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barbieaemond · 11 months ago

Text

Lykirī

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

WARNINGS: loss of virginity, fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving), handjob, we ride him bitches, dom/sub tones if you squint

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

Author's note: an early Christmas gift for those who celebrate!! For those who don't, just a regular smutty piece. This was based on a request where wife!reader rides Aemond. Merry Aemondmas :)

MASTERLIST

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @arcielee

"You are to marry the King's second son. Prince Aemond Targaryen."

Those were your father's words. Your sister had looked at you almost with pity and a hint of relief since that fate had befallen you and not her. You had simply nodded, accepting the fate decided by your father, just as thousands of other daughters before and after you would have done.

Your mother had come to comb your hair before going to bed, and without much ado, she had told you what would happen after the wedding, after the banquet.

"All you have to do is try to relax your nerves, and I promise it will be less painful.”

The thought had stuck in your brain until the wedding day. And the aura emanating from the prince didn't help. He was stoic to the point of looking like a statue, his posture rigid as a spindle, and there was something unsettling about him that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand when he took your hand to recite the wedding vows. Fear, but also a foreign giddiness prickling your skin upon feeling his calloused fingers around yours.

The banquet had not helped either. Prince Aegon had behaved like a court jester, drinking to the point of wondering how he could stand upright, poking his brother with cruel jokes about his eye and a whore who had made Aemond a man many years before.

You didn’t know what kind of unpleasant memories your good-brother had just summoned in his brother’s mind. That woman and her cheap perfume, that way it had clung to his skin, to his thoughts for days after his only ever trip to Flea Bottom.

Then the elder Prince had approached you with his breath stinking of Dornish and it was then that Prince Aemond broke his icy silence, standing up abruptly and looking down at you. "Come, wife. It is time for us to retire."

Prince Aegon had clapped his hands as if in front of a hilarious show, saying "Finally some fun! The bedding!"

The entire crowd present at the banquet had escorted you to the prince's chambers. The servants had removed your dress, leaving you in your underskirts; you had unconsciously covered your chest, crossing your arms to hide from the greedy eyes of the men peering in the doorway, Prince Aegon in the front row with yet another cup of wine clutched between his fingers.

Master Mellos invited you to lie down on the bed, and you obeyed, swallowing, while a host of servants shielded you from view as the Maester made his humiliating inspection.

"All is in order, your Graces," the Master informed the Prince and Queen. And that was enough for Aemond to completely slip the iron mask off his face and go straight to the door. "The show is over. Get out."

"Oh, come on, little brother. Let me watch, at least. I could give you some tips."

Aemond had towered over his brother, and from your seat on the bed, you were able to see the eldest brother shrinking by the moment. "This is not some common whore you're speaking of.” Aemond seethed “She is my wife, and you will owe her the respect she deserves. One more lewd word from your mouth, and I will rip your tongue with my bare hands. Am I being clear?”

"Gods, brother, are you already so cunt-struck?"

He never got an answer, only the door being slammed right into his face.

You stood in the middle of the room, torturing your hands as he looked at you from the door. He seemed unsure of what to do, until he cleared his throat and took a few tentative steps in the room.

“You could have some wine, if you wish. It may…help you.” He said, but as he said this, he seemed to regret his own words, given how his mouth twitched as if he had just tasted something sour. Memories could come just like that, sudden and sour.

“You must relax, my prince. Have some wine, maybe? No need to worry, I will take care of you just as a prince deserves to.”

“I’d like to keep my mind clear, my Prince.” You said, keeping your gaze down, hearing his fast and deep sigh. “Fine.” he said, straightening his back as a soldier. After all, wasn’t this just another duty?

It wasn’t just that though. You were his wife now, the future mother of his children. It was his duty and his right to claim you as his own.

“Lay on the bed.”

With your heart pounding in your ears, you did as you were told but when the mattress dipped under his weight, you did not expect to see him with his clothes still on, the eyepatch firmly in its place. More so, you did not expect the harshness of his gestures as he held your waist to turn you around. The air hitched in your throat as your face met the mattress and a strange sorrow gripped your heart. Did he not want to look at you? Did he not like you?

“Try to stay still and it’ll be over shortly.” he said. He was trying to sound reassuring, but his voice came out cold and flat. His fingers latched on your underskirts, hiking them up, filling you with embarrassment as you grow completely exposed beneath him.

Aemond knew what to do. He may not have been as depraved as his brother, but he was still a man. And once in a while, when his hands would not suffice, some maid or servant girl would’ve had to bear, quite keenly on their part, his intimate attentions.

As his hands began to glide on your thighs, you shivered and said “Wait…”

Slowly your head turned to look at him, cheeks red and breath slow and anxious. “Am I not allowed to look at you?”

Your words seemed to stun him for a moment. The mere thought of you wanting to look at him made him realize how wrong he was behaving. You were his wife, not a common whore to bend over and have his moment of bliss. He had even told Aegon. That was not his intention, but there was a gap between how he felt and how he acted, a limb severed by years of pity looks and feelings trapped in his mouth and swallowed.

Almost gently, he made you turn but once you were facing him, he pinned your wrists on the mattress, unable to touch him even if you had gathered enough courage to do it. You tried to brace yourself for what your mother had told you. But she had not told you that he would touch you there, that all your senses would go numb except for that one brand new feeling between your legs. But he seemed enthralled by it just as you, his mouth parting to let out slow puffs of air as you grow wet and swollen against his fingers.

Your breath was labored, coming out in soft pants that made your cheeks purple. More so because he kept circling his deft fingers on your core while looking straight into your eyes, reveling in the way you were answering to his call, in the way he was shaping your need, your desire.

“You never touched yourself, did you?” he asked in a husky voice.

You barely shook your head and his eye glinted with something dark as he brought his face close to yours “Good. I shall be the only one inside you.”

He swallowed your shaky breath with this mouth, kissing you for the very first time, apart from the shy, almost prude peck exchanged after the wedding vows. Your lips moved shyly, trembling with the coiling pressure between your legs. And just when you thought this heat, this delicious aching couldn’t grow more unbearable, he sticked a finger inside you, spilling a loud moan right against his mouth.

One of your wrists twisted in his harsh hold, willing to touch him, to grip on something, but he didn’t let you. “Easy…” he blew on your lips “Relax. It’ll feel good, I promise…”

It surely felt good to him, to feel the tightness of your cunt squeezing his finger. He curled it and you squinted your eyes, choking a gasp that made him smirk proudly against your jaw. “Gods, you’re so tight…” he breathed as he kept rubbing slowly against your walls.

“It’s—it’s too much—“ you cried out with pain and pleasure running together, breathing his scent of ash, leather and a hint of something minty.

“How will you take my cock if you can’t even take my finger?” He whispered with benevolent cruelty, moving his finger faster and deeper.

Certainly your mother had not told you of the obscene wet sounds you would hear, of the uncontrollable moans coming out of your mouth, of his soft growling next to your ear when his breeches became too tight.

He had lined the tip of his hard manhood to your entrance, catching your breath away as tried to still your nerves, but the pain came altogether. You felt like he was cutting you from the inside. Tears filled your eyes, squinting for the painful stretching. You knew he was restraining himself; he didn’t want to hurt you more than he already was. And you almost felt affection for him, most men would not have bothered.

Then he had started to move, you felt that stranger body rubbing over and over against your walls, and finally the pain soothed, but not completely. You could tell he was enjoying it, his ragged breath and faint moans told you so, as well as the curses hissed through his teeth in a language you guessed was Valyrian. And then he had stilled completely, gripping your hips hard and firm while you felt a hot wave pulsing through your core.

The next morning, you could barely sit down for breakfast, and your aunt had looked at you with concern and a hint of amusement in her eyes. She was a veteran at court, a long-time widow, and quite happy to be so. It was her who suggested your betrothal to the Prince.

"How are you feeling, sweet niece?"

"Awful." you said promptly, shifting your weight on the seat.

"Well, this is the kind of anguish all women must go through."

"I thought that was giving birth to another human being."

"Oh Gods, no. That is the ugly part. This is the good one," she said with a sly smile "I suggest you enjoy it as much as you can."

At the time, you didn't really understand what she meant. The first night with the prince had gone...well, you thought. But he certainly enjoyed it more than you.

The second time was better. Your muscles were still sore, but the pain was but a faint discomfort compared to the pleasure you felt for the very first time in your life.

The third time he went down on you, bringing you so close to the edge only to deny your release, with cruel enjoyment on his part, making you whine with shame at the loss of his mouth and tongue on your folds.

The fourth time he bent you down on the breakfast table, all things falling in a mess of cutlery. He had pulled up your skirts and lowered his breeches just enough to thrust in, unraveling a special spot deep inside of you that had you mewling like some primitive beast.

The fifth time he had you writhing in bed, hair stuck to your head with sweat and hands clenching the sheets while he had you peak three times in a row.

It was then that you started to think your aunt was right.

That was indeed the good part.

“Are you afraid?” he asks, with a soft taunt on the tip of his tongue. You drag your eyes away from the gigantic beast before you and almost scoff. That is enough for him to laugh, quietly, but still not quietly enough for you to not notice and wonder at the view.

It’s been merely one moon since you’ve been married to Prince Aemond, and you could count on the fingers of your hand the times you have seen him laugh. It was eerie at first, you feared all the things you heard about the One Eyed Prince were true. That he was cold as stone and just as hard. And he was. But the more you spent time together, the more you were able to make cracks, and let light through.

“I’m equally afraid as any little mortal of right mind would be in front of the largest dragon in the known world, my dear husband.”

His lips stay quirked up, but his eye widens, as it always does when you call him that. He steps close to you, a few of his long strides are enough for him to tower over you, and the ground below your feet shifts.

“Come.” He says, taking your hand, “I promise she won’t eat you.” This time you deliberately glare at him, and he raises an eyebrow. “Do you need some other kind of persuasion to trust me? Perhaps like the one I used this morning?”

The early afternoon sun makes his face almost hurting to watch, or maybe it's just his bold gloating that makes his appearance so exhausting.

“That was not persuasion.” you remark, hiding the tinge of red on your cheeks “It was coercion.”

“Hmm. You didn’t seem so hostile when I made you come twice before breakfast.”

"I was hostile to the chance of the maid assisting with what we were doing."

"The maid should know better than to enter while my wife is undressing."

His eye roams over you just as he had done that morning, hunger clouding it, making your insides shrink. "Perhaps it's best if she knew. Someone must be aware of how cruel my husband is." there's a soft tease in your tone—something you are still learning, but true nonetheless.

He had ripped your nightgown with his bare hands when the maid entered to help you dress. She fled hastily, but you barely spared a glance at her, already lost to the fierce claim of his hand between your legs. He had taken you, twice, and then ordered you to dress, forcing you to have breakfast with the Queen and the Princess with your thighs still sticky with sex, sticky with him.

And he had been there, sitting just in front of you, with a piercing and delighted gaze.

He pulls your hand, and you follow, getting closer to that living relic that is Vhagar, Queen of All Dragons. She raises her monstrous head and looks straight at you with her amber eyes.

It is the first time you step so close to her, and even if you thought about it a lot, your heart is pounding fast, and your breath comes out slow and labored. She's a dreadful wonder.

She flares her nostrils and smells you, making a low rumble which results in a gust of hot wind that ruffles your hair and skirts.

“Lykirī, Vhagar.” Aemond says quietly “Issa ñuha ābrazȳrys. Kostā pāsagon zirȳla.”

You look at him questioningly, and he answers. “I told her you are my wife. And she can trust you.”

You cast a curious look at the dragon and then back at him “Is that all it takes? You tell dragons to trust you, and they resist the urge to turn you into their meal?”

Aemond curves his lips and makes you step closer, standing behind you and guiding your hand on the old green scales. “It takes much more than that.” he whispers in your ear “You have to surrender to them, completely. A dragon is no slave.”

You feel the heat beneath your palm, but it’s not that that makes you swallow; it’s the heat of his breath on your neck, right into your ear, scorching his way into your brain and inflaming every thought.

“What does Lykirī mean?” you ask, and you hate how your voice cracks on the edges.

