#lace-laden

[gutsby]

Who’s Your Daddy?

Pairing: Stepdad!Joel x Reader

Summary: You get stuck in the washing machine. Thankfully, your stepdad is around to help you out.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Deadbeat-Perv-Peepaw LOVES corny porn tropes and women over half his age. Stepcest & dubcon technically bc Reader’s locked inside an appliance, but she’s into it (getting fucked, not stuck). One (1) kick in the dick. Spanking. Brat-taming. Choking. Daddy issues. Size kink. Praise kink. Infidelity. Creampie.

Note: Saw this post by @ovaryacted and started BARKING. For my Old Man lovers/daddy issues crew, this one’s for you.

Word count: 8.3k

It was the closest thing to porn you’d ever done before.

Still, you weren’t quite ready to call it that.

And why should you? Financial straits were no anomaly to a girl your age, especially in this economy, and almost everyone you knew had a side gig of some kind. It just so happened that your job required slightly skimpier attire. And a webcam. And some very special…accessories that would likely send your grandmother into cardiac arrest if she ever took a peek inside your bottom dresser drawer.

Okay, it was definitely porn.

But you never showed your face, so it didn’t really count as the same kind of stuff that your family condemned.

You scampered out of your room the second you heard the front door to the house slam closed all the same. Arms laden with G-strings, stockings, satin bralettes, lace and tulle bodysuits of almost every style imaginable, you ran a quick, perilous path to the living room window and made sure to keep your head ducked low as you did. You peered out through the gap in the curtains and had to squint hard to see anything in the midafternoon sun.

Then you saw it and felt instant relief—they were leaving.

Your grandma for one, your mother for second, and wherever the latter was headed, you knew her shadow would be soon to follow. You saw a thick plume of smoke outside and surmised that Joel was somewhere around the other side of the SUV, smoking and droning on about how he was perfectly fi-i-i-ne to drive, don’t be like that.

By ‘like that’ he meant sensible. And by ‘perfectly fine’ he meant two Miller Lites shy of completely shitfaced. You could already imagine the wry smile on your mother’s lips as she tried prying the keys from his hands. Your stepdad would probably plant a wet, sloppy kiss on her cheek to win a ‘yes’ in return—and when she shyly reminded him that he couldn’t afford to get another DUI, he’d get pissed and yank them out of her fist anyway.

Fucking loser.

Fucking triple-the-legal-limit dumbass motherfucker.

It didn’t bother you as much today because you knew they were only driving a couple blocks away to get to the farmer’s market, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t hope he’d get caught. Again. Maybe blow a 0.25 this time and land his old, ungrateful, law-breaking ass in Travis County Jail, where his little brother Tommy was likely keeping a cell bench warm for him, per usual.

At any rate, you didn’t have time to be fantasizing now. It was your turn to embody some guy’s grossest wet dreams for the next two to three hours. Stripping away layer after layer of your latest, tightest ‘costume’ while catering to whatever requests happened to float in your inbox, you knew you’d be up to your eyeballs in work. Though almost routine by now, you had to hurry up.

If you could just get the rest of this ridiculous gunk out of your clothing, you’d be all good to go for the job.

TRMAN22: Pour honey on your tits in the next vid???

TRMAN22: Milk too. All over you.

Looking back, you probably shouldn’t have obliged that request. Now you were facing the consequences—forced to throw all your clothes in the washing machine because the milk and honey you’d dumped on yourself for that video had gotten everywhere, and then swiftly congealed while wasting away in a pile of laundry for over a week.

The whole heap smelled rancid. Still felt sticky, too. Presently, you chucked each one inside the washing machine while holding your breath, and as soon as the last was discarded, you sniffed the shirt you had on.

Tolerable. With the rest of your stuff in the wash, you hoped to get at least one request off the checklist:

TRMAN22: Bet you’d look sexy in a schoolgirl outfit!!

TRMAN22: Why don’t you try one on for me?

It was gag-worthy and gross. Slightly alarming for a man who was more than likely twice your age and old enough to remember Watergate, but you agreed to play along. Your old school uniform was, after all, the only clean clothes you had left, and ‘TRMAN22’ was, unfortunately, your top subscriber. He’d paid $300 for this video alone.

TRMAN22: Wear some NEON pink panties for me too ;)

You squatted in front of the washing machine and stuck a hand inside. You sifted around, furrowing your brows.

The brightest undies you owned were in there, soiled, but you figured you could get away with one gross article of clothing, all things considered. You reached a little further and continued to dig. When you couldn’t find it by feel alone, you peered inside the circular, metallic cavern of the washing machine and craned your neck.

Not here…not here…not—

You tilted forward, venturing a closer look with your head, then shoulders, pushing into the machine.

—here, not here, not—

“EW!” you shrieked.

In your search, you’d inadvertently brushed up against a mildewed piece of clothing that had gotten wedged between the grooves of the washing machine’s interior.

A pair of boxers, it seemed.

You recoiled as soon as your fingers grazed the wet and smelly thing. Your skull went crack against the low-sloped ceiling of the appliance, and a jolt of pain was quick to course through you at the contact. You groaned.

Of course Joel had forgotten some old, cum-stained scrap of fabric out of his last load. Always leaving his shit around for you or your mom to pick up like he owned the place. And here you went, again, angrily plugging your nose and pulling as hard as you could on the shorts to get them free from the washing machine. You hardly thought twice, just made a face and then yanked on it.

The boxers wouldn’t budge.

You tugged even harder. The fabric stayed put.

Something akin to a grunt and a whimper, only far more pathetic, slipped out of your mouth, and you slapped the half-hollow steel wall in frustration. Surrounded as you were—fully encased in metal—the sound just echoed.

“Fucking…CUNT.”

You weren’t sure if you were talking to the shorts, the machine, or Joel Miller in the abstract. Or maybe all three. You just hated the thought of washing your lingerie with your stepdad’s skivvies, and no amount of rational thought or practical reasoning could hold you back now.

The tip of your index finger sank deep beneath the same ridge of the wall where the boxers had gotten stuck. You curled it inward, trying to loosen the material up a little. You wriggled your knuckle even further. And just when you managed to get a hold of the cusp of the tangled fabric—just when it seemed the green plaid cluster was about to give way—you heard a low pop. You felt it, too.

Shortly, your finger was pinched inside the deep, blunt valley of steel that had similarly snagged Joel’s boxers. It seemed you’d pushed the tip of your finger so far that you were caught straight down to the second knuckle—trapped between two grooves of unforgiving alloy inside the washing machine tub with no clear means of escape.

You jerked your arm back, panicked. When the metal sank its teeth even deeper, you didn’t stop. Completely heedless of the pain, you operated on impulse and by the feeling of needing to get the fuck out of that little space, quickly, and instead yanked your hand back even harder.

To your horror, your finger was stuck.

“FUCK!”

You stared down at the poor digit, only half-visible inside the wall at this point, then glanced down at the heap of sweaty, sticky, slutty pieces of clothing that were presently strewn about you, and felt an even deeper stab of dread. Stuck inside your family’s washing machine with every bit of damning evidence one could hope to have—and wearing your old school uniform to boot—you realized at once you were fucked if you didn’t get out.

You slammed your palm against the nearest wall once more, shaking your other wrist like an unruly child.

“FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!”

You weren’t good at solving problems. In point of fact, you sucked at all things prudent resolution-related and regularly made it a habit to capitulate whenever you sensed loss inevitable. You were a little like your mother in that way, quick to give in to life’s uglier challenges. The only way you could conceivably claim to be stronger, the only place you always had the strength to say ‘no’ was—

“Aw, shit.”

—Joel.

Your throat tightened as soon as you heard the voice. Your eyes went wide, and the rest of you went numb.

Bent at the waist and kneeling with half your body inside the washing machine, you remained there, motionless. Back arched and ass out. Thanks to the way you’d rolled your old plaid skirt, the fabric covered almost zero cheek.

Someone behind you cleared their throat. Then coughed.

And coughed again, again, and again. Evidently trying to clear the smoke out of his lungs and the surprise from his eyes as he drank in your sight from the doorway.

“What in the—wh—th—” You could hear Joel wheeze, beating his chest with his fist, “What— in— the hell?!”

“Help me,” you hissed.

You weren’t sure why you chose that as your go-to. It just sounded like the right thing to say, and frankly, you weren’t sure how else to distract from the fact Joel was probably gawking at your ass as he coughed up a lung.

“The fuck do you mean ‘help’?! What are you doing?”

The coughing subsided, if only momentarily. You tried pulling back on your finger again to get out, but couldn’t.

“I-I’m…I was just…” you stammered, heart racing.

You heard the tread of heavy footfalls. You felt them.

“Just—trying…” you ventured again, suddenly at a loss for words and breath alike as you felt a presence draw in.

You could smell him.

That realization alone made you want to stop taking in air altogether. It happened out of instinct, really—feeling the shift of two huge boots settle behind your feet and then flinching inward, further inside the metal tub for…safety? A pang of abject humiliation? You were far past the point of civility with the man, caring what he thought, or fearing for your modesty in a position like this, but something about the proximity now just made you itch.

You wished your finger wasn’t jammed inside this appliance so you could give that feeling relief, somehow.

At length, Joel’s voice dragged you back:

“What’s stuck?”

Too calm. A second passed. Then he added, more stern,

“This some fuckin’ joke’a yours or somethin’?”

“No!”

“Then what—”

“My finger. My finger’s stuck.”

You tried to crane your neck to see behind you, but all your eyes had to feast upon was denim. Bluish-grey stonewashed denim, faded with years of use. Joel stood back for a second, as if considering what to do, and then you saw two hands descend to brace themselves against his knees. He bent at the waist to get a better look below.

When his eyes locked with yours, you got the same twist in your gut as you’d felt before, only sharper. Shameful.

The look on Joel’s face was abnormally bright.

“And how on earth did that happen, dumbass?”

Your shame morphed into chagrin in a blink, seeing the ghost of a smile bleed into your stepdad’s features.

“‘Cause of you, leaving your shit in here!” you snapped. Your chin jerked toward the green fabric, “I was just trying to get your boxers unstuck—and my finger…”

Your finger was kind of fucked.

Joel cast a look inside at the source of your frustration. He extended his left arm and reached over your torso, and as he did, you felt the slightest, albeit solid, sort of warmth press in. The man let out a low groan of exertion—likely at the strain the movements placed on his joints.

The warmth got worse. You weren’t sure where it started.

Vaguely, you were aware of Joel’s thumb pressing into your hand. Gliding down your finger, stroking across the spot where your knuckle had gotten caught, he circled over it, slowly, and made another sound in his throat.

“Well that ain’t…good.” Not one to mince words.

By now, your whole body was on fire. You barely had the strength to keep kneeling, much less speak to the man thumbing your hand and pressing his heat so close—

“Just get me out!” you shrieked.

You heard your mother’s voice in that. A shrill, impatient lilt in her speech that came out, invariably, around Joel. Normally, he would have done something to deserve it. But today, with his hand splayed over yours and his breaths as calm and even-keeled as he could hope to have them while he tried to help, he was blameless.

Evidently, he heard a trace of your mother too, because you heard him laugh. You felt the reverberations of his amusement travel up from his belly all the way to his lips.

“Cool your pits, kid.”

For that, you would’ve loved nothing more than to reach back with your free hand and hit him in the balls. But, as it was, this man was your only hope for escape, and he was being tolerably polite, anyway. He pinched your finger between the tips of two of his and gave it a tug.

“Okay, lemme just—” Joel started.

“Why are you home, anyway?”

The question came out more clipped than you meant it.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Joel countered evenly.

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you second.”

You reckoned he could probably feel you roll your eyes, even if he wasn’t able to see you do it right now. He waited another moment, then leaned back on his haunches and withdrew his arm from the tub.

“Mama don’t like me drinkin’ and drivin’, you know that.”

With that, the warmth was gone. Joel retreated.

“Like that’s ever stopped you before.”

You heard him exhale a little harder through his nose. When he’d steadied himself against the washing machine, gave his knees another second to prepare for getting up again, you could feel his eyes back on you. Maybe he lingered longer than his legs really needed.

Maybe if he hadn’t stayed crouched like that, he wouldn’t have gotten the chance to give your surroundings a second look. He wouldn’t have stopped to watch the rate of your breaths pick up or the way your skin startle to bristle with some strange, unknown sensation. He certainly wouldn’t have felt for himself the fever leaking out from the base of your spine right then.

Today just wasn’t the day for keeping secrets, it seemed.

“And what’s this?” You could feel Joel lean back in.

He was looking again. Peering inside. Steadying his weight with the edge of the washing machine gripped in one hand, while the other snaked its way back inside.

You’d already squeezed your eyes shut by the time Joel got a hold of something. You didn’t know what it was.

But it became painfully clear that it wasn’t just one ‘thing’ that had grabbed his attention at all, but rather a series of items that his hands were just now getting to explore. You didn’t have to see his broad and tan, callus-streaked fingers to feel them roaming over your clothes.

Gross.

Gross.

“Gross,” Joel agreed, as if he’d read your mind. Grinning.

If you thought the embarrassment was bad before, you really only knew a fraction of what humiliation could be. Your finger throbbed along with the pulse in your skull.

Your mother’s husband whistled and lifted something.

“Darlin’, this is just…disgusting.”

You winced. You tried not to pry an eye open, to steal a covert look through the frame of your lashes in that dim and crowded spot, but the inducement was too great—Joel was dangling one of your lime green G-strings like it was a fish he’d just caught out on the lake. Boasting it.

Doting, almost.

“Well I’ll be—”

“Will you quit?!” you snapped.

You grabbed the thing out of his hand and threw it aside.

“Can you be serious? For one fucking secon—”

“Oh, I’m bein’ serious, sweetie,” Joel cut in. Cool as ever, “Serious as the business end of a .45, I swear.”

He paused. Then he reached for a white nylon bustier, drenched in a layer of honey that was as hard as a rock.

“Do you always keep your little…skank tanks so filthy?”

That was it. You kicked your heel back—and up—and made a pass to hit your stepdad square in the balls.

Your aim wasn’t the best it’s ever been, seeing that half your body was trapped inside a home appliance at the moment, but what your jab lacked in accuracy, it made up for in force: your foot plunged into the seam of Joel’s jeans full throttle. From the way the back of your heel plowed into his crotch, and the sound that clawed out of his throat the same instant, you reckoned you did okay.

What you weren’t expecting was a smack in return.

An answer in kind—delivered by the palm of Joel’s hand.

A taut, thoughtless THWACK on the swell of your ass.

Your mouth fell open. Your body barely had the chance to recoil when, shortly, another blow landed on your cheek.

Joel spanked you.

Spanked you.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he spat. His palm had slid up with the weight of his last slap, and now his fingers were clenched in a fist in the back of your skirt. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel him gripping fabric. It was firm.

He was firm—unrelenting in his hold.

Kneeling behind you, yanking back a handful of tartan skirt like it was nothing, then sidling up behind you.

And just when your attention was drawn to some other firm thing, it was shortly diverted by another sensation.

“JOEL!” you shrieked as he gave you another spanking.

The bare skin of your cheeks was on fire. Joel hit hard. Just when you feared you might legitimately whimper with the sting of that last blow, and while the imprint of his palm was still fresh, you felt it move again. Lower.

“Joel.”

That came out more like a whine than a cry of protest. And how could you, now, when he was soothing the raw bite of his hand with a touch that was kneading the skin?

Working the soft, supple flesh of your ass in his hand like he’d never dream of being anything else but gentle to it.

“Good?” Joel said.

Your head flinched to nod, but your brain thought better.

It did feel good. So good, in fact, that your eyelids were starting to droop just a bit and your back was subtly arching into the touch, but those were only instincts. Stupid, useless, brain-rotted reflexes born of years of paternal neglect and replete indifference, the likes of which could bring a grown man to his knees, begging—

“Please.”

But the entreaty was your own, and the voice that spoke it was hoarse. Your belly sank into the circular aperture of the washing machine, and you could feel your ribs scraping close to metal. Nevertheless, you didn’t mind. That ditzy lizard brain of yours was starved for physical touch, and who were you to deny her at a time like this?

No, not when Joel was squeezing like that.

Groping was the more appropriate word for it, really. Notwithstanding the decades of sexual experience that no doubt preceded the man that was standing before you—behind you—today, Joel was unduly coarse. His broad, weathered hand made as if to cool its former sting, but the motions themselves were jerky. Desperate.

He needed this worse than you, the fucking pervert.

Just when the realization had begun to settle over your mind and your legs were getting to feel a little less like jelly, knowing you weren’t the only weak one here, Joel’s palm slowed down. He pressed the heel of it into your flesh as if to force himself to stop, then he took a breath.

“Now use your words.”

“But—” you sputtered.

“I said,” Joel resumed, and you could sense it was through gritted teeth. His movements came to a halt.

“We use our words when we want somethin’, hear?”

It was the first you’d heard Joel attempt to enforce anything close to discipline with you in your life.

That had to warrant a little defiance, no doubt.

Under your breath, quiet: “So ‘we’ includes ‘you,’ too?”

Beneath that one, seemingly innocuous question was lurking another, and both of you knew it: Remember that time you put a fist through the kitchen wall? Was that a good example of what it means to ‘use words,’ Joel? Whether it was adequate provocation or not, you could sense what was coming next before you’d even finished. When the spank landed on your right cheek so loud that it echoed, you didn’t flinch. You did snag your lip between your teeth to keep a sound from spilling out.

“A dad makes rules. Ain’t his to follow,” Joel growled.

You blinked and bit down harder. Watched the broad, amorphous shape of the man’s reflection shift along the back metallic wall in hues of grey and blue and wished you had the strength to turn around and face him then.

“You aren’t my dad.”

“Said ‘a’ dad, didn’t I?”

“You’re not that either.”

Heat was rising to your cheeks again, this time for different reasons. For a cause you were far better acquainted with to date—annoyance at Joel.

“So that means I’m—”

“Nothing. You’re nothing to me,” you finished, tone wry.

Nothing to anyone, you wanted to add. Not with a shiny gold band latched onto your left hand to tell the world that you’re married to my mother, a pack of smokes tucked away in the jeans she washes every week, or a couple years spent under the same roof as me. Nothing.

Your teeth clamped back down—and almost sank clean through your lower lip this time—when next you felt a touch at the plush, covered mound that was normally shielded between your legs. The spot that was hardly ever tilted up in a position like this, exposed to the air and a man’s hungry gaze, now invaded by the press of a single thing: a warm and soft middle finger at your core.

Joel brushed the tip of it against your entrance, through your panties, and sucked a breath through his teeth when both of you felt a tiny squelch at the pressure.

He pressed harder, and the wetness only spread.

You didn’t have to be in Joel’s position to know what he was seeing, but the feeling from his finger overpowered any better sense to speak—or tell him to stop. He traced his slow, cruel circles against your warmth and moved it up to where he knew he’d find your bud, and when you whimpered, he simply added his index to the mix. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind you were leaking heat at that point. You could feel it seeping beneath his touch.

“Nothin’, huh?” Joel breathed, voice low. Your arousal made a sickening hiss beneath his fingers as he rubbed you even harder, “This feel like nothin’ to you, honey?”

You couldn’t speak. He knew you weren’t capable of it.

“‘Cause this sure don’t feel like nothin’ to me.”

Wet and tacky beneath his touch, your warmth supplied the answer that your mouth couldn’t form. It came out in more of a tap, tap, tap, punctuated by breaths that were toiling in earnest not to turn into moans too soon. But, as hulking and clumsy as his hands had once shown themselves to be, the old man knew where to put them, at least. He made circles on your clit with practiced ease.

“You can try lyin’ to me, but she can’t.”

He was right. ‘She’ was a traitor.

You could deny it all you wanted, but the proof was there.

Indeed, she was crying. Aching. Bleeding with desire. Throbbing beneath the pads of Joel’s fingertips and growing only more desperate as he increased the speed of his touch. When he notched the drenched cotton to the side, you had to grit your teeth to keep in a whimper.

Joel whistled.

“See? Seems like she likes me just fine right here.”

Your jaw stayed wired shut with the weight of your own humiliation. Instead of answering aloud, you hummed. Made a sound low and soft in your throat like, ‘Uh-hmm’ and tilted your hips, as if you didn’t know how else to ask. Joel couldn’t see inside the washing machine, but he must’ve felt the gesture, because he greeted it with a motion of his own: he chuckled, and he puckered his lips.

And when you felt the warmth of his spit hit you between your folds, your shame should’ve tripled. Should’ve made you flinch away from his touch and tell him that was so fucking gross, Joel, stop, but then he smeared it up your slit. He pressed in and mixed it with the rest of your arousal; any reproach died on your tongue in an instant.

A part of him was on you now. Trickling in, sticking to the most sensitive part of you, and settling into your skin like a glaze. With his other hand, he found your skirt again.

“Who’re ya wearin’ this for, sweet pea?” Joel murmured.

“No one.”

Another glob of spit landed between your cheeks. Now, the man used the lubrication to sink two fingers inside you—pushing them in until the rim of your cunt met his knuckles. You whined at the stretch, felt him coax your walls open with a consciousness and a carefulness that felt almost mean, but then he stroked down the base of your spine with the hand that still held onto your skirt. He soothed your startled cry with a curl of his fingers.

And he found the soft, spongy patch of flesh inside that made your eyes roll straight to the back of your skull, quickly. Working his fingers in and out, flattening the base of his free hand over the skin exposed by your flipped-up skirt, and watching your body give way to the force of his fingers, he was uncharacteristically patient. Exacting in the way he worked your body open to him.

“What do you care?” you groaned. You winced when you felt a squelch signal that he’d stretched you even wider.

“‘Cause,” Joel started, slow. Pumping his fingers through your folds and likely wondering when he’d add a third, “You got your hand stuck in a fuckin’ washing machine, a treasure trove of this slut stuff piled in a heap…I mean…”

“They’re just clothes!”

“Just clothes?”

In the wake of those terse, incredulous words, you tried your best to match his tone—call his bluff—but the only sound that came out of your mouth was punctured by a pitiful whine. He tried another finger but couldn’t fit it in. As wet as you were, and as strong as he was, your cunt wasn’t quite ready to accept all three of Joel’s thick, probing digits inside. You’d fit more than a thing or two with a girth even greater than that in the past, but you figured your nerves might have something to do with the way you were tightening around the man’s fingers now.

Why you couldn’t take more of him in, as much as you wanted him there, felt, at present, like something of a shortcoming, and a pathetic one at that. You let out a breath, and a second later, Joel slowed his motions.

You didn’t expect him to stop. Didn’t hold out a hope he might curtail his pace and talk you through a quiet, gentle arrangement for fitting a third finger inside you—that just wasn’t him. You didn’t have to share a paper-thin bedroom wall with your mother and her husband for the last however many years to know that Joel Miller was not a tender lover. It simply wasn’t in his nature to care.

So when you heard the clink of a belt coming undone a moment later, your senses strangely flooded with relief. He wouldn’t care, wouldn’t inquire, wouldn’t coddle with false, romantic ideals of how a woman should be treated.

In that way, Joel shared something in common with your father after all: he set standards as low as they could go.

“Just clothes?” he repeated, snapping your underwear against your ass and jerking the fabric further aside.

Then somehow send those expectations even lower.

There was a hand splayed out across the small of your back. Another fiddling with the front of his pants, wrestling the button and zip of his jeans in little more than one, two, three careless seconds, before he drew in closer to your rear. Your slit was messy, wet, and exposed to his eyes once again. For a second, you almost took comfort in the fact that your hand was still wedged inside a groove of steel and you couldn’t meet his gaze.

That was, until Joel slid his bare length along the seam of your cunt. When the inability to see him made it so you had no other choice but to be surprised when he finally touched you was unnerving, to say the least.

And when the head of his cock blended seamlessly between your folds, was drenched in less than a blink and nearly notched straight into the place you needed him most—well, that had an effect on him, too. Joel moved his flat and sweaty palm up your back, found purchase in the hem of your blouse, and gripped it. Tugged it down a little more and let a low groan billow out of his throat while he rocked his hips back and forth.

Desperate, clumsy, pussydrunk Joel was back before you’d even realized he’d left. Only now he was keen to put the disquiet and hesitations to rest; he needed to fuck you before either one of you wisened up just then.

Your parts and his commingled again. First, with the lethally warm trail of precum leaking out from his tip. Then the intrusion that followed, inevitably, glossed with self-indulgence and desperation—soiling any semblance of platonic affection or parental attention—as he fed you the first inch of him. Barely half the head got fitted inside and your grip on that was like a vice. Joel’s was bruising.

Suddenly firm on your hips, carving crescents in the skin:

“When’s the last time you got fucked, baby?”

You reckoned Joel had a guess—and it wasn’t correct.

“Last…week,” you whimpered, words punctuated with a sigh as his cock tried to make room for more of him.

Joel sucked in a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. He’d barely gotten an inch past his tip, facing more resistance than he’d felt in a long, long time, and you were wet, but so tight. He was big but not so massive as that. He couldn’t fathom what you were saying was true.

“That…fratboy fuckstick you went out on a date with?”

“Didn’t think you even saw me leave.”

Joel withdrew, gripped your hips even tighter, then drove his cock to nestle three solid inches inside your cunt. It was extra snug, but he made sure to try to loosen you up with a couple short, shallow thrusts and a hand gradually drifting down between your legs. Of course he saw you.

The circles on your clit and slow-growing movements may as well have been kerosene in your veins. With what limited range of motion you had in that grey, compact space, you let out a sigh and dug the fingers of your free hand into the closest scrap of fabric beside you. Joel’s own touch gradually moved from your hip to drag your hand behind your back, clasping his. He fucked in deeper

“So that’s who this is for?” Thumbing your skirt.

“Y-Yeah,” you lied.

“Wanted to send naughty pics in the schoolgirl getup?”

“Yes,” you lied again. You closed your eyes when Joel sank his cock even deeper and made you stretch inside.

“‘Atta girl,” he praised.

It might’ve been the first he’d validated you in your life.

“Grippin’ this cock extra tight, ain’t ya, sweet girl?”

Never in a million years would you have imagined it’d come this late—or leave Joel’s mouth in a way like that.

‘Elastic’ wasn’t a word you’d ever used to describe your body, either. Frankly, there was no need for it to be; every one of your partners before had been average-sized, and every other object that went inside you, too, had almost always been a comfortable squeeze between your walls. Outside of maybe your first time and a once-off awkward hookup now and again, you were never forced to feel a stretch to this degree. Joel felt huge moving inside you.

He was nearing your cervix and still nowhere close to the base of his cock. Meanwhile, you were stuffed to the brim, saturated with arousal and his spit, and practically keening at every stab of his hips. You couldn’t reach back because Joel’s fingers were still enmeshed with yours, gripping them hard behind your back. As wore down, fucked out, and desperate as you already were, you were less than only a second away from asking him to ease up.

And then he stopped.

Joel pulled out, let go, and pressed onto the old washing machine, where you heard his touch echo through metal.

He was leaning against it. You were about to turn around. Before you could, though, you felt his form mold into yours—this time not in it, but on it, as he drew closer and once more reached into the space where you were stuck.

“Can you be brave for me, baby?” Joel murmured.

“Wh—” you started, soft, only to feel the words plucked straight from your lungs as Joel leaned his body inside. Carefully, and with concerted effort, it seemed, he was trying to squeeze his way into the O-shaped hole of the washing machine, snaking his arm around your torso.

Pinching your finger again. Breathing just gently enough for his exhales to tickle at your shoulders and your neck.

“Can you be brave?” he repeated, and you weren’t sure you’d ever heard him so soft-spoken, or felt him so close.

You nodded, not knowing why.

Without another word, your stepdad pinched the digit even tighter and yanked it out from where it was stuck.

It all happened so fast. Joel freeing your finger, squeezing it tight, helping you out of that hot and crowded space while your legs gave way like mush beneath your weight—and your hand throbbing in pain. You’d never thought a single finger could cause a feeling as strong as that, but it stung like hell. You almost raked your nails through the man’s arm when he tried to hold you back, holding you up just as well as you stood.

“Joel!” you screeched, like the whole thing was his fault.

You flexed your hand and wanted to sob. You could feel the streaks of pain start to claw up your wrist, were just about to shove Joel aside and wallow in agony, when at length, he did something strange and unexpected again.

This time, he lifted your index to his mouth and kissed it.

It wasn’t a sensual kiss. Coming from Joel, it hardly even seemed affectionate. His lips were so warm and firm and decidedly unacquainted with anything approaching a threat of tenderness that his act read almost aggressive. He let your finger rest loosely against his mouth, and he kissed it again, while his eyes burned holes into yours.

‘You’re okay’ came out muffled against your hand.

“You’re okay—hey—baby, you’re good. Don’t cry.”

You hadn’t even noticed the tears had started to form. You blinked and felt one trickle down your cheek. With the hand that wasn’t holding your wrist, Joel brushed his thumb against that lone trail of moisture. He didn’t cup your face, hold you close, or stroke your cheek in the seconds that followed, though he did keep kissing you.

Or, rather, it—your finger.

Joel didn’t have to care for you at all. He just feared he might’ve pulled on your hand too hard in getting you out.

‘You’re okay’ was being mumbled away like a fractured refrain, touch descending gently to your hip, and his eyes grew softer by the second, surely he had to be thinking it.

Sinking inside you, again. He was standing; your hips were tilted to his, and your ass was pressing flat against the front of the washing machine. All it took was an inch or two off the ground and your limbs hanging limply around his hips for Joel to fuck back into you. He sucked on your finger so hard you feared the skin might actually bruise—a hand hickey, of all fucking things—and when his grip tightened on your side, you knew he felt it too.

His teeth succeeded his lips in an instant, and he was biting, gnawing pathetically as a groan shuddered through his chest. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve said the sound was veering perilously close to a whimper.

Fully sheathed inside you, Joel Miller didn’t seem to care. His lids fell like lead across the upper half of his brown, glossy eyes, and the expression behind them was blank.

Safe.

“‘S’alright, baby,” he grunted. Maybe he’d just seen you wince, as he cradled your hand and withdrew another inch, “Keep squeezin’ me, it feels real good. Right here.”

Out of instinct, your gaze drifted down to the spot where his body joined with yours. The sight was hardly a shock, but the feelings it evoked were not—he had you split along two-thirds of his dick, a pretty shelf of belly protruding beneath and gleaming with the arousal he’d drawn out from your body. Tufts of silver and grey littered his skin in every direction, aged muscles tensed with the weight of each thrust, and the warm weathered hand that hadn’t dared touch you once before today was now cupping your chin. Tilting your head closer to him.

“Right here, baby. Look at daddy.”

Wild, unbridled heat flooded your brain in a second. The thing seared the insides of your skull with all the force of a fire and stole the air from your lungs just the same—still, you couldn’t refrain from making a face in disgust.

“What the fuck, Joel?” You shouldn’t have liked it.

His hand ascended your throat in a blink.

“Ain’t that what you want, sweet pea?”

“I—”

Just as you started to answer, though, his cock took a dizzying plunge, hitting exactly the right spot inside you. Like clockwork, your mouth fell open, a whine tumbled out, and Joel took that as his chance to grip your neck even tighter and push your hips against the washing machine, where his height afforded him an easy hold.

“What you want—”

He squeezed harder.

“—what you need—”

You gasped, starved for air. It wasn’t every day a man took your breath away. Not like Joel could, anyway.

“—is me, ain’t it?”

The gaze fixed on your face was alight with desire.

“Bet you miss him somethin’ awful, huh? Been needin’ a man to fill that spot ever since he left, haven’t ya, baby?”

‘He’ required no further clarification. The words stung. You communicated as much by wriggling your hips back and pressing your hand against Joel’s chest, just quit it.

Keep fucking me, but shut the fuck up about my father.

“I don’t miss shit,” you sniffed. Felt the head of Joel’s cock carve a shape somewhere deep inside your body and couldn’t pretend it wasn’t filling a metaphorical void someplace else. You hadn’t got this much attention from a man as many years your senior since…well, ever, really.

You preened beneath his touch. Wanting to feel. Wanting to please. Wanting, more than anything, to be needed.

Joel sated each craving with a simple hand smoothed over your face. His palm moved from your throat to your chin to the hinge of your jaw before coming to rest at the nape of your neck. This time squeezing lightly, bringing your face in close while he fucked you. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and your stomach tightened inside you.

“That’s alright,” he said, words hardly above a whisper, “No need to miss that man at all, ‘cause I’m right here.”

For once the assurance came as somewhat of a comfort. You suspected it had something to do with the fact he was balls deep inside you and pushing you closer and closer to the brink of release with each painstaking stab of his cock. You fisted his flannel, holding him there. Spreading your legs, accepting his thrusts, taking each movement with ragged, shallow breaths and moans that blended with his own, you felt your body grow warmer.

Almost febrile beneath him as he tilted your head again.

“Who’s your daddy now?”

You winced, shaking your head. You hated that word.

“Who’s your daddy?”

Joel lowered his hand and began to thumb at your clit. Hot pleasure coursed through you, made you whine at the contact and dig your heels even deeper in his back.

“Who’s your daddy, baby? It ain’t that hard to say.”

But it was. Joel stroking your clit, stuffing you full, ghosting his lips against yours without ever furnishing a kiss, just goading you on with: ‘I know you wanna say it.’ Tough grey stubble teased your mouth with each word.

“I know she needs to cum, sweet girl. Know that poor little pussy’s taken a beating—and she’s done so good for me—but she needs to let it out now. All over me.”

His gaze held yours. You couldn’t turn away.

An unmistakable tenderness pervaded that look, and it didn’t seem keen to depart. No matter how tightly you pursed your lips, made fists in his shirt, or choked his cock between your walls in fluttering, desperate pleas, the man remained calm. Attentive. The eyes didn’t stray.

“It’s okay to say it.”

“C-Can’t—”

“Sure can. Be the easiest thing you ever do—D-A-D-D—”

“Please. Please.”

You hardly even knew what you were asking for at this point, only beholden to that big, swollen something in your tummy starting to give way beneath the push of Joel’s cock. Tightening up, leaking out, practically drooling down the length of this man who seemed relentless in his current pursuit. Two more circles on your clit and you were keening, whimpering pathetic as ever:

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.”

“Say it now. Who’s it for?”

Above you, Joel’s teeth gleamed in a smile—or a snarl, you couldn’t tell. All you knew was the pleasure, the concomitant pain of having to contain this desperation while his thrusts sped up. You were bouncing on him, getting fucked against the washing machine in the raw and terrible central Texas heat wearing a sheen of sweat and a set of clothes that no longer fit your body, but that was just fine. You were okay. Joel was here, and he was holding your head, lips hovering less than an inch away.

“Who’s. Your. Daddy?” His words were slow. Coarse. Spilling into your mouth with every short puff of breath.

You couldn’t take it. You felt a band of pressure come to a head in your belly and the brush of Joel’s cock making its rounds in and out of your swollen cunt, pushing hard, and you knew that you’d had enough. He knew it, too.

“Y-You.”

“Who?”

“Joel.”

“Who?”

Your wet, pearly slick rang a deafening pitch. Enough.

