#cannot seem to form the desired words | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

candy69gurl · 1 year ago

Note

can you do hybrid! Wolf toji claiming you during his rut?

THE HOWL OF DESIRE

Hybrid! Wolf toji x f!reader

Warnings- 18+, dark, slight non/con (Toji does not intend to harm you), size kink (both are adults), cave sex, multiple orgasms, nipple biting & play, fingering (Toji has black big nails), raw sex (cumming inside many times), breeding, pussy eating

wc - 2.6k

ART NOT MINE !

As you traverse through the dense woods, you find yourself getting increasingly disoriented, unsure of which way leads back to civilization. The sun's rays barely penetrating the thick canopy above, casting eerie shadows on the forest floor. You begin to worry, knowing that spending the night here could lead to dangerous consequences.

Suddenly, your senses pick up on the sound of rustling leaves nearby. You freeze, trying to discern whether it is an animal or something more sinister.

A figure emerges from behind a tree, and you gasp involuntarily. It is a creature of height 6'1ft, he appears as a magnificent wolf-human hybrid. He is slender but muscular and athletic, and his wolfish aura makes him look intimidating. As he closes on your position you notice his ears flattened on his head and his tail is pointed upright, his body has chiseled muscles and trademark scars, his green sword-like eyes looking through your soul. His mouth bore fang-like teeth that you swear are more vicious than natural canine teeth of humans.

His eyes lock onto yours, a mixture of hunger and desire burning within their depths.

"Hello, human," he growls softly, his voice tinged with an animalistic quality. "Lost, are we? Well, I don't normally go for humans, but you seem intriguing enough."

As you stand frozen in fear and confusion, Toji takes a step closer, his form shifting slightly, the wolf aspects becoming more pronounced. His eyes gleam with lust, and you can faintly smell his pheromones in the air – a testament to his overwhelming need to mate. "Ah finally," he says, taking another step toward you. "It's just my rut, and I need a mate to breed with. Normally, I wouldn't ask a human, but I cannot wait anymore."

His voice is calm, almost soothing despite the terrifying situation. Your heart races as you contemplate your options, but you realize that running might only agitate him further. Nonetheless your legs unconsciously start to move. There is only one way to get out of this- by running.

"So," he continues, his back facing you but when he turns to you, he sees you running, " What's a prey if they don't try running".

With a grin spreading across his face, Toji starts running after you, muscles rippling as he leaps after you. His movements are fluid and quick, darting through the trees with ease. You feel your adrenaline surge, pushing your speed to its limit as you navigate the unfamiliar terrain. However, he seems to know these woods intimately, and your panic increases as you realize you're unable to shake him off.

"Caught you little bunny" he exclaims, grabbing your neck. Despite his triumphant words, there's a hint of concern in his eyes. He pauses, contemplating his next move. "Running isn't going to solve anything, and believe me, you don't want to get hurt.. Or do you?"

"P-please let me go.. I have to get back home."

Toji weighs your plea, his gaze lingering on you thoughtfully. His need for release is urgent, but he doesn't wish to harm you unnecessarily. "I can let you go, but I'm afraid you won't find your way back alone." His voice holds a note of genuine concern, his eyes softening momentarily.

Then, his expression shifts, the wolfish hunger returning. "But," he adds, "If you agree to stay and help alleviate my… condition, I promise to guide you safely back to where you belong. You won't regret it, trust me." He leans close, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, "I'll make sure you enjoy it too."

You stand there, contemplating your options. The thought of being alone in these woods, possibly lost for another night, is daunting. On the other hand, submitting to Toji's demands is equally terrifying, but there's a strange allure to it as well. His promise of safety and pleasure seems almost too good to be true.

As you weigh the pros and cons, Toji watches you intently, his eyes never leaving yours. He can sense your hesitation, and it fuels his desire even more. "I understand if you're scared," he says softly, reaching out to gently cup your cheek. "But I promise, I won't hurt you. I just need someone to share this with, and you seem like the perfect one."

His touch is warm and comforting, despite the situation. You can't help but feel a strange sense of comfort in his presence, as if he truly means what he says. "So, what do you say?" he asks, his voice low and seductive. "Will you help me, and let me help you in return?"

"O-only if you promise to be gentle..", you reply, your voice shaking from his intimidating aura.

Toji's eyes crinkle at the corners, a rare smile gracing his features. "Gentle it is," he assures you, his grip on your cheek gentle but firm. "I can't promise but I will try since you are my first human mate.. Come, let's find a suitable spot. We don't want to draw attention, do we?" His voice is smooth, radiating confidence and control. You hesitate, but there's a sense of safety in his presence that you can't deny.

With a deep breath, you take his hand, allowing him to lead you deeper into the woods. The fear is still there, but it's tempered by a growing curiosity. You're stepping into unknown territory, but for some reason, you don't feel threatened. Instead, there's a strange excitement coursing through you, making your heart beat faster.

As you follow Toji deeper into the woods, you begin to notice subtle changes in the landscape. Brambles part before you, revealing a hidden trail leading to a small clearing. In the center of the clearing lies a cave, half-hidden by the surrounding foliage. This is where Toji leads you, guiding you inside with a gentle push.

The cave is surprisingly cozy, lit by the dim light seeping through the entrance. There's a palpable sense of warmth and security, and you can't help but feel a sense of relief wash over you. Toji observes your reaction, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"This is my den," he explains, gesturing around. "Now, shall we proceed?" He tilts his head, his eyes holding a mix of anticipation and expectation. You can tell that his rut is still strong, but he's patiently waiting for your lead.

Your nod sends a wave of excitement through Toji, his eyes glinting with eagerness.. He quickly steps closer, nearly ripping your pants and panties off. He hovers over you, his eyes locked on yours as he positions himself between your thighs.

Surprised by his sudden movement, you struggle in his grip, "W-wait you need to loosen me up"

Toji pauses, confusion clouding his features for a brief moment. "Loosen you up?" he repeats, his voice heavy with confusion. Then, understanding dawns on his face, and he chuckles softly. "Tsk, I can wait no more but fine since you beg me so obediently", moving between your legs. He gently parts you with his fingers, feeling your dampness.

"You're already prepared," he murmurs, a note of approval in his voice.

"Ah~", your back arches at his finger movements, your back hitting the ground of the cave.

At your response, Toji's eyes darken with lust. He thrusts his fingers into you roughly. "Are ya loose yet?" His eyes remain locked on yours, his expression a mix of impatience and excitement.

"n-no not yet.. a-ah", your voice cracks up in pleasure.

Toji's eyes narrow, his brows furrowing in concentration. He inserts a third finger, thrusting harder this time, stretching you wider. You cry out, a mixture of pleasure and pain washing over you as you near your edge.

"Humans are so responsive..." he mutters, his voice thick with desire as he continues to fuck you with his fingers. His eyes never leave yours, the intensity between you and him building, is only heightened by the dim light of the cave.

Finally, after several more thrusts, you reach your orgasm and he withdraws his fingers, a satisfied smirk gracing his lips. "Ready?" He asks, his gaze locked on your face, waiting for your answer.

"mghh.. n-not now.. I need sometime.. I am sensitive right now", you protest.

Toji's eyes squint in annoyance "Shut up, I have been patient enough. I can't wait any longer."

With that, he positions himself between your legs again .With a sudden powerful surge, Toji thrusts into you, his giant cock stretching your poor hole wide. You gasp, your nails digging into the cave floor as you struggle to adjust to the intense sensation.

"Please.. A-ah .. be gentle"

"Shush..I am trying .. You humans are so fragile.. But", he grunts in pleasure, "ya feel so good. I never thought humans feel this good"

Though he is trying to be gentle, but your insides feel so good that he can't help but move relentlessly, his hips pumping in a primal rhythm. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure and pain through you, your body responding to his dominance.

Despite your initial protest, you can't help but moan loudly, writhing beneath him. His roughness sets you ablaze, and you find yourself meeting his thrusts eagerly. His scent, his strength - everything about this experience overwhelms you. Your body cries out for release, and you know you won't last long.

"That's it, take it!" Toji growls, his eyes locked on yours. His primal nature is on full display, and it's intoxicating.

Your toes curl up as Toji's thrusts intensify, his eyes widening at your reaction. "Fuck, you're tight," he groans, his voice thick with lust. "You feel incredible." His pace quickens, his hips slamming into you with brutal efficiency. You cry out, the cave echoing with your sounds of pleasure and pain.

His rut is nearing its peak, his body trembling with suppressed energy. With one last powerful lunge, he buries himself deep within you, filling you with his seed. "Take it all," he rasps, his breath hot against your neck.

In that moment, you surrender to the sensations, your own climax washing over you. Together, you collapse onto the cave floor, feeling spent but incredibly fulfilled. Your legs wrap around him instinctively, holding him close.

As he recovers, Toji nuzzles your neck, his breathing ragged. "I hope I was gentle enough," he murmurs, his voice filled with satisfaction.

"No .. you are so mean..", you reply panting.

Toji laughs, his chest rumbling against your throat. "Mean? Maybe, but effective, wouldn't you agree?" He teases, his grip on you tightening. "Besides, don't lie, you enjoyed it too."

He's right, you did enjoy it - despite the roughness. The intensity of the encounter left you shaken yet exhilarated. He turns you on your stomach "don't think it's over yet.. It's just a starting"

"w-what?", your pupil dilates at the though.

Toji pushes you on your stomach and he enters from behind. You moan, feeling him stretch you once again. With a smirk, he begins to thrust relentlessly, his body slamming against yours. His large hands grip your sides, holding you steady as he takes you from behind.

"We are going to do it whole night" he growls, each word punctuated by his thrusts.

You cry out, your body responding eagerly to his advances. You can't deny the pleasure surging through you. His dominance excites you, the raw intensity of his actions sending you spiraling towards another climax.

"God, you're so good," he praises, his voice thick with lust. "I could spend hours with you, sweet human."

"P-please can't no more", you plead.

Toji stills, pulling his cock out, your body shaking from oversensitiveness. "Already?" then he thrusts into you again. "I know you can handle this."

You cry out, feeling him entering you again.

Time skips, and you and he are still at it, you don't know what time it is, you don't know how many orgasms coursed through you.. The only thing you know is the pleasure you are getting from this.

Toji's eyes shine with lust, his hands firmly grasping your hips as he bounces you on his lap. Your hair falls in disarray around your face, your skin flushed from exertion. Each thrust elicits a soft moan from you, your body responding to his every command.

"Feel good?" he asks, his voice low and sultry. His eyes hold a mixture of satisfaction and hunger, his gaze never leaving your face. You nod, breathless, your nails scratching lightly at his shoulders.

"Good," he growls, increasing his pace. "I knew you'd love this." His hips buck, driving into you harder, faster. You cry out, your body reacting to his every touch.

"p-please play with my nipples too.. mhmm", your face flush with shame as you beg him to pleasure you. Unknowingly removing your hands remove your top and push up your bra, revealing your breasts with stiffening nipples.

Toji's eyes light up at your request, his hands immediately moving to your breasts. He pinches your nipples gently, then harder, eliciting a mix of pleasure and pain from you. You cry out, your body arching in response.

"You like that?" he asks, his voice thick with lust. "Is this what you wanted?"

You nod, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He leans to catch one of your bouncing tits in his mouth, licking and sucking. His fangs brush your nipples, nibbling on them gently

"f-fuck .. dont bite them.. ahhh."

Toji pulls back, releasing your nipple with a wet pop. He looks at you, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. "My apologies," he says, feigning innocence. "It seemed to please you though."

He resumes his thrusts, his movements fierce and unrestrained. His hands pinch and twist your nipples, his tongue lashing over them in turn. Each touch sends waves of pleasure-pain coursing through you, your body responding eagerly.

"I'm close," you whisper, your voice hoarse.

"Not yet," he growls, his eyes darkening. "I'm not done with you."

His words send a fresh wave of arousal coursing through you, pushing you closer to the edge. You cry out, your body writhing beneath him as he plays with your nipples, fucking you relentlessly.

"R-really can't anymore.. please let me .. let me cum", you beg him, tears falling from your cheeks.

Toji's eyes meet your teary eyes, his breath ragged.

"Don't cry little human", he licks your cheek wiping off your tears. "Then cum," he growls, his voice rough with pleasure. "Let go."

With a final, hard thrust, he drives into you, the motion perfectly synchronized with your climax. You cry out, your body shaking as you crest over the edge. He follows suit, his cock pulsing within you as he finds his own release. He growls which sounds more like a howl, as he fills your womb with his thick seed.

Exhausted, you slump against him, your breathing ragged. He holds you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

Soon you pass out. Toji catches you easily, his grip firm yet tender. "Awww. I wanted more though," he whispers, his voice softening, "but fine.. I have had enough fun.. I will help ya return tomorrow"

He gazes at your sleeping form, a hint of tenderness in his eyes. Despite his rough exterior, he cares for you. He wraps his big arms around you covering your fragile body, ensuring you stay warm throughout the night.

You awaken slowly, feeling warm, wet warmth between your legs. Your eyes flutter open, landing on Toji's face, his eyes gleaming with desire as he licks your cunt. The sight is both erotic and overwhelming.

"Morning," he greets, his voice thick with lust. "How are you feeling?"

You swallow hard, your heart racing. "W-what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" he responds, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Cleaning you up after last night's fun."

You blush, your body reacting to his touch whether you want it to or not. Your eyes squeeze shut as he licks and kisses your most intimate places.

"Mmm, you taste delicious," he murmurs, his voice vibrating against your skin. "Like sweet honey."

"H-hey you said.. you will help me return back home.."

Toji raises his head, his eyes locked on yours. "Go home?" he repeats, surprise clear in his voice. "Oh yes.. But I want to fuck you before I leave you alone for good"

Your skin is already sensitive from his licks and touches, your body ready for more. You bite your lower lip before nodding.

He grins, his eyes filled with lust. "What we waiting for then?" He quickly moves, positioning himself between your legs.

He chuckles as your walls devour his huge girth. "I love how good your taking me.. Fuck.. I'll always find you during my rut, my little bunny."

4K notes · View notes

littledykeblue · 13 days ago

Text

──𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑;

(fwb! ellie x reader): you and ellie help end each other's dry spells.

wc: 4.3k | cw: top!ellie, bottom!reader, kinda dom!ellie, friends with benefits, sorta fluffy, oral sex (r!recieveing), fingering (r!recieving), strap-on usage, established friendship, MINORS DNI.

note: in honor of my first tumblr fic, it's gotta be my sweet angel ellie <3

"I mean...we could always fuck?" Ellie says it casually, shrugging one shoulder as she ashes the joint in her little Martian ashtray—the one shaped like a tiny green guy with his mouth wide open. It’s such a stupid ashtray, really, but she's so proud of it.

Her tone is flat, nonchalant, like she’s suggesting grabbing takeout or seeing a movie. Nothing about her delivery suggests the weight of what she’s just said.

You level your gaze at her, waiting for the twitch of a smirk, the inevitable laugh that will let you off the hook, but nothing comes. She just looks back at you, entirely unbothered. Steady. Oh. Oh, she’s dead fucking serious.

"Ellie, what the fuck are you talking about?" You sit up a little, tension tightening your shoulders.

"I'm just saying! You're pent up, I'm pent up..." She lets the words hang in the air, like they’re perfectly reasonable. Like that explains everything. As if desire is a simple math problem that can be solved by proximity and a mutual dry spell.

This whole conversation started because you told her—emphatically—that she should not call her ex for a late-night, emotionally reckless hookup. A basic rule. A golden rule. Exes are off-limits, especially the one who cheated twice and still somehow calls Ellie every few months like they’re on some time loop. But Ellie, ever the disaster romantic, whined that she hasn’t had sex in months, as if celibacy were a terminal illness and she was hours from death.

You, being the absolute fool that you are, admitted that it’s been a while for you too. Not that you elaborated. God, no. If Ellie knew exactly how long it’s been, she’d never let it go. She’d turn it into some running joke—years later, she'd still bring it up in a bar with a grin and a dig to your ribs. So you kept it vague. Unfortunately, that seems to have sparked something in her. Something impulsive and chaotic and very, very Ellie.

She’d propped herself up on her elbows like the thought had just dropped into her brain fully formed and was too juicy not to share. Looked down at you from the bed with that infuriating half-smile she gets when she knows she’s about to say something dumb and provocative.

She’d passed you the joint like it was a peace offering. “Y’know, that’s got me thinking,” she said, voice dipped in a conspiratorial lilt.

You snorted. “That’s never a good sign.”

“Fuck you,” she shot back without heat, grinning.

And now here you are, locked in this weird, stupid moment that feels like it’s teetering on the edge of something you can’t quite name. You roll your eyes, desperate to push things back into normal territory, but she’s not budging. "You cannot be serious," you say, your voice somewhere between amused and alarmed. “You’re on a roll with the shitty ideas today.”

"Dude, give me one good reason why we shouldn't," she says, and there’s something dangerous about the way she says it now—bolder, almost daring. She’s testing something. Maybe testing you.

You could give her a hundred reasons, probably more. She’s your best friend. You’ve known her for years. It would ruin everything. It’s a terrible, world-ending, heart-splintering idea. But the way she’s looking at you right now—eyes steady, mouth just slightly parted like she’s already imagining what it would feel like—it makes your brain go kind of static.

“Ellie, please,” you mumble, forcing your gaze away, handing the joint back after dragging too hard, letting it burn the back of your throat like that’ll ground you. It doesn’t.

“I’m not hearing a reason,” she says, calm, insistent.

“You’re such a slut.” You try to laugh it off, to toss it away with a joke, but it comes out quieter than you meant it to, rougher around the edges. Like you’re not really joking at all.

She tilts her head just slightly, like she’s getting ready to pounce or maybe just waiting to see if you’ll crack. She doesn’t seem content to leave well enough alone.

Ellie watches you for a moment longer, her gaze sharp despite the haze from the joint. She flicks the roach into the Martian’s gaping mouth again, then gestures loosely toward the bed. “C’mere.”

It’s not said with urgency, but you know what she means. And she knows you know. That two-syllable invitation is the hinge the whole night turns on.

You don’t move at first. You just lie there on the floor, staring up at the ceiling like it might offer an answer. Every cell in your body is vibrating with something like warning. This is probably a bad idea.

But she’s still looking at you, waiting to see what you’ll do. And even though your brain is screaming no, your body—traitorous and heavy with want—starts to move before you've fully decided anything. You push yourself up off the floor, knees stiff, mouth dry, heart pounding too fast for something that isn't technically even happening yet.

You crawl up onto the bed slow and unsure. It’s quiet in the room except for the rustle of sheets and the distant hum of traffic outside her window. And then Ellie reaches for you, hands landing on your hips like they’ve always belonged there—steady, sure, warm through the thin fabric of your pants.

She guides you forward, not forceful but intent, until you’re straddling her lap, your knees bracketing her thighs, your hands hovering like you don’t know what to do with them. Which, you don’t.

“See?” she says, tilting her head, smirking just a little. “World’s not ending.”

You exhale something that might be a laugh, except it’s breathless and frayed. You want to tell her that it feels like it might be. Like something irreversible just clicked into place. Like your whole reality is shifting on its axis.

Ellie reaches up, one hand tracing the hem of your shirt absently, thumb brushing just under the fabric at your side. Her eyes are half-lidded, lips parted and soft. “Wanna make out?” she asks, voice low but clear.

You freeze. Not because you don’t want to, but because you do. So badly. And there’s something terrifying in the want, in how deep it goes. Your eyes flick down to her mouth—those pretty, pink lips, slightly chapped.

Then up, across the slope of her cheek and the soft constellation of freckles dusted there like stars arranged by some careful hand. But it’s her eyes that stop you. Shining green, rimmed red from the smoke, glassy and warm, looking at you like you're something worth waiting for.

You nod once, a small, shaky thing.

Ellie waits patiently for you to bring your lips to hers. Her mouth moves against yours with a confidence that makes your head spin, all warmth and friction and the faint taste of weed and the cherry candy she had earlier.

Her hands are still firm on your hips, pulling you down just a little harder into her lap, and you can feel her now—every solid inch of her body beneath you, the heat of her chest rising with each breath, the flex of her thighs between yours.

She moans into the kiss, soft but needy, like the sound is pulled from somewhere deep in her chest. It shoots straight through you, lights something molten in your belly. The sound of her, the sound of Ellie, makes your hands curl uselessly at your sides for a second, overwhelmed by the sheer fact of her—real and warm and under your fingertips.

You gasp into her mouth, the sharpness of it involuntary, like your body forgot how to hold onto air. She responds immediately, like that breath cracked something open, like it gave her all the permission she needed to take more.

Her tongue slips against yours, teasing and just a little greedy, and it makes your whole body tremble. You're already so far gone, drowning in the feel of her and the heat pooling low in your stomach.

Her hands slide up your sides, under your shirt, rough fingertips dragging across your skin. The touch is firm, exploratory—like she's trying to map you by feel alone. One of her hands cups the back of your neck, the other still guiding your hips, keeping you pressed down against her like she doesn’t want to leave a single inch of space between your bodies.

And then, in one smooth movement, she shifts her weight and flips you so that your back hits the mattress and she’s hovering over you, bracing herself on one elbow.

Her knee nudges between your thighs, spreading you just enough to make your breath hitch. Her eyes flick up to your face, checking in, but her hands don’t pause.

They find the hem of your shirt, and with a smooth tug, she pulls it over your head. The fabric lands somewhere on the floor, forgotten. Ellie stares at your bare chest for a long, beat-heavy moment, a little awestruck.

“Your tits are awesome,” she says, dazed and in awe like they're the first tits she's ever seen.

You blink, momentarily stunned by the absurdity of it all: Ellie Williams, hands all over you, mouth seconds away from following. And that's the shit that comes out of her mouth.

“Ellie, you’re such a loser,” you groan, throwing your head back against the pillows. “This isn’t gonna work if you keep saying stupid shit—”

Your voice cuts off in a strangled gasp as her thigh presses flush against your pussy and her mouth closes around your nipple. Heat blooms sharp and sudden in your core. You glance down and see her immediately lost in it: lips wrapped around you, one hand groping your other breast with no finesse, just greedy, desperate need.

The fabric of your shorts offers barely any barrier. The friction is heady and immediate, each grind of your hips sending sparks through your spine. You bite down on a moan, hips moving on instinct, chasing pressure and the promise of release.

Ellie doesn’t seem to care whether you’re loud or quiet; she’s too busy sucking, nipping, groaning low in her throat like it’s turning her on just as much. Maybe it is. You feel yourself clench around nothing, pulse fluttering as you grind harder against the muscle of her thigh.

Eventually, she pulls back from your chest, lips flushed and wet, face shining faintly with spit. Her pupils are huge.

“I wanna eat you out,” she says, voice wrecked and breathless. “That cool?”

You nod, lifting your hips before the words even settle in the air. Ellie’s already pawing at your waistband, hands feverish and eager. She yanks your shorts off like they’re in her way (they are) and flings them to join your shirt on the floor.

Then she slides down the bed, smooth and certain, hooking your legs over her shoulders like they're also in her way. She presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh and mutters, almost to herself, “Can’t believe you were gonna act like you didn’t want this.”

Her thumb glides over the damp patch on your panties. She groans, loud and entirely unashamed.

“You’re fucking soaked.”

She hooks her fingers into the waistband of your underwear and pulls them down slower than your shorts because she’s too busy staring at what’s underneath. Her breath hits your skin before her mouth does, warm and unsteady.

“Fuck,” she whispers, like she didn’t expect you to be this wet. Like she’s never seen anything better in her life.

And then she’s on you.

No preamble. No teasing licks or featherlight touches. She dives in like she’s starving, mouth hot and open, tongue slipping between your lips, nose pressed flush against your clit. Her hands grip your thighs tight, fingers digging in like she’s anchoring herself, like she’ll drown if she lets go.

She groans as she eats you out, loud and unashamed, the sound vibrating through you. Her tongue moves in messy, desperate circles, lapping at everything, dragging slow and then fast over your clit. She buries her tongue as deep as she can get it like she’s trying to memorize you with her mouth, get drunk off how you taste.

You can’t help it. Your hips buck, thighs twitch, fingers curling in the sheets. You try to keep quiet, but a strangled moan slips past your lips anyway.

Ellie hums, pleased, and doubles down. She tongue fucks you like she’s got a point to prove, like she won’t stop until she’s wrung every last bit of pleasure out of you.

