#let's give her some grace in this particular thing!

[thesaurus]

// my ed senses just tingled

// and I still inhaled a few pieces of a mint chocolate aero bar so fast I could barely taste them

// but I !! acknowledged what I was doing and I still wanted the treat so

// progress of a sort, kinda

[justwinginglife]

I've been deepdiving the hoshina tag and you are definitely one of my favourites to read from with the way you portray him 😭😭😭 so I'm wondering how it'd be with him and a reader that's always portrayed as the elegant and forward type... (kind of like shinobu kocho? if you're familiar with her) and on a rough mission he finds her like... heavily injured and he's thinking that it's the first time he's seen her so different from how she usually acts

this is my first time requesting ever.... so if there's some kind or etiquette I'm missing please don't hesitate to tell...........

THANK YOU SO MUCH! This means a lot to me! And, my dude, I just portray what I think of him- that he's the biggest freaking green flag EVER lol. And don't even worry about requesting etiquette, I just joined tumblr a couple weeks ago so you're totally fine, I wouldn't even know either. I'm just glad I could be your first request! Hope I do it justice, thanks again for your support. Also sorry for the wait. Also there were so many different ways I could've gone with this prompt so I hope the one I chose turns out okay.

Honest

There was always a line out the door of officers looking to train with you and today was no different.

Besides the fact that your technique was utterly flawless and you made combat look as graceful as ballet, you were also just stunningly gorgeous. Any man would die just to get a glimpse of you, let alone spar with you. Taking a punch to the face or a kick to the abdomen was an honor if it was from you.

And you were always the same with every man, you never showed any favoritism. You'd give them the same small smile, giving your honest advice when asked, but nothing more than that. You never even blinked at someone longer than you usually did with anyone else.

But even though it seemed like no one had caught (or could catch) your particular attention, there was in fact one man that you had to actively try to subdue your feelings for. You were thankful that no one had noticed that every time a certain Vice Captain walked into the room, your eyes always somehow wandered in the opposite direction of him. And when you'd hear him laugh or even just give out orders, your teeth would clench together to keep from smiling at his voice.

You weren't one to give away parts of yourself easily, having lost all of your family, but one day you'd suddenly found that it was much harder for you to not want to just give everything to him. Especially when you had realized that he was into you too. No matter where you were on campus, he'd make it his mission to find you, to be near you. He'd tell you his best jokes, trying to get you to crack more than just your usual small smile. He'd fight all out with you during training sessions, trying to get you to break a sweat for once, claiming that it did something to him watching you all worked up. It had become quite the strain on you, trying to treat him the same as everyone else when you were dying to just push him up against a wall and kiss him. You'd settle for even just holding his hand or brushing your shoulder up against his. But this wasn't like you- to want such immature, naive things.

You were someone who was wanted, you did not want. You were someone who was needed, you did not need. In fact, you were so hesitant to rely on anything, that if you could've figured out a way to live without oxygen you would've so as to not be indebted to the air filling your lungs.

Your skill and your independence were your swords and you wielded them with grace, distancing yourself from the crowds, but making yourself into a pretty show for them to watch. You were fine if they watched you, as long as that was all that they did. You couldn't imagine someone actually courting you, touching you, loving you.

But you did imagine Hoshina- it was more often than you'd like to admit and it irked you. You thought about just flat out ignoring him, turning down his requests to spar with you. But then he'd be different than everyone else. He'd be someone who spurred enough emotion in you to warrant unnatural behavior. And you refused to give in to emotion, especially emotion so childish and needy as something like love.

So you spent the day the way you always did, giving every officer a proper amount of time to train with you, and ending each session with a curt smile and a nod, gesturing for the next combatant to approach.

But then the alarm went off, signaling a kaiju attack. You thought you'd handle this the way you always did, no mess, no fuss, just efficient and effortless. But this was no ordinary kaiju and tonight was no ordinary night.

You had let all the lower ranking officers handle yoju duty and you had gone straight for the daikaiju. That was not abnormal behavior, you were always confident in your skills and they always served you well. But not tonight.

Tonight, you were humbled in the most brutal way possible.

Your fight had drawn you away from the rest of the squad, and now you were glad it had because you were ashamed to be in such a sorry, gruesome state. You had sustained heavy damage and for the first time in your life, you genuinely considered you might die here.

You thought of all the friends and family that you'd lost to war, kaiju, sickness. You wondered if you were ready to join them. It would be easier to let go.

"But I'm not done yet... I haven't..." You spit up blood, and shakily rise to your feet, groaning at the effort. I haven't even told him how I felt yet, damnit, you think to yourself, unable to speak the words aloud. Without meaning to, you being to cry. You don't have a free hand to wipe the tears away, as one clutches your dripping abdomen trying to stop the flow of blood, and one clings to your gun, aching as you attempt to raise it again. You fire a weak shot but your combat power is high enough that it distracts the kaiju for a moment.

And a moment is all that you need.

"Hey there, princess. You look like you could use a little saving. Don't worry, I won't tell the guys."

Right before your eyes, the beast suddenly splits into little dissected pieces and they rain down on the pavement, pelting the ground.

For the first time in years, you smile a real genuine smile as the Vice Captain holds his hand out to you. You're relieved to be alive to make it to another day, and you're shocked at how relieved you are. You don't remember when life began to feel so precious to you.

Maybe it was when you'd accidentally overheard a conversation where Hoshina was telling another officer that you'd be the one to bring hope to future generations.

Maybe it was when you'd forgotten your lunch one day and he'd sacrificed his lunch to leave it in your locker for you to find when your growling stomach had sent you hungrily ravaging through it for any snack you might've left behind.

Or maybe... maybe it was when your last living relative died and everyone whispered to each other about how cold you were for not shedding a tear and keeping your chin up when all you wanted to do was curl up and cry, but he alone told you in passing (not wanting to make a scene) that it was okay to grieve in whichever way you pleased.

And now he was holding a hand out to you. And you thought if you took it you might never let go. You might want to know where this led, what your feelings felt like when you let them roam wild, what he felt like in your arms.

Before you can decide if you truly want to take that terrifying step, his hand clasps yours and he pulls you in for a hug.

"You did good." He whispers in your ear.

You shake your head but you don't pull away from him. "I didn't. I almost died. You had to save me. I wasn't good enough."

"You're enough. You did well." He repeats, firmer this time.

You sigh against him, exhaling every pent up feeling you'd been holding on to. "Th-thank you, Vice Captain."

He pulls back a little and grins at you. "It's Soshiro, actually."

You bite your lip, trying to force down the warmth that's started to flood into your cheeks.

"You know I've never seen you like this before. It's a good look on you." He teases.

"Shut up, Soshiro."

He grins even wider at you using his first name so soon. "You get your butt kicked for the first time, you actually blush, and then you raise your voice at me? What is going on with you today?" He chuckles, nudging you playfully.

"I think... I think I might want to try something. Something different." You say finally.

He raises a curious eyebrow at you. "And what's that, princess?"

"Being honest with myself for once."

And with that, you pull him in and kiss him.

[daisyblog]

Juno

Our Story Masterlist Summary: YN loves Sabrina Carpenter’s album…in particular the lyric “One of me is cute, but two though?”.

Based on this request.

TikTok:

Sabrina Carpenters album Short n’ Sweet had been playing on repeat in the Styles household, thanks to YN. Harry didn’t mind, he quite enjoyed coming downstairs and seeing YN singing and dancing in the kitchen.

YN often records videos of the mundane things through out the day, some she posts whilst others stay in her drafts.

With Juno playing in the background, YN and Grace gently danced around their open plan kitchen, YN singing along and smiling as she spotted Harry walking towards them.

I know you want my touch for life…If you love me right, then who knows?…I might let you make me Juno

Harry leant against the doorframe of the kitchen, a light smile on his lips as he watch his wife and baby daughter happily move around the kitchen.

You know I just might…Let you lock me down tonight

He couldn’t help but think that he had saw a glimpse into his future of watching the special bond YN and Grace have, both looking at each other in awe.

One of me is cute, but two though?

YN pointed to both her and Grace as their identical faces walked closer to Harry, making his smile only grow bigger.

Give it to me, baby…You make me wanna make you fall in love

The famous smirk grew on Harry’s face as his cheekiness set in. “Isn’t that what you said the night at the festival? Give it to me baby”. Harry playfully mocked YN’s voice in teasing.

YN’s jaw dropped as her dancing came to a stop as she was taken back by Harry’s boldness. “Bubs!”.

“It was…plus we had a great time…baby dancing”.

Instagram:

ynstyles

liked by harrystyles, annetwist and 3,677,239 others

ynstyles one of me is cute, but two though?💕 View all 7,523 comments

lottietomlinson the cutest🤍

annetwist Absolutely precious💞We definitely need more than two of you xx ⌞ynstyles You heard your mother😌 harrystyles ⌞harrystyles You know I love baby dancing, and I know you do too😉 ⌞annetwist Harry! ⌞ynharryupdates Baby Styles no2???

louist91 Missing my Gracie-Lou!! X ⌞ynstyles She misses her uncle Louis more🤍

gemmastyles Aw my heart just melted🥹

louisfan5 The Tomlinson genes are strong!

harryfan7 Grace looks exactly like YN🥰🥰

niallhoran Grace is definitely cuter❤️ ⌞ynstyles Obviously🥹🥰

sabrinacarpenter two cuties 💋

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[morganas-pendragons]

ease | celebrimbor

honest to god, I got this concept in the shower and it would not leave me alone. the prompt was found in the depths of the celebrimbor x reader tag (disclaimer: I am not a Tolkien reader, but I did grow up watching the movies and have done some research into the Silmarillion as I've been watching ROP) and this was born.

I've just found out some of the fates of these characters and I kid you not... I have a full fledged idea for a Celebrimbor/OC fic if my brain keeps this up

set during s2 of ROP, light spoilers ahead

prompt is here / this reader is a half-elven female who is gifted with magic. like I said, I am new to writing for this verse, so please be gentle.

***

You don't remember much about how you ended up in Middle Earth. There are glimpses, sweet fragments of memories that surface every now and again, but that is simply all they are. Glimpses of a time that has long come and gone.

Glimpses of who you were gone with it, like the receding tides of the ocean drifting further and further away.

The one thing you do remember with astounding clarity is your arrival to Eregion. You remember the front gates and how tired you were, and more importantly, you remember Celebrimbor. His complete and utter astonishment at your arrival was puzzling.

You didn't figure out why until later.

"Forgive me, but my healer tells me you have difficulties with remembering where you came from," He's standing in front of you where you sit in the healer's chambers of Eregion. You're surprised that they even let you in. Maybe he took pity on you. "Your injuries are minimal given how long he believes you were out in such conditions. Given your physical attributes, I would say you are at least Elvish. That would explain some of this. Do you remember your name?"

You didn't. The only things you had to remind you of who you were was the cloak around your shoulders and the circlet in your hair. A fine thing, crafted from what Celebrimbor later told you was pure silver.

"No...." You shake your head and wrap your arms tightly around yourself. He can't help but soften. You seem very lost. Celebrimbor is not one to take in lost souls, but there is something about you that draws in rapt fascination, and he is not willing to turn you away.

"You are no threat upon us. Now come. Let me introduce you to the great kingdom of the Elven smiths."

He extended his arm to you hesitantly. You found yourself taking it, staring up at him through a curious gaze as he dove into the histories of Eregion.

Weeks passed. You noticed the longer you were present in Eregion and in the forges that Celebrimbor was very particular about who was allowed to remain in his presence for long. There were his smiths, and his servants, but there were very few who were truly allowed to know him on a more intimate and vulnerable level.

You found yourself wondering why.

On a quieter day in Eregion's forges, you venture out of your room in search of Celebrimbor. Most of the staff is familiar with your presence by now. You've heard the whispers. They wonder how a forsaken Elf has managed to find her way into their King's good graces after such a short amount of time.

"Ah, I was wondering when you'd arrive. Come. I have something to show you." Celebrimbor greeted. You followed him around the edge of the forge to a table in the center of the room where a familiar silver circlet sat. Your eyes widened. You had been wondering where it went. "I was given enough moonstone from a recent discovery to restore your circlet and add a singular gem to the center. What do you think?"

Again the eyes and ears are drawn to the pair of you. You can feel their questions burning through the air: Why her? Why is she in his good graces? What does a forsaken elf have to give to the Lord of Eregion and the Master Smith?

"Might we have a moment in private?" You ask. There is no hesitation in his response. Celebrimbor dismisses his smiths, and in mere minutes, the two of you are alone. He seems perfectly content to be with you where no other eyes can see. "I don't understand. We've only just met, and I don't even know who I am, but here you are reforging and creating something so beautiful for a stranger," You pick up the circlet with delicate fingers, turning it over to gaze at the gem in the center. It's a very delicate design that incorporates much of the Elvish culture within it. "Why?"

There's a beat of silence that you interpret as apprehension. Answering this question requires a certain sense of vulnerability that he so often shies away from.

What he does instead surprises you.

''Because," Celebrimbor's voice drops to a whisper as he settles the delicate circlet in your hair, and you can't help but smile at how gentle it is. "You are.. different."

That's all he leaves you with. You're left to wonder what about you is different. What about you puts him so at ease.

***

Celebrimbor had not told anyone outside of Galadriel, Elrond and The High King what was known of your origins. What little the two of you could come up with about them. All the five of you are aware of is that you hold a great power with magic that brings the skill of healing and persuasion of any life form, and that you fell to Middle Earth within its vast oceans and found yourself destitute mere miles away from Eregion.

"It's almost like your coming was a sign."

Your visions turn out to be correct, much to your horror.

After Gil-Galad and Elrond’s departure, you find yourself lingering in your chambers with your circlet poised in your hands as you internally fight through all the evidence you have lingering in your head. Celebrimbor doesn't know what to make of it, and neither do you.

That turns out not to be your concern once you see him trudging past your bedroom, muttering to himself in Sindarin as he attempts to massage his shoulder with his hand.

"Celebrimbor?" You call, mindful to call quietly so that his smiths and the staff do not hear you. He always hears you. Always has, always will. "Are you alright?"

His aspect says one thing, but his eyes say another. "There is always tension that builds within the muscles and tendons of the body after working vigorously in the forge. I am just stiff. It is not a concern you need to bother yourself with-"

You raise a brow at his veiled attempt to console you. It doesn't work. Glancing over your shoulder, you quickly follow on his heels to his chambers where you slip inside just before he can shut the door.

He freezes. The two of you are alone. Properly alone.

"This is quite.." You falter in search of the right word. "If anyone knew I was in here, it would arouse suspicion. I can tell you're in pain. We both know that you cannot alleviate that on your own." You pause to interject, "Only if you truly want the help. I would be happy to serve."

Realization dawns in his eyes. Neither of you are properly aware of how close you really are to each other, much less the fact that your hand is pressed against his heart. It flutters under your touch.

He's nervous.

Your creased brow softens when Celebrimbor winces again at the turn of his head, and your eyes focus on his neck. "I am in a great amount of pain," He confesses quietly. It's quite a feat for him to be so willing to be vulnerable with you. Especially when you have yet to see him ask for help from anyone else, including Galadriel or Gil-Galad. "And I would be much appreciative of the help."

Celebrimbor would never admit it out loud, but something swelled within him at the sight of your smile as you rushed back to your chambers to gather the oils you had stored there. He had come to care for you a great deal. That was dangerous. There was too much at stake with his House and his past... A past that he would rather never speak aloud for fear of having to truly relive it.

"You'd be more at least if you lie down," You remark softly, laughing as his eyes snap open in alarm. "The oils only work with skin contact. Are you okay with that?"

It takes him a moment to realize what you're doing: You're both asking for his consent, and you're giving him the opportunity to say no. It's just another thing that draws him to you.

You turn away to grant Celebrimbor a modicum of privacy while you prepare yourself and the oils you brought. By the time you turn around, you nearly drop the vials. You should have assumed he'd have scars. That there would be old burns and far more muscle that he could hide under those robes.

The only piece of clothing he was wearing covered very little.

"Celebrimbor," You whisper. He cannot help the shiver that runs down his body when your fingers come into contact with his spine. It has been centuries since he had last allowed himself to be touched, and to be touched in such an intimate and positive way was foreign. "Are you in pain?"

You already know the answer to this question. He lays down on the bed and tucks his hands under his forehead. There's several moments of silence that pass before you hear him murmur, "I have been in pain for quite a long time, nin tinu. There has only been one thing that alleviates it."

The Sindarin that rolls off his tongue rings clear in your head. My star.

"What eases your pain, My Lord?"

Your oiled fingertips, doused in lavender oil, have just made contact with his shoulders when he answers: "You. It has been you from the moment you entered my gates, and it will be you for however long you remain here, if you wish to remain here in Eregion with me."

You mull over his words as your fingers travel his skin. You mark your touch with firm yet gentle presses against the valleys of his back, dragging your fingers across raised scars that arouse much curiosity within you. Celebrimbor melts into the bed beneath you as he allows himself to absorb a touch he had not realized he craved so deeply for an entire lifetime.

"You have introduced me to such a peace since I have been here. A peace that comes from being in the presence of people who truly care about you, of people who truly want the best for you. That's why you have not told anyone of my heritage. That is why you keep me so close to your side. To protect me.” Your ministrations have had their desired effect, because the moment you dig your fingers into where he'd been trying to massage earlier, it elicits a low groan from his chest. "Never has this destitute elf felt such peace as I have learning and living with and from you. I would be honored and privileged to remain in Eregion."

He's thankful in that moment that his face is hidden. Celebrimbor grimaces as tears prick the back of his eyes, blurring the sight of the blankets beneath him. He'd never experienced something as trivial as being loved in such a gentle, genuine manner.

"Dorth... nev na nin."

Again it rang clear as day. You were realizing the longer that Celebrimbor spoke in the Sindarin tongue that you were most definitely familiar with it.

He's asking you to stay with him. Permanently.

"Roll onto your back," You whisper. He complies with ease, showing you a stunning shade of hazel in the eyes that look back at you. "I-"

It's right there on the tip of your tongue as fingers stained with lavender oil linger right at the hair on his temples. You know you have been drawn to him since you arrived. It's not the hesitation in confession, it's in his response.

His lips part of their own accord as you bend your head to press your forehead against his own. You both want to kiss the other, and badly, but this act alone is intimate enough. It is too soon.

