#and a newfound appreciation for body hair

[pummelingbat]

something fun about me lately is that i've slowly started to osmosis into my behavior Herbert's weird little tic where he knocks on surfaces whenever he's thinking. i do it at work all the time now.

[lola-writes]

Prince Regent

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Word Count: 8.6k

Synopsis: Aemond returns to the Red Keep after the battle of Rook’s Rest with a newfound vigor for his wife.

Themes & Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI!), POV first person (Aemond’s & reader’s), s2x04,05 inspired, enemies to lovers trope, smut, violence, blood, dark/possessive Aemond, breeding kink, swearing, mentions of rape, high valyrian, fingering, multiple orgasms, p in v, doggystyle, creampie, rough sex, hair pulling, choking

Song: Hide and Seek ~ Klergy, Mindy Jones

Latest oneshot: A Dragon's Lullaby

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Enjoy the read!

[gif @aemondstark ]

AEMOND

Smoke. Dragon fire. Blood.

It clung to me, acrid and sweet, like a perverse cloak of victory.

A primal urge, raw and unbidden, erupted within me, a hunger that transcended the battle’s end. It devoured my senses. It vibrated within my bones. It consumed my very being.

My adrenaline ebbed, leaving a hollowness in its wake. The battle was over. Victory was ours. Gleaming armor was storming the castle. But that victory hung hollow, a meaningless echo in the carnage. My flesh seared with defeat. A strange fire, unsatiated, stirred beneath my skin.

I needed something more. Something I could sink my teeth into, as Vhagar had. Something warm and living.

From the air, I watched the smoke curl skyward, soldiers scattering like startled ants, and Meleys red corpse lay vanquished beneath brick and dust.

The warmth of my kill was still writhing. It was a fresh, living ember, demanding to be tended.

The impact of my brother’s fall had torn the wood asunder, set the ground ablaze, smoke and cinders rising steadily towards the heavens. My gaze settled on the inferno, and I urged Vhagar, my reflection in scales and fire, towards it, my mighty beast beating the wind like thunder as we circled twice around the barrenness of the forest, before she heeded my command.

“Qubemagon, Vhagar.” (Descend)

I dismounted her and trod a path towards the inferno, my sword materializing in my grasp with a practiced turn of my wrist. Shades of red marred my vision. The air shimmered, thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood.

Adrenaline trickled into my bloodstream.

Never had I been so close to my birthright, so close to erasing the past. My grip tightened around the hilt. Images swam up before me. A lifetime of humiliations, each one a searing brand in my retina. My brother getting what he wasn’t fit for, presented to him on a silver platter. But no longer. No more would he be the architect of my suffering. 

But as a tremor shook the ground, a low rumble heralding the broken form of the golden dragon, a monument of smoke, blood, dirt, and ashes, none of it seemed to matter. 

As I crested a rise, the world snapped into sharp focus. My gaze landed on him - my brother; melted into a nightmarish tableau of steel, flesh, and bone, encircled by his dragon’s golden body.

Resolution, cold and heavy, settled in my chest. Killing him would be fruitless. The Stranger had already requested an audience.

I had achieved what needed to be done. As I lifted the edge of my sword to its sheath, a voice echoed through the forest.

“Aemond!” Cole cried my name like a desperate warning. I glanced back, my weapon disappearing into its sheath with a final rasp.

I looked down at my sacrifice. The damage was raw, excessive. The damage that was wanton. A pang of unease twisted in my gut. 

A glint of metal caught my eye, and I dropped to my haunches to retrieve the Conqueror’s Valyrian steel dagger from the bloodied earth. The dagger that was once Aegon’s. It was mine now. 

Ser Criston’s rustling armor announced his approach. “Where is His Grace?” he asked, voice quivering.

I didn’t respond. Instead, I tilted my chin, allowing the glistening steel guide his gaze toward the grotesque sculpture of my melted brother encircled by golden scales.

Ser Criston crumpled to his knees without a word, as I rose to my feet. 

A cold knot of regret twisted in my chest as I regarded my tribute. But it was fleeting, replaced by the icy fire of my ambition. 

There was much to be done, and I needed to proceed if I were to achieve it. I turned on my heel and left Cole and my broken brother behind. 

The battlefield and the devastation shrank beneath me as Vhagar’s powerful wings propelled us skyward. 

A sharp thrill prickled my skin that was naught from the velocity, but rather that of my impending regency. 

_

Upon returning to King’s Landing, I made my way to the small council chamber, ascending the stairs with slow deliberate steps. The air was thick with tension. The council was in disarray, engrossed in a heated discussion, but fell silent as the doors swung open. Eyes turned to me.

“My Lords,” I announced, my voice cutting through the sudden hush. I rounded the council table. “Mother,” I said, offering a curt nod of acknowledgement as I passed Alicent’s chair.

“Aemond,” she demanded, steel in her voice. “Where is Aegon?”

A heavy pause hung in the air before I met her gaze.

“Aegon has fallen,” I said. 

The council erupted in uproar. 

Cries of outrage and accusations.

Obscenities.

Scandal.

“How could this be allowed to happen?”

“What is the meaning of this?”

“We are doomed!”

The disapproval of the Lords sullied the chambers. This council was surely in lack of discipline. I already had my eyes on who I were to replace.  

“The King is dead!”

“The King is not dead,” I countered, my voice calm and mellifluous, soothing the council members like warm milk. Voices dipped and eyes turned to me, an invisible shudder surging through the air. “He has merely sustained grave injuries and is being brought back to the Red Keep for treatment as we speak.” I began to pace around the table, hands slotted behind my back. “The King fought bravely,” I continued. “Landing mortal injuries to the Pretender’s cause. But the Red Queen cast him out of the sky before I could get to him.”

My pacing had brought me to the head of the council table, where I ceased my step. My hand reached out to allow my fingers to trace the chair frame, its iron vibrating with the power I so craved. 

It was palpable. 

It was mine for the taking. 

I looked up at the members of the small council, my eye piercing each and every one of them until they quivered in their chairs.

“And in the coils of torment,” I spoke. “My brother, King Aegon, named me Prince Regent.”

A tremor vibrated the room, weary eyes glanced at each other, bodies twisting uncomfortably in creaking chairs. 

“If anyone should be named regent, surely it should be me, his mother,” voiced Alicent. 

I cast my gaze on her. 

“Aemond is next in line,” came voices from the small council.

“Yes, but the King still lives!” Alicent implored.

“Who am I to contest the wishes of the King?” I said softly, casting her a look of pure innocence.

Alicent’s eyes welled like a tide of despair, her head dipping to the table with defeat. If Alicent could conjure words that had not been uttered to serve her own ends, why could I not?

“Aemond…” she started, her voice a gentle tremble. “Could we at least discuss this?”

“As prince regent, I vow to serve this realm, my Lords, and guide our path to victory against the Whore of Dragonstone.”

My gaze drifted to the platform in the center of the table, settling on the cold polished marble that remained. The King’s marble. I reached for it, and as my fingers closed around its smooth surface, I met Alicent’s eyes. A flicker of desperate plea danced within them, and I held it with a cold response. She exhaled with defeat as I seated myself in the King’s chair, placing the marble in its rocky nest. 

“All hail Aemond, Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm,” Lord Tyland Lannister’s voice came, and the words echoed across the table. 

A smirk played on my lips. “My Lords,” I began, splaying my hands atop the table. “Let us commence.”

YOU

Mutters. Whispers. Gossip.

The news, carried on frantic breaths, was a tangled mess.

One moment, the King was dead, the next, grievously wounded. Some murmured of a crippled monarch, others of his mighty dragon slain. 

It buzzed in my ears as I made my way towards the throne room.

Fear, a cold serpent, coiled in my gut.

The throne room pulsed with tense energy. Hundreds of courtiers jostled for position, their faces etched with a mixture of morbid curiosity and nervous anticipation. I descended the cold stone steps, the weight of each step echoing the growing dread in my heart.

The Iron Throne loomed before me, an empty monument of jagged steel. Its cruel beauty, forged from a thousand fallen enemies, held a chilling glint in the flickering torchlight. I observed it over the shoulder of the woman in front of me, the precariousness of my position suddenly amplified. 

A shiver ran down my spine. Sometimes, I believed it was cursed. Promising to cast whoever graced it to a terrible fate.

My fingers, restless with apprehension, turned my rings about my fingers, pulling them off and on in a nervous dance. A prickling sensation spread through me as I felt countless eyes burning into my back. Disapproval mingled with a strange reverence. The room thrummed with unspoken questions, and I, too, yearned for answers, desperately seeking a foothold in the swirling vortex of uncertainty. 

A ripple of anticipation surged through the crowd as a figure emerged. I turned to witness the gleaming silver armor of the King’s Guard announcing Ser Criston Cole, the newly appointed Hand of the King. Hundreds of eyes swiveled in his wake as he strode towards the Iron Throne, which seemed to gnash its serrated teeth at his approach. 

My mind churned in chaotic disarray. Ser Criston had marched on Rook’s Rest, prompting Aemond’s hurried departure. Where my husband was now, remained a mystery. Perhaps still at Rook’s Rest, tending to the fallen King, or perhaps continuing on to Harrenhal, a destination he oft mentioned.  

None of it mattered. 

My marriage to Aemond had been a political maneuver, as cold and sterile as a septa’s cell. He held no affection for me, nor I for him. He was the absent, aloof prince I’d always imagined him to be. Carrying a frozen heart of a killer. Our union was no more than an alliance. Though I was hardly complaining. Married life granted me freedoms I scarcely thought possible for a highborn lady. But I would jest if I said I did not long for something more. Something warm. Something living. But in Aemond, either would be the last place I’d find. 

Ser Criston swept a steely gaze across the court, his face unreadable. He chewed the inside of his cheeks curiously, the motion ceasing abruptly when his eyes met mine. Cold and dark. I met his stare head-on, until an odd feeling took root in my gut. 

Unanswered questions swirled in my mind. 

Ser Criston tore his gaze from me, his eyes flitting across the room. Then, with a voice laced with authority, he boomed, “I address this court as Hand to inform you that the King has been grievously wounded in battle!”

A collective gasp ripped through the court. Whispers, like startled birds, rose in a flurry.

Ser Criston continued, a steely edge creeping into his voice, “Rhaenyra the Cruel will believe she won a great victory this day. May believe we will cower and offer her the throne like whipped dogs. But the False Queen is sorely mistaken. For the throne will not remain empty.”

Whispers escalated into a commotion. An unsettling prickle danced across my skin. My mind darted to the dowager Queen Alicent. Surely, in Aegon’s absence, they would elevate her to the throne. But after usurping Rhaenyra, would they truly place another woman in her stead? 

My thoughts, apparently, mirrored those of the court, for Alicent’s name drifted around me like a persistent echo.

Ser Criston’s voice rose to a commanding pitch, reverberating through the throne room, “I present to you…” The heavy oak doors of the throne room ground open, drawing every eye in unison.

My breath caught in my throat as a figure materialized at the stairs. 

It wasn’t Alicent. 

A frame, draped in dark green leather that shimmered with silver accents, emerged from the groaning doors. The Conqueror’s crown, a heavy circle of iron, sat upon their silver head, casting a long shadow across a face half-obscured by an eyepatch. 

“Prince Regent, Aemond Targaryen,” Ser Criston declared, his voice thick with forced authority. “Rider of Vhagar.”

Aemond descended the steps.

“Slayer of the queen who never was.”

Aemond’s footsteps, muffled by polished leather boots and the collective murmurs of the courtiers, made a predator’s approach as he stalked toward the Iron Throne. Two King’s Guard flanked him with stoic expressions. 

“And Protector of the Realm.”

He ascended the iron steps with a chilling grace, finally settling upon the throne. A hush fell over the court, thick and heavy. Silence stretched as he molded himself into the seat, his lethal hands caressing the equally lethal rests, a small smirk playing on his lips. His voice, a honeyed drawl laced with a hint of steel, echoed in the sudden silence.

“My Lords and Ladies,” he began, the menacing glint in his blue eye accentuated by the play of shadows on his face. “His Grace, the King, has been wounded at the battle of Rook’s Rest, and will be incapable to rule.”

There was a power in his presence, an unspoken threat that left the court speechless. Not a cough, not a rustle of fabric dared to break the silence. 

“Therefore,” he continued, his gaze sweeping over the frozen faces, “I, will act as your sovereign.”

Unease prickled at my skin. Something about Aemond’s demeanor, the unnatural sheen on his face, sent a tremor of suspicion through me. 

Had this all been a carefully orchestrated play? What truly transpired at Rook’s Rest? 

My eyes darted to the ornate dagger resting at his hip, the ancestral blade of Aegon the Conqueror. It was the same dagger I’d last seen clutched in the hand of his brother. 

As Aemond spoke on, a knot of apprehension tightened in my gut. 

“The tide has turned,” he declared, his voice ringing through the stunned silence. “Rhaenys Targaryen is slain, along with her dragon.” A small smile tugged at his lips, a low hum escaping them. “The largest serving the Pretender’s cause.” He said it like it was a jest. “Rook’s Rest has been claimed, leaving Dragonstone vulnerable.” His fingers tapped across the blades. “This is a victory for us.”

Scattered heads nodded in agreement. 

Then, his gaze snapped to me, a rapacious glint in his single blue eye. It seemed to bore into my very soul, stripping away any pretense. 

“It’s all going according to plan,” he murmured, his voice a silken threat, and for a moment, an eerie feeling within told me he was addressing me alone. The fire that danced within his eye flickered a touch too bright, and it felt like he could see every thought swirling in my mind, every flicker of doubt, every spark of fear. 

It felt like he was about to eat me alive.

A violent terror surged through me, icy fingers gripping my heart. Adrenaline tapped into my veins, a primal urge to flee. 

_

Frantic energy fueled my movements. I shoved dresses, jewelry, all of my belongings, into overflowing wooden trunks. Their straining hinges mocked my desperation. My handmaid, silent but swift, followed my frenzied instructions. I knew then, with a chilling certainty, that I owed her my life after this escape. 

Aemond’s chambers, once a familiar haven, felt cold and sterile now, stripped bare of my belongings. Rain lashed against the open windows, mirroring the frantic rhythm of my heart. The journey ahead would be long and treacherous. Circumstances weren’t optimal, but there was no other choice at my disposal.

My husband was a murderer and a kinslayer twice over. And my intuition told me it would soon be thrice. He wasn’t just ruthless; there was an unsettling hollowness behind his actions, a chilling absence of remorse. He was a walking blight, a storm that devoured everything in its path. And I refused to be struck down by its lightning.  

The apartment doors shuddered open, shattering me into distraught. My flight instincts flared, but I refused to cower. My hand instinctively shot out, grasping my maid’s hand tightly. We held our breath as a large, porcelain hand reached out and pushed the door wider. 

Aemond entered, leaving the door ajar. His gaze, unwavering and cold, locked with mine. “Leave us,” he commanded, his voice a smooth, cold current. 

My handmaid curtsied, her grip faltering as she pried my fingers loose. With a hurried glance back, she scurried out, the heavy door slamming shut behind her. 

An oppressive silence descended, broken only by the frantic pounding of my heart against my ribs. 

Escape seemed impossible; the air thick with a chilling dread. 

“You sent for me, wife?” Aemond’s voice, a silken caress laced with steel, echoed in the cavernous chamber. He approached with a predative grace, each deliberate step shrinking the distance between us. 

Confusion slammed into me. I hadn’t summoned him. This was, by far, the most he’d spoken to me since our loveless union. 

“You are mistaken,” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. My feet, traitors that they were, retreated with each of his advances. Then, it dawned on me, that it might have been his intention to put me in a state of dubiety, making me more malleable. A cutthroat, not only lethal, but cunning.

He stopped beside my overflowing trunk, a flicker of amusement playing on his lips. 

“Travelling somewhere?” His single blue eye, unnervingly perceptive, held me captive. 

Panic clawed at my throat. I clenched my trembling hands into fists, slotting them behind my back, forcing my lips into a gentle smile. 

“I wish to visit my family,” I said. “With war looming, I wish for us to be together.”

Aemond took another measured step closer. “Ao issi aerēbas mirriot daor,” (You’re not going anywhere), he murmured, the High Valyrian rolling off his tongue like a sinister threat. 

A furrow etched between my brows as I attempted to comprehend his words. My grasp of the ancient tongue was limited, and whether he intended me to understand was a cruel game. Perhaps, it was yet another tool to exert his dominance. But based on his relentless pursuit, I gathered me leaving wasn’t an option he entertained.

“I am of no use to you, Aemond,” I pleaded, maintaining a safe distance. “Me staying serves no purpose.”

“On the contrary,” he purred, his voice dripping with a dark promise. His head tilted covetously, venom flashing in his eye. 

“We barely exist to each other,” I continued. “What difference would it make if I was half a world away?”

“It would make all the difference.” The warmth in his voice vanished, replaced by a glacial edge. “There’s the matter of heirs.”

Seven Hells. 

Anguish twisted my gut. Intuition, a primal scream, roared to life. Images flashed behind my eyelids – Aemond sitting the throne, and Aegon reduced to ash. 

Had this been his plan all along? Was he the reason for the King’s lethal end?

The pieces slammed together in my mind, a horrifying mosaic. 

I gasped, my back hitting the cold stone wall. Aemond’s ambition stretched far beyond my naïve expectations. Loyalty to his house, to his brother, had been a carefully constructed facade. Beneath it, he schemed, a shrewd predator stalking his ultimate prize. The crown. 

And the crown needed heirs. 

He towered over me, his presence overwhelming. He was much taller than I recalled, every inch radiating a rapacious tension. A hand braced itself against the wall, inches from my head. 

“What have you done?” My thoughts materialized into shaky words, laced with an enmity that surprised even me. My gaze raked over him, revulsion twisting my features. The green leather seemed to pulse, an illusion fueled by my churning stomach. 

A flicker, a hint of something akin to uncertainty, crossed his single eye. It darted across my face, as if truly seeing me for the first time. Perhaps he was. In this desperate flight, we’d never been closer. Close enough to be enveloped by his scent, a foreign musk that did little to quell my churning nausea. 

“Skoros iksin bēvilagon.” (What was necessary)

I frowned again, aggravated that he took to High Valyrian as an attempt to shut me out of his thoughts. My jaw clenched, frustration a bitter taste on my tongue. 

Malevolence rose like a flood as I leaned forward, so close that our noses nearly touched, “I would not have your child in a million years, kinslayer,” I spat, my voice trembling with contained fury. I lunged forward, aiming to push past him, to escape his suffocating presence. But his other hand shot out, slamming against the wall beside me, effectively caging me in.

A venomous glint flickered in his eye as he narrowed it at me through his lashes. A twitch played on his lips, a cat batting at a cornered mouse. “Be that as it may,” he said mellowly. “But even a bad wife must obey her king.”

A scoff escaped my lips, my eyes sizing him up and down. “You are no king,” I hissed, defiance lacing my voice. “You are not even a man.”

His reaction was swift and brutal.

One hand shot out and grabbed my face, forcing my head against the cold stone. Pain erupted at the impact, but quickly subsided as he leaned in, his hot breath fanning against my lips.

“Speak such treason again, and I’ll show you what I really am.”

“What will you do?” I spat back, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and insurgence. “Cripple me, like you did your brother? Force yourself on me?”

“Don’t tempt me,” he growled, his voice simmering with barely contained violence.

A tense silence ensued, the air crackling with his restrained fury.

My suspicions, already simmering, solidified into a horrifying certainty. He’d orchestrated his brother’s downfall on purpose. 

“Have you no honor?” I whispered, the words a ragged plea. 

The silence stretched, broken only by our ragged breaths. His hold on my face loosened gradually, his hand falling away. But his gaze remained fixed on me, a storm brewing within its depths. 

“You cannot stop me, Aemond,” I said, my voice shrinking. “I will leave this place, one way or another. You can play king in my absence, but it will be a hollow crown.”

“Kesan arghugon ao naejot se mōris hen tegon.” (I will hunt you to the end of the earth)

“Speak plainly,” I snapped, my patience with his cryptic pronouncements wearing thin.

A chilling smile, devoid of warmth, stretched across his lips. He pushed himself away from the wall, backing away, creating my long-desired distance between us. 

“You may go,” he drawled, the amusement in his voice laced with a dangerous edge, that sardonic smile still plastered on his lips. 

Acrimony filled my gut. What little I knew of this man, I feared greatly, but also told me this was a trick. He wouldn’t relinquish control so easily. He’d allow me to make my “escape”, only to have me snatched back by the King’s Guard, now under his control, a public display of his authority. There was no true freedom with him.

Maegor’s tunnels, a potential escape route, loomed tantalizingly behind me. If only I were alone, a simple push against the wall would send me tumbling into its dark embrace. But escape without a plan or supplies was a fool’s errand. 

My mind spun, each possibility twisting the knife of despair deeper. Even if I reached my family, what awaited me there? Shame would be their welcome. Aemond, no doubt, would make sure of it. 

The rain continued its relentless assault on the outside world, punctuated by the booming symphony of thunder. A flash of lightning illuminated the apartments, casting Aemond in a grotesque, menacing silhouette. 

Exhaustion overwhelmed me. I slumped to the floor, seeking solace in the meager comfort of my arms wrapped around my knees. Here I was, a prisoner in this gilded cage, condemned to bear the children of a traitor until flames consumed us all. 

Aemond crouched before me, his wrists resting on his knees. He regarded me with an intensity that bordered on scientific curiosity. A flicker of something, perhaps disappointment, played at his edges. 

“I’d take you for many things, wife,” he cooed, the endearment dripping with veiled malice. “But weak was not one of them.” His words landed like a body blow. “If I’d known you’d crumble so easily, I would never have wed you in the first place.” 

I sniffed and looked up at him, exhaustion a heavy cloak on my lids. “You did not have much of a say in the matter,” I countered.

A wicked smile twisted his lips and his head tilted to the side. “No,” he said softly. A sudden chill iced his demeanor. “And neither do you.”

He rose to his feet with predacious grace, leaving me pleated on the floor. He sauntered to his chair and seated himself, one leg propped up on his knee, his leather splaying atop the arm rests.

I watched him. His face was turned to the violent storm outside, immersed in contemplation, lightning whipping across his features. A vision of menace. A weapon poised to strike. 

“So, what is your scheme, Aemond?” I started; my voice hoarse. His head turned slowly, his gaze locking onto mine with the piercing intensity of Valyrian steel. “Do you envision a period of mourning for the King, followed by a convenient acclamation in your favor? Or will you hurry along the succession and carry out the deed yourself before anyone suspects?”

A single corner of his mouth quirked into a cruel smile. “Suppose I have not yet decided.” His voice was like liquid. 

Defiance flickered within me. “The court will never agree to this once they find out what you’ve done.”

Aemond hummed, a deep sound in the bottom of his chest. “Dragons don’t concern themselves with the opinions of sheep.” He leaned forward, resting his arms across his knees. “I am next in line to the throne,” he drawled. “None is better suited than I.”

