#The Gentleman Riots | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yinyuedijun · 7 months ago

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ZERO-SUM GAME

It’s different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood. (Or: Aventurine wins you in a game of poker. He decides to cash out his prize right then and there—to enjoy you on the card table, laid out among all the chips and cards.)

8.6k words of psychological issues, explicit smut, and deranged characterization. aventurine tops, reader bottoms. public sex, voyeurism from strangers, piv, oral (reader receiving), fingering with gloves on, creampie. mild dubcon but the reader is ultimately into it. afab gn reader, they are playing a fem-coded role for an espionage assignment (dress, heels, makeup). themes of objectification. discussion of slavery and sa during slavery (not explicit). dead dove do not eat, mdni.

You are in the grandest casino of Kinyoshi Moon Colony, and Aventurine is running your latest husband into life-ruining debt.

You aren’t cut up about it. If your marriage (or concubinage, rather) were genuine, you'd maybe be annoyed about the loss of capital. But as it is, this relationship is an assignment from the IPC—one of the longest and most excruciatingly boring yet. Fortunately for you, Aventurine’s presence tonight means that you've finally gathered enough intel for Diamond’s needs. It is time for the IPC to terminate your latest contract, and Aventurine is here to collect you.

Which is a little funny, given your relationship. It is strange sitting across from your boyfriend, draped over another man and thoroughly ignoring him. You’re entirely focused on fawning over your husband instead—laughing into his ear, lighting his pipe and filling his whiskey glass, and oh, Mister Li, you're so funny, you're so clever, I think you should go all in!—but Aventurine doesn't react. He only smiles at the two of you, like he isn't bothered by the sight.

This is, of course, an act: when you came home from your last marriage (assignment), he'd made sure to pleasure you so thoroughly that you forgot all about your ex-husband (mark). Aventurine did not openly admit to any kind of jealousy at the time, but you could tell he hadn't been keen on letting another man touch you. He usually isn't too keen about anyone touching any of his things, in fact. Despite appearances, he always abhors the thought of losing anything important.

But any fears he might have are concealed right now. They’re always concealed. Hidden by the expensive suit, the countless stacks of chips, the golden walls and high-vaulted ceilings of the Venetian Zhijin, Masked by his generous gifts, his easy laughter, his careless frivolity. You can see right through his gilded smile. The rest of the table cannot.

They are all intrigued when Aventurine asks, a playful lilt in his voice, “How about we make this game a little more interesting, gentleman?”

The other players at the table consider him. The other plus-ones—concubines, courtesans, gigolos, and so on—look at him with calculated expressions of cursory interest. You do so as well, but only for a moment. Your gaze quickly returns to Mister Li’s face—your husband is meant to be your true focus, after all, not the game. You are not a player at this table, but an accessory. Closer to an expensive watch than a human being.

Some business magnate from the Triangulum Galaxy leans back and raises a brow. “I'm listening,” he says. You watch a bead of sweat travel down your husband’s neck.

“How about we up the ante,” Aventurine says, his voice light, “but instead of betting more money this time, we bet our dates?”

You think, in other star systems, other worlds, such a suggestion would invite riot. But Kinyoshi Colony being what it is, and the Venetian being the establishment that it is, the other players at the table only laugh. Nearly half of them deal in the trade of human beings anyway—this is nothing novel for them.

“Well,” one of them says, “it’s not like winning more money’s gonna make a difference to any of us.” A round of chuckling. He turns to his date—some noblewoman from Jarilo-IV who seems greatly out of her depth—and says, “What do you think, love? How do you feel about being part of my wager?”

She doesn't like it. She clearly doesn't like it, and she also clearly doesn't know how to say it. Were you not on the clock, you might intervene. Maybe. As it is, though, all you can do is observe quietly. All the power in this gambit lies with Aventurine. Even when surrounded by men who manipulate the wealth of entire cities, planets, galaxies—he remains in full control.

“There’s never any shame in folding,” he says, magnanimous. Then he looks your husband in the eye, smiling conspiratorially. “But I know there are some of us who aren't afraid to take risks.”

Li laughs. “You’re right about that, Mister Aventurine.” He gives you a fond smile. And of course he does—you’re his last shot at winning back all his losses for the night. “I think you'd make a pretty little chip, don't you?”

Although Mister Li is clearly less distressed at the thought of betting you than he was at the thought of betting his company just last round, you notice, out of the corner of your eye, a muscle in Aventurine’s neck twitching. It’s very, very subtle, and he'd have never let himself do it if the table’s attention were on him, but he did it. Perhaps it was involuntary. Your mouth curls.

“Sure, darling.” You try not to sound too giddy. “I’ll be whatever you like.”

Ordinarily, you wouldn't be so happy about this farce. This is, put plainly, a stupid way to extract you from your mission. Were the cards in anyone else’s hands, your husband could win and you might be stuck with him for another several weeks, at least—assuming that you aren't discovered and killed first. Or you could go home with another man and be subjected to the kind of things that men do when they trade human beings, and you don't think the IPC would care too much if you were. You are an asset before you are a person, after all. At this table, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being—and at the Company, you are an overpriced knife.

But to Aventurine, you're a chip in one of his games, and you don't mind that so much. Men who only know wealth will throw around their riches thoughtlessly, but men who have endured poverty will hold onto them tightly—desperately. Aventurine takes care of his luxury watches, his elegant knives, his liar’s dice. His capital. And he never loses anything. He always comes to collect. You trust him to collect you, even with this stupid plan, so you are calm as you watch the dealer shuffle the cards.

The table makes their bets. Most of the players go all-in. A couple fold, perhaps feeling some degree of concern for their partners, but it's more likely that they just have shit hands. A lot of the ones who continue playing have shit hands anyway. Your husband doesn't do too badly—a straight flush. He seems confident.

Then Aventurine lays out his cards. Ten. Joker. Queen. King. Ace.

All hearts.

You have to take a sip of your whiskey to stop yourself from laughing.

Aventurine, himself, has the grace not to look too smug about the outcome. Or maybe it's very unremarkable for him, all these winnings being pushed over to him—poker chips and human beings. Some of the other dates are clearly anxious as they move toward him (they are expected to be loyal to their husbands), and some are clearly excited (they are expected to be frivolous, hedonistic playthings). He humours them all, for a little while. Puts on the usual show as they crowd around him, charms them because it'll be good for business partnerships in case any of their husbands care even a little bit about them. You'd do the same in his shoes. But in your current ones (six-inch heels, black leather, red bottoms, luxury), all you can do is seat yourself on the card table and light up a cigarette. Waiting.

Aventurine eventually sends them all off. All I wanted was to get to know you, he says cheerfully, which is probably not a lie. After they leave, he asks the dealer to close the table and go on break. Turn a blind eye. You raise a brow when they obey him.

How interesting.

You're still enjoying your cigarette by the time he turns to you. You flash him a smile, one of the ones that you use for work. His expression doesn't change, but his thumb brushes against one of his many rings—switching off your synesthesia beacons for some privacy—and he leans back to study you. You know he's admiring you, but it could be mistaken for a leer.

“Well, well,” he says, “If it isn’t the esteemed concubine of Li Fengzhi.”

“The esteemed fifth concubine,” you correct. He hums, looking surprised.

“I thought you were the fourth. Did I misremember?”

“No, just misinformed. He took another concubine right before I arrived on Kinyoshi. He acquired a sixth just last week. Turns out he picks up paramours like they’re strays.”

“How inconvenient.”

“It made no difference to me,” you dismiss. “I’m his favourite anyway, but I’m sure you knew that already.”

“I’d have had to be blind not to notice it. You have the man wrapped around your finger.” Aventurine leans back, studying you as you smoke on your perch. “But before we continue—why don’t you come a little closer, esteemed Fifth Concubine?”

You make a face. “That title doesn’t sound as nearly as flattering in Avgin dialect as it does in Zhijinese,” you note, though you get off the table anyway. You don’t go very far, electing to seat yourself on his lap, your arms draping around his shoulders. The feathers of his jacket tickle at your bare shoulders; the satin of his gloves glide down the skin of your thighs before settling on your calves. “Since you’ve won my company for the night, though,” you sigh, “I suppose I can humour you, Mister Aventurine.”

“Lucky me.” He leans in, his breath sweeping the shell of your ear. His fragrance surrounds you, your body warming at the familiar scent of ambergris and vanilla. You realize, all of a sudden, how much you missed it. You have to stop yourself from pressing your face into his neck and melting—it would be a dead giveaway for your identity and also too revealing of your feelings. Aventurine might be endeared by it, but he might also find it disconcerting. He often needs to be tricked into intimacy.

He does enjoy being wanted though, and he can obviously tell that you want him. He pulls you closer, one of his hands giving your thigh a generous squeeze. It makes you throw your head back in a laugh, exposing the soft skin of your throat. You aren't surprised when he takes the opportunity to kiss it, his lips gentle against your pulse.

“You’re being very forward,” you tease him. “Did you miss me?”

“I’m just trying to be careful,” he defends himself between kisses, his breath warm on your skin. “We should try to conceal our mouths as much as possible. No one can intercept our synesthesia beacons, but someone could still read our lips.”

You give him a funny look. “We’re the only two speakers of Avgin in the known universe. Who could, other than ourselves, could read our—mmph…”

Aventurine has caught the rest of your sentence with his mouth. He’s hungry and wanting for you, the heat of his lips overwhelming. Your tongue is as practised as his, but you find yourself too distracted by your thrill to focus, your kiss wet and eager. Messy. Unprofessional.

You’ve never kissed any of your husbands like this. You’ve never kissed any of your other owners like this. You feel dazed when he pulls away.

You compose yourself. “So you did miss me.”

He smiles. “Guilty as charged.” A gloved hand rests on your face, satin tracing your lips. “How could I not? You’ve been away from the house for so long.”

Your eyes narrow. There’s no idiom for this in Avgin, so you flip briefly to Interastral Standard: “Pot, kettle, black. You leave home all the time.” You smack away the hand at your waist, petty. He looks amused. “And you almost always die.”

He switches out his smile for a pout. “Don’t tell me you’re still mad about last time.”

“You nearly got yourself blasted with atomics, so yes, I’m still mad at you.”

Now he’s frowning. “Am I going back to sleeping on the couch when you come back?”

“Yes,” you say. His deepening frown is meant to be read as a joke, but you know better. Deciding to throw him a bone, you lean in, whispering playfully into his ear: “You can still fuck me on it though.”

Aventurine hums, as if considering. His hands traverse your sides as he contemplates your suggestion. You move to straddle him, your thighs squeezed around his hips. When you grind against him, you can feel how much he wants you despite his composure, his control—his length straining in his pants, pressed against the silk covering your core.

“I don’t think I can wait long enough to fuck you on the couch,” he says, voice teasing.

“No?” You hum as his hands travel upward, feeling every inch of you. “The ship on the way home, then?”

“We don’t leave until tomorrow. Do you really think I can wait that long?”

You don't expect to feel the warmth of his hands on your chest. Your breath hitches when he starts palming your tits through your dress, neon eyes admiring the curve of them. One of his thumbs skims over the peak of your breast, and his mouth curls when your nipple hardens. “No bra? That's convenient.”

“I—” You squirm in his grip, whining. It just makes you grind against his lap more, your cunt moving against his slacks. A wave of heat runs through your lower half, and you clench around nothing. You can see people from a nearby table glancing at you, doing double takes. You can feel their lingering gazes on you, and you know Aventurine can too.

“I—are you going to”—your voice shakes as he pinches your nipple, as his other hand moves to squeeze your ass instead. Your dress is short—designed for easy access—and his fingertips easily skim the underside of its skirt. You wonder if he’s going to pull it up. You wonder if he's going to go even further than that.

But that would be an absurd thing to do in the middle of the busiest casino in the colony, which also happens to be the busiest trade hub in its star system. It would be absurd even for the two of you. Nevermind the reactions of the other players in the room—the staff here would immediately blacklist you, and so would every other gambling house in Kinyoshi.

You try to calm yourself. “Are you—ah—going to take me upstairs?”

He's fully kneading your breasts now. You can feel your clit throbbing, your body responding to his rough and unrepentant touch. “Hm… I don't think I want to.” Aventurine’s voice drops. His smile takes on a distinctly wicked quality. “I think I'll take you right here.”

“But we’ll get kicked out,” you whine. Even as you protest though, you're panting and moving your hips now. Grabbing at his arms, rutting against him like you're in heat. His fingers hook around the thin straps of your dress, pull them down your shoulders, already starting to indulge despite your reservations. You bend into his touch.

“Kicked out? By who? The staff?” He smiles, as always. “I own the place now. I don't think they'll be giving me trouble.”

“Y—you what?” For a moment, you're too shocked to keep up the wanton show. “You do? Since when?”

“Since last night.” He thumbs one of the straps that's fallen halfway down your arms. The rest of your dress threatens to come down with it. “Technically it's the IPC who acquired it—or, well, their shell company did—but I'm their designated representative here. I signed the contract.”

“The IPC isn’t going to be upset that you're fucking a concubine, who's not even your concubine, on their new property?”

Aventurine shrugs. “They know the kind of establishment the Venetian is. People gamble with humans here all the time, you know, so this has definitely happened before. The IPC definitely expects it to happen again. And besides”—he returns his attention to your dress, starting to slip the fabric down your shoulders—“I'm just cashing out my winnings. I'm sure they wouldn't deny a gambler his vices. That'd be bad business.”

You want to say more, but then he tugs, suddenly exposing you. You’re bare in front of him—in front of everyone. You can feel eyes on you. Heat curls in your gut as he grabs your tits again, his satin gloves smooth across your skin, and your nipples pebble beneath them. “Hm… much better.”

“But…” You bite your lip, glancing around. There are so many people watching now—so many voyeurs, who've forgotten about their games and their slots. Though there are a greater number of people who are continuing as usual, studying their hands, smoking their cigarettes, unperturbed. All regulars and VIPs, you know from your intelligence.

Aventurine pauses as you catalogue the room, raising a brow. Probably he's surprised at your sudden modesty; you usually have none when his touch is involved.

“Of course,” he adds, “if you'd rather enjoy the suite upstairs…”

“No—I don’t mind staying down here… it's just that I’ve never…”

Your voice trails off. Your eyes traverse the space again. There are people who’ve fully thrown their cards down, greedily drinking in the sight of you instead. Even some of the dealers are watching between hands, glancing at you instead of watching for cheaters. Like this is public entertainment, like you're a show.

Aventurine tilts his head.

“You've never had sex with an audience?” he guesses. He sounds surprised—perplexed. You don't know why. You know he knows it's a stupid question. You know he knows the answer.

You had sex in front of people all the time before you met him. You did it for the exact reasons that he’s almost certainly done the same. To this table of business magnates, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being; to the IPC, you are more like an overpriced knife; to this gambling hall, you're an interesting sideshow.

To your captors who fucked you in public, you guess you were something like a toy.

The thought sitting in your mouth is this: you've never had sex with an audience and enjoyed it. It was painful—not painful for the heart or the mind or anything else sentimental, but painful like it felt you were a fish being gutted open by a knife. And even beyond that physical pain, you simply didn't enjoy being passed around. You didn't like being owned by those people. You didn't like being an object for their entertainment, a spectacle to be consumed.

But it's different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You like being his plaything, spread for his viewing whenever he wants. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this commodity code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood.

You want him to own you too. You want him to show everyone that he won you, that he bought you, that you're his possession now. That he, and he alone, is free to treat you like a toy.

You're getting wetter just thinking about it.

“Nevermind,” you whisper. “Let's do it.”

His smile widens ever so slightly. Slyer than usual.

“Good,” he says. He guides you into standing. “Let’s get you settled then.”

You're seated back on the card table. The cigarette is forgotten in the ashtray next to you. Aventurine takes the time to straighten out your dress, lifting the straps back up and affording you some modesty—before he gently lays you out.

You look up at him as you're spread in front of him, laid out next to his royal flush and winnings. Like you're another chip in his stacks, the most expensive one. He puts a hand beneath your leg, drapes it over his shoulder. He takes the opportunity to kiss your calf, his lips delicate.

You glance at the tables around you. You watch the business owners and politicians as they watch Aventurine. You watch them as they watch your boyfriend pepper kisses up your leg, unless he's settling in between them. Your thighs spread easily for him, and you don't resist as he hikes up your skirt.

Then he frowns.

“I’ve never seen these panties before.”

“They’re new,” you relay.

“From your husband?”

“Yup.”

“I see.”

You can't see his face, but he sounds distinctly displeased. You expect him to complain, to say they're not expensive enough or not designer enough or just plain ugly.

You don't expect him to tear them right off.

“Aventurine?!”

You're so surprised you sit up, just in time to see him throw tatters of silk to the floor.

“What?” He looks up at you, expression unbothered, almost mild. “It wasn't your colour.”

Your mouth opens. “But it was still very nice!”

“I'll buy you nicer ones later. I’ll buy you a whole drawer of nicer ones later, when we’re done here.”

He looks down again, humming. Your cheeks flush as he spreads your legs again, baring your glistening sex to him—this time completely bare. Satin glides along the inside of your thighs, and your breath hitches when he reaches their apex. You feel the light touch of a finger along your opening, and you feel your body responding, tightening around nothing.

“Tell me,” he says, “What else did your husband do with you?”

His voice is casual, almost disinterested, but you know Aventurine is listening carefully.

“Not much,” you answer truthfully. “I haven't cum in months, you know.”

“Oh?” He sounds surprised. “You don't have sex with him?”

“No. He's fucked me a lot. It”—you whimper, pausing when you feel his fingers spreading you open, fluttering hole and swollen clit exposed to him—“it just wasn't very good.”

“Then”—you feel a thumb press against your clit, and you swallow—“he never touched you here?”

“N-no.”

“Stupid of him.” He’s drawing slow, lazy circles into the bud now, making you squirm on the table. You press yourself eagerly toward his familiar touch, having desperately missed it for months. Aventurine, perhaps sensing your neediness, asks, “And you didn't touch yourself?”

“He didn't let me,” you whine, and now he's frowning at you.

“I knew I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he says, and you have to bite back a laugh. Aventurine’s mouth curls at the sound, and he leans in to place a kiss on your thigh. “But that’s fine. I'll make it up to you now.”

Aventurine kisses are soft and precise. They pepper a path up your thigh while his fingers continue to play lazily with your clit. You want—need—to feel something inside you, but he doesn't oblige. His fingers merely run along your entrance, teasing your dripping pussy with luxury satin, and that's all they do, even as your hips buck needily toward him.

He pauses for just a moment. When you look at him, you see him staring at you—at the brand on your inner thigh, the commodity code that your captors left on you, branding you as a product to be used and sold.

His voice is almost soft when he asks, “And what did your husband say when he saw this?”

“He never did,” you reply. “He always fucked me from behind. And he never went down on me.” You pause, thinking about the way he spoke of his business. Of his trade partners. Of what your captors had done to your home when you told him about it, feigning intimacy only to be matched in cruelty. You think about the way he fucked you, how it felt to be gutted open on his expensive, silk sheets.

None of it matters to you, really. This is behaviour that you’ve long accepted, that your body always anticipates. But you always like to offer Aventurine intimacy, whether real or feigned, whether he returns it equally or responds with undeserved cruelty: “I think it wouldn't have bothered him if he had noticed it.”

You can't see Aventurine’s eyes, but you can feel his reaction when he places a chaste kiss on your product code.

“I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he repeats. Then he pauses. “Maybe I shouldn't have let you go at all.”

“I didn't mind,” you say. You aren't lying. “You gave me up for a reason.”

He stands. Cups your face with a palm, luxuriant fabric and gold rings pressed against your skin. Sometimes he's given up the aventurine stone temporarily for assignments, parting with it in elaborate gambles that he always manages to win. The way he’s touching you now reminds you of the way he holds the gem whenever it returns to his hand.