He smirks because he knows, he always does. But he does not answer. Instead, he pulls your hand again, and you follow, circling the beast until stopping before the intricate ropes that lead to the saddle.

“Aemond, I don’t think—”

“You are my wife and you will ride with me on dragon back.” He said, commanding.

Truthfully, you gladly want to obey; there is just a slight difference between picturing riding a dragon and doing it.

Even the climbing to get in the saddle is a challenge on its own, but he helps you until you firmly seat yourself in it. Aemond sits behind you, and you look around with widened eyes, as if you are looking down from the highest tower ever built, except this is a living one, made of fire and breathing fire.

He leans over you to grab the reins, and you tense, waiting with bathed breath.

“Dohaeras, Vhagar. Soves!”

She lets out a loud screech that makes your ears hurt, but you have no time to even register it because she's already moving. You grip Aemond’s arms and brace yourself against his chest when Vhagar lurches onward and opens her huge wings to take flight.

She goes up and up, above the clouds, and your head is dizzy, with fear, with euphoria, until you are laughing like a child, like you never did in your entire life. Aemond lets go of the reins and laces his arms around you, angling his head to look at you, his silver hair violently ruffled by the wind. “How does it feel, my sweet wife?”

There are no common words to describe it. Now you know why they say Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. No man could claim a dragon or rule the skies.

“I feel like I’m close to the Gods.” you say, and he tightens the hold on you “Dragons do not answer to Gods.” he says, burying his nose in your hair “Where does this leave us?”

You turn your head to look at him, and you feel like you are looking at one of them. And yet he looks like he’s beyond any God.

“Above them. Above the Gods.”

“Hmm.” He croons, breathing your scent through his nose, and then his right hand grabs your skirt and dips underneath, until you feel his cold fingers grazing your skin. “I will make you feel like one.”

He cups your core through your small clothes, and you whimper, gripping his arm harder. He feels your heat through his palm, hotter than Vhagar’s own fire, and he sets the fabric aside to properly touch you. “My sweet wife.” he whispers, sliding a finger between your folds “Always so ready for me.”

“Aemond.” You say, holding your breath, trying to oppose but your voice cracks, and your body with it, already answering to his call. You see clouds before your eyes, but it’s all a blur, all your senses are enslaved by his touch, rubbing lazy circles on your bud. Too slow for your liking, for your need. Your hips arch and buck, chasing his hand for more friction, and he laughs, darkly. “What is it? What do you need, sweet girl? Tell me.”

He takes your chin with his free hand and forces you to turn your head and look at him. His hold is ruthless, but his tone is almost pleading. “Tell me.” he orders and you feel like he’s smothering you, sweeping away all the air from your lungs. “I-I need more…”

“More of what?” he asks, stopping altogether. “Show me.”

You look him in the eye and swallow, heat inflaming your cheeks, but there’s no place for shame, not here. It is just a faint ghost passing through you, and then it’s gone. Your hand pulls the gown up, and you place it on his, like a feather. “Here.” You breathe on his mouth “Inside.”

The howling wind does nothing to muffle his growl, and then he’s kissing you, harshly, teeth clashing and biting your lips as he accepts your plea, sliding a finger inside of you.

A strangled moan escapes you, and he swallows it, darting his tongue in every corner of your mouth. He releases your chin only to grab your leg to further open them and then he adds a second finger, moving them deftly until reaching that special spot. Your head falls back on his shoulder, gasping loudly, digging your nails into his hand.

Your breath is ragged and fast, and you uselessly try to stifle moan after moan even if there are only the skies to hear.

“Don’t.” he says grazing your lobe with his teeth “I want to hear you. I want you to scream for me.”

Your mind goes blank, as does all your restraint. You feel the tide coming to crash you, hips moving on their own accord, chasing and chasing. And then you’re drowning in it, mouth falling open and flesh and bones clenching and trembling.

He grunts softly when your nails scratch his skin and his fingers slip out, glistening; he raises them to his lips and tastes every drop of you. Still panting, he takes your chin once more with his sticky fingers and licks your lips, so you taste yourself on his tongue.

Your head is still dizzy when Vhagar lands in a clearing in the King’s Wood, but this has nothing to do with altitude. Your limbs are heavy when he helps you dismount, your legs buckle. There is a tautness knotting your bones, itching your fingertips.

You wish to touch him, because you have never, not as a wife would touch her husband, not as he has done with you.

It is only a moon and yet he has taken you almost every night and every day. He has touched you everywhere, he has molded you to his liking, and you let him do it with giddiness, undoing yourself like clay in his hands. He had put his mouth on you, and you have discovered he particularly enjoyed it, because he has done that at the most inopportune times, even in some dark corner of the corridors.

And you wondered if you could do the same with him—not because you have to, but because you want to. You want to claim him just as he claims you, relentlessly.

And he really is. He is relentless, he doesn't give you the time to wander with your hands, to discover, to touch. Fire burns him quickly and you are ashes before you realise you are burning with him.

“I didn’t know my wife had claws.” He says at one point, while you are going back to the Keep.

You wake from your thoughts and turn, watching him raise his hand to show the red marks on the back of his hand, and the sight makes you almost proud—proud to have left a mark of you on him. But you want more, and he wants more. You know it; it takes a brief look at his breeches to know that he wants more.

You dart your eyes around, but there's no one. So, you stop. Trying to gather all the boldness you never had, you step closer to him and take his hand in yours. Your eyes look up slowly, glinting with uncertainty and bravery. "Then let me soothe your pain, husband."

Aemond’s eye widens, and the air around you turn heavy, forcing you to open your mouth to breathe. You take one more step and bring the back of his hand to your lips, kissing it gently while your eyes stay fixed on his face. The other hand goes tentatively to his chest and then slides down, and for once, just once, he’s the one answering your call. His eye darkens and his lips part when your hands bashfully grab the laces of his breeches.

But you should have known better. Targaryens and their desires. Doomed to take whatever they want, whenever they want, answering neither Gods nor men.

You barely blink and he grabs you by the wrists and forces you to the ground. Cold grass and bushes stinging your back make you gasp, but Aemond is already on you, watching you like a century-long thirsted man who takes a glimpse of a water spring, as if you could evaporate from his sight at any moment.

“Aemond, please.” you beg “let me—“

But his tongue is in your mouth, hot and scorching you alive. Your eyes flutter shut, and he hikes your skirts up, taking hold of your hips. You feel his bulge against you, hard and ready, and you can do nothing else than wait, pinned down like prey, all bravery a distant memory.

Suddenly he lowers himself down, lifting your skirts with haste until you’re completely bare half down. “No—Aemond, please I want to—”

“You want what?” he asks with a wolfish grin “Deny me your sweet taste? Iksā ñuhon, ābrazȳrys.” He said that already, you know what it means. You are mine.

“You belong to me. And this…” he swears placing your legs on his shoulders while looking at your aching core as a man who found the greatest treasure in the world. “This belongs to me as well.”

He runs his tongue up and down your wet folds, humming with delight as he tastes you and sees you squirm, arching your back on the stingy bushes. You moan loudly when he slowly swirls his tongue, not able to keep track of your hips starting to move on their own, thrusting into his mouth and the sight of you like this, makes him even wilder, pushing him to open his mouth and put it entirely on your cunt, sucking harshly until anything before your eyes becomes blurred.

Your legs on his shoulders begin to shake and curl, caging him further against you, but just when you are about to come straight into his mouth, he pulls back. A weak sob leaves your mouth as your hips keep bucking against nothing and he smirks at that, untangling your legs from his shoulders, running his tongue over his lips, to taste what's left of you on him. You look at him through dazed eyes and a tinge of annoyance for the denied release. “What?” he has the boldness to ask with a sly smirk “Did you not enjoy it?” he runs his thumb on his glistening chin and swiftly licks it. "Hmm. I most certainly did."

“Aemond, please.” you claw desperately at his shoulders and forearms, forcing him to lie on you, feel something that could soothe the aching between your legs. He seems keen to grant you this mercy, molding his crotch against you so you can feel how hard and desperate he is.

“Please.” you beg in a thin voice.

“Speak it plainly, my love. I want to hear it from your pretty mouth.”

You look at him straight in the eye and what you say next is not a request nor a plea. Your mother would be ashamed of you, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You are not begging. You are demanding. “Fuck me.”

He doesn’t need more than a few moments to get his cock out of his breeches, and not a moment later he’s pushing inside of you, your back arching on the bushes and your throat fighting for breath. He groans and starts a relentless pace, lifting his weight from you just enough for him to look at his cock going in and out, the sight only pushing him to thrust harder and harder. “Look at you.” he croons, sweet and rough “You were born to take me, to be mine.”

Your face twists with pleasure, teeth biting your lower lip while he takes you higher and higher, higher than any sky a dragon could ever take you.

He soon becomes messy and sloppy, cursing under his breath, but you can barely hear him. Your mind is sluggish and everything comes muffled: him, the birds chirping on some tree, your wet flesh slapping against his in the lewdest and most blessed way.

He curses some more, and then he’s spilling inside you, his arched mouth opening and his eye closing like a man absolved.

And yet, he does not stop. He has not claimed enough.

“Māzis, dōna ābrazȳrys. Come for me.”

Your hand clutches something on the ground, something with thorns that pierces your skin with pain, but you can’t even feel that, because you are falling, legs trembling around him, and heart stopping for an endless moment of pure breathtaking bliss.

“Gevie.” he coos with his lips on yours, falling with his body on you, still clenching and pulsing around him. He stays right where he is, nesting inside of you, and now it is the only chance you have been granted to touch him. You put an arm around his shoulders, catching your breath, and look at the skies above, thinking you are indeed above them.

It was easy to explain the dirt and grass stains on your dress. It was a little less easy to explain the twigs in your ruffled hair when you and Aemond returned to the Keep only to meet the Queen Mother along one of the corridors. Alicent merely smiled at you with a tight smile and did not spare from giving a look full of daggers to her son.

"Seven Hells" you mutter when you go back to your rooms and catch a glimpse of the mess you are in the mirror.

Aemond stays on the threshold to close the door and grins, or rather, gloats.

You step out of your muddy shoes and start to pull the laces of your dress.

"What are you doing?" he asks, and you playfully glare at him. "Am I allowed to take a bath now? Or do you want me to go around all sullied? I fear there are no believable excuses for the state I’m in."

"You can tell them the truth." he says, walking to you and replacing your hands with his to help you pull the intricate laces.

You smile softly with your back turned before raising an eyebrow, asking "Which is?"

He keeps his eye focused on the dress, a slight furrow in his brow, and stoically serious, he says "That your husband fucked you in the King's Wood."

"I could tell the maid. I'm sure she won't be stunned after what she saw this morning."

He makes you turn so you can look at him, and the sight before you makes your heart sing. His eye roams on your face softly, a rare sight on him, always stoic, always sharp, like all the angles composing this beautiful sculpture of black glass.

You always thought of marriage as a strategic deal for men, and a way for women to prove their value to the world, giving those same men sons and daughters. But you care for him. And he cares for you. That look on his face is enough for you to know that he cares for you, not merely as a brood mare.

“Gevie.” he says, quietly, and he touches your cheek, softly, making you wonder how those same hands can be so delicate and yet so merciless at the same time.

“What does it mean?” you ask, even if you are sure he will not answer. You observed that when he speaks in High Valyrian he does it almost to himself, as if to protect something he does not wish the others to know.

But this time, he meets your eyes and lowers his hand. “Beautiful.”

You look at him with your heart pounding in your throat, and then you stand up on your toes, crashing your mouth against his, almost catching him by surprise. But he is all too deft at turning the game on his side, and a few seconds later, his hands are gripping your hips and his tongue is licking the roof of your mouth.

When the door suddenly opens, you pull back, spotting the same maid from that morning who, this time, can do nothing but suffer the Prince's wrath.

"Can't you just fuck off for once?!"

You hold back a laugh against his chest and the poor maid flees in a hurry. But when he pulls you to him, tilting his head to pick up where he left off, you step back and say, "I'm afraid the Queen has requested your presence. You should go, my dear husband. I promise that by tonight I will be completely clean."

