#upright my fucking BELOVED

[cassmouse]

Convinced my mum to watch Upright with me once we finish Baby Reindeer and this is the best thing ever oh my GOD

Gorgeous perfect magical season 1 of Upright here I come again

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

mods asleep post Rogers II

[skyrigel]

Think about Simon working on his bike, the garage is open, allowing penetrating hot rays of sun inside and then there's you, with little princess jus' woke up hair and a cute pink dress, barely reaching your knees. You are carrying a tray with a glass of gleaming slushie, a cute grin on your face as you step in his work space. “Look at you, working so hard, my baby.” you settled the tray on the desk, already covered with screws and nuts. It was an inside joke and you relished in the way Simon looked back at you, raising a brow in warning, like he was really saying, you want that Mrs.Riley, here ? You raked your gaze to his squatted thighs, watching his groin with your shameless eyes, he noticed it too, smirking as he made a show of getting up, “Good morning lil' dove, why do you have to so sweet, huh ?” he smiled, kissing your cheek as he took the glass, his lips bright in the sun as his throat bobbled, like thrusting, each coil rolling within his skin and your mouth was suddenly too dry, you can already feel yourself getting wet just at the sight of your husband, a remarkable sight indeed, he's not wearing a shirt and his vest is completely drenched in his sweat, allowing you to see through, his abs are so breathless and it doesn't matter how much you had admired his body, he just gets more slutty, “Well couldn't let you work hard and then no reward, phew.” reward, You made a show of walking to his bike, the very beloved bike that he took you home after your second date, and also how things heated up, right there on this leather, oh — you were dripping by now, juice coating your inner thighs and you knew Simon knew it too, he was glancing at your ass like a punky teenager who's never been laid, a feral way that makes you squirm and want him more, and ofcourse you were a naughty-naughty girl, you had earned it, mewling like a proud cat when he called you, “You never taught me riding.” you huffed, jumping on seat from one side and letting him see as you sprawled your leg on the other, leaning back, your back against the tanker, a full display for your already hard husband, you could make out his big dick through his pants, your mouth watering. “Huh?” no offense, but he looked so hot when he got nonsensical like that, he wasn't even pretending, he looked at your pussy and raised a question at you, gawking you deliberately. “You never taught me how to ride—” you pouted, “—your bike.” Simon's breath were already panted, he was sweaty and hot and so needy, sitting upright in front of you and pulling your thighs so you were closer to him, almost pressed, his cock rubbing against your clothed pussy, stiff as a rod, “I think I had before.” he had, his nose nuzzling in your sleepy warm body, “You had ? I don't remember.” You whined, wanting the friction that he was making you crave, wanting him to fuck you so hard, you didn't care if your garage was open, didn't care if Mrs. Wilson might be watching, it just turned you more hot, can you want him any more because you just can't get enough of him, no matter how much he fills you up with cum you're already begging for more, a naughty-naughty girl indeed. “oh, don't worry, you will remember it now for days.” and you'd be a liar if you won't, smiling as your dress rode and his greedy hands and mouth were everywhere, chasing you, good luck Mrs.Riley, because you signed up for it.

Teheeeeee period wooshhh

Masterlist

[s-4pphics]

errr hi cont to this or whatever combating my depression with horny crazy lesbians with parental trauma goodbye again

—

Guilt festers in Ellie like hornets.

She hardly remembers the last time she’s seen you. The turbulence that roared within you for months had finally reached its peak, and it sent you crashing into a static-filled void — an unsettling tranquility. Whenever she’s home, you don’t say a word to her, fully committed to the bind that reinforces your lack of autonomy. But still, the house stays clean, dinner stays served, and Ellie stays guilty.

She can’t pinpoint for what exactly — her aggression towards you throughout your marriage, her ignorance to your suffering, for leaving you alone to wilt while she goes and lives her life like you don’t exist, like the weight of the band on her finger doesn’t snare whenever they dig inside someone else.

Divorce. Divorce…

If it ever occurs, both families will bury you, then Ellie, then each other, only leaving behind wasteful bundles of inheritance and homes with no name. But death… It has to be better than this crushing burden in her stomach. It has to be.

There’s water running. Right above where Ellie sits on the couch with a bouncing knee, fiddling with her wedding ring. Her heart thumps in her chest when the rush stops. You must be in the bath.

The thought should make Ellie flush and stutter; the image of her beloved wife bare and surrounded by bubbles from the neck down, scented with lavender and incense, soft as ever.

But she can only see you drowning. Breathing water into your lungs as you fight against your own will to survive. Your screams are loud beneath suffocation, battered as you…

Call out to her—

“Ellie.”

She flinches at your presence from behind, heart racing at the sight of you in your robe and dripping hair, somehow disheveled despite your cleanliness. Ellie swallows dryly when water drips down your neck and seeps into your gown’s collar. The tie is synched around your waist and your breasts are pushed together from its tightness and Ellie’s lost her mind because she shouldn’t be gawking like this. Her eyes fly back to the vacant windows that bring such torture.

“I ran your bath.”

You turn to leave without another glance, already up three— five steps before Ellie mutters,

“Thank you.”

She sees your shoulders stiffen, and she shifts uncomfortably where she sits. It might be the first time you’ve heard any verbal appreciation from her. From anyone, matter of fact. Ellie’s heart thrashes in her chest at the look you give over your shoulder: confused… and so, so tired. The emptiness within them sends her stomach into knots, churning up that treacherous feeling that makes her ill whenever she really looks at you.

But then you smile, soft lips curled around pearly teeth. Dark. Empty.

“Anything for my wife.”

The term of endearment is poisonous on your tongue. Small hairs on Ellie’s arms are upright and thrum with fear and embarrassment and… shockingly enough, something else. Something dirty and thoughtless. It’s the maroon robe. It has to be.

“Should I prep you for the bath, as well?”

Your tone is hateful. Mockingly so. Why does Ellie’s face burn? Why do her nails dig into the cushion beneath her? Why is her breathing so shaky? Why is her body so hot? Because of you, of all people, and you’ve barely spoken to each other. You hate her and she hates you so why why why.

Disgusted eyes rake over Ellie’s squirming form, and a smirk grows on your face.

“I’ll be upstairs.” Voice soft as a feather, but your feet are weighted with each stomp up the stairs.

Ellie can’t halt her fear for what waits for her in your bedroom. Fear has never made her thighs rub together this much.

—

Ellie’s in a fever dream.

You put something in her wine from earlier. She’s knocked out cold and this is all a fucked up, sadistic nightmare. The lavender scent that floats through the marble bathroom isn’t real, the candles that burn with cinnamon aren’t real, the last sizzles from the bathbomb melting into the water isn’t real, your hands aren’t… She can’t feel them. They’re definitely not real. Not where they gently massage her shoulders.

But they are. How fucked up is Ellie. It’s been all of two minutes and she’s already memorized your fingerprints through her button up. Nothing but guilt, guilt, guilt and fear and arousal that makes her more guilty. What sick game are you playing at. You’re so fucking sick.

“You’re so tense, wife… You really needed this bath, huh?”

Your nails sink into her shoulders and Ellie can almost feel your venom eating away at her bloodstream. Her toenails scrap against the tile through her socks. She won’t stop fiddling with her wedding ring. A sign of guilt. An act of nerves.

Your hands drag from her neck to her collarbones and she shivers whenever your nails rake through her. They reach the top button of her shirt. Each pop of a button sends aggressive rattles to Ellie’s ribcage.

Before your meddling fingers stop.

Her flushed chest rises with rapid breaths. Your eyes sear and they’re electric. Ellie’s heart stops when she realizes where your attention is.

A blotchy, ruby-red bruise sits right in between her breasts. The bite glows blue where it fades. It taunts you. Ellie can see it where your jaw clenches. Guilt guilt guilt guilt—

“Who gave you that?”

You sound so innocent. Her anxiety will peak in an instant.

“No one.”

Ellie gasps sharply when buttons clatter to the floor, angered hands ripping open her shirt, prying the fabric from her shoulders and letting it drop to the floor. She’s stiff as a board, unable to move, forbidding to combat your aggression. Why does she allow you to take?

“Who gave that to you?” You grit before reaching for her Louis Vuitton belt, pulling it from the loops and throwing it behind you. “Huh? A friend of mine? A family member? Someone I know?”

You smile like it excites you to know who wrecked your home. Who your wife abandoned you for, all for a fix — to exist outside of her body and not think about the world she despises. Ellie shakes her head. Why does she wish to appease you all of a sudden? She’s never cared; never hesitated to flaunt her lechery to you in the late hours of the night. Why now?

“How long ago? How gorgeous was she? Did she give you everything you desired—“

“Stop—“

“Maybe you should invite her over,” You suggest painfully, seductively while you treat her slacks with the same violence, “I’m sure our parents wouldn’t mind a third. More money, right? She’s rich, isn’t she?”

Your suggestion sends knives into her throat. Her hands clamp down onto your arms to get you off. To pull you closer. Fuck, fuck —

“Bring all your whores here, matter of fact!” You screech and fight against Ellie’s grip on your wrists. “I’ll let them fuck me with you if you want! I’m sure it’d please you, wife—“

Ellie nearly vomits when slick drips from her at the imagery; you completely engulfed by the pleasure you deserve for being such a good wife, fucked to peak after peak. Hands all over you, bruised to hell, stress-free. She’d give you that. Only she could give you that. No one else, fuck, just her—

She uses all her strength to shove you into the wall near the sink, ripping your hands from her pants and shoving them behind you, holding you still as you thrash and shout obscenities.

Her heart breaks when you release the loudest sobs she’s ever heard from you, and all she can do is apologize. Whisper calming words against your wet cheeks.

“Look at me, look at me, fuck, m’sorry—“

“Why me! What d-did I do to deserve this! Why — why —“

“I know, I’m sorry, I know I know—“

Ellie blows cool air all over your cheeks. Gentle brushes of wind that ice your boiling skin before your hollers turn to devastated whimpers. She watches you self-soothe, blows more air on your face, redirects your attention onto her.

“Look at me.” She says into your skin.

You whimper and shake your head, eyes downcast at her feet.

“Can you do that for me so we can talk?”

“I don’t wanna fucking talk to you.”

Ellie huffs a laugh at your insolence, “Fair, but I need you to calm down. Can we agree on that?”

“I didn’t drown you. That’s as calm as you’re gonna get.”

Ellie smiles sadly, “Also fair.”

“You’re fucking dead to me.”

“… Potty mouth.”

Ellie loosens her grip on your wrists when you shove her off you, head plopping onto the wall as you gaze at her, eyes filled with rage and possessiveness and lust. For once, your eyes mirror hers.

Your robe isn’t as tight after your fighting, a glimpse of a nipple peeking beneath the deep red cloth. She shouldn’t look, not when you're this vulnerable and hurt, but she can’t help it. She can’t explain it, but she wants you to see how hungry she is for you. So much guilt.

She doesn’t know how to love, to be kind, to dote like a wife should. She can’t do that with you. But she stares, gazes at you with territory. What she’d give to be all over you.

Her ogling pauses when you laugh to yourself, cheeks still glistening under the candlelight. Ellie frowns despite the butterflies in her stomach.

“You’re crazy.”

You don’t adjust your scattered dress, pushing yourself off the wall and into Ellie’s chest. You invade her senses like she wants; her body aches and shakes when your breasts touch hers. She can smell you. All you have to do is inch closer. Your noses almost touch. She just needs a bit more from you and you’ll have her. All to yours—

“Enjoy your bath…”

Your lips tickle hers,

“Ellie.”

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip when you vanish into the bedroom. She's never climbed in there with you, but she just might.

-

-

-

Ellie didn’t believe you when you said she was dead in your eyes, but now, she realizes you might’ve actually meant it. She assumed you to be a vessel of patriarchy, of status, of everything she loathes, but you’re unraveling before her eyes, inklings of your true self seeping through the cracks of your parents’ mold.

You might be just as vile as she is. You might even have her beat. You do want her dead.

What else can she think as she sinks lower into her bath to hide her shock, eyes glued to the glass dildo that still drips with your slick at the edge of the tub? Right next to your wedding ring.

How nasty would she be to use your cum as lube while she fucks herself in the shower? How gross would you be if you awoke from your slumber to watch her get off to you?

… Come to think of it, you both never consummated your marriage.

You deserve to wake up to something nice.

[leviraaaaaa]

“Levi!”

You barge through the door, all dramatic, gasping and panting, purposely exaggerating to get his attention. But not to your surprise, he didn’t even bother looking up.

“I suppose no one ever taught you, but there’s a concept called knocking.” He said, his eyes fully focused on the papers. His hand moving across it as he wrote. “It’s quite easy really, you raise your hand and—”

“Levi!” You cut him off, slamming the door behind you loudly. “Levi, my beloved, my savior in dark times, I am in need of your help.”

“Slamming the door isn’t very polite either. Your manners get worse everyday.”

You waved him off, shushing him. You made way across the room, where a couch sat not far from the desk he was sitting on, and flopped down face first. “Levi.” Your voice came out muffled.

“Ah yes, making yourself home I see.” He sighs.

“Levi, I need your help. Real bad.”

“No.”

“What–” You look up, raising your face from the cushions, offended. “You didn’t even–”

“No.” He repeated, eyes not leaving his work for even a second. “Please, get off my couch. Cleaning it is tiresome.”

“Levi.” You whined, impatient at his aloofness. “Levi, he’s going to kill me.”

“I’ll buy you a good coffin.”

“This isn’t funny.” You huffed. “I’m dead. Like literally. Absolutely. This is where it all ends.”

“I’d rather you not die on my couch.”

“Fuck your couch.” You flipped yourself, so you splayed on your back now. You tilted your head, staring at him. “Help me out. Please?”

Levi finally turns to look at you, unable to ignore you any longer. He frowned. “What?” He asked warily. “What did you do this time?”

“Promise me you’ll help me first.” You said.

“No.” He immediately rejects you. “What did you do? Did you get into a fight with an MP again?”

You shook your head.

“Blew up something in Hange’s lab?” He guessed.

“No. But I’d really rather it was Hange mad at me though.”

He looked at you confused, “Who did you piss off then? “

You grimaced. He was quick to conclude.

“Ah.” He realizes. “Erwin.”

A nod from you answers him.

“What did you do?”

“Ask me what I didn’t do.”

“What didn’t you do?”

“Work.” You sat up. “In my defense, it was a shit load of work. And I hate paperwork. And I kept procrastinating. And now it’s due by tomorrow and I didn’t remember until two minutes ago when Erwin shot a glare at me. And now I—”

“I’m not helping you.”

“Why not?” You demanded.

“It’s your fault. Don’t drag me into this shit.” He grumbles, scowling. “And you promised last time, you wouldn’t do this anymore. I’m not doing your work for you. I have enough on my plate.”

“Okay first of all, I’m not lazy. I was busy–”

“Ogling Garrison captains.”

“They’re pretty. And no, not the point, shut up.” You protested. “I was busy. And I didn’t come here so you could do it for me. I came here so you could go and talk to Erwin.”

Levi frowned, “Talk to him about what?”

“Tell him to give me one more day. Swear I’d work my ass off.”

“You said that last time too.” He pointed it out. “How angry is Erwin?”

You made a face. “Bad.”

“How bad?”

“He keeps glaring at me everytime I meet him. It’s the ‘if you don’t get it done this time, you’re gonna get in so much shit’ glare. It’s creeping me out.”