“You, daddy! Daddy—please, fuck—I-I-I’m gonna cum.”

“Gonna cum for me? Make a mess of your old man?”

“Make a m-mess— yes, daddy, yes—” you slurred.

Joel drove his cock, fully coated in you, down to the hilt. He captured your lips in a kiss and didn’t even mind your mouth was whining, hissing, whimpering its filthy pleas for him to fuck a nice, big orgasm out from your body.

“—want yours inside,” you added, without realizing it.

“Sweet girl…” Joel groaned.

You didn’t know what you were asking him for. How badly he wanted it, too. His cock dragged in and out of your precious cunt and was barely more safe from the threat of its grip when you spasmed, at the last. Joel should’ve expected no less, after all the time he’d spent teasing and edging, then begging you gently, in grunts, ‘Cum for daddy, baby. Let me have it, that’s it, good girl.’ Still, somehow, he wasn’t prepared in the slightest.

When you squeezed your eyes shut and kissed him back—that was all it took. When you clenched on his cock, gave the front of his shirt a tug, locked your ankles about his hips so you could more properly increase that friction by fucking him back, grinding in place, he feared he might fairly make an irreparable, unforgivable mistake.

And when the whites of your eyes appeared again—eyelids fluttering open while your lips were glossed with his spit and a lazy smile—and said what you said next, he sensed that his fate was sealed. The old man was fucked.

“Cum inside me, daddy. Please.”

Joel couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried. He shuddered, then flooded your insides with rope after rope after rope of his spend, burying his face in your neck and taking your hips in his hands like a looser grip might lose you to him forever. He fucked his cum deep, deeper, darlin’ don’t move, can’t lose a drop, baby, please, he let out a whimper that made your walls pulse again. You felt him fill you to the brim and keep rutting his hips. Your body and his were shaking by the last of it.

And when he was finished, Joel dropped a kiss along your limp, glistening lips. He slid you back on the metal. By the expression on his face, it was plain to see he was loath to withdraw, but he had to. That tender little hiss and the sounds of your shared fluids trickling out were all the impetus he needed to act quick. As soon as he’d pulled out, Joel was back leaning against the washing machine—tilting your hips back a little, then lowering his sweaty, handsome head to the spot between your legs.

The wrinkles to the sides of his eyes grew more pronounced when he smiled. A happy grin, plastered across his lips, would have struck you as almost smug, were it not for the look of sheer adulation that followed it.

Joel was enthralled, watching his cum leak out of you. He kissed your thighs, flickered his gaze to your own, briefly, then damn near sank his nose inside the place he was watching before your fingers stopped him cold.

It was your body, after all. He had already had his fill.

Hardly knowing what came over you in that moment, you sank two fingers inside your wet, drooling hole and watched the eyes of the man beneath you go wide. He soaked in that sight completely: you pushing his cum back in, drawing it out, using the viscous white liquid as a lubricant of sorts before releasing a pleased little sigh.

Joel closed his mouth reluctantly. It took him more than a second to tear his eyes from that place, but when he did, the motions were quick to grow assured, by turns.

As if remembering something.

In a second, the innocent smile you’d seen before was being infiltrated, slowly, by a look you couldn’t place. Joel’s grin morphed from gentle to contented to plainly enthused and beaming ear-to-ear with a conceited glint. With his finger, he tugged your panties back into place.

“Baby—” he started, only to be cut off lightning-quick.

“What? What is it?”

His smile stretched even wider. By that act alone, you were half-tempted to forget the events of the last hour and set your jaw in a scowl. You looked down, unamused.

“What?”

“It’s just…” The man trailed off, and as he did, his gaze descended with it—straight down to your bare pantyline.

You cast a look there too—“What the fuck is it, Joel?!”

At that, two brown eyes flitted back up to you.

“I thought I asked for neon pink underwear, baby.”

Your breaths slowed. His gaze didn’t waver. Your heart came to a standstill in your chest, and you were amazed you had even half your present willpower then to speak.

“Wait, Joel, wh—”

“Shame you couldn’t get around to filmin’ today. Had me hard as a fuckin’ rock with all that milk and honey stuff.”

You nearly choked on your spit. Joel kept grinning.

“You’re—”

The guy. That fucking subscriber. The one who’d paid almost $500 in commissions in the last month alone.

You stared at Joel with eyes as wide as saucers, and were about to press on, when you heard the front door to the house shriek back on its hinges. Two sets of footsteps followed it, and their entry inside was loud.

Immediately, Joel rose to his feet. It seemed that grin wasn’t meant to stay long on his lips, because the next thing you knew, he was dropping a kiss somewhere soft and sweaty on your face and flipping your skirt back into place, holding his index up to his lips and stepping away. Your mouth twisted into a frown but stayed zipped out of sheer necessity. Seeing this, and likely unable to help himself, your gross, depraved, grinning old man leaned back in and planted his hands on either side of your hips on the washing machine. His nose nudged into your own.

“Between us—” he began, slowly.

“Get fucked,” you finished for him.

Joel nodded his assent, smirk faint. He cast a look over his shoulder, and, hearing what sounded like your mother’s footsteps drawing closer, lowered his voice.

Rubbing his thumb under your chin, making you tip your head back to meet his for one final look—then a kiss:

“You keep my secret, I keep yours, alright?”

—

Note: I’ve never done a real writing challenge before, but hopefully this fic will work for #hotdilfsummerchallenge !!! @hellishjoel this is such a fun ass idea & i hope you enjoy❣️

[swordgrace]

𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐒 ����𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒’ 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ jacaerys velaryon x female betrothed reader.

SYNOPSIS: jacaerys is reminded of his betrothed’s unwavering loyalty, and her affections. he is more than desperate to indulge.

note: jacaerys is nineteen, reader is eighteen.

format: one-shot — not requested.

word count: 5.8K.

warnings: SMUTTY SMUT (mdni), porn with little plot, risk of getting caught (dragonstone library), talk of insecurities, jacaerys is needy and sweet in this, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, handjob, lots of jace moans in this fic, brief dry humping, wet/rain jacaerys, table sex, making out, hair-pulling kink, unprotected sex, p in v sex, jace & reader have only been with one another, soft ending + aftercare

author’s note: I know that this isn’t What Honor Demands (please don’t be mad) but I did want to put a sprinkle of Jace content out there for you all! please be kind to one another, and thank you for reading & supporting my work! I love you all dearly! :))

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧. 𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐩𝐫��𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐭.

Dragonstone’s hallowed hallways and winding corridors were scattered with the occasional Kingsguard, watchful gaze hovering about as you went on your way. Sleep eluded you, reclusive as ever, leaving you with nothing but a mind full of ceaseless thoughts.

Groggy footfalls fell across ancient stone as you carried yourself toward the library within the labyrinth of Dragonstone, in-search of your betrothed.

Pensive and frustrated as of-late, Jacaerys spent much of his evenings surrounded by endless piles of literature to preoccupy his mind, or nights spent on the back of Vermax beneath the open air. You did not begrudge him of his desire for space, but you sorely missed his presence — your bed felt exceedingly empty.

A silent yawn wrought your lips as you slipped between massive slabs of dark wood, the groaning of the doors reverberating throughout the cavernous alcove. Thunder shook the skies around Dragonstone, and with it, a torrent of rainfall that smacked against the dark stone surrounding the island.

It was there in the library that you saw Jacaerys, tousled curls slicked by the deluge, framing his face in such a princely manner that it stole your breath away. Your humble beginnings as a mere young maiden sworn to wed the heir to the Iron Throne had blossomed, flourishing into a loving relationship between yourself and the Prince.

All men that you had glanced upon paled in comparison to Jacaerys Velaryon, whose features were framed in such a regal light. The illumination of the hearth set his flesh ablaze with a burnished gold, brows creased in concentration as he leaned over a thick, dilapidated volume.

Prying his gaze away from dust-laden parchment, his eyes found you, his betrothed, captivating in your silken slip and woolen robe. His throat bobbed as he swallowed the sudden onslaught of nerves in your presence, an involuntary yet consistent response.

You treated him to a kindly smile, warm enough to soothe his shivering bones, doublet soaked from riding in the deluge. Part of him was stung with guilt for abandoning you each night to sulk in sullen silence, but he did not want to burden you with his feelings of inferiority.

Amber hues seemed transfixed upon you, taking in your ethereal sight, silks the color of Lady’s Lace, robe embossed with cerulean stitching. Your tresses were somewhat disheveled from rest, disagreeing with the pillows.

Abandoning his mindless studies, he sat straighter, shoulders squared as if to fill in the fullness of his height. You approached, aura gentle and thoughtful, as if you could pinpoint the source of his misfortune. “Is everything alright?” Jacaerys inquired, perplexed as to why you were out of bed so dreadfully late.

“It is,” A dismal yawn slipped through your teeth as you came to stand near him, circling around the stone table, noticeably lower in stature. “I fear that the raging weather has left me unable to find sleep.” You were from a place where such furious storms were uncommon.

As if he were to blame for this happenstance, Jacaerys appeared apologetic, fingers clenching together. “You have my apologies, my Lady. I hadn’t expected this deluge to carry on this late into the night.” With a begrudging sigh, he peered toward the stained glass windows littered throughout the library.

An amiable burst of laughter tore forth from your lips, head canting to one side as you rounded the table, gaze picking apart the various texts and heaps of parchment that lined the stone. “You’ve nothing to apologize for, Jacaerys. It seems you’ve taken advantage of the opportunity.” You gestured to his state of dishevel.

“Like yourself, sleep evaded me. I needed to find some reprieve; a thunderstorm seemed better than nothing.” His reply seemed strained with underlying frustration, as if the chord would snap within him at any given moment.

Your velveteen digits graced his shoulder, caressing circles into the muscle there, even if it were concealed by the thick wool of his doublet. Even if he did not speak it into existence, your comforting embrace brought him a semblance of warmth that little else could provide.

Drowning himself in reading now seemed incomprehensible, paling in comparison to the mere grace of your presence. “You seem very hard at work,” You chimed, lowering yourself into the high-backed chair to his left. “The subject of your studies?”

Jacaerys didn’t smile, yet the tension in his shoulders began to unfurl, as if your very presence willed him to do so. Nimble digits flipped through a page or two, the parchment worn and thin from many decades of dormancy and little use. “Targaryen bloodlines.”

There was some discomforting twinge within his tone, as if the very notion brought about complex feelings. It was his idea to invite Dragonseeds into their home, yet he hadn’t fully realized what harm it had caused to his claim. This vexation had developed into a thorn in his side, tearing open a wound that he thought he’d healed from.

He had dealt with the uncomfortable truth of his bastard heritage all his life — and now, he was made to confront it, see it in its unpleasantness. Even the unconditional love of his mother could not shield him from the vile insults, from the crass tongues of those who saw him for what he was — the bastard.

Your countenance wavered, empathy sinking into your gaze, brows softening as you folded your hands within your lap. Jacaerys had never fully confided in you the plain truth of his bloodline, but you had an inkling of his heritage — that hadn’t changed how you felt.

Wordlessly, you reached for his hand, and it was Jacaerys that brought your interwoven fingers to rest atop your knee. He did not need to vocalize it — he knew that you knew. Part of him was grateful that you never questioned it, or him.

“Understand that I will fight with you — fight for you. No amount of blood or worthiness shall change that.” You assured, collected and tender as you traced your thumb across his knuckles. They were disarmingly soft, pad of your finger brushing over the veins in his hand.

Jacaerys exhaled, sinking backward into the bite of the wooden chair, dark brows furrowing together. “It seems as if you are the only one that will.” His confession was a heavy-handed one, filled with an immeasurable melancholy that you wished you could rip away.

It was all that consumed him as of-late — his claim to the Iron Throne, the lack of reassurance from his mother, who seemed to drown herself in prophecy and history instead of his defense. Jacaerys felt as if he were adrift, alone in the black sea, threatened to be pulled beneath the tempestuous tides.

The touch of your hand was what kept him anchored, still bound to this reality, to the inevitability of war. Soon, he would face the Greens in the battlefield — and what then, if the war was won? His mother would sit the Iron Throne, and who would succeed her?

His half-brothers had all the hallmarks of a true Targaryen — violet irises, pale tresses, dragon eggs placed in their cradles. Who would follow him? Plain-featured, dark hair, amber-flecked hues that bore a striking resemblance to the former Commander of the City Watch.

With a sullen heart, Jacaerys glanced at you, his beloved, your countenance bathed in the waning glow of the firelight. An ardent fondness reached your stare, keeping his hand rooted against your knee. He idly plucked at the ivory silk of your shift, chest blossoming with a trembling exhale.

“You must forgive me for my absence as of-late,” Jacaerys felt as if he owed you an apology. For nearly a fortnight, he had kept you at arm’s length, for fear that he would tarnish your bond with his intrepid mind and distressed musings. “I haven’t intended to distance myself from you.”

“Jacaerys,” With a gentle hum, you brought your other palm beneath his, cradling his hand between your own, his flesh icy compared to your magnetizing warmth. “I know what burden you bear, and I know how distraught you’ve been. I cannot fault you for wanting space.” Even then, he felt as if that wouldn’t suffice.

“My misfortune is not an excuse to leave my betrothed unattended,” Resolute, he looked at you with such arduous devotion, one reserved only for a paramour. “Whatever burden I bear, I wish to endure it by your side, or not at all.” Whatever he did to deserve you, he was quite uncertain.

Betrothals were not easy to navigate — when he first found himself speaking to you, he feared the crushing weight of disappointment or a loveless match, something only formed from duty. He was pleasantly surprised by your willingness to discover the soul that rested beneath titles and propriety.

Another smile crossed your features, and it stayed this time, his heart galloping within his chest at your resplendent beauty.

There was a kindness that touched your gaze, one that he was unaccustomed to. He was often looked upon by strangers with indifference or contempt, and those who questioned his bloodline only glowered with vitriol and a thinly-veiled bitterness.

“Allow me to share in your sorrows with you,” At your insistence, Jacaerys did not make any attempt to protest the subject of your words — he knew that you wouldn’t allow it. “Whatever obstacles come hurling your way, know that we can brave it together, not apart.”

A lighter sentiment touched his features, then. He was no longer marred by frustration and helplessness, but newfound confidence. It was subtle, but you could see it reach his eyes, amber hues that danced with such an intense affection for you.

“As long as you permit me to assist in whatever tribulations you might face yourself,” It wouldn’t have been justified to make you wade through his obstacles without fighting your own hand-in-hand. “You are my betrothed. I should hope you will always rely upon me.” With a reassuring squeeze, you smiled at him.

“Rely upon one another, and let out hearts beat as one,” A tenderness gripped the tone of your resonance, as silky as the very gown you wore. “Until our last days or the end of our story.” The finality of your words filled him with an indescribable sense of optimism and hope.

Jacaerys adjusted his hand, but only to lift yours to his lips, gracing your velvet knuckles with his plush lips, eyelashes fluttering in your direction. Youthful eagerness and crackling ardor took over — he stared at you with a renewed compassion.

The sight of you in your evening slip made his heart pound against his ribcage, as if it had dropped right into his stomach. Sometimes he behaved as if he hadn’t touched you before — as if this were the first time all over again. “You continue to bewitch me,” Jacaerys murmured, canting his head to one side. “I love you for it.”

A smattering of heat blossomed across your features, the familiar warmth crawling down the length of your spine, resulting in a subtle shiver. “I wasn’t aware,” You mused, a certain flair within your voice that subtly invoked more than just romanticism and sweet words. “Is that a constant feeling?”

Swallowing the lump of boyish nerves that gathered within his throat, Jacaerys regarded you with a rather incendiary warmth, his gaze that of an unrestrained lover. “It is rather persistent,” Excitement began to stir within the pit of his stomach. “Especially now.”

Seven Hells, you deserved to be put to the lash for the lascivious thoughts you had.

It was as if the atmosphere had shifted entirely, from one of two youths navigating their troubles, to the first inklings of shared desire and appreciation. You hadn’t expected the suddenness of this shift, but you welcomed it regardless, belly stirring with butterflies.

Digits tightened into your silken skirts, in a valiant attempt to relieve some of the anticipation you were experiencing. Your intimate relationship with Jacaerys had always been in the sanctity of your bedchambers — achingly sweet and exploratory, but now, it had some element of thrill to it, especially if you opted to act.

Admittedly, the sight of him disheveled and dampened from the raging deluge had roused a familiar fire within your loins, producing a hint of slick between your thighs. Acting on impulse here, in the library of all places, broke all bonds of propriety — but neither of you paid it any mind.

Leaning forward within his seat, Jacaerys wordlessly beseeched you for a kiss, soft mouth inviting as ever, lips flushed and rosy. Without hesitation, you moved to meet him halfway, lost within the throes of your gentle entanglement. He was always gentle — that would never change, no matter his demeanor.

With all the tenderness of a gallant lover, Jacaerys ensured that he savored your kiss, eyelids fluttering shut as he reached to smooth his palm across your thigh. He shivered at the sensation, able to feel the outline of your pliant curves through the obscenely-thin silks.

He smelled of damp petrichor and old books, laden with dust, as if he’d spent all of his days rotting away within the depths of rain-soaked parchment. Your conjoined hands wove together, and you guided him until both of his palms planted themselves atop your thighs, sinking into their plushness.

Once the fire was stoked, it was difficult to smother it.

“Here?” Your shrewd voice interrupted his string of salacious fantasies, none of them pious enough to confess to. Jacaerys felt embarrassed for what he thought, for what he intended to do — perhaps he would seek absolution on the morrow.

“It is an ungodly hour,” Jacaerys reassured you, but in your defense, part of him feared the potentiality of being caught. “I don’t suspect anyone would come searching.” His suggestion was open-ended, but he did offer you an out, soothingly caressing along your legs. “Would you prefer if we retired to our chambers?”

Some sharp pang of exhilaration stoked the fire within your belly — coupling here filled you with the unfamiliar thrill of trying something daring. Instead of answering verbally, you resorted to action, rising from your rickety chair to toss one leg over his hips, sinking yourself down into the firmness of his lap.

Jacaerys’s expression was one of complete and utter bewilderment, but of the best sort — he was ensnared, simply put. A scarlet flush rose to his features, painting his visage with a bright-red shade. His breath audibly hitched within his throat, palms settling against the swell of your hips.

“It is the hour of the bat,” You agreed, heart hammering erratically beneath your breast, until you could bear it no longer. “Let that be our shield.” Once the words had escaped you in a breathy exhale, Jacaerys captured your mouth in an explosive kiss.

His passion would never be mistaken for roughness — your betrothed was as kindly and spirited as they came; you collapsed beneath his tender hand. Those dexterous fingers of his kneaded into your waist, traveling along your curves, longing to feel your naked flesh without obstruction.

A low groan blossomed within his chest when your digits flew to the nape of his neck, threading themselves into his soaked tresses. He was painfully handsome like this, damp from the rain, gaze full of ardor and silently pleading for your touch, hands wandering anywhere and everywhere.

Gathering your skirts as politely as he could, Jacaerys inched the fabric up along your legs, shivering in delight at the sight of your exposed skin. One would think he’d never glimpsed a woman before, the way he reacted whenever he saw you.

The soft pads of his fingertips glided along your bare thigh, allowing the silk of your shift to gather around your hips. His growing erection helplessly strained at the front of his breeches, and the desperate ache was only furthered when you ground yourself into him.

A gasp was shared between you both, skin becoming unbearably warm as you rocked your hips into him, finding your unholy friction. It only became increasingly heated, knowing that you wore nothing beneath your nightgown, and Jacaerys let out a wanton groan when you moved against him.

“Jacaerys,” Breathless and drunk upon desire, you felt his mouth seek yours again, coaxing you in for another kiss. There was desperation laced within his actions, finding his solace in the endless map of your lips, committing every detail to memory. “Touch me.”

Bringing his palm to your chest, Jacaerys needed no instruction when it came to caressing your breast, thumb rolling over your peaking nipple through thin silk. You were the first girl he’d laid with — if the Gods were kind, you would be the last.

Unexpectedly, your satiny lips found the column of his throat, pressing a string of appreciative kisses there as he kneaded your chest. A sweet, keening groan escaped him, abashed at your embrace. Between the ministrations of your fingers in his tresses and mouth on his neck, he feared oblivion.

A sharp clap of thunder shook the skies, yet it did not perturb either of you, ceaselessly carrying on in your needy coupling. One of your palms drifted to his chest, gripping at the embroidered velvet, pushing his collar aside to kiss his neck.

His digits tightened at the material bunched around your hips, eyes fluttering shut in a state of bliss, toying with your nipple as it pebbled beneath his touch. Jacaerys’s mouth watered involuntarily at the thought of tasting you, which he hoped would come soon, if you permitted him to do so.

You enjoyed his softness, his throat quivering beneath your lips, offering his subservience to you freely. A breathy grunt of your name cascaded from his mouth, prompting you to shiver within his embrace. Gods, that sound — it would be emblazoned in your mind for days to come.

With a gentle shrug of your shoulders, you let the woolen robe glide from your body, pooling on the cool stone below. Another downward brush of your hips sent the both of you reeling, clothed bulge grinding against your needy core, prompting you to shudder.

Jacaerys turned, bringing his soft lips back to yours, seizing your mouth in a blazing kiss. He continued to palm at your breast, cupping the pliant mound within his hand, evoking another whimper from you. Neediness took root, firmly planting itself within his stomach.

“Might I taste you?” He breathed against your lips, giving you pause as you regarded him with a simmering adoration. Jacaerys had done it once before, and he often thought of it in private moments, or sometimes recklessly at supper or during small council meetings.

Sheepishly, your head bobbed up and down in a lackadaisical nod, unable to mask your excitement at such a proposal. Wordlessly, he coaxed you up from his lap, nearly groaning at the loss of friction, though he suspected there would be ample opportunities for more later that night.

Using the table as a brace, you watched as your betrothed knelt before you, like a sinner coming to confess within the boughs of a sept; his confession whispered between your legs. Your woolen robe served as a suitable cushion beneath his knees, and he happened to unclasp his own cloak.

Peering at you through thick eyelashes, Jacaerys gingerly guided the silken slip up along your legs, watching with rapturous interest as you let it gather at your hips. He kissed his way up the length of your leg, letting them drape on either side of his shoulders.

Your hand came to rest against his crown of dampened curls, a shudder rolling down his spine at the sensation of your fingers gripping his tresses. Inhaling a gust of your saccharine scent, Jacaerys kissed his way to the gathering slick between your thighs, palms smoothing themselves against your legs.

A heat so feverish that it nearly destroyed you, his tongue raked hot embers over your cunt, tracing along the length of your slit before dipping between your folds. A gasp tore past your mouth; ecstasy beyond comprehension, gnawing away at your bones.

Jacaerys dutifully lapped at your core, nose brushing against your mound, tongue dancing from the pearl of your cunt to your entrance, his movements repetitive. A sigh of delight floated into the air, your pleasure made known as you lightly tugged on his tresses.

Soft, pleading moans reverberated throughout the library, and you were lost within the labyrinth of his affections. Your hips involuntarily jerked and jolted forward, rocking down into his mouth, evoking a throaty groan from your betrothed.

His name floated from your mouth like a prayer, reverent and gasping, as if it were the only word you knew. Your mind was foggy with the haze of desire, one that you found yourself caught within. A string of crass sounds emanated from below; soft, needy lips hungrily kissing along your cunt.

Steeped within your slit, the taste of you ambrosial, Jacaerys continued his ministrations, tongue flicking along your core, making a sluggish ascent toward your clit. Soft palms caressed your thighs, thumbs drawing patterns into your satiny flesh.

Even the finest of stouts could not contest your sweetness, arousal thick upon his tongue, like the nectar of an unfurling flower. Jacaerys’s mouth lapped along your cunt, until he found the clutch of nerves at the hood of your slit.

His eagerness was palpable through each flick of his tongue, lost within the oasis between your legs. A myriad of soft whimpers and whines escaped you, hand gingerly tugging on Jace’s hair as he showered your cunt in an alternation of steady licks to lingering ones.

Deliberately, he stoked the fire churning within your belly, teasing your pearl with feather-light kisses and circles of his tongue. A strained moan escaped you, prompting you to fist at his tresses, burying your digits within rain-slicked curls, involuntarily bringing him closer into the warm apex of your thighs.

Bathed in the sienna embers that crackled from the hearth, Jace appeared more handsome than ever, completely and utterly captivating. If it were up to him, he would’ve been content to stay here forever, pleasure you over and over again until you collapsed.

The short, dizzying gasp that tore past your mouth spurred him on, as he pressed another string of kisses against your slit. The continued sensation of your digits carding through his curls made him sigh with elation.

Again, he traveled to your pearl again, gently suckling upon the bundle of fiery nerves. Your poor thighs rattled on either side of his head, twitching with throes of ecstasy as he toyed with your clit.

“Jace,” Seven Hells, you sounded so divine. Through parted lips and wanton moans, you sighed his name, wanting him to continue exactly as he was. He could feel the pleading resonance within your sweet tone, bringing him to heel. “Gods, don’t stop!”

Jacaerys felt another groan stir within his chest, one that seemed caught within the bottom of his throat. He allowed himself a brief respite to catch his breath, peering at you from between your legs. “There?” He’d asked, watching your head ecstatically bob up and down.

A short, sporadic huff left you, followed by a string of incoherent pleas. “Y—Yes!” Your whine was somewhat shy, the vibrato of it quieting down, as if you suddenly feared becoming caught in the act. “Jacaerys, please!” You begged, and who was he to deny you?

Pursing his lips around your pearl, he gingerly suckled on the sensitive bud, drawing forth an unholy myriad of moans and whines from your mouth. Such sounds left their brand upon him, a shiver cascading down his spine as he pleasured you.

The incessant throbbing of his cock within his breeches made his yearning grow tenfold, feeling it strain against the woolen cloth. He continued to suck at your clit with a palpable gentleness, noticing the way in which your body quivered and writhed from pleasure.

Jacaerys alternated between the greedy suckling of your pearl and broad laps of his tongue, lulled into submission by the crescendo of your moans. You brazenly tugged at his damp curls, other hand snug against the wet fabric of his doublet.

Bliss and pleasure wracked themselves across your body, bringing with it a fire so great that it demanded to be extinguished. Jacaerys’s mouth was wonderful in every way imaginable, his pouty lips dancing wherever they pleased across your aching cunt.

Your hand skirted backwards, accidentally knocking over a stack of books, rolls of parchment fluttering to the stone floor below. With a needy desire to chase after your release, you rocked your hips forward, evoking a strangled groan from your betrothed.

He could feel the arousal mounting within his own body, and the constant quivering of your legs as he brought you closer to your release. Jacaerys continued to caress along your legs, from thigh to calf, mouth happily buried within the warm apex between your legs.

That sensation of your digits brushing across his scalp made him shiver, tongue delicately flicking from your entrance to swollen pearl before he began to suck on it again. Such noises would make a septa flush from their crassness, causing his belly to swirl with fire.

“Jace — Oh! Jace, Jace!” Abandoning the use of his true name, you sang his moniker to the high Heavens, feeling your release come swiftly, an incendiary wave of heat that threatened to consume you completely. You moaned, hips stuttering as you let bliss take over you.

Jacaerys caught the onslaught of your nectar, consuming every drop that you gave him with a neediness, cock twitching within his trousers. He cleaned you up with soft, short laps of his tongue, feeling you everywhere — burned into his mind, permeating his lips.

With a shaky exhale, you felt his head leave your legs, and your grip fell away, watching as he stood to find his place against you. “Such sweet torment,” Jacaerys murmured, nudging his forehead against yours. “You bring me to ruin.” He sighed, feeling your fingers move to the front of his doublet.

“I should be the one saying that,” Your laughter was brief and fleeting, a smitten smile tugging at either corner of your mouth. “Gods, you are so wonderful — so handsome, so perfect.” The sound of your resplendent praise made Jacaerys flush, wide-eyed and wanton.

His newfound closeness, standing in between your legs, allowed for your palms to cup his face, thumbs stroking along his cheekbones. “I need you,” Jacaerys confessed, his timbre husky, throaty with desire as he nearly pleaded with you. “If you’ll let me — please.”

Wordlessly, your hands flew to the front of his breeches, brushing against his clothed erection. Jacaerys groaned, countenance one of desperation as you untied the laces, freeing his cock from its confines.

You stroked along his length, causing him to shiver, cock warm and aching within your delicate grasp. Jace buried his face near your shoulder, brows furrowing together as you treated him to the soft embrace of your hand.

Dragging your palm along his cock, his hips involuntarily rocked forward, galloping after the friction. You felt his mouth plant strings of hasty kisses all along your shoulder, toward the dip of your neck, and then against your throat.

Gently guiding yourself backwards, various objects clattered against the stone table, a book being pushed off of the edge as Jacaerys moved forward. The tip of his flushed cock glided through your slick folds, prompting the both of you to sigh together.

“May I?” Jacaerys huffed, wide-eyed and completely and utterly flustered, so trapped within his own desire that it nearly rendered him speechless. With a quick bob of your head, he rocked forward, groaning in delight as your tight cunt throbbed around his aching member.

Using one palm to brace yourself against the table, your other arm flew to drape around his neck, mouths breathlessly clamoring together, seeking one another. You kissed him, doing little to mask your rapturous hunger as he sank forward, cock nearly kissing your womb.

A tempestuous clap of thunder made you jump, goosebumps cascading down your spine as an onslaught of rain ripped against the stone surrounding the library. The sight of his disheveled tresses and unbuttoned tunic made you unbearably hot, lips torn apart as soft, pleading whines escaped you.

One arm caged itself around you, his palm stroking at the curve near your ribcage, the other lifting your leg to hitch it around his hips. Jacaerys had not an ounce of desire to become rough with you — invigorated, perhaps, but he fully intended on savoring you.

His initial thrusts were somewhat sporadic and awkward, the follies of inexperienced youth, but he soon found his pace, cock gently gliding in and out of your cunt. Wanton sighs escaped his plump lips, brows creased in concentration as his head neared yours.

A soft groan resonated beside your ear as Jace adopted a sluggish rhythm, not wanting to intensify things too quickly. Your eyes fluttered shut, body content to bend to his thrusts, grow accustomed to his pace. He reciprocated your kiss, black curls falling in front of his temples.

There was something endearing about his slight clumsiness, the way in which his hand occasionally fumbled around your body. With time, he suspected that he would know you quite well — physique included. His digits kneaded into your leg, tracing from knee to haunch, holding you close.

The intermingled sounds of your desperate lovemaking soon floated into the air, a myriad of moans and sharp exhales; sighs of a deeply devoted passion. Your fingers raked across the nape of his neck, finding their purchase within his tousled curls.

He groaned your name, the sound only a lover could make, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. Gods, he wouldn’t last long like this. Jacaerys felt your knee squeeze his waist, your other leg draped off of the table, legs spread apart for him.

The silk of your nightgown pushed toward your stomach, loins exposed to the brush of cooler air. “Jace,” You moaned, pressing a string of quick, rushed kisses all along his jaw, evoking another groan from between his lips. Your cunt clenched around his cock, drowning in the pleasure. “Jace!”

His pace was leisurely, yet twinged with desperation, as if he were burning with a longing to be close to you. His cock pulsed inside of you, throat blossoming with another throaty groan. Before you could whimper, he involuntarily smothered it with a kiss.

Each rock of his hips was intended to be disarmingly gentle, ensuring that every inch of his length bottomed out inside of you. Your stomach swirled with molten heat, coagulating as slick arousal as you felt it collect between your legs.

Every worry that had permeated his careworn mind was pushed to the recesses, something to be abandoned in the wake of your presence. His need for you, his love — it outweighed everything else. Whenever you kissed him, he could feel your ardor seep into his bones, consuming him to his very core.

Jacaerys’s breath became labored, another groan threatening to burst from his chest as his cock throbbed with an incessant pleasure. His muscles tightened, feeling your other leg move up to wrap around his hips altogether, drawing him into the warmth of your embrace.

Your arm lowered, and your back finally flattered entirely against the stone table, amidst parchment and tomes, dust-laden volumes that framed your head. The lick of firelight bathed you in an ethereal glow, stealing away Jace’s resolve.

He rocked into you, thrusts becoming a touch quicker in-spite of his encroaching release. Jacaerys covered you with his body, dark curls framing his countenance; a curtain of concentration. He moved to grab your hands, fingers twining together as he kissed you.

Gods, you were perfect — it was all he could think about, your grace and poise, your captivating beauty as he thrust his cock in and out of you, visage rosy and flushed. With another rock of his hips, length buried deep within you like a sword within a sheath, he shuddered.

His release felt overwhelming, a hot tidal wave that caused the tension in his stomach to unfurl completely. Hot ropes of his spend found its place within your womb, causing you to groan. Jacaerys rocked forward, gentle as could be, filling you with his seed.

With his composure in dire need of repair, he took a moment to catch his breath, lips curling into a smile. He could not mask his happiness in the wake of your tryst, moving off of you with a brief exhale.

“Are you alright?” Jacaerys’s warm timbre blanketed you immediately, and he went about correcting his trousers before attending to you. He adjusted your slip, assisting you in tugging it back into place until you seemed somewhat less disheveled.

“Of course,” Your own smile was demure, sheepish as you smoothed your palms across your silken sleeves. “And you?” With a gentle hum, you stepped forward to fasten the many silvery clasps of his doublet, noticing the flush of scarlet that had settled into his cheeks.

“Perfect,” Through thick eyelashes, Jacaerys gazed down at you with such adoration that you could drown in it. He held your waist, thumb drawing circles into your ribcage. “I wanted to thank you for ensuring my wellbeing. It is I that should be attending to you.”

With a brief shake of your head, you brought your palms to his chest, brows knitting together. “We are betrothed, Jacaerys. We can attend to one another,” You insisted, leaning up upon your toes to plant a kiss against his jaw. “We will do plenty of that once we are wed.”

Jacaerys’s countenance softened, and his muscles still burned from the exhilaration of your coupling. He looked toward the state of the table — parchment on the floor, scrolls scattered everywhere. “I love you.” He said through a thin smile, gracing the crown of your head with a kiss.

“I love you,” You assured, following the line of his gaze towards the disarrayed table. “Though, we should clean all of this up. What will Maester Gerardys say if he finds the library in this state?” You mused, a twinkling of mirth settling within your gaze.

“We could say that we were hard at work,” Jacaerys crooned, playful as could be as he retrieved your robe, bringing it over your shoulders before he scooped you up within his arms. “Studying.”

“Oh,” A gasp of surprise left you, but joy and happiness were soon to follow as he held you, forehead pressing against yours. “Are you saying that we should study more often?” You mumbled, and that caused Jacaerys to blush again, features unbelievably heated.

“At your earliest convenience.”

[idkyetxoxo]

Aemond Targaryen - Shadow

Summary - In the bustling streets of King's Landing, a day of market escapades and a sweet surprise reveal the depth of Aemond's devotion to his wife. Their story defies the whispers and gossip of the realm, proving that true affection flourishes even in the heart of the coldest dragon.

Pairing - Aemond Targaryen x reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2267

Masterlist for Aemond • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"Aemond, must you always look so miserable?" I teased as we strolled through the bustling markets and lively stalls of King's Landing, my arm looped through his.