"Don't say it. Not yet." His breath fans over your face as he shudders, eyes flickering upward to meet yours through the hair that veils your face. "Just let me..."

Celebrimbor parts your hair to tuck it behind your ear and lifts his head just enough to graze his lips against your cheek. It's barely a kiss, more the ghost of a kiss then anything, but the way it puts your body at such ease speaks more then a real kiss could've.

His heart is pounding when he meets your eyes.

You're laughing when you part. He doesn't know why. What Celebrimbor does know is that the stiffness in his muscles is gone, replaced by an inexplicable warmth he's never quite felt before.

The shade of your eyes has been illuminated by a silver the same color of the jewel in your circlet, which is now glowing from where it sits upon your head.

He'll have to question that later.

"Why are you laughing? It's quite inappropriate to laugh in such a circumstance-"

You press your fingers to his lips. Celebrimbor is blushing so hard you're sure that his cheeks will stay that color for the rest of the night.

"If you wanted to get unclothed in front of me to have me touch you, all you had to do was ask."

[blingblong55]

Little black dress- Simon 'Ghost' Riley NSFW

Photo credits: @ave661

Based on a request:

hey! just binge read all ur fics and I love them so much😭 saw that your taking requests rn and I had one, reader and ghost had gotten into an argument right before a party and so reader puts on her shortest dress and purposely tries her hardest to make ghost jealous, then gets fucked senseless by ghost when they get back😋 (Dom!ghost, consensual ofc) love your writing ur so creative with it! (just a request you don't have to do it^^)

---- F!Reader, established!relationship, smut, 18+, MDNI, unprotected!sex, dom!Ghost, rough!sex, slapping, choking, jealous!Ghost? ----

It was possibly the worst argument in your relationship so far, he and you saying horrible stuff towards each other and worst of it all is that you both had to attend some stupid party. The drive there was silent and awkward, especially when you wore that tight little black dress. The same one that showed him every beautiful curve of yours, he adjusted himself in the seat, an annoyed sigh as he tried to focus on the road ahead. You, applying that red lipstick and fuck did he need to have your marked lips on him. 

The party was shit, he didn't expect more from it but when one song in particular came up, he had to adjust his trousers as he watched you move. That body was graced by the gods, moving your hips, hypnotising him like a siren. His bulge grows bigger by the second, and your cat's eye on him is like prey. He shook his head, Simon knew you well, knew the tricks you did to mess with his head. And fuck you because it was working. There is one thing he loves when in public settings. That being that every guy in the room looks at you, wanting to fuck that cunt of yours but when you sit on Simons's lap, let him kiss your neck or you kiss his neck, he knows every man in that room envies him. 

No other man in that crowded space can fuck you, touch you but all they can afford is to imagine you, imagine how tight that cunt of yours is, how your pretty tits bounce when riding, how your moans sound. Simon Riley, a man who knows his pretty toy is for his use, who knows he eats you out, makes you come, scream, whimper and beg to come all over again. "Mate, y'alright?" And suddenly, he is back in that party. He nods, your stare still on him as your body keeps moving, he becomes frustrated, how can a pretty thing like you make him this way? Why can't you just bend over his lap, let his calloused fingers in your cunt, and make every man in that space know you are his slut, no one else's. 

And then he saw it, another guy trying to flirt with you. He isn't insecure of himself, very much the opposite but to even think of a man as pathetic and not as strong as he dares to flirt with you? Yeah, not happening on his watch. Simon knows you are loyal, he is secure in your love and knows you don't have eyes for anyone else but him, but it's time Simon shows once and for all that just because you aren't grinding on him at this party doesn't mean you two ended. He gives you that look, motions with one nod for you to come over and with some hesitation you do, "Simon, don't start-" His lips cut you off as he kisses you, his hand possessively on your waist as the other holds you by the back of your neck. 

"You're my-..fucking...girl," he reminds you between kisses. Of course, this reminder wasn't really for you, but for those around who think they have any chance with you. As stated before, he isn't insecure, he adores when you wear small dresses, when your curves are for all to view but to not touch, he loves to know that at the end of the day, you go home to him and that no man can change that. Simon encourages you to wear those outfits, he can fight and he can certainly kill for you, so wear that dress, be a slut and wear it because in the end, he belongs to you and you to him. Blood-covered knuckles won't stop the romance you two have. 

He grabs your hand, takes you back to the car and drives home. "I didn't get to finish talking with my friends, Si," you look at him and he shakes his head. "Doesn't matter, you can see them tomorrow, if you can walk that is." His hand is on your thigh as he drives. Fingers caressing the softness of your thigh. "I'm sure you can tell them all about how you got a proper fuck, right darling? Since you love to gossip and they too, so, tell them, tell them your boyfriend fucked you and covered your pretty body in his cum."

Once home, he carries you to the bedroom, tearing the dress apart as he nibbles on your neck. His cock was hard, swollen and needy for some attention. You look at him but all he does is turn you around, push you to the bed, and slowly rip your panties, his tongue lapping at your wet cunt. Your eyes shut as moans escaped your lips, you look back and he shakes his head, and slaps your ass. "No no, you don't get the privilege to look at me," he sits up and pushes your face to the mattress. His heavy cock slapping at your cunt before he pushes his tip between your thighs, your cunt already aching for him. 

Your hands behind your back, his strong hands holding your wrists as he begins to slowly push himself inside of you. "Oh fuck, lovie, s'tight," he moans and begins to increase his speed. Your cunt spreading for his size, your eyes leaking mascara-stained tears. You begin to moan louder the harder he pounds your sore ass. "Shut the fuck up," he slaps your ass once more, making you let out a whiny moan. One of his hands wraps around your neck, making sure to choke you just hard enough. Your voice is hoarse as you continue to get your tight cunt pounded. 

"C'mon, lovie, just take it." He whispers into your ear and begins to leave love bites on your neck. "Si," you cry. His marks beginning to hurt just right. "It's okay, pretty baby, let me just fuck you raw and then let me take care of you, yeah?" Simon whispers. His cock is buried in your sweet pussy, and your back begins to arch the second his hand travels down and slowly rubs your clit. Your moans are loud, and you begin to moan his name, cursing him as you begin to get closer to your orgasm. "Come for me, I know you want to, lovie," Simon taunts, his fingers slow, letting the build-up increase and the second you grew quiet, your cunt clenching around him, he knew you had cummed. 

Your whimpers get low as he pulls out, begins to stroke himself and grunts, his cum painting your back. "Oh, that's my girl," he moans, fingertips spreading his seed all over your soft skin, you squirm and he lifts your chin. "Open your mouth," he says and lets you clean his fingers, your tempting stare and the way you make subtle moans what a way to ask him for more. He picks you up and snuggles you under the sheets. "You did such a good job, darling," he smiles, Simon's warm lips meeting your forehead. Your legs still shaking, trying to calm down, ass is so red you wince when he massages your ass. "You'll be okay, I'll take care of you," he whispers and wraps his strong arms around you. 

A/N: my brain melted mid way through this so I'm sorry if its shit

Tags:

@liyanahelena @ghostslillady @unicorngirly1 @under-the-dirt @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @goldenmclaren @moonsua1 @rvivienner @krinoid24 @iruzias @frizzseaberries @frazie99 @idklols @katybaby00 @night-mare-owl-79 @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @Juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @strangepuppynightmare @defnotlpuluvyou @enarien @simonssweetgirl @luvecarson @nellsbobells @willowaftxn83-87 @greatstormcat

[cobaltperun]

Eternal Flame (13) - Black Friday

Jenna Ortega x Female Reader

Summary: For her it’s a passion, for you it’s an accident. And as she continues shining brighter and brighter with each role you are left mesmerized, drawn to her flame and cherishing every time she lets herself be vulnerable with you.

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-I wanna be happy, could you show me how it's done?-

When Hugh took you to Ethiopia you didn't think you would be spending half the day raking leaves with him. “I thought we were on a vacation,” you said roughly four hours into the manual labor he's been putting you through. Granted, he was right there with you, doing the same thing, so at least that made it fair to an extent. His kids and wife smartly avoided this activity and were in a warm house, drinking coffee and getting to know the locals.

“No harm in some work,” Hugh figured, getting up and wincing as he straightened his back. Oh yeah, he was several decades older than, you frankly you were almost sorry for him right now. “We'll sleep a lot better tonight.”

You did have troubles sleeping, so maybe that’s what he was trying to do.

“Yeah, that's right. Keep finding the positive in everything. I’ll ask you what you think tomorrow, when it turns out that your back is hurting, because you couldn't let a twenty-year-old do a better job than you,” and stupidly you got competitive as well. At least you did things a lot faster since you both wanted to see which one of you could do the job faster and better. As it turns out, being young did have advantages in this particular situation.

“I let you win,” he said as he leaned on the rake, but not too hard though, as you were both afraid that leaning on them properly might make them snap, and that would be an embarrassing way to fall to the ground.

You rolled your eyes, amused by his refusal to accept loss with grace. “So, what's really the point of all this? You've had me working, had me meditating, hell, nearly roped me into doing yoga with you. Come on, spill it,” you said once you began making your way back to the shed to leave the raked before going back to where Deb and Hugh’s kids were.

“You really should try yoga though,” he was trying to change the subject, to avoid answering your question and you just turned to face him, meeting his eyes and just studying him for a moment. And then he slumped slightly, giving in to your silent demand. “I'm trying to keep you occupied, I guess, not sure if that will do any good, but we might as well start somewhere.”

The expression on your face softened as Hugh said that. You could have figured as much. “You're being ridiculous, but I appreciate it,” the truth was that you probably didn't have any idea how to approach what you were feeling and going through either, and he was just scrambling to try and do something. He was making an effort while hoping that maybe one of those things would work for you, and some were actually working.

The first few days he had to pull you to sit down and meditate with him, but this morning you sat down next to him all on your own. For what it was worth you did appreciate spending ten minutes purely on yourself, being in no rush to do anything, feeling no pressure, having no deep thoughts plaguing your mind. It was just ten minutes, and in that brief period of time you could take a moment and relax. Somehow, starting the day like that was good for you, it was making you feel calm at the start of the day instead of tense as you usually were.

And despite the occasional joking complaints you made about the vacation turning into a glorified test of your stamina, you enjoyed yourself. You were gaining a new perspective on life in general, something to help you look at things from a different point of view. And throughout all of that the ring hanging from your neck brushed against your skin and reminded you that at the end of the day this all had to be worth it.

~X~

There has never been a January this miserable in Jenna's life, filled with so much despair and sorrow and exhausting conversations with her family. All of them, mostly her parents, but also her siblings, aside from Aliyah who saw how she was at the airport, were repeating that you weren't good for her. Repeating that she was like this because of you, that she was difficult to talk to, that she was miserable, that she had a short temper and wasn't pleasant to be around, all because of you.

Eventually she just packed her bag and went back to LA, cutting her family time short, because she could no longer take constantly hearing that. The worst thing about it was that it was getting to her head, and she feared that when, and if, she ever got the chance to see you again, that all those words her family kept repeating would end up reaching her. That the moment she saw you that she would start thinking whatever she had with you wasn't worth losing the support of her family.

And yet, as conflicted as she felt, she still often found herself with your shirt close to her and with your jacket around her shoulders as she went and did some small tasks all around her house. She couldn't quite wear it, the sleeves were too long for her, so she just tied the sleeves around her neck and went about her day. She was all alone so who cared if she looked a bit ridiculous.

From what Barbara told her, and she knew Barbara was only giving her the bare bones as far as the information went, you finished filming in Italy and went on a vacation with Hugh and his family. And despite everything Jenna almost felt bitter, thinking you moved on, that you decided to keep living your life with or without her in it, while she was here, having her world falling apart. If it turned out this between you couldn’t be fixed, then yeah, both of you had every right to move on. She just felt, in despair, that you did it way too quickly.

Her doorbell rang just as she finished washing the few dishes she used for her lunch, and she took your jacket off and hung it on the chair before going to her front door. Enrique said he would drop by, and this had to be him, and sure enough when she looked through the camera in front of her apartment building's front door she found him standing there. Jenna quickly opened the door and the front door of her apartment for him, and he came inside, meeting her in the hallway and she just hugged him soon as he was close enough.

“There, there, it's OK, you can cry,” he told her. By now he knew more or less what happened. He didn't know why you began fighting in the first place but he knew everything else. And while she could allow herself to cry in front of him Jenna honestly didn't have any tears left to shed, she spent so many nights crying herself to sleep that she was just tired of crying.

She let go of him and smiled a bit. “Let's just sit down. Do you want something to eat or drink? Anything?” Enrique just brushed her off, showing her he brought hot chocolate to go along, and Jenna was thankful for the a bit of thoughtfulness from someone who cared about her.

“Y/N’s jacket?” Enrique pointed at the jacket hanging from her chair as Jenna sat down.

She nodded. “I miss her,” she confessed softly. You weren’t talking and that was only making things worse right now. “But I don’t think my parents will ever accept her.”

Enrique leaned back in his chair. “Well, I'm here to fix that,” Enrique promised her, and somehow, she believed him. “So, how about you fill me in on the things I don't know,” he asked, and Jenna began. She told him everything she knew, that your parents were in an accident, were left in a coma and that you needed money. That you sold your apartment and that it still wasn't enough, so you went and got involved in a fight club. She told him all of that, and that it wasn't enough, that your parents couldn't be saved, and that you then, despite no longer having to fight, went and fought again, and Enrique just sat there listening taking it all in.

“You know, and this might just be me, but I think it's beautiful. You know, what she did,” his words took her by surprise, she had no idea how he could even come to that conclusion. You went and you hurt people, and you let others hurt you for money. How could that have been beautiful in any way? “Now, hear me out, I know how it sounds. But think about it. Y/N loved her parents so much that she didn't care what she had to endure to try and save them, she didn't get involved in that out of greed or a desire to hurt people, she went and fought because that was her only hope.”

Jenna just sat there, taking his words in. She hadn’t even thought about it that way, in her mind and in her entire family's opinion there was no excuse for what you did, there was nothing but violence in it, even if they understood the circumstances. Well, at least for the period while your parents were in a coma, and you were fighting for them.

“Just think about how much you would have to love someone to be sixteen and willingly go through so much pain, just for a slim chance that you could save that someone you love. Jenna, I've seen the way she looks at you, and you've seen it too. Your parents worry she would end up hurting you one day, but the way I see it there is a good chance she's the person you'll be safest with,” it felt like everything she thought she knew and everything she thought she felt was thrown on its head and changed in an instant. Like there was suddenly some kind of light shining through the clouds and making her see things differently.

“She went back, Enrique,” she fell back on repeating the arguments her parents kept making, afraid that if he convinced her, that she would only break. That she would ignore everything her parents wanted and do everything in her power to rebuild what the two of you had.

“Jenna, she was broken by grief. Y/N just lost her entire family, you said she fought for months to try and keep them alive, and she failed. So, she went and chose an unhealthy coping mechanism,” a lot like plenty of other people, and finally it all just made sense to Jenna, she understood what Enrique was trying to say. Yet it came too late, now it only made her feel worse that she didn't even consider these options, that she didn't even try to understand you and that she just pushed you away.

“I'm too late. I doubt she would ever want to see me again and I can't even blame her,” clearly not all of her tears were dried up, because here she was, crying once again. Enrique just pulled her into a hug, trying to console her and help her through this.

“You don't know that. Hey, we've both seen how she looks at you! I've spent just a couple of hours with her and even I can tell that girl unconditionally loves you!” and yet she went and risked it all over an impulsive reaction and her need to not go against her parents in that very moment.

The phone buzzed next to her, and her and Enrique saw it was from Barbara. “See what she sent,” Enrique encouraged her and Jenna unlocked her phone, and while making sure that Enrique could see it as well, she opened the message. Her eyes widened; Barbara had sent her a photo. It was you, in a place she couldn't recognize, drinking coffee it seemed, and just sitting by the fire with a small smile on your face, but what caught her eye wasn't your expression nor anything else about you, it was her ring clearly on display, hanging from the necklace around your neck.

“See, I told you,” Enrique patted her on the back and Jenna smiled as she spent who knows how long just silently staring at the picture. She stared, taking in the way the fire was reflected in your eyes, the smile on your face was honest, but there was a sense of sorrow in it, like you were constantly missing something. It wasn't the full smile you had when you were with her, and she studied every single detail about you, your hair, your clothes, the way light from the flames and shadows made your skin look, the way you held the coffee cup, firmly grasping it. She noticed the way you were slightly hunched forward, maybe leaning in to listen to whoever was talking to you, and she remembered how you leaned in to listen to her, you always leaned in closer than this. Your attention was always completely on her, and while you were paying attention to whoever you were talking to in this picture as well, she figured at least 10 to 15% of your attention was somewhere else.

And then she got another message from Barbara, and this time it was a video, perhaps taken only moments after the photo. You were silent, just listening and then it happened, you reached up and your thumb and finger brushed along her ring. You glanced down, the longing clear in your eyes, too lost in thoughts to notice you were being filmed.

“See, she loves you! She misses you, she wants you back in her life!” Enrique messed with her hair for a bit and the remark would have seemed like teasing to her a month ago, but now it was more than welcome.

“I still don't know what to do with my parents,” while she could probably convince her siblings that she would be fine, her parents were a whole other story.

“I'll handle them,” Enrique promised her and she trusted him, maybe he wouldn't be able to completely change their minds, but she believed that he would be able to at least make them willing to give the two of you a chance.

“Thanks,” Jenna said, not sure what else to say to show her gratitude. Then Barbara sent one last message for the day. ‘Just figured you should know that Y/N is trying her best. She’s trying to get better, and you are the biggest reason why she's doing that. As you can see by that ring that she refuses to take off unless she absolutely has to.’

And Jenna smiled, a sense of hope, from the conversation she had with Enrique, the video of you she got, and the message Barbara sent, filling her heart for the first time in roughly a month.

~X~

Even with all the energy you've been spending throughout the days, you still struggled to fall asleep, and you really shouldn't be, your days were packed. If it wasn't actually working and volunteering to help people out with Hugh, then it was sightseeing and long walks, and yet as tired as you were by the time you would say goodnight to Hugh and his family, that exhaustion would just vanish the moment you would lay down in your bed. You found yourself struggling to fall asleep each and every night.