I staggered to my feet and went to sit beside him. “With a legitimate heir,” I said carefully. “Your claim would be uncontested.”

He smirked, as though I’d read his mind. He leaned back, his eyes gleaming with dangerous delight. 

“A woman’s pleasure is,” he began, a slow, suggestive smile playing on his lips. His blue eye drifted down my form in a way that made my skin crawl. “Of as much importance as the seed itself.”

A hot flush crept up my cheeks at his implication.

“Which is why submission must be a willing act,” he finished, his voice dropping to a husky murmur.

I swallowed, provocation crackling through me. Did he truly believe I would succumb to his advances? He seemed to think he could manipulate anyone to his will, whether through seduction or brutality, though I had yet to see the former. 

“And if I refuse?” I challenged, my voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in my hands. 

A low growl vibrated in his chest, his face soft. “Then you’ll find yourself counted amongst the sheep,” he drawled.

Deflating, I sighed and dipped my head. The only path forward seemed excruciatingly clear. Raising my eyes to meet his, I lifted an eyebrow in rebellion.

“Consider me sheep then.” With that, I rose from the settee and strode towards the apartment doors, the cold of the metal handle stealing the warmth from my fingers as I heaved it open.

It shut then, with a loud thud, and I jumped, a sudden heat radiating behind me. Aemond’s fingers splayed on the oak door above my head. My pulse drummed in my ears, Aemond’s lips grazing my lobe, urging it to pick up the pace. 

“Jaelā naejot mazverdagon nyke jorarghutan ao, ābrazȳrys?” (You want to make me chase you, wife?) His voice rumbled into me, a low growl as potent as the thunderstorm.

The rolling, guttural words sent a strange warmth through my core. His air consumed me. A rich mixture of smoke, leather, and dragon, infiltrated my senses, intoxicating and unsettling in equal measure. 

“I can’t understand you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. I felt him smiling against my ear, a low chuckle reverberating into it, sending goosebumps erupting across my skin. 

“You won't need to,” he said softly. His hand drifted away from the door and closed around my throat, surprisingly gentle, yet the warmth of his fingers felt like embers branding my skin. They snaked around the back of my neck, the pressure tightening as he turned me to face him. His single eye, a bottomless well of intricacy, held mine captive.

My gaze flickered down to his lips. They were curved into a wicked grin.

His scent became a suffocating presence. The heat radiating from his body, fervid as a dragon, made sweat bead on my forehead. My entire being screamed I was at his mercy. He could crush my life out with a mere squeeze, or worse, with his single eye, he could strip me bare without ever laying a hand on me. 

But a strange fire flickered within me, a rebellion against his dominion. My hands, fueled by a desperate need for control, reached out and began loosening his doublet, my fingers slow and deliberate. 

Aemond stilled, his eye falling to my movements. He watched, transfixed, as I unfastened the green leather halfway down his chest, then trailed my fingers lower. His gaze darkened and his breath grew uneven, as the bulge beneath his belt pressed against my touch.

A visceral desire flared within me, a response I couldn’t fully comprehend. My pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, slowly drifting between my thighs at the sight of his desire. 

His grip softened at my nape, and with a surge of defiance, I ripped myself free from his hold, and landed a heavy blow to his stomach. But a wave of terror washed over me when Aemond barely flinched.

Panic clawed at my throat. 

Taking advantage of his momentary surprise, I flung open the chamber doors and fled, the sound of my pounding heart echoing in my ears. 

AEMOND

The aftershock of her blow lingered, a dull ache radiating from my gut, while I allowed her to make her escape. Fury, a familiar companion, usually surged through me, promising retribution, suggesting to make her death appear an accident. This time, however, a different heat consumed me, a mix of surprise and… arousal. 

Rarely did I misjudge a person. Yet, the meek mouse I’d wed had transformed into a daring she-wolf before my very eyes. This escape attempt, fueled by defiance, was a revelation. It made my dick hard. 

A rapacious glint flickered in my eye. A grudging respect, laced with something far more primal, coiled in my gut. I had underestimated her, and the unexpected turn of events had ignited a spark within me. 

A smirk twisted my lips, and I hummed with satisfaction, the thrill of the hunt coursing through me. 

“Jaelā naejot tymagon?” (You want to play?) I murmured, the challenge laced with amusement. “Kesi tymagon.” (Let’s play.)

I started into the storm-ridden castle. 

YOU

Immediate regret shot through me with a pang, a cold fist squeezing my breath. 

To toy with a dragon was like asking to get burned.

My lungs screamed in protest, my legs burning with each step down the Red Keep’s slick stone steps. Blood, metallic and sharp, left traces in my mouth as I hoisted my cumbersome gown to avoid tripping. The castle shuddered from the storm, which groaned and wailed its onslaught. Guards stood stoic at their posts, their expressions unreadable underneath silver helms. Appealing to them was a fool’s errand.

None dared defy the one-eyed prince. 

Driven by blind instinct, I found myself pushing through the massive doors of the throne room. 

The Iron Throne, a monstrous silhouette of twisted blades, dominated the chamber, its edges flashing white-hot under the lightning’s fury. I stumbled towards it, chest heaving, gasping for air. 

If it truly was cursed, could touching it offer some strange absolution, a release from the gilded cage that was my life? Surely, it couldn’t be worse than the fate that awaited me back in his clutches. 

Ascension. My trembling legs carried me up the steps, each one a monumental effort. Reaching the top, I lingered to sit, an action so simple, yet it loomed so immensely in my mind.

“Waiting to make your peace with the gods?” came a voice, and I turned with a gasp.

Aemond stood in the middle of the room, arms slotted behind his back, approaching with slow, menacing steps, like a predator savoring the hunt. Thunder boomed overhead. 

“No,” I countered, spite flaring hot in my chest. “Waiting for you to catch up so I can meet them myself,” I said, descending the steps. 

“Once more, so quick to admit defeat,” he taunted, venom dripping from his words like the rain outside.

I studied his sharp features, while the burden of my reality settled like a weight in my chest. “There is no escaping you,” I gritted out, holding his heavy gaze. 

His violence loomed heavy, and depravity flickered in his gaze. “Your perception waxes,” he conceded, and suddenly, the world tilted on its axis as he scooped me up and tossed me effortlessly over his broad shoulder. 

The journey back to his chambers was a furious ballet of resistance. My limbs flailed wildly, desperate for purchase, and obscenities, laced with an untenable fear, ripped from my throat.

A sharp slap landed on my behind, eliciting a yelp of surprised pain. 

“The more you struggle,” he growled, the sound a low rumble in his chest, “the worse it will be.”

A part of me recognized the truth in his words, yet a bestial defiance warred within, refusing to yield. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, I lunged for his silver hair, grabbing a fistful and yanking with all my might. 

He hissed through his teeth, followed by a guttural sound echoing deep within him. “Ilībōños,” (Bitch/Bastard) he cursed.

The apartment door slammed shut behind us as he entered, his movements purposeful. With a rough toss, I landed unceremoniously on the bed, the air whooshing out of my lungs on impact. Fury, a searing inferno, consumed me, each cell screaming in protest, my claws unsheathing. I wanted to hurt him. 

Anything within reach became a potential weapon. Pillows, a discarded jeweled comb – I hurled them all at him, each item a silent scream of rebellion. But his movements were swift, each projectile dodged with practiced ease. 

Frustration mounted, morphing into a desperate rage. I lunged at him, a clumsy attempt to push him back. But he remained immovable, an unyielding mountain. Undeterred, I pushed again, and again, fueled by a futile contempt. 

Finally, as I drew back for another pointless shove, his hands shot out, lightning fast, pinning my arms to my sides. He moved swiftly, his body caging mine in a steely embrace. 

“Lykirī,” he hummed, the word a low thrum against my ear. 

“Fuck you,” I spat, my chest heaving from my ambush.

Did he mistake me for his winged beast that he could command to his will?

My attempt to wiggle out of his hold was a pointless endeavour. Rage crackled in my veins, but it flickered under his touch. My breath hitched as he leaned closer, the heat of his body searing through my gown. The scent of him, smoke and leather, filled my senses. And the undeniable press of his erection against my stomach sent a jolt through me. 

This perverted man was enjoying my defiance. His grip tightened, a teasing hold that both frustrated and excited me. My body, traitor that it was, started to soften against him, a spark igniting beneath the embers of anger. 

“Have you had your fill of my company?” he whispered, his voice husky against my ear. His hands trailed down my arms, sending shivers skittering across my skin.

Every rational part of me screamed to break free, to run for the tunnels, to fight back. But the intoxication of his touch, the heat radiating from him, the suggestive murmur against my ear – they all conspired to trap me.

Before I could think, my head slowly turned from one side to the other. 

He hummed deeply. “Say it.”

Frustration warred with a strange vulnerability within me. My cheeks burned, and I clenched my jaw hard enough to taste blood. 

“I haven't.”

“You haven't what?”

Fury flickered back to life, fueled by his smug grin and the realization of how easily he’d manipulated me. 

“I haven't had enough,” I gritted out, the words a reluctant surrender. 

A growl of satisfaction escaped him before he grasped me by my throat, pushed me back against the wall, and tasted my next breath on his tongue. 

His lips, hot and demanding, devoured mine like a beggar, silencing the gasp that threatened to escape. Heat, a wildfire erupting at the junction of our bodies threatened to consume me. Fury, a simmering ember, still flickered within. I shoved against his chest and stomped on his feet; futile attempts against his unyielding form.

“Gaomagon vīlībagon nyke daor,” (Do not fight me) he said roughly against my lips, nipping at the bottom one. “Kesā botagon daor.” (You would not survive)

I didn’t understand him, and it urged on my fury. I opened my mouth with a quip in mind, but he used that opportunity to slide his tongue inside, hot and wet. The anger threatened to drown the blossoming desire, creating a tempestuous war within. I panted, torn between resistance and a strange, unfamiliar need, a fever writhing and pulsing inside my veins. My hands clenched in the rough leather of his doublet, a desperate attempt to maintain some sort of control. 

I closed my teeth on his bottom lip, and he hissed sharply, encircling my throat with his hand, pushing me against the stone. 

“Kelītīs,” (Stop) he growled.

The question of whether he even realized he was speaking High Valyrian was a fleeting thought. I melted into his rough hold, to his wicked mouth crashing against mine again and again, getting lost in the hot glide of his tongue. His rough kisses, the frantic press of his body, all contrived to unravel my carefully constructed defenses. A soft moan escaped my lips as my nipples brushed against his chest, sending sparks lower. He groaned low in his throat, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth.

With practiced ease, he untied the strings of my dress, letting the fabric pool around my ankles. I stood there in only my kirtle, breathless under his heated gaze. A dark groan rumbled from his chest as he slipped his hands beneath my thighs, effortlessly lifting me. My legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. His grip tightened on my bare flesh, a touch too rough, and I retaliated with another yank on his silver hair. An angry sound erupted in his throat as he attempted to shake off my grip. 

He carried us to the bed, the world tilting on its axis as he settled me on top of him. Our mouths met in a frantic clash, a tangle of tongues and heated breaths. We tore away from each other briefly, just long enough for him to pull my kirtle over my head.

Naked and exposed, I felt a shiver dance across my skin under the intensity of his gaze. Something dark moved through his eye, and my skin prickled with goosebumps.

He gripped the swell of my hips, his palms sliding upward, a slow exploration that sent sparks igniting in my blood. The fight drained from me, replaced by a heavy languor. His fingers, surprisingly gentle for a cold-blooded killer, traced patterns across my skin, before cupping my breasts into a rough grip. A soft moan escaped my lips as his thumb brushed a nipple, and pleasure rushed to my core. He leaned in and closed his mouth over a peak, drawing it in with a slow, gentle suck. My head fell back, a groan escaping my throat. My hands filtered into his thick silver, my fingers impulsively easing off the leather tie that kept it out of his face, and it went cascading around his features like spills of moonlight.

Awe mingled with desire as I watched him continue to explore my body, his mouth leaving a trail of wet heat across my skin. I cupped his sharp face in my hands, the rational, caged side of me screaming to tear him off me. I made weak, pitiful attempts to do so, but Aemond growled his disapproval and sucked my nipple hard. The wet heat of his mouth tugged between my legs as he moved to the other, flames curling low in my stomach. I ground down on him, my wet entrance dampening the dark leather of his breeches, the friction sending a delicious heat through my core. A moan ripped from his lips.

I was on fire, a confusing mix of desire and desperation clawing at me. I needed something more, something to push me over the edge. My body moved of its own accord, grinding harder, seeking that elusive release. 

He released my nipple with a graze of teeth that sent a jolt of white heat through me, and looked up at me with his eye dark like the storm.

“Skoros gaomagon jaelā?” (What do you crave?), he rumbled.

Exhaustion gnawed at me, but a visceral need pulsed deep within. “Please,” I pleaded, the word a ragged whisper escaping my lips, the frustration of the language barrier a dull ache compared to the firestorm raging in my core. “More,” I begged, grinding against his erection with desperate mewlings. 

When his hand lowered to palm my pussy, my skin caught on fire, burning me from scalp to toes. Desire inflated in my throat when he ran his hand up my neck, into my hair, grabbing a fistful and using it to arch my head back, his touch both possessive and arousing. 

“Is this what you desire?” he rasped against my throat, his voice husky with restrained passion. His calloused thumb began drawing circles on my clit, a slow, deliberate exploration that sent frustration battling with a rising tide of pleasure. 

I nodded desperately. “Yes,” I gasped.

He slipped two fingers into my wetness, and I arched my back, groaning in pleasure and a little pain, his fingers filling me up to the brim. My hands found purchase in his hair, anchoring myself as he moved his digits, flames of pleasure licking at my walls. 

Ecstasy unfurled in my veins like milk of the poppy, mind-numbing, delirious, as he slid his thick fingers in and out of me, rubbing a sensitive spot deep within. Hot pressure expanded, and my eyes rolled back in my head. A throaty moan escaped my lips with every thrust of his fingers and a delicious rumble rolled in his chest. 

His grip around my hair suddenly vanished and his thumb began rubbing circles on my clit as he fingered me. I cried out, the intensity overwhelming, and I braced myself on his leather-covered shoulders, a cold sweat starting beneath my skin.

“Sholīze,” (You’re so wet), he groaned against my skin, the word a brand that sent shivers lancing through me, the heat beneath the surface threatening to erupt. I rolled my hips on his fingers, and a satisfied growl escaped his mouth, his eye dropping to witness me riding his hand as my pleasure ran down his wrist, my leg and onto his lap. 

“Shkelagon zhēdys,” (You’re making a mess), he whispered into my mouth, swallowing my desperate cries. 

A third finger, bold and intrusive, slid inside, the added pressure sending me over the edge. My vision swam, black dots exploding at the edges. My heart pounded to the fire searing through every nerve in my body. Throaty moans tore from my lips over and over, as I clenched around his moving fingers. He groaned with dark satisfaction, encircling my waist, pressing me against him as I rode out my orgasm. 

The storm within me subsided slowly. His fingers, once urgent, now moved slowly in and out of me while I caught my breath and the ringing in my ears faded. He didn’t withdraw until he’d coaxed out the very last tremor of pleasure from my body. 

A languorous warmth, a deep sense of satiation unlike anything I’d ever known, bloomed within me.

Lost in the afterglow, I trailed kisses up his neck, small noises of contentment escaping my lips. 

“Gevie,” he panted, slipping his fingers out of me.

I knew that word.

Beautiful. 

AEMOND

I never thought the act of making an heir would be this… riveting. 

So much pure heat, flame and pleasure, fueled not just by my own desire, but by the sight of her pleasure burgeoning under my touch. It was a new prospect entirely. I could have reached my own release simply from witnessing hers. 

But this was not going to make an heir, after all.  

She ran her fingers over my erection, her lips and teeth teasing a line down my neck as she came down from her high. My hand, forearm and lap were slick from her sweet desire. 

She settled back into my lap, a vision of post-orgasmic bliss. Her eyes, usually bright and defiant, were now hooded with languid satisfaction, her cheeks flushed a becoming crimson. Her lips, slightly parted, breathed shallowly. I pushed my thumb between them, and she met the intrusion with a beckoning glide of her tongue, the wet heat settling in my groin. I pulled my thumb free, wiping the evidence of her touch across her lips. 

This woman, this force of nature, was mine. My wife.

Lightning played across her features like she was its master. Like she embodied the raw power of the storm. 

Untamed, fierce, fuckable.

She was molded just for me.

Her fingers, tracing a familiar path down my doublet, encountered the bulge straining against the fabric, my dick throbbing at her faintest touch.

“Take it off,” she said, working on the buckle. I reached my hands up my neck, loosening the doublet from my frame. 

“Do not attempt any strikes this time,” I drawled, a playful challenge in my voice. I relished the smile that spread across her lips.

“You have my word,” she said softly. 

The leather of my arms whispered down, discarded on the floor like a shed skin. Her eyes ignited with raw desire, a flickering flame that mirrored the inferno that had been building within me. Her fingers, hesitant at first, traced a path down my chest, my abs, further, until her hand slipped beneath my breeches and over the length of my dick. 

I hissed through my teeth. The heat, a branding iron searing flesh, intensified as her hand, unsure but determined, wrapped around my erection, heat curling at the base of my spine. Her hesitant touch grew more confident as she stroked me from base to head with smooth, gentle motions, sending a low groan rumbling from my chest. 

I grabbed her face and grazed her chin with my teeth, making her stroke me harder. “I’ll fill you with my seed, wife,” I growled, the words rough against her skin. A promise, a threat, a declaration of possession – all rolled into one.  

Her sigh held a hint of resignation, contrasting the fire in her eyes. “As long as you’ll leave me alone once you’re done,” she mumbled, the words laced with quiet defiance. 

Fury, a red-hot ember, flared within me. 

I threw her down on her knees on the bed and yanked her head back by her hair until her head rested against my shoulder. The vulnerability in her exposed throat fueled a dark avarice within me. My erection pressed against the heat of her ass, restraint becoming an impossible enemy. 

“You’re bound to me now,” I growled in her ear, the words a possessive vow. “You’re not going anywhere.”

A ghost of a smile played on her lips, a silent challenge that both frustrated and excited me. I leaned in, whispering a single word against her ear, “Ñuhon.” (Mine) I nipped her earlobe, making her hiss. 

When I released her, she sagged forward, head hanging low. Her shoulders slumped, and she lowered herself onto her hands, the curve of her backside a sight that ignited a fresh wave of heat within me. 

I discarded my breeches, the urgency a physical ache in my core. Kneeling behind her, I pushed two fingers inside of her. She clenched down on me so tightly. I groaned and pulled my fingers free. As I rubbed the head of my cock against her wet opening, the heat of it almost burned me. A tremble coasted throat her, and her fingers gripped the sheets, bracing herself. 

I eased into her, and, gods spare me, she was so fucking tense, to the point she nearly resisted me entirely. I caressed her ass, her hips, running my hand up and down her back, attempting to relax her, uttering words I scarcely knew were the Common Tongue or High Valyrian. 

“Vīrȳn (take it), you’re so fucking wet, gūrogon mirre yno (take all of me).”

Until her walls softened and I watched myself slide into her, until I was as deep as I could go.

Seven Hells. 

The feeling was overwhelming. The way she clutched me like a wet fist. Every cell in me ached for more, to fuck her hard, relentlessly, but I gave her a moment to adjust, squeezing her, running my hands all over her. 

Soon, she was rocking back against me, and I gave her what she wanted, pulling out all the way before slowly pushing back in, every inch of me vanishing. She groaned and dropped her face to the bed, fisting the sheets in her hands. I gripped the swell of her hips, guiding her warm, wet pussy onto my throbbing dick over and over, watching their salacious union, my sight darkening at the squelching sounds that ensued. A deep hum erupted from my chest.

She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes hooded with lust, settling on each lazy thrust. 

“Iksis ao bisa ijiōrtan?” (Is this pleasing you?) I rasped, but before she could answer, I fucked her a little harder. It occurred to me that she probably could not have understood what I’d been saying half the time. 

Her head fell forward, and the sight of her biting down on her hand to quiet her moans sent a heady rush to my head, lighting me on fire. 

Thunder rolled overhead. 

I was completely lost in the heat of her, taking her hard, watching her ass bounce against me with every thrust. I wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back against my chest.

She was panting, fucked into soft compliancy.

“To whom do you belong?” I growled in her ear.

She didn’t resist any of my advances this time. “You,” she breathed. 

“Say my name.”

“Aemond.”

“And who is your King?”

“Aemond.”

My grip snaked and tightened around her neck as I fucked her.

“Say it.”

“You’re the King, Your Grace,” she whined. “The first of your name.”

It set me on fire.

I pushed her back down and fucked her through her second orgasm, holding her hips up when her legs gave out. She shuddered and clenched around me, the pressure sending licking fires down my back, threatening to erupt. I gritted my teeth as I came inside of her, a white, hot fire shooting through me so hard, my vision went black.

My muscles shook from the aftershock.

I doubled over her, letting my forehead rest on her back as we came down. 

When I pulled out of her, I watched my seed leak out of her entrance like white tears. I plugged it with my fingers, burrowing deep inside of her, and she gasped.

“Dragonseed is precious,” I rumbled into her ear. “Would not want it to go to waste.” I kissed her temple.

“Tepagon aōha dārys iā dārilaros, dōna ābrazȳrys.” (Give your king an heir, sweet wife)

[anto-pops]

Cheirophilia - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: Following the summer leading up to your seventh year, you return to Hogwarts to discover that Sebastian has undergone changes that greatly appeal to the eye. Your eye, to be specific. There’s no easy way to tell the man you’ve been dating for two years that your attention has been fixed on a part of him otherwise deemed normal, but after a while, you’re forced to face the truth of the matter. 

Alternatively summarized as you have a hand kink and Sebastian Sallow has extremely nice hands.

Word Count: 10.7k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit sexual content, hand kink, size difference

Full fic can be found here on Ao3 (with more diverse tags)

You had to be losing your mind. That was the only plausible explanation for the wild, unrestrained thoughts that had been plaguing your brain for the last week every time you so much as glanced at Sebastian. Yes, he was attractive. He was charming and confident, and quite frankly he was the epitome of male perfection as far as you were concerned. Not a day went by where you didn’t consider yourself lucky to be able to call him yours, and you knew he was just as enamored with you.

But your newfound infatuation with his hands had started relatively recently, and you had no clue what to make of it. 

Sebastian was touchy to begin with, and he always had been. From casually brushing shoulders with you in the Great Hall during mealtimes, to tucking your hair behind your ears at night– the man was constantly finding ways to be closer to you, and your appreciation for his efforts knew no bounds. It made you feel treasured, wanted, revered, and a slew of other things that made your heart swell with affection. Maybe you could attribute your blatant ogling of his appendages to that, or maybe you had just finally started to notice after your Divination class last week. 