He sighed, pulling me closer to his side. "I simply do not understand why we must do this ourselves. If you require anything, you know I can have it brought to you."

"But I enjoy going out myself," I insisted, stopping in front of an elderly woman's stall laden with vibrant dress fabrics and delicate laces.

Aemond frowned, his gaze dropping to my small, but growing bump. "I wish you wouldn't indulge in such whims, especially in your condition," he murmured, resting his hand protectively over our unborn child.

"If you do not start acting like you love me, I swear it, I will start weeping this instant," I threatened with a playful glint in my eye, as I sifted through a roll of golden fabric.

He arched an eyebrow, his tone softening. "I don't need to act like I love you if I already do," he countered, his voice gentle yet firm.

I handed the fabric to the vendor, her gnarled hands accepting it with a nod, and I couldn't help but smile at his words, a warmth spreading through me like the sun breaking through a cloudy sky.

"Well then," I replied, my tone brightening, "I suppose we're in perfect agreement."

"I suppose it's the chaos of the market that unsettles me," Aemond admitted, "I'd rather be certain of your safety."��

I pouted, feeling a pang of guilt at his concern. Leaning in, I pressed a quick, reassuring kiss to his cheek, hoping to lighten his worry.

The vendor soon returned, carefully folding the fabric and handing it back to me. "How much?" I asked, reaching into the small coin pouch at my side.

"For you, Princess, it is free," she said with a sweet, almost maternal smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

I shook my head, a soft laugh escaping my lips. "Nonsense," I replied, pulling out five golden coins and placing them in her hand.

The woman's eyes widened, her expression a mixture of shock and overwhelming gratitude."Oh, thank you, Princess," she said, her voice thick with emotions. "May the gods bless you and the babe."

Aemond and I began walking again, the vibrant energy of the market humming around us. He  took the fabric from my hands and passed it to Ser Arryk, who followed us with a vigilant but unobtrusive presence.

"Princess, you've paid far too much for this," Ser Arryk pointed out, his tone respectful but puzzled.

I shrugged lightly, glancing up at Aemond as he interlaced his fingers with mine. "If we can afford it, why not?" I replied, feeling a sense of contentment in the small act of kindness.

Aemond squeezed my hand gently, his gaze softening further as he looked down at me. "And now, where to?" he asked, his voice carrying a rare note of playfulness.

I paused for a moment, considering the options laid out before us in the lively market. "Perhaps the baker's," I suggested a playful glint in my eye.

Aemond chuckled, his grip on my hand tightening affectionately. "Lead the way, my love. Wherever you wish to go, I shall follow," he promised, his voice laced with warmth.

We made our way through the bustling streets to the baker's stall, the air heavy with the intoxicating aroma of freshly baked bread and sweet pastries. 

The display was a feast for the senses, with golden loaves, delicate pastries, and intricately decorated cakes all vying for attention. I couldn't resist the temptation and began picking out various treats, my eyes gleaming with delight as I selected a mix of sweet and savoury goods.

As the baker carefully wrapped my selections, I stepped to the side, my attention caught by a small cluster of cats lounging lazily in the warm sun by the side of the stall. 

Without a second thought, I dropped to the ground, the soft fabric of my dress pooling around me as I reached out to pet them. The cats responded instantly, purring contentedly as they nuzzled into my touch. 

I laughed softly, completely lost in the simple joy of the moment as I caressed their soft fur, marvelling at how they responded to my affection.

"Princess, your dress!" my handmaiden gasped, her voice filled with concern as she rushed to my side, her eyes wide with worry. "You'll ruin it!"

I looked up at her with a lighthearted smile, still stroking the contented cats. "It's alright," I reassured her gently, "I have others."

My handmaiden hesitated, clearly torn between her duty to maintain my dignity and her understanding of my spontaneous nature. Finally, she sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips as she watched me continue to pet the cats.

Aemond stood a few paces away, his tall figure casting a shadow over us, but his expression was anything but dark. He watched me with a gaze so full of love and adoration that it seemed to soften his sharp features, a rare vulnerability shining in his eye. 

His usual stern demeanour was nowhere to be seen, instead, he looked utterly captivated, as if seeing me in this unguarded moment deepened his affection for me even further.

Finally, I tore myself away from the cats, rising from the ground with Aemond's hand extended to help me up. I dusted off my dress, smiling up at him as I did so. 

"Do you like cats?" Aemond asked, his voice curious, yet tinged with a softness that was rarely heard.

I looked at him incredulously, surprised that he didn't already know. "I love them," I confessed, a wistful smile playing on my lips. 

"When I was younger, I begged my mother to let me keep one, but she never allowed it. She was afraid they would distract me from my duties, that I'd spend more time with them than attending to my responsibilities."

Aemond's expression softened further, a thoughtful look crossing his face as we began our walk back to the Red Keep. 

"Mhm, I see," he replied, his tone nonchalant, but I could sense the wheels turning in his mind as the familiar walls of the Keep came into view.

As we reached the entrance, I turned to him, smiling softly. "I'm going to change, my love. I'll see you later," I said, leaning up to place a gentle kiss on his lips before stepping away with a little wave.

He watched me go, his gaze lingering as my handmaiden and I started chatting animatedly about the gown that would be made from the gold fabric we had just purchased. 

We made our way through the corridors, our laughter echoing faintly as we envisioned the intricate designs and fine details that would soon bring the fabric to life.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

Later that evening, I sat in our chambers, the room dimly lit by the warm glow of candles. My handmaiden was gently braiding my hair, her fingers deftly working as we prepared for bed. The tranquillity of the moment was soothing, the quiet hum of the Keep's night settling around us.

The door to our chambers opened softly, and I heard it close just as quietly. "Aemond?" I called out, not needing to turn around to know it was him.

"Yes, darling," he replied, his voice filled with a tender affection that made my heart flutter. 

My handmaiden finished the braid, tying it off with a delicate ribbon before giving me a small nod and excusing herself for the night.

Aemond strolled up behind me, his presence warm and comforting. He leaned down to place a quick, affectionate kiss in my hair, the familiar scent of him enveloping me as I turned to meet his gaze. 

His eye was alight with amusement, a rare smile playing on his lips.

"I have something for you," he said, his hands hidden behind his back, the hint of a playful grin on his face.

My curiosity piqued, I raised an eyebrow. "What is it?" I asked, but before he could answer, I heard a faint, delicate whimper. My eyes widened in surprise as he slowly revealed what he had been hiding.

In his hands was a small, grey, fluffy kitten, its big eyes blinking up at me innocently. 

"She's yours to keep," Aemond said, his voice softening even more as he watched my reaction.

I gasped in delight, immediately reaching out to take the little bundle of fluff from him. The kitten was light as a feather in my hands, her soft fur brushing against my fingers as I brought her up to my face, inhaling the sweet, milky scent that only a kitten possesses.

"She's adorable," I murmured, my heart swelling with affection as I gently rested the tiny creature on my bump. The kitten settled in comfortably, her small, contented purrs vibrating against me as I stroked her with tender fingers.

Aemond watched me with an expression of pure love, his eye reflecting the warmth and joy of the moment. 

"I knew you would love her," he said quietly, his voice filled with satisfaction as he saw how happy the kitten made me.

I looked up at him, my eyes shining with gratitude and love. "Thank you, Aemond. She's perfect," I whispered, leaning in to kiss him softly.

The kitten's purring grew louder as she nestled against me, already content in her new home. 

Aemond sat beside me, his arm wrapping around my shoulders as we both watched the kitten explore her new surroundings, her tiny paws padding across the bed.

"What will you name her?" he asked, his voice gentle as he turned his gaze from the kitten to me. I paused, a faint smile playing on my lips as I considered his question.

After a moment of thought, I turned to him, the smile widening as I made my decision.

"Vhagar," I declared, watching as Aemond's face fell. He glanced from the kitten back to me, his expression caught between disbelief and amusement.

"What? Both our pets can share the same name," I teased, nudging him playfully with my elbow.

Aemond shook his head, his lips twitching as he struggled to maintain a serious expression. 

"Vhagar is not a pet, she is a dragon, a fearsome one at that," he countered, his tone laced with a mixture of pride and incredulity. "And that little creature right there is nowhere near as terrifying as her," he added, pointing at the kitten.

As if on cue, the kitten leapt up, her tiny claws latching onto his finger with surprising determination. Aemond blinked, momentarily taken aback, and I couldn't help but laugh at the sight.

"Hey, don't talk about her like that," I said, gently prying the kitten from his finger and placing her back on my bump, where she settled down with a contented meow. 

I stroked her soft fur, feeling her tiny heartbeat against me, a protective instinct rising within me.

Aemond raised an eyebrow, a smile finally breaking through his composed facade. 

"What about Shadow?" he suggested, his voice softening as he watched me cradle the kitten.

I considered the name for a moment, glancing down at the little ball of fluff that was now dozing peacefully on my lap. 

"Shadow," I repeated, testing the name on my tongue. It felt right, a fitting name for a creature who was small and quiet, yet already held a special place in my heart.

"I like it," I decided, looking back up at Aemond with a smile. "Shadow it is."

Aemond's eye softened, the corners of his mouth lifting in a tender smile as he leaned in to kiss my forehead. "Shadow it is," he echoed, his voice a low murmur, filled with affection.

Aemond's kisses trailed down my neck, each one sending a shiver of warmth through me as he gently pushed my body back onto the bed. His intentions were clear, the familiar hunger in his touch unmistakable. But just as his lips grazed my collarbone, I placed a hand on his chest, gently pushing him back.

"Not in front of Shadow," I whispered, nodding toward the tiny kitten, her soft purring barely audible.

Aemond paused, his lips hovering just inches from my skin, his expression shifting from passionate to utterly bewildered. He pulled back slightly, his eye widening in disbelief as he looked from me to the kitten and back again. 

The look on his face was a perfect mix of surprise and incredulity as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.

I bit my lip, trying to suppress a giggle at his reaction. The absurdity of the situation was almost too much to bear, but I couldn't help but find it endearing. 

Aemond let out a dramatic huff, clearly resigned to the whims of our tiny observer. He gently lifted the kitten placing her carefully on the floor beside us.

He then turned his attention back to me, he reached out, his hands deftly guiding me as he manoeuvred our positions. With a swift, yet gentle motion, he pulled me on top of him, arranging us comfortably as he settled back onto the bed.

"There," he said with a note of triumph in his voice, his eye glinting with a mix of amusement and affection. "Now Shadow isn't watching."

After a thoughtful pause, I nodded in agreement, a smile spreading across my face. "You're right," I replied, my tone light and teasing.

With that, I leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Aemond's lips. The kiss was tender and filled with affection, a sweet affirmation of our connection. 

As our lips met, I felt the warmth of his love enveloping me, his arms encircling me as if to hold me in that perfect moment forever.

A/n -Welcome back Margaery Tyrell x

[rafecameronssl4t]

Pretty in Pink || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

gif by @rafescurtainbangz

Summary: Just you amused by Rafe and Ward’s phone call.

Warnings: suggestive, reader n rafe smoking, swearing,

Word count: 742

A/n: these canon scenes are so fun to write 😭 lmk if you want more of these <333

MASTERLIST

Divider by @yoonitos

"That's rough. I mean, yeah, it could've been anyone, right?" Rafe furrowed his eyebrows, trying to appear nonchalant. "Not really, Rafe. It could be one of a very few people," Ward retorted sharply, his frustration palpable even over the phone.

Rafe shrugged, his indifference almost theatrical. "Well, I mean, you know, we were just giving it away anyway. So, who cares?" Ward let out a loud exhale, running a hand down his face. The annoyance in his voice was unmistakable, and Rafe took a perverse satisfaction in knowing he was getting under his father's skin. "Okay, Rafe, okay."

Just then, you stepped outside, your pretty pink tennis set hugging your figure perfectly. A cigarette was cradled between your index and middle fingers, and you brought it to your lips, inhaling deeply. Your eyes locked onto Rafe as you exhaled a plume of smoke, your gaze unwavering.

Rafe grinned, his eyes roaming appreciatively over your body as you sauntered towards the couch. "That's done for now. I need you to finish the list I gave you," Ward continued, his voice a mix of frustration and command.

Rafe pulled the phone away from his ear briefly. "It's Ward," he informed you, sitting down on the couch, as if it wasn’t already obvious from the tone of the conversation. You hummed in acknowledgment, kicking your feet up on his lap. Rafe put the phone on speaker, leaning back as Ward’s voice filled the room.

Rafe glanced at you, a smirk playing on his lips, clearly enjoying the chaos he was stirring. "I want you to sign for the East River property. When that's completed, shut down the offices—" Ward's commanding tone reverberated through the speaker, each word laced with finality.

Rafe rolled his eyes dramatically, a gesture that made you stifle a giggle. "Yeah, no, I—actually, I wanted to talk to you about that. I'm thinking maybe we should keep the offices."

A heavy silence fell, the kind that made every second feel like an eternity. Rafe's eyes stayed on you, watching as you took delicate puffs from your cigarette, the smoke curling elegantly in the air.

"What?" Ward's voice finally cut through the quiet, laden with confusion and annoyance. "Yeah, I'm thinking maybe I should stay down here for a while, really grow the company. I think it'd be good for us, right?" Rafe's tone was casual, almost nonchalant, but you could sense the underlying cunning.

On the other end, you heard Ward groan, a sound full of exasperation, followed by a long, weary exhale. The tension was almost tangible, crackling through the phone. "He's not too happy about it, huh?" you observed, a wry smile playing on your lips. You extended the cigarette toward Rafe, offering it to him. He leaned in, taking a slow, deliberate drag, the tip glowing brightly as he inhaled.

He hummed in response, a low, satisfied sound that matched the glint of amusement in his eyes. As Rafe exhaled a plume of smoke, his gaze never left yours. You could see the thrill in his eyes, the satisfaction he derived from ruffling his father's feathers. "Who is that?" Ward's voice pierced the air, sharp and demanding, as you and Rafe exchanged a glance.

"Hey, Ward!" you greeted him with a saccharine sweetness, your tone a deliberate contrast to the tension that hung in the room. "Rafe, this is supposed to be a private conversation—" "For fuck's sake, Dad, she knows everything already," Rafe interjected, his eyes rolling in exasperation, a gesture that elicited a soft chuckle from you.

Ward's frustration was palpable, his voice tinged with impatience. "Listen to me, Rafe—" Rafe didn't hesitate to cut him off, his tone firm and commanding. "No. No, no, you listen, okay?" His hands moved instinctively to rest on your thighs, his touch both grounding and possessive. You felt a surge of warmth at his touch, a silent reassurance amidst the tension.

"You listening?" Rafe leaned in, his gaze unwavering as he reached to place the phone on the coffee table, his actions deliberate and decisive. "You remember when you told me to make myself useful? Well, that's exactly what I'm doing. I'm making myself useful, alright?" Rafe's gaze on his phone was intense, his voice commanding, as he asserted his authority.

As Rafe continued speaking, outlining his intentions with a firmness that brooked no argument, you decided to get up and fetch the ashtray from the other side of the coffee table. "I can do shit, you know? Explore options, so for the-" As you walked past him, focused on your task, you suddenly felt the sharp sting of Rafe's hand slapping your ass, causing you to yelp in surprise.

"-for the benefit of all, I think I'm gonna hang out for a while, okay?" Rafe's voice carried on, his words interrupted only momentarily by your startled reaction. The mixture of surprise and amusement danced in your eyes as you turned to face him, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Rafe, listen to me. You are there for one reason and one reason only. You are to act as my proxy to shut down the companies, okay?" Ward's voice had escalated in volume, clearly expressing his displeasure with Rafe's defiance.

"That is our one play. It's—it's our only play. And if you cannot do it—" Ward's words were abruptly cut off by Rafe's interjection, his irritation and anger palpable as he stood up, his movements sharp and agitated. "If I can't do it?" Rafe's voice echoed with incredulity, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "Then what? Then what?" he exclaimed, his tone laced with both sarcasm and defiance.

"You gonna hop on a plane? Come down here, huh?" Rafe paced back and forth on the porch as you watched from the couch, amusement dancing in your eyes. "I mean, it'll be like a goddamn Elvis sighting, Ward fucking Cameron, everyone!" Rafe's voice boomed with exaggerated theatricality, his arms thrown wide in mock grandeur, eliciting a snicker from you.

"Oh my god, he lives! He's back from the dead!" Rafe continued, his words punctuated by his animated gestures as you watched with amusement, thoroughly entertained by your boyfriend's antics. With a scoff, Rafe turned towards you, his expression resolute. "I got the family ring now, Pops. Yeah, I'm wearing it, and it's my time to step up, okay? You're dead." And with that, he abruptly hung up the phone, tossing it onto the couch beside you.

You opened your arms, inviting him in for a hug, and without hesitation, he collapsed onto you, inhaling your signature perfume. Your nails traced soothing patterns on his back as he nestled against you, his frustration still palpable as he muttered against your skin, "God, he's fucking annoying," eliciting a chuckle from you.

Checking your watch, you sighed. "Babe, I gotta go, the girls will be waiting for me," you informed him, attempting to disentangle yourself from his embrace, but he stubbornly refused to budge.

"Where'd you get this set from? This new?" Rafe's fingers toyed with the waistband of your skirt, the fabric teasingly brushing against your skin. "Mhm, you like it?" you teased, a smirk playing on your lips.

"Do I like it? Fuck, of course I like it, baby. You're so pretty in pink," Rafe's gaze lingered appreciatively on your body before meeting your eyes once more. "Tell the girls you'll be a bit late," he murmured, his hands trailing up your skirt teasingly, causing you to playfully throw your head back in feigned annoyance. "Fine," you acquiesced, though the mischievous glint in your eyes betrayed your true feelings.

[sugugasm]

୨୧ ˗ˏˋ OTAKU HOT GIRL ! | suguru & satoru x yn “i like a tall woman with a nice, big ass.” ꒰ 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠 ! ꒱ this is me being delusional srry, but thinkin ab gojo & geto fucking tall, curvy! reader after she begs them to watch her favorite anime with her . . like ugh rn. also forgive me if this is pure degeneracy. i was bein a horn dog n’ there’s no plot rlly :/ inspired by the one n only stallion ofc, we luv u mama

꒰ 𝑛𝑠𝑓𝑤 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡 ꒱ : blk fem reader, uses she/her pronouns, usage of pet names like cocksleeve, love, baby, babe, sweetheart, etc. positions included such as doggystyle, double pen, themes such as choking, bratty reader, dom! satoru & suguru, rough sex ??, oral fem recieve, oral male receive, dirty talk, mentions of a size kink, lots n lots of cum, mmm yum so gross — 5.3𝑲 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕

“hurry up, boys! m’ gonna’ be mad if you miss the intro. it ruins the whole experience of watching for the first time!”

“we’re comin’, woman. calm down.”

both satoru and suguru scurry around in your shared kitchen, gathering the rest of whatever horrid snack combinations they could find before jogging lightly to make their way over to you on the couch. with your feet positioned criss-crossed n’ a warm bowl of popcorn sizzling down in your lap, the only thing really missing were the two imbeciles of men you mistakenly decided to roommate with around a year or two ago.

you roll your eyes fondly as satoru and suguru finally plop down on either side of you, their arms laden with an assortment of junk food. satoru’s got a family-sized bag of cool ranch doritos tucked under one arm and a jar of peanut butter in the other hand, while suguru’s juggling a pack of oreos, a can of whipped cream, and what looks suspiciously like . . ew, a jar of pickles. what?

“are y’all for real right now?” you laugh, eyeing their haul with a mix of amusement and disgust. “ we’re about to watch anime, not enter a county fair eating contest.”

“hey, don't knock it til’ you’ve tried it,” satoru grins, ripping open the doritos and the peanut butter simultaneously. his gaze dips briefly to your chest, taking in the way your soft pink lace cami clings to your curves. “besides, we’ve gotta’ fuel up. you said this show is, and i quote, ‘a cultural reset that will redefine our understanding of feminism and body positivity in media.’ i don’t know man, that sounds intense.”

suguru snorts, unscrewing the oreo package. his eyes briefly lingering on the bare expanse of your thighs, the flimsy matching shorts riding high as you curl your legs underneath you. “pretty sure she just meant it’s got a lot of ass shakin’ and women empowerment. still, sounds pretty lovely.”

you chuck a kernel of popcorn at his head, giggling when it bounces off his nose. “excuse you, that’s a very tiny observation of ‘megan - sama : twerk hero for a new generation.’ s’ a journey of a woman’s adventure to self-love and confidence in a world that constantly tries to tear her down. she uses her sexuality as a form of power. she like, challenges the male gaze and double standards with, well . . every clap of her ass.”

satoru blinks at you, a glob of peanut butter sliding off the dorito he’s holding halfway to his mouth. “that . . was surprisingly deep, yn.”

“mmm, that's our girl,” suguru says proudly, throwing an arm around your shoulders. his fingers skimming over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “beautiful, brilliant, and able to find meaning in the most unlikely places. like a twerking anime.”

you elbow him playfully in the ribs, warmth blooming in your chest at the casual praise even as heat prickles across your skin at the contact. “you’re jokin’ but m’ serious,” you whine, “it celebrates a body type that’s so often shamed and or fetishized, like i dunno’ . . she faces some of the worst - but she never gives up, and that self-love is what ultimately gives her the strength to change the world around her in the end . .” you keep gushing, waxing poetic about megan’s badassery and the show’s powerful message. the boys listen attentively, nodding along, but you don't miss the way their gazes keep drifting south, tracing your figure with barely-concealed appreciation.

you hated to go on your fourth tangent of the week right now, but god, representation really did matter. it was practically rare to see your body type in entertainment — let alone that exact body type standing at a whopping 5’10. this was . . like you said, a real cultural reset.

a comfortable silence then settles as they finish taking it in, the low murmur of the anime’s opening theme — otaku hot girl, now filling the room. you sneak a glance at satoru out of the corner of your eye, surprised to find him looking thoughtful rather than skeptical like any other guy your age would.

“i can dig it,” satoru says slowly, popping a peanut butter dorito into his mouth. “more representation of different body types in media, s’ important. and i mean, objectively speaking . . .” he rakes his eyes over your form, lingering on the swell of your hips and ass. “i like a tall woman with a nice, big ass. ain't nothin’ wrong with a little extra somethin' to hold onto, y’know?”

you raise a brow, something playfully bold and a little reckless brewing in your chest. “is that so? didn’t know y’liked your girls thick, gojo.”

satoru swallows, adam's apple bobbing as his gaze snaps to yours. “no, yn. i love, my girls thick,” he says, voice pitched low. “well that and, exploring your sexuality n’ confidence in general is jus’ sexy . . as hell.”

“hmmm, i see. getou?” you turn to suguru, head cocked. “any thoughts?”

suguru’s smile is slow and devastating, dark promise in his eyes. “he’s not wrong. m’ sure you know that though. body like . . yours, s’the kinda canvas i could spend hours worshipping. takes an incel to not appreciate it, honestly.”

“oh please. all that bravado, but i can’t you couldn’t handle me even if you tried.” you shimmy your shoulders, drawing attention to the truly tremendous amount of cleavage your cami isn't concealing. “you'd probably bust in your boxers if you so much as touched this ass. thank youuu.”

but even as you say that with all the confidence in the world, you can’t help but to think . . ‘what if?’ what if they could? what if you were talkin’ straight out of your ass right now just to have it be thrown in your face later on? — no, never, couldn’t be.

and later on, as the end credits of the final episode roll, you stretch languidly, you’d forgotten about the thought, feeling pleasantly buzzed from two pretty drinks the three of you had earlier and the easy camaraderie of the night. satoru and suguru have been the perfect viewing companions, cracking jokes and providing commentary that had you in stitches more often than not.

but all in all, underneath the lighthearted banter, you can feel something else tiptoeing - a tension, an electricity that’s been building all night. it’s in the way satoru’s gaze lingers on the curve of your throat as you tip your head back to laugh. it’s in the heat of suguru’s palm on your knee, his thumb rubbing absent circles that inch higher and higher with each passing minute.

“so . .” satoru drawls as the autoplay timer counts down to the next season. “that was . . actually enlightening annnd i just followed megan on instagram. so, when will she be mine?”

“mhmm, told you,” you laugh, feeling loose and languid from the warmth of the alcohol in your veins and the solid press of their bodies on either side of you. “and i dunno, join the club. she’s a fuckin’ queen. knows what she wants and goes for it, she’s inspirational, and an overall bad bitch, duh — i want her too.”

“kinda like someone else we know,” suguru muses, a sly curl to his lips as he turns to face you. his eyes are dark, heated in a way that makes your breath catch. “ain’t that right, yn?”

you swallow, pulse picking up speed as you meet his loaded gaze. “oh? and who might that be?”

“you,” satoru says bluntly, shifting to angle his body towards you as well. the movement brings him close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off of him, the firm press of his muscular thigh against yours. “talkin’ all that shit earlier, bout’ how we couldn’t handle you. you think that, babe?”

oh . . so maybe you were wrong.

and they had planned on it proving that to you.

there’s a challenge in his tone, a dare that sends a frisson of anticipation skittering down your spine. you lick your lips, noting with a thrill how both their gazes zero in on the movement, “maybe i did,” you say, pitching your voice low and breathy. “what’re you gonna’ do about it?”

suguru makes a rough sound in the back of his throat, fingers flexing on your knee. “oh, well since you asked . . we can give a little demo - show you exactly what we’re gonna’ do about it. ain’t that right, satoru?”

“damn straight,” satoru growls, a wicked gleam in his eye. “whaddaya’ say, sweet thing? why don’t you go ahead n’ show us what makes you a hot girl, yn?” he finishes.

heart pounding, skin prickling with goosebumps, you lift your chin in clear provocation. “tch, whatever. bring it on then, bitches. show me what you’ve got.”

of course you’d challenge them. why wouldn’t you? you quite literally had the power of god and megan on your side.

twin groans meet your bold words, suguru’s hand tightening convulsively on your leg as satoru’s eyes blaze with intent. “don’t mind if we do,” satoru rasps, voice gone low and gravelly with want. “been fuckin’ gagging for it all night, watchin’ you all curled up and cozy in this tiny ass pajama set, lookin’ good enough to eat . .”

“gonna’ fuckin’ devour you,” suguru vows, already shifting to press hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. “gonna’ put this bratty little mouth to good use, fuck, been dyin’ to feel these pretty lips wrapped around my dick.”

you moan, head tipping back to grant him better access even as your hands come up to fist in satoru’s hair, dragging him down for a filthy, biting kiss. he groans into your mouth, licking past the seam of your lips to tangle his tongue with yours, one large hand palming roughly at your breast through the flimsy lace of your cami.

“fuckin’ tease,” he pants when you break apart for air, fingers already working at the tiny buttons holding the top closed. “prancin’ around in this scrap of nothin’ all night, like a slut. y’knew we wouldn’t be able to stop thinkin’ about you, baby.”

“why don’t you tell me?” you breathe, emboldened by the blatant need in their faces, the desperate flex of their hands on your body. “c’mon, boys, use your words. what’ve you been thinkin’ about doin’ to me all night, huh? how’re you gonna’ shut me up, put me in my place?”

“jesus fuckin’ christ,” suguru swears feelingly, wrenching himself away from your neck to stare at you with wild, hungry eyes. “keep talkin’ like that and i’m gonna lose it, i swear.”

“then lose it,” you purr, hooking a leg over his hip and using the leverage to grind yourself against his straining erection. he hisses, hips rocking forward to press the thick line of his cock harder against your aching center. “c’mon, sugu baby, show me how bad you want it. show me exactly what this bratty little tease does to you.”

“fuck, you fuckin’ - get her naked,” suguru snarls to satoru, already fumbling with the tie of your shorts. “fuckin’ get her naked right goddamn now, i can’t - i gotta’ taste her, gotta’ get my mouth on this sweet cunt before i fucking explode . .”

satoru doesn't waste any time, practically ripping your cami open in his haste to get at your bared tits. you cry out sharply as he latches onto one straining nipple, suckling hard and grazing the sensitized bud with his teeth. “oh fuck, oh god, yes!”

your shorts and panties are yanked down your legs, the sudden rush of cool air on your heated flesh making you gasp. and then suguru is shouldering past satoru to find his way between your thighs, pushing them open wide and burying his face in your dripping cunt with a guttural moan of satisfaction, “i call first,” he mumbles into your pussy.

satoru scoffs an agitated, “not fair, but whatever,” and you can’t help but to giggle at the sheer fact that they were quite literally bickering over who was gonna’ eat your pussy first.

“shut the fuck up — ”

“aht, aht! hey, all my munches get along so . . y’all about to argue all day or what?” you mutter, and as if they were being scolded back in their early sourcerer days - they hush, and then, “holy shit!” you whimper, back arching clear off the couch as suguru goes to town, licking and suckling at your clit like a man starved. “o-oh my god, sugu, you’re s’good . .”

“mm, y’like that, sweetheart?” satoru husks, sucking and then pulling off your nipple with a lewd pop. his hand palms roughly at your other breast, plucking at the stiff peak, drawing high, breathy cries from your throat. “like the way he eats this pretty pussy, fucks you with his tongue? gonna’ make you cum so hard you scream, baby, gonna’ make you fucking flood his mouth.”

“y-yes,” you gasp, fisting your hands in both their hair as suguru goes even harder, slipping two fingers into your clenching hole and pumping them in time with the relentless suction of his lips around your throbbing clit. “yes, fuck, m’gonna cum already, gonna’ come on your face sugu, please, fuck, m’ so close . .”

“that's it,” satoru coaxes, pinching your nipple viciously, making you yelp. “give it up, yn, fucking come for us like a good girl, wanna hear you scream . .”

suguru crooks his fingers just right, rubbing mercilessly against the spot that makes stars explode behind your eyelids, and you shatter with a raw sob of their names. your cunt clamps down vise-tight on his thrusting digits as you gush around them, release flooding his chin and dripping down his wrist.

he works you through the aftershocks with hitching praises and soft kitten licks, only pulling away when you start twitching from oversensitivity. he rocks back onto his heels, wiping and licking around his mouth with the back of his hand and tongue, eyes hazy and satisfied as he takes in your wrecked, limp form. “fuckin’ gorgeous,” he slurs, words edged with wonder. “shit - look at you, jesus, all fucked out and dripping just from my mouth. i told you i could spend hours between these thighs, baby, i wasnt lyin’.”

“h-hours, huh?” you manage, breath still coming in shuddery gasps. “that mean you’re done with me already, sugu?”

his eyes sharpen, a predatory curl to his lips that sends a bolt of heat straight to your core. “not even close, pretty girl. m’ jus’ gettin’ warmed up.”

“why don’t you let her catch her breath,” satoru suggests, something dark and intent in his gaze as his eyes rove over your naked, trembling body. he palms his cock through his sweats, hissing at the contact. “still gotta put that mouth to work, remember?”

your cunt clenches weakly at the implication, arousal already starting to rekindle in your veins. “gimmie’ a minute to recover and i’ll put it to work all night long,” you promise, licking your lips. “wanna’ choke on it, toru. want you to fuck my throat . . please.”

“jesus, fuck, you’re so nasty,” satoru groans, fisting a hand in your hair and dragging you up for a brief, brutal kiss. “gonna’ wreck you, baby. gonna’ fuckin’ ruin you for anyone else, mark you up inside n’ out until all you can think about is us, all you can feel is us stretching that hungry little pussy wide . .”

“oh please,” you whimper, already halfway there just from their words, their roving hands, the hot press of their bodies caging you in on either side. “god, please, i want it — fuck me stupid, i don’t care.”

“and we will,” suguru vows, fingers dipping back between your legs to circle your slick, twitching entrance. “gonna’ pump you so full of cum, baby, shit, gonna fuckin’ breed this cunt.” you keen high in your throat, the images they’re painting sending heat licking through your veins like wildfire. you want it, want them, with an intensity that’s scarce.

“so what’re you waiting for?” you rasp, disentangling yourself from their groping hands to shimmy off the couch and drop to your knees between their splayed thighs. you rest your palms high on their legs, thumbs teasing at the straining bulges tenting their sweats. “i believe i was promised a face fucking . . and y’know i hate broken promises. don’t make me beg.”

“brat,” satoru husks, eyes practically black with lust as he lifts his hips so you can tug his pants down his thighs. his cock springs free, thick and ruddy and leaking at the tip, and your mouth waters at the sight. “let’s see how cocky you are with your mouth full. won’t be able to sass when you’re chokin’ on dick.”

“choking? you promise, daddy?” you purr, shuffling closer on your knees, hands running teasingly up and down their thighs. suguru makes a strangled noise, hands clenching into fists at his sides like it’s taking everything in him not to grab you.

“open,” satoru demands hoarsely. “open that smart fucking mouth. lemme’ feed you.” you part your lips obediently, tongue darting out to swipe at the swollen head of his dick. he jerks like he’s been electrocuted, a guttural moan punching out of his chest as you proceed to lave at his cock like an ice cream cone, all kittenish licks and teasing flicks that have him cursing up a storm above you.

“gonna’ kill me,” he grits out, hips flexing like it's taking everything he has to keep from fucking up into your mouth. “yn, jesus, quit teasing and suck it, shit — suck it baby, please . .” deciding to put him out of his misery, you open wide and sink down, relaxing your throat to take him as deep as you can. he shouts, hands flying to your hair as you set up a steady rhythm, bobbing and sucking and swirling your tongue until he’s leaking a steady stream of precum down your throat.

suguru is panting harshly on your other side, fisting his own cock with short, rough strokes as he watches you work over satoru. “look so fuckin’ pretty with a dick in your mouth,” he praises raspily, thumb collecting the bead of moisture at his tip and reaching down to smear it across your lips where they're stretched wide around satoru. “made to be a fuckin’ eater, weren’t you sweetheart? made for us, made to take what you’re given, aren’t you?”

you whimper around your mouthful, the degradation making your cunt clench up hard. you redouble your efforts, relaxing your throat and sinking down until satoru’s cock is nudging the back of your throat, your nose pressed against his pelvis.

“holy fucking shit,” he wheezes, fingers tightening in your hair to hold you there. “oh my god, oh fuck, your fucking throat, m'gonna come, gonna come right down your slutty little neck . .”

“do it,” suguru growls, hand still fisting his own cock, the wet slap of skin on skin obscenely loud in the otherwise quiet room. “feed her that load, man, fucking paint her throat, make her gag.”

satoru cums with a hoarse shout, cock pulsing on your tongue as he empties himself down your throat. you swallow it all, working your tongue along the throbbing underside to draw out every last drop until he's shaking and pushing you off with an overwhelmed grunt. and you pull off with a gasp, lips swollen and spit-slick, chin wet with drool and the remnants of his release. before you can even catch your breath, suguru is grabbing you by the hair and dragging you over to his waiting cock, the head an angry purple and weeping steadily.

“looks like s’ my turn now, hm?” he grits out, tracing the seam of your lips with his cock, smearing the slickness around like obscene lipgloss. “back open, c’mon.”

you let your jaw drop wide once again, and then he’s pushing in, stretching your lips wide around his girth as he feeds you every thick, throbbing inch. he sets a punishing pace from the start, one hand cupped under your chin to feel his cock moving in your throat as the other winds tight in your hair, holding you still for his thrusts.

