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owlespresso · 5 years ago

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A Time Before

When Hades and the 14th knew each other, fell in love, and most importantly, had time. Tip Jar / Headcanon Requests are 2 ko-fis. Spicy content below the read more.

The sun peers around the belfry just in time for Hades to round the corner. He squints and turns his gaze away, nose wrinkling at the vile brightness. His books rest in the crook of his arm, and for a moment he must resist the urge to bring them in front of his face as a shield.

He had seen you do that, once, and immediately wondered what it must be like to be unbothered by public opinion, so carefree and dissolute. He’s lost count of how many times he’s scolded you for your filipancy and devout aversion to deadlines.

“Hades!” yet when you call to him from across the vibrant courtyard, voice carried like petals on the breeze, he still goes to you. The florets and emerald leaves fill the air with a delightful, abet stifling aroma.

There’s a quick in his brow and the barest of smiles on his lips as he approaches, watching you rock back and forth in a swing that was most certainly not here yesterday.

“Making the most of our god-given creativity, are you?” he drawls.

“I’m having fun with it, so I think so,” you reply. When you smile smugly, you do it with your eyes, cheeks pulled upwards in an expression both insufferable and adorable all the same. Besides, none of the professors have called me on it, so it’s probably fine.”

It probably is, Hades admits inwardly. It’s a pretty, ivory swing. Vines dotted with flowering blooms twine up the rope on either side. It’s aesthetically pleasing and practical, like your work always is.

Brilliant, blue energy sparks from your palm and spreads to your fingers, before it ventures to the surface below you. Its form changes and warps before his very eyes, growing longer and wider.

“There!” you exclaim, proud as he’s ever seen you.

You tilt your head to the side and pat the newly formed space next to you. The coquettish little grin you treat him to makes him want to squish your cheeks.

“Shouldn’t you be hard at work on your thesis?” he asks dryly, taking a seat regardless. His books now rest in his lap, hands placed neatly atop them.

“I have more than enough time,” you assure him.

Any stinging retort he could have delivered dies on his tongue as you settle yourself into his side. His entire body goes rigid, jaw clamped shut as one of your arms sneaks around his own, tugging the limb into your chest. Your face presses to his shoulder, and he can’t imagine it’s very comfortable with your mask in the way. For once in his life, he’s at a loss for words. Your boldness has never been a secret, but to think you’d show such affection in public.

Even in private, you’d never exchanged anything more than brief brushes up against each other, through thick, black robes.

How do you look underneath those layers, he suddenly wonders? How would you react if he unwrapped you, pressed you to his sheets and ran his needy hands up and down your body? Would you arch into him? What noises would you make? Would you still tease him, or melt into a puddle underneath him? Would your lips part around and smooth over his greedy fingers?

“I wish it would always be like this,” your voice is muffled against his sleeve.

“Like what?” he humors you, even if he has a good idea of what you mean.

“Everything being quiet. Us not being committed to actual jobs, yet. We won’t have this much free time forever, you know. What if he never get to see each other anymore?”

Hades can’t recall the last time he’s heard you sound upset, and can’t control how alarmed he gets. He can feel the writhe and twist of your soul, see how genuinely repulsed at the idea of being apart from him. It’s equal parts touching and flustering, but he has little time to deal with his own, turbulent emotions. Because you are upset, and somehow, he’s come to think of it as his duty to soothe you.

There is explicit value in your happiness and your smile.

What if we work in the same establishment? He wants to ask, but doesn’t, because that’s not a complete plan and might only wind up giving you false hope. He runs through various possible solutions in his head and his hand itches for a utensil to write them down with. He’ll write them like he writes his theories, each and every one meticulously thought out, stewed over for days, drawn up with… love.

“We should get married,” you say, and he nearly chokes on his own tongue. The distress that wailed within you has calmed, “That way, we’ll always come home to each other!”

It’s not a bad idea. In fact, he gets carried away and thinks of it as a very good idea for a moment, before he remembers practicality.

“That’s a bit of a leap from where our relationship currently stands,” he says, bidding the desperate thumping in his chest to calm.

