#Heat of the moment and inches from death are sending me

[chestersturniolo]

𐌕Ꮤ𐌉𐌔𐌕𐌄𐌃

• inspired by “Robbers” The 1975 •

Chris Sturniolo x fem!reader

- robber!chris -

warnings; guns, violence

•

“The money didn’t matter. It never had. It was something deeper. This is your world, where nothing else matters but the rush, the chaos, and each other.”

•

The fluorescent lights of the 7-Eleven buzzed above, casting a clinical glow over the empty parking lot. You glance over at Chris, his face hidden behind the balaclava, just like yours. His eyes however are glinting, filled with that familiar, wild excitement. The kind that made your heart race, not with fear—but with thrill. You both had done this before. The money didn’t matter. It never had. It was something deeper. This is your world, where nothing else matters but the rush, the chaos, and each other.

Chris reaches behind you, firmly tapping your ass twice with his gloved hand. it’s your code—two taps. it’s always been that way, a silent message that says it’s time.

Two taps—and the world shifts.

The pit of your stomach churns, but it’s not nerves. It’s adrenaline. You love this feeling. You love him. It’s all a rush, the kind that pulls you closer together every time.

With that, you both start running towards the door. Chris swings it open with you following closely behind, the bell overhead chiming like a death knell. The lone cashier barely looks up before Chris strides over, gun in hand.

“Hands up!” Chris barks, his voice hard and filled with venom. The cashier freezes, his eyes wide with shock. Immediately raising his hands. Not a hero type. Perfect.

“P-please—”

“Shut up” Chris snaps, stepping closer, the barrel of the gun just inches from the man’s face now. “Dont fucking move”

You slip behind the counter, your fingers moving automatically to the register. The familiar click of buttons sends a pulse of calm through you—this part is yours. You’ve done this before, you’ll do it again. Chris handles the heat; you handle the take.

The cashier makes a small, jerky movement, maybe instinctual, but Chris is on him in an instant. “What did I just say?” he spits through gritted teeth, his hand pushing the gun harder against the guy’s head. The man stiffens again, you can feel Chris’s intensity, his anger barely contained, and somehow, it only sharpens your focus.

You get the register open, the cash spilling out in neat stacks. Your hands move fast, grabbing everything in sight, your heart pounding louder in your ears with every second.

“Come on, babe-“ Chris calls over to you, his voice still hard but laced with that twisted sense of pride. “-You got this. Quick and clean.”

You glance up at him for just a second, feeling that pulse, that connection between you two, like this dangerous game is the only place the world makes sense. He shoots you a wink—a gesture just for you, like a promise, like he’s telling you we own this moment.

You stuff the last of the bills into the bag, zipping it up with swiftly. You’re fast, you’re good. And Chris knows it.

“Thats my girl” he murmurs, his voice softer now, only meant for you. It’s like no one else is there. Just you and him in this twisted bubble you’ve created. No consequences. Just the thrill.

The cashier makes a small, pathetic whimper, his body trembling under Chris’s watch. “Please, don’t hurt me—”

Chris growls “You keep y’mouth shut, and I won’t”

There’s a beat of silence, tension thick in the air “Let’s go” you whisper,

Chris backs away slowly, the gun still trained on the cashier, his steps deliberate and controlled. “You remember this-” he says, his voice filled with menace. “-don’t do anything stupid once we’re gone, or you’ll wish you hadn’t”

The cashier nods frantically, too scared to even breathe. Chris shoots you one last glance, that dark look of satisfaction crossing his face as he jerks his head toward the door. You both slip out into the cool night air, your heart still hammering in your chest, the rush of the moment still pulsing through you.

Chris grabs your hand as the two of you start to run, the sound of your feet hitting the pavement syncing up, like the beat of your hearts, like the rhythm of this insane life you’ve built together.

The bag of money swings at your side, you glance over at Chris, and suddenly, he breaks into this deep, wicked laugh—dark and unhinged. It spreads through you instantly, and before you know it, you’re laughing too, the sound wild and uncontrollable. The both of you howling like you’ve completely lost your minds.

You don’t stop running, both of you panting, adrenaline coursing through your bodies.

Once you’re far enough, hidden in the shadows, Chris pulls you close, his breath warm against your neck through the fabric of his mask. “That was perfect-” he whispers breathlessly, his voice full of pride. “-you’re perfect.“

