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chibsandchill · 3 months ago

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Stolen moments under silk sheets (18+)

Fandom: HOTD (House of the dragon)

Pairing: Aemond x AFAB!reader

Summary: Aemond is touch starved. That’s it. That’s the whole story. Kind of.

Masterlist

My requests are open!

MDNI NSFW (warnings under the page break). SFW version here!

Warnings: Including but not exclusively slivers of angst sprinkled here and there, fluff, oral sex (m & f receiving), p in v sex, creampie, obsessive behavior, obsessive thoughts, descriptions of metaphorical self-harm, very brief mentions of the dance and the events that happened (some canon divergence), Aemond is his own warning, canon typical themes, the beginning is a bit slow, grammatical and spelling errors (English is not my first language)

I am not responsible for your media consumption

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The roses in your garden have begun to wilt. Summer is leaving, and winter claims all, but you remain untouched by the darkness that crept ever closer with each passing cycle. Your roses may have lost their vibrant colors but your face remained as bright and beautiful as ever. You thrive even in desolation – the harsh winds cannot steal the warmth from your cheeks or the spark from your eyes.

“And you say you do not care for gardening, my love.”

He’s almost startled by your presence, but since the war very little caught him off guard. But that look in your eyes? The overwhelming affection? That was something Aemond reckoned he would never get used to. And yet he could not get enough, you had awakened a beast inside him that fed and craved all things you. A smile did not satiate him like it used to, a night spent together felt like a fleeting moment spirited away by vengeful gods.

Aemond hums. “Your passions are my passions.”

You wrap your arms around his waist, resting your face on his shoulder. He felt, in that moment, as if he was standing on jelly, his knees threatening to buckle and his spine like liquid. There was not enough of you pressed against him. He felt burning hot and freezing cold at the same time, his skin crawling with want and desire, his cock half-hard already and his mind buzzing.

“Clever.” You chuckle into the crook of his neck. Aemond shivers as your warm breath hits the sensitive skin there.

“Did I wake you?”

His words are a whisper. Soft and with underlying guilt. You do not sleep well anymore, not without him. Too much has happened. The death of Jaehaerys proved that there is no sanctuary that cannot be breached, not a lock that cannot be broken, and not a part of you that will not suffer.

You shake your head.

“Liar.”

“I was already awake. I like to…”

“Hm? There is no judgment here.”

There was not an inch of you that he would part from – not a sliver of you he would not take, and not a piece of you he did not dream of devouring. The opposite was also true, for he craved to be taken, to be devoured and kept more than he ever dreamt of possessing. Aemond would have all of you, had woven that promise into the very fabrics of your marriage, embedded the words as if they were a spell into his vows, and oh, how sweetly you had smiled upon hearing them. He doubted you heard them for what they truly were. Are.

“I watch you,” you confess, “when you sleep. You look so… so peaceful. The war has yet to poison that.”

He blinks. Seconds tick by, but Aemond is too busy staving off the greedy blush from turning him red to respond. He is unable to respond, truly, even were he not practically glowing at your words. Words clump together on his tongue.

“I should speak to the Housekeeper then,” Aemond clears his throat, “ if the room is so lacking you need to resort to staring at me. Though, perhaps I should thank her for her oversight that surely allows you to fall asleep quickly.”

The corners of your lips fall, barely, but there is nothing about you he does not notice. There is nothing you can hide from his greedy eyes.

“Twas a compliment, husband.”

“Perhaps a visit to the Maester is needed-”

You press a hand flat against his cheek and he falls silent. Your thumb brushes across his cheekbone to the apple of his cheek, to under his eye. There it rests, caressing him. He wants more. Your touch is only skin-deep, and it is not enough. If he could, he would press himself against your skin until all that remained of him was fading heat. Until he was but a faint whisper on the wind and his memory lived on only in you, for there was not a part of him he did not wish to give you. He would carve a place for him in you – in your heart, so that he would be close always. You would beat as one, breathe as one.

“Yours is a beauty that the gods go to war for.”

“Perhaps once.” Aemond looks away.

“Scars are stories of hardships overcome. They are marks of victory, do not think they make you less. They never will. Not to me.”

“Perhaps so, but I am not whole. There is a piece of me that was stolen and I can never get it back. The gods would not even glance at a man such as I for anything other than a feat of greatness.”

“And you have shown them many,” you press a short kiss against his neck. “You claimed the Queen of all Dragons,” another kiss, “you won many battles on dragonback,” another kiss, “you showed mercy to your enemies,” a series of kisses follow that claim, all inching up his neck. “You saved your brother and Sunfyre,” a kiss on his cheek, “you were crowned King by the smallfolk”, this kiss fell on the corner of his lips, “and you have been a most attentive husband.”

A kiss straight on his lips. Aemond melts into it, pressing himself into you. You pull away too soon and he finds himself chasing after you, desperate for one more touch.

“The gods give the toughest battles to their strongest soldiers.” You thumb the skin under his eye, “and you have won them all. Take pride in that. Gods know I do.”

“You do?” He asks.

He did not think himself strong, or a champion of god given battles. His weaknesses tower over the oasis of strength, and so they are hidden to him. But he is not a vain man, that is not why he hates Luke for stealing his eye.

You smile. “Of course. And I think all the beauty in the world fades compared to yours. Scars and all.”

Aemond is not sure he believes your words, but he believes you. It is a conflicting mess of jumbled thoughts mingling with the words of others. He was never the beauty of the family, his dragon was not the beauty of her kin. His life was one of hiding, of pride hidden beneath compliance, of hatred festering under blushing skin.

“You flatter me, my love.” He says before his eyes wander back to your roses. “Yours is the only opinion worth hearing. The only one that matters.”

You hum. “Come back to bed, Aemond.”

“As my Queen commands.”

The draping curtains flutter in the soft autumn wind, and from Aemond’s side of the bed he could see out across the Blackwater Bay. Sometimes when the wind is harsh and the rain plenty, Aemond is back in the skies above Storm’s End. He dreams of thousands of ways he could have saved Luke, though he does not wish he lived, not truly. In some dreams he thought of ways he could harm him further – truly punish him for what he took from Aemond that night.

You can never have all of him. Not anymore. Though he dares not tell you that is why he cannot look at himself in mirrors. He would not show you the twisted being that hid under his skin. The one that would gouge out his other eye without hesitation were you to ask and smile as he did so.

He could never, would never forgive Luke for what he stole from you. It is a hatred so woven into his very being that he would carry that with him even in all Seven Hells.

“Come,” you beckon, kneeling on the bed. “If my words alone are not enough, I will prove it to you.”

“Prove what?”

His voice is low, filled with desires transcending earthly flesh. His is one of hunger for your very soul.

“Come here and I will show you.” Your smile is coy, playful even. There are half-wilted petals from your roses on the bed behind you. They form no pattern, haphazardly thrown across the sheets.

He wonders when you put them there.

Aemond comes to a stop in front of you, hands clasped behind his back, posture ramrod straight. He feels as though he is standing in front of the gods themselves, awaiting judgment. He hopes that he is enough, even if he cannot offer you all of him. There will always be a piece of him enduring the times alone.

He does not feel worthy of you. No amount of petals carefully gathered off prickly stems will soften the harsh edges of his being. The love he grew up around was conditional, and though he was rarely struck, their words were as sharp as daggers, and left deep scars that will never heal. It left him jagged, bleeding, tearing at the seams with a beast untamed. In the image of you he tried to mend himself, with your love he patched the holes left by cruel words. He tore the flames from his breath so that his wrath could never burn you, the claws from his hands so that his touch would always be gentle. Not a piece of him was worth suffering in the absence of anything you.

He was a dragon playing at being a lover.

But he broke his wings for just a glimpse of you, then forced himself to fly when you desired to feel the wind against your face. You could not see the darkness oozing from the cracks of him, of your husband as you knew him.

If it meant losing you, he would be a dragon no longer.

He could simply be him.

Aemond.

But Aemond knew not who he was anymore. He knew who he was forced to become, and who war made him. But war was no longer, and yet the man rising from the ashes of his kin’s pyres remained.

“Aemond?”

“Yes?”

“Where do you go when you get so lost in your head?”

He does not wish to reveal to you how deep his longing for you goes. It is etched into the walls of his heart, it is a bottomless pit that calls only your name. He can never fill it. It aches and aches, and he longs and longs. His envy knows no bound, it is endless in its hunger for you. He would have all of you if he could, just as he wants you to have all of him. Every thought in your head, every feeling, every sensation.

“Lost. I get… lost.” He confesses. The words are raw and a piece of his armor is cracked open to reveal mangled flesh of all Aemond’s that has been and will be. His recreation of himself in your image is as endless as his need to please.

“Oh, my love,” you whisper. “Let me take care of you.”

You reach for the strings on his trousers before you pull them down. He steps out of them easy enough, though he feels awkward standing there with his tunic on. Though you did not leave him to suffer for long before you pulled his shirt off as well. You palm at his chest, touching every divot and lean muscle on his chest. It is overwhelming. He almost feels like crying.

Your fingers massage, they scratch, they soothe and they burn his feverish skin. Your touch sets him alight. He can feel your love through every pass of your fingers over his skin. You press against the lean muscle, caress the slopes and divots of his flesh. Though you have long since memorized each other’s bodies, you touch him as if it is your first. His mind is dizzy with you, he feels as if he’s falling and drowning at the same time. The pleasure fills his throat, his lungs, and yet it also sweeps him off his feet, knocks the breath out of his chest. He wants more. He wants you to press harder, to mark him. You could press through his skin, through his muscles and ribs, and grasp his very heart, and you would still be so far away he wanted to weep.

His cock stiffens, though you keep touching him. You brush over his right nipple, then the left, then both. It is a strange sensation – one he’s not wholly against.

Then,

your fingers brush against his abdomen, trace the outline of his abs, then dips below. You grasp him firm in hand, and Aemond thinks he sees stars. You are so very soft, and he is so very very hard.

The whore Aegon forced on him at his thirteenth name-day held him tightly, too tightly, then rubbed his skin raw, and still he could not force himself to come. He remained flaccid and cold in her calloused hands, even as Aegon jeered and leered from his place on the dais.

But you showed none of her cruelty, none of the cold indifference. Just your presence took him halfway to completion, and he doubted it would take much more. Your other hand reaches below to cup his balls. That touch is less gentle, more firm. You start to twist the hand holding his cock, bringing it back and then forth in long, slow movements. You switch between firm, soft, fast, and then slower. But it is never not gentle. And you never look away from his eyes.

Though half-lidded, jaw slack and chest heavy, he stares at you. Pleasure of the flesh is second to the connection he finds in your eyes.

His eye blinks wide open at the new sensation. Your mouth is warm and soft like silk. It is heaven made flesh, and it makes his knees tremble. You envelop him, tongue hot on his cock. You pay special attention to his head; trace the veins and the weeping slit with extra care. And, oh, is he weeping.

Aemond needs more.

He wraps his fingers around your hair, then gently guides you back and forth. A single shake of your head would free you from him, should you wish, but you don’t. Your tear-filled eyes plead with him for a tighter hold, and he complies. A bit. But he is soon lost to the pleasure of your mouth, and so as his eye flutter shut and he shudders, he finds himself guiding you all the way down so that your nose meets the short hairs at his base, and then back up just far enough that your lips wrap around his head.

The reverence of a septon to the gods are nothing compared to that which he whispers your name.

Though if he finds the most pleasure from your sucking his cock or from knowing that a piece of him was inside you, he would never know. You swallow him down so easily, and with so much enthusiasm he is mournful that there is not more he can give.

There is a knife on the chest by his feet. He wonders, would you swallow all of him as easily as his seed? If he cut himself would you lap at his wounds?

Then, you pull away. You crawl up the bed until you fall down on the many pillows at the top of the bed. He follows without thought, kicking off his shoes and socks. His hair tie is next and his pale hair falls down his back. You are not prey, and he is not a predator, but he feels a thrill chasing after you into your marital bed. It sets his blood alight with desire.

“That was cruel.” He says. “I was close.”

He wasn’t. Your passions are his passion, your pleasure his pleasure.

“Then I suppose you should get revenge.” You bite your lip.

Your nightwear is thin. It is easily swept away from your body and thrown on the floor.

“Yours is the beauty gods would die for.”

“It is all for you.” You tell him as you lean back against the pillows.

His eye rove over you. Not an inch of you is not perfect, not an inch he did not love. All of you on display for him; an offering for a vengeful man. You are not unmarred by the war, and there is not a scar he does not kiss. He feels your pain as if it was his, and each wound on your body is his failure.

“We match,” you told him once.

He did not have the heart to tell you that this was done in your honor, to take the pain from you and deliver it upon him. He cut himself open for all the gods to see, then demanded they scar him as they did you.

Aemond runs his hands along your form with the same careful love as you did him. His hands caress the skin on your ribs, dance around your sensitive nipples to lay flat over your heart. It pounds against your skin, calling out to him. His beats in turn. Then, he turns his attention to your breasts. You are most sensitive there. His lips wrap around a nipple, and you gasp. His hand wanders down your stomach, through the hair covering your cunt, and then he presses down on your clit. You jump into his touch, eyes widening at the sudden pleasure.

“Aemond.” You moan.

His mouth comes off your nipple with a wet ‘pop’ before he leans down and claims the other. He presses tight circles into your clit, alternating directions, then he moves his index finger to nudge at your entrance. His thumb stays on your clit, but the motions are lazy. He spells his name, then yours, then he stops.

Aemond pulls away, but not for long.

He moves down your body, about to put his lips against your cunt, when you pull at his hair. Aemond groans into your flesh. His desire for you is akin to drunkenness. He is dizzy with it, crazed with a need that can never be satisfied. Still, he presses himself against your folds, tongue darting out to lap at the wetness there.

It trickles down the abyss of his desire, and in turn it grows. The hunger deepens, hollows out his chest.

His thumb stays on your clit, but only for a moment before his nose replaces it. He grabs your hips and brings you closer to him. His face is all but buried in you, and yet it is not enough. Your wetness covers his lips, his chin, his cheeks. His tongue digs inside you for more, tip of his nose pressing against your clit in that way that makes your head spin.

Time seems to stop, your pleasure endless, his chase bringing him closer and closer, and deeper. He presses a finger inside your entrance, before you give way and he thrusts it inside. He pumps it when his tongue darts away, so that you are never empty of him.

Then, just as your hips start to shake, and your moans grow louder, you pull him away. He protests, loudly, but it falls on deaf ears. You pull him up to you, and he is reluctant to follow. Aemond feels cold and lost, but is then altogether found and warm when your hands wrap around his cock again.

And the next moment he’s burning.

You guide his cock inside you, and he sputters to life. His lips press down on yours, uncaring of the taste of him inside your mouth. He needs the connection, needs you. Aemond thrusts wildly against you for a few moments, his cock driving in and out of you with filthy wet sounds.

You hold his face in your hands as you kiss, and his thrusts grow more controlled. Aemond wants it to last. Wants to drag out your connection for as long as he can, but he can feel his orgasm building already. His lower back aches with it, his toes curling against the bedsheets. He moves to slow down but the second he tries, you wrap your legs around his hips, pressing your feet against his buttocks to slam him into you. It is the same when he tries again, until he drives back with the same force as you drive him back in.

The pace is maddening, your sounds so sweet he feels like he’s drowning. He knows not where he ends and you start, but he would have it no other way. If he pushes into you hard enough would you truly become one? In body as you are in soul?

“Gods, Aemond,” you gasp at a particularly hard thrust.

Aemond brings his finger back down to thumb at your clit as apology, and you sing even sweeter for it.

Time means nothing, there is only you and him. And then you’re falling over the cliff of pleasure, and he dives after you, clinging to you with bleeding fingers. Your pleasure is his pleasure, two halves of a whole finally forcing themselves together. There is not a crack in your connection, and Aemond thinks he sees stars as his vision goes white. He gasps and moans into your mouth, your pants and sounds of pleasure drowned by his need to bring himself closer to you.

He lets himself fall upon you, cock softening inside you. His head spins still, but his heart beats like a drum in his chest at knowing that he’s once again been claimed by you. Even when he pulls himself free (reluctantly) there is still a piece of him in you. A piece that would never blossom into something more, for Aemond would not part with a single part of you, not even for himself.

“I love you,” you pant into his ear.

“Not as much as I love you,” he says in return.

You laugh. “‘Tis not a competition, husband.”

“No.” He agrees, with an easy smile. It is the truth.

Aemond had won the war, and he had proven himself. And so he would never part from you again, even were the gods to try and force him from your side. The threads of your destiny are weaved together into one singular past, present, future.

His beauty may be what gods fought for,

but Aemond?

Aemond would fight all the Gods, both old and new,

for just one more stolen moment under silk sheets.

#house of the dragon #hotd imagine #house of the dragon imagines #hotd #aemond imagine #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd aemond #aemond x you #aemond smut #aemond x reader #aemond x reader smut #hotd x reader #hotd smut

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acupofqueercoffee · 5 months ago

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“Beneath the Dragon’s Eyes”

Rhaenys Targaryen x Female Reader (+Meleys)

wc : 2700+

cw : older woman x younger woman // also, they make out in front of meleys, hence the name // a touch of fluff and a sprinkle of spice

finally took matters into my own hands muahahaha 😈 i love my red queens so gotta include both of them, and ofc, rhaenys speaking high valyrian 😮‍💨

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Zephyrs in Driftmark can be unforgiving at times, especially in the break of dawn. It crawls through little gaps from the castle’s stone walls, running its frigid fingers over every part of your body that is left exposed by your thick covers. One cursed touch of it, and immediately, the shivers come in a tidal wave, iciness crashing down your frame the way waves break the sandy shore.

Peeved to be so rudely awaken, you burrow deeper into bed, pulling the covers over your head to hide in your warm, little cocoon. Still, the trembling persists as though your early morning visitor has left a piece of itself behind in the very depths of your core, for coldness continues to swell from within. On your temples, your blood throbs so fiercely in your veins to the point that you think they may pop any moment now, an awful sensation that is well-nigh torture.

A part of you is inclined to believe that such is the punishment for the sin you have committed yesternight, but even if it is to be the case, the better part of you harbour not a dot of remorse. Why should you when there still lingers traces of her presence, subtle but certainly detectable on the delicate piece of fabric that is presently held close to your chest, a keepsake. Admittedly, not willingly given. Rather, stolen in a moment of irrepressible desire. But a keepsake nonetheless. The handkerchief is simply a square piece of cotton cloth, elegantly lined with lace, as white as milk, but her initials, in blood-red cursive, are embroidered on one corner of it.