“Maybe,” you say, nonchalant. It awe and frustrates him all at once. He’s never met someone like you, before, and he never wants to be a part from you, either, “But I know for certain that I’m very fond of you. And if we never see each other anymore, who will correct your work?” you tease, and he does his best to ignore the thrill your voice sends up his spine.

“Critiquing isn’t equivalent to correcting!” he snaps, thoroughly offended. You laugh into his shoulder and the sound settles his ruffled feathers. His eyes shut. He exhales the hot air he’d been holding, “Regardless, your feelings are returned. The idea of being separated from you is just as unsettling to me as it is to you.”

He leans over, cheek nestled to the top of your head. The hubbub of the university fades into meager background noise. The decadent, floral scents swell around the both of you, the shade proving a cool blanket, a shelter from the violent light of the sun.

“Are we gonna get married, then?” you feel him stiffen, giving a laugh and oh, it’s so terribly difficult to be cross with you while you’re so blastedly content, “Or maybe we could just find an apartment together?”

“That would be a more amenable solution,” he admits with a small sigh.

“Good,” you say with a certain level of finality to your voice. He feels as though he’s just signed a contract, “Good. We can start looking next weekend.”

“You mean after you get at least halfway done with that thesis,” he pulls back to level you with a stern look, prepared for the pout you give in return, “Don’t look at me like that, you stubborn little thing,” he reaches out and pinches your cheek, expression furrowing into a fond smirk, “You know just as well as I how crucial this is. I’ve gone easy on you before, but this is more important than the rest combined. It’s a requirement for graduation. And if you cannot graduate, you cannot move in with me.”

His hand reaches for your chin, tilting your head up.

“Promise me you’ll get to work, hm?”

You don’t want to give into his demands out of sheer stubbornness. You’re always been pointlessly obstinate, willing to challenge him for the sake of it. There’s no one else who keeps him on his toes, no one who can spur him into improving himself.

His other rivals pale in comparison. He is wowed by your thoughts and clever machinations to levels he never thought possible. Usually, he revels whenever you challenge him, but for once he’s delighted when you sigh, nod and agree.

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“If we live together, people are going to think we’re romantically involved,” you clarify, whilst looking over the balcony. This is the third apartment you’ve looked over together, by far the nicest. Hades brushes his fingers over the cool counter and scoffs.

“Have you just realized that?” he drawls and walks to your side, his gaze roaming over their proud city. He’ll never tire of the grand vista, the extravagant spires which stretch towards the sky.

“No,” you scoff right back and nudge him with your elbow, “I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

“Whatever you say,” he replies, entirely unconvinced. Y

A hand reaches for one of your own. You intertwine your fingers together near instantly, leaning your head against his solder.

“You want this one, right?” you inquire softly.

“Of course I do. It’s the nicest one we’ve been shown thus far,” newly done counters, a wine rack in the kitchen, even a fireplace. He briefly pictures the crackling flames, quickly fantasizes about being nestled underneath a sea of blankets with you tucked to his side, just like you are right now.

“Mhm,” you hum and nod your assent, turning your head, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. The two of you linger in the otherwise empty apartment for another fifteen minutes before the real estate agent comes fluttering back in, enthusiastically asking you what you think and when you’ll buy.

The thought of living at your side and waking up to you each and every morning keeps him patient and warm, even throughout all of the obnoxious paperwork, which he finalizes mere days later.

Begins the process of packing up his belongings, readying for the massive changes in his life that loom on the horizon. He puts his life into large, cardboard boxes and watches them get taken down the road and out of sight by the moving vans. He’ll see them again in a matter of hours, but he can’t suppress the nostalgia and perhaps grief he feels.

He’s a proud academic, one of the university’s most lauded scholars, a man undoubtedly head and shoulders above his peers.

So why does his stomach toss and turn? Why does he feel so antsy? The bothersome butterflies flutter in his stomach. His nerves jump even as he rides the elevator up to the apartment, where all his belongings already reside.

He’s taken more difficult leaps than this, he tells himself. The hallway stretches before him after the doors open with an abrupt ding. Ornate paintings are fastened to the walls, lined by frames of gold and bronze. Something as small as a change in scenery should hardly startle him.

