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wri0thesley · 7 months ago

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eyes - neuvillette x reader (8.5k)

you have always known, one day, you would be married off to someone not of your choosing. but you certainly never expected it to be the iudex himself.

cw: not sfw text. explicitly chubby virgin reader, some insecurity, arranged marriage. double dick neuvillette, cunnilingus, bathing together. reader is afab but referred to with neutral pronouns.

this was a commissioned work.

There are certain standards one must follow as a child of Fontainian society; certain things that are expected of you. A certain way to speak and move and act - a set of rules that have been laid out clearly for you since the day you were born. You will know which fork to use at which mealtime. You will know the difference between what is appropriate to wear to a matinee and to an evening show. You will trust your elders to guide you, and you will be grateful for the life that they have oh-so-painstakingly laid out.

So you are not surprised when your mother tells you that you are to be wed.

You have even been expecting it. Since you became of a marriageable age, you have looked at all of the other children of society and wondered what kind of match your family might make. One of your own generation? Older, perhaps - more secure in their wealth and their status and position? You have even laughed about it with your friends, when you were out of earshot of all of your elders - discussing who would be the worst options, gossiping about who has had who over for tea recently.

She’s surprisingly tight-lipped about who you’re going to wed, too. That’s not unexpected either, though it does make anxiety roil hot and sour in your gut. Plenty of children have run away from home so as not to be wed to somebody decades and decades their senior, or somebody with a reputation for cruelty - or sometimes even because the match that has been made has not taken into account a love affair unbeknownst to the elders of the family.

You have no such love affair to romantically dash off into the sunset with; you have been a good and dutiful child your whole life. And though you do, perhaps, wish that you could know what it was like to have a love so fiery and passionate you would disobey the only life you’ve ever known . . . you have come to accept that will not be your lot in life.

You have even worried once or twice that somebody, upon finding that they were engaged to you, might wish to run away. You have looked in the mirror and scrutinised your face, your posture, your body - a body that has fallen out of fashion recently, the beauty ideal in Fontaine being very much ‘look as much like Lady Furina as possible’. It is your body, though - and it has stood you in good stead, and the night in which you are finally to meet your betrothed your mother and your maid stand in your bedroom looking approvingly at how your gown falls over the soft peaks and curves of your hips and chest.

All you know about this person who you are to be wedded to is that every time your family talks of them, they can barely hide the smiles on their faces and the superior lilt to their tone. Whatever match has been made for you . . . they are utterly ecstatic about it.

“I think he’ll be more than pleased,” your mother says, tugging at a fold of fabric - she had chosen to have this dress made in pale blue, though it is not a colour that has been in your wardrobe before. A man, then; a well-placed man who makes your family giddy with excitement - a man partial to the colour blue and a spouse whose figure runs more to curves than lines.

It is not a lot to go on.

So you do not know what to expect, as you are brought down the stairs and into the dining room. All kinds of thoughts dance through your head; some pleasant, some . . . not so. You know that you will meekly accept what you have been given, the way you have been brought up to do - and it is not lost on you that the trajectory of tonight will perhaps influence your life for years and years to come. There is always the chance that, seeing you in person, your parent’s intended will reject you--

Your mind is churning at a hundred thoughts a minute as you step inside the dining room - but when you see who is seated at the head of the table, all of those thoughts seem to clatter to the ground at once.

It is a wonder that your mouth does not drop open.

In all of the time you have spent gossiping about possible matches in society, nobody has ever mentioned - even off-handedly - the possibility that the Chief Justice of Fontaine may be looking to marry.

But there sits Monsieur Neuvillette - a little awkward, yes (he is being chattered to most insistently by your father), but straight and tall and handsome in his chair, his robes of office perfectly pressed, his face schooled carefully into a polite look of vague interest. Your mother coughs, and he looks up--

And his eyes, the colour of the evening sky or a perfect sapphire, widen just a touch. His mouth opens, the barest amount - and you swear that as his gaze sweeps over your form in your carefully chosen blue dress (a choice you are beginning to understand), he visibly swallows.

“Ah,” he says, and he stands - walking towards you, bending and inclining his head. “It’s a pleasure to . . . finally meet you in person.” You’re still rather stunned speechless by everything that is happening - you cannot help but feel as though things are happening around you, and not to you - but as Neuvillette uses one of his gloved hands to take yours and to press a lingering kiss on your palm that makes your entire body feel as though it is on fire, you are suddenly all too aware of just what is going on. “You look radiant tonight.”

“M-Monsieur,” you say in return, and you sweep what must be the clumsiest curtsey of your life. “I . . . I have to admit that this is a surprise.”

“Not an unwelcome one,” your mother puts in before he can respond. “Of course, we’re delighted with this match, and we’re absolutely sure you’ll be delighted with them--”

“I understand,” Neuvillette says, his eyes not leaving you. “If I may be frank with you, until recently I had never thought to marry.”

Questions rise in your throat. If he had not thought to marry, why was he doing it now? And why you, when surely he must see the upper echelons of society every single day? What had brought him to your family’s door, asking after your hand over everyone else he must have had first pick of? But these are not polite questions for the dinner table, when your mother and your father are already ushering the two of you to your seats beside one another and beaming so brightly that it hurts to look at them.

The dinner table is a place for light, polite conversation; the last opera you saw, the weather. Neuvillette smiles into his wine glass - a glass you notice is filled with water - when you mention that it has not seemed to rain much recently. You notice him looking at you every so often, over rims of glasses and delicate bites of foods . . . but you know that you, too, cannot help but sneak a glance at the Iudex of Fontaine seated by your side.

Your future husband! Your betrothed! The man you will spend the rest of your life with!

As much as you may wish for a moment alone with him, you know it is not proper; so when he stands and kisses your hand again and your father takes Neuvillette into his study to hash out some further details of your impending nuptials, you swallow your disappointment and remind yourself that you will have years with Neuvillette, to learn his secrets - to discover why he has decided to take you as a spouse.

There is little time for getting to know one another beyond the most surface of levels when a marriage has been arranged for you - there is even littler time when the man you are going to marry is one of the most powerful and busiest men in Fontaine. Even the few times you see each other as the wedding looms closer - the period your parents optimistically refer to as ‘courting’ - there is little time to get to know his heart.

You realise, at the final fitting for your wedding clothes, that the first time you will be truly alone with the man who is to be your husband will be the night of your wedding.

And that particular thought . . .

You know the ways of the world. You know what will be expected of you, in order to properly consummate a marriage - you know that you will be intimate with Neuvillette for years to come. But the idea that the first time that the two of you will be able to snatch time with one another with no parents or gossip-mongers or anybody else around will also be the time in which you and he will legally become one (and you know, from experience at the Opera Epiclese, that Neuvillette is nothing if not a stickler for the law) . . . oh, it is enough to make you reconsider one last time running away from your responsibilities.

“Mother?” You ask, your voice quiet, the night before your wedding. You have spent the entire day overseeing flowers and being asked questions, watching the cooks and the waiters bring in fine delicacies from all over Teyvat (Neuvillette had not wanted hosting duties; you get the impression that as long as the ceremony was done legally, he would be pleased enough to call you his spouse. But your parents have been preparing for this your whole life, so they had indeed wanted the spectacle of their child marrying the most powerful man in Fontaine. With no family to speak of, he had acquiesced to their desires. Your parents are in shivers of delight that Lady Furina will, too, grace the halls of your family home). “What if . . . what if I do not please him?”

You are sitting before your dressing table, in your sleeping robe, haunted by thoughts of all of the things that could go wrong whilst your mother double checks your wedding gown and the jewellery you are to wear tomorrow. She looks over at you - her face is normally hard, but as she sees the knit of your brow and the bite of your teeth into your lip, she sighs softly.

“You have nothing to worry about,” she says, stroking your cheek. “The Iudex asked for you specifically.” You blink at her, wide-eyed, and she laughs a soft little laugh. “Don’t let it get to your head, now; they have been badgering him to marry for some time . . . but he did ask for you, out of all of the people he could have had. So take heart in that. Do you think him a foolish man?”

“No,” you shake your head, your voice a soft whisper. You suppose that Neuvillette is many things, but ‘foolish’ would not be one that would cross your mind.

“There. You and he are going to have a happy life together.” A sly look steals over her face. “Ah . . . are you worried about the wedding night itself?”

“Mama!”

“It’s something we all go through, my dear.” She catches your chin in her hand and smiles at you, and for a moment, despite all of the times you have disliked her for the life you have been forced into . . . you are reminded that she is your mother, and she wants this to work just as much as you do. “Do not be frightened of him. Do not be overwhelmed by him. He has chosen you to be his equal, but he will not expect too much of you. I promise . . . everything is going to be fine.” She gives you a wink. “And if I were you, and were to marry a man who looked like the Chief Justice - why, I’d be positively thrilling with excitement at the thought of my wedding night!”

“Mama!” This time, your scandalised tone brings her out in peals of laughter, and she kisses the top of your head as she leaves the bedroom. The door clicks behind her.

Your final night in your childhood room; your final night unmarried. One last slumber amongst your own silken pillows and sheets (what kind of bed, you wonder, does the Chief Justice sleep in?).

That night, you dream of a sea that churns with a similar anxiety to the one that you feel in your own belly.

The morning of your wedding day, it is raining. Your family fuss over it, but as you stand at your window with people running all about you, messing with your hair and rearranging your dress and having arguments about your bouquet, you cannot help but find it comforting to watch the rain fall in droplets, stopping and starting again, mirroring your own still-nervous heart.

You think you will falter at the last hurdle, as you stand outside of the Opera Epiclese - normally a place of theatricals, but also a place of the law, and the place that the most important part of your wedding day will occur - and take a deep breath ready to start your new life. The bouquet in your hands is full of rainbow roses and romaritime flowers, bursting with colour; you are grateful to have it to hold on to, as the doors are thrown open and you walk slowly down the aisle of the theatre.

Your eyes desperately seek out someone who will provide you an ounce of comfort in the crowd, all peering at you curiously to see the person who has finally tamed the Chief Justice. This is a spectacle as much as a wedding, you suppose; and as you see some people whisper behind their hands, you wonder if you have been found wanting. You bite your lip hard to stop yourself crying - and then, onstage, his hands clasped over his cane, your gaze finds Neuvillette himself.

The patter of the rain on the roof of the Opera stops all at once. For a moment, you swear everything falls silent, as you and he look at each other.

Slowly, his mouth breaks into a small, secret smile, and the buzz of whispering intensifies - but that smile is enough to steady you. To remind you he has been nothing but kind and polite. To whisper to you that perhaps this union is a thing to look forward to, and not to be feared.

He looks as handsome as ever; his suit perfectly-pressed, his hair streaming in a neat silver white tail behind him. There are flowers that have been braided into it; and you see, as you ascend the stairs to the stage, that there are a group of Melusines sitting in the front rows with matching little bouquets of Lumidouce bells grasped in their little hands, beaming up at the Iudex.

Lady Furina presides over the proceedings, tossing her hair and preening and holding the audience in the palm of her hand - another reminder that theatrics are more respected than the law in a land like Fontaine. But you cannot bring yourself to mind too much - not when Neuvillette’s smile is steady, his eyes trained on you the whole time. Not when, as he repeats the words in a clear voice like a ringing bell, he whispers them again as if they are only for you. Not when he takes his bare hands - ungloved, for the exchange of the rings - and holds your own, soft and round and dimpled, as he slides the ring onto your finger as if you are the most delicate thing in the world.

When Furina - with more glee in her voice than you would have expected - announces that he may now kiss you, you feel your shoulders draw up in anxiety. The entire audience goes quiet, waiting with baited breath for this - as if it is one of the things they have been waiting for all day. Neuvillette, though, keeps his gaze on you. He acts as though there are not a thousand Fontainian citizens watching your every move - slowly, he places his arm around your waist and draws you closer to him, so close that the crowds seem to melt away and there is nobody but the two of you.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” he murmurs into your ear, angling his head so that the crowd cannot see that he has said something that is only for the two of you (no doubt they would be baying to be privy to the marriage bed, if they thought they could get away with it) - and then, his lips brush against yours. They are cool and soft; the lightest tang of sea-salt remains on your own after he is done. The crowd roars with their approval as he steps back and bows to you, pressing his forehead to the back of your hand - and you stand there, trembling, excited and nervous and frightened and on display all at once, as your new husband takes you by the hand and gently, gently leads you back down one of the aisles of the opera, out to the waiting carriages to spirit you away from the spectacle of the opera house and into the spectacle that your parents have designed as a celebration.

As it turns out, it is not so bad. Your parents have understood, at the very least, that the two of you will be retiring early to Neuvillette’s residence (your trunks already packed, already loaded onto a carriage to be delivered in the next few days). They have managed to rein themselves in; only invite the most important echelons of society to this celebration, despite the luxury and the excess that has been coming into the house for weeks now.

So you bow to Lady Furina and accept her compliments with a stutter and hot cheeks, Neuvillette by your side, his steadying hand on your waist. Neuvillette expertly manages to weave around your family’s ballroom as if he has been doing it all his life - but then, remembering how much older he is than you, you suppose that he has been doing it at least as long as you have been alive. He has a remarkable way of remaining polite, yet not brokering too much room for small talk and gossip, as if he can tell that this kind of thing is not your favourite.

You overhear, when you have been spirited away from your husband’s side for ten minutes by some of your friends, an older couple accosting Neuvillette.

“You had all of the choice in the world,” the man says, poking Neuvillette in the centre of his chest - from the slur in his words, you think he may have partaken in a touch too much of your parent’s imported dandelion wine. “Whyever did you make this one?”