You should have known long days of work or walking or some physically demanding activities wouldn't be enough to get you to easily fall asleep. After all, if there was one thing those fights gave you it was almost ridiculous stamina, and you had to admit you were hating that right now. Because no matter how tired or how calm you would be, you just couldn't fall asleep. You've tried meditating, you've tried doing a quick workout, you tried drinking chamomile tea, and yet none of that helped.

You knew exactly what was wrong, you glanced at your bedside table, at the ring Jenna gave you. You only took it off either when you were taking a shower or a bath, and when you were sleeping. You were afraid you could somehow grab the necklace and break it, and then lose the ring somewhere, so you would take it off. And it wasn't that you were missing the ring in particular, it was just that when you were on your own, your thoughts would just wander to the different places, and you had no control over them. You've been thinking about Jenna damn near constantly when you were alone.

Even when you were with other people you knew there was a sense of longing in everything you did, in every laugh, in every smile. You were there and you were happy. You really were doing better, but you just missed her. and you thought it would get better with time, but it didn't. It was just getting worse day by day. You turned in your bed once again for what felt like the hundredth time tonight alone, unable to quiet your mind.

The only thing you wanted was to just call her and see how she was doing, to just know that she was fine. Deep down you knew you left her at potentially the worst possible moment. You saw the desire to reach out to you, and to touch you in her eyes, back when you last saw her. You knew you were leaving her with the family that despised you right now, and you couldn't even begin to imagine just how hard it would be for her to go through all of that on her own. Living alone was in your mind one of the worst ways one could live, but constantly being surrounded by people who disapproved of something you cared about and put you through emotional pain while saying it was for your sake, was way worse than that.

And you despised yourself for leaving Jenna like that, because in the worst-case scenario she wanted to talk to you, but her family wouldn't agree with it no matter what she said. Yet you couldn't do anything about it, you hurt her, you betrayed her trust and you no longer had the right to reach out first. It had to be her, you couldn't force your way into her life, no matter how desperate you were to just know that she was fine.

And deep down maybe you were afraid of what you would do if she wasn’t fine.

And those thoughts plagued your mind. You constantly worried about how she was, how she slept, if she ate enough. Being alone made those thoughts a dozen time louder, and it was almost unbearable.

You glanced at your phone to check the time and tried to figure out what time it would be in Denver, eventually, you figured Barbara would be off work right now, so you went and called her, hoping her voice could calm down your nerves a bit. Besides, you missed your best friend, as much as this vacation helped you, you still wished she could have experienced some of this as well.

As you waited for her to pick up you promised yourself that when you finally come back and when you finished filming with Hugh that you would go and reconcile with her family.

“Babe?” of course she greeted you like that, that dumbass.

“Sure, sure, Babe,” you rolled your eyes. You found it somewhat funny how different things were the last time you called Barbara ‘babe’ back then Jenna heard it, and you had to explain yourself. Now it was much different, and those were just good old times before you went and fucked up.

“I can hear you rolling your eyes,” Barbara laughed, and you were going to take that, because she needed a laugh after helping you pull through those first couple of days after Jenna left. Barbara deserved every chance to laugh and if anyone were to hurt her you would raise hell until she was fine again, which was also part of the reason why you were adamant on sooner rather than later reconciling with her family.

It would also be very strange to suddenly, for example, appear at a celebration of something important happening in Barbara's life and surprise her parents by showing them you were still in Barbara's life. “Yeah, because eyerolls make sounds,” still, it was a bit strange, it sounded like Barbara had you on speaker. “How was your day?”

“Uh, just the usual, you know. Went to work and now I'm just lying around, bored. About to turn on the cheesiest love songs in history,” that was not good news, that meant only one thing, another heartbreak, well sort of, Barbara never took it too close to heart when something like this happened. Especially since she hasn’t really been serious with anyone over the past year.

“Which guy who asked you out ended up being in the closet now?” you would still humor her.

“James,” and that meant nothing to you. You didn't even know the guy existed; this was the first time you were hearing about him.

“How long ago was this again?” you asked, maybe you just forgot since your mind was damn near always on Jenna these days.

“A few months ago, you were filming Scream, meeting the love of your life while I was at the store, meeting James, who, as it turns out, only wanted a girlfriend so his mom would be happy,” she jokingly ranted. “Didn't even get to the first date point, so no harm done,” she may have been complaining, but you were well aware that Barbara didn’t care one bit about it. When someone right shows up he’ll show up, she used to say, and she still believed that. And she was still twenty, she mostly just dated to meet people and if it ended up becoming serious than so be it.

As for you, despite everything you still smiled at the love of your life comment, almost welcoming the teasing.

“I guess that will keep happening, minus finding the love of my life again, doubt that's happening, but you meeting guys while I’m somewhere filming,” considering you were serious about acting now that scenario was fairly plausible. How many things in Barbara and Hugh’s life would you miss with this job? How many times would you only be able to comfort Barbara over the phone? That was the sad reality of your work.

“About that, I think you won't need to find another one,” she said and you sat up abruptly, your heart beating rapidly in your chest at those words.

“What do you mean?” but she just laughed and for a moment you naively thought that she wasn't laughing at you, that maybe there was another reason she laughed. “Barbara, what do you mean?!”

“Oh, nothing, nothing! Don't worry about it! Oh, by the way, I need to go and get,” she paused as if she was thinking of an excuse. “A pizza, yeah, a pizza. I ordered a pizza and it's just about to arrive!” what the hell was going on over there?

“Barbara, you know I know when you are lying!” but she was already saying ‘bye!’ “You come back here and explain yourself, Barbara!” but she just hung up and you stared at your phone, baffled by what just happened. What did you miss?

~X~

Barbara was laughing her ass off and she just sank into the sofa. Your sofa by the way, because of course Barbara would take her to your apartment.

“See, you've got nothing to worry about. You're the love of her life,” Barbara told her with the almost infuriatingly wide grin on her face and Jenna just looked down, her face about as red as a tomato, and she couldn't stop the smile on her face.

For the first time since the end of last year she was actually at peace, and it was almost ironic that it was in your apartment. It was like deep down she could feel your presence around her, even if the apartment was fairly barren from anything personal in it. She could still feel like you were almost right there with her.

“She sounded,” she began, but she couldn't even find the correct word to describe what she noticed. But there was a change in your voice that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

“Like she was struggling, for the lack of a better word,” Barbara offered, and Jenna supposed that would be the most fitting description, though it wasn't quite the word she would use. It was more like you were on the precipice of finally reaching something that she couldn't define, yet she knew it would be important for you.

“I guess,” but she accepted the description Barbara offered.

Barbara gave her a small smile “So, you are going away for filming, right? That's why you wanted to talk.”

This time next week she would already be in New Zealand, about to start filming X, so that would mean she couldn't see you anytime soon. It was a harsh blow to know that she wouldn’t be able to see you for at least a month and a half from now. She didn't think she would be hearing your voice, and while it felt so good while it lasted, it just reopened that wound on her heart, caused by all the longing within her. She missed you so much, but she still wanted your first contact again to be face to face, and in a way she was afraid of your reaction; even if Barbara and Enrique have been telling her that it would be fine, that you still loved her.

“Well at least you’ll both be free after that and then you can figure out when and how to meet up,” that was a comforting thought, that after the filming was done for both of you, you would have the time and space and could actually talk things through. Maybe even find a way to get back to the way things were before because she desperately needed you back in her life.

“How should I approach it?” Jenna asked timidly.

Barbara put a finger on her chin, seemingly thinking about it. “Well, first of all you need to book an entire restaurant, and you have to arrange for a car to come and pick her up, and make sure there are flowers and cookies, and a good movie and some music. Y/N just adores heartbreaking love songs, they need to have soul crushingly depressing lyrics, by the way,” and then she burst out laughing because Jenna was seriously listening to her. “I'm messing with you, Jenna. Just show up. Just like you told me: ‘Hey, can we meet up, I want to talk,’ do the same thing with her. Or if you really don't want to send that message and you want the first thing you tell her to be face to face, then you tell me and I'll bring her somewhere so you can do that. That’s all Y/N wants, just you.”

And that comforted her a lot, that at the end of the day it didn't matter how she would show up, in front of you as long as she did come to talk. “Can we actually fix this?” Jenna asked because Barbara was the only one who knew you enough to give her that answer.

“12 hours,” Barbara said and then just completely stopped. Jenna just raised an eyebrow, not getting what that mean, so Barbara sighed and continued. “That's how long it'll take the two of you to end up in her bed naked, and very thankful the walls of this apartment are thick, not that you'll notice, because you'll be in the throes of passion. I'm telling you right now, that's gonna happen,” she said it with a completely blank face and somehow Jenna got even redder than before, unable to actually respond to that claim in any way.

~X~

With the vacation over, it was time to go back to work, and that meant going straight from Japan to New York to start filming The Daughter, and the first thing you did would perhaps make or break the rest of the process. Everything in the movie rested on the chemistry between you and Hugh, and the first scene had to start building that.

“Action!” you heard from behind the doors. You relaxed your posture, hung your head a bit and made it seem like you had the weight of the world on top of your shoulders, and you were just tired of it. And it wasn't difficult to get into that mental state. You opened the doors with an unscripted sigh, giving away how tired your character must be feeling as you tossed the bag onto the floor and just kicked your sneakers off, not even bothering to put them away properly. Your character was supposed to think she would come back home to an empty apartment, and you already made your way to your character's bedroom instead of at least glancing in the kitchen and the living room.

“Nicole!” you heard Laura's voice from the living room and froze momentarily, almost stumbling over your feet as you scrambled back to put your sneakers away properly and grab your bag. You let the panic in your eyes show well enough without overplaying it.

“Shit,” you cursed under your breath, and then took a deep breath as if pumping yourself up to put on a façade. “Hey mom, shouldn't you be at work?” you asked as you leaned into the living room, showcasing the distance between the characters with a wide shot of the living room, with just your head and fingers of your left hand visible, as well as the hint of your bag hanging from your shoulder.

“I came early,” Laura smiled at you, and the smile was perfect, the pain and uneasiness hidden behind the unconditional love of a parent, it was all there in that quick moment that she would be in the focus.

“You arrived,” you tightened your grip on to the doorframe and flinched as if you were about to fall, and then you looked back to see Hugh coming out of the bathroom. You looked back at the hall, where his shoes were and then just looked at him again, as if trying to make sure he was actually there. “Dad?” you said in disbelief, and Hugh looked like he was stuck between being happy to see you and unsure what to expect from you. You leaned away from the doorframe, guarder, tense as you studied him, just as unsure of what to expect as he was.

“Your mom told me you've been skipping school, and I figured we could talk,” he said, and your entire demeanor changed as you glared at him. “Nicole,” Hugh called your character's name, and you tighten your jaw, starting to open your mouth to speak several times, before just giving up and relaxing.

“Sure, come on in,” you said motioning toward your room, there was no bounce to your steps and just for a moment you met Laura's eyes, and she just looked away as if silently saying sorry to you. You just closed your eyes for a moment, briefly letting the pain show on your face while neither Hugh nor Laura could see. As you let Hugh into the room you went and tossed the bag on your bed, not caring when you slightly missed, and it fell to the floor. You didn’t even wince at the slight mess in the room.

Hugh turned on the lights and walked by you, then he just picked your bag up, placing it on the bed with care, while you slumped into your chair. “You should keep your room tidy, when I was your age everything had to be spotless,” Hugh said and picked up an empty bottle of juice your character left lying there at some point.

“You should remember you have a daughter a bit more often, and yet here we are,” you fired back and Hugh’s eyes immediately met yours, only for you to look away and mumble a ‘Sorry’ under your breath.

Hugh sat down on your bed, and you just leaned back, not even looking at him. “I know we haven't spent a lot of time together lately, and I've been thinking that maybe you would like to spend some time with me, meet your baby brother. We can catch up and see how it works out?” he suggested and you looked at him for a moment.

“What about school?” you asked, sure your character didn't go to school for the past month, but it was still the middle of the year.

“We'll figure something out, enroll you in another school. Have you start over,” Hugh said and you nodded not really caring either way.

“Cut!” the director yelled and you and Hugh visibly relaxed. “That's what I wanted! Great job you two! You as well Laura!” he approached you and Hugh. “Hugh, you were right, Y/N can pull this off!” Florian patted you and Hugh on the shoulders and called you over to go over the next scene because the approach he took was to talk to both of you, or the actors involved in the scene, through it and try to explain all the emotions involved in it, as well as let you give him any input you might have as well.

Overall, even though the subject of the movie would be rather heavy, you wouldn't want to do this with anyone else. And from the look in Hugh’s eyes, you figured he felt the same.

Taglist: @lilbitdepressed27 @freakshow2501 @osnapitzmel1 @belatrixdragon @ijustlovemaths

@niqmandu @justspance @mirage018 @godamnityess

Masterlist / First Part / Previous part / Next Part

[littlemissshoei]

KENYU YUKIMIYA

⤷ headcanons. sfw & nsfw.

some headcanons for an underrated king 🙏 dedicated to my beloved Bel for no specific reason other than her being the biggest Yukimiya fan ever and ever, heh.

CONTENT WARNING: suggestive / nsfw content, minor mentions of kinks, lots of fluff, Yuki being an absolute sweetheart, established relationships, habits

— ★ YUKIMIYA seems like the type of guy that would softlaunch his loved one until you're comfortable with being shown to the public eye. He'd post you holding hands, small bits of your hair peeking from a picture's corner or holding the beautifully crafted boquet he got for you. Once he's sure you don't mind being in the spotlight, he shows you off at any possibility given, wanting the whole world to know about you.

— ★ YUKIMIYA enjoys physical touch. Be it holding hands, brushing strands of hair from your face or tucking it behind your ear, it brings him a lot of joy. He loves watching your cheeks turn pink, your eyes nervously looking away when he gets too close and the soft smiles gracing your lips whenever he kisses your forehead.

— ★ YUKIMIYA'S has a few particular spots he likes to kiss, such as your knuckles, your temple, under the corners of your lip, your inner thighs, above your belly button and on your nose.

— ★ YUKIMIYA favourite way to spend time with you is at your shared apartment, where the both of you take turns reading out loud. You have a shared collection of books you enjoy, and every weekend the two of you get all cozy in your livingroom, the soft light decorating the room illuminating everything as you take advantage of the little quietness you get. You consider his voice very soothing, and your reading sessions usually end up with you falling asleep with your head on his chest as he lovingly rubs your back.

— ★ YUKIMIYA likes telling you about his day, since that gives him the chance to lay his head on your lap and feel the way your nails comb through his hair. The boy admires the way you listen to him, focusing all your attention on him, humming every once in a while with the sweetest smile on your face

— ★ YUKIMIYA is the type of guy that prefers your comfort over his own. He would do anything in his power to make sure you feel good FIRST. this also counts when it comes to the sexual part of your relationship.

— ★ YUKIMIYA is a switch. While he enjoys taking control and seeing you becoming a whiny mess under him, he can't deny how much it turns him on when you take the lead, feeling him up, making him feel good, hell, he gets hard whenever you call him your good boy, and he feels no shame about it in the slightest! He's the type of guy that's into slight bondage, public / semi public sex (especially if it's in the dressing room, before or after one of his modelling shoots) and risky situations overall. He also likes marking (doesn't matter if it's you marking him or the other way around) and he's a champion at aftercare.

— ★ YUKIMIYA loves taking you everywhere with him. No matter what, he makes sure you're present at his modelling shoots, and even goes as far as (politely) arguing with people whenever they try to send you away. He might have some slight attachment issues when it comes to you, but whenever you let him know about needing some time to yourself or a breather he is quick to understand.

— ★ YUKIMIYA loves you so much, he wouldn't let a miscommunication or issue lead to your breakup. He does whatever he can to talk things out with you, make you feel better and keep you close. He has never had such strong feelings for anyone, and even though it is a little scary to depend so much on someone, he wouldn't want to be with anyone else, just you.

[thewistlingbadger]

I hate the way the show frames Jinx. Having this "Powder vs Jinx" thing is so weird and unrealistic and the fact that they kept reiterating the idea that Jinx and Powder were sperate people? It is the strangest thing I've every seen, because THEY ARE NOT SEPERATE PEOPLE! THEY ARE THE EXACT SAME PERSON, TWO OPPOSITES THAT ARE INEXTRICIABLY BOUND.

"Powder is dead, powder killed Silco," "Jinx is dead, Jinx was Silco's daughter, Powder was Vander's," THIS DOESN'T EXIST. "Powder" grew up to be "Jinx". You can't get rid of the "Jinx" in "Powder" and you can't get rid of the "Powder" in "Jinx." They are the same person. Jinx grew up but she still had the softness that she had as a child and also the brutality she had as a child. In life, we will change all the time. Change is an element of nature, there is no such thing as staying the same forever. You are always going to change, and in some ways you are always going to stay the same. That's just how life is. You can't only love one version of a person, because one day that version won't be there! They won't exist anymore because they changed, and in a way they were always like that. This is the exact issue that Ekko and Vi have with Jinx. They are obsessed with one particular version of Jinx, and version that no longer exists. And instead of realizing that yes, she has changed, and she is still the same person- they come to the conclusion that the person they love is gone. That isn't true. The person they love is alive, but they have changed and they're never going to be the exact same again.

And THIS is what Silco was talking about on the river. When he said "you have to let Powder die so the fear of pain can no longer control you," he DIDN'T MEAN "Powder" is bad. Him saying "Jinx is perfect" does NOT mean he hates "Powder" or that he only loves "Jinx". He meant that who she is in the moment is perfect. She doesn't need to make a "choice," she is both. Silco very obviously doesn't hate the soft, vulnerable parts of Jinx that are classified as elements of "Powder." We see Silco love Jinx in her entirety. He loves the girl who scribbles with crayons on her destructive bombs. He loves the girl who feels like she's weak despite how rough her exterior has become. "You're strong now, just like you were always meant to be." She isn't an indestructible and cold weapon; She's a person who's harshness of her reality has given her the power to take charge of her own life. If Silco hated "Powder" then he wouldn't let Jinx invade his personal space and he wouldn't give her so much grace. For fucks sake, his dying words were him LITERALLY telling her she was perfect in every single possible way. His final breath was spent enforcing the fact that she didn't need to change at all, she never had to split herself into pieces trying to fit for anyone.

Jinx can't "choose" between "Powder" and "Jinx" because they're both her. I don't know why the show chooses to frame her like she has two different personalities, but she doesn't. She is a person that grew up and was influenced by the events she witnessed throughout her lifetime, just like any other person.