The battle with his own emotional state rages on even as he twists the key into the doorknob, fiddling with it for a mere moment before he throws it open. Much to his surprise, the fireplace is already crackling away, cozy warmth sweeping through the living room. Some of the furniture has already been set up—a plush, comfortable couch sat in front of a coffee table which you meticulously picked out from a selection of five.

Your combined belongings rest in boxes scattered around on the floor. He hears the sound of cardboard being tossed about from behind one of the incredible towers.

“Hades!” your face pops into view. Sweat gleams on your brow, but the vibrancy of your smile outshines that by miles. His heart near aches in his chest and he longs to pull you into his arms. The anxiety rumbling in his stomach calms at the sight of you and for the first time in a long while, he feels perfectly at home.

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“I still think the sheets could have been purple,” you remark idly, sorting through your bedroom closet. Hades watches from his lounged position, gaze running across your shoulders, down your back, over your hips and thighs. You’ve both discarded the usual robes for lighter fare, allowing him to see more of you than he ever had.

It’s been two weeks since you’ve moved in together, and you’ve settled into a lovely, steady rhythm. There have been no heartfelt, dramatic confessions, but he assumes you’re in a relationship now.

No, he knows it. He knows it from the way you kiss his cheeks or lips whenever he gets home, knows it from the way you lean into him when he wraps his arms around your waist. There’s a domestic bliss that blankets your apartment, a warm feeling he’s never experienced before and does not want to let go.

Even petty little arguments like these have their place in that feeling. How delightful it is to negotiate who’ll do what chores or who will pick out the lamps for the study. Never had he thought that sharing his space with someone else could be so rewarding.

“It would have been obnoxious,” Hades corrects, lips quirking into a smug little grin, “Black is the most fashionable color, my dear. I can think of no one who looks bad in it.”

“Debatable,” you snort, “Being colorful is more adventurous. And history always rewards the brave, Hades,” your organizing gets faster and perhaps a little more aggressive, and once you’re done, you whirl around to face him, crossing your arms.

“I wouldn’t call picking out a pair of gaudy sheets to be brave in any way, shape or form,” Hades raises an eyebrow and you huff, striding over to him. You just about jump onto the bed, the mattress bouncing underneath the sudden weight.

“You just don’t know anything about art,” you tease, crawling over the comforter to rest beside him. He readies another keen retort, but chokes on his words when your face presses into the side of his neck, lips brushing against his skin, “And you’re so cold!” you exclaim, absolutely shocked. One of your hands slides over his chest and wraps around his throat—not to squeeze, merely to feel. It’s an inquisitive touch, but he can’t stop himself from sighing shakily, “What’s wrong?”

Blast it, you’d noticed, you keen little thing.

“Nothing. I was simply rendered speechless by your lack of aesthetic taste,” he snips, but his bottom lip wobbles when your teeth scrape over his skin. The hand on his throat slowly slides down to his robes, beginning to unfasten them, exposing his chest inch-by-inch.

Your lips follow, blazing a trail down his neck. A second hand joins the mix, tugging his sleeves to reveal his shoulders. Your fingers brush over them appreciatively before clamping down, delighting in the broad muscle there. Hades’s hands reach for your hips, giving them a hesitant squeeze. You’re still much too clothed for his liking.

He’d like to remedy that problem, but you have him stunned and motionless, willing to do little besides bask in the attention you’re so generously giving him.

He remains still and pliant for you, shockingly silent as you disrobe him. You carve your marks into his skin, bite at his shoulder. The gentle caress of your fingers intermingle with harsh scratches that make his back arch off the mattress, lips parting around succulent moans and other, hardly dignified noises.

Hades’s wide eyes stare up at the ceiling, the mark you’d so carelessly carved onto his shoulder beginning to throb and ache. It’s a carnivorous feeling that rushes straight to his groin, where your mouth is wrapped so generously around his cock.

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how he’d imagined it would go.

But your tongue swirls around his tip and he finally shuts his eyes, presses his shoulders into the mattress and curls his toes. The noise he lets out is one he won’t admit to later. Your firm hands hold him to the sheets and he does his best to stay in place, just for you. Because what would he be without you, you delightful little thing?