Pressing the soft material to your nose, and drowning in the faint scent of sea breeze and firewood that is uniquely and so undeniably your Princess Rhaenys’s, conjure up memories from last night. Within the secrecy of your room, one of the privileges of being the Princess’s Handmaiden, with the stolen little piece of herself nestled over your nose, your fantasies have gone uncontrollably wild. Teeth biting lips, fingers journeying south, sweat blooming into beads, body writhing in ecstasy. Suffice it to say that by the time you drift off, you are thoroughly drained. Only the sea scented breeze catches wind of the name that sweetly, thickly drips down your lips in a sacred whisper, and the moon, the sole witness to the rivulets that shimmer on the inside of your thighs beneath its silvery light.

A cascade of warmness that envelops your body at the mere thought of your lady is all it takes to fend off the cold. Cheeks rosy and ears buzzing, you suddenly feel very feverish. By the side of the bed, a window sits on the wall, the clouds beyond the frame drenched in artistic reds and oranges at the hands of the slowly rising sun, and in need to cool off, your fingers curl around the latch to push it open.

Your respite is fragile, short-lived, shattering like a glass on impact, once an eddy of wind, strong and sudden, swirls into your humble dwelling. The intruder leaves everything untouched other than your little keepsake that is stolen right under your nose. Slipping through your fingers, it flutters akin to a bird preparing for take off, before being escorted through the window, and you watch, a gasp on your lips, while the relentless breeze sends the precious piece of your lady flurrying down, and down, and further down. Your heart drops along with the handkerchief by the time you realise where it has disappeared into.

In your haste to retrieve your prized possession, you have forgone, or rather completely forgotten, the decency to slip into something more suitable for the weather. With a simple nightdress precariously hanging on your frame, your bare feet pad through the winding halls and down the grand staircases as you slip past bustling servants, too engrossed in their respective works to pay you any mind. By the time you reach the entrance to the crypt, you observe from behind a pillar. Only when you have made certain that the two dragon-keepers are locked in an animated chatter do you emerge from your hidden spot, running past them in a blur of movements.

The bowels of the castle are off-limits to many servants save a handful of guards and the dragon-keepers. It is after all home to Meleys, the Red Queen, Princess Rhaenys’s beloved dragon.

Amidst your descent into the foreboding darkness, the beast inside your chest pounds against its cage, wild and frantic. The air is thick, heavy with the scent of dragon, and there, in the shadowy depths of the cavern, you can outline the form of Meleys, her scales shimmering like rubies in the faint glow as she appears to be slumbering, coiled and relaxed. Granted, you have feasted your eyes upon the dragon from afar with no small amount of wonder whenever your Princess takes her out for a flight across the ocean, but it is only given that you will be hypnotised by such a spectacle right before your very eyes, the sheer magnitude and majesty of the Red Queen filling you with intense awe.

A sudden, swift whoosh of her tail sends something aflutter into the wind, and the sight of it spills ice along the length of your spine. Caught on a jagged stone, between you and the dragon, is your lady’s handkerchief.

You have just barely plucked the delicate fabric between your fingers when a low, rumbling growl, seeming to come from the very bowels of the earth itself, shakes you to your core. Slowly, you unstick your eyes from the ground only to find twin orbs of molten gold locked onto you, burning with such malice and ferocity that the force of it alone sends you stumbling back. She rises, hackles raised, and only when a person emerges from behind her large body do you understand why the dragon is being so alarmed.

“Daor, Meles!”

(No, Meleys!)

You are in equal parts absolutely terrified of the doom looming over you, and ridiculously enamoured of your lady’s mother tongue reaching your ears in a tentalising caress.

“Ryptēs. Lykiri.”

(Listen. Be calm.)

One colossal wing unfolds, a protective barrier shielding her rider from you who she deems a possible threat.

“It’s alright. She’s not a threat.”

You can see from where you sit in a sorry little heap, still frozen on the ground, that Princess Rhaenys’s hand has planted firmly against her dragon’s side, offering reassuring strokes that seems to effectively pacify the massive creature. Little by little, her red wing lowers to fold gracefully against her side, and in doing so, reveals to you your lady, comfortably dressed in her dragon-riding attire. There is a steely edge to her face, lips pursed, and gaze stormy when she turns to look at you.

“What, pray tell, do you think you’re doing here?”

So, she demands, and you stand before you answer, or at least, you try to, but the suddenness of it encourages a dizzy spell that has you wobbling on your feet. That has been your foolish mistake for you have offered the doom, that is silently, solemnly observing you, one wrong move, and one is plenty enough of a sign for her to finally descend upon you. With a snarl, scary and sinister, the red queen takes a step forward.

“Lykiri, Meles. Rȳbās!”

(Be calm, Meles. Focus!)

Helplessly, hopelessly, you swoon over your Princess, who has placed herself between her handmaiden and her dragon, her body a firm wall of protection before your own.

“Lykiri.”

(Be calm.)

Once again, the delicious pulse of her voice flows in the form of High Valyrian, gentleness and authority intertwined as she quells the anger of the dragon with a string of melody that effortlessly spills forth her lips, accompanied by a delicate touch of her fingers on the dragon’s impressive snout. Despite your circumstances, you cannot help but stupidly find the gesture endearing.

“Demās.”

(Sit.)

As oblivious as you are to what your lady is saying, you hang on her ever word, enthralled, and so, too, is Meleys if the way she stops her grumbling to instead sit down on the ground is anything to go by.

“Hegnīr. (Good.)” And with a press of your lady’s fingers, elegantly long and delightfully lithe, that are bestowing gentle caresses along the plane of her cheek, the dragon emits a sound, not akin to the growls from before but a happy noise, supposedly the closest thing to a purr she can manage. “Hmm…ñuhys meles darys. (Hmm…my red queen.)”

Once her dragon is settled, you become the focus of the Princess’s attention, or rather, the object of her ire. “You’re not supposed to be here.” She scolds, her stony-eyed gaze pinning you in place. “And what have you got there?”

Following her eyes, you find that they are resting on your hand, grip, white-knuckled tight as fingers curl around the handkerchief, her handkerchief, for dear life. “It’s- I- uhmm-” Silently, patiently, she studies you as you try but fail miserably to stammer out an explanation, for the words get tangled in your throat.

One footfall of her boots brings her closer to you.

One more and you will be able to feel her breath on your face.

Her gaze, although just as intense, has begun harbouring a touch of softness as those fingers, which have served as one of the focuses of your fantasies, lock around your wrist, thumb of her other hand tracing the embroidered initials. “This is mine.” She speaks matter-of-factly. “Why do you have it?”

Your eyes are cast to the ground, roaming over every bump and ridge of rock, anything but her face, and so, with her hand still fitted around your wrist like a snug bracelet, she tugs you, not unkindly, merely as a means to draw attention. “Eyes on me.”

How are you to resist a direct command from your Princess? A command to feast your eyes upon the mesmerising planes and valleys of her face no less.

It comes to you as easily as breathing, admiring the little lines bracketing her lips and the delicate crow’s feet below her eyes, and enjoying every moment of it, but not so much having your soul laid bare beneath her hot scrutiny. The brilliance of her stare gives rise to goosebumps on your body, the little hair on the back of your nape standing when you hear Meleys in the background. The dragon levels you with those twin suns of hers, pools of liquid gold that shimmer with curiosity, in return for the peek you have sneaked. Her stare is both mesmersing and terrifying. A strangled little gasp tumbles out of your lips, whereas a thrill that simmers low in her maw seems to vibrate deep within your bones.

“Fear not.” Your lady’s face gravitates towards you, but a whisker away. “Meleys wouldn’t touch a hair on your head unless I say so.”

“But me on the other hand, hmm,” Middle and fore finger touch a lock of your hair as she whispers in your ear. “I’m not quite sure.”

“I- I’m sorry, my lady. It smelt of you,” You swallow, warm and fuzzy. “-and it was so inviting, and I couldn’t help myself.”

A pad of a thumb traces the bone of your cheek, before opting to pluck your chin between forefinger and a thumb. Gingerly, she angels your face until your gazes collide. “Oh, I bet you couldn’t.”

She watches you intently, her eyes roaming over every feature on your face, and despite the cheeks that are dusted cherry red and the sorry little thing swelling painfully inside your chest, you glory in her attention, soaking every droplet of it.

Dainty and delicate in appearance, her lips call out to you, a siren’s song, and just as you are entertaining the idea of throwing all caution to the wind to chase after the forbidden temptation, they fall upon you.

No amount of wildest dreams can hold a candle to the real experience. Smooth and soft, her lips are the sweetest thing you have ever had the pleasure of consuming, but underneath it all is an addictive spiciness, you quickly discover, once a velveteen tip of a tongue licks the swell of your lips. No sooner has the delicate bud unfurled like a flower in bloom than the ravenous snake slithers inside in search of sweet nectar.

An arm has twined itself around your waist, pulling you against her body, kiss intensifying as teeth nibble and tongue tangle, and with a choked little noise, your hand descends upon your lady’s shoulder.

In the haze of it all, you cannot help but appreciate her hair, a cascade of white satin falling beautifully down her shoulders, which you braid every morning and comb every night. A knit appears between your brows. Clearly, her hair is fashioned. Although, you do not remember putting these particular braids on her head.

“You didn’t send for me to have your hair done.” Fingers toy with a lock of hair, perpetually drenched in moon glow. “Who did these, my lady?”

“I can manage a few braids myself, dear girl.”

A nip on the delicate underside of your chin proves to be a dizzying distraction.

Meanwhile, blossoms of her kisses have branched off to your neck, lips closing around the little notch on your throat. Like dewdrops blooming on leaves on a misty morning, specks of perspiration has appeared on your forehead. She sucks once, and your spine arches. Another, and with a trickle of gasps down your lips, your body curves deeper into your lady’s.

“You’re trembling.” She breathes into the hummingbird flutter of your pulse, voice throaty and hot, and you feel it on your skin more than you hear it. “Is it the cold?”

“No,” Her hand tugs one part of your chemise down, and doing so leaves your shoulder bare. “No, Princess. It is you.”

“Hmm.” Lips glide across your skin, planting firmly on the slope of your shoulder, and sucking the flesh into the hot cavern of her mouth until it is red and rosy and deliciously raw.

Then, she arises, thumb outlining the fleshy swell of your lips, dewy and kiss-swollen, before opting to cradle your face in the palm of her hand. A ghost of a smile that blossoms on her lips is such a sight for sore eyes. You drink it in like a parched man.

A beautiful mess, the Princess has left you, and she takes her sweet time relishing her masterful craft.

“Gevie.”

Her mother tongue makes a delightful reappearance, this time solely for your ears, and you are but butter in her arms, melting from the sultriness of her cadence alone.

“What does it mean, my lady.” Your gaze, doe-eyed and love-struck, finds hers. Her amused little grin is not easily discernible, but all too familiar with the nuances of the Princess’s expressions, you find it in those enchanting browns, in the soft little lines on her face that becomes just a touch vivider. “Beautiful.”

“I’ve found myself wondering what my touch would do to you-” Her gaze moves to the stolen keepsake that still resides within your grasp. “-if this flimsy, little fabric was capable of making you moan my name so reverently in bed.”

The knowledge that she is aware of your deed breeds excitement, sends tingles down your spine. A twinkle of anticipation has appeared plain as day in your eyes, and to your pleasant surprise, a chuckle spills forth her lips, deep and dizzying.

“But perhaps another time.” She drops a kiss atop the little arch of your nose, and your eyes slip shut, full of bliss. “And keep the handkerchief. I’m sure it’ll be more useful in your hands than it is in mine.”

A feather light touch has found home on your naked shoulder, a gentle flap of a butterfly’s wings against the deep purple bloom that her mouth has so exquisitely painted on your skin. With a hum, she fixes the chemise so that the evidence of her doing lies hidden beneath the fabric, away from prying eyes and gossiping servants.

“Come. Let Meleys rest. She has had enough entertainment for one day.”

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

#house of the dragon #rhaenys targaryen x reader #rhaenys targaryen velaryon x reader #rhaenys velaryon x reader #rhaenys targaryen #rhaenys velaryon #rhaenys the queen who never was #character x reader #hotd s2 #hotd season 2 #fanfic #tv: hotd #hotd fanfic #meleys #meleys the red queen #dance of the dragons #eve best #high valyrian

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peachesofteal · 1 year ago

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Speaking about Ghost/Soap/Darling omegaverse... May I bring the idea of Soap and Ghost being alpha and Darling an omega? But wait, let me sprinkle a little of angsty thoughts about it:

Johnny and Simon get to spend their ruts together. Hell, they share a room, and even on base they get to have privacy and go through them with the help of each other, not only fulfilling their physical needs, which are sated of course, but also emotional. Yeah sure, heats are emotional but ruts are too, and they spend so much time together that almost, if not all of their ruts together have been spent in the company of each other.

But Darling? Imagine Darling having a heat every time she's alone. Simon and Johnny gone on some mission, gone for weeks and sometimes even months. Trying to satisfy herself with whatever smell is left on Simon's hoodie or Johnny's shirt. She tries to brush away the thoughts of loneliness and being left out that arise every time she rests in her nest, every time she has to painfully get through her heats without her mates' company.

Hell, she tries to hide everything every time Johnny and Simon come home, smelling like each other and fresh bite marks on their necks. She really, really tries. But nothing escapes those two, no. They can smell that little, slightly rotten smell on Darling, sensing her discomfort and those bouts of anger flaring up, those hints of desperation hiding in a slightly-rotten fruit smell. It becomes stronger and stronger each time she sees how close they are after they tell her that another rut came while they were on base, and her? At this point she might lie and say she's on suppressants. Again, they at least suspect about it.

But hell, the fact that there are always fresh bite marks on them every time they come home, while hers is is non-existent (Johnny and Simon foolishly believe she doesn't wish to be bitten), is NOT helping at all.

And they realize how drastic, how deep the problem is once their leave coincides with Darling's heat.

Except she hides. She doesn't let them in, because they maybe have never seen her on her heats.

She doesn't trust them to know how to deal with it, how to deal with an omegas' most vulnerable moment when all they've known is how alphas deal with their ruts.

Darling doesn't trust them, not fully, at least.

Djsjjd jfc when you said omegaverse I was 👁️👁️. Peach I hope you're having such a good day and I must thank you once more for giving us such beautiful stories, I hope nothing but good things happen to you from now on:)

— 🫔 Anon

Oh… okay, I see you. This is so good! There’s so much to explore here… 🩵

18+ / dead disco omegaverse au (it needs a name but we’ll get there?) / mature themes

The door swings wide, and Johnny is nearly bowled over by the scent. It’s everywhere in the flat, wafting down the hall to where they both stand at the threshold, overcome with the smell of overripe fruit, something sour and tart hovering at the precipice.

It’s the smell of their omega in distress.

But what surprises them both, is along with the burnt tannins of distress, is another smell. A ripe smell, a bruised stone fruit smell.

The smell of an omega in heat.

But their omega doesn’t have heats. You’re on suppressants.

Still, it’s definitely your scent. There’s no mistaking it.

Simon tenses, hackles rising with a growl. Johnny’s hand finds his chest, placing his palm over the older, bigger alpha’s heart soothingly. They’ve just both come off a rut, poor timing all things considered. Both exhausted, they were looking forward to getting home and falling into bed with you, cuddling you close while they both slept off the stress from the op and the remaining… sensitivities.

“Darling?” Simon calls, keeping his voice soft and easy.

There’s no answer. The flat is silent.

“Love? Are you here?” Johnny tries, pushing through to the bedroom, where he’s half expecting to see you curled up in the bed.

Except, you’re not.

It looks like you may have been, at one point. It’s a pile of blankets and pillows, haphazardly arranged with various shirts and other soft things.

Johnny chokes on a breath. The scent is much, much stronger in here, and Simon’s eyes slide closed as he draws a deep inhale.

“Omega?” He murmurs, and to their relief, there’s a small whimper from the closet.

When he gets the door open, his heart breaks. Simon’s body goes preternaturally still, and they both stare down at you.

You’re drenched in sweat, burrowed in a pile of clothes, eyes wide. You reek, panic and fear, distress and pain burning in their nostrils, along with the overripe scent, the telltale smell of a heat. Worse, when you look up at them, there’s no recognition there. Nothing to show that you know who they are to you, or even where you are. Johnny shoves away his panic over your confusion, this state, to try to coax you forward into his arms.

“Hey, there ye are.” He reaches for you, slowly, and your body presses against the corner, head shaking back and forth. Johnny frowns. “Darling, it’s okay. It’s us, you’re alright.” His hand gets closer, nearly brushing you knee, and then to their absolute shock, you snarl.

Simon is conflicted. He’s confused.

Why did you tell them you’re on suppressants?

They would have done things a lot differently, if that wasn’t the case. They wouldn’t have left you alone, if they had known. His stomach clenches when he thinks about the possibility that this isn’t the first time you’ve been on your own during a heat.

“Darling.” Simon coos. He doesn’t want to reach for you. He doesn’t want to pull you from the closet, this safe spot you’ve built, your nest. He doesn’t want to force you out, like his father would have. Like he always did to his mother. His father would have gripped you so hard it would have hurt you, left bruises on you. He would have terrified you, taken joy from it. “Omegas are weak.” Simon was raised to believe. “The lesser. It’s our job to teach ‘em.”

You snort out a trembling breath from your nose, little groan slipping from your lips and you rub your wrist on your gland. Johnny makes a strangled sound in his throat as it happens, and Simon doesn’t need to ask to know what he’s thinking.

Only omegas who have been abandoned or lost their mates try to self soothe like that, scent themselves like that. It’s an instinct, something that happens to try to prevent them from becoming overheated or harmed by a heat unmanaged.

“No, no no. It’s alright, love, we’re here.” Johnny pleads, hand still tentatively outstretched while you stare at his fingers. Every time your wrist rubs over your gland, they both cringe, and Johnny’s body goes rigid.

“I- don’t-” You stutter. You blink at them slowly, and he can see it all on your face, plain as day. The pain. The confusion. The distress.

Simon crouches, just outside the closet. He starts up a soothing rumble, trying to lure you towards him. You lift your head slowly when you hear it, when you feel the subharmonics, the song that sings to you.

“Come here, baby.” Your brow creases, and you rub your face. You look exhausted, like you haven’t slept in days and he wonders how long you’ve been you like this, how long you’ve been suffering. You don’t smell like pre heat, so you must be on the curve upwards. Guilt burns in his stomach. “It’s alright now.” Johnny moves next to him, shifting into a kneel very slowly while you watch him, hazy gaze fixed on the bite marks on his neck, over his gland.

“You’re safe.” Johnny coaxes, and he keeps his hand towards you, but unmoving, trying to show you that neither of them are a threat.

They both work to emit soothing scents, trying to lull you into their arms. You watch them warily, curiously, eyes opening and closing in slow motion as your instincts battle whatever confusion is happening beneath the surface.