And in this strange, chaotic way, it feels like you are.

~~~~~

You and Chris sit on the worn-out couch, the same one you’ve spent countless nights on. The adrenaline hasn’t faded yet, not completely. It lingers, buzzing under your skin as you empty the bag between you, the crumpled bills spilling out onto the coffee table. It isn’t about the money, but something about counting it afterward feels like part of the ritual, part of the bond.

Chris leans back, his balaclava pushed up onto his forehead now, revealing that grin of his, that wild spark still dancing in his eyes. He watches you as you start organizing the money, stacking it in neat little piles.

“Look at you-” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “-you looked so good out there tonight”

Your hands pause for a second, heat rushing to your cheeks, but you keep counting. There’s no hiding the way your pulse quickens when he talks like that, especially after a job like this. He knows it.

“You should’ve seen yourself-” he continues, his tone both proud and admiring. “-fast, sharp... just like I taught you” His eyes narrow slightly, but there’s a playful gleam in them. “My very own little bandit, huh? movin’through that store like you owned the place”

You glance up at him, biting back a smile. Bandit. It fits. You love how he sees you—fearless, bold, someone who can stand next to him in all this madness. There’s a part of you that craves this chaos, craves the way he looks at you when you’re in the thick of it together. Like you’re both untouchable.

“You’re not so bad yourself-” you reply, leaning back, “-I mean, the way you handled that guy?”

Chris chuckles as he reaches out, his hand gripping your thigh as he leans in a little closer. “You’re the one who keeps me sharp ma—couldn’t do it without you”

His fingers trace lazy circles over your thigh, his touch grounding you, reminding you that this is your world, the one you’ve built together. A world that no one else understands, but that makes perfect sense to the two of you.

You lean in, closing the distance between you, your lips connecting. It’s not just about the crime, not really. It’s about this—this moment where everything feels electric and alive, where nothing else matters but you, him and the wild, reckless freedom that comes with being together.

Chris pulls back just enough to look at you, that grin still plastered across his face. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. “You n me, baby. Against the world.”

•

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a/n - i think this is possibly my favourite thing i’ve written, maybe it’s the raging 1975 fan in me idk, but i love this concept of robber!chris x reader and their twisted relationship/recklessness i think it’s hot as fuck. i’m planning on doing more on their relationship, headcannons, blurbs, more fics etc. lemme know what you think, i hope you enjoyed it!!

r̳̿͟͞o̳̿͟͞b̳̿͟͞b̳̿͟͞e̳̿͟͞r̳̿͟͞!c̳̿͟͞h̳̿͟͞r̳̿͟͞i̳̿͟͞s̳̿͟͞ a̳̿͟͞u̳̿͟͞ l̳̿͟͞o̳̿͟͞a̳̿͟͞d̳̿͟͞i̳̿͟͞n̳̿͟͞g̳̿͟͞….

- 𝑺𝒂𝒈𝒆 ♡

MASTERLIST

taglist; @sturnobsessedwh0re @nayveetbhh @phone4pills @demzzz @dripgodnay @sturniooolos @monroesturnns @mattsbitchh @slutforsturnioloss @pvssychicken @tsturniolo4 @brianna-grace12 @blahbel668 @stvrlighht @witchofthehour @ilyttmatsa @asherrisrandom @l0ver-i @starstrucktyrantinfluencer

[notasouleater]

normal ways to talk about holding hands

[lis-likes-fics]

The Kinder Beast

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader Word Count: 13.3k words Warnings: NSFW, attempted sexual assault, groping, oral (m and f!receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, technically coercion, thus dub!con, virginity loss, p in v sex, creampie... A/N: I wrote like at least half of this in one night and then stopped to sleep and ruined my streak. This was supposed to be done like three days ago but I had a bit of a menty b for like...a full day and that didn't happen. Anyway, enjoy me (finally) getting around to writing for Aemond. Thanks! <3

He was always watching you.

Your skin crawled with the feeling of his gaze burning holes into your flesh. Always on you, always watching, daring to get you alone. You could never escape him.

You feel it at dinner as you pour cups of wine, one cup far more than the others. You feel it after dinner while you help the other servants to clean the table. Sometimes it is almost as though you can feel more than one gaze.

It haunts you.

Even as you're alone in the servants’ chambers where all the servants of the royal family slept after everyone has found sleep, you feel it. It's a horrifying thing, to feel so vulnerable so often.

You keep your head down at dinner, holding a pitcher of wine steady in your grasp and hoping against all hope that he would forget you were there. But the gods seemed to laugh at you and your naïve hopes.

“Aye,” he calls, raising his cup. “Serving girl.”

You lay your eyes on Prince Aegon, moving quickly as you cover the distance between you. Every inch demolished is an ounce of your bravery pouring down a drain until you are standing right by him.

You have to be careful tipping the pitcher, lest you spill the expensive drink all over his clothes, a hundred times more expensive than the wine. Though your fingers grip it tight and your palms shake the metal, you successfully manage your task with no issue.

It's as you're fixing the pitcher from its tilt when a greedy hand gropes the cheek of your ass. Your whole body jumps and you close your eyes, pretending all is well and that you are simply imagining the whole ordeal. You breathe in, straightening up and wishing he would let you go. Again, the gods seem to defy your every hope as Prince Aegon's hand begins to discreetly rub.

“Girl.”

Your gaze shoots across the table to an icy one unlike the greed in his brother's eyes. He watches you, his eye dark and his posture so full of poise and elegance—contrasting with Prince Aegon's jaded, dulled position beside you.

Prince Aemond raises his cup toward you, inclining his head back as he sends a gentler order. “More wine, please.”

You nod, keeping your gaze to the ground as you were meant to, and you make your way to his side. Prince Aegon's hand is forced to let go of you, and a weight is lifted off your shoulders—even if the heat of his hungry gaze bore holes into the back of your head that no amount of food or wine would satiate.

Prince Aemond sets his cup down, and you fill it. And when you've finished, he nods softly. “Thank you.”

For a split moment, your eyes meet. Prince Aemond's gaze is much more considerate than his brother's, but it is no less intense. His stare is dark, dangerous. He watches you, and he doesn't stop watching. Just as Prince Aegon never halts his scrutiny, neither does his brother's—at least when you're in the room. Prince Aemond, if nothing else, is kind enough not to stare when he's not in the room.

Prince Aegon never looks away.

You feel like a bird, a bird locked in a cage to be forced to sing, to be looked at and spectated until they lose interest and snap your neck to replace it with something better, something newer and prettier than a common songbird.

Sometimes you wish they would just go on and be done with it.

“You're welcome, my prince.” Your voice is small, a whisper. Though he seems kinder, the both of them scare you to death…one considerably more than the other.

Even now, your hands tremble, the clinking of the cups on the tray you carry echoing through the hollow walls. You take a steadying breath, willing your heart to calm as you assure yourself that you'll be fine.

The door you stand before is large, imposing. The room behind it is suffocating, it's dark and full of dangers that make you want to run. The idea of crossing this threshold into a world beholding so much danger and threat leaves you shaking. But you can't leave. How you wish you could leave…

You knock carefully to announce your presence before you push open the doors and hope for the best.

You take a step inside, glancing around anxiously. “My prince?” you call out as steadily as you can. Your body grows cold at the sight of him, lounging back in a chair with a cup in his hand.

Prince Aegon smiles devilishly at you, his eyes slightly sunken into his face, marked by exhaustion and drunkenness. “Ah,” he says, gesturing toward you with a coarse hand as you continue to walk further inside, keeping your head down. “She's brought my tea.”

The sound of a second voice washes over you in a sea of relief, and you briefly thank the gods for granting such rare mercy upon you. “It's a shame it shall go to waste,” he says. When you glance his way, the sight of Prince Aemond fills your gaze. His eye watches you as he sits back, and his gaze never wavers. “You and I both know you prefer your wines and ales.”

You walk to the table separating the brothers, setting the tray down. Just as you do, Prince Aegon rises to his feet, his cup in one hand as he walks over. You're nearly shaking, staring at the floor as you struggle to find your voice the closer he gets.

You have to clear your voice in order to speak. “Is- Is there anything else you need…my prince?”

He smiles, coming to stand at your side, his face so close to your cheek. You can hear the way he smells you, his sigh blowing against your shoulder. “Yes, there may be something you can help with…” You shudder, staring at the floor and refusing to look his way.

Without turning away from you, the prince speaks. “Dear brother, would you mind giving us some privacy?”

You close your eyes, willing the tears away as you try not to appear weaker than you already do. You flinch when you feel his knuckle brush your cheek.

Prince Aemond hums, clasping his hands in his lap. “But I'm quite comfortable here,” he says matter-of-factly.

You glance up at him, a glimmer of hope in your eyes as you look upon him. He's got the smallest grin on his face, but he doesn't even look at you. He watches his brother as his annoyed glare darts his way.

Prince Aegon looks like he'll fight his brother. His hand drops from your cheek. The breath you let out is silent. “Well, there are plenty of comfortable places in this castle, Aemond. Perhaps you might find yourself there instead.”

He shrugs. “But watch how well my boots fit perfectly when I place them here.” He lifts his feet, one after the other, to rest on the table near the tea tray. Again, he grins at his brother.

“Well, boots belong on the floor.”

“A shame for my feet, really. They do so enjoy a rest every once in a while.”

Prince Aegon's frustration is clear. He rolls his eyes and looks at you, a glimmer in his eyes that frightens you. He lowers his voice to a murmur. “Then perhaps you and I can go somewhere a little more private to…speak.”

You open your mouth to say something—you don't know what, likely just incoherent stammers of little value. Prince Aemond, it seems, is your ultimate savior.

“Unfortunately,” he interrupts, “that is not possible either. You see, she is busy.”

You both look at him to elaborate. Prince Aegon glances around the messy room and shakes his head. “I don't see a job needing tending to.”

You could name a few, but you really just want to leave.

Prince Aemond is unfazed. “I do,” he counters. He looks at you. His gaze betrays no sentiment, simply focus and a bit of amusement at frustrating his brother. “Girl, you are to take His Highness’ boots over there and shine them until they are brighter than the sun.” He tilts his head. “We can't have the prince walking around with dirty boots… Do you understand?”

You nod quickly, standing a little straighter. “Yes, my prince.”

He nods. “And they are especially disgusting, you might acquire some help while you do.”

You don't know why he is helping you, but who are you to question him when he is being so kind?

“Yes, my prince.”

He turns away from you then, reaching forward to grab a cup of tea from the tray. As he stirs it, he hums. “Make haste then.”

You move quickly, nodding as you break away from Prince Aegon's presence. He huffs, rolling his eyes as he watches his brother. You snatch up the boots, stopping by the door as you leave the both of them, not daring to look either in the eye. “My prince… my prince.”

You flee, and the door closes loudly behind you as you do. Aegon turns to his brother, shaking his head as he moves to sit once more. “My boots are not disgusting.”

Aemond hums. “You haven't seen your boots.”

~

The sound of fire and laughter and music fills the air. It's dark out, so dark it would be hard to see without the giant bonfire raging at the center. It's the most fun you've had in a while. Queen Alicent released you and a few of the other servants from duty for the night to enjoy the festivities as gratitude for hard work.

“Come on! You're no fun when you do not join the dance!” Emalia urges, pulling lightly on your arm so you would come with her and the others.

You lean back on your heels, laughing as you shake your head and balance your cup in your hand. “No! I do not need to make a fool of myself in front of the whole dynasty by tripping over my feet and falling flat on my face, Emailia.”

She rolls her eyes. “Please! Nobody is watching you.”

You wish that had been true.

“Besides,” she smirks at you slyly. “You may attract a man's eye.”

“All the more reason not to go.” She groans, unimpressed by your insistence of remaining a total bore. You smile, letting her go. “Go dance. I am perfectly content to stand here and watch.”

She hums, giving up as she turns on her heel to leave. You laugh lightly to yourself. As you cradle your cup in your hand, you raise it to your lips for a drink.

You'd been alone for no more than a minute, watching people holding hands as they danced around the roaring flames, before you had, in fact, caught a man's eye.

“Don't you look pretty tonight?”

You fumble your cup as it falls to the ground, spilling its contents over the dirt. Chills rush down your spine, devouring every slip of comfort in your body and leaving you cold. You keep your eyes down, staring at the wine in your cup as you try to find your voice buried in your distress.

His voice comes from behind you, a dark hum haunting your being. You try to keep your voice level, but it's hard when your entire body feels like it's shaking. “Th-Thank you, my prince,” you croak, your voice as quiet as can be.

Prince Aegon stands so close, you feel his body brush yours. You try not to tremble, but it's a useless task. His eyes bore into the side of your face, and you feel the heat of his gaze devouring the rest of you.

“So pretty, I just want to…steal you away.” He steps closer, his lips right by your ear as he whispers in a low voice, “Would you like that? For me to steal you away from here?” You squeeze your eyes shut, attempting to remain calm. “We could do anything, just the two of us.”

You swallow thickly, plastering a wobbly smile on your face. “I'm sure it would be…a lovely opportunity my prince, but..” You open your eyes again and take the smallest step away, turning slowly toward him. He steps even closer, hardly a foot away now. “But, um, I have to stay here with my friends… They'll be missing me if I go.”

Foolishly hoping to the gods that they hear your plea, you're met with the sight of his dark gaze. Your breath hitches as you take a step back. He pursues, shrugging lightly as he tilts his head.

“Or I could order you,” he says. “If I say you must go, then they cannot argue. I am the prince, after all.” He smirks, lifting his hand to touch your cheek. You flinch, but it only makes him chuckle. “Would you like me to order you, pretty girl? To take that burden off your shoulders?”

The way he says it… “pretty girl”. It makes your skin crawl. You wish you'd just gone and danced, or never shown up at all.

Your mouth opens, but words are very hard to find as you struggle to speak. “I…”

You can't refuse him. You can't send him away and tell him that the thought of his hands on you makes you want to vomit. You could be punished, killed. There's no version of this where you come out safely.

His gaze burns into your skin. His hand raises to pinch your chin, and his thumb ghosts over your bottom lip. As you struggle to find an answer, to find a way out of this very dangerous situation, Aegon feels another gaze upon his own skin.

He turns his head, his eyes searching for the object of his sudden unease.

A frown overtakes his lips as his glare locks onto another. For a moment, he keeps staring. It's a silent battle of wits, a battle of will. He should be able to have whatever he wants. He's the fucking Targaryen prince, and what he wants is your bound-to-be-virgin cunt wrapped around his cock. He is owed whatever he desires.

But this icy glare is one he cannot withstand. With a huff, he drops his hand from your face. You hold your breath, glancing up carefully to see what has changed.

“But alas,” he mumbles. “It seems my mother is calling me.”

The shock is written all over your face, a mix of fear and surprise that has his desire for you growing in his belly. He smirks again, taking one last step into whatever space you had left as he takes your hand.

You purse your lips as he eyes bore into yours. Prince Aegon raises your knuckles to his face, slotting his nose over them as he inhales your sweet scent. You shudder as he presses his lips to the round bumps of your hand. You jump when he nips them.

His eyes peek up at you as he grins. “I will be seeing you.” He drops your hand.

You swallow thickly as he takes a couple steps back. Tentatively taking your skirts in your hands, you curtsy. “My prince.”

He hums, and then he's gone. You stare after him, letting out a relieved breath as you come back to your senses. You bend slowly, retrieving your cup from the ground as you try to catch your breath.

When you rise to your feet, your gaze is caught by that of the prince across the field from you. He flickers at the other side of the bonfire, his gaze just as hot and just as burning as the fire itself.

He stands there and stares at you a few seconds more. Then, just like his brother, he disappears into the night.

You're left standing there, frightened to the very base of your being.

~

Quite frankly, you despise the training grounds.

It's dirty and full of spectators eager to drink in the sight of sparring princes. It even rained earlier that night, so you are left to stand in the filthy mud, holding a tray of water in your hands and waiting for the imminent end of this session.

They always train so early. Sure, you would have been awake either way, but your sleepiness mixed with the anxiety of the princes (mostly Prince Aegon) is not a good mix.

He keeps looking at you.

Prince Aegon's eyes follow you when he's not on an active attack. You do your best to keep your eyes on the wine, hoping it would keep his gaze from you. But it's hard to do so when the lingering heat of his watchful eye burns you from out to in.

You can't tell if you're grateful or not for Prince Aemond's seriosity in his training. On one hand, his hard focus on his opponent means he's not watching you. But on the other…that means Prince Aegon is not too inclined to keep his eyes forward.

You feel your arms growing tired the longer you stand there. With a sigh, you turn toward a table behind you, setting the tray down to offer your arms reprieve. You linger for a moment, closing your eyes to breathe before switching out the two pitchers of water to seem busy.

When you turn again, you nearly drop the tray onto the ground. The smallest yelp erupts from your throat as you're met with Prince Aegon's dark stare.

“Forgive me, my prince,” you nearly stutter.

He hums, grinning lightly. “That's alright.”

You duck your head a little, balancing the tray in one hand and refilling his cup with the other. You pass it carefully to him.

“Many thanks.”

You give a short nod. “You're welcome, prince.”

He watches you over the top of his cup as he takes generous sips. He never looks away. It’s awful, being forced to see. You look away from his intense eyes, finding it increasingly difficult to do what he wants. But this works for him either way. He loves to see you cower…

Prince Aegon sets the cup back on the tray. Not anticipating the action, your weak grasp tilts and sends the tray askew. The cup tips off the side, and your eyes widen in panic as you watch it spill its contents all over the front of his gear.

A terrible gasp rips from your throat at the sight of it, Prince Aegon's gear drenched in water, his cup on the muddy ground, you standing there unable to figure out what to do other than grovel at his feet.

The words stumble uncontrollably from your lips, drenched in utter terror at his response. “Oh, gods! I am so sorry. That was an accident. I didn't mean to–!”

But Prince Aegon is not angry. In fact, he's amused. He chuckles to silence you. “Come now, pretty girl. No need for that.”

You stare up at him, your eyes clouded by unshed tears invoked by such sudden fear. He takes a step closer, in permanent violation of the space you have to your person. His voice is a low murmur when he speaks. “You and I can sort this out. Just the two of us… in my chambers… tonight.” He tilts his head. “What do you say?”

You freeze, staring wide-eyed at the prince as you struggle to find a way to get out of this. You can't refuse him, you can't. But he isn't going to let you go. How are you meant to shed this man from your life? He has implemented himself and ensured there was no way to escape him, not without force.

Your mouth drops open but no words come out. But, as it seems to be like clockwork, temporary salvation settles over you.

“My prince!”

You both turn your head, laying eyes on Ser Criston Cole as he holds onto Prince Aegon’s training sword. He offers it to him. “Leave the poor girl alone, and come fight your brother.”

Prince Aegon rolls his eyes, swatting a dismissive hand at his knight as he turns back to you. His smirk returns, if only for a moment. “Will I see you again?” he wonders.

“Prince Aegon!” He grunts. “Leisure is the death of men.”

“I’m coming!”

He looks back at you, setting his frustration to the side for just a moment. You’re always interrupted, there’s always something requiring attention. But not tonight. No, tonight…he would have what he wants.

He tears his gaze away to stalk back toward his knight and his brother. Ser Criston hands him his sword. Your eyes shift, and you find Prince Aemond…just as you always seem to do.

He watches you—just for a single second. A single second that always seems to last so much longer. He takes you in before blinking away, as though he’d never laid his eye on you to begin with.

You duck your head and try to forget the whole thing.

You duck your head and pray to the gods that Prince Aegon will forget the whole thing…

~

“Girl.”

You close your eyes as you stop walking, planting your feet in the middle of the dimly lit hall. You hold your breath as you turn, bowing your head and properly addressing the man with a curtsey, a basket of sheets in hand. “My prince.”

Prince Aegon’s eyes are nearly as dark as the night surrounding the castle. They always seem so…consuming. Consuming in a way that begs for breath in depleted lungs. Consuming in a way that cries out for an end to the constant burning of eternal fire. You stare at the floor.

He crosses the space between you before he speaks. “I didn’t see you in my chambers.” He stands right in front of you now, generous with the couple of feet he distances you with—though he does not have much of a choice with the way you hold the basket between you.