You, who insists on making him feel good, who doesn’t give a damn about your own pleasure until he is thoroughly sated.

You’re still in your robes. He hasn’t gotten the joy of unwrapping you, yet, but your palms are hot against his cold skin. His teeth dig into a bottom lip, wiry fingers curling into the ungodly soft sheets as you treat him better than anyone else ever has. His cock twitches in your mouth, mind melting into dull heat, numb to everything but your hot mouth as he nears his release.

It’s never gone this fast, before. He can feel himself tumbling closer to that beautiful, pristine edge—

Your mouth slides off his cock and he gasps, eyes flying open, mind screeching to a complete halt.

“Come back,” he tries to demand, but his voice is too desperate, pathetic and breathy for it. His face is flushed the prettiest shade of red you’ve ever seen, and he hates it. His cock throbs needily between his legs even as you smile up at him, you goddamn tease. Precum beads at the tip, spreads over your skin as you nuzzle your cheek against it, worshipping his length, making him feel the most frayed he’s ever felt. Like an egg sizzling in a pan.

Like… like… he can’t even think! What a pathetic little mess you’ve made of him! The least you could do is take responsibility!

And you do, abet several moments later than he thinks appropriate. Your lips seal around his cock and your mouth takes him in deep, making him throw his head back and scream. Your aether swims around him richly and encompasses his every part, swaddling him in you, you, you, pushing him beyond what he can take.

His orgasm hits and he doesn’t even realize you’ve swallowed it all until he stops shaking. His eyes are blurry, tears streaming down his cheeks, lips parted around balmy breaths.

“I’m sorry,” you’re not, but that’s alright. Hades can hardly fault him when you’ve given so much to him already. You press your palm to his cheek and he leans into it, eyes shut, “I didn’t mean to tease. You’re just so cute! I can’t help myself.”

“That’s probably the worst excuse you’ve ever come up with,” Hades grumbles, pressing his hands to the mattress, pushing himself to sit up. You scoot back with the motion, giving him space. He misses your weight on top of him, but it’s a sacrifice worth making, “And you’ve come up with a more awful excuses than I can count on both hands,” nonetheless, he leans forward to kiss you, tongue running over your lips. You laugh into it and open your mouth for him, amused noises turning into moans as he finally, finally gets the opportunity to ravish you.

It’s better than he’d imagined it would be. Your cocksure attitude softens as his greedy hands all but tear the fabric from your body. Every inch of flesh revealed to him is another place for him to kiss and worship. You squeak when he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, shiver when his tongue wraps around a nipple. He coaxes the bud to stiffen by licking around it in circles, the other pinched and pulled lightly by nimble fingers.

“Hades,” you sigh, fingers running over his shoulders, rubbing some of the already bruising marks you’ve left, “Hades,” you say again, eyes shut, legs spreading as he makes his long-awaited descent down your body, throwing your robes open to reach the precious crux of your inner thighs.

It is there where he sings his song and makes his home, where he grows utterly enamored with the taste of you. The blue wisps of your soul twine around him and tremble. His hands press your hips to the mattress, keeping you in place as you withstand the full brunt of his love.

You squeal as your orgasm creeps up on you, the once steady ebb and flow of molten pleasure erupting along your nerves, making your legs shake and tighten around his head. Your honey on his tongue is a pure and rapturous benediction.

Your release gleams tantalizingly on his lips as he rises from his (rightful) place in between your legs. His eyes glint dark, face like a tiger slinking through the reeds as he straddles you. His hand presses to the mattress, besides your head whilst his other wraps around his cock. Moisture that had not been there before suddenly covers his erection. You raise your eyebrows.

“Making good use of your god-given creativity?” you jibe, and he hushes you by pressing his tip snuggly against your entrance. You cut yourself off with a whimper, eyes shutting, hips raising ever so slightly.

“Well, I’m having a grand old time with it, so I’d say so,” he purrs in reply, voice husky with arousal. You’re given not a moment to formulate a reply before his hips cant forward, cock sliding inside you with little to no preamble. Your eyes shut tight and your head falls to the pillow, hands running up his lithe arms to perch on his shoulders.

