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utahimeow · 5 months

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even death will not do us part — satoru gojo

summary — your wedding day with satoru gojo is not exactly conventional.

pairing — satoru gojo x f!reader

warnings — slightly suggestive beginning, pure fluff, established relationship

word count — 3.9k

author’s note — for satoru’s birthday ♡ i put my heart and soul and blood and sweat and tears into this and i hope u can tell. it may be the best writing i’ve ever done, so if u read it, thank u and i love u. also it’s like extremely sappy so pls keep that in mind lol

After a seemingly endless night, tendrils of golden sunlight come crawling through the blinds. They dance over your flesh that’s dotted with soft bites from your lover, and warm it like soft kisses until your eyes peel open.

Satoru’s already awake, ocean eyes gazing at you. A wave of memories of how he touched you so ardently the night before comes washing over you. After it, a wave of heat, his lustful poetry echoing in your mind until it pools between your thighs. Finally, the heat subsides into something warm, a gentle glow which settles within your ribs.

“Good morning,” your lover rasps, voice heavy with sleep.

You reach out to him until your hand finds his face, your fingers grazing over soft pink skin, your thumb tracing the ridge of his cheekbone. He’s slightly puffy, eyes still ever so slightly droopy, but slumber is not the only thing that simmers in them.

“Good morning,” you reply, your words hoarse yet covered in honey.

For a while, neither one of you says anything, instead basking in one another. Satoru drinks in the sight of you laying next to him, gulps and gulps and gulps it down like it’s red wine, until he’s drunk.

“Marry me,” he says. Time stops moving and your heart stops beating momentarily. Your mouth tries to move, tries to give a response, but every word you’ve ever learned suddenly abandons your memory.

He laughs, so obnoxiously beautiful, but within his eyes that carry a millennium of history there is only pure sincerity.

It shouldn’t surprise you this much—his question—not when Satoru had long since carved a space inside your heart, and you in his. You’d been together so long that sometimes you both forgot you weren’t married, and Satoru had a habit of casually stating things like “when I make you my wife”, because it was undisputed that he would marry you.

Still, somehow you didn’t see it coming, and not like this. Satoru Gojo was a man of grandeur–always dramatic, always making a scene, always showing off in some shape or form, whether it was you or his cursed technique. The last place you would expect him to propose was in bed at ten a.m. after a night where he made you see God himself. Although, the more you think about it, this is where he is home. Where he bears the deepest parts of his being to you and where he may shed the weight of a society that idolises him as a god. Where he can ask you to marry him as just Satoru.

“Don’t go shy on me,” he says, still amused by your disbelief.

“I-yes. Yes, I’ll marry you,” you say, sobbing out a laugh, launching yourself into his embrace and burying your face into his bare chest.

“What if we did it today?” he asks, his voice reverberating through you until it almost puts you back to sleep.

“Did what?” you ask.

“Got married.”

Your head shoots up, your eyes flitting rapidly over each of his nonchalant features. Once more, you don’t find a single hint that he’s kidding. “You’re insane.”

“You love me for it,” he says, his face like a mischievous cat’s. “And I can’t spend another minute without you being my wife, so please, elope with me.”

Unlike Satoru, you were never exactly one for grand gestures. He knew you never had dreams of a big fairytale wedding with hundreds of guests or a giant hall, and it’s precisely one of the reasons why he’s asking this of you.

“The higher-ups are going to be pissed,” you say, leaning in close to his face until there’s hardly a hair’s width between your noses.

“That’s the point,” he tells you. “Is that another yes, then?”

You stare into the depths of his irises, the ones that are swimming with adoration, the ones that have never changed how they stare at you, even after all these years. Not that you had any doubts before, but suddenly you’ve never wanted anything more. The feeling settles into your bloodstream, to your bones, to the very core of your being–certainty.

“Yes, Satoru, I’ll elope with you,” you say, and then your lips are on his. There’s a million words in the way he kisses you, ones that he would never be able to speak even if he tried, so he kisses you and kisses you in hopes that you’ll understand them. He kisses you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. It is.

You part, sorrowfully, heads spinning, but then you remember you have things to do.

“I need to start getting ready,” you say, and you already know exactly what his response will be–a groan, a whine, and him begging you to stay in his arms for a little while longer.

He does just that.

“Satoruuu,” you say, mimicking the way he whines your name. “The sooner I get ready the sooner we’ll be married. Isn’t that what you want?”

He pouts for the sake of pouting, then his arms loosen around your waist and you leave him with a peck upon his lips before tossing yourself out of bed.

You spend the next hour and something at your vanity, having never imagined that your wedding day would leave you doing your own hair and makeup.

After Satoru brings you a cup of coffee and plants a chaste kiss to your temple, he heads to the bathroom to shower, leaving you to finish getting yourself ready. When he returns twenty minutes later, he finds you standing in your walk-in closet in only your bra and underwear, looking terribly focused. You don’t need to be a mind-reader to know he wants to tell you to go as you are—he refrains, however. It’s a miracle that he’s able to.

“You should wear that white dress you have. The one with the sleeves,” he suggests, flapping his arms and immediately you know which one he’s talking about. A plain white minidress with flared mesh sleeves and sweetheart neckline that you wore to a fancy dinner once. You fish it out, and Satoru approaches you as you step into it and pull it up your hips. Wordlessly, he zips the back up, holding his breath as he does.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to see me yet,” you quip, giggling when you turn to face him.

“Baby, there’s nothing conventional about how we’re getting married,” he grins, giving your ass a tap as you walk past him to pick out your jewellery.

Of course, he insists on putting your necklace on for you too, a dainty Tiffany chain with a diamond sun pendant that he gifted you for your birthday years back because he liked to call you his sun. Again, the feather-light brush of his fingers over your skin sends bolts of lightning shooting to your fingertips. It’s reminiscent of the way he made you feel a decade ago, before he had even kissed you for the first time, when his cheesy, cat-like smile would send your heart racing and heat rushing to your face. When butterflies would erupt in your belly and you felt like you were floating. For some reason you found it hard to believe that feelings like that would persist, but it is in Satoru’s blood to prove you wrong, and he did, and he does still.

You decide on a pair of glimmering white Jimmy Choo heels, but before you can even think to put them on, Satoru is on his knees, softly grasping each leg of yours so he can slip the shoes on and carefully tighten the straps one by one. It’s something that never fails to make you giddy–to make you question if you’re even worthy of this man (you know you are, after all he’d spent the last few years doing everything in his power to prove to you that he’s the lucky one between you). Still, you think it’s perfectly valid to wonder what you’ve done to deserve someone like this.

Satoru stands then, a perpetual smile upon his glossy pink lips. He’s in a pair of pressed black slacks that hug his thick, toned legs, and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the top buttons left open (because you always tell him you like how good he looks) and nothing to cover his eyes. You’re the only person he’ll be looking at today, after all. He’d die before letting anything obscure his view of you.

He takes your hand and raises it into the air and twirls you around, his eyes drinking in every detail of you, inhaling your sweet, angelic scent, and now it’s his turn to wonder how he managed to get so lucky, as if it doesn’t occupy his mind from the very second he wakes up to the moment he falls asleep.