It works. You crawl slowly out from the corner, t shirt sticking to your skin, your arms trembling under your weight.

“Good girl.” Simon murmurs. Neither of them move, afraid to spook you, and then you’re curling up between their bodies, rubbing your wrist against your gland over and over.

You tuck yourself into them, head laying on Simon’s chest and his hand comes slowly to rub your back, getting you used to his touch, easing you into a more relaxed state while Johnny smooths a hand over your shoulder, coasting his wrist closer and closer to your gland, trying to scent you subtly and soothe you, gentle you. You whimper when he makes contact, and they both press a little closer.

“Shhh. You’re okay, darling. We’re here.” Simon bows his head, skimming his nose overtop your scalp, and you shift, hands grabbing for Johnny, trying to pull his body overtop yours, effectively sandwiching yourself as tight as you can between their mass. You whine, and Johnny hums in your ear, soothing you by scenting until you’re letting out little rumbles of your own, soft purrs puffing against Simon’s chest, Johnny’s lips ghosting across your sweat dotted forehead.

#🫔 anon #tamale anon you genius!#peaches asks #peaches writes #dead disco omegaverse au

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ajortga · 9 months ago

Text

sweet

pairing: jenna ortega x fem reader

summary: after filming, jenna decides to relax for some coffee, not expecting to meet you and fall in love with girl that makes her knees weak.

word count: 1.9k+

read the next parts here! : part 2 part 3

Jenna can remember meeting you like it was yesterday.

At a coffee shop, not too far from the scream set in New York City.

She roamed around, it was evening, the sun was going to set soon, Jenna could tell the way the sky slightly became yellow, getting the slightest pink.

Jenna liked sunsets.

She had just finished filming for a scene, her headphones were on and she needed some fresh air.

Her noise cancellation was on, walking the streets as she felt her stomach rumble quietly, she was hungry.

She looked around for a place to snack as she looked around, a famous pizzeria was definitely not what she needed.

She turned a corner and she saw a place that was made out of caramel bricks, plants neatly outside with vines hanging from head to toe, she could see the warm welcoming presence on the inside, lanterns hung from the ceiling.

She didn’t really like coffee.

It was so bitter the first time she tried it, of course she didn't know (till recently) that she ordered black coffee with no sugar or creme and almost choked it out.

So she stopped, if anything it added less sleep along with her insomnia.

But she went anyway, the vibe felt comforting. Plus there had to be more than just bitter coffee.

She pushed the door open, a small ding being heard.

Then she could smell the soft scent of coffee and fresh pastries lingering, she felt her hands cold, but her gaze shifts up, and she can feel her whole body warm, like a cozy fire, suddenly, she felt nothing but a daze of love shock.

Her eyes meet your figure, your hair was in a messy bun, a ruffled beige apron tucked around your body over a blouse, pouring creamer in a latte cup, a flower design being made as you traced the coffee with soft hands.

Your focused eyes shift from the cup to her, she can see a small glow in your warmth, they soften as you smile, waving. Softly, but loud enough to hear over her headphones, you saying, “Welcome!”

She can feel her lips twitch into a smile, tucking her scarf beneath the nape of her neck, it was already warm enough here.

She looked up at the menu, so much to choose from.. And so many flavors.

She bit her lip, in thought as she was stuck, there was a lot.

But so much coffee, she may have not liked coffee the best, but coffee with this many flavors could change her mind.

She was there for a long moment, until you spoke up, you were in front of her, thinking she was going to order, she was standing in front of the cashier after all.

“Trouble choosing what you want?” You ask, tilting your head.

That took her out of her trance, taking her headphones off and wrapping them around her neck. She finally realized where she was standing, in front of the damn register.

“Oh I’m so sorry, I can be kind of clueless when I have headphones on, uh, um. Oh yes, I’m not so sure what to get, I’ve never been here.”

You give her a smile, and she can swear she feels her legs wobble, she could drown in those eyes. So pretty..

“Don’t apologize, please. Don’t worry, it’s okay not knowing what you want, to be honest I think you would like a drink. I think you would like our french vanilla or pumpkin spice latte.. With a sprinkle of cinnamon. How does that sound? This is just my recommendation, I could be wrong, but I think I can read what people should get pretty well! They end up liking it. Don’t count on me though,” You breathe with a little laugh. You sound adorable when you laugh. Your lips are perfect. Kissable.

She feels something she hasn’t felt in so long, butterflies.

You were so sweet, something about you made her not want to tell you she didn't like caffeine or the taste.

You just called her love, if anything the color of love was on her cheeks.

“I.. Um.. Yes, I’ll take that. Can you mix those?…”She was going to say your name but didn’t know it, looking down at your name tag, Y/N/L/N. “Uh.. Oh Y/N."

“Of course I can! One french vanilla spice coming up! Anything else you would like? Our pastries just came out of the oven if you’re in the mood for that.”

You were pretty. Unlike any other stranger she'd see on the street before.

Jenna looked at the display, her hand pointing to where her eyes landed, “I’ll take one of your strawberry croissants, I never tried that.”

“You never had these? These are perfectly sweet and soft! They’re my favorite. That’ll be $8.13 please.”

She grabbed her card and swiped it, and you smiled, “Thank you Jenna, give me 5 minutes or so.” You looked at the name of her card.

You look at the names of her customers from their card, how cute. You definitely wanted her. (Or so her delusional brain thought.)

After a few minutes of sitting down and lost in her thoughts from the music, (possibly staring at you preparing her drink the whole time,) she hears you call her name in the distance.

Something about your voice had the slightest softness, she never loved someone calling her her name more than now. Y/N/L/N. Your name is pretty. It'll be even prettier when your last name is hers when you're married-

She walked up to you and you handed her a light brown tray, with her latte in a cup, the design with a pumpkin with a small heart on it, and her powdered strawberry croissant.

“Thank you.” She whispers, taking it gently and going back.

She sits down in the corner of the room, a booth with a pumpkin decoration and vinyls hung, she could see the steam fogging in front of her and just realizes how cold it really is.

She smells cinnamon, a small whiff of it.

She likes the smell of cinnamon. It reminds her of her childhood home on Christmas when snickerdoodles were being made.

She smells vanilla too.

She likes vanilla. She likes vanilla more than chocolate.

Her hands lifts the mug to her lips and drinks.

Immediately she feels the warmth seep through her like a gentle river, she hums at the taste.

The vanilla battles the strong bitterness of the coffee, leaving the smallest trail behind.

The pumpkin spice, she can taste it in the cream, it reminds her of fall.

It tastes comforting. It tastes like the feel of a steamy creamy soup that you have when it’s pouring rain outside.

It makes her feel soothed. Cozy. Like she’s in her own Gilmore Girls show herself.

Her lips press to the mug for the second time, sipping it again and it tastes so good. It’s not too sweet nor bitter. It tastes perfect. It warmed her whole body up, even with the freezing temperature.

She places the mug down on the wooden coaster, she’s never had a strawberry croissant before.

And when she has a taste, she wants to buy the whole shop. Why has she never heard of this before?

There's a sweet fluffy cream in the middle, she can feel powdered sugar coating her lips as she licks them.

It tasted sweet. It was light and delicious, the custard complimenting the sweetened strawberry. Who knew bread could pair with such.

“Is it okay for you?””

She turns around and sees you, it seems like the rest of the customers had to go out before the pouring rain began to crash harder.

“It was more than okay, it was so good. I need that recipe,” Jenna jokes, making you laugh.

“The croissant is my grandma’s recipe. I remember she made it when I first started baking in the kitchen. She thought it was so good that she had to put it on this cafe’s menu. For the latte on the other hand, you just have to know balance and what tastes right.”

Jenna’s slim hands waved a 5 dollar bill in the air, in which you immediately shook your head.

“Take it,” she giggles.

“No, it’s yours.”

"No."

"Yes."

"If you keep it I'll give you my number."

... That was tempting for you.

“I wasn’t a big fan of caffeine in general. It was always too bitter or too sweet. I think it ruined the experience for me to try anymore. Take this as a word that I’ll be coming often,” she gave you a sweet smile, giving you a piece of paper on top of the money.

You looked at her with, a small grin forming on your face as you looked up, “You win. Thank you. look forward to you being a regular. I'll make your coffee extra lovely and sweet next time," you said with a wink that made Jenna blush.

Jenna’s smile never faltered as she left the coffee shop, seeing your number on her phone as she placed it in her back pocket. But as she tried to slide it in, it seemed a bit cramped as she took out the piece of paper that was blocking it.

A five dollar bill. The five dollar bill she gave you.

She sighed, shaking her head with a small laugh, you were a smartass sliding the money she gave you back into her pocket without her knowing.

She folded it in her hands, looking back at the coffee shop, wanting to give it back and run so you couldn’t do anything. But as she looked back she could see the fairy lights on the sign dimming, your face behind the glass. You gave her a small playful wink as you flipped the sign to closed, your breath blew on the glass, putting a small heart on the fogginess and walked away.

Something in Jenna made her heart flutter, wanting to go to the coffee shop every day. Every. Single. Day.

But why? When she goes to restaurants she doesn’t seem excited to come again.

She could feel her cheeks heating up as she realized it was because of you. She wanted to come because of you and see your face, to see you giving her that smile or calling her name, to hear your voice as you talked to her, to see your pretty eyes glance down to her lips every once a while once again.

4:25pm

maybe y/n: sweet seeing you today, hope you didn't mind some money back, this is all i need :)

4:28pm

jenna: ooh. getting sweet already? hmmm, you're sneaky! maybe i'll pay you another visit tomorrow. (you reacted with 💗)

maybe y/n: aww, for me?

jenna: i wouldn't count on ittt but maybe it's a 50/50

4:30pm

maybe y/n: i don't think a customer would ask for someones phone number as an agreement?

4:35pm

jenna: you got me there

maybe y/n: i know i did jen :p

maybe y/n: don't get ahold of yourself, i still have to know you better ml

jenna: then tomorrow is set.

maybe y/n: tomorrow it issss (jenna reacted with a 😗)

She covered her face and let out a small groan as she came home, her back hitting the mattress as she looked up at the ceiling. She could feel a small grin forming on her face as her eyes sparkled, her nose scrunching.

She liked the girl who lay behind the mug of coffee.

She liked you.

a/n: wanted to take a small break on requests, i think i should focus on thinking of my ideas instead of doing request one by one from my inboxes, if that makes sense. requests are soon!

i'm not sure if i'll take some because sometimes these requests don't have any of my ideas in mind so it's hard to write something that feels good<3. enjoy this cute long ish drabble that i made a few months back but never finished<3

#wednesday addams x reader #tara carpenter x y/n #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega imagine #tara carpenter x reader #jenna marie ortega #tara carpenter x you #vada cavell x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #vada cavell x y/n #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams x female reader

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reputationmunson · 2 years ago

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hi mads! how r you? i was wondering if i may request a enemies to lovers with fake dating between reader and steve? where she's shy and kinda nice with everyone but somehow doesn't get along with him... and suddenly they have a situation and have to pretend to be dating... btw, love your writing!

i’m doing well and i hope you are too :) thank you for the request and i’m so happy you enjoy my writing that means so much to me! i hope you like this and i hope it's okay i'm making it multiple parts!

Crossing Lines | S.H x fem!reader

Part One | part two | part three | part 4

summary: Steve isn’t your biggest fan (understatement of the year), so why does he ask you to be his fake girlfriend for a wedding?

content: enemies to (eventual) lovers, fake dating, mentions of drinking, swearing, a guy at the bar is kind of creepy, mentions of reader and eddie having a past fling, use of y/n (not too often)

word count: 3.7K

a/n: this is a little shorter than I anticipated, but I’m going to try and make future parts longer.

There’s something strange about having an “enemy”. Especially when that enemy is Steve Harrington. You don’t exactly consider him an arch nemesis, but there’s really no other way you can describe your relationship with him. You aren’t friends with him by any means, not anymore, despite your several attempts at kindness.

Cupcakes you made him got thrown in the trash, smiles you’ve given him had been reciprocated with glares, and every time you spoke was the perfect time for him to roll his eyes.

No matter how many times you try to pinpoint a moment in your life where you might’ve offended him or done something to make him have such a great dislike for you, there’s nothing you can come up with.

You never had many interactions with Steve in high school, which isn’t very surprising. You always tried to stay in the background with your nose buried in a book and he was the complete opposite of that.

You admit you had a teeny tiny crush on him in high school, much like the other girls. How could you not? He was so charismatic and carried himself with confidence. You weren’t as immune to the Harrington charm as much as you liked to pretend you were.

It wasn’t until he became friends with Robin a few years ago that you had your first real conversation with him. She’s been your best friend since you were six and if she was convinced he changed, then you were willing to give him a chance.

He seemed like a completely different person than the boy you used to pass in the halls as he talked about how wasted he got the night before with his herd of wannabe Steves.

He was friendly and also a little bit of a clutz. Sort of awkward, as well. He was still handsome, though. A lot more handsome. His eyes were kinder and his hair as lovely as ever. You always wondered how it managed to still look so soft after that much product usage.

After the first two months of what seemed to be a friendship, he flipped the switch. His words to you became grumbles and he always kept a distance from you, like he’d go into anaphylactic shock if any part of him accidentally brushed yours.

It drove you mad. The one thing in life you always tried to do was treat everyone with kindness no matter what and he made it nearly impossible. You had more friends in your life now than you thought imaginable and it was nearly perfect, but all you seemed to be focused on is how much Steve hates you.

From Steve’s point of view, he would never outright say that he hates you. It’s more of an annoyance. Your shared friend group constantly raves about how great and delightful you are. The kids, who aren’t kids anymore but always will be to Steve, idolize you. Everyone thinks you walk around with rainbows and sprinkles shooting out of every single one of your orifices.

You and your delicious baked goods that you make in celebration every time someone so much finds a lucky penny on the ground. You and your stupid perfume that makes you smell like a damn bouquet of flowers. Your dumb dimples and eyes that some might claim light up a room every time you smile. Don’t even get him started on the short, nonsensical pleated skirts you wear.

You’ll probably be wearing one of those skirts tonight when you all go out for drinks later and he dreads it, terribly. Definitely not because he’s attracted to you, no, that’s insane, but because of all the guys that are going to swoon over you and he’ll have to be responsible for making sure none of those creeps try to touch you.

Robin made it very clear to him early on that you are off limits. She told him he wasn’t ready for a girl like you. You’re different from the girls he takes on dates and sleeps with. You aren’t a ‘hit it and quit it’ kind of gal, as she put it. . She said you’re a hopeless romantic, spending the rest of your life with one person, the type of love they write songs about, kind of gal. Steve wants to settle down one day, but he also isn’t ready for that yet.

Apparently, Robin forgot to give Eddie the same speech because Steve caught the two of you in a hot and heavy makeout sesh at a party awhile ago. Steve put all of the puzzle pieces together that you and Eddie were secretly hooking up. It wasn’t hard to figure out with all the glances, giggles, and body language. Plus, the sexual tension was so obvious.

No one else knew, neither of you even know that Steve’s aware anything ever happened.

Yes, you and Eddie were hooking up. Past tense. It was nice at first, way more than nice. You’d never done the whole no strings attached thing and you felt comfortable with him, but then you both quickly realized that it would end in complete disaster and called off the agreement. Surprisingly, there was no awkwardness after, but you did miss him sometimes.

It was gratifying to be out of your comfort zone, but you needed more. You wanted a love that felt like an easy Sunday morning everyday, but as long as you were confined to Hawkins, you doubt that you’d ever find it.

The bar was absolutely packed tonight, crawling with regulars, college kids back for the summer, and high school students with fake ids. There was a bachelor party sitting in the corner shouting obscenities and catcalling any girl that walked by them.

It was overwhelming. Usually this place, even on its busiest night, is still manageable to walk to.

Your walk to the table where your friends are sat feels like you’re climbing mount everest.

“y/n! you’re here!” Robin hops out of her seat at the high top table and throws her arms around you, squeezing you a little too tight. You can smell the tequila on her breath and her cheeks are flushed. That, combined with her affection for you, alerts you she’s one drink away from being hammered.

Everyone else happily greets you, apart from Steve who gives you a tight lipped smile and takes a drink of his beer so he doesn’t have to say hi because god forbid he speaks one of the shortest words in the english language to you.

“I’m gonna go grab a drink. Does anyone need anything?” you ask. “I’ll go get your drink. It’s a madhouse in here, what do ya want?” Eddie offers and you lay your hand on his shoulder, making Steve subtly roll his eyes so no one notices. “That’s sweet, Eds, thank you. I’ll have a vodka cran please”

“He’s, like, so in love with you” Robin says and you laugh. Steve laughs too, but not out of being humored like you are. “He’s not in love with me. He’s just nice, unlike most of the guys in here” you say the last part a bit louder and look at Steve when you say it. His eyes roll again and you think that must be the only thing he’s good at because he does it all the time.

“Your beverage, madam” Eddie says as he hands you your drink and sets down a tray of tequila shots for the table. “Do we really need more shots, Eddie?” Steve groans. “Tapping out already, Harrington? I guess we shouldn’t be surprised” you tease and he scoffs. “Oh, that’s just rich coming from you”

“heyheyhey, can you two have your lovers quarrel another time? We’re all here to have a good time, okay?” Robin reminds you and you give her a sorry smile. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Let’s not waste this tequila!” you exclaim

You all cheers your shot glasses and when you lick the salt of your hand, Steve’s eyes can’t leave you. He’s still staring when you put the lime in your mouth afterwards, you close your eyes in satisfaction and suck out all the juices. He hopes he never has to watch you take another shot again.

When your eyes open, you see Steve staring at you and he immediately looks away and pretends to be occupied by whatever the bachelor party to his left is doing. His mind drifts to the wedding he has to go to next weekend. One of his cousins on his fathers side of the family is getting married and he’s dreading it. Being surrounded by his snooty, rich family members who are all CEO’s of some business and they’re all married to or engaged to the ‘perfect woman’ that they undoubtedly cheat on while away on ‘business’ trips.

Speaking of business, they can’t keep their noses out of Steve’s life. When are you going to get a ‘real’ job?, when are you gonna settle down and have kids?, are you still living in that tiny apartment?. So no, he isn’t exactly looking forward to telling his family he’s a single loser who practically lives in a shoebox.

“Steve? Are you okay?” your voice brings him back from his thoughts. “Yep. perfectly fine”

“Ya sure? You seem distracted” he hates that you care. Eighty percent of the time, you’re still so nice to him, apart from a few jabs every now and then, despite his coldness towards you. “Just thinking, so you don’t have to pretend that you care.”

“Okay…I’m gonna go to the bathroom” you say before leaving the table.