Your fingers scratch feebly, raising red lines along his pale skin. He’ll tease you about them later, he knows, but for now, he’s rendered speechless by the way your walls hug him so nicely.

“I can’t believe it,” he utters quietly, beginning an agonizingly slow pace. He resists the temptation to shut his eyes, desperate to watch your face contorted in pleasure. Your lips open around squeals and moans, hips rolling to meet each pointed thrust. The hand not at the side of your head wanders down to the space between the two of you, toying with your most intimate place.

“Can’t believe what?” you sound clearly incredulous even when in the throes of pleasure. Your thighs strike against his hips, and it’s not long until you’re writhing desperately against him, encouraging him to go faster.

“That I get to bed someone so miraculous and brilliant,” he praises, nosing over your collarbone, pressing his lips so gently to your skin even as he drives you breathless.

“Hah!” you give a laugh that twists into a high-pitched squeal, “Flattery will get you nowhere!”

“It seems to have landed me in your bed. I would count that as ‘somewhere’,” he manages to keep his voice steady against the mounting pleasure that takes down his spine and through his nerves, striking him to his very core.

He’s merciful enough to remain silent until you cum underneath his gentle coaxing, your eyes shut and expression twisted into divine pleasure. He’s so grateful to have given this to you, he realizes, struck by your ethereal beauty. The blue of your soul twists and twines and flares, full of creativity and light that he wants to reach out and grab, and hold.

Only then does he allow himself to orgasm, pulling out to spill over your stomach. You whine and twitch, lips opening around a final sigh. Quiet lapses over the room, the sound of your soft breathing helping him down from the high.

His arm drapes over your chest, abdomen to your side, still desperate to feel your warmth in any way he can. The afterglow settled around you, aether a second layer of blankets.

“That was great,” you murmur once you’ve regained your bearings.

“I’m glad to have met your standards,” he replies with an amused little huff. His thumb rubs idle circles into your shoulder. He manages to keep his eyes open for another few, precious moments before they close, exhaustion beginning to tug at the back of his mind.

“You always meet my standards,” you press a kiss to his chin, the blankets shifting as you turn onto your side, “I just like to tease you, sometimes.”

“All the red marks on my latest blueprint don’t seem like teasing to me, but I’ll let you have it,” he says, and you don’t reply. A quick glance at your face tells him you’ve already fallen asleep.

He should get up. He should fetch a warm cloth to clean you both off with. But sleep, like a fiend, bogs down his mind and makes his limbs sluggish. The warmth of you pressed to him is impossible to give up. He’ll wake up in ten minutes, he tells himself, but doesn’t bother reaching over to the night stand to set an alarm.

Warmth seeps throughout his entire body and he allows it to weigh him down, sluggishly lull him to sleep.

#emet selch #hades #solas zos galvus #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv

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owlespresso · 4 years ago

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royal treatment / emet-selch

Consort!Reader/Solus zos Galvus My ko-fi is still open for donations. I write headcanons and drabbles in exchange for donos. https://ko-fi.com/owlespresso Commissions are also open! https://owlespresso.tumblr.com/post/186937812263/commissions-are-open SPICY CONTENT below the read more. You have been warned.

The scent of rich incense curls into the air and twines around your robed form as you navigate the royal chambers. Quietly do you tiptoe around the grand canopy bed and the plush leather couches. In the distance, the entrance to Solus’s personal bathing chambers stands. It’s slightly ajar, steam curling into the air from the slight crack, hinting that it’s in use.

It seems Solus wants you to bathe with him, tonight. As the emperor’s constant companion, you are accustomed to seeing sides of him that he reveals to no one else… including his unabashed nudity.

Does he long for a more sexual touch tonight? Or will he simply be satisfied by the lone press of your bodies together.

A thrill shocks up your spine as you near the door, gently pushing them open.

Steam already rests heavy in the room, obscuring your vision momentarily. Its moist warmth settles against your skin. The smell of sweet roses and chamomile clings to the air and floods your senses. One of his highnesses’s favorites.