"Tonight?" he asks, raising his eyebrow. "What is happening tonight?"

You shrug your shoulders and hold back a smile. "Innocence doesn't suit you, my Prince."

"Neither does you."

"I'm afraid this is your fault. You are sullying my soul as well as...everything else."

"You won't be of the same mind when you have my child growing in your womb," and he smirks, looking at you as if he's taking a sacred oath, and then walks away.

You finally manage to take a bath and change clothes, and then you go to visit your aunt. She spends most of her time alone, sipping tea in the gardens, partly because she can't stand the other court ladies, partly because the court ladies can't stand her. Truthfully, you cannot blame them, your aunt speaks plainly—too plainly at times.

You sit down with her for tea, which you end up swallowing like salt, because your aunt takes it with a whole squeezed lemon, and no sugar.

"I saw you with your husband earlier. I may be too old for new fashion but mud on your skirt and twigs in your hair seem a bit too brazen, even for me."

You stifle a smile, recalling what happened. If only she knew he was brazen enough to have you utterly undone on dragon back, thousands of feet up.

Your eyes go distant while you fumble with some tablecloth threads, but your Aunt stares at you piercely, and grabbing her cup of tea she says "I love that look on you."

"What?"

She sips the sour liquid and puts the cup down. "That look. The I'm in love look."

"I am not!" you counter, cheeks going red.

"Of course you are. I've watched you two. I dare say he's falling way faster than you."

You look at her puzzled. Many things have changed in a moon. And you are sure you are utterly infatuated with him. But you did not know what to think of what he actually feels for you, if he even feels something. You know he cares for you, you know he loves spending time with you. You know he's passionate, possessive, almost soft at rare times. But in love? That seems too soon to consider, or to hope for.

"It is too soon to talk about love."

"In fact, I did not, my sweet niece. Falling in love and love are beasts of different species. Why do you think we say "falling"? You can't stop from falling. To love a person is an entirely different matter. Love is a choice."

You let those words sink but you prefer not to question your heart right now. There is a reason you have come here to talk to your aunt, even if you don't know how to address the matter without melting from embarrassment.

But in the end, who could you ask for advice? Your squeamish maids? The Queen Mother? Definitely not.

"Listen, I...I wanted to ask you something..." you start "It is uhm...a matter of somewhat intimate nature."

"Ah, my favourites." your aunt says, beaming "I am all ears."

You shift uncomfortably in your chair and swallow another sip of that dreadful tea "My mother...she explained to me what would happen between husband and wife to...consummate the marriage. But she didn't tell me...well, everything else."

Your Aunt is quick to raise her eyebrow "I gathered that your marriage had been consummated by now. Thoroughly."

"Y-yes, of course. But I...discovered...that there are other ways for a husband to please his wife...and I was wondering if...if I could…do those same things to please him."

Your aunt looks utterly puzzled for a long moment, and then, almost stunned, she says "Oh Seven Hells, child. You are telling me you never sucked your husband off?"

A few court ladies walking near turned their heads, going white as sheets, while you, on the contrary, take a nice purple shade.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, prissies. We all did it eventually." she dismisses them, waving a lazy hand, and looks back at you. "You should do it, if you wish. Men love it. Your uncle used to ask—"

"I don't want to hear that, auntie, I'm begging you." you say squinting your eyes.

"Listen to me, child. Men love to think they rule everything, everywhere. But it is not always like that. And if you want to rule your husband's heart, you must rule in his bed first."

That evening, Aemond wanted nothing more than to lock himself in his room with his wife and forget all the hateful political talk he had had to endure at dinner.

You had not attended, and that had bothered him. Never would he have thought of marriage as anything more than a duty, yet there he was, wondering where you were, who you were with, and why you weren't in his rooms when he set foot in there.

"Where is my wife?" he asks the maid, and she keeps her eyes glued to the floor, saying "The princess spent the evening in the library, your Grace. She told me that she would be—"

"I am here," you say, appearing behind the young maid.

You see his chest sag as if a weight is leaving him, and he casts an icy glance at the poor maid "Out."

He is rarely kind to servants, but you can tell by his tense shoulders that something is wrong.

"Aemond, what is the matter?" you ask as soon as the door closes, walking up to him with a hand behind your back.

"Where were you? Why weren't you at dinner?"

"I was in the library."

"For four hours?"

"It was a tough read—"

He grabs your arm, gripping hour wrist harshly, and you flinch. "Aemond, I swear to you.” you say watching his eye on fire and a sneer twisting his mouth “You can ask Maester Mellos."

Suddenly he lets you go, and looks down, closing his eye for a moment. But he doesn't apologize, he never does, and not because he is a Prince. It's just the way he is. He doesn't apologize, he doesn't say thank you, he doesn't say please.

"Aemond, what's going on?"

"I don't want to talk about it now. In fact, never. Not here."

You watch him carefully, and you nod as he moves to pour wine into a cup. You watch him gobble it up greedily, which is unlike him. So, you get close and move your hand from behind your back and say, "Anyway, I wasn't lying. I really spent four hours in the library...trying to decipher this."

You show him an old book, and the title catches his eye, cup held in midair. "Tales of the Dragonlords?" he asks frowning. "This is in High Valyrian."

"It is." you confirm as you move closer, and you steal his cup before saying, "Would you read it to me?" and you take a sip, of wine and courage.

He watches the liquid flow down your throat and then accepts the invitation, taking the book—the one he has read so many times he can recite it by heart. He opens it to the first page, but you say "No. Page 72."

There is a slight imperative tone in your tone of voice, and it thrills him, given how his eye glints under the candlelight. He drops it on the table, looking at you from head to toe, and says, "I'll read it to you later, sweet wife."

He steps closer but you back away saying, "Fine, then. I'll tell you what I understood so you can correct me or not." and at the same moment your own hands go up on your corset and you start pulling on the laces.

The gesture catches his eye like a moth to a flame and he stays silent as you pull all the laces and then slip off your dress, remaining in your underskirt. His gaze roams over you slowly, and with a soft smirk, he decides to play the game.

“Page 72, you said. How Dragonlords claimed Dragons.”

“Yes.”

"And why did it capture your interest? Do you wish to do it? Do you wish to claim a dragon?"

"I wish to conquer, not claim."

He comes closer and looks at you, breathing through his nose, restraining, always restraining, and then he's raising his hand to reach a lock of your hair falling on your shoulder, but you stop him, air as heavy as moss.

"The Valyrian sages say a dragonlord must surrender himself completely to the dragon. But it works both ways. The dragon must submit his will to their rider."

He looks at you without blinking, and you take his arms, guiding him closer until you turn and push him lightly on the bed. He sits and you slowly climb on his lap, knees caging his hips, heart is pounding in your throat like a hammer. You hear him taking a swift breath and pride pools in your bones because for once you have caught him off guard.

You can feel his crotch hardening by the moment, but the look on his face is not one of hunger or lust. It is pure and blessed devotion.

You wonder at the view, and your eyes roam on his face until...

"Can I take it off?"

There's no need to say what. His face goes hard as stone, eye looking away with discomfort, with shame.

"Please, Aemond." you whisper. "I want to see all of you. I want you to bare yourself to me as I did to you."

"It is not pleasant."

"I don't want pleasantness. I want you."

He stares at you for an eternal moment and then he caves.

A flash of sparkling blue catches you completely and you can do nothing but watch with lips parted, while he keeps his eye down.

You wrap an arm around his shoulders and lean your head against his to breathe one single word in his ear. "Gevie."

His arms are all around you, holding you so tight you might gasp for air. Instead you are smiling, breathing through his long silver hair. You are not sure if you aunt is right, if love is indeed a choice. You can't bring yourself to care because you are doing it already.

And then he's kissing you, seizing your tongue with his in a fierce consuming way. He slightly hikes up your hips, and his hand tries to slide between your legs, but you lace your fingers around his wrist, breaking the kiss with panted breath.

"No." you whisper, and he looks at you almost questioningly, mouth open and chest heaving.

"Lykirī."

His eye widens and you smile, secretly. "I know what it means now."

He smirks at this and does not miss the chance to be the ever diligent scholar. "But you said it wrong. The R is hard."

“Lykirī.” You say again, following his lesson, and in the same moment your hand leaves his wrist and goes down to his breeches. He dips his chin to look at it, at your hands unsure, and he too looks unsure.

“You don’t have to—“

“I want to.” You say, and your voice comes out firm and clear. “Please, Aemond. Let me…let me touch you.”

He realizes now that in all the times you have been lying together, you never managed to lay a hand on him. He likes to keep people at distance. Too many wrong hands have been on him. The Maesters’, inspecting, debating, healing without healing. That whore, taking what it was not hers to take, not yet.

But he wants you to touch him. He has dreamed of it, in any way a man could dream of a woman’s touch.

He looks at you for a moment, chest rising slowly, and then, without taking his eye off you, he pulls the laces of his breeches and guides your hand around his cock. You look down, exhaling a long breath at feeling his hard and hot flesh already pulsing.

He knows you don’t know how to do it, so his hands guide you at first, going slowly up and down, and the air comes out of his mouth slowly and labored. You look up at him, his eye is pitch black, lid growing heavy with pleasure, and your core clenches, desire pools in your belly and flows down.

He must hear the call of your body, because he releases your hand, still stroking him, and goes right between your legs. You gasp loudly, and he hums, delight dripping from his voice just as you are dripping on his fingers. He starts to pump his fingers and you can do nothing but moan, clutching his shoulders with your free hand, the other still around his cock, but the act is growing lazy, your mind can’t focus properly on what you are supposed to do.

“Listen.” he orders you, fingers moving faster and faster, and you do listen. Your soaked flesh coming undone at his scorching touch. “Who else has you like this?”

But this is a question he’s asking himself. Because no one else will ever have him bare like this.

“You. Just you.” you say hoarsely, eyes closing and hips rocking on their own accord.

“And who am I?” he whispers just as hoarsely, and yet his voice is like a whip on all your senses.

“My husband.” you cry, feeling the wave ready to drown you “Ñuha zaldrīzes.” My dragon.

You cannot care less about how you said it, because then your mouth falls open, nails digging into his shoulder while your trembling hips keep riding his fingers, clenching them like a vice.

Your head falls onward, leaning against his forehead, and you try to catch your breath. You watch his wet fingers go straight into his mouth while he looks at you, humming with pleasure. “You look so pretty like this.” he says with the ghost of a smile on his lips “I should fuck you in Throne Room with the whole court watching, so they know how pretty you are when you come for me.”

You laugh with your cheeks flushing, and he slides an arm around you, and you know he wants to pin you down on the bed and fuck you until you are muffling nonsense in the pillow. But this is not his game. This is yours, and even if you don’t know how to play, you will win.

“No.” you say, climbing down from his lap, and he looks at you with hunger and a tinge of thrilling curiosity. “It is my turn to claim.” You say with all the bravery you possess.

Not a moment later, you are going down on your knees.

Another small victory, because his eye widens as he had never done before, and you can see that this, the sight of you on your knees before him, is something he has been craving for, even dreamed of it.

His breathing is slow, and you are not even touching him.

You place yourself between his knees and you lean closer and closer, anxiety twisting your insides, but you want to do this. “Lykirī, nuha zaldrīzes. Surrender.” you take him into your hand, tugging slowly, and your lips linger on the tip, heart pounding in your ears and eyes fixed on him. “Lykirī.” You say one last time and then you are swallowing him.

He hisses loudly and his lips part, hands clutching the covers until his knuckles go white. He’s like burning metal inside your mouth—hot and hard. At first, you just taste him, running your tongue over the head, and he’s cursing under his breath. His hands twitch on the covers, restraining and restraining, but there’s no need. You take his hand while looking at him and you release it from your mouth to say “Teach me.”

It’s like you have just poured fire on more fire. His eye goes wild, he takes hold of your head and starts to guide you again, making your mouth engulf him once more and deep down to the base and then up to the tip again, filling the room with a wet gagging sound. You get the gist of what you’re supposed to do, so your head starts going up and down and up and down, and he actually moans for you, head falling back for just a moment before looking back, he can’t help but watch as you fiercely claim him.