Professor Onai, for all her outlandish preachings on clairvoyance, had taken a more mundane approach in teaching her students ‘fortune telling’ a few days ago. “Palm reading,” she had said, “is a delicate and fixed art. It can be as vague as it can be accurate, and it takes an expertly trained eye to decipher the true meaning behind the grooves in one’s hand.” 

You were far from an expert in anything relating to Divination, but you did have an eye for nice things, and Merlin– were Sebastian’s hands exquisite. They were nearly twice the size of yours and covered in calluses, a lingering sign of the grueling physical labor he’d done over the summer in Feldcroft. His fingers weren’t as dainty as Ominis’, but they were long, thick, and lined with pulsing veins that stretched across the backs of his hands and coiled around his toned forearms. As you’d traced the lines on his palm with your fingers, he’d shivered at the featherlight feeling and chuckled at the deferential way you seemed to commit every part of the appendage to memory. 

You didn’t even want to begin to recount the way your heart had hammered in your chest when it had been his turn to read your palm. Maintaining your composure had taken every ounce of willpower in your body.

Since then, your mind had wandered an unhealthy amount.

By some miracle, Sebastian hadn’t noticed your unwavering eye contact with his hands yet. The two of you had been kept preoccupied with the mountains of classwork that came with the start of the new school year, and as a result, your only opportunities to spend time with him had been during mealtimes. Today was different, however, because Lucan had finally set up the first Crossed Wands match of the season. You and Sebastian were both participating, and your boyfriend was all too eager to jump back into dueling after the summer months spent away. 

Your eyes scanned him dutifully from across the room, watching with rapt interest as he chatted with Brattleby about the upcoming fight. Sebastian had grown considerably since your fifth-year, virtually towering over Lucan as he looked down at the curly haired Gryffindor. The latter had gone through a growth spurt of his own, but it was easy to overlook him when he was standing next to your boyfriend. Sebastian was big; broad shouldered with long, powerful legs and thick wrists that complimented his massive, mouthwatering hands. 

Said hands were fidgeting with the cuffs of his shirt as he rolled them up, nodding down at Lucan as he replied to something the younger boy had said. You didn’t know what they were discussing, and quite frankly, you didn’t care. His deft fingers adjusted his uniform as he prepared for your duo’s duel, and instead of following suit, you were unabashedly studying his every move. That is, until a voice from your left drew your attention. 

“Did something happen over summer?” 

You startled easily, warranting an eye roll from Imelda as she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the wall. It was a rarity to find her in the Crossed Wands courtyard, but you knew she had been hounding members of the Quidditch team to prepare for trial runs and scrimmages, and Sebastian factored into that assortment of people. Schooling your nerves the best you could, you started to shed your robe in an effort to simultaneously get ready for the duel and distract from the metaphorical eye candy across the room. 

“What do you mean,” you asked vaguely, keeping your eyes pointed at the floor as you moved. 

Imelda was having none of it– clearly smarter than you deigned to give her credit for. “Don’t play coy with me. You’re always checking Sallow out, but since we’ve been back it’s ten times worse. Did he sprout a second cock or something?” 

You damn near choked on your own tongue as you whipped around to glare at her. “Do you have to be so crass all the time?” 

She waved you off, “Yes, I do. Who else would rile you up this way if not myself? Now answer the question.” 

Heaving a deep sigh, you draped your robe over a stack of crates and began to gather your hair back into a loose braid as you muttered, “No, nothing happened over summer.”

“But something is going on. Come on,” she implored with a taunting tone, her brown eyes glimmering with amusement. “At least tell me if it’s something bad.” 

“It’s not bad,” you relented. “It’s– I’m not sure what it is, to be honest. We haven’t even done anything since we’ve been back, we’ve been too busy. But…”

You trailed off, staring at the wall behind Imelda as you brought your hair over your shoulder to finish off the plait. She waited patiently, however, all too eager to get the inside scoop on your love life. “But?”

“I don’t know– have you ever found yourself focused on other body parts? Like, really random parts of another person?” 

The Quidditch captain’s face shifted into a confused expression as she chanced a look at Sebastian, evidently trying to figure out what on Godric’s green Earth you were referring to. “Uh, no? If you’re talking about his feet though then I’m going to ask that you forget I even brought this up–”

“No!” You blurted loudly, drawing the attention of a handful of students in the courtyard, Sebastian included. He cocked a brow at you from across the room, and you flashed him a bashful smile in silent reply before mouthing a timid ‘sorry’. Imelda snickered under her breath when you turned back to her, a deep scowl settling on your face. “Dammit, not his fucking feet. I’m talking about his hands. He has really nice hands– I never noticed before.” 

“You’re telling me you’ve had your knickers in a twist for the last week and a half because of Sallow’s hands?” 

To say Imelda looked dumbstruck would be an understatement, and you suddenly felt incredibly stupid for having said anything at all. You kept your eyes downcast as you tossed your braided hair over your shoulder and slid your wand free from its holster, doing your best to ignore the woman’s burning stare. “Nevermind– forget I mentioned it.” 

“I doubt I could even if I wanted to, but for the sake of your dignity I’ll go grab a seat and let you get your head in the game.” You felt your cheeks heat up instantly in response to her snide comment, and you lifted your eyes in time to watch Imelda turn towards the far corner of the room with a smile on her face. She paused before taking off, murmuring over her shoulder, “Make sure you’re paying attention to your opponents and not Sallow’s hands.”

Sweet Merlin… you should have kept your big mouth shut.

***

As it turned out, your head was so far out of the game that it became collateral in the midst of your duo’s duel. 

It was your own fault, really. Despite doing your best to focus on the task at hand, your eyes had continually wandered over to Sebastian, tracking his movements as he fired spell after spell in retaliation against your opponents. He had always been exceptionally graceful while fighting– be it in Crossed Wands or in the Highlands at your side– and his sudden growth spurt over summer had only added to his preexisting agility. It was all too easy for you to get absorbed in his fluid movements as he ducked and rolled, then blocked and countered every attack with astonishing finesse. 

Unfortunately, that meant you were left wholly unprepared for the Depulso charm that sent you careening across the room into a stack of crates. Your head had been positively spinning as you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, but your vision cleared in time to watch as Sebastian abandoned the duel entirely to hurry over to where you lay prone against the broken wood. Lucan had shouted something about the match being called off, but you could hardly pay any attention to his words with Sebastian fretting over you, mere inches from your face. 

“Merlin’s bloody balls, what the hell happened?” The brunet hadn’t even given you ample time to reply before he had hoisted you up in his strong, capable arms to carry you to the Hospital Wing. 

That was how you’d ended up where you were now; laid out in an uncomfortable hospital bed with Nurse Blainey hovering too close for comfort while your boyfriend sat beside you with his arms crossed stiffly over his chest. His expression was virtually unreadable, but you weren’t able to focus on him for long without your head pounding in silent protest. 

“Drink this,” Nurse Blainey dutifully instructed, thrusting a vial of Wiggenweld in front of you as she scanned your bandaged temple. “It will help with the swelling and the gods-awful headache I’m sure you’re sporting. My diagnostic spells came back negative for any internal injuries, but that doesn’t mean you can rush back to your foolhardy dueling club. A concussion is a concussion, no matter how small.” 

Your tongue felt like lead in your mouth so you nodded in response instead of speaking– only to instantly regret the movement. Sharp, concentrated pain shot through your head, and you took it as a sign to carefully knock back the contents of the potion she’d given you. A soothing warmth overtook you in a split second, and the throbbing in your skull lessened considerably, prompting you to relax against the pillows situated behind you as your eyelids fluttered. Evidently pleased with your subdued demeanor, Nurse Blainey jotted something down on the clipboard that had been tucked under her arm before turning to Sebastian. 

“I trust that you’ll ensure she actually takes it easy for the next few days, Mr. Sallow?” 

Your eyes cracked open in time to watch Sebastian’s gaze flicker to yours, and the muscle in his jaw ticked as his attention zero’d in on the thick bandage that now adorned your head. “Of course. She’ll be a model patient for as long as needed.” 

Satisfied with his agreement, Nurse Blainey pivoted on her heel and strode to the back end of the room, leaving you and Sebastian alone in a tense silence. 

Heaving a heavy sigh, you gathered your hands in your lap and let your head tip back against the bed frame, wanting nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow you whole. All of this because you couldn’t stop ogling your boyfriend for a measly twenty minutes when it mattered most… it was an embarrassing and stupid mistake to acknowledge. Moreover, you’d basically ruined the first Crossed Wands duel of the season– something you knew had to be bothering Sebastian, given his competitive nature. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled half-heartedly. “I should have been paying closer attention.”

Sebastian scoffed to your left, and when you peered at him through the corner of your eye, his head looked like it was on the verge of imploding. “Are you seriously apologizing for getting a concussion right now?” 

There was no stopping the frown that spread across your face, and you nervously started picking at your cuticles as your mouth opened, shut, then opened again. “Yes– I mean– no. I’m sorry that the match got canceled because of me. You were probably excited to get back into Crossed Wands and I just… messed it up. I wasn’t thinking clearly out there.” 

“Obviously,” Sebastian countered easily, the amused glimmer in his eyes vanishing before you could take proper note of it. “You’re never one to let your mind wander when you fight, but you have to know I’m not mad about the duel. I was worried about you– I don’t think you realize how terrifying it is to see you of all people bleeding.” 

You gaze fell to your lap as you pursed your lips and lifted your hand to the bandage taped to your temple, trying and failing to recall if you’d actually bled at all. It was all something of a blur if you were being honest. When you looked up at Sebastian once more, he had sat forward in his seat and was reaching towards you, wearing an expression that was equal parts concerned and curious. With your brain still muddled, all you could really do was stare wide-eyed at the nearing culprit of your misfortune; his Merlin-be-damned hands. Those long, flexing digits came to gently stroke the side of your cheek, turning your head to the side briefly to allow him a good look at your patched up face, and as Sebastian tsk’d disapprovingly, you were fighting back a slew of unholy thoughts that had no business arising in the midst of such a tender moment. 

The side of his mouth quirked up as he thought back to your debacle in the clock tower courtyard. “Did your inability to ‘think clearly’ have anything to do with whatever you and Imelda were talking about earlier?” 

Being reminded of your discussion with the Slytherin woman at such an inopportune time caused your face to flush a deep red, and you nervously clasped your boyfriend’s larger hand in your notably smaller one and drew it into your lap. You gently thumbed over the veins on the back of his hand, taking note of the constellation of freckles that ran up his wrist and forearm, and you saw Sebastian tilt his head to the side as he let you fondle the limb. 

“Maybe…” you drawled lazily. Perhaps you would chalk it up to your concussion later on, or perhaps you just wanted to get your insane obsession off your chest. Regardless of the why, you steeled your nerves and swallowed thickly before muttering, “You have really nice hands.” 

Silence. Sebastian said nothing– and that was considerably worse than him saying something– anything. Your brows slammed down just as you lifted your head to gauge his reaction, only to discover a bewildered smile plastered on his smarmy face. 

“…I think you hit your head harder than I thought. Should I call Nurse Blainey back over here?”

Ah. He thought you were delusional. Brilliant. 

Letting go of him as though his skin were heated metal, you sighed and sat forward to swing your legs over the edge of the bed, shivering slightly when Sebastian placed his hand on your hip to steady you. His face conveyed genuine apprehension as he asked, “Are you sure you should be trying to move right now?” 

Part of you was thankful he hadn’t taken your confession seriously, but another stronger part of you was annoyed that you had said anything to begin with. Here was Sebastian, acting chivalrous and doting on you in the wake of you flying face first into a crate, and all you cared to think about was having his hands on you. On your bare skin, between your legs, around your neck…

Something was definitely wrong with you. 

“I’m alright– stop worrying. I promise I won’t overdo it. At this point I just want to eat and go to sleep.” Thankfully he made no move to stop you when you stood yourself up on shaky legs, instead placing that damnable hand on the small of your back to help you keep your balance. You closed your eyes momentarily to will away the vile, uncouth thoughts that seemed to run rampant in your concussed skull, but if the way his fingers tensed against you was any indication, Sebastian clearly thought your brief pause was due to your injury.

“Fine,” he bit out, sounding all too displeased with your stubbornness. “Food, then straight to your dorm. But if I think for even a second you can’t manage, I’m carrying you to bed myself.” 

It hurt to do it, but your eye roll was heavily warranted. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, dad.” 

As the two of you walked from the Hospital Wing to the Great Hall, you realized just how serious Sebastian was about his promise to Nurse Blainey. His hands were constantly hovering at your side, ready to catch you at a moment's notice in the event you required the help, which you fortunately weren’t in need of. You didn’t think you could take any more coddling– or any more… hands-on-torment, so to speak. 

Ominis joined the two of you for lunch shortly after you’d arrived, and you were unsurprised to discover that he was very much aware of your blunder in Crossed Wands earlier. He made sure you were in good spirits and feeling alright before he began nagging you in typical Ominis fashion. 

“Honestly, a Depulso charm?” He chastised you further, resting his chin on his palm as his other hand came to tap absentmindedly against the surface of the table. “I would have expected something like Bombarda to finally end your win-streak, not a paltry Force spell.” 

“That’s what happens when you get complacent,” Sebastian added helpfully, skewering yet another sausage from the platter in front of you. He had to have inhaled four of the blasted things already. Those deep brown eyes of his darkened as they shifted to the injury on your temple, and if he deposited his food on his plate a little more aggressively than normal, you certainly didn’t say anything about it. “She’s just lucky things didn’t end up worse.” 

Ominis hummed in agreement and looked in your direction. “Yes, do make sure you’re not breaking your fall with your face anymore. I would like to think the three of us will graduate in one piece together, but between the two of you and your extracurriculars, my hopes are lessening by the day.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” came your monotonous reply. “Thanks for the words of encouragement, guys. You really know how to make a girl feel better about getting launched into a bunch of boxes.” 

“Well it was quite the spectacle. I’m sure you’ll be the talk of the school for at least a few days, so get used to it.” 

You didn’t even need to turn around to know Imelda stood directly behind you, presumably with her hands on her hips and a wicked smile stretching from ear to ear. She was exactly who you didn’t want to deal with right about now– especially considering she was the only living soul privy to your innermost thoughts regarding Sebastian– but she had no qualms about sidling up beside you and making herself comfortable at the table. Her face swam into your peripheral vision as she inquisitively scanned the side of your head now decked out in thick gauze and tape. “So, what’s the verdict? Brain hemorrhage? Cracked skull? Memory loss?” 

“Concussion,” Sebastian answered around a mouthful of food. He fixed you with a stern look as though to remind you, “She’s been instructed to take it easy for a few days which means no broom trials, Reyes. Don’t even think about dragging her off the castle grounds.” 

The Quidditch captain’s hands shot up in mock surrender, her expression the picture of innocence as she shifted back a little in her seat. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I take it that means you’ll be out of class for the foreseeable future?” 

You answered swiftly this time around, lest your boyfriend deign to speak on your behalf once again. You’d hurt your head, not your mouth. “For today at least, yeah. I doubt I’d be much good in Transfiguration with a splitting headache.” 

If you were only allowed one word to describe the look that overtook Imelda’s face, that word would be trouble. Her tawny eyes crinkled at their corners as a mischievous glint twinkled within them, and you could practically see her gearing up to say something you knew would piss you off. She folded her hands neatly over one another atop the table and leaned sideways on her elbow to shoot you a conniving look, and you couldn’t help but stiffen as a wave of apprehension crept up your spine. 

“Well let me know if you need a hand getting notes for the day. Though I’m sure Sallow would be more than happy to assist. Isn’t that right, Sebastian?” 

The emphasis she placed on the word didn’t escape you, and judging by the confused expressions on both Ominis’ and Sebastian’s faces, they didn’t miss it either. It took unwavering focus to maintain your composure and not react, and you prayed to whatever higher power existed that your cheeks weren’t as rouge as they felt. You sighed softly and glanced at the brunet through your lashes, all too aware of the puzzled look he now bore. “How about it?” You opted to simply play along for the time being in a bid to hide the true meaning behind Imelda’s telling comment. “Can you bring me the notes later?”

Sebastian nodded slowly, his gaze shifting between you and Imelda for a long moment before he set his fork down and ran his long, dexterous fingers through his hair. Your eyes tracked the movement against your will, which only seemed to intensify the curious glimmer in his dark eyes, and when he flashed you that sinful Sallow smirk you were all too familiar with, you swallowed nervously. 

Surely Imelda hadn’t just helped him put two and two together, right? 

“Am I missing something here?” Ominis chimed in from across the table, a scowl tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“No, no,” Imelda said, the words dripping with false dismissal. The urge to throttle her was intense. “I was just implying that our dear friend here is bound to be a handful for the next few days, so she’ll need help. Let me know if I can do anything, although I’m sure you’d much rather have Sebastian be the one to–”

She was cut off by the booming slap of your hands against the tabletop as you clambered to your feet, desperate to escape her pointed comments and Sebastian’s prying stare. “Will do!” you exclaimed with too much bite. You lowered your voice and did your best to keep your tone even, “I’m sure I’ll manage, but I can’t be bothered to figure it all out right now. I’ll just– I’ll see you guys later.” 

You didn’t dare look back as you swung your legs over the bench and took off towards the massive double doors. At this point, you were wishing that your collision with the crates had put you in a coma. Maybe then you could have avoided Imelda’s inevitable pestering, but even then you were positive your nuisance of a friend would have found a way to taunt you in your dreams. This was something you were going to have to acknowledge with Sebastian sooner or later, but until that day came you would do everything in your power to avoid any more awkward run-ins with Imelda. At least when Sebastian was with you, you reasoned. For now, you needed to get away from the general public and sleep on your deranged thoughts before anything else embarrassing could happen.

Apparently the universe had other plans for you, however. You recognized Sebastian’s heavy footsteps running up behind you without even checking to be certain, and even though you wanted nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep the remainder of the day away, when his large hand came to coil around your bicep to halt you in your tracks, you let him. 

“Hey, are you alright?” His eyes softened as they took in your miserable appearance, but all you could pay attention to was the feeling of his thumb caressing the back of your arm as he held you in place. “I’m sorry if I upset you– I didn’t realize Imelda was trying to poke bruises, otherwise I would have told her to leave as soon as she came over.” 

Shaking your head absently, you stared over Sebastian’s shoulder and directed your next words towards the wall, because that was infinitely easier than eye contact at the present moment. “I’m not upset, you don’t have to apologize. She’s just… a lot to handle right now.”

“I’ll say,” he concurred easily, moving his head so it was in your line of sight– only to furrow his brow when you ducked your chin to avoid looking at him. His jaw clenched and his hand around your arm tightened, if only briefly, and then he was tugging you along after him. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your dorm.” 

***

He knew. 

He had to know. 

It was the only plausible explanation you could come up with to give reason to Sebastian’s over-exaggerated use of his hands for the last three days. At first you hadn’t thought much of it; you still had a staring problem and Sebastian still had really nice hands, but the difference in the last seventy-two hours was apparent. It was as though your boyfriend was modeling his hands for you, constantly finding ways to dangle the appendages right under your nose and simultaneously letting his touch linger against your skin for far longer than normal. It was driving you insane, and you were positive he was doing it intentionally. 

Realistically it had started the day after your botched Crossed Wands duel. You, Ominis, and Sebastian had been sitting in the Library to study and work on assignments, your motley trio focused intently on your individual work for the bulk of the afternoon. Ominis was using his dictation quill to take notes, his foggy blue eyes narrowed in concentration while he muttered softly under his breath. Sebastian skimmed his own Herbology textbook with hooded eyes, the book propped against the knee he had crossed over his other leg, and his laid back posture coupled with the way his fingers idly played with the hair around his temples was enough to leave you entranced. Once he had taken notice of your staring, however, he’d smirked to himself and made a show of licking his finger to turn the page over, maintaining eye contact with you the entire time. 

You didn’t need a mirror to know you’d flushed beet red at the suggestive act. 

The day after that, the two of you had been in Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Sebastian had been asked to demonstrate the proper wand movement for Confringo by Professor Hecat, and shortly thereafter she had asked another student, Hector Jenkins, to take point across from your boyfriend for a friendly duel. Naturally you were prohibited from participating without Nurse Blainey’s go-ahead, so you’d stood at the back of the crowd and looked on ahead with rapt interest, eager to watch Sebastian make short work of his opponent, because of course he would. Chocolate brown eyes had met yours from across the room, and the movement that followed was subtle but obvious– at least, to you it was. 

As Professor Hecat droned on and reminded her students of the rules that went hand-in-hand with dueling in class, Sebastian fondled his wand. Quite literally. His nimble fingers had run along the wood, stroking the handle with such a light touch that his pinky had remained elevated the entire time. His thumb and index finger came to pinch at the tip softly before skimming down towards the checkered handle, and he made a dramatic show of wrapping each one of his fingers around the base before deftly angling the thin wood at you. 

Your breath had caught in your throat at the brazen motion, and Sebastian shamelessly winked at you before settling into the usual, confident persona he embodied while fighting. 

To say you’d become a ball of nerves afterwards would be a monumental understatement. You wound up leaning back against the wall with your ankles crossed to ease the rampant ache that had settled between your legs, doing your best to not look like you were going into an animalistic heat, which was easier said than done. 

Later on during dinner in the Great Hall, you found yourself seated next to Sebastian and across from Ominis, as per usual. The evening had started out much the same as always; with the three of you discussing the events of the day and planning for the upcoming weekend. The only difference was your boyfriend had seemingly taken it upon himself to distract you from the conversation entirely, covertly placing his hand on your thigh beneath the table to run the damn thing up and down your leg. Every time he reached your knee, he would steadily drag his palm higher up, teasing you with an occasional squeeze the closer he got to your center. Since you didn’t want to clue Ominis in on his best friend’s antics you were forced to keep your lips firmly sealed– left with no choice but to silently endure your boyfriend’s unique form of torture. 

As Ominis idly discussed wanting to escape to The Three Broomsticks on Saturday, Sebastian’s grip on your leg tightened while he sat forward to spoon a serving of the night’s dessert onto his plate; a colorful fruit tart with a healthy dollop of whipped cream slapped on top. You swallowed thickly as he delicately skewered a strawberry with his fork and brought it to his lips, pausing to reply to Ominis before popping it in his mouth. 

“I’m game, better to go now before Quidditch practice starts again. Merlin only knows how many trials Imelda intends on cramming into my weekends before long.” 

Ominis snorted and set his cutlery down on his plate, “You say that as though she’s doing it to spite you and you alone. In case you’ve forgotten, there’s six other people to account for on the team, and not all of them were blessed with the free time to practice over summer like you.” 

Sebastian side-eyed you briefly, and the corner of his mouth quirked up into a condescending grin. “That has a whole lot of nothing to do with me and everything to do with them being lazy. But my point still stands– that woman lives to invade my free time, so butterbeers this weekend sounds like a solid plan. What do you say, darling?” 

