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lizzyiii · 1 month ago

Note

hi!! i have a request! what about a one shot for aemond x reader who is betrothed to him. she’s a baratheon girl or something but she gifts him the sapphire for his eye as a wedding gift or something along the lines of that?

ask and you shall receive...

The Sapphire Gift

pairing | aemond targaryen x baratheon!reader

word count | 5.1k words

summary | Of all his five daughters, Borros Baratheon has chosen you to be betrothed to Aemond Targaryen, much to your dismay. Seeking to forge a deeper connection with your betrothed, you decide to create the perfect wedding gift for him.

tags | fluff, fluff, toothrotting fluff, friends to lovers, aemond literally does not know how to communicate or court a lady, sarcastic!reader, awkward!reader, simp!Aemond, reader is just a typical seventeen-year-old girl, lowkey got second hand embarrassment writing this.

a/n | ooooh, this was so cutesy to write, I love writing awkward/sassy reader and simp/awkward aemond. Finished this in a solid 2 days💪. ALSOO I need moots, so anyway wanna volunteer as tribute????

likes, comments, reblogs are always appreciated ✨

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Why must it be me?”

Your voice echoed through the grand hall of Storm’s End, the walls adorned with the sigil of the mighty Baratheons. You stood before your father, Borros Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End, arms crossed defiantly, your brows knit in frustration.

“Because I have chosen you,” he replied, a casual shrug dismissing your protests, as he lounged upon the imposing ironwood throne that commanded the room. The flickering torches cast shadows across his weathered face, but his resolve remained steadfast.

Your heart sank further as you protested, “You have four other daughters to choose from!”

Borros began to tally your sisters on his fingers, his expression serious yet unconcerned. “Cassandra is already pledged to House Brownhill, Maris is too old to be of interest, and Floris is still but a child. Ellyn might have been a contender, but she reminded me that you are more closely aligned in age to the prince, which I daresay makes you more appealing to his eye.”

You bit back a curse aimed at Ellyn, whose selfishness felt like a betrayal in this moment, and muttered, “Emphasis on the word ‘eye’.”

“Fawn!” your father snapped, the nickname a remnant of your childhood, now wielded like a blade.

With a huff, you cast your gaze towards your mother, Lady Elenda, seated on a modestly adorned stool that contrasted starkly with your father’s opulence. Her fingers deftly worked at her embroidery, her belly round and pregnant with another child. “Mother, do you have naught to say about this?”

Elenda blinked slowly, her expression momentarily vacant before she smiled dreamily, “I have heard the prince is kind and benevolent,” she replied, her tone light and airy as your father nodded approvingly at her words.

You gasped, a hand flying to your chest in disbelief. “That is a complete and utter falsehood! Tales of his cruelty and wickedness abound, even in these halls. How could you deceive me so?”

Borros waved a dismissive hand, the irritation brewing like a storm within him. “So what if he has but one eye? He commands Vhagar, the largest dragon in the realm, and wields a sword as if it were an extension of his very arm. You shall ascend to the rank of princess, lacking for nothing.”

“But Father—”

“Enough!” His voice boomed, reverberating off the stone walls and silencing the murmurs of guards and servants alike. You could feel the weight of his anger pressing down upon you. Sighing heavily, you rolled your eyes, the gesture laden with pettiness. “This matter is settled. Prepare yourself; tonight we shall feast in honor of your betrothal. Do not sulk—it is unbecoming of a future princess.”

With a final glare that could wither a flower, you turned on your heel, storming away from the throne room, your heart heavy with the weight of your new fate.

King’s Landing was an entirely different realm compared to the windswept fortress of Storm’s End. Here, the sun cast a golden glow over the Red Keep, its warmth caressing the bustling streets of Flea Bottom, while in your home, rain seemed a constant companion, drenching the rugged cliffs and soaking through the halls of your ancestral seat.

The city thrummed with life—vibrant and teeming—overwhelming in its sheer size and noise. In contrast, Storm’s End felt desolate, where the only sounds were the howling gales and crashing waves that eternally assaulted its walls.

Settling into the royal court at the Red Keep was no easy feat, for you were keenly aware of the eyes that followed your every move. You quickly learned that here, every smile concealed secrets, and every word was a weapon to be wielded.

Queen Alicent Hightower, the Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, carried herself with grace befitting her station. Her demeanor was gentle, yet there was a steeliness in her eyes that hinted at the strength behind her polished exterior. On your very first day in court, she welcomed you with a kind smile, her piety clear as she extended an invitation to join her at the Great Sept for prayer.

Her tone was soft, but her words carried the weight of duty. You accepted her offer, though the idea of spending time in such hallowed halls made you uneasy. Alicent's warmth masked the political currents swirling beneath the surface, and you were acutely aware that every gesture here had meaning beyond what was said.

Then there was her eldest son, Prince Aegon. The first time you laid eyes on him, he reeked of wine, his eyes glazed and unfocused. Despite his title, he carried none of the nobility one would expect from a dragon’s heir. His indulgences were well-known, and his lack of decorum often left the court murmuring in hushed tones.

Aegon's gaze lingered on you far too long for comfort, the weight of it unsettling, as if he sought something that wasn’t his to take. His lecherous nature made you feel for his sister-wife, Princess Helaena, who appeared as trapped by her marriage as she was by the walls of the Red Keep. It was said that Aegon had grown old before his time, his twenty-one years bearing the burden of his vices.

Princess Helaena was a stark contrast to her husband. There was an otherworldly grace to her, a softness that seemed untouched by the cruelties of life. She spoke in riddles, her voice often drifting into ethereal musings that left you both puzzled and intrigued. Her words, though strange, reminded you of the whispers of the gods in dreams, distant yet profound.

Her presence was soothing, and you found solace in her company, even if her mind wandered to places you could not follow. Her children, Jaehaera and Jaehaerys, were a light amidst the shadows of the court, their laughter pure and untainted by the scheming that surrounded them. It was hard to reconcile that they were the offspring of Aegon.

But your thoughts always returned to one person—your betrothed, Prince Aemond Targaryen. From the moment you arrived in King’s Landing, you had been told stories of his fearsome prowess in battle, his unmatched skill with the sword, and the fearsome dragon, Vhagar, that answered his call.

Yet when your eyes met his for the first time, what struck you most was not his strength but the scar that marred his face—a reminder of the price he had paid for his ambition. It only added to his allure, a mark of his relentless determination. When he took your hand and pressed a kiss to it, a slow heat rose in your cheeks. His grip was firm but not unkind, and in that moment, you felt yourself swoon. After all, you were just a girl.

However, Aemond was not a man easily won. A moon had passed since your arrival, and with your wedding fast approaching, you had hoped to spend time in his company, to know the man behind the dragonprince’s mask. Yet, he seemed to slip away from you at every opportunity, his presence a fleeting shadow that vanished the moment you tried to reach for him. His evasions frustrated you, each refusal to join you in the gardens or to share a quiet moment only deepened the chasm between you.

It was said that dragons could not be tamed, only respected. But you longed for more than respect from your future husband. How could you hope to win Aemond's heart if he remained as distant as the stars that twinkled in the night sky?

Determined to change your fate, you devised a plan—a gift to offer Aemond before the wedding, something personal and meaningful that might draw him closer to you. From your balcony, you had often watched him train, his sword catching the sunlight as he moved with lethal grace. You had also stalked observed him in quieter moments, lost in the pages of ancient tomes in the Red Keep’s vast library. But no matter the scene, your gaze always drifted to the black leather patch over his left eye, a constant reminder of his loss.

Through whispered conversations among the ladies of the court, you had pieced together the story of that eye, taken from him when he was but twelve, during a violent skirmish with his own nephew. The knife had found its mark, leaving him disfigured and scarred in more ways than one. You could hardly imagine the pain he endured, the maester's delicate, grim task of removing what remained. The very thought sent a chill through you—what it must have felt like to be forever changed, to carry such a wound into manhood.

Jewelry had always enchanted you, especially the way it could transform even the simplest of gowns into something regal. And it was through that love of adornment that inspiration struck. Aemond needed something beautiful, something that would not only adorn him but perhaps bring a glimmer of warmth to that hardened exterior.

After much thought, you settled on a sapphire, deep and blue like the narrow seas, cut and shaped like an eye—a symbol of his lost strength and newfound resilience. It was a bold choice, one that you hoped would capture his attention, something that might resonate with the prince who had suffered so much.

With the sapphire crafted into an exquisite piece of jewelry, you wrapped it carefully, your heart filled with anticipation. The wedding drew closer with each passing day, and the idea of giving Aemond this token before the vows were exchanged consumed your thoughts. Would such a gift be enough to draw him out of the shadows, to make him see you as more than just his betrothed but as someone who truly wished to know him?

Desperation fueled your resolve. You decided to visit his chambers, scandalous though it might be, under the cover of night. It was unheard of for a lady to seek out a man in such a manner, but propriety seemed insignificant in the face of your growing desire to understand him.

Wrapped in a dark cloak to hide your identity from prying eyes, the gift cradled carefully in your hand, you navigated the winding, dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep. The moon hung high above the castle, casting eerie shadows along the stone walls as you walked with purpose toward his door.

Apprehension seized you as you approached, a wave of doubt crashing over you. What if he rejected your offering? What if he saw it as nothing more than a futile attempt to win his affection, which it kind of was. Yet before those thoughts could take root, you steeled yourself and knocked firmly on the heavy oak door, your heart pounding in your chest.

Moments passed in silence, each one stretching endlessly until, at last, you heard the soft thud of boots approaching from within. The door creaked open, and there he stood—Prince Aemond Targaryen. His long, silver hair cascaded freely over his shoulders, almost camouflaged against the loose white shirt he wore, which clung to the contours of his lean, muscular frame.

His single violet eye regarded you with a mixture of surprise and caution, the flickering light of the torches casting shadows across his sharp features. You found yourself momentarily breathless, caught off guard by the quiet intensity of his presence.

His gaze flicked to the dark cloak you wore, then back to your face, a question lingering unspoken between you. “My lady,” he began, his voice slow and deliberate, “it is late.”

You nodded quickly, casting a nervous glance down the dimly lit corridor. “Yes, I realize. May I come in?”

His lips tightened as though he was about to refuse, but before the words could escape him, you slipped past the threshold into the warmth of his chambers, your heart racing with a mix of adrenaline and nervous energy.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your gaze darting around the room, absorbing the details: the few books strewn across the table, the rich, intricate tapestries that adorned the stone walls, and the soft glow of firelight dancing in the hearth.

Aemond's voice was closer than expected when he spoke again. “My lady,” he repeated, causing you to jump slightly at his nearness.

You turned abruptly, releasing a nervous laugh. In the next moment, you remembered the purpose of your visit and hastily thrust the small, wrapped parcel into his hands. “I—I’ve brought you a gift.”

His brow furrowed in surprise as he looked down at the object now resting in his palm. “A gift?”

You offered a tight, awkward smile, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks. “A wedding gift, of sorts.”

You watched intently as he carefully opened the small package, revealing the deep blue sapphire you had commissioned. His expression remained guarded, though curiosity danced in his gaze. “What is this for?” he asked, his voice even.

Swallowing hard, you wrung your hands together and took a deep breath. “I thought… perhaps you might wear it in place of your eye patch.”

Aemond's eyebrow arched, his lone eye narrowing in sharp scrutiny. “A decoration for my injury?” There was no malice in his tone, but the words still cut deep.

Your heart sank, panic rising in your chest as you hurried to explain. “No, no! Not like that. I only thought…” Your voice faltered as the words tumbled out, your face flushing with embarrassment. “I thought the eye patch might be… suffocating at times. The sapphire—it’s strong and regal, like you. I thought it might be more—well, appealing. Not that your injury is unappealing, of course!”

You cringed inwardly, realizing how foolish you must sound. Eyes cast downward, you continued, “Sapphires are a symbol of wisdom, strength, and royalty. It felt fitting for you. But if I’ve overstepped, I’ll take it back.” You bit your lip, the weight of your own awkwardness pressing down on you. “Truly, it’s alright.”

Reaching out to reclaim the stone, you found your hand halted by his. His touch was firm, yet not unkind. “No,” Aemond said, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “I accept your gift, my lady.”

Relief flooded through you, though you could hardly bear to meet his gaze under the weight of your own mortification. Without thinking, you blurted out the first excuse that came to mind. “Oh! I just remembered—I’m to have tea with your mother.”

Aemond's gaze drifted to the window where the full moon hung high in the night sky. He raised an eyebrow, a subtle amusement curling at the edge of his lips. “At this hour?”

You nodded hastily, your laugh high-pitched with nerves. “Yes, well, a late tea, you see.”

Before he could respond further, you turned toward the door, only to misjudge the frame and bump into it with an audible thud. The embarrassment was almost too much to bear. “I wish you a good night, my prince,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper as you hurried out.

As you fled down the darkened corridor, you missed the rare sight behind you—the amused smirk that tugged at Aemond's lips and the way his expression softened as he gazed down at the sapphire, the light of the fire casting its blue hue across his hand. Intrigue flickered in his eye, a hint of something deeper, as he tucked the gem into his palm, the gift having made a more lasting impression than you could ever have imagined.

And now it was you doing everything in your power to avoid your betrothed. After that utterly humiliating encounter, where you had gifted Prince Aemond the sapphire for his eye, you had nearly thrown yourself from the balcony in shame. Every misstep, every nervous word, echoed relentlessly in your mind. The way he had looked at you, as though you were nothing more than a foolish girl… you could hardly bear it.

That night, you had made peace with a simple truth: it was perfectly acceptable if Aemond did not like you. You would fulfill your duty as his wife, give him heirs, and that would be the extent of your relationship. Yet, even as you tried to harden your heart, you couldn’t deny the yearning deep within you for something more—a connection, affection, or at the very least, understanding. But you’d sooner face a dragon than approach him again after such mortification.

Now, you found refuge in the company of Princess Helaena, sharing tea in her sunlit solar, where tapestries of butterflies and flowers adorned the walls. Helaena sat in her usual reverie, speaking in disjointed whispers about dreams and prophecies. You had grown fond of her strange, otherworldly nature, even if much of what she said left you puzzled.

Today, however, your tea was constantly interrupted by the young Princess Jaehaera, who was determined to climb into your lap as you attempted to drink. “You have such pretty hair,” she said, her small hands reaching to touch the loose strands that framed your face, her voice filled with innocent awe.

You smiled warmly, gently lifting a strand of her silver-gold hair to place beside your own. “Not as pretty as yours, my sweet princess,” you said softly. The Targaryen blood ran strong in the little girl, her pale locks shimmering like spun moonlight under the midday sun.

As Jaehaera continued to braid a piece of your hair, her twin brother, Prince Jaehaerys, was nestled in your lap, completely absorbed in a heavy tome recounting Aegon the Conqueror’s rise to power. You marveled at the child’s focus, noting how his somber demeanor contrasted starkly with his sister’s. It was strange, you thought, for a boy of only five summers to be so intent on reading a history so grim. His brow furrowed in concentration, a seriousness far beyond his years.

"You’ll grow to be as wise as your grandsire with all this reading, my prince," you commented with a chuckle, though you could not help but feel a touch of unease at how much the young boy seemed to carry the weight of his family’s legacy on his small shoulders.

Jaehaera giggled, abandoning your hair to cling to your arm. “I want to ride a dragon, like Vhagar!”

The mention of Vhagar brought an involuntary shiver down your spine, the thought of that ancient, fearsome beast ever-present in your mind. The mighty she-dragon’s rider, your betrothed, had taken to avoiding you as much as you had him, and though part of you was relieved, another part, buried deeper, ached at the distance.

As you entertained the children, Princess Helaena’s lilting voice broke the calm. "He dreams of fire and blood, my son," she said, her gaze unfocused as she stared at the window, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her cup. "As do we all."

You offered a polite smile, uncertain whether to respond or remain silent..

Your gaze shifted, drawn by the soft, deliberate sound of footsteps echoing through the confines of Helaena's solar. As you looked up, you immediately lowered your eyes, your heart racing, warmth flooding your cheeks as fluttering butterflies stirred restlessly in your stomach. Aemond strode through the door, his very presence commanding the room without a single word.

You felt his gaze upon you, sharp and intense. Jaehaera squealed with delight beside you, calling out, “Kepūs!” Her excitement was palpable as she clambered off your lap, rushing to his side. Even Jaehaerys, who had been so engrossed in his book, set it aside to greet his uncle.

You dared a glance up to find something unexpected—a soft, almost tender smile tugging at Aemond’s lips as he looked down at the children. The rare sight caught you off guard, but before you could process it, his expression shifted, and he cleared his throat, turning his attention to Helaena.

“Sister,” he began, his voice steady, respectful yet commanding. “Might I steal a moment of Lady Baratheon’s time?”

Helaena, oblivious to the way your pulse quickened, nodded lightly, her gentle smile untouched by the tension you now felt. “Of course, brother,” she replied, her tone light and dreamlike, as though she sensed nothing of the undercurrent between you and Aemond.

You felt the weight of their eyes upon you—Helaena’s distant curiosity, Jaehaera’s wide-eyed innocence, and Aemond’s watchful, unreadable gaze. You rose slowly from your seat, smoothing the folds of your gown as you murmured a soft farewell to the princess and her children, acutely aware of how unsteady your voice sounded.

Aemond stood patiently, waiting as you gathered yourself. His tall figure loomed over you, but there was no sense of impatience in his posture. When you stepped out of the solar, he turned and led the way into the dimly lit corridor, his footsteps echoing against the stone walls in perfect rhythm with yours.

The silence between you grew heavier with each step, and the farther you ventured down the shadowed halls of the Red Keep, the more you became aware of where he was leading you—back toward his chambers.