“Well,” he says, “I’m sorry it took so long to get you back.”

Aventurine tilts your chin up for a kiss. You meet it eagerly, and it's so tender in its familiarity that every memory of your husband fades. There's only Aventurine, and his gentle mouth, and the way his hands slide your dress down again, how he palms your breasts again. How he teases one nipple with his expensive rings until you're moaning into his mouth. How his other hand travels down until his gloved hand is cupping your heat. You drag your hips against his touch, desperately seeking some kind of friction, your wetness drenching the cloth. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your body aching to be filled by him, aching in a way that it does for no one else.

It’s one of the most addictive feelings you've ever known.

Aventurine only stops touching you so he can push away all the chips, clearing space on the table. He ignores the cacophony as countless stacks fall over, not sparing the plastic coins a single glance. Like you're the only prize that matters to him, even though the sum of his winnings come out to more than you ever were worth.

He lays you out on the table again, flat on your back, exposed, before kissing a path down your body—your neck, your breasts, your stomach, between your thighs. He deigns to give your product code one more kiss, his lips so gentle that it makes you tremble—and then he finally puts his mouth on you. He licks a hot stripe from your dripping pussy up to the crest of your sex, and your eyes close in bliss.

If you felt any uncertainty before this, it's completely gone now. Your hands ghost over your tits, playing with them as Aventurine’s tongue plays with you. He sucks on your neglected clit, fingers squeezing your thighs, keeping you spread open and still for him. He presses in, lets you drag your cunt over his greedy mouth and grind your clit against his face. Heat and pressure coil tight in your belly as he pleasures you, your body flushing with the kind of bliss only Aventurine can give you. You’re so lost in it that you almost don’t notice how quiet the rest of the hall has gotten, the cacophony of chatter and slot machines oddly subdued—almost missing. In their absence, the obscene noises that Aventurine is drawing from your mouth and body are louder than they should be.

The pleasure in your belly is just starting to swell when he pulls away. You give him a pleading look as he leans over you, but before you can start begging for more, you feel his fingers press against your heat. He watches you with keen eyes as he starts rubbing your pussy, maybe enjoying the desperate noises you make at his touch. You buck your hips, moaning as your clit and entrance grind against the fabric of his gloves, seeking friction. You’re empty, aching, desperate to be filled, but you think you can finish like this, just by rutting against his satin fingers—

Aventurine withdraws his hand, and you whine.

“No,” you beg, “please, please keep going, I was getting close—”

He raises a brow, feigning surprise. “Keep going?” He brings up his hand, shows you his gloves. The satin is soaked, shiny and stained with your slick. “I don't think I should. Look at what a mess you’ve made of my gloves.” Aventurine hums, frowning. “These are designer, you know. And limited—there are only 95 pairs of these in the whole universe. And you're ruining them.”

“I'm sorry,” you say, mind so fogged with lust that you can't even return his teasing. “I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you, I'll do anything, just—just let me cum—”

“Anything?” His smile is sly.

“Anything.”

“Well. I suppose if you help me clean this up, I wouldn't mind rewarding you with more.”

You don't need to ask what he means by that. When he holds out his hand to you, runs a finger along your lips, you obediently open your mouth for him. Your tongue slides along the wet satin, only making his glove messier—but he seems not to mind. He merely watches intently as your tongue cleans his fingers, taking in the obscene image of you hungrily lapping your own slick off the expensive fabric.

He lets you ruin his glove thoroughly before finally drawing back, peeling it off.

“I'm not sure that did any good,” he says, frowning. “I’ll probably need to buy a new pair. But”—he pulls away, and you feel him settle between your legs again, his hands spreading them. “I'll still reward you for the effort.”

Aventurine is quick about getting his mouth back on you. His tongue is hot on your skin, expertly teasing your clit. You feel his fingers running along your entrance again, growing sticky with his need. He laughs when you press your hips toward his hand, desperate to be filled.

Then he's pressing his bare fingers into your heat, and your back is arching off the table.

The moan you let out is obscene. It only gets worse when his fingers curl, making the pressure in your belly even heavier. Utterly shameless, you beg for him as he fucks you with his fingers: Aventurine, please, please, I need more, please, I'm so close, I'm so close.

As if taking pity on you, his mouth finds your clit again, his fingers pressing into your sweet spot at the same time. And he doesn't let up, pushing into it even when you think you can't take anymore—tongue swirling against your overstimulated bud, fingers making you gush uncontrollably. You practically sob when you cum, a noise of desperation that echoes in the gambling hall.

His smile looks a little fonder than usual—or maybe just entertained—as he stands again and leans over you. You taste your own release in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, and he strokes your face when he pulls away.

“So good for me,” he praises. “Are you going to let me do more?”

You nod eagerly. “Whatever you like,” you say, all sense of shame gone from your body, “and however you want.”

Aventurine’s mouth curls. “Your husband fucked you from behind, right? Why don't you bend over for me, then? Let's show him how he should have been doing it.”

You see the diamond pupils of Aventurine’s eyes glance off to the side, where, sure enough, your husband is spectating with some of his business partners. You force yourself to turn away before you can smile, hiding your expression from the other men. You’re not meant to derive any real pleasure from any of this, let alone pleasure of the vindictive kind. Your relationship with Aventurine is supposedly nothing but a gambler and his newly won, human plaything. It would be suspicious if you appeared to be anything else.

You slink off the table in a distinctly performative way, and Aventurine plays equally into the show—probably an act as familiar to him as it is to you. He guides you into turning around, your eyes falling on the scattered cards on the tabletop, the casino’s eyes falling on you. His hands waste no time in pulling down your dress and reaching around to knead your breasts, in full view of the rest of the gambling hall. You're only vaguely aware of your audience now, registering the interested, hungry stares, but not really caring. You're too focused on the way that Aventurine is tugging and twisting at your nipples, at how he’s pressed up against your ass, his cock straining through his pants. You grind needily against him, whining.

Aventurine kisses your shoulder. “Poor thing. You've been neglected for so long, haven't you?” His hands retreat, and you hear the sound of a zipper being undone. Then your skirt’s being pushed up and you're being bent over, your dripping pussy fully presented to him. When you feel the press of his cockhead against your entrance, you desperately try to push yourself back onto him. But he doesn't allow you to—only running the tip along your wet folds, still sticky from your release, while he stills you with a gentle touch on your hip.

You make a pathetic, desperate noise. Aventurine chuckles, though there’s now a breathy quality to his voice.

“Be patient,” he chides. “I'll take care of you.”

You know he will. He always takes care of you, in a way that no one else ever has. Even when he gambles your life for some mission, even when he can barely afford you the barest hints of intimacy, even when he displays your body to an audience of slave traders and murderers—he always takes care of you. Even if you are only a knife or a wristwatch or a chip in one of his games, he still treats you like you're worth holding onto.

Aventurine finally moves. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel his cock sliding into you. Usually he needs to be careful after your long missions away from him, knowing you'll be tense. He understands that your body always anticipates being in pain after being touched by other people. But he has you so worked up right now—still dripping from your release, still pliant from his fingers, still eager to please him before the crowd—that your cunt easily swallows his length. The stretch is pure bliss, pleasure unfurling in your body as you're filled up properly for the first time in months. He's just as affected as you, breath shaking as he bottoms out.

“Fuck,” he breathes—laughs. “Nearly forgot how good this feels.” He pauses, his breathing slowing—almost stopping each time you squeeze around him. You turn back, throwing him a pleading glance, and he meets it with an endeared smile. “Eager today, aren't you?” He hums, a hand sliding along your waist. “You really do need to be properly fucked.”

He's stalling. Trying to give you a moment to adjust, but you don't need it. “Yes,” you encourage him. Aching for the press of his cock against your walls, you grind against him, and you hear a strangled groan as you force him to move inside you. “Please, Aventurine—please, please fuck me, I need it so badly—”

He hums, both hands grabbing your hips, his fingers sinking into you. “Well. Since you asked so nicely.”

The first thrust has your eyes going wide, your hands reaching for the card table as you’re forced to bend over. You spread our palms next to the mess of heart cards and shiny tokens, bracing yourself for the way your body’s about to be used. He doesn't give you time to breathe after, each stroke filling you deep and fast. The rest of the gambling hall grows very, very quiet as Aventurine fucks you, and suddenly all you can hear is the appreciative murmur of the crowd, clink of ice cubes in aged whiskey, the noisy flick of lighters as more patrons opt to pause their games and enjoy the show. You hear the shattering of all the stacks beside you, hundreds of thousands of dollars in chips fall over beside you, tokens clinking as they roll across the tabletop. But all of that is soon drowned out by the wet noise of your pussy being fucked open, the squelch of your slick around his cock. You moan each time he bottoms out, eager to be filled.

When you feel his cock press into your sweet spot, your moans quickly turn into cries.

You hear something like a breathy laugh from Aventurine. Your body always reveals itself so easily to him, and you know he enjoys it. He hits that spot again and again, builds an agonizing tension in your body with every thrust of his hips. It has your pussy gushing around him, your thighs growing wet and sticky with your need.

Just when it feels like you can't take anymore, he reaches down and presses his fingers against your throbbing clit. Your knees buckle as he toys with you, chest heaving against the table as he sets a brutal pace. You're—overwhelmed, mind going hazy as you're fucked mercilessly. So far gone, you can hardly register the disgruntled expression of your husband, the hungry gazes of his companions, the way that other players are starting to shift in their seats, palming themselves at the sight of your pussy being split open. There's only the tight coil in your gut, the chips between your fingers as you grab uselessly for something to ground you, the cock that's filling you over and over and over—and oh fuck, you’re going to cum, you're really going to cum after being won in a game, from having your pussy used like a sleeve, from being watched by men who will never own you no matter how many times they trade you, no matter how many times they fuck you, no matter how many times they pass you around, because you'll only ever belong to Aventurine—

Your orgasm crashes through your body, and you sob.

It's a broken, blissed out noise. Your pussy is equally shameless, gushing as you pulse around Aventurine’s cock. You go limp as he fucks you through your orgasm, uncaring about the mess you're making. He only groans as you squirt all over him, hips stuttering as he reaches his own peak—spilling himself inside you, pumping you full. Aventurine’s body slumps over yours as rides out his high, his face pressing into your shoulder. You find the wherewithal to shift yourself, just enough to your lips against the tattoo on his neck. He looks at you for a fleeting moment, the blue ring of his eyes electric on you, before capture your mouth in a desperate, messy kiss.

The two of you stay there for a long moment, panting into each other. Then Aventurine collects himself, remembers how to talk: “Fuck.”

You piece yourself together just as easily. Maybe even faster. Smiling into his mouth, you ask, “Enjoy yourself?”

“Clearly.” Aventurine presses his lips into your neck, lingering only briefly. “Can you walk?”

“I think so.”

Aventurine takes his time with moving, as if basking in the afterglow—or bragging in it. But he does rise, eventually. Pulls out slowly, making you shudder. He helps you to your feet, lets you hold onto him for support. His spend drips down your thighs as you right yourself, messy and hot on your skin. You can feel it sliding down your legs as you walk, braced against Aventurine as he guides you in the long walk toward the elevator. It slips all the way down to your calves, to your expensive heels, even onto the marble floor.

You're fairly certain that it's not an accident when Aventurine flips up your skirt as you pass your ex-husband. At the very least, it isn't a mistake when you stumble in that same moment, bending over and giving him a good look at your well-used pussy, now overfilled with your boyfriend’s cum. You don't stop to look at him, but you know he must be red-faced, displeased—aware that he’s been humiliated. Beaten by a Stoneheart, concubine stolen by Sigonian, one of his favourite possessions claimed by a former slave. You'd laugh if you could.

You can't help but kiss Aventurine while the two of you wait for the elevator, a smile glowing into his lips.

It's absurd, but a staff member approaches the two of you as you indulge in one another. Aventurine pulls away as you’re approached, looking mildly annoyed as he switches on his synesthesia beacon.

“Sir,” the staff says, “you’ve left your other winnings at the table.”

Even in his post-orgasm bliss, Aventurine responds promptly. “I’ll cash it all,” he says. “Send the money to my room. I'm not coming back tomorrow.”

“Very well. And the terms of the… human resource exchange that just happened?”

Aventurine’s jaw clicks. It's quiet, but surprising. You watch him carefully.

“We didn't bet contracts,” he says. “This is a concubine, not a slave. But tell Mister Li I'll buy them anyway. I'll pay whatever price he wants, which I’d wager is the company that he gambled and lost to me. Maybe suggest that to him.”

“Of course,” the staff member replies, bowing. Despite the first-rate service, Aventurine looks like he can't get out of there sooner enough as he guides you into the elevator. You give him a curious look as the door closes.

“You're going to give up a multiplanetary corporation just for this?” you ask.

“Not entirely. The IPC was planning to acquire it anyway. It'll be ours again in a few months.” He stares at your reflections in the mirror, his strange eyes lingering on your dishevelled form. “We’ll put your intel to good use,” he adds, and although Jade or Diamond or any of your real bosses would say this with a smile and reward you with a bonus, Aventurine’s expression is unreadable.

“What's on your mind?” you ask, fingers brushing against his hand. “You’re worried about something.”

Aventurine blinks, and it takes him a moment to recover.

“Nothing. Just hoping we didn't give our relationship away just now.” He cups your face with a hand, guides you into looking at his smile. A deflection. “I might have gotten carried away.”

You lean into his touch, eyes playful: a performance. As if he's some stranger that you're servicing, a captor being entertained; as if you're a plaything about to be used. As if you expect to be treated like the disposable commodity that your husband just gambled away.

“I wouldn't worry,” you reassure him. “I'm sure after the show we put on, it'll be clear to anyone that you're only keeping me around for sex.”

It's very, very subtle, but a muscle in Aventurine's neck twitches. He'd never allow it in a game of cards, never before the IPC, never before the prying eyes of slavers and killers—but he allows it in front of you. He always unwittingly bares himself to you, even as he swallows his discomfort before adopting his usual, vulpine expression. You don't think anyone else would notice what lies beneath the gilded surface of his smile, his liar’s eyes. You don't think anyone else would notice his tells, his vulnerabilities, his quiet fear of loss.

After all, there is no one else in this universe who knows how to trick him into intimacy.

Winning has always come with a certain emptiness for Aventurine. Gambling is, after all, a zero sum game. He plays a royal flush and people lose their homes. Winner takes all. He survives the fighting pits, his blade dripping red with the lives of other slaves. Winner takes all. He runs from the stench of blood and burning flesh, praying for thunder and rain loud enough to drown the screams of his dying kin. Winner takes all.

He alone survives. He alone enjoys his riches. Ever since the Avgin died, he has always been by himself. There is no amount of coin nor credit that will ever change this.

Here is another unyielding fact that hollows any win: that no matter how many credits he collects, he will always be a chip himself. He will always be a plastic token worth sixty coppers. Gambling is a zero-sum game, and ever since the day he was chained, Aventurine has been the pool of riches divided among winners. He has always been the commodity being traded between hands. He has always been the prize to be cashed out and used. Even now, with all this money and power, it will never be him who comes to collect: it will always be the IPC. Winner takes all.

Such is his fate. Luck is always on his side, but he has always had the losing hand against destiny. No matter how many times he wins, there is nothing that will ever truly belong to him.

But then he met you.

Then he met you, and now his luck does not always feel like such a cruel or empty thing. Now the zero-sum game has meaning. He hedges his bets in the market and buys out a planet, and acquires you along with the shares. Winner takes all. He gambles his life against a nuclear power and comes out on top, and the IPC allows him to keep you by his side. Winner takes all. He plays a royal flush and wins at a table of slave traders, and he gets to fuck you until you can't think of any cock but his own. Winner takes all.

Gambling is a zero-sum game, and when you're the reward, Aventurine wouldn't have it any other way. He’ll never share you with anyone. He'll never sell you to anyone.

He’ll never lose you to anyone.

Sometimes it surprises him, this attachment he feels to you. He doesn't quite understand it, but he thinks it mostly just has to do with how good it feels to fuck you. Much like gambling, Aventurine has never enjoyed sex until you came along. Sex for him has always felt like a humiliation, like being gutted open as a captive animal, like being won and passed around in the grand hall of some gaudy casino.

Which is, in fact, another thing he never thought he'd enjoy: having sex in the Venetian Zhijin before an audience of revolting men. He'd resented having to do it as a slave, but he’d enjoyed doing it with you as a Stoneheart. He'd even do it again if he could—take you over and over again on that card table, fill you up with his cum. Spread your cunt in front of everyone, so they could see for themselves that you were now his. Winner takes all.

Winning doesn't feel empty when you're his reward. Sex doesn't either. Because Aventurine isn't a chip or an animal or a commodity when he fucks you—he's a player. Someone with a seat at the table, as just as wealthy and powerful as the slave traders around him. Someone who’s allowed to own something—really own something.

Really allowed to own you.

Aventurine owns you. When he fucks you, he is a player at the table, and you are the prize he gets to keep. And no matter how you feel about him and how you act toward him—this is all the two of you will ever be. He knows this. He knows that you know it too.

So sometimes he can't fathom it, the way he treats you in bed. The way he always kisses your commodity code when he sees it, the way he allows you to kiss his own. The way he always thinks about pleasuring you until you're drunk on his cock, so addicted to him that you’ll never want to be touched by anyone else. The way he always likes how your body feels when it's being shaped by his hands. How different it feels from being forced to touch other people.

How badly you make him want something that he's always hated.

And this is what he understands least of all: how he doesn't like to hear you say aloud the true nature of your relationship. How he doesn't like it when you accept this reality and say, you're only keeping me around for sex.

It hollows him out when he hears it. A bitter feeling swells in his throat, and he forces himself to swallow.

Aventurine keeps his face neutral as he enters the suite with you. As soon as the door is shut, you pull him close—close enough for him to see the blurred lines of your lipstick, smudged from his mouth; close enough to see the white diamond necklace on your neck, a collar for a concubine; close enough to see the finger-shaped discolorations on your throat, poorly hidden by your foundation.

Close enough to see all the things done to your body by others—all the things you didn't choose for yourself.

“How do you want to have me next?” Your fingertip traces his lips. “On the bed? In the shower?” Your eyes are playful. “Maybe against the window?”

Aventurine’s hand cups your cheek, gold rings pressed against your skin. His hold is delicate, more careful than with anything else he's ever handled—any of his watches, his furs, his jewellery. Even more than with the aventurine stone.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You blink.

“Kiss me?” Your brow ticks up, but then your face lights up in supposed understanding. “Okay. You can kiss me. And then?”

“And then I'll keep kissing you.”

You tilt your head, not understanding. “Really?”

“What? Is that off-limits now?” He leans in, expression playful. “Don't tell me I've got to go back downstairs and win back permission to kiss you from your husband.”

Before you can say anything else—ask anything else, perceive anything else—he presses his mouth to yours. Your eyes widen for only a moment before falling shut, your arms wrapping around his neck. Your lips part for him, and he delights in the noise you make as he deepens the kiss.

He did lie, in a way. The two of you do end up fucking again—this time in bed, your mouth gasping into his as you fall apart for him, wet and needy around his cock. You're so warm around him, so pliable beneath him, so desperate when possessed by him. He knows that he could keep going, that he could do anything to you, that you'd be eager to let him use you however he wants.

But all he does afterward is kiss you.