Your heart stutters in your chest; a trickle of sweat rolls down the back of your wedding gown. This is what you have been fearful of, this whole time - you being found wanting, you being seen as not good enough for Neuvillette--

But your new husband merely smiles.

“I have eyes,” he says, mildly, and he turns away from the couple and brings an end to the conversation that you know must leave them utterly blistering. He comes to find you, instead - apologising most profusely to your friends for having to steal you away.

You stay for as short a time as you can manage, with the congratulations and the toasts and the speeches (a Melusine or two makes a speech for Neuvillette; you much prefer their simple honesty to some of the awful gushing things that come from the mouths of connections of your parents who have never given much care to you before), with the cake being cut--

“Here,” Neuvillette murmurs, and your cheeks go hot as he feeds you a bite of his own slice from the same fork he has been using. “I must confess that this is rather too sweet for me.”

By the time that Neuvillette begins to make his excuses, bowing and smiling and thanking his hosts and the guests, the moon is already hanging white and plump in the black velvet of the night - and as you say goodbye to your parents, your Mama gives you a wink that makes you go hot all over.

Neuvillette’s residence is surprisingly unassuming; it is smaller than your parents house, and he does not employ half as many maids or staff. For a moment, his gaze flitters over to you, and you sense a nervousness in the air.

“I am sorry if it is not what you were expecting,” he says, voice clipped - but you shake your head, and try and let some of the anxiety drain from your tight shoulders.

“It’s lovely,” you say, firmly, as he helps you out of the carriage. This time, when his gloved hand - he has chosen to put his gloves back on, his wedding ring glinting over the black satin - touches your waist, you gasp. The frisson of promise that runs through the touch makes you feel dizzy with possibility. Neuvillette looks at you with those dark sapphire eyes of his, and murmurs;

“I apologise if you’re nervous. I have no wish to . . . make you do anything you don’t want to. I am more than willing to wait-- the law does not require we consummate directly on our wedding night, and if you are frightened--”

A drop of rain lands on your cheek.

“No,” you breathe out, all in a rush, surprised to find it falling from your lips as you say it. But then you think of his lingering kiss, of the way he shut down that couple at the wedding reception, of that private smile he had given you to soothe your fears as you walked down the aisle, and you’re even more surprised to find that you mean it. “Not at all. I-- I am nervous, but . . .”

He gives you another soft, gentle smile that makes your heart feel ready to burst out of your chest. The raindrop you had felt has no companions; simply a freak occurrence in the weather.

“I must admit,” he murmurs, as he helps you towards his front door. “I am very pleased to hear that. I hope you won’t find it remiss of me to admit that I have been . . . rather looking forward to it.”

Your cheeks go hot again. The idea of Neuvillette, imagining you like that, even waiting for it . . . it is hard not to find it at once flattering and embarrassing. Neuvillette opens the door for you, but as you go to step inside--

“Ah, just a moment--” He leans his cane against the front door, and reaches for you. “I’m aware there’s a custom about bringing one’s new spouse over the threshold, and I would hate to break tradition--”

“You don’t have to,” you say, stuttering on the words. “I’m not light--”

But Neuvillette has already reached for you, already wrapped a surprisingly strong arm about your waist - and before you know it, as if he hasn’t needed to exert any energy at all, you have been pulled into his hold, held like a princess being rescued by a knight.

You look up at him, and he looks down at you, his smile soft once more.

“You feel perfectly light in my arms,” he tells you, as he steps over the threshold with you and gently places you down as softly and carefully as he had picked you up. You were not expecting the strength from him - he wears his robes of office, of course, and he certainly has the height, but there’s a kind of willowiness about him that does not exactly betray him being able to do such a thing.

(If he can do that, a wicked little voice in your head whispers, imagine what else he could do to you - how easily he could manipulate you in a more intimate moment--)

It’s almost as if he can read your mind. He laughs a clear, silvery laugh like the rushing of a river.

“Shall I show you to our bedchambers?” He asks you. “I’m sure you’ll want to get all of your finery off soon; it looks rather heavy. If you are not opposed . . . perhaps we may bathe together?”

Your heart, beating double time in your chest. Neuvillette’s eyes, cool and calm. The way your blood seems to sing in your veins. You smile back at him.

“I would like that very much.”

Neuvillette’s house may not be as extravagant as expected, but the bathroom more than makes up for it - and most of all, the bathtub set into the floor, as wide as a swimming pool. He sees your look of surprise and laughs, sounding for once a little embarrassed.

“I enjoy being able to relax in water - natural water most of all,” he tells you, “but it would be rather . . . scandalous, if an ordinary citizen were to find me unexpectedly. This is my compromise. One of my vices, you may say.”

As vices go, it is a tame one, and you look at the bathtub - already full of clear water, so you can see the mosaic tiles on the bottom (the tub itself is stepped, so one can simply sit and relax at one end or perhaps even use the other end to swim a few strokes).

“I loved to swim when I was little,” you say, wistfully. “As I got older, my parents thought the idea of me wearing my swim clothes too often was improper, but . . .”

“Well,” Neuvillette says, placing his hands upon your hips with only the lightest of pressure as if he is still too afraid to touch you too much. “You are welcome to use this bathroom for swimming whenever you wish. It is not quite the same, of course, but I want nothing more than you to be happy here. What’s mine is yours now, sweet one.”

It’s the first pet name he has used for you, and it makes your mouth go dry. Slowly, you turn towards him. You are about to be naked together, you suppose - even if you are going to bathe before anything more intimate happens - so you ought to be braver. You reach for his face, palms warm on his cheeks - and though his eyes flash in surprise, he gladly leans in to let you kiss him.

This time, you let the kiss linger for longer; this private moment in the sanctity of a home that is to be shared between you. He sighs into your mouth and pulls you closer himself, so as you cradle his face his palms rest upon the ample curve of your hip. His teeth tug, almost shyly, at your bottom lip - and you feel your lashes flutter, your heart give an answering skip in your chest. His tongue traces the seam of your mouth and you part your lips, allowing him to take you as he wants - but even this ‘taking’ is done slowly, carefully, like a man who wishes to savour you.

You pull back, your breath coming in soft little gasps - Neuvillette’s eyes are half-lidded, but it does not stop him smiling at you, putting you at ease.

“We ought to disrobe,” he tells you, kindly - and he gently motions for you to turn, so that he may work at the difficult laces and hooks of your bridal outfit. You feel a little shy, as the fabric pools around your ankles, and you are left bare - but then he is turning you around, and in his eyes you see something that must be close to worship.

“I am a man who says what I mean,” he tells you, tilting your chin upward toward him. “I have not spared your ego, little one - everything I see before me is . . .” He shakes his head, letting loose a ragged breath, more undone than you’ve seen him before. “More than I could ever have asked for.” One gloved finger trails across your lips, tracing a patch from the corner of your mouth down to your throat, your collarbone - reaching behind you to unclip your undergarments, so they fall to the ground with your gown. “You’re truly the loveliest creature.”

“I--”

He shakes his head, smiling still.

“Perhaps in my choice of a spouse,” he murmurs, “I let my own desires overtake me a touch . . . but ah, if you could see yourself the way I see you--”

You hesitantly hook your thumbs into your underwear and stand before him, naked completely - and you win, for your bravery, another ragged breath.

“I must warn you,” Neuvillette murmurs, as he reaches for his own collar and begins to unbutton, to untie, to work the trappings of his own outfit off of himself. “You may be . . . surprised.”

“By what?” You feel brave enough to give him a little smile, though your heart is still beating faster than you’ve ever felt it. “Am I to discover you have been hiding extra limbs?”

Neuvillette’s gaze does not falter.

“Something like that,” he agrees, mildly, as he slips his shirt and coat from his shoulders. His skin is milky pale in the moonlight streaming in from a window set high in the wall, his hair glimmering silver. He takes your breath away.

Who would have thought you would ever find yourself in this position with the Chief Justice of Fontaine?

He unbuttons his placket slowly - and as he carefully works down the fabric of his trousers, you realise exactly what it was he was warning you about.

“I hope I do not disappoint you,” he says, as your mouth falls open at the sight of his cocks; resting one atop another, both half-swollen already. Your mouth goes dry at the thought of your wedding night, still to come. “I assure you, I know exactly what to do with them.”

“I--I didn’t mean to--!” Your voice comes out a little panicked - but then, Neuvillette lets out a soft huff of laughter.

“It’s quite alright,” he tells you. “But I will reiterate; I will not hurt you. You are . . . more than welcome to touch. But if we do not get in soon, I fear the water will have gone cold.”

Neuvillette helps you into the bath, surprisingly unashamed of his own nakedness. At the press of his body against yours as he helps you down the steps inlaid into the tub, you feel his cocks jump against you, the wet smear of something against the dip of your back - but then, Neuvillette is lowering himself into the water beside you and letting loose a sigh of pure bliss that sends a coil of heat spiralling to between your thighs.

You have never partaken in the gossip that surrounds Neuvillette, about his pointed ears or his inhumanly lovely face or his age - you would never have expected what he is hiding in his trousers. But as you sit beside your new husband, you cannot help but feel as though it makes perfect sense - a man like him could not be ordinary. And you trust him when he tells you he will not hurt you; when he says he knows what he’s doing, you think of all of the time he has on you and you have to suppress a shiver of desire for what he may have to teach you.

He touches you, as the two of you bathe together. Lets his fingers massage the shampoo into your hair, lets his hands slide the washcloth over the contours of your body until you can barely breathe for the hot trails of fire that he leaves in his wake. You do not think he means to inflame you so - but then, he allows you to do the same thing to him, and he shudders and leans back into your touch, a soft noise almost like a purr falling from the back of his throat, and he realises exactly what bathing together is doing to you both.

Still. The two of you linger there; touching one another. Getting to know one another’s bodies without any fear, for beneath the water all is muffled and calm. His fingers learn the shape of your nipples when he pinches them, how they pucker and harden beneath him. His palms learn the weight of your breasts, heavy and ample in his hands. His mouth learns the taste of your shoulders, as he drops hot, wet kisses across the span of them, the nape of your neck. And in return you feel the silkiness of his hair, the softness of his skin, the feel of his corded muscle beneath his deceptively slender frame.

By the time the two of you are wrapped in fluffy towels the colour of an early morning sky, you are both hot with want. Neuvillette’s twin cocks seem to pulse with his desire; you can no longer tell if you are slick and wet from the bath or from the space between your thighs. You shyly look at one another through lowered lashes, though, as the wedding night and all it entails comes closer and closer and closer.

“It’s a beautiful night,” you say to him, when the two of you have finally entered the bedroom. Neuvillette’s window is open a crack, enough so that the lacy curtains flutter in the light night-time breeze. “You would hardly think it’s been raining on and off all day.”

“Mmm,” Neuvillette agrees, as you feel him come up behind you. He slowly takes your hands, encouraging you to drop the towel; and then you stand before him, naked again, but with something far more than a bath in your future. He leans in and presses a kiss to the sensitive place where your neck and shoulder meet, just barely grazing it with surprisingly sharp teeth. “I should not wonder if it doesn’t rain again for some time.”

Neuvillette leads you to the bed, his hand firmly around yours. He is unerringly gentle and patient with you, as he urges you to sit upon the bedcovers - and your breath catches when you do as he asks, and instead of joining you he sinks onto his knees. You have never thought to imagine the Chief Justice kneeling before you, and the sight of it makes you buzz all over in anticipation. He smiles at your unsurety - and leans in, pressing a kiss to your knee, gently urging you to spread your thighs for him. His gloves are stripped away, but his wedding ring gleams on his finger as his fingers sink into the soft, full skin of your thigh.

He leans in, pressing another kiss to the side of your knee. Higher, higher, higher he trails them - and his breath fans cool against your heated core, and your fingers clench into the bedsheets in surprise at what he might be about to do.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmurs to you, his cheek pressing silky against your skin, as he suckles a love-bite into the part where your leg meets your pelvis. “I merely want to ensure you’re adequately prepared.”

“Y-you don’t need to,” you say, breathless, hot, embarrassed and needy all at once. This is an act of such intimacy, you do not know how to parse the thought of the Iudex doing it to you - but he gives you a smile that is not without a hint of fang, the wickedest look you have seen upon his face so far, and he reaches between the two of you to use his thumb to pull apart the lips of your sex so you are revealed to him.

“Oh,” he breathes. “But I want to, sweet one. And . . . looking at how wet you are for me, I daresay you want me to do so too.”

“M-Monsieur--”

“Neuvillette,” he murmurs, and he presses a kiss directly onto your sex, slick and wet with your own excitement, his nose brushing across the swollen nub of your clit. “Use my name.”

“Neuvillette--” It comes out rather thin and reedy, but Neuvillette does not seem to notice - instead, he seems rather preoccupied by what lies between your thighs. Your fingers tighten when you feel his tongue slide across you, gathering your slick upon the tip. There’s a strange quality to it, almost as if it is longer and firmer than a human tongue ought to be - and as he flickers his tip over your clit, again and again and again, and you shudder from the sensations he draws forth . . . you wonder if, too, his tongue is forked--

Thoughts quickly dissipate from your head when there is a man knelt between your thighs, though, and it is no different for you. The wondering is quickly chased away by the hungry way that Neuvillette laps at you, like a man who has been parched for water for months.

Through it, he urges you to part your thighs as wide as you can, so that he can more thoroughly attack you with his tongue - and with every stroke, with every suck and lick and groan of him against you, you feel a knot tighten in your stomach in a way you have never experienced. It is like his mouth is a match, setting fire to your core - despite how you can feel wetness dripping down you, onto his bedcovers, surely soaking his chin and his lips.

