#even though the time spent with the man is so closely tied up with the trauma of the Arctic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dollyyun · 3 months ago

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CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT ✧ P.JS [ TEASER ]

PAIRING ✧ sugar daddy!jay x fem reader GENRE ✧ 18+(mdni), adulthood, 12 years age gap (reader is 22, jay is 34), ceo!jay, strangers to lovers, fluffs, soft love kinda, he falls first and falls harder, jay is a huge simp WARNING ✧ slow burn-ish, some dramas, slight misunderstanding and miscommunication, mild angst, explicit themes, 2 smut scenes (smut warnings will be indicated under cut) TEASER WORDCOUNT ✧ 2.4K CURRENT WORDCOUNT ✧ 15K (est 42k)

SYNOPSIS ✧ jay park is famously known for excelling in anything he does, except his mundane love life — it's practically nonexistent. maybe it's the pressure that constantly presses down on him due to being surrounded by his peers who are either engaged or married, but he no longer desires to retain his solitude, yearning to find someone with the intention to settle down. that is when he finally meets you — the perfect woman just for him, and perhaps the one that his heart and soul have been searching for in a long time. but the only issue is that you only see him as your sugar daddy, or so he thought.

FULL FIC HERE

JAY: I’m on my way to your place, doll. Can’t wait to see you :)

That was forty minutes ago, but you’ve been anxiously checking his message every so often, your nerves going erratic to the point where your empty stomach churns unpleasantly that you feel the urge to throw up. You have never felt this extremely nervous before, not even for your finals back in college.

You can still feel the weight of exhaustion in your eyelids that threaten to close, but the thought of Jay ringing your doorbell keeps you conscious. You couldn’t sleep well last night, tossing and turning on your bed, and you knew that it was either the excitement or the nervousness of finally meeting your sugar daddy that prevented you from getting a good night's sleep.

Plus, you had to get up four hours early to do some light chores in order to make your apartment look neat and to make yourself look as impeccable as your skin that is devoid of any unnecessary hair since the dress that you’re currently wearing displays more skin than you intended. You didn’t put in much effort in your makeup, just the perfect volume to enhance your features.

You let out a quiet groan at the realisation of the effort you put in just for a man, an older man at that, which is also utterly ridiculous, because it’s as if you are keen on impressing your sugar daddy, and this is not even a date, or is it?

The doorbell chiming throughout the apartment startles you, prompting you to abandon the couch as you pad across the living room to get to the main door. You don’t bother to check through the peephole, your hand immediately latching on the door handle, albeit your nervousness remains unabating.

Before you can spiral further, your hand has a mind of its own, because the next thing you know, you are greeted by a very handsome man whose stature towers over your figure in an imposing manner, and he’s the very same man who is also your sugar daddy.

You can barely check him out when his dark eyes compel yours, your breath hitching in your throat at the sharp intensity in his dark irises that intimidates you, but in a good way that has your heart beating rapidly. You take the opportunity of the awkward silence to trace every feature of his face with your keen eyes — how strikingly handsome he is with his chiselled forehead and jaw, his flawless nose that evokes envy within you, his dark eyebrows that look naturally refined, and his lips in mutated pink. His jet-black hair is styled impeccably in a slick back, enhancing his striking face. Oh, he’s absolutely the most gorgeous man ever.

Little do you know that while you are in a state of intimidation due to his potent yet irresistible aura that feels overwhelming, Jay feels just the same, his tongue completely tied the moment you opened the door. It is as though he’s seeing an angel, rendering him starstruck. Those pictures of you that he spent almost the entire night admiring did not do you justice, because you look radiantly beautiful up close that even the beautiful constellations in the starry sky pale in comparison.

His eyes roam around you shamelessly, his throat feeling parched while his mind is storming with such dangerous thoughts he has been trying to keep them at bay. You look sweet yet alluring at the same time as you are adorned in a blue floral printed dress that reaches above your knees, revealing the perfect curves of your legs, and the subtle low cut displays your dainty neckline that is bare of any jewellery, to which he makes a mental note to buy you one. He fights off the strong urge to ogle at your defined cleavage and how noticeably succulent the curves of your upper mounds are.

When his eyes return to your face, you are already staring at him with a small smile, your shyness nearly has his knees buckling underneath him. He simply can’t believe that you’re real. Oh, what a wonderful privilege to be able to see you up close.

“Hi.” Jay greets you breathlessly, but you are more surprised at how soft-spoken he is, such a contrast to his unyielding facade that intimidated you earlier.

“Hi.” You reciprocate softly, and it is enough to shoot a Cupid’s arrow to his beating heart. Your voice sounds velvety, a mellow that soothes him.

Jay takes another look at you, blinking his eyes as though you are unreal. “W-Wow. You look—“ He pauses, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows a nervous lump in his throat. He softens with an awkward smile that completely charms you. “You look really beautiful.”

“Thank you.” You can’t believe how shy you are right now compared to the yapper you were last night when you texted him for nearly two hours. You take another look at him, feeling a strange flutter in your heart as you admire how he looks delectable in a button-down navy-coloured blouse that displays a teasing peek of his toned chest while his gold necklace complements his metal studs on his earlobes. “And you look really handsome.”

Jay is about to combust right here and now at your compliment that he has heard countless times from the ladies that pinned his attention back then, even more so when you beam at him with a slightly wider smile now. The weight in his hand immediately reminds him of what he intended to do after you opened the door before your beauty distracted him.

“This is for you.” Jay extends his hand to you, prompting you to look down at a small bouquet of flowers in his grasp, but you can see the hesitation in the way his hand slowly retracts from you. “Unless you have allergies to flowers, which is totally fine. I can keep it—“

“I don’t have any, so don’t worry.” You reassure him, and without thinking twice, your hand quickly reaches out to accept his sweet gesture, only to feel a faint electricity when your fingers brush against his before you finally grab the bouquet from him. Your heart swells with something unfamiliar as you look at the flowers before meeting his kind gaze. “Thank you for these. It’s the first that someone has ever given me flowers on a first meeting.”

You almost wanted to utter the word ‘date’ because this is certainly not a date but more like a formal meeting with your sugar daddy as part of the first transaction. You mentally berate yourself for hoping for something that you were initially against and the fact that you only intend to regard him as your sugar daddy.

Jay’s bashful shell cracks when he adorns a smirk on his handsome face that has you swooning on the inside. “You can call me old-fashioned.”

“I love old-fashioned.” You decide to play along as you notice the spark of mischief in his eyes, but really, you do love yourself some old-fashioned.

“Are you ready to go?” Jay asks coolly, hoping that he doesn’t sound too eager as to how impatiently desperate he really is to spend the day with you.

“Yes. Just give me a sec.” You tell him while making your way to the shoe compartment, where you also place the bouquet on the counter, before grabbing your ankle-strapped heels.

As you return to him, you busily place your feet onto the heels before attempting to secure the strap around your ankles, only to be surprised when Jay gets down on one knee in front of you, rendering you flabbergasted. “Please. Allow me.” He insists without looking up at you, putting his hands into the task.

“It’s okay! I can do it myself—“ But your protest goes unheard as he secures the straps for you with such gentleness that it sends the weird flutter to your heart again, while the way his fingers brush against your skin feels electrifying.

Your eyes never leave him even after he’s done, his figure towering over yours again despite the heels that elevate your height. “Shall we?” Jay asks with a smile, to which you nod your head at before stepping outside of the threshold and locking the door.

The two of you proceed to make your way to the elevator, silence wrapping around you once more, but only less awkwardly. You chew your bottom lip out of habit, wanting to say something to dispel this awkwardness, but the heat of his body close next to you sends your head into a frenzy.

“Do you live alone?” Jay breaks the ice, and you silently thank him because you were slowly going insane. As soon as he presses the button, the elevator chimes open, and he gestures to you to enter first before he follows suit.

“Sort of.” You answer unsurely, earning a look of intrigue from him. You decide to explain shortly. “I live with my best friend, but ever since she got into a relationship, she’s rarely ever at our shared apartment, not that I minded. She can be quite a headache.”

His lips twitch into a smile, almost as if he’s being fond of something. “My best friend’s the same too.” He chuckles lightly, but they sound heavenly in your ears. “What about family? Any siblings?”

“And here I thought it was my turn to ask you a question.” You say cheekily, your lips stretching a little wider as you feel inclined to be frivolous towards him after the lingering awkwardness dissipates into thin air.

His eyes narrow at you in a playful suspicion, followed by a broad smirk on his lips. “You’re a cheeky doll, aren’t you?”

“It’s only fair that I ask you a question after you asked me one.” You say in an airily manner, ignoring how his handsome smirk has your mind in a frenzy once more. “But to answer your question, I’m an only child. My parents are divorced, so I’m kinda my own now. Always have.”

Being a natural observant that comes with an ability to heed the tone of voice, even the subtlest intonation, Jay recognises the underlying resentment in the neutrality of your voice and how he catches a fleeting sentiment he knows all too well in your eye, but the radiant smile on your face immediately overshadows any traces of somberness, albeit he is quick to grasp that family must be a sensitive topic for you.

“It seems that we have a lot more in common than I thought. I’m an only child too.” Jay says lightly in an attempt to dispel any sour feelings within you. He opens his mouth to say something, but the elevator chimes open, revealing the view of the basement parking lot. He allows you to step out first before he follows suit, guiding you to his car. “So what’s the next question you have for me?”

“What made you become interested in me? You could’ve chosen other sugar babies.” You ask with genuine curiosity. The question has been lingering in the back of your mind all night. As he looks at you with an eyebrow raised, you try to search for something in his eyes, any falsehood or that he’s actually a bad guy with ill intentions, but all you see is the pure kindness that reflects the window of his soul.

“I just had a good feeling about you.” He answers with utmost sincerity, his eyes softening before giving you his signature smirk. “Besides, there was no way I would ever pass up a woman as gorgeous as you.”

A part of you feels so tempted to wipe away that handsome smirk off his face with a kiss, but you immediately ward off any inappropriate thought, diverting your attention to the sleek black Mercedes-Benz, his car.

Jay, being the gentleman he is, opens the passenger door for you, to which you shyly thank him before you carefully settle inside. Not too long later, Jay is right next to you, operating the functions of the vehicle that is wheeling towards where the main road is at.

The silence is accompanied by the music emanating from the radio on the dashboard, but it still isn’t enough to allay the newfound tension settling in your bones. You even distract yourself by discreetly examining the impeccable condition of the car that comes with a pleasant lavender smell before you notice the small bottle of fragrance diffuser that hangs in the air from behind the rearview mirror.

Something different flutters within you, how oddly intensifying it is, but one thing is for sure — you find Jay dangerously more attractive than the first time you felt.

You cave into the temptation to take a glance at him, only to nearly gawk at his strong yet flawless side profile, how his angular jawline looks defined up close. His face displays such cool impassivity, exuding an air of confidence compared to your meekness. Your eyes fall to his veiny hands before they travel lower; his sleeves had been pulled to his elbows, allowing the sultry veins that protrude in his arms and revealing a golden Rolex that latched around his wrist. You quickly look away, feeling the gradual heat building up in your body.

You swear that older men are not your type, but Jay may be the first to change that.

“Are you okay?” Jay asks, his soft voice startling you. The way he’s hot, a stickler for cleanliness, and soft-spoken? You must have done something incredibly honourable in your past life.

“Nervous, actually.” You tell him honestly, daring yourself to look at him as he briefly takes a glance at you before refocusing on the road. Though you still feel diffident, something about him compels you to confide your worries in him. “I just don’t want to mess things up on our first meeting.”

Jay cracks into a humorous smile. “Funny, because I had the same thought earlier.” Oh, he really did, worrying incessantly all morning that he might have fucked up by coming off too desperate for your attention.

“Is this a date?” You accidentally blurt out the question you intended to expel, but a part of you genuinely keen that this is actually a date and not just a formal transactional meeting between a sugar daddy and his sugar baby.

As the traffic light turns red, the car comes to a stop. Jay directs his full attention to you, a gentle smile touching his lips. “You can call it whatever you want, doll.”

You hold his gaze for a little longer, unable to fathom the inscrutable emotions behind the window of his eyes despite the unwavering kindness. You find yourself lifting a smile that mirrors his. “A date it is.”

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 10 days ago

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cherry pie

a/n: this is all @chvoswxtch's fault. you know what you did, babe! whispering in my ear like a slutty little devil…

summary: briefly glancing around the vacant space before taking a seat at the counter, there you spotted none other than the regular customer that you, for lack of better words, had an embarrassingly massive crush on.

warnings: frank castle x diner waitress!reader, smut, mutual pining, kissing, public sex, clothed sex (the uniform stays on, hehe), dirty talk, size kink (the return of mr castle's canon coke can cock, hallelujah), manhandling, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, spit kink, oral, fingering, pussyjob, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie

word count: 3643

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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A soft hum vibrated quietly in your throat as you cleaned out the table in the corner where the last remaining customers had just departed from, leaving you all alone in the dark diner as the rest of the small staff too had gone home at this late hour since next to no one ever frequented the establishment in the time slot before closing.

After wiping down the table, the interior dimly illuminated by mostly just the neon lights scattered around the walls as well as the big one out front that glimmered through the windows, you then balanced the dirty plates out into the kitchen. Though when you sat the dishes down by the sink, the chime of the door out front found your ears.

However, when you twisted your neck to glance out of the wide hole in the wall, that divided the kitchen from the dining area, to spot the individual who had just entered the low-lit diner, the gentle melody that warmed up your chest promptly seized from your lips as your eyes began to widen.

Briefly glancing around the vacant space before taking a seat at the counter, there you spotted none other than the regular customer that you, for lack of better words, had an embarrassingly massive crush on.

You still remembered two months back when the gruff-looking man had first set foot into the diner. It had been like you’d been transformed into one of those wooden dolls where you press a button at the very base and its legs just collapse.

You still weren’t sure if it was a gift or a curse that the establishment had swiftly grown into a regular spot for him to frequent, seeing as you now spent most of your days either eye-fucking him from a distance as he sat in your section, or stumbled over your words as you tried to take his order. You’d even dropped all of his change one of the times he’d paid, sending the coins clanging across the linoleum floor, only for him to duck down and join you on the ground, the simple kindness sending such a shiver down your spine that you had crashed your skull up into the table like the true stumble fuck you felt like whenever he was near.

And when you finally managed to force your feet to shift, the advice, that one of your coworkers had recently given you on your little predicament, echoed quietly on your lips as you exited the kitchen, “okay, be bold... be bold…” in a feeble attempt at hyping yourself up.

Your fingers dipped into the pocket of the little apron tied around your waist, fishing out a small notepad and pencil, before you neared the spot he sat at.

“Hi, Frank,” you uttered, offering him a smile as his eyes flickered up to settle upon you.

“Evening, sweetheart,” he exhaled, the surely meaningless term of endearment that he had begun to drop into your short chats over the past few weeks still caused your ragged breath to hitch.

“You’re up late,” you briefly glanced to the round clock on the wall before reuniting your gaze with his unwavering one.

Tilting his head, the corners of his lips twitched slightly as he murmured, “yeah, well at least I’m not still stuck at work.”

“Touché,” you clicked your tongue against your teeth and wiggled the pencil in your grasp before asking, “so, what can I get you tonight?”

“Just some coffee,” his head nodded slightly as his gaze briefly averted, “and keep it coming.”

“Coffee as usual,” you slipped your notepad back into your pocket, “you and your endless cups of coffee, okay… perhaps I should just start pouring automatically whenever I see you come in, like it’s pavlovian or something.”

“Well,” his tongue fleetingly flickered out to wet his slight smile, “it would save me the breath, not having to ask for what I want if you just give it to me straight out of the gate.”

Heat promptly rose in your cheeks as your dirty mind played tricks on you and warped his words. Clearing your throat lightly as you swiftly choked on a tiny giggle, “uhm, yeah–, so, uh…” you stared down at the counter, though quickly darted them away when his hands that rested there began to distract you as well and make you that much more dizzy, “just the coffee, nothing else?” you uttered hazily as you then twisted around to snatch up the half-empty pot behind you and fill up a mug for him.

“Just the coffee,” he drawled quietly like a gentle crackling fire behind you.

“You sure?” you tilted your head as you spun back around and slid the cup across the counter towards him, “it’s Friday night. Why not go crazy and treat yourself to a piece of pie or something.”

Gliding his fingers into place around the warm mug, his eyes fluttered back up to capture your own, “I’m good, thanks.”

“Really? You don’t even wanna hear what the options are?” your teeth gently dug into your bottom lip, “I made them all myself, fresh this morning…”

Blinking back at you a moment, he then bowed his head as he gave in, “alright, sure, why the hell not.”

“Well,” you propped down your forearms on the counter directly across from where he sat, “there’s rhubarb pie with a meringue topping,” you uttered softly as you leaned against the table, slowly inching closer and closer to him, “there’s apple if you’re into the classics,” your gaze licked him up as your heart hammered in your chest like it was trying to escape, “and then today’s special, cherry pie…”

“Cherry, huh?” he hummed as he stared back into your eyes, even as you gradually tilted closer. You knew that if he dared to let his unwavering gaze stray, he’d surely be able to look straight down the neckline of your uniform from how you bent over the counter.

Dipping your vision down to his lips, you dreamily sucked in a breath as you added, “with extra whip cream on top…”

A smirk bloomed on his lips as an exhale then slipped from his lungs, “well how ‘bout that…”

The next thing you knew, it was as if your brain shut off completely as you then found yourself closing the short distance between you two and crashing your lips against his own. The kiss was short and rather clumsy before you then regained your senses and pulled back just as quickly as you had dived in.

“Oh my goodness,” you swiftly gasped as your hands soared up to briefly shield the lower half of your face, “I’m sorry, that was–, I shouldn't have just–, out of the blue without–,” you stumbled over your own words, “I'm sorry, please don’t tell my boss, I really need this job–”

But then, before you could crumble before him, Frank suddenly seized both sides of your face and pulled you back in for not only a kiss, but one that made your feeble attempt pale in comparison. Melting completely under the scorching warmth of his lips, you damn near crawled straight across the counter to scramble into his lap. However, when he finally withdrew, the kiss somehow seeming both as if it had stretched out an eternity, as well as only feeling like the blink of an eye, you stumbled slightly, and if it hadn’t been for his palms that remained on the sides of your jaw, you surely would have taken a nosedive right in front of him.

“Fuck…” you dizzily blinked back at him as only his hands cupping your features in a gentle grip kept you upright, “how–… how are you even better at that than I imagined?” your jello-like knees wobbled beneath you.

“Oh, you’ve spent a lot of time daydreaming about me kissing you,” he chuckled softly, “have you?”

“Well,” you sucked in a ragged breath as you noticed how the dull throb he always triggered between your thighs worsened, “it’s not just that my brain has been thinking about ever since you first came in here…”

“Oh yeah?” he shared your breath as his fingertips slowly strayed into your hairline, “what else has that pretty little head been thinking about, huh?”

And as the corners of your lips twitched into a smile, you gathered up the courage to utter, “…how about you come back here and I show you instead?”

With a soft smirk on his lips, his fingers then slipped from your face before he rose from his seat. Panting, your eyes tracked him as he took his sweet time making his way around the long counter to stand on the same side as you.

Tangling your fingers in his dark shirt as soon as he came in reach, you yanked him to you till his lips crashed against your own once again. Though the ravenous kiss didn’t last too long before you then tilted away as your legs began to bend and you sank down on the ground before him. You still stayed so close to him that your cheek pressed up against his thick thigh as you blinked up at him, a question twinkling in your eyes as your fingers slowly clawed closer to his belt.

But before your lips managed to part in order to ask for permission, Frank caught on and, as he breathlessly gazed down at your kneeling frame, offered you a nod.

Your mouth fell apart in an airy giggle as your stunned eyes widened at his girth that sprung forth as soon as you tugged down the zipper of his dark jeans.

It was soft, rather timid but sweet, as you began to pepper pecks along his length, smiling against the hardness as it twitched at your feathery touch before you soothed it with your glistening tongue.

And though you had a hard time ripping your gaze away from his cock, it more often than not drifted back up to Frank’s own stare as he leaned back against the counter.

When your lips eventually were stretched around his cock and drool was gurgling up your efforts as you bobbed your head, his fingers gently found your hair as his hips stopped resisting the greedy thrusts they craved in order to bury his dick further into your warmth.

A low growl rumbled in his chest when your sweet mouth became too much for him to bear, and he swiftly plucked you back up onto your feet. Spinning you both around till the counter pressed against the small of your back, he then picked you up and planted you on the edge of the tabletop.

Pressing your lips to his own, you then purred against his tongue as his touch wandered down your frame and disappeared up under the dress of your uniform to discover the soaked state of your panties beneath. To you, his fingertips fluttered over your covered core for way too long till he finally yanked the cotton to the side to sweep his touch directly against your aching pussy.

“Holy fucking shit,” you panted as he finally rolled your puffy pearl beneath the rough pads of his fingers, and you had to tilt away from his kiss a moment to reel in the ecstasy. Your nails dug into the back of his neck as you arched your back, though a smirk only bloomed on Frank’s features as he gazed back at your blissed-out features.

“You like that?” he uttered huskily, still so close that he shared your breath.

“I–, fucking–, yes!” you panted before reuniting your lips with his own just as a whimper crawled its way out of your lungs.

Soon his pinkie and forefinger flexed against your centre as the ones in between methodically pumped in and out of your pussy, caressing your velvety walls till you were on the verge of exploding.

But instead of unravelling and creaming all over his thick fingers, you gasped, “wait,” as you painstakingly yanked his touch out from beneath your skirt, “I-I need you inside of me, please, I wanna feel you, I can’t wait any longer,” a dizzy pout quivered at your lip as you begged. Answering your prayer, Frank then slid you off of the counter and spun you around for the curve of your ass to arch back against him.

“Then do it,” his deep voice tickled the shell of your ear as he slid a palm down over your frame before finding your clit once more in a rub that caused your eyes to roll, “go ahead, take what you want, sweetheart,” he uttered, encouraging your fingers to reach back to grasp his girth.

His digits kept on drawing patterns over your puffy pearl as you then slowly slipped his fat cock inside, “f-fuck…” you whined shakily as your eyes fell shut, your whole body freezing up for a second as your cunt clenched around the bulbous tip of him, struggling a moment before relaxing around his size and letting him in.

You felt his lips flutter against the side of your neck as the hand he didn’t have slotted between your trembling thighs, floated up around the curve of your ass, spreading his hand wide across it as he gently gathered up the skirt of your uniform to grant himself a peek of how you stretched for him.

“Atta girl, that’s it,” he groaned as you slowly began to move and fill your pussy up further, “you got it, sweet girl,” his own hips all the while staying locked and letting you control the pace, “keep going.”

Though it didn’t take long after you’d picked up a desperate rhythm, bouncing your ass back against him, that your upper body gave out, bending down over the counter and melting against it as you finally came undone, your loud moans echoing throughout the empty diner.