This is yet another act that he never thought he'd enjoy. Kissing has always felt like a chore or a power play or a manipulation. It has always come with a certain emptiness—just like gambling, just like sex. And then he met you, and now it no longer feels so hollow. Because when he wins bets for the IPC, he feels like a poker chip in one of their games, but when he’s fucking you, he feels like a player at the table. And sometimes, when he kisses you—when he holds you close, when you come down from your high and press your face into the crook of his neck and in the vulnerable haze of your bliss, tell him, I missed you—

—he finally feels like a human being.

end notes: christ alive I have never written anything so horny glddjsksjs. I apologize for both my mid smut writing and deranged characterization 💔

initially this was supposed to be brainless pwp about aventurine eating you out on a poker table but I kept asking myself “why the hell did aventurine gamble for human beings and why are these two insane enough to be fucking in a casino tho lol”, and thus a coherent narrative was born from my shameless lust for this guy! but please also don't take the story too seriously because this is a dumb smut piece first and foremost and I mostly wrote it with my clit 😔✌️

that being said, if you are curious about the subject matter that I covered – here's an afterword expanding on my intentions with the themes.

#aventurine x reader #aventurine smut #hsr smut #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #x reader #im so tired of editing this the quality of this piece is a lost cause sldkfjsldkfj #DIVIDER BY @/CAFEKITSUNE BTW it is so cute i thought it was perfect for this fic #anyway. sorry to everyone for character assassinating our favourite gambler #yueshuo.fics #dead dove #cw.slavery

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willowed-wisp · 1 month ago

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RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONs [ johnny ‘soap’ mactavish ]

Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish x f!reader/you

SFW

- When you guys met, you thought he was an airhead, blue eyed meat head. Still is but he was also a deeply caring and affectionate person

- Probably met on his way back from the gym or in the gym- depends if you workout or not.

- Johnny isn’t the type to restrain his thoughts- immediately asked for you out and the rest is history.

- Now to the dating- he is 100% Rottweiler energy… a mix of golden retriever boyfriend that can flip his switch. He’ll protect you- no second thoughts.

- You meet his parents after a week of officially dating, his mum loves you and tells him to get on one knee then and there. Spoilers he’s already planned out the rest of your lives together… not in a creepy way.

- Back hugs are his thing, he’s like a backpack out and about. Just to let everyone know you’re his.

- Looks at you like you’re the only thing he’s ever known… the air he breathes. Deep blue eyes filled with adoration, you couldn’t put it into words. Only that your heart flutters whenever he’s looking your way.

- Makes stupid dad jokes, especially when hanging out with Ghost

- Ghost is definitely the best man at your wedding, whether he likes it or not.

- You’re well acquainted with the boys from 141. Price feels like a father figure, Gaz the relentless older brother and Ghost like a protective cat.

- Takes you to the local pub every time Aberdeen F.C. play and watch it at the bar. It’s amusing to see him a few pints in and saying, “Goal keeper, pfftt, I could keep be’er in primary school…”

- Let’s just say, you’d crack up and nearly drag him off the stool beside you.

- Not to mention when you buy him season tickets for Aberdeen… he’d be the loudest in the stadium if not for you. The look of pride when you repeat what he said in the pub… Christ, he was a lucky man.

- If you had told him you wanted him to retire from the military, he probably would have. He even spoke to you about it.

- You nearly slapped him in the face, calling him an ‘eejit’ (picking up Scottish slang). Thats probably when he knew he’d spend the rest of his life with you.

- It may have broken your heart when he was away, no way to contact you on covert missions. You didn’t even know where he was… but you couldn’t watch him lose himself, knowing that he was born to be in the SAS.

- You noticed a new tattoo on his hip, “why the hell is my name tattooed on your body?” And he would reply, “You’re my lady, enough said.”

- He pops the question somewhere lowkey like your house, just plops down on one knee with a ring in a box. You thought he’d fallen over and instantly told him to get up. So taken aback, you have a ring on your finger and Johnny’s arms around you.

- The wedding was a riot, his family are Roman Catholic raised and you were okay with the ceremony is the local Catholic parish.

- You can’t remember who walks you down the aisle, but at the end of it is Johnny MacTavish in a kilt with his family tartan. You didn’t focus on his military formals adorned with various badges, or that kilt. It was the tears in his sapphire eyes, with Price and Ghost behind him as well as his cousin, the one who inspired him to join the forces.

- The Scottish knew how to party… you danced the night away. Ghost was Johnny’s best man. His speech entailed how, “Johnny wouldn’t stop talkin’ abou’ Y/N. An’ meetin’ her I could see why, she winds your neck in, mate.”

NSFW under cut….

NSFW

- Johnny waited until you were ready to do anything. He’s a gentleman, unlike popular belief.

- But after he coaxed you into working out with him… watching him pump not only the weights but you… you were a gonna, you got back to your place and your lips were crushed against his own.

- Stripping his arms of the hoodie, revealing those thick, rippling arms and the tattoos. His look drove you insane, never been so wet in your life.

- He struggled to keep at your pace, wanting to amp it up because you’d been driving him insane since he met you. Johnny was at his wits end when he hiked you into his arms. So steady and unyielding, lips indenting lilac across the span of your neck before ravaging your lips.

- Hips bucking into your spread legs, straight to the middle. Where you needed him.

- That first time, no time was wasted and no foreplay required. You marvelled slightly at all of him. This was the first time seeing him topless let alone butt naked… he knew he struck the jackpot with you when he could barely fit the tip in.

- Clawing at his numerous scars and moaning effervescence. His name so sweetly rolled off your tongue- the only thing she could muster. And the soldier couldn’t help that drop dead gorgeous smile play on his lips, you shuddered beneath him on the couch you normally watched movies on.

- Maybe that’s when you knew he’d be the man you’d spend the rest of your life with.

- Sex feels like slow motion with Johnny MacTavish, something about his starlight kissed eyes makes time feel like it stopped. Even in a non-sexual sense, you swear you see the dust shine in sunbeams when sharing eye contact.

- Johnny loves watching you ride him, getting tired out because he’s not easy to break. Meeting your bounces, fingers scarring your hips as he thrusts into you.

- Don’t let this man catch you in one of his tight fit t-shirts, if you don’t wanna be around his cock in ten seconds flat.

- Yes, he’s that fast.

- The aftercare KING. Want hot chocolate and a Christmas on in the middle of July- he’ll do it.

- Need a stonking hot bubble bath, he’s getting the rubber ducky and carrying there bridal style. Washing your hair and your body.

- He just loves you and cannot get over how lucky he is to be such a beauty- inside and out

- If you want round two, three or four during the aftercare… he’s got stamina for days soooo it’s really your pick of Johnny special

————

masterlist

#johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap cod #soap x reader #soap call of duty #cod smut #smut #soap smut #johnny mactavish #headcanon #call of duty #cod modern warfare

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thisismeracing · 1 year ago

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Haunted | LH44

― Pairing: Ghost!Lewis x fem!reader ― Word count: 3.8k ― Warnings: +18; suggestive content and graphic description of sex (fingering and dirty talk); mentions of cheating; description of horror situations and stabbing (but not too graphic). ― Summary: Lost in the years, lost in the days, Lewis Hamilton haunts the house that once was his. The house where he was killed. And the house that now has new inhabitants. He was used to blowing candles, breaking chinas, and it being enough for the curious newbies to leave. However, it was the first time he met someone who wouldn’t act terrified by his presence. Yn was curious, and that curiosity had a price. Lewis was the one who would collect the debt.

▸ my masterlist | my taglist | patreon guide ▸ you can support my writing by reblogging, leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece), or buying me a coffee

It was a cursed house.

The tale was that a rich man used to live there. He was beautiful. So beautiful the whole town knew who he was. He was also warm and compassionate, he would help old ladies with bags, walk the neighbor’s dog, share his famous coffee whenever he had the time, and help the young boys with driving classes. But his beauty was also his curse because someone’s wife fell in love with him, and as the saying goes, there are two things you cannot hide properly: a cough and a burning love. It wasn’t even a week after the man noticed how his lady would eye the town’s treasure. It was possible the young gentleman didn’t know about this infatuation, but the woman’s husband knew and it was enough for him to stab the man to death in the most brutal way. Rumor had it he tried to get up and walk, but he could only make it to the door of his room, his body collapsing and succumbing to death minutes after agonizing with his own blood. The houses were far one from the other, but his screams were so loud some of the neighbors heard them even after he passed away, haunted by his pleas they moved.

The house went for sale, and someone even bought it a year after the crime, but they did not last for a week, the ghost of the dead man haunted the place day and night moving things, opening and closing doors, as if inviting whoever was there to leave, and when his requests were not obeyed, he would riot. In the night, his screams would get louder, he would grab their feet, play with the TV’s remote, boil water, and let the windows open.

They say he’s an angry ghost, a miserable one because he never got to experience true love. He was killed before he could, and so he closed himself on the house he took so much care while in life. His garden was the most beautiful one. Full of dark roses, and big trees, but once he died so did the flowers. It was like everything rotted.

Yn sighed thinking about the story an old lady told her when she went to get groceries. The woman went as far as advising her to leave the house, the money be damned. But of course, Yn wouldn’t do it. The house cost money for her and her husband, Eric. And besides, she had always been curious about ghost stories. Never truly believed how dangerous it could get.

“And she told me some people still hear his screams when passing by the house,” Yn repeated the tale to Eric while they shared take-out on the living room floor. The fire was lit casting a warm glow around then, but she felt a brief shiver pass through her body as soon as she finished speaking.

The ginger laughed, “Did she tell you when it happened?”

“A long time ago, she didn’t- she didn’t mention the year,” Yn explained. “Why? Don’t you believe it?”

He shook his head, “Nah, you know I’m extremely skeptical about those fairy things.”

“Not fairies, Eric, but ghosts,” she tried.

He shrugged, “I think when we die, we die, period. There’s no second or third dimension, much less one in between to get stuck on.”

Yn nodded, knowing it wouldn’t be a productive conversation. Her husband was usually set on his beliefs, never straying away from them, and sometimes this would cost a peaceful night whenever they couldn’t agree on something. He would have a hard time comprehending her point of view.

“So what, you wanna move now? You’re afraid a bloody man is gonna show up and imprison you here?” Eric joshed.

Yn rolled her eyes tired of how pushy he could get. She loved him, but sometimes it was hell to deal with his mannerisms. When they were younger she thought it would change with time. Turns out it didn’t.

“It’s your turn to clean up, I’m heading to bed,” and pecking his lips she climbed the stairs leading to the long and dark corridor of the rooms. Yn stopped right at the door, watching the threshold and imagining how, even if years ago, someone died there. Right in between. Reaching for the outside. Screaming for help.

She sighed, starting her night routine. It was only their second week at the house, and she was used to how the bathroom lights would flash, or the water would lessen. Except, now she knew about the guy that died there, and everything that happened reminded her of him.

It’s curious how your mindset changes once you’re presented with a different explanation. Once you believe it to be true. And she believed so much to the point of googling it while lying in bed. Eric hadn’t been back just yet, and Yn was scrolling through the results which weren’t that many. It was a small town. Apparently a simple crime. It was probably life-altering and shocking for those who lived there at the time and knew both parties, but if she were a journalist that wouldn’t be the most exciting case to cover.

Yn heard the footsteps on the corridor, but she was so engrossed in the page that she finally found out about the murder of a young man, and just when she was about to reach his name the door opened. She bit her lips, trying to find which line she was reading, “Eric?” Yn asked, and the same door that opened all the way seconds ago closed abruptly making her jump.

The light on the nightstand flashed, and Yn tried to be rational. She told herself it was probably Eric trying to prank her. Or the wind, even though the windows were closed. Who knew? The house had a good ventilating system.

She called for her husband again, and she heard more footsteps, but he didn’t answer back. She huffed stressed, blocking her phone and turning on the bed to try and get some sleep. She had tons of cleaning to do the next day, the house was huge and some of her things were still packed in cardboxes.

Later, when Eric finally got to the bedroom, he walked by the bed squeezing her foot, a habit he had whenever he passed close enough to touch, and seconds before, when he crawled into bed Yn was too drowsy to complain about his stupid pranks. She just curled her body on his and dozed off.

She was humming to a tune she couldn’t quite grasp yet while folding her clothes on her bed when she heard the steps. She tried turning to look, but it all happened too fast. In the blink of an eye, she felt the sting on her back, so close to her neck it felt almost like when sunlight hit that particular spot. She held back a groan but screamed the second that same sting hit full force, this time on the left side of her shoulders. When Yn turned, feeling the tickles of hot blood run down her back, she saw a man with so much rage in his eyes that it was like he was hitting her over and over again on the same spot. But in reality, his hands went up holding a bloody knife, and he stabbed her in a series of different places. She screamed, cried, and asked between coughs why her, why he was doing it, why a knife, why so many hits, why why why? And when no answer came from his mouth except grunts she knew there was nothing to do but to run for her life. She stumbled in the direction of the bedroom door, feeling yet another series of stings on her back. She tried to run, but her own blood betrayed her and she slipped on it. The feeling of the hot liquid against her hands and cheeks made her scream harder for help. But no one came, and the stab continued. She tried crawling. Tried praying. Tried begging for her life or at least to stop and let her die in pieces, but it went on until darkness surrounded her. She weakly turned her arm in the direction of her killer, digging her nails into the skin of his forearm and dragging as if telling him something. And when darkness surrounded her she kept screaming and twisting her body.

“Yn, wake up! It’s me! Wake up, dammit!” Erik tried while Yn relentlessly twisted on the bed. “Wake up, Yn,” he tried louder and she jumped out of bed taking part of the covers with her and almost falling to the ground.

“Omg, omg,” she took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves, looking around her room and noticing there were no clothes to be folded or blood spots on the ground. Only her scared husband staring at her from his spot on the bed.

“What the fuck was that?”

“I don’t know,” she holds the covers closer to her body, trying to make herself smaller. “I had a nightmare, but it was so real, so real I-”

Erik sighed, “You shouldn’t have entertained that crazy lady at the supermarket, now you’re convinced and thinking there’s a ghost in the house, as if there are ghosts at all!”

Yn shook her head, but kept her mouth shut, standing glued on her spot and assessing the whole room all over again. It was this room. This exact same room was the one she was standing in in her nightmare, and possibly the room where the guy was killed. Her phone lit up on the nightstand, there were no new notifications, and when she unlocked it her browser was still open on the article about the case. She locked it again and took a step back.

“What was it now, babe?” Erik was clearly frustrated, he hated being woken up especially in the middle of the night, and especially in a scary situation like the one he just watched happen.

“Nothing, I- uhm- I should try sleeping again,” she stated, getting under the covers and lying beside him, when her back hit the mattress she swore she felt a small sting, but she kept her mouth shut and closed her eyes, trying to sleep it off.

When the morning came and the sun peeked through the blinds, Yn descended the stairs to the kitchen, stopping at the door and staring at the mess her husband, who was supposed to clean the dishes and discard the takeout containers, left.

Sighing, started the coffee machine, and a few minutes later Eric showed up in the kitchen, rubbing the sleep of his eyes.

“Good morning,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, good morning, you probably had a blast last night watching TV instead of cleaning the kitchen,” she spat, and he arched his brows.

“I did clean the kitchen!”

“Then who messed it up? A ghost?!” she bit back, pointing to the takeout containers on the counter and the dirty dishes pilling on the sink.

Eric rubbed his temple, before walking to the coffee machine. He hated coffee, and the second he poured a cup Yn knew he was stressed, “I cleaned everything, I remember doing it before also cleaning the living room, that’s why I got to the bedroom so long after you.”

Yn saw a hint of truth behind his statement, but shook her head, starting to discard the cans and plastic wrappers in the trash. She watched from her peripheral vision her husband grab an apple and drown his coffee in one go before leaving the room.

Protected from the cold air by a thin robe, Yn ate breakfast peacefully watching the destroyed backyard of her new house. She could see the spots where plants once were, now involved by tall weeds and dark unkept grass. A three with a swing attached to it was hanging on by a thread.

She took notes of things she wanted to renovate and what she wanted to plant where, before getting inside to a virtual work meeting.

The day went on without events. At night she shared dinner with Eric again, and it was her turn to clean the kitchen. She did it alone on the ground floor, Eric in their room doing some readings or whatever. She finished in less than an hour and then went to bed. Her mind and body were tired after not sleeping properly the other night, so when Yn hit the mattress she was out cold faster than you could say “good night”.

His eyes were covered by the shadows, but she could tell he had a thoughtful expression by looking at his eyebrows. He was taller than her, she could tell, and he was broad. Lean and strong arms, chiseled jaw, and pretty dark skin.

Yn tried opening her mouth to ask who he was. What he was doing standing at her bedroom door, but his stare was so intense she couldn’t do anything but look back at him, and as the saying goes once you look something in the face, once you stare too long into the abyss, it looks back. It starts to truly exist.

Her week goes by with lonely days and strange nights. She keeps dreaming about the guy standing on her bedroom door and keeps hearing steps, and hushed voices. Sometimes she’ll live that stabbing nightmare all over again. Some hours, she’ll work on her computer, and though there’s a sense of loneliness, there’s also a sense of company, as if she was being watched.

It would scare anyone in their right mind, but Yn tried to rationalize things. And the things she couldn’t, she just let them be. Sometimes, you have to accept that you’re not supposed to understand everything. Life has its mysteries, and so did her new house.

Things with Eric were going downhill, and they were spending less and less time together. But it wasn’t anything new, and he was busy with work. They were both busy. Yn tried to tell herself. Feeling lonely would explain how her brain threw her into a heated dream.

It was the first time she was able to produce a sound in her dream. It was a simple “a” that passed between her open lips. And so as it happens, it was also the first time the man by the door moved. His eyes never left hers while he walked to the foot of the bed. He wandered as if he knew the place and setting of everything. Like he lived there for centuries. And when he stopped in front of her, his eyes trailed on the covers, moving them to her feet, without moving his body. Yn grunted, surprised with how easily the covers fell, and how her body was exposed to him. The cold air made her nipples harden against the silk nightgown.

When she looked at him again, she saw his eyes for the first time. A deep honey brown, carrying so much and whispering so much on her mind, she had the urge to touch him. But her body would only do so much. Yn watched, as he studied her contours with something she was not able to pin just yet. She watched as his tongue came out of his plush and pink lips to moisten them. And she moaned, she actually moaned when his fingers touched her leg. His skin was cold, his touch so feathery almost like a ghost. He trailed the tip of his short nails on her thighs and with just one look he spread them.

“Yes,” she was able to whisper when his eyes found hers again.

The man smirked devilishly. One of his fingers trailed the path to her unclothed pussy and Yn whined when he spread her sex and caressed her soaked lips. She couldn’t think about anything but his deep brown eyes. Her husband was long forgotten. The house was long forgotten.

“Yes,” she chanted again. It sounded like a prayer. It made the mysterious man’s grin widen. He inserted one finger inside her and dipped his face to her ear. There wasn’t a sound, but she felt a light gush of air against her skin. And she tried to move her hips in the direction of his fingers.

He played with her already puffy clit, and this time the gush of air she felt against her skin was accompanied by a quiet chuckle sound.

Her hips ground against his big hands, and Yn choked when his long fingers hit a particularly sensitive spot. She shuddered and her body went limp when her orgasm hit her like a trainwreck, fogging her mind from any coherent thought.

Yn jolted from the bed feeling sweat slide down her forehead and between her breasts. She took a deep breath and finally opened her eyes trying to adjust them to the darkness of her room, her comforter was lying by her feet and the skirt of her nightgown was hiked up on her hips. She furrowed her brows and tentatively moved her fingers to her core, feeling the dampness of her core.

Cum.

She turned to her husband, but Eric was lying beside her, in a deep slumber.

She turned to the doorway and the once-closed door now rested ajar.

Once again Yn tried to rationalize everything. Was it possible to cheat on someone in your dreams? Was it really a dream?