He does something with his tongue - a twirl, a flourish - and his name comes spilling out of your lips like a prayer, and the idea that he may at some point stop using his mouth on you flashes across your synapses like a tragedy. Without realising you’re doing it, you move one hand to grip his silvery hair, to keep him anchored against you - you realise, too, that it is not merely his name spilling out of you like an overturned wineglass. Pleas and whimpers and begging have joined the fray, and you would ordinarily cringe at being thought so wanting. But with Neuvillette’s mouth, with the promise of what he is trying to wring from you--

Shame seems unimportant compared to the way he shudders at your hand in his hair, the way his tongue intensifies flicking against your clit.

He pulls back, breathing heavy, mouth glittering with your slick.

“I’m going to put a finger inside you,” he tells you, and you are grateful that he too sounds a little breathless. You cannot imagine just how embarrassing it would be to be the only one falling apart.

“I want . . . you,” you say, not without a touch of petulance, and Neuvillette lets out a hoarse little laugh. Still kneeling before you, he reaches up to touch your warmed face - his thumb, too, glitters with your arousal from the way he had held you open. You cannot bring yourself to care when he softly smears it across your bottom lip like an offering, and he lets out a shuddering groan at the sight of your tongue swiping it off.

“I want you,” he says. “Oh, you have no idea how much I want you. But I will not hurt you, sweet one. Let me prepare you.”

It feels very much like him; this way of taking charge, his firm words. This time, his hand curves up your inner thigh, and your breath catches as his finger slides between the valley of your sex, wetting itself in your slick and his saliva. Your toes curl into his plush carpet as he nudges your clit with his fingertip, as a soft noise of surprise escapes your mouth and he chuckles.

He slides one finger inside of you with no resistance at all. His earlier ministrations have seen to that. It’s a strange sensation, to have something inside that is not one of your own fingers (rather smaller, rather shorter than his) - but it is hardly unwelcome. You whisper out his name, your eyes closing, and Neuvillette makes a gentle noise of encouragement.

“That’s right,” he murmurs to you, as he slowly begins to pump his finger in and out of you. “You’re doing so well - you’re taking it beautifully. I’m going to put a second one in--”

He does exactly as he says, and the hand still knit in his hair tugs at the silvery strands a little harder. It is not that it is painful, but simply that it is a stretch you are unused to - and one, too, that you know will continue to intensify.

You feel a strange, cool shock at the entrance to your sex - and you chance a glance down and realise it is his wedding ring, pressing against you. The sight and the knowledge makes you shudder, and Neuvillette huffs out a noise of want in return.

You think of the cocks, straining beneath the vee of Neuvillette’s pelvis. You cannot see them now, but from the way they had looked when the two of you were just bathing, you feel certain they must be swollen stiff and hard, waiting for their own chance (and too, from the spots of colour on Neuvillette’s cheeks, the way his words have a strange, dry edge to them when he speaks). How will he put those inside of you? One at a time? Both at once?

“What are you thinking about?” Neuvillette asks, raising his gaze to meet your own, a smile tugging at the corners of the lips. “You suddenly tightened around me.”

“I--!” Your cheeks go hot, embarrassment making warmth seep down your back. Neuvillette laughs.

“No need to keep secrets,” he murmurs, slowly establishing another rhythm, a slow pump of his two fingers inside of you, scissoring slightly to open you up. “We are married now, sweet one. We can share everything. Mmm . . . let me see. Were you imagining my fingers to be my cock?”

“Neuvillette--” Your voice is a weak little protest, and you avert your gaze shyly even as you force the words out. “I was . . . will you put them both inside of me?” Your gaze slips over his face again, nervous to see his reaction - his eyes widen in surprise, but it is not at all a look of anger.

“Not tonight,” he tells you, and he smiles again. “I fear it may be too much for you. Ah, but if that’s what you want . . . my dear, I know you’d feel exquisite.”

His fingers, pumping in and out, curling inside of you. His words, velvet-draped and deep - the look of concentration on his face, insistent on nothing more than drawing pleasure forward from you. You feel the hot tension inside of you reach a breaking point - a pot, ready to bubble over.

“I must confess,” he breathes, leaning in, breath hitting your sex hot and close. “I was worried you might be afraid. I’m terribly glad to know what an effect the idea has on you.”

As he finishes the sentence, he lets his tongue drag out one slow, final lap of your clit - and it is just enough to push you over the final edge. The bubbling pot within you reaches boiling point - and the most intense pleasure you’ve ever felt, like molten heat, suffuses you entirely. Your head falls back. A noise of sheer enjoyment falls wanton from your lips - your thighs and your hips and your entire body trembles and shakes in the pleasure, and you feel your sex pulsating and throbbing around the two of Neuvillette’s fingers that are inside of you.

“Lovely,” Neuvillette murmurs, watching you in awe, his fingers slowing down as he lets you ride out the waves of your orgasm. “Oh, you’re . . . exquisite.”

“Neuvillette,” you say, collapsing back onto the bed, your breath coming in harsh pants. “I was afraid, at first. But I don’t think I could be. Not knowing what you’re like now. Not anymore.”

“Sweet thing.” Neuvillette stands. He steps forward and you see him again - his cocks are indeed straining, silvery precome dripping from the dual tips and smeared over the flat planes of his stomach. “You have no idea what you do to me. May I . . . ?”

He does not need to ask. You think you would grant him whatever he asked for - you cannot imagine Neuvillette overstepping your boundaries, when he has been so sweet and so careful and so guiding for as long as you’ve known him, even knowing he could do whatever he wanted to you and nobody would blame him. But it warms your heart that he asks even so.

“Please do,” you breathe, and you spread your thighs wider to accommodate him on the bed.

His hands scoop under your hips, his palms firm on your ass as he moves you higher up the bed, ensuring that your head and shoulders are propped up with a mound of pillows. Even with his cocks practically twitching, he prioritises you before himself, and you cannot resist another show of appreciation, wrapping your hand around his neck and pulling him down into a kiss.

He groans into your mouth, the movement clearly welcome - but when he mouths at you now, he is far messier than he has been before, his teeth just a little more present. You think he must be losing some of his control, and as his cocks nudge against your inner thighs, you are proved correct.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes against your lips, pulling back just far enough to be able to speak. “I cannot hold myself back a moment longer--”

“Please, Neuvillette,” you whisper, fingers still in his hair.

His lower cock nudges against your sex, the ring of muscle that will grant him entrance - and as he opens you up, his second cock rubs over the swollen over-sensitive nub of your clit and you whine.

He covers your whine with another kiss. He eases into you, moment by moment, inch by inch - you have nothing to compare it to, but you think from the slow tempo he goes at and the way his gaze keeps flicking over you, checking you’re alright, he must be larger than average.

But he has prepared you well. The stretch is an ache, but a pleasant one - it does not send painful shockwaves all through you. Your thighs wrap around his hips, pulling him as close as you can manage, and Neuvillette sighs.

“Will you kiss me again?” He murmurs, so softly you almost do not hear him. The request makes your heart feel like bursting in your chest - the soft way he looks at you, his unwillingness to pull away from you, his desire to be as close to you as he can even when he is buried inside of you.

You do. Arms wrap around his shoulders. His hands find purchase on your hips. His mouth and yours dance against one another - his tongue learning yours as if he is learning a new language.

He fucks you like that.

He is not rough with you, that first night; he does not, as you have heard so many new husbands do, take you and have you and ignore what you might want. Neuvillette cherishes you.

The slow rock of his hips, indulgent in their rhythm. The way he kisses you. He is chasing his own release, but he does not feel any need to fuck into you with abandon. At least not yet.

But time ticks on. The two of you seem to meld into one entity, and the kissing and the fucking grows sharper at the edges. You feel that Neuvillette is hovering on something, his expression almost desperate, as he rearranges the angle of his hips and the speed of his thrusts.

“Please,” he whispers, broken-voiced. “I’m close--”

You let go of him and he lets out a noise of distress at the lack of contact, a noise that makes you shiver with the idea of how much power you may one day have over him. But instead of anything else, one of your hands darts between you, to take a firm grip on his second cock. Neuvillette hisses through his teeth at your hand, hot and firm.

You do not know what you’re doing, not really, but that does not seem to bother Neuvillette as he increases the speed of his hips. In fact, he does most of the work - fucking his lower cock inside of you, hot and deep and wet, and fucking the cock atop it into your fist. You manage to work out a kind of twisting motion that makes him growl in the back of his throat--

It’s a fascinating noise, really. It makes you think of him as an animal, something feral and possessive - and you wonder what, later on, you may learn about him--

But then your name is falling from his lips like a prayer, and his cock is twitching inside of you and in your grip, and your back arches at the same time as he leans forward and sinks his teeth into your shoulder--

(Almost like a claiming bite. Almost like a mark to say that you are his).

And both of you come, together, in great waves and pants and gasps of breath. His come paints your fist and the round softness of your stomach at the same time as it paints inside of you, your body once more pulsating around his cock as if it never wants to let you go.

Like a tide on the shore; like a moon rising high over the lakes of Fontaine. Neuvillette lets himself lay atop of you, his head against your heart, his breath coming in great heaves.

You do not need to think this time; you simply lift your unsoiled hand and begin to stroke the silver of his hair in slow, careful motions. From the back of his throat again comes that noise, something like a purr and something like a chirrup. His eyes close contentedly.

“Neuvillette?” You whisper into the darkness, and your husband makes a soft ‘mm?’ of response. “You really . . . could have had anyone. Why did you choose me?”

“Hmm, sweet one?” He lifts his head from your chest and looks down at you like you have asked him why the sky is blue. “Didn’t you hear me earlier? I certainly did have my pick . . . I perhaps wouldn’t have chosen to marry if Lady Furina hadn’t been so insistent, but I was lucky enough to be able to choose anybody I wanted. And I had seen you.” He shakes his head, a huff of laughter falling from his mouth. “Like I said - I do have eyes.”

Your cheeks feel hot. The thought of being coveted by Monsieur Neuvillette, when you had worried about your body and your match and your future so often it felt like second nature--

“Oh dear,” he says, looking down at the two of you - at the sweat-slicked hair, at the come drying on your inner thigh. “I fear we’ll need to have another bath before bed.”

“And you won’t mind if I join you?”

He chuckles.

“Why,” he says. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

#neuvillette x reader #neuvillette smut #writing #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #chubby reader #not sfw text #commissioned work #chubby reader posting

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pr1cesgirl2 · 5 months ago

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Older!bf price headcannons

•Olderbf! Price who has gained weight since he left the military and is insecure about it. But you on the other hand love to worship his chubby body, so when you’re laying together you always lay on his man-boobs and softly caress the rolls of his stomach. John always gets very flustered by these acts.

•Olderbf! Price who comes home late from his new job to a very pouty girlfriend, he chuckles at your state as he tries to cuddle up in bed with you, repeating sorry over and over again until you’re both fully cuddled in bed

•Olderbf! Price who admires you anytime you do anything, like when you’re cooking and washing dishes when the golden sun shines through the white curtains, illuminating your hair and face or when you’re asleep in bed and the moon light is shining on your sleeping face, or when you’re holding your child in your arms or breastfeeding them.

•Olderbf! Price who - any chance he gets will do something nice with you. Wether it be going on a date to a restaurant or, going to the movies or, simply just going on a walk in a field together, he would gladly do that.

•Olderbf! Price who will listen and give advice whenever you feel down. Wether it be, you being overwhelmed or, the kids are giving you a hard time or, if your job is burning you out.

•Olderbf! Price who wouldnt pick anyone else to be the mother of his children. The way you care and can always make them calm is admirable, the way on a night when hes worked a very long shift you would get up and calm the kids down doing whatever it takes and taking your time with it.

•Olderbf! Price who, whenever you’re alone will start becoming quite sexual around you, making you all flustered. His eyes roaming you as you wear your tiny pyjamas with an apron on that points out your ass and breasts while making him breakfast makes his hard-on grow. Him, getting up and walking over to you, you’re hips swaying from the sound on the radio before gasping at him groping your cheeks.

•Olderbf! Price who will grope your ass and tits whenever he can, even when your breasts are sensitive just after a feeding. He loves hearing you whimper that you’re sensitive. His head buried between them before taking your large, sensitive and pulsin nipple into his mouth, lapping at it and sucking at it while grabbing the other one.

•Olderbf! Price who loves big booty and big tittied bitches, so basically just you. So when you send him a photo hes always drawn to the ones of you squeezing your tits or showing your ass out of your new little dress you bought

•Olderbf! Price who will lick at your needy pussy for hours, just wanting you to squirt all over his face, occasionally leaving hickeys on your thighs. Then raising his head he goes back up to your plush lips as he kisses you softly, one hand on your neck, the other shoving two fingers in your pussy

•Olderbf! Price who always praises you, when you squirt atleast 3 times. “Good girl” “Thats it love” “Fuck, you love me touching your little pussy, hm?” “This pussy belongs to me”. But occasionally you’re hit with some degrading “Such a slut, wanting more hm?” “Dont make a noise, brat”

•Olderbf! Price who when he first shoves it in you, lets out a groan and leans down to your ear whispering, “i want to get you pregnant again, you being all round and swollen and wanting to get fucked even more is what i like. And you’re tits becoming all sensitive and swollen just how i like them” he would groan into your ear. But he stayed there listening to your soft moans of approval.