You watch his chest heaving fast and your jaw is starting to hurt but you don't care, you are too absorbed by the view before you. You are too thrilled by the fact that, for once, you have made him speechless.

He's always so bold in the bedroom, so cruel in deciding when and how to give pleasure, and now he's utterly speechless. He can only curse without breath, and gasp and groan.

“Kelītīs.” he manages to say at one point, voice all husky and cracking. You don’t know that word, and you have no time to ask because in a blink, he’s slamming you onto the bed and he’s hiking up your skirt, but you get on your elbows pushing him on his back and climbing on him.

“I’m not done, valzȳrys.” you say feeling his hard length inflaming your core, so you lay your hips on it as firmly as possible. “I claimed, but I did not conquer.”

“You are fucking torturing me.” he points out, bucking against you.

“Conquests could last for centuries, dear husband. You above all should know that.”

“All I know now is that I need to fuck you.” he says placing both hands on the sheets to pull himself up.

“No, I will.” you promise, rocking your hips once more “This is my conquest, not yours.”

You keep rubbing your drenched core on his length until a sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead, and he's so hard he's leaking from the tip. "You are twisted, wife." he says with a dazed tone and you smile even if you can't take it anymore, but you rock some more, saying "I'm a quick study. And I'm learning from the best."

Finally, when you are so wet you are dripping on him, you raise just enough to slide his cock inside of you.

You gasp together and you brace on his shoulders to start moving. You both know you are not going to last long, so you start rocking your hips slowly, taking him to the hilt until you struggle for air.

“Move…” he orders but you just take the opposite road, slowing your hips in a delicious torturing way. “Do you know what else the Sages said? A rider must know their mount, feel their heat below them.”

But Aemond does not have a single drop of blood in his head right now to give you an answer, let alone play your game; he's just fire that burns and burns and burns and just like the Sages said, you can feel his heat, burning below and inside you. He grips your hips and starts to thrust inside you like the wild beast you are supposedly claiming, until you are moaning so loud your throat hurts.

“Yes—” he growls as you bounce on him “Just like that—you’re gripping me so well—fuck"

You both turn sloppy, a mess of sweaty limbs and teeth biting, clutching at each other with bruising grips, pulling at the roots of his hair when you’re about to fall from the highest sky.

"Come on, my sweet girl. Let go for me." he breathes into your mouth, forcing you to move even faster "Let go fro your dragon. Seal your conquest." And you do.

He follows right after, spilling inside while digging his teeth into your neck like fangs on a prey, muffling his loud groaning.

And you are smiling like a fool, a lovestruck fool, but most of all, a conqueror.

Thank you so much for reading!! 💞💞

#likiri #liv(in la vida loca)#aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond x wife reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x wife reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond fic #aemond smut #hotd fic

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yoongihan · 10 months ago

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Congratulations - KSM - OneShot

pairing: seungmin x female reader

genre: smutty fluff, university au,

romantic trope: Best Friend's Brother (inspiration from this reel)

word count: 2200 (at this point, this is the shortest of my stories)

rating: M for smut-adjacent (acts have already been committed and our mc thinks about them quite a bit)

warnings: language (i don't think i've ever written a fic without using 'fuck'), drinking (everyone is of age) but not wasted, penetrative safe sex has occurred, fingering has occurred, kissing, some misunderstand/not communicating, i think seungmin is pretty damn dreamy in this.

a/n: my first fic in the skz as romantic tropes collab with @jl-micasea-fics! couple things - the parentheticals are the mc remembering what has happened, parenthetical italics are the actual flashbacks. i really really enjoyed writing this one, so i hope it's remotely as enjoyable to read. thank you!

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

“So…”

He looks a lot different like this. The Seungmin you know usually looks very put together, no hair out of place like even the wind obeys him. He doesn’t iron his clothes or anything, but he does fold each piece really carefully (you and Soomin once watched him spend nearly four minutes on folding a polo shirt, after which you both made fun of him for a good half hour). His skin, like Soomin’s, is flawless 99% of the time, and you think you’ve seen him flush only in anger over the years. And it was never like he is now, skin almost mottled with varying hues of red and pink. His hair is all over the place, the black strands defying gravity.

There’s definitely the beginnings of a bruise on the side of his neck.

He’s a bit of a jock, sure. You’ve watched him play baseball, but you don’t remember him breathing quite as heavily as he is right now. He is normally calm and composed, with a quick rejoinder toward Soomin and you about your most recent catastrophe at school (Science is the bane of your existence, for Soomin it’s history) or adventure in sneaking into a college party. Now you’re all at university, so any sneaking is unnecessary (and really not fun at all).

His dark eyes are bright with something untamed, though the longer you stare at him, the more that wildness, that almost unhingedness seems to fade.

A shame, really.

You both jump at the sound of someone in the living room, stumbling over something. The cursing that follows lets you know that it’s Changbin.

“Seungmin,” he calls through the closed bedroom door. “You’ll have to clean up since it was your party.” Then the footsteps fade out down the hall.

Soomin, you, and Seungmin are all in your third year. You and Soomin room together on campus while Seungmin lives off campus with Felix and Changbin. Soomin is regularly your partner when parties are the evening’s plans, but she was sick tonight.

“Go. Support my stupid brother because, and I’ll kill you if you tell him, getting an article published in The Scientific Journal for Undergraduate Research is a big deal. And I’m proud of him.”

So you do. You eat, drink, be very merry; even congratulate Seungmin with actual sincerity even though you’re sure he knows he’s that smart and probably believes it’s his due.

You may have had a few drinks, but you aren’t drunk by any means. College has definitely upped your tolerance level, so when Seungmin admits to you that he doesn’t think it’s that good of an article and that now his professors want him to be their TA and go to graduate school here and he’s not even sure he likes research that much, you put your hand on his arm, give it a squeeze and tell him that it’ll be okay. He can do anything he wants and you’ll always be impressed with him.

(“You mean that?” he asks and you shrug, recognizing that the alcohol may have lowered your normal inhibitions.

“Of course. It’s annoying actually, how good you are at everything."

He covers your hand that’s still on his arm. “You think I’m good at everything?”

You roll your eyes, a little flustered at his singular attention and the warmth of his skin on yours. “I mean, I can hypothesize,” He smirks at your pedestrian use of scientific terminology. “I certainly don’t know all your skills.”

You both stare at each other, the unintended subtext taking effect.

“You could. If you wanted to.”)

And that’s how you end up where you are currently.

In bed with your best friend’s brother.

“I should….” You finally look away from his still pink face, eyes dropping to that mark on his neck, courtesy of your greedy mouth. “I should go.” You turn, letting the comforter fall since your back is to him now, and grab the first discarded article of clothing you can find on the floor. As you slip it on, you recognize it’s definitely not your shirt. “Oh.”

“You can wear it.” His voice reminds you of woodworking, when you sand and sand a piece of wood until it’s smooth. His words and tone usually are so sharp, but in the quiet of his bedroom, it sounds soft.

You yank it off and grab the black top that is actually yours, trying not to care that you are definitely naked and he can see you (where was that worry an hour ago when he was undressing you in between heated kisses?). You slide off the bed and hunt your underwear, putting those on before answering.

“Pretty sure your sister would recognize if I came home in your clothes.” Your voice is not soft and smooth at all. It’s ragged like broken glass. You can’t claim any innocence in this; you had been in your right mind, and you had wanted it.

You had wanted Seungmin.

(Stumbling into his bedroom, his mouth and hands feel like they’re everywhere. You shove off his shirt, admiring the reveal of skin with both your eyes and hands.)

Zipping up your nice pair of jeans, you glance back over at him. He’s still sitting in his bed, sheets covering his lower half. He’s not beefy or anything, but the baseball he still plays for intramurals keeps him toned.

(He giggles when you trace a finger up his side, grabbing your hand to stop its ascent.

“Ticklish?” you ask the obvious.

“No.” A lie. He drags your hand down to the button and zipper of his jeans. “Just want your hand somewhere else.”

You can’t really argue.)

“I…” he seems at a loss for words. Another first as far as you’re concerned. “You aren’t going to tell her?”

“God no.” You move to his desk and grab your thin cardigan, jerking it on. You can feel his gaze on you. It shouldn’t still affect you, the post-sex regrets should overwhelm any desire.

“But you two tell each other everything.”

“This would…” you trail off, watching him raise up out of bed, pulling on his boxers. You should completely not be eyeing him like this, but despite the prime opportunity you just had, you feel like it wasn’t enough.

“This would what?”

He’s standing a few feet away from you and your brain is telling you to leave, to grab your purse that’s somewhere by the front door, and go back to campus because that’s what you do with a one-night stand. But you can’t move.

He touches your arm as he passes to the other side of his bed, grabbing the t-shirt you discarded. You hone in on his fingers and how lightly they brush your skin.

(“You have to tell me, you know,” he says through shortened breaths. “I can’t read your mind.”

“I thought you were good at everything?” you tease before gasping when his fingers curve just right. He does it again and your gasp is louder.

His smirk is so knowing, you would say something if you could think. “Guess you don’t have to say anything.” His kiss is far more gentle than the onslaught he's wreaking on your libido.)

“This would…I think her brain would explode, honestly. And I would prefer to keep her intact. I can’t break in a new best friend.”

He regards you thoughtfully. This is familiar. This assessing of his. You assumed he always found you wanting, but after what just happened, you aren’t so sure.

“Let me drive you back.”

He’s so hard to read. Except when he’s…

You are never going to banish those visual memories. Deep down, you admit you wouldn’t want to.

“It’s not far.”

He sighs as he puts on his pants and says your name. “I’m not letting you walk back. It’s after two am.”

“Fuck, it is?”

He sits back on the bed, slipping on his socks. “Yeah.”

“I can call a–”

“I’m driving you back.”

You bristle. “Look, just because we fucked doesn’t mean I start listening to you.”

“But you did,” he says easily, walking back to where you stand, now just a foot away. “Didn’t you?”

Sensations; sounds, tastes, scents flood you with just his words. Him asking you to put the condom on, to touch him, to kiss him, to stroke him. Instructing you to roll your hips just like that, to tug his hair, to let him make you feel good.

“Well, who’s actually themselves when fucking?”

He doesn’t say anything for a second or two. “I am.” He heads toward the door. “Come on.”

You don’t want to spend money on an Uber, or walk back in the frigid cold, but you also don’t want to give in to him.

(“Relax, pretty,” he murmurs.

“I am.”

He smiles warmly, eyes dark before he presses a soft kiss to your nose. “Stubborn, but I like that about you.”)

But you do.

Seungmin drives a beat-up Hyundai hybrid that you know almost as well as Soomin’s equally as beat-up truck, or your dented sedan. You slide in after letting out a sigh of relief that no one was up and about to observe your walk of shame. He turns the heat on high, before grabbing something from the back and handing it to you. It’s a hoodie.

“I'm wearing a jacket.”

“To cover your legs. Those jeans aren’t warm.”

“How would you–” Oh right, he’d slid his hands up them to unbutton and unzip. You close your eyes tight when you think about how he’d pulled them down, letting his mouth drag along your bare legs.

Seungmin liked using his teeth. You won’t forget that. Ever.

You set the hoodie on your lap so he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together.

“Seatbelt.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” You go to grab it, but he leans over to do it for you, head down to click it in place. He smells like your perfume. It works for him. “I can do it myself.” You wrinkle your nose at the petulance in your voice.

He lifts his eyes to you, not moving back into the driver's seat. He’s so close, that mouth of his inches away. You could kiss him and you want to, but you don’t.

He settles back into his seat and puts the car into reverse. He doesn’t turn on the radio, seeming to be perfectly fine with the silence.

Is he okay with the awkwardness? Probably. He would be, always perfectly comfortable when everyone else is freaking out and wondering what the fuck they were thinking and how do they salvage normalcy after something as monumental as fucking.