“Why are you such a dick to her? She’s the nicest one out of all of us.” Eddie’s tone is sharp as he defends you. “I’m just stressed about this wedding I have to go to and my entire family is going to be there and I’m the only one without a date so that’s just another thing they’re going to criticize me for” Steve sighs and looks down at his drink.

“How about that girl you went out with last month? Trisha?” Nancy suggests and Steve scrunches his nose. “No can do. I realized I slept with her roommate after the first date” he cringes at the memory of walking into her apartment and seeing a familiar face sitting on the couch.

“You could borrow nance? She’d just have to take off the engagement ring” Jonathan jokes and the table laughs. Steve considers it for a half of a second, but realizes his parents already know about her engagement to jonathan. “Nice job, Steve. You let the only decent girl who liked you get away and now she’s with that byers boy” he recalls his dad saying in a snarky tone.

“I have the perfect idea!” Robin exclaims and everyone waits for her to continue “you should ask y/n to be your date!”

“That’s a terrible idea, Robin. Why would I do that?” It isn’t a terrible idea. His family would be over the mood to see him with a girl like you. You’re kind, funny, smart and gorgeous, but he’d never admit those things to anyone, least of all you. But the thought of spending a whole weekend with you seems like torture.

“Actually, that could work. You need to get over this weird hatred you have for her and this could be some good bonding! Maybe you’ll finally realize how great she is” Nancy states. “I know you all worship the ground she works on, but that isn’t good enough reason to ask her to pretend to be my girlfriend”

“Just think about it, okay?” Nancy says, kindly and he half-heartedly nods. The conversation ceases as you arrive back at the table and everyone stares at you. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

“No. Nothing. We just missed you” You know Robin is acting weird about something, but you let it go. “um, okay. I missed you guys too for the whole five minutes I was gone. I'm gonna go get another drink.” you tell them before making your way to the bar.

“Hey, beautiful. Wanna take a shot with us?” One of the men from the bachelor party asks as you walk by their table. “No thanks. Have a good night, guys” you walk away and hope they leave you alone.

One of the guys gets up to follow you. Steve’s keeping an eye on you and moves to get up when he sees the guy following you. “I’ll be right back, guys”

“C’mon, baby, let me buy you a drink” Steve hears him say to you as you’re standing at the bar. You look uncomfortable and with the bar packed, you barely have a way to escape. “I already said no. Just go back to your friends”

When he moves closer, Steve steps in between the two of you. “She said no, man. Just leave her alone, alright?”

“you her boyfriend?” he slurs and Steve can’t believe the words that come out of his mouth “yeah, i am. so, fuck off, okay?” your eyes widen when Steve says he’s your boyfriend.

“Alright, alright.” the guy puts his hand up in defense “she’s all yours, buddy”

“are you okay? you’re not gonna cry or anything are you?” he asks when he turns around to face you. “No, I'm fine. You didn’t have to do that. Thank you” you smile at him sweetly.

“It’s whatever. Don’t let it get to your head” And just like that the Steve you know is back. “Can you tell everyone that I went outside for some air?” you ask and he nods then you go your separate ways. He watches the door to make sure you get outside alright.

“So, hypothetically” Steve starts once he returns to the table “How would I go about asking her to be my fake girlfriend?”

“Just be honest about it. Oh! and offer to pay for everything!” Robin says. Her advice could not be more vague. “I still think this is a terrible idea, but I literally have no other options, so when this goes to shit just remember it was all of your fault” he tells them before turning around and bearing the crowd to get outside.

When he walks out the door and into the fresh air, he sees you standing up against the brick exterior of the building. “Don’t tell me you came out here to check on me. Thought you said I shouldn’t let anything go to my head?” you raise your eyebrows at him.

“You are not making this any easier” He puts his hands on his hips and throws his head back, letting out a sigh. “Making what any easier?”

“I have a proposition for you”

“I don’t do prostitution, Steve”

“It’s not- would you just let me talk?” he groans and you make a zipping motion over your lips and throw away the invisible key. “Okay, you owe me a favor after what I did for you, right?- don’t make that face you totally do- anyways, I have a wedding to go next weekend and my family is always harping on me about having a girlfriend and I was thinking-”

“you want me to be your girlfriend?” you ask in a skeptical tone.

“What did I say about letting me talk? and no not girlfriend, fake girlfriend. Just for three days”

“You can barely stand to be around me and you want me to be your pretend girlfriend?”

“Look, I know it’s weird, but we don't have to worry about feelings or some shit like that being a problem because there’s no way that would happen” he explains. “What do I get out of it?”

“A super fancy hotel and all expenses paid. You’ll even get to pretend that you’re dating someone as hot as I am” he smirks and you huff out a humorless laugh. “You’ll pay for everything?” he nods “you’ll drive, too? I hate driving” he nods again “and you’ll be nice to me?”

“Ugh, fine, okay. I will be so nice to you that you’ll puke. Is that a yes?”

“Sure, why not. Can I talk in a British accent and pretend to be part of the royal family? ya know, to fit in with the rich people?”

“Absolutely not”

“Why are you no fun, Stevie?” you whine. “Stevie?” his brows furrow. “yeah, i’m thinking that as your new girlfriend, my nickname for you is Stevie”

“Fake girlfriend” he reminds you “Stevie, you’re so uptight.” you pout at him and he hates himself for his eyes lingering on your lips.

“So, what time should I come over tomorrow?” you ask like you’ve already been invited to his apartment. “What?”

“We need to hang out so you can get used to not acting like I don’t have the plague. Plus, we need to get to know each other” you state. “Fine. Come over tomorrow night and we’ll go over everything”

“Looking forward to it, Stevie”

You knock on Steve’s door at 8 p.m. sharp with a bottle of wine in hand because let’s face it, you’re both going to need it. “Hi, Steviekins” you greet as he opens the door. “That’s worse than Stevie”

“You love Stevie and you know it”

“Just come inside” he grumbles. “I ordered a pizza if you want a slice. It’s in the kitchen”

Once the wine is poured and you sit on the couch to eat, you pull out your notebook and two pens from your bag. “Are we writing each other love notes or something?”

“No, doofus. We’re taking notes on each other. Our likes, dislikes, details about our relationship” you tear out a piece of paper and give him a pen. Even your pens and notebook were nauseatingly adorable. “If I knew this was going to be like school I would’ve asked Robin”

“ha!” you laugh loudly “she would punch you if you tried to hold her hand or do anything that was even remotely romantic” you point out “and you’re not going to punch me?”

“I’d like to say no, but I’d hate to be a liar”

You and Steve practically chug your wine and pour a second glass before playing your own version of twenty questions.

“What’s your favorite color?” you ask to start. “My favorite color? you really think my family is going to question you on shit like that?” he responds and you glare at him. “Okay, fine. um, blue, I guess”

“That’s so basic”

“Then what’s yours?”

“all of them” you reply. “all of them? really?” he snidely remarks. “yes, moving on”

You learn an abundant amount of things about each other, much against Steve’s will. You know each other's favorite candies, movies, songs, all the way to childhood memories and discussing scars you have and how you got them.

Then you moved on to the details of your relationship. Friends first, fell in love, you know the deal. You’ve “been together” for five months. Long enough that it’s somewhat serious, short enough for it to make sense that you haven’t met his parents yet.

The bottle of wine is almost gone and Steve’s cheeks are flushed and his eyes are a bit glossy. If he wasn’t the bane of your existence, you might even think he looks pretty.

“Can I ask you a question? and not one about your favorite food or anything like that” you ask in a soft voice and you seem a little nervous. “Sure, go ahead.”

“Why did you ask me to do this? i’m like the last person you should’ve asked”

“That’s actually why I asked. If I asked a girl that has any romantic interest in me at all, then it might get confusing, ya know? With you, once these three days are over we can go back to normal. There’s no risk of us falling for each other”

“Oh, I guess that makes sense. I have an observation, by the way. You always speak of love like it’s a terrible thing. Why is that”

“Holy shit that’s a loaded question. Um, well the first time I was in love was in high school and we all know how that turned out. Haven’t been in a serious relationship since so I guess it’s hard for me to believe that it’s as great as everyone says it is” he sighs. He’s never drinking wine again. If it makes him this vulnerable with you he can’t imagine what it would be like if someone else was sitting here.

“Do you still love her? Nancy?” you wonder. “No, I don’t. I have love for her, but just as a friend. What about you?”

“No, I’m not in love with Nancy. She’s pretty and all, but can’t say i’m in love with her”

“Shut up, you know what I mean. You’re always raving about some dumb romance novel, yet I’ve never seen you with a boyfriend.” he says and you sigh “There’s not much to tell. Hopeless romantic with standards that are too high”

There’s a hint of sadness in your voice and you clear your throat before speaking up again. “So, I think that’s enough for tonight. I know way more about you than I ever wanted to”

“Right back at ya. I’ll walk you to the door”

“It’s a short distance, I’ll manage”

“Hey, I gotta start working on being chivalrous as your fake boyfriend. Can you stop being stubborn for one second?”

He walks you ten steps to the door and even opens it for you. “Same time tomorrow night? unless you're busy” you say, halfway out the door. “What could we possibly have left to learn about each other?”

“We still have to work on acting like we’re in love. You might have to put your arm around me this weekend. Oh, the horrors!” you gasp dramatically and he suppresses a laugh because he refuses to let you think you have the ability to make him laugh.

“Tomorrow's fine. But if something comes up and you have to skip that would totally be okay”

“You’re such an ass” you whine. “Not as much as you are” he retorts.

You flip him off as you walk away and he does the same.

He can’t wait for next weekend to be over so he can go back to pretending like you barely even exist.

part two coming soon to a screen near you ;)

#steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington enemies to lovers #steve harrington fic #steve harrington series #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #stranger things fic

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scoutswritingcorner · 8 months ago

Note

Hi, could you do a Charlie Morningstar x GN Reader Platonic/ Romantic(sprinkle NSFW) either fic or headcanon? She's my fave aside from Alastor.~ I love her so much as Verbalese paid 50k! (jk)

Sweet As Candy

Charlie Morningstar x GN!Reader

TW: NSFW SPRINKLED IN HERE- MINORS GO AWAY PLEASE!!!

A/N:I have deprived my followers of Charlie content for too long. I am sorry. ALSO I WENT A LIL HEAVY ON THE NSFW PART IM SO SORRY FRIEND! I can talk about Charlie all day, I love her so much.

-👑 You both start off as good friends, you knew her for so long that you just kinda know the best ways to wrangle her in when she gets too excited.

-👑 This girl trusts and loves you so much like even before you both start dating? You say something or give her your honest opinion even though it might hurt her feelings? She gladly listens and thanks you for your input.

-👑 Oh boy when she realizes she has feelings for you? She’s stuck in a little funk, because you're her best friend in all of hell and now she has feelings for you? What if you reject her? What if you hate her? It takes some divine intervention from Lucifer for her to not constantly break down from overthinking everything.

-👑 Now this goes without saying, Lucifer? Adores you. You're Charlie's best friend (and crush), but if you hurt her he will kill you. No if ands or buts. Charlie tells him not to threaten you, she doesn’t want him to freak you out.

-👑 Once she realizes you feel the same? OH BOY- She’s a happy camper and just hugs you before immediately pulling away asking if you’re sure because dating THE princess of hell can put a target on your back easily. Once you say you are very much sure you want her and only her? She tears up and starts crying, it’s not sad tears but happy ones! She is just like her father and when she gets super emotional it ends up in tears.

-👑 Omg Kisses abound, like if you don’t like showing a lot of PDA? She kisses your cheek but she actually kisses you in private! But if you don’t mind the kisses? She’s giving you a bazillion before night time. She can’t help it! You’re just too darn cute!

-👑 I have a hunch she loves taking photos of you- Like some? You’re not even paying attention to the camera or you’re just busy with something else, she has a folder in her phone with pictures upon pictures of you. She’s a simp. (The apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree.)

-👑 Also a huge cuddler, just standing somewhere with her? She’s moving behind you to hold you, arms wrapped around your waist as she leans against you. She’s tall asf she has the privilege of doing so. Sitting on her lap? She’s got you locked in and she’s not letting you go anytime soon? She may look weak but this girl is strong asf.

-👑Sleep headcanon rq? She snores but it’s so soft you can’t hear it unless you’re super close to her. Also moves alot, like her legs twitch and she tends to not be comfortable enough so when she is? She starfishes out on the bed so you have to either lay on top of her or get used to waking up with an arm on your face/neck.

-👑 PETNAMES GALORE!! Calls you so many names: Baby, babe, sweetheart, lovebug, the list goes on and on.

ONTO THE NSFW!! WATCH OUT!

-👑 Service top most of the time, only really cares about your own pleasure than her own. But when she’s riled up or showing her true form (*cough* in the show *cough*) she’s very much the dominant one.

-👑 Most definitely talked to you about this before because she loves and cares for you but has a safeword for both of you, such as the red, yellow and green light or something easy enough both of you can say.

-👑 She loves it when you use her horns as something to grab onto but don’t be too rough as they are sensitive. Other than that? Grab them horns and pull her head around, she loves it.

-👑 In my mind she hates being degraded but if you want her to degrade you or just talk dirty? Give her a moment to shake the flush off her cheeks then she’ll call you all types of names.

-👑 Whatever equipment you have down there? Doesn’t matter to her, she loves you and will peg the shit out of you.

-👑 If you do get to pleasure her? It doesn’t take long until she goes into subspace and starts crying from the pleasure. Check up on her every now and then please, cause she’d be too lost in the pleasure to voice something if it crosses a line for her.

-👑 AFTERCARE QUEEN RIGHT HERE!! She’ll pick you up and take you to her bathroom. Want bathbombs? You got it baby. Want to do face masks as well? Of course!

-👑 Will definitely wash your hair and clean any marks she left on you. Please return the favor and wash her hair too, she’s just a simple girl who wants love.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagine #gn reader #charlie x reader #charlie morningstar #charlie x gn!reader #hazbin charlie #charlie x you

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raimoka · 10 months ago

Text

— " IL BANCHETTO FINALE "

｡ ㅤꕤ ㅤ PAIRING: beast dazai & reader.

SYNOPSIS: in which, dazai wishes to dance with you for the last time as a goodbye before proceeding with his plan.

tags ➜ beast spoilers, dazai is hopelessly in love with reader, established relationship, gender neutral reader, kinda angsty but generally a fluff, author may or may have not described the dancing rather poorly, lowercase as always. ‹𝟹

⋆ author's notes: i miss my wife beastzai, do not read beast, that shit ruins you. please also read the end note.

send an order!! → guide ❀ flowers ←

It was raining.

the tune of russian waltz — on the hills of manchuria — was playing in the background, mixing along with the sound of the rain drops falling audibly down on the metal window ledge. your gaze remained on the glass of the window, sprinkles of the rain dripping down the mirror. the skies had gotten darker and the clock read it was 1:45 am — osamu would often come home sometime during midnight. you would normally be asleep during midnight, however, as you were heading to bed earlier, a part of your mind was telling you to wait till osamu came back home. you didn't understood why but the thought lingered and you ended up being persuaded.

you were currently sitting on an arm chair, back pressing against the soft cushions. a cup of tea you brewed laid before you on a table accompanied by a opened book you were reading previously; both forgotten as your thoughts began to shift to your lover.

as you rested your head on your hand, the noise of the door opening abruptly interrupted your thoughts and you stood up from the armchair you were sitting on earlier.

you approach him steadily and you pulled him into a warm embrace, pressing your cheek against his chest.

"welcome home, osamu..." you murmur wearily and a soft laughter elicited from him.

"you sound so tired, 'bella." he pointed out as he snaked his slim arms around your waist.

"i was waiting for you."

as you uttered those words, the words in his throat died. he parted his lips but no words came out. silence filled the atmosphere, the only thing that could be heard was the waltz combining with the sound of the heavy rain.

he cleared his throat.

"you didn't need to, you know I'd be safe." he spoke, breaking the serene air that was occupying the room.

you laughed softly, "I initially planned to go sleep immediately." you paused your words before continuing.

"but I couldn't shake it off my mind. for some reason, my mind is telling me to spend more time with you and i'm worried that someday, you will disappear."

you didn't understand why you were being so open to him this time but you felt like it was necessary to say. you sensed his arms withdrawing from your waist slightly and he placed his hands instead on your waist.

"why don't i help you forget it?"

you blinked, he smiled softly before adding something else.

"i wanna ease your worries and... it seems important to do so."

because this will because the last moment we will spend.

he bit back his words. as he speaks, he gently separated his other hand on your waist and took your hands within his, interlacing your fingers together. your expression seemed rather surprised but as he interlaced your fingers together, you looked up at him, accepting his invitation to dance around, you put your hand on his shoulder and followed his steps. with a soft smile, he pulled you come closer to him.

as you two dance to the waltz playing in the background, you noticed two things about this; he completely knew each steps of the waltz's dance, and he held a melancholic gaze as he spun you rhythmically to the instrumental. while you resumed ogling at him mindlessly, a small smirk adorned his plump lips and spoke.

"you're staring at me a little too hard, 'bella." dazai teased lightly and you rolled your eyes, shifting your eyes from him before speaking.

"I didn't know you were familiar with these type of waltz, 'samu."

"I always liked this waltz."

"seriously? I never thought you would've liked these sort of songs." but osamu was always unpredictable, he never talked a lot about himself often with you, even after you managed to break in through the thick walls that encaged his throbbing heart.

you proceeded to gaze on your feets moving on the floor. you didn't understand much why he was so melancholic during this time, he was also clearly masking his intentions. you couldn't read his eyes either, his eyes were always swirling with emptiness — this was the first time you saw his eyes with this much melancholiness. he was so close and yet so far. you wanted to be even closer, you wanted to be close to his heart.

perhaps you merely didn't understand something.

to you, this was a simple dance.

to him, this was a major extension — his goodbye to you.

with your gaze on your feets, he made sure to take in every single detail of you; how your lips were shaped, how your bangs framed your face, how soft your hand felt within his, how your voice sounded, how plump your face was, how warm your body felt compared to his ice cold body, that you had grown accustomed to over time, and how your eyes shone with light, even with the slightest — oh, how he'd hate to see the pain in your eyes to his death.

he didn't even want to die.

he wanted to sink in the warm embrace of your arms and always stay by your side till you both die from old age. your embrace is something he certainly will miss in the afterlife, whether it'd be purgatory, hell, or maybe an abyss of darkness.

he wanted to spend his moments in his life with you, even if they were meaningless and you two were acting just the same as you both were while being idiots hopelessly in love each other even if it was so, so, selfish of him.

he didn't want to die but he needed to, for oda to live, and all he could do was at least give you a final goodbye before disappearing.

he lowered his eyes, he seemed to be in his own universe, and spun you again, he twirled you around as if you were a piece of porcelain he deeply prized, you could feel your worries gradually easing — even if you were still worried about his other intention for this action — with your bodies moving along the music. you glanced up where your hands joined and as the waltz's instrumental faded, he bended you over backwards slightly, wrapping his arm around your waist fully.

you shift your gaze to his eyes that usually reflected dullness once again but this time, they were closed. he was hiding how he felt... if he had his eyes closed you could never understand what was on his mind.

before you could part your lips to call him out to gain an ounce of his attention, he beat you over it.