And though your greedy efforts tried to keep going through your high, your shaky movements still degraded into trembling rocks as you slowly tilted back against him till your sensitivity began to fade away. However, when Frank finally began to move, his palm first gliding up along your horizontal spine before he let himself go, a crinkle found your brow as your body jostled against the counter at each zealous thrust he offered you, his heavy balls smacking against your buzzing clit each time he bottomed out and the tip of him kissed the deepest parts of you.

However, as you fought to keep your eyes open and one of your hands fluttered back to claw needily against one of Frank’s belt loops, your hazy gaze suddenly snapped open as you spotted the figure out on the dark street that came marching directly towards the front door of the diner.

“Shit!” you yelped before you shakily shot up and, in your panic, shoved Frank down behind the counter before the patron could enter. Smoothing down your uniform as the door chimed, your eyes were wide as you squeaked, “hello,” doing everything in your power to seem completely normal and not let your stare stray down to the man hiding by your feet, his throbbing cock still glistening with your juices.

“Hi,” the elderly man offered a tight-lipped smile before glancing around at all of the empty seats and uttering, “are you still serving pancakes?”

And though in actuality you weren’t still serving breakfast at this hour, your mind swiftly short-circuited as you felt Frank sneak a hand up under your uniform, “s-sure, but it’ll take a bit,” you breathed shakily as his touch teasingly traced the mess between your thighs, making you shiver with each light pet, “it’s just me working here right now.”

“Oh, that’s alright, I don’t mind waiting,” the customer murmured, though just as he did, you sucked in a sharp breath as the gruff man kneeling beside you let himself tilt closer and grant himself a brief taste, momentarily parting your petals with his tongue as his nose nudged against your pearl, lapping ravenously at your leaky hole that still quivered for his cock, before his mouth then soared up and captured your clit, wasting no time to suck down on it making your entire frame jump jaggedly at the dizzying sensation.

“A-alright,” you puffed unsteadily as you watched the stranger take a seat in a far-off booth, “I’ll be right back,” you murmured and lightly shoved Frank’s head away from beneath your skirt before you shakily made your way into the back.

Clutching a hand over your chest as you tried to catch your breath, you didn’t get the chance to glance over your shoulder before you felt Frank catch up to you after he’d snuck into the kitchen as well.

“You are terrible,” you whispered through a hazy giggle as he pressed a brief kiss to your cheek, his beard still glistening from the greedy taste he’d offered himself.

“Oh, you have no idea,” he exhaled before you caught onto his shirt and dragged him around the corner with you, into the pantry at the very bottom of the kitchen.

Twisting you around to face him, he kissed you once more, though it only broke when he plucked you up off the ground to sit you up on the steel table that stood between the many open shelves, all brimming with dried and canned goods.

Slotting himself in between your legs, he stole one last peck before his fingers enveloped his girth and offered it a silky stroke. Glancing down between your thighs as you began to shimmy your dress back up, his thumb hooked in the gusset of your panties before it could stray back into place and cover you back up.

Letting a dollop of spit drop from his lips and down upon your glistening pussy as he continued to stare, he uttered gravelly, “you want it?” before he tapped the hefty weight of himself against your puff.

“Yes,” you panted as you too blinked down at how he dragged the bulbous head of his cock through your folds, teasingly tracing the seam of your cunt and making you squirm beneath him.

“Oh, yeah?” he tried to make you beg for it, flicking his hardness crudely against your clit, “tell me how bad.”

“So bad,” you whined as his teasing swiftly became too much for you to bear, “please, Frank,” you nearly felt yourself drool as your eyebrows knitted tightly together, “just shove it back in.”

Huffing out a short chuckle, “okay,” he then took your breath away as he didn’t just slide the tip back inside, but instead slammed the entirety of his length back inside, burying himself completely in your haven, “like that?” he smirked as you struggled to breathe.

“I-I–,” your eyes fluttered as your fingers soared up to dent his shoulders, “o-oh god… that’s so much…”

“What?” he grinned as he tilted closer to you for his nose to ghost against your own, “I thought you said you wanted it,” he murmured cockily before pulling all of the way back out, “is it too much dick for you, huh?” your dripping essence clung to his girth as he slipped out and some of your desperation even dribbled onto the tabletop below.

“It’s–, shit,” you tried to keep up with his dizzying game, but your molten mind just wouldn’t let you, “Frank, please just fuck me. I can’t–, I–, urgh!” a shrill moan promptly escaped you as he then sank back inside, making your eyes roll in your skull as he swiftly slipped into a slow yet rough rhythm, “f-fuck… thank you…”

Smiling against your breathless lips, he uttered, “god, you’re cute…” before his hips snapped against you, offering you long and deep strokes that made it tough for you both to last much longer.

Though once you’d both tumbled over the edge, your cunt choking his cock and milking him for all of his worth, the slow and smouldering kisses that drew out over your lips eventually faded as he slipped his length out of you.

Blinking back at him, your eyes widened slightly in gentle puzzlement as he then sank down before you and began to clean up the mess you’d both turned you into, holding your gaze and eating you out till you had no other choice but to clamper a palm over your mouth to keep quiet as he made you cum one last time.

Hand slipping from your lips as you fell back onto your forearms and caught your breath, you scarcely saw as Frank then rose back up to his full height, his lips briefly dancing up the length of your thigh on his way back up, before his gaze caught sight of the row of pies lined up on a nearby shelf. They were all mostly gone, though what was left was covered by a layer of cling film.

Stretching out an arm, he ducked a finger beneath the plastic that covered the last remaining piece of the cherry one and then brashly dipped his digit into the crimson berry filling, before bringing it up to his lips to suck it clean, the display of which somehow making your sensitive core throb once more for him as he let his tongue lap up the greedy taste he’d granted himself.

As his lips let go of his finger with a pop, a hum rumbled in his broad chest, “that’s good,” before his eyes flickered down to his digit and he twisted it into a different angle to lick up the remaining pie filling. Though as he savoured every last drop, his dark eyes flickered back to capture your stare as he then added with a soft smirk, “but I think I prefer the one that you gave me…”

#lea’s writing #frank castle x reader #frank castle smut #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle fic #frank castle x you #waitress!reader #frank castle imagine #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x female reader #jon bernthal smut #frank castle x f!reader #the punisher fic #the punisher x reader #the punisher smut

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emmyc0z · 1 year ago

Note

Can you write something for Sephiroth(pre-nibelheim) or Astarion? Your work is absolutely fantastic btw I’m in love with it ❤️❤️❤️

Not So Subtle

pairing : sephiroth x female!reader

summary : you have a teenage girl level crush on him, that you and zack talk (very loudly) about when you think no one can hear. but he does.

a/n : this takes place pre-nibelheim so everyone is happy and well! in honour of ff7 rebirth :)

“Close your mouth or you’ll catch flies.” You snap your jaw shut, eyes moving to glare at the young, dark haired boy who has decided to break your daydream.

“It wasn’t even open.” He plops down beside you, shoulder touching yours.

“Mhm.. and you weren’t drooling over our superior.”

“Your superior,” you correct, eyebrow lifted with pointed sarcasm. If you could stick your tongue out at him, without it seeming childish to everyone around you, you would.

“Last time I checked, you weren’t a first class soldier either,” He points out, amused. Your elbow makes contact with his arm, and his hand reaches to cover the area as he laughs.

Zack was younger than you, though he certainly never acted like there was an age gap. In his mind, you were the same age as him in some way or another. You had always trained together so you felt much closer in age even though you were at least 3 years older than him. At times, he felt like a younger brother to you.

Even more so when he found out you had a crush on the man he spent everyday training beside. Constant teasing, constant threats to spill your secrets, constant blackmail. You couldn’t even count the amount of times he had used your crush to his advantage on one hand.

There was a time you had to put your foot down and tell him no more, cause it was wrong of course. But also mostly cause you were running out of money to buy his silence.

“Yeah but I'm older, closer to his age. So I don't have to talk to him like I'm below him, unlike some people.”

“Can you even talk to him?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you sitting here staring..?”

“He’s training..”

“Mhm.” The look on his face tells you he’s not convinced. Right now, it was the truth, Sephiroth was swinging his sword in the domed combat simulator, glass walls clear enough for you to see through. So the excuse of not being able to talk to him, out of fear of being sliced in half by his giant sword, was plausible.

But any other time that you had sat staring at him, making no effort to speak to him, rendered that excuse inapplicable.

“Shut it..” You push his shoulder with your elbow once more, and he snorts out a laugh.

“I don’t get why you can’t just talk to him..”

“Of course you don’t.. because you're obviously blind. Or you’ve been hit in the head one too many times in combat training.” You turn your gaze away from Zack to look back through the glass enclosing Sephiroth.

His hair is tied up, hanging loosely against his back. It’s a rare sight, so you indulge yourself and stare a second longer than you should. It’s so relaxed, you think, compared to the seriousness of always having it pristinely down. There are stray hairs, flyaways, falling from the hair tie and hanging against his face. It’s unkempt, a nice contrast to his seemingly perfect lifestyle.

He swings his sword with calculated grace, a grace that you (or Zack for that matter) had yet to achieve. The control he held over his blade was impeccable, it never slipped or moved from his hold even when his hands were moving faster than his body could keep up with. Just another thing that had to be perfect in his life.

“How could I ever speak to him and not make a fool out of myself? For one, he’s first class, I'd totally ruin my chances of making first class if I said something totally outrageous. And knowing me, my mind would be so jumbled, I wouldn't even realize the words had left my mouth before he put me on some kind of ‘do not promote’ list.”

“Oh so.. the only reason you won’t talk to him is because you're worried about making first class? Not.. I don’t know, maybe, the 12-year-old-girl-level crush you have on him.” Your hand slaps over his lips, eyes scanning around you. For the most part, no one looks at the two of you, and you figure the ones that are looking are doing so because of your hand covering Zacks blabbermouth.

“Would you shut it?” Even with your hand covering his mouth, he manages to laugh at your widened eyes. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes are a dead giveaway of his amusement. You remove your hand with a pointed look, one that says ‘keep it down’ in a far more subtle way than a hand over his face.

“You’re so lucky you’re younger than me.”

“More like so lucky you don’t want to make your boyfriend angry. Besides, you know I’m stronger than you.”

“Mhm..” You roll your eyes, and with a sigh, you turn back to face Sephiroth. He stands still now and you realize all of the practice dummies have been broken. From your position, he doesn't even seem to have broken a sweat, even though he’s been in there for over an hour. His sword lies on the ground, thrown without care.

Even with Zack beside you, and the silent teasing that exudes from his body, your eyes remain trained on Sephiroth. You realize it’s childish, to stare and never approach, but the idea of even standing next to him is enough to intimidate you.

He runs his hand over his back, pulling the hair tie from his hair, allowing it to fall against his shoulders once more. He turns, presumably to leave the combat simulated, and his eyes meet yours through the glass. You knew your staring wasn’t subtle, it had never been before, but you had never expected to get caught. You had never been caught.

You turn your head away so fast that Zack almost flinches, probably thinking you were going to hit him again.

“Jesus,” he looks at you with confusion, “What’s the problem?”

“He saw me.”

“What?”

“He saw me! Through the glass! He totally caught me staring at him..” You stare at Zack with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, before you head falls into your lap in shame.

“Would you relax? I guarantee he doesn’t care or he didn’t even see you. Maybe he was just looking at his reflection.”

You look back towards Sephiroth to see him leaving through the doors of the dome, and then you turn back to Zack with a pitiful whine.

“This is so pathetic…”

“I agree,” he smiles when you shoot him a glare, “Just talk to him.”

“Talk to who?” A deep voice sounds from beside you, higher up than where you sit. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stick up, and Zack's expression is enough to confirm your suspicion about who stands next to you.

You turn your head to face Sephiroth, and he stares at you expectantly. You think you catch the slightest smirk building on the corner of his lips, but you also think you might just be trying to make yourself feel better. Standing, nowhere close to his height, you hold your hands up. Zack takes this as his sign to stand too.

“Nobody! Angeal!” You fumble out words, trying to throw out a name before he grows suspicious.

“Well which is it, nobody? or Angeal?”

“Angeal. Yeah! Angeal, so.. um.. I should probably go find him.”

“It just so happens that I have to find Angeal too, allow me to join you.”

You want to throw the nearest chair at Zack, curse him for speaking so loudly. And you curse yourself for not thinking of an excuse in a reasonable time frame, so you just nod, and excuse yourself from Zack.

He gives you a pitiful smile, and when you turn to look behind you for support one last time as you walk away he gives you a thumbs up. His face contradicts his hands, and he seems like he’s in a far less teasing mood.

“Whatever you have to say to him, it must be important.”

“Hm?” You tilt your head up and to the side to look at Sephiroth, you’ve been walking together for a few minutes now, mostly silently.

“You're walking fast.” You shrug your shoulders and continue walking.

At least until your steps are interrupted by him stepping in front of you.

“Is there a problem?”

“What? Of course not!” He practically glares down at you, arms crossed over his muscular chest. You can see the outline of his defined chest muscles through the straps of his top. And you realize you're practically drooling over him, right in front of him so you force your eyes to meet his once more. But his glare is replaced by a smirk, and amusement in his eyes.

“I see now..”

“See what?”

“Really? Do you think you’re subtle?” Your face flushes and once again you want the floor to open up and consume you whole, but you're stuck here.

“I don’t know what you're talking about.” Step back, you scream at yourself, but he moves closer and it’s impossible to move your feet. They feel like lead underneath you, not even giving way to a small shuffle backwards.

“No?” His hand reaches up to rest on your cheek, it's gentle, far gentler than you would’ve expected. But the way his fingers tense against your skin has you feeling fuzzy, “You think I don’t notice the way you stare? Hm?”

He stares at you, thumb moving to the other side of your chin, holding your face in his hand. He maneuvers your face, moving it however he likes. You realize he’s examining the flush in your cheeks, the way your lips part like you want to say something. His tongue gives a humiliating click when your lips close, and the words are lost.

“I hear you, when you talk to Zack,” he stops his movement, stilling your face to look directly at him, “You’ve never been a quiet girl. Why are you so quiet now?”

When you don’t respond his eyebrows scrunch, its subtle and almost missable because it’s gone in seconds. He’s not satisfied by your silence.

Sephiroth bends his shoulders, moving closer to your face, “Although, I suppose you’ve never been very talkative around me.” He moves closer still, swerving his nose to the side of your face until he’s able to speak in your ear, “That’s not very nice. You might hurt my feelings if you keep ignoring me.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble out meekly, you're honestly not even sure it’s audible at first but he laughs quietly, breath fanning on your ear. His other hand, the one that doesn’t hold your face, reaches up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear before he pulls away. The breath that leaves your body is almost embarrassing.

“What’re you sorry for, hm?” He stares expectantly down at you, eyes never leaving yours.

“F…for ignoring you.”

“So you ignore me?”

“No!”

“So you’re lying?” You shake your head as much as you can within the hold of his fingers, “Then what are you sorry for?”

“For not talking to you.”

“And why don’t you talk to me, I'm sure you know it’s rude to stare and never speak to someone.”

“Because..” His grip loosens, hand moving back to your cheek, thumb resting on your cheek bone.

“Because why? Cmon use your voice, the one you use to talk about me with Zack.”

You stare up at him pitifully, and the way words fumble from your mouth has you wanting to throw up, “Because I have this stupid crush on you, and I can't talk to you without getting nervous. I know it’s stupid and I should have told you sooner so you could reject me and I could move on and I never meant to offend you or-”

You hadn’t realized he had gotten so close until his nose touches yours, top lip brushing against yours as he tips your chin up towards him. Your words fall flat on your tongue when you meet his eyes, or rather when you see his eyes that are focused on your lips.

“Offend me.. that’s sweet..” He’s so close to you, that every word has his lips brushing against your own again and again.

“Sephiroth..?” You suppress the urge to move the tiniest bit forward so your lips can fully meet his. And you're sure your face is impossibly red.

“You should’ve told me about this ‘stupid’ crush sooner, such a foolish girl. May I?” You're confused, what is he asking for? His eyes flicker up to yours before moving back to your lips. When you realize what he means you nod your head perhaps too eagerly.

Slowly, to tease, his lips press against yours, palm pressing into the skin of yours to keep you in place. Eyes fluttering closed, your hands find his chest, silently screaming about the position you’ve found yourself in.

His lips overpower yours in every regard, moving languidly against you. His other hand reaches up to the free side of your face, fingers tickling the skin on your neck and thumb resting on your jaw.

When he pulls away you can only look at him with half lidded eyes, dazed.

Al he does is chuckle, rubbing your cheek with his thumb and patting your head. One hand holds the back of your head, leaning down to kiss your temple, before stepping behind you, “Don’t be so shy from now on. Maybe we’ll end up here again.”

His steps echo through the empty hall as he walks away.

“Wait… wait.. I thought you had to go see Angeal?” You turn, taking one step in his direction, then stopping yourself in your tracks hesitantly.

“I didn’t. And I know you didn’t either.” He only turns his cheek towards you to speak and then continues on down the hallway, tall and brooding.

#x reader #oneshot #drabble #sephiroth x reader #sephiroth #ff7 #sephiroth ff7 #final fantasy x reader #final fantasy vii #female reader #fem reader

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witchthewriter · 12 days ago

Text

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐬/𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

ISTJ

Gryffindor

True Neutral

Capricorn Sun, Scorpio Moon, Aries Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・Closed off but kind, it took a while for the two of you to evolve into something romantic

・Unspoken love; his way of showing how he feels is through action...fixing things for you, watching your back - making sure you're safe, guarded. But also making sure that you've eaten, you're hydrated and healthy.

・Your smile gives him heart palpatations.

・Nights would involve quietly tending to each other's wounds—physical and emotional—and, on rare occasions, him opening up about “the time before.”

・Forehead Touches

・When you're at home, he's always fiddling with something; a radio, guitar, he's even trying his hand at sewing.

・Tries his best not to smile when you do something sassy. But you always see the corners of his mouth quirk upward.

・Pretends to be cranky when you call him 'old man.'

・You have a brilliant relationship with Ellie; she feels safe with you, like she could come to you with anything.

・Whenever you ask him to play the guitar, he grumbles and groans.

・And then plays something so beautiful, you nearly cry.

・Neither of you sleep well if you aren't together. The rhythm of your breathing is the only thing that cuts through his ghosts.

・His pure happiness is rare, and therefore sacred.

・Ties your shoelaces, buttons your clothes, dries your tears

・Loves doing domestic things with you; changing the bedding, hanging the washing, cooking together

・Pretends to grown when you act needy for attention. But he loves feeling wanted.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

You Fell First, But He Fell Harder

The Moon and His Star

Husband Is Scary To Everyone But Me

��𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Timeless Love

Unbreakable Bond

Bickering and Banter

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

The Chain by Fleetwood Mac

Walkin' Back To Georgia by Jim Croce

Milk and Honey by Jackson C. Frank

𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞

・Joel likes overpowering you.

・He'll slap your ass as you're walking past him (not out in public though)

・Shoving you down onto the bed and smirking as you wiggle backward:

"Nowhere to go, baby."

・Likes having your juices in his beard after he's gone down on you

・The smell of you drives him nearl animalistic; he has to have your scent on him

・When he cums, he makes a very gutteral sound, pulls your hair and bites your shoulder.

・He stays inside you until you've both let the high completely come down... well really he still likes to bury himself in you for as long as you'll let him

・Loves cockwarming.

・Would crawl on hands and knees if you asked him to

・Kisses the arch of your foot when you're on the bed, limbless and spent after fucking

・Slow and deep rather than rough and fast; but don't think he won't fuck you into the bed. He loves doing that after you've been bratty all day

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counterblows · 6 days ago

Text

📂 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭.𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞

𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐀/𝐍: I thank @/weltraum-vaquero fics for the inspiration (I would get so gassed if he does end up seeing this oooh)

📄 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞.𝐝𝐨𝐜

If you thought Jayce was attentive during sex, you barely even scratched the surface of how devoted he becomes afterwards. This man treats aftercare like it’s sacred— and in many ways, it is. It’s where the love lingers behind the lust, where everything slows down and the connection truly settles in. Just the two of you basked in the afterglow

He’s not the type to hop straight into the shower right away. The skin-to-skin is everything to him— even if both your bodies are sticky with sweat and the air is still thick with remnants of passion. He finds comfort in the closeness. You’ll often find him bury his face into your neck, chuckling softly at how good he feels after something so intimate— like he’s drunk on the memory of your touch

His voice is low and hoarse when he talks to you after, breathing unevenly. You’ll hear things like, “you were so perfect,” or “you did so well for me.” Quiet praises and you can tell he means every word.

And though he won’t say it out loud, Jayce loves to be pampered too. If you get up before him, he’ll reach for your hand with half-lidded eyes and a reluctant pout, like a puppy that doesn’t want to be left alone

He feeds off of your words of affirmation and melts under your touch. Fingers curling through his hair, a gentle rub along his chest, your soft voice telling him how good you made him feel. He would look at you like you set the stars in the sky. It's the one time he allows himself to just exist in the moment, without exceptions, without any pressure.

Aftercare is just as important as the act itself. A quiet devotion that wraps around you. If sex is the crescendo, aftercare is the echo that stays long after

📄 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭.𝐝𝐨𝐜

Without a doubt, Jayce’s favourite part of you is your waist. Oddly specific, I know. But there’s something about wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close by the waist that just does it for him. Even when you’re kissing, he likes the feel of your waist under his palms— like it grounds him

But what really gets him going is when he pulls you flush against him— letting you feel exactly what you’re doing to him through his pants. He gets a little shy about it, sure, but there’s something thrilling about letting you know just how worked up you make him— he wants to show you the effect you have on him physically.

And when you reach down to feel him in return— that only fuels the pent up arousal he’s been trying to keep in check

As for himself, Jayce's proudest features are definitely his arms. There’s a romantic side to it— holding you close when you’re cuddling, lifting you off your feet, holding your bridal-style.

But even with his strong arms, he’s not afraid to admit that he loves being the little spoon. Being held by you is his favourite part of cuddling.

Beyond the softness, his arms are also tied to the pride of his work. Years spent in the forge. The lab. Swinging that heavy Mercury Hammer (ouff)

He’s strong, and he knows it. Whether it’s trying to fix things in the house, carrying you, or pulling you in for a kiss— he loves putting his strength to use

📄 𝐂𝐮𝐦.𝐝𝐨𝐜

Given Jayce’s high-protein, high-carb diet and stress from long hours in the lab, his semen naturally has a slightly salty taste. It’s not unbearable, but it’s certainly not sweet either— sometimes he’s a little embarrassed if you ever comment on it.

He’s aware that diet affects how you taste (especially if you have a lot of fructose like pineapple juice). While he hasn’t made that switch yet, the thought had definitely crossed his mind

As for the texture, it’s thick, warm, and noticeable viscous— heavy enough to feel it when it spills across your skin or on your tongue. If you ever gather it between your fingers, you’d find it strings and stretch slightly between your forefinger and thumb— sticking more than it runs

Oh, and there’s a lot of it. Jayce is a massive yearner to the core, and all that pent-up desire manifests when he finally climaxes. He’s a heavy finisher— more than most— and he doesn’t always have full control over how much he releases.