“oh fuck yeah,” he rasps, eyes fever-bright as he stares down at you, taking in your glazed eyes and drool-slick chin, the vulgar bulge of your throat. “takin’ it like a champ aren’t ya’? so pretty like this, baby. y’like it, like daddy’s cock buried in your throat like this?” you moan around him, looking up at him through your lashes as you hollow your cheeks and suck viciously — vacuum technique doing absolute wonders by the looks of it. he curses, rhythm faltering as his cock throbs warningly against your tongue.

satoru is suddenly there, pressing up against your back, arms banding around your waist as clever fingers find your aching nipples and pluck at them roughly. “your face is so pretty,” he husks in your ear, stubble rasping against your neck as he mouths at your throat. “it’ll look even prettier painted . . c’mon make him cum, you’ve earned it.”

the filthy words combined with the sharp mix of pleasure pain of his fingers on your nipples has you shuddering, cunt clenching down on nothing as a bolt of heat sizzles up your spine. suguru’s is close, you can tell by the way his thrusts are going erratic, his cock pulsing faster against your tongue.

“f-fuck, oh fuck, m’gonna cum,” he warns, high and tight, hips snapping forward once, twice more before he's pulling out abruptly, fisting his cock with desperate strokes. “open your mouth, fuck, stick out your tongue baby, wanna’ see it, fuckin’ shit!”

you obey mindlessly, tipping your face up and extending your tongue, a lewd, pornographic presentation. suguru loses it at the sight, shouting brokenly as his orgasm crashes over him, cock jerking in his grip as he paints your face with ropey streams of pearlescent white.

you moan shakily, back arching as some of his release hits your waiting tongue, the salty-musk taste of him flooding your senses. you feel debauched, utterly wrecked and still desperately turned on, your cunt a throbbing mess of need between your legs.

“holy shit!” suguru pants, slumping back against the couch, chest heaving. he takes in your cum - streaked face, the way you’re panting and squirming, still perched on your knees between them. “you’re a fuckin' vision, you know that? prettiest thing i’ve ever seen, all messy and marked up, fuck.”

“mmm, but she’s not finished though, are you baby?” satoru purrs, fingers drifting down to tease through your soaked folds, making you gasp and buck your hips. “look, she’s still hungry for it, so ready for more like the insatiable little slut you are. tell us what you need, sweetheart. tell us how you want us to wreck this pussy.”

“both of you,” you manage, voice a needy rasp. you reach down to circle your swollen clit, putting on a show for them. “want both you in me, filling me up t-til’ i can’t fuckin’ take it.”

“fuck,” satoru swears emphatically, cock already twitching with renewed interest. “yeah baby, we can do that, no problem. so sorry if we make you cry.”

“we gotta’ get her on the bed,” susguru demands, pulling you up and herding you towards satoru’s room. “need you spread out for us, wanna’ wreck you properly.”

you go willingly, eagerly, practically trembling with anticipation as they usher you into the bedroom, tearing their clothes off as they go. they descend upon you like men starved as soon as your back hits the mattress, hands and mouths roving over every inch of bared skin until you're writhing and keening beneath their attentions.

suguru pushes your thighs open and buries his face between them, groaning at the taste of your arousal. he licks into you like a man dying of thirst, tongue delving deep and curling just right to make you see stars. “fuckin’ drenched,” he mutters, pulling back just enough to circle your entrance with one long finger, gathering the slickness. “absolutely soaked for it, aren't you baby? dripping for our cocks, greedy little pussy desperate to be stuffed full.”

“please,” you whimper, back arching as he pushes two fingers knuckle-deep, pumping them lazily. “oh fuck, g-getou, more, need more!”

“ive got you,” satoru rasps, rolling on a condom and slicking himself up with lube. he shifts up the bed until he’s bracketing your head with his knees, the thick jut of his cock bobbing mere inches from your face. “gonna’ give this filthy mouth something to do while sugu opens up your hungry cunt, yeah? gonna’ fuck your throat while he fingers you sloppy, get you nice and ready for us both.”

you open eagerly for him, relaxing your jaw as he feeds his cock past your lips. he groans at the wet heat of your mouth, at the way you hollow your cheeks and suck, working your tongue along the throbbing underside.

“there you go,” he praises roughly, grabbing a handful of your hair and giving a shallow thrust. “just like that baby, fuck, feel like heaven around my dick . .”

you moan around him as suguru works a third finger into your dripping cunt, scissoring and curling them just right to graze that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. the dual stimulation has you shaking, the obscene sounds of satoru’s cock gliding through the slick clutch of your throat and suguru’s fingers pumping wetly into your pussy filling the room.

“she’s good to go,” suguru declares after a few endless minutes, pulling his fingers free and wiping them clean on the sheets. he slicks himself up, shifting into position between your spread thighs. “gonna’ wreck this pussy, baby, you have no idea how bad i’ve wanted this, wanted you. i think about you while i dream . .”

how could something said be so blended with both degeneracy and sweetness.

he pushes in on one smooth glide, the breath punching from his lungs in a guttural moan as your walls clench down greedily around him. “mm, what a tight fit. shit. gripping me, yn, goddamn.”

you sob brokenly around satoru’s cock as suguru bottoms out, hips flush against yours. he gives you a moment to adjust before he starts moving, rolling his hips in deep, devastating grinds that have you seeing stars.

satoru keeps rocking into your mouth, hands fisted in your hair to hold you in place for his thrusts. you take it eagerly, gagging a little when he hits the back of your throat but relaxing to let him push deeper, until your nose is pressed against his pelvis with every pump of his hips.

“m’ gonna’ cum down your throat again,” satoru grits out after a few minutes of spit-roasting you between them. “gonna’ get you all warmed up, honey.”

you moan helplessly, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as you struggle to breathe around his considerable girth. just as spots start to dance in your vision, satoru stiffens and curses, hips jerking erratically as he spills into your mouth with a hoarse shout. “there you go baby, breathe for me — agh fuck yes. choke on daddy’s dick, thas’ good girl.” he then pulls out carefully, cradling your jaw as you cough and gasp, chest heaving.

suguru is still working into you from below, the drag of his cock against your fluttering walls almost unbearably good. you’re so fucking full of him, stretched around his thickness, but you still feel so empty, aching for more.

“please,” you rasp, looking up at satoru with wet, pleading eyes. “need your cock inside me too, need both of you fucking me, filling me, please.”

“such a needy little thing,” satoru marvels, eyes dark and hungry on your face. “gonna’ give it to you, baby, don’t worry. want me to stuff that pussy, hm? confuse you on whose is whose,” he laughs.

he slides down your body, shifting to kneel behind suguru between your lewdly spread legs. slicking up his fingers with more lube, he circles your stretched rim where suguru is steadily pumping into you, dipping just the tip of one finger in alongside his thrusting cock.

you keen high in your throat at the added stretch, the slight burn as he works you open further. suguru groans at the increased tightness, at the filthy drag of satoru’s fingers around his pistoning cock as he meticulously stretches you out. “god, look at you,” suguru pants, sounding absolutely wrecked as he stares down at where you're taking them both, hole straining wide and shiny-slick with lube and your own arousal. “pretty, little cunt all desperate for it, practically begging to be stuffed full. you want that, baby? want both of us crammed up in that pussy, wanna’ be our fuckin’ cocksleeve?”

“yes,” you sob, past the point of shame or restraint. “please, fuck, want it, want you both so deep in me, wan’ it to almost hurt . .”

“holy shit,” satoru swears feelingly, pulling his fingers free and lining his cock up alongside suguru’s. the blunt pressure against your already stuffed hole has you nearly hyperventilating, squirming down onto them eagerly. “okay, baby, deep breaths. gonna’ put both of us in, yeah?” you nod, and he pushes in hard, forcing his cockhead in alongside suguru’s with a devastating stretch. you wail brokenly, back bowing as you’re split open on their straining cocks, the burn of it so intense it borders on both pleasure and pain. but then suguru is rolling his hips and satoru is grinding into you and oh, oh it’s fucking perfect, the drag of them against your walls, the way they throb and pulse in tandem inside you.

“fuck,” suguru wheezes, sweat rolling down his temples. “o-oh fuck, fuck, fuck!.”

“m’ not gonna last,” satoru warns, voice absolutely shattered as he starts to move, drawing out only to slam back in, forcibly creating space for himself in your overstuffed channel. “yn, o-ooh, pussy’s stranglin’ me, baby — m’gonna cum.”

“do it,” you demand breathlessly, rolling your hips up to meet their thrusts, taking them impossibly deeper. “cum in me . . claim m-me.” with twin shouts they comply, snapping their hips forward one, two, three more times before they’re cumming hard, cocks pulsing in tandem as they empty themselves into you. you moan brokenly at the feel of it, of their release flooding your cunt, marking you up from the inside out.

they collapse against you as they come down, chests heaving and skin slick with sweat. you whimper as their softening cocks slip free of your abused hole, a river of come slipping out after them to soak the sheets.

“holy f-fuck,” satoru rasps after a long moment, pressing a reverent kiss to your shoulder. “that was fucking crazy . .”

“and incredible,” suguru adds, sounding just as dazed. “yn, baby, fuck. we wrecked you, jesus.”

“mmm, you did,” you agree, feeling utterly boneless and fucked-out in the best way. “absolutely ruined me for anyone else, jus’ like you promised.”

“good,” satoru growls, something fiercely possessive in his gaze as it rakes over your limp, satisfied form. “because this pussy? this filthy, perfect pussy? it belongs to us now. you belong to us now . . .”

you glance briefly at the tv, dick drunk and pleasure high. part of you thinks you should probably pay your respects to the anime that facilitated this unexpected but very welcome turn of events, but the rest of you is preoccupied with trying not to black out as satoru and suguru keep their attention on you.

megan-sama, you think muzzily, just before suguru starts to nip at your shoulder again, bless your ratchet heart. you the real mvp.

and then coherency flees completely as your boys descend on you once more, cutting off anything resembling higher thought.

the last fleeting thing you remember is a deep, unshakable gratitude for your beautifully crafted body and the incredible dudes about to spend the foreseeable future worshipping it.

thick thighs save lives, indeed.

there’s only one you.

we love you meg.

[lokisgoodgirl]

Like a Queen [Loki x Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Just a dirty, praise-filled railing. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Loki x Female Reader. Mirrors. Language. Established relationship. Smut. (w/c 1.2k)

"Urgh, gods..." Loki slurs as his head falls back.

A year. It's been a year. But every time you see that face lost in the pleasure only you can give it's like the first time. In the mirror at the foot of the bed, the hard angles of Loki's jawline set like an anvil. He tips his chin to the ceiling and sinks so deep, so slow, it's like he never wants it to end.

Your best lingerie clings to damp skin, the modest slit in your crotchless panties tugging against Loki's thick cock. Slow, liquid thrusts slip against your walls and slurp when he circles his hips; hands guiding your ass against him. He teases himself at the entrance while you moan his name before easing back in with a groan.

"What did I do..." he breathes as his sex-drunk face falls forward and he meets your eyes in the mirror. "What did I do to deserve this sweet, perfect cunt?"

You clench your fingers against the bedsheets, swaying on all-fours. Loki slips his cock from your pussy and slides it against your throbbing clit, still swollen and humming from the worship of his mouth.

He watches with dark fascination as you start to squirm at the halt of his movements, knuckles whitening. “Well?” he asks again with playful menace.

"I'm just made for you I guess," you sigh as his large palm skates down the ridges of your spine, settling at the base. There’s no getting any sense out of you at times like this; he should know that by now. And he does.

"You are,” he growls approvingly, rubbing the curve of your ass. “Made to take me like a Queen. Made to take my cock like a Queen; made to fuck me like a Queen.” Queen.

The word sends a thrill down your spine that blossoms new fire in your pussy and you clench tighter around the tip of his cock. Loki pushes back in just when you’re tightest. “Norns,” he gasps, half-lidded eyes smouldering down from his station.

There’s something about when he fucks you from behind that’s utterly primal. Like he’s mating you. Like you’re a bitch in heat and he’s powerless to resist the scent he craves; the urge beating through him like the drums of war.

He’s not a god in moments like this. He’s just a man that wants to shake you up and fuck you out and love you harder with every filthy, curse-laden groan from his throat. “Talk to me,” you plead as you sit back against him, inhaling the fresh sweat clinging to his hair, his cock never leaving the grip of your cunt. Where he belongs. Your fingers skate up his cheek. His heartbeat thumps between your shoulder-blades, the flat planes of his chest and stomach pressed tight to your back. Your thighs spread as he readjusts on the mattress, guiding you down to the root of him with a rumble of pleasure. Loki moves hair from one side of your neck, placing a messy kiss on the curve and pulling the flimsy strap of your lingerie between his teeth. It stings your heated skin with a tight thwack.

“You love when I talk,” he goads low and filthy in your ear. “You love when I talk, and you love when I fuck.” “Only me,” you whine. Loki chuckles darkly. “Only you, my Queen.” His thrusts make your body rise and you lose yourself in the fullness of your walls fluttering to the rhythmic lilt of his hips. Loki’s hands massage your breasts, palming upwards, pinching your pebbled nipples as he does it. “No one,” he groans as you reach between your legs and graze his balls, “no one has ever carnally eviscerated me like you can.” They tighten beneath your gentle touch, drawing lazily against the velvet skin.

“When I fuck you… all realms cease to be,' he chokes, 'Only b-burning worlds and…f-fuck, erupting galaxies when I…”

He jolts against your ass, a hiss searing between his teeth. “When I see you trussed up for me like a gift,” he pants, tugging at the flimsy lace cupping your breasts, “when I feel your pussy grip me like wax on a finger.” A wet groan erupts from your mouth into his and Loki’s fingers move to your clit, rubbing slow, wet circles just the way you like it. His kiss is hungry and dark and dangerously loving. He still tastes like your cum. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he mutters as climax tightens in your belly, tensing your thighs, “is your face when you come undone for me.” You whimper, the hand wrapped around his neck clutching at long waves of his sex-damp hair. “Yes, my beautiful queen,” he praises, unable to keep the tremble of impending orgasm from his voice as his thrusts become heavy. “Take me, use me; use my cock like no other in the nine realms can. Give me what I need.” “Not yet,” you beg and he smiles against your cheek. The mirror shows what the two of you are: sweaty and unbearably perfect together. He’s huge behind you; a colossus of muscle and lean lines and luminous skin. His dark hair hangs against your shoulders, his exquisite profile nuzzling into your neck. The god of mischief works one expert hand between your legs, the other grasping against your chest like you might vanish as his powerful thighs pump slowly beneath you. Obsessed. He’s obsessed. Another threat of orgasm rises in your centre. Loki groans loudly and his shoulders tense as you clench, feeling the thick vein running down his length throb. “I think you may take me a little too well,” he chokes as your grip on his hair tightens.

A series of feral grunts burst from Loki’s throat at the smallest increase of speed against his cock. He's ready to burst. Wetness coats the inside of your thighs, his knuckles, his mouth, your fingers. You cover the hand working against your clit, feeling his fingers while they lightly strum you over the edge. He knows your body like it's his own. “Loki,” you moan like a whore, head falling back to his shoulder.   “I’m yours,” he whispers, breath catching. The hand cupping your chest flies to your stomach and he pulls you closer with a stuttering gasp. The flat of his abdomen curls to your back: sweat sticking, curses thundering, stars bursting in front of your eyes. He erupts with a long, guttural groan that shakes the bed. The swell of his cum is immediate; squeezing against the tight throb of his mighty cock and the final, fluttering spasms of your cunt. You see it glistening in the mirror, dripping down the thick root still buried inside you and pearling at the curve of his balls. Loki’s mouth fastens to your cheek like he’s trying to eat you - and maybe he is. His pants are hot against the skin as he slides down your face, top lip dragging before his forehead comes to rest. “What did I do to deserve…?” he pants quietly as he feathers weak kisses along the angle of your jaw. You silence the impending question with a kiss, pulling him closer. “I’m your Queen,” you say with utterly feigned humility. Loki bites his lip, glancing to the mirror. His eyes drop to the sight of him still sheathed deep in your pussy, a thick spindle of cum dangling to the mattress. “You are,” he whispers lovingly in your ear, eyes nailed to yours in the reflection. "Always."

♥️x

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Morning Glory - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

——

Summary: Spencer can’t sleep and decides to follow through on a previous conversation he had with reader.

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: this is the first bit of smut i’ve written in 5 years so please be patient with me lol, gif isn’t spence but it’s too spot on not to use lol

TW: somnophilia, mild dubcon, oral sex (f receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink if you squint, reader on top, afab reader

Rating: R, this is literally entirely smut so definitely 18+ only

——

Spencer stared up at the ceiling, the soft hum of the ceiling fan narrating the static in his mind. It was the first weekend the two of you had off in months, and of course his body decided to wake him up at 6 a.m. with no chance of falling back to sleep despite his desire to sleep in. He looked over at you fast asleep next to him, messy hair and quiet breaths, the picture of peaceful slumber. He’d be envious if he weren’t so in love with you.

Now, as he noticed the way your soft lips quivered with each breath, he thought back to a conversation the two of you had a couple weeks ago. You had woken up to the sound of muffled moans coming from your adjoining bathroom, and embarrassed the hell out of Spencer when he came out a few minutes later.

“I’d be more than happy to help the next time you have morning wood y’know.” You teased, making him turn bright red.

“I didn’t want to wake you.” He sighed. You pulled him closer, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Who says you have to wake me up first?” You whispered in his ear, sending a shiver up his spine.

“Are you serious?” He asked, his curiosity peaked.

“The thought of waking up with you inside me is one of the hottest things I could imagine, I’m one hundred percent serious. I trust you Spencer.” You told him, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

That was all he could think about now, and as his mind wandered his cock grew in his briefs, eventually becoming too hard to ignore.

He usually didn’t want to wake you when you ended up asleep on your back, knowing it’s the position you get your best sleep in, but you looked so heavenly like this, sleep shirt resting just above your navel, thighs parted just so, the soft light of sunrise illuminating your lace covered center. He simply couldn’t restrain himself any longer. He slipped his fingers just under the waistband of your panties, carefully pulling them down your legs and discarding them.

Spencer reveled in the sight of you, ethereal, all softness and warmth. He couldn’t wait to taste you. He gently pushed your thighs further apart with his forearms, while fingers traced the outline of your labia, studying every curve and contour of your cunt. He never had time to do this, you’d usually end up begging for him inside you before he had the chance to truly worship your pussy the way it deserved to be, but not tonight.

He parted your lips as his tongue met your clit, lapping gently at the sensitive bundle of nerves. You started to squirm, causing him to pin your thighs with his strong hands. His tongue laid wide laps through your cunt, dipping inside of your entrance momentarily before coming back up to suck on your clit, plush lips coated in your growing arousal.

Once he had you well and worked up he brought his hand to your entrance, index finger pushing slowly into your plush warmth. He curled his finger, searching for that soft spot that makes you melt. He added his middle finger, your walls gripped tightly around them as he massaged the sensitive spot inside of you, drawing a moan from your sleep-laden lips.

As he lapped at your clit, tongue working in tandem with the rhythm of his fingers you began to stir, pleasure breaking through the sleepy haze as you felt the warmth in your center grow stronger.

“Spence?” You half-moaned, thought still slightly fogged but too worked up to care.

“Morning angel..” He responded, fingers still pumping inside of you as he watched your expression. Whimpers and sighs fell from your lips, brow furrowed as you stretched your arms, shaking the sleep off so you could intertwine your fingers in his hair.

“Don’t stop.” You begged, bucking your hips ever so slightly. Spencer lifted your legs, placing your thighs over his shoulders to properly dive into your heat, lips sucking at your clit until your thighs were shaking, pressure building by the second. He added a third finger, stretching you out before curling them again, waves of pleasure washing over you as the coil finally snaps.

“Spencer!” You cried, eyes glazing over as your back arched, thighs closing around his head, holding him to you as he worked you through your high. He slowed his movements, helping you come down before pulling back to look at you.

Your chest heaved with each labored breath, trying to draw air back into your lungs.

“You okay baby?” He asked quietly, rubbing your inner thigh. You nod, sleepy smile forming between your flushed cheeks.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you ask once you’ve caught your breath fully.

“Correct, and I couldn’t think of a better way to tire myself out.” He laughed, moving up to lay beside you. You turn to him, hand palming his cock through his underwear.

“And how did that work?” You asked, watching the way his features contort as you stroke him.

“Still w-wide awake.” He breathes, stuttering as you pull his underwear down, his cock smacking against his stomach. He kicked off his underwear, watching as you move to straddle him.

“Well now I am too, so let me take care of you.” You tell him, aligning his leaking tip with your entrance before slowly lowering yourself until your hips are flush with his. You start grinding against him in a moment of self indulgence, eye fluttering shit as you indulge in the way his cock stretches you out just right.

Spencer finds his hands working their way up your shirt, grazing over your sides before pulling the fabric up to expose your breasts. His mouth quickly finds one of your nipples, licking and sucking the sensitive bud while his large hand palms your other breast. He’s hungry, desperate for more but doesn’t want to rush you, loving how heavenly you look when your mind is lost in pleasure.

You eventually snap back to the goal at hand, bracing your hands on the headboard of the bed for better leverage as you start to move up and down, bouncing yourself as steadily as you can on Spencer’s cock. He moans against your chest, his free hand moving to rest on your hip to guide you as best he can. You find a comfortable pace, angling your hips to hit that soft spot inside of you as you lose yourself in the rhythm.

You can see he’s starting to unravel, his grip on your hip tightening, his face flushed and his sudden inability to withhold his grunts and moans.

“You’re doing so good baby, look so pretty riding my cock.” He groans, watching you with such intense adoration.

“Wanna make you cum Spence.” You whine, feeling your thighs start to burn from the constant movement. He wraps his arms around you to pull your chest against his, his hands kneading your ass as he guides your hips up and down just a little quicker. The closeness is almost too intense, warm, slick skin on skin, you can feel another orgasm building as his cock begins to twitch inside of you, his coming on just as fast as yours.

“Please cum in me.” You pant, hips moving desperately as you chase your high.

“Greedy girl.” He teases, his hips meeting yours with each thrust.

“Please please please!” You beg, teetering on the edge of your collapse.

“Take it angel, all yours.” He grunts, cock twitching inside of you as you feel strings of warmth coating your walls, the sensation finally giving you the release you need. Your eyes glaze over as your thighs shake, nearly collapsing on top of Spencer as you see stars.

When you come down Spencer is pushing your hair away from your face, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead before shifting his weight to lay the both of you down. You lay on your back for a moment, letting your body relax before turning to face him.

“Sleepy yet?” You ask, hand resting on his chest.

“I don’t know, might need another round.” He jokes, smiling softly.

“We’ll see about that, I’ll be back in a minute.” You reply, giving him a kiss on the cheek before getting up and walking to the bathroom.

When you finish and head back into the bedroom, Spencer is fast asleep, just as you suspected he would be.

——

Taglist: DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my taglist :)

[v6quewrlds]

❝ pretty little thing, j. burrow. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: it is a rare quiet morning for you and joe. while you plan to sleep in and take it easy, your husband has other more active plans.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: my first joe fic, everybody cheer!! i did not plan for it to be this long but she's fresh, she's cute, i like her. i hope you all like it <333 requests are open for headcanons, texts, blurbs, fics, etc.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, sexual content, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, penetration, very slight praise kink, fingering, joe is pussy drunk fr fr.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: joe burrow x black!wife!reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 6.7k.

You stirred in the bed, the morning light creeping through the blinds. The soft hum of the city outside barely registered in your sleep-laden ears. The bed shifted as Joe's arm snaked around your waist, gently pulling you closer. "Morning, beautiful," he murmured, his breath warm against your neck.

Your eyes fluttered open to meet his playful gaze. "Mornin'," you mumbled, still clinging to the last vestiges of sleep.

Joe leaned in, kissing you gently. "No meetings today?"

You yawned, stretching languidly. "Nope, not a single one."

Joe's grin grew wolfish. "Perfect," he said, his hand sliding down to your thigh. His voice was low, his eyes dark with desire.

You giggled, swatting at him playfully. "What are you doing, you hornball?"

Joe's grin only grew wider. "What does it look like I'm doing?" he replied, his hand continuing its journey under the covers.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't hide your smile. "It's barely seven in the morning, Joe."

"Exactly," Joe said, his hand reaching its destination and squeezing at your ass, causing you to gasp. "We've got all day to do whatever we want."

"And what is it that you want to do?" You asked, your voice teasing as you felt his fingers dance along your skin.

Joe's eyes lit up with mischief. "I want to fuck my gorgeous wife," he said bluntly, his voice thick with lust.

You rolled your eyes again, feigned annoyance lacing your tone. "Always so romantic," you teased, even as your body responded to his touch.

"Well, it's been a while since we had a morning like this," Joe said, his hand moving between your legs, stroking you lightly. "I want to make it count."

Your giggles turned into moans as Joe's fingers found their mark, his touch sending waves of pleasure through your body as they danced over your sensitive pearl. "You're insatiable," you murmured, your manicured hands gripping the strands of his blonde hair as your lips found each other again in a heated kiss.

Your foreplay grew more intense, Joe's hand working your body with the precision of a maestro, drawing out your pleasure with every stroke. Your breath hitched as his thumb circled your clit, your legs trembling against his muscular thigh. You could feel him growing hard against you, his arousal pressing into your side.

"Fuck me, Joe," you whispered, your voice needy as the ache between your legs grew.

With a low growl, Joe complied, rolling you onto your back and positioning himself above you. He kissed you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours, as he entered you in one smooth thrust. You arched your back, your nails digging into the bed sheets as Joe began to move. He was rough and unrelenting, your bodies slapping together in a rhythm that filled the room with the sound of passion.

Joe's eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze matching the force of his movements. "You're so fucking tight," he murmured, his voice strained with effort. "I can't get enough of you."

Your eyes rolled back in your head as Joe's words sent a jolt of pleasure through you. "You talk too much," you gasped, your own voice laced with desire.

Joe chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Oh, I'm just getting started," he said, leaning down to nip at your earlobe. He knew exactly how to push your buttons, how to make you crazy with want. His hips slammed into yours, the headboard knocking against the wall in a steady beat that echoed your passion.

You wrapped your legs around Joe's waist, pulling him deeper, urging him faster. You were wet and ready for him, your body responding to his every touch like a finely tuned instrument. He groaned, the sound vibrating through you as he picked up the pace, your bodies moving in a symphony of need.

Your lovemaking was raw and uninhibited, a dance you'd perfected over the years. You knew each other's bodies so well, every curve and dip, every sensitive spot that could send the other spiraling over the edge. As Joe thrust into you, your eyes locked, a silent communication passing between you that was as intimate as your joined bodies.

“Come on, baby, take this dick,” Joe urged, his voice gruff with desire as he pumped into you with a fervor that left you gasping for air. You could feel the tension building within you, your core tightening around him with every powerful stroke. The bed creaked in protest under your combined weight, the sound melding with your moans and gasps.

“You’re going to make me come, Joey,” you panted, your eyes glazed with passion.

“That’s the plan,” he replied with a wicked smile, increasing his pace. He watched your chest rise and fall rapidly, your breaths growing shallower with each thrust.

Your walls tightened around him, your moans turning into a high-pitched whine. Her nails dug into his back, leaving trails of fire on his skin. The sight of your pleasure, the feel of your body clamping down on his, was too much for Joe to resist. He bit his lip, fighting to hold back his own climax. But as your cries grew louder, he lost all control, driving into you with a fierce growl.

“Shit, baby.” Joe groaned as his climax neared, his hips moving erratically. He felt your body tense, your legs quivering around him. “You gonna come for me?” he asked, his voice thick with passion.

“Fuck yes, Joe, I’m coming!” Your moans only served to push Joe further into his trance. “Wanna come for you,” you whined into his ear.

“You’re gonna come on my cock, be a good girl for me, aren’t you baby?” Joe whispered, his eyes gleaming as he watched the ecstasy play out on your face. You nodded, your breaths coming in short pants, your eyes fluttering closed.

The tension between you grew palpable, until finally, your back arched off the bed with a scream of pleasure. Joe’s eyes rolled back in his head as he felt you tighten around him, your muscles pulsing in a delicious rhythm that sent him hurtling over the edge. He filled you with his seed, your bodies shuddering in unison as you reached your peak.

You lay there for a moment, panting and spent, your hearts racing in sync. Joe’s chest heaved with the exertion, his body slick with sweat, as he collapsed onto yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, savoring the feeling of his warmth against your skin.

"I love you," Joe murmured, kissing your neck softly.

"I love you too," you whispered, your voice still trembling from your orgasm.

As you lay there, Joe’s mind drifted to his morning routine, his thoughts of a hard workout fighting against the post-coital bliss. He propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at you. "You coming to the gym with me?"

You groaned, playing coy. "After that performance, I might need a nap first."

Joe chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Come on," he said, kissing the tip of your nose. "It'll do you good."

You sighed dramatically, but the twinkle in your eye gave you away. "Fine, but you're carrying me there."

With a smirk, Joe didn't need further prompting. He hoisted you over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, your squeals of surprise turning into laughter. Her long coils cascaded down his back as he marched towards your closet, his bare feet cold against the hardwood floor. You playfully slapped at his backside, trying to wriggle free, but his grip was firm.

"You're not getting out of this," he said, his voice filled with good-natured determination.

"Put me down, Joe," you giggled, your cheek pressed against his shoulder as you attempted to squirm away.

"Nope, you said you'd come with me, so you're coming," Joe said with a smug grin, his muscles flexing as he set you down in the walk-in closet, turning to find your workout gear.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't deny the thrill of excitement that shot through you. It had been too long since you'd had the energy to keep up with Joe's intense workout routines. You watched him rummage through your neatly organized space, his toned ass on full display in his boxer briefs. Despite your protests, you felt a familiar stirring of excitement.

He pulled out matching sets of black workout clothes, tossing yours onto the bed. "You can thank me later," he said, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

With a mock pout, you slipped into your gear, your curves hugged tightly by the spandex. You had to admit, it felt good to be out of your business attire and into something that allowed you to move freely. Joe couldn't help but steal glances at you as you made your way to the home gym. You caught him looking and shot him a playful glare, which only made him grin wider.

Once in the gym, Joe turned on his workout playlist, the bass-heavy beats filling the space and setting the mood. You warmed up together, stretching your muscles in a tug of flexibility and strength. You couldn't help but feel a sense of pride as you watched Joe move with such grace and power. He'd always been fit, but his dedication to his career had sculpted him into something truly awe-inspiring.

You began your workout, Joe lifting weights that seemed impossibly heavy while you hit the treadmill. Despite your initial hesitation, you found that your body was responding well to the exertion. You pushed yourself, the endorphins flooding your system as you picked up speed, feeling the burn in your legs. The scent of sweat and effort filled the air, a heady mix that was oddly intoxicating.

Joe caught your eye from across the room, his own workout taking on a more intense edge. You were both so focused on your routines, yet couldn't help but steal glances at each other. The way your breasts bounced with each step on the treadmill, the way Joe's biceps bulged with every curl. You were both aware of the effect you had on each other, the sexual tension building again as the minutes ticked by.

You stepped off the treadmill, your body glistening with sweat. You grabbed a towel from the rack and wiped your face, watching Joe from the corner of your eye. He was doing lunges now, his thighs flexing with each powerful movement. You couldn't help but lick your lips, remembering how those same muscles had felt under your fingertips earlier.

"You okay over there?" Joe called out, a smirk playing on his lips as he caught you ogling him.

You laughed, snapping out of your daze. "Fine, just admiring the view," you said with a wink, grabbing a set of dumbbells.

Joe's smirk grew into a full-blown grin. "Keep that up, and I might have to show you some more of the view," he teased, not missing a beat in his lunges.

You rolled your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks gave you away. You began your dumbbell routine, the clanking of the weights a metronome to the pounding bass of Joe's playlist. You worked out in tandem, your movements synchronized despite the different exercises. Joe couldn't help but admire your dedication, and the way you pushed yourself despite your initial protests. You'd always been strong, not just physically, but mentally as well. Her resilience was one of the things that had first drawn him to you all those years ago.

The air grew thick with your exertion, the scent of sweat and pheromones a potent cocktail that only added to the tension. As Joe moved to the bench press, he watched your ass dip as you did squats, your toned muscles flexing with each descent. His eyes traced the lines of your body, memorizing every curve, every inch. It was all he could do to focus on his own workout, his thoughts wandering to the delicious ways he'd like to explore your body again once you were done.

You felt his gaze on you, and you couldn't help but push yourself harder, a smirk playing on your lips as you caught his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. You knew exactly what he was thinking, and it only served to stoke the fire within you. You'd always had a bit of an exhibitionist streak, and the idea of Joe watching you, wanting you, was incredibly arousing.

You pushed through your routines, the room echoing with the sound of your breaths and the clank of metal. Your muscles began to burn, but you didn't stop, your eyes never leaving Joe's reflection. You could see his own workout was taking its toll on him, his face a mask of concentration and effort. Yet, you knew he was just as aware of you as you were of him. It was a silent game of seduction played out amidst the grunts and groans of exertion.

As Joe finished his last set of bench presses, he looked over at you, who was now doing some ab work. Her stomach muscles rippled as you worked through the last of your crunches. With the final crunch, you sat up, catching Joe's eye and sticking your tongue out playfully. He chuckled, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks. You'd always had this playful, competitive streak in your relationship, and it was clear you was enjoying pushing his buttons as much as he enjoyed pushing yours.

You decided to take a quick break, chugging water and wiping the sweat from your faces. You couldn't help but lean into Joe's side, feeling the heat of his body against yours. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you in tightly. "Shower?” he suggested, his voice low and filled with promise.

Your eyes sparkled with mischief. "Race you," you said, taking off at a sprint towards the bathroom. Joe chuckled, following close behind. You stumbled into the shower, your laughter echoing off the tiles as you both struggled to get the temperature just right. The water cascaded down your bodies, washing away the grime of your workout and leaving you gleaming.

Under the spray, Joe's hands found your body, his touch gentle, cherishing the casual intimacy as the warm water hit your skin. You leaned into him, your head tilting back to allow the water to run down your neck and over your breasts. The shower was a cocoon of steam and sensuality as you took turns washing each other, your eyes locked, smiles playing on your lips.

“Alright, what’s going on up there?” You asked as you looked at Joe, your eyes twinkling with loving concern, and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “You’ve been avoiding having any real conversation all morning, Joe.” Her voice was soft, not accusatory, just curious.

Joe sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as he leaned against the shower wall. The hot water beat down on his broad back, the steam obscuring the tension in his face. There was no point in hiding his thoughts from his wife. You knew him better than anyone else, and you’d be the first to call him out on his mood swings. You knew exactly what made him tick.

"It's the team," Joe began, his voice echoing off the tiles. "We're playing like shit." He paused, his eyes closing briefly as the warm spray washed over his face. "The defense is a joke, and the coaching...it's just not there."