She tried talking with Eric, but he was in so deep with work he wouldn’t be home until dinner almost every day. And when she tried to tell him about the weird noises and the sensation of being watched, he told her “It just feels weird because it's not decorated with your flowers and things yet, we got it mobiliated, not decorated, so maybe that’s why you’re feeling dislocated or whatever, just relax, will ya?”.

Up until starting to get the house in order, Yn would tell herself that every weird thing happening to her was just a product of her imagination. But while going through things in the living room, she found an album. Inside, a bunch of pictures caught her attention. The first few pages portrayed the house in a much better state. The gardens and a beautiful kitchen. A fireplace lit in the living room, and a corridor full of photos. At some point, she found a picture of a man. A stunning man. He had a big white smile while staring at the camera. His hair was ornated with braids, and two small ones shaped his face to perfection.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She flipped the album frantically being met with pictures of the same man side by side with different people. None of them were familiar to her. He was the only known face. By the foot of one picture, it read “Lewis and friends” signed with a date and a scribbled message she didn’t care to read because that man was Lewis.

That man was the one who would stand by her bedroom door every night.

It was the same man that fingered her until she came.

The same man who haunted her.

And precisely, the same man that haunted the whole house since the day he was killed, she confirmed after tipping on her phone, searching for the news about the case again, and finding his blurry picture there. No mention of his name. But a picture of him. And the mention of the neighborhood.

Her stabbing nightmares were his memories.

He was trying to spook her off the house.

But something changed along the way, Yn thought.

The cup of tea she was sipping tipped on the coffee table. She squeaked in surprise, and she would tell herself it was just her mind again if one of her books weren’t thrown across the living room.

And she swore it happened so fast, she couldn’t really process, couldn’t think of what she was doing when she opened her mouth and questioned, “Lewis?” She gulped. “Is that you?” her last sentence was a breathy whisper. So small only a ghost could hear.

And he did.

In fact, he waited forever to hear someone calling him by the name. He waited for the person who would see him and not run, who would stare, just like she did.

They say that calling someone by their name gives them power and gives them life.

Yn had just given Lewis what he needed.

And without even knowing, she had given herself too.

Lost in the years, lost in the days, he had finally found her.

He smiled, and when Yn turned to the corridor she saw him. She saw him for the first time being awake. Truly saw him. Lewis was handsome. Even more in person. But he was a ghost. He had touched and haunted her.

Yn couldn’t help but scream and try to run, but he was faster, appearing in front of her in the blink of an eye with a smirk on his face.

“Please, don’t kill me,” she whimpered and he chuckled.

“I’m not killing you, sweetheart. Quite the opposite, I’m keeping you here with me,” he states before adding, “Forever”.

Her eyes go round, and she shakes her head scaredly. “I-I have a husband, I’m married, I’m-”

Lewis chuckled, “He doesn’t love you, and neither you love him. Would you let me do this to you if you loved him?” he pins her against the wall and her breath hitches. He found her sweet spot and nipped it while tightening his grip on her waist. “I can practically smell your arousal. You’re such a filthy girl. So bad you get turned on by ghosts,” Lewis mocked.

She purses her lips, darting her eyes to the ground and he dips his head to her lips, tracing her jaw and cheeks.

“You’re cold,” Yn states.

“I’m dead, of course I’m cold, honey.”

“What are you going to do with Eric?” There’s a hint of fear in her voice, and Lewis bites his lips and shrugs.

“I don’t know. We’ll see,” he widens her legs and fits his lean waist between them. “Now you should be worried about what I’m gonna do with you, or rather, what we’re gonna do together.”

And despite the fear and surprise mixed with confusion, Yn couldn’t help but shamefully feel aroused when he ground against her pussy, trapping her body between his and the wall.

“We’re gonna spend the eternity together,” he grinned.

Yn arched her brows, “But I won’t live forever, I’m a human, I-,” but the dark look in his eyes shut her mouth, all the answers she needed right there.

She would spend eternity with Lewis.

Maybe not as a human.

But she would, and he would make sure of that.

― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, besties! I hope you guys like this piece! A huge shout out to Dee (@struggling-with-delia) for beta and proofreading this piece!🤍

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xxsycamore · 9 months ago

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❝ 𝐕𝐈𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓 ❞

╰┈➤ 💜 Clavis seduces Emma in a bunny suit so she can finally pop his cherry.

Clavis Lelouch x Emma • rating: E (MDNI) • tags:Bunny Suits; Bunny Ears; bunny tail; that one Clavis card; Virginity; Virginity Kink; Making Out; Sloppy Makeouts; Dom!Emma; sub!Clavis; Femdom; Neck Kissing; Biting; Groping; Premature Ejaculation; Coming Untouched; Coming In Pants • wordcount: 1,495 • masterlist

"Welcome home, Emma. I've been waiting for you."

The wave of shock that washes over Emma's being brings forth an unmistakable familiar and dangerous warmth that traverses from her cheeks straight down to her nethers. It doesn't leave her time to breathe, to think, yet the words still manage their way out.

"Clavis, what are you wearing?"

Hand still on the doorknob, Emma's eyes are cast down low, at the figure kneeling on the floor. Clavis' tall, slender form is clad in a tight suit, squeezing his flesh in all the right places. Clavis lowers his head as if desperate to rub himself all over her legs, showing the joy of a domesticated animal welcoming his owner home, and in the act, a pair of long faux ears brush past Emma's frame. From the position he's taking on the floor, she can see the star of the outfit - an obscene protrusion on his rear, white and fluffy. A bunny tail.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm your little bunny in heat. I'm beginning you to finally, finally take me."

Emma's blood runs hot, fingers curling inwards until she can feel her own nails dig into the inside of her palm. It emphasizes their positions on the spot. She has claws, and Clavis is soft, pliant, vulnerable, practically begging. She can do whatever she wishes with him.

His methods of seduction are an incitement to riot, as she barely needs stimulus to desire him. Yet Clavis puts on so much effort for her. He moves his body alluringly in a way he's never done for anyone; he gazes at her in a way he's never gazed at anyone. The littlest things about him are enough, all those things he doesn't even suspect are erotic, so how is she to endure the current situation?

"On the bed, Clavis."

The man on his knees smirks as he obediently bows, turning around to comply with her wish. Emma's eyes follow his rump. Of course they do. He gives her so much to look at.

She'll have to give that tail a little squeeze later.

Emma follows him to the bed and climbs up, signaling for Clavis to come closer. He sits on the place between her legs, leaning slightly backward as he props himself up with a hand, chest puffed out. Ready for her next move.

Emma reaches two greedy hands to grasp his waist, and she pulls him in closer, letting his scent engulf her completely. Has he always had such a perfect waist? It's not tiny enough for her hands to properly enwrap it, but rather just enough to desperately try to tighten her hands enough to fit more.

"Kiss me, Clavis. You know how to do this much, right?"

Way better than a virgin does, she refrains from adding, for the sake of her own composure. They've made out before, but never took the next step. The amount of heated kisses they'd shared had been enough to see Clavis become bold and risqué in his need for more, often kissing her breathless. The bulge in his pants has always been alluring but it's never been quite the time or the place. Partly because Clavis has a penchant for being at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

His lips are now planted against her own, and he already begins with his game. No time for lovey-dovey kisses, even if they're to his liking as well. His tongue slips between Emma's parted lips, making his way in, provoking her. It turns her rasped breaths into moans, and she doesn't mind it even this early on. If she's being vocal, he'll start being vocal too. For the time being, she lets him lead the kiss. It's almost like he shows what he wants to be done to him in return, she thinks. Although he's a gentleman through and through. His demonstration simply can't be as true to his desires.

He withdraws, and keeps his mouth open, tongue poking out. Emma doesn't wait for the thin thread of saliva between them to break; as long as he took a breath he should be fine for continuing where they left. It's like they never stopped the kiss that way.

She takes it easy on him when she takes the lead, dragging her tongue on his plump lower lip as if asking for entrance. It humiliates him a little, as if they're still not past this stage, as if he needs that - but strangely it's only lust he feels as a response. He answers properly to the gesture, obediently parting his lips to be penetrated, and Emma slips her tongue in.

"Nngn…"

Emma takes notes of all the little things that push Clavis' buttons; like curving her tongue to caress the underside of his tongue, or withdrawing to scare him with a too-early end of the kiss. She wants to learn more and more about how he wants to be kissed, touched, loved.

"Haah… haha.. You can get more handy than that, Emma."

He needn't say more. Emma's hands move from where they've held Clavis' waist, leaving unmistakable warmth behind as their imprints, and they travel up his back. Emma traverses it with hands alone from one side to the other, measuring him up, taking note of the hard places of him just like the soft ones, following the curves of his shoulders, the dips of the junction between them and his neck. It's an endearing gesture, until she cards her fingers through the short purple hair on the back of his head, upwards, taking both of his sleek black bunny ears in her grasp.

He doesn't feel the tug in the way an actual appendix would, of course, but his groan is sincere, and the action successfully makes him tilt his head back to reveal his slender neck.

Emma leaches on it, her glistening lips wetting his neck as she sinks her teeth into the column of his neck. He's so weak to neck kisses, she can practically feel him get hard where they're pressed body to body.

Leaving only one hand on his head, she lets the other one get playful and travel back down. The moment she's past the leather of his belt, Clavis' body rocks forward, and his rear lifts off the bed. He's on his knees now, between Emma's parted legs, arms snaking around her shoulders for support as she keeps kissing and nibbling at his neck.

With his behind now in full reach, Emma gets bolder, squeezing and groping his rump, the back of his thighs, and finally his fluffy white tail. It makes a little wicked smile bloom on her face. She lacks all of those adorable assets, yet Clavis sees her as his little bunny. She understands now, both the endearment and the lust behind it. Though it's a little scary that they've both become like that - with carnivores and prey it's quite linear. They devour until they're sated. With rabbits, well, Emma knows what people say about rabbits.

Clavis moans now, open and vulgar, and each vocalization of his arousal makes his Adam's apple move where Emma can feel it under her lips. It makes her see hot-white behind her eyelids that fell closed amidst it all. She wants to be locked in that tango forever; to see how Clavis gets worse and worse, until they finally cross that line, to take and take from each other until there's nothing they haven't done to the other.

"Ahh-- Nghh!" Clavis' head trashes, and it makes Emma's sucking at his skin a little difficult as her lips begin to miss their target. She makes him stay in place again, nails biting on the fabric of his suit, pressing him closer to her. His moans become hopeless now, and she feels proud of herself, just a tad curious which part made him like this. Clavis riots in his flesh restraints again, though he can easily remove himself from her grasp with his strength alone. She lets him have his breath, letting go and catching a glimpse of his face that she began to miss.

He's a mess, cheeks flushed red, hair disheveled, and faux ears askew and flopping to the side. Although he pants heavily, he finds it in himself to smirk. It's a rather mischievous one; not the kind to signal achievement of his goal but rather that he's done something forbidden.

"Nnnh…You handled your bunny a little too rough and he creamed his pants."

Eyes widening, Emma feels a fresh wave of arousal wash over her as the words sink in. She's stunned, a little guilty, a little curious… but as her gaze shamelessly shifts to his trousers to see a little wet spot on the front of his still-tented crouch, she's sure she's never seen anything more erotic in her life. She wets her lips to speak up.

"Looks like my little bunny in heat will stay a virgin for a little longer."

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five-miles-over · 1 year ago

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Tom Hiddleston Characters Masterlist

updated January 26, 2024

Multiple Character Headcanons/Listicles

• Tom Hiddleston Characters as Desserts

• How Tom Hiddleston Characters Would Spend the Winter Holidays

• Tom Hiddleston Characters: How They Act When They Have a Crush (on You)

• Tom Hiddleston Characters on Their Wedding Day (to You)

• Tom Hiddleston Characters: How They Would Propose (to You)

• Tom Hiddleston Characters Celebrating the New Year (With You)

Bill Hazeldine from Suburban Shootout

• She’s a Lady and I am Just a Boy: On the first day of taking ‘Fundamentals of Shakespeare’ at university, Bill Hazeldine finds himself developing a serious crush on you, his drama professor.

• Champagne for My Real Friends, Real Pain for My Sham Friends: A first-year medical student at the University of Surrey, you move into a uni house and meet your new flatmates Bill Hazeldine and Rory Slippery (College AU, crossover with Rory Slippery from Fortysomething)

Caius Marcius Coriolanus from Coriolanus

I’ve Decided, I Will Not Let Your Shadow Separate From Me: After being elected the consul, Coriolanus receives many things - sleepless nights, pointless riots from the lower-class citizens, and you, his new personal slave. While the sleep deprivation and the noise from the plebeians annoy him to no end, he finds himself obsessed with you. (Yandere)

The One That I Desire: A general must always be in control, according to General Caius Marcius Coriolanus . But there often comes a time when even the most powerful general falls to temptation. And for Coriolanus, that temptation is you.

Henry V/Prince Hal from The Hollow Crown

• Fairytale: While riding upon your horse in the woods, you come across a stranger with a silver tongue and golden curls. And he calls himself “Hal”. (Basically a meet-cute with fluff.)

• You Will Be Mine : The prince of England quickly becomes obsessed with you, a servant brought to his chambers to serve him breakfast. And there is nothing that will stop him from claiming you as his. (Yandere)

• First Time In London: Three days into your new life in London, you find yourself in a café after one of the dreariest mornings ever. Standing behind you in line is none other than Henry Plantagenet, a handsome gentleman with a zest for life and a romantic outlook that feels too good to be real. (Modern AU)

Jonathan Pine from The Night Manager

•So Much More: While holidaying in Switzerland at the Hotel Meister, you find yourself constantly being stood up by each and everyone you meet. And each time, the night manager Jonathan Pine is there to comfort you after delivering the bad news. But it’s really just part of the job…right?

• The Forbidden Room: Part One, Part Two : During a late night alone in the lobby of the Hotel Meister, you - a student at the University of Zurich - meet the charming night manager Mr.Jonathan Pine. And what starts out as simply two strangers getting to know each other turns into something more when Pine shows you a secret part of the hotel.

• My Dearest Diamond : After nearly two years of working for MI-6, Jonathan tried to get in touch with you, the girl who stole his heart when he worked at Hotel Meister. For three weeks, the two of you rekindled your love via handwritten letters, until you booked a five-day trip to London to see him.

As he prepares to make this holiday special for you, Jonathan reflects on his relationship with you…and carries out one last errand before you land.

Robert Laing from High-Rise

• Being Married to Robert Laing would Include...

Loki of Asgard from the Marvel Cinematic Universe

• Heaven Help the Fool Who Falls in Love: You, a lady-in-waiting of Asgard’s Queen Frigga, and Prince Loki have been inseparable for years. What started with a mere look becomes something more precious. (Fluff)

• A Better King: While shopping with Thor in Mumbai (to kill time while Tony Stark is busy with a meeting), Loki learns about the “king” of Bollywood…and decides that he himself could be a better king.

• Take All of Me: Loki takes great delight in “ruining” his innocent, shy girlfriend for the first time (corruption kink, smut)

• Dandelions: Having heard stories about the Norse god of mischief, you find yourself falling in love with Loki despite having never met him. Out of devotion, you prepare offerings that you think he would like, and find ways to express the way you feel. Little do you know that your feelings are not unrequited.

• Beauty is Where You Find It: A journalist for a New York magazine in September of 2012, you come across the opportunity to do an interview from an icon in the fashion industry. Your subject? A rising supermodel from Wimbledon with icy blue eyes and jet-black curls named Loki Laufeyson.

• They’ll Call Your Crimes a Work of Art: A journalist for a small magazine in New York, you’ve been assigned to write a piece about the recent attacks led by Loki. So, you have a look at Loki himself to get your own perspective.

• Little Darling: Living with the God of Mischief in London comes with finding many surprises, and one of those surprises happens to be a four-year-old named Tom Hiddleston.

THE PHANTOM OF ASGARD (THOR: THE DARK WORLD LOKI X READER)

Rumors say that a phantom haunts the darkest hall in the royal palace of Asgard, but is he truly as dangerous as the people of Asgard claim he is?

Part One

Part Two

FOR ALL TIME, IT WAS ALWAYS YOU (TVA LOKI X WIFE!READER)

Imagine waking up in an alternate reality where you and Loki are a newlywed couple living in the suburbs...and everything seems a little too good to be true. (inspired by Wandavision)

Part One

Part Two: Mrs. Laufeyson

Part Three: Happy to Keep His Dinner Warm

Part Four: Kitty Makes Three

THE AGE OF LOKI (LOKI X READER X PROFESSOR HIDDLESTON)

For his second year teaching at Oxford’s English department, Professor Hiddleston hires you to be his first-ever teaching assistant. One night while working late, he shows you the newest addition to his poetry class’s syllabus: the Lokasenna, a poem centered on the Norse god of mischief…and accidentally summons the trickster god himself.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

IF YOU LET ME, I CAN MAKE ANOTHER WORLD FOR US (LOKI x POWERFUL!READER)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Jaguar Villain Hiddleston from the Good to Be Bad Campaign

• All I Worship and Adore: For a long time, Tom has admired you, an innocent woman, from afar...until one day, he makes his affections known to you. And this time, he won’t take no for an answer (Yandere)

• Your Remedy - He may be one of the most powerful and feared man in London, a terrifying villain to the outside world, but when you’re sick with a cold, your paramour Thomas spends the entire evening by your side taking care of you.

• SFW Alphabet - Jaguar Villain!Tom Hiddleston

YOU'RE NEVER LEAVING (JAGUAR!HIDDLESTON X READER)

You, a budding journalist, have the opportunity of a lifetime to interview the feared and revered Mr. Hiddleston, the CEO of Imperial Pharmaceuticals, Britain’s leading drug manufacturing company. What happens when a few mistakes lead you into the jaws of the wolf, working for the man himself?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Miscellaneous Hiddleston AUs

• AU: Tom Hiddleston as the Prince of Scotland

• Lessons from the Viscount (Viscount!Hiddleston x Reader, Reader x William Buxton, Reader x John Plumptre): As a debutante in the Regency era, you attend your first etiquette class, along with the other boys and girls of London’s upper crust. Heading the class is the charismatic Viscount Hiddleston, rumored to be a former Shakespearean actor who returned to London to look after his familal estate. And it isn’t long before he takes a liking to you.

342 notes · View notes

restwellsoon · 1 year ago

Text

Off Tangent

Pairing: Todoroki Shouto x F!Reader x Kirishima Eijiro, minor Todoroki Shouto x Kirishima Eijirou

Summary: Girl math is thinking that you can take pro heroes Shouto and Red Riot at once when you can hardly take two fingers. Luckily for you, having a good romp doesn’t have to be as mind-boggling as algebra.

/ While Kirishima explored you with wonder over the new and unknown, to Shouto, he knew you well enough, knowing every place that made you ache. The redhead’s excitement was a reminder that though he shared you tonight, you were his tomorrow and the next.

Warnings: Double penetration (double vaginal), threesome, sexualizing their Quirks, light degradation, dom/sub undertones, temp play, praise kink, humor, fluff, established relationship, alcohol

Minors and blank blogs DNI!

Even if things weren’t adding up, you could hardly complain about your situation. The wet sounds of skin on skin and murmurs of praise made it all too easy to get lost in sensation. There shouldn’t have been anything more pressing to think about, only things to feel, and yet your mind still wandered, even if it was just for a moment.

Tonight was unusual, no, maybe special was a better word for the occasion. Getting drinks with Shouto’s friends wasn’t outside of the norm. The bar beside your apartment was known for its discrete treatment of superpowered patrons, making it an easy choice for meet ups. You were used to seeing Momo and Midoriya, but they weren’t there tonight; both were tasked with the night patrol in their designated precincts. Instead, there was Bakugou who finally warmed up to you, and Kirishima who you hardly, if ever, saw. It was a rare occasion to see him with the group. Similar to Iida, his patrol route and schedule were often opposite of Shouto’s, so the redhead usually wasn’t present. At least Camie was there to fill the lull in any conversations.