[aegoniiwifey]

Anon who requested the chubbydaddy!aegon and his daughter <3 you did my request justice and way more I'm obsessed- I literally reread it like ten times I love it. Also another chubbydaddy!aegon request: Aegon getting requests to court/ wed his precious girl, and he ignores them all, ignores what the Small Council wants, etc and goes to her after a long day, letting her ride his belly, then breeding, then cumplay, and whatever your genius mind comes up with <3

Wanna Be Yours

PAIRING: King!Aegon ii Targaryen x daughter!fem!Reader

WORDS: 1,944.

WARNINGS: incest, swearing, angst, breeding kink, praise kink, stomach riding, cum play, titty sucking, p in v sexual intercourse. indented parts are previous scenes.

A/N - I am so so sorry for responding so late, I took a little hiatus with tumblr and am starting to find my rhythm again. I absolutely adore this trope and your ideas. so happy you enjoyed the first piece, it was an absolute privilege to write! hope this is just what you imagined also xx

Apologies I have not reread this as I finished work and my eyes are about to shut! will proof read tomorrow ♥️

credit to my beloved BOOBIE @bnb-atnite for making this godly image of my man CHUBBY! ilysm!

"Your Grace, it is highly frowned upon by the Seven that you wed your daughter! We have given many exceptions to your ancestors for upholding their queer customs, but this- This arrangement we do not condone!"

Aegon's deep exhale as his eyes darkly snapped towards the elderly maester, was enough to silence the room with his palpable vehemence. He was beyond tired and irritated by the constant nagging of his esteemed Council, of their blatant disapproval of their King's intentions to wed his beloved... His only surviving blood, his daughter.

Throughout the war, Aegon had grown insatiably protective of you: in addition to having a special place in his heart as his eldest born, you remained the last remaining figure in his previous life, despite his mother and himself. As your grandmother silently fell into madness, in the privacy of her chambers, where she preferred to seclude herself, Aegon had no other person he soulfully cherished than you. And as he was to you, the feelings had become reciprocated. Your father loved you dearly: since becoming of age, a young, matured woman, his advances had grown more intimate and lubricious. You owed him your life, and wished nothing more than to devote yourself to him. No man could have done what he did for you...

"It is done, Maester Orwyle... I will wed my daughter in the ancient traditions of our House, if it be the last damned thing I do. I am the fucking King!" Aegon loudly asserted, slamming his pudgy hand against the solid, wooden tabletop, as his words simmered the Council into a fright.

Aegon was known for his temper, although it took a great deal for him to raise his voice: he was a stubborn man at that, also...

"My dearest, what is it? What have they done now that troubles you so, hmm?"

Aegon defeatedly relinquishes in the wooden rocking chair by the stoking fire: it’s orange-red tinged flames being the only source of light emitting in the room.

You walk up behind your father, his face stern and unmoving besides his closed eyes as his hand rubbed at his temples. Your hands find their way to his broad, thick shoulders, giving them a gentle massage as you knead the tension.

“So-So tense, my beloved. Tell me what is wrong, so that I may be of some help. Let me ease your mind, Daddy.”

Aegon’s shrugging shoulders said plentiful, as he opened his eyes once more, head turning slightly to its side so that you were in his peripheral vision.

“There is nothing to be sorted, my love. I am to wed you, and as their rightful King, it is my final word above all else. Those elderly cunts can yap all they want. I will have you.”

With his final word, a yearning flare brews between your thighs, aching for one particular thing. Your father always had a way with words, especially with you.

“Is that so?” You teasingly utter, as you straddle yourself comfortably on his lap. Your arms grip the overarching wooden frame of the chair as you swiftly lift yourself up, before plopping back down, although this time elevated by your father’s overgrown, rotund belly.

Your earliest, core memories of your father had always been admiring him at feasts and family dinners. He never denied himself a hearty meal, and his grand appetite never ceased during the war. Inevitably, as the years went by and his youth disappeared the weight remained and latched on with each mouthful. The intimate moments your attention would linger onto him, as he savoured each bite, the way he'd unashamedly lick the grease and crumbs off his chubby fingers, even off the rings that had fit him a time before... Now that he had sized up immensely, most treasures and clothes that he had worn, he had rapidly outgrown. None of his rings could go beyond the tips of his fingers, and he was in great denial about it, refusing to resize until you had convinced him otherwise. The way he had often rubbed his aching, bloated belly: swollen beneath the restricting fabric, a somewhat elevated and satisfied look strewed across his handsome, fat face as he would pat himself proudly.

"But I want Daddy all to myself. I want Daddy to fight the whole realm for me, if he has to. Can Daddy do that for me?" You utter closely into his hear, your hot breath dense against his earlobe: after hastily hiking your skirt up [wearing nothing below, as you instinctively anticipated this precise moment], you unbuttoned his top garment, only to expose his rotund, plush belly. The handful of rolls engulfing his sides, the grip-able hips that accentuated his width, streaked with raw, red stretch marks all across his love handles and lower belly. His tits were double your size, nipples sensitive under your gentle touch, even a flick of his nipple was enough to make him moan. It made you flustered, the sheer sight in evidence of your father's blatant growth... And he had no shame in admitting it.

"Of course, baby. Anything for my sweet, little princess. Daddy would burn the entire realm if he has to for you... I'll repopulate the world with my princess, if needs be."

With each of his longing words, you pressed yourself down deeper, sinking your bare cunt further against his naked belly, causing him to whimper. His pudgy hands found their way beneath your layered gown, each palm rested atop your cheeks, firmly cupping and squeezing at your flesh.

"My princess knows just what to do, to make her Daddy happy, huh? My only joy in life, is you."

Your grinding rhythmic, the pace begins to quicken with excitement, as your throbbing cunt becomes moist, the wetness stirring and oozing beneath, against the warm friction. As your cum coats his smooth fat, slowly it becomes more tolerable.

"I-I just wanna make m-my Daddy proud- D-Daddy can s-say whatever, a-and I'll do as I'm t-told-"

"Is that so?" His mimicking voice, a deep growl wretched from his throat, as his hands find their strength, shoving you deeper against his swallowing frame. He always admired how tiny you appeared in comparison to him, how fragile it made you look. He rejoiced it was a symbol of how he could protect you, that he was your shelter.

"Daddy wants to fuck Princess senseless, all night long. Fill my Princess up with my hot, hot seed until I'm certain she takes. Daddy wants Princess to swell with his child, and show her off to the realm. That the babe kicking in her belly, is all his undoing, hmm."

"A-Anything for Daddy- Just f-fuck me, Aeg-"

Although it drove Aegon wild to hear you mindlessly moan and whisper Daddy, something in particular, whenever you called him by his name, would often trigger something more insatiable in him. He could devour you in the spot, like some afternoon tea honey cake, whenever you spoke of his true name.

"Undo my pants-" Immediately without sparing a thought more, you obeyed. As Aegon's plump belly expanded over his thick, wide lap, his portly fat pad beneath had somewhat engulfed his cock. It made it difficult for him to even try to locate or masturbate himself. For now, you had both learnt tricks to overcome the obstacle, having your father lean in a certain angle, as you put in the effort to locate his fat, hard cock, plunging it deep between your walls.

As he tried to reposition himself with great difficulty, in the faint space left remaining in the seat with you atop: breathless by the end of all the moving, you managed to pluck out his cock. The sheer sight and tension beneath your gentle stroking grip, its reddened, blush tip oozing with a sheer-white, translucent reside, palpating with excitement.

"Don't keep Daddy waiting, Princess. I need to feel your walls take my cock. Make you so fucking full of me, I'll make you a human waterfall."

The raw feeling of his cock between your inner walls, clenching to adjust to its girthy, solid size: although it could no longer delve as deep as it used to, the friction of his fat pad against your clit, and the pressure of his mass against your lower stomach, made it invigorating nonetheless.

"Th-That's it, Princess. S-So tight for me. All fucking mine, and the w-whole world will know it-"

"Y-Yes, Daddy-"

"If I need to fuck you with the eyes of the Court watching, I will."

As means to muffle your moans and loud pleas for Aegon, bashfully mindful of the servants and Kingsguard stationed beyond the inches of the door outside, your mouth latched onto Aegon's porky tits.

Suckling at his tender flesh, as your tongue licked at his nipple, causing him to wince and growl in eager approval, one hand left your ass cheek, gripping close your bucking hips, and found its way snaking behind your back, before pulling at your loose hair.

Tightly tugging at the free strands, mottling between his pudgy fingers, he once more, gave gentle encouragement, shoving your face down deeper against his tubby chest.

"F-Fuck Y/N. S-So impressed by Daddy, huh, Princess? You keep going at this rate, I'll be making my own damn milk for you and the babes."

Noticing the glistening residue of your cum spilled across his rolls and paunchy stomach, his other hand cleaned the mess up over with his bare hand. Before hungrily licking off your wetness with his tongue, licking his hand clean free.

"Delicious."

With his heavy, dense weight keeping him pinned down against the chair, he made no effort to thrust himself inside as he once jovially could. Alternatively, the chair swayed with his potent motions, as he would subtly buck his ample hips forward into your frame.

"My sweet, beautiful girl is gonna cum already. I can feel you swallow my cock whole, your walls suffocating my cock. Take me, princess, take it all-"

With the finish of his words, signalling his epitome, Aegon shot his hot, fresh seed into you: warmly coating your inner walls, as your own wetness gushed over his eager, hard cock. Catching a minute to regain your breaths and thoughtless mind, you lifted yourself off, and instantly the mess began to pool across your inner thighs.

Almost on cue or from impressive instinct, Aegon began to scoop at your inner thighs, sensitive from his touch, its abrupt presence startled you.

"Did I not teach you about letting things go to waste, baby? Never let this out. This is as precious as Valyrian steel. I ought to keep you plugged up with my cock..."

The tips of his fat fingers tease at the entrance of your folds, softly tracing over your stained, painful walls: impressed with your sudden shiver and moan, his deep chuckle left you feeling reminiscent of your first time. How nervous you felt, inexperienced against your father's wit.

"I-I want this to take. I want to have as many babes as the Gods see fit with you, Aeg... I want to swell healthily with child, and give you the heir you want... As many as you desire-"

As one fo your hands remained nestled against his chest, tracing soft, random lines against the crevices of his rolls: the other travelled its way to his face, pushing aside a random strand of hair, away from his handsome, fuller face.

"I want our sons to be the spitting image of their father, and our daughter's kind like their grandmother... Will Daddy fuck me day and night, to make my wish come true, hmm?"

"Of course..."

credit for dividers - @/valeskafics

[herejusttosufferalong]

I have to get something off my chest - do I think that people should be hateful on SM towards Luke, absolutely not. The man doesn’t deserve any of the crap that I’ve seen come his way over the past two weeks. I do think he’s made some serious errors in judgement that hopefully he’s reflecting on. 

However, I absolutely hate the way certain people are making excuses for him online. He’s a grown man, and he should take responsibility for his actions or inactions. Fan service is a legit part of the job of a successful actor, take the feedback and improve. I’m frustrated with the way woman in particular make excuses for him just because he’s a man. If I hear one more “he’s got adhd…” as an excuse, I’ll scream. He himself has stated on more than one occasion that he didn’t want to be defined by his ADHD. 

I feel like if the situation was reversed and Nicola had a pap walk and stopped interacting with fans the day the premier launched, the same women wouldn’t have as much grace. We would get “oh she thinks she’s too good for the fandom…”

Stop treating men like children. 

"I feel like if the situation was reversed and Nicola had a pap walk and stopped interacting with fans the day the premier launched, the same women wouldn’t have as much grace."

Are there actual people out here who believe this?

Because we need to take a moment to be completely fuckin honest.

If the roles had been reversed and Luke just showed up with friends and Nic showed up with a rumored boyfriend and then she was papped leaving the party with said man, everyone would be congratulating her.

Folks would be clamoring to find out more about her respective partner and hyping her up for it.

They would have never have shit on her and made her feel like she needed a break from the fandom. They wouldn't be going to Luke's comments and taking up for him, while cursing her, as if he were somehow wounded by the "stunt" she pulled.

There are many reasons why Luke got the hate he did. The biggest reason is projection and it's not timing, as some like to claim.

Let's BFFR.

Insecure women projected past/current hurt from personal situations onto Luke, using the pap walk as a way of reaffirming their biases that at the end of the day he is just a typical man who does shitty things.

Nevermind the countless accounts of his actual character from the people who know him the best.

No.

These same crazies are going to let a photo dictate who he is, even though the context of events is still unclear.

From there they spew nothing but hate and vitriol in his SM comment section.

Then they have the fucking nerve to wonder why he isn't posting online more. Why there seems to be some disconnect from the fandom. Why he doesn’t interact even with Nic as much.

Can you imagine having the fuckin audacity?

Every little thing he does or doesn't do is under so much scrutiny and there is nothing really wrong with that. It's the received hate he gets from that scrutiny that is the problem.

There is plenty of things that Luke has done that give me pause but let's not act like the level of outrage would have been the same if the roles were reversed. It would have been next to nonexistent.

P.S. If you are one of the insecure women as mentioned above don't bother coming for me because I don't like you and I don't fucking care.

[thyras]

→ climax

PAIRING → annatar (sauron) x f!oc!sabina

WORD COUNT → 3.4k words

WARNINGS → 18+ mdni - smut, semi-public sex, mild exhibitionism, dom & sub dynamics, degradation, voyeurism, masturbation, unprotected p in v, oral (f & m recieving), rough sex, praise kink, body worship

SUMMARY → in which sabina tries to test her shadows resolve, she wants one thing and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t get it.

AUTHORS NOTE → this is purely self-indulgent smut tbh i honestly had very little plans to put smut in the main fic due to girlie having feels about it. i'm jumping on the sub!sauron train. this can be read by itself as it is adjacent to the series and doesn’t reveal too much.

The moonlight scattered across the forest floor, bathing her form in a soft glow. She could feel the eyes on her as she turned the page in her book, not even trying to hide his presence. If she could not sleep, she would always end up just outside Eregion, reading or drawing. It took her mind off the nightmares she would have. 

On this particular night, her mind was full of something else, and it drove her mad to chase the high in which she wished to lose herself. Sabina had never been allowed to indulge in womanly desire; it just was not something Olavi had concerned himself with. She had been pushed to contain it and never released it from her body. It kept wanting more, so if she did a good job, he would let her have that toe-curling release she had always dreamed of. 

But that never happened.

An idea popped into her head, and she smiled devilishly as she closed her book and set it next to her on the forest floor. She gripped the front of her skirt and pushed it up, eyes closing as she ran her fingers up her inner thighs, tracing circles around the skin. She pushed her back into the tree she was leaning against.

Her mind went to how this would feel if he was tracing the circles on her sensitive inner thighs like she had dreamed about for so many nights. A whimper left her lips at the dirty thought as her fingers moved up her inner thigh towards her undergarments. Sabina arched her back as she traced her finger across the material, still thinking about those hands moving in the motions. A light whimper left her lips as her dreams drove her mad with lust for the figure that stood off watching her from a distance.  A smile crossed her lips as she felt his restraint breaking as she continued the motions. Her mind got even more impure thoughts of him buried between her thighs, lapping up her desire as his tongue drove her hips up to meet the motions.

Sabina pushed aside her undergarments as the aching and throbbing of her aroused core was becoming too much to handle. She swiped her fingers through, collecting some of her arousal on her fingers, and brought them to her mouth, licking the substance off. 

That was it for him.

She heard a crunching of leaves, causing her eyes to open. She turned to see him in all his dark glory. Eyes dark with lust and a burning animalistic desire to dominate her. 

But that’s not what she wanted.

Sabina wanted him to beg her to stop this torment, beg her to grace him with entrance between her thighs, kneel before her, and beg for her to ride his pretty little elven face.

She wanted control. 

And she was not going to give up without a fight.

“Uh—uh,” she said, sticking her foot out to stop him from approaching her further. She met the dark edge of his robe. The sole of her foot felt the delicate stitchings before pushing it up, and her foot trailed against his boot-covered ankle. “It’s not that easy, love,” she licked her fingers again, still keeping her eyes locked on him. Those dark eyes darkened even more, and she could see the snarl hiding behind those lips. “You want a taste; you must work for it,” Sabina smiled devilishly. “It won’t be hard to follow the rules now, will it?” She pouted her lips as those lashes lowered, taunting him even more.

Sabina watched as he swallowed hard, but she could see the tenting in his robes as the filthy words left her lips. He was struggling with this, and she knew by the way he was watching her he was going to put up a fight to submit to her willingly.

“How about you be a doll and take off those clothes,” She bit her bottom lip. He did not move even to acknowledge her request; only the straining in his neck muscles told her he was fighting an inner battle. She was about to say something, but his fingers unclasped his belt, tossing it on the ground. “Good boy,” she breathed as she watched his fingers unclasp more of his garments until they fell to the ground in a heap of material before tossing his boots to the side.

Underneath all that material was something carved out by the Valar themselves. Sabina licked her lips. She had taken a fondness for his rugged, dirty, manly form, but this was otherworldly. Her eyes traveled down his sculpted shoulders towards the spattering of light hair on his chest. Eyes traveling across the pristine outline of his muscles and the line of light hair from his navel to the jutting appendage that was eagerly awaiting to be worshiped like she so desperately wanted to, but that would come later. “See, now, was that so hard,” she slid her fingers underneath the top of her gown. “That earns you a little reward,” she said as he stepped a little closer when she pushed the garment down to her waist, revealing her round, perky breasts, nipples pebbling in the cool night air. Both gazes still locked on each other, not daring to waver for fear of losing the chance to enjoy each other.

Sabina moved her foot to his knee and held him in place. She tsked and shook her head. “You want a taste; you have to follow my rules, hun,” she reminded him, surprised he had not even uttered a word since coming over. His balled-up fists were all but a tell of how hard he was trying not to. Sabina wished to prolong this teasing as long as he would play fair, and that was growing thin, she saw in his eyes.

Her fingers moved down her mounded flesh as his gaze followed those delicate fingers. She pinched and pulled against one of her nipples, eliciting a moan from her soft lips as she watched the dark lines appear around his eyes. “You want to touch these, pull that very same moan out of my lips, huh?” He nodded. “I’m sorry, love, I didn’t catch that.” Her foot moved up to trace against the solid muscle of his inner thigh.