But you aren’t going to say anything because sex isn’t that big a deal. Even if it’s with Seungmin, your ‘ride or die’ best friend’s twin brother who you’ve always thought was cute, certainly handsome, stupid smart, and maybe a little wicked.

His smirk is a case-study in attractive villain-smirking.

It’s no more than ten minutes to get on campus and to your dormitory. But the silence feels like the length of a director’s cut of a movie; interminable.

He pulls up to the curb and puts the car into park, before resting his arm on the back of the passenger seat. He doesn’t say anything.

“Thanks for the ride–the ride home.” You stumble over your words because every single thing feels like it has innuendo attached. You try to compose your face before looking over at him, offering the hoodie.

He takes it and tosses it in the back before meeting your gaze.

“You’re welcome.”

You swallow, his current tone too close to his bedroom voice.

“And congrats again. Really.”

“Thank you. Really.”

The repetition feels like mockery, and you glare at him instinctively.

“Yeah, well, don’t forget us when you’re taking the science world by storm…however one even does that–”

His mouth is on yours and you’re pretty sure you squeak at the surprise, before melting into his warmth, the slick heat of his tongue, and how his hand cradles your cheek.

“I wouldn’t forget you,” he murmurs against your lips. Another kiss, this one sweeter before he draws back. “Give me some warning if you tell Soomin, okay?”

“Why would I tell her?”

You see the movement of his throat as he swallows. “You might. Because I’m gonna ask you out in the next 24 hours and it’ll be easier to explain why you say yes if she knows.”

It takes several moments for your brain to process all that information and he’s kissing you again which halts any understanding your brain hoped to find. You don’t realize that your arms are around his neck, fingers in his hair, until he pulls back.

“So…you’re gonna say yes?”

You open your eyes to see that he still looks like Seungmin: a ruffled, flushed Seungmin, his eyes more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen.

“I…”

He starts to let go of you, but your hold on him tightens.

“Maybe make it 48 hours so she can try and wrap her mind around the fact that her bff is into her brother.”