Your eyes softened, and you reached out to gently rub his chest. You knew how much the game meant to him, how much he put into it. "You're doing everything you can, Joe," you reassured him, your voice soothing. "Everyone can see that you're playing out of your mind. best QB rating in the league, over 80% completion, anyone with a brain knows you’re not the problem Joe.”

Joe leaned into your touch, his eyes still closed. "It's just...frustrating," he admitted. "I feel like I'm carrying the whole team on my back."

Your hand stilled on his chest, your expression serious. "You know I'm here for you, right?" you said, your voice steady. "Through all of it."

Joe's eyes snapped open, meeting yours. "I do," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "And I'm sorry for taking it out on you. I know I’m a dickhead sometimes with my moods. It’s just hard not to let it get to me."

"You are a dickhead sometimes," You teased lightly, your fingers tracing the contours of Joe's abs, eliciting a chuckle from him. "But, unfortunately, I love you for it. I love seeing how passionate you are about your work.”

The warm water cascaded over you, mixing with your laughter as Joe leaned in to kiss you. It was a gentle kiss, one that spoke of your deep connection and understanding. It was moments like these that made you realize how much you'd missed in your usually hectic lives. You pulled away slightly, your gaze searching his.

"Thank you," Joe murmured, his eyes meeting yours with a rare vulnerability. "For everything."

You nodded, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "Always," you said softly. “I’d do anything just to see you at peace. You know that."

Joe's arms tightened around you, his eyes searching yours. "I know," he murmured. "You’ve stuck by me through everything, even when I didn’t deserve it." He leaned in to kiss you again, his hand sliding down to cup your waist, pulling you closer against him.

“From the minute I touched down at LSU, you were there, pushing me to be better, supporting me when I doubted myself,” Joe said, his eyes filled with gratitude. “You’ve been my rock through all the shit, babe.”

Her own eyes misted over, you leaned into him. “And you were there for me when I needed it most,” you whispered. “When my whole world was falling apart.”

Joe nodded, remembering your darkest days, post-surgery. The pain, the doubt, the fear that you’d never play your sport again. He’d held your hand through it all, encouraging you to keep pushing, to find a new passion. And you had, in him and in the success of his football career.

You stood there, bodies entwined, the water beating down on your skin, sharing a moment of quiet understanding. It was in these moments that you felt closest, stripped of your public personas and your individual ambitions, just two people in love.

"You know," you began, your voice still soft, "You could always talk to someone about it. Maybe it's time to have a sit-down with the coaches?"

Joe sighed, his eyes closing briefly. "It's complicated," he said. "I don't want to be the guy who throws the team under the bus."

You nodded, understanding his dilemma. "But Joe, you're not throwing anyone under the bus," you said, your voice firm. "You're expressing your frustration, and that's okay. It's not about blame, it's about finding a solution."

Joe looked at you, his gaze intense. "I just want to win," he admitted. "For the team, for the city, for us."

"I know," you said, your voice soothing. "But you can't carry the weight of everyone's expectations on your shoulders. It's not fair to you when you’re playing your ass off and they can’t give you some help."

Joe nodded, his grip on you tightening slightly. He knew you were right, but it was hard to let go of the pressure he felt. "I'll talk to them," he said, his voice a little defeated. "But I can't promise anything."

You leaned up to kiss his neck, your teeth grazing his skin. "That's all I'm asking, baby," you murmured. "Just talk to them. Maybe it'll help."

Joe nodded, his resolve strengthening as your lips moved down his body. He knew you were right. He couldn't keep carrying the weight of the team's failures on his own. He had to trust that his voice would be heard and that changes could be made.

You stepped out of the shower, the cool air a stark contrast to the steamy warmth you'd just shared. You reached for a towel, wrapping it around your body and releasing your hair from its confines underneath your shower cap. As Joe toweled off, he couldn't help but appreciate the artistry of your singular tattoo, the way it danced over your muscles as you moved. It was a constant reminder of the fierce strength that lay beneath your softness.

"Come on," he said, taking your hand. "Let's get dressed and order some breakfast. I'm starving."

You couldn't help but laugh. "Fine, but no more distractions," you warned, swatting him playfully on the ass.

"Scout's honor," Joe said with a grin, his eyes lighting up mischievously.

In the bedroom, you quickly dried off and threw on your clothes, your bodies still humming with energy from your workout and the passionate kiss you'd shared in the shower. Your mind wandered to the kitchen, picturing the ingredients you had in mind for a hearty breakfast to fuel Joe for the day ahead. Heading downstairs, you felt a thrill of excitement at the prospect of cooking for him. It was a small gesture, but one that you knew meant a lot to Joe, especially when his days were packed with practice and meetings.

Joe followed you, his eyes tracing the way your hips swayed in the oversized LSU Football shirt. Despite his earlier promise to behave, he couldn't resist slipping his hand under the fabric to squeeze your ass as you walked in front of him. You shot him a glare over your shoulder, but your smile gave away your amusement. You knew he was just teasing you, trying to get a rise out of you. It was a dance you'd been doing for years, and you found it both infuriating and endearing.

“Instead of ordering, let me cook for you today," you offered as you descended the stairs, the plush carpet cushioning your bare feet. "It's been too long since I've had the chance to take care of you."

Joe's eyes lit up. "You don't have to, babe," he protested weakly, knowing full well that he'd lost that battle the moment you'd suggested it.

"I know," you said with a smirk. "But I want to make sure my man eats good. You give it to me so good, I wanna reward you. Now sit down, I'll handle it," you instructed as you pushed him onto one of the high-backed chairs at the kitchen island.

Joe obeyed, watching as you tied your hair back in a messy bun, revealing the nape of your neck. He found himself craving another taste of you, but he knew he had to be good for now. He leaned back, his eyes tracing the curves of your body as you moved around the kitchen, pulling out pans and ingredients with the ease of a seasoned chef. The sound of sizzling bacon filled the air, and his stomach growled in anticipation.

You began to prep a feast fit for a king. You whipped up eggs, topped with cheese and chives, crispy bacon, and a side of avocado toast. You knew Joe's diet was strict, but today was a day for indulgence. Plus, you knew he had earned it.

“Ja’Marr’s been complaining about that dinner we had to reschedule last week, says you owe him a home-cooked meal next home game,” Joe said, scrolling through his phone. He watched your expression as you cracked eggs into the sizzling pan, your brows furrowing slightly in concentration.

You chuckled. “Tell him to wait his turn. I’ve got my hands full cooking for one hornball Bengal today. I don’t need another one begging me for food,” you teased, flipping the eggs with a practiced flick of your wrist. “Matter of fact, tell him to bring his child next time he wants to eat my food. Maybe he’ll learn some manners from his son.”

Joe’s laugh echoed through the kitchen, his eyes never leaving his wife as you worked your magic. You had always been so fiery, so full of passion and sass. It was one of the things he loved most about you. “You’re gonna have to text him that yourself, babe,” Joe said, holding up his phone. “But maybe save the hornball comment for when we’re alone. I don’t need to hear it from him all week at practice.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile that played on your lips. You grabbed your phone from the counter and shot a quick text to your friend. “Consider it done,” you said, setting the phone aside to focus on the meal. The kitchen was alive with the sounds of sizzling bacon and the occasional clang of a pan. The smell of breakfast filled the room, a comforting aroma that seemed to melt away the last of Joe’s tension.

As you moved around the kitchen, Joe’s eyes followed you, taking in every movement, every curve. Her body was a testament to your dedication to maintaining your health, your strength and grace evident even in the simple act of cooking. He felt himself growing hard again, his body eager to claim you once more.

"I swear, if you don't stop looking at me like that, this breakfast is going to be ruined," you warned, tossing a piece of bacon at him. He caught it with a grin, popping it into his mouth and chewing slowly, his eyes still glued to you.

Joe couldn’t resist. He slid off the chair and approached you, his bare feet silent on the cool kitchen tiles. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you back against him. You giggled, trying to shoo him away with the spatula, but your protests were weak.

"Joseph," you scolded, but your voice was playful, not stern. You could feel his arousal pressing into your backside, and you had to admit, it was tempting.

"Come on, honey," Joe murmured, his breath hot against your neck. "Just a little taste," he begged, nibbling at your ear.

Your resolve wavered. You could feel his hands roaming over your hips, his fingers inching closer to the apex of your thighs. "Joe," you warned, your voice laced with amusement. "I'm trying to do something for you."

"And I'm trying to do something for you," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. He pressed closer, his erection nudging against your backside. "Let me just return the favor."

You felt the heat pool in your belly, the flames of desire flickering back to life. "Baby," you warned again, this time with a hint of a whine.

Joe chuckled, his grip tightening as he kissed your neck. "Please," he whispered, his breath tickling your skin.

You tried to resist, but Joe's hands were already working your magic. He reached around and cupped your breasts, his thumbs circling your hardened nipples. You gasped, dropping the spatula as you leaned back into him. He took that as the invitation it was meant to be and ground his hips against yours, his length pressing into you. "See?" he murmured, his teeth grazing your ear. "I know exactly what you need."

Your body betrayed you, arching into his touch. "You're so annoying," you managed to say, but your voice was thick with need.

Joe chuckled, his hands sliding down your body until they found the hem of your, or rather his, t-shirt. He began to lift it, his knuckles brushing against your bare skin as he revealed your stomach. You squirmed, trying to focus on cooking, but it was a futile effort. His touch was intoxicating, his presence overwhelming.

"Joe," you said, your voice a breathy whisper. "The food."

"Fuck the food," he growled, his hands continuing to lift the shirt from your body. He tossed it aside, revealing your bare breasts and a black g-string he didn’t recognize. His cock twitched with approval. "What’s this? New lingerie for me?"

You turned in his arms, your own desire flaring up at his words. You pushed him back playfully, your eyes dark with passion. "If you want to eat, you'll let me cook," you said, your voice a seductive purr.

Joe's smile didn’t reach his full expression. His blue eyes darkened as he took in the sight of his darling wife, half-dressed and flushed with arousal. He stepped back into his position behind you, giving your ass a firm spank before squeezing a toned cheek in his large hand. Your head fell forward with a gasp as you tried to compose yourself, a moan slipping past your lips involuntarily at the sudden roughness.

If he heard your challenge, he paid it no mind. Hand coming up once more to deliver another smack to your ass, he watched the flesh jiggle before bending down to kiss the tender spot he’d just abused. His tongue darted out to taste your skin, sending shivers down your spine. Your breath hitched, the heat between you palpable as Joe’s hands wandered further down, his fingertips tracing the damp fabric that barely covered your sex.

“We can multitask,” Joe murmured against your skin, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot where his hand last made contact with your ass. His fingertips danced over the fabric of your underwear, teasing the entrance to your warmth.

Your hands tightened around the handle of the spatula as you bit back a moan. "Joe," you protested again, though your voice was less steady this time. You knew he could feel you tremble against him, could see the way your pussy was already growing wet. You tried to push him away, but your legs felt like jelly, your resolve dissolving with every touch.

"Cut the stove off," Joe said, his voice a low growl. "I'm gonna have to eat something else." His hand slipped the g-string to the side, his fingers finding your slick folds. Your knees nearly buckled as he began to circle your entrance, your eyes fluttering shut. You knew you had lost.

Your hands scrambled to turn the stove off, the sizzle of the bacon fading into the background as Joe’s touch grew more insistent. He didn’t wait for permission, sliding the panties down with a groan of appreciation that echoed through the kitchen. Your slick heat was all he could think about, all he wanted to taste. He dropped to his knees behind you, his eyes feasting on your bare ass and the smell of the glistening pussy he could already see fluttering with desire.

“Put your knee on the counter,” Joe whispered, his breath hot against your skin. You looked over your shoulder, your eyes meeting his intense gaze before you complied, your heart racing. You knew where this was heading and you couldn’t wait.

Joe swore to himself as he watched your pussy spread for him. Your hands grasped at the counter for balance as your pussy continued to flutter with anticipation. He hummed in appreciation as his strong hands gripped your ass, pulling you even further apart. His tongue flicked out, tasting the sweetness of your arousal as you gasped, your body taut with need. He took his time, savoring the moment, exploring every inch of you with his mouth.

You couldn’t help but lean further over the counter. Her pretty little pussy was on full display to him, almost begging for his mouth. Joe took full advantage, burying his face in your wetness. He sucked eagerly at your clit while one of his thumbs circled your entrance, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your moans grew louder, echoing through the kitchen as you lost yourself in the sensation. Her hand reached back to grip his hair, pulling him closer, silently demanding more.

Joe was more than happy to oblige. His tongue delved into you, tasting you deep, feeling your muscles tighten around his thumb. Your hips began to rock back into him, your moans turning into cries of pleasure. You were so close, so beautifully close to the edge, and Joe could feel his dick throb with the anticipation of watching you fall over the edge. He picked up the pace, his tongue flicking faster against your clit, his thumb pressing deeper into you.

Your legs began to wobble as the intensity grew, your knuckles turning white as you clutched the counter. "Baby," you gasped, your voice strained. "You’re so good."

Joe groaned in response, his mouth never leaving you as he felt your orgasm building. He knew your body like the back of his hand, knew exactly how to push your buttons, how to make you scream his name. And scream you did, your body convulsing as you came, your juices flooding his mouth. He drank you in, loving the taste of you, loving the way you felt as you lost control.

When you finally went still, panting and trembling, Joe stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Fuck, you taste good," he murmured, his voice gruff with desire.

You turned to face him, your eyes glazed over with satisfaction. "Are you going to let me cook now?" you asked, though the playfulness in your tone suggested you didn't really mind the interruption.

“Nope. I need you to squirt that goodness all over me again, baby,” Joe said, his eyes glinting with mischief as he stepped closer to you, his own length straining against his sweatpants.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his audacity. But as he stepped closer, you felt your resolve melt away like butter in the pan. You leaned back against the counter, your body still humming from your orgasm. Joe stepped between your legs, his erection pressing against your stomach as he kissed you deeply. He gently lifted you up onto the counter, laying you back as his hands drew your long legs to rest on his broad shoulders.

He slid your thighs apart, revealing your glistening pussy to his hungry gaze. His cock throbbed in anticipation as he leaned in to kiss you again, his tongue delving into your mouth. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your hips raising to meet his as he rubbed his clothes cock against your wet folds.

With a groan, Joe reached into his sweatpants and freed his erection, the tip already slick with pre-cum. He positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes glued to your pussy. You nodded, your breath coming in ragged pants as you gave him the unspoken permission he needed. With one swift movement, he slid into you, filling you completely. You both gasped as your bodies connected, the heat and friction setting off sparks that seemed to light up the kitchen.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so wet for me,” Joe growled, his voice thick with need as he began to move, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease. Your eyes rolled back in your head, your hands reaching for your breasts to pinch and squeeze your nipples as Joe’s rhythm grew more intense. You could feel your orgasm building again, the sensation coiling in your belly like a tight spring.

Joe’s grip on your thighs tightened, his hips moving faster, the slap of your bodies filling the kitchen. He leaned down to whisper dirty words in your ear, his breath hot and ragged, his eyes never leaving yours. "You like that, don’t you? Being fucked like this?"

“Yes, baby, yes,” you moaned, your eyes fluttering closed as Joe’s cock filled you completely, his strokes hitting all the right spots. You felt your climax approaching, your body tightening around him like a vice. “Fuck me.”

Joe’s eyes darkened at your words, his pace quickening as he pounded into you. He could feel your pussy grip him, your walls pulsing with each thrust. The sight of you spread out before him, your legs trembling with pleasure, was almost too much to handle. He leaned in to kiss your neck, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin as he whispered more dirty words into your ear.

“Come for me, baby,” Joe urged, his voice strained with his own need. His strokes grew faster, more erratic, as he felt himself approaching the brink. “I wanna feel you come around me again."

Your eyes snapped open, your gaze locking onto Joe’s. You could feel the tension in his arms, the way his muscles flexed with each thrust. You knew he was close, and that knowledge only served to push you closer to the edge. With a cry, you shattered, your pussy clamping down on Joe’s cock as waves of pleasure crashed through you.

Joe groaned, his eyes squeezed shut as he felt your orgasm wash over him. He didn’t hold back, giving in to his own need as he thrust into you one final time, his cock pulsing with his release. You held onto each other for a moment, your breathing ragged, your bodies slick with sweat and desire.

Finally, Joe pulled out, his cock glistening with your combined juices. He stepped back, his eyes raking over your flushed body, still sprawled out on the kitchen counter. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride at the sight of you, so beautifully wrecked by his touch. "Fuck," he murmured, his voice filled with awe. “You’re so sexy when you come like that, babe."

You couldn’t help the smug smile that curved your lips as you watched Joe try to compose himself. You knew you looked a mess, your hair sticking to your face, your body flushed and trembling, but you felt alive, more alive than you had in a long time.

"You think so?" you asked, your voice teasing. "Maybe I should just stay like this all day."

Joe chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped closer to you. "As tempting as that is, we both know we’d never get anything done if you stayed naked all day," he said, his eyes traveling over your body with a mix of admiration and desire. He reached for your hand, helping you hop off the counter. "But I'm not saying we can't revisit the idea another day.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your orgasm. "Maybe next time, you can actually let me cook breakfast," you said, though the smile on your face suggested you didn’t mind the detour.

Joe leaned in for a kiss, his lips capturing yours in a passionate embrace. "Deal," he murmured against your mouth. "But only if you promise to let me eat you out again."

Your cheeks flushed, a giggle escaping you as you swatted his shoulder. "You're so horny all the time," you accused, though the spark in your eyes suggested you liked it.

"Can you blame me?" Joe retorted, his gaze roving over your naked body with a hunger that hadn’t been sated. "Look at you”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t keep the smile from your lips as you bent down to pick up your discarded underwear. "You're so annoying," you teased, tossing the garment at him.

Joe caught it in midair, holding it up with a grin. "But you love it," he said, stepping closer to you. He stepped into your space, his own body still flushed from your recent activity. "And I'll never get enough of you."

You couldn't argue with that. You stepped into him, your body fitting against his perfectly as your mouths met in a kiss that was as sweet as it was passionate. You felt the heat of his body, the steady thump of his heart beneath your palm as you wrapped your arms around his neck. For a moment, the kitchen and the world outside it faded away, and all that mattered was the two of you, your love and your desire.

When you broke apart, your smile was soft, your eyes warm with affection. "Let's get cleaned up and then eat," you said, your voice still breathless. "I didn’t make this food for nothing."

Joe nodded, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before he turned to help you plate the food. He placed a delicate kiss on your shoulder, the warmth of his breath making you shiver. You ate at the island, leaning into Joe’s muscular body as you stood naked together.

The scent of the crispy bacon and the eggs filled the kitchen, making your stomachs growl. You took your first bites, savoring the flavors that melded together perfectly. Despite your earlier distraction, the breakfast was heavenly, a testament to your culinary skills.

[aceyalonso]

pretty in pink - CARLOS SAINZ

pairing : carlos sainz x girlfriend!reader kinktober day 16 - lingerie

summary : spending 23 grand on a shopping spree? that's something only y/n can do, but of course the money spent will always be worth it, especially when she gets something that can benefit her and carlos

warnings/notes : swearing, a bit of plot, smut, spit, nipple play, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (always use a condom guys!), hair pulling, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, fingering, anal sex, mention and use of sex toys, gagging, praise kink, explicit photography (with consent of course)

word count : 5.7k

a/n : sorry if this took so long, i was so busy these past few days

main masterlist | kinktober masterlist | taglist form

Y/n walked through the front door, arms laden with shopping bags. "I'm home!" she called out cheerfully, expecting Carlos to greet her. When there was no response, she assumed he must still be asleep after his training session this morning.

Humming to herself, Y/n made her way to the kitchen, setting her purchases down on the counter. She opened the refrigerator door, bending over to grab a bottle of water.

Suddenly, strong arms encircled her waist from behind, pulling her back against a firm chest. Y/n let out a startled yelp, heart leaping into her throat as she spun around.

Carlos grinned down at her, dark eyes gleaming with mischief. "Well hello there, beautiful," he purred, voice low and husky. "Welcome home."

Y/n rolled her eyes, but couldn't help smiling back. "You scared me half to death, you jerk," she laughed, playfully swatting his chest. "I thought you were asleep."

Carlos chuckled, his hands sliding down to rest on Y/n's hips. "Oh, I was sleeping like a baby...until the bank called to ask if my credit card had been stolen. Apparently, someone went on quite the shopping spree today."

Y/n bit her lip, trying to look innocent. "I may have gone a little overboard," she admitted sheepishly. "But you know how it is when the girls drag you out shopping. One minute you're just browsing, and the next you've maxed out three credit cards."

Carlos raised an eyebrow, amused. "Eight thousand dollars at Sephora? What exactly did you buy, love? The entire store?"

Y/n giggled, leaning into him. "Maybe. But you should see the new eyeshadow palettes I got! They're to die for."

"And don't even get me started on Victoria's Secret," Carlos teased, his hands dipping lower. "Fifteen grand? I think that's more than the GDP of some small countries."

Y/n giggled, playfully swatting Carlos' chest. "C'mon, don't be such a killjoy! I got it for you!"

Realizing how that sounded, her eyes widened and she backpedaled quickly. "Wait, no, that came out wrong! I didn't buy you lingerie to wear, I swear!"

Carlos raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Really? Because I have to say, I'm a bit interested in this... development."

"No, no, nothing like that!" Y/n laughed, shaking her head. "I just figured you'd like seeing me in some of the new sets I got. You know, for your viewing pleasure and all that."

She bit her lip, a coy smile playing on her lips. "I'll model them for you after dinner, if you'd like. Give you a little private fashion show."

Carlos' eyes darkened, his gaze raking over her appreciatively. "Mmm, I think I'd like that very much, amor."

After dinner, Y/n led Carlos to their bedroom, a mischievous glint in her eye. "I have three sets to show you tonight," she purred, her hands sliding up his chest. "And I think you're going to like them very much."

She disappeared into the walk-in closet for a moment before emerging in a stunning white lingerie set. The bra was all lace and delicate straps, barely containing her ample breasts. The matching thong was equally skimpy, hugging her hips and leaving little to the imagination.

"What do you think?" Y/n asked, doing a slow spin. The white lace contrasted beautifully against her golden skin, making her look like a naughty angel.

Carlos' eyes darkened with lust, his hands flexing at his sides. "Fuck, Y/n," he growled, his voice low and rough. "You look gorgeous."

Y/n smiled, pleased by Carlos' reaction. "Thank you, baby," she purred, giving him a quick smile before sauntering back into the closet to change into the next set.

A moment later, she emerged in a stunning blue satin ensemble. The bra was a plunging push-up style, making her breasts look even more voluptuous than usual. The high-waisted panties hugged her curves, the satin smooth and cool against her skin.

"What do you think of this one?" Y/n asked, striking a pose. She ran her hands down her sides, tracing the curves of her waist and hips. "I thought the color would bring out my eyes."

Carlos' mouth went dry at the sight of her, his cock already starting to harden in his shorts. "It does," he managed, his voice strained. "It brings out how fucking sexy you are."

Y/n chuckled, her eyes flickering down to the growing bulge in Carlos' shorts. "Whoa there, big boy," she teased, sauntering closer to him. "We've got one more set to go. You need to calm down before you explode."

She reached out, trailing a finger along the waistband of his shorts, feeling the heat of his skin. "Although," she purred, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper, "I can't blame you. I'd be pretty excited too if I had a sexy girlfriend parading around in lingerie."

Carlos groaned, his hips bucking into her touch. "Fuck, Y/n," he growled, his hands settling on her hips. "You're killing me here."

Y/n grinned, giving his bulge a little squeeze before stepping back. "Patience, Carlos," she said, placing a peck on the corner of his lips. "The best is yet to come."

With that, she turned and headed back to the closet to change into the final set, leaving Carlos aching and wanting.

Y/n emerged from the closet for the final time, and Carlos' breath caught in his throat. She was wearing a soft baby pink set, the color he loved most on her. The bra was a delicate lace bralette, barely containing her full breasts. The matching thong was equally sweet, a tiny bow adorning the front.

"This one's my favorite," Carlos said hoarsely, his eyes devouring her. "You look absolutely stunning, Y/n."

Y/n smiled, pleased by his reaction. She did a little twirl, the fabric riding up to reveal the curve of her ass. "I'm glad you like it," she purred, walking towards him. "I picked it just for you."

She stopped in front of him, looping her arms around his neck. "So, what do you think of the whole collection?" she asked, pressing her body against his. "Did I do a good job?"

Carlos nodded, his lips brushing against Y/n's skin as he spoke. "Mhm," he murmured between kisses, his hands sliding down to grip her hips.

He pressed his mouth to her abdomen, trailing kisses across her soft skin. "Turn around for me, hermosa?" he asked, his voice low and rough with desire. "I want to see the back again."

Y/n shivered at the command in his tone, and the way he took charge. She obeyed without hesitation, slowly turning in a circle so he could admire the view.

The thong rode up as she moved, revealing the curve of her ass and the tiny pink thong nestled between her cheeks. Carlos groaned, his hands flexing with the urge to grab and squeeze.

Carlos' eyes darkened with lust as Y/n turned, revealing the tantalizing view of her ass barely covered by the thin pink thong. "Dios mio," he breathed, his hands flexing with the urge to grab and squeeze. "Can I rip it off?"

"Carlos, no," Y/n protested weakly, even as a thrill raced through her at his intensity. "I just bought this a few hours ago."

But he was already moving, his large hands gripping her hips and spinning her back around. In one swift motion, he hooked his fingers in the delicate fabric of the thong and ripped, the sound of tearing lace filling the room.

Y/n gasped as the flimsy garment gave way, Carlos tossing it aside carelessly. He pushed her back onto the bed, crawling over her with a predatory gleam in his eye.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he growled, his hands roaming over her bare skin. "I can't wait to ruin you."

Y/n whined as Carlos manhandled her, his rough treatment sending a thrill through her body despite her protests. "Carlos, c'mon," she pleaded, even as her hips bucked up against him. "I really liked that set."

Carlos just grinned, a wicked glint in his eye. "Sorry, baby," he purred, nipping at her earlobe. "But you look even better out of it."

He kissed down her neck, his hands sliding under her to unhook the delicate bra. With a flick of his fingers, the clasp came undone, and he tossed the lacy garment aside.

Y/n's breasts spilled free, and Carlos groaned at the sight. "Fuck, you're perfect," he growled, cupping the soft mounds in his hands. He lowered his head, his tongue flicking out to tease a pebbled nipple.

She arched into the touch, a moan escaping her lips. "Carlos," she gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair. "Please..."

Carlos paused, looking up at Y/n with a raised eyebrow. "Please what?" he asked, his voice low and teasing. "Are you asking me to stop ruining your pretty lingerie?"

Y/n bit her lip, shaking her head. "No," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not asking you to stop."

A slow, wicked grin spread across Carlos' face. "That's what I thought," he purred, his lips curving into a smirk.

He continued his journey down her body, his kisses growing more heated as he went. He nuzzled the soft skin of her belly, his stubble rasping against her sensitive flesh.

Lower and lower he went, until his face was level with her pelvis. He inhaled deeply, the scent of her arousal filling his nostrils. "I'll buy you another pair of this set tomorrow," he promised, his voice muffled against her skin. "But for now..."

Carlos dipped his head between Y/n's thighs, his tongue delving into her folds with sensual, deliberate strokes. He took his time, savoring the taste of her, the way she writhed and moaned beneath him.

"Carlos, baby," Y/n gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair. "So good, god you're so good."

She ground against his face, her hips bucking as she chased her pleasure. But Carlos wasn't having it. He pushed her hips back down, holding her in place.

"Calm down, mi amor," he murmured against her skin, his voice vibrating through her. "I've got you. Just relax and let me take care of you."

Y/n whimpered, her body trembling with need. But she forced herself to still, trusting Carlos to bring her to the heights of ecstasy.

Carlos rewarded her obedience with a long, slow lick, his tongue swirling around her clit. He alternated between broad strokes and targeted flicks, building her pleasure steadily.

Carlos continued his assault on Y/n's pussy, his tongue delving deep, savoring every inch of her. He wasn't rushing, wasn't devouring her like a starved man. No, he was taking his time, committing every taste, every texture to memory.

The way she dripped onto his tongue, coating his taste buds with her essence. The little gasps and moans she made, music to his ears. The way her thighs trembled on either side of his head, her body surrendering to his touch.

He was messy, spit dripping down his chin, smearing across his cheeks. But he didn't care. All that mattered was Y/n, her pleasure, her satisfaction.

Carlos kept his mouth firmly planted between Y/n's thighs, his tongue delving deep into her soaked folds. God, she was so wet, her arousal coating his chin and dripping down onto the sheets below.

He moaned against her, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. His nose bumped against her clit with each thrust of his tongue, the sensitive bundle of nerves throbbing with need.

Y/n's legs slowly wrapped around his head, her heels digging into his back as she pulled him closer. "Fuck, baby," she panted, her fingers tightening in his hair. "Keep going, it feels so good. Like that, just like that."

Y/n's moans grew louder, her hips rocking against Carlos' face as he devoured her. She gasped as she felt his fingers teasing her entrance, circling the sensitive flesh but not quite penetrating.

"I want more, Carlos," she whimpered, her voice high and needy. "I want your fingers inside."

Carlos obliged, slowly pushing one finger into her tight heat. He groaned at the feel of her, hot and wet and perfect around him. He pumped his finger in and out, curling it to hit that special spot inside her.

Y/n keened, her back arching off the bed as he fingered her. "Yes, yes, just like that," she chanted, her walls clenching around his digits. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

Carlos thrust his middle finger deep into Y/n's pussy, the longest digit providing the perfect stretch. She moaned loudly, her legs shaking as he pumped in and out, curling his finger to hit her G-spot with each stroke.

Her body seemed to be at war with itself, her legs trembling and threatening to close, but her pussy clenching greedily around his finger, silently begging for more.

Carlos could feel her getting closer, her walls fluttering around him, her moans growing higher and more desperate. He doubled his efforts, adding a second finger and rubbing her clit with his thumb.

"That's it, baby," he growled against her skin. "Cum for me. Let me feel you."

Y/n's body tensed, her orgasm building slowly but surely. It took a few moments, but when it finally hit, it crashed over her like a pile of falling bricks.

Her back arched off the bed, her mouth falling open in a silent scream as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her. It was as if they were in a soundproof room, her moans echoing off the walls, filling the space with the symphony of her ecstasy.

Carlos worked her through it, his fingers never ceasing their relentless assault on her sensitive flesh. He lapped at her clit, drawing out her climax until she was a writhing, trembling mess beneath him.

Finally, she collapsed back onto the bed, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. Carlos gently withdrew his fingers, pressing a tender kiss to her inner thigh.

Carlos continued his worship of Y/n's body, his lips trailing kisses up and down her trembling thighs. He took his time, savoring the taste of her on his tongue, the feel of her soft skin beneath his lips.

Then, unable to resist any longer, he dipped his head back between her legs, his tongue delving into her soaked folds once more. Y/n gasped, her hips bucking up to meet his mouth.

He ate her out with fervor, his tongue swirling around her clit, dipping into her entrance, lapping up her essence. Y/n shook beneath him, her hands fisting in the sheets as she tried to anchor herself against the onslaught of sensation.

Carlos could feel her getting close again, her walls fluttering around his tongue, her moans growing higher and more desperate. He doubled his efforts, determined to bring her to the edge once more.

Y/n's hands fisted in Carlos' hair, tugging him closer as he devoured her. "Baby, you feel so good," she panted, her hips rocking against his face. "Keep going, don't stop."

Carlos growled in response, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. He redoubled his efforts, his tongue delving deep, lapping at her walls, flicking rapidly over her clit.

Y/n's thighs began to tremble, her body tensing as her second orgasm approached. "Carlos, I'm gonna... I'm gonna..." she gasped, her words dissolving into a high, keening moan as she came undone.

Carlos worked her through it, his mouth never leaving her pussy, prolonging her pleasure until she was a boneless, satisfied mess beneath him.

Y/n came again and again, her body shaking with the force of her orgasms. Carlos gentled his touch, his tongue lapping softly at her sensitive flesh as she rode out the waves of pleasure.

He pulled back, pressing tender kisses to her trembling thighs. "You're so pretty when you cum," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "The way you shake, the sounds you make... it's the hottest thing I've ever seen."

Y/n whimpered, her body still twitching with aftershocks. Carlos' words, combined with the feeling of his lips on her skin, sent a fresh surge of arousal through her.

"More," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need more, Carlos. Please..."

Carlos trailed kisses up Y/n's body, leaving a trail of hickies in his wake. He nipped at her neck, his teeth grazing her pulse point. "Can you take more, mi amor?" he growled, his voice low and husky. "You're already shaking so much..."

Y/n whimpered, her body trembling with need. "Yes," she gasped, her nails raking down his back. "I need more, Carlos. Please, I can take it. I want it all."

Carlos grinned, a wicked gleam in his eye. "As you wish," he purred, his hand sliding down to palm her ass. "But first..."

He captured her mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep, claiming her, tasting himself on her lips. Y/n moaned into the kiss, her tongue tangling with his, her body arching into his touch.

Carlos' hand slid from Y/n's ass to her lower back, his fingers tracing teasing patterns on her skin. "The panties would look pretty with that buttplug I got you," he murmured, his voice low and seductive. "You know, the one with the pink heart gem?"

Y/n nodded, a shiver running through her at the mention of the toy. "I was planning to use it soon," she admitted, her voice breathy with anticipation.

Carlos smiled, a wicked glint in his eye. "It's such a shame though," he purred, his fingers dipping lower, teasing the cleft of her ass. "I already ripped the panties."

Y/n gasped, her hips bucking involuntarily at the touch. "Carlos," she whimpered, her voice a mix of need and frustration. "You're such a tease."

"All part of the fun, mi amor," he chuckled, his fingers continuing their maddening dance. "Now, where did I put that thing?"

Y/n pointed to the nightstand beside the bed. "I think it's in there," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "Your side."

Carlos released her, rolling over to rummage through the drawer. He pulled out the pink heart-shaped buttplug, holding it up triumphantly. "Found it," he grinned, crawling back over to Y/n.

He ran the smooth metal over her lips, letting her taste the cold surface. "Open up, baby," he instructed, pressing the tip to her mouth. "Get it nice and wet for me."

Y/n parted her lips, taking the buttplug into her mouth. She sucked on it, her tongue swirling around the base, coating it liberally with saliva.

Y/n looked up at Carlos through her lashes, her eyes wide and innocent, the buttplug still nestled between her lips. She sucked on it slowly, sensually, her cheeks hollowing as she applied suction.

"Fuck, you're so cute," Carlos groaned, his cock twitching in his pants at the sight. "Such a good girl, getting your toy all wet for me."

He reached out, cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing over her plump bottom lip. "That's enough, mi amor," he murmured, gently withdrawing the buttplug from her mouth. "Time to put it to better use."

Y/n whimpered softly, her eyes following the movement of the toy as Carlos positioned it at her entrance. He pressed the tip against her, applying gentle pressure, watching her face intently for any sign of discomfort.

