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swordgrace · 11 months ago

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& 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐈’𝐌 𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ gwayne hightower x wife!reader.

SYNOPSIS: you and your husband decide to take advantage of the quiet gardens near the red keep.

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: drabble — requested by anonymous.

{ WORD COUNT: 4.1K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), porn with little plot, risk of getting caught, semi-public sex, gwayne is a switch, cunt-drunk gwayne, sex in the red keep gardens, teasing, hair-pulling kink, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, groping, making out, dirty talk, mild praise kink, p in v sex (unprotected), mild scratching, soft ending.

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I am on the Gwayne train right now, I just adore writing for him. This is a smaller story, and I think writing some drabbles might do me a bit of good! I hope that you all enjoy! ❤️ Thanks so much for the love & support!

𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐩, 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐚.

The smell was akin to a perfumed dowager, the air thick with roses and honey, petals drifting along in the evening breeze. It was a stark contrast to the pungent scent of the rest of the city — perhaps that is why you favored the gardens.

Orange tendrils of a waning sun spread across the leaves, verdant and bright, turning the gardens all sorts of colors — shades of emerald and gold, intermingling with the many flowers there.

Most souls that had occupied the gardens had made themselves scarce, turning it into a paradise that only you shared with another. You often admired the general splendor even when it was crowded, but now, it gave you a rather unobstructed view.

The various palette of the gardens, particularly any deeper shades of forest-green, matched that of your husband’s doublet, embroidered with golden thread. It was strange to see Gwayne removed from his armor, his silvery vassal that kept him well-protected.

In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, there were days spent in respite, much to your delight. Though, war would steal him away from you again — you intended on making the most out of each moment, beseeching him to remain by your side. He obliged you, fortunately, and you never objected to it.

A golden hour, brightest before dusk, painted you in shades that Gwayne had committed to memory, your features bathed in dying light. You were swathed in gowns of cerulean, a deeper shade of azure that had brought him to heel when you emerged with it on.

Merrily, he often touted that he had the most beautiful wife in all of the realm, and such a sentiment didn’t change nor waver. It was resolute, done with a fondness that made its way to you.

“Perhaps, once this conflict comes to a close, you and I shall return to Oldtown,” Gwayne’s gallant resonance cut through the contented silence, his timbre often filled with regality, the elegant poise of a well-learned Knight. “I’ve grown surfeited by this grisly place.”

If Gwayne had not been so proficient with a blade, you suspected that a quill and his sharp tongue would’ve done him a world of good in another lifetime. His flowery speech had charmed you time and time again, and you were left captivated.

Oldtown had become your home, a sanctuary of which you and Gwayne had built a peaceful life together. With Prince Daeron in your care, it was something of a family — one that you suspected would grow in the near future.

“As have I,” With a gentle sigh, your fingers danced along his velvet-clad forearm, your arm interlaced with his as he led you through the teeming labyrinth. At twilight, it had become wonderfully quiet, a place of solace away from the bustling hum of the Red Keep. “It is a dour place.”

Dour was a mere understatement — Gwayne knew what harm this city could do, crushed beneath the oppressive weight of the Red Keep. Even in its architectural splendor, it remained a shadow, haunting your every step as it loomed above the both of you.

Even in the sanctuary of the Gardens, one could not escape it. He did not envy his sister for being sequestered here for most of her lifetime — he imagined that it likely led to a path of misfortune and frustration. Being in Oldtown, he could afford many liberties, freedoms that weren’t permitted in King’s Landing.

As you continued on your path, a stone terrace opened before you, a comely overlook with a sizable gazebo, marked by dimly-lit torches. Save for the picturesque view of Blackwater Bay, it was surrounded by foliage and flora on all sides.

Gwayne felt your concern in waves, an unspoken sentiment, knowing that he would be called to leave again. Cole’s armies were rallying to march to Harrenhal, and he was summoned to ride alongside him, the second-in-command. You had made your disdain for this known, and Gwayne couldn’t fault you for it.

“I would sorely dislike it if our time together was to be spent in silence,” He watched you through cerulean hues as you rounded the gazebo, moving toward the overlook. Waves gently lapped at the outcropping of rock, breaking upon it, saltwater kisses peppering your cheeks. “I have a duty, dearest.”

A begrudging sigh tore past your lips, and you staved off the sudden onslaught of turmoil. You had come to-terms with the inevitability of his departure — you had dealt with it once before, but the sting never lessened. “I understand. I loathe you and love you for it.” You murmured, your smile threadbare.

Your answer retained a twinge of lightheartedness to it, in the face of a bleak future. Gwayne couldn’t help but scoff, visage dancing with amusement as he stepped toward one of the massive walls of gardenias. Plucking a pale blossom from its stem, he crossed the stone to you, a gesture of affection.

“Loathe me, is that it?” Gwayne wouldn’t have your last moments together spent in melancholy — and you seemed to be in agreement. He placed the blossom behind your ear, carefully tucking it into place. “Have I vexed you so easily?”

Planting a palm against his chest, you allowed your fingertips to trace across plated velvet, dancing toward the Hightower sigil, embroidered into the collar. He was resplendent in noblemen’s garb, painfully handsome and fresh-faced, save for the healing cut upon his lip and bruised brow.

A taut, muscled arm moved to snake around your waist, effortlessly caging you in against him. Your saccharine scent invaded his senses, swarming around his head like a thick haze, one that he delighted in. Beneath the evening sky, he made his ardor for you known, a real and living thing.

“You are swift to credit yourself, husband. I may resort to knocking you from your pedestal.” You teased, tender voice growing softer, a mere purr to his ears. Gods, you were wonderfully divine — Gwayne brazenly squeezed your hip through your gowns, auburn brows lifting in amusement.

Instead of puffing his chest with a playful retort, Gwayne could no longer resist the tempting curve of your lips, craning down to kiss you. It was a sweet mingling of mouths, slow and exploratory, happy to take their time with one another.

The first inklings of an amorous heat crackled between the both of you, a rapturous hunger that hadn’t been sated since he returned from Rook’s Rest. You simply could not get enough of your beloved husband, hands clamoring from his plush doublet to his mane of copper tresses, gripping them tightly.

Even with the thicker material of your dress, Gwayne greedily grasped at your curves, able to feel the pliant swell of your physique beneath. You had already seduced him with your steep necklace and ample bosom — sometimes, you were more of a salacious minx than you were a maiden. He enjoyed you both ways.

Your chambers in the Red Keep seemed so far away, and neediness began to take root, desire flourishing where propriety could not. As you insistently tugged upon his auburn locks, Gwayne felt his cock stir to life within his trousers, twitching as if to remind him of his carnal need for you.

“Incomparable, I must confess,” Gwayne exhaled, hot breath fluttering across your visage. Hints of wine retained their presence upon his tongue, skin smelling of woodland musk and fine soaps. “Not a single wandering eye to find us here.” His timbre dropped into a delectable purr, lips pressing themselves to the curve of your jaw.

Exhilaration struck at the pit of your stomach, coupled with the familiar wave of arousal, its inklings slick and warm between your legs. “What are you implying, husband?” You asked, breathy and wanton, clinging to him like a drowning woman.

A low, teasing hum slipped betwixt his lips, mouth molding to your flesh, gliding across the slender column of your throat. One hand dropped to cup your derrière through the thicker material of your dress, longing to see it around your feet, instead.

A sheepish moan tore past your mouth, unabashedly stoking the fire that simmered between the both of you. Gwayne greedily lapped at your sweet skin, like a thick honey upon his tongue. “It is just you and I, sweetling. Might you indulge me?” He hummed, desperate to have you now that desire had taken hold.

Gods, you wanted him terribly.

It was a fascinating twist, with Gwayne wanting to have you here, given the publicity of the locale. He was often a man to take you to your chambers in the name of chivalry, but this daring, yearning side to him — you quite enjoyed it, his change of heart.

“Gods, I love you.” You sighed, feeling him relocate the both of you towards one of the thick, stone columns that held the gazebo aloft. It was rough against your back, but you cared little for it, hastily unlacing the bodice of your dress. The silken smallclothes you wore beneath would suffice.

A low, stifled groan escaped Gwayne’s mouth, cerulean hues sharp and amatory, roving over you with a thinly-veiled desire. “Seven Hells, you drive me to the brink of madness, wife.” He murmured, swiftly relieving you of that mound of azure velvet.

The simple slip you wore beneath clung to your curves, accentuating your physique in pale shades of ivory, nipples peeking through the thin material. His hand slithered beneath, seeking to find the slick heat of your cunt, pushing your legs apart with his thigh.

Gathering your slip within your hands, you tugged the material up, until it pooled around the swell of your hips, giving him unhindered access. Gwayne careened forward, mouth colliding with yours, lips desperately craving every fiber of your being.

His other hand moved to cup your breast through your gown, thumb languidly swiping over your pebbled nipple, teasing the bud as he rolled it between his fingers. A sharp, noisy gasp escaped you, followed by the unrestrained sound of a moan.

Your hands clamored to perch atop his shoulders, sinking down into the velvet, longing to see him naked. If you closed your eyes, it was easy to imagine, but you desired the real thing. With haste, your digits slipped toward the line of golden clasps along the front, aiming to get it unbuttoned.

“You minx.” Gwayne panted into your mouth, digits beginning to stroke along your slit. Much to his delight, you were already warmed, wet and honey-thick upon his fingers. Lips twined in hot clashes, and he never allowed it to devolve into something sloppy. Each kiss possessed meaning, a fervent love for you.

As you unclasped his doublet, he moved his arms enough to relinquish the stuffy weight of the fabric, musculature lean and taut, his skin pale and glittering in the gentle twilight. It let you squeeze his shoulders, tracing over the freckles there, reveling in his bare flesh.

Gwayne released a few breathy ‘I love you’s’ into your lips, before he relocated to the sensitive column of your throat. He spoke with reverence, as if he had come to worship his goddess, lay himself down at your feet. Your fingers wove themselves against the nape of his neck, tugging on his copper locks.

Practiced, dexterous digits continued to caress along your cunt, before pushing past your folds. He grazed your clit, sending a rush of goosebumps cascading down the length of your spine. “Gwayne,” You moaned, the sweetest melody to his ears as you rocked forward, desperate for any shred of friction. “Please!”

His cock twitched again within his breeches, aching with something powerful, needing to be inside of you. Patience was his virtue and his agony — he still wanted to taste your first. He continued to knead into your breast, evoking another blissful whine from you.

Despite wearing his honor and chivalry like a coat of armor, he cared little for the consequences of potentially being caught. He would ravish his beloved wife here in these gardens — there was no sin in such an act. Kissing along your jugular, he felt you grip and pull on his hair, filling him with an excitable fire.

“Gods, I must taste you,” Gwayne groaned, voice tinged with an alluring husk, palm continuing to caress the plush swell of your breast. The thin, silken strap of your slip began to sag, and he did not fix it, exposed to the unblemished plane of your collarbone. “If you will permit me to do so.”

“You needn’t ask, husband,” A wanton whimper left you when Gwayne’s digits abandoned your cunt, though it would soon be replaced with the fine heat of his greedy tongue. Through a lovesick gaze, you observed in rapturous silence as Gwayne sank to his knees, as if he were preparing to pray. “I belong to you.”

Watching his auburn crown move towards the apex of your thighs was a most tantalizing sight, causing your breath to hitch within your throat. Molten heat surged within your belly, churning with a violent anticipation as you braced one hand atop his shoulder.

A sight to die for, to kill for — Gwayne would’ve fought a thousand battles if it meant that you were the reward at the very end, a resplendent maiden in all of your glory. He would’ve endured torture unimaginable for you, razed down armies, destroyed cities all for you.

The first lap of his tongue caused your knees to buckle, raking hot embers across your cunt. He wedged his way in between your legs, shoulders keeping you apart just enough. Gwayne was quite candid about his enjoyment of tasting you — thoroughly cunt-struck.

A groan stirred within his chest as your fingers grazed through his copper tresses, finding their purchase near the base of his skull. He did not relent, tongue carefully splitting past your folds, greeted by the saccharine onslaught of your arousal.

“Gwayne.” A breathy sigh tore past your parted lips, lulled into subservience from the steady, exploratory laps of his tongue. He was sluggish, allowing the anticipation to mount, nose brushing along your mound.

Your taste was ambrosial, thick and heady, like a haze that he had no desire to escape from. There were many moments where he’d dreamed of this, on the march to Rook’s Rest, sprawled across his cot, fantasizing of you again and again.

He quite enjoyed the way in which you sighed his name, passion bubbling forth from your chest, head rolled back against the stone column. Careworn palms reached for your haunches, delighted to take their fill of you, caressing along the backs of your thighs.

“Exquisite,” Gwayne exhaled, catching his breath to press a string of kisses all along the inside of your thighs. “By the Seven, you taste divine.” He groaned, drunk and dizzy from your cunt. A soft moan escaped you as you coaxed him back, and he willingly obliged.

With another hot, eager lap of his tongue over your core, your knees rattled like leaves in the breeze, feeling his shoulders bully their way between your legs. A brusque, warm breeze fluttered throughout the gazebo, bathed in the waning light of the sunset. Stars began to glisten overhead, unhindered by the clouds.

Gwayne’s eagerness was palpable, able to be felt as he buried his face into your cunt, cerulean eyes fluttering shut in an expression of bliss. A groan stirred within his throat, fluttering throughout his chest as you fisted his auburn tresses, soft beneath your palms.

You could not get enough of him, keeping your hands on him in whatever way you could, chest heaving with wanton sighs. Carnality and desire permeated the air, the atmosphere thick with desperation. You always treated each moment as if it would be your last.

His mouth fervently worked against your slick cunt, sending pleasant shockwaves into the pit of your stomach. Goosebumps danced along your spine, followed by a shiver that made you moan. Your hips rolled forward, shamelessly grinding yourself into your husband’s waiting lips.

With a flick of his tongue, Gwayne sought the pearl of your cunt, lips eagerly kissing their way to your clit. He planted feather-light kisses around that sensitive clutch of nerves, causing you to tremble, digits tightening within his hair. Your grip was ironclad, but it was pleasurable for him, knowing you were enjoying yourself.

“Gods, Gwayne,” You whined, listening to the lewd noises of your chivalrous paramour suckling on your clit. Another onslaught of molten heat swirled within your stomach, seeping into your bones, manifesting as arousal between your thighs. “Do — Do not stop!” The urgency in your voice had increased exponentially.

If there were any evening stragglers in the Royal Gardens, you prayed to the Seven that they would not stumble upon the both of you.

The sight itself was inherently sinful, with you haplessly pressed against the stone column, gallant dress strewn across the ground, slip sagging along your physique. Gwayne’s emerald doublet had joined your garments below. You reveled in the sight of his head between your thighs, causing you to whimper.

Gwayne could detect when you were accelerating towards your release, able to feel the twitches and tremors in your thighs. He soothingly stroked along your silky flesh, interchanging between the greedy suckling of your clit, to long, broad strokes of his tongue.

His lips glistened with a sticky sheen of your nectar, of a finer stout than many, more delectable than any wine that had befallen his mouth. Gwayne worshiped you, kissed the ground you walked upon, and he did not feel an ounce of shame in it.

His cock throbbed with a desperate ache, precum slick around the head as it strained against his trousers. Your own satisfaction spurred him on, and your delightful noises only sent him spiraling into the depths of depravity. You hadn’t a clue of the things you did to him.

In a brazen maneuver, his tongue prodded against your entrance, gingerly thrusting inside of you. You gasped, biting at the inside of your cheek, digits raking through his auburn locks. You let your grip loosen, hips careening forward into his mouth again.

Gwayne ravished you, with the ravenous appetite of a starving dog. He moved back just enough to lap at your cunt, making a blazing trail from your entrance to your clit. “I’m close,” You huffed, issuing some warning to him before the dam had burst altogether. “Gwayne!”

It was the only word you knew in the present, his name — it rolled from your tongue in a delighted cry, laced with ardor and reverence. You reached your peak, shamelessly spilling yourself upon his tongue, and he was enamored with you.

With careful, sluggish strokes of his tongue, he delicately cleaned the mess he made of you, allowing you to bring yourself down from your peak. Even if the intensity had made you burn at a fever pitch, you were far from finished, tugging on Gwayne’s tresses to get his attention.

“Take me, husband,” It wasn’t a request — it was a demand, a command made upon a yearning wife. Desire glistened like a thick sheen within his cerulean eyes, which happened to widen at the sight of you. “Please.” You didn’t have to beg — Gwayne wanted you just as terribly.

He swiftly rose from between your legs, pupils dilated with lust as he steered you toward the stone bannister of the overlook, wide enough to support you. You sat down, hastily fumbling with the leather ties of his trousers. Gwayne parted your legs again, bending over you as he sought your mouth.

The taste of arousal — yours — fell heavy upon your tongue, lips clashing together as you desperately sought to free his cock from its confines. “I need you,” Gwayne husked against your mouth, pearlescent teeth briefly snagging on your lower lip. “Gods, how I’ve missed this, missed you.”

“Gwayne,” A moan escaped you, intermingling with his husky pants and sonorous groans. His forehead nudged against yours, lips hot and needy, and you were more than happy to reciprocate. “I need you, I …” Your voice tapered off when his cock slid against your folds.

He kept you steady, hands caging you against the bannister, the stone biting into your back as he kept you at an angle. Silk gathered around your hips, friction wafting between the both of you as he thrust forward, cock sinking into you.

Hitching a leg around his waist as best as you could, your hands roamed to his chest, nails digging into his collarbone as he began to find an erratic pace. He was loving and passionate, even still, but there was something inherently quick about his rhythm.

Perspiration glittered along his brow from the warm evening, yet it did not stop him from pounding away at you. His cock filled you perfectly, providing a delectable stretch that made your toes curl. It wasn’t an intimidating thing, but it was pretty, just like the rest of him.

Through his clenched teeth, Gwayne sang your praises, savoring the way in which your cunt constricted around him, as if drawing him in. “Seven Hells, your cunt is perfection,” Such lewd, crass words sounded so eloquent coming from his lips, as debonair as a Prince. “I cannot get enough of you, sweet wife.” He groaned.

Despite his crudely-spoken compliment, you were lost within the throes of your own pleasure, body rocked into submission by each snap of his hips. His cock bottomed out within you, movements swift yet punctuated, as if every thrust possessed meaning.

You loved Gwayne unconditionally — perhaps too much, if such a thing were possible. Your chest heaved with sweet, passionate sighs and gentle moans, forehead occasionally brushing against his. His hands kept themselves firm along your waist, curling into the silk of your slip.

His cock battered away at your slick cunt, aided by your mounting arousal. Everything felt so feverishly warm, as if you had been set ablaze, nerves feeling like they were steeped in fire. “More,” You moaned, and it effectively caught Gwayne’s attention. “Gwayne, please.” He was weak to your soft pleas.

Your beloved husband lacked harshness when it came to intimacy, something you adored about him. Even when his thrusts became desperate and erratic, chasing after his release, he never resorted to using you. His lips sought the column of your throat, nose brushing along your jugular.

A string of kisses peppered themselves against your sweet flesh, with the occasional suckling of his lips to your neck. A myriad of throaty whines and whimpers continued to leave you in droves, cunt pathetically clenching around him.

Buckling forward, Gwayne planted one palm against the stone bannister, the other caging in around you as he continued to pound away into your needy cunt. He kissed you wherever he could, dwindling into desperation and the innate desire to taste your sweet flesh.

His lips parted slightly, a strained grunt escaping him as he thrust forward again, until there was nowhere left for him to go. Gwayne pulled back just enough, the head of his cock still inside of you before he moved forward again. The friction made you shiver, fingers grasping at the nape of his neck.

His name continued to slip from your mouth, over and over again, like a whispered prayer. Your nails left behind red crescents upon his skin, sharp brands of your lovemaking. Gwayne groaned against your throat, desiring to kiss you once more, lips laying claim to yours with a fervor.

With another snap of his hips, Gwayne shuddered, nearly collapsing into you as he reached his peak. Hot ropes of seed brazenly spilled inside of you, warming your insides as he attempted to catch his breath. You pressed your forehead to his, breathing with him, allowing your hands to slack.

Gwayne politely removed himself from you, mindful of your garments as he fixed your gown back into place. The slip itself was disheveled, but he ensured its tidiness before you got dressed again.

“How divine you are,” Gwayne hummed, planting gentle kisses along the side of your face before it ended at the curve of your jaw. “Beautiful beyond comprehension.” He murmured, using two digits to delicately place the strap of your slip back upon your shoulder.

“You flatter me, husband,” Your smile was warm and amiable, the brightness of springtime, bringing a rosy flush to his features. “I quite enjoyed your brazen streak.” Through a smitten confession, Gwayne kissed your brow, lips twitching into a debonair smirk.

“I am not ashamed of ravishing my wife, be it in our chambers or in the garden,” He replied, reaching for his velveteen doublet and your azure dress. It was easy for him to slip back into the stuffy material, and he was more than happy to assist you. “I cannot get enough of you.”

His words were tantalizing, as if intended to bring about another string of salacious thoughts. Gwayne stood behind you as you stepped back into your dress, helping to lace your bodice up again. He planted a kiss along your exposed shoulder, and then to the crook of your neck.

You reached for his hand, letting it drape across your shoulder as you pressed a delicate kiss against his bruised knuckles. “You shall have me, Gwayne — for as long as you desire me.” You sighed, feeling his nose brush along your cheek, the warmth of his body pressing in behind you.

With a kiss to your temple, one oozing with such fondness and ardor that you feared you might melt, Gwayne’s lips hovered near the shell of your ear. In the twinkling dusk, he held you close. “Forever, then.”

#house of the dragon #gwayne hightower x reader #gwayne hightower x you #gwayne hightower x y/n #hotd x reader #house of the dragon smut #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd smut #gwayne hightower #gwayne x reader #game of thrones x reader

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failbettergames · 2 months ago

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Fallen London Player Survey Results 2024/25

We put out a player survey in December that was taken by just under 8,700 of you.

To the half a dozen people who suggested that we open a communications channel via onlyfans, may god bless and save you. Our apologies to the individual who asked that we ‘do less;’ unfortunately we are bound only ever to do More, and Worse. One person asked for more ways to not be an awful person, but sadly we’ve spent fifteen years writing Awful Person Simulator and we’d find it hard to stop now.

The word 'love' was used in the responses 16,687 times. An order of magnitude more than all of the expletives combined! So we must at least in part be on the right track.

We hope you found it valuable to take part. We’ve already picked off some of the notes we received, where these were tiny things that took moments to fix. As to the rest, here’s a non-comprehensive breakdown of what we heard and what we’re planning to do with it.

There are two main things we want to look at in the coming six months or so:

Recaps and Journal Changes

The overwhelmingly thickest thread of feedback was about remembering what you’re doing in the game when you come back to it. This came from a breadth of players: from people returning after a break of years, to people coming back a few days or weeks after an intensive play period only to wonder why they were collecting so many Counterfeit Heads of John the Baptist.

We’ll be working on improvements to help you return to the flow of gameplay without difficulty after a period away. This will probably include (but not be limited to) more recaps in serial stories, and a rework of the Journal. (We undertake that it will not mess with your existing Journal entries. That would be madness.)

This is our first priority from the survey feedback; thank you very much if you gave details about your experience.

Click-finger Saviour

Chief among the reports from the most committed players is that there are places in the game where their clicking fingers particularly suffer. We can appreciate this, given the depths and lengths that the game has grown to! We have a few things in mind to offer respite, among them being: a version of the Perhaps Not button at the top of the page as well as at the bottom, some streamlining of content, and additional outfit slots, which will reduce some of the click burden of outfit switching.

From today, there will be a maximum of four additional outfit slots available in total: one more unlocked during game progression, one more for Exceptional Friends, and two more for Enhanced Exceptional Friends. This is an increase from 13 to 17 potential slots.

All that and more

Looking further ahead, we also have our thinking caps on regarding:

Additional cameos!

Making Lodgings prettier

A review of Port Carnelian

A way to make a sample Exceptional Story available to non-subscribers, so you can get a better idea of what to expect from one

A persistent place to find news and patch notes within the site

New, different social features

A way to be married to the zee, aka non-romantic spousal options

Finally, some feedback questioned whether we have been using generative AI in our games: we don’t. We wrote an AI transparency statement to make this clear; it’s at the bottom of the credits page for your reference.

Thank you again for completing the survey, if you were able to. We may well do another one. It was lovely to read what you think, especially those of you who aren’t commonly found in our community spaces. Until next time!

#fallen london #fl player survey

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cuppajoel · 2 months ago

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the next seven dates| the contractor

PAIRING: modern au/ no cordyceps/younger (late 30s)!Joel Miller x plus size!reader

SYNOPSIS: Dating apps have convinced you that love isn’t real and that all men are pigs. Turning to your bffs for a Hail Mary, you ask them to set you up on a blind date each to restore your faith. Your first date is with a contractor called Joel.

wc: 8.7k (oops)

TAGS: 18+MDNI, NSFW, Modern AU, smut, developing relationships, reader is plus-sized, able bodied and afab, no other description is given. Heavy flirting, first date vibes, Joel is a gentleman at heart, dirty talk, heavy petting in a taxi, alcohol consumption, sex while under the influence, pnv protected (the crowd boos) sex, v fingering, oral sex (f receiving). Both characters are in their 30s.

A/N: I started writing this in September and fell away so many times bc writing for Joel Miller scares me. If you’re looking for a sign to write the thing that you want to read, this is it. Not beta’d.

For context of the fic. This shot is called a blowjob. It’ll all make sense, I promise.

Reblogs, comments and likes are all appreciated <3

Jingling your keys in your right hand, you watch as the numbers climb on the digital display, showing what floor you’re on. You’re exhausted. You let your head fall back against the mirrored surface behind you, your back resting on the metal bar and your eyes fluttering shut for a moment of respite. Although it wasn’t the worst date you’d ever been on, it was a close second or third. You take a deep breath.

From the moment you stepped foot into that bar, the guy was a red flag that turned into a 5-alarm fire.

“Oh wow you look good… A lot like my sister… DING Not that I think my sister looks good, but you look hot, d’you work out? DING Yeah, you can tell… how much do you squat? DING oh, well, I could probably bench you…DING We should try that sometime, if you know what I mean? DING. He laughs, a mix of a frat bro and that lizard meme comes to mind.

The elevator doors open with another ding, making your right eye twitch slightly as you cross the carpeted hall to your apartment. You turn the key in the lock and give your door the customary shoulder barge before the locking mechanism is released. Hooking your jacket and purse on the wall and locking the door behind you, you kick off your shoes and head straight for your giant corner couch, collapsing onto it with a huff.

This wasn’t just a bad date. It was a bad date after a series of bad dates, one after another. The only takeaway from each is that people seriously hyperbolise themselves online.

You were relatively new to the world of online dating after catching your fiancé of three years, Jake, doing the downward dog with your shared yoga teacher only eight months ago.

Jake was everything you thought you wanted. A nice guy with a secure 9-5 and a handsome face. But everything about him was just nice. Your dates, your apartment, your sex- all nice. And at the end of it all, he was cheating on you- real fucking nice.

Unlocking your phone, it opens to the group chat thread between you and your two best friends. You hold down the voice note button.