"belladonna."

you lifted your head and answered with a hum.

"don't forget me."

you blinked, you seemed concerned and he couldn't blame you for that but you chose not to speak about it.

"I promise."

₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ taglists are open everytime.

2024 © reposts are prohibited with/without permission... plagiarism is prohibited. don’t translate my work without my permission. i will take measures of reporting you.

I know dazai truly wants to die but beast dazau doesn't want to. dazai in canon and beast are different, even in the slightest, this was proven if you read the day i picked up dazai.

#♱ 𝗟𝗔𝗜𝗩𝗔𝗜 ::#★ works .ᐟ #dazai x reader #beast dazai x reader #bsd x reader #osamu dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #୭ৎ beastzai brainrot .ᐟ

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yanderecrazysie · 11 months ago

Text

Asmodeus NSFW Yandere Alphabet

I’m in a NSFW mood today, sorry minors.

WARNINGS: yandere themes, very NSFW, mentions of non-con

A: Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He likes to cuddle after sex sometimes. He is always the big spoon and loves to hump your butt a little to make himself hard again for round two. He’ll also run a bath for you to clean up when you’re both done.

B: Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

For you, he thinks you have a cute butt. He loves the way it jiggles when you walk and loves to run his palm over the curve of your ass cheeks. He wouldn’t say no to big boobs either. For himself, he likes everything about himself, but especially his dick. It’s the part that gets the most pleasure and he likes how it looks. The avatar of lust has the perfect cock, after all.

C: Cum (Anything to do with cum)

Asmodeus’s cum tastes delicious- like, way better than it ever should. That’s a perk of being the avatar of lust. He cums a medium amount, just enough to fill you up, but not enough to overflow. His cum is also not too thick but not too watery. Basically, he’s literally perfect.

D: Dirty Secret

Asmodeus is super sensitive on his back. He loses control over himself if you touch his back and might do something he regrets later. It’s just something about the way your soft hands touch his spine that instantly gets him hard as a rock.

E: Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Asmodeus is very experienced. As the avatar of lust, he’s put many women, and even some men, under his spell. Witches are his favorite, but humans are just as fun to play around with, and he’s fucked plenty of both. He hasn’t gone for any angels though, and very few demons.

F: Favorite Position

Asmodeus prefers missionary because he can look down at you while still taking all of the control. He loves seeing his reflection in your wide eyes and loves snapping his hips into yours to see your mouth open in long drawn-out moans. He doesn’t mind cowgirl either, as long as you let him take control.

G: Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)

Asmodeus isn’t exactly joking as much as he is teasing. You love me so much, don’t you? You’re moaning just for me, you cute little thing. You’re in the splash zone, cutie pie. He plays around with you just like a demon does with their prey. He’ll purr these things into your ear as he plays with your pretty pussy.

H: Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Asmodeus keeps himself well groomed, as he thinks it’s important to take care of. He doesn’t shave it all the way, just long enough to be noticeable but not a turn off. It’s the same color as his hair and doesn’t travel up to his belly button like it does for a lot of people (in fact, he barely has body hair).

I: Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

Asmodeus may tease you, but he’s actually very loving and caring. He makes sure you’re soaking the sheets before he even attempts to enter you and his goal is to make you orgasm as much as possible. He’s also very romantic, sprinkling rose petals around the room and running you a hot bubble bath for when you both are done having your fun.

J: Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Asmodeus doesn’t masturbate. If he feels in the mood, which is often, he goes and finds someone to fuck. Of course, when he falls in love with you, you’re the only one he seeks out to satisfy his urges. If he can’t have you, he’ll just stay pent up until he can.

K: Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Asmodeus likes dressing up like a girl sometimes- having sex in a dress or wearing pink panties before you start your fun. He also likes stealing your own panties so he can sniff them later. Just to remember you by, of course.

L: Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Asmodeus is adventurous. While he likes doing the deed at home (because he can set it up and make it romantic), he’s not afraid to fuck in public. He especially likes the park and movie theater. It gives him a rush like nothing else.

M: Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

It doesn’t take much to turn Asmodeus on. If you touch his back, the effect is instant, but if you don’t, all he needs is you both alone in a room together before he’s whining for you to agree to having sex with him. He’s a needy man and the avatar of lust, so just about everything turns him on. Even nothing at all.

N: No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Asmodeus isn’t a sadist- he would never hurt you on purpose. He might have a tiny bit of masochism in him, but he has not an ounce of sadism. He could never whip you or degrade you or anything like that.

O: Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Asmodeus loves both giving and receiving, but he likes giving just a little more. He’s very experienced with eating girls out, so you’ll quickly find that he hits all the right spots with ease. For receiving, he doesn’t mind if you’re inexperienced, he’s happy to guide you into giving him a good experience.

P: Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

Asmodeus is slow and sensual, holding you close as he rolls his hips, grinding deep inside of you. He thrusts lightly, not aiming for your cervix but for your g-spot. He doesn’t go hard when he finds it, just keeps a gentle rhythm. Sometimes he rubs at your clit during sex.

Q: Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Asmodeus doesn’t do fast. He loves to draw it out, take as much time as he needs. A quickie is almost an insult to him. It feels like a quickie means throwing away all the hard work for just a lousy bit of sex. He doesn’t really mind when others do it, but it’s not for him.

R: Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Asmodeus is willing to try almost anything, but he’s pretty consistent when it comes to sex. He knows what works for him and what doesn’t. If you want to try something new, then great! He’ll do it as long as it doesn’t hurt you.

S: Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Asmodeus has basically unlimited stamina. Like an incubus, he grows stronger from sex. He likes to cum at the same time you do, but if he chose not to, he could go as long as he felt like. He loves to do multiple rounds to send you into overstimulation, but he’ll go easy on you if you ask him to.

T: Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Asmodeus doesn’t have any toys for himself, since he doesn’t masturbate, but he does have a vibrator he uses on you sometimes and a feather he likes to tickle your skin with. Other than that, his toy drawer is empty.

U: Unfair (How much they like to tease)

Asmodeus likes to tease quite a bit. He’ll get you to the brink of orgasm, then stop. He wants you to beg for him to make you cum and he’s good at what he does. Don’t worry though, when you give in, he’ll give you the best orgasms of your life.

V: Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Asmodeus is loud. He moans like a pornstar and sometimes lets out a giggle when he sees your eyes roll back in your head. He doesn’t grunt or groan, it’s definitely moaning. He just likes to show you how he feels!

W: With or without consent (Non-con or consensual?)

Asmodues prefers consent so, so much. He wants you looking into his eyes as he fucks you, not crying or looking away. However, if you reject him, and he knows you’re off limits, he may just kidnap you because he desperately needs relief and he can’t turn to masturbation or other girls.

X: X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

Asmodeus is just an inch bigger than average and his girth is the same story. But his cock is so pretty and has no visible veins running down the side. It’s a pretty shade of pink and is without any blemishes. It curves a little upwards, which helps him hit your g-spot.

Y: Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Asmodeus could have sex with you multiple times every day if he wanted, but he knows you might not be up for that. Since he doesn’t masturbate, it builds up over time until he has to get some release. Then, he’ll fuck you until you’re too tired to move.

Z: ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Asmodeus sometimes runs a bath for the both of you, but right afterwards, it’s cuddling and sleeping on his bed. He gets a little smile on his face in his sleep and it’s actually really cute. He falls asleep either at about the same time as you or slightly after.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere alphabet #tw noncon #yandere asmodeus #obey me asmodeus #yandere obey me #obey me

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bethanysnow · 4 months ago

Text

So me and @lonelystczennie have been working on a project for a while now that is both of our babies. Around the time the Korea Elle shoot happened for Hyunjin, we both showed interest in this concept. I wouldn't have been able to write this without @lonelystczennie she is one of the best writers I have seen and I love her dearly. Everyone should follow her BTS account @7ndipity

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

★Yandere!Hyunjin x Fem! Reader.★

---slow burn, obsession, College AU!, pinning, eventual stalker, Fluff/eventual smut????/there is a sprinkle of angst. ---

3.3k wrds. CHAPTER ONE

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n sat in a chair in the theatre hall of SNU between classes. The room was large, and the red plush seats were a sight to behold at least in comparison to the underfunded American theatre she was accustomed to. They had just finished Romeo and Juliet for the fall and far on a facade balcony was where their Juliet stood and uttered the famous line “where for art thou Romeo-” Of course in Y/ns opinion she could have done it better.

That was the problem with the South Korean society, or more so any society as far as she was concerned. It was about who looked the part, not that they did it well.

Getting up on stage Y/n started to gather. A music stand, a chair, a folder of monologues she had put together. Holding her imaginary audience captive she readied herself…

“To be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles

And by opposing end them. To die—to sleep,”

It was here in this soft moment that Y/n could be herself, be loud, be obnoxious, be in her own little corner of the world where no one would see. She meandered around the stage, using its size to her advantage. Her mind cast back to the years at theatre camps, high school productions, anything to get her hands on stage…where she could be anyone she wanted to be. At least in theory.

“-No more; and by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to: 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;

To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there's the rub: For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,”

While she wasn’t insane, she knew where she stood in the world. She knew what people thought when they looked at her. It was hard to miss, but somewhere in the mean girls brimstone there were glimmers. Glimmers of what might be, what could be..what should be.

“Must give us pause—there's the respect that makes calamity of so long life. For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, Th'oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of dispriz'd love, the law's delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns that patient merit of th'unworthy takes,

When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscovere'd country, from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all, And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great pith and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry and lose the name of action.”

The crowd was silent, jaws agape at the performance that befell them. Until it was a trickled down noise, starting as a low hum, but grew to a roar of applause, A tony! One shouted, Encore!! Brava Brava!! Another yelled from their seats. In the space between classes Y/n got to hold onto her dreams.

Silly Y/n, dreaming big dreams…

The door to the theatre opened and like a lightbulb flickering out. Y/n turned finding the head director of the art department walking in.

“Ah! Y/n, you here to pick up some costumes?”

“Oh uh- yea! Just making sure folks didn’t just leave them behind after last show…” Quickly taking the music stand to the side of the stage, it was in reality where Y/n had to stand her ground. So, she batted the stars away and swallowed the butterflies, getting off the stage to grab her bag. Maybe this year’s Musical would be more fun…

Hyunjin slowly followed Jisung across campus towards the art building, watching the dry, faded leaves skitter across the pavement ahead of them, caught in the wind, his hands stuffed in his pockets in an attempt to fight off the growing autumn chill.

Why had he agreed to this?

When he joined the drama department, he hadn’t realized just how much time and effort it actually entailed from him. He didn’t know much about how any of it worked actually, he had signed up mainly just to appease his friends and to get them to stop worrying about him so fucking much…

“I didn’t know this place was here.” He’d commented as they’d navigated their way through the crowded cafe, sitting down at one of the few available tables.

“How have you not noticed it, it’s like two blocks from our place?” Changbin asked.

“I don't know, I just haven't.” He mumbled, taking a sip of his coffee. It was surprisingly good.

“You need to get out of the house more.” Changbin commented.

He didn’t argue with his roommate, though he didn’t necessarily agree with him. Nowadays he spent most of his time holed up in his room, painting, but he was okay with that. That seemed to be the only thing that made him happy anymore, the only thing that held any real spark for him.

It was quiet for the briefest moment before Jisung suddenly piped up.

“Hey, why don’t you sign up for the theatre department? Most of the guys are already involved in some way, so it’s not like you won’t know anybody." Jisung suggested, referring to the rest of their group of friends.

“I’m not an actor.” Hyunjin said flatly.

“You look like one though, that goes a long way.” Changbin stated, swiping a cookie from Jisungs plate. “The rest, you can learn.”

“And there’s more than just acting involved.” Jisung adds. “There’s writing and production, wardrobe and set dressing, music-”

“You could paint sets!” Changbin offered, earning a side-long glare from Jisung.

“We just finished the Shakespeare production too, so it’d be a good time to join before we start planning for the spring show,” Jisung added.

“Why do I feel like you rehearsed this?” Hyunjin asked. They glanced between each other guiltily.

He knew what they were doing, they just wanted to get him out of his room, out of his apartment, out of the headspace that he’d been living in these past few months. They’d tried a few similar tactics in the past, and while he appreciated the gesture, he really didn’t see much point to it. He didn’t see much point to anything anymore if he was being honest. Still, he knew they wouldn’t relent until he agreed to something.

“I’ll think about it.” He offered, satisfying them for the moment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now, as he trailed behind his friend, he felt a weak flutter in his chest. Anxiety? Probably, but there was also something else, something faint, more pleasant. Excited? He hadn’t felt excited by much since-

No, no. We’re not thinking about that anymore.

He shook his head, quickly following Jisung through the door of the auditorium. Maybe they were right, maybe a change of scenery would be good…

The auditorium was abuzz at SNU. That winter was to be the planning and prep phase for the spring musical, and every theatre geek on campus was somewhere in that room trying to live out their slice of life anime dreams.

Y/n was in the back of the theatre typing on her laptop, busy working herself away already for what she had planned this quarter. Her theatre friends, Chan, Seungmin, Felix, Han, Jeongin, Changbin, and Minho all tended to arrive late. Leaving her to babysit the freshmen if the art director wasn’t in.

This year as part of his senior project Seungmin was going to direct and produce the Musical with the help of his friends. She was glad to be part of it; just didn’t think being late necessarily set a good example for everyone that was new.

The doors to the side stage opened and sauntering in was her band of misfits. Or at least that's what the group chat was called.

With a…new person in tow. His shoulders risen to his ears and yet his gate was sluggish. Shuffling and looking at the ground. Y/n found herself walking down the aisle to the white fold out table with stuff for the crew putting her bag down.

“So glad you cared to join us- oh great leaders~” She bowed dramatically to Seungmin and Chan. She laughed and rolled her eyes at Seungmin flipping her off.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s just get on with this.” He said, trailing after her down the aisle.

The light peal of laughter drew Hyunjin’s attention, his eyes flicking up from the floor, quickly scanning the group until he found its owner. She was turned partially away from him, but he could still make out part of her features. Round apple cheeks, bright eyes that disappeared into half crescents as she smiled, her whole body moving as she spoke animatedly with Seungmin about something. He didn’t realize he had frozen, staring at her, until she looked up and met his gaze.

“Um, hi?” She offered, looking at him curiously.

“Oh, Y/n, this is our friend, Hyunjin. He just joined the group. Hyunjin, this is Y/n. She’s in charge of keeping us from accidentally setting the building on fire.” Han said, gesturing between the two of them before quickly snagging the chair closest to Minho’s, as per usual.

“Don’t pin that kind of responsibility on me!” She shot back before offering a warm smile to Hyunjin. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you.” He said quietly, finding himself unable to look away from her.

“Alright, should we get started?” She nodded slightly before turning back to the rest of the group.

After rousing games of zip, zap, zop, freeze and change, and traditional ice breakers for the lonely extrovert, Y/n found herself sitting in the audience scrolling her phone while the rest of the crew bickered over what to do in earnest. Her eyes drifted to the new boy.

…Hyunjin?

His face was a lack luster pale like he hadn’t seen the sun in over two weeks. But his eyes were an abyss. No real emotion, seemed to be dragged here by their friends. Which- was how they got her to come in the first place; now it's their 3rd show season all together. His clothes hung on his body like a wire frame in a department store. Out of place, but far more expensive than the financial aid in her bank account could dream of. Catching his eyes, her own fell back to the screen in her hand. Maybe her cheeks were red from the smut she was reading earlier, or just being stared down by a dark prince type.

Y/n had gotten used to living in and around very attractive people. It was the land of the Idol.

There were enough plastic surgeons to go toe to toe with the number of Walmart’s back home. Everyone had someone they wanted to be, to look like, to sound like, to replace.

There just was no one like Hyunjin…He was who boys put up on their wall as inspiration, and girls put on their wall to admire. She dreaded to think what came to mind when she was caught looking.

~~~~~

“Beautiful, ethereal, the human incarnation of a Renaissance Goddess.” Every word or phrase that came to mind didn’t seem to do justice to the woman sitting just a few seats away from Hyunjin. ‘Y/n.’ Her name danced around the inside of his head like a lyric from a forgotten song, foreign and yet somehow familiar. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying several times to redirect his attention towards his friends, who were clearly in the middle of some heated argument, Jisungs voice echoing loudly through the hall in frustration, but each time, he found himself drawn back to her.

He couldn’t understand it, every little thing she did seemed to hypnotize him. The way her fingers danced lightly across the screen of her phone, brow creased in concentration as she read, sending occasional curious glances in his direction, sending a small jolt of electricity through his system every time her eyes locked with his, even for the briefest moment.

His heart thundered in his chest; mouth dry as his mind raced to figure out what he should do. Should he try to strike up another conversation with her? What would he even say? Every time she glanced in his direction, his mind went completely blank. Maybe it would be better for him to keep his distance? He didn’t know how long he sat there like that, observing her from afar, before Chan suddenly spoke up.

“Y/n, I need another adult!”

She jumped slightly at the sudden use of her name, making the glasses she was wearing slip a little further down her nose. Cute. He bit back a grin, watching as his friend approached her.

“Can you please explain to them why Dracula is a severely overdone production right now and how-”

“Actually I really like Dracula,” She interjected, stopping Chan in his tracks. “I think it’d be a great idea for the spring production. “What do you think, Hyunjin?” He froze as she suddenly glanced over at him.

“I-” He stuttered, his stomach doing somersaults at the way his name sounded slipping from her lips. “I think it would be good.” He managed to agree, causing her face to light up in a triumphant grin as she turned back to Chan.

“See? Majority vote wins.”

“What do you mean you wanna do Dracula? It’s cringey-” Chan exclaimed.

“Says the man who at my birthday went on a tirade about how aegyo is cute and it should be embraced…sir you are a master of cringe- embrace ego death it wouldn’t be that bad for you” Y/n laughed. Still, her eyes glanced at Hyunjin, hoping he didn’t mind that she brought him more into the conversation. Her hand reached up and pinched his hyungs cheek. “-plus, vampires are hot- if you don’t think you could pull off being a sexy vampire just say so”

Chan's eyes widened and he gasped in faux horror. Y/n smiled triumphantly looking to Seungmin with a raised brow, silently asking for his thoughts.

“Director!!” Han yelled clinging onto Seungmin's arm trying to force him into receiving his love and affection “Mom said it's okay! Let’s do sexy vampire show!”

“I told you to stop calling me that!” Y/n yelled back pulling Han off.

While they all ended up bickering about the ethics of sexy vampires, Changbin’s eyes found Hyunjins. Staring at Y/n as she manhandled Han to get off their mutual friend. Was…that a blush on his cheeks?

There was a light in his eyes that Changbin hadn’t seen in so long.

It was a welcome change, maybe with some encouragement, Hyunjin could find his way back to himself again. Or- that was the hope at least.

Hyunjin looked up from his middle-distance stare to see Han chasing Y/n around the stage and her dodging his antics.

“!would-” “-yoU” “QUIT-” “IT?!” She shrieked bobbing and weaving from the younger’s attempts to grapple (he would say hug) her. A small smile teased at the corner of his lips as he watched her interact with his friend, admiring the grace and agility she moved with. I wonder if she dances-

“Alright that’s enough, Han!” Chan called, finally managing to capture the hyper younger man in a tight bear hug, allowing rehearsal to get underway at last. Chan eventually catches Han, and play rehearsal could truly start.

Y/n sat in an auditorium seat in the front row, while the rest of the boys spoke to the incoming freshmen for that year. Explaining Dracula, what it entailed and if they were uncomfortable with it to go now, no hard feelings, but best for them to see just who they could work with.