His answering smile is so bright that you kiss him again, and it takes another five minutes before you get out of the car.

~~~

Soomin doesn’t combust like you expect. In fact, she raises her eyebrow and scarily looks as smug as her brother when she says:

“About damn time.”

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

(c) yoongihan 2024. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. stray kids belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans.

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telomeke-kinnporsche · 2 years ago

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I'm obsessed! 😍

This has visuals to show who sings what:

youtube

This song has no right being so fucking cute

Someone was kind enough to put down who is singing when in the comments:

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occvltswim · 8 months ago

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Portraits of Egyptians before British Colonization

#egypt #kemet #ta merry #nubia #nile valley #north africa #africans #indigenous peoples #photography #zangaki brothers #1800s #1900s #colonization #colonialism #🇪🇬#🐪#🌴

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endiness · 7 months ago

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The rain rustled the foliage. They began to distinguish the words of the song. It was a merry song, which in this landscape of war and death, was something alien, unnatural and totally inappropriate. "By the woods can you see, wolf in all his might, Grinning madly, wagging gladly, bouncing with delight. My, oh my, what a sight! Why no melancholy? Must be that still not wed, that is why so jolly! Um-ta, um-ta, uhu-ha!" Dandelion laughed suddenly, pulled out the lute from under his wet coat, and paying no attention to the hisses of Geralt and Milva, he plucked the strings and sang in a loud voice: "In the grass can you see, wolf just limps along, Looking down, awful frown, crying like a dog. Why is this mighty beast so badly rampaged? Must be that, freshly wed or lately engaged!"

#thewitcheredit #joeybateyedit #jaskieredit #joey batey #danny woodburn #jaskier #zoltan chivay #the witcher #the witcher cast #thewitchersdaily #witchersdaily #witcherdaily #dailynetflix #usersource #!gif #the witcher spoilers

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ladylylla · 11 months ago

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TA-DAH! 🪲🎉

Back at it again, with the Beetlejuice art, despite it still being the holidays.. now that its winter break I actually have some time to devote myself back into my interests so, yayy more art!

First of all, if youre anything like me this album is a huge nostalgia trip for you, secondly! , this is a redraw of the cover from the scissor sisters album “ta-dah”! Its one of my favorite album covers, and it has just the right amount of people to suit the main cast of beetlejuice 🥳 Also it was my first time drawing about… 70% of these characters so, hopefully I did ok?? Anyways! Enjoy! And also merry christmas happy holidays if I dont post until the new year :))💞💞

#fanart #art #my own art #beetlejuice tag #beetlejuice bway #beetlejuice #lydia deetz #charles deetz #delia deetz #adam maitland #barbara maitland #beetlejuice musical #beetlejuice fanart #beetlejuice art #scissor sisters #album cover redraw #artists on tumblr

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widdlediddle2 · 11 months ago

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Ta Da! Surprise @codie-sys ! Hope I'm not late and im doing this right! Tried including each of your favs!!

@lwasanta

Been a min since ive draw these guys, Merry Christmas everybody :)

#little witch academia #lwa #akko kagari #atsuko kagari #diana cavendish #hannah england #diakko #hanakko #handiakko???#lwasanta

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lllluffyvert · 9 months ago

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It happens in the blink of an eye. Sunny skies are darkened by menacing storm clouds, and calm waters turn into monstrous waves that smash into the Going Merry, violently rocking the ship and sending its passengers flying.

Nami is shouting frantically, but her words are drowned out by the deafening roar of the wind and booming thunder. Lightning strikes, and in the fraction of a second that it illuminates the world around them, Zoro catches a glimpse of Nami’s horrified expression as she points towards the bow of the ship.

“-overboard!”

It’s the only word Zoro hears, and dread pools in the pit of his stomach as he realizes its meaning.

Luffy.

Without a moment’s thought for his own safety, Zoro leaps over the ship’s railing and dives into the ferocious sea. It’s bitingly cold and a shock to his senses, but he recovers quickly and swims down against the push and pull of the waves.

The water is nearly black as pitch, making it hard to orient himself. His lungs begin to burn with the need for oxygen, but he can’t fucking find Luffy. He searches desperately until he’s forced to come up for air, calling out for his captain in between gasping breaths.

Lightning flashes, and there, riding atop the next wave is a familiar straw hat. A rush of adrenaline pumps in his veins and Zoro swims harder than he ever has, until he reaches his captain's prized possession, tying it securely around his arm before he takes a deep breath and dives beneath the surface.

The seconds feel like hours and his muscles are screaming, but finally he spots the bright, floral pattern of Luffy’s Hawaiian shirt. He’s sunk nearly to the ocean floor, completely unresponsive to Zoro, who grabs hold of him and pulls him up until they’ve broken the surface.

The storm rages on around them, and Zoro holds onto Luffy for all that he’s worth as they’re slammed by wave after wave and swallowed up by the inky black sea.

Zoro stirs and feels cool sand shift beneath him, soothing to his skin which burns under blistering rays of sun. His head pounds dully, his mouth is bone-dry, and it takes him a long second to gather his bearings before it all comes rushing back and he jumps to his feet, eyes frantically scanning the bank until he catches sight of Luffy only a few yards to his right, and relief washes over him. The feeling is short-lived, however, when he realizes that Luffy isn’t moving but lying prone and uncharacteristically silent.

Zoro stumbles towards him, panic coiling in his gut as he drops to his knees and carefully turns Luffy onto his back, gently brushing the sand from his face.

“C’mon Luf. Wake up.” He pats Luffy’s cheeks in a futile effort to arouse him, and when that doesn’t work, he slides his arm underneath his captain’s neck and lifts him, shaking his shoulders with a bit of force. “Luffy, wake up. C’mon, you’re okay.”

Luffy’s head lolls lifelessly. His breathing is ragged and shallow, and his normally bronzed, sun-kissed complexion is unnaturally pale.

Zoro cradles Luffy to his chest and wishes Chopper were here, and tries to imagine what the doctor would do in this situation. Check for injuries, probably. Find the root of the problem. Yeah, that was a good start.

Zoro looks over Luffy’s arms, his legs, pulls aside his water-logged shirt and checks his stomach and back. Minor scrapes here, a few bruises there, but nothing he wouldn’t usually bounce back from. He thinks about the possibility of an internal injury, and curses vehemently under his breath, feeling woefully inadequate.

He does the next best thing that comes to mind, scooping his captain into his arms gingerly and making towards the tree line, into the shade and away from the water and burning sun. They’d washed up on a relatively small, crescent shaped island, only a few yards of white sand away from dense, tropical foliage that was several degrees cooler than the beach. The grass under Zoro’s boots was soft from recent rain, and he carefully sets Luffy down on a large patch, taking a minute to brush the sweaty curls from his forehead and rest his palm there like he’d seen Chopper do before. It’s searing to the touch and beaded with sweat. Fuck.

Okay. Think. Zoro wracks his brain. He remembers when Nami was sick, how Vivi had her wrapped up warm, but also kept a cold cloth to her face. He removes his bandana and jogs back to the beach, dips it in the cold sea water and rings it out before folding it and placing it tenderly on Luffy’s forehead, letting his fingers trace lightly over his captain’s flushed cheek.

“I’ll be right back, Luf,” he says quietly, standing and reaching for his swords. He doesn’t have a blanket, so starting a fire sounded like the best alternative, and with a quick series of effortless swipes he has a pile of firewood big enough to last the night. Doing things survival-style is definitely in his wheelhouse, and it doesn’t take long before he has a decent fire going, and he uses some of the extra logs to build a small lean-to over where Luffy lay.

He checks on his captain, gauging his temperature again and grimacing when Luffy shivers despite being soaked with sweat. He considers their damp clothing and decides to strip their shirts to hang over the flames. His hands hesitate over Luffy’s chest, and he mumbles an awkward apology before gently removing the garment, wishing he had something to wrap around him while the shirts dried and hoping the lean-to would retain enough of the fire’s heat to suffice in the meantime.

“Hang in there, Captain,” he murmurs, and combs his fingers through Luffy’s hair.

Fire, check. Shelter, check. Next up, food and clean water. Finding both is a simple matter, and Zoro is thankful for the island's small perimeter as he returns to their little camp with a couple of rabbits and a flask of crystal clear water from a near-by trickling stream. It was a miracle that the ocean hadn’t stolen the flask of rum from where he’d had it tucked into his waistband, and a bit of a shame he had to pour it out to fill with water instead, though not before taking one last swig. He figured he had a long night ahead of him.

Their shirts are dry and warm by the time he returns, and he wraps Luffy’s around him snugly before slipping gratefully into his own. The sun has begun to dip below the horizon and a chill settles over the island. Zoro dresses the rabbits and lets them slow-roast over the crackling fire before dropping to the ground beside Luffy, suddenly exhausted.

He blinks bleary eyes and pinches himself to stay awake, at least long enough to make sure Luffy gets something to eat. He watches the sparks from the fire until the rabbits are cooked through, removes them from the spit and tears the tender meat into bite sized pieces. Done with that, he gently pulls Luffy into his lap, props his head on his shoulder and tries to feed him some of the rabbit, concern growing sharply when Luffy’s nose scrunches in revulsion and he turns his head away, choosing instead to bury his face in Zoro’s chest.

It was absolutely unheard of for Luffy, of all people, to reject food, and so to see him like this now rang alarm bells in Zoro’s head. He feels an oncoming migraine.

“You gotta eat something, Luf,” he pleads. “You’ll feel better afterwards.”

“‘M cold.”

It’s the first thing Luffy has said since they washed up on the island, and Zoro’s heart aches at how pitiful the barely whispered words sound from his usually loud and chipper captain. He sets the food down, leans back against the wood frame of the makeshift shelter and wraps his arms around Luffy, holding him close and doing his best to warm him. Luffy’s labored breathing eases some, and he melts into the embrace, a softly whispered “Zoro” spilling from his lips before he passes out.

Zoro props his chin atop his captain’s soft, dark curls, closes his heavy eyes and falls asleep.

Zoro wakes to the sound of footsteps and instinctively reaches for his sword, remembers Luffy in his lap and curls around him protectively with Wado Ichimonji pointed menacingly in the direction of whoever was rapidly approaching their camp.

“Found you!” Chopper bursts from the bushes and excitedly bounds over to them with a huge grin, until his eyes fall to Luffy, unconscious and sweaty in the crook of Zoro’s arm, and his expression is stricken. “W–what happened to Luffy?!”

Zoro had dropped his sword the moment Chopper hopped into view, overwhelmed with relief at the sight of the doctor. “I don’t know,” he says. He picks up the sword, sheathes it, and stands, cradles Luffy to his chest and looks Chopper square in the face. “But I know you can fix it.”

His words are spoken with complete confidence. Chopper nods solemnly and Zoro follows the doctor back to the Going Merry.

The other members of the Straw Hats meet them on the beach, and they instantly crowd around Zoro and Luffy, each of them exclaiming the same questions simultaneously.

“What happened to Luffy?!”

“Are you okay?!”

“I don’t know,” Zoro repeats, “And I’m fine.” He walks past them in quick strides to keep up with Chopper, pulling Luffy ever closer to his chest, suddenly loath to let him go as he boards the ship. In the medical bay, he carefully lays his captain on the bed, takes a step back, and feels distinctively colder.

Chopper bustles around him, hastily gathering various glass bottles and a mixing bowl before shooing Zoro from the room.

“I do my best work alone,” he says apologetically, and closes the door in Zoro’s face.

Zoro sighs, and then stiffens as the weight of the other crew member’s gazes hits him. He turns and finds Nami, Sanji, and Usopp staring at him expectantly.

He fills them in, omitting some unnecessary details.

“He didn’t want to eat?” Nami anxiously bites her nails and looks to the med-bay door.

“Let’s not worry until Chopper says to worry, Nami,” comforts Sanji.

As much as Zoro hates to agree with the cook, he has a point. Chopper was damn good at his job, and Zoro had total faith in his abilities. With this in mind, he looks to Sanji and says:

“I’m fucking starving.”

It’s a few hours before Chopper clops into the kitchen, looking tired but happy. Zoro’s shoulders sag as any concerns are alleviated.

“He’s sleeping now,” says the doctor, and he smiles at Zoro. “Good job keeping his temperature stable.”

Feeling strangely embarrassed, Zoro simply nods in reply.

“So,” Usopp prompts, “What was it?”

“Poison,” Chopper says, “From a species of native octopus.” He shakes his head, suddenly serious. “Another two days could’ve been fatal.”

“But he’s fine?” Nami asks, brows furrowed.

“Yes,” Chopper assures them. He turns to Sanji and grins. “And he’ll be hungry when he wakes up.”

“Aye aye, a feast for le Capitaine.” Sanji lights a cigarette, rolls up his sleeves and flashily spins a gleaming butcher’s knife on the tip of his finger. “Leave it to me.”

Zoro debates asking Chopper to let him see Luffy, but decides to remain silent. Instead, he takes another sip of rum and resigns himself to waiting.

His resolve only lasts a few hours. It’s close to midnight when he stalks silently past his sleeping crewmates and steps into the med-bay, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. He’d been feeling restless, uncomfortable in his hammock and Luffy the only thing on his mind.

He pulls a chair up in front of the bed and sits, watching his captain’s chest rise and fall with deep, steady breaths. He’s even snoring, and Zoro admires his peaceful expression, his parted lips and rosy cheeks framed by long, dark eyelashes. He picks up Luffy’s hand and kisses each one of his fingers reverently, offering a silent, thankful prayer to the gods for Chopper and his unmatched medical skills.

Luffy suddenly stirs, turning his head towards Zoro, who immediately goes still.

“Zoro,” Luffy’s eyes light up at the sight of his first mate, and his sleepy smile is one of the prettiest sights Zoro thinks he’s ever seen.

“Go back to sleep, Luf,” he says softly, his voice heavy with affection. He brazenly kisses the top of Luffy’s hand, and his captain giggles quietly, a sound Zoro could happily listen to for the rest of his days.

“Okay,” Luffy agrees, and then he’s scooting over and lifting the blanket invitingly, looking up at Zoro with those big, brown eyes, and who is he to deny his captain?

“You’re supposed to be getting some rest,” Zoro says even as he slides into the bed, pulling Luffy close and wrapping his arms around him, their faces mere centimeters apart.

“I am,” Luffy replies, warm breath puffing against Zoro’s chin and his eyes twinkling even in the dark. “I sleep better when you’re around.”

He says it so easily, so honestly, and Zoro can’t help himself. He closes the short distance between them and captures Luffy’s lips in a tender kiss.

“I thought I needed rest,” Luffy says breathlessly when Zoro finally pulls back for air. He’s smiling though, and his eyes are filled with mirth. Zoro just hums in reply, and peppers Luffy’s cheeks and nose with feather-light kisses, reveling in his captain’s muffled, giddy laughter and wondering what other noises he could draw from him. A dangerous thought, considering his current position; Luffy flush against him, warm and pliant under his touch. He almost groans, burying his face in his captain’s soft curls and breathing in the sea-salt scent of him.

“Zoro.” The way Luffy whispers his name is almost too much for him to bear. “Thank you for saving me.”

“That was Chopper,” Zoro replies against Luffy’s hair. Luffy pushes him back slightly and looks him square in the face.

“It was you, too,” he says seriously. “You jumped in for me.”

“Always,” Zoro says, meaning it with every fiber of his being. His fingers trace the smooth curve of Luffy’s cheek, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear and leaning in to kiss the flushed skin there.

The simplicity of his reply has Luffy smiling again, and this time it’s he who kisses Zoro, a little peck at the corner of his lips. The sweet gesture effectively unravels Zoro’s resolve, breaking him down to the point where words are pointless and only actions have meaning.

His hands are gentle only ever for his captain, his fingers lightly caressing the exposed skin of Luffy’s chest and his lips against his neck, kissing a line up to his ear and nibbling at the lobe. Simmering embers in the pit of his stomach burn hotter when Luffy responds to his touch with a contented sigh and he cranes his neck, revealing more skin for Zoro to appreciate, which he does with unrestrained enthusiasm.

