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brokenmenswhore · 5 months ago

Note

Omg sooooo true about all the Jace fics being so soft!! But did you see that man this season! The sass, the angriness, the hatred for his enemies. He finally had a voice and it was so fucking hot!! Please give me more rough sex with Jace!! Bonus points for choking pretty please!!

don’t gotta ask me twice, this isn’t super long but i think you’ll still enjoy it ;) i also have another ask that just says more mean rough jace so here ya go

if you don’t leave soon | jacaerys velaryon

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader

warnings: choking, smut (MDNI 18+), wax play

────── ☾ ──────

Jacaerys was always handsome to you, but lately, he was hot. Like really, really, hot.

When you were present at council meetings, you noticed that Jacaerys would actually speak up and make his voice heard. He was becoming more vocal toward his mother as well, and was truly asserting himself as heir to the throne. Ever since his business in Winterfell, he wore his hair down, his natural dark curls framing his exquisite bone structure perfectly.

He was always frustrated as of late, and the veins on the hand that rested on the hilt of his sword would tense and flex as he gripped it tighter and tighter. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

You couldn’t get him out of your head.

Even just being in the same room as him turned you on, your legs clenching together in your seat as your body instinctively turned toward him.

He was consuming your every thought, every move, and every dream. It became unbearable. Your desire for Jacaerys was controlling your entire life.

You needed air. You needed to spend the hours in the dead of night distracted, rather than in your chambers with your hand between your legs and Jacaerys on your mind.

You tied your robe closed around your nightdress, taking a deep breath as you snuck out of your chambers and headed toward the outdoor overlook, in desperate need of the nighttime air on your face to calm your desires down.

You slowly creaked open the door to the council room, intent on just passing through to arrive at your destination, when you saw Jacaerys seated at the council table.

He was slouched in his chair, an elbow resting on the table as leverage for him to rest his head in his palm. He was inspecting the table, deep in thought. So deep, in fact, that he didn’t even hear you come in.

You were a mere few feet behind him when you broke the silence. “Jace?”

Jace’s body jolted slightly when you spoke, violently snapping him out of his trance. “Hey.”

“Are you alright? It’s rather late,” you asked.

“Just thinking,” he answered, his eyes still transfixed to the table in front of him.

“I do not wish to disturb you,” you said, unsure of what else to say, but you didn’t make an effort to leave.

Jacaerys lifted his head and finally turned toward you. “You are not disturbing me.”

You gave him a small smile in response. The air was thick between you two, the silence awkward and deafening. The flames from the candles on the table flickered, illuminating his features as they danced. He looked so pretty. You couldn’t move, you couldn’t speak, and most importantly, you couldn’t look away.

You had to say something. You couldn’t just awkwardly stand somewhat behind him and stare at him forever, but you desperately didn’t want to leave. “Want some company?”

Jacaerys smiled at you. “Sure.”

You sat down in the chair closest to him. He was at the head of the table, and you were seated beside him, slightly around the bend. You were turned toward him, allowing you to watch him even more.

You sat in silence for several minutes. You were in awe of his beauty, his appearance in the late hour driving your hormones wild.

Jacaerys finally spoke first. “I secured a partnership in the Riverlands today.”

It was not at all what you expected him to say, but you were happy that he was finally speaking to you. “On your own?”

“Mhm,” he responded, toying with one of the model towers on the table, “I didn’t alert my mother I was leaving. I just went and did it.”

“She must have been very pleased with your initiative,” you told him.

“And yet she still refuses to utilize my talents,” he sighed, knocking over the piece he was toying with, his voice slightly raising at the end of his sentence as his frustrations made themselves known.

You looked to the piece rolling around the table, and then to him. “I’m sure she only wants to keep you safe.”

Jacaerys threw his head back, leaning on the chair and letting out a frustrated sigh. “She needs me if she wants to win this war.”

“I agree,” you said, the words coming out before you could think them through.

Jacaerys tilted his head down just enough to see you. “You do?”

You adjusted your robe in your lap. “Of course.”

Jace stayed looking at you for what felt like forever. “What are you doing up at this hour?” he asked you.

“I could not sleep,” you admitted, and it was the truth.

“Neither could I,” he reciprocated, “I have not been sleeping much as of late.”

“If you need to speak of what troubles you, I believe myself to be a rather good listener.”

You exchanged yet another look in a moment of silence before Jacaerys sighed, asking, “Do you think me capable of ruling?”

The question caught you off guard. “What?”

“As it is now, do you think I could rule?”

You swallowed nervously. You didn’t understand why he was asking you, and you were worried that you would give him the wrong answer. You figured the truth was always best. “I think we are much too young to assume such positions, but if you continue to grow the way you have as of late, I think you will make a wonderful ruler.”

Jacaerys leaned forward and placed a hand on your knee. You flinched in surprise, and your breathing caught in the back of your throat.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Of course, Jacaerys. You know I’ll always stand behind you.”

Jacaerys looked at you through hooded eyes. The moonlight was streaking into the room, and the only sound was the flickering of the candle wicks.

You did not expect him to speak, and if he did, you expected it to be about more insecurities regarding his position as the queen’s son. What he said was the very last thing you expected, but along the lines of the very first thing you often dreamed of.

“I’m quite pleased to have you in front of me.”

You blinked, expecting yourself to snap out of this dream and see where you truly were soon, but nothing changed. He was in front of you, and this was reality. You shuddered as Jacaerys began to rub your leg with his thumb.

“I-“

Words completely escaped you.

“May I be candid with you?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“Of course,” you said, your voice shaky.

“If you don’t leave soon, I won’t be able to stop myself from fucking you.”

You inhaled a sharp gasp. You didn’t intend to make noise, but you couldn’t help yourself. Your cheeks flushed as you stared into his eyes, searching for any sense that this was a joke or a test, but to no avail.

“W-what?”

“You have to leave, or I’m going to fuck you.”

“Jace-“ your voice trailed off.

“Get up.”

You stood immediately, your chair shifting slightly backward from the urgency of the move, your body responding to his demands as if it was second nature. He followed suit, stepping toward you so that your bodies were touching as he gazed down at you, his body looming over you.

He pushed your hair behind your shoulder, his fingers grazing against the nape of your neck as they moved to the back of your head. He gripped your hair and yanked your head backward.

“I don’t think I can control myself anymore,” he nearly whispered, dipping his head into the crook of your neck.

He fought with all of his self-control not to touch you, nervous he would overstep if you didn’t consent. He simply inhaled your scent, watching you swallow in anticipation and nervousness.

“Tell me to stop,” he said.

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

“Tell me to stop, Y/N,” he repeated.

You took a deep breath, Jacaerys placing a soft kiss on the side of your neck.

“I don’t want you to stop.”

Jace lifted his head to meet your gaze. “I don’t have the self control to be nice to you right now. I’m too frustrated.”

Your confidence grew as he spoke. The assurance that he wanted you too made you realize that this was now or never, and you were way too horny to get in your own way.

“So don’t be nice to me.”

Jacaerys yanked your hair backward even more, exposing more of your neck to him. He took a deep breath, connecting his lips to your neck again. He sucked the spot he landed on, his unoccupied hand pulling your waist against his hips.

He then bit down on the skin of your neck, pulling lightly with his teeth. You whined at the feeling, and you could suddenly feel his clothed cock throb against your thigh.

Jace’s hands traveled down your body until they reached the back of your thighs. He pushed and prompted you to jump, your legs wrapping around his waist. You instinctively placed your arms around his neck for balance.

He spun you around, dropping you gently onto the table.

“Kiss me,” he instructed.

Your fingers tangled in the hair on the back of his neck as you looked at him. This was all you’d been waiting for.

You pulled him closer to you, connecting your lips in a desperate kiss. His lips moved in sync with yours, his hands grabbing at your waist. He pulled you closer to the edge of the table, so that his hips could rub against yours. He grinded against you as the kiss heated up, your mutual eagerness coming to light.

You tested the waters, catching his bottom lip between your teeth and tugging slightly, disconnecting the kiss as you watched his face to garner his reaction.

He growled and pressed his lips to yours again, kissing you even harder as he vigorously untied your robe, bunching up the bottom of your nightdress and pushing it up your thighs.

His lips trailed down your jawline to your neck, sucking the slightly bruised spot from before as he pulled your small clothes down your legs enough to allow him access to your core. He immediately began to rub you, running a finger between your folds and circling around your bud.

You threw your head back, which only made Jacaerys suck harder on your neck.

He pulled away, leaning over you and using an arm to swipe away everything on the table directly behind you.

“Lay down,” he demanded.

You shifted your body until you were laying on the council table, your legs dangling off the edge as your current location dawned on you.

“Jace, what if someone walks in?” you asked, trying much too hard to sound coherent.

“Stay quiet and they won’t,” he replied, nearly a threat, untying his breeches and grabbing the seam of his small clothes, pulling both down to free himself.

“But-“

“Sh,” he said, kneeling down on the floor in front of you.

You were staring at the ceiling, completely at Jace’s mercy, and you loved it. You couldn’t see what he was doing, you could only feel him prop your legs up onto his shoulders.

Without warning, he licked from your hole to your bud, collecting the wetness as he pressed his mouth onto you, licking and sucking at your cunt. Your back arched off of the table, a low whine leaving your lips.

You peered down at him, and he was already looking up at you. One of his arms was shaking slightly, disappearing underneath the table, while his other arm held onto your hips. He was touching himself.

Even though it was happening right in front you, just the thought of Jace touching himself as he watched you react to him tasting you was too much for you. He looked so fucking pretty between your legs, his nose buried in your cunt, and his hair soft against your inner thighs.

Your hand moved down to hold onto the back of his head, lightly pulling at his hair to keep his tongue in a steady rhythm. It made Jacaerys moan into your core, and the feeling sent a shiver up your spine, causing your hole to convulse around nothing.

You continued to release soft, high-pitched moans as his tongue moved faster and faster. Your back arched again, and Jacaerys pressed his forearm into your lower stomach, forcing you to stay still against the table, but the stimulation was too overwhelming.

“Jace, I can’t-“ you tried to bargain, but it only made him stop. He stood up and towered over you.

“Can’t what, hm?” he taunted you.

He had you wrapped around his finger. You swallowed in anticipation, and Jacaerys watched the way your throat tensed from the nervousness.

He couldn’t help himself. He brought a hand up to your throat, running his pointer finger along the center before grabbing it, holding slight pressure on either side.

He gazed down at you in amusement, his cock throbbing against his stomach at the sight of you, laying down ready for him, with his hand around your throat.

Jace leaned down as far as he could toward your ear. “You gonna be good?” he whispered.

You nodded your head up and down, but that’s not what he wanted.

He squeezed your throat even tighter, your breathing now slightly obstructed. “It would be rude not to answer your future king when he asks you a question.”

You nearly gasped, “I’ll be good,” the words strained and nearly a whisper from the pressure on your throat.

Jacaerys stayed close to you, holding your neck down against the table as he lined himself up with your entrance, watching your face contort as he slowly pushed into you. Your head tried to turn away from his gaze, but you couldn’t move.

Watching you struggle, unable to do much due to his hand around your throat, amused Jacaerys. He peppered kisses along your jawline as he began to move in and out, not giving you much time to adjust to his size.

You whimpered nonstop as he fucked you, only keeping a tame pace for a few thrusts before he began to ruthlessly snap his hips. You cried out when he picked up the pace.

“I warned you I wouldn’t be nice,” he said.

You tried to respond, but the pressure against your vocal chords had you coughing instead. Your walls squeezed Jace’s cock, any reminder of his hand around your throat instantly heightening your arousal.

“Aweh,” Jace cooed, “you like it when I choke you, hm?”

“Y-yes,” you struggled out, using all your power to speak the word.

Jacaerys growled, standing tall, but never removing his hand from your throat. His unoccupied hand gripped your waist, keeping you close to him as he slammed into you.

He let his pent up anger take over his actions, watching you writhe and grab at nothing as he fucked you and, subsequently, knocking anything and everything off the table.

You knocked over one of the candles closest to you, and the wax ran for a moment, the hot liquid hitting your upper arm. You gasped at the sudden sting of pain, and Jacaerys noticed it wasn’t just a normal moan.

He scanned your body and caught the wax hitting you.

“Did that hurt?” he asked.

You wrapped your hand around his wrist, hoping he would let up on your throat and allow you to speak easier, but he wasn’t budging. “Only a little.”

Jacaerys removed his hand from your throat and watched as you gasped for air, coughing for a moment before you finally caught your breath.

He lifted one of the still-lit candles over your breasts, slowly tilting it further and further to the side until wax dripped directly onto the flesh of your breasts. You hissed at the pain, but it cooled the moment a drop hit your skin. He moved the candle back and forth, covering your cleavage in the wax.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, placing the candle back down and wiping away the cooled wax with his finger. There were red marks all along your upper breasts from the heat.

“Christ, Y/N,” he moaned. His cock was still inside of you.

You became self conscious, thinking you did something wrong. “I’m sorry,” you said, hoping he would apply it to whatever you did wrong.

“For what?”

“I don’t know.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he assured you, running his hand over your breasts, tracing your collarbone, and gripping your throat again, “except for plaguing every single dream I’ve had for weeks.”

He was dreaming of you?

He started to move again, immediately resuming his brutal pace. His hips knocked against yours with every thrust, and the tip of his cock hit the sweet spot inside of you.

“Jace- I-“

He could feel you beginning to squeeze him, your breathing quickening and your moans falling freely.

“Come for me, Y/N. You’re mine.”

You’re mine. That was all it took.

Your body jolted with release, cries of his name attempting to escape your throat but getting caught by the pressure from Jacaerys’s hand, which was now pressing even harder as you came, enhancing the pleasure of your climax.

“Fuck,” he cursed, feeling you squeeze him and further lubricate his cock, “you feel so fucking good.”

You were overstimulated, your body attempting to come down from one high while simultaneously chasing another as Jace continued to piston his cock in and out of you.

As dominant as he was being, you felt like you should do something to help him come, so you swallowed your pride and embarrassment and whispered in his ear, “Come in me, Jace, I wanna feel it inside of me.”

Jacaerys dropped his head into the crook of your neck, his eyes blown out with lust. He groaned at your words.

“Please, Your Grace.”

No one had ever called Jacaerys such a high-ranking title before. It was destined to be his, as he was the heir to the true queen, but it had never been spoken out loud. It added to his dominance, reminding him that he was in control over you.

He came on the spot.

His hips snapped harshly against yours a final few times as he spilled his seed deep within you. Your legs were shaking as he pressed his forehead to yours, catching his breath as he pulled out of you.

He stayed bent over for a while, enjoying being close to you.

“You alright?” he checked, disconnecting his hand from your neck.

“Mhm,” you hummed in response.

“You can breathe alright?” he continued.

“I can breathe just fine,” you assured him.

Jacaerys sighed and smiled at you. “Then I guess I didn’t do a good enough job.”

You blushed at his words, which only made his smile widen further. You covered your face with your hands, but Jacaerys grabbed your wrists, moving them away and kissing your knuckles.

He stood and clothed himself, holding out a hand for you to take as you jumped off of the table. You nearly collapsed, but Jacaerys wrapped an arm around your waist.

“What are you doing to me?” he asked genuinely.

“I could ask you the same question,” you replied, leaning upward to place a kiss on his cheek.

#jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x y/n #jacaerys velaryon smut #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon fanfic #jacaerys velaryon imagines #jacaerys velaryon one shot #jace velaryon #jace velaryon smut #jacaerys targaryen #jace targaryen #house of the dragon #x reader #asks

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illbegottenfaith · 2 months ago

Text

handwritten - theo nott x reader

yours and theo’s story as told through notes passed in class

Part 1 | Part 2

a/n - came up with this quick idea to release some pent up creative energy while mulling over lucky pt 3. will prob make this an ongoing series for small ideas I can’t get fully fledged fics out of. easy to write, easy to read, enjoy!

tropes/warnings - fluff, a minor hinting at angst, newstudent!theo, estranged friends to lovers

word count - 1.5k

Monday, 10.07 am, Charms

Hey. You might want to pull your nose out of that disgusting textbook for once.

We’ve been over this. Just because you don’t understand something it doesn’t mean it’s disgusting. It’s very disrespectful.

What is disrespectful is you not paying attention to our year’s hottest new commodity - emphasis on the hot. I must say, he fills out that uniform quite nicely.

I’m sure he does.

C’mon, you’re not even a little bit curious? Just a peek?

Y/N? Hellooooooo?

Oh my god. I know the guy.

???

What is he doing here? Last I heard he was being homeschooled.

Know him how??

We went to the same primary school. We were…friends.

Riiiight.

Don’t get any ideas. I haven’t seen him since I was ten. And he looked very, very different back then. Had a ratty sort of face. I can still kind of see it, actually.

Oh, Y/N, how could you say such awful things about his beautiful face! Oh dear, that bone structure…

Quiet, you. He’s really…grown. He’s so much taller now.

You know what you should do? You should offer to help him catch up.

On five years of school?

Oh, please, he was homeschooled. He had to have learnt some things. Who is he, anyway?

Theodore Nott.

Now that’s an Old Money name if I ever heard one.

Ivy. Be nice.

So? Is he? Old money, that is.

I…suppose so.

Are you sure you two were friends?

Yes. It’s been a while, that’s all. I just…wow. I can’t believe he’s here. Like, right there. I didn’t know if I’d ever see him again.