Even his precum is abundant, dripping from his tip when he’s especially aroused. Handjobs often gets messy fast, with his slick heat coating your hand and his skin long before he reaches his peak

He prefers to finish inside you, but that doesn’t mean he’s against making a mess if you’re up for it. Still, he tends to get flustered when he sees the sheer volume he leaves behind— especially when it’s sprayed on your chest, stomach, and your face (he’s mortified the one time it nearly got in your eye, he wouldn’t stop apologising)

And if you do give him oral, Jayce is surprisingly cautious for someone so eager. He always makes sure to double check if you’re okay with swallowing beforehand— the last thing he wants is to overwhelm you, or worse, you gagging too much. The first time you actually took all of it and swallowed without hesitation, he completely short-circuited

📄 𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭.𝐝𝐨𝐜

One of Jayce’s lesser known secrets is that he keeps a pin-up poster somewhere tucked away in his lab. Something tasteful, suggestive, and easy to hide behind the cabinet or equipment rack. He stumbled upon it during his Academy years and couldn’t bring himself to throw it out

Every now and then, on long, stressful nights when the pressure of inventions or politics weighed too heavily, he’ll glance at it. And sometimes, when no one’s around… he might even get off to it. It’s his private outlet— a guilty pleasure he’d never admit

But after your relationship starts, the poster doesn’t go anywhere, but now it only serves to collect dust. Because all he can think about is you. Maybe he doesn’t throw it out because a part of him likes remembering that version of himself

📄 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞.𝐝𝐨𝐜

If your relationship begins during his early Academy years, chances are Jayce is still a virgin. He’s not the type to sleep around or give himself to anyone— he’s reserved in that sense. When he decides to share that part of himself with you, it’s a significant step. One that he doesn’t take lightly

But even with his lack of hands-on experience, his body still knows what it wants. The frustration comes when he doesn’t quite know how to act on those desires— how to please you, or even fully satisfy himself the way he craves. Though he is a fast learner

The first time is a bit nerve-wracking for him. He probably thinks everything needs to be perfect— the lighting, the mood, the pace. He wants to impress, even overcompensate a little so it’ll be as steamy and stimulating. You have to reassure him: this isn’t a performance, he doesn’t have to be anybody himself. That alone eases his nerves more than anything else

When he finally slides inside you, everything else falls away. The only thing he could focus on was the sensation, the heat, the closeness. Feeling the friction from your walls sends him in a trance.

His body reacts before his mind could catch up, and he finishes embarrassingly fast. He gets flustered and apologies, a little ashamed that it ended so soon. But it’s not about how long it lasted— it’s about how much it meant to him. And that was what stayed with you

If you don’t meet until after his councillor era— when Jayce is more socially active— there’s a chance he’s had some experience in the bedroom. Maybe a fleeting romance he hoped to pursue but it never ended well.

But just as likely, he’s remained untouched. His time is consumed up by research, inventions, hours in the labs and political obligations— leaving little space for true intimacy. If that’s the case, he may still be a virgin, quietly insecure about being a late bloomer, yet more emotionally mature. When he finally gives himself to you, it’s with tenderness and reverence that only time and restraint could manifest

📄 𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.𝐝𝐨𝐜

Missionary: I know this is a traditional position that’s usually a go-to, especially for newer couples. But everything about this position is just Jayce-coded. Seeing your reaction and maintaining eye contact while he thrusts into you. It also gives him easy access to your lips so he could give you a quick kiss mid-thrust

Flatiron: This usually starts like prone bone before Jayce lowers his full weight on top of you with his chest flushed against your back. This allows him to feel all of you— every inch of skin and warmth pressed tightly together. The deep thrust and intimacy drives him wild

Chair straddle: Pretty self explanatory— you straddled Jayce while he’s seated. This usually takes place in the lab rather than at home. It’s an easier position when you don’t have access to a clear flat surface. He loves having full access to your face, gripping your waist and pulling you flushed against him as you grind him his lap

Face sitting (receiving): I’ll keep reiterating that this man is a pleaser. And a massive giver too. He worships your body, and this position is his version of cloud nine. You on top of his face, your thighs trembling around his head, while he moans shamelessly into you. This is his favourite way to be used— canon behaviour

Spooning: Usually happens more often in the early mornings, when neither of you want to get out of bed. It’s slow, lazy, but still deeply intimate. He loves whispering in your ear as he desperately grinds up against you, before easing himself inside

📄 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐲.𝐝𝐨𝐜

I can’t really imagine Jayce trying to initiate humour into the bedroom— not because he’s uptight, but because he’s too focused on you.

He takes pleasure seriously, so his mind is usually set on making you feel good. That you’re cared for, satisfied, and loved. So you won’t really be getting cheesy pick-up lines or playful banter mid-thrust. That’s just not his style

That being said, there are some goofy moments— most of them unintentional, and he’s almost always the one getting flustered.

One time, you both tried prone bone for the first time. You were on your stomach, waiting patiently for him to ease in. But for whatever reason, he just couldn’t get the angle right.

He kept slipping out or sometimes missing the mark entirely, clearly frustrated with himself while trying not to break the mood. You, on the other hand, couldn’t help but laugh at how adorably determined he was— one hand braced on the bed, while the other trying to hold himself steady.

Eventually, with a little adjustment (and some help from you angling your hips right), he managed to slide in. Your laughter quickly cut off into a moan that made him forget his struggle entirely.

Moments like that don’t ruin the mood— they just remind you how comfortable you are with each other, and how raw the experience feels. It really rounds out his more human, boyish side— which balances out how deeply romantic and attentive he is during sex.

📄 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐫.𝐝𝐨𝐜

Even with his packed schedule and long lab hours, Jayce makes time to keep himself well-groomed. He trims regularly, keeping things neat without going completely bare. And yes— the carpet does match the drapes. His pubic hair is dark, coarse, and curls naturally. It grows quicker than he expects

After some time together, you confesssd how much you liked seeing the happy trail running down his lower abdomen. He didn’t quite get the appeal at first, but when he indulged in you— when you gave him oral and ran your tongue along it during oral— let’s just say he understood after that…

He also has a modest dusting of chest hair— not too dramatic, but enough to catch your eye when he’s shirtless. You’ve made it a habit of dragging your nails over it and lightly scratching the hair follicles, making his heart stutter every time

📄 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐲.𝐝𝐨𝐜

Intimacy plays a massive part when it comes to sex with Jayce. I mean, he even calls it ‘love-making’ whenever he talks about it— and he treats it with the same weight and reverence. Each touch, every kiss, every breath is charged with intention (it doesn’t get more romantic than that)

He’s incredibly present in the moment, attentive to you, your needs, your pleasure. He sets the tone with slow kisses trailing over your body. Murmuring soft praises about how good you feel. And of course, holding your hand whenever he can.

And yes, he’s definitely a talker— whispering how close he is, asking if you’re okay, checking in with tender urgency. His favourite place to bury his face is the curve of your neck, drinking in your scent as he chases his release. As if he wants to lose himself in you entirely.

No matter the position, Jayce always finds a way to keep you close. Arms wrapping around your waist. Fingers tangled in yours. Pulling you into his chest after.

Ohhh and don’t get me started on when you start touching him tenderly— stroking his stubble, hands over his broad chest, fingers running over his lips. He would melt into your touch instantly, like he had been craving for someone to handle him gently. (There’s a whole other story there and we’ll get into that under Motivation)

Closeness is everything to him— he needs to feel connected, both physically and emotionally. To Jayce, sex is another way of saying I love you— over and over again

📄 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟𝐟.𝐝𝐨𝐜

Before you got together, Jayce was never the type that jacks off on a regular. I’ve mentioned before that he keeps a pin-up poster hidden in his lab— tucked away where only he knows. He’d only ever get off to it when the pressure built too much to ignore (and even then, it was rare)

After your relationship grew in depth and you’re comfortable with each other, you brought up the idea of JOI. The suggestion alone made him short-circuit. It wasn't just the act— which he wasn’t used to doing anyways— it was you watching, guiding, instructing. That level of vulnerability made his stomach twist in the best way

Once he's stripped bare with his hands on himself, he’s very hesitant and shy. You keep your voice soft, coaxing him through it step by step, easing him into the rhythm

And because he’s a natural giver, having you take control— telling him what to do with your gentle dominance, how to touch himself— leaves him dizzy. He clings to your word like a lifeline

It also talks to his praise kink (and amplifies it in the most intense way). Hearing you say he’s doing well, calling him your good boy while stroking himself for you pleasure— he doesn’t last long and he’ll never forget how it feels

📄 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤.𝐝𝐨𝐜

Praise Kink: Jayce has a natural confident streak— he’s shown it during his Progress Day speech, and again when he stood up to Heimerdinger. Public recognition feels good, sure, but nothing gets him aching quite like your praise. And not just in bed, either— he thrives on your admiration. But when it is in bed— when you praise his body, his bed skills, or call him your ‘good boy’ in that breathy tone— he melts like putty in your hands. You’d have him undone, clinging to every word. That’s kind of praise fuels him— it’s enough to bring him over the edge and come in seconds

Oral Fixation: While Jayce loves the feeling of your mouth on him, he’s just as— if not more— addicting in tasting you. And that’s not just about giving oral (though he’s devoted to that, too). He craves the feel of your skin on his lip. Kissing down your stomach. Mouthing at your thighs. Running his tongue over the dip of your collarbone. It’s all about closeness, tasting you until he gets high from it

Sensory play: This is stepping into a more risky territory, something introduced only after a deep level of trust had built between you two. Naturally, Jayce was hesitant at first, especially about giving up any sense of control. But when he finally let you blindfold him, the anticipation kicked in. The suspense of your touch drove him wild and his other sense kicked in. Your hands, you mouth, your breath— he never knew what would come next, and he loved the thrill of not-knowing more than he expected

Light bondage: Just like sensory play, this was something that evolved over time. Silk ties around his wrists, a gentle restraint just right enough to keep him in place. Jayce found himself surrendering to the moment. It was always attractive the way he looked up at you with that breathless, slightly nervous look. His lips slightly parted, waiting for your next move. Despite being at your mercy, there’s still a raw heat in the way he submits— trusting you, wanting you, craving you

📄 𝐋𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.𝐝𝐨𝐜

Jayce’s go-to location will always be the bedroom— especially if it’s a shared one. There’s something grounding and intimate about having a private space that belongs to both of you. Its quiet, safe from interruptions, and allows him to fully focus on your without any distractions

If you don’t live together yet, then it's usually whichever bedroom you’re closest to— his or yours. It might not be as symbolically intimate as sharing a space, but he still likes knowing you’re not going to spend the night alone

Now, if he’s been especially pent-up or you’ve been teasing him mercilessly all day (you know exactly what you’re doing), then he might break his usual rhythm of restraint and pull you into the lab for a quickie

That said, the lab is always the last resort. Jayce is not the type to rush things when it comes to intimacy— he likes to take his time and make sure every second counts. But if the need is intense and the moment calls for it, he’s not above bending the rules a bit for a quick release

📄 𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.𝐝𝐨𝐜

We’ve all seen that scene with Mel and Jayce— she was the one that initiated things, and only then did that spark ignite. The scene sequence followed: Mel pushing him down on the bed and Jayce flipping her onto her back.

This shows a telling dynamic— Jayce doesn’t dip easily, but once that door opens he steps in with full intent

Even prior to all that, the tension between the pair was already thick. Long stare. Brush of fingers. Shared silence filled with meaning. Yet, Jayce never made the first move

It shows his restraint. A sense of self-control that makes him feel like a gentleman. But the moment you reach out, the tension that has knotted inside him unravels

He’s the type who’s deeply aroused by being wanted. His partner eagerly stroking his jaw or curling into his shirt. It lights a fire under his skin

Touch is everything to him. Stroking his neck, his face, his chest— he leans into it like he would die without it. Sometimes even covers his face with his hands, trying to conceal how flustered he’s gotten and hiding how much of an effect you have on him

Speaking of touch, he’s definitely got a few weak spots. I heard rumours that his nipples are more sensitive than he cares to admit. Sometimes it’s a pain in the ass, especially under tight shirts. But in bed, it’s a weapon in your arsenal

You’ve learnt how he twitches when your fingers graze across his chest. How a soft brush or a firm squeeze makes him gasp— the way his breath catches tells you everything you need to know

Another thing that gets him going is being teased— not the cruel kind, but the subtle, flirty kind that feels like a game between two lovers. A hand on his thighs under the table during dinner, your fingers brushing just a little too close to the flyer— followed by a completely innocent look tossed his way

Jayce loves that build-up. The longer you drag it out, the more worked up he gets. It turns him into a desperate, flushed mess. The kind that’s ready to pounce the second the door shuts behind you

Foreplay doesn’t just start once your clothes are off, it starts long before that. Even before you step into the bedroom.

Lingering touches, secret glances, the spark of tension in the air. Even brushing past him in the hallway can be enough to leave him flustered. That’s kind of tension is what gets him burning with desire

📄 𝐍𝐨.𝐝𝐨𝐜

One of the few things Jayce draws a line at is inflicting pain— on you or himself. He’s definitely not a sadist, and he doesn’t have a masochist streak either. The thought of hurting you, even consensually, just doesn’t sit right with him

He wants intimacy to be rooted in mutual pleasure and trust, not discomfort. So heavier BDSM elements like spanking, whipping, or anything too physically intense are hard limits for him. Especially when it involves the erogenous zones. To him, those are meant to stimulate pleasure, not create tension or pain.

However, there are some grey areas. He doesn’t mind light choking— but only if you initiate it.

The idea of wrapping his hand around your throat makes him genuinely anxious. He knows his strength, and the last thing he wants is to misjudge pressure or lose control. The idea of accidentally hurting you, even just a little, terrifies him

Jayce also isn’t fond of the whole ‘daddy/mommy’ kink dynamic. Being called “daddy” feels weird and uncomfortable— and calling someone else “mommy” just feels too emotionally complicated, especially given how much he respects and loves his own mother

Overall, Jayce leans more toward soft, affirming intimacy. He wants to make you feel good— not powerless

📄 𝐎𝐫𝐚𝐥.𝐝𝐨𝐜

Giving: I’ve said this before and I’ll say it till my tongue goes dry— Jayce Talis is a giver. And that includes going down on you. He doesn’t just do it to please you, he does it because he craves it

Every moan, twitch, and shiver you make under his tongue only spurs him on. It’s practically a devotion. He dives in with eagerness, hands firm on your hips as he guides your pelvic higher, wanting to take every inch of you with his tongue

His stubble scrapes against your inner thighs, leaving a warm sting from how deeply he pressed himself into you. The sound of him moaning against your core is something you’ll never forget

If you have a male anatomy, he starts with slow, deliberate licks— but the moment he feels your cock in his hand, he wraps your lips around it with hesitation. His hunger is evident in the way he moves— needy, precise, and absolutely relentless

He’s like a starved when he goes down on you, swiping his tongue over deliberately, taking more from you, drawing out more moans. You��d even find him whimpering against your core

Receiving: Jayce isn’t shy about receiving either, but he’s not used to it. First time you went down on him, he was speechless— his eyes on you, half-lidded, face flushed, and breathless.

Even before you touched him, you could see him twitching in anticipation. When your hand first wrapped around him, he hissed through his teeth

The moment your mouth closed around him, he jerked— his body instinctively curling forward as he tried not to lose control too soon. He’s loud, no doubt— moaning your name, gasping, occasionally cursing.

One hand tangles through your hair, the other gripping something nearby for stability. It helps when you look up at him, mid-act. It knocks the air out of his lungs real fast

📄 𝐏𝐚𝐜𝐞.𝐝𝐨𝐜

It really depends on the mood you’re trying to go for and what the occasion is. If it’s something special— like one of those nights where everything feels emotionally heightened— Jayce slows down, he wants to savour every second of it

Foreplay is just as tender, full of whispered praises, deep kisses, and soft-spoken affection. He takes his time, reading your body like a language only he understands

But when he's pent-up, the pacing shifts. He’s not aggressive or impatient by nature, but desperation brings out a rougher edge. He doesn’t tease for long— he needs you.

In these moments, he drills into you deep and hard, burying himself in a way you make him feel. You’d see the sweat glisten along his forehead, trailing down his chest as he moves with a single-minded focus

Yet even when he’s chasing his high, Jayce never stops checking on you— your comfort, your pleasure. That connection always comes first to him

Afterwards, the aftercare is immediate. He’s especially attentive then, asking if he was too rough, if there’s anything you need. The tenderness doesn’t stop with him

📄 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐞.𝐝𝐨𝐜

I have mentioned before that Jayce isn’t a massive fan of quickies. To him, intimacy is about connection— deep, passionate, and lingering. He enjoys the slow build up, the teasing, and foreplay. Rushing through it feels like skipping the best part

That said, he’s not immune to heat-of-the-moment temptations. If the desire builds up too much and the timing is right, he won't hesitate to indulge. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it’s just as memorable

As mentioned earlier, the lab is most likely the setting for these rushed encounters. You both have to stay quiet and alert, which only adds to the thrill to the experience— even if Jayce grumbles about how the ‘lack of control’ afterward.

On quieter mornings, when you’re both still wrapped in each other's warmth, spooning quickies are more of his style. Uncomplicated, last, and intimate. It’s a rare kind of quickie that still feels like a slow burn

📄 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐤.𝐝𝐨𝐜

Jayce isn’t the type to initiate anything risky off the bat. At his core, he leans more vanilla when it comes to intimacy— nothing too outlandish or chaotic. But that doesn't mean he’s closed off to experimenting. If it’s safe, and something you both agree on, he’s game to try

Exploring kinks becomes something of a shared discovery between you two. It’s a way of deepening your bond and building that trust. Finding out what makes the other tick becomes just as thrilling as the act itself

The riskiest thing you’ve done together would probably be that night at the theatre. I don’t want to take credit for this idea, since I originally saw this in another fanfic, but I can totally see Jayce doing this.

Jayce had secured a private mezzanine box (councillor privileges, of course) and while the performance played below, your attention has started to drift…downwards

At first, Jayce tried to talk you out of it. This wasn’t like a quickie in the lab, where at least you were alone. This was a more public space— high society, murmurs, and velvet seats. If anyone looked up, you were done for. And he knew he wasn’t good at keeping quiet.

But one light stroke up his inner thigh had him giving in too quickly for his own good. You took your time, keeping him on edge. Jayce, on the other hand, was gripping the armrest and bit his lips to keep himself from groaning out loud.

It was tense and risqué, yet, still thrilling. And while Jayce will definitely admit it was a memorable experience, it’s not one he would do again. As far as public escapades go, one was enough…probably

📄 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚.𝐝𝐨𝐜

Jayce is a one-round man— but don’t get discouraged, because that one round is long, intense, and full of tender foreplay. He takes his time, savouring every second with you, making sure it’s more than just about the release

Though, on special occasions— like your anniversary, or after a particularly breakthrough— he gets a little more indulgent. He saves his energy for two or even three rounds, especially if there’s something new to try. A different position. A new toy. Or the thrill of giving you more

His stamina is pretty strong, but he values aftercare just as much as the act itself. Between rounds, there’s always a pause: cuddling, water, or just whisper praises. He doesn’t rush. You always feel taken care of and you make sure he feels the same too— it’s the least he deserves

📄 𝐓𝐨𝐲𝐬.𝐝𝐨𝐜

If I had a quid every time I saw the phrase Hex-strap… Well. I won’t elaborate on that. But since we’re on the topic of Hex(tech), I feel confident saying that Jayce definitely experiments with integrating Hextech into toys (¬‿¬)

Initially, he was a little skeptical about the idea. After all, Hextech's primary purpose was to help people— save lives, solve problems. Though… that does count as a kind of ‘assistance,’ he tells himself. Over and over again.

Deep down, he knows he has the knowledge and resources to create something that not only feels good but is perfectly tailored to you. One he accepts that, he finally gives in to the temptation

One of his go-to devices is a vubrator. With Hextech advancements, it delivers a stronger, more targeted sensation. He gets off on watching you fall apart from it— moaning his name, clenching around nothing, begging for more. Secretly… he wants you to use it on him too. That’s one of his dirtiest secrets

Speaking of secrets— we’ve touched on how sensitive Jayce’s nipples are. So naturally, you use that against him. The first time you introduced a nipple clamp, he looked totally bewildered. Unsure whether to be curious or intimidated.

But after you clicked them into place and he felt the pressure, his demeanor shifted. His whole body shuddered, the sharp jolt of stimulation shooting right to his core— making him a whimpering mess.

There is one strict rule when it comes to toys: they stay in the bedroom.

First, he doesn’t want to risk anyone seeing something he created— especially not Viktor. He’d never hear the end of it

Second, he doesn't mind occasional risky sex, but using toys in public is a hard no. He values intimacy, and the privacy that’s comes with keeping those moments just between you two

📄 𝐔𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫.𝐝𝐨𝐜

When you’re both in the moment, Jayce isn’t really the type to draw things out too long just for the sake of teasing. He prioritises your pleasure— eager, focused, borderline desperate to get you to come before he even thinks about his own release

There are some playful moments, however. If he accidentally discovers a spot that drives you wild, his stubble grazing your inner thigh, a brush of his finger, and he notices your reaction, expect a cheeky smirk and a teasing “Oh? You like that?”

Sometimes, especially before you’re even alone together, he might get a little bold. A hand ghosting over your lower back, brushing your thighs under the table— followed by an innocent look like he had no idea what he just did.

It throws you off every time… but you’re not complaining. In fact, you kind of want to see more of that smug little smirk. Even if you’re on the end of the teasing for once

Still, Jayce would never go as far as orgasm denial. He doesn’t have the heart to make you wait, especially when you’re begging. And he definitely wouldn’t want his own pleasure delayed either— it’s not in his book, and it breaks the warmth, mutual rhythm he craves

If anything, he’s the kind to beg you to come while he’s still inside you— voice shaking, panting, holding your hand like he needs it to keep his sanity

📄 𝐕𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞.𝐝𝐨𝐜

There’s absolutely no way that this man stays quiet in bed— he simply not the type to hold back. Even the smallest moments, like a passionate kiss, draw soft moans from his throat, like it’s a lifeline that he has been searching for. His voice is rich, but when it cracks with need, it gets breathier and whiny

When you’re making love, and especially when you’re the one that’s teasing or taking control, he’s a mess. Moaning openly, gasping when your hands or mouth move to his sensitive spots. He’s very responsive to everything you do

Once he’s inside you, forget any chance of silence. Jayce is completely vocal— praising you, begging for more, moaning your name like a prayer. He talks you through it, too: telling you how good you feel, begging you to come first, and whispering sweet encouragement until you both unravel

He loves when you talk, too. Whether it’s dirty talk, praises, or soft encouragement, your voice in that moment is enough to tip him over the edge. A conversation of desire and he never wants it to end

📄 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝.𝐝𝐨𝐜

One time, Jayce insisted on keeping a blanket over the both of you while making love. You were in missionary, of course, because he wanted to see your face, wanted that full connection. The blanket was his idea of creating a little ‘cocoon’ where it was just the two of you, wrapped up in each other

But then he quickly realised that, practically speaking, it wasn’t the smartest move. Between the shared body heat, the constant movement, and the sheer effort of staying coordinated under the blanket, things got hot fast— too hot under the blanket. And blindly trying to line himself up to your entrance without seeing anything wasn’t his finest hour either

But that didn’t mean he would give up trying— he is a man of science, after all. The first attempt was with a heavy duvet. Definitely a mistake on his end.