•Olderbf! Price who when he starts pounding into your lets out another groan, but of discomfort this time and he stops, you look up at him and then down at his leg and realise hes got a cramp, you chuckle and pull yourself out of him, laying him down on the bed till the cramp goes away

•Olderbf! Price who when the cramp goes away, gives you the best aftercare, he runs you a bath and helps you wash all the sweat off of you and your hair. And after he helps you into bed, you both being still naked he buries his head into your breasts, falling asleep

#codmw #cod mw2 #john price smut #john price x reader #john price imagine #captain john price #john price #cod imagine #cod x reader #cod mwii #cod modern warfare #cod #cod smut

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dilfsfordinner · 1 year ago

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a/n- this is how i cope with aot ending

pairing- husband gojo x wife!reader

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“Satoru, I’m back!” you called out, feet quickly slipping and kicking your shoes at the front door, arms struggling to keep the 10 grocery bags you had balanced from smashing to the floor.

“‘m sorry it took so long-” shuffling to the kitchen, you continued to talk to the open space, assuming your husband was actually listening, “-traffic was terrible. I didn’t even think it could snow this early.”

Your words trailed off into little mumbles, talking to yourself about every irritant you’d encountered in the grocery store. It was strangely quiet in the house, the usual squeals of laughter and giddy conversations gone from the common routine, the oddity oblivious to you and your focused state.

Leaning back with your hands on your hips, you sighed in relief, muscles relaxing as you took in your good work, cabinets full and refrigerator stocked, the kitchen now completely organized to perfection. Humming contentedly, the previous relief you’d felt turned awry, smile disappearing from your lips.

It was so.. quiet. Too quiet.

“..Toru.?” for the first time in the last 20 minutes, it had finally clicked that something was off. A kiss and hug weren’t given to you at the door, the tv was off, there was no nighttime bath running for Megumi. Everything was so still and silent.

Padding throughout the house, you quickly checked every room, the empty spaces throwing your brain into panic mode, all your worries coming to mind as you looked for your husband and little boy.

After your thorough search, one room remained, the door of your shared bedroom just the slightest bit ajar.

You were about to call for him again when a familiar tuft of white hair caught your eye. Pushing into the room, you took in probably one of the cutest sights you’d ever seen.

There, curled up in bed, fetal position, was your 6’6” husband, his chest slowly rising and falling with the pattern of sleep. Almost laughing at yourself for being so worried, you inched closer to your side of the bed, about to join him under the covers.

A patch of black hair stopped you this time though, little Megumi hidden in the pool of blankets that surrounded him and your lover’s bodies. Stifling an ‘aww’, you fought off the urge to film the two of them, Megumi’s little fingers clutching onto Gojo’s shirt as the two of them snored.

His tiny form was nuzzled into Gojo’s side, chubby cheeks pushed against Satoru’s ribs, drool collecting at the corner of his mouth, staining your man’s new, black sleep shirt, a fact you ignored as you imagined Gojo’s melodramatics certain to occur.

Although they acted like yin and yang, the way Gojo cradled him was so sweet, you really had to fight off the waterworks. His large hands held the little boy securely, long fingers resting on Megumi’s back and head, keeping him close, protecting him, like a real father would for his son.

Leaning down, you brushed Satoru’s hair away from his forehead, leaving a gentle kiss to his porcelain skin, then continuing to do the same to little Megs, the young boy’s breath hitching, dark eyelashes fluttering before his quiet snores started back up, fingers curling even tighter around Gojo’s sweater.

Tip-toeing to the door, you looked back one more time, the two of them nestled perfectly in a sea of blankets. “My sweet boys..” you murmured to yourself, shaking your head with a smile as you turned out of the room, clicking the door shut, leaving your two favorite people to their much needed rest filled bonding time.

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#gege’s gonna cry #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #gojo x reader #husband gojo #gojo satoru fluff #dad gojo #baby megumi #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo satoru x reader

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takes1 · 6 months ago

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bokuto fucking your insecurities away

i LOVE his character. very fun to write. would love to do any requests for him!! working on an oikawa request now :)

warnings. nsfw. conversations around body image issues info. nsfw / rough sex / friend sex / chubby!reader / insecure!reader / bokuto has a praise thing / impatient!bokuto / airhead!bokuto / sweet!bokuto / bokuto likes big girls / dumb dick bokuto / pool party setting / 2.3k words

haikyuu collection. more here. links. masterlist / my ao3 / request box

Watchful eyes tracked the arrival of a group of girls from the house to the poolside, all clad in their colorful swimsuits, hats, sunglasses, and smiles.

Bokuto bumped a serve up to Akaashi and grinned at the perfect opportunity to show off in front of you.

SLAM! Right into the water on the other side of the net, splashing Washio hard in the face.

He cursed loud at his unnecessary force, but quickly shut himself up when the girls came walking around the side of the pool. He pushed the water off of his face with flexed arms.

Something was wrong, though. Bokuto swam to the side of the deep-end and pushed his body up to sit on the edge despite the game going on.

"Hey!" He waved enthusiastically to a couple of girls and brought them over.

They were more than happy to bend over in front of his sculpted, shiny body, but his attention was only taken by your absence.

"Where's (Y/n)?"

They frowned and stood back up, half-heartedly mentioning that you wouldn't come out of the room they all changed in, and walked away.

That just wouldn't do. He turned to look at the house.

"Put a towel on before you go inside!!" Akaashi called, exasperated he even had to tell him.

"AAAAAHH!!" Was his response; as good at articulating his frustration as any that he had to jog the distance back for a stupid towel.

Akaashi rolled his eyes into setting another ball. Bokuto rolled his eyes, too, and slid the screen door open.

It was so cold inside, his skin prickled up instantly. He wished you'd just come out already-- enjoy the warm sunshine, let him rub sunscreen all over you, lay on his chest in the pool. His stomach pooled with heat at the fantasy of it all.

Oh, you were coming out of that room even if he had to drag you out.

Just before his hand grabbed the doorknob, he thought better for a second. A loud, rhythmic knock.

"(Y/n)!! Come outside!" He yelled into the door.

He didn't spare a single second more to linger when he heard a faint sniffle.

You weren't a mess, but your eyes were still stinging and you were not happy to be walked in on when you had nothing but an ill-fitting t-shirt over your bikini, even if it was Bokuto.

His proportions were ridiculous. Giant, hulking shoulders and a strong, wide back dipped deliciously into his tiny waist. Itty-bitty trunks showed off his powerful thighs, though he was dripping all over the carpet.

In a way, it only brought you back down to the feeling that you were not up-to-snuff to walk out in your bathing suit with all these athletic bodies outside.

"What the hell?" He yelled; not at you, just at the fact that you were clothed, and clearly trying to not cry.

A couple steps forward made you tense. He caught this, so he turned around and closed the door behind him.

Being soft wasn't one of his strong suits, but he tried with you.

His affinity for you was never-ending after he passed you one day in the hallway. One big, empty-headed smile was all it took to start your odd friendship. He used this one interaction to wedge his way up to 'studying' with your small, academic club.

His eccentricities made him charming and personable to talk to, but Bokuto was undeniably attractive and even more popular. So, you weren't sure why he associated with you, since he never paid attention in your study group.

You pushed the wet off of your face with the heel of your hand and tried to sober up a little, "I'm going home."

Your voice sounded so hoarse and weak, you regretted saying anything and not just walking out when you had the chance.

Bokuto laughed as if you were really joking.

Instead of trying to explain yourself to him, which historically never went well in your favor, you grabbed your pants off of the floor.

His gaze dropping and necessary palming of his growing ache wasn't subtle, but you couldn't see it. That tiny shirt didn't cover your ass; he had to savor the sight.

His head spun with confusion and the beginnings of frustration at the sight of more clothes, "What are you doing?"

He tried again, desperate to keep you from putting on those pants, and closed the distance between you, "Come oooon, let's just go out there and have some fun! We're playin' some ball- I want'cha to watch me win!"

His big, adoring eyes chipped at your guard. Instead of getting lost in them, you looked to the side, to the corner you were changing in when you first started feeling like this bikini was a horrible idea.

A frown made his entire face droopy when he saw your expression harden.

"I should've gotten a one-piece," You muttered.

It took a few moments for him to process what was so bad about that. It took him longer to come up with a response, which gave you enough time to shiver at the lack of space he gave you.

You felt horrible that you wanted to leave him, since he was the reason you were invited and had the courage to wear something like this in the first place. It just didn't stand up to how overwhelming the possibility of judgement might be.

Bokuto closed the gap even more so you'd look up at him, face set, "You always think too hard about this stuff."

Frustrated that he couldn't even grasp at the concept, you gripped your shirt harder.

He let up, physically unable to keep a mean mug on his face for more than a few seconds.

"I'm sure ya look real good-," His wild and unruly imagination inspired an obvious up-and-down with his eyes. Your heart skipped at his intense energy.

"So come on!" He tore himself away, grabbed your wrist, and didn't give you the chance to pick apart his tone, "Let's go!"

You weren't moving despite his jerk towards the door. A frustrated sigh made you feel a bit smaller.

He was pretty imposing when he was close to you, and not his usual high-energy self.

This topic of contention wasn't new. He brushed away your usual self-deprecating jokes, and called you cute on a number of occasions-- you thought it was a joke, or just politeness. But he never got irritated before.

"Need me to prove it?" His thumb hooked under his the hem of his trunks and pulled on them enough to make you give a quick, uneven:

"N-o,"

One uncontrollable glance down, and your face was burning fast.

You were pretty sure you just saw his dick. He laughed at your sheepish reaction and slapped a hand to the back of his neck.

"I dunno how else to convince you that you're fuckin' gorgeous."

You tried to pretend not to see him adjust, but he was watching you, like an owl waiting for his mousey dinner. It was difficult to not feel aroused and curious when you were so plainly desired and lusted after by this big, stupid hottie.

The air between you was warm and still.

After a moment of deliberation, your fingers gripped the edges of your shirt and you lifted it off. It was more of a test to see if he still felt the same.

"Damn," He sighed, lids heavy, thumb still hooked to his trunks.

His free hand guided your face up to his- you found no reason to deny him a needy, raunchy kiss. He was so forward, there was no room to doubt or overthink his intentions when his hands were filling with your hips and chest so fervently.

You had never felt so wanted before.

The ease in which he picked you up and set you onto the bed forced a startled moan against his lips.

He sucked a toothy kiss to the side of your mouth with a boyish giggle, "Sooo pretty."

This time, you took his compliment as it was intended. Unlike the countless other times he told you that and you assumed the worst.

He was only gone for the moment it took for him to wrench his own trunks off, leaving him completely bare with a generous size straining against the air.

Being naked truly didn't bother him at all. He looked so natural it was like he could walk outside like that, completely fine.

You envied his simplistic mind.

His cock was burning hot against your skin once he sandwiched it between yourself and his weight.

If there was one thing you could tell from his messy, rushed kissing, it was that he hated taking things slow. It took a few deliberate whines to keep him from yanking on the bottom piece of your bikini.

He melted at your successful efforts and the squeeze of your legs around his hips.

Your hands fluttered over his strong back, pushing, pulling, poking here and there at some hard muscles that you didn't even know existed. You wanted to enjoy as much of him as you could.

To keep his discomfort at bay, he rubbed himself against your softness, breath labored and hot on your lips.

"'Need you so fuckin' bad," He laughed, unable to cope with his peaked impatience.

This time you didn't fight his efforts to remove your bikini bottoms-- but you gasped at his unhinged lick to the inside, where you had been slowly getting them wet.

He tossed them to the side with a smile and pulled you to the edge of the mattress so he could stand. This was better for his control, in his opinion.

The guy had clocked this height to work before you had even expressed any interest much earlier.

Another few kisses you had to reign him in for and he was sliding against you, getting himself coated with your wet, yearning to be inside you already.

It helped that he gave you such a good view.

His hands kept your twitchy, plush thighs still as he pushed into you.

You gave a fretful sound, not quite as prepared for his size as you preferred.

A guttural groan escaped from him, one that only further proved his bottomless lust as valid. You watched his face tighten, then drop into something a bit sleepier- it helped you adjust better, feeling, seeing, hearing exactly how much he wanted you.

His big, strong hand grabbed the bottom half of your face, "That feel good, baby?"

He didn't wait for you to respond to him before stealing a few hungry, rough kisses from your puffy lips.

When he pulled away after stealing enough of your breath, his head flew back and left you to watch his taut, muscular body twitch and flex as he fucked deeper into your cunt.

An absolute piece of art was taking you, in a stranger's bed no less.

"Ah-h!" You whined as he set an intense pace.

His cock felt so good, stretching you out over and over again, and you gladly adjusted to his unquestionable enthusiasm.

A handsome, boyish sound was his giddy chuckle, "Ya like that?"

Those skilled, eager thrusts resonated throughout your entire body- he watched your tits bounce in your strappy top under him in a stupid daze. His hands were filled with the plush of your hips, constantly stretching to grab and pull more of you onto him.

He fucked you like he'd never get the chance to again. Under his touch, you felt like the most beautiful girl in the world. Nothing else mattered much in comparison.

"Fuck, yeah," It came out in a whimper, but still captivated him like you'd muttered some spell.

His satisfied moan at your affirmation was choked and uneven. He nabbed one of your wrists to place a kiss on, but his pussy-fixated brain could handle one thing at a time.

You needed him deeper- fuck, he looked so pretty panting on your wrist like that.

The squeeze of your thighs stalled him. His eyes were filled with a confused, yet intrigued restlessness when you pushed on him so you could flip over.

