#ONE THIGH… almost out of the frame but I do see it 👀👀 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

osachiyo · 7 months

Text

❥ ҉ ༄ PRETTIEST WHEN YOU CRY !

﹙ ✿ ﹚── includes : dazai, chuuya, akutagawa, fyodor, nikolai x fem!reader ♡

﹙ ✿ ﹚── content warnings : nsfw content, dacryphilia, rough sex, unprotected sex, choking, bondage (rashomon I'm so sorry girl), sadism, petnames, degradation, spanking, edging, mentions of murder in nikolai's etc ♡

﹙ ✿ ﹚── synopsis : you're a crybaby and they love it ♡

﹙ ✿ ﹚── author's note : this one won the poll so here it is! I might do a bimbo reader one so keep an eye out for that 👀 ♡

DAZAI ☆⌒(>。<;)

This guy basically read you like a book the first time you two met. He knew that you were a very emotional person, and he liked that about you. It was very different from himself, considering he hides his emotions most, if not all of the time. So it was a nice and much needed change.

When he first learned that you were very emotional in bed aswell, he definitely used that against you. I mean, how could he not? Watching the fat tear drops running down your pretty eyes made his cock throb in a sick, twisted way and he loved it. He would make you sob his name out until your voice is hoarse, then cradle you like a baby in his arms and mutter soft words of praise to you. Telling you how good you are for him, taking his cock so nicely.

"don't tell me you're tapping out already, sweet girl?" Dazai hummed, tracing little shapes on your hip as you lay there, face buried into the pillows as they dampen with your tears. He had you in a prone bone, hips laying flush against your ass. "can't t-take it!" You hiccuped, body jolting when he grinds his hips into yours, "yes, you can, baby. I've barely started, you can definitely take more," he chuckled, laying soft kisses on your shoulder blades to help you ease up a bit. You moaned out when he thrusted into you a bit harder, hips smacking against your plush ass. Your pretty painted nails were scratching his linen sheets, almost ripping the fabric. Dazai's hand curled around your figure, reaching to play with your swollen clit. You gasped when he bit down on your shoulder, now moving his hips erratically while he chased his impending orgasm. You could feel his hot breath against your ear when he moaned lowly next to your ear, "god─ you feel amazing, 'donna," he bit your lobe playfully, fingers working wonders on your clit as his cock hits your sweet spot repeatedly. He needed to make you cum, needed to see his pretty girl gush on his cock. He slightly angled his hips and oh. You let out an almost guttural moan, head laying limp on the pillow as your back arches for him, tears still falling freely from your eyes. Looks like he finally found it, found the spot that make you go stupid and he wasn't gonna stop anytime soon.

CHUUYA ☆⌒(>。<;)

That one time you went on a first date with Chuuya was..interesting. Well, more embarrassing on your part but that's okay. He had taken you to see a movie. A character had died in the movie, it was definitely sad but Chuuya wasn't that affected. He heard little sniffles from his side, so when he turned to you and saw a fountain of tears dripping down your face and you struggling to stiffle your whimpers, he was a bit concerned. He asked if you were okay— but then you started bawling out. He took you to a fancy ice cream parlour later to make you feel better <3

Chuuya always treats you like you're made out of glass, thinking even the slightest pressure will shatter you, and that's applies to your bedroom activities with him aswell. He'd caress your body with the most gentle touch, shushing your cries and kissing your tears away.

Your legs were propped up on Chuuya's strong shoulders, hair splayed out on the sheets and some of it sticking to your forehead, framing your face beautifully. You were like an angel to him, downright heavenly. An angel in the grasp of a devil? He huffed out a laugh at that, the noise vibrating against your sopping cunt. His gloved hands gripped your thighs like a vice, fingers sinking in the soft flesh. His swollen lips kiss your clit gently, tongue poking out to taste you and fuck, he could do this for hours. His tongue breached past your gooey hole, nose bumping against your clit as you clutch the dark red sheets in your hands, tears stinging your glossy eyes while you shudder from the pleasure of your boyfriend feasting on you. "mmh— taste so good, doll," he muttered, eyes flicking up to make contact with your tear-soaked ones, groaning into your cunt when he sees the cute pout you wore. "f-feels good, 'chuu," you gasped, head thrown back in ecstasy when he wrapped his lipstick stained lips around your clit, encircling a finger against your hole. When did he take his gloves off? Your vision was hazy, stomach clenching and unclenching when he pushed two fingers into you, curling them just right to make you see stars. His lips leave your clit to leave bite marks on your inner thighs, pinning them down firmly when you try to close them. "nuh-uh, baby. you're gonna take everything I give you, okay?" You could only nod in response, sniffling as the tears drip down your chin. He couldn't help but hump the bed at the sight of your tears flowing freely, snot running down your nose as you try your best to stay still and more importantly, be a good girl for him. You were just too fucking adorable.

AKUTAGAWA☆⌒(>。<;)

He was genuinely so confused when you started crying because he was going to leave on a mission for 4 days. He actually thought you were possessed or something at first but you had to explain to him that no, you were not in fact possessed but just a very sensitive person. He thought you were stupid for crying like that, it's not like he's leaving forever. Actually had the audacity to tell you to get over it and stop being a baby....typical Akutagawa...

Made up to you later because gin smacked the shit outta him.

Akutagawa came home late that night, the aura around him seemed...wrong. It felt like he was angry or upset at something. You poked your head out slightly from the ajar door of your shared bedroom, watching him mutter random curses and mentioning a name you had heard many times before, 'weretiger'. You quietly walked towards him, wrapping your arms around his torso from behind, resting your back against his back. He stayed still for a few moments before you felt something whip out from under his coat, wrapping around your limbs and slamming you against the wall. He turned around, finally facing you. His eyes were darkened with lust and..something you couldn't really understand. That's the last coherent thought you had before—

You thrashed around, trying to break free of the bounding but it's no use, it's grip was tight, and firm. A fragile thing like you couldn't even land a scratch on it. All you could do was stay still and endure Akutagawa pounding your cunt, a lewd mix of your slick and his precum formed a puddle on the carpeted floor. A tendril of the cloth had been draped around your eyes, turning you blind for the moment, making you all the more sensitive to your lover's rough touch. His cock continuously brushed against the spongy spot inside your velvety walls, rendering you a mess at his mercy. His rough hands were pinching and pulling at your nipples, coaxing broken moans out of you. You could feel your voice getting hoarse from screaming his name out so much. His hip bones were jabbing against your own, little curses and grunts slipping out of his pale lips, which were swollen and slightly red from him biting them so much. His hand reached everywhere he could, desperate to force more moans and tears of pleasure out of you. How he loved seeing you cry because of him, your glassy eyes swollen and red from crying so much, bottom lip jutted out into a pout as you wail from the painful pleasure he's enforcing upon you. "shut up and take it," he'd growl, feeling you clench on his cock. He loved you, he really did, but he loved your tears just as much.

FYODOR ☆⌒(>。<;)

'Easy manipulation'. That's what Fyodor thought to himself when he first met you. He liked how easy to control you were. He barely even had to pull a few strings to make you fall head over heels for him. He was thinking of just using you for his own benefit, but alas, he had caught himself falling for you. He was a bit annoyed at first, but quickly realized he could just keep you forever and you wouldn't even mind.

Like Dazai, he'd also use your tears against you in bed. Of course, you were his lovely angel and he adored you, but it wasn't his fault you looked so pretty when you cried, was it? He was a man, after all, he couldn't ignore the urges clawing at the back of his mind.

That's why you were splayed out on his bed, legs wrapped around his hips as he fucks into your sopping heat. His hair was tied in a loose ponytail, that you did on him earlier. His bangs were brushing against your sweaty forehead. He leaned back to admire the addicting view of tears flowing out of your pretty eyes like a river, the droplets looking like shiny jewels. The area around your eyes were slightly red and puffy from crying, but he didn't relent. "does it feel good, milaya?" His lips curved into a smirk, placing gentle kisses on your ankles as he grinds his hips into you. "please— fedya! 'wanna cum so bad!—ngh—" you sobbed, nails digging into his pristine sheets while you buck your hips up, trying to reach your orasgm. Fyodor only tutted, completely stopping his hips as he feigns a disappointed look, "you can do better than that, darling," his hand reaches down to thumb at your clit, forcing a moan out of you. "please! 't hurts! please make me cum, 'wanna cum on your cock so bad, plea—" he cut you off with a thrust of his hips, seemingly satisfied with your pathetic begging. You sobbed out his name repeatedly, eyes shut as he wraps a slender hand around your throat, fucking into you with much vigour than before. If you weren't so cockdrunk, you'd hear how hard the headboard was slamming against the wall, bed creaking with each brutal thrust. Your eyes rolled back when your orgasm approached closer, the coil in your stomach about to snap when— you wailed when he stopped thrusting again, cutting off the path to your sweet, sweet orgasm. He only laughed at your whining, a low moan rumbling in his chest when your cunt tightened around him. Unfortunately for you, torturing you was way too fun for him.

NIKOLAI ☆⌒(>。<;)

This man is a fucking menace. He'd do anything and everything to see you cry, and you make it so easy for him that he does it all the time. But only he's allowed to make you cry. If anyone else dares to make you shed your pretty tears, he'd rip their head off, put it in a pretty little present box and send it on your doorstep. He'd relish in the horrified face you make after opening the box, tears gathering in your bottom lashline at the terrifying sight. He'd take you out later as an apology though <33

He thinks you are absolutely adorable, his precious little dove. Corrupting someone like you is definitely his fortè, he loves it. One of the things he loves to do the most is punishing you. Be it overstimulation, edging, spanking or all of them, he enjoys every single one. Even if you haven't done anything wrong, he'd randomly pull you onto his lap and tell you to count before spanking you until your ass is red and sore, you'd cry your eyes out form the pain but it felt so good at the same time.

You guess thats how you ended up in this predicament, face down and ass up as Nikolai fucks you into the mattress. His hand was buried in your hair, shoving your head further down on the pillow beneath you as he slammed into you over and over again at a borderline inhuman pace. His other hand was gripping your hip tightly, occasionally slapping the soft fat of your ass. He snickered at your dumb babbles of pure ecstasy, drooling on the pillow as he fucked you raw. He's been at this for hours, fucking orgasm after orgasm out of you and all you could do was lay there and take it like the good little doll you were. Sobs wracked through your entire body when his hand came down to the sore flesh of your ass again, and fuck did it sting like a bitch. He kneaded the plush fat in his large hand as an apology but it only made it hurt more and he knew that. You felt like passing out from the sheer exhaustion settling in your bones, a hand making its way to press against Kolya's abdomen, trying to get him to stop or atleast slow down, "kolya— 'm gonna pass out!" you sobbed, clinging onto the pillow with one hand for dear life. He smacked your hand away from his abdomen, only thrusting into you harder, "aww~ you're gonna pass out?" He cooed, reaching his hand out to grip your chin, turning your head to face him. You nodded, sniffling as he kissed your tears away, "then pass out~♡"

©sachiyoh— do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated♡

TAGS 𖤐 @zaiisamu @mellieellie @reyanne @anastaxiah @crystalzxv0 @shiopi @dazaiserectnips @r-e-m-i @jjflipflop12 @jay--feather @deepstrawberrycreator @simp4bsdcharacters @dazaisimpletmereadfanficspls @tojiscardboardboxx @kemis-world @stygianoir @vrivl1 @rei-pearl @lovleyyz

2K notes · View notes

duskandcobalt · 2 months

Text

Stargirl: Part Four

Following her last vision, Elain and Azriel navigate the surprise revelation and the frenzy that comes along with it.

...

Well, well, well... my smutty little darling that was only ever supposed to be one part comes to an end. This last part was intended to be just a little dirty short thing but somehow it turned into a 6k word monster soooo???? idk i had fun writing this, I hope you have fun reading it and I'm so thrilled I could get this out just in time for the last day of @sjmromanceweek 💕💗💞

this can be read as a stand alone but if you'd like to see how elain's sexy little visions came to be, you can find the first part of stargirl here as well as all the other parts in my masterlist xx

18+ please, gratuitous smut and a little bit of breeding kink as a valentine's day treat 💌👀♥️

ENJOY XX

Read on AO3

Elain runs a trembling hand down the front of her dress as she takes a deep breath.

She’s wearing a beautiful ivory gown made of delicate lace that’s almost sheer. Only heavy clusters of floral embroidery cover her from the top of the bodice down to the middle of her thighs where it tapers off before picking up again to form a stunning train that trails dramatically behind her. The dress has long sleeves, also covered in embroidery, but her shoulders and decolletage are left bare - an intentional design choice that she and her seamstress had made with a certain someone in mind.