“So you may be wondering ‘Why is she home already?’ Well, my sweet summer children, not only did my date admit that he found his sister attractive and wanted to ‘bench me’ all before we ordered our first drink…” You pause for dramatic effect, knowing they can’t hear you, but it makes you feel better. You huff out an empty chuckle. “I am just so over it. How can a man say that his favourite film is “Little Women”, have pictures of his rescue cats on his profile, and still be that much of a stereotypical douche?” You fling your head back, resting it on the top of your couch.

“I’m going to do something dramatic and soooo not me… I am deleting the apps�� the two of you are tasked with finding me a date each. I don’t wanna know anything about them before I see them- just their name, age, and one picture. You decide who is going first and the winner gets to be maid of honour at the inevitable wedding… Anyway, I’m going to go read one of my fairy porn books and contemplate my life… Night, loves!”

Somehow, you muster the energy to shift yourself from the couch to your room. You bunch up your tainted date clothes, toss them in the general direction of your hamper and pull on an oversized T-shirt. The wasted makeup is double-cleansed off your face, and you shove your hair up into an extremely unflattering bun. Grabbing your Kindle from under your pillow, you flop back onto your bed; your dates with the beautiful high-fairy king never disappoint.

Almost a week later, your best friends pull through. Having found a guy each, who they swear is the one you’ve been looking for, they arrange your dating schedule between themselves. Tonight was the first. In the Uber ride over to the restaurant, you send your location to your friend who set up the date.

Any last-minute words of wisdom?

He’s kinda that strong, silent type.

Also southern

A gentleman for sure!

Hopefully not all of the time 😮‍💨

You shove the car door closed, adjust the strap of your purse on your shoulder, and tuck your phone inside. You feel good tonight. Blue jeans, a red lip, oversized, white-button down, black, pointed-toe, heeled boots-damn they hurt, but they look so good. You slide your index fingers into the belt loops either side of your hips, hiking them up slightly to allow the denim to stretch around your ass just right.

Rounding the corner, you find yourself on the strip of bars and restaurants on the main street. You weave in and out of the patrons, everyone being washed with the rich blues and reds of the neon lights beaming down on them. As you push the door with your hip and descend the two steps to the bar, you lick your teeth, making sure they’re free from any red stains.

Inside is quite the contrast from the bustle of the streets a few feet away. The place is busy, for sure, but it’s as if everyone is collectively trying to keep the atmosphere calm and easy. A massive mahogany coloured bar is the feature of the room, with hanging, warm, filament bulbs creating small spotlights all along it.

You walk further into the room, parallel with the bar, coming to a stop at its corner, facing the bartender. You squint your eyes slightly, trying to pull out familiar shapes from the hundreds of glass bottles behind the bar. The bartender gives you a small smile; it’s your turn.

“Can I have a Tanqueray Savillia gin and tonic, please?” You ask with a soft smile, reaching for your purse to pull out your wallet. “Oh, and a shot of tequila…” You wouldn’t normally mix drinks on the first round, but you also wouldn’t normally go on a blind date.

“Sure. Do you wanna start a tab?” is the return. You look up to answer their question, having retrieved your card and holding it firm between your index and middle fingers.

“Yeah, plea-“

“I got the this one.” A warm, sturdy presence flanks you on your right shoulder. Their strong right hand is placed gently on the bar next to you. Your eyes flick up to the mirrors behind the bar, meeting his in the reflection. He’s looking right back at you through the glass, and a small, closed-mouth smile creeps across your face as you turn to face him in real life.

“Joel?” He nods slowly in response, the smile not faltering as he looks down at you, a glitter in his espresso-coloured eyes. His eyes trail down your form and then back up; you allow yourself to do the same to him. Although not the tallest man you’ve seen, he’s built big.

He’s wearing a charcoal grey, brushed-cotton button down and dark-wash denim jeans that fit him perfectly. Both sleeves of his shirt are folded in on themselves and stop just below his elbow. His hair must be naturally wavy or curly, but it’s been pushed back and tamed slightly, a few curls going rogue.

“Hey, it’s good to meet ya,” he tips his head down slightly as you raise yours, meeting each other in the middle as you press a kiss on the other person's cheek. He smells warm and masculine, a mix of cedarwood and something earthy, like basil. “I’ll take a Glenlivet 15 and a shot of tequila- the tab is under Miller. Thank you.” He smiles firmly at the bartender. Your eyes follow the line of his thick neck, up through his jaw, which is peppered with trimmed salt and pepper stubble.

“Shit, I’m sorry…” your hand comes up to his jaw, remnants of your merlot coloured lipstick on his cheek. He turns back to you and creases his eyes slightly, not following your apology but also not flinching an inch as you place your hands on him.

Your thumb moves in a slow and firm window-wiper motion to try and remove the stain. “I got lipstick on you��” Your left hand now comes up to the other side of his face, pushing ever so slightly to get him to turn to face you more. He preens into your touch, malleable to where you want him. The trimmed stubble pricks lightly at your fingertips.

“Is it my colour at least?” He teases, he looks down at you from the corner of his eye as you woman-handle his face. Damn, his voice is deep. It rumbles through your chest, signifying how close you are to this broad, thick, stranger.

“Yes. Very pretty.” You return with the same level of flirt. Your eyes shift from the red mark you’ve placed on him to his as you give him a lazy smile. The bartender sets up your drinks on the bar in front of you, making you both finally pop from whatever bubble you found yourself in. Three minutes in and you’re already cradling his face? Nice one, babe. You hear your friend's voice in your head.

“Well…” Joel picks up both shot glasses of tequila and hands you one, raising his own, and an eyebrow in your direction. “Cheers-“

“Hold it!” You cut in, your glass also raised to the same level as his. “Gotta look me in the eyes as we drink… otherwise it’s seven years bad sex.” You say, dipping your voice ever so slightly as you remember the above dive-bar standard of the room you find yourself in.

“Shit- well…” Joel smirks, he clinks his glass against yours. “Can’t be havin’ that now darlin’” That southern accent clings to every word as he throws the liquid back, his eyes not faltering for a second. You mirror his actions entirely, trying your best not to screw up your face as the liquid heats your insides.

He gives a silent chuckle before leaning into you again, hand on the small of your back and his mouth hovering just over your ear. “I snagged a table in the corner over there…” He points over your shoulder and you follow with your eyes. “Means you can keep telling me how pretty I am…” he teases and resumes his stance- one giant hand supporting himself on the bar.

Your mouth raises slightly at the sides. That first shot of alcohol hits you nicely as the smell of his cologne makes you breathe harder. “Sure.” You grab your drink from the bar and walk ahead of him to the vacant table, hoping that ‘ol’ faithful’ jeans are doing their job.

You stop just before the chair that isn’t covered by his leather jacket, waiting for confirmation. It comes in the form of Joel pulling out the seat for you. “Pretty and a gentleman… so many sides to you, Joel.” You say, not putting your full weight on the chair so that he can tuck it in under you.

He quickly joins you at the table, his large presence not diminished by his seated position. “Well, what can I say? I’ve got many talents.” He shrugs as he takes a sip of his amber liquid, the ice clinking softly as he places it back down.

In the ease of the past forty minutes, you both had forgotten that this was a first date. A charged silence falls upon you both as you simply take each other in, smiling widely when you catch eyes.

Joel watches as you unconsciously play with your necklace. He’s actively trying to stay in the room rather than let his mind wander about your full, rounded lips that flash red with danger.

“So, I gotta say, I thought you’d be a little more bossy given your demand for a blind date… You do that often?” He sips the whisky, hoping it will bring him back to earth. He so desperately didn’t want to be the guy not paying attention to what you were saying, given that he had asked the question.

“No,” you started, your eyes crinkling at the sides as you smile, “I don’t usually demand that they set me up on blind dates, but the last guy I went on a date that I organised admitted his attraction towards his sister and then tried to organise sex… all within the same sentence, so I’m starting to doubt my abilities to pick for myself.”

Joel splutters on his drink slightly, the fiery liquid catching the back of his throat as he coughs. “You got any siblings?” you cock your head, chuckling that you caught him off guard.

“My brother has a bit too much moustache for my taste,” he says, taking another quick sip to hopefully soothe the burning in his throat. “And I don’t tend to ‘schedule in’ sex.” He murmurs, the words coming out a bit laboured due to the whisky in his throat.

“Noted.” You return, “I’ll make sure to keep mine at bay.” You rub your upper lip before finishing off the last mouthful of your drink. “You want another drink?” You ask in a way that sounds hopeful. Not wanting to run after 10 minutes? Double nice one babe.

“Yeah.” He savours the last sip of his drink, licking across his bottom lip. “What can I get you?”

“Oh no, this one’s on me, pretty.” You wink at him. Joel opens his mouth in protest but wavers, a slight flush coming over him at his new nickname. “Same again?” You ask.

Joel notices how the lights strung around the place bounced off your eyes, making it harder to see their colour but even more difficult to look away. You pick up his empty glass as you stand. Joel nods in response, giving an earnest “Thank you, darlin’.” As he watches you make the small walk from your table to the bar, he gives himself full permission to check you out.

Your jeans look like they were painted on by the devil, caressing every curve of your waist and thighs. The back pocket of your pants stretches and pulls as you slide one of your hands in, waiting on a popped hip to be served at the bar. The denim leaves little to the imagination but, boy, was Joel imagining? He never wanted to be in a wrestling match more than with this pair of pants. He takes a deep breath, trying not to think about how difficult it would be to peel them off your body.

You move, shifting your weight to your other hip; your heels must be hurting you, he thinks. He lets his eyes wander up over your silhouette, up to your profile, as he does, he sees your eyes waiting for his. “Busted.” you mouth to him, your lips forming a wicked smile.

Joel smirks too, not letting up his gaze and nodding. ”So busted.” he says under his breath.

It’s not long before you join him back at your table, setting his down in front of him with a tip of your head before sitting back and enjoying a long sip from your own.

From the corner of your eye, the bartender comes over, placing two shot glasses in front of you. “Ah, thank you!” You say to them as they return to their bar. “Here ya go, I didn’t have enough hands for everything.” You hold out the shot to Joel with a devious look that wasn’t there before you’d left.

It wasn’t a shot Joel had ever seen before, a mix of different browns and beiges topped off with whipped cream. Joel takes the small glass between his fingers and crinkles his eyes at you. “Should I be scared?” He says, turning the glass to see the different liquors marbling together.

“That depends…” You move your shot glass to your other hand and lick some whipped cream off your thumb before switching it back to your dominant hand. “Do you like blowjobs, Joel?” You flutter your lashes and smile sweetly at the man across from you, whose jaw had just gone slack and eyes darker from the last time you’d looked at them.

Joel, not wanting to interrupt whatever mood you’d returned with from that bar, makes a deep “mmm mmm mmm” sound that started somewhere in his chest as he shakes his head and purses his lips. “You are trouble, ain’t you?” With that, you clink the glass against his and smile again.

“You have no idea.” You tip the glass back along with your head, just slightly so as not to break eye contact. Joel mirrors your motions, trying not to tempt fate given that he had a demon in front of him. Quickly, his gaze falters as the contrast in taste between the shot and his whisky has him shivering.

“Is that the best blow job you’ve ever had?” There you were again, licking the sweetness of the liquor from where it’d spilled on your fingers. A carnal image of you doing that after having his cock in your mouth flashes before his eyes. He shifts in his seat, having to tug at the denim at his crotch.

“Probably not.” Joel starts, taking a drink to rid his mouth of the overly sweet shot. “But, I believe in second chances-can always try again.” The liquor was starting to talk for him as he felt it climb his neck and up his ears.

“Okay, so I have this game that I play on dates…” You start, somehow your chair had drifted closer and closer throughout the night, as you both take turns getting the next round from the bar. As you sit elbow to elbow with Joel, close enough to smell the whisky that mixes with his earthy cologne.

“I like where this is headed already.” His accent has gotten stronger over the hour that has passed.

You shove his shoulder, “Shut upp. The game is that you have to imagine that your memory is wiped, so you get to experience things for the first time again… I then give you a category and you can only pick one thing, okay? So, if I were to say movie: what movie would you want to experience watching for the first time again?”

“Blade Runner”, he says, without hesitation. His eyes were starting to have that warm, glazed look that comes with drinking. “You?”

“Probably Scream or Fight Club- I like a twist. Vacation?”

“Ireland.”

“Australia.” you respond, picking up the pendant on your necklace out of habit, dragging it back and forth along the chain. Joel follows the movement of your fingers with his eyes, letting it soothe him too. “Food?”

“Mmmm, that’s a hard one…probably something that my Mom makes, like chilli or barbecue.”

“You’re easy to please, hm?”

“Give me a plate of good food and I’m yours.” He picks up his glass, trying to savour the liquid as you’d both agreed ‘just one more’ two drinks ago.

“I also love chilli.” You start, watching the way his lips wrap around the glass and how his tongue flicks across his lips when he sets it back down. “But I think I’d go with a dessert like chocolate fudge sundae… or, have you ever had one of those French pastries… What are they called? Pain au chocolat? That would be mine.”

He hums again, enjoying watching you ask and answer your own questions. The fidget that you started with the pendant of your necklace holding steady. In a moment of no thought, Joel slowly reaches out and stills your movement to look at the gold medal. “This is pretty.” He says to himself more than anything.

His big hand covers yours and flips the coin-shaped jewellery over with his fingers, the only response you can muster, “mmm”. He surveys the jewellery as best he can in the dim light of the bar, noticing the engraving on the back.

“It’s my initials.” You say. Your hand, and his, staying exactly where they are.

“Oh, you have a middle name.” More an accusation than a question. He sounds as if he’s uncovering some hidden gem about you. “What is it?”

“Nuh uh, you’re not getting it that easy. That’s for date five at least.” You tease, your gaze becoming heavier, the devious glimmer in Joel’s eyes becoming stronger.

“Anything else special happen on date five?”

”You might get another blowjob… but you were so ungrateful for the first one.” Your eyes drop to his mouth and then back up to his.

Joel can feel himself aching to be closer to you. His hand that holds the pendant now drifts to your jaw, his thumb feathering over your cheek, mirroring the window-wiper hold you had him in the first moments that you’d met each other.

He had a craving to explore every part of you, to taste, smell, and hear you. The need shoots through every nerve ending, spurring him on to take everything he can. But he has to slow down, or else take you to the bathroom and make you fill up all of his senses.

The Texan gentleman within him holds strong, as much as he could feel all of his reasoning heading south. He brings his face closer to yours, that slanted smile quickly becoming your favourite sight. “Can I take you home?” He rumbles, his voice low and soft so only you both could hear it.

The whisky on his breath makes your eyes flutter as you draw a sharp breath at his question. Your mouth turns up at the sides, you can tell your eyes have the same shimmer as his. Tipsy. Ready.

This wasn’t something you’d planned on. You had so many rules about first dates: No kissing (hence the red lipstick), no sharing a car, and no sex until you felt safe. With this man’s hand cradling the back of your neck and his calloused thumb tracing down your jaw and back again, you feel like syrup dripping over hot pancakes.

You’ve lost all sense of what time it is, or how long you’d been sitting there, inches from his face as your body screams at you to kiss him.

His face is so close to yours that his features become fuzzy. Your eyes are having a hard time focusing in this light. Joel’s eyes move over your features, waiting, restraining, teasing, not daring to push further until you say so.

You reach out to the corded forearm that is tensed and attached to the hand that was holding you gently. Your manicured nails rake up and down his arm in a feathered tickle. You feel his breathing deepen as you press your top teeth into your bottom lip.

“You’re gonna need to,” The pressure from your scratches is getting slightly harder, causing a hum to vibrate in Joel’s throat. “or else everyone will see how pretty you are with this shade of lipstick on your mouth.”

Joel takes the weight of your head and neck in his hands. He holds you both in that position; thick fingers cradling your nape. His tongue traces along his lips and pulls back slightly just so he can take in the heavy-lidded, slack-jawed sight before him.

“Let’em see.” he brings his lips, achingly close to yours, his eyes open, waiting for that last confirmation before he hands over his soul.

In an instant, his lips find yours, setting a slow, strong pace. The trimmed stubble on his upper lip chafes against your soft skin, creating the sweetest friction.

His cologne, mixing with the whisky and the warmth of his skin, takes over your senses as the broad backed man envelops you in his big arms.

Raking your hands through the soft curls at the back of his head, you can help but kitten lick at his bottom lip, craving a taste of that whisky you’ve seen him sip at all evening.

It only takes an instant for Joel’s breathing to deepen and for his tongue to meet yours, you both stifling a moan as you slide deeper and deeper into each other’s mouths.

Your wills, hanging by a thread, allow you a moment of clarity to softly pull away. A noise rumbles within Joel’s chest as you do, his resolve slipping like sand in an hourglass. With heavy eyes he lingers on your messy mouth, his brain unable to think of anything else than what state you’d end up in after his cock passes through your full lips.

With a chuckle, you bring your thumb to his mouth, wiping away the remnants of your lipstick that have transferred to him. “Messy boy.” You mumble, assuming your pupils must be the same size as his. He mirrors the movements on your mouth. The lipstick, blurry and smeared into a faded, pastel red that he hopes stays on him for days.

Joel swipes gently at your hot, swollen lips and chin, trying to clean you up and calm himself down before you leave the table. At one of the passes of his over your mouth, you lick softly at the pad of his finger. Matching your mood, he sinks his teeth into the fleshy part at the base of your thumb and tugs slightly.

“If we don’t leave in the next minute this whole goddamn bar is gonna see how messy I get when I turn your sweet ass the same colour as your mouth.” He licks then kisses where he had bitten you, making your eyes flutter and thighs press together.

The next half an hour was a blur. You both had the mission to get to your apartment as soon as possible, causing you to move with the most efficiency that four drinks would allow you to.

The Uber ride was the longest of your life.

Joel opened the car door and then slid right in behind you. His large, powerful hands placing you into the middle seat and wrapping the seatbelt around you, clicking it into place. He places his warm hand in the inside of your thigh, unable to keep his hands from you, you did the same, your forearm laying across the top of his thigh, nails scratching softly at the denim.

The alcohol has well and truly gone to your head, making every touch and graze feel heady and dreamlike. Joel was struggling. All night he was craving to be closer to you, holding and restraining himself but now that he’d had a taste it was impossible not to touch you. Trying to maintain his stoicism was less like stopping a yawn or sneeze and more like trying to stop a freight train on a windy day.

In the front, your driver is murmuring along to the radio, but all you can hear is the heavy, warm breathing of the man behind you as you allow him to explore your jean-clad thighs.

Pulling, pushing, kneading, it felt like Joel couldn’t get close enough. The roughness of his touch was full of nothing but need and desire.

You can’t make out everything he’s saying, his whisper is strained and raspy. You can make out the words goddamn and jeans; the lucky fabric achieving their purpose once again.

Your hand covers Joel’s, squeezing and pushing at him, encouraging him to keep going. Whatever devil was inside you wanted to push him to his limits in the back of this cab.

Feeling bold, you allow your palm to push at Joel’s high, travelling further and further up his lap before you stop dangerously close to the giant bulge you can see in the low light of the cab. This wasn’t typical behaviour from you, but the solid warmth of the man under you called to your most primitive nerves.

Dropping your head to Joel’s shoulder, you lean into his neck, leaving sloppy, wet kisses, tinged with light pink, in your wake. Trying your damnedest to hold strong until you get to the apartment.

The walk through the main doors of your apartment building was full of sideways glances and lip bitten chuckles. To have such desire within hours of meeting someone had never happened to you before. It made your skin tingle, all of your senses heightened.

By the time you reach the elevator, you can hardly recognise the darkness in the eyes peering into yours. Fingers interlaced, firm squeezes shoot straight to your clit; Joel’s rough hands somehow able to be strong but reverent at the same time.

Waiting until the doors close, Joel guides you against the brushed steel bar, which reaches the small of your back, and closes you in. His hands hold onto the bar on either side of your hips.

That nagging, rational part of Joel’s brain was screaming at him. He didn’t want any wires crossed or doubts about his intentions about tonight. Sure, he’d had his fair share of one night stands but not for years and certainly not with someone who he’d felt this level of attraction to.

With his knuckle, he ensures your eyes are on him as he hovers his mouth too close to yours. “I need you to know that I didn’t come on this date expectin’ anythin’and I still don’t…” he bows slightly, his forehead rests against yours, and he exhales with a self-fuffacing chuckle.

“I should be a gentleman. I should walk you to your front door, kiss you, and say goodnight.”

But I don’t know if I can, his brain screams at him.

Unmoving, you both share breath in close proximity. The alcohol in your system is dulled by the rush of adrenaline and hormones that are buzzing around your body.

Your teeth latch on to your bottom lip, Joel immediately catches on to the action but squeezes his lids shut, keeping his caveman brain at bay just barely.

The hotness of Joel’s breath fanning over your face has you fantasising about how it’d feel to have it between your legs. You shuffle slightly, squeezing your thighs together and feeling how wet this evening has made you already.

Staying in the electric silence, your chuckle echoes his own. You mimic his actions, moving your forehead, pressing the knuckle of your forefinger under his chin, encouraging him to lift it so that you can look him in the eyes.

“Joel, I’ve got some good news for ya…” The elevator dings, opening its metal doors at your floor. You let your grasp of his chin fall so you can wriggle free of his hold and lead the way to your apartment. “You might be a gentleman, but I’m not.”

Exiting the elevator slowly, you emphasise the movement of your hips as you lead the way through the carpeted hallway to your door. Joel follows closely, admiring the view with hearts in his eyes. Pausing for the briefest of moments, he exhales fully, palming himself, squeezing to elevate the ache at the base of his cock before catching up to you.

Twisting the key in the lock, you ram the door with your hips once, twice. “C’mon cockblocker” you ram it again, somehow the combination works, gaining you access to your apartment and a sideways glance from Joel which reads ‘we’ll deal with this later’.

With unfathomable accuracy, you throw your keys into the dish by your door and shrug off Joel’s leather jacket, which he kindly lent you, hanging it by the door.

At your back, you feel the Texan man push his hips into your ass. His fingers slide through your belt loops, giving him more purchase and momentum as you lead the way down the hall to your bedroom. His lips kiss softly at your neck, inhaling your scent before exhaling with a rumble. “Can you feel that, darlin’? Feel how fuckin’ hard you make me?” He punctuates with another pump of his hips.

A playful chuckle passes your lips as you turn on your heel so that you are facing him. Bravely, you press your palm firmly against the thickness under his jeans.

A flush starts at the base of your spire and carries up to the tips of your ears, as you feel how hard he is. His eyes flutter close, a deep groan reverberating from his throat as your breathing gets heavier. “Oh fuck, you’re big.” You rush out, that brain-to-mouth filter experiencing technical difficulties.

Joel threads his fingers through your hair, his palm cradling your head, the other grabbing at your full hip. His big brown eyes glimmer in the low light of the room as he scans your full face, stopping at your lips before flicking back up to match your gaze. “I believe in you, sweetheart. I think you can take it.” A sideways smirk, gifted to him by horny demon, swipes across his full lips.

Bringing your lips to his once again, the kiss is feverish, missing all of the earnestness of your first. Joel licks into your mouth deeply, his tongue gliding along yours, your breaths mixing together, making the air balmy.

Almost simultaneously you reach for his belt buckle and he your top button, the soft clink of metal on metal making your pussy clench.

He coaxes you backwards, prodding you to lay down on the bed as you begin working the buttons of your shirt.

Reaching behind himself, he tugs on the collar of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one swoop. His body is a wall of soft muscle- not created at a gym but through honest hard work. Freckles speckled down his arms and across his chest- you want to trail a path with your tongue.

“These jeans laced with black magic or somethin? Had me hallucinatin’ from the minute I saw you at that bar.” He peels them down in a see-saw motion. Joel kisses down the roundness of your hips and thighs as they are revealed little by little as he goes one on one with the denim.

Before long, jeans, shirts, and shoes are cast to the outskirts of the room. You lay before him in a blue matching set- the heft of your tits barely confined. Giving them a squeeze, your smaller hands barely cover them, the pillowy flesh spilling over the spaces in between your fingers.

Joel’s eyes go directly to them, a slanted smile sweeping across his face before he lowers his lips to the roundness of your stomach.

Licking, kissing, inhaling the scent that he assumed was your perfume lingers heavy on the plumpness of your soft skin. Travelling lower and lower, Joel settles himself, kneeling on the floor before you, eyes settled on the damp patch spreading on the gusset of your panties.

With forearms hooked under your thighs and hands resting on top Joel yanks you towards him, his beautiful hooked nose laying on the wet fabric as he inhales. “Fuck me.” He whispers into your mound.

Hooking his fingers around the fabric, his eyes flick up to yours for permission. Bumping up onto your forearms for a better view, you smile wickedly, crooking your neck to the side. “Let’s see how messy you can get, pretty.”

Joel all but rips the lace garment, whisking it downwards, past your knees before he hovers his mouth just above your pussy, close enough that his breath tickles against the soft hairs. Tongue first, he places wet kisses on just north of where you want him the most.

Instinctively, your hips raise, eliciting a dark chuckle from him. “Goddamn you’ve got a pretty pussy.” He shifts you so that your legs lay over his shoulders and freeing up his hands to push apart your folds, allowing him to see your swollen clit.

With a flat tongue, Joel licks almost too tenderly at the soft, dewy skin before swooping languidly over and over your bud. “Oh my god.” You moan, willing your hips to stay still and stop being so greedy, allow this man to cook.

“Never been called that before.” he mumbles, bringing the sides of his cheeks together, gathering his saliva in his mouth and then letting it fall to your clit. You were already soaked but Joel needed to see you dripping, messy. You moan, the lewd act making your eyes roll back.

Although being caught up in the desperation you had for each other, Joel needed to take inventory of every twitch, roll, and moan passing through your sweet, soft form. There was no way that he was taking tonight as a solitary event, already craving how you’d moan and whimper for him when you allowed him to fuck you bare.

Gently, he pulled at the apex of your pussy with one hand, pulling at the hood of your clit to unsheath it fully, before circling it with deep, even pressure with his opposite thumb. “You are fucking soaked, sweeheart.” Your breathing gets heavier, you’re unable to open your eyes fully, but you’re not willing to miss a second of this guy at work.

Joel incorporates his mouth, slurping and swallowing as if you were ice cream threatening melt right under him. Threading your fingers through his messy hair you push and pull at his fluffy curls, your heels digging in just at his shoulder blades to encourage him, more.

Feeling him chuckle,he presses into you deeper, his lips and tongue now licking into your pussy which flutters and pulses around his tongue. With each movement of his jaw you feel his beautiful nose bump and swipe across your clit, that familiar buzz at the base of your spine growing stronger and stronger. “Fuck, Joel keep going, it feels so fucking good…”

Hearing his name as a moan on your lips, strokes the most primitive part of him. He needs to be closer, deeper, before he comes in his pants like a teenager.

Somehow finding the strength to peel himself from you, he stands, his cock aching and hard as stone. There’s a clear, darkened patch on his boxers which steals your attention for a second before it moves slowly to his hand squeezing at himself. “I gotta get you ready sweetheart. Gotta be inside you.” He shucks his boxers off himself and pumps his cock in his hand.

