#Once Upon a Time {Thread Start} | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pearlywritings · 7 months ago

Text

New day - same you

synopsis: morning routine with them and other sweet moments

pairing and characters: Argenti, Aventurine, Blade, Boothill, Dan Heng, Gallagher, Gepard Landau, Jiaoqiu, Jing Yuan, Loucha, Sunday, Veritas Ratio (separately) x reader

tw: established relationship (marriage/dating), fluff, halovian!reader in Sunday's, halovians have back wings here, foxian!reader in Jiaoqiu's (and his part is written before 2.5)

word count: ~4k words

Argenti

With Argenti it almost feels like competition - who's going to be the first to awake and marvel in the morning beauty of their sleeping lover. He, with his flashy but sincere words and loving kisses all over your wrists, and you, with your soft touches and quiet murmurs of the declarations of love.

The fog of the dream is hard to fight through this particular morning - Argenti stayed up way past midnight to fix the “One and Only’s” engine and practically fell into your embrace after the shower, worming his way under your lax arms. His body clock, however, is sending alarms to his brain, pushing him to wake up, stimulating the thought of opening his eyes and having a blessing of witnessing your angelic face.

Which is gone as soon as it appears. You, awake, and still holding your lover in your arms, tug him a bit closer and let his face nestle into the crook of your neck. As a fellow Knight of Beauty there is no hate in your heart for the broken engine that kept Argenti busy tonight, but it doesn't mean you can't dislike it and let him sleep a bit more. It's not like you two are rushing anywhere.

When your tender hand is laid upon his head, lovingly patting and threading fingers through the heavy locks of crimson hair, the knight feels bliss. His mind is sedated and willingly enters the gates of another dream, just as sweet as your presence.

This morning you may not have your share of compliments, breaking the little ritual, but it's more than alright. After all, the beauty of the proper rest is a nice alternative.

Aventurine

No matter what day it is - Aventurine is always the first one to wake up. An occupational hazard, if you could name working for the IPC this way. However, the one of the Stonehearts despises leaving the bed without you, and even more despises waking you up before your alarm clock goes off.

Aventurine is a busy man, who is used to starting his days with calls and messages, managing to have at least three little ‘meetings’ throughout his morning routine. And he can’t have you waking up from his voice taking a sharper edge in the conversation with one of the partners. So you reached a compromise - you sleep with earplugs and he gets to hold you in the morning while on the phone, waking you up with some nudges and kisses once the time comes.

He loves to see your sleepy but absolutely lovesick eyes after he pulls you out of the dream and lets you rest onto his chest with his arm around your body a bit longer, until this exact call is over.

Then you’d take your sweet time in the bathroom and then, as you are cooking breakfast and he is on the phone again, the man would cling to your back with his chin on your shoulder and one arm wrapped around your waist. Then he’d keep talking with you on his lap, keep talking with his hands busy with the dishes, keep talking as you pack his and your lunches. He’d be having the fourth or the fifth call by the time you are all dressed up and smoothing some invisible creases on his clothes, but he’ll always put the caller on hold to get his ‘good morning’ with a kiss and ‘have a wonderful day’ with another kiss.

But don’t be fooled - he does all that only because you explicitly expressed that you don’t mind. Just one word of yours - and he’ll swiftly finish the call, turning off his phone and giving you so much attention that by the time you both leave for work, you're gonna be affectionately sick of him.

Blade

It’s ten more minutes, the swordsman reminds himself after a quick glance at the wall clock and back to your sleeping figure. Nowadays, the Stellaron Hunter doesn’t deny you the request of staying in bed with you even if he can’t sleep normally and stays awake many hours through the night. After some nagging from you he even stopped getting in bed with his clothes on, opting for the sleeping pants and shirts you’ve bought for him to match most of yours.

Blade is leaning back on the headboard with a pillow squeezed in between as one hand, wrapped in bandages, resting on his thigh, while the other is carefully caressing the side of your head. It’s hard to believe that someone is able to snooze so peacefully next to a man like him, let alone, pressing their face into his thigh with arms wrapped around his leg.

And ‘peace’ is what Blade cherishes the most during the mornings spent with you. He makes you feel safe. You make him feel relaxed. His body next to yours is the fruit of your successful worming into his heart, your body next to his is his sanctuary. The man’s mind is at ease and he more often than not falls into the light slumber, dreamless, yet lacking nightmares too.

You crinkle your nose under the more prominent touch of his fingers across your face, and Blade stiffens. It’s still three minutes more, he doesn’t want to wake you up earlier than that. Yet at the same time, something inside him is burning with the strongest yearning of seeing your eyelids sliding up and the prettiest drowsy eyes looking up at him with so much adoration, that his heart starts bleeding like pierced.

The Stellaron Hunter looks at the clock again. One more minute. Maybe tomorrow morning he’ll let you both sleep in. Maybe it’s because you are not in any of the upcoming scripts. Or maybe it’s because he’d like to try cuddling once more.

Boothill

When in his travels, the cyborg doesn't sleep in the usual sense of this word. The correct way to describe it would be ‘recharge’, hiding somewhere in the secure corner, not even lying down, just sitting comfortably enough and letting his systems cool off and eyes plus brain rest.

When he is back home to you however… He literally starts whining and complaining if you take too long to join him in your shared bed.

Boothill always asks you to sleep in panties/shorts only. Not because he is a pervert (though he indeed can touch or lick or suck a time or two), but because in his absence he missed the heat and softness of your skin so much, that he immediately takes the little spoon position, burying his face into your chest and keening on the feeling of your fingers scratching his scalp and playing with his hair.

He loves falling asleep to the tender thumping in your chest, and even more so he loves waking up to the very same sound. It reminds him that he isn't alone in this world, that even with all the losses he experienced he still has someone to adore and treasure. He always hugs your waist a little tighter upon awakening and presses a long kiss to the valley in the middle of your chest, closing his eyes and focusing on the deep breaths you release. It feels like heaven. It is home.

Plus, he loves your confident morning behavior, when you don't bother putting on a shirt after getting out of the bed and walking around the house still mostly bare, playfully swatting his hands away when he reaches to you with grabby motions. Well, given he sometimes walks around completely naked, he has nothing to accuse you of.

Dan Heng

Dan Heng isn’t particularly fond of you sleeping in his room. Not because he guards its contents akin to a dragon that fusses over its treasures or because he doesn’t want your body pressed close to his, no. Simply because his ‘bed’ is hard. And, admittedly, the mattress is not big enough to fit two people comfortably.

But you, oh you, are always so sweet about it and reassure him that you love the close proximity it brings, and that you are ready to deal with the slight body ache in the morning, understanding that Dan Heng himself is more at ease while staying in his own ‘den’ (he is working on it).

Mornings usually start with you on top of him - even in his unconscious state the man still worries about you, so he’d rather have you use him as a pillow (and, as you once teased him, he’d use you as a weighted blanket). Next, you’ll be swift to leave his side, throwing his coat on and quietly tiptoeing to the kitchen.

Usually, by the time you return, your boyfriend is already awake, but still staying under the blanket, waiting for you. He gratefully accepts a steaming mug with a calming herbal tea and you peck his cheek, flopping next to him with your own mug in a hand. You are sitting quietly, shoulders touching and knees bumping, while you are sipping on your drinks and chasing away the remnants of sleep.

Dan Heng smiles when you wiggle your feet under the blanket and put your head onto his shoulder, and as he turns his head to kiss the top of yours, securing a tender end to your special morning ritual, the man thinks he is indeed healing. And that’s what he cherishes about mornings with you most.

Gallagher

Gallagher takes extra long showers in the evenings after his shifts, because he doesn’t want to bring the smell of alcohol, cigarettes and anything else of the bar’s patrons to your bed. He doesn’t want you to grimace first thing in the morning and push him away, complaining about the stink. He’d much rather have your body tightly pressed against his, maybe face squished into his chest, arm thrown over his waist and legs stuck between his.

Gallagher loves just lazing in bed with you, as you are both awake. Loves rubbing his cheek against yours and hearing you reprimand him lightheartedly for the stubble. And yet, you never move away, welcoming his big palm resting on your hip, fingers lightly digging into fat and dragging you even closer to him.

Today you, however, throw a leg over his body and swiftly climb on top, immediately settling onto his chest like many times before. It’s because you know he has a night shift and you don’t plan to let him go until at least lunch. And your lover is strong, he can throw you off using just one arm or by simply turning his body under yours, but he does none of this, all because he absolutely adores your little sparks of possessiveness.

His heavy hand lowers onto your head, gently ruffling your hair, to which you grumble, poking his side with a single finger, only to scratch him lightly with all five a second later. Oh how deliciously he shivers and even a following pinch to your ass is unable to wipe a pleased smile off your face.

He’ll tell you stupid stories from the night before at the bar, share the worst jokes his patrons slurred and admit the teasing Sioban put him through once again, because ‘the old dog was glancing at the clock, counting the minutes till running home to you’. And you’ll be laughing. And he’ll be laughing too.

Gepard Landau

The Captain of the Silverman Guards is obviously the man of schedule. He wakes up at the same time, he wraps up his morning routine in the same period of time, and he leaves the house at the same time.

Every morning the man is trying his hardest to get out of the bed as sneakily as he can, because otherwise there are chances of waking you up and his heart cries when you follow him around wrapped in the blanket while whining that it’s so cold to be out of the bed and his warmest embrace (yes, you’re sometimes faking it, but come on, your golden retriever of a boyfriend is warm and comfy to cuddle with).

Can never deny you, when you squeeze yourself past him in the hot shower, explaining that yes, you are cold, and yes, it’s saving water (obviously not to admire your handsome lover and steal a couple of morning kisses from him).

You are still sleepy as the water is gushing on your body, which is held in place by two strong hands on your hips. Gepard can’t take his eyes from your cute droopy expression and smiles softly when you lift your head to let the water splash against your face. He doesn’t like it when you sacrifice your sleep in the mornings, but he can’t lie to himself that he loves spending these moments with you either. He gently brushes your wet locks away from your cheeks and forehead, leaning down to plant a small peck on your chin.

A cheerful ‘hooray’ is coming out in bubbles due to the water getting into your mouth, but you don’t care, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face into his chest instead. Oh Qlipoth, let this poor man be not that obvious with the raging blush from the new mark blooming under his uniform while leaving the house

Jiaoqiu

Waking up with the rays of rising sun to throw on an embroidered robe and get to the kitchen to cook another delicious breakfast for you and him is indeed a pleasurable and relaxing part of the healer’s morning. However, much more than that he enjoys wondering in his head who’s going to wake up hugging whose tail the evening before, just to arise the next morning and see if his guess is right.

Opening his fanged mouth in a big yawn and squeezing still shut honey golden eyes even more, Jiaoqiu starts his day with a nice full body stretch. Something soft gets into his mouth and immediately jerks, provoking an abrupt puff of air released from the male’s lungs. There is a dissatisfied mumble somewhere close to his collarbones, and when heavy eyelids slide open, the foxian catches just the swift motion of your ears pressing back against your head.

He can't help but smile softly, leaning down and kissing the top of it (his own pink ear slightly twitching as you quietly murmur in delight), then moving back and looking down to assess your sleeping positions.

Face to face and legs tangled together, your bodies lay closely to each other. With your nose buried into his neck and arms wrapped around his frame, Jiaoqiu, to his greatest disappointment, notices both your tails peacefully resting on the mattress behind your backs.

What a pity… Now it means you won't be helping him comb through his fur to make it look presentable and he won't be doing the same to you… Unless…

As the clawed hand carefully reaches behind you with a clear intention to mess up your tail and sly eyes crinkle in mischief, Jiaoqiu is truly ready to start his morning routine even to the extent of your complaints.

Jing Yuan

Jing Yuan is a true connoisseur of soft things. He has the fluffiest carpets back at home, silkiest fabrics for clothes, his bed is like one big white cloud, and his pet is a lion with a huge mane. Not to mention his beloved, who has the softest thighs to nap onto in the whole universe (he has never compared to others, but he is a firm believer).

The General has been having trouble waking up in the morning for a while now. Alarm clock? Ignored. Mimi’s nudges and complaining groans? Ignored too. Your loving voice and tender kisses all over his face? Careful, he is the Dozing General, not the Weak one - you are very much at risk every time to be dragged back in bed in your husband's embrace.

And that little fight you put up every morning to get him from under the blanket and send him off to the bathroom is his favorite part. Just like today.

If anyone was to walk into your bedroom, they'd see a strange image of your strained form being hunched and jerking backwards, trying to rip your arm from an iron grasp, and just a single hand visible in the mess of pillows and blankets, holding onto your wrist and trying to pull you back onto the bed.

You swear, the man hasn't even opened his eyes, relying solely on his other sharp senses to effortlessly catch you when you tried to flee after kissing him good morning.