“Hey beautiful!” She beckoned, drawing a few looks, mostly from an annoyed Bakugou. She slapped on the vinyl seat beside her–a special spot reserved for you.

Kirishima shot up, pulled out the chair, and even took care to push you in. You swore you felt a calloused sweep of fingertips across your shoulders, but Shouto’s lack of reaction convinced you that it was nothing.

“A gentleman, isn’t he?” Camie commented before glancing at the blond to her side. “Unlike some people.” He grunted in response. It seemed that Camie was still bitter about their team-up a few months back. An allegedly careless Bakugou blasted too close to her scene, ruining her illusion, but more importantly her fresh blowout.

And it was nothing other than good food, good drinks, and good conversation until Bakugou was the first to go.

He smirked at Shouto before tugging a mask loop behind his ear–a sorry excuse of a disguise, really, since his trademark red eyes and blond hair were still visible.

“Moving up in the ranks just means that I’ll be busier. Might be awhile before I see you extras again.”

You winced at his cringiness. You still weren’t used to his manner of speaking, but Shouto wasn’t phased.

“I suppose that means that Midoriya will be busier than all of us.”

Stifling a laugh behind your hand, Camie and Kirishima diffused the situation with exaggerated ‘oohs’ and teasing.

“Luckily for you,” the redhead slapped his friend’s back, “Shou’s got ice for that sick burn.”

“Oof! Just take the L, Bakubro, and don’t say anything,” Camie sniggered, hooking her arm through his. “And to help you walk outta here with some dignity left, I’ll even walk with ya to the train station.”

She flashed you a peace sign, “Gotta wake up early for a podcast interview overseas. Later, girlie!”

With only you, Shouto, and Kirishima left, you expected him to say his goodbyes as well, but instead he ruffled the back of his head before shoving his fists in his pockets, looking at you both with puppy dog eyes. “Well, shit, I didn’t expect the night to end this soon, unless…?”

You felt bad. Kirishima was just griping about how his precinct being understaffed due to some injuries. He’s been working overtime for three months now.

“It’s not like we have any plans for tomorrow,” you started, waiting for Shouto’s agreement. He nodded.

“Come over. Our place is right there anyway.”

Kirishima followed behind you, practically bouncing the entire way.

–

It was a dumb question yet you couldn’t help but feel flustered otherwise. Drawing the duvet up to your nose, you wondered why your boyfriend didn’t automatically know your answer. Daring to look at him, Shouto waited for your answer patiently. There wasn’t any way you could avoid this.

Swallowing nervously, you answered before trying to hide back into the blanket, “Obviously, it’s you.”

Tutting, he undid your work to push back a strand of hair that got in your face—a flimsy shield from his questioning. His movement pushed back the blanket too, and gooseflesh prickled your skin.

“You didn’t even know who I was when we met.” The corners of his mouth twitched upwards as he looked down at you with thick lashes. There wasn’t any offense in his voice, only amusement.

You argued back, “Did too. I just pretended not to know you. How could I act normal when one of Japan’s most eligible bachelors was approaching me?”

That heated hand strayed from your ear to the side of your neck, settling along its curve. “That’s a conversation for another time.” And you knew that your little comment wouldn’t be forgotten. “But really, who’s your hero crush? Everyone has at least one.”

Embarrassment and shyness crept up your chest and towards your cheeks, and you hoped that he couldn’t feel the difference. He could, he’d later tell you.

“Red Riot,” you finally admitted, before adding “it’s not like I’m a fan girl though!”

How could you ignore him when he was plastered all over your social media feeds? It’s not like you actively sought out all those posts about Red Riot either. Apparently the algorithm thought you hung out with thirsty motherfuckers–and it was true for the most part; officer workers needed some sort of eye candy to help them through the day–and decided to share their horniess with you.

Satisfied with your answer, he settled back into his spot beside you. “Maybe you have a thing for redheads,” he mused before asking if he should dye all his hair that color.

“Absolutely not!” You sat up in bed to prove your point, nearly knocking Shouto out in the process. “That’s part of your appeal! It’s like two different looks depending on the angle.”

Shouto didn’t need to hear anymore about how opposites attract and how his looks were the perfect embodiment of that, but if he kept teasing you like this, you were willing to steer the conversation in that direction.

His lips curved upwards, turning into an actual smile, the playfulness practically spilling from his mouth. It took you months into the relationship to recognize the slightest tells of his teasing.

“Oh, so it’s like you have two boyfriends depending on which side you’re on?”

Your index finger dug into his chest. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it!”

Playtime was over. Your show was starting soon, and you’d prefer to be at ease in his arms instead of squirming for his amusement.

–

It was hard to take Camie seriously in general but even more so when she wagged her index finger around like a mother who knew best, pointing at the cushioned space between you and Mina.

“The best way to go about it is to find two randos to bone.” Finally her manicured nail landed on you as she advised that couples should hook up with someone they knew but weren’t close to. You weren’t sure why she looked at you with those eyes of certainty, as if they were silently begging you to know some secret. “If it sucks–in a bad way obvi–you probs won’t care if you tell your third to get the bird.” She made a crude gesture with her hand.

Bottomless mimosas made sure that whatever arithmetic skills you had were gone for the day. What was the point of making things make sense when you were having fun? The conversation kept ping ponging from couples to threesomes to the abysmal sex your friends were having while single. You laughed as Mina divulged in her latest date.

“Are you talking about the latest hero team ups?” Shouto’s voice called from the entry way before the door shut behind him.

His hair was damp, meaning that he must have showered at the agency. The occasional droplets that fell from his hair were enough to distract you from the conversation.

“Yeah,” Mina laughed, “somethin’ like that, Icy Hot.”

From the way you were eyeing him, it was clear that it was time for your friends to leave. She reached over to Camie, pulling her up, but the honey blonde wasn’t ready to leave until Mina gave her an obvious nudge.

“Well, girly pop, we’ll leave you lovebirds alone for now!” She leaned in for a quick hug, “And don’t forget what we talked about!”

Shouto waited for them by the door to say a quick goodbye, making a comment about Midoriya keeping everyone updated on the latest duos and teams. It was informative, he told them, encouraging them to sign up for the mailing list if they wanted to know more.

“Those ain’t the double teams we’re interested in, bub.” Camie giggled. “Thanks though. Alright–one last goodbye. TTFN, babes!”

As the click of their heels faded down the hall, you rounded on Shouto. Now that the initial stun of his good looks were gone, you were bold enough to tell him to drop the oblivious act now that your friends were gone.

“What do you mean?” He smiled, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

You gave him a hard look, and he stretched out his arms in return.

With a huff, you went into his arms. It’d be easier to scold him up close anyway.

“Your PR manager can make you act as oblivious as you want in public, but I know that you heard everything we were talking about Shou.”

One of his hands slipped from your waist to play underneath your shirt. He might as well have gotten underneath your skin with the tone he was speaking in.

“Why were you talking about that anyway? Do you want to bring someone into our bed?”

Luckily for you, your bra unhooked while you answered, giving you a plausible reason for the hitch in your voice. “No–well, uh, yes, but um, Mina was the one to bring it up first! You know that she’s been single for a while, and Camie well, you know how she is…”

His pause was long as his fingers trailed up your spine. He hummed. “Well, alright. We can talk about this again when you’re less embarrassed.”

“You little shit,” you groused, “you’re not as innocent as you pretend to be.”

“Aren’t you happy that I’m only this way with you?” He leaned down.

Any intentions of acting out begrudgingly faded as the kiss led to more clothes on the floor and urged steps towards the bedroom.

–

You were happy to have the help of alcohol to keep the conversation going. Shouto’s hand was heavy whenever he poured drinks, the habit worsened when he was even the slightest bit buzzed. They weren’t enough to send you over the edge, but you were in that sweet spot where everything tingled and had a pleasant haze.

“Seriously!” Kirishima laughed. “You don’t have to be so formal with me.” It was probably the alcohol that was making your heart flutter when he said your name. “Kirishima is what my manager calls me when I’m in trouble. You can just call me Kiri.”

“Alright, Kiri,” you acquiesced, staring at your drink. At the time, you didn’t know that you’d be calling out that name all night.

–

You still couldn’t remember what sparked the conversation. Maybe a comment, a look, a laugh. All that really stuck out was a playful peck on the cheek that turned into a heated kiss with wandering hands. Kirishima’s red gaze was on you, but you didn’t mind it at that moment.

His words stuck out as oddly shy from his usual manner of speaking. “Did you really mean that?”

The smoothness and confidence in Shouto’s voice surprised you and Kirishima too. “Don’t feel pressured if you don’t want to.”

When he said that he might not make it back to his place, Kirishima didn’t think you’d take his comment so seriously. “You can stay here tonight then,” you told him, only looking back at Shouto to see if it was okay after the offer. When he told him that he could stay in your bed too, Kirishima thought it was a classic case of Shouto being overly polite. He practically choked when he clarified that he meant in bed with both of you.

Never in his wildest dreams would he peg Shouto to be interested in something like this, but when he saw that nervous yet hopeful look in your eyes, he realized he was doing it for you. And maybe it was drunk logic, but what kind of friend would he be if he couldn’t help a friend in need?

“So what exactly do you want me to do?”

Shouto looked at you for the answer. Having both of their eyes on you made everything feel so real to the point that it was nearly sobering. You felt self-conscious as you rambled out your list of wants. Your glass was still half-full; it was difficult to look at either of them directly.

“I want both of you at once.”

“Where?” Kirishima asked.

Your pause clued Shouto in to what you wanted, and you swore you felt the pride swell in his chest when he told Kirishima that he’d show him where.

“I just want to feel good. I want to feel pretty and used but cherished. Does that make sense? Seriously Shou, don’t give me that look. This is embarrassing enough as it is. Is there anything you want?”

Shouto was straight-forward and simple as always. “Make her cum.”

To ease your nerves, he kissed you with sweetness, ending it with an affectionate peck on the lips and that softness in his eyes that always made you swoon.

You worked on removing each other’s clothes, and now with a groan of frustration and need, you realized that your liquid courage hadn’t left you completely. Your hands kept fiddling with Shouto’s pants.

“Need some help, sweetheart?” Kirishima asked from behind. Your heart nearly lept into your throat as his body pressed into yours. His desire brushed behind your thigh as his hand took your shaking one, guiding it in one smooth motion to pull down Shouto’s zipper, the last of his clothes finally falling to the floor.

“Thanks Kiri.”

“No prob, gorgeous.”

You were close enough to hear the pull of his lips twist up into a smile, to feel his heated breath against your neck. Again, your hands stalled, awkwardly skimming Shouto’s chiseled hip.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” your boyfriend reassured you as he guided you onto your back. Shouto’s voice was an anchor, smoothly giving you commands. The couch was comfortable and felt familiar beneath your fingertips. He was right. It was okay to relax too. “Because we’re going to take care of you,” he promised. “We’ll make you feel good.”

It wasn’t difficult to admire either of them, but seeing them together was nearly too much stimulation for your eyes. Embarrassingly, you spent more time looking at Kirishima. Shouto’s body was familiar with his long, lean muscles and smooth skin. Kirishima was noticeably wider and thick with more fat padding the muscles beneath it. You didn’t dare to look at Shouto’s eyes. You both knew that you were staring.

Feeling a cold touch on your knee, your eyes finally met his. “I’m telling you to do this for us, love, not asking you.” His hand pushed your knee outwards. He wanted you to spread your legs. And you did, the change in Shouto’s tone making your heart flutter.

When you were finally spread, you fought the urge to close them once more. Both men looked at your center intently.

“I told you, didn’t I?” Shouto spoke to Kirishima. It was as if you weren’t there or couldn’t hear them. “Look at how pretty her pussy looks?”

He nodded in agreement, saying that he couldn’t wait to taste you. Though he and Shouto had a similar directness in their speech, you felt shy towards his enthusiasm.

“Kiri!”

His tongue already lapped at your clit before licking a stripe downwards, sucking and tasting all of your wetness. The thick index finger he added earned another yelp, followed by a moan. After a minute of gentle prodding, he added a second finger.

“Nothing beats a wet and wanting cunt,” he pulled back to tell Shouto. The way he smiled at him was shameless, his lower lip and chin covered in saliva and your sweetness. Kirishima even demonstrated his point, moving his thick body aside so Shouto could see you. He scissored your hole, gave it a pump, and pulled out as quick as he could. The sounds were lewd as he fingered you lazily.

And the sounds didn’t go unnoticed by Shouto. He peered over Kirishima’s shoulder, leaning over to look as if he hadn’t seen your body before, as if he hadn’t felt it, before giving a pleased smile. While Kirishima explored you with wonder over the new and unknown, to Shouto, he knew you well enough, knowing every place that made you ache. The redhead’s excitement was a reminder that though he shared you tonight, you were his tomorrow and the next.

His eyes trailed up your hips, lingering at your heaving chest, before finally meeting your eyes. “So noisy,” he commented–whether it was about your pussy or your whimpers, you weren’t sure. Kirishima’s fingers were thicker and calloused from his training and Quirk.

“She’s greedy,” he told Kirishima, “look how she keeps on whining for more.”

“Love,” he addressed you, “you can hardly take two fingers, but now you want three?” He smirked. “Soon you’ll be asking for two cocks at once.” Heat rose up your body, or was it the effect of Shouto’s hand on your thigh? He cocked his head at your embarrassment, using that tone you hated. “What? Isn’t that what you were asking for last night? Begging to have your pretty little pussy stretched by my cock and your toy?”

Kirishima perked up from his place between your legs, making a show of the wetness he wiped from his mouth. “Oh yeah? You took them both?”

He didn’t know the size of your toy, but like everything else on Shouto, his cock was impressive–good proportions, cut, and a nice thick head that was drooling with pre-cum. His trimmed pubes and pink sack only highlighted it more.

“And she took them so well,” Shouto cooed.

Giving himself a quick pump to provide his cock some relief, Kirishima took Shouto’s words as a sign to add in a third finger. It already felt so tight, but the extra digit made you wetter as he continued his pace, this time slower because of the cramped space.

“Your boyfriend’s right, sweetheart,” he said. “You really know how to take it.”

If you just focused on the pleasure, it would be enough to send you over the edge. Kirishima kept bumping and nudging all the spots that made you jump, but it was Shouto’s soft coaching and Kirishima’s praise that would be the ones to push you over. Your toes curled as your breathing hitched, going and going and going until emptiness made you whine.

There were no fingers or Shouto’s hands on your thighs. The boys were talking to each other.

“Mind if I get her ready for us?”

“Be our guest.”

Maybe you were just sensitive or maybe you were annoyed, but the sound of Kirishima spitting was loud, as if it were some display of masculinity. The saliva pooled on the middle of his shaft and he made a show of rubbing it in.

His cock was thick like the rest of his body, not quite the length of Shouto’s but impressive nonetheless. What caught your eye in the haze of your edging were three rows of black beads, one on either end, sitting horizontally beneath his head. You wondered what needle was sharp enough to pierce his skin, then thought he did it without Quirk activation.

Red eyes followed yours before he gave you a wink. “Ribbed for your pleasure,” he joked. “You’ll get what I mean in a second.”

When he entered, your breath was stolen and held in your throat, holding it still until you felt his entirety inside you. Shouto moved to his spot behind Kirishima again, watching you take his cock. Kindly, Kirishima gave you a chance to breathe, pressing your legs back until they touched your shoulders. You thought he’d be positioning you for your comfort, but instead you felt every inch of him. The slightest readjustment made you feel the drag and pressure of his piercings.

“Don’t you look so pretty taking another man’s cock?” Shouto teased you from somewhere in the room. You couldn’t keep your eyes open, breathing focused so you wouldn’t cum just yet. You wanted to feel him fuck you, but the dark tone in Shouto’s voice was making you melt. You had to get a grip on yourself, but it was easier for both men to see that you were losing it.

“Play with her tits, Kiri,” Shouto told him. “Her nipples are sensitive.”

As masculine as Kirishima presented, it was surprising how well he obeyed. His weight pressed into you and the couch as he bent down to suck on your tits. Up close, he lingered for a brief second to watch their sway with the movement before starting with the left, then the right.

The attention he gave them was nice, more than that, it was delicate as he sucked and nibbled on them. Perhaps you were too used to Shouto’s amusement as he used his Quirk to harden them, giving them a rough pinch to help you cum. It was clear that multi-tasking wasn’t his forte though. His thrusts were shallow.

“I need to cum,” you finally whined. Between his body and yours, you were able to sneak a hand to your clit, rubbing to get what you were owed.

“You heard her, didn’t you?”

Kirishima’s will power was always one of his more noteworthy traits. It was something your co-workers swooned over. You were learning just how strong it was in a different way though. His movements were rough and shaking the couch. You made a note to yourself that you’d later forget: realign it with the rug.

The man was talking more to himself than you or Shouto, mumbling about your tightness. His words were clearer when you came. His cock was out–a smart move or else he would have joined you. Continuing to rub it, it was sleek with your juices. “I can’t wait to feel how tight you are when Shouto and I are fucking you.”

Like a rag doll, you let them reposition you as they pleased, still chasing the waves of your orgasm. They buried your face in the cushions as Kirishima pulled your hips up and behind. Your pussy felt tighter when he entered you again. This time your breath was still with you.

“We need to make sure you’re prepped for us.” Shouto’s voice was disembodied and distant again.

Kirishima’s voice was distant too. You were sure if his voice was heavier from the work he was doing or his need to cum. “I’m gonna add a few fingers in, okay? If it’s too much, just tell me. If it’s not enough, beg for more.”

He was true to his word, adding in the first and second digits slowly. “It feels good,” you reassured him.

“Not good enough,” he huffed. He felt your pussy fluttering around his cock and fingers, but you weren’t quite where he wanted you. Kirishima wanted to hear you cry out his and Shouto’s names. He wanted you cock-dumb and slutty where you could only speak in whines.

When you were cumming for the second time tonight, Shouto decided you were ready. Again, they moved you around since you were useless.

“Do you want me to suck your cock?” You asked your boyfriend. Everything was hazy, this time from sex instead of alcohol.

“Nah, I got him,” Kirishima said. That will power of his kept his cock hard and begging for a break. You were surprised he didn’t cum inside you.

His fingers were glossy from their time inside you, and he used that wetness–your wetness–to slick up Shouto’s cock. It was a couple of skilled jerks that slid up Shouto’s length, his large hand wrapping around his girth. He palmed whatever residual was left around his head, and Shouto closed his eyes, letting out a quiet sigh.

You weren’t expecting Kirishima to suck your boyfriend off before they fucked you, but you also weren’t expecting him to handle him so casually. He did it with such ease, and even Shouto looked comfortable. It was surprising how turned on you were from watching someone else play with Shouto’s cock. A part of you thought they’d look so pretty rubbing against each other, both sleek from spit and cum, but that could be a fantasy for another time.

Facing Shouto, he pushed into you, and you felt the familiar press of his cock. When he was fully seated, he pulled you close–a moment of tenderness throughout this debauchery. “Miss me?” You nodded. He gave you a kiss in return.

His lips caught your gasp as your nails dug into his shoulders as Kirishima positioned himself from behind. At first, he could only fit his head. Shouto’s hand trailed the length of your spine before settling on your hip. His Quirk warmed your tense muscles, and with a groan, both cocks were in.

It felt like minutes where there wasn’t any movement, for fear of cumming first. Kirishima finally broke the sounds of heavy breathing. “A pretty cunt and a nice cock to rub against? Seriously, are you two trying to make me cum first?”