A veil is ever so carefully placed into the crown of Elain’s intricately woven hair by the practiced hands of the twins when a soft knock sounds from the bedroom door, interrupting the mindless chatter she’d been exchanging with Nuala and Cerridwen.

She catches sight of the male in the reflection of her mirror. His tall, lean frame occupies almost the entire doorway. He’s dressed in an immaculately tailored suit and a small dusk coloured rose is pinned to the lapel of his jacket. His violet eyes soften as they meet hers and the very corners of his lips turn up into a fond smile.

“He’s not going to know what to do with himself when he sees you.” Rhysand says quietly. “You make for a beautiful bride, Elain.”

Elain ducks her head in thanks. The warmth of a blush creeps up her neck and blooms across her cheeks as the nerves that she’s been trying to keep at bay all morning finally settle low in her stomach at her brother-in-law’s sincere compliment and at the reminder of the male waiting for her in the garden.

She couldn’t believe that this was actually happening. Couldn’t believe that she was about to walk down the aisle to her mate.

…

It had been two years since she’d had that vision that had hinted at a truth she hadn’t been prepared to receive. A vision that had shown her this day - a mating ceremony to a dark haired Shadowsinger instead of the son of Autumn as the Cauldron had once suggested.

That single vision had come out of nowhere and thrown her entire life into a spiral.

She’d never forget sitting up in his bed, turning towards him and whispering those words that had turned their entire world upside down.

You’re my mate.

Azriel had only stared at her, still as a statue, as she fumbled over her words in a desperate attempt to explain to him exactly what she’d seen.

The offering of cake. A black ribbon binding her wrist to his.

He’d broken down moments later after finally finding his voice and asking her a few carefully curated questions to understand exactly what she’d seen. He’d clutched her tight to his chest as tears trickled from his eyes and into her hair. She’d never seen him like that before but she understood immediately that the overwhelming feeling that coursed through him was relief.

Relief from the knowledge that he hadn’t been forgotten by the Mother or the Cauldron. From knowing that he hadn’t been deemed unworthy of a mate because of all the blood he’d drawn over the centuries.

They’d gone to Feyre first, clumsily explaining what Elain had seen only to realise they would also need to confess to already having been spending time together. They told Rhys next and though it was perhaps naive of them, neither she nor Azriel had expected that the High Lord would react so poorly to the news.

For all the times that Elain had wished she could be with Azriel without needing to hide from the others, opening themselves up to the wrath of Rhysand for daring to mess with intercourt politics had resulted in a world of pain. He’d torn into Azriel for even thinking of pursuing a mated female, let alone a female mated to an Autumn Court male. For daring to bed her while her mate slept in the same house.

At the time, it had seemed that no matter how many times Elain tried to make it clear that the bond in question wasn’t even a real bond - that she had pursued Azriel just as much as he’d pursued her, that they’d never risked sleeping together when Lucien was in residence - her pleas fell on deaf ears. Rhys had stormed out of his office without sparing her a glance, only giving a stern warning to Azriel to stay the hell away from her.

They hadn’t stayed away from each other, of course. They’d simply resumed what they’d already been doing - sneaking in and out of each other’s rooms in the dead of night and only barely avoiding each other during the days.

There had been countless tears and numerous arguments. An entire war had almost been waged over their claim that the Cauldron had been wrong. Iit had taken almost an entire year of working with various High Lords, priestesses, and other contacts and associates of Rhysand to confirm that something had indeed gone wrong when Elain was submerged in the Cauldron - that a spell had been cast in an attempt to hide her bond to Azriel and guide her in another direction.

It had been confusing and messy and terrible for everyone involved but they had somehow come out on the other end, still together and still hopelessly in love. Now, there was a brand new element to their relationship. A bright, glowing tether that connected their bodies, their souls - already so tangible despite the fact that neither of them had formally accepted the bond.

Azriel, usually so reserved and attention avoidant, had surprised her when he insisted on even having a ceremony. She’d had to talk him out of going down the same path as Nesta and Cassian and after going back and forth too many times to count, Elain had eventually relented and they’d compromised on having the small garden ceremony that had come to her in that vision.

The title of mates had never meant much to her. She’d have chosen him a million times over where there’d been a predetermined connection between them or not. But she knew how much it meant to Azriel, knew that he considered the bond to be a blessing unlike any other.

It was why she attempted to look past the, quite frankly, insane behavior he’d been exhibiting over the past few months. Azriel had turned into something reminiscent of the girls that Elain had grown up with. The ones that became obsessive over their nuptials the second a ring was placed on their finger.

Just because she’d given in to his desire to have a ceremony, it didn’t mean that she hadn’t enjoyed torturing him from time to time when he was difficult about place settings or flowers.

“Never should’ve told you about that stupid vision,” Elain would taunt him, if only to feel the delicious trickle of arousal slither down her spine at the way his shoulders would stiffen and the promise of punishment would spark in his eyes.

Not that he’d ever actually deliver on that promise.

It was the one true point of contention between them. The stubborn male was intent on not formally accepting the bond before the ceremony and would hardly touch her, let alone fuck her, for fear of accidentally solidifying the bond between them before they could have it blessed by a priestess. And though she tried, there was no amount of teasing and taunting she could do that would get him to break.

He even went as far as to refuse food made by her whether she handed it directly to him or not.

It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

Azriel had made up for some of it though, meeting her halfway by insisting on incorporating certain aspects of a human wedding - starting with a proposal that had come as a complete surprise a few weeks before they’d broken the curse.

They’d been in the garden one evening, Azriel more quiet than usual as he studied her from over the brim of a chipped tea cup that appeared like a dollhouse toy in the grasp of his large hands. She’d only looked up from her notebook when he gently lifted her feet from his lap and shifted until he was on his knees in the grass beside her.

He had said her name so softly, his eyes gleaming with an unfamiliar quality that they’d later identified as nervousness when they laughed together in bed later, recounting the moment while Elain lifted her hand above their faces until the low fae lights caught the surface of the sparkling sapphire that newly graced her ring finger.

…

That sapphire gleams brighter than ever on her finger as Rhysand steps towards her and offers her his arm.

“Ready?”

He’d come to them after they’d announced their intention to have a ceremony and asked if he could walk Elain down the aisle - a sign of peace and a way of offering them his blessing. Something that she knew meant the world to Azriel after the tense year he and Rhys had had.

“Ready.” Elain swallows, slipping her arm through the crook of his elbow.

Apart from Rhys walking her down the aisle, most of what she’d seen in that vision remains the same. A harp plays as Rhys leads her out to the garden. Bright blooms of flowers are arranged on either side of a makeshift aisle. The sun shines and the Sidra glitters behind them. Nesta and Feyre smile brightly, tears gathering in the corner of their eyes. Cassian gives her a bright smile before clasping the broad shoulder of the handsome male standing next to him.

Elain’s breath catches in her chest when Azriel turns and his eyes land on her. She tries to keep from crying but there’s little she can do to stop the tears from falling when Azriel gives her a smile unlike anything she’d ever seen before, his own eyes shining with tears and admiration for his bride.

The sight of Azriel in his leathers was something Elain often dreamed of when she lay in bed at night, but it only takes one slow pass of her eyes over his body before she realises that the only thing better than Azriel in his leathers, is Azriel in a suit.

The suit is perfectly cut to his body and is befitting of a royal prince - the sash draped across his body, the medallions pinned to his chest - she realises that in a way, he really is dressed the part of a high ranking member of the Night Court and something about seeing him proudly dressed like this for her, makes her heart swell.

It feels like an eternity before she stands in front of him, before Rhys kisses her cheek and gives Azriel a hug. Before Azriel’s wonderfully familiar hands clasp around hers.

“Beautiful.” He gives her fingers a gentle squeeze as his eyes roam over her dress - the delicate lace that frames her exposed neck and shoulders. The embroidery that conceals the part of her that only he would ever see. He doesn’t bother to conceal his satisfied hum of approval as his gaze tracks back up the length of her body to her face.

The priestess takes over then, welcoming all their guests and guiding them through a short ceremony that culminates in an exchange of vows that leaves both of them with happy smiles and tear streaked faces.

They exchange rings after their vows - an homage to Elain’s human heritage but also something she’d quietly insisted on because the possessive part of her wanted him to have a physical marker that made it clear that he was taken to any female or male that dared to set their eyes on him.

Before she knows it, Nyx is teetering over to them, a small plate that holds one cinnamon bun haphazardly cradled in his small, chubby hands.

It’s the final point of difference from her vision - a small change she’d intentionally made to incorporate Azriel’s favourite of her homemade treats into their day. A nod to the day this had all started that only the two of them would understand.

She bends down and kisses Nyx on the forehead, gingerly taking the bun in her fingers before standing and bringing it to Azriel’s lips.

“Eat.” Elain murmurs.

Azriel’s lips close around the soft bun, teeth sinking into the sweet pastry. He swallows and Elain swears she feels the bond between them intensify. Unlike the uncomfortable pull she’d felt once upon a time, this is different. This time it’s desire and admiration and pure love that she feels when it tightens around her ribs.

By the way Azriel is looking at her, she knows he feels the same.

The ribbon is the next and final part of the ceremony. Feyre and Nesta both step forward to wrap a length of black satin around the couple’s wrists - sheepish looks on both of her sister’s faces. Rhysand and Cassian take over from their mates- tightening the ribbon and tying it into a firm bow.

“Remember, Az,” Cassian's eyes shine with mischief. “This stays on until you make her come hard enough to cause an avalanche on Ramiel.”

“Cassian!” Nesta groans, pinching the bridge of her nose, at the same exact time Feyre clasps her hands tight over Nyx’s ears even as she and Rhysand fail to stifle their laugh.

…

They don’t last long after the ceremony. It’s only a couple of turns around the small dancefloor and a few congratulatory conversations before the pull between them becomes too much to bear and Azriel bends down, his lips brushing over the delicate point of her ear as he quietly asks if she’s ready to leave.

He laughs at the eagerness with which Elain responds but she can’t bring herself to be embarrassed - not when she’d felt the absence of his touch so thoroughly for over a month now.

She needed to be alone with him. Needed to get away before the desire got the best of them and put them at risk of doing something obscenely stupid like consummating their bond in the middle of this garden, in front of everyone they held close to their hearts.

After a very quick goodbye to their amused guests, Azriel whisks Elain into his arms and flies directly to the townhouse that Rhys had gifted them as a mating present, grumbling that they may as well have it seeing as they’d already spent the last year or two desecrating every part of it.

No words are exchanged as Azriel lands, still cradling Elain in his arms as he wanders up the path and opens the door, carrying her over the threshold once more.

It was funny really, when she looks back at how far they’d come since that very first time Azriel had flown her here, to this place they could now call home.

She’d been a shell of herself back then, clutching to her human life with a desperation that had almost broken her completely. Despite it all, she’d felt a split second moment of reprieve from the intensity of her grief when Azriel, little more than a stranger to her at the time, carried her over the threshold and set her down with such care before he led her out to the one place he somehow knew she might find some sense of normalcy.

She’d felt it then - upon seeing the kindness in his eyes and feeling the gentleness of his touch - the tiniest inkling of hope that maybe one day she could find happiness in this new place, in this new life.

Sure enough, that little drop of hope had been warranted because just a few years later, Elain is the happiest she’s ever been.

The signs had all been there from the start.

That single strand of hair that had snagged right over his heart should’ve told her all she needed to know.

He carries her upstairs, toeing open the door to the bedroom that once belonged solely to her and Elain’s jaw drops as Azriel finally sets her down and she peels her eyes away from his perfect face to take in the room.

She knew that Feyre and Mor had come by earlier to decorate but she didn’t expect all of this. Her usual lilac linens have been replaced by billowing white sheets. There’s blush coloured rose petals strewn across the bed that match the roses that had framed the aisle and candles were scattered around the room, casting the bed in romantic, flickering golden light.

Azriel’s free arm winds around her waist from behind and his lips follow the path of her shoulder up her neck as he pulls her back towards him. Elain tilts her head up to meet him halfway and his mouth travels along her jaw until his lips hover centimeters from hers.

She feels like every bit of her skin is on fire. She could never imagine that the level of her desire for Azriel would surpass what she felt for him in the past but she was sorely mistaken because what she feels in this moment makes her think that if he didn’t do something to quell the ache thrumming between her legs, she might just die.