Levi scoffs, shaking his head. “Only you." He said. "Only you can possibly manage piss fucking Erwin off. The guy's a fucking monk, nothing affects him.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “If I had to guess, I’d say this isn’t the first time asking for an extension.”

“Err…” You ducked your face. “It was kinda supposed to be done 2 weeks ago.”

“2 weeks?” Levo looked at you incredulously. “No wonder he’s pissed. And you’re asking for more time?”

“One more day. Just one more day. Please Levi, he’ll listen to you.”

Levi stares at your pleading expression for a few seconds with narrowed eyes, considering. Thinking. Then he seemed to have made up his mind.

“No.”

“Wha—” You jerk upright. You really thought you’d convinced him.

“No. I’m not getting you out of the grave this time. Specially since you dug it yourself.” He returns his attention back to his work. “Good luck to you, but leave now. And learn a damn lesson.”

You stared at him, gaping. “Wow," You blinked you’re an asshole.”

“Congratulations for realizing that.”

You exhaled. Easy words won’t work, you knew. So, here comes plan A. Acting.

You pouted.

“Don’t look at me like that. I said what I said.”

You fluttered your lashes, all wide shiny eyes, about to cry.

“Get out before I start throwing shit at you.”

“Levi.” Plan B. Bribing.

“No.”

“Leeviii.”

“No.”

“Levi, aren’t you the sweetest, most dearest, my absolute favorite and delightful and super awesome with extra sugar on top bestiest best friend? Don’t be like that, c’mon.”

“Still no. And we’re not friends.”

“‘I’ll make you pie?” You offered.

“You can’t cook to save your life. No.”

"I'll give you hugs."

"I will slap you."

“Levi.” Plan C. Threatening.

He glares back at you.

"You do realize you could've used this time getting the report started instead of trying to convince me and actually might've manage to get it done?”

“I’ll read poetry to you.” You threatened.

Levi looks up, finally there’s a hint of alarm on his face. “No, you won’t.”

“I’ll make sure all your food touch.”

“Get out.”

“I’ll disorganize your bookshelf and fill it with those titan x scout love novels.”

He raised his middle finger at you.

“I will start telling you about all my exes.”

He cringed visibly.

Finally, you gave up. Dragging yourself off the couch, you slowly, pathetically, miserably made your way to the door. You knew that the odds were very low that Levi would actually help you this time, because he was right. You needed to learn a lesson. And it was your fault.

“Oi.”

Your hand was on the doorknob. “What?” You turned to look at him grumpily.

Levi was pinching the bridge of his nose, knitting his eyebrows together, irritated and annoyed. Like he was about to do something he regretted.

He let out a long exhale.

“Bring it here. I’ll help you.”

“What?” You asked, disbelief dripping from your tone. Were you dreaming?

“I’ll help you out. Just this time.” He grunts. “Don’t expect it again. And I’ll only guide you, you’re doing the most of it.”

Music to your ears.

“Really?”

“Go before I change my mind.” He huffed.

You broke into a wide grin, beaming up at him. “No wonder I love you.”

“The feeling is not mutual.”

“You’re the best,”

“Shut up.”

“The best. The most darling, the loveliest, the coolest, the–”

“10 seconds. I’m giving you 10 seconds.”

“Oh–” Your eyes widened. You learnt the hard way Levi usually means his time limits. “Okay, okay, wait here, wait. I’ll be right back. Just–”

And you were out the door,

“Fucking idiot.” He groaned to himself, as you yet again, slammed the door.

He wish he knew why he kept doing this to himself.

[arcielee]

All the wild hearted ambition

Summary: The semester is ending and you decide to act on the undeniable chemistry you share with Aegon Targaryen. Paring: modern!Aegon Targaryen x you Word Count: 1.8+ Warnings: Reader AFAB, alcohol consumption for liquid courage, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie but it's okay since every Reader has a IUD Author’s Note: Modern Aegon will always have a soft spot in my heart. I wanted to do some smutty fluff to celebrate my darling @aemondtargaryenonlyfans latest milestone! I apologize for this being so belated, as I am sure it has probably doubled by now. 😆 Thank you @sylasthegrim for being my beloved beta reader, Ilysm. 💜 And shoutout to my Aegon Expert™ Miss Maggie @inthedayswhenlandswerefew for some insight on his alcoholic vice. Title comes from the song Romy by Sleep Walking Animals 💜

Aegon was handsome in his effortless way–somehow perpetually sunkissed no matter the weather outside, and wearing a mirthful grin that had him aglow. His eyes were able to spot you in the crowd that swarmed around him, a centripetal pull towards his charisma that thrummed loudly from within. 

They were all moths drawn to his flame, fluttering with their desperation to touch. You pushed through them, determined to be burned. 

You could see the mischief sparkling in the murky blue of his eyes, the corners crinkling as he watched you move closer. His hand reached to engulf your own, pulling you in. 

The chemistry you two shared was something palpable, a back-and-forth banter that remained consistent throughout the semester, building towards this moment. His teasing pravity had a friendly tone, and you always had a smirk playing on your lips as you listened to his lewd promises. It ended the same way–Aegon would beg to take you out, but you were well aware of his reputation on campus and held no interest in becoming just another conquest of his. 

And when you told him just that, he laughed. 

You are different, he had sworn to you. I would take you to breakfast the next morning. 

Your eyes rolled in response, but you always remained within his arm’s reach, testing your self-control and the strength of your barriers built to keep him at bay. 

But on this night, you tore them down. 

To be kissed by Aegon was to be consumed by him. His large hands were everywhere: biting into your hip to bring you closer, wrapping around the back of your neck as he pulled the air from your lungs. He was solid as he pressed against you, pinning you to the wall; you could taste the rum and spice and cinnamon when you licked his lips, you could feel the heat pouring from him and warming your blood. 

Your head was buzzing, your desperation clawing from your fingertips to pull him until he melded against you. Aegon placed his arms on both sides, caging you against the wall; his mouth trailed from your lips to your jawline, his teeth nipping at your neck. You lifted your leg to wrap around his waist and one of his hands dropped to grab into the softness of your thigh, pressing closer to you. 

His weight was delicious. “Aegon, please,” you were breathless from his kiss, holding onto his shoulders to keep yourself upright. When his lips pressed to your pulse, you could feel your breath catch in your throat. “I-I want you.”

Aegon groaned against the curve of your neck and it rumbled to your bones, your skin raising in response. “I fucking love you begging for my cock, pretty girl.” 

“I…” you stammered to find the air for your sultry 21st century confession, “I…have an IUD.”

Aegon pulled back, his lips and cheeks flushed, his eyes dancing in the low lighting of the hallway. You could feel the warmth burning beneath your skin, but before you could say anything else, he dropped to press his shoulder against your lower abdomen. 

Your gasp was followed by your giggle as he lifted you over his shoulder, your fingers grabbing fistfuls of his shirt to balance. You giggled again as his large hand patted your ass, his determined steps carrying you away from the noise of the end-of-the-semester party. Aegon then finally placed you on your feet in a doorway and you pulled him close to capture his mouth like he was your only option to breathe again. 

You fumbled to open the door behind you and your fingers tucked into his waistband, but he was already following after you. It was a tenacious tumble onto his bed and a desperate peel away of the layers worn before Aegon settled between your bare thighs like he always belonged there. 

He stopped, his eyes looking over you in a way that made your blood thicken. He pushed up for another kiss but this time it held a new tenderness; his lips feathered to your chin and the curve of your neck, moving to litter love bites on your chest that bloomed dark in his wake. 

You were lost in him; you mewled, canting your hips upwards for friction. You almost cried when he pulled away from you. “Please,” you pushed to your elbows to see his sheepish expression. “Aegon…”

His laughter was an exasperated exhale. “Whiskey dick,” and he paused for a moment. “Well, whiskey dick by rum.” 

Any other man would have balked with their embarrassment, but he showed how he was unlike anyone you ever met. Instead Aegon giggled, his smile stretching across his square jaw decorated with a sandy growth, beautiful and bright as always. He dipped back between your thighs to place a sloppy kiss to your clit and the gesture bolted up the length of your spine. 

He showed his devotion to see through the literary litany of the euphoria he promised over the semester, and continued until your eyelashes clumped together from your tears. Your blood was pulsing hot throughout your veins, your legs trembling and your lungs wrung empty; Aegon finally pulled away, bringing the covers over you both, reaching to pull you back against his chest and nestling against the nape of your neck with a wet kiss. 

“I’ll make this up to you, I swear it, pretty girl,” he whispered, but you were blitzed outside of your mind and body from the pleasure he pulled. You could feel his grin, his arm wrapping around your stomach, and you settled against him, allowing the low strum of his heartbeat to lull you to sleep. 

Pretty girl. The endearment echoed in your mind as the prior night rolled away like a fog, though its heady aftermath was still prickling your skin. You could feel your blood simmering to the surface as you blinked away the sleep, your eyes focusing on the mess of blond waves that are tucked back between your legs. 

You could feel it throb away from your center, a pleasureful pulse that coursed through you and crashed back into your core. You arched your back in response, savoring the intimate way his tongue was tracing against your clit. “Aegon,” you gasped out loud but it was your pitiful moan that followed that stopped his ministrations.  

He looked up at you, his eyes sparkling and blood staining his cheeks with a sheen to his wicked smile. “Good morning, pretty girl,” he said with his casual tone, his breath tickling the slick between your thighs. “Just relax. Don’t worry, I plan on making you feel really good.” 

You responded with a squeal as he playfully bit into the softness of your inner thigh, his lips moving back to lave away at your swollen bundle of nerves that were blooming from his touch. His two fingers curled within you, knuckle deep and searching to pull a ravishment that made your toes curl. It was a tensity that nearly cleaved you in half, shuddering throughout your veins; your fingers knotted into his hair, your thighs squeezing to keep him close.

But Aegon remained tethered to you, mindful of these waves. His brow furrowed with his concentration of coaxing you through your climax, and you could only melt with his deliberate touch. When it was done, you tried to find your breath again, only returning as you felt the shift of his weight on the mattress. 

Your stomach fluttered at the sight of him: his hand stroking his girth, the head flushed and glossy from your release. Aegon moved to knit himself between your legs, pressing close until his clock slipped between your swollen slit, sending another spark that seized your heart. You writhed underneath him. “Oh, fuck.”

Aegon captured your lips with a biting kiss, and you returned it with the same passion he poured into you. “You were so beautiful last night, begging for my cock,” he murmured against your skin. 

His words were heated, beckoning you, and you squirmed, canting your hips to feel the delicious pressure of the underside of his cock pressing against. “Aegon,” you gasped. You were still so raw, still splintered from your prior release, but you still pulled him to settle into the cradle of your hips. “Please, I need you.” You lifted your legs and wrapped them around his waist, squeezing until he groaned against you.  

He moved to press a kiss to the soft divot beneath your ear, his low hum rumbling through your chest. “Yes,” his voice was low, rasped, “just like that.” Aegon shifted his weight, sinking into you and pressing deep until colors began to spark in front of your eyes. 

His hips rolled against your own with a languid pace that began to build again, stoking a warmth that spread throughout and curled back into your lower abdomen. It was a different intensity that pressed outwards, splitting your seams; your fingers fell to the dimples above his ass, desperate to pull him closer, desperate to chase this new pleasure. 

Aegon tucked his head into the crook of your neck and you can feel his smile. “You take me so well,” he praised, his voice straining from the vice-like grip you held around him.

Those words erupted through you with a force that pushed you back over that ledge, a tumbling release that wrenched the air from your lungs. The fluttering of your velvet walls suctioned around him, pulling him deeper, and Aegon groaned loudly as his cock pulsed hot within you. 

He then found your lips for a slow kiss, searching to swallow the soft sounds you emitted. His head bobbed away to look down at you, his eyes bright, but bloodshot, and his smile crooked. Aegon then placed a chaste kiss on your forehead before he collapsed at your side. 

You laid on the sex soaked sheets, boneless, focusing on the careful expanse of your lungs to regain your breath again. You turned your head to look at Aegon, flushed pink and still grinning at you. A heartbeat passed and he moved suddenly to kiss you again, sloppy and wet, and then he pushed from the bed onto unsteady feet. 

You rolled to your side, grabbing to cover yourself as you watched him struggle to pull on a pair of jeans. His large palm was flat to carefully tuck himself before pulling up the zipper.

You felt a surge of emotions: an initial panic, your embarrassment and failure at becoming just another one of his conquests. “Where are you going?” You dared ask, praying your voice remained steady and would not betray what was coiling behind your heart.

Aegon looked at you and you could see the satisfaction playing on his handsome features. His smile remained. “Did you forget?” He moved back to the bed, kneeling on the edge for another quick kiss that left you warm. “I told you that I was going to take you to breakfast afterwards.”

taglist: @lovelykhaleesiii @zaldritzosrose @gemini-mama @fan-goddess @abecerra6111 @multyfangirl @itbmojojoejo @namelesslosers @fictionalmenjusthitdifferent @darkenchantress @dixie-elocin @troublesomesnitch

modern!Aegon masterlist || navi

[gladiatorcunt]

summary: king!aegon ii targaryen x afab rhaenyra’s child!reader

cw: CANON TYPICAL incest/targcest, boot worship, free use, public, voyeurism/exhibitionism (non con on the guards part 💀), hints of reader being just as much of a weirdo i’m sorry (rhaenyra can’t blame them tho), used a valyrian translator so if there’s any mistakes no there’s not <3, fucking on the iron throne as a celebratory end of work day thing, everything is 100% consensual on reader’s part, one use of “whore”, aegon’s pet names are all food related 🥴 (deadass almost had him call reader beer for the joke)

wc: 888 (🎱✨)

block & move on if uncomfortable !!

do not repost, translate, or give ai my work

last hotd fic for a bit bc i’m out of ideas

kinktober masterlist

“Ry paktot, ilagon ao jikagon, jorrāelagon (all right, down you go love).”

You and your uncle Aegon have the strangest end of day ritual. It always starts with you being shoved on your knees, his hands cradling your shoulders to protect you from the sharp iron throne.

All others are sent away from the room, save for a few guards that had been eyeing your body far too much for his liking. You were yet to be married but numerous whispers of your sexual exploits ran through the castle like wildfire. Aegon II Targaryen, was a king that one could not even sneeze in front of for fear of setting him off. So he is careful to keep those shrews' musings away from you, it was a feat of strength to coerce you into being as bold as you are now.

“Come now, elilla (honey). Clean my shoes so i can give your cunt the fucking it deserves.” He orders you, and you are all too eager, especially with the eyes of the uncomfortable guards on you.

You pray to the Gods that Aegon does not catch them looking with their peripheral vision, pausing your fun to murder more of the staff would really rain on your parade.

The shoes of your king are cleaned before you put your tongue to them, something that you’re almost disappointed by at this point. You are tempted to ask him to turn away the shoe shiner for next time.

His crown has the same red haze surrounding it that lives deep within Aegon, and it commands your attention all the same. You let your eyes softly fall shut as you run your wet tongue along the edge of his boot. The metallic tang has become an old friend, as well as any paltry specs of blood you find. You fear that you could possibly develop a craving for it.

You prostrate yourself before your betrothed as if you were a humming bird that had come face to face with Balerion himself. A house kitten mewling for the attention of a tiger. It is not unlike performing a blow job. Your lashes become the sheer curtains you look out of and your mouth fulfills its purpose.