Her spit’s everywhere, dripping down her chin, smeared across your inner thighs. She doesn’t care. She keeps going, licking and sucking and moaning into you.

Your thighs start to shake. The pressure builds fast enough to feel a little embarrassing, and your voice cracks as you gasp, “Ellie. Fuuuck. If you don't slow down—”

She doesn’t. If anything, she moans louder, presses closer, and drags her tongue flat and hard over your clit until your whole body tenses. You twist the sheets in your fists, cry out, hips lifting off the bed.

Your orgasm slams into you hard and inevitable, your muscles locking up, thighs trembling around her head. You try to push her away, fingers weak as they tangle in her hair.

“Ellie, Jesus, okay, okay—” you gasp, trying to catch your breath.

But she just groans again, deep in her throat, and licks you slower now, gentler, but still relentless, like she’s chasing every last aftershock. It’s too much. Your body twitches, your legs clamp around her ears on reflex, and you whimper as you try again to shove her away.

This time she lets you, dragging her mouth off you with one last slow lick, chin soaked, lips shiny. She looks up from between your legs, hair a mess, pupils blown wide.

You’re still trying to remember how to breathe when Ellie crawls up beside you, grinning like the cat that got the cream. She reaches for her water bottle on the nightstand, unscrews the cap, and offers it to you.

“Drink,” she says. “You’re gonna need it.”

You take a few sips, pulse still thudding in your ears, and shoot her a wary look. “Ominous,” you say, taking a long drink of water. It rejuvenates you almost instantly.

Ellie shrugs, impossibly smug. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn't give you the strapping of a lifetime?”

She doesn’t even try to hide the challenge in her voice.

You raise an eyebrow, mouth curving as you sit up and set the bottle aside. “Psh. As if, Williams.”

That grin spreads, crooked and wolfish. “You asked for it.”

She stands, tugging her shirt off with one hand, exposing toned arms and abs. Her jeans hit the floor next, leaving her in just a black sports bra and matching briefs. She leaves the bra on but pauses at her dresser, rooting around with purpose.

You watch her with a raised brow until she pulls out a harness and a thick, dark purple silicone dildo—definitely above average in girth. Your eyes widen slightly despite yourself.

“You used that thing on all your hook-ups?” you ask, nose wrinkling just enough to tease.

Ellie snorts and flips you off without looking back. “No, dumbass. Bought it for myself. Broke it in solo.”

You hum, eyeing the thing again. “Okay, size queen.”

Ellie chuckles under her breath, buckling the harness with practiced ease. “Maybe. If you're good, I'll let you see just how true that is next time.”

You try not to let your face give you away, but something flickers there. A next time. You pretend not to care, to play it cool, but your throat’s a little dry again.

She notices. Of course she does.

The strap sits snug on her hips now, the silicone cock jutting forward obscenely. You’re still staring when she catches your eye.

“What?” she says, all faux-innocence.

“You’re such a slut,” you murmur, but there’s no heat behind it.

Ellie laughs, genuine and delighted. “Takes one to know one.”

You open your mouth to volley something back, but she’s already climbing onto the bed, hands sliding up your thighs again.

“C’mon,” she murmurs, voice lower now, more serious. “Turn around for me.”

Your heart stutters. You hesitate just long enough for her smile to turn predatory.

“On all fours.”

Your breath catches, arousal blooming hot and fast again as you shift forward, hands planting in the sheets.

You don’t look back, but you hear the pleased sound she makes. This is exactly how she wanted you. Her hands skate over your ass, squeezing once before settling on your hips.

“I’ll go slow,” she promises, a little too sweetly. “At first.”

You shift onto all fours, breath shallow, anticipation curling low in your stomach. You feel the mattress dip behind you as Ellie settles in, and then there's warm hands on your hips, smoothing up your back, tracing the dip of your spine.

“You're so fucking hot,” she murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “M'gonna fucking pass out.”

You barely have time to respond before her fingers are parting you again, two of them sliding between your folds, gathering the slick already pooling there. She groans under her breath.

“All this just from my mouth, huh? You liked it that much?”

Then she’s easing two fingers into you without resistance, and you have to bite your lip to swallow down the pathetic noise that threatens to spill from your lips.

“God...Els—”

“Mhm. I know, baby.” Her fingers curl just right, dragging against that perfect spot with infuriating precision. “You feel fucking incredible.”

She moves slow, deliberate, pumping her fingers in and out with growing confidence. The heel of her palm brushes your clit every now and then, just enough to make you twitch.

She adds a third finger, stretching you open with aching patience. It burns, just a little, but her other hand slides up to rub your back in slow, grounding circles.

“That’s it. Take it for me. Fuck, you’re taking it so well.”

You drop your forehead to the mattress with a whimper, hips starting to rock back against her hand. Your body sings with the pressure, the stretch, the rhythm she’s coaxing from you. And just as you start to fall into it, just as your thighs begin to tremble and your mouth opens to plead—

She pulls her fingers out.

You make a broken sound, high and desperate, hips rutting in the air for more. “Ellie, what the fuck.”

“Shhh, I got you,” she coos, leaning over to press a kiss to your shoulder. “Just wanna give you the good stuff. You ready for me?”

You nod furiously, still trembling from the sudden loss.

She shifts behind you, taking her time, and then you feel the blunt head of the strap-on nudging at your entrance. Your whole body goes still.

“Breathe,” she says, low and steady, one hand bracing your hip while the other rests warm and reassuring on your lower back. “I’ll go slow. Just let me in.”

She starts to press in, inch by careful inch. The stretch is intense, not painful, but undeniably full, and your hands fist the sheets as your body fights the instinct to clench down. But you trust her. You stay open.

“That’s it,” Ellie breathes. “You look so pretty right now. Wanted this for so long. Fuck.”

You whimper, arching back toward her instinctively. She groans, grip tightening. When she bottoms out, the strap pressed snug to your ass and her hips flush with yours, she stills. Just breathes. You both do.

“Fuck,” she says again, like it’s all she knows. “You’re unreal.”

Your body twitches. You start to move. Tiny, needy little grinds, and Ellie’s breath catches behind you. "More," you mumble, cheeks burning with the shame of just how eager you are.

“Oh, that’s how it is?” she murmurs, her tone darkening with delight. “You want it that bad?”

You don’t answer. Can’t. You just keep rocking back into her, silently begging.

Her first few thrusts are slow, deep, dragging that thick length out almost entirely before easing back in. One hand stays anchored to your hip, the other presses firm between your shoulder blades, keeping your back perfectly arched.

“There you go,” she says, rhythm building steadily. “God, I couldn't have imagined it would be this fucking good.”

You moan beneath her, hips rolling in time with her slow strokes. It’s almost too much. Not in speed, but in depth, in heat, in the weight of her body and voice behind it all. Ellie’s hand never leaves your spine, firm and grounding, guiding the curve of you with every thrust.

“I could fuck you like this for hours,” she groans. “Just keep you here, dripping and begging.”

You shiver hard, the words sending a fresh wave of arousal burning through you.

You can scarcely believe this is your friend Ellie speaking right now. Ellie who you've heard say the dumbest shit you've ever heard is saying shit like that. It's almost impossible to reconcile.

Ellie’s pace stays steady for a while, deep and deliberate. At least, until she realizes your moans are being muffled by the sheets. “Fuck,” she mutters, pulling out of you suddenly.

You whine at the loss, already aching, already empty.

“I wanna see you,” she says simply. She flips you over like it’s nothing. “And now I can hear you, too.”

"You're such a fucking perv," you say breathlessly.

You barely get a breath in before she’s between your legs again, pressing the head of the strap back against your entrance. Her eyes lock on yours, wild and possession. And you're fairly certain that's not how friends-with-benefits are supposed to look at each other.

You're certain it's not supposed to be this intense.

Ellie as she pushes back inside with one smooth, devastating stroke.

You cry out, your legs falling open instinctively, your body arching to meet her.

“Oh my God, Ellie—”

She groans as she bottoms out, already starting to move with far less restraint now. Her tempo is vicious and sharp, her hips slamming into yours with unrelenting rhythm.

“You like that?” she growls, one hand finding your hip and gripping tight. It's tight enough you’ll definitely feel it later. “Like me fucking you hard like this?”

You nod frantically, too far gone for words. Her other hand slides between your legs, fingers immediately finding your clit and circling, relentless.

“You’re so fucking wet,” she snarls, watching where her strap disappears into you with glazed-over eyes. “God, listen to yourself — listen to how loud your pussy is.”

You can’t even be embarrassed. It is loud, wet and obscene with every thrust, slick and suctioned around the toy in a way that’s absolutely filthy. Her cock drags along your walls with each brutal stroke, hitting deep, deep, perfect.

Your hands claw at the sheets, mouth open in a silent moan, hips lifting to meet every snap of hers. You lift your hands, seeking something, needing something. You find purchase on Ellie's back, your nails digging into the firm muscle underneath.

You can feel something building again, this time too fast—tight and electric, coiling low in your belly.

“Yeah,” Ellie breathes, pace only getting rougher, more ragged. She seems to be spurred further on by you clawing at her. “You’re close. I can feel it. You gonna come for me again, baby?”

You try to answer, but all that comes out is a helpless sob.

She grins, feral. “That’s it. Don’t think. Just feel.”

Her fingers press tighter to your clit, her thrusts snapping harder, faster, punishing. She’s everywhere—on you, in you, owning every inch of you. You’re not even moving anymore—she’s doing it all, fucking you into the mattress, pulling you forward onto her cock with a desperation.

The tension inside you snaps like a wire pulled too tight. Your body locks up, and with a cry you can’t hold back, you let go.

A gush of wet heat floods out of you, legs shaking violently, your whole body spasming under her. The bed under you is soaked in seconds as your back arches cleanly off the bed.

“Holy shit,” Ellie gasps, eyes wide and reverent as she slows just enough to ride you through it. “You just—fuck, baby—look at you.”

Your thighs are trembling, chest heaving, vision going soft around the edges. She doesn't stop touching you, her fingers still gentle on your clit now, coaxing every last spasm out of you.

You’re floating, dazed and undone, gasping for air while Ellie presses her forehead to yours and whispers, “that was perfect.”

You're not sure how long you lie there in the aftermath. It could’ve been five minutes or fifty. What breaks through first is the press of her lips to your cheek. Then your temple. Then the tip of your nose.

“Hey,” Ellie murmurs. Her voice is warm and low, no trace of the rough edge from earlier. “You alive in there?”

You hum weakly in response, eyelids fluttering as she holds a water bottle up to your lips. “Drink for me, baby. You need it.”

You sip, and Ellie looks entirely too smug the entire time. When you finish, she sets the bottle aside and kisses you again. Cheek, brow, shoulder. Soft everywhere.

“I cannot believe you didn't tell me you were a little sex goddess,” she says against your skin. “We could'a been doing this for a long time.”

You breathe out a quiet laugh, your muscles too loose to do much else. Everything feels heavy and pleasantly sore but spent. Your thighs ache in a way that promises to linger for days to come.

At some point, Ellie's got you standing and wrangles you into one of her hoodies. It smells like her: cedar and clean laundry and something distinctly Ellie. The fabric is soft, and you feel like you could fall asleep right now.

She kisses your forehead, then coaxes you up with a hand at your back. “C’mon. Just to the bean bag.”

You let her lead you across the room before collapsing into the oversized bean bag with a soft grunt. It’s absurdly comfortable, swallowing you whole.

Ellie crouches in front of you, still half-naked and grinning, hands braced on your knees.

“You good?”

You nod, blinking slowly. “Think so.” A pause. You eye her for a beat, head tilted. “You want me to return the favor?”

Ellie’s smirk widens. She stands, stretching, and jerks a thumb toward the bed.

“Definitely. But not until I change those goddamn sheets.”

You glance back at the bed, where the evidence of what you just did is very, very apparent.

“Fair,” you murmur, trying to hide the way your face heats up.

Ellie just laughs, shaking her head as she grabs clean linens from the shelf. “Don't be shy now. That was fuckin' awesome.”

You sink deeper into the bean bag, hoodie pulled tight around you, and let yourself smile.

“Oh my god, fuck off.”

#𓆩♡𓆪 ─ blue is typing... .ᐟ #lesbian #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie x fem reader #ellie fluff #wlw #tlou2 #the last of us #🕷 ─ littledykeblue

739 notes · View notes

dyingswanpavlova · 5 months ago

Text

"Your girl" - Part 19 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: You make a mistake. And for some reason you're almost sure, he cannot forgive you this time.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder and rape, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation, mentions of sexual activities and desires, mentions of pregnancy/pregnancy issues like nausea and puking/abortion, kidney failure, poisoning, not beta-read, if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

One question.

Was one question truly enough to make your whole world crumble, the peace you had so hard worked to earn?

The fragile ghost of happiness that had surrounded you for a while, it slowly died. And what was left was the same loneliness you always felt.

Only this time, you weren’t alone. Your hand involuntarily wandered down your chest and stopped just short of your abdomen. There it was. Your child, your love. The life growing within you, the only thing you ever truly loved, except for him.

Him.

And did he love you still? Or did he simply endure you, because you were now with child - his child?

How silly you were. A silly little girl, trapped in the body of a woman, that served as the battleground of cruelty and time. To believe things would turn out warm and perfect in the end, simply because you carried his child.

How wrong you had been.

How terribly wrong.

It was all the worse, because in the beginning it truly looked like things would work out in your favor for once.

The man in the wardrobe wasn't your concern. He made sure of it. He took care of the matter somewhere else, keeping it out of your way. Whenever you'd come up with it, he'd shush you. There was no trace left of him in your home. Instead, it was filled with warmth and safety. Your mother was nowhere in sight.

Of course, there were still countless things in your way. There was no peace, no love and no happiness without a price to pay – life always did that. It made sure you paid in time.

But for this one time, you had managed to push through. Somehow you even found the strength to ignore the ache in your chest that followed every time you remembered the godforsaken word.

Transplant.

There is was, inside of you, rotting away and ready to kill you. The remnant of what was left of your own mothers hatred for you. She hated you, despised you even, you had always known that. But to hate you enough to try and end the life she had created?

It would never cease to make you sick. How could one hate so much, what he was supposed to love and protect and cherish? How could tenderness and devotion be replaced by coldness and fury? By the desire to murder.

How could she have looked at your tiny form, your innocent smile, your small hands smudged with crumbs and chocolate and think you detestable?

No matter how much you fought against it, you always felt tears well up in your eyes.

And he always came – the only refuge you had ever known. The only warmth. The only love.

“No more tears, mama. We wouldn’t want to upset our little one now, would we?”

A small tilt of your head, a warm hand against your cheek – and you were done for. It was always enough to bring you back from the depth of your sorrow. What was it that helped you through it? Was it the guilt of not wanting your unborn child to feel your pain? Or was it him?

Him.

The life before him seemed like nothing more than a distant memory. The life before this – before you, before him, before the life that was growing inside you, reminding you of the hope you carried silently, the quiet strength.

Maybe this was what you had been born for all along. To be his, to be the mother of his child.

And you clung to that hope with every fiber of your being.

Every night that you jumped up and scurried to the bathroom, holding back only enough until you reached the toilet. Dropping to you knees and throwing up took up more of your time than you ever wished for, but to your relief, he was always there.

His sleep had always been light, but ever since you had gotten the news, it seemed like he wasn’t sleeping at all. The moment you raised your head from the pillow, he was there. He never had the time to even ask what was wrong, but for most cases it was always the same. He was there in an instant, holding up your hair in a gentle grip, his free hand softly roaming over your back.

“Shh. Let it all out. It’s okay, let it out.”

The first few times had been rather hard on you. No matter how pointless or even embarrassing, you didn’t want him to see you like that. In your head, you had made up a version of your life with him, a version in which he desired you. And would he keep desiring you if he knelt by you, while you spat down, holding onto the edge of the toilet seat?

To your surprise though, he didn’t recoil in disgust. You had never thought him to be that supportive. But he was.

He was there, every night. Helping you rinse your mouth and flush the toilet, before he gently guided you back. He sat by your side, a wet cloth on your face and he didn’t dare sleep. He never fell asleep before you.

The sickness was relentless. It came every day, every night and of course, it didn’t only come in the morning, like you had hoped. It came always to all times, it seemed. When you woke up in the morning after not having eaten all night, you practically felt your blood sugar levels drop and the dizziness was nearly worse than the sickness itself. But he was always there, always jumping at the slightest of your stirring. He came every morning, carrying a tray with buttered toast, unsweetened tea and a smoothie of all colors and all fruits.

When he did it the first time, you didn’t quite believe it. By the second time, you were still trapped in confusion. And when he came in by the time the third morning rolled around, you felt tears sting your eyes.

“Why are you crying?” He had murmured, while he sat down beside you and gently lifted the teacup to your lips. “Aren’t you feeling well?”

You choked down a sip of the hot liquid and shook your head.

With a soft sigh, you leaned back against the pillow and looked at him with the softest eyes you had ever shown him. “I just love you.”

His smile was something you had grown used to by now. Of course you still needed to separate. There was the twisted smile – the only one he had ever shown you in the beginning. And then there was the genuine one.

When you spoke of the life you had before him, he forced the twisted smile.

When you kissed him, he beamed.

It was enough to make your heart leap. The way his eyes shone in the warmth of the apricot colored walls.

Everything was indeed perfect. His smile, his voice, his gentle touch and the way he was there, before you even you knew that you needed him.

His touch became gentle, his possessiveness soft. His voice cut through the silence in a way that was more soft-spoken than harsh, like he was afraid to startle you.

A part of you ached. Was it because you carried his child? Or was it because of you?

Was it, because he wanted to be better for you? Good even.

You would never know. And there was still the other thing.

The thin, barely-there wall that stood always between you. He was your kidnapper no less, a fact you couldn’t forget. He was your bane, your pain, your silent curse – the answer of the darkness to all your prayers.

But did you truly mind?

Did you mind that after all you still didn’t know his name?

No matter how gentle he was, no matter how loving. You did mind. You were still hurt.

Because you trusted him. You trusted him enough to risk your life in order to carry his child, to give birth to the tiny wonder that was half you and half him.

You trusted him in any matter, in any way – there was no a part of you he did not know yet. And still he didn’t trust you. Not fully. Not enough.

Until one day you snapped. You didn’t intend it, you wanted to blame your doubts, your fears on your condition, your hormones.

He was about to get ready for work, looking as dashing as ever. His work shifts got shorter and shorter. He blamed it on the work itself, but you knew that wasn’t the truth. No, he wanted to be there. He was afraid. Afraid something might happen in his absence. Something horrible, something that might take you away from him – both of you.

His shifts, once starting at six, now began around eight and he never arrived after eleven. Whatever job this was, it indeed had odd work hours.

Whenever you tried to gently prod his mind and find something out, he found excuses. So far you had always feared his wrath, but ever since he knew of your condition, your fragile health, your careful hopeful, he did his best. It was hard, you could tell. He dug his nails into his palms until they bled. More than one time you had been forced to gently sit him down and take care of his bloodied hands. The first time, you had hardly made any progress, because he found himself eventually locked away in the bathroom, to calm down. You knew better, you knew it was so he couldn’t cause any damage. Any damage he couldn’t undo. But you didn’t mind. At least, for you he tried. The next time was easier. He sat down willingly, held out his hands, but he didn’t look at you.

“It’s just a little blood.”

You didn’t respond, instead gently wiped his palms clean and tended to him with such softness that it brought a strange sense of comfort to both of you. No one had ever done that for you and most certainly, no one had ever done that for him, either.

The way he tensed and battled with himself, as if expecting a blow. You had never noticed that before. How vulnerable he was under his anger. How his fury served to protect him in most cases. But the softer he got, the closer he allowed you to come, it became clear as day. He didn’t hate you, didn’t resent you, didn’t even want to hurt you – unless he did, of course. But in these moments, there rare seconds he allowed you to glance under the stoic mask of his forced, tight-lipped smile, he was there. Lurking. Brooding. Holding up his hands, protecting his face, his gut, his heart. When his lips quivered in rage, it was because he expected pain to follow.

There even were the rare moments when you saw a flicker of something else. Something akin to fear. In most cases, it happened in his sleep. The rare moments you shifted and stirred, quietly waking before he could, you got a few minutes to yourself to simply watch him. On most days, he was dreaming. Having a nightmare, probably. You saw it in the way his brows furrowed and his peaceful expression was clouded by sweat and quick breaths. You touched his face, held his hand and sometimes, it helped. On other days, it didn’t and he was forced to endure the cloud and haze of whatever it was that was hurting him. Hunting him. And forcing him to re-live some horrible memory you couldn’t come close to understand. Not yet.

Maybe he would let you in someday.

Until then, you made do with the rare hints of vulnerability he showed you. There was a clear difference. He was able to be gentle and treat you well. Treat you the way a husband would treat his wife. But that didn’t mean that he was open or soft. The wall was there. Intact. In place. And high as ever.

Your outings became more and more frequent, your weekly visits to the doctor a routine on its own. The progress of your tiny, little kidney was enough to keep you alive, enough to keep your child alive and so far, there was no need for a dialysis. At least something, you thought.

By the time the first ultrasound rolled around, the wall crumbled ever so slightly. You found yourself in the chair, your feet pressed against it nervously. He stood behind you, his hand squeezing yours gently. A part of you had almost wanted to beg to find another doctor, a female one at that – but you knew it made most sense to stick with the same doctor who also checked your kidney progress. So, you stayed, but by the time you learned that the first few ultrasounds would be done internally – unlike it was shown in movies and shows – you had a strange feeling in your gut. Akin to fear. Would he get angry? Would he be furious, because another man got to see you like that?

His hand indeed tightened on yours in a way that was near painful. You swallowed and squeezed his hand back, expecting his fury and rage, but he only kept it up until suddenly the sound of a heartbeat cut through the silence. You both froze, staring at the monitor with wide eyes. You were sure your heart stopped beating in your chest. A heartbeat that wasn’t yours, but was still as steady and fierce as ever.

“Look at that.” The doctor smiled as he looked up as well. “Someone to steal horses with.”

By the time you looked up at him, he was still staring at the monitor, incredulous and soft. Eyes softer than you had ever seen before. And his grip on your hand loosened.

“It’s really in there.” He murmured absentmindedly. You smiled and looked back at the ultrasound. There it was, tiny and helpless, but real. His child. Your child. The manifestation of his love for you.

The visits to the doctor always ended with either ice cream, a walk or a trip to the supermarket to find something you could finally eat. So far, it seemed like everything disgusted you. Things you once loved turned into shakes of your head and the sound of your stomach churning.

Something you especially loved and could always eat, made your stomach drop with nausea – pasta. There was no way you could eat pasta. Any form of it made you feel like you had to throw up.

And so all you did end up eating was bread, ice cream, a little rice and eventually your morning smoothie. Everything else made you sick.

He kept bombarding the doctor with questions to make sure your lack of proper nutrition wouldn’t harm neither you nor the baby – but he assured him, once three or four months passed your appetite would most likely return. The baby took what it needed. And you just needed to make sure that you ate the things you wanted as far.

He tried to come up with recipes and ideas, taking you out to eat until it felt normal. The warmth of the sun, the smell of the rain, the stares of passers-by. It never felt truly normal. A part of you always expected him to lock you away for good. But you slowly got used to it. To the normalcy. To the way he forced himself to make life feel beautiful for your sake.

Safe.

He made you feel safe.

Until your fear finally became a distant call, a memory. Something you never anticipated, something you hardly remembered.

No, he was real. He was good. And he was yours.

But he didn’t trust you, did he? Not the same way you trusted him.

And so, you snapped. You snapped against your better will, against your better knowledge.

Neither of you expected it, he was just getting ready for work, all in all innocent.

You watched him, leaned against the doorframe, as he adjusted his tie. He didn’t see you at first, that was until you stepped forward and reached for his tie with gentle fingers. His eyes lit up with surprise and delight, his handsome smile highlighting his features in a way that made your chest tighten.

“Thank you.” He murmured.

You forced a strained smile. “When will you be back?”

He glanced at his watch and hummed. “Not after eleven, I think. Just try and relax, okay? I’ll be back before you know it. I left some Hotteok in the fridge, just in case you feel like you can eat.”

He was perfect. So perfect. It increased the ache of your heart tenfold.

If he was so perfect, why couldn’t he be real?

The snap in your mind was nearly painful. But you needed to know.

“What is your job?”

He tensed before you, but that didn’t stop you from fidgeting with his tie. You kept your gaze glued to it.

“What?”