“Azriel.” She breathes his name, turning towards him fully and breaking the silence that had settled comfortably between them.

“Elain.” He answers. His fingers press into the plush flesh of her hip, the very tips of them venturing low - teasing at the curve of her backside.

“My mate.” Elain says quietly, raising her hand to cup his face. Her thumb drags along his sharp cheekbone.

“My mate.” He repeats. The word is almost unfamiliar on his lips, like he still can’t quite believe the term is his to use. Azriel brings his lips to hers and her entire body is overcome with a desperate need. “My wife.”

Elain can’t help but whimper as her body curves into his by its own volition. She melts into his searing kiss.

“My husband.”

Azriel lets out a soft moan at that and a slight shift of his stance allows her to feel him hard against her hip.

Elain is suddenly nervous as she pulls away to look up at Azriel. She doesn’t understand why she’s suddenly shy, standing in front of him like an innocent, blushing bride even though they both knew that ship had sailed long ago. He stares back at her, candle light catching the flecks of green in his eyes.

She recognises the wonder there as he takes in the sight of her. It’s a perfect mirror to her own emotions. To the disbelief that they’d actually made it to this moment against all odds.

“Not sure how we’re supposed to consummate anything with our wrists bound together.” Elain frowns, her voice shaking slightly. “I won’t be able to get you out of this suit.”

“I think it’s more of a symbolic thing.” Azriel smiles, kissing her once more to ease her nerves. His fingers slip from her waist to their wrists, deftly plucking at the knot of black satin until it comes loose and their hands are freed. He sets the ribbon down and fixes her with a look that sends a shiver down her spine.

He motions for her to turn and then his hands are in her hair, gently removing pins until her hair falls in a gentle, albeit slightly messy, golden wave down her back. He gathers it to the side and more kisses are placed to the sensitive place where her neck meets her shoulder.

Azriel’s fingers find the buttons that run down the back of her dress and he begins to undo them slowly. Elain knows that he’s doing it on purpose. That even on this special day, he wouldn’t dream of missing the opportunity to have her beg.

But Elain, for once, won’t let him win. She somehow finds the will power to hold still as he undoes her dress and drags it down her arms and over her torso until it falls to the floor and she’s left standing in front of him in nothing except for the very expensive scrap of ivory lace that covers her sex and the shiny rings on her finger.

She reaches for his suit jacket and helps him maneuver out of it and then she steps around to his back to undo the buttons of his shirt around his wings. And maybe, just maybe, during the process of ridding him of his shirt, she lets her knuckles smooth over a part of the delicate membrane that has him gritting out her name in warning.

Elain grins, moving back around to his front to reach for the buttons of his fine pants - slowly undoing them as he kicks off his shoes just in time for her to slide his trousers and undershorts down his legs.

She can’t help the way her eyes linger on the proud length of him. On the small bead of moisture gathered at the tip that gleams in the glow of the candles, practically calling for her to put her lips on him. She’s so distracted that she barely even registers Azriel reaching back for the ribbon he’d placed on the desk a few minutes ago.

“I can think of better uses for this ribbon.” Azriel’s eyes flick up to meet hers as he smooths out the ribbon and dangles it from his fingertips.

“I can think of something even better.” Elain plucks the ribbon from his hands and backs him towards the bed with a single finger against his chest until he’s laying down. His eyes shimmer with amusement as she motions for him to put his hands above his head but he silently follows her instructions.

She kneels next to him, leans down and tries so very hard to ignore the sweet press of his lips to her sternum as her fingers make quick work of wrapping the ribbon around both of his wrists before securing the remaining length to the wooden posts of her headboard.

“You have the rest of our lives to touch me whenever and however you’d like. Let’s see how long you can last before you’re begging to touch your wife.”

She moves to settle herself on his lap but he stops her with a slight shift of his knees that sends her sliding further up his torso.

“On my tongue first.”

Elain bites down on her lower lip, her core already tightening in anticipation as she shifts further up and carefully places a knee above each of his shoulders, mindful of his wings.

“Look at you.” Azriel’s eyes are fixed on the damp lace covering her center. On the gleam of arousal that covers her inner thighs. “Such a mess already and I haven’t even begun.”

“So much talking.” Elain grumbles, her face flooding with heat at just how wet she was for him when all he’d done was take her dress off.

“Make me stop.” Azriel challenges. She huffs but slowly lowers her hips until the defined tip of his nose brushes over her, dragging her soaked underwear over her clit in a delicious slide of friction.

It’s far from the first time he’s had her like this but it is the first time he hasn’t been able to use his hands. It’s in this moment that Elain realises just how much she relies on him to guide her down to his face. To pull her hips closer and closer, to help her rock against him as she rides him. With his hands restrained, it all falls back on her to gain the confidence to use him like this.

“Sit.” The single word is laced with pure demand and she can sense that Azriel’s patience is slipping. His need to get his mouth on her overruling any of the previous gentleness he’d shown her this evening.

She does as she’s told and her hands fly out to grasp for purchase on her headboard at the first pass of Azriel’s mouth over the lace that covers her. He doesn’t give her a moment to catch her breath before he uses his teeth to tug the lace to the side as best as he can and then his tongue is on her, eagerly tasting her, consuming her with long, effortless strokes.

“I’ve missed this.” He groans against her skin. His tongue dips inside her. “ I’ve missed you.”

She doesn’t have the words to admonish him. To tell him that he could’ve had her this whole time if only he hadn’t been so stubborn. But a month without having him like this has taken its toll and Elain finds that she’s utterly incapable of forming any words or sounds that aren’t a simple keening moan as she rolls her hips and chases the sensation quickly building low and intense in her stomach. Her thighs tremble, her fingers clench around the wooden posts of her bedframe and before she knows it, the wave of pleasure crests and she slumps forward - the already precarious rhythm of her hips falters as she comes hard and fast on his tongue.

Azriel’s mouth doesn’t stop working her until she pulls off of him completely but even then, she isn’t granted a single moment of reprieve besides a couple seconds to catch her breath.

He calls in his shadows and icy, invisible hands are firm around her waist, guiding her back down to where she’d started. Her hands find his cock as his shadows stay with her, slipping in between her legs and over her breasts in feather light caresses that have her aching for more despite just having come mere seconds ago.

Elain raises her eyes to look up at Azriel as she lowers her mouth to his cock. At the first slide of her tongue over his head, a particularly daring shadow slips inside her. The feeling of it is one she knows well, so similar to Azriel’s own fingers.

Elain pulls off of him for a second, glaring up at him. The menacing look she’d been going for is cut short when she gasps as the shadow still inside her presses hard against her upper wall.

“You said,” Azriel starts, eyes squeezing shut when she takes him in her mouth again. “You said I couldn’t touch you. You never said my shadows couldn’t.”

“Not fair.” Elain mumbles around the length of him, unwilling to stop the movement of her lips and tongue. She only takes him deeper, relishing in the way his hips lift to push himself further down her throat.

“Did you think I’d forgotten?” More of his shadows are in her hair now, tugging at her roots with delicious pressure. “All those times you’ve taunted me this past month? Did you think I would forget?”

She gives him a subtle shake of her head, hollowing her cheeks around him all the while.

She’d been praying that he wouldn’t forget, that he’d catalogue all those moments until he could finally deliver on that promise of punishment she’d seen gleaming in his eyes each time she’d deliberately taunt him with her words or actions.

“Touch me.” She doesn’t know how the tables have turned so quickly. How in a split second, she’s pulled off of him and has relinquished all control to him - begging him to touch her instead of the other way around as she’d initially planned. “Azriel, please.”

His shadows aren’t enough and too much time has passed. They’ve put it off too long and the thread between them has grown too taut. She wants his hands. His fingers. She wants him inside her.

Elain blinks and Azriel’s hands are free. She blinks again and she’s on her back in the exact spot he had just been. His hazel eyes burn into hers as his hands - those glorious, beautiful scarred hands - smooth over every inch of her body that’s within their reach.

“Please.” She begs again, unsure as to what she’s even asking for. All she knows is that there’s greater forces at play and her wants and desires are careening dangerously out of control.

“Okay.” Azriel nods and suddenly it’s clear as day to her that he’s experiencing the exact same thing on the other side of the bond glowing between them. There’s a new sense of urgency to his words. To his actions. His calloused thumbs drag over her nipples. “Okay, my love.”

He moves a hand inbetween her legs and pushes her thighs further apart and then she feels him, hot and heavy against her sex. He drags his cock over her twice, coating himself in the arousal he’s pulled from her. A moment later he’s inside her and Elains swears it’s the best thing she’s ever felt in her entire life.

“It feels…” She can’t finish her sentence. She’s too overcome by a wave of emotions so intense that it wracks through her body. That thread between them that had seemed so tangible for the past month had suddenly solidified into something else entirely. She could feel it in her blood. In each and every nerve. Could feel him. Each of her emotions - all the joy and the pleasure and the relief - it was all amplified. Doubled. Because she could feel his twin emotions on the other side of this new connection.

It had snapped. The bond had finally snapped into place once and for all.

Elain laughs, high and bright, and full of disbelief because each time she had thought that what she felt for him couldn’t possibly be topped, she had been proven wrong.

“I know.” Azriel sweeps back the hair clinging to her sweat slick forehead and keeps his eyes on hers.

“It just…” Elain gasps, fingernails clawing at his back in a desperate attempt to get even closer to him. To feel even more of him.

“I know.” Azriel repeats, lowering his mouth to hers in an all consuming kiss that renders her utterly useless. “I felt it, too.”

Azriel continues to whisper sweet nothings into her skin as he takes her, his hips meeting hers as he delivers long smooth strokes that have her crying his name.

“Want you to come with me, okay?” He says gently, waiting until her eyes focus on his and she nods that she had in fact heard him before he bends one of her knees to her chest and picks up his pace.

The new position has tears forming in the corner of her eyes from the sheer bliss that courses through her. It’s a feeling that’s only heightened when he brings a hand in between their bodies to thumb at her clit.

“I meant every word.” Azriel murmurs, his forehead pressed tight to hers. “You’re my sun, Elain.”

The smooth movement of his hips stutters and she knows he’s close.

I spent the first part of my life shrouded in darkness with only shadows for company. I thought I’d learnt what it was to live in the light of day again but I didn’t truly know what it meant to feel the warmth of the sun until you looked at me for the first time.

The beautiful words Azriel had said to her earlier in the garden echo in her head and she can’t stop the sob that escapes her at the reminder of the vows they’d made. At the promises they’d sworn - the declarations to love and to cherish each other for the rest of their long, immortal lives.

“I love you.” Her hands land on either side of his face and she holds him to her, kissing him deeply as he spills inside her. Her muscles contract around him, an endless pulsing sensation that makes her ears ring and her eyes go blurry.

He says it back to her - three words chanted over and over again in combination with her name as he fills her.

Her blood pounds through her veins and her heart feels like it’s going to explode out of her chest. No amount of reading and research into mating bonds would have prepared her for the magnanimity of what she felt in this moment.

It isn’t until Azriel pulls out of her and kneels in between her legs that her eyes focus and she regains any sense of who or where she is. He gently pries her legs further apart and his eyes darken at the sight in front of him. She watches as he takes two of his fingers and collects the come smeared on her thighs. It coats his fingers and the sight of a small bit of it sliding off the knuckle of his middle finger and landing over the gold band on his ring finger is so beautifully filthy that it has her holding back a moan.

“Back where it belongs.” Azriel says the words with a satisfied, purely male smirk and Elain’s breath hitches as he slides his fingers back in her, fucking his spend back inside her. She shivers at the sensation of cold metal grazing her skin.

“Sometimes when I see you like this - your pretty cunt so wet and swollen, so full of my come that it drips out…” He pauses for a second, eyes fixated on the easy slip of his fingers in and out of her. “I wonder why I still take the tonic every morning.”

Elain summons the energy to prop herself up on her elbows so she can look at him. She’s shocked at his admission, at all that it entails.

“If you want me to call you daddy, Azriel, all you had to do was ask.”

It’s a weak attempt at humour, a pathetic attempt to buy her some time as she tries to figure out what to say.

Azriel’s head tips back and he laughs in that way that makes her heart ache with love for him.

“I’m serious, Elain.” He gives her a soft smile, his fingers still moving within her. “If you want that with me, I… I’d be honoured.”

“I need,” she gasps when his fingers curl inside her, pressing against the spot he knows will get her where he wants her to be. “To think.”

“Okay.” He agrees. “Whenever you’re ready. If you’re ever ready.”