What happened?

He moved. I was starting at Hogwarts. We lost touch, it happens.

But now he’s back! Yay! Did you see those sinfully blue eyes of his?

Ivy, you have a boyfriend.

I know. Ivan agrees, by the way.

That he’s hot?

Yes.

He’s sitting on the other side of the room. When did you have time to discuss this??

Just now. Right in front of you. What did you think all that eyebrow-waggling was about?

I thought you were having a stroke. Merlin, the two of you are perfect for each other.

Don’t change the subject. He’s not gay, is he? Your friend? All the hot ones usually are.

I wouldn’t know, now, would I? I haven’t heard anything about him in years. Ivy, leave him alone. Please don’t harass the poor guy, sexually or otherwise. And quit it with the notes. He’ll notice.

How??? Has he got eyes on the back of his very nicely shaped head? He’s busy with Flitwick anyway.

Trust me, he’ll see. Nothing gets past Theodore Nott.

Monday, 2.15 pm, Potions

Well?????

Well, what?

The chat!!! Your chat!!!!!! With Mr. Theodore Nott!!!!!!!!

You have to quit it with the caffeine. You’re far too excitable after lunch.

The chat!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It was fine. It was…nice.

Uh-huh.

He goes by Theo now.

Okay. I’ll pretend I care about that.

It was all very casual, very superficial. It was really just us exchanging pleasantries. Oh, right. He asked me to accompany him to Quidditch tryouts.

You??? But you hate Quidditch.

I know.

Please tell me you didn’t say that.

I didn't. I just said I didn’t know much about it.

And?

He said that didn’t matter. He just wanted me there for moral support.

Then what was with all the turning red halfway through? You looked like you were going to combust.

Was it that obvious?

Ivan had some pumpkin juice ready, just in case.

It was nothing. I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all. He called me his good luck charm.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You’re going to rip a hole through the parchment.

AWWWWW

So?? Did you say yes??

I said I’d think about it.

BOOOOOOOO

Come on, Vee. He’s been flying since before he could walk. He always talked about joining the big leagues, you know. He knows everything there is to know about Quidditch, so of course he’ll make the team. And it’ll have nothing to do with me.

But he doesn’t even have any friends yet :(

That’s because he hasn’t talked to anyone yet.

Y’know, Romilda Vane wanted to know why he was talking to you of all people.

What’s that supposed to mean??

Eh, you know. You can be a little…snippy.

I am NOT snippy.

There it is. The snippiness.

Whatever. It’s all so pointless. Come Thursday evening, he’ll have joined the Quidditch team and he’ll be hanging out with, y’know, those people, and we’ll be ancient history. He’ll make plenty of friends. He just doesn’t know it yet.

Okay. If you say so. Also, at lunch, I finally tried that thing you’re always talking about, “applying myself,” and I found this article on his dad in the library. From 6 years ago.

Don’t you want to know what the article said?

You could have mentioned he was a death eater, you know.

I don’t care about that, by the way. You used to be friends and that’s good enough for me. But, Y/N, he was arrested six years ago. And you haven’t talked to Theo in six years. But there isn’t any kind of connection between those, is there?

Y/N?

Do not make me throw this at you. I know how you feel about paper cuts.

Tuesday, 3.03 pm, Defence Against the Dark Arts

Where’s your friend?

You know. Who you’re always passing notes with in class?

You noticed?

Hard not to. It makes you all fidgety and annoyed.

Yeah, well, Ivy’s an annoying person.

I’ll take your word for it. What do you have after this?

Transfiguration.

Wow. That’s one of the harder ones, isn’t it?

Er, depends on who you ask, I think.

Still brilliant as ever, then.

Shut up. I’m not half the swot I was in primary school.

I never thought you were a swot. You were just…enthusiastic.

That’s sweet of you to say, Theo.

Huh. I thought I’d always be Teddy to you.

We’re not ten anymore, Theo. I can say your name perfectly now.

That’s good. So, have you thought about it?

Thought about what?

The Quidditch tryouts. You’re the only person I know here so you have to say yes.

I don’t know. Some of the girls look pretty interested in getting to know you.

What?

Nothing. I guess I could swing by for a short while.

That’s my girl.

Thursday, 8.37 pm, Common Room

SO?????

He got in. Obviously. Was there ever any doubt?

Did he run up to you? Did he hug you? Did he pick you up and spin you around???

Witch Weekly is a bad influence on you.

Details, please.

He hugged me. Kind of. Nearly tackled me, he was so excited.

you are SO his good luck charm!!!!!!

Friday, 11.17 am, Defence Against the Dark Arts

Witch Weekly?

It’s not mine. I’m holding it for a friend.

Right.

Really, I am. Ivy’s a fiend for these but she has this Charms test coming up that she absolutely cannot fail.

I believe you. ‘Top 6 Magical Contraceptives for the Modern Witch’ doesn’t sound like your kind of reading material.

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I was only having a little fun.

I’m not embarrassed. Are you embarrassed?

Erm, no, but you’re very red. Do you need to see the Healer?

I’m fine. It’s just hot. And no one calls Madam Pomfrey ‘the Healer,’ by the way.

Ah. I see.

Is there a point to all this? Did you need to ask something?

Oh, right. What are you up to on Saturday night?

Saturday? Dunno…wanted to take a crack at that Transfiguration essay.

Excellent. I’ll pick you up at 8.

Oh?

It’s nothing. A couple of the guys on the team wanted to celebrate with drinks at Hogsmeade. Everyone’s bringing someone, and I thought it would be nice if you came. Being my good luck charm, and all.

Oh, Theo, you probably don’t know this since you’re new and all, but going down to Hogsmeade is only permissible on certain weekends. And only start a couple of weeks into the term, so not yet.

Did you just -? Oh my god, you did. You laughed at me. You laughed at my note. Out loud. You’re lucky you’re in Slytherin, you know. Snape usually goes absolutely ballistic if anyone interrupts his lesson.

I’m sorry, I forgot what a stickler you were. I just - I didn’t think I’d miss it.

Please, Theo, forget the drinks. I cannot in good conscience stand by and let you break so many rules. You’ve been here less than a week!

Guess you’ll have to keep an eye on me. Make sure I stay out of trouble.

Exactly.

Great. See you Saturday at 8.

Part 2

#theo nott x reader #theo nott #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theodore nott fluff

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heavenlyraindrops · 6 months ago

Text

“ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ.” | ᴋᴇɴᴊɪ ꜱᴀᴛᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | { ɪ }

☆ Warnings: profanity, sports!photographer!reader, fem!reader, afab!reader, for future chapters: social media au, eventual smut

☆ 1.3k words | Available on: Tumblr, AO3

A career in sports photography was never something your parents wanted for you- they had decided your career path since the moment you were born. A surgeon. Bound to make them plenty of money, to make them proud. They wanted it more than anything else, and…

You decided that wasn’t your problem.

You researched the job, the career path, and began building a portfolio. Taking pictures of athletes at games, major ones and others such as college games. Mostly baseball. In fact, it was almost all baseball.

Oh. College games. Baseball.

You’d attended college in the States, attending the baseball games and snapping pictures. And, for some reason, you seemed to gravitate towards one specific player.

You had no idea what his name was.

You didn’t share any classes. You saw him around campus occasionally, but you weren’t one for parties so you had no chance of running into him at one of those. Your circles barely even touched. You didn’t know each other at all.

Correction: he didn’t know you at all, and you only knew him as the hot athlete guy you took pictures of.

“Another one?” Your friend, Taika grumbled, another one of your posts coming up on her feed. “[name], this is the fifteenth time you’ve posted this guy.”

You rolled your eyes, laptop balanced on your thigh as you edited a picture. “I’m just building my portfolio.”

“No one’s gonna hire you if your portfolio is just a million pictures of the same guy.”

“It’s not, there’s other pictures too.”

“Yeah, like, two.”

“Hyperbole much?”

Taika sighed aggressively, setting her phone-face down next to her as she leaned forward, face turning serious. “[name], is this some weird fetish? Kink?”

“What?” You almost threw your laptop at her. “You’re so dramatic. Obviously it’s not. What kind of kink would that even be?”

“Just admit you think he’s hot.”

You pressed your lips together, slamming your laptop shut. “Okay, get out.”

“But-!”

“Out!”

And that was that. You kept taking pictures of Mysterious Hot Athlete Guy,, eventually veering away from him in the end to expand your name. Your portfolio grew, you gained jobs, and your parents got increasingly frustrated until the point where they threatened to cut contact with you.

You didn’t care. This was your passion. You’d much rather be on a pitch, capturing the essence of exhausted yet still exhilarated camaraderie than in a sterile surgeon’s scrub, brandishing a scalpel, cutting into flesh to expose your patients innards.

Unfortunately they went through with the threat. Oh well.

With the little savings you had, the weight of college debt for a degree you’d never use on your shoulders and your rather expensive camera equipment for which you’d somehow managed to scrape together the money for, you decided to follow Taika back to Japan.

“There’s plenty of opportunities for you there,” she told you.

Taika, being a trust fund baby, had more than enough of her parents' money to support herself, and you in Japan. You slowly grew your career and by a couple of months, you could afford to move into your own apartment.

And now you were a- somewhat-well known sports photographer in the industry, despite never actually having a stable job, and… that was that.

That was your story.

But not the end of it.

Because after a good few months deep into your path of sports photography, a baseball player rose to stardom.

Kenji Sato.

“Oh my god!” Taika grabbed onto your arm, nails digging into your skin and making you yelp as she thrust the phone in your face. “Dude! That’s the guy you had a crush on in college!”

Your face burned with embarrassment, and your voice was grating. “I didn’t have a crush on him.”

He just had a nice… bone structure.

Maybe I should have taken pictures of models for magazines or something.

You looked at the article. Newest player on the field sparks talk of the rise of a new baseball legend.

Oh damn. Maybe he should have been a model.

“Kenji Sato,” Taika read out the name. “Dude, I swear this is the guy.” Pulling up your instagram account, she scrolled all the way to the bottom, at your earlier days of shooting. “Dude. That’s him.”

“It’s him,” you said weakly. She grinned at you, a knowing smirk that made you want to tear her hair out.

Another stretch of time passed, until the days where your life was immediately thrust into a direction it did not give consent into going.

Firstly, Ken Sato made headlines by coming back to Japan. Secondly, you’d landed a job at a baseball game in the Tokyo Dome. Thirdly, it was the game which the Yomiuri Giants were playing.

You were now on the corner of the pitch, equipment set up, game in full play. The heat of the crowd pressed down on you as you angled your camera at a figure all too familiar.

Fucking focus, [name].

The ball whizzed through the air. He hit it, arm and bat lashing out, and-

“Fuck!”

You cursed, jerking away from the camera set up and throwing your hands over your head. It fell to the ground, shattered, and the ball rolled across the ground, hitting your knee.

You looked up. The crowd was roaring. Your head was ringing, feeling faint as you stared at the broken camera lying on the ground. Oh jeez, you were going to faint. Fuck, those players hit the ball hard.

You looked up and saw Ken Sato hurrying towards you.

And that was when you fainted.

Kenji Sato was going to fucking jump off of a bridge.

Pacing his living room, he dragged his hands through his hair, muttering a string of curses under his breath. “Mina, I’m so screwed.” He paused, looking at her hopefully. “Am I? Screwed, I mean.”

“That would be an interesting topic of debate, Ken.”

“Give me a proper answer, dammit!”

“You’ll be fine.”

“What about the girl?” He stopped suddenly, freezing in place. “I feel awful, you know.” Mina stared at him. “Yes, I can feel regret. Shocker.” He ran his hand through his hair, again. “I already replaced her broken stuff, right?” He looked sick. “Should I apologize? In person? Over text?”

“You could apologize over text,” Mina said.

Kenji immediately fell into the couch, pulling out his phone. “What’s her instagram account name?” Pulling it up, he scrolled through the photos. “[name] [surname], sports photographer,” he read aloud, eyes flicking down to the pictures.

“She has taken photos for teams, articles, and even major sports magazines.” Mina flew down, hovering near his head as he scrolled curiously.

“How many photos do you bet she’s got of me?”

“Would you like me to run a search?”

Ken looked up, surprised. “I was just kidding.” He dug his nail beneath his other nail, considering the offer, but Mina was already doing it.

“Approximately ninety-seven out of two-hundred and twenty-nine images posted on her professional account include your face,” Mina concluded. Ken stared at her blankly. She remained silent for a few more seconds, letting it sink in, then spoke again. “I suggest scrolling to the very bottom of her account, her earliest days of photography, Ken.”

“Ninety-seven?” He asked incredulously, and Mina simply repeated her previous statement. Scroll down.

He did. It took him a while, but he finally managed to hit it, and-

“I’m in college in these.”

His eyes scanned the pictures on the screen- most of which were of him. College games, every one of them. He’d never noticed her in the crowd. Had he?

And there were so, so many.

He could feel heat creeping up his neck. He didn’t find it creepy, or stalkerish- not at all, but instead dared to feel a tiny bit flattered.

Oh, she was obsessed with me. That’s kind of cute.

He wondered if she still was.

Taglist: @moonjellyfishie, @lovingyeet, @aise-30, @scarasw1f3, @v1ennie im only doing taglist this once but I’d prefer it if people just followed me instead because they’re such a hassle

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evansbby · 1 year ago

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𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Pete Brenner x reader 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, SH in the workplace, heavy drug mention, sleazy Pete, heavy misogyny, I can't believe I wrote this, a lot of sex, yeah idek, 18+ minors dni. 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Pete Brenner hires a new assistant. 𝐀/𝐍: I cannot believe I wrote this. For him. Ew. Brb gonna go take a shower. This is pretty bad as well, like the pacing is wack and the reader's personality changes halfway through the fic?? Idek, I did this thing where I changed the scene every time I felt bored. Enjoy, I guess???

“Just so we’re clear, I’m only hiring you because you’re hot.”

He bends down over his desk, sniffing harshly. You stand there nervously watching him as he straightens up, his nose twitching. You catch a glimpse of white beneath he clears his throat and wipes it off. His eyes – a pretty blue – have an almost wild, excited look about them. But the rest of his face is a contradiction… he looks both calculated and amused as he licks his lips and makes his way over to you.

“That means I want to see you in short skirts, dress, that kind of shit, okay? And some pretty makeup.” His eyes dance over your body, taking in your curves. You’d worn a knee-length pencil skirt and white blouse for the interview with him – nothing too scandalous but it did hug your body nicely. Pete seemed to think so, at least, as his gaze remained glued on your cleavage, “Basically, I want you all dolled up because I sure as fuck know there’s no brain up there in your head. I have a real assistant, but you’ll be my other assistant.”

Other assistant. You knew what that meant.

You also know to remain quiet as he leers at you, coming closer till you have to crane your neck to look up at him. His jaw twitches, and his eyes are still glued to your chest. He reaches out, casually unbuttoning the top few buttons of your blouse with just his one hand. The view down your top makes him smirk.

“Tomorrow’s your first day, make sure to wear something sluttier than this. Even the office’s eye candy’s gotta put a little work in, huh, sweetheart?” He gives you a wink as he pats your cheek condescendingly.

You take a deep breath and try to remain calm. You needed this job. You needed the money…

“Yes, Mr. Brenner.”

“Good girl,” he maintains eye contact with you, and it’s hard to look away when his pupils are so blown out. And despite his leery demeanour, he’s got a handsome face, you had to admit. Pretty eyes framed with long lashes, a nice bone structure and strong jawline. His jet-black hair was styled messily – either on purpose or because he kept running his hands through it. He was also tall, his tailored jacket tight around his biceps.

He gives your ass a slap as you leave the room, and you yelp in surprise but continue walking steadily lest you fall over in your high heels.

“See you bright and early tomorrow, sweetheart! I know we’re gonna love working together.”

***

“Ah, fuck yeah, keep going. Mm, just like that. God fucking dammit, you’re such a good little cocksucker, huh?”

Pete’s got one hand firmly carded through your hair, gripping it tightly as he bobs your head up and down on his cock. It’s uncomfortable under his desk, especially with your bare knees rubbing against the hard ground.

You’d showed up to your first day of work today bright and early, in an inappropriately short dress as per your new boss’s request. And Pete had licked his lips hungrily when he’d seen you, dragging you into his office and giving you your first task of the day. Sucking his dick while he sat behind his desk.

“Yeah, that’s right, you little slut, take it. Take my fat daddy dick down your little throat. Fuck yeah,” Pete murmurs. You’d quickly come to realise that Pete was every bit as filthy as you’d assumed he was going to be, spewing out a string of curses every time his mouth opened. He was also rougher than you’d expected, fucking your face relentlessly in a way that had you breathless, your hair a complete mess and your face glistening with sweat.

“Mm, tell me you’re a little cockslut,” He peers down at you with a wolfish grin, taking his dick out of your mouth and tapping your cheek with it not-so-gently.

“ ‘m a cockslut,” you pant, and he slaps you with his cock once more before shoving himself back in your mouth.

“That’s right, just look at those pretty lips wrapped around my cock, I can’t believe–” his voice trails off, and you glance up to see his eyes narrow as he looks out the window of his office and into the hallway. “Ah, shit. My wife’s here. Keep sucking, baby, but be quiet about it.”

He had a wife? You don’t even have time to feel shocked and disgusted with yourself, all you can do is keep bobbing your head up and down as he keeps a firm hold on you.