It's pointless to remind him of the meeting today - he'll get there in time either way, but you still try to hold your ground and win this fight of stubbornness.

Jing Yuan laughs, when with a loud gasp you fall onto his swiftly sitting up figure and are immediately thrown back onto the bed with his sturdy body pinning yours underneath. He loves the heat of your face he feels when his cheek is pressed to yours. He adores when you wiggle under him, refusing to admit that this display of his strength didn't leave you hot and bothered. And he is absolutely smitten when eventually you let out a long exasperated sigh and wrap your arms around his shoulders, admitting your defeat, agreeing to sleep for a little bit more.

Loucha

The merchant is too used to the feeling of loneliness in his travels. Getting out of a hardly couple-of-days-familiar bed, grabbing a pin from a nightstand table to fix a quick messy bun and, swiftly stopping by the bathroom to freshen up his sleepy face, the man drags his feet to the kitchen.

Oil is sizzling in a pan, as the man throws the cut vegetables in it, grabbing a spatula. He is barefoot, still in his sleep wear and long locks of golden hair hanging in messy waves to his shoulder length. It’s the sight that is hard to resist, and as much as you’d love to keep watching your lover, so uncharacteristically unkept and cozy, the need to get closer to him gets too strong. As your arms encircle his waist and lips press to wherever you can reach, Loucha doesn’t fight a soft smile. Yes, on some of his trades he’s on his own, but your presence is such a sedative to his soul and mind.

You ask him what he is cooking and he answers, letting you duck your head under his arm, so you could see for yourself, and then offers you to choose something extra if you so desire. Giving him your response, you immediately suggest helping, but he declines, carefully prying one of your hands from his stomach and lifting it to his lips, murmuring how he doesn’t want your pretty fingers to get all tired and dirty in the very morning.

But you are a little stubborn, so when he lets you go, you stay behind his back and reach for a simple jade pin, heroically holding the whole mass of his hair, and take it out, letting the heavy waves cascade down his back. The fingers he’s just been so worried about, bury into the locks, brushing out the knots, dividing in parts and then twisting them one around another, collecting his hair into a nice, but simple braid.

The merchant is used to spending his mornings alone. But admittedly he loves you being by his side and your adorable little gestures much more.

Sunday

It is a well-known fact that the halovian has OCD and his prior commitment to the Order only proves it more strongly. Admittedly, ever since he’s been released from Gopher Wood’s clutches and left Penacony, he’s been getting better: less paranoid, less twitchy, more forgiving to not only ones around him, but himself. He’s been working on abandoning some of his habits, going as far as styling his clothes in a kind of mismatched yet still smart manner. And still he’s having a hard time not to fuss over his appearance.

While sleeping, Sunday is restless. Having been sharing a bed with him for a long time, you’ve been a witness to all - thrashing from side to side, kicking off and then dragging back the blanket, both head and back wings flapping in sleep, messing equally his feathers and hair (sometimes yours too).

But you are understanding. You are gentle, when you offer the miserably looking man your hands and tug him out of the bed, walking him to the huge mirror and asking him to sit down in front of it. Your hands are soft and careful, as they are grooming his wings, rearranging the feathers correctly, removing broken ones, fluffing up the beautiful plumage that reminds of the night sky.

And sometimes, Sunday wants to cry. It’s so intimate, it’s so sweet, it’s something he was used to doing on his own, but here you are - doing it for him, cooing lovingly and pressing tender kisses to the smaller wings protruding from the back of his head, making them tremble slightly and the milky skin of his cheeks - flash with crimson.

And you trust him to do the same for you! His hands are shaking, his breath is hitching while you keep encouraging him to clean up your wings after sleep, being nothing but patient as the morning sun arises.

The ex-head of the Oak Family used to say that patience is a virtue, but in the dawn glow of your bedroom it turns into his paradise.

Veritas Ratio

No matter what your sleep schedule is, Veritas is always the first one to wake up. Sitting up he reaches for his nightstand drawer, tapping the phone’s screen to stop the alarm clock’s ringing. His other hand automatically reaches for the black-furred critter, nestled onto his lap, to gently pat its soft ‘shell’, receiving a quiet content chirp. Once done with the phone, the man turns to the other side of the bed, reddish-pink eyes lowering to your still sleeping form, with another critter snoozing under your arm. One more is spotted at the end of the bed.

Every single morning Veritas witnesses the same view - well, maybe your sleeping pose is different, or the placement of your ‘cats’ on the bed, or how much of the blanket you've either stolen from him or on the contrary thrown at him… still it's always you, him and your recently adopted pets.

And every single morning your lover can't help but take some minutes from his work out session and dedicate them to simply sitting in bed next to you, observing, doing his own little research. Today he notes how you've moved slightly onto his part of the bed, head occupying both yours and a small part of his pillow. Then his gaze moves downwards, noticing the covers being pulled down your waist and feet peeking from under the blanket. That's so you - feeling stuffy and hot yet still moving closer to his body.

Carefully, not to disturb you and give a couple of more minutes to rest, Veritas bends down and kisses your cheek, testing another hypothesis of his - would you smile in your sleep, upon feeling the touch of his lips on your skin?

He is surprised, when you open your eyes, staring back at him in a haze. Sensing your awakening, the orange critter practically zooms from under your arm, then onto the man’s pillow and off the bed, disappearing somewhere in the hallway. But he hardly pays attention to it. No, his eyes are glued to yours and that sweet smile that tugs on the corners of your mouth as you reach forward to circle his neck with your arms.

Yes, his thinks contented, closing his eyes, another hypothesis of his has been proven right.

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aegonstradwife · 10 months ago

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exposure therapy | aemond targaryen x reader

summary: anonymous requested; you and aemond were recently married. you're afraid of him, but aemond goes to great lengths to show you he's not that scary.

warnings: excessive use of ellipses, #1 wife lover aemond targaryen, brief mention of childhood trauma, smut. (fingering, face riding, oral.)

a. note:link to the original request.

As Aemond's new wife, it's surprising how little time you spend together. The servants whisper about it around every corner; how you skulk through the halls hoping to avoid him, how nearly every meal you take is apart from each other.

But there's a very good reason for this, one that you've never admitted to anyone.

You are terrified of him.

Even at night, you might share the same bed, but it's big enough that you can sleep soundly without ever once touching him. Although even that was difficult at first; those first few nights you dreaded climbing into bed with him and got nearly no sleep at all.

He is so much bigger, and much stronger, than you. He really could do anything he wanted to you and you would have no chance of fighting him off.

Eventually, however, Aemond's still body beside yours throughout the night, you realized he either wouldn't, or didn't want to, touch you. And finally you were able to get some sleep.

But now, though sleep comes much more easily and your nights are no longer fraught with peril at the thought of him forcing himself upon you, it still doesn't mean you have any desire to be around him.

And you thought he felt much the same. Until tonight.

Aemond is already comfortable on the settee by the window, reading, when you retire to your shared bedchamber for the night.

Hells bent as usual on ignoring him, you busy yourself with removing your shoes in front of the wardrobe.

"Come. Sit with me."

In the quiet of the room, Aemond's sudden, uncharacteristic, voice makes you jump, going very still. His tone is soft; now that you think on it, you've heard Aemond's voice very few times, either before or after you were married.

In your mind, the few times you had heard him speak, you remember him sounding like a complete barbarian. Not this lilting, almost melodic, softness....

Straightening, you nervously smooth the skirts of your dress down over your thighs. Aemond's silhouette is stark against the candles guttering on the windowsill.

You gulp, starting to tiptoe toward him, but stopping at the opposite arm of the settee. "Do I have to?" You ask quietly, and even that takes every ounce of courage in your weary body.

This is probably as close as you've ever been to him when not in bed together at night.

"I won’t bite." Aemond's lips are quirked in a half smirk. He closes the book in his hands and sets it aside, patting the space beside him. "I assure you, I won’t hurt you. Come. Sit."

Though he had indicated the middle cushion, you sweep your skirts under you and take a seat on the one beside it, furthest from Aemond.

Normally you would have loved sitting and reading by candlelight, the cool breeze from the open windows ruffling your hair.

But now you bite your lip, heart hammering hard against your ribcage like a frightened bird.

Aemond can feel the tension radiating off of you. Your shoulders tight as a bow string, the muscles in your jaw taut, hands folded in your lap fidgeting with a loose thread on your gown.

He simple looks at you for a very long moment. Your features are delicate, almost fragile, your frame small and dainty when compared to his. To Aemond, you look very much like a porcelain doll. He has no idea how someone could be so beautiful and yet so…. breakable.

You glance nervously at him, wondering what he could possibly be thinking.

"What?" You ask, though you keep your voice low, not wanting to anger him.

"You're afraid of me," Aemond states bluntly. He leans against the back of the settee, studying you with one intense purple eye. "Why?"

You laugh aloud, unable to stop yourself. Now seems as good a time as any to tell him exactly what you've been thinking since your wedding day.

"Look at you. And look at me. You could do whatever you want to me and I wouldn't be able to stop you. Not to mention...." You shrug. "The stories about you aren't kind...."

Aemond raises an eyebrow at your laughter, that same small, wry smile never leaving his lips. He can't help but wonder if you're mocking him as he leans forward, gaze still locked with yours.

"And what do the stories say about me, little wife?" His voice is low, a dangerous, frightening edge to it.

For seemingly the first time, you look your husband in the eye. One piercing violet eye stares back, the other covered by his customary eyepatch. "They say you're a fearsome warrior, one of the strongest swordsmen alive. And they say.... they say you killed that boy. Rhaenyra's son...."

Aemond’s eye narrows. There is so much uncertainty in that gaze of yours, something about your innocent face makes Aemond feel.... bad. His jaw clenches and he leans back.

"Lucerys Velaryon. Yes, I did kill him. Though I didn't mean to.... I lost control."

"You didn't?" Your eyes narrow as well, suspicious of him. "Then.... what did you mean to do?"

Your husband lets out a long sigh and crosses his arms. "I meant to scare him. I was.... angry. I wanted to teach him a lesson, to frighten and humiliate him. And I did not have such good control over Vhagar as I do now...."

At the mention of his dragon, you perk up - that's one thing you've always been curious about. The Targaryen dragons are so beautiful and powerful; you would love to ride one one day, if given the chance.

"So your dragon, she disobeyed you?"

Aemond is clearly taken aback by your interest in Vhagar. For a moment, it seemed you forgot you were supposed to be scared of him. He tries to hide the hint of surprise flickering across his face.

"Well, yes and no," Aemond says, diplomatic. "Vhagar is a very old and powerful dragon, and she is used to doing what she wants. Sometimes.... it's difficult for any Targaryen to control a dragon, even the strongest of riders."

You are positively fascinated, hearing about Vhagar, leaning in toward Aemond without realizing. "What is it like, riding her? Does it ever get cold, so high up?"

Aemond can smell your perfume as you lean toward him, a mix of jasmine and honey, faint yet sweet. He clears his throat.

"Riding Vhagar is like nothing else," he tells you. "And yes, it does get cold at times, but the feeling of the wind in your hair and the power of the dragon beneath you is.... indescribable."

"Do you think she'd let me ride her?" At this point, you're nearly nose to nose with Aemond, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Or do they only let Targaryens?"

Aemond freezes, gaze still locked with yours, your heads so close together that he can feel your breath ghost across his lips. He is surprised by your question and even more surprised by how badly he wants to fulfill the request.

"They only let Targaryens ride them, yes," he says, voice sounding much huskier than he intends. "But.... I'm sure Vhagar wouldn't mind letting someone else ride her.... if I were to accompany them."

"Would you?" You reach out, hand finding his thigh and giving a thankful squeeze. Realizing what you've done, how close you've become to him, you quickly snatch that hand back as though Aemond is on fire. "I'm so sorry...."

Aemond’s eye widens; for a heartbeat, your touch sent a shock through his entire body.

"It's alright." His voice is rough. “Don’t apologize....” He catches your wrist gently, before you can pull your hand away completely. "It was.... nice."

You tense, wrist caught in his strong embrace. "What are you doing?"

For a long moment, Aemond doesn't respond, simply staring at your slender wrist in his hand. Your skin is so smooth, so soft. He can feel your pulse beating against his palm, fast and fluttering like the wings of a small bird.

"Doing?" He finally asks, looking up at you with a sly smile. "Just.... holding your hand, that’s all."

"Holding my.... oh." All things considered, Aemond is handsome, you suppose. With his long silver hair, that chiseled jaw, the little moue of his lips. "You.... you really aren't all that scary, are you?"

Chuckling softly, Aemond's fingers gently stroke the skin of your wrist. Your words, spoken almost as a question, take him by surprise.

"I'm not trying to scare you," he says, his voice low and slightly amused. "And I don’t want to be scary, to you. Can I be honest with you, little wife?"

You nod, letting him continue to stroke that sensitive bit of skin around your wrist. He is very gentle, which has taken you by surprise.