The chamber is wide and composed mainly of stark, white marble. A hollowed out, square space in the center acts as the main bath, flooded with crystal clear water. Pillars stand firm on either side of the tremendous room, thick and engraved with intricate, decorative patterns.

Red and pink petals drift aimlessly over the bath’s surface. A small station to the right holds shelves of towels and toiletries, as well as a rack to hang one’s robe. A table resting in the corner hosts a bevvy of drinks to pick from. Had you been alone, you likely would have perused the selection.

“And here I was, thinking you forgot about little old me.” The emperor’s voice rings soft and sultry over the open space. He rests against the far edge, elbows resting atop the finely cut marble. The muscular stretch of his torso is held above the water, ilms of perfect skin on full display. He is a man chiseled from only the finest of stones, every curve and sharp plane honed to strict perfection. Though his years on the battlefield have long passed him, it’s clear he still takes care of himself.

It’s a devotion you can’t help but admire.

“I could never,” you insist gently, a smile curling the corners of your lips upwards. Just the sight of his bare chest is titilating to you, finally freed from its usual prison of the royal regalia. The thick, flowing garments that usually cover him from head to toe are mercifully absent, letting you know you’ll be able to enjoy his company to the fullest, tonight. “I hope you’re well, my lord.”

You shrug your shoulders, allowing your silken robe to slide from your body and collapse to the floor, a puddle of sleek fabric. You’re completely bare underneath it, nipples already hard, cunt beginning to moisten in anticipation for what’s to come.

“As well as one can be after a long day of dealing with the oh-so-noble court,” he sighs languidly and rests his chin atop the back of his fingers. “I fancied my days on conquering and bloodshed to be over, but perhaps I should bring the troops down south to conquer the rest of Corvos. T’would be a splendid excuse for a vacation.” His gaze drags over the stretch of your body, lingering on the curve of your hips and the soft curve of your chest.

“An invasion as a vacation?” you inquire with a raised brow.

“A vacation in comparison to the dry monotony of conversing with rich fools.” Solus huffs out a laugh.

“Perhaps you should give yourself some time to relax before you commit to that plan,” you say with a soft smile, wading into the warm depths. The water sloshes around your waist, a few of the crimson petals sticking to your skin. “Allow me to help you to relax. It’s the least I can do after all you’ve been put through, today. I imagine count Flavius really put your nerves through the wringer. He was ranting for hours yesterday about the new taxation policy, like he doesn’t have enough money already.”

Upon your approach, he moves from his lofty, lounged position. The water shifts around his steep form as he steps in your direction, arms outstretched. You steer yourself immediately into his embrace, hands resting atop the broad stretch of his chest. The smell of rose water tied with natural musk surrounds you, all too familiar and comforting.

“As much as I appreciate your willingness to serve your emperor, I would much rather take the lead this time round. Let us use this time to unwind… and wash away the wretched stench of countess Leonus’s perfume.” He wrinkled his nose, eyebrows furrowing into a scowl. His lips set into a pout which you were unashamed to admire as cute.

He shakes his head as though to clear the memory of it, reaching towards a porcelain dish perched close to the ledge of the bath. He grasped a pale soap bar, meticulously cut into the shape of a rose. The needlessness of it made the corners of your lips curl into a wry smile. Every piece, every belonging was touched by the wealthy’s incessant need to make every object in their house unique and ornate.

He pays no mind to it, instead lathering up his hands as you finally come to stand before him.

“Please, take a seat.” A soapy hand presses against the small of your back, urging you into his lap. You rest upon his thighs, hands perched atop the broad curve of his shoulders. Though this is a dance you knew the steps to, you could not suppress a sharp intake of breath, nor could you fight the sheepish warmth that coalesced in your face. His gaze, keen and searching, roamed from your eyes to your chest, making a grand sweep over your top half. “Truly a sight to die for.”

He emphasizes his point by bringing his hands over your chest, calloused palms and fingers rubbing against your sensitive nipples. They raise to firm peaks within mere moments. Your eyes shut, lips parting around a soft gasp. He leaves white suds in his wake, spreading the sweet scent across your skin.