“PETEY!” A chirpy voice sounds, and you cringe as you hear the door close. She was in this office, while you were giving her husband a blowjob.

“Hey, babe, how’s it hanging?” Pete says casually, his hand leaving your hair as he cracks his knuckles and leans back on his chair. You pray to God his wife doesn’t come any closer, lest you be found out.

She giggles, “Well, come on, silly. You made us lunch reservations at the Rustica Bistro, remember? I got my nails done and everything!”

You hear Pete grimace from above you, either from what his wife has just said or the fact that you’re still blowing him like your life depends on it.

“Ahh, babe, I gotta take a raincheck. You know how it is…” He gestures vaguely at his computer in front of him, “I’ve got a shit ton of work to do, fuck…” He swears under his breath, thrusting his hips upwardly subtly to stuff more of his cock in your mouth.

“Aww, but Pete–”

“No buts, sweetheart. You know I gotta provide for you and the baby, and that means making a few sacrifices here and there,” Pete runs a hand through his hair, and you can see the sweat forming on his brow as you continue to suck him off, trying not to gasp out loud at the fact that he just said he had a baby. “But don’t let those reservations go to waste, sweetie. Why not take what’s-her-name? That broad from accounting?”

“Sally?”

“Yeah, take Sally. Go on, sweetheart, daddy’s busy. I’ll see you at home.”

You’re in awe at how he dismisses his wife, but you inwardly sigh in relief when you hear the clickity clack of her heels followed by the door opening and closing. Pete barks out a laugh, pulling you off his dick as he begins to pump it around his fist.

“That was a close one, huh?”

“Y-You never mentioned that you had a wife! And a child!”

He snorts, cupping your face and angling it so that he’s jacking off over it, a nonchalant look on his face.

“And you accepted a job as the office slut, so I guess we’re both lacking in the morals department, huh, sweetheart?”

***

Being Pete Brenner’s other assistant did have a few perks. Like free reign with his credit card (a separate one that his wife didn’t know about) as well as some nice gifts here and there. Diamond earrings when he was feeling nice; a designer dress when he wanted to be giving. A pearl-encrusted collar when he was on a particularly high power trip.

But the perks came with a lot of degradation. But it’s not like he hadn’t made that clear when he’d offered you the job.

“Now, sweetheart, all you gotta do is refill everyone’s water while us men talk business, alright?”

You nod, straightening out your tight, navy dress while Pete barks out more instructions as he paces around his office. Today was an important meeting about something or the other. You didn’t really understand what it was that Pete did, but you knew it was something to do with pharmaceuticals. You weren’t sure that all their business was legal, but you thought it was best to turn your head the other way when it came to all that.

You stand in the corner of the conference room during the meeting, watching as Pete sits at the head of the table and talks business with a bunch of colleagues. He looks at you and nods slightly, and that’s your cue to walk around and refill everyone’s water with the glass jug in your hand. It’s an easy enough task, but you’re still nervous in your sky-high heels and too-short dress, acutely aware of the way all these middle-aged men leer at you like you’re a piece of candy or an office decoration.

You set the jug down on the table after you’ve finished topping up Pete’s glass, but before you can quietly scurry back to your corner of the room, his large hand wraps around your waist, pulling you into his lap. You almost yelp in surprise, but catch your tongue just in time. You go with the flow, not wanting to cause a scene as Pete casually settles you down on his knee.

You really feel like a decoration now.

“That’s a fine-looking piece of ass you’ve got workin’ for ya, Brenner.” A seedy looking man at the other end of the table grins.

Pete smirks, his hand firmly resting on your bare thigh as you quiver in his lap at the multiple pairs of eyes now staring straight at you. His other hand twirls a bit of your hair round his finger, as if you’re his little doll that he’s finding amusement in showing off and toying with. “She’s a looker, alright. That’s why I hired her, isn’t that right, baby?”

You have no choice but to nod, heat spreading across your cheeks as the whole room erupts in laughter. Pete holds you firmly in his lap throughout the meeting. You try to zone out, since their business and pharmaceutical jargon makes no sense to you, but you keep getting jolted back to reality as Pete continues to fondle you brazenly in front of everyone.

“Don’t think I’d get any work done if I had a broad like her walking around in my office.” A greasy looking man sitting adjacent from you and Pete pipes up.

Pete grins wolfishly, his hand creeping up the hem of your dress while the other one strokes your arm sensually. “Quite the opposite, actually,” he glances at you and winks, “with her around, I get to relieve all my pent-up tension, which makes work a lot easier.”

“Say, Brenner, you look like you gotta relieve some tension right now!” Another guy quips.

Pete smirks, standing up and yanking you up with him, “You’re right, Davidson. I think I do. You gentlemen mind if we take a recess on this meeting?”

His request is met with a chorus of cheerful affirmations, and he drags you off to a small door to the side of the room. The bathroom.

“Th-They’ll all be able to hear us!” You protest as he bends you over the sink, lifting your dress up and giving your bare ass a hard slap.

“That’s the point, sweetheart. It’s hotter with an audience.” He shoves his hand between your legs, pushing your panties aside and slipping two fingers inside you, smirking when he pulls them out to see them glistening, “clearly you find it hot too.”

Pete fucks you in the bathroom while the men cheer him on from the next room. And you scrunch your eyes shut and focus on trying not to moan (because he fucked you so good after all). His balls slap against your skin as he thrusts into you over again, alongside a string of curses (he was always very vocal during sex, no matter where you were).

He’s got a smug look on his face when he’s done. The smugness of a man who made a whole roomful of men hear your screams of pleasure. (You’d had to be vocal in the end, you couldn’t help it. Not when he was rubbing your clit and whispering dirty words in your ear, making your cunt squeeze around him as you came all over his cock).

He takes you straight back into the conference room, setting you down on his lap and continuing the meeting as if nothing even happened.

***

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

You do, only for him to cup your cheeks and blow smoke right into your face. You sputter, trying to turn away but Pete’s got other plans. He presses his lips against yours, giving you the headiest kiss you’ve ever experienced, making you feel light-headed.

He laughs, “You fall for it every time.”

You scowl at him, “One day I’m gonna quit working for you.”

He snorts, taking another drag of his cigarette, “Oh yeah, sweetheart? And then what’re you gonna do?”

“Make a name for myself.”

He seems to find that hilarious, throwing his head back and laughing as if you’ve just cracked the funniest joke in the world. You huff, shrugging away from him and going to stand on the other end of the balcony. It was attached to his office and Pete liked to hang out there sometimes, claimed he appreciated the fresh air. As if he didn’t have a cigarette hanging out of his mouth 24/7.

You look out into the city, admiring the bright lights that made the streets come to life at night. The sound of traffic and the mindless buzz of nightlife that had a knack of making people wonder what they were doing with their life. That’s when you feel something hard pressing against your lower back.

“You know, I always wanted to fuck a girl out here.” Pete pushes your hair to one side, kissing the exposed nape of your neck.

“I’d bet a thousand dollars you’d already have done that.”

He chuckles, his hands slipping up and down your body, feeling you up and fondling you in his specifically sleazy way except it turns you on anyways. “After tonight I will have.”

“It’s late. Shouldn’t you be at home with your wife? Or at least your baby?”

He pushes your dress up till he’s got it bunched around your waist, before hooking his fingers on the elastic of your panties and snapping it against your skin. “What, you think you’re gonna peptalk me into having some kind of moral breakthrough or something?” He tugs your panties down your legs and gives your ass a squeeze, “Sweetheart, you know the kind of man I am. And I know exactly the kind of girl you are.”

The kind that lets her boss fuck her outside on his balcony overlooking the city.

“Fuck yeah, shake that fucking ass on my daddy dick. Make daddy cum, fuck!” Pete grips your hair and yanks your head back, biting and sucking at your neck as he fucks you. You grip the iron railing hard, your mind wiped of everything except the pleasure he was administering to you right now.

“Mm, fuck, daddy! Harder, please!” You moan, grinding back against his dick, feeling the pure, delicious agony of him breaking you in two from the inside out.

He releases inside you with a guttural roar in your ear, and you sigh, following suit as you milk him through his orgasm. Your cunt pulsates with your pleasure, and he holds you tight before bringing his cigarette up to your mouth so you can take a drag. You do, before craning your neck and grabbing his face, blowing the smoke straight past his lips as you kiss him.

***

“The fuck do you mean you’re knocked up? Were you not on the motherfucking pill?”

You sigh. You’d been fucking Pete for half a year now, and in that time you’d had the pleasure of getting to know him on a very personal level. His likes, dislikes, his temperament. You knew him well enough to know that he got extremely melodramatic when he was high. Which is why it maybe wasn’t the best decision on your part to break the news to him when he was coked out, but you’d had no choice… Pete’s sober moments were very few and far between these days.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Pete. I’m pregnant. I took three tests.”

“God-fucking-dammit!” He slams his fist down on his desk repeatedly, before the pain proves too much and that’s when he straightens up, running a hand through his already messy black hair. “I already got my hands full with one brat.”

He loved his son, really. You’d seen him enough times with the kid to know that Pete did indeed have a heart when it came to a child of his own flesh and blood.

“Well, congratulations, daddy. In about nine months, you’ll have another one.”

He narrows his eyes, stumbling over to you and grabbing you by the neck. He pushes back, high off his mind yet still much stronger than you. His lips curled and brows furrowed almost accusatorily, he backs you up against the wall, his face inches from yours.

“You,” he sneers, “When did you get so cynical, huh? Where’s the bright-eyed, naïve girl I hired six months ago?”

You roll your eyes, “I don’t know, Pete, maybe your sleaziness and depravity killed her off.”

He glares at you, and you glare back. It’s an intense stare-down that lasts a handful of seconds before you’re on top of each other. Kissing and ripping each other’s clothes off, not caring that the glass windows of his office aren’t covered with the blinds. The receptionist would get a show, but it was nothing she hadn’t seen before. Pete had no shame, and now, neither did you.

“I find pregnant broads sexy as hell,” he tells you, carrying you over to his desk. He sits down on his chair with you on top of him, “so that’s one thing to look forward to.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“So the fuck are you.”

He shoves his dick into you from below, his fingers gripping your hips so tightly you know he’ll leave bruises. He bounces you up and down on his dick like it’s your job – which, well, it is.

“Your tits will get even bigger, that’s another thing to look forward to,” he whispers in your ear, ripping the top of your dress in half and pushing the cups of your bra down. Your breasts spill out and he goes to town on them, burying his face between them, licking, nipping, biting like you’re his drug of choice for the evening.

You’re confused, scared, even. But that won’t stop you from answering back to him, and so, despite the pleasure he’s making you feel, you shoot him a look of disdain.

“Who says I’m gonna stick around long enough for you to see me like that?”

He yanks you forward by your hair, giving you a rough and almost possessive kiss.

“Sweetheart, don’t kid yourself. I intend on keeping your fine ass around, and besides, it’s not like you have anywhere else to go.”

***

“I do.”

Pete’s wife had left him. Something about running away with a hot Australian lifeguard who happened to also have a hefty trust fund. The divorce was settled quickly (Pete had more money than his now ex-wife was even aware of, so she happily took what she thought was an equal half). Pete had one condition, though. His son had to stay with him.

And then six months later, you found yourself walking down the aisle in a dress of ivory lace, saying “I do” to the man who only a year ago had just been your boss. Now you were the new Mrs. Brenner, a mother to be and a stepmother to a two-year-old to boot.

It was a good thing you liked kids.

“You’re lucky, you know that? Fucked your way to the very top.” Pete says, his hand stroking your very pregnant belly.

You giggle, spreading out on the satin sheets below you. They’re soft and white and expensive, covered in rose petals. Pete had gone all out and booked the honeymoon suite at the Four Seasons, which was the least he could do to make you comfortable after you’d gone through that whole wedding ceremony and reception, all pregnant and uncomfortable and all.

“Not the very top,” you muse, “I could leave you just like your first wife did. Leave you for a richer man.”

Pete scoffs, shrugging his jacket off before rejoining you on the bed, “Honey, if you knew how much money I had in my bank account right now, you’d be licking the bottom of my shoe for the foreseeable future.”

You don’t say anything, instead turning your attention to your ring. You hold up your hand so it catches the light, the hefty diamond sparkling expensively. Just a year ago, you couldn’t even fathom having fifty dollars to your name… And now?

You grow distracted by his hand as it sneaks between your legs. Biting your lip, you suppress a moan when his fingers find your clit. All he has to do is circle your bundle of nerves with his pointer finger and you cum, grabbing his bicep and squealing his name, humping your cunt up against his palm like a wanton whore. All while he grins wolfishly at how easily he can make you come undone.

“It’s just ‘cause I’m pregnant,” you say once you’ve caught your breath, causing his expression to sour.

“Please, Mrs. Brenner. You’ve never had anyone as good as your husband. And you never will, ‘cause it’s all me from now on, you got that?”

“Yes, daddy.”

***

“Oh my gosh, you really shouldn’t have!” You squeal, running over to your new candy pink convertible. Pete stands by the hood, looking extremely pleased with himself.

“Only the best for my wife. Now you can do the day-care runs in style.”

You jump into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist and pressing a million kisses on his face. “Thank you, daddy! I love it so much.”

He grins, spinning you around a few times before putting you down, “Happy birthday, babe.”

Your four-year-old son and two-year-old daughter come toddling down the front steps of your mansion, squealing and ooh-ing and aah-ing at your new pink car. Pete looks positively beside himself with glee, scooping both his kids up in his arms so they can get a better look at it.

It only took a few months into being married to you for Pete to realise that he liked the family man lifestyle. And you could tell he liked being a provider, liked showering his family with gifts and spending money on you and the babies more than blowing it all on drugs and strip clubs. It was a shame that it took him two marriages and two different baby mamas to realise that, but at least his ex was living it up in Australia, so there was no love lost there.

“We need to come up with a story when people ask us how we met,” you say one evening as the two of you get ready for bed. You’re sitting in front of your vanity, applying cold cream to your face and neck while Pete does God knows what in the background.

“Easy. My gold-digger assistant got herself knocked up and trapped my ass, and now here we are.” Pete smirks, coming up behind you and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Shut up, you jerk. More like, I took advantage of and sexually harassed my poor, innocent assistant, and the least I could do was marry her after I got her pregnant.” You smile, letting him grab your hand and drag you to the bed.

“Okay, poor, innocent assistant. Why don’t you let daddy put another baby inside you tonight?” He asks, pushing you down on the bed and climbing on top of you, his voice thick with lust as he runs a hand through his messy, black hair.

“So you can accuse me of getting knocked up again?”

“Yeah,” He rips your nightie in half, making you squeal, “That’ll ensure I’m trapped with you for another two years at least.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’ve got the dirtiest mouth, Mrs. Brenner. Maybe that’s why I’m in love with you.”

SFJHKASGD THE END!

If you made it till here... thank you! I think I got possessed last night and today so I wrote this. Sorry besties, but please do let me know what you think! Feedback means everything to me!! I love you guys and now back to our regularly scheduled programming of ARI and STEVE!

#pete brenner #pete brenner x reader #pain hustlers #chris evans #steve rogers #chris evans x reader #steve rogers x reader #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson

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urhoneycombwitch · 13 days ago

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love light gleams

rockstar!Eddie Munson x Reader Eddie and the band are stranded for Christmas. at least the pay phone's working.

foreword: haven’t heard from these cuties in awhile!! here’s my other fic of these two but not necessary to read beforehand. just a bit of schmoopy holiday fluff for the soul <3 (in the timeline, this is set in the early days of Corroded’s first tour where they’re just on the cusp of public notability/recognition)

cw: holiday fluff, alcohol/drinking, R is referred to with occasional she/her pronouns, R is related to Joyce (no specificity), Eddie gets a public boner™️, implied smut

wc: 3.1k

___

Goddamn Murphy and his law.

First, the tour bus breaks down in the middle of Where the Fuck Are We, Idaho, and Jeff maybe could’ve fixed it in time to get them over the next leg of the trip- if it weren’t for the giant snowstorm blizzard from hell.

After much pulling of hair and frozen appendages, the band decided to call it quits and splurge some of the quickly dwindling Road Fund on a motel for the night; the idea of ones own room and a hot shower swiftly smothered by the front desk clerk.

“Four rooms, the night before Christmas?” The man looked about as haggard as the rest of them, but Eddie couldn’t find it in his heart to feel too bad with the way the guy was chuckling mirthfully. “Got a better chance of seein’ Santa himself.”

Eddie grit his teeth and paid for a single. Without cussing. A feat that should land him on the Nice List, forever.

When the group finally trudged into the lone spare room (spreading out as much as could be allowed, they were all sick of each other, at this point), Eddie used the phone to get ahold of their tour manager, who managed to top the evening off with the worst news of all.

“Christmas show at Garter’s is cancelled,” Eddie had announced to his sullen men after slamming the phone back on its hook. “Looks like we’re sitting ducks for the holidays.”

After dejected calls home and a few last desperate, futile attempts to charm airline employees over the phone, Corroded Coffin trooped through the bitter weather to hole up at the only bar in town.

Jeff, Gareth, and Jacob all settled into a booth with minimal complaints, gloved hands wrapping eagerly around mugs of hot toddies while Eddie simmered and stewed at the end of the bench, unable to sit still.

He should probably make the best of a bad situation, buy his boys another round and muster up some goodwill, but Eddie isn’t ready for an attitude adjustment quite yet.