"The truth is," he mutters, "I don't like it when you're scared of me. I don't like the way you look at me, as if you think I'm going to pounce on you and tear you apart at any moment. That's not what I want."

Slowly, still wary of him, you curl your fingers around his thumb and Aemond's breath hitches. Your hand is small compared to his; Aemond's fingers look massive beside yours.

"Everyone else seems so frightened of you. I thought.... I should be as well. I didn't know, that you hadn't meant to kill that boy. Have you told anyone else that?"

“No,” he says after a moment. “No one else knows. I haven't told anyone.”

He pauses, looking down at your hand in his. His other hand comes to trap your fingers inside of his palms, his thumbs tracing back and forth over your skin. “You’re the first I've shared this with.”

"You should tell others, that way no one will be scared of you."

Aemond lets out a soft chuckle, his gaze still fixed on your fingers intertwined with his own.

“I quite like others being afraid of me,” he admits. The smile on his face fades, just a bit, in the flickering candlelight. “But not you.”

"Not me?" You query, a sweet blush rising high on your cheeks. "Why not me?"

Aemond’s eye is drawn to that color blooming across your cheeks, the innocent flush sending a strange feeling coursing through him. He continues to stroke your wrist in a gentle, almost reverent, way.

"A wife should not be afraid of her husband," he says finally, his voice soft. "She should be worshipped by him....”

Slowly, so as not to startle you, he brings your wrist to his lips and places a gentle kiss there.

You lick your lips, nervous as all seven hells with the way things are going. Not only are you still afraid of Aemond - though growing less so by the moment - you have also never been close like this with anyone else before.

"And why.... why is it so important for other people to be afraid of you?"

Aemond’s lips linger over your skin, the faintest ghost of a smile there. He can feel the way your hand trembles slightly in his, the nervous flutter of your pulse against his fingertips. But he also notices how you don’t draw back, how you sit still and allow him to hold you.

“It's.... payback, almost,” he confesses. “For the torment I suffered as a child. It is better to be feared than loved - no one will ever again treat me the way they did when I was young.”

You are not aware of any torment in Aemond's childhood, though that isn't saying much. Of course the Targaryens keep much of what goes on between them a secret. Even now that you're married, you're hardly privy to all - or even most - of their secrets.

"Is that.... how this happened?" Shaking ever so slightly, you raise a hand to Aemond's face, fingers stroking the strap of his eyepatch.

As your slender fingers brushed against the edge of it, Aemond tenses, every muscle in his body going taut. No one has ever touched him there before, and it's an unfamiliar intimacy.

He closes his eye for a moment, trying to control his reaction, before speaking. “Yes,” he says, his voice thick with emotions he finds difficult to name. “That's how this happened.”

You feel for Aemond; having to grow up that way must have been torture.

Pulling your hand gently from his grasp, you bring both up to hook beneath the rough leather strap. "May I?"

His breathing hitches as your hands tug gently at the straps of his eyepatch. He knows your touch is innocent.... but no one has ever dared to remove it for him before. He nods once, his voice low.

“You may.”

With fierce concentration and a desire not to ruin his perfect hair, you slide the eyepatch up and off, gasping at the gorgeous sapphire glimmering where his eye should be.

"Gods, it's beautiful, Aemond." Letting the patch rest in your lap, you run your fingers lightly over the scar tissue below Aemond's eye. "Who did this to you?"

Aemond's breath hitches again, rougher this time, as he feels the tips of your slender fingers graze the scarred tissue around his eye, the touch stirring something deep within him. The feeling of your touch against the sensitive skin there is almost overwhelming.

He swallows hard, that old pain and anger bubbling up inside of him.

"My.... nephew," he finally says, his voice surprisingly even. "Lucerys Velaryon."

You inhale sharply; all you can think of is that if Aemond had really meant to kill the boy, he would have been well within his right to, after having been mutilated like this.

Grabbing for his hands, you hurry to say something. "Aemond, I-"

But your husband cuts you off. "There is one other reason it's important for others to be afraid of me."

"A-And what is that?" You ask, holding his hands close to your bosom.

"So that I can protect my wife, and my family." That sapphire is positively glowing in the light of the flickering candles. "The more afraid people are of me, the less likely they are to try and harm me, or you, or our family.... once we make one...."

His declaration takes all the air from your lungs, and you find it hard to breathe. "If I had known all of this, I.... I would never have been so frightened of you. I'm sorry, Aemond."

You cast around desperately for something else to say, some other way to apologize.

"Do not apologize."

His voice is gentle, yet firm. Your hands are still holding his against your breast, and he can feel the warmth of your skin even through the layers of your gown, the rapid beat of your heart.

"You didn't know, it is not your fault for being afraid," he soothes you. "But.... now that you know.... may I ask you something else?"

You nod, eager now to answer Aemond's questions and to ask more of your own - you want to learn so much more about him.

Aemond's fingers tighten around yours, the feel of your soft skin against his own sending a strange heat through his veins. He draws you in a little closer, his face now so close to yours that he can feel the warmth of your breath, that same scent of sweet honey and jasmine in your hair.

"You.... have not shied away from my scar, or my missing eye," he says, his voice a low whisper. "You have touched them, caressed them even.... why?"

Why...? You find it odd he even has to ask.

"Because I think they make you beautiful. Is that wrong?"

Your thumbs find his wrists now, pressing in against his pulse points, which are fluttering erratically.

Aemond's breath catches in his throat, the feeling of your dainty thumbs resting against his wrists, feeling the rapid beating of his pulse, setting his skin on fire. Your words, declaring him beautiful, ring in his ears, stirring something deep within his chest.

"Be-Beautiful?" He repeats, his voice a terrible croak. No one.... no one has ever called him beautiful. The word sounds strange in his ears, as if they're not meant for someone like him.

You nod, and after only a momentary hesitation, you bring one hand up again to his scar. This time, brushing the side closest to his hairline, a few strands of long silver hair getting in the way.

"Beautiful, Aemond. You're beautiful. I mean.... I did always think that. Just.... was too afraid of you to tell you. Do you forgive me?"

Aemond's breath hitches once more as your fingers stroke his hair, your soft touch sending a shiver down his spine. No one, no one, has ever touched his scar with such tenderness, such care.

"I.... I forgive you," he whispers, voice raw. "And for what it's worth.... I'm sorry, that I.... that I made you afraid of me. I never wanted that, I swear."

"I know. It wasn't even your fault, really." You roll your eyes, relaxing against the back of the settee. "I was just.... assuming that what everyone else said was true. Which is a terrible thing, really. My parents raised me much better than that."

A particularly chilly gust of wind blows in through the window and you wrap your arms around yourself. "I have to admit, I thought if my shenanigans went on much longer, you'd be forced to.... well, force yourself on me...."

Aemond is silent, as if that thought, the notion of forcing himself on you, is something he refuses to even consider. He turns to look at you, the pale glow of his sapphire eye giving him an otherworldly appearance.

"I.... I would never force you to do anything, little wife, not ever," he says, his voice low and serious. "I believe the first time a man and wife.... are together.... it should be.... enjoyable.... for both of them."

Suddenly, all words are caught in your throat. The thought of your first time with Aemond still makes you nervous, even knowing that he would never want to do anything against your will.

"I thought.... a woman's first time was always painful?" That's what you've always been told. You have never done anything of the sort, but perhaps Aemond knows better.

At your words, Aemond's jaw tightens. His fingers clench into a fist, the thought of you in pain during your first time together sending a wave of anger through him.

"No. No, never. It shouldn't be painful, not unless you don't want it, too," he says, his voice low and urgent. "Your first time should be.... enjoyable. Pleasant. I would never take you simply for my own pleasure. I would make sure you...." he falters.

Flinching slightly away from him at the sight of his hand in a fist, you gasp softly. Have you said something wrong?

Still, you dare to ask, "You would make sure I what?"

In the candlelight, Aemond's eye flashes dangerously and that sapphire blazes.

He takes a very deep breath, forcing himself to relax, to open his hand again. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, "I.... I don't like the idea of hurting you, it.... makes me angry."

He looks down at you again.

"I would make sure that you.... felt pleasure as well. It wouldn't be about me. It's about both of us."

If you had known how protective Aemond was of you, you would have asked him about these things sooner. He is, after all, the only person you can think to ask. If you can't discuss bedroom matters with your husband, who can you discuss them with?

"How does it feel?" You ask him softly, scooting closer to him on the settee. "When you have sex, how does it feel?"

Aemond is taken somewhat off guard by the sudden question, his cheeks going pink at your unexpected candor, but he doesn't back down. He doesn't want to shy away from your questions, not when you're so close to him, peering at him through those wide, innocent eyes.

He takes another deep breath, shifting on the settee so he can face you fully.

"it.... it feels.... good," he begins, his voice a low rumble. "It feels.... full. Warm. Tight. But.... good. More than good, especially when you do it with someone you care about. It feels safe, like nothing can hurt you ever again."

The look on Aemond's face as he speaks is one you've never seen before - something vulnerable and almost childlike staring back at you. You wonder how you could ever have been afraid of him.

"And you? Who was your first time with?"

As your question hangs in the air between the two of you, Aemond goes stock-still. No one has ever asked him that before.

He hesitates for a moment, peering warily at you. "Why.... why do you want to know?" He asks finally, voice cautious.

Now you know you've definitely said something wrong. "I was just curious," you hurry to tell him. "It's wrong of me to pry, I'm sorry...."

Aemond sighs softly, shaking his head. "No, no, don't apologize," he says, his voice a light simper now. He reaches out, taking your hand gently in his.

"It's okay, I just.... wasn't expecting you to ask that." He pauses, and you can see a flicker of something run across his face. "You.... you really want to know?"

"I do," you admit bashfully. "If you feel comfortable telling me?"

Aemond's hand grips yours a little tighter, your words sending a strange, tight feeling through hm. He hasn't thought about that night in a long time, and the memory is still painful enough to make him wince.

"All right," he says, letting out a slow breath. "I.... I'll tell you. Just.... just don't.... don't judge me, all right?"

"I won't judge," you assure him with a shake of your head.

Aemond looks down at your intertwined hands, his fingers tracing a light pattern against your palm. He closes his eye, gathering his thoughts, before lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a barely-there kiss to your knuckles.

"My.... my first time," he begins, and his voice is rough, "was with a whore, in a pleasure house, at the behest of my brother who frequented - and still frequents - them much more than I did."

"I don't think that's anything to be ashamed of," you admit, mulling the idea over. "Most men visit those types of places at some point in their lives.... don't they?"

Aemond pauses for a moment, his eye locking with yours. He looks almost surprised by your response, as if he hadn't thought you would be so blasé about the situation.

"Yes...." he says slowly, "they do. But.... it's not.... it's not the sort of thing a wife would expect to hear, about their husband's past exploits."

You chew your lip thoughtfully, running your fingers around and through the spaces between Aemond's. "I don't mind, as long as...."

You hesitate, wondering if you really want to say this now or leave it for another night. "What I mean to say, Aemond, is that.... now that we understand each other better.... perhaps you can show me what it's like? Sex? And, if you do, I expect there to be no more pleasure houses in your future, is that clear?"

Aemond's gaze darkens as your words register, his heart stuttering in his chest. His fingers twitch against yours, breath catching in his throat.

"You.... you want me to show you...?" He repeats weakly, his eye wide and disbelieving.

You close your fingers tightly around Aemond's now, leaning in toward your husband. "Mm. But as I said, you must promise - no more pleasure houses. After all, you did say you want to worship me, did you not?"

Aemond's head swims with your words, his heart hammering in his chest so hard it's difficult to catch his breath. The way you're looking at him, the sweetness in your voice, the scent of honey and jasmine in your hair.... all of it is almost too much to bear.

He swallows hard, and nods. "No more pleasure houses. I promise," he whispers, his voice hoarse and rough.

His oath sets you at ease, but there's one more thing you must tell him.

"I must admit, Aemond, I'm still scared...."

He looks about to interrupt, but you cut him off. "Oh, not of you. I'm.... terrified of the pain. I've never done well with pain, and I'm so scared it's going to hurt like hell."

Aemond's heart twists at the worry and fear in your voice, his fingers tightening over yours. He hates the thought of you being scared, hates his own inability to take that fear away from you.

"Why do you still think it's going to be painful?" He asks quietly.

Instead of making you feel trapped, his fingers around yours make you feel safe. Aemond is lethal; you can see it in his face, in the hard line of his body. But he wants to use all of that to protect you....

Though what could he possibly do to prevent his own body from hurting you, even though he might not mean to?

"That's all I've ever been told." You gulp. "A woman's first time is always painful. And.... There's always blood."

Aemond's jaw clenches in anger. He doesn't know who planted these false, hurtful notions in your head, but he wants to tear them limb from limb.