With a lighter blanket, it worked a little better… until his thrusts started pushing it off you both anyways. Though it was logically flawed, it was still romantic

📄 𝐗-𝐫𝐚𝐲.𝐝𝐨𝐜

This is my favourite part of the alphabet, we’re going to get anatomical here with Jayce’s length. His height, build, and high testosterone levels absolutely influences his size and weight

Standing at around 6 ‘4 with a muscular frame built from years in the forge and lab, it’s no surprise that Jayce is well-endowed. Both in length and girth. When flaccid, he hangs heavy, roughly around 5 inches. It rests comfortably between his thighs with a little bit of weight to it. And yes— you’ve caught a glimpse of it while he gets dressed, and you’re not so subtle about it either

When he’s aroused and hard, he’s even more impressive— firm and full at around 7 inches. As well as a girth that stretches you open and leaves you gasping. There’s a weight to him when he’s hard, and the pressure alone is enough to leave a lingering ache and throbbing sensation even after he pulls out (ouff)

His tip is dark when he’s fully hard, broad and deliciously flushed with need. Precum beads at the head when he’s especially pent-up. Let’s not forget about the veins that line the shaft and throbs under your touch

📄 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠.𝐝𝐨𝐜

Jayce ‘Yearner’ Talis should honestly be his full name. That man literally radiates want— and not just in the bedroom. Even outside of sex, he’s constantly reaching out for you: your hand, your waist, your cheek. Touch is his primary love language, he needs it like oxygen

Before you even slept together, he already craved your affection. The brush of your fingers over his face. Your hand in his hair. Your warmth curling up beside him.

But after you slept together, that yearning multiplied tenfold. Now it’s your hand on his bare chest, your lips on his cock over every inch of him, and your body beneath his that fuels that hunger

He’ll even confess how hard it is to stay composed around you— especially if you’re purposefully riling him up. There were a few moments where he was supposed to be focused on his work, but his eyes kept drifting back to you. Sometimes he’ll murmur a few words like, “you make it hard to concentrate,” or “you’re very distracting right now.”

And he doesn’t stop there. He continues yearning throughout— even when he’s balls-deep inside you, he whispers things like “I missed this… miss you.” The closeness never feels close enough and he always craves more

So yes, that does mean his sex drive will be considerably high. A man who yearns is a man who earns.

📄 𝐙𝐳𝐳.𝐝𝐨𝐜

This just makes me think about Jayce being the little spoon, while Mel has her arms wrapped around him from behind. And she was smiling against his back too, while he looked knocked out and dazed.

Jayce isn’t the type to just knock out right after sex— especially not after sharing something so intimate and emotionally charged. The act itself means a lot to him, and he wants to hold onto that closeness for as long as possible

Aftercare is always a given (duh), but once that’s done, he’s not ready to let go of you. He’s needs to feel your skin on his, bodies tangled together, sharing each others warmth until the following morning

You’d find him tracing his fingers along your sides, maybe even mumbling something sleepy into your skin. Conversations that lead nowhere just for the sake of hearing your voice— and letting you hear his. He might sound a little hoarse, breath uneven from everything that had happened, but it only adds to the intimacy

He falls asleep slowly, his favourite position will either be his face tucked into your neck or chest, or being spooned with your arms draped over him

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chlmtsdoll · 8 months ago

Text

IT’S NOT THAT COMPLICATED

౨ৎ Summary: you’re Art and Pat’s (mid)wife without the legal agreements. They both want to finally get you pregnant but who will be the one to shoot his shot first ? 🤭

౨ৎ 18 + | smut !, threesome, p in v (unprotected sex), heavy breeding kink, size kink, polyamorous relationship, domestic (mean-ish) reader, (mid 20’s) needy Art and Pat, angst, gayness, jealousy, religious themes here and there, inspo from Good Graces by Sabrina Carpenter 🩵

The entire house had been a complete and total mess.

You spent most of your weekdays like this — in your Skims sets, hair tied up in a neat ponytail only to end up in a messy bun by the time you were done cleaning up after the two boys who made up most of your life.

Unless they’d been at tennis practice of course.

You never could have pictured your life turning into this in your wildest dreams, especially when you’d never been the kind of girl who was into dating of any sort at all. You hated it really. The chase, the frustration, the uncertainty. Since you were a little girl, all you knew was that you wanted to accomplish receiving the home of your dreams and a cute baby or two to keep your days a little less lonely. You couldn’t fathom it was too much to ask for.

And even though you really didn’t exclusively picture a man (or men) being apart of your future — early days at school, Art and Patrick would make it the competition of their lives to never leave you alone. Ever.

Since you all met your sophomore year of college, it was the two on their hands and knees at your feet. Both always striving for your attention, fancying you, stealing you away from your studies to try and make you settle for dating at least one of them — and to their surprise (or your luck) you never really did. So moving through your last years of class really pushed the three of you as close as a trio could get.

You didn’t exactly put tittles on whatever you had been since it wasn't your style anyway, and throuple just seemed so indifferent. You’d all been more than that. Art and Patrick were yours and you were theirs. You’d draw hearts around your names in all your text books. Picturing yourself rocking cradles and being theirs forever. You’d marry your boys if you could. It was a new upcoming part of your plan — but one worth diving into.

You really did adore them with every ounce of your being.

So eventually when they went pro and started competing full time, both Art and Patrick’s families supported your decision of getting a home together. A great chunk of what you’d always wanted finally coming to fruition. Which was why you didn’t really mind staying back to do the important things around the home that was perfect in every way to you. It was a necessity when you lived with two six foot successful athletes muddying up the place without even noticing it. You would make dinner yourself on the week days and they always helped out on the weekends. You picked out and folded their sports wear every night for them just so it would make the morning even a tad bit easier. You loved it, and you loved them.

Even if the home was almost always in need of a little clean up with how busy your lives had ended up being, you couldn’t say you didn’t admire that it was constantly filled with the endearment you all shared together — so just after a few months of moving in, you finally thought it was the perfect time to let Art and Patrick give you a baby.

As excited as they were when you laid it all out on the table and they’d been a hundred percent ready too, you hadn’t properly thought out how combative your husbands got when it came down to it. The first week you’d given them the green light, it was non stop arguments and fighting between the two for who would be the first impregnate you. And although you gave them a deadline, wanting to be in your second trimester by the end of the year, they still hadn’t come to a full agreement.

And you still weren’t pregnant.

It’s pushed you into having much more aggressive periods and definitely during ovulation. You wanted your baby right then. Right now. More than anything else in the world. It was why you made a promise to both Art and Patrick — so you didn’t have to deal with running through men. Trying to find the perfect one to give you what you wanted even into your thirties. There’s two of them. Which means double the assurance that you should have been pregnant by now.

You’d had a hamper between your hip and the washing machine as you were unloading the laundry you set earlier when you heard the front door being unlocked.

The foyer was filled with the loud conversation and laughter the boys brought home with them to greet you. — but you’d remembered that you just mopped the entire floor plan spotless. So you dropped the hamper instantly in a hurry,

“Wait- - Wait ! Shoes. Mud room.”

As you scurried up to them, the blonde and brunette had paused in their tracks to face you. Seconds away from placing their worked equipment and tiresome shoes on the sparkling clean floors, just before they had registered it been freshly washed. Both men melt into apologies and “sorry baby’s” roughly at the same time while you finally let yourself breathe again post saving the floors from a brutal de-makeover.

When you turned your back to grace the kitchen, taking out food and utensils to start on dinner it was of course moments till your husbands made their way to merrily greet you as they always did — unwashed and grinning like they didn’t just see you that morning. Art had sure to respectfully take off his cap when he walked in, his damp blonde curls scattered everywhere. They looked heavenly with the sweat he had brought with him too, and Patrick, even sweatier, snaked around the corner of the counter to embrace you from behind without a care in the world to his abhorrent musk filling up your senses so quickly.

“Hi, baby,” the brunette smirked down at your smaller figure from behind, he bent to press a kiss to your cheek whist grabbing your dainty waist in his own brawny hands.

“How’s our girl ?”

Art began to smile from the other side of the counter in front of you. The blue hue of his eyes twinkled as he looked over your relaxed figure carrying on with what you’d been doing. “How was your day, sweetness ?”

“I caught a movie.. then I came back and cleaned up around here.” You spoke so nonchalantly the boys had already caught on to the fact that you weren’t your normal excited self who was over the moon to have them home. It was odd.

“So, that’s why you haven’t started on dinner yet..” Patrick chuckled, still behind your shoulder as he peered down at you, and you only glanced up at him with a mainly forced but soft simper.

“Oh, I’m so glad you noticed.. because you’re finishing it.” You only tapped Patrick’s freckled nose with a smile was laced with hints of sarcasm too smoothly, and as you looked between the two, their own glad expressions started to slip away when they really noticed your demeanor was not having it. You’d been pissed.

“So.. you’re not-”

“No. Do it yourselves,” you dried your hands on a cloth and shoved it off before removing yourself from Patrick’s embrace to exit the kitchen without a care. The boys watched your movements with frozen looks.

“I mean, we all should equally feel the current of not getting what we’ve been waiting for, right?”

As you stopped yourself from walking away to face them again with a look on your face that was holding back a thousand words of real rage, with just a cover of curiosity to how they could be so oblivious to your own needs — Art observed you from over his shoulder with a furrowed brow that also tugged a frown on his expression before he spoke.

“Baby- -”

“No. We had an agreement.” Your voice raised in pitch and you tried not to pout. Stand your ground. “I want a baby. And I still don’t have a baby.. and it’s ridiculous b-because, it’s not that complicated. Theirs two of you for fucks sake!”

You were angry, and quite upset. And even though you were pmsing, that wasn’t why. It was the exact problem.

Your emotions were at an all time high, and both men could have put that together at the way your voice shook, and nose had done that flair thing it did when you were at the peak of crying. Just on the verge of tears. But they had to know how you felt. And the way Art and Patrick observed you now, had affirmed they were taking in how it must all feel on your end.

“I thought we were in this together- guys. I-I thought we were ready to start a family…” your eyes switched between the two and their dejected faces before they both erupted into words of reassurance to decline to your state. Making their way over fast to where you stood, to be in the presence of their much shorter but adorned wife.

“We are!” The brunette huffed out.

“We’re a team.. that’ll never change, angel.“ the blonde one spoke over the other, and you crossed your arms as you looked up at both your tall and handsomely gorgeous (but very stupid at times) boys.

“Then fix this.. Get it together among yourselves like grown men who actually want a baby. Because bickering about who’s gonna get me pregnant first won’t get us anywhere.”

You breathed out deeply and searched their obedient assertion before Art and Patrick both nodded to each other in guilt of their actions. They knew how much you wanted this. And you confirmed you didn’t necessarily have to stop at just one.. you’d wanted a little bunch really — so both of your boys would have created something with you.

Their strife for who got there the quickest though, had been totally picked up from ego.

“We’ll.. come to it settled by tomorrow. But really, cut the chase baby, Patrick is just in it for all the sex with you… so your answers right there.” Art commented as he only half joked at Patrick’s wit to selfishly get you laid back to back.

The brunette retreated with shoving the other man in his side. “Fuck. Off. If I was in it for the breeding kink alone I’d say that… probably- -” Patrick defended in all seriousness to his nonsensical answer, and they had both scoffed at each other — you rolled you eyes.

This had been the root of your tiredness.

Sometimes you didn’t even know why you agreed to this. They could be such idiots. Lovable ones although. Enough that you’d let them be the fathers of your children evidently.

“Just… hurry up. Or I promise, I won’t let either of you touch me.” It was between you and god how true that statement actually was. But your eyes met their green to blue in all seriousness before you turned away again. “And wash yourselves before coming in my kitchen next time.”

It took every fiber of your being not to turn back and gently leave them with kisses after such a talk — but you had to show them you meant it. that you really weren’t fucking around this time. You’d definitely classify yourself as a much attentive wife. Always too nice to both of them, but they’d known how fast you could switch up like that — being as sweet as an angel one moment then not giving a fuck the next.

And it’s what they deserve for not attending to your needs too. Although you’d all still been fairly young and they were used to just being careless boys, constantly fucking things up time to time. But now that you’d all spoken out on being ready to settle down, they had to show you they truly meant it. That they wanted this just as badly as you did.

So if locking yourself in your room without your husbands, dickless and babyless would do the trick, then so be it.

It was bound to pay off, because around two weeks later when you let the boys know you were ovulating. They wasted no time to be on you every second of every day.

Fucking was all you’d known this time around, day and night Art and Patrick would take turns filling you with as much of their seed as possible. Giving you the most otherworldly orgasms you’d probably ever experienced got you letting them fuck you in as many ways as they could fit in between the hours they didn’t have tennis and could just be with you. There was something about you wanting them so badly to plant their own inside you, and something about them taking their greedy turns over you till the light of dawn made your sex drive triple it’s increase. The boys would end up arriving late to practice after making your body the judge of who’d be the one to carry your first born.

It all came down to when Art had no rein to miss when his sponsors asked him to be of attendance to a leading event. — which also lead to you and Patrick staying the night indoors, alone, without your other counterpart.

“Please ?”

“We shouldn’t, Patrick. He’ll be upset that he wasn’t here, you know how Art gets.”

Patrick scoffed off your words as he fast walked (chased) after you into the bedroom, “pssh. He has a sponsorship. He’ll be fine… c’mon baby, how am I supposed to make you a mommy if you don’t let me try?” Patrick grinned as he sauntered closer to where you stood. That grin on his face that said he’d already been painfully hard, you knew like the back of your hand. When Patrick towered over you untamed and pressed a deep kiss to your jaw line, you met him where he took your hips with his selfish hands — just below him you let your half husband leave kisses down your neck with that damn luring smirk on his face, still.

You shook your head and rolled your eyes playfully at his acts to get you to let him fuck you without Art around like usual. You already knew the petty excuse you’d use to tell him you didn’t go against the agreement you all kept. Only having intercourse when it was the three of you while trying to conceive, since you’d all be equal parents to the child.

Although, it was without a doubt that Patrick had a way with his undeniable charming nature, and it almost always paved the path to you just giving into the calculated man at some point.

He was pulling you on to his lap by the time you two reached the bed. His slightly calloused hands exploring, kneading your skin. Your breath hitched and Patrick let out a slow devious laugh as his grip on you wondered till it embraced your breasts and the man groped you with all pleasure. “These are gonna be so full when you get pregnant, baby. I can’t wait.” He had that cheeky grin as your eyes panned down at him from your position in his lap. You only let out a soft chuckle as you we’re totally more focused on when he’d get his pants off.

“I swear to god Patrick, I’m not fucking around. You better put a baby in me or I’ll have Art do it.” Your voice was pungent but remained sweet overall. The brunette snickered as he kissed on your chest anyways,

“Just relax baby doll, let me take care of it. Trust me you’ll be pushing a stroller before you even finish.” Patrick groaned into your skin. He continued pushing up your shirt and going straight to your nipples to place his lips with a soft curse while you put your hands in his hair just to watch the way he acted as if he’d been at starvation from you.

Deep down you knew for a fact Patrick had only been motivated to the whole baby making process for the kink of it all. The messy and wild sex constantly. Getting to cum in your pussy rein free as many times as he pleaded without a break, being the one to say you’d been carrying his child he planted inside of you. He was a thousand percent deep into a breeding kink since you’d all been in college. And no matter how much he tried to deny it these days, it didn’t even amount to the way he’d boast about loving to just see the sight of you pregnant and fully round, struggling to do simple daily tasks as your bump grew and grew every day. Meanwhile, it being all caused by him. The fantasy stroked his ego in a way like no other. He’d for sure end up being the type to tell friends the exact position you’d been in when he knocked you up. It was more of a contest of manly hood for the tennis player and you surely knew that.

On the other hand, Art had been dreaming of starting a family since practically a kid, he’d been proudest to say. He was in it not just for himself in a way that made him overwhelmingly happy to have a little one of his own to take care of, but for you. Making sweet love to you day and night, trying for the possibility of making a mini version of himself and you — just because he adores your personality and features so much that he’d want them in his own offspring. Art idolized the bond you two have that much. Always the one out of your husband’s to be doing as much research as he could in his free time by reading up on what were the best chances of giving you a baby and making the experience the most pleasurable for you. What would be healthiest way for you to give birth, baby names, and when you previously found his YouTube search history had been filled with how to properly build a cradle, or how to swaddle a new born. It made your heart all warm and mushy feeling. Jumping around underneath your chest even.

It was the cherry on the top of your ideal life. And you knew the right way to go deep down.

But as Patrick lowered your hips against his, skin on skin, and heated kisses in the middle of your make-out session being the only thought to cloud your mind — you’d been blinded by the one sided-ness of the man and the opportunity to end all anticipation of getting pregnant as soon as possible.

“Yeah, yeah- - just like that..” you panted as the brunette watched you while he was quick to lift himself and you to pull down his sweats and align himself with your entrance. Your hands had been wound to his shoulders while he reached for your ass in preparation of you taking his sized up cock like you owned it. And he lived for that. Patrick was dripping of pre-cum beneath you already. “Put it in.” You breathed out whist beginning to slide down his member as he pushed up into you. A low groan coming from the tease of a man, and the back of his head lost balance in your hands as you began to move on top of him.

“Take my cock baby… fuck, you feel good.” His low grunts and hands getting you to rock your hips faster was enough to get your skin feeling as if it been lit on fire. Your jaw agape enough to when Patrick put his lips on yours — you’d been met by his tongue on instant, sloppily kisses were laid in between your combatting lips. Patrick pulled a clean moan out of you as your legs begin to tremble at his penetration being rough to your walls on instant.

“Mmm- Pat… oh,” you’d been riding him on the edge of the king sized bed. Bouncing like there was no tomorrow in such little time. Your drive has just been insane, you could fuck like you took meals. The feeling of the finely built man running against the cave of your sensitive cunt assured you, this was it. You were getting pregnant by the end of tonight. If it weren’t for the astonishing thick walls, your moans could of filled every hallway of the house by now.

That was until the creek of the masters door had been a distracting note. And the blonde that appeared in it even more so.

When your movements froze and Patrick’s kisses to your neck loosened, the two of you were startled to see the sight of Art coming through that very doorway with a perplexed but not at all surprised look of predictability on his face.

Instead of pulling Patrick out of you to greet your other lover, the smile on your face only grew as you stared over at the less disheveled man placing his back pack on the floor.

“Hi, baby.” You would of been questionably chipper to most, but for the three of you this was as normal as it gets.

“Oh, don’t let me stop you.” Art shrugged softly as his crystal blues examined the heat you and Patrick had created in the atmosphere.

“But.. do you really want a brunette ? Wouldn’t you prefer the baby be- - I don’t know… A blonde ?”

“Oh, fuck off, Art.” Patrick, who had still been inside you let himself fall back into the bedsheets with a groan. And you already knew the blonde had a grin of his own spreading across his lips. You closed your eyes with a deep exhale.

“Guys.. stop it.” you huffed as you pushed on the brunettes limp shoulder, with a soft eye roll that landed back on Art, your expression softened at the sight of your golden boy prancing closer to the two of you. Your smile appeared again. “Come join us baby.”

You knew Patrick would be annoyed and bitching over the fact he didn’t get to cum inside you himself before Art had shown up. But it didn’t matter so much to you when overall, you wanted Art to be as much involved as his own. Even if Patrick had been the one to shoot his shot first.

You slid off of Patrick to crawl closer and plant your lips on Art’s with a pleasant little noise of joy, which the blonde then sent his hands to hold your waist as he leaned into your affectionate greeting.

“Hi.” He chuckled as he leaned away to meet your eyes. Like he wanted nothing. Needed nothing but you.

“How did it go ?”

“Good- - it went good. Boring, really. But what I’m more interested in is how many times you two fucked today..” Art raised a subtle brow as he glanced between you and the sexually frustrated man who’d had his back turned away from you and Arts embrace at the moment.

If only hiding behind your flustered face was an option.

“Y’know.. you’re more than welcome to tune into the fifth round, Art.” Patrick spoke out to poke the other man again and before he could glance at you, his eyes widen with a plea of ‘really ? Five ?’ laced through it and you immediately shook your head.

“No, no..” you held Art’s face in your hands, high cheek bones made it easy to acknowledge his pre-frown. Before he could assume more, your eyes search his while you kicked Patrick’s shoulders slightly. “He’s being a dick. That’s not true…”

“Let him believe it, doll. Now, can we get back to it please ? We have a baby to make.” Patrick’s tone was smug and filled with the tension to just get to your wet enclosure, and before you could even shut him up again, Art did it for you.

“Well, for that to happen, you do know she has to be on her back right ? Or at least comfortable in some capacity..” Art questioned the man and Patrick scoffed at his remark.

“I knew that.”

“Did you ? You had her on top, I would of at least expected doggy style from you, man.”

“Why does it fucking matter?!”

“Because she’s fertile right now!”

“Art, when the fuck did you become a baby daddy ? Please, explain. Because I could like to know-”

“My god. Will you two just shut up and put a baby in me!”

You’d gotten so fed up with the two bickering over nonsense, you stood to your knees between them on the bed as your frustration was shown through your expression that was slowly but surely going dull.

“Honestly, with all this tension, and arguments.. when even was the last time you fucked ?”

Your eyes switch between the two boys who choked on their own tongues when you brought up them being the ones in absence of fucking out their frustrations with one another. And you tried to hide your smirk as best as you could behind your doting eyes.

You wanted them to feel like they’d been draining you by the second, like you’d leave and shut them out again if they didn’t just handle you like real men.

“You know what, that’s it.” Art stood up from your side and glanced down at both you and Patrick who’d been taken by surprise to his new found demeanor.

“You wanna be a mommy ? I’ll make you a mommy.”

Art tugged on the bottom of his white tee, to remove it from his body swiftly — revealing his burly pecks and excellent abs that round a grin from you as easy as could be. He grabbed your wrists firm but with rooted gentleness as he took you aside. “Patrick. Make use of yourself and lay back so you can hold her reversed cowgirl.” Those last few words were more than enough to get the brunette on board as he himself stripped to then make his way neat against the pillows and covers. Art built brief lustful eye contact with you, leading you to straddle Patrick’s lap. The blonde couldn’t stop himself from grinning, and you pulled your lip into your mouth as your patience began to burn quick and your need for both of the men started to rise with it.

Patrick’s hands were on your sides as he pulled you into him, leaning in close to your ear where you felt his soft lips meet your lobe, “I can’t wait to have you full of both of us, princess.” His voice rasped at the perfect tone that had your spine increase with chills. His hands help adjust we’re your ass met his thighs. And that’s when Art came hovering over the two of you — meeting you face to face with even more want than ever. Your lips press into one another divinely as you could of sucked his bottom lip into your own if he stayed there long enough.

You smile into the smooches anyways. Your light, your angel boy, gracious as ever, depressed his palm into the firm mattress beneath where you and Pat coexist, as he made himself comfortable on top. You kept kissing Art with deep hungry moans humming from your windpipe. A slow but fervent pace. It’s like the man could sense your wetness before he even reached down between your thighs to part your legs. But when he did, with tenderness and urgency, he made them just wide enough for how he and Patrick would need you to be for them.