You flatten your tongue and begin to dip into the crevices, getting every inch of his shoes slick with your spit. Aegon has his weeping cock in the firm hold of both of his hands, and he times his strokes to every flick of your tongue.

Your “services” last for what feels like an eternity. Your uncle’s eyes wander to keep the forcibly voyeuristic guards in check. You can hear their feet shuffling on the ground as they squirm behind you, and Aegon is so pleased by this that he returns his attention to his beloved pet.

“Prūbres (apple), that is quite enough. Come back up, darling.” He says while gingerly rubbing the heel of his boot into your cheek.

“Yes, qȳbor (uncle).”

You clamor into his lap, taking the initiative by lifting your previously stretched hole over his cock. One of his hands claws into the flesh of your hip to steady you, and the other positions his cock upright. Once you get past the pink tip, your walls are snugly wrapped around his entire length in seconds. You both groan as he bottoms out. Aegon wastes no time and digs his nails into your other hip, lifting you off of his cock until the tip catches against your entrance and swiftly dropping you back down.

“My whore, a jewel worth more than any found in my crown.” The word comes out between gritted teeth, but the thumb drawing loose circles on your pearl is kinder. “Not one of those filthy dogs will ever know the pleasure of a cunny as sweet as the one made for me.”

“They will not.” You whined, relishing in the red marks his nails were no doubt leaving on your jiggling ass as you bounced on his girthy cock. “Only you, qȳbor (uncle), only my king. They could hang for all I care.”

You have an awful habit for letting words flow from your mouth with no thought of their consequences. It’s not your fault though, you muse as Aegon scratches at your moving globes of flesh, your cunt takes priority more often than not. You ignore the spark that ignites in his soul at the foolish declaration.

His thumb stops teasing your clit and rubs it harshly up and down until your rapid bouncing ceases in favor of chasing that high. He only has to spank you a single time for you to shatter around his cock with an angelic and blissfully soft moan. You let your torso fall to his and you bury your face in his neck as his other hand travels to grope your other ass cheek.

Aegon spills into you with an embarrassingly long and loud groan, licking at the pulse point of your neck as he fucks himself into overstimulation. This is the only time he will allow the guards to drink your sex in, so they can gawk at the pure amount of spend that leaks out of your ravaged cunny. He pretends not to notice or enjoy the stares, spreading your fat cheeks to give them a better view.

“Leave us be.”

[miraclewoozi]

ELECTRIC. - y.jh

your best friend is many things. smart, funny, empathetic, a complete and utter pain in your ass to name but a few. and on the evening of his twenty-eighth birthday, you discover something a little unexpected: jeonghan is very afraid of thunderstorms. 

pairing : jeonghan x fem reader. content : f2?. smut. fluff. a bit of angst. comfort. (MINORS DNI) w/c : 6.3k warnings : swearing. jeonghan has astraphobia / a fear of storms (for a brief period, he's a little fragile). intentional lowercase. smut tags utc. PLEASE let me know if i've forgotten anything. notes : happy birthday to this sweetest of sweethearts. i would chew my right arm off if he asked me to. (barely proofread. if you see a typo, no you didn't.<3)

smut tags : pussy drunk jeonghan (my beloved), no real power dynamics but jh is a cocky mf and a bit of a dick, panty sniffing hehe, fingering, oral sex (f rec), reader is turned on by the storm. they're very unserious about it.

the lead actors meet in a kiss. the screen fades to black. so ends yet another round of your annual birthday movie nights.

jeonghan reaches for the remote and silences the end credit theme to the film you’ve just finished watching at the same time as you lift your head up off his shoulder, stretching high above your head and letting out perhaps the loudest yawn (-stroke-moan) of your life. your joints ache from too long spent in one, rather cramped, position, your eyes feel heavy in the late hour. the room falls almost silent around you both, save for the harsh splashing of rain against the windows. 

(this really doesn’t help the fact that you’re seconds away from falling asleep.)

“what did you think?” jeonghan asks, stretching his long legs out in front of him. 

“not my best pick,” you say, scrunching your nose a little. “not my worst, either.”

your best friend gives a short ‘ha’ of agreement, finally standing up off the couch. “couldn’t have said it better myself.” 

he gathers up the takeout boxes currently decorating his coffee table and grabs the now empty drinks glasses with his free hand, grunting softly as he stands fully upright again. you see him trying to roll out a kink in his neck and laugh from where you’re still settled comfortably in the couch cushions.

“you’re going stiff in your old age,” you tease him, grinning brightly. he fires a look at you that simultaneously dares you to keep going down this path, and yet also, tiredly agrees. “remind me to book you a good massage for your birthday next year.”

he grunts something that sounds suspiciously like an instruction to go fuck yourself as he takes his leave from the room, carrying everything that needs to be thrown away or washed up into the kitchen. you busy yourself on your phone while he’s gone, deciding to check in on your weather app. you quite like the rain and you’re really not that worried about driving home in it; you’re just curious how long it’s going to last for. 

in the delay of the app opening, a series of bright flashes bounce off every single wall in the living room. when you glance outside, the rain is falling harder than before; barely ten seconds later, a thunderclap roars through the ajar windows and you feel it all the way down into your tummy. 

you don’t have a chance to excitedly run across the room to get a look at the storm, though. a loud swear and the sound of crashing glass stings your eardrums before the rumble is even over. instead, you’re bolting through in the same direction jeonghan disappeared off in just moments ago, your heart having taken dangerous residence your stomach.

“what’s wrong?!” you ask as you skid around the corner in your socks, just managing to catch yourself from sliding straight into the wall at the end of the hallway. “i heard a—”

you freeze, then, falling silent. jeonghan is gripping onto the kitchen counter like his life depends on it with both shattered glasses laying at his feet; he looks like he’s seen a ghost, all white-knuckled and clammy and pale-lipped. it’s terrifying. 

“hey,” you say, slowly making your way into the room, mindful not to startle him and even more careful not to stand on one of the many shards on the laminate. “what happened? are you okay?”

he nods, weakly. swallows hard. blinks a few times, curls and uncurls his fingers, steps back from the counter. 

“yeah,” he breathes eventually, uncertain and still visibly shaken. he wipes his palms on his sweatpants and looks over at you, forcing a smile, but you’ve known him for entirely too long to be sold on this terrible performance. “i, uh-...”

but jeonghan stops short, shaking his head, running out of words to say. for a moment, you think maybe he’s about to apologise; that’s the shape his lips make, anyway. you cut in before he gets the chance.

“it’s okay,” you say, leaning one hip up against the counter. “go sit down, i’ll clear all this up. watch where you stand, though.”

“you don’t have to–” he starts, but you interject before he can even entertain the idea of cleaning the mess himself.

“i know i don’t, but i want to. go. i’ll only be a minute.”

begrudgingly, he agrees; you grab the broom from his kitchen cupboard and start slowly sweeping the broken glass into a dustpan while he carefully steps on the safe parts of the floor and makes his way back through to the living room. you make reasonably quick work of everything, emptying the fragments into the bin on top of the takeout boxes – all that’s left by the time you’re finished a couple of minutes later, is to try and figure out what caused all this in the first place.

jeonghan isn’t an easily shaken individual; you know this from years of experience. he seems to be able to catch you every time, without fail: whether he’s just popping out at you from behind a door and making you yelp, or he’s near-on giving you heart failure by texting you that something terrible has happened and that you need to come over, immediately, only for said ‘terrible’ thing to be that he got really comfy on the couch without making any popcorn. but regardless of all the numerous ways he manages to terrorise you, you’ve never, ever managed to do the same back to him. 

he’s always shrugged off your attempts, bragging that he just isn’t afraid of anything. so… you’re not really any closer to finding an answer at the time of going back through to the living room with your backpack slung over one shoulder.

“you wanna tell me what happened in there?” you ask, sitting down next to him on the couch. you’re sure his posture is supposed to be an attempt to convince you that he’s absolutely fine, now, but jeonghan looks stiff and is outright refusing to meet your eyes, despite your best attempts. again, unfortunately, you aren’t so easily fooled.

“i just came over dizzy,” he lies, doing his best to play it down. “maybe i stood up too fast and had a delayed reaction, i don’t know.”

“i’ve known corpses get up faster than you did, hannie,” you deadpan, laying one hand by his knee. “come on. that’s crap.”

he doesn’t quite jerk away from you, but you do feel his thigh muscles tense under your touch. you slide your palm down onto the couch between you instead in an effort to make him a tiny bit more comfortable. 

“it’s nothing,” he tries. “really. it’s–”

“jeonghan–”

“y/n.”

the room around you falls silent, both of your stubborn personalities at a stalemate. he won’t talk, and you won’t let him stay quiet. it’s been this way for years. since you were teenagers, even. you’d think he would have learned by now. (he hopes that you might have, too.)

but, there is a fact at play that makes you stop staring him down, and you relax your shoulders slightly as you sit forwards.

“i’m only letting this go because it’s your birthday,” you sigh, clasping your hands together. “if it was any other day of the week–”

“yeah, yeah. trust me. i know.”

there’s an edge to his voice that almost sounds like your jeonghan. like the teasing menace you know and adore. almost. it’s missing something. missing his usual spark.

“i swear to god, though, if i find out you’re sick and you’re not telling me,” you mutter under your breath. not quite under your breath enough, mind – he hears you perfectly, and you can see, out of the corner of his eye as you start to rummage through your backpack for your car keys, the way his ears prick up.

“don’t be stupid, i’m not sick,” he says. the truth in these words, specifically, is evident in the weight of his voice, in the way his fingers brush against the small of your back. “i swear.”

“pinky swear?” you ask, turning to look at him over one shoulder.

he holds out his little finger on his right hand for you, both eyebrows raised in a silent challenge. you pinch your lips tight before hooking your own pinky through his, leaning in and pressing a short kiss to the pad of your thumb. the way you used to when you were kids. ‘you really can’t break those.’ he used to say. ‘they’re like, triple the strength’. saved for really important promises. when he does the same, you know you can believe him.

“okay,” you concede, going back to your search. “in that case – i think i’m gonna head on home before the roads get flooded.” you had to learn the hard way that the drains in this part of town aren’t known for their ability to handle much more than a middling rainfall.

somehow – always, somehow – buried at the very bottom of your backpack, you manage to find your keys and your hand curls around them as soon as you feel one of the rough edges against your fingertips. it’s barely been three seconds since your announcement, but jeonghan has managed to shuffle right into your personal bubble anyway and is now sitting with one arm pressed fully against your own.

“i don’t know if it’s safe to drive when it’s like this,” he says quietly. “it seems dangerous.”

“i think i’ll be okay if i leave, like, soon,” you try to reassure him. 

“you think,” he repeats, narrowing his eyes at you. 

“i’ve driven in so much worse, believe me,” you say. “don’t worry, i’ll be careful.”

“why don’t you just stay the night?” he offers. “you’re not working tomorrow, are you?”

“i’m not,” you confirm, and you do genuinely consider the offer for a moment before deciding to decline. “but i need a shower, and–”

jeonghan interrupts you, a little too quickly. “you can use my shower, i’ve got spare towels. i’ll sleep on the couch. don’t drive in this.”

“hannie, stop worrying,” you laugh, starting towards the door. “i promise, i’ll go slow and i’ll text you the second i’m home.”

“y/n,” he sighs, stepping towards you, jaw tense. “please. just this once.”

you swallow, looking all over his face, trying to figure out what train of thought the cogs behind his eyes are turning in tune with, why he’s so stressed about this. you’ve never known him behave like this sober. (you’ve only ever known him to be like this once, at all, and he tried to kiss you, then, so–)

“i really…” you start, only to be interrupted by another brilliant white flash. your eyes dart to the window just in time to see the lightning bolt through the clouds, and you feel your face noticeably soften in wonder. barely four seconds later – it’s getting closer – the loudest thunder clap you think you’ve heard in your life drowns out every thought you’ve ever had. 

every thought, except the sudden pressure of jeonghan’s fist around your forearm. every thought, except the stuttered gasp he lets slip. every thought, except the sudden fear in his too-wide-eyes.

oh, you think, realisation dawning on you as the blunt press of his nails grows just a fraction softer in time with the end of the rumble. that’s…

“it’s okay,” you say softly, taking a step closer to jeonghan and opening your arms for him to step into. “it’s okay. i’m here.”

he falls against you like an unsteady house of cards, his arms tight around your back and his head buried into the place in your shoulder where it fits the best. you’ve never seen him like this, and you’re not really sure what to do with yourself; he’s always been the sturdy one, between the two of you. he’s always been your rock. there’s a little bit of an irony in how he’s always been the one to help you weather the storm, but with the shoe on the other foot…

“how can i help you?” you ask, trailing your fingers up and down his back, not really sure that he can feel you through the thick material of his sweatshirt but you’re trying your best, anyway. 

he squeezes you tighter, buries his head further down into your shoulder, takes a few shaky breaths in through his mouth and screws his eyes shut a little more before he makes his request. 

“please stay with me.”

if your heart wasn’t aching for him before, it most certainly is now. you nod to the room at large, hoping jeonghan can feel the movement even a little. you don’t loosen your hold around him, though: you let your best friend cling to you for as long as his muscles will allow before they start to ache and he has to step away. 

“come with me,” you say once he’s finished running his fingers through his hair, trying to set it back to rights. “it’s okay.” you hold one of your hands out to him and he takes it, albeit apprehensively; giving his palm a squeeze with your own, you guide him through the apartment towards his bedroom.

“what are you–?” he asks, and despite his earlier hesitance to hold onto your hand, he doesn’t want to let go of you now you’ve reached your destination. he just stands next to you, fingers threaded through yours, looking at your face with tired eyes and a lifted brow. 

“grab your bedsheets,” you tell him, shaking your hand free. “and your pillows. we’re gonna make a fort.”

“a what?”

“a blanket fort,” you say. “to hide from the storm.”

he doesn’t say anything for a moment, and for a brief second, you think maybe the idea has offended him. his face hasn’t lifted into the smile you sort of expected it to; instead, he’s just staring down at his bed as if he’s trying to will himself out of existence.

“we don’t have to do all that,” he says. “it’s… that’s way too much?”

“it’s your birthday,” you counter. “and i want to make you a birthday fort. like we used to, when we were kids. it’ll be fun!”

he gives a little sigh, but it’s not one of sadness or exasperation with you. it’s defeat. except, you think if you could taste it, you’d be able to pick up a tiny lacing of sweetness in his exhale. 

“fine. you’re building it, though.”

you think it’s safe to say that perhaps, you’re a bit out of practice. you distinctly remember this being much easier when you were young: throwing bedsheets and blankets over the couch and propping them up with chairs or broomsticks. the forts that you would make as a child were, truly, a sight to behold: you used fairy-lights to decorate one, once, and it still remains one of your most prideful projects to date. the slight catastrophe that sits in jeonghan’s living room by the time you’ve finished laying out the last few pillows is… more a cave, in your opinion, and not a very pretty one, but you emerge from it smiling anyway and jeonghan looks at you so fondly that no matter how rubbish it is, it’s worth the half an hour you spent putting it together.

“what do you think?” you ask, sitting back on your heels.