Resuming his earlier position, Joel gathers your slick with his middle and ring finger before pushing them in slowly to your weeping pussy.

“Shit”

“Mmmmmfuck”

Groaning in unison, you swear you see Joel’s eyes flutter in the way yours are as you squeeze against his fingers. Joel flexes his digits, sweeping the pad of his thumb across your beautifully swollen clit to tandem with his fingers.

Shifting your hips, you rock yourself on his fingers, allowing your big tits to bounce and ripple in harmony. Opening your eyes, you can see him jerk his heavy, weeping cock at the same pace as he pumps into you, the strong expanse of his forearm tensed with chorded muscle. The view getting you closer and closer by the second.

“Think you can take more? I know your sweet pussy is gonna milk me dry.” Joel stretches his fingers inside of you, licking his lips, his eyes glued to your own.

Never have you had a man talk to you like this during sex. Often, your background music to get off was either the squeak of the bed frame or the buzz of your pocket bff after you were laying, disappointed, in a wet patch in your bed.

“Oh, you like me talking to you, don’t ya? You like it when I tell you how tight your cunt is, hm?” Joel’s upper body is covered in a small sheen of sweat, his fingers somehow able to quicken and maintain the even pressure.

“I’m gonna come, fuck.” Your hips grind harder, movements in tandem with Joel’s allowing your big tits to jiggle and ripple.

A familiar warmth spreads through your pelvis and hips, growing higher and higher flushing to the tips of your ears.

Joel, praying so hard that he doesn’t come, stops jerking himself, instead lowering his body so that he can drink your sweetness from the source. “That’s it. Good girl. Come all over me.” He speaks into your sopping wet pussy. Through thick lashes, he peers over the soft valleys of your stomach and hips, his tongue and fingers not stopping but calming to a slow, steady motion.

Ears still ringing, you prop yourself back on your elbows once more, enjoying the view of the southern man, eyes closed kitten licking at your pulsing hole.

In feeling your muscles flex in movement, his eyes pop open. He pulls his fingers from you, holding them in front of his face and scissoring his first two fingers, examining the silky wetness of your come. Without show or performance he places them in his mouth, past his knuckle in order to finish his meal.

Not wanting to waste another minute without him inside of you, you extend yourself, reaching to the top drawer of your night stand, grabbing a box of condoms and rattling them in his direction.

“I think twelve times might be ambitious but I’ll sure give it a go.” The flirty twinkle in his eye makes you cock your head to the side, giving him an over exaggerated eyeroll. He grabs the package from you, using his teeth to perforate the cellophane and pry open the untouched box.

Pumping his length a few times, Joel scans your entire body; toes, knees, thighs all the way to the undoubtably frizzy fucked curls framing your face. “You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen in my life.” It’s not until he finishes the sentence that you look up at his face, meeting his gaze that was waiting for your eyes. He slides the lubed condom over his shaft before joining you, kneeling between your parted thighs on the bed.

Biting your lip, you watch his actions in earnest, allowing his words to settle on your skin. Although never the best at taking compliments, this was not one you wanted to deflect. This beautiful, strong, southern man was looking at you with reverence and you were determined to believe it, if only for tonight.

Lowering himself on one elbow, he reaches your leg with his other arm, hooking it over the sturdy angle of his hips, his eyes never leaving yours.

Sweetly, his lips find yours, having that gentle quality that you shared in the bar. Pulling back only slightly, his eyes peer south, grabbing the base of his cock and rubbing it up and down the wetness of your slick, tap tap tapping it on your now engorged clit.

On your gasp, his eyes dilate further, unable to keep that goddamn slanted smile off his face.

Only in this moment have you noticed that when he smiles, he does with his whole face. Yes, his lips move but also his cheeks, creating a domino effect on his eyes, crinkled at the side, and the soft raising of his ears. Fuck, he was handsome.

It was your turn to peer down, looking at the way his cock was teasing you. Cheekily, you manoeuvre your hips, making the tip of his cock, notch against your cunt, causing Joel to swallow a moan and for you to smirk. “C’mon pretty, I wanna feel you stretch me with that big dick of yours.” You circle your hips, trying to make him do it again.

Leveraging your leg on his hip to raise your hips higher, he sinks into you, slowly, inch by inch until he is seated fully. Eyes cemented on yours as your smirk turns into a moan.

“Jesus Christ”

“Fuck, Joel”

Joel held still for a moment, the hand that secured your leg over your hip sweeping up and down the expanse of your thigh. “Damn you’re fucking tight.” His lips lower, licking and kissing over your collarbone and neck, the sweetness of your perfume now musky, mixing with your sweat.

As he pumps his hips with long, deep strokes, you thanked the sex gods that he had a pretty face and a pretty dick. His cock was big and thick, stretching you and making you feel beautifully full, fuller than you ever had been.

Working your hips, you moved in parallel with Joel. Pulling your hips back into the mattress when he pushed his pulsing length deep inside, bridging your hips upwards when he retreated. You didn’t want there to be a moment when he wasn’t inside you, moulding your pussy to fit his perfect size.

Joel slants his lips against yours, not waiting to push his tongue deep and long against your own. It wasn’t controlled, it was sloppy and wet, your hand threading through his hair and pulling at the disheveled strands.

The taste of him, mixed with your come and the faint memory of whisky had you rolling your eyes. It was desperate, reckless, kissing someone you barely know like this, like your life depended on it.

Pulling back, he arranges you, one leg still wrapped around his hip and the other raised up, ankle on his broad, freckled shoulders. “This okay?” His eyes, somehow wider, looking for any change in your expression, ensuring you’re comfortable.

You answer with your heels digging into his shoulder and the small of his back, pulling him into you. He feels bigger this way, his cock able to get deeper, on some strokes kissing that detonate button buried deep inside you.

It’s almost as if you forget how to breathe as he gets faster, the hair on his thighs and lower stomach now glistening with your slick as they rub against you.

Joel lifts you higher, allowing him access to grab at your ass, spreading it slightly, making your head spin and pussy flutter. “That’s it. Cmon, baby. I need to feel you come over my cock.”

This feels primal, biological; as if this night, this moment was written in the fabric of your DNA. Meant to happen.

With your eyes rolling back, you give over your body, surrendering to the will and strength of this man. Joel, feeling that he could combust at any moment looks skyward, willing his body to endure this sweetness for longer.

Bringing his thumb to your poor, swollen clit, Joel rubs in quick, deep circles, his pelvis and hips stuttering as he feels his impending orgasm.

“Fuck yes.” You come, eyes rolling, toes curling and pussy squeezing against the heavy cock inside of you. Your eyes snap shut, your jaw clenches as Joel continues to pump in and out of your spent pussy.

“Mmmmmmfuck” you peel yourself from ecstasy long enough to see Joel come. Each beautiful angle and muscle on his body tensing, his eyes scanning over your flushed face, that smile of his appearing again.

Inching towards you, he kisses you sweetly, the curls at the nape of his neck getting curlier by the second. His giant palm rests on your cheek, deepening the kiss slightly, running his thumb over your jaw.

It doesn’t take long for you both to get cleaned up. You grabbing the oversized T-shirt that lay dormant under your pillow and him finding his boxers in the far corner of the room.

A conversation isn’t had about whether Joel should sleepover or not, instead you fall into each other again; kissing, biting, licking, unable to stop but too tired and a little drunk to take it further.

An ungodly vibration on wood wakes you from the best sleep you’ve had in months. Shooting up in bed, you immediately regret your pace, your head tender from the night before.

Scanning your surroundings for a minute, a little seed of disappointment plants itself when you realise you’re alone, no Texan man in sight.

You swipe across the screen, putting your phone on loud speaker before you faceplant back into your pillow.

“Hello?”

”Good morning, princess.” You can hear the sarcasm dripping from your best friend’s voice. “I was gonna call you last night to see how your date went with the contractor but I’m guessing due to my 5 unread texts that it went quite well, hm?”

Stretching your body like a cat in the sun, you grab your phone and lay it on the pillow next to you, feeling like you’re at a sleepover.

“It went well, yeah.” You hear the smile through your voice before you realise it’s there. “He is so fucking hot, got that Mr Darcy stoic thing about him but he is definitely a dark horse.” You turn to lay on your tummy. “Honestly, it got to just about closing time at the bar and I didn’t want it to end. We got back to my place and he went full fucking caveman. And his dick is fucking gian-“

Your soul leaves your body as you hear a hoarse throat clear. Flipping around you see a fully clothed Joel with two cups of coffee hovering at the threshold of your bedroom door. With no notice you hang up the phone, shoving it somewhere in the bed before sitting upright.

“I hope you don’t mind, I didn’t want to subject you to the uncaffeinated version of me too early.” His movements are slow, shy almost as he hands over the cup and perches himself on the side of your bed.

“I thought you pulled an Irish goodbye on me.” You take a long sip, peering over the ceramic as you drink, the sarcasm shield firmly intact.

“And miss seeing your Cookie Monster T-shirt in the daylight? I don’t think so.” He teases, reaching for the hem of your shirt which grazes your mid thigh.

“I had a lot of fun last night.” He rests his giant warm palm on your leg, his brown eyes almost doe like.

“Me too. Think you finally broke my curse of bad dates, pretty.” You set the mug on your nightstand.

Joel flushes at the nickname, immediately taking him back to last night's events. Placing his mug next to yours, he scoots forward, cradling your jaw and placing a sweet, chaste kiss on your lips.

Unable to resist, he deepens the kiss. His big fingers thread through the mess of tangled curls as his breathing becomes heavier.

Pulling away, he keeps your faces close together as he scans your sleepy features. A goofy looking grin works its way across his face as he chuckles softly.

“What?”

He shakes his head softly, the smirk not letting up. “Can I have your number?”

Your head bows slightly, falling to rest on his broad chest as a silent laugh works its way through your shoulders. The sex last night was incredible, not the typical first time timidness so the thought of this man not having your number seems so ridiculous.

Joel presses a kiss into your hair, inhaling that scent that now makes something stir at the base of his spine.

Sunday afternoon rolled in slowly. Joel stayed for a hearty breakfast of cocoa puffs before heading back home, the impression of him lasting through the sweet ache in between your thighs.

Your current boyfriend, the high fairy king, had just slayed the mortal who spoke ill of his mate as a notification pops up on your phone from the Texan himself.

[image attached]

damn, that looks so good

I’m jealous

Last night work you up an appetite?

certainly did

it is good

but it’s got nothing on what I ate last night

The smile on your face had your cheeks hurting. Last night was not a normal first date. The level of attraction and passion you’d felt was nothing you’d ever experienced.

Rolling your head to rest on the top of your couch, you can’t imagine any date going better than your one with Joel. It makes you anxious but in a way where it feels like butterflies in your stomach.

Before you can reply to Joel your phone pings again, but this time the message from your best friend.

Okay gentleman Joel might’ve been good but just wait for first date number two before you make up your mind.

This is Javier. 🙂‍↕️😮‍💨😚😋🫠

Clearing your throat you look at the image of date number two.

Think I should give him a shot.

For science. 🙂‍↕️🤓

npt/ tag list 🏷️ @gothcsz @chasingthepoguelife @mandaloriankait @probablyreadinsmut @half-moon16 @brittmb115 @noisynightmarepoetry @maried01 @witchy-and-persnickity @drunk-and-capable @angiewatson @toshatoshalopez @qutequeersstuff @indiegirlunited @jolalibrary @sheepdogchick @regularjoel @iknowisoundcrazy

#pedro pascal #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x plus size reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #modern day au #modern day Joel miller #plus size reader #tlou fanfic #Joel Miller #fic!thenextsevendates #cuppajoelfic

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angelicyoongie · 10 months ago

Text

The Ivory Fang (I)

— pairing: mermaid taehyung x (f) reader — word count: 6k — warnings: (soft?) yandere, mention of illness (not the reader) — summary: You have run out of options when it comes to treating your mother's illness. When a mysterious man offers you a solution that might save her, you decide that nothing is too strange if it means it'll lead to a cure – not even finding and striking a deal with a mermaid.

Part 01 - 02

"My apologies, miss, but there's nothing I can do to aid your mother. Her malady is too severe."

The healer gives you a sympathetic look before he closes his door, the bell hanging above it chiming into the quiet night. You let out a shaky exhale, staring at the door that just sealed your mother's fate.

You have exhausted every possible option of looking for a cure, pleaded with every healer you've come across to please just try, but none have been willing. They always take one look at your mother, pale and gaunt in her bed, practically rotting away as she lays there, before they scurry away, refusing to treat her.

They may see a lost cause, a patient too sick to be cured, but you just see your mother – the woman who raised you by herself and taught you that even if all else fails, she would always be there to catch you.

The gold coins in your satchel clink together as you pull yourself away from the healer's door, your steps heavy as you begin the walk back to your house.

"What a fool," You grit, kicking at a stone in front of you, "If you had any common sense you should at least pretend like you had a cure and bled me dry."

Your throat bobs as you glance up at the night sky. The stars twinkle on without a worry, indifferent that their biggest admirer hasn't laid her eyes on them in months. You never quite saw the beauty in them like your mother did – like she still does – but they are practical for lighting your way home. It's the least they can do, as the tearful wishes you've bestowed upon their fallen brothers and sisters have all gone unheard since your mother fell ill.

It happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that you still have no idea what caused it. One day your mother was fine and the next she was unable to get out of bed, falling in and out of consciousness. It's been months of you doing everything you can to help her, but nothing has even given her a moment of respite from the illness that's ravaging her body. You're truly at your wit's end.

You press your hands to your eyes as they begin to blur, willing them not to fall. On the off chance that your mother is lucid when you return, you don't want to cause her the worry of seeing your swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Taking a few deep breaths, you attempt to calm yourself, rubbing at your eyelids until the urge to cry subsides.

As you let your hands fall away, you find yourself squinting as you re-open your eyes, hazy lights filling your vision. Your steps slow as you draw near the source, a lit-up storefront beckoning you in with its warm, flickering lights.

"This isn't.." You look over your shoulder, seeing the faint outline of the healer's door further up the road. You walk along this path every day and yet, you have never seen this store before. You can't quite seem to recall what used to be there but you know it wasn't this.

Trepidation slowly sinks in as you keep walking forward, intent to let your feet carry you past the shop without a backward glance. Even so, a moment of morbid curiosity makes you pause, your eyes drinking in the soft glow of the seemingly floating lights in the window. Turning your head this way and that, you can't see the string holding them up, the thread much too thin to be visible in such low light. The windows are covered with rich fabrics, not allowing you to look inside past the heavy drapes. Your initial thought about this being a magician's shop falls short as you notice the etching into the glass, the lettering spelling out 'The Healing Shoppe'.

The name gives you a foolish burst of hope, your body already halfway up the stairs before you remember just how odd this whole thing is. A mysterious shop has appeared out of thin air and you're going to trust it just like that? Every rational part of your brain is urging you to leave, to forget that you ever laid eyes on this shop. But.. You can't simply ignore it on the odd chance that something inside might help your mother.

Taking a deep breath, you cross the last steps and find yourself in front of the door. As you press down on the handle, it gives away with a soft rattle. The sound is peculiar, certainly like no bell you've ever heard before; but with no visual clues of what it might be, you find that you can't quite place it. You take a hesitant step into the shop, the dimly lit space in front of you more like a hallway than a proper room. The walls are empty aside from a few lit candles, only a heavy drape obscuring what you assume to be a doorway further down the corridor.

"Hello?" You call out.

You pause, straining your ears for a reply, but nothing comes. Just as you're about to leave, worried that someone simply forgot to close up their shop, you hear a heavy thud from behind the curtain.

There's no noise aside from the impact, no immediate call for help, but there's still a possibility that someone may be hurt. Perhaps they fainted or are too weak to call out to you. You decide then that you're just going to take a look behind the drape, just to make sure everything is alright so that you can leave in good conscience.

You walk past the flickering candlelight, stomach swirling with unease as you reach out for the curtain. The material is soft in your hand, threads of shimmering silver woven so delicately into it that you can't even feel it as you run your thumb across it. The fabric is heavy as you finally push it aside, your eyes widening in surprise as you take in what it was hiding.

The room you step into is filled to the brim with shelves and cabinets, all of them displaying a different collection of oddities. There's dried flowers and herbs hanging from the ceiling, the many bunches of lavender spreading a calming scent throughout the space. There's a round table placed in the middle of the room, two chairs pushed up against it. The tablecloth is made out of the same material as the drape and your fingers are already itching to touch it again.

Glancing around, you find that the shelf next to you is stacked to the brim with gemstones of every cut and color imaginable, their polished surface reflecting the sparkling jars from across the room. If your mother was here, she would insist that they were filled with stardust, the shimmering substance so bright it's nearly imitating the night sky you looked up at just moments before.

You walk slowly around the room, captivated by all of the different items you find. A shudder runs through you as you pause near a display filled with skulls, some of the shapes so outlandish you wonder if the owner has somehow mended different species together just for show.

As you finally make a full circle back to the doorway you stepped through, you realize that there's nothing in this room that should have made the thud you heard earlier. There's no one here and nothing even seems slightly out of place.

Stumped, you lean forward on the table, running your fingers over the soft texture of the cloth as you give the room another look. Is there a door you missed somewhere? Perhaps you were too captivated by the content to really pay attention to the room.

"And who might you be?"

You spin around, heart in your throat, from the sudden deep voice speaking up behind you.

You stumble over an apology as you take in the cloaked figure in front of you, their face obscured by the big hood pulled over their head. The uneasy feeling in your stomach returns tenfold as you realize you're trapped between the table and this mysterious person, their broad frame blocking the only way in and out of the room.

"I–" You're saved from your poor explanation as the figure pulls their hood off, revealing the most beautiful man you've ever seen in your life. His light brown hair is tousled and wavy like he just came from a swim in the ocean, his skin sun-kissed as if he's spent his days laying by the shore. You find yourself unable to form words as you take in his chiseled jaw and almond-shaped eyes, the colour such a striking light blue, they almost appear white.

It's a little unsettling how piercing his gaze is, almost as if he's looking right into you rather than at you. Just as your eyes flicker to the curtain behind him, an excuse forming in your head for a swift exit, the man says, "What brings you to my shop?"

Flashes of your mother's gaunt face appear before your eyes, the sound of her breathing becoming heavier and heavier echoing in your ears. Even if you feel uneasy in this man's presence, you can't let this chance slip to your fingers. You owe your mother that much.

"I noticed the sign out front, that you have a healing shop? My mother.." You take a deep breath, swallowing down the lump in your throat. "My mother is very ill. No doctor or healer is willing to help her, they say her sickness is too severe. You.. You're my last hope."

"Hmm, I see," The man nods. He gestures to one of the chairs, "Please have a seat and explain your troubles. I need all the details you can give regarding your mother's malady."

You quickly slip into the nearest chair, your palms clammy with nervous anticipation. This is the first person who has ever bothered to ask, who actually seems to care. You watch the man as he rounds the table, his gait awkward and staggered as he walks with difficulty to his chair. The way he moves is nothing like you've seen before. It's certainly no ordinary limp, you've never seen anyone walk so .. unnaturally before.

The man catches your eye as he lowers himself to his seat.

"I know my condition is quite unsightly, please excuse me. Due to some unforeseen circumstances, I have had to train my legs to bear my weight. It has left me feeling like a fish out of water."

He flashes you a crooked smile, the amused twinkle in his eye alerting you of a joke you don't quite understand. You wonder if his condition is similar to your old neighbor's. The man had a painful sickness in his legs and spent most of his time in a wheeled chair, but he could walk on them if it was necessary. Though the few times you did see him walk, it still looked, well, human.

"Oh no, that's alright," You wave your hands, embarrassed that your staring might have made him feel self-conscious.

Desperate to turn the conversation away from the man's illness, you begin recounting everything you can remember about your mother's sickness. You tell him about how it began so suddenly, the severity of it and how no one else is willing to aid her, all noting her as a lost cause.

"Most curious," The man hums.

He leans back in his seat, his piercing gaze moving slowly across your face, scrutinizing it. He mutters something under his breath, too low for you to hear, before he raises his voice and says, "While I may not know what your mother's sickness is, I do know that there is only one thing that can cure her. A mermaid's magic."

"Pardon me?" You stare incredulously at the man. "Did you just say mermaid? As in the creatures from folktales?"

"I do know it sounds outlandish, or perhaps you'd find insane to be a more fitting word, but it's your last chance at curing your mother. Have you not exhausted all man-made options?"

You slump in your seat, biting down on your lip as you mull his words over. You have indeed done all you could to save your mother and to no avail. While it does sound absolutely mad to go searching for a mythological creature to aid her, perhaps crazy is just what you need. You're not sure just how much you trust this strange man but for all you know, he could be speaking the truth. He certainly looks like he believes in it himself.

"Where.. Where would I find one?"

The man tuts. "That's not the question you should be asking, guppy. A mermaid requires a sacrifice of equal value to what you are asking of them. What are you willing to give to receive their help?"

"Anything," You reply, "The cost doesn't matter. I'd give up anything to save my mother."

The man grins, his smile a little sharper than before, as he pulls out a weathered map from his cloak. He traces the route you need to take, crossing over the vast ocean to reach a cluster of islands on the other side.

"Finally, you will need to take a boat from Pearl Bay to this island right here. Once you locate the mermaid, you have to offer him this," The man places a tooth on the table, the whites of it glistening under the candlelight.

You hesitantly reach across the table to pick it up, the size and weight of it much more substantial than you were expecting. You find that the tooth is much more like a fang, one end pointed and sharp. It's nothing like you've seen before.

"What animal does this belong to?" You ask, tracing what looks like a red vein embedded in the side of it.

You look up as you're only met with silence, the man's heavy gaze transfixed on your hand and the fang held in your palm. He only seems to remember his surroundings as you lower it to your lap, removing it from his sight.

The man clears his throat as he pulls the hood back over his head. Ignoring your question, he nudges the map closer to you on the table, "I have given you everything you need. It is up to you to decide whether your mother lives – or dies. Good luck."

Your mind is made up a few days later when your mother starts coughing up blood. You doubt she has more than a few weeks left to live at the rate her sickness is eating her up, so you'll have to act right away if you want to save her. You still have your doubt about the journey, about the creature you're supposed to find, but the risk is worth it if the alternative is being left to always wonder if it could have cured her. You know you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if the mysterious man was correct and you didn't do anything about it.

"I'll find a cure, I promise," You give your mother a gentle kiss on her forehead. The lines on her hollowed face are scrunched with pain, her every breath a mere wheeze as her chest struggles to rise and fall.

You meet the saddened eyes of your neighbor as you press a few gold coins into her hand, whispering a few words of gratitude for her care while you're away. The journey shouldn't take more than ten nights to complete but you have paid her far more than that, just on the off chance that the weather delays your return. With your goodbyes said, you heft your rucksack onto your shoulder as you slip out of the cottage and set course for the port.

The sun has barely risen as you locate the ship that will take you south, the wooden dock filled with travelers and crew all headed in different directions. You're surprised to find that the ship is quite large, the deck just as bustling as the dock below. With all of the boxes and barrels being loaded up, you figure it's likely a cargo ship, moving wares and supplies out to the islands. While the journey is bound to be loud and quite cramped, you think the noise might actually do you some good. You hadn't realized just how much of your own energy had been sapped alongside your mother's, how much you missed the sound of laughter and life being lived around you. You'll be stuck on this ship until it reaches Pearl Bay, unable to do much other than sleep and converse with the people around you, so perhaps this will be a much needed break – a chance for you to wind down until you reach shore. Gods know you'll need it, especially since you're supposed to hunt down a fabled creature once your feet hit solid ground.

You fight to open your eyes as the sound of the howling winds outside sweep through the room, your stomach turning at the thought of having to move to see what caused it. The trap door slams shut before you muster up the courage to turn over, the sounds once again dampened by the heavy wood.

"Ay girlie, who made you this angry?!" A crewman huffs as he stumbles down the stairs to the lower deck, bracing his hands on the walls for support.

You bite your teeth together as another thunderous wave crashes against the side of the ship. The next round of nausea washes over you as the ship rocks back and forth, the wood groaning as it tries to steady itself. It's been three days of hellish waters, the storm breaking out as soon as the ship hit the open sea. You've spent most of it confined to your cot, barely being able to keep any water or food down before another rough wave causes your stomach to empty.

The lower deck is filled with pained moans and whimpers, the majority of the passengers fairing just as poorly as you. It feels like you're stuck in a loop of absolute misery with the heavy rain that pours down on the deck above and the angry sea that threatens to pull the ship under at any moment.

You let out a slow breath through your nose, trying to think about anything else but the bile slowly rising up your throat. So much for that relaxation. Desperate for some respite from your turning stomach, you close your eyes and turn your focus onto the indistinct chatter happening on the other side of the room. The low, murmuring voices prove to be enough of a distraction that you soon find your consciousness slipping, a welcome darkness taking over you as the storm continues to rage outside.

The next time you wake up, the ship is quiet and still, like the previous days were nothing more than a fever dream. It takes you longer than you'd like to make your way up on deck, your legs trembling and weak after barely any substance over the past three days. The fresh air and warm sunlight feels heavenly on your skin as you stumble past the other travelers sprawled out on the deck, a few of them still moaning about the ship moving too much, despite its now still glide on the quiet water. The ship's railing seems like a good spot to rest, the sturdy wood providing a nice support to lean against as you survey the sea around you. The water is crystal blue, glittering under the bright sun. You've never seen anything quite like it. You let out a gasp as a school of fish pass by the ship, their gray hue reflecting the light so beautifully it looks like molten silver dancing around under the water's surface.

You stand by the ship's edge for a while, long enough for the other passengers to begin retreating back to their cots. Just as you're about to do the same, you see what looks like a white, large fin hitting the surface of the sea, the creature below too obscured by the distance from the ship to really make out. Even so, you can tell it's no regular fish. The small waves caused by the impact must surely mean that it's a strong animal.

"Did you see that?" You turn to the man resting next to you, hoping he might have an explanation of what you just saw.

The man startles as you address him, clearly on the brink of falling asleep where he stands. He blinks, rubbing his eyes as he turns his attention to the spot you're pointing to.

"There's nothing there, miss," He grumbles, openly annoyed that you woke him up.

"What? But–" As you turn back to look at the sea, you realize he's right. The creature you saw is no longer there.

"Was likely just a dolphin, miss. There's lots of them in these waters."

"I suppose so," You concede. Having never seen one in real life, only on paper, you have no clue how large they're supposed to be. Yet, something in your gut tells you that this was no dolphin – this was something entirely different.

You're not left to ponder the creature for long, not when you're alerted that Pearl Bay has been spotted in the distance. Your final night at the ship passes by in the blink of an eye, time seemingly fueled by your nerves as you suddenly find yourself stepping onto solid ground once again. With a decent night's rest behind you and a warm meal in your stomach, you set course for the next point on your map.

Following the mysterious man's instructions, you find the path going along the outskirts of the bay, walking until you stumble upon the described hut nestled close to the water's edge. The woman inside seems eager to rent you a rowboat, citing that she doesn't get much business on the far side of the island.

It isn't until she asks you where you're going that her demeanor changes, her expression turning haunted as she glances in the direction of your destination, just barely visible where the sky meets the sea.