The brunet chose that exact moment to sensually take the strawberry between his teeth and pull it free from the fork prongs, smiling wickedly at you all the while. A tiny bit of the whipped cream had stayed behind on his bottom lip, but before you could point it out to him or wipe it away yourself, Sebastian did exactly that, drawing his finger into his mouth to suck deviously at the remnants. Your eyes were wider than saucers as you watched his tongue lave over the pad of his thumb and forefinger, and the telling squeeze he bestowed upon your thigh immediately afterwards all but confirmed your fears. 

He absolutely fucking knew. 

***

“I think there’s something on your mind,” Sebastian said from beside you. “Something that’s been on your mind for a while now. Care to share?” 

The two of you were on your way to the Room of Requirement, having just left the Hospital Wing after Nurse Blainey had summoned you there to evaluate your recovery progress following your mentally arduous week. She’d been all too pleased when Sebastian told her you had adhered to her guidelines to the letter– minimizing your physical activity and resting at every opportune moment, much to your boyfriend’s credit. After a few diagnostic scans, mobility trials, and a never ending list of questions designed to test your memory, she had deemed you fit to return to your usual activities– though not before making you swear to stay out of her sight for the rest of the year. 

Affectionately, of course. 

Sebastian’s comment reeled you back to the present moment, however, and you shot him a stern look out of the corner of your eye as you ascended the spiral staircase within the Astronomy Tower. “Unless you’re referring to how stunned I’ve been thanks to your obscene behavior this week, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He skipped ahead of you until he reached the top landing, spinning on his heel to face you as you breezed past him without so much as a second glance. “Oh, but I think you do. Surely you know why I’ve been behaving so ‘obscenely’. You’re the one who gave me the idea after all.” 

Keeping your expression schooled was difficult, but you managed. As the wall concealing the door to the Room of Requirement began to shift and change, you were all too aware of Sebastian sidling up next to you so he could run the tips of his fingers up your arm and over your shoulder, sending shiver-inducing chills down your spine. The gesture was intimate and suggestive, and you sighed softly as you stepped out of his reach to make for the fully formed entryway in front of you– not particularly keen on putting on a show for any students that potentially milled about the tower. 

You made it three steps inside the room before Sebastian grabbed you by your shoulder and spun you sideways, swiftly and effortlessly guiding you backwards until your back collided with the wall, and the startled gasp that ripped from your chest seemed to ignite a spark of interest in your boyfriend’s eyes. The hand he had on you traveled up along the smooth skin of your neck until he had a loose grip on your chin, and the sinful way his thumb trailed over your bottom lip spoke volumes about his intentions. 

“Do I need to coax the truth out of you, or can you be a good girl and say what it is you want?” His other hand slipped beneath the fabric of your blouse, his touch blazing and leaving you hot with want the higher up your torso it traveled. The tantalizing feeling of his blunt nails scraping along the plane of your stomach had your muscles clenching and your breath hitching, and Sebastian dipped his head lower so he was directly in your line of sight. You knew he saw your rampant need for him reflected in your eyes when his pupils dilated, and he moved his thumb away from your lip to caress your cheekbone as you stared wide-eyed up at him. He cocked his head to the side as he goaded you further, “Come on, darling. You’ve never had a problem with saying what’s on your mind before, why switch up on me now?” 

“Because it–” you started to say, cutting off mid-explanation when Sebastian curled his long fingers around your waist to press against your ribs in a way that nullified all coherent thought. His domineering presence over you left you nearly breathless. 

He smirked, all too aware of the effect he currently had on you. “It what?” 

Merlin, he was doing you in with barely any effort. Reducing you to nothing at the hands of his… well, hands. You were pathetic. He waited for your response though, his fingers dancing up your side promisingly while you worked to formulate a sentence. “I-It’s ridiculous,” you stammered out. “It’s embarrassing…”

The hand he’d tenderly ghosted across your cheek slipped behind your head, and his fingers tangled in your hair at the back of your skull to tug gently. The motion forced you to crane your chin up to follow Sebastian’s unwavering gaze, and his lips were close enough to yours that you felt his airy chuckle fan across your nose. “I already know what it is and I can tell you this much; you and I have very different definitions of what qualifies as ‘embarrassing’, darling.” His head dipped into the crook of your neck so he could better bestow wet, open mouthed kisses against your thundering pulse, and your stomach flipped at the sordid sounds he made as he went. “Come on, say it,” he implored you, his voice like velvet. “It’s only us here– tell me what you want.” 

“I…” you began, shuddering immediately after when Sebastian nipped at the spit-slick skin of your throat. Finding the words was only going to get increasingly difficult from here on out, you wagered. “I want your hands on me. I haven’t been able to get the thought out of my mind since school started.”

As though to punctuate his retort, Sebastian’s hold on your hair and your waist intensified, and a barely there squeak weaseled its way past your lips as he pulled away from your throat to fix you with a heated look. “My hands are already on you, sweetheart. Tell me why, use your big girl voice.”

Bastard. Your eyes sharpened in response to his quip, and your palms came to rest flat against the larger man’s chest before you dug your nails into the fabric of his shirt. “Because you really do have very nice hands. Because the mere idea of having them on me does things to me that I can’t begin to describe. And because I’m asking you nicely,” you purred the last bit to the best of your ability, relishing in the insatiable, hungry look that crossed Sebastian’s face at your tone. “Touch me, Sebastian. I want you– all of you. Please?”

As soon as Sebastian’s lips captured yours, your inhibitions ceased to exist. All you could taste, smell, feel, and hear was him, and judging by the demanding way he pulled you flush against him by your waist, that was exactly what he was going for. You keened needily as his nails dug into your sensitive skin and the fingers buried in your hair wound tight around the strands, and your boyfriend eagerly bit at your lips before backing away just enough to stare at you through his hooded, lust-dark eyes. 

“Keep talking to me like that and I’ll do anything you want,” he groaned, utterly captivated by the sight of you so wound up. You caved to his ministrations completely then, your stomach flipping over on itself when his chest pressed against yours and sealed you more firmly to the wall. His groin followed soon after– the long, hard length of him tangible through his trousers as he leaned into your spread legs further– and your own hands finally came to grasp at his shoulders when he rolled his hips against yours fervently. 

“Touch me,” you implored him, the request practically a whisper as it fell from your lips. “Your hands– please, Sebastian.” 

A pleased sound snaked its way through Sebastian’s clenched teeth as he obliged you instantly, releasing your waist and hair to run his hands down your torso before delving beneath your shirt. The rough, chill-inducing feeling of his calloused palms trailing against the bare skin of your stomach had you moaning in earnest, and your head tipped back against the wall with a thunk as he cupped your breasts in those heavenly hands you’d grown to adore so much. Sebastian took full advantage of your submissive position and buried his head in the exposed crook of your neck, his warm breath fanning across your skin as he murmured, “You sound incredible when you beg, darling. So fucking perfect– gods.” 

No words came to you to formulate a reply, especially when your boyfriend’s tongue darted out of his mouth to lave down the slender column of your throat, the biting sting of his teeth on your shoulder following soon after. Your next breath caught in your chest when Sebastian ground his stiffening cock against you once more, and his airy chuckle against you was seductive and ripe with promise. Those nimble fingers of his clawed gently over the rounded tops of your breasts before pinching your hardened nipples, and that was what finally pulled coherent English from your lips. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, unaware of just how much the brunet adored the needy timbre to your voice. 

Sebastian’s hands left your body for the briefest of moments to push himself off the wall, then took you by the hand to guide you towards the small bedroom tucked away in the back of the Room of Requirement. Between the two of you, your combined excitement was palpable– thick enough to cut with a knife– and as soon as you made it through the threshold of the door, he was back on you in a heartbeat. It was all a flurry of lips, teeth, and tongue as he steered you backwards towards the spacious bed, those magnificent hands of his holding your hips steady with firm reassurance. 

Once the backs of your calves connected with the mattress, Sebastian pulled away from your mouth with a wicked smirk, giving you a playful shove that sent you sprawling back on the bed with a startled yelp. It hardly mattered, though. Not when the man before you began undoing the buttons on his own shirt, exposing the tanned, freckled expanse of his toned chest. Not when he shrugged the attire off his sculpted shoulders and lowered himself to his knees so he could peer at you over your bent knees. Nothing else mattered aside from him.

“You know,” he started to say as his hands reappeared on your hips, tugging at the waistline of your trousers so they started to slide over your hip bones. “You’ve inadvertently given me lots of new ideas.” 

A shiver coursed its way down your spine at the suggestive tone he spoke the words with, amplified tenfold by the unrepentant fantasies that flickered through your mind. “Oh really?” 

“Really,” he agreed simply. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards and he gestured wordlessly for you to lift your hips so he could slide your pants down your outstretched legs. You obeyed, if only to get a move on with things so you could see the new ‘ideas’ Sebastian had apparently come up with. Dark, eager eyes met yours as he dropped your clothing to the floor, and then Sebastian asked, “Do you trust me?” 

Without missing a beat, you murmured, “Always.” 

Not another word was uttered, and you watched through hooded eyes as Sebastian prowled up the edge of the mattress to crawl over your prone form. Amusement seemingly glimmered in his lust-laden gaze as he set to expertly unbuttoning your shirt with his adroit digits, revealing inch after inch of your flushed torso, and goosebumps broke out over your stomach in the wake of Sebastian’s knuckles brushing against your heated flesh. 

He didn’t bother removing your blouse fully, opting to instead flick the sides of the undone top outward to let them hang disheveled against your sides. The shallow, anticipatory breaths you let loose was the only sound you made as the freckled man above you gathered your wrists in one of his larger hands to pin them above your head, and the entire time he worked to restrain your arms, his eye contact with you remained unwavering. Warriness and excitement alike pooled in the lower pit of your gut, mixing with the telltale ache between your legs that fueled the heat that slithered through your veins. 

Sebastian’s free hand came to touch you then, starting at the swell of your breasts before he gently thumbed over the peak of one of your nipples. The sensation had you sucking in a breath loud enough to make your boyfriend pause– only for him to repeat the motion a second time. “You’re rather pent up, aren’t you?” 

Despite yourself, you narrowed your eyes in response to his taunting and rolled your head to the side in an attempt to hide the blush you knew spread across your cheeks. “Shut up…”

The hand on your breast flew to your face, gripping your chin and turning your head back so you were forced to meet his penetrating stare. “Come on, be honest,” he goaded you further. “You missed me. Say it.” 

“Of course I missed you,” you relented quickly. “I didn’t see you for two months.”

That damnable smirk of his made its grand reappearance, and you hated how much you loved the sight of it. “You managed well enough last summer. Or were you lying through your teeth about handling the distance ‘easily’ on your travels?” 

Your fingers twitched in his unrelenting hold, the urge to crane your neck away again taking over, but you were forced to keep your eyes trained on his. “I wasn’t lying then, but I still missed you.”

The way his head tilted to the side curiously reminded you of an animal attempting to get a better look at their prey. “So why the sudden change?”

Chewing your lip thoughtfully for a moment, you decided to voice your inner thoughts regardless of how bashful the idea made you feel. “Because you changed. You’re… bigger.”

Your drab attempt at an explanation didn’t escape Sebastian, but that amusement still glinted in his eyes as he released your chin and trailed his hand down your torso towards your aching center. “Bigger, huh? Care to elaborate?” 

Skillful fingers slipped under the cotton of your undergarments, already damp with arousal, and you mewled softly when one of his digits slid through your wet folds before pressing down on your clit with delectable pressure. It nearly derailed your train of thought entirely, but Sebastian helpfully pulled away and snickered when your disappointed sigh slipped through your clenched teeth. “Dammit–”

“You talk,” he fucking purred down at you, looking far too smug for your liking, “and I work. Sound like a fair trade?” 

His offer was emphasized by one of his fingers probing at your slick entrance, further enticing you to oblige his request. When you angled your hips to meet the feeling, he pulled back swiftly, quirking a brow at you with a knowing look. 

Bastard, you thought. 

Fine. 

“Y-You’re bigger,” you started to say. “More muscular than before, and I think you grew a couple inches.” 

Sebastian’s hand resumed its teasing exploration of your center once more, gingerly inserting his middle finger inside of you as his thumb took to rubbing titillating circles against your clit. The flutter of your eyelids brought a coy smile to the brunet’s face, and his hold on your wrists tightened a fraction as he increased the intensity of his movements. He mockingly said, “You like having a big, strong boyfriend or something? The scandal.” 

You barely registered the gibe– not with his thumb slowly working over your clit in time with his finger. It damn near voided all of your brain’s function. All you cared to focus on was the bliss that came with finally having his hands on you. “Yes,” you groaned with blatant need. “I love it– I love it so much– you’re perfect, Sebastian.” 

Spurred on by your praise, Sebastian leaned down to mouth wetly at your throat, biting and sucking at whatever smooth skin he found as he pumped his finger in and out of your wet heat steadily. Your head rolled to the side to allow him easier access as he presumably worked a bruise into your flesh, and you relished in the knowledge that he was rebranding you as his after the summer months spent apart. A guttural moan spilled from your mouth as he laved his tongue over the mark and covertly slipped a second finger inside your cunt, crooking the digits up to reach a depth you could never hope to when you were pleasuring yourself. 

He took it slow, half for your sake and half for his own, but as Sebastian scissored his fingers and upped his tempo, he could see how you fell apart for him. You struggled to breathe, your every exhale colored with a panted, needy little sound while your thighs twitched and tensed on either side of his arm. When he shifted his fingers up just slightly, your entire body shuddered as your back arched off the bed and you choked on a breathy whine. You were so sensitive, so incredibly vocal, and it was driving him crazy. 

Sebastian’s size allowed him to stretch over the majority of your upper body easily, his hold on your arms still firm as he dipped his head lower to lick his way down to your breasts. Ever so gently, he took one of your nipples between his teeth and clamped down with a cautious amount of pressure, increasing the pace of his fingers when he heard your breath hitch in your throat. You could feel his lips stretch into a smile against your chest as your heart rate sped up and your hips involuntarily bucked up into his hand in search of more friction– more of him. 

“Merlin–” you writhed atop the sheets as that familiar ache took root in your gut, your finish approaching dangerously fast as Sebastian pressed the palm of his hand against your clit and somehow managed to pump his digits deeper inside of you. “Fuck, fuck!” 

He pulled away from your torso to watch you with rapt interest, a flicker of something primal flashing in his brown eyes as he observed your features pinching together with obvious focus as you chased the euphoria he bestowed upon you. “You’re close, aren’t you? I can feel it… I never thought just my hands could do it for you like this, sweetheart. Consider me pleasantly surprised.” 

His words meant nothing to you– not right now. Your climax was so close, so painfully close that all you cared to focus on was the steady rhythm of Sebastian’s fingers and his strength holding your wrists down to the bed. Brainlessly, you rolled your head to the side as Sebastian worked you towards the edge, only to blink blearily up at him when he released your wrists to grab the underside of your jaw and force your eyes back on him. 

“Look at me while you come on my fingers. I want to see every second of it.” 

Who were you to say no? 

Your release was akin to a tidal wave– crashing over you violently and stealing your breath as you tried your hardest to keep your eyes open and glued to Sebastian. Mouth falling open around an airy moan, your boyfriend continued to finger-fuck you through your orgasm as he captured your lips in a desperate, lethal kiss. “That’s it,” he groaned into your parted lips. “Good girl.” 

The brunet had the good grace to slide his fingers out slowly while he pulled away, laughing softly at the slight jolt your body gave when his palm grazed over your bundle of nerves once more. Dazed and twitching beneath him, you didn’t notice he’d brought his hand to his mouth until it was inches from your face, and the stars clouding your vision cleared just in time to watch him take the two fingers that had previously been inside of you between his lips. 

“I– what are you doing?” Your incredulous tone didn’t deter Sebastian in the slightest, and he smirked around his fingers before pulling them out of his mouth with an audible wet sound. 

“Tasting you,” he said casually, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Then with a wink he added, “You’re very sweet.” Nearly all the blood in your body rushed to your cheeks in that instant, warming your face as your mouth fell open in silent shock. It was balmy– completely and utterly bewildering. Yet you couldn’t help but find the brazen move equally… arousing. 

You’d officially lost your mind. 

In a flash, he lowered his hand closer to your own open mouth, shoving the fingers past your lips and grinning when you squealed with indignant surprise. There was nowhere for you to go– nowhere for you to turn your head to escape the taste of yourself on his digits– and so you were left with no choice but to allow Sebastian to run his fingers along your tongue. The added knowledge that you found his hands so alluring only made the whole spectacle more intimate, and before you could stop yourself, you found yourself sucking shamelessly at his skin, working your tongue over his knuckles as you stared up at him with unrestrained desire. 

“Gods,” he muttered, swallowing thickly before pulling his fingers free from your mouth. His voice was shaky, and you dimly registered that your eager submission had gotten to him. 

You licked the remnants of yourself from your lips as Sebastian shuffled back to the edge of the bed, standing straight to hastily undo his trousers and shove the material down his long, toned legs. Numbly, you followed suit, sitting up shakily to shrug off your now wrinkled blouse and toss it aside to join the growing pile of clothing at your boyfriend’s feet. 

Nude as the day he was born, Sebastian confidently stared down at you and took in the full picture of you before him with an animalistic hunger shining in his eyes. His chestnut hair was unruly and curled wildly in every direction, the breaths he hurriedly sucked down causing his shapely chest to rise and fall in a way that dragged your attention to his strong, capable body. You drank in the sight of his tan, freckled skin, your wide eyes roving lower and lower until they landed on his hard cock arching proudly against his taut stomach. 

Maybe you were imagining things, but you could have sworn that was bigger too. 

When your eyes jumped back to Sebastian’s, you were positive he knew exactly what you’d been thinking, if his wolfish grin was anything to go by. “See something you like?” 

“Please fuck me,” you groaned, too turned on by the sight of him alone to be embarassed about how desperate you sounded. 

Sebastian effortlessly crawled back onto the bed and settled over you, pulling you into another intoxicating kiss as he slipped between your spread thighs and rolled his hips, grinding his achingly hard cock against your slit with a dizzying sort of precision. You couldn’t help but moan into the kiss, your eyes squeezing closed before you tilted your head back and arched up against him. “F-Fuck, you’re so hard,” you gasped, loosely hooking your legs around Sebastian’s hips. 

Groaning his agreement, Sebastian nipped at the side of your jaw and murmured, “You have no idea… want you bad.” He nuzzled your ear for a moment, humming at the way you shivered under him, then mouthed his way down your throat with hot, wet kisses that pulled a slew of tiny noises out of you as he rocked his hips again. 

Before you could wrap your arms around his shoulders like you’d planned, Sebastian was sitting back on his heels to manhandle you exactly where he wanted you. Those big hands of his grabbed you by your waist, hauling you down the bed like you weighed nothing so your rear was balanced over the tops of his knees and he was perfectly aligned with your slick entrance. The way he easily moved you around spoke volumes of the physical labor he’d done over the summer, slaving away the muggle way to restore his Uncle’s former home for the two of you to use after graduation. Every stone moved, every log chopped, and every wheelbarrow trundled was cataloged within the corded muscles that lined his body. 

If you weren’t already head over heels for the man, you were certain you would be deemed grossly smitten.

Sebastian’s hands slid from your waist to your thighs to better hold you in place as he bumped the tip of his cock against you, and your breath stuttered in your chest at the first steady roll of his hips, the head sliding home easily into your slick, tight, and warm heat. Your name fell from your lover’s lips in the form of a ragged moan, fingers digging into your legs as he rocked his hips slowly, feeling for any tension or resistance. Everything he’d done to soothe you, however, had paid off, and he found that once he pressed in more firmly, you took him perfectly, letting him slide deeper with every short thrust. 

He really had gotten bigger.

“I could tell you thought so,” Sebastian said around a laugh. Had you said that out loud? “Your eyes just about bugged out of your head when you looked earlier.” 

Embarrassed for the nth time in the last week, you looked away from him and quietly grumbled under your breath, “Whatever… don’t let it get to your head. Your ego is big enough as it is.” 

“It’s not the only thing that’s big apparently,” he countered easily. As though to punctuate the statement, Sebastian pulled his hips back once more before spearing into you with brutal efficiency, and the gasp that ripped from your throat then was followed by a breathless sound that bordered on a wail. 

It was so thick– Sebastian’s cock– and it filled you up and spread you open so incredibly, but it was the angle that was really rendering you incapable of thought. With your hips elevated, the blunt head brushed past your sweet spot with every dragging thrust, re-lighting that fire in your blood that threatened to set you ablaze. You wanted more, but you were almost afraid of how good it would feel, how high it would take you. Sebastian was all around you, with his hands gripping your thighs, deep inside you, stirring you up and coaxing brainless whimpers out of you, not bothering to hold back for your sake– and thank the gods for that. 

A meek keening sound arose from your throat as you gasped Sebastian’s name, and the brunet responded with a rough growl, stroking your thighs tenderly before abandoning one of them to place his hand on the lower part of your stomach. He pressed down with his fingers splayed against your skin, thrusting into you deeper so you could really feel every long, delectable inch of him within you, and the added pressure made your head spin and your walls clamp down on him. 

“Oh, fuck–” you moaned wantonly, arching your spine as much as you were able in a bid to feel as much as possible. Sebastian responded by moving his grip on your thigh to your waist, fucking into you harder until all you were capable of doing was whining for more with your eyes unfocused. Rational thought was gone– you were losing your mind with the way Sebastian was pounding into you now, that fire spreading through you– but you had quickly stopped being afraid of the feeling. The hotter you got, the more Sebastian’s perfect aim drove you higher until you were arching and pleading, noisy and half-coherent as overwhelmed tears filled your eyes. 

When you finally caught hold of words beyond brainless, wavering cries, you threw your head back with a gasping whine to loudly beg, “Sebastian, please, please–” 

“F-Fuck,” he stuttered out, moaning desperately into the empty air before he rasped, “You like it that much, darling? Want more?” 

“Yes!” You clawed mindlessly at the hand he had clamped against your waist, urging him to use the damn thing in the way you had dreamt of every night since returning to school. Ever the fast learner, Sebastian obliged you mercifully and let go of your waist, leaving you to hook your legs around his hips as he brought his hands to your throat to pull you onto his cock harder and faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room and muddling your brain further. 

“You look so perfect with my hands around your neck, darling.” Sebastian growled out in-between bestial grunts. “So pretty, so eager. Is it good?” 

He wasn’t choking the life out of you by any means, but the pressure he applied on either side of your neck added a sort of high that left your tongue useless in your mouth. You could hardly formulate words, much less a full sentence, but you still managed to stammer out a raspy, “Y-Yes, fuck–”

You were fairly certain you were drooling all over yourself, but you couldn’t find the willpower to care. There were too many sensations to keep track of, and through the haze of it all, your climax came into sight. Your hand came to grasp at one of the ones Sebastian had secured around your throat while the other fisted in the sheets, squeezing as hard as you could as you rutted back against his hips the best you could. It wasn’t doing much as far as you were concerned, but Sebastian evidently appreciated your attempt as he groaned roughly, letting his head hang between his shoulders as he began pumping his hips faster. 