He’s still unlearning the idea that he’s alone because it was all that he ever knew from the day that he was born. He’s always had friends and caretakers and people who admired him and who depended on him and who worshipped him, but he was always there at the top, the closest thing to a god that a human could be—by himself. No one could possibly understand him enough to be by his side, not really. Then one day you came along and you slithered your way into the cracks and crevices of his very being and refused to budge, and you showed him that he’s not alone, that there are people who he can trust and depend on and people who he can love.

He never lets go of your hand, pulling you close to his chest and grinning down at you. His eyes gleam with a mischief that’s all too familiar, one that’s got you instantly suspicious.

“Please don’t hate me,” he says but it’s without any real concern.

You have an inkling as to what he’s planning, but you don’t even get the chance to open your mouth to question him because one moment you’re standing in the foyer of your home and the next you’re outside of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building.

He predicts the way you smack his chest and whine out a mildly irritated “Satoru!”–it only makes him grin harder, because he knows how much you hate when he teleports you without warning, but right now he just can’t wait another moment (and neither can you) so you don’t have it in you to be genuinely displeased.

As he makes his way to the entrance, you tug on his arm suddenly to stop him after a certain realisation hits you.

“Satoru, don’t we need a witness?” you ask.

His eyes narrow in thought and he looks around, cartoon-like, before his face fills with resolution and he’s strolling away from the building with you in tow.

“Excuse me,” he exclaims, and you follow his gaze to where an older couple are walking by, hands intertwined. They turn to him inquisitively, so he continues. “My gorgeous fiancée here and I are about to be wed. All of our friends were too busy today, so we don’t have any witnesses. Would you spare a moment of time for a young, smitten couple?”

You roll your eyes, but the grin smirk your lips betrays you. “We’re sincerely sorry for interrupting your day. What my insufferable fiancé here means to say is we would appreciate it greatly if you would be our witnesses.”

The couple take a glance at one another, silently communicating before they face you and Satoru once more, nodding their heads.

“It’s our day off, we were just going to walk around the city anyway,” the lady explains, her pale, weathered lips stretching into a gentle smile.

Thus, you waltz into the city hall altogether, and only now does it begin to settle in that you’re about to marry Satoru Gojo. The morning had gone by so quickly– you’d only been awake less than four hours, and during that time you never once stopped to let any of it sink in.

Now, it sinks in. All the way to your core, to the fibres and cells that make up your being. Inside your ribs your heart is swollen, filled to the brim with scarlet red until it overflows and paints everything around it, until every part of you, every seam that holds you together has been altered, touched by something that Satoru gifted you on the first day you met him.

Your lover seems to move in slow motion. Your breath is caught in your throat. It’s a dream, you’re sure of it. Then Satoru squeezes your hand, ever perceptive of your thoughts, and reminds you that it’s not.

After gathering a pile of documents, a man in a suit takes you to a room that’s a smaller version of a court and begins to lay out the papers, simultaneously explaining each one’s purpose and indicating what you and Satoru must fill out. You provide him with your own documents–birth certificates and proof of residence, and then the two strangers who had offered themselves to you as witnesses give their signatures.

Your officiant makes his speech in a professional language, far from the flowery words given by priests or family friends in churches or venues adorned with flowers and ribbons along every wall.

Lack of preparation means your vows are a repetition of a script written decades ago: you take Satoru to be your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish; from this day forward until death do us part.

During Satoru’s turn, he hesitates. His eyes shine with a strange epiphany as he stares down at you.

“...From this day forward, until the end of time. Even death will not do us part.”

There are no words in any language, dead or alive, that are adequate enough to describe the elation you experience. There is no concept, idea, or theory that would truly reveal the way that you are consumed by love for him. It runs through your bloodstream, intrinsic to your very being.

The officiant announces that you and Satoru are husband and wife. Now you are one flesh and bone. He leans forward, kisses you, and it’s a promise of eternal devotion.

Outside of the city hall, where time no longer stands still but you still feel as though you are not inside of your body, your husband Satoru Gojo bows to the man and woman who made your marriage possible.

Satoru Gojo does not bow. And while it is easy to attribute it to some god complex, to the product of his upbringing, as many do, those to whom Satoru has shown his soul know that it is rebellion. It is the denial of a convention he refuses to assimilate with, one he does not believe in, one which begs children to be grateful to those who have sown them as though they had the choice to be sown.

When Satoru Gojo does bow, it is not without good reason. Most often it is only when he owes someone his life—so he bows to the two strangers, whose signatures on a piece of paper mean that he is eternally yours.

Beside him, you bow too.

“Thank you,” Satoru says, then both of you straighten up to find the couple smiling before you. There is kindness etched into every line on their face, a fondness simmering in their eyes. Their arms are linked, and all of a sudden you’re looking in a mirror.

“Congratulations on your marriage,” the woman says. “I’m certain you will flourish together.”

“You know, young people are always getting into relationships, but seeing true love like what you have with one another… It’s a rare thing nowadays. Please cherish that,” the man says.

“We’ll be forever grateful for you,” you say. “Thank you.”

The four of you part, but the couple, whose names you do not know, now lives in a part of your mind that can never be erased.

The first thing Satoru does as your husband, as you walk down the streets of Tokyo with your hands laced together, is suddenly disappear into a flower shop as you pass by it, before emerging once more and handing you a bouquet of crimson carnations and white roses with a cheshire cat smile on his face.

“Your wedding bouquet,” he says.

“Oh, Satoru, they’re beautiful,” you muse, allowing your nose to absorb their earthy scent. “Thank you.”

You tug him by the hand that’s woven with yours, pulling him down to plant a kiss upon his cheek.

The next stop is a jewellery store, and you yelp as Satoru pulls you inside with him this time.

“Pick whatever ring you like, baby,” he tells you as you stand before the glass case where thousands of crystals glimmer back at you, splayed out on a bed of white. “Just to wear until you pick your actual one.”

Blood warms your face. It’s not meant to be a brag. Even if he didn’t have generations of wealth in his bank account, he’d buy you as many rings as you wanted until you found the perfect one. For you, he would find a way.

Your eyes wander over every diamond, over gold and silver and platinum, and it’s not long at all before they all start to look the same. Not wanting to spend your entire wedding day inside a jewellery store, you land on a simple diamond-studded silver band and point it out to Satoru.

“That one?” he asks.

You nod, a satisfied smile making your lips curl.

Satoru flags down the jeweller, a thin woman with shiny skin, requesting the ring you want. She tells him each of the five diamonds weighs 0.2 carats, making the ring a total of one carat, as if it’ll make a difference to either of you. He doesn’t ask her for the price, but she tells him it’s 550,000 yen—practically theft for someone from the Gojo clan.

After picking out a matching plain silver band for himself, you and Satoru leave the store and continue strolling through the city. To everyone else, you look like no more than an enamoured couple like the millions of others in Tokyo, and while a part of Satoru feels like he wants to wander up to random strangers to brag to them that you’re his wife, another part cherishes this little secret between you two.

From the day he was born, Satoru Gojo’s wedding was to be a grand affair. Sorcerers from far and wide would gather to witness the expansion of the Gojo clan. It was to be a several day-long event, planned intricately by the higher ups without room for any say from the bride and groom. Satoru did not want that—not for himself, but especially not for you.

Now he laughs as he imagines the higher ups’ faces when they realise he has not only married but eloped behind their backs. Though he thinks he’ll keep his left hand in his pocket the next few times he pays them a visit, at least for a few weeks.