“it’s not your best,” jeonghan teases as he walks towards your monstrosity masterpiece, critically eyeing the ‘roof’ that would definitely fail any kind of health and safety audit. “but it’s not your worst, either.”

a bright smile lights up your face as he drops down to his knees and crawls inside the space alongside you, letting the ‘door’ (a particularly thick blanket) fall down behind him. one of the (many, many, many, many, many) problems you encountered was trying to make one of these to fit two grown adults, but with him tucked away inside with you and a few flashlights to prevent you from being plunged into darkness… ignoring the potential for it all to come collapsing in on you at any given time, it’s surprisingly comfortable. 

you lay back against the pillows first and jeonghan follows soon after, a weirdly gleeful smile playing at his lips as he does. he curls into your side and you talk, and talk, and talk. about everything. about nothing. it doesn’t really matter.

you’re not quite sure why, but the deep roars of the storm outside don’t seem to bother jeonghan quite as much in here. maybe it’s because he’s not alone, and there’s no imminent threat for him to be: maybe your company really is making a difference. he still reaches for you every time there’s a particularly loud clap, still closes his eyes and takes a series of deep breaths until his stress passes, but for whatever reason, he feels significantly less tense.

and when, after the third boom, he decides just… not to let go of your hand? who are you to try and force him?

there’s… just one problem, though. you’re ecstatic that the storm isn’t bothering jeonghan as much, now. that he can talk absolute nonsense to you in your private little hideaway, that he can lean his head against your shoulder and chuckle at your bad jokes and even crack a few of his own. genuinely, you could not be happier. for him.

but there was more reason than wanting to sleep in your own bed that had you desperately trying to get home before you realised the gravity of your best friend’s situation. 

with every new growl of thunder outside, something low in your stomach twists, accompanied by an ache, a warmth, a throbbing between your thighs. at first, it was easy enough to battle through. you kept telling yourself that the thunder never lasts too long, that you could get through this without jeonghan being any the wiser, that everything was going to be fine. but now, almost an hour later, the buzz of electricity in the atmosphere and the entirely-too-addicting scent of your best friend’s fabric softener has you feeling hot enough you could faint.

you twist and shuffle over and over, hoping to find a position that eases the throbbing. it’s fine, you think, taking a deep breath and praying to every deity you can recall by name that jeonghan doesn’t notice your discomfort. i can do this. it’s fine. just a little while longer.

a spectacular boom sounds through the apartment and jeonghan’s fingers tighten around yours so much that, against all your better judgement, you let out a loud gasp. not out of pain, though – no, you wish. if only it was that easy. ha. no – as he squeezes your hand, images flash through your mind of him being the one to relieve you of the tension building up beneath your skin. of him gripping and grasping and tugging, thrusting, tasting, adoring. your throat runs dry and you squeeze your thighs together desperately, pinching your lips tight, willing your pounding heart to calm the fuck down. willing your cunt to stop drooling into your panties.

“fuck,” you breathe when he finally lets go. you feel him shuffle at your side and prop himself up on one elbow, looking down at your face with mild terror written into the lines of his own.

“i’m so sorry – did that hurt?” he asks, searching your eyes for any kind of clue. you wish he wouldn’t. surely, you think, pressing your tongue harshly against the roof of your mouth, surely my pupils are blown to oblivion, right now.

you shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak.

“are you sure?” he asks, slowly running his fingers down your arm, moving to take hold of your hand again if you’ll let him. you flinch, the drag of his nails akin to an electric shock – like being struck by lightning, you tell yourself – and he snaps his hand back straight away. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing,” you hurry, pushing yourself up to sit (almost head-butting him in the process) and groaning at the way the seam on your jeans rubs against your clit. who wears fucking jeans to a movie night? what absolute moron–

“do you feel okay?” jeonghan questions, sitting fully upright now too. “do you think it was the foo–”

“oh my god, please,” you whimper, bowing your head, letting your hair fall around your face, shielding you from him. just a little. not quite enough. “please. i’m fine. stop asking. i’m fine.”

“said everyone, ever, who was in fact – not fine,” jeonghan quips. “do you need water? i can help, just talk to me–”

“jeonghan,” you snap, whipping your head back up. your face feels hot and you don’t know if you’ve ever felt this tense before in all your years on this earth. all your muscles are tweaking in anticipation for something that most certainly is not going to happen, and you really need him to stop talking in that deep, smooth, caring voice. with immediate effect. for the love of god – 

…and heaven above, the penny drops. 

jeonghan’s concerned expression turns to one of complete shock and you cover your face with both hands, trying so desperately hard not to be perceived by him in this most humiliating of moments. he doesn’t say anything for a second, and you tell yourself that he’s probably trying to find either a terrible joke to ease the tension or a way to tell you to go home. you don’t know which would be worse, but it’s only a matter of time until you find out.

therefore, you definitely don’t expect him to pry your hands away from your cheeks, and for his shit-eating, impishly charming, handsome-as-fuck grin to be the first thing your eyes land on when you open them.

“really? thunderstorms?” he asks, close enough that you feel the breaths that his words don’t quite steal. “that’s your kink?”

“it’s not a kink,” you whine, throwing your hands down either side of you. he doesn’t release his hold on your wrist, though. “come on, don’t be–”

“of all the things you could be into,” he says. oh, he’s back. he’s back with a vengeance. you suppose, really, you should be glad that he’s feeling more like his usual self, but the fact that it’s at your expense? that there’s no-one else around for him to turn on instead? that this is your topic of conversation at ten past midnight on his living room floor?

“hannie, please,” you huff, lips drawing downwards into a frowning pout. the ache isn’t going away. why isn’t it going away? why is this cocky, smirking version of your best friend making you feel even hotter under the collar? what’s going on? “don’t you think i’ve suffered enough?”

“not even nearly,” he says, sitting up on his knees, resting his palms on his thighs. “since when? how did you even fig–”

boom.

and his jaw falls slack, watching you squirm.

you’re quite literally fighting for your life. or, at minimum, for your friendship. because, really, you could jump jeonghan’s bones right now and you don’t actually think he’d turn you down (something to be filed under: thoughts that are not making this any easier). but that’s not what you’re trying to do; you’re trying to help him feel better, and take his mind off his fear, and when he pulls his bottom lip between his bottom teeth before speaking –

“okay, wait. hear me out.”

to both of your surprises, you do. you don’t try and protest, which he was sort of expecting you to do. you don’t tell him to shut up, you don’t try and get away from him. you sit there, eyes wide, hands curling into the blankets beneath your slowly numbing ass, and you wait for him to continue.

“i can help you.”

your heart shoots up into your throat and you struggle to swallow around it. your breaths are heavy, laboured, your lips parted and a little swollen from how you’ve been biting at them for the past hour and a bit.

“you don’t have to–”

“shut up, y/n,” he says dismissively, crawling in front of you and lifting your hands away from the bedding you’re kneading (pathetically, in his professional opinion) like a cat. “listen. you’ve helped me so much tonight, you don’t even know. let me return the favour.”

“hannie…”

“hannie,” he whines, in a poor imitation of your voice. “hannie, i only helped you because you needed me– is that it? look at you, y/n. you’re a mess.”

if this were anyone else, you’d be livid. not only at the way he so effortlessly makes fun of you, but at the fact that he accurately finished your sentence without having anything more than an affectionate nickname to work from as a hint. you don’t know what to say, suddenly stunned into silence, but it’s all right. you don’t need to say anything; he keeps going.

“you need me. let me help you – look. it’s my birthday.”

he wants this, you think to yourself, growing slightly concerned by the way your heart continues to hammer in your throat. he wants… me.

you give one slow, but definite, nod of your head and jeonghan’s grin grows from cocky to genuine. he crawls until he’s right up in your space, lifting a hand to your cheek, and you forget how to breathe for a moment as he looks you in the eyes with more heat than the mid-august sun.

“lie down,” he says, pushing that last little bit closer and capturing your lips in a kiss. it’s short, but mind-boggling. your brain goes totally blank when he pulls away. “it’s okay. i’ve got you.”

but you do as he says and shuffle around the little fort so you’re on your back, head resting against one of the many pillows you’re grateful you brought in here with you. he crawls on top of you, then, caging you in with one hand either side of your head, settling with one of his knees slotted between your just-parted thighs. 

“okay?” he asks, searching your face for any signs of discomfort or worry. he doesn’t find any, though – he’s met only with a perhaps too enthusiastic nod and your hands playing at the hem of his sweatshirt. he chuckles, bending down to kiss you again, a little deeper this time, a little longer. open-mouthed and hot, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip, dropping onto one elbow so his torso lies almost flush against yours. 

“easy, tiger. taking care of you, right now.”

you sigh as his lips start to descend down the column of your throat, and you press your shoulders back into the blankets to try and push that little bit closer to him. one of his hands slips beneath your own shirt and his palm comes to rest flush against your hip, dragging his thumb in small circles over your skin. 

“this,” he mumbles into your collarbone, tugging the neckline of the garment between his teeth for a moment so you know what he’s referring to. “off.”

“bossy,” you mumble, your body cold all of a sudden as he sits back away from you and you tug your t-shirt off over your head. as you do, he reaches behind his neck and tugs off his sweatshirt as well before he tosses it up near your head, out of the way.

now, this is certainly not the first time you’ve ever been around jeonghan without anything covering his top half, but it is something that you rarely get the chance to see. if it’s not the fact that he’s chronically freezing cold, it’s because he’s grown emotionally attached to some of the baggiest tops known to mankind, or he’s worried about getting a sunburn so is still covered up at the beach. for one reason or another, this just isn’t something you’re blessed to see very often, and he looks so good you almost forget that it’s him.

of course, that only lasts until he says something really fucking dumb. in other words, all of about three seconds.

“how… practical,” he says, eyes trained down on the bra covering your tits. in a way, it’s probably a good thing you’ve snapped back to your senses, because you once again find yourself thinking that if this were anyone else, you’d have told them to get off you and never call you again.

but why is jeonghan, of all people, criticising your choice of comfy underwear… weirdly endearing?

“sorry,” you grunt, making no effort to hide the (flesh-toned, full-coverage, entirely too old) bra that he’s looking at like it’s personally offending him. “didn’t expect to need to impress, tonight.”

“don’t be sorry,” jeonghan says, shaking his head as he unpops the button on your jeans and tugs them down over your hips. “just… do better next time, yeah?”

you laugh so suddenly, so abruptly, so loudly that you choke on your own spit and end up coughing a little, propping up on one elbow to try and relieve the burn in your lungs as he continues to work your pants off your legs. by the time he scrunches them into a ball and puts them to the side, too, you’ve managed to catch your breath, and gasp out, “next time?”

“next time,” he nods, making himself comfortable between your thighs. he lays one palm on the inside of each knee, pushing them as far apart as your hips will allow, before he brings one hand over your covered cunt and drags his thumb up and down your slit.

you don’t even get a chance to ask why he’s so sure there’ll be a next time. he skillfully works you through the material and in seconds, has you tipping your head back into the pillows, moaning at the overwhelming feeling of finally being touched.

“so fucking wet,” he sighs, feeling your arousal through the cotton of your underwear, pressing the material between your folds. his thumb circles your clit over and over, the pressure just right – not so light that he’s teasing, not so hard that you’re squirming away from him. hell, if you knew he was this good, you’d have dragged him into bed years ago.

“come on, hannie,” you gulp as he starts to work his thumb faster, starts to massage at your inner thigh with his other hand. “need more…”

well, he doesn’t need to be told twice. you lift your hips and he tugs your panties down your thighs, unhooking them from around your ankles. you expect him to, you know, return to business, but he does something just a little bit unhinged first and brings your soaked underwear up to his face. you hear how deeply, how loudly he inhales, the subsequent groan he gives even louder, and you swear the reason you end up bumping his hip with your knee is to bring him back to earth, because it actually feels like he’s forgotten you’re lying right there.

“i’ll do it myself, in a minute,” you threaten, and jeonghan grins wickedly down at you as he lowers your panties down to join the rest of your discarded clothes. 

“no you won’t,” he tells you – he tells you? – , finally now lying down between your legs, just inches away from your glistening cunt. “god – as if i’d ever let that happen.”

“i swear– ” you start, half a second before one of his fingers presses against your hole. you stop talking with a gasp, a hand flying to your chest and squeezing against your tit. just like that. in a heartbeat, you’re done for. 

he seems intent on gathering as much of your arousal on his fingertip as he possibly can, running it through your folds, pressing it inside you, smearing your slick all over and then some like a fucked-up painting. only once he’s satisfied does he finally start to work his finger in and out, pressing his lips just above where your clit is begging for his attention.

“don’t play stupid,” you chide him when he looks up at you through his lashes, eyes wide and feigning innocence. “if you can find it through my underwear, you can find it now.”

“bossy,” jeonghan tuts. “what’s with the rush, huh?” 

and he adds another finger to the first, both long and elegant and reaching spots inside you that your own physically can’t. you keen against your will, hips reacting of their own accord, trying to fuck your pussy down against his hand. he makes no effort to stop you.

“m’not gonna beg,” you tell him. “just – fuck, get your mouth on me. now.”

to his credit, he does.

and more to his credit, being eaten out has never, ever felt this good.

the hand not grasping at your chest shoots down to tangle in his long, silky hair, and jeonghan moans loudly against your pussy as he laves his tongue everywhere he can. over your clit, between your folds, slipping it inside your hole in place of his fingers – he’s relentless, slurping and groaning and finding some sort of insane stamina from somewhere deep in his soul. you swear to god, this is not the man who sometimes falls asleep with his light on because he doesn’t have the energy to get up and turn them off.

within a matter of minutes, you can feel the coil in the pit of your stomach growing tighter and tighter, your walls fluttering around his fingers, your moans and whines only getting louder by the minute. your legs are shaking. your thoughts are little more than static, and him. at some point – you don’t know when –, jeonghan reached around your hips to pull your thighs together and clamped them around his ears, mumbling against your clit something to the effect of to help with the thunder. (you don’t mention that there hasn’t actually been another thunder crack since he started making out with your pussy. it doesn’t feel relevant, somehow.)

every time you tighten your thighs, every time you squirm, he hugs you tighter against his cheeks and you just end up humping against his tongue. something tells you maybe that was the plan all along? 

sparks of energy start to prickle all over your skin as you teeter on the edge of your high. your fist tightens in jeonghan’s hair, your breaths become fewer and further between. it’s frankly a bit of a miracle you’ve even managed to last this long – you held back as long as you could, determined to milk as much of the pleasure his hands and his mouth so skillfully bring as you can. just in case there’s no next time, but… hell, do you hope there is.

“hannie, i’m–” you gasp, his fingers curling upwards again and resuming their earlier assault on your g-spot. “fuck, hannie, i’m so close–”

“mm, have been for a while, huh?” he asks, drawing his mouth away from you, licking his tongue over his arousal-slickened lips. “you’ve been holding out on me.”

“yeah, but-... i wanna come so bad,” you swallow. jeonghan flicks his tongue out over your clit again and you jolt up into the touch. “please, don’t stop.”

“won’t,” he promises. and it’s the last thing he says before his lips meet your pussy again and he brings you over the edge into the most electrifying of climaxes.

by the time you’ve stopped twitching with the aftershocks of your orgasm, jeonghan is sat up on his knees again, softly massaging at your hips with his thumbs. your vision is still kind of fuzzy at the edges when you glance up at him, and for a moment, with a hazy outline and an amber glow behind him owed to the flashlight you set at the entrance to the fort, you think he looks a little too much like an angel.