“Shit– I’m close, I’m so close–”

Beyond your moans of encouragement, there wasn’t much else you could say. Sebastian took your motivating sounds in stride though, keeping one hand clamped around your neck securely as the other flew down to your clit, instantaneously rubbing urgent little circles around the nub in a bid to take you with him over the edge. Your voice was already raspy but so much louder and needier than Sebastian’s short moans of your name, and his half-baked praises and pleas intermingled with the distant banging of the headboard against the stone wall. Even through all that– through the spiking volume of your pleasure and the blinding need devouring you both– all Sebastian saw was you, and all you saw was ecstasy. 

When you finally came you wailed, long and loud as your hands clung to the sheets beneath you and Sebastian’s thick wrist alike, the latter of which knew better than to stop now. Your muscles tensed dangerously tight, your toes curling hard and your nails scraping fresh tracks down Sebastian’s forearm hard enough to leave welts, and your boyfriend was already holding on by a thread by the time your cunt clamped down tight around him. It was almost too hard to move, but there was just enough give that your climax peaked impossibly further and Sebastian fell right after you, crying your name over and over with the rough, faltering tempo of his hips. 

The two of you were hardly aware of anything as you both slowed down and came off of that high, but you eventually blinked the fog from your mind and came to realize Sebastian had long since abandoned his hold on your throat in favor of laying across your prone form, lightly peppering kisses against your collarbone as he sucked down breaths to catch his breath. The stinging twitch of uncoiling muscles and the swelling bites and scratches only served to bring you both back to reality in slow, leisurely time with one another, and at the end of it all it was Sebastian who found his voice first, murmuring yet another snide comment into the crook of your shoulder. 

“Should I start wearing gloves now?” 

Still breathless and spent from the last hour– hell, the entirety of the last week– your delirious laughter was uncontrollable as you realized and quickly accepted that the truth was now out there, and your boyfriend was more than ready to take full advantage of that. “I don’t think gloves will help, honestly.” 

The remainder of the school year would end up being a testament to just how true that claim actually was, you guessed. Your boyfriend, on the other hand, would most certainly enjoy every second of it. 

[peachysunrize]

Corrupted by God ⥃ Prince Aemond Targaryen

Summary: after the battle of Rook’s Rest, Aemond comes back to King’s Landing as the heir to the throne with a newfound determination to make the Queen of the Seven kingdoms his queen as well.

Pairing: Prince Aemond Targaryen x Aegon’s wife/queen reader

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, dark content!!!!!!!!! angst, post Rook’s Rest, post s2e4, p in v, porn with a very little plot, breeding, emotional manipulation/heavy manipulation, dark!Aemond, a bit dubcon, Aemond has a hugeeee god complex, mentions of Aegon’s injury, rough sex, reader is not a Targaryen (the pic was pretty so I used it lol), tell me if i’ve missed something. English isn’t my first language<3

Word count: 2.5k+

A/n: pleaseeeeee read the warnings! This was requested by my beloved @sylasthegrim ! I hope I did your idea justice and hope you like it<33 Reblogs & comments are most appreciated🩷

A god among men, that’s how Aemond feels when he closes his eye and lets Vhagar float in the air, flapping her wings once in a while to get to King’s Landing faster. He remembers the nights he prayed to the gods to give him strength, to change his destiny, and to give him a happy life, but today, with his she-dragon soaring through the clouds, he took his faith in his own hands and became a God himself.

A delicious ache in his muscles seeps through his bones, but it is nothing compared to the rush of euphoria he feels as he imagines himself on the throne with his uncle’s head beneath his foot and his queen by his side.

His queen, you, oh how he has done all of this for you. He has turned into a monster, soaked his hand in the blood of his kin while he thought of you, and how he deserves to have a queen befitting him and his reign.

He knows what he must tell the council and his mother, something that surely aligns with Cole’s words, but what he has to say to you has been worded out for so long that he cannot believe his plan has finally reached so far to this point to utter them to you.

He sighs as he feels his pants tighten — at the thought of you and the weight of the Conqueror's crown — and to his luck, the city comes into his view, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth while he guides Vhagar atop Visenya’s hill. He catches the sight of two Dragonkeepers and a horse ready for him, watching how they scurry away from the old she-dragon and wait for her to land.

Vhagar’s body shakes the ground as her feet keep her body secured, and Aemond rubs her scales softly before he climbs down the ropes of his saddle, jumping on the grass before he shushes the dragon again, mumbling a soft ‘Lykiri’ against her snouts.

He doesn’t spare a glance at the Dragonkeepers, he moves past them to the guard who hands him the reins of the horse, and Aemond swings his leg over the saddle before guiding the horse down the hill, bolting through the streets of the city.

The wind blows through his hair as he rides the horse to the Red Keep’s gates, lords and ladies move out of his way quickly, making room for their prince so he can lead his horse to the yard. The guards are fast on their feet to reach for the reins, stopping the animal so Aemond can step down.

He jumps down, patting the neck of the mare before he strides forward inside the castle, the court is already fussy with anticipation of what has befallen their king, but Aemond has one person in his mind that he wishes to seek out.

“Aemond!” The sound of his mother stops him on the stairs, and he looks up to see her running towards him with shock and disbelief on her face, “what’s happened?”

“We took the castle,” he says calmly, almost dismissively, “our king graced us with his presence on the battlefield. We won.”

He tries to move past Alicent with a shrug, but she grabs his arm tightly, forcing him to look her in the eyes before she asks what has been bothering her ever since Sunfyre took the sky earlier that day. But with the look Aemond gives her, she closes her mouth silently, nodding before she departs towards the main entrance of the castle, waiting for the hand to come back to the city.

Aemond scoffs and takes long steps toward the royal chambers on the upper floors, passing the servants who shield themselves from his gaze as he goes past them. 

He knows the path leading to the queen’s chambers like the back of his hand; through the stairs and Maegor’s tunnels — He has walked each way for many nights just to stay behind your doors and listen to your sweet voice talking to your daughter or handmaidens.

Aemond remembers the day you were wed to his brother, covered in a beautiful white and golden gown that brought out your curves to his eye. He was infatuated from the moment he laid his eye on you, and after such a long time, that infatuation has turned into something more primal and possessive, something that he thinks his brother does not deserve, that is befitting of Aemond and not the drunken fool who’s your husband.

Each step he takes adds more to the post-battle euphoria he’s experiencing — now that he’s the heir and the most powerful man, he deems himself fit to not just rule over the kingdom of ash and bone that is about to endure more battles, but to have his queen by his side. What better woman than the already beautiful creature that lies in an attached chamber to the king’s?

A ghost of a smirk forms on his face with each second that he walks within the hallways that lead to your chambers, his chin held high and his fingers itching with excitement in his leather gloves as he locks them behind his back.

Aemond licks his bottom lip, his blood rushing down to his core at the thought of the sight of you heavy with his child and the Conqueror’s crown atop your head. His queen, even the sound of it in his head seems right.

When he reaches your door, he pushes it without knocking, finding you already pacing with a wet handkerchief clutched in your hand.

Sweet sweet lady, the queen of his dreams, he basks in the way you carry yourself with worry for your husband. What a good wife he wishes to say, but no, a good wife to his idiot brother is not much better than a slur.

But to him? Oh, how much of a phenomenal bride-to-be you’d make for him, someone who is kind and deserving of his reign.

“My queen,” he says, standing straight when your head snaps in his direction, concern weaved into your features already. He takes in a deep breath as his eye runs over your form — a red long-sleeved gown with black dragons embroidered on it, your hair wild and free from your usual braids.

“Aemond!” You rest your hand against your heart as you take a few steps towards him, “What has befallen us? Aegon, he—“

“Shh,” he gently shushes you, his gloved hands coming to rest on your elbows, holding your body close to his, “we have won the battle. The castle has fallen and the false queen can no longer have a ground army.”

“That is great!” You utter, “But— what of our king? My husband? Aemond, is he alright?”

He smiles gently, a smile that does in fact reach his eye. There is a malicious look he has that it seems you fail to notice, because even his mother hesitated to let him go easily, but you? No, your soft and loving nature could never go past his mask.

“He is…”

“What? Please, Aemond is he—“ 

“No, no,” he replies quickly, one of his hands coming up to rest on your cheek, “he fought well, and he is alive,” he caresses your cheek as his eye meets yours, thinking how beautiful you look all worried about your husband, soon you’d be looking worried about him and not his brother.

“But…”

“But what? Is he hurt?” You grip his forearm tightly, looking up at him with tears stinging your eyes, “Tell me, please, Aemond, what’s happened to my husband?”

“He’s alive but on the brink of death. The traitor Rhaenys… your grace, such stories are not meant to be heard by a gentle soul like you—“

“I wish to know! What have they done to my husband?!” You demand him to tell you, and Aemond sighs deeply, but the buzz of excitement makes him even more determined.

Sweet lamb falling right into his trap.

“He took the skies quite suddenly, I had little time to meet him in the air. Meleys and her bitch of a rider had their claws in our king, and however fearsome he is, he could do naught.”

With each word that falls from his lips, more tears drop from your lashes, and he feels how numb you’re slowly getting in his arms.

“Sunfyre and Aegon… they survived Dragonfire, but—“

“Gods be good!” You gasp, a sob wrecking your body as he tries to shush you, a gloved finger reaching to wipe away your tears gently.

“I found him; burnt, broken but breathing,” he kisses your forehead, smirking against your skin, “he told me — had me promising him — to make haste and seek you out, to take care of your every wish.”

“Thank the gods!” You ask him, craning your neck to look into his eye, “What else did he say?”

He can’t answer you, not when you look at him with such a yearning, eyes full of tears and longing for condolences. He smooths his finger over your eyebrows, creasing your frown before he leans down and presses another kiss to your cheek.

“I could not say, he was weary, but…” his other hand comes to cup your face, “he told me to answer to your every whim, and that you should stay by my side until he has healed and help me rule.”

“But shouldn’t I take care of him?” You ask, eyes narrowing as he gently backs you up towards your bed, “Aemond, what are—“

“My queen, do you trust me?” He asks as he trails a path from your cheek to the column of your throat with his nose, “I will take care of you, all of your needs. That is what our king wanted, how cruel would we be if we do not obey his commands?”

“We would break his heart,” you whisper, inhaling sharply when he hovers his lips against yours, “we should do as he asks.”

“Hmm, yes, we should,” he closes the gap between the two of you, his lips moving along yours slowly for he feels how you quiver and meet his lips hesitantly.

He kisses you gently at first, hands moving down towards your waist to pull on the strings of your gown, long gloved fingers working on it until the red fabric loses its grip around your waist. Aemond pushes the gown off your shoulders, caressing your skin with the back of his hand before he lets your dress pool around your ankles.

His lips move against yours passionately, his tongue exploring your mouth for the first time, and he lets himself get lost in your taste — sweet with a tinge of lime, hinting that you’ve had lemon cake earlier.

He pushes you onto the bed after he helps you out of your shift, leaving you bare to his hungry gaze. He pulls his gloves off by his teeth, dropping each on the floor next to your discarded clothes, soon to be followed by his belt and dagger.

He can hear the rumbles of his men walking back to the city, but now all his attention is on you, and how he has to take what he has promised himself. 

Aemond doesn’t take his clothes off, he would if he were a lesser man, but now, he’s determined, ready to take the promised prize and faith the Gods have granted him — but no god is intelligent enough to set you as his prize. It’s always been him and his schemes.

He pushes his leather pants down enough to free his aching cock, swiping his finger across your wet slit, eliciting a moan out of both of you as he keeps rubbing your pearl firmly, basking in your whines of pleasure.

His free hand strokes himself to full hardness, thinking of your upcoming wedding night and how he’d take you in front of the council on the bedding from behind, chaining you to him like the religion that has chained his mother to the Seven.

You fist the bedsheets, back arching as soon as he covers your body with his and guides his cock to your soaked entrance. He watches how your lips part in a silent plea when he breaches your cunt, groaning as soon as your walls envelop his length.

“Oh, Aemond—“You reach for him desperately when he sheathes himself inside you completely, not letting you adjust to his size for more than a mere second before setting up his pace, bullying his cock deep inside you with each smooth stroke.

It’s empowering to see you all nude and luscious on your bed taking his cock like you were shaped just for him to do so — maybe you were made for him, molded into this perfect lady to be desired and cherished by him.

“Aren’t you the most beautiful queen the realm has ever seen?” He asks, his eye is hazy with lust as he fucks you harder, finding deep pleasure in how he’s fully clothed and you are bare as the day you were born. He takes pride in having you putty in his hands.

He cages you under him, his lips slotting against yours once more as he licks his way into your mouth while he slams his shaft inside your tight cunt with abandon.

“Gods, oh– I’m— ah!”

“You only have one god, my darling, and that is me,” he groans against your lips, his leather coat brushing against your heated skin while the tip of his cock nudges against your sweet spot that has you seeing stars, “Worship me at your altar, just as your husband wanted.”

You come with a cry of his name, sending him over the edge with your sweet moans of euphoria. He bruises himself to a halt, emptying his sack with ropes of his cum inside you, making sure to make the next king of the Seven Kingdoms with his queen.

The way your face scrunches in pleasure has him almost coming again, knowing it was him who gave you such a blinding peak that has you shaking in his arms.

The sounds of footsteps rushing past your door to the King’s chambers have the two of you scurrying and parting from each other. You are clumsy with how you put on your dress with Aemond’s warm seed dribbling down your thighs, but your husband’s home, your king.

Aemond tucks himself back into his pants, following you out of your chambers into his brother’s only to find the maesters and his mother already there, tending to his burns and wounds.

“Aegon, my love—“ he doesn’t listen to what you say as you try to make room for yourself among the men, wanting to reach for your husband.

“Someone has to rule in his stead,” Aemond exclaims as he leans on the headboard of the bed, looking down at his handiwork before he catches your eyes as you smile with teary eyes at him, nodding to Alicent in encouragement.

“The gods have blessed him with intelligence for he would make a fine ruler, and he shall take care of me, just as our king desired.”

[driverlando]

✧.* GOOD GIRL

synopsis- Charles fucks you infront of a mirror and calls you good girl which has an effect on you (Charles leclerc x f!reader)

before you read- smut warning, minors dni!! If you like it, please reblog and follow! I’m new here and would appreciate the support. Thanks! :)

The bedroom was cast in the soft glow of candlelight, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows on the walls. You and Charles had always shared an intense passion, but tonight, there was a different kind of energy between you—a raw, untamed desire that crackled in the air like a live wire.

Charles stood behind you, his strong hands gripping your hips as you bent forward, your palms pressed against the cool surface of the dresser. The large mirror in front of you reflected the scene, giving you a clear view of your entwined bodies. Your eyes were half-lidded with pleasure, your lips parted in a silent moan as Charles thrust into you with a rhythm that was both relentless and perfectly controlled.

His movements were powerful, each thrust sending waves of ecstasy coursing through your body. You felt yourself growing closer and closer to the edge, every nerve ending alight with sensation. Charles’s grip tightened on your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pounded into you with increasing intensity.

“Tu es si belle,” (you are so beautiful) he murmured, his voice dripping with lust as he watched you in the mirror. “Regarde-toi. Regarde ce que tu me fais.” (Look at yourself. Look at what you're doing to me)

Your breath hitched at his words, the eroticism of the moment heightened by his intense gaze. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the reflection, the sight of Charles dominating you, your bodies moving in perfect synchronicity. Sweat aligned his muscular body, his chest red from the thrusting and pleasure, his hair falling into his forehead. It was like a scene straight out of a porno and it had you whimpering softly.

Suddenly, he delivered a sharp slap to your ass, the sound echoing through the room and sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. You cried out, your body arching in response to the delicious sting. Charles’s hand then tangled in your hair, pulling your head back so you could see his reflection in the mirror.

You whined in protest when he paused, your body aching for more. “Push yourself back on me,” he commanded, his voice a low growl.

Your eyes widened in the mirror, your expression one of confusion and desire. “What?” you panted, your breath coming in short gasps.

“Push yourself back on me,” Charles repeated, his grip on your hair tightening slightly.

Tentatively, you began to move, pushing your hips back against him. The sensation was different, but incredibly arousing. You watched yourself in the mirror, your movements becoming more confident as you followed his instruction.

“Yeah… just like that… good girl,” Charles praised, his voice filled with approval.

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, your body responding with a newfound eagerness. You pushed back against him with more force, your eyes locked on his in the mirror. There was something intoxicating about the way he watched you, his gaze filled with a mix of lust and admiration.

“Like this?” you asked breathlessly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Charles’s eyes darkened with desire as he watched you. “Yeah, just like that… good girl,” he repeated, his voice shaky with need.

The praise seemed to ignite something within you, and you found yourself moving with more urgency, more desperation. Each time he called you a good girl, you felt a rush of pleasure that made you push back harder, seeking more of the sweet agony.

Charles noticed the effect his words had on you, a smug smile playing on his lips. He began to call you that more frequently, his voice a constant murmur of encouragement and praise. “Good girl… you’re doing so well… keep going…Mon amour”

Your body was on fire, every nerve ending ablaze with sensation. You could feel yourself teetering on the edge of release, the intensity of your coupling pushing you closer and closer to the brink.

With one final, powerful thrust, Charles sent you over the edge, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. You cried out, your voice echoing through the room as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you.

Charles followed you into the abyss, his own release tearing through him as he held you close, your bodies locked together in a moment of perfect unity. You collapsed onto the nearby bed, your limbs entwined, hearts pounding in sync.

Breathless and sated, you lay together in a tangle of limbs, the room filled with the heady scent of your passion. Your head rested on Charles’s chest, the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing soothing you.

“You’re amazing,” Charles mumbled into your hair, his voice lazy and content. “Mon chérie, you were incredible.”

You smiled, your eyelids heavy as you nuzzled closer to him. “You too,” you whispered, your words barely audible against the blanket. “So good.”

Charles reached over to the nightstand, grabbing his water bottle. “Here, drink some,” he murmured, holding it to your lips.

You took a few sips, the cool water refreshing you. “Thank you,” you said softly, your voice a sleepy murmur.

Charles placed the bottle back on the nightstand after taking a sip or two himself and then wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. “I loved watching you in the mirror,” he said, his words muffled against the blanket. “Seeing you like that… it was something else.”

“Mmm,” you agreed, your eyes fluttering closed. “It was really hot.”

Charles’s fingers traced lazy patterns on your back. “We should do it again sometime,” he suggested, a hint of a smile in his voice.

You chuckled softly. “Definitely,” you agreed, your voice filled with warmth and affection.

As you drifted off to sleep, the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the afterglow of your passion. Your hearts beating in perfect harmony.

[notjustjavierpena]

(Mid)summer Loving

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Yes, based on that new picture. I’ll call this my first contribution to getting railed in a sundress season. 

Summary: The last two years of being with Joel has transformed the both of you. Mostly him. For the better. 

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, joel’s kink is being loved and appreciated, long haired joel!!!, healthy joel, established relationship, piv sex, size kink (it's big), rough, loud and desperate sex, dirty talk, praise kink, creampie, railed in a sundress season contribution, they are so soft for each other, bit of aftercare. 

Word count: 3.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55988128

(Mid)summer Loving

It happens when you hear him through the crowd of people in the community center. Your head whips in his direction, your eyes settling on the crinkles around his eyes as he laughs at something Tommy has said to him. He swirls the whiskey in his glass and downs it with slight difficulty because he is still smiling. 

You are only a table away, sitting with some of the women from your patrol group who gossip about potential suitors in the room, especially amongst the newcomers. However, you don’t really pay attention to what is being said because the love of your life sits across from you. It makes you able to admire him, struck by his transformation since he first came to Jackson and barged into your life. Your heart is so soft for him. 

The most obvious change is the hair. It’s gotten longer, the ends curling slightly in a way that softens his otherwise rugged appearance of big leather boots and tripled layered clothing. He used to have it shorter, and while you loved its fluffy bounce on top of his head whenever it was caught in the wind, it doesn’t compare to how it now frames his face by just brushing his collar in the back. It may be a subtle shift to others but to you, it means that Joel is more at ease with who and where he is, and that he has allowed change to find him.

His beard, too, has filled out. It is now thick and even, not at all the patchy scruff that you noticed the first time he talked to you by the rag pile in the trading center. He’d searched for fabric that could be used for shining the creations that he makes when seeking respite in wood carving. You had noticed the patch that resembled a heart first, your own heart skipping a beat as you forced yourself not to point it out to him immediately. That patch is gone but you’ll spend no time mourning it when the result is Joel looking healthier than ever, almost as if his body has responded to happiness with you by filling in all the gaps that heartbreak had left. 

Then there’s his face. It glows, despite his age, with a newfound youth, the signs of weariness and stress of years lived too hard it once bore completely wiped away. When you first met him, your heart had ached for his tired eyes, bags underneath them revealing all the sleepless nights and the burdens that he carried. The way they shine when they look into yours has your heart at ease and you can only hope he feels the same. 

Around you, the women keep chatting, talking animatedly and giggling while you sip your drink and stay silent until they are nothing but a low hum in the background. 

You only snap out of it when your name is said out loud. You furrow your brow, “Sorry?”

“I said that you don’t have to worry about things like this,” one of them chirps happily, “You already got your man.”

“Guess not, guess you’re right,” you chuckle softly and start to feel shy. You have never been one to be glaringly obvious in your happiness to the point where you display it at every opportunity but then Joel came along. He may worry about the gap of years between the two of you, often feeling undeserving of your love and attention but you only wish that he could see himself from your point of view. To you, he is everything. He doesn’t see how his presence calms and grounds you, how he makes you feel safe even in a world beyond repair. In his embrace, you feel even the biggest of anxieties and the worst of your challenges shrink into nothing. All he has to do is put his gentle, calloused hands on you and talk to you in that familiar southern drawl, and then your mind quiets down instantaneously.

However, if not his hands or his voice, his loving gaze also seems to do the trick. He suddenly turns his head in your direction, catching your eyes, and the sound of the lively conversations from each table mutes to nothing. He smiles at you and mouths a ‘you okay?’ at you. 

‘Save me’ you decide to mouth back at him, making a face to see him smile with amusement. He slaps his brother’s back before putting both hands on the table to push himself to stand. You didn’t think he would take it seriously but just the sight of seeing him approach you makes you want to go home with him. 

“Ready to go, honey?” He asks when he reaches your table, placing a hand on your shoulder and gently squeezing. 

“Hi Joel,” your friend group says in unison.

“Ladies,” he nods and they giggle like schoolgirls, “Gotta get this one home.”

You shake your head with a little smile at their reaction. Then you swing your legs over the side of the chair. Joel helps you up and a moment after having said your goodnights, you leave together like you’ve done for a few years now. 