You had hoped you’d been sly with your avoidance the night before. After he was dressed for dinner, you made quick work of tidying his chambers before you went to attend with the other servants to watch over the small feast with the royals. When he returned to his rooms, there was nothing else for you to do… You had no other reason to return, so you did not.

You had hoped he’d missed it.

You clear your throat. “I’m sorry, my prince.”

“What kept you?” He steps forward, always stepping forward.

“My, um–” You struggle to come up with an answer quickly enough. “My-my errands. I was caught up with…with dinner.”

He tilts his head, not quite believing you as he continues his agonizingly slow advance. You find some solace, however, in his snail’s pace. It means every tiny little step you take away goes slightly unnoticed as you move to keep some distance between you and the prince.

“Well, dinner is over, and I require your assistance,” he insists. He raises his hands and takes the basket in his own hands. You try to keep your breath steady, but you’re hot with fear and anxiety. “I am your superior, am I not? You must obey me, and I say that you…” he takes your basket and drops it onto the ground without regard, walking farther past it, “...must come with me. We have a few wrongs we must right.”

When the cold feeling of the wall shoots up your spine, you’re frozen with fear. You nearly choke on your words, you struggle to even breathe correctly as you look around frantically for any sign of help. But it is so late, the castle is sleeping and any other servants awake at this time of night are preoccupied with their own tasks. Even if someone was awake, clouds cover every inch of the sky, and no one wishes to be bothered with the potential of rain in the open halls.

No one is going to help you.

“Forgive me, prince, but…” Your pulse is loud in your ear, you can hardly hear your words over it. You swallow thickly, speaking around your stutter, “I have… I have other duties.”

He’s getting frustrated now. He’s been denied you so many times now, too many times. You don’t expect him to display much patience anymore as he stands so close that your shoes touch and your arms are pinned to your chest. You can feel his breath on your face, thick with the permanent smell of wines and ales. His height over you is commanding, and you may just start crying before anything is done.

He speaks quietly, low. It’s a threat in the disguise of a reminder, and it hurts more than a slap to the face. “Your only duties, pretty girl, are to me.” He shakes his head gently. “I will not ask you again.”

His hands find your hips, and your whole body flinches at his touch. The smallest yelp drops from your mouth as you squeeze your eyes shut. You’re shaking. You don’t actually realize it—there’s too much happening at one time—but you’re shaking. It feeds Prince Aegon’s hunger.

You force your eyes open, force yourself to look him in the eye as you shake your head.

“I don’t want to.”

He tuts gently, shaking his head as a terrible grin takes his lips. He even chuckles, it’s the faintest sound but it’s a chuckle and it shakes your soul. “Such a pity,” he hums. He tilts his chin down and whispers. “You don’t have a choice.”

One of his hands raises to grasp your face, but you swat it away. Surprised by your protest, something flickers in his eyes, and you know you’ve made a mistake beyond hitting a prince. He tries again, faster this time, but you’re so full of adrenaline that you’re faster. You keep smacking his hands away, squirming vastly as you try to shed his hands from you. When he does not relent, for even a moment, pressing his hips into you just to pin you into the wall, you do the unspeakable.

You slap him. Your palm meets his cheek with a force that whips his head to the sound, and you pale as you watch his skin turn pink.

The most dangerous smirk crosses his lips. He finds great pleasure in your fight. It’s the first real fight you’ve put up since the beginning of his conquest. It’s exciting, it’s thrilling. His blood pumps at the prospect of a hunt.

He turns back to you slowly, watching you with eyes that have become so much darker. They’re like black tar, an oozing kind of look that melds into your skin and leaves you feeling like you’re going to die. Maybe you will.

His hands grab you so tightly that you can’t possibly move him away. You fight anyway, flailing your arms and legs and trying to call out for anyone to help. You know your sounds are echoing, you can hear your shouts bouncing off the walls and filling the night… But part of you knows that no one will come to help.

Even if they can hear you past the thick walls, no one will come to help you.

Because he’s the prince, and you are just a servant girl. What are you to keeping their lives?

Prince Aegon wrestles you to the ground and lays you on your back, despite your protests, despite your resistance. He forces you to the ground, takes your wrists in his hands, laughs when the tears spill. You argue for him to stop, to let you go, to leave you be. You hope and pray and beg for him to listen. You curse the gods for their cruelty—you curse the Mother for her lies.

He gathers your wrists to one hand, and you think you’ll be sick when his hand gropes your breast so roughly that it hurts. “I knew you would be fun, pretty girl.” He laughs, high off the thrill. “I’ve waited so long for this, it’s only fitting we make it last–”

A harsh grunt leaves his throat when your foot finds purchase at his leg. Using all the strength you have, you manage to land a kick. His hands loosen considerably, enough for you to yank yourself from his hold. Just to give yourself more time, you kick again. This time, you manage to find purchase at his side. A string of curses falls from his lips, but you don’t have time to listen to them.

As soon as you’re free, you stand to your feet and bolt down the hall. You don’t know if you’ve ever been faster, the way you speed through the corridors. Your heart thunders in your ears, your tears tickle your face, your breath scratches your throat. But you can hear him behind you.

It’s a stalking sound. That kind of sound that tells you he doesn’t waste strength trying to run after you. His pursuit is taunting, it’s haunting. It forces more sobs from you, and it makes it hard to see past the tears gathering in your eyes. You look behind yourself. It feels like he’s right there–

You run into something solid. Knocked to the ground, you grunt at the pain that blooms along your body at the fall. You open your eyes and look up to see what’s stopped your escape, and you feel a sudden wave of relief. It’s not a gaze that especially calms your nerves, but it’s enough to know that you might actually have a chance at safety.

“Prince Aemond!” you cry, moving to kneel before him as you duck your head. You stumble over your words, it’s so hard to speak past the fear, the pain in your throat, all of it. You do your best. “I-I’m sorry, you… Your brother, he’s chasing me and he-he’s trying to, to hurt me, and I–”

There’s no use in trying to speak coherently anymore. You break down into sobs, sobs full of broken rambles that are fueled by the emotions demolishing you. You look truly pathetic like this, you know you do—covered in tears, your lip wobbling, your chest heaving with desperate breaths.

Prince Aemond looks upon you, his face a mask of almost indifference. There’s a spark of something in his eyes that you can’t quite place. But, quite frankly, you don’t care. As long as he helps you. He’s been helping you all this time, surely he won’t turn his back now when you truly need him.

You don’t know what possesses you to grab his hand. You’re just glad he doesn’t seem upset when you do it. You hope he understands you when you beg, “Please don’t let him touch me, please!”

His taunting footsteps re-enter your mind as they come to a stop somewhere behind you. Your blood runs cold when you hear him.

“Brother.”

You startle, genuinely yelping when you scramble to your feet and rush to stand behind Prince Aemond, putting him between you and his brother and using him as your shield. To your sweet relief, the prince puts his hand out and holds your arm, keeping you behind him. Keeping you under his protection. You let out a shuddering sigh.

“Aegon,” he returns, his voice calm and measured. His gaze is unyielding, as it always is. You just hope that, as it always is, Prince Aegon is no match for it. “Are you tormenting this poor girl again?”

He laughs. “Tormenting? Heavens no. We’re just having a bit of fun,” his gaze shifts to you, “aren’t we?”

You press yourself more into Prince Aemond, hiding as best you can.

Prince Aegon can’t decide if he’s amused or annoyed. “And even if I was, the little thing put her hands on me.” He raises his brows. “These things can’t go unpunished.”

It’s silent for a moment as Prince Aemond contemplates something. He glances over his shoulder, not quite looking at you as he questions. “Is this true?”

You swallow thickly. You can’t lie. It’s the prince’s word against yours, and you did put your hands on him… If anyone finds out, you could—would be killed. Your voice wavers as you confess timidly. “Yes, my prince.”

Prince Aegon smiles. “You see? She admits it.” He takes a step forward. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

Terror grips you. “No–!”

“Step away, brother.”

He stops in his tracks, staring at his brother with a furrowed brow. Unimpressed by his jest, he gives an empty laugh. “Excuse me?”

Prince Aemond tilts his head, raising a brow. “I do not believe a stutter passed my lips.” His hand lands on the hilt of his blade, a warning. “I said step away.”

Prince Aegon’s lips curl in a sneer, but his eyes…his eyes hold a predatory gaze that make you feel like you’re already trapped in the beast’s maw. “She’s my servant girl. I can do as I please. Give her to me now.”

He remains unfazed. “I do not believe I will be doing that.”

“Get out of my fucking way, Aemond.” He advances, his eyes on you as he comes forward to take what is rightfully his. You begin to protest, scared sobs falling from your lips as you panic.

But Prince Aemond takes his own step forward, but his gaze is much harder, and his determination is much more dangerous. “Touch her and we shall both be half blind, brother.” His threat is level and true, and you feel yourself alighting with more fear at the sound of it. He tilts his head. “Now run along. I’m sure you’ve got a pillar to milk.”

Rage covers every inch of Prince Aegon’s face. He huffs as he shakes his head, moving to cover the distance. “You fucking–”

Everything seems to go completely still for a moment. The air is stagnant and all breath ceases when Prince Aemond raises his blade to his brother’s face, the sharpest end only inches from his blue eye.

But Prince Aemond remains unfazed. His gaze is piercing, his posture is strong. His voice is low and level.

“Do it.”

They stare at one another, another silent standoff. You’re still holding your breath.

Prince Aegon’s lips curl into a smirk. A chuckle slips past his lips as he takes a step back. He yields.

“Well played, brother.” He sucks on a tooth, turning his dark gaze to you as his eyes glitter with apparent amusement. You’d hoped you were turning out to be more trouble than you’re worth, but the only thing you’ve achieved tonight was sweetening the prize. “Don’t worry, pretty girl… I will be seeing you soon.”

He spares one last glance at his brother before turning on his heel and walking away. Prince Aemond relaxes a bit, letting his blade return to its holster as he sighs gently. When the other prince has fully retreated, he hums.

“Come with me.”

He turns and walks down the hall. It takes you a moment to catch up as the adrenaline begins, slowly, to fade, replacing itself with an immense amount of exhaustion. You turn and walk after him, wiping your face to try to rid yourself of the tears that had begun to dry.

You follow him down the winding corridors until you eventually end up on the familiar path of his bedchambers. When you arrive, he opens the doors without a word. It’s implied that you follow, so you do. He closes the doors behind you, and you slowly come to stand in the room, feeling so awkward here. It’s so late, surely you need to leave and try to retire for the night, put this whole thing behind you for a few hours.

Your voice is timid, your fingers hesitant as you rub at your face. “Are you sure I should be here?”

The prince walks past you, trailing to a table where a bowl of now-cold water and a cloth sit. “You can be wherever I say you can be,” he says dismissively. As he wets the cloth, he beckons you closer. You have to urge your legs to move, dragging yourself over to sit in the chair he is gesturing for you to take. You don’t look at him, anxiety still whispering in your bones.

“Are you hurt?” he asks as he tilts your chin up, beginning to carefully wipe away the tears that have covered your face.

It feels strange, but…nice. It’s nice to be taken care of. You’re too drained and too quieted to wonder why you’re being taken care of. You just want to calm down.

“No,” you mumble, sighing to calm your nerves. “Thank you.”

He continues to dab at your face. “Don’t thank me yet.”

You furrow your brows, looking up as you lock eyes. He’s…sort of pretty. You hadn’t really had the time or the mind to notice it before, but you don’t intend to make a habit of noticing. Once this night is over, you intend to forget it all.

“Beg pardon?” you wonder.

He stops what he’s doing, setting the cloth back in its bowl. Looking back at you, he tilts his head. His voice does not change. “You laid your hands on the prince.”

Just like that, the fear and anxiety return. You’re already tongue-tied as you try to defend yourself. “He was trying to hurt me–”

“It does not matter,” he says, as though it means nothing. And it does. He shrugs as he continues to watch you. “My brother has a reputation but he is the prince, and you are just a girl.” He hooks his knuckle under your chin, tilting your head to look up at him a little more. “Who do you think they will believe?”

Your breath picks up once more, a heavy thing in your chest that makes you feel like you may faint. You wet your lips, shaking your head. “It was an accident. I was scared, a-and I panicked. I–”

“It is not I who questions your words,” he hums. “It will be the public’s when they learn you tried to seduce the prince.”

Your heart pounds so heavily in your chest. You swear you can hear each thump against your ribs. “But I didn’t–” You pause at the look on his face. It is not him who questions your words. You swallow thickly, looking down at your hands clasped in your lap as you try to gather your thoughts. Your voice is so quiet when you speak again, weak with your defeat. “What am I to do?”

He seems pleased that you have begun to ask the right questions. He pulls away from you, removing his holster from around his waist to set his weapons down. “Even if he says nothing, you are still his servant, and I cannot be there at every turn to help you.” He looks at you once more, his eye unwavering. “One way or another, he will have his way with you… and no one will care when they hear your screams down the hall.”

You duck your head, fiddling with your hands as these terrible feelings eat away at you. But then he speaks again, carrying words that have you glued to his every sound. “There is a way, of course, that I can help you.”

You sigh. “I’ll do anything.”

The slightest smirk curves his lips. He walks back toward you, his steps so slow, so measured. Every step he takes fills you with a strange kind of dread. His voice is so soft, the opposite of the fear-inducing sound of Prince Aegon’s.

“My brother will care less about you if you are…” he raises his hand to the top latch of his garb, undoing it slowly, “...already sullied.”

Your eyes widen as you watch him unlatch each metal piece with a clink, clink clink. A shivering heat courses through your veins, the kind of heat that has your body covered in gooseflesh. A million thoughts rush within your mind, but you haven’t the slightest clue what any of them are saying.

Had he been any other boy from in King’s Landing—a peasant from Flea Bottom, a servant in the Red Keep, a merchant from Cobbler’s Square—you would have watched with bated breath, accepted his proposal with a shy grin, fingers shaking only with the anticipation of a night of pleasure. Had he been anyone else, you might have considered sharing the night, knowing and accepting that you’d likely have to take his hand to avoid the shallow slanders of society.

But he is not a merchant from Cobbler’s Square, or a servant in the Red Keep, and he most certainly is not a peasant from Flea Bottom. He is Prince Aemond Targaryen, the son of Queen Alicent and King Viserys I, the rider of Vaghar, the second largest dragon in the world.

You cannot do this and come out unburnt.

Your throat is dry as you try to shake your head. “I-I can’t.” You stumble over your words uselessly. “I’m— You’re— We–”

He hums. “I can just tell them that you attacked the prince.” Fear strikes your head like a chord. “Of course, you would lose a hand…if not your life.”

A tear slips down your cheek to replace the old ones. “Please, my prince–”

“There’s only one way to solve this,” he says, walking toward you once more so that you’re forced to look up at him. He’s taller than Prince Aegon, and his gaze can be just as dark. “I can give you back to the beast, who will maul until he gets what he wants…” Your eyes close, trying to force the memory from your mind. He tilts his head and waits for you to look at him again.

“Or I can ruin you for him.” His proposal sends an unwanted shiver down your spine. You audibly sigh at his suggestion. “Then he shall no longer have interest in you.”

The gods have a strange sense of humor. Every time you suppose they’ve answered your prayers, they offer an alternative that you fight to determine better or worse. No win can ever simply be a win, no salvation can ever simply be salvation. It seems even now…that you’ve traded one beast for another. Now you’re forced to choose between the lesser of two evils.

Your throat is dry. You have to clear it in order to find words to speak, timid words that find a lot of difficulty in breeching your lips. You look up at him, your eyes wet.

“He won’t want me anymore?” You wipe at your eyes, trying to dry your constant tears. “You’ll…” You clear your throat. “You’ll protect me?”

Prince Aemond watches you closely, his gaze betraying no hesitance. He raises a hand to your cheek, brushing his thumb under your eye line to rid yourself of your tears. “You have my word,” he nearly whispers.

You look down at your hands, steeling your nerves as you squeeze your eyes shut.

It’s one night. Then you shall be free from the torment of the eldest Targaryen prince. Your troubles shall be put in the past. Just one night…then all will be well.

You just pray this beast is kinder.

You slowly rise to your feet, your fingers almost lethargic in their movements as you hold your breath. He's taller than his brother, just by an inch or two. It's enough that you have to crane your neck even more to look up at him. It has a strange effect on you, one that makes you even shier than you were two moments ago.

You sheepishly raise a hand to your shoulder, pushing your apron off until your arms are free from it. Letting your breath free, you release your arm from the sleeve next. It takes forever, it feels like, to shed yourself of your clothes. But when you’re bare before him, you can’t help but to cover yourself with your arms, trying to preserve what little ounce of dignity you have left.

But there’s no use in it now. He raises hand, slowly so as not to scare you, and touches your waist. You nearly shudder at the feeling, so foreign to you. He drinks in the sight of you, feasting on your body in gentle praise. You drop your arms, allowing him to see all of you.

“My brother was right about one thing,” he hums, licking his bottom lip between his teeth. “You are a pretty girl.”

It feels so different when he says it. It shouldn’t. His actions are almost as selfish as his brother’s, though at least you gain something from your nearing fate. But those words on his lips, they caress you. They send shivers down your spine and offer the smallest salve to the raging nerves preventing you from being calm.

You struggle to find your voice, not yet able to meet his eyes.

“I…” you sigh in an attempt to steady your nerves. “I am at your…your full service, my prince.”

One of his hands continues to rest at your hip, holding you close as his palm strokes your skin. You sigh, your eyes fluttering shut. It just…it feels so nice. It’s so hard to resist a touch as nice as this one. His other hand reaches up to cup your cheek, and you’re forced to open your eyes to meet his gaze.

He brushes the apple of your cheek, staring into your eyes. His words have your blood rushing, your breath becoming thin. “Have you ever had your lips around a cock before?”

Your eyes flutter at the question as you shake your head. “N-No.”

“Someone’s mouth on your cunt?”

Your throat is so dry, you keep having to swallow. “No, my prince.”

He hums. You can’t tell if he sounds pleased or not. “I suppose you’ve done nothing.”

“Never.”

His thumb strokes your cheek again. You lean absently into his touch. “That’s alright,” he says. He lets go of you to shrug the top layer of his clothes off, leaving him in his tunic and trousers. It’s already such a forbidden sight, heat rushes to your cheeks at a glimpse of it—as though you were not already standing bare before him. “I shall teach you.”

When his lips meet yours, you gasp against his mouth as your head begins to spin. You’re so startled by the sudden movement, it takes you a moment to actually realize what’s happened, let alone for you to gather the sense to kiss him back. His hand wraps around the back of your head to bring you closer, and a whining sound comes out of you when you feel his tongue slipping into your mouth.

This whole thing is so foreign to you, so forbidden and exciting and terrifying. Your breath shudders against his lips, and he feeds off your apprehension. He steps forward into you, and you nearly stumble back in an effort to keep up. You’re forced to stop your backpedal when the hard wood of the table digs roughly into your back.

Your stomach churns with a feeling unfamiliar to you, and you lean into it because you have nowhere else to lean. Aemond’s hands hold you tightly, his lips never relent as they suckle around yours. The tingling in your body has become so strong, your legs feel like they’re trembling, like your knees will give out any moment now.

When he pulls away from you, your breaths mingle in the short amount of space between you. They’re thick with whatever it is you’re feeling, this all-consuming lust that leaves you dizzy and wanting. You’re still so close, your lips brush against one another in a silent, teasing chase.

And you know you’ve passed the point of no return when you capture his lips once again, sighing into his mouth and delving into the desire driving you. You’re losing breath and your legs are becoming less and less capable of keeping you up, but you don’t care. You just need to keep tasting him, his lips, his tongue.

You reach for his tunic, pulling the fabric from his trousers and slipping your hands underneath it to feel the strength in his belly. He’s soft, smooth, but you can feel his muscles flexing against your touch. Aemond is the one who pulls away, panting heavily as he watches you. A smirk curves his lips and leaves you weak. You watch him take a small step back, lifting his shirt over his head and discarding it carelessly on the floor. You’re drunk on the sight of him, your lashes fluttering as you drive your teeth into your bottom lip.