The blonde’s slender fingers rub around your core and he wet his digits with your slick before dipping them in your cunt leisurely, “Patrick did prep you good, but let me.. us, take care of things for once, alright ? You just focus on feeling good.” Art ducked his head to watch the way he added another finger to disappear inside you and your whine was soft. But your focus was on him. He looked overwhelming gorgeous on top of you — golden curly locks followed his every move. You felt more assured then ever by the way his sweet words made your tense muscles shift. Soon, Patrick to your left, left soft kisses on your shoulder blade which that just made you melt.

He stroked his erection before inching to slide himself back inside your soaked heat, and you closed your eyes with a sweet whimper leaving your plump lips at the way the brunette slid though your walls again — Art’s tongue darted out to watch the way you sunk down on Patrick before his eyes. Getting ready to penetrate you himself, “keep holding her, Patrick. Make sure she’s relaxed.” The man on top of you murmured with dilated pupils and mouth practically salivating just witnessing it second hand.

You bit down on your lip while Art put his cock above where Patrick had been, working himself against your already pulsing cunt, begging to be used by the two gorgeous boys. And before finally pushing into you along with the brunette, Art pushed you farther on to your back against Patrick’s broad chest.

“Stay open for us like a good girl, we’re gonna make you a mommy for sure this time.” You heard Patrick’s voice come in with a grin, he held your thighs apart as Art bottomed out inside of you the same way Patrick had with an echoed grunt. The double penetration sent your mouth going agape straight away, your face scrunched up in pleasure and pain at the same time.

“oh- - oh, fuck” your breathing hitched as the men just filled you with their length and girth. The farther they burrowed in you, the quicker you realized you’d probably never get used to the stretch of taking both of their dicks at once, nor would you tire of it either. But this was what you needed. Right this second, to be breed and stuffed with enough cum you’d have more than sufficient chances to have one of their babies make it to growing within you.

The blonde and brunette had started to move at a steady pace, then quicker as time followed. You sometimes felt as if your body was meant to take them like this — your moans and cries escalating could of confirmed that with how you’d been coating their cocks with more of your juices as they fucked into you. Both men making pornographic noises of their own while getting to submerge into your sweetness at the same time. The friction of feeling one another setting off a different kind of euphoria that had been truly in a league of its own.

From Patrick pushing his heels into the comforter to pound up into you, and Art’s hands going opaque with veins as he gripped on to the side of your hips to ass — to keep you open for him to have the best access to your womb, made your eyes go teary with the impact of it all. The way their balls carelessly slapped against your ass that would surely be darkened with a bruise tomorrow. Thrusting without mercy made you feel a heavenly kind of dizzy at this point.

Art couldn’t help but grin at the bulge he and Patrick had been imprinting on your lower belly as you could only shriek and moan on their cocks in repetition like you’d been saying a prayer after every pound to your sensitive cunt.

“Fuck- - god, princess. You’re gonna make us daddies aren’t you ? That tummy is gonna be full with us just like it is now, and you’ll love it. I don’t think you’ll ever stop wanting to let us fill you with babies you can take care of.” Art had panted out into your ear with a airy chuckle and you were too fucked out to do anything but tremble more from his words, the brunette has been smirking in agreement.

“Shit. She’s gonna be so pretty lookin’, Art. Being at home with the kids, nurturing everything she touches like the sweet girl she is… just to get breed nice and round again and again, isn’t that right, pretty girl?”

You were over the edge. Completely cock drunk and fucked stupid by your boys who held you together in the mess they made of you. That’s when you couldn’t keep it back anymore. “Oh- yes… god, yes. Fuck !” A high pitched whimpering moan ripped through you as you came hard, leaving Art and Patrick’s overly slick cocks with yours and their creamy details.

“Oh, shit, shit !” The brunette cursed from over your shoulder.

“Fuck- - Patrick.. you ready ?” Art huffed as he and your other husband didn’t stop plunging into you. They took your overstimulated and overstuffed hole clenching them through your orgasm as the gateway to finally leave their seed to your body’s pride.

Taking their slowed thrusts back up a notch, the boys fuck into you till you cry and they both cum with a slew of groans and other curses like that. Your muscles couldn’t hold up. You let yourself collapse against Patrick’s skin as the two pumped ropes into your pussy till they’d been drained out.

Art snapped his eyes shut as he strained into you with a deep grunt. He palmed Patrick’s shoulder “don’t pull out- - don’t move.. stay in. For as long as you can.” Patrick kept his hips flush against you. Your legs trembled and your chest heaved repeatedly, your cunt began to feel numb. You brought your swollen lip between your teeth.

“Mmmh... Art- - I don’t know how much longer I can hold up..” your wide tearful eyes met the blonde’s gaze as he leaned even closer to take your hand in his, intertwining your fingers right then.

“I know, baby, I know.. but we have to make sure you have all the chances of getting pregnant.” The blonde kissed your knuckles as he stayed there with you — and Patrick did the same. Staying put and not letting up till they had been as sure as could be that you were having a child.

It brought a simper to your lips as your chest eased into a relaxed sigh. The two men finally pull out of you with low moans and you immediately sprawl on your back to smile to yourself on the bedsheets.

You’d been pregnant. You just knew it. You felt it. When Art and Patrick came together to create something out of their love with, and for you — you knew your prominent instinct couldn’t of let you down now. And only a single pregnancy test later, and a trip the three of you all took to your doctor. It had been confirmed. You were pregnant.

And to your pleasant surprise and overly joyous nature... Your first born would turn out to be a Donaldson.

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therogueflame · 18 days ago

Text

Dragonseed

Hi my horny little fuckers (affectionate),

This piece is based on this ask that requested breeding kink daemon so like...you know i went all out.

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WC: 6.7k

Summary: A night of unrestrained passion blurs the lines between power, devotion, and desire.

Warnings: 18+, rough sex (p in v), oral (kinda? f!receiving), multiple positions, creampies, breeding, possession, talk of pregnancy, obsession with legacy, targcest, dirty talk

Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen!Wife!Reader

MDNI!!!

The blood of Old Valyria coils hot beneath your skin, an ancient river that hums through your bones and shudders in your breath. It is a birthright and a curse, a fire no ocean could drown. In the towering halls of Dragonstone, where the stone still remembers the beat of leathery wings and the roar of beasts who ruled the sky, you move as though you were born from the very heart of the mountain. Silver glints at your temples beneath the wavering torchlight, a crown by blood if not yet by name, and your gaze carries the weight of a hundred generations who refused to kneel. You are a Targaryen, daughter of a house shaped in fire, and tonight the blood of your ancestors drums louder than ever, answering the pull of the man who stands just beyond the threshold.

Daemon is your husband now, tied to you by oath and ceremony and the raw, unbroken thread of your shared bloodline. The union is so new that the scent of burning oils still clings faintly to the hem of your gowns, that your chambers have not yet been stripped of the lonely air of a maiden's room, that you still wake some mornings and marvel at the iron weight of a ring on your finger. There has been little time for tenderness and even less for patience. The feasts were endless, the faces eager and expectant, the smiling lords and ladies who whispered in corners about the strength of your bloodline, the power of your children to come. You had smiled too, wearing the mask expected of you, all the while feeling the restless fire building beneath your skin with every passing hour you spent at Daemon’s side, untouched and unfinished.

Now, finally, there is no one left to watch. The last servants have retreated. The heavy oak doors have been drawn shut. The night belongs to the two of you alone.

You feel him before you hear him, a shift in the air, a gathering of something too potent to be named. His boots strike the stone floor with a slow, deliberate rhythm, echoing up the length of the corridor, a hunter’s patience wrapped in a soldier’s stride. When you turn to face him, he is already so close that the torchlight trembles against the broad line of his shoulders, painting his hair in violent shades of gold and red, his eyes catching the light and reflecting it back to you with a hunger that strips you bare. His presence crashes over you like a tide, stealing the breath from your lungs, and still you stand, shoulders squared, chin lifted, refusing to look away. You may be his wife now, you may ache for him with a need that gnaws at your very soul, but you are Targaryen too, and you will not go to him meekly. He must come to you.

He does.

He crosses the last few steps without breaking eye contact, every line of his body coiled and burning with a heat that has long since left patience behind. When he reaches you, he does not touch you, not yet, but the nearness of him is suffocating. The heat of his skin leaches into yours, dizzying, relentless, making your heart hammer wildly against your ribs. His voice, when it comes, is roughened from restraint, low enough that you feel it more than hear it, vibrating through the narrow space between your bodies.

"You think I have not imagined it?" he breathes, and the hunger in his voice has teeth. "How you would look with my child growing inside you? The curve of your belly, heavy with our blood, with our fire?"

The words strike you like a physical blow, tearing away whatever fragile composure you had clung to. Your lips part, a sharp breath escaping, but you catch yourself before you can give him the satisfaction of seeing you undone so easily. You tip your chin up a fraction higher, your pulse roaring in your ears, and meet him blow for blow. When you speak, your voice is soft but steady, threaded through with a challenge you do not bother to hide.

"Is that all you want from me?" you ask, and even as you say it you know you are taunting him, daring him, beckoning the beast that lurks just beneath his skin.

For a long moment, he says nothing. His eyes roam your face, greedy and reverent all at once, and then his mouth curves into something that is not quite a smile, something sharper, something older. He moves then, closing the final sliver of space between you, his hands finding your waist with a grip that is possessive and unyielding, strong enough to remind you that you are his and always have been, even before the vows were spoken. His forehead presses to yours, and for a heartbeat he simply breathes you in, his fingers digging into the rich fabric of your gown, his body trembling with the effort it takes to hold himself still.

"No," he murmurs, his voice a prayer offered at the altar of your body, his words sinking into your skin like claws. "But it is where I will start."

The last of your defenses crumble then, shattering like fragile glass beneath the weight of him, beneath the certainty that there is no undoing what has been set into motion. Whatever waited between you all those endless nights before the wedding, whatever unspoken promises passed between glances across court, whatever fevered dreams you nursed in the dark when no one could hear you cry out his name, all of it is nothing compared to this. This is real. This is fire. This is the dragon you married coming to claim what has always been his.

And you, daughter of the same flame, do not fear the fire.

His hands tighten at your waist, anchoring you to him, and you feel the tremor that runs through his arms, a thread of restraint pulled tight enough to snap. For a moment, he simply holds you there, his forehead resting against yours, breathing you in like a man starved. The space between your bodies vibrates with the force of everything unspoken, every vow that lived in your blood before it ever passed your lips.

His movements are slow and carefully deliberate, sending a shiver down your spine. As his fingers locate the fastenings of your gown, he undoes them one by one, his knuckles lightly brushing along your spine. There's no rush or tearing of fabric—his actions are marked by a reverent devotion, a deep and intense admiration that leaves you quivering. The air is saturated with his scent and warmth, and every touch exudes a profound, overwhelming devotion.

The weighty cloth slides off your shoulders and gathers at your feet, exposing you to him. For a moment, Daemon remains still and silent, his eyes sweeping over every part of you as though he intends to etch your image into his very being. His hands drift to his swordbelt and the fastenings of his tunic, moving deliberately slow, his gaze never leaving you. Each movement is a declaration, a vow, a challenge.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low, rough, scraped raw by everything he’s been holding back.

“You were made for this,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing low across your belly, slow and reverent, like he’s already imagining the shape of his child there. His eyes drag up your body, heavy with want, his breath shuddering. “To carry my blood. To give it form.”

He leans in, mouth nearly at your ear, every word shaped around hunger and certainty.

“Let me fill you. Let it take.”

The last breath of distance dissolves between you, and Daemon’s hands transform from languid to fervent, no longer restrained or patient. They carve into your skin, leaving fiery marks of ownership that sear like a brand. His mouth crashes onto yours with a ferocity that eradicates any possibility of doubt—a kiss that steals the very breath from your lungs and ignites a wildfire in your veins. There is nothing gentle in him now, nothing tender. Only a blazing inferno of hunger and an unwavering, unbreakable devotion.

You surrender to him, mirroring his hunger with your own, your teeth grazing his lower lip in a possessive claim of your own. Your fingers clutch the fabric of his tunic, pulling him closer, as if sheer willpower could dissolve the boundaries separating your bodies. His growl reverberates against your mouth, a dragon's deep rumble that sends molten heat cascading through your veins.

He guides you backward with deliberate steps until your spine meets the unyielding cold of the stone wall. The stark contrast of temperatures—his searing skin against your front, the icy chill of ancient Valyrian rock at your back—elicits a gasp from your lips. Daemon captures the sound, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with practiced dominance, tasting you, consuming you. His hands cradle your face, fingers weaving through your silver hair, tugging just enough to expose the vulnerable column of your throat to him.

"Mine," he breathes against your pulse point, where your lifeblood thunders beneath the skin.

"Yours," you echo, a fierce promise and an ancient truth.

His teeth graze your throat, sharp and possessive, before he soothes the sting with his tongue. You arch against him, hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric still separating you from his skin. With a growl of frustration, you tug at his tunic, desperate to feel him, all of him.

"Take it off," you command, your voice low but unyielding. A queen's demand, even now.

His eyes flash with heat at your tone, a smile curving his lips that's all predator. He steps back just enough to pull the garment over his head in one fluid motion, revealing the broad expanse of his chest, marked with the scars of battles won and lost. Your breath catches at the sight of him, at the coiled strength evident in every line of his body. You reach for him, hands splaying across the warm skin of his chest, feeling the thunderous beat of his heart beneath your palm. There is a symmetry to this moment, a rightness that sings in your blood. Targaryen to Targaryen, fire calling to fire.

He catches your exploring hands in his own, bringing them to his lips to press fervent kisses against your knuckles, your wrists, the sensitive skin of your inner arms. Each touch is a brand, each breath a claim. When he releases your hands, they fall to the lacings of his breeches, working them free with trembling fingers.

His eyes follow your movements, pupils blown wide with desire, his breathing growing more ragged with each passing second. When you free him from the confines of his clothing, he hisses through clenched teeth, his hands flying to your hips with bruising intensity.In one swift movement, he lifts you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he presses you against the wall. The stone is cold against your back, but you barely notice through the haze of heat enveloping you both. His hands slide beneath your thighs, supporting your weight with effortless strength as he positions himself at your entrance.

For a heartbeat, he pauses, his forehead pressed against yours, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that steals your breath. In this suspended moment, something passes between you that transcends mere desire—a recognition, soul-deep and ancient. The bloodline that binds you together, that separates you from all others, pulses between your joined bodies like a living thing.

He snarls "Mine" once more, a primal claim, before he impales you with a brutal thrust, filling every inch of your slick, tight heat.

The overwhelming sensation is almost unbearable—more intense than you ever dared imagine, more carnal and raw than your wildest fantasies. Every inch of you is electrified by the way his thick cock fills you, how Daemon dominates and claims every secret, sensitive crevice of your body. It’s a delicious torment, a fierce collision of agony and ecstasy, as if you’re being violently split open only to be remade entirely. The brutal, unyielding fucking merges with tender intimacy, each shared breath, every lewd glance, and each heated caress building to a climax that shatters all restraint. Your body is a willing vessel, hips thrusting and desperate to meet his relentless thrusts, the two of you locked in a wild, naked abandon. His every thrust drives you to the razor’s edge of ecstasy, keeping you there as your nails tear into the glistening, sweat-soaked muscles of his shoulders—a mark he brands upon you as you brand him in return. The cry that escapes your lips is a fierce, primal scream, a raw mating call that resonates with the ancient pulse of lust passed down through generations.

That guttural cry is the embodiment of your passion, bridging the scant gap between your bodies with the force of your urgency. His name is enunciated in every moan—a declaration, a desperate plea, a demand for submission, and a surrender so complete. Its raw power unspools the last shreds of your control, leaving you with nothing but the searing heat of him, the undeniable confirmation that you were forged solely for this carnal conquest. Not a moment passes when you aren’t hypersensitive to his every movement: the hot rush of his breath against your skin, the insatiable hunger in his eyes, the relentless pressure of his thrusts. Every part of you is consumed by his raw nearness, his unquenchable desire, his absolute certainty in this savage dance of lust.

This, this, this is what your flesh and blood scream for.

In the midst of the lust-fueled fire, only he exists—Daemon, the center of the universe where everything else is reduced to smoldering cinders beneath the blaze of his presence. Even the coarse stone pressing at your back and the crushing grip of his hands fade away beneath the incendiary passion he ignites, until it’s impossible to tell where you end and he begins. It is as though he has embedded himself within your very soul, rewriting your essence in a language of searing desire.

Every forceful, calculated thrust is a symphony to your fevered heart—slow, deliberate, yet impossibly potent. With every deliberate motion, every promise fulfilled and vow cemented in the heat of your shared passion, your senses shatter. Your breath nearly escapes you from the intensity of his presence, and each deliberate drive shoves you deeper into vulnerability. The measured pace is deceptive; underneath lies the savage fury of an unbridled storm. Standing on the precipice of obliteration, you can feel the raw, destructive power of his desire, knowing with absolute certainty that you are destined to be engulfed without escape. At a moment’s pause, as he buries himself deep within you, his ragged breaths hit your neck like incendiary whispers. You feel his dominance everywhere—those hard, sculpted planes of his chest against your bare skin, his iron grip seizing the soft curve of your thighs, and the overwhelming fullness where your bodies merge. Even the chill of the ancient stone behind you is eradicated by the blazing intensity he thrusts into you—a relentless, consuming passion that permeates every fiber of your being.

When he resumes his savage onslaught, his expertise as a seasoned lover becomes undeniably clear—each thrust like a masterstroke that has conquered a thousand hidden desires. His eyes burn with an intense, animalistic heat, and his taut muscles ripple beneath his skin like a living, sinuous serpent poised for an all-consuming, torrid encounter. He is indiscriminate and unstoppable in his desire, his determination an intoxicating force that engulfs you completely until you yield without reservation. His raw strength is overwhelming—a magnetic presence that obliterates any gray area between agonizing pleasure and unmitigated ecstasy. Every whispered, breathless moan, every racing heartbeat, all your fleeting moments of awareness are claimed by him, as each powerful, relentless motion peels away your defenses until nothing remains but the hot, desperate fire of his need.

His forceful, unrestrained thrusts penetrate you with a brutal intensity that leaves you gasping for every precious breath, every second undone by the raw physicality of his touch. Your lips meet his in a fierce, ragged clash, a desperate moan escaping as every deliberate drive plunges you into a vortex of unfiltered, overwhelming desire. The slick, heated contact of his skin upon yours—soaked in sweat and unabashed lust—sparks a tormenting ecstasy that razes every coherent thought. Each powerful thrust is a calculated siege on your senses, dismantling every barrier until you are completely at his mercy. You grasp him with desperate, animalistic fervor, your nails carving savage lines into the taut muscles of his shoulders, a crimson trail attesting to your fervent claim. His eyes, dark and dilated with raw need, mirror the relentless rhythm of his body, drawing you into an inescapable spiral of rapture and submission.

Just when you believe you can take no more, he shifts his hips with calculated precision, thrusting up and deeper into you with unyielding force that makes you scream and writhe uncontrollably. The cry that erupts from you is primal—a raw and frantic admission of surrender that shatters the silence and fills the space between you with a shared, undeniable lust. That haunting sound reverberates within you, unraveling every last thread of resistance until you are stripped bare, reduced to your most elemental, primal self by the insatiable demands of his passion.

Your eyes find his, barely focusing through the haze of his relentless pace as the air is punched from your lungs with his every movement. His gaze is smoldering and fierce, a storm that promises your ruin and deliverance all at once. This deliberate, unyielding rhythm draws you impossibly closer until you can no longer tell where you end and he begins. The heat is almost unbearable, a fiery consummation that binds you tighter with each hard thrust of his body. You lose yourself in it, in him, abandoning all control and letting the vivid sensation overwhelm every part of you.

He drives you to the ultimate brink of sexual oblivion, pressing you against the hard edge of ecstasy with the relentless force of his body and desire. Every thrust quickens, each movement more insistent than the last, as you drown in the intoxicating musk of his skin and the searing heat of his arousal, burning as fiercely as your own. In this vortex of raw lust, the cold stone behind you and the desperate grip of his hands vanish, overwhelmed by the incendiary passion he ignites within you. It is not merely intimacy—it is a voracious claiming, a deep consumption that invades every secret corner of your being, stripping you bare until every gasp and pulsating heartbeat testifies to the sheer power of his carnal need.

You become liquid desire, a living flame flickering in his orbit, completely lost in him as your last threads of resistance disintegrate. In a single, instinct-driven motion, you wrap your legs more tightly around his waist, pulling him even closer, urging him deeper into your core.

He growls in a low, guttural tone—a sound blending triumphant conquest and unyielding demand—while his hands grip you with such intensity it seems as if he plans to merge your flesh into one unbreakable entity. Despite the harsh bite of the stone against your back as he pounds into you with ferocious intensity, you welcome the stinging pain—a delicious reminder of this moment's brutal reality. In that overwhelming surge of animal passion, you exist solely within his heat, his raw, primal drive, surrendering without hesitation to the way he fills you, claims you, and ultimately owns you.

Your voice, a shattered echo of his, finally finds strength to call out his name—a plea and challenge intermingling in your trembling sighs. He responds with one savage, unremitting thrust that robs you of every breath and thought, and for one earth-shattering, ecstatic moment, you feel yourself unraveling completely. Yet his relentless hold grounds you, a forceful reminder that there is no escape from the fierce, binding union between you—no escape from the chains forged of raw, unyielding desire.

Sensing the shift in him, you feel the mounting tension as he loses even a fraction of his control. An urgent need courses through you in tandem with his, compelling you to pull him ever deeper. With your legs tightening around his waist like steel, you drag him further into a frenzy of lust. He growls again, raw and victorious, as his fingers claw at your skin and his savage drive accelerates, sending a seismic pulse of pleasure from your spine that consumes your very being.

You are submerged in him, lost in the cavernous depths of his body and the ferocity of his desire, with no relief in sight—only the all-consuming, suffocating sensation of being utterly possessed, merging with his primal force and burning need. Your voice shatters again, this time into a sound that is neither a plea nor a command—merely the cataclysmic release of every pent-up desire reverberating in the charged space between you. The air trembles with your mutual, raw surrender.

He silences your cry with a searing, possessive kiss, his mouth crushing into yours with an intensity that declares him your absolute master. As his rhythm spirals into a chaotic, unbridled tempo, you realize that his own self-control is crumbling, mirroring the uncontrollable passion that engulfs you both. In that fraught moment, he is as lost in desire as you are, and that mutual surrender propels you both deeper into a swirling maelstrom of pleasure, pain, and primal need.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice a rasp cutting through the haze, demanding to see your raw, unguarded desire as he prepares to seed you with his essence. His pace falters, growing erratic as both of you crest toward complete dissolution, his fingers digging deeper, his breaths raspy against your heated skin, all building to an orgasmic crescendo that threatens to shatter your resolve.

"Say it," he growls, his voice stripped down to its most elemental edge. "Tell me what you want."