Your palms began to sweat, and your heart pounded with a growing unease. Why had he sought you out? Why now, after so many days of avoidance?

The corridor felt impossibly long, each step building the tension. Aemond’s back remained straight, his silver hair brushing the fabric of his black tunic, his long strides forcing you to quicken your own pace just to keep up.

When you finally reached the familiar door to his chambers, he paused, turning to face you, his one violet eye locking onto yours with an intensity that left you breathless. The silence stretched, thick and charged, as though the air between you crackled with words unspoken.

"You’ve been avoiding me, my lady," Aemond murmured, his piercing gaze sweeping over you as you walked into his chambers.

Your eyes widened just a fraction, masking your surprise with a nervous laugh. “Why on earth would you insinuate something like that?”

His voice, soft but steady, echoed from behind you as you stepped further into the dim warmth of his room. "Perhaps because every time I enter a room, you are always the first to leave."

Fidgeting with your fingers, you murmured, "I suspect you are just seeing things, my prince."

A slight smirk tugged at his lips as he replied, “Mayhaps it’s just my one eye.”

Your head snapped up in shock at his words, but before you could respond, you noticed the faint curve of amusement in his lips. For the first time since your engagement, you let out a genuine laugh, tilting your head. “Oh, so you can jest,” you teased, though you couldn’t help but wrinkle your nose in playful disapproval. “Though your delivery needs some work.”

Aemond’s smirk deepened, a flicker of something warmer in his gaze. “I shall endeavor to improve,” he replied with dry humor, his voice low.

For a moment, your eyes locked, the silence between you charged with a tension that wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. But then he cleared his throat, breaking the moment. “I called you here for a reason,” he said, his tone shifting as he turned away, walking toward his desk.

Your curiosity piqued as you watched him retrieve something—a finely crafted box, larger than you expected. He carried it with the same ease as he handled his sword, and yet there was a certain weight to his movements. He approached you, his expression unreadable, and extended the box in an indifferent manner. "A wedding gift," he said simply.

Your heart fluttered as you took the box, your fingers trembling slightly. As you lifted the lid, your breath caught in your throat. Inside lay a necklace—silver, adorned with diamonds that glimmered like starlight, white pearls cascading from its base, and at the center, a magnificent sapphire, almost mirroring the sapphire you had gifted him. It was stunning, more than anything you had ever imagined.

“Wow,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, as if the beauty of the necklace had stolen the air from your lungs.

Aemond’s voice softened, a note of vulnerability threading through his usual composure. “Do you like it?”

You met his gaze, your eyes bright with genuine surprise and gratitude. “Yes, yes, of course,” you breathed, a shy smile tugging at your lips as your heart raced with something more than just relief.

You looked at him, pure joy lighting up your face, entirely unaware of the soft, almost tender look in Aemond's eye as he observed you. Nodding eagerly, you gestured to the necklace. "Will you put it on me?"

Aemond inclined his head in silence, taking the necklace from its box as he motioned for you to turn around. You did so, gathering your hair and lifting it to reveal your neck. The warmth of his presence grew closer, and when his fingers brushed against your skin to secure the clasp, you couldn’t help but wonder if the caress was deliberate or merely your imagination.

When his hands finally withdrew, you released the breath you had been holding. Turning to face him, you tilted your chin up slightly. "How does it look?"

For a moment, Aemond’s gaze lingered on you, his eye fixed on your face with an unreadable intensity before it drifted down to your neck. "Your neck looks... long."

Your brow furrowed, confusion knitting your features. "My neck looks long?"

Aemond coughed, a rare sign of discomfort, and you could swear you caught the faintest hint of pink on his pale cheeks. He quickly amended his words, mumbling, "I mean, it looks nice. The necklace brings out your eyes."

A sheepish smile tugged at your lips as you nodded, feeling warmth bloom in your chest. "Thank you, my prince."

For a brief moment, your eyes flickered to the eye patch that hid his injury, wondering if the sapphire you had gifted him lay beneath. The thought of it being there, close to him, filled you with an unspoken sense of connection. You felt content to simply stand there, the moment shared between you without the need for words. But Aemond, shifting slightly under your gaze, seemed less at ease.

“I am late for training,” he said, his tone distant as though eager to escape.

You narrowed your eyes playfully, tilting your head in mock suspicion. “I thought you only trained in the mornings?”

His posture straightened, fists clenching at his sides as he looked away, clearly caught in his lie. The silence that followed made him glance toward the window. “It’s... a beautiful day.”

You hummed softly in agreement, not pressing him any further. “Yes, it is.”

Aemond hesitated for a moment before his eye met yours again, the faintest trace of vulnerability in his voice. “Mayhaps you would be interested in a walk in the castle gardens?”

Your heart skipped, and it took everything within you to suppress the wide grin threatening to break free. You feigned contemplation for a moment before nodding with as much grace as you could muster. “I would love to, my prince.”

And though Aemond kept his face composed, you couldn’t help but notice the slight softening of his expression at your acceptance.

In Aemond's eyes, despite your apparent obliviousness to his growing feelings, it was not hard to fall in love with you. There was a quiet strength in the way you carried yourself, a delicate blend of grace and fire that intrigued him.

He had always been reserved, more comfortable in the company of books and the sound of steel clashing in the training yard than in the presence of others. But with you, there was something different, something that drew him in against his better judgment.

Your laugh, though soft, echoed in his mind long after you left the room. The way your eyes sparkled with genuine warmth when you spoke to him—even when you were nervous—was a stark contrast to the calculated interactions he was used to at court.

You were not scheming, not vying for his favor or power. You were simply... you. And perhaps that was what made it so easy for his walls to crumble, little by little, without even realizing it.

When you smiled up at him, asking him to place the necklace around your neck, his heart had skipped a beat. It was such a simple request, yet the intimacy of it made him feel more vulnerable than any duel or battle could. In those moments, he found himself wondering what it would be like to let his guard down, to let you see the man behind the stoic façade.

Even now, as he led you through the corridors of the Red Keep, heading toward the gardens, Aemond couldn’t help but steal glances at you. Your presence beside him felt... right. The idea of loving you was no longer something he fought against; instead, it was a slow, inevitable truth that settled in his chest.

In time, he hoped you would see it too.

Headcannon: reader only sees the sapphire in his eye on their wedding night

Headcannon: this is before the dance of dragons and viserys is still alive

Headcannon: aemond is 18 and reader is 17

Ages of the Baratheon daughters:

Cassandra - 25

Maris - 22

Ellyn - 19

Reader (fawn) - 17

Floris - 13

ALSO you cannot change my mind - after having four daughters (canon) Borros Baratheon is def a girl dad!

Hope you enjoyed 💜

#aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #aemond x you #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd x reader

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endless-ineffabilities · 3 months ago

Text

chemical override (6)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: I hope you all have found ways to cope after the breakup, but here all your questions will be answered on what went down pre-August! Special shoutout to @just-fics-station @thepurplecrown @clarkysblog @hotdismylife and @sprinklesprinkle888 for sharing your ideas and indulging me with the lovely, crazy discourse!

To everyone, I am so chuffed at how this has become OUR story - our lil self-indulgent Ewan Nation production. You all are aces <3

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

In the aftermath of the breakup, the reader and Ewan throw themselves into their work, trying (and failing) to avoid any trace of the other. Will they remain this way - former lovers doomed to drift in each other's orbit?

Some time before August

New York City

The lush office was laden with expensive wooden antiques, one side with built-in shelves displaying film awards and plaques of varying degrees of prestige. A full glass minibar occupied the other side.

The casting director introduced himself as Bruce, insisting that Ewan call him by his first name and not any of that "sir or similar stick-up-the-ass names". Ewan can see him as a mentor or maybe even a friend, Bruce insisted.

After all, they were going to help each other out a lot.

The discussion was straightforward enough, never mind the saccharine tone Bruce seemed to be so good at. Aimed at making Ewan feel welcome, coddling him, remarking with awe at his projects thus far. But there was a fakeness to it. Ewan steeled himself, trying to adapt to the style of conversation. After all, if he is in this for the long haul, then he would have to get used to these situations.

Bruce appraised him, leaning back on his leather swivel chair. "How are you with the fantasy genre? All that YA, lovesick stuff the kids eat up so eagerly nowadays? Personally, I haven't got the taste for it, but it always makes bank, if you know what I mean."

"Oh, well, I'm a fan of all movies. I definitely see why the fantasy genre has made such an impact on audiences, especially with the romance element, you know, I get the appeal."

"Well, son, we've got a solid franchise in our hands here. Some adaptation of an elf-human love story, mind you, it sound ridiculous, but you know how it is. And the team seems to be in agreement - you fit the bill for the male lead. The male elf lead - " he almost guffawed at the thought, then collected himself " - hope you don't mind my saying that you've got elvish features yourself. Long nose, long jaw, lanky. The teens are going to eat you up."

"Ah," Ewan smiled curtly, nodding. There was a backhanded compliment if he ever heard one. "Well, sir, I've read the script - at least, the bit that was sent to me - and it looks quite promising. I'd be honoured to - "

"Of course, of course!" Bruce exclaimed in pleasure, cutting Ewan off mid-sentence. "And there's the case of your leading lady, and this all boils down to chemistry as you know. Our top contender is that Jenna Ortega girl from the Netflix show, you know her?"

Ewan nodded, well aware. He's seen her work, and thinks that she is a top actress of her generation, but leave it to Bruce to reduce her to being that girl from the Netflix show.

"Yes, she's a very talented actress," Ewan replied.

Bruce hums in agreement, head bobbing as a smirk materialises on his face. "Think she's a looker?" he said openly, without shame.

Ewan laughed nervously, his words caught in his throat.

Bruce, characteriscally oblivious to the discomfort of others, carried on. "I only ask because we're going to need you two to be pretty chummy with each other when you jump on this project. It's kind of a condition of the whole thing, but really nothing to concern yourself with." He waved a hand in the air, his proposition barely carrying any weight in his mind. But Ewan was catching on, and he started to develop a dislike about the whole deal.

"What do you mean?" Ewan asked.

"It's pretty common in this business, son. There's a reason why young, new actors like yourself opt to remain unattached so to speak, so they're always open to a PR arrangement or, you know, just so their - your - hoards of fans would think they got a chance with you," Bruce explains lazily. "In this case, since you and Ortega are, as I said, unattached, getting you two together would fuckin' do wonders for our movie."

Our movie, he said, convinced that Ewan was all in, because why would any young actor refuse such a golden opportunity? Franchises like this can set up an entire mainstream Hollywood career.

Ewan thought that he wasn't unattached. Granted, his date with you was yet to happen, but he already felt bound to you. He wished you were the one tapped to be his love interest. Very little acting would be needed there. Maybe he might even be inclined to go along with the idea of selling the relationship, using it for publicity for the film, but even that made him uneasy.

The industry offered a lot of privileges, but more often than not, they come at a cost.

"Sir, I - "

"Bruce."

"Right, sorry. Bruce, I have to tell you that I'm not exactly unattached."

"Got a partner?"

Ewan actually found himself smiling at the thought of you being called his partner. His first easy smile since entering this office. "Yes, she's an actress herself," he agreed.

"I heard of her?" Bruce asked with obvious disinterest. You were but a wedge in his flawless plan.

"She's kind of a new talent like me, but she's brilliant. She plays Alyna Rivers in our show."

"Ah her," Bruce loosened up a little. "I get it, she's a piece."

Ewan cleared his throat loudly, his jaw clenching on instinct. "So, like I said, I'm with her. I'm sorry but this whole PR arrangement with Jenna wouldn't work."

"Look, kid, I want my movie to do well, alright? I got a lot invested here. This PR thing has proven to be highly bankable time and time again. If you don't trust me, I can ask the team to show you the data on all that. It's a lot of boring numbers, but shit, the numbers are never wrong."

"I don't need to see - "

"If you wanna be with your girl, you can, but you just gotta learn to hide it. Sweep it under the rug, you know. Don't canoodle in public, you crazy kids," Bruce offered, like that made things any better.

"You want me to hide my relationship?"

"Hey, now, come on. Word gets around. Isn't your girl also doing this exact same thing with Jacob Elordi?"

"Not anymore, I don't think," Ewan clarifies, "and that was... that was hardly anything. They weren't obligated to do it. It just worked by chance because they were both single for a time."

"Po-ta-to, po-tah-to." Bruce clicked his tongue before making his next point. "So you see how it works, your thing with Ortega won't be any different."

"Do I have a choice?" There it is, the defining factor.

Bruce smiled slowly. The calculating and menacing air about him intensified, and it was obvious he was not there to be Ewan's friend.

"It would be stupid to refuse something like this, kid."

Ewan's blue eyes flashed in return. None of this was ideal, but his nan raised him well, and he knew better than to falter on his values in times of trial.

"Sir, what's stupid is if you ask me to hide my real relationship for the sake of mere publicity for a film."

"Stupid you say?" Bruce sneered, having already discarded Ewan in his mind, his fragile ego bruised. "What a shame."

There wasn't much to say after that. Bruce was clearly not disinclined to reveal the ice that settled in his veins, and it dawned on Ewan that it had always been the case. There was no true hospitality here.

For bigwig casting director-slash-execs like Bruce, this was a transaction. And Ewan was not about to put what he has, or what he could have, with you on the line.

There has to be another way to advance his career. If not bigger productions, then at least those with less domineering producers.

"That is a shame," Ewan said, getting up from his seat. "I won't waste any more of your time, sir. Thank you for considering me."

Bruce's eyes darkened even further. "You're actually refusing me? For some girl?"

Another genuine smile formed on Ewan's face at the thought of you. Some girl.

But you're not just some girl. He nodded without a trace of doubt in his mind, before reaching out to shake Bruce's hand. "If you don't mind, sir... I have to go and see my darling."

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Near the end of August

Los Angeles

The modern space sported a minimalist yet rustic feel, the interiors a blend of sterile white and sleek wooden surfaces. Very LA, as they say. The windowed walls offered plenty of light, as well as precious views of the valley below.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Donna," you greeted Ewan's publicist as she ushered you in her LA office.

"No problem at all, sweetheart," she said. "Please, have a seat. Would you like some coffee or tea? Ewan always has his coffee with way, way too much sugar. Mind you, if that kid wasn't active and boxing all the time, I'd be worried for his health."

You smiled fondly at her genuine concern. "Don't even mention the cigarettes."

"Oh, yeah," she scoffed, settling down on the chair across from you. She could have sat down at her desk, making the meeting more official, but Donna's always had a friendly and open way about her. "So, my sweet, how's your new movie coming up?"

You respond eagerly. The dialogue flowed freely, talking about your film and the lukewarm reception of season 2 of House of The Dragon. And finally, Ewan.

"I really thought he would get the Greta Gerwig film," you said. "Everyone said he was perfect for it. I think Greta herself had nothing but praises for him when they met on Zoom."

She sighed thoughtfully, "I thought so too. And, theoretically, he did have that one almost booked up. But there was an issue with one of the producers, which - I don't even want to get into that."

You shook your head, catching on whom she hinted at. "Donna, I heard... well, it didn't go too well in New York, didn't it? Ewan told me about it but... if you can tell me more, I just want to understand why - "

"Sweetheart," she offered a smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes, "you should talk about this with Ewan."

"I tried. But he wouldn't budge. Mallory told me... that it might have been because of me that he didn't get the role? And also why he's struggling to get roles now? Donna, I... I can't have that."

It took some time for her to formulate a response. She didn't want to step in something that's none of her business. Your relationship with Ewan is yours. But when his career is on the line, she supposed that she needed to have some say in that.

"He met with this top producer in New York. This real old money Hollywood guy. For decades, he's built careers for the greats, you know - Pitt, DiCaprio, Theron, and whatnot. There was a franchise project practically offered to him on a plate, but Ewan refused, because a non-negotiable was that he would have to hide you in favour of a PR arrangement with his leading lady."

You swallowed, the weight of the truth making itself clear. "Couldn't he have just done the movie without that?"

"You would think," she grimaced, "but some producers... when they want something, they have to get it. And well, Bruce wasn't lying, that would have sold the movie well."

"I thought we were past this," you expressed sadly. "I understand how PR relationships work. Just recently, I found myself kind of in the middle of one. But there was no pressure, it wasn't forced on us, and it was meant to be all in good fun."

"I know, sweetheart," she insisted, reaching out to squeeze your hand. "Bruce is an outlier now. Most of the time you do get lucky, with an all-around supportive production team, just like with your project with Elordi."

You hummed in agreement on that positive note, but your mind kept drifting back to Ewan.

Donna continued, wrapping up her story, "but Bruce is still here, and he still has a lot of power. But you know, it'll be fine. Ewan's got such a huge fanbase and so much talent that it'll only be a matter of time before something else knocks on his door."

You wanted to share her sense of optimism, but something ate at you. What else will Ewan have to sacrifice just to be with you? This was his dream, his one dream, and you were standing in the way. How much longer before he is offered another project but he refuses to take it for your sake? Your thoughts blurred together, bordering on irrational, but you couldn't help it.

All you could picture was the unabashed sincerity on his face, that sense of wonder, when he told you that acting had always been his dream.

Being tied down to you, this early in his career, would surely only hurt him. And you don't think you're worth it.

"Ewan loves you, sweetheart. Anyone with eyes can see that," Donna said after a while, heeding the storm brewing in your expression.

He loves you. It was true.

Less than a month in, and you've already found yourself with a love that you've never felt before. And perhaps never will again.

And that was the problem.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Late September

The podcast moderators are overly welcoming, if not a little loud for Ewan's taste.

The BBC podcast is called Loose Ends, and it's one of the first things Ewan agreed to take on upon returning to England.