"There is something wicked in those waters," The woman shudders, her hands shaking as she accepts a gold coin for payment, "You'd better stay away if you value your life, miss."

Your stubbornness won't allow you to turn back now, not when you've already come so far, but that doesn't mean you're not affected by her warning. Her spooked expression lingers in the back of your mind as you push the boat out to sea, your own hands trembling with uncertainty as you grab the oars and begin to row.

Perhaps you are truly foolish to ignore all of the warning signs you have been presented with, but what is a little danger if it means it can heal your mother? You'll just have to stay vigilant, making sure not to take any risks and be alert to your surroundings.

With your rucksack tucked between your legs, you hum a gentle tune, trying to calm the anxiety building with every stroke forward.

The eerie feeling grows heavier the more distance you put between yourself and Pearl Bay, the island in the distance seemingly never drawing closer no matter how long and how hard you row. You set out before the sun had reached its highest point and now its rays are almost touching the sea, the sky a pure orange. Truly, it feels like you have just been paddling in place this whole time, not moving an inch despite the bay becoming fainter and fainter behind you.

Your arms are burning from the hours of exercise, your breath labored and heavy with exhaustion. You were hoping to make it to shore before nightfall – the map did not indicate that the journey would be this long – but you fear your body might shut down if you try to push it for much longer.

You pull the oars into the boat, intending to just take a short break and rest your eyes before your final stretch of the evening.

You swear you haven't dozed off for more than a quarter of an hour, the sunset still vivid and bright, but as you reopen your eyes, you're shocked to find the island close, its proximity now near enough that you can make out the palm trees on the shore and faint details of the wild mountain imposing behind them.

"How?" You breathe.

As you shift on the bench, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you notice that your feet feel much colder than before your nap. Wet.

Glancing down, you find the bottom of the boat filled with water, the amount already well above your ankles. You fumble for the oars, cursing as you begin to row with all of your might. You can't tell where the leak is coming from and scooping the water out with your hands won't get you anywhere. Your best bet is just to get the boat as close to land as possible and then swim the rest of the way.

You resolutely do not think about what may be lurking in the water as you finally abandon the sinking boat, your rucksack balanced precariously on your head as you lower yourself into the cold water. You wonder for a split second if it's better to leave it but the extra portions of food you brought with you will surely come in handy now that your way of returning to Pearl Bay is at the bottom of the ocean.

Biting your teeth together, you begin to swim, your gaze locked onto the beach. Time feels endlessly long as you push yourself forward, the minutes ticking by so slowly they might as well have been hours.

You let out a sob of relief as your feet finally touch solid ground, every limb shaking with exhaustion as you waddle the rest of the way up to dry land. You collapse the moment you hear sand crunching under your soaked boots, panting, as your vision swirls from fatigue.

You lie there until the chill begins to set in, your dripping clothes sticking to your skin like an icy embrace. Groaning, you push yourself up on your feet, knowing you'll have to attempt to create a fire if you want any warmth to return to your body.

The sky is beginning to grow dark, its orange hues replaced by deep purple and blue. It's only now that you realize just how unnaturally quiet the island is, with no noise to be heard aside from the water lapping at the shore and a gentle breeze flowing through the palm trees. Even if you hadn't been this exhausted and cold, you would never dare to venture further into the thick vegetation in the dark. You don't trust the island to not lead you astray.

"Suppose I'll stay here for the night," You murmur.

You rummage through your rucksack, pulling out the change of clothes you had brought with you just in case. You're ever thankful for your own foresight as you strip out of your soaked garments, goosebumps racing down your skin as you hurry to pull on a dry blouse and trousers. It isn't just the cold that's making your skin crawl – you can't help feeling like somewhere in the darkness of the deep ocean, or in the shadows in the midst of the trees, someone is watching you.

You glance around as you do your blouse up, finding absolutely nothing staring back at you.

Yet, the feeling lingers.

It takes you longer than you'd like to admit getting a fire started, the branches you find a little too damp to really catch a spark. Still, some deity seems to take pity on you and allows one of your attempts to succeed, the branch igniting and spreading the flames to the rest of your small bonfire. You scarf down half of the food and water you brought with you as you soak up the warmth, deciding that despite your still vocal stomach, it's better to save the rest for tomorrow. You have no idea how large this island actually is, so there's no question that you'll have to keep your energy up.

With your stomach slightly sated and your shivering down to a minimum, you curl up on the beach, as close to the open flames as you dare. You use your rucksack as a makeshift pillow, piling up the rest of your supplies close by. Despite the unnerving, oppressive air that hangs over the island, you succumb to sleep quickly, your exhaustion too great to fight.

Your dreams are restless, haunted by sharp teeth and whispers, a deep baritone voice urging you to come find him. You wake with a start, alarmed that the puff of air you sensed across your ear in your nightmare felt a little too real.

Heart racing in your chest, you quickly survey the beach, finding nothing out of the ordinary. Your bonfire has long since extinguished itself, its ashes intertwined with the sand below.

Reaching out behind you, you frown as you don't feel the pouch of water you know you left there the night before.

Turning around, you're met with absolutely nothing. Your food and water are gone, and the clothes you left out to dry are nowhere to be seen.

You would suspect an animal to be behind it but you really don't think there's any here. It's too quiet. Not even an insect has passed you by since you stepped foot on this island.

Perhaps the sensation you felt wasn't just a dream, maybe there's someone – something – here.

"You're fine, you're fine," You whisper, digging your hands into the sand to ground yourself. You don't have time to panic. If all of your supplies are gone, it just means you have even less time to locate the creature you came here for. You have to move. Now.

You push yourself up to your feet, dusting sand off your clothes. Your boots are long gone too but you doubt they would have been of much use anyway with the way they were gurgling the night before.

Taking a deep breath, you begin walking towards the thick vegetation a little further up the beach, where the sand meets lush, long grass. The jungle you step into is so dense that the sunlight barely manages to peek through the trees, only small dapples of sunlight flickering across the ground as the leaves move with the wind. The map provided to you didn't show where you would find the mermaid once you reached the island, so you're left to wander aimlessly, pushing aside shrubs and climbing over fallen trees.

Even if you have no idea which way you should be headed, it's almost as if your body knows, your feet carrying you in what you can only hope is the right direction. Your path becomes clear as you break through the trees and find yourself at the edge of the mountain, near the shore. Your journey must have led you to the other side of the island, and the massive cave that's carved out of the mountain is too imposing to be anything but your destination. From the folktales you have heard, it seems like the perfect place to find a mermaid.

The cave mouth is facing out into the ocean, its size big enough to fit a ship through it. You say a small prayer to whatever deity is willing to listen as you square your shoulders and walk in, your barren footsteps echoing into the quiet mountain. You keep close to the wall as you follow the rocky ledge that trails along it, mindful of the stream that runs parallel to your path. The water here is darker, not as willing to divulge what may be lurking beneath its surface. It seems this cave has a paved a road for those with feet and fins.

You follow the ledge as it veers to to left and it soon becomes apparent to you that you have stepped into a tunnel, something much smaller and damper compared to the cave entrance. You can almost graze your fingertips against the mountain above you now.

It doesn't take long before the tunnel opens up before you, showing you sunlight streaming in through holes in the mountain. This cavern is large and wide, showing off a pool of water in the middle of it. You freeze near the edge of the tunnel, still shrouded in its shadows, as you finally lay eyes on the creature you have been searching for – the mermaid.

It's lounging in the water, its back turned towards you as it uses its arms to rest on the pool's edge. You find yourself mesmerized by its tail, the massive thing almost as long as a full-grown adult. It's white in colour but the scales appear to have a pearlescent luster to them, shimmers of pink and green reflecting in the water.

The mermaid's body resembles a man, showing off a chiseled back and strong muscles as he moves his arms. The mermaid's tousled, light brown hair looks oddly familiar from the back, but you know no men who sport that kind of style. There's no place for vanity in your town.

"Hello?" You call out as you step into the cavern.

You hold your breath as the mermaid flips its body around at the sound of your voice, its strong tail splashing in the water. Dumbfounded, you watch as the mermaid pushes his hair back, revealing a face you already know.

It's the mysterious man from the healing shoppe, the same one that told you to come find the mermaid – to come find him.

The man grins as he drinks in your shock, his teeth much sharper than you remember them.

"Ah, pretty human, it seems that you decided to save your mother's life after all."

"You.." You struggle to make sense of what you're seeing, none of it adding up. "Who are you?"

"Me? Oh, pardon my manners. You may call me Taehyung, human. I believe you have a request for me?"

A sudden gust of wind comes through the cave as the mermaid utters his name, a loud rattling echoing between the walls of the cavern. You remember hearing that same sound before, the night you stepped into his shop. The moment you glance up to find the source, you find yourself immediately regretting it.

The darkest spots of the cave's ceiling are filled with clumps of hanging bones, all made up of various animals. They rattle as the wind makes them sway, causing them to knock into each other over and over. You swallow thickly as you spot a skull that is very distinctly human, its warning not lost on you.

You scramble a step back as you look back to the water and find Taehyung much closer than before. He's resting casually on the pool's edge, his chin in his hand as he observes you from only a few feet away. His icy gaze is locked on to you and there's a glint in his eye that makes you all too aware that you have nowhere to run. Even if you make it out of the cave, you will still be trapped on the island. The water is Taehyung's domain and you're surrounded by it.

Foolishly naive and desperate as you are, you have let a predator lead you right into his grasp.

a/n: want to read chapter two right away? you can! just click here and it'll bring you straight to early access 💖

welcome to the third installment in the crimson shell universe (all of the stories are stand alones though, so you'll be fine even if you haven't read the others)!! i know we didn't see too much of tae in this chapter but i can promise you he'll make plenty of apperances in the next one 👀 this is a yandere mermaid story, but this fic will be... softer (?) in comparison to the others! i'd love to know what you think so far!! 💖

the next(/final) chapter will be posted in three weeks time! if you don't want to wait and would like to support me, you can read it now through early access on my kofi! the link is above. thank you!! 💖

#yandere au #yandere bts #yandere taehyung #yandere mermaid #mermaid bts #mermaid taehyung #taehyung x reader #bts x reader #mermaid au #yandere x reader

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aventurineswife · 3 months ago

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Could I request Sunday being spoiled with sweet treats and desserts from his lover? From cookies to puddings, he's in sugar paradise when they're around.

Sugar Paradise

Summary: A quiet, tender moment aboard the Astral Express allows Sunday to indulge in his love for sweet treats, prepared by his loving partner. Surrounded by cookies, puddings, and pastries, Sunday finds solace in the small, simple joys, momentarily escaping the weight of his past. As he shares these delights with you, the bond between you grows deeper, reminding him that peace and sweetness can still be found in the present, despite his inner struggles.

Tags: Sunday x Reader, Established Relationship, Fluff, Sweet Tooth, Emotional Comfort, Gentle Introspection, Tender Moments.

It was one of those rare, quiet moments aboard the Astral Express—a fleeting moment of calm amidst the relentless motion of the cosmos. Sunday stood by the large window of the train’s lounge, gazing out at the starlit void, his eyes reflecting the quiet expanse beyond. The hum of the train was soothing, but his mind often wandered, entangled in thoughts of what had been and what could be.

However, today, his thoughts seemed to be on something more immediate, something more delightful.

A gentle voice interrupted his reverie. "I made something special for you today."

Sunday turned to see you standing there, a tray in hand, a soft smile on your face. His wings fluttered slightly, a quiet sign of his surprise, but also a soft indication of his growing fondness for you. His gaze drifted to the tray you carried—on it, an assortment of beautifully decorated desserts: cookies, puddings, and pastries, all carefully arranged like a small sweet paradise.

His lips curved into a faint smile. "You know me too well," he replied, his voice a bit more airy than usual, a subtle tremor of anticipation threading through it.

You placed the tray in front of him, and his eyes lit up. He reached for a delicate cookie, a warm chocolate chip creation, his fingers brushing against yours. The touch lingered for just a moment, an unspoken connection before his attention shifted back to the sweet treat.

"Do you really think I could resist?" he mused, more to himself than to you as he took a bite. His eyes closed for a brief moment, savoring the flavors as they danced across his tongue. A small, contented sigh escaped his lips. "You spoil me."

You chuckled softly, pulling up a seat beside him. "It's not spoiling if you enjoy it."

Sunday’s smile grew, though his eyes betrayed a hint of deeper emotions—something fleeting, something almost wistful, as if the simple sweetness of the moment allowed him a brief respite from the weight of his own thoughts.

You noticed the subtle flutter of his wings, a gentle reminder of his celestial nature. It was as if the sweetness of the treats could momentarily lift the heavy burden he often carried. His penchant for sweetness, for moments of calm like this, was something you had learned over time. He had an ethereal grace, yet beneath it, there was a tenderness that only a few were privileged to see.

He reached for a small pudding next, his movements slow, deliberate. "I must admit," he said, his voice gentle as he scooped up the creamy dessert, "I’ve always found comfort in small things like these. They remind me of... simpler times."

The words held a weight, but you chose not to press him on it. Instead, you smiled warmly, reaching for a spoonful of your own. "We all need a little sweetness now and then. Even you."

His eyes flickered with something almost like gratitude, but it was masked quickly by a more reflective look. "Perhaps," he replied softly. "But there’s a part of me that wonders if I’m meant to ever truly taste peace... or if moments like these are just fleeting illusions, like the Sweetdream Paradise I once dreamed of."

You reached out, your hand gently brushing his, grounding him in the present. "Not everything is a dream, Sunday. Sometimes, the best things are right in front of us."

His gaze softened, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to let go of his usual guarded nature. He squeezed your hand lightly, the warmth between you both bringing him a sense of comfort he didn’t often admit to needing.

"You’re right," he said, his voice quiet but sincere. "Maybe it’s in moments like these that I can find the peace I seek—where the sweetness is real, and the company even sweeter."

As you both shared the indulgent treats—laughing, talking, and enjoying the simple pleasures of the moment—you knew that, for Sunday, these fleeting moments of sweetness were more than just a physical pleasure. They were his lifeline, a reminder that there was still good in the world, and that maybe—just maybe—the dreams he once fought for weren’t entirely out of reach.

But for now, as he leaned back, content with the desserts you had prepared and the comfort of your presence, Sunday let the worries slip away, savoring the sweetness, both in the treats and in your love.

It was his small paradise.

#x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #sunday x reader #sunday x you #sunday x y/n #sunday honkai star rail #sunday hsr #hsr x y/n #hsr x you #hsr x gender neutral reader #established relationship #fluff #sweet tooth #emotional comfort #gentle introspection #tender moments

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andy-15-07 · 5 months ago

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hi! can i request a friends to lovers fanfic where the reader is a surgeon and met pedro through mutual friends, but then they grew apart because of their busy schedule. After a few years they meet again and decide to date, thanks 🖤

From Friends to Forever

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x female reader

Word Count: 2074 | requests are open!

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The upscale restaurant buzzed with a lively energy, the clinking of glasses and the soft laughter of patrons creating a warm, inviting atmosphere. You sat nestled in a booth, a rare evening off from the whirlwind of your life as a surgeon granting you this moment of respite. The long, grueling shifts, the constant pressure of life-or-death situations, and the emotional weight that clung to you like a second skin had left little room for anything beyond the sterile walls of the hospital. But tonight was different. Tonight, you found yourself face-to-face with Pedro .

The memory of your initial meeting, a serendipitous encounter orchestrated by mutual friends, flashed through your mind. His infectious laughter and the warmth that radiated from him had drawn you in immediately. You'd spent hours engrossed in conversation, bonding over shared passions, late-night musings, and a mutual appreciation for the simple pleasures of life, like sharing a bottle of cheap wine and debating the merits of obscure indie films.

However, life had a way of intruding on even the most cherished connections. His career had skyrocketed, propelled by a string of critically acclaimed roles, while your own life was consumed by the relentless demands of your surgical residency. Phone calls became less frequent, texts went unanswered, and the vibrant thread of your friendship gradually frayed, fading into a distant memory.

Yet, here he was, sitting across from you, that same mischievous glint in his eyes, that familiar warmth emanating from him. "How long has it been?" he asked, his voice a low rumble, laced with a hint of surprise and a touch of nostalgia.

"Too long," you replied, taking a sip of your wine, the cool liquid a welcome respite from the sudden flutter in your chest. "You've been busy becoming a household name, while I've been buried under a mountain of surgeries."

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair, a comfortable ease settling over him. "Fair enough. But look at you! Surgeon extraordinaire. You always had that drive."

"And you always had that charm," you retorted playfully, earning a genuine laugh from him. The ice was broken.

The rest of the evening unfolded with a surprising ease. The years that had drifted by seemed to melt away, replaced by a comfortable familiarity. You found yourself drawn into his stories, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm as he described the challenges and triumphs of his career. In turn, you shared glimpses into the demanding world of medicine, the adrenaline-fueled chaos of the operating room, and the profound satisfaction, and sometimes the crushing weight, of saving lives.

As the night wore on, the restaurant began to empty, the initial buzz replaced by a lingering sense of contentment. Pedro glanced at you, his expression softening, a question unspoken hanging in the air. "Hey," he began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "do you have a moment? There's a little coffee shop around the corner. Want to catch up properly?"

You hesitated, glancing at your watch. You had an early shift tomorrow, the exhaustion of the past few weeks threatening to catch up with you. But the pull to reconnect, to delve deeper into this unexpected reunion, was undeniable. "Sure," you agreed, grabbing your coat.

The coffee shop was a haven of tranquility, the warm glow of the lights casting a soft halo over the worn leather booths. You settled into a cozy corner, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. Pedro ordered two lattes, his gaze lingering on you as he spoke to the barista.

"So," he began, his voice low and sincere, "tell me everything. What's it like saving lives every day?"

You smiled, tracing the rim of your cup, the warmth radiating through the ceramic. "It's rewarding, incredibly so. But it's also...intense. The hours are long, the pressure is immense. You're constantly on the edge, dealing with life-and-death situations. Sometimes, it feels like there's no room for anything else."

He nodded thoughtfully, his gaze searching yours. "Sounds lonely."

"It can be," you admitted, a tinge of melancholy coloring your voice. "But I've learned to find joy in the small things. Like this," you gestured to the steaming cup of coffee, "these quiet moments, these unexpected connections. They remind me that there's more to life than just the operating room."

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. "I get that. Acting can be the same way. It's easy to get lost in the whirlwind, to become consumed by the character, the performance. You lose sight of everything else."

For hours, you poured your heart out, sharing your fears, your dreams, the joys and the sorrows that shaped your life. He listened intently, his eyes reflecting a genuine interest in your story. In turn, he opened up about the challenges of his own career, the constant scrutiny, the pressure to maintain a public persona while navigating the complexities of his personal life.

As the night deepened, you found yourself captivated by his honesty, his vulnerability. The years of distance seemed to melt away, replaced by a comfortable intimacy that had been dormant for far too long. As you parted ways, a sense of warmth, a feeling you hadn't realized you'd been missing, lingered in your heart.

The following weeks were a whirlwind of reconnection. Texts and calls became a lifeline, a way to bridge the gap between your busy schedules. You shared stories, laughed until your sides ached, and discovered a renewed appreciation for each other's company. Late-night phone calls became your refuge, a space where you could unwind, share your deepest thoughts, and simply enjoy each other's presence.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day at the hospital, your phone buzzed with a text from Pedro. "Hey, are you free this weekend?" he asked, his tone unusually hesitant.

"I think so. Why?"

"There's this little art exhibit I've been dying to see. Thought maybe you'd join me?"

You smiled, touched by the invitation. "I'd love to."

The exhibit was a feast for the senses, a vibrant explosion of colors and textures. Pedro's enthusiasm was contagious as he guided you through the gallery, sharing his insights, his interpretations of the art. You found yourself captivated by his passion, his ability to see the world through a different lens. At one point, you caught him watching you, a thoughtful expression gracing his features.

"What?" you asked, a playful lilt to your voice.

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "Just...happy you're here."

Something shifted in that moment. The air between you thrummed with a subtle energy, a connection deeper than mere friendship. The realization hit you with the force of a tidal wave – this was more than just a casual reunion, more than a friendly catch-up.

The weeks that followed were a delicate dance, a slow, tentative exploration of a burgeoning connection. His gestures became more pronounced – a lingering touch, a compliment that lingered on your mind long after he'd spoken. And then, one evening, as you walked along a quiet street, he stopped abruptly, his gaze fixed on you.

"I need to say something," he began, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. "I've been trying to ignore it, but I can't. I like you. More than a friend should."

Your heart pounded against your ribs, the weight of his words sinking in. "Pedro..."

"I know it's complicated," he interrupted, his gaze intense. "Our schedules are insane, and it won't be easy. But I'm willing to try. If you are."

Tears welled up in your eyes, the intensity of his confession overwhelming you. "I'm willing," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

The transition from friends to lovers was a gradual, organic process. You navigated the complexities of your careers, finding solace in stolen moments, late-night phone calls, and weekend escapes. His unwavering support became your anchor, a constant source of strength during the most challenging days. You would wait for you outside the hospital after a long shift, bringing coffee and a warm smile that could melt away the exhaustion of the day. You would spend hours on set with him, watching him transform into a different character, marveling at his dedication and talent.

One evening, as you sat on the edge of his bed, watching him read a script, you noticed a small, silver locket tucked into his jeans pocket. Curiosity piqued, you reached out and gently pulled it out.

"What's this?" you asked, turning it over in your hand.

He looked up from the script, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "Oh, that." He hesitated, then continued, "It was my grandmother's. She gave it to me before she passed away. She told me to hold onto it, to remember the things that truly matter."

You opened the locket. Inside, nestled on a bed of velvet, was a faded photograph of a young woman with kind eyes and a warm smile.

"She was beautiful," you said softly.

"She was," Pedro agreed, a touch of melancholy in his voice. "She taught me about love, about family, about the importance of cherishing the moments that truly count."

He reached for the locket, his fingers brushing against yours. "I want to give you something," he said, his voice low and husky.

He pulled out a small box from his bedside table and opened it. Inside, nestled on a bed of satin, was a delicate silver bracelet, a single diamond sparkling in the center.

"It's… it's beautiful," you whispered, your breath catching in your throat.

He slipped the bracelet onto your wrist, his gaze intense. "It's for you. A reminder of the moments we've shared, and the many more to come."

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his. The kiss was slow, tender, a culmination of weeks of unspoken emotions. As you pulled away, you looked into his eyes, and you knew. This was it. This was the beginning of something truly special.

The following months were a whirlwind of stolen moments and unexpected joys. You navigated the challenges of your demanding careers with a newfound sense of ease, your love a constant source of strength and support. You learned to cherish the small moments – a shared cup of coffee in the morning, a stolen dance in his trailer on set, a quiet evening at home, watching a movie curled up on the couch. You discovered that even in the midst of chaos, there was always time for love.

One evening, months later, Pedro surprised you with a weekend getaway to a secluded cabin in the woods. The crisp autumn air, the crackling fire, and the peaceful silence were a balm to your souls. As you sat on the porch, watching the stars twinkle in the night sky, Pedro turned to you, his eyes filled with a love that transcended words.

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Will you marry me?"

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you nodded, unable to speak. He pulled you close, burying his face in your hair. "Yes," you whispered finally, "yes, a thousand times yes."

The wedding was a small, intimate affair, held in a charming vineyard overlooking the rolling hills of Tuscany. Your friends, family, and a select few colleagues from both your worlds gathered to celebrate the love that had blossomed between you. As you stood at the altar, exchanging vows, you felt an overwhelming sense of peace and joy. You had found your soulmate, the one person who made your heart sing and your life feel complete.

Years later, as you sat on the porch of your own cozy cabin, watching your children play in the garden, you couldn't help but smile. Life had thrown its curveballs, but you had navigated them together, your love a constant, unwavering force. You looked at Pedro, who was now reading a bedtime story to your son, and you knew that this was just the beginning of your happily ever after. The clinking of glasses and the laughter of friends faded into a distant memory, replaced by the sound of children's giggles and the gentle rhythm of your own lives. And as you watched them, you realized that the greatest adventure of all was not the fame or the fortune, but the love you had built, brick by brick, a testament to the enduring power of connection and the magic of finding your way back to each other.

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milfsiril · 11 months ago

Text

symptomatic

kabru x reader; one shot

word count: 10k~

tw: adult audiences only, pet names, sex pollen, overstimulation, no pronouns but mentions of breasts and vagina, mild breeding kink if you squint

*—*

His breath tickles against your skin as he presses his face into your shoulder, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s purposely trying to tease you. Scratch that; he definitely is. He hums, his voice honeyed and low. “Don’t move,” he groans, his grip on you solid.

Although your party had recognized that you were all underprepared, you still made the mistake of rushing into the lower levels of the dungeon, despite how ill-advised it was.

Kabru was aware it was partially his fault; he had been too reckless, impatiently pushing everyone on despite the looks of uncertainty.

That’s what led to this very moment: Kabru clinging to you as if being apart physically hurt him, soft noises of protest spilling from his lips any time you shifted.

They had fallen and been revived many times, yet he had insisted on pushing further. This had led to him being snared by a plant monster and coming away coughing and wheezing as the pollen penetrated his sensitive membranes. Healing spells had proven ineffective, and despite the others’ voices of concern, he had waved them off, convincing himself he could push through any ill effects.

He had managed to stave off the symptoms of the pollen for long enough, but one night, as you had retired to the fireside, you commented about how he seemed more worn down than usual. You had raised your eyebrows in concern when you went to check his temperature and he had instead nuzzled against your palm.

Your party had left the dungeon, ignoring Kabru’s protests, and had holed him up in an inn so he could recover with no disturbances. You had agreed to stay with him, yet it didn’t explain why he was now curled around you, his fingers wrapped in the material of your shirt.

He whines quietly, pressing his face against you almost as if he was trying to hide. “Mm sorry,” he apologizes, his lips grazing the skin exposed by your shirt neckline. He rests his weight on you when you move, trying subconsciously to hold you down and prevent you from leaving.

Despite your prior relationship and his smooth talking ways, his pleas this time seem genuine as he begs you, “Please stay with me.”

You sigh heavily, stopping yourself from moving. You had originally joined his party because he was the only person you could find who would agree to take you. You worked as a member of a dungeoners safety and health organization, and had been required to go to the field (or the dungeon rather) to directly document health and safety violations.

Since most adventurers at best found an untrained person a burden and at worst were actively creating health and safety violations, it was difficult to find someone to take you with them. Luckily, Kabru’s party had needed the coin (or unluckily you supposed).

Kabru had also gone on a tangent about “protecting the rights of humanity” at the time, and winked at you, to which you had shuddered in disgust. The two of you were definitely at odds, and didn’t see eye to eye. You found him arrogant and narcissistic and he found you stuffy and nagging.

You two had argued often, and you had scolded him for not being careful many times, but still were the first to notice he was being affected. Now, you were here, nearly pinned under him as the rest of the party had gone to the next town over in search of a doctor who could remedy magical maladies.

He's.. a lot quieter now than he was before, not that you were complaining about that. If anything, you welcomed the temporary respite from the constant witty remarks and sarcastic quips that would spew from him on a daily basis.