“Yes,” he growled.

“Uh—uh, be nice,” She continued to massage her breasts and lowered her lashes again.

“Yes,” he repeated, less harsh this time.

“Good boy,” she breathed. “That deserves a reward; touch yourself.” She breathed as she moved to sit up, his appendage just a few centimeters from her face now. He moved to grip himself and lightly started pumping his hand against the flesh, their gazes locked. However, hers were sparkling with mischief as she got exactly what she wanted. “Mmm,” she hummed. “You want my pretty little mouth around that, right?” His hand moved to pump faster, but she grabbed his wrist, slowing the motion. “Did I say you could go faster?” He shook his head. “Light and slow, love,” 

She knew it was torture for her mouth to be so close to where he ached to seat his cock. Sabina smiled and moved so her breath tickled the tip, causing him to twitch slightly. She smiled and watched as his eyes closed. “Eyes open,” he groaned as his strokes started becoming labored. “I want to watch those eyes of yours.” She looked down at the precum dripping off the head of his tip, and her tongue ran across her bottom lip. “Good boy,” she repeated, only this time she ran her tongue across the tip, taking in his salty, sweet taste. 

He growled again as his cock twitched in anticipation. Sabina looked up and shook her head. “That was not nice,” those dark eyes bore into hers. She grabbed his wrist again, though this time stopping his motions. Sabina shook her head and took his hand off. “Only boys that follow the rules get rewards,” A smile touched her lips as he fought back another growl. “Right?” 

“Yes,” he fought out through his teeth.

“I’m sorry, hun, you’re going to have to repeat that.” She smirked.

“Yes,”

“Good boy,” Sabina could tell how agitating it was for her to keep calling him that, but it was powerful enough to her that it was causing her to get drunk on the ability to quiet the man who always had some smart-ass thing to say. “You want to fill my pretty little mouth,” she paused, eyes darkening as she placed his hand in her hair. “Fuck my face until I’m a mess?” she licked her lips as that straining in his neck returned when she ran her tongue across his tip again.

“Yes,” his breath was labored this time as he anticipated what she was about to allow him to do.

“Beg for it, Shadow,” She hissed out. His lips tightened together as he fought the urge to give in. Sabina moved to push him flesh with his stomach, her tongue trailing the underside of his shaft to the tip. He fought back the groan in his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Beg for this little mouth to suck you dry,” 

“I need—“ he started, but Sabina twirled her tongue around his tip.

“You need what, love,” she taunted, eyes not leaving him.

“I need that pretty little mouth around me,” He breathed out in a groan. Sabina smiled and trailed her fingers up his shaft. “I need to fuck that warm wet mouth of yours,”

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” She opened her mouth wide, tongue dropping out as her lust-filled eyes gazed up at him. The open invitation for him to seat himself inside her mouth. He hesitated momentarily, but when she did not stop him, he filled her mouth. She closed around it and gripped the base. Sabina picked up a slow pace as her free hand went up his leg and around to grip the taut skin of his ass, steadying herself.

He moaned over top of her, eyes watching as she bobbed up and down his length, taking him to the hilt. He could not help but grip her scalp as she picked up the pace and hummed around his cock. The noise made his cock twitch in her mouth, he was close, and she knew that. 

This game needed to keep going. 

She moved to try and pull off, but his grip on her scalp held her in place. Sabina pinched his flesh, and he released her quickly with a hiss.

“Not yet,” she breathed as saliva dribbled down her chin. The sight was almost to erotic for him. “I want that inside me, filling me full.” She smiled at him as she gave him one last teasing lick. Her fingers pushed the rest of her garments off so she was now bare to him. 

The hunger in his eyes returned as he could see the arousal dripping down her thigh; she noticed his gaze and moved to run her fingers through it before holding the fingers up. She hovered them towards her lips, “Mmm, you want this?” She hummed as he struggled to keep standing there as she leaned back against the tree again. His eyes glued to her fingers. “You want to have my taste on your pretty plump lips? Taking in my sweetness?” He nodded.

“Kneel and beg for it then,” she repeated. He closed his eyes, and the straining of his body was evident. She knew he kneeled to no one, and that was what was so thrilling about this. She wanted him at her mercy and to have complete and utter control over one of the most powerful beings that walked this earth. 

He knelt, and she opened her legs towards him in invitation. “I need to taste every inch of you, little viper; I crave it like I crave power.” Her heart thumped in her chest, and for a brief moment, she lost control as her face heated up. A knowing smile reached his lips, but he remained where he was sitting, not daring to move even though he knew he had broken her control.

“Then come taste me, Shadow,” she said, collecting herself back up. He leaned forward and took her fingers into his mouth, tongue tracing up and down, licking her clean. There was something completely erotic about him between her thighs, tasting her arousal and doing it without question. The power she held over him currently made her drunk with her arousal and her body screaming for more.

When he popped off her fingers, she smiled and pushed him back against the forest floor, sitting astride him as she had one hand on his chest and the other trailing across his lips.

“I want you to show me just how starved you are for my taste,” she paused, moving to lift her hips over his face. “I’m gonna ride that pretty elven face of yours; how does that sound?” He nodded, but she gripped his chin. “Answer,” she hissed.

“Yes,” he moaned, and she smiled. 

“Good boy,” she lowered her cunt onto his face and leaned her arms behind her on his chest as she rolled her hips against his face. Arms snaking underneath her thighs to support her movements more. He ate her like a man starved for water. The way his tongue darted in and out before he sucked on her clit sent her hips surging forward against his face. He repeated the motions, sending whimpers and moans out of her mouth. Eyes closed as his name fell from her lips like a maiden praying to the Valar for forgiveness. “You are so pretty when you beg for me, Shadow,” she breathed through the rising heat of her orgasm in her belly. It built like it always did. “So good, letting me make a mess of your pretty godly face.” She felt his chest rumble from a moan. “You want me to come on that face of yours, want to make your Queen happy?” 

She lifted off his ministrations for a moment so he could give her an answer. “Yes, I crave to make my queen happy,” he breathed, breathless, before she lowered herself back onto him. He continued, but this time, a finger snuck in and rubbed her bud as he lapped at her entrance. 

Sabina threw her head back as the fire burned, and for the first time in her life, she climaxed in ecstasy. A call of his name echoed through the night as she chased her high until overstimulation took over. Her motions slowed as her legs shook, and her fingernails clawed that soft skin of his chest. She let out a breath and smiled, soaking in the feeling denied to her for so long.

It was intoxicating, and she wanted more, so drunk off the power she held right now and on her first orgasm that she did not register for a split second that he almost had her on her back. She hooked her leg around his waist and had him on his back again. He groaned as his back hit the forest floor. “You’re playing dirty,” she breathed, leaning over his lips that glistened with her orgasm. Sabina leaned in to lick her taste off his lips and chin before her tongue traced against his jaw. “You want my cunt now, don’t you?” She breathed against his neck. 

“Yes,” 

“You want to fill me and take pleasure in how I strangle that cock of yours?” She bit at his jaw. “To feel what makes even Maiar quake underneath its gasp?” He moaned as her hand moved to grip his taut skin and pump it lightly.

“I crave to rid you of his touch and show you what true worship is.” Sabina giggled and kissed his neck. “Fuck you so deep, you won’t remember who you were before me.”

“Good boy,” she moaned, her grip tightening as she pumped the skin harder. Lips traveled down his chest, tongue running circles around his nipple as her hand slowed. “What else?” She breathed, looking up to see his flustered face as his eyes were nothing but blissed slits.

“I want them to envy us. Envy you taking your fill of me.” He breathed hoarsely. “Envy me for getting to worship the goddess that walks among us. I need them to see me fuck you senseless, knowing that I am the only one who can pull those sinful words from your lips.” His breath hitched when she sunk her hips onto him, taking him to the hilt.

The stretch of her walls accommodating him sent a shiver down her spine. “Continue,” she hissed. “I love it when you beg for me. Bow to me and submit yourself to me.” She rolled her hips against him, the feeling sending her toes curling as her fingers gripped at the splattering of hair on his chest. “Tell me how much you want me for eternity,” He groaned and moaned against her rolls, eyes locked as he struggled for words.

“I want you like the power that runs through my veins; I need you like some starved animal—“ he trailed off as her hips moved faster against him; the force would have sent any mortal aching in pain, but she just felt him get harder and call out her name against the crisp night air. “Gods, you feel so fucking good.” He whimpered. Sabina smiled and watched as his hands moved to grip the flesh of her hips. 

She was too far gone to care about this little game anymore, riding so high on her pleasure that she just wanted to keep this going for as long as she could. “I want to worship the woman that holds my dark heart in her grasp. I want her—“ He pushed her on her back now.

She yelped in surprise as he continued to thrust in her, caging her underneath him. “I want her by my side each and every day for eternity. I want to fuck her each and every second I have.” Sabina smiled as he moved to grip her wrists above her head, holding her into the ground.

“Harder,” she whispered. A growl escaped his lips, and his hips jutted into her harder, fingers tightening against her wrists. Sabina’s eyes closed, and her hips arched to meet those pelvis-shattering thrusts. Her toes curled into the leaves as he rubbed every nerve and ridge just right like he was made for her.

“Eyes open, little viper,” he hissed. “I want to see you. I want to know what Varda crafted only for me, know what those stars do when she falls around my cock,” She whimpered again as her eyes opened and she looked into the feral gaze of her lover.

“Good girl,” he said with a sickly sweet smile as her orgasm pooled in her belly. The notion of him praising her ignited the fire as he quickened his pace, reaching that deep spot in her as she struggled to hold back the orgasm. “So good for me,” he chanted as her walls squeezed around him in climax as a cry of his name left her sinful lips. She pulsed against him until he painted her womb with his seed as a satisfied groan left his lips. Eyes never leaving their locked gazes as they took in just how each other looked when they felt their love reach its climax. “Taking all of me like the good little maiden you are,” Sabina blushed and moved to grip his face as they kissed deeply for a moment, tongues clashing as fingers greedily ran through each other's hair, tousling their already unmade strands.

Sabina pulled away and gazed up at him with those sapphire eyes of hers. “I couldn’t wait to have you like this,” A smile touched his lips as he pushed some of her white hair out her face.

“Like what, divine?” His eyes searched hers for the answer. Her thumb moved to trace his bottom lip as her lashes lowered in a blissful, satisfied look of contentment.

“Kneeling before me and begging for me,” He chuckled and shook his head.

“I will always kneel to my Queen,” he licked his lips and ran his finger across the delicate skin of her cheek. “And submit to her every order,”

[karlachismylife]

Flutter Into the Skies

CW: fem!reader, girly reader (dresses, makeup, all that jazz), flirty banter, mentions of alcohol, Ghost is a menace as always, toothrotting fluff.

(Title from "Butterfly, Butterly" by a-ha)

You're excited.

That bubbly feeling of sincere happiness for someone else is filling your chest with lightweight foam, rising as if you're the most perfect, airy meringue that has ever graced anyone's kitchen - and it's soft too, not choking or overwhelming like any strong sensations tend to be.

You're literally beaming on someone else's wedding day. It's good.

Even Ghost and his ever so heavy, even unintentionally, presence seem to have nothing on you and your metaphorical butterfly wings of a flowing dress, fluttering behind you as you're running around to finish getting ready to head out. He considers himself already good to go, a sharp suit matching colour with your dress, grown out hair styled neatly, keeping the subtle waves it naturally has whenever he lets it go. You even got him a half-face mask that matches his tie and pocket square, no black allowed to your sweet friend's celebration. He's wearing it already, getting used to the feeling of unfamilar fabric on his face, as he stands in the hallway, leaning on the wall in a lazy manner, hooded eyes watching you with a deep satisfaction and a crooked smirk of a predator in its den lurking somewhere behind the satin mask.

You hear a distinct chuckle as you zoom past him in your festive frenzy, looking for a particular eyeshadow palette in your impressive collection - so, naturally, you turn on your heels and give Simon a mockingly stern look.

"What's so funny, huh?" You demand, pointng your eyeshadow brush at him, right between his dark, magnetic eyes. Sparkly glitter smeared on the soft hairs makes it look like you're about to zap him with some pixie dust magic. "I wanna look good, it's her special day, can't ruin it by being a mess! You could put some effort in too, Mr Riley."

That's when you get him - light eyebrows sliding upwards in a quizzical look, eyes dipping down to give himself a quick one-over before coming back up to stare at you. Daring you to tell him he doesn't look exquisitely and magnificently. He would go meet the Queen of England herself looking like this, not to mention a friend of his own little queen.

"Your tie, dummy," you giggle and put your formiddable weapon of artistry and glitter on the nearest surface, dancing up to Simon and gripping his unevenly tied accessory.

"Could've fixed it meself before headin' out," he grumbles in response, standing upright for you to adjust the tie into a straight line and tighen it up just the right way. Sure, he could, but that's what he gets for being a menace and teasing you for fussing over every detail of your appearance today.

You lift your gaze to retort with some smartass quip, but Ghost is already two steps ahead, staring at you with a heavy, sultry look he knows you can't resist - eyelids half-closed and lazy, white lashes fluttering slightly as he assesses your expression, notices the way your half-done makeup blends together into a colourful picture, bright, sparkly, not subtle at all and screaming "this is a happy day for me too!"

You must be a fairy or some other mythical creature to posess this wonderous ability to dissolve seamlessly into other people when they need your support and then emerge unscathed; complete, full and whole on our own - and yet always there to be a part of a bigger thing.

He knows, because you've seeped under his skin every time his own shell crumbled, and held the fortress for him, mending every crack with your pink pixie dust and golden unicorn fur. They are still there, still visible, still hurting - but not threatening to collapse on top of him, crushing whatever soft and alive still is kept inside.

If there is a pang of guilt prickling him for never supplying you with something this good to melt into, sharing happiness instead of a deadly burden, it disappears too quickly once Simon sees the simmering adoration in your glitter-eyeliner emphasized eyes.

Sliding the knot of his tie up and adjusting it around his collar, you don't let go of it immediately, instead opting to tug on it - an indication of your intent clear enough, you think. But of course, the mountain that is Ghost, doesn't move.

"Come on, I wanna kiss you," you murmur, yet to realize that Simon didn't misread your gesture as a part of fixing his tie.

The bastard ignored it on purpose.

"Oh, I can tell," his smugness rains down on you through the slyly narrowed eyes of his and the undeniably satisfied smirk unable to be contained discreetly with the mask alone.

It takes you a few seconds to go from charmed and adoring to scandalized and outraged.

"Fuck you, Simon Riley," in sincere wrath, you jerk your fist up, choking him with the tie, and yank the asshole's face towards you, pressing a loud, mocking smooch directly over the light fabric of his mask. It's his fault he didn't want to remove it and give you a proper kiss.

"We'll be late if ya do," unfased by the silky hanging noose around his neck, Ghost hammers in the last nail.

You're pouting at him the whole way to your friend's wedding, his poorly muffled chuckles only digging his grave deeper as you glare at him, no threat in your butterfly princess appearance whatsoever. The only thing that keeps you from elbowing the self-assured dog or telling him what a bastard he is, is the sweet revenge you're gonna get once everyone at the wedding sees him with a stupid, bright-pink, sparkly kiss print on his mask that he still hasn't noticed is there.

That's what he gets for being an ass: mighty image completely ruined, reputation of a scary, battle-worn beast shattered. Everyone will see just how wrapped around your finger and domesticated he is (as if it wasn't obvious already - or as if he didn't have you wrapped around his himself).

It's only at the afterparty, when everyone's letting loose and your cheeks are definitely tingling from the sweet alcohol you drank in the name of your friend's union with her sweetheart, when you suddenly get jumped by Ghost on your way to the bathroom. He's just leaving it himself, and you know from the look in his eyes that he finally had a chance to look in the mirror and see what a pretty sight he had been the whole day.

"Were ya even planning to tell me, ya little minx?" Somehow he growls right into your ear, already caging you against the wall. Good thing he does - your head is spinning, you're tipsy, charged with the best mood, buzzing from hearing good music at the dancefloor, full of sugar and sweet, sweet aftertaste of someone else's love wafting through the air.

"Took you long enough," you giggle, resting your palms on his shoulders - even through the blurriness of your lightweight happiness you clearly see that he's smiling, little lines crinkling in the corners of his eyes and warmth in his voice as he nuzzles into your temple. "Not so sharp-eyed anymore, Lieutenant?"

"Jus' didn't expect blatant betrayal in me own home." You roll your eyes and that's enough to miss him sliding his marked mask down. "Ya will pay for this, lovie."

"I'm shaking in my- mmph!"

Whatever you were shaking in, gets cut off by a whole tornado of smooches, light alcohol taste on Ghost's lips and tongue too. Should've known he'll get like this after a couple of glasses.

But then again, do you really mind?

[lewmagoo]

would love to read your take on “i’m tired of you speaking, i need something in your mouth” and “what if i just leave you here, wet and needy?” with rhett 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

-floydsmuse 🦋

i took the liberty of using mdm rhett because that big mean daddy is perfect for this 🤭

if there was one thing rhett didn’t tolerate, it was petulance. he always shut down bratty behavior, but he would figure out the source of it first. it was a mental list that he’d go over in his head, trying to understand why you were misbehaving. were you stressed? tired? were your hormones going haywire? were there any outside factors pushing you into this state of argumentativeness and irritation? he’d learned that there was always some sort of reason. however, trying to get an explanation out of you wasn’t always the easiest.

sometimes, you just needed him to take control. you needed him to assume his role as the dominant in your relationship. he would first give you a warning. he only afforded you one, and if you didn’t correct your behavior, he would then enact the punishment that he saw fit to give you. on this particular day, you’d been especially irritable. rhett gave you some grace, because you had just started a new job, and were trying to get accustomed to working again. a friend had started a coffee shop in town, and you’d agreed to help her during the first few weeks after her grand opening, because she was understaffed and desperate for the help. food service was not an industry you wanted to work in ever again, but you’d made an exception in order to support your friend.

in turn, you were reminded of why you’d left the industry altogether. working at the coffee shop turned out to be more high stress than you were anticipating, and because of this, you were tense and irritable. which, unfortunately resulted in you mouthing off to rhett. the first few times you responded in exasperation, you’d apologized to him (after he prompted you with a raised eyebrow, a look that you affectionately called the “daddy look”). although today, you didn’t know what had gotten into you. as rhett drove home after picking you up, all you gave him were short, impatient answers when he asked how your day was. the snapping was grating on his nerves, and he found his patience wearing thin.