“You can if you want to,” Shouto told him. If he left it at that, you would have laughed. “Our poor girl’s cunt will get messy regardless.” You held onto his unspoken promise of multiple creampies.

As if to encourage him, Shouto even took the lead, moving his hips in long, slow strokes. Your sighs were caught in his collarbones as you buried your head there. The intimacy was almost enough to make Kirishima cum then and there.

“Does it feel good too?” You couldn’t help but ask. “Kiri’s cock, I mean.”

The question earned a low rumble from the man behind you. Shouto paused, before saying an almost embarrassed yes. The tightness, the heat, his cock. It was almost overwhelming in the best possible way. Shouto had never had such an experience. “The piercings are… a nice touch.”

“Nice enough to make you cum?”

Kirishima didn’t care much about hero rankings but the thought of beating a Top Ten hero this way would give him a different sort of pride.

“We have all night to find out,” Shouto told him.

His statement pulled out something primal and competitive inside them as each man started moving at once. You were so greedy to think that you could handle more; you couldn’t. All you could do was whimper and let yourself give in to the pleasure. Was it really so bad to cum first? Their cocks gave you a fullness that you couldn’t even comprehend as each showered you–and each other–in praise. Their hands were needy and wandering as they searched for the spots that would set you off–your tits, your clit, your neck.

Maybe your mind wandered or maybe this orgasm was finally too much. There were stars in your eyes and that familiar tingling that ran from your toes to your spine as your body shook from Shouto and Kirishima’s touch. Everything felt hot and sensitive after that moment.

But you had little time to wonder what happened exactly as a voice sweetly mocked you. “Exhausted already? But we’ve just begun.”

Rest's Main Masterlist / Todoroki Masterlist

#todoroki shouto x reader #kirishima eijirou x reader #bnha x reader #rest writes #todororki shouto smut #kirishima eijirou smut

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blues824 · 1 year ago

Note

Heya bestie I mostly request a lot of females but this one is for the lads.

Akaza In the remarried empress

🏀Just imagine how a man like akaza would react he drinks his respects woman juice daily and the remarried empress is set in a medival setting so sadly woman rights are different.

🥊Like her is a childhood friend of heinley(that's how heinley got so much respect in this story for most women except rattrash ) and Duke ergi is just on the border of being his friend because of the bad luck he gives to woman.

🏀He came along with heinley the the new year Ball and people instantly knew who he was he is known in the western kingdom for his recpect to women and his brutalness towards weaker men.

🥊Akaza being surrounded by women and wanting to talk to him because they see him as a good man and they want to see if its tru he is the most respected man in the western kingdom and its tru he treats them with so much respect they fall in love.

🏀I can see the akaza reader being pissd of with sovieshit how he misteats navier for a woman who has the personality of a mere child instead of making her his concubine he could have given her a better place and gets her away from her status as slave.

🥊Imagen when sovieshit pulled the sword on heinley for "slandering his womans image " he accepts the dual and beats the shit out of sovieshit and tells him that he needs to respect all women not just one especially a woman he cheats one especially when he has a wife.

🏀I see rattrash wanting to pull him on her side by talking shit about navier that she is infertile and that doesn't make her a woman only for him to explain that she is a well respected woman and instead of being hateful to navier she needs to hate sovieshit for not hepling her how she deserves.

🥊Rattrash then talking to Duke ergi and him explaining that he beat his woman respect vision in to him when he was a child along with heinley "that's why her is a gentleman towards her "

🏀and her hearing stories of him beating women their abusive husband for hurting their wives and that he got away with it because he is so loved in the western kingdom and explains one time there was a riot because he was jailed by a noble and that even the king of the western kingdom was pissd.

🥊Meanwhile navier hears from heinley how he whoud never treat women like sovieshit does to him because of his friend akaza she knows about his story and reputation and is glad that he is friends with heinley.

🏀Later on navier gets married whit heinley and akaza visits and said if he becomes like sovieshit to tell him so he will beat the lesson of respecting women into heinley and heinley sweating in the bg.

Does not include Kosair or the Grand Duke Kaufman or Duke Ergi.

Sovieshu Vict

You were a noble in the Western Kingdom, right hand man to King Wharton III. Your reputation preceded you as a man of great respect when it came to women. The swarm of women around you was basically a dead giveaway. However, instead of ushering them away, you addressed each by name and you promised each of them a dance… that was unless they were married. You were not about to make other men angry and cause a disturbance of the peace.

However, when you saw Empress Navier upset with the Emperor, who was dancing with another woman, any thought of respect for His Imperial Majesty flew out the window. Instead, you went to Heinrey, in whom you could see the lovesickness, and you ushered him towards Her Imperial Majesty. You knew your friend like the back of your hand, and if anyone would treat her right, it would be Heinrey.

A few days later, when the prince got in trouble for “slandering Rashta’s image”, you took his place in the hypothetical duel. After all, you were the most expendable option here, as you were no heir to the throne. However, in order to prevent any fatal harm, you offered to bring Sovieshu to fisticuffs instead of a swordfight. Needless to say, it ended with him being bruised and you being scratch-free. You hadn’t studied martial arts for nothing, after all.

Of course, this is when the story of you being thrown in jail for nearly beating an abusive man to death. You had seen the fear in his children’s and wife’s eyes, and you couldn’t take it. The King had enough with your anger issues and threw you into prison, but there was a huge riot within the Western Kingdom. Because it was disturbing day-to-day life, you were let out with a large warning and a criminal record. However, you managed to charm the Queen, befriending her in the process, which made her a valuable ally.

Rashta

She had never heard of you, but by the way that all the ladies at the New Year’s Party were swarming you, she judged that you were a good man. That being said, she definitely did want to talk to you. However, Sovieshu kind of swept her up to dance, causing a ruckus even after the whole dress drama and people debating whether Navier was copying her or if Rashta was copying Navier.

Anyway, when she was done, she saw you standing with Prince Heinrey, who seemed to be staring at the Empress. You were speaking to him quietly with a glass of wine in your hand, nudging him with your elbow. As much as the young mistress loves to pretend that she is, she is not naive. She knows what you two are doing. However, she’s not going to disrupt anything. If Navier is out of the picture, then Sovieshu is all hers.

During her—rather toxic—friendship with Duke Ergi, she asked how he knew how to talk to her and calm her down. That was when he told her about how you actually fought him for daring to disrespect a female friend that you all had in your youth. With his reputation as a womanizer, you thought it unjust that these girls who were drawn to him would be disrespected in such a manner, so you gave him a black eye, a busted shoulder, a busted lip, and a bruised pride.

Through her maidservant, she found out about your criminal record in the Western Kingdom. Even though you were the right-hand man to the king, you were still thrown in prison for nearly murdering a man who turned out to be abusive to his wife and children. However, the citizens held a riot to let you out. That wasn’t anything she could use against you, but it seemed like your respect even went to her as you could see her plans, but you both knew that it would be more beneficial if Navier went elsewhere.

Navier Trovi

She wasn’t the one to invite you, but she knew of your reputation. She had met you previously as you were an ambassador for the Western Kingdom as well since King Wharton III was constantly too ill to travel. Seeing you at the New Year’s Party was a pleasant surprise, as she had not known that her husband had invited you.

One thing that she didn’t know was that you were the one to usher Heinrey to get to know her better and even begin to court her. Infidelity was not something you often encouraged, but seeing the Emperor dancing with his mistress rather than his wife pissed you off. When you yourself spoke with her to introduce Prince Heinrey, she noticed that you were not nervous. You still spoke to her with respect, but there was a spark of mischief in your eye.

You were known for being ruthless with men who you deemed unworthy of even being alive. Your scars were kept visible because you were feared among all men in any empire or kingdom. Navier found herself curious about them, but she knew better than to ask because the last thing anyone would want is your criminal record being outed to the media

However, someone else seemed to get a hold of the papers at the time, where the headline was ‘WESTERN KINGDOM NOBLE BEATS MAN TO DEATH’. Instead of being ashamed, though, you smiled as you asked that person if he would have let that man’s wife be beaten to death along with his children if he allowed that abusive man to keep living. That shut everyone up rather quickly.

Heinrey Lazlo

You were his best friend since youth, along with Ergi. However, you were not afraid to beat your shared friend after he made a girl cry. As you all grew up, you all were heartthrobs, but you were not in the habit of leading women on. You instead wanted to find ‘the one’, as did Heinrey, but Ergi was still set in his womanizer habits.

Anyway, at the New Year’s Party in the Eastern Empire, you were there for him to talk to when he visited the Empress in his bird form. He reminded you of a puppy, but you were happy because you knew that he would never let her down the way her own husband did by ignoring her presence and not taking his wife’s side when rumors started floating around.

Unfortunately, try as you might, your criminal record always found a way to be in the spotlight. Rashta had hired someone to expose you, and you had gone to prison years ago for beating a man to death. However, what neither knew was that Prince Heinrey and Duke Ergi had your back, as you clarified that the man was abusive and you were not going to stand to see a woman and their children be beaten because he had gambled on the wrong horse (literally).

That being said, you no longer held any respect for the mistress and vowed to be there when her crimes caught up to her. You had allowed Ergi to use his charm to manipulate her into trusting him, and you gathered a bunch of evidence to help Navier and Heinrey build a case against her. Also, you had visited Viscount Lotteshu, and while he himself was a piece of shit, you learned even more about Rashta.

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the-glorious-evolution-fanart · 1 month ago

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Seriously, Riot could just simply have a multiverse or smth like that, that would make everything better. It would make my crops flourish. It would make the world brighter.

Jokes asides, does Viktor even decide to become a cyborg? I'm not watching the sh*w anymore but it seems to me that their version of Viktor has barely any agency. Because if Viktor isn't actively deciding to any of that because he believes in it, then that isn't Viktor that's just some random guy. Also, since when there was so much magic involved in Viktor's previous iterations of the lore?

-🌻

I think you should watch it. Just not ~~officially~~. It's good to have all pieces of information in the end, for the most precise opinion. But watch it when you feel mentally and emotionally ready, I have too much experience with experiencing the destruction of narratives I liked in real-time while masses cheer.

Yes, Viktor has no agency in S2. His agency ended in S1 when he told Jayce to let him die, and destroy the hexcore. All of his actions in S2 are influenced by arcane magic, and from the trailer we now know Singed will experiment on him without his permission. Riot thinks that if Viktor says "emotions are a weakness, remove consciousness" that that makes him the original character? That's just factually wrong.

There was never such a strong magic influence in Viktor's og lore. His archetype is based on the late Victorian/Edwardian gentleman scientist, the mad scientist, which is why there was a focus on intellectualism and scientific achievements. Techmaturgy was the name of a scientific discipline that focused on using magic as simply a power source for technology. So using it like batteries. Even if there was some rune manipulation, science and technology are crucial and key components of this fantasy. Why? Because we already have pure magic in all other parts of Runeterra. This one here was for fantasy technology.

#thank you for the message!#arcane critical

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honeyxbunny99 · 5 days ago

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Sandor Clegane~ The Bitch and The Hound pt.11

Pain.

The first sense you regained after your long dissociation was the soreness in your hips. Your vision returned as you began to sink back into your body again, and watched yourself jostle up and down on a horse; watched Sandor’s hands grip the reigns loosely on either side of you. Your eyes drifted up and you saw the sun was still low in the sky. Was time standing still?

You licked your lips and were embarrassed to find your voice came out raspy when you finally asked, “How long have we been riding?”

Sandor’s hands tightened noticeably like you surprised him. “All day…”

“Anna, where’s Anna?” You began to worry, tossing your head all around until you found her trailing behind on a beautiful white horse. You were relieved when she met your eyes and nodded in greeting. You then shyly attempted to meet the eyes of your savior—or kidnapper, depending on how you viewed it. He stared straight ahead, to your dismay, and so you returned your gaze forward as well.

“That horse was meant for you…”

He said it like a grievance. In your head you weighed the reasons for which he could be upset. Was Anna unwelcome, and if so why had he allowed her to come along this far? Or was he simply upset at sharing a horse with you, being in such close proximity with what had been dead weight for a full day… You were grateful Anna was there, regardless of how he felt about it. If it had been only you and him, you weren’t certain how safe you’d feel. He rescued you, didn’t he? Or did he just love killing?

“We can break at the top of this hill.” He spoke louder to communicate with the mute girl behind him, and then he kicked the horse in the side and the pace quickened.

Sandor dismounted first and began digging through the saddlebag beside your leg. You stared awkwardly at him and waited. If this was one of your romance novels, he would have wrapped his arms around your waist and helped you down like a gentleman. And yet after emerging with an apple spattered in blood— the apple Charlie had given you— you remembered the gravity of the situation. This is far from a romance. Sandor offered the apple to his horse and stroked his large head before he looked at you like you were dense. “Comfortable up there?”

You said nothing for a moment, blinking back tears brought on by the memory of Charlie’s beaten face in your lap. You looked down at the red smears on your dress only to jerk your head back in Sandor’s direction. “I don’t know how to get down…” he half smirked and looked to Anna for confirmation of this humor. She, however, was also still up on her horse.

“Oh that’s a riot.” He laughed cockily. “On the run with two women who don’t know how to get their feet back on the ground.”

“You didn’t have to take us!” You glared down at him. He rolled his eyes before extending one hand out to you. You were too heated to accept his pitiful offer. “Forget it.” You swung your leg over the horse’s body and tried not to wince at how sore the position change made you. The steed was tall compared to The Hound, but your pride was taller still. You took a quick breath and jumped down, landing on your bare feet and falling to your knees. Wordlessly you brushed yourself off and tried to ignore the chuckle you heard as you walked over to Anna. She swung her legs to meet your chest and you reading yourself to catch her at her waist. She hesitantly slid down and you set her down as gently as possible.

When you saw her close enough, you realized her face was stained with tears and you blushed in embarrassment as you realized you must look the same. She wrapped you up in a hug but you patted her to release you. Don’t look weak. He abducts me and acts like I’m a fucking burden??

You turned to the mocking giant. “Why dont you make use of yourself and find some firewood? Instead of standing there like a pompous ass.”

Your words appeared to have no affect on him and he went for his saddle bag again. “No fire tonight, princess. Soldiers and thieves will be scouting and we’re not gonna be waving a big fucking flag for them to run to.”

Damn.

“Tell your friend to bring her bags over here and empty ‘em.”

Your face twitched in anger once again. “She can hear, you know!” Anna placed a soothing hand on your shoulder and shook her head to dissuade you. You huffed as she walked over with the bags. The hound dumped out his saddle bag and the two she’d brought onto the grass and started sorting through it. He looked up at Anna and you lingered around the horses. “Hungry?” She nodded and he handed her an apple and a slice of bread.

“You should eat too, princess. The pompous ass insists you keep your strength up.” He mocked again. Deciding that you were not winning these exchanges you simply resolved to be quiet. You pet the black stallion’s long nose and gazed into his eyes. “Two fucking mutes for company.” The Hound muttered under his breath, lying back and biting into some sliced meat as the sky darkened.

Eventually you sat down beside the horse and watched the stars begin to shine all around you. It was colder this high up and you wrapped your arms around yourself. The dress you received from the women in Littlefinger’s employ, while beautiful, did almost nothing to protect you from the elements. An open back and small cutouts at your waist; nothing you would have dared to wear outside of your room in your old life, and it was now all that you owned. Anna had drifted off to sleep beside The Hound and was snoring softly. Her horse had laid down and slept as well, while the midnight stallion slept standing up. You couldn’t see Sandor’s face any longer and you were grateful for that. It was quiet, but you felt no sense of peace. You yawned once and drew his attention inadvertently.

“Don’t fall asleep there…” The tension resurfaced at the sound of The Hound’s voice, and you gasped softly in surprise. “If Stranger feels you in his sleep he’ll kick and stomp you before I can get a word out.. He doesn’t listen to anyone but me.”

You looked skyward at the great beast and wondered. “I bet he would listen to me.”

Sandor snickered in the darkness. “Just because he hasn’t attacked you, don’t flatter yourself thinking you’re some whisperer.”

“I got you to listen to me, you’re just as fearsome and hateful as he could ever be…”

Sandor said nothing for a while and you began to shift away slowly from the horse. “You need to eat.”

You sighed. “I’m fine.”

“You’re going to starve yourself because I told you to eat?”

“I’m not starving. I know what starvation feels like, do you?” You were angry with him, every word he spoke sounded grating to your ears.

“Yes. I do.” He surprised you. You reflected back on what Charlie had said about The Hound skipping meals. Was he starving the whole time I was?

The venom began to drain from your voice. “I ate at the brothel… we don’t have much, I saw the provisions. You can have my portion for tonight.”

Sandor huffed. “Not gonna happen.”

You didn’t understand how to feel about him now; did not understand his intentions. “Why did you bring us here?”

“She wasn’t part of the plan.”

“So there is a plan then.. Me, why did you take me?”

“Does it matter? You’re here now, King’s Landing is back that way, though I’m not sure whose flag is flying.”

You furrowed your brows. “What do you mean?.. You said we lost— that the Baratheons—“

“When we left I saw Lannister flags marching into town… Soldiers, real soldiers coming in at the last minute could have turned it around.”

You were too stunned to speak for a moment. The Hound tucked tail and ran?! He was supposed to be a real soldier, a kings guard, a fearsome bloodthirsty knight— leading all of those average citizens to slaughter, and he ran away before it was over? He could betray Joffrey as a result of his own fear but not to defend you?!

“So you left it all behind for nothing?! And you’ve stolen me away in your cowardice as well!” Your voice was raising uncontrollably and Anna began to stir. It was at that moment in the darkness that Sandor’s large hands lunged towards you and gripped your arms familiarly. “Shut your trap!” He growled, face nearing your own— the stench of blood and sweat ever growing. He practically dragged you down the hill as he spoke. “Awful bitchy whining coming from someone who’s only alive because of me!”

You raised your arms and with all of your strength attempted to push him off of you by his chest. “Alive because of you?! I’m a fucking enemy of the crown because of you!”

“You think you were in his favor before?!”

“I would still be alive with Baelish! I would be safe with Baelish! Not riding to nowhere with a beast afraid of his own shadow cast in the flames!” You struggled all the way through your speech, growling and spitting back at him and finally he let you go, sending you to land hard on your ass.

“You ungrateful little cunt!” He spat out like the words were poison.

From your position on the grass he looked gigantic and hateful. And yet you knew there was duality in him. Not so long ago you watched him weep for you, watched him kill the man responsible for taking Charlie’s life, watched him cut off the hand of a man who plotted to sell your body. And yet it was he who put you in that vulnerable position in the first place. You hated him, still.

“You wanna take your chances walking, back that way’s your best bet. Enemy of the crown, that’s a fucking laugh! Enemy of a prissy brat too scared to fight in a war he started. You wanna try to go back there and grovel, that’s fine. Be less belly aching to listen to, and I’m sure your little shadow will follow you too…” He was exasperated at the end of this speech and tossed his hands up weakly in the air, his next sentence sounded nearly pleading. “But you don’t want to be alone out here… Someone worse than me will find you… And I’m not going back there.”

You heard the fear in his voice. For him, King’s Landing fostered wildfire, Gregor Clegane, and Tywin Lannister— a much smarter enemy and just as cruel. What did King’s Landing hold for you? Only your family. You wondered for only a second how different life would be for them. You hoped they were not to be punished on your behalf. Who would actually notice you gone? Petyr? Certainly another enemy made, but you had the sense he had bigger plots in store than simply turning a profit at his brothels. You were practically dead already once in King’s Landing, and no one had cared. Well, only the dead boy in the streets and the two people here with you right now. m

“Am I your prisoner? Your hostage?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” “Am I your prize?” For as long as your memory went back, you were not in control of your own life. You were a possession. You were the memory of your beautiful mother and the promise of a better future. When you were married off to the hound, you were truly only half a person. You felt whole once with him, but it was all a lie. Broken down to nothing by the men in your life, now was perhaps your only chance to feel truly free to make your own decisions. “Am I allowed to leave?”