When he pulls at his belt, you don’t know what to do. You just stand there, watching his deft hands as they begin to unbuckle it, pulling it from its proper place with a grand sweep. It drops heavily to the floor, and his trousers soon follow.

You hold your breath, staring at the erection between his legs. He’s long and flushed pink. You don’t know what to do, how to react. As you both stand naked before one another, the only thing you can really think to do is drink the other in.

Aemond interrupts your thoughts as he grabs your face again, smashing his lips against yours. You whine again, your tentative hands grazing his sides with a hesitant appreciation. He keeps kissing you as he moves, and you’re too distracted with the way his mouth feels against yours to do much else but stumble after him.

You’re forced to part when he sits down, his hands falling to your hips as he grips them tightly. “Get on your knees for me, pretty girl.”

The words wash over you with a shudder. You know that saying that is a show of power, a flaunt. He stole you from his tyrannical brother, and now you fall apart at the sound of the same name he’d been calling you. With no choice but to obey—both from obligation and a crumbling will—you do as he says as you slowly sink down to your knees.

You stare up at him, your eyes glittering, your lips parted. Aemond takes a moment, admiring the view before him with a sigh and the shake of his head. He thinks you look simply…perfect like this, awaiting his instruction with such an innocence about you.

“I want you to lick it,” he says simply.

You flush, feeling the heat burning in your face, feeling your core pulsing with a sudden desire. Your lips open and close, trying to figure out how to respond. You don’t know how.

Aemond wraps a hand around the back of your head, his fingers weaving their way through your hair. Slowly, he pulls you in until your nose nudges his cock. You sigh, the warm breath fanning over him and making him twitch. Swallowing thickly, you steel your nerves as you timidly let your tongue slip past your lips. Closing your eyes, you do as you’re told and you lick it.

He has an interesting taste, a salty kind filled with a heady scent that invades your senses. Your mind is clouded by lust, your fingers tremble. He closes his eye as he sighs. “Good, just like that. Do it again.”

You lean into the gentle praise, becoming a little braver as you continue to lave your tongue along the underside of his cock. It’s not hard to become addicted to it, his taste, his smell. It’s like you’ve been doused in a potion, one that intoxicates you with the strong scent of him.

You let his sighs guide you as your tongue presses against the vein running up his solid cock. He’s hard, and it’s daunting that he feels so stone-like. You take the initiative as you wrap your lips around the head of his cock, suckling gently around it as you swirl your tongue along the slit.

Aemond’s lips part, and he opens his eye to look at you again. “Good,” he says. “Very good. Suck harder.”

You do, rewarded with a gentle grunt that sends shivers all throughout your body. His hand flexes in your hair, and your breath hitches slightly when he pushes you an inch further onto his cock. Adjusting your mouth, you move to take him deeper, sucking him down however you can. Then, just as he’d pushed you down, he guides you back up. Following his lead, you move on your own, moving up and down and up down until you’ve built a steady rhythm.

“Good girl,” he breathes, this kind of hum that is far more rewarding than you would have thought. You follow his sounds, bobbing your head up and down his shaft with a growing enthusiasm. “Give me your hand.” He holds out his own for yours to take, and you do, pulling off of him with a sigh.

He guides your hand to his cock, wrapping your fingers around the base of him. His hand consumes yours as he covers it, squeezing it tight until a groan falls from his lips. He moves it up and down, setting your rhythm, up and down, just like before, up and down.

His hand guides you back down and you take him back into your mouth. You hear the faintest “fuck” breach his lips, and a light feeling floods your system. You must be doing it right. Another “good girl” falls from his lips, and you melt.

You build up some speed, squeezing hard and sucking harder to give him the pleasure he needs. Your jaw and your neck aches, but you’re too caught up in the way his moans sound to care. Your throat catches on a gag when you go too deep, and you gasp on your way up, pausing for a moment to adjust before you take him again.

You feel Aemond’s hips beginning to twitch, rising off the seat a bit as he seeks the warmth of your mouth. When they buck up into you, forcing a gag to erupt out of you, your other hand shoots up to hold him still, nearly panicking when he does. “Yes,” he huffs. “You’re doing so well, pretty girl.”

A whimper leaves your throat, and his breath hitches. As your hand jerks at his cock, he grips your hair and pulls you off of him with a grunt. Your tongue lolls from your mouth, and you have to catch your breath as fresh invades your lungs. His next curse is much clearer as his chest rises and falls with his desire.

“Fuck,” he huffs. His gaze finds you, and he smirks at the sight of your wet eyes and plump lips. “Very good, my sweet thing.”

One of his hands wraps around your throat, and you gasp before his lips find yours again. You lean into it, loving the way his mouth slots so perfectly with yours. He grabs a hold of you as he wills you to stand with him. “My prince,” you sigh between kisses, drinking the lust he pushes down your throat.

You yelp when he dips down and lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he walks away with you. You hold on tightly to him, finding it so difficult to pull away from his lips. “Aemond,” he corrects you, his teeth closing around your bottom lip. You lick it, pleasantly startled by it.

The smallest scream passes your lips when Aemond suddenly drops you onto his bed. He chases after you, bending over it just to continue his attack of your lips. You cradle his face in your hands, indulging in this forbidden pleasure. He breaks from your lips, his mouth finding your neck as he kisses and licks and sucks and bites at the skin. You gasp at the feeling, your mind hazy with it.

His hands roam your skin, his dull nails grazing it with a certain longing. His lips trail down, down, down. He kisses the lowest part of your belly, lifts your leg as he moves to kiss your knee. He watches you as he does it. He doesn’t say a word, he just stares into your eyes with every peck against your flesh.

Uncontrollable shudders rush through you as his lips press against the inside of your thigh, his tongue darting to lick, his teeth nipping. He goes farther and farther, closer and closer. You don’t think you’ll be able to handle it when he reaches the prize he seeks.

Your words come out as a peep. “My prince.”

He pauses at the very center of your being, his mouth so close that his breath ghosts over you, teasing you. He lingers there, his hands gripping the underside of your thighs. “Aemond.”

His voice is low, almost dangerous. You feel too light and floaty to feel the real danger that is this man. You’re in no position to refuse as you take in a shallow breath. “Aemond,” you whisper.

Then he smirks. It’s a devilish thing that leaves you burning.

You gasp when he dives between your legs, his hot mouth meeting your hot cunt as he laps and sucks at your folds. Your back arches off the bed, and you’re overcome with this consuming feeling that leaves you wanting more, more, more. You whimper, stumbling over your incoherent words. “F-Fuck, Aemond.”

He’s hungry for you, starving as he devours you. It’s hot and heavy, and you’re left absolutely shaking in his grasp. His arms wrap around your thighs, pulling you close and keeping you down.

Your hands fly to his hair, gripping his silver locks and holding them tight to find something to ground you. You can't breathe, you can't think. It's all white noise, the sounds of wet on wet, his heavy breaths, your weak moans. It's utterly intoxicating. You don't think you'll survive.

“Oh, g-gods,” you gasp. “I c-can't. It's so… fuck, it's so good. Please don't stop!”

It’s like music to his ears. The highs of your moans, the lows of your grunts. It feeds his hunger, his pride, his desire. It writhes within him like the fire that writhes within his mighty dragon.

Aemond’s tongue licks and flicks at your clit, coaxing you closer and closer. As you tug at his hair, deep groans erupt from his throat. As your release nips at your heels, beckoning you, luring you toward that edge like a siren’s call, his name echoes off your tongue. He holds you down as you grind against his face, searching for more of him, a glutton for the pleasure he provides.

“Aemond,” you gasp, your body tensing as you get closer. “I’m so close. Please don’t stop–”

Your mouth drops open, your entire body suddenly alight with ecstasy as you reach that boiling point. White flashes behind your eyes as desperate shudders wreck you from the inside out. Your thighs tighten around his head, and his tongue never lets up as he continues to lap at your cunt. You gasp and moan and ride out your high like you’re afraid you’ll never feel it again.

He doesn't let up through your orgasm. He drinks it down, ever the starved man craving your honey. When the trembling has dulled down, and he thinks you can breathe again, Aemond sits up with a rather pleased look on his face. “You taste,” he hums, a large smirk covering his face as he licks his lip, “magnificent, pretty girl.” You melt at his praise.

When his finger teases the seam of your cunt, you look at him quickly, unsure of what you’re looking for. You whine when he presses his finger inside of you, pushing it in deep. The sensitivity matched with the slight stretch is maddening—and when he curls it, you lose your breath in your whimper.

You curse, not quite sure how to feel between your fresh release and his long finger seated so nicely within you. You cannot tell if you want to beg for more or ask him for a reprieve, if only for a moment. A moment to catch your breath, which is so frequently lost with this man.

But he’s far too happy to watch you tremble—and you do tremble. It’s hard not to when he plays your body like a player to a lyre. He thrusts his finger slowly in and out of you, content with the way you pant until he isn’t. As he adds a second finger, you clench your teeth and stifle a moan at the stretch. It’s a nice kind of stretch, it’s pleasant and warm but it drives you to madness.

He thrusts his fingers in and out of you, curling them against a spongy spot within you that arches your back in the same manner. The more he strokes you, the more you moan, and the faster he goes. His rhythm is quick and precise, and it's so blinding as it fills the air with the sounds of your moans, your squelching cunt, his eager breaths.

The pleasure swirls in your brain. It's the kind of pleasure that is just as much in your head as it is in your body, and you can hardly think past it. Bending down to meet you, his lips capture yours again. You moan into his mouth as they slide against each other. There's nothing tender about this kiss. There's never been anything tender about it. He's needy and primal, and it's the opposite of the composure this man holds as he walks about the castle with all the regality and elegance of a prince.

The way that you feel this pleasure is anything but elegant. You feel it with jerky limbs, with sharp gasps, with whining moans. You feel it with tugged hair and clasped thighs and clenched jaws. It's uncontrolled and incredibly indulgent. There's no restraint, as much as you try to keep yourself in check, he yanks these things from you and makes it impossible to be elegant.

“Such a good girl, you are,” he purrs, nipping at your earlobe. The praise goes straight to your core, straight to your pulsing clit. You're already so close, you feel the ebb and flow of a release pulling at you. “I can already imagine how perfect you'll feel around my cock.”

A whimper escapes you—a pathetic sound, really. He swallows it down like a sweet elixir, drunk on the taste, drunk on the feel. He could spend forever here, with his fingers shoved in your cunt and his mouth all over your body.

When he breaks away from your lips, he moves down your body and attacks your cunt, fingers still thrusting. You react immediately, rolling your hips against him as his tongue laps at your clit. You're so caught up in it that it takes no time at all for you to come again, this time all over his hand.

You shake as you shout, high-pitched whines and shallow breaths and blinded eyes. Your pussy clenches around his fingers, and he keeps coaxing the ends of your release from you even after you've settled.

When you go limp against the sheets of his bed, he pulls his hand out of you. You feel heavy, your eyes drooping and your chest still full of needy breath. You forget, for a moment, that you're not done. It's hard to keep up so fresh out of your virginity. You never thought you would lose it so thoroughly.

Aemond kisses your release from his fingers, humming at the taste of you with a growing appreciation. His hand wraps around his cock, and he groans. He's still so hard, and you wonder briefly if it hurts.

“Sit up, pretty girl,” he beckons, holding a hand out for you.

It takes a moment for your body to follow the order. When you do you grasp his hand as he helps you up. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other at his side as he pulls you in and kisses you with as much hunger as he began.

When he lets you go, he does so to move off the bed. You sit there, attempting to gather your thoughts. Everything is still so hazy, there's a slight confusion that is so difficult to gauge.

Aemond sits at the head of the bed, sitting back as he watches you for a moment. He seems to be giving you the moment you're needing. It doesn't last too long, though, because he reaches an arm out and wraps it around you to bring you to him, back to chest.

You can feel his cock pressing into your back as his lips brush the shell of your ear. A shudder runs down your spine.

“I am going to fuck you now,” he purrs in your ear. The smallest whimper escapes you, and his lips kick at the sound. “But before I do, I must tell you how much I've been craving you.”

You lean into him, no sense or care for the danger this situation puts you in. “I've been watching you.” A dull tingle sparks in your gut, arising in the tips of your fingers, of your ears. He was always watching you.

“You're such a lovely little thing.” He hums, “A sweet girl, a shy girl. No wonder my brother wants you so much. It's the only sensible thing he's ever done.”

He takes a deep breath in, his nose pressed into your hair as he does. With a sigh, he chuckles. “How lucky I am to have gotten to you first.” His hand flattens against your belly while the other strokes the inside of your thigh.

“You see, my brother…he would have ravished you.” The idea makes you cold, you have to force away the heat that pushes at your eyes. “But me…” you can feel his smirk against your ear as he whispers, “...I am going to ravage you.”

Your voice is a small murmur of a thing when you speak. You reach over your shoulder, your fingers finding his hair. “Please…” you whimper.

Aemond turns you around, lifting you up as he moves you to sit in his lap. His cock sits against your belly, and you lose breath just looking at him. You watch his face as his gaze covers you. His arms wrap tightly around your body, and when he kisses you, he has to move up to do it.

You cradle his head in your hands as you do, grinding your hips against him in your haste. He groans as you do, enjoying the way your pussy rubs against him. His strong hands wrap around your thighs, lifting you up again as he positions you over him.

When he eases you down, you whine into his mouth. But the intrusion doesn't stop as he presses deeper and deeper into you. Your thighs meet his lap, and you break the kiss to let out a heavy sigh at how far he sits within you.

You linger there, your mind hazy with the stretch as your body goes limp. It feels so good.

Aemond's hands flex on your thighs, and you moan when he presses you down, squishing your bodies together in an attempt to go deeper. “I can feel you clenching around me,” he huffs. “Do you want me, pretty girl? Do you want me to make you feel good?”

You roll your hips a little in his lap, your voice a permanent whine in your ear as you keep him close, your face buried in the crook of his neck. “Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, please fuck me, Aemond.”

He shifts his hands to grip your ass, and the moan that falls out of you is high and heavy. You hold him tighter, grinding down into his lap.

You fall into a steady rhythm soon enough—his hands guiding your rolling hips, your pitched moans, his strained breaths. Your thighs shake around him, it's so hard to keep it steady when you need more.

It drives you as you fuck yourself on his cock, searching even deeper for that pleasure, You're not used to the heat curling in your belly. It's white-hot, consuming. It makes you so hard to focus as it slowly begins to become all you know.

For a moment, you wonder if this is what it feels like to be a dragon. This overwhelming heat which makes a home inside of you. Hoarding, nesting, conquering. You wonder if this feeling is what makes the Targaryens what they are, rulers.

But then you remember. You remember who you are. You remember that dragons are fierce, and you could never even imagine being as fierce as even the smallest of the Targaryen beasts.

So you lose yourself in the pleasure until all you know is Aemond. His lips press against your skin as you ride him, his fingers digging into your skin as he licks and bites at your neck, your collarbone, your chest. When his lips wrap around your nipple, you're done for as you throw your head back. Pushing your chest closer to him, you bounce in his lap and indulge in this pleasure.

His moans vibrate within you. You're left gasping as his tongue digs into your nipple and sends electricity flowing through your veins. “Aemond, please,” you mewl. “Don't stop.” His tongue glides toward the valley of your breasts, and you arch your back into him when he claims your other nipple.

A sudden crack of thunder resembling a dragon's roar deafens you for a moment, and a startled gasp slips from you at the sound. You had not even realized it had been raining. If it weren't for the bliss clouding your mind, you would feel foolish for not hearing the rain sooner as it slaps against the windows of his chambers.

In your brief distraction, Aemond brings you in tight as he pushes you onto your back, and you yelp as you tighten your arms around him. His figure towers over you, and you hesitate for a moment as you stare into his eye.

He's pretty. It has an almost sobering effect on you. If you forget who and what he is, if you forget (for the moment) why you are here… you think that this is the man who you would allow to sweep you off your feet.

But he isn't, and he can't be. He is your prince and (for lack of better word) savior. You owe him a debt, which you will pay and move on.

So when his hips snap into you, you lose yourself all again to make all of this easier. Like the pouring rain outside, his sudden thrusts are quick and persistent. The sound of his cock sliding in and out of your dripping cunt matches that of the rain smacking against stone, against earth. You hold onto him, arms and legs, as he fucks you.

He holds you close, like he'll keel over if you disappear. His sounds, though deep and heavy, hold a certain desperation in them that transcends blind lust. As you moan in his ear and ramble nonsensically about how good he's making you feel, he buries his face in the crook of your neck and feasts at your throat.

Somehow, this position allows him to drive deeper within you. You're left gasping, seeing stars with every slap of his hips. One hand cradles the back of your head, tangled in your hair as you moan. The other grasps your hip and refuses to let go as he holds you still.

The rain outside carries on. It's more fitting than a silent night. The thunder rumbles and roars, just like the heat writhing within the both of you. “Do you like it, pretty girl?” he mutters in your ear, his breath thin and his voice low. “Do you like how I’m fucking you?”

You’re losing it, teetering on the edge of senseless bliss. There’s too much pleasure shooting in your body and nowhere to put it as you clench and shake and moan. “I can’t–” you stutter, wrapping your legs tighter around him. “Please, my prince, I can’t!”

“Do you want me to make you cum, pretty girl? Is that what you want?” His excitement and desperation mix in a heavy encouragement that has his hips thrusting rougher into your own. It feels so good for you to be able to think about what he’s asked. All you know is that he’s going to let you cum, and that’s all you want right now. You crave it, like the soil craves water, like your lungs crave air.

As you pull him tight within your embrace, you're driven by your need as you nod. “Yes, yes, yes, please.” You gasp at the roll of his hips. “I’ll do anything. Please give it to me.”

He loves hearing you say that. I’ll do anything. Part of him wonders just how far you would go. You’re already fucking him, the prince, in order to escape his brother, another prince. If he had his way—and it’s likely he will—you’ll find yourself in this position more than once following this encounter.

He just supposes you ought to be more careful to whom you speak those words.

“Beg for it,” he demands, his lips lazy against your skin. “Beg for me to keep fucking you. Beg for me to cum in you, to let you cum on my cock. Beg me to give you what you want, pretty girl.”

You’re too far gone to care, and your dignity has long since been shed. You’ve already sold your soul, you’ve already given up the virginity that’s meant to be reserved for a husband—were he ever to find his way to you. You have nothing left to lose but your life, and that has already been sold to the Targaryen reign.

So, as the thunder rumbles, you let the pleads fall. “Please, Aemond, let me cum,” you stutter. “Please cum inside of me. I need you.”

He’s losing control. It’s a confusing, conflicting feeling. He needs the control, he needs to feel it in his hands, especially as he takes you—something that was rightfully his when he decided you were. But you…oh, you just had to be so perfect, so obedient, so good. His control was slipping, and it was your fault, and part of him didn’t even care.

He held you still and he held you down as he fucked his cock into your squelching pussy and cricled his dept fingers over your aching clit. The sight of your tearing eyes as your foreheads pressed together was addicting.

You are the first to cum. The thunder outside of his window is loud, a terrible rumble that almost silences your desperate moans, the sobbing breaths that fall from your lips as you see white. The pleasure overcomes you like the pouring rain that drowns the ground in its consuming cover. You hold him tight, too tight perhaps. But there’s not enough sense in your mind to care.

You clench so tightly around his cock, he doesn’t understand how he was supposed to resist. With a few powerful thrusts, he spills inside of you with a low groan that sounds like a roar with the way it is drowned by the raging crack of thunder that deafens you both. Your cunt swallows his cock and his cum down, milking every last drop as he fucks it into you in deep, short thrusts.