He had wanted to head straight home to Derby, to bury himself in his heartache and bitterness, but the team for the show tapped him for a couple more promotional stints, riding on the high of the season finale. And who better than Ewan to offer to the media, the undeniable fan favourite.

Clad in an old gray shirt and blue jeans, people would think he just rolled right out of bed. He didn't really have the motivation to put in more effort. The only striking thing about him is his newly bleached head of hair, supervised by his stylist for a photoshoot a few days ago.

It was ironic, the timing of such a change. Ewan knew that if word got out that you dumped him, he would never hear the end of the joke of that being the reason for his hairstyle change, typical of all heartbroken sods.

Everyone bursts into laughter when he tells them about his mum's reaction to his nude scene. It feels like going through the motions, and he must have been so out of it, so forlorn, that his team prepared an outline for him prior to the interview. The questions and answers all pre-agreed.

Make them laugh. React as required. Remember to speak when spoken to. The mantra goes on in his head.

And don't think about her.

An impossible task, worsened when a moderator goes off script and asks, "Now it wasn't me who saw this, as I'm not on social media myself, but one of our interns did mention that you ventured into Instagram recently? Is that true?"

Oh fuck.

"Mmm, yeah, I guess," Ewan laughs nervously, his hand massaging the back of his neck in a self-soothing motion.

"And your first post went viral? What can you tell us about that? Our listeners would love to know."

"Uhhhm - " He remembers that the broadcast is live, and he can't exactly ask them to edit this part out, so he quickly settles for something indirect. Inconclusive. Safe. " - did it go viral? I'm not too sure how that thing works. I haven't used any kind of social media before."

"Apparently it did! And it had to do with the subject featured in that photo, Ewan. Your costar - "

"Mmm," Ewan stops him there, "didn't you say that you don't use Instagram?"

"No, I think I'm too old!" The moderator laughs.

"It's insane, that whole thing," Ewan shakes his head. "I don't know how to handle it. I'm logged off most of the time."

"Oh, you log off?"

"Yeah, yeah, helps me keep my focus, you know. Keep calm and all that."

"It can get frivolous, can't it?"

Ewan hums in agreement, and thankfully, the moderator moves on to his last question. One that does not breach the subject of you.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Another day means yet another media stint for Ewan, this time for Now TV.

Still in London, his stylist Davey and the rest of the team prepare him for a day of brief interview clips, to be posted on the social media pages of the company.

Davey had half-joked about Ewan needing even more concealer than usual, the shadows under his eyes having significantly deepened after the breakup.

Some of his team have gotten wind of what happened. They would curiously ask about you, how often Ewan keeps in touch with you while you're on set...

You must be on FaceTime everyday!

Is it hard to be doing long-distance so soon?

Do you miss her? Is that why you're not getting any rest?

...but Ewan would only laugh uncomfortably, dismiss it by bringing up another topic or shifting the attention to someone else, or excuse himself to go for a smoke.

He'd been drowning himself in cigarettes and caffeine during the day, pint after pint in the nighttime. Aimless.

He is coping. He knows how it must look, but he deserves this. He deserves to drift for a while. It's the only thing he can do to keep himself from jumping on the next flight to Atlanta and begging for your hand back.

You said you love him. You did. He hangs on to it like a beacon in a storm. No matter how pointless it may seem, with you choosing someone else over him.

Work is becoming something of an anchor, something that keeps him from spiralling. He's an actor, and he has always wanted to be an actor. People now have expectations of him, and he will answer the call.

The interview session begins with generic questioning, stuff he's answered before on several occasions.

How special is the bond between dragon and rider?

What is a funny moment from set that you can share?

How similar are Aemond and Daemon?

All safe. He's proud of himself for not breaking mental clarity thus far. You're in the back of his mind, dormant as a memory, and not something looming darkly over him. For a while, at least.

But then he is asked, If you could invite any 5 people to a Ewan Mitchell dinner party, who would you pick?

"Matthew McConaughey - "

You.

" - Bruce Lee. I think they could strike up an interesting conversation - "

Your name echoes in his mind, and he can't control it.

" - Andrea Riseborough. She's just a chameleon, like in any role she undertakes -

You have great taste. Even if you would make him eat spicy food again, he'll take it. He'll endure anything for you.

He's stumped for a second, lump in his throat, and his effort in avoiding you leads him to mention someone who will always be a comfort to him.

" - Maybe my nan, because I miss her -

Your name. He has to say your name. Who else? Think of someone else.. but who else? Who would be better?

" - and then, another person. Let's make it from the show... it would be Alyna Rivers."

"Oh really?" The interviewer asks. She's not really meant to respond in this instance, but she knows that the fans would go crazy about any mention of you or your character, so why not jump on this opportunity? "Can you tell us why you chose her?"

"Uhhm, well, she's just an amazing character, you know, fiercely loyal, beautiful, tenacious," Ewan replies easily, "so yeah, she would make for good company."

It is obvious that he is describing you just as much as he does Alyna Rivers, and no doubt, the fans will catch on to this detail.

Later, he's asked about his favourite part about season two, and he duly answers, "Seeing more of Aemond and Vhagar's bond and how that perhaps have gotten stronger. Aemond has definitely reined her in, after the accident at Storm's End."

Then, "There are some new additions to the show. Do you have a particular favourite?"

Another obvious piece of bait. And he takes it, he doesn't care anymore. What's the use of denying the truth?

"A favourite new character? Oh, well, uhmm... I really do like Alyna, and I think I've said before that Aemond and her are quite similar in a sense that they both know what they want and how to achieve it. It's just a shame they're on opposing sides, because if those two get together... " he trails off, leaving it up to the audiences to fill in the rest of the thought.

And they eagerly do. The clips where Ewan mentions Alyna get the most traction, flooded with comments that more or less talk of the same thing -

We know why you chose Alyna, Ewan. We know your ways.

He could have said Alys. Or Gwayne. Or even the ghost of Daeron ffs. But nooooo.... it's Alyna Alyna Alyna 😮‍💨

I wonder if she's there behind the scenes

yeah shes definitely lurking in the background!

Aemond and Alyna better have at least a scene together in season 3!!!!!

Someone kidnap Ryan Condal and make him write this

Ewan doesn't see any of it. Not that he's missing out, because he soon feels the need to call his younger cousin to ask her how to turn off his notifications on Instagram.

Day in and day out, his one single post gets dozens of new comments and likes, a brutal reminder of what he's lost. He could just delete it, and get rid of his profile entirely, but he hates to imagine the discourse that would follow.

All the invasive allegations and rumours. So he leaves it be. It makes no difference to him now. Let people believe what they want.

To his chagrin, he finds himself scrolling on his home page once in a while. The addictive element to it was true, and for him, it's exacerbated because the things he sees are often related to you.

Photos of you from fanpages and news accounts. Ones where your friends have tagged you. It's a toxic habit, looking through it all, but he can't help himself.

Then one day, as he's slouched on the seat in his London apartment, phone propped on his knees, he sees a cutout photo of his face on the corner of the screen. He clicks on it, and it's an image of him interposed among different posts. Posts which he apparently liked.

"Oh for fuck's sake," he cusses at himself, reading the caption.

Boyfriend lurking? - Ewan Mitchell may play a formidable TV villain, but in real life, he's just like us. Click on the link in bio to see his series of liked posts!

Dread takes root in him, followed by self-loathing. Why couldn't he just keep off this bloody thing? He takes to the comments to see what he has allegedly liked on accident and it's predictably photos of you - you at a premiere, stills of you as Alyna, and even, heavens fucking forbid, a behind the scenes shot of you getting pretty close with Jacob Elordi on the set of your film.

He vividly remembers seeing that last one, because he went on a bender after coming across it.

Cursing himself and his wayward, sticky fingers, he exits the app and deletes it from his phone.

Whatever goes on there, whatever people might leave on his profile, he washes his hands of it.

He calls up several of his mates, asking them if they want to come over for a few drinks.

"Again, Ewan?" one of them exclaims. "C'mon, you gotta take a breather, mate."

"I don't need a breather." I need her.

"Ewan - "

His composure breaks, all his damned frustrations rising to the surface, and he confesses, "I wonder if she thinks about me."

"Hang in there, mate. We're coming over."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

October

The director finally yells a satisfied, "Cut!"

It's only taken a good twenty-something takes for you and Jacob to nail a challenging scene. You had been on a roll since the beginning of the shoot, the last few weeks seemingly a breeze on paper, though it's a constant struggle to keep it together.

You've had to quell your internal dialogue so it does not stray to him. His smile. The feel of his skin against yours. His way of subtly picking up on details, and doing sweet things that surprise you as a result.

But you received word just before the scene that a few of your friends have come to visit, waiting back at your trailer - Phia, Fabien and his girlfriend, Bella.

And so, as if on instinct, Ewan is all you can focus on, every repressed memory of him rushing in like a tidal wave.

Do they know? What could you possibly say to justify what you did? You can only hope he took on that project, to give you a bitter sense of vindication.

It's the only thing that keeps it all the bay, the only thing that keeps you from jumping on the next flight to England and grovelling at his door.

Phia has her arms wrapped around you the moment you open the door to your trailer, loudly squealing, "I missed you!"

You sink into the hug, comforted by her presence.

As well as the fact that she represents some connection to Ewan.

Phia, Helaena. Helaena, Aemond. Aemond, Ewan.

It's a sick game to play, but it's what you have.

"Hey, yous," you hug Fabien and Bella in turn. Not long after, you're all lounging on director's chairs right outside your trailer, enjoying a bit of sun.

"How's our big Hollywood star?" Phia quips, her lips curling in her trademark pleasant upturn.

"Hardly a star," you shake your head fondly. "More of an indie darling."

"Of course, of course," she relents, before going on a monologue about how she's been keeping tabs on your project, how she just adores the costume designer whom she spoke to at length while you were working, and how the rest of the cast is rooting for you.

The rest of the cast.

"Ah, are they?" you ask, making a conscious effort to not simply blurt out his name. What does he think? Has he mentioned you at all?

Do they know?

Do they secretly hate you for what you did?

"Mhmm, right Fabs?" she says.

"Oh, definitely." Fabien agrees right away.

"How's your film? Are you done shooting in Philly?" you ask him.

"Just about done, but I think we're doing some final reshoots next week. I'm just glad my girl's here to visit," he slings an arm around Bella, who smiles and leans closer to him.

You smile at the sight, but it visibly falters. Ewan could be visiting you on set right now, just like Bella with Fabien, if you hadn't fucked it all up.

They notice.

"Love," Phia sighs, her tone softening. "I just want you know - we want you know - we're here for you, okay? No matter what you went through with... " A pause. Like saying his name would open up the floodgates.

Your gaze falls to your lap in shame. You pick on invisible lint on your trousers. Bite your lip. Breathe deeply.

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

"So you guys know, huh?"

"Well, more or less," Phia says. "I just spoke with... Ewan... recently. He's back in Derby for the time being, and he's - "

"He's a bit rough," Fabien says firmly. He's not taking sides here, but he's heard from Ewan, and he feels the need to have his mate's back. "Look, I don't want to pry, but what happened? It seemed like you guys were doing so well together!"

"You don't have to tell us," Phia adds, shooting Fabien a look. "But if you want to, we're here to listen. We love you both and we just want to help, love."

You feel your eyes welling up. Leave it to Phia to be oh so sweet. You can't lie to them, you don't want to. Even if you did, they would see right through it.

Your friends know you too well.

"I... I miss him."

Phia squeezes your hand, and the whole story is about to spill out of you when you hear your name being called.

It's your assistant Clara, letting you know you're needed back on set.

You swallow back tears, standing on your feet, trying to maintain enough composure so you can grant yourself access back to your character.

"Go do your thing, superstar," Phia smiles comfortingly. "We'll be here when you're ready."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

November

"I'd like to propose a toast," Tom declares out loud in the empty pub, "to Ewan, Hollywood's new elf... Lord? Prince? Ah sod it, cheers!"

Round the table, Ewan, Fabien, Luke and Elliott all raise their pints with a collective, "Hear, hear!"

The pub has been cleared out for the lads, thanks to a favour called in by the twins, with the owner being their gym buddy and good friend.

"Thank you," Ewan replies, smirking. "I am your new elf prince, address me as such."

"Your ears have never been pointier, mate," Luke quips.

After a month of moping back home in Derby, or recovering as Ewan prefers to put it, he got a call from his manager telling him that the offer from Bruce still stands.

Apparently, the production team for the movie still had him tapped as the prime choice for the lead. After observing his audience metrics and overall viability, they decided that the movie would fare the best with him in it.

They had planted some half-baked announcements in the media, stating that it was Ewan against Joseph Quinn and Manny Jacinto for the role, and the fan reaction veered in Ewan's favour by a landslide.

Even though Bruce had an unsavoury word or two to say about him, he was willing to work past it, so long as Ewan would be more amenable to his demands.

After careful deliberation, Ewan chose to throw caution to the wind, and accept the role. So what if he has to pretend to have a real-life romance with Jenna? This is what you wanted.

"I'm glad you finally came out to see us, mate," Fabien says. "It's been a while."

"Yeah, fuck's sake. Remind us never to break your heart! That was tough to witness, you hunkerin' down out there all mopey and whatnot," Elliott laughs.

"Mmm." Ewan takes a swig of his beer to hide the wince he couldn't hold back. His friends, and most of the cast know by now, not in too much detail, of what went down between the two of you.

A typical short-lived romance of two actors. A summer fling. Most of them would look back and only see it as that.

Even though it was so much more. Even though Ewan still recalls how warm and soft and beautiful you felt as you whimpered underneath him, the loss of you as painful as getting hit by a freight train.

The liquor helps. Burying himself in work helps. Denial... well, that certainly helps the most.

When he goes out to the back garden for a smoke break with Fabien, he tricks himself into believing it's mere curiosity that compels him to say, "Phia mentioned that you guys went to Atlanta."

Fabien is rendered off guard, because he knows what's coming. "Yeah, we did. Bella came with us too. She was visiting me on set," he says, measuredly.

"Mmm." A long drag, a flick of ash towards the ground, an unaffected shrug - and eventually, with as impassive of a tone as he can muster, Ewan asks, "So how is she?"

Fabien smiles knowingly. "She's doing great. Her film's looking pretty good." He's privy to the truth, after he and Phia managed to gently coax it out of you over several martinis at a hotel bar in Atlanta. But he doesn't think it up to him to reveal that to Ewan, out of respect for your privacy.

While he might not share your sentiment, he thinks it's not in his place to tell Ewan that you basically lied for his sake.

But that doesn't mean he won't drop a helpful nugget or two.

"You know, I don't exactly know what's going on... but her and Jacob came across as nothing more than friends."

Ewan's hand freezes mid-air, the cigarette inches from his lips. He loathes the sense of hope that immediately bloomed in his chest. He's so bloody easy. One miniscule hint, and his delusions break through the wall of indifference he worked so hard to build.

"She said she has feelings for him," Ewan stresses, trying to convince himself. What was the fucking point of all this... this pain... if you never did?

"Hey, mate, I dunno," Fabien puts his hands up, "just telling you what I saw."

"It doesn't matter." It does. "She ended it." He wants you back, he will always want you back. "It's better this way."

"Is it?"

Ewan doesn't answer. He doesn't know how to, without grossly embellishing the truth.

Fabien watches his friend, sensing his hesitation as he averts his gaze. One thing becomes clear to him - you and Ewan are far from being over.

So he says, "She misses you, you know."

Ewan regards him with a stony look, one that slowly softens to reveal the broken boy inside. For but a moment, before he clears his throat and throws the butt of his cigarette on the ground.

"Let's head back inside."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

December

You're back in London, as production for your film is paused for the upcoming holiday season.

Work is supposed to be the last thing on your mind, but it just so happens that your manager has you booked for a chemistry read for a yet undisclosed film.

Phia came over to your apartment, insisting that she help you get ready. When you asked how she found out about your audition, she was quick to say that she was up for the role as well but didn't think it was right for her.

"Why not?" you ask, as she hovers over you, patting blush on the apples of your cheeks.

"Oh, you just get a feel for these things."

"Phi, it's just a chemistry read," you say, when she reaches for the mascara. "I don't need to get all dolled up for this."

She gasps, "Oh, but this is showbiz, darling. We always have to put a face on."

"Fine," you relent. "Do your worst."

The makeup she ends up doing on you is minimal, but it enhances your features just the right amount. You rush through your final preparations, folding up the script sample you were given and stuffing it in your purse.

Phia stands out on your balcony, in the middle of a call. The window screen is slightly open, so you hear snippets of the conversation as you walk by.

"Is he ready?" she asks. Who's he? You assume it's the guy you are doing the read with.

You don't know about him, but you are ready, so you stick your head out to say, "I gotta go, Phi."

"Oh!" She startles a little, angling her phone away. "Already?"

"Yeah, the read's at 4, I believe. Just lock the door when you leave, 'kay?"

She hurriedly whispers something to her phone, presumably ending her call. "I'll actually head out with you," she grins. "My work here is done anyway."

"Any plans for the night?"

She shrugs, "Might meet with Tom and Martha."

"Oh, why don't I meet you guys after my thing?"

"Uhhhm," she chews on her lip, thinking. Under her breath, you barely hear her mumble, "... hoping you'd be busy."

"What?" A restrained chuckle escapes you, confused as to why she's being so coy.

"Nothing," she tilts her head. "We can meet if you'd like."

The weird exchange is out of your mind when you arrive at the casting agency. You run the scene through in your head as you walk in the building, up the elevator, down the long hallway.

It's a heartfelt scene, if not a little tense, a dialogue between reunited ex-lovers.

Your manager Polina and publicist Mallory greet you at the doors, swiftly briefing you before directing you in.

"They're waiting, just walk right in, doll," Polina says.