You nodded. “What do you do? Why can’t you tell me?”

He exhaled slowly and caught your wrists in a touch that was gentle, yet firm.

“I told you. That is nothing for you to worry about.” He said with finality.

“Fine.” You nearly spat out. “Then your name.”

His eyes darkened. “What is this about?”

“What would it be about?!” You hissed, surprised by the depth of your own anger. You had been silently resenting that part of him ever since you found out you were pregnant – and he still didn’t let you in. “I want to know your name. I want to know the name my child is going to carry for the rest of its life.”

He closed his eyes and took a slow breath, obviously ready to explode. But he didn’t. Instead, he took his hands off you and dug his fingers into his palms again. They had hardly healed. It filled you with a strange feeling of protectiveness, of guilt even – but you didn’t want to back down.

“Is it really too much to ask?” You nearly pleaded. When he shot you a glare instead of answering, your anger returned full-force.

“Fucking Hell!” You exclaimed furiously and let go of his tie. “What is wrong with you? I’m pregnant, pregnant with your child and I don’t even know how to refer to you when I speak to the doctor about you!”

“You’re not supposed to speak about me to anyone!”

You groaned in annoyance. “You know what I mean. You’re nothing but a ghost. All I want is your name or – or anything! Don’t you trust me?! Do you still not trust me?!”

He stared at you with a mixture of longing, pain and anger of his own. Before you knew it though, he pushed past you and grabbed his briefcase, ready to leave.

You gasped and rushed after him. “Stop! Wait!”

“I have to go.” He grumbled. “We’ll talk later.”

“Did you ask him to abort the child?” You froze in horror over your own words. You had never meant to ask them out loud, never meant to accuse him of such a vile thing. A part of your mind had always asked itself. What did he say? Why did he speak Korean? Why did he rush outside, like the Devil himself chased him? But you never dared ask that. Especially not, after he took such good and gentle care of you.

Not, after he loved you so thoroughly.

But the doubt lingered in your mind, the thought that he was still dangerous. Unpredictable. And cruel.

He stood with his back facing you, but you saw the way his body went rigid. His grip on the briefcase tightened until his knuckles turned white. You swallowed and immediately regretted the question. Not because you feared that he might harm you – even though, a part of you still expected him to. No, you felt guilty. You felt sick with guilt.

He turned around, impossibly slow and his eyes were blazing in a way you had never seen before.

“What?”

You swallowed again and took a step back. Your heart was racing in your chest and your hands felt cold and sweaty.

“I-“

He slammed the briefcase down on the table and approached you with quick steps. You stumbled backwards until he had you pressed against the wall. You stared up at him with wide eyes, silently pleading him. Suddenly you didn’t feel so safe anymore.

“What?” He hissed out. “Say that again.”

You swallowed thickly. “I didn’t mean-“

“Yes, you did.” He barked out. “You did mean it.”

Tears clouded your vision and you wrapped your arms around your torso, as though you feared you might crumble into yourself.

“I-“

“Is that how you see me?” He growled. “Is that really what you think I am?”

He caged you in with his a hand on either side of your head, his breath hot against your face. You had never seen him that angry before. Never.

And he still held himself back for you. His whole body was shaking in rage and he still held back.

You had never felt so guilty in your life.

“I’m sorry.” You cried out. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I-“

“I asked him to check my blood type.” He gritted out.

Your forehead ceased in a frown and you stared up at him with confusion. “What? Why would you-“

“I have ways. I have connections. I could get you a kidney tomorrow if I wanted.” He hissed. “But I knew you wouldn’t want that.”

You froze, before your frown deepened and your heart nearly burst in terror. “What are you talking about?” It came over your trembling lips, the ghost of a whisper.

“You know what I’m talking about. I know people. And I have the ability to save your life.” He gritted out. “But would you want that? Would forgive me for that? No. You’re too righteous for that. Too good.” He spat the word out with such disdain, it felt like a curse and it made your stomach ache.

“Please-“ You whispered, but he cut you off.

“So, I asked him to check my blood type instead. To see if we match. And guess what?” He smiled mirthlessly.

The room tilted, nausea rising within you. “What?” You whispered shakily, your face damp with tears.

He nodded, but his eyes stayed cold. Colder than ever before.

You knew you had fucked up. Worse than ever before. But the only thing you could think about was how terribly you must have hurt him.

You didn’t care, didn’t hear what he was saying. Didn’t care about whatever unholy business he was involved in. Suddenly you couldn’t have cared less about his name – or if his blood type matched yours.

You just wanted him back. To forgive you. To love you again.

“I’m so sorry.” You choked out. “I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have-“

“But you did.” He gritted out and took a step back, eyeing you up and down in nothing short of disgust. You choked back a sob and your chin dropped to your chest, unable to meet his cold, dark gaze any longer.

He smiled again, the scary smiled that never reached his eyes.

“Congratulations, darling.” He spat out in a sneer. “Congratulations. We have the same blood type. You have a kidney on the way.”

_______________________________

Tag list 1:

@mitsuki-dreamfree @kpopsmutty69 @heroine-chique @vkeyy @mizuwki @blu-brrys @z0mbi345 @yourpointbreak @ayieayee @freddyzeppsworld @lola11111111 @indifitel6661 @salesmanlover08 @laurenbenoit70 @lalalaa2210 @lila-marshal @auspicious-lilana @0-aubrie0 @lovelyaegyo @theredvelvetbitch @violentbluess @muriels-lover @dorayakissu @eviebuggg @muchwita @ririgy @strxlemon @obsessedwthdilfs @kiwilov3 @misty-q

Author's note: Hey guys! I'll be honest, I had some real issues considering whether or not to continue the story the way I had planned, but in the end I decided to trust my instinct. It took quite some convincing of myself and a few people who support the idea of the pregancy trope. I'm really sorry if that is disappointing to anyone. I've received a few messages of people who think it's rushed on the story/makes no sense and so on. To that I'd like to say: Absolutely. I totally agree. For those two to have a child is probably very irresponsible, especially considering her health issues. But, just like in real life, that's their decision to make. If it's a mistake, it's their mistake to make. And just because she is pregant, doesn't mean their problems will disappear and everything will be perfect out of nowhere. That being said, I hope the people who hoped for an abortion in the story can forgive me - that's a trope I just couldn't go through with. Sorry for the long text, but the thing has been weighing on my mind pretty heavily these last few days. I've even been feeling guilty, until a few very kind people reminded me that I have no reason to. It's just a story, right? Still, I hope the ones who hoped for a different outcome, can forgive me. I'm not saying anyone pressured me!!! I pressured myself, because I wanted to please everyone. But I learned that's impossible, unfortunately.

I love you, guys.

Eternally yours,

Lana 🤍

Ps. Besides the sequel, I'll be doing a "bad ending au" where things take a different and darker turn. Someone requested that and I loved the idea. I didn't answer the ask yet, but I will by the time I publish it. 🤍

625 notes · View notes

sublimitymp3 · 1 year ago

Text

Pray for me

Pairing ✵ Gwayne Hightower/Niece!reader

Warnings ✵ Hotd season 2 spoilers, incest, littleee bit of crybaby!reader, smut (frottage, oral F receiving, fingering, and slight dacryphilia), and religious themes

Word count ✵ 2.5k

Summary ✵ Your uncle Gwayne arrives from Oldtown at your brother's call, and pays a visit to you while you pray.

"Your mother told me I might find you in here,"

You whipped your head around to see the source of the voice that disturbed you from your prayers and saw none other than your uncle, Ser Gwayne Hightower. He had finally come from Oldtown, answering your brother's call for assistance in his war.

"It is the seventh day, I thought I ought to pray. Especially now..." You explain with a small smile. You stood from your kneeling position on the cold, unyielding sept floor so you may look upon him. Your face twists into a cringe as you feel the bruises from kneeling for so long begin to form on your knees, and you are sure they'll be an ugly purple color later. Relaxing your features, you finally turn on your heel to face your uncle. It has been so long since you've seen him.

Too long.

He's as handsome as you remember, with his auburn hair, pale blue eyes, and the faint freckles that dust his face. How you wished you could map kisses along those freckles, connecting them with a trail of where your lips had been. But your faith and virtue prevent you from giving in to the desire. Besides, you are sure that if he ever found out you ever thought such things, he'd look at you with such revulsion that you'd crumble to the floor in shame.

He steps closer to you, tucking a stray hair behind your ear tenderly. "You have your mother's beauty, but your father's features," he hums, tweaking your nose playfully before wrapping you in a firm hug. It is not lost on you the slight curt tone his voice took on at the mention of your late father, but you dismiss it.

"And tell me, how have you been fairing during these trying times, hm? Don't tell me you hole yourself up in this sept all day." He teases, bringing a feeling of embarrassment over you for he had guessed correctly. Recently, you do spend the brunt of your days at the sept, praying to almost every facet of the Seven for mercy, strength, wisdom, and safety. Today, you were praying at the statue of the Mother, and after you lit a candle for her altar, you prayed for mercy and protection for your family members. It is one of the few things that brings you comfort nowadays, your faith in the Seven who are One.

"Well, there isn't much I can do," you shrug, letting a small frown tug at your lips. "It's not like I can sit in on a council meeting, and mother refuses to let me on my dragon. She seems perfectly content in keeping me idle and useless," you remark with a tone of annoyance, one that draws a low laugh from your uncle.

"Your mother means well, sweet niece. You're better suited here, getting favor from the gods as opposed to being in the midst of battle. Believe me, it is a bloody, nasty affair, and you are far too delicate to join in," he grips your chin in between his forefinger and his thumb, keeping your lilac gaze trained on his ocean-blue eyes.

You cannot even think of a response to his dismissing words, as you are too busy trying to push away the familiar ache you get between your thighs. It always comes at the most inconvenient of times, like when you watch the men in the training yard move, sweaty and shirtless, or when you spy on your brother coupling with a serving girl. All you know is that it persists for ages, and no amount of praying stops it.

But you can only try.

"S-Shall we pray, uncle? So that the Mother may grant us safety, of course," you propose, shifting nervously on your feet. Perhaps it is the light flush that has appeared on your face, or how you try to discreetly press your thighs together for some form of relief, but Gwayne knows. He always knows.

To save yourself some embarrassment, you resume your kneeling position before the statue and altar of the Mother, clasping your hands together in the standard praying position. You expect your uncle to kneel beside you, or just leave the sept all together, so you are quite surprised when you feel him loom behind you.

His firm chest swiftly presses against your back, and his larger and calloused hands come to rest over your softer ones, and you find yourself trapped in this embrace. Whether it is to your delight or misfortune, you cannot decide. You squeeze your eyes shut and silently beg for forgiveness for the unseemly thoughts that run through your brain at his actions. 'Who thinks such perverse things in a holy place?' you think, mentally chastising yourself.

"Well, go on then, sweet one. Pray for me," he whispers, and you can feel his breath fanning against the shell of your ear. Gwayne is enjoying this, enjoying this little game of denial you two play. Of course, it is wrong for him to want to take you in the lewdest positions, to have you scream his name so everyone knows who is fucking you so good, but he has restrained himself all this time. Patience is a great virtue, yes, but he wishes to reap his reward for remaining ever so patient now.

"M-Mother Above, have mercy on us all. I beg you for your protection, and for you to-" you cut yourself off with a gasp as your uncle buries his face into the crook of your neck, and gently nips at the soft skin there. He begins pressing himself against your ass, making your cheeks flush even more.

Noticing your sudden pause, he pulls back to look at your blushing face with a devilish smirk. "Well? Go on, don't mind me," he says before going right back to nipping and sucking at your neck. It is impossible for you to stay concentrated on your prayers as he continues, and you resign to praying in your head as your words fail you.

Your prayers only falter as you feel something hard poking against your backside, prodding and bumping against you relentlessly. Gwayne begins peppering kisses from your neck and to your jawline before tugging your head back gently, and letting his lips brush against yours. He only pauses as you tilt your head a little bit away in reluctance.

"U-Uncle, this is wrong. N-Not here, we cannot do this-"

"Shh, enough with that. It isn't wrong, not in the slightest. It's not wrong, not when you're meant for me. Surely even the gods will understand," he mumbles against the softness of your lips. You feel in that little moment of pause that his are a bit chapped, most likely from days of riding on horseback and camping in the wilderness. But it matters little then.

Once his lips are on yours, you cannot help the cascade of little moans that leaves you. His mouth is overwhelming and easily overpowers your rather inexperienced one, and you feel his hands move from their position over yours. One hand moves to your neck, and the other to your breast, fondling it through your dress as he continues humping you from behind.

You are thankful the sept is empty today. If word of what you do now reached your mother, of the depravity you partake in with her own brother, you're sure she'd have you sent far away to become a septa.

With a final peck to your lips, your uncle stands. He drinks in the sight of you like this; cheeks flushed, hair a bit messy, clothes rumpled, and swollen lips, all from him, of course. He swears then and there he's never seen a more beautiful sight.

"Up you go, princess," he mumbles, before picking you up with ease and setting you to sit on the edge of the altar. He messily pushes away the candles and various offerings left there to make room for you, and you cringe at the disrespect, disrespect born from lust and hastiness.

The new position allows for you to be relatively level with his face, and he soon hikes your dress up and stands between your parted thighs. As he begins to rub his erection against your clothed cunt, you grab onto his forearms to ground yourself.

His erection rubs against your dampened smallclothes, brushing against your bud and your folds. With each grind of his hips, you feel something like a fire burning through your bones. But with your clothes acting like a barrier, and the slightly awkward angle, it's not enough for you. Even with your unfamiliarity to such actions, you still know it is not enough.

"M-More, more. Uncle, I need more." you whine, pulling him closer by the laces of his breeches, eliciting a sly smirk from him.

"Well well, I never thought I'd see the day where my own niece was begging for me like a whore." he teases, making you frown at the crude and cruel word.

A cruel word indeed, and you feel the familiar sensation of your eyes watering, and your nose instinctively sniffling. Gwayne's smirk falters for a moment as he watches little tears spill from your eyes, but only for a moment.

"Aw, come now sweet girl, don't take offense. It was all in good fun, yes?" he coos to you, and you feel him begin to lick your tears away, catching the salty evidence of your crying on his tongue. "But oh, darling one, how pretty you look when you cry. Are you gonna cry more with what I do to you, little princess?" he asks with a mocking little pout, before kissing back down your neck.

You've always been a bit of a sensitive girl, everyone knows this. The smallest hint of frustration or anger to you, or even words spoken to you all in jest send you easily into tears. What you were not expecting was for them to be met with something other than the typical annoyed shushing you are used to receiving when you begin to cry.

Soon, Gwayne is kneeling before you, and pulling your wet smallclothes down. His lips pepper light kisses along your soft inner thighs, teasing you once more. "So wet...all for me, little princess?" he asks before nudging his nose against your bud, making you jolt with pleasure. He inhales your sweet scent. 'The scent of a wet virgin', he thinks crudely to himself.

You keep yourself propped up with your arms, and you look down at him between your thighs. Both of your legs have been thrown over his shoulders, and the instinct to wiggle your core closer to him grows. With a knowing gaze, Gwayne looks up at you with a smirk, before his tongue darts out and he dives in.

He eats you like a starved man.

His tongue licks stripes along your core, lapping up your arousal hungrily. His mouth works expertly, and all you can do is sit there helplessly and moan. Your little squeals and high-pitched whines sound adorable to him, and he laughs against your cunt. The vibrations, of course, make you jump again.

"My my, little niece, aren't you quite the sensitive one? Is your cunny as sensitive as your heart, hm?" he teases, as he continues to lick and suckle you. You cannot respond, too incapacitated by the pleasure his mouth brings you. It is nothing like you've ever felt before. Even your pillow or your hands don't feel as good as this.

"U-Uncle, uncle Gwayne, it feels s'good," you practically babble out as the lewd sounds of him slurping against you echoes around the sept. Your hand comes down to grip at his auburn hair, tugging him closer to your cunt. You care not anymore if this depravity is sullying a holy place, or if the gods watch with disapproval. There's always time to repent, after all.

The little pain you yanking his hair brings him makes him groan against your puffy folds, adding only to the stimulation you feel. "Yeah? Feels good? Oh, baby, you have no idea..." he murmurs, leaving you a little confused at his choice of words.

But you soon find out what exactly he means.

His mouth moves to focus only on your sensitive bud, sucking on it gently while he introduces two fingers to your wet folds. His fingers dance along your slit, dragging up and down in a slow, almost torturous manner.

You cry and squirm against him, greedily pushing his face right against your cunt. He heeds your signal, and finally pushes his fingers inside your velvety walls.

The stretch and feeling of something penetrating you are new and utterly foreign, but with the added stimulation his mouth still gives, the uncomfortableness of it all soon washes away to make room for pleasure. He begins pumping his fingers in and out of you slowly, careful to not hurt you as he works you open.

Once he is sure you are ready, only then does he move his fingers faster. Your thighs squeeze around his head with the intensity of it all, and he has to wrench them back apart. "I can't move if you're trying to block me, sweetling," he chuckles, earning a sheepish "sorry" from you.

As he continues his ministrations, his fingers finally brush against and find that spongy sweet spot hidden up you. He begins to nudge against it with his fingertips, making you gush your arousal all over his face. You've never felt such an intense and yet wonderful feeling in your life, and soon you find it all beginning to build up and crescendo.

His free hand massages and strokes your hips gently, and rubs circles over your belly a little, just to soothe you. He can feel your walls tightening up, and how your thighs tremble and shake around his head. "You can do it, baby, you can do it. Go on, sweet niece," he coos, finally sending you over the edge.

With a loud cry, you tremble and feel such intense pleasure crashing over you like the waves during a tumultuous seastorm. You chant his name, worshipping him as if he were a god.

Once your peak washes over you, you slump against the base of the statue of the Mother. Gwayne promptly stands, his mouth and chin dripping with your juices. "You're the sweetest thing I've ever tasted. Perhaps I should have you every night instead of wine." he smiles, before thumbing stray tears that rest on your flushed cheeks away.

He wipes his mouth with his forearm, before kissing you once more. You can taste yourself on your tongue. "I have to go now, sweet one. Pray to the gods for me, will you? And when I come back, we can pray together again. Wouldn't you like that?" he grins, cupping your face in his hands.

A knowing smile forms on your kiss-swollen lips as you understand the insinuations of his words. As he rides off to fight your brother's war, you will remain praying in the sept, longing for the day he will return and come to pray with you again.

Join my taglist!

Tags- @unicornfartsmella44

#house of the dragon #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #hotd #gwayne hightower #gwayne hightower x reader #gwayne hightower smut #ser gwayne hightower #hotd smut #gwayne hightower fanfic #gwayne hightower fanfiction

3K notes · View notes

burningcheese-merchant · 2 months ago

Text

Alright, so. Now that we have official confirmation for how Awakened Hollyberry looks (she's gorgeous btw, slay queen), I'd love to take the time to talk about certain design motifs I've noticed in every Ancient - namely, that they all seem to incorporate aspects of their Beast counterpart into their appearances upon awakening.

Let's look at Dark Cacao first.

Obviously, he has an awful lot more white in his design now. "The balance of black and white is key," he says. And he demonstrates that with his hair as well as his attire: a pleasing mixture of black and white, perfectly split down his middle, in such a way that they mirror each other exactly.

Next, Golden Cheese.

It can be said that the reddish tones were added more to her surroundings than to she herself (fucking LOOK AT THAT BACKGROUND); however, it remains clear that the most important part is her Soul Jam. Upon awakening, it becomes a striking mix of gold/yellow AND red, both of which seemingly melting into each other. There are also red accents in her crown/headdress now, making it look like that red hue/glow that's in her Soul Jam is spilling outwards. (Not to mention the red triangle on her spear.)

Third is Pure Vanilla.

Smaller detail is how his brooch now more closely resembles Shadow Milk's, with those teensy little dual prongs (or whatever they're called) on the sides. Bigger detail is how the underside of his cape/cloak is not only a dark blue, which was previously nowhere to be seen on his person (but everywhere on Shadow Milk's), but there are eyes in it. Exactly like the eyes in Shadow Milk's hair.

And finally, Hollyberry.

Holly has adopted an even more unique and interesting change than the other 3 have: her Soul Jam has outright changed shape, now more closely matching the angular shape of Eternal Sugar's Soul Jam. Furthermore, there are wing shapes/designs not only in her helmet, but on the back of her shield, as well. (It can also be argued that the golden holly leaves on her helmet resemble a halo. Who else has a halo?)

Why do these details matter? What do they tell us? In my opinion, they demonstrate a specific aspect of the Ancients' enlightenment: their understanding and acceptance of their Beast counterparts and their vices. In being briefly touched by apathy, Dark Cacao remembered who and what it is he must be fighting for; it is thanks to it, and to Mystic Flour by extension, that he overcame his flaws and awakened. Through her battle with Burning Spice and the suffering he inflicted upon her, Golden Cheese came to see the merit in destruction, in that it is what she wanted and needed to carry out in order to defeat him and save everyone; destruction as a form of justice and protection, not aimless cruelty. In his time in the Spire of All Knowledge, plus his brief but willing descent into corruption and despair, Pure Vanilla came to truly grasp the meaning behind both his own actions and Shadow Milk's; embracing deceit in the pursuit of truth. And it will likely be that Hollyberry realizes the folly in her chronic desire to run away from and ignore her problems while trapped in Eternal Sugar's jewelry box, and remember who she raises her shield for and why, thus regaining her true passion while wallowing in sloth.

Resolution cannot exist without Apathy, Abundance cannot exist without Destruction, Truth cannot exist without Deceit, and Passion cannot exist without Sloth. While they may not explicitly state this understanding through words (minus Pure Vanilla), it is nevertheless conveyed through these other details. Dark Cacao, too, once knew apathy through his own bitter withdrawal from the world; he just retreated behind walls and not into a cocoon. Golden Cheese was also a victim of the cycle of change, and had everything she worked for ruined; instead of bitterly forsaking all life and letting everything go in acceptance of brtual nihilism, she just chose the opposite extreme of clinging too hard to what remained of who and what she loved and refused to let go, to the point of severe delusion. Pure Vanilla also knew the pain truth and knowledge often bring - most notably in learning what truly became of White Lily - and recognizes the desire to obscure these things in favor of amusing, comforting lies. The Ancients understand their other halves completely, their hatred and pain and sorrow, and the virtues turned vices they now stand for. And thus, they quietly embrace the power and importance of these skewed ideals, for it is they, and those fallen heroes that champion them, that finally made the Ancients become who they needed to be. They finally became whole.

In essence, they say, "you are a part of me, now and forever, for better or worse. And I accept that. I accept you."

I've been wanting to make this analysis post for a while lol. Thank you all for coming to my TED Talk, I look forward to when and how White Lily incorporates Silent Salt into her design

#i also have additional evidence via Ancient lobby designs that I believe further prove my point #but you can only upload 10 images in a post on the Tumblr app lol #if anyone would like. I'll reblog the OG post with the lobbies and explain them #(but if you remember what they look like... I'm not sure they need explanation lmao)#also this isn't necessarily a Beast x Ancient post but you're welcome to view and/or tag it as such if you want #cookie run kingdom #golden cheese cookie #dark cacao cookie #pure vanilla cookie #hollyberry cookie #ancient cookies #beast cookies #crk update #crk analysis

397 notes · View notes

sl-ut · 5 months ago

Text

the warmth of winter

happy valentine’s day!!! since yall have been dying for this i figured i’d offer up some smut!! enjoyyyyy <3

pairing: cregan stark x fem!targtower!reader, alicent hightower x daughter!reader, cregan stark x monster-in-law!alicent hightower

description: after a long and difficult labour, cregan is eager to spend some time with his wife and their newborn children, but for the warden of the north, duty cannot be put on hold in favour of love.

warnings: smut, rough pregnancy/labour, sexually frustrated reader and cregan, controlling!alicent, swearing, mention of alcohol consumption, potential of all other canon warnings (just to be safe)

words: 6.2K

date posted: 14/02/25

part one

A weight seemed to have been lifted from Cregan’s shoulders with the departure of the queen and her family, slowly lessening his duties more and more as the realm settled into summer and the last of winter’s chill dwindling to little more than an early morning frost. With the transition from winter to summer behind them, Cregan was glad to be able to finally spend some time with his family, especially with the newest additions of the Stark family growing bolder and stronger with every passing day. Life seemed to be almost perfect for the Lord of Winterfell, if only his beloved wife’s mother had not decided to stay until after the birth of her grandchildren.