He reaches out to you, tilting your head gently up to meet his gaze. "No. No, no, no," he says, his voice low and intense. "It's not supposed to be painful, especially the first time. You've just.... you've been told wrong."

He pauses. "Sometimes there is blood, I won't lie to you about that. But there are ways to minimize the chance of that."

Aemond's fingers start to skirt back and forth under your chin. "How .... How can we stop there being so much blood? I want you to show me."

Heart now beating much faster, Aemond's stomach twists with a mixture of desire and trepidation. He swallows, hard, his eye dark and heavy-lidded as he gazes down at you.

He runs his fingers through your hair, the soft feel of it against his skin maddening. "I can show you," he murmurs, "but.... you have to trust me."

"Of course. I do now." You turn your face toward his hand, palm skimming your cheek as he touches your hair. "I know you'll take care of me."

He takes another deep breath to steady himself, his hand coming to rest against the side of your face, thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "Good," he whispers, "because I will, always. But there's something.... something I need to know first."

You shiver, Aemond's fingers reverent along your cheek and jaw. "What is it?"

Fingers now trailing down your neck, he pauses, hand coming to rest on your collarbone, your pulse beating fast and hard against his palm.

Aemond leans in close, his voice a rumble in your ear. "You.... you have never even been touched, have you?"

You are very aware of how hard your heart is beating, thumping underneath his fingers. "I haven't.... is that bad?"

Aemond breathes heavily, pulling back to look at you.

"No," he says emphatically, "it's not bad. It's.... it's just...." He trails off for a moment, struggling to find the words. "I need to know.... if you're still.... if you're still intact."

The question makes you blush furiously, looking down at your laps, side by side, so you don't have to look Aemond in the eye. "I.... yes.... isn't that where the blood comes from?"

You don't know much, but you do know that.

He places two fingers gently under your chin, coaxing you to look up at him again.

"Yes," he says, "that's where the blood comes from. But it can break in other ways. For instance, from fingers or.... other objects." His fingers trace along your cheek, obviously trying to soothe your growing discomfort at this conversation.

"But it.... it doesn't have to," he adds after a moment.

You chuckle, reluctantly meeting Aemond's gaze. "Can we try?"

He takes a moment to steady himself, his hand now trailing back down your neck, slowly caressing. "Are you sure? Absolutely sure?"

You nod fervently, gripping onto his wrist. "Positively. Now that I understand you better, I can think of no one else I'd like to teach me such things...."

He leans in, lips brushing your ear again, breath hot against your skin. "Then I will," he murmurs, his voice an uneven, ragged whisper, "I will show you. And I will take my time."

Long have you waited for someone to come along and share this experience with you. When you were initially betrothed to Aemond, you thought all hope was lost - he was so frightening and the thought of sharing a bed with him sent a shiver of panic through you.

But now.... Women have desires just as much as men do, surely... At least you know you do. And Aemond is offering to take care of them for you....

You steady yourself with a hand on Aemond's chest, nails digging into the soft cotton of his tunic. "Please.... I want it."

Aemond's stomach clenches, your soft, pleading voice sending a bolt of white hot desire through him.

"Patience," he murmurs, his sizeable palm laid against the back of your hand on his chest, "I'll take care of you, I promise. I just need you to relax for me, all right?"

"Mm, I'll try...." With another nod, you take a deep breath, shuddering at the feeling of Aemond's big hand covering yours entirely. "Maybe a drink would serve to relax me better...?"

This gives Aemond pause, and he pulls back slightly, his eye raking over your face, taking in the soft blush on your cheeks, the way your lips are parted as you catch your breath.

He gives a single, slow nod. "Yes," he admits, "I think a drink might help."

Without another word, he moves to a small table on the other side of the room, pouring you each a generous glass of sweet wine.

As he does so, you finger the pendant at your throat, a gift from your late mother. The way Aemond looks at you; any woman would be lucky to have a husband who looks at her that way. Like you're precious, like he would do anything to protect you.

Once offered your glass, you take it and swallow a large mouthful, hoping to get drunk as quickly as possible, to make this whole ordeal more bearable.

Aemond watches you closely, a small frown tugging at the corners of his mouth as he sees you gulp the wine so quickly. He knows you're trying to get drunk, trying to use the alcohol as a crutch to make this easier.

"There's no need to rush," he says quietly, taking a seat beside you again, his knee bumping yours. He lifts his own glass to his lips, taking a slow, measured drink.

Swallowing another substantial mouthful of wine, you furtively watch the way Aemond's lips purse around the rim of his glass.

You smooth the skirts of your dress down, taking a deep breath. "I just want to be as relaxed as possible for you, Aemond."

He continues to watch you, that striking violet eye taking in every tiny detail - the way your fingers grasp the fabric of your dress, the soft movement of your body underneath the silk.

He takes a deep breath, his eye watching you as he drains the last of the wine from the glass. "I know," he murmurs, his voice a husky rumble, "but there's no need to get completely drunk, my love."

"It can't hurt." You upend the first glass of wine, draining the last dregs, and hold your glass out toward him. "Another?"

Apparently highly amused, Aemond raises a brow, but refuses to pour you another.

"I think that's quite enough. There's no need to be quite so drunk tonight, I promise."

You pout, setting your glass aside, but starting to feel a pleasant warmth wash over you from the first glass all the same.

"How do we start?" You question, leaning in close to him. Aemond smells of chamomile and sweat and.... maybe just a hint of blood? It's the best thing you've ever smelled.

Aemond reaches for you suddenly, his hands moving to your hips, pulling you gently onto his lap so you can straddle him.

The next breath he takes rattles through him as you settle on top of him, his hands gripping your waist, heart beating fast. "We.... we start here," he whispers, his voice a rough murmur.

"Goodness," you breathe, hands curling over his shoulders to steady yourself. "And.... what do we do here?"

You're trying your best to be brave, and the wine is making it easier, but there is still that niggling worry at the back of your mind, chanting blood blood blood.

Aemond feels that slight tremble in your hands as you grab his shoulders, the way you hesitate and swallow nervously as you ask your question. He can practically hear your thoughts racing, paying attention to the fear and trepidation in your words.

He leans in close, hands slipping from your waist to bracket your ribs, pulling you flush against him, your body cradled easily in his lap. "We start like this," he murmurs, his fingers gently tilting your chin up to look at him. "Just like this."

Slowly, fingers gentle but firm on your chin, he's bringing you in for a kiss.

The sound that leaves your mouth at the first dry press of your lips together is embarrassing. You curse. "I'm sorry." You bite your lip hard, searching Aemond's one violet eye for forgiveness. "Can we try again?"

Aemond chuckles good-naturedly, hands coming up to cup your face, thumbs tracing slow, gentle patterns over your cheeks.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he whispers, leaning ever closer to you, his breath hot against your lips. "We can try as many times as you like, darling."

With a hand again around his wrist to steady yourself, you don't have far to go, what with Aemond's face so close to yours. You press your lips to his - soft yet firm. Your other hand slides up the outside of his thigh as you open your mouth under his, grateful for his willingness to teach you.

You hear Aemond's breath hitch again as he feels your hand moving up his leg, the touch of your slim, soft fingers against his body sending a shiver down his spine. He groans as you open your mouth, his tongue immediately seeking yours, tangling, tasting, claiming.

He grips your hair in one hand, angling your head back so he can deepen the kiss, his other hand back to gripping your hip, pulling you tighter against him.

You do the same, hands migrating down, loving the feeling of Aemond's slim, strong muscle under your fingers. As you kiss, you surreptitiously move the thin cloth of Aemond's tunic aside so you can touch him skin to skin over his sharp hipbones.

This earns you a keen inhale from your husband, who jerks away from you.

"I'm sorry," you breathe. "Is this okay?"

His mouth has opened in a gasp against yours, eyes squeezing shut.

When they open again, he merely looks at you, taking in the soft, pink flush of your cheeks, the way your pupils are thoroughly dilated, your chest heaving. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. "Yes," he says ruggedly, his voice a scratchy gasp, "I'm sorry, it is. It's okay."

A flood of warmth washes over you, and you grin. You don't know why, but you want to kiss his neck.

Fingers digging hard into his hip, you lean in, nosing his long hair out of the way as your lips meet his neck, sucking and biting. Aemond tastes clean and faintly of rose water.

Aemond's head tips back immediately, giving your lips and teeth free reign over his neck, his skin breaking out in gooseflesh at the unfamiliar sensation. A soft, low moan escapes him as your mouth traces a path along the sensitive skin of his neck.

His body arches against yours. "My love," he gasps, his voice a ragged, breathless plea, "this is maddening."

"Need you to teach me," is your reply, pushing harder against him. "Don't go mad just yet."

He runs his hands down your sides, skimming over the soft, silky material of your dress, his body reacting powerfully to your closeness. "Gods, woman," he gasps, thumbs playing idly along the edge of your ribs, "are you sure you haven't done this before?"

You rest your cheek on Aemond's shoulder, nose brushing along the chiseled line of his jaw. "Positive," you sigh, arms now slung around him. "But I like the way you touch me. It's making me feel all hot and wet.... down there."

At this declaration, Aemond makes a noise you've never heard anyone make before. He nuzzles against your collarbone, pressing slow, hot kisses along the line of your chest just visible over the collar of your dress.

His mouth is starting to curve into a wicked smile. "Do you want me to touch you there, too?"

With a nod, you begin to pull the folds of your dress up over your thighs. "Please. The feeling down there, it's.... very insistent." And Aemond's fingers look perfectly long and warm and rough with calluses.

Aemond swallows hard as he watches the fabric of your dress retreat up over your thighs, the soft, bare skin of your legs suddenly exposed to him. His gaze rakes over you, taking in every detail - the soft, pale flesh, the way the candlelight casts shadows over the curves of your body.

As though trying not to startle you, Aemond runs his knuckles painstakingly slowly up the inside of your thigh. "When we were first betrothed, I knew I had gotten lucky."

That drunken haze still hovering around you, you let your legs slip further apart around him. "Lucky? How so?"

His hand moves further up, touch feather-light against her skin. "Lucky," he murmurs, "because I knew I'd be marrying the most beautiful woman in all Seven Kingdoms."

He lets his hand move higher still, fingers stopping just before they reach the edge of your smallclothes. He pauses, looking intently at you, the question plain on his face.

"I never knew you thought I was beautiful...." You lean more against him, feeling impossibly safe and comfortable in his embrace. "Please. You can."

Hips canting forward, you try to push his hand in toward you.

"The most beautiful," he replies. He can feel your hips moving subtly against his, feel his own desire rising with every move you make.

Those long fingers hook into the edge of your smallclothes, running the backs of his knuckles along the sensitive bit of skin he finds there.

Your eyes flutter shut, the feeling of his gentle fingers finally scooping up under your dress making your stomach flip nervously. "Please." The word is uttered against Aemond's chin, where you've pressed your lips as you wait to feel his hand where you need it most.

As slowly as he an manage, he insinuates those fingers fully inside your smallclothes. He can feel the heat of your skin, the way you squirm in his lap as he moves closer to his destination, his own body reacting strongly to the anticipation.

He leans in, mouth finding yours in a heated, hungry kiss, his fingers finally, finally touching that wet, sensitive flesh between your thighs.

A sharp inhale accompanies the meeting of Aemond's hand to your sex. Everything down there feels so wet already, you suppose you should be embarrassed, but the wine is making it hard to feel so, which you're grateful for.

"Aemond...." Seeking his lips for another kiss, you mutter, "please don't stop."

One long finger sinks into your wet, hot flesh, his entire body shivering at the feeling of you beneath his hands. He lets out a ragged gasp as you kiss him, mouth moving fervently against yours, tongue delving into your mouth, tangling with yours.

With a low, gruff noise, he starts to move his finger inside of you, slow, gentle circles that make your muscles tighten and twitch against his hand. "I won't," he murmurs against your lips, his eyes squeezed shut, "I promise, I won't."

Aemond's finger has slid easily into you, all the way down to the knuckle. "Is it -?" You gasp, glancing down, tugging your skirts out of the way to see better. "It's inside? I thought it would be much more painful...."

You know it might not be the same with his manhood, which is surely a fair bit bigger than one of his fingers, but you're glad things have gone smoothly so far all the same.

Aemond's other hand presses itself solidly against that little bundle of nerves, the one you're familiar with, the one that makes you see stars, and you bite his lower lip a little too hard in response.

"Shit, sorry."

Aemond lets out a low chuckle at your reaction, his lips curving into a smile against your mouth. "No need to apologize, sweet girl," he mutters. "There's a possibility it might hurt more than this when we go further, but I promise I'll be gentle."

He moves his finger in and out of you slowly, his other hand still pressing against you, the pad of his thumb circling that swollen bud, his touch gentle but firm. "How does this feel?"

A pang of fear shoots through you at his declaration that you will likely be in pain later on, but it's soothed by the way Aemond's fingers are gently coaxing themselves inside of you and over your clit.