He’s thinking of you, nearly two thousand miles east, cozy at home in Hawkins. In Eddie’s mind’s eye, you’re curled up by the fireplace in soft flannel-print pajamas (the pair he let you ‘borrow’ years ago), munching on sugar cookies and looking deliciously peaceful.

Jeff throws him a bone, slides two quarters down the table to Eddie, saying- “Go call her, man. You’ll be annoying as hell until you do.”

Emerson chimes in, pointing towards the front doors a touch too gleefully- “Only pay phone’s out front.”

Eddie scoffs- figures, they’d try to get rid of him- but he can’t blame them too much, seeing as Jeff is right.

Damn Murphy and his damn law. Eddie scoops up the change with an exaggerated flourish and stomps out, icy wind swallowing all the noise of the bar the second his boots hit snow.

He follows the gravel trail that leads to the glass phone booth, the whole structure at a poorly-crafted slant that makes the door stick; Eddie shoves his shoulder against the iced-over seam four fucking times before it cracks and gives.

Shoulder smarting, Eddie closes himself inside the booth, and with movements made clumsy by mittens and cold, loads the quarters and dials home.

The trailer landline’s dial tone drones. With each ring, Eddie thunks a mittened hand against his forehead and watches the frost of his breath suspended in the air.

You don’t answer.

His shoulder stings, and he rubs at it, petulant, quarters clinking back down into the tray. He reloads them, grizzling all the while, and punches in Jonathan’s number, banking on the fact that you might be at your aunt’s place for Christmas Eve festivities.

No luck there, either. Eddie’s close to using the returned quarters as eye covers and laying down in the snow, letting hypothermia guide him to the afterlife- when suddenly, inexplicably, the phone on the hook rings.

The first time, Eddie thinks he imagined it. The second time, it jolts him into action, hardly daring to hope as he snatches the receiver up and speaks, breathless- “Hello?”

“Eddie!”

He doesn’t get caught up in the logistics, the why and hows just yet. Upon hearing your voice on the line, full and sweet after so many droning tones, Eddie slumps with relief against the booth’s angled window pane.

“Sweetheart. Hi. Holy shit, are you a sound for sore ears. God, I fucking miss you.” Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose between clothed fingers, biting back tears of joy when your giggles like tinkling bells surround him.

“I miss you too. So much. Gareth called earlier to give me this number, said you’ve been a pest and might benefit from hearing my voice,” you tease, sounding like you’ve cupped the phone around your mouth to hide your words from others.

Eddie is basking in it, the simple act of you speaking doing wonders for his whole system, like a mug of cocoa for the soul. He makes a mental note to do something nice for Gareth, at a later date when he’s not sick of looking at his bandmates.

“Bet he did,” Eddie concedes. “It’s been a total nightmare shitshow from hell over here, babe. I’m barely holding it together without my handler.”

“Poor thing.” You’re sympathetic but there’s still a playful edge to your voice when you ask, “Don’t you know it’s almost Christmas? Being a Scrooge only gets you so far.”

“Noted.” Normally, Eddie would be better at matching your energy, but he feels like all the wit got sucked out of him somewhere between here and the bar. “Keep talkin’. The tips of my ears aren’t quite warm yet. Wearing anything slutty on this holiday eve?”

You laugh, again (a balm, a blanket, et al cheesy romantic idioms), and Eddie can practically hear the eye roll this time- “Oh yeah, dressed real sexy for Aunt Joyce’s family supper. Light wash Levi’s and everything.”

Eddie makes various dramatic horny noises and you snicker. In the following lull, the noise from the party in Hawkins plays muted in the background. Glasses clinking, indistinct chatter from other people he loves, puffs of your breath quiet in comparison.

“Sounds noisy,” he says, and when you sigh, there’s a weary undertone that plucks a chord in Eddie’s heart.

“Yeah. It is. Gonna come rescue me? My knight in shining armor?”

“Jesus christ,” Eddie groans, hard plastic receiver pressing into his temple. “You know I would in a heartbeat, princess. Gareth told you all the flights are fucked?”

“Yeah. Guess we’re just shit outta luck, this year.”

“Two more weeks,” Eddie says, clawing at the only hopeful thread he’s got left. “Two more weeks of this horseshit and January third, baby, my ass is on a plane to you. If it kills me. Seriously.”

“It’s not gonna kill you.” Buttery soft and gentler than he thinks he deserves, you say, “However much you’re missin’ me, I’m feeling the same. I know it sucks to be apart right now, but I’m so proud of you. And the band. But mostly you. I’m probably too partial.”

Eddie grins and lets the praise wash over him, tucks it away for a dreary day (which’ll be tomorrow, at this rate). “Good thing somebody is. Keeps me sane in this godforsaken wasteland.”

He’s being dramatic and you both know it- but since Eddie’s much worse off in terms of post-call comfort, you let it slide. After drawn out, gushy goodbyes and promises to call sometime tomorrow, Eddie treks back reluctantly into the heat of the bar.

In the time it took to make the call, the place had filled out- mostly farmers and locals eager to celebrate the upcoming holiday with whiskey and gossip; Eddie squeezes through a sea of knit scarves and bobbled hats to get back to the table.

Upon their Fearless Leader’s return, Jeff’s the only one with balls enough to look Eddie in the eye when he says, “There’s a fan of yours at the corner booth who wants a signature.”

“Gotta be shittin’ me.” Not yet seated, Eddie leans into his fists on the table, but he’s quick to swallow his irritation, even as he mutters expletives under his breath. Bona fide fans of the band are still rare enough to be exciting, and he really, really doesn’t want to be an asshole to anyone, especially not a fan, not on Christmas.

Plus, Eddie’s feeling softer, more charitable, since he got to speak with you. Unfortunately for his not-yet-curated rockstar persona, you make him a better person. Even from across the country.

To show his displeasure with the general situation, Eddie swipes a tall-necked beer from Gareth’s collection and downs a quarter of it on his way across the bar. There’s a line of booths along the back wall, partially hidden by the centralized bar; strings of Christmas lights and tinsel twinkle from the rafters along the path Eddie takes, while an old stereo system plays local holiday FM.

Eddie winds his way between tables and the bustling bar, trying to come up with a game plan to make this interaction as friendly and speedy as possible- but when he rounds the corner and sees the booth, he freezes.

There you are. Sitting in a bar booth in the middle of Nowhere, Idaho, wearing your downy winter jacket and a smile bright as a homing beacon.

It’s like his brain is on a ten second delay, everything between his ears a high pitched ring as he takes you in while anything that isn’t you melts away into insignificance.

“Hi,” you say, beaming, rising out of the booth, brimming with excitement.

Eddie almost trips over his own boot to close the distance, pulling you into his arms, wrapping them tight around your shoulders. He buries his face into the side of your neck, breathing deep, memorizing for the next time you’re not this close.

“What the fuck,” he murmurs, hoarse against your hair, and he feels the giddy laughter tremble through your whole frame.

You’re clinging to him, too, a big handful of his flannel in your left hand, the outline of his skull in the other, thumb sweeping under all those curls, soothing. “Hi, baby. Hi. Couldn’t stand being away from you any longer.”

Eddie pulls away to kiss your cheek, then mirrors the action, then behind your ear and down down until you’re giggling, pushing at his forehead in protest- “Don’t you wanna know how I’m here?”

“Santa,” Eddie says, confident, squeezing your hips. ��Or God. Who I will totally believe in and pledge my soul to for bringing you here.”

“I don’t think you can pledge something that’s already mine.” You punctuate this with a poke to his ribs, then a pull of his hand, and Eddie follows you into the booth, sitting close enough to keep a hand tracking a soft path over your thigh.

It was Gareth’s idea, apparently- he called home a few days ago, confirmed that you were equally eager to pull off the surprise. The original plan was to meet at the band’s next tour stop, but when the Christmas Day gig got cancelled and a blizzard rolled in, your plans went hinky.

“It was Uncle Wayne, in the end.” You kiss the back of Eddie’s knuckles, and he feels a tender part of his heart thump in response. “He covered the extra cost of a last-minute ticket, figured out the bus route to this place for me, too. Said to tell you Merry Christmas.”

Eddie could cry from the wave of gratefulness that swells in his chest, shaking his head in disbelief. There’s a shimmering line of tears in your own eyes, and he can’t have that, so in lieu of words he leans in and kisses you.

Your lips slot perfect and familiar against his own, tasting the sweetness from an earlier candy cane. Eddie’s tongue traces the contours of the inside of your mouth, probably a bit too familiar for a public setting but fuck it, it’s Christmas and no one’s watching.

The two of you are mostly sequestered in the corner of the big room, the added bulk to Eddie’s frame from his jacket doing a perfect job of shielding you from view, happily backed against the wall with one leg draped over his thigh.

When Eddie finally pulls back, just enough to see you, your hand slips under the hem of his shirt, fingers warming against his ribs. There’s an inked sparrow you find by memory, one of your favorite places to touch and kiss.

Your thumb runs over the familiar spot, the signals of his skin decipherable to you alone.

Eddie fills his lungs with air and tries to quell the stiff wave of arousal, and in the same breath, winces, remembering- “Well, sweet thing, I’d invite you back to my place but I’m sharing a one-room with a whole pack of miscreants.”

Eddie’s about to suggest raiding the motel’s blanket stock and sleeping in the van, just the two of you, when something like guilt pinches at your features. “Um. Yeah. About that. I may have bullied Gareth into getting me your manager’s number, and I also may have called him from the airport and chewed him out a bit.”

When Eddie’s brows shoot up in shock, delight, you wince, cutting him off before a word can get in edgewise- “It’s not right that he left you all stranded out here, on fucking Christmas, no less- you’re the ones funding that asshole’s cozy little vacation.”

With the strength of your conviction, you tilt your chin up, eyes glittering and defiant- “I told him if he wasn’t gonna take care of you boys, I’d take care of him. Get right on a flight just to kick his ass.”

The hand still at Eddie’s ribs flexes with residual anger, your nails digging a quick flash of welcome pain that helps tether him to the present, mind almost completely fogged over with lust at the thought of you bitching out his piece of shit manager.

“So…” Eddie starts, clears his throat, tries to tug at his pant leg subtly but catches the moment that sharp spark of your hostility melts into a smirk; you drum your fingers against him with a tilted head as he finds his voice- “So he’s gonna, what, promise to be less of an asshole in the new year, is that the deal?”

“Yeah. That and a couple of hotel rooms magically opened up for my favorite rockstar. Four of ‘em, enough for the boys to each have their own- if you don’t mind sharing with me, that is.”

Eddie wants to swallow the coy tilt of your mouth but settles for kissing you again, veins zipping with glee and good cheer; he pulls you in impossibly closer, tugging by the lapels of your coat, nose to nose while you giggle, smothering his affections- “Holy shit. Babe, you’re the rockstar. Replace me with a cardboard cutout and I don’t think anyone would know the difference. What in the fuck are we still doing here?”

Eddie moves to pull you both from the booth, overzealous in his excitement; you shift to keep your weight on the bench, Eddie plopping back down with a little oof while you chastise, “Hold on, I have to give the boys their room keys and I wanna wish them a merry Christmas! Plus, you should probably give yourself a second to- uh- settle down.”

You’re doing a poor job of concealing your amusement and Eddie groans, arms wrapping around his middle and hunching forward, head hitting the table with a dull thunk. “Fuck’s sake. I’m a short walk away from getting you alone in a warm room with a real bed and you’re telling me not to pop a stiffy at the thought? I’m but a mere mortal, have some compassion, jesus christ.”

“Nope, just me.” An escaped lock of dark hair gets caught between your fingertips, then tucked behind his ear. When you lean in to kiss the exposed spot shivers erupt down Eddie’s spine, even more when you whisper, “Can call me whatever you want once you get me in that room, though.”

After a few more minutes in which Eddie attempts to recall every unsexy thing that has ever happened in the span of his life, you’re both presentable enough to weave hand in hand back to Corroded’s table.

There’s a flurry of exclamations and hugs, well wishes and present-distribution (because of course you packed everyone’s gifts, seeing as you’re some sort of angel or perhaps a fae being from Valinor, Eddie hasn’t decided yet).

Eddie buys another round of drinks for the troupe, and tousles Gareth’s hair while the other two are distracted with Jake’s new Lego set. “Merry Christmas, kid. I owe you one.”

Gareth’s cheeks are rosy from the heater and the alcohol as he gives a nod of acknowledgement; they clink beers, and all is forgiven.

Once everyone is set up with the hotel address and their individual room keys, Eddie plucks at your elbow, patience stretching thin until the two of you are finally, finally borne out into the cold on a wave of goodbyes.

The snow is blindingly white, even in the low light of a winter’s eve; Eddie blinks, the image of your face tipped up to the sky burned into the black of his eyelids.

A perfectly-formed snowflake lands on the high point of your cheek, dissolving into your skin. Eddie kisses the spot and winds an arm around your low back, pleased when you bundle into his side.

“Our chariot awaits,” he declares, sweeping a grand arm at the endless snow and empty street, which makes you laugh again.

“Come on.” Your eye roll is fond as you pull Eddie’s steps in line with yours, setting off in the direction of a hot bath and silk sheets. “Let’s see if we can’t find us a little Christmas cheer.”

Eddie thinks he might be starting to like Idaho.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #rockstar!Eddie #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you

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the-90s-music-colosseum · 1 year ago

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Quarterfinals, Match 2

expand to see all propaganda received! (wall of text warning oh my god this is a severe cautionary message)

Lauryn Hill:

"she paved the way and was hot as fuck the whole time"

"Girl c'mon. Look at her. You're gonna try and tell me that isn't the most beautiful and attractive person alive? Okay. You're lying but okay."

"if u freaks don't give ms. lauryn hill the respect she deserves..."

"actually one of the prettiest women ever I'm such a lesbian for her. like irl I'm already a lesbian but she is helping"

Damon Albarn:

"Don’t think Damon should be here? Why don’t you get your head checked by a jumbo jet? Maybe you’ll feel heavy metal and calm down."

"If Damon is in the “some guy” category, he’s the heavenly and heartbreaking version. Damon is the sort of significant stranger I’d see on the train out of Colchester but could never speak to, just a face seen in passing yet too radiant to be real. I’d fall in love for an hour and carry the ache for a month."

"Damon sets the standard for me. I think he’s the most fascinating man alive. What I find attractive in Damon is not just his gorgeous bone structure and boyish charm, but how wholly he’s committed himself to music. Damon is an artist who walked the walk: in one of his roughest years with some of his rawest songwriting, he said he was no longer excited by anything except the creative process. He was disillusioned with the celebrity of it all, with his relationships suffering for it, and only wanted to make art: nothing more, nothing less. He would go on to compose film scores, write operas and stage musicals, produce other artists’ records, form collectives to fulfill his passion for world music, and create some of the most globally successful music of his career in a completely innovative format that placed him as the phantom behind the characters. Whenever one band takes a break, he makes a solo record or puts together a supergroup to stay busy. He’s uniquely collaborative and still writes personal letters inviting artists to record with him, and yet can function as a one-man show, acting as a multi-instrumentalist, a singer-songwriter and a producer. He’s been a constant voice of bringing British music to the world *and* bringing world music into Britain. Sure, he’s won Brit Awards and a Grammy among others, but he also has a Guinness World Record and was named an Officer of the British Empire for his services to music; his long work with Africa Express earned him respect even from peers who’d previously dismissed him, and his commitment to support his Malian collaborators in the face of violence earned him the title of Local King in Mali. There is so much talent in the world, but there is truly no one else with a career that looks like Damon Albarn’s. Damon is far more than just a prettyboy to look nice on a magazine cover, but looks are the ultimate point of this tournament, so make no mistake: he was terribly, terribly pretty. You watch him performing in the 90s, you sift through photoshoots and interviews and documentaries, and it feels *cruel* how beautiful he was. If his talent was god-given, so was his face. To put a bow on this thesis: I don’t know if Gorillaz and Damon’s musical universe would be the experimental, globe-trotting, boundary-pushing community affair it is if Blur hadn’t become such a central figure in Britpop and if Damon had not been made such a media spectacle, and I don’t know if Damon would have been that spectacle if he wasn’t so ungodly pretty. The domino effect is that Damon’s cherubic face launched a thousand multimedia art school projects for decades to come."

"I wish I was basically any bloke in the 90s so I could tongue Damon Albarn down. Damon will see a man and ask “is anyone gonna kiss that?” and not wait for a response."

"I have a pillow with his face on it. I sleep with it every night 😊"

"“I’m more homosexual than Brett Anderson, always have been. As far as bisexuality goes, I’ve had a taste of that particular fruit, or have been tasted you might say…” is just the rawest most Shakespearean statement ever"

"he is the ultimate Pretty Boy ™. his glorious golden locks, his electric blue eyes. he is if Princess Diana was a Britpop Dude. he is the Regina George of Britpop. he is if Aphrodite took male form. Zeus would come down to earth to fuck him if he knew. he is a caffeinated orange cat let loose. he is deranged. he is unhinged. you never know what will come out of his mouth. he had sexual tension with every single man who knew him. he pulled justine fucking frischmann. his aura knows no bounds. he is a siren. he is a weird guy. but being so gorgeous stunning ethereal didn't stop him from also being one of the most prolific songwriters of his generation"

"THE MAIN BLUR"

"literally where do i even begin. i could write entire essays on this man. a good place to start would be the beetlebum music video, i suppose. i'll never forget the first time i watched that music video. something in me changed, my brain chemistry was altered, my life was never the same, i view the world a lot differently now. and a lot of the viewing i'm doing is of pictures of damon albarn's face because of boy do i have a lot of those saved. every time i try to look for a photo of something on my phone i can't find it because there's so much damon. okay that's maybe an exaggeration but this man has the most unfathomable beauty ever. his eyes? HIS EYES. god dammit i love his eyes i want to stare at them until the end of time like nothing else exists. i'm so normal about this man (lying) and while i'm usually very shameless about my interests i'm actually incredibly glad this propaganda is anonymous because otherwise. yeah. but the world deserves to see damon albarn's beauty and also hear his fantastic voice because what the fuck. his voice is literally the most gorgeous sound ever produced like bro sounds like that and expects me not to fall in love? i want this man to sing his silly songs and talk absolute nonsense to me until the sun eventually blows out and the world ends. cmon damon girlies let's demolish this tournament i know there are a lot of you."