Outside, people are scattered across the town square where a huge bonfire has been erected in the spot where the Christmas tree usually stands. Today is the annual midsummer celebration. Jackson is decorated with bundles of flowers that have replaced the painted eggs that tell people it is Easter. You smile at the memory of Ellie having been forced to join in on getting people in the spirit of Easter which had resulted in you trying to guess which of the eggs hanging from the sky had been crafted by the angry teen. You had decided that it might’ve been the one painted completely black.

Now, bright colors from nature hover above your head instead as you make your way down the main road. Joel holds your hand all the way home. He strokes the back of it with his thumb, feeling no pressure to fill up the silence between you as it has reached a point where it is comfortable. 

When you reach your shared house, Joel stops you by the front door instead of opening it for you in the gentlemanly way he always does. He stands in front of you, the porch light softening his features as he gazes at you.

“You seemed a bit distracted with your friends tonight,” he notes, “Is everythin’ alright?” 

“Just thinking about how lucky I am,” you answer with a smile, your voice sincere, “To have you.”

“I’m the lucky one, baby,” Joel huffs out a little laugh of disbelief, trying to brush off how flattered he always feels each time you say things like this. He gathers your hand in both of his, lifting it to kiss the back of it a few times, “Best fuckin’ thing that ever happened after the world ended.” 

“Don’t let Ellie hear that,” you tease gently. In your chest, your heart hammers against your ribs from being loved by him. 

“I’d never dream of it,” he steps closer with his eyes burning to get closer to you. You see them darken slightly as desire fills them and your heart jumps into your throat at the realization of what he wants. 

You. 

He wants you. 

That’s the one thing that has also changed since you met him; he has become much more untameable when he has you around. Who knew that his stamina was so impressive? Who knew that Joel Miller getting a confession of love - whether it consisted of the actual words or simply was said in your actions - would have him dragging you to somewhere private as soon as possible? 

“I love you, Joel Miller,” you say dreamily, pulling the trigger, “To the day that I die.”

And then suddenly Joel rips the door open so roughly that you’re afraid it might come off its hinges, pulls you inside along with him and slams it shut behind the both of you afterward. He locks it without hesitation, not about to be interrupted by any of your neighbors even if it’s most likely that everyone is out and about the town to be social. 

You are pressed up against the door next, his broad hands resting on your hips as he holds you against it. He bunches up the skirt of your sundress, groping your sides on top of the fabric, and you sling an arm around his back. Your other arm reaches up so you can cup the back of his head, your fingers sliding into the hair there. He has the perfect length for pulling these days - you should know - but you’ll wait for the right moment. 

His lips nearly bruise yours with how hard he kisses you, beard scratching your skin as he practically eats at your mouth to the point where your head swims and your belly swirls with hours of suppressed desire. You need him now, already soaked through your underwear and ready for him to be inside of you.

“Fuck me,” you whine against his lips, heart beating rapidly in your chest. So much that your breathing is already uneven, “Please, Joel, please.”

“S’alright, baby, I know whatcha need,” he rasps as his lips messily start descending on your chin, all the way across your jaw until his mouth attaches to your throat. You let your head bump against the door with a breathy moan, giving him access to bruise your neck too. He creates a purple mark that you will try to hide tomorrow during patrol to avoid interrogation on how Joel Miller is in bed. Only you can know. 

Your skirt falls down the slight amount it has been pulled up when Joel goes to unbuckle his leather belt. The noise of the metal sends a shiver through you, anticipation rising to your cheeks by heating them up underneath no touch. You look down to see the belt hanging open, him shoving the denim down around his thighs afterward and following up with his briefs too. 

The sight of his cock makes your mouth water. He is fully hard already, standing into the air at full attention and threatening to smear your pretty dress with his precome by poking into your belly if he dares get closer. You moan pathetically and he shushes you gently. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he soothes you like he would a child that has scraped their knee. He curls his fingers in the fabric of your dress once more before hiking it up along your thighs until he can stuff the bottom of the skirt into the top of your dress, effectively holding it up so it doesn’t fall down over your soaked panties again. 

You grab at the sides of your underwear to shimmy out of them but Joel doesn’t exercise enough patience to wait for you to step out of them, so he hooks his fingers into the front. He finds your eyes when he feels how wet the cotton fabric is, doesn’t directly say anything about it but just shows you how full-blown his pupils are at the realization. Without warning, he yanks your panties to the side. 

Satisfied with his work, he makes you gasp as he bends his knees to reach down and splay his strong hands on the back of your thighs. He lifts you off the ground and wraps you around him, pressing his knee into the door to hold you up while guiding his throbbing cock into you. You moan desperately at the initial sting, brows furrowing with slight pain as he sheaths himself inside of you to the hilt. 

“Oh my God,” you whimper, letting his name fall from your lips in a helpless chant as he pulses from how your walls choke him as you strain to take him like you always do in the beginning. He might just split you open right here in the hallway when he starts fucking you. 

“Shh, you can take it,” he whispers with the most brutally gentle peck on your zipped lips, “It’s okay. She knows it’s big, baby, but she can take it. I always fuck ya real good, don’t I?” 

You nod helplessly, and fuck you, he does. It’s fast and hard and dirty. The poor wooden door rattles alongside the jingle of his belt buckle with each slam of his hips, the doorknob painfully gnawing into your lower back, and you fear the fabric of your underwear will snap from the strain that is put on it as it sits to the side. Sometimes you think you might even cut a hole in some of your pairs with how often Joel, still two years later, rushes to get his cock into you. There’s something oddly satisfying and offensive about just being able to bend over and let him see that all he has to do is push in. 

“That’s it, look at me, baby, such a good girl f’me,” he praises to get you back to him, not here to lose your attention to the way his cock feels inside of your tight heat. Your eyes settle on him again, your mouth hanging open to elicit pathetic gasps each time he knocks the wind out of you by driving his hips up into you and effectively pounding your g-spot. His face is so close to you; you can feel his breath and share it with him, can study every little imperfection in the form of tiny scars and dark lines that you hadn’t been able to see earlier from your seat a few tables over. 

“Joel,” you pant, digging your heels into the small of his back, clinging on desperately and angling your hips as he has his way with you. The slight adjustment has him going deeper, touching something inside of you that ignites the first sparks of an orgasm. Your nails claw, dig and scratch at his back in ways that would have been enough to draw blood if he wasn’t wearing a shirt, “Fuck, baby! Don’t— ngh, don’t stop.”

“You feel so good,” he replies with a groan, most likely powering through the exhaustion and strain on his body to make you feel even better. He is everywhere on you, his hands on your thighs, gripping and squeezing. He is everywhere in you too, his cock twitching inside of you each time you cry his name.

“I’m—“ you sob.

“Let go, baby, I can feel ya,” he growls when you dance around the edge of your orgasm because your fingers on both hands tangle into his beautifully chocolate hair, yanking harshly as impending pleasure knocks the breath out of your lungs. Your skin burns, your whole system halts and goes into overdrive at the same time until all you can do is shout silently at the ceiling. Your walls clench in mind-altering ecstasy then and your quietness is over, replaced by a relieved whine as you come on his dick. It is intense from how fast you’ve gotten there since he entered you, your body writhing as it is held against the wall. He fucks you through it, has you wailing as he chases his own high. 

You cradle his head during his last few thrusts, feeling his damp breath against your shoulder as he buries himself inside of your spent cunt and comes hard. It feels so good when he groans as he fills you up, the sound vibrating through his entire body. You whimper at the ceiling with the way he pulses deliciously with each breathy moan until he has no more to give you. 

He leans all his weight into you as he comes down again, holding you in place with his chest against yours to make sure that you won’t fall down and drag him with you. He gives you a moment and places a string of lazy kisses on your lips until he slips out of you with a soft sound. 

Carefully, he places you back down on the floor and eyes you as he does it to be certain you won’t collapse. He moves off of you when it feels safe to do so. 

“I say it back?” He asks as he leans against the door with you. Automatically, you tilt your head towards him. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, turning his head a second later to fully look at your disheveled state. You have a hand on your chest to calm your breathing but it still matches your fluttering heartbeat. He still aches between your legs.

You look back at him, awaiting his words with short breaths, “Say what?”

He makes a gesture to the both of you, “Before what we just did happened. I tell ya that I love you too?” 

“No?” Your reply is almost a question. 

“Shame on me,” he smiles and turns his whole body so that he faces you completely, shoulder against the door. His eyes soften as he reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. The warmth of his touch is nice when the sweat has started to cool you down, and you lean into his palm, feeling the roughness of his calloused skin against you. 

“Shame on me, indeed,” he murmurs, eyes on your slightly open mouth, “Because I do love ya. More than I can understand sometimes.”

“You don’t have to say it back every time, Joel. I know,” you try to brush off how much your body and mind buzz at the same time. 

He shakes his head slightly, his eyes never leaving your mouth, “No, I do needa say it. You deserve to hear it. I love you.”

You nod and reach to hold his wrist when he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your open mouth. Just a few minutes ago, the now-careful hands had been rough on your skin and his words had dripped with sin.

“Now, how ‘bout I take you to bed?” He asks and pulls your dress’ skirt out of the top, watching it tumble down and fall back into place around your knees. 

While you wait for him to get dressed again, fatigue seems to finally have caught up with you because you feel like you might collapse in your hallway at that suggestion. When it’s safe to do so, you let yourself fall into his arms and he catches you without hesitation. 

He scoops you up, goes upstairs with you in his arms, undresses you, washes you down with a warm flannel, and gets you into bed. You curl up on your side and after a while, after hearing his boots come off and the shuffling of clothes, the bed dips from his weight. 

The warmth of his body against your back lulls you to sleep. Oh, how simply he loves you. Forever doesn’t seem like a lot to ask for.

.

.

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[rafesfavgirl]

belly piercing — r. cameron

pairing: bf!rafe x fem!reader

context: you got a belly button piercing and rafe sees it for the first time.

words: 652

warnings: fluff, mention of smut

it was a bright and sunny day when rafe convinced you to take a ride in topper's new boat with him, topper, and kelce.

you had recently gotten your belly button pierced and hadn't told rafe about it yet, so you quickly threw on one of his oversized shirts over your bikini before meeting them outside.

"hey, pretty girl," he holds a hand out to you when you reach the end of the dock to help you step into the boat.

"hey, y/n," kelce and topper both greet you as you join them, topper at the steering wheel, and kelce sipping on a bottle of beer.

"hey guys," you throw them a smile, as rafe wraps an arm around your waist and gives you a peck on the lips.

topper steers the boat away from the dock and starts heading out towards the marsh.

—

topper had anchored the boat to a stop in the middle of the marsh half an hour ago, so you were all now chilling under the sun.

you were perched on a lounge chair on the opposite side of the boat's deck from rafe, topper, and kelce, who were sitting on the L-shaped couch, sipping on their beers, and talking about some girl kelce was trying to get with, while you read your summer romance book.

all three guys had lost their shirts some time around noon when the sun reached its peak, and now that it was beating down hard and causing sweat beads to scatter across your skin, you consider taking off rafe's oversized shirt to just sit in your bikini.

you contemplate it for a second, unsure of what rafe might think about your newly pierced navel, but after persuading yourself that he was probably too distracted talking to topper and kelce to even notice it, you hop up from the lounge chair to pull his shirt over your head.

little did you know, he watched your every move from the moment you stood up, his eyes trailing over your body as you took his shirt off, the diamond encrusted ring in your belly button reflecting the sunshine and immediately catching his eye.

a smirk comes across his lips as he stood up to walk over to you in the middle of topper's sentence, and sat down at the edge of your lounge chair, facing you.

it didn't take you long to notice exactly what he was staring at, as he pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth. 

a newfound confidence washes over you when you realize that the look on his face meant that he was loving the new piece of jewelry on your body. "you like it?"

he tilts his head up at you, his piercing blue eyes twinkling as he reached out to grab the back of your thighs and pull you closer to him, your navel directly in front of his face. "it's sexy, baby." he glances at it again, bringing a finger up to play with it. "does it hurt?"

"it's a little sore, but nothing too bad," you tell him, your hands tangling in his hair as he tilts his head up to look at you again.

"so it wouldn't hurt if you rode me?" he kinks an eyebrow at you and pulls you into his lap so you're straddling him, your thighs on either side of his legs.

"is that something you'd like?" you tease, his face inches away from yours now.

"very much," he nods, placing his lips on yours as his hands on your lower back pushed your body closer to his.

"hey lovebirds!" kelce calls out to the two of you, and you both snap your head towards him and topper on the couch.

"get a room," topper adds, sipping his beer.

"jump off the boat and go for a swim then," rafe tells them, causing you to snicker. "give us ten minutes."

reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated <33

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[chocopokkie]

Alastor x Fem! Reader Getting Caught in the Act NSFW

It was one of those rare moments when you and Alastor found yourselves alone in the bustling chaos of the Hotel. Amidst fulfilling various requests for Charlie, Vaggie, and other residents, you two managed to steal away into Alastor's room. As the door closed behind you, a hush settled over the room, filled only with the crackling of distant fires and the occasional echo of laughter from the lobby.

In the dim light filtering through the curtains, Alastor's crimson eyes gleamed with a playful spark as he moved on top of you on his bed, his presence casting a captivating aura around him. You felt the weight of his gaze as he reached out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face.

"Oh, my sweet doe," he murmured, his voice a velvet caress against your skin. "It seems I've been neglecting you. However, can I make it up to you?" His breath danced across your lips, sending a shiver down your spine as he leaned in, his hands lightly restraining yours, pinning them down on either side of your head.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you met his gaze, the intensity of his stare igniting a fierce longing within you. "Alastor," you breathed, the sound barely a whisper in the stillness of the room. "Just being here with you is enough."

But he shook his head, a mischievous glint flickering in his eyes. "Nonsense, my dear. I intend to spoil you thoroughly," he replied, his voice low and husky with promise. "Tell me, what is it that you desire?" His lips curved into a smirk, a challenge glinting in his gaze as he awaited your response.

"I want you..." you said, your voice barely above a whisper, the words tinged with a mixture of desire and uncertainty.

"I'm sorry, my dear, I don't think I heard you!" Alastor teased, his tone playful yet tinged with a hint of mischief. "I can't give you what you want unless you properly tell me." Crimson eyes dancing with amusement as he awaited your response, his hands still gently holding yours in place, the warmth of his touch sending a wave of anticipation coursing through you.

"Please... I want y-you!" you say, your voice now laced with more confidence, the words spilling forth from your lips with a newfound determination.

"There we go! Now, was that so hard?" Alastor chuckled, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he savored your response.

You roll your eyes at his condescending tone, a smirk playing on your lips as you meet his gaze with defiance. But before you can retort, he leans down, his lips capturing yours in a passionate kiss. The world around you fades into oblivion as you lose yourself in the intoxicating sensation of his touch, the heat of his embrace enveloping you in a blissful haze.

His hands leave yours and roam around your body, tracing every curve and contour with a feather-light touch that sends shivers down your spine. There's an urgency in his movements, a hunger that matches your own, as he explores every inch of your being with a reverence that leaves you breathless. His burning touch sets your body ablaze with a newfound arousal you hadn't felt in a while, igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume all reason and restraint. Each caress, each whispered promise, only serves to fuel the flames of desire that rage between you.

Alastor wastes no time in removing your clothes, his movements swift, as if he had been longing for this moment as much as you. "Oh, little fawn, you're so perfect," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble of appreciation as he admires your naked form, his intense gaze tracing every curve and contour with a hunger that sets your skin ablaze. You feel exposed beneath his penetrating stare, a flush of heat rising to your cheeks as you squirm beneath him, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze.

His hands reach lower to your nether regions, his touch sending sparks of electricity dancing across your skin as he slides a finger over your folds, already sopping wet with anticipation. "My, my dear, already this wet for me?" he teases, his voice dripping with amusement and arousal as he revels in the sight before him.

"Shut-shut up," you retort breathlessly, your words barely coherent as desire clouds your mind and steals your breath away. But any further protest is lost as he dips a finger inside of you, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through your veins. With agonizing slowness, he begins to pump his finger in and out of you, each movement deliberate and measured, drawing out the exquisite torture of anticipation.

"How rude you are, maybe I should stop?" he threatens darkly, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes as his smile widens, teasing you with the prospect of withholding his touch.

"NO! Okay, I'm sorry!" you say loudly, desperation lacing your voice as you realize the gravity of your words. Panic floods your senses as he removes his fingers from your dripping core, leaving you achingly empty, the absence of his touch a cruel reminder of the pleasure denied.

"Alright then, let me hear you then," he says absentmindedly, his fingers deftly unzipping his pants before pulling out his hard cock, the sight leaving you breathless with anticipation.

"Huh? Hear what?" you reply, a knot of apprehension forming in the pit of your stomach as you pray that he wouldn't say what you think he's going to say.

"Beg for it, my dear," he states firmly, his voice laced with expectation as he gazes down at you, waiting for your response. "I need to hear you beg before I give you anything." The challenge in his eyes sends a thrill of excitement coursing through you, mingled with a sense of vulnerability as you contemplate what he's asking of you.

"P-please.." you mumble quietly, your face flushing with embarrassment as you struggle to voice your desires.

"Please what?" he quips back in a teasing tone, his gaze lingering on you expectantly. "Say it properly or you get nothing."

"Please, Alastor, I need you to fuck me," you finally manage to articulate, the words tumbling from your lips in a desperate plea.

Finally hearing what he wanted, Alastor lets out a low chuckle, his amusement evident in the glint of his eyes. "That's my good girl~" he purrs, his voice sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

Before you can fully comprehend his words, he moves driving himself into you with a sharp thrust that steals the breath from your lungs, plunging you into a whirlwind of ecstasy and desire.

"That's it, that's my good girl taking me so well~," he mutters, his voice a low growl of satisfaction as he continues to thrust in and out of you with a delicious pace, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

With each powerful thrust, he delves deeper, his hips meeting yours in a rhythmic dance of desire that threatens to consume you both. You cling to him desperately, lost in the intoxicating haze of pleasure as he drives you to the brink of ecstasy and beyond.

Suddenly, the door opens without any warning, and in strides Vaggie, "Alastor, Charlie needs your help with- OH WHAT THE FUCK," she exclaims, her voice trailing off as her eyes widen in disbelief at the sight before her.

"I-I, we uh," you stammer, desperately trying to find the right words to explain yourselves, but before you can utter another syllable, Alastor beats you to it. "Don't you know it's rude to enter without permission?" he growls menacingly, his crimson eyes flashing with irritation as an ominous red "X" appears on his forehead.

As quick as Vaggie had interrupted, she was gone, swallowed up by black tendrils that wrapped around her, pulling her out of the room with a forceful yank and slamming the door shut with a resounding bang, the lock clicking into place.

"Now, where were we~" Alastor purrs, his gaze shifting back to you with a hunger that sends a thrill of anticipation coursing through your veins, the interruption only serving to heighten the intensity of the moment.

[oceanreveuse]

‘ 𝓼𝓮𝓷𝓼𝓲𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓽𝔂 — dan heng il x f!reader ’

★ insinuated switch!dan heng, dragon ruts, messy, lotta praise & begging, petnames (love, baby), needy & overstimulated dan heng, wrap it before you tap it babes <3, breeding kink mhms, one mention of daddy, not proofread.

you wasn’t quite sure it came to this; you’d realised that it could be an issue you faced together eventually in your newfound relationship but it was a mistake to stumble into his room on the express during a rut.

now you’re face down in the mattress, dan heng’s hips pressed so gently against your ass until he pulls back, slamming down again. another strangled, broken moan escapes his throat, hot breath heavy against your ear when he can barely hold himself up over your body.

“just one more,” he promises, panting as he presses desperate kisses to your bare shoulder. you whimper in response, glittery tears decorating your eyelashes with every thrust, “i promise, love, i’m sorry—”

the room fills once again with your pleasured cries, dan heng’s pants and the wet squelch every time his cock penetrates you. there’s a white ring foaming at the base of his cock, evidence of the numerous times your dragon boyfriend had emptied heavy balls into you - and still he wasn’t relieved.

“dan heng— daddy,” you choke out, muffled by feather filled pillows, your hands gripping at the sheets desperately as you squirm beneath him. you’re overstimulated, having had your fair share of orgasms too and now you want nothing but to escape the dragon’s grip for a second, for some semblance to relief for your cunny.

the mere sound of the word falling from your lips drives dan heng insane, cold, teal scales drifting arouhd your midriff as his tail pulls you closer, pushing your ass back into his pelvis in a sharp movement that leaves you yelping, “i’m sorry— baby, fuck..”

the mere sound of the word falling from your lips drives dan heng insane, cold, teal scales drifting arouhd your midriff as his tail pulls you closer, pushing your ass back into his pelvis in a sharp movement that leaves you yelping, “i’m sorry— baby, fuck..”

his teeth find your skin, biting down harshly as he marks you, nudging his nose into your hair, “you’re doing so good for me, mhm— i’ll make it up to you-”

“please, i’m gonna- dan heng!” a cry falls from your lips as he bucks forward exceptionally sharp, hitting your spongey spot just right as your body lurches forward, letting out a squeal as seed spills out of you, staining the sheets and his cock once again.

“just need to breed you full, baby, i love you,” he mumbles against your skin, stilling his hips flush against yours as his hands trace down your body, hugging at your curves as his tail unwinds from your waist, “thank you my love, thank you- i’m sorry, are you okay? i didn’t hurt you right?”

“i’m fine,” you smile weakly, rolling stiffly onto your side as dan heng buries his face into your neck, pressing faint kisses to your skin, “that serves me right for intruding during the wrong time…”

© oceanreveuse 2024 | reblogs appreciated | do not repost, steal, translate, etc. on any social media platform & do not feed to ai.

[ her lady is affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum ]

[charmercharm3r]

doing everything together

BC

Masterlist

wc: ??

warnings: smut, explicit sexual content, bf!chan x afab!reader, porn no plot, shower sex, piv, oral (f receiving), cream pie, he’s so cute i love him

definitely not proofread, entirely self indulgent lol

☆ﾟ

He was very particular about the bathroom. Chan didn't care so much about the house hold appliances when you were looking for apartments together, except for the shower. This was the one area he showed true interest in, so you let him take the reigns entirely when he said he wanted to change the shower head from the original that came with the place.

You didn't know what he had chosen, only that he mentioned how good the water pressure was with the silliest, horniest smirk you'd ever seen.

As soon as the shower head he ordered arrived and he installed it, Chan wasted no time in getting you stripped and soaked. You got lucky that there was a shower bench, which was not what had initially drew you to choosing this apartment, but it was definitely a perk.

Lips everywhere, hands roaming, taking in the warmth of his body and the steaming shower, you couldn't help but giggle at how excited Chan was to show you the reason he chose this specific shower head. You broke away from his eager kisses to glance at where it was mounted, seeing the extra cable connected to a handheld head.

"That seems great for hosing down the walls," you thought for practical uses, not looking any closer and trying to capture his lips once again. Chan redirected your kiss to his cheek and grabbed the handheld.