“After this…” Elain’s back arches off the bed and her legs threaten to close but Azriel holds her open for him with his other hand.

“After the frenzy.” He completes her thought for her and watches, completely enamored as her head tilts back and her slender fingers frantically clutch at the sweat soaked sheets.

“With a clear head.” She barely manages to get out the words. “We’ll talk about it.”

She’d need a clear head to discuss that particular subject because right now, with how unbelievably aroused she was at the idea of his fingers pushing his come back inside her - back where it belongs - she’d do just about anything he asked of her.

Azriel only leans forward, crowding her body with his as he once again sends her falling over the edge. Her moans are swallowed eagerly by his mouth.

“Always take me so well.” He praises her. “So beautiful each and every time you come for me.”

When she finally settles, utterly spent against the mattress, Azriel moves to pull back but Elain clambers to keep him with her and she finds herself startled by her own automatic reaction to him moving even a fraction of an inch away. She buries her face in his neck, drawing in the scent of him - that cedar scent that is now completely intertwined with notes of jasmine and honey- and the depth of her desire terrifies her.

Elain can’t fathom that there will be a time where she won’t need to feel the weight of him on top of her. Couldn’t imagine that there’d be a second of the foreseeable future in which she wouldn’t need to feel the warmth of his skin under the tips of her fingers. The possessive quality that already lived deep within her bones had grown into a whole new monster because even though she’s been told over and over again that it’s the males who get territorial once a mating bond has been accepted, the way in which she needs to have Azriel all to herself makes her feel confident that she could rip someone to shreds if they looked at him for even a second too long.

“I never want to leave this bed.” Elain sighs, fingers slipping down the expanse of his back as she arches upward, her breasts pressing against his chest. She’s delighted when the shift of her body allows her to feel him hard against her stomach again because despite her sore muscles and the tiredness seeping into her bones, she’s somehow immediately ready for him. Desperate to have him inside her once more.

“Too bad.” Azriel’s lips skate up the column of her throat until his lips are right over her ear. “Because I intend to fuck you on every single surface in this house.”

He sinks into her again and Elain is convinced once and for all that this frenzy might never end.

#elriel #elriel fic #sjmromanceweek2024 #elain x azriel #elain archeron #azriel #so very nervous for this to go out bc i've been putting off finishing this for far far far too long #my writing #acotar fanfiction

121 notes · View notes

ivystoryweaver · 7 months

Note

How bout 10 for the Moon Boys asks? 👀 Something a wee spicy!

How do you think the boys react to coming home and seeing their girl trying on lingerie that was meant to be a surprise for their date nights? Who is the first to wanna see it on the floor?

Nice! 🌶️ Uhhh...this one got away from me.

Word count: 645

nsfw below the cut (but I did stick to a "wee spicy")

You've saved your money and watched a particular store for the right time to buy this absolutely divine little number for the boys. Thankfully it didn't sell out.

The color and fit compliment your skin and shape perfectly. You have to admit, you feel pretty sexy in it.

You've tried it on once you got it home, making sure it fits and looks as good as you thought it would.

You're standing in front of the full length mirror in the corner of your bedroom, turning this way and that, deciding you will save it for your date night this weekend. The style is sleek enough to fit under your outfit, so you can wear it the entire night, and then surprise them.

You do a little skip/hop of excitement, grabbing your phone to snap a few selfies in the mirror. Once they see the outfit, you'll love teasing them with some pictures. You can just imagine Sweet Steven's face if he gets a pic of scantily clad you while he's at work.

Oh, who are you kidding, Steven sends dirty texts all the time.

The music playing on your phone completely drowns out the sound of your man arriving home.

One second you're posing, and damn, it's a provocative pose, you have to admit.

The next second, you hear a whistle, followed by, "Holy shit, baby."

Your poor phone crashes to the floor as you let out a little shriek.

"Marc?" You gasp, smoothing your hands over your barely covered body, as if you need to straighten your appearance.

Marc is chewing gum, leaning against the door frame with his arms folded over his chest. He cocks his head almost condescendingly, his eyes darkening a shade. "Don't let me stop you."

He can see how flustered you are. As you scurry to collect your phone, one corner of his mouth curls into a sexy smirk.

"I...wanted to surprise you," you feebly attempt, bouncing on your toes before slowly approaching him.

"Mmm," he gruffs out, running his hand over the stubble on his jaw. Pushing off the door frame, he closes the distance between you.

"I'm surprised," he murmurs, his hands finding your hips, greedily squeezing as he pulls your body flush against his.

His smoldering gaze makes you go weak, but you manage to grip his biceps for support. "It's for date night." You shrug one shoulder adorably. "Oops."

He's nodding now, and smiling wolfishly, smacking his gum a couple times as he eases you toward the bed. Your knees hit the bed's edge and you tumble down.

"Oops," he taunts, climbing on top of you. His nose nuzzles your cheek as he settles between your open thighs. "You're gonna leave this on for me."

His lips open hotly over yours as his hands roam all over your curves. He groans into your mouth, feeling the slippery material hugging your incredible body.

Your fingers tangle in his neatly styled waves, twisting as you pull yourself flush against him.

He feels so good against you like this - the satin and mesh teasing your flesh in a new and erotic way. You're finding it difficult to be upset that your surprise for Friday night is, perhaps, ruined. You could still surprise Steven or Jake, you suppose.

Although Jake will have you out of it in about 2.5 seconds. With Jake there's no reason at all to not be naked at any given opportunity.

"You better send me those pictures," Marc darkly whispers on your ear, his fingers trailing up the inside of your thigh as his lips kiss a hot trail down the side of your throat.

He teases you right where you crave his touch, but waits for your answer. "Baby?"

"Y-yes," you gasp as he drags his fingers over the spot that makes your back arch in pleasure.

Money well spent.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Moon Knight Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Askbox

#oops i did it again #ivy replies #asks #📥 inbox #📤answered #moon knight #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant

369 notes · View notes

butmakeitgayblog · 4 months

Note

I think I speak for everyone when I say the answer to “Y'all want a lil snippet? 👀” will ALWAYS be HELL YES WE DO! No matter which story.

That's cuz you guys are sweet 🥰

Ok, it's only mildly edited and also my first attempt at canon. So, please lmk what you think, but be gentle 🥺 👉👈

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

A tap against the door barely breaks the silence of the night for how soft it is. The sound makes Clarke's stomach swoop with elation and a wonderful sense of dread as the hairs on her arms rise on end. Instinct has her grabbing up her knife and resting a hand on the pistol at her hip again. She slips away from the table, back to the very edge of the shadows, prepared to sink further into the darkness that cloaks the farthest corners depending on what comes through the door that eases open.

Her own heartbeat pops like gunshots as Clarke holds her breath, watching. Waiting. But the fingers that wrap around the wood have her sighing in instant relief.

She knows those fingers intimately.

The hinges whine in protest at being shaken yet again from their slumber after such a good long sleep. Still, they obey, and twist enough to allow a head of intricate braids to ease past. Clarke's heart jumps to her throat when the head turns and surveys the candlelit room, eyes as dark as the kohl mask that surrounds them sweeping from one corner to the next, before landing squarely on her.

A flurry of emotions wash through Clarke at the silent stare that seems to stretch far past dawn. It feels as though days pass in the static silence that hangs between them in the cramped space of the room, despite it surely only being a handful of seconds. It is The Commander who breaks the moment and slips the rest of the way inside, of that there is no doubt. Her shoulder guard, sword, and dagger strapped to a lean thigh scrape against the wood as she squeezes herself in through the gap - all the trappings that mark this meeting as purely business.

Clarke's heart sinks.

The door shuts with a thump that echoes in Clarke's ears long after it's settled in its frame. The sight of her causes some piece of Clarke to uncoil in violent release of breath, like a spring let loose from its point of tension just to wobble and fall riotously still. Dark eyes stare at her in silence. Reminding Clarke so vividly of her first weeks here on the ground. Their depths carry the memories of alliances born and broken in the deathly quiet of night. Of trust found and lost, of promises made and broken, back when she'd gone toe to toe with the foreboding commander of the blood and somehow lived to tell about it.

The glittering pools of those eyes seem endless against the burnished amber of the room's candle light. But… Despite looking every bit as menacing as she had in those early days before Clarke had seen the girl beneath the warrior, Clarke can't help seeing the tenderness she knows is patiently waiting underneath. She can see it in the way her throat flexes with a swallow as Lexa takes another step into the room.

"You came."

The hand holding her knife drops back down to her side as Clarke lets out a whisper of a laugh. “Of course I did.”

The thought of anything else twists like snakes in the pit of Clarke's stomach. The question that laces the words feeling almost like a slap to the face. Lexa had asked her to meet here. After so many weeks of one-way messages being delivered and left unanswered, the slip of scroll with a crudely sketched map next to a date and time had felt like a lifeline. After everything, in what alternate timeline would Clarke have entertained being anywhere else?

Lexa's eyes scan her face, trace her shoulders, fall to her feet and back up. “You're well?”

Horrible, unimaginable thoughts race through Clarke's mind. Thoughts of crying, of collapsing in a relieved, exhausted heap at the Heda's feet. Thoughts of crossing the room and flinging herself against the commander's chest just to feel the strength of those arms cradle her close and make things simpler again. It's a humiliating collection of scenes that play through Clarke's head in the seconds that they stand there simply watching each other. Neither moving. Neither breaching the chasm that divides them.

All Clarke does is lean heavier against the wall behind her. “Yes, Lexa. I'm, I'm fine… You?”

Lexa's chin dips in the mere suggestion of a nod instead of answering, but Clarke hopes that she is reading the lines that flex along the edges of her eyes for what they are: a chip in the armor. A crack in the facade. An acknowledgment that, maybe, Lexa had been as nervous for this meeting as her.

Whatever the emotion is, it's gone as quickly as it came, because it's all business when Lexa draws herself up a moment later. Her body falls into its second-nature stance of a queen ruling from the steps of her throne. Even in the absence of her halo of antler horns, the effect is just as striking.

Lexa's hands tuck neatly together at the front and her shoulders set, she nods toward the table between them. “Your last correspondence suggested you have news?”

The tap-clunk, tap-clunk of Heda's boots against the neglect-brittled flooring as she steps to the table is enough to startle Clarke from her staring. Apparently the time for pleasantries was over. She loops her way around to stand beside the commander as Lexa takes in her every move with that cool, detached gaze she seems to have down to a science.

It's unnerving. No, she thinks. Not unnerving. Rather it's… Disarming. Penetrating in how it cuts Clarke down to the bone. That constant sensation of Lexa's eyes on her, taking in Clarke's every minute act and twitch of her face as she upturns the rest of the contents of her bag into a pile on the table. She'd forgotten the exact flush that inches up her neck whenever she feels that weighted stare on her.

In a crowded council meeting, across a village bustling with life. Far too often than is strictly necessary: exactly three damn inches from her own face. In the beginning, Clarke had wondered if such blatant disregard for personal space was simply a Woods clan quirk. But in the preceding months on the ground she's learned that lapse in skaikru etiquette is most definitely just a, ‘Lexa Thing’.

But whatever the distance or cause, Clarke finds herself entirely too aware of herself whenever Lexa's eyes land on her. Which does nothing to help steady her hand as she lays out the newer sketches of Arkadia she'd painstakingly prepared in the days prior. Nor does it make her find the specific page she'd marked in her journal any faster. Flashing past sketches of hands draped across furs, collarbones bruised by fervent lips, past drawings of tattoos committed to memory put down on paper without pause.

“So, things are… progressing,” Clarke says more to buy her time than anything. She sets the journal down and slides the nearest candle closer to better read the script of her own writing. Lexa leans her hands on the table next to Clarke's as she looks over the pages. Clarke only lets her eyes dash to the inch of space between them before continuing on. “The, um, the first month was basically a lost cause because I was stuck in solitary—”

“Your messenger informed me,” Lexa interjects in an expelled breath, tight lipped in its delivery, but adding nothing more.

Clarke nods to that, knowing she herself had been the one who made sure the information was delivered. Because three nights into her confined stay at “home” had been all it took for Lexa's, admittedly dramatic, words of ‘You've been living with their enemy. If it were me, I would kill you on the spot’ to begin ringing continuously in her ears. Knowing her own tendencies to always brace for the worse, the decision had been easy. With little more than a scrap of napkin and chip of charcoal from the remnants of her drawing set, Clarke had sent word with Octavia - the only one she trusted to wriggle her way in and out of Ark without detection - to pass the whereabouts of her status along.

Still, Clarke rolls her eyes for good measure.