Cregan was obviously not pleased with this decision, but understood fully well that his wife was thousands of kilometers from her home and it would be very beneficial for her to have this form of familiarity to comfort her while she laboured for the first time. The Dowager Queen was a stern woman, set in her beliefs, and made quite the ruckus when it came to enforcing Southern tradition into her daughter’s routine. Lady Stark was rather passive when these issues came about; on one hand, she understood her mother’s desire to teach her these womanly practices, to follow the routines that she would have so many years ago; on the other, the practice of these Northern customs brought her a sense of connection to both her children’s heritage and also the people she ruled over. She simply rubbed her belly and held her husband’s hand as he and the maesters argued ceaselessly with her mother.

He grew less and less agitated by his good mother’s ideas with every conversation with his wife, who was always very soothing as she broke the news to him that–some of her mother’s traditions would be taken into practice. Her husband was not overly pleased to hear this, mainly for the sake of his pride and out of his desire to stop his wife’s mother from being granted her every whim, but he also understood that his wife’s need for comfort was a major motivator in her decision, which was something he was unable to deny her.

The firstborn children of the princess seemed to hold the resilience and stubbornness of their ancestral houses, and with lungs that never seemed to grow tired. The Lord and Lady of Winterfell were set to have their hands full if all of their children were to inherit these traits, for the twins hardly gave the wetnurses a break. The septa assured the princess that they were simply missing their mother, as she’d been forced into a period of bedrest as a result of her difficult labours. Her lord husband and her mother alike were keen to have her follow the maester’s every instruction for her recovery, even if it meant she was unable to spend much time with her newborn children. Instead, they were under the constant care of wetnurses, Lady Stark’s mother, and Lord Stark himself whenever he was able, all of whom made an effort to bring the twins to visit with their mother as often as they could throughout the day, but with her frequent periods of resting it was not as often as she would have preferred, but at the end of the day, Cregan would keep her separated from them for as long as it took for her to regain her strength.

He’d seen a plethora of horrifying sights in his time, faced challenges that haunted his nightmares even years later, and yet nothing has ever caused him such terror as when he entered the birthing chambers after hours of pacing and cursing with no understanding of what was happening beyond the ear splitting screams that echoed through the winding corridors of the castle. When a midwife entered the great hall, white in the face and red staining her hands and apron, the Lord of Winterfell wasted little time in disregarding whichever of his bannermen were hoping to speak to him and rushing up to see his wife.

When he’d finally been permitted into the room, easily pushing past the maester, who’d made an attempt to speak to his liege lord. Standing at the foot of the bed, he could only stare down at her, all colour faded from her flesh and crimson pooling on the fabric of her shift and the mattress as it seeped out from between her thighs. He’d been unable to focus, words of those around him muffled the world seemed to pause around him. After that, the most he could remember is being held back by his good mother when the maester proposed taking surgical measures, not even time that he spent at her side as she wailed and pushed their children into the world. On the other side of the bed, the lady’s mother wept in relief when both children were delivered and the maester finally stabilized the lady (certainly feeling the pressure of his liege lord’s unbridled rage if he were unable to save his wife).

While Cregan wanted to spend as much time as he possibly could with his newborn children, he was determined to spend just as much at his wife’s bedside while she recovered. A week of complete bed rest followed by many more of delicate treatment would be difficult for his wife to become accustomed to; she’d taken to her duties as Lady of Winterfell better than anyone could have imagined, so it was very uncomfortable for the princess to be left with nothing to do but sleep and chat with the visitors that came to see her, which was almost always her mother, but she did not mind since she usually had a wetnurse accompany her so she could bring the twins. Little Rickon had also taken to joining Alicent to visit his stepmother, crawling to snuggle up to her side and stare down at whichever of his siblings she would be holding. It warmed the hearts of both women to see how enthralled the young boy was with his new sibling, and it gladdened Alicent to see that her daughter had already taken on a motherly role in the child’s life long before she had become pregnant for the first time.

In the weeks that had passed since the birth of their children, a new routine had been constructed amongst Lord Stark’s private household. The vast majority of his servants were meant to be at the beck and call of his wife’s needs when they were not following his own direct order, while the wetnurses who attended their children were meant to come directly to him, despite the many attempts to steal this authority made by his good mother. Alicent was a constant presence for her daughter’s servants, often found at her daughter’s bedside one moment, and coddling her grandchildren the moment that Lady Stark fell into a deep slumber. Cregan did not mind this so much, as the Dowager Queen’s behaviour became a routine of its own, allowing him to visit his children while she sat with her daughter, and sit with his wife while Alicent moved to the nursery.

These moments were precious to him, despite the fact that she was asleep for most of his visits. On occasion, the soft scrape of his trimmed fingernails against her scalp would stir her from her dreams, a sweet smile dawning on her face as her eyes fluttered open to take in the sight of her husband’s comely face.

“I thought you’d forgotten me,” she teased, a finger brushing a stray lock of dark hair away from his face, “I’ve missed you, husband.”

“I didn’t know you took me for such a fool, my love,” he frowned at her, catching her wrist in her strong grasp and pressing a gentle kiss to her palm, “not even the feeblest of men could forget the most beautiful woman in the world.”

That wondrous expression crossed her face, that same one she wore every time he praised her. Such a slight shift in her features was enough for Cregan to seek her out again and again, pride swelling in his chest for his ability to charm her so well. They were silent for a moment, fingers intertwining over her belly, now beginning to settle from her pregnancy.

“Have you been up today?”

The maester, while still apprehensive about his liege lady’s condition, had admitted that short intervals of walking and fresh air could begin to speed up her recovery.

She offered him a small smile and a nod, “Mother and I went to the nursery,” she beamed at him, “they are so beautiful.”

“Little surprise when you consider their mother,” he murmured, “I would reckon they’ll each have their choice of suitors when the time comes.”

“Let’s not think of that just yet,” she pouted, “I don’t know how I’ll let them go–I love them far more than anything in the world.”

“As do I,” he nuzzled his nose against the warm flesh of her neck, flushed under his affection, “I do not know how I can thank you for the things you have given me; our family, your heart…”

“Well, I could think of a few ways,” she smirked up at him, laughing as he groaned, dropping his forehead against her shoulder.

The maester had also instructed Lord Stark to avoid his lady wife’s bed for three moons after her labours to avoid any further internal tearings or damage that he would be unable to treat. Cregan did not hesitate to follow these orders, but could not deny that he was desperately missing his wife’s touch, and there was still some time yet to pass.

“Don’t start with that,” he mumbled against her flesh, “not when you and I both know it cannot be finished.”

There had been a time, in the very first week of Lady Stark’s ordered bed rest when she had come to realise that, while she had been unable to fulfill her husband’s desires, he might seek out the touch of another. Through bitten-back tears and an empty stare she had given him her permission to take a lover; if he was to be unfaithful, the least he could do was be upfront about it. She’d seen her husband angry on many occasions, but never before had she witnessed such a rage, let alone one that was directed at her as when she met her husband’s gaze.

How could you think so little of me?, he’d asked, his own emotions bubbling to the surface as his own eyes filled with tears, have I failed to prove my love for you?

The topic had yet to be brought up again, but she sometimes wondered if his words still held true. He was a man, afterall, and most would not think twice about taking a mistress–or five, at that–especially after gaining their wife’s permission. She had to give her husband some credit, for his desire for her truly never wavered in their time together, nor had he ever given her much reason to suspect any infidelity on his part, but she would not be the first lady to be blindsided with such an upset.

Her fingers carded through his long hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head, “I love you.”

He pulled just far enough away to meet her gaze, a pinch of colour covering his pale cheeks at her words while a lazy grin pulled at his lips, “And I you. More than I ever could have imagined.”

A knock echoed around the room, breaking the small bit of peace that Cregan had afforded himself. One of the guards stepped inside at Lord Stark’s command, keeping his gaze low out of respect for his liege lady’s state of undress.

“A raven from the Wall, m’lord.”

Summer made the wildlings bolder, and the villages north of Winterfell were being ransacked faster than the men of the Night’s Watch were able to react. Each time a tribe would be taken out or chased back beyond the wall, two more raids would take place. It was not unusual for the Lord Commander to request resources and more men from the Warden of the North, nor was it unusual for Lord Stark to visit the Wall upon summer’s dawn, but Cregan was hoping that such a request would have waited until after his wife had fully recovered from her labours.

Unfortunately for him, he was not in any position to put his duties off for personal leave, and so he found himself at his wife’s side once again three weeks later, only this time she was dressed and upright, wishing her farewell. He’d be gone for a fortnight, if all went well, but even an hour without at least a passing message from his wife was tortuous to him. The silver lining of it all was the fact that, when he returned, enough time would have passed and he could take her to bed once again–not that their advised abstinence was a hindrance to him, for he’d rather have a healthy wife than a sated libido. It also made him glad to see her up and actively interacting with their children, slowly taking on her regular duties as Lady of Winterfell once more. She was proving herself to be worthy of her title–his bannermen had continued to question Lord Stark’s choice in bride up until now, all watching with a newfound respect for her as she juggled the weight of her duties and motherhood only weeks after they had all thought she would bleed out in the birthing chambers.

“Do your duties, but I only ask that you do them quickly,” she pressed a kiss to his cheek, “Every moment that we are apart will feel like a year, I’m sure of it.”

He chuckled, “I have no doubt that my men will help me get things in order as quickly as we can.”

She scoffed, leaning closer with a wicked glint in her eye, “Well, if it hurries you any further, your wife will be waiting, very impatiently, may I add. I believe there is one duty that we have been unable to fulfill these past weeks.”

He smirked at her, “I believe so, too. Trust me, my love, there is nothing in this world that can keep me away from you for long.”

And he was right in saying that. The men of the Night’s Watch found Lord Stark to be a very stern presence, bulldozing his way to ensure that everything was in order as quickly as possible. The Lord Commander even joked about his eagerness to leave, and Cregan only responded with the truth.

I think you would not be so surprised if you had ever laid eyes on my wife.

Meanwhile, Lady Stark had returned to business as usual, tending to the internal business of her household and taking on a few of her husband’s in his absence. She was glad to have her mother during this period, no matter how hard headed and overbearing she could be. She’d taken on a maternal role for Cregan's son from his first marriage, but Rickon was a boy by the time that she’d arrived in Winterfell, so she had little to no experience with babies beyond her youngest brother Daeron, who had been born when she was only four years old. Even her elder sister Helaena had only just given birth to her own children before she had set out for Winterfell–miraculously also giving birth to twins. Alicent was her saving grace in the moments where she was unsure of how to care for her children, but also in caring for herself.

While her body had begun to lose the telltale signs of pregnancy, there was no avoiding the bodily changes she had undergone–her belly was softer than before, her waist was not quite as slender as she would have liked it to be, and her breasts were still painfully swollen. She’d spent much of the first three months postpartum in and out of bed rest, which only proved to make the changes of her body more painfully obvious to her, and her husband’s insistence to follow the maester’s every order in regards to their marital bed had caused her some doubt–he’d assured her that he had never even considered the possibility of seeking out another, he still had not seemed very adamant for the maester’s approval and he had been reluctant to even sleep in the same bed with her. She did not doubt his love for her, she wasn’t that foolish, but his love did not necessarily mean that he was entirely attracted to her anymore. Her mother was sympathetic to this, remembering exactly how uncomfortable she’d felt with her body after her own labours. She could not stop this discomfort, nor the pains, but she could help settle her nerves and dull the aches.

It also allowed for an extra helping hand with the children themselves, for the wetnurses were helpful but ultimately made the experience much less personal and only furthered the connection between mother and child; a connection that had been majorly robbed from Alicent herself, as no one save the king himself was able to make decisions for his infant children. The Dowager Queen had actually found that this connection between herself and her children had strengthened through her involvement with their own children. She could not deny that the relationship she had with her sons was likely irreparable, but she had only grown closer with her daughters following their respective births, and considering that she would soon be leaving Winterfell and likely would not be able to return for each of her youngest daughter’s labours, she was eager to teach her as much as possible in the time that she had left.

Her insistence on creating a stronger bond with her daughter had also later developed into a fierce protectiveness, especially after she had been forced to sit idly by and watch as her daughter nearly bled out, anxiously awaiting her good son’s decision of whether or not her daughter would live. She had let out a sob of relief whenever he’d cursed at the maester for even suggesting… But there was still a part of her that wondered exactly how concerned that Lord Stark truly was with her daughter’s health, as he wouldn’t be the first man in the world to have greater concern for appearances and his own personal desires rather than her actual wellbeing. Alicent could very strongly remember how it felt to be cared for out of respect for her title rather than for her actual person.

It truly did warm Alicent’s heart to witness her youngest daughter caring for her very own children with such devotion. Whenever she was able to, she would be found in the nursery.

“I do not think I will ever get over this feeling,” the new mother had hummed, holding her daughter close to her chest with her nose nuzzled into the quickly growing patch of dark hair atop her head.

Alicent glanced over at her while cradling her grandson, smiling down at him while he tugged at a lock of her curly red hair, “You won’t. There is no time more precious with your child than when they were children, long before they can be taken from you. The gods know my life has never been so peaceful since Aegon learned to walk.”

Lady Stark scoffed, “Good luck to the man who tries to take either of them from me.”

“A woman’s curse,” her mother tutted, smoothing over the boy’s wispy silver hair, “Powerful enough to bring life into this world, and yet not enough to choose when or how it is done.”

“They are my greatest creations,” she admitted, “I hope to give them another sibling soon enough.”

Alicent’s eyes snapped to her, confusion crossing her features at the prospect of her daughter looking to have another child so soon, “Surely you cannot expect to have another just yet.”

She shrugged, “The maester has approved me to begin laying with my husband again upon his return. If the gods wish for us to have another child, then I will gladly have another.”

Alicent scoffed, laying the child back into his crib, “And what does your lord husband have to say about this?”

Gently lowering her daughter into her own cradle, Lady Stark sighed, “He is…I cannot be sure. Every time I bring it up, he seems uncertain. He has assured me that he would not take a mistress, but I know I do not look exactly as I did before.”

“Perhaps he simply wishes for a healthy wife rather than a litter of children. He has his heir, Rickon, and you have given him two more already.”

“So what would you suggest I do, then?”

Alicent huffed, taking her daughter’s hand in her own as an act of both comfort to her and to calm her own nerves, “Tea. That is what I did for a time, when I did not think I could handle another labour for some time.”

Lady Stark took her mother’s hand in her own, “I cannot tell you how sorry I am that you have been subjected to the things you have, both by my father and your own.”

Alicent seemed surprised at her daughter’s transparency, opening her mouth to attempt a response when a sharp knock cut through the quickly growing tension between mother and daughter. Lady Stark called out for her saviour to enter, glad to have ended that conversation earlier than her mother would have willingly allowed her to. A servant peeked her head in, seemingly sensing the Dowager Queen’s annoyance at the intrusion, bashfully pushing her way into the room and dipping into a curtsy before her lady.

“Forgive the intrusion, my lady.”

“It’s alright, Amara,” Lady Stark shook her head, “what is it?”

“Lord Stark’s banners have been sighted just past Long Lake. The scout says it should only be a few hours now.”

She thanked the serving girl, pulling her hand away from her mother’s grasp as she moved to follow her into the corridor, “Excuse me, mother, I must prepare for my lord husband’s return.”

Cregan was glad to be welcomed warmly as he returned to his ancestral home, enjoying a hot bath, followed by a hearty meal, both while accompanied by his loving wife. She took her place at his side in the dining hall, her fingers curled around his bicep while he ate and recounted exactly how honourable the men of the Night’s Watch were–she would use a different word for most of those men, but she was far too pleased to be together once again to argue with him on something so piddly. The glances shared between husband and wife were enough to make even the most stern of Cregan’s greybeards blush, nothing but love, admiration, and carnal desire passing between them.

She gave him a moment to visit with the twins, taking that free time to prepare herself, stripping herself of her wool and fur and donning her favourite silk nightgown, a soft blue in colour and embroidered with greys and white around the neckline. The sleeves were short, just barely covering the slope of her shoulders, while the neckline dipped lower than any of her others–it was something that she would only wear for the sake of seduction, not comfort, and she was certain her husband would be equally grateful and bashful for it.

When Cregan finally returned to his chambers for the night, it was nearly the hour of the wolf and the castle had long turned silent. He was surprised to find his wife still up, sitting in the plush chair before the raging fireplace with a book in her lap. Her eyes snapped to the door as it creaked open, smiling to herself at the sight of her affectionate but tired husband as he crossed the room and pressed a firm kiss to her forehead.

He moved to the grand wardrobe in the opposite corner, freshly ungloved hands tugging at the buckle of his thick black fur cloak. He was quick to shed his clothes, his hot northern blood eager to be free of the many layers of wool and leather and fur now that he had entered the chambers that his southern wife required to be kept warm. Her own chambers were actually the warmest in the castle, and they did frequent them from time to time, but she much preferred her husband’s after spending weeks on end in her own bed, unable to do any more than stand to relieve herself.

“You did not need to wait for me, my love,” he called as he finally stripped himself of his linen undershirt, his broad back decorated with bulging muscles and jagged scars from his years of hardened training and the mischief of his youth, “it is late.”

She shook her head, smirking to herself at her husband who was ever concerned for her wellbeing, “Nonsense. It’s been three weeks, I will not forfeit our first moment alone.”

When he turned, a dark red blush spread from ear to ear, covering every inch of his freckled flesh in between. She had moved from her seat in the chair, now standing a few steps closer to him, but the flickering light from the fireplace illuminated her figure beneath the nearly sheer nightgown, exposing curves that he had yet to feel beneath his rough hands, breasts heavy with milk, and belly soft from her childbearing. He had denied himself pleasure while he was unable to have her, only taking matters into his own hands when the images of her in his head began to appear to him in the nude.

She seemed to take note of the effect that her body was having on her husband. Bashfully, she stepped forward, the rapidly growing bulge in his pants boosting her confidence as she presented her body to him. When she finally reached him, he wasted little time in grasping her hips in his meaty paws, drawing her closer as she traced her hands over his warm chest, one gliding over the muscle of his pec to curl around the back of his neck.

“I know I may not look…or feel as I once did,” she nervously chewed on her lip, “but I would give anything to have you tonight.”

He rested his forehead against her own, brows furrowed seemingly in a mixture of confusion and concern, “I will not hear such things about my wife, who is the most beautiful woman in the world and could never leave me unsatisfied.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then to the bridge of her nose, then to her cheek, and finally to her lips, “I have loved you before as my wife, and I love you impossibly more as the mother of my children. The changes in your body only represent the greatest gift you could have given me, only a fool would be blind to that.”

She smiled as she pressed her lips against him once again. Cregan was eager to reciprocate, chuckling into her mouth at her hunger as she easily melted into his arms. His palms slid around her hips to grasp at her bum, squeezing each of her cheeks appreciatively as he lifted her from the ground. She squeaked in surprise as he moved back across the room to drop her on the bed, standing tall over her as she bounced against the plush feather mattress.

She stared up at him, eyes drinking in the soft grooves of his abdomen, thick muscles framing his broad figure. His hands reached down to unlace his trousers, breath hitching as his hands were pushed away by his wife, who quickly replaced them with her own. She held eye contact with her husband as tugged the fold in his breeches apart, the laces pulling loose and allowing her to slowly slide the thick fabric down just enough to release his member. It was warm against the flesh of her palm, growing in size as she dragged her hand up and down his length, a droplet of his arousal forming on the tip as she brought her lips down to gently press against it.

Her lips curled into a wicked grin at the sound of the throaty groan he let out, eyes catching every shift in his normally stoic demeanor. She was very appreciative of how attentive her husband was to her, both in private and in the public eye, but there was nothing more satisfying than seeing exactly how easily she was unable to unravel him in a way that no one else would ever witness; big, strong Lord Stark brought to his knees by his southern wife, it was almost blasphemous to even think of.

Cregan allowed her to continue touching and licking and kissing at his member for a few moments before pulling her away.

“My love, be kind to me tonight,” he murmured through gritted teeth, “I cannot promise that I will not finish before you do, at least do not deny me the pleasure of doing it inside of you.”

She nodded quickly, moving away from his groin to rid herself of the lacy nightgown, not trusting that Cregan would be able to resist tearing it from her body, as he had so many times. When she returned, she pushed him to sit on the mattress, taking her rightful place in his lap as she reunited their lips in a demanding embrace, sighing at the sensation of her husband’s hands tracing over her naked flesh for the first time in so long–he’d joined her in the bath a time or two during her recovery, but he’d been very mindful in his touches as to not work either of them up when their desired release was not feasible.

He groaned into her kiss as his fingers finally found purchase between her thighs, months of built up desire having caused her to drip into his palm as he traced over the familiar folds before pressing his fingers into her entrance. She sighed at the sensation, pushing her hips into his touch. He continued his movements, pulling away from her kiss to take one of her heavy breasts into his mouth.

She toppled over the edge easily, her body so incredibly sensitive to his touch after months without it. There had been times after her period of bed rest had ended where she had hoped to initiate some sort of intimacy with her husband, and there were many times where he had been so close to falling into the temptation, but alas, Cregan embodied every trait of a typical Northern man, especially the stubbornness.

Only giving herself a moment’s rest, she pressed her hands to her husband’s firm chest, watching as he bounced slightly as his back hit the feathered mattress and a look of surprise crossed his features. He stared up at her, blue-grey eyes wide and filled with wonder as he stared up at his wife, a warm glow bouncing off of her soft skin under the flickering light of the fire, silver hair gleaming in the dark. He was a man of the Old Gods by tradition, but he was certain that he was looking upon the Mother herself, or perhaps even one of her own ancestral gods from Valyria. Her figure, though equally as divine as it had been before, only fuller and softer, and he was now certain that there was no possible way that she could steal away even more of his being (though this was not the first time he’d thought, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. A soft hiss rumbled through his as her hand reached down to grasp at the base of his cock, squeezing firmly before lining the tip to her weeping entrance and sinking down in a single fluid motion.

“You’ve denied me this for months now,” She gasped as she settled onto his hips, pausing to adjust to his size, “I forbid you to do so for a moment longer.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

They fell into a heavy silence, only the sounds of their staggered breaths and the soft sounds of their flesh meeting over and over again. His hands ghosted over the curve of her hips, taking hold and tugging her along in a steady pace, taking control from her easily as her head fell back in relief. This was a common thread in their marriage, where Cregan was physically the dominant figure in the relationship, always the protector and provider for his wife, while she held every ounce of control over his mind, heart, and soul.

He dug his fingers tighter into her hips and his own began to arch off the bed to meet her slow but eager pace. He finally removed one, moving it across her abdomen to press against her lower belly, grinning at the feeling of himself through the layers of tissue and muscle, his thumb stretching down to find her throbbing pearl. Cregan was fully aware that he would not be able to last much longer, but he would be damned if he was going to have his wife for the first time in months and not feel her finish around him.

Her hips quickened, movements shifting from a slow grind into a more rapid bounce as she chased after the pleasure she had been denied for so long. Cregan watched greedily as her breasts swayed with each of her movements while her whimpers and moans grew louder and more desperate. Her head rolled forward, meeting his gaze for the first time since she had first taken him inside of her, and the affection that gleamed in his grey eyes brought her forward, hands moving to fist the furs on either side of his head as she captured his lips in an open-mouthed kiss.

“Cregan–” she whimpered against his lips, voice cut off by her own heaving breaths, “I can’t, I can’t–”

He shushed her, the hand that had been anchored to her hip gliding up the length of her spine until he was able to take hold of her hair, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you…” he repeated like a mantra, forcing her face into the crook of his neck as he forced his hips up faster and harder than before, curses and grunts falling from his lips as she stiffened, a weak cry falling from her lips as she finally tipped over the edge, her juices flowing down his length as he continued to thrust in and out of her until he too fell into bliss.

They laid there together for a few moments, completely pressed against one another as they came down from their nearly unison high. She was jelly against him, barely mustering enough strength to lift her hips enough to slide his softening length out of her.

Cregan held his wife against him as he sat up, carefully maneuvering her to lay back against the pillows, pride filling his entire body at the sight of her glossy, wide eyes and the few tear tracks over her cheeks. She had a terrible habit of crying during their most intimate moments, a sight that had once scared him now only served as a reminder of how good he was able to make her feel. He moved across the room, offering her a loving glance in response to the whine she let out at his departure, returning only moments later with a damp cloth from the wash basin set up in the corner of his chambers. His touches were soft as he cleaned up the mess that had been created between her thighs, gliding the cloth between her swollen lips and across the plush fat of her inner thighs.