"Mm, yeah, yeah- That's so-o fucking hot!!" Bokuto whined.

He let you take the lead because he loved seeing your confidence shine through. It was beyond sexy watching you own it and put your ass in the air for him.

"Oh, f-uck," He moaned, breathless as he sunk into you.

You squeezed around him when he landed a hard slap on your soft, supple skin.

Yeah, this was all you needed. Next time you were feeling down, this perfect man could just fuck the insecurity out of you.

You settled into a deep stretch with a nice arch for him and felt a calloused hand pressing into your lower back to keep you still.

He certainly hated wasting time.

At this point you leaned into it, crying whiny curses into the pillow beneath you while he fucked you hard.

His heart skipped a few beat when you cried, uneven at each thrust, "Feel s-o good, Bokuto"

His nails dug hard into your ass, his breath getting choppier, voice raspy when he told you, "Been waitin' so long."

He laughed, barely swallowing his own whine at the threat of needing to cum so bad.

"You'll get this- h-ah," He winced, having to stall a moment when you clenched around him, "Nex-t 'ime you wanna act all fuckin' shy..."

Your climax was hard and fast, rendering you a bit lightheaded as he pounded his last few strokes out and finished all over your ass.

Everything was hot and hazy when he rolled onto his back next to you. You slid so you were laying onto your tummy.

His big, goofy grin was a bit cloudy in your vision: "One more?"

requests: open

masterlist

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lanabuckybarnes · 7 months ago

Text

Winter’s Girl

18+ Minors DNI

(I do not own any photos, credits to original owners)

Could you imagine being a scientist on the winter soldier program, your task is to make sure he’s at 100% before every mission. This time though, when you enter his holding cell he’s nowhere to be found.

Note: I HIT 300 FOLLOWERS; thank you guys so much I love you all xxxx

Pairing: Winter Soldier x Reader

Warnings: Translated Russian because I’m stupid and know one language, Jealous Soldat, use of the word Puppy/Pup as a petname, a lil Biting, Hair pulling, Spanking, Spitting, The Winter Soldier (he’s a warning), Creampie, He’s a little sweet at the end but there isn’t much aftercare— as always if I’ve missed anymore let me know!

Word Count: 1.2k (of porn with no plot)

You gaze flicks around the room, a little panic stricken but who wouldn’t be when a 6ft something assassin had seemingly disappeared from his cell.

The fear bubbling in your belly only triples when you face the long broken mirror that sat just above the sink, behind you his cerulean gaze was undeniable. His hands reach out, the cool metal one wrapping itself around the bottom of your face, muffling any protests, while the other gripped your hip with bruising fingers and pushed you forward till your pubis and upper thighs knocked against the sink.

Your hands fall on instinct to the cold metal as your fingers grip at the surface, when you flick your gaze up to the mirror you can see that what swims in his own orbs isn’t anger or the usual killer instinct, no— the Winter soldier looks at you with lust.

“красотка” (pretty) He whispers hoarsely against your neck, hot pants of air from his mouth coating your throat like paint. His teeth nip right at your pulse point before his warm tongue smooths over the mark.

When you jerk, his grip tightens, “don’t move” He stares at you pointedly through the mirror before both his hands retreat from your frame.

You vaguely register the soft sound of fabric hitting the cold floor before he swipes your own clothes from your body, the harsh air was harsh; it almost felt like dipping your body into a bath filled with ice.

He groans, loud and throaty as his eyes bore into your ass and panties. Despite the cool atmosphere of the cell you feel everywhere burning with a primal want. You wanted this, you had since the first time you worked with the Soldier. He smelled the way you slicked up at the sight of him in nothing but his briefs, blood dripping from his nose, a musky scent radiating from him that had you desperately soaked. He wanted this too, he needed the release and the best kind of toy was one that was willing.

You felt his fat tip press against your hole, pushing in and out softly over the thin lace before it slipped to stimulate your hard little nub. The strong grip on your hip was back, anchoring your feet in their exact spot.

“You need this?” He kissed sloppily up your spine, It sounded more like a statement than a question but you nodded all the same.

He worked quick after your confirmation. Your panties were pulled to the floor by their soaked gusset and two of his chubby metal fingers speared you, pulling a delightful sounded moan that the Soldier was desperate to hear more of.

They worked methodically, pushing in and curling out, your legs shook at every time the cool pads bumped over each pleasure filled rib.

Once he deemed you ready enough, his fingers slipped from your tight hole to jerk at his thick length, coating himself in your essence. He so desperately wanted to taste you but his cock was crying out for attention, he’d get his fill next time.

“F-fuck” you moaned loudly as he pushed in, all semblance of decency thrown out the window at the feeling of his fat cock stretching you, there was a burn from ill prep but with the size of him you weren’t sure there would be a way to prep. You were thankful that he let up for just a bit so your insides could mould to accommodate him.

When he started thrusting his pace was brutal, his meaty thighs slapping against your own, the sound mixing with the squelching push and pull of his cock along your fluttering folds. You’d thank his super soldier serum later for his constant pounding pace but right now you could think of nothing but him.

“Bucky!” you squealed as his cool digits flicked meticulously across your sensitive clit, your fingernails scraped mindlessly at the shiny plates of his forearm. He growled possessively at the slip of the name, his right hand fisting clumps of your hair to angle your head up to watch you both in the mirror.

“Does Bucky fuck you like this? Mm?” Jealousy dripped from his words as his metal hand smacked your rear hard before gripping the reddened flesh to cool the area.

You couldn’t think, you watched as your thighs jumped at each pound of his hips, the way your mouth had sat slack ever since he shoved his length into you, drool poured from your lips but you didn’t care— you couldn’t care— not with how cock drunk you were.

He smacked your ass again, this time when he gripped the flesh he pulled your cheek to the side, parting your ass before launching a fat glob of spit that ran from your tight little asshole to the spot where you two joined.

“I asked you a fucking question!” He pushed forward, teeth finding the lobe of your ear and biting down, the action pulling a squeaked moan from your swollen mouth.

“No-no he can’t, he can’t… please Soldier I’m so close” You wailed, one of your own hands travelling down to play with your neglected clit. The soft touch of your fingers had you jerking back to meet him.

“Mmm, Отчаянный щенок (desperate puppy)… you cum when I say you can” he was panting now, hips hammering into you at a slightly sloppier pace; It wouldn’t be long until he found his own release as well.

He moaned loudly, he had no control over his own body now, driven only by decades of primal unsatisfied lust. He thrust harder if it were possible, his wild blue eyes glaring at your fucked out face through the cracks in the mirror.

“You ready pup?” he asked between loud groans.

“Mmm, so ready солдат (soldier)” you slurred, your head hung loosely between your shoulders when his hand slipped down your spine, you’d lost all energy to hold it up ages ago— you’d been relying solely on the tight grip he had on your hair.

“Augh, shit” he growled almost animalistic through clenched teeth, his damp forehead settling on the silky skin stretched over your shoulder blades. He thrust deeply one last time.

“Cum angel…cum…cum on me” the words fell from his mouth along with slurs of broken Russian as he painted your walls white, his cock twitched against your vice grip as you silently screamed at your own release.

You hadn’t the faintest clue how long you two basked in the after glow of whatever you had just done, your mind only coming back to you when you felt his softening length pull from your aching heat. The feeling of your mixed juices slipping from your hole had you almost coming for a second time, especially when you felt his cold fingers drag up the mess it made in your thigh before he pushed it back into your core.

His arms lifted you up with him as he backed up until he sat on a rickety cot in the corner of the room. You had no idea if it would hold both your weights but it was the last thought to cross your mind when his thick arms wrapped around your waist, his flesh fingers rubbing soothing circles over your hip bone. He kissed you, tenderly, before flopping his head onto the almost flat pillow.

You were almost asleep when you heard the deep rumble of his voice behind you. “Who the hell is Bucky?”

I have an insatiable appetite for jealous Bucky.

I also desperately needed to write something for the world’s favourite Soldat because I would not sleep peacefully tonight thinking of this and not sharing.

Hope you enjoyed x

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br0kenangel · 4 months ago

Text

“𝒷𝒶𝒷𝓎 𝒶ℯℊℴ𝓃 𝓍 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒸𝒽 𝓇ℯ𝒶𝒹ℯ𝓇”

“𝒮ℯℯ𝒾𝓃ℊ 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊𝓃ℊ 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒸ℯ 𝒻ℴ𝓇 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒾𝓂ℯ”

The first time you saw him, the gardens were bathed in the soft golden light of late afternoon. You were gathering herbs for your potions, the fragrant leaves and flowers filling your basket. The quiet of the garden was interrupted by a rustling sound, and you looked up to see a tiny figure stumbling through the bushes. There he was, little Aegon, his silvery hair catching the sunlight like a halo. He had just started learning how to walk, his steps wobbly and uncertain. His tiny hands reached out to steady himself on the tall stalks of flowers as he made his way toward you. You sighed, a bit annoyed at the interruption. "Go away, little one," you muttered, waving your hand dismissively. "I'm busy." But the little prince was undeterred. He looked at you with wide, curious eyes, then tottered forward, his chubby legs working hard to close the distance. He tripped on a root and fell, but quickly pushed himself back up, determined to reach you. You huffed in exasperation and turned back to your herbs, pretending to ignore him. "Shoo, go find your nursemaid," you said, hoping he would lose interest and wander off. Instead, Aegon toddled right up to you and clung to your skirt with surprising strength. "Up!" he demanded, his voice a mix of frustration and determination. You looked down at him, your annoyance melting away as you saw the earnest look on his face. His violet eyes were bright with trust, and his small hands clung to your skirt as if he never wanted to let go. You couldn't help but smile. "Oh, all right," you said, bending down to scoop him up. "But just for a moment, mind you." As soon as you lifted him, Aegon wrapped his arms around your neck and buried his face in your shoulder, his giggles vibrating against your skin. His small body was warm and surprisingly comforting. "You're a stubborn little thing, aren't you?" you murmured, rubbing his back gently. He just laughed and nuzzled closer, making happy little sounds. You carried him over to a nearby tree and sat down, letting him settle in your lap. He looked up at you with a beaming smile, then pointed to a butterfly fluttering nearby. "Fly!" "Yes, a butterfly," you said, feeling a strange warmth in your heart. "It's very pretty, isn't it?" Aegon nodded, his eyes following the butterfly's every move. Then he looked back at you and patted your cheek with his small hand. "You p'etty." You couldn't help but laugh at that. "Flattery will get you everywhere, little prince." He giggled again, clearly delighted by your reaction. For a moment, you just sat there, holding him and enjoying the simple pleasure of his company. It was a small, unexpected moment of joy that made you realize how precious this little boy was.

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

#🐇ㅤ┊ㅤ𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 ˳ ㅤ ֹㅤ ꯭ ꯭ ̶ ̶꯭۫ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ ̶ 𔓕ㅤ 𓈒ㅤ֗#ㅤㅤ⠀ㅤ 𓇼ㅤ ㅤ𓂂ㅤㅤ ˚ㅤㅤ ◌ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏#hotd #house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen #aegon the second #hotd aegon #king aegon #aegon fanfic #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii fanfic #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd x you #hotd drabbles #tom glynn carney

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girlleon · 4 months ago

Text

SPACE BETWEEN

uncle!leon kennedy x fem!reader

warnings: uncle-niece incest, 18+. content below the cut, vomit (non-sexual capacity), age gap (early-mid 30s to late teens-early 20s). fingering, oral (f! receiving, piv, creampie… Leon’s kind of a simp and lame tbh. ddlg undertones, just a little. heaps of praise :3

i got inspired by uncle from nicole dollanganger tbh.

“I want to marry my Uncle Leon!” you said when you were seven, smiling up at him with two front teeth missing, chubby baby arms wrapped around his thigh.

Half-uncle, really, but that’s semantics. It’s like someone saying the sky is blue and another person saying it’s turquoise. They’re both right, one’s just really fucking annoying about it.

He also thought you’d say you wanted to marry your dad, because that’s pretty common with kids. Most girl’s dads or brothers are their first loves, so he was pleasantly surprised at the honor of being your chosen husband.

Unfortunately, you’re also seven, and that’s very illegal.

Your dad chuckles and doesn’t bother to try and peel you off. He tried that once and you went back to sticking to him like sweat, so he didn’t bother after that.

“Do you have a wife, Uncle Leon?” You ask him, smiling up at him so sweetly. You got those dimples from your mom, and he’ll never admit it, but they melt his heart just a little.

“No, sweetheart.” He reaches down and ruffles your hair. “I’m all yours for the taking.”

You beam up at him, even as he messes up your hair. “Good! ‘Cause you’re all mine!”

Your dad snorts, promptly looking innocent when Leon glares at him halfheartedly.

“That’s right.” Leon lugs you up into his arms, kissing your temple and giving you the faintest smile. “I’m all yours.”

He sees you a little less and less as the years wear on. He’s busy and you’re busy and grow from a sweet kid to a petulant preteen to an awkward teenager.

He’s still the first one you call, though, when you’re sixteen and drunk at a house party you shouldn’t be at. You’re swaying a little as he pulls up to the curb.

Leon leans over and opens the door for you—you toddle over and slam his door shut with a soft apology. “I didn’t wanna be there anymore.” You say, looking more than a little uncomfortable. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad, sweetheart.” He reaches over and rubs your shoulder. “I’m glad that you called me instead of your dad.”

“Thanks.” You’re a little tacky with sweat and smell like a brewery and some sickly sweet floral perfume when you lean over to put your head on his shoulder. Baby’s first grown-up perfume instead of the body spray they sell at bath and body works. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

“I’m still glad it was me.” Leon reiterates, kissing the top of your head. “C’mon, sweet girl, let’s get you home. Seatbelt on.”