“What?” you ask. His grin spreads from his face to yours.

“Nothing. Are you hungry?”

“Ugh, yes,” you say. Suddenly your empty stomach becomes even emptier, howling agonisingly loudly.

“Sushi Go?”

“Please.”

The nearest one is ten minutes away. When you get there, you sit in a booth next to the conveyor belt, with Satoru insisting on shoving himself into the seat next to you rather than across from you. As soon as his heat radiates into you, however, you feel like melting into him.

After ordering almost the entire menu despite your scolding, Satoru finds the ring boxes and pulls them out of the ribbon-tied bag from the jeweller. He takes your left hand, gently, as though you’re made of glass, and slides the glittering ring onto your fourth finger. He brings it to his lips, then his velvety lips kiss just above where the ring rests.

“Beautiful,” he says. He’s looking at your eyes, not the ring.

You twist it around your finger, lungs empty as it catches every ray of light that comes its way and tosses it back at your eyes.

“It’s a little big, but I love it.”

“I’ll get you the perfect one, don’t worry,” he says. “To make up for no engagement ring.”

“You make me sound so materialistic,” you quip, taking his hand into yours and slipping the matching silver band onto his bony finger.

“Just spoiled,” he corrects.

You narrow your eyes at him, but it turns into hearts not a moment later. He makes it impossible.

“I love you, Satoru Gojo,” you say, holding up your hands as you lace your fingers together with his.

“I love you,” he says, and the smug, cocky front vanishes, and he bares himself, his true self, to you. “More than anything in this world. I’m gonna prove it to you every single day from now on.”

Your giggle is drenched in fondness. “You already do that.”

“Then I’ll do it even better. This is a promise of that,” he says, thumb stroking over the ring he put on your finger.

His eyes don’t hold an ounce of hesitation, of questioning, of doubt. Only truth.

Your food arrives, and you wish you could say you feel bad about how overtly gross you and Satoru are being, feeding sushi rolls to each other with twinkling eyes, but everything inside you is screaming with euphoria that you can’t bring yourself to care.

You wipe a drop of soy sauce from the corner of his lips, and he stares at you like you put the sun and the stars and the moon in the sky.

Not to your surprise, you and Satoru don’t finish all of the food he ordered. One of the waiters offers to box up the leftovers, then returns with two paper bags and hands them to your husband, whose unoccupied hand takes yours once more.

He decides he wants to take you to the park. He’s not sure why. It just feels right, and all you want is to spend time with him, so you tell him the park sounds perfect. It’s only another fifteen minute walk, anyway.

When you get there, the emerald lawns are teeming with families, couples, friends. Children run as if they can fly, dogs chase after tennis balls like it is their life mission. Satoru whisks you away from it all however, taking you into the trees.

Nestled amongst the Japanese chinquapin and zelkovas, a cherry blossom spreads its branches out like arms, its blossoms like pink fingertips that flutter as the wind swims through them. Satoru sinks into the cushion of grass at the base of the tree, leaning his broad back against the trunk. Like a cat, you find your way into his lap and rest your head upon his chest, next to his heart. The way his arms wrap around you is instinct.

Sparrows and finches flit about the branches, dancing as they move from one tree to another. Two turtle doves perch together, huddling into the other even though the air is warm.

Even if you and Satoru do not stay bound together in this life, if death takes you or him early, one thing you know for certain—you’ll find him again in another life. Right now, however, you have him in this life, and nothing else matters.

dedicated to @ushiwhacka and @tetsuskei <3 i love u both

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo fanfic #gojo imagine #gojo satoru fanfic #gojo satoru imagine #jjk x reader #jjk imagine #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #꒰ lovers. ꒱ — gojo

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rodolfoparras · 1 month

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Capture The Moment

Pairing: Izaack Gauss x Male Reader

Cw: 18+, cheating, blowjobs, sub!Izaack, dom!male reader

Wc: 2k+

A/N: I’m fully aware that Izaack doesn’t have a wife but for the sake of the plot, he now does

Synopsis: In which Izaack’s wife asks you to keep an eye on her husband since he keeps coming home late, and you’re more than happy to help

Thinking about Izaack Gauss who always seems to come home a bit late and every time he does he looks very much disheveled hair mussed and three piece practically undone and of course his wife is bound to get suspicious so she kindly asks you to keep an eye on her husband, see if you notice anything suspicious and then report it to her and who are you to deny her?

The sound of heels clicking turns your attention to the glass window in front of you and there he stands, Izaack Gauss, dressed in the simple but chic three piece he left in this morning looking a bit tired from the day but besides that nothing about his appearance raises any alarms in your head.

“Sir,” he greets with a tired smile on his face as he searches his pockets for what you assume can only be documents. “Seems that I must’ve forgotten my documents today” he continues, but despite his words there’s not a trace of remorse in his tone “Is there any other way we can resolve this?”

A laugh escapes your lips, the sound echoing loudly in the otherwise silent lobby before you go to undo the lock to the cubicle you call office. “Come on in,”

The sheepish look on his face turns into something else, smile steadily growing til his sharp molars are on full display, tired eyes becoming more alert and swirling with something akin desire as he step inside your small office space.

Well inside you see that he’s undone the first couple of buttons of his dress shirt, thick dark hairs prominently standing out alongside the pristine white fabric. He’s even gone out his way to roll the sleeves up to his elbows, showing more skin than usual. And as your eyes continue to trail lower down his body, you see the sharp silhouette of his waist, tucked into fitted gray slacks that leave almost nothing to the imagination.

Izaack was one attractive man. You had thought so ever since the very first time you saw him standing in front of the little glass window, with a sheepish smile on his face as he dug around in his pockets for documents.

And when he spoke: his voice was deep and smooth, a couple octaves lower than what you expected it to be and you couldn’t help but wonder what it would take for it to go higher.

That was of course until you saw the wedding band on his hand and his wife standing next to him.

In that very moment you had realized Izaack was a taken man. Izaack, however couldn’t care less about that.

And as if he didn’t just stand tall in front of you, said man falls to the ground. The sound of his leather shoes dragging across the floor sounds all too loud in the otherwise silent office room but you revel in the sound, leaning back into your seat as you watch the big bulk of a man crawl up towards you.

He sits like a dog at your feet, cheek nuzzling up against your clothed dick, spit soiling your slacks while bleary eyes gaze up at you.

You almost want to drag this out a bit, want to watch him pathetically suckle at your slacks, want to watch those blue eyes turn glassy from tears, face burning red as he begs and pleads for you to let him suck your dick.

Unfortunately the limited amount of time won’t allow you to do that - an unknowing tenant may drop in any second now so with a nod of your head, you watch as his ring clad hand eagerly undoes the zipper of your pants, and you swiftly lift your hips, allowing him to pull down your pants along with your briefs.

You watch his dark eyes grow wide as your cock spills out, pink tongue peaking out and wetting his lips in anticipation

“This is what you wanted hm?” you ask, one hand sinking into his dark mane of curls while the other hand grabs ahold of your now fully hard cock, nuzzling it up against his face much like he’d done earlier.

Izaack eagerly nods his head, nuzzles his face closer and you watch with intrigue as pre smears all over his cheek and chin.

“What would your wife think if she saw you like this, hm? You say and yank at his hair watching for a brief moment as he snaps out of his trance, eyes glancing down at his wedding band before falling back onto you again.