“where the hell did that come from?” you ask him, fighting against the squirming in your belly. fighting against the sensation that feels a little too much like butterflies. 

“really?” he asks in a breathy laugh. “that’s-... i mean, do you actually want to know, or…?”

you mull this over for a moment before crossing your arms over your eyes and concealing yourself from his view, shaking your head. one part of you is morbidly curious as to how he got so good at giving head. the other part of you is too busy trying to gather the brain cells he just sent flying across about eight different dimensions.

“i think you’ve broken me, jeonghan,” you breathe, feeling more than seeing him lie down next to you again. his lips press sweetly against the curve of your shoulder. warmth radiates from that one spot, all over your body. you smile, like a complete loser. 

what’s worse is that you really don’t mind.

“is that a yes, then?” he asks, slinging an arm over your waist. you turn your head to look at him, eyes crossing a little with how unexpectedly close he is. 

“yes to what?” 

“to next time,” he says. his grin matches yours and you nod your head at him, yes. in your peripheral vision, you notice how he lifts one hand, extends his little finger. straight in front of you, you see both of his eyebrows raise.

you pinch your lips tight before hooking your own pinky through his, leaning in and pressing a short kiss to the pad of your thumb. the way you used to when you were kids. ‘you really can’t break those.’ he used to say. ‘they’re like, triple the strength’. 

saved for really important promises.

“to next time.”

thank u so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed this. as always, your likes/reblogs/comments and feedback are always deeply appreciated.&lt;3

[whateveriwant]

Choice

Summary: Simon forces you to choose. Him, your husband… or the other man he found in your bed.

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warnings: ANGST

A/N: Forgive me.

“Simon!” you gasp, bolting upright in bed.

There, darkening the doorway to your bedroom, stands your beloved husband. You thought you'd spotted something lurking in the shadows of your periphery, but rather than it being a mere figment of your imagination like you'd hoped, you've come to find out that's not at all the case.

Simon’s brows are knitted tightly together, the lines framing the sides of mouth deepening as he begins to scowl. “Fuckin’ knew it,” he grits out. “Knew you were a fuckin’ liar.” His eyes flit back and forth between you and the figure lying beside you in bed, and if looks could kill, you'd both be six feet under.

“Simon, no, wait–!” You're quick to shoo the other male from your bed even as your husband storms away. Jumping to your feet, you chase after him, tugging your shirt into place from where it had ridden up. Simon’s just reached the living room when you manage to catch up with him. “Simon, please just–”

“When will enough be enough?” he cuts you short as he whirls around to confront you. You've never seen such anger rippling from him before, and it makes you recoil, stopping dead in your tracks. “When's it gonna end, huh? You promised me you were gonna fuckin’ stop this.”

“I-I-I know I did, Simon,” your voice trembles under the weight of your shame.

He's right. After the last time, you’d told him that was it, that it would never happen again.

So much for keeping your promise.

“I'm– I'm so sorry,” you try to offer him, for whatever it may be worth.

Apparently, it's worth very little as he proceeds to scoff right in your face.

“You’re ‘sorry’?” His expression pinches to show how he takes offense to that apology. “That’s three times this month I've caught you. Three. Let alone how many other times I'm sure have been behind my back.”

Again, he’s right on the target. You’ve been dishonest with your husband, been deceiving him more times than you can even remember at this point. Though you're in no place to feel as if you're the one that's been hurt in this situation, you can't help how his biting words feel like daggers plunging right into your stomach.

Simon sighs and brings a hand up to rub his forehead, the self-soothing gesture doing nothing to soften the lines creasing his skin. After a while, he asks, “Why?” his voice much calmer than it was a moment ago. “Why d’you keep doin’ this? Lyin’? Sneakin’ around?”

When he drops his hand to look at you again, you can see how quickly his emotions have shifted from fury to sorrow. The sight of his grief almost wrenches your heart in two, and you swallow the lump in your throat, your own emotions threatening to spill forth and choke you.

“I… I don't know,” you tell him, yet another lie.

You know the truth behind your actions, the real reason you can't break this bad habit. It's because you're selfish; because you're spineless; because you're fucking weak.

Your answer, the unconvincing slop that is, isn't good enough for Simon, and his shoulders rise in a show of perplexity. “Am I not treatin’ you right? I've been withholdin’ from you? Is that it?”

You're shaking your head before he even finishes the inquiry. “No, Simon. It's nothing like that,” you say.

“Well then, explain it to me.” He tosses a hand into the air, the frustration in his tone palpable. “Because I'm tryin’ to understand what makes him so bloody special. What is it about him that makes you treat me like a fuckin’ afterthought?”

“I don't–!” you begin, the accusation immediately putting you on the defense. But then you pause and intake a deep breath, trying to rein yourself back in. The last thing you want is to strike a match against this highly combustible conversation. If ignited, this powder keg runs the risk of taking you both out with it.

You take another moment to collect yourself before releasing an audible exhale. “Yes, he means a lot to me–”

“Oh, well, I'm bloody well aware of that, thank you.”

You ignore the derisive comment as you continue, “–but you're my husband, Simon. At the end of the day, I always want you,” you emphasize. You can feel a stitch forming between your brows as they slowly pull together. “I know you're upset with me – and I understand, truly – but I… I-I just…” your voice trails off as you consider your next words.

You know what you want to say, what niggling thought you want to express. But you're not sure if voicing it aloud is the right move to take. You're trying to cool down the tension here, not potentially add fuel to the fire.

But as Simon prompts, “What?” you realize there's no backing out of it now.

You sigh. “I just think you're blowing this whole thing out of proportion.”

The way your husband's eyes immediately widen tell you it was probably better to have kept your mouth shut.

“Blowin’ thi–?!” Simon blinks wildly in disbelief, his anger from earlier surging back tenfold. His voice is venomous as he spits, “I catch you lyin’ to me, catch you continuously goin’ behind my back.” He points an accusatory finger in the direction of your bedroom. “I catch you with that filthy shite in our bed–”

“Hey, don't call–”

“–see him lyin’ there, sleepin’ on my fuckin’ pillow, and you think I'm ‘blowin’ this out of proportion’?!” he's fully shouting now, his volume having risen alongside his fury. Simon lets out a dry chuckle that's entirely devoid of humor. “Do you even hear yourself? Do my feelings mean nothin’ to you anymore? Do you– Do you even really love me?” his voice peaks as a wave of despair washes over him.

“Wha–?” Now it's your turn to blink wildly as you're caught off guard by that last sentence. “Of– Of course I do, Simon! Of course.” How can he even ask you such a thing?

“You just love him more, then, right?” The question stings like a punch to the gut.

You shake your head vehemently, asserting, “No. No, of course not!” even as you feel a twinge of guilt pricking the base of your skull.

Just as you're slightly skeptical of your own words, so too is Simon, and he brushes you off with a, “Pssh, right.”

The heightened emotions of the last several minutes persist even as you and your husband lapse into a tense silence.

As you stand there, you watch as Simon begins to harshly run both hands through his hair, not sure what you should say – if there's anything to say in this moment. Though you and he have had this same argument more times than you'd like to admit, something about this time felt different to you, felt like there were higher stakes in the mix. And as you reflect on the quarrel, you can't help how one line in particular sticks out in your mind. ‘You just love him more, then, right?’ he'd accused, bluntly, bitterly.

The idea is ridiculous to you, loving someone else more than your own husband. It sounds like something only a fool could believe.

But if that's the case, why did Simon say it so assuredly?

And why does the thought of it make your stomach clench like there could be some truth behind the claim?

After another few moments of him tugging at his roots, Simon releases a billowy breath. He briefly closes his eyes and shakes his head to himself, before dropping his hands back down by his sides.

“I don't know how much longer I can keep this up,” his voice sounds as exhausted as his body looks. As he peels his lids open to once more lock with your gaze, you feel your own eyes narrowing in your confusion.

“What do you mean?” you ask, voice quiet, timid.

“I mean you need to choose,” he tells you. “Me or him.”

That statement has you balking, the cords that hinge your jaw shut practically snapping. “Si, you– you're not serious.” This has to be some kind of sick joke, right?

“I am.” He nods resolutely. “I can't keep doin’ this – goin’ back and forth with you, wonderin’ if you're really all here with me or not,” he says, frowning. “So you need to choose. Right now. Me… or him.”

It's like you've just witnessed your worst fears materialize before you. Simon, your loving husband, has just asked you to do something that was once completely inconceivable to you. He's asked you to make a world-altering choice: pick between him and someone else.

The decision should be easy – should be obvious – and yet, you find yourself frozen, unable to speak the words you know you should say.

Simon is your husband, the first and greatest love of your life. But this other man he's making you choose between is… well, he's something else to you entirely.

When you're having a rough day and feel like the world is collapsing in around you, he's the first one you want to run to when you need a shoulder to cry on. And conversely, when you're feeling on top of the world, feeling so high up you could reach out and touch the clouds, he's the one you want to call so you can share your joy.

From the moment you met him, you knew he was one of a kind. He's got a smile that could rival a thousand suns, a kiss that could warm the coldest of nights, and the way he looks at you – like you hold the entirety of his universe in the palm of your hand – you think it could keep your heart beating long after it's chosen to stop.

He's your best friend, your other half of a whole, your personal ray of sunshine that cuts through all the gloomy rain. Simon is your husband, yes, that’s true. But this other man is your soulmate, and you know that however long you both shall live, you will love each other until you take your final breaths.

Tears start to bead in your eyes as the answer to your predicament reveals itself to you. And as Simon eventually pushes, “Well? Who's it gonna be?” you know there's only one thing you can tell him.

“Him,” you mutter, feeling the first tear spill over. “H-Him, Simon. Him. I choose… him.”

It's like the planet ceases to spin for a moment as your choice floats in the air like a ghost. At first, you think Simon must assume you're bluffing, what with the way he has no immediate reaction to your response. But as the silence stretches between you and you've yet to renounce your decision, you watch as the realization hits him like a slug to the chest.

Simon's face falls, the color zapping from his skin, and as his eyes start to shine with tears, you find your cheeks flooding with your own.

Simon blinks rapidly, his nostrils flaring as he tries to keep his emotions at bay. His brow furrows like he wants to say something – to argue something – but when he opens his mouth to speak, no words escape. He closes his mouth for a second but then opens it again soon after, once more nothing leaving him but the sound of his breath.

Open then shut, open then shut, he repeats the cycle over and over again, never once managing to get a word out. Finally, after several minutes of waging an internal battle with himself, Simon eventually lets out a low sigh of defeat.

“Then go,” he mutters, gaze falling to the floor. “Just… Just go.”

Your own heart shatters at seeing the pain you've caused your husband. But you can't take back what you've said now, and even if you could, you both know it'd be a lie.

Thus, all you can offer him is a whispered, “I'm sorry.” Any louder and your voice would break from the strain of your cries.

The room falls quiet again as you both let everything sink in. Simon, your husband, the man you'd promised forever to, just put his heart on the line, practically flayed himself open for you… and you didn't choose him.

“I'm sorry,” you say again because you don't know what else there is to do.

Simon waves your apology off with a dismissive hand, still refusing to meet your eye.

Over the next few moments, you continue to sob softly, the sounds of your sniffles puncturing the otherwise quiet house. After a while, you feel the faucet behind your eyes gradually slow to a trickle, and you wipe your face with the back of your shaky hands, swallowing down the last of your tears.

You take another minute or so to compose yourself, still standing before your forlorn husband. Once you feel somewhat well again, you clear your throat, then tip your head back to let out a short, high whistle.

Almost immediately, you hear the telltale noise of feet moving against the hardwood floor. Then, not a beat later, you see the man you'd just chosen rounding the corner to the living room.

“Come here, pup-pup. Come here,” you encourage Riley, your fourteen month old shepherd-mix, forward.

Like the good boy he is, Riley trots closer at your beckoning. But before he reaches you, he makes a pitstop by Simon, shoving his cold, wet nose into the man's empty palm.

Riley gives him a couple boops to the hand, politely asking him for pets. And Simon, for his part, despite still being obviously disgruntled, obliges and gives him a brief, dispassionate rub to the snout.

Having received his desired scritches, Riley then continues over to you, and you crouch down so you can meet him at his level.

“You wanna go cuddle with me some more? Yeah? Do you?” you pitch your voice up in that babyish way Simon pretends to hate.

Riley, however, absolutely loves it, and his tail wags back and forth in a way that says he's all too eager to agree.

“Okay, let's go!” You wave him after you as you take off down the hall.

As you both walk back to the bedroom you'd been occupying earlier, you hear Simon speaking behind you, muttering angrily to himself.

“Mangy fuckin’ mutt. Knew he was gonna be trouble,” he murmurs as he makes up a spot for himself on the couch. “First he steals my bed, then he steals my cuddles, next he'll be stealin’ my fuckin’ car…” his voice peters out the further away you walk.

“Don't mind your daddy. He's just being grumpy as usual,” you stage whisper to Riley as you approach the door to your bedroom.

Letting yourself inside, Riley quickly follows after. You shut the door and then waltz over to the bed, patting the empty space beside you as you settle in.

Swiftly, Riley jumps up to join you, taking the side normally reserved for your husband. He moseys all the way up the mattress until he reaches Simon's pillow, where he proceeds to lay down.

You roll onto your side and start to pet him, scratching that spot behind his ears you know he loves. As you do, you see that infectious smile of his slowly take shape, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth as his eyes drift closed.

The sight of him so content makes your own lips upturn into a smile. He is so sweet, so perfectly innocent, that it makes your heart want to burst inside your chest.

And as you continue to cuddle Riley, making little kissy noises in his ear, you know you made the right choice as you grin and ask him, “Who's my favorite boy?”

__________

A/N: April Fools! Hope I didn't break your heart too much lmao!

As always, I'd love to know what you thought! Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!

[6ronze]

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓

wuthering waves character w CALCHARO. format. fic. warnings. nsfw. mdni. fem!reader. mostly his pov. fingering. oral (reader receiving). overstimulation. mean service dom!calcharo vibes. he gets off to reader crying. implied bratty/spoiled reader. summary. your father hired him to protect you on your journey to Yeming Slide from Jinzhou City but it seemed like your father is unable to pay him on time.

author’s note. finally wrote smth for my beloved hehe<3

Why the hell were you even in this situation in the first place? It wasn’t even your business, but your father’s. He made you run some errands for him, forcing you deliver some things from Jinzhou City to the village in Yeming Slide.

Of course you refused your father at first, trying to reason with him that the journey was long and unsafe for an untrained woman like you despite your forte. You only glared at your father when he went as far as offering to hire a mercenary to accompany you on your journey there.

And now here you were, at your destination which was the isolated village in Yeming Slide with the leader of the Ghost Hounds himself, Calcharo. He was as fearsome as the rumours said—unfeeling and stoic even at the most brutal sights of gore and battle. Despite the slight fear you held for him, you felt safe in his presence, knowing he was more than capable to defend you from tacet discords.

“We’re done here. Let’s go home now,” you told the platinum haired man standing at the centre of the village as you left the house of the village’s leader. You shrugged a shoulder and walked past him, paying him no more than a glance with a burning desire to return to the solace of your city.

Calcharo didn’t question you, nor did he bother uttering a word to start a conversation, merely nodding and turning to follow you from behind.