"Okay, wish me luck!" You have your hand on the door handle when Mallory strangely remarks, "Don't hate us, sweetheart!"

"Why would I - "

"Go, go," Polina guides you in, then shuts the door behind you.

The office sports an spacious and open layout, with plenty of natural light streaming through large windows. The primary workstation is partially hidden behind a subtle partition. You see silhouettes of a few people behind it, so you walk down that way.

The figures reveal themselves soon enough - the casting agents you recognise as Patrick and Amie, sitting in front of the actor you're meant to read with.

A range of emotion washes over you, but you don't even have time to reckon with them. The casting agents divert your attention from Ewan, as they approach you with wide smiles in greeting.

"So nice to finally meet you!" Amie croons. "Take a seat. You two already know each other, of course. Between us, there won't really be a question of chemistry here."

"Right?" Patrick adds, looking between you and Ewan. "The fans sure think so, and we have to say we already agree."

"So just give us a minute to set up," Amie says. "Then we'll start."

You smile stiffly, settling down on the opposite end of the couch. You keep your gaze straight, trying to keep your attention on Patrick as he sets up the camera. Your heartbeat races the entire time, and you feel your hands getting clammy.

"They're all in on it," you hear Ewan say, prompting you to finally look at him directly. You take him in hungrily, admiring his outline, ever so handsome with his Targaryen-blonde hair and black leather jacket.

A weak "Mmm?" is all you can muster.

"Our teams, Tom, Phia... they set us up. Tom came over and I overheard him on the phone with Phia."

"Oh," you mumble. He doesn't even spare you a glance, leaning on the armrest on his side of the couch. He looks as if he'd rather be anywhere but here, next to you, and it hurts.

It's what you deserve.

"Is this not a real chemistry read?" you ask meekly.

"I suppose it is," he laughs humourlessly, "but it's not a coincidence that you and I just happen to be the only ones scheduled for today." He turns to you, giving you a critical sideways glance. "Didn't see that coming, did you?"

"I... I can leave if you want - "

"Mmm," his brows furrow, "you do seem to be good at that."

You look away. He is not being fair, but you weren't neither, that wretched night back in September.

And he is making you pay for it now.

But then you hear him speak in a softer tone, "Stay."

Stay. When you look at him once more, his attention is entirely on you, arm outstretched on the couch like he just tried to reach for you but decided against it.

Stay, he asked. So you do.

It's what you should have done, months ago.

"Okay, guys. Whenever you're ready," Amie says. She and Patrick take their seats in front of you, with the camera on a stand between them.

The script crinkles on your lap as you hold it with shaky fingers. "It's been a while," you read out your opening line.

The dialogue plays out twisted and ironic, now that you know who your scene partner is.

"Hardly," Ewan responds in character. "I feel like no time as passed."

"Feels like a lifetime."

He pauses, then sighs, "Do you even miss me?"

"How... how can you even ask me that?"

"How can I - "

"Why didn't you... why didn't you fight for me?" your voice breaks, the lines hitting a bit too close to home.

"You're a fucking hypocrite," he spits with venom. "You weren't exactly giving me anything to fight for."

"I did it for us. I did it all for us." If you didn't feel like crying at the weight of the scene, you would have rolled your eyes at the similarities.

"Like I said - nothing to fight for."

"Nothing? So you're telling me I was nothing to you."

"No," he levels you with an icy look, "you were everything to me. Everything. But you left me behind, and for what? So you can run off with the rebel sect?"

"The mission needed me. You wouldn't understand." You feel a sense of relief when the sci-fi elements roll in, otherwise you might have given in to your emotions and sobbed right there on the damn couch.

"I needed you," Ewan says, eyes not leaving yours. "I needed you and you abandoned me, just like that."

"And are you not better for it? When I left, did they not make you General?"

"See, that is the difference between you and I," he says coldly. "I wouldn't have traded what we had for anything - no position, no amount of wealth, no glory... I would have chosen us every time."

"Aaand cut!" Patrick jokes, effectively breaking the tension.

The two of you have unconsciously drifted closer, now only a foot part. Ewan does not drop your gaze, watching you closely. You see his eyes flit down to your parted lips, and he leans in almost imperceptibly.

"Alright, how about we go one more time?" Amie says, diverting your attention. "Give us a different take, and then that's it!"

Ewan settles back on his end of the couch. When he reads his lines again, his tone is harsher and he no longer meets your eyes.

Patrick and Amie commend you both afterward, singing praises about your acting abilities. Ewan is polite as always, blushing and grateful, but he practically dashes out of the door when the meeting finishes.

You're left standing with Amie, as Patrick has taken to his laptop to file the footage.

"The way he looks at you," she sighs dreamily, referring to Ewan. "You'd think the sun shone out your arse, doll."

"He... he was just in character," you disagree. "He's a good actor, as you know."

"Yeah, I mean, he nailed the part's rancour perfectly. But his eyes - oof - you've got a good one there."

Oh. Of course they would still assume you and him are together.

How desperately you want it to be true.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

An hour later, you've just sent Phia a text saying - You owe me. Where do I meet you guys?

But you hear a knock on your apartment door. If you didn't buzz anyone in, it can only be a neighbour or someone the doorman recognised.

Someone familiar to you.

And it's him.

"Ewan?"

"I need to speak with you."

You step aside so he doesn't linger at your doorway. He walks past you, a welcome if not unexpected presence in the room.

You can't decipher his expression, his gaze angled downward as he leans against your kitchen counter.

When the silence becomes almost deafening, you laugh awkwardly, about to make some silly remark on whether he is still in character. But he doesn't let you diffuse the tension.

"I want you," he blurts out without warning. "God help me, I still want you. I think I might have a fucking problem because how can I... after what you did - " A momentary glance of betrayal, but you see the spite clear in his eyes. " - but I do. I can't get you out of my system."

"I'm sorry - "

"I don't need that," he says sharply. "I don't need your sorry. I need you. I need to have you, and maybe this way, I'll satisfy whatever pointless desire I still have in me."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying - I'm asking - will you let me have you?"

"Ewan, I don't under - "

"I'm saying that we should sleep together," he says bluntly, and it feels like the rug has been pulled from under your feet, "but only just. You won't be mine, and I won't be yours."

"You're kidding."

He shakes his head, before adding, "Don't worry. It'll be our little secret. To the rest of the world, I'll have a different girlfriend anyway."

His words register, along with the bitter ache at his words, that you won't be his, he won't be yours. This is purely for pleasure. There used to be love here, and now he just craves the comfort your body allows.

You'll be using each other.

You should refuse. This is not healthy; this is not how you move on. Can you even go back to being good friends after this? But also - what have you got to lose?

What, except for him, and for good this time?

What, except everything?

"So what do you say - " He closes in on you, and with every bit of malice intended, the name no longer possessing the sweetness it once held, he sneers, "- darling?"

💌 next chapter

Taglist: @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @strangersunghoon @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @athenafaes @lovelyteenagebeard @mamawiggers1980 @moongirl27 @katherine93 @barnes70stark @justbelljust @cloudroomblog @somestufftoday @esposadomd @girl-in-the-chairs-void @insideyourimagination @vyctorya @wildrangers @livcookesgf @onlyrealjoy (continued ... )

Some notes in the margins...

Well well well... the transition from friends to lovers to strangers to angsty FWBs sure is a slippery slope!

The time jumps are so we get through the moping quicker! It's mostly back to the regular shenanigans in the next part. Only, you know, angst-ridden. But you hurt Ewan, reader. *wags finger* Don't say you didn't expect this switch! Tsktsk

So what now - will you accept this arrangement? Will things ever be truly okay? Part 7 is going to be hot and hilarious and stupid and messy, just as the doctor ordered.

Let's hash it out in the comments, shall we? 🗡💕

#ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell x reader #ewan mitchell imagine #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #chemical override #hotd #aemond targaryen x reader

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ninibeingdelulu · 5 months ago

Text

A sweet future ✧

Plot: You share a romantic moment with your boyfriend.

The soft strains of jazz misted through the living room like a hushed reverie as you laxly awaited your boyfriend's return.

With Emi - the impossibly huge yet sweet-natured kaiju you'd taken under your wings - finally settled down for the night in her reinforced basement enclosure, you eagerly anticipated reuniting with Kenji again alone.

These quiet reprieves had proven increasingly scarce over the harried past few weeks since welcoming the orphaned, radioactive creature into your lives.

Between your demanding day jobs and the round-the-clock regimen of feeding, cleaning up after, and just generally caring for your colossal new "baby," alone time had dwindled to precious few stolen moments like these.

You perked up instantly at the telltale thud of Kenji's footfalls padding up the stairwell, a contented smile brightening your features at his familiar silhouette emerging from the shadows.

Without hesitation, he crossed the distance separating you in a few easy strides - his arms encircling your smaller frame in a snug, demonstrative embrace.

"Hey..."

Kenji exhaled the hushed greeting against the juncture of your neck and shoulder, his solid warmth enveloping you like a calming salve after the chaos of recent days.

Instinctively nuzzling into the comforting expanse of his chest, you wound your own arms around his waist to tether him even closer.

"These last few weeks..." His lush baritone reverberated through your skin, laden with a weary sort of fondness.

"I feel like we haven't had any time just for us anymore."

A sympathetic chuckle bubbled up unbidden from the very core of your being.

Tilting your head back, you peered up at his striking visage awash in the amber glow of the flickering firelight - admiring the austere cut of those steely features you'd come to love so fiercely.

"Well, we do have a baby to care for now," you teased lightly, tender smile never faltering as you laced your fingers through the dark silk of his tousled locks.

"Even if she's not exactly a normal child...and not our own flesh and blood, I suppose little Emi has been rather excellent practice, hasn't she?"

Kenji absorbed your whimsical riposte in contemplative silence for a lingering beat as a pensive furrow cinched his brow.

You felt him subtly shift closer, scarcely a hairsbreadth of space remaining between your molded silhouettes now while his eyes smoldered with an intensity you couldn't quite parse.

"You..." he rumbled at last in little more than a gravelly murmur thickened with naked emotion.

"You really want kids one day? A family of our own...?"

The fragility of hope bleeding into his beloved baritone caressed something profoundly elemental in your very essence.

Without hesitation, you nodded - tongue darting out to wet your lips in a reflexively unconscious gesture.

"Of course I do, Kenji," you hushed back with a roll of your eyes, though the indulgent teasing underlying your tone was achingly tender and sincere.

Winding your arms around the strong column of his neck, you pulled him instinctively closer with a near-desperate sort of adoration.

"I want to raise our babies - happy, healthy children with a mom and dad that will always be there for them. As many wonderful little ones as we can handle...but only with you, baby."

Kenji let out a shuddering, nearly imperceptible breath at your passionate declaration, eyes falling briefly shut as the profound emotion streaked across those chiseled features in vivid strokes.

For several weighted heartbeats, the only sounds were your mingled pulses thundering in tandem as the revelations of your entwined future dreams sunk in.

Then, there was the first gentlest swell of sultry jazz piped through the living room speakers - the rich, soulful brass curving into existence by some ambient hand like a spirit invocation.

An unexpected accompaniment, but the melancholy melody undulated through the aura surrounding you and Kenji like the physical manifestation of your commingled desires.

As if inexplicably magnetized, you instinctively relaxed further into his solid anchoring - forehead pillowing against his sternum while his chin tucked atop the crown of your head.

One of his palms settled warm and broad against the lower curve of your spine to steady you closer still.

The two of you gradually swaying in unhurried tandem to the sensual pulse of the music safeguarding your profound quiet.

"I want that too, beautiful," your beloved confided reverently amidst the downy swirl of your hair - the words blooming to life like a flower unfurling before the first warming rays of daybreak.

"A real family...happy, healthy babies with your beaming smile to wake up to everyday..."

You felt the tender press of his lips mapping an achingly tender imprint to your crown.

"God, you have no idea how often I've dreamed of that blessed future with you."

Cradling his jaw to guide his features back into your sightline, you simply basked in the naked sincerity swimming in those amber-flecked depths.

No more profound oaths were required in that suspended instance.

Just the seamless glide of your interwoven forms locked in a silent avowal.

Just the lush rhythm of the mournful melody igniting the very air around you like a physically manifested miasma of your eternal and unbreakable devotion.

Gazes smoldering with infinite reverence, you molded your lips to Kenji's in a searing, unhurried sacrament sealing your unified dreams of a lifetime overflowing with life, laughter, and wondrous hope...

#fluff #kenji sato x you #kenji sato fluff #kenji sato x reader #kenji sato headcanons #kenji sato #ken sato is sooooo fine #ken sato x you #ken sato x y/n #ken sato fluff #ken sato x reader #ken sato #ken sato x female reader #ken sato headcanons #ultraman rising #ultraman

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cornsoupflavour · 5 months ago

Text

Who's On Top? (QuarterJade NSFW Smut)

⚠️18+ ONLY - MINORS DNI⚠️

TWITCH QuarterJade x Fan!Male Reader

Tags: 2.2k words, cheating, slight orgasm denial, sex at twitchcon, streamer x fan, creampie, romance, breeding/impreg

"TwitchCon 202X, and I'm here, all decked out in my favorite Twitch streamer's merch," you thought, admiring your QuarterJade hoodie, t–shirt, and wristband. You spotted her booth in the immense sea of vendors, and you couldn't help but feel nervous as you approached. It wasn't every day you got to meet your idol.

"Wow," you said, stunned as you approached QuarterJade's booth at TwitchCon. The place was packed, and you had to elbow your way through. Your eyes met her gaze as she signed merchandise and she gave you a wink. Heart racing, you finally reached her booth, where you're greeted by her charismatic, dimpled smile.

As you approached her booth, you couldn't help but notice how stunning she was. Her dark auburn hair cascaded down her back, and her beautiful hazel eyes seemed to sparkle as she greeted fans. You waited in line, keeping to yourself so you could keep your composure, and before you knew it, you're face–to–face with the internet sensation.

"Oh my god, you're here!" she squealed, recognizing you instantly. "I've been waiting for you, I've seen your name in my donations and chats, and I knew I had to meet you in person!" she jumped, excited to finally meet you. She rushed over, giving you a tight hug. You felt solid, and she couldn't help but lean into you for a moment longer than necessary. "Hey there, Y/N~! How did you find your way through this crowd?"

She pulled back, "I–I couldn't miss my favourite streamers booth! Plus, check out all the merch I bought." You excitedly show off her merch you had on. "Wow! You truly are a big fan of me... probably the biggest fan I've seen here today~"

You smiled, feeling yourself come out of your shell a little. "Can I get a picture with you?" you asked, feeling a little nervous. "You can get all the pictures you want~!" With that, you took about a dozen selfies with her, half on your phone and the other half on hers.

"Say, Y/N, are you seeing anyone?" she asked, her gaze crawling from your head to your toes. You hesitated for a while before nodding somberly. "Oh dear, why'd you look so sad? What happened?"

"My girlfriend left me a few weeks ago... It's been pretty rough..."

You felt her body press against yours once more, her tits squishing against your chest. "Oh, sweet baby, it's okay... I'm here for you, okay?" You wrapped your own arms around her, pulling her into an even tighter hug as you buried your face into the side of her neck. Her scent was magical.

After a while, she pulled back, taking the sight of you again. She looked back towards her boyfriend, Masayoshi, before turning to face you once more. She leaned in, subtly grazing her thick thighs against your crotch and managed to gauge that you were packing what her boyfriend was ten fold.

Her hands lingered on your chest, and motioned for you to come closer. "How about you close the booth for me? I think I'm done with the fans for today..." she winked, a playful smile spreading across her face. "I want to spend some time alone with you." She grabbed your hand, tugging you towards the back of my booth, where we can be alone.

You followed her, eyes wide, as she led you to a cozy seating area with a table laden with snacks and drinks. "You're gonna be my new boyfriend," she declared playfully, her voice low to tease.

"What?!" you sputtered, your face instantly heating up. "You... you're joking, right?"

At that moment, Masayoshi approached, "Jodi, why'd you close the booth?" She looked up at him, eyes slightly narrowed. "John... I'm leaving you."

His mouth gaped as he struggled to get a sentence out. "W–What? Why?" he asked, his face pale. "I've realised you've never been able to satisfy me. Your cock's so small that all I can really do with you is handjobs. So, I'm leaving you... for my beloved fan, Y/N."

She waved her hand as she brought you close. "Now, if you mind? Me and my dear darling here are going to have some alone time~" she turned to you, her voice low and sultry, her expression hungry. Masayoshi gasped. He couldn't believe it, he'd just been replaced... But look who's on top? You're just glad you're not him right now.

You turned to QuarterJade and captured her lips in a deep and desperate kiss, your tongues intertwined. As he left, she pulled away from the kiss momentarily. "Wait, I wanna try something." She grabbed your hand and lifted you up to stand with her.

Back behind the walls separating the both of you and the rest of the convention, she pushed you against one of the walls, her body crowding against yours. "Now, I know you've been watching my streams for a long while..." she said, her lips close to your ear, "... but which is your favourite game to watch me play, hm?" She reached up, tracing her fingers along your jawline. "If I'm being honest... I love streaming Fortnite the most... I'm not that great, but I think it's fun~"

You smirked. Finally, you could show your favourite streamer the type of love and affection she truly deserved. Not the one some loser was giving her. You leaned in, planting soft and sensual kisses trailing up from her shoulders to her jawline.

"Oh my... Y/N... You're so gentle~ But please, before anything, call me Jodi."

"Jodi..." you whispered, your lips hovering over hers, "I promise, I'll make you feel like you've never felt before."

At those words, Jodi pushed you back against the wall, her lips crashing into yours, her hands reaching for the bottom hem of your shirt. You reciprocated, pulling off her top, revealing her white push–up bra. You cupped her breasts, digging your fingers underneath the bra padding and feeling her nipples harden under your touch.