You shake and tremble, still so caught on the ride that is the orgasm still ripping through your body. Aemond’s teeth graze the skin of your throat as his breath fans over your skin.

It takes a long time for either of you to come down. Tremors glide through your muscles as you lay on your back, your limbs very slowly loosening from around him as you lay limply on the bed. Your breaths mingle, an exchange of sobering lust which turns to solemn clarity for you and satiated hunger for him. As his gaze catches your face, he hums as he leans in and captures your lips.

As wrong as you know it is—though you know you’ve passed the point of moral obligation—you can’t help but to kiss him back. This man has consumed you, body and mind and soul. He has a claim on you now that goes even deeper, somehow, than the cum he’s shoved into your womb. You don’t know what you’re going to do, but for now…you simply give in to the intoxication of his desire.

When he pulls out of you, it's with heavy sighs and weak whimpers. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you to sit up, leaning all the way back until he’s laying against the pillows at the top of the bed with you right at his side. Despite your better judgment, you seek his warmth as you rest your head on his chest. Aemond throws one arm over you and the other behind his head.

Neither of you look at one another. It’s an unspoken agreement, while you both think over things in your mind. No gazes really need to be exchanged.

You thought, like some great metaphor, that the rain would begin to slow now that the frenzy has faded. You thought that the thunder would settle and the harsh patter of rain at the window would begin distant flicks of water on glass. But as you lay there, wrapped in Aemond’s embrace, the storm refuses to cease.

It’s a while before you find your voice. When you do, it’s still so quiet, and now hoarse with its overuse throughout this dark night.

“Will…” you lick your lip, swallowing thickly with a sigh. “Will Prince Aegon truly leave me be now?”

Aemond doesn’t respond right away. As he stares at the ceiling, you feel his thumb begin to stroke slow circles into your shoulder. It remains quiet for a long time. “My brother does not care whether you have your virtue or not.” His words would have pulled a gasp from you, were you not subconsciously expecting them from coming from his mouth. “He would have raped you all the same.”

Still, despite your suspicions, despite your inhibitions, you sit up just enough to look at his face. Despite everything, remaining oblivious seems like an easier choice than facing what you already know: he lied to you, and you let him do it because one evil is easier than the other. “What?” you whisper, apprehension in your eyes as you watch him. He stares back at you, taking in the sight of your innocence. He could not have chosen better.

“But he shall not,” he says, a firmness in his soft voice that eases your worry. “He will not cross me, and I shall have you transferred to my chambers instead of his to keep my eye on you.” He takes your chin in his grasp, pulling you close. “I promise my protection, it is yours.” His lips hardly brush against yours, it is you who closes the distance (no matter how much you convince yourself that it is him). You sink into him with a gentle sigh.

“He will not touch you. Now…” his eyes are dark when he says it, “...you belong to me.”

You always knew this was the route. You knew, whether you would ever admit it to yourself or not, that he always meant to own you. And you let him. You let him do it, despite knowing what he is.

He is a Targaryen, and all Targaryens must be beasts in the end, some more than others.

Prince Aegon is a cruel beast, a monster truly favored by none… but Aemond is no less cruel. He is a subtler beast, the kind that lies in waiting, charms with smiles and soothing promises, the kind that bargains in the dark and sways the monsters of the daylight. The difference between the princes is not the difference between good and bad. You know this. You have known this. You always will know this.

But Prince Aemond’s cruelty is kind…and you’d rather be monstrously deceived than beaten bloody and bruised.

Ice and Fire taglist: @divinearchangel @alexxavicry @katsukis1wife @kmc1989 @the-nerdy-goddess @urmomsgirlfriend1 @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo @lover-of-books-and-tea @avalyaaa Tag yourself here...

[grapejuicestyless]

Bed Chem

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: While reminiscing on your first impressions of each other, your recounting seems to be more dirty than sweet.

“What was your first impression of me?” I asked quietly, my back pressed against the mattress that we had been sharing for years, the blankets imprinted with the lines of our bodies from countless hours of restlessness spent next to each other and tangled limps after hours.

Harry hummed thoughtfully, running his knuckles through his hair and closing his fists around the curly edges.

“I thought that I wanted more time with you.” He responded.

“Really?” I smiled, looking at him through the sides of my eyes. He hummed and nodded his head.

“I thought you were going to be the death of me. I swear you took my breath away, and you cared so deeply about everything you shared with me, I wanted to know more. I wanted to care about the things you did. I wanted to love the things you did.”

I felt his hand sliding against the sheets, a soft rubbing sound indicating where his hand was going. Soon enough, I felt the familiar warmth of his fingers slipping between mine and his palm pressing against my skin.

“Yeah?” I smiled with my teeth, giddy over his answer and he knew it.

“Of course, how could I not want to? You had be obsessed from the beginning, I was completely hooked by the first time you batted your eyes at me.”

He stretched his neck to reach my cheek, his lips pressing delicately to my cheek to not spoil the tender moment with heated passion.

“What about you?” He asked curiously.

“What about me?”

“Well, what did you think about me when you first saw me?” He sat up, propping his body up on his elbow and throwing his head back to look at me. Even all these years later, I still found even the most simple things he did dreamy. I couldn’t help but stare.

“Who’s the cute boy with the white jacket and the thick accent?” I smiled, and Harry seemed satisfied.

“Yeah?”

I hummed.

“My friends were so tired of me. All night, I wanted to talk to you, I thought you were so cool. Everyone told me they thought you noticed me but, I thought you were too good to be true.”

“Is that right?” Harry chuckled cockily, his tongue resting pressed against the inside of his cheek. I nodded my head again.

“I wasn’t going to talk to you, but then you came over to me so I didn’t have to try and make some awkward small talk.”

“What? You were so confident!” Harry laughed.

“Maybe to your face, but I had to down at least four shots to even look you in the eyes! God, I thought my friends were pranking me when you called the next morning.” I giggled back.

“I needed to see you again.” He hummed, his hand slithering around my waist and squeezing gently. His body hovered over mine, his breath tickling my skin.

“What else did you think of me?” Harry asked, his voice softer, smoother than before.

“I bet that we’d have really good bed chem.” I told him truthfully, looking at him through my eyelashes.

He smiled and I knew I was only boosting his ego.

“Yeah?”

I hummed, “But don’t make me repeat it, because I won’t. I don’t want it to get to your head.” I laughed at his expression, and when he leaned in my palm pushed against his cheek to swerve him away from my lips. His mouth simply landed into the crook of my neck.

“Whats the verdict? Did I meet your expectations?” He mumbled against my skin, each brush of his lips sending shocks down my body.

“It’s even better than it was in my head.” I promised him, the way he would pick me up, pull them down and turn me around cemented into my mind like a movie in my mind.

His lips pulled away from my neck, a sensation pulsing down my neck telling me there was surely a mark blossoming where he had latched onto me. When he pulled away, his nose just inches away from my eyes, I could see the clouded vision that consumed his eyes, his pupils blown wide.

How he was looking at me, I know what that means.

Thats bed chem.

[kbwrites]

OFFICE ESCAPADES WITH NANAMI

Synopsis: Ever since Nanami hired you you’ve done nothing but stress him out. You’re infuriating… And he just can’t seem to get enough of you.

⚝a/n: I don’t usually write smut so I decided to give it a shot.

⚝tags: Porn with plot, Nsfw, Companyman! Nanami, Semi-Public Sex, Enemies to Lovers

⚝wc: 2.4k

Nanami was a gentleman, arguably the perfect one. He shows up to work on time, early even. His hair was neatly combed, his dress shirt pressed, leather shoes shined. He was the pinnacle of discipline and control.

However, every time he was in your presence. That control would slip, little by little.

He hired you fresh out of college. Top of your class, all of the firms in the area had given their offers; but Nanami snatched you away.

He soon began to think that maybe you were more trouble than you were worth..

You were brilliant, there wasn’t any denying that. You were gorgeous, couldn’t deny that either. But that damn mouth of yours.. was going to be the death of him and you…

You strutted into the older man’s office, ‘he’s told you multiple times to knock first…’ Nanami peels his eyes away from his laptop to look at the woman standing in front of his desk. His eyebrow quirks up as he notices her visibly pissed-off vibe.

“Something wrong?”

You scoff in annoyance “You denied my contract?”

He looks back at his laptop, stealing glances at you.

“Did you even read over it before you sent it to me?”

“Excuse me-”

“The terms in this contract… Do you have any idea what kind of position it’ll put us in?”

“Are you suggesting I don’t know how to do my job?”

Nanami shoots you a sidelong glance, a hint of irritation flashing across his face.

“I’m not suggesting I’m telling you. Maybe I shouldn’t have given you this big a project so soon.”

You huff in annoyance. Your boss knew just what to say to push your buttons. You slam the papers you were holding onto his mahogany desk. Looking down at your senior… he was so.. So.. infuriating. Nanami leans back in his chair, hands folded against his chest as he looks up at you.

“You arrogant-”

“Arrogant?” He laughs, his voice laced with annoyance.

“You come in here with a horrendous contract, even worse attitude, and think you’re in the right?” He rises from his desk, striding over to you. You never noticed how much Nanami towered over you, and now he was inches away from you. He smelled like… Vanilla and cedarwood, his cologne making you dizzy. But no, you needed desperately to try to control yourself. Make it seem like he wasn’t having such an effect on you.

“That contract is getting sent out.” You inch in closer looking up at him, failing at being intimidating.

“No, it's not.” Nanami says firmly, his eyes locked onto yours. An intense, almost magnetic pull between the two of you. He continues to invade your space.

“You’re not sending anything out until I’ve reviewed and approved it. Understand?” He pushes his glasses up his bridge.

Being this close, you can feel his breath on your skin, the heat radiating off his body.

Nanami takes a deep breath stepping back just enough to create some distance, he takes the papers you previously slammed on his desk and shoves them into your hand.

“Come back when you’ve made the changes I highlighted.”

You roll your eyes before bowing, your formal gesture cannot hide how much you want to ring his neck right now-

“Yes. Sir.” You turn on your heels, leaving his office. Slamming the door on your way out.

Nanami lets out a deep, shaky breath.

“Fuck… She’s gonna be the death of me.”

He runs his hand through his golden locks, trying to compose himself. Why did you have to be so irritating? He would love to just put her in her place. Shut that pretty little mouth of hers… Have her on her knees taking his-

Wait.. What?

Nanami shakes his head, trying to reign in his desire. ‘She’s a coworker’ he tells himself. ‘It would be highly unethical’

And yet you plague his mind, every waking moment. How it would feel to have you underneath him, begging for mercy.

His hands move lower, palming his semi-hard erection through his cotton twill dress pants. The otherwise put-together businessman groaned at the friction delivered from his hand… Imagining it was you, splayed out on his mahogany desk..

He unzips his pants, loosening his yellow tie…

Your blouse discarded and pencil skirt… that damn pencil skirt-- He always warned you it was just a little too short.

His length springs free, slit already leaking. He wraps one hand around it, pumping slowly.

“S-shit… (Y/N).” He lets out a shaky breath. He shouldn’t be doing this, it's shameful to even be thinking about you in that way. He’s your boss.

He tightens his grip, hips bucking into his hand. Nanami’s head falls back to his office chair, this is so wrong.. This is so wrong…

“Ff-fuuuck…”

He hisses through clenched teeth, you’re just on the other side of his office door. If you only knew how he really felt about you. That during all your arguments he’d want nothing more than to bend you over his desk and fuck you until you couldn’t remember your name.

He pumps faster, wanting desperately to release the pent-up frustration. He’s close. His breath quickens, his cum spills out, hot sticky ropes flowing down his hand.

Fuck.

He grabs some tissues cleaning up the evidence of his transgression. Straightening his tie and zipping up his pants, Nanami clears his throat trying to regain some semblance of control. Guilt washes over him.

His work… yes maybe if he focused on that-

But nothing seems to work, he’s bewitched. Intoxicated by you, in all his years working for this company no one had ever challenged him. Questioned his authority, called him a “self-centered bastard” but you… you did all those things. He wanted more, he needed more.

Suddenly the doorknob turns

Nanami sits up in his leather chair, pretending to type away at his computer.

You enter the room, holding another stack of papers. Nanami sighs.

“I’ve told you countless times to knock-”

The stack of papers drops to his desk with a loud

THUMP.

“I revised the contract” You reply placing your hands on the desk, flashing him the fakest smile. He looks up at you, leaning down over the desk his eye flicks down to your slightly exposed cleavage.. A peak of your lace bra showing from under your satin blouse.

Black lace underwear huh?

He clears his throat… Looking back up at you. He pulls the stack of papers towards him, rifling through the pages. Desperately trying to ignore your luring figure looming over him. It’s a marked improvement from the last draft, but where’s the fun in praising you?

“Its… passable” He looks up at you, smirking.

“Bullshit!” You snap, that was it. It was one thing if you made a mistake, but that revision was flawless. Just what exactly was his problem?!

Nanami’s eyebrow quirks up, amused at your outburst. “Did you expect a gold star for doing your job?” He slowly rises from his chair, his hands now also on the desk. Looming over you.

“I don’t need a gold star” You scoff “Especially not from you.”

Every snarky remark, every biting word from your lips ignites something in him. Primitive, possessive, a pull that he can’t seem to escape. He leans in closer, both of your bodies still separated by his desk.

“You clearly need something to adjust that attitude of yours.”

Your heart is running a marathon right now, your arguments were always heated but this… this felt different. You decide to take a chance, your knee comes up to lean on the desk, and your other stiletto-clad leg now dangling off the edge. Your face mere inches from your boss’.

“Oh yeah? And what would that be?” You stare into his honey-colored eyes, filled with fire.

And right there, months of profanity-filled disagreements, heated screaming matches.. It all boiled down to this-

Nanami grabs you by the neck, pulling you into a bruising kiss. His tongue greedily entering your mouth, tasting every corner. He bites at your bottom lip roughly, your eyes flutter shut melting into his firm grasp. Time stops, but starts again when he pulls away, forehead resting against yours. Your mind is an infinite void, millions of thoughts run through it but no words can come out. Did he just? Did you just? Then he speaks.

“You’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass since you started here.” He manages to get out through labored breaths. His attention moves to your neck, he pulls your head up exposing more of your skin to him, he trails hot open-mouth kisses up and down your throat. Your breath hitches.

“And what about you? You think ahh you’ve been a box of daisies?” He grabs your legs, pulling you to sit on the other side of the desk, the papers and pens once occupying the surface now hit the floor, your legs now on either side of the tall blond. Damn, he's strong-

He lets out a dark chuckle, gripping your hips tight, trimmed nails digging into your skirt.

“You’ve made it almost impossible for me to get any work done.” He continues his attack on your neck, trailing down to your collarbone. He kisses and sucks lightly on the delicate skin.

“You’re always so uptight Kento~ I was wondering if it was because you haven’t gotten laid.” You smirk, proud you were still able to quip back despite the growing heat between your legs.

His lips leave your chest and move to your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

“Careful sweetheart, unless you want me to find a use for that filthy mouth of yours.”

Nanami licks the shell of your ear, grabbing your wrists and roughly pulling you up off of the desk. Body now flush against his. One large hand grips your hip while the other reaches under your satin blouse, cupping your breast through the lacy material of your bra. His fingers ghost over your hardened bud.

“You’re the only one reduce me to… this, have me fuckk misbehaving at work” Your hips roll into his, feeling his growing arousal.

“Is that what you tell all your girls?”

He growls at this, craning his neck back down to your chest, biting and sucking at your clavicle. Your hands rake through his hair, tugging, manicured nails scratching at his scalp. He lifts his head just enough to say

“There are no ‘other’ girls” Before continuing his assault on your skin. He lifts your blouse over your head, discarding the lace bra. He groans at the new skin exposed to him, capturing your bud in his mouth.

“Oh? Not even that cute receptionist?” You moan as his tongue swirls around your nipple “I’ve seen the way she looks ahhh at you ”

Nanami rolls his eyes at this, he knows exactly who you’re talking about. Sure she was cute, always making sure to tell him “Good Morning” and “Good Night” Begging to hear about his day, boring him with office gossip. Looking up at him with innocent puppy dog eyes…

He never was a dog person…

He releases your bud from his mouth, looking up at you through his hazel half-lidded eyes.

“I don’t need a pushover. I prefer a woman with a little fight in her” He moves to give your other bud the same treatment “Someone.. who’s going to challenge me.” He mumbles in between kisses.

His large hand gropes the other breast as his mouth works, thumb flicking over the sensitive spot. He leans back up, back to towering over you. He takes in the sight before him, you struggle to catch your breath, glossy lips parted, your pupils blown with desire. He wishes he could replay this image in his mind for the rest of eternity.

“Get on your knees.” He says flatly.

Your eyebrow quirks up in challenge. “Excuse me?”

“Told you… I want to find a use for that mouth of yours.” He looks down at you, his eyes dark.

You slowly sink to your knees, not breaking eye contact with him. His breath catches in his throat, he fiddles with his belt buckle. The sound of the zipper filling the otherwise quiet office. The tent in his briefs now on full display in front of you. He looks at you expectantly.

You tug at his waistband his cock springing free from its confines. You see your boss in all his glory, his blushing pink tip, heavy balls and his perfect curve upwards. It was a masterpiece.

You loll your tongue out, swiping at the precum leaking from his mushroom tip. The salty sweet taste making you moan softly. Nanami shudders at the sensation, moving his hands to the back of your head, fingers tangled into your hair.

You slowly take his length into your mouth, tongue swirling around the head. Your hand wraps around the base as you incorporate more and more of his swollen cock past your bruised lips.

Nanami subconsciously spreads his legs, hips twitching as you bob your head at a steady rhythm.

Nanami’s grunts and moans mixed with your obscene gags fill the soundscape of the office.

He roughly grips your hair, taking control of your pace. Oh if you only knew how sinful you looked right now.

Your hollowed cheeks, expensive mascara pooling at the corner of your eyes as tears welled up. It’s all too much.. too fucking much.

Fuck.

Nanami feels a familiar pressure building up in his lower abdomen.

“I-if you keep going like that s-shit I’m going to“ He looks down at you, half desire half concern on his face.

You only encourage him by picking up the pace, spit dripping down your chin as you pump his base and suck his length.

The rubber band finally snaps, Nanami bucks his hips into your face, his strong hand pressing your head flush against his pelvis.

You choke as his seed hits the back of your throat, eyes fluttering shut. If you died right now there would be no complaints on your end.

His breath slows, releasing your head. You come up for air, coughing and wiping the excess drool and cum from the corner of your mouth.

His hand reaches to cup your cheek, stroking it gently, a silent thank you in his mind.

He picks you up with a gentleness previously unknown and sets you right onto his desk,

The roles now reversed with Nanami positioning himself between your legs. Kneeling down, ready to worship you.

He hooks a finger around your underwear, pulling it to the side, humming in satisfaction as he takes in the sight of your sopping wet cunt. Your boss tears his eyes away for a second looking up at you and smirking.

“You did such a good job, it’s only fair I reward you.”

[moonstruckme]

i hope you aren’t too uncomfortable with smut you always write so well though!

how about remus x reader and he’s making her read out loud while he pleasures her 🫣

Hi, I'm not! Thank you for requesting. I did this with med student Remus, hope that's okay <3

cw: smut mdni, afab!reader, d/s dynamics

med student!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 586 words

You’re having some trouble holding Remus’ thick textbook above your head, what with the trembling that’s taken your entire body. You can hardly hear yourself as you read, the words blurring together meaninglessly as Remus keeps your lower half pinned to the bed with hands wrapped around either thigh. 

“Wait,” he says, looking up so scruff on his chin scratches against your folds. You shiver. “Go back to that last part.” 

“Which part?” 

Remus gives you an indulgent look. “The part about the hood, dove. You were mumbling.” He squeezes the flesh of your thigh warningly. 