"sweetheart, watch your tone," he warned, as the two of you walked into the house that evening. the timbre of his voice wasn’t sharp. it was even and gentle, though there was a cautionary undertone. for whatever reason, his warning only bothered you further. you folded your arms across your chest and huffed, much like a child. “don’t call me sweetheart." big mistake. "y'sure this is the game you wanna play?" came his gruff reply. jutting your chin out in defiance, you said, "i don't care." after which you turned on your heel and marched toward the stairs to go up to the bedroom. that was the straw that broke the camel's back. "don't you walk away from me." he caught your arm, his grip firm but not painful, careful of his strength. "i've been patient the entire ride home but i've had about enough of this damn attitude. this brat act ain't gon' fly with me."

when you opened your mouth to protest, he squeezed your cheeks so you couldn't. "'m tired of you speaking, i need somethin' in your mouth." and there it was. the sense of dominance exercised over you. he was taking your control away, and you gladly let him. the blue of his eyes had grown considerably darker, like storm clouds gathering on the horizon. "kneel." and you dropped. he tilted your chin up, tracing his fingers over your lips. instinctively, you parted your mouth, and he slipped his middle and ring fingers inside. he held your gaze as he slid those fingers farther and farther back, and said, "suck." so you did, wrapping your lips around the digits and taking them as far back as you could, showing him how hard you'd been working lately to tame your gag reflex so you could deepthroat him.

his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip as he watched you, entirely turned on at the sight. "you been practicin', haven't you?" he asked, momentarily distracted from what was essentially your punishment. he had to take a moment to express his awe. but his praise, although degrading, made you glow with satisfaction beneath him. "yes sir, i have," you gasped, pulling your mouth off him long enough to respond. already, your brain was beginning to quiet down as you focused only on him. the man you loved. the man you wanted to please above all others. it was truly a wonder how quickly he could flip that switch for you and bring you into a better headspace.

his lashes fluttered, and he took in a breath. "atta girl." his fingers were back in your mouth again, and you dutifully sucked them, swirling your tongue and drooling, treating it as if you were sucking his cock, because you hoped that was what he'd give you next. but he wasn't about to let you off the hook that easy. he let you continue on, fully enjoying the show, and fully aware that the sight of it was getting him hard. you could see it, too. his thick cock straining against the confines of his jeans. so appealing even when it was hidden beneath a layer of fabric. he could see your gaze shifting to it every so often, and after a little while, he pulled your head back and gripped his cock with his other hand. "y'want it?" he asked, as if he was presenting a treat to his pet.

eagerly, you nodded. "yes daddy." he smiled, and it was full of fake pity. "that's too bad. only good girls get daddy's cock. and you ain't been very good tonight, have ya?" at that, you whined in frustration, and he couldn't help but notice the way you rubbed your thighs together. a wicked smirk tugged at his mouth. "you little slut. suckin' my fingers got you wet, didn't it?" he crouched in front of you then, still holding your face in his hand as he reached into the front of your jeans to check. sure enough, he came in contact with your slick pussy. his smirk turned into a dirty grin. "dirty fuckin' girl." when you tried to grind against his hand, he immediately withdrew it, leaving you humping the air. "bet you're hopin' i'll fuck ya, hm little darlin'? but you're forgettin', this is a punishment." he stood again, ignoring your pathetic whine.

"i don't wanna hear it." and then, "what if i just leave you here, wet an' needy?" he stepped back, just to test your reaction. "no!" you exclaimed, reaching out and wrapping your arms around his legs. "please daddy, i'm sorry! i'll do anything!" there it was. that sense of repentance he was hoping for. he lovingly cupped your cheek, watching as you nuzzled into his palm. "anythin'?" he echoed, and you nodded against his thigh. "yes, anything." trailing his tongue against his teeth, he hummed. "alright then. y'can start by suckin' daddy's cock. show me all them new tricks you learned while you were practicin' on your toys. and after that, i just might fuck that needy pussy of yours. sound like a deal?" you were already scrambling to unbuckle his belt, desperate to have your mouth filled. "yes daddy," you agreed.

tagging my mdm rhett girlies: @withahappyrefrain @rhettabbotts @hangmanapologist @floydsmuse

[jacaeryslover]

RAISED BY WOLVES: a jon snow fanfic.

you were raised as one of the starks, but the blood of the dragon can't be tamed. and a certain bastard knows that very well.

before you read: i wrote this from memory, so maybe the timeline is a little messed up, i will rewatch the first season soon.

a big city... you imagined your home looking through the big old window, snow slowly finding its place on top of the floor and the big old trees surrounding the castle, "winter is coming" lord eddard stark often said, and as time passed, it became true. winter is already here.

a targaryen alone in the world is a horrible thing, and you were alone, miles away from your home, and miles away from your siblings, if they were still alive.

at winterfell you and jon snow were always together, and it was no surprise to the northeners, you were both outsiders. he was a bastard and you were a dragon, you had no place there. and with time, you and jon bonded over that, being together, it felt like you two weren't alone in this world after all.

the north often pitied the lady targaryen, before a princess of the realm, you had everything, you used to be the embodiment of what every little girl dreamed of. and now you had nothing to lay dead on, nothing but your empty and useless title.

growing up, you were raised as one of the starks. the guardian of the north made a promise to king robert, instead of killing the child he would raise her as one of them, hoping that she would bend the knee later on.

"your grace, it's just a babe" eddard remarked, his honor tempting his duty.

"a targaryen babe, eddard. she will be a threat. every targaryen is." the now king demanded.

"let me take her to the north, your grace. i will raise her and take her as one of the starks, winterfell will be her home. and in the future, she will show loyalty."

after hearing his friends words, the king finally accepted, giving a last warning to his dearest friend, the only one he cared for.

"alright ned, for our friendship. but i'll tell you friend, that everything that girl does becomes your responsability. and if some day she rebels, you will be a traitor to the realm too. and i will take your head for it."

—

ned kept his promise, and as the years passed, you grew as a northener and a stark. the long silver hair you beared adorned your shoulders, shoulders that were soon covered in a fur cloth, and made space for your falling and well-kept braid. your eyes a beautiful lilac, one unfamiliar to the northeners gaze, and the cause of the many looks of suspicion that made you feel uneasy or bad about yourself, like you didn't belong there.

every single one them looked at you that way, everyone except him, except them.

if you had a choice, you would choose them. you would choose to stay like this forever, the sound of the snow below your feet, the youngest of the starks running and playing, the loving stares of the lord and lady of winterfell, and the shared stares of one particular boy. you would choose this life over again, but to your despair, everything good has to end.

01.

the arrival of the royal family threw everyone off guard, the entire stark family gathered at the entrace to welcome the king and queen of the seven kingdoms. of course, jon snow wasn't there, and you weren't either. the lady of winterfell and wife of lord eddard, catelyn stark, thought that a bastard and a targaryen were not what the king wished to see upon his arrival at the north, and she was probably right.

the two outsiders were together while watching the stark family throw a feast to the king and queen. queen cersei was beautiful, you thought. though her childrens resemblance to her were there, you thought that the kings genes were falling behind, as their children beared beautiful blonde hair, and shared most of their features with their mother.

"do you think he still hates you and your family?" jon asked, eyes set on the king eating his food. just as he finishes his question, he turns to look at you.

"maybe, probably... i don't know" you answered him, noticing how his eyes reflected his hurting, you knew how lady stark treated jon, she made sure he knew he will never be one of the starks, no matter how much blood he shared with her trueborn children, catelyn hated him. and this type of acts, like not allowing him to share the stark table at the feast, were the ones that hurted him the most, always reminding him that he was a snow, before a stark.

"y'know, if we were there, we couldn't eat as much as we are right now. at least me" you said, hoping to get a smile from him, making him smile was now your favorite hobby, and your full time job. "they would say it's not much lady-like of me".

he offered you his most sincere smile, and just like that, with that simple comment, you had made his night more bearable, you made him forget the hurting that causes being born a bastard. and he thought to himself, that he was grateful for having you in his life.

"well, lady-like or not, i'm grateful for having you as my friend, princess" he said with a sly smile, his eyes shining brighter every second he spends looking at your lilac ones.

"i told you before, i'm not a princess jon, not anymore." him teasing you with your old title was not uncommon, you told him to drop it, but apparently he didn't like to listen to you.

after finishing your food, you decided to go to your chambers, leaving jon with his uncle benjen. you changed your dress for your nightgown, and decided to end the day there, closing your eyes, to begin a new day tomorrow.

the sun took his place early in the morning, and after some minutes you decided it was time to begin your day. after changing your clothes and walking towards the halls, you heard lady sansa and lady arya talking with their father. you couldn't hear much, but you heard enough, they were talking about travelling to king's landing. your old home. your familys home.

and of course, you would ask to join.

02.

[cardansriddle]

Obsession (part 2) - (tom riddle x fem!reader)

part 1

Warnings: injury & blood.

A/N: Finally I got this done. Hopefully it's to your liking and was worth the very very long wait. Let me know what you think!

༻♛༺

Tom Riddle was in a predicament.

In his defence, he had not expected things to turn out the way they did.

It started after that fated day in the library, when he had seen the kind of book she was interested in. She was out after curfew, when the clock was striking towards midnight, and he had been coming back from the meeting with his Knights of Walpurgis. He had not planned to trail behind her.

It was fate, he kept telling himself.

Clad in a silky nightgown that barely left anything to the imagination, the girl moved with an alluring grace, her slender figure slipping through the shadows as if guided by some invisible force. Tom, captivated by her presence, found himself lost in a daze, his purpose momentarily forgotten.

He kept to the dark corners of the hallway as he followed the girl he had become infatuated with, taking extra measure to disguise the echo of his footsteps.

When they reached the library, she looked around the corridor to make sure she was undetected before entering the place swiftly. Tom's curiosity peaked and he slipped inside, mirroring her movements with fluid precision.

A sly smirk danced on his lips when he realised she had broken into the restricted section of the library.

She stopped in front of a bookshelf and he watched, enthralled, as her fingers grazed the spines of the numerous tomes lined up on the shelves before they halted and pulled out a scarlet-bound book.

Using her momentary distraction, Tom sneaked behind her until he stood a mere centimetres away from her, so close that if she shifted even a little bit, his chest would brush against her back.

"Isn't it a little late for rendezvous in the library?"

She jumped, startled, and before she could let out a scream of surprise, his hand covered her mouth. He pressed himself against her back, effectively silencing her, but she kept squirming in his grip.

"If I let go, you will not scream." His voice held an unwavering authority as he warned her. Her head bobbed in reluctant agreement, and Tom cautiously withdrew his hand, yet he remained close, his presence an inescapable force. The witch pivoted to face him, steadying herself against the edge of the bookshelf as Tom loomed above her.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. Tom's gaze dipped, his hand idly toying with the delicate fabric of her nightgown.

When she huffed impatiently, he rose a brow. "Should I not be the one asking you that?"

She stared at him for a moment before releasing a defeated sigh. "Fine. I was looking for a particular book and I knew the professors would not give me a pass if they knew what it was about."

His gaze dropped to the said book she was clutching in one of her hands, and despite the darkness surrounding them, he almost instantly recognized it.

"Why are you interested in necromancy?"

She shrugged. "Why not?"

He hummed, displeased with her lack of communication. He knew she was not ordinary, and he was aware she possessed a certain interest in the Dark Arts.

"I have a proposition for you." He revealed after a brief moment of silence. "I have a...group of individuals who share an understanding and desire that can only be quenched with the Dark Arts. We have certain beliefs that we will enforce once we have enough power to do so. I wish for you to join us."

"Why me?"

"You would be a valuable asset."

She arched an elegant brow, bemused. "Asset?"

"Yes."

"I'm not an asset to be possessed, Tom. If you want me, you have to prove it."

There was something sultry in her tone that sent shivers down Tom's spine, and he felt unnerved by the unfamiliar feeling that crept into his veins. There was something about her, Tom had not yet figured it out, but whatever it was, it had pulled him towards her and he was set on finding out just why he had gotten so obsessed with the witch.

Despite the protests of the rational side of his head, he gave into his urges and pressed his body into hers, caging her against the bookshelf. She was startled by the proximity, he could tell by the way her eyes widened just slightly, and he threw all caution to the wind before lowering his head and pressing his lips to hers.

She wasted no time before trailing her hands into his hair, grasping his dark curls to ground herself before she could get lost in the feel of his mouth hungrily bruising her own. His lips felt contradicting— like sandpaper and silk, and she was sure that one taste of him would not suffice.

His hands grasped onto her waist, pulling her impossibly closer to him as he bit down on her lower lip, drawing a gasp from her that had his body rising in temperature. If they did not stop, Tom was sure his self-control would slip through his grasp and he would end up taking her right there—against the bookshelf in the library.

With a pained groan, he drew back, giving her time to catch her breath as he did the same.

She slowly looked up at him from under her lashes with hazy eyes, and Tom had to close his eyes at the sight. He had to stop before he could lose all his composure.

When he looked at her again, the dishevelled hair and the reddened lips, it was as if reality had slapped him across the face. With a deep inhale—which might have been a bad idea, as it was only her scent that he inhaled, sweet and addictive— he turned on his heel and left her standing there, leaving only confusion in his wake.

She braced herself against the bookshelf. "What the fuck?" She wondered, and the only reply she got was the eerie silence of the Restricted Section.

༻♛༺

Tom was avoiding her.

She would have laughed at the situation. The notion that a mature and all-powerful wizard would find himself evading her presence, all because of a single kiss, held a touch of irony that was not lost on her. But alas, she had been just as affected by the kiss and had found herself instinctively steering clear of the places he frequented, caught in a delicate dance of longing and self-preservation.

Still, she couldn't help but wonder what it was that had set him off. Was it her audacious nature, her unyielding boldness that had unsettled him? Or perhaps it had been his own disbelief, grappling with the unexpected surge of desire that had coursed through his veins.

Yet despite their carefully constructed waltz of avoidance, like all dances, it had to come to an end at some point or another.

It was a rainy afternoon when they saw each other next. The Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom had been cleared to form a clear ground for what was assumed to be duels.

The witch released a displeased groan as soon as she set foot into the room, knowing quite well she was not in the right headspace to perform in a fight.

"Thought you loved a good old duel?" A familiar voice mused from behind her, and she turned to see Abraxas watching her with a raised brow.

"Not today. I am sleep deprived and I am hungry." She replied gloomily, glancing back at the board hung in the front of the room and trying to allocate her name.

"Ah yes. Your presence was certainly missed during breakfast today."

"I'm sure." She drawled. He was about to retort back with a sarcastic comment of his own when the witch in front of him stiffened before rubbing at her temples tiredly. "Great. I've been paired with Alphard Black."

The blonde patted her on the back sympathetically. "That is going to be a tough one." He snickered before adding— "Especially considering you are barely able to stand on two feet without swaying like a toddler who has just learned to walk."

The witch only shot him a deathly glare in reply.

"Settle down everyone!" The professor finally entered the room, clapping her hands to bring attention to herself. "You have probably already guessed what we are doing today." She rubbed her palms against each other excitedly, ignoring the weak protests voiced by some students claiming it to be too early for such exercise. "Shall we begin then? Who would like to go first?"

As she was just to suppress a yawn, Alphard Black stepped onto the podium, hands tucked lazily in his trousers, announcing that he would like to go first and finish the whole ordeal.

The professor smiled enthusiastically. "And who has been partnered with Alphard...?" She glanced at the board, eyes tracing over the thing until she found what she was looking for. She called the witch's name. "Come on up, dear."

"Break a leg," Abraxas said encouragingly, and the girl shot him a half-smile half-grimace before joining Alphard in the middle of the classroom.

Alphard nodded to her in acknowledgement while assuming his position with his wand raised at the ready. Bowing down slightly, as was customary at the start of every duel, they both waited for the professor to announce the beginning of the match.

The professor raised her hand, and with a firm voice, declared, "You may begin!"

Energy crackled in the air as the duo sprang into action. Alphard began with elegant yet measured wand movements, casting spells that tested her defences, and the witch in turn, countered with a protective shield to ward off his attacks. Seeing an opening to retaliate, she thrust her wand forward, causing a stream of sparks to shoot toward Alphard. He deflected them with a deft flick of his wrist.

The back and forth went on for a few more minutes, and she could sense Alphard's impatience at the lack of intensity of the fight. His eyes hardened, and he began shooting spell after spell, barely giving the witch any opportunity to retailate.

With each passing moment, her exhaustion became more evident as she struggled to maintain her concentration. Her wand movements became sluggish, and her spells lacked their usual precision. Alphard deftly deflected her weakened magical strikes, and in a split moment he managed to slip past her guard.

"Diffindo!"

Pain shot through her body at the impact as she staggered backwards from the impact, clutching her injured arm that was now gushing with blood.

Alphard's eye widened in alarm. "Sorry about that." He apologised sheepishly while the professor rushed to her side to examine the deep gash on her arm.

"You ought to go to the Hospital Wing to get this fixed."

"It is fine, it's not that—"

But her protest died in her throat when a familiar voice sounded from her side. "I will take her." And before she could process it, slender fingers wrapped around her elbow and began pulling her towards the door. She distinctly heard the Professor express her gratitude for Tom, but it was all tuned out by the close proximity of him invading her senses.

"What are you doing?" She asked when they were out the door, trying vainly to free herself from his grip. She only managed to stumble in the process, and Tom, with an exasperated sigh, grabbed a hold of her waist with his other arm so that she could walk straight.

"Escorting you to the Hospital Wing." He deadpanned, and had she not been dizzy from the blood loss, perhaps she would have protested.

"I can escort myself, thanks."

"Really? You could barely dodge a third-year spell back there. I do not think it is wise to trust you to find your way around the castle in this state."

She huffed. "I was...distracted." Then, with a surprising burst of energy, she ripped herself away from his hold. "And I do not wish to go to the Hospital Wing."

Tom's onyx eyes narrowed. "Why not?"

"She will make me stay overnight for no reason. This is just a scratch. Not a big deal."

She could sense his indignation from where she stood, and for a brief moment she thought he would forcefully drag her down to get her arm fixed just to get their interaction over with, so it came as a surprise when he gave in. "Fine. I will fix it." He declared with a tired sigh.