~~~~

It was a rather daunting undertaking, but Y/n planned to be in charge of costumes and wardrobe for the year's productions at SNU, and hopefully for the coming seasons as well.

Not by choice of course, but rather had resigned herself to the fact that the cost of auditioning, the cost of being good, but not good enough, the cost of being ensemble as great as ensemble is, was too much. She had a skill set that was fit for behind the scenes work, might as well embrace it. The boys were getting names, contact information, and the like as Hyunjin decided to test the waters, coming over to sit near Y/n, keeping an empty seat between the two of them so as to avoid potentially making her feel crowded.

“So,” He cleared his throat awkwardly, catching her attention. “How do these things usually go?”

“Well,” She sat up a little straighter. “Once we figure out the main production team, we start working on things like set designing, auditions, wardrobes-” Hyunjin’s attention began to drift as she spoke, her hands capturing his focus with the way they moved and flitted about as she spoke, leaving him transfixed. “What department are you interested in joining?” Her question shook him out of his daze, his eyes snapping back up to meet hers.

“Uh, I don’t know yet.” He said. “What department are you working in?”

“Costumes.” She answered with a small, amused grin.

“I might try that then.” He said quickly.

She laughed, or more chuckled. Almost one could think she just cleared her throat, but the smile on her face would prevent the assumption. It was enough though. Hyunjin had fireworks in his soul blowing off and he didn’t know how to stop it. Not that he would want too of course.

“You should audition though! Everyone should give it a shot; you won’t know what you don’t try.” Y/n said in an attempt at being encouraging to the newcomer.

“Are you then? Going to Audition?”

“Nah- not this year, It’s Seungmins project, I wanna support him best I can and that is with costumes.” She smiled and leaned back in her chair.

Looking at Hyunjin Y/n couldn’t help but notice the bags under the boys eyes, the flat expression wore thin and the smile he dawned was tired. Her heart ached, but not in pity, it was in recognition. She knew what it was like for the lights to go out behind ones eyes…thats what happened when she moved to South Korea.

The main 7 that adopted her brought her back to life and now there was Hyunjin. In a similar position to where she was, and maybe with some musical theatre shenanigans he would find his way back to wherever he fell off.

“Y/N do you think you could get the phantom costumes from freshman year?!” Seungmin raised his voice above the chatter. Her head whipped to the sound of her name and rolled her eyes. “What do you think?!” She shouted back only to bow her head at Hyunjin briefly to go join his friends little circle that had been made. Leaving him, to watch her walk away.

Hyunjin watched her join their other friends with a faint pull in his chest as she went. “Y/n”, everything about her seem to draw him in, though he couldn’t quite place the reason why. Was it the bright flash in her eyes as she spoke? The warmth that colored her cheeks as she laughed? Her very being seemed to exude a warm, calming quality that he hadn’t experienced in another person before. He shook his head, looking away from the others as he tried to collect himself.

Was he seriously this infatuated with her after only a half hour?

It wasn’t impossible, he knew he tended to be rather intense when it came to these types of things, he’d been told that more than once in the past, but something about her seemed to strike a different chord within him.

thank you @lonelystczennie for being my writing partner.

Tag List: Open

@kaciidubs @itsseohannbin @ldysmfrst @frenchkisstheabyss @daydreams-after-dark

#Hyunjin x reader #yandere!Hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #stray kids #college AU #slow burn #Dracula #phantom of the opera #Hyunjin x plus size reader #Hwang hyunjin x reader #plus size reader #fat reader #chubby reader

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alpydk · 6 months ago

Text

To @auroraesmeraldarose - I said I would write something romantic for you so here it is. With only a sprinkling of angst (because I just can't help it) - I present to you:

The List.

Romance/Angst/Mostly comfort (I hope) - 1397 words Gale x Tav (They/Them no description) - SFW

Gale had watched for some time how Tav had scribbled on the notepad before gazing into the campfire as if searching for the answers buried in the ashes. Their head would lift only to fall again, a word being written, then erased. It reminded him of his own days with a mostly drunk glass of red wine and a quill in hand, trying to come up with the next line of poetry that cause the lover to fall to their knees for him.

He slowly approached, his heart increasing its pace with the apprehension of what was to come. He enjoyed Tav’s company, always feeling he was learning something new. Being seen for who I am. Tav was a good person, one that had helped, listened to everyone, cared more than anyone he had ever met before, and despite the more pronounced ache he felt whenever he was near them, he fought through it for the quiet moments alone with them. He remembered the night channelling the weave, the way their hands had brushed up against one another, the way he had felt their longing, and the image of a tender kiss placed on his lips. Is this love? No, not for me. It can’t be.

He swallowed nervously before he spoke. “My friend, may I ask what it is you are writing?”

Tav jumped a little, surprised by Gale’s sudden words, and placed the paper face down onto their lap. “This? Nothing… nothing at all.”

Gale nodded his head and took a small step back, trying not to acknowledge the feeling of rejection that was surfacing beneath his pleasant expression. “Ah, my apologies then. I will leave you to your thoughts.” He turned to go back to his tent as he heard the hesitant voice behind him.

“No…” Tav pushed their hair back and relaxed their shoulders. “Join me, please.”

Gale tried to hide his enthusiasm at this simple gesture. He was aware his year alone had made him too eager for basic conversation and he’d now got into a habit of remaining distant with people. Part of him was aware his social skills had diminished, and another part didn’t want him to form connections based on his own dwindling condition. He placed himself next to Tav, keeping a respectable distance and ignoring the dull thrum of the orb excited at the prospects.

Tav lowered their head, a soft smile masked by the focus of turning over the pages and looking at the cluttered mess on the paper. “I don’t think you would want to help me so much if you knew what it was I was writing.”

Gale placed a comforting hand on Tav’s arm, feeling the delicate cotton of the shirt under his palm. Warmth rose in his cheeks, and he silently cursed his body for betraying him. A glade of calm and tranquillity. “Well, let me be the one to decide upon that. As you know, I’m quite the connoisseur of the literary arts. Even Volo’s poetry has not turned me away from reading or writing.”

Tav chuckled at his response. “You know how tomorrow we are going to the Goblin Camp? There’s a real chance we might not…” They danced around the words, trying not to appear insensitive but ultimately giving up. “We might die.”

“Hm.” Gale understood perfectly why Tav was struggling and why they hadn’t initially wanted to discuss this with him. Talking about potential death with someone destined to die was not the easiest of conversations to have. How could they even relate to his situation? “So, you are writing your last wishes, I assume?”

Tav wordlessly handed over the paper and Gale held it towards the firelight, trying to make out the scrawl in front of him. The handwriting was unique to say the least, but the out of context words made it all even more peculiar. Stars…. Hollyphant…. Falling… “Tav, I may be able to decipher some of the most ancient of texts, but I must say, this has me baffled.”

Their voice was quiet as they replied, embarrassed by the list that lay between them. “It’s a bucket list.”

“But my dear, I have little doubt that you will survive the days to come. Why create something like this?” A small part of him felt heartbroken to even think of Tav’s death as imminent and yet a part of him was curious. What dreams lay in his friend’s mind? Could any of them ever hold a small place for me?

“I wish I had your optimism. No, I’m making it because all this-“ They gestured to their head, the tadpole writhing within. “-It just reminds me that life isn’t as long as it was before. That each day moments go by that I should have seized. From the big things, like travelling and love…” They looked over at him with a softness in their eyes that made him wish he could just kiss them there and then. “…To the little things, like watching the stars at night, or giving a gift to a friend.”

Gale looked curiously at the list, trying to make out more of the words. Falling in… “You’ve done none of these things before?”

Tav shook their head. “Time just seems to escape me. We have so few stars in the city and if I’m honest, I’ve never had many friends.”

“Hm, that I can unfortunately relate to. Might I offer a suggestion, though?” He moved closer to them, his heart thumping, his mind rushing through various scenarios over various outcomes. Kiss them. It’s too soon. Wind your fingers in between theirs. Hold them and never let go. Love them. Falling in love…

“And what might that be? Compare notes? I can assure you; my list will be longer and more pathetic.”

He placed his hand over theirs, trying to act casual and not bring attention to the vulnerable state he was putting his body in at this moment; the orb screaming into his system at the proximity of another person after so long. “No, my dear, let me have the list. Think of it as a gift, a puzzle that I can work on during the long nights. And from there, maybe I can assist you with the rest of your wishes.”

Tav smiled, scratching off a line from the paper. “I guess that makes it one wish fulfilled, then.”

Gazing at each other, they both seemed to become lost in one another’s eyes, an unknown energy pulling them together that neither wanted to fight against. Tav brought their hand to Gale’s face, both coming together wishing to make the previously imagined kiss a reality. He could feel the heat of Tav’s breath upon his lips, smell the earth and pine from their clothes, and in that moment, he wanted them. He wanted nothing more than to feel those lips upon his and lose himself in them.

It started with a pinching in his hand but slowly grew; the orb letting both be aware of its presence and Gale was forced to pull himself back, attempting to make his body relax from the tension. He looked at Tav, his deep brown eyes apologetic, a feeling as if he had been misleading them. I’m sorry for what I am.

Tav brought their hand away as Gale had flinched backwards in clear pain. “Are you okay?”

“Do not concern yourself with me. It’s just with my condition…” He sighed deeply, wishing it didn’t have to be this way.

“I understand.”

Tav pulled themselves close to him, so they were sitting shoulder to shoulder, still touching, but no longer as intimately. He gazed at them as they looked up towards the sky, and he traced the line of their neck up to their jaw, imagining gentle kisses being placed and their hair draped over his face as he nuzzled into them.

“I suppose this is another I can cross off already.”

Gale drew his attention from his friend, instead following their line-of-sight upwards. The sky was clear of clouds, allowing the stars to shine down on them brightly and they sat for some time in silence, enjoying the quiet moment together.

Eventually, sleep beckoned and Tav retired to their tent, leaving Gale alone under the night sky with his thoughts. I could create stars like this for you… I would become a star for you.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 gale #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #galemance #im sorry if there is angst #i tried #really i did

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chibsandchill · 3 months ago

Text

Stolen moments under silk sheets (SFW version)

Fandom: HOTD (House of the dragon)

Pairing: Aemond x AFAB!reader

Summary: Aemond is touch starved. That’s it. That’s the whole story. Kind of.

Masterlist

My requests are open!

NSFW version here!

Warnings: Including but not exclusively slivers of angst sprinkled here and there, fluff, obsessive behavior, obsessive thoughts, descriptions of metaphorical self-harm, very brief mentions of the dance and the events that happened (some canon divergence), Aemond is his own warning, canon typical themes, the beginning is a bit slow, grammatical and spelling errors (English is not my first language)

I am not responsible for your media consumption

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

“And you say you do not care for gardening, my love.”

Aemond hums. “Your passions are my passions.”

“Clever.” You chuckle into the crook of his neck. Aemond shivers as your warm breath hits the sensitive skin there.

“Did I wake you?”

You shake your head.

“Liar.”

“I was already awake. I like to…”

“Hm? There is no judgment here.”

“I watch you,” you confess, “when you sleep. You look so… so peaceful. The war has yet to poison that.”

The corners of your lips fall, barely, but there is nothing about you he does not notice. There is nothing you can hide from his greedy eyes.

“Twas a compliment, husband.”

“Perhaps a visit to the Maester is needed-”

“Yours is a beauty that the gods go to war for.”

“Perhaps once.” Aemond looks away.

“Scars are stories of hardships overcome. They are marks of victory, do not think they make you less. They never will. Not to me.”

A kiss straight on his lips. Aemond melts into it, pressing himself into you. You pull away too soon and he finds himself chasing after you, desperate for one more touch.

“The gods give the toughest battles to their strongest soldiers.” You thumb the skin under his eye, “and you have won them all. Take pride in that. Gods know I do.”

“You do?” He asks.

You smile. “Of course. And I think all the beauty in the world fades compared to yours. Scars and all.”

“You flatter me, my love.” He says before his eyes wander back to your roses. “Yours is the only opinion worth hearing. The only one that matters.”

You hum. “Come back to bed, Aemond.”

“As my Queen commands.”

He could never, would never forgive Luke for what he stole from you. It is a hatred so woven into his very being that he would carry that with him even in all Seven Hells.

“Come,” you beckon, kneeling on the bed. “If my words alone are not enough, I will prove it to you.”

“Prove what?”

His voice is low, filled with desires transcending earthly flesh. His is one of hunger for your very soul.

“Come here and I will show you.” Your smile is coy, playful even. There are half-wilted petals from your roses on the bed behind you. They form no pattern, haphazardly thrown across the sheets.

He wonders when you put them there.

He was a dragon playing at being a lover.

If it meant losing you, he would be a dragon no longer.

He could simply be him.

Aemond.

But Aemond knew not who he was anymore. He knew who he was forced to become, and who war made him. But war was no longer, and yet the man rising from the ashes of his kin’s pyres remained.

“Aemond?”

“Yes?”

“Where do you go when you get so lost in your head?”

“Oh, my love,” you whisper. “Let me take care of you.”

You reach towards him, pressing your hands flat against his pecs. His heart beats like a drum against your touch, as if calling out for you. Your fingers massage, they scratch, they soothe and they burn his feverish skin. You palm at his chest, touching every divot and lean muscle on his chest. It is overwhelming. He almost feels like crying. Your touch sets him alight and Aemond thinks he sees stars. You are so very soft. He can feel your love through every pass of your fingers over his skin. Though half-lidded, jaw slack and chest heavy, he stares at you. Pleasure of the flesh is second to the connection he finds in your eyes. The reverence of a septon to the gods are nothing compared to that which he whispers your name. You are a goddess to him.

You press against the lean muscle, caress the slopes and divots of his flesh. Though you have long since memorized each other’s bodies, you touch him as if it is your first. His mind is dizzy with you, he feels as if he’s falling and drowning at the same time. The pleasure fills his throat, his lungs, and yet it also sweeps him off his feet, knocks the breath out of his chest. He wants more. He wants you to press harder, to mark him. You could press through his skin, through his muscles and ribs, and grasp his very heart, and you would still be so far away he wanted to weep.

“Yours is the beauty gods would die for.”

His eyes rove over you. Not an inch of you is not perfect, not an inch he did not love. All of you on display for him; an offering for a vengeful man. You are not unmarred by the war, and there is not a scar he does not kiss. He feels your pain as if it was his, and each wound on your body is his failure.

“We match,” you told him once.

Aemond runs his hands along your form with the same careful love as you did him. His hands caress the skin on your ribs, before laying flat over your heart. It pounds against your skin, calling out to him. His beats in turn.

It trickles down the abyss of his desire, and in turn it grows. The hunger deepens, hollows out his chest.

Aemond falls down next to you, pulling you into his arms. Your head rests in the crook of his neck.

“I love you,” you whisper into his ear.

“Not as much as I love you,” he says in return.

You laugh. “‘Tis not a competition, husband.”

“No.” He agrees, with an easy smile. It is the truth.

His beauty may be what gods fought for,

but Aemond?

Aemond would fight all the Gods, both old and new,

for just one more stolen moment under silk sheets.

#house of the dragon #hotd imagine #house of the dragon imagines #hotd #aemond imagine #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd aemond #aemond x you #hotd x reader

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mysticalsoot · 1 year ago

Text

you changed, it's good

A/N; soooo ive kinda been in a writing slump so take this fic thats been building dust in my docs- also tysm for 300!! hopefully ill come up w smth for it lol- I have no clue how to process that information omf

summary; months after wilbur's revival and his reunion with you and the daughter you share (that he didn't know about), you let out pent emotions and have a heartfelt talk with wilbur

tw// swearing, not lore accurate, im a wilbur apologist shush, children, suicidal mentions maybe? lmk if i missed anything

words; 1.8k

pairings; c!wilbur x gn!reader (they're parents), revivedbur x gn!reader

pronouns; none!

masterlist

—★—

The time since Wilbur’s death and revival may not have been that long, but for you, it felt like ages--you had a child now, his, yes but you’ve begun another life. A life with a little girl, a life without him. But now, he was here and he was trying. You appreciated it but god did you fear it too. The memories taunted you, the hurt and the aching that still lingered, haunted you. He haunted you.

Your head is rested upon Wilbur's chest, and the thumping of his heart echoes in your mind. His left arm wraps around your shoulder and your own arms around his middle. Your daughter, Willow lays against his other side, curled into a ball, and his other arm held tightly around her in comforting warmth. This moment is what you imagined life to be all those years, before everything…happened.

You seemed to always subconsciously wish for moments like these, at least, in the past few years. One’s where Willa has a parent other than yourself, someone else to hold her, and someone to hold you too. Domestic bliss, calm and serene. No wars or bombs, no screaming, and yelling. Simply the sound of your partner's heart and the sight of him holding your child. It's a reassurance of sorts, a silent "everything will be okay, even if it wasn't before".

Things used to be so not okay that having this calmness is nice. Having his arms around you again is lovely, being able to kiss him and hold him, to watch him help raise your daughter, to play with her and hold her. Tickle her and carry her on his shoulders, hold her hand with his, and walk with her on the prime path. To teach her how to ride a horse, after bringing one home for her, and helping her name him.

"Wilbur?" You whisper to him, moving your head back, your gaze locked upwards on him. He looks down at you, a soft smile written on his features, and he tilts his head to the side.

"Yes, my love?" he leans down, leaving a soft kiss to your lips and you smile through it, the warmth in your stomach swelling the same way it did when you both were younger. You take a moment to admire him, the way his curls fall in his face, how his glasses are always crooked and now are no different, and how the small freckles he adorns sprinkle his cheeks. Everything about him is beautiful, and so it brings you back to what you wanted to say. What you need to say, what is right to say.