"He’s beautiful. He’s a little rat. He’s a sweetheart. He’s a dickhead. He’s a musical genius. He’s a dumb bitch. He’s a jock. He’s a weirdo. He’s real. He’s an illusion. He’s everything. He’s just Damon."

"DAMON DAMON DAMON where do I begin oh jeez I've hyperfixated on this man for a solid 4 years and still going strong. Damon makes me wish that British people are real. That says A LOT. This man created a whole ass ANIMATED BAND WITH A SHIT TON OF LORE as a SIDE HUSTLE??? Not to mention, what other man has collaborated with Stevie Nicks, MF DOOM, Del the Funky Homosapien, Snoop Dogg, AND Beck?! People, we're literally in the presence of a god. And he's STILL GOING. Anyways, TL;DR, damon is so so so neat and cool and he should definitely win this competition. Thank you."

"Okay 90s Damon is The Perfect Boy yes yes, but the people who parrot the Daily Mail and say "he's ugly now" will never understand. I would still suck every drop from him on his deathbed."

"Vote for whoever you want to. But Damon is so pretty."

"i did not spend hours admiring this beautiful man's face on pinterest just to see him lose."

"Damon Albarn just brings me joy. When I'm watching him perform, following along as the camera lingers on and adores his pretty face, I get butterflies like I'm 15 again. It's nice to still feel that totally unguarded giddiness sometimes."

"God let the intrusive thoughts win making Damon. What if he's a beautiful blond twink with eyes like saucers and dick to his knees, he reads Herman Hesse and plays footie and is insufferable about both, he'll be the most prolific musician of his generation and write operas and seminal albums in 5 different genres and also he's gonna be the dumbest bitch alive? He'll also be kinda bi, but only kinda. And send."

"when i found out about his existence, my life was changed forever. i wish i could use him like the hannah montana boot milk pillow and chuck him at the wall so he makes a loud thud"

"Think of the drama and anon fights it'll cause if Damon wins it all! And think of how quiet it'll get after Damon's out. You'll miss him when he's gone, like memories of a noisy house years after it's grown silent. Choose Damon, and keep the messy train chugging."

"Even the Gallagher brothers have the hots for him."

"Kiss kiss I love him also you can't vote for any of the Seattle men they're literally copy and paste it's not fair. We need Brit representation"

"I want to take care of him, I want to provide for him. I need to gauge his baby blue puppy dog orbs out to I can clean them with wood varnish, paint shades of Pantone 320 C in his eyes, spray eau de parfume by dior in them and sew it back into his eyes like that scene in Toy Story 2."

"Seeing as simply filling the page with ‘Damon’ written 10000000 times isn’t going to cut it 😅 may I admit/submit: I DO have him tattooed on my being (no descriptive, is this anon?); he’s inspired somewhat unhinged late night/early morning fandom conversations in which I’ve served as ‘parish’ priest hearing confessions from all manner of folk about what they’d like to do to him/receive from him; sadly I lost an essay where I detailed why the letters that make up his name suit him so well, and described him as the hot caramel sauce to Graham’s cool vanilla ice cream. He’s a faerie princess with a nose that makes people weep and a voice that feels like the warmest home and he gives amazing hugs. He loves trains and chickens and his tuxedo cat. He’s annoying and sweet and somewhat unhinged and his music saves people and all this is on top of that fantastic dick. He’s a dream yet very real and we’re fucking blessed to be on earth at the same time as him, amen"

"Damon Albarn was a beautiful, beautiful boy. The world saw that, regardless of if every individual reading this has the same taste in men; it felt like a truth of the universe at the time. They don't make celebrities that angelic in face and erratic in personality anymore."

"I need to touch his eyebrows, nose and prostate just one time JUST ONE TIME COME ON"

#most attractive 90s musician #poll #polls #lauryn hill #fugees #damon albarn #blur #90s music #tournament

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moonstruckme · 5 months ago

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My stomach hurts so bad!! I feel so sick Bb do u think u could write a fic with James or Steve with a super sick gf???

I'm sorry about your stomach babe! Hopefully you're feeling much better by now, thank you for requesting

cw: food poisoning (no vom or anything, just mentioned)

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 615 words

You whine, curling in on yourself like you can squash your insides into numbness. “I feel so gross,” you whine.

“You are pretty gross,” Steve replies, knuckles running up and down your arm.

You look up at him from where your head rests on his lap, appalled. “You’re not supposed to agree with me!”

“What?” Your boyfriend gives you a disbelieving look. “I didn’t say you were hideous, but you are definitely grosser than usual. Like, if we’re taking you on your best day, this is at least thirty percent more gross than that. I can’t agree with that?”

“No!”

“In that case, I think you’re delirious with fever, babe. I never said anything about you being gross.”

Despite yourself, a reluctant little chuckle puffs out of you. Steve grins.

“Even if you were gross,” he drags his palm down the length of your back, letting it curve over your hip to your thigh before starting back in the other direction, “you’d still be way hotter than anyone else I’ve ever seen. It’s only fair that you get gross every now and then. You know, to make everyone else feel better.”

“I don’t think everyone else is that worried about it,” you say.

“That’s where I think you’re wrong. Think about it: we eat at the same place we go to all the time, and only you get food poisoning? That’s not chance, that is a planned attack.”

You look up at him amusedly. “You think this was an assassination attempt?”

“I mean, without the killing part, probably, but yeah.”

You hum, settling back in on his lap. “You’re starting to sound like your nerd friends.”

Steve’s mouth drops open playfully. “I am not! And anyway, if you tune out Wheeler’s brother, sometimes they’re making some good points.”

You start to smile just before another cramp seizes your middle, rolling through you with a wave of nausea. Steve’s grip on you tightens as your eyes screw shut.

“Shit.” He sounds part sympathetic and part like he might be in pain himself, one hand worming underneath your arms to rub at your stomach. “I’m sorry, baby. I know it sucks. All we can do is ride it out, and it should be gone by morning.”

You make a small, distressed sound. “We don’t even know if it’s food poisoning.”

“Nah, it is.”

Steve’s massaging helps, and gradually the pain lessens. You take deep breaths until you can think clearly again.

“How are you so sure?” you ask him.

He shrugs. “It’s just the only thing that makes sense. You’re just getting whatever it was out of your system. You’ll be good as new soon, just you wait.”

You shoot him a dubious look. “What, you think you’re a doctor now?”

“No, but I kinda look like I could play one on TV, right?” At your bewildered silence, Steve goes on, his hand still moving gently over your stomach. “I’m just saying, have you ever seen those soap operas in the hospitals? If they came out to Hawkins to do their casting calls, I’d be snatched up in a hot second, babe.”

You study him. Steve is undeniably handsome, this isn’t new information. He has a firm brow paired with sweetheart eyes and mussable hair, plus a classical sort of bone structure that’s humanized by the odd blemish or mole. Nice skin and a nicer smile. Good hands, too, one of which is currently caressing your hurting stomach while the other plays with the ends of your hair.

“Nope,” you say, completely lovestruck. “I don’t see it.”

“That’s okay.” Steve gives the pudge of your stomach a gentle squeeze. “It’s just the fever getting to you again.”

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themareverine · 2 months ago

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A King & His Castle | In You, My Fortress | oldman!Logan x fem!OC drabble

series summary: Breadwinner. Bring-Home-the-Bacon. King of the Castle. He's heard it all before, but it's never been true of the Wolverine. Until her. Coming home to her is the only thing to live for, the only thing keeping the heart behind his ribs spinning.

synopsis: Insane, sick. Straight to hell if that’s the case—he couldn’t think of worse torture, and he’d outlived excrutiating. He knows it more intimately than he should, living it every day. Leaving his small Eden behind, in the biting Mexican dust that wilds it away in the glass of his rearview, it’s hell beyond the little limits of everything he, now, holds close.

warnings: drabble series, day-in-the-life, dad!Logan, age gap, angst, domesticity, pregnancy, babies, children, Logan is a boy dad because I said so.

a/n: based on this. and I have to dedicate this to @1800-fight-me for that post, which changed my brain chemistry and prompted my first oldman!Logan.

SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

On days like this, Logan could kill.

Redlight. Redlight. Red, again. Red fuckin’ light.

He could see them in his fuckin’ sleep. At a little after four, a text from a bunch of digits suggests a phone number—Chicago, if his guess was right. You booking rides? like it’s normal business hours instead of ass o’clock in the morning, like he hasn’t just passed out in bed after getting home and standing beneath a lava-hot shower for all of a handful of minutes—managed three and a half hours of fucking, much-needed racktime.

Need a limo for five, 7:15. $1k green.

Squinting into the screen without readers had been like staring into the sun, but Logan had managed. Dimness dropped to low as hell—fine, i'll be there with slow thumbs that burned, felt as if the weight of US-57 had been chained to every fiber of his skin structure. He’d managed to arrange a call time without so much as hammering his phone through the floor, a small mercy—place was barely standing as-is. Hauling old bones from bed was just short of crawling from hell, the warmth of under-covers and threadbare sheets more alluring than Egyptian gods.

Hair not dry from his first shower, smothered against a thick, hard pillow for the three hours of sleep he’d managed, he stalked his ass back into the shower. Tried to work the cold irritation at humanity swimming in his veins beneath more hot water, failed—wrangled into only-slightly wrinkled slacks and jacket, may as well have been like roping steers. Skipped shaving, fuck that, started the hunt for another of his damn socks. Fumbling about the room like a green linebacker, he didn’t even feel the bed stir. Tangle of sheets around feet, the low moan of a curious, half-asleep lover.

“Logan?” Drowsy, she props her pretty self up on an elbow. He can see her squinting into the lowlight of the room, thick streams of light from the moon creep over the bed in an otherworldly, nightingale kind of way—half bathed in lunar milk, he couldn’t miss the slight pull of her satin nightdress for anything as she sits up, scrubbing a hand down her face. She asks him what’s up, “Haven’t decided to finally leave me, have you?”

Insane, sick. Straight to hell if that’s the case—he couldn’t think of worse torture, and he’d outlived excrutiating. He knows it more intimately than he should, living it every day. Leaving his small Eden behind, in the biting Mexican dust that wilds it away in the glass of his rearview, it’s hell beyond the little limits of everything he, now, holds close. Never in a thousand lifetimes would Logan ever imagine being that guy—the guy who fortresses a home. The man who makes vows. Oaths before heaven, whispers sweet nothings and pretty everythings to a heart that beats like his. Never was one for wishing on stars or counting them, slow in a different kind of way—slow in sense of the half-dead, way that smells roses hardly fathomable. If anyone would’ve told him his heart would beat for someone else, for living—-in this shell of a body, this phantom of a man, he’d have laughed. Never believed, no sir. Not him, not the Wolverine.

Her slow, half-drunk chuckle off the statement claws at his aching ribcage. Fingers brushing what feel like a wad of socks, Logan moves to stuff them into his pocket. Swipes shoes from where he’d dropped them not long ago, slips through the darkness carefully. Where she’s risen from bed comes up quickly, and he blocks the milk of light swathing over their bed from view—fingers her hair away from her face, wild from where it’s fallen from her usual satin cap.

“You’re dreamin’,” he hums, can’t deny the hint of a mile as she manages a rough, morning-dry chuckle. It sits low. Rattles around the adamantium in his chest. “G’back to sleep, baby—it’s early.” And if that isn’t the God-awful truth, he isn’t sure what is. 5:34 glares back at him when he checks the screen of his phone, not missing the pretty smile laughing back at him from the lockscreen. His lips brush her forehead lightly, hand firm at the back of her neck as his thumb skips over the steady thrum of her pulse.

Lithe, curious fingers reach for him in the night. As always, they find him—her nails scratch lightly through his unshaven face, skin that’s dewy. An idea of Irish Spring still floats in the air around his nose, but it’s overpowered by the scent of her—the flow of her blood, the oil of her skin. Frankincense she uses in her hair before bed claws at his chest, unmistakable hints of petroleum jelly on the plush of her lips lights cravings in the back of his throat. Even today, after years, her touch still trailblazes through him like wildfire—cuts trails through the jungle of his unknowns, his hesitations. Three days away had felt like fallout, she’d been asleep like any sane person at 3 in the witching hour when he’d dropped into bed.

Blood pistoning to his cock reminds him how long. He’s been a starving man, deprived of her honey—her fruits.

“You’ll be back?” Her palm against his cheek is God’s gift to humanity, may as well have carved the peak of mountains. “You just got in, Lo,” even in the light of stars he can see the worry mottle pretty features, the depth of her eyes couldn’t be masked by any amount of midnight the universe knew. “You sure you’re okay to drive?” I can drive, if you need me to. She hadn’t driven in years, not since—

“M’fine,” he nods, “don’t you worry ‘bout nothin’ honey.” Slipping her hand into his, he lifts it to press an airy kiss the heel of her hand. It’s soft, for the most part—only partly chapped, mostly from the dry. Dry, and the in-and-out of the desert sun. Keen senses can still taste the brush of earth on her skin, dirt from good hours spent outside. Laughing, running. Playing pretend, exploring the mesa. Like a child, like innocence.

“Be back tonight,” it comes off a thick cough, “don’t have to wait up.”

Her snort is sharp. “ I’ll wait. Hate this BS,” the nod is resigned though, knowing. A deep sigh puffs out her cheeks, blows hot against his lips as she looks up at him. “Need you here, Logan,” I know, don’t I know—guiding her arms around his middle, her cheek falls against his chest. Her weight against him reminds him he’s alive, still breathing—reminds him that this, right here, is his. He can feel her hum low at the bottom of her ribs, and rests his chin in her hair, rocking her back and forth lightly. Relishing her heat, the slip of satin. The spring of curl cream in her hair, the zip of adrenaline and sex in his blood. “Want you here.”

As 5,000 volts as the day he met her, all those years ago. Logan can still taste the rain in the air, the sting of sour sweat and testosterone in the bar. The bite of the steel cage. It’s still clear in the back of his head, glancing at her on a barstool in the corner—more of a drowned lizard than a girl, as the bartender had so aptly noticed. Tired, pretty in the eyes. Broke as hell and as lost as they came—he’d never forget the smile she gave him as he’d tucked her back into that ancient Jeep as long as he lived.

And she’s still pretty in the eyes, even if they are a little deeper. Haven’t aged a day in all the years she’s been chasing shadows, stalking the sun by his side—racing to die, chancing to live. As Wolverine as they came, in a different kind of way. Unkillable, like him. God’s gift to him, certainly—an Eve for his unkillable Adam, to taste the sun. Lifetimes and mementos of the forgotten behind them, this is his castle. His home— life that, had finally, birthed.

Wrapped up in pretty satin and swaddling clothes. “I should check on little man,” and there it is. The nail in his coffin. Mention of their son—his son, it’s like a slow poison. Logan never, in any of his days, would imagine that the idea of a child, his offspring would do such devastatingly good things to him—he can’t remember when it changed, how it happened. But it stabs at the mesh of his ribs unlike anything he’s ever felt all the same, toys with his pleasures like a cat with a mouse. Her head tipping back greenlights the pad of his thumb gently pulling at the plush of her bottom lip. Looking up at him with a teasing smile, through low lashes undoes him in a way that should be sin.

And he kisses her the way she likes, slow. Hard. When her arms snake around his neck, pulling him close, he loses his composure. Deepens the kiss, moans against the heat of her tongue playing with his. “Careful,” he smiles through every languid stroke of her tongue, every little breathless gasp, “don’t start somethin’ we can’t finish, pretty.”

“Who says we can’t?”

“When I get back, baby.”

Her pleasured hmmm, heady whispers in dark shadows light him up like a firecracker, but he can’t. Can’t stay, can’t go—trapped in situation’s limbo. Hell of a thing, really. His finger traces the curve of her hip, up—falls in line against her bottom rib, tugging at the skin beneath satin. Erupting in a fit of ticklish giggles, her fingers tug at his hair, play with damp at the nape of his neck. “Logan—not fair!” her breathlessly sharp whine—it fucks his brains.

“Plen’y fair,” another kiss, one more taste of her, and he steps back. Creates a chasm and his pulse jumps, almost flatlines. Fingertips linger against his as he moves for the door—her tongue chases over kiss-fat lips, and Logan swears to God he can see the fire dancing in the cradle of her womb as she follows after him. Once they hit the door, he kisses her again—it’s the only thing that will keep him alive.