The entire journey back to Jinzhou was tense, the atmosphere uncomfortably suffocating and stiff. Your shoulders were tense, your posture upright as if you’d get scolded for slouching. You could feel his hard stare behind you, unsure if he was truly staring at you or it was just his aura that affected you. But one thing was for sure—he wasn’t gonna let you out of his sight for even a second.

Fuck, he grunted in his mind, unable to peel his eyes away from his client, you, even if his mind demanded him to. Calcharo had his fists curling to fists and relaxing every three steps he took, the crease between his brows growing deeper every passing minute. Why the fuck was this little brat affecting me so much? was what he kept repeating in his head for hours on end.

Calcharo was the leader of an internal mercenary group full of army-trained men, the Ghost Hounds—and yet here was taking care of a spoiled girl. How his standard’s fallen, Calcharo berated himself. But even with his said displeasure of working for you, he didn’t say much words during his task to accompany you to and back from Yeming Slide. He kept his composure throughout the journey until now. Oddly.

“We’re here. I expect the other half of my payment from your father after this,” Calcharo’s deep voice spoke from behind you, halting you in your tracks to turn your head over your shoulder and glance at him.

Ah. Those fuckin’ eyes. He wanted to make them damp.

Calcharo caught himself in his thoughts and quickly shook off his sinful thoughts, unsure why they kept popping up his conscience. It was like he was day-dreaming. And it was during work. He couldn't have that.

“I know, I know. My father probably has the cash ready for you. Let’s just head to my house,” you rolled your eyes at him silently, turning your head ahead of you again to hide it.

Money, money, money. That was all he seemed to care about from what you saw. Doesn’t he know how to enjoy himself? You stole glances at his well built body behind during your journey and couldn’t help but think what a waste of a good body. Once again, catching yourself getting more and more attracted, more attentive, more observant, of him, you bit your lip, lowering your head as you walked into Jinzhou City to hide your heated cheeks and perhaps tinted ears too.

After minutes of navigating yourself around Jinzhou City, you finally found your considerably luxurious home, approaching the front door and opening it without second thought. You called out for your father, searching around every room for him only to find a letter on the dining table saying;

Went out for a business trip to for a meeting. Might be home tomorrow.

You bit down harder on your lower lip, nervously clenching the sticky note your father left with furrowed brows. You cursed your old man again, fidgeting with worry and anger.

Hearing Calcharo’s boots thud on the floor of your home as he entered, you took in a deep breath to calm your nerves, grip on the innocent sticky note loosening.

Calcharo waited outside the doorstep of your home for a while once you entered, trusting you or your father would come out with the pay he was promised. With his arms folded on his chest and his biceps flexing, he grew increasingly suspicious when you left him unattended outside longer than expected.

As a last resort, he welcomed himself inside, his pale blue eyes landing your figure that stood at the end of your dining table, your back facing him. He quirked a brow at your stillness, wondering why you weren’t moving.

“Something the matter?” His voice rasped out, visibly startling you. His body slightly relaxed at the sight, involuntarily lowering his intimidating body language for your sake.

“Where’s your father?” Calcharo queried, his steps slow as he took a few steps closer to you. His sharp gaze scanned your expression, then the note you held in your hand. He didn’t move an inch from his position now, waiting for an explanation he knew was coming.

“Well.. my father.. he went on an emergancy business meeting out of Jinzhou.. I’m afraid you won’t have your pay until tomorrow,” he watched you mumble, your pretty lashes fluttering at him with your eyes darting anywhere but him.

He found it sickeningly satisfying how you were mumbling, nervous, the confident and sassy girl he met nowhere to be seen. At one hand, he wanted to comfort you from your worries—and on the other, he wanted to take full advantage of it.

You didn’t know how much time had passed since you first entered your home. What you might have expected to be a relaxing next hours after returning from your errand turned to another errand where you had to pay him back.

“F-fuck—Calcharo, ‘s too much—” you whined with shaky breaths, your head resting on your dining table which he so gracefully laid you on earlier, his head deeply nestled between your legs as he demanded his payment.

“Yeah? Too bad, I’m not getting off you ‘til I’m satisfied,” he grumbled against your sensitive, damp flesh slick with a mix of his saliva and your juices. With one last deep stroke of his tongue into your entrance, he ripped a loud and pathetic sob from you that was quickly followed by a moan. Your hips bucked up into his face, your legs far parted to give him further access to your cunt that was he eagerly devoured.

Even while your pussy was fluttering and creaming on his tongue, he still didn't stop his assault on nethers, opting to your clit now by taking it whole in his mouth and shamelessly sucking on it with lazy nibbles, his eyes lifting to look up at you. He wanted to see your reaction to every flick, every suck, every pinch he made onto your sopping wet pussy, wanting the tears that welled in your eyes to finally fall.

“Hmm.. not enough. Need you sobbing for me, princess,” he groaned, the pet name almost taunting as he pulled his head away from your quivering cunt just when you were inches away from another orgasm.

Your whines reached his ears with his hand reaching up to grab your thighs, savouring the feeling of your flesh in his hands and pushing them far apart. Once he was satisfied at the view, he released one thighs of yours to slide his hand over to your pretty hole that kept clenching on air.

A shaky moan left your lips at the feeling of his fingers running over your slit, the pads of his fingertips grazing your aching clit. You swallowed the saliva in your mouth, gulping it down only to throw your head back onto the table when his said fingers slid into you, feeling two digits stretching you out. He probed them inside you until he couldn’t fit any more of his fingers inside you, curling them to rub your sweet-spot.

Calcharo had his eyes alternating between your lewd cunt that he had wrapped his fingers and your pretty face, watching your back arch and feeling your legs tremble in his hand that held your thigh. He couldn’t resists the rare moan of utter satisfaction and pleasure that left his lips at the sight of your fat tears finally streaming down your face, streaks of the sweet yet salty liquid falling down the inner corners of your eyes and the outer corners to fall down your cheeks.

He was so entranced by the sight of you sobbing and whining for him that he was oblivious to your orgasm up until your velvety walls began twitching and tightening around his digits again, a similar sensation he felt on his tongue earlier. Filthy grunts left his tongue while he helped you ride out of your climax, not moving his fingers out of you for even an inch to keep you satisfied and cumming.

“Enough, please.. Calcharo, please,” you whimpered, your body limp and sensitive to even the slightest touch after your second orgasm. Your lips were swollen from all the biting you did, your cheeks and temples streaked by tears that continued to stream.

“Oh, darling.. I’m not stopping until I get my pay. And when was your father returning again? Tomorrow?” Calcharo sneered, his tongue licking your juices that had smeared on his face, his fingers inside you not budging an inch to pull out. He merely tilted his head, getting up from the floor to stand between your legs still with the bulge that had formed in his pants as clear as day to you now.

You mindlessly nodded at his question that ask for reconfirmation, your mind bordering on blanking out.

“Then we’re not stopping until tomorrow morning,” he continued, the corner of his lips curling to a smirk that was almost cruel, the mischief glinting in his pale blue eyes impossible to miss.

“Don’t worry. I’ll offer your father a discount for my services,” he added, slipping his fingers out of your stretched out pussy with a lewd squelch, his hand moving to grip your thighs again, letting you have a taste of your next errand to attend to—his throbbing cock.

[lexsssu]

Knotting (Zhongli | Morax)

TAGS: Zhongli/F!Reader, breeding, knotting, cave sex, smut, drabble Ao3 ver.

“Pretty little mate...gonna give me gorgeous hatchlings…”

Morax releases a purr as his larger masculine form pins you down on your nest, the cold cave floor decorated with a myriad of the finest furs and silks to prevent your precious skin from being scratched or even dirtied.

Secluded in a cave deep within one of the many mountains in Liyue, the former geo archon had you all to himself. He made sure to stock up on all the necessities, unwilling to make you feel even an ounce of discomfort once he’d whisked you away to your shared nest that he painstakingly decorated for you.

Though retired from his previous godly duties, there is no way he will allow his most precious gem, the jewel in his palm, his one and only beloved to be wronged. He is a god of war, a god of contracts, but also a god of commerce.

To not allow his own mate to experience the comforts that came with his titles and wealth is disrespect towards himself and most importantly you.

That is why piles of mora, gems, antiques, and other priceless treasures littered the expansive cavern, glittering like the amber that grew upon the stone walls and lit up the area in different shades of gold and even cor lapis.

However, the finery presented to your eyes are the last thing on your mind as your husband plows into you from behind like a man possessed with only the need to fuck your cunt open until even your womb takes the shape of his cock.

You could only do your best to keep your lower half upright, feeling each harsh smack of Zhongli’s pelvis against your plush derriere whenever he bottoms out, the tip of his girthy length knocking at the entrance to your baby-making chamber. Every ridge, every prominent vein upon his half-transformed cock scraped at your moist spongy walls, coaxing only the most pathetic and yet adorable moans and whimpers from you especially when he repeatedly hit that special spot inside of you.

At least, Morax thought that they were the loveliest sounds he’d heard during his millennia of existence.

However, the choked moan you emit once the fat knot at the base of his imposing member slipped inside your tight walls is his absolute favorite. Despite how much smaller you were normally and even more so once he’d transformed into his more primal form, the fact that you’re able to take ALL of him from tip to base including his knot…

“Perfect mate...you’re gonna be so round, soft, and warm with our brood once my seed takes…”

[l13]

I will kiss you on your hot mouth if you puke up some NASTY

EXPLICIT

DISGUSTINGLY SLUTTY

Spot hcs at me

I love him sm

Either pre spot or post spot idc

finally, some MOTIVATION

cw: LAZY WRITING, f!reader, dark!johnathon, perv!johnathon

pre-collider:

❥ johnathon can't help but peek into your panty drawer when you're not home, carefully picking a pair and letting his fingers skim the meterial softly. Next thing he knows he's laying on your shared bed. He couldn't even wait to take his pants off, leaving them bunched up at his ankles as he holds your panties over the head of his cock- rolling his hand against it as he moans- raising his hips to meet the delicious friction he's getting "M sorry- fuck-"  "Need it, need your pussy-"

❥ he loooves when you 'clean' him up after he cums, licking and sucking his cock and balls, swallowing the excess cum, and he's running his hand through his hair, gnawing at his lip, thighs jumping each time your tongue meets that part juust under the head

❥ TW!!! listen. he knows you're on the pill but he sometimes fantasizes that you.. weren't. The thought of you actually getting pregnant once he cums inside your pussy makes him drool- and once he catches sight of that familiar box sitting on the kitchen counter he's.. tempted to say the least. He could throw them out- hell he could switch them out and you'd never notice- he's taking his dick out before he realizes what he's doing, keeping himself upright with a hand on the counter as he strokes himself up and down, all while imagining your belly getting all swollen with his baby inside of you<3

❥ johnathon loves just rubbing the tip of his cock all over your pussy instead of just slipping himself inside- both of you moaning each time he nudges your puffy clit- all drenched with your slick and his precum- and he cums just like this, no penetration needed

post-collider:

❥ my babygirl spot<333 is a MENACEEE and let's say you're a spiderwoman. You can't tell how you ended up with him thrusting up at you while holding you flush against an alley wall, but you're not complaining. And he's so smug about it too- "Shit- what if someone sees their beloved spiderwoman getting fucked by 'the villain of the week' huh? Think they'll like that? Fuck- I would."

❥ dry humpinggg, you can't tell me that he doesn't like grinding himself against you, even if you're still fully clothed, he'd be whimpering every time his cock would meet your jeans, the friction bringing tears to his eyes, his hands squeezing the supple flesh of your belly, your tits, anything to bring you closer, to feel you closer

[k0yaz]

Helloooooo I'm not the Acheron anon but I'm probably just as down bad as the both of you she's literally everything to me and I absolutely love the way you've been writing her so I'm dragging my down-bad self to your box to ask for more crumbs 🥺

If it's not too much trouble can I request a one-shot with vampire Acheron? I've had thoughts about her white-haired emanator form (I mean have u seen her stance in the character info menu when in the ult IT'S SO GOOD AHHHHH) and I just feel like she'd be a very convincing vampire in that form. Can be sfw or nsfw I'll leave the decision up to the chef ;)

Sorry this isn't super concrete or anything it's my first time sending an ask but I couldn't help myself... Next time I crawl back into your ask box I'll try and give u more to work with I promise 😅

trepidation.

Pairings: acheron x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, vampire au, vamp acheron my beloved, suggestive, blood, yummy, slight horror scary oooooo, it’s ok yall will be fine it’s just acheron being weird, I WROTE THIS AT 2 AM and I’m too eepy rn, I’m scared it didn’t turn out good, fluffy yay, not proofread.

A/N: i love all the other acheron lovers here yall are amazing ALSO I AGREE ON THE WHITE HAIR FORM PART IT LEGIT REMINDED ME OF A VAMPIRE and off topic but yall should’ve seen me when I was first pulling for her when she came out back then I was PRAYING like someone pull me off the fucking ceiling atp 🕯️

Blurry sights of the dim candlelight filled your vision as you blinked opened your eyes, your entire body limp and splayed out on the mattress. Each deep breath made your chest rise and fall rhythmically, scanning the room for any oddities present. A sudden sense of uneasiness washed over you upon remembering where you were, hands scrambling to your throat and brushing your fingers along your skin to find any traces of a bite.

A relived sigh blew from your lips upon failing to find any sign of the woman you were currently living with potentially sipping your throat as if it was a hearty snack. Acheron never drank any blood from you, nor had she even attempted. She’d usually cocoon herself in a random spot within the manor whenever hunger overtook her, attempting to control herself as shivers racked her body each time. It wasn’t the most pleasant sight to say the least. You found yourself engulfed with a sense of alarm each time you saw one of Acheron’s unnerving reactions.

The way her blood red eyes drilled into you made your pulse nearly cease from pure terror, stomach nearly dropping as your chest tightened in those moments. However, Acheron never mauled you like your internal self told you she would. Your thoughts exaggerated a bit, sure. But a vampire allowing you to live with her without anything in return couldn’t help but raise a few suspicions within you, she surely wanted your blood, right?

You were still a bit wobbly in your movements when you rose to your feet, heavy lidded eyes blinking groggily as you shouldered the heavy red curtains to the side. Faint rays of the orange light diffused into your room, giving view to the small cemetery garden located right below the large mansion. The solid stone tombs stuck out of the ground firmly, piles of soil scattered at the foot of the gravestones. You couldn’t help but think to yourself at the halfwitted thought process that could’ve gone into placing a cemetery garden right next to a vampire’s residence, also striking in the possibility that Acheron could’ve been the reason for half of the tombs in there.

The thick crimson curtains barely allowed any light to pass through, their deepened color bearing an uncanny resemblance to blood. Still a bit uncoordinated, you decided to pace around your room in circles to recollect yourself, bare feet thudding against the spruce flooring.

“You’re awake.”

The sudden low voice struck your body upright, slowly turning around to be met with Acheron’s piercing eyes. You rubbed your elbow bashfully as your chest tightened once more, feeling a sense of clawing fear once more within you. You couldn’t help it, she was terrifying. Every time she’d walk up behind you or toward you, even with good intentions, your heart felt like threads had wrapped around the beating muscle, and tugged outward to bury the threads within it.

“Sorry if I startled you.” Acheron replied coldly, seemingly being able to sense your fear. You let out a pathetic cough in response, attempting to cover up your initial trepidation. “Right- ah..don’t worry about it, Acheron. I’m just a little tired.”