"Just look," he asked, to which you playfully groaned into his neck before looking. There was an extra hole in the very top and a switch on the side. Chan reached up to the mounted shower and twisted something to turn on the handheld, then made eye contact with you while wiggling his eyebrows. Just as he did, he tipped the handheld towards the ground and flipped the switch. A stronger stream shot out from the top, and it all clicked.

You didn't get a word out before he was kissing you again and blindly leading you to sit on the all-the-more convenient bench. God, you would be dripping if you weren't already wet, Chan sliding to his knees in front of you. Of all things he wanted to be involved in, this was entirely unexpected-- though, not unwelcome whatsoever. He made himself comfortable, thick lips never straying from your skin even whist spreading your knees and fingertips toeing across your thighs.

Just to hurry things along-- you were impatient now that his grand scheme had been revealed-- you scoot forward, pushing your exposed cunt towards him hoping to entice him. Chan laughed into the meaty flesh of your thigh, lightly biting wherever he could and fully appreciating your newfound enthusiasm. Not that you weren't before, just even more now that there was a new and potentially mind-blowing sensation that he could inflict onto you.

He took your hand and let the stream from the handheld hit your palm, asking, "good pressure?"

"If you don't put that between my legs right now--"

"Okay, okay," he giggled again, "needy tonight, hm?"

"Yeah, and it's your fault," you emphasized your point by hooking your knees over his shoulders, locking your ankles behind his head.

"If I had known this is all it would take to have you borderline trying to mesh bodies, I would've upgraded the shower at our old place a long time ago." His hands kneaded at your love handles to displace his own needs for now, too excited to try this almost as much as you were. The sight of his slender, pretty fingers so close to your core was maddening and you failed holding back a slight rut of your hips.

"I would love to live inside you, actually."

"I say the same thing every time I see this pretty pussy of yours, baby." Chan wasted no more time and practically fell into you, first his tongue licking a cautionary stripe up your center, then suctioning his lips around your clit when you involuntarily threaded your fingers through his hair. He moaned into you, vibrations of his constant vocal pleasure making the introductory feeling even better.

This was just a warm up for him, just the prologue to the real fun he'd have when he thought you could handle the lovely pressure of the handheld shower head. Part of you wished he'd give it to you already, but another part never gets tired of how good he is with his mouth. If Chan could, he'd live between your legs and have you for all three meals of the day. And what a blessing those lips are, already having you curling your toes and tugging at his wet curls within the three minutes he'd been on his knees.

Slowly, his fingers tiptoed their way to join his mouth, spreading you wider with two fingers for more access for his lips, then gently moving to circle them around your entrance. Your head fell back against the tiled shower wall, whimpers not ceasing anytime soon.

Just as you were gonna ask him for more, he pulled away, but not without replacing what he'd stole. Chan pushed two fingers into you right when the stream grazed your clit, lightly and calculated as not to do too much. He glared up at you with concern when you slammed your head back against the wall much harder than before, Chan stammered to pull away but backtracked when you cried his name, "don't you fucking dare."

"I do love when you boss me around, darling," he replied, sarcasm dripping from his perfect lips. The teasing came with retaliated pleasure, maneuvering the stream so it hit your clit more straight on. You moaned louder, shuddering and wanting to pull away at how much more intense the feeling was than before. "If you're gonna talk like that to me, then take it like a fucking champ. Don't let me down."

Oh, it was a challenge, now. There was no backing down, you were gonna be fucking good and take whatever he wanted to give just for the sake of being able to rub it in his face later that he couldn't break you. Just don't let him see how badly you wished it was his cock in you instead-- that'd be the real tipping point.

"That's right, baby, I knew you could do it," he praised, mouthing and teething at the flesh of your thigh, slight pinching making the pain mix with the pleasure much, much too well. His fingers started to slowly move, adding the needed friction from within and it had you sob, just once. "Hm, I don't think this is enough."

Oh no, don't say it. "Maybe you need something bigger."

Fuck, he's gonna say it. "Think you can take my cock, too, baby?"

And you're gonna say yes. "Please, yes, please."

Chan pulled the stream for a second to give you a comforting, pillowy soft kiss to your clit and stood. He hung heavy, swaying and glistening and so mouth watering. Somehow, everything was just the right height for him to easily find his reddening tip at your hole and push in. The stretch, a welcome sizzling burn that soon turned into nothing but tingling euphoria, coupled with the returned stimulation of the jet stream, you were floored. It was written all over your face.

He laughed and hid his face in your neck as you adjusted to the all of the new feelings. "God, stop fucking clenching like that," he whined, sending a light slap to the outside of your thigh, which only made you clench harder. He slapped again, a little harder, then groaned when your whole body twitched. "You're killing me here."

"Then make me cum already, unless you wanna die a slow, wonderfully warm and wet death."

"I love when you talk dirty to me."

"Chris, shut up and fuck me."

He shrugged, pecking your lips lovingly and resting his hand on your hip bone to keep the stream pointed just right on your nerves. He knew your body like the back of his hand, knew the spot that made you want to claw out of your skin because the pleasure was too great, and he hit it every time. Only now, he could fuck you at the same time.

And fuck you, he did. He was slow and precise, just as ever, wanting to hit the right spots that caused you to contracted hard and practically milk him, that was his favorite feeling. Getting this little appliance did half the job for him, all he had to do was hold it steady and move his hips.

The sight above you was heavenly, his wet abs right in front of your face while his soaked curls would occasionally drip onto your face and cause you to look up, then be met with his sculpted features. God-- if there is a god-- it could very well look like Chan. The way he looked at you could make you cum by that alone.

It took another four minutes, tops, of him barely rocking into you, tapping at the soft spot within you and keeping the stream satisfying the pulsing along your center. You reached up for his biceps, lightly scratching and pulling him down for a slow, sloppy kiss, mumbling against his lips how close you already were. "Whenever you want, darling," he cooed back, entirely satiated already.

Chan did what he always did when you were close, and that was rapid fire. He quickly shook his wrist to let the stream run over your clit, back and forth, the feeling getting more and more intense every split second it left and returned tenfold. Until you were clawing down his forearm and abdomen, back arching against the tile with a last cry of his name and a string of whimpers.

Another minute passed before the oxygen returned to your brain and you could think clearly again. Chan was looking down at you with his forehead leaning against the tile as well, buried as deep in you as he could go and a silly smile plastered along his lips. Oh, how you loved his lips.

"I think our water bill is gonna be incredibly high," you joked, kissing the darkening red lines along his wrist.

"Just means we'll have to shower together. Y'know, to save water."

"I won't complain about that." Chan's eyes crinkled as he came down to press a kiss to your forehead in return.

"Doing everything with you is the highlight of my day. Even washing your stinky feet," he gently slid out of you and tickled the bottoms of your feet, getting you to kick him away while trying to crawl under the shower again. Chan caught you by the waist and held you from behind, once again hiding in the crook of your neck and simply enjoying having you in his arms.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hi hii-! If it isn't a bother can i request either the dorm leaders + Jamil or the first years with an Mc who is basically like Mei from turning red with the whole turning into a Giant red panda and all? You can decide if they're gonna be yandere or nah i just wanna see how they would react to mc suddenly turning into a red panda whenever they get overwhelmed by their emotions ehe

Turning Red Reader | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

When you came to their world to be the magicless prefect they know and love Grim is expected to be the only furry member of Ramshackle. They are soon proven wrong when you finally lose it. All the overblots, the stress, the mysteriously creepy gifts addressed to you. You’re hairs bright red color was nothing more than a random trait until you turned into a giant red panda:

Vil Schoenheit

“Well darling, this is unexpected…”

He’s genuinely surprised

But he can make this work 

Being a connoisseur of working under pressure 

He knows exactly how to calm you 

Even when you're a giant panda

Some things may have to change like the amount of the sleeping potion he will give you

But know worries he can adapt

And with your newfound fame who better to preen you for your upcoming career

“Trust me, dear, this is my territory. So leave your cute paws in my hands.”

Kalim Al Asim

“Sooooo Fluffffy!!!!” 

He’s so obsessed with shoving his face in your fur

And if you let him ride you, he’s on cloud 9

Your even cuter than you were before

But this is because your stressed!?!

Well as your future husband bestest friend he’s going to change that

So stay in Scarabia don’t even worry about going back to Ramshackle

He wants you to get used to living in luxury anyway

He’s more than happy to have you and Grim stay

Especially when you’re transforming into a panda

“Come on (Y/n)! You shouldn’t have to be stressed to bring out the panda!”

Azul Ashengrotto 

“Well, we all have our…vices.”

This complicates things

How’s he supposed to turn you into a mermaid now?!

But it's fine 

Hey, if you’ve made money on this before 

He’s more than happy to get a piece of the pie

Granted he’s not exactly pleased that this is a stress response

Whoever’s the cause of that stress he’ll politely intercede

With a contract that will have their lively hood on the line

“Just know that once you sign my contract all your cares and worries and you+ will be mine to take care of.”

Riddle Rosehearts

“I see, we both seem to have our own reactions to stress.” 

He’s oddly elated 

He loves you deeply obsessively

So he will not tolerate anyone speaking negatively 

Anyone

He’s offing everyone’s heads that he sees talking badly about your latest change

He relates and he wants to help 

Funnily enough his fiery reaction to things you consider stressful has you relaxing if only to calm him down

And he’ll never admit it but he’s found you 10x more attractive when you angrily panda out

Leona Kingscholar

“See? I warned you not to bother them us. It’s not my fault your body will be in shreds.”

All the more reason to stay napping with him

But when you panda out he prefers to sit back and enjoy

He doesn’t really bother doing anything unless it's calming you down 

And hiring a crew to clean up after you

He only is bothered by it when you don’t immediately yield to his control

Well other than your turning into a panda you’re still just a magicless prefect

That’s why it should be easier to keep you under his control

That or you’re going to be stressed with how many of your friends start avoiding you

Malleus Draconia

“What a marvelous trait!” 

His heart is already set on you

But what is this?

This insatiable desire to rub his face into your fur and carry you around in your giant form?

“Is this…the fabled…cuteness?”

If anyone’s going to forget that they very well bring armageddon from cuteness aggression it's him

And because you being you have already fueled his emotions the electrical tempest that plagues NRC

He just reacts even worse when others have the same appreciation for your panda perfection

But only he is going ableto monopolize it

After all you don’t want the entire island falling into a sleep-like death right?

Jamil Viper

“So your emotions are tied to your panda and when it comes out?”

“Yeah…”

“That’s really cute That’s inconvenient.”

He’s pleased you most likely rely on him to assuage yourself from freaking out

And boy does he have so much more power

While your under his spell he might as well advise you to ask him on a date

Or forget about that missing student

Idia Shroud

“Whoa (Y/n)’s cuteness stats just upped themselves 40%!”

He’ll make even more merch 

But he’s not selling it 

There for him to squeeze and cuddle and pretend to make out with

Even better if you panda out in his room 

so he can have your scent everywhere

He might even instigate it

[latin5mamii]

https://www.tumblr.com/formiel1/754439543283974144?source=share

Hi babe, could you write somethin about this? Or have you ever written a fic like this (give him bj while he's manspreading) lemme know cause i wanna read it, thank you..

i love your requests…🤭

You’d been together with Jude for a while now, and you loved surprising him in the most unexpected ways. Tonight, you had something special in mind, something that would bring you even closer and deepen the intimacy between you.

Jude was lounging on the couch, his legs spread wide, a casual yet commanding presence. He’d just come back from training and was enjoying a moment of relaxation. You approached him with a coy smile, feeling a rush of excitement.

“Hey, babe,” you said softly, taking a seat next to him. “You look comfortable.”

He grinned at you, his eyes filled with warmth. “I am now that you’re here.”

You leaned in and kissed him, starting slow but quickly deepening the kiss. Jude responded eagerly, his hands coming up to cradle your face. You broke the kiss, breathing heavily, and gave him a playful look.

“I have something special for you,” you whispered, your voice low and sultry.

His eyebrows arched in curiosity. “Oh? What is it?”

Without another word, you slid off the couch and knelt between his legs. Jude’s eyes widened as he realized what you were about to do. He shifted slightly, giving you more room, his breath hitching in anticipation.

Your hands moved to his belt, undoing it with practiced ease. You pulled down his jeans and boxers just enough to free him, your eyes never leaving his. Jude’s gaze was intense, filled with a mixture of desire and love.

You took him in your hand, giving a few slow strokes before leaning in and pressing a kiss to his tip. Jude let out a low groan, his hands clenching at his sides. You teased him with your tongue, tracing patterns that had him shivering.

When you finally took him into your mouth, Jude’s head fell back against the couch, a deep moan escaping his lips. You worked him slowly at first, savoring the taste and feel of him. His hands found their way to your hair, gently guiding you.

As you increased your pace, Jude’s breathing grew ragged, his hips instinctively thrusting towards you. You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks and using your tongue in ways that you knew drove him wild. The sounds he made, the way his body tensed, only fueled your desire to please him.

“God, you’re amazing,” he breathed, his voice strained. “So good…”

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, and the intensity of his gaze sent a thrill through you. You could see the pleasure and appreciation in his eyes, the connection between you deepening with every movement.

As he neared his release, Jude’s grip on your hair tightened slightly, his breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. You took him as deep as you could, your tongue swirling around him, and that was all it took. With a final, shuddering moan, he came, his release warm and salty on your tongue.

You swallowed and licked him clean, savoring the taste of him. When you finally pulled away, Jude reached down and gently pulled you up into his lap. He kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth with a newfound urgency.

“You’re so good baby,but now let me return the favor”

[heauxvibez]

Tension

warning: Smut (+18)

She currently served as a physical therapist for the WWE, her work quickly capturing the attention of the towering 6 ft 3 wrestler. From the moment their eyes met, a spark ignited. Vivid fantasies consumed his mind and he imagined himself held captive in the curves of her thick thighs, her hands helplessly pinned above her head while she begged for his touch.

Although his thoughts of her were lustful, genuine feelings lingered below. Roman's approach, however, focused on the pursuit of feeling her warm, wet walls around him.

Reclining on the table he had specifically ordered for these sessions, Roman's anticipation ate him up as he awaited her arrival. His hamstring troubles had forced him to not perform at the best of his abilities, he was looking forward to the relief her skilled hands would bring to his aching muscles.

As he mindlessly scrolled through Instagram, he was interrupted by her entrance into the room. He watched her appreciatively, taking in the sight of her pretty, black curls claw-clipped into a wild bun, much like his. Soft tendrils of hair dangled near her sideburns. She had done a quick wash and go and was proud of herself for making it look as good as it did.

She exuded a quiet confidence, her small frame enveloped by the vibrant hues of her floral scrubs.

"Thanks again for coming to my house to do this. I know today was your day off," he acknowledged, his voice portraying a hint of gratitude tinged with longing.

"No, it's fine. I didn't have anything better to do," she replied with a soft smile and a shrug. Honestly, if anyone else had asked her to do so, she would’ve immediately denied. But, in this case, every fiber of her being yearned for his presence. She found herself captivated by him, his presence easily invoking a mix of emotions that she struggled to contain.

He carefully placed his phone on the table and flipped onto his stomach. He crossed one arm over the other and laid his head comfortably on top of his arms.

Each time he felt her touch, it felt like electric shocks hummed through his veins. He often found himself battling the urge to pull her close, taken over by the need to explore every single part of her body.

"You know, just because you're here to work doesn't mean you have to wear those little flowery scrubs." he teased, a playful grin dancing on his lips.

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and amusement, a nervous laugh slipping past her lips as she dispensed a dollop of oil into her palms, rubbing them together with practiced ease.

"I'll keep that in mind for next time," she replied, her voice laced with a hint of self-consciousness as she prepared to begin.

As her hands glided up the smooth fabric of his basketball shorts, she couldn't help but notice the subtle tension in his muscles. She was sure she was just as tense as him though. But despite her nerves, she focused intently on her task, determined to ease his discomfort.

With each skilled movement of her hands, soft groans of pain and pleasure slipped from him as she melted his knots away.

Her arousal was coursing through her veins, her touch both tender and purposeful. Just touching him was leaving her breathless.

By the time she finished working on his legs, she found herself soaked, her mind reeling from the intoxicating mix of his muted groans and the scent of his skin. She found it almost impossible to resist him.

As he rose from the table, she couldn't help but admire the newfound grace in his movements, the progress they had made together over the past weeks was tremendous. His praise washed over her like a wave, filling her with a pride and accomplishment she hadn't known before.

"Your hands are like magic," he murmured appreciatively with a small grip on her shoulder. His touch sent a shiver down her spine.

"Thanks," she replied softly, another nervous giggle bubbling up from within her as she gathered her belongings, almost running away from the tension between them.

With a final glance, she turned and made her way toward the stairs, the weight of his gaze lingering on her like a caress. As she disappeared from view, she couldn't shake the feeling that it would somehow, someway be a while before she would start heading home.

She found herself lost in the sensual melody of "Earned It" by The Weeknd as she placed the massage oils in the cabinet. She had realized she'd been over to his house a lot more often to treat him, so she figured why not keep them here to maintain his plan of care.

Glancing at her reflection in the mirror, she couldn't help but fuss over the loose tendrils of hair, each rebellious strand mocking her efforts. The bobby pins seemed to have a mind of their own, failing to secure the unruly locks in place.

With a heavy sigh, she rested her hands on the cool marble countertop, feeling the weight of frustration settle upon her shoulders. The pressure mounted as she attempted to tame her hair, her fingers fumbling with the stubborn strands.

She paused to catch her breath, dipping her head down and closing her eyes, searching for any sign of composure amidst the sexual tension. Was it truly the bobby pins that troubled her, or was she just frustrated? Frustrated with the way the Samoan man was engraved in her mind.

As she continues to fight her silent battle in front of the mirror. Roman had other plans..

Her heart skipped a beat as strong arms encircled her waist from behind, pulling her into an unexpected embrace. Keeping her eyes closed, she threw her head back, trying to figure out if this was just a figment of her imagination or reality.

"Roman, wait..." she murmured, attempting to break free from his grasp, but his hold remained firm, a silent insistence that she stay.

"Let's not pretend that you don't want me," he interjected with a sly grin, his hands venturing beneath her shirt to explore the contours of her stomach.

She finally opened her eyes, meeting his. The weight of his gaze put her in a trance.

Her breath hitched as he turned her to face him. With trembling hands, she traced a tentative path down his now bare chest, each touch eliciting a low groan of pleasure from him. Pressed against the cool surface of the sink, her senses heightened by the heady scent of his cologne and the warmth of his skin against hers.

With a mixture of nervousness and excitement, she slid his shorts down, her fingers lingering over the tantalizing curve of his hips. As she began to stroke him, his hips moved in sync with her rhythm. The soft caress of her hand had him weak-kneed.

Her pussy grew wetter with each stroke, she couldn't help but softly moan at his easy submission. With a sense of power she had never known before, she brought him to the brink of release, his ragged breaths and whispered pleas urging her on.

“Don’t stop, please,” he whimpered with his eyes locked in on her own. His hands reach behind her, placing them on the counter, knuckles almost turned white at the grip while his precum dripped down her fingers and into her palm. She literally had him in the palm of her hands melting like chocolate.

“Mmm, but you don’t want to finish like this daddy. I know you don’t..,” she moaned while slowing down her strokes. He smirked and so did she, they knew exactly how to drive each other wild.

He grabbed her hand and took her finger into his mouth tasting himself, his precum lathering his tongue. He moaned softly staring deeply into her eyes as he stuck his tongue out and danced it around her fingers.

A moaned escaped her throat as she watched. She had never seen something so sexy in her life and the fact that he was staring into her soul while doing so was enough to make her juices slowly drip past her lips and down her thighs.

He chuckled darkly as he watched her fall into a trance and turned her around to face the mirror. With a hunger, he stripped away her scrubs, revealing the full extent of her beauty in the soft glow of the bathroom light. As he used his teeth to remove her panties, she gasped at the soft drag of the lace against her smooth skin, her body thrumming as he slid off the thin piece of clothing.

With each touch, each caress, she felt herself unraveling in his arms, her desire for him reaching a fever pitch. As he rid her of her bra, she surrendered herself completely to the moment, her body trembling with pleasure as they got lost in each other.

As his hands explored her torso, she basked in his touch, each caress leaving trails of goosebumps.

When he eased himself inside her, she couldn't help but gasp at his girth. It was as if every nerve ending in her body had come alive. His size stretched her in a way that both thrilled and challenged her, almost pushing her over the edge with each thrust.

Roman paused, his movements becoming slow and deliberate. His gaze, dark with desire, bore into hers through the mirror. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, the sight of her was so fulfilling.

"Damn, girl," he murmured huskily as he began to move, his hips setting a rhythm that matched the frantic beat of her heart. His thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing over her, building the tension between them to an almost unbearable intensity.

With every touch, every stroke, he worshipped her body as if it were a precious work of art, his hands exploring every curve with a reverence that made her heart swell. And when he finally wrapped his fingers around her throat, applying just enough pressure to send her into a state of euphoria, she couldn't help but whimper.

"Say my name, baby," he growled, his voice a rough whisper.

And as she complied, her voice barely a breathless murmur, he rewarded her with a slow, sensuous kiss behind her ear that left her head spinning and her body aching for more.

"Louder," he demanded, his fingers teasing her clit with a skill that bordered on torture. And as she cried out his name,

"Daddy!" her voice echoed in the bathroom, he knew that he had finally broken through her defenses, unleashing a raw passion.

Their bodies moved together in a symphony, sounded like one too. Her pussy gushed, making the sweetest sound. The wettest sound.

His middle finger continued to move in mind-numbing circles. Her body wanted to crumble forward but he held her throat with a tight grip, a grip that kept her stable.

"Give me my nut baby, it's mine. I want it over my dick.", he whispered behind her ear, placing a gentle kiss on her shoulder while he gave her some not-so-gentle strokes.

With him hitting her g-spot and rubbing on her clit, she felt her climax approaching. Her breathes with getting shorter, her curls were sticking to her forhead, and this man was tearing her up.

And when she finally reached her peak, her release crashed over her. He followed close behind, his own climax tearing through him with a force that left him gripping onto her body for dear life.

They stood together in the quiet, their breaths echoing throughout the room. She leaned into his embrace, their bodies entwined, the lingering heat between them melting into a shared warmth as they savored the aftermath.

His lips trailed feather-light kisses along her neck, before pulling away. A soft whimper escaped her lips at the loss, a smile forming as their eyes locked silently.

With a turn, she reached for him again, her arms enveloping his neck, drawing him into an embrace. Their lips met in a deep kiss.

As they pulled away, their breaths mingling in the stillness, he tenderly brushed his thumb against her parted lips.

"How about we go another round, baby girl," he murmured, his voice low and husky. She smiled, feeling her core tingle once more.

"Mmm, I like the sound of that." she hummed in agreement, her voice tinged with anticipation as she leaned in closer to him.