“Right. And, as you also know,” she says with a pointed edge to her words, “these last few months have been… difficult. But I'm making ground.”

It feels like a race against the clock explaining what she's been doing the past few months since they parted ways - convey in carefully selected tidbits of information how the days trickle by only inches or miles. Nothing in between. It sounds feeble to her own ears, the lack of tangible progress to show the commander undoubtedly growing impatient with the ever troublesome Skaikru, but Clarke barrels on with each lack of response from Lexa whenever she dares to pause for breath. Doesn't give the Heda time to point out the finer points of her lackluster coup, thus far.

She leaves out any glimpses into her days that her better judgment tells her to keep hidden. Ones that allude to exactly how precarious the situation is behind the Ark's heavily gated walls. Like the fact that she had to run for her life the second she crossed the skaikru boundary - that sneaking past the commander's own kill-order guard wasn't the thing that had spiked her adrenaline, but rather the trigger happy guards set to walk the parameter. The ones collared with a kill order of their own.

Every glance at the commander leaves Clarke grasping for another sentence. Something more to prove that this time hasn't passed in vain. But it all feels empty under the scrutiny of the woman standing at attention beside her, not a twitch of muscle or bend of brow giving any of the Heda's thoughts away.

She's just staring. In that arresting way only Lexa seems able to do. Eyes a midnight slate wiped clean of emotion, brittle in their vacuum of light - iris and pupil so cloaked in the shadow of her war paint it's hard to discern between the two.

A near quarter mark of the candle burns in rifts of her fumbling vibrato and drops of spilled oily wax, when the air becomes more stifling at Lexa's sudden shift closer. Near enough Clarke can feel her body heat slice clean through the cold. “I'll admit, at times it's like pulling teeth. Everything is always two steps forward, one step back with them. But I promise, Lexa, my people— Our people, they're getting restless with—”

“Have you slept?”

The question lands like a punch just below the ribs, the softness of Lexa's voice feeling almost violent as it slices through the ringing in Clarke's ears. It cuts her off as effectively as clamping in vice grip around her throat. The skim of a glove-clad knuckle against her cheek makes her sway. She'd almost forgotten such tenderness actually existed in this world.

Her eyes flutter closed and she leans into the touch without a thought. The table wobbles under Clarke's hands as she gives up the fight and sags her weight onto her palms. She opens her mouth to assure the commander just how fine she is despite the display, but—

“Not much,” is all Clarke can manage in the sudden exhaustion that floods her bones. “I try. When I can, but…”

The knuckle slips down to bend a delicate hook around her chin. It curls inward, turning her face with it. Eyes darkened in shadow and half-spent candlelight take their time with her, searching for everything Clarke doesn't have the energy to say. Time expands and contracts to the razor point of a knife, plunging itself into her most vital, beating organ in those few precious moments when Lexa simply holds her there. Giving her every chance to pull away.

Despite all the unanswered questions and emotions that still linger between them - doubt, mistrust, hunger, betrayal - Clarke doesn't have the words to explain why she can't make herself move even one inch away. Or… exactly how much she doesn't particularly want to.

“Clarke,” Lexa whispers in an exhale that sounds like it's been held since the day Clarke had left her standing there in her room. She is so close Clarke can measure the exact flutter of her lashes as she warms under the chilled puff from her lips. In her silence, Lexa inches closer, leaning down enough to bring her forehead to Clarke's. Barely close enough for the touch to tickle against the fine hairs of her skin, but Clarke feels its burn everywhere. “Breathe.”

Fingers fan out and smooth along her neck. The feel of them tangling in the curls that cling to her skin send a shiver down Clarke's spine. It makes her tip forward, press fuller into the steeled softened woman all but propping her up, trusting Lexa to accept even more of Clarke's burdens as her own.

“It's hard sleeping there now,” Clarke admits. It feels like a weight lifting off of her shoulders just releasing that truth into the world. But the guilt of it lingers. Because how can she explain that the stale air and metal of the Ark's inner workings that used to give her a sense of peace and safety, doesn't anymore? How can she explain that despite her duty, and her unyielding love for her people… none of it feels like home anymore? How can she explain that between the darkest hours of midnight and the breaking of every dawn, feelings of home come in memories of incense scented furs, and a breeze that winds through cracked windows of a certain tower?

Most nights she pushes the feeling away. Stares at the rust lined rivets and peeling paint of her quarters on the Ark, chastising herself for just how far she's drifted from being that girl who crashed down from the stars.

Clarke pulls back and meets the worry that lingers in Lexa's eyes with a wry smile. “The war drums beating twenty-four seven don't particularly help.”

There's something endearing about the guilt that creeps into Lexa's stare. “It's strategic.”

“I gathered as much. Is the strategy to drive everyone insane?”

Clarke finds Lexa's hand when she sighs and lets her arm drop, unwilling to break all contact just yet. Not after so many weeks apart. The shadow of Heda's eyes slant down to the touch and linger there, watching the way Clarke's hand holds hers. “Not… entirely.”

“Lexa, that really isn't—”

“I need your people to see what being part of the coalition means. And more, what breaking from it will bring,” Lexa cuts her off. The tenderness with which she laces her fingers through Clarke's is starkly at odds with the frustration that bleeds into her words. “All that most of them know is what they have heard from your chancellor, or decisions made before they were one of my clans. They take no time to see things beyond the gates of Arkadia. But now it is there. We are there so they can see the strength in our numbers. The unity in which we fight. They can see with their own eyes the safety that comes from being with us.”

It's annoying that an argument doesn't immediately spring to Clarke's mind, even as the more stubborn pieces of herself howl a tinny echo of revolt. But her exhaustion keeps her quiet. The higher reasoning within her, too. All the pieces of herself that have heard the misgivings of so many of her fellow Skaikru, and still know that what Lexa is saying is… not technically wrong.

“And the dangers of being against you,” Clarke tacks on just for the hell of it, sighing as she untangles their fingers and turns to lean back on the table. “I understand that, Lexa, I do. But I'm not entirely sure if psychological warfare is the right tactic given the circumstances.”

The shuffled thunk of Lexa's boot as she steps closer is enough to pull Clarke's gaze back to her. “While a show of strength is a factor, that is not the only goal here, Clarke. And I believe you know that.”

Again, the lack of obvious points to needle at or undermine is infuriating, because what Lexa says is true. Because the boundary of warriors that stretch off in the distance does do so much more than stand guard over the lines of the blockade.

The first flood of the kongeda infantry that had erected the initial boundary of the kill-order came in a wave of tents, fanfare, and flying coalition flags. Axes and hammers had split through the surrounding trees like warm butter to make room for large temporary settlements, each dotting the forest eye-line with the colors and symbols of the twelve clans. At every angle from the watchtower's view from the Ark, the only sight that mingled within the sea of forestry was warriors of the coalition converging in a united front. Floukru beside Sankru. Yujleda beside Ingranrona. Azgeda camped close, under guarded Trikru eyes.

It hadn't taken long for the second wave to join them. And then a third right on its heels. Even warriors from the Capitol join their ranks - faces covered in familiar streaks of warpaint, ones that Clarke had spoken to personally within the beating heart of Polis itself peppered throughout the encampments to stand vigil among the festivities. All bringing with them a level of noise that Clarke knew meant the warriors must have been given explicit orders to be as loud as humanly possible. The weeks that had followed had been nothing but an unending cacophony that surrounded Arkadia on all sides.

Each day the forest filled with the sounds of relentless training from each settled camp; the singing clash of swords and the whistled-thump of arrows, blotted only by seconds of eerie silence between rounds. But the nights. The night's were somehow even worse. A fresh hell with every setting sun. Because after full days of training, the warriors are allowed to rest at ease. Under a canopy of stars, the air swells in a clattering of music that mingles with the steady beat of the war drum. Each night the forest echoes with the roar of their laughter as the salty perfume of mead and slowly roasted meats hangs heavy in the noses of Skaikru.

Clarke understands the strategy for what it is: a mindfuck on all fronts. An unambiguous message to the village of invaders-turned-kru directly from Heda herself. A truth simply waiting to be accepted. You're either with us, or you're against us. Flourish beside us, or wither within your cage. I understand your struggles - your hunger and your fear. And while one day all of our bodies will return to salt the earth, carrying on this way only ensures that death is far, far more miserable. Either way. We're thriving.

And we are not going anywhere.

It's an effective strategy, if not polarizing in its delivery, at least as far as messaging goes. Though to be perfectly honest, at the core of Clarke’s frustration is the fact that she hadn't exactly been prepared to deal with the pain in the ass fallout of yet another political pissing match to begin the second she'd slunk back to the place she once considered home.

Lexa reaches out and picks Clarke's hands up from where they'd fallen against her lap in a sigh of utter defeat. “I'm not trying to make things more difficult for you. Our agendas are the same, Clarke. And I think, given time… they will see it too.”

“Yes, but when you called for the blockade I was expecting, like, a sentry or two. Not a thousand warriors practicing their knife skills and having nightly feasts.” If Clarke squeezes Lexa's hands back a few hundred pascals tighter than strictly necessary, the commander has the grace not to show it.

“That had been the plan. Initially. I had every intention of waiting Pike out. But then, after we… After everything…”

Clarke feels her heart wobble at the flex of Lexa's jaw. “What?”

“I felt… inclined to hurry the process along. I do want to give you time to work within your ranks, because I trust you, and I know how capable you are. But also I—” Lexa falters, then swallows. Gives the barest shake of her head, her eyes staying glued to the hands held within her own as she visibly forces herself to speak. “Selfishly, I want this conflict finished as soon as possible.”

/////////

#macolethings #in secret au #it gets sexy shortly after this don't worry 👀#and also sweet #it's not all business let's never forget these two are hormone driven thirst monsters who are Bad at keeping things professional

95 notes · View notes

prettyboykatsuki · 1 year

Note

But is Scaramoussy giving or receiving thigh hickeys? 👀

✮ cw ; body worship (scaramouche recieving), biting + hickies, implicit nsfw but nothing graphic, gn!reader 18+

✮ a/n ; forgive me anon this devolved into straight up me thirsting about his legs because im a horny freak.

Scaramouche notices the way your eyes linger on his frame.

Always has. Always says the same thing about it - the word pervert rolling off his tongue in a catty, mischievous tone. He's a brat after all, and he does think you're a pervert. A freak by design.

But he doesn't mind the attention. He basks in it, bathes himself in the feeling of your eyes tracing the outline of his body. He's never found himself appealing in that way and he can't understand why anyone else would either for that matter.

He's made like first drafts usually are after all - messy projections and too much feeling. Sensitive to the point of madness, so when you bring Scaramouche to bed and focus so much on one part of his body - he doesn't know what to do.

Scaramouche is pretty in your eyes. His upper frame is a little more lithe with muscle but he's otherwise pure porcelain. He's got a thin frame and no hairs on anywhere it would usually be.

He reminds you of milk and lavender. You can't tear your eyes away from his legs.

He sits on the edge of the bed and watches you, your hand soft against the bottom of his foot as you slide it up behind his ankle. His breath hitches in the back of his throat as you start at the joint. He stretches them out till they're pointed, resting on your shoulder. Your palm stretches over the muscle, one resting over his knee with other one rubbing the hard part of his ankle.

Your eyes are lidded as you look - mouth descending on the long plane of skin on his calves. All the way up his legs is cream and sugar - shorts barely covering the thickest part of his thighs. You start at the bottom and work up, open mouth kisses up and up and up until you're at the bend of his knee.

Then you retrace the steps with your tongue, and finally your teeth in gentle bites. Your hands make work of the rest - rubbing the muscles in the back where your tongue rests, massaging your thumb into the tense sinew. He's not naked but he's bare - his leg warmers tossed along with the ankle socks normally covering his feet.

He doesn't know what to do as he looks at you, lost in your own world. A heat forms in his stomach, almost sticky and Scaramouche can't breathe. Can't do anything but try and stop the thing standing up between his legs with each passing minute.

"Your legs," You say, hushed and panting like you've run a marathon - rubbing the whole of them softly before gripping his thighs with your fingertips "Fuck, you're just beautiful."

"You sound like a perverted old man."

You laugh, hearty and deep before kissing his bare knee.

"Not my fault you walk around in those things you call shorts."

"They're hardly short."

"When you bend to pick something up I see up them. Your thighs and all."

He doesn't counter when you say that, inching up slowly. His whole body feels like it's melting, everything languid and slow - the air creating cold spots where your mouth once was. When your mouth moves up against the inside of his thighs, his breathing stops completely. Sharp teeth sinking into soft skin like sunsettias in the summer, you use your mouth like he's something you want to devour.