“Luffy,” Zoro murmurs his captain’s name reverently, his hands moving to cup Luffy’s cheeks and he kisses him fervently, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and biting down lightly, tonguing at the shallow puncture marks his teeth leave on the velvety skin there. Luffy makes another small noise that Zoro swallows up and he wraps his arms around Zoro’s neck, returning the kiss, his eyes screwed shut and his nose scrunched adorably.

Zoro can’t get enough. He slows their tempo, his mouth slotting against Luffy’s deliberately, taking his time to taste and smell and touch. His thumbs swipe over Luffy’s flushed skin and he pulls back to gaze at him fondly, feeling rather smug that the dazed expression on his captain’s face was his doing.

“Let’s get you something to eat,” he says, each word punctuated by a quick, affectionate kiss to Luffy’s face, leaning in close to whisper in his ear, licking the shell suggestively. “And continue this later.”

Luffy shivers and nods, perking up at the mention of food and practically bouncing out of the bed with a toothy smile, sparkling eyes crinkling at the corners as he takes Zoro’s hand in his own. He skips cheerfully to the kitchen, humming a little ditty and dragging Zoro along with him. Zoro watches the way his captain’s smile brightens at the sight of the other Straw Hats, who’ve jumped from their beds and come running at the sound of his song, and he thinks he would gladly follow Luffy to the ends of the earth.

#one piece #roronoa zoro #monkey d luffy #zolu #nami #Usopp #vinsmoke sanji #tony tony chopper #guys I live and breathe for them #what a first mate wouldn’t do for his captain #my fic

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cpidsworld · 2 years ago

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𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍? - ATSUMU MIYA

WORD COUNT - 2.9K

pairing: tattoo artist!atsumu miya x fem!reader

synopsis: your friend reccomended you a new tattoo artist. she said she adored his work ethic, and he was easy on the eyes. not that the latter part of her statement swayed you in any way, you made your way down to the foxy tattoo and piercing studio. you had gotten tattoo's before, that wasn't the problem, you didn't mind the pain aspect at all, or maybe you liked it a litte too much. the problem was, being stuck with your tattoo artist's hand on your waist as he tattooed on your ribcage.

warnings: semi-public sex, fingering in the tattoo chair, hair pulling, panties being used as a gag, rough sex, degradation, crying because of too much pleasure, breeding, overstim, praise, mentions of exhibitionism, orgasm control, atsumu fucks the reader while he's on the phone (lemme know if i missed any)

a/n: merry christmas ya filthy animals. was gonna post this earlier but family came over. i also rushed the end but i still think this is a good comeback for my blog. also i hope i tagged everyone correctly that commented and if you wanted to be tagged and just liked the post m'sorey and i hope the post makes it to you!! n e ways, happy reading <3

haikyuu masterlist | main masterlist

you've been going to the same tattoo studio for the past couple of years. you knew the owner so in your eyes, he was the safest bet to getting a good tattoo. that changed when your friend showed you the most recent work she had done. she sent you a picture of a gorgeous back tattoo she'd gotten done and a glowing review of the tattoo artist.

"he was so polite and friendly, the service was amazing, and he's easy on the eyes."

you didn’t really have a reason to try someone new, but here you were walking towards the foxy tattoo and piercing parlour. if you were being honest, you didn’t need to get a tattoo or change tattoo artists, but maybe a little change could be good.

as you walk through the glass tinted doors your eyes widen at the interior. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have much expectations for the inside, but you were proven wrong. there was a small desk in the front, while the rest of the loft-like area was filled with artwork. there were couches scattered around the work areas. It seemed as though the front area was where the piercings took place and in the back you could see the tattoo chair with all the equipment around it.

while you were taking in your surroundings you hadn’t noticed a grey haired man walk behind the front desk. he clears his throat just a little to get your attention which instantly has you turning your head towards him.

“you okay? y’seem a little dumbstruck.”

he chuckles quietly to himself and you feel your cheeks start to burn in embarrassment. you’d probably looked like a kid who’s never set foot in a candy store, oogling at all the things their little eyes could see. he could see the pink on your cheeks before reassuring you that you’re fine.

“so, what brings ya here today?”

“i’ve got an appointment for a tattoo today, with an…atsumu miya?”

the grey haired man nods and checks on the computer to verify your appointment. he then gets up off the chair before yelling to who i assumed to be atsumu, to come out and do his job. not too long after a man who looked exactly like the one in front of you, except for the difference in hair colour. your mildly confused little brain put two and two together and figured out they were twins.

“twins, huh?”

“been stuck with him since the womb. i’m osamu by the way, and that over there as ya might already know is atsumu.”

your eyes trail up to the man infront of you as he introduces himself. he was wearing a black tank top that showed off his muscular arms, as well as the tattoos that adorned them. Your gaze tailed up to his face as he looked at you with his chocolate brown eyes. your friend wasn’t wrong when she said he was easy on the eyes.

“hi. i’m atsumu. nice ta meetcha.”

you greeted him back before he led you to the back area of the store where the he sat down, motioning you to sit on the tattoo chair.

“so, what are we doin’ for ya today?”

“i was thinking of getting a tattoo on my ribcage. barbed wire actually.”

he smiled a little, drawing something on the page in front of him. he was done, and he moved his chair closer to you and placed his clipboard on your lap. you looked at the drawing he had done, a slightly curved line of barbed wire that looked like it could fit perfectly on your body. he watched as you studied his drawing, his eyes searching for your approval.

when you looked up at him, his eyes were already on you causing the heat from earlier to slowly creep onto your face again. you quickly averted your eyes and went back to looking at the drawing.

“it’s perfect.”

he smiled before asking you to sit up properly in the chair. your eyes were on him as he moved closer to you, as his hands ghosted over the side of your body.

“right or left side.”

“right.”

he nodded as he moved to sit on the right side of you, hands on the chair next to you.

“may i?”

he asked as his hands were about to touch the side of your body, and you slowly nodded. his hands went to your ribcage,testing out possible placement of the tattoo. when his hands went a bit higher, just grazing the underside of your breast you let out a shaky breath. he glanced up at you and smirked a little.

after a few more changes you settled on a placement, and atsumu got straight into creating the stencil. not too long after that, osamu had announced he was going on a break and left to the back of the store, where atsumu had emerged earlier.

once osamu was gone, you were acutely aware of how alone you two were in the store. you couldn't keep your eyes off atsumu as he worked. his muscles flexing slightly while he finished up the stencil.

when he was done, he moved back towards you as he adjusted the chair you were sitting it to be horizontal for you to lay back in.

"if ya want you can lift yer shirt f'me, or if it's more comfortable, ya can take it off."

he said this nonchalantly as he was prepping the tools he needed for your tattoo, getting everything onto the silver table next to where he was going to work. you gulped slightly, not knowing whether to take your shirt off or not, so you ended up just taking the right arm out of your shirt, essentially having half of your shirt off, showing off the pretty lace bra you wore.

when he turned back to you in order to place the stencil on, his eyes trailed over your exposed skin before mentally kicking himself for staring. he inched in closer as he asked you to raise your arm for him to get a better angle. he gently placed the stencil on the decided spot, massaging it with his right hand while his left hand rested on your waist, using it as leverage to help get the stencil on better.

he didn’t realise his fingers were slightly caressing your side as he held you in place, but your body was suddenly hypersensitive and all you could feel were his fingers on your body. your thighs instinctively came together, unintentionally rubbing together. atsumu’s eyes trailed over your body down to your legs, where you were clenching your thighs, before looking up at you, without moving his hands an inch.

you avoided his gaze, unsure of how looking at him right now would affect your heart rate. you suddenly feel atsumu’s hand move higher up your waist, inching closer to your breast. your eyes snapped towards his, trying to gauge his reaction. you thought it was a bit cliche to have fantasies of fucking your tattoo artist, and if you were being honest, your previous tattoo artist wasn’t anything to write home about, moreover, he was your friend, but atsumu was a complete stranger. he was a sexy stranger who had his hand trailing up the side of your body, while maintaining eye contact with you.

you could feel the heat in your cheeks for the third time today, not sure how to deal with the situation. you weren’t opposed to it, but you were basically out in the open, where anyone could walk in.

“ya okay sweetheart? i can stop if yer not okay-”

“i’m okay. please don’t stop.”

and that’s all it took for atsumu to get up from his seat and push you back onto the tattoo chair, your back hitting the soft leather as atsumu’s arms were on either side of your head. his face was close to yours, his hot breath fanning over your face. your breath was hot and heavy, trying to wrap your head around the current situation. his eyes were scanning over your face, looking for any signs that you might not want this, but when he found none, he leaned down and kissed you, slow at first, getting to know and feel how your lips felt against his, before he picked up the pace, slowly licking your bottom lip and biting it a little to get access to your tongue. his hands found purchase on your hips as he grinds your body against his, eliciting a quiet moan from you, giving him just the access he needs to slip his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss. he kissed you so fervently, wanting to know every part of you, every crevice of your mouth, before pulling away slowly, your bottom lip caught between his teeth.

one of atsumu’s hands trailed down from your hips to the waistband of the shorts you wore, before slipping past the threshold. his fingers lazily found their way to your puffy lips before he swiped them along your slit.

“already wet f’me? what a little slut.”

your body bucked into his hand, your hole clenching around nothing at the name. you were wet, soaking even, and he wasn’t helping. his middle finger prodded at your entrance before pushing inside you, his thumb drawing lazy circles on your clit. your hands made their way to his hair, gripping it slightly as his pace increased. you gasped as you felt him add a second finger, a shiver of pleasure running up your spine. you tried to hold back your moans, not wanting to risk getting caught, which definitely pissed atsumu off. he used his other hand to pull down your shorts and panties in one swift moment before adding a third finger to your tight hole.

“now i wanna hear ya. c’mon make some noise fer me.”

you couldn’t help but let out a loud moan, your eyes screwed shut as you writhed underneath him.

“that’s my good girl. doin’ so well f’me.”

his fingers felt like heaven inside you, your back arching off the chair as you whined for more. his free hand came to your hair and he slowly grabbed hold of it, leaning down to kiss you once again, yet this kiss was filled with lust and greed. his fingers moved like pistons inside you, you felt the heat in your abdomen growing steadily. you knew you wouldn't last long, and atsumu could feel you clenching around his fingers. he pulled away from the kiss, smirking down at you.

"look at my pretty baby, about to fall apart on a stranger's fingers. anyone could see ya, looking like a slut sprawled out on my tattoo chair."

you whined, squirming under his touch. he leaned down, head buried in your neck, whispering sweet nothings and praise in your ear. you couldn't help but come undone on his fingers, biting the skin on his neck, to hide your moans. your legs were weak, and tiredness was creeping into your bones slowly. he got up off the table and pulled your body to the edge, your ass hanging slightly off the end.

"nuh uh. we're not done yet sugar."

he undid his pants and threw them where your shorts were and your eyes were transfixed on his cock, hard and red at the tip. you licked your lips, and looked up at him, knowing that he wasn't going to stop anytime soon. before he grabs your hips, he picks up your underwear and hands them to you.

"in yer mouth, sweetheart. need to keep that sweet voice down for me."

you take it and put it in your mouth, and his hands grip your hips. he rubs his cock up and down your folds, your juices and his pre-cum mixing, lubing him up. as he was about to push inside his phone rings. it shocks both of you as he bends down to pick it up. You shake your head violently, hoping he doesn’t answer it, but all he does is put a finger in front of his lips in a shushing motion as he answers the phone.

“oh hey ‘samu. whatcha need?”

you could feel atsumu rubbing against you again as you look at him, eyes wide, as his tip catches on your entrance every so now and again. he continues talking to his brother as he slowly began to sink inside you, biting his lip to hide his moans, and you throw your head back against the chair, biting back your moans, only a few small ones slipping past the panties between your lips.

“nah i’m not busy. we haven’t started her tattoo yet. we had a small…setback”

he smirks as he starts to fuck into you, not allowing you to adjust to his size and still sensitive from your previous orgasm. your hand gripped his that was at your waist, nails digging into his wrist as you tried your best to be quiet, your body wanting to betray you and give in to the pleasure.

atsumu was in heaven. seeing your fucked out face in front of him, flushed and needy, holding back moans he desperately wanted to come out. in his eyes, you were perfection.

you could see on atsumu’s face he was feeling it too, his eyebrows were knitted together, sweat dripping from his brow, and his eyes never leaving yours. his eyes carried all the emotions he was feeling: lust, want, need. emotions you couldn’t help but feel as well. He leaned down over you, his face right over yours his jagged breaths and soft groans filling your senses. you were close again, and feeling him twitch inside you, you knew he was too.

“ya can get lunch for us, and the pretty girl too.”

he winked at you slyly.

“i’m coming..soon so just wait for us, yeah?”

you knew what he meant, the raspy tone of his voice and the slight stutter in his voice. he said his final goodbyes and finally put the phone down before bottoming out inside of you. you whine loudly, tears prickling at the sides of your eyes. you wanted to cum, no you needed to cum. You wiggled your hips as best you could against him, grinding on his cock. he groaned lowly into your neck before grabbing onto your hair.

“ya wanna cum? does my pretty girl wanna cum like a slut on my cock?”

Your body ached as he said that, your cunt fluttering around him.

“it seemed like ya enjoyed being fucked while i spoke to my brother. wanna have him come watch as you unravel in my tattoo studio?”

you audibly moaned at the idea, having his brother watch as you were fucked senseless. He slowly started moving his hips, his thrusts hard and deep, his pace quickening slowly.

“yeah ya like that idea, huh? well, sugar, you’ll cum when i cum, got it?”

you nodded quickly, your mind already numb. he started to pick up the pace, his cock just kissing your cervix so beautifully. the heat in your abdomen builds up quicker than before, and wants to be released, but not until atsumu was ready. you made sure to hold on, moans now cascading past the makeshift gag, not caring about who heard you. atsumu adored it. he revelled in the fact he could make you feel this way. he was getting close too, he couldn’t help it when you looked and sounded so exquisite beneath him. if he could keep you like this, he would.

he saw tears running down the side of your cheeks and kissed them away, as he whispered about how much of a good girl you are for him.

“...inside? can i cum inside?”

you heard him say, almost whimpering into your ear, and you nodded, hoping he got the message. he leaned his arm next to your head to keep him up, looking you in your eye.

“ya gonna cream on my cock before i cum, okay? need to feel you cum on me.”

you needed nothing more than to look into his eyes as you felt yourself let go, electricity flowing to all ends of your body as you came on his cock, clenching down on him so hard he couldn’t help but grip your hair tighter, fucking you through your orgasm. your poor overstimulated pussy was still being used to milk his cock, and you wanted nothing more than to have him cum inside you. you pulled him closer to you, your lips barely touching.

“please cum inside me ‘tsumu.”

he came right on the spot, his body spasming as he fucked his load into you, never breaking eye contact as he whimpered slightly, feeling you clench around his now sensitive cock.

“fuck, you’re amazing.”