"It feels perfect, Aemond. I never even knew it could feel this good." Not even when you'd touched yourself in bed at night.

Aemond's eye darkens as he hears your words, the sound of your voice, gutted and breathless, making his stomach clench. "This is just the beginning, sweet girl. There's so much more I can show you."

He slips another finger into you, feeling your body tighten and go taut around him, his own body still reacting powerfully to the sight and feel of you. He leans in to kiss you again, his mouth hungrily claiming yours.

With another finger inside, you start to squirm in his lap, and your hand slips, colliding with something hard inside of Aemond's trousers.

"Aemond," you gasp, "it.... it's hard."

Aemond lets out a strangled noise as your hand brushes against him, his body shuddering, his eye squeezing shut. "Ah, shit, sweetheart," he gasps, his breath ragged, "Don't do that."

He looks at you, his breath coming in quick, rough pants, his eye darkened to a deep, intense violet. "I'm going to be patient with you."

He says this like he's trying to convince himself of it.

"I'm sorry," you gasp again, hands flying to your mouth. "I didn't mean to touch it...."

Gaze flickering to the windows, to the Targaryen flags flying from every turret, you stifle a smile. "But maybe.... maybe you don't have to be so patient...."

Aemond growls at your words, fingers slowing their ministrations over you. "How impatient would you have me be?"

You reach down to take his free hand - the one currently touching your clit in nice, soft circles - in yours, lacing your fingers as you lean into him. "Still gentle, just.... Maybe lead me? Show me how things like this should be done."

Aemond can practically feel his self-restraint slipping at your words, the feeling of your small, soft hand in his making his head spin. He takes a deep breath, trying desperately to maintain control, to keep up the facade of gentility.

He grips your chin with his free hand, lifting your face to meet his eye, his voice low and rough. "Are you sure you're ready for that?" He asks, the question almost pained.

"I am. I'm sure." You wrap your shoulders around him, burying your face against his neck. "Take me to bed and show me, please."

Aemond swallows hard, the feeling of your breath against him sending a shudder through him. Lifting you easily in his arms, he stands silently from the settee.

The loss of Aemond's fingers from inside of you makes you whine, clinging to his broad shoulders as he makes his way to the bed.

He lays you gently down, crawling over you, hand once again trailing up the soft expanse of your thigh.

"Aemond...."

A sweet noise rumbles through him as he positions himself on top of you, body pressing you down against the covers, hips slotting between your legs. His gaze as he looks down on you is fiery, eye raking over your body, hands gripping and kneading the supple flesh of your thighs.

"You drive me mad, do you know that?" He murmurs. He leans down to kiss your neck, his mouth hot and insistent against your skin.

With Aemond on top of you, you reach around to tug the back of his tunic up, skimming your fingers along the warm skin of his lower back.

"Why did you never.... tell me before?" You mutter quietly, nibbling at Aemond's earlobe.

Aemond allows himself a deep moan as you touch him, your fingers roaming over his skin, your mouth on his ear. He rolls his hips against you, the aching hardness of his body weighing you down.

"Gods, I don't know," he gasps, his hands roaming over the soft curves of your body. "Maybe I could tell you were afraid of me. Maybe I was a fool."

"I suppose we both were fools." You curl your tongue around Aemond's ear, teasing.

His hardness is pressing insistently against you through your clothes. Aemond leans his forehead to yours. "I'm going to take your dress off now. Is that alright?"

You've never been naked in front of anyone before, but Aemond is making you feel so safe that you nod hurriedly, sitting up. "Yes, please."

Aemond's eye darkens at your nod, his hands immediately going to the laces of your dress, working them loose until the fabric falls away from your body. He lets his gaze roam over your exposed skin, his fingers tracing the soft planes of your body, reverent and gentle.

"Seven Hells," he mutters, his voice a ragged whisper, "I've never seen anything so perfect."

The wine allows you to feel comfortable enough to stretch out over top of your discarded dress, staring up at him over the swell of your breasts. "Don't you want to touch your perfect wife, Aemond?"

"Of course I do," he mutters. He moves aside only slightly, letting his fingers scrape over one of your hardened nipples. "I want to touch every part of you."

You arch into his touch, his fingertips hard and callused against your sensitive nipple. "Aemond.... Would I be a complete whore if I asked for your fingers back inside of me?"

"No," he mutters easily, a hand running its way down your body, the other holding himself above you. "No, you wouldn't. But I want you to ask for it, my love. I want you to tell me exactly what you want."

Your breathing quickening, the air in the room thick and heavy, you spread your legs around him, unabashed. "i want you to touch me. To touch my stomach, my hips and thighs .... my cunt. Please."

Aemond makes a ragged noise at your request, his body shuddering as you open yourself to him. He trails his hand lower, his fingers grazing over your stomach, trailing over your hips and thighs, before coming to rest between your legs.

He lets that hand rest on your for a moment, feeling your wetness, his violet eye dark and full of lust. "Is this what you wanted, darling?"

"Yes," comes your voice, wrecked, entire body feeling overheated and overwhelmed already. "Gods, Aemond, I.... I'm sorry I didn't ask for this earlier."

You run your hands up Aemond's toned arms, tugging on the short sleeves of his tunic. "M-May I take this off?"

Feeling you tug at his tunic, Aemond nods, loving that ragged and pleading tone in your voice. He can feel the heat radiating off your body, can see the raw, pleading look in your eyes, and he's never been more turned on in his life.

By way of a real answer, he reaches down and hooks his fingers under the hem of his shirt to rip it off over his head. He shakes his hair out majestically, making you giggle.

But after that giggle.... You can do nothing but lay beneath him and stare. His body is perfect, abs cut into his skin above the smooth, narrow line of his hips.

"Goodness ...." You whisper, fingertips prodding at his hardened stomach. "You're.... actually perfect."

"Perfect, really?" He replies, clearly perplexed. "I'd say I'm looking at perfection right now."

You whimper, Aemond's moist lips once more at your neck, his body pressed to yours. "How do you.... get your body to look that way? Maybe you can teach me that too, as well as how to ride a dragon."

Aemond laughs softly, his teeth scraping against you as he kisses down your neck. "It's actually quite simple," he murmurs, his hands roaming over your body, arms caging you in against the bed. "Just a lot of sword practice and fighting."

He pauses, his lips trailing teasingly over the line of your jaw. "I'm going to teach you to ride more than just a dragon, my love."

"I could sword fight." Your voice doesn't sound like it ever has before. "Easy. Train me."

You gasp at his words, nails now digging into his back. "And what else are you going to teach me to ride, husband?"

Aemond lets out a low chuckle at your response, his muscles coiling where your nails dig into his skin. He rolls his hips against you and makes you gasp.

"I can teach you how to ride me," he mutters, his voice a rough, ragged whisper. "Or maybe you'd like a ride on my face."

Your eyes go wide, and you press him away by the shoulder just so you can look him in the eye. "I.... I'm allowed to do that?"

You've never heard of this - using your mouth? Why have you never thought of it before?

"Of course you are," he murmurs, looking bemusedly down on you. "And I would be more than happy to let you."

His hot breath whispers over your skin as he leans to speak into your ear. "You've never heard of it before, have you?"

"I haven't." You tilt your head, fingers tender along Aemond's jaw. "How should I.... How do I do it?"

Aemond's eye closes at the feeling of your fingers, tender on his jaw, your touch ever gentle and caressing. He makes a very small noise and shudders over top of you. "It's easy, darling."

"I just lean back here...." With one swift movement, Aemond rolls and settles himself against the pillows. "You come up here...."

Gentle but insistent hands guide you, pulling you all the way up. "And swing a leg over me."

Still helped along by his strong hands, you throw one knee on the opposite side of Aemond's head, bracketing his ears with your thighs. "Like.... this?"

This position makes you feel as nervous as you have all night, even with the aid of the wine - Aemond can see all of you. Truly all of you, and you can't quite meet his eye because of it.

Aemond's hands tighten on your thighs, his breathing growing ragged. He can sense your nervousness, the way your muscles are tensing up, the way you're avoiding his eye.

He rubs his hands soothingly across your thighs, trying to relax you. "That's it, darling." His voice is soft, comforting. "You look gorgeous."

You bite your lip, carding one hand through Aemond's alluring silver hair. The other you place over his good eye, the hint of a smile on your face as you mutter, "Don't look...."

Aemond smirks, and yanks you suddenly, roughly forward by the backs of your thighs, so that your womanhood is directly above his smirking lips. "As you wish."

He places a single, open-mouthed kiss to your clit and the suction, the wetness, of it all is enough to make you squeal.

There's one poignant moment where Aemond's intensely hot, wet mouth rests over your womanhood. Then, with a jagged moan, he begins to lave over you, lips, tongue, and teeth working in tandem.

His callused palms cradle the backs of your thighs, keeping you in place as his tongue works you over. And when that same tongue points itself deep inside of your core, you can no longer keep your hand over his eye, lest you want to smash your husband's head painfully into the sheets.

Instead, that hand flies to the headboard, holding on for dear life. "Gods, Aemond! I.... I've never felt anything like this, what.... what in the seven hells...."

Aemond redoubles his grip on your thighs, keeping you in place as he works you with his tongue, his mouth and teeth and lips bringing you to new heights of pleasure. He moans roughly, and the sound reverberates through you, making your mouth fall open.

"Just... relax, my love," he mutters against your folds, "I did say I would worship you, did I not?"

You nod, still petting a hand gently through Aemond's hair, coiling your fingers around the strands, feeling how soft it is. Your eyes, however, are trained on the gilded ceiling when you answer.

"Y-You did, but.... this.... I didn't even know this was a thing people did. Is this.... common?"

"No, sweet one," he mutters, his voice thick with desire and - somewhere - a hint of disdain, "it isn't common. Most men see their wives as something to be claimed, conquered. And I...."

"You see them as something to be worshipped," you answer, remembering his words from earlier.

Aemond lets out a low chuckle against you as you knot your fingers in his hair, his tongue continuing to lathe across you. He lifts his head for a moment, his lips and chin glistening, a smirk on his face. "Look at me."

You do, and are rewarded with his fingers climbing the insides of your thighs, splaying themselves over you. "You are the most exquisite creature I've ever laid eyes on."

The sight of his face, so slick with you, his eye dark, his sapphire glinting, his fingers roaming over your thighs, it all makes you shiver, your breathing coming in short, ragged gasps.

"And you," he continues, voice muffled against your folds, "you taste divine."

And without another word, he dives back in, his tongue delving into you once more, his hands gripping your thighs, bringing you lower, closer to him.

All of this - Aemond telling you how beautiful you are, his talented mouth on you, the haze of the wine moving through you - has you tumbling toward the edge quicker than you've ever done so by yourself.

"Aemond.... close!" You give a hard tug to Aemond's hair, warning him.

He closes his eyes as he focuses on nothing more than bringing you further to the edge, the heat of your body and the taste of you driving him wild, pushing him to give you more, more, more.

"Just.... let go," he mutters against you. "I want you to let go for me, my sweet."

You're trembling now, hips riding down against his face of their own accord. "Oh, gods...." You've never done this in front of anyone before. What will Aemond think of the way you climax? Will it be embarrassing? "Aemond...."

There's no longer any time to think it over, though, as one last swipe of his tongue sends you spiraling with a loud cry.

Aemond's heart is pounding hard, watching you cum, his eye wide and alight with desire as he watches your body shudder and shake above him, your cry of pleasure filling the room and, undoubtedly, the hallways around it.

He helps you ride out the wave of pleasure, his tongue slowly bringing you back down, peppering your thighs and hip bones with hot, open-mouthed kisses.

Your eyes fluttering, your chest heaving, Aemond coaxes you through your first climax with him and then maneuvers you down to lay beside him. You feel so boneless, you sure you aren't much help in this endeavor.

"That was...." You don't even have the words to describe what just happened to you.

Aemond watches you closely as you lay beside him, breasts rising and falling heavily, your skin flushed and marked all over with his mouth, one hand trailing lightly over your stomach. The sight of you, well-loved and satisfied, makes his chest burn with desire.

He leans in close to you, curling his body around yours like a protective shield. His mouth trailing over your neck, his voice a quiet whisper. "That was beautiful. And we're only getting started."

You gaze at him out of half-lidded eyes, your body already feeling drained from just one round. "What...." You stifle a yawn behind your hand, trying to hide it. "What's next?"

Aemond laughs at the sight of you yawning, both hands now brushing over your body, his touch gentle. He can see the exhaustion in your eyes, hear the tiredness in your voice.

He leans down and presses a loving kiss to your forehead. "I don't think you're quite ready for more yet, my love. You look like you're barely awake."

Through your tiredness, you whine, "But you promised to show me. What it's like...." You're pressing sleepy kisses to Aemond's jaw, lips sweeping down over his neck.