"Fuck... Jodi... I've always wondered how soft these are... man I just–" you groaned, your voice thick with lust as you plunge your face into her cleavage, taking in her scent and her taste. She moaned, pressing her body against yours. "Oh, Y/N, you're killing me with these slow, gentle moves. I want more."

Jodi reached for your belt, unbuckling it and sliding down your zipper. Her hand went into your pants, reaching for your throbbing cock. You let out a low groan as she wrapped her fingers around you, stroking your shaft.

"Oh my... What a big boy you are... you're so much bigger than John is~" Jodi purred, her voice thick with desire. "Fuck, touch me, Y/N. I need you to touch me."

You unclasped her bra, the straps falling down her arms. She pushed her breasts into your hands, moaning as you squeezed and teased her nipples. Jodi reached for your pants, pulling them down, along with your boxers, exposing your rock–hard cock.

"I need to feel you inside me so bad," she whispered, her voice shaking.

"Jodi�� I don't think I'll ever be able to let go of these tits..."

You pulled down her skirt and panties, revealing her glistening pussy. Jodi spread her legs, inviting you in. You positioned your cock at her entrance, teasing her with the tip. "Please, Y/N, fill me up."

And with that, you thrust into her, your cock stretching her tight walls out. Jodi cried out, her nails digging into your back. "Fuck~! You feel so good, Y/N," she moaned.

You began bucking your hips up into her. Your cock sliding in and out, the sound of your bodies slapping together filling the small space. "Jodi... You're so tight, so wet... This must be your first time... How're you liking it?" you grunted, your thrusts growing deeper and faster.

"I feel fucking amazing, Y/N– Don't stop. Lean against the wall, it'll give you more stability–"

Jodi threw her head back, her moans getting louder. "Oh, Y/N... If you keep that pace up– I'm not gonna last very long–"

"Jodi... I don't want to make you cum too soon. I want you to feel everything," you said, slowing down your thrusts. "But I want you to cum for me. I want to hear you scream my name."

Jodi grabbed your cock, guiding it in and out with her own rhythm, "Y/N, fuck me slow... give me that sweet burn..." she moaned, her eyes rolling back. Her walls tightened around your cock as she milked you with each pass.

You felt your own climax building, the need to fill her with your seed growing stronger. "Jodi, I'm close. I'm gonna cum. Tell me you're ready for it, tell me you want me to fill you up," you ordered, your voice thick with lust.

Jodi pulled you closer, "Don't cum, Y/N... Not yet... I want to feel more of you inside me– I want to touch you too..." She reached down and started to fondle your balls, her free hand still gripping your cock, guiding you in and out of her. Your hands grip onto her ass cheeks tighter, making sure to hold her up.

"Fuck, Jodi– you're fucking torturing me–" you moaned, your thrusts growing more erratic. Your balls tightened, the pressure building within you, but you held back, as she commanded.

You felt her tight pussy clench around you, signaling her approaching orgasm. You knew you wouldn't last much longer. "Oh, fuck, Jodi, I'm gonna cum," you warned her, your thrusts becoming erratic. Jodi's moans grew more frantic, her body trembling. "Y/N, fuck... I'm– I'm so close..." she panted.

"Go ahead, cum for me, Jodi– Let me feel you tighten around my cock... Let me hear you scream..." You whispered, your voice trembling with need. "I'm so close. Don't stop, please."

Soon enough, she cried out, her walls clenching around you, as a wave of pleasure washed over her. "Y/N– Oh, fuck–!" Jodi cried out, her legs shaking.

As her body clenched, you couldn't help but feel your own cliax approaching. "Damn it– Jodi, I don't know if I can hold on much longer either."

"It's okay, my darling~ Let it out, let it all out, baby~" she moaned, caressing your jawline as she planted a hungry kiss on your lips. She could feel you begin to lose yourself as you neared your edge.

"Yes, Y/N, fill me up... I want it all," she gasped, her body shuddering.

As she spoke, you began thrusting harder, your cock sliding deeper inside her with each pass. Jodi's moans grew louder, her body beginning to shake uncontrollably. The walls of her pussy clenched around you, her orgasm washing over her yet again.

"Y/N! I'm cumming again!!" she screamed, her juices coating your cock as she came. Jodi's body convulsed as she came, her pussy milking your cock. The sensation was too much, you couldn't hang on any longer, you had to empty your load into her.

Feeling her cum around you, you let out a loud groan, your own release flooding her depths. You continued to thrust, emptying every drop of your seed into her, your bodies entwined. Jodi trembled in your arms as you both rode out the aftershocks of your orgasms.

She collapsed onto your chest, panting heavily. Jodi wrapped her arms around you, her face buried in your chest. "Y/N, that was... incredible," she whispered, still catching her breath.

"Holy fuck... Jodi– I–" before you could continue, she leaned up and silenced you with a loving kiss. "Save it, baby~ Let's do a stream together tomorrow..."

You smiled, changing your grip on her as you brought her into another long series of deep kisses. Finally, you pulled out, the two of you slumping against the wall, panting heavily. "But Jodi... that was truly... unreal–" you managed to say, your hands still cupping her breasts, your fingers tracing her nipples.

"Jodi, I've never felt this way before," you admitted, stroking her hair. "I'm glad I finally got the chance to show you how much I love you."

She collapsed back into your arms, her head resting on your chest. "Y/N, you're my perfect man. I can't believe how amazing you are," she purred, her eyes half–lidded. "Let's go to my house and do it again and again. In a few days we could discuss moving you in with me~"

You smiled, kissing her forehead. "Anything for you, Jodi."

She laughed softly, her hand reaching for your spent cock. "Well, Y/N, I think it's clear John wouldn't've been able to give me what I truly want. Like I said before, you are my new boyfriend," she said, a smile playing on her lips.

You held her close,the two of you, sweaty and satisfied, basking in the afterglow of your passionate encounter. In your arms, Jodi felt safe and loved, while you felt like the luckiest man in the world. This was just the beginning of your newfound love, and the best was yet to come.

Unbeknownst to the both of you, today may not have been a safe day for Jodi. Your little backstage fun may have heavy consequences down the road. But as the two of you were coming down from your orgasmic highs, out of the corner of your eyes, you both spotted Pokimane dragging a fan out of the convention hall. "I wonder what Poki's doing..." Jodi asked before gently placing her head back onto your chest.

[Let me know if you want a part two or if you want me to make this a long running story. And let me know who else you'd want to see a fic about.]

#x male reader #smut #otv smut #fanfic smut #male reader #x male!reader #streamer x male reader #streamer smut #jodi smut #jodi x reader

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bookwormjust · 14 days ago

Text

Push you out of bed (established relationship with Cassian)

It was late at night, the room dark and quiet except for the steady rhythm of Cassian’s breathing beside you. You had been deep in sleep, cocooned in the warmth of the blankets, when suddenly, without warning, a powerful shove sent you rolling to the edge of the bed. Before you could react, you felt yourself slip right off the side, tumbling onto the floor with a muffled thud.

Disoriented and still half-asleep, you blinked up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what just happened. You could feel the cool air of the room brushing against your skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth you had been wrapped in moments before. For a few seconds, you were too confused to do anything but lay there, your brain sluggishly trying to piece together why you were suddenly on the floor.

A rustle of wings from above caught your attention, and you heard a deep, sleepy groan. Cassian, still sprawled across the bed with his massive wings and large frame, was clearly oblivious to the chaos he had caused. One of his arms had taken over the space you were supposed to occupy, and his wings were draped over the other side of the bed like he was trying to claim every inch of the king-sized mattress.

“Cassian,” you muttered, sitting up slowly, rubbing your eyes. “Did you just… push me out of bed?”

A beat of silence. Then, a deep, sleep-laden voice mumbled, “Wha…?” Cassian shifted, finally realizing something was off. “Where’d you go?”

“I’m on the floor,” you said, your voice half amused, half exasperated. “You shoved me off.”

There was a pause, and then you heard him shift again, this time more alert. “What?” His voice was clearer now, a note of panic creeping in. “You’re on the floor?”

You could almost hear the scramble in his voice as he sat up, wings twitching as he leaned over the side of the bed to find you. His eyes were wide, still groggy but now filled with concern. “*Shit*, I didn’t mean to! Are you okay?” he asked, his voice full of worry as he reached down to help you up.

You took his hand, still a little dazed, but now mostly amused by the whole thing. “I’m fine,” you assured him, though you couldn’t help but laugh softly as you got back onto your feet. “You were hogging the bed.”

Cassian blinked at you, his brow furrowed as he processed what happened. “I pushed you off?” His voice was a mix of guilt and disbelief, and he ran a hand through his messy hair, clearly horrified at himself. “I didn’t even realize—I swear I didn’t mean to—”

You couldn’t help but laugh now, the absurdity of the situation too much to keep a straight face. “Cass, it’s fine,” you said, climbing back into bed beside him. “You’re just too big for your own good. That’s all.”

He looked at you sheepishly, his large hand rubbing the back of his neck as his wings twitched apologetically behind him. “Damn wings,” he muttered, though his lips quirked into a smile as he watched you settle back into the blankets. “I should’ve gotten a bigger bed.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Bigger than a king-sized bed? I think we’re at the limit.”

Cassian wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close to him, his body warm and solid as he held you. “I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “I promise I’ll keep my wings to myself for the rest of the night.”

You snuggled into his embrace, feeling his protective warmth wrap around you like a blanket. “Just don’t shove me off again, and we’ll call it even,” you teased, smiling as you rested your head against his chest.

Cassian chuckled softly, his chest vibrating with the sound. “Deal,” he whispered, his arms tightening around you. “But just in case, I’ll hold onto you a little closer tonight.”

And with that, you drifted back into sleep, safely tucked into his arms, knowing that no matter how big and clumsy he might be, Cassian would always make sure you were safe—even if it took a few accidental tumbles to remind him.

#acotar #acotar reader imagine #acotar x reader #cassian x y/n #cassian x fem!reader #cassian x reader #cassian x you #cassian #Spotify

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nhlclover · 29 days ago

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𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 | 𝐑𝐘𝐀𝐍 𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐃

summary: after not being able to see ryan for a while, you finally get a moment of quiet with him.

warnings: just simple fluff!

word count: 0.96k

notes: i love writing cute and innocent fluff

As you knocked on Ryan’s door, the crisp scent of fall leaves mixed with the faint warmth of the setting sun hit you, relaxing slightly. The cool breeze rustled through your hair, making your shoulders ease just a bit as you exhaled. It had been a gruelling couple of weeks, school dragging you down with assignments. Every time you tried to carve out time with Ryan, life found a way to throw in another roadblock. But not today. Today was for you two, and nothing was going to take that away.

Ryan opened the door, his face lighting up with a smile that made your stomach flutter every single time. “Hey, stranger,” he said softly, pulling you in for a hug. His strong arms wrapped around you, the embrace so steady and solid that the exhaustion you had been carrying seemed to melt away as you sank into him.

“Ryan, I am so tired,” you mumbled into his chest, your voice muffled but full of relief. You inhaled the mixed scent of his deodorant and cologne, a scent that you’d grown to miss. “I’ve missed you.”

Ryan’s hand began to rub gentle circles on your back, his lips pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head. “I’ve missed you, too,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Hockey’s been kicking my ass. I’m glad you’re here.” The sincerity in his voice was like a balm to your frayed nerves.

Ryan kept you in his grasp momentarily, only pulling back briefly to press a lazy kiss to your lips, another thing you missed dearly in your time away. The scruff of his stubble scratched your chin gently, sending a wave of shivers down your torso. Eventually, you broke apart, Ryan stepping back slightly with his arm still secure around your waist as he guided you inside.

The living room was exactly what you needed—cozy, and inviting, the couch laden with fluffy blankets just begging for you to collapse into. The Corpse Bride was queued up on the TV, a movie you both had promised to watch together as Halloween crept closer. You kicked off your shoes and dropped onto the couch with an exaggerated groan, the weight of the past few weeks finally slipping off your shoulders.

“I don’t even care what we watch,” you said, stretching out your legs and grabbing one of the blankets to pull over you. “I just want to be here with you and not think about anything for a little while.”

Ryan chuckled, sinking down beside you, pulling your feet into his lap like it was second nature. “You and me both,” he said, his voice like a soft rumble. His fingers found their way to your ankle, absentmindedly drawing lazy patterns as the movie’s opening credits rolled. But the familiar comfort of Ryan’s presence, combined with the warmth of the blankets and the hum of the TV, began to pull you under. You tried to fight it, wanting to watch one of your favourite halloween movies. However, your eyelids grew heavier, and before long, you drifted off, the stress of the weeks before getting the best of you.

It was only a few minutes into the film when you mumbled something incoherent and shifted, your head resting on the arm of the couch. Ryan glanced over and smiled to himself as he paused the movie. He didn’t mind, not one bit. In fact there was something endearing about seeing you so peaceful after all the chaos you’d both been through. He watched for a moment, the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the way your brow had finally relaxed, your features soft with sleep.

Careful not to wake you, Ryan continued tracing slow circles on your ankle, the quiet of the room filling with the warmth of your shared silence. At that moment, everything else fell away—the pressures of school, the endless hours of practice. Right now, it was just you and him, tucked away from the rest of the world, and that was enough.

You stirred after a while, blinking groggily before realizing you’d fallen asleep. You shot up, rubbing your eyes. “Ryan, I’m so sorry,” you mumbled, sounding guilty. “We were supposed to be hanging out and I just… passed out on you.”

Ryan only chuckled, his thumb brushing gently over your knee, his eyes soft with affection. “Don’t apologize,” he said, his voice a low hum of reassurance. “You needed it. And honestly? I’m just happy you’re here. That’s all I wanted.” His words settled over you like a comforting blanket, wrapping around your heart in the best way.

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”

Ryan laughed quietly, his arm tightening around you, pulling you just a bit closer. “Maybe. Or maybe we both just needed this—a break from everything.”

After a pause, he added, with a small smirk, “How about we just…take a nap together?”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling at the simplicity of his offer. It wasn’t about plans or expectations. It was just about being together, and that was all you needed. “That sounds perfect,” you agreed, snuggling back into the couch.

You rearranged the blankets, settling in together on the couch. You nestled yourself into Ryan’s side, your head resting on his chest, his heartbeat a steady and soothing rhythm beneath your ear. He pulled the blanket up over you guys, his arm draped around you protectively as if to shield you from the world outside.

For the first time in a long time, everything felt calm for the two of you. Just you and Ryan, tangled together, resting in the quiet peace you’d both been craving.

#ryan leonard #ryan leonard x reader #ryan leonard imagine #nhl #nhl imagine #hockey #hockey imagine #washington capitals #boston college #bc eagles #fluff #`✦ˑ ✒️ 𓂃⊹ my works

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flame-shadow · 24 days ago

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absurd, inconvenient, yet cool superpower/curse: you can't see trees

the trees are still there. everyone else can see them. you can see the holes where they grow out of the ground. you can see where their roots break up the sidewalk. you can see the birds perched within, though you can't see the twigs that their little toes wrap around.

you can't see the overhanging branch that you bang your head into.

you can't see the mountainside turn orange and yellow and red as autumn sweeps in.

you can't see the leaves, but you can hear them whisper to you in a faint breeze.

you see a collapsed shed and wonder if that cylindrical indentation in the structure still houses the tree that fell there.

your friend helps you climb onto a low, sturdy branch, and you cling to the invisible trunk as you stand on a solid nothing a few feet off the ground.

you learn that branches laden with fruit lean down, and you try to remember to duck far enough below them. you learn that enough fruit has dropped to bring the branches back up only after someone walking upright nearby asks you if a fly is accosting you.

some hunters befriend you and ask you to help them find some food. the deer are hiding behind invisible trees.

you find some fascination in the bugs that burrow under the bark. you watch beetles develop. you notice wasp larvae where some of the beetles should be. you notice hidden hives. you watch lines of ants clamber across invisible bridges over your head.

you can very easily identify trees that have infestations.

you get some pretty great views when you go hiking during the summer when the trees are lush with green leaves that block out the rest of the group's sight. and you still get to enjoy the cooling effects of the shade even as you see through the canopy that casts the shadow.

you ask a friend to help you with avoiding branches as you walk together. in return, you help them identify the birds whose songs they hear but can't see in the dense foliage.

it's not so bad.

and then you trip on another root.

#rambling #ive been thinking about this off and on for a few days #speculative uhhh something. whatever #unrelated i'm resuming my watch of NGE. im only a few episodes in so far

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prolibytherium · 5 months ago

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Do you have any nature documentaries you would recommend? I find a lot of them too sensationalized and not informative enough for my tastes

I think 'Nature' on PBS is like. THE best single show overall. It's been running since as long as I can remember and has a ton of episodes (most of the older seasons aren't available anymore though). It has different people involved with each production can have pretty significant variety in tone and approach, so some episodes are kinda flops but it never really falls into that wild crazy over-sensationalized end of the spectrum (just like. goofy or boring at worst). A lot of the time they tend to follow specific wildlife biologists working with the subject matter so you get an especially detailed look and expert perspectives involved. You can watch a good deal of them for free on the PBS website/youtube channel but some require a PBS subscription (I haven't found them streaming for free elsewhere)

BBC tends to make some of the the better nature docs out of the major networks like I think Planet Earth (and its sequel), Blue Planet (and its sequel), Frozen Planet, and Seven Worlds One Planet are all very good. BBC 'The Mating Game' falls into all the silliness one might expect but is also pretty solid and stood out to me because I realized I had NEVER seen homosexual behavior depicted in a nature documentary (depicts pair bonded female albatross at one point)

Prehistoric Planet is also excellent on the off chance you haven't seen it (there can be some nitpicks on like anatomical accuracy and the feasibility of some of the speculative behavior but this is like BY FAR by best quality dinosaur media I've ever seen).