With the same rhythm and same tenderness that you'd use to break down a cut of meat, Scaramouche is overwhelmed by the extent of your desires for him. This time its so focused on just one element. Just his legs, the feeling of them - the thought of how slender and long they are, how cute they look in clothes. You're consumed by it, even he knows that much.

He gasps when he feels you suck the skin on his inner thighs. His body is most tender there, more than everywhere else minus his chest. He has to cover it as you lave your tongue over the curve. You nudge the fabric away , up and up and up until they're in the crease of his thighs.

When he's exposed, you push him farther backwards. Until he's flat on his back and not sitting. His legs pulled up a little. You put your hand flat on the tops of thighs but don't make to touch where he needs you. You focus on making your bruises darker, permanently etching your thumb into his side, just over his pelvis.

Scaramouche can feel the hot wetness of your mouth all over like warm water. It makes his stomach churn with lust, his body pure nerves. He wants you to touch him where he needs you but you've focused on everywhere but. Cruel and sadistic is what he expects from you, but he can't take it.

Still he gazes on you, inspects his body from where he can see. And he's covered in those bites - distinct and so deep they're not red but purple. It makes him whine. It makes him want more.

"Fuck, hurry." He complains, rutting into the air. You tsk, canine in his skin.

"Patience, sweet boy."

When it comes to Scaramouche you always linger. Always stay in a place you can't leave behind. He doesn't hate it but archons, he wishes you went faster.

#scaramouche x reader #scaramouche smut #writing tag #this isnt even smut its just . me being sick and twisted

545 notes · View notes

pluviophile-imagines · 2 years

Note

i can't help but wonder about the "i'm gonna marry you but i don't want kids" with gojo. because he probably would be the one to bring it up

omg im sorry this took so long but,,,,, here we are 👀 as always linking the usurper!gojo tag and the masterlist for this au warnings: the no kids talk!

it’s hardly subtle.

he doesn’t ease you into it; he isn’t coy. he all but storms into your chambers, after dark but before you’ve snuffed the candles keeping the room light enough for your reading.

he doesn’t bother to tell you why, but you know—instinctively, because you know him and you know his advisors and you’re well used to his moods when they’ve been particularly nagging about his duties as king—what’s set him off. the indication that it’s worse than typical is that he keeps that odd eye jewelry perched upon his nose, chain gleaming yellow in the light of the flames as he stalks over to your lounging form upon the bed.

his arm finds your legs over the nightclothes you wear, wraps around them firmly to move them just enough for him to perch on the edge of your mattress. they don’t leave, even as you set aside your book—you expect him to lay his head on it, anticipating the typical song and dance of his pouting and whining as you push him away only to relent and let him hold you as you both drift off into slumber.

instead he hovers. even sitting he looms over you, hand tightening on your thigh and thumb rubbing soft, meaningless patterns through the fabric of your dressing gown that soothe the nerves set on edge by your inability to see the look in his eyes.

a beat passes. you wonder if he’s calmed.

but when he speaks it’s terse, low, with the kind of simmering rage he keeps close to his chest for only those pitiable few he despises utterly, and he dips his head to look over the frames of those onyx lenses and regard you with irises dark with something terrible.

“i will not give you a child.”

the statement bowls you over. your breath hitches, if only because of the way he stares—deadly serious,

“wh—what?”

“i will not allow you to bear my children. i might be amenable to a ward, if you so desire. but i will not seed you,” his grip tightens on your thigh, “and it should go without saying that once we marry neither will any other.”

you haven’t a clue how to respond to such a thing.

he speaks as if it’s a confession; as if he’s betrayed you somehow. he holds you like you’ll disappear, or flee—and perhaps, had he told you this months ago when you’d been flighty and diffident with his affections, your rigidity might have led you to. but it is now, and you haven’t fled yet, and your beloved is nothing if not unconventional and shameless in his eccentricity.

you ponder on that too long.

“say something,” he demands, sounding almost small.

“why?” spills from your lips without thought; not petulant, or angry, but confused. not just by him—by you. you ought to be devastated, no? you ought to be angry. you assuredly are not.

“my bloodline as it has been for generations is a scourge,” he tells you readily. “i will do everything within my power to wipe it out. therefore, i cannot have an heir. not even one.”

not even one. not a single child. the thought washes over you like the temperate water of the lake on your grounds back home, the very one you’d once played in regularly as a child. the very one your mother had once mentioned taking your own children to, someday; children who you never fantasized about, children who never had faces or names, children who you never set aside letters or dresses or trinkets for to gift on birthdays.

not even in those teenage years spent with your current betrothed, the only man you’d ever thought of kissing and caressing you, had you once envisioned a life with children. they’d only appeared once you’d been brutally introduced to reality, and had to accept the promise of a life with a rich man who doesn’t love you.

a life which your king has gallantly shattered, and replaced with something far brighter.

“i will bear the burden of prevention,” he tells you soothingly, as if your silence has been about the effort of this request. “you needn’t worry that pretty mind over it. over any of this, my queen—“

“i am not yet your queen,” you interrupt, instinct bidding you to speak where your mind remains miles away.

“my bride,” he amends, ”look at me.”

you do.

“i want you,” he says, as if it’s some known truth of the universe, written in the stars. “i want you fervently, ardently. i won’t have another. but i will not give you my children. if you cannot take that slight, then so be it.”

the emotion that has been welling within you since the first words he'd spoken has become so intense it’s impossible to listen properly. you cannot name it without ruminating; you lay beneath him, eyes widening, not quite seeing—or hearing the words he continues to say—as you let it all sink in.

but when his hands fly to cradle your face, you’re snapped from the daze, attention suddenly brought back to the man before you.

“oh, oh, precious girl, don’t cry.” cry? his thumbs wipe away tears from your cheeks. you hadn’t even realized they’d been falling. “don’t cry”—he almost laughs, yet his voice breaks—“you’ll break my heart.“

“no,” you gasp, “no, my king, i’m hardly sad, i’m… relieved.”

that’s it. you’re relieved. he’s removed a heavy weight from your chest and you hadn’t even known of it. you will not have to bear him children. the assurance floods through your veins like liquid joy. not ten, not five, nor two nor even one; none whatsoever.

“relieved?” he repeats, blinking in surprise.

you’d never even considered the possibility. from the moment you’d known of your place in this world you’d resigned yourself to the role of childbearing. only now do you realize how much you had been dreading such a thing. only now do you understand the fear, and the relief.

“i… don’t believe i want children either.” the statement feels so final it ought to be terrifying, but it settles into your bones with a tangible rightness.

your betrothed regards you in shock. his hands fall from your face—and then they latch to your body, one on your thigh again and the other behind your neck, pulling you up and flush against him as he kisses you harshly.

“you’re so perfect,” he breathes into your mouth, unreactive yet pliant against him. “made for me, just for me, i swear—“

you kiss back, making his rambling cut off in a strangled growl as he only tugs you in closer and deepens the embrace. he’s still speaking, but it’s unintelligible; praise, certainly, muffled compliments and manic devotion. he’s relieved too, you realize. foolish to think him confident in this declaration. foolish, you’re coming to understand, to think him sane in any circumstance which might take you from him.

(if you are made for him then he is made for you, surely. this relief would be impossible for any other to give you.)

he pulls away when he realizes you’re still crying. you catch your breath, blink back the tears, let him fuss over you until your voice is solid enough to speak.

despite the relief, there is lingering hesitance; lingering fear. “you say you will bear the burden of prevention, but what of the burden of blame? they will talk, as the months go by. they will call me barren, unfit to be by your side; they will demand you take on a mistress—“

“i won’t,” your betrothed snarls, grip on your thigh almost painful with how fiercely his fingers tighten, “i would never, and i’ll cut down all those who speak ill of you.”

your laughter is disbelieving, wet with the traces of saltwater. “hardly a sound plan to run a court, my king. unless its intent is for running it to the ground.”

“for you, my heart? anything. i would raze this kingdom if it spoke your name without awe.”

that shouldn’t be comforting. it ought to be terrifying. instead you reach up to hold his cheek, and his eyes flutter closed at the contact.

“kiss me again,” you command.

#ask.🌧#anon #usurper!gojo #char.🌧 gojo #mine.🌧#gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x y/n

536 notes · View notes

abarbaricyalp · 2 months

Note

👀

pretty please :)

A choice made for SamBucky! From this list

👀 Lingering Gazes

Sam was going to retile his shower with something black. Black tile. Black grout. Black sealant. Blood didn't stain as obviously on black.

I didn't know where else to go.

That's what Bucky had said when Sam had opened his door and found him listing, half conscious, against the doorframe. He was covered in dirt and sweat and blood. Just generally grimy.

Now his clothes were in Sam's washer and he was zoned out in Sam's shower as Sam tried to get the worst of the grime off of him. Enough at least for Sam to see what the damage was.

They were both stripped down to their boxers and there was a fair amount of water spraying out onto the floor of Sam's bathroom because Bucky had gotten squirrelly when he'd pulled the curtain shut.

Sam had tried conversation. What happened? Where have you been? Who did this? What were you doing? Does Steve know? It hadn't gone anywhere.

"Most of these wounds are pretty superficial," Sam said, passing his hand diagonally across Bucky's chest, shoulder to opposite elbow. "Like...glass from an explosion. Did you blow something up?" he asked.

Bucky grunted something that sounded like a disagreement. Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed another wash cloth to keep wiping away dirty water and the new wells of blood.

It didn't take long to feel Bucky's eyes on him. When he glanced at Bucky in turn, he found the man's slate eyes traveling over Sam's arm, up to his chest, and then sitting there, unashamed. Then down to his abdomen and his thighs and back to his shoulders.

Sam had to say, he looked better now than he had six or nine months ago. Running around doing superhero stuff would do that to a man's physique. Still, there was a suddenly shy part of himself making itself known. He wanted to hug his arms around his chest or tell Bucky to turn around or close his eyes.

"You got a staring problem, Barnes?" he asked.

"Just like what I see, Wilson," Bucky answered.

Sam's whole body flushed and he was thankful Bucky wouldn't be able to tell, unless he maybe noticed the goosebumps on Sam's arms.

"Are we doing the talking thing now? Gonna tell me what happened?"

But Bucky didn't. He just kept letting his gaze travel over Sam's body, slow and languid. So Sam straightened up, setting aside the wash cloth, and stared back.

Barnes was stupidly handsome now that he wasn't always trying to kill Sam. He had one of the faces that was almost too good to be true. The kind that advertised expensive cologne or underwear. As time wore on and his body changed, he lost the hard, lithe frame of a weapon and grew into something strong and sure. Something that ate real food. His dark hair was even nice, curling towards his jaw as it dripped in the water.

Sam let himself stare at the mottled scarring that encircled his shoulder, the human-inhuman seam into his arm. The longer he stared, the less the metal seemed inhuman and more the torture beneath the scarring took over the mantle. Someone had done this to him, viciously and maliciously. They'd stared at the same man that Sam was and cut into him over and over until the serum stopped fighting back.

He put his hand against Bucky's shoulder and felt him shiver beneath the warm water. Until the serum stopped fighting back, but not Barnes, he thought.

"Who's got the staring problem now?" Bucky asked smugly.

"You've got good tits. Don't take it any further," Sam scoffed as he brought the shower nozzle down to rinse the soap off of him.

For the first time ever, Sam heard him laugh.

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #i answer things #writing

23 notes · View notes

seancekitsch · 2 years

Note

I thought I was over Cahir but you re-awoke something within me, kudos to you 👏

If you're taking any requests... Spicy ones even... 👀

Bodyguard Cahir kneeling in front of your diplomatic throne at like, your summer estate. It's empty of nobility, the servants have been given a day off. Completely barren. He's reverently hitching up your skirts to get a taste of you, and you both don't even have to muffle your voices, letting them echo against the grandly decorated walls and ceilings 🔥

- 🦇 anon

fun little return to my beloved bodyguard au

It was ill advised by well, everyone, to send all of the servants and helpers away. But with your Uncle’s untimely and incredibly suspicious death in territory north of Nilfgaard, no one could exactly stop you from giving everyone of the estate a paid long weekend off. Sure, the people who lived at the estate were here, but they weren’t at their stations. They were off enjoying their families and ignoring what you were doing.

Well, all but one.