His hand moves to thread through your hair, and he buries his face against your neck once again, inhaling deeply before letting out a breath that's almost akin to a sigh of relief.

He's so, so close to you. You can feel his chest rise and fall against your own, and you idly wonder if he's aware of just how hard his heart is beating.

You chew your lip, highly uncomfortable but willing yourself to be still for his sake. It’s not like he could help it at the moment, and it was your job to ensure adventurer safety technically, so you were the best to monitor him while the others went for help. His breath against your neck tickles, and you squirm a little. “This is… helping?”

As you squirm, he makes a low growl into your neck, almost like a warning not to move away. When he speaks, it's in a low murmur against your collar. "Stop moving. You're making it worse. Yes, it's helping, please. Just--" His grip on your shirt tightens, and he's suddenly moving to bury his face into your shoulder with a strangled moan of frustration and irritation. "Just let me breathe you in, for god's sake. You're not close enough."

You stiffen again, your body betraying you. While Kabru had certainly been an irritant for you, you felt terrible that he was so affected, and also.. had not been this close to someone in a very long time. You bring your hand up, petting his head awkwardly in what you hoped to be a comforting manner. He whined again in protest at your movement, and you hummed at him. “I have to move a little to make you as comfortable as possible… I’m sorry…” Gods, why does this have to feel so good?

He practically whimpers when you start to run your hands through his hair, his grip on your shirt lessening in order to hold onto your hip instead. His other hand finds its way to your side, fingers splayed out against your hip as if afraid that you might suddenly try to leave.

"It's-- It's fine," he says through gritted teeth, his voice cracking a little near the end as he tries to collect himself. "Just.. Just don't go too far. Please."

You bite your lip as he clings to you, his grip nearly bruising as he presses your body against his. “I won’t. I’m here.” You whisper as you keep petting his head. He seemed to react well to it. You allow your fingers to card through his hair in order to soothe him.

It's both a relief and a torture that you're indulging him. There's no other way he can satisfy this overwhelming need to hold and touch and make sure that you were here and real, and it's also torture because it makes it all the harder to keep any sort of coherent train of thought.

With how your fingers are running through his hair, he feels like he's losing his goddamn mind. He can practically hear the blood rushing in his ears if he tries to concentrate hard enough, and he leans into your touch.

You bite your lip even harder, drawing blood as you hear him practically purr, simultaneously trying to shove his face into your shoulder and push back into your hand at the same time.

Gods, you're going to drive him insane like this. He's completely unraveling under your hands, and it's.. it's so hard to think straight. He wants to push farther, wants more, but a part of him restrains himself from doing more than just bury his face against your shoulder and grip at your hip and side. He's already doing more than enough with how he's pinning you down like this.

Feeling more assured that this is helping, yet feeling bad that you’re even touching him in such a state, you shut your eyes, bringing your other hand up to rub up and down his back gently. “I’m sorry.” You whisper again, leaving the rest of that sentence unspoken. For him feeling like this? For touching him? For the inappropriate thoughts gracing your mind? You weren’t sure which.

No, no, he's enjoying the way you're rubbing up and down his back, the way your fingers comb through his hair. He's enjoying the way you're letting him hold you like this, indulging him so that the damned pollen can run its course through his systems. He's enjoying having your body flush against his, how your touch radiates through his clothes so that he can feel it against his skin. "Mmn... Don't apologize. Just.. gods, don't stop."

You nod, your cheek brushing his head as you do. Your fingers scratch his scalp, the other hands draw soothing circles against his back. His shirt is damp with sweat, and you look down at his curly head of hair rubbing against you. “You’re so warm...”

He practically writhes under the combined effect of the pollen and your touch. Your fingers scratch at his scalp and the back of his shoulders, and the circles you make against his back only make shivers run up his spine. He lets out another shuddery breath, and you can practically feel his body try to press up against your own even more than it already is. His shirt is sticking to his skin, mostly drenched with sweat now. "’m not, you’re too cool..."

You pause for a moment but continue stroking him when he whines, “Does that… does the coolness of my skin feel good?”

"M-mn-- yeah," he admits without hesitation, his words slightly muffled from where his face is tucked against your shoulder. "Your hands are cold, they-- gods, that feels good."

He lets out a shaky breath, and you feel his fingers dig into your hip, so hard that it's almost painful.

You take a deep breath, unsure if it’s a good idea or not, but the words tumble out of your mouth anyway. “Do you want to take off your shirt? It might help…”

His fingers freeze for a moment, and you can practically hear him swallow in an effort to respond. That request shouldn't have affected him so much, but he can already feel the heat rushing up his neck.

"... Yes," he finally manages to say, his voice hoarse. "Y-yes."

He sits up for a moment to take his shirt off, practically flinging it to the ground before he's back on you again, now with his bare chest flush against your own.

You grimace, though you still have your own shirt on, with less of a barrier you can feel how warm and damp he is. You return your hands to him, the heat of his back against the coolness of your hand. You rub your hand up and down, and grit your teeth at feeling his sinewy muscles twitch under your fingertips.

Why is the contrasting temperature difference between your body and his making him feel so sensitive? It's making him feel lightheaded with how your hand feels so good against his skin.

Almost on instinct, his hips grind against yours, seeking even more contact and friction. "Mmn.." he moans, his voice cracking into a ragged gasp.

You freeze, your eyes widening as you feel his hips move, grinding down against your thigh. “Ka-Kabru…”

He feels his heartbeat quicken at your reaction, and suddenly he's all too aware of how his body is moving against your own. How his hips are grinding, seeking more of that friction and contact that feels so good.

"Nggh don't-- Don't freeze up on me now." He tries to warn, but it comes out as a low, almost ragged plea. "Please don't, don't stop-- please."

His hips continue to move, and you bring both hands up to grab his cheeks. He nuzzles into your palms, his eyes hazy and face flushed. “Kabru… I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to, you know this magic is affecting you, and you’re not in your mind right now…”

He's so gone with the effect of the pollen, and your words almost seem to hang in the air for a moment with how he's too lost in the sensation of your hands and the feeling of your body flush against his own. But then the words actually register with his fuzzy, cloudy mind, and he groans, burying his face into your palm. "I know that, I know-- I know," he murmurs against your skin, his voice cracking. "I.. I want this. Please--"

You move his face again, making his hazy eyes look at you once more. “You’re sure? You’re ok with me helping you out?”

He's still grinding his hips against your thigh, his breathing labored and hitched as he tries to control himself. He wants you. He's craving you, and it must be so obvious in his expression and the way his body is moving against your own. It's taking all of his willpower to hold himself back from just taking you.

And yet, he knows. He knows that he is not in his right mind right now. So he swallows down a ragged moan, and nods weakly against your hands. "Yes."

You suck a breath in through your nose, closing your eyes momentarily to gather your bravery, and you use the grip on his cheeks to pull him level with your face, smashing your lips against his.

One moment, he's grinding down against you, seeking that friction that was driving him mad... and the next, he feels your hands tugging at his face to pull him up to your level. When he feels your lips against his, he practically sobs into your mouth, his mind going completely blank, overwhelmed by sensation.

He kisses you back greedily, his lips moving against your own with a feverish desperation that he's never felt before.

You feel his tongue immediately dart out, pushing against yours, him whimpering into your mouth as your tongues tangle. It’s sloppy, he doesn’t have the capacity to be precise at the moment, and his fingers dig into your skin. His hips had momentarily stopped in surprise, but he resumes grinding down, his position now switched so he’s nestled between your legs.

Your mouth is so perfect. So good. He wants to kiss you, wants to feel your tongue against his, and he practically keens when he feels you kiss him back with an equal fire.

His hips start to move again, now more confidently, more surely as he slots himself in between your legs. He lets out a whimper at the pressure, and his hands start to wander along your body.

His hand trails down to your chest, quickly finding your breast and squeezing the flesh, rolling it under his palm. You gasp into his mouth, moaning at the contact of both his hands and his hips grinding into yours.

He relishes how you moan against his mouth as his hand wanders down your chest, finding one breast and squeezing. He's greedy. Greedy to hear more sounds like that, to feel more of your body against his own.

His hips start to move more forcefully, the pressure driving him wild, and he almost growls into your mouth as his tongue tangles against your own. His other hand grips at whatever part of your body he can reach, holding tight to anchor himself to you.

He paws at you, and you allow him to explore, his hands moving quickly from place to place like he can’t decide where to touch. He untangles his mouth from yours, moving down to suck and bite at your neck messily, leaving saliva and marks behind as his whines against your skin.

He's practically drunk on the way you taste, addicted to how your body feels under his, and the pollen is making his mind feel fuzzy, hazy-- "Mine," he grunts against your skin.

You whimper at his words, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair, trying to pull him impossibly closer. You whine out loud as he leaves a particularly hard bite, his tongue soothing over it. “Ka…bru…”

He growls as you tug at the hair, the stinging sensation just adding on to the overwhelming amount of stimulus he's feeling right now. He knows that he's being rougher than usual, especially with the way he bit down on your neck just moments ago.

His tongue soothes over the bite mark, and he moans against your skin, his hips moving against yours in a relentless rhythm. He grinds against you, seeking more friction to satisfy his growing need.

His hands come down to grip the hem of your shirt, growling as he tugs his mouth away to pull it over your head, almost as if he’s angry at himself for having to be separated from your body for one second. Shirt off, he presses his chest against yours, grinding his entire body into you, licking your cheek.

You lift your legs to either side of him, making it easier for him to fit between them. He immediately drops his head to your chest, wrapping his lips around your exposed nipple and sucking hard. “Haaa-ahh!” You cry out, surprised by the intensity.

Gods, the way you sound when you cry out. The way you taste. He moans against your chest as he works his mouth against your breast, sucking hard.

He lets out another whine, his hips grinding against yours relentlessly, the pressure making him ache in the best way possible. "You're mine," he grunts against your skin. "All mine."

He switches sides a few times, nipping with his teeth and sucking, before you push lightly at his shoulders. “Nnngh… pants… off…” You demand.

He lets out a whine at the loss of your skin beneath his mouth, but he lets you push him back as you gasp out your request. Pants off—

His hands are already moving to fumble with the laces, working them off as quickly as possible until he's left in just his underwear.

He doesn't hesitate to press himself against you again, his hands gripping your hips to center himself as he resumes grinding against you.

You had somehow managed to pull your own bottoms down as fast as he had done his, so the only barrier between you was your underclothes. You whimper, feeling his heat between your thighs, embarrassed he could feel how damp your underwear had become in such a short time.

You're so wet-- The thought comes unbidden, but suddenly he is very much aware of it, aware of just how much you're enjoying this, how much you're enjoying him against you.

He gasps, almost akin to a whine, against your skin, and he can feel how the pollen has affected him, has left him a mess, desperate on top of you. "Can I...?" he pants, pulling away from your chest to look at you.

He lets out a ragged moan at your nod, his eyes dark with desire. He's panting, breathing heavily as he looks at you.

He sits back on his heels and gently pulls your underwear down your thighs, exposing your flushed skin beneath him. He hesitates for a moment, his gaze wandering across your body, taking in the sight of you beneath him, and he groans, leaning down to leave another bite mark on your hip.

You gasp, which fades into a moan as he sucks a mark, his hands coming up to part your thighs.

He growls, making room for himself to move in between them. His mouth wanders across your hip, making sure to mark your skin with a few more bites before he looks back up at you with a hazy stare.

He gasps hoarsely, his voice cracking as he watches your expression. He lifts up one of your legs, placing it over his shoulder. "Look at you~"

You shudder at the reverence in his voice, embarrassed by how closely he’s inspecting you. You whine as he brings up his fingers to test your wetness, rubbing them together and making a string between. You whimper, looking away.

His pupils blow out wide, and he can feel the way your body shudders beneath him. His gaze is almost piercing as he looks at you, his eyes raking down your body, taking in every little detail. You shut your eyes as you start to feel overwhelmed.

"No, no... look at me," he commands urgently, bringing his other hand up to gently grab your chin, gently pulling your face up to look at him. "I want to see you.”

You scrunch your face, but look at him as he had asked. His eyes are lidded, and his face is still flushed. He leans down, placing a teasing kiss on your lower stomach, keeping eye contact while he does so.

"Good," he croons against your skin. "Gods, you're so good for me." One of his hands comes up, moving up to gently cup one of your breasts in his palm. "So good, so perfect."

You whimper again, both turned on and embarrassed by the praise. “Wh-what are you going to do…?”

He chuckles, his fingers teasingly rubbing against your nipple as he speaks, "What do you think I'm going to do?" he asks lightly, his mouth against your stomach again as he lets out a warm breath of air over your skin.

"I'm going to taste you." he answers, his eyes never leaving yours. "Going to make you mine, completely."

He moves down, his hot breath falling against your center. You bite your lip, wondering where he suddenly got all this patience from when he was so desperate before.

His mouth slowly moves lower, and lower, his tongue darting out to sample you, drawing a long, slow stripe against your skin. He groans at the feeling, the taste of you, and he wants—

But he restrains himself, moving his head to nip at the inside of your thigh instead. His hands massage your skin as his mouth teases around you.

You whine, your hand resting atop his head. “Shouldn’t we be… helping y-you… not me?”

He lets out a shaky breath against your skin, his mouth pulling away from your thigh for a moment, though his hands remain pressed against you. "Later," he pants out. "I'll deal with that... later. Let me... Let me focus on you, for now."

He lets out a ragged gasp as he takes another look at you, taking in the way you're spread out in front of him, helpless beneath him. "L-let me focus--"

You clench around nothing, his strong, hyper focused gaze making you feel extra sensitive. “Kabru…” You whimper his name mindlessly.

He lets out a groan at the way you clench around nothing, and he desperately wants to replace his gaze with something else.

He leans his head down again, bringing his mouth back between your legs, just to teasingly run his tongue against your folds. "Just... just relax, sweetheart," he whispers, his breath against your skin.

Despite his words, your stomach clenches as his tongue dips into your folds. You whine again, and his eyes flutter shut as he tastes you. You feel desperate suddenly, your eyebrow twitching. This was supposed to be making him feel better, and yet he’s toying with you?

"Patience," he murmurs against you, his voice rough. He can tell that you're getting restless, but he doesn't mind that at the moment. He wants to feel you writhe beneath him, wants to hear your desperate whimpers, wants to feel you clench around nothing as his tongue teases you.

He mouths at you with a slow, deliberate pace, not letting you get what you want too easily.

At that, your mind momentarily forgets he’s under a magical effect, that vexation at his bravado returning. You thread your hands in his hair, tugging hard. He whimpers as you pull his head back, hissing at him. “As much fun as you’re having, we don’t have all day.”

He lets out a low, needy whine as you tug at his hair, his body shuddering as he lets you pull his head back. He lets out a shaky exhale as he looks up at you, his gaze hazy with want, but also slightly surprised at how commanding you're suddenly being.

"I know we don't," he says. "But you just look so good, like this. You just... I just want-- I need--" He bites his lip, trying to find the words to express himself.

You feel bad instantly, knowing he can’t control himself right now, shame flooding you. You loosen your grip, smoothing his hair instead. “I know… I want you to feel better, but you’re going to make it worse if you drag it out. Let me help you, please?”

He lets out a low whine as you soothe his hair, and he leans into your touch, feeling his breath hitch in his throat. He nods a bit at your request, giving in to your words even as his body tries to resist.

But even still... even though he wants to protest, wants to keep teasing you, just to hear that pretty voice of yours, his body is begging for more. "Please," he gasps out, looking at you with wide, pleading eyes. "Please, help me."

You shudder at the need in his voice, and part your thighs more. “If this is what you want…” you gently push his head down, “then take it…”

His eyes go half-lidded as he gazes back down at you, his mouth parting slightly as his breath stutters in his throat. He can feel the pollen making it hard to think, making it hard to resist, and he can feel your fingers, gentle but firm, guiding him back down, back to your heat.

He lets out a low groan as his tongue begins to taste you again, and his hands grip tighter against your thighs.

You bite your lip, trying to hold back your sounds as he fully puts all his effort into devouring you, his grip on your hips tight as he pulls you against his face, nearly smothering himself.

He's desperate in his want, his need for more of you, his tongue working against your skin, trying to get as much of you as he can.

He lets out another desperate whine against you as his tongue dips deeper, trying to lick into you more.

You feel your eyes flutter, hand tangling in his hair again, this time just holding him while you rock up your hips, keeping time with his pace. You whine out as he groans into you, the vibrations shooting heat through your stomach. “Nnnghh… good… feels.. good..” You whimper.

He lets out a strangled moan as your fingers grip his hair, his eyes practically rolling back at the feeling of your fingers against his scalp, holding him tight against you.

He can feel the way your hips rock up to meet his motions, the way you whine out at his sounds against you, and it drives him wild. He doubles his efforts, trying to get more, more—

You feel the bed rock, and realize he’s grinding his hips down as he pushes his tongue into you. You moan aloud, turned on by how much he’s getting off on this alone. You accidentally press down, smushing his face harder into you as you clench, your body heating up.

He shivers as you press down against him, his hands digging into your skin as he lets out a gasp against you. He's almost lost in the feeling of you clenching around his tongue, his eyes closing as he moans against you, his hips pressing down into the bed as he grinds against the pressure.

He can feel the pollen taking hold of him again, and it makes him desperate for more, makes him need more of you. He lets out another hitched moan against you, his tongue lapping up every drop of you he can collect.

You moan, body rocking both from your own movement and his, your head falling back against the pillow. “Fingers… please…” You manage to gasp out.

He lets out another whine as you plead for him, shuddering at the pleasured sound of your voice. For a moment, he thinks about denying you, not giving you what you want just yet, wanting to hear you beg for him...

But the pollen in his veins is making his brain fuzzy, making him desperate, and he wants to please you, wants you to sing for him. His head pulls back from you for just a moment, and he pants against your skin.

His hand comes down between your thighs again, his fingers parting you as his tongue quickly gets back to work, and you keen as you feel both start to press inside of you. “Y-yes….” your breath hitches, and you flop back against his ruffled pillow again.

He's frantic, his hands moving desperately, his teeth occasionally biting marks into your skin as he works his mouth over all of you. He's drowning in you, greedy for more, begging and pleading and whining into you as his head moves against you.

He can't think straight, can't do anything other than focus on you, on the way you taste, on the way you sound.

He lets out a ragged gasp against you when you suddenly squeeze down, your heat and tightness making him dizzy. He’s frozen in place for just a moment as he feels you clenching around him, feeling like he's already on the edge, like he's already so, so…

He finally regains his bearings, moving his fingers inside you, trying to give you some of what you need as he whimpers desperately against you once again.

He starts to pump them into you, his own hips bucking against the bed, whining and laving his tongue against you, the pollen once again ravaging his mind as he gives into the pleasure.

His body is shaking uncontrollably, breath coming out in desperate gasps as he pumps his fingers into you. He can feel the pollen making his head go fuzzy, making him struggle to even think, his body giving control over to instinct as he gives into the pleasure, the need to feel you. “So good," he pants out hoarsely. "Gods, you feel so good-"

Your back arches, your breath coming out heavy as you focus on the feeling of his fingers. “Good… need it… haaahh-“

He lets out a low, ragged moan as he feels you arch up into him, his fingers pumping into you again, trying to find the perfect rhythm. His eyes are half-lidded, darkened with need as he looks up at you, wanting to see your face as he takes you, as he pleases you. "I need you," he gasps out desperately. "Need you so badly- please!”

You clench around his fingers again, and he groans, fading into a high pitched whine as he leans down, burying his face into you again. The bed rocks harshly as he grinds down even harder, his shoulders trembling against your thighs.

The sounds that leave him are broken and ragged, almost animalistic, as he tries to hold back his own moans. The bed is shaking at the force of his grinding, his body moving on pure instinct as he tries to take more of you, to feel you all around him-

He suddenly lifts his head, moans tumbling from his lips as his eyes roll back in his head. His body shudders, mouth falling out with small panting whines coming from him. He shakes for a moment, his hand stilling as his head flops forward, the shaking of the bed stopping. You lift your head curiously.

He's panting against you, a strangled, broken sound, as he slowly works his way back down from the wave of pleasure that crashes over him. His body is shuddering against yours, the remnants of the pollen making his brain go fuzzy as his head rests against you.

He seems to realize that you're looking at him, and he slowly opens his eyes to look back at you, his face still flushed and breath labored. "..mmm.." he groans out between pants.

You bite your lip, looking at his fucked out expression. “Kabru..? Did you just..?”

He turns red at your words and he shuts his eyes, his head flopping down again as he tries to catch his breath. "..I.. I may have..." he says with an embarrassed groan. "..it was too much, you were too much-"

You rub his head softly, the pleasure in your own body softening back to a lull for the moment. “It’s ok… you were feeling good…”

He shivers at your touch, his eyes closing again at the soothing feel of your fingers in his hair. He lets out another low groan, the last of the tension seeming to slip from his body as he leans into your palm. "..it felt amazing," he gasps out between breaths. "You... you felt amazing, too good. I couldn't help it."

You smirk a bit, your own breathing returning to normal. You pet his head for a moment longer, before you pause. “Do you… do you want to stop now..?”

He blinks up at you for a moment, his mind still a bit fuzzy from the pleasure just moments before. He almost thinks about stopping, before he feels another overwhelming wave of need, of want, crash over him again.

He shuts his eyes for a moment, taking a shaky breath as he tries to get more control over himself, before he looks back up at you again. "No," he gasps out, his eyes dark with desire. "More, please, need more of you-"

He starts moving his fingers again, and your eyes widen, letting out a surprised moan as the hunger returns to his gaze. At the very least, his release gave him some clarity, so he’s entirely focused on you now, his tongue coming back down to rub against you, his eyes never leaving yours.

His eyes stay locked on as he works you back up, the desire, the need still burning strong in his gaze as he moves his fingers against you. He's determined now, focused on one thing and one thing only, on making you cry out for him, on letting himself please you.

His tongue works against you with precision, moving in practiced motions as he watches you for any tiny reaction, any tiny sound.

You breathe out a long moan, the dormant fire in your blood kicking back up as he returns his attention to you. Your thighs tighten together over his shoulders, squishing his face between.

He closes his eyes as he feels you squeeze around him, a low moan rumbling in his chest as his head is trapped between your thighs. His fingers keep moving desperately, and he keeps lapping at you, tasting as much of you as he can, lost in the sensation, in the pleasure.

You arch up again against his mouth. “Need to finish… wanna come for you…”

He lets out another low moan at your words, a shudder going through his body at the sound of your voice. He's desperate to give you what you want, to make you feel good.

His hands keep moving, pumping his fingers as his tongue keeps sliding against you desperately, taking in as much of you as he can. He wants to make you finish, to make you fall over the edge, all for him.

You whine, your hips bucking as you whimper out a string of curses. “Shit I’m close… gonna come… please…”

He whimpers low in his chest, his eyes closing and breath stuttering for a moment as he hears you whine and curse. He wants nothing more than to give you what you need, to give you what you want, and so he moves his fingers and tongue faster, working you towards your completion as he gasps out. "Please, please, please-" he whines desperately against you.

He sucks your clit into his mouth, and at that your head snaps back, your eyes rolling as you crest over the edge. You hold your breath for just a moment, then it all comes whooshing out as you nearly scream, hips snapping against his hand and face as you reach your release.

His own eyes flutter shut as you come, a muffled groan leaving him as he feels your body shudder and tense against him. He tries to keep his hands and mouth moving, to keep working you through the pleasure, desperate to draw out every last wave of it that he can. He feels satisfaction at the way you call out for him, at the way you clench around him.

You whimper as you come down from your high, Kabru cleaning you off with his tongue. The overstimulation hits and you try to push him away.

He lifts his head at your insistence, his eyes hazy and dilated as he slowly comes down as well. His expression turns apologetic as he realizes the overstimulation, and he quickly pulls his face away from you. He lets out a shaky breath, his body shuddering at the essence of you still on his tongue. He wipes his mouth as he hovers over you again, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his eyes rake over your body.

Your chest heaves as you attempt to recover, looking up at him with your eyes lidded in satisfaction.

He just stares down at you for a moment, his eyes taking in your flushed skin, your lidded eyes, the way your chest heaves as you recover. He feels his desire flare up again at the sight, his body aching for more, for everything, but he manages to keep himself back, for the moment.

He pants softly as he runs his eyes over you again, before finally letting out a shaky groan. "You're so beautiful," he blurts out.

You reach up, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to bring him down for a kiss, lips meshing together more slowly than before, but still filled with need.

He lets out a low groan into the kiss as you pull him down, melting against you as your lips press together. Some of the frantic and desperate need from earlier is gone, replaced instead by a different, subtler kind of burn.

He moves his body against yours, pressing himself up to you, his arms wrapping around you, holding you against him as he savors the feeling of your lips against his.

You kiss like that for a moment longer, before you feel his need poking at your hip once more, hips bucking into yours as he starts to kiss you more frantically, the pollen once again overtaking his mind, panting against your mouth and hips stuttering.

He lets out a shuddered gasp as his hips buck up again, his body instinctively seeking out more contact, more pleasure. The need, the desire, is back in full force as he kisses you more frantically, desperately, his hands gripping your body like a lifeline.

"Please..." he pleads softly against you between pants. "Please, please—"

You spread your legs some more, letting him slide in between again. You reach down, taking his hardness in your hand and guiding it to rub against your entrance. “Come on…”

He lets out a shaky breath against you, his body trembling with the sensation, the need running through him. Before he can doubt himself, he moves his hips again, pushing into you, his eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure hits him.

"Ah-" he gasps softly, his breath shuddering even more in his chest as he burrows his face into your neck, his hands gripping at your body again.

You feel him shake as he makes his way in, seated inside you. He hovers over you, looking down to watch himself disappear inside you, mouth hanging open and eyes wide.

He pauses there, screwing his eyes shut and trying to retain his sanity. You dig your nails into his back to bring him back to earth.

His eyes shoot open at the feeling of your nails digging into his skin, a soft moan escaping him at the slight sting. He tries to remember to breathe, to stay focused. "You feel so good…!"

You move your hips just a little. “Kabru.. need you to move.” You whine.

He lets out another shuddered gasp at the feeling of your hips stuttering when you say that, and he quickly nods, desperate to make you feel good, to give you what you need.

"Okay, okay-" he pants, his voice shaky. He starts to move his own hips then, slowly at first, pulling almost all the way back before pushing back in again.

You tilt your head back, exposing your neck as you tremble and whine, inadvertently clenching around him. Even with the preparation, it’s still a good stretch.

He feels you clench around him, a shaky moan falling from his lips. He grips at your hips with his hands, holding you firmly as he finds a rhythm, slowly working up to a steadier pace.

He lowers his head to your neck, nuzzling and kissing at the exposed skin, desperately trying to keep himself in control.

You arch, pushing yourself up into him. While it feels good and you’re enjoying this, you know he needs more to feel better. You look at him, foreheads pressing together as you look in his gorgeous blue eyes. “D-don’t try to control yourself, you need this, take what you want.”

He lets out another low moan as you arch into him, his eyes shutting for a moment at the sensation. But then he feels your forehead press up against his, and he slowly opens his eyes to look at you again.