You pull away reluctantly, buckling in your seatbelt with clumsy hands. “I know, I know. I got the riot act from my doctor when I got the physical done for the permit. Seatbelts yes, swerving no.” You grumble, pushing a sparkly hand through your hair.

He snorts, starting the car and pulling away from the curb. “Is that everything?”

“She said she’d pull my license if she caught me.” You reply, propping a temple on your fist. “‘Cause she’s a doctor and a mandatory performer—reporter. Mandatory reporter.”

Leon can’t help a quiet chuckle, even when you swat at him. “You got there in the end.”

The quiet roll of the car rocks you right to sleep, and he sneaks glances at you as he moves around pot holes and takes speed bumps slowly to avoid jostling you awake and fucking up his suspension. Cute, your nose still twitches like a bunny’s when you sleep. He thinks you got that from your mom too.

He gently wakes you up when he’s stopped in front of your house, reaching over and unbuckling your seatbelt before petting your head. “Gotta wake up, sweetheart, come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

You groan behind a closed mouth, face scrunching up. “No…”

He almost laughs. “Come on, I’ll help you up and out.” He unbuckles his seatbelt and jogs over to your side when he’s out of the car, opening the door and bodily carrying you out of the car.

The movement’s a little much and you gag, sweat breaking out on your skin.

Leon aims you away from himself just in time, rubbing your back as you puke loudly in your yard. He reaches over and holds your hair back with a grimace. “You’re alright. You’re okay. Just get it out.” He murmurs, rubbing your back once you stop retching.

When you straighten up, he wipes your mouth and his hand on his jeans. “You’ll feel a bit better in the morning.” Leon tells you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and leading you to the front door. You fumble a little for your house keys, but get inside after he kisses your temple and wishes you a goodnight. “‘Night, Leon.”

“Night.” He repeats, gently shutting the door behind you. He goes back to his car and drives home, that sickly perfume smell lingering on the seats like you personally cropdusted them.

Vanilla, white florals, he thinks he smells coffee before it lapses into a sort of acrid smell. Otherwise, perfectly inoffensive on you, perfectly inoffensive to anyone with a working nose, to be honest.

He wishes you’d wear something a little more offensive, strong, something definitively you. Florals tend to be powdery and come off as something an old lady would wear, and that’s not very sexy at all, is it?

Cherry, he thinks would fit you perfectly well. Strawberries. Maybe they make apple perfumes.

When Christmas rolls around, he does exactly that, after skulking around Ulta and eventually asking for perfume recommendations from an associate.

Leon comes back with something strawberry, something jasmine and red berries. He splurged a little bit on a gingerbread perfume, but he doesn’t mind, might as well have something festive to give you.

When it comes time to get the gang together, he tosses it all in a pretty, sparkly bag with blue tissue paper and a tag with your name on it because he’s shit at wrapping gifts.

You cling to him a little tighter with the greeting hug he gives you. Maybe you’re still grateful he didn’t snitch about the party.

Either way, Leon returns the tight hug and gives you a pointed smile as he asks, “How’ve you been?”

You, to your credit, barely flinch, though he can see in your eyes you know exactly what he’s talking about. “Been good, glad to be out of school for the next two weeks. Merry Christmas.”

He clicks his tongue, then disengages and steers you over to the living room and sits right next to you after depositing his gift for you under the Christmas tree. “Merry Christmas. Yeah, I bet. No more waking up at six in the morning for the bus at six-forty. Been staying out of trouble?” He gives you a sly look, head cocking just to the side.

Your eyes narrow at him playfully as you smile back despite yourself. “Yeah. I’ve been too busy with work to really get up to something bad.”

“Ah, that’s the way to keep it.” He slings an arm over the back of the couch, getting up after a moment to get himself a bit of eggnog, your mom’s recipe. “How much do you get?” He asks when he’s sitting down again, arm back over the couch.

And so it goes from there. You get the most of the spread of presents, being the kid and all.

Your mom and dad each got one another something and him some comfy clothes, he sorely needs them.

Whilst he was shopping for you, he ducked into some department store and got your parents some simple stuff. Soap, pajama sets and the like.

You look extremely surprised—and pleased? Leon’s heart might not take it if you hate the gifts—when you pull the perfumes out of the bag. “Whoa. How much did you spend?” You ask him immediately.

Leon scoffs, taking a sip of eggnog to hide a nervous shift. “It wasn’t much, they’re all samples.” The strawberries and cream one was like thirty-five bucks, so was the jasmine and red fruits one; he spent about fifty on the gingerbread one because he couldn’t find a smaller size than just an ounce. “Besides, I make the big bucks.”

Your mom sneaks a glance at Leon, then stealthily looks up the prices of the perfumes she can see, eyes going comically wide before she gives him a disapproving look. “Leon!”

“Yes?” He asks innocently, plastering on the most charming smile he has. Before she can start, Leon shakes his head, giving her a ‘don’t worry’ wave of his hand. “Come on, I make a hundred and twenty in a day.” More, actually, but still.

Your mom looks like she’s going to argue before your dad lays a hand on her shoulder and shakes his head with an amused look. “I’m putting a budget cap on the presents next time.” She decides after a moment.

Leon smirks, shooting you a wink. “Duly noted.” Then, he nods at you, manspreading because you’re on the floor. “What do you think?”

You pull off the caps of the perfumes and sniff them without spraying them, making faces with each sniff test. “Whoa.”

“Good?” God, he’s hoping you like them.

You nod, smelling the gingerbread one again. “Yeah. These are so cool.” Slowly, a smile spreads across your face. “Thanks, I love them.”

Relief loosens his chest a little. Leon gives you a smile. “I was hoping so.”

He stays over for dinner and maybe a little afterward, just catching up with the rest of you guys.

All too soon, it comes time to say goodbye, they hope he comes again soon to terrorize everyone with his extravagant presents.

He spends the most time hugging you goodbye.

You graduate in the spring and he makes sure to actually dress up for this occasion. Someone only ever graduates five times in their life—kindergarten, fifth grade, eighth grade, high school, college.

Leon’s wearing a suit that had a little dust on it when he dug it out of the back of his closet, the collar and tie is a little tight around his neck and he keeps fidgeting until nudged by your dad because you’re walking across that stage.

God, it’s so weird to see you all grown up.

He was one of the few to hold you after you were born before you started fussing for your mom. He babysat you a few times so your parents could go have a date night. He was over at your fucking house almost every other day because your dad wanted to hang with his half-brother.

He’s getting really old. He’s starting to reminisce the way their dad did about high school friends and the like. For fuck’s sake, he’s thirty-five, not sixty-five.

You get a picture from the photographer, grinning from ear to ear. It’s well deserved, you fucking hated high school, he remembers the complaints. Then you go sit back in your spot and wait to flip your tassel.

Finally, all the fucking pomp and circumstance is over with. Here endeth the high school.

He and your parents find you a bit afterward, all of them drag you into giant hugs before they go to the car and treat you to dinner before you get all your graduation cash with a side of birthday treats.

He got you another perfume, a sultry cherry scent.

Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ in the manger in the fucking Inn. Mary and Joseph above him. Leon might as well just go caving if he’s going to hell, getting trapped underground would be so much easier.

Leon has to put on sunglasses when he sees you in that American flag bikini the summer after you graduate, flapping his blanket out on the sand and posting his flip flops on opposite corners.

It’s a little on the nose for the holiday, but he’s more than willing to stand for the flag. He’s much more partial to kneeling, but standing works too.

He strips off his shirt and begins slathering himself in sunscreen because he’s gonna turn into a lobster in less than fifteen minutes, he’s calling it.

Your dad bets ten. Your mom bets five.

Lucky you, you got the tanning without burning genes, also from your mom. You go right in without worrying about sunscreen.

He sits there after taking off his sunglasses and spending an extraordinary amount of time trying to reach his back. Like he wants to be peeling the next time he has to go fight some BOWs.

At some point, you resurface from the water after he resigns himself to a burned back, picking up your towel and laying it around your shoulders to cushion your wet hair. “Need some help? You’re cooking.” You point vaguely at his semi-red back.

Leon stares for a second before wordlessly handing you his sunscreen and shifting so his back is to you. This is a sure fire way to avoid tempting himself.

He hears you snort when the bottle makes a funny noise, then the weird sound of your wet hands rubbing together as you warm up the sunscreen before applying it in broad sweeps around his back.

“You and dad burn so easily.” You mutter, still rubbing in the sunscreen. Your long nails graze his skin on occasion and he fights the urge to stiffen up.

“You’re lucky,” Leon says after swallowing quietly, “you got the tanning from your mom. Certainly didn’t get it from your dad.” His hands bunch up his trunks.

You snort again, rubbing away the last of the white streaks across his back before leaning back on your hands. “Or you.”

Well, he only shares about twenty-five percent of your DNA, that’s why. He learned that after an alcohol-fueled dive—and no less than five orgasms—in the incognito tab. In some places, if both parties are over the age of consent, incest is totally legal. Some can even get married.

He shifts so he’s laying down on his blanket, a soft and amused snort catching your attention. “True.” He crosses his arms behind his head, soaking up the sun now that he’s in danger of not burning to a crisp and missing the way your eyes linger just a little too long.

Turning twenty-one is a big occasion. You can get scratch offs, buy your own drinks, smoke if you damn well want to.

You, lucky girl, get two parties. One with family, one with your friends who can also drink.

Leon comes for the former that takes place the day afterward. Your parents and him didn’t wanna cramp your hot, early twenties style.

You guys go out to your choice of restaurant, then come back and have some celebratory drinks as you open your presents. Some cash, shirts, a new backpack, and some perfume, courtesy of Leon.

He went digging for the really niche ones and came back with one that smells like cat fur, cake, a bit of florals because female perfumes can never fucking escape florals. It was named for the ballet step, pas de chat. Step of the cat. He thought he’d try something out of the box.

You seem to like it, the way your face breaks into a smile. “Thanks. This is nice.” You spritz a little on your wrist and smell it, lighting up just a little bit.

Leon smiles back too, a tad softer than his usual sly smile he wears. He’s been told he has a bit of a smug face. “Yeah, you’re welcome.” He nods, raising his glass to you briefly.

He’s invited to stay over as long as he likes, or even stay in the guest bedroom if he wanted to, he’s informed by your parents as they go upstairs to bed.

Which is why he’s ruminating as he stares a hole through his glass, pondering the beer and the bubbles in it.

Leaving him defenseless to you slipping into his lap.

It takes him a second, but he gets there, eyes wide as he looks up at you.

Your perfume floats over once you sling an arm around the back of his neck, something sweet and warm that makes him want to tuck his face into your neck, your eyes remarkably clear despite the three margaritas you had. “What are you doing?” He asks after a second of just staring at you.

You give him a sly look, head cocking to the side. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Getting into trouble.” Leon’s empty hand lands on your lower back as he leans forward, setting his glass of beer on the side table, his once occupied hand landing on your thigh where your shorts rode up.

That feline smile remains on your face. “I’m rather good at that.”

He snorts, slowly rubbing your thigh. “I noticed. You’re welcome for not snitching to your parents that one time.”

You snort too, bringing him closer with the arm around his neck. “Yeah, I owe you my life.”

Leon nudges your nose with his, starting to smile slightly too. “You joke, but your mother would’ve killed you.”

“I think she knew.” You admit, shifting a little closer on his lap.

Leon’s hand slowly travels up your inner thigh, your legs parting for him just a little. He pauses, eyes flicking back up to you. “Are you sure?”

You nod, swallowing nervously. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

That’s that, then. He unbuttons your jean shorts one-handed, tugging down the zip gently, his grin widening when he sees the bit of lace visible on your waistband. “Planned this, did you?”

His eyes flick up to yours as he gently slides his hand between your underwear and shorts, gently cupping you through it, gratified when he sees you inhale sharply.

“Hoped, actually.” You admit near shamelessly, thighs spreading a little more.

“Well,” Leon can’t help feeling a little smug, slowly grinding the heel of his palm against your clit, “I hope you can be quiet.”

He dips his head down, nosing at your neck, down your collarbone and to your chest as his hand keeps slowly moving. He won’t be satisfied until there’s a wet spot.

The scent of your perfume grows a little stronger and his eyes flutter shut, his not busy hand pushing up your shirt at the back so he can rest his palm on your back.

He increases the pressure and you twitch a little, stiffening just a little. “Take this off.” Leon mumbles without lifting his head.

You tug off your shirt and he groans lowly, hiding his face back in your tits as he sucks and licks at the skin. He shifts his hand, gently dragging his fingers up before gently tapping your clit, then tucking his hand into your underwear, grinning fiendishly when there’s a puddle slicking you all the way up.

“Messy girl…” he can’t help taunting, biting down over your heart.

You whine just a little and he can literally feel all his blood rush south. It’s a surprise he didn’t faint, to be honest.

Gently, he pushes a finger in, cooing with a soft click of his tongue when you whimper. “Shh, shh, it’s ok.” He murmurs, pushing in all the way and waiting a little for you to get used to it as he messes with your clit so you stop clenching, chest heaving just a little. “You’re doing so good, sweet girl.”

Slowly, he begins pumping, making sure to graze your clit with his palm, getting himself all sticky. Maybe he’ll shake your dad’s hand with this one.

When you’re fucking yourself back, hips moving of their own accord, pretty mouth open, he adds another, curling them just until he feels that spongy spot and hitting it with precision. “There we go… that’s my girl.” Leon grins up at you, kissing your jaw as he fingers you open.