I also accumulated a small playlist of nature docs on youtube that I thought were solid a couple years back. You can find some really good stuff available for free on youtube like there's a TON of nature docs out there, a lot of them pretty niche stuff or low budget but solid independent projects (just make sure you have a functional ad blocker because they're generally uploaded by specific channels laden with ads for the revenue)

#The youtube ones I saved might be kinda hit or miss. I think I saved a few solely on the basis of having a rarer subject matter #Also may have been watching most of them on edibles at the time

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deltaponline · 2 years ago

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#cuttingdevice #Homa #solid-laden #solids #submersible

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lokisgoodgirl · 1 year ago

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Come After Dark [Loki x Fem.Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: You swallow your nerves and take Loki up on his seductive invitation. (w/c 3.1k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Mild somnophillia. Language. Mild angst to fluff. Sub(ish) Loki.

The hair on your arms felt like needles, every ghostlike pricking shiver vibrating invisible strands. Was it cold tonight? You couldn’t tell. Heat thumping low in your belly blossomed as you made your way through the midnight gloom of the tower. Shadows danced the walls, stretching and fading in haunting rhythm. Come after dark, he’d said.

You shivered again, recalling the way his breath had caressed your jaw, a palm spread on his chest against porcelain shirt buttons. His questioning stare had moved from your hand to your eyes, his brows a line of reluctant, smouldering resignation. He had left you in that hallway, music beating a solid bass through the wall against your spine. The words that had circled in your mind ever since fluttered back around the endless loop.

I will cease my wooing of you, since that is what you wish, he had murmured, as he unfurled your fingers from his chest. Loki then raised your knuckles to his lips. Parted, only slightly. But if you decide you want this, whenever you want this, he’d whispered against the skin. Come after dark.

That had been days ago. A week? Time had slowed and sped up in frightening synchronicity since that brief conversation. You and he had been dancing around your flirtations for months, but in each moment when he swooped gently to kiss you, to let his hands wander to your own, to break the seal of workplace propriety – you bailed.

His absence made everything come in bright clarity. In deepest reds and brightest blues you saw for the first time how much more he was than a distraction, than something to be feared in awe from a distance. Like a predator behind glass. Fear. What was it you were afraid of? Of how much you want him. Of how how has the power to elevate or decimate in the palm of his-

You shook the thought away, seeing the potted plant that signalled the end of the corridor come into view. One more turn.

Silent breaths rose and fell as his door suddenly loomed. It stretched up into nothingness, its out of place mahogany intricacies making you smile in the eerie darkness. Lifting a fist to knock, you paused. A feeling rose that was difficult to place. The ornate brass knob was cool to the touch, but even from one small twist it was easy to tell it was - Come after dark, -unlocked.

You held your breath, twisting on the exhale. There was a soft click as the mechanism relented, a cool brush of air wafting against heated cheeks. The goosebumps on your forearms bristled.

A feeling of dread suddenly descended, sinking through the excited trepidation. What if he didn’t mean it? What if, I’m just breaking into his room-

You recalled the gleam of his darkened eyes, the blue of his irises barely visible at the rims of wide pupils. The hum of his voice as he enunciated each word with painfully laden precision, as thick as double cream; Come after dark,

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you. As your eyes adjusted to a deeper darkness, the room’s layout came into view. A short corridor which was the mark of all your accommodations led into a living area. You could see the elegant curves of an ostentatious sofa, the rise of a fireplace and the shadowy reflection of a mirror glinting above. Floor length curtains swept around the corner windows. Of course Loki has the corner apartment, you mulled, noticing dinner-plate sized vegetation poked around the corner from some kind of plant. Your fingers reaching to absent-mindedly rub the waxy leaves as you padded over luxurious carpet. White carpet. Your bare feet sank into the pile, each cushioned step landing on the heel making your breaths quicken as you worked closer to the bedroom. The door was open, just a crack. After this, there was no turning back. You would never be the same. You could tell. Good, you thought; feeling your heart thunder. Like an astral projection, you felt your fingers slide around the edge of the door, peeking inside. A wave of adrenaline soared up your body like a tide; animalistic energy bursting new heat from every pore. There he was.

Spread like a sculpture; a living Bernini glowing in soft cracks of moonlight glistening on his skin. One long thigh rested open atop twisted sheets, an arm outstretched on the empty side of the bed reaching for an invisible lover. The curves of his muscles rose and fell along each line of his body, white sheets painted teasingly across the sharp dents of his hips. His obliques clenched with each soft breath, perfect face turned towards the shards of moonbeam bathing him in ethereal light. Dark curls lay spread against the pillow, like splatters of oil on canvas, winding across the cotton and the broad flat of his pale shoulders. Your mouth felt dry, and your eyes. You realised you hadn’t blinked in about thirty seconds. He looked so peaceful, it would be a shame to- Oh-

Your eyes fell on his crotch as he sifted within dreams, something long and thick nudging horizontal upwards against the sheets.

Your breath hitched as a well of saliva rose in your mouth, moistening your lips. You would be lying if you hadn’t imagined him thrusting his fist against that huge cock in these very rooms while he moaned your name, fuelling your forbidden fantasies. On the edge of this very bed, by all accounts. He was always a gentleman in your presence, something you had wished many times he would abandon to urge you to take the leap.

But after all, here you were. Here I am. His brow furrowed, a light moan snaking from his slumbering throat. Beneath your pyjama shorts, the slick of arousal that had been growing since you had left your own apartment warmed. Slipping.

You squeezed around the door, tentatively making your way to the empty side of the bed. Now what, you thought, letting your eyes roam over his sprawled form as you resisted the urge to jump on him...do I wake him, should I- “-Loki?” you whispered, voice shaking. Your fingertips traced the thick cotton rumpled at the bed’s edge. His breaths continued to slowly rise and fall, the erotically devastating fan of dark lashes against his skin, undisturbed. “Loki?” you repeated, resting on the side of the mattress, “Mmm...” he mumbled groggily, frowning in his slumber. He sighed, outstretched fingers twitching. You smiled, watching the strong veins in his forearms tense before relaxing into smooth surrender.

Following the delicate lines of the summer duvet draped lazily across his torso, you let your eyes track down the folds. It ran diagonal, exposing the taut carving of violent muscle rippling down his chest, his stomach. The duvet rested teasingly over his hips, an exposed leg hanging open sluttishly as the other stretched down to the end of the ornate bed-frame. “Lo-kii…” you cooed seductively, shuffling closer.

You waited. He didn’t stir. You frowned.

Beneath the duvet, the god’s swollen cock twitched against the cotton.

Your eyes ran up the lines of muscle contoured in the moonlight, up the shadow of his cheekbones to his peaceful brow. A thin line formed between his eyebrows, softening. Without realising it, your outstretched fingers ghosted down the centre of his abdomen, cool skin making heated tips tingle. You edged closer on your knees, making the firm mattress bounce slightly. But still, he did not stir. Nerves burst in stars deep in your belly, the gravity of your audacity making you dizzy as you fought to hold your nerve.

Cautiously, you lowered to his flat stomach, placing a kiss just above his naval. A shaking gasp escaped your nostrils, the electric eroticism of his energy humming from every inch of his skin as you moved lower. Fine hair coating down from his naval grazed your chin, its feathery softness a stark reminder of the warm heart beating beneath his stoic exterior. You paused on the dip of his adonis belt, frozen hunched in place as he stirred. The pillows rustled, followed by a soft thump as his cheek fell to the other side.

“Don’t s-stop…” he softly slurred, hips nudging upwards beneath the sheet. Outstretched fingers gripped the sheet to your side in a loose fist, the fingernails catching on cotton before relaxing.

Oh, god.

Your trembling digits wrapped around the blanket’s tip, pulling down. And all the time, your eyes never left his moon-drunk face. Tentatively you ran your fingernails lightly over the taut skin of his ribs. Shivers rose in the muscle beneath your careful touch as the sheet was brushed aside below. You let the heel of your palm search in half-darkness for the root of his subconscious desire.

It didn’t need to search far. Loki moaned softly, his lips parting with a puff of air. A rogue strand of hair buffeted from his face as you clenched around nothing, the wetness between your legs wild and unstoppable, his gentle whoreish sounds making your inner-beast writhe. The god’s breaths were a roar in the suffocating silence. “Please,” he breathed in dreams. It floated, lingering like perfume. Or maybe it was your imagination. Reluctantly, your palm left the velvet skin of his cock and planted on the farthest side of his body. You loomed over him. He’s like my prey, thought reverently; holding back a giggle. Like a virgin and a vampire, about to be sucked dr-

The smile faded, replaced by something stronger than the fear of him waking and recoiling in disgust. That this had all been a misunderstanding. That his sultry flirtations and invitations and unlocked door were just coincidences. Nothing more. Tilting your head, you bit your bottom lip and watched as his light frown returned. He squirmed in slumber, ropes of shoulder muscle shifting against the pillows. You allowed yourself to finish the thought, -Sucked dry.

Taking a deep breath, you dipped down and covered the head of his majestic cock carefully with your mouth. It was warm, the round tip resting on your tongue, the jolt of his thigh splayed to the side not going unnoticed as you let your slick lips slide against him. He’s been hard for a while, you pondered, savouring the settling of his sex inside your mouth. Where he belongs. A thick vein pulsed against your tongue. Your mind crackled with energy, every nerve screaming to shake him awake and fuck him into the headboard between messy kisses and half-formed words. “Mmmm...ye-shs, p-please -m-more…” Loki exhaled groggily. You wondered if he was dreaming of you. Muffled, his lashes fluttered with pleasure beneath shuttered lids. The thump of your heart was deafening as you focused on the taste of him filling your mouth. The sweetness of his velvet skin stretched over unforgiving muscle, fresh and deep like autumn pine. Plump veins slid further down the flat of your tongue as you grew braver, each ridge that bumped against the muscle lovingly caressed. The creases of your mouth cracked slowly as you slid him further inside. And it suddenly dawned on you, how large he truly was. The scent of his shaft filled your nostrils as you lapped softly at the tip, enjoying each stolen moment of second-hand pleasure. Your pussy throbbed, blood pumping and heating the mess between your legs. Loki whined softly, hips beginning to roll in dream-soaked waves. You wrapped your fingers one by one around the thickness of him, brow furrowing as you felt the weight of his cock twitch in your grip. Slowly, you drew your tongue over the sensitive frenulum, feeling his hips shudder as you licked to the leaking tip.

“You came…” a gravelled voice shifted in the darkness, making you jump. Your head snapped towards him, fearful eyes wide. A mischievous smile tugged at his beautiful lips, shadows cast by the moonlight carving deep grooves beneath his cheekbones. “Quite the one for drama after all, aren’t we, little fox?” The words were mumbled coyly, raising an eyebrow as you sat upright. Loki’s voice was husky with something, but it wasn’t sleep. He propped himself up on one elbow, using his free hand to dramatically whip the remaining duvet from his body and letting it sprawl to the floor.

“I thought you might enjoy the illusion of voyeurism,” he smiled, rubbing a flat palm on the mattress beside him. “As usual, it seems, I was correct.” “You were awake?” you scoffed, admitting to yourself that the desired effect was likely lost by the wandering of your hungry eyes over his unbearably naked form. With sudden clarity, you realised his hard manhood was still wrapped in the punishing grip of your fingers. “Mmmm,” he hummed, smile wider now with the mocking echo of his slumbering moans. His stare dropped in stages down your body, across every line of your form kneeling on his bed in the moonslick gloom. If he was searching for resistance, he would find none. “I’m sorry if I-”

Before the final words could form on your tongue, Loki was kneeling in front of you. His hips pressed flush to your stomach, those long fingers that had brushed your own so many times beneath the conference table digging into the small of your back. They sank lower, cupping your ass with a ragged groan from his throat. “Enough,” he growled. But it wasn’t a threat. It was a plea. Loki buried his face in your neck, kissing ravenously up the curve towards the angle of your jaw as your nails dragged down his chiselled abdomen. The god’s breath was hot, decadent.

Both of you raised on your knees, a tangled primal mess of hair and fingers and teeth and tongue as the past burned. Whispers of desire fluttered in the sliver of air between you as Loki’s hands spread against your ass-cheeks, down the backs your thighs. He rested back on the bed, letting you fall over him in a flood of pure need, straddling him immediately. “I’m going to fuck you into this headboard, Laufeyson” you heard yourself mutter as you stooped to place wet kisses on his collarbone. Loki chuckled. “Oh I do hope so,” he rumbled under his breath. “I’ve thought about it enough.”

His eyes tracked over your loose pyjama top like a hunter, running his hands up the curve of your waist until your vision blurred. With a soft pop, you were free. Loki groaned. The flat of his cock lay nestled between your legs, pressed tight against your wet cunt. Pleasure fired with every frustrated rock of his hips, seeking salvation. His palms cupped your breasts, burying his face forwards as your wound your fingers in his hair. “Fuck me,” he gasped desperately against your chest. The skin was moist with moans and sucks and kisses as he pushed your breasts together, his proud features absorbing all you had to give. “Fuck me, please.”

You held your breath as you rose up, hand feeling between his legs and lining him up. The tip of his manhood brushed against your aching heat, a premature moan of anticipation filling the air from you both. “There’s no going back after this,” you said; voice trembling over shaky breaths. The god’s eyes rose from the sight of his cock hovering at your entrance, the same determined look of intent curtaining his features as had in the hallway. “You shall not want to go back, darling,” he murmured, a familiar smirk curling his lip in the gloom. A dimple flashed. “Believe me.”

The words made you clench just as you sank onto his cock, his sheer size making you choke on air as a strangled gasp erupted. Loki’s hands guided your hips, rocking you gently down his length. His eye twitched, brows slanted as his chin tilted to the ceiling. But still, he kept his gaze on you. “Loki-” you whined, feeling each ridge and vein of his shaft press and drag against your little cunt. Nothing was supposed to feel this good.

Loki let out a ragged exhale he’d been holding, whole body shuddering as he filled you to the hilt. Careful fingers rested on your hips, pulling you gently back and forth. You could feel your walls begin to stretch, the sopping stickiness of arousal coating his cock with each gyration. “Good?” he grunted, concern lacing his voice. You nodded mutely, strands of hair sticking to your parted lips as you moaned obscenities above him. How fucked-out you must look, and you’d barely started. One of your hands gripped his headboard, the other steadying on his chest as Loki let you take him. All of him.

With every roll of your hips, your clit pressed against his pelvis; sparks of pleasure setting your belly alight with new desires. Every soft sigh of your name, good girl, that’s it, pushed you higher; confidence building. You started to bounce, thighs tensing with every slam to the root of his shaft. The desire to close your eyes and let yourself drown in ecstasy was overwhelming, but the urge to watch the god you had craved writhe beneath you was stronger.

“G-gods, my sweet little f-fuck...f-ox…” Loki growled, giving into himself and making you fly into the air with a targeted thrust. He caught your waist, sinking you down with merciless precision, “you’re even more d-deadly than I expected.” The headboard slapped against the wall, each ca-lunk of wood on plaster making you tighten. Fingernails sank into the leather covering as the beat grew louder with every synchronised groan from your throats, of every squelching slap of your bodies moving as one. You didn’t stop to wonder who was on the other side. You didn’t care. Loki grit his teeth, the veins in his neck straining as his hair mussed against the pillow. He slipped a hand behind your head as you leant towards him, sucking the pleasure point of his neck with moans so dirty you surprised yourself. “My patient god,” you grunted wetly against his skin, tightening your cunt around his throbbing sex, “I want your cum covering every inch of me when tonight is over.” The noises he was making were filth. Every curse and uhhhhh and sluttish moan driving you feral as you shook the walls with all your might. Loki was nearing his limit. Men and gods, you surmised, were not so different in some respects.

His eyes rolled back, a hiss filling the hair as his jaw set in smouldering intent. You smiled, placing both hands firmly over the leather seal of his headboard. The flutter of his thumb against your swollen clit was all it took to push you over the edge, tumbling with a strangled cry of his name into an abyss of pleasure. Moonlight shattered around his tense body, cutting in shards where each bladed muscle of his godly formed tightened and bulged beneath the grip of your thighs.

Syllables of your name exploded one after another as he let himself come undone, arching up to catch your open mouth in a filthy kiss. The pressure of his cum swelled inside your slit, leaking against his shuddering thrusts as his whole body trembled. Your cries intertwined the air like wafts of smoke, rising and ebbing before with a final broken sigh, you collapsed on top of him. Your fingertips followed at a snails pace, scratching down the skin of the leather headboard. Seconds passed, before Loki’s nose nestled beside your ear. “Worth the wait,” he murmured against your hair. “Mmm-hmmm,” you confirmed groggily, deep in the pillow. Words were too much. “It wasn’t a question,” he said quietly, before pressing a kiss to your temple. You managed to raise your head, seeing the crescent fan of his lashes rise to reveal eyes sparkling with something new. “You,” he whispered, knuckles trailing lovingly down the curve of your damp neck, “however long it took. You were always worth the wait.”

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@meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @sebstanwhore @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @itsybitchylittlewitchy @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @sidepartskinnyjeans @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @littlespaceyelf @arch-venus25 @liminalpebble

#loki x reader #loki smut #loki x reader smut #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki imagine #loki imagines #loki fanfiction #lokismut #loki x female reader #loki x female reader smut #loki x yn #loki x you #loki x you smut #loki gif #loki marvel #somnophilia

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dark-and-kawaii · 5 months ago

Text

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ Always ࣪ ˖⟡˚౨ৎ⋆

₊˚⊹♡ Summary: You find Zevlor after the elder brain fight to confess your true feelings.