You swallow nothing. “The clitoral hood is the fold of skin that surrounds the—the bead of the clitoris.” You stutter as your boyfriend’s head dips between your legs again, finding said hood with his mouth. Your words start to run together as he pushes the skin upwards, licking teasingly at the sensitive nub beneath. “It protects the clitoris from friction, and—and retracts slightly during arousal.” 

Remus’ self-satisfied hum sends reverberations of pleasure through you, and you gasp, nearly dropping the book. He takes your clit into his mouth, suckling for a few moments before he releases it with a lewd popping sound. 

“We can’t do this if you’re going to keep stopping,” he reminds you, clearly amused by your agitated state. While his mouth is busy, his hands rove your thighs, creeping closer to the growing heat at your entrance. “The deal was that we could play if you helped me study. It’s no help if you’re not reading.”

“Sorry,” you say, voice strangled. 

Remus gives your thigh a condescending little pat. “Keep going. Loud and clear, sweetheart.” 

He doesn’t wait for your agreement before he gets back to his own task. His tongue flattens, licking a broad stripe over your folds. 

Your voice trembles as you start again. “The glans clitoris is located at the top of the vulva, where—where the inner lips meet.” You falter as he goes back to that small bud, resuming his suckling. Heat coils tighter in your core. “Only the tip of the clitoris is visible, but it has two internal shafts which extend into the body as much as five—fuck—”

Your head throws back when Remus darts his tongue into your hole without warning, passing along that sensitive inner wall. Any more of this, and you think you’ll shatter into a million pieces. 

He delivers a firm swat to the underside of your thigh, making you jolt. 

“Five inches,” you finish weakly. “The clitoris contains thousands of nerve endings that are—are very sensitive, especially dur—ah—during sexual stimulation.” 

You feel Remus’ quiet chuckle rumbling through every inch of you, while you make tiny indentations in the cover of his book with your fingernails. He’s awful. 

“The cervix is a cylinder-shaped area of tissue that separates the vagina from the rest of the uterus. It is located at the top of the vagina.” 

You get little warning, only the tightening of your boyfriend’s hands, before he’s lifting your hips off the bed and flipping you over. You manage to use your death-grip on the book to keep your page, landing on your knees and elbows. 

Remus adjusts your knees a little wider, soothing his hands up your thighs to your hips. “Comfy, dove?” 

You drop your forehead to the book, breaths jagged. “Comfier than before.” 

“Good.” You can hear his smile in his voice, laced with smugness, as he lines up to your entrance. “I think we both have something to learn about this one.” 

[tiredfox64]

Can you write about the reader tagging along with Lin Kuei brothers on a mission and where they are us cold, which the reader hates and gets cold very easily and each opportunity the brothers would find a way to warm the reader themselves?

Ice Can Help

Prior notes: I would complain about the cold but I need to complain about the heat now. Tell me why it’s gonna be 80 tomorrow and almost 90 on Monday 💀

Pairings: Lin Kuei Bros x Gn reader

Warnings ‼️: You shall walk with no fear

And you thought home was cold. Forget it, you rather take that than this.

The finest fake fur can’t save you right now. Nor any thermal wear that covers your arms and legs.

Yet the brothers walk in this harsh blizzard with ease. Not a single goosebump rises on their arms from the snow that comes pelting at their skin. That same snow feels like it’s aiming constantly at eyes. You’re lucky it’s not sticking to the couple of inches of snow that is already on the ground. If it raises any higher you’ll be doing a weird march just to move forward.

Your teeth clattered together as you hug your body to keep yourself even the tiniest bit warm. You’re constantly trying to keep your snot in but your nose is so numb you can’t tell if it’s still leaking. Why the hell would Liu Kang send you out to help the boys? You already hate the cold. This just feels like torture or some sort of mental training. See how long you can last before you snap.

“What is taking you so long?” Bi-Han yelled at you from a distance.

You didn’t even realize how far behind you were until you looked up.

“It’s hard walking in this weather. It’s freezing.” You answered back.

“It is not. Why did you come if you cannot handle this mere weather.”

“Because I was freaking told to, Bi-Han! I ain’t have no choice!” If Bi-Han is gonna give you attitude you gonna send it back.

Tomas was kind enough to walk over to you to keep you company as you guys kept moving. His arm wrapped around to to bring you close. It’s incredible that he still can maintain his body temperature at a healthy level. You forget that these guys train to handle intense circumstances and weather counts as an intense circumstance. Now you’re grateful that his body was still very warm cause you started leaning into his more than you meant to. He noticed you actions and he decided to check on your temperature by placing the back of his hand against your cheek.

“Are you okay? You’re freezing. You can’t go on while you’re nearly freezing to death.”Did your mother possess Tomas, what the heck is going on?

He brings you into a hug, your face now shoved in his chest area. It actually helps to warm your face since it prevents the snow from pelting you. It gives you the change to warm your nose up so you could breathe properly. You can’t lie you could get used to this. His hugs are healing.

“What now?!” You heard Bi-Han yell once more.

Tomas started explaining that you were horribly cold. Bi-Han didn’t want to hear that complaint again today. Kuai Liang was the one who took it seriously and before Bi-Han could stop his brother from paying any mind to you he was already in front of you.

“You should have told me they were like this. I could have warmed them easily.”

Of course, Kuai Liang would be the best option here. He used his pyromancy to cause flames to ignite, forming a circle around you three. The heat that emitted from the flames was much more pleasing than the harsh cold the wind produced. For extra measures Kuai Liang decided to hug you as well. Him and Tomas basically sandwiched you to help warm you up. Oh and it was working. A moment ago it felt like your cheeks were about to lose feeling and now they are burn up like you had hot coals shoved inside your mouth. This works in your favor. Thank goodness the fur of your jacket helped hide that satisfied smile that naturally produced from this hug session.

The only one who is not satisfied is Bi-Han. Times being wasted and he wants to get a move on. You three seem to be happy just where you are. Even the snow can’t hide the smiles on Tomas’ and Kuai Liang’s face as they look down at you. You did look pretty adorable snuggling up to them. If only Bi-Han could get in on that action. But now’s not the time! Y’all have a mission to get it.

“Fine, if they need to be warmed up let me in so we can be done with this.” Bi-Han started to make his way towards you before Kuai Liang gestured for him to stop.

“No, brother, you are too cold. You will only reverse all the efforts we have made.” Plus, there’s not enough room for another man to cuddle you.

Oh so Bi-Han is the problem now. He’s just about done with this. So they think he will make things worse? He begs to differ.

You started to hear the cracking and squeaking of ice as it starts to formed around all of you. It formed into a dome and soon you were unable to hear the wind blowing. There is no more snow striking you as if it were blades.

Of course, an igloo. Why didn’t you think of that.

“I didn’t know you could do that.” Tomas stared in awe at the icey walls.

“Of course I can, Tomas. Never doubt me again.” He said it like he actually knew he could do this. He just did it out of pure anger.

You were feeling way better than before. You don’t have to worry about hypothermia taking one of your toes. Kuai Liang produced more fire to help warm you up while Tomas used his body heat to deal with the rest of your body. And Bi-Han…ah he’s a little grumpy. Leave him be but thank him for his amazing abilities.

By now you were able to feel every part of your body again. Nothing felt stiff or numb. You were even sweating a little from all the heat that was being trapped in the igloo. Kuai Liang and Tomas were happy to see some color in your face again that didn’t signify you were freezing.

“Thank you guys. I’m feeling much better. Maybe I should have you guys visit in the winter more often to save me some money on the heating bill,” you joked while looking at Kuai Liang and Tomas, “Okay, Bi-Han, I’m ready to move on.”

“Good, great, wonderful, come on!” He yelled the last part at you before kicking open a hole in the igloo.

He was already on the move, ready to get this mission over with. He’s gonna have a nice talk with Liu Kang about sending you out here with them.

You’ll do the same. You’ll let that fire god know that you won’t ever do another mission in the cold weather. You rather stay home with a bunch of blankets wrapped around you than deal with this hell. But you did get a nice cuddle session out of this. This won’t be the last time, you’ll make sure of it.

After notes: The state that I live in has summers that are like hell and winters where you are at the lowest part of hell and the devil is constantly flapping his wings. Maybe cause a sort of devil does live in this state. Whoops. Welp I hope you don’t mind that this was simple and short. Sorry if this isn’t what you want. Now I have to get goin, Adiós!

[writing-house-of-m]

Two Months, Too Long

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Genre: Smut

Warnings: SEXUAL CONTENT - Minors DNI! R is AFAB but no pronouns used, swearing, fingering (W receiving), strap on sex (W receiving), hints at oral sex (W receiving), if there are any I have left out please let me know

Word count: 1878

Summary: You and Wanda make up for lost time

A/N: This is just... pure smut... Have fun reading and let me know what you think! If you saw me post this before - no you didn't 👀

T/N: malyshka - baby

Thank you @therunawaykind for the gif! 🖤

SEXUAL CONTENT - Minors DNI!

Wanda all but tackled you when you arrived back at the compound. You barely got to say 'hi' to the others waiting for your group's arrival. She pounced on you after you had barely taken a few steps off the quinjet.

She dragged you through the building with urgency. It had to be some kind of record for you to have made it to your room post-mission.

Before the door had even fully closed she pinned you against it, her lips on yours taking your breath away.

Admittedly this might have been a result of you sending some explicit messages to her during your flight back.

It didn't take long for you to reciprocate the kiss, picking her up and pressing her against the adjoining wall. You'd be lying to yourself if you said you weren't as desperate as Wanda at this moment, two months was a long time to be away from her.

With Wanda's legs wrapped around you, she wastes no time beginning to move her hips against you, your lips never slowing down, her hands in your hair pulling you impossibly close.

Heat was radiating off both of you wanting nothing more to be rid of your clothes. But there was no time for that, you needed to feel her.

Moving one arm further under Wanda to keep her up, the other moves to her front, hand finding the waistline of her shorts.

The warmth and wetness you find makes Wanda sigh and you groan, leaning your forehead against hers. She whimpers as your fingers run along her folds. You skip your usual teasing, and because you feel that she is ready, you push two fingers into her, a loud moan erupting from her throat.

"Oh, fuck," she whines, her warm breath blowing over your face.

You press a kiss to her lips then follow along her jawline to her ear. "You feel so fucking good," you say lowly, biting her ear lobe, never stopping the rhythm of your fingers.

Wanda arches her back when you find that sweet spot inside her. Her head is pressed heavily against the wall leaving her bare neck free for you, like a blank canvas ready to be decorated with different shapes and shades.

It doesn't take long for Wanda to reach her climax, squeezing around your fingers, nails scratching your scalp as she grips on to you, reaching her high.

You slow down your movements but don't ever stop, slowly pumping in and out of her. You pull back a little so you can look at her flushed face, "You got another one for me, baby? I know you do."

Wanda nods her head even though she knows it is a rhetorical question.

…

The two orgasms you got from her against the wall were just the beginning. They were even before either of you had removed any clothing.

Wanda is now under you on the bed, your strap already buried deep inside her.

The whole time since you had landed you haven't been more than a few inches apart, Wanda pulling you closer any time it seemed like you were going to step away from her.

She didn't let you remove your own clothing, she did it for you and was surprised when she found the harness already secured on you when she got to undressing your lower half.

You thought Wanda biting her lip smiling up at you would be the death of you. That was until she wrapped her lips around the toy to get it ready. Like it even needed it.

Your hips rut against her, getting as many sounds from her as you can. You are surprised the whole room isn't shaking with the way the bed is moving, the headboard hitting the wall rhythmically.

Wanda's fingers claw at your back and the nape of your neck as you kiss her, swallowing her whines. You move your lips down to her chest adding more marks to the ones you left there a few moments ago.

"I need more," she said breathlessly. She was close but needed a little nudge to reach her climax.

Wanda watches you with cinched eyebrows as you bring your thumb to your mouth to lubricate it. Her mouth falls agape when you press the digit to her clit, and when you rub tight circles around it she releases a deep moan.

Not stopping there you move your mouth to her breast, letting your tongue play with a hardened bud. It doesn't take long for her to fall over the edge after that.

You slow down but continue your movements to prolong her high and just watch her - eyes closed, mouth open in a silent scream, veins protruding from her neck as her body shakes with her release.

As Wanda's grip loosens, you make a move to pull out but she stops you, wrapping her legs around your waist, "Let me just feel you," she breathes out, still with her eyes closed in bliss.

You place soft kisses around her face - jaw, cheeks, nose and lips, then rest your forehead against hers once you are done. Your eyes focus on the rise and fall of her chest, catching her breath back.

Wanda loosely wraps her arms around your neck to bring you in to kiss you, languidly.

"I missed you so much, malyshka," she says, one hand cupping your cheek, her thumb rubbing your skin.

You hold her hand on your face, all your weight resting on your other arm, and kiss the palm of her hand then her wrist and finally her lips again.

Wanda's hips begin to move once more, making you smile into the kiss, your thrusts start up again to match her slow movements.

You pull away smirking, "And here I thought you were done for the night, princess."

"We have a whole two months to make up for," Wanda remarks, tightening her legs around you, "there is no way we're stopping yet," there it is again, that lip bite and smile.

You capture her lips once more, both of you desperate for the other. It is slow and sensual and leaves you both breathless.

This time when you pull away you move back onto your knees. Wanda misses your closeness instantly but can't question it when you get her to flip over.

Wanda presses back into you automatically, taking in the full length of the toy, wanting nothing more than for you to take her however you want. You hold her waist to still her, keeping her full. But you need to feel more of her against you, so you gather her hair and pull it around a fist, bringing her up so her back is flush against you.

You kiss her neck as you pull out slowly just to push all the way back into her. All Wanda can do is moan at the stretch.

She turns her head to kiss you messily.

With one arm around her waist to keep her upright you remove your hand from her hair to wrap around her body and squeeze a breast. In response she bites your lip hard. Both of you moaning at the sensations you are feeling.

As your hips move faster Wanda loses the rhythm. She can't keep herself upright and you can't hold her up any longer, so she falls forward. Giving you a clear view of the strap getting sucked back in by Wanda every time you pull out.

You bring your both hands to her hips, slamming into her, her mewls are muffled by the mattress. The strap has adjusted with all the movement and is also hitting you in just the right spot. Especially with the way Wanda is pressing herself back into you.

The sounds alone from Wanda could have been enough to make you cum, but now? You know you won't last long so you move one hand to Wanda's clit to bring her closer.

The closer you get the more uncoordinated your thrusts become. You fall forward against Wanda's back and place a kiss between her shoulder blades before resting your forehead there.

You manage to hold off long enough for Wanda to cum before you do. Shortly after, you let out a low grunt, while Wanda moans as your bodies twitch in climax. When the tension releases you fall limp on her.

Once you regain some energy you remove the toy slowly from Wanda, a little gasp escaping her lips. You take it off yourself, dropping it to the floor then move to lay beside Wanda pulling her to rest against your chest as wrap your arms around her.

Strands of hair are stuck to her sweaty forehead, so you brush them away before placing a soft kiss there. Your hand rubs up and down Wanda's back as she listens to your heartbeat slow down.

Wanda looks up at you, pressing a long kiss on your lips. When she pulls away she has a mischievous look in her eye and a smile on her face. "That was pretty good," she jests, slapping your chest twice making you laugh.

She moves over you to run her fingers through your hair making your eyes flutter shut. Her lips meet the underside of your jaw as she rests more comfortably on top of you so she can give you a neck that is covered in patches that matches hers. You let out heavy sighs when she gets to sensitive spots she knows the exact locations of.

When she has completed her masterpiece, she kisses your lips, once, twice and finally a third time before you open your eyes again. Her green eyes shining brighter than any starry night you witnessed in your time away.

"This was too long for you to be away from me. I'm going to talk to Steve and Nat so they make sure I'm with you for long trips or you're not gone longer than a day," Wanda pouts.

"Oh yeah? How are you going to convince them? I'm pretty sure this face only works with me," you say, poking her cheek with your finger.

"I can always bewitch them," Wanda says nonchalantly, smirking.

You laugh and roll Wanda over so you can hover on top of her. She cups your face, your bright grin never leaving, "You. Are going to get us into trouble one day," you say, kissing her.

When you make no effort in slowing down Wanda pushes you away by pressing against your chest, "What are you doing?" She questions.

"Did you really think I was done?" You reply with your own question.

Instead of giving her time to question you, you kiss her again and her hands move to your shoulders.

"Just relax baby," you whisper, as you move your lips lower.

You are always so infatuated by the way she reacts when you handle her - the hitch of her breath, her fingers flexing against your skin, the sighs she lets out into the air above her.

You kiss her neck, between her breasts and down her stomach.

Sure, Wanda missed you. But you missed her more -

"I still have to taste you."

It was going to be a long night - you had two whole months to make up for, after all.

[tsunami-of-tears]

ok ok, hear me out:

Eris being ticklish. Eris’s mate finding out he’s ticklish. Eris having to get over trauma of it “not being fitting of an autumn court heir.” Eris realizing it’s not a weakness and it’s just part of who he is thanks to his mate.

Anyway that’s all I really love Eris ✨

Do you think you can send this type of ask and not get at least a drabble??

I miss my mate. 

Since his father’s death a few weeks ago, Eris had spent all of his waking hours working - either in back-to-back meetings or holed up in his office over stacks of paperwork. 

I only get to see him briefly, stealing a few moments during the day, or when he slips into our bed in the early hours of the morning. 

It’s another night of the same thing - the sheets are cold and empty beside me. I throw back the covers and sit up, stepping into my robe before padding down the hallway towards Eris’s study, where an orange glow creeps out from under the door.

I knock softly on the wood panel, and Eris answers with a soft “Come in”.

He’s hunched over his desk, papers and quills litter the surface. His reading glasses are perched on the end of his nose, which he takes off to rub his weary eyes. 

“My flame,” he smiles softly, “What are you still doing up?”

“I can’t sleep. I miss you,” I move closer to Eris, who sits back and pulls me into his lap, the heat from his palms seeping into me. 

I nuzzle into his neck, my breath tickles the side of his throat and Eris has to stifle his laugh. 

I smile against his skin, his reaction not going unnoticed, and I snake my hands under his shirt and up his sides. Eris squirms under my light touch but I don’t stop. My fingers inch higher until Eris has enough and grabs my wrist firmly. 

“My love, you’re treading dangerous teritory.” 

I lift my head to look into Eris’s amber eyes - and the many thoughts swirling behind them. 

“I miss you–” I kiss his left cheek– “I miss your laugh–” I kiss the right side– “I miss your touch–” my mouth finds his and I pour all my love into the kiss. 

I remove my hands from his sides, bringing them up to wrap around his neck. “Come to bed,” I whisper again Eris’s lips. “Please.” 

Eris gently caresses my face and I lean into his touch. “Okay, my flame. Let’s go to bed.” 

[chococolte]

Hello! May I request SAGAU childe reaction to his god letting him rest his head in their lap and saying they love him? I hope that’s alright thank you I hope you have a lovely day!

word count. 669

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, religious + cult themes, sagau + cult au, gn reader. i do not condone yanderes irl.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. something possessed me and i wrote this in like 30 mins?? also this is barely proofread so im sorry for any mistakes TT

Childe is acutely aware of every muscle in his body.

Your hand rests on his head, gently caressing his hair. Every glide of your fingers against his skin sends a rush of euphoria down his spine, mixed with the ever growing urge to hide his face in your thighs and escape into your warmth.

He feels every minute twitch of his fingers, the rumble of his heart, the dull ache in the back of his head that presses deep against his skull the longer every word of worship stays unsaid on his tongue.

Childe has never felt so blessed before. If every death on his hands was for this short moment, he would do it how many times it takes for another second. There is no place he'd rather be than by your side— whether that is at your feet, as your shadow, or merely another in a crowd of worshipers.