You’d sent away everyone but your ever loyal, ever painfully handsome, ever doting bodyguard for some very specific reasons. One, you’re not actually sure you can. His appointment at your side is a punishment from Emhyr var Emreis himself for what had happened in Xin’trea. Two, you’re not actually sure you can… because you’re kind of in love with him. Very in love with him.

“May I?” he asks.

You look over from your spot on the throne in the middle of the giant barren ballroom.

“May you what?” you play coy and ask, teasing him a little.

“May I exalt you on bended knee?” He already moves in front of you and gets on his knees in front of you. He looks up at you with those handsome stormy blue eyes and you almost want to sink to his level and kiss those sweet lips of his.

“Exalt me? If I’m not mistaken, Count, you outrank me.”

“Please let me sing the praises of the prettiest and smartest woman in all of the Nilfgaardian vassals. Let me count the ways I am not worthy,” he teases as he moves forward, grabbing the hem of your skirts in his ungloved hands. You snort with laughter as you slide down on the ornate chair, giving him better access.

“Well how can I refuse that? Better put your mouth to good use, Cahir.”

He grins a wicked smile before bunching your skirts up at your waist, muttering something about ‘giving you something to hold onto’ while he pushes your thighs apart, kissing up the expanse from knee to hip.

He playfully bites your thigh right where it meets your core, earning a yelp from you before he soothingly licks the same spot. He presses a kiss to your core before he starts eating like a man starved.

Cahir licks and sucks at the wetness between your folds, moaning against you and sending shockwaves up your frame. You can’t help but cry out at the fervor of his actions, not caring that your cries are bouncing off of the acoustics of the large room. It sounds like worship, your cries mixed with the slurping sounds of his lips and tongue against you. Knowing this could never happen again, the danger of even thinking of this despite the estate being empty, all stoke a fire deep within you. Your hands clench down on the fabric of your skirts, no doubt creasing and wrinkling them to the point of needing care.

“Cahir, please,” you beg, not really sure what you’re begging for. To keep going? To have him take you back to your rooms and ruin you?

He only hums in response and adds his hand. First one finger, then two, curling upwards and making you see stars with each thrust. He takes to kissing and sucking at your clit and sucking hickies into your thighs and hips.

This is the glory of the white flame, you know that. The fire under your skin, the joy you feel, the love between you.

He picks up the pace, and you just about scream.

“Don’t hold back, love,” he pants against your skin, “Let me hear you.”

How can you deny him? You cry out with each thrust of his fingers, muttering sweet nothings of encouragement as he keeps on at his unwavering speed.

“Not- Not gonna last much longer,” you pant out, and he takes that as a challenge.

His mouth returns to your clit, sucking the bud between his lips and grazing it with his teeth.

This sends you over the edge, finally screaming as your hands frantically seek him out, one hand burying itself in his hair while the other one finds his free hand, ready to gently hold yours as you shudder through your orgasm. Cahir is always gentle with you like this, making sure you’re safe in his arms.

Once your shivering subsides, he very carefully grabs your skirts and pulls them back down your legs before beaming up at you, his smile coated and shimmering with wetness.

“I love you,” you whisper.

He smiles wider, and pats where your ring rests beneath his armor, before gathering you up in his arms to hug you tightly.

#cahir x reader #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach x reader #cahir imagine #bodyguard au

102 notes · View notes

aarcanechaoss · 2 years

Note

Hey ;)

Can you so a Dorothy and Nozel smut 👀

I think their dynamic would be interesting

They do be an interesting ship 👀

Nozel doesn’t know how this began. Didn’t know when seeing Dorothy outside of Captain meetings and team meets became regular.

He doesn’t even know how they got here, in his chambers, in his home- not at the base no… no his home.

Nozel practically swamped her, her tiny frame being swallowed up by his own as he lifted her up against the wall. His hands pressed to the backs of her thighs held her in place. Her hands were around his broad shoulders holding him tight.

They didn’t want to let go, not as their lips pressed together, not as their teeth clashed or tongues explored, they didn’t want to let go.

Her hat and cloak went first, falling to the ground as their clothes became discarded.

His cloak was gone soon too and Dorothy couldn’t help but sigh as she let her hands wander along his toned arms beneath the thin clothing he wore.

Neither remembered getting her, at one point they were dancing, drinking and eating with the others, the next they were in his room against the wall, now he carried her towards his bed.

Their clothes were everywhere, his chambers but a mess of colourful clothes both his and hers alike but he couldn’t care, didn’t want too as her legs wrapped around his waist to pull him close.

And close he was.

~~*~~

It didn’t take long for the room to smell of sex and her perfume (one being stronger than the other). Nozel’s lips travelled from her’s to her neck, nibbling on the skin as his hips rocked against hers.

Her moans were to die for and her clawing at his back almost made him buckle under his own weight above her. He foresaw that would be wearing those marks as a badge of honour for a while.

Dorothy lay beneath, sweating and whimpering at the sudden change in pace, her leg kicking up at the feeling as her nails dug into his perfect smooth skin. She wanted more, needed more as his lips took claim to more and more exposed skin, his teeth nipping and (what she hoped was happening) marking the tender skin.

One particular thrust had her crying out, pressing her chest against his as his mouth traversed south- his teeth grazing the softness of her breast for a brief moment before capturing her lips in another heated kiss.

More. She needed more.

~~*~~

He wasn’t complaining as Dorothy pushed him onto his back, not when she so rarely showed strength like that. His head hit the pillows with a soft thump as she climbed atop of his much larger frame.

She was so petite, he barely believed that he fit inside her warm walls even as she continued to hold him like a vice grip. His own moans only seemed to make her wetter- and he had to say he enjoyed that immensely.

Her small frame shuddering above him, taking him at a different angle, deeper.

Her own pace was just that bit faster than his before, her hips grinding down after every rise and fall. Nozel groaned, bucking his hips up to meet hers every once in a while making her moan louder each time.

There was a thrill in this, being together like this.

Perhaps there would be consequences later, perhaps they’d come to regret this moment but right now either could care.

Not as Dorothy came undone above him, not as she fell against his body while his hips continues to buck, chasing his own release.

Perhaps there wouldn’t be any regrets at all and something else will happen… neither know, neither care, not as she begins to move her hips again with the mumbled whispers of-

“More.”

#black clover smut #Dorothy Unsworth smut #Nozel Silva smut

12 notes · View notes

kitasfox · 3 years

Text

a/n: part one of haikyuu boy's with bimbos. Yes there will be more. Which haikyuu boy do we wanna see next? 👀 don't be shy send some requests!

This post is NSFW! Minors do not interact or I'll bite you. Xo fox.

warnings: bimbo and masochist reader because I said so. Enjoy. Kind of hate sex, smut?? mentions of a wound but like a small one? Degrading.

In all truth, Sakusa Kiyoomi hates you.

He hates how clumsy you are, how you often trip on air and fall forward- wearing those skimpy little skirts of yours, always giving the team members a good show of what color you're wearing that day.

They even know how you like to match your bra with your panties, as well, since you almost always either button your shirt wrong or spill the water you were bringing to them on yourself, making everything visible.

But what he hates the most is just how clueless of all this you are.

You spend the day unaware of each and every member hovering around you because they don't want to miss it if you fall again, hear your pained little cry, and see how your panty strains on your ass.

You spend the day unaware of the eyes like predators watching you, creating fantasies about you, stroking their cocks to the thought of you.

Fuck- just how much he hates you and your clueless self.

"Ah~" you let out a pained little cry, eyes still damp from before. Sakusa kneels before you as you sit on the chair, eyes trained on the scratch you have on your knees.

It's not the first time you fell on your face, almost everyone on the team had cleaned and attended your wounds once before, but Sakusa hadn't. That was why you were more than surprised as strong arms had wrapped your frame, lifting you off the ground after you had fallen. He was surprised, too, if he was honest. But seeing you on the ground like that, eyes watery with the burn on your knees, skirt ridden all the way up and doing nothing to hide.

"Th-thank you for helping me, Sakusa." You mutter from your seat, watching the man clean your wound, face so close to your- your--

"Stop crying," he orders as he puts some antibacterial cream on the slight scrape, nothing big, but it's more than enough to have you crying like a baby. "It's not even that big."

"It hurts!" You protest, voice breathy and shaky, but Sakusa thinks your strained voice doesn't sound like you're in pain but more like- "mmh!" you bite your lip when he accidentally presses a little too hard, your hands gripping the wood chair as if to get support.

Sakusa's eyes narrow in suspicion, amusement dancing in his black gaze. It can't be- you're not getting off of this, right?

"You good there?" The man raises a brow from between your legs, his cold fingers touching the skin of your thighs, littering your skin in goosebumps.

"Y-yes." You answer as he presses a ball of cotton, your eyes shut closed tightly, teeth biting on your under lip- Sakusa thinks you look like you're enjoying this a little too much.

huh.

Of course, this could all mean it just hurts, but he has a hunch that it's not just pain that has you reacting this way. Deciding to experiment, when Sakusa presses the ball of cotton with a little more pressure, enough to make it sting, you let out yet another whimper, legs widening just a bit to hide the slight shake to them.

With the way you open your legs, Sakusa wonders if you're aware that he can see everything because of your flimsy little skirt, now ridden up even more because you're sitting.

He can see your panties straining over your pussy; he can see how it starts to dampen as he presses to the wound, the smell of your arousement getting stronger by the second.

"Mmh-" you whimper softly, shuffling in your seat-

He suddenly pulls his hand away, rising to his feet, his tall frame hovering over you, making you sink in your chair. "It's done," he says, an amused smile sits on his lips at your shocked and disappointed face; you look like you're going to cry once again.

"I-" you choke out, and he finds your eyes glassy with fresh tears. Oh, you really were enjoying it, weren't you? "Th-thank you." You can only muster, trying to recollect yourself, not even aware of his mocking gaze.

"You look disappointed." Sakusa raises a brow at your flushed face, making your breath hitch in your lungs. In a sudden motion, Sakusa leans forward, leveling your face; you can almost feel his breath on your skin. "You know," he smiles, showing you his perfect whites, "I never knew our manager was such a fucking slut."

His gaze falls lower, dancing on the skin your skirt can't reach. "Or maybe I did," he chuckles, the sound makes you whimper, "but this-" his hand comes up to grip your jaw, so hard that you think your teeth might cut your lips, but both of you know you wouldn't be opposed to that. "This," he repeats, "what a fucking whore, really."

"'m not!" You try to protest, but before you can even finish your words, his hand lets go of your jaw and grips your hair, instead, pulling it with so much force, you think it might snap off. Sakusa feels his cock hardening at the blissed-out smile on your lips.

"Repeat that for me, Y/N," he chuckles, "tell me you're not a whore, tell me if I checked now, I wouldn't find your panties soaked."

"Tell me you wouldn't like it if I went ahead and wrapped my hands around your pretty little throat, tell me you wouldn't like it if I made you choke on my cock, that you would hate it if I slapped your dumb little face."

When you stay silent, mouth falling agape and eyes glassy with lust, a dumbed-out expression on your face with drool collection in the corners of your mouth, Sakusa wonders if it's because you're obeying his command or just too dumb to process his words.

Either way, he'd like to find out how much pain your dumb little self can handle. After all, he was the one jerking off to the thought of making your ass sore with spanks the day you came in as a manager.

#sakusa x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #hq smut #hq x you #sakusa smut #sakusa x you #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x me #haikyuu x you #hq x self insert #hq x reader #hq x y/n #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi x you #sakusa kiyoomi x reader

1K notes · View notes

stormblessed95 · 3 years

Note

So I just saw Georgia on twitter mention that there a lot of cut scenes when it comes to jikook. Can you by chance do a compilation of those cuts (and maybe why you think they cut it🤭). Thanks

Hello! I think most cuts are greatly over exaggerated. Like when jikook are reaching for something the other has or starting to hug and then the scene ends. Name me any ship and I cam find you cuts just like that. It's honestly just about timing I think. Bighit is showing us things, whenever that part of what is being shown is over, they cut the scene. It's not them hiding Jikook hugging or feeding each other. It's sad because we like to see it and we always want more, but it's not a suspicious cut or them hiding interactions. Doesn't mean there aren't some that ARE suspicious though.

For example, the way they didn't show Jungkook touching Jimin for the pose during RUN. Idk why they cut it. But let's talk about why it raises my eyebrows... when JK got to Jimin he still had like 2.5 minutes left on his timer. Then the camera pans away to focus on the members further down the line talking. There is CLEARLY a cut because 5 seconds later, JK is moving onto the next member from Jimin, but he all of a sudden had less than a minute left on his timer. To the point where he couldn't even finish touching the rest of the members to guess their pose, he only made it through 4 members.... so HOW LONG was he running his hands over Jimin?! And why couldn't we see? We saw him stick his head between Hobi's legs and run his hands all over his thighs at the same time.... he couldn't have done anything worse than that with JM, right? 👀 I'm just saying...