₊˚⊹♡ Pairing: Zevlor x F!Reader/Tav

₊˚⊹♡ Content: Romance - Love Confessions - NSFW - Tender Moments - Zevlor Is So Good And Gentle With You - His Tail Wrapped Around You

₊˚⊹♡ Notes: Super proud of this piece!!! This is one of the most gentle, romantic, soft, tender stories I have ever written and I'm so happy it's with Zevlor. This is a trade/gift I did for @cinnasalmon <3 I hope you enjoy this babes!!! As well as everyone else!!!

The echoes of war still rang in your ears as you stumbled through the remnants of what had been a fierce battlefield. Your chest rose and fell with each labored breath you took, your eyes scanning the area anxiously… Then, just as the smoke began to dissipate, you finally spotted him. Zevlor, the man you’ve come to love, was slowly making his way off the destroyed terrain, his back to you. His figure was hunched, bloodied like your own, and you notice how his hand gripped a fresh wound on his arm while his sword dragged listlessly beside him.

Without a moment’s hesitation, you ran towards him. Your sword clinked against the scattered debris, slipping from your grasp as you hastened towards him. All thoughts were consumed by his presence; the overwhelming relief that he was alive propelled you forward.

“Zevlor!” You cried out, your voice cracking as your arms reached out to him. Your tears were swept away by the wind, making a trail of your profound relief and fear.

At the sound of your voice, Zevlor’s tail twitched, a subtle but familiar response. He had always said there was a certain softness in your voice when you spoke his name. A tenderness that seemed reserved just for him… He paused, perhaps contemplating whether to continue walking or not. There were surely others who needed your aid, others who might be clinging to life just as desperately as he… You needn’t waste your time on him, a battered old hellrider. Perhaps he should just continue on his way, it was better to not burden you.

Just as he was picking up his feet to move forward you called out to him again. Your voice was thick with emotions, more desperate, more laden with all the unspoken words you had kept to yourself. As Zevlor turned around, he felt a weight against his chest, one he hadn’t felt in so many years… You had thrown yourself into his chest, your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, your head buried into his armor- seeking the warmth and solid reality of his presence. To seek and to know he was truly still here with you and had made it through this war.

You rubbed your head against his plated chest, never ending tears streaming down your cheeks, “Thank the gods you’re- you’re alright- I- I-“ you choked on your words, your eyes squeezing shut as the horrifying image of finding him lifeless flashed through your mind, “I thought I had lost you…”

Zevlor stood frozen, shock etching his features as he processed your embrace and the tearful confessions spilling from you. His own breath hitched, caught in the whirlwind of emotions he saw in you- emotions that were for him… About him. His battleworn hand hesitated, then slowly -careful not to show the pain he was in- lifted to rest on the back of your head- his fingers and long nails threading through your hair with a gentleness that spoke more than words could have. He kept his hand rested on the back of your head, cradling it softly against his chest while his gaze fell to the ground. His body shuddered ever so slightly as his own tears threatened to spill over, “Tav…” he murmured, his voice hoarse from battle, “I’m here… I’m still here.”

For a long moment he simply held you, his mind racing as he absorbed the warmth of your body against his, the dampness of your tears running down his armor. The battlefield around him, the sounds of the fires and people cheering in the back- it all muted into a hum, overshadowed by the beating of his own heart and the softness of your sobs. For once, Zevlor allowed himself to close his eyes and relish in this moment, to enjoy you- the one he so wished to hold like this since the grove… a moment that had been denied for far too long.

Zevlor had seen so much, had lost more, and in the harshness of the world of war and survival, he had hardened like the steel of his blade… Yet, here you were, clinging to him as if he were a lifeline, as if his very existence was integral to your own. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t baffle him, this significance you placed on his life, when he had long since viewed himself as just another soldier, expendable.

“Why?” The word was but a whisper, a breath lost in the wind, yet heavy with insecurities. His voice cracked, rough like the gravel underfoot… It was a genuine question, one that clawed its way out from the depths of a soul not used to being cherished.

“You are- you’re not a foul blood, Zevlor-” you spoke into his chest, voice muffled, yet loud enough for him to understand, “You- aren’t meant to be tossed aside after being the other’s shield- Y-You never were…” You pulled away slightly, just enough to look up at him, your hands resting on his chest, the metal beneath them a reminder of all the battles he has endured and the scars he bears, “Zevlor- you- you are a hero to me. Not because of your sense of duty, but because-” You could feel your face heat up, could feel how a pure blush spread across your face, “because you are good- you are a good person, one who has fought tooth and nail for a home for not just yourself, but for your people… For those who didn’t deserve your loyalty…” The other tieflings had deemed him an outcast, a traitor after everything he had done for them… cowards… “Don’t ever think your life means nothing to me…”

He flinched slightly, the raw honesty in your words striking deeper than any blade could. As he looked down at you, his gaze tracing the lines of worry- watching at how the red tint of your cheeks darkened- how it all painted your face. “I-I did not know,” Zevlor admitted, “I always thought myself a guardian, a protector. One ready to meet the gods should it be my time in the line of keeping others safe… Not someone to be cared for. Not someone to be mourned.” Your grip on him tightened, as if fearing that he might pull away or that the moment might fracture, leaving nothing but the cold remnants of war behind, “But you are,” You insisted, “To me, you are. And losing you would have broken something in me that could never be mended…”

Zevlor let his hand trail from the back of your head, the pads of his fingers brushing gently across the curve of your cheek, the touch so feather light that you hardly realized he was stroking your cheek until his thumb swiped across your bottom lip, lingering there, “I-“ He started, then paused, his voice cracking as he winced, a shot of pain laced up his arm, his injury reminding him it was still there, “agh-!“ his knees buckled while holding his arms, the injury was much worse than he had thought.

“Zevlor!!” Your eyes widened, your hands immediately moving to catch him before he could hit the cruel ground, a sudden sense of urgency filling you as you remembered the extent of his injuries and how he had been clutching his arm… How his blood was smeared… How careless of you not to treat it sooner.

In the aftermath of his fall, Zevlor had found himself in your arms. The world around him a blur, his focus honing in on the only thing that had felt real… the only person who had truly mattered, you…

He didn't say a word as his eyes traced your face, absorbing the concern that was written across it- the desperation that filled your gaze. There was so much he wanted to say- so many questions that swirled in his mind, but for now, darkness was beginning to take hold.

“Zevlor!!! Zevlor!”

The last thing he felt was the warmth of your hands cradling him, the urgency in your voice anchoring him, even as the pull of unconsciousness grew stronger.

"Stay with me, Zevlor," your voice was a distant echo, a plea wrapped in fear and love. "Don't leave me..."

Somewhere in the depth of his fading awareness, Zevlor fought to hold onto that voice, to not slip away into the all consuming darkness. He wanted to speak, to reassure you, to hold you as you held him, but his body betrayed him, sinking heavily against your support….

…

When Zevlor opened his eyes, the harsh sting of his wound was replaced by a dull ache, and the room was dimly lit by the flicker of a fireplace. He was lying in a bed instead of his harsh bedroll, propped up by pillows on a soft bed, with you still by his side, your hand gripping his gently, as if you had not moved since he had lost consciousness.

"You're awake," you murmured, relief washing over you as you notice his eyes open, "You had me worried there for a moment.” You shifted closer to him, “I’m going to owe the gods it seems for taking such good care of you and making sure you don’t die on me.” Your soft laughter filled the air, an attempt to distract him from the worry that had lined your face and the fact that tears had long since dried.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as his hand gave yours a gentle squeeze, his gaze softening as he took in your concerned expression, "Seems I owe you my life... again," he rasped, attempting to lighten the mood some more despite the gravity of his recent brush with death.

You shook your head gently, squeezing his hand.

“No debts between us, Zevlor. I meant what I said before you... before you scared me like that. I-“ Your head hung slightly, an attempt to hide the blush creeping across your face, an attempt to hide fresh tears that slowly brewed while your fingers caressed his knuckles, “I want you- I-… I wish for you to stay with me… I just can't bear the thought of being without you again… to be apart and not knowing what happened to you or- or if I'll ever see you again.” your words came out slowly, your feelings that had long festered spilling forth, your tears threatening to spill over, "I want to be able to stand by your side, and-" your voice hitched, the emotions bubbling forth, "for you to stand by my side and to protect you like you’ve protected me in this fight…”

You bit down on your lip, a habit that revealed your unease.

"I don't want you to risk your life alone anymore... I- that day when we parted in the grove… my heart, it ached… and then I found you in the pod… I- i just want you by my side- always…”

His brow furrowed, a pang of guilt echoing in his chest as he remembered the night in the grove, and the time you found him trapped in that damn pod. He had hurt you both times, not intentionally, but it didn't lessen the blow, “I apologize,” he said, his free hand reaching up to stroke your hair, his voice softer and filled with regret, "for the pain I caused you then, and the fear I caused you earlier."

His hand continued to caress your hair, his eyes never leaving your face, "I've spent most of my life alone, and even when I was with others, it was a fleeting thing... Something that never truly did last.” He paused, his hand slipping to rest against the back of your neck, his eyes closing, as if remembering his past, his thumb stroking your skin, a comfort for the both of you, "If I’m being honest, I do not believe I deserve such kindness, such love- not from someone like you- but, Tav... If- if it is what you truly want- if it is truly me you desire- I am yours- wholly and without condition. I would be honored to be yours.”

The moment hung in the air, the silence that followed his own confession heavy, as if the words had taken all the breath in the room with them. Your tears had stopped, and the only thing that remained was the fluttering in your stomach, and the rapid pounding of your heart…

You couldn't resist the gravitational pull drawing you closer to him, the overwhelming need to be near him and the desire to finally, finally feel him. To kiss him as you have so often dreamt of doing. Your body began to mold against his, your forms fitting together like puzzle pieces. The weight of you pressing down on him, your chest pressed against him sent a delicious shiver down his spine, his tail curling.

Your fingers intertwined with his for only a moment before your hands moved to cup his cheeks. The sincerity of his words, the gentleness of his touch, the look in his eyes… It was such a perfect moment, so tender

Your foreheads rested against one another, eyes closed, the anticipation hanging between the two of you- an intoxicating mix of nerves and excitement. You could feel the warmth of his breath fanning across your face while cradling his face, your fingers caressing the ridges of his cheekbones, trailing down the slope of his jaw and brushing across his lips. They were warm, and for a moment, all you could think about was how you could simply live like this, forever, feeling him, giving him absolutely everything and having him in return.

“Tav…” His voice was husky, low, filled with the same longing.

The moment was almost too perfect, a moment suspended in time where the world didn't matter and the only thing that mattered was him and how he was finally in your arms- how your lips would finally meet his-

And then, with a soft and slow press, the space between your lips was bridged and his lips were on yours.

To say you melted into him, was an understatement. The sensation of his lips against yours, the warmth, the softness- you were putty in his hands, a puddle of bliss. Every nerve in your body ignited as your lips moved with his- exploring, tasting- savoring the way his lips felt, how they fit against yours.

Zevlor, a man who had lived through so much, a man who had fought through it all, a man who had known hardship and had come out stronger because of it, had never experienced a kiss like yours. He had a few brief trysts in his younger years, but they had been fumbled and inexperienced, fueled by a carnal desire.

What he felt with you- it was different- the kind of kiss that spoke volumes, a kiss that was laden with months of repressed emotions and desire. With the way your lips moved against his, the softness, the gentleness- it was as if you were pouring your entire being into him, as if you were breathing the very air from his lungs. With each passing moment, the kiss grew more desperate, as if neither of you could get enough, your teeth nipping at his lower lip and your fingers tangling themselves into his hair. The soft gasp that escaped him only fueling the desire burning in your veins, a fire that could only be quenched by him.

Your legs moved to straddle him, and the sudden feel of you pressing down onto his lap had caused Zevlor to make a sound that made your very core drop, the sound a cross between a growl and a purr. He could feel himself grow beneath the covers, his length thickening as the kiss deepened, his hands gripping your hips, his nails digging into the fabric of your dress.

His tongue swept across the seam of your lips, and his breath caught when you opened for him, his tongue gliding along the roof of your mouth and against the length of your tongue, his grip tightening on you.

“Hah~ ♡”

The sounds leaving you were positively beautiful, he wanted- no needed, to hear more. Zevlor’s kiss trailed across the curve of your jaw and the column of your neck, leaving a path of fire in its wake, his breath hot against your skin.

“Zevlor~ ♡”

There it was- that sweet sound- that lovely cry of his name falling from your lips. It made him ache, his cock throbbing beneath the thin material that separated you. His hands traveled down your sides and slipped beneath the hem of your dress, his claws catching the material and pushing it up, baring your skin to him. His mouth found its way to your collarbone, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin there, the tips of his ears twitching as you arched into him moaning his name yet again, “Z-Zevlor~ please don’t~ don’t stop~” your hands roaming down his shoulders and clutching him.

Neither of you could wait any further, your hands tugging at his shirt, wanting to feel the heat of his bare skin. Your lips dipping to capture him in a passionate kiss as your hands roamed his still toned chest. And Zevlor, the usual patient man,could also not wait any further, he tugged your dress over your head, breaking the kiss for a moment to reveal the beauty before him, the beauty he had thought about all those lonely nights after meeting you.

And there you were, the curves of your breasts and hips, the dips of your waist and the smoothness of your skin. Your blush, the color of a freshly bloomed rose, spread across your cheeks, down the length of your neck and down your shoulders.

“... Z-Zevlor,”

“So beautiful,” his eyes raking over every inch of your exposed skin, the tip of his tail lashing at his side, “So lovely, I- I feel almost as if I should be worshiping you instead of tainting you with my bloodstained hands-“

You pressed your finger to his lips, silencing him, the pad of your fingertip caressing the softness of his lips, a small smile playing on your lips, the blush spreading, the color deepening, and Zevlor found it to be a beautiful sight, “It's not tainting if I willingly accept you,” you murmured, the words whispered as if they were a secret for only the two of you, “besides, your hands aren’t the only ones stained.”

Zevlor’s hand wrapped around the back of your neck, pulling you back down for a kiss, his tail slowly slinking up towards the thin sheet, the tip brushing against the fabric until it pulled back. You lifted your hips and watched as he pulled the piece of cloth back, allowing his throbbing cock to spring free, the swollen tip beading precum.

You knew it was gorgeous, you didn’t need to look at it to know such a thing, instead you kept all your attention on him, his face, his eyes, the way his hands explored your body, how his fingertips ghosted across the skin of your thighs and the curve of your back. How his tail wrapped around a leg of yours that was straddling him, how it lined you up with his throbbing cock.

Zevlor couldn’t keep his hands off of you, his palms and fingers gliding over every curve, memorizing every dip and rise of your body. He took the moment to marvel at how beautiful you were, and how lucky he was to have you in his arms, how fortunate he was to have your love.

Slowly, you began to lower yourself onto him, the tip of his cock stretching your entrance, his girth sliding inside you, his cock filling you, “H-Hells~ ah~ s’big~”

Zevlor's head fell back against the pillows as a shuddering groan ripped from him, his nails biting at your hips, fighting the urge to cum right then and there. Fighting not to pull you down, to thrust his hips up.

Sinking down further, inch by glorious inch, you felt his cock push deeper and deeper into your heat, stretching you deliciously and filling you perfectly. You could feel every thick vein lining it, the ridges that ran along the underside and the way it pulsed as it bottomed out, his tip kissing your womb.

“A-a-ah ♡”

“T-Tav,” Zevlor's breathing was ragged, his cock throbbing within the velvety confines of your tight heat, waiting for you to adjust to his size. His tail never left your leg, it gave you a light squeeze, the tip of it brushing against your leg, an attempt to comfort your discomfort.

“I-I think- hnnng- I think I can move n-now~"

You shifted, the movement causing him to brush against your cervix, “M-my Zevlor~♡”

At that, something snapped in him, and his hips bucked, his cock sinking impossibly deeper, the action ripping a sharp pleasurable cry from you.

He began to move, his hips slowly grinding up into yours, his gaze drinking in the sight before him- the way your lips parted, the breathy gasps that fell from you, the way your breasts bounced as he thrust into you. It was a sight he wanted to etch in his mind, to burn into the depths of his soul, the image something that could be seen even after death.

You were perfect- so perfect. He loved you, and the way his heart soared whenever he was with you, the way his breath was taken away by you, the way he ached for you- it was enough to know that he truly, honestly loved you.

Bringing you down for a kiss, he felt the shift, felt you move your hips, your pace matching his, and the two of you lost yourselves in one another, in the feeling of his cock driving into your soaked pussy, and the sounds of the other crying out.

Zevlor, despite the pain in his injured arm, couldn't resist, flipping you onto your back his face contorted with a mixture of pain and focus.

“Z-Zevlor-“ you reached out and grasped his face, “a-are you alr~ ah~!!”

But Zevlor silenced your concern with a deep thrust, not wishing for you to be concerned with such a trivial thing when you were the only thing that mattered at the moment.

With every roll of his hips, Zevlor buried himself impossibly deeper, his cock dragging against your gummy walls, his hips grinding against yours. Zevlor's sole focus was on pleasuring you, on giving himself to you completely…

Your fingers tangled into his hair, the silken locks falling like a curtain around you as he loomed inches above you, his tail curling and twisting itself around your ankle, the tip tracing circles against your skin.

“Tav…” he stilled, his hips flush against yours, his eyes searching yours, his fingers trailing across the side of your face, the gesture tender, loving, and so soft.

He was handsome, so striking, the glow of the candlelight and fireplace illuminating his body, his eyes bright with adoration.

And you, a sight he would never grow tired of, “I love you.”