He doesn't know what exactly he did to deserve this, but he would throw himself back into the abyss if it meant figuring out what it was. Anything for a repeat of this moment. Anything for it last a little longer.

Your breath is barely audible above him, but he bites his tongue anyway— stops his breath short in his throat so he can etch the sound into his mind; burn it into his memory so he can never forget. Anything to make the you in his dreams more accurate. Anything to make it so the next time he sleeps, it feels a little bit more like reality.

Sacrilegious to tarnish your image in his mind, maybe; but your fingers still coil around the curls of his hair, still hum under your breath a tune unfamiliar to him. His copper-lashes still flutter close, his mind still veiled with fog and dazed thoughts of where this moment could go next— and you're still there, letting him enjoy this short reprieve before he is torn from you again, back to another battlefield drenched in blood, to the darkness and bitter silence found in the halls of the Tsaritsa's palace.

He once lived without you, utterly lost and alone. He should be used to the ache left in the wake of your presence. But then you found him, and he can't bear the thought to be apart from you again.

Childe feels your hand still, and his eyes snap open before he can register anything else.

Did he do something wrong? Did he do something to upset you? Fears muddle his mind and dread clings to him like a cloak, burrowing into his flesh and wrapping around his lungs.

"I love you, Ajax."

Life rushes into him all at once. Like the warm morning rising onto a world covered in black and ash, an unbearable heat suffused his cheeks and spread from his chest to every inch of his body. It wrestles with gray of his world and brings it color and vibrancies.

He jumps, rising so he can catch the expression on your face. You're smiling, eyes crinkled at the corners, with so much fondness dancing within that it hurts. Childe doesn't feel deserving of it— he's only barely begun to prove himself to you.

Maybe you read the disbelief on his face, because you repeat yourself. You say it softly. Gently. You say it with so much affection and love he can barely comprehend it. His soul sings, and his heart drums, and his eyes turn glossy before he can stop them.

Only you can make him feel this way. Only you are deserving of his worship. Only you, in all of your grace— only you, in all of your perfection. Anybody else is secondary. They are inherently meaningless when compared to you. And in this moment, you shine ever brighter— you make him realize just how lucky he is to have you as a god.

"I..." Childe chokes on his words, finding it harder to keep his emotions at bay. "I love you too, Your Grace. Only you."

[amostimprobabledream]

Ignite Me (Homelander x Reader) Part Ten

Here comes the SEX!

They call it ‘the little death’ in French.

There are many euphemisms for sex, to come, but that’s the one that springs to mind.

If it’s little death, then clearly, Homelander’s trying to kill you.

He's aggressive and overpowering and everywhere. You feel like you’re drowning in him, being flooded with him. From the moment he threw you onto the bed (though even in the throes of passion, he was careful enough not to break it. Or you.) with all the effort of tossing a throw pillow, it’s like he’s trying to devour you whole. “Mmh…”

You don’t even bother trying to get some semblance of control – he’s so eager and yet so demanding that it feels like you’re attempting to surf a great wave. Your only goal is to simply not fall off I the chaos around you. His hand is cupping the back of your head as he presses feverish kisses to not only your mouth, but your neck, collarbone and anywhere else that’s available to him. You’re kissing him back with equal fervour, even though much to your disgruntlement, he’s still wearing his suit.

That’s not to say it’s not enjoyable, though.

It's almost unfair – he’s got super strength, he can fly, shoot lasers from his eyes and he’s a damn good kisser. He seems to know, by some natural instinct, when to use tongue, when to let you breathe and when you want more.

You’re sitting on your bed, but you’re leaning so far back on your elbows you might as well give up and lie down. He’s above you, one hand gripping your jaw and the other sliding across your stomach, dipping past your jeans and teasing you through the cloth of your panties. He did at least remove a few things, namely his boots, gloves, and belt, so the feel of solid flesh and bone instead of the padding still sends an odd thrill through you. He’s normally so covered up that even an inch of his bare skin feels scandalous.

You’re a little surprised though – you thought that he’d be eager to get between your legs, seeking relief for that rock-hard boner you’d felt against you earlier, and your skin had tingled with the heat of it, but he seems intent on taking his time, having you at his leisure.

“Fuck.” He murmurs, his voice soft and velvety-smooth. “You smell so fuckin’ good.”

He's said that more than once, and at first you thought he was complimenting the perfume you’d liberally applied when you got ready for this ‘date’, but in this context you don’t think that’s what he means.

You’re so busy with being kissed by him that it takes you a second to realise that he’s already undone your fly and worked your jeans partly down your hips already, his fingers pushing aside the wisp of underwear you have on and sinking into your wet heat. You can hear it and feel heat scorch your neck as his fingers glide easily inside you, and you let him peel off your jeans and panties, seeing no reason to keep them on anymore. They fall to the ground with a muted thump, and he grins at you with those sharp teeth, a kind of what-big-eyes-you-have kind of smile.

“So wet.” He purrs in approval, either oblivious or enjoying your embarrassment – you’re not used to this, to having someone so determined to experience your body, to know it so thoroughly. But Homelander is sampling you like a rare, exotic fruit that he doesn’t get a chance to sample often.

He doesn’t have to touch you to get your legs to part – he just stares at you, his blue eyes locked onto yours and he pointedly flicks them to your naked thighs that are covered in goosebumps. It’s slightly embarrassing how much the silent command turns you on – he isn’t asking, he’s demanding, and your body hastens to obey before your mind has a chance to overthink it.

“Good girl.” He says in genuine approval and heat floods your body as he speaks.

With the feline grace of a lion settling down to enjoy a fresh kill, he hunkers down between your legs and the next thing you know, the world’s greatest superhero is licking against your soaking core.

An undignified noise, like a squeal or a hiss, leaves your mouth as his scorching hot tongue drags a smooth stripe up your slit, and you can feel his facial muscles shift into a triumphant grin against your cunt. The fact he’s smiling somehow manages to be sexy and you even find your own lips twitching upwards in response.

Homelander doesn’t pin you down – he doesn’t have to. You’re immobilised with pleasure and some vague, paralysing disbelief that this is actually happening.

You’re not granted the reprieve to wallow in your confusion, though. Homelander wants to feast.

Your thighs squeeze either side of his face and one hand reaches down to tug on his blonde forelocks because you need something to hang onto, and he growls softly in response. There’s literally nothing that you could do that would physically hurt him, after all, so he doesn’t mind a little rough handling.

For Homelander, he was engulfed in a myriad of scent and taste that was driving him fucking feral. He’d caught the whiff of arousal from you early – a little pulse of it when he held your bloodied body in his arms the first time you met, that moment when he first kissed you, right here in this apartment, and when he’d dragged you onto his lap not an hour before. But now? Now he was permitted to fuck you with his tongue, have your flavour flooding his mouth and leaving him desperate for more. “Oh…” Your whines and moaning is only amplified by his super hearing and Homelander’s determined to commit it to memory, for something to recall during interminable meetings with Vought shareholders or when he’s listening to the Seven bickering over their stats or where they are in the popularity polls (something he doesn’t need to concern himself with – he’s always at the top). No, this sound is exclusively for him and him alone, and he hoards it greedily.

“Homelander, Homelander…” you mutter over and over, like a chant, and it’s better than a crowd of thousands screaming his name hoarse.

He makes a guttural sound, like he’s determined to drag your orgasm out of you by any means necessary. He hitches one of your legs over his shoulder and buries his face deep into your pussy.

You can barely form a coherent thought, barely speak. It should be absurd, the icon of America, the face of millions of posters and action figures, lapping at you like you’re a five-star buffet, making the obscenest sounds as he devours you. He doesn’t leave his hands idle either, fingertips pinching your clit and teasing it between thumb and index finger and your mind buzzes and blurs with pleasure fizzing and popping in your bloodstream. Moans so loud they make your ears ring spew forth from your lips, but you can’t help it, lifting your hands to your mouth to muffle your cries doesn’t even occur to you. It’s like the world has shrunk down to this little apartment bedroom and all you can think of is Homelander’s tongue exploring every inch of your cunt, waves of molten pleasure washing over you.

With such intense stimulation, you can’t stop yourself from coming on his tongue, your limbs twitching like they’re being manipulated by puppet strings, and you lie back panting on the bed, vision swimming, staring up at your ceiling and watching the fairylights strung above your bed twinkle out-of-focus. They look even prettier when you look at them through blurred vision like this. Homelander groans as your thighs twitch either side of him and your sweet taste coats his tongue.

Homelander slowly sits up, a smug expression on his face, chin shiny with slick. He licks his lips like a cat, his gaze half-lidded as he looks down at your prone form.

“Look at you.” He says in a teasing voice, affectionately swiping his thumb across your bottom lip. “You’d think you never got eaten out before.”

“Not like that, I haven’t.” you mutter in reply, heart still pounding like you were sprinting for the bus.

He barks a laugh at that, his eyes glittering with exhilaration. Unlike you, he isn’t winded in the slightest.

“Don’t worry – you’ll get used to it.”

Before you have time to digest that sentence, he’s dragging you up, up, off the bed, and all you can do is make a vaguely confused noise, half a question, before he’s arranging your body like a ragdoll’s so you’re sitting on his lap again. Except this time, you’re naked and the ragged hiss of a zipper being undone fills the air. You jump as the blunt head of his cock nudges your soaked core – he’s so hot, figuratively and literally, it’s like sitting directly on a radiator.

“Now,” Homelander breathes huskily into your ear, nipping it with his teeth and a shiver of delight crawls down your back as you picture those sharp fangs of his. His hand settles on your waist, holding you steady. “Here’s what I want, pretty thing. You’re going to sit on my cock, alright? I wanna feel you ridin’ me. Think you can manage that?”

Even if you suspect that is a rhetorical question, he doesn’t have to tell you twice.

“Yes sir.” You blurt out without thinking.

Sir? Where the fuck did that come from? But Homelander likes it – he makes this approving growl in his throat that makes your stomach flip.

“That’s a good fuckin’ girl.”

He sloppily kisses you as he pushes his way inside you and though you were expecting it, bracing yourself, a hiss leave your mouth at how goddamn thick he is, filling you up with his pulsing heat.

“Fuck!” you splutter. You’re really bringing you’re a-game with the dirty talk today, apparently.

You feel Homelander smirk against your neck.

“That’s the idea, sweetheart.”

Homelander doesn’t waste time with pleasantries – he rocks his hips and you gasp as he sinks deep into you, the length and girth of him pressing up against your inner walls, the heat igniting every nerve ending in you.

“Bounce on it,” Homelander orders you, and your stupid, animal brain is helpless to do anything but obey.

The sensation of the head of his cock hitting your sweetspot has your mouth actually falling open, your thighs flexing as you start to move. He lets you get used to him first – he knows full well he’s a lot to take and it’s cute watching you valiantly adjust to the size of him, your attempts at retaining any kind of cool reserve eroding away beneath this onslaught of new sensations and feelings. He groans himself as he feels you clench around him, like you’re sucking him in, and he rests one hand on your hip as you start rocking your hips forwards. Though he’s deprived of the sight of your tits in his face, which is a pity, he does like the look of your back undulating before him, and he traces a teasing line down the curve of your spine and watches you shiver.

“Look at you,” Homelander all but purrs as he leans forward and cups your tits, teasing your nipples, enjoying how you writhe beneath his grip. “Taking all of me like that��what a champ. You just wanted a good fucking, didn’t you?”

You groan in response. It’s not enough for him that he’s pounding you senseless, but he has to tease you and throw in some dirty talk too? Your stomach clenches at his words, the sultry, slightly mocking lilt doing it for you in a way you’re not sure you’d be able to articulate even if you wanted to. There’s something undeniably attractive about power, and Homelander’s casualness in how he uses it is addictive.

“Yes…nn…fuck me…” you mutter, knowing it’s what he wants you to say, but you do mean every word even as embarrassment jabs at you as you say the words. “I need…”

Homelander shifts, and he lets go of your breasts to grip your hips, slapping one hand down on the curve of your ass, making you yelp like an animal getting its paw stuck, the sting making your cunt instinctively clench around him, and Homelander lets out a breathy sound in response.

“Sure. I’ll help you.” He singsongs, but you can hear the hint of strain in his voice now.

He lifts you up effortlessly and then lets you sink down, impaling you on his cock and the keening whine he gets in return is everything he could ask for. He likes it so much that he does it again, and again, leaning forwards to nip a the flesh where your neck meets shoulder as you rock your hips forwards on his cock, feeling it nudging up against your core and sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you.

“Oh god, oh fuck…” you moan, practically drooling, which would be embarrassing if there was any room in you for modesty. At the moment it’s all you can do to keep going, you’re coming apart in his hands and he knows it. “God-!”

“No.” he says sharply, his voice like a whip, but even that isn’t enough to pierce the fog of pleasure you’re lost in. “Say my name.”

“Homelander!” you cry out as he ups the pace, rutting against you with abandon now, and you know you’re going to have marks on you when you wake up tomorrow, fingerprints on your hips, hickies and bitemarks on your neck and collarbone, teeth marks on your inner thighs…that’s assuming you survive today, of course.

“That’s more fucking like it…ugh, fuck…!” he half moans, half snarls, mindful even now of his strength.

He's wanted this for so long, he realises now. He’s wanted to fuck you ever since he felt your soft, sweet lips against his, that jolt of electricity, of instant sexual attraction between you, like a defibrillator bringing someone back from the dead. It just took him, and you, time to realise it, what with everything else going on, the media storm, your surgery, Vought’s interference, all of it. But here, this, this is real. And Homelander has no intention of letting this go, of releasing you back into your ordinary world like letting a goldfish rejoin its brethren in a tank. You’ve opened a door to something Homelander wasn’t aware was an option for him, let alone understood it was something he might want for himself. He’s no stranger to being desired, when you’ve been the face of the most famous group of heroes for as long as he has, he knows exactly the effect he has on others. But this isn’t the same. It’s not the mindless adoration of the masses, easy to win or lose, nor is it some complicated chess game he’s required to play, dangling promises and deals and money until Vought has the advantage. No, this is something honest. Real. If he has to make you come over and over to keep this thing, this one thing he has that’s entirely his and has nothing to do with Vought, then that’s exactly what he’ll do. He certainly doesn’t imagine you’ll be complaining much.

Mine. “Oh, fuck, Homelander…I can’t…” you gasp out, and he can feel you clenching around him, your inner walls fluttering. The sting of arousal in his nose is almost overpowering, but he likes it. “I’m- “

“You can.” He growls back. “You will.”

It seems you like a little bossing around, at least in the bedroom, because your body responds accordingly to his verbal commands. He can smell how close you are, your pants and hissing noises gaining a strained edge, like you’ve been screaming for hours on end, and your movements are getting sloppy, falling out of rhythm as pleasure overwhelms your fragile little body. With his hands still firmly gripping your hips, he helps you ride out your orgasm, savage thrusts that jolt your body forwards, driving high-pitched whines from your mouth. He’s not immune to you, though, he can feel himself inching towards the edge, but he wants to see you come first, wants the sight of your head thrown back in rapture burned into his retinas.

He gets his wish. Your final jerks of your hips give way to your body falling still, trembling with pleasure as your orgasm rocks you, pulses of it rushing up through your body and rendering everything else secondary.

You’re barely aware of Homelander taking control and giving a few last thrusts of his hips, groaning into your back as he does, so lost are you in your own haze. His arms wrap around you, and he pulls you back against his chest, where you loll like you’ve just been through a shipwreck. Your body is all sweaty, but you can’t find it in yourself to care and let Homelander shift back so he’s lying on the bed on his back, you clamped to his chest like his own personal teddy bear.

Neither of you speak for a little bit, you mostly because you’re trying to get your bearings and breath back and Homelander because he’s processing things. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, though, and a little part of your mind whispers about how it’s…nice. It’s nice to have warm, strong arms holding you like this. You wonder if that’s how Homelander feels too, but you don’t yet have the breath to ask this and you’re reluctant to break the sweet, fragile silence yet.

Of course, he’s the first one to do so.

“Didn’t fuck you too hard, did I?” he asks, and though his voice has the cadence of a joke, you can hear a lick of something else in there. Is he worried about you?

“No…I’m good…” you manage to gasp out, giving a feeble wave of your hand before your arm flops heavily onto the bed. “Just…need a minute to recover.”

He knows you’re going to need much longer than that – you look like you’re on the verge of passing out, actually, but he humours you and gives a little hum of assent. If you need a power nap to get your strength back, he doesn’t mind indulging you. You don’t know he’s already aware of how cute you look when you’re sleeping.

“Sure, whatever you need.” He replies in a soothing hum, and his palm gently strokes your hair off your damp forehead. “I can wait.”

It's possible he might get called away before you wake up, but Homelander decides to worry about that when and if it happens – anyway, you know who he is and if you’re going to insist on keeping this whole thing you have going on a secret, you can hardly bitch if he’s called away to save people’s asses or go to a public event or whatever other fucking thing Vought needs him to do. Everyone needs him, don’t they?

He's saved from being too caught up in bitter thoughts, which are increasing in frequency of late, when you snuggle up against his chest, all your carefully done makeup now smudged beyond redemption.

“Sorry…I’ll be fine.” You mumble, slurring a little with how exhausted you are. “Mm…”

He's quiet for a moment and you wonder (vaguely, it has to be said) what’s going through his head, but you’re just so overwhelmed…you just need to rest your eyes for a second…

“Well,” Homelander says in a cheery tone of voice, as your try and fail to keep your eyes closed. “That went well for our first date.”

[readychilledwine]

I know the solstice thing was supposed to be the last of them, but hear me out.

Lyria caring for Azriel's hands after he kills someone to protect her?

Oof. Yeah you got it.

Touch

Summary - After Lyria is cornered and attacked, Azriel takes matters into his own hands.

Warnings - mentions of blood, violence, attempted attack on defenseless oc, azriel being feral, implied smut at the end.

A/N - listen... when you all send me Lyria content, you're gonna get Lyria content. She's my baby. Enjoy this short little fic of them.

Peep her and Azriel's romance here 💙

Lyria could do nothing but stand there in Rhysand's arms, watching helplessly as Azriel beat a male to death with his bare hands.

She felt Rhys tilt her head, tucking her into his neck so she didn't have to watch her mate in this state.

The two of them could not blame him. This male had cornered Lyria, Azriel's world, his wife, his mate, in this dark alley, pining her against the wall with intentions Lyria had not fully processed or thought about.

She kept blaming herself for this. She had made the choice to have a night to herself while he was gone for a mission and treated herself to a few drinks. Had she stayed home, had she just waited for him. "Stop," Rhysand said softly. "You are not at fault here. You did nothing wrong."

Rhys winnowed her away, entering her apartment silently and looking her over. There was one cut on her face from the brick building she was held against. Some bruising. The worst of it was the male's blood splattering her face from Rhysand's fist.

He washed his hands first, refusing to touch her with more blood, refusing to taint her skin before grabbing a cloth and cleaning her face. Rhys kept his link to Azriel open, knowing the male was thrown into the prison in Mother knew what condition.

Shadows gathered in the corner of the living room, dark and frenzied, until Azriel stepped through them. His hands, the hands that so lovingly touched her late at night, hands that held her so closely, were soaked red. Lyria moved to him, Rhysand leaving as she did, and took his face in her hands. Azriel's found her hips, resting there as he lowered his forehead to hers. "Are you hurt?"

"No," a hand went to the back of his neck. "Let me clean your hands?" She didn't wait for him to respond, pulling him into her massage room and having him sit on the table.