“I love you, kid,” kid. Hasn’t called her that in awhile. She still smiles at the name, like she always has. It’s true but isn’t—he’s 200 years older than her, another sin on his growing list of indiscretions with God. But she’s lived enough life at his side for it to count, seen enough blood. Heart racing behind his ribs, waiting—breathlessly. All too damn breathlessly for a man who couldn’t give up his breath if God asked.

“Love you more,” a Betty Crocker kiss to his cheek and she slips away, into the darkness, opposite direction. Nursery, the quiet pull of the innocent. His feet point to the kitchen, to the reckless hour of the world’s morning.

Twenty-seven steps. Out the door, sink into the limo. A text lights up the phone he’s tossed to the passenger seat as headlights cast lowbeams into witchy darkness. Foot on the brake, he fumbles the breastpocket for hardly-new readers, ignoring the tag still hanging out on the templepiece. Grabbing it, opens the photo attachment. Her, and his child—his son, his side of the bed. His never-in-a-million-years, impossible-to-the-stars family—

— his fortress, the castle to which he returns. Lucky son of a bitch.

tags: @fandomxo00 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

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10piecechickennuggy · 11 months ago

Text

Rut - Alastor x Fem!Reader - Oneshot

WARNING: Mature content ahead. MDNI

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hazbin Hotel or the fanart featured above. This is a fan created work.

Word Count: 4,244

***

Clawed fingers tore at crimson silk, black buttons snapping free and clattering to the floor as the dress shirt was ripped open. Beads of sweat soaked into scarlet bangs, plastering the usually fluffy hairs against feverish skin. Ragged breaths rattled a heaving chest as they fanned across parched lips.

When had it gotten so hot? Was the air conditioning in the radio tower not working?

Everything felt too constricting. From his clothes to his own skin, it was as though he couldn’t breathe properly. Alastor growled in frustration as his bowtie was thrown to the floor.

Leaning over a panel of dials and switches, the radio demon raised a hand to his antlers. The velveteen covered bone itched - small shreds of the hair-like skin falling as he scratched desperately.

The sensation did little to dissuade his discomfort. Nor did removing his monocle or allowing his other hand to dig into the skin of his neck. But even so, he couldn’t stop.

Thin lines of sanguine trickled from now raw skin, the thick liquid eliciting a cooling sensation in its wake. A loud sigh escaped Alastor at the miniscule relief his spilled blood had brought. But the amnesty was short lived, retreating almost immediately and leaving a psoriasis of mounting intensity in its wake.

Air. He needed air.

Scrambling toward a window, the man almost didn’t notice his antlers crashing into the glass until the impact had caused him to stumble backwards and land on his ass. Rubbing his behind, Alastor stood and paused for a moment.

Why did that feel good?

It was as though his antlers were yearning to be rammed against something. The urge tickled and twisted its way down from the top of his head to the tip of his tail - the white and scarlet puff now standing straight up in alert.

Foregoing another headbut into the fenestella, he instead raised the glass gently. A welcome breeze struck against his face, bringing a shiver down the demon’s spine as his burning skin began to cool in the sulfur wind.

Panting, he allowed his upper body to bend over the windowsill. His torso stretched outward and his head hung limply as he took in the feeling of relief once more. Had he a clearer mind, he’d have cringed at the thought of someone seeing him in such a desperate state.

But the act of leaning out the window brought another sensation. As if the universe itself were seeking to break him, he was struck by an alluring scent. Floral musk assaulted his nostrils, causing the demon’s head to jerk upward in search of its source. And when his gaze traveled down towards the hotel’s entrance, he knew it had been located.

Standing in front of the building was the establishment’s newest resident, Y/n. Her hair was pulled up, exposing the delicate flesh of her neck and shoulders, the sun dress she wore fluttering in the breeze. No doubt the autumn wind was what brought her enticing bouquet aloft, caressing the visible skin and shepherding her aroma to the radio tower above.

Scent was far from her only captivating feature. From her piercing eyes to the enthralling angles of her facial structure. From her beautiful hair down to her adorable toes and every sensual curve in between, the woman was downright breathtaking. A dangerous sentiment, given Alastor’s current state.

Leaning further out the window, his nose lifted as he inhaled deeply, Alastor’s eyes widened in awareness of his lower half now pressed firmly against the wall below. The rigid wooden surface brushed deliciously against his hardened member.

So that was it. It was that time of year again.

Alastor was rarely one to experience such basal urges. The occasions he did were more inconvenient and bothersome than anything, requiring time be taken from his busy schedule to satiate the primal desire. He clicked his tongue in irritation at his body’s betrayal. Crinkling his eyebrows together and exiting the studio, he began to ponder just how best to take care of the pesky dilemma.

***

Several hours later, Alstor had been able to quell the physical effects of his rut enough to emerge from his room. The demon was far from satisfied though, the urge to breed burning at the back of his mind. An incredible amount of willpower was needed to keep himself in check - far more than he would care to admit - or else he’d find himself locked away, stroking his cock raw in desperate search of release again.

After an annoyingly long period of such activities, the deer demon had grown so disgruntled with his own biology that he’d decided to just ignore it. He knew the strategy was flawed - that it could only work for a short while - no matter how many times he came, only allowing himself to truly mate would bring any true relief to his symptoms. But he had to get on with his life. He had duties and obligations that could wait no longer. Perhaps after he completed the day’s tasks, he’d hire a prostitute to satiate his sexual appetite.

And then kill her, of course.

He couldn’t let someone walk freely knowing how truly weak his rut made him. The thought of using another sinner and then beating her body into a bloody pulp caused Alastor’s signature smile to broaden. After inflicting as much pain as possible and ensuring she’d perished, he’d consume her flesh. His stomach growled in anticipation.

Whistling an old timey tune, he walked through the streets of Pentagram City. An overlord meeting had just concluded, meaning Alastor was now free to return to the Hazbin Hotel and fulfill his duties as facilities manager. He just needed to make some quick repairs, meet with Charlie to discuss her continuing rehabilitation curriculum, and he’d be off to the entertainment district.

***

Moss-colored wooden panels now lined yet another wall of the hotel’s lobby. Why did there always seem to be a new hole in the building’s exterior walls? If it wasn’t one of Sir Pentious’ inventions causing another explosion, it was some nuisance of the week who thought they could best the Radio Demon and the Princess of Hell.

Alastor couldn’t help but laugh at the memory of the latest attack, the pained screams of his victims as he strangled them to death with his shadow tentacles still replaying in his mind. They’d managed to blow a hole in the hotel’s facade, but some quick magic had it fixed in a jiffy. Standing back, Alastor admired his work when a familiar scent caught his attention.

Turning around slowly, he was met with the sight of Y/n descending the hotel’s main staircase. Every step she took was pure elegance, as though she were surrounded by an aura of grace and allure. Her vibrant sundress flowed behind as she walked, its deep V neckline exposing a fair bit of cleavage. Her pheromones permeated Alastor’s senses, working in tandem with her gorgeous appearance to captivate the man. When she’d reached the final step, her gaze lifted to meet with his and her lips curved up to form a dazzling smile.

“Hey, Al.” She waved before advancing toward him.

Alastor’s heart skipped and his cock throbbed. The uncomfortable itching sensation returned, his pulse increasing and his breath growing shallow. He briefly considered excusing himself - running to his room before he lost composure - but decided against it. He couldn’t let something as simple as biology and instinct get the better of him.

“Hello there, darling! How are you this fine afternoon?” The radio static came through especially thick as he spoke, distorting his voice to a near grumble.

A blush overtook the woman, her hands clasping together as she took on a bashful stance. Her current posture had her arms squeezing her breasts, causing the supple flesh to squish together and expose even more of her cleavage than had already been visible.

“I’m alright. Just headed to the bar.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before continuing. “Care to join me?” Her voice was soft and smooth, akin to satin.

Damn, this woman. He’d already made plans to take care of the issue, and yet here she was enticing him. But the longer he spent in her presence, the more he felt his desire grow. And the harder his cock grew, his body reacting to the female before it.

Forcing himself to remain composed, Alastor gestured for her to lead the way. He followed her silently to the bar, where they both sat before a frowning Husker.

“Hi there, beautiful.” He turned to nod towards Alastor. “Boss.” The feline bartender bent down, the sound of clinking glass coming from below the bar. “What can I get you, sweetheart?”

Alastor didn’t miss the warm smile Husk offered his companion while only scowling in his general direction when addressing them both. When said female’s eyelashes fluttered and she began to fidget with the hem on her dress, the Radio Demon’s perpetual smile fell just the slightest bit.

“Sex on the beach, please.”

Red wings flapped once as Husker took on a devious smirk. He reached for a bottle of peach schnapps before speaking in a flirtatious tone. “Sorry to disappoint, but the nearest ocean is three rings down. Hopefully the drink is half as satisfying as the man making it.”

And then the cat winked. He fucking winked.

Alastor’s blood boiled, the urge to ram his antlers against the insufferable bartender was overwhelming. When she giggled at the other male’s advances, all he could see was red.

The deer demon growled as he stood from his seat, fluffy ears laying flat to his head. Clawed fingers gripped Y/n’s wrist and yanked her away from the bar. A surprised yelp escaped the woman as Alastor dragged her towards the staircase, his anger evident with every stomping footstep.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, her words laced with uncertainty. “Where are you taking me?”

He didn’t respond, only continuing to trudge forward as she stumbled behind attempting to keep up with his quick and deliberate strides. As they ventured onward, his other hand rose to dig at his neck, the itching sensation now unbearable as his body’s excitement and irritation intensified. By this point, the man was nearly operating on hormones alone.

The pair halted at Alastor’s room just long enough for him to open the door before roughly pushing her inside.

“Hey!” Her voice was now raised as she stared down the man before her. “What was that for?!”

Shadow tentacles emerged from the room’s corners and encircled the woman, wrapping around her form with a vice grip. She squealed when the appendages lifted her into the air, her feet dangling above the carpeted floor. Her eyes widened when Alastor advanced toward her, his form appearing to grow larger and his antlers having extended.

When the pair were mere centimeters apart, his steps ceased. Bending forward, his nose brushed the crook of her neck before he inhaled deeply. Her scent was even stronger than before - like a hypnotic miasma the man could feel himself getting drunk on with every wiff.

“Umm, Alastor?” Her voice wavered as she questioned his actions. But she made no attempt to move away.

“Apologies, my dear.” His ever present radio static sunk into her bones, her expression visibly softening when he pulled away to meet her eyes. Oh how he longed to see that face morphed with bliss and pleasure as he ravaged her. “I simply couldn’t stand to watch that pestering feline continue his advances on what is mine.”

Her cheeks were brightly flushed, but she made no effort to deny his statement. Instead, when Alastor lifted a hand to cup her cheek, she leaned into it. “Perhaps you should claim me then.”

The noise he made in response was akin to a crackling purr, his eyelids drooping and pupils dilating in a lustful gaze. Tangling his fingers through her hair, his lips crashed into hers in a devouring kiss. His tongue invaded the wet cavern of my mouth when she moaned against him. She tasted of sweetness and desire, not unlike the musk of her arousal Alastor’s heightened senses allowed him to take note of. She wanted him, and the longer their mouths remained plastered together, the more their carnal need for each other grew.

Once their lips had separated, the shadow tentacles moved her to the waiting bed. Their grip loosened, allowing her limbs to regain blood flow while still holding her firmly in place. Her body rested against the plush comforter beautifully, her hair splayed out in a halo around her face as her chest rose and fell in rapid breaths of anticipation.

Alastor’s smile broadened, sharp teeth exposed and menacing in the room’s dim lighting. She was willing prey before a deadly predator, his perfect doe - compliant and eager. He climbed atop her form, the mattress dipping as he did.

Sharp nails clawed up the female’s sides as he drew into her neck once more, his tongue coming out to lick a long stripe along the supple flesh. Beneath the sodden muscle, he could feel her pulse quicken. The scent of blood flowing beneath her skin enticed the demon, who sunk his claws into her hips - fabric and skin tearing as his knee came up to brush firmly against her clothed cunt. The resulting whimper which fell from her lips was like music to the Radio Demon’s ears.

By this point, his pants had grown uncomfortably tight against his needy erection. Dragging his digits upwards, the sundress was ripped from her form as a shudder rippled through her.

Long streaks of bloody claw marks ran up her torso, the shallow cuts bringing a new sense of exciting danger to the female. She began to writhe against the shadow appendages which still held her in place, but it was clear she wasn’t looking for escape. Rather, she struggled against her bindings in an attempt to reach out to him - to touch him as he touched her.

He paused to take in the sight of her black lace undergarments, appreciating the delicate fabric and the lewd implication that she’d donned them deliberately. A dark chuckle fell from the man as he hooked a single finger beneath the band of her bra, right at the point where her breasts met and pulled the fabric away from her form. “Tell me, cheri. Did you intend to spend your evening beneath me?”

She didn’t respond, only turning her head to the side and looking away from him.

“Now, now.” He gripped her cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to meet his gaze. His tone was akin to a parent chastising their child. “It’s rude to ignore someone who’s speaking to you. Especially when you’re at their mercy.” The ripping of fabric punctuated his statement as her bra was shredded, her breasts bouncing free with nipples hardening in the cool air.

“I could tell you were suffering, what with the time of year and all.” Her voice came as a whisper, as if she were afraid of admitting to her knowledge of his rut.

Alastor sighed, his knee moving to bring some much needed friction to her clothed core. His trousers grew damp where he rubbed, her arousal soaking into the fabric. “What a foolish little doe you are, cheri.” Sitting upward, his pinstripe tailcoat was removed and tossed aside. His eyes took on a darker hue as he began to release his tie. “I am going to enjoy devouring you.”

The moment he’d finished the statement, the shadow tentacles pulled her limbs apart - spreading her wide for him. Removing his shirt and then her panties, he trailed a finger along the scarlet stripes on her side. Sticky blood gathered on his digit, which was quickly brought to waiting lips. Wrapping his tongue around the extremity, he hummed in approval.

“Delicious.”

An audible gulp came from the female as she watched the man before her with lidded eyes, her pupils blown wide. Two of the tentacles slithered up her form, encircling her breasts with a tight squeeze. A deep moan erupted from her throat as the shadow appendages began to move, squishing and manipulating the tender flesh whilst the tips toyed with her perked nipples in unison. Her breath came in pants, fists clenching and releasing as she allowed the pleasure to wash over her.

The welcome ministrations happening at her tits had distracted the woman, who failed to notice Alastor moving downwards. She missed the sensation of his hands massaging their way from her torso to her thighs, nor did she notice when the man positioned his upper body between her legs. Only when she felt his tongue slide through her folds did she let out a surprised gasp. Looking down, she finally took note of the head of crimson hair buried between her limbs.

Alastor’s ears were laid flat as his mouth worked on her, lapping at the slick of her heat. His lips engulfed her pussy in a passionate kiss to her lower lips, tongue darting inside as his nose brushed her clit. His sharp nails dug into the skin of her thighs when her hips began to buck, holding her still against his face as he continued to eat her out.

He consumed her like a man starved, savoring the flavor of her arousal. Lewd slurping sounds filled the air as he continued to lick and suck at her center, eliciting moans with every breath the female took. Moving upwards, his lips came to rest around her bundle of nerves whilst two long fingers entered her now soaking hole. The digits moved in a scissoring fashion as he pumped them within her, his mouth providing suction to her clit.

It wasn’t long before she unraveled on his fingers, a sharp whine shuddering from her body as her walls convulsed. Alastor continued his actions, working her through her orgasm until finally she settled. Withdrawing from her, his lips and chin shone with the moisture of her arousal.

When the tentacles holding her in place withdrew, the woman looked surprised. She sat up, attempting to catch her breath as she looked at the bulge in her companion’s pants.

“On all fours, darling.” The order sent a shiver down her spine.

She complied in silence, turning around to present herself to him. Her juices dripped down her thighs, pussy clenching around nothing as she waited to be taken.

The clinking of metal was the only sound as his belt slipped free of the loops on his trousers, before said garment was unzipped and allowed to crumple on the floor. Finally, his cock sprang free as his bottoms and underwear were kicked aside. The angrily flushed tip weeped beads of precum as he stroked it lazily.

Climbing atop the bed once more, Alastor settled behind his mate and brought his member to her entrance. Sinking into her slowly, they vocalized in unison. A guttural growl came from deep within the buck’s chest as he bottomed out within her. Laying himself flat against her back, he took her dangling tits into both hands and gripped them as he stilled.

He wanted to savor this feeling - to commit to memory the sensation of her silken walls surrounding his impossibly hard cock. She squeezed him deliciously tight, already milking him before the true fucking had even begun.

Gently kissing her shoulder, Alastor began to move. His thrusts came slow at first, his dick dragging against her at an agonizing pace as he withdrew until only the tip remained inside before reentering just as gradually. This repeated several times until the woman let out a noise of frustration, her hips jerking backwards in an attempt to increase the pace.

At her sudden movement, Alastor gasped. He hadn’t expected her to try and take charge - especially with him mounting her from behind. He was the male here. Perhaps he needed to remind her of their places in this sensuous act.

Quickly, a clawed hand removed itself from her breast and came to the back of her head before pushing. Her face landed sideways against a pillow, her eyes wide as she looked back at him.

“Impatient, are we?” The demon’s voice held a malicious edge, his eyes glinting with dark excitement. “Allow me to ruin you then.”