With a voice raw from desire, you break the silence, every syllable dripping with unabashed longing: "Your seed. Your child. Fill me."

That declaration shatters his restraint; his last grip on control snaps, and his movements become wild and desperate, discarding any semblance of rhythm in favor of raw, unfiltered force. He captures your mouth in an insatiable kiss—a declaration of conquest that swallows your cries as his pleasure explodes, threatening to overwhelm you both. You melt into him, body and soul, as every muscle convulses in a fevered embrace, pulling him further in a perfect, feral union.

With a guttural roar echoing off the ancient stone, Daemon pushes you beyond the point of return. His body rigidly melds with yours as his fingers mark you with bruises while pulse after pulse of his seed floods deep inside you, a scorching, undeniable imprint of his desire. The exquisite overwhelm of his heat and raw power fills you completely; his body trembles as he releases, forehead pressed to yours, murmuring your name with the fervor of prayer and salvation.

For endless moments, you remain joined, trembling in the aftermath, your bodies slick with sweat and desire. The world slowly reassembles itself around you as your heartbeats slow, but nothing seems as real or as vital as the weight of his body against yours, the lingering heat where you remain joined.

When he finally speaks, his voice is rough, stripped bare of artifice, a raw intimacy that feels more profound than the physical joining of your bodies.

"It will take," he murmurs against your temple, his lips brushing your sweat-dampened skin. There is certainty in his voice, a conviction that brooks no argument. "Our blood is strong. Our line will continue."

His hand slides between your bodies to rest possessively over your lower abdomen, as if he can already sense the new life that might be forming there. The gesture is both tender and fiercely possessive, a dragon guarding its most precious treasure.

You let your head fall back against the stone wall, your chest rising and falling with each labored breath. You close your eyes, savoring the weight of his palm against your skin, the imprint of his body still throbbing within you. The ancient blood of Valyria sings through your veins, harmonizing with his, creating a melody as old as dragonfire itself.

"Yes," you whisper, your voice hoarse from crying out his name. "It will take."

Your mind is crystal clear, filled with utter conviction—a knowledge that blazes as intensely as the fires that consumed your house. The union of your bloodlines feels inevitable, inscribed by the same ancient magic that bound your ancestors to dragons. His seed is inside you now, potent and alive, seeking the perfect fusion that will perpetuate your lineage.

Daemon's breath comes in rough, heavy bursts against your neck, gradually steadying as his body recovers—but still he remains wrapped around you, refusing to yield even an inch of space between your bodies. The intensity of the moment lingers; the shared heat, the raw physicality of his passion, keeps you both locked in place, savoring the powerful aftermath. His lips brush your ear, your temple, pledging an intimacy that transcends mere words, and his arms tighten for a moment before he finally pulls out. As he sets you down on shaky legs, you feel his semen immediately begin to drip down your inner thigh. It is a visceral reminder of his possession, and he does not let it go unclaimed.

Daemon drops to his knees before you, his hands clamping over your hips with bruising strength to keep you steady. His thumbs dig possessively into your soft flesh, spreading you open as his mouth descends, and the heat of his breath scorches against your exposed core. There is a certainty in his movements, a confidence that none of him will be wasted. "Not a single drop goes to waste," he rumbles, his voice resonating against your skin. A moment later, his tongue sweeps upward, licking up his cum and your juices in one deliberate stroke.

The sensation is so surprising, so intensely erotic that a ragged moan escapes your lips. Your fingers thread through his hair, unsure whether to press him closer or push him away from the overwhelming sensitivity. He decides for you, his grip tightening as he feasts on the mixed evidence of your fucking, groaning against you as if savoring the finest delicacy. When he finally stands, his mouth is shiny with your combined fluids, his eyes heavy with renewed lust.

"You taste like us," he says, his voice a deep rumble that sends waves of pleasure coursing through your hyper-sensitive body.

Without warning, he lifts you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as if you weigh nothing. You allow yourself this moment of surrender, resting your head against his shoulder as he carries you to the bed that awaits across the chamber. The furs are soft beneath your back when he lays you down, a stark contrast to the unyielding stone that has left marks across your skin.

Daemon follows you down, his body covering yours like a living blanket of heat and muscle. His hands frame your face, thumbs brushing gently across your cheekbones in a gesture so tender it makes your heart ache with its unexpected gentleness. After the savage claiming against the wall, this shift in his touch is almost disorienting. His gaze sweeps over your face, searching, memorizing, his expression raw with an emotion that transcends mere desire.

"Wife," he breathes, the word heavy with meaning, with possession, with promise.

In that single word, you hear everything—the weight of your shared blood, the responsibility of your line, the fierce protection he offers, the claim he stakes. You reach up to trace the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the slight rasp of stubble beneath your fingertips. This close, you can see the flecks of indigo in his eyes, the subtle variations in the silver of his hair, the thin white scar that cuts across his left eyebrow.

"Husband," you answer, and your voice carries the same weight, the same claim.

His lips capture yours again, softer this time but no less consuming. The kiss deepens, languorous and exploring, as if you have all the time in the world. His hands move with deliberate slowness now, mapping the contours of your body, learning you inch by inch. The urgency hasn't dissipated—it has merely transformed, like dragonfire banked but still smoldering, ready to ignite at any moment.

You arch beneath him, your body still sensitive from his earlier claiming, yet already hungry for more. This is what the blood of Old Valyria demands—insatiable, endless, consuming. Your hands trace the hard planes of his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your palm.

"Again," you whisper against his mouth, a command rather than a plea.

His answering smile is predatory, a flash of teeth in the dim light. "Greedy," he murmurs, the word a caress against your skin. "But I would expect nothing less from a true dragon."

His mouth traces a burning path down your throat, lingering at the pulse point where your heartbeat races beneath his lips. Every touch is deliberate, a stark contrast to the frenzied claiming against the wall. This is a different kind of possession—slower, deeper, more thorough. His teeth graze your collarbone, marking you with gentle bites that send shivers cascading down your spine.

"I will give you everything," he promises, his breath hot against your skin. "Every drop. Every heir. Every kingdom."

Your body responds to his words as much as his touch, a liquid heat pooling between your thighs where you're still slick with his seed. His hand slides down to cup your breast, thumb circling the sensitive peak until you arch into his touch, seeking more. His fingers find you impossibly wet, your body still quivering from your first release yet already desperate for more. The combination of your arousal and his seed makes his entry effortless as he slides two fingers deep inside you, curling them against that spot that makes your vision blur at the edges.

"So responsive," he murmurs, his voice dark with approval. "So ready to be filled again."

Your hips roll against his hand, seeking more friction, more pressure, more of him. There is no shame between you now, no hesitation—only the raw, primal need that pulses in your shared blood. His thumb circles your sensitive bud, drawing tight, deliberate patterns that have you gasping his name, your nails digging into the corded muscles of his shoulders.

When he finally withdraws his fingers, you whimper at the loss, your body clenching around nothing. He brings those same fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving yours. The sight is obscene and intoxicating, a visual representation of how thoroughly he intends to consume you.

"Turn over," he commands, his voice a velvet rumble that brooks no argument.

You comply, rolling onto your stomach, the furs soft against your sensitized skin. His hands slide up the backs of your thighs, kneading the firm flesh, spreading you open to his gaze. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and yet there is power in your surrender—in knowing that this man, this dragon in human form, craves you with such intensity.

He leans over you, his chest pressing against your back, his hardness nudging insistently between your thighs. His breath is hot against your ear, his voice a ragged whisper as he positions himself at your entrance.

"I want you to feel me for days," he growls, his hands gripping your hips, raising you slightly to align your bodies. "So that every step you take, every breath, reminds you of who you belong to."

With one brutal, powerful thrust, Daemon slams into you, filling you so completely that you lose all sense of the world around you. A hoarse, involuntary cry tears from your throat as he stretches you, deeper than before, claiming every inch. The angle is intense, searing, and your muscles clench instinctively at the invasion, already on edge from the relentless sensations. Your fingers dig into the furs, desperate for something to ground you as he starts to move inside you with a punishing rhythm that leaves you gasping for air. His body is a heavy, solid weight on top of you, his chest smothering your back as if he intends to merge with you entirely.

He fucks you with ruthless purpose, with the unyielding strength of a dragon laying claim to its hoard. Each thrust is a declaration, a physical vow that will not be denied. The sheer intensity of it has you teetering on the brink of another climax, and you hear yourself whimpering, half-formed words of need slipping past your lips. Nothing else matters but this—the firestorm he ignites within you, the raw, visceral connection that makes everything else fade to insignificance.

His breath is hot and ragged against your neck, and each exhalation sends a shiver coursing through your body. One arm supports his weight beside your head, the other snakes between your damp bodies to cup your breast, thumb grazing your hardened nipple in time with the pounding rhythm. The friction of the furs, the unrelenting force of his thrusts, the way his fingers press into your flesh—it all becomes a maelstrom of sensation, drawing tight, unbearable coils of pleasure in your core.

With each violent thrust, you feel your own climax building, impossible to hold back. He drives into you harder, deeper, slamming you into the mattress with an intensity that feels as if it will tear you apart. His lips are at your ear, his growls vibrating through your body, too caught up in his own fierce need to offer even an ounce of mercy. Every second brings a fresh onslaught of sensation, the friction and fullness pushing you to the brink again and again.

The world shrinks to nothing but the feel of him inside you, the relentless pace, the overwhelming pleasure building to a fever pitch. It is too much, almost painfully exquisite, and you know you are lost. Your nails rake down his arms, a silent plea for more, for everything.

"Say it again," he demands, his voice rough with exertion and need. "Tell me what you want from me."

You turn your head, cheek pressed against the furs, words spilling from your lips without thought or hesitation. "Your seed. Your child. Your empire." Each declaration punctuated by a particularly deep thrust that makes you see stars behind your eyelids.

His rhythm falters for a moment, a groan torn from his throat at your words. His hand slides from your breast down to your stomach, splaying possessively over the flat plane where his child might already be taking root. The thought of it—of your womb quickening with his seed, of your body changing to accommodate the heir you'll create together—sends a fresh wave of arousal coursing through you. You push back against him, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor, a silent demand for more.

His teeth graze the sensitive skin where your neck meets your shoulder, nipping hard enough to leave a mark. "Mine," he growls, the word vibrating against your skin. "Every inch. Every breath. Every drop of your blood."

The possessive claim ignites something primal within you, and you feel yourself tightening around him, your body responding to his dominance with a pleasure so intense it borders on pain. The coil inside you winds tighter, tighter, hovering on the edge of release.

"Come for me," he commands, his voice hoarse and strained. "Come on my cock.”

The command itself is enough to shatter the last of your restraint. Your climax crashes through you with devastating force, your inner walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that tear a guttural groan from his throat. The intensity of it steals your breath, your vision, your very sense of self as pleasure consumes you entirely. Your body convulses beneath him, every muscle drawn taut as the sensation radiates outward from your core, setting every nerve ending alight.

Daemon doesn't slow his pace, fucking you through your orgasm with relentless determination, prolonging the waves of pleasure until they blur into one continuous, overwhelming sensation. You're barely coherent, reduced to gasping sobs and broken pleas as he drives you higher, refusing to let you descend from the heights. Your vision swims, tears of raw sensation blurring the world around you as your body surrenders completely to his relentless possession.

His rhythm grows erratic, his breathing harsh and labored against your ear as his own release approaches. His fingers dig into your hips with bruising force, holding you in place as he drives deeper, chasing his pleasure with single-minded intensity. You can feel the tension coiling in his body, the slight tremor in his powerful thighs as he reaches the precipice.

"Take it," he groans, the words barely human. "Take all of me."

With one final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his cock pulsing as he floods your already-slick channel with another hot rush of his seed. The sensation of his release triggers another aftershock within you, your body milking him instinctively, drawing every drop from him as if your very existence depends on it. He collapses against your back, his weight pressing you deeper into the furs, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your sweat-slicked skin.

For long moments, neither of you moves, too consumed by the aftermath of pleasure to do more than breathe. The world slowly reassembles itself around you, the distant sounds of the castle filtering back into your consciousness. Your bodies remain joined, his softening length still buried inside you, his seed trapped deep within your womb. The thought sends a fresh shiver of satisfaction through you—the knowledge that even now, life might be taking root, a new thread in the tapestry of your ancient bloodline.

Eventually, he shifts his weight, his body heavy and warm against yours, the drag of skin on skin making you shiver despite the heat still lingering in your blood. He doesn’t speak, just moves with uncharacteristic care, pulling you with him as he rolls onto his side. His arm locks across your waist, solid and unyielding, anchoring you to him as if he would not suffer even an inch of distance. He does not withdraw. He stays inside you, buried deep, the stretch of him a slow, aching throb — both relief and torment. You are full in every sense, body trembling with the aftershocks of being taken, claimed, worshipped. And still, some part of you aches for more.

His lips press to the back of your neck, a breath of warmth, a kiss that lacks the violence of earlier and carries something quieter. Gentleness from Daemon is rare. When it comes, it feels more dangerous than his rage. It feels real.

“You are magnificent,” he murmurs, the words rough and low, colored by exhaustion, possession, and something deeper that trembles beneath the surface. His hand slides from your hip to the softness of your lower belly, splaying wide across it, as if he can already feel the beginning of something there. His palm lingers with weight and meaning, fingers pressing into the flesh with unspoken promise.

“Carrying my seed. Bearing my name.”

Your breath catches. Not from the words, but from the way he says them — like a vow. You turn your head slowly, limbs still heavy, and find his eyes in the flickering glow of the fire. They are dark with satisfaction, shadowed with something fierce and unreadable. The silver of his hair clings to his temples in damp strands, tangled and wild, and there’s something feral in the way he looks at you. Like he would tear the world apart to keep you like this.

“Our name,” you whisper, voice hoarse but steady, your eyes locked on his.

Something in him stills — not in anger, not in resistance, but in reverence. And then he leans forward and presses his forehead to yours, as if to say yes. As if to say always.

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calebslittleapple · 4 months ago

Text

surrender

Caleb gets a text late at night from his favorite person. After rushing to her aid, Caleb finds himself getting more than he bargained for as his Pipsqueak tests the boundaries of their relationship in the dark corners of a seedy club.

Pairing: LaDS Caleb x MC (she/her)

Genre: Smut (with feelings); closer to "M" than "E"; 18+

CW: Mildly drunk MC convinces Caleb to dance with her; drunk grinding; dry humping; masturbation

Also on AO3

Caleb. I need you

The text flashes on his phone’s screen.

Pip-squeak, where are you?

Caleb stares at his phone, his reconstructed hand clenching around the delicate device as he waits… and waits. Finally, she starts to type. It takes a while, but eventually, she manages to drop him her current location.

Though he’s not familiar with the spot, a quick search brings up the details—a nightclub, a bit of a scandalous reputation, owner unknown, but suspected ties to the N109 Zone. His jaw clenches. Of course, his Pip-squeak can handle herself, but there’s something off about her messages.

Are you drinking? Drunk.

He takes one deep breath, and then another, and texts back:

Stay put. I’ll be there soon.

It’s lucky he’d been meaning to stop by for a surprise visit, so he’s already nearby. If she knew how often he haunted her place, wanting with every fiber of his being just to see her, just to make sure she’s okay… she’d probably hate him for it.

But on nights like this, when she calls him for help—him, and no one else—he feels justified in his obsession.

Just a little.

The club is busy when he arrives, and he’s not dressed for it. Fortunately, he can be remarkably charming when he wants to be. The bouncer gives him a long look, eyes trailing up and down before settling on Caleb’s face.

“There’s a dress code,” the man starts to say, but Caleb already knows where this is going.

As innate as his Evol is his ability to get what he wants… at least, with anyone other than her. Caleb cocks his head, his fashionably shaggy hair falling into his eyes.

“I was hoping you’d be able to make an exception,” Caleb drawls. “I’ve just had a hell of a day flying.”

“You a pilot?” Caleb nods. The man gives him another look. “You look familiar. Have I seen you on the news or something?”

And as Caleb’s heroic misadventures are revealed, he willingly gives up the anonymity to get to her.

Once he’s waved through the door and into the dark club, his ears are immediately assaulted by the sound. Even for a pilot, who daily has to deal with the screeching peels of flybys, the club is loud. Caleb stands off to the side, closes his eyes, and feels.

He’s always been able to find her, no matter where she happens to be, ever since they were kids. This is no exception. Whether due to their childhood spent together, or the way their powers blend—seamlessly, effortlessly, powerfully—he can feel her.

When he finds his Pip-squeak, she’s being accosted by another man. Caleb immediately stands up straight, fist clenching of its own volition. He can handle this without violence, and he will, but if it came down to it… he’d throw a punch for her. Hell, he’d done so many times before.

No one gets away with bothering his girl. No one.

Caleb pulls up close and places a firm hand on the man’s shoulder. He can bring this man to his knees in the blink of an eye, and part of him wants to.

Did you think you could get away with talking to someone like her?

Thank God, the man isn’t close enough to touch her, otherwise, Caleb hates to think about what he might do. The reveler turns to face him, no doubt expecting to tell him to fuck off, but he quickly realizes that Caleb is out of his league, both in mass and height.

“Sorry, man. This your girl?”

“Yeah, she is.”

And that’s all it takes. Caleb steps around the man, and carefully gathers her against his body, both as a necessity—it is loud as hell—and because he needs it. Her hands are a little unsteady, as are her feet. She’s not just been drinking, she’s drunk.

Caleb leans in, lips close to her ear as he says, “Gotten yourself into some trouble, Pip-squeak?”

Her fingers curl into his shirt, and he can’t help but flex, just a little, as her fingertips brush against his abdomen.

“Caleb,” she manages over the music, lips brushing against his chin as she demands, “Dance with me.”

Maybe not as drunk as he’d thought? Caleb looks down at her. She’s beautiful tonight, but that’s nothing new. She’s the most beautiful girl in the whole galaxy to him. Her eyes are a little glassy, so she’s definitely been drinking, but really, did she just want him here?

He wants whatever she wants, wants desperately to give her everything that she needs, and more. He’d have come to this club with her if she’d asked. He would have needed to blow off some work meetings and take some shit from his superiors, but he’d have done it. Maybe that’s why he got a frantic half-text near midnight instead.

She never wants to put him out, never mind that he is practically beside himself with the need to be there for her, however, and wherever she wants.

Still, he can’t help but tease, just a little. His words are soft, breath trailing against her skin as he says, “I’m not much of a dancer, baby.”

The endearment slips out before he can stop himself, and though he’s not quite certain, Caleb thinks he feels her shiver against him. Or maybe she’s just cold… the outfit she’s wearing leaves precious little to the imagination, and more than half of him wants to wrap her in his jacket and take her away from prying eyes to somewhere he can enjoy her all by himself, but he resists.

Because she’s asked something of him. And Caleb aims to deliver, especially after a sweetly uttered, “Please, Caleb.”

Her cheeks are flushed, lips caught between her teeth, as she waits with bated breath for his answer. As if he could ever say ‘no’ to her. After a beat, Caleb leads her into a more secluded corner of the club. Here, the music is softer, and the space is somewhat enclosed, so he can enjoy her all to himself.

Of course, Caleb knows he’s being greedy, and that it’s not right for him to covet her the way he does. Growing up, they were something akin to siblings, and while his affection for her stretches beyond what he’d be able to express in words, he knows it’s wrong to want her the way he does.

But he does, anyway.

So much changed so quickly for them. And when she’d appeared in his life once more, breaking into his space and with all the subtlety of a supernova, Caleb knew he couldn’t let her go again. Wouldn’t. Now, he is hopelessly entangled with her, and so, it seems, is she with him.

The low beat of the music resonates through him. Caleb takes a moment to collect himself before pulling his girl close again. With her body pressed up against his, their hands clasped, he leads her through a slow dance.

Truthfully, it’s more than a grind than a proper dance. He’s thinking that maybe he’ll catch her off guard a little and that their game of cat and mouse will quickly come to an end, the way it always does. But she surprises him, instead.

As the music reaches a fever pitch, she turns in his arms and presses back. Because of the heels she’s wearing, she presses up tight against his groin. Caleb barely keeps himself from stumbling as she rolls her ass into him, and when she reaches up and back, arms locking behind his neck to hold him exactly where she wants him, he lets out a soft whine that’s immediately swallowed up by the sound of the music.

At least, he hopes it is. He’s so fucking done for her. Every time they come together, it gets a little bit harder to part. Every teasing touch, every lingering look, every softly spoken word seeps into his body, clenches around his heart, and threatens to destroy him.

But God, wouldn’t it be glorious to lose to someone like her? Whether with his life or his devotion or literally any fucking thing, he’d give it all to her. His hands slip to her hips, holding her tight as he presses back—hard and hot against the curve of her ass.

She hisses, nails scraping softly against skin as she threads her fingers into his hair and pulls. And that is entirely too much. One beat to the next, he’s got her spun and pressed up against the nearest wall, leg pressed between hers, hands on either side of her head.

He’s breathing hard, and so is she. Reaching up, her hand traces the sharp line of his jaw, and he presses into that soft touch. Her hands are cold. Is she nervous? Scared? Or something else entirely…?

She stares up at him, licking her lips as her eyes lock with his. He knows what she’s thinking because he’s thinking it too. But he’s not gonna do this right now. He can’t do this right now. So many fractured moments shared between them. So much unacknowledged. Would this just be another moment added to the list that they both tacitly ignored?

Her thumb presses into his chapped lower lip. Between the flying and the stress, his lips aren’t in the best condition, but hers… look soft, supple, and slick. If he presses his lips against hers, would he take a measure of that sweetness back for his own?

The thought of tasting her has him growing even harder in his pants, so much so that he has to reach down and adjust the length of it. She sees him. Of course, how can she not? Her cheeks are flushed, eyes downcast, and tongue trapped between teeth as she reaches out, and—

But he stops her. The soft swell of his power pins her wrists against the wall and her chin lifts, eyes defiant as she frowns. But that’s just one more step down a path that they’ll never be able to come back from. But she’s not about to go down without a fight, not his beautiful girl.

“Caleb,” she breathes just a moment before she lifts the edge of her skirt and presses down against the thigh that’s keeping her pinned to the wall. “I need you.”

Caleb swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing as he fights with his need. He wants her. Badly. Has wanted her for so much of his life now he can’t separate his sense of self from the longing. There are two constants in Caleb’s life, his need to protect her, and his desire for her, both at war with each other, for his need to protect includes from himself.

But how can he deny her, when she asks so sweetly and when her body is so hot and soft against his? His hands clench against the wall, forehead pressing into hers as he bids her, “Move.”

At first, she’s confused, and it feels like she’s gonna pull herself off of him. But he doesn’t want that. God, that’s the last thing he wants. His Evol stills her, then gently drags her forward, that soft, sensitive space between her legs slowly rubbing into his thigh. Her eyes widen as she gets his meaning.

“But Caleb,” she sweetly pouts. “My hands.”

That’s all it takes. Her hands are free from the invisible restraints, and immediately her arms wrap around the back of his neck. She doesn’t need much more encouragement than that. Her body moves, slowly grinding and sliding in time with the music, but this time, her soft moans and ragged breaths add to the sound, a sweet symphony that only she can create, and only he can hear.