Your fingers pulled anxiously at the grass beside your legs, honestly unsure of the answer you were hoping for. On one hand, you wanted him to want you. To be your protector the way you once saw him. On the other, you wanted it to be your choice.

The man sighed and you saw his head turn to look in the direction of your former home. “I won’t stop you… but you’re making a mistake… I can protect you, keep you safe… I won’t hurt you, (Y/n).. If you stay with me no one will hurt you again or I’d kill them…”

A promise you were not convinced anyone could keep, yet spoken with such conviction that your heart yearned to believe it. “I won’t fail you again.”

You held your breath for a moment, standing and allowing your eyes to focus in the dark so you could make out his features. It appeared he too was holding his breath, eyes scanning all over your face in search of clues. “I will decide in the morning.. We’d both better get some sleep. I assume you’ll want to move at day break?”

Sandor continued to stare at you for a moment, and the silence made your palms sweat even in the bracing chill of the wind. Then, he stepped towards you and you held your breath in anticipation. “You assume correctly.” He stepped right past you and started up the hill. “I won’t be sleeping tonight. Gonna keep watch. You can sleep with Anna, I’d assume it’s better than sleeping on Stranger’s back…” He turned his head at the top of the hill. “I risked a lot to get you out of that Hell hole, (Y/n). I’m not saying you need to be grateful or.. I’m just saying it should mean something to you… If you choose to go off on your own in the morning, you need to know that it meant something to me…”

You watched him disappear into the dark sky again and sighed, finally releasing your tight fists. It meant something to me… When you laid down, you held Anna’s hand to ground you as you tried to settle into slumber. A part of you that you were ashamed to admit to wished it was Sandor Clegane’s hand that you were holding.

#game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #rory mccann #sandor clegane #the hound smut #the hound x reader #sandor clegane smut #sandor clegane x reader #the bitch and the hound

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dulcidyne · 1 month ago

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On the Care and Grooming of Gentleman Necromancers

Rook x Emmrich Volkarin/ /Rating: T/ / Spoilers: None

“Manfred has remarkably fine motor control in many things, but his skill with a straight razor leaves much to be desired for those who wish to remain among the living.” Emmrich reached up for the hand towel tucked protectively around his collar, accepting defeat, but before he could loosen it, Rook strode forward and plucked up said razor from the desktop. “Well then, allow me to do the honors,” she offered, unfolding the blade with a decisive flick of her wrist. “Just…try not to fidget. I’m not used to shaving people who can move.” (Emmrich’s straight razor shave gets surprisingly intimate. Feelings ensue.)

Featherlight fingertips brushed over his lathered jaw before flitting away again. She inhaled, sharp and sudden, as if startled.

“Sorry,” she said, and the word was shallow too, syllables breathy and catching on that near-gasp like petals tossed into the breeze. “I’m not…it’s so much different than I’d thought it’d be.”

Her skin was flushing all the way down to her neck in splotches of feverish red and her eyebrows knit together furiously, dark slashes against the riot of color. ”You’re—well, warm for one and—”

She sucked in another audible inhale, this one long and slow, as she flattened her unsteady palm against her stomach with a tremulous smile. “It’s just different, is all.”

Before he could move or assure her she needn’t push herself, needn’t continue, Rook squared her shoulders and reached forward to press her trembling fingertips to his jawline. Visibly gathering her bearings, a no-nonsense, well-worn patina of professionalism settled into place. She swallowed and fit her thumb more firmly to the underside of his jaw to tip it back for her expert examination. Then she reached for the razor.

Emmrich could only go utterly still, not daring to speak, not daring to breathe. Rook maneuvered his jaw left and right and up and down, thumb and forefinger skimming up over the soapy line of his mandible towards his stubbled cheeks, stretching the skin taut. He was acutely aware of her gaze following in their wake, feeling it as surely as he felt her touch—gentle and skilled, with eyes that missed no details.

And then he felt the blade. A quick, even stroke with the grain.

Read on AO3

#emmrich x rook #emmrich volkarin #dulcidyne writes #mourn watch rook #Mutual pining #dragon age veilguard #one shot #The unbearable intimacy of a blade to the neck #I will forever maintain that a straight razor shave is a very hot for couples and there is a scene from Skyfall to back me up

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sapphire-writes · 2 years ago

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Down in Flames (modern!HOTD) 7

previous ~ next ~ series masterlist

pairings: modern!Aegon x Reader & modern!Aemond x Reader

summary: You're invited! To a totally not awkward dinner party at the home of Viserys and Alicent, as they attempt to smooth over the animosity between the members of their family.

warnings: 18+ spicy stuff below the cut (explicit sexual situations, oral fem receiving, edging) language, mentions of Aemond's eye injury, fighting, blood, alcohol/drinking

word count: 6.7k

note: another long one because this fic is literally my baby 💚

masterlist

As Aemond pulls up the car to his mother’s house, your whole body tenses. The home of Viserys and Alicent Targaryen looms in the distance up a winding stone driveway. Lights mark a path of stars toward the front door, the glow warm and inviting. It appears as though every room in the mansion is lit, as though burning from within.

The last time you were at the Targaryen home was nearly a year ago. Christmas time. A different brother in the driver’s seat.

“Why are we doing this again?” you ask Aemond.

“Viserys wants us to,” Aemond said, fingers curling on the wheel, his knuckles blanching.

Aemond’s jaw and shoulders are tense as he slouches over the wheel. He looks the same as when he received the call from his mother; irritated but dutiful nonetheless. Aemond was not one to disappoint Alicent Hightower.

“This is such a shitty idea,” you tell him.

“Well he’s a shitty father so it only makes sense,” Aemond says, smiling tightly.

“At least he’s consistent,” you agree.

“You’re funny,” Aemond says, getting out of the car.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and go to open the door, but somehow Aemond has beaten you to it, opening the car door for you. He extends a hand, helping you out of the car.

“What a gentleman,” you tell him, earning a hum, “you gonna carry me across the threshold too?”

“You want me to?” he asks, lips tugging into a smirk.

That would cause a riot, you’re sure of it. Though you admit, the thought is tempting. You roll your eyes, shoving him with your shoulder. When Alicent called Aemond telling him to come for dinner, she proposed it as a rather extravagant dinner party. Anything the Targareyns did was extravagant if you were being honest.

Apparently it was Viserys’ idea, to ease the tension between the band, and between Rhaenrya. You hadn’t seen Rhaenyra in a long time, and shit was definitely about to go down.

Which led to you having to run home to your apartment to grab your favorite dress. A silky green number that hugged your every inch perfectly, wrapped around you like a second skin. Aemond chose a dark suit, the entire number pitch black. It’s as though Aemond has an aversion to color, despite the blue gemstone that replaced his eye.

“Ha ha,” you joke, walking next to him up the driveway and to the cobblestone walkway that leads to the front door.

Your heels click against the stone, the only sound in the cool night. The air is brisk, and your breath puffs in front of you like a cloud of smoke. It had been days since the blowup. Since Aegon and Cass. Since Rhaena. Your stomach turns at the thought of seeing them both. Everyone is coming no doubt, if this is supposed to be some sort of reconciliation dinner.

You stop just outside the door, bathed in the light that hangs above the door. A beautiful seven pointed star spilling diamonds of light on the stoop.

“You ready?” Aemond asks, sliding his hand into yours sending your heart fluttering.

“As I’ll ever be,” you tell him and he knocks on the door.

The knocker is huge, a dragon holding a ring between its jaws. The door opens rather quickly to Alicent, Aemond’s mother. Her auburn hair is held away from her face, and she wears a sparkling green sweater and dress pants. Her face breaks out into a relieved smile at the sight of her second son.

Alicent always takes your breath away; she had Aegon terribly young, her face still youthfully beautiful as she has just started to gracefully age.

“Aemond,” she breathes, pulling him into a hug.

“Hey mom,” he says, placing a kiss on her head.

The sweet action makes your heart swell. Alicent turns to you.

“And Y/N!” she says, embracing you, “it's been too long dearest.”

Alicent’s hug nearly makes you burst into tears. You let yourself get lost in her arms for a moment, breathing in her Chanel N°5 perfume. As she pulls away she places a hand under your chin.

“Beautiful as ever, I see,” she compliments, causing you to blush.

“Come in! Let's get out of the cold,” she says, ushering you inside, “Helaena is here already.”

Thank every deity that exists, Helaena is your saving grace. As you walk in the foyer you hear a loud bark, before a bundle of golden fur barrels towards you. Instinctively you drop to your knees, fingers tangling in soft tufts of fur as a warm wet tongue laps at your cheeks.

“Sunfyre!” Alicent scolds, grabbing for the golden retriever’s collar.

“It’s okay, really,” you tell her through laughs as the excited dog continues to push himself into your lap.

Sunfyre always did think he was a lapdog rather than the gigantic ball of fluff he was. You let him lick your face a moment more, scratching at his neck generously, earning several wags of his tail.

“He’s such a spoiled boy,” Alicent scolds, finally tugging him away from you, “I’ll have to put him upstairs or he’ll overturn the table.”

You rise from the floor wiping slobber from your cheeks. Helaena appears from down the hall eagerly, smiling at you. She swishes over to you, gold skirts following her like a trail of liquid sunlight.

“Hey guys,” Helaena says, “you ready for this?”

“Who told him this was a good idea?” Aemond asks, taking your coat.

“I don’t know, not me obviously,” Helaena says, shrugging, “but I think it's a bunch of things, you know?”

You nod, as footsteps come eagerly crashing down the stairs, drawing your attention. A lanky boy with shaggy silver hair appears, violet eyes sparkling.

“Ohmygod Daeron!” you exclaim, as the youngest Targaryen sibling comes to the end of the stairs.

His grin is lopsided as he throws his arms around you, nearly lifting you off of the floor. He’s grown since studying abroad, no longer a scrappy teen.

“Hey Y/N!” he says, squeezing you before releasing you.

He clasps Aemond’s hand in a friendly shake before looking around.

“Where’s Aeg? Not with you?” Daeron asks, brow furrowing.

“Uh,” you tell him, “that’s really a long story.”

“Dude I told you,” Helaena says, rolling her eyes, “there’s been some shifting around here.”

“Right, right,” Daeron said apologetically, “sorry, so you two are…?”

You and Aemond glance at each other.

“Yeah,” Aemond answers, “yeah we are.”

You can’t help but smile. Daeron nods, approvingly.

“Cool, I can get behind that,” he tells you, as the door opens again.

Baela is just slipping out of her coat, Alicent closing the door behind her and Jace. She meets your eyes. You haven’t spoken in days, it's the longest you’ve gone without talking. You decide to give her space, walking into the formal living space where a barcart has been prepared with several bottle of wine.

Baela kisses Alicent politely and you turn around pouring her a glass of wine, along with one for yourself. A peace offering. As you turn back, Baela has already made her way to you.

“Hey,” she greets, awkwardly.

“Hey,” you say, matching her energy, “Chardonnay?”

A smile twists on her lips before she takes the glass from you.

“You know me well,” she says, clinking her glass against yours.

“Mhmm,” you answer, taking a sip from your own glass, unsure of what to say.

“You done being stupid?” she tells you, the question filled with all the love only a best friend can deliver.

“I missed you,” you tell her and she sighs dramatically.

“I’ve missed you too, can this all stop now?” she tells you, “if I have to spend one more night chilling with Jace and Luke watching football I’m going to go crazy. Do you understand how annoying they are?”

You snicker.

“One of those people is your boyfriend,” you remind her.

“Doesn’t mean he can’t be annoying,” she answers, “he doesn’t take the place of a best friend.”

You smile so wide you think your face will split in half. You’ve missed her so much. You wonder if making amends with Rhaena will be as easy, but something in your gut twists telling you it will not.

“Where’ve you been staying?” Baela asks, sipping her wine.

“Helaena’s sometimes,” you tell her, “and at the apartment.”

Baela raises her eyebrows.

“Girl, you’re ballsy,” she says, laughing a little.

“What? Is that bad?” you ask, frowning.

Baela purses her lips, giving you an ‘are you for real?’ look.

“Getting dicked down one room over from the one you used to share with your ex?” she asks.

“It’s not like Aegon is there,” you hiss, cheeks burning.

“Mhmm,” Baela says, a mischievous glint in her eye, “you’re going to have to tell me all about it. Every single dirty detail. Was I right?”

“About what?”

Baela rolls her eyes, as though you should know exactly what she’s talking about.

“About Aemond eating pussy like a champ,” she tells you.

Your whole body grows warm remembering his mouth on you. Baela’s mouth drops open as you fail to answer, as she watches your cheeks darken as you take a small sip from your glass.

“I fucking knew it!” Baela hollers, smiling while she answers, “you’re getting dicked down, slurped out-”

Jace makes his way over and you’re shushing her relentlessly as she laughs.

“What’re we talking about?” he asks, smiling at you.

“Y/N’s turned into a bad girl,” Baela says, causing Jace to flush and avoid your eyes.

“Um okay?” Jace says, scratching the back of his neck.

“She totally is,” Luke says joining, jumping into the conversation, “she Yoko’d us.”

“Excuse me?” you ask, nearly choking on your wine.

Luke raises his eyebrows at you, sipping on the beer he holds, before shoving one hand into his pocket. You don’t know when he even arrived, you hadn’t heard the door open.

“You know, broke up the band?” Luke says, raising his eyebrows at you.

“I didn’t break up the band,” you tell him, “I didn’t!”

“Mhmm,” Luke says, sipping his drink.

“That makes no sense,” Baela says, frowning at Luke.

“It makes sense to me,” he answers.

“Okay Luke,” you tell him laughing.

This feels good. Normal even. You feel your nerves begin to ease when Rhaena enters the room. You meet her eyes as her forehead creases when she notices you. Luke clears his throat before walking over to greet her.

“She’s Luke’s date,” Jace tells you.

“Bae,” Rhaena calls, waving over her sister.

Baela gives you an apologetic smile.

“Talk later?” she says, squeezing your hand.

“Yeah,” you tell her, “she can’t be mad at me forever, can she?”

Baela’s expression does nothing but fuel the anxiety that burns under your skin.

“Just give her time,” Baela answers, “she’ll be okay. She just needs a little more time.”

Baela squeezes your hand before walking across the room to join her. Aemond materializes beside you, his cologne making your mouth water. Rhaena’s stare burns through you.

“Let me talk to her,” Aemond murmurs, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“Not now,” you tell him.

“Later,” he agrees, a hand lazily wrapping a hand around your waist.

Something you’ve learned about Aemond since making it official; he cannot keep his hands to himself. His hand remains when the door opens, Aegon and Cass stumbling in. Cass supports Aegon against her, his arm draped over her shoulders. She’s terribly pretty, dressed in a silk dress that matches her eyes. Aegon is barely dressed, shirt untucked, tie hanging limply around his neck. Your brow creases and you can’t stop the worry you feel noting his red rimmed eyes.

He’s getting worse. You didn’t even think that was possible.

Daemon and Rhaenyra enter behind them, Rhaenyra rolling her eyes as she crosses the threshold. There is something unnervingly beautiful about Rhaenyra Targaryen, like she stepped out of a storybook.

Daemon sends you a nod, after eyeing Aemond’s arm around your waist and you look away from him. Something about Daemon’s look makes your skin crawl, as though he’s saying you and I aren’t so different.

“Let’s sit, everyone,” Alicent calls, clanging a fork against her glass, “dinner is ready.”

“Great,” Aegon says, pushing by you, “I’m starving.”

The table is silent beside the clanging of silverware against the fanciest plates you’ve seen. Viserys joined, wheeled in by Alicent’s private bodyguard Criston Cole, and he’s barely conscious, wheezing over his plate. If he notices the tension between the members of his family he does not comment on it.

Alicent’s eyes flicker throughout the room, her nose twitches like a nervous rabbit. You glance at Aemond, but he remains looking forward. Gods this is so awkward. You meet Rhaena’s eyes and she quickly looks away, mouth remaining in a frown. You feel yourself flush, as a hand creeps to your knee. Aemond’s fingers rub soothing circles on your skin, before giving your knee a comforting squeeze.

You’re in so deep.

You’re at the most awkward family dinner of your life, and all you can think about is how you wish Aemond would let his hand creep higher under your dress.

Bad girl. Stop that. You shake the thought from your head.

Daemon laughs into his plate, earning a stern glance from Rhaenyra. Cass sits bright eyed next to Aegon, seemingly just happy to be here. Viserys leans up from his plate, glancing around the room.

“I’m so…happy you’re all here,” he says, speaking for the first time.

Mumbles happen, lots of ‘of course Dad’ and ‘yeahs.’

“Business can tear families apart, but even with two creative visions, we are still a strong foundation,” he continues, “still one family.”

You raise your eyebrows. It’s like Viserys doesn’t have a clue what’s been going on. He simply smiles around the room revealing several missing teeth.

“And my song,” Viserys says looking at the ceiling, “my child you sing it so beautifully.”

You’re not sure which child Viserys is referring to.

You meet Baela’s eyes, her confused expression mirrors yours. The other faces around the room also appear perplexed at Viserys’ statement. Daeron looks the most confused, as though he’s not quite sure what this dinner was supposed to be about in the first place.

“I’m tired Aemma,” Viserys says suddenly, “I’m going to bed. The rest of you enjoy.”

His eyes are watery, gaze confused as he begins to rise from his seat.

Your heart pounds and you glance at Alicent, though she barely seems fazed by Viserys calling her the name of his first wife. She simply watches him stand, and leave the room while remaining seated.

“Okay fuck that,” Aegon says suddenly.

Rhaenyra glares at him, but he continues to smile.

“Dad wrote that song for us,” Aegon tells her.

“He gave it to me, asshole,” Rhaenyra snaps.

“It’s a song about all of us,” Aegon argues, “you don’t get it just cause you decided to fuck off.”

Rhaenyra almost lets it go, Daemon watching her closely. But Aegon can’t help himself as he finishes his drink. You can see down his throat, that’s how wide he opens up making sure every last drop of whiskey makes in his gullet. Cass looks at him, eyebrows knitting together.

“Entitled bitch,” he grunts, and Jace stands.

“Why don’t you just sing it together?” Cass asks, taking Aegon’s hand in hers. You watch her squeeze it. Aegon hates holding hands. You meet his lavender gaze.

“Never going to happen,” Aegon tells her, not pulling away from Cass’s grip.

“It’s my song Aegon, it was mine long before you were here,” Rhaenyra continues, “I’ve made the edits, I sang the demo-”

“Are you still talking?” Aegon snaps, causing Cass to flinch beside him at his harsh tone.

“Okay, Aegon enough,” Jace tells him, resting his hands on the table. He hasn’t sat down.

“You’re on her side now?” Aegon asks, “that’s it huh?”

“It’s her song,” Jace argues, “this doesn’t have to be a huge fight.”

Luke laughs, a small snort escapes him but it's enough to set Aemond off. He stands from his chair beside you, eye narrowing at Luke. Aegon’s eyes are glassy, they seem to glow with mischief at the tension in the room. He loves provoking people.

“No it only has to be a fight when it's something you care about,” Aegon argues.

Your blood runs cold, watching Aegon’s gaze flicker toward Aemond. Jace turns red, but he keeps his gaze averted from Aemond. From Luke.

“We’re not talking about that,” Jace argues.

The accident.

You look up at Aemond who is standing unnaturally still. You can’t help but wonder if Aegon is bringing it up just to provoke him, rather than from a place of genuine concern.