One of the most obvious and suspicious cuts that haunts me to this day is the NYE performance cut. JK is talking to the camera, Jimin comes up and draps himself over JK, leans his face up and over into JKs face (legit, looks like he is going for a tired, we did it all done, kiss) and then CUT. JK is legit cut off mid speech and the next frame has them separated and JK finishing up whatever he was saying... but like it was a huge ass cut out of no where... it makes ZERO sense to have cut the video there unless, maybe something happened?

The way that JK was obviously caging Jimin in for a very long time during the BE album unboxing that they did. It was already like almost a full minute on the video, but the video had 4 obvious cuts in it during the time that JK was leaning over him. He hung out there for AWHILE. I don't think anything sus happened, I think editors just cut it for time, but damn. He really didn't move from Jimin.

The way that ZERO footage was given to us from Jikook sharing a bedroom in Bon Voyage 2. The most we got was a shot of their shut door and a selca Jimin posted of them in bed together. That's IT. We got shots of every other member sharing rooms and inside their rooms, but absolutely nothing from jikooks room. Wonder why that room ONLY became a no camera zone? 👀

Same thing for when they shared a tent. We got footage of them setting up the tent (where JK definitely seemed to enjoy the view of Jimin in his shorts). We got footage of them getting into the tent. We got a picture the members took of them passed out inside the tent. But that's it. We got more from the other members and whoever they were sharing with, but nothing from Jikook.... 👀

And in BV4, we had that super weird cut when they were all on the couch talking. Jimin leaned over to give JK a hug, cut. Some moment of footsies started up, cut. All of a sudden, Jimin is blushing and JK is leaving to go put on a long coat... bts is teasing the heck out of them.... ahem, seems like something happened during that cut that got you both all flustered and required group teasing 👀 I have a post about this one up in more detail on my masterlist

And one that I'm so sad we missed out on, is this behind the scenes from RUN. Why did the footage of whatever led up to this moment never get released?? I bet it was soft as heck and so cute

And of course, it's odd and suspicious how many cuts there were in the Mosquito Net scene and how chopped up the footage was they released of that night. What all was deleted? What couldn't we have seen or heard? Because there were so many giant cuts in that whole scene. I have a post up with more detail about that as well in my masterlist. Plus the morning after, JK goes to cuddle Jimin in bed and we don't actually know how long he stayed there for because there was a cut in that footage too (which makes sense if all they did was cuddle, they would rather show other things and people doing things than just 2 members sleeping).

Thanks for the ask! There are quite a few moments that make me wonder with Jikook and when/how the cameras cut. But the majority of them are honestly not worth thinking too hard about and are just honestly things that happen in entertainment shows to everyone. Hope this helped! 💜

#jikook #kookmin #jikook suspicious cuts #jikook cut the cameras

252 notes · View notes

jjungkookislife · 2 years

Note

Wait can u do it with namjoon too👀👀 If both are your biases 👀👀

pairing: ex stripper!joon x reader

tw: stripping

Namjoon sat back as he watched the stage. A drink sat in his hand as his jaw ticked. To any bystander, he looked pissed, raging with anger from his stance, his hard stare, and the tight grip he had on his glass. You knew better, though. You could see the longing in his eyes as you wiped down the bar.

"Going down memory lane?" you ask as you sit beside him now that Yoongi is back from his break and you're done covering for him.

Namjoon looks down at you, his muscular frame barely hidden by his white jacket, his muscle shirt glued to his pecs.

"Just miss being up there sometimes," he shrugs, sipping his drink to give him a moment to collect himself. "Teaching them is fun and all, but I don't know."

"The crowd would love if you came back," you say over the cheers as Jimin gets up on the stage, the lights dim and the music starts out soft, an erotic beat that has you sneaking a peek.

"That's the way you used to look at me on stage," Namjoon says, looking at you as you turn your head rapidly.

"You noticed?" you ask, shocked. You always thought you kept your crush on him a secret, but apparently not.

"Of course, I did. I always sought you out from the stage. You always had this feral look on your face, almost like you wanted to devour me whole... and I would have let you." Namjoon's deep tone has your thighs pressed together, your hand moving to place his drink on the bar behind you.

Namjoon watches you intently. "But you never said anything or approached me, so I assumed I was wrong. However, no one gets me this turned on, but no one makes me this sad, either."

"Sad?" you ask, looking up at him. Namjoon cups your cheek, his fingers gently caressing your skin.

"You never quite looked at me the same once I got off the stage. It made me fear you only liked the persona on stage and not the real me."

"Joon, that's not true!" you protest immediately, and he nods.

"I know that now," he whispers, leaning in to press his lips to yours.

#jjungkookislife drabble game

36 notes · View notes

kueble · 3 years

Note

18. Claws for Monster March, Geraskier pls? Hands are amazing & the only thing that makes them better is claws. 👀

I love this prompt! Thank you for confirming you are ok with a little bit of blood. Here is the next installment of my demon!au.

18+ under the cut. Warnings: blood, claws

1400 words.

---

Jaskier buries his fingers in the feathers of Geralt’s wings, knowing how much the demon loves it. Geralt groans into the kiss, licking into his mouth as he grinds his hips down. Their cocks slide together, and Jaskier lets out a whine as he bucks up and arches into it. His body is humming, lit up everywhere Geralt is touching him, and he can’t believe this is his new normal, that he gets to touch him like this every night.

He is so fucking lucky he could cry.

Geralt breaks the kiss, biting down on Jaskier’s lower lip and tugging roughly as he pulls away. There’s a hint of fang, and Jaskier shudders, before gasping for air. They’ve only been kissing for a little while, but he’s half gone already. Geralt drove him mad with lust before they got together, and it turns out it’s even better when he’s allowed to touch and taste him.

“You’re sure about this?” Geralt asks for the hundredth time tonight, and Jaskier is nodding before he can even think about it.

“I have spent the last week begging you to put these to good use,” Jaskier says, reaching out to take Geralt’s clawed hands in his. “I want you like this. Please.”

The please seems to do it, and Geralt closes his eyes for a second before nodding sharply. He inhales deeply, almost sniffing the air, and Jaskier can only imagine what he smells like right now. Geralt’s extra senses must be going wild with him laid out like this, covered in a thin sheen of sweat with his leaking prick resting hotly against his thigh.

“If it gets to be too much -” Geralt starts, but Jaskier interrupts him.

“I’ll say Lettenhove and everything stops, no questions asked,” Jaskier says quickly. Geralt smirks down at him, and he just sticks out his tongue in return. “Now touch me.”

“Forgive me for wanting to protect my fragile human lover,” he deadpans.

“Ever a gentleman,” Jaskier teases, but he breaks off in a hiss, because Geralt finally fucking touches him.

He rakes his claws down Jaskier’s chest, and Jaskier pushes up on his elbows so he can watch the thin pink lines appear on his skin. Just the thought of the power in Geralt’s hands - in his razor sharp claws - is enough to make him shiver. Geralt circles one nipple with the sharp tip of his finger, teasing him before pinching it between the flat side of two claws. Jaskier keens, his mouth going dry as sparks shoot down his spine.

Chuckling, Geralt sits back, settling himself on top of Jaskier’s thighs. He’s heavy enough that Jaskier can’t move, but he tries to lift his hips anyway, groaning when the demon’s weight holds him in place. Geralt looks gorgeous above him, his pale skin practically glowing in the moonlight and his body framed by his large black wings. Jaskier loves seeing him like this, loves that he’ll let his guard down and show Jaskier his true form when they’re alone. There’s trust on both sides and it makes him heady with it.

“Ready?” Geralt asks softly, his voice barely more than a whisper, and Jaskier nods frantically before going completely still. He clenches his fists in the sheets in anticipation, eyes going wide as he watches Geralt press a single claw against the center of his chest. He lets out a slow breath as it slices into him, his skin burning with it.

A thin red line of blood oozes up and Jaskier gets dizzy with it. His head is buzzing as he stares at it. Geralt meets his eyes, and he nods again, unable to speak as the feeling of it drags him down, makes him feel warm all over. It’s like he’s floating above the bed, not the active participant that he actually is, and he’s giddy from it.

“Again,” he manages to croak out, and Geralt licks his lips before bringing his hand down again and cutting Jaskier right under his left nipple. He’s hairier here, but Jaskier can still see the blood as it wells up, staining his skin crimson. His skin feels tight, his body hot as he pants and watches as Geralt drags his hand across the cut, smearing the blood.

“Fuck, you look good like this,” Geralt groans out, and Jaskier takes a moment to look at him. He looks every bit as out of it as Jaskier feels, like he’s barely hanging on. His golden eyes are wild, pupils fully blown as he chews on his lower lip and looks down at Jaskier. “One more?”

“Fuck,” Jaskier breathes out. “Yes, please. Fuck.”

He does his best to stay still, but Geralt has to lean down and press his palm to his chest, holding him in place. Jaskier blinks lazily as Geralt teases him, digging the tips of his claws into the soft skin next to his navel. They don’t break the skin, but Jaskier whines anyway, entranced as Geralt works him over.

His heart is racing, thumping wildly in his chest, and he watches with wide eyes as Geralt cuts him one last time. He’s caught in a mess of pleasure and pain, and it’s so overwhelming that he can’t help sobbing. Geralt looks like he’s about to panic, so Jaskier rushes to tell him it’s good - he’s good - and tries to ride that high he’s feeling right now.

“I’m good,” Jaskier whimpers, words failing him as he pleads with his eyes. “Touch me, please” he managed to get out, and Geralt must believe him, because he runs his palms down Jaskier’s sides and over his thighs, grounding him.

Jaskier can’t remember ever being this hard, and he knows he’s close. He’s leaking all over his thigh, pre-come making a mess of him. Geralt wraps a hand around the base of his cock, careful to avoid catching him with his claws. And - sweet fuck - this is new. This is new and amazing and Jaskier starts babbling nonsense as he watches Geralt’s clawed hand start pumping him slowly. One slip-up and he could get hurt, but he knows Geralt is in complete control, trusts him to keep him safe from harm.

Geralt rubs his thumb over the head of his cock, and Jaskier cries out as his orgasm crashes through him. He spills over Geralt’s hand, coating his black claws with it, and it looks so good that Jaskier’s eyes roll back into his head as he rides it out. Geralt works him through it, milking him dry as he mumbles about how gorgeous Jaskier looks like this.

He’s still floating - his head fuzzy - and he tries to settle himself down enough to watch as Geralt takes himself in hand. He rises up on his knees, hovering over Jaskier as he strips his own prick, grunting as he fucks into his fist. Jaskier wants to help, but he’s done for, body twitching and overwhelmed as he lies there, and all he can do is meet Geralt’s gaze as he jerks himself.

“On me,” he manages to spit out, and Geralt shouts his name as he comes in thick strands across Jaskier’s blood-smeared chest.

Geralt collapses on top of him, making an absolute mess of the both of them, but Jaskier could care less. His face feels hot and wet, and Jaskier realizes he’s still crying. He wipes at his eyes and tries to calm down, but his heart is rabbiting in his chest and he’s gasping for air. The room is hot and all he can focus on is the sweet burn of the cuts from Geralt’s claws. Geralt rolls onto his back and gathers Jaskier in his arms, cradling him to his chest. He buries his face against the hollow of Geralt’s throat and breathes in the scent of him while Geralt rubs his back and holds him close.

It’s enough to get him back in his head, but he’s way too fucked out to move right now. He presses a gentle kiss against Geralt’s collar bone and closes his eyes. He feels the tingle of Geralt’s magic and realizes Geralt has cleaned them both up. He loves that he gets to be lazy like this when Geralt has enough extra energy to do small spells to make their lives easier. He can feel the soft feathers of Geralt’s wings close around him and the last thing he hears before he drifts off is Geralt whispering, “you’re so pretty when you cry.”

---

Tags list: @lovesight @mayastormborn @feraljaskier @allinthebones @selectivegeekwithstandards @saphiramalbec @trickstermoose67 @dapandapod @theweirdlynx @tedrakitty @sharinalein

Please let me know if you’d like to be added/removed. Thank you!

#my fic #monster march #cast a spell for your demon #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #cw blood #tw blood #demon au #vengeance demon au

117 notes · View notes