Nodding, Acheron rolled her shoulders back as a stretch before turning away from you. You tilted your head at her avoidant behavior, the evident ominous feeling lingering in the air. She had always been the quiet type, yet something seemed…off. Shrugging, you shouldered past Acheron silently, keeping your gaze locked onto the ground or the ceiling—anything but her.

Your muscles tensed upon feeling her skin graze yours, puzzled at the odd feeling. It was warm, yet cold at the same time. The specks of vermillion cracking up her arms and seeping down the collar of her neck felt different from her bare skin. Yet the strangest thing was, she had tensed up as well as you brushed your shoulder against hers, as if she feared you just as much as you feared her. However, that couldn’t be the case.

After heading to the first floor of the manor, you couldn’t help but pick up on the thick ominous atmosphere clouding the entire place. The housekeepers themselves were shaken up too, all disheveled as if they hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep the previous night. A heavy feeling seemed to weigh down your body, as a sense of caution rang within your head. It was as if gravity had tripled, yet the day didn’t seem off, just normal like usual.

You mulled over all the possibilities as to why such an unsettling tension plagued the entire space, not being able to think of even one. That was until the faint sound of ragged breaths grew louder and louder, each breath increasing in volume than the last. The noises formed a disturbing bitterness piling up inside your throat, making you recoil physically as you heard how strained and guttural each cycle of inhales and exhales were. No doubt, it was probably Acheron.

Swallowing back your fear, you headed up the stairs slowly, time nearly stopping as your breath hitched with each anticipated step. You felt like a large, heavy stone was resting within your stomach as you stood before the door, a sliver of dim light peeking through the slight opening. Acheron’s huddled form made you feel all the more worried, brows furrowing and wrinkling up your face as you saw her body twitch occasionally.

Her white hair draped down her back and over her shoulders as her back hunched over, nails digging into her own arms as she hissed in pained intake of air through her fangs. You gently creaked the door open, making her jerk in response, but still facing away from you. Although you were afraid of Acheron, it hurt to see her like this, in pain and keeping to herself.

“Acheron..?”

You began in a hushed voice as to not startle her, reaching a hand out carefully. She was quick to snap her head around, fingers nearly bruising her hugged arms. You drew your hand back to your chest as it seemed to instinctively repel from Acheron’s bloodthirsty gaze. Her hand was pressed against her mouth as she squeezed her eyes shut. It almost seemed like…she was in pain? Surges of pity for this poor woman’s famished state began to race through your mind.

“Sorry.” She croaked out hoarsely, trying to keep her voice indifferent yet evidently failing. You felt your heart almost burn at the sting of guilt you felt when she apologized, wanting to take her in your arms and hold her tight. You felt like you were in love with her all over again-

Wait, love?

You feared her, why was your brain suddenly spewing nonsense claiming to be in love with her?

No. That wasn’t it.

The reason you’d avoided Acheron was due to the way you couldn’t properly articulate your feelings to her. How you wanted to grow closer to this alluring woman and caress her cheek, whispering into her ear tenderly. How you wanted her fangs to dig into your throat and swallow each drop of your blood carefully like a divine meal she’d be honored to consume. Fear was just a mask used to avoid the fact that you’d fallen in love with someone your kind would’ve killed in an instant. Someone who your parents had always told you to beware of.

You quickly circled your arms around Acheron, squeezing her as you leaned into her back. Her expression softened, her breathing still heavy, yet seemingly calming down at your touch.

“(Name)…?”

“Hungry?”

She nodded at your upfront question visibly ashamed and embarrassed. You only pulled her to your chest, pale strands tickling your face as you buried your face into her silky hair. Acheron rested her hand atop yours which was encircled around her stomach, shaky sighs pushing past her parted lips periodically. Your thumb massaged soothing circles against her skin, eyes gently closed as you pressed a kiss to the shell of her ear.

“It’s alright. I’m here.”

Her eyelids drooped in comfort as she felt warmth course through her veins, her breathing still echoed throughout the manor, yet it seemed to calmed down quite a bit. Acheron slowly began to regain some semblance of calmness, her heavy lidded eyes locking up onto you from below. You simply flashed her a soft smile, finding it useless to hide any longer as you pulled her to your chest.

And it didn’t take long for you to unbutton your collar, tilting your neck to the side.

A/N: IM SORRY IF THE PLOT WAS TOO SUDDEN I NEED HER SO BADLY RN IM GONNA GO BUY AN ACHERON PLUSHIE ATP AND ITS SUPER LAYE SND IM SLEEPY IM SORRY 💔

I promise my next work will be better

I hate how this turned out

[hbyrde36]

NOW COMPLETE!!!

For my beloved @penny00dreadful 💜🖤

My fandom bestie, writing soulmate, and one of my absolute favorite people in the entire world.

Happy (early) Birthday 🌈👠💖

Huge thanks to @pearynice and @hitlikehammers for all your help in making this story come to life!

WC: 3483 | Ch 1/4 | AO3 <-

Chapter 1: Over the Rainbow

To be perfectly honest, Steve always felt a little unsafe riding around in the van with Eddie. It wasn’t that he was a bad driver, per se, but he was definitely a distracted one, constantly needing to be reminded to keep his eyes on the road instead of the tape deck. He also tended to treat speed limits as more of a suggestion than something enforceable by law.

Tonight was no exception, the feeling of unease even worse than usual because of the storm raging outside. They shouldn’t have even been on the road in these conditions, a fact Steve had tried in vain to convince Eddie of. Hawkins was under a tornado warning for fuck’s sake! But the other boy wouldn’t hear it, their errand was too important.

They had plenty of beer, but they needed snacks. 

According to Eddie there was absolutely no way they could enjoy Friday the 13th part 27, or whatever ridiculous number sequel it was that he wanted to watch, properly without the three basic food groups: Pringles, Twizzlers, and some form of chocolate.

They were having a movie night, just him and Eddie. It was no big deal, really. Steve wasn’t nervous about it at all. They’d been getting along fine since Vecna had been defeated, better than fine! They just… hadn’t spent a lot of one-on-one time together. 

Typically, at least Robin, and some-or-all of the kids, would join them on a night like this, but the kids were set on going to the arcade, and Robin—who’d finally gotten over her fear of driving and managed to get her license on the first try—was taking Vickie out for what may or may not be a date, and borrowing Steve’s car to do it.

Therein lay the source of the problem, actually. It was usually Robin’s job to procure movie night snacks, and in her absence neither of them had thought to pick up the slack.

Which is what had led them to this moment. 

Flying down the road at 15 miles per hour over the posted speed limit, minimum, in a fucking downpour, at night. They were just asking for a deer or some shit to come bounding across the road and then—BAM!

As if on cue, just as Steve had the thought, something did indeed dart out from the side of the road to cross in front of them. Fortunately, for once, Eddie was actually paying attention. He slammed on the brakes, simultaneously jerking the wheel, allowing them to narrowly miss hitting the poor wild animal. 

Unfortunately, that combination of evasive maneuvers caused them to spin out, and sent the van careening into a ditch on the side of the road. The vehicle flipped, and Steve had just enough time to think how glad he was that they’d both been wearing their seatbelts, before something from the rear came flying up to smack him hard in the back of the head. 

-

Steve came to slowly, blinking awake, wincing as the bright light of day attacked his retinas. 

Day?

But it’d been night, hadn’t it? It was dark, and it was raining, and…

The evening before came back to him in a sudden rush. The van sliding across the road, the sickening crunch of metal as it rolled, gravity doing what gravity does. He didn't remember anything after that, but it looked like somehow they’d managed to land upright in the end at least.

He rubbed at the nape of his neck, pleasantly surprised to find no lumps, bumps, or blood, nor did he feel the telltale nausea that sometimes came with a really bad blow to the head. He wondered if Eddie– 

Oh my god, Eddie!

Steve looked to the left, finding the driver's seat empty and was instantly gripped by panic. He scrambled out of the car, nearly falling on his ass in his hurry.

“Eddie?” He called out, fear churning in his gut. “Eddie?!”

He spun a circle, relief washing over him as he found the other boy only a few feet away. 

Eddie was sitting on a large tree trunk, rocking ever-so-slightly back and forth, gnawing on his fingernails as he stared at the backside of the van.

“There you are! Dude, you scared the shit out of–” Steve trailed off as he rushed to Eddie’s side to see what he was looking at, and swallowed hard. It was a pair of legs in striped stockings wearing a killer pair of red heels, sticking out from under the rear tires. The shoes glittered cheerfully in the sunlight. “Oh, fuck.”

Eddie dropped his head into his hands. “I thought I swerved in time. I thought we missed it.”

“I thought it was a deer.” Steve mumbled.

Eddie cut him an annoyed glare. “Clearly not, Harrington.”

“Hey,” Steve said softly. He knew Eddie well enough by now to tell when he was scared—when he felt guilty, even if he was trying to act otherwise. “This isn’t your fault. It was an accident.”

“Yeah,” Eddie huffed. “Tell that to the cops! They thought I was a murderer once already. It’s only been a few months where I can actually be seen in public without someone calling me a devil worshiper, or worse. Now they’ll think they have proof that I really am a killer!”

“You know Hop will go to bat for you again, and I’m here. I can be a witness.”

“That’s not all.” 

“It somehow gets worse than us accidentally killing some lady?”

Eddie sighed, raking a hand over his face as he rose from the stump. He turned, gesturing to something behind them, but Steve was still stuck on those legs. He couldn’t look away. 

“Why the hell was someone out in shoes like that in the middle of the night anyway?” Steve mused. “It was pouring.” 

“Steve, look.”

“What if we just said I was driving? Then we– “

“Steve!” Eddie gripped his upper arms, forcibly turning him around. 

Steve’s eyes went wide. They were standing right on the edge of a little town. Little, not only in the way that the town itself was small in, like, area, though it was that—about the size of one city block—but for the fact that all the colorful little buildings and bungalows were miniature. The whole thing was surrounded by gardens laden with all sorts of beautiful plants, shrubs, and trees, with flowers of every shade in bloom.

“What the fuck,” Steve breathed, taking a few tentative steps into the vivid village.

“Yeah.”

“Eddie, what the fuck?! Where are we? And why is everything in technicolor?”

Eddie stepped up from behind to clap him on the back. 

“I don’t think we’re in Hawkins anymore, big boy.”

Steve shot him a look over his shoulder. “What was your first clue?”

“I see where Dustin gets his tone from.” Eddie mumbled.

Steve chewed on his bottom lip. “Do you… do you think it’s like the Upside Down?” 

“In the sense that it’s another dimension? Maybe, but I don't get the feeling this one has any terrifying monsters. It’s too clean. It even smells nice, like roses and shit.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. Eddie had a point, nothing about this place screamed danger. “The Upside Down always smelled like mold and rotting flesh.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

“What do we do? How do we get back?” Steve asked, not really expecting Eddie to have all the answers, but he did his best thinking out loud with company. 

“No idea.”

“Should we start walking? Maybe try and find a payphone?”

Eddie scoffed. “A payphone?”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

The other boy was quiet for a moment, a rare occurrence, but eventually threw his hands up in defeat. “No, actually. So, I guess walking it is.”

Steve turned back, intending on pilfering the van for things that might be useful, like water, weapons, or one of the many lighters that littered the floor, when something in the distance caught his eye.  

“What the hell is that?” He asked aloud, pointing up to the sky at a giant pink bubble that was headed straight for them. 

Eddie squinted up at it. “I think there's something inside.”

“Should we run?”

“Maybe we should pop it.”

“You just said there was something inside! Wouldn’t that let it out?”

Eddie shrugged.

In no time, the bubblegum colored sphere settled near them and faded away, leaving behind a woman with long dark wavy hair. She held a long scepter, and wore a tall crown and a poofy ball gown, of all things. There was also something very familiar about her face. 

“Wait.”

“No.”

“Is that?”

“It can’t be.”

“Joyce?!” They both said, in tandem.

The woman in the ballgown tilted her head. “Who’s Joyce?”

“You are.” Steve said. 

She shook her head, offering him a kind smile. “I’m afraid not. I’m Glinda, the Witch of the North, and who might you be?”

Eddie leaned in, speaking out of the corner of his mouth. “Is she serious?”

Steve snorted a laugh, quickly trying to hide it with a cough.

“What’s so funny?” Not-Joyce asked. 

“Nothing, uh, I’m Steve, and this is Eddie.”

She stepped carefully around them, pointing her sparkly stick at the half-a-dead-body that jutted out from under Eddie’s van. “What do you boys have to say for yourselves?”

“I’m sorry?” Eddie said, sobering quickly. At the same time Steve insisted, “It was an accident!”

“Stop giving them a hard time, Glinda. They did us a favor!” A strangely familiar voice called out from behind a nearby bush, and a moment later 6 small-ish figures came popping out of the surrounding foliage.

“They killed The Wicked Witch of the East!” The one with curly hair shouted, as the others cheered.

Eddie jumped. “Jesus H. Christ, where did all you little fuckers come from?!”

“Oh my god.” Steve muttered under his breath.

It was the kids, except they were actually kids. The 11-year-old versions of Dustin, Will, Lucas, Mike, Max, and El pushed and shoved their way past each other, all trying to be the first to approach.

“Who you calling little?” Baby-Lucas said.

“Okay, what the hell is going on here guys? Why are you so young, and what’s with the outfits?” Steve asked, completely dumbfounded.

Once he’d gotten over the initial shock of their appearance, Steve realized they were all wearing costumes or something. The girls wore pink frilly dresses and tall pointed bonnets, something he knew for a fact Max would never have agreed to, and the boys had these funny little shorts with long socks and matching tops—except for Dustin, who donned long pants and an even longer coat, along with a striped bow tie and a giant pocket watch hanging from his side. 

Eddie looked similarly stunned. “How did you get us here? And how did you get Joyce in on it?”

“Who’s Joyce?” Mini-Mike-Wheeler asked.

“I think they mean me.” Not-Joyce said.

Tiny Dustin’s face twisted up in confusion. “But that’s not your name.”

She shrugged. “I tried telling them that.”

Steve groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “Okay fine, she’s Glinda. Who are you?”

“Oh! I'm the mayor of Munchkinland.” A wide, gummy smile spread across tiny-Dustin’s face as he stuck his arm out, er, up, for a handshake. 

Steve stared down at him, unimpressed. “You’ve gotta be shitting me. I'm done playing whatever game this is. How do we–”

A sudden explosion went off in the middle of the town square only a few yards away, creating a thick cloud of red smoke. On instinct Steve and Eddie both moved to place themselves between the oncoming threat and the Munchkins. 

The air cleared quickly, revealing a woman in a long black dress and matching cloak, carrying a broom and wearing a hard scowl.

Steve blinked at her, then looked at Eddie for confirmation that they were seeing the same thing. 

“Mrs. Click?”

Eddie nodded.

Her complexion was all wrong but the resemblance was uncanny.

Steve leaned in, whispering, “If that’s Click, who do you think the one we hit was?” 

Eddie grinned. “O’Donnel.”

“I am the Wicked Witch of the West. You killed my sister. Prepare to die.” The newcomer declared loudly, sneering at the two of them.

Eddie rounded on her, pointing a finger right in her face. “Look lady, we’ve had just about enough–”

Steve grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back. “What my friend here means to say is, it was an accident and we’re very sorry.”