"What? No. I don't wa—"

"It is either that or the Hospital Wing."

She glared at him. "You are a prick."

His hand found purchase around her elbow again, and he all but dragged her towards the nearest empty classroom, shoving her in. The door closed behind them with an echoing thud, sealing them in a space heavy with tension.

"Sit." He demanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

She reluctantly obeyed, propping herself on a table and dangling her legs, apprehensive eyes fixed on him as he began moving towards her. When he approached, a charged silence hung in the air and she held in her gasp as he placed a hand on her lower thigh, halting her movements. Slowly, almost as if unsure, he pushed her legs open so he could stand in between them.

Time seemed to stretch, elongating the moment, as they remained locked in a silent exchange, their unspoken desires suspended in the space between them. With a firm grasp, he took hold of her injured arm and held his wand in his unoccupied hand.

She watched with bated breath as he muttered under his breath, tracing his wand over her wound in patterns as the slash began closing, her skin knitting itself back together. He only stopped when the skin looked unblemished once again, pocketing his wand in the pocket of his robes, but not letting go of her arm just yet.

The closeness between them was intoxicating, their breaths mingling, their heartbeats echoing in a symphony of desire. He shifted, and the act caused his nose to brush against hers.

"Tom..." She whispered, unsure, hesitant, but wanting.

Unable to resist the magnetic pull any longer, he closed the gap between them, pressing his lips against hers. She kissed him back almost immediately, and he raised his hand to cradle her jaw, deepening the kiss.

"Tom," The witch managed to breathe out in between the kisses, "Are you going to run away again?" She managed to get out just as he dived to bite on the tender flesh of her neck. A gasp left her mouth at the stinging yet pleasurable feel of his teeth on her skin.

"No." He replied, and when he rose his head to look at her, his pupils were blown wide, and he looked absolutely feral. Wild and untamed. "No, I am never letting you out of my hold ever again." He stated before reclaiming her lips once again with a primal sense of ownership that sent a jolt of desire coursing through her entire being. "Mine," he whispered against her lips and his words resonated with unwavering conviction, an unyielding declaration of possession.

She did not protest.

༻♛༺

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[aimfor-theheart]

|| zhongli x afab!reader || E/18+ || smut/a touch of angst/comfort || wc: 7k || ao3 ||

minors and ageless blogs do not interact, 18+ only

You have never been patient enough for worship. Sometimes, he thinks you always expect to be scorned or feared or hated. As a god of hunger, you are not beloved or worshiped by many, if any at all.

You’ve never known the sort of worship that he gives you. 

✧ meet fruit collab masterlist ✧

a/n: this is apart of @willowser 's house server summer collab, meet fruit!! i took plums as my prompt!! this really got away from me and i had a lot of fun with this dynamic and i WILL be writing more of godly wife!reader and zhongli. i have a whole backstory. a huge massive fic i shouldn't work on but will fjdkslfdk i also need to give a special thanks to @itoshisoup , @lorelune , and @petrichorium for helping me with brainstorming and riffing earlier! also finding some godly names for the reader! in particular, mao came up with the name Tanai Zhenjun, which i will leave a note at the end about!! i hope you enjoy this sweet taste!! thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts <333

tags: afab!reader referred to as wife, and has several godly titles that mortals have called her, etc., a complicated relationship between zhongli and reader, mentions of past fights/canon typical violence, erotic fruit eating and feeding, finger sucking, biting, oral sex (f!recieving), some over stimulation, praise, maybe a little sex pollen because the reader causes feelings of hunger/lust/etc. but its consensual and zhongli can withstand it if he wanted, scratching, unhealthy godly dynamics, let me know if i missed anything!

In the shadows of his home, he would know you anywhere. 

(He would know you even if you didn’t appear to him like this, fully formed, and in the visage of mortals. He’d know you in the thunder and the wolves’ howl. He’d know you in autumn’s bitter wind and the fox’s cry. Across all of time, he’d know you.) 

You slip, serpentine, slow and with the easy grace of a predator into the last falling light of the sun; bronzed, honeyed, and appearing before him like you did decades ago, perhaps a hundred of years ago. 

Has it been so long already? 

The sight of you–perhaps simply you, yourself, spark an ache in his chest. Fierce. Hunger pains. 

And after all these years, he welcomes it, savors the pit in his stomach like a sweet fruit. 

You, his god of hunger. 

You, his divine wife. 

He tips his head back, leaning further into the chair at his deep, mahogany desk, as if he could fix his eyes to better see you. As if he could take in more of you, somehow, greedily, hungirly. 

“Hello, my Morax.” You hum and the sun catches in your eye as you step into his life again, after so long without. 

“Hello, my love.” He responds, as if it could’ve just been yesterday.

As if you are his wife and you’ve come home to greet him. As if he is your husband and he’s been working all day without you. 

“It’s been a long time,” he says then, “you’ve been away a long time.” 

You meander closer, on the other side of his desk, peering at the scrolls and papers there. His hands are stained in ink. He catches the downturn of your lips, the small quirking of them in displeasure. Such mortal things, he can hear your voice, the little hiss you get when you dislike something. 

But then your eyes roam to the bowl of fruit, now untouched, that had been brought to him in hopes of eating;

Slices of plum, gold and orange and tender on the inside, their moon-dark skins still curved to them. One still has the pit attached to it, carefully nestled within its flesh. 

Plums always remind him of you. 

(In truth, anything with pits, with bones, with something that can be picked clean and left behind reminds him of you.) 

In an instant, your fingers, nimble–adorned with his jewels, the jewels of his earth, snag a slice.

He watches as you sink your teeth into it, juice bursting, caught on your lip. 

You chew only a moment, swallow slowly as you watch him. 

“I thought I wasn’t allowed around Liyue Harbor,” you begin, “I thought I wasn’t allowed around your precious mortals.” 

His voice, low and soft, rumbles in affirmation. “Yes, that is true.” 

“And yet you speak to me like I’m welcome.” You hold the last bite of your slice to your lips, speaking against it, “like I should’ve visited sooner.” 

You bear down into the fruit again. 

“You’ve come to pick a fight?” He asks, “I can feel you’re trying to stir trouble.” 

And it's true; your ability as a god of hunger, to spark it in others. To sharpen and change it from starvation to bloodlust to desire to despair to greed–to any form of hunger. 

You caused whole towns to be decimated, driven mad with just the residuals of you, the feeling of you too near, like a wraith haunting their doorway. You turned tides in the Archon war for him and against him. You have always been one of the biggest threats to Liyue’s peace—to the world. Perhaps even beyond.

You perch on the corner of his desk prettily. 

“I can’t visit my husband?” You purr.

He quirks a brow, “you only ever call me husband when you’re trying to kill me.”

Your grin is a wild slip of excitement, a fissure of heat in the clash of your gazes.

“I am trying to kill you,” you agree, but perhaps you have always been trying to kill him. The battles between you two carved the very land of Liyue and at the end of them, no matter what had transpired, he was still your husband. And you, his wife. “But I don’t feel like fighting tonight.” 

You pluck another slice of plum from the bowl and bring it to your mouth. He watches your lips part to take the fruit in again. 

He thinks of replacing your hand with his own. He thinks of the sticky sweet taste he would find if he licked into your mouth, he thinks of being between your teeth again like the little piece of plum.  

Something inside of him yawns open. 

You’re toying with him. 

“You’re in rare form, then.” he hums and does not deny your draw. He has long since stopped trying not to be swept up in you–he realized it was inevitable at some point. You would always pull at parts of him none of the world had, and like a puppeteer did you play with those strings. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

You gaze down at him, almost lovingly, if he didn’t know better. 

Then you shift slightly, adjust yourself. 

And the first touch he has of you in decades, perhaps a century, is just a brushing of your calf against his forearm from where you sit atop his desk. Your bare skin beneath the pooling silks of your skirts. 

Heat rips through him like a tearing wound. 

His gaze flicks up to yours. 

“Did you know I was in Liyue?” You ask. 

“I always know the moment you enter my land again.” 

I always know the moment you come home. 

You shift your leg again, this time, a steadier press to his arm. 

He can’t help himself–he shifts his arm, opens his palm up against the curve of your bare calf to fully feel you, to hold you, in any minute way you might let him. Rough calluses scrape up  against the soft skin of your leg, the silk of your dress pooling around his arm, cool and like spun moonlight. 

You let him hold you like this, curl against the contour of you. His hand moves, dips down almost to your ankle, and back up to the bend of your knee. 

“You missed me,” you accuse, your voice a teasing lilt. 

Perhaps it’s you and the heady rush you cast on a room, on him, “yes,” he agrees honestly, “I always do.” 

“So sentimental in your old age. You’ve spent too long around these mortals.” You tell him, looking away so all you give him is the profile of your lovely face. The upward tilt of your chin, the haughty way you look down your nose. 

“Did you miss me?” He asks and he isn’t looking for you to placate him, but his hand is broad and inching up the back of your thigh. He pulls at you, urges you to the edge of the desk, where his other hand fits around the curve of your waist. 

“Don’t get greedy,” you chastise gently, but you still go with the pull of his hold. 

You slip into his lap like you were always meant to be there, fitting to him the way the moon fits into the sky, or the land against the sea. It’s an ancient feeling, bone deep, soul-cut. 

You let your arms fall around his neck loosely and to have you again in his embrace, after so long, does in fact, make him feel greedy. 

“I can feel it,” he says instead, perhaps just to spite you a little–to move another piece in this eternal chess game with you. “I can feel how you ache. I can feel the way you missed me.” 

“I always feel like that,” you snip, deft fingers slipping the band in his hair out so that it all falls free, loose and flowing over his shoulders in a wave of inky black. “I am always hungry like that.” 

“No,” he says and his voice is low like a wolf’s growling, a tiger’s purr, “I know your hunger. And I know this hunger of yours. You missed me.” 

“If you’re looking for a heartfelt confession, you won’t find it in me.” You tell him, proud little god that you’ve always been, “perhaps you’ll find it in your precious mortals.” 

Your voice takes on an edge, just shy of a sneer.

He laughs, a low rumble from his chest, amused, and pleased.

“Oh, that jealousy of yours. I missed that, too.” 

“Don’t get full of yourself,” you hiss like an asp and now, he worries you’ll bring your claws out. Your eyes glint in the last rays of light, like a bolt of lightning, like a spark of flame in a cold night.

He reaches up to touch your face, thumb sweeping over the arc of your jaw bone in a possessive hold. He forces you to look at him. “Come now, I thought you said you weren’t in the mood for a fight.”

“Then don’t test me.” You snap.

He fights back another fond smile in order to not test you further than he already has. 

He leans closer, his nose almost nudging against yours, “if you’re not here to fight. What are you here for?” 

“To eat through all your land until it is barren again.” You murmur and he knows it is just to pester him. Your fingers are winding in his long, silky hair and your eyes have gone half-lidded, so he knows you are not nearly as waspish as you’re pretending to be.

“If I could satiate your hunger, I would.” He murmurs darkly, lips brushing against yours as you carefully hold yourself back, a dog on a strained leash. At your best, you have always been a caged beast, pacing and desperate for escape. At your worst, you have been nothing short of desolation, teeth upon the earth in a vicious grasp, shaking hard, tearing it to shreds. Your bite never compared to your bark. You’d threaten destruction and deliver devastation; even you, surprised with your own vitriol, your own capability for demolition. 

He threatened to muzzle you once, long ago. 

You rear back slightly to look at him, “no, you wouldn’t. What would you have me be? Content?” 

He laughs softly again, low and warm, terribly fond of you despite it all, “yes,” he says very frankly, and then, “soothed, for once in your life.” 

“I won’t ever be soothed while you walk this earth.” You tell him and he cannot tell if you mean it with vengeance or with love. Are you being romantic? Or threatening him? Sometimes, he felt that your violence was supposed to be more like a kiss, and your kiss the type of violence that leaves him ruined for decades after. 

“And you would be after?” He asks, “I don’t think you’d know what to do if you finally managed to kill me in a meaningful capacity. You’d be bored.” 

You move to pull away from him with a snarl but he fastens his hold onto you tighter to get you to stay, he touches your face again, coaxing. “I only tease you.” 

“I said don’t test me.” You respond, but again, there is nothing nearly so vicious in you tonight. 

No, he knows the hunger in you tonight is a soft creature, a warbling, tender one. He’ll be kind to it, he will feed it and tend to it, even if he knows it will only grow larger still. Like caring for a tiger cub, only for it to grow into all those teeth and muscles, to bite the hand that fed it. 

“Forgive me,” he rumbles, and this time, he angles your head so that he can skim the strong line of his nose against your jaw, “let me make it up to you.” 

“You will not be able to,” you say indignantly and his own smile now feels sharper with the challenge, with your throat so near. He settles himself into a burning kiss against your pulse. Inside of him, something catches and sparks. Your hands curl around the muscles of his shoulders. 

“I know,” he coos, low and soft, almost sympathetic. “Then at least indulge the hunger you’ve caused in me.” 

This, in the least, you settle into. 

He pulls away barely to sit back, to look at you fully in all of your glory a moment. 

You look back at him, perhaps taking him in as well. 

The smoldering turns into a flame. 

The decades of years unspool inside of him and give way to a racing mind, images of what he wants, how he wants you. 

It is always like this, he thinks, eternally, desiring you, and never getting enough.

He thinks he must know how you feel. 

And then he gives into one of several of his desires that are rearing their large, horned heads inside of him. The beasts of his desire are all chained to you, he thinks. He reaches for the bowl of fruit. 

Perhaps it's your turn to be amused as he brings a slice of plum to your lips. You must know how he was looking at you earlier, you must know his desires if you are the one to stoke them. 

Still, you accept the fruit easily, minding your teeth as his finger slips against your lips. Sticky and soft and warm. You draw his finger into your mouth briefly, closing around it. He can feel the edges of your teeth as he pulls it out. 

The moment you swallow around the piece, he surges up to kiss you. 

To finally kiss you. 

He wishes he could call it something of a greeting or reunion, but it is too desperate and too vicious for that. Your teeth click together, coming up against one another, like an old key coming up against a lock. 

He tastes the plum in your mouth, sweet and a little tart, and can’t help the groan that rumbles out of him. 

Your hands disappear into his hair, tangle in the strands so that he can feel the press of your nails against his scalp. He feels the way you arch into the slide of his hands along your torso, bending to them, as if he is a sculptor. It pulls you closer, opens your hips wider in his lap in a way that makes heat rip through him.

When he pulls away, you’re already hazy-eyed, heady with the quick-burn of this sort of hunger, this lust. 

It pulls at him like the tide on the shore to drag him under. 

This time, when he places his lips to your throat, he sinks into a bite at the tender flesh there. 

Sometimes, he wishes he’d treat you more tenderly. As if that might be all you ever needed; more gentleness, and less teeth at your throat. 

But you arch and from your mouth spills your own moan finally, fingers tightening in his hair as if to hold him there. He feels your hips twitch forward, into him, an aborted rock of them, perhaps unknowingly or subconscious.

He wishes you inspired patience in him. 

(Usually, he claims to have a great deal. Unfortunately, he cannot claim the same with you in his arms again. Forgive me, he thinks again, but I haven’t seen you in nearly a century.) 

He stands suddenly with you still wrapped around his waist, hands fit beneath your thighs to lift you and place you on the broad expanse of his desk. Papers get pushed aside, some topple onto the floor in a fluttering mess. You laugh when the bowl of plums rattle precariously, but his mouth covers yours again, and he swallows the sound eagerly. 

He kisses you hard again, hitching your hips up to fit snugly to his, fitting his broad hands over the curves of your waist. You respond in kind, though, and twine your leg around his waist to pull him closer, arch your back to press your chest up to his.

When he pulls away this time, he takes you in, splayed out beneath him. 

“I did miss you,” he gets out roughly.

“Then show me,” you respond, stretching out beneath him, as if to tempt him. 

His hands move over the silk of your dress, bunching parts of it, tangling it. He decides in an instant that he doesn’t actually wish to deal with it, so he sets his hands on the bust and simply pulls. It tears like paper beneath him. And again, you laugh, amused with him now, with what you do to him.

“So impatient.” 

“It’s been a long time, my love.” 

And this time when he kisses you, perhaps you give into him more, feed what he wants. You mewl into his mouth, arch against him, drag your nails down his covered back. 

“Touch me,” you get out, demanding, a little fussy. 

“So impatient.” He mocks dryly. 

For his trouble, you pull harshly on the hair at the nape of his neck, baring his throat to you. 

His broad palm roams up the expanse of your side, your bare stomach, and to your chest. He cups your breast, thumb brushing against the peak in a way that makes you hum and squirm beneath him eagerly. 

You bury your face in his now exposed neck, nudge your nose there, which turns into your warm, open mouth. 

For a moment, surprisingly gentle, until he feels the quick flash of pain from your teeth. He rolls your nipple between thumb and forefinger with a little more pressure than necessary, just to hear the little noise of pain you make. 

He drops his face to the crux of your chest, lips dragging along the skin there, above your beating heart. And for all your bite and bark, you still offer yourself up to him for the taking. You still draw your hands over his shoulders, pushing at the clothes still on him. He doesn’t indulge you, but draws lower, hair spilling over your chest as his mouth opens against your breast. 

He nips and marks, sets his teeth against the tender flesh and sucks a bruise into you. 

“I miss your sharp teeth,” you admit.

He huffs, breath fanning against your skin. He raises his eyes, molten gold, to meet your own, “there’s no pleasing you.” 

And then he captures the bud of your breast in his mouth and at least manages to pull another sound from you, meandering, growing in your own desire. You squirm beneath him again but something inside of him (old and draconic) blinks its eyes open and he seizes your waist to still you the way a predator subdues their prey, sharply, and with a slow rolling of muscle, a flex of their strength. A serpent squeezing down around a mouse. A tiger bearing down on the deer. 

You don’t go easily, though. 

And the moment you feel his resistance, you squirm and push harder, straining. Arching and impatient. 

He nips, he fights back the more base urge to growl, and readjusts his hold on you.

“Stop squirming,” he commands.

“Stop teasing,” you reply, stubborn, and disobedient. 

“Let me enjoy you.” Zhongli responds, watching his own hand sweep over your breast, cover it, and toy with you. 

“Enjoy me later.” You snip, fastening your legs tighter to his waist, hitching him closer. 