“Idle flattery will get you nowhere, your radiance.” Your voice comes out shakier than you’d like it. His flattery, you immediately come to find, will get him wherever he wants to be.

“Oh? Is that why you’re already putty in my hands?” he says with a scoff, giving your hips a pointed squeeze. At this point, it’s more about teasing you than washing you clean. You bathe before your nightly visits to him, he knows this well, and has likely memorized your schedule for the lone purpose of teasing you at the most optimal times.

“Guilty as charged,” you acquiesce with a little laugh. You can already feel the slick gathering hot and heavy between your thighs, cunt drenched with your anticipation. “I can’t hide anything from you, your radiance.”

“At last you realize how futile it is to try and hide from your emperor,” Solus presses kisses up and down the expanse of your throat. There’s no doubt he notices every subtle twitch, every little noise you make. The water sloshes around your midsection as he urges you further atop his lap. The tip of his hardened cock kisses the softness of your cunt.

His palms slide to cup your bottom, fondly squeezing each cheek. His thumbs caress the supple skin in slow circles, another sensation to add to the blossoming pile of them. It’s a series of delicate but purposeful touches that leaves you breathless and wanting, those long fingers mapping your sides and worshipping your body. No ilm is left unattended, your body relaxing muscle by muscle as he descends upon you.

Any and all prospects of getting clean are washed down the drain as you lose your common sense to lust, eyes shutting, allowing yourself to get caught up river’s torrent. He’s the pull of the tides, the twining of the dark water around your legs, tugging you towards the soft soil at the bottom of the stream.

“Solus,” you sigh, fingers running through lush, ebony locks. You pull on the strands ever so slightly, feel an inkling of satisfaction as he softly moans against your collarbone.

“Mmm?” he purrs in response. His long fingers curl around your right breast, giving it a pointed squeeze. Your back arches instinctually, gaze lifted towards the domed ceiling. His lips dance across the other, tongue rasping over your other nipple. He gently teases the firm bud with his teeth, before his lips wrap around it. The molten beginnings of your pleasure lap at your seated form, toes and fingers curling at the growing intensity.

He gives it a firm suck, the light press of teeth tearing a surprised gasp from you. He plays at the other with long fingers, squeezing and twisting it. He grants you no reprieve even as he releases your breast with lewd pop.

“Whatever is it that you want from me, my lovely? I cannot give you what you want unless you tell me.”

“Fuck me,” you plead, warm breath brushing against his ear. The shiver that rolls down his spine in response does not escape you. The tips of your nails run over his shoulders, causing goosebumps to spread over that vulnerable, pale skin. You every trick, touch him everywhere you can in order to elicit more of a reaction. If you know anything about Solas, it’s his unfortunate penchant for teasing. And at this point, when your mind is solely on pleasure, you’ll do anything to speed the process up.

“No, no,” he coos soothingly, “You’ll get your satisfaction later, my love. But for now, allow me to savor the privilege of your company.”

“All the flowery language in the world won’t satisfy me as much as your coc—” you feebly begin to reprimand him, in the middle of your weak scolding, he made a pointed roll of his hips. The heated length of his cock rolls exquisitely along your sodden folds. The sudden jolt of pleasure made your head loll back, a gasp wrenched from your weak throat.

“Why waste your time on words when you could be making such beautiful noises for me?” Solus croons mockingly, his touch wandering back up to your chest. Calloused hands press to your hardened nipples, the course texture making your back arch all over again, too winded to offer a competent reply.

There’s little else you can do but squeal and croon and writhe atop him.

“There we go. Was that so hard?” he spares you no quarter, the honey-coated words striking hardest when you have almost no way to retort. His fingers find home between your legs, beginning to tease your arousal-slicked cunt. He barely presses into your entrance, eyes shut, head tilting to the side as you roll your hips. The hand not pulling pulse after pulse of arousal from the crux of your legs spans across the full size of your hip, holding you in place.

He drinks his fill of you, kiss after greedy kiss pressed to your soft lips. He pries your pleasure from you, works your body as a master musician works a violin, fingers dancing along thin strings. Your clit twitches with each fine note of pleasure, working you towards a warm release despite his intention to draw it out.