“Jesus Christ,” you, laugh in disbelief “you wouldn’t even care would you” You say as you nudge your cockhead against his lips, and you quickly get your answer as you watch the way he eagerly wraps them around the tip.

Izaack had always been skilled with his mouth , you had known so since the very first time you saw him standing in front of a camera. He was quick with his tongue when interviewing someone, flashing his sharp molars when someone tried to intimidate him and sometimes even swallowing down his pride to get the information he needs and wants.

And it’s no different when he’s down on his knees, sharp tongue dragging across your tip, trailing kisses along the length of your dick before his tongue is once again lapping at your cockhead like he can’t bear to lose the taste of you.

“Mmm fuck- just ah- just like that,” you hiss while running a shaky hand through his hair as if it’s the only thing keeping you from losing your sanity.

Although there’s no smile on his face , you can see the amusement in his eyes as he gauges your reactions to his touch; irises glittering as he suckles on your cockhead, sharp molars purposely grazing the sensitive flesh.

“Holy fu-“ you yelp out and for a second you feel like the air has been punched out of your lungs, as you harshly buck up into his mouth.

The other man doesn’t seem to mind your rough touch matter of fact he seems rather pleased, contented hums escaping his lips, the vibrations sending sparks of pleasure straight to your dick. “Izaack fuck!”

Izaack continues like that for a moment, switching between teasing licks and suckling on your tip til your cock is practically throbbing with need.

“‘Enough teasing,” you groan out, this time yanking at his hair in warning and that’s all it takes for him to comply to your request, wet hot mouth sinking down onto your dick, taking you inch by inch til his is nose brushing over the coarse hair at the base of you. “Mph! God!”

It doesn’t take much before he sets a steady pace, and you lose yourself in the pretty sight he makes with his spit slicked lips stretched taut around your cock, fat tears trickling down his flushed cheeks whenever you graze too far back in his throat all while squirming around in place trying to subtly relieve his own hard and weeping dick.

The sound of the phone ringing pulls you out of your daze, and you quickly remember where you are and what you’re supposed to be doing as you blindly grab ahold of the phone and put it to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hello! This is Mrs Gauss. I apologize for calling this late but I was wondering if you have seen my husband? He was supposed to be home an hour ago but he has yet to show up,” the sound of his wife’s voice trickles through the phone.

“Mrs Gauss! Hello! Uh-“ you stutter out, momentarily feeling yourself going tense under his touch, like a bucket of ice had been dumped on you. Izaack however seems as unphased as ever as he continues to work his mouth on you.

“I really am so sorry for bothering you but I have a hard time going to bed without my husband, and to be honest I’m worried about him. So have you seen him?”

Oh, you sure had seen the man, down on his knees with your cock in his mouth while batting his long lashes at you.

“Yes Izaack- Mr Gauss!” you correct yourself but it comes out as a yelp as the man in question starts fondling your ballsack.

Suddenly, the phone falls out of your hands, hips jerking up as grunts and groans escape your mouth.

“Just like that. Ah fuck!” You moan out, head lolling back as you buck up into his touch.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” Once again the sound of Mrs Gauss’ voice brings you out of your daze, this time it echoes from where the phone cord hangs from your fingertips.

You somehow muster up enough strength to fish up the phone to you, hand shaky, voice breathy as you finally reply to the rather confused woman.“Yes! I’m sorry Mrs Gauss. There seems to be something wrong with the phone line-“ and just like on queue another moan tries to slip out of you but luckily you manage to catch yourself in time, teeth sinking into your bottom lip biting down so hard til you’re sure you taste blood all while watching your cock obscenely slide in and out of Izaack’s mouth.

“‘Mm should- should definitely get it checked I agree,” you say, echoing her suggestion back to her, before you lose your last bit of focus as Izaack starts sucking more intensely before he suddenly stops and pulls away.

The panic in your face must’ve been obvious because you see the way his lips curl up before his mouth goes slack, body willfully relaxing as he gazes up at you in expectation.

Jesus Christ.

You don’t even think twice before you start fucking into his mouth, losing yourself in the pleasurable feeling of the wet hot walls of his throat squeezing down onto your cock. The fact that Mrs Gauss is on the other line has long escaped your mind.

“…..it seems to have cut off again” Mrs Gauss says and lightly chuckles, sounding ever so oblivious to what’s going on, on the other end ” would you mind repeating what you said?”

This time it’s Izaack prompting you to answer the phone, a firm squeeze to your thigh brings your attention back to the present moment before you manage to utter some sort of response to her “My apologies, Mrs Ah Mrs Gauss. What I was trying to say is that Mr Gauss just entered the lobby,”

“Oh, alright, thank you,” she says and and sighs out of relief, smile ever so prominent when she speaks but you can’t help but think how the relief in her voice is a stark contrast to the intense onslaught of pleasure in your gut as Izaack continues to work himself up and down your cock “Well would you mind sending him up to me? I’ve been….”

But the sound of her voice fades away as you inch closer to the edge, the coil in your stomach tightening until it finally snaps.

“Ah- Ah Fuck!” You cry out, phone dropping out of your hand and landing with a thud on the floor, as hot ropes of cum spill onto Izaack’s tongue.

“Hello?! Hello?!.. It must’ve cut off again, they really should check the phone lines today. ” You hear her say to herself, voice echoing through the line but you’re unable to focus on anything other than the obscene sight that is you continuously sliding in and out of Izaack’s mouth with Izaack milking your orgams for all it’s worth til there’s nothing but pathetic spurts of cum landing on his tongue.

Eventually you grow too sensitive, body wincing under his touch and you use a shaky hand to push him away from you. “Sto-stop,”

The man reluctantly agrees, and pulls away from you, the last bit connecting you to him being a string of spit before it breaks and disappears.

Through blurry eyes you see Izaack, getting up from his knees, swiftly pulling out a handkerchief he must’ve been carrying with him and wiping his lips. He doesn’t waste another second picking up the phone that had fallen to the floor, before nudging it towards. “Hello?! Are you there?!”

One shaky breath is all it takes before you muster up the strength to answer her: voice breathy and strained, eyes barely able to focus on what’s happening in front of you as you utter the words “‘M sorry, Mrs Gauss I had to deal with something urgent but I’m sending him up now,”

#that’s not my neighbor #this is a queue ! have a lovely day/ night!#that’s not my neighbor milkman #that’s not my neighbor izaack gauss #that’s not my neighbor milkman x reader #that’s not my neighbor izaack gauss x reader #that’s not my neighbor milkman x male reader #that’s not my neighbor izaack gauss x male reader #izaack gauss #Francis mosses #izaack gauss x reader #Francis mosses x reader #izaack gauss x male reader #Francis mosses x male reader #dom male reader #sub male character #x male reader #male reader #x reader

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yuellii · 9 months

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catch me if you can, salvatore

𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 there are quite obvious red flags in your relationship, and they’re all from him

feat. neuvillette, zhongli, pierro ( separately )

note. reader’s gender unspecified, the old men of genshin ( i’m so sorry ), established toxic marriages given the prompt, possible fontaine lore inconsistencies

> [part one] . part two

NEUVILLETTE. always too serious

Your bedroom was a space sadly quieter than even the outdoors. For at least on your doorstep, the sounds of crickets were heard, the mechanical noises of distant construction were there—but here, there was not even a sound.