"What happened? After lmanburg? You were so…" Your mind goes blank for a word to properly describe it, without hurting him. Cruel, evil, manipulative, the list goes on. It's odd to you, how someone could become so horrible and then return to a better version of their old self in a matter of years. "Horrible, then. To everyone, to yourself."

His face falls, and so does your heart, falling to the deep pits of your stomach. You can feel the life drain from your face and it hurts. You feel an immense dread, and wonder if you hadn’t mentioned it, how you would feel. It's a difficult subject for him but at this point, you think it had to be brought up. How can one accept this happy domestic life without knowing the full truth?

"I got lost, I think. Lost in the greed I suppose." He pauses, dips his head down to press his forehead against yours. His eyes close and he takes a breath, his arm letting go of Willa and placing his hand on your cheek, fingers gently brushing the skin and his eyes hold a warm sadness to them, "I wanted the joy still, the happiness for our future. But it got pushed back. I was blinded. There's a lot I don't remember. I mean I remember pieces here and there. Bribes from dream, desperate attempts to make things work for everyone and everything."

"And then what? You realized hurting us was better?" You’re hostile now, something switching or rather, breaking in your heart. You know you shouldn't react this way, get defensive--but a piece of you is still painfully angry and hateful, filled to the brim with spite and it’s accidentally let through the cracks. You back up a moment, his touch leaving you, hand falling to his side, head still dipped down.

"I realized I couldn't make it perfect for everyone, there were sacrifices I had to make." He takes another deep breath, wraps his arms around Willow again, she doesn't move. "And I made the wrong ones, I know that. I see that." Wil looks down at the lump that his daughter forms, a little ball of a girl. She moves to grab onto his arm in her sleep and she hums, a soft smile adorns his lips.

You feel you should be satisfied with his answers, and half of you is, but you still wonder; "Why? Why did you do it?"

His gaze lets its grip off of Willow, walks up and he looks to you, pupils big and somber, bloodshot and wet. "To not hurt anyone anymore. It was for the best."

You want to scream at him now, tell him how much of an idiot he is. Screams that are bloodcurdling, one’s that most definitely would wake up Willa and anyone surrounding the area. That no, killing yourself in fact does not stop the hurt, it only fuels it, like a spark to dead grass. He made Phil kill him, he made you watch as he destroyed his livelihood, your shared livelihood, watch as he's stabbed to death by his own goddamn father. It was never ending with him, it was always something new, something bigger, more painful than before. You want to storm away, back off, and not let him near you for a split second, it's all an overreaction, you tell yourself but you simply can't help it.

You stare at him for a moment, your expression blank and emotionless. Willow turns onto her back, eyes open slightly and her arms reach up to Wil. "Hey, daddy." She mumbles out, a smile of her own sculpted onto her features. Wil smiles back.

"Hello, my love. Are you ready for bed?" He asks, lifting her up by her sides and gently sitting her on his lap. She nods sluggishly, and she rests herself against him, chest to chest, head on shoulder, and tiny arms wrapped around his neck. "Let's get you into bed then, sweetie."

You just watch, your eyes follow him as he walks out of the living room, into the kitchen, and down the stairs. You sit there, alone now. Thoughts cycle through your mind. All the things you had wished for, every thought that graced your consciousness, every question unanswered for years. You missed him, you really truly did. But you aren’t sure who you missed more, and is the one you missed, the one you lie with at night? The one that wraps his arms around you in the morning, leaves a sloppy kiss on your cheek, and brushes the hair out of your face. The man that waits there, holding you, until Willow comes rushing in the room to ‘wake’ you both up. The same man that shushes you lovingly and says "Pretend you're asleep, love," the moment he hears her bedroom door open, so she can have the satisfaction of waking you both.

You now rest your head on the back of the couch, your gaze focused on the window on the opposite side of the room. Snow gently falls past it, frost taken over the glass. The fire crackles and warms you like a hug.

What feels like moments later, even warmer arms wrap around you, pulling you closer to the body they're attached to. "Wil?" You call out, your voice coming out gravelly, and you realize you must've fallen asleep.

"Hey.." It comes out weak, the word feels broken and sounds broken. "I'm sorry, for all the shitty things I've done. I know my reasoning isn't nor has it ever been valid. But I'm here now and I'm not going anywhere, and I don't have any plans of mass terrorism." His voice becomes clearer, breaks up less and he dips his head down again, pressing his cheek against yours. You nearly open your eyes, but keep them closed, and revel in the feeling of him more.

"I know." You pause, and let your own arms wrap around him, but instead of his middle like he has you held--you wrap your arms around his neck, your hands weaving into his mop of curls. "I think part of me still hurts, it's stupid I guess." You rest your head on his shoulder, and he pulls you closer, your legs now wrapped around him too.

"It's not, I hurt you. I take accountability for that and I hate that I even did it in the first place." His voice cracks again, and you know he means it. You pull back, your hands pressed against his cheeks and he looks up at you.

You hesitate, mulling over the words falling off his lips, his expression knotted in anxiety. Your thumbs run over his pink-tinted cheeks and you kiss his forehead.

"If you were that same person, you wouldn't say that." You take a breath, "I think you've changed. In a good way."

He sighs, wrapping his arms tighter around you. "I hope I have."

“I know you have,” You pause, grasping his face in your hands and getting him to pull back simply so he can gaze at you.

“How?” His voice is merely a croaked-out mumble but it’s enough that you hear it loud and clear.

“Would you be here, in my arms, after putting our daughter to bed if you hadn't changed?" You paused, eyes gazing deeply into his and searching for any doubt to crush with your words, "Would you even search for us if you were that same man? For good, not to hurt us."

He shakes his head, "I changed, didn't I?"

"In the best way possible." A soft kiss placed on his lips, one of love and devotion. A simple peck speaking every word and emotion you've ever felt--but only the good.

He smiles against the kiss, grasping at your sides and pulling you closer and closer to him. You were already so close, practically one, but he felt the need to pull you so much closer that not only were your bodies one, but so were your souls.

He pulls away from the kiss, hands resting on your face, "I love you," he nuzzles his nose against yours and you giggle, twisting your fingers into the curls on the back of his head, "so much." The last bit is whispered, like a quiet promise. A promise of devotion and loyalty. Something you're glad to finally have.

There's nothing in the way of him being with you. With your daughter.

"I love you more," You smile to him softly, a kiss placed on his forehead, and you push stray curls out of his face as he nuzzles his head against your chest.

taglist; @ella-fella-bo-bella @lillylvjy @sleepyburs @lotusanonymouse @lcvejoy

#wilbur soot #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur x reader #c!wibur #c!wilbur x reader #c!wilbur #c!wilbur soot #c!wilbur soot x gn!reader #wilbur soot x gn!reader #wilbur soot x y/n #dsmp x reader #dsmp wilbur #dsmp wilbur soot

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matenrou-fan · 2 years ago

Note

May I request Diavolo and Lucifer in a poly relationship with a female baker reader?

Diavolo x fem! baker! s/o x Lucifer

femreader, fluff, just wholesome stuff;;

-Ooh, poor Barbatos.. He has a competition now right here..

-Well, but can I really call it 'competition' if we all already know the winner? Of course it would be you. Because both your boyfriends are waiting for your baking more than for holidays.

-"Mm.. This pie that you made today, s/o.. It's absolutely fantastic!" - Diavolo laughs, with his casual loud tone. - "I haven't eaten something so sweet for centuries! And the dough is so soft it's like it's melting in my mouth.."

"Oh, Dia, stop it.." - You can't help but chuckle too, as it's really hard to stay calm and serious when the young Lord is smiling like that. - "You literally had a little tea party with Lucifer yesterday, aren't you? I'm sure Barbatos treated you two with no less yummy things.."

"Great considerable skill, even if it was developed and gone deeper through a hundred years, will never withstand a pure savour of real love.." - low chuckle escapes Lucifer's lips as he looks at you. - "It more feels not like the softness of the dough, but more like the softness of your caring heart, s/o.."

"What a great way to compliment, Lucifer!" - Diavolo gets surprised along with you, then titters shyly. - "Ahh, now I want to amuse s/o with my grateful words too.. Or maybe a kiss would be better to show my appreciation..?"

-It doesn't matter if baking is your job or just a hobby, your boyfriends would spoil you with presents to help you improve your skill and learn something new.

-And they both will choose everything themselves. For example, Lucifer can just ask (order?) Satan checks the library or bookstore for new recipe books for you, because his little brother knows these places inside out. Yet he prefers to go all alone, slowly exploring store shelves, flipping through different books. He will try to find something with only new interesting recipes, or with the things you say you wanted to bake..

-And Diavolo can just rely on his loyal servant's taste, as Barbatos is really good at finding high-quality spices and seasonings for his own cooking.. But your lover would go with his underling, to choose something himself, that he thinks would please your soul. Hm, aren't you talking about these expensive sprinkles a few days ago?

-Uh.. But there's so many magic items in Devildom, who knows what ended up in your arms this time?

-"Hm.. These strudels you made this time, darling. They're so much sugar.." - Diavolo mumbled, quickly draining his cup of tea. - "Even for me.. It's so sweet.."

"Was something in your mind when you baked it, s/o..?" - Lucifer also seems so unpleasant after a few bites, cause he had less sweet tooth than your other lover.

"I'm sorry.. Apparently, the baking soda I added this time had some magic effect.." - with blush on your cheeks, your gaze was fixed on a small package, too ashamed to look at your beloved demons.

"Mm? There's a small footnote.. If someone will use it for cooking for their lover, the level of sugar in the final product will increase depending on the strength of their love.." - Lucifer gets behind you and leans closer, reading over your shoulder.

For a moment you all froze.. How can you not notice this small note?! Yet then a prideful demon smirked, watching as your face got even more red:

"Oh.. how sweet of you, s/o.."

"I.. I have no choice but to savor every last bit of your love in that case, s/o.." - Diavolo nods as his cheeks also get redder, and he places another piece of strudel in his mouth with a more pleasant face.

"I also suddenly have an appetite for more.."

-I also totally can see Diavolo willing to learn something himself to understand what you're talking about, just because he gets kinda jealous when see you chatting with Barb about some new topping you find.

-"Oh! Yes, I do understand..!" - sparkles of joy flash in his pale yellow eyes, making it shine almost like gold. - "You're talking about bicarbonate of soda, aren't you..?"

"Hehe, no, dear.. It's cream of tartar, actually" - a small smirk appears on your lips. You were showing them both the new ingredients you bought for your next dessert, and it looks like Diavolo gets really interested. - "Well, but your guess was kinda close.."

"Since when did you start to understand something in baking? Or at least try to understand, Diavolo?" - your other lover smirks too, looking at different bags in your arms.

"W-well.. I just thought if I would know more I would be able to support s/o more in her interest.." - a small blush appears on Diavolo's cheeks as he looks away, shooting his eyes with furrowed brows in embarrassment.

"Oh! Then maybe we should ask our little darling to teach us?" - Lucifer's amused gaze meets yours. - "What do you think about it, chef?"

-Kitchen in House of Lamentation survived enough things already, so it turns for Demon Lord's Castle's Kitchen now. Cause it's gonna be an interesting experience..

-Lucifer would try to do everything accurately and carefully. He's an avatar of Pride, after all, he wants to surprise you with his cooking skill and receive some praise and compliments from you. When Diavolo would be more goofy, using this quality time not only to learn something but just to fool around with you.

-And everything ended up with Lucifer also playing along with your antics, forgetting about his role as strict partner, and actually enjoying some silly time. Yes, he will also love corny things like smearing each other's noses in cream or getting the whole kitchen in flour..

-"Huh.. I always scold my brother for this mess they always make in our place when it's their time to make dishes.. But it turns out I'm no better than them.." - Lucifer mumbled with furrowed brows and crossed arms after you three calmed down, and was just standing, catching your breath, all in dough, cream and glaze.

"Hahaha! But it was absolutely delightful, wasn't it?" - the loud laugh of Diavolo thundered through the whole kitchen, as he was even more excited and playful than usual now. - "I'm sure it would be the most delicious thing we all ever taste..!"

"Well, we will know after half an hour.." - you giggle, looking at the working oven. - "I think this time would be enough for us to clean at least part of this mess.."

"You're right.. Just please, never tell my brothers about this thing.." - Lucifer's voice gets quieter as he looks at you with a soft gaze. - "I don't want them to know about this side of me.. It's our little secret, okay?"

"Then maybe we should keep the whole situation confidential?" - Diavolo chuckles, his fingers on his lips. - "Despite the fact that I do want to brag a little about our ultimate cake, I also wish that this tea party would be enjoyed by just the three of us.."

#obey me lucifer x mc #obey me luci x reader #lucifer obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me #lucifer obey me x reader #obey me x reader #obey me imagines #lucifer x reader #lucifer #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer x you #diavolo x reader #diavolo x mc #lord diavolo #obey me diavolo #diavolo obey me #Diavolo obey me x reader

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th0rns-n-r0ses · 5 months ago

Note

Okayyyy I see that nobody is talking a whole lot about slash’s happy trail so could you do a fic about late 80s slash x reader

When slash is meeting the reader for the first time and they’re a bit shy and introverted but they can’t help but take glances at slash’s happy trail and what not. Slash takes notice and finds it amusing - also bit interesting since he didn’t think that they’d be interested in him. with smut please :D

I love your work :D

feel your love tonight ~

slash (saul hudson) ~ 2556 words ~ female reader ~ smut ~

~~~~~

After attending a Guns N’ Roses concert tonight, your friends decide to hit the bar after the show. After all, who wouldn’t love an ice cold beer after a 3 hour long show? It’s the perfect way to cool down and end the night. All is going well, you and your friends are flirting around with some guys at the bar, picking them up for the night.

But that’s when you spot him.

His dark, curly hair and an open shirt paired with blue jeans, soaking in the cool moonlight of the evening. Instantly, you recognize him. Slash, the talented guitarist who’s always caught your eye.

With the way his head is tilted back, you can see the features of his face. His soft lips entice you, a cigarette poking from between them. The embers flare as he inhales, and your eyes involuntarily drift down his body. Sweat clings to his chest as he attempts to cool off, the open shirt exposing his upper body. Your eyes drift lower, and lower, and lower, and your breath seems to stop as you spot a line of hair that starts at the middle of his stomach, reaching down into his pants. You swallow hard, unable to tear your eyes away. And your friends have definitely noticed.

“Hey.” One of your friends whispers to you, shaking your shoulder a bit. “Go talk to him, I dare you.”

You look back at her with wide eyes, then glance at the rest of the table. They’re all smiling and laughing a little, as if they believe you won’t do it. So you give them a determined look, pride swelling in your heart.

“Yeah, alright. I’ll do it.”

You puff your chest out confidently, then glance over at Slash. He’s still sitting alone, gazing at what stars sprinkle the sky, the embers brightening on the cigarette as he inhales through his mouth, then exhales from his nose.

You push your chair back, the metal scraping against the raw concrete of the patio. He glances over for a moment, the sound seemingly catching his attention. You quickly snap your head away, looking at your friends, hoping he didn’t see you looking. But when you glance at him after a few moments, he doesn’t seem to be looking anymore.

So you stand up, looking over at him again. You take in a deep breath, then walk over to him. As soon as he looks over at you, your confident buildup crumbles instantly while you stand before him. Slash sits up and rests his elbows on his thighs, taking the cigarette from his lips.

“What may I do for you, honey?” He asks, his tone gentle as he brushes his curls back and away from his face. All words vanish from your mind, unsure on what to say.

Slash laughs softly, but not at your expense. He understands your anxiety, as it’s not everyday someone gets the opportunity to talk to him. After all, there are so many people in this world and few who get so close to him.

You simply stare down at him, then dip your head as you lean in a little closer.

“Could- Could you sign my shirt?” Your voice shakes slightly as you speak, still starstruck and bewildered in his presence. Slash simply smiles at you and pulls a permanent marker from his pocket, leaning over and signing your shirt.

“I learned to keep a pen on me at all times.” His voice is cool and smooth, like the moonlight that shines down on his skin. “Never know when someone’s gonna ask for a signature. And usually, people don’t carry pens.”

You simply nod in response, not quite paying attention to his words as your eyes drift back to his happy trail. It makes your heart flutter and your stomach jump, something about it catching your attention.

Once done signing his name on the chest of your shirt, he pulls back and sits back. His eyes examine your face, eventually following your eyes to the hair on his stomach. He simply ignores the look, but his eyes dart to your friends, who seem to stare. Slash stands up and stamps out the cigarette, looking up from it at you.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He offers, his tone still soft and kind. You nod in response, following him inside and to the bar. The bartender walks over and Slash orders a beer for him and one for you. You simply glance between the two as the conversation goes on.

“You’re quite cute, y’know that? Although, you don’t talk much.” Slash comments, brushing his hair back again. He gives you a soft smile that matches his tone.

“Oh, thanks! And I’m sorry, I’m just-” Your words trailing off, searching for the right definition.

“No need to apologize.” Slash chuckles, resting his forearm on the bar and leaning on it. “Speaking of, what’s your name? Pretty girl like you’s gotta have a pretty name.” Whether or not he’s really interested or just trying to get laid tonight, his comment gets to you as your face heats up. Your confidence builds up once more, but this time out of comfort rather than pride.

“My name’s Y/N.” You say, your eyes exploring his soft brown ones.

“Y/N,” Slash echoes, looking back into your eyes. His soft, somewhat-forced smile is overtaken with a genuine one. “That’s a very pretty name.”

“Thank you, Slash.” You gently rest your hand on top of his, his warm skin against yours making your heart swell. He glances down at your hands, his smile growing softer. After looking at your hands together for a bit, he shifts his hand to hold yours, both of your fingers winding together in a comforting hold.

Slash nervously clears his throat, his gaze drifting back up to yours. His soft brown eyes have a hint of nervousness in them, and he seems a little shy about his next question.

“Hey, I was wondering.. Would you like to go on a drive with me?”

~~~

The next thing you know, you’re sitting in the shotgun seat of his convertible with him in the driver’s seat, turning the key as the engine rumbles on. Upon looking up, you notice the full moon hanging over the warm night sky.

His car drives along the open road, winding through the trees as the leaves cut up the moonlight. Slash moves a hand off the wheel, wrapping it around your shoulder. You look over at him with a smile, and he glances at you, his expression matching yours.

As he looks back at the road, your eyes drift back down to the trail of hair on his body. But this time, something’s different. The waist on his pants is loose, letting you look down a tad bit more. You look away quickly, your face flooding with heat. Slash rubs your shoulder, and it’s safe to assume that he took notice.