---------------------------------------------

Hope y'all liked this! Please excuse any and all mistakessss, thanks!!! lololol

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[transform4u]

My boyfriend and I are in a loving relationship, but we're both pretty crappy when it comes to handy work. His car broke down and its going to cost a lot of money. I wish there was a way I could fix it for him.

Standing over your boyfriend's car, frustration radiates from you. The engine's persistent sputtering and the vague sense of impending doom around the vehicle's state of disrepair have you fuming. You snatch your cellphone from your pocket, desperate to find a mechanic who can rescue you from this mess. Just as you're scrolling through contact lists and Google searches, you hear a sudden, jarring snaaappppp—like a rubber band stretched too far and snapping back.

Your eyes widen in shock as your phone starts to ooze a thick, greasy substance. It spreads quickly, coating your hand and dripping onto your clothes. Before you can react, the greasy ooze starts to morph your outfit into something far more rugged: your pristine attire transforms into a pair of smelly, workout overalls. They’re stained with gasoline and grease, clinging to you with a damp, pungent odor. You take a deep breath and let out a long, appreciative “Damnnnn boy,” as the smell of oil and sweat fills your nostrils.

You notice your Adam's apple swelling, protruding noticeably from your throat, and your voice deepening into a gravelly, rough baritone. Your body begins to shift, growing more muscular with each passing second. Muscles ripple across your arms and chest, your frame expanding and filling out with a newfound bulk. The greasy substance seems to seep into your skin, making you more rugged and burly, covered in a light smattering of body hair that adds to the overall gruff appearance.

As the transformation settles, you can almost feel your brain getting fuzzier, your intellectual thoughts slipping away like oil from a pan. It’s like your mind is getting slicked over with a thick layer of grease, making way for raw mechanical instinct. Your focus narrows to the car, and suddenly, you're a whirlwind of efficiency and strength.

With a clank and a clang, you dive into the engine bay, your hands working with a dexterity and precision that seem almost superhuman. You tighten bolts, replace parts, and clean out the grime with an almost absurd ease. The car groans and purrs under your skilled touch, its problems vanishing one by one.

Finally, with a resounding thud, you slam the hood shut, the metal reverberating with the impact. As you step back, a loud, obnoxious fart escapes from you—one of those deep, rumbling, unabashed ones that make the ground shake. You chuckle to yourself, a deep, throaty laugh that matches your newfound persona. You feel a lightness as any last vestiges of smarts, those pesky remnants of your former self, seem to float away, carried off on the smell of exhaust and the echo of your laughter.

In this new state, you stand proudly next to the now-purring car, your greasy, muscled form the epitome of auto-mechanical prowess. You look up and down at your former boyfriend, who now stands at his car looking at you with contempt. Your mind twists and turns, forgetting the fact that the two of you dated. In fact, you think this guy is nothing but a no good city liberal faggot, who can't even fix his own car.

You saunter over to him, a smirk playing on your lips. You extend your hand for a handshake, but he just asks, "How much for the repairs buddy?" You give him a look over, realizing that this preppy son of a bitch is probably pretty loaded. "Goin' be $2,500. Cash," you say with a grin.

He hands you the money without a second thought and drives off. You just chuckle, pocketing the cash. This was going to go a long way at the nudie bar down the street. You couldn't wait to get off work and start throwing dollar bills at those strippers. Nothing you loved more than cracking open a cold beer and watching some dumb blonde whore shake her titties.

You head inside the garage, whistling a tune. The day's work was almost done, and you had a nice stack of cash to show for it. You wipe the grease off your hands and grab a fresh beer from the mini-fridge. Popping it open, you take a long swig, the cold liquid refreshing after a hard day's work.

The strip club was already starting to fill up when you arrived. You grab a seat right up front, slamming your fist on the table to get the attention of the waitress. "Keep 'em comin'," you say, sliding a crisp $100 bill across to her. She gives you a wink and saunters off.

The first dancer of the night takes the stage, a blonde bombshell with tits that could suffocate a man. You lean back in your chair, taking another swig of your beer as she starts to grind to the music. This was your idea of a perfect night - cold beer, hot women, and no one to answer to but yourself. The world was your oyster, and you were going to enjoy every second of it.

[retrosabers]

𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓.

logan howlett x fem!reader

word count: 2.4k

a/n: i’m still in the process of familiarizing myself with logan, so pardon any in-discrepancies/things that may feel out of character. & to anyone who left a request in in my inbox, know that i am actively working on it :)

18+ BELOW THE CUT. MINORS DNI.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

logan is a caring and considerate lover. he knows that sometimes he can really wear you out, so he’s always sure to get whatever you need when all is said and done. whether that be a warm wash cloth, a glass of water, or even a snack. he always checks in with his girl to make sure she’s doing okay. at first when things are fairly casual, he might not be as thoughtful. but the more and more he realizes how deep his feelings are for you, the more invested in aftercare he is.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of their’s and also their partner’s)

it’s hard for him to pick one thing he loves more than the rest of you. that man is genuinely infatuated with every single part of your body and he makes sure you know it. if he had to pick though, he would say your mouth for a multitude of reasons. he loves seeing you smile. lowkey gets a little turned on whenever you bite back at him or anyone else with your words (secretly enjoys when you’re bossy). feels like he gets sent to heaven every time you wrap your lips around his cock. there’s so much you can do with your mouth, and he loves all of it.

on himself? that’s a bit of a challenge. logan doesn’t really fuss over his physical appearance, but he does notice how often you stare at his biceps. it makes him extra cocky when he intentionally flexes them and makes you blush. aside from being visually appealing, those big strong arms are your safe space, and logan realizes that very quickly. couple those things together and logan’s got a newfound appreciation for those muscles.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum basically)

if he can, he’s definitely cumming inside you. call it a breeding kink or a branch of his possessive nature, but logan gets off on knowing he’s the only one who can fill you up. he goes especially crazy when he sees his cum dripping out of you, quick to shove it back in with his fingers so you take every last drop. if it’s a particularly nasty evening, he enjoys cumming down your throat, making you show him his load in your mouth before you swallow.

bonus: he loves when his face is coated with your release after he’s been eating you out. logan can’t get enough of when your scent lingers on his beard; it makes him go a little wild.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

wants you to take control one night. he would never fully sub out, but the thought of you being the one calling the shots makes him unbelievably hard. part of what attracted him to you was your feisty side, and logan always revels in how he’s the only one capable of fucking it out of you, reducing you to nothing but a boneless, moaning mess. so, he wants to try the opposite; to see your spunk translate in the bedroom.

logan also likes getting his hair pulled. a tug of his cowlicks will absolutely expedite his orgasm and he’s not the tiniest bit embarrassed by it. if anything, he enjoys knowing that you have something you can use to get him off faster.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

this man has been around for 200 years and he looks like that. trust that he’s been around and knows exactly how to please a woman. logan’s done damn near everything; it’s just a matter of him trying to figure out what gets you going.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

logan truly doesn’t have a favorite position. he’s happy to take you any way he can get. it all depends on how the night plays out. if he’s feeling a little more sensual & intimate, he loves good old missionary & being able to see your face when you reach your peak. if he’s had a bit of a shit day and maybe you were fighting, he’s roughly taking you from behind, reveling in the way your ass ripples when his hips slap against it.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous, etc.)

not really. logan’s not opposed to cracking a joke if there’s a little mishap, but he normally take whatever time he gets alone with you very seriously.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

we’ve seen the chest hair and the glorious happy trail. the man is indeed hairy, and he makes a decent effort to keep himself well groomed below the belt. (aka the carpets definitely match the drapes)

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

no matter the kind of sex you’re having, logan views it for what it is; a deeply personal experience that only the two of you get to have. he loves keeping eye contact, pulling you as flush to his body as possible so he can feel your heart beat against his own. there’s even been an occasion or two where he’ll intertwine a hand above your head, whispering how much he loves you as you both approach your climax.

J = Jack off (masturbarion headcanon)

logan doesn’t normally masturbate if you’re within reach. he’d much rather bury himself balls deep in your pussy than rub one out with his hand. but, if he’s on a mission, or vice versa and he’s missing you, he makes do.

bonus: before you two started seeing each other and he was in the crushing stage, he used to jack off like crazy, fantasizing about all the things he wanted to do to you. he almost felt like a creep with how much he was doing it. but he didn’t know what else to do, far too afraid to actually act on his feelings until one day he decided his hand wasn’t cutting it anymore. he wanted the real thing. and it turns out, you were in the exact same position.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

two words. size kink. seeing how much bigger he is than you unlocks this side of him that he can’t explain. any display of size difference makes his brain short circuit, whether it be your hand sizes, height, etc. the comparison between his cock and your weeping cunt make his pupils blow wide with lust; his gaze locked on the area where he pistons in and out of you, in awe of just how well you take all of him.

i also sense a praise kink buried under all that muscle. you whine in his ear about how good he’s making you feel and suddenly his thrusts get messy and he’s blowing his load. there’s this part of him that needs to know that he’s taking care of you right. logan’s spent nearly all of his existence never feeling like he could be good enough for anyone, so hearing that he’s succeeding at the only thing he truly cares about, is enough to send him over the edge.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

though the bedroom is always his first choice for obvious reasons, logan is game to do it pretty much anywhere. he could care less about getting caught, leading you to having sex in some rather interesting places. one time you guys fucked on the jet after a rough mission and logan’s strong grip nearly broke one of the seats. after that, you realized it was better to keep your sex-related destruction to broken headboards and tattered sheets.

bonus: he really wants to fuck you on his motorcycle. he’s not sure of the logistics, but he’s been dying to make it happen.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

somehow logan finds a way to be aroused by anything that you do. and i mean anything. there’s a select few things in particular that drive him crazy though. as i mentioned before, he thinks it’s sexy when you tell someone off, especially if it’s scott. he gets worked up watching you train, putting all your energy into smacking that punching bag when you could be getting a much better workout upstairs in his room. there’s a pair of jeans that hug your ass so snugly, that you know have a profound effect on your boyfriend. logan can’t help but follow you around the mansion like a puppy when you wear them, just so he can get a moment alone and bend you over the nearest surface.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

he absolutely refuses to harm you. he has no problem with getting rough; gripping you tight, pinning your hands above your head, even a light nibble against your skin. but logan 100% will not choke you, slap you, or degrade you. the only way the claws are coming out is if you’ve had many long conversations about it. otherwise, they’re staying in as long as he can help it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

equally enjoys giving and receiving. logan’s a sucker for a good end of day blowjob as a stress reliever. he’ll never, ever object when he sees you sink to your knees, “just because you want to”. likewise, he can’t think of any better way to spend his time than with his head between your legs. this man is a pussy eating king, and can give you two, sometimes even three orgasms just from his tongue. when he asks if you can sit on his face, you look at him like he’s got two heads.

“logan, i’ll suffocate you.”

“then i can’t think of a better way to die darlin’. now get up here.”

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

it all depends. he touches both ends of the spectrum; it’s just all based around the day’s events and how he’s feeling. logan is a very passionate lover, so he puts all his energy into you, whether it’s slow, languid thrusts or a fast and bruising piston of his hips with your legs thrown over his shoulders.

Q = Quickie (opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

hot take: i don’t think logan is very fond of quickies. he much prefers being able to take his time and not feel rushed. now that’s not to say you don’t indulge in quickies every now and then; sometimes the desire burns too strong and you need to have each other right then and there, even if you only have ten minutes. but logan is a firm believer in foreplay, and 99% of the time quickies don’t leave any room for it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks, etc.)

logan is game to try anything that doesn’t involve putting you in danger or causing you legitimate harm. he’s always down to try out a new position or indulge in one of your kinks. anything that can be done to spice up your (already spicy) sex life, he’s totally willing. though, there isn’t much that he hasn’t done already, having been around the bend for a long time. he knows what works and what doesn’t, and sometimes he’ll be the one to suggest something you haven’t done before.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

this man can go. all. night. long. with his mutation, it takes a lot to tucker him out. there’s been nights where you’ve gotten up to round four, and logan probably could’ve kept going if you weren’t so burnt out. he knows you can’t push the envelope like he can, so he often takes the hints from your body to stop, even if your mouth is saying otherwise. (conscious king)

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

not the biggest fan of toys. i can definitely see him using one on you for some overstimulation maybe, but he believes he can do a way better job of pleasing you then some battery operated thing.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

tease is this man’s middle name. logan loves seeing you get hot under the collar, and he knows exactly how to do it. whispering complete and utter filth in your ear in a crowded room, paired with a few rather taunting touches (a hand that lingers too close to your ass or a thumb rubbing at your bottom lip). sauntering around the training room and your living quarters shirtless like a slut. just doing things he knows get you going, simply because he can. especially when it leads to the same thing every time; you naked in his bed.

he cannot handle when the roles are reversed. just like he knows how to push your buttons, you know exactly where to push his. and if there’s one thing logan doesn’t have, it’s self control. so when you start teasing? just know you’re playing a dangerous game you’re likely not going to win.

V = Volume (how loud are they, etc.)

definitely a loud groaner, but doesn’t really make a ton of noise outside of grunting and groaning. logan never shies away from being vocal when it comes to dirty talk though. he’s just too fucking good at it, knowing exactly what to say to make you preen.

“atta girl, look at you. taking me so well.”

“come on baby, put that pretty mouth on me.”

“you like that huh? that’s my good fucking girl.”

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

logan would never share; threesomes are off the table. but he’s is nothing if not cocky, and having someone else watch while he fucks your brains out, just seems…enticing. that’s kind of why he’s so shameless about where he fucks you, because there’s a secret part of him that wants to get caught so he can show off just how good he treats his girl.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under the clothes)

i think we can all collectively agree that man is BIG. the biggest you’ve ever had, and probably the biggest you ever will have. no one can compare to his impressive length, and he knows it.

(i refuse to elaborate because i gotta be honest chat, i cannot go into detail about a man’s penis i just can’t)

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

that man is ready to go 24/7; his sex drive is high. significantly higher than the average person that’s for sure. logan says it’s because you’re “insatiable” but you both know it’s just another side effect of his mutation (one that he accepts with open arms.)

Z = Zzzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

considering logan’s sleep issues, i don’t see him conking out quickly after you’ve done the deed. i do however, see him being much more relaxed and at peace. his nightmares are unpredictable, but logan always finds that after spending the night with you, they’re not as intense. he can eventually drift off into slumber with a little less anxiety, and his whole world in his arms.

thanks for reading!

p.s. sfw version coming soon <3

[lavenderfilledcoffin]

sensual

adjective

relating to or involving gratification of the senses and physical, especially sexual, pleasure.

*♪¸¸.•*¨･:*ೄ·*♪¸¸.•*¨･:*

Sebastian felt so... nervous.

Sure, he's felt nervous around people he deemed attractive before.

But this was different.

You've taken many firsts from him.

Like his first kiss, his first relationship, and all that.

But his first time? His innocence?

He's been saving it for someone special. And here you were, that special someone.

It's no wonder he feels this way. Your nude body was perfection in itself. A gift from beyond the stars.

The scars that littered your neck from the night he got a little too rough with you, he wanted to open them again.

Your hand rested on his chest, your fingertips placed in a way where you could feel his heart beat uncontrollably.

His hair is disheveled and messier than usual, he looked feral, almost.

Such pretty noises that escaped his lips, they only turned you on further.

As you jerked your boyfriend's tentacle off, you stared into his eyes lovingly, analyzing every single change in his dazed expression.

Sebastian's hips bucked up into your hands, a whimper following as you moved your hand away from his tentacles.

"Please. I need—more. [Name], please!" His pleas were adorable, but you wanted this to last slightly longer.

Your thighs pressed together, a friction that made you shiver internally, right down to the very core.

His tail separated your legs as you sat. You leaned down to where his tentacle eagerly awaits.

Sebastian looked down at you, immediately regretting it as the erotic view made him shiver.

He bit his tongue, as much as he wanted to, he couldn't look away.

Your lips wrapped around the tip of the sensitive tentacle, earning yourself a small whine from your boyfriend.

Your eyes never left his, taking in the beautiful sight of your boyfriend coming undone.

A surge of confidence, or, eagerness fueled you, and you took his whole length down your throat. He couldn't help but throw his head back from the sudden pleasure, making soft mewling noises.

Sebastian's claws found their way into your hair, gripping it harshly.

He started face fucking you.

All that could be heard were soft gags from you, sloppy wet sounds, and his whimpering that made you grind your hips against his tail.

"C—Close, fuck..." He panted out, looking down again, releasing a hand from your head down to cup your cheek. Your heart fluttered from the contact.

His whines got progressively louder, his movements started to falter, and before he knew it, he had finished in your mouth.

The taste was salty and somewhat unpleasant, yet, you still happily swallowed it.

His erection didn't go down, the tentacle's tip wiggling in anticipation.

You caught your breath, leaning back up.

You wanted to only please him, but, he had other plans.

Sebastian lifted you up in an odd position. His third arm's hand under your right thigh, supporting you, while his the rest were roaming your body.

His left hand was pressed against your spine, the way your back arched looked so sweet, just for him.

He leaned down, capturing your left breast with his tongue. The sensitive bud being teased mercilessly.

The newfound stimulation made your body twitch, "Sebastian..." You whimpered his name pathetically, reaching your left hand up to run your fingers through his hair.

He released your breast with a pop, giving the neglected right one attention.

He shut his eyes, focusing on your cute whimpers, unrelenting in his suckles and small nibbles.

His right hand traveled down your body to your inner thigh, his clawed finger ghosting right over your heat.

He stopped his actions, his eyes opened halfway meeting yours.

"May I?" Sebastian's tone was gentle, even in the heat of the moment, he still wanted your consent.

"Yes—please, Seb." It was extremely sweet, you appreciated it.

His claws were quite big, as well as his genitalia. All of the experiments that he underwent probably caused it.

The tip of his claw drags along your slick cunt, your core heated up in anticipation.

Slowly, he dipped his finger into you. You didn't expect it to hurt, his finger pushing past your tight walls.

Quietly, you whined, placing your hands onto his shoulders so you could grip onto them for support.

Sebastian let you get adjusted before he slowly pumped his finger in and out of you.

His claws didn't hurt as much you thought they did, they were rather dull, and hitting a certain spot that made you whine excessively.

Your left hand moved from his shoulder to his neck, then to the back of his head, pulling him into a sweet, yet needy kiss.

Sebastian returned your kiss with equal passion, not failing to notice how your soft thighs pressed against the sides of his hand. He should ask you to wrap your thighs around his head, someday.

You groaned into his mouth as you felt a second finger enter you, easily from how soaked you are.

He pulled away from your lips, resting his forehead on your shoulder as he whispered sweet nothings.

He curled his fingers up, his claws hitting that sweet spot in a perfect angle.

Your back arched while your head fell back, leaving your body in perfect view for Sebastian.

A string of curses left your mouth, your walls clenching around his fingers. "Close—faster, please!"

Sebastian sped up his finger's movement speed, curling them upwards which heightened your arousal.

The once tight knot in your stomach was coming undone, every muscle in your body tensing up.

"S—eb!" You cry out, feeling your body twitch as you climax, your vision turning white.

He slowly pulled his fingers out of you, to which you whined. He grinned as he cleaned them off with his mouth. "Sweet."

He leaned back so that your body would be leaning against him, he moved his third hand up to your waist, rubbing small circles into it.

"Do you... really want to do this? With me?" Sebastian lowered his gaze, starting to get self conscious. Normally, he would be able to ignore it, but he couldn't help it this time.

"Yes, Sebastian." You reached your hand up to his cheek, "I do. Only with you."

Your sweet words made him smile eagerly.

"Please don't be so worried, we'll learn together, okay?" Sebastian was left speechless, he had somehow fallen deeper in love with you. Fuck, you were going to be the death of him.

You lifted your hips up, aligning the tip of his tentacle to your entrance. You slowly sink down onto him, your palms flat against his chest for support.

He's big, the stretch is painful—you're glad his fingers did the hard part.

You've never felt so physically full before, your stomach feeling weird.

His tentacle twitched impatiently inside of you, wanting to feel some sort of stimulation.

"You're s—so tight..." He groaned, resisting the urge to thrust his hips up into yours right then and there.

After you deemed that the pain wasn’t as unbearable anymore, you experimentally lifted your hips, and slammed them back down.

It felt heavenly. You couldn’t get enough of it. You needed more.

Your hands that were supporting your body balled up, and you started to ride him.

The both of your whimpers and moans mixed together, a sweet melody that felt surreal to listen to.

“So good for me.” Sebastian said between groans.

He moved your hands from his chest to his shoulders, his arms wrapping around your body once more.

“Hang on.” He whispered, leaning back just slightly more so he could have easier access.

His hips began thrusting up into yours, his tentacle somehow going deeper thanks to the angle.

His third hand moved from your waist to your hips, squeezing it while he continued pounding into you.

“So sweet, darling—fuck. All for me.” He buried his face into the crook of your neck, taking in your sweet scent that drove him insane.

He moaned against the scarred skin, “I love you.” He said between groans.

You wanted to say it back, you really did, but you lost yourself in pleasure.

Your mind felt fuzzy, as if there was nothing but dandelions occupying it.

His hold on you tightened, pressing you impossibly close to him, your chest flush against his.

The familiar feeling of your climax started to rise again, which caused your walls to clench around his tentacle tightly.

His hips were moving at an impossible speed, snapping up into yours as if that’s all that mattered, but it started to stutter. He babbled nonsense, trying to form a coherent sentence. All that was keeping him from falling apart were the animalistic urges to breed.

It was so sudden. Your climax hit you so harshly that you couldn’t even bring yourself to hold a sweet moan back.

That’s all he needed to finally finish. His sweet voice was all that filled your ears as his essence spilled into your womb. Sebastian’s arms fell limp, resting at his sides.

“S—Sebas…” You couldn’t finish your sentence, you were far too overwhelmed with everything. Before he had the chance to process everything, you collapsed onto him, he lazily wrapped his arms around you again.

Sebastian felt his weird genitalia retract, finally satisfied. “Weird body.” He said to himself, chuckling before looking down at your slumped form.

Your hair was extremely messy, almost as if you had run fifty miles nonstop; then got caught up in a tornado.

Your body was sticky with sweat, and his semen slowly seeped out of you.

“You’re so precious to me, [Name]. I really do love you a lot.” He continued on, not caring if he was basically talking to a wall. “For as long as I live, I want to dedicate it to making you happy. That’s all you deserve.”

“I never knew if my mom was right about love. I didn’t believe her, if I’m being honest. But, this? I never would have thought in a million years that I would have been able to find true love.”

He pressed his cheek to your head, something you did to him that he loved. “And yet, here you are. You quite literally changed everything. You’ve taken all of my firsts, I’m happy about that.”

He sniffled, voice cracking just barely, “I want to make it out of here with you and try to live a normal life. I… I want to marry you, [Name].”

Maybe he would discuss this with you when you were actually awake, and not drooling on him.