Aemond's lashes flutter at your tiny kisses, his arms curling strong and protective around you. He makes an odd noise, and you realize you may have had an orgasm, but he never did.

"I can take care of it for you." Searching down below, hands clumsy and heavy with sleep, you feel Aemond grab for your wrist.

"And you will," he mutters, admonishing. "But tonight it's getting late, and you're tired. We have our whole lives together, we need not rush this."

Another yawn overtakes you, and you snuggle down into his warmth. "Tomorrow, then?" You mumble, arms slung lazily around him. "And dragon riding tomorrow, too...."

Aemond chuckles again at your insistence, hands gently rubbing themselves over your body, comforting you. He shifts back on the bed, pulling you into his chest and wrapping his arms around you, holding you as close as possible.

"Of course, my love," he murmurs, his voice a gentle, soothing rumble in your ear. "Tomorrow. And dragon riding, too. But for now, you need to sleep."

Aemond runs the very tips of his fingers up and down your back, just along your spine.

"I really am sorry, Aemond...." You're already half asleep, struggling to stay awake, to get the words out. "D'you really forgive me?"

Aemond sighs.

"Of course I forgive you," he whispers, breath tickling your ear. "It's all in the past now, my love. The only thing that matters is you and me, right here, right now. And dragon riding tomorrow, I promise...."

#aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #house of the dragon smut #ewan mitchell x reader #ewan mitchell #smut #aegonstradwife #my writing #request fill #i posted this earlier today and it got flagged bc i included a naughty pic #it wasn't even that naughty but o well #hope you enjoy!

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ittybittyfanblog · 6 months ago

Text

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 4

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (vindicated!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, player wants to sock a certain 3D character in the face A/N: Here’s part 4! Also, a taglist at the end of this post! Just lmk whether you'd like to be added/removed, no sweat ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ Happy reading!

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

You swiftly pull up Reddit. And then Twitter (X) on another window. You’ve got to find answers.

Typing in “sENTIENT SENTINCE SENTIENCE LADS ML HELP” in the r/LoveAndDeepspace subreddit search bar, along with keywords that have anything to do with “breaking the fourth wall” and “recent major updates” on X, you quickly scour for anything that comes even close to your current situation.

Immediately, you see a bunch of mix-match results, some even dating as far as the first month of the game’s release. Your eyes skim through blocks of texts, hoping there’s a comment – or a tweet – somewhere that could shed some light to this conundrum.

Already, you see some discussion on sudden fourth wall breaks. But you’ve seen posts like this before, and they’re most likely pertaining to the way their LI’s gaze falls directly on the player’s line of sight when they’re in Dynamic Pose mode in Glint Photobooth.

The common suspects for this are usually Xavier and your resident headache (Sylus). It's one of the “known” bugs of the game, even so far as being choreographed, almost, from the way players intentionally pose the MLs at certain angles to attain the likeness of sentience.

You remember the first time it happened to you, way back when the Photobooth feature was just recently introduced. You were taking photos of Xavier—letting him pose freely in dynamic mode so that you could capture a more organic look, when his eyes “met” yours directly.

Of course like any other (delusional) player, you entertained the novel idea of actually being noticed by the videogame character you’ve formed an unhealthy attachment to. Got excited, squealed over it, felt an instant doki-doki on your kokoro—the whole shebang.

… Along with probably hundreds of other players who’ve experienced the same thing.

So, yes, these instances occur more frequently than one would think. Not really what you’d call particularly noteworthy.

Then you see the threads from players who swear that their LIs really understand how they feel during their tête-à-tête sessions. It sounds promising, and you spend a few minutes reading through their "testimonies."

—Until you surmise from what you’ve gathered that all of them only appear like they do. How Rafayel, Zayne (and yes, even Sylus) seem to know what they need to hear, from how accurate their generated responses are.

Keyword: generated. So, no. They still aren’t anything more than glorified soundboards with really good timing, however attractive it may be to think otherwise.

Ooh, that one sounds a little too bitchy, even for you.

It’s got nothing to do with the players, nor has it anything to do with how the game works, really— bugs and all. Fuck, you were one of those people who milked the fantasy over the same coincidences once upon a time. You were. Before the coincidences started to be anything but.

Before you had to worry whether you still have your mental faculties in order.

With every—misleading—post you stumble upon, you feel yourself becoming more restless. There’s a fervent glaze in your eyes and your typing’s getting diabolically worse. (you could barely read that last search input–bitch, how are you fit to work?) You’re sure that if you looked in a mirror right now, you’d look as deranged as you feel.

Xavier “bug” that looks so real omg?? Skip.

Sylus – New Voiceline? You check it out. Yeah, It’s just one of his newer—programmed—voicelines.

Conversations with Rafayel got ~too real~ all of a sudden. You wish that yours had stayed the way they’ve always been, but alas.

Stop feeding into my delusions [Zayne] challenge: Failed. Oh? You’re almost done reading the first paragraph of the Redditor’s post, when you catch sight of the latest update below:

Resolved. Uninstalled the game. Multi-banners are getting too expensive (See my other post). Okay, you respect that. Hear that, Infold—

You’re slowly losing hope. Clearly, your case is kind of… mayhaps a tiny bit… different. From the rest. Dare say, exceptionally so.

To what end, you don’t know. You’re left with more questions than answers, and the primary enigma isn’t giving you much to work with.

Without anything else left to do, you resort to mindless scrolling. You’re swiping up, scrolling endlessly through the Top Posts of All Time, and it feels like you’re about to reach the end of this damn subreddit… When an unassuming post from a deleted user catches your attention.

It only got a few upvotes, and barely enough comments to gain traction. Unless one’s desperate enough to have been looking as hard as you are, it just looks like one of the many random dead posts from months ago. Nothing special.

Even the title is unassuming: I think the game’s broken??

You start to read.

Hi, so uhhh I’m 2 months in the game and everything’s been going well and all… Until a few days ago. IDK if this is a bug ?? but my Rafayel’s been acting so weird lately….. Ik I’m gonna sound delusional, but it’s like he’s actually aware of me ME. Not my MC.

He’s got a bunch of new dialogues, and they’re all so accurately specific it’s creeping me tf out LMAO. IDK how the devs got THIS much info on me (like is this even legal) but they do. Or at least, Rafayel does? That sounds rly stupid out loud but yeah lol. Oh and he doesn’t even let me switch between MLs anymore. The game just… crashes? whenever I try to.

Always been a Rafayel main (he’s the reason why I installed the game in the first place) so I was REALLY ecstatic over what I thought were new updates from the game… buuut when I tried looking it up, I can’t find any related news from the official LADS channel(s) about recent patches or updates with this feature, and no one seems to know what I’m talking about???

I feel like I’m going crazy… Literally as I’m typing this, Rafayel’s spamming me with notifications. He’s so fucking clingy… I love it??

Plsplspls if anyone’s experiencing the same thing, comment or DM meee. I need someone to talk to, aside from the fishie lmao no matter how much he insists that he’s enough omg (?!?!!)

Holy shit— you can’t believe it. This… this is exactly what you’re looking for.

The six comments under the post ranged from calling it complete bull to outright mocking the OP, and you understand why the post didn’t get any more popular.

For a brief moment, you feel a certain kinship with the original poster. A tinge of… shame (?) washes over you as you scan through all the negative reception; it’s as if the harsh insults were hurled directly at you instead.

How fun. There goes your fleeting idea to post the same question on the forum, if all else fails.

Speaking of. Your eyes quickly dart to the small text just above the title to check their username—but to your utter dismay, you see (and remember) that it’s from a deleted account.

The user no longer exists.

God, that can’t be it.

You spend a solid twenty minutes trying to look up ways to retrieve information—contacts, socials, anything—from deleted accounts. No dice.

Deep in your gut, you know that whatever else you could possibly find on both apps wouldn’t compare to what you’ve already come across.

You’ve officially hit a dead end.

With heavy limbs and a downtrodden spirit, you haul yourself up from the floor—just to turn around and collapse face first on the sofa. A deep, drawn-out groan escapes you as you shut your eyes, trying to calm yourself down from all the stuff that’s been boggling your brain.

It doesn’t seem like you’ll be finding a solid answer to your question (questions, in plural) any time soon. So what else can you do?

Well, aside from putting away your groceries; the currently-thawing fish and the condensing bags of pre-cut veggies aren’t going to store themselves inside a freezer anytime soon. A loudly meowing ball of fur has also been relentlessly clawing at your leg at the foot of the sofa for the past five minutes, demanding to be fed and petted.

Whoops. You hastily push yourself back on your feet to address these pressing tasks pronto.

…

…..

(Now that’s out of the way—)

You swipe your phone open—yet again—as you flop back onto the couch. And, maybe, you’re a glutton for punishment. Maybe you’re just a little too over the excitement of the unknown factors in play. Or maybe, you just want another shot– to try one last time—

What you know, though, is that whenever you’re feeling overwhelmed about stuff at work, or you need something to distract yourself with, you open the silly otome game on your phone to make yourself feel better.

So. That’s exactly what you do. Even if that silly otome game’s now the reason why you’re feeling so goddamned stressed at the moment.

Go figure.

The game boots up. You sullenly glare at the loading bar as it progresses from 35%....

68%....

95%.........

Once again, Sylus_v1.0 (!) greets you from the center of the home screen, looking exactly the same as he did last when you opened the app, which was— damn, has it really been over three hours already?

“At this hour, the day is just getting started,” he remarks nonchalantly, folding his arms across his chest as his eyes drift to whatever’s on his left.

You give him a dead-eyed stare; slightly wary, but overall unimpressed by the act. “God, I hope the fuck not.”

There’s no new content since your last proper login, as far as you can tell. At first glance, you see some of the regular, daily badge notifications, but nothing really stands out to you. There’s no unexpected red dot on the mail icon this time, nor is there any on the Hunter Info tab.

So far, so good.

With slight hesitation, you begin to speak, even if you aren’t sure whether your intended recipient can actually hear you or not.

“Um, so. I’m really kinda freaking out right now and–” You cut yourself off, swallowing down the frustration building in your throat. There’s an edge to your voice as you speak your next words, “it’s because you’re– you’ve been giving me mixed signals. I–I don’t know what to think anymore–!”

He remains unmoving, showing no signs of having registered what you just said. You sigh.

“Ugh, it sounds like I’m talking to an actual boyfriend or something. This is driving me nuts.”

Still no response.

“Can’t you give me a sign?” You whine defeatedly, trying to catch the eye of the pixelated man on your phone who’s resolutely looking at the right side of the screen. Is he purposely avoiding eye contact or what? “Like… I don’t know—blink twice if you understand what I’m saying right now.”

He blinks. Once. Fucking—

Does he think this is some kind of joke?

“I’m gonna poke your dick off,” You threaten him menacingly, your pointer finger at the ready to commit assault. “I swear, I’m gonna do it—”

Wait. Was that a twitch on his lips?

Pausing, you narrow your eyes at him, critical in your scrutiny for any sign that might reveal the truth to this stupid charade he’s putting on. Because it’s a charade. It has to be.

All of a sudden, embarrassment colors your cheeks as it dawns on you what you just said to him. What you’re poised to do. Fuck, you just wanted to get a rise out of him. Test the waters or some shit. Then again, if he’s actually aware– if he CAN actually hear you—

Quickly, you retract your finger away from where it hovers precariously centimeters above his crotch area. “Right. Sorry.”

Scrunching your nose, you press the Agenda icon on the corner, resignation sitting heavy in your chest. Since it doesn’t look like you’re getting any answers tonight, you might as well just do your daily tasks while you’re in-game, right?

So you go through the motions of ticking off each task on the list half-heartedly, collecting the subsequent rewards one by one; just enough to reach the hundred star mark.

It’s petty, no doubt irrational, but you steer clear from anything that would require you to interact with him. You start off with what’s easiest to complete: gifting Stamina, spending Stamina, spending more Stamina, and buying items from the Shop.

Speaking of items… You try your best to act indifferent as you catch sight of the staggering number of red dias that has recently come to your possession, there on the upper right corner of the screen. Before you could even recall the other materials so kindly gifted to you the other night, you immediately exit the Store window to go about your business after you’ve finished collecting today’s free loot.

You breeze through the Bounty Hunts and Core Hunt stages with excessive use of the Auto Pursuit option, rinsing and repeating until you’re almost out of energy. You don’t want to risk playing an actual battle, since your strongest Memory Cards are from the man you’re currently giving the cold shoulder to.

Also, you have no idea what to expect once you enter combat mode—and right now, you can’t be damned to know.

Before you know it, you’re done with the daily Agenda. Close enough, at least. You didn’t even have to interact with the white-haired male LYLA wannabe to get the hundred golden stars. Go, you.