Perhaps you were too sensitive. But you also thought a spouse had every right to feel love and respect from their husband, and you felt none of that. The suffocation of this Fontaine air only brought up an even more suffocating man, and you fear you may lose your breath before even coming to your senses.

“You’re up late.” He stood right behind you at the opening of the balcony. Of course, you didn’t hear him coming from inside that silent fortress of a household. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

His words—you wish he didn’t say them, for they’ll unwillingly fill your thoughts with the idea that he cares. But sometimes ( or perhaps most ), you were too foolish to counteract that.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you simply said, continuing to stare out into the blue aura of the nation. A technicolor world made of music and machine—but unfortunately, your husband was only like a machine. “Was so caught up awake, completely immersed by your current court performance,” you yawned sarcastically.

He grumbled, “It’s a court hearing, not a silly performance.” Then, he joined you at the bar of the balcony, perhaps far too distanced from you for your liking. He was never next to you; always paces away just light tonight. “And I’ve been telling you, I can sign you up as a spectator or part of the jury.”

You almost snarled after he failed to pick up your sarcasm. “I’d rather die before you did that,” you scoffed. “Me? Sitting in that stuffy courthouse whilst you talk for hours? If it were my way, Her Grace would’ve had her way a long time ago. Perhaps you can learn from her, sometime. It can loosen you up for once.” He turned to glare at you.

“Oh, spare me the levity.” From the way he suddenly straightened his back, presenting himself a towering height over you, you knew you were about to be scolded. “If you cannot take the Court of Fontaine for what it is instead of a laughing stock, than perhaps you should be the next one on a treason hearing for exile.”

Your stomach dropped. As inconceivable as it sounded, you wouldn’t put it past him with how booming his tone was. And… coming from your own husband… “I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful, good Monsieur.” To very man that wore your wedding band. “But spare me one truth…”

“Right now, are you my husband, or are you the Chief Justice?”

You immediately regretted the question once his eyes looked ready to kill.

⎯ ✧ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

ZHONGLI. overprotective

Sunrise, Midday, Sunset, Midnight.

You could only see the light from the cold glass of your window, or the freshest air from your porch. Sometimes the fresh sea breeze of the harbor, but that was more of a rarity.

You loved Liyue Harbor; so did your husband. Living in Jueyun Karst was safe, sure, but it was boring. And maybe, there was a time that you loved the harbor so much during Lantern Rite—a time where lanterns graced the sky and fireworks were heard all the way from your small home in Minlin. So much, in fact, you almost felt like Rapunzel in those fairytale books when she leaped out of the comforts of her tower to chase the lights.

And even moreso like Rapunzel when Zhongli saw you at the harbor with a look of horror on his face, not caring of the genuine smile you carried before dragging you away by the wrist. Perhaps it was then that you felt more like his scolded child than his ‘beloved’ spouse.

Could he not see the light in your eyes as you pranced around the harbor? Could he not understand how boring it was to be cooped up in the mountains for your ‘safety’? It sucked, it really did. And it sucked even more once you tasted freedom at the harbor, once you met people that would never shackle down your life to never experience the many joys that Liyue had to offer.

“Am I your partner, or your controlled child?!” you seethed once he dragged you back inside the house.

“I am simply bringing you back after you failed to listen to me,” Zhongli calmly stated. Calm, he was also so calm, emotions be damned. “I told you not to go to the harbor, especially on your own. Have I told you what happened before through the tale of Osial?”

You coughed out in exasperation. “You’re acting like this during a festival?” There was a clear betrayal in your voice—it was truly something he had been hiding from you all this time. “You’re just going to let me be locked up in here, because you think a festival is unsafe?”

“It’s for your protection.”

“‘Protection’, give me a break, Zhongli.” You were near desperate to go back, like once you got an inch of freedom, you suddenly needed it all—but perhaps he only saw you like a partner who needs to be more controlled. “I married you for all your adventurous tales,” you reasoned. “You sounded much more excitingly interesting than you actually are, I fear.”

He continued to stare at you, face hardening into something of a glare like a parent disciplining a child. You hated it. You hated this, you hated him. And as he walked back out with the door locked by some force, you could only wonder how you married a man so cruel.

⎯ ✧ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

PIERRO. a master manipulator

“You know I love you.”

The large pads of his fingers massaged coarsely through your hair at the very top of your head, brushing the your scalp almost delicately like a doll.

“Right?”

It felt almost like Hell itself to feel flutters in your stomach from the way the deep mess of his voice resounded in your ears. It was akin to signing a contract with the devil, like this feeling of infatuation was a demon’s sickly trick. “I do.”

He hummed in contentment. Not like you pleased him with your answer, but like you answered him correctly, as if this some sort of test where there was only one right answer.

He had you seated down on his lap, and it still made you feel like a doll. But there was an uncertainty in it—one that made you question if you should be feeling used and disgusted, or in love with being pampered by your husband like this.

You married a leading man of the most dangerous elites. Perhaps the fluttering feelings pulling at your heart were more of a warning sign than something good, but you couldn’t help it when he made you feel so special. Special words, special treatment—so painfully addicting and so obvious to win your favor for your hand in marriage.

“When the time comes,” he whispered once more, as if speaking the holy words only pure lovers could dare to hear, “would you die for me?”

You should’ve know this was coming, truly. It should’ve been clear the moment he courted you, and painfully obvious once he wanted to wed you. A puppet he could control at his will, someone who looked so innocent compared to the dangerous looks of the Fatui—a person easily stricken by love and compliments, easily you.

But he captured your heart in a way that was devouring, like your love was swallowed into a black hold the moment you showed any weakness. He trapped you in a web you could not escape once pulled in, and you feared you were truly doomed from the start. But that was how the leader of the Harbingers worked; and that was how you gave up your life.

“Yes, I would.”

#zhongli x reader #neuvillette x reader #pierro x reader #harbingers x reader #genshin men x reader #genshin imagines #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin x reader

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saturnsorbits · 1 month

Text

Always a Groomsman

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warning: Angst (A Touch), Smut, Exhibitionism, Reader Smokes, Kaminari isn't a Hero Anymore, Brief Mention of Addiction etc. Word Counts: 5.4k.

Summary: A wedding, what a wonderful place to reunite with the one that fucked you and ran all those years ago.

The light is already dying by the time you finally manage to slip away from the reception and make a B-line to the back of the tent. Your feet are killing. The whiskey helps the pain, but even whiskey can't numb everything.

'Oi.' Bakugo catches your elbow, stopping you just short of freedom.

'Where are you going?'

'Need some air.'

Flicking up his eyebrows, he offers you a smirk that tells you he's not buying your bullshit. 'So it's got nothing to do with that then?' He hooks a thumb towards the dance floor and the drunken silhouette of Kaminari Denki He's curled himself around a bridesmaid, hand pinching the silk over her hip, lips hovering barely an inch above her neck as she threads her hand through his hair.

You chew your lip and lie. 'No.'

'C'mon... Just talk to him, you know you want to.' Bakugo's eyes widen suggestively.

'I think he's too pre-occupied to talk.' Something bubbles in your stomach as you watch Kaminari whisper in the woman's ear and you quietly shift your gaze so you don't see what happens next.

'You know he's only over there because he thinks you're mad at him, right?'

'I am mad at him.'

'It's been years.'

'He fucked me over, Kat...'