“You seem to like that thing a lot, huh?” He laughs quietly, his thumb rubbing your shoulder as his fingers slide under the fabric of your shirt. His touch causes your breath to pick up, his warm skin contrasting yours. And you can’t help but feel turned on…

Subconsciously, you scoot closer to him, leaning your head on his shoulder as his hand snakes down your arm, rubbing your skin. He turns the car into an open field, driving through the soft grass as he continues to rub your arm.

Slash parks the car, pulling you closer to him as he pulls the key away from the car and stuffs it into his pocket. His free hand rests upon your face, cupping your cheek as he looks into your eyes. His gaze drags you in as you lean in closer to him, your hand slipping to the back of his neck. Now in close proximity to you, his lips brush against yours, almost as if asking for permission to kiss you.

Your lips lock with his, and his hand slips from your sleeve to the small of your back, holding you to him. Slash’s hand moves from your cheek to the back of your head, keeping you close to him. The feeling of his soft, warm lips makes your heart jump inside of your chest, your body craving more of his touch. His tongue slips out from between his lips, touching yours. Your tongue greets his in return, the heat building as you feel your body grow hotter and hotter.

Slash pulls you into the backseat of his car, laying you down on the seat as his lips reconnect with yours, the fire pulsing in his blood as you feel his clothed cock rub up against your thigh. A groan escapes your lips as his hands travel across your body, feeling you everywhere he can reach. Your hands grab at his shoulders, pulling him down on top of you as your tongues dance together in your mouths, the intensity of the moment building between you.

Slash’s hands glide up your torso, feeling your shape and curves through the fabric of your shirt. He slides his hands back down, his fingers running under the bottom of your shirt and feeling your bare skin under his touch. Your breath catches in your throat as he pulls away from your kiss, pulling your shirt off of you as your body becomes exposed to him. His hands brush across your skin, almost as if he’s worshiping your presence before him.

“You’re so damn beautiful, Y/N.” Slash murmurs into your ear, his voice sending chills shooting down your spine. His lips kiss along your jaw, the touch making you squirm beneath him slightly. Your hands move under his open shirt, pulling off everything that restricts his upper body from yours.

“Oh my God,” You gasp, unable to tear his eyes from his body. His strong build is like heaven, and his lips are like a cherry on top to his entire being.

Slash reaches his hands around your body, unclipping your bra and pulling it away from your body. You lean your head back and groan as your nipples harden from the chill of the night air. Slash’s teeth nip down your neck before reaching your collar, where he stops and sucks on the skin. You let out a moan of desire and pleasure, wanting him more and more with each passing second.

As he releases his lips from the spot on your neck, you can feel his hot breath heat up your skin as his eyes scan your body up and down, taking you in as desire flashes through his eyes. His soft, slightly-wet lips are parted, his tongue slipping out as he licks his lips.

“God, I need you so badly.” He groans as his hand pushes back his hair, showing his face from behind his locks. Slash dips his head back down again, biting and sucking on your breasts, leaving small red splotches as he ambushes your skin with his mouth. You toss your head back, groaning as his lips inch their way closer and closer to the sensitive skin of one of your nipples. As he licks one of them, you feel your back arch as your head leans back, letting out a groan from deep in your throat.

“You make such pretty noises..” He mutters, securing his lips around your nipple and swirling his tongue around it. You moan again, desire and heat coursing through your veins as you claw desperately at the waist to his jeans. Using your ankles, you drag down his slightly-loose pants, pulling them to his knees as he pushes down, his cock pressing against the crotch of your pants. His hands glide down your body as his mouth pulls away from your breast, and he tugs down your shorts to access your body. Slash’s eyes glance up at yours before he pulls down the last of the clothing remaining on your body.

His lips connect to your jaw again, kissing and nipping at your skin. From this, you can tell he wants you to take off his boxers. So you slip your hands under the elastic, tugging it off of him as his cock brushes against your stomach. Your fingers grip his shoulders tightly, preparing for what’s to come. Slash adjusts his position, moving his body so he can access you.

“Are you ready, gorgeous?” He mutters, his voice deep and husky with desire.

“Yeah, I’m- I’m ready-” You exhale, squeezing your eyes shut as you feel him slowly push inside of you. You grunt, panting as you try to relax yourself. From biting your lips to suppress any stray moans, you pant as he pushes into you. He leans over you, panting and groaning as his lips hover next to your ear. Slash kisses your cheek, holding you by your shoulders as he rocks his hips, starting the friction between the both of you. Your body squirms beneath his, writhing at the feeling of his cock pleasing you.

“Slash-” You moan, your head leaned back as you grab at his shoulders. His mouth remains at your ear, grunting as he thrusts into you. You whine loudly, panting as your hips move with his. He moans into your ear, then ducks his head down to nibble at your earlobe slightly.

“Oh, my God, Y/N..” He pants, groaning softly as his thrusts pick up in pace slightly. “You feel so good-” Slash tilts his head back, grunting as he pushes himself deeper into you. You shout with pleasure, digging your fingers into his shoulders. His hands move to your neck, his hands resting at the sides as his thumbs stroke the skin on top of it. He presses his head down, sucking on your neck as his hips snap into yours. You groan loudly, tilting your head back not only to give him access but in preparation for your soon-to-come finish.

“Slash-” You groan again, your brain going fuzzy as your mind spins. “I’m so close-” You speak breathlessly, hanging on by a thread as he smiles down at you softly, moving his head up to look at you. His thumb strokes your cheek as grunts escape his lips from his powerful thrusts.

“Me too, baby..” Slash leans down with his lips at your ear again, his voice in a dark and lustful whisper. “I’m close too.”

He dips his head again, his breaths growing quick, deep and sharp as he tips over the edge, spilling into you as your walls clench him tight. He groans your name loudly, his hips bucking into yours before he collapses on top of you, burying his face in your neck.

You lay together for around 30 minutes, your positions changed. Your head lays on his chest as your body remains curled up next to his. To protect you from the cold of the night, he pulled out a blanket he keeps in the trunk of his car. Slash strokes your hair softly, looking up at the stars. You sigh, pressing a kiss to his skin.

“I haven’t felt this relaxed in forever.” You murmur, your eyes meeting his. A soft smile dances across his lips as he looks down at you, still petting your hair soothingly.

“Neither have I, gorgeous. Neither have I.”

~~~~~

#guns n roses #hard rock #80s rock #glam rock #80s music #guns n roses smut #slash #slash gnr #slash smut #rocknroll #classic rock #rock

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the-lonelybarricade · 2 years ago

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Since we know rhys taught feyre I would like a little something where everytime feyre reads a whole paragraph without once faltering rhysand rewards her like y'know what reward 😈

Btw you really are keeping the feysand fandom alive. They less and less talked about in the fandom.

THANK YOU FOR THIS PROMPT ANON!! My brain worms needed it today. I hope you can excuse that this is unedited and untitled, it's late here and I wasn't expecting to write a full smutshot but here we are. This is set pre-mating bond acceptance cause I wanted to sprinkle in a little bit of angst for ✨fun✨

Rhysweek Day 3 - High Lord

Rhysand is the most handsome High Lord.

Feyre frowned at that familiar first sentence of the document Rhys had set on the table in front of her.

“What is this?”

“Practice,” he answered, smirking from where he’d perched one elbow against the table. She’d seen that look on his face too many times for it to invite any measure of comfort.

“I thought we’d finished practicing my writing,” she said, holding up the parchment in protest. “I can read what this says.”

Rhys pushed off the table, faelight glinting off his eyes as he circled around her chair. His fingers trailed over the wooden spindle as he went, brushing ever so softly against her back. “Go on, then.” He tipped his chin towards the page. “Read it.”

Through gritted teeth, Feyre read, “Rhysand is the most handsome High Lord.”

She jumped as his voice murmured in her ear, “I do love to hear you compliment me, Feyre.”

In a winter forest, the soft crack of a branch was enough to send a nest of birds fleeing towards the skies. And apparently in a Night Court library a gentle whisper in her ear was just as effective in setting every winged creature in her stomach into motion.

“As the most handsome High Lord,” he continued, fortunately oblivious to those millions of flapping wings, “I need to make sure that the skills of my Inner Circle are properly honed.”

“Well, I just read it,” she said indignantly. And maybe some of that hostility was directed towards herself. More than she’d like to admit. “So consider it honed.”

“Ah, but I’ve been thinking.”

“—well it sounds like that was your first mistake—”

He pressed a long, elegant finger to her lips, but was otherwise unphased by her interruption. Still smiling with an arrogance that only a High Lord could possess.“You may read just fine in the comforts of my home. But, then, that was never the issue, was it? Cauldron forbid you’re ever put into another stressful situation. Where you need to read quickly. And with accuracy.”

Dread boiled in her stomach. In her mind, she saw those stone tablets and levers. Could still remember how the smooth surface had felt against her palm, how she might as well have been wrapping her fingers around Lucien’s neck, for the way she held his fate in her hands.

“So my question is, Feyre, would you still be able to read these sentences if you were distracted?” He raised a brow, leaning in so close so could taste the mint of the tea leaves he’d been drinking just moments before. “Would you be willing to bet someone’s life on it?”

Feyre glared at that parchment, at the stupid ink scrawled over its surface, and tried to think about anything other than how those spikes had felt descending towards her. How the proximity of the scorching metal had burned her face.

“Just tell me what you want from me,” she said finally, refusing to look into his eye.

Rhysand wasn’t having it. His fingers found her chin and pulled, turning her face until his eyes were boring into her own. She hated when he looked at her like this. Feyre knew her shields were up, and yet he was staring at her like he could see straight through to her soul.

“I want you to answer my question. Would you bet someone’s life on it?”

“No,” she snarled, pushing her face closer. Baring her teeth like a wild animal. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Yes,” he said, releasing her. “It means you need to practice.”

“And, what?” He was walking back around her chair now, but she kept her glare trained on his back. Hoping his peaked ears would start burning from the contempt she wished he could feel. “You’re going to chain me up and put me beneath metal spikes?”

Rhys was frowning when he turned around. “We’re going to play a game. A simple one.” He pressed a firm finger to the top of that page, directing her attention back towards the text. “If you can read this page quickly and without stuttering, you’ll get a reward. And if you mess up…” He grinned. “You’ll see what happens.”

“And what’s my reward? Getting to look at your face for five minutes?”

The grin grew wider. More dangerous. “I was thinking I would have you look at something else.”

She swallowed. Tried to pretend that suggestion got lodged in her throat, instead of slipping past like warm silk until it pooled in her stomach. “That sounds more like a punishment.”

“Thanks for the idea,” he crooned, slipping between her chair and the table. “And if that’s your punishment, what would you like your reward to be, hmm?” Rhysand leaned forward, bracing his hands against either arm of her chair. She could smell the wind on him, from wherever he’d been flying that morning. Over the sea, she thought, picking up a hint of salt.

“Would you like to see me on my knees again?” His eyes were burning, and if she stared at them any longer her face would be, too. So she fixed her head towards the corner of the table. A mistake, because a moment later she could feel his lips against her earlobe. “Do you want to know how I’d lick you, Feyre?”

She said nothing. What could she say, that wouldn’t be an outright lie?

Rhys dropped to the floor before her, so tall he still fell level with her breasts. Feyre didn’t miss the way his eyes wavered there, before flickering up to her face, entirely unashamed.

“Go ahead, Feyre.” He placed a warm hand on her knee. If it was meant to urge her, it was having the opposite effect. “Read the page.”

What would he do, she wondered, if she lit the parchment on fire and refused to participate? His fingers burned her skin, even through the fabric of her loose Night Court trousers. Rhys wouldn’t really make her do anything she didn’t want to do. Not when he had spent so many years under that gods forsaken mountain.

So why was she reaching towards the page? And why were her fingers shaking, like she believed there was actually punishment waiting if she messed up?

… Like she was hoping there would be.

“Rhysand is the most handsome High Lord,” she repeated.

His hand slid further up her thigh. “Good girl.”

That was nearly enough to make her falter. But she knew his games well enough. She knew that hand was trying to throw her off, especially as he began stroking his thumb against her inner thigh in long, deliberate sweeps.

“So handsome, in fact, that any female should feel Cauldron blessed to be in his presence. And it is only because he is so ma-m-mag—”

The fingers stilled for a moment. Then they dug, just enough to pull her attention back to the male watching her. So she could see the triumph painting his lips as he purred, “I believe the word you’re looking for, Feyre darling, is magnanimous.”

“Prick,” she hissed, throwing the paper down. “You put that in there on purpose!”

“Oh?” The chair scraped over the wooden floor as Rhys pulled it closer, until Feyre was forced to spread her legs wider to accommodate for the large body wedged between them. “And I assume if you ever need to, say, read from a spellbook, its authors will have ensured the words are easy to pronounce?”

“Then teach me spell words,” she growled. “Teach me the Old Language. All you’re trying to do here is—”

The words died on her tongue, shriveling like fruit left too long in the sun. Something had slithered over her ankle, then up, shimming beneath her trousers until it was at the seam of her inner thigh. Not Rhysand’s hands, or any other part of his body. It was just denser than air, and cold. A wisp of darkness, of his magic, snaking beneath her underthings.

“Tell me again what I’m here to do, darling?” His brows were raised, and she might have fallen for his indifference if she didn’t notice the way he was studying her face. Even pulling at the bond of their bargain, like he might uncover a reproach deeper than the mask she wore.

That tendril crept closer. A challenge. A dare.

“You’re here to make my life miserable,” she said.

Soft as breath fogging up a glass, she felt that magic brush over the folds of the most intimate part of her body, continuing its ascent up until it swirled around her clit. Her lips parted, and it was an effort to keep from gasping. Rhysand’s eyes never left her face, marking every exhale that spilled from her lungs.

Then he leaned his face closer, until those perfect lips nearly disappeared between her thighs. She told herself she widened them only so she could keep an eye on Rhys as he took an exaggerated inhale. “You don’t smell miserable, Feyre.”

Pain screamed into her nails as she dug them into the wooden armrests, anything in attempt to distract from the pleasure licking up her spine. Rhysand’s magic continued in slow circles, rubbing just enough to make her squirm.

“You smell like you’re enjoying yourself,” he said, smug enough that her cheeks burned with loathing. For him, but quite possibly for herself, as well. “Which is rather magnanimous of me, considering I should be punishing you for messing up.”

“Then punish me.” Those words felt raw as she scraped them out. Maybe it was more anguish than she wanted him to see, and certainly more desperation than she’d ever admit to. Because if it was punishment—if he forced her to enjoy it—then it would be easier for her to pretend she didn’t want this. Want him.

“Start over,” he said instead. His magic pressed down more firmly. She whimpered, and she swore he shivered at the sound. But the authority in his voice didn’t waver. “Pick up that page and read from the beginning.”

She could have been running out that door, back to her rooms. He would have left her alone, pretended this all had never happened.

And still she reached for that paper and started reading, “Rhysand is the mo-oh!”

If she thought he would play fair, the face buried in her lap was a stark reminder that Rhysand never played fair. And why should he? When she was already melting beneath the heat of his mouth, licking her through her clothes.

Her fingers flew to his hair, tangling in the dark locks. She couldn’t even tell if she was trying to push or pull, but she was able to gasp, “I thought you were supposed to be punishing me.”

“I am,” he said, and then he was tugging at the waistband on her trousers. And maybe she was lifting her hips to help him slide them off. “Unless you mean to say you want this, Feyre?”

The air felt so heavy in that moment, as their eyes met and held. She knew what he was doing, what he was offering her. To have what she wanted, without the stain on her soul of admitting it.

It made her a wretch, and a liar, and a traitor. But the coward in her shook her head.

Rhysand’s eyes went dark, even as his grin widened. “Then remember this—you don’t get to come until you beg for it.”

He yanked her by the thighs, hoisting her practically out of the seat as he buried his face into her cunt, licking up her center with no preamble. Feyre couldn’t resist the moan that escaped, and was grateful it was masked by the sound of Rhysand’s own. He delved his tongue inside her, thrusting like he meant to taste every inch. And meanwhile that tendril of night returned to her clit, just gentle enough to make her ache.

Feyre slung her arm over her mouth so she could bite down, trying to smother every obscene sound for the sake of pretense.

Not that Rhys seemed to notice, for the way his eyes had fluttered shut. He licked her the way she’d seen people lick honey, like it was something sweet he wanted to savor on his tongue. But when he thrust at just the right spot, she couldn’t resist the way her hips bucked upwards. Body begging for more, more, more even when she couldn’t bring her lips to say it.

Rhysand’s eyes snapped open. So vividly purple against the haze of desire. He pulled his face away, and she tried not to notice the string of saliva that followed, practically begging to keep them connected.

“Does it still feel like a punishment?” His voice was nearly as rough as the caluses on his hands, scraping along her thighs. He chased away the tendril so he could replace it with his thumb, and fixed her with a cool look as he began to apply more pressure. “Because it doesn’t have to, Feyre. It’s not too late to be good for your High Lord.”

Her toes curled as the pleasure built, until it was nearly unbearable to keep it all contained. Her legs were already shaking from the effort to do so.

“If you want mercy, Feyre, say ‘please let me come, High Lord’.”

“Prick,” she said, though it lost its sting when it tapered off into a whimper.

“Ah.” Rhys flicked his fingers against that hooded bundle of nerves, triggering a burst of razor-edged bliss that had her seeing stars. “Don’t be naughty now, Feyre. I might stop being so… what was the word again?”

Bastard, she thought.

“Go on,” he purred, rubbing her oh so perfectly. “Say it.”

She was so close.

“Magn-ma-ah.”

He pulled his fingers away, cutting off that cresting pleasure before she could fall over the edge. “What was that?”

“Rhys,” she gasped, feeling tears spring to her eyes.

“You know what to say,” he murmured, ducking his face back between her thighs.

He licked her again, slow and merciless. Feyre keened, and he used his free hand to keep her still.

“Please,” she gasped. “Please, High Lord.”

“Good girl,” he breathed, before plunging his tongue back inside her.

The edge came faster this time, spurred by Rhysand’s fingers and tongue working in tandem. Feyre dug her fingers so hard into his scalp she was certain she must have hurt him, but all she could feel was that blinding pleasure as it peaked.

And like pulling the curtains from a room, light came bursting in, haloing her skin as she came around Rhysand’s tongue. He was groaning, and from the look of reverence that crossed his features, and how he knelt on the ground with his eyes shut, she might have thought he was giving prayer.

When he pulled away, they were both gasping.

And he smiled. “Shall we practice this again tomorrow?”

#Rhysweek2022 #Rhysand #Feyre Archeron #Feysand #Feysand fic #Feysand fanfic #Feysand fanfiction #feysand smut #Rhys x Feyre #Feyre x Rhys #Feyre x Rhysand #Rhysand x Feyre

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