Y/n moaned as she felt the cool metal of the buttplug pressing against her sensitive skin. Carlos watched her face intently, gauging her reaction as he slowly pushed the toy inside her.

"That's it, baby," he crooned, his voice low and encouraging. "Just relax and let it in. You're doing so well."

She continued to whimper, her hands fisting in the sheets as the buttplug stretched her, filling her in a way she hadn't experienced before. It was a strange sensation, but not an unpleasant one, and as Carlos twisted the base, the pink heart-shaped jewel nestled snugly between her cheeks.

"There," he said, satisfaction evident in his tone. "Don't you look pretty with your new toy."

Carlos helped Y/n onto her hands and knees, admiring the way her ass jutted out, the buttplug nestled snugly between her cheeks. He ran his hands over her curves, spreading her open, exposing her most intimate parts.

"Can I take a picture, mi amor?" he asked, his voice husky with desire. "I want to remember this moment forever."

Y/n hesitated, a blush spreading across her cheeks. "Mhm," she murmured, nodding shyly. "But... but don't show anyone, okay?"

Carlos chuckled, pressing a tender kiss to the small of her back. "Of course not, baby," he assured her. "These pictures are for me and me only to enjoy."

He grabbed his phone, snapping a few shots from various angles, capturing Y/n in all her vulnerable, exposed glory. Each click of the shutter sent a thrill through him, the knowledge that he was the only one who would ever see these images, that he had her complete trust.

Carlos groaned, his eyes roaming over Y/n's exposed body. "Fuck, you're so pretty baby," he growled, his voice thick with desire.

He quickly shed his shorts and boxers, his hard cock springing free, bobbing between his legs. He moved behind Y/n, gripping her hips, holding her in place as he teased the tip of his cock against her entrance.

He rubbed it back and forth, catching on her clit with each pass, making her gasp and shudder. "Look at you," he purred, his fingers digging into her hips. "So wet and ready for me. I can't wait to be inside you."

Y/n whimpered, pushing back against him, desperate for more. Carlos chuckled darkly, continuing his maddening tease, keeping her on edge, making her ache for his touch.

She panted, her hips wiggling back against Carlos. "Carlos, I want more," she pleaded, her voice high and needy.

Carlos smiled, pushing just the tip of his cock inside her. Y/n moaned, her walls fluttering around him, trying to draw him deeper.

"That's it, baby," Carlos purred, reaching around to wiggle the buttplug. Y/n cried out, her body shaking as the toy shifted inside her, sending sparks of pleasure racing up her spine.

Even with just the tip inside her, Y/n was moaning like she was in a porno, her body responding to every touch, every tease. Carlos grinned, loving the effect he had on her, the way he could reduce her to a writhing, desperate mess with just a few well-placed touches.

Carlos grabbed a fistful of Y/n's hair, pulling it back into a makeshift ponytail. "This pretty mouth of yours needs to shut up this time around, okay?" he growled, his voice low and commanding. "You were so loud earlier, we already had noise complaints last week because of you."

He reached for her ripped panties, balling them up and pressing them into her mouth. Y/n's eyes widened, a muffled whimper escaping her as he tied the fabric around her head, effectively gagging her.

"There," Carlos purred, admiring his handiwork. "Now you can scream all you want, and no one will hear you."

He lined himself up, the head of his cock nudging against her entrance. With one hard thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, stretching her, filling her completely.

Y/n's muffled moan was music to his ears, her body clenching around him, welcoming him home.

Y/n's back arched as Carlos filled her, her fingers digging into the pillow in front of her. Despite the gag, her moans were still loud, her pleasure evident in the way her body moved, the way she rocked back against him.

"Shh, baby," Carlos chided, his hand coming down on her ass in a gentle spank. "Be quiet now."

He repeated the action, alternating cheeks, the sting of his palm mixing with the pleasure of his cock inside her. Y/n whimpered, her hips jerking with each impact, her moans muffled but no less intense.

Carlos grinned, loving the way she responded to him, the way she surrendered to his touch, his control. He continued his steady rhythm, pounding into her, his balls slapping against her clit with each thrust.

Carlos looked down, groaning at the sight of Y/n's pussy, so wet and stretched around him. "Fuck, you're taking me so well, baby," he grunted, his hips snapping forward, driving into her harder.

His hand found the buttplug, wiggling it, teasing her. He pushed it halfway out, then twisted it, pushing it back in, making Y/n's body jerk and shudder.

"That's it, take it all," he growled, his voice rough with pleasure. "Take my cock, take the plug, let me fill you up."

Y/n whimpered, her body trembling, torn between the pleasure and the slight discomfort of being so full. But Carlos didn't let up, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate, as he chased his own release.

Carlos cooed softly, his voice a stark contrast to the intensity of his thrusts. "So cute, baby," he murmured, reaching around to pinch Y/n's nipples, rolling them between his fingers. "You always look so pretty in pink."

He punctuated his words with a particularly hard thrust, burying himself deep inside her. Y/n's body jerked, a muffled moan escaping her as the buttplug shifted, pressing against her walls.

Carlos grinned, loving the way she looked, the way she felt, the way she responded to him. He could feel his own release approaching, his balls tightening, his cock throbbing inside her.

"Gonna cum," he grunted, his hips slapping against her ass as he chased his pleasure. "Gonna fill you up, baby. Fuck, you feel so good."

Y/n's body was weak, her muscles trembling with the effort of holding herself up, of taking Carlos' relentless thrusts. But fuck, it felt so good, the pleasure consuming her, overwhelming her senses.

She moaned around the panties in her mouth, the sound muffled but no less desperate, no less needy. Her pussy clenched around Carlos' cock, her walls fluttering, trying to draw him deeper, hold him closer.

Carlos could feel her tightening around him, could hear the desperation in her moans. He knew she was close, could feel her body tensing, preparing for release.

"That's it, baby," he growled, his hand snaking around to rub her clit. "Cum for me. Let go, let me feel you."

Y/n's body seized, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. She shook and trembled, her moans rising in pitch, her pussy clamping down on Carlos' cock like a vice.

Carlos groaned, his hips stuttering as he found his own release. "Fuck, baby," he grunted, his cock pulsing inside her as he filled her with his cum. "You're taking it so well."

He collapsed over her, his chest pressing against her back, his arms wrapping around her waist. They stayed like that for a moment, both panting, both trying to catch their breath.

Slowly, carefully, Carlos pulled out, watching as his cum dripped from Y/n's pussy. He reached for the buttplug, gently removing it, tossing it aside.

"You did so good, mi amor," he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to her shoulder. "I'm so proud of you."

Y/n turned in Carlos' arms, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I want more," she whispered, her eyes dark with desire.

Carlos grinned, his hand sliding down to cup her ass. "Anal?" he asked, his voice hopeful.

Y/n bit her lip, nodding shyly. "Yes," she breathed, her body already trembling with anticipation. "I want to try it, with you."

Carlos' grin widened, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Are you sure, baby?" he asked, his tone gentle despite his eagerness. "We can take it slow, go at your pace."

Y/n nodded, her resolve strengthening. "I'm sure," she said, her voice steady. "I trust you, Carlos. I know you'll take care of me."

Carlos guided Y/n to sit on his lap, her back pressed against his chest, her legs spread wide. "I'll take the plug out," he murmured, his fingers trailing over her skin. "And I'll help you, every step of the way."

Y/n nodded, leaning back into him, trusting him completely. Carlos reached between her legs, his fingers finding the base of the buttplug. Slowly, gently, he pulled it out, the metal sliding free with a soft pop.

She moaned, her body clenching at the sudden emptiness. Carlos soothed her with soft kisses to her neck, his hands rubbing her thighs. "Shh, I've got you," he whispered, his voice low and reassuring. "We'll go slow, just relax."

He reached for the lube, slicking his fingers generously. "Tell me if anything hurts, okay?" he said, his tone serious. "Your comfort is the most important thing."

Carlos circled Y/n's entrance with a slick finger, gently pressing in, breaching her slowly. Y/n whimpered, her body tensing at the unfamiliar intrusion.

"Breathe, baby," Carlos coached, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on her stomach. "Relax for me."

He worked his finger deeper, curling it slightly, searching for that special spot. When he found it, Y/n cried out, her hips bucking involuntarily.

"There," Carlos purred, rubbing the spot firmly. "Does that feel good?"

Y/n nodded frantically, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "Yes," she gasped, her voice strained. "It's so intense, but so good- Fuck..."

Carlos added a second finger, stretching her slowly, preparing her for his cock. He scissored them, gently, carefully, watching her face for any signs of pain or discomfort.

Carlos continued his gentle ministrations, his fingers moving in and out of Y/n's tight heat, curling and stroking, finding all the sensitive spots that made her gasp and moan. He kissed her neck, her jaw, her lips, murmuring words of praise and encouragement.

"You're doing so well, baby," he whispered, his thumb brushing over her clit. "Taking me so perfectly. I'm so proud of you."

Y/n whimpered, her body trembling under his touch, under his words. She felt so full, so stretched, but it was a good ache, a pleasure she'd never known before.

Carlos could tell she was getting close, her walls fluttering around his fingers, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He doubled his efforts, his fingers pumping faster, harder, his thumb rubbing tight circles on her clit.

"Cum for me, mi amor," he commanded, his voice low and rough with desire. "Let go, let me see you cum"

Y/n's body seized, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. She whimpered and moaned, her hips bucking wildly, her inner walls clamping down on Carlos' fingers.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she chanted, her voice high and breathy. "Oh god, Carlos, it's so much, it's too much-"

Her words dissolved into incoherent babble as the pleasure consumed her, her body shaking and trembling in Carlos' arms. He held her tight, his fingers still moving inside her, drawing out her climax, making it last as long as possible.

"That's it, baby," he crooned, his lips brushing her ear. "Ride it out, let it take you. You're doing so fucking well."

Carlos gently turned Y/n's face towards him, his eyes locked on hers. "Look down, baby," he instructed softly. "See? It's all the way in."

Y/n's gaze followed his, her eyes widening as she saw the slight bulge of Carlos' cock inside her, stretching her, filling her completely. "I feel so full," she whispered, her voice awestruck. "I can feel you everywhere."

Carlos grinned, his hands sliding up her sides, cupping her breasts. "That's because you're taking me so perfectly," he praised, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. "Every inch of you is wrapped around me, squeezing me, hugging me tight."

Y/n moaned, her hips shifting slightly, the movement sending sparks of pleasure racing through her. "It's so big," she breathed, her eyes fluttering closed. "But it feels so good, Carlos. So right."

Carlos couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight of Y/n riding him, her body moving with a wild abandon, her eyes filled with nothing but pure, unadulterated lust. Her hair was a mess, falling gracefully over one shoulder, her tits bouncing with each thrust, her mouth open, drool leaking from the corner.

She was a vision, a goddess, and she was all his.

Carlos gripped her hips tighter, his fingers digging into her flesh, guiding her movements, helping her chase her pleasure. He watched as her body tensed, her walls clamping down around him, her moans rising in pitch.

"That's it, baby," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "Ride me, take what you need. Fuck, you look so beautiful like this, so perfect, so mine."

Y/n's body shook, her movements becoming more erratic, more desperate. She was close, so close, teetering on the edge of oblivion.

Her body tensed, her movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum," she gasped, her voice strained, her eyes wild with pleasure.

Carlos could feel her tightening around him, her walls fluttering, clenching, trying to draw him deeper. "Keep going, baby," he urged, his hips snapping up to meet her downward thrusts. "Let go, cum for me. I've got you, I'm right here."

Y/n threw her head back, a silent scream tearing from her throat as her orgasm crashed over her. Her body shook, her pussy clamping down on Carlos' cock like a vice, milking him, trying to pull him over the edge with her.

Carlos groaned, his own release building, his balls tightening, his cock throbbing inside her. "Fuck, baby," he grunted, his hips stuttering, his rhythm faltering. "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna fill you up, fuck-"

As their orgasms crashed over them, Y/n's body spasmed, her movements becoming jerky, uncoordinated. She fell forward, her chest pressing against Carlos', her face nestling into the crook of his neck.

Carlos' arms wrapped around her, holding her close, his cock still buried deep inside her, throbbing with the aftershocks of his release. "I've got you, baby," he murmured, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. "I'm here, I'm right here."

They stayed like that for a long moment, their bodies joined, their hearts beating in sync. Carlos pressed soft kisses to Y/n's hair, her forehead, her cheek, murmuring words of love and praise.

"You did so well, mi amor," he whispered, his voice low and tender. "You took me so perfectly, gave me everything. I love you so much, Y/n. So fucking much."

taglist

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[purplealmonds]

This is my tribute to the late Technoblade. I'm well over a week late to the anniversary of his passing, but I think it was worth the wait. I wanted to get this right.

The story I want to tell is of time's passage after his passing, and the set dressing of this space is a symbolic amalgamation of various aspects of his life depicting that concept.

I have a lot more to say about this painting - three pages just for the symbolism alone. If you're interested, please let me know and I'll share my analysis on a separate post! Edit: I caved. Aight, prepare for a massive info dump below the cut!

DISCLAIMERS:

Although I put a lot of research into this piece, my knowledge is likely flawed and incomplete. If I missed or misinterpreted a reference, it’s because I’m new to the Technoblade community. If I got a symbolism thing wrong, it’s because I relied on Google search for answers. I fact checked where I could. And with this analysis, I hope I can clear up any misinterpretations! 

—

OVERVIEW:

There’s lots of imagery to unpack so I’ll try parsing it in a structured manner. Let’s first examine it holistically. 

The story I want to tell here is of time’s passage after Technoblade’s passing. As such,the set dressing of this space is a symbolic amalgamation of that concept.

Prominently featured are the various medical equipments - a nod to the grim reality of his cancer. But let’s not linger upon that aspect of his story.

Of equal importance are the more mundane objects - his gaming setup, the couch and pillow which Floof sat upon in that one photo, the plethora of paraphernalia of branded merchandise, and references to his exploits in Minecraft. These are relics and mementos of his legacy.

All of these elements intermingle in flooded, lushly overgrown room looking out to a rose-tinted exterior. Is it dawn? Dusk? I’ll leave that interpretation up to the viewers.  

The third and final component is the plant life representing his community -us. We beautify this metaphorical space with where it was once laden with tragedy. Yet, despite these riotous blooms, we never quite encroach on the bed - the empty space left behind by him.

—

SET DRESSING:

Much care was taken in selecting the blossoms and placing them in symbolically significant locations.  And this neatly transitions us into the analysis individual details.

Foreground: 

In the foreground, ivy crawls through a lamp and white clovers thrive atop a pile of pillboxes. The lamp base, once a shining bronze-like finish, is heavily tarnished. The lampshade is overgrown with moss and ivy. Even if the greenery has yet to damage the electric wiring, the damp surely has finished the job. Even if the bulb is replaced, the body is too far gone. The light’s never coming on again. 

I was initially put out that my painstakingly 3D modeled pillboxes became entirely obscured, but I think it works in favor of the piece’s overarching theme: the beautiful wilds overtaking a space that once reeked of the desperate fight to prolong life. 

White clover blossoms meaning “thinking of you” is paired with the ivy meaning “everlasting devotion”.  It’s an apt combination. It has been over a year since his passing, and we still remember and carry on his legacy. 

Nestled amongst the foliage is Techno’s compass. It was once used to hunt him down in the Dream SMP. But now, it’s an odd comfort. Even though he’s no longer with us, he’s still somewhere far, far away– or is he? The original idea was for the needle to point heavenwards, but it is currently pointing…sideways?  I’ll get to the reasoning a bit later. 

The Flood:

Moving deeper into the space, we hit the floodwaters. These once turbulent currents are now tranquil enough to nourish this verdant place. The thriving plant life hides much of this darkness. It is beautiful, hopeful, even. But always bittersweet, because everything that grows here is laced with an old sorrow.

White lotus rise from the murky depths. That is us, overcoming our grief. Breaching the surface, we gain a new vantage point to contemplate this loss. Perhaps we can also find a more comforting perspective of it.

Submerged amongst the blossoms is a rusted oxygen machine. I wanted to decorate the machine with stickers, much like one would personalize a plaster cast for a broken limb. It is deliberate that the “Technoblade Never Dies” sticker is in shadow, while the “So Long, Nerds" is in light. 

Immediately to the right was meant to be a box of assorted Technoblade apparel.  But then I flooded the space for narrative reasons, rendering that idea unusable. I eventually converted it into a Welch’s Fruit Snacks box, because apparently Technoblade liked them? It’s one of the shallower references here but it is what it is.

And finally, there is a little cameo floating somewhere in the waters. An Easter egg, if you will. I wonder if you can find it? 

Furnishings from Home:

I found the couch and Technoblade’s gaming setup during my trawl through the Technoblade Reddit page for reference photos. Balancing this space full of impersonal medical equipment with more personalized belongings is grounding. These areas insert familiarity in this strange environment.

Gaming Setup:

The gaming setup is bare bones - just the monitor, keyboard, and mouse. There was no space to add more iconic elements like his Blue Yeti microphone or the steering wheel from that Minecraft challenge. Hanging above but heavily obscured by overgrowth are two framed pictures of Technoblade’s cabin and a potato minion. It is a blink-and-you-miss-it detail, placed in a dim space and requiring close examining to notice. Without the context of the rest of this environment, it is easily mistaken as generic set dressing. 

That’s the point, though. This was a space where he streamed and created videos much beloved by his community. This space was the means of creation, not the creations themselves. Without the creator at the helm, this setup becomes insignificant. Does one dote over the easel on which paintings were created, or the paintings themselves? So now it sits in darkness, a footnote of Technoblade’s legacy. 

Nostalgia Corner:

On the other end, we have the sold out Youtooz plushies and the Agro Pig plush from the recent merch drop sat atop the couch.  If you look closely, you’ll see a Skeppy coin leaning against one of the plushies. Behind the couch is a shelf. A generic shelf, but the important bits here are the sellout bell, Youtube plaque, and vinyl figurines. 

This corner of the room is nostalgic and soft. Everything is bathed in rosy pink light, and it is filled with things that are comfortingly familiar. All across the world, people in his community have these pieces of merch to remember him by. 

The red poppies that also grow here have multiple meanings. It represents the battle - one against sarcoma - which was fought here. It symbolizes death, but also resilience in the face of grueling conditions. It is said that they grow in former battlefields where of fallen warriors. I believe of all the flowers here, this one best represents Technoblade.

The Hanging Mobile:

Strung up above it is a rather last minute addition to the environment - a hanging mobile fabricated from totems representing each member of the Sleepy Bois Inc. friend group. First and foremost is Technoblade’s iconic MCC crown, aptly placed at the top. Although it is untouched by the greenery, the gold and jewelry are somewhat muted and tarnished by time.

This is not the case for the objects below. TommyInnit’s music disc shines iridiscent green and purple - Cat and Mellohi merged into one. To is right is a sky-blue guitar pick with the LoveJoy logo engraved onto it for Wilbur Soot. And finally, below it all is Philza’s Friendship Emerald - sparkling and refracting light - with Elytra feathers fastened at the bottom. They, suspended and isolated from everything, maintain a pristine vibrancy which strongly contrasts against everything else in this space. 

IV Stand:

Next to the computer setup is the IV stand. It sustains life which is incapable of continuing on without intervention. The butterfly milkweed growing on it, in contrast, says “let me go.” The latter, overtaking the tangle of tubes and powered off patient monitor, is victorious. The hooks stand rusted, and the IV bag empty from disuse.

Sat atop the patient monitor but almost blending into the walls is a pig figurine featured in Dream’s latest music video. It stands on a high perch, yet is unassuming as to direct focus on Technoblade, or rather, his absence. 

Hanging from the wired basket is an air freshener tag. If you look on the official website, this is one of the only products which has what I can only call interesting flavor text. Most are merely descriptions and specs of the product. To quote it verbatim:

“Yes, this is a real product. And no, this ‘air freshener’ has no discernible fragrance. ‘Why’ you ask? Because Mr. Technodad and our team agreed this was exactly the sort of air freshener Alex would have found hilarious.”

As morbid as it sounds, I feel like this air freshener tag would not have existed before Technoblade’s passing. It is so unlike any other merchandise I’ve seen in any other branded merchandise store. It’s like an inside joke, secretly shared within the descriptions for the world to eventually discover. 

Window:

Unlit candles line the window sill - the aftermath of a candlelight vigil. It is a versatile symbol. It raises awareness of a disease or illness. It pays tribute the dead. Judging from the melted wax dribbling down the candle shafts and the wall below (the opacity was reduced so it looks less like bloodstains), this has been done many times over. But there is so much more candle to burn, representing the people still continuing this ceremony, albeit in the privacy of their own homes.

Above the candles are some broken blinds. When grieving, it would have been so easy for Mr. Technodad to hide away from the world in his grief. It’s understandable, to give into that primal urge to flee from prying eyes when he’s at his most vulnerable. He had the difficult task of reading out his son’s final farewell to us. This barrier between him and us dismantled by this gesture so we can remember Technoblade together. 

Coincidentally, the window frame itself somewhat resembles the kitchen window featured in Technoblade and Technodad's cooking videos. Completely unintentional on my end, but fitting in a way since in both those videos they're pulling back the metaphorical curtains for the audience to peer into a small aspect of their private lives.

To the right of the window is a nondescript clock, forever stopped at the 6:30 as a nod to the date when the "So Long, Nerds" video was published. The minute hand is accidentally left out removed to signify that time will no longer move forward for Technoblade. In contrast, the rest of the world - represented by this space - continues to grow and change around his absence.

A wind chime hangs just outside the window. It is said that the soothing sounds produced by them is a healing balm during tumultuous times. Where there is wind there is stirred up emotions, but it is motionless on this calm, breezeless day. A rare respite, where remembrance overrides grief. 

On a more amusing note, there is an interesting looking moth perched on the window glass. Upon closer inspection, the wing pattern may look somewhat familiar. In Chinese culture, when a huge moth visiting your home is the embodiment of your recently deceased loved one checking on you. Remember the compass in the foreground? Well, here’s why it is pointed sideways instead of upwards. This idea came up rather organically during a VC session in the R/Technoblade Discord server. My handful of viewers and myself affectionately dubbed this doofy looking moth TechnoMoff!

Venturing further beyond the windows, ferns grow with wild abandon. They represent eternal youth, and from a certain point of view, he will remain youthful forever at the age of 23. He lives on through us carrying on his legacy and spreading his story. 

Everything outside is tinged with pink. After someone dies, we start seeing them less as a person and more as a legacy. It is the natural course of things to start seeing the deceased through rose-tinted lenses - hence the artificially pink hue of the outside contrasting with the more grounded color palette of the inside. 

Bed:

And now we circle back to the centerpiece of this entire composition: the bed and the things that surround it. 

In front of the bed is an over-bed table with a single object: an incense bowl filled to the brim with burnt sticks of incense. A simple shrine for Technoblade. In Chinese culture, we light incense at the altar to honor our loved ones. We may live separate lives and not cross paths often, but we all come together to leave our marks through this ritual. It is proof that he is still very much loved and missed by us all.

The bariatric bed frame is typically seen in hospitals. It allows the patient to comfortably sit up or recline without expending valuable energy. Encased in this frame is something more personal - the mattress and cushions which Technoblade laid upon in his photo with the Youtube plaque. Their unique patterning is a foil for the impersonal receptacle it is caged in. It is spotlit by the window light, emphasizing its emptiness. Not a single blossom dares to encroach upon this space, because to do so would be to erase the space where Technoblade last resided. Like I mentioned before, this is story is about the space around him as much as it is about him. 

Cradling this bed frame are several flowers. Rosemary and forget-me-not’s for remembrance. Appropriate, given its proximity to the bed. Morning glories, for resilience. That’s us, again. For a while, we meander and spread in the upper walls of this space, avoiding the floodwaters which symbolize grief. But eventually, we gather the strength to meander down to the bed, where grief was the strongest.

—

CONCLUSION:

There is that cheesy quote from that one Marvel TV show – “What is grief, but love persevering?” While this reframes our perception of dealing with loss, grief is not some thing that should linger. The absence of grief does not equate to the lack of love. Instead, I would like you to consider this: remembrance is love persevering. And with our combined perseverance, Technoblade will never truly die. 

[rememberwren]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Third time’s the charm. Simon/fem!reader. Handjobs, edging, cumming untouched, thigh riding, femdom behavior, somewhat submissive!simon, literally tried to cure my depression with this (did not work)

-

“You said you usually go three times in a session. We should try one more time, shouldn’t we?” 

Ghost looks at you like you’ve grown an extra set of eyes. He shakes his head a little, his eyes hard and disbelieving when they meet your own. “Have I not embarrassed myself enough for you?”

“Not really—? I mean—fuck,” you fumble, running a hand down face. “That didn’t come out right. I just meant that I don’t feel like you have any reason to be embarrassed.” 

He stares at you, through you, like if he looks long and hard enough he’ll be able to see your truth straight down to your bones. Well let him look. He hadn’t exactly bared his soul during the few weeks you had spent discussing this before meeting in person, but he had told you plenty: his issue had cost him relationships. It had cost him jobs thanks to lack of focus. Friendships thanks to neglect. You couldn’t imagine anyone willingly choosing something which gave them so much suffering. His lack of complicity cleared him of any blame in your eyes. 

At length, he must see that there is some honesty in you. Looking like it pains him, he nods his head, hulking shoulders deflating a little. “Fine. One more time. I’ll need a few minutes though.”

“That’s fine,” you offer, and it is, or at least it would be if it meant you both didn’t have to sit in complete silence, Ghost uneager to offer up conversation topics and you too awkward to try. 

He keeps staring at you, too. Or more specifically, your breasts. You’re wearing a simple t-shirt, but the effect is aided by one of your prettier bras. You had worn it unsure if Ghost was serious in his insistence that there would be no sex taking place between you both 

It seemed a pity for it to go to waste. 

“Do you want to see?” you ask him, fingers finding the hem of your shirt and gripping it tightly, folding it a little anxiously back and forth like an accordion’s bellows. 

“See? What? No—!”

“I don’t mind, honestly.”

Ghost reaches up a hand to rub at one eye like a headache is forming behind it. His mouth never abandons its signature frown, even as he says, “If you want? Jesus, fuck. I don’t know. I’m not going to stop you.”

You find that you do want. You kneel up, take the hem of your t-shirt into your hands and work it up over your breasts. For all his lack of enthusiasm, his eyes crack open straightaway and glue themselves to you, widening a little at the sight of your strappy, lace-laden bra. 

“I know you didn’t fucking wear that for me,” he says, sounding winded. 

“I’ll be honest, I thought this was just a ploy to hook up. I wore the matching panties too, do you—“

“Stop—talking,” he mutters, closing his eyes. His hand reaches down towards his (valiantly hardening) cock, but thinks twice, turns into a fist, and comes to rest at his side. “And under no circumstance should you take your pants off.”

“Got it. Pants stay on.”

Ghost sighs. “I’m ready. Let’s get it over with.”

That’s the spirit, you think to yourself dryly. You lift your hand to your mouth, creating a little cup with your palm and to spit in, your eyes locked on his own. You hear the click as he swallows, but it’s progress that he doesn’t cum, right? That must mean that he had experienced some level of desensitization, either to you as a partner or to the specific stimulus or a mixture of both. 

But that’s not how this is supposed to work. The whole point is to help him learn to last when he’s as desperate as possible, hoping that edging when he’s truly suffering will lead to a more satisfying orgasm and therefore a need for fewer of them. 

You lower your hand instead of spitting and grip the hem of your shirt, tugging it off over your head altogether. Ghost can’t seem to find his tongue, staring at you with dark, huge eyes as you reach around back and fumble with the clasp of your bra, but at last that comes undone, and you peel it away from you, letting it join his jeans and your shirt on the floor. 

His eyes rake over your naked breasts, mouth forming a curse that he lacks the breath to whisper. His cock is so hard and heavy that it lays against his belly, thick and twitching. 

You shift and straddle his thighs just proximal to his knees. He fists the bedsheets, abs tensing sharply as he watches you with silent awe and trepidation. 

“What are you doing?” He whispers. 

“Getting comfortable?” you suggest. 

Now you cup your hand and spit into it. Then you offer it to him, holding out your hand expectantly. Looking wary, he leans up onto his elbows, ducks his head, and spits into your hand too, quite delicately for being a giant of a man. 

You take your hand and place it palm down against where his cock lays on his belly, slicking the underside from top to bottom. Ghost groans, a low sound torn deep from his chest. He collapses off of his elbows and onto his back, hands finding his eyes and palming at them again while you slick his cock all over with a delicate touch, barely more than a tickle. 

“Are you teasin’ me?” he grits out. 

“I would never.” The tips of your wet fingers trail down over his balls, tight and drawn up against his body already. He hisses through his teeth, cock flexing. You fight a grin. 

Taking him firmly in your hand, you give him a series of smooth, slow strokes, your hand loose and gentle where it is cupped around him. His body writhes against the sheets. 

“Stop, please stop,” he gasps, and you do, letting his cock fall to rest against his belly with a soft thud. He opens his eyes, takes one look at your tits, and squeezes them shut again. ”Fuck, can’t believe you took your shirt off.” 

“I can put it back on if you want.” 

“Really don’t want that. Really fucking don’t. Just—sit there. Please,” he tacks on to the end like an afterthought. You’re grateful to have received a please at all. He takes deep, slow breaths, his nostrils flaring as he strains for air. 

When he gives you a curt nod, eyes still firmly closed, you reach down and use one hand to grip the base of his cock. The other you place toward the head so that you can softly drag your thumb over the deep red tip, tracing the sensitive ridge and over the leaking slit. He whines, honest to god whines, a sound which you feel viscerally in your belly and lower. You shift on his thighs, wondering if it would be so bad to just straddle one, to get some pressure right where you need it most. It’s not like there’s any sort of propriety in a situation like this. He’s getting his, why can’t you get yours? 

You use your thumb to trace a vein up the length of his shaft and smooth the slick over his tip, polishing it softly. 

“Fucking—! Stop! Stop!” 

You stop, and you swallow an unhappy sound. Things had just been getting fun—for you, at least. Ghost looks like he’s being put through the wringer, redness creeping down his neck to disappear under his shirt, knuckles white where he grips the sheets, breaths rapid and shallow. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. He laughs a little, a self-deprecating, unhappy sound. “You’re too good at that.” 

“Good with my mouth too,” you say on a whim. 

His eyes flash open, wide and surprised (and narrowed in on your mouth), his lips parted in a look of near comical astonishment. His hand scrambles to grip around the base of his cock, squeezing painfully. “You—you’re enjoying this aren’t you?” 

“Way more than I thought I would,” you admit. “An obscene amount, honestly—I’m so wet—“

Ghost releases his death grip around his balls and strokes his cock, once, twice, thrice, quick little strokes as his face crumples, as he gives up on the whole fucking thing. You can see it in his face, the defeat, the submission. He’s going to jerk himself off to a quick, unsatisfying release—but it doesn’t seem fair. 

“Stop,” you hiss, reaching out to grip his wrist. He lets go of himself like he’s been burned, immediately obedient even as his face twists with fury. He pulls away from your touch but watches as you shift until just one of his thick thighs is between your own. 

You give a soft, gentle sway of your hips against him. His face is so fucking expressive, his eyes and brows and mouth telegraphing his every little thought and feeling. He watches you with something like tortured awe, eyes flickering towards where your clothed pussy rubs against his bare thigh. 

“Don’t touch yourself,” you breathe, pleasure zipping up your spine at the friction against your cunt. “I want to see if you can cum like this.”

“Came went you spat in your fucking hand,” he breathes, abs tensing, cock twitching as precum pools in his happy trail, watching as you get yourself off against his thigh. “Can cum like this no fucking problem.” 

“You’re not as sensitive now,” you pant, planting a hand against his tensed chest to gain the leverage you need to lengthen the rolling of your hips. 

“Am too.”

“We’ll see.”

His face twists. “Will you—keep going? Even if I do?”

You consider for a moment and then shake your head, breaths too shallow to make words properly. You feel saturated, swollen and sensitive. Every drag of your hips sends muted pleasure up your spine. Normally this would take you ages to cum, but you haven’t been this worked up in a long time. Watching Ghost’s cock turn shades of red and plum is like live pornography, obscene and arousing. Feeling a little cruel, you tell him: “Gotta hold it.”

He tenses his thighs, heels digging into the bed. It does something to the muscle pressed against your cunt and makes your nails dig into his chest. 

He’s shaking his head. “No. Negative. Can’t.”

“Hafta.” 

“Can’t—fuck, I—“

“Goddamnit Ghost,” you whine, hips working feverishly against him. “Hold it and let me cum.”

He really can’t—really and truly. His cock spurts against his belly, a pitiful amount of pearly cum as he groans low and long, moan forming half-hearted, breathy apologies: sorry, ‘m sorry, couldn’t hold it—

You groan, a sound more frustrated than aroused. Your hips slow and stop, and your mouth fights to make a pout. You will it away. It really isn’t his fault. 

“You…you don’t have to stop,” he says, a little shyly. 

You shift off of him and swallow your own sigh, feeling sticky and unsatisfied. “It’s okay,” you reassure him. “Maybe next time I’ll get my pants off.” 

His cock, spent, still twitches against his belly. 

[lizzyiii]

His Lady Love (7)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

taglist | to be added to the tag list just add your username to this DOC

word count | 6,1k words

summary | you leave for the reach, angsty love confession, false rumors travel to king's landing.

tags | (MDNI), SMUT, unprotected sex (this is asoiaf so all sex is unprotected), p in v, death, heavy angst/NO COMFORT, vampire powers, heavy miscommunication

note | I'd be really interested in knowing if you guys made a name for the reader, in my head her name is Krystyna Mikaelson (yes, I googled norse names and chose my fav) So did anyone else read George R.R Martin's blog??? Anyway, I'm just here for Ewan, Olivia and Phia tbh. I was thinking that reader could be a witch. Like I know witches can't be vampires, but Siphoners can. Like just imagine her father was from a Gemini coven, and she doesn't know she has magic and since she's an original, she's her own power source, hence first heretic.

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

You had woven yourself into a web of deception, and now, the strands began to unravel. The Hand’s summons rang ominously in your ears, commanding you to escort Prince Jaehaerys to your so-called "home" in the Reach. Yet, the truth was far less straightforward; your true home lay not within the verdant fields of the Reach, nor did it belong to this mortal realm at all.

Time pressed against you—tonight, you would depart from Kings Landing. What could you possibly say to the watchful White Cloaks accompanying you? The question gnawed at you, demanding a rapid strategy as you struggled to quell your rising panic.

For the moment, the Hand had instructed you to gather only your essentials. As the hour of the wolf approached, you prepared to meet the call at the courtyard and bid a bittersweet farewell.

Your hands moved with urgency, tossing your cherished Mikaelson amulet into a trunk, alongside an array of simple dresses that would serve you for the arduous journey ahead. But amidst the flurry of preparation, the creaking of your chamber doors momentarily pierced through your focus. The air thickened with the unmistakable scent that sent a thrill down your spine, a presence you knew too well.