If he were a lesser man, he’d pull the thin scrap of fabric from between her legs to the side, free his aching cock, and fuck her against the wall of this dark club. But he’s not that man. He’s never been that man. That particular first needs to be perfect, if it ever happens. And while this encounter will leave them both with some lasting memories, it won’t diminish the need they have for each other.

No. If anything, it will only make things worse.

She’s whimpering now, so soft as she rolls her body, her sweet core searching for completion as she sates her need in this dark space. She’s soaked through the fabric of his pants, and it takes everything he has not to reach out and slowly press his fingers into that wet-hot clutch, to feel her heat wrapped around him.

Caleb dreamed about moments like these, though he hated himself for it. Of course, he never thought that she’d seek him out like this. Not in a million years. No matter how many almosts and other stolen moments that happened between them, Caleb just couldn’t bring himself to believe that she’d want someone like him. He’s a sinner, falling at the altar of a sweet angel.

He doesn’t deserve her, but he will take every single moment shared and cling to them despite his feelings. As she moves, her body hot and lithe against his, her lips press against the exposed skin of his chest. Lips give way to teeth—a none-too-gentle rasp against his skin that’s definitely going to leave a mark.

He wants that. Want so much more from her than he should. Finally, he trusts himself enough to touch her, his warm hand lifting from the wall only to thread itself in the length of her hair as she moves. His touch is soft, soothing even, despite how his heart is rattling the cage of his chest, despite how his cock aches.

“That’s it, baby,” he sweetly soothes. “You’re so beautiful. Take what you need from me. I’m here. I’ll always be here for you.”

“Caleb,” she gasps, a broken, needful-sounding utterance that nearly breaks him.

His head dips, lips brushing against the shell of her ear as he says, “Are you close?”

“I-I yes? I don’t… Maybe?”

“Maybe?” he repeats teasingly.

She pouts at him but doesn’t stop rocking her hips. “I don’t have—Ohh—any experience with this!”

“Tell me I’m not the only person you’ve ever done this with,” he hisses softly before he can stop himself. He’s not mad. Far from it. Only, realizing that she’s never done this with anyone lights a primal spark within him.

This is dangerous. So dangerous, he thinks. And when her words—half gasp, half moan—slip free from between her lips, breathlessly admitting, “I’ve only ever done this with myself.”

Caleb finds himself somewhere between euphoria and despair. His lips press into her brow, eyes rolling back some as he demands, “Say it again.”

That does cause a small hitch in her movements, but she quickly rebounds, finding her pace once more as she leans in and murmurs against his jaw, “I’ve… only ever done this with myself.”

His words are dark, pulled from deep within as he asks, “Who were you thinking of when you did this, Pip…squeak.” That word, his nickname for her, where it once was a barrier between them, now feels more like a secret shared just between the two of them.

Her whole body shudders softly as he draws out the syllables of that word, shifting it into something else entirely.

Something more.

But his girl, she isn’t one to be outdone. The same old push and pull between them made manifest as she admits, “You, you idiot. Who else?”

The soft laugh that rumbles from his lips is entirely too self-satisfied, as is what he says next: “Good.”

He can feel her shaking her head, but instead of relenting, she rolls herself against his thigh—hips canting—as her lips press against his Adam’s apple, only for her tongue to dart out and sweetly lap at that vulnerable spot.

He gulps, and no doubt, she notices, but she’s falling back into a sweet rhythm that will bring her the completion she needs. Her eyes lock with his, hands tight in his hair as her movements become more erratic.

His eyes feel like they don’t know what to focus on next. He wants every single moment of this to imprint on his brain. No, more than that, he needs this to imprint on his soul, so that he’s less likely to forget any detail, no matter what happens to him in the future.

She’s so beautiful to him, so sweet and tender and his. Finally, her eyes roll back, and a decadent moan slips free from between her lush lips.

Fuck, he thinks. Or maybe he says it. He’s not sure what’s real and what’s in his head anymore.

When she comes, it’s his name she utters—high pitched, broken, gasping, needy—and he nearly comes from the pleasure of this moment. Seeing her, feeling her, come apart in his arms and against his body is better than imagined, and coupled with the fact that he’s the only one who’s ever made her feel like this… it’s a lot.

They hold each other as her breath steadies, and she seems reluctant to pull away. He likes that. Likes it even more when she softly admits, “That felt… so good.”

He swallows around the thickness in his throat and tries to ignore the tight feel of his cock in his pants. This is about her. Her needs. The last thing he wants is to push her further than she wants to go, even if he wants to go so, so much further with her.

But he can wait. He’s been waiting… for years. He can wait a little longer. She is more than worth it. Eventually, she peels herself from his body and adjusts her skirt. Her cheeks are still flushed, but her eyes are clear now.

She smiles at him and looks entirely too pleased with herself. “Take me home, Caleb.”

And he does.

Tonight is just another step down their long path together, and it already feels like he’s taken too much. But has he? Or has he given her precisely what she wanted?

Once they’re back at her place, she showers, and he pretends like he’s not thinking about the water cascading over her sweet body, or the way she’d moaned his fucking name as she came on his thigh. Doing his best to calm his overwrought emotions, Caleb waits for his turn to use the shower.

After towel drying her hair, he pulls himself away from her for long enough to bathe. And with her body wash sliding down his abdomen, he takes his cock in hand, bites down on his lip, and fist-fucks himself to the memory of what just happened.

He’s only marginally sated, but Caleb knows things are coming to a head between them. Sweet and innocent is no longer possible with them, but still, even knowing how badly he wants her and that he really should sleep on her cramped couch, he lets her pull him into her bed, anyway.

Rolling over in bed beside him, she tucks her arm around his middle as her head presses into his chest, and he knows that he will do anything she asks of him. Keeping her safe is, of course, paramount, and keeping her happy is an integral part of that initiative.

So, when she breathes a soft, “Sleep with me.”