He left no opportunity for her to respond before he began thrusting into her once more, fucking her in earnest. His hips pistoned against her, the squelching of fluids mingled with slapping of skin each time his dick was plowed into her dripping heat. He held her head firmly against the pillow, his other hand ripping flesh at her hip to keep her still. A cry of pained pleasure came from the woman as she took his brutal assault.

Continuing to pummel his doe, Alastor picked her up so they were both upright on their knees. Her legs spread around his as she sat back onto his lap. A hand encircled her throat, choking her sobs as tears began to form at the corners of her eyes. His hips incessantly slapped her ass with each repeated thrust.

Bringing his other hand from her hip, the bloodied palm drug against her chest before his claws pierced her skin once more. Ripping down her front, she screamed in a high-pitched whine that vibrated his hand on her neck. Sanguine rivers now flowed freely, staining the fabric below.

The scent of her spilled blood was now too much to bear. Continuing his brutal pace, the Radio Demon brought his mouth to the conjunction of her shoulder and nape. He needed to taste her again - to feel the thickness of her blood against his tongue. And so he bit down, his dagger sharp teeth sinking into feverish skin. Salt was the first thing he tasted as her sweat mixed with his saliva before a metallic taste bloomed within his hungry maw.

“A-Alastor!” She screamed, one of her hands quickly tangling into his locks. Her other palm slapped against his upper leg, supporting her unsteady weight. Her eyes closed as she hissed from the pain. But oh, did it hurt so good.

Drinking greedily, he began to choke her in earnest. He couldn’t have the other hotel residents overhearing. The hand in his hair moved to grip one of his antlers, its twin now clawing at the fingers cutting off her air supply.

When her feeble offense against his vice grip began to lesson and the hold on his bony outcropping waned, Alastor knew she was close to passing out. He could also tell she was close to her second orgasm, the increasing force with which her pussy clamped around him signaling imminent release. And so, he withdrew himself from her and released his chokehold. The wine that accompanied her gasps for air was almost heartwrenching.

Tears now freely fell down her reddened cheeks as she struggled to hold herself up on both arms. She was shaking, her expression one of hurt and expectancy as she turned to face him.

In an instant, he was on her again. This time, she lay on her back while he held her legs in a folded position with her knees against her chest. Not hesitating for even a moment, he sunk back into her and resumed fucking her with an unrelenting force.

Snarling into her face, his brows furrowed in aggression as he spoke. “I say when you can cum.”

“Y-yes, sir!” She hadn’t missed a beat with her response. Grasping his antlers with both hands, she held on tightly as he continued to take her.

“Good girl.” One of his hands slotted itself into the space where they connected, softly circling her clitorus.

He knew he was close to his own end. After just a few more thrusts, his cock began to twitch within her. Kisses were trailed from her lips down her jaw and to her collar, all the while grunts that crackled with static filled the space between them. Beads of sweat dripped from Alastor’s forehead as he sucked bruising hickies across her skin.

With each mark left in his wake, she whined like a bitch in heat. His body responded to her cries, eager to spill his seed and breed her.

With the combination of his delicate ministrations against her clit, the pain of his claws and bites, and the pleasure of his dick battering into her, she had become a babbling mess. Single syllables and nonsense words flew from her mouth between pants and moans.

Licking the trails of blood along her chest, he mumbled against the fat of her breast. “Cum with me, Y/n.”

Two more thrusts into her needy cunt and they were both done for. Powerful spurts of cum painted her collapsing walls, coating her insides with his seed. He held onto her tightly, his pelvis pressed firmly against hers as he released deeply into her womanhood with a shouting moan. Wave after wave of blinding pleasure washed over them both as they rode out their highs.

Collapsing atop her with one last spurt of his cock, Alastor sighed in contentment. Panting heavily and burying his face into her neck, they both began to come down into a glorious afterglow.

“Feeling better?” Her arms were wrapped around his torso in a warm, loving embrace as her fingers traced mindless swirls across the expanse of his back.

“Much better, my dear.”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #smut #lemon #rut #alastor #x reader #female reader #fem reader #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #y/n #reader insert #self insert #explict #bd/sm kink

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meanbossart · 1 month ago

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Ask Compilation: Blondes, feet, bowl-cut guardian lady.

He did not, they never had sex. But he was in love with her.

For sure. I think she struck him more like a teenager with the black hair and bangs, after the change (both visual and in attitude) she became a far more mature AND attractive person in his eyes.

PFFT, well, if you're saying they meet ALL of the criteria, I assume you mean both in looks and personality and hence be damn near his soulmate. DU drow could overlook weird feet (and a lot of other things, actually) if he were in love with the person in question. He would probably gently request they take better care of them, though.

Nothing special there, I'm afraid! He just has human-like skin - perhaps a little on the oily side but completely within the bounds of normality.

He runs a little hot, if that's anything. Oh! His hair is shockingly soft.

Correct! DU drow only (arguably) looks like a drow. He doesn't have their usual bone structure, height, or associated magical proclivities. He has some dark vision but its nowhere near as good as a drow's either.

I don't necessarily think all Bhaalspawn are the same way, but the Dark Urge IS quite different from the previous game's iterations. DU isn't simply Bhaal's child conceived with a partner, he's a piece of the god that supposedly slobbed off and grew legs and a face, pretty much. So yes, I do think that the Dark Urge at least is it's own unique thing.

The reason why he looks like a drow, is because he was placed in the Underdark upon creation. The metaphor I always use here is that if you place something infantile in a biome that is alien to it, it may try to adapt to it's environment to survive as it develops, to different degrees of success. This is why DU drow looks the way he does.

[MORE UNDER THE CUT]

You're welcome!

I've received a few snippets here that you can find through the #gift art tag! There is also the fic I'm in the process of writing called A Novel Experience on AO3.

It was just something I was compelled to do when I first drew him! The facial scars felt like they should lead into something else so I just made up a pattern on the spot, minus a tiny tweak here or there, it has stuck basically unchanged. All and any lore relating to the scars came later.

I get a lot of sweet messages but "thanks for your man's penis size" has to be one of my favorites. Thank you!

HELLO!

Thank you so much for the kind message! And that sounds like a fun dream, I love that your Tav got jealous of the attention ASTARION was receiving instead of mad that he had to share in the first place LOL

DU drow is desperately monogamous. He doesn't care what other people do with their lives but he's very much a "one and done" kind of person.

He would be willingly to participate in a threeway/have group sex with a partner, assuming the rules and regulations of said encounter were laid out clearly before or at least mutually understood between them. He would never want to see these people again after the fact though.

She does not, naturally I had no idea that this character was going to turn into anything when i made him, so I just... Made a lady. And since she was supposed to be a "guardian" I gave her a Joan of Arc type of look.

I've occasionally thought about changing this, but... Y'know, sometimes you don't need lore to be that in-depth, LOL.

The emperor gave everyone else a nondescript hottie he assumed they would trust, DU drow just got the same treatment. She's not even DU drow's type but definitely someone he would be compelled to take seriously yet not feel threatened by - so ultimately, her design does make sense.

---

That's all I have the energy for tonight folks, as always thank you for the many encouraging and sweet messages you send me, I'm sorry I can't reply to all of them! 😭

Have yourselves a great week!

#ask #ask compilation

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ladythornofrivia · 9 months ago

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Lady with Teal Eyes || Aemond x Aunt!Hightower Reader (Part Two)

word count:

author’s note: writing more chapters of a sad dragon family series. I’ll be on a Norwegian cruise line for Italy and Greece for 2 weeks. I’m gonna be seasick, I already know it. So I’ll be writing this series before I leave. Please enjoy and have a good day.

warnings: incest, cockwarming, teasing, sucking, p in v, rough play, flirting, wholesome moment, jealous aemond, possessive, roughness, mild manhandling, mild degradation, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex, second hand embarrassment, dark content, mentions of su*cide, Aemond being too touchy with his aunt, degradation, humiliation.

summary: Aemond meets his aunt for the first time, and there’s more than meets the eye. (there will be three parts).

The preparations for the celebration of King Viserys has reached closer whilst you accompanied Alicent into the corridor, corridor after corridor of a long tour within the Red Keep. Servants bowed as you all passed. Cold bows and cold eyes lingered, despite their bare minimums of smiling graciously at your direction, as Alicent presented the halls with lavish decor. However, mostly it was green and gold. But others blended it with black and red.

As always, you’re marveled by the exquisite lace and embroidered patterns and a clear structure of its final design of artwork is invigorating. The stitching is what you’re most impressed of.

As all Targaryens and Hightowers strolling, Alicent parted ways with her children, unbeknownst to you, the one-eyed prince had his hands behind his back, violet shade of eye looming over your new gown designed by the seamstress, all soft-shaded periwinkle, strapped with gold embroidery and green and red, streaks of iridescent shun upon sunlight, your manes healthy and glowing, maintained through and through.

You knew he was watching. With his precious one violet eye gleaming at the back of your head, your body shivered in an alien sensation. As for Aemond, a dragon’s hunger is anything but stable or sane. A dragon’s hunger is like a breath of wild fire casted to the torch of the wondrous nature and life itself. The fire eats and leaves the bones of ash, dwindling in midair.

Aegon I altered the history and thus, House Targaryen must stand with unity and strength and blood.

Still parted aways after an idle chat, for Alicent to task with decorations, as her children were long gone, back into your large chambers, you were unpacking your materials for the completion on a quilt, a quilt with colorful dragons and mermaids and ships, various shades of sews and needles unpacked, as the back of your neck tingled with goosebumps as you felt a hot breath stroking.

Before you turned around, large and slender hands travelled over your clothed waist, nearly close to your chest above. A writhe of hot tingle rushing in your coils and chest. A quiet breath strained, lax down to a low hiss, a hiss nearly tickling your skin. No servants were around, no Alicent or Gwayne.

Aemond, a one-eyed prince has lurked and captured you. A princess sent by a Maiden herself. The fiery dragon must seize the princess.

You thought he has gone back to training yard with Ser Criston, as Alicent mentioned once at the entryway within a prolonged conversation.

“Aemond—”

His face inched close to yours, his supple and pretty lips touched your cheeks, trailed down to your jawline, whilst his left hand grasp your face to stay still. The pool between your legs gradually strengthened its warmth and slick, easily for the prince to prance and insert into your tight hole. Under the layers of silk dress, Aemond bunched the layered fabrics to your waist.

You never had a noble taken an interest in you. The only that interests them is the brightness of your teal eyes.

A mesmerizing glow of your hues has yanked his curiosities. His mother never mentioned him about you—not even once in a dubious talk.

Better late than never.

With his hand, fingers strapped, and his trimmed nails clutched the fabric of your corset, the laces loosener it in smooth motion, loosening around your frame, breasts ached as his hand—his cold hand—brushed and pinched your nipple while his other hand found his way your thigh, grasped as Aemond’s tongue flicked and his lips pressed a chaste kiss to your clit.

A moan escaped, your mouth shielded, you face drowned in flush, as Aemond’s heart leapt in satisfaction. Humming, he stood up and inserted his fingers into your cunt, thrusting the fingers in with doubled speed as your moans grew louder, but restrained the pleasure into your chest, holding it. The walls in the Red Keep are dire; servants and nobles and guards walked passed and patrolled through wall and doors. Even the highest nobles strolled by.

“Fuck,” is all he said, as if it was a prayer. “Your cunt might be as Holy as the Maiden herself.”

His lips sucked your swollen tit.

“My prince,” you cried softly. “Please. The guards, my brother and sister will see us.”

“I do not care of their pious thoughts.”

“I’m your aunt, my pri—”

“Don’t fight it, my sweet,” he said, giving a sensual flick on his warm tongue to your swollen flesh, “I might give you a reason to have bruise on you, ones that they’ll never find on your skin.” His hands grasped your waist, trailing with soft strokes. “You’re humiliated. Maybe there’s more than meets the eye.”

Based on his words, you never thought you found it attractive, considering the soft spoken voice, hoarse with arousal.

“Don’t fight it. If you fight against this, this subtle encounter between us, you’ll never forgive yourself,” he whispered, his wet lips brushed yours. “If you have been, you would shoved me away. Would you like that, princess? Shoving me away?”

His voice ragged dampened your cunt and clit twitched at his sound.

“Seems you enjoy it. You’re a good princess. But alas,” he pulled himself afar, the warmth on your body began to turn a chill.

“I shall see you at the feast. Enjoy your stay.” His neck went for a stiff bow, but his eye glued with plea for your consideration of his statement, whether you accept his offer or not, and departed your apartment—a once organized structure is now filled with clutter and oozing sex and the arousal groans you shared has imprinted in your head, you find yourself still with embarrassment.

In a way, a blessing in disguise when no one, not even Gwayne, saw or heard your affairs with a young dragon prince.

You have seen the arrival of Rhaenyra and Daemon and the children, you had a short introduction to all Black faction.

The dinner celebration for Viserys’s nameday celebration has been all but cumbersome. You felt a subtle hostility, but to due your presence, it has lessened but somewhat guarding up—all due to pettiness.

As you, making a progression with your father, it was all but cold distance even you and Otto were near. Not once he looked at you with adoration like he shared his adoration with Princess Helaena, showing her teal beetle. The Green children are all strained; Aegon had his fair share of capable stupidity to throw down a nasty comment of his cousins and nephews.

Daeron was disappointed with Aegon’s perversions, but Daeron veered at you with a kind smile and made a polite conversation with you. Once again, Otto did not acknowledged of your accomplishments. You felt sick in the stomach, and it’s not your bright gold and yellow dress you have finished making. Tears behind your eyes was arising, and your throat budged with hot and parched sting.

Aemond clenched his fist, for his anger was directed at his grandsire for not noticing you. That damnable old fool—if only Otto sees how your talents. When Viserys disregarded Aemond, even his siblings, he wanted nothing more than to see him dead. But alas, with your existence, it’s almost as if Viserys’s existence just naturally died out.

You pardoned yourself, and Alicent thereby dismissed you, you bowed and left to your chambers, spent the rest of the night weeping, thinking what have you done wrong.

As you exited, the tensed feeling withdrew, and Otto was happy again. And so, without a doubt, Aemond gave a good jab on Otto, which caused a disastrous supper for everyone. The music stopped. As for Aegon and Daemon, they found it amusing while Alicent ordered the guards to escort Aemond way back to his chambers.