He can see the concern in the way you look at him, the way you talk, and he feels a pang of affection for you in his chest. He also knows the pollen's still getting to his brain a bit. "Are you... sure..?" he gasps out. "I don't want to hurt.. to overwhelm-“

You bite your lip, deciding if there’s any moment to be honest, it’s this one. “It’s fine.. I… like when it hurts a little…”

His eyes widen at your words, the confession taking him a little off guard. He shivers, a shudder running through his body as his eyes rake over your face, trying to figure out if you're telling the truth. He lets out another breath, the words still bouncing around his head.

You flush, embarrassed at his lack of response. “Ok well if you want to go all slow be my guest…” You mumble.

He lets out a soft scoff at your shyness, affection welling up in his chest at the way your face flushes. He moves to kiss your forehead before leaning down to press his lips to your cheek, followed by him sliding down your jaw to nibble gently at your neck. "Was just making sure, is all," he mumbles gently against your skin. "You... like the pain, huh..?"

As he says that, he snaps his hips against yours, making a cry bubble from your lips. You furrow your brow. “I-I….”

His eyes darken as he hears your moan, your mewl at the movement of his hips. His fingers dig gently into your hips as he starts to move again, more purposely this time, his eyes glued to your face, watching your expressions intently. "You like it when it hurts.." he breathes into your ear.

You blush, moans being forced out of you as he picks up the pace with each sentence, his hips punctuating everything he says with a sharp thrust. You gasp, “Y-yeah… feels g-good-!”

He lets a soft snicker out as he watches you flush in embarrassment, the sight only serving to encourage him further. His eyes rake over your face hungrily, drinking in all your expressions, the way you flush and the way you gasp for breath, the way your words seem to come out involuntarily.

He starts to pick up the pace more, shifting his hips a bit and adjusting the angle-

"There. What about there..?" he asks you, voice strained.

He feels you squeeze around him as he hits your most sensitive spot, your body tensing as a moan falls from your lips. A smirk tugs at his lips as he takes note, filing it away for future reference. "Right there...," he purrs into your ear, watching your expression intently as he angles his hips and starts to move against you again.

Your hands clench his back, nails digging in hard enough to leave marks as he starts to hit that spot over and over. You try to say his name, but it only comes out as a gurgle.

He hisses softly as he feels your nails digging into his back again, the slight sting adding a pleasant sensation to the needy feeling running through him.

He groans at the way you whimper and squirm underneath him, the sound of his name leaving your lips in a garbled moan driving him crazy. He keeps working his hips up into you, moving against you frantically.

He presses his face into your neck, hips moving at a brutal pace, not wanting to be separated for even a second. You hold him to you tightly, wrapping your whole body around him.

He lets out a strangled gasp as he feels your grip, your hold on him tight and your limbs encircling him. He can feel himself getting lost in the sensation of you, every fiber in his body craving more, more, more.

He keeps his face buried in your neck, breathing in your scent as he keeps on slamming his hips against you, frantically, desperately, his fingers gripping your hips tightly.

He sits up suddenly, pulling your calves up onto his shoulders. You start to ask what he’s doing, but instead heave a loud moan as he bends you in half, leaning forward to push into you again. “Oh… oh gods..!”

He lets out a groan of pleasure as he moves your legs up onto his shoulders, the new position letting him push himself deeper into you, and he pants loudly as he feels you clench around him, your words getting cut off mid-sentence. "You good..?" he asks you between breaths, wanting to make sure you're alright in the new position.

You open your mouth and a cry tumbles out. You squeeze your eyes shut. “So deep… please… more…”

He lets out another noise when he hears your cry, the sound shooting straight to his gut. His hands grip onto your legs at your words, heart skipping a beat with desire.

"Yeah, I got you... I'll give you more..." he gasps as he starts to move again, angling himself against that spot he'd found earlier and starting a steady rhythm, working up to a slightly faster pace.

You try hard to keep your eyes open, his dark lust filled ones keeping eye contact, his face much closer as he drives into you like this. The new angle feels so intense, you can’t even try to close your mouth, every breath accompanied by some kind of pleasured noise.

He keeps his eyes fixed on yours as he moves into you, watching, drinking up the way your face twists and the sounds that fall from your lips, the way your breaths and gasps are getting more labored.

Between all his gasps and panting, he manages to speak a few times, his words shaky, raspy, as he tells you how good you feel, how much he needs you.

His hips slap against you and you bite your lip hard, surely bruising yourself at how much you’re feeling. “Gods… need it so bad… want you to fill me up.. hannghh-!”

He lets out a shuddering moan at your desperate whines, his eyes darkening as his hands grip your legs with a little more pressure. He can feel the building tension in him starting to get more and more intense, his eyes raking over your face desperately. “Yeah, you want it that bad, huh..? Need me to fill you up, baby..?" he pants out, voice strained with the effort.

You nod mindlessly, feeling your eyes go out of focus at his words. “Need it… please.. give it to me….”

He gasps as he sees your face start to twist in front of him, your eyes glazing over and your words sounding almost mindless. He lets out a shaky moan at the desperate tone of your voice, his body getting tight with tension. "Yeah… yeah, I will, you’ll take it-" he gasps out as his pace starts to get more and more frantic, moving against you roughly.

In the back of your mind you wonder if some of that pollen had rubbed off on you, acting even more desperate than the party leader above you. You tilt your head back, enjoying the sensation of his hips pounding into you.

You gasp and moan again as he keeps pumping into you, feeling the burning pleasure building in your abdomen again. You bring your hand down, fingers rubbing circles against yourself to help bring you to the edge.

He can feel the way your body starts to tense up, your moans getting more and more frequent, and he knows that you're close.

He watches as your hand comes down to touch yourself, the movement making his heart start to pound in his chest harder.

"Gods- just like that, baby.. please-" he gasps out, voice strained.

You look up again, making eye contact with him, and a spark of pleasure shoots through you. You whine, bucking your hips up as best you can from your position. “Gonna come again… oh gods… gonna come for you…”

He lets out a shaky gasp as he sees you look up at him, your eyes making direct contact with his, and he whimpers at the feeling that comes with the sight.

He keeps moving against you while trying to control himself, not wanting to lose himself too soon. But at the sound of your whine and your words- "Please baby.... come for me-"

At his response, your eyes slam shut, your body tensing for a moment before you thrash, your pleasure being ripped from you as you reach your high again. You tremble around him, both your thighs and insides clenching as he keeps his harsh pace through it.

His eyes go wide as he watches you come undone in front of him, your body tensing and trembling as he keeps moving against you, the feeling almost sending him over the edge.

He moans loudly as he feels you clench around him, the sight of you in front of him, the sounds you involuntarily make, the way you thrash as you reach your high making the tension in his body almost unbearable-

"Gods- Gods, baby-" he gasps out again, his eyes squeezing shut.

You shiver and whimper as he keeps going, “Please…” You moan out “Come inside… please…”

He feels another pang of pleasure go through him when he hears your voice, shaky and needy. Each word from your mouth only makes it harder to hold onto any semblance of control, makes him want to give in even more.

He pants as he picks up his pace, moving harder, deeper into you as he feels himself close to the edge. He almost moans out your name in between the gasps and pants as he gets closer and closer- "Yeah... gonna... hah.. gonna give it to you-!”

He falls silent, his head dipping down as he concentrates, his brow furrowing as he buries himself in you over and over, gasping as he teeters right on the edge.

He tries to hold on just a bit longer, trying to draw out this moment in time as long as possible, savoring the feeling of moving against you, the sound of you moaning right in his ear. “Fuck-" he gasps out- "Hah- please.. I'm gonna- mmph-"

He slams his hips into you frantically, his vision going white as he finally reaches his climax.

His eyes squeeze closed as he loses control, his hips moving in quick, rough bursts as he feels himself reach his peak, his fingers digging into your hip as he gasps and writhes.

He lets out a shaky moan as he feels his release wash over him, his body tense as his hips twitch while he rides out his orgasm, moving instinctively against you. He groans out your name in between the pants and moans as he shudders and trembles.

He feels himself twitch inside you, the sensation sending sparks through his body as he pants desperately, still coming down from his high.

He leans against you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his body pressed against yours, still moving against you slowly. He lets out a shaky gasp, his breath hot against your skin as he tries to catch his breath.

You bring your hand up, moving his damp hair from his forehead, feeling him still twitching.

He shudders when he feels you touch his forehead, his hair sticking to his skin from the exertion and sweat. He shuts his eyes as he feels your hand move along his face, your fingers tangling in his hair gently. His breathing still has a bit of a tremble, his body shuddering from the aftershocks.

He lets out a soft gasp as he feels himself twitch again, the feeling starting to get just a bit overstimulating.

You sigh out as he breathes, slowly returning to normal. He lays still for just a moment, yet suddenly his hips snap up again. He whimpers, a mix of pain and pleasure, but his hips move again as if they have a mind of their own.

His eyes widen when he feels his hips move without his control, his body acting on its own as it seems to be searching for more friction. His whimpers are shaky, caught somewhere between bliss and discomfort.

He gasps as he feels himself twitch again, the sensation of being overstimulated making him shiver. "Wait-" he gasps, voice trembling, "help me- please…"

You gasp as you feel him drive into you again, sensitive from just before. “Kabru..?” You question.

He lets out a whimper as he moves into you again, the mixture of pleasure and sensitivity causing him to shiver as he moans.

He feels his cock twitch inside you again, another wave of sensation running through him. He pants out a shaky "Please-" as he lets himself get caught up in the feeling, his eyes going half-lidded again.

You shiver at the movement. “What’s… you’re still..?”

He trembles as he hears your words, his mind feeling fuzzy with pleasure. He bites down on his lip as he tries to get control of his thoughts again. "Hah- Yeah… yeah, I-” he gasps out, voice shaky and trembly. "I-I don’t… think I’m done-”

You feel his arm muscles shake with exertion, picking himself up to hover over you again, a complicated look on his face, over sensitive but still craving the sensation.

He swallows hard as he looks down at you, his expression torn between discomfort and craving more. His body is still seeking out friction without his control, his hips grinding against yours.

You furrow your brows, concerned. “You… doesn’t it hurt…?” You run your hands through his hair, him whimpering and pushing up into your palm, his hips snapping again and he lets out a cry.

His expression of pleasure falters when you ask him if it hurts, your words reminding him of the overwhelming feeling he’s experiencing. He lets out a shaky whine as he nods, his hips still moving despite himself.

You bite your lip, feeling bad for him. It hurt him to continue, but it also hurt to not continue. You consider what to do, and bring your hand to his cheek as he whimpers, hips twitching.

He whines again at the feeling of his hips moving, the conflicting feelings of pleasure and pain making it difficult to think straight.

Determined to help, you wrap yourself around him suddenly, pushing with all your might to flip his heavy form without crushing any important parts. He looks up at you in surprise as you smile down at him, still straddling him. “You’re tired… let me help?”

He lets out a shaky breath as he looks up at you, still somewhat tired from the previous session. He nods eagerly at your words, a silent plea for you to help him let his body rest.

You feel him relax a bit and smile, getting up on your heels and hearing him whimper uselessly at the slide. You place your hands on his chest for leverage, slowly starting to grind up and down on him.

He gasps as he feels you moving on top of him, his eyes widening again as he watches you, hands clenching around the sheets beneath him. The feeling of you grinding up and down against him sends sparks of pleasure through his body, the mixture of oversensitivity and pleasure making him shiver and whine involuntarily. "Gods- Baby- please-" he gasps out, voice trembling.

You gasp in tandem as your own body feels the ache, still moving so you can give him relief. “I got you…”

He feels his body shiver again as he watches you move on top of him, his eyes fixed on you as he swallows hard. The overstimulation is still sending waves of pleasure and pain through his body, but the feeling of you trying to give him relief makes his heart flutter. "Hah- I-I know, baby, I know… you’ve got me…" he moans out, his voice broken as he speaks.

You bounce a little harder, breath whooshing out of Kabru every time you drop back down. He releases his grip on the sheets and brings his hands up to loosely rest on your hips.

You run your hands over his chest, moaning “You just.. c-couldn’t end there huh? Needed more~!”

He moans softly as he feels your hands roaming over his chest, the feeling sending shivers through his body. He bites down on his lip as he listens to you, a shaky smile crossing his face as he nods weakly. "Y-Yeah…" he gasps out, voice trembling. "I couldn’t.. couldn’t stop, I need-" he moans, his hips pushing up instinctively against you.

You shut your eyes, focusing on bouncing on him, clenching every time you go up. “You’re gonna… fill me again… hah..”

He gasps at the feeling of you clenching around him, his head tossing back against the bed as he lets out a moan. His breath comes out in whimpers, each one more shaky than the last as he feels himself be pushed down with every movement. “Yeah- yess- I-Hah-” he gasps out, voice trembling as his hips push up once again, trying to meet you in the middle.

You move as fast and hard as you can, his whines picking up in tone as he pushes back against you, so close again already.

His breath is coming out in desperate stutters as you move on top of him, the feeling of you bouncing on him pushing him quickly towards the edge. He feels his body trembling harder, his hands clenching on your hips tightly as he pushes back against you, desperate for more stimulation. “Hah-! Baby-!” he moans, his voice trembling as he gets close again. “Gods- please… please-“

It takes only a few seconds later, and you feel him tense, his face melted in an expression of desire.

He reaches his high, body tensing and shaking as he lets out a loud gasp, his head tossed back against the bed. His eyes slam shut tight, face frozen in intense pleasure as he moans loudly, his body trembling and twitching beneath you.

“Hahh- f-fuck-!” he cries out, body tightening as he rides it out.

You bounce a few more times to milk him, but he whines, this time is pain, and you sink down on his lap, panting.

He swallows hard, his breath coming out in weak gasps, hands still clenching on your hips tightly.

You lift up, pulling off him, and he whines again, but sighs as you remove yourself and flop down next to him.

He lays there, breathing heavily, still trying to catch his breath and steady himself. He closes his eyes, feeling exhausted and oversensitive in the aftermath of his climax.

You both lay there for a few more moments, his eyes still closed as he tries to even out his breathing. He can feel the exhaustion in his body, the ache in his limbs, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

After a few more moments he opens his eyes, turning to look over at you. He’s still panting slightly as he lays there, looking somewhat drained and exhausted, but there’s a soft, almost grateful look in his eyes.

As he makes eye contact, reality comes back, and you blush, looking at the ceiling instead. It’s silent for a moment. “You feel better?

He stares at you for a moment, his gaze studying your flushed face and averted eyes, and he can't help but crack a faint smile at your blushing. He stays still for a few moments longer, the silence growing thicker.

He considers your question, taking stock of how his body feels. The hazy, oversensitized feeling has receded, leaving a more general soreness in its place. He nods slightly. "Yeah… I feel better. Thank you,” he says hoarsely.

You blush harder, keeping your gaze on the ceiling. “You’re welcome..” You remain there for another moment before sitting up, clearing your throat. “You’re.. okay now?”

When he nods, you determine that he’s worked everything out, your back aching as you raise yourself off the bed. “Alright good… the others will be back with the doctor soon so…” You trail off.

He watches you as you sit up, noticing the way you wince slightly as your back aches. He feels a pang of guilt, seeing the aftereffects of the pollen on your body.

At your words, he swallows hard, nodding slowly. "Yeah…" he says quietly. There's a moment of awkward silence between the two of you, the realization of what just happened hitting both of you with full force. The others would be returning soon.

You stand, your legs shaking slightly. “I’ll uh… head to my room… if you need me again just…” You look away, too embarrassed to make eye contact.

His gaze follows you as you stand up, his eyes flickering subtly as he notices the slight tremble in your legs. He knows that he’s at least somewhat responsible for your current state.

He swallows as you speak, his eyes widening a bit as you look away, too embarrassed to meet his gaze. He’s suddenly hit by how different this situation is outside of the haze of the pollen. He nods awkwardly, still sitting on the bed. "Alright. Yeah. I’ll… I’ll.. keep that in mind," he stutters.

You quickly get dressed, the two of you silently and awkwardly moving around the room. After you finish putting your clothes back on, you head to the door, giving him a nod before stepping into the hallway.

He watches as you quickly get dressed, the silence between the two of you filled only by the sounds of fabric rustling and you moving around the room. When you finish, he frowns as he watches you move towards the door, feeling a pang of something in his chest as you give him a final nod.

His eyes follow you as you step out into the hallway, leaving him alone in the room. He groans, his mind racing, wrestling with the strange mixture of emotions swirling inside him after what just happened between the two of you.

*—*

a/n: sorry if the formatting is weird i pumped this out on my train ride today. anyway uh this was inspired by beooum’s character ai bot prompt and it got my brain moving, so enjoy my rambles as i procrastinate more of my school work!

#kabru #dunmeshi #dungeon meshi #smut #kabru x reader #x reader #dungeon meshi smut #dunmeshi smut #kabru of utaya #delicious in dungeon #IM REPOSTING BC I WENT TO EDIT AND I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED IT #TUMBLR MOBILE MY WORST ADVERSARY WTF

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chibinasuu · 7 months ago

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Sanji x Reader ― baking; sweater

part of the cozy holidays event

🎁 ― anonymous tags: sfw, pure fluff, GN!reader, no use of y/n

Your thin silk pajamas did nothing to shield you from a draft of cold air that made its way into your bedroom, making you shiver as you pulled the blanket tighter around you.

After a bit of mental preparation to brace for the cold, you threw the blanket away, got out of bed, and quickly pulled on the thick blue sweater that was draped over the chaise at the side of the bed. You inhaled the familiar scent of a masculine, musky cologne infused into the garment – tinged with a hint of tobacco – and smiled. You had your own collection of sweaters, of course, but none were as comfy as his.

You leisurely made your way to where you knew Sanji was.

He had woken up early this morning, kissing your forehead sweetly before he got out of bed, whilst you opted to sleep in for a while longer, still worn out from the party that the crew had thrown you the night before.

As you leaned against the doorway to the kitchen, you saw that Sanji had not only been busy with preparing breakfast for the crew. Every inch of the room was now also decked in winter decorations – boughs of holly, tinsel, fairy lights, you name it. Chopper had introduced the crew to Drum Kingdom holiday traditions way back when, and it had since become a beloved annual event onboard the Sunny.

It also seemed that the festivities did not stop at the decor, as the air was filled with the warm aroma of ginger, cinnamon, and clove.

You silently watched your husband as he rolled out some dough on the flour-dusted counter.

It still felt surreal, to refer to Sanji as your husband.

Your lips involuntarily turned up at the memory of yesterday. Your and Sanji’s wedding was a small affair on the deck of the Thousand Sunny. You had exchanged rings to the beautiful melodies of Brook’s violin, then your Captain excitedly pronounced you officially wed, with only the crew as your witnesses. Sanji had had to prepare his own wedding cake and feast, but he did it happily. He would never trust anyone else on the ship to do it anyway – everything needed to be perfect for the special day. After dinner, Sanji carried you through the threshold of your brand new quarters – some unused storage space that Franky magically transformed into a beautiful honeymoon suite – everyone cheered, and then you all partied and drank away the Sunny’s entire supply of alcohol.

It was the best night of your life.

Sanji was carefully cutting out the cookie dough into the shape of little people when you called out teasingly, “Good morning, my dear husband.”

Your new title for him, combined with the sight of you in his sweater, was apparently too much for Sanji to handle. Blood gushed from his nose and you laughed as he desperately reached into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief to staunch the bleeding before any drop could contaminate his dough.

You loved how you could still affect him so, even after years of being together.

You helped Sanji arrange the little gingerbread men on the baking tray as he quickly prepared the frosting. Once the cookies were in the oven, Sanji picked you up and placed you on the cleared countertop, positioning himself in between your legs. Finally having a moment of respite in his busy morning, he took the time to languidly gaze at you, his blue eyes overwhelmingly full of love, “Hi.”

You couldn’t stop the giggle from escaping your mouth as a surge of happiness washed over you, “Hi.”

Sanji took hold of your left hand, admiring the thin silver band around your ring finger, before lifting it to his lips, “I still can’t believe you’re officially mine.”

You smiled and threaded the fingers of your other hand through his soft blond hair, “And you’ll have me for the rest of our lives.”

You sighed blissfully as Sanji showered you with lazy kisses – on your hand, and your forehead, then your cheek, down to your waiting lips. He hooked his index and middle fingers into the collar of your – well, his – sweater, pulling it down to expose your neck before leaving kisses there too. His lips were traversing upward to your ear when the shrill ring of the timer interrupted him.

Not wanting the cookies to burn, he reluctantly stepped away from you with a smile and took out the tray from the oven.

After the cookies had cooled down, Sanji snapped off an arm of one of the gingerbread men, and fed it to you, “How does it taste, darling?”

“Perfect, as always.”

You and Sanji stood side by side, decorating the freshly baked goods with colorful frosting. You drew curly eyebrows on one of the little people-shaped cookies, and a vertical line across the left eye of another. Sanji frosted a long nose onto one, and an x-shaped mark on the chest of the next one.

The room was filled with the echoes of your laughter as the two of you competed on who could draw the most realistic-looking gingerbread skeleton.

And you thought to yourself, it really couldn’t get any better than this.

a/n: is this the most tooth-rotting fluff i have ever written?? probably!

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#sanji x reader #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x you #sanji #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece fluff #one piece fanfic #op fanfic #sanji fluff #sanji fanfic #one piece sanji #op sanji #chibinasuu fics

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diabolicalevil · 1 day ago

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Which Primarchs would beg during a break up?

inspired by @ladyoflucky 's post thank youu for letting me do this

https://www.tumblr.com/ladyoflucky/787103199830081536?source=share

Lion El'johnson: highly unlikely. he would keep up an arrogant front to the bitter end of the break up. but in private he is a disaster, especially stuck on anger and depression of the stages of grief. in the 6 months he'll magically start appearing around you again

Fulgrim: oh my god, he's begging, he's crying. it's embarrassing. bar, I don't know, a war council infront of the emperor there is no place he wouldn't get on his knees and proclaim his love. he will stop at nothing to get his lover back

Perturabo: absolutely not. very stone faced the whole time but as soon as you leave he is flipping tables and destroying anything he made for you. very petulant man!

Jaghatai Khan: one of the more normal ones. by that I mean no, but he would ask why and ask you to stay. ultimately he is accepting of you moving on and he will too

Leman Russ: no, he's also too proud and quite rude during the break up. extremely torn up over it though, cause let's be honest he probably did something that warranted this. within time he'll calm down and maybe try to re-enter your life. if this is successful you'll get the full "baby baby please take me back baby baby please" (space wolves as back up singers included!)

Rogal Dorn: kind of paralysed the entire break up but obviously distraught. mere hours later after realising that by "over" you mean over he's knocking on your door and tripping over himself to make amends. he's expressive as a piece of paper but he folds like one too

Konrad Curze: You Will Not Be Breaking Up With Him. Sit Back Down.

Sanguinius: yeah,,, somehow more embarrassing than fulgrim. he looks like the world is crashing down on him. not many on this list would truly get on their knees and cry and grovel but he would and he'd mean every word of it

Ferrus Manus: no but he's hanging on by a thread internally. he immediately goes to self loathing and while he does understand and accept your answer every bone in his body is telling him to start begging for forgiveness

Angron: no :( he's sad about it too. he thinks this was inevitable and once the initial anger subsidies the misery is all consuming. but he probably couldn't bring himself to face you again

Roboute Guilliman: hes being very sensible about it in the moment., but perhaps a few days later he sees something that reminds me of you and it punches him in the dick SO hard. immediately launches a campaign to win you back so intense it might as well be begging

Mortarion: no, probably not. like angron hates himself and thinks this would have always happened but his anger manifests outwardly. days later he understands he blew it for good resigns himself to the lonely life he imagined before you

Magnus: yeah, I think so. not much begging in the moment but if that fails, he'll start doing a little bit of dream invasion privacy. pleading with you to take him back in your dream and if that too fails, he would consider altering your mind to a more favourable opinion of him

Horus Lupercal: yes but not in a screaming crying kinda way. he's on his knees but only to meet your eyes and speak to you on your level. waxing poetics about how you're the only respite from his never ending list of expectations and how every moment has brought him nothing but peace. asks for one final chance to make it right

Lorgar Aurelian: oh my god. oh my God. he's not just on his knees his head is on the floor, he would kiss your feet if not for the fact he wouldn't deign touch the divine without permission. his begging starts getting jumbled with scripture as he starts to believe this is divine punishment

Vulkan: if you're breaking up with him something out of both of your control has gone terribly wrong. from the bottom of his heart understands but he can't help but kneel infront of you and ask to embrace one last time if nothing else

Corvus Corax: no, but he understands and perhaps a part of him expected it. you're far too different to have stayed together long. he still vows to never let harm come to you

Alpharius/Omegon: another firm you are not breaking up with them. however if you did somehow get such a silly idea nothing is off the table to make you stay. if it's begging you want, then they beg. if all else fails diva ur going in the dungeonn

sorry if this is a bit dramatic but im truly of the opinion that astartes and primarchs experience emotion and sensations far more intensely than humans do. don't got shit to back it up but that's my opinion

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nonsensenook · 8 months ago

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Chapter 3.5 | Moment of Respite

Synopsis: In which Bajie kindly gives you some time alone with the Destined One. An optional and indulgent chapter in this unapologetic take on you, the reader, accompanying the Destined One on his journey.

Word Count: 3,129

Warnings: 18+/Explicit Content/Smut/N.S.F.W, Female Reader

Author’s Note: Though I say unapologetic, I am very much nervously sweating. I will soon find a nice rock to hide under. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3: Link

Ch. 1 - Ch. 2 - Ch. 3 - Ch. 4 - Ch. 5

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The snow covered landscape turned to dense forest once again. With Bajie now completing the trio of a group, any sort of affection you showed came sparingly. Whatever you could show comfortably in Bajie’s presence was quick and subtle. It didn’t take long for you to begin struggling with the confines of this restriction. As time went on you would do what you could to distract yourself, but more than once Bajie had caught you staring at the Young Sage. This made the Pig Guai pelt you with seeds while counting how many it took until you were broken from the spell. He had also begun to stack things on you, laughing when his pile would tumble once you were out of your daze. On his less patient days he’d purposely scare you back to reality by shouting loudly near your ear. Even while you were standing he’d find something to hop onto to do this.

The Destined One wasn’t doing any better. He didn’t seem to fully understand why you were quicker to separate from him in the mornings before Bajie woke up. Sometimes he’d pull you close or try resting his head in your lap, however these moments were quick to end when you moved away after seeing Bajie approach. You saw how this annoyed the Destined One by the way his tail lashed back and forth behind him. Your little explanations didn’t stop that tail of his either. He had recently started to walk away from Bajie mid-conversation to see whatever unimportant task you were up to. This earned him plenty of choice words from Bajie. More often now you would see Bajie knock the Destined One on the head with the back of his rake when he caught his gaze wandering off. Needless to say, Bajie’s temper seemed to be getting shorter these days.

Tonight, the Destined One had found a suitable cave to set up camp. The half-moon in the sky shined brightly as your group settled down for the night. It was an evening full of unfinished chores. You were doing what you could, having picked up sewing to mend various articles of clothing while the Destined One worked on crafting a new staff. You sat near the fire and worked by its light. Across from you, Bajie stood up and dusted himself off.