As though sensing the incoming climax, his touches halt.

“Solus!” you near scream, fixing him with an incredulous stare. Your hands feebly press to his shoulders, your bottom lip caught underneath your teeth. Your hips immediately begin to wiggle and squirm, desperately attempting to grind atop one of his broad thighs. “Please, can we—”

“Hush, sweetling,” Solus cajoles, fingertips dancing up and down your sides. “You’ll receive your pleasure in due time. Bear with me until then. Trust that your beloved emperor will take care of all your needs.”

How can you not, when he dominates you so sweetly? A shudder rolls up your spine, eyes sliding shut as you melt into his touches and embrace. He completes you, builds you up and tears down when he sees fit, a splendid cycle you immerse yourself in completely.

It’s impossible to tell how long you spend in the baths. Your world zeroes down to him and him alone.

He teases you to near orgasm at least twice more, leaving your pink folds agonizingly sensitive. Your cunt twitches when his fingers tease your inner thighs. Had the warm waters not surrounded your lower half, your cunt would have been utterly soaked with your juices. Your chest heaves up and down with each heavy breath, your torso slick with sweat.

“You’ve done so well,” Solus praises. His hands wander downwards, long fingers pressing to the soft flesh of your ass, urging your legs around his waist. Your heels press to the small of his back, weak arms clinging onto him for dear life. “A pitch perfect performance.”

The head of his cock presses snuggly against your sodden folds. It’s enough to coax another moan out of you, made to sing for his majesty as he makes the long slide in. His thick member throbs against your walls as he splits you open. His girth leaves not an inch of you wanting, pressing against every nook and cranny that demands his attention. He fills you to the brim, satisfies you in a way no man ever has or will again.

Tears blur the pale creams and yellows of your surroundings as he takes you.

“Oh, what are those tears for?” Solus taunts. Plush lips brush against your wet cheeks. Fondness drips from his voice, a hand wandering south. “Are you really so desperate for release? You poor thing.” His voice curls with mock sympathy, as though he hadn’t driven you to this state in the first place. You have half a mind to tell him as much, but the sudden rock of his hips knocks the coherency out of you.

“Is that better?” His long fingers span the length of your hips, squeezing the flesh underneath his palms.

“Do you really have to ask?”–is what you want to say, but all you can manage is a hasty nod. Your eyes fall shut as he begins a sharp, relentless pace. The gentle caution he had spent so long teasing you with vanished in a mere moment, replaced by the domineering emperor foreign territories had grown to hate and fear. Each thrust is consummated by a new, overwhelming wave of pleasure. Your orgasm is brought closer at a faster rate thanks to prior teasing, made putty and limp in his hands.

Finally, at last, your orgasm washes over you. The space behind your eyelids goes bright white, your body trembling and writhing helplessly against the broad stretch of his chest. Your nails feebly catch against his snowy skin, blindly scrambling for purchase.

He fucks you through it, because of course he does. There’s not a drop of mercy to be found within his ragged thrusts. His hot breath brushes against the shell of your ear in the form of pants and growls, for even he cannot keep his veneer of kingly arrogance. He loses his rhythm, his hips jackhammering into your center. He blindly seeks his pleasure, and in a few moments, he finds it.

His hot essence coats your walls, cock hitting the deepest point inside of you. The sheer sensation of it makes every of your limbs quake, wrenches a gasp from your scream-raw throat.

Silence settles between you, besides your own haggard panting. You pull breath after breath into your weary lungs. You haven’t even regained your bearings when he begins to stand, arms wrapped around you tight. The cold stings against your lower half as he lifts you from the water, easily stepping out of the bath from the elevated bench.

“Twas a grand performance,” he murmurs into your hair, pulling back to press a delicate kiss to your forehead. “I would say you’ve earned your fair share of rest. Allow me to take care of the cleanup.”

Easy, you think to yourself, thumping your head to rest against his shoulder. Your eyes shut, and the fatigue that has settled among inside your limbs drags you into a state of light dozing.

#emet selch #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #solus zos galvus #emet-selch

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