For Aegon, this was a win for him. He’s not in trouble for once.

~~~

In dreams, you have never seen your mother, what she appears like or what she sounds like or how her personality was. The only thing that is closest to being a mother to you is the wetnurse or the servants or the Septa who provided you with assistance on your daily appearances and wisdom. Whenever a servant brushes your hair, you often think of what it feels like to have a mother brushing your manes with care and doting manner, a soft voice to soothe your aching heart, where doubts and fears would go away.

In times of sleep, you often thinking of ending your life, just to see your biological mother on the other side. Or perhaps more than just seeing your mother. There are times where you hated your life, and you want nothing more but to end it.

People have often told stories of your mother, though it felt it was a grave mistake. Some say she fled away to Free Cities, some said she ended her life from the highest tower of Oldtown and fell down to the sea. There are rumors where Otto took you because you’re adopted, or perhaps he had a secret, illicit affairs.

The cold feeling rushed in you as your eyes pricked with tears. With somebody telling you stories of your late mother, it brought no peace. Only the enigma of your shadowed doubts and an endurance of chaotic insanity, to question whether your life is real, if you’re real in this world with purpose.

The servants have been kind to you more than the nobles, the more everyone pointed out your flaws and the insignificance of your existence, you lead to believe that you’ll never be loved.

And cried once more. Each night, your tears flooded in pillows and blanket, as you embraced the closest object, pretended that it’s your late mother. An endless of an anguish thought has been a hazard.

Only the echoes of the walls could hear you and the pillows has stained, under your hug squeezed the material as hard, wishing for the pain to go away.

In his awake, he’s a perfect prince, but in his dreams, he’s a beast.

A beast kept within a shell of a noble man.

He has dreamt of your teal eyes basking in his dark dreamland, your voice, how it was yearning so much more. A dark dreamland filled with scornful memories of his nephews and Aegon, and the pink dread. He had kill all of them in his dreams, even the fat pig.

With a scolding from his mother, he couldn’t care less. He wanted your presence to be acknowledged by your father, but how can Otto be so cynically dimwitted and more offensively calculating against you?

When the servants spoke over how you’re not related to Alicent, chances are why Otto was pretending that your presence is nothing more than a useless and meaningless substance of meaning to exist.

Others said that they haven’t seen you gone out from your apartments—and that was recent.

Aemond visited you, presented you with a gift, but the word from you not leaving the apartments has concerned. Thus his mind came up an idea.

You have several servants entering the room with stack of your favorite meals and drink—including lemon cakes and Dornish wine.

One knows someone’s best interest. Whoever did it, your heart is elated. As soon as Aemond came in, you hadn’t known whether he knew something that you don’t. Somehow, his intimidating presence softens your heart, prickled in relief.

For some reason, when Alicent paid you a visit, although shortened, she was concerned of your health, you hadn’t formed a proper conversation; Alicent hasted when the Council has called for her summon, but gave her regards.

Aemond accompanied you for a while in your apartments, and chat whatever discussion came up. Each minute and each hour, the two of you became close, became so close that you or him hadn’t open your hearts, despite what he did to you days ago. With your cunt coiled at his face, his voice and neck, his waist, you find yourself crossing your legs, aroused and squirming beside him. You wondered and imagined of Aemond’s tongue guiding and gliding your soaked cunt. At this moment, you wanted tackle him and suffocate him with your legs wrapped around him, taking in of your nectar.

“I’m glad you are doing well, princess,” Aemond said to you. “For I have been concerned of your well-being. A delicate flower such as you does not deserve the cruelty of my grandsire or anyone in the matter of your visit.”

“He’s always been difficult,” you explained. “No matter how much I’ve improved with my skill, he’ll never sees as his or my sister’s equal.”

“In ways my mother and grandsire are more intolerable. Though I respect my mother, I find myself with bore with my grandsire has to say. If anything, I’m glad your presence has casted a light into the dread.”

In Aemond’s case, however, found you as exquisite as gentle as the blooming flower. His one took a longer glimpse at you and notice the difference—how your eyes glinted in glee while your cheeks adorned with youthful flush and enamored smile. Oh so pure and harmless. He hasn’t seen his mother and his siblings. As for Otto, he hasn’t spoke to him since supper at Viserys’s nameday after sending a jab across the face—out of character for a self-assured prince.

Oh, to ruin you.

“Thank you for the meal, Prince Aemond. You don’t know how much I’m relieved to say this,” you said as you finished the embroidery on your unfinished dress you sewn.

Aemond found your gowns just as otherworldly as you.

Consequences won’t matter; Viserys nor anyone else in the room care for his presence. Perhaps it is a blessing, perhaps it is for the best for you to be settled here in King’s Landing, as long you’re in content, nothing else matters, but if harm does come, he shall smite the immoral act. Aemond is no perfect, but with you, he’d be at his best behavior.

“Then I shall relieve you,” he proclaimed.

You find yourself halted at his declaration and glimpsed at his resolved expression.

Something has stirred in your heart that you wanted more than the civil interactions, wanted more than having someone to converse with you.

Tossing and turning onto your bed was all but a doozy. Dizzy from pivoting and switching positions, you had enough. Dreams had come again. This time it’s Aemond calling out to you, feasting on your wet folds and pumping his lithe and graceful rugged fingers in you. Ever since the day before Viserys’s nameday, with Aemond’s thirst, your legs ached.

For a Hightower, it’s a sin to self-pleasure one’s body—a selfish immoral act.

Somehow you found it odd. If a man does self-pleasure, no court would turn the eye, but a woman does self-pleasure with hasting fingers and naughtiness is considered dire.

Faith of the Seven had their own laws, but you knew that men and women had their fair share of illest secrets. Lucky for you, Alicent and everyone in the Red Keep does not know your impure thoughts. The room became hot, then cold, then all at once, the breath in your lips became ragged and desperate. You wanted someone to hold you, treasure you, seduce with sweet nothings and sweet promises with adore.

For your years of not having a partner, you have begun to fear of not having pleasure. In the heating moment, you thought of what’s like losing your maidenhood to someone with a big cock.

You wanted a cock.

His cock.

Oh, a dragon prince. If Aemond hears your thoughts, you’d run away and never to return Westeros and give yourself a new name and fashion.

Damn the consequences and the punishments from the Lord Hand and the Queen themselves! Damn the Faith of the Seven and their laws!

With your fingers circling your clit, no climax arrived. Thus, you casted your blankets aside with a huff, setting out to see him.

Trudging through the dark halls, the guards were nowhere to be found, assuming the guards went elsewhere. As you made your way to the doors, you approached and entered the chambers where you have found Aemond on his bedside.

Your breath held back, taking in at the sight of Aemond. With his porcelain skin and his long silver-blond hair, it gleamed under moonlight, appearing paler compared to daylight. His eye had an old scar, and his eyepatch was placed elsewhere.

Watching his body rising and falling within breath, you approached him and kissed his back, planted your light kisses, feeling the smooth surface of his skin.

Aemond awoke and turned, found you kissing his back.

“My lady,” he whispered, one eye widened, as you stare at his sapphire. It was beautiful like him.

You placed your finger on his lips.

“Have you come to made a decision?” he asked.

Your lashes fluttered under his gaze. “What do you think, my prince?”

Then your lips collided with his. Aemond was taken aback of your sudden act. Eventually, his consciousness fell; with his lips shared an illicit chaste kiss, his hands uncloaked you, and roamed on your womanly body, caressing you, until you began to undo his trousers, his cock hardened.

“This won’t take long,” you promised, slowly pinning him down onto the pillows, unstrapped yourself naked and sat in between his legs. You didn’t expect for his cock to harden.

Your eyes darted to his, awaiting. And thus, you yanked his trousers downward, unveiling his hardened cock. You eyes widened at the sheer size. Your maidenhood hasn’t been taken yet. Your future prospects of marriage hasn’t arrived, but it feels as the more you wait, the more your chances of marriage dimmed. With your body descended, the maidenhood had met his engorged tip.

Aemond lay still, watching you. His sapphire eye gleamed at its victory.

Your voice moaned aloud; your maidenhood slammed down, his engorged cock tightened on your damped walls. Gradually, the pace on your hips sped. You have never felt anything as good. Prayers in the sept are insatiably helpful compare to the prince’s cock.

You have never felt so alive.

Aemond knew you’re a virgin; your hips bounced all thanks to the guidance of his hands.

He pleasured a woman in the brothel in the Street of Silk at the age of three-and-ten. As a young boy, he regretted making a decision by making himself a fool to go along with Aegon and his shenanigans. He was expecting Viserys to guide him gently into the world, but the Driftmark incident has left Aemond concluded that Viserys, his father, did not spare a single kindness or thought and only spared it Rhaenyra and her sons.

All hope was lost until he saw you—a radiant maiden.

You reached your high, as Aemond clutched your hips, spurring down the hot semen bursting the inner walls—a divine conclusion.

Gasping for air, your legs stood achingly, leaving white traces of his semen dripping down on his balls and thighs. When Aemond tried to assisted you, but instead his face met your open legs and slammed your went against his chiseled face and nose.

Fuck my maidenhood, you thought, desperate, as your hips gyrated, feeling his warm tongue and the sharp line of his nose encouraged your arousing sense to further the climax, as your right hand found its way at the back of Aemond’s hair.

Aemond find himself humming against the warmth of your cunt, mingling with his semen. It was a divination, nothing like the brothel. If only his virginity had taken by you instead of a woman who hasn’t live up to her beauty and standards of gentile and grace. Streets of Flea Bottom aren’t to be trusted. His lips kissed your inner thighs, gliding his tongue, and pumped it in between your walls.

Groaning, almost feral-like, your hips paced, your tits bouncing as your walls grew hot again.

“Relieve me,” you said to the prince, hoarse. A soft squeak caught into his ears.

I shall relieve you, my sweet. Just as I promised, he thought.

Your hips gyrated harder, until the spurring had come close; hot liquid squirted on his face as Aemond’s tongue lapped on your cunt faster than last. Your head threw back with his languid strokes on his warm tongue.

Gods it was a miracle.

He has taken your maidenhead.

“Good boy,” you cooed, your breath rasped, your hand still placed on the back of his long silver-blond hair, gyrating your tired hips against his face.

Both you and Aemond found yourselves in elation.

“Good boy.”

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novaursa · 3 months ago

Note

hi!! could i request a targaryen! reader x jacaerys velaryon.

reader is daemon and laena velaryon daughter, she’s the epitome of daemon when he was in his prime (crazy daemon) but got her mothers looks. she’s betrothed to jace not baela. the scene when the dragonseeds meet jace and ulf blatantly disrespects jace, she enters the room and steps in. she looks down on him like someone below her to remind him his place, both jace and her do. especially threatens that her dragon (maybe oc dragon of balerion or cannibal) has a particular diet of eating his own kind, she’ll turn a blind eye when her dragon starts eating silverwing, leaving ulf back being a dragonseed in the slums where he belongs. then the dinner scene too!, not to forget hugh too, even though he doesn’t do anything just a mere threat. not addam though loves her uncle 🫶🫶

you can choose however you want it story to be structure you have full autonomy🫶🫶

Wayward Daughter

- Summary: When Ulf disrespects Jacaerys, you remind him of his place.

- Pairing: cousin!reader/Jacaerys Velaryon

- Note: The reader is Daemon's and Laena's oldest daughter, she is bonded with Cannibal.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The wind howls as you stand with Jacaerys atop the rocky outcrop of Dragonstone, your gaze drawn toward the towering peaks of Dragonmont where the dragons circle high above. The skies are turbulent today, a reflection of the tension that hangs in the air. Jacaerys stands beside you, his posture straight, though there’s a flicker of unease in his dark eyes. You feel it, too. The Dragonseeds—those commoners and bastards who claim Targaryen blood and now seek the right to mount dragons—have arrived. And with them, comes trouble.

The Cannibal stirs behind you, a deep rumble vibrating through his massive chest, his black scales blending with the stormy sky. The others might flinch in his presence, but you’ve known him all your life. He’s wild and uncontrollable to anyone else, but you’ve forged a bond with him like no other. His dark and dangerous energy is a mirror of your own, a reflection of what it means to be Daemon Targaryen’s eldest daughter. Where Jacaerys holds the warmth of his mother’s love, the steadfastness of duty, you are a flame lit by a different fire—wild, unpredictable, fierce.

Ahead, the Dragonseeds approach, two of them standing out from the rest: Ulf the White and Hugh Hammer. Ulf’s silver hair shines under the fading light, but it is his swagger that grates on you. There’s something in the way he carries himself, a man too confident for someone who spent most of his life in the slums of King’s Landing, now reaching for power he has never earned. Hugh, on the other hand, stands a little to the side, his dark eyes flicking between you, Jace, and Ulf, as if he knows trouble is brewing.

"Your Grace," Ulf greets Jacaerys with a smirk that barely conceals his contempt. He steps closer to Jacaerys, reaching out as if to touch him, to invade his space. "Such fine hair you have, my prince," Ulf says, his voice dripping with false admiration as his fingers graze the edges of Jacaerys’s dark locks.

The brazenness of his gesture sparks a fury within you. Jace’s jaw clenches, but he remains still, trying to hold his composure. You, however, are not one to allow such disrespect to go unanswered.

Without a word, you step between them, placing your body protectively in front of Jacaerys. The look in your eyes is one of warning, as sharp as the point of a sword. Ulf’s smirk falters when he meets your gaze. He may think himself bold, but he hasn’t yet faced the fury of a Targaryen woman with the blood of Old Valyria running hot in her veins.

“If you ever touch him like that again, Ulf, I will feed Silverwing to Cannibal piece by piece,” you say, your voice low and venomous, yet steady as steel. “And when there’s nothing left but bone, you will be sent crawling back to the slums of King’s Landing where you belong.”

The threat hangs in the air like the scent of wildfire. Ulf blinks, his smirk wiped away, replaced by something like fear as he glances at the looming shadow of Cannibal behind you. You don’t move, holding his gaze until he looks away, defeated. He shifts uncomfortably, taking a step back, the bravado drained from his face.

You spare a glance at Hugh Hammer, his hands open in a gesture of appeasement. Unlike Ulf, Hugh is no fool. His eyes meet yours, and he inclines his head in a small nod, acknowledging your warning without the need for words. He knows Ulf was out of line, and he has no desire to provoke you or Jacaerys further.

“I meant no harm,” Ulf mumbles, his arrogance melting under the weight of your stare. He steps back again, his hands raised as if to show he’s harmless. “Just a jest.”

“There is no jest in disrespect,” you snap, still holding your ground. “Jacaerys is your prince, and you will show him the respect he deserves, or you’ll answer to me.”

Jace’s hand brushes yours lightly, a silent gesture of gratitude. His eyes flick to you with a look that says more than words ever could. Though he could stand up for himself—and does, more often than not—there is something deeply satisfying about the way you step into the fray for him. He is your betrothed, your equal, but in this moment, you are the one with fire in your blood, unafraid to burn those who dare disrespect what is yours.

“Enough,” Jacaerys says at last, his voice firm as he steps forward, reclaiming his space. He doesn’t need to say more; the point has been made. Ulf and Hugh both bow their heads, though it is Hugh who seems more genuine in his respect.

As the Dragonseeds shuffle away, Jacaerys turns to you, his expression softening. “You didn’t have to do that,” he murmurs, though there’s a hint of amusement in his tone.

You shrug, a smirk pulling at your lips. “Maybe not,” you admit. “But I wanted to.”

He chuckles, the anomasity of the moment easing. “I’m beginning to think I should fear you more than I fear Cannibal.”

“Good,” you say, your smile widening. “You’re learning.”

The two of you stand in the fading light of Dragonstone, the storm clouds swirling above.

And anyone who dares to come between you will face your wrath.

The hall of Dragonstone is filled with the low hum of conversation as you enter, your eyes scanning the room where the Dragonseeds have gathered. The flickering light of the hearth casts shadows across the ancient walls, the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine lingering in the air. At the head of the table, Jacaerys sits beside you, his gaze steady, though you can sense the tension in his posture. This dinner is meant to solidify alliances, but with men like Ulf the White at the table, it feels more like a test of wills.

You take your seat beside Jace, your attention briefly drawn to Addam of Hull, who sits across from you. His eyes are sharp, observant, but there’s an easy manner about him that sets him apart from the others. Addam is different. He carries himself with a quiet dignity, a reflection of his true lineage—though unspoken, you know well enough that he’s Corlys Velaryon’s son, a secret that sits heavy in the air between you, though neither of you have ever addressed it.

Ulf sits a few chairs down, his posture languid, as if he believes himself the lord of this table. His pale eyes flick toward you, and you can see the resentment simmering beneath the surface. It’s no secret that Ulf has never forgiven you for the way you put him in his place earlier. Good. You have no intention of letting him forget it.

The conversation is polite, if a bit strained. Rhaenyra, seated further down, makes an effort to engage the Dragonseeds, offering words of gratitude and hope for the future. But your focus shifts when Ulf, with that insufferable grin of his, leans back in his chair, his goblet of wine raised as if he’s already claimed a victory.

"Seems the prince and his lovely bride-to-be have more fire in them than I thought," Ulf says, his voice carrying just enough weight to draw attention. His eyes flick to you, lingering just a little too long, the implication behind his words hanging in the air. "Targaryens always were a fiery bunch."

You feel Jace stiffen beside you, but you remain calm, a slow smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You relish moments like this—when men like Ulf think they have the upper hand, only for you to remind them who they’re truly dealing with.

“Oh, Ulf,” you say, your tone light, almost playful, “it’s not just fire we have in our blood. It’s power, something you seem to misunderstand.” You pause, letting the words sink in, then take a sip of your wine. “But perhaps that’s why Silverwing tolerates you. She must sense the need for something stronger in your bloodline.”

The remark lands as intended, and you see the flicker of irritation flash in Ulf’s eyes. His hand tightens around the goblet, but he doesn’t respond right away, perhaps knowing better than to provoke you any further in front of the gathered company. Instead, he shoots a sidelong glance at Hugh, who remains silent but clearly uncomfortable with the rising tension.

“Careful, Y/N,” Ulf says, trying to keep his voice steady, though you can hear the edge to it. “Not everyone at this table shares your sense of humor.”

“Good,” you reply, raising your goblet in mock toast. “I wouldn’t want to be misunderstood. And let me make myself perfectly clear, Ulf, if you think for one moment you can match me in wit, let alone in power, you’ll find yourself sorely disappointed.”

There’s a low murmur from those seated nearby, eyes flicking between you and Ulf. But before the tension can escalate, Addam speaks up from across the table, his voice calm, cutting through the growing unease.

“Ulf,” he says, his tone firm but not unkind, “let’s not forget why we’re here. This war requires unity, not division.” He glances at you briefly, a knowing look in his eyes. There’s no fear or contempt in his gaze, only understanding. Addam is smart enough to recognize what’s at stake, and perhaps that’s why you find it easy to respect him, unlike Ulf.

You give Addam a small nod, acknowledging his attempt to smooth things over. There’s something about him that you can’t help but admire—his steady demeanor, his quiet strength. It’s no wonder Corlys holds him in such regard, bastard or not.

“Of course,” you say, your voice softening as you turn your attention to Addam. “We’re all here for the same cause, after all. It’s not every day one has the chance to fight for a true queen.” You smile at him, the warmth in your tone genuine. Unlike Ulf, Addam has earned his place here.

Addam returns the smile, though his eyes remain sharp, ever watchful. “A true queen indeed,” he replies, lifting his goblet in a respectful toast. “To Rhaenyra.”

The tension at the table eases somewhat, the air growing lighter as the others follow Addam’s lead and raise their goblets in agreement. But even as you join in the toast, your eyes linger on Ulf, watching him closely, waiting for any sign that he might try to push you further. He says nothing, his gaze fixed on the table in front of him, though you can still feel the undercurrent of his resentment.

The rest of the dinner passes without incident, the conversation flowing more easily now, but you keep your focus sharp. Ulf may be cowed for now, but men like him don’t forget slights easily. You’ll be ready when he tries again.

As the meal winds down, you lean closer to Jacaerys, your hand resting lightly on his arm. “We’re surrounded by would-be dragons, but not all of them are worthy,” you murmur quietly, your gaze shifting toward Ulf, who is still sulking in his seat.

Jace follows your gaze, his lips curving into a small, wry smile. “I trust you to remind them of that,” he says, his voice low, only for your ears.

You smile in return, feeling the weight of the moment lift slightly. If the Dragonseeds—or anyone else—wants to challenge you, they’ll find themselves facing not just one dragon, but two.

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