his shoulders to hold yourself upright. His arm wrapped around your waist while the other moved to balance as he laid you back onto the couch cushions, slotting his slender waist between your plush thighs.

Geto molded against you and your fingers clawed at his shirt to feel his heat, the muscular definition of his torso that was pressing onto you and pinning you down. Your hands grabbed at the hem with a desperation to pull it over his head, wanting to feel his skin. He looked down at you, his hair mussed and a smirk touching his lips.

Your blood heated with his stare, your eyes falling to follow your fingers as they traced the smooth planes of his chest, trailing lower to touch the lines that cut into his hips and then curling into the waistband of his sweatpants…

His hand reached to stop you, his grasp firm but still gentle. “Not yet,” his voice rasped from his restraint.

Your eyes could not help but fall below his waist, your mouth watering at his impressive outline that pushed against the seams. You whined but he was quick to swallow it with a kiss, rocking against you. You lift your hips to allow his length to rub against your clothed cunt, a rhythmic pressure that sparked with his each slow rut.

His lips moved to follow your jawline, sucking at the soft divot beneath your ear, and your skin rose in response. Geto shifted to press his hands to your hips, pushing your shirt up to reveal more of you; his mouth was hot, kissing and sucking at your soft skin, marking you as he moved lower.

You wiggled your hips to help him peel away your remaining layers, now completely bare beneath him. His eyes darkened as he took you in and he moved to press his face into the softness of your stomach. His low groan vibrated through you, his lips fluttering across and he bit down onto your hip.

It bolted through you and you squealed. “Suguru!”

Geto pushed back up to capture your mouth, kissing you until your head felt heavy, until your lungs nearly erupted from your chest. You gasped for air when he pulled back, shifting to sit on his heels, kneeled between your splayed thighs.

He reached to press his palm to your bare cunt, spreading his fingers into a v-shape, admiring the sticky spread. He leaned over you, his face flushed and his breath was a cool contrast to the heat pooling at the apex of your thighs, your silken folds blooming and begging to be touched.

You squirmed again and his other hand gripped into your thigh, stilling you. “Suguru,” you whined. “Please.”

He chuckled as he nestled back between your legs, draping one each over his shoulders to split you further open. You pressed to your elbows, your chest heaving; his eyebrow arched at you, his smirk returning and stretching across his mouth. “Please what?” His tone teased you, his breath tickling.

But before you could even reply, he brought his hand to his mouth, suckling his first two fingers and returning to curl them within you. You flinched with the intrusion and he slowed, searching until he pulled a soft sound from the back of your throat. Geto hummed, moving closer to taste you, his tongue laving up your slit to the bundle of nerves above, his wet muscle carving into your folds to find a rhythm with the come-hither curl of his fingers.

You gasped from the pressure, the pleasure that began to kindle a fire in your veins; it seared from his fingertips, pouring and coiling tightly into your core as he pressed that sweet spot that curled your toes. Your chest rose and fell with your bated breath; your back arched into the cushions, your fists balling at your sides.

“You can take it,” he murmured against your folds, adding another finger, “you’ve done it before.”

You clenched around him and he hissed through his teeth, but his pace did not falter. He continued to coax the flutter of your velvet walls, pulling a pleasure that burst with flashes of color in front of your eyes. It poured over and your mind emptied as the euphoria wrung your body out; you melted into the couch, breathless and boneless.

Geto licked his fingers clean before leaning over for a quick kiss; your thighs tightened around his waist, pulling him closer to enjoy your briny taste that stained his lips. He hummed again and it trilled the length of your spine. “Good girl,” he praised, his voice dark and prickling over your skin.

You reached again to curl your fingers into his waistband and he allowed you to pull it low enough to free his cock. He moved on top of you, his hand dipping between to guide his swollen head, sliding through your slick for a genial glide. You moan, your body still thrumming from your climax, the last waves still rippling throughout.

He eased into you with gentle thrusts to fill. He tucked his head into your neck, his heavy breathing filling your ears and tickling your skin. And Geto began to move slowly, carefully, allowing your body to adjust to his size.

You writhed beneath him, begging for more. You lifted your legs to knot around his waist, pulling him closer, pulling him deeper. You can already feel it building again; your cunt clenching around his each slow thrust, a pulsing warmth that was molten in your core.

“Suguru–” you panted against his chest, your fingers biting into the dimples above his ass, encouraging him even deeper within you.

His pleasure had him flushed; his arms on both sides to cage you to the couch, his hips snapping against yours with a satisfying wet smack of skin-to-skin. It pushed until it spilled, splintering through you, and you clenched to pull him after. Geto gasped from your warmth, your vice-like grip; he pushed away to palm his cock, his pearly spend streaking across your stomach.

Time slowed, rolling over and empty, save for the sound of you regaining your breath, trying to control your heart that bruised against your ribs. Geto moved first, dipping to the side to grab his discarded shirt and wiping away his mess before he cleaned and tucked himself away.

You felt shy, watching him as an unease replaced the pleasure that fell away. Geto noticed and he moved to press his lips between the valley of your breasts, his tongue licking the salt on your skin. You giggled and he pulled you upwards, shifting until he was laying back on the couch to allow you to curl against his chest.

His large hands splayed on your back, his touch warm and grounding. Your fingertips reached to touch his hair that spilled over his shoulders–it was almost dry and always so soft. You stayed quiet, listening as your heart beat fell into a natural rhythm with his own.

You held your hope that he would tell you what he needed.

Another moment rolled away before he finally said: “I would like to talk about it now.”

And you stayed with him all night, just listening.

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