“A lovely night like this is meant to be enjoyed with alcohol,” he announced, brushing past you to pick up the spare bottles of brew. “I’m going to finish these off by the waterfall we passed earlier. Do not expect me until morning and do not expect I’ll be sober,” he said with a chuckle. You weren’t really paying attention. The thread wasn’t going through the needle and the dancing firelight wasn’t helping.

“I said,” Bajie emphasized loudly right next to your ear, making you jump and drop the needle, “I am going and to not expect me till morning.”

You moved garments aside trying to find the needle with eyes squinting in the firelight. “Yes, yes, we heard you the first time, Bajie. Did you want company?”

“Not from either of you! I’ve had enough of the two of you to last me several lifetimes.” Bajie began walking down the path through the trees. “If a lovely lady passes by here, send her my way!” he called back. You heard him singing loudly as he walked away, his voice slowly receding until it disappeared in the regular hum of nature around you.

Thankfully, you found your needle again and managed to successfully thread it. You worked quietly on patching up your clothes. The night was cool, the air was filled with the soft croaking of frogs and crickets in their tunes. The fire next to you crackled softly as you worked. A breeze rustled the trees surrounding your little camp. You paused for a moment to listen to the leaves flutter on their branches. Bajie was right, it was a lovely night. You glanced up and saw the Destined One taking apart an old staff to make anew. His gaze was concentrated, you watched for a moment as he extracted the needed materials. You returned to your own work feeling content.

Being alone with the Destined One had you reminisce on the beginning of the journey. Unlike this comfortable silence, the silences then were awkward and prolonged. Small accidental touches had you apologizing or him stepping back. Though you pride yourself in reading what he means to convey at a glance now, you remembered those perplexing games of charades you used to play with him. Then there was the bathing spring incident. You inwardly cringed. Even with everything you’ve done with him till now, that moment still pulls you back to those same feelings of panic and embarrassment. You shook your head, forcing the memory back to the corners of your mind. Then you felt your body stiffen as you finally realized: You were alone with the Destined One.

You felt a sudden sharp pain on your finger making you inhale through your teeth. You had accidentally poked yourself with the needle. The air around you moved, a pair of strong hands gently held yours open. The Destined One examined your finger closely. It was only a small dot on your index where the skin was barely broken. You looked at his face, his expression was full of focused concern.

“I’m okay,” you said quietly, not even looking at your hands. He brushed his finger onto yours. Satisfied that you weren’t bleeding, he made to move away. You held onto his sleeve.

“I-” You began to speak, then felt your mouth dry up. Embarrassment shot through you, quickening your heart and tying your tongue. How depraved were you that you’d jump at this opportunity the moment Bajie stepped away? Pretty depraved, you thought.

“Could-” you stuttered, trying and failing once again to fully transfer incomplete thoughts from your mind to your mouth. You couldn’t find a way to say you wanted to touch him without sounding perverse. The Destined One looked closely at you. He reached his hand up to brush strands of your hair aside, fishing out a stray leaf. His hand traced along your face, lingering on your cheek. You leaned into his touch, placing your hand over his. You then turned your face to brush your lips against his palm. Usually, this action alone was enough to have him lead the rest of the way, but he made no motion. He simply looked at you with a shadow of amusement on his features. He slowly moved his hand to your chin where he tilted your head upwards to look him in the eyes. This damn monkey.

As if reading your thoughts, you saw the corner of his lips twitch. You glared at him. He gave an innocent tilt of his head. You could so easily read what he was saying as if he’d whispered it into your ear. All you needed to do was ask.

“Could you please-” you started again, your breath hitching as he brushed his knuckles against the heat of your cheeks. You stared into his eyes. That same look of kindness, that same boundless patience, and something else. Something ravenous, waiting just beneath the surface. You just barely managed to whisper out the next words, “Touch me…”

The Destined One looked more than pleased as he leaned forward. His lips touched yours in a gentle kiss. His warmth always seemed to envelope you. How long has it been since he’d touched you like this? How long have you wanted this? How long have you needed this? Long enough to know that this wasn’t even nearly enough. Your hands came up to his robe, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. You sealed your fate in this one bold move. This you knew: The Destined One wasn’t one to abandon something once started. Soon enough, he showed you just how famished he’d been.

You felt his tongue greedily taste you as his hands traced your frame. You welcomed him to consume you, wrapping your arms around his neck as he sucked on your tongue. You moaned against his mouth as his hands trailed down to grope you in all the right places. He proceeded to lift you up as he trailed kisses and bites from your neck to your chest. He carried you easily into the cave where he held you against its walls. You stood there, your head thrown slightly back as he slowly descended down. His sharp nails snagged and tore at your clothes, still being careful not to push too hard into your soft flesh.

You felt his hot breath on your chest. His tongue traced the area around your nipples, tasting you. You heard your cries echo in the cave when he began sucking on one while groping and flicking the other. The hand you held against your mouth did little to mask the sounds he pulled from you. He played with you until you were quivering in his hands. Satisfied, he continued trailing his tongue downward. He continued tearing at your clothes to make way for himself. By the time he was kneeling, your clothes were but scraps barely hanging onto your body.

He slowed down, listening to your small whimpers as he slowly moved his hands up your legs. His nails softly scraped at your skin sending shivers down your spine. Slowly, painfully slowly, he made his way up to your thighs. He stopped just before he reached your entrance. Closing his eyes, he began planting slow, gentle kisses on your inner thighs. Then he opened his mouth and took a bite, making you cry out in surprise. You saw his tail flick behind him. He loved that sound you just made. He cruelly continued to do this, getting so close but never touching you where you wanted most. He took another bite which he licked once he let go. While holding your legs apart, he looked up at you. This Gods damn monkey. Mischievous doesn’t even begin to describe him anymore.

This was his revenge for all the times you’d pulled away from him before. Knowing he was depriving you on purpose made you stubbornly bite your lip. Yet simply seeing him stare up at you while he traced your inner thigh with his teeth already cracked something in you. Just as you knew what he was doing, he knew what you were thinking. Frustration coursed through your veins as the Destined One watched you in playful amusement. It was unfortunate, you were up against someone who’d never lost a battle. You saw him use his knuckles to hover ever so close to your folds. You watched as he pulled away, then spread out his fingers to show your fluids sticking and dripping down them. You outwardly cursed at him this time. The Destined One wasn't listening, he’d started licking his fingers. You felt your pride and shame crumbling down as you watched him. The last embers of your stubbornness were snuffed out by his tongue.

Your lips quivered as you breathed out your next words. “Please,” you begged, “Please…” Again, you saw that same pleased look on his face. He'd gotten just what he wanted. You threw your head back as his tongue tasted your entrance. You felt his breath pant against you as his hot tongue slid into your pussy. From everything he’d done, there was so much of you for him to hungrily lap up. Your hands went to the fur on his head, gripping them to steady and ground yourself from the stimulation. He pushed his tongue in further, making your grip tighten on him. You felt him slowly traced back to your clit, flicking his tongue against it. You flinched and buckled each time he did this. His tight grip on your thighs held you still as he greedily devoured you. You couldn’t hold yourself up anymore, your shaking legs began to give out from under you. In response, the Destined One placed one leg over his shoulder.

“Wait-” you cried out more in shock than command. He placed the other leg over too until your whole weight was fully supported by him. This new angle had him reaching deeper into you. With his hands on your waist and forearms resting on your thighs, he began sucking on your clit. You gasped then moaned uncontrollably loudly, pulling hard at his fur. Your twitching legs tried to come together but were held firmly in place by his immeasurable strength as he thoroughly ate you out. Your cries echoed back at you in the cave. You felt something build up, tightening inside of you. You cried out a string of curses as you came hard, your body twitching and convulsing against the cave wall.

The Destined One slid his tongue against your pussy, lapping you up slowly as he helped you ride out your orgasm. When you settled down, he gently moved your legs from his shoulders. You leaned against the cave wall for support. Out of breath, you watched him wipe his mouth as he took off his robe to lay on the ground. In the dim light of the cave, you drank in the sight of his body. Your eyes stared at his muscles, his lean figure covered in fur, and the veins trailing from his arms to his hands. The Destined One helped you over to his robe where you laid down on your back.

He hovered over you, admiring the absolute mess he’d made of you. He then went to your neck and started sucking on your skin, one hand reaching to pull down his pants. He tossed them aside. As you twitched below him you felt the tip of his cock brush against your folds, spreading your wetness all over himself. You felt yourself pulsing in anticipation. Your hands went to his chest. You felt hard muscle beneath soft fur as you slid your hands down. You hear his breath catch when you brush along his lower abdomen. Your hands then went to his back where you slowly scraped and pulled at him. He shivered at your touch. As he continued to mark your skin, you felt him start to enter you slowly. You felt his tail wrap around your leg. One of his hands held yours, pinning you down to the ground. His other hand shot up to grip the cave wall. As eased into your soaked pussy, you heard the sound of something cracking above you.

You let out a low moan as he went deeper, stretching you out, until you had taken him fully. You felt yourself tighten around him as he let out a sigh. Again, you heard that same cracking noise above you, like stones scraping together. He began moving slowly, cautious of you adapting to his size. Your breath was coming up short again. When he quickened his pace, you could not stop the sounds that erupted from you. The Destined One’s breathing was heavy and labored in your ear. You heard more cracking from above as he let out a low, husky moan. You clawed at his back, making him snarl. He let go of the cave wall, scraping his nails down your back as he gripped your hips, digging deeply into your skin. You cried out, arching into him, your chest meeting his as his thrusts came harder. You could only whimper and moan as he pulled you in by your hips to meet each of his thrusts. Growling in your ear, he pulled back, then slammed into you hard. You choked out another cry which became mewling whimpers as he fucked you harder. You were begging for him, but the sounds were indiscernible to your ears. The cave walls had you deafened by your own voice drenched in ecstasy and the sounds of his body slamming into yours.

You felt yourself tighten up, that same peaking feeling getting closer. Moaning fully into his ear you came again, twitching hard as your pussy tightened around his cock. His thrusts quickened, becoming frantic, desperate. You felt him bite down hard into your shoulder as he came in you. Both his teeth and nails dug deep enough to draw blood, but the pain felt delicious as he twitched and filled you.

For a moment he stayed still, breathing heavily, then he let go of your shoulder and pulled out of you. His hand unlatched itself from your hip, he moved his arm up to support his weight. The other hand was still firmly holding your own. Both of you were still out of breath as he closed his eyes to rest his head against yours. You reached up to hold his face, giving him a tender kiss. He returned the kiss as you wrapped your arm around his neck. He pulled you up slowly, delicately. You closed your eyes as he carried you out of the cave.

In the morning, Bajie returned the way he’d left: singing. True to his word he held many empty jars of drink and walked like a sailor towards where you and the Destined One were having breakfast. Before he’d made it to you two, however, Bajie face-planted into the ground. You heard the distinct sound of him snoring as a jar rolled towards you. The Destined One stood up to carry Bajie over to the light bedding you’d prepared for him.

The Young Sage then returned to you and pulled you into his lap. The Destined One wrapped his arms around you, tail pleasantly thumping the ground. You leaned into him, feeling your sore body ache. Your clothes just barely hid the bruises and bites he’d left all over your neck and chest. The bite on your shoulder along with the scratches down your back and hips still stung. He’d done well to help tend and clean you up last night. He was initially a bit worried at the wounds you sustained, but you reassured him that he hadn’t hurt you in any way you didn’t want him to. He seemed quite happy to trace over the various marks he’d left on your body afterwards.

You were glad to take a day off from traveling today. The Destined One still had a staff to remake and you had more clothing to repair. Yes, both were quite reasonable explanations to validate this moment of respite. That and how your legs were fully out of commission. You kept your eyes away from the mound of rock and stone behind the two of you. You hoped that by the time you were on the road again Bajie would be too hungover to ask what happened to the cave.

#This was a personal struggle for me #Very nervous #The next chapter may take some time to come out #black myth wukong #the destined one #bmw #destined one #destined one x reader #the destined one x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #journey to the west #sun wukong x reader #black myth wukong fanfic #sun wukong #zhu bajie #black myth wukong x reader

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nothingbutsweetwords · 11 months ago

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ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ, ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ!ɴɪᴇᴄᴇ

"…ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛꜱ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ."

Word count: 4,900.

Fandom: House of the Dragon.

Pairing: Aemond x Reader!Velaryon!Niece.

DISTANCE — 10. Him.

When she left King's Landing, it was as if a black shadow had settled over the entire city, a dark suffocating mist smothering any ray of light despite the sun's bright rays. The Red Keep became cold and hollow. It transformed into a labyrinth of echoes from shared memories, now faded in time, like a persistent lament that could be heard in every corner.

As the days passed, he sought refuge in a rigorous and emotionless routine. Breakfasts became occasions for his mother's presence, and lunches were spent with his sister, though the conversation lacked the vimness it once had.

It was a comfort, albeit a fragmented one. Alicent was always attentive, quick to notice every visible need. However, her affection manifested in an attempt to keep him safe, shielding him from any perceived dangers, but not from the stormy sea of his own emotions. She was aware of his pain, but they never spoke openly about what truly troubled him, fearing that stirring those deep waters might overflow them. Instead, she offered practical advice and an outward calm that barely touched the surface of his emotional distress.

Helaena, with her serene and enigmatic nature, was a peculiar source of comfort. Her visions and whispers, often cryptic, seemed to touch the chords of his deepest thoughts, as if she could see beyond the obvious. In her presence, he found fleeting moments of peace.

The loss of her usual brightness after her marriage to Aegon only accentuated the air of affliction in the castle, revealing a wound in her soul that resonated with his own. It was clear that neither of them had wanted that union, but it was she who had suffered a brutal clash between her ideals and a starkly different reality she faced.

Despite this, she often repeated to him that phrase he had heard for the first time so many years ago, accompanied by a small, wistful smile: "Our wait will be rewarded."

He found it increasingly difficult to hold onto trust in those words. They had become a thin fragile thread, turning his faith into a dull ache and keeping him anchored to a life that felt increasingly distant and unrecognizable.

Her absence left him with an overwhelming void, a sense of loss so profound that it seemed to consume every corner of his being—worse even than the loss of his eye, as if a part of his soul had departed with her, his best friend, his love.

He wrote to her many times, pouring into the pages a torrent of emotions he couldn't express aloud. Each one contained a silent plea for a response, a sign that she still thought of him. But her replies never came, and with each day of silence, his misery grew like a storm that besieged him without respite.

He immersed himself in a series of mental scenarios, imagining every possible reason for the lack of response. Had she heard about his indiscretions the night before she left? Or was she angry because he hadn't allowed her to visit when she needed him the most?

He tried to convince himself that she needed space, that time and distance would heal their wounds, but as the weeks turned into moons, the lack of words became an increasingly heavy burden, leading him to question and finally accept that, perhaps, he deserved the silence.

Sometimes, when fate offered a reprieve and luck favored him, he would see her in his dreams, even if they were tumultuous. In them, she would drift away whenever he tried to reach her, her expression distraught at his sullied touch. The pain of her absence mingled with the fleeting joy of seeing her face again, creating a cut that seemed impossible to heal.

There were moments when he nearly mounted Vhagar, to escape the place where his memories kept him imprisoned, and fly to her. But fear and insecurity held him back. His heart, wounded and fragile, couldn't bear the possibility of meeting a version of her who no longer wished to see him. The thought of facing that rejection was too devastating.

His connection with Vhagar was another of the few true comforts he had left. Flying with her offered a breath from his earthly troubles, a sense of freedom and power that he found nowhere else. However, even this source of relief was restricted. His mother feared the dragon, not just for her size and might, but for what she represented: an unbridled power and independence that she could not control. With maternal concern deeply rooted in her, she limited his opportunities to fly, fearing that something might go wrong.

He and his siblings were now only permitted to fly during royal journeys, which had drastically decreased over the years, along with the king's health.

These limitations felt like heavy chains pressing down on him more and more. His desire to fly, to feel the wind on his face and Vhagar's roar beneath him, was an essential part of his being—a way to feel free and leave his worries behind if only for a brief moment. Every time it was denied to him, the frustration and resentment grew, adding to the tangled web of conflictions that tormented him.

He threw himself into his studies with an almost obsessive intensity, as if each text and lesson could offer a distraction. This rigorous pursuit of knowledge was more than just a means to an end; it was a way to drown out the loneliness that gnawed at his insides. Instead of confronting his pain, he buried it under a façade of determination, finding in discipline another means of desertion.

Physical training became another outlet. Every sword strike, every grueling exercise, was a cathartic release, a way to channel his frustration and sadness into something tangible. He often pushed beyond the limits of prudence, driving his body to exhaustion.

The relentless ache became an inescapable companion, following him even in his busiest moments. Despite his efforts to keep his mind focused on other tasks, the image of her smile and the echo of her laughter lingered like ghosts that refused to be exorcized.

He found himself wondering, with a knot tightening in his chest, if she had forgotten him, if she had found a new life on the island and no longer thought of him. This uncertainty consumed him inside, like a flame that never went out.

The nights were especially cruel, filled with restless tossing and turning as his mind replayed memories and imagined scenarios. The fear of having lost her forever and the guilt for not having done more intertwined, creating an internal struggle that left him exhausted and unable to find sleep.

As the months stretched into years, he adapted to an existence where her absence was a constant. Yet, he never stopped missing her, nor did he stop yearning for the joy her presence had once brought into his life. It was a quiet, persistent longing that he learned to live with.

His kind sister continued to bring him fresh roses every week, a simple yet constant gesture that tried to fill some of the emptiness. Sometimes, in his frustration and pain, he rejected them, leaving them to wither untouched. Other times, in a fit of desperation, he would throw them away, as if by doing so he could uproot the feelings that consumed him. But there were moments when, with an almost reverent stillness, he would lean over them, breathing in their fragrance and letting the soft petals brush against his skin, searching for a trace of the connection they once shared.

On one particularly lonely night, he dusted off the gift she had given him, a tangible symbol of their bond. He wore it with pride, like a talisman against the encroaching sadness. Next to the cherished case, on his nightstand, he kept a piece of the sapphire. Each time he looked at it, he imagined her, and clinged to the memory of her with all the strength he could muster. It was a small comfort, a glimmer of the love and friendship that had once been his.

He was sitting at the table, engrossed in conversation with his mother. It was a quiet breakfast, one of those rare moments of peace they could enjoy together lately, as she had been increasingly occupied with court matters.

She was giving him news about Daeron and the impending arrival of some nobles for the festivities in his father's honor. Everything seemed routine, just a simple update on the day's affairs.

But then, almost as if it were of no consequence, she mentioned: "A raven has arrived from Dragonstone." Her tone was casual, almost offhand, as if she were talking about the weather or some other minor detail. However, the words fell like lead. "Rhaenyra and her family shall be joining us."

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. He stopped eating, his fork halted midway to his mouth, and he sat motionless. His mind went blank, struggling to process what he had just heard. She, the girl who had filled his thoughts and dreams for all those years, would be returning.

Alicent, keenly aware of her son's reaction, watched his face carefully. Despite her attempts to maintain an air of indifference, her eyes showed a flicker of concern. She knew the significance of the announcement for him, and though she tried to downplay it, she couldn't ignore the palpable tension that hung in the air.

He finally set the fork down, his mind swirling. He tried to maintain his composure, but the lump in his throat and the quickening of his beatings were hard to hide. "When, precisely?" he asked, his voice taut with barely suppressed anxiety.

"A few days before it begins, I suppose" she replied, not taking her eyes off him. "Nothing to be concerned about." But they both knew that was far from the truth. The news was anything but trivial. Her arrival was not just another court event; it was an emotional earthquake threatening to shatter the fragile calm he had painstakingly built over the years.

As the days crept closer to the celebrations, the nights grew longer and more sleepless. He found himself going over every possible encounter, every word he wanted to say to her. Anxiety gripped him, a gnawing fear that she had changed, that the woman he had loved and lost might no longer exist in the form he remembered. The thought that perhaps nothing remained of what they once shared was a weight he couldn't bear, leaving him on edge.

The days passed wrapped in a fog of anticipation. The news loomed over him inevitably and followed him wherever he went. The arrival of servants from Dragonstone only intensified this sense of imminence.

Among these newcomers was Lyra, the lady-in-waiting who, years ago, had wished him a happy birthday with genuine warmth. Now, however, her gaze was tinged with disapproval, her brows furrowed, and her expression hardened. He felt each of these gestures like a small sign of what was to come, amplifying his own discomfort.

He had set aside the books, as they no longer worked; the words blurred in his mind, and he was unable to concentrate. Instead, he spent those hours wielding the sword, until the skin of his palms became rough and calloused.

One day, waiting for his sister for lunch, he anxiously eyed the usual vase of roses, which already appeared wilted. Helaena arrived with a smile he hadn't seen in a long time, it was bright, contrasting with the gravity of his own thoughts; however, she did not bring new roses as she usually did.

She noticed his unease and, in a casual tone, remarked, "you shan’t need them for some time, I believe."

During lunch, she spoke with overflowing energy, filling the silence of the room. He, though less communicative, felt relieved by her presence and liveliness.

As they finished, he accompanied her to the door. She bid him farewell with contagious cheerfulness and went to her room, leaving him deep in thought. He lingered in the hallway, contemplating the change in her demeanor, wondering what she had meant.

Just then a roar from Vhagar echoed through the air, strong and clear. It was soon followed by another. The sound, different from usual, carried a tone of joy, almost of celebration. It caught his attention, pulling him from his reverie.

Nervous and conflicted, he closed the door and sank into a chair, burying his face in his hands. He didn't feel ready for what was coming; the feeling of losing control overwhelmed him, it was a sensation he despised more than any other.

After some period of introspection and as the commotion on the floor of the chambers died down, he decided to head to the yard. There, more crowded than usual, he found the usual scene: guards and nobles training fervently. Criston Cole waiting for him, stood ready, morningstar in hand.

"Are you ready, my prince?" Criston asked, his voice laced with challenge and a slight smile playing on his lips.

He nodded, taking a wooden shield and a sword from the armory table. They both faced each other, taking their positions. With every muscle tense and alert, he began to move his body, eager to release the pent-up nerves consuming him.

Criston was the first to attack, his movements swift and precise. He, instead, chose to maintain a defensive stance, blocking and dodging. He heard each clash, the impact of metal against wood and the crunch of the ground beneath their feet.

As the fight progressed, Cole increased his aggression, launching more powerful attacks. At one point, he managed to hit his shield, splintering and breaking the wood. He threw the remnants aside, adjusting his grip on the sword. Even without a defense, he kept his composure, with more calculated movements.

They moved in circles, gauging each other's reactions. It was then that he spotted his nephews among the spectators. The sight of him, whom he had not seen since the attack that cost him an eye, ignited a flare of anger within him. He bitterly remembered the injustice of that day, how Lucerys had emerged unscathed while he bore the scar, a permanent reminder.

Criston, sensing the shift in his energy, redoubled his efforts, but he, driven by a surge of emotion, held his ground. With precision, he found an opening in Cole's defense. With a quick and decisive maneuver, he ended the fight with the sword pressed against his opponent’s neck, securing a clear victory. The yard erupted in applause and murmurs.

Criston, breathing heavily, looked at him with a mix of respect and pride. "Well done, my prince. You’ll be winning tourneys in no time" he said, with a playful smile.

He had little interest in such spectacles. He viewed tournaments as mere displays, insufficient to measure a warrior's true worth.

Aemond, with heavy breathing, replied firmly with an icy tone: "I don’t give a shit about tourneys." Then, with his gaze fixed on his nephews, he addressed them "Nephews, have you come to train?" The question carried a sharp edge, a latent provocation that resonated with the unresolved hostility between them.

The young men remained silent, their expressions serious. Without waiting for a response, he turned back to the armory table and took another shield, determined to continue.

As he walked behind his mother, his gaze was fixed ahead with his siblings flanking him on either side, all heading towards the hall where breakfast would be served.

The night before, she had been absent from supper, and while he felt a temporary relief that the encounter had been postponed, it was mixed with the sadness of not having seen her.

As he entered the room, his heart skipped a beat. His gaze instinctively sought her among the others, and when he found her, it felt as though time had stopped. He tried to walk with apparent calm, though inside, a battle was raging.

She was watching him too, and in that brief moment their eyes met, he felt a jolt course through his body. None of the fantasies he had harbored about this moment could have prepared him for the reality. She was completely different, yet unmistakably the same, her essence unchanged.

She was more radiant than he had ever imagined. There was an air of dignity, confidence and grace in her bearing that left him breathless. There was a dignity in her presence, a poise that was almost otherworldly, captivating him beyond mere words. Her gaze, filled with a subtle strength, seemed to pierce through his defenses, making him feel as though he were standing on the precipice of an emotional abyss.

He quickly averted his eye, fearing that his emotions might overflow if he maintained contact any longer. He took his seat, and the ensuing silence was almost palpable, heavy with tension and unspoken feelings.

As breakfast progressed, he tried to maintain his composure, but his mind was in turmoil. Every gesture she made, every word she spoke, was a new wave crashing over him. Seeing her after so long was both a blessing and a torment. His hands clenched together on top of the table as he noticed her eyes following him, her gaze inscrutable.

She was even more enchanting than what he thought was possible. The maturity of her features only served to enhance her natural allure, making her beauty more profound. Her face, framed by the dark cascade of her curls, seemed to shine with an inner light.

Every detail, from the way her eyes sparkled with hidden depths to the delicate curve of her lips, revealed the woman she had become. Her attire, the deep black fabric draping elegantly over her, accentuated her striking features.

Each glance at her was a painful, bittersweet reminder of the time past and lost.

His mother’s words echoed in his mind: “Nothing to be concerned about.” Everything in him was concerned, everything in him was engaged.

The mere mention of Dragonstone seemed to light up her face; the joy in her expression and the smile he adored were unmistakable. At that moment, he knew her stay would be temporary. She had found a new home, a new life away from him, and the realization was like a dagger.

Upon learning that she had become a dragonrider, he felt a profound joy for her. He recalled the long nights they had spent talking about dragons, imagining what it would be like to fly. He wished he had been there to see her take flight for the first time.

When the king remarked, “The mount of the Good Queen Alysanne. It suits you well” and Helaena, by his side, nodded slightly, a dark fear settled in his chest. It was a gesture laden with foreboding that he was reluctant to explore.

A few hours later, he found himself having lunch with Helaena in her room. The soft afternoon light filtered through the windows, bathing the space in a warm golden glow. Despite the cozy atmosphere, he was lost in thought, his mind still dwelling on the events of that morrow and the memories they had stirred.

Helaena, ever perceptive, noticed his distraction. “Brother” she said softly, her voice filling the room with calmness. When he looked up, she was watching him with a tender expression. “Are you well?”

He hesitated, the words he had kept buried for so long finally emerging. “Will we be together?” he asked quietly, his uncertainty and longing for answers evident. He trusted that fate had its own path, but he needed to know if there was any possibility of a future for them.

She tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful as she chose her words carefully. “Some things will depend on you; others are already woven into the fabric of destiny. But I have found that after a long winter, summer is appreciated more” she replied with a wisdom that seemed to come from a deep place. His brows furrowed with a hint of concern. “But you must always keep the door open.”