Stubbornly, you continued to pack, resolutely ignoring his entrance. You were a fool playing a game rigged against you—fostering feelings for a prince destined for a mortal being. Unlike your sister Rebekah, who pinned her affections upon every charming face, you fought against the tide of your own heart. Yet, in the shadows of your denial, an undeniable pull towards Aemond Targaryen had ensnared you, leaving you trapped in a whirlwind of desire and longing.

“I knew something would eventually go awry,” he murmured from the shadows, his tone laden with the weight of foresight.

You stubbornly continued to gather your belongings, your hands trembling ever so slightly. “I know not of what you speak,” you replied, defiance lacing your words like poison.

The atmosphere shifted as Aemond crossed the threshold, his presence a storm—intangible yet fierce. You felt the warmth radiating off him, enveloping you as he positioned himself behind you, the scent of dragonfire and leather filling your senses. “Whenever I find a fleeting moment of happiness, it is whisked away quicker than it appeared. The day I claimed Vhagar, and now, as I stand here with you,” his voice wavered, betraying an edge of vulnerability.

You clenched your jaw, a frown creasing your delicate features as an unbidden ache tightened around your heart. “I do not know how long I shall be gone,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Strong hands found your waist, pulling you into the warmth of his chest, a silent promise wrapped around you as he whispered, “It matters not; I shall await your return, no matter how long it may take.”

With a pained sigh, you turned to confront him, your eyes glistening with unspoken sorrow. “You shouldn't.”

Aemond's brow furrowed, confusion etched across his handsome face as he tightened his grip, unwilling to let you slip away. “Why would you utter such foolishness?”

Your insides twisted as you longed to lay bare the truth that lay heavy on your heart. A truth about your eternal curse—a vampire destined to walk the earth forever, but never to grow old alongside him, to bear him no heirs. Instead, you shook your head, you voice trembling as you whispered, “A prince cannot wed a bastard.”

His brow knitted deeper in perplexity. “What do you mean?”

“I am not my father's daughter,” you confessed, the words tasted bitter as they left your lips. “And that alone should be reason enough for you to forsake any thought of marrying me.”

The admission struck you like a blade, a noose tightening around your spirit. Aemond’s disdain for bastards echoed hauntingly in your mind—his vitriol directed at those he deemed unworthy. If claiming your own truth was the only path to forging a distance between the two of you, then so be it. You would bear the burden of his scorn, if it meant sparing him from the shadows that clung to your existence.

In a flicker of desperation, you realized the power you held—the gift of compulsion. You could erase every whispered promise and shared secret, rendering him a stranger to your existence. Yet, the thought pierced your heart like a dagger; to be forgotten was a torment worse than heartbreak. Aemond’s scorn would be a balm compared to losing him entirely, for you would rather endure his hatred than vanish from his memory.

Closing your eyes, you braced yourself for the inevitable scorn, the revulsion you feared would pour forth from his lips. Instead, you felt his hands, warm and tender, gripping your face with an intensity that stole your breath. “Look at me,” he urged, his voice a gentle command.

With reluctance, you opened her eyes, meeting his piercing violet gaze that seemed to see through to your very essence. "I do not care," he declared, as though his unwavering love could alone mend the fractures within your heart.

A tidal wave of anger surged through you—not directed at him, but ignited by the very depth of his relentless love. With a swift motion, you pushed him away, desperation fueling your words as they spilled forth like a torrent. “You should care! You must understand, Aemond— I am not good for you, and I am certainly not worthy of your love.”

Aemond’s frustration prickled in the air as he gestured animatedly, his brows knitting together as if you had unleashed a storm within him. “And who are you to declare yourself unworthy? Do you think Aegon worthy of the Iron Throne?”

You let out a derisive scoff, the incredulity igniting your tone. "Comparing me to Aegon? That is a completely different situation," you stressed, your words punctuated with defiance.

"I cannot fathom your urge to push me away," Aemond's voice rose, desperation lacing his every syllable. The calm mask he wore shattered, revealing the turmoil beneath. “Is it because you do not love me?”

The weight of his question struck you like a lightning bolt. You could feel the tears welling, and you felt the weight of your own heart as it threatened to overflow. Unconsciously, you yelled, “Of course I love you, Aemond! How could I not," The urgency in your voice rose, a plea wrapped in desperation. “But what you fail to grasp is—”

“You love me," All traces of anger evaporated from his expression; instead, a spark of something else ignited in his eyes as he latched onto your statement.

You faltered, momentarily confused. “What?”

“You love me,” he echoed, his voice rising with fervor, amplifying the truth hanging in the air like a spell.

With a scoff, you shook her head, trying to dismiss the revelation. “That is not the point of the matter, Aemond—”

“It is indeed the point,” he countered, stepping closer, his presence overwhelming as he reached out, cradling your face in his hands. “Because you love me, and I love you.”

A weary sigh escaped your lips, the weight of his insistence pressing down on you. “Aemond, you’re not hearing me.”

“I am,” he replied earnestly, his thumbs brushing softly against your cheek, “I hear you, and yet your heart speaks a truth that cannot be silenced: you love me.”

And as Aemond leaned closer, that fierce violet eye consuming your own, your defenses began to crumble. His lips brushed against yours, igniting a spark that uncoiled like wildfire within you. Resistance became a ghost, fading in the heat of your shared breath as your mouths melded together. Aemond's tongue slid past your lips, a tantalizing invasion, and you found herself yielding to the irresistible pull of desire, your essences intertwining in a dance as ancient as the realms you inhabited.

With each caress from his skilled hands, the world around you faded into oblivion, thoughts dispersing like ash in the wind. You clutched at his neck, your fingers tangling in his silver locks as you deepened your kiss, hungry for more. Aemond's grip roamed boldly across your form, igniting a fire beneath your skin that made your pulse quicken—a symphony of passion building between the two of you. You could feel the unmistakable hardness of his desire pressing against you, stirring a yearning that enveloped you.

As the kiss broke, your breaths mingled, thick with anticipation. Aemond trailed hot kisses along the delicate curve of your neck, his lips sending tremors through your body. A gasp escaped your lips as he scooped you up with effortless strength, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your body fitting perfectly against his as he pressed you closer. Your bodies met, his erection unmistakable even through the barriers of your clothing, igniting a primal need that demanded resolution.

He carried you to the nearest table, as he laid you down, the cool surface contrasted with the heat emanating from your bodies. Aemond’s fingers deftly hiked up the hem of your dress, each inch sending electric thrills along your spine, leaving your breathless.

"Do you want this?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper yet filled with a primal urgency that stirred something deep within you, all of your hesitation gone.

With languid desire pooling in between your legs, you yielded, your desperation spilling over into your voice as you breathed, "Take me now, Aemond. I wish to feel you in me, even after I've departed."

His response to your words was immediate and animalistic, a predatory instinct awakened. A growl rumbled deep in his chest, words lost to the fervor that gripped him. Like a tempest unleashed, he tore away the delicate fabric that separated the two of you, casting it aside with a fervent urgency. His fingers deftly unfastened the laces of his trousers, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet room.

In an instant, he pulled you closer, your bodies colliding with an electric urgency. The tip of his cock grazed your slick heat, a tantalizing tease that sent ripples of desire coursing through your veins. With each passing moment, your body ached for him, the need swelling within you like a tide crashing against the shore.

“Please,” you breathed, your tone rich with longing, “I cannot wait any longer.”

Before you could utter another plea, Aemond surged forward, his curved tip breaking through the barrier of your softness. Moments stretched into eternity as he filled you, a divine sensation that stole your breath. It felt like fire and ice intertwined, the ecstasy consuming you both.

As you joined together, he leaned over you, your faces mere breaths apart. His lips found yours, capturing the essence of your fervent connection in a searing kiss that tasted of bloodlust and boundless craving.

You were not a creature of restraint, especially not in the heat of the moment. With a sly, vixen-like grace, you entwined her legs around Aemond's waist, ensnaring him effortlessly. The force of your pull sent him slamming into you, your bodies colliding with a fervor that made the very air sizzle with electric desire. Aemond groaned, a primal growl escaping his lips as he felt the intoxicating warmth envelop him completely; he was ensnared by you as if caught in a hunter's trap.

Your soft moans echoed like a siren's song, urging Aemond on as your lips trailed kisses down the cool expanse of his alabaster skin. Each kiss was deliberate; it was a tantalizing dance between temptation and control. Your fangs tingled with the hunger for his fiery dragon blood, simmering ever closer to the surface, but for now, you quelled that urge with sheer willpower.

Yet Aemond, with his predatory instincts ignited, began to thrust into you with a relentless rhythm, your flesh meeting with a damp slap that resonated through the great hall like a heartbeat as Aemond thrust himself into your cunt over and over. The air thickened with the sweet scent of lust, pleasure, and something darker that lingered in the wake of your intensity.

“When will you truly understand?” Aemond rasped, his breath quickening as he plunged into you with fervor. The rhythmic, wet sounds reverberated softly in the room, his hand finding its way to your most sensitive spot, teasing your clit with skilled flicks. “You were made for me, just as I was for you.”

Pleasure surged through your veins, overwhelming your senses as you murmured, “I love you.”

With deliberate movements, Aemond traced slow, firm circles on your pearl, lowering his body closer to yours as he whispered against your lips, “I love you.”

A soft whine escaped your lips as your body tightened around him, waves of ecstasy crashing over you in a blinding storm of sensation. Aemond was drawn to your peak, his own release spiraling just behind yours. He let out a deep groan, his essence spilling inside you as he collapsed against you, panting, entirely lost in the moment.

You felt Aemond's warm breath against your skin as he leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear. “Nuhon,” he murmured, his words carrying an electricity that entwined your very essence with his. (Mine)

For a fleeting moment, you tightened your grip on him, reluctant to sever the bond that pulsed between you. Yet, time was against you, and Aemond slowly withdrew himself, his gaze piercing into yours, leaving an ache in the space inside you. A soft gasp escaped your lips; the void he left behind felt cavernous, devoid of his heat, as you only felt emptiness.

Silently, you watched as he regained his composure, the delicate dance of his fingers deftly lacing his trousers. As he turned, casting his attentive eye around the chamber, he picked up a handkerchief with a gentle touch.

What followed was an act more intimate than what the two of you had just done—the careful way he wiped away the remnants of your shared passion felt surreal. Aemond's hands were gentle, almost reverent, as he smoothed your skirts back into place, making you feel cherished in a way that transcended the physical.

His hands found their home on your waist, solid yet gentle, your fingers instinctively wrapping around his shoulders. With a graceful lift, he eased you from the tabletop, setting you down on the cold stone floor. His gaze shifted downwards, landing on your stomach, and a wave of panic surged through you, yet you instinctively placed your hand over your stomach, wishing to shield it from his penetrating stare.

“You must drink moon tea before you depart,” he murmured, his voice laced with a trace of regret, as though he carried the weight of unspoken truths.

A harsh swallow caught in your throat. It was an empty act for you to do, as your womb lay barren, yet the implications of his words hung heavy in the air. You turned your gaze away from him, a flicker of vulnerability dancing across your features, and nodded nonetheless.

His hand, warm and reassuring, cupped your cheek, gently guiding your eyes back to his. "I shall fetch some for you. Wait here, I will return shortly."

Silently, you nodded, feeling the electrifying brush of his lips against yours in a fleeting kiss, a soft collision of breath that sent shivers through your being. It was a moment suspended in time, brief yet profound, leaving you yearning for more. But before you could fully savor it, he withdrew, leaving your chambers cloaked in the bittersweet essence of his absence.

You busied yourself, gathering the few belongings you possessed, when Aemond returned with striking swiftness. A sense of discomfort washed over you as you drank the vile tea, acutely aware of his watchful eye.

After a brief silence, you dared to glance up at him, a question dancing on your lips. "Do you intend to escort me to the courtyard?"

His gaze remained piercing, an unwavering ember in the flickering light. "Indeed," he replied with a hum that resonated between you.

A sigh escaped you as you reached for your trunk of belongings, but before you could grasp it, Aemond’s hand was there, lifting it away with a possessive ease. A small spark of frustration flickered within you, yet words eluded your lips as you and he made your way through the dim hallways toward the courtyard.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and palpable, each lost in private thoughts as you pushed open the grand doors leading into the courtyard. A sea of anxious faces greeted you, their attention fixed squarely on your arrival.

Shame washed over you as you realized you were the last to come forth, and with Aemond at your side, the scrutiny felt even more intensified. Yet, this was a moment that demanded courage. You squared your shoulders and set your gaze ahead, making your way toward Helaena.

Her eyes danced with sorrow as she stepped forward, cradling her sleeping son, and placing him tenderly into your arms. You held him protectively, your voice dropping to a fervent whisper. “I promise I shall protect him with my life.”

Helaena's expression softened, her hand gently caressing the boy’s delicate face before nodding in earnest agreement. As you turned, your gaze met Aegon’s, his watchful eyes drilling into you, fixated on the sleeping prince nestled securely in your embrace.

With a steadying breath, you made your way toward the carriage, but a hand on your shoulder halted your steps. You turned to find Alicent, her eyes reflecting a sadness that tugged at your heart. She offered you a tight smile, squeezing your shoulder in a gesture of support. “You’re performing a great service for the crown,” she said, her voice filled with sincerity. You could only nod in acknowledgment as she added softly, “Promise me you’ll look after yourself.”

“Of course, My Queen,” you murmured, tightening your hold on Jaehaerys, his warmth a comforting presence against your chest.

Her smile deepened, and she said, "I will pray for the safety of both you and Jaehaerys."

“Thank you, Queen Mother,” your heart swelled at her words, while you whispered the word 'mother' as if it was sacred.

As you stepped into the carriage, you turned once more, your gaze locking with Aemond’s, unspoken words hung heavy in the air between you. Just then, a white cloak swept to close the door, sealing you and the sleeping prince in an intimate cocoon of silence.

When Jaehaerys stirred awake, panic etched across his delicate features, his bright violet eyes wide with confusion, had required an abundance of soft whispers and lots of patience from you. With tenderness, you had reassured him, carefully explaining the necessity of his departure, a necessary measure for his safety.

“What of Jaehaera?” he inquired, his voice laced with anxiety as he searched your face for answers.

A frown tugged at your lips as you deliberated, knowing the harsh truth—that his life must take precedence, for he was the heir. Instead, you offered a gentle smile, fabricating a reassuring lie. “She is being taken somewhere else, my Prince.”

“And Shrykos?” the small prince pressed, his tiny hands fiddling with one of the lemon cakes hastily packed in by the Queen Dowager.

You gazed down at Jaehaerys, who nestled against your side, “Shrykos and Morghul will remain safe within the Dragonpit,” you whispered softly.

A deep sigh escaped him, a pout forming on his lips as he burrowed deeper into your embrace. “I've never been away from Mama or Jaehaera before..." he murmured, his small frame trembling with a mix of fear and longing.

Wrapping an arm around him, you tightened your hold, "Fear not, my prince. I will keep you safe. And soon, you will be reunited with them," you murmured.

You were suffocating in boredom. Two endless days cooped inside this rickety carriage left you feeling more drained than when you began. The road to Highgarden loomed ahead, a serpentine path promising nearly a month's worth of dreary travel. Restlessness gnawed at you, a specter whispering in your ear, as you devised a plan.

Murdering the three White Cloaks tasked with your escort was an appealing thought. Yes, it would be regrettable, but the crude vulgarities spilling from their lips, laced with the foulest lechery as they leered at you, twisted the notion into something almost justifiable.

Once the deed was done, once the lifeblood of those pompous guards stained the earth beneath you, you would take Jaehaerys and make your way back to King's Landing. You would craft a tale of treachery—how you were ambushed by Rhaenyra's sympathizers, forcing you to retreat and return.

As Jaehaerys slept peacefully beside you, his form curled like a contented cat, you decided now was the best time to act. With delicate care, you shifted him onto his back, ensuring he remained undisturbed. You then directed your attention to the partition that separated your lavish prison from the brutish guards beyond.

With a purposeful knock, you roused their attention, your senses heightened, attuned to the disgruntled murmurs that reached your ears as the carriage shuddered to a halt. The door swung open abruptly, revealing Ser Loren, his face taut with irritation, the kind one might expect of a man dragged from the warmth of the sun into the chill of night.

“What,” he snapped, brows furrowing with annoyance, the tone of a man used to being in command.

In response, you offered him an enchanting smile, sweet as nectar dripping from a ripe fruit, and raised a hand to cup his cheek. The confusion flitted across his features, but your grip was steadfast as you redirected his gaze to meet yours.

“Ser Loren,” you murmured, the subtle power of your compulsion thrumming through you like a siren's song. “I need you to slay your fellow guards for me.”

His eyes widened, the flicker of uncertainty sparking a thrill within you. Yet, you tightened your hold, your voice dropping to a velvety whisper as you compelled him anew. “Do not utter a word,” you commanded softly. “You will carry out my will without hesitation, and when that is done…you shall take your own life.”

“Now go,” you urged, the finality of your words binding him as surely as any ancient spell.

As he departed, you closed the door with a soft click and settled back beside the peacefully slumbering Jaehaerys, the anticipation coursing through you like a potent elixir. Through your enhanced hearing, you could make out Ser Loren’s hesitant movements as he drew his sword. The air was thick with tension as you tuned into the muffled voices of his comrades, their puzzled murmurs a prelude to chaos.

Then came the dreadful sound of steel meeting flesh, followed by the piercing screams of two men, echoing in stark contrast to the quiet of your carriage. The ritual continued—a whimper preceding yet another stinging strike of blade on flesh—until an oppressive silence fell, wrapping around you like a shroud.

Rising to your feet, you opened the door and stepped out into the chaos. The sight that met your eyes was macabre: the fallen guards lay sprawled upon the ground, their once-pristine white cloaks now marred with blood, a stark contrast to the pale of their skin. Only the soft whicker of the horses broke the stillness.

With a satisfied hum, you turned your attention back to the carriage, intent on retrieving Jaehaerys. By horseback, you would make your way back to King’s Landing. Slipping back inside, you knelt beside the sleeping prince, your heart sinking as you perceived an ominous shift in Jaehaerys.

Gently placing your hand against his brow, a frown twisted your features upon feeling his rising temperature. Panic bubbled within you as realization struck: the boy was burning with fever, likely the consequence of his first venture beyond the castle walls. His frail immune system was struggling against the onslaught of illness. Children, as you knew all too well, were vulnerable, and fevers could turn grave in the blink of an eye.

Time was of the essence; you needed to find safety for him, a sanctuary where he could heal swiftly.

With care, you gathered him into your arms, cocooning him in a soft blanket to protect his fragile form. Then, you climbed onto a horse with him nestled closely against you. Urging the steed forward, you set your sights on the nearest village, aware that King’s Landing would have to wait—your priority was the precious life cradled in your embrace.

What you were blissfully unaware of was how swiftly whispers of three slain white cloaks would flutter to the ear of King's Landing. Such is the nature of tidings that venture too far from their origin—truth, like shadows, warps in the light of rumor.

What reached the capital painted a grim picture: three white cloaks brutally cut down, their carriage reduced to cinders, with the lady and the prince within consumed by flames. Perhaps there lay some truth to this tale; after you'd fled with Prince Jaehaerys, desperate commoners stumbled upon your carriage, and in their frenzy, laid it to waste.

And so, that account flew to King's Landing with the swiftness of a raven on the wing.

"He's dead," Aegon breathed, his voice thick with disbelief, as he struggled to absorb the weight of the news. "He's dead!"

In a fit of rage, Aegon hurled a glass goblet against the stone wall, shattering it into a thousand shards, his fury echoing within the council chamber. "I’ll kill them all!"

He pounded the table with sufficient force that the goblets rattled, while the rest of the council sat in stunned silence, their eyes upon him. "This is war! I declare war! I declare war!" His voice rose, raw and strident.

With cheeks flushed and a face streaked with remnants of tears, Aegon turned to his Grandsire, his expression a tempest of anger and anguish. "This is your doing! All of this is your fault!"

Alicent, glancing nervously between her father and her son, sought to defuse the tension crackling in the air. "He did not kill Jaehaerys, Aegon," she insisted softly, her voice trembling with urgency.

"No! He merely sent him forth to meet his doom!" Aegon shouted, his despair morphing into a howling tempest.

Otto's gaze remained steady but weary as he leaned back in his seat, allowing a heavy sigh to escape him. "It was a miscalculation on my part."

"A miscalculation that cost my son's life!" Aegon's anguished cry reverberated through the chamber.

"And yet, no one was privy to Jaehaerys’ departure, which suggests treachery lies among us," Lord Larys Strong observed softly, his voice laced with a chilling certainty.

Aegon turned his gaze to the council, suspicion etching lines on his youthful face. "Then it could very well be any one of you!" He thrust a finger towards the council members, prowling behind the table as a predator.

“While Lord Larys raises a point of merit,” Otto continued, as Aegon sank heavily into the head chair, the weight of his grief palpable as tears fell freely down his cheeks, “Jaehaerys will do more for us now than a thousand knights in battle. You will have your war, Your Grace. But if you wait a short time, you may yet double your strength.”

"Mother," Aegon whispered, his voice a fragile wisp swirling in the air, laden with unshed sorrow and searching for comfort.

Alicent stepped closer, her hand settling gently on her son’s shoulder. "The Hand sets on a difficult path, my darling, but it, it might be the right one."

Otto, with an air of finality, declared, "Let us continue with the funeral procession for Jaehaerys. He shall be honored with a grand casket, and riding behind it, the Queen, and with her, the Queen Dowager."

Alicent shook her head in disagreement. "No, I no longer wish for it to become some grand spectacle."

“The realm must see the sorrow of the crown,” Otto asserted, his tone brooking no argument, “a sorrow best expressed through its most gentle souls.”

Casting one last mournful glance at her son, Alicent firmed her resolve. “I think you’ll all agree the king himself must be spared.”

“No. No. It cannot be true,” Helaena whispered, her voice barely above a breath, as she shook her head in disbelief. Alicent stepped forward, the weight of the grim tidings looming over her like a storm cloud, heavy with sorrow.

“The carriage… it was consumed by flames,” Alicent spoke, her voice trembling with the pain of the knowledge she bore.

Helaena’s denial tightened its grip on her heart; she paced restlessly, the fabric of her gown whispering against the stone floor. “She promised me,” Memories of warm embraces and gentle reassurances echoed in her mind, each one a testament to the promise that now lay shattered, “She swore she would protect him.”

“Helaena—” Alicent's hand reached out, a mother’s instinct to comfort surging forth.

Yet Helaena recoiled from the touch, wrestling her emotions. “They are alive, I can feel it,” she insisted, the desperation in her voice soaring.

“There were no survivors,” Alicent replied, her tone heavy with the weight of acceptance, an acceptance that felt like betrayal.

Helaena’s eyes glistened with tears as she twisted her fingers together, seeking solace in their familiar dance. Alicent took a deep breath, gathering herself before adding, “The funeral for Jaehaerys will go on as planned, and… we’ve been asked to ride on a wagon throughout the city.”

With a swift turn, Helaena faced away from her mother, leaning against a sturdy timber beam that framed her bed. “I don’t want to,” she murmured, her voice defiant yet frayed.

Alicent’s expression twisted with empathy; she understood her daughter’s pain all too well. “Neither do I,” she admitted, her heart heavy with the weight of duty. “But when a thing like this happens… a blow to the king is a blow to the realm. When the people share our grief, they draw closer to us.”

“I don’t want them closer,” Helaena shot back, “I don't know them.”

“Sometimes, we have to pretend,” Alicent whispered.

Defiance shattered, the tears Helaena had valiantly held at bay now cascaded down her cheeks. The truth settled in her chest like a stone. “Why?” she questioned, her voice choked with pain.

Alicent stepped closer, “We are representatives of the throne. We have a duty,” she reaffirmed.

Helaena offered no reply, her silence a testament to her grief. Instead, she turned away, allowing her tears to flow freely as she braced herself to mourn not only the loss of her son but the fading light of her dearest friend.

You were dead.

Those haunting words echoed relentlessly in Aemond's mind, a cruel mantra he could not shake off. You were gone, and he would never again behold your celestial beauty, nor bask in the warmth of your radiant smile. The soft comfort of your embrace, which had always been his sanctuary, was lost to him forever. You were gone, and with that, the future he had imagined—a life entwined with yours, filled with laughter, children, and the tender joys of family—vanished into the ether.

He knew he should have fought against the tides of fate, should have raised his voice and insisted on accompanying you to The Reach. But in that fateful moment, he had faltered, and now the price was your death.

The one soul who had loved him unconditionally—perhaps the only soul that ever had.

In the throes of despair, he had ravaged his own chambers in a storm of sorrow, crashing furniture and shattering glass. Yet, even amidst the chaos, he found no solace. Driven by a desperation he could hardly understand, he stumbled to your chambers, longing to find you smiling, blissfully unaware of his turmoil.

But the truth awaited him there, stark and unforgiving: your room stood as a mausoleum, empty and frigid, a world devoid of the warmth you once brought. A wretched reminder lingered in the air, a bittersweet trace of your scent that was now inseparable from his suffering.

And so, in his agony, he lay upon your bed, a canvas of despair draped in the remnants of your essence. He curled around your pillow, desperately inhaling the lingering fragrance of you, each breath a silent prayer for your return as tears slipped from his eyes, tracing paths down his cheeks.

There was a desperate thought that flirted with the edges of his grief—perhaps he should end it all, surrender to the oblivion that beckoned. In that darkness, he imagined a reunion with you, a sweet escape from the relentless pain of war and dread. Yet even in his muddled sorrow, a flicker of sanity held him back, urging him to cling to the slivers of his own existence, the remnants of a life that felt achingly incomplete without you.

Even if he were to shatter this fragile existence, he knew deep down that he would not be reunited with you; heaven would welcome your pure soul, while he would drown in the torment of hell's grasp.

Shame twisted in his gut as he found himself in the Blue Pearl, entwined with a woman who was not you. The very same woman who had robbed him of his innocence so many years ago, the one who had snuffed out the last vestiges of his untainted childhood.

"The love of my life is dead," Aemond murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper against Madam Sylvi's soft, perfumed skin. He was acutely aware of the hollowness inside him, a well from which no more tears could flow.

"You are still young, my prince. There will be many more to come," Sylvi cooed, her voice a melodic attempt to soothe his anguish. But her words only ignited a flicker of anger within him. How could she presume to understand? How could she speak of future loves when in his heart, there was only room for you?

"The last time I laid eyes on her, she told me she loved me," he said, squeezing his eyes shut as if he could summon forth that cherished moment. "I was the happiest I had ever been. And yet, how swiftly that joy was cruelly ripped away."

"Daemon sent them to kill me," he continued, his tone darkening with the weight of truth. "I was out."

"You were here," Sylvi stated.

"In truth, I am proud… that he considers me such a foe," Aemond confessed, a grim satisfaction threading through his grief. "And that he seeks to murder me in my bed—he fears me. His actions have borne my lady love’s tragic end, and he will answer for it."

"As well he should," Sylvi replied, her gaze intense. "The boy is grown into a man." She leaned closer, her lips hovering tantalizingly close to his.

"Mm. No. Not here," Aemond said with a frown, his body recoiling from her advances. Disgust flooded through him as he shifted away from her, seeking refuge on her thighs, though his thoughts were elsewhere. The brothel faded into the background as memories of you flooded his mind—your laughter, your warmth, the connection that ignited his very soul.

(I love making these vids)

Names that are in bold are ones that couldn't be added :(

@barnes70stark @izabell26 @anyisaravia2001 @urdeftonesgrrrl @helo1281917 @strangefunthornqueen @ellie-xOxo @hueanhdang @elenapri0502 @goest-and-fuckest-thyself-blog @caged-birdies-blog @darktrashsoulbear @lenavonswartzschild @writtenbyhollywood @gl4ssw1ngp1xy @goddesslilithmoriarty @sunset18rose @filmflux @ln8118 @esposadomd @sara-grimes-yess @littybeech @gyneve @https-kokomi @void21 @yariany02 @baby-w3-ar3-infinite @baby-i-can-see-your-reylo @niktwazny303 @missyviolet123 @caribbeangal @ggukiespace @levimaids @Lokisgoddessofpower @anakilusmos @spacexdrago @strawberymilktea @snowtargaryen @fiction-fanfic-reader @feelingfaye @sxlsvv

[dontyouworrydaddy]

Can you please write about the Task Force 141 boys (and Konig too if it's ok) just casually shopping when a young woman comes to them out of the blue, gently grabbing their arm. She looks absolutely terryfied, whispering a shaky "Act like you know me. Please!" It's clear someone has been following her for a whlie and she's desperate for help. Thank you.

𝑫𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓

Task Force 141 (+König) x Reader

I‘m so happy I get to write this since I had this in mind for such a long time 😭 so Thank you for suggesting this and I hope you like it xoxo 😚

KÖNIG

As König strolled through the bustling marketplace, his keen eyes scanned the various stalls, his mind focused on the mundane task of running errands. Dressed inconspicuously in civilian clothes, he blended seamlessly into the crowd, his stoic demeanor giving no hint of the dangerous missions he undertook as an elite soldier.

Suddenly, a gentle touch on his arm startled him. He turned to face you with fear written deeply into your eyes. "Please act like you know me!" you pleaded, your voice trembling. König instantly recognized the distress in your voice and the urgency in your gaze. Without hesitation, he nodded, his stoicism giving way to concern.

"Hey," he greeted, his voice laced with a comforting tone. He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a protective embrace. You leaned into his chest, seeking solace in his strength.

König's social anxiety has always been a problem for him and it’s hitting hard surfaced in this unexpected encounter. He was a man of few words but possessed an unwavering sense of loyalty and courage. He was calm under pressure, his sharp instincts guiding him through the chaos of battle. Now, faced with a terrified stranger seeking his help, those traits kicked into action.

As König held you, he discreetly surveyed his surroundings. His eyes landed on a man lurking nearby, watching you guys intently. The man's presence and the way he leered at you which made it clear he had been following you. König's protective instincts flared, and he knew he needed to act swiftly.

With a calm yet firm voice, König spoke to the man, his words laden with an underlying warning. "Do you have a problem, sir?" he asked, his tone carrying an unmistakable air of authority.

The man's face paled as he realized he had been caught. He stammered a weak denial, his eyes darting nervously from König to you. Sensing the growing unease in the man, König maintained his grip on the you, ensuring your safety. Without another word, the man hastily retreated, disappearing into the crowd as if he were never there. König watched him go, his steely gaze never faltering. Once the immediate danger had passed, he turned his attention back to you gently releasing you from his protective embrace.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his concern evident in his voice. You nodded, gratitude shining in your eyes. You thanked him for his help but your voice still laced with residual fear. König, ever the enigma, simply nodded in response, his focus returning to the world around him.

SIMON RILEY

Simon strolled through the bustling marketplace, enjoying a rare moment of solitude away from his covert missions and high-stakes operations. As he perused the various stalls, his attention was suddenly drawn to a figure emerging from the throng, walking towards him with a sense of urgency. It was you and you had fear written across your face, approaching Simon with trepidation. Without a moment's hesitation, you reached out and gently grabbed his arm, your voice trembling as you whispered, "Act like you know me. Please!" He looked down at you and he wonders why him because you can’t see his face due to the mask covering his whole face but his eyes.

But still, Simon's instincts kicked in, his years of training guiding his response. He swiftly assessed the situation, noting the unease in your eyes and the subtle glances cast over your shoulder. Without a word, he nodded, recognizing the urgency of the matter. With a sense of familiarity, he slipped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer, creating a facade of friendship and protection. “There you are. I thought you got lost in the mall” he replied a bit loudly so the man behind you could hear it.

The man, dressed in a nondescript manner, had been trailing you for some time. His presence was unsettling, and his intentions were definitely clear. Sensing the danger, Simon decided to confront the man head-on. With a calm yet authoritative voice, he greeted the stranger, "Hey, is there a problem?"

The man's eyes widened, clearly caught off guard by Simon's intervention. He stammered, unable to meet Simon's piercing gaze. "N-No, there's no problem. Sorry for the misunderstanding," he mumbled before quickly retreating into the crowd, disappearing as if he had never been there at all.

You let out a sigh of relief, the tension slowly releasing from your body. Simon's protective embrace remained, offering you a sense of security amidst the chaotic surroundings. He looked down at you, concern etched upon his face. "Are you alright? Do you know that man?"

You shook your head, grateful for Simon's intervention. "No, I've never seen him before. But he's been following me for a few days and he’s always lurking in the shadows. I didn't know what to do, and then I saw you. I just...I needed help. Because this time I had the feeling something is gonna happen"

Simon's expression softened, his voice filled with reassurance. "You did the right thing, coming to me. We'll figure this out together. You're safe now."

With that, Simon gently led you away from the marketplace, finding a quieter corner where the noise of the crowd was replaced by a sense of serenity. His arm remained around you, providing both a shield and a comfort. The world seemed to fade away as the two of you focused on each other.

He stayed with you for an hour until you were calm and offered to guide you home. You guys started talking and he was pretty good at keeping your mind busy and forgetting about what happened earlier.

Before you leave, you give him your phone number and thank him again. He first didn’t accept it but you wanted to go out and have a drink as a thank you. After a few arguments he agreed and accepted it.

JOHN MACTAVISH

John strolled through the busy shopping center, blending in with the bustling crowd. As an experienced soldier, he had become accustomed to the chaos of war, but today he sought solace in the mundane world of civilian life. It was an ordinary day, or so he thought.

Suddenly, a hand gently grasped his arm, and he turned to face an unfamiliar yet terrified face. It was you, eyes wide with fear and voice trembling as you spoke. "You, please. Act like you know me. Please!" you whispered urgently.

John was taken aback by the intensity of your plea, but his instincts kicked in immediately. With a nod, he masked his surprise and responded, "Hey, how have you been?" He wrapped his arms around you in a comforting hug, hoping to offer you some reassurance.

Feeling the strength and warmth in his embrace, you relaxed. You leaned closer, your voice barely above a whisper, "There's a man following me. He's been tracking me for a while, and I'm terrified. I don't know what to do."

John's eyes narrowed as he surveyed his surroundings, searching for any signs of the mysterious man. “Don't worry," he murmured, his voice filled with quiet determination. "I'll handle it."

Just as John finished speaking, a figure emerged from the crowd, his gaze fixed on you. Sensing the tension, the stalker approached, a malicious glint in his eyes. However, his confidence wavered when he saw John's protective stance and you nestled against him.

John's steely gaze met the stalker's, and he spoke with an edge of warning in his voice, "Is there a problem?" His voice, calm and controlled, sent a shiver down the stalker's spine. The stalker faltered, suddenly unsure of himself. He stammered, "N-no, no problem at all." Fear danced in his eyes, realizing that he had underestimated the situation. Without another word, the stalker swiftly turned on his heels and disappeared into the crowd, leaving John and you in a newfound sense of safety. John's grip on you tightened slightly, a silent promise that he would continue to protect you.

As the adrenaline subsided, you looked up at John, gratitude evident in her eyes. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice filled with genuine relief. "I don't know what I would've done without you."

John offered a reassuring smile, his rugged features softened by a genuine kindness. "You're welcome. Just glad I could help. Are you okay?"