“Should I send for some tea?” He muttered to her, “I do not want you to feel as if you must give me more children straight away.”

She hummed, sliding her palm across his firm chest appreciatively, “Nothing would please me more than to bring more and more children into this world… but I do not think I can handle going without your touch for that long again.”

Cregan chuckled, taking her hand within his own and bringing it up to dress her knuckles to his lips, “I must admit that I feel the same way. I’ll send for the maester.”

“Not yet,” She stopped him as he moved to get up from the bed, smirking at his confused stare, “It would be a waste to have to send for more before I am finished with you.”

#x reader #reader insert #imagines #cregan smut #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x y/n #cregan x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #hotd cregan #cregan x you

989 notes · View notes

0silver0dreams0 · 6 months ago

Text

The love of a mother

Alicent Higtower and Rhaenyra Targaryen Headcanon's

Part of my story Yandere House of the dragon x ModernReborn!Reader

The love of mothers is a powerful force—nurturing, protective, and unwavering. Yet, when that love becomes controlling, toxic, and overbearing, it blurs their vision, turning care into harm and leaving their little ones to bear the weight of their misplaced intentions.

✧ Alicent Hightower views you as the perfect reflection of her ideals—her legacy, her masterpiece. You are not just her daughter; you are her most precious possession, the embodiment of all her sacrifices and struggles. The idea of you falling short of perfection is unthinkable, and she ensures you never forget how much you owe her. After all, she almost died bringing you into the world.

✧ You are hers in a way that no one else could claim. Not Viserys, not Rhaenyra, not even your own siblings. She reminds you often that while the blood of the dragon runs in your veins, it’s her blood—the blood of Oldtown, of Hightower—that truly defines you. Alicent would do anything to protect you from the chaos of the Targaryen legacy, even if it means isolating you from everyone else.

✧ She demands excellence in everything you do, from your studies to your manners, even the way you carry yourself. Every stitch of your gowns, every word you speak, every bite of food you eat is meticulously scrutinised. To Alicent, this isn’t cruelty; it’s love. She believes that by shaping you into perfection, she is protecting you from the unpredictability and danger of the world.

✧ Marriage is a distant, unwelcome thought for her. She knows it’s inevitable, but the idea of you leaving her side fills her with dread. If she could, she would keep you with her in the Red Keep forever, safe under her watchful eye. The idea of someone else taking you away, no matter how noble or worthy they might seem, is unbearable.

✧ Privacy is a luxury you are rarely afforded. Alicent’s eyes—and the eyes of those she trusts—are always on you. Even when she isn’t physically present, she ensures that someone is keeping track of your movements. If you ever fail to notify her of your whereabouts, she will not hesitate to send guards to find you, regardless of how innocent the situation might seem.

✧ Though she allows you moments of solitude, they are carefully controlled and limited. She sees too much time alone as dangerous—an opportunity for rebellion, for outside influences to seep in. If you ever express a desire for more freedom, Alicent is quick to remind you that everything she does is for your own good, that the world outside her protection is cruel and unforgiving.

✧ Her love is as suffocating as it is fierce. She constantly praises you in public, holding you up as the standard of what a princess should be. But behind closed doors, her expectations weigh heavily. Every slip, every perceived imperfection is met with quiet disappointment, a reminder that you are destined for greatness and cannot afford to falter.

✧ Despite her strictness, there are moments of tenderness. Alicent’s love for you is genuine, even if it’s overwhelming. She brushes your hair at night, speaks to you in soft tones, and shares stories of her own childhood. These moments, rare as they are, make it easy to forget the chains she’s placed around you.

✧ Deep down, Alicent believes she is saving you—not just from the Targaryens, but from the world itself. In her mind, her control is a form of protection, her rules an act of love. She cannot fathom the idea of you slipping through her fingers, and she will do whatever it takes to ensure that never happens.

✦ To Rhaenyra, you are the daughter she was meant to have, the one who should have stood by her side as her heir, her pride, and her legacy. Despite the blood ties that bind you to Alicent, Rhaenyra sees you as hers in a way that no one else could ever understand.

✦ When you were a young child, you adored her. Rhaenyra was the opposite of your mother—warm, playful, and unafraid to let you be yourself. She would sneak you sweets, spin you around in the gardens, and tell you stories of brave queens and daring adventures. For a time, you found solace in her arms, a sanctuary from Alicent's suffocating control.

✦ Rhaenyra cherished those moments, convinced that you would one day see her as your true mother. She would whisper to you about the beauty of Dragonstone, promising to take you there and show you the world beyond the confines of the Red Keep. To her, you represented everything pure and untainted in her life, a chance to reclaim the happiness that had eluded her.

✦ But everything changed after Aemond's accident. The night he lost his eye, you stood in the hall, your young heart shattering as you watched your family descend into chaos. The bond you once shared with Rhaenyra was severed in that moment. To you, she became the enemy—the woman whose sons hurt your brother and shattered the fragile peace of your world.

✦ Rhaenyra, however, refused to let you go. She saw your anger and hatred as temporary, something Alicent had planted in your heart. In her mind, you were still her daughter, and she would do whatever it took to bring you back to her.

✦ She writes to you often, sending letters filled with warmth and longing, even if they go unanswered. Each one is carefully worded, a mix of fond memories and subtle pleas for you to remember the bond you once shared. When you ignore her, it only strengthens her resolve.

✦ Rhaenyra is convinced that you’ve been poisoned against her by Alicent and the Hightowers. She believes that if she can just get you away from their influence, you’ll see the truth—that she is the one who truly loves you, who will always love you, no matter what.

✦ In her attempts to reach you, she sends gifts: rare books, jewellery, even a dragon-shaped pendant she once wore as a child. Each item is a reminder of the connection she believes you still share. When her gestures are rejected, she grows more desperate, her longing turning into obsession.

✦ She daydreams about the life you could have together, far from the political scheming of court. In her dreams, you call her “mother” once more, and she is able to protect you from everything and everyone, even your own family.

✦ The animosity between you only fuels her obsession. Your anger, your rejection—it doesn’t dissuade her. If anything, it convinces her that you need her even more. She blames Alicent, Aemond, and even Viserys for the distance between you, but never herself.

✦ Rhaenyra’s love is both suffocating and heartbreaking. She truly believes she’s acting out of affection, that her need to reclaim you is a form of salvation. But her love comes with conditions, and her refusal to let you go is as dangerous as it is consuming.

✦ No matter how much you push her away, Rhaenyra will never stop trying. To her, you are hers, and nothing—not your anger, your loyalty to Alicent, or even the events that shattered your family—will ever change that.

Taglist: @ursinaw @dakota-rain666 @laura-naruto-fan1998 @pookiedragonfire @jjggdfvvy @maryldrsstuff @1soultaken @ceramic-raven @eissaaaa @moodyblueberrytree @xadaboo @labryel @zoeyburton @hopingtoclearmedschool

522 notes · View notes

twinkletfout · 10 months ago

Text

𝑵𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒊 𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 '𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈' ;)

t’s been too long, too long since he touched you. Too long since you touched him. Ah you were going crazy. You didn want to trouble him, he was always busy with work, you barely even see him.. by the time he's back home, you will be fast asleep. Even during the morning, He will be already getting ready to go to work. He would place a gentle kiss on your forehead before leaving to work.

Even Nanami knew that, during the days you wake up early, you could see his eyes lingering on you for a little too long and how his hands wrap around your waist to pull you closer to his groin. An unknown tension growing between the two of you, as the both of you crave for each other's touch. You tried to push that thought to a corner, you didn't want to burden him because of your selfish needs, you cannot do that, you tried and tried to hold yourself back. When you decide to take things in your own hands.

Laying down on the bed that both of you shared as you scooted more to the side he sleeps in, sliding your panties down halfway down your ankles, You were rather embarrassed for doing this, but you need to release this pent up need growing day by day. You were already wet, your finger running through the folds getting it wet with your slick. You turned your head to the side, taking in the scent of him on the pillow as you gently bit your lips. You grazed your throbbing clit, sending a shiver through your whole body. Gently picking up the pace as you rubbed it. Your other came up to pinch your nipples. You moaned loudly as you pleased, your slick dripping down to the bedsheet. As you started pumping your fingers inside, curving it to hit your sweet spot, but you needed more. Only he could reach there, you knew that as you increased the digits.

It was only the middle of the day, so you could take all the time in the world. Throwing the little clothing you had to the floor as you muffled your face into his pillow, pushing your ass up on your knees as you violently rubbed your core moaning his name again and again. “Haa,, pleassee, there! Right- there, kento!” Your voice slightly muffled, “kento, more- more hard—”

You were cut off guard by the sound of the bedroom door swinging open, your eyes widening at the flushed looking Nanami staring right on to your ass, his eyes glinting with desire as he loosened his tie, his other hand on the door knob. You quickly turned around to cover yourself under the blanket. “Kento, I—” you couldn't finish your sentence as he stomped over to you, “why didn't you tell me?” his voice was a little rough as he asked, he let the door fall closed as he approached the bed, undoing the buttons of his shirt with force as he looked you up and down.

Your face was going to explode from embarrassment as you tried to form words, “you seemed- uhh busy..” you somehow said as you looked away. He let out a heavy sigh as he climbed on the bed, on top of you until you were under him “god, you drive me crazy, you know that?” he leaned in to plant a kiss on your temple “‘m sorry, baby, forgive me?” he tugged on the blanket that covered you as you slightly nodded. He tugged again, “don't hide— don't hide from me now,” he said almost breathless. “Kento, its fine, I can-” you tried to explain yourself but he cut your words in half by crushing his lips onto yours. Your eyes widening as he flung the blanket away from your grasp. Revealing your naked form underneath him. He pulled away to examine you, the way your legs knit together to hide your wetness as you looked up at him with wide innocent eyes.

One of his hands came up to grip your thighs, pulling you closer to him as he widened your legs, as he ran his fingers through the folds of your cunt, “so wet f’me, huh?” Giving slow kisses around your inner thighs. Your back arched instinctevely for more. You could see him smirking in between your thighs as his lips wrapped around your clit, giving it a firm suck, earning a sweet moan from you as you threw your head into the pillow.

He continuesly finger fucked your sweet spot, coming on his mouth as he lapped up all your juices. You sank into the bed when he let go of you, panting.

“You dont think this is the end, right darlin?” he said as he straightened his posture, with a sly smirk on his face. He untucked his shirt, unzipped his pants. Revealing the visible dampness on his boxers. “Look what you do to me” he said, as he placed your hand on him, to feel him through the fabric “take care of me, will you?” you nodded your head at his request. You could feel him twitching inside the boxers, you gave a shallow squeeze, earning a groan from him as you gently sucked and kissed him through the cloth. “Don't tease me, love. I want this as much as you do” he panted. You gave a final kiss there, as his cock came free weighing down on your face. His face flushed when he looked down at the sight below him, “god you are so perfect” he mumbled,

His hands came to rest behind your head, as he slowly rubbed himself on your face before guiding it inside your mouth as he massaged the back of your head. Your mouth instinctively widened at his size, making more size as you took him in. You bobbed your head and kept kissing on his tip. He was already growing weak at the sight of you looking up at him like an innocent thing as you took it so well, “yes, baby just like tha— fuckkk” he felt your tongue swirling him, his hips jerk as he groaned loudly. “Slow, love— I don't want to cum. Yet” he says, his dick leaving your mouth with a pop sound

He got between your thighs once again, he gave a few kitten licks before inserting inside your hole, you felt yourself clenching onto his tongue as you moaned his name. “Ken- haa” he hummed at your plea. One of his hands played with your clit, determined to make you cum again. You looked up at your eyes full of pleasure as he felt your body tremble “im cummin’!!!” You moaned, Nanami felt like he was in heaven as he drank down all of your essence. When he finally sat up, he could see you clenching around nothing desperate for something, turning him on more. “Ken, haa- fuck— i want you, right now” you said out of breath, earning a smirk from him

Without a second thought, he thrusted inside you with a sheer force making your eyes roll back in your head. He rutted inside you with no break as you moaned his name, a faint apology not going unheard “i'm so sorry, love, i missed you too- haa please forgive me, mmnnn- i wont repeat this— augh- again!” your mind was filled with so much pleasure to pay attention to that, you lost count how much time he came inside you. Lord, you didn't even know how many times he made you cum. Even after all that, he was still apologising, rocking his hips as he covered you with gentle kisses.

769 notes · View notes

eraenaa · 1 year ago

Text

Mine

Aemond Targaryen x Wife Reader Tag List

Synopsis: You are the best thing that has ever been Aemond’s, which is why you cannot really blame him for being so possessive and cautious not to lose you.

Warnings: Possessiveness, Jealousy, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Fingering, Not Proofread

Word Count: 3,193

A/N: This is based on an anonymous request where they wanted a glimpse of the married life of Aemond and Reader from my other one-shot 'But Daddy, I love him'

They often say marriage was a duty— it was a dire chore that not many seemed to enjoy, but that sentiment was one Aemond could ever agree to because being married to you was the most pleasurable and honorable thing he had ever experienced. He thought riding his Vhagar was the purest and most gratifying experience he would ever feel, but he was proven wrong. Being with you— being your husband would be the greatest pleasure he would have the honor of knowing.

Aemond sighed in contentment as he clutched you closer to his chest. Burying his nose atop your head as you slept soundly in his arms. It was a scene he quickly had gotten used to. It had only been three moons since your marriage, but Aemond could not recall a day where he woke with you, not in his arms. He could not recall a moment where his lips had not known the pressure or the taste of yours. Aemond refused to reminisce upon the days when you were not his.

Aemond felt his lips twitch as you huddled yourself closer to his chest, a small moan emitting from you as the wake of the morning sun slowly crept in. “Happy name day, my love,” You mumbled against Aemond’s smooth and chiseled chest, deeply inhaling his scent as you felt his arms wrap around you tighter. “My name day is not until the morrow.” He said and ran his hands through your hair. You hummed and stretched your limbs, slowly peeling your eyes open to see the handsomeness of your husband as the fresh morning sun lit his Valyrian features. “I know, but the celebrations are tonight, so I thought it would be best to greet you today as well,” You smiled and moved your head to kiss his lips.

Aemond sighed happily when he felt your lips against his. Aemond cupped your cheek and deepened your kiss, his whole body aflame with the burning desire to be intimate with you once more. You feel his cold hand venture to the plump flesh of your behind, squeezing it roughly, making you gasp in shock. Your husband taking the opportunity of your parting lips to snake his tongue in and feel and taste you. You felt his wanting against your thigh, warm and pulsating. And though you, too, want Aemond, feeling the need for him gathering in your folds, you gently push your husband away. You bit your lip to hinder a laugh as he looked at you, lips still puckered and eye filled with question and hurt that you would deny him of your kisses.

“We have lots to do today, husband… I am afraid we cannot indulge ourselves this morning.” You say and tried to pull away. Aemond shook his head, feeling his cock painfully seek pleasure as his eye caught your naked form being exposed as the thin sheet was removed from your frame. “It is my name day. You cannot be so cruel and deny your lord husband on the day they celebrate his birth,” Aemond reasoned, pulling on your arm and trying to capture your lips once more. You laughed, “As you’ve said, your name day is not until the morrow— now, let go of me, for I shall need to bathe,” You said and quickly pecked his lips.

You smiled as you heard him groan and whine like a little child. You loved seeing him in such a way— when in the privy of your chambers, his stoic and imposing demeanor was shed and you could see the actuality of him. You get to enjoy his handsome smiles, his genuine laughs, and his fiery touches. But the moment you stepped foot out of the four walls of your marital chambers, he once again returned to the stony, aloof prince that he is known to be. It is saddening that the world will never know the truth of your husband. You would note how the ladies and lords at court would look at you with pity. Bound and tied to what they perceive as a cold prince, but Aemond was far from it. He was a blazing fire that kept you warm even in the coldest of nights. But you supposed it was a prestigious honor to be the few who knew of your husband’s tenderness and love.

Your smile widened as your husband called for your name once more; you peeked your head from the wet room where a steaming bath was already waiting. “Come back to bed, my light,” Aemond called, and you shook your head. “I need to bathe,” You countered, enjoying the way his thin lips almost formed a pout. “And I need someone to wash my back as well… will you help me, dearest?” You bit your tongue as Aemond was quick to his feet and escorted the both of you to the tub. He did not waste a moment as he placed his lips against yours again. Pulling you to rest atop his chest as he leaned back against the copper tub, bare bodies tangled under the milky, scented water of the bath that was meant for only you.

Your breathing hitched as his lips moved from your lips to the apex of your neck and shoulder, feeling as his teeth nipped the supple skin to leave his marks. Your eyes closed pleasurably as you feel your husband’s hands guide your hips so your sex could grind upon his length. “Aemond,” You sighed as you felt the tip of his cock repeatedly glide against the sensitive pearl of your cunt. “Yes, my wife?” Aemond hummed; his voice had an edge that you were growing all too familiar with. He wanted to succumb to pleasure, to be buried deep inside you, but he wanted you to beg for the pleasure he, too, was desperate for. You clenched your jaw and moved your hips, grinding upon his length with more pressure. Aemond hissed and threw his head back, you simply just watched his reactions to the pleasurable torment that both of you were enveloped in.

Your breathing caught in your throat, and your jaw slacked as your husband abruptly entered you— you harshly sinking on his well-endowed length. Aemond’s breathing was quick to grow labored as your walls clenched around him. The only thing heard in the room was your moans, Aemond’s heavy, pleasured sighs, and the slosh of water as your husband guided you to bounce on his cock. “A…Aemond,” You called, fisting his silky, silver hair as his head dipped down to take one of your breasts into his mouth, nibbling at the bud, making you clench around him tighter. Your moans grew louder as Aemond lifted his hips to meet yours, fucking you deeper to the point that your eyes rolled back, and only incoherent words were uttered from your lips. “Fuck, look at you so pleasured by your husband… louder, little wife, I want them to hear how I pleasure you so— so early in the morning as well,” Aemond hummed and moved his hand that was on your hips to your cunt, his thumb drawing circles upon the pearl of your cunt making you moan louder, just like Aemond had wished.

“Oh… Aemond, please! Please, please, please,” You cried, placing your hands on his shoulders as you hoisted yourself to take him deeper and harsher, feeling the bubbling need for release. The prince smirked up at you. Gods, he loved you even more when you were on the verge of coming for him; he loved how desperate and more lewd you became for him. The stifled groans Aemond held were let out when you suddenly reached behind you and cradled his sacks. He looked up at you through hooded eyes, a small smirk on your lips as you moaned his name, your tits bouncing before him as you both reached your peak. You tried to catch your breath as you rested your forehead upon your husband’s. “Well, that was most productive. Do you not think so, wife?” He teased and cupped your behind with both of his hands; you let out an amused breath and shook your head, letting him carry you out of the tub so the both of you could truly get ready for the day.

For the rest of the day, you were busy with the final preparations for that night’s festivities. Inspecting if everything is in perfect order for your husband’s name day. In truth, Aemond had no wish for such a grand celebration. He would rather spend his special day in the privy of your company, and usually, you would oblige your husband. However, after hearing that not once was his name day celebrated with such an event, you had to change that. You wished for him to experience the joy and festivity of a whole kingdom celebrating the day you were born.

“Do not strain yourself, sister; it is not good for the both of you,” You hear Helaena hum as she pauses by the great hall to see how the preparations are coming. You lightly chuckle, “Aye, Aemond had been insisting for me to cancel this feast, fearing that it would burry me in work, but I do not mind it, truly.” You smiled and fixed an askew goblet on the long table. “I did not mean Aemond,” Helaena said, her voice far off, making you pause in confusion. But that confusion was quick to vanish as you heard the call of your beloved brother. “Sister!” Lucerys ran to where you stood, and you quickly enveloped your younger brother in an embrace.

“Oh. I have missed you, sweet boy!” You beamed and held him tighter. You turned to the end of the hall and saw the other members of your family entering, them obliging your request and coming all the way from Dragonstone to attend your husband’s name day. “I’m so glad you all came,” You smiled and went to kiss your mother on her cheek. You turned to your father, who could only grunt; his animosity towards your husband was still there, but you could see it slowly fading with each moment he saw how truly happy you were to be Aemond’s wife. “We would not have missed it, my sweet girl,” Your mother smiled. “Isn’t that right, dear husband?” Your mother nudged your father, who took a deep, burdened breath before reluctantly nodding. “All your chambers have been prepared; I think it would be best if you rest before the feast… so all could be in a more cheery mood,” You turn to your father with a pointed look. “Very well then,” He sighed and kissed your temple before walking off and going to their bed chambers.

“How has married life treated you, my sweet?” Your mother asked as you two were left alone. “I would guess it has treated you well… you look positively radiant, but I want to hear it from your lips.” She added, and your smile widened. “I… I am incandescently overjoyed, mother.” You said, and your mother lightly laughed to see the joyous glint in your eyes. “I am glad you found such happiness with Aemond,” She sighed, and you could only smile in agreement. Your smile grows wider as you see your husband across the hall, walking towards you and your mother. “Sister,” he nodded civilly, and your mother did the same. “Might I have a moment with my wife?” He asked, and you felt your body tingle as he was quick to wrap his strong arm around your waist, “Of course, I’ll see you two at the feast. Happy name day, Aemond.” Your mother said with a small smile.

“What is it?” You asked your husband as he was guiding you towards the direction of your chambers with hastened steps. When behind closed doors, you feel his lips against yours and your bodies flushing against each other. “Nothing, I just terribly missed my wife,” He said in between breaths after parting your kiss. You laugh and lightly hit his chest. “I was with you just a few hours ago,” You said against his lips, your heart spiking as you felt his fingers sly try to undo the lace of your gown. “Stop it.” You warned, but Aemond only grinned wider, connecting your lips to distract you from his other actions. You giggled as you heard your husband whine when you pushed him away and parted your lips. “We do not have time for this, Aemond. We still have to prepare for the feast.”

“Fuck the feats,” He said, and your eyes widened in slight offense as he dismissed the event that you had been working on tirelessly for weeks. His eye too soon widened as he saw the offense in yours. “No— I… that is not what I meant, my light.” He quickly said and cupped your cheeks. “It’s just that I… I need you.” He whispered and pecked your lips. “You just had me this morning,” You say and wrap your arms around his neck. “That was not enough… I could never have enough of you,” he smiled as your heart turned to mush and your mind turned simple by the look in his eye. You whimpered as you felt his lips on your neck, threading closer to your clavicle. It took a whole lot of control in you to push him away once more and not be tempted by the prospect of pleasure.

“Patience, my prince,” You say as Aemond’s hands were firmly placed on your waist. “You will have me over and over and over again tonight… just as long as you be patient,” You whispered, watching as his lilac eye turned dark at your words. “Just be obliging and welcoming to our guests until the feast ends, and you and I could be locked here in our chambers, drowning in pleasure until the next moon if you so wish.” You added, and you watched as he gulped. Aemond searched your eyes and only saw seriousness to back your words. “Very well,” He said and felt his heart stutter as you went to the tip of your toes to peck his lips.

Aemond was trying earnestly to appear cheery and obliging to the guests. He had been nodding ceaselessly to the guests who came and greeted him and offered their gifts. It was useless. He had no need for their things— he had everything he needed. He had shelter, food, the tiltyard, and most importantly, you. He had no care for the gold-threaded eye-patch house Lannister presented him nor the new stallion his mother’s house gave. All he cared about and wanted was a prolonged moment of privacy with you, where your attentions were not divided between him and the guests.

Aemond’s jaw ticked as he saw a past suitor of yours approaching where the two of you sat. Aemond knew that he should not house doubts or insecurities about such matters. He was certainly the higher being. He was an unparalleled warrior; he was a prince; he was your husband. Jealousy is a pitiful, lesser motion that he should not entertain but could not help but do so when it comes to you. He could not help himself as he felt the fiery rage in him only grow with each moment you spoke with your past suitor. It took everything in him not to stab the irrelevant lord alive when he dared make you laugh. Aemond only saw red and was one hair away from beheading the lord as he had the gull to lead out his hand and ask you for a dance. He remembered at the first days of your marriage, even just the lingering look of any of the lords, squires, and even his brothers would cause him to grow enraged to the point he was ready to challenge those punny men. It took great restraint in him not to let his insecurities show through with the times you had to innocently speak with other men, bestowing them with your attention, warm smile, and melodious laughs.