He nodded, caught between optimism and resignation. He bid farewell to Helaena, each step he took feeling heavier under the weight of her words. As he opened the door, he found himself face to face with the person who had been occupying his thoughts. For a moment, he was caught off guard, stunned by the unexpected encounter.

“Niece” he greeted with a courteous gesture, inclining his head

“Uncle” she replied with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, a barrier he recognized immediately. “I was looking for Helaena.”

“Of course” he said, stepping aside to let her pass and holding the door open for her. With another polite gesture, she moved past him, her presence filling the space of the room. Helaena gave him a small knowing smile as the princess entered.

He let out a long weary sigh as he closed the door, feeling a growing sense of unease.

That night, after a long bath, he once again found himself unable to sleep. Sitting at the edge of his window, he gazed out at the clear sky while idly spinning a sapphire between his fingers. The distant roar of Vhagar echoed, and the restless tides mirrored his own agitation.

With a long sigh and a sudden resolve, he adjusted his patch back in place, rose and walked toward the fire crackling in his room. Lighting a candle, he moved quietly towards the back door, leaving the sapphire behind.

It had been years since he last opened it; since that night, he had avoided the path, as if keeping it shut could keep that memory at bay. Now, driven by an unknown force, he opened it swiftly and stepped into the hallway.

A light from the other end caught his attention. It was her, holding a candle, walking toward him with a serious and determined face. Upon seeing him, her eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. They both stopped in their tracks, staring at each other. Words crowded in his throat, unable to be spoken.

“I wished to speak with you” she said softly, breaking the silence gently. He nodded, still silent, fearful that his voice would betray him. “Shall we go to your chambers?” she suggested, her tone firm but laden with silent expectation.

He nodded again, feeling foolish for having been paralyzed. He gestured towards the way, even though she knew it by memory. Stepping aside to let her pass, his heart pounded with a frantic, uncontrolled rhythm. She pushed open the door that had remained ajar and entered with the same familiarity of years past.

He closed the door behind them and approached cautiously. She moved to the window, where the moonlight bathed her in a silvery glow. He noticed then how she was dressed, wearing a robe over her nightgown and her curls disheveled, contrasting with the elegance of the breakfast, yet to him, she looked utterly divine.

She faced him. A pang of sorrow struck him at her expression. “Why?” she asked, showing a vulnerability that made him feel even more guilty.

“Why what?” he replied, dreading what was to come.

“Why did you never come to see me?” The question felt like a dagger, striking with precision. He looked at her, feeling a knot in his stomach.

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words escaped him. Finally, he found his voice, though weak. “I did not know if you wished for my presence” he murmured, his words sounding hollow even to himself.

She looked at him as if unable to believe what she was hearing. “Is this some jest? I asked you so many times” she said, her tone incredulous. He furrowed his brow. “Did my letters mean so little to you that you did not even take the time to read them?” she added, her bitterness palpable.

He felt as though the world was swaying beneath him. “What letters?” he asked, trying to process everything, his voice softer, trying not to alarm her further.

“The letters!” she said, her words laced with indignation and sadness. “The ones I sent you” she continued. “I thought we had something special. Did I imagine it?” Her tone trembled with emotion. “I waited for so long, I wrote to you so many times, like a fool.” Her voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands. “I hoped… I hoped for a response, a visit, something to let me know you hadn’t forgotten me.”

He took a step forward quickly, his heart pounding against his chest, feeling an urgency he could not ignore. “You wrote me?” he asked, incredulous.

She lowered her hands, her eyes burning with impotent fury. “Do not mock me” she said, turning away, looking out the window again.

He followed her, overwhelmed by a newly discovered helplessness and a fluttering hope of reconciliation. “I wrote to you as well, hundreds of times” he tried to meet her gaze, seeking some glimmer of understanding. “I swear this to you, by all the gods” he pleaded.

“I never received a single letter from you” she replied, finally looking at him with her beautiful eyes shining under the moonlight, her anger softening momentarily with disbelief.

"Nor did I. Not one. Had I received any, I would have come to you at once. You must believe me," he said, “I thought you did not want to hear from me” he whispered desperately, his deepest fears laid bare.

“Why would I not?” she asked, still with a hint of distrust in her eyes from the revelation. Everything seemed so absurd and cruel, yet he felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

She shook her head, her steps carrying her nervously back and forth in the room, her mind working frantically to understand. “It does not make any sense” her voice was a barely audible murmur, more to herself than to him. “Why?” She continued to mutter, her voice filled with a mixture of frustration and anguish, while he merely watched her.

Suddenly, she turned to face him, her eyes searching for an answer he did not have. “Are you not upset about this?” she asked, her voice rising slightly, annoyed.

He continued to watch her, feeling a strange sense of peace amid the chaos. "I cannot find it within myself to be angry at this moment," he replied, "not when you are here before me once more." His voice was filled with a sincerity that surprised even him.

There were so many emotions at play, so many unresolved things, but at that moment, all that mattered was that they were face to face once more.

“I never stopped thinking about you, wondering why I never heard from you, missing you.” He wanted to reach out, touch her, somehow close the distance that had formed between them, but he couldn’t. “I never wanted to lose you.”

“Is that true?” she asked, almost whispering. “Did you truly never stop thinking about me?” She looked at him, her eyes filled with unshed tears. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, and in that shared silence, he understood the magnitude of what they had lost and what they might still recover.

He took another step towards her, his expression sincere. “Never” he said firmly, hoping she could see the truth in his eyes. “Not for a single second.”

She looked at him, her expression softening, and bit her lip, struggling to hold back the flood of emotions.. But the pain and confusion were still present, like a shadow that refused to dissipate. “This is… too much” she murmured, shaking her head slightly.

He nodded, understanding the enormity of what they had just uncovered. “I understand” he said softly. “Take all the time you need.”

She turned, intending to leave the room, and he followed, prepared to escort her to her door. But just before they could move too far, she suddenly stopped and turned back to him. In an impulsive move, she threw herself at him with force, wrapping her arms around his waist in a desperate embrace. She pressed her face against his chest, her hands clasped tightly on his back, holding him with an intensity that suggested she feared losing him forever if she let go.

He, taken aback by the gesture and despite feeling he didn’t deserve her pure affection, couldn’t help but reciprocate the embrace. He wrapped his arms around her with a tenderness he rarely showed, letting himself be carried away by the moment. He rested his face on the crown of her head, breathing deeply, the sweetest and freshest scent of roses filling his senses, enveloping him in an intoxicating warmth.

It was a silent comfort. He realized how much he had longed for this contact, this closeness, more than he had even admitted to himself.

"I'm sorry" she murmured against his chest. "I'm sorry for everything." Tears began to fall, dampening his shirt. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart against his body.

She lifted her head, her eyes shimmering with something more. He found himself getting lost in that gaze. “What do we do now?”

With a gentle smile, he caressed her cheek with his thumb, wiping away a tear that had escaped. "I won’t let us be separated again" he promised, his voice firm yet tender. “If you will allow me, I wish to mend what has been broken.”

She nodded, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to shrink to the small space between them, where only the two of them existed.

@helaenaluvr @purplegardenwhispers @callsignwidow @squidscottjeans @scarletbedlam @fics-i-love-and-recommend @oh-you-mean-me @fossface @truly-abysmal

#aemond targaryen fluff #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x female reader #house of the dragon #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic

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lila-lou · 1 year ago

Text

✨Beyond saving✨

Summary: Dean became a demon and left you overnight. Three months have passed since then, in which you wanted nothing more than for him to finally come back. However, when he returned, it became painfully clear that he could no longer be saved.

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Rape, Language, Angst, Hurt, Violence, Humiliation - it´s just pure darkness

Word Count: 4289

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

You sat alone in the bunker, your breaths shallow and pained, the echoes of recent battles still reverberating in your mind. Sam, fueled by determination and desperation, had embarked on a relentless search for Dean, accompanied by Castiel. Left behind, you nursed your injuries.

Your ribs ached with every breath, a testament to the encounters with some demons in your relentless search for Dean. Each shadow seemed to whisper his name, taunting you with his absence.

Cradling your injured side, you sank into the cold embrace of a chair, the weight of uncertainty pressing down upon you. How long had it been since Dean had disappeared into the night, consumed by the darkness that had claimed him? The minutes stretched into eternity, each tick of the clock echoing the ache in your heart.

Outside, the world continued to spin, oblivious to the turmoil within the bunker's walls. But for you, time stood still, trapped in a limbo of fear and longing. Every creak of the floorboards, every gust of wind, raised hopes that Dean would materialize before you, his familiar presence a balm to your weary soul.

But as the weeks slipped by, despair threatened to overwhelm you.

In the depths of your despair, a voice whispered a gentle reminder: hope. It was a fragile thread, woven with memories of shared laughter and whispered promises.

With each heartbeat, you whispered a silent vow to never give up on Dean, to keep fighting until he was safely by your side once more.

Two long weeks had passed since Sam and Cas had departed, leaving you to grapple with the silence that hung heavy in their absence. And three months had slipped by since Dean, consumed by the darkness of his demonic transformation, had vanished into the night, his departure leaving a void that seemed impossible to fill.

As you made your way to the kitchen, your movements slow and deliberate, the pain in your ribs flared with every breath.

Reaching the refrigerator, you paused, your hand hovering over the handle as a wave of loneliness washed over you. The prospect of facing another day without Dean, without the warmth of his presence, felt like an insurmountable burden. But you couldn't afford to succumb to despair, not when there was still a glimmer of hope flickering in the darkness.

With a determined exhale, you opened the refrigerator door, the cool air washing over you. Amidst the assortment of food and beverages, your fingers closed around a cold bottle of beer, the familiar label offering a brief respite from the ache that threatened to consume you.

Bringing the bottle to your lips, you took a long swallow. For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to linger in the memories of happier times, when laughter had filled the air and the future had seemed full of endless possibilities.

That’s when you heard heavy footsteps echoed through the silence, sending a shiver down your spine as they drew closer. Your heart pounded in your chest, a mixture of fear and longing coursing through your veins. You knew without a doubt who stood seconds later right behind you, his presence a familiar yet chilling presence that sent a tremor of apprehension rippling through your body.

Dean.

The name hung heavy in the air, laden with the weight of everything that had transpired in the months since his transformation into a demon. Three long months had passed since you had last seen him.

And now, as he stood mere inches away, his chest pressed against your back, you couldn't bring yourself to turn around. The air crackled with tension, thick with unspoken words and the palpable sense of danger that surrounded him.

You felt his breath ghost across the nape of your neck, a chilling reminder of the darkness that lurked within him. The urge to turn and face him, to confront the demon that wore Dean's face, warred with the instinct to flee, to put as much distance between you and his darkness.

But as the seconds stretched into eternity, you remained rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the fear that gripped you like a vice. Dean wasn't here to do nice things, of that you were certain. He was a harbinger of chaos, a reminder of the perilous path he had chosen.

And yet, despite the fear that coiled in the pit of your stomach, there remained a flicker of hope, a tiny ember that refused to be extinguished. Deep down, buried beneath the layers of uncertainty and despair, you held onto the belief that somewhere within the depths of the demon that stood behind you, a fragment of the real Dean still existed.

But as the moments ticked by, the silence stretching taut between you, you couldn't shake the nagging doubt that whispered in the recesses of your mind. Would Dean ever be the same again? Or had he been consumed entirely by the darkness that now held him in its thrall?

With a trembling hand, you reached for the bottle of beer on the counter, the cold glass a tangible anchor in the storm of emotions that raged within you. And as you took a fortifying sip, steeling yourself for whatever came next.

Dean's voice cut through the silence like a blade, his words laced with a dark edge that sent a shiver down your spine. "Sweetheart", he drawled, the term dripping with mockery, a cruel reminder of the tender endearments he had once whispered in your ear. "Missed me, did you?", he taunted, his tone sending a chill down your spine.

You could feel his presence behind you, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in closer. The sensation sent a wave of unease washing over you, his proximity a stark reminder of the danger that lurked within him.

But even as his lips brushed against your ear, sending a shudder of revulsion coursing through you, you couldn't bring yourself to pull away. The memory of the man you had once loved, the man buried beneath the darkness that now consumed him, lingered in the recesses of your mind, a faint echo of a love that refused to die.

And as his lips lingered against your ear, his touch a visceral reminder of the danger that surrounded you, you felt a flicker of defiance ignite within you. Steeling yourself against the fear that threatened to consume you, you squared your shoulders and met his gaze head-on.

"Dean". you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, "this isn't you. I know you're still in there, somewhere"-. It was a desperate plea, a faint glimmer of hope in the darkness that threatened to engulf you both.

But as you spoke, the shadow that lurked behind his eyes seemed to deepen. And though you longed to reach out and pull him back from the brink, to save him from the darkness that haunted him, you knew that the battle ahead would be fraught with peril.

For Dean wasn't just fighting against the darkness within him; he was fighting against the very essence of his own soul.

Dean’s words struck you like a barrage of bullets, each one piercing your heart with a searing pain that threatened to consume you.

“All I want is to fuck that tight little pussy of yours”, he sneered, his voice dripping with venomous lust. “Tried so many girls these past few weeks, but none of them felt like you”.

Your breath caught in your throat. His words were like a dagger to your soul, shredding any remaining fragments of hope or love you had clung to.

As he pressed you against the unforgiving surface of the kitchen counter, his touch rough and unforgiving, you felt a surge of pain shoot through your body. Bruises blossomed beneath his fingertips. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let him see your weakness.

You were overwhelmed, broken by his actions and his words, but you refused to let him break you completely.

“Stop talking”, you whispered, your voice barely above a hoarse whisper.

Dean's laughter echoed off the walls of the kitchen, a cruel symphony of mockery that reverberated in your ears like a relentless assault. The sound of it sent a shiver down your spine.

"Aw, sweetheart, don't tell me you're jealous", he taunted, his voice dripping with derision as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin. "You wanna know how I fucked all those other girls while you were out there playing the hero, searching for me?".

The words hit you. You had risked everything to find him, to believe in the possibility of redemption, only to be met with scorn and betrayal.

But despite the pain, despite the overwhelming sense of despair that threatened to consume you, you refused to let him see your weakness.

"Go ahead", you spat, your voice laced with a bitter edge. "Show me. Show me just how little I meant to you. How easily you threw away everything we had".

And as he smirked, his features twisted with triumph, you braced yourself for the inevitable onslaught of pain and humiliation. Dean wasn't the man you had loved; he was a monster, a demon wearing the face of the man you once knew.

But even as he moved closer, his hands reaching for you with a hunger that made your skin crawl, you refused to back down. You were broken, yes, but you were not defeated. And as you stood your ground in the face of his darkness.

Dean's eyes gleamed as he leaned in closer. "Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea", he snarled, before he gripped your wrists with a force that made you flinch.

"I'm about to show you just how hard I fucked those sluts", he continued, his voice low and menacing. "Hard enough to land them in the hospital. They begged for it, you know. Begged for the touch of a real man".

The bile rose in your throat at his words, a sickening mixture of disgust and despair threatening to choke you. How could he speak of such violence with such casual indifference?

But even as the questions raced through your mind, you knew there would be no answers. Dean was lost. And as he moved closer, his hands trailing down your body with a possessiveness that made your skin crawl, you knew that this was about to get messy.

Dean's voice dripped with disdain as he sneered, "Where's your motivation, huh? You call yourself a hunter, but here you are, doing nothing to stop me". His words cut through the air like a whip, each syllable laced with hate.

You gritted your teeth against the surge of anger that threatened to consume you, meeting his gaze with a defiant glare. "My motivation", you spat, your voice trembling with suppressed rage, "is to stop you from hurting anyone else. To stop you from causing any more pain and suffering."

Dean's laughter echoed off the walls of the kitchen, a cruel mockery. "You really think you can stop me?", he taunted. "At the end of the night, sweetheart, I'll get what I came for. And there's nothing you can do to stop me".

“You´re pathetic, Dean”.

Dean's hand struck your cheek with a brutal force, the sharp crack of skin against skin echoing through the kitchen. Pain exploded across your face, a searing heat that radiated through every fiber of your being. You stumbled backward, the force of the blow sending you crashing against the wall, the impact jolting your already broken ribs.

Stars danced at the edges of your vision as you fought to regain your bearings, struggling to draw breath through the haze of pain that enveloped you. But even as you gasped for air, the taste of blood filling your mouth, you refused to let him see your weakness.

Dean loomed over you, his features contorted with a twisted mixture of triumph and cruelty. "Is that fire I see in you now, sweetheart?", he sneered, his voice a low, menacing growl. "Good. Because I want something to burn while I fuck you".

Your fists pounded against Dean's chest, each blow fueled by a desperate fury that threatened to consume you. But his laughter only grew louder.

"Aw, sweetheart, is that the best you can do?", he taunted. "I expected more from a hunter like you. But I guess I overestimated your abilities".

With a primal scream, you launched yourself at him once more, determined to land a blow that would wipe the smirk from his face.

But before your fist could connect, Dean moved with speed, his hand closing around your wrists with a vice-like grip. Pain exploded through your body as he squeezed, the bones in your wrists grinding together with a sickening crunch.

You cried out in agony as he pushed you against the kitchen table, the unforgiving surface digging into your spine. Tears welled in your eyes as you struggled against his iron grip, but it was futile. Dean was stronger, more powerful than you could ever be.

"Look at you, all fire and fury", he sneered, his breath hot against your ear. "But in the end, you're just a weak little girl, aren't you?".

With a trembling hand, you tried to push yourself up from the table, but Dean’s hand came down with a force that sent shockwaves of pain radiating through your body. You cried out as he pushed you back down, the unforgiving surface digging into your stomach, leaving you gasping for air.

“Oh, princess, don’t strain yourself”, he mocked. “You’re much prettier when you’re lying down”.

“You know, sweetheart”, Dean taunted. “I always did like a woman who knows her place. And your place is right here, beneath me”.

Dean's laughter filled the room like a sinister symphony, his eyes gleaming with pleasure as he towered over you. "Oh, sweetheart, look at you", he taunted. "All bruised and broken, yet still trying to get up. Admirable, really".

You winced as pain shot through your broken wrists and ribs, rendering you helpless against his looming presence. Every movement sent waves of agony coursing through your body, but you refused to let him see your weakness.

With deliberate slowness, Dean reached for his belt, his fingers tracing the buckle with a predatory precision. "You know, princess", he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, "I've been looking forward to this. Been craving it ever since I left".

Your heart pounded in your chest, a sickening mixture of fear and revulsion churning in the pit of your stomach. You wanted to scream, to fight back with every fiber of your being, but the pain held you captive, a prisoner in your own body.

As Dean slowly undid his belt, a smirk played across his lips, his eyes alight with twisted desire. "You're going to love this, sweetheart", he groaned, his voice laced with a dark promise. "I'll make sure of it".

You knew what was coming, but you were powerless to stop it.

Dean's grip tightened around you as he pushed you further down the table, his movements rough. You winced as your broken wrists bore the brunt of his force, each new position sending fresh waves of pain shooting through your body.

With a smirk, Dean reached for the waistband of your shorts and panties, his fingers trailing along the fabric with a slowness that made your skin crawl. "Let's see what we have here, shall we?", he mused, his voice thick with anticipation.

As he pulled them down, exposing your dry folds to his leering gaze, a wave of humiliation washed over you. You felt exposed, vulnerable, as if every last shred of your dignity had been stripped away.

Dean's eyes alight with amusement. "Well, well, well", he taunted, his voice dripping with disdain. "Looks like you're making this harder than it should be, sweetheart. What's the matter? Not as wet as you used to be?".

You wanted to scream, but all you could do was lie there, exposed and humiliated, as Dean continued to mock and degrade you.

"Oh, sweetheart, this is going to hurt", he chuckled.

"You always did have trouble taking me, didn't you?", Dean jeered. "But don't worry, sweetheart. I'll make sure you feel every inch of me".

His words struck you like a physical blow, a reminder of the intimacy you once shared, now twisted into something dark and grotesque.

You lay on your stomach on the table, your breaths coming in shallow gasps as you braced yourself for what was to come. Your ass faced Dean, vulnerable and exposed, as he hovered over you.

With a chuckle, Dean reached for his jeans and boxers, pulling them down just enough to free his throbbing length.

"Oh, sweetheart, look at what you're missing out on", he taunted. "You used to beg for this, didn't you? Beg for me to fill you up until you couldn't take it anymore".

As Dean moved closer, his hands tracing the lines of your body, you felt a surge of panic rise within you. But even as you struggled against him, you knew that resistance was futile. He was too strong, too powerful, and you were helpless to stop him.

With a hard thrust, Dean tried to shove himself inside you, but your tightness proved too much for him to handle. The pain was excruciating, a searing agony that threatened to consume you from within.

"Fuck", Dean cursed, his voice strained with frustration as he tried to force himself deeper. "Why do you have to be so fucking tight?".

Tears welled in your eyes as the pain intensified.

"Looks like I'll have to make do," he sneered, his voice thick with contempt as he spat down on his cock. "All because of you, princess. Can't even get wet for me anymore".

Dean gripped your hips with a brutal force, before he thrust himself forward once more. The pain was unbearable, a searing agony that threatened to consume you from within.

"Please, Dean, stop", you pleaded, your voice raw with desperation. But he only laughed, the sound ringing in your ears like a mocking taunt.

"Stop?", he scoffed, his grip on your hips tightening even further. "Why would I stop when we're just getting started, sweetheart?".

Tears streamed down your cheeks, knowing that there was no escape.

With a grunt of effort, Dean pushed himself inside you with force.

You cried out, the sound muffled by the unforgiving surface of the table beneath you, as he filled you with a brutal intensity.

"Fuck", Dean groaned, his voice strained with exertion. "You're so fucking tight".

As Dean continued to thrust into you with a relentless determination, the agony intensified, threatening to overwhelm you completely.

Your body bore the marks of Dean's brutal assault, bruises already blossoming across your skin despite his relentless onslaught having barely begun. Each movement sent shockwaves of pain rippling through your broken form, the agony etched into every line and contour of your battered body.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, silent yet relentless, as you fought to endure the torment that Dean inflicted upon you.

With a cruel grip, Dean pressed your head tighter against the table, his hands exerting a crushing force that threatened to suffocate you. "You're not enjoying this as much as I am, huh?", he taunted.

And then, with a suddenness that left you reeling, he pulled out completely, leaving you gasping for air as he prepared to thrust into you once more. "Let's see how much you can take", he growled.

The table shuddered beneath you as Dean drove himself into you with a brutal force, each movement wracking your body with a searing agony that threatened to consume you whole. "You like that?", he sneered, his voice laced with amusement. "Or do I need to go harder?".

Your pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears as Dean continued his assault, his grip tightening in your hair, pulling your head up with a violent force. "Tell me how much you missed my big cock", he demanded, his voice a menacing growl as he forced you to look him in the eye.

You winced as your ribs cracked even further under the strain, the pain nearly unbearable as you struggled to form words through the agony. "Please", you gasped, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I can't...I can't do this anymore. Please, Dean, just stop".

But he only laughed, the sound sending a chill down your spine as he forced your head back down, his hands like vices around your hair. "Not good enough, sweetheart", he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Tell me you missed it. Tell me you've been dreaming about it every night since I left".

You choked back a sob, the words catching in your throat as you fought to resist his demands. But with each tug of his hands, each crack of your already fractured ribs, the pain became too much to bear. "I missed it", you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breaths. "I missed you".

His smirk widened at your admission.

"That's right, sweetheart", he groaned. "You missed me, didn't you? Missed my big cock pounding into you, making you scream".

With each brutal thrust, your cries of pain mingled with his laughter, the sound a symphony of torment that echoed off the walls. "Look at you", he sneered, his hands gripping your hips with a punishing force. "Crying like a little bitch while I fuck you senseless. You love it, don't you? Love being my little whore".

Dean's voice dripped with satisfaction as he hovered over you. "You feel so fucking good", he purred, his words like venom as he surveyed your broken form. "None of those other bitches could compare to you. None of them had that perfect ass and tits. None of them were as tight as you".

You winced as the pain in your ribs intensified with every thrust, each movement sending shockwaves of agony coursing through your body. It felt like your lungs were being crushed, the pressure unbearable as you struggled to draw breath.

Your face was red and swollen from being shoved over the table, tears mingling with sweat as you fought to endure the torment.

With a cruel grip, Dean pulled you around, forcing you to sit on the edge of the table. Your body felt heavy and limp, your senses dulled by the relentless onslaught of pain. You barely registered his rough handling as he grabbed your jaw with a painful force, forcing you to look into his eyes.

"Look at me", he snarled as his eyes transformed into pools of endless blackness. "I want you to see exactly who's doing this to you".

You whimpered weakly, your gaze meeting his dark, soulless eyes as he pushed himself inside you once more. The pain was blinding, a searing fire that threatened to consume you whole, but you were too far gone to fight back. Each movement leaving you teetering on the edge of consciousness.

"You're pathetic", he scoffed. "All this pain, and you still can't look away. You really are mine, aren't you?".

Tears welled in your eyes as you struggled to stay upright, your body wracked with pain and exhaustion.

Dean's grip tightened around your neck, nearly choking you as he held you up to keep you from falling. Your vision blurred, the edges of consciousness slipping away as the pain and lack of oxygen overwhelmed you. Yet, you remained trapped in his grasp, unable to break free from his cruel hold.

"You're still in love with me, aren't you?", Dean sneered, his voice dripping with disdain as he mocked your lingering affection. " You actually think there's redemption for me. How sweet".

Your breath came in ragged gasps, each word he spoke a dagger in your heart. The weight of his words, combined with the physical agony, threatened to crush your soul entirely.

Dean chuckled darkly, his grip on your neck tightening even further. "I'm going to come inside you. Every last drop. So that even when I'm gone, you'll still have a piece of me to remember".

As Dean's lips crashed against yours with brutal force, you felt the sting of his bite on your lip, drawing blood as a surge of pain shot through you. With a loud groan, he released himself inside you, his body trembling with the force of his release.

Through the haze of pain and exhaustion, you felt another rib give way under the pressure, causing agony to lance through your already battered body. But you were trapped, unable to move or escape as Dean held you there to steady himself.

"You took me so well", Dean murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction as he kissed your forehead tenderly. "You always gonna be my favorite".

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as he finally released his grip on you, leaving you slumped against the table, broken and defeated. "I'll come back for you", he whispered, his voice filled with a promise of further torment to come.

Before he left, Dean turned back to you, his eyes cold and devoid of any trace of humanity.

"Stop trying to heal me", he commanded, his voice laced with a chilling finality. "I'm beyond saving".

His words hung in the air like a heavy weight, crushing your hopes and shattering your illusions of redemption. With a heavy heart, you watched as he disappeared into the darkness, leaving you alone with your pain and despair.

As Dean's words echoed in your mind, the world around you faded into darkness. The pain, both physical and emotional, overwhelmed your senses, pulling you into unconsciousness.

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A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 I'm thinking about turning this into a multi-part Story. You up?

Part 2

#jensen ackles #spn #smut #dean winchester #supernatural #demon dean #demon dean x Reader #hurtful #rapekink #misogny #deanwinchtser #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean x y/n

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