A small smile graced your lips, finally feeling a sense of security. "I am now. Thanks to you, …"

“John. My Name is John” he replied with a smile. “Thanks to you John“

You guys stood there for a moment longer until you were calm and talked for a bit before your ways parted again.

JOHN PRICE

John walked through the bustling aisles of a local supermarket, his mind preoccupied with mundane thoughts about groceries and errands. He is relaxed, but his years of combat experience had honed his senses, always keeping his mind busy.

As he reached for a can of soup on the shelf, a gentle yet desperate touch on his arm caught his attention. He turned his head and his eyes met with yours. In that moment, he sensed your fear and urgency. There was no need for words; your trembling form and wide eyes spoke more than words.

"Help me. Please act like you know me" you whispered shakily, your voice laced with terror. You were being pursued, and you needed his help. Without hesitation, Price nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. His personality trait of being fiercely protective kicked into high gear.

His grip tightened around you, offering both support and a sense of safety. "Hey," he greeted, his voice low and comforting. "What's going on?"

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you clung to him. "There's this guy... he's been following me for days," you explained, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what he wants, but I can't shake him off."

Price's jaw tensed, his expression growing more determined. "Stay close," he said, his voice holding a steely edge. "Let's confront him."

With your heart pounding, you followed Price as he led you through the supermarket, his imposing figure serving as a shield against any potential threat. As you weaved through the aisles, you caught sight of the man who had been stalking you. His eyes widened in surprise when he noticed Price's presence at your side.

John’s voice held a commanding tone as he approached the man. "You got a problem?"

Startled, the man stammered, his face turning pale. "W-What? No no no, no problem at all," he stuttered, his voice trembling. He hastily made his way toward the exit, clearly intimidated by the legendary figure of John.

With the threat seemingly neutralized, John turned his attention back to you. He pulled you into a comforting embrace, his strong arms offering solace amidst the chaos of the situation. "You're safe now," he reassured, his voice carrying a sense of genuine care.

You buried your face in his chest, feeling the weight of the tension slowly dissipating. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude. "I don't know what I would have done without you."

KYLE GARRICK

Kyle was walking through his local yet favorite grocery store. He couldn’t find his favorite candy which was making him a bit mad. Little did he know that his peaceful shopping excursion was about to take a dramatic turn.

Suddenly, a hand gently clasped around Kyle's arm. He turned, his eyes locking with yours. You, with your disheveled hair and wide eyes, looked absolutely terrified. The fear in your gaze pierced through him, leaving no room for doubt. Without a word, you pleaded for his assistance.

"Act like you know me. Please," you whispered, your voice trembling.

Kyle's training kicked in, his instincts telling him to trust you. He masked his surprise and concern, his face transforming into a warm smile. "Hey," he greeted you, wrapping his arms around your trembling frame. The embrace offered you a sense of safety.

His voice, a soothing baritone, held a touch of authority. "Is that guy bothering you? Does he have a problem?" Kyle glanced over your shoulder, his gaze fixed on a man lurking in the distance, his eyes locked onto you with a sinister intensity.

Fear flashed across the stalker's face as he realized he had been caught. His eyes darted from Kyle to you and back again. In that moment, the tables turned, and he suddenly felt the weight of his actions. The man quickly averted his gaze, his footsteps retreating hastily. He was too scared to stay for a minute longer.

With the threat vanquished, you let out a shaky breath, the tension leaving your body. "Thank you," you whispered, gratitude lacing every word. "I don't know what I would have done without you." He released you from his protective embrace, his eyes never leaving yours. "You're safe now," he assured you, his voice filled with genuine concern.

For the rest of your shopping trip, Kyle remained by your side, his presence offering you an unspoken reassurance. Together, you navigated the aisles, filling the cart with groceries while engaging in lighthearted banter and getting to know each other.

After Paying for the groceries your ways split and you were thankful that he helped you out of the situation. He was glad he could save yet another life.

[elysianiki]

୨୧　𝓟AIN 𝓑ENEATH 𝓨OUR 𝓣OUCH ─ 이희승

☆ ⋆ 𝑝. 𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗎𝗇𝗀 ・ 𝑓𝖾𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ・ 𝑤𝑐. 5OO ・ 𝑐𝑤. 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 , 𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 , 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 ・ 𝑔. 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 ・ 𝑎𝑛. 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗂𝖾, 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗊 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 :𝗉　—　𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗅𝖿

　　── ❛ 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗂𝗇 , 𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗎𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖽 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝖽 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗌 ❜

You lay encompassed by warm blankets, the soft fabric wrapping around your cold body, embracing you. Despite the several painkillers you had taken to ease the discomfort, a sharp cramp struck through your lower abdomen.

Just as a haze of drowsiness began to engulf you, the loud, insistent ringing of your phone resonated through the silent room. With a groan, your body weakly turned to grab it. The screen lit up with Heeseung’s name.

“Hey Hee, I’m kinda sick right now…” your voice a faint whisper, wavering with fragility. Another wave of pain struck through you, and you clenched your abdomen, Heeseung’s words drowned out by the throbbing echoing through your ears.

“Well, I’m here, so I might as well take care of you, right?” His soft chuckle was filled with a hint of concern, your attention quickly shifting back to your phone.

“You’re here?” You questioned, the sound of the front door creaking open reverberating through your apartment. You stood up hastily, almost jumping to your feet in a sudden surge of energy. However, your cramps were incessant, the torment of your period never ceasing. Suddenly, Heeseung’s tall, svelte figure appeared in the doorway, arms laden with snacks, drinks, and a heated plush.

“Babe, what are you doing?” His voice was laced with concern as he set down his ‘supplies’ and took your hand in his. Your brain pounded, a rhythmic pulse throbbed in your head as Heeseung held you, leading you back to bed.

“I’m fine, Hee,” you insisted, a fragile laugh escaping your lips as you feigned nonchalance. He pressed the back of his hand against your forehead, his touch gentle as a slight heat radiated from your head.

“You don’t quite have a fever,” he said softly, his eyes taking in the sight of you. “I brought your favourites cause I know it must be painful.” He grabbed a drink from the dresser, opening it with a fizz as he reached for the painkillers.

“Open up,” he said, playfully demonstrating with his own mouth. You couldn’t help but smile, even through the discomfort. “Heeseung, I’m not a baby,” you teased, reaching for the pill, but he pulled away.

“No,” he pouted, eyebrows furrowed together. “Open up.” You let out an exasperated sigh, a smile creeping onto your lips as you complied, opening your mouth as instructed before swallowing the pill and downing it with the drink he offered.

“Oh, I bought this heat pad plush thingy,” he said, grabbing the Hello Kitty stuffy. “You’re supposed to… fill it with water or something.” You laughed sinking yourself into the warm blankets, Heeseung messing with the stuffy. “I’ll be rihht back with this, you just relax,” his voice filled with sincerity, his bambi eyes delicate and soft.

After a brief struggle, Heeseung came back, a proud smile curled on his lips as he slid into bed beside you. He placed the heated plush against your abdomen, his firm hand pressing it gently as he nestled closer. He planted delicate kisses along your face, tracing your graceful features as he spoke sweet nothings.

“Try to get some rest, baby,” he whispered, his voice a soothing melody as he brushed stray hairs from your face. As you closed your eyes, his gentle humming rang tenderly through your ears, a daze immersing you into sleep.

　　𖥔 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 :　@wonsdoll @flwrstqr @mmygnolia @nshmuras @myungsua @kairoot

[novaursa]

The Heir of Ice and Ash

- Summary: A little less than a year into your marriage with Cregan, you give birth to your first child.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is only daughter od Rhaenyra, has silver hair and violet eyes, and is bonded with dragon called Thraxata. These events happen after The North Remembers. To read all the chapters in chronological order visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 5 115

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @21-princess

The sun sets below the horizon, painting the skies over Winterfell in hues of deep indigo and velvet, as if the Gods themselves pay tribute to the impending night. You stand by the window, your gaze fixed on the first stars twinkling above. They are a stark contrast against the endless darkness stretching out from the Godswood and the towering walls of the castle. Your hand rests heavily against the swell of your belly, the child within restless, as though sensing the night ahead will be anything but peaceful.

Autumn has fully settled upon the North, and even though the warmth of the hearth blazes behind you, a chill seeps into your bones that no fire can chase away. You shift uncomfortably, feeling a familiar ache in your lower back. It has been a constant companion these past weeks, dull and persistent. But tonight, it pulses more sharply—like the distant beat of a war drum.

Cregan finds you there, framed by the shadows and the low, flickering light of the fire. His presence is a balm, even before he speaks. The Lord of Winterfell—your husband—carries the strength and sternness of the North, but in his eyes, softened by the firelight, there is only concern and tenderness for you. His dark hair is wild, just as the snow-laden winds that howl outside, and a slight frown creases his brow as he crosses the room to you.

"Y/N," he says, his voice low and gravelly, "you should be resting. The Maester said the time grows close. You cannot push yourself like this."

You turn to him, offering a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. "Resting makes me feel like a caged dragon," you reply, your voice laced with both fondness and frustration. "Thraxata would gnaw through her own wings before sitting idly while the world shifts around her."

He chuckles, but there’s tension beneath it. Cregan’s large hand covers yours on your belly, and you feel the child stir once more—a reminder of the life you carry, a testament to the love that has grown between you in this stark, unyielding place.

"The child takes after you, then," he murmurs. "Stubborn and fierce."

You meet his gaze, feeling warmth bloom in your chest. "Or perhaps after you—strong and steadfast. A wolf with a dragon's fire."

Before either of you can speak further, a sharp pain lances through your body. You inhale sharply, clutching Cregan’s arm, your nails digging into the fur-lined sleeve. His expression shifts instantly, dark brows knitting together with worry. You feel the tightness spread like a wildfire across your belly, and when it releases, you’re left breathless and trembling.

"Y/N?" The concern in his voice is almost a command, though he’s careful not to let the fear creep into it. "Is it time?"

You shake your head, breathing deeply to steady yourself. "Not yet," you whisper, but even you can hear the uncertainty in your tone. It has been hours since these pains started, subtle and far between at first. But now, they come more frequently, gripping you like waves crashing against a rocky shore.

Cregan doesn’t waste time. He steps away, only long enough to summon Maester Kennet and the midwives. You watch him move with purpose, the Lord of Winterfell transformed into a man both ready to command and helpless in the face of the unknown. His love for you is written in every line of his face, in the tightness of his jaw, in the way his hands curl into fists as if he could fight off the pain on your behalf.

The midwives arrive quickly, bustling into the room with hushed voices and brisk efficiency. They guide you to the bed, their hands gentle yet firm as they help you settle against the piled furs and cushions. You clutch Cregan’s hand as the Maester approaches, his lined face kind but serious as he takes note of your condition.

"How long have the pains been this strong, my lady?" he asks, his voice even but edged with concern.

"A few hours," you admit through gritted teeth. "But it’s growing worse. They’re coming faster now."

The Maester nods gravely, exchanging a glance with the lead midwife. "Your body is preparing, my lady. It may yet be some time before the babe is ready to enter the world, but the process has begun in earnest."

His words offer little comfort. You know, intellectually, that this is how it must be—how it is for every woman who brings forth life—but knowing does nothing to dull the reality of it. Each time the pain comes, it tears through you with a force that leaves you gasping, gripping Cregan’s hand as if it were a lifeline.

"Stay with me, Cregan," you breathe out between labored breaths. You’ve never felt so vulnerable, so desperate for his presence. 

"Always," he promises, his voice a low rumble, grounding you amidst the storm brewing in your body. He presses his forehead against yours, his warmth a beacon in the encroaching darkness. "You are stronger than any dragon, Y/N. You’ll see this through, as you always do—with fire and fury."

The night drags on, and with it, the pain ebbs and flows like the tide, relentless and unyielding. You find yourself slipping between moments of clarity and haze, clinging to Cregan’s voice as he whispers reassurances in your ear, his hand never leaving yours. You hear the midwives speaking softly to one another, discussing the progression, debating when to intervene, when to let nature take its course.

Outside, the wind howls, a mournful sound that seems to echo the turmoil within you. Somewhere far off, perhaps even from the Godswood, you think you hear the distant call of a wolf—your child’s ancestors, awaiting the new life ready to join their pack.

But for now, the waiting continues. The pain intensifies, like the tightening coil of a spring wound to its limit, yet still, there is no sign that the final moment is near. You can feel it, lingering on the edge of every breath—a future that hangs just out of reach, not yet ready to reveal itself.

Exhausted, you close your eyes, letting Cregan’s steady presence be your anchor. The Maester and midwives murmur around you, but their words blur into the background as you focus on the rhythm of your breaths, each inhale and exhale a battle won.

The night is far from over. The child within you stirs as if in answer, reminding you that the fiercest trials are yet to come. And yet, you are a dragon of Velaryon blood, a child of the conquerors and the seas. Winter may have yet to come, but it cannot quell the fire that lives within you. And so, you wait—braced for the storm, knowing that when dawn breaks, it will bring with it either triumph or heartbreak.

But for now, there is only the darkness, the pain, and the unwavering strength of your husband's hand holding yours, as you both prepare to face what lies ahead together.

The night stretches on, thick and unyielding like the ice that blankets the North. The chamber is dim, save for the flicker of the hearth and the low glow of the candles, their light wavering with each gust of wind rattling the shutters. You feel as if time itself has slowed, each moment pulling at you like heavy chains, dragging you deeper into the intensity of the labor.

The pain is unrelenting now, no longer coming in waves but crashing over you like a tempest at sea, leaving no room to breathe, no space to gather your strength. Every muscle in your body is taut, straining as the child within you fights its way into the world. You cling to Cregan’s hand, his knuckles white under the force of your grip. His face is etched with concern, a rare crack in the stoic mask he wears so easily. But beneath it all, his love is there—steady, unwavering, a lighthouse in the storm.

“You’re doing well, Y/N,” the midwife assures you, though her voice seems distant, as if carried through a tunnel. “The babe is moving down. Keep breathing, just like we practiced.”

You grit your teeth, trying to focus on the instructions, but it’s hard to think beyond the pressure building within you, the primal urge to push overwhelming every other instinct. It’s as if a fire roars through your veins, the fury and strength of your dragon blood awakened, urging you to finish this battle.

“I can’t… I don’t know if I can,” you gasp, the words torn from you in a moment of weakness. For a fleeting second, doubt curls in your chest, tightening around your heart.

But Cregan is there, leaning close, his voice a low rumble in your ear, filled with the deep, unyielding strength of the North. “You can. You are Y/N Velaryon—daughter of Rhaenyra, rider of Thraxata, a dragon forged in fire. There’s nothing in this world that can break you, least of all this.”

His words cut through the fog of pain, grounding you, reminding you who you are. You’ve fought for your place in this world—carved it out with both grace and fury���and you’ll fight for this child too, just as fiercely.

The midwife nods, seeing the determination flash in your eyes. “It’s time, my lady. With the next contraction, you must push.”

And so you do.

The first push takes everything you have, and the scream that tears from your throat is one of both agony and defiance. The world narrows to this one moment, the struggle of bringing life into being, of pushing past the pain and fear to reach the light on the other side. You feel the child shift, the head crowning, and the sensation is like being split in two, raw and fierce.

“Good, that’s it!” The midwife’s voice rises with encouragement. “Again, my lady, when the next one comes!”

You barely have time to gather yourself before another contraction grips you, fierce and unrelenting. Sweat beads on your brow, mixing with tears that you’re only half-aware of. You lean into the pain, letting it fuel your resolve, focusing all your energy on bringing this child into the world.

Cregan’s hand is still in yours, his voice a steady chant in your ear. “Almost there, Y/N. You’re almost there. I’m with you. We’re in this together.”

His presence is a comfort, his strength lending you the courage to face the next wave. The room blurs around you—the midwives, the Maester, all of it fading as you focus on the one task that matters. The pain is all-encompassing, a fire burning through you, but there is something else there too—a deep, instinctual knowledge that you are nearing the end, that you are almost ready to meet the child who has been growing inside you for all these months.

“One more, my lady!” The midwife’s voice cuts through, sharp and encouraging. “One final push!”

You gather every ounce of strength left in your body, the remnants of your willpower igniting into one last surge. With a primal roar, you bear down, feeling the child finally slip free, the sensation one of both release and completion. And then, for a moment, there is silence—the world holding its breath in the space between one heartbeat and the next.

Then the air is split by the cry of a newborn—a sound so pure and strong that it brings tears to your eyes. Relief crashes over you, leaving you trembling and gasping for breath. The midwife moves quickly, cleaning the child and wrapping them in soft furs before placing them in your arms.

“It’s a boy, my lady,” she says with a smile, her eyes shining with the joy of the moment.

You look down at your son, tears blurring your vision as you take in the tiny face, scrunched and red, his little fists waving in the air. His hair is dark, like Cregan’s, but when he opens his eyes, you see a familiar shade of violet staring back at you—the mark of your bloodline, of your heritage. He is a perfect blend of both of you, a child of both fire and ice.

Cregan’s breath catches as he looks at the child, awe and tenderness softening his usually stern features. He brushes a hand gently over your hair, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead. “He’s beautiful,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve done it, Y/N. Our son…”

The joy is overwhelming, the bond between the three of you already stronger than anything you’ve ever known. You cradle your son close, feeling his warmth, hearing his tiny breaths as he calms in your arms. The pain, the exhaustion—it all fades in the face of this moment, the pure love that fills the room like a warm light cutting through the cold.

“What will we name him?” Cregan asks softly, his fingers tracing the baby’s cheek with a touch so gentle it belies the strength in his hands.

You look at your son, feeling the weight of his future, the legacy he carries within him. He is of House Velaryon and House Stark, a bridge between two worlds, a symbol of unity and strength. “Killian,” you finally say, the name rolling off your tongue like a promise, one you will both keep. “Killian Stark.”

Cregan nods, pride and love shining in his eyes. “Killian Stark,” he repeats, his voice filled with certainty, as if speaking the name cements the child’s place in the world.

The midwives move quietly around you, tidying the room and tending to you both, but in this moment, nothing else matters. It’s just you, Cregan, and Killian—the three of you bound together by blood, by love, by the trials of this night. The wind howls outside, but inside, all is warmth and peace. Your child is here, safe in your arms, and for now, that is enough.

You lean back against the pillows, exhaustion finally overtaking you, but you don’t mind. You close your eyes, content in the knowledge that when you wake, you will find Cregan by your side, your son nestled between you both, and the future ahead bright with possibilities.

The night sky is a deep indigo, dusted with a thousand stars, as if the very heavens themselves have come to bear witness to the celebration. Winterfell’s courtyard is alive with the sounds of laughter, the crackle of bonfires, and the deep, melodic hum of Northern songs sung by gruff voices. The air is crisp and cold, but it carries the warmth of joy and camaraderie—a warmth that flows through the gathered Lords and Ladies of the North, drawn together to honor the birth of your son, Killian Stark.

It’s been a month since his arrival, and though the days have been marked by exhaustion and recovery, tonight is a time to celebrate. To revel in the strength of family and the bonds forged in fire and snow. Cregan has spared no effort in ensuring the night is one to remember, filling the halls and courtyard with the rich scents of roasted meats, spiced wine, and hearty stews. Long tables are laid out under the open sky, heavy with food and drink, and adorned with simple yet elegant winter blooms and evergreen boughs.

You stand at Cregan’s side, your fingers intertwined with his, feeling the steady heat of his presence. The fur-lined cloak draped over your shoulders is soft, its weight a comforting reminder of Winterfell’s protective embrace. Killian rests peacefully in your arms, swaddled in thick, dark furs, his tiny face barely visible except for the delicate curve of his nose and the wisps of dark hair peeking out from beneath the blanket. His eyes, the deep violet of your lineage, are closed in contented sleep, unaware of the grand feast being held in his honor.

As you take in the scene before you, you feel a sense of pride swell in your chest. These are your people now—the fierce, loyal Northerners who have accepted you as one of their own. They raise their cups and call out toasts to your health and that of your son, their voices echoing against the ancient stone walls. There is a rugged beauty to this place, to these people, and it’s a beauty that you’ve come to love.

The drums begin to beat—a steady, rhythmic pulse that resonates in the bones, calling the attention of all present. At the center of the courtyard, the space is cleared, and all eyes turn to Cregan as he steps forward, raising his hand for silence. The Northern Lords and Ladies fall quiet, their eyes shining with respect and anticipation.

“My kin, my friends,” Cregan begins, his voice carrying easily across the gathering. There’s a natural authority in the way he speaks, his words as solid and enduring as the mountains that rise beyond Winterfell’s walls. “Tonight, we gather not just to celebrate the birth of my son, Killian, but to honor the woman who brought him into this world, my wife, Y/N. She came to us from beyond our borders, a daughter of fire and sea, yet she has proven herself as fierce and resilient as any Northerner born. She has brought warmth to our halls and strength to our bloodline.”

A murmur of agreement ripples through the crowd, and you feel a flush rise to your cheeks. The pride in Cregan’s voice, the way he speaks of you as both wife and equal, makes your heart swell with love for this man who has made the North your home.

“And to you, Killian Stark,” Cregan continues, turning his gaze to your son, “may you grow strong in the ways of the North, guided by the wisdom of both wolf and dragon. Tonight, we celebrate you and the bonds that unite us all, both as family and as the people of the North.”

A resounding cheer follows his words, the Northern lords lifting their cups high. “To House Stark! To Killian Stark!” they shout in unison, their voices roughened by years of weather and war. “To the Lady of Winterfell!”

The toasts are followed by the deep bellow of warhorns, their sound echoing through the courtyard, signaling the beginning of the night’s revelry. The drums pick up again, faster now, a beat that invites movement, dance, and the unbridled joy of the North’s people. As the first notes of the fiddle and lute join the drums, couples begin to spill onto the cleared space, their steps a blend of tradition and wild abandon.

Cregan returns to your side, offering you a crooked smile. “Would you do me the honor of a dance, my lady?” His tone is light, but there’s an intensity in his gaze that suggests he’s asking much more than that.

You laugh softly, shifting Killian in your arms. “I would, but our son seems to have other ideas.”

Cregan’s eyes soften as he looks at Killian, who remains blissfully unaware of the world around him. “Let me hold him,” he says, taking the child from your arms with a tenderness that never fails to surprise you in a man of such strength. He cradles Killian against his chest, his movements careful, protective. “Go, dance. Let the people see their Lady take part in the traditions of the North.”

With a nod of gratitude, you hand Killian over and let yourself be led into the circle of dancers. The music is lively, the steps quick and purposeful, the kind of dance that demands focus and energy. You let yourself get lost in it, the rhythm of the drums syncing with your heartbeat, your body moving with a grace and fluidity that comes as naturally as flying on dragonback. The Northern women dance alongside you, their steps fierce and determined, their laughter wild and free. The men join in with strong, purposeful movements, celebrating with a raw, untamed joy that feels like a release after the long weeks of winter’s dark grip.

As you twirl and leap, you catch glimpses of Cregan watching you from the edge of the circle, Killian nestled in his arms. He looks at you with a mixture of pride and desire, as if you are both a miracle and a force of nature. The flames of the bonfires dance in his eyes, and in that moment, you feel the strength of the bond you’ve forged here in the North—a bond between a dragon and a wolf, between fire and ice.

The dance ends with a flourish, breathless laughter echoing through the night. You return to Cregan’s side, cheeks flushed, heart racing, but there is no exhaustion, only exhilaration. He hands Killian back to you, his fingers brushing yours with a touch that lingers, a silent promise between husband and wife. 

“Was that Northern enough for you?” you ask playfully, cradling Killian close as the warmth of the firelight wraps around you both.

Cregan grins, his hand resting on your back. “You’ve more than proven yourself, my love. The North is yours as much as it is mine.”

The night continues in a blur of song, drink, and tales told by firelight. The lords and ladies exchange stories of old battles, of hunts and harsh winters survived, weaving a tapestry of history that you are now a part of. The bonds of kinship, of loyalty to House Stark, are celebrated in each toast, in every clap on the back, every shared laugh.

As the hours pass, the revelry slows, giving way to a quieter, more reflective mood. Cregan’s hand finds yours, squeezing gently. “Thank you, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice low, meant only for your ears. “For giving me a son, for standing beside me in this land of ice and snow. For being the flame that warms these cold stones.”

You lean into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. “And thank you, Cregan, for giving me a home, a place where I can be both dragon and wolf. Our family is strong, our future bright.”

In the distance, wolves howl, their voices rising in harmony with the night wind, a song that speaks of strength, unity, and the enduring spirit of the North. And in the heart of Winterfell, under the watchful eyes of the old gods and the stars above, you stand together as a family—rooted in tradition, yet reaching toward the future, ready to face whatever the coming winters may bring.

The revelry is in full swing when a sudden, urgent shout pierces the cold night air. “A dragon! A dragon is coming!”

The music halts abruptly, the notes hanging in the silence that follows. All eyes turn to the sky, scanning the darkness for the shape of wings. Even in the depths of night, you know the North is no stranger to strange sights, but the cry of “dragon” sends a ripple of tension through the crowd. It’s rare to see dragons in these lands—this far north, in the heart of autumn.

Your heart leaps to your throat, and a part of you already knows. Before you even spot the golden scales gleaming faintly in the moonlight, you know who it is. The familiar silhouette of a dragon with graceful wings and a golden hue, Syrax—the Queen’s dragon. Your mother has come to Winterfell.

Gasps and murmurs spread through the gathering as people look up in awe, some with fear, others with wonder. Syrax is a radiant sight even in the shadows of night, her scales catching the glow of the bonfires below as she circles the castle. The distinctive thrum of her wings reverberates through the courtyard, a sound that sends a shiver down your spine, not of fear but of anticipation.

Cregan steps closer, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his sword. It’s not out of distrust, but out of habit—he is ever the vigilant protector. “It’s her,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him, and he turns to you with understanding in his eyes.

“The Queen,” he murmurs, lowering his hand. “Your mother.”

There’s no mistaking the regal presence in the sky, even before Syrax lands with a soft thud that shakes the ground. The wind stirred by her wings sends cloaks and hair whipping around, and you instinctively tighten your grip on Killian, who stirs but doesn’t wake. Your breath catches as you watch the dragon’s rider dismount, a figure cloaked in dark furs, her silver hair flowing in the night breeze. Even in the shadows, the unmistakable violet eyes of your mother, Queen Rhaenyra, gleam with fierce purpose.

The lords and ladies of the North, who only moments ago were laughing and celebrating, now stand silent, watching the scene unfold with a mix of reverence and curiosity. Many of them have never seen a dragon (as Thraxata prefers her solitude) much less the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms in person. There’s a hushed awe in the air as she strides forward, her gaze sweeping the courtyard until they find you—her daughter.

“Mother…” you breathe, hardly able to believe she’s truly here.

Rhaenyra’s stern expression softens the moment her eyes land on you holding Killian. The lines of worry and weariness that have grown on her face over the years seem to fade, replaced by something softer, something warm and achingly tender. She walks quickly, almost as if she’s afraid she might lose sight of you, and the crowd parts for her as if commanded by an unspoken will.

When she reaches you, she doesn’t hesitate. She pulls you into a tight embrace, wrapping you and Killian in her arms, her breath hitching as she holds you close. The scent of sea salt and smoke clings to her, a comforting reminder of your childhood. “Y/N, my sweet girl,” she murmurs, her voice trembling. “You’ve become a mother yourself.”

You smile through tears as you pull back slightly to look at her. “I have, Mother. Meet your grandson, Killian Stark.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes glisten as she turns her gaze down to the tiny bundle nestled in your arms. She reaches out with trembling hands, and you gently place Killian in her grasp. Her breath catches in her throat as she cradles him, tears spilling freely down her cheeks. “Oh, he’s perfect,” she whispers, her voice cracking with emotion. “He’s so beautiful, Y/N. He’s perfect.”

The Queen, the strong and resolute ruler of the realm, stands before you with tears streaming down her face as she gazes at her first grandchild. Her fingers brush over his soft cheeks, marveling at the dark hair and those distinctive violet eyes that echo her own. She cradles him close to her chest, her tears falling onto his swaddled form as she gently rocks him. “My little dragon,” she whispers lovingly. “My grandson.”

Killian stirs, letting out a soft whimper, and Rhaenyra’s face lights up with a radiant smile, despite the tears. She presses a kiss to his forehead, her tears mingling with her laughter. “He’s strong. I can feel it,” she says, her voice thick with pride. “He has the blood of both the dragon and the wolf. He’ll be a force to be reckoned with one day.”

You stand beside her, emotions overwhelming you as you watch the most powerful woman in the realm reduced to tears by the sight of her grandchild. “Mother, I didn’t know you were coming,” you say softly, brushing away your own tears. “I wasn’t expecting—”

Rhaenyra interrupts you with a shake of her head. “How could I not come?” she replies, her voice breaking. “The moment I heard that you’d given birth, I knew I had to be here. You’re my daughter, Y/N, and this—” she gestures to Killian, “—is my blood, my legacy. I would fly through fire and storm to be here for this.”

Cregan, who has been watching quietly, steps forward and bows his head respectfully. “Your Grace,” he greets, his tone low and respectful. “Winterfell is honored by your presence.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze softens as she looks at him, still holding Killian close. “Lord Stark,” she replies, inclining her head. “Winterfell is now part of my family as well, thanks to you and Y/N.” Her eyes flick back to Killian. “I see that my daughter has chosen well. You’ve given her a place where she can be strong and loved.”

Cregan’s eyes meet hers, and in them, there is a mutual understanding—one born of respect for the woman standing before him and the bond she shares with you. “I love her fiercely, Your Grace, as she deserves to be loved. And our son—your grandson—will know the strength of both his mother’s house and his father’s.”

Rhaenyra nods, satisfied by his words, but it’s clear she’s still entranced by the little life she cradles in her arms. “He is the future,” she murmurs. “Our future.” Her voice takes on a more somber tone as she adds, “The world is uncertain, and the storms may come, but Killian will be a light in that darkness. He will carry the strength of both ice and fire, of wolf and dragon.”

The lords and ladies of the North, who had stood back respectfully, begin to approach now, offering congratulations to the Queen, but always with their eyes drawn to the babe in her arms. The tension from earlier has melted away, replaced by a sense of unity. It’s as if Rhaenyra’s presence has bridged the gap between South and North, connecting them through shared blood and purpose.

Rhaenyra eventually returns Killian to you, but not without a lingering kiss to his forehead. Her eyes remain wet, and her voice trembles as she speaks. “I wish your father could see this,” she whispers, her voice tinged with both sorrow and joy. “He would be so proud of you, of the family you’ve built.”

You nod, feeling a pang of loss for Laenor, who never lived to see his daughter become a mother herself. “He’s watching over us, I’m sure of it,” you reply, your voice soft but resolute.

The night’s celebration shifts into something more intimate now, with people sharing stories of family, of home, and of the legacy that you are all building together. Rhaenyra remains by your side, her hand resting on your arm as she watches Killian sleep peacefully, content in the love surrounding him.

As the bonfires crackle and the Northern songs continue softly in the background, you find yourself overwhelmed by the strength of family, of tradition, and of the unbreakable bonds that have been forged this night. Winterfell, with its ancient stones and cold winds, has never felt warmer, never felt more like home.

[r3starttt]

okay okay!! how about reader gets back late from patrol (so tlou au) and ellie was all worried and it’s super cute and fluffy?? (change it to your preferences if you like :)

THESE WALLS

PAIRING: Jackson! Ellie x reader

CW: fluff. outbreak|tlou universe. brief-non detailed mention of overwhelming thoughts such as fear of loosing loved ones and stress.

DON'T BUY TLOU | PALESTINE MP PALESTINE LINKS | DAILY CLICK

TAGLIST

The night lay thick with a stillness so profound that even the faintest sound seemed to echo with unsettling clarity. Ellie, trapped in the small sanctuary she had carefully curated, paced restlessly. Her gaze was perpetually drawn to the door, its unyielding silence a stark contrast to the usual rhythm of your return. Each passing moment stretched infinitely, laden with a tension that seemed to deepen with every tick of the clock.

The dim glow of a solitary lamp cast a soft, golden haze over the room. Walls adorned with wooden murals and comic book covers. Delicate strands of Christmas lights wove their way across the space, their faint twinkle casting a gentle, warm light. Yet, despite the serene ambiance, Ellie’s heart was a storm of unease.

She attempted to distract herself, but the mundane details of her surroundings blurred into an indistinguishable haze. Every action seemed to drift by in slow motion, her frustration mounting with each fruitless effort to quell her growing anxiety. She knew in her rational mind that the patrol was fraught with danger, but her deep-seated fear of losing those she loved clung stubbornly to her thoughts.

The creak of the door shattered the quiet, sending Ellie’s heart leaping to her throat. She dashed to the entrance, the door swinging open to reveal you, looking slightly disheveled but otherwise unharmed. Relief surged through her, though it was quickly overwhelmed by a tidal wave of emotions.

As you stepped into the room, the scene before you was both touching and a little comical. Ellie’s usual dorky charm had been replaced by a palpable anxiety. The carefully decorated room, filled with her beloved nerdy trinkets, faded into the background as your focus honed in on her distressed face.

“Hey, sorry,” you said, offering a weary smile. The concern in her eyes was evident, and you could tell she had been struggling.

“We ran into a few more infected than we expected. It took longer to clear them out,” you explained, trying to reassure her.

Ellie’s response was sharp, but it was laced with an undertone of deep-seated worry. “I was starting to think… I don’t know, shit had happened.” Her eyes, usually so full of mischief and laughter, were now wide and brimming with concern.

You stepped closer, the old floorboards creaking softly beneath your feet. Her fingers drummed impatiently against her thighs, her gaze darting over you in a frantic search for any signs of injury.

Ellie let out a deep sigh, rubbing her temples as though trying to ward off a headache. “It’s not just about being late. It’s about you being safe.” Her voice faltered, and she turned away momentarily, struggling to regain her composure.

You reached for her hand, gently enveloping it in your own. “I’m here, Ellie. Safe and sound. Nothing is going to happen to me.”

Her eyes met yours once more, shimmering with a blend of relief and lingering anxiety. “I know, but it doesn’t make it any easier—never mind,” she murmured, her words softening as the harsh edge gave way to a tender vulnerability. Her usual playful demeanor was momentarily eclipsed by her raw, heartfelt fear.

Drawing her into a tight embrace, you felt her tense muscles slowly unwind against you. “I’m here,” you whispered into her ear, your voice a soothing balm to her frayed nerves. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

You gently cupped her face in your hands, pressing a soft, loving kiss to her lips. When you finally pulled away, a small, contented smile graced her face, her eyes reflecting the warmth of your affection.

“Hey…” you murmured, leaning in closer. “How bad do I smell?” You playfully nuzzled against her, inhaling her comforting scent, the familiar fragrance and the fabric of her hoodie enveloping you in warmth.

Ellie chuckled, a soft hum escaping her as she considered your question. “Baby diapers," your quiet laughs mingling.

Your lips beushed over hers, one last tender kiss on her lips, savoring the moment. “I love you."

“I love you too,” you replied, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “And I’ll always come back to you.”