She began setting up, grabbing a few lotions and one oil Azriel would allow her to touch him with. Then brushes and a bowls of water she was dropping lavender and rose petals into.

She sat in front of him, taking his hands, the hands of her husband, her protector, and set them in the warm water. "I love you," she whispered it to him like she wasn't about to remove the blood of a male he'd savage beat off his body. She took a rag, gently scrubbing and wiping them clean. She switched the bowl to a fresh one, rinsing the soft smelling soap she normally used for back scrubs off before grabbing a sea salt based scrub.

What came after she scrubbed them clean and dried them had Azriel's eyes beginning to well with emotion. Lyria took that oil, the one she had specifically made for Azriel, and began massaging his hands, awaking nerves he knew were damaged beyond what most saw on the surface.

He felt areas of scar tissue relaxing under get gentle touch, tension in those strained ligaments melting away with the barely there heat. She took her time each hand, kissing the pads of every finger as she went.

"I love your hands," Azriel stayed quiet at her confession. "I know you hate them, but these hands have held me tenderly in my worst moments, they've brought me to very threshold of bliss time and time again, they do the best they can to massage my aches when I have them."

Lyria paused, kissing each knuckle now. "And now these hands have saved my life. These beautiful hands have ensured my safety, something so few males have truly done for me. I love you, Azriel. Every scarred inch. But your hands will always be my favorite part of you."

His breath had stilled. She began using his favorite lotion in them. The oil from the mirthroot began sinking in, and he knew in a few minutes, he'd have no pain in his hands. No lingering tension. It would only be a few hours of relief, but those few hours would be spent worshipping her. Feeling her. Loving her until he knew without a shadow of doubt she was truly safe in his arms, that saving her hadn't been a dream he'd wake up from leading to a nightmare where he had not gotten there in time. He tugged the bond, smiling as her lips tugged up.

"If you lay down I can rub your back. You had a long mission, surely you need my hands other places?"

His eyes rolled back at the thought, a growl coming through him. "I need your hands everywhere."

She stood, her long red hair out of its normal ponytail and braids as she leaned in to kiss him. "Then we should get started."

General tag list:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho

@mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium

Azriel Taglist:

@elle4404

[bungalowbear]

I Won’t Say: Prologue

Pairing: Rengoku Kyojuro x reader

Warnings: mentions of blood, death

Word Count: 830

A/N: The Mugen Train arc really fucked me up. But it also endeared me to the incredibly wholesome being that is Kyojuro! This is the first part of a series inspired by this idea. I’d love to hear what you think. Reblogs are appreciated! I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1

Then:

Rain pelts down on the roof of your small home in the countryside. A flash of lightning illuminates the silhouette of the intruder, casting their long, menacing shadow across the tatami. You were warned about them. The villains who appear after the sun goes down. They are like mindless attack dogs. They don’t ask questions. All they know is to strike and to kill the ones you love.

Your mother’s decapitated head lies three feet from her body, facing the direction of the closet where you hide. The sliding door is cracked open less than an inch. It’s enough for one of your eyes to peek through and witness the last moments of her life.

The intruder hovers over her body, waiting for the evidence of his violence to be swept away. But you silently pray to the gods for a miracle. Hoping against hope that even if she can’t put herself back together, your mother at least won’t disappear and leave you alone in this world.

Your prayers go unanswered as a thin outline of orange heat begins to consume her slowly, inch by inch until half of her face is gone. Her red eyes stay steadily fixed on you. Tears swell into pools, dripping like crystals out of the corners. Your own tears blur your vision of her but you blink them away to watch her lips move one final time.

I love you.

Soundlessly spoken, her sentiment makes your chest constrict and your hand fly over your mouth to stifle your sobs. You choke on the lump in your throat as you watch your mother dissolve into ash. 

It happens so fast, and yet in slow motion. One moment your mother is there and in the next she isn’t. You don’t want to believe that she’s really gone. How could you? After years of living away from larger human populations, where no one would catch onto what your mother really was, you had hoped that this would give you more time with her. It seemed a given that she would watch you grow old while she remained the same. It was the only hope you had. But that hope now lays dead in a pile of crumbled ash.

The demon slayer lets out a huff. A quick swipe of his sword sends your mother’s blood flying off the bright red metal and splattering onto the wall. He sheathes his weapon with a long shiiiing then turns sharply on his heels to escape the scene of his crime.

Red and yellow flames burn themselves brightly into your mind as they billow at the end of his long white cape, leaving your home as swiftly as they came. Lightning strikes again. He’s gone.

After a long time, only when you’re willing to take the chance the demon slayer won’t return, you carefully slide the door open another inch. When the house remains still you abandon all caution and sweep the door aside. You crawl to your mother’s remains and finally allow yourself to weep openly.

You don’t know how much time passes as you cry over the black stained tatami, salty tears mixing with your demon mother’s ashes. Hours must pass. But when you finally run out of the energy to cry, it’s still dark out. The sun is yet hours away.

A creak sounds at the front of the house and you look up, expecting the flame bearing demon slayer, but your body goes rigid upon seeing the figure in the doorway. His face is like porcelain with red eyes like your mother. Only, his seem to glow bright like precious rubies. And his aura is nothing compared to your mother’s. Even with her demon blood she still extended a gentle and caring presence. But now, your body is bogged down by a heavy darkness, old and angry, as this demon looms in between the darkness of the night and the weak light of the lantern that remains undisturbed in the corner of the room.

“What do we have here?” Despite the smooth cadence of his voice, your tongue is trapped inside your mouth by fear. You don’t answer. Can’t answer. “A human mourning a demon? How…intriguing.”

The demon steps forward. He’s dressed in clothes much finer than your own. Black strands of his hair hang at chin length as they shine in the soft light. He crouches down in front of you, a gesture that should make you feel leveled with him but actually makes him more menacing, and takes hold of your chin with two graceful fingers. 

You manage to utter one word.

“P-please.”

His lips turn up at your pathetic plea, amused. You don’t even know what you’re asking for. What do you really want? Death, so that you may join your mother? If he spared your life what would you live for now? Revenge? 

But there’s no need to decide. He’s already done that for you.

“You’ll do just fine,” he says.

i do not have a taglist. please follow @bungalowbear-archive and turn on notifications. 

star divider by @/enchantings. line divider by @/firefly-graphics.

[vraisetzen]

Hello! May I request a short fic or hcs, not directly connected to your long fic, on obsessive/possesive, yandere stalker!au Kokushibo and female reader whose naturally charming & tends to flirt and tease anyone around her to no end😭 (can be both sfw and nsfw, since I don’t think Koku would appreciate his dearest giving away her attention to anyone but him~)

I tried to send a similar request before but it didn’t let me for some reason ;(

𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑶𝒏𝒆 𝑳𝒐𝒐𝒌 — 𝑨 𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆!𝑲𝒐𝒌𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒃𝒐 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒕

Author's Note: Thank you for the lovely ask! I actually received two requests for Yandere!Kokushibo; this is my first time writing a yandere fic, and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it!

Tags: NSFW, 18+, Smut, Stalking, Obsession, Mentions of death and violence, Yandere!Kokushibo, No use of (Y/N).

Summary: The light in your eyes was both fire and ice to him.

No one could fault a man for being too good at his metier, and as a bodyguard to one of Japan's most prominent politicians, Kokushibo had spent years honing his craft — disposing unwanted rivals, eliminating bothersome targets, ensuring the safety of his charges.

His hands grazed along the small of your back, playing you as a harp while you sang his name in pleasure. You, pinned to the floor as Kokushibo plunged into your depths, relishing every pulsating heat that enveloped his length — you must know, by now, how he worshipped at the altar of your body, your very existence the only thing he ever desired.

"M-more, please," you wailed, looking back and regaling him with the sight of your parted lips and flushed cheeks. "I need more-"

And there it was: the glittering stars in your eyes, just like the very first time you caught Kokushibo's attention — a supernova in a sea of lesser constellations that seared forever into his memory.

The only problem was that the light of the stars graced everything in its vicinity without prejudice.

The curl of your lips that you gave easily to your colleagues as you asked them about their weekend; the radiating heat of your body when you sat next to them and leaned in every so slightly; the tendril of your hair around your finger as you listened to a neighbour's complaints with a soft pout; the perfume on your skin that lingered for hours in a room after you made your leave, capturing the attention of those caught in its haze.

He could not stand the fleeting moments when you cast your eyes on another; the biting, Siberian frost that sawed into his bones, casting a mantle over the lava that burnt and ripped away in his guts as he saw you flounce from friend to colleague to acquaintance, speaking to them with a tenderness that should never be heard by anyone by himself.

Fire and ice — the twin spears that plunged through his faculties of reason and instinct, tearing him apart at the seams even as he betrayed nothing on his steely surface.

Kokushibo was nothing if not methodical, and he needed no grand gestures, no dramatic declarations of affection: an orchestrated encounter at a cafe when you stumbled into him and spilt coffee all over his shirt, a rehearsed rendezvous at the laundromat where he had the perfect amount of spare change while you scraped along the bottom of your purse.

The draping of a cloak of chivalry around your shoulders, pulling the wool over your eyes in one fell sweep of his hand — the back of which noted every detail of routine — as you traipsed gaily over the daisies outside the lion's lair.

After all, to be blind meant devoting oneself utterly to the hand that guided it through the dark, and now that he had lent you an inch, you were more than willing to present him with a mile:

Your breathless moans as he pinched your pert nipples, your essence that lavished over his cock. You were resplendent as the beads of sweat that rolled down your shoulder caught the glare of the lamp, the curve of your back vulpine and graceful as you raised your hip to meet his thrusts.

Would you be blind too, to your diminishing satellite of admirers? Kokushibo cautioned you as much about their hidden intentions: Don't give your number away so easily; don't wear that dress; call me when you get home — he knew worst of the men who would mistake your smiles for affection, your teases for flirtations, and your touches an invitation in his line of work, and he need only to defer to his experise.

As a consummate professional, only he could protect you from these dangers that lie in wait. He could stopper it before they took you away from him, and you would never notice they were there.

The crimson that soaked Kokushibo's hands and crusted his nails, the same hands that now dug into the dimples on the side of your hips as he thrusted further inside your sex;

A flick of his wrist on your clit — the same rhythm as when he snapped the spine of the konbini cashier who you dared share your smile after you made your payment;

The tug of your hair around his fingers — reminiscent of the fibre wire that coiled around the neck of a older salaryman to whom you had been kind enough to offer your seat on the train;

The give of your thighs as he spread your legs further apart — a mirror of his hands on the back of a waiter who smiled as you complemented the tiramisu, his eyes lingering on your glossed, pillowy lips;

Would the wetness between your legs should be enough to wash off these stains?

"Kokushibo," you whimpered, in the moment he brushed against that spot inside you, making you squirm beneath his tight embrace. Your mouth dropped in a circle as he teased your clit once more, sending sparks of thrill dancing across your tense, quivering frame.

How perfectly he fitted inside you, the contours of your body moulding seamlessly against his hands — as if the gods themselves sculpted you for him to hold and possess.

Kokushibo slipped an arm across your front, tossing you to lie flat against the carpet. Red, crescent marks dotted across your collarbone, with others blooming into scarlet flowers where he had sunk his teeth into your softness — the sweet ambrosia of your arousal when drank from your sex, the tenderness your skin as it broke beneath his canines.

Come morning, when those blossoms have withered into violet bruises, you will never know another's man touch on you; Kokushibo will make sure of it himself. He would hide you away from the harshness of this world, and savour every inch of your body with his hands and mouth — as the French did with the caged ortolan, draping their heads with linen to shield their decadence from the judgment of God.

Why would you need to be anywhere else? Or seek the arms of another? He alone was perfect for you, as you were perfect from him.

Your ankles crossed behind his neck, unspoken bliss wild in your dark irises. The cadence of your moans soared as your nails clung to the broad sweep of his back, the pistol of your loins gaining an impatient edge.

"Don't stop," you cajoled, a whimper caught in a hiccup as Kokushibo felt you tense beneath him, your thighs trapping his face in a serpentine coil. The slick heat of your sex enveloped his cock tightly while you reached your climax to shuddering gasps, biting the back of your hand to hide your unrestrained moans.

And there it was once more: the sparkle in your eyes, brighter than before while you rode out your high. The heat of your gaze, together with clenching of your walls was enough for him to spill, too, in a mess of groans buried into your hair. You shivered at the dousing of his cum in your depths, your pleasures mired in a dripping, obscene mess that seeped from your entrance.

Behind closed lids, Kokushibo could behold the afterimages of your torched gaze, and he would do whatever it takes to keep them there, until it became a part of the inferno that raged unabated inside him, stoked by every single distraction you referred your attentions: friends, family, strangers — as he opened his eyes to look down at you, before kissing you.

He would have it — your heart, body, and soul — until nothing remained for anyone else, not even yourself.

"All mine," he whispered against your lips.

For my longer writings, visit my AO3 here.

[yourgirljasmin444]

Toji Fushiguro x fem!reader

One shot maybe??

Pairing: Stepfather Toji x y/n

Warnings: Age gap, pet- names, touching, not proofread

Y/n stood in front of the stove, stirring the saucepan of boiling water, her hands moving gracefully back and forth, her mind lost in thought. Her mother was out shopping, leaving you alone with Toji, something you dreaded. Since your father's death, Toji had stepped in as the head of the household, taking care of everything from paying the bills to disciplining y/n when she misbehaved.

Despite his best efforts, y/n felt like they were strangers living under the same roof - there was no warmth or affection between them. Tonight, as they prepared dinner together, the tension seemed visible; neither one daring to speak first, both lost in their own thoughts.

As you pulled a pan full of pasta out of the oven, its delicious aroma filling the air, you caught Toji watching you from across the room. His dark eyes lingered on your curves before flicking away.

Y/n could feel her heart racing as she placed the pan onto the countertop, feeling the heat radiating through her fingers. Their attraction toward each other was evident despite their attempts to deny it. Finally, Toji broke the silence. "This smells delicious, babygirl" he said gruffly, nodding toward the steaming pasta dish on the table. You smiled weakly in response before turning around to grab some plates from the cupboard above your head. You felt him come up behind you, his strong arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you close against his chest.

You couldn't help but let out a small gasp as you felt his hot breath on your neck, sending shivers down your spine and right between your legs. "Thank you for helping me tonight, baby" he whispered softly into your ear, his voice thick with emotion.

The tension between them dissipated instantly, replaced by a sudden burst of passion. Y/n turned around to face him, their bodies mere inches apart. Toji's gaze drifted southward, taking in every curve of her body hungrily.

Y/n felt her cheeks flush at his attention, unable to look away from those piercing green eyes. Suddenly, Toji leaned forward, pressing his lips against hers in a fiery kiss that left her breathless. It was the kind of kiss that made your heart skip a beat, that left you weak-kneed and lightheaded.

As their lips parted, you looked up at him, your eyes wide with surprise. "W-W-What was that for, Toji?" You asked hoarsely, still reeling from the intensity of the moment.

Toji shook his head slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. "That was just a taste," he replied quietly, his voice sharp and low.

You could feel yourself falling under his spell, unable to resist his irresistible charm. You found yourself drawn to him even though you knew you shouldn't be. After all he was your mothers husband, but there was something about him that was irresistibly alluring, almost magnetic. As you two sat down to eat dinner, you couldn't stop stealing glances at Toji across the table.

There was something incredibly sexy about how he held himself - the way he slouched back in his chair, manspreading showing of his big, meaty thighs,one hand wrapped around his glass of whiskey, his eyes fixed intently on you. You could feel your heart racing again, your breath coming faster than usual.

"S-So...what do you want to do after we finish eating?" You asked shyly, hoping to break the tension that had been building between you all night. Toji looked up from his plate, smirking at you.

"I think you already know what I’m going to do after, or rather who I’m going to do," he began slowly, his voice low and raspy.

[fandomxrequestsxreaderxblog]

The Death Of Peace Of Mind

Negan x Reader Smut MINORS DNI!!!!

Repost from side account fandomxfictionxstories

Summary: Inspired by The Death Of Peace Of Mind by Bad Omens, Negan thinks about all the good times you had

Warnings: choking, hair pulling, name calling/degradation(slut, whore, etc), use of pet names(baby, good girl), dirty talk, use of rope, face slapping, mentions of bruises, spitting, oral(fem receiving), p in v, unprotected(wrap it up!!), dry humping, semi-public, multiple orgasm, orgasm denial, use of "Daddy" and "Sir"

I miss the way you say my name..

He thought of you, bent over his desk, back arched, with one of his hands tangled in the roots of your hair. His name falling from your lips like a prayer the harder he pounded into you. Your moans and whimpers that accompanied sounded like music to his ears. HIs other hand slides to your throat, closing around it. 

“Say my name again, you filthy whore.” 

“Negan.” 

The way you bend, the way you break… 

He gripped the rope tying your hands behind your back, tugging so hard there were sure to be bruises in the morning. You screamed out, already littered with bruises, the pain mixing with pleasure was nearly too much for you. He thrust into you brutally. 

“I can feel you squeezing my cock, baby. You’re getting close aren’t you?” 

You mumble and whimper incoherently, stars blurring your vision. 

“Don’t you dare fucking cum until I tell you to.” 

It becomes too much to bear and you let go, body convulsing, pornographic moans tumbling from your lips. 

“Naughty girl. Are you so needy that you can’t even follow simple directions?” 

Still coming down from your high, you can’t respond. He flips you onto your back and slaps you twice in the face, hard. Before grabbing you by your cheeks. 

“Speak when you’re spoken to!” 

“Yes, I’m too needy to follow directions.” You whimper. 

“Good baby. Now, you’re going to keep cumming until I tell you to stop. I don’t care how much it hurts.” 

You attempt to scoot away from him but he grabs you by the ankle and pulls you back. 

“You will do as I say or it will be worse for you. Do you understand me?”

“...yes, Sir..” 

“There’s my good girl.” 

Your makeup running down your face..

You look up at him with those beautiful, innocent eyes. Cheeks red with hand prints, black mascara trailing to your jawline. He thought it wasn’t possible for you to look any sexier. He grabs you by the jaw and looks into your eyes. The look you give back would make any man cum on the spot. 

“Open your mouth.” 

You obey, opening wide, just the way he likes it. He spits right into your open mouth. 

“Swallow. It.” 

Without a moments hesitation, you swallow, tasting yourself on your tongue. 

“God you’re such a slut. You’d do anything I asked, wouldn’t you?” 

“Yes, Daddy” 

The way you touch, the way you taste.. 

Your fingers lightly travel over his beard, slowly inching towards his mouth. You trail a lone finger over his bottom lip. He revels in the feel of you soft fingers, touching him so gently. A feeling he’d almost forgotten.

Your clothes cunt teasingly grinds against his jean clad cock, head thrown back and a moaning mess. He was sitting in the front seat of the van, pulled off onto the side of a desolate road. You were seated in his lap grinding as hard as you could, using him to chase your own release. Gripping your throat and pulling you close he whispers in your ear, 

“You feel so fucking good, you’re gonna make me cum in my pants.” 

Your hands snake into his hair as he buries his face in between your legs. Your nails scratching his scalp sends a moan of ecstasy tumbling from his lips and straight into your heat. You tighten your thighs around his head, coming closer and closer to your undoing. 

“You taste so sweet baby, I could eat this pussy for the rest of my fucking life.” 

All it takes is one finger in your core after his praise for you to cum on his tongue. He happily laps up every last drop before trying to push you over the edge again and again.