Aemond’s fists clenched around nothing as he felt your expecting stare upon him. You silently waited for his approval that you were certain he would not deny, for it was only a dance. Aemond had promised you that he’d be obliging that night, that he would at least show a grain of warmness towards the lords and ladies, so, however difficult it was, your husband nodded. But Aemond soon regretted his decision as his eye zeroed in on the hold your past suitor had on you. His mind cruelly conjured an alternative life where you were not his but, instead, bound to that lord. He could not stomach to just think of the thought that you were not his wife and lady. He felt vile rising in his throat at the possibility that if the gods were not on his side that fateful day of the tourney for your hand, you would have been married to another, and Aemond would had no choice but to watch you be someone else’s wife.

Aemond made hastened steps to where you and the lord danced and took his rightful place. “My prince… the song has not ended yet,” the lord had the gull to reason, and Aemond’s jaw clenched. “I have obliged you enough; do not overstep your bounds, my lord. Now, remove your hold from my wife.” He gritted, eye widening in fury. His expression is scarily serious, frightening away the lord. You smiled up at your husband as you felt his familiar and soothing touch upon your skin.

“I had expected you to deny him of his first request,” You say to Aemond in ancient tongue. You watch him raise his brow in question and skepticism. “Really? It would seem that you had enjoyed his company.” You bit your lip at his words. “Do I sense jealousy, my dear prince?” You asked, tone riddled with tease. Aemond rolled his eye and shook his head, denying that he had succumbed to such a lowly emotion such as jealousy. You felt your lips twitch into a smile as your husband avoided your gaze as you two swayed to the tune of the dance. You sighed and brought your palm to move his head to face you and for your eyes to lock. “The only company I truly enjoy is yours. You, my dear husband, are the only thing I want.” You say with a beaming smile. Aemond felt his heart and breathing stutter at the radiant smile on your lips and the sincerity in your voice. He sighed in contentment and placed a chaste kiss atop your head. He wished for deeper intimacy, but he could not do so as you two were still before the eyes of the court.

“Do you wish to retire for the night?” You asked as the song ended, and Aemond eagerly nodded his head at you, making you laugh as he practically dragged you out the hall and back into the bed chambers to finally celebrate his name day in the way he wished.

Other fics in this universe: But Daddy, I Love Him (Prequel) and King of My Heart (Sequel)

#aemond fanfiction #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond modern au #prince aemond #aemond x niece!reader #prince aemond x reader #prince aemond fic #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond x you #hotd fandom

2K notes · View notes

yandere-sins · 10 months ago

Text

Love so toxic, it burns.

In where Diluc (my beloved) realizes he cannot endure one more day apart from you.

[Continuation of this]

Fandom: Genshin Impact Pairings: Yandere!Diluc x AFAB!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Non-Con turning into Dub-Con, Nipple teasing, Fondling, Bareback Sex, Creampie, Being dominated, Light dirty talk), Forced Relationship, Obsessive Love, Kidnapping, Long Post Prompt: @sintember I love you - I do I do I do I do I do.

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Your back hit the mattress, the most luxurious softness money could buy enveloping you while the grip of the most deranged, unstable mind you knew around your wrists tightened, drawing you back to reality. It felt like a fever dream, a nightmare. Finding your captor, the bane of your existence, in your room—your closet of all places—was bad enough. Cock strutting from his loosely opened pants, squirting hot semen all over your freshly washed body, was nothing short of the most horrifying experience you could have ever imagined.

And it didn't stop there.

Awfully aware of the bareness of your skin, shame in the form of heat pooled inside your head, making you burn from the inside out. You'd underestimated Diluc, thought him to be prim and proper, when really, you should have realized a long time ago what kind of beast he was. A force to be reckoned with, an animal waiting to pounce. All this time, you deemed him mad but harmless. You, on the other hand, had always been vulnerable, helpless, and exposed to his desires. You had chosen to be ignorant.

Oh, how wrong you had been.

"Let me go!" you demanded, and although ashamed, you looked Diluc straight into his eyes. There wasn't much besides a fiery glow, the red resembling rubies, smothered in flames and fueled by a sickening affection. Even when you strained your wrists in his grasp, his fingers tightening every time you freed an inch from his hold, he didn't seem to hear you, perhaps ignoring you deliberately.

You watched him swallow hard, the most recognition you had received until now, yet he didn't move. Didn't say a word. His tongue appeared between his lips, and you thought he was going to kiss you, so you reflexively turned your head away. But instead, his head lowered to your chest, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth.

Jolting, you arched your back, your body pressing upwards. Your breast molded against Diluc's face, and he moaned into it, your whole ribcage shuddering from the sound. He slipped one hand off your wrists and captured the mound from below, sucking on your nipple with even better access. And you hit back, your now free palm slamming into his shoulder repeatedly, trying to pry him off.

When his teeth found hold, you stilled in shock, gasping.

The slamming of your hand turned into nails digging into Diluc's exposed neck, clawing red marks into his skin to the point it broke. Diluc moaned, using his tongue to tease you. You hated it, you hated every one of his caresses. So why. Why, when he let go of your other hand, too, driving his own down your body, over your stomach, your hips, and between your legs, did he find wetness stuck to your skin? Allowing him to easily slip through your folds, pry at your clit that throbbed impatiently?

Had it been so long since you've been touched with something other than the dutiful skill of the personnel that dwelled in this house, that your body craved the intimacy? Did you perhaps find yourself fond of the teasing and the desire of your captor? You had avoided him so much, ignored and scorned him; you didn't even remember parts of his features, but new ones were burned into your mind now. Like the awkwardness of his tongue as it tried to taste and play with your breast at the same time, greedily lapping, or the slight shiver from his hand between your legs as it found purchase where you didn't want it.

Diluc tried to push past your entrance, and you bit your lip in a mix of disgust and desire, hard enough to taste iron on your tongue. But he hesitated, retreating and allowing you to snap your legs shut, the spreading wetness only mildly reminding you of your failure to protect yourself from him.

Tearing away from your breast, you watched as he stretched his back, standing tall before you and staring at your juices coating most of his hand. Said hand tentatively raised to his face, and with a shuddering breath, he seemed to lose all composure, licking square over his palm like a thirsty dog. You watched in horrifying awe as he groaned, head falling to the side, a distant look on his face as he cast his gaze downwards.

Yours followed, unable to look away.

Spreading his hand wide open, you saw the strings of juices and drool netting in the gaps between his fingers, yet he enveloped his cock in it without hesitation, mixing your juices on top of the bopping, eager monstrosity impatiently waiting for its turn. It seemed like a rough jerk as he pumped his hand up and down, but you soon heard the squelching of wet skin, involuntarily making you clasp your legs together even tighter, your core filling with warmth.

You had to get away.

Fear filled you, unfiltered, pure panic rising. There was a slowly rising sense of desire clawing its way out of the depths you put it in, but no matter how much you pushed back, it grew bigger and stronger with every stroke of Diluc's hand on his cock. Adrenaline flooded your blood, and you could feel every muscle tense to the point of almost snapping apart. You had to do something—kick, punch, scream! Anything to make him stop.

Diluc had said nothing and didn't make his intention clear verbally. But as you watched him vigorously stroke his cock while looking at the triangle formed by your pussy and legs, you knew exactly what was going to happen.

Your body was already maltreated, bitten, licked, and touched in ways you didn't want to be. Diluc had already made you miserable with his passion, flooded your senses with jolts of joy that weren't his to induce. You owed this man nothing. He was a pitiful piece of shit. He didn't deserve to see or give you pleasure—much less join you in it. And you couldn't continue to let him treat you this way.

Treat you as if you belonged to him.

But instead of kicking, only your eyes widened as he sunk to his knees, cock still tightly gripped in his hand, and for the first time since this assault started, he looked up at you, saw you. Recognized the fear, anger, and anxiety raging inside of you. But instead of regret and sorrow like usually—the reluctance he showed even though he wanted to be with you—all you saw in his expression was the unwavering determination of a man that was sure of what he was doing. Someone who had made up his mind. The most dangerous beast of them all.

"Open your legs," he demanded, placing a threatening hand on one of your knees. "Show me how wet you are. That you are ready for me."

He'd never spoken to you like this in all the time you've been with him. You'd never heard him order you for his own pleasure—or perhaps he always had, and you simply ignored it. But this time, it made you shiver. Shiver like only someone expecting to have sex would. A pang of betrayal of your own body went through you, forcing a shuddering breath from your lips that was met with a sigh from Diluc's. And then, for just a moment, Diluc broke the mesmerizing spell as he added a miserable, "Please."

Please tell me you're ready. Please let me fuck you. Please end my suffering.

One word, so many meanings, and you wondered why you'd even considered for a moment doing it. To avoid the fight? Get your own needs met? Feel something for a change instead of the daily, monotonous boredom you had long made peace with?

"Why would I?" you returned the question, and you saw his determination falter, the moment ruined as was the mood. Usually, that would be enough to break his spirit, put Diluc back in his place, and remind him of what kind of person he was.

But not this time.

"Because otherwise, I will pry them open, bruise your beautiful skin if I must to get what I want. I will own you tonight. Will make you mine, so every time I come into this room from today onwards, you'll be reminded of what I did to you tonight. So that you'll be wet forever more, desperate to feel me inside again."

He gulped, his own words registering in his mind. "I'll make you love me tonight, so you know what it's like to crave someone to the point it makes you mad. And you will enjoy it, so don't make me repeat it again. Open your legs."

A battle ensued inside of you, a war so ferocious and unkind between your need to stay in control and the want to let go of it. Here was someone devoted, obsessed with you, ready to fulfill your every need despite the horrors he made you endure daily. You could use him, enjoy it, and perhaps gain some will to live afterward if the longing for human touch and love was finally soothed. But could you live with the shame? Remembering his hands, his mouth, his cock? Could your mental health withstand the presence of your captor burned into your mind?

Did it make a difference which one you chose?

You'd be miserable either way. He'd not stop even if you didn't obey. He'd not vanish, whether it meant taking you willingly or unwillingly. His presence would still be burned inside your mind, still eat at your table, still try to make small talk even if you didn't answer him. You'd not be better off just because you kept your dignity. Pride meant nothing in this house where no one recognized you as a free, self-owned person.

You'd long been defeated, you simply didn't want to recognize it.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you slowly unfurled your clasped legs, Diluc's shameless gaze falling to his place of desire. You caught him sniffing the air before he groaned, the pumping of his hand below your line of sight getting even more vicious. You fell back into the mattress, sobbing behind your hand, muffling the sound. Still, the misery that threatened to overtake you was cut down violently by the pleasure your compliance brought.

Diluc surged forward, burying his head between your legs. You felt all of his face nestled against the hot, sensitive skin of your pussy, lips trembling against yours while his breath burned away your own heat. His nose was stuck at the top of your folds, clashing with your clit ever so often as he let his jaw slack, tongue starting roaming from the very bottom to the top, slurping up all the leakage he could reach.

You were torn from your defeat when Diluc's mouth found the pleasure of wrapping around your clit, sucking it in. He didn't need teeth nor tongue to make your fingers grasp for his hair; didn't need support as you arched your back. Yet he grabbed your waist with the devotion of a lover and pleasured you once he found the holy grail of sensitivity between your legs.

By the time your feet curled and breathless moans and shrieks escaped you, those legs were wrapped around his head, his breath now matching the heat from your pussy, and his worshipping forcing an explosion. It was a high you were reluctant to come down from. But thanks to Diluc, the crash wasn't a crash at all. It was a slowly drawn-out symphony that got quieter the longer he directed it until it faded with a pleasant tingle left behind.

Your eyes met as he rose above you, staring down at your undone form. Your chests were heaving with the severity of what had just happened, the chemistry you'd denied so long having served its purpose. Sometimes, you feared, it was true that fucking your enemy was the one unforgivable sin that gave more than it took. There was only one thing left now. One eager, lonely thing.

When Diluc hoisted your legs back over his shoulders, grabbing your midriff to move you further up the bed, you didn't move an inch, didn't help him. What he wanted, he needed to earn. If he wanted to have you so badly, he had to do the work for it. And he did. Never grumbling, never complaining while he left trails of kisses behind as he hovered above you, positioning the tip of his cock to your entrance.

The moment you did move, did struggle was as he pressed forward, burying himself inside of you in a long, dragging motion. You'd just come, your sensitivity tightening everything, and his cock, on the other hand, was an underestimated mass invading you. A feeling of fullness, paired with the moans from both of your mouths, was something you'd never again forget. The way he was bulging you out from inside, the throb as his cock threatened to explode right then and there, and the desperate wrapping of your walls to keep yourself sane and safe from the overstimulation.

It was all etched inside of you now, whether you wanted it.

This would be the only dick you could ever have. A burning hot rod of love. Dragging his hips back caused you to cry out and Diluc to groan, but all sounds vanished as he snapped it back in place, sinking every inch into you. You may have hated this man, but you had been wrong not to believe him when he said he'd make you remember this every time you'd see him.

How could you possibly forget?

"I love you!" he grunted, slamming his shaft back inside. "I love you! I love you!"

With every confession, his pace quickened, words of adoration raining down on you while his cock forged its shape into your pussy. The heat was unbearable, desire stoking flames and sending them straight to your core that buzzed with delight. Your orgasm was so close, but so was his. The man you hated more than anything ever in your life had now burned his place inside you and made sure to keep all his promises.

You were his now, for however long this moment was to last.

He came to own your body and, with the second orgasm, also your mind.

Making you forever remember the feeling of his hot seed spurting inside you as he held you tightly against him, your spasms only driving his cock further inside.

You screamed and rejoiced, laughed and choked on your own sobs at the same time. It was sad. The joy, the pleasure, and the sounds of ecstasy were sad reminders of how Diluc had won. How his disgusting, abusive love had spread like venom through you. He didn't move from you for a long time, but when he did, the feeling of his jizz running down your legs felt like poison—like pure toxin—against your skin.

Toxin that had befuddled your mind by making you crave pleasure—crave the feeling of being loved. Diluc was kissing you over and over, even as his cock slipped out of you while he tried to cover more of your body with his own, pressing you against himself with a sort of desperation. As if he had to feel as much as possible, or else he might regret not getting his fill of you.

But everywhere your skin touched his, it burned. The heat of his body, the tongue working inside your mouth, his cock rubbing over your tender, exposed pussy. You were increasingly convinced he was secreting some kind of toxin, perhaps his pheromones or simply his love for you.

Because you let him.

That night, you let him do as he pleased, kiss what he wanted, fuck you as much as he desired. As if you had lost your mind.

Because just this once, you craved it. Craved his attention, his devotion, the way he allowed you to let go and forget the awful situation you were in just for one night. You had allowed him to show you how to crave him in the same way he longed for you. And although you'd regret it in the morning, you didn't let him leave your bed that night—leave you.

Even though you knew his flames—his love—would burn you alive one day as you stoked the fire again and again.

859 notes · View notes

seelestia · 1 year ago

Text

✦ how can you tell? (of how easily i fall at your feet.)

⎯ oh, how love bleeds from just one gesture. ( some telltale signs that they might've fallen for you. )

#STARRING. neuvillette, wriothesley & lyney ft. gn!reader. { 2.4k words }

#TAGS. sfw, fluff & crack, major pining (!!!). more: neuvi has 1 extra part bcs i realized too late, wrio is a rascal /aff, lynette is a professional wingwoman here (everyone, applaud!!), mentions of various fontaine npc's.

#P/S. pardon my rusty writing and ideas but alas, may i entice you with some fontaine gentlemen on this fine day?? (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ) ੭

★ 〜 masterlist.

⎯ neuvillette's love is subtle, hidden behind a veil of formal courtesy. the iudex is the nation's symbol of impartiality; personal relationships, a common factor of inciting bias in one's judgement, are to be sifted through wisely. he can choose which he ends up keeping, yet he cannot choose which he ends up wanting. what of a relationship he desires but cannot keep? a conundrum but still, his affections for you seep through the crevices.

it's in the way. . . your name becomes a beloved among the melusines, you wonder why?

it goes without saying that every citizen of fontaine acknowledges melusines to be friendly creatures. all of them are sweethearts! ...but is it you or is there some form of hidden favoritism here?

for some reason, they always seem to go out of their ways to greet you on the streets. a “hello, mx. [name]!” from the right then a “good day, mx. [name]!” from the left. maybe a “stay safe, mx. [name]!” on days when it's crowded too... you're starting to think the quota of greetings you receive is much bigger than everyone else.

before long, even your arms are getting piled up with favors. one ticket for a seat in the opera epiclese from aeife, a slice of cake from sedene, some high-quality butter from muirne, a free beverage from menthe — you lost count of the freebies you've received already.

what's going on? it is as if there's a badge of approval from someone just hanging over your head. visible to a melusine's eyes, but not to yours. (you've heard that melusines perceive things differently than humans, though.)

but who are you to complain? you're not immune to their contagious smiles each time you pass by. on some days, you even entertain the thought that they are more familiar with you than you are with them. all in a humorous sense, of course.

ironically enough, this theory wouldn't take long to ring true: having received a bouquet of your favorite dessert from café lutece on your birthday from kiara, this coincidence only feeds into your suspicion even more.

a considerate gesture but surely, they don't do this for everyone? you don't recall ever telling your usual order and birthdate to a melusine before. your mind scrambles around for a memory you might've missed. who could've—

“oh, yes... i almost forgot,” kiara holds her chin in thought. “monsieur neuvillette says to send you his regards,” she nods, relieved that the message did not make its narrow escape from her mind. but blissfully unaware of the impact her words have left on you.

“goodbye, mx. [name]!” the melusine bids you farewell with a cheery wave. you murmur back a response but it comes out incoherent at best — you are simply too dumbfounded by the realization.

...so, that's who.

(wait a second, is arouet in on this too?!)

it's in the way. . . he begins to take longer breaks, hoping to run into you in front of the palais.

taking quiet strolls just outside the palais is, more often than not, neuvillette's idea of rest from work. although some might expect the iudex to have chosen a more 'creative' or luxurious location, but he digresses.

this place is near his office so less time is wasted on the journey back, liath also patrols here so he has the opportunity to inquire about her well-being — and occasionally, he stumbles upon you as well.

'occasionally' is the keyword: neuvillette has always preferred order and routine above chances and coincidences. but something about this idiosyncrasy — the tendency to linger beyond his usual duration, the act of stalling to hold onto hope that you might pass by today — is a indication of hypocrisy he wishes not to comment on.

sometimes, he closes his eyes so that his ears may be more attuned to the sound of your voice. sometimes, he opens his eyes so that they may look around for a glimpse of your face. who's to say if he'll ever be graced by your presence? it is all in fate's hands.

call it an odd method of manifestation, a childish one that even neuvillette scoffs at himself for. sometimes, it doesn't work, of course. not that he ever expects it to — but oh, when it does.

“...monsieur?” your voice cuts through the silence in his mind. he takes the sight of you in; a polite greeting on your tongue, several grocery bags in your arms and that beam on your face as you say, “what a coincidence to see you here.”

the iudex finds that he doesn't mind having his privacy briefly interrupted. not at all. not when it's like this, not when it's by you. alas, it seems that fate has smiled down on him today.

“yes, hello. what a serendipitous coincidence indeed.”

neuvillette smiles, he can't help it. perhaps, he might grow a soft spot for coincidences, after all.

(you sneak a brief glance at the sky with a squint. ...is it just you or are the clouds clearing up a little?)

⎯ wriothesley's love is beguiling, the kind of adventure that keeps you on your toes. a forthright gentleman; he is the type to know what he wants and he wants you. with him, you'll taste whiplash like never before. butterflies in your stomach, the urge to throw a shoe at him, you'll get it all. but an adventure isn't an adventure without breaks in between and it's at that very moment where you'll find you adore him the most... when he rests his head on your lap, momentarily free from worldly titles, breathing like the man who longs for warmth that he has always been.

it's in the way. . . he always offers you tea when really, he just wants you to stay.

everyone knows that wriothesley enjoys his tea — but that's only because he sees no need to hide his preferences; not his craving for a cup of tea when afternoon arrives nor his fondness for you either.

he doesn't conceal it, but doesn't bring attention to it either. wriothesley likes to think that only those with discerning eyes can pick up on the miniscule (???) hints he drops. that is, if saying “why not stay for some tea?” is even considered a subtle clue at all... maybe, he's mixing up polite courtesy with flirting a bit too much.

but who cares? in the grand scheme of things, the fun is seeing whether you'll figure it out or not. and let's be frank here; wriothesley is a patient man in all aspects, able to play the long game like no other.

don't worry, you may take as long as you want to — ironic since you're technically the only player in this 'game' — but hey, he has faith in your abilities! besides, you get to enjoy a cup of free tea (and with his company, preferably). surely, you can't complain about that? ...hah, he's just teasing you.

tick-tock! tick-tock!

the clock strikes twelve in the afternoon.

“ah, finally a well-deserved break.” the tone in which wriothesley pairs with that grin on his face is nothing less than devious. the glance he throws your way as he set aside the documents on his desk is something. or rather, it's suggesting something.

and frankly, you've experienced this many times enough to know what the underlying meaning is. “let me guess...” you let out a sigh, “you're asking me to have tea with you again?”

the emphasis on the last word is definitely, wholly intentional. you're sure wriothesley knows that too — “bingo,” he hums at you, sounds almost like a whistle. “you're getting more and more clever. must be all the tea i made you.”

“don't flatter yourself,” you roll your eyes at his attempted jest but you take a seat on his office couch, anyway. your own unique and adorable way of saying yes, he learned. still, wriothesley thinks that exasperated look on your face is an absolute marvel... and maybe, that little smile tugging on your lips you're trying to fight, too.

“same as usual?” he asks, pushing back his chair with a proud grin still plastered on his face that you wish you can wipe off.

but instead, you shake your head fondly at his antics. “mhm,” and rest a cheek on your fist. watching him tiredly, you realize you could get used to this. maybe.

wriothesley smiles to himself. looks like you figured out the tea has always been an excuse, after all.

(you've won the game, congrats! a subsidiary reward is a comment from sigewinne about how this tea routine between the two of you bears a resemblance to an elderly human couple's. she means it, innocently sincere.)

⎯ lyney's love can be faceted at first, one with such a smooth surface that you never imagined there would be so many layers underneath. joy and bliss, sorrow and burdens; all cramped and stuffed together behind his mask of perfection on the stage, a mask akin to a child's treasure chest almost bursting at the seams. you can unravel him if you tried, you can take off that mask if you reached out. and when you do, you'll find beautiful violet eyes staring right back at you, thankful, imploring you to go further.

it's in the way. . . his bravado dissipates around you, nerves scattering like confetti that bursts from his hat on stage.

they say that the first impression is the best impression — or at least, lyney hopes that's the case with all of the interesting impressions he has left on you so far. his instinct by nature is to impress, to bedazzle and that hasn't stopped since meeting you for the first time.

trying doesn't always lead to success, however. you stuttered in front of them twice, lynette pointed out after the first time he spoke to you. that fact spooked the poor magician so much he stayed up rethinking the conversation under the cover of his blanket. lynette isn't wrong per se, but lyney firmly believes that he will leave a better impression... one day, somehow, no matter how many times it takes!

he is a magician; charisma and charms should have or rather, already have come easily to him. his persona on the stage is no lie — just a tiny concerted exaggeration, maybe — but you've been among his audience before. you've seen what he is capable of. so surely, you'd know that lyney isn't really as demure and easily flustered as you might think he is... because no punches held back, he acts like that every time you talk to him.

he can't help it and that, exactly, is what makes it worse.

how many times have he cupped his face and mumbled nonsense into his hands for failing to impress you yet again? you're so wonderful and he's just so... miserable. this is unlike him. he has to wonder why you still look for him after each performance when you know you'll be greeted by his being a wreck.

maybe they like you that way, freminet tried to help. or maybe they like you no matter what, lynette chipped in. that had lyney pondering for a long, long, long time which translates into weeks.

will the day come where he presents you with a rainbow rose and professes his feelings for you without losing his nerves? he can only hope (and try, one day).

it never gets old.

when his feet step off the stage and the curtains have fallen, the satisfaction that spreads all the way to his fingertips never fails to disappoint. but with that, also comes the imminent feeling of anticipation.

for each performance he delivers, a visitor is bound to linger. when all members in the audience would head to the entrance of the opera epiclese to leave, one of them would stay. waiting patiently to be beckoned to the backstage. it's been a routine for so long, after all.