And he feels a head rush of your ability pour through him, the tightening of your desire and lust, of your hunger spilling from you. It’s purposeful. He feels the dull thud of his heart kick upwards, the warmth that simmers beneath his skin. He blinks hard with it, but does not succumb. 

“You’re so insolent.” He finally gets out, just shy of a growl, “now hold still for me.” 

His lips skim the top of your stomach as he lowers himself to his knees in front of you. 

You sit up onto your elbows, eyeing him, inching your hips to the edge of the desk eagerly. 

“I’ve always liked you best on your knees, Morax.” 

He sinks his teeth into your inner thigh in a more ruthless bite, forcing your legs open even as they threaten to close with the sudden jolt of pain. Hard enough that you hiss through your teeth, twitching towards or away from him, he can’t tell. 

(Images of days long past flash hotly in his mind, in another form, with those sharper teeth you’d said you missed.) 

He feels your hunger burst open like a ripe fruit, like the plum between your teeth. 

He soothes the bite with a slow, lingering pass of his tongue. 

His eyes flick upwards towards you. 

You look a little shaken finally, eyes glassy, teeth stuck in your bottom lip. 

He drags you closer, pulls you flush so that your hips are almost off the edge. You fall back with the movement and he doesn’t give you a moment. He isn’t feeling generous or very kind anymore. 

His mouth opens against you in a crush of heat, eager, perhaps impatient himself. 

A groan, low, from the back of his throat, works out of him at the first taste of you. 

Again, you try to squirm, and something ancient and vicious in him squeezes hard enough on your waist that if you were a mortal, he might sincerely hurt you. He doesn’t care if you’re trying to squirm closer or away, he realizes, he doesn’t care if it hurts a little, as long as he can have you like this. Open. His. 

Ah, he realizes, perhaps he isn’t ignoring your sway as well as he thought he was. 

He delves between soft folds, already slick, but he’ll make it worse still. 

(Perhaps, at one point, he had ideas of being a gentleman of some kind with you. Perhaps, at some point, he thought he would carefully work you open with mouth and soft tongue. He’d be loving and gentle with you. But you’ve always done something horrible to him, something he can’t tame, something he wishes he feared more.) 

You whine a little and the sound pools straight into his own desire for you. 

He fits himself closer, keeps your legs wider apart with his shoulders. 

“Morax,” you gasp and it’s with more heat and desperation than he is anticipating.

His eyes, heavy and gold, flick up towards your face, looking up at you beneath the dark fan of his lashes. 

Oh, you’re closer than he thought, he realizes. 

He doesn’t slow or stop or lessen himself, groans a little, and fits himself tighter to you. He digs his fingers into your skin and keeps you close. 

To his surprise, that is all it takes. 

Your gasp is strangled, perhaps a little surprised, as you arch off the desk in a bow-curve, poised to snap.

You fall to pieces as a cry loosens from your throat. 

He feels you pulse against his tongue and without thinking, he growls a little, a pleased rumble, and doesn’t stop.

He tastes you, savors it, and doesn’t let you hide or pull away from him.

Your hips twist and he follows the movement, wrestling you still, so that he can still enjoy you. 

You’re out of breath, hiccuping a little, trying to squirm away from him but there’s nowhere to go.

He won’t let you go.

He pulls away to rest his head on your inner thigh a moment, “so quick.” He teases, “you must’ve been pent up for it to be that easy.” 

He thinks, I wasn’t even doing that for you yet—I was still enjoying myself. I was being greedy. Hungry in my own way, in the way that you inspire.

“I should leave you now.” You huff, picking yourself up on your elbows to gaze down at him, but your eyes are simmering.

He squeezes at your thighs, “you’re not going anywhere tonight.”

And before he can hear your protests, he dips forward again and flattens his tongue against your folds. Slow, broad licks that make you twist and twitch. 

“Morax—“ 

“I’m not finished with you yet, my love.” He says lowly, somewhere against where you’re most tender and sensitive. 

He takes his time teasing now. 

Enjoy me later, you’d said, and he doesn’t think this is what you meant. 

You have never been patient enough for teasing–for worship. Sometimes he thinks you always expect to be scorned or feared. You were always Deus Inanis, Tanai Zhenjun, and later, Rapax Regina to the people. You have many names from them, none particularly kind or cherished. You were always the ghoulish god, the bad omen, the drooling maw of a starved predator. Your myth is not a beloved one by most. 

And some dare not even speak your name at all, for fear of inviting you. 

You are not a welcome god in the home and hearth, you are not for protection or courage. You are feared and warded off. You are, at best, used as a condemnation. 

(To him you were always softened with affection, even at your worst; little god, my curse, my love, keeper of my heart.) 

You’ve never known the sort of worship he gives you. 

You struggle with it, keen sharp and broken when he gives it to you. 

Sometimes you have all-out tried to refuse him or hasten him, poured your lust and impatience into him to get your way, to sway him to your own will. He can feel it again now but it never manifests in him the way you’d like it to. You assume his desire is one of his own pleasure. But it has always been this; 

You, belly-up and vulnerable, only for him, delicate in a way the rest of the world will never know. Pleasure-drunk and hazy. Lost to what he can give you–he wants to gorge you. He wishes he could fill the empty place inside of you. 

He’s spent an eternity trying. He’ll spend an eternity more. 

He focuses his intentions, strengthens the pass of his tongue with what he wants. He wants your pleasure. He wants it again and again. 

You curse a little, an ancient word, from when the land was Archon-less and free. 

He lifts his mouth from you briefly, “you are already cursing like that? This will be a long night for you then.” 

He opens his mouth again to taste you, to suck gently, your legs twitching over his shoulders as your breath hitches. 

This time you curse him, hissing through clenched teeth.  

He laughs against you in amusement, low and dark, and smooths a broad hand over the soft plain of your tensing stomach. As if he might soothe you, or perhaps because he wants to feel all of you, have you in his palms, in his arms. Against his mouth.

The next time you fall apart, he doesn’t let up once. His eyes have gone half-lidded and burning, a flint-strike of amber. You try to fight him again, wrestle out of his hold, but he strengthens himself. He steels himself, even, to your pulling of his hair, to your fussing and snapping–all of that melts to whining, to near-crying, as he continues. 

You’re too stubborn to cry for him now–there have been only a handful of times he’s broken you down that much. 

Perhaps if he were feeling crueler, he would try. 

(These instances have always come in the wake of something worse; your largest fights, or worst transgressions where he felt the need to punish. To strip you bare. These are saved, not for his desires, but for your catharsis after all your grief.) 

But your voice has gone higher with desperation, more broken, and he is pleased with that. 

Pleased enough that when you burst on his tongue again, your nails digging into the back of his hand as he holds you, he finally rises. 

Instantly, you twine yourself around him, legs around his waist, arms pulling at the front of his clothes to drag him down into your arms. You are always more desperate for affection like this, softened by pleasure, hungry for more. 

He goes down easily for you.

 Kisses you hard and open, so that you’ll taste yourself from his mouth, the way he tasted the plum from yours. 

You groan weakly and manage to gasp when he pulls away, “please–more. I need more. Need–” 

Always need, you say, when you get like this. Never want. 

“Need you.” 

He hums, the noise lumbering from his chest in a pleased, dark sound. 

“You have me,” he soothes, even as he feels dizzy with your own desire, a headrush of desperation–of need that rushes from you to him. 

Feed me, need me, fill me, possess me, take, take, take me. Fill. Aching–so empty, I’m so empty. Please, please, it hurts– please, I need more, need, need, need–

He lets out a harsh breath. It aches, almost sharply, almost on the wrong side of pain and pleasure. 

He does not torment you any longer. He does not torment himself, either. 

With fingers far more nimble than he feels, he loosens his slacks, he pushes his clothes out of the way just enough, enough to take himself in hand and hiss through his teeth as the head of his cock touches your slick folds. 

Molten. Fluttering still with sensitivity, with desperation. 

Your hips roll, eager, trying to urge him closer, inside–

“Morax–” you cry and the sound twists something in his chest, blooms like a bruise being pressed on. 

 He presses inside you and fills you in one, deep thrust. 

You gasp sharply, you pull at him, force him to collapse over you nearly, cover you completely. You cling to him, you wrap yourself around him like a serpent, now constricting him–

(He’s never been able to tell who is the serpent and who is the mouse, anyways. Who is the tiger or the deer? Was he capturing you? Or were you always capturing him?)

You hold him so tightly, calves flexing around his back, that he can hardly pull out from you to thrust.

He groans, almost in frustration, or maybe some form of defeat. 

“Darling,” he gets out roughly, “my love. My little god.”

The old, affectionate nickname burns through you and he can feel the desire like a knife’s blade in his own stomach. You moan– a soft, warbling sound. 

He manages to move his hips, barely leaving the hot clutch of you, to push back in deeper, harder. 

“Please–” you gasp, “more–kiss me. Touch me.”

“So demanding,” he scolds, but he kisses you hard, with too much teeth and roughness, and fits his palms over the sides of your body. He takes handfuls of curves, of your waist and your breasts, rough hands bending over the lines of you the way the light of the moon bends over the hills and valleys of his land. 

His next thrust is harder, a little rougher. You turn your face into his throat after you break the kiss and your teeth sink down into him hard. 

You always draw blood. You always have to leave your mark on him, on all that you’ve touched. 

But then you draw your tongue over the wound, licking softly, perhaps in apology. Perhaps to satiate another need that winds around inside you. 

Your hand tangles in his hair again and he bites back another raw groan as he thrusts, in and out, on a slow, rough drag. You’re clinging to him, tight and so wet that it’s making his thoughts bleary and clouded. Your lust shadows any rationality; your hunger possesses him. 

“Harder,” you gasp, you beg, you plead. 

And he thinks who am I to deny you? Who am I to deny the god of my hunger? 

His hand slips over your arm, your free one clawing at his clothed back still. He knows you will mourn not getting your nails into his skin after, but he will let you satiate the need all you like later. He’ll savor the way you try to tear him apart, like he always does. 

(And sometimes, he swears, you’re just trying to tear down his skin to be closer. Deeper in him. Scratching at his ribs and his sides like you want in, in, in. A bad dog at his door. A wraith that claws at his soul.)      

As he pulls at your forearm, flattening it out against the desk beneath you to pin you beneath him, he knocks into the bowl of fruit. 

The last of the plum slices tip out onto the desk and the remaining juice at the bottom of the bowl pools in a sticky mess over the wood, some over your forearm and wrist, over his own, too. 

He thinks you move without thinking, bringing his wrist up to your lips where you lick up a stripe up into his palm, against his thumb. 

You take his thumb into your mouth with ease and he cups your cheek in a possessive hold as he lets you suckle, tongue soft and warm and gentle against the pad of it. You groan, lashes fluttering, and this seems to please some part of you. 

His thumb in your mouth, cock lodged deep inside you. 

He pushes himself deeper on his next thrust, enough that you whine a little, eyes going glassy, cheeks hollowing around his thumb. 

He can feel the spit pooling in your mouth, wet and slick, can feel the way your walls squeeze and flutter around him desperately. 

He presses on your tongue, thrust growing a little faster, but still hard, deep–a little ruthless. 

But it’s what you need–so it’s what he gives you. 

You hold his wrist, little nails digging into his skin, desperate to keep his thumb between your lips. He can feel the press of your teeth in the meat of his hand. 

He readjusts, tries to draw his thumb out barely, only for you to latch down tighter on his wrist, and slide it back into your mouth with a noise of protest. Saliva spills a little, slick and messy against your bottom lip, against his hand. 

He coos, but it’s too dark to sound reassuring, and sounds more like a rough purr, just shy of a pleased growl. 

“I won’t go anywhere,” he soothes lowly, but it sounds like less of a comfort from a husband, and more of a promise from the beast you shouldn’t have let in in the first place. It’s loving in the same way a possession is. “My little god, I have you now.” 

Your peak this time makes something inside of him roar open. He feels your inner muscles bear down on him, fluttering desperately. 

Your eyes tip behind your eyelids, hiccuped breath against his hand as it twists into a guttural sound that he feels against his palm. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs, turning your face so that he can press open mouthed kisses against your throat, suck a bruise there, turn the flesh tender, “I’ve got you. Good girl–that’s it.” 

Perhaps he draws blood when he bites you this time, too. Tastes it sharp on his tongue, the blood of a god. He lifts his head from your neck and finally draws his thumb from your mouth, spit slick as he traces your bottom lip. He pulls himself up from you to gaze down at you, slack jawed and messy, near feverish with your lust. 

His hips quicken, harder, and you reach out to splay your hand out against his tensing stomach, to push at him a little. 

But he doesn’t stop, feels you nip at his thumb, still making a mess of your lips and chin. 

Your legs are still hitched tight around him, drawing him in, keeping him close. 

He squeezes your hip with his free hand, he loses his rhythm when you draw his thumb back into your mouth, suckling softly on it. 

He groans, feels his own pleasure in a rush down his spine, a burst of heat that unfurls like a supernova. Collapses inward. Expands outwards. He buries himself inside of you, as deep as he can manage, deep enough that you make a little noise of pain maybe, but you hold him tight to you. Again, you constrict around him, dragging him back down by his clothes to slot your mouth against his as he fills you. 

It’s your turn to hum, pleased, almost purring, tightening your hold around him, locking him against you.

The kiss this time is slower, but dirtier, all tongue, open and messy. He groans into it, holding your jaw, feeling himself twitch inside of you, his own eyes fluttering with pleasure, lashes against your cheek. 

When you both pull away, you’re out of breath. Chests rising and falling against each other. 

You seem subdued now, heavy-lidded, but your lips drag to his cheek, down to the curve of his jaw. 

You roll your hips a little.

“More–” You murmur, “I want more.” 

His laugh tapers into a moan. He flexes his hips a little, heat simmering beneath his own skin. 

Your hands pull at his clothes finally, tugging at them, pulling at buttons until they snap and burst beneath your fingers, until you reveal bare skin. Instantly, your hands are on him, nails scratching into his chest gently, over his shoulders. 

(He’s going to take you to bed after this and he’ll rid you of the scraps of your clothes and the rest of his. He'll get rid of anything between you.) 

The ache in him builds again and suddenly he’s rocking into you again, deep and slow, watching the way he disappears inside of you. The mess he’s already made of you, the way he wants to make it all worse. He feels feverish himself now, a little lost to the sight– his desire suddenly feels inhuman. Monstrous. Too big for his own skin. 

You always seem to remind him of his divinity. 

“Hold me,” you demand now and as if commanded, he goes to you. 

He gets his arms around you and he tucks his face into the crook of your neck. His desire unwinds. Time unspools from him. He loses himself in the pull of you, in the undertow of desire and hunger. He tries to satiate the ache you have carved in him. The ache you always have nestled inside of you. 

You beg him of more–more pain and more pleasure and more of him–until he feels near mindless with it. Gone with it. 

Shuddering with sensitivity and feeling you tremble with it, too. 

He doesn’t regain himself until another peak has been reached and fallen from, until he realizes the hour; the moon hanging in the window of his study like a copper penny. He forces himself to slow. To lodge himself deep and go still inside of you and let his head fall to your chest.

You cradle his skull, fingers slipping into his hair, catching your breath as the haze fades for a moment. 

He picks his head up barely, shifts only so he can catch your gaze. 

“Stay for a while.” He demands now. 

 You let go of a sigh, deep, perhaps tired. 

“I thought I wasn’t allowed.” You hum softly. 

“Will you behave?” He asks and you lean down to kiss him–sweeter now. Perhaps apologizing. He accepts your affection with warmth, though. 

“You know how I get restless.” You respond, fingers tracing along the nape of his neck, one of them trailing down the bend of his jaw. 

You are softest now, like this. It’s a rare sight; one he savors, one he will stay hungry for his whole life, he thinks. 

“Yes,” he agrees, perhaps fondly, perhaps sadly. “If you could keep mortals out of it, I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Even if I tried to kill you again?” You ask, finger tracing the bow of his upper lip. 

He smiles faintly and you touch the corner of his mouth, “yes,” he agrees, “even then.” 

“Or tried to steal your Gnosis again?” 

He snorts softly, picking himself up further to hover over you, to gaze down at you with more love than you have ever known what to do with. “You can certainly try again.” 

“Perhaps I should try harder this time.” The threat is fangless this time and you are at least soothed somewhat for now. He knows it won’t last long. 

But for now, he takes advantage of it. He cups your cheek, brushes his thumb along your jaw affectionately, and for once, you nuzzle into the touch. You rub your cheek into his palm like a cat. 

A flash of your teeth. You bite down into his hand. 

He laughs softly, but pulls his hand from you, dislodges your teeth from his flesh. 

Slowly, he tries to detangle himself from you. You are reluctant, but he appeases you with promises of more, of his bedroom. Of a bath and whatever you want. 

“More plums,” you say, letting him carry you to his bedroom like a young bride, cradled in his arms. “I’ve always loved plums.” 

He smiles, “I know. They remind me of you.” 

The admittance is a tender one, one that he has held for centuries that has finally loosened from his mouth like a bird taking to flight. 

In the morning, when you have slipped from him and his bed and his life once more, all that’s left are the marks you left on him, the deep scratches and latches of your teeth on tan skin–

And the pits of plums you devoured before you left. Not one is spared and he thinks his heart never has been, either. 

Not from you, his wife, his curse, his love–not from his god of hunger. 

***

a/n part ii: thank you for reading!! here are those notes on the reader's godly names:

There are three titles the reader is referred to. Two of them are latin, similar to Rex Lapis, and the third is from @itoshisoup, and is Tanai Zhenjun, which mao explained as such: "贪爱 (tanai) is a Buddhist term that is often translated as "craving", and refers to desire for both physical and mental things. From my understanding, tanai is sometimes considered a cause of suffering (苦 or ku), but is sometimes considered closely related to suffering in other ways. Given the motif of hunger, I would name the god Tanai, and additionally give them the honorific "Zhenjun" (a title associated with Taoist gods - much like "Dijun", which is the honorific in Zhongli's Chinese title, Yanwang Dijun; however, it is a lesser title than Dijun). Tanai Zhenjun is therefore what I'd call them."

The other two are Deus Inanis and Rapax Regina, which mean "empty god" and "rapacious/ravenous queen" in Latin.

i plan to write more of this reader and use these godly names again soon &lt;3