Bakugo's gaze hits the floor. It's not like he's forgotten what happened. 'I'm not taking his side but -.'

'No.' You raise your hands, palms flat in the air to stop him. You know what he's about to say. You've heard it all before. 'You've got guests to entertain and I am literally going to explode if I don't get some air in the next minute.'

Rolling his eyes, he plants a kiss on your cheek and uses his new proximity to whisper in your ear. 'He'd make a pretty groom, that's all I'm saying.'

'Oh, fuck off.' You manage to swat his shoulder only once before he's turned on his heel and returned to the mess of wedding guests that whoop and roar when he re-emerges into the fray.

The cold hits you as soon as you duck under the edge of the tent and step out onto the small deck. Instantly, you pull at your shoes and hiss as your feet are forced to straighten against the wooden floor. Before the throbbing in your soles has settled, you stagger off, limping towards the tall rail separating the deck from the field beyond.

It's a nice night, cold, but nice. In the sky, stars burn on a back-drop of navy, their blanket only broken by the soft, red blinking of the odd satellite or plane. The music from the tent floats out and lingers in the air, leaving you with enough space to actually think for a second.

You'd been overjoyed to watch Bakugo finally get hitched to Kirishima, but almost all of that excitement had died when you saw Kaminari. It had been almost ten years since the night he'd kissed you outside of UA, since you'd stumbled up the stairs to his dorm and let him be the first to touch you. He'd pretended as if it had never happened afterwards and you'd taken the hint.

A few months later, you'd moved south and he had stayed. He hadn't even shown up to your leaving party, despite both Sero and Kirishima telling you he'd be there.

But, all of that was in the past, or at least you'd thought it was until your eyes had grazed his as he stood beside the alter as Kirishima's best man and you'd felt a forgotten affection swell in your stomach. Sighing, you fiddle with your clutch bag and remove a half-full packet of cigarettes from within. You flip open the box, pluck one from inside and pop it in-between your lips before diving back into the clutch to search for a lighter. Rummaging for a second, you come up empty.

'Shit.'

'Need a light?'

The voice makes you shriek. You jump, stumble over your shoes and just about manage to catch yourself on the rail. Hand falling to your chest, you can feel the hammering of your heart through your skin.

'Am I that scary?' He snickers.

You squint, trying to make out his edges in the low light. Your eyebrows furrow, then lift as you focus on the man in front of you. He looks good, better than the last time you'd seen him: A scrawny shadow of himself pictured in a double page spread of a gossip magazine, something about heroism, drugs and a sex scandal printed in bright ink above it.

Flicking your eyes up to his, you're glad to see the spark has returned to his eyes. An old, but familiar shiver runs the length of your spine and suddenly, your stomach fills with motion. 'You... You look good.'

'Yeah?' He holds open his blazer, allowing you to get a full look as he slowly spins on the balls of his shoes and pinches at the skin of his stomach. 'Hero weekly says I'm chubby now.'

You're tempted to lie, to tell him that he's looked better, but you don't. 'No, you look good, healthy. It suits you.'

Something in Kaminari's chest stutters and he has to swallow the spit pooling in his mouth before he speaks again. 'Light?'

You pause. 'You don't mind?'

His face breaks into a smile, perfect and shining. 'Nah, don't even crave the things any more.' He misses out the bit about having enough nicotine patches on his chest and arms to stop a bull.

You concede. There's a comfort that comes back almost too easily, like the past finally catches up with you. It dampens the fire in your stomach, leaving you clutching at the anger that had grown inside of you since that night. You lean forward, letting him cup his hands around the end of your cigarette.

His hands shake when he tries to make a spark. It takes one, two, three times of his thumb coming down on the wheel before it finally catches a light and he can step back to a safer distance.

'It's still the same one, doesn't work as well now though.' He mumbles flicking the cap of the lighter. It's silver, with a chipped yellow lightning bolt painted on the front of it.

If you looked close enough, you're sure you'd be able to find the rough scratching of your entwined initials, engraved by his shaking hands at fifteen.

You breathe in, savour the burning of smoke as it infests your lungs and exhale. Turning, you rest against the rail and look back out over the field.

'So – you're -.'

'Sero said -.'

You both start up at the same time, the constriction of the silence around you forcing you both to attempt to fill it.

'You first -.'

'No, you – go on.' You encourage, arching an eyebrow.

Kaminari swallows. His heart thrums violently, threatening to deafen him, but he's just hoping that you can't see how bad his hands are shaking, how he can feel sweat beginning to bead his forehead. He's not an idiot. He knows how he left it, what you must think. As soon as Kirishima had asked him to be best man he’d felt his guts begin to twist and turn. The idea of seeing you again set his veins on fire. You cough and pull him back from the edge of his thoughts.

'I – uh...' He can't think. You're too close, too real and suddenly, his tongue seizes in his mouth.

Another beat of silence nestles its way into the conversation and you can't take it. You switch the conversation. 'Ei said you're going to work with Aizawa.'

He takes a deep breath and prepares himself to look at you, but it still doesn't stop the air being stolen from his lungs when he finally does. There's a flourish of nostalgia in his stomach and he swallows a grin. 'Yeah. He, uh, he sought me out. After all the – the, y'know, rehab and all that, he thought I'd be a good fit.'

'Yeah?' You raise your eyebrows. Kaminari's fall from grace had been far from undocumented. There had been barely a week that he hadn't appeared in some sort of magazine, his eyes dull and another questionable entourage in toe. Another one night stand, a model spotted having cocaine snorted off her tits; wherever there was chaos, Kaminari had followed.

'Yeah... We're, uhm, we're already working with a group of kids in UA. They got caught up in that villain attack down town. We do these workshops were we like pretend to be pro-hero's...'

Smiling, you raise your eyebrows. There's light in his voice, something you've missed and something you're keen to hold onto.

He snorts. 'No, I know, I know, but we pretend to be...' He shoots you a cheeky glance. '… Current... Pro-hero's doing interviews and talking about our experiences and stuff, y'know like it's miles away. Helps to sort it all out in your head, picture a future were it isn't all still hanging over you. There's this one kid, absolute firecracker... He stopped the whole fucking building collapsing before they could get everyone out, has a pretty nasty scar to thank for it too, but he does the most flawless impression of Bakugo it's almost scary.'

You bat at his arm instinctively and freeze as your hand wraps his bicep. For a second it's all too easy to forget you're not still teenagers clinging onto youth with both hands. 'That looks good on you too.'

'Huh?' He swallows before moving his hand to cover yours on his arm. His skin prickles when you don't pull away. It's hard to forget how it all ended. How he'd been too naïve to tell you how he felt, how he'd bit his tongue for months after he'd summoned the courage to finally kiss you and how he'd tried everything he could to run from the violent storm of emotions that had been released in his stomach that night.

It hadn't worked.

Avoiding you hadn't worked, neither had sleeping with other women or pretending it had never happened.

You lean into him, tightening your grip and the warmth of your skin reminds him that he's not the scared teenager he used to be.

'Helping kids, working with Aizawa...' You giggle, relaxing into his presence at last. 'It looks good on you. You light up when you talk about it... It's nice. Haven't seen you look like that since...' You chew your lip. 'Listen...' It's impossible to read him. His jaw is set, eyes facing forward as the cold begins to chap and redden his cheeks and you have to fight to push away the thought of how beautiful he still looks. 'I know you're only out here because Bakugo told you to be.' The accusation slips off your tongue too easily as the past rears it's head.