His hand is cramping just a little, but he’ll push through it for his girl.

“You’re doing so well.” He murmurs as he lays you on the couch, dragging down your bottoms as one hand slows down just a little. You whine and he clicks his tongue, pouting at you just a little before he kisses it off.

Once you’re naked, save for the bra—Leon likes the way tits look when they’re pushed out of the bra by a vigorous fucking—Leon whistles quietly, planting a kiss above your bellybutton piercing as he lays down between your open thighs. “So pretty, baby. So, so pretty.”

You have to slam a palm over your mouth when his own seals across your clit as his fingers keep moving inside you, speeding up just a little. He laughs, more vibration than sound, at least the way you feel it.

Watching you come for the first time will be seared into his mind forever. It started with the little things. Your chest was heaving, your thighs were starting to try and close around his head, your pussy starting to spasm.

Then, it happens. Your upper half snaps up, your eyes scrunching shut as you muffle what could’ve been a very incriminating noise if your hand wasn’t covering your mouth.

You sag back against the couch, chest heaving as Leon pumps his fingers and sucks you through it, leaning away and gently pulling his fingers from you when you start twitching.

“My poor baby.” He breathes, sucking his fingers clean before leaning up, hands bracketing the side of your head. “Good?”

You nod after a second. “Good.”

He gives you a soft smile, pushing some hair behind your ear. “That’s my girl.”

“I’m your girl?” You open your eyes, a little dopey smile across your face.

“‘Course, you’re my girl.” He leans down and kisses your forehead. “Always have been.”

Leon lives in fear of your parents finding out for at least a couple months. That’s what wakes him up in the night, not just memories from Raccoon City, Spain, Tall Oaks, et cetera.

God, he’d be hung by his toenails and skinned alive. Like when Willow killed Warren on Buffy, but a lot more drawn out because your dad would be in on it too.

You guys are at a vacation house the night you two first have sex.

It starts the same way him fingering you on the couch did. You slide into his lap long after everyone’s gone to sleep, he gets his fingers wet when you guys are in his room.

His room is a little further from your parents room than yours, hence the choice.

He lays you down and gets you off another time to hopefully make this painless, tangling a hand with yours. Only when you push at his head does he stop, grinning like a fat cat.

Leon doesn’t smile when he pushes in, watching you carefully for when he needs to stop and let you breathe.

Slowly, he’s seated balls deep inside you, hands on either side of your head. “Good, baby? Are you okay?” He pushes some of your hair back, relieved when you turn your head and kiss his palm.

“Good.” You reach a hand down and feel around, smiling slightly when he winces.

“Jesus, give me a moment. I’m not as young as I used to be.” Leon mutters, shifting a little so he can spread your legs a little more, hands dimpling the fat of your thigh.

You gasp quietly at the shift and nod, one hand over your tit, the same one he marked when he fingered you on the couch. “Leon…” you breathe, moving your legs to wrap around his waist.

“I know, baby, I know.” He whispers, gently shifting before drawing back and thrusting in.

Your eyes scrunch shut as you let out a soft yelp. Quickly, Leon settles his palm over your mouth, shifting so his weight is on his opposite elbow. “Hush, sweetheart. Don’t want your parents busting in, huh?”

You shake your head, face settling into a blissful expression as he starts moving, little sounds punched from you from each firm roll of his hips.

“That’s my girl.” He smiles down at you, leaning down and licking up the sweat from your neck all the way up to your earlobe, kissing it and hiding his face in your neck. “My pretty baby girl.”

Leon lifts his head up, his face hovering by the side of yours as he grins. “I got you. I got my girl.”

Ah, the praise gets to you, just a little bit. He can tell because you get a little tighter and he has to fight so this doesn’t end too early.

He’s a gentleman, he refuses to come before you.

“Can you be quiet, baby? Wanna play the quiet game?” He chuckles when you nod, removing his hand so he can play with your clit and get you just that extra bit closer.

This close, he gets to watch you pause before your upper half snaps up again, your arms wrapping around Leon as you gasp into his shoulder.

It’s your orgasm that undoes him, his hips stuttering before he fills you up, collapsing on top of you as he gasps, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead as his body to yours.

To mom and dad:

I’m really sorry if I worry you both. Leon and I know you wouldn’t approve, which, for obvious reasons, makes sense.

Trust me when I say we love each other. I’ll still be studying, it’s not like he wants me to drop out.

I love you guys so much. Please don’t be mad.

#mine #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you

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dirty-jammies · 1 year ago

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Late Night Desires 🌙❤️

Astarion x Fem!Chubby!Reader x Halsin

(Reader is AFAB and is referred to with she/her pronouns and terms like "good girl". )

AN: Pure self-indulgent smut because I have Feelings about Halsin's fingers. You ONOW these two would just adore spoiling a cute plus-size princess~ Enjoy!! (Psst! There's a surprise at the end!!)

-~-

Your other party members have long-since fallen asleep, but in a secluded part of the surrounding woods, atop soft grass, you were giving your lover a midnight snack…

You hummed as Astarion’s lips pressed a gentle kiss to the column of your throat, the elf’s tongue darting out to catch the last few dribbles of your blood from the dainty puncture wounds on your neck. You sighed, the usual lightheadedness settling in and your lover pulled you to rest against his chest.

“Decadent as always, darling,” Astarion murmured softly, his arms cradling you close, “you're far too good to me.”

You hummed blissfully and let out a breathless laugh as those dexterous hands of his moved up the soft curves of your body, fondling your plush waist all the way up to your bosom, “Need anything else, my love?” You teased.

Astarion laughed in reply, “How did you guess?” Those hands set about undoing your shirt, flying flawlessly over the buttons and clasps, you watched him work with a smile. Lockpicking or lovemaking, Astarion was certainly masterful with his hands.

Your pale paramour must have noticed your gaze, as he smirked down at you as your shirt fell open.

“You want my fingers tonight, my lovely,” it was less of a question and more of him stating the obvious. Either way, you bit your lip and nodded, legs spreading almost subconsciously; your bloodlessness had rendered you docile and dumb - just the way Astarion liked it. Astarion grinned, bloodied fangs glinting in the moonlight that bathed the small grassy clearing you were in, “Such a good girl for me, already spreading your juicy thighs… lift your hips for me.” he commanded and you obeyed, him watching lecherously as he rolled your leggings down over the plump swell of your thighs.

Now fully bare to both the elements and your lover’s hungry gaze, you swallowed, excitement swirling in your heart and your loins. With your legs spread as they were, your arousal was on full display.

Astarion did away with his shirt as well, leaving his pale skin almost glowing in the moonlight. You saw his nostrils flare and his pupils dilated, “Oh, darling, do you know you smell absolutely divine when you’re like this, wet and desperate for me?” He spoke lowly, roughly, “I normally find your scent delectable, but like this?” He leaned down and kissed you, nearly growling against your lips, “I just want to devour you.”

You gasped as his fingers finally made contact with your core, easily sliding through your slick folds. You moaned and whimpered as Astarion played around your opening, circling your clit for a brief, bright moment before going back down to smear your slick around more. You opened your mouth, wanting to beg him to put those maddening fingers in you already, when a noise alerted you. You nearly missed it, quiet as it was, but both you and Astarion were perceptive enough to pick it up: a groan. Instantly, your heads turned to face the tree line, expecting an undead or a bandit.

What you didn't expect to see was a shirtless, seven-foot tall druid with his cock in one hand, the other clasped over his mouth, mortified.

You reflexively went to reach for your clothing to cover up, but you were stopped as Astarion finally plunged two fingers knuckle-deep into your pussy. You keened loudly and your head tipped back, feeling embarrassment war with your arousal at the needy sound you let out. You heard Halsin give another groan, muffled by his hand but still apparent, and you watched Astarion’s mouth widen into a grin. You moaned as he fluttered his fingers inside you, pressing upwards into the soft, spongy spot that made you whimper his name.

“Now, now, darling,” Astarion scolded you playfully and leaned back, putting your body on display for Halsin, “don't hold your voice back. Let our guest hear your pretty little screams.” he kept massaging that spot inside you and you gasped, writhing in the grass below your lover. You craned your neck over to look at Halsin, and you felt a jolt of arousal burn through your body at the sight of the normally calm druid bracing himself against a tree, mouth open and letting out ragged pants as he fisted his cock. His hazel eyes were darkened with lust and were focussed intently on where Astarion’s fingers were buried in your wet heat before they flicked up to lock with yours. Your lover kept up his pace, swirling his fingers inside you and prodding your sweet spot. He clicked his tongue, “This is fun enough, darling, but… what would you say to letting Halsin have a go at you?”

You couldn't answer, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to ecstasy. Astarion huffed and yanked his fingers out of you, making you whine.

“Please! Please…” you begged mindlessly.

Astarion lightly pinched your clit, “‘Please let Halsin come over here and fuck me with his massive fingers’?” He supplied for your sweet, speechless self, “I thought you'd never ask, darling.” You could barely hold back an excited smile.

Astarion curled one of his fingers towards Halsin, who put himself away (causing his leggings to strain over his bulge) and sheepishly approached the two of you.

“Forgive me for intruding,” Halsin spoke lowly, “I heard noise out here and wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

Astarion hummed and ran his hands over your spread thighs and soft stomach lovingly, “And once you deduced the source of the noise, you figured you would enjoy a free show?”

“It has… been a while,” Halsin admitted, kneeling next to Astarion and raking his eyes over your supple body, “May I touch you?”

You nodded and reached out to him, taking one of his large hands in your own, “Yes, I can’t lie, I’ve been wanting this for a while,” You guided Halsin’s hand to your chest, letting him feel your racing heart. You looked back at Astarion, who was watching Halsin’s hand slide down your chest with a filthy smile, “Both of you, touching me.”

Astarion laughed lightly and trailed his nails, sharp and ticklish, over your soft thighs, “Such a naughty girl we have, don't we, Halsin?”

“Quite,” Halsin rumbled, his large hands finding your breasts and he smiled at your moan, “What a wonderful body, so soft and sweet…”

“Isn’t she just?” Astarion cooed and helped maneuver you into a new position, leaning you back against his chest. His lithe arms wrapped around your body, “Her breasts, her stomach, these delicious thighs and her arse…” he listed, humming as he pressed a warm kiss to the nape of your neck. You could feel the hardness in his tight pants pressing against your cushiony rear, “they’re all exquisite. She makes me simply ravenous.”

At the praise and the two sets of hands exploring your body, you felt your arousal start to grow again. Halsin’s hands were huge, caressing your breasts gently and thumbing your nipples like a string instrument; you could tell he was holding back.

“You don’t have to be too gentle, Halsin,” you spoke, voice trembling as Astarion’s hands sank into your plush waist, holding you steady as he ground his covered cock against your ass, “You can touch anything you want, h-however you want.” Your breath was getting heavier, anticipation making you wet. Halsin seemed to sense it, his nostrils flaring as he took in your heavenly scent.

“So generous,” Astarion purred from behind you before nipping a fresh mark into your neck, a quick spot of cold amidst the warmth of their caresses, “Go ahead, Halsin, I want to see you ruin her.” The vampire’s voice was low and heated and you shivered in anticipation as Halsin's hands left your breasts to travel down your supple form.

“Your body is magnificent,” Halsin rumbled lowly, as if to himself as his hands felt up the soft swell of your belly, “like a Goddess of bounty and fertility…” he locked eyes with yours and you let out a soft moan at the sheer intensity behind his gaze.

Astarion purred and licked up the new blood he drew, “You want to breed her? I don't blame you, her body is practically begging for it,” his soft hands reached down and you felt heat rush to your face as he spread you open, parting the soft folds of slickened skin to show off your hard little clit and needy pussy to Halsin, “Open her up, she’s dripping for you.”

Halsin groaned at the sight of you and he bowed his head, almost in reverence. You could see a smile bloom on his face as his fingers played around your impossibly soft, pillow-like mound, fluffy with hair. It was ticklish and infuriating, it wasn’t enough.

“Please, Halsin,” you whimpered, squirming in Astarion’s hold before he bit you for your disobedience, “Ah! Halsin, your fingers…” you bit your lip and stilled yourself, hoping he would fill you up where you needed most.

“Start with two,” Astarion commanded and you could hear his smile, “she can handle it.”

Halsin nodded and you gasped in surprise as he leaned in to kiss you, full, slightly-chapped lips caressing your own tenderly. Your gasp turned into a loud moan as two of Halsin’s thick fingers slid into you. Astarion opened you up with two of his earlier, but Halsin’s were far thicker, they stretched your walls, eased by your natural lubrication, and you clenched around them needily. You whined into Halsin’s mouth as he gently started fucking his fingers in and out, slow and steady, making your hips grind down onto his hand. Halsin groaned and sucked on your tongue, spreading his fingers inside of you and making you moan.

“Silvanus preserve me, you’re hotter than a brushfire,” the druid panted, “and so tight and wet…”

“Isn’t she positively intoxicating?” Astarion shifted you so you were straddling Halsin’s lap. You instinctively wrapped your arms around Halsin and nuzzled into his neck. You heard the quick snaps of buttons being undone and you could tell Astarion was touching himself, watching his lover be pleased by another. The vampire groaned, “Give her another.”

Your eyes widened slightly, about to object as you were still getting used to two of those thick digits inside you, but all thoughts of stopping immediately left your mind as Halsin’s ring finger pushed into you and pressed firmly against your sweet spot.