“I’ll show you an accident, young man,” The Wicked Witch said, raising her green hands and long pointy nails threateningly in their direction.

“Aren't you forgetting something?” Glinda raised her voice, as she too moved to protect the little ones.

“The ruby slippers! Yes!” The Wicked Witch smiled gleefully and made a beeline for Eddie’s van. 

When her back was to them, Glinda winked at Steve and did some kind of wavy-woo with her stick, which, in hindsight he realized was a wand, and the red shoes disappeared from the dead body’s feet right before their eyes, reappearing in Steve’s hand a second later.

“They’re gone!” The Wicked Witch gasped, whirling on the spot and narrowing her eyes at him.

“Why is it always me?” Steve grumbled, resigned to the fight, only to find Eddie taking a protective step in front of him as she approached. 

“You! Give them back. I’m the only one who knows how to use them. They’re of no use to you!”

She wasn’t wrong, but Steve felt like maybe it wasn’t the best idea to give what he suspected was a powerful magical object to a woman whose sister they’d just murdered. All those months of spectating while the party played D&D were finally paying off. 

“Put them on and stay tight inside of them, Steve.” Glinda said, her tone grave. “Their magic must be very powerful, or she wouldn't want them so badly.”

Nailed it.

“You stay out of this, Glinda, or I'll fix you as well!”

The Good Witch waved her off. “You have no power here. Now be gone before someone drops a… a… a…” She stuttered, waffling as if searching for the right word.

“A van?” Eddie supplied.

“Ah, yes. Thank you, Eddie dear.” She cleared her throat, pausing for what Steve could only assume was dramatic effect. “Now, be gone before someone drops a van on you, too!”

“Very well, but I'll be watching.” The Wicked Witch hissed, zeroing in on Steve once again. “I’ll get you my pretty-boy, and your little dog too!”

“Hey! Who are you calling a dog? You looked in the mirror lately?! Witch.” Eddie spat. 

She huffed, raising her broomstick high above her head and bringing it down hard against the road at her feet, sending more red smoke billowing up from the spot to quickly engulf her form. When it was gone, so was she.

“Little dog. Pfft.” Eddie muttered.

“It’s the hair.” Little-Max said, matter-of-factly.

“Yes,” Tiny-Dustin agreed, nodding as he rubbed stubby fingers against his small chin. “The word scruffy does come to mind, to be fair.” 

“Watch it, Mayor.” Eddie warned.

“That, and the way you were guarding your friend there.” Little-Max spoke again.

Eddie glowered as she dissolved into giggles that quickly spread through the small crowd. Soon all the Munchkins, as well as Glinda, were clutching their sides with laughter.

Steve didn’t get what was so funny. 

“Don’t listen to them, Munson. I like your hair. It’s very… metal.” 

Eddie put on a show of rolling his eyes, but under it all was a shy pleased smile. “Thanks, Harrington.”

“That’s rough, boys. You’ve made quite the enemy. The sooner you get out of Oz the better I think.” Glinda said, when the laughter had finally faded. 

“And how do we do that exactly?” Eddie asked. “The van’s broken down, and even if it wasn't, I have no idea where the hell we are or how we even got here! Let alone how to get back to Hawkins.”

“The only person who might be able to help you would be The Great and Wonderful Wizard of Oz himself.”

Steve pursed his lips. “Okay, I'll bite. How do we find this Great Wizard?” It took all his strength not to put those last two words in air quotes.

“He lives in the Emerald city.” She said.

“And how do we get there?”

“Follow the yellow brick road, of course.”

Eddie shook his head. “Of course, she says.”

“Do you not have yellow brick roads where you come from?”

“No.” Steve snapped. He was already so tired of this shit, and somehow he knew that the end of, whatever this was, was nowhere in sight. 

“My, my, you two are grumpy.” Glinda muttered. Without another word she took a few steps away from them and waved her wand, conjuring a new pink bubble around herself. 

“Wait, you can’t just leave us here with these kids!” Steve shouted, but it was too late, The Good Witch had already started to float away. 

“We’re not kids, y’know.” Tiny-Dustin said.

“You look like kids.”

“Whatever.” The boy shrugged, taking one of their hands in each of his. “Come on, we’ll walk you to the edge of town.”

-

The edge of town turned out to be roughly 10 feet away from where the van had landed, which wasn’t a surprise given the compact nature of Munchkinland as a whole, but it did have Steve wondering why they even bothered. 

At least the kids—sorry, the Munchkins, had been helpful enough to point out the yellow brick road. 

As if they could have missed it.

Eddie let out a long whistle. “Wow, that is YELL-ow. Like, I know they said it, but I guess I expected it to be dull or dirty or something, not this bright sunshine color. Kinda reminds me of that sweater you used to wear.”

Steve tucked the pair of heels awkwardly under his arm and started down the path, wishing he had a bag or something to put them in. Holding onto them like this was going to get annoying fast. 

“Aren't you going to put those on first?” Eddie asked.

“Are you serious, Munson?” Steve slowed his pace, turning to gape at him.

Eddie grinned, bumping their elbows together when he caught up. “What, afraid you can’t walk in ‘em?”

“I wear a size 13 men’s shoe, they’re never gonna fit me!”

For a fraction of a second Eddie’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “Jesus, guess I was onto something with that nickname, big boy.”

Steve rolled his eyes, shoving the shoes in Eddie’s direction. “Why don’t you put them on?”

“No, that Glinda lady gave them to you, expressly.”

“I'm telling you they’re not gonna fit.”

“Magic shoes, Steve.” Eddie wiggled his fingers for emphasis. “Magic shoes! Just try, I'm sure it’ll be fine.”

Steve glared as he toed his sneakers off, tying the laces together before throwing them over Eddie’s shoulder, and finally slipped his feet into the sequin adorned pumps. 

They fit like a glove.

He twisted at the waist, glancing behind his own back, sticking first one leg out, and then the other, as he looked down at himself. “Hmm, they do make my ass look nice, I guess.” 

He also just so happened to be wearing his date night jeans, the ones that hugged him in all the right places, and with the addition of the shoes? It was a good look, if he did say so himself. 

A high pitched noise escaped Eddie’s throat. “As if you needed any more help in that department.” He mumbled under his breath.

Steve swallowed hard. “What’d you say?”

“Nothing.”

Eddie was always doing that—flirting, making little comments and then pretending he hadn’t. It drove Steve crazy, never sure if Eddie actually meant it, or if he just liked to tease—not quite sure which answer he hoped was the truth.

Steve turned on his heel, literally, and strode away, tired of wasting time. His first few steps were a bit wobbly, a little like a newborn calf learning to walk, but he got the hang of it pretty quickly. He wasn’t, like, swaying his hips side-to-side confident or anything—yet—but he was reasonably sure he wasn’t going to randomly fall over. It was good enough for now. 

“What are we looking for again?” He asked without turning around. 

“The Emerald city.” Eddie replied, falling into step beside him again, cheeks a little pink. “The little guy who looked like Will said we’d know it when we saw it.”

“Nicely vague, figures.” 

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it. They seem to take everything very literally around here, so my guess is if we see a place with a lot of big bright green buildings, that’ll be the one.”

Chapter 2

[argisthebulwark]

We Kissed the Stars Before They Fell

summary: just daydreaming about them giving oral. f! reader, no pronouns or y/n used. feat: Miraak, Farkas, Brynjolf, Erandur, Vilkas warnings: explicit sexual content. minors should not read or interact with this post in any way. not really proofread sorry gamers. masterlist / partner post - them receiving oral

Miraak is mean. His teeth scrape along your inner thigh and he laughs at your insistence that it's too much. Two fingers shoved deep inside your cunt he gazes up at you, shiny lips pulled into a mocking grin. Even when he's mean he makes your heart flutter. "Can't handle it?" He coos in mock sympathy. One hand wraps around your hip, keeping you from scooting away as his fingers curl deep inside you. "I think you can, my dear. I believe in you." He loves to keep you right on the edge of orgasming, enjoying the sight of his beloved spasming with each little twitch of his fingers. Only when you're seeing stars and pleading with him does he let you cum, hips bucking wildly and gripping your sheets.

Farkas is sloppy. His fingers clutch your thighs to his shoulders, nose buried deep into your core. He acts like he's starving, like he aims to devour you. He's moaning into your skin, tongue circling your clit and muttering about how good you taste. "Love you," he groans the words over and over, eyes fluttering shut when your fingers lace into his hair. Each swipe of his tongue drags you closer to orgasming and sweat gathers along your skin but Farkas feels too fucking good to worry about anything but him. "Cum f'me." He mumbles, soft brown eyes staring up at you. "Please, wanna taste you."

Brynjolf's hand keeps you pressed firmly to the desk, your fingers curled around its edge and bleary eyes watching for any intrusions. Shameless moans echo around the Cistern as he slurps at your cunt, one rough thumb tracing careful little circles over your clit. "So good for me, lass." He groans, placing soft kisses down your thigh. Sheer pleasure and the fear of getting spotted mingle into a confusing mess of arousal that leaves you quite flustered. "Don't go quiet on me now, wanna hear ya." "Bryn, we'll get caught." Your voice holds less conviction than intended, cheeks flushing bright red when his tongue slides along sensitive skin. "Mm, don't worry about that, love. Just keep your focus on me, alright?"

Erandur detests the thought of receiving pleasure without giving any in return. Even with his cock buried in your throat he insists on reciprocating, sweaty bodies sticking together while he goes down on you. For a man usually so well spoken his words have dissolved into a mixture of groans and dislocated praise. Messy kisses are pressed to your cunt while his cock throbs deep in your throat, your bodies tangled together and bedsheets tossed aside as you strive to make the other orgasm. "Beloved," his breath is hot against your overheated skin, fingers feather light where they trail over your back. "You don't have to - allow me to pleasure you, you shouldn't worry yourself over me."

Vilkas could die happily between your thighs. His eyes are a bit unfocused while he watches you ride his face, cunt dragging over his mouth as his tongue chases after you. He loves the way you clutch the bedframe to keep yourself upright, taking in every little shiver of pleasure that runs up your spine. "Vilkas." You laugh his name when he clutches at your thighs, refusing to allow an inch of space between you. "You need air." "Mhf." He grunts, burying his face deeper into you. He doesn't need air nearly as much as he wants to taste you, face already drenched and desperate for more. "Need you."

[arcielee]

To feel the rare before and after.

Image by the talented @kyloremus​

Paring: modern Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader Word Count: 900+ Warnings: Reader AFAB, smutty smut, overstimulation, p in v, spit play, pwp at its best (I hope). Author's Note: This title is the lyrics from The Drone Interlude by Sleep Walking Animals and this is my birthday present to the wonderful @annikin-im-panicin. She requested some Aemond smut and I thought to myself, “Abso-fucking-lutely.” Thank you @foxee-writes​ for being my beloved beta reader 💜 Dividers by @saradika​ 💜 Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @watercolorskyy​ @schniiipsel​ @sylas-the-grim​ @aemondx​ @fan-goddess​ @babygirlyofthevale​ @httpsdoll​ @theromanticegoist​ @hb8301​ 

You loved the feeling of his arms and how they wrapped around your waist, as he pulled you to straddle his lap. “One more for me, pretty girl,” and your skin raised with the breathless command he whispered against the nape of your neck, his lips feathering your pulse.

His large hands roamed your curves, settling on the softness of your hips with a firm hold and lining himself with your entrance once again. Aemond lifted his hips, simultaneously lowering you as he slowly sheathed his length into your velvet walls, with a delicious stretch still. 

You can only whine in response; your hold around his neck tightens, your body flushed against his chest as he continues his slow pace that bruises against that sweet spot within you. Stars burst with his each thrust, your body already blossoming from your prior releases: the sheen of sweat mixing with the slick between your thighs, the rose bloom spilling from your cheeks down to your neck and chest, your nipples pebbling with pleasure with his relentless rhythm. 

“Aemond,” you almost cried. “I can’t…”

“You can,” he hummed, his pace now unfaltering, his teeth grazing the junction of your neck to your shoulder. 

You shuddered in response; in truth, it was already curling at the base of your spine, his thrusts rekindling that coil in your lower abdomen, a fluttering pleasure that came in waves and touching every fiber of your being. You were breathless, relaxing your hold around his neck and falling back, your hands moving behind to grip his knees to keep yourself upright. 

His feet are firmly planted on the floor, seated on the bed’s edge. Aemond moved his hold, with one arm wrapping around your waist while his other hand pressed in the inside of your thigh, his thumb following the patch of curls before pressing against your pearl with his familiar touch. 

You are raw, tender, and already on the precipice of being overstimulated, and with his deliberate touch, you can feel your climax being ripped from you. It is without the same tensity of your last release, but with his added ministrations it elongates it in a way that is both painful and delicious. 

Aemond pulled you closer, groaning into your neck as your cunt clenches with your climax, his velvet tone whispering praises against your flushed skin–good girl. You melt against his chest, the sticky sweet touch of skin-to-skin, and you sigh sweetly with how he tightened his hold, pulling you closer still. 

When he pushed to stand, your legs crossed around his slender waist with a squeak of your surprise as he turned to face the bed, releasing his hold of you and allowing you to fall back against the sex soaked sheets. 

You propped yourself onto your elbows, watching his silver brows knit above his bicolored gaze that drinks in your every curve. You burned under his steady stare; there is an ethereal beauty about him, from the jut of his hips with his languid stance, the smooth planes of his chest and the Adonis belt that lined his lower abdomen, to how his hair clung and framed his sweat, aglow face, and the rose coloring that dusts his sharp features. 

Aemond kneeled onto the bed, each hand reaching to grasp around your ankles, and pulling you closer to him. You giggled from the sudden pull, your ass now pressing against his thighs, and you saw the hint of his smile as he moved the soles of your feet to press against his chest. You shivered when he turned his head, his lips pressing against the arc of your foot, and he then leaned over you, a curtain of silver, the soft tickle of his tresses against your bare chest, and his arms planting on each side of you, caging you against the mattress. 

You mewled pitifully as he moved his hips, the touch of his tip and how it almost glides against your silken folds before sinking into your warmth once again. 

“Aemond,” you begged and you moaned as he bottoms out, stretching you from within. 

He only hums again, a mixture of his acknowledgement and his own satisfaction from how well you fit around his cock. His grip dimpled the plushness of your thighs, a bracing hold for the snap of his hips against you. “Touch yourself,” his voice is low, demanding.

Your fingertips trailed from his chest to his jaw and his head dips to take them into his mouth, the tickle of his tongue with how it curls around each digit before you pull back. The spittle breaks away onto his chin and your fingers gently touch the tendered nub above his rhythmic in and out, above the suction of your swollen lips and the ring of white around the base of his cock.

Aemond watched you, enjoying the ripple of your supple curves with his each rut, the bounce of your breasts as his pace quickens, and your soft cry that accompanies your soft touch with how you circled your fingers intimately. 

He pulled back, quick to fist his length to completion with the pearly spill of his release across your stomach. There is a pause, a deep exhale before he gets up, disappearing into the bathroom. You can hear the faucet turn on for a moment, before he returns with a damp washcloth that was pleasantly warm to the touch. 

Aemond is thorough and he is gentle, wiping you clean before tossing it into the hamper. He then crawled beneath the covers, pulling you to follow, until your backside was flushed against his chest. 

He nuzzled into your neck, a soft kiss behind your ear with the whisper, “Happy birthday, pretty girl.”

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