“We are now,” Aegon tells him, leaning back in his chair, “my brother gets maimed and its all, no let's keep playing, but one little song-”

“Shut up Aegon,” Luke snaps, fingers gripping his cutlery so tightly his knuckles turn white.

“No, I’m not done,” Aegon says standing, “what’s got you so loyal to Nyra, huh?”

“Fuck Aegon,” Jace says shaking his head, “its just about being a decent person.”

Aegon scoffs at that.

“I don’t think anyone here has a fucking clue about what that means,” he says laughing.

“You included, asshole,” Baela snarls from across the table, “do you have any idea what you’ve been putting us through?”

“Everyone seems fine,” Aegon answers, an angry gaze falling to you, “happy even.”

“You don’t need to agree,” Rhaenyra says suddenly, “Jace and Luke have already agreed to drop the song and re-record it with me.”

“Fucking of course,” Aegon says, shaking his head.

“Enough of this,” Alicent orders, “let’s have a nice remainder of dinner.”

Aemond sits back down at his mother’s words. You bring your hand to his leg.

“I’m having a lovely time,” Aegon insists, leaning back and resting his arm across Cass’s shoulders.

“Aegon,” Aemond says, voice low. Aegon meets his gaze, mouth tugging upwards into a smirk.

“What?” he challenges.

“Enough,” Aemond says, to the surprise of Rhaenyra who leans back in her chair, glancing at Daemon.

“Are you on her side too?” Aegon asks, voice venomous.

“Of course not,” Aemond tells him.

“Steal my girlfriend, break up the band, things are going really well-”

Aegon is cut off as Aemond stands once more. Aegon slams his glass to the table, the glass shattering loudly under his palm. Cass screams, and blood begins to pool on the table.

“Eggy, you’ve cut yourself!” she cries, eyes wide with terror.

“Let’s fucking go! Right now!” Aegon yells, ignoring his injury and walking toward Aemond.

Daemon leans back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips at the show in front of him. Luke stands up and Aegon pushes by him, slamming him against the table. Rhaena yells and the dinner quickly turns into chaos.

Aemond slams his fist into Aegon’s chest as he approaches, causing him to fall backwards onto the table. Aegon punches his brother, blood from his hand leaving a streak on Aemond’s cheek. You push back in your chair, feel Alicent’s hands on your shoulders pulling you away from the brothers.

“You had enough? Huh?” Aemond growls, grabbing Aegon by the shirt.

“Fuck you!” Aegon spits directly in Aemond’s face.

Aemond growls, slamming him back on the table once more, fist reeling back.

“Let me go!” Aegon cries, as though they were small boys again tussling.

“Alright, alright enough!” Criston Cole comes between them, pulling Aemond away from Aegon.

“Fuck you!” Aegon yells, and Aemond wipes the blood on his cheek, “come on we’re leaving.”

Cass hurriedly stands, gathering her things. Alicent moves toward her eldest.

“Aegon,” she begs, but he brushes past her, Cass trailing behind.

The room is deathly silent now that the commotion has ceased, aside from the soft dripping noises from a spilled glass of wine. Daemon begins to chuckle to himself, before rising from his seat.

“Shall we?” he says, motioning for Rhaenyra.

“You’ve only just arrived,” Alicent says, her eyes sad.

“Thank you, for dinner truly,” Rhaenyra says, clasping Alicent’s hand in her own.

She turns to Jace and Luke.

“I’ll see you in the studio, tomorrow?” she asks, and the boys nod.

Aemond and Helaena stay silent, though they exchange a glance. Daeron has barely moved the entirety of dinner, eyes wide and cheeks red. Rhaenyra smiles as Daemon holds out her coat.

“Nice seeing you,” he murmurs to you as they walk past.

“You’re really recording with her?” you ask, eyes trained on Jace.

“It’s her song,” he says, meeting your gaze.

“Let’s get out of here,” Baela says, taking his hand, “I’ll talk to you later.”

Rhaena stands with Luke, not looking at you.

“Rhae-”

“Just don’t,” she says, shaking her head, “just…not tonight.”

Luke squeezes her on the shoulder and leads her from the room. You look toward Aemond, notice him flexing his hand.

“Shit, you’re bleeding,” you say, taking his hand in yours.

“It’s fine,” he insists.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” you tell him and though he pauses for a moment, he agrees nonetheless.

Helaena’s eyes are glassy, she’s standing with her gaze still fixed on the table.

“Oh my love,” Alicent says, moving toward her and embracing her.

Though not often fond of physical touch, Helaena leans into her mother’s embrace as tears begin to roll down her cheeks. Daeron reaches up from his seat, holding onto his sister’s hand. You lead Aemond up the stairs, meaning to search for one of the many bathrooms. He says nothing as you find one, sit him down and dig through the medicine cabinet. Aemond’s face is stoic as you clean the blood from his face, his hands.

You gently wrap gauze around his knuckles, before pulling him to stand. You’re worried for a moment he’s in some state of shock, his movements incredibly robotic as you walk down the hall. He stops suddenly, looking out a window, watching disappearing tail lights fade down the driveway and off in the distance.

“You know what my father said to me after the accident?” Aemond asked, facing the window.

You take a step closer to him, still giving him space. You’d never asked about it before, you’d barely heard the story at all. That’s what has him shaken up, not the fight. The talk about the accident. The talk about his eye.

“No,” you tell him.

“He said,” Aemond trails off for a moment, “tell me the truth of it.”

You look to the ground, goosebumps forming on your skin, a heaviness in your gut you cannot possibly ignore.

“Like it couldn’t possibly have happened the way I told him it did,” he continued, “like he didn’t believe a fucking word I said.”

You’re sick to your stomach, a tear rolls down your cheek. You hadn’t even noticed your eyes begin to well.

“We’re a family, he said. We have to stick together.”

“Aemond-”

“He didn’t even come to the fucking hospital,” Aemond keeps going, “he just waited at home.”

The thought turns your stomach.

“Of course when I want to stop playing, its a problem,” he goes on, “but when Rhaenyra left to go solo that’s fucking fine.”

The realization startles you.

“He made you keep playing.”

Aemond releases a bitter laugh, making the hair on the back of your neck stand on edge.

“Of course he fucking did,” Aemond tells you, shaking his head, “you think I wanted to keep playing with Luke after that?”

“Oh Aemond-”

“It was an accident,” Aemond says softly, “I know that now but…”

“You don’t have to-”

“No I want to tell you,” he continues, “my life fucking changed. Forever. And everyone just forgot about it.”

You’re standing right behind him now, and you place a hand on his back. His breathing is shallow, every breath seeming to catch in his throat.

“Mom wanted to press charges,” he tells you, “not like Viserys was going to let that happen.”

“I’m so sorry Aemond,” you told him, “you deserved justice, and I’m so sorry you didn’t get any.”

You can feel his every inhale with your hand before you slide it onto his waist, hugging him from behind. You hold onto him, letting him feel you against him. Letting him know you’re here for him. He leans into your touch, before turning to face you, burying his face in your haird. You keep your arms around him, pressing into his chest as his arms tighten around you.

“Thank you,” he murmurs into your hair.

Soft footsteps can be heard from down the hall, though you and Aemond do not break from your embrace.

“Aemond?” Alicent says, her hands fidgeting as though she doesn’t know what to do with them.

You pull away from Aemond’s chest, though he keeps his arms around you. Alicent smiles gently at you.

“It’s late,” Alicent says, “why don’t you both stay in one of the guest rooms tonight?”

You look up at Aemond, to let him decide. He nods.

“Thanks Mom,” he says and Alicent smiles.

“Of course,” she tells you both, before turning to leave.

“Thank you again, for everything,” you tell her, meaning it sincerely.

She brings a hand to your face, stroking your cheek.

“Of course,” she tells you, and retreats down the hall.

“Will she talk to your dad?” you ask Aemond.

“No,” he tells you, “besides, they don’t sleep in the same room.”

Aemond takes your hand, leading you to the guest room. You’d never stayed there before. Sure, you’d been to a handful of Targaryen parties over the past years but Aegon never made it overnight. He hated spending the night in the same house as his father.

Aemond opens a door revealing a stylish room, with a king sized bed stuffed with pillows. It was basically a hotel, with robes hanging on the back of the door and chocolates on the pillows. From the walls hung different art pieces, mostly that of dragons. You’d remembered once when first meeting Viserys he had told you about the legends surrounding his family. You could apparently trace the Targaryen family name back to medieval times, where it was said they were dragonriders.

Alicent went all out. You pluck a chocolate up, unwrap it and pop it into your mouth, letting the sweetness melt on your tongue.

“Nice,” you tell Aemond, who chuckles, laying on the bed.

He places a hand over his face, closing his eye. The drama of night has taken its toll. You sit on the bed, the mattress dipping as you do so. You lay down next to him, lacing your fingers together.

“What’s your favorite color?” you ask him.

“What?” he chuckles, removing his hand from his face.

“You heard me,” you say, leaning on your side using your elbow to prop yourself up.

He watches you curiously, before speaking.

“Blue,” he tells you, tapping at his sapphire.

“I should have guess-”

“Yeah you should have,” he says chuckling.

You stifle a laugh, face hitting the pillow. Aemond watches you laugh, smiling at you. As you lift your face you meet his gaze, narrowing your eyes.

“What?” you ask, though a smile comes through.

“Nothing,” he says, giving his head a slight shake.

You push yourself into a sitting position, the remainder of wine that tingles throughout your body giving you an extra boost of confidence.

“What is it?” you demand playfully.

“No, it’s nothing,” he insists.

You throw a leg over him, straddling his waist. He tilts his head back, lips parting as he watches you lace your fingers through his own.

“Tell meeee,” you sing-song, leaning into him.

Aemond keeps your body upright, his arms flexing.

“You’re just cute, that’s all,” he tells you.

You wrinkle your nose.

“Aemond Targaryen thinks I’m cute,” you tell him, nodding your head with every word you speak, “I never thought I’d see the day.”

He chuckles underneath you and you raise your hips, adjusting your position. You feel a tingle of desire spark through you as you feel him growing harder underneath you.

“Mhmm,” he answers, unlacing his fingers from yours, letting your hands drop onto his chest.

He brings his hands to your hips, resting them there, rubbing smooth circles on the fabric of your dress. You tap your fingers against his chest, moving upwards, fiddling with the silver chain that lays against his throat.

“I think you’re beautiful,” you tell him, causing a shy smile to appear on his face.

“Do you?”

“I do,” you tell him, fingers ghosting across the scar on his cheek.

He turns his face toward your hand, kissing the pads of your fingers. Your lips part at the sweet action. Aemond is softer than you’d imagined, his sweetness steals the breath from your lungs.

“I think you’re beautiful,” he tells you, stealing the breath from your lungs.

Aemond’s fingers dig into where your thighs meet your hips, rocking you against him slightly.

“And sexy,” he purrs, causing your face to flush.

“Aemond,” you say, a nervous giggle leaving you, before he flips you over onto your back.

He brings his lips to your neck, kissing the smooth flesh as you tangle your fingers in his hair.

“I do,” he murmurs between kisses.

You sigh, contentedly as he continues to adore you.

“I find you incredibly seductive,” he whispers against you, “it's unfair, really.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you giggle, tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck causing him to groan.

“Liar,” he says, bringing his mouth to kiss your lips, “you’re a temptress.”

You hum against his mouth, deepening the kiss as your tongue swipes his lower lip. His hand roams along the side of your body, bunching the fabric of your dress.

“Should we be doing this here?” you breathe as his hand strokes down your thigh and under your dress.

Aemond’s long fingers grip at the meat of your thigh as you turn your head to look at the door. His other hand grabs at your jaw, forcing your lips back toward him.

“What if your mom hears?” you whimper, as he kisses you harder.

Alicent’s room is not far, just down the hall. The enormous house is eerily quiet at night from the lack of residents. You’ve no idea where Daeron’s room is, but it cannot be far from the guest room either.

“You’ll just have to be quiet then,” he tells you, though it's said as a challenge.

Aemond moves off of you, dragging you towards the edge of the bed, a small yelp leaving your lips before you slap your hand over your mouth. Aemond kneels on the floor next to the bed, fingers wrapped around your calves. He quirked an eyebrow at the noise you made.

“I haven’t done anything yet,” he teases, reaching for your underwear, moving it down your legs.

“I’m sorry,” you say through a giggle.

“I told you to be quiet,” he says, eye darkening, “are you a good listener, Y/N?”

You nod, skin flushed with anticipation. He places a kiss to your thigh as he bunches your dress up toward your waist.

“Fuck,” he groans, staring at your pussy, “so wet for me already.”

You feel his mouth against your slick lower lips and bite your tongue to suppress a moan as he opens his mouth against you, pressing in. You can feel your thighs clenching, trembling at the feeling of his jaw opening and closing, mouth pulling you apart, tongue swirling against your sensitive clit. He’s truly eating you, he must be devouring you and all you can manage to think is how you need to remember every detail to tell Baela.

“I think I remember you liking this,” Aemond says, before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking.

You choke back a moan, desperately trying to keep quiet.

“No?” Aemond says releasing your bud, “hmm maybe I was wrong.”

“What-,” you whimper in disappointment at the loss of contact.

“What?” he asks, pressing a soft kiss upon your inner thigh, “you don’t like my teasing?”

You whimper, head thrashing side to side, causing him to darkly chuckle.

“Then why do you make such pretty sounds when I do?”

You open your mouth to answer before feeling his fingers stretch through your entrance, and your head falls back onto the pillow with a pitiful noise leaving your bruised lips.

“I know you like this,” he purrs, curling his fingers, “where’s that spot, princess, here?”

He’s fucking with you, you know it. Crooking his fingers, lips barely brushing your clit, as tears begin to prickle at the corner of your eyes. He loves doing this, bringing you ever so close to the edge of pleasure.

“Here?” he asks again, “hmm I’m not sure I remember.”

“Aemond,” you whimper his name. Fuck he loves torturing you.

His teeth graze your clit, as his fingers locate the rough patch within your warm walls. Your spine bows, arching off of the bed.

“Oh here?” he asks, feigning innocence, “is this it pretty girl?”

“You know it is,” you nearly sob, “Fu-fuck!”

Aemond hums, curling his fingers and circling your clit with smooth, hot strokes of his tongue. You throw your hand over your mouth as you moan, trying as best as you can to stop the sound from echoing throughout the room.

“Getting a little loud, princess,” Aemond chastises, never stopping the come hither movement of his fingers, “someone might hear you.”

You bite down on your wrist, hard enough to draw blood. You can feel your orgasm creeping up on you, building steadily causing your legs to shake.

“Come on love, come for me,” he demands, burying his face back in your pussy, tongue fluttering around your sensitive clit.

“Fuck!” you yell as do exactly what Aemond tells you, clenching around his fingers.

He releases his fingers from your sopping heat, pulling you up to kiss him. You can feel his fingers unzipping your dress and you hastily shimmy out of it. You’re not wearing a bra, the dress didn’t allow it, so you’re naked before him, clawing at the clothes he wears desperate to feel his skin against your own.

You hear a button ping to the floor as you tear open his shirt, earning a breathless chuckle from him. Aemond cups your face as you pull down his pants, freeing his erection. You pull away from his mouth.

“Lie on the bed,” you tell him.

He looks at you, clearly surprised at the shift in the power dynamic. He’s still in control ultimately, and you know that. Aemond surprises you, laying back on the bed, erection slapping against his stomach. You crawl on top of him as you did earlier, positioning his cock at your weeping entrance. You hesitate for only a moment, tilting your head.

Aemond’s violet eye is blown with lust, his lips parted in anticipation.

“Do you want me?” you ask, barely letting the tip of his member inside you.

“Yes,” he breathes, hands moving to your sides.

He doesn’t press your hips down, he leaves the control to you.

“How much?” you ask, sliding his head between your slick folds.

You watch a vein in his neck pulse, his jaw clench.

“Desperately,” he breathes, and you bite your lip.

You slide his tip through the lips of your pussy again letting it nudge your swollen clit sending a jolt of pleasure dancing up past your naval.

“Really?” you ask him.

“Yes,” he murmurs and you sink onto him, engulfing him in your tight, wet, heat.

Aemond’s moan matches yours as you let yourself settle with the stretch he gives you. You feel so deliciously full as you lift your hips, before sinking down once more. Aemond’s hands remain on your waist as you slowly roll your hips, riding him at a lazy pace. Your hands remain on his chest, nails gently digging into his pectoral muscles.

Aemond abandons his grip on your hips, pushing himself into a seated position, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and bringing you with him, one arm securely around your waist. You wrap your arms around his neck, your forearms helping you keep your pace, bouncing continuously on his thick cock. He buries his face in your chest, mouth latching onto your nipple, a broken moan escaping you.

You feel his tongue swirling around the hardened peak, before you feel his teeth nipping at the skin of your breast, marking a path up to your neck. Your thighs burn and your pace slows as you try to push past the sweet ache in your legs and chase your release. Your whole body is flushed as Aemond brings his hands to your hips, helping slam you on his cock. Your head lolls onto his shoulder as he raises his hips, meeting your movements.

“My gorgeous girl, look at you,” he croons, “riding me so fucking well.”

He winds a hand behind your neck, supporting your head to look at him. Your head is so fuzzy with pleasure all you can do is whimper at the filthy words he speaks, cheeks burning a dark shade of maroon. Aemond gives you a lustful smile, ever so pleased with the effect he has on you, and the fact that he is the only one who can make you feel this way.

“Does that feel good?” Aemond asks, holding you tightly against him.

You nod desperately, the feeling of him sliding in and out of you so effortlessly almost too much to bear.

Your nails scratch down his chest, leaving scarlet streaks on his pale skin. Aemond releases a breathy groan, looking down at the marks before looking back up at you, lavender eye hooded with desire.

Aemond wraps his arms around you, twisting you onto your back. He slows his thrusts, brushing some hair from your face. Your breathing is ragged, and you’re pressed so close to him that you feel the steady rhythm of his heart matching your own.

“Look at me,” he says softly, and you meet his eyes.

His lashes flutter and you can feel your cheeks warming with the intensity between you. The butterflies that curl in your stomach as he presses into you.

You want to run. You can feel the tears prickling at your eyes and hate that you’re going to cry. You can’t help it, can’t stop the warm river that escapes your left eye, falling to the pillow below. You inhale a shaky breath, feel Aemond wipe the tear from the corner of your eye.

“Hey,” Aemond says softly, tearing you from your thoughts.

“I’m so scared,” you whisper.

You’re so fucking scared.

“Why are you scared, baby?” he asks quietly.

His hips have stopped moving, but he still rests inside of you keeping you comfortably full and connected.

“I really like you,” you tell him, “I really like you, Aemond.”

Aemond smiles, like he’s been waiting forever to hear you say that.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Y/N,” Aemond tells you.

“How can you know that?” you ask, still teary eyed.

“I just do,” he promises, “I just…” he trails off, not finishing his sentence.

You lift your head connecting your mouths in a passionate kiss. You let yourself believe him, getting lost in the pleasure he gives you, and the promise he gives you. His hips ground against you, gently thrusting himself in and out.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you whine against his lips.

“You have me,” he answers between kisses, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your nails are clawing at his back, desperately trying to get him closer. You wish in that moment you could curl up inside of him, keep yourself attached to him. You can feel your pleasure peaking, the wave within you beginning to crest. Aemond takes you over the edge with a final drive of his hips and you’re whimpering into his mouth, screwing your eyes shut in ecstasy.

He peppers your face with kisses, as his hips stutter with his own release. Each kiss burns away the tears that stain your cheeks, as he gently holds your face in his hands.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Aemond tells you again, “not without you.”

note: I am soft for them 🥺

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