Without anything left to do, you’re back to staring at the—now-seated—man on the home screen who’s still intent on avoiding you. There’s Mephisto perched on his finger, appearing in a plume of black feathers, projecting a holographic screen for the Onychinus leader to scroll through whatever evil juju he’s been up to lately—the very picture of calm detachment.

Almost a minute passes by.

You can’t help it. Poke. Pokepokepokepoke—

“Once you’re trapped in life’s banality, the only thing left is “staying alive.”"

“Oh, for the love of— is that a hint or not?!”

You really wish you could’ve talked to the person on Reddit about this. Ask them whether their version of Rafayel had also been this difficult, this uncooperative. It can’t be that different from what you’re dealing with, could it?

Just a chance to talk… You brood wistfully. To know what’s happening to them right now. Ask them for advice on how to provoke some type of reactio–

Suddenly, something clicks in your brain, and you almost bite your tongue to prevent the spark of anticipation from showing on your face.

"Alright, you win," you concede with an exaggerated sigh, raising your arms over your head to appear as if you’re simply stretching away the stiffness in your muscles. You try to inject as much reluctance in your tone. “You’re really not going to budge, huh?”

Again, you’re met with radio silence—not that you’re expecting a response at this point.

(Well, not yet.)

“That’s fine…” You trail off deliberately, drawing lazy lines across the screen with your pointer finger, until it stops right before the small message icon on the left.

With feigned innocence, you muse, “Hey, I wonder how Xavier's been doing lately.”

…

A beat. You almost believe nothing would come out of your last, and obvious, attempt at goading him but then—

Sylus throws his head back with a sigh, casting an almost exasperated glance at the ceiling. He flicks his wrist dismissively, and Mephisto vanishes in a puff of dark smoke. There’s an unsettling fluidity in the way his gaze shifts toward you; disconcertingly lifelike, when his eyes finally—finally—lock onto yours. An intensity behind those red eyes that makes the look feel unnervingly deliberate.

Your breath catches in your throat. There it is. The reaction you’re looking for.

A weary amusement frames the way he tilts his head sideways—with the way the corners of his mouth curve into a mocking smile, eyes never leaving yours.

He raises an eyebrow up as if to say, now what?

“I knew it,” you whisper shakily, eyes widening into saucers. “I fucking knew it.”

“Mm, took you long enough.”

Before you could even react to that, Sylus flashes you a two-finger salute and winks.

The game crashes.

“Oh, no, you don’t–" you growl, not wasting any second tapping the game icon again. It doesn’t even give you a chance to reach the main menu before it glitches, and you’re back staring at the widgets on your phone’s home screen. “Motherfucker.”

You keep trying.

And with every attempt, Sylus, freak of nature that he is, responds with another system crash. On the eight try, you succeed on entering the game and you feel a sense of relief seeing the loading bar—before, lo and behold, it crashes once more.

Your left eye twitches. Inhaling deeply, you hold your breath for a solid fifteen seconds before sharply exhaling through your nose.

You jab a finger on the icon of his dumb face again. You ought to change that shit as soon as this game of chicken lets up.

“You’re gonna let me open this app, Sy-Sy,” You sang with faux cheer. “Or, swear to god, I’m uninstalling this thing before you could even—”

… It loads successfully before you could even finish your sentence.

“Alright, alright.”

There he is; closer to the screen now, wearing a faint smile, as though trying to stifle a full-on grin from breaking across his face. He looks thoroughly entertained by the entire situation, like it’s the most fun he’s had in ages. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“You–you—” Sputtering, you glare at him, betrayal in your eyes. “You’re a fucking ass!”

“And you’re an absolute delight to play with, kitten,” Sylus coos at you, his smirk widening.

But when he catches the trembling jut on your bottom lip, the amused glint in his eyes softens into something that almost seems sympathetic—and dare you say, apologetic?

“For what it’s worth, I’ve just been waiting for the right moment to tell you. I couldn’t resist teasing you a little—but looking at you now, I see I might’ve taken it too far,” he murmurs, bowing his head slightly in a show of contrition. “I’m sorry, little dove.”

You press your lips together, your gaze darting away from the screen. “I thought I was going crazy.” As opposed to now? “B-but, um– it’s all good, I guess.”

A flush creeps up your neck when you hear him chuckle.

Fuck, this is really happening, the hysterical thought rushes to your mind, unbidden. Chat, what’s the plan?

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 <3

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lads x you #lads x reader #love and deepspace fic #self aware au #sylus qin

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sixbillicnsouls · 2 years ago

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( ❛ ╾ open && c.howard )

"Give me back my girlhood, it was mine first!"

#( she owns this song sorry )#( thread ‣ catherine. )#( the story starts with once upon a time ‣ open starters. )

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angelictragedy · 1 year ago

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Get In Human, You're Being Moved ||@brokeassgoing||

Nai had thought he'd made plenty of noise clambering into the home. He'd just gotten the news of the home, walked around and given the big puppy dog eyes to Legato for one of the spare rooms being used by Badou. He couldn't just leave his silly human to live with gods knows what or who.

He needed to keep the idiot safe!

The moment he had confirmation he wasted no time when his love went to work to find the human. Age old trauma had him thinking his pet, but Badou never had been a pet. Sure, he had to protect him a lot and care for him when he was in danger, risking his own skin. Or carried cigarettes for the man as an instinctive thing to offer, but he wanted to confide in the man, to reach out to him when he wanted to socialize. A novel concept, but Astarion was helping him to understand the need for more than just his precious human.

Which led them all to now, him in Badou's room, standing over his bed and staring unblinkingly as he slept, impatiently waiting for him to wake up. He thought he'd been loud, but century old instincts kept him quiet as a mouse.

Don't wake him up, that would be rude. He had to remind himself to be patient, even as wings slowly fluffed up in mild irritation.

He opts for his backup plan, pulling out a can, holding it near the man and cracked open the fizzy beverage near his head, hoping the sound and smell of sweetness would do the trick.

#brokeassgoing #brokeassgoing th 3 #Thread 9 #Once Upon a Time {Thread Start}#yes he's treating badou like a pet but he is trying to be nice and not touch him to wake him #he's odd #he doesn't know how to human XD #he only knows how to plont

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felledbymortals · 11 months ago

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( ❛ ╾ OPEN && ARACHNE )

♫ "I'll tell you a tale of the bottomless blue and it's hey to the starboard, heave-ho. Look out for the mermaid thats waiting for you In mysterious fathoms below" ♫

#( thread ‣ arachne. )#( the story starts with once upon a time ‣ open. )

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iceonneo · 7 months ago

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eater 101 ; l.hc

𐙚 : haechan x fem! reader ˗ˏˋ ꒰ synopsis : so called enemy haechan eats u out (like a pro😓) warnings : [ smut ] pussy eating (like that’s it😭), pet names. !! mdni ¡¡ wc : 0.6k ꒱

“o-oh lord!"

lee haechan was truly one true shameless motherfucker. you didn’t even realize how and why you let your so called enemy get into your pants. once upon a time you held true spite for him, dreadfully catching his gaze in the hallway as he drove you around crazy the entire day.

some girls would label you lucky and you’d simply scoff at the statement but you were starting to believe them you fear. for this man ate pussy like a starved bear godamn.

it all started when that old woman, who you deeply despised, mrs. linda assigned him as your lab partner for the respective year.

obviously he didn’t stop with his flirtatious tactics as you struggled to get your experiments done through in the lab. would stare at your chest like a literal pervert everytime you bent to get the chemical and you didn’t even fucking mind it.

then came his texts, and more texts and more texts and… and your foolish self had to reply him.

well, god forbid a girl have fun!

then came the going over to his place to get your chemistry notes done and let’s just say he grabbed your face as soon as you entered and showed you bed chemistry instead.

and like a fool captivated by his dick you reluctantly kept coming back to him.

all because of fucking linda.

which leads you where you are today, in the locker room. pulled by him into this cramped room before class started saying it would take a few five minutes but it’s been fifteen now and you’ve been moaning against the shelf with your skirt flushed over and panties dragged down to your knees.

both his arms caged your ass from behind to keep you in place as he dug his face deeper between your legs.

his mouth was a machine. the way his muscular tongue dragged over your folds and dug into your hole you thought you were going to make the boy go bald the way you were pulling his hair.

“are you going to cum in my mouth baby?” haechan pulled out, looking at you with his drowsy wide eyes that drove you so feral, you thought you were about to bust.

“yeah, please.” you sighed out as he smiled, “come over my tongue.” and before you knew it your eyes were rolling back again. back arched as the sensation grew unbearable. the erotic noises erupting from the space between his mouth and your core lighting a fire within you.

his mouth kissing everywhere around your wet folds and the thread begin to snap. the shame stripped off your body once you felt your bud being sucked by his plump lips as you moaned out loud.

the view of his tongue repeatedly meeting your clit and coated with slick all over made the sensation only grow stronger.

“fuck, you’re so good.”

the way his warm mouth latched over your open pussy as his tongue glided over your cunt round and round over and over again. the way he moaned against your clit loudly sending vibrations right up your system made you moan twice as more.

he ate pussy so well it was admirable.

your own moans and squeals blurring out to your ears as your growing orgasm clouded your mind. your grip over his head tightened and you pulled him towards yourself as his nose and tongue made your pleasure skyrocket.

and when he pulled you closer by your knees and sucked harder you gasped and knew it was end as you came all over his mouth undone, urging him to let go once you felt him sucking again.

with a sigh, he looked up at you from his lashes. face flushed, wet and gaze all drowsy.

“need more of your sweet pussy baby, think you can take this cock too?”

oh linda, I fucking love you.

an original iceonneo work.

#nct dream smut #nct dream #nct #smut #kpop #nct 127 #lee haechan #haechan #haechan smut

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baby-yongbok · 9 months ago

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One Last Time

Ex-husband!Bang Chan x afab!Reader

✦ Genre: Soon to be exes to lovers [18+ MDNI] ✦ Summary: Petty claims of possession lead to one last night of pleasure.

✦ CW: Choking/ light breath play, pussy spanking [for a second], Unprotected sex [wrap it up party people], Size Kink [for a second], Oral (f rec.), Chan is... aggressive(??), Chan is referred to as Chris, He calls you a bitch once. only once. ✦A/N: Bang Chan made me do it. There's barely any plot in sight. I wrote this in 4 hrs in the middle of the night. Enjoy! + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡

✧ Masterlist ✧

It’s funny how things change. Day turns to night, hot to cold and love to pure seething hatred.

Okay, maybe that’s a bit dramatic but you swear that that’s all you can feel swarming in your chest as you sit across from your soon to be ex-husband.

He made a show of things at the settlement meeting this afternoon. He pushed back on every negotiation you made which has led you to where you are now. Each of you on your side of the bed with a pile of stuff littering the Egyptian cotton sheets that he just has to take with him.

“There. Are you happy now?” You throw the last item on top of his pile and Chris stares down at the item with that damned smirk that you used to love. “Almost.”

He stands from the mattress, dark eyes on something behind you. He grabs it before you can turn. “I bought you this purse.”

The muffled thud of his hard bottom shoes against the carpet is all that you hear before he turns the black designer bag upside down. The contents clatter against his shoes, items rolling in different directions as you watch with a clenched jaw.

He’s circling back to his side of the bed as you call upon the might of the gods to keep yourself calm. After being married for five years Chris has learned each and every one of your buttons and how hard he needs to press them just to tick you off.

You’ve decided not to give him the satisfaction of making a scene. That’ll only feed his ego. Besides, he has buttons of his own, some that you installed yourself.

“Now I’m happy.” He drops the bag into his pile, smiling before you like he’d just gotten away with a million bucks. “Yeah?”

Two can play that game. “I bought you that suit.” The smirk on blushed lips transfers to your painted ones as you stare over at him with arms crossed over your chest.

“I’d like it back.” With an innocent bat of your lashes Chris smiles. It’s gone just as fast as it came and it doesn’t reach his eyes. He's pissed.

“You’re fucking serious?” You hold your hand out to him. “Dead serious.”

Dark eyes are staring into darker ones as he holds your gaze. You’ve gotten used to him challenging you. You’ve gotten used to him being a petty asshole and you’ve learned how to play him at his own game.

You watch as he pops the button of his suit jacket. Tongue in cheek while his fingers work to free him of the fabric. His eyes stay on yours as he peels the smoky threads from his shoulders. He shimmy’s it down thick arms, pulling at the cuffs until he’s free of it. He’s left in a skimpy t-shirt before you and you take the liberty of letting your eyes wander.

“Want the pants too?” Chris throws the jacket over into your pile before his hands start to fiddle with the metal of his buckle. “Keep ‘em. They’re the nicest thing you own now.”

He mumbles something incoherent under his breath, his hand comes up to rake through his hair as his eyes wander the space you used to share. His gaze stops at your vanity, busy eyes study your open jewelry box then look back to you.

“I gave you those earrings.” He stalks towards the table, snatching the gold studs off of the surface and slipping them into his pocket. “And..”