'I'm not – it's -.'

'You don't have to lie to me.' You offer him a broken smile, a truce of sorts.

'I really screwed up, didn't I?' He chuckles, letting smoke drift from his nose and mouth before turning to you.

'You did.'

There's a lapse in the conversation and he takes his chance. You're peering up at him, your eyes filled with the embers of something he hopes is affection and he dives in. 'Do you remember that night... Outside the school when... When, we -.' He feels stupid. The words lodge in his throat and refuse to move, forcing him to stop and haul in a breath. You'd think after all the talking therapy he'd be better at it by now.

He battles through, after all – he doesn't know when he'll get the chance to see you again.

If he doesn't do it now, he never will.

'When we slept together?' You sigh then tilt your head and finally give in, resting your head against his shoulder. Part of you wonders why he's brought it up, the other part isn't sure you care. Right now, you're just happy to bask in him. You've missed it: him. Even with the history between you. 'You don't have to apologise. I get it.'

'What do you mean?' Kaminari stammers.

'Well, It was a mistake, right?' It's a question disguised as a statement, but you don't give him time to answer before you're already trying to soften the blow yourself. 'We were young and people sleep together all the time, it's not a big deal. I just -.' You puff out your cheeks, finish your cigarette and drop it to the floor, letting Kaminari crush it with his dress shoe. 'I – I guess I just expected us to... It doesn't matter, you didn't want it and I respect that, just, it was just a hard pill to swallow, I think.

He takes another lungful of cold air, hoping the shock will calm him. It does, but only until he cranes his neck to look at you again. You're looking back up at him, your eyes wide and questioning, pupils blown out through darkness and alcohol. His gaze lingers on the soft pump of your lip and he's almost knocked over by the rush of memory that reminds him you used to taste like strawberries and smoke.

He wonders if you still do.

'It's not like that...'

You swallow. 'What was it like then?'

His voice is a whisper when he finally admits what he came out her to tell you. 'I was scared...' His thumb ghosts the back of your hand. 'I'm still scared.'

'Denki...'

'Yeah?' He's vaguely aware of the fact that he's unable to tear his eyes away from your face, but he's too caught up in the feel of you pressed to his side, where you belong, to care.

'Don't start saying things like that.'

'Why -.'

You lick at your back teeth, fighting annoyance. 'Not now. Especially not when there's a bridesmaid wondering where you've got to in there.' You hook a thumb back towards the tent.

'I'm not – we're not, we're not together or anything...' He's stumbling, making a mess as usual.

You roll your eyes. 'You don't have to lie.'

'I'm not lying.'

'I saw you all over her.'

'Dancing – we were -.'

Chewing at your lip, you sigh. 'It doesn't matter.'

'No.' He takes hold of your hand, squashes his own on top of yours and pins you as best as he can without forcing your fingers to entwine. 'It does.'

You swallow. 'Why now?'

'I – uh -.'

'Why not then?'

'I was scared.'

'You know...' You slip your hand from under his and fold your arms across your chest. 'It hurt when I realised that I was just another fuck for you, but it wasn't as bad as loosing a friend Denki – We were friends and you just fucking ghosted me. No explanation, no apology, you could have just fucking ignored it and I would have let things go back to normal, I would have just -.' You're crying, kind of. Tears well in your eyes, but you're refusing to let them fall. You've spent too many tears on him already and your make-up took almost an hour to do.

'I was a fucking idiot, I was scared and – and -.'

'I think I'm going to go...' You nod, swatting away his hand when he reaches for you. 'It was nice seeing you.' Turning, you're ready to make a short dash through the tent, ready to be as far away from the constricting air of the deck.

'No. Please. Please, don't go – not again, I just. Fuck.'

A hand wraps your wrist, pulling you back just enough that he can slip in front of you blocking your escape. 'Den - Kaminari.'

'Just let me, let me get this out. Okay.' He's pleading when he looks up at you, but he can't let you leave, not without at least trying. 'I was a fucking idiot. I was so scared that you'd hate me, that, that I'd be a bad boyfriend, or you'd move away and I wouldn't be enough, that I'd be too busy with work, or it'd be too much and I – I let that get the better of me. I was already falling apart, even back then and I didn't – I didn't want you to have to see it, to put up with it. You, fuck, you deserve so much and... That night...' He hauls in a breath. 'That night was one of the best nights of my life, not, not just the sex – just being with you and I – Well I did fuck it all up, didn't I... Look at the state of me - I couldn't, I couldn't have dragged you through all that.'

'Oi.' You fix him with a stare. 'Don't go blaming yourself, not for what you've been through - or how you've dealt with it. Never, okay... And for what it's worth, I would have gone to Hell and back if you'd asked.'

His jaw ticks, but when he turns to face you there's something almost thankful in the shine of his eyes. 'I'd never ask.'

You chuckle. 'I know. You wouldn't have had to. I've have done it anyway.'

He swallows.

You roll your lip between your teeth and bite down. 'So you liked me... Back then, I mean. When we – I wasn't just, just another girl that you...

'We both know I did.' He licks his lips. 'I was a fucking idiot, I -.' His eyes widen as he struggles to find a word to summarise the years that have elapsed between you and leaves him out on a limb.

'Do you still...'

He nods.

'And if, if it were to happen again, you'd want that?'

'More than anything.'

'And you wouldn't run away?'

'Only if I was chasing you.'

You smile, straighten and curl your body into his. 'Then...' You whisper. 'Kiss me.'

He does. Wrapping a hand around your neck, he lets his thumb rub at the softness behind your ear as your lips meet again for the first time in years.

Things go quickly from there...

It's overdue. A coming together that both of your bodies have longed for, for far too long. He kisses the same, with lips that are a touch too dry and a hunger no-one else has ever been able to match.

You have a mind to stop him, have a mind to stall his hands as they press to your chest and seek out the stiff peaks of your nipples, but you don't. Instead, you let yourself be overcome. Your hands find his belt. It's almost too easy to do, to unclasp the buckle and yank it clear of his suit pants. You cast it aside and are surprised when he doesn't seem to care where it lands.

He pushes you back, urging you further and further away from the wedding still raging inside and towards the scant privacy the deck can offer.

Although, it's more than obvious that neither of you care.

Each touch is electric. A build of emotion that had crystallised, now dissolving into your hands and dripping through your fingers. It's rough and needy, desperate, but more than that, it feels right.

'Here, quick.' You pull at the lapel of his suit jacket, yanking him impossibly closer.

He misreads the signs, twisting and turning as he attempts to wriggle from his jacket and slip it from his shoulders.

Tugging it back into place, you shake your head. 'No time, just...' You let your hand slide down his chest, feeling your way across the expanse of him before slipping your fingers into the waist of his suit pants. '… Come here.'

Kaminari moans as you make quick work of his pants, shoving them eagerly half way to his thigh. 'Don't need to tell me twice.' He chuckles, using what little air remains in his lungs to whine as your fingers graze over his hardening cock.

You tease for barely a second longer before taking hold of him and squeezing.

'Fuck.' His head rocks back on his shoulders, eyes rolling to the skies as he sinks into the feeling of having you again. 'I've missed you. Shit.'