“Zevlor-” your voice broke and tears slipped down your cheeks, “I- I- love you too- s-so much-“

Zevlor felt his very own tears welled in his eyes, the words a balm to his weary soul, and for a moment, just a single moment, he was young again, the world was not so dark, the world a little bit brighter, and would be for a very long time with you at his side.

Gently, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in the softest kiss, his thumb gently swiping at the tears rolling down your face, the touch lingering, as if he was trying to absorb the tears into his skin, just as you did the same for him.

Pulling back, Zevlor began to move once more, “I fear I won’t last much longer- not when I have the most beautiful woman in the world in my arms and in bed- not even the stars can compare.”

A small smile formed on your lips, a smile filled with so much joy, and your arms looped around his neck, his forehead resting against yours, and the two of you held each other, eyes locked as you rocked together.

“I- I am yours, Tav.”

“Ah~ an-and I- I am yours, Z-Zevlor~”

You both chased the feeling, the warmth coiling and building in your core, the pressure mounting and growing. Zevlor could feel his control slipping, could feel himself reaching the precipice, and as he felt your walls flutter and clench around him, Zevlor gave in, his hips snapping against yours, the sound of your bodies slapping together, of the creak of the bed and the cries of the other.

And you- oh, how you sang for him~

With a final thrust, Zevlor felt his control break, and with a low, feral growl, his cock twitched and spasmed, his cum spilling into your womb, his cock spurting ropes of hot, sticky cum. His head dropping into the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against the column of your throat.

Your body convulsed around him, your cunt milking him for all his seed, your body losing control creating a mess all over his cock. Your juices coating his thighs and dribbling onto the sheets below.

He never knew someone could make such a mess, never has he made someone squirt before, and he couldn't help but feel a little proud.

It was bliss, absolute euphoria, and Zevlor could think of nothing else except for you. The two of you panted, breathless, and you could feel him smile against the side of your neck.

Both you could feel your eyelids grow heavy, and you felt sleep begin to take hold, the events of the day catching up with you.

“Sleep, darling,” Zevlor whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“You'll still be here when I wake up?”

“I will always be here, no matter what.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

With those comforting words, knowing he’d be here when you awoke, knowing you’d awake to find yourself in Zevlor’s arms made you drift off. The smile on your face the most peaceful expression he had ever seen, and he knew he would do anything and everything to keep it that way. To keep you smiling, to keep the world from ever darkening those bright eyes.

He loved you, and would protect you, from this day and beyond.

And as the sun slowly rose over the horizon, you were safe in his arms. Your own personal haven, a refuge.

You were home and so was he in your embrace.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #zevlor #zevlor bg3 #bg3 zevlor #bg3 smut #zevlor nation #zevlor x tav #zevlor x reader #tav

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appalachiancowboy99 · 5 months ago

Text

Fireside

Arthur Morgan x CurvyFem!Reader Pure unadulterated smut, 18+, MDNI (Minors Do NOT Enter) Warnings: sexual content, oral sex, cowboy giving

----------------------------------------------------------------------

It was new territory for both of you: this game of stolen glances and shy smiles across Camp, finding excuse after excuse just to feel the thrill of your fingertips dancing over his arms and chest. And then there were those moments where he'd seize any opportunity to pin you up against the side of Pearson's wagon, pressed close against your body just to make you feel the heat and solidity of his frame against yours, no matter how dangerous or reckless it might be. Despite how much he cares for you and how much he enjoys your time together, it's an impossible task to keep his mind from spiraling down every possibility in which he'd be damning you to the same fate, to make the same mistakes he had with Eliza and with Mary, leaving you a shell of the woman you once were. Even if he's riddled with doubt and fear, he won't let you slip through his fingers like a fading dream. It's been quite some time since he's felt so drawn to someone that he can't rationalize why he can't- why he won't stay away. He doesn't quite understand it himself, but for the first time in his life, he ain't fighting it, not with you.

It is no accident that he found himself in this current predicament; setting up a makeshift camp with you outside of Rhodes just to spend some alone time with you. He had made sure of it, insisting on not heading back to Clemen's Point after seeing how pretty you looked all cleaned up and excited to join him on his run to town even if it was just for a pack of cigarettes at the general store. Determined to have some peace away from the commotion of camp, he veered his horse off to the side of the road, leading you through the thicket of trees stretched out alongside the expansive fields of Lemoyne, heading to a clearing just before the edge of Flat Iron Lake. God, was it a good choice. Instead of hearing another riveting story from Mr. Pearson's days in the navy or having you get whisked away for any late-night tasks for Ms. Grimshaw, he's kneeling fireside, watching you fold out his emergency bedroll for the both of you, imaging all the possibilities that the night holds; particularly all those that end with you spread out beneath him.

“C’mere, baby.” His voice is laden with desire as he outstretches his hand for you to take.

"Hmm?" You ask, stopping to glance over your shoulder, only to see his rugged features awash in the orange glow of firelight. Crystalline eyes pierce your heart, crumbling down the walls that protected you and shielded you from the pain of never knowing what love could be. No, there was no idea, no concept of love until he came crashing into your life all those months ago. Love with Arthur is like opening a fresh wound: ripping into your heart and seeding himself so deeply inside of that aching muscle that you fear one day he’ll just bleed you dry and leave you with the dull ache of his memory. However, his presence alone is like a soothing balm to your weary and wounded soul, healing you like the hands of god himself and reassuring you that he’d never leave; he’d crawl through the pits of hell and back just to be spared a passing glance. You trusted him with your life then and against all the nagging self-doubt screaming in your mind, you trust him now.

He can hardly tear his gaze from you as you come closer, his eyes hungrily taking in every inch of your curvy form from the supple sway of your hips to the way the corners of your plush lips curl into an affectionate smile. You place your hand in his as you lower yourself onto his lap, the grass and weeds beneath you tickling your legs just as your knees meet the ground on either side of his hips. Even if you were to pay him no mind, he'd still relish the chance to be this close to you, to see the delicate little imperfections scattered across your skin, to feel the warmth of your love radiating off of your body like a roaring furnace, and admire how your eyes flicker with a sense of hope he'd long forgotten. In the mess of smoothing out your skirts to hide your thighs from his wandering gaze, a lock of hair breaks free from the bun on your head, flopping down on your face in a single ringlet. He reaches up to tuck it behind your ear, his fingertips skimming softly over the supple flesh of your cheek, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. A wave of affection washes over him as he gazes at your face illuminated by the flickering light of the fire, and he can barely contain himself. He longs to shower you with compliments and affection, to give you the love and attention that you so rightfully deserve, but he can't. He has no words; believes there are no words to describe exactly how a single brush of your skin against his makes his heart stop and his mind cloud in a thick fog with nothing to picture but you. You make him feel like a damn fool, a fool so caught up in love that he can't distinguish his left from his right. Words are meaningless here- showing you is the only way.

You never thought you’d find yourself in this predicament: a handsome man like Arthur guiding you toward him, stealing a kiss from your lips like a man starved for the slightest bit of affection. Nor did he think he'd be holding such a beautiful woman in his arms, a woman deserving of so much more than he could ever give. Good things like this don’t happen to you, nor do they happen to men like him, but against all odds, you’re both here wrapped in each others’ embrace without a care in the damn world.

Your plump, pliable lips press against his with a tenderness rarely afforded in the quick, passionate encounters you’ve found yourselves in these days. Tonight, there will be no rush of hands lifting your skirts, no hard press of his cock entering you without warning; tonight, he’ll take his time, drawing out each orgasm after agonizing orgasm from that pretty pussy like you deserve. Arthur breaks away from your lips abruptly and latches onto your pulse point, drawing out that little whimper that sends his head spinning. Your breath is but a whisper as his name drips off your tongue like a fine brandy: silky smooth, "Arthur.." Just as you expect him to reach your collar, unbutton your blouse, and ravage your flesh, he pulls away. Your eyes shoot open only to see him taking off that old gambler's hat while leaning back.

Through a half-laughed whisper, you say, "What're you-" Before you can finish protesting, he rests his back on the plush grass beneath you both, his hat clutched in hand. He sets it aside on a nearby log before turning his attention back to you with a wolfish grin.

“Gonna love you like ya deserve. C’mere,” he murmurs, eyes roaming over your flushed face and heaving chest.

With that, his hands were back on the swell of your hips, thumbs gently pressing into the soft cotton of your skirts, coaxing you with a gentle yet firm pull that guided you away from the comfort of his lap and over his stomach until you're kneeling just above his chest. His eyes lock onto yours, silently pleading for you to rest your fullness on him; he needs to feel every ounce of you as if his life depended on it. You hesitate, looking down at him from above with your pretty skirts pooling over his chest; his face peeking out below a sea of sage green ending just below his chin. Silently urging you to finally give in and settle yourself onto his chest, he reaches upward and gently grabs hold of your waist.

You can’t.

Y’all are already in a compromising position out here in the open. It’d take just a single person to glance in the direction of your camp by the lake to see Arthur delving under your skirts by firelight. His boldness takes you by surprise, a sweet gasp filling your lungs as he leans up, pressing a gentle kiss to your aching cunt through your dampened drawers. That's all it takes for you to give into his touch and rest your hips upon his chest. Your sweet musk alone sends a shiver of pleasure down his spine, pooling straight into his stiffening cock. A low growl of satisfaction leaves his lips in appreciation for your willingness to let him please you. Your eyes are trained on his head ruffling beneath your skirts before looking up at the night sky, noting how the faint white glow of moonlight breaks through the canopy of leaves and limbs, casting shadowed shapes upon the forest floor. His gentle kisses shift from the apex of your desires, the scruff from his beard pleasantly scratching against your skin. While he traces the little blue lace detail on the hem of your drawers, the low timbre of his voice buzzes against your thigh, “Can I take these off of ya?”

There's no denying the desire that runs through you at the thought of being bared to him in such a risque position; to undress yourself and have him beneath you, feasting upon your quivering cunt as if he were savoring you like the very last meal he'd ever taste. Oh, how you remember the first time you felt the wet warmth of his tongue darting out of his lips, pressing against you to show you all the ways in which a real man loves his woman. In truth, Arthur had been the first to awaken those romantic emotions within you, to ignite the spark of desire and affection that had been suppressed for so long. Society had labeled you a spinster, a woman unworthy of love and affection, but he had shown you that you were worthy of so much more than some horseshit label. He had taken your first kiss, been your first intimate touch, and with every moment you spent together, he showed you that you were beautiful and deserving of the kind of love written in those books MaryBeth lets you borrow. The thrill of feeling him once more makes your blood run hot, leaving you with no other choice than to hum softly in agreement. If this is what he desires, then who are you to deny him?

Slowly, you rise off his chest, lifting yourself up to your knees. Your fingers nimbly work to undo the ties that hold cover to the last remnants of decency you have left. You can feel his eyes on you as you undress, watching your every move with an intensity that sends shivers running down your spine. As your skirts fall away, leaving you exposed and vulnerable, you gaze down at his face, the flush of desire dusting his features in a faint reddish hue. His eyes remain locked on yours, unmasked desire blazing in their depths. You begin to work on your blouse and chemise, eager to bare yourself to him, but Arthur's impatience gets the better of him as he struggles with the buttons and ties fastening your clothing. His fingers move quickly and feverishly, desperate to get you stripped down and exposed to his hungry gaze. Through his struggle, he moves his hands back down to your drawers, pressing his thumb against the seam of your body to watch the light fabric catch between your folds. Between your soft gasp and his feigned murmur of forgiveness, he takes hold of the thin fabric and rips it right down the seam of your best set of undergarments. "Arthur! Them's my last good pair," you scold, but it does no good: he's too far gone.

His lust-blown pupils take in the sight of the dark thatch of hair separating him from your aching desire. Oh, for heaven's sake, you internally chastise yourself. Someone could stumble upon your little camp and see you naked as the day you were born, mounting his face like your first ride on a new saddle. But the instant his plush lips meet your seam, all doubt, and all fear subsides, giving way to burning passion. Your back arches, instinctively pressing your hips upon his wanting, salivating mouth, and burying his nose into your plump mound. God how he's missed this, missed taking you so fully and unapologetically. Your sticky sweet nectar coats his lips like the finest honey, driving him wild for a taste of your supple sweetness. His tongue flicks out of his mouth, pressing flat against your slick heat, parting your folds in search of that little bud of nerves screaming his name. You are all that he can taste, all he can breathe, all he can feel.

Darkness clouds his vision as his eyes flutter closed, though flashing behind his eyes is anything but: the image of your face twisting and contorting in agonizing pleasure erases all thought and memory from his mind, leaving only you in its wake. Soft crackling embers, gentle knickers from his steed, the lewd squelches of his tongue lapping at your core, and the sweet flighty sounds escaping your lips create an orgasmic orchestral hymn he's longed to hear these past few weeks. His cock swells, pressing uncomfortably against the rough jean fabric of his usual working pants. Rutting his hips upward, he finds that the tight seam rubs him in the most delicious way: pressing against his cock as if you were leaning back to palm him while he eats you out.

Just as his hips grind upward to find some torturous relief, your hips involuntarily rock against his tongue, guiding him exactly where you need him to be. The strong, wet, muscle glides over your clit, swirling so slowly that your thighs tremble with each expert pass along that tiny bud screaming his name. Embers from the campfire crackles and burns far too close to your bodies not feel the sweltering heat baring down on your skin. Yet, it pales in comparison to the feverish flush that gathered in your face; it spread across the apples of your cheeks to the tips of your ears, leaving them burning almost intolerably. You found yourself struggling to catch your breath as desire worked its way down your throat, squeezing out all the air in your lungs like the first drag off a cigarette before its buzz envelops you completely. His tongue only leaves you for a moment, using it to murmur, "That feel good, baby?"

His voice rumbles through your cunt, causing you to clench around nothing. He needs no answer. He already knows how much you're enjoying this, how much you've been needing to feel his mouth on you by the soft little gasps in between a string of expletives following his name; his favorites being, 'O-Oh Arthur,' 'Oh fuck,' and 'God, pl-please, Arthur.' Pride swells in his chest knowing that he's the only man that's able to ravage you like this. You belong to each other, heart, body, mind, and soul.

Lubrication leaks from you like a damn fountain, coating your pretty little slit like it just begs for him to enter your aching core. And that's exactly what he finds himself searching for. With a small forward thrust of your hips, his tongue parts you, pushes your cunt open, and penetrates you with its wriggling mass of muscle. It wasn’t like his cock filling you, hitting your womb with every thrust, rubbing you so impossibly deep that you could see stars, but it was enough to shatter your pride and make you forego all composure and decency, whatever sense of the word it may be. The very tip finds that soft spongy spot inside, licking and writhing with each dip in and out, all while his nose presses against your clit. “A-Arthur,” you groan. “I’m so close.”

Oh, he knows you're close. Your cunt quivers around his tongue, pulsating in time with the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. Your creamy slick coats his beard, nose, and hell, even his cheeks as you properly use him to reach your end. Everything around you is spinning. Nothing exists beyond this moment shared between two lovers shrouded by nightfall. No, nothing else matters except Arthur's mouth devouring you, drinking you like cold water on a hot summer's day. You're his solace, his sustenance, something worth truly dying for. And if he smothers to death beneath your soaked cunt, then he'd thank God for such a heavenly way to go. His hips rise and fall, undulating as if he were fucking into your tight, gummy channel; it's all he can imagine, all he wants to feel is fucking you and you being fucked. Flicking his tongue inside of you, hitting that sweet spot, pulls you closer to the edge. Your hands are frantic, never taking purchase on any one place until they find the mess of chestnut hair atop his head. It takes everything in you not to rip his hair out as both of your hands take fistfuls into your palms. He growls into you, panting heavily for what little air he's able to take in. Finally, his tongue retreats, moving back up to your clit to give you one hard suck that sends you spiraling over the edge. From the top of your head to the tips of your toes are awash in electricity, burning, shaking through you like a thunderous wave as your climax takes hold. You scream his name, but he doesn't stop attacking your clit with the gentle flick of his tongue through hard suction. No, he doesn't stop, making sure to rip another mind-shattering orgasm out of you until he allows himself to come. You fall forward in an attempt to move from him, but he holds you down with such strength that you're forced to stay seated. You block off his airway, smothering his nose with your mound as he continues his ministrations on your clit. You feel like you're dying, shaking and sweating like a fever has taken your body over, until another orgasm rounds its peak. With one more jerk of his hips, he spends himself in his jeans; cum leaking out of him like a stream, soaking into his union suit while your cream drenches his beard in a frothy white delicacy. Once you gain your composure, you glance down at him to realize that he can't breathe. "O-Oh God, Arthur. You alright?" You pull away from his mouth, giving him a moment to catch his breath as he looks up at you with fiery, hungry eyes. The flame of the campfire casts shadows over his face, the light illuminating him in a warm, golden glow. His beard glistens with your essence, and he gazes up at you with an expression of reverence, silently worshiping what power your body has over him. As you attempt to lift yourself off of him to give him some much needed breathing room, he clamps down on your thighs, preventing you from moving. That familiar smirk draws up the corner of his mouth and a spark of desire flickers in the ocean of blue surrounding his lust-blown pupils, "Where you think 'yer goin'? Ain't done with you yet." ---------------------------------------------------------------------- A/N: Hi! I really hope y'all like this little drabble. My great friend @photo1030 inspired me to post a little something, so I have her to thank for igniting my creativity again. It's my first time posting anything like this, so feedback of any kind would be greatly appreciated! So again, thank you, C, for being my first supporter <3

Other creators I enjoy/drew inspo from: @rivetingrosie4 @coltermorning @subpopizzy @amorgansgal @immajustvibehere @twola

#rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x reader smut #arthur morgan #arthur morgan smut #Cowboy Giving #Thank you for reading - from the bottom of my little Appalachian Heart <3

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