he breathed out as he layed his head in your neck, trying to catch your breath. your hands trailed up his arms, slowly drawing shapes on them, trying to catch your breath as well.

“you’re not to bad yourself ‘tsumu.”

you liked the way the nickname rolled off your tongue, and he enjoyed hearing you say it. He slowly leaned up, pulling out of you before quickly running to get something to clean you off with. he clean you off diligently, watching not to touch you too roughly and he cleaned himself off. you then both, got dressed and sat down for a second.

“so, do ya wanna schedule another appointment for the tattoo?”

you smirked as you leaned back on your arms.

“if it means seeing you again, i’ll make sure you’re fully booked.”

all works belong to @cpidsworld ! Do not claim as own or reupload without permission!!

tags: @tojiisadilfsposts @honeybuzzzzzz @lifeandtimesofpineapplehead @kuroosluthoe @aelrinv @justanothernpcartist @kvlfodusud @thisbicc @elavin @getwaves @loser1305 @sociopath0208 @alienvarmint @astennu @lomons @selfconcitedslut @malxoxo @mhasoftcore @azuremyst99 @str4wb3rrycaoke @heavnlyseraph @cloud-lyy @emotional-zebra @ranhlovebot @hornyafmovingon @vicksobus @hellvua-viper @celiniverse @thebrownemo @kenny5673 @kryzi @defextsblog @mobbbb1 @natriae @onlyitachiis @mpregandmore @t3ng3ns-s1ut @loumoon12 @honeyyy-vee @senpaisbadass @yung-usOpp @coffee-addict-32 @animerules-15 @honey-teaaaaaaaa

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sel-mesanity · 11 months ago

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Itsssss my birthday AND

It’s Christmas, Merry Christmas everyone, hope everyone gets to spend it well. 🙂

I think it’s fun to have Papyrus still believe in Santa Claus but hear me out.

Instead, he most definitely knows it’s Sans but at this point they’ve made it into a game of, don’t get caught while Paps seeks. How to play?

First of all Sans-ta can’t teleport, that’s cheating. The objective is to put all the presents under the Christmas tree before Christmas Day (aka 12 midnight) without getting caught.

Sans-ta starts outside, being allowed to sneak into the house whenever he wants but once he has, he must stay inside. Papyrus on the other hand has to start in his bed, leaving his room once he thinks Sans-ta is in the house.

There are cookies and milk that are left out for Sans-ta. If he manages to eat a cookie, Papyrus has to go back upstairs for 15 seconds. Sans-ta isn’t allowed to eat anymore cookies while Papyrus is absent. This forces Papyrus to not only look for Sans-ta but to keep an eye on the cookies.

It’s a game that started out of nowhere but they both have fun every Christmas Eve.

#undertale #undertale fanart #undertale christmas #alphys #undyne #sans #papyrus #gaster #toriel dreemurr #undertale frisk #chara undertale #flowey undertale

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occvltswim · 2 years ago

Photo

Nile Valley Contributions to Civilization

#ancient egypt #kemet #ta merry #mizraim #nile valley #sudan #nubia #meroe #kush #kushites

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actuallysaiyan · 1 year ago

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Kiss you once and then some more And wish you a Merry Christmas baby(Boss!Kento Nanami x Fem!Secretary!Reader)

warnings: smut, mentions of drinking, lots of Christmas imagery, office party setting, unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, nipple play, power dynamics, boss x secretary, creampie finish word count: 2.6k pairings: Boss!Kento Nanami x Fem!Secretary!Reader summary: the holidays are coming up, and all you can wish for is to be able to steal a little kiss from your boss while under the mistletoe. when you volunteer to help out with the annual Christmas party, you realize your boss never got the chance to decorate his office. just a little mistletoe won't hurt, will it? a/n: This is an early Christmas gift for all of us simping so hard for Kento Nanami and wish we could find him under the tree on Christmas morning. Special thanks to @beneathstarryskies who has been fuelling my love for Kento even before I started watching JJK

It was always crazy to you how fast the office changed after Halloween. Down came the pumpkins and paper craft decorations of witches on broomsticks and sheet-wearing ghosts. And with them, people started decorating for Christmas fairly early on in November. People who were bored out of their minds would spend their time cutting up paper to resemble snowflakes, others would buy very fancy yet tacky decorations to dress up their desks. You weren’t above them, most certainly not. Your own desk was properly decorated for the season. You even laid out a bowl of candy canes and chocolate for those who stopped by your desk before going into work or just leaving for the day.

The one person you truly wished would grace your presence was your boss, Nanami Kento. He was a very busy man, so he often didn’t have the time to stop and chat. With him being so busy all the time, and especially more so around this time of year, you were always eager to help him out with anything he needed. Kento regularly looked to you for the help he needed, but your relationship never went anywhere further than a professional one. Nobody would ever find out how much you were pining for him. Not even he knew your true feelings for him, or so you thought.

And as the days ticked on and November became December, you found yourself giddy for the holidays. It was always a hustle and bustle and things were tense in the office days leading up to Christmas Eve, but it was exciting for you. You balanced your time between Christmas shopping and working hard to make sure the big project for the office was going off without a hitch. Despite everyone else wigging out with stress, you were the glue to keep everything together. You were the first person to bring someone a steaming mug of coffee or tea when they desperately needed it. You were the one who kept all the files neat and tidy, ready for whoever needed them. And you were always the one who brought a little extra food for those who were staying late most nights.

A Christmas staff party is announced, and you’re the first one to sign up to make sure the thing goes well. You’re in charge of bringing food and drinks. Your heart flutters with joy when you see your boss’ name written on the RSVP list. He was going to finally get a chance to relax and mingle with the rest of you. You wonder if maybe you could manage to get him to give you a little kiss under the mistletoe. With thoughts of a possible office romance blossoming, you spend the next few days plotting and planning.

The afternoon of the Christmas party, everyone gets to go home early. You managed to pack a bag of things for yourself considering you decided to get ready here since you were in charge of preparing and catering the food and drinks. With most of the appetizers and drinks premade the night before, all you had to do was find a table suitable to hold everything. With that taken care of, you made your way to the women’s locker room. The water pressure isn’t nearly as good as the one in your apartment, but you know you need to take a shower.

With yourself clean, you begin getting dressed and fussing over your hair and makeup. As you’re getting pampered and pretty for your boss, you call one of the local pizza places nearby and place a large delivery order. Everything was coming together perfectly. You hoped that Kento would see just how hard you’ve been working on not only this but everything else leading up to this day.

It’s just past 7 pm when the first few people start arriving. Some of those who volunteered to set up games and other activities are the early ones. Then as the hour ticks by, you notice that the party is almost in full swing. Still, no sign of Kento anywhere. You figured he would probably be showing up anytime soon. Yet as everyone is full tilt into party mode, you find yourself longing to see your boss.

You have a drink, mingling with your colleagues by the punchbowl. Your eyes keep darting all around the room, but to no avail. He’s not here, and as it gets a little later, you worry maybe he was just too tired to join the festivities. You decide to take a little walk around the office, hoping to spot him as he’s coming in.

After a quick trip to the bathroom to freshen yourself up and touch up your makeup, you pass by Kento’s office. It’s so dark and lonely in here. You realize he hasn’t even put up any decorations. It makes you a little sad to see this. So you go to your desk and fish out a mistletoe decoration. Once you’re back in Kento’s office, you begin trying to affix the cute little decoration to the ceiling.

“And just what are you doing?” a deep voice calls from the doorway. Your heart nearly stops.

“Oh! Nanami-san! I’m just trying to spread a little holiday cheer.”

He smirks at you, and his eyes follow your gaze to the ceiling. The little mistletoe hangs just above you, almost as an invitation for him to come press his lips against yours. You jump a little as the sound of the door closing startles you. Kento moves closer to you, a smile on his face.

“Please, just call me Kento. No need for formalities here.”

Your cheeks redden at his words. But you nod and smile, asking him how he’s enjoying the party. You notice a flute of champagne in his hand. So he is trying to mingle and enjoy himself. He takes a sip of the effervescent drink.

“This was exactly what I needed. I’ve been too focused on my work lately.”

You smile sweetly, “I’m glad you can take the chance to relax. You really deserve it, Kento.”

He loves the sound of your voice. Especially when you’re saying such sweet things to him. He downs the rest of the champagne, and then he approaches you. Without warning, he reaches up to help you pin the mistletoe to the ceiling. Your cheeks burn at being so close in proximity. He smirks at your reaction, then he cups your cheek softly.

“Does this mean I can steal a kiss?”

Your heart stops for a moment, only to begin racing. You can barely think of the right words. A soft “yes” falls from your lips before he presses his lips to yours. The entirety of his being is invading all your senses. He smells like fancy cologne, and his lips are so soft and plush and his broad frame feels so good against your smaller body.

When he pulls away, you’re breathless. He chuckles softly before he leans back in for a second kiss. This one is hungrier, and your brain finally catches up to what you’re doing. You press yourself against him even more, your lips moving in tandem with his. His large hands glide up and down your sides, admiring the velvet dress you decided to wear.

“Did you get all dolled up just for me?” he asks, his lips now nipping and kissing the tender flesh of your neck.

You breathe out, “yes…just for you.”

He knows you’ve been pining for him for so long. If he said he hadn’t found you so fuckable the moment he met you, he would be lying. How often he had to hide himself in his office just to push back lewd thoughts almost every day. Kento was basically obsessed with you, but he didn’t want to ruin your professional career by pushing things further. Tonight was the exception. When he saw just how much work you put into this party and your appearance, he knew he had to make his move.

His hands slide up your sides to your breasts. He cups them, squeezing slightly. This earns him a soft mewl from you, and it makes his cock twitch in his expensive dress pants. Kento had also made quite the effort to make sure his appearance was perfect just for you.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmurs against your skin.

You gasp when he pulls the top of your dress down, revealing your bare breasts to him. He doesn’t even really give you time to react before he’s dipping his head down to capture one of your perky nipples into his mouth. You’re melting under his touches, and your knees are buckling from the ministrations.

You look down at him, your hands shaking as you reach out to cup his head. This keeps him affixed to your tits. Your fingers card through his beautiful blond hair, then your nails rake against his scalp. He shudders at the sensation before he turns his attention to your other nipple.

“I won’t lie.,” he says as he suckles on the bud. “I’ve been thinking about this moment for months.”

You feel your cheeks turning crimson, “Nanami-san! T-that’s so filthy.”

You feel him spanking your thigh, a lewd but dark look in his eyes as he looks up at you. You know you must have pushed some buttons just now. He looks even more determined than before.

“Didn’t I tell you to call me Kento?”

You stammer out a few excuses, but he just shuts you up with another searing kiss. As he kisses you hard, his hands begin to peel off that cute little dress you put on just to impress him. He tosses it behind him, then pulls you closer to him. Your soft skin smells of peppermint and vanilla; a decadent mixture to delight his senses. He groans as his fingers tease your clothed cunt, finding you so wet already.

“I think you’ve been fantasizing about this just as much as I have been.”

His words make you blush even more than before, but you can’t help but agree with what he’s saying. It was true, you both had been thinking about this moment for a long time. And now that it was finally happening, you could barely calm your little racing heart.

“So wet just for me…” he mentions as he lets his fingers push back your panties.

Your eyes screw shut in pleasure, and you let out a shaky breath as Kento expertly rubs your swollen clit. You knew he’d be good at this, but you never thought he’d know the perfect ways to get you off. Then his fingers slide down further, prodding your tight little hole. He smirks as he feels just how much you’re dripping for him. There’s hardly resistance as he slips two of his fingers into you, his thumb rubbing your nub.

“Such a dirty little secretary you are. I bet you want me to bend you over this desk and take my frustrations out on you, don’t you?” He asks as he presses his face into the crook of your neck. His breath is so hot against your skin, and his teeth graze your pulse point.

You can’t even answer him properly. Your mind is just buzzing from all the lustful heavy petting that’s going on. He loves the way he’s rendered you into a moaning mess already and he hasn’t even fucked you. Despite knowing he should be getting you ready for his cock, he knows you both don’t have all the time in the world. Eventually someone will come looking for either of you.

With both of his hands, he pushes you against the desk. You squeal as he rips your panties off and shoves them into your open mouth. The taste of your own arousal makes you clench around nothing.

“Just be a good girl and be quiet. I promise, I’ll make you cum.”

You don’t need any more convincing than that. He spreads your thighs with his knee, and you begin to hear the sounds of him unbuckling his belt and unzipping those fancy dress pants. You attempt to turn around to see how big his cock is, but Kento is quick to push your head down against his desk.

There’s the unmistakable sound of him spitting onto your cunt as he spreads your asscheeks. Then you feel the tip of his cock prodding your tiny hole. You know already that this will be quite the stretch. Kento groans as he slides into you slowly, savoring the way your cunt is already trying to milk him for everything he’s got.

The moment he bottoms out, it’s like something snaps deep inside of him. He begins pumping into you at a breakneck speed, his hands tangling in your cute little updo. Animalistic grunts and growls rumble from his chest as he lets out his frustrations on you. Meanwhile you desperately white-knuckle the desk beneath you as the tip of his cock bullies that spongy spot deep inside you that makes you see stars. Already you’re so close to your own peak and he’s barely been fucking you for a few minutes.

He leans in to press a kiss to your shoulder, pushing his cock deeper into you. You’ve never had anyone quite this deep inside of you before and you can feel your legs about to give out.

“I wanna take my time with you, pretty baby. But we’ve gotta make this quick.”

You moan in response, your cunt gripping onto him even tighter. He grunts as he begins slamming into you faster and harder. The desk beneath you begins to creak and slide against the floor, making it obvious to anyone around what you two are up to. But anyone would be an idiot to even dare try to interrupt you two. You’re in heaven and you never want it to stop.

Your eyes snap shut as you feel his fingers rubbing your aching clit. Just a few more thrusts and you’re falling off the edge. Muffled whimpers and mewls fall from your panty-stuffed lips. Your thighs are shaking as you begin creaming all over that fat cock of his. He tugs on your hair, pulling you flush against his chest as he continues to fuck himself deep inside you.

He growls as his own orgasm hits him hard. Shot after shot of thick, sticky cum paints your insides. You whine as you feel his cock throbbing with every pump of cum he shoots inside of you. Eventually, he slows his pace to a stop and you’re both panting. You spit out the panties onto his desk, and Kento pulls out of you. He turns you around so you’re facing him, and he’s got the most smug look on his face you’ve ever seen.

“Guess this means you’re all mine, hm?” He asks, two of his fingers pushing his cum back into you.

You whimper, “O-of course, N– Kento…”

He smirks at your response. Kento reaches for the soiled panties and he helps you slide them back onto you. With a soft kiss, he helps you back into your dress as well. The moment you try to stand, you feel just how shaky you are. Kento chuckles softly, stuffing his softening cock into his dress pants.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. “You can lean on me for a bit.”

He takes your hand in his, and while you lean against him, he leads you back out into the party. Almost nobody seems to think anything weird about this, they are all just happy to see the both of you at the party. You two share a few drinks and mingle and as the party begins winding down, Kento leans in to whisper in your ear.

“Merry Christmas, pretty baby…”

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