“Oh, Gods!” You cried, voice high. Your eyes rolled back into your head as you were stretched further than you have been before. You could feel your pussy pulse around Halsin’s fingers and drool even more slick around them. It burned, but it was so good, “They’re so big…” you panted and put a hand on Halsin’s broad, hair-dusted chest.

“Is it too much?” Halsin asked, rubbing your back with his free hand soothingly. His fingers were still.

You shook your head, “No, it's good,” you looked up to him, all hazy eyes and warm cheeks, “Please, go on?”

Halsin smiled and took a deep, steadying breath, “As you wish.” He slowly withdrew his fingers until only the tips remained, and you whined at the loss before they slid back into you, making you moan again.

Slowly, he continued this steady rhythm, getting you ready, getting you wetter. You relaxed in his hold, taking in his scents of musk and cedarwood.

“Does that feel good, darling?” You heard Astarion purr from the side, “Oh, he’s treating you so well~”

At the praise, you felt the Druid's breathing hitch, and, gone as you were due to blood loss and lust, you picked up on Halsin’s apparent praise kink pretty quickly, “Yes~ Halsin, you feel so, so good!”

“You two will be the end of me,” Halsin chuckled and pushed you back to lay on the grass. His fingers curled upwards and pressed into your soft spot, making you cry out, “There we go, now we can both see you.” Halsin pressed one hand on your belly, appreciating the softness as he once again started moving his fingers.

This time there was no restraint, Halsin plunged his three thick digits in and out of you fast and deep, and you couldn't contain your noises. Sweet moans and whines as Halsin fucked you, stretching your cushy walls and using his palm to rub your clit on every inward thrust. Your head thrashed around, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to your peak. In and out, in and out, in and out…

“Fuck yes,” you heard Astarion moan, “Fucking give it to her, make her cum!”

Halsin was panting at this point, his other hand mindlessly groping every soft swell in your body; your jiggling tummy, your bouncing tits, your pillowy mound, everywhere. His arm was like a piston, filling you up and hammering you until, finally-

You screamed, back arching, body shuddering, clenching and squirting around Halsin’s fingers. Your hands fisted in the grass under you, toes curling. Your mind went blank as pleasure overtook you, feeling nothing but Halsin’s warm arms holding you steady.

“Shit!” You heard Astarion grunt, and you knew he had come as well. You could see him out of your peripheral vision wipe his hand clean on the grass next to him.

“There you go,” Halsin groaned, thrusts slowing the tiniest amount, fucking you through your orgasm, “there you go, good girl…” he took your face in his other hand, caressing your cheek gently, “Beautiful girl…” he pulled his fingers from you with a wet squelch, and you and Astarion moaned as he licked up your flavours from his hand.

You could do nothing but catch your breath with a smile, feeling lighter than air as you bathed in your afterglow. You looked up at Halsin, then over his shoulder as Astarion sidled up beside you two.

“Did you enjoy that, darling?” Astarion purred and wrapped his arms around Halsin’s broad chest.

“Yes.” Both you and Halsin sighed at the same time, making Astarion laugh, light and playful.

“Good to hear,” the vampire hummed and dragged his lecherous gaze up and down your plush, pliant body, “mmh… Halsin certainly did a number on you, didn't he, love? But we shouldn't make our guest go without,” he pouted, “that would be terribly rude.”

You sat up, letting out a little moan as you put pressure on your oversensitive, well-fucked pussy, “You’re right. Halsin,” you looked up at the druid, all doe eyes and soft cheeks, “what else can we do for you?”

Halsin let out a gruff laugh, “You’ve already been so generous, but,” he rubbed a large hand on your thigh fondly and turned to look at Astarion with simmering heat in his eyes, “I would enjoy just about anything you two have in mind.”

You and Astarion shared a dirty look. You had something in mind, alright...

AN 2: Polls??? In MY smut!? Lol I was a little stumped on just how to get Halsin off, so I figured why not get some reader interaction going and let y'all vote? Don't worry if I don't do your fav pick, I'm planning on writing loads more of these guys -w-

I hope you enjoyed! And don't forget that your comments mean a lot to me! 😚💕

#bg3 astarion #bg3 halsin #astarion x reader #halsin x reader #halsin x astarion #fat reader #chubby reader #female reader #Pajama Writes #Baldur's Gate 3 smut

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y2kbeautyandother2000sstuff · 4 months ago

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BBW Plumeria Chubbies Votives

1990s

Found on Ebay, user new2usales

#bath and body works #vintage bath and body works #bath and body works plumeria #1990s bath and body works #vintage bath and body works candles #bath and body works plumeria chubbies #bath and body works plumeria candle #1990s bath and body works plumeria #1990s bath and body works home fragrance #1990s candles #1990s fragrance #plumeria #plumeria chubbies #bath and body works plumeria chubbies #1990s nostalgia #plumeria candle

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morning-star-joy · 9 months ago

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some sweet ending

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x F!Reader

Summary: A lazy night of domestic bliss.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI Smut. Handjob, v fingering. Domestic life kink, competence kink, praise kink. Sub!Arthur. Vocal!Arthur. Subtle orgasm denial. Premature ejaculation if you squint. Established relationship/marriage. Chubby!Arthur. Mention of past canon-typical violence. Cigarette smoking. Mention of food/eating. Post-Canon, no TB, Arthur Morgan gets a happy ending with lots of love and orgasms. Arthur's POV.

Wordcount: 1.9k

masterlist || ko-fi || updates blog

dividers by @saradika

The unbearable heat of the summer day eases just slightly as it transitions to night, but it still leaves a light sheen of sweat on Arthur’s skin as he lays back on the bed, naked as the day he was born to try and combat the heat.

“Hotter than the devil’s asscrack out there,” he grunts, brushing a hand through his hair, still damp from the bath you’d forced him to take after a long day of hard work out in the sun.

Not sharing my sheets with a smelly, sticky ol’ cowboy, you’d ordered him towards the bath you’d drawn with a pointed look, and he was off to do what you commanded with little more than a sigh.

You hum beside him at his crude comment on the weather, curled up on your side and facing away from him, turning another page in the new dime novel you’d coaxed him to pick up on his latest run into town for supplies. “Charming.”

“That’s what they always call me,” he sighs out sarcastically, and you do huff a quiet laugh at that. It’s a beautiful sound, your laughter; one that has always been more reminiscent of pure music than something human to him, and it curls a smile up onto his lips.

Arthur leans over to rustle through the nightstand, pulling out a cigarette to place between his smirk. He lights it and settles back into the pillows, and you’re turning onto your back to mimic his movements, propping up against him even when he grumbles in protest at your added body heat.

He makes no real effort to shake you off, though. Not when your hand subconsciously finds his knee, seeking the connection between you, even when he was right here and never going anywhere again.

Your fingers, just as callused as his from years of running as outlaws, slowly stroke along the inside of his knee. The touch is borne from familiarity of the most primal, most loving kind; the joining of flesh and meeting of hearts; the simple gem embedded into a slim band, glinting in the low, flickering lamplight when your fingers keep retracing the same lazy circle on his skin.

When you reach the end of your page, Arthur watches your brows furrow, your hand clasping at the bottom of the book fidgeting. It takes a moment before he realizes you were trying to turn to the next page without removing your hand from his knee.

The simple, silent act of not wanting to separate from him tugs at the fondness of you that had found a home in his heart years ago, a silent admiration that had turned into love and devotion somewhere along the way.

He holds back a chuckle before he grabs the top corner of the page, tugging it from your grip on the bottom of the novel and turning it for you. Your head ducks further into the pages, but he sees the smile turning up the corner of your mouth, and a huff of amusement blows smoke out around the cigarette still perched between his own lips.

Slowly, your hand slips from his knee and up his leg, the muscles tensing in his thigh when your fingernails graze alongside it. The traitorous twitch of his cock between his legs in the soft moment isn’t lost on either of you, but you continue to draw those same lazy circles on his thigh.

Each stroke draws you closer inwards, until your nails scrape up along the V of his hips and pull a quiet grunt from his throat.

Arthur only lasts a few more passes of your nails up and down that line before he’s mumbling around the cigarette, “Sweetheart…”

You hum again, taking the cue and dragging your fingers up towards his soft belly, rounder from the years of eating well and not running for your lives. He hadn't been too fond of it for a while, but you had certainly found more…unorthodox ways to change his mind about it.

Dragging your fingers through the thick hair that grew more coarse the further down you went, he sucks in a sharp breath when you reach the base of his cock, tracing it with the tip of your trigger finger as the smoke fills his lungs and sends a rush through his head.

He’d watched that finger press down on the trigger of your trusty shotgun for years, watched you take lives time and time again, for the gang and for him. And now you used it to tend to your ranch and undress him and Jesus he was already so fucking hard it hurt, especially with the way you kept—

“Goddamn teasing me,” Arthur grits through clenched teeth, and your laugh is so airy, so wonderfully carefree, because you had all the time in the world now.

No more camps, no more keeping quiet and finishing fast in tents with the flaps sewn closed.

This house was yours, something you’d built from the ground up together, and you could take all night taking each other apart. You could make him sing, and you would, after so long of making it clear just how much you adored the sounds of pleasure he once was so baffled that he could even make for you.

Another thing he didn’t believe you could actually enjoy, not until he cupped your cunt through your bloomers on one night of making him moan and whimper until his throat was sore, and found you completely soaked for him.

“You still get hard so fast for me,” you whisper, your hand gently wrapping around his throbbing cock until you have it in a tight fist, giving it a tug that pulls a whine from deep in his chest.

Sweat from the hot night coats your palm, making each stroke and twist easier, and he’s already melting back into the pillows, free hand grabbing around your waist for purchase as his hips thrust up to smack against your closed hand.

“Only for you,” Arthur whispers, eyes half-lidded as he stares up at the ceiling of your bedroom, in your home, taking another idle drag from the cigarette as you lazily jerk him off.

He can hear the smirk in your voice when you murmur, “Good boy,” and he would’ve been lost right then and there if you didn’t wrap your hand around the base of his cock and squeeze.

Arthur’s whimper is choked, hand spreading across your sternum and slipping up to cup the swell of your breast through the chemise that sticks to your skin in the heat. He feels your legs shift beside him, a soft moan leaving your own lips when your thighs rub together, and he squeezes his eyes shut, breathing hard through his nose as he tries to hold on for you.

“Turn my page,” you whisper your order, and his shaky hand is leaving your body in an instant to follow your command. The loss of his palm on you makes you whimper, and he bites his lip when your hand leisurely slides back up his cock to circle that damned trigger finger around the red, leaking head.

Taking these kinds of orders from you, trusting you enough to guide him, had become a sweet relief after years of having to be such a strong, immovable force for everybody who always needed something from him. And everybody always needed something from him.

Where he was now, his life with you—it was the first real choice Arthur had made for himself in…hell, maybe ever.

You didn’t need him to be here, you would be just fine on your own, as would he.

But this was what you wanted. It’s what he wanted. When everything went up in flames, you were both left standing together amongst the ashes.

And once every loved one who remained was taken care of, this was your first choice. The only choice. One you both made together, steps you took beside each other, even if neither of you were sure just where it’d get you.

That faith his mentor had always wanted—Arthur had always had it.

It just was meant for you.

His fingers hastily push up your chemise, slipping down to drag between the soaked lips of your pussy. All it takes is the way he easily sinks a digit into your wet heat, your walls welcoming him in and sucking him down to just the first knuckle, before he’s spilling in your palm.

You ease him through it, like you always do, whispering soft praises as you lean down to kiss along the inside of his knee, giving gentle tugs of his cock until all the spend you could get out of him mixes with the sweat on his stomach.

Arthur only takes the time to put out the dangerously burned down cigarette before he tugs you back when you try to get a washcloth to clean him back up, replying to your sweet, loving assurances that you would be fine with his own assurances that he wanted this, he wanted you.

Because you were his best girl, his goddamn wife, and he wanted to see that beginning of want in your eyes dissolve into the dazed, relaxed look of complete ecstasy. You may be fine without being returned what you gave, but he never would be.

And so you end up straddling the mess you had made him leave on his own stomach. He pumps one finger into you until you can take two, two until you can take three, and it’s not long before you’re grinding down along his hand, your own name forgotten.

His large hand palms at your tits before he grabs one, massaging the soft flesh while his fingers curl inside you, and your eyes roll back into your head. Hips rolling desperately, your slick coats his bottomed out digits, dripping down to his wrist until you are coming with a cry of his name, and Arthur grins.

He never really smiled before you.

You smile too, and it doesn’t fade. Not even when you collapse on top of him, and you’re both a mess of miserably hot, sticky limbs, but at least the last tendrils of pleasure linger, tying you together in sweet bliss that makes you hum happily.

Arthur hums quietly along with you, lips finding your forehead in a gentle kiss. He mumbles against the warm skin there, “What was that you was sayin’ earlier? Somethin’ about your husband bein’ a smelly, sticky ol’ cowboy?”

Your palm smacks against the old scar on his shoulder, something that finally doesn’t hurt anymore, and laughter rumbles from his chest as you lay your head on it.

“Shut up,” you grumble, even as you snuggle into him and kiss the healed over skin gently. He welcomes you in close, despite the mess between you.

Then, not a moment later: “I love you.”

Arthur smiles again as he whispers it back to you, and that smile stays when you both get up to gently wipe each other down, crack open the window to let a gentle breeze into the hot, sex-scented room, then crawl back into your bed.

As he watches your face relax with sleep, and feels the call towards dreams himself, he vaguely remembers a time where part of him had longed for the end.

Now, he just can’t wait to grow old with you.

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