“lyney?”

right on cue.

your voice greets his ears, a sound that he can admit he misses only to himself. he exhales, a placating act to shush his beating heart from growing any louder.

“ah, [name]!” the magician enunciates your name with a certain type of fanfare. “here to lend a hand again, i assume?” he tries to shoot you a confident grin, but you aren't gullible enough to not see the tint of red blooming on his cheeks.

you stifle a chuckle at his (attempt at a) bold opening. “of course,“ said with a nod and a silly thought along the lines of: he's cute.

your honest and calm response takes him by surprise. he blinks a tad. oh, it seems the thrill from the show a few minutes prior still hasn't worn off. perhaps, he's still all too used to the crowd's shouts and cheers... not that he expects you to start yelling, of course!

“i see,” lyney feigns a cough to recollect his composure. now that he is cognizant of the fact it's just the two of you, he shrinks down into a more casual version of himself with a nervous chuckle.

“will you... be staying for long?” he asks, bashful. the question sounds more genuine than just a mere pleasantry. his eyes look hopeful, twinkling at the thought of having your presence around. his fingers have even come up to scratch at the side of his neck, you don't think lyney even realizes he is doing that.

who are you to say no? you smile. “well, my schedule's pretty empty today.”

his lips instantly break into a grin, brighter than one he usually has onstage. “that's actually marv—” he starts.

“that's great,” a familiar monotonous voice cuts in. lynette peers from behind you with a hum, “we could use more hands to pack up the new props.” oh, and that brief glint of mischief in her feline eyes as she watches how lyney gapes at her sudden intrusion.

“sure!” you glance back at her, oblivious to it all. “thanks for letting me in, lynette. i'll try my best to help.” even if you admit that one of the reasons you're here is for lyney, but you can't discredit his twin sister for allowing you to enter here in the first place. a free backstage pass in exchange for free labor, quite a fair deal.

with your back turned to him, lyney takes the chance to mouth his own words of disbelief to lynette. incomprehensible except for that one i can't believe you're doing this! that she manages to catch.

“no problem,” she observes her brother over your shoulder with keen interest, “everyone knows how fond lyney is of you.”

there is a series of spluttering noises behind you. a certain magician finds himself at the verge of choking on mere oxygen.

“lynette!”

but really, she has no doubt that lyney has fallen head over heels for you. hook, line and sinker.

— thank you for reading! reblogs and comments are most appreciated. ♡

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #neuvillette x reader #wriothesley x reader #lyney x reader #neuvillette x you #wriothesley x you #lyney x you #genshin fluff #genshin impact hcs #genshin impact x you #genshin imagines #seelestial.inks

2K notes · View notes

thefrogdalorian · 1 year ago

Text

The Arrangement

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: You entered into an arrangement with Mando find some physical relief from the monotony of hyperspace as you travel through the galaxy together as a formidable team of bounty hunters. When you did so, there were three clear rules: that it would not impact your professional relationship, that there were no strings attached and most importantly of all: that Mando would never, ever remove his helmet.

When you carelessly let your emotions get the better of you and undermine those rules, you fear you have lost the man who means everything to you and discover that you miss much more than merely the physical encounters…

Word Count: 7.1k ✯ Rating: Explicit 18+ MDNI ✯ Content Warnings: Smut, light angst, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex. ✯ Author's Note: Well, this was by far the spiciest thing I have ever written and I hope you like it! I get the urge to write smut very occasionally and it was actually pretty fun to explore this side of a relationship with Din. Thanks to the lovely @decembermidnight for helping me out with this one and encouraging me through it! Very much a "Goooood Anakin, gooooood," dynamic. Nervous about posting this one so I'm going to run and hide now but hope you enjoyed it! :)

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

As you lie forlornly on your bunk, isolating yourself further from the man who has already put distance between the two of you, you rue the day you ever allowed yourself to enter into an arrangement with such an elusive man. You think back to all the moments you have shared since your paths first crossed, reminiscing over each one of your encounters.

Tonight is not the first night you chastise yourself for allowing yourself to become entangled with a Mandalorian; far from it.

Since you and Mando first started sleeping together, there have been frequent occasions when you have regretted the day that you gave into your desires and ever allowed yourself to end up underneath him, especially since he is so reclusive and aloof by nature. His reserved nature occasionally frustrates you, though you have always successfully hidden that. Well, almost always.

Mando’s withdrawn, quiet nature began as an attractive trait. His stoic, quiet nature first drew you to him as a business partner.

Except, now you have become something more to each other, such a trait prevents you from knowing him entirely.

And, boy, do you want to know him entirely.

Unfortunately, it seems as though you never will. A fact that you are painfully aware of now Mando cannot even stand to be in the same room as you. He is always hiding away in the cockpit.

You are frustrated at yourself for ever allowing yourself to feel so deeply for him.

What started as a casual arrangement is undeniably something more to you now. He means something more to you now. The man whose presence you cannot bear to be without. The man whose absence creates a great cavernous void in your chest that feels overwhelming.

The arrangement between you and Mando started as a physical release for you. A way to scratch an itch. With no strings attached, the arrangement was merely a way of passing time as you hurtled through hyperspace to collect the next bounty.

You were instantly attracted to Mando since you first glanced at him in the Cantina on Nevarro. With his broad shoulders, narrow waist and imposing form, it was impossible to tear your eyes away from him when he strode in. Even though mostly hidden beneath his armour, you were certain he was gorgeous.

Then you heard him speak.

Maker. His voice. So deep. His tone was so even, including when he was frustrated by the conversation with the head of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild on Nevarro. Even in the face of adversity, Mando kept his composure. The hulking warrior seemed so composed, so certain. His voice was calm and steady.

As a fellow member of The Guild, you were unable to resist the tempting urge to eavesdrop on his conversation with Greef Karga. You heard all about how Mando was struggling to afford the interest on paying off the ridiculous loan he had taken to buy the antiquated Razor Crest. You discovered he was having increasing difficulty covering the fuel that the old girl guzzled. After hearing about his predicament, an idea formed in your head.

It was rare for two members of The Guild to collaborate in such a way. After all, Mando should have been your competition. Something about him was drawing you to him, though. You felt compelled towards him, as though some invisible Force was pushing you together.

You proposed an arrangement to him.

In return for keeping the credits from your jobs, this mysterious Mandalorian would provide transport, lodgings and fuel in his ship. Considering it was an offer to have one of the best Bounty Hunters in the parsec come aboard his ship, you knew it was an offer he could not refuse. Sure enough, Mando accepted.

You had been together ever since.

At first, the arrangement was strictly business. You both kept yourselves to yourselves. Never prying into the other’s affairs.

However, after a couple of months spent traversing the galaxy together, there was a shift in your dynamic.

It turned out that two people existing together in a confined space with only each other to converse with to break the monotony of endless hyperspace lanes would find conversation and, eventually, friendship in each other. Despite their best efforts to avoid such a dynamic.

While friendship blossomed, so did other feelings.

You had never been able to deny your attraction to Mando to yourself. Pretty soon, you could not even deny it to him. Not when he asked you outright after imbibing one too many flagons of spotchka.

The first night you slept together was after a particularly heavy night of drinking at a seedy Cantina next to the shipyards of Corellia. There had been an unavoidable tension in the air that night. The alcohol had only enhanced your existing attraction towards each other to the point where it was no longer possible to ignore. The booze finally gave you the courage to vocalise them.

The tension which lingered in the air all evening was only magnified when you finally staggered back to the Razor Crest. It was practically suffocating being so close to him in that old ship.

In hoping that you would quickly fall into Mando’s bunk alongside him, you had vastly underrated the meticulousness of your business partner.

Even in your inebriated states, he had taken the time to lay out the ground rules. Despite how desperate you were for him, every inch of you aflame, Mando had insisted on setting some boundaries before your first time together.

Firstly, he insisted that sleeping together should not get in the way of your professional relationship. Mando would not give you favourable rates or discounts, nor would he expect them from you, just because you were sleeping together. He made it abundantly clear that, at any time, either of you could back out. The end of the arrangement would not impact your life together.

Secondly, there were no strings attached. No feelings. No declarations of love were wanted nor expected. Ideally, no emotions at all; this was strictly a physical relationship. You were to enjoy each other’s bodies and bring each other pleasure, but that did not necessarily mean that feelings ran any deeper than merely enjoying the way he relentlessly pounded into you, night after night, as you soared through the stars together.

Thirdly, and most importantly to Mando: the armour stayed on. All of it. Including the helmet. You were never, under any circumstances, to question this rule. You were never to attempt to remove any of his armour. If you did, it would not only terminate your physical arrangement with Mando. But your professional one, too.

You were so desperate to finally relieve the tension that had been simmering for months that you were more than happy to agree to terms.

You did not regret your decision for even a moment once Mando ended up in the bunk with you.

In allowing your desire for him to win out, you discovered that he was a skilled lover, even with the limitations of his armour. You could not touch him, see his face or feel his mouth, but he made it work. He always ensured you came first, knowing exactly how to please you.

Your encounters with Mando were a way to blow off steam, a release you both craved. It broke up journeys and brought you closer together. Your professional lives went from strength to strength. You were attuned to each other’s bodies. With each encounter, it felt as though you were slowly becoming one.

Even if you feared catching feelings for Mando, you always consoled yourself that it would never amount to anything. You were sure he did not feel for you in that way.

Whenever you doubted the arrangement, you thought about how the positives far outweighed the negatives. After all, keeping your sexual encounters in-house, so to speak, was a far safer option than putting yourselves in such a vulnerable position, entirely at the behest of others. Your reputation as a formidable bounty-hunting team preceded you throughout the galaxy. You were certain that there would be no shortage of people who would be keen to seduce you and Mando for their benefit.

The arrangement was perfect for both of you. It satisfied your carnal desires.

At least, at first, it did.

The closer you grew to Mando, the more your lives became intertwined, the more difficult it was to respect how strongly he felt about keeping himself covered when you slept together.

To begin with, Mando only took his cock out of the confines of his flightsuit. His armour remained on, digging into your skin. The various plates of his armour colliding roughly with your skin was a sensation you did not mind one bit, especially the touch of his cool beskar on your flushed skin.

Although you were entirely naked before him, with every inch of your skin displayed. At first, Mando did not even remove his gloves.

During those early encounters, you would barely even touch him. Fearful of being scolded, of ruining what you had. He often took you from behind, pounding into you after he bent you over the crates or the edge of his bunk. Sometimes on the cockpit's dashboard itself, if you were particularly desperate for each other and could not make it down the ladder to your bunk.

Still, the more you and Mando got intimate with one another, the more desperate you were to reach the man below.

When he finally allowed you to ride him as he sat on the red leather seat of the cockpit, your ass brushing against the cool metal of his thigh plates, you took your chance.

You frantically pushed through the coarse material of his cowl and moved the material which guarded his neck so you could place your lips upon the soft, golden skin you discovered there.

Mando did not seem to mind, never pushing you away.

It became a ritual whenever you slept together. You, delighting as you sucked marks that no one else would be able to see, while Mando groaned and praised you.

You knew the marks were just between the two of you, for your eyes only. Still, their presence nonetheless gave you a thrill in the days afterwards. Especially, when you saw him interacting with others. To know that you had marked him. You had claimed him as yours.

It was a heady prospect that this formidable Mandalorian warrior had been reduced to a whimpering mess by your lips, by such a simple act. He had allowed you to claim him.

It was also a dangerous prospect… to think of him as yours.

You did not dwell on it for too long, however.

After that first time you desperately sought out his skin as you rode him in the cockpit, something shifted deep within Mando.

That small action had clearly awakened some previously untouched feelings in him. The next time you slept together Mando allowed you to remove his flightsuit. You had not acknowledged this shift or dared to believe that it could mean that he held any deeper feelings for you than the lust and desperation borne out of your encounters.

Still, from that day forth, rather than just taking his impressive length out and nothing else, he would undress himself and wait for you on the bunk, clad in nothing but his helmet.

It was a sign of ultimate trust. Of vulnerability from a man who you knew rarely allowed himself to feel such an emotion.

Now you lie here despondently at the knowledge that you have ruined everything.

Your heart constricts as you remember how close you and Mando once had been. How much you had trusted each other. Entirely. Unquestioningly.

Those times seem so distant now.

Now that you and Mando have stopped speaking.

Since your last encounter more than a week ago, which happened in the aftermath of a particularly stressful job on the forest planet where you had collected your latest bounty, he has not said a word to you.

Mando has been completely ignoring your existence… and you have a pretty good idea as to the reason why.

In fact, as you think back to your most recent encounter, turning over the thoughts in your mind once again, you are certain of the moment you ruined everything…

✯✯✯✯✯

You had barely made it to the bunk, so desperate for each other after spending days camped out in the undergrowth. Dirt still clung to your pores, invading every crease of your body. There had been no opportunity to use the sonic. You were preoccupied with loading up the bounty, as Mando started the Razor Crest’s launch sequence. Despite your dishevelled, filthy appearance, Mando did not seem to mind. He initiated another encounter without hesitation.

Your condition seemed to unlock something primal within him when you bore yourself to him, traces of dirt on your skin. The musky scent of the forest planet clung to him as he bared his hulking form to you after stripping out of his flightsuit. He was feral, desperate for you as he pounded into you at a merciless pace. Mando moaned loudly and chanted your name as though it were a sacred prayer until he finished with one long growl of your name in his deep, gravelly voice that strained under each syllable.

In the aftermath, as you lay on his strong chest, you allowed your mind to wander. You wondered what the man beneath the helmet looked like. Whether he was as attractive as the rest of his body suggested. His body was firm and toned without being overwhelmingly muscular. There was a softness to his belly and chest you appreciated. A physique more than appropriate for a man of his age.

You ached to move your hands beneath his helmet, tracing his features with your fingers so that you may see him in the only way possible for you to do so. To catch the vaguest of glimpses of the man who had brought you so much pleasure over the last few months.

Still blissed out from your multiple orgasms and barely comprehending the gravity of your words and how dangerously close to the line you were stepping, you said something which you wished you could take back almost as soon as the words were out of your mouth.

“I wish I could see your face when you moan my name, Mando,” you sighed as you lay there in the afterglow.

The shift was immediate. You felt Mando tense beneath you. Your comment had unsettled him. The guilt was immediate.

“Wait, Mando,” you quickly added, your blood ran cold as you realised your carelessness, “I wasn’t asking you to remove it… I was just thinking out loud. Please, Mando, I…”

Your words were cut off when he shuffled out from beneath you, disentangling himself from your limbs that had been entwined ever since you collapsed in a heap of breathless satisfaction after your latest encounter.

Without uttering a single word to you, you heard Mando’s heavy footsteps echo throughout the metallic hull and disappear into the fresher to finally wash the grime from his body.

When he finally exited, you attempted to apologise to him one more time. Unfortunately, he was thoroughly uninterested in anything you had to say. You stood before him, the threadbare blanket from the bunk wrapped around you, pleading for mercy. A formidable bounty hunter reduced to a trembling wreck, begging for Mando's forgiveness. Mando did not respond to anything you said. Instead, he immediately excused himself while mumbling about checking the hyperdrive generator.

✯✯✯✯✯

Throughout the last few miserable days, you have distracted yourself from the uneasy atmosphere which hangs heavy in the ship by thoroughly polishing each one of your blasters and thinking back to happier times.

Like the time when Mando stripped himself from his flightsuit for the first time and allowed you to finally see him almost entirely. As entirely as you ever would.

The way his taut, toned flesh felt underneath your fingers as you traced each ridge of his muscles with delicate, tentative fingers. His sweaty skin slapped against yours, an obscene noise which reverberated throughout the rest of the ship.

As you lie back on your bunk, you cannot help your fingers trailing down your abdomen. Lower and lower until they reach between your thighs.

You are stunned by how wet you are before you have even touched yourself, so turned on by merely the memories of Mando.

You gather your wetness with your fingers before you begin moving them in a circular motion over your sensitive bundle of nerves.

You think back to that first time you laid eyes upon Mando. His impressive physique. The way he picked up the pace to fuck you even harder when you raked your nails down his flesh. Moaning and grunting into your neck as you left marks down his broad back.

You remember the unmistakable scent of sex that lingered in the air afterwards, amplified by the fact there were now two bare bodies during your encounters, not just one. It was almost overwhelming to your senses, the scent of him. So masculine and musky. So Mando.

You groan at the memory, clenching around nothing. You feel so empty, desperate to feel the delicious burn as Mando’s thick cock stretches you and reaches parts of you never filled before. You slide two fingers inside yourself and begin thrusting out. Although it satisfies the ache, it pales in comparison to the fullness and completeness you feel whenever Mando snaps his hips forward and thrusts into you in one fluid motion.

You try to remember how he felt, pathetically imagining that your fingers are in any way comparable to his touch. To his length. It is the best you are going to get, for now.

Your nipples pebble and tighten beneath the thin cotton shirt you wear. The material provides some friction, but nothing as satisfying as when Mando would roll them between his thumb and forefinger, causing you to throw your head back in ecstasy. Still, you moan at the memory, continuing to thrust your fingers inside of you with one hand while the other massages your clit.

“Mando,” you gasp when you pick the pace up.

Both hands and your fingers working in tandem still are nowhere near as satisfying as even one of Mando’s thick, calloused digits.

“Kriff, Mando!” you yell as your legs begin trembling.

You are so close now. That familiar feeling builds somewhere deep inside of you. A coil tightening, ready to release.

A familiar voice behind you, tone full of concern, “Are you okay? I heard–” followed by a gasp of surprise and hastily retreating footsteps kills the mood instantly.

“Sith hells!” you exclaim, annoyed to have been interrupted when you were so close to climax.

That frustrated feeling soon gives way to embarrassment as you realise that Mando probably heard you from all the way up in the cockpit. He has spent much of his time up there, only descending the ladder to use the fresher or prepare himself rations. Even then, he usually only comes down when he can hear that you have sealed yourself into your bunk for the night.

You must have called his name far louder than you had realised in the throes of passion. You wonder how you will ever face him again. You pull your pants up and step out of the bunk, keen to at least attempt to converse with the stubborn buckethead.

Fortunately, you do not have to wait long. Mando soon emerges from the fresher. There is an awkward silence. He stands there, clad in his flightsuit and helmet, clenching and unclenching his gloved fists at his sides repeatedly. It is a mannerism you recognise well, usually seen when he is trying to size up a target or decide his next move. Is that how he sees you—as prey?!

“Mando,” you breathe, “Please, can we talk?”

Mando does not move a muscle. He stands perfectly still, at full height. A looming, intimidating presence in the darkness of the hull.

“Look, I know I upset you the other day,” you begin, sincerely laying out your feelings and hoping that he comprehends how remorseful you are. “I’m so sorry, Mando. Please believe me. I know what I said was thoughtless, but I wasn’t thinking. I would never expect you to take your helmet off for me. I know how much being a Mandalorian means to you. I would never try to come between you and your Creed,” you promise.

You briefly pause, searching Mando’s body language for the smallest clue as to his feelings. Unfortunately, he is so used to hiding his emotions from the rest of the galaxy that you cannot glean even a crumb of information.

“I miss you, Mando,” you sigh, “And not just like that!” you hastily add, hoping that he does not think your apology is in any way related to the compromising position he just caught you in.

Mando remains perfectly still. It’s progress, at least. He has not retreated. You take that as a sign to continue.

“I miss the nights we spent together in the cockpit, sharing memories of our past and discussing our hopes for the future. The way you would always make sure there was a warm cup of caf for me each morning when I finally hauled myself from the bunk. You were always so eager to rise, while I have never been a morning person,” you smile fondly, attempting to fight the tears that have suddenly pooled on your waterline. “Remember when you showed me each of your weapons? Showing me just how you liked them polished and ordered. Somewhere along the way, they became our arsenal, Mando. Our weapons are together in the locker, side-by-side. Just like us.”

You finally get the first clue of the impact your words are having on Mando when his broad shoulders rise and fall. The shaky breath he takes is amplified by his vocoder. Reminiscing has left him emotional on some level, too. It’s a positive sign. You make headway with it.

“I will forever be grateful for the day I overheard that conversation with Karga in that Cantina on Nevarro. Even though I used to curse this ship after I first came aboard, I think it was the best thing that ever happened to me. Without it and the loan you took out to cover costs, you would never have required someone else. I know…” you sigh, choosing your next words carefully as you are painfully aware that you are likely going to come dangerously close to overstepping another boundary. “I know that you do not always take kindly to strangers, Mando. I know that you have been alone for so long that you have probably forgotten what it feels like to be with someone else. But what we had was something special. I miss that. I miss us, Mando.”

Mando’s helmet falls, then. His unrelenting, steely gaze is finally off you. You are getting through to him. You keep talking, hoping that your words have the desired effect.

“You mean so much more to me than our encounters, Mando,” you confess. “I enjoyed every second, don’t get me wrong. But I would take them all back in a heartbeat to go back to how things were before. I would rather have only had you in my life platonically than having you like that and losing you…

What happens next catches you completely off-guard.

Firstly, Mando tilts his helmet up. His helmet is finally level with you again, focused on you. You look into the dark, T-visor where you imagine his eyes would be. You can almost feel his eyes on you. Your heart starts thundering. You feel that connection back. That spark.

Before you even have time to digest his actions, Mando’s deep voice finally breaks the silence:

“I love you,” he says simply.

Does he love you?! You are sure you misheard him. Your desperate mind is playing the cruellest trick of all.

“Y-You love me?” you choke out in disbelief.

“I do.”

“Oh, Mando, I love you too,” you tearfully whisper.

“Din,” Mando rasps.

You look at him questioningly.

“My name,” Mando nods, “It’s Din. Din Djarin.”

“Din Djarin,” you murmur the name of the man you love with such reverence, as though it is a sacred prayer, enjoying the way your mouth curves around each letter.

Your head is still spinning from Din’s declaration and the reveal of his name. You have barely had time to process the events which have just transpired when he drops the next bombshell on you.

“I want to remove my helmet in front of you,” Din declares, “I want you to know me entirely.”

“Din, I wouldn’t expect such a thing,” you shake your head frantically, “Just because we have confessed our feelings, I would never expect you to take such a drastic step.”

“That…” he sighs, “Is precisely why I am taking such a step.”

You do not have time to vocalise any further protestations. Before another thought can enter your mind, Din lifts shaky gloved hands to the side of his helmet. You hear the unmistakable sound of a Mandalorian helmet depressurising. Something you had only ever heard through the door of the fresher until now.

Din trembles as he lifts his helmet. The emotion of the moment takes its toll as he prepares to finally bear his face to you. Your mind almost goes blank. All you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears and his heavy breaths.

As the gleaming helmet finally begins to lift across his features and reveal his face to you, you get your first glimpse of the man you love.

You see patchy stubble across his jawline, a neatly trimmed moustache plush which sits atop plush, full lips, a strong nose and then, with his helmet fully removed, his most striking feature of all. His eyes. The most soulful pair of deep brown eyes that you have ever encountered.

Din Djarin is stunning. Heartachingly so.

With just one look at his face, you know that you will never be able to allow this beautiful man to slip through your fingers.

“Din,” you whisper, your eyes filling with tears as he stands there before you, his helmet clutched before him as he looks up at you.

There is so much nervousness and anxiety in his gaze that your heart aches for him. Unable to bear the eye contact any longer, Din bends down and places his helmet at his feet with a satisfying clunk.

He stands up straight again, but not to his full height. With his face bared and the slight tremble evident in his body. You no longer see a hulking Mandalorian warrior and feared bounty hunter. Instead, you see a frightened man, who has never known such intimacy before.

“You are so handsome, Din Djarin,” you whisper, as you close the distance between you.

Din’s mouth hangs open as your words sink in. You raise your hand, realising you are trembling with emotion, and timidly place it along his jawline. The patchy stubble is scratchy underneath your fingers.

“Devastatingly handsome, in fact,” you clarify.

“Thank you,” Din nods gratefully.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Din swallows thickly, steadying himself. When his brown eyes fly open and meet yours again, you notice the apprehension has been replaced by something different altogether.

Din’s brown eyes are aflame, burning with desire for you. You sense he is desperate to act on his feelings, but unsure of how to proceed.

“Can I kiss you?” you request.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” Din murmurs, closing his eyes again.

“You’ll learn quickly,” you say encouragingly.

Din nods slowly, without opening his eyes.

You close the distance between you, hovering an inch from his lips. You want Din to make the final move, to bring your lips together.