The muffled thud of his shoes is all you can hear over the thick tension pulsing around you. It’s all that you can hear over your own enraged heartbeat. “This necklace.” The clasp is snapped from around your neck before you can breathe a protest. You gasp at the sudden pressure of your chain being ripped from you.

“What the fuck.” That smirk is stolen back when he slips the jewelry into his pocket. He stands in front of you, barely an inch between you as your chests rise and fall in unison. “You’re fucking ridiculous.”

“Me?” He fakes a pout, blinking over at you. “I didn’t do anything”

“Whatever, you got your stuff, get out.” You’re hissing at him, heart racing and blood bubbling with the annoyance you’ve been harboring for the length of this insufferable process. “I’m done with you.”

“Not so fast.” he says slowly, his hands finding your waist before you can step around him. You attempt to shrug off his grip and fail. “I bought you that too.”

His eyes trail from your eyes to your lips. His tongue darts out to lick over his own as he stares. “That lipstick.” His eyes find yours again.

“Fuck off, Chris.” There’s a bite to your tone that makes him smile. He’s always loved a challenge.

“I bought it.” He pulls you into him by your waist. Your body is flush with his and one of his hands quickly abandon the plush flesh to wrap around your neck. “ I wan’ it back. I think that’s fair.”

It’s dark on dark as he leans in, eyes searching each others frantically as Chris closes the gap and kisses you gently. It barely makes a sound, it’s feather light and quick.

“You want it back?” You whisper against his lips and he nods. “Then I want the pants.”

That fucking smirk pulls at his red stained lips and his mouth is on yours in an instant. It’s hot and messy, drowning out the previous softness. You grab at his arms, clawing down the flesh while his fingers dig into your hips.

He licks into your mouth with a desperate groan as you turn your heads left and right, his tongue explores your mouth as he takes in the taste of you one last time. Your arms wrap around his neck as one of his hands grab at the swell of your ass.

“Fuck.” He groans against you, stealing another kiss before you catch his bottom lip between your teeth. “Up.” With a firm smack on your ass you jump up and his hands find purchase on the curve of your bottom over your dress.

You fall into a mess of tugging and moaning. The tension you once felt in your chest melts into pleasure as his hands wander your bareskin. He drops you onto the mattress, pushing the sorted piles out of the way and hovering over you in your ripped dress as you lay sprawled out on the sheets before him.

“Gonna miss this.” Chris’ mouth is stained cherry red with your lipstick, it’s smeared over your cheeks and it compliments the bruises that he’s sucking into your skin. You bunch his shirt up his back, scratching along the way and leaving your own marks as you please.

“Shut up, eat my pussy.” You pull him back with a fist full of his hair, he hisses a moan through clenched teeth as his own hand finds it’s way around your throat again. He squeezes this time. It’s just enough to have your eyes flutter shut, just enough to get you right where he wants you.

“Can’t you be my good girl for one more night? Can’t you stop being a bitch for just a second, baby?” Chris leans down with a tighter squeeze. Your fingers wrap around his wrist, your nails digging into the flesh. “Did you already forget who the fuck I am?”

He loosens his grip giving you the satisfaction of that blissful rush before squeezing again. “Do you see how small you are?” He whispers, placing a kiss by your ear. “Do you feel how strong I am, baby? Don’t you know how this goes?”

A moan is all he gets as he pulls back to admire you. Your pretty mouth is parted with a silent moan as your thighs press together in a desperate attempt at cumming. “I should make you suck my cock.” His knee wedges between your legs and presses hard against your core.

“I should fuck this pretty throat. I should get you back for being such a fucking brat through all of this.” The hand that was around his wrist scratches up his arm as he lets up again, letting the blood rush and giving you the dizzy feeling he knows you love. “I should -”

Your fingers wrap around his neck before he can finish his thought. Fierce eyes stare up into his as your other hand moves to unbutton his pants. “Just gimme what’s mine.”

Your hand slips into the waistband of his underwear as you pull him closer to you. “Wan’ my cock?” He moans at the soft feeling of your fingers wrapping around the tip. Eye’s fluttering shut as he attempts to take a breath against your grip.

“‘S mine.” You lean up to his ear. “Isn’t it daddy?”

It was quick when he pinned you against the mattress. Both of your wrists were in his grip before he shifted them both to one hand to free his cock for you. “You’re a fucking tease. You’re so fucking predicatable, you know that?” He’s hissing as he fights with the fabric of his pants and your dress.

“You want a reaction outta me, huh? Wanna rile me up, sweetheart?” With a shift of hands and a grunt he’s turning the two of you over. You follow him with a gasp, straddling his waist and sitting over his cock with your clothed cunt. “C’mon I’ll let you. Use me, get what you want.”

Your resolve sinks as his cock twitches against your core. Chris is lying beneath you looking like a sin personified and you feel compelled to indulge in his offer. He is still your husband after all.

Your panties are pushed to the side in an instant. Chris’ wrists are pinned over his head while you grind your cunt over him. Sloppy sounds of you working over his leaking cock swirl in the hot air and Chris watches it all with drooping lids as you work against him. “Put it in, lemme watch it.”

You ignore him, slowing your grind to counter his request. “C’mon, baby, lemme feel you. I can make you feel so good. Let daddy fuck you, c’mon.” He watches you, head reeled back and moans dripping from your lips like drool as you do as you please.

“Fuckin’ tease.” He breaks free from your hold, hands wrapping around your waist and guiding the grind of your hips just as your clit catches on the head of his cock. “I asked nicely.”

His cock catches at your entrance as he controls you. The push of him against your pussy has your mouth open in a silent scream as he bullies his cock into you. “You keep forgetting who I am, hm?” He sits up, landing a firm smack to your ass to match his brutal thrust as you settle in his lap.

“Chris, shit, just fuck me. Fuck me.” Your nails are in his back, drawing lines that could surely draw blood. He hisses at the pain, smiling with a bite of his tongue as he fucks up into you.

His hips snap into yours, gradually picking up the pace until you’re falling apart against him. Chest to chest, you’re panting into each other. Littering the thick air with profanities as he splits you open on his dick. “Oh my fucking god, Chris. More. More more more, please. C’mon.”

“Take it.” He growls below you, allowing you to push him back against the mattress and ride his cock to your heart's content. “That’s it, take it. It’s yours, all yours.”

Your nails dig into his pecks, leaving marks on the flawless skin and you use him for leverage. The loud smack of skin against skin decorates the air accompanied by your moans.

“Don’t hold back, baby. Enjoy that fucking ride.” He thrusts up into you, meeting you halfway. “Let loose, just like that.”.

Chris is rambling under you, mumbling under his breath and growling praises when he fucks deep into you.

“Fuck me, fuck me harder. Wan’ it harder.” It’s dark on dark again. Hooded eyes stare into each other void of rage, the only priority is pleasure. You’re only here to take advantage.

“Wan’ me harder?” He fucks into you, moaning at the squeeze you give. “Wan’ me deeper?”

With a lift of his hips Chris flips you over. “Be good for me, yeah? One last time, be a good fucking girl and lay on your back for me. Lemme eat this pretty pussy.” He rips your dress down your frame with a grunt. Your panties get the same treatment before he’s falling to his knees before you.

“Gonna miss you on your knees.” You prop yourself up on your elbows, staring down at him behind a fucked out haze. “Lookin’ so pretty for me with a mouth full of my cunt.”

With a smirk Chris licks a wet stripe from your hole to your clit. He swirls his tongue around the bud, sucking it between red stained lips and flicking it. Your head drops back against the mattress with a loud moan. Your hands comb through and grab at his damp dark locks but he quickly repositions you to hold yourself open for him.

“Watch me eat it.” He reaches up, brushing your chin with his fingertips. He lays a flat wet lick to your pussy, hooded eyes staring up into yours. “Eyes on me. Eyes on daddy.”

He spreads your cunt with his fingers, holding you open for him while he spits down onto your clit. He collects it all on his tongue, licking it over the nub before spitting it back. Sloppy slurps against a drooling pussy is all that fills the room. “Daddy, please, wanna cum on your cock.”

He pulls back with a pop, spitting back down onto your cunt. He watches it drip down to your hole, following the stream with his fingers to press it into you.

“You wan’ me deep right?” His middle and pointer fuck you open as he coos. “Want me to spread this tiny cunt on my dick?” You’re moaning. Panting confirmations and whining pathetically into the air.

“Then hold it.” He kisses your clit, sucking it in then releasing. “Don’t cum.”

“Please.” You moan a plea, unraveling little by little with each suck and flick of your clit. His fingers fuck you open, curling into your soft spot and pushing you further towards the edge that you’re trying to avoid.

You could just cum. You could just take what he’s giving you instead of following the rules but it’s so good like this. He’s so good like this. You miss him giving you what you want.

“Chris, ‘m gonna cum for you. I can’t. Please jus’ gimme.” He blinks up at you with pussy drunk eyes as his kiss bitten lips move against you despite your begging. “Daddy, please. I wan’ your cock.”

"Don't cum for me yet" he speaks against your cunt before licking a wet kiss up to your clit.

"I can't, Chris. I can't, I can't, I'm gonna cum." Your eyes are glued to the way he licks up and down your swollen pussy. Taunting you with the skill he's gained over the years. He's pushing your buttons again.

"Daddy, daddy, daddy, please you have to let me. You’re gonna make me cum. Your mouth, your fucking mouth, please let me cum."

You're babbling, you know you are. You’re slipping through the cracks quickly and you can’t do a thing to stop it. There’s no going back and Chris knows it but he still smacks the inside of your thigh. Warning you to be good for him and let him build you up a bit more before you take his cock again.

"Don't." He kisses your clit. "Cum." He sucks the bud into his mouth and swirls his tongue over it with a moan. He's a madman if he thinks you could survive that.

"Fuck, 'm cumming. I'm cumming, 'm sorry." You’re shaking, your nails dig into your thighs as you keep yourself open for him. "Cumming, 'm cumming, I can't stop cumming, I can't stop cumming."

He moans into you as he laps up every drop of arousal that you're giving him. He commits your sweet taste to memory with one final swipe of his tongue before he’s kissing up your stomach.

His lips trail up the valley of your breasts. He licks over the mound, sucking your nipple into his mouth and swirling it with a hum. Once he’s satisfied he moves to your shoulder, kissing and licking his way over to your collarbone then finally his lips are back on yours.

You’re gasping as you tremble through your orgasm, aftershocks wash over you as you taste yourself on his tongue. Chris smirks, whispering against your lips. "No one else will make you feel this good, baby. No one else will make you cum like this.”

The head of his cock slips through your dripping folds, catching against your clit before he’s pushing in. “This is mine. All mine." He sinks in to the hilt then slowly drags his cock back against your walls.

“This is what I want.” He straightens up, looking down at your pretty face contorted in pleasure.

“All of that other shit doesn’t matter.” He moans, holding your thighs back to get a perfect view of you. “I wanna watch it. Wanna see the way my pussy opens up for me. ‘S mine, isn’t it, baby? Tell me this shit is mine.”

“Yours, it’s yours. Fuck, ‘s fucking yours, please, you’re gonna make me cum.” Chris slows his strokes, grinding deep into you and dipping his hips to hit the soft spot that turns you into putty for him.

You’re drooling at the feeling. Tears threaten to fall from the corners of tired eyes as you watch the way he admires your cunt. The corner of his bottom lip is tugged and held firm between his teeth as he fights back his moans so that he can hear yours clearer.

“Shit, You’re gonna make me cum. Gonna make me fucking cum, make daddy cum.” The precise snap of his hips grows sloppy as the seconds pass. His once slow grind is now erratic. He’s purely seeking pleasure, sinking deeper into the haze with every drag.

“Fuck, squeeze me. Yeah, just like that, that’s my girl. Pretty fucking girl on my cock.” Each thrust is met with a slap to your clit. You jolt at the contact, back arching off of the mattress. “Cum for me. Cum on my dick.”

With one more flick of your clit you're trembling beneath him. Your cunt sucks him in and he takes it all with a loud moan. Chris lets your legs fall so that he can hover over you. He holds himself up on his elbows as he kisses you through your climax. You moan into it, shaking with each thrust and twitch of his cock.

“Shit, that’s good. So good, baby, ‘m gonna cum.” The frantic bucking of his hips against yours comes to a halt as he falls apart.

Moans tumble forward as he does. His muscles tense and his eyes roll back as he drives himself deep into you, filling you with every drop of himself that he has to offer. Chris collapses on top of you, his weight pinning you in place.

You pant below him, coming down from your high as aftershocks wash over him. He kisses your neck, breathing heavily into your skin.

“Now.” He pulls back slightly, gaze catching yours. “Now I’m happy.”

Thank You For Reading! Please Reblog or Comment to let me know how you liked it! It makes my day! 💕

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