What else can he do, other than exactly what she wants?

~~~~

Author's Note:

I’m such a kabedon sucker. Like put that shit into my VEINS. These two have ABSOLUTELY wrecking ball crashed into my brain, and like I don’t even go here! NORMALLY I’m not super big on childhood friends to lovers (pseudo sibs whatever you wanna call it). No hate, it’s just not my thing. Then Caleb showed up and was like, oh? Bet. AND FUCK MAN I’M SO GONE. Ugh. Anyway. This isn’t even my main fandom! But if it keeps this shit up, I think it’s gonna be lmao.

AND BEFORE anyone comes after me for using pip-squeak. I USED TO BE LIKE YOU! I thought it was hilarious. I laughed my ass off for a good 30 minutes when I heard him moaning it in that secret times clip, and then, you know what fuckin happened? CALEB HAPPENED! I tripped and fell right into the pit of obsession, and NOW I even find that damn nickname endearing. NEVER MIND when he moans it haha. BE CAREFUL! Or one day you may be just like me!!! Also I think it’s cute as fuck now, given one of the meanings of pip-squeak. *STEPS DOWN FROM THE PULPIT*

Anyway, thanks for reading! I’ve got a few other interludes planned, and I’m taking requests. If you enjoyed, I’d love to hear from you! Or feel free to share with a friend, if you’re lucky enough to have some Caleb-obsessed friends haha. Any mistakes are there because they keep me humble ;)

Banner courtesy of cafekitsune! Page break courtesy of evansyhelp!

#calebmc #lads caleb #caleb smut #cla writes #lnd caleb #caleb x mc #lads smut #love and deepspace #fic #my writing

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zablife · 10 months ago

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Save me Darlin'

Benny Cross x female reader

Benny Cross Masterlist

A/N: Bc this seemed to be a fave line from my headcanons about Benny, it gets its own imagine. "Did you pray for me every night like a good girl? On your hands and knees? Let me see."

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, blow job, corruption

"Fix your damn jacket," Johnny grumbled, turning to give Benny a scowl as the young man flicked his cigarette butt onto your father's perfectly manicured lawn.

"Jesus Christ we're trying to get these people to change their mind about us," Johnny huffed, climbing the steps to greet your father with a firm handshake.

Benny ducked his head to hide the smirk on his lips as he mumbled under his breath, "Well they really ain't gonna trust us now." Johnny was an unknowing accomplice in his plan to get close to you, a diversion to gain access to the prettiest little thing he'd ever seen.

Normally he wouldn't need to meet anyone's daddy, let alone pretend to care what they thought about him, but you were different. A carefully guarded princess in a tower, he might never have known you existed if Betty hadn’t dragged him to that church picnic last month.

Sometimes he wondered if he might be better off never to have met you though. As it was, most nights he lay awake replaying every minute you'd spent together, jerking off to the memories he’d carefully stored. Your innocent doe eyes staring up at him as you passed him a glass of lemonade, biting your lip just so. Or the way you absently twirled your necklace between delicate fingertips, running the tiny gold cross over your tongue before dropping it into the front of your sundress. And, God, the way your chest rose and fell as he showed you his motorcycle, soft voice promising so earnestly, "I'll pray for ya every night, Benny."

You entered his mind at the most inopportune times, stealing his concentration. He was a man obsessed, in need of one more glimpse of you. Even at this very moment as your father stared at him with disapproval, he knew he'd risk everything to make that a reality. If only he could get out of this living room and find you.

"I asked you a question, son," your father's voice boomed suddenly, pulling Benny from his scheming.

Blinking helplessly, Benny looked to Johnny who came to his aid. "Few odd jobs, nothing regular, but he ain't been here long."

Your father pursed his lips as he replied, "Spose that's why you have so much free time to ride those death machines."

"They're safer than they look," Johnny assured, clearing his throat and wishing Benny would say or do something other than stare down the hallway.

Luckily your mother came into the room with refreshments, breaking the tension as she began to ask questions about Betty and the children. It seemed to lighten the mood momentarily and Benny took it as his opportunity to escape, asking for the bathroom.

As soon as he turned the corner away from prying eyes, he heard a gentle humming and his heart began to thunder in his chest. Walking as carefully as possible on the rickety floorboards, he willed his heavy boots not to make a sound as he approached the crack in your door. Face bathed in the sliver of light emanating from a tiny lamp at your bedside, he watched in hushed awe as you tied pink, satin ribbons in your hair. Lace nightie inching higher with each raise of your elbow, the thin material slowly grazed along your upper thighs, making him sigh appreciatively.

He could have sworn he saw a hint of a smile winking back at him in the mirror as you reached for your lotion and a familiar heat began to rise in his abdomen. In a moment of courage, he slipped inside your room. Closing the door behind himself with a soft thud, he placed a finger to his lips with a look of mischievous delight.

The sight was utterly contagious, making you clasp a hand to your mouth to stifle the giggle ready to erupt from your lips. However, the sound of your father's voice a few rooms over soon impressed the seriousness of the situation upon you.

Rushing at Benny with palms splayed on his chest to move him back across the threshold, you whispered frantically, "We can't...you have to go."

"You want me to go?" came Benny's breathless response, hoping this wouldn't be the way things ended.

As you lost yourself in the ocean's of his eyes, you gulped, shaking your head pathetically.

"Then let me stay," he begged, giving his best puppy dog eyes. You tried to look away, but he hooked your chin with his fingers holding your gaze in a smoldering stare. He watched as your resolve crumbled before him, a small smile playing on his lips as he asked, "Did you pray for me every night like a good girl?"

You nodded as best you could in his firm grasp, only a whimper of agreement as your reply.

His cock stirred at your admission, the idea that you'd thought of him at night enough to rouse his deepest desires. The world fell away as he tugged you into his body, hands roving your hips and lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, "Yeah? On your hands and knees? Let me see."

Benny could tell by the way your breasts crushed against his chest that you were breathing hard, unaccustomed to someone manhandling you like this. You tapped his elbow for him to relinquish his hold and for a moment his heart stopped, worried he'd pushed you too far. As he surveyed the crucifix on your wall and the sweet confection of a dress you'd laid out for Sunday service in the morning, he reminded himself you weren't the kind of girl who did these things....even knew about them.

Then something miraculous happened. You sunk to your knees in the plush carpet, hands trailing along his muscular thighs reverently before coming to rest inches from his crotch. As you sat back on your heels you looked up at him, eyes glistening and plump lips parted. He might have hallucinated the next part, but the golden glow over the crown of your head looked damn near like a halo in the dim light. You offering yourself to him like an angel in one of his dreams.

Benny wasn't a religious man by any stretch of the imagination, but if he was he'd swear God sent you straight to him. He was certain the warmth of your smile and the softness of your touch was all he'd ever need to feel complete. Now he understood why you had to be kept under lock and key. A person like you was too precious to be defiled and his conscience began to gnaw at him the longer he stared, thumb stroking your bottom lip tenderly.

But the sinner that wanted every part of you was winning the battle inside him and soon his own desire overtook him. He moved his hand to tangle in your hair and took hold of your silky ribbons like a set of reins, guiding you closer in silent demand. Widening his stance to accommodate you, he urged, "Go on, baby."

And you answered the plea, tethered to his side dutifully. You nuzzled against his bulge, feeling the effect you had on him. In a word it was intoxicating and you needed more. Undoing his zip you gasped at the sight of him, knowing instantly you'd take the risk of being caught if it meant touching him, holding him...feeling the weight of him on your tongue.

The growls you pulled from him were devilish even as your delicate fingers and mouth tried to calm the beast inside him. He was a man possessed, but you did your best to keep pace with the ravenous desire of his hips pushing into you, causing saliva to run down your chin and past your knuckles. With every gag, he seemed to clutch your shoulder tighter, sigh a little deeper and it spurred you on until you heard him instruct you in a shaky voice, "Have to... swallow it all now, darlin'... okay?"

Your mind raced as you tried to recall what your friends had told you about this, but you didn't have time as he spilled into your waiting mouth. The bitter tang coated your tongue with his grateful pants echoing over your head. As you swallowed everything he had to give, you felt him stroke your cheek adoringly. "Angel, I think I love you," he exhaled on a low breath, raising you to your feet for a passionate kiss.

There was little time to bask in the afterglow, however. The din in the lounge had grown, indicating some kind of argument and he quickly stuffed himself back into his jeans.

“I don't think you can stay," you mumbled sorrowfully against his lips.

"S'okay, nothin’s gonna keep us apart," he assured you, that wicked grin returning.

"You promise?" you asked, tears gathering at your lashline in fear he'd never return.

"Always keep my promises, angel. Keep prayin' for me now," he winked, glancing down at your dimpled, reddened knees before exiting out your bedroom door.

#the bikeriders #the bikeriders fanfiction #benny cross fanfiction #benny cross x reader #benny cross x you #benny cross x y/n #benny cross #Austin Butler

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internetdaddy98 · 29 days ago

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The Ties That Bind Us - Chapter 32

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist] Content Warning: family loss, angst

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The flight to New York was quiet. Y/N’s hand rested lightly in Robby’s, the soft hum of the plane and the light bustle around them making everything feel like a dream. But today wasn’t about the city. It was about family.

They’d talked about it before, but you had always been reluctant to bring Robby into the fold. Your family’s history was something you carried very close to your sheltered heart.

But today was different. You were ready.

The family vault was nestled in a corner of a cemetery that looked like something out of an old novel. Old, regal stonework, and the overgrown ivy that made it feel timeless, like it belonged to a different world altogether. You stood at the base of the vault, your fingers pressed against the cool stone.

“You okay?” Robby asked softly, his voice steady.

She nodded, though her expression was a mix of fondness and something else, an unspoken weight she’d never fully explained.

“This is me, my parents, my grandparents, my great-grandparents and my brother.” Your eyes flickered, your gaze softening as you stared at the engraved names. “I wanted you to meet them, to finally see all of me.”

Robby’s hand found yours again, squeezing gently. "Thank you for showing me this. I know it means a lot to you."

Your breath caught in your throat. This wasn’t just about a visit to the cemetery, it was about sharing the core of who you were, the history you carried with you every day, the legacy of love and loss that made you. You never thought you could open this part of your life to anyone, but with Robby… things felt different.

They stood there for a few moments longer, the wind stirring the leaves around them, the silence settling over them like a comforting embrace.

—--------------------------------

That evening, you introduced Robby to your family in a more conventional way, at a small but lively family dinner. The warmth of your aunt and uncle’s home in the suburbs felt different from the reserved energy of the family vault, but there was a familiar comfort in the noise, the laughter, and the shared history.

Your uncle, David, was a man of few words but many gestures. He had the sharp eyes of a man who had lived through a hundred stories and had a thousand more to tell. Robby and he exchanged a few words in Hebrew, which you watched with a certain fondness, relieved to see Robby fit in so seamlessly with your family. Your uncle, despite his stoic exterior, welcomed Robby into the fold without hesitation.

“Your uncle’s really something,” Robby said after a while, quietly to you as you both helped clear the table.

“He’s not exactly warm,” you replied with a smile. “But he’s family. And in his own way, he shows he cares.”

Her aunt, Victoria, a lively woman who seemed to never stop talking, pulled you aside with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “So, when do we get to see a wedding ring, huh? I think you two would make adorable babies.”

You froze for a moment, your cheeks coloring. “Aunt Victoria, not now.”

Her aunt laughed. “Oh, come on. You know it’s only a matter of time.”

You swallowed. Robby. Family. Forever.

You weren’t quite ready for the topic to come up so abruptly, but there was a part of you that couldn’t shake the thought. The idea of a ring... It felt almost right, but the timing wasn’t there. Not yet.

—------------------------------------------

Later that evening, after they had returned to the apartment they’d rented for the trip, Robby sat down beside you on the couch, the quiet buzz of the city just outside the window. You had spent the day in a whirlwind of family introductions, old and new memories. It had been more than you expected—more than you had ever thought would be possible with someone else by your side.

You had been thinking about your family’s comments, especially Aunt Victoria’s. The idea of commitment, of forever, had been bubbling beneath the surface of your thoughts all day.

Robby was quieter than usual, his eyes flicking over to you with that deep, patient gaze that always made you feel like he was truly present in whatever moment you shared.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asked softly, his voice gentle.

You hesitated for a moment. Your family had given you an unspoken challenge today. The question of when, when you weren’t even sure of the how.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, shifting slightly. “My family, they keep talking about… forever. And it’s not like I haven’t thought about it. But I don’t know what the right time is. What if—”

“Y/N,” Robby cut her off softly, his hand on yours. “There’s no right time. There’s just us. And what we’ve built together.”

You turned to look at him, your breath caught in your throat. “What if we’re not ready?”

Robby smiled gently, a quiet understanding in his eyes. He cupped your face tenderly. “We don’t have to be ready. I’m just asking for a chance. A chance to make this forever. With you.”

Your heart thudded in your chest. Your throat tightened. He was asking you for more than you had ever been asked before. He wasn’t rushing you. He was simply offering a future, one that you knew, deep down, wanted.

The weight of the moment pressed on her, but this time it wasn’t heavy, it was soft, like the promise of tomorrow.

Robby reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, simple velvet box, opening it to reveal a delicate golden ring, simple but beautiful. He held it out to you with a quiet intensity.

“Y/N Williams, I don’t want to just be with you. I want to build a life with you. Will you marry me?”

Tears blurred your vision as you stared at the ring. Your heart swelled with everything you had felt for him over the past year. The laughter. The fights. The quiet moments. And now, this. The promise of forever.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “Yes.”

Robby’s smile stretched across his face, and he gently slid the ring onto her finger. The room seemed to stand still, the only sound the soft hum of the city beyond.

As you kissed, the world outside seemed to fade away. You knew, without a doubt, that this was it. The beginning of forever. With Robby.

#michael robinavitch #michael robinavitch x reader #the pitt #the pitt hbo #the pitt imagine #the pitt fanfiction #dr robby #dr robby x reader #dr robinavitch x reader #dr robby imagine #dr michael robinavitch #dr robinavitch #noah wyle

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acowardinmordor · 2 years ago

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You Left Me, You Miss Me - Five

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five

Continuing immediately from part Four. And I hear your screaming, and enjoy it, but I am pretty sure that I'm not going the direction you expect me to.

------

“Huh?”

“I asked them to,” Eddie repeated, quieter.

It didn’t make more sense the second time. His kids were stubborn. They were obnoxious, and someone asking them to do, or not do something had never once changed anything. Steve spent the last few years asking them not to leave crumbs in his car, and to call before coming over, and to please, just once, let him choose the movie on a movie night. Plus the part where everyone asked them not to put themselves in danger when monsters crawled out of the ground.

Threats didn’t work on them, law enforcement didn’t work on them, like hell was something as delicate as asking going to do a damn thing.

“Yeah, no, I heard you, but I don’t get it. So you, what? You sat them down and asked them to ice me out? And they said ‘sure why not!’ Man, even if you asked them to, they’re still the ones that did it. Shit, you’ve never liked me. There’s no way that you didn’t tell the boys to stop hanging out with me last year during your game meetings before everything happened.” Eddie shrank further into the seat, so Steve added, “So, it’s not your fault, but I guess I forgive you if that makes you feel better.”

Eddie gnawed on the inside of his cheek, wincing at what felt like every other word.

“Shit, Steve, it’s -- Shit,” he cursed as he sloshed some of his coffee over the brim. His eyes were clenched shut, and he was curled in on himself. “I didn’t sit them down and tell them to stop talking to you. That -- no way that would work. You’re right. They wouldn’t just -- Like I said, they’re crazy about you. It’s more, it’s all of the, I told them about how ever since -- shit. Look, it doesn’t matter why or how I did it, just trust me, I’m the reason. It’s my fault, and I fucked up, and I didn’t mean it to make -- but you left, and it’s killing them, and so you gotta forgive them, at least talk to them, cause its not their fault.”

“Yeah,” Steve stalled, “still don’t get why you think this is on you, dude.”

“At the beginning it -- shit, no. Doesn’t matter. Jesus Christ, Munson, don’t make this about that. Okay. I asked them not to invite you if I was around, cause I wasn’t -- I didn’t want to see you, and then I made sure they were always around me because -- because I wanted them to. And then I, you know, kept poking at them about it when they’d bring it up, reminding them that you don’t like D&D and that you wouldn’t want to watch the new Star Trek movie, and when they said anything I just kept telling them that -- Shit, just believe me. I’m the one that made them do this, it’s my fault, it’s not them.”

Okay, so Eddie was pushier since Spring Break than he was before it. Or the kids listened to him more. Or they were trying to take care of him. So Eddie was the prompt for them cutting him out of everything. Fine.

Still didn’t make it the guy’s fault.

Steve got close with Robin after she found out about the Upside Down. But he didn’t get close to Jonathan. Dustin became, for a while at least, his brother. Steve would die for Mike, but they didn’t hang out if it wasn’t a group thing. All of them were tied together, and any one of them could make a call, and everyone would come to help, but that didn’t make them all automatically into friends.

God, Eddie looked like he was on the edge of a breakdown in a booth in a diner.

“Look, it’s,” Steve spun his coffee cup, “you’re real close with the guys in your club right? The ones in your band?”

Eddie went tense, then nodded awkwardly.

“You’re close because of that stuff, though. Not just cause you had some classes together or were next to each other on a bus. You got pushed together for some random reason, but that happened with a lot of people. But you had shared interests, right? You like that game, and you got bullied at school and you like the same loud screaming music. So you got to know each other, and you had a bunch in common, and so you guys are friends. You’re close, so even though you graduated, and you don’t have class and lunch together anymore, you’re still friends.

“Christ, Steve, no,” he protested.

Steve ignored that and kept going.

“I never had that with the kids, or any of them. Shit. Never had that with Nance either, but I didn’t know it back then.” His inner Robin glared, and he stayed on topic. “It wasn’t as simple as sharing some classes, there were monsters and all that, but that’s what kept me and them around each other. No more monsters now, so.”

His stomach twisted, like it always did if he got too close to thinking about this.

He only barely managed to talk about this with Robin, because when it was Robin he was honest, and when he was honest, really honest, he ended the night quiet and hurting and picking apart the past year trying to find what he could have done differently. Shoving all of that back into the dark of his mind, he conjured up a casual shrug and a smile.

“I get that they’re probably freaking out right now, but they’ll get over it. Give it another month or two and it’ll be fine. Start one of your campaign -- your big story things and distract them if they’re bugging you about it.”

He wiped up the coffee Eddie spilled on instinct, and shoved the napkin in his now empty cup.

Time to get home and get a nap before he went to the stockroom that night. He wouldn’t see Robin until he picked her up for work, but they were scheduled alone, so he could talk all of this through then. Trying to pretend this day didn’t happen would last all of eight seconds of contact with his best friend. Maybe she could make sense of how he was feeling.

“Wait, stop, you can’t leave yet.”

“Munson, I’ve been here since before dawn, I wanna leave.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but you have to talk to them. They miss you.”

“They didn’t six weeks ago, did they? Or for the holidays? Or for the months before that, huh?” Steve finally snapped, then took a breath. “Sorry. Answer’s still no.”

He bussed their cups and the creamer to the pass through and grabbed his coat and gloves. Steam rose off Hopper’s truck where he had the engine running to keep warm. They exchanged a single nod before Steve turned towards the road to walk home.

“Steve!”

It wasn’t a shock to hear, but Steve had hoped that Eddie wouldn’t follow.

“Okay, I get that you’re not going to just forgive them, and that you don’t want to talk to them, but--”

“No. I don’t. And I know you think this is your fault, and I’m telling you it’s not, and I told you, I’m not mad at you about this. We weren’t friends. I’m not mad at you for not wanting me around or whatever. That’s fine. And? They’ll get over it, and everyone can just move on with their lives with the people they actually like.”

Steve’s stupid voice betrayed him, cracking, and he cut off the rest of what he might have said. Anger was the fastest way to shut down weakness, and it was easy for him to sink into it.

Eddie had his hands in his hair, clutching at it near his temples, looking borderline hysterical.

“Would you at least listen if they talked?”

“They don’t have my phone number, and if you tell them where I live, I’ll send Mrs Buckley after you. And Hopper.”

“You could call them.”

“No.”

It wasn’t about who placed the call. If he heard them, if they said a fraction of what he wanted to hear, he’d cave, immediately and entirely, and then both the real life Robin, and the mini Robin in his brain would give him hell.

“Steve come on, something, anything. Letters? If they write letters?”

“I’m not giving them my address, and Hopper already asked about mailing stuff through him instead. No.”

It was cold and he was tired. Just about the only person in the party that he didn’t care had abandoned him was trying to pull Steve back into the vat of slow simmering pain he was still climbing out of.

“Look, Eddie --”

“I’ll drive them. The letters. You don’t even have to answer, or read them. Let me tell them that I can bring you letters, and I’ll drive them up here. If you do want to answer I’ll wait and then drive whatever it is back. As many times as you want.”

“Come on, man.”

“I won’t even -- I don’t have to know where you live, or your number, anything. I can come here. To the diner. Won’t even come inside, just drop them off and wait. You won’t have to talk to me, or see me. Just, come on. Even if you never forgive them, or answer them, let them have this. Even if you don’t read what they say, let them think they got to apologize.”

The wind shifted, and Steve tucked his chin into his coat to wait it out.

Eddie was shivering two steps away, gloveless hands shoved under his arms, hair tangling into more of a mess than usual.

“That’s a stupid idea, Munson,” he said when the gust stopped, “If they know that you know where I am, and you don’t tell them, they’re going to hate you. They’d drive you insane trying to get you to tell them, and they’d be horrible the whole time. They already ditched me for you, so, don’t make them hate you too.”

“They already hate me.” The response was immediate and defeated.

“Dude, they don’t.”

“They do. They figured it out a few weeks ago. That I was the reason. Just cause you don’t get it doesn’t mean they don’t. This is my fault. They already hate me. They won’t even talk to me long enough to yell. They act like I don’t exist.”

“Christ, Munson, is that why you’re up here, freezing your ass off in a parking lot and bitching at me? So you can get them to like you by getting me to talk to them?”

Eddie flinched. Didn’t say anything for a minute as he shivered with wide eyes. Then, without any of the dramatics the guy was known for, “Please, Steve. Even if you throw them out right after. Let them write to you, and let me tell them the truth when I say you got them. I think they can survive if they don’t hear back. They’ll blame me, but that’s fine, they should. The silence is what’s killing them. They need to say how -- they need to believe that you heard how sorry they are.”

It was so fucking cold it was making Steve’s eyes water. That was the only reason for it. The cold front that came in overnight.

“I’m not gonna promise to read them,” he caved.

The tension collapsed out of Eddie, and he slumped forward, hiding his face in his hands.

“I work here in the mornings Monday through Wednesday every week. You should drop them off then. M’not saying I’ll read them, or write anything back, but if they want to write, fine.”

Eddie nodded over and over, hiding behind his hands, and whisper-mumbling something that Steve couldn’t catch. He was shaking again. The kind of full body wracking that meant the cold was sinking deep.

“Christ, go get in Hop’s truck before your fingers freeze off or something.”

Without waiting for a response, or checking that he listened, Steve turned and kept walking. Another gust of wind tore through him, loud enough that he wouldn’t have heard another call of his name. It was a good thing that John messed up the big combo that morning, and Steve had eaten it during the lull after breakfast. He wasn’t going to manage anything else until tomorrow at the earliest.

That was assuming Robin didn’t kill him on the spot for his stupid, stupid decision.

Ten steps down the road, and he already regretted it. Even if he didn’t read anything, even if they never sent anything, the choice would sit like a rock in his gut; a new ache, a new bruise, and Steve was dumb enough that he’d keep poking at it.

---

I'm sad that this is two chapters without Robin. That's some kind of a crime. Can guarantee that Robin has Strong Opinions about this when she talks to Steve that night.

I don't do tag lists or regular updates, and I have no shame about that.

>>>>>Part Six

#You Left Me - You Miss Me #steddie eventually #steddie ficlet #but hey look they talked!#my writing

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loumandivorce · 9 months ago

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@vampirejournalist started iwtv fanfic friday and i'm here to participate totally on time and not an hour before saturday begins with some LOUMAND FIC RECS as demanded by my url. here are some bangers.

Bloodletting, explicit, series

Even though we've had our ups and downs.

[“I love you,” Armand whispers. Louis swallows against a painful throat. “Sure, honey,” he says. “I love you.” Like saying it again will make it stick. “I know,” Louis says. Armand whispers it a third time, and Louis closes his eyes so he won’t have to look at him when he says, “I’m not gonna say it back, honey.”]

this is a series and it's number one on the rec list because it's truly The loumand series of all time there is nothing that gets them better. chances are you've read one or two of these but the entire series is absolutely insane. hot and disgusting and vulnerable and heartbreaking and makes me feel crazy.

A Chill That Follows, explicit

He leans down to kiss Armand, cradling the back of his neck in his hand. He smiles when he feels rather than hears Armand sigh against his lips, pleased—as if he’s receiving a gift. It’s almost absurd, to think that he was threatening to kill him less than half an hour ago. “What’s absurd is that threatening to kill you was what finally got you to put out for him,” a dismissive, familiar voice says behind him. Shit.

armand is fighting for his LIFE. delicious read

Triptych (Three Studies for Figures at the Base of a Crucifixion), teen

The five of them— Louis, Armand, the figures at the crucifixion— sit together, far too much alike, deformed creatures with teeth that shine in the dark. They all come apart in pieces.

[Why they bought the Bacon triptych, and why Armand sold it.]

really interesting character study on the trifecta in relation to armand

The Cord That Goes Winding Out The Door, teen

There had never been a time proper in his life where Louis wasn’t surrounded by others, but this was the first time that he had felt permanently connected; eternally un-alone. Another being tied to him, a constant brushing of shoulders against his being.

birthing imagery as horror 😊

1,001 nights, mature

The last time Louis saw the ocean up close was—1998. An island off of Miami. Flat, breezeless night.

Or: shards of the past seventy-seven years.

loumand failmarriage through the decades.

dirges, explicit

They fell into a holding pattern for a while in the seventies, in the years before Daniel. Perhaps it was not so long as years, but time dilated, as it was, in Armand’s experience, sometimes wont to do, and it stretched into a small eternity, syrupy and neon-lit, of Louis throwing himself onto swords, chasing and chasing, Armand trailing after with the end of the leash.

practically a loumand heritage fic. written pre s2 but managed to predict so many key parts of their dynamic.

Alexandria, explicit

Louis, glitteringly modern as Armand has always found him, is an excellent tourist, throwing himself into the wholehearted pursuit of the city with an almost manic zeal. Thunderingly alive in Paris, thunderingly alive in Alexandria, thunderingly alive for the rest of their lives, wherever they might be.

loumand in egypt! almost feels like a slice of life in a way, reading this makes you feel like this is really how they spent those 77 years together. the perfect undercurrent of tragedy and bitterness and, of course, love.

acts of collision, explicit

Armand misses Louis like a man about town misses his favourite whore. He misses what only one person is horrid enough to do to him. And Daniel wouldn't even suggest it, if he couldn't feel how Louis misses Armand in the exact same way.

this one is sort of cheating because its a loumandiel fic from daniel's pov, but it's so so good. set in a nebulous post s2 future where daniel invites louis to do a bdsm scene with armand because they both miss each other but armand quite literally Doesn't Talk to louis the whole time. rlly fascinating

the crowning evil, explicit

Armand stood, back to the window, unblinking, tension carrying itself in his frame. Liar, Louis thought. All he could think. Centuries old monster playing at being a boy. A boy pretending to be a man. Unworthy in both roles. Something akin to revulsion clawed up his throat, but it couldn't be, not really, he was too burnt to a husk to muster it in its completeness.

“Come here,” Louis said, his voice dropping.

Armand stepped forward, eyes going wide and hopeful and hungry in half a second. “Yes, Maître.”

“You’re still on that?” Louis asked.

this is just self promo im ngl 💗 but i'm confident enough that my own fic is good so. loumand having despair sex before going to meet lestat in paris in 2.08

this ended up being pretty long but loumand writers when they get it right write such beautiful fics 💗 thank you wonderful iwtc writers. happy fanfic friday/saturday!

#behemoth of a post i dont want to talk ab how long this took #loumand #iwtv #fanfic friday #og post #🦇

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petrichorium · 10 months ago

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also on my hands and knees dying to know about ur divorce (and perhaps reconciliation maybe…) with sir croc

Firstly I wanna say croc is THE reason for the divorced tier I had everyone in the husband/fiance/bf (and cusp + complicated) tiers I had the list downloaded and then I looked at croc in the husband tier and I was like no. Divorced………

Anyway I think you’re a marriage of convenience at first. Crocodile needs a wife to look more like An Upstanding Citizen Ready To Settle Down for his plans in Alabasta, you need the stability and rapport for your own reasons. A deal was struck (including a nice shiny prenup and an easy way out for both of you), the wedding goes off without a hitch, and now you’re cohabitating.

You’re all but a stranger, truthfully, though he’ll admit you were one of the most beautiful brides he’s seen walking down the aisle. And he finds your presence in his home less distracting than expected—you stay out of his way mostly, though the pair of you eat meals together and sleep in the same bed and you are always expected to be on his arm for formal occasions. You’re more than decent company, slowly warming to him and growing more open; willing to give advice on occasion, even, and it’s good advice he’s prone to heeding.

Which is why he’s blindsided when you drop the papers on his desk. There’s little he can do—they were practically already signed before the wedding, and in the surprise he can’t compose himself enough to think up a proper protest. All he can do is fold his hands together as you turn to leave, clear his throat, and call out, “Might I ask why?”

You shrug. It almost seems sad. “I want something more. You’re a very busy man, I don’t think you can give that to me.”

And those words haunt him, all the more because every trace of you is gone in the span of a few days. He lays in his bed, alone, pondering how much you truly lived in his home and how much he truly had to give you. He thought he made sure you wanted for nothing—but, clearly, that wasn’t the case. And if he’d known you’d be gone in the span of a few years…

In hindsight perhaps he’d been a bit distant. His work took up the vast majority of his time. All those meals were more often than not spent in silence, with Crocodile leaving long before you finished your food; you were often asleep before he came to bed, still slumbering when he woke; he’d arrive to those formal events with you on his arm and part ways almost immediately, drawn to meet with some politician or another and leaving you on your own.

The bed feels empty.

And then he gets a report about Nefertari Vivi. It all goes downhill from there. The empire he spent years building crumbles beneath his feet, toppled by that godforsaken princess and the upstart pirate with a straw hat. And as he’s carted off to Impel Down… he still thinks of you.

It’s perhaps a good thing that you left when you did. In a certain sense it saved you, severing ties with him when you did. But foolishly he wonders about the timing—wonders if it would have happened at all if you’d stayed. Logically he knows the rationale is anything but sound.

Instinctively… whenever he gets out, whatever he intends to do next, he thinks he needs you at his side again.

So when the break-out happens, and Crocodile is given a freedom he’d nearly given up on, the first thing he does is begin to track you down.

It takes more than he thought it would. His web of informants isn’t half of what it once was, and his name no longer pulls as much weight, forced to remain in the shadows as he now is. You, meanwhile, catch onto the mystery person trying to keep tabs on you far too quickly for his liking—flighty thing, never quite setting down roots, quick to flee at the first sign of danger. A trait that has only seemed to worsen in his absence, it seems.

But it’s only a matter of time. He’s Sir Crocodile after all, back from banishment to the depths of the ocean, sure to see the sun again. His men close in on you within a year as he builds up his numbers again, but Crocodile ensures he’s the first to make contact.

He intends to show you immediately how things will be different this time.

You’ve made temporary home on a quaint little island, sharing a house with a little old granny who lets him in eagerly when he presents a bouquet and says it’s for you. There he waits, served tea and biscuits that he doesn’t taste.

And then the door opens. You pause when you see him, eyes wide—donning a breezy sundress you’d never have worn for him in Alabasta, your hair wind-tousled so unlike the meticulous updos he always saw you in, with a basket of produce under arm—and the sight of you has his chest unwinding. It’s like he can breathe again.

Not that he had any intentions to before, but the smell of your familiar perfume steels his resolve to never let you disappear again.

#one piece x reader #sir crocodile x reader #ask.🌧#saintshigaraki #char.🌧 sir crocodile #mine.🌧#concept heavily discussed w kae and alec on discord LOL so ty if u see this 🫶🏻#maybe tomorrow I’ll write reader’s side of the reunion but I am Eepy so I leave it there LOL #but just……. him being a bit neglectful the first go. kinda taking you for granted #and then having the shock of his life when u leave + he is taken down #and it turns into this almost psychosexual thing where u represent that success & power & being on the top #so he Needs you again and this time he will Not ignore u he will cherish you and hold you tightly and shower you w whatever you want #(unless you want a longer leash……… he will not give u that. u will be staying close)#(on his lap ideally)#anywayyyyy #did NOT proofread I am so tired LMFAOOOOOO #cw.yandere #I suppose LOL

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show-your-fangs · 2 years ago

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omg omg omg can I pls request hotch genuinely being the most clueless, dumb-and-in-love individual?

Basically the team has to point it out to him for him to see how soft he is for reader and how differently he treats them 💗😩 he’s in love, your honour 🤭

i love our stupid man in love, he's so cute i can't.

this is part two of this blurb from my moments au

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x f!Reader

Words: 1.7k

CW: nothing, just fluff.

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

He didn’t ask you out that night. Neither Morgan or Rossi won the bet, the unfortunate draw making them only want to try harder to win over the other.

That had been a week ago, the pool only growing as more agents got in on it and it had somehow gotten out of hand really quickly. Penelope had been tasked with keeping track of the bets, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep her mouth shut about it, especially when she was around you.

The team had left for a case earlier in the week which meant you were spending a lot of time with her. From helping with research, running point from the office, making calls and setting up permits, warrants, everything and anything they needed, you were practically tied at the hip as per usual when the team was away. The only problem? Penelope Garcia could not keep a secret to save her life, and the more time she spent with you, the more she almost slipped and told you what was going on.

You had closed the case earlier that night after five days of grueling work. You were exhausted, more so emotionally than physically, so you’d invited Penelope to dinner as way to celebrate the little victory. But what had started as a simple night out had quickly turned wild as the waiter had taken a liking to her and kept the cocktails coming throughout your entire meal. You were on dessert, a forgettable chocolate lava cake with ice cream when she finally slipped.

“I just think it’s so silly,” she giggled in between sips of her drink and scoops of dessert.

“What’s silly?” you egged her on, whatever this secret was had eluded you for the entire week and you just needed to know.

“How much Hotch likes you,” her cheeks flushed pink but her brain didn’t realize what’d she’d admitted to yet, allowing her to continue. “The team has a bet going on when he’s going to ask you out and everything.”

“Huh,” you mused. “That is silly.”

That’s when her brain snapped, dread and realization washing over her all at once. Her eyes widened, her spoon fell from her hand and onto the plate.

“Oh my gosh, do you not like Hotch back? I could’ve sworn— I am mortified! Forget I told you, please I am begging you—”

You reached over and placed your hand over hers, gently soothing her out of her panic as a mischievous smile curled on your lips.

“Can you get me on the board, Pen?”

Apparently they were all convinced it wasn’t happening for a while. They had decided to overcorrect their previous assumptions, placing bets that were days if not weeks in the future. Penelope had added you to the bet list that same night, promising to keep the secret until the next morning.

You knew the clock was ticking, knew that once you started the countdown, you had no business losing your courage. It was now or never, and the reminder that soon the rest of the team would be shuffling into the bullpen to start their day, that they’d know someone else had made a risky bet — it only got your adrenaline pumping even more.

You poured his coffee as you watched him enter the office, gaze on his phone, powerful and confident strides leading him towards his office. He turned and waved from the top of the stairs once he finally noticed you, a small smile on his lips. You smiled back, your cheeks reddening slightly as you finished getting your own coffee in order, the pale tan a contrast to his straight black.

You made your way to his office a minute after he’d settled, placing his cup on his desk and taking a seat across from him. This had been your routine for months now, you’d bring him his coffee in the morning and the two of you would fill each other in on your lives.

Aaron had been dealing with his divorce, the guilt of having to split Jack’s time between him and his mom, the added stress of finding a new place and moving, of finding himself alone when he’d been used to always having someone to come home to after a tough case. And you? You had just started going to therapy after he’d encouraged you to. It had been a rocky adjustment to the job, and you were glad that you could confide in him as your boss but also as your friend.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, pulling out the case files he’d taken back home the night before.

You shot him a look, the look, and he couldn’t help but sigh deeply. You weren’t angry, you were simply disappointed, and he knew that. It had been hard, harder now that he had to force himself back out there if he wanted to actually have a life. But even after months of this new normal, the idea of dating made him even more exhausted than he’d like to admit.

Because while Morgan or Emily thrived meeting new people, Aaron had met Haley in high school. He’d been with one woman his entire life, one woman for more than twenty years. He was rusty to say the least, the insecurity of it only growing the more he refused to take the leap, the more he refused to feel his feelings, the more he fell in love with you.

“Haley had Jack last night—” he started but you were quick to interrupt him.

“That’s a terrible excuse,” you chided. “There’s a million things you could’ve done instead.”

“Oh yeah?” the mischief was back in his eyes, making you gulp visibly. “What did you do last night?”

Your mouth opened in mock annoyance, he couldn’t possibly know—

“For your information, sir,” you mocked. “I went out with Penelope last night.”

Whatever glimmer of hope Aaron had cultivated to tease you about taking work back home was extinguished in a second. He sat back in his chair, inaudibly admitting defeat.

“Maybe that’s what you need too,” you started, your heart racing once more. His eyebrows shot up and you could tell his blood had also gotten to his head. “Ask someone out, go on a date, get laid.”

That caught him off guard completely. If he had been sipping on his coffee he would’ve choked, made an even bigger fool of himself. But instead his cheeks just reddened, his ears quickly following suit, a detail he knew you knew about him as you’d pointed it out many times in the past.

But you didn’t today, you didn’t say anything about his reaction but he was too hot to notice it right away.

“It’s what I have to do too, honestly,” you shrugged, faux confidence somehow allowing you to not combust right then and there.

“Do you now?” he managed through gritted teeth, the idea of you dating something that he made sure never to think about because it always led him down a dark path of rage and an ungodly desire to ravage you to the point where you belonged to him and no one else.

“Yeah,” you drawled on, almost sighing dramatically. That’s when he caught on, when his brain finally reconnected to his body and his heart only sped up even more. “But I don’t know…I’m not really into any of the guys Penelope or Emily have tried to set me up with, they’re not really my type.”

God, this was not actually happening. “What is your type?”

“Crime fighting single dads who adore their kids and participate in triathlons for fun,” there was no misinterpreting it now.

“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” the words flew out of his mouth before either of you could register them.

A bright smile took over your lips, your eyes sparkling with happiness. A shy smile slowly started to turn adorably embarrassed on his, his gaze tentatively raising to meet yours, eyebrows raised almost pleading, his eyes round and hopeful.

“I would love to,” you said and he graced you with the most beautiful full smile you’d ever seen from him. It was unrestricted, genuine, life giving.

“Great,” he cleared his throat as the clock struck eight, the reality of the world outside of your little office bubble a reminder of where you were. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“Can’t wait,” you reassured him, standing up with your own untouched coffee mug and making your way downstairs. “Oh, and it’s my treat. Trust me.”

You were gone before he could argue, but you knew that he couldn’t stop smiling, the warmth radiating from him was enough for you know it deep in your bones.

“Babygirl,” Morgan asked aloud, holding up the list of bets that Penelope had left on his desk earlier as the blonde returned to the bullpen from her office. “What’s this?”

He tapped on the bet you’d written down, the other agents gathering to inspect the new addition.

“Proof of my victory, Derek,” you said cockily as Penelope handed you the envelope full of cash.

The entire team turned to you, eyes wide and anger slowly boiling. But none of them let it out, instead they all looked impressed, they respected the move, the hustle, the boldness. Morgan scoffed in proud defeat as he held out his fist for you to bump, and you did, excitedly.

It had finally happened, the start of something that had been brewing for months, and you couldn’t be happier. While the girls walked up to you to get all the details you shot Aaron a cheeky glance as Penelope filled Emily and JJ in on your conversation the night before, and for the first time ever, Aaron allowed himself to meet your glance, unashamed to be caught staring at you.

i've been smiling like an idiot all day

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