When he finally does, it is so achingly sweet and timid that you are surprised this is the same man who has bent you over crates and driven into you over and over, at a relentless pace. Until you were bruised and sore the next day from the force.

Din pulls away, breathing deeply. A simple touch has been almost overwhelming for him.

You wait for his next move, allowing him to take the lead with what he is comfortable with. When Din finally leans in again, he is more eager to claim your lips. The kisses deepen, growing increasingly frenzied as your tongues collide. Your hand trails along Din’s jawline and grazes along his neck. When you move your hands into his hair and tangle your fingers in the soft strands there, Din groans and presses his body against you.

In response, you lean your head to the side to give him unfettered access to your mouth. Din does not hesitate to take advantage, deepening the kiss without hesitation. He moves his enormous hands up to your cheeks, cupping them in his enormous hands.

Your kisses grow more desperate and frenzied, the moaning and panting increasing. Although Din was inexperienced and clumsy at first, your teeth clashing and his tongue searching yours desperately before he learned a more pleasurable ratio of tongue to mouth, you discover that he is indeed a quick learner. He nibbles on your lip, using his teeth in a way that he discovers you like as you throw your head backwards and gasp his name. You are still getting accustomed to the novelty of being able to call him something other than Mando.

When your lungs burn, Din finally pulls away. The two of you furiously gulp air into your lungs, steadying your breaths as your eyes meet. You allow yourself to look at Din once again, admiring the features which are so new to you. Yet somehow, comfortingly familiar. You feel as though you have always known his face. In Din’s brown eyes, you see awe, shock and lust. Despite their already dark colour, they are blackened by something primal.

You are about to suggest taking this to your bunk when Din drops to his knees before you, a dark look on his face. You are about to question the gesture when he hooks his thumbs in the waistband of your pants and shimmies them down your legs as he goes.

He kisses a path up your legs, pushing himself up so he kneels one leg as he pays particular attention to your inner thighs. Din takes his time teasing you. He removes the final barrier between you, discarding the pesky fabric elsewhere.

When Din finally kneels before you, your glistening core bare to him you feel your knees weaken as he licks his lips at the sight in front of him. You groan, barely able to remain vertical. Thankfully, Din is holding your hips firmly in position, his gloved hands digging into your flesh.

At the sight of him on his knees like this before you, you think that this experience cannot possibly be any more arousing.

Then, his tongue touches you where you have been aching for him to place his mouth most of all, and you discover how wrong you were.

He wastes no time sliding his tongue through your wet folds. Din makes up for his inexperience with enthusiasm and you move your hands down to run your fingers through his soft, dark curls. Keen to keep him in just the right spot, especially when he finally places his tongue where your fingers had been frantically circling minutes ago.

“Din!” you gasp, when his tongue picks up its pace, clenching your thighs around his head and feeling his facial hair tickle your inner thighs.

Hearing his name fall from your lips in such a desperate manner only encourages him. He continues lapping at your core with a renewed fire and determination.

“Just there, just like that,” you praise.

Din continues for a few more moments and you feel your orgasm gathering pace within you. When your legs begin to shake, he moves his head back and you almost scream in frustration. But then you see the look on his face, and his sins are soon forgiven.

“Know how long I’ve wanted to bury my face between your thighs?” Din rasps, his voice barely audible and muffled thanks to his current position. “So beautiful,” he adds, before his tongue is on you again and all coherent thought leaves.

The pace is relentless now, Din swirling his tongue around your most sensitive spot as he seems driven to please you. To have you screaming his name so loud they can hear you all across the galaxy.

You chant his name over and over as your orgasm finally breaks, causing pleasure to reverberate throughout your body. Every inch of you is on fire for him. Din looks up at you, his brown eyes practically black. He makes an obscene slurping noise as he seems determined to collect everything on his tongue, not allowing a single drop of you to go to waste.

“Delicious,” Din rasps as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, looking at you with a satisfied smirk.

You cannot believe how much he seems to relish in your release. How much it arouses him. You know he has always enjoyed pleasing you, just as much as receiving his release. Now, his benevolent nature is on full display once again.

Satisfied you can at least stand by yourself, Din rises to his feet. He looms over you, eyes meeting yours and softening briefly, with something which looks suspiciously like love. You wonder how long he has looked at you like that. How many affectionate glances have been stolen from your eyes by his helmet?

None of that matters, now.

Your train of thought is interrupted as Din resumes kissing you, pinning you up against the cold metallic walls of the Razor Crest. You can barely breathe, unable to move for a few moments as he kisses you. Once you regain feeling in your trembling legs, you begin nudging Din in the direction of the bunk.

He never breaks the kiss as you stumble across the floor. Din cannot get enough of kissing you, his enormous hands roaming all over your body.

The kiss is only broken once the back of your knees hits the bunk. You sit on the hard surface, looking up at him flirtatiously through your eyelashes. You decide Din is far too clothed for your liking and move to free his straining bulge from his tight brown flightsuit. Before you can feel his familiar length in your hand, he places his hand on your wrist and moves you away from him.

You look at him in confusion before he whispers, “Lie back, cyar’ika. Let me take care of you.”

You do as he says, but not before divesting yourself of your clothes. You lie back, awaiting him. Buzzing with excitement to finally lay eyes on Din Djarin in his entirety.

You are entranced as you watch his muscles contract and relax as he removes his flightsuit. Broad muscles and chest bared to you, then his stomach and lower... his muscular thighs and toned calves. The most incredible sight you have ever seen.

Din crawls up the bunk and positions himself on top of you, supporting himself with his elbows as he resumes your makeout session with just as much veracity as before. He plunges his tongue into your mouth over and over, desperate to taste you.

It seems as though Din is scared that he will never have a chance to claim you like this again. Later, you will remind him that you are his for the rest of your days.

For now, you cannot form words, conveying your pleasure only through broken sounds which are torn from your body by Din’s skilled mouth.

The usual straining metallic groans of the Razor Crest as it hurtles through hyperspace are joined by its occupants’ moans and gasps as they collide.

You notice that Din has finally shed his gloves when he takes your breasts in his hands. Squeezing the soft flesh and staring at them as though it is the first time he has ever laid eyes upon them. In a way, it is the first time he has seen many of your features with his own eyes, finally free from the dark visor that distorts everything.

Suddenly remembering he can take your flesh in his mouth, Din begins kissing the valley between your breasts. He trails kisses along both of them, one at a time, paying them equal attention. As though he is worshipping you. Discovering new ways he can show his affection for you. With his helmet removed, an entire galaxy of new possibilities has been opened to him. Now, there are so many ways to demonstrate his affection for you, to revere all the parts of your body he loves so much.

Although you are enjoying his ministrations, you are growing somewhat frustrated by Din’s languid pace. The frenzied kisses and touches have given way to gentle, almost timid, exploration of your body from Din’s lips. When you are about to whine pathetically and beg him to pay attention to your aching buds, Din finally envelops them in his wet heat. He begins paying careful attention to the most sensitive part of your breast. The place where you most wanted his mouth.

You gasp as he begins mouthing sloppy kisses around your nipple, before finally swirling his tongue around your hardened peak. You arch your back off the bunk, giving more of yourself to him. Even in your desire-addled state, you think about how much better his mouth feels than gloved fingers and hands kneading your breasts.

You grind your hips up against Din’s hardness, desperate for some friction. Clenching around nothing as he continues sucking your nipple, each swirl of his tongue only making you more desperate for him.

When you can take it no longer, you place your hand on Din’s head and pull his hair lightly. He looks up at you, raising a dark eyebrow at you.

“Din, please,” you whine, desperate for him to finally take you.

Often, the man you knew only as Mando would tease you at this point. When he had used his deft fingers to draw an orgasm or two from you, leaving you desperate for him. You knew he was satisfied that you were ready for him, but he still wanted to hear it from your mouth. Before giving you what you wanted, he would command you to use your words in a firm tone. Imploring you to tell him where you wanted him.

Fortunately, it appears that the man who has confessed his love for you, will not cruelly tease you. Din is just as desperate as you are; aching for that moment when he finally enters you.

Din kisses a hot trail up the column of your neck, thrusting his hips against you in desperation. He joins his lips with yours one last time before leaning up and taking himself in hand to line himself up with you.

“Wanted to savour this moment but, kriff! You’re so perfect…” Din rambles, “Don’t think I can wait,” he grunts as he notches himself at your entrance.

“Then don’t,” you sigh, begging him to put you both out of your misery.

Din nods, joining your lips one last time before he slides himself into you in one swift, fluid moment. You practically see stars.

Somehow, he feels even bigger. It has not been too long since your last encounter. Even still, you have forgotten how impressive his length is. Your fantasies could not accurately capture how his hardness touches places so deep inside of you that you wonder how it is possible.

Although the friction and sensation are delicious, particularly as Din keeps pressing kisses all over your face and neck, you know that you won’t last long. Since Din caught you earlier when you were so close, you have been on the edge almost continually. Now, he is thrusting into you at a relentless pace. That familiar ache is back. This time, there are no interruptions. Din does not slow down or pull away. You quickly come with another gasp of his name.

After watching you come undone, you are surprised that Din does not let himself go. That he does not allow himself the release you sense he is so desperately chasing. Instead, he continues to ride out your orgasm as he thrusts into you harshly.

“One more,” Din encourages, cupping your cheek in his hand, “I know you have one more for me.”

You nod shakily, eager to please him. In response, Din clashes your lips together, grunting against your lips as he finds a new increased tempo that you are stunned he could muster. All the while impressively maintaining a steady rhythm.

“That’s it,” Din encourages as he feels the way your pants increase and your legs tremble.

When you come with another shout of his name, Din finally lets himself go. His thrusts become increasingly erratic before he finally comes with a shout of your name, burying his face into your neck. His pants are warm against your neck as he paints your belly with hot, thick ropes of his spend.

Din stays like that for a few more moments, careful not to hurt you with his weight as he regains his composure lying on top of you. You feel so content and begin absentmindedly tracing circles into his warm, broad back.

Then, he lifts himself from you. You smile when he lays his head next to you on the pillow, still feeling your heart leap as you realise that you actually get to look at his face. Din looks thoroughly pleased with the events of the night. Happy that he could please you over and over.

“I love you, Din Djarin,” you whisper fondly as you bring your hand up to his jawline, stroking his cheek softly with your thumb.

“I love you too, ner kar’ta,” Din smiles in return, turning his cheek to press a kiss on the palm of your hand.

Since that first encounter in the Cantina on Nevarro, you and Mando have always been partners. Travelling through the galaxy as a formidable, feared pair of bounty hunters.

Now, you and Din are partners… in every sense of the word.

#din djarin fic #din djarin smut #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #mando smut #my fics #BYE hope you like this

2K notes · View notes

occamstfs · 9 months ago

Text

Green Eyes of Envy

Adam finds a necklace that promises anything his heart desires and nothing does he desire more than a body no one could deny.

Vaguely Halloweeny possession story based on a well-trodden trigger! Twink -> Jock -> Bear(ish?) IQ drain/corruption. Don't forget to vote on my Viral Transformation Story poll, only one day left! Hope you enjoy! -Occam

As soon as he sees the necklace lying on the ground Adam throws it on. So far it’s another subpar night spent going home alone from the bar, at least if he nabs a cute accessory there’ll be something gained. After throwing it on, when there’s a sudden buzzing in the back of his head that’s increasingly approximating a voice Adam chalks it up to his conscience trying to speak up about his and promptly ignores it.

Once he arrives home and takes time to stare at the medallion dangling on his thin chest however, he finds the voice may well have been something external, something supernatural. As a voice resounds in his head that is clearly not his own, “Adam is it?” Concluding he’s already fallen unconscious, hopefully indeed in his home, or that he’s had far too much to drink tonight for him to remember whatever he’s about to get into he plays along. “Whazzit to ya-” Realizing just what a goldmine position it has found itself in, the presence within the necklace prepares to strike.

From the drunken grumblings made by the young man in their short time together there is clearly insecurity to pray upon, and his new owner seems adverse to caution. The being within the necklace feels close enough to gaining a physical form, a body, it can almost taste it. It cannot slip up this close to the finish line and must act swiftly and with care, “So Adam, I take it you did not fare too well in your night on the town?”

The drunken Adam’s small hands suddenly grasp the chain and pull slightly, moaning incoherently all the while. Feeling the tug the necklace quickly speaks up once more, “Woah woah woah my dear, do be careful! If you allow me, I can help you achieve your wildest dreams!” Eyes suddenly grow deathly serious as he hears the metallic voice speak in his head, “you cuh- anythin-?”

Calculating faster than a human mind can, the voice seizes on the curiosity, banking that whatever the drunk asks will indeed be in his purview, “Anything.” The hitherto thoughtlessly lolling mouth curls into a smirk and his mind dances with the possibilities, “Uhhhh, genie ruleshh, ish it?”

The medallion somehow sighs not wanting to highlight the potential, or fact rather, that it’s going to twist the man’s wish to his own end but sensing its holder’s brain seems the type to rarely make a connection deeper than surface level it concludes it should be fine. “Sure, something like that.” The chain jostles on Adam’s thin shoulders as he shrugs, “whateva- can you jussht give me the body of a fuckin’ stud?” Perfect. Mission accomplished.

Adam’s eyes flash green as the medallion does similarly, connecting them and giving whatever surely sinister being lies within the small coin carte blanche. Speaking from a deeper foothold in Adam’s mind the voice gives the perfunctory warning that any act of magic requires, “Do be wary of course, the inner bits of yourself have a nasty habit of matching the outer changes.” Though knowing that it’s now only a matter of time before it’s in control it begins to reveal it’s less than amicable side, “though given how fast you let me in it seems your deep inner tapestry hasn’t all too much to lose.”

Treating the slight as if it were the annoying buzz of an insect flying around his head, Adam quickly ignores the voice altogether and pulls out his phone to hunt for the perfect body. Lucky for the spirit Adam was already beyond horny before the necklace even graced his neck, so it is not long before his envious eyes find a man enthralling. In no time at all Adam is halfway drooling as he stares at some influencer’s massive pecs. He’s doing some skit but Adam doesn’t hear a word he says, as he stares his desire proves enough tinder for the spirit’s work to begin on his body.

Adam’s eyes simply flash green and laughter fills his mind, just as muscle begins to fill out his chest. Having always made excuses to shy away from the gym for one reason or another Adam smirks as he gropes his growing pecs. Suddenly bursting from non-existence into the by far largest muscles on his body, eclipsing his ass and thighs in a manner that should not be possible. Nipples surge larger as a few thick curls begin to smatter themselves across the burgeoning pecs. Nails scratching into the soft muscle Adam smirks as he imagines that no matter how hard he tries from here on out he could never hide these powerful pecs.

Emerald shade clearing from his eyes the aftereffects of his proud new chest are less than apparent. Rather than any grand changes to the horny drunk’s personality, the spirit simply allows the current drunken recklessness to seep in deeper. Suddenly the type to never back away from challenges even in a sober state, Adam smirks as he imagines all the heads that will turn when he gets a chance to show off his bulky new pecs. Though despite how impressive they are, they can’t be the only brawn on his body hm? Before the spirit even has a chance to seed the desire for more changes, Adam himself hungrily returns to the hunt for his own aggrandization.

Only having just faded back to his natural eye color his eyes quickly shade a darker green than even that of the medallion as Adam stares at the arms of a gymnast that pops into his feed. He clenches his jaw and reflexively flexes his arms as his weak biceps suddenly surge with the strength of someone who has spent a lifetime working towards his own betterment. He smirks as veins bulge down his biceps as his own laughter resounds even louder than that of the spirit in his own head. Forearms and triceps suddenly hold strength that hasn’t a hope to reasonably wield.

Adam’s eyes then trail from the impressive arms towards what he always paid more attention to when the gymnast was trending, the man’s thick pits. Instantly does intense itching begin in Adam’s armpits. They burn with pleasure as a forest begins to surge outwards, growing thicker as he desires to be more than any man that pops onto his screen. The few hairs painting his chest rapidly expand in kind to compete with the dank jungles that now thrive and drip with sweat under his arms. Sitting there smirking as he tears his eyes away from his phone to delight in his new beyond hairy pits as rivers of musky sweat begin trickling down his bulging pecs and thick biceps.

Suddenly having the upper body of an Olympian, Adam’s mind grows foggy with a pride even greater than the sum of his impressive parts. Bouncing his pecs for the first time while doing a double bicep flex, Adam is filled with lust for his own form and a growing confidence that already no man could ever possibly resist him. He grunts and notices that his neck has similarly grown thicker, his voice resounding deeper as an adam’s apple bulges onto his previously smooth neck. Moaning as he takes a deep breath and enjoys his new heady musk, he feels his mind start to drift away from the pursuit of perfection and to instead just give in prematurely to hedonism as his larger hands inch towards his crotch.

Before getting the chance the voice returns and whispers like a snake, “ahh ahh ahh Adam… We are not complete yet.” Looking down at his lower body he shakes off his horny delirium and agrees, rapidly returns to the more than mindless scrolling, thankfully easily able to hold up against the whims of his still average cock. Adam again does not have to search long before his eyes land upon men he longs to be, to have, to be with. His eyes once more glow a searing Emerald, and the medallion scarcely lights up, at the sight of two specimens that alight more jealousy than anything yet.

Memories of his anxieties and self-doubt quickly vacate as confidence imbues every inch of him, staring at the thick thighs and powerful calves of the bodybuilders he feels his power and pride grow to new heights. Immediately sending tears down the ratty old skinny jeans he wore to the bar, thighs that make it immediately clear that their owner could break a watermelon between them surge into existence. Finally regaining their top spot as the largest muscles on the body they grow larger than his pecs before being similarly outmatched by his ass growing firm and flexing larger with each hungry glance at the two men.

Legs cramping outward the spirit within Adam feels his ability to control the man almost come to a head. Adam doesn’t notice as his fingers twitch and flex beyond his control nor does he care as his toes strain in the air as his feet inch larger. Why does it matter that his chest is flexing without being told, it’s hot, Adam surely meant to do that anyway. Looking down and inspecting his new form, concern slides off his mind anyway as he sees hair begin to increase across his chest, rapidly shooting down abs that he didn’t even notice forming.

He plays with the forest of hair beginning to shadow the whole of his torso as he feels similar stubble being to scratch against his chin. Tilting his head, his foggy mind struggles to wonder how he’s still changing without looking at men like the medallion instructed. Looking at his reflection in the mirror and seeing the impossibly alluring figure he has become however he decides to not care what the stupid thing said anyway. He must have gotten what he needs from it already.

Thoughtlessly he removes the necklace and tosses it away having decided he’s more than enough man. Only then does his bulge begin to grow beyond what he has always known it to be. There’s a sigh of relief and anticipation as he realizes he almost missed a chance to grow his cock with whatever that coin did to him. Face and chest burning red with blush he forces his hand into his crotch and smirks as he feels his thick fingers begin to tangle in his new bush. His free hand still dances across the bounty of chest hair and his new mustache scratches against his shoulder as he bathes in the new musk that resounds from his pits.

Mind clouded from his changes, having far too much to drink, and the cocktail of new hormones issuing forth from balls rapidly filling his briefs, Adam pulls out his larger cock and begins to go to town. Experiencing the new heights of pleasure that his dream body allows Adam loses himself to new ecstasy. His cock stretches to a size that rivals the forearm of a lesser man and his balls race to match the size his impressive body warrants. If it weren’t for his hand slowing down its thrusts it’s likely that Adam would never notice what was to happen to him next.

His face moves in unfamiliar patterns as something besides him stretches it to understand how to control it. Eyes slam shut as far as they can and then reopen, and Adam suddenly realizes that he can no longer move them of his own volition, and yet he still sees. Staring out from eyes seemingly out of his control, Adam feels his mouth smirk without instruction as a voice he has barely gotten the chance to use spills out from his thicker lips, “Well well young Adam. Excellent work thus far, think I’ll take over from here though lad.”

Adam struggles for dominance as he finds himself but a voice in his own head, watching his new fingers dance at the end of powerful arms he scarcely had time to appreciate. He feels them flex and struggles not to give in to the delight of the power and continue fighting. Feeling himself not totally lost he endeavors a hail mary and focuses all his attention to the one thing that has always been able to override his mind in the past. His balls churn and his cock bounces as even whatever clearly powerful spirit now controlling his form is unable to resist his rising lusts. The need for release that suddenly blares through every sweaty inch of his skin and the being totally not used to self-control or human weakness struggles to not give in.

The spirit grunts as it remembers its tenuous position on reality, through its own suddenly clouded mind it goes into bargaining mode, struggling to stop their body from its uncontrollable thrusting into the air, “Ohh oh fuck okay, another deal. I can’t- We can’t cum yet or grgh- Please not yet!” Adam grinds the well-trodden neural pathways of lust to a halt as he desires to hear the being out. To signal his willingness to play ball, as well as out of the hope Adam should be better at staying his hand from masturbation, it allows Adam full control once more. Adam does begin playing with his cock immediately, moreso from the ever-pressing desire to cum rather than intimidation at expelling the spirit though it works for both.

The spirit somehow clears his throat within Adam’s head, “To level, I am in here now, for good. But we can work out an arrangement, we can share. You can fuck and frot whatever, but every so often I’ll need a chance at the wheel for my own, uhm ends. Worry not, if anything it’ll only amount to more pleasure for yourself!” Adam cups his larger balls and struggles to understand the implications of this agreement. He hasn’t the capacity to care that his intellect seems to have diminished as his body grew, in fact as clearly duller words spill out of his mouth it only turns him on more, “Uuhhh, so we’ll share my body?”

Somehow rolling eyes he doesn’t have control over, the being realizes this must be a two way street and agrees, “Of course, you just let me do my thing and we’ll get along great.” Adam scratches his beard itching thicker and shrugs, “Sure dude, whatever.” At the lightest sign of agreement the spirit seizes control, too late does he realize his haste has caused him a misstep. Whether its his limited time in the corrupted mind of Adam forcing human err unto the spirit or simply from just how unprepared the spirit is to handle the overwhelming lust in Adam’s mind, rather than sharing control the two become irrevocably one in both body and mind. Whatever sinister priorities the spirit had rapidly shift to match the hedonistic needs of Adam. Rapidly fading into the bestial desire of Adam the spirit turns up its nose as it finds itself wanting to change their now shared form, “If we’re gonna share, uh bro, need a bit more space in here eh?”

With that, Adam’s eyes cross and he struggles to not burp as he feels his powerful form begin to bloat. His beard thickens as both minds become one and mass begins to pile onto his torso as abs grow into a bulky muscle gut underneath his still impressive pecs. Scratching his ass as it too grows a jungle of hair before going back to palm his cock, both minds feel sedated as they smell his thick musk and Adam can scarcely remember any priorities besides the all-important goal of seeking his own pleasure.

To this end the pair find themselves awash in exploring their-his body, for countless hours of making a mess of his bedroom, living room, and kitchen Adam finally remembers that there is more to the world than his small apartment. There are more holes to explore than the few in himself and far more to see than the steamy videos he can pull up on his phone. Wiping drool off his face and crusted cum off his torso, something at the back of Adam’s mind itches as he feels there was something greater he was supposed to do, something he was supposed to spread or some control he was supposed to enforce. Giving his pits a good sniff he smirks before opining that perhaps there is no greater goal than spreading his own glory far and wide.

Quite the easy enough task as it runs out as whatever the spirit did before fading into but another aspect of Adam’s lusty mind gave him the ability to attract anyone to his cause. Rather than whatever dire cause intended, with the two totally merged the only purpose of his inhumanly alluring self is to spread pleasure. As soon as he steps out of his front door he finds men throwing themselves at him in droves. Jocks, twinks, and bears alike could not possibly resist the titan as he walks down the street, always shadowed by a heavy wave of his aphrodisiac musk.

Adam’s eyes glance across and stare through every man whose hungry eyes cannot look away, whose shoulders fly back in submission, whose noses lead them to trial behind him. While many of them get the chance to enjoy time with the inhumanly alluring man, only a few get to experience the truly rapturous experience of being changed by Adam himself. Only a select few find themselves molded into something greater than that they are when they first submit to Adam’s will. Though even a few is enough to spread and as time goes on the number of musky men wandering around could certainly become a problem. Lucky for the world perhaps, whatever cause the medallion held is long forgotten and the changed men yearn for no higher purpose than pleasure. And with the enhancements gifted by Adam, that is precisely what they find.

#male tf #mental change #male transformation #jockification #hair growth #possession #muscle tf #dumber #bear tf #beard growth

681 notes · View notes