You chuckle and lean in close, pressing your chest to his as you lick at the shell of his ear. 'Have you missed me or just my hand?'

Immediately, he pulls back. His hands wrap around your elbows as he holds you at arms length. He looks comical, with his pants clinging to the thin at the end of his thighs and his grey boxers almost dyed black, stained with pre-cum as his cock pulses in its confines, spilling more desperation onto the fabric. 'I really have missed you...'

Stooping to catch your eye, he raises his eyebrows and offers you a smile. 'You. Not the sex, not anything else. Yo -.'

You barely let him finish his sentence before you're breaking from his constriction and pressing back into him. 'I've missed you too...' Biting his lip, you ease the sting with a kiss. 'But, we really don't have a lot of time and I'm so fucking wet I -.'

He whines against your mouth. 'Can – Fuck, let me taste.'

'Maybe later.'

The idea of later makes his blood sing, but the sound of the party still raging inside quickly refocuses him on the task at hand. 'Think I can make you cum in five minutes?'

'Oh.' You squeak when his hand pinches at your ass. 'I fucking hope so.'

'Challenge accepted.' Grinning from ear to ear, Kaminari presses back until you bump against the wooden railing of the deck. His hands roam across your body, squeezing and nipping at everything he can reach. Reaching up, he takes hold of the strap before pausing. 'Can I?' Or will this rip?'

'It'll be fine... Just -' You push your chest out, helping as best you can as Kaminari pulls down the front of your dress to expose you to the air.

The cold air forces your nipples to pebble immediately, the lip of your dress forcing your breasts to sit high and pretty and in perfect reach of Kaminari's wondering hands.

He cups your chest, thumbs brushing over your nipples until you squirm. If he had time, he'd savour this. He'd crane his neck, bow to your beauty and take one of those hardened rose buds into his mouth. He'd taste your skin, savour the salt and lick effortlessly over you until your cries became the background noise to his dreams. Licking his teeth, he looses himself to the feeling of you filling his hand. The fat of your tit spills through his fingers as he squeezes, earning another breathy gasp from you before turning his attention to other areas.

'Denki...' You're breathing heavy already, your chest heaving as Kaminari takes his pleasures feeling every inch of you. His hands sink, exploring. He pinches at your ribs, skates over your ribs and grips your hips before landing a firm smack against your ass. 'Denki, please... Fuck, c'mon, I need -.'

'Yeah?' His pupils have blown when he looks at you. Rings of gold struggle to keep them in check as hunger threatens to swallow them whole.

You nod, helping him yank up your dress until it's bunched up around your hips. Shivering against the cold, your knees knock together as a wave of vulnerability suddenly washes over you. You're freezing. The arousal trapped in your underwear cooling by the second, even as your cunt burns to be touched.

'Fuck...' Kaminari's hand sinks into your underwear the second it can. His fingers brush across trimmed pubic hair before petting, gently, at your clit.

You moan, bucking into his hand as he slips further and brushes his fingertips across your entrance. Bringing his hand back up, he presents his hand to you in the air. Your arousal shines on his skin, the glittering light from tent making it shimmer as he widens his fingers, leaving sticky strings to hang between index and forefinger.

He admires the shine. 'You're so fucking wet.'

Nodding, you reach for his wrist to pull it to your mouth – tasting yourself and cleaning his skin, but before you can, his tongue darts out of his mouth. He collects your slick like a delicacy and moans as your sweetness hits the back of his throat.

'Denki, I can't wait anymore... Please -.'

Kaminari wastes no time. In a moment, he has himself freed from his boxers, his cock hard and twitching against your stomach and your leg hooked lazily over his arm.

You tug aside your underwear yourself, exposing your cunt to him fully. There's no time to waste. Something primal eats away at your insides, something you're sure will only subside once he's seated inside of you. Your fingers itch, one hand playing with the strays hairs at the base of his neck as you look down and watch as he guides himself into you.

The initial push makes him hiss. You're tight. Tighter than he remembers as your walls wrap around him and clench. Locking his jaw, he hauls in a breath through his teeth and wills himself away from embarrassment.

Feeling him twitch helplessly inside of you, you grasp him by the lapel and pull him close until your nose touches his. 'Don't you dare. Not...' He gives you another inch, making you gasp and roll your hips. 'Not yet, don't fucking -.'

'Don't worry, baby. 'm not, not gonna.' Holding onto his sanity with his fingernails, Kaminari pulls back his hips and grinds back into you. The rhythm he sets up is uneven at best, but still, each thrust causes his cock to rub directly across the sponge roof of your cunt making you whine and cling.

Lips finding his neck, you litter him with lust. Your teeth find purchase, biting down to stifle the moans bubbling in your chest as he continues to fuck you, bottoming out each time in an effort to give you everything he has.

'You're gonna leave a mark.' He speaks through gasps, his pace stuttering as he continues to try and please you. The muscle in his thighs shake, his hands struggling not to clamp down on your waist as he pushes through the pulsing of his balls that threatens an early end.

You chuckle, revelling in the goose-flesh your breath leaves in its wake. It's intimate, setting a fire in your stomach as you pull back enough to catch his eye once more. You smile. 'What? Don't want your cheeky bridesmaid side piece to see?'

His pace falters. 'I don't.'

'Denki, baby... I'm joking.'

The pet name hatches butterflies in his sternum. They bump against the bone, tickling his organs and making him feel like he could float six feet from the floor. Not for the first time, he curses his own previous cowardice for stealing away all the pet names the past could have gifted him.

Bringing your foreheads together, you pant, breathing in each others air for a moment.

It's always felt like a cop out to call him 'The one that got away'. The title had never fit, no matter how much you'd wanted it to – or wished at one point and yet, right here, now, you wonder how you'd ever even brought yourself to think of him like that. 'Denki... Denks.' He hums, transfixed by a look he'd only been able to imagine in your eyes. 'What – what do you need. Tell me.'

You chew your lip, muttering. 'I'm never going to cum like this.'

'Ah.' His eyes light up, a shock of understanding zipping through him.

It might have been years, but he remembers every second of that night you spent together. He remembers you quaking, remembers how you'd looked on your hands and knees, thighs shaking as your spine curved deliciously, your ass bouncing as you rocked yourself back on his cock desperately. How could he forget?

Slipping out of you, he pulls back only enough to lay his hands on your waist and spin you.

You twist, dizzy and grab hold of the railing to steady yourself. Instantly, you're up on your tip-toes, back curved as you wait, pretty and presented. Anticipation lances through your legs making holding yourself up difficult, but it's all worth it when you feel him stretch you open and slide home.

Not giving you a second to adjust, he sets a blinding pace, spurred on by the memory of what it had felt like to have you fall apart around him. The fingers of his right hand dig into the flesh of your hip as the other slides up your back and takes hold of your neck. He grips, leaning over you to whisper, hoarse, in your ear. 'Touch yourself... Touch yourself for me, show me how good you feel, baby.'

You obey. Slipping a hand between your legs, you spread your fingers to feel him rutting into you for a moment. The skin of his cock is silk soft and slippery with your arousal, grazing the sides of your fingers as you shift and finally, begin to rub at your clit.

'Fuck...' Kaminari's grip on your hip stutters, growing light as he feels you tighten up around him. 'Go – Good girl. Shit. I'm not – not gonna last, I -.'

You don't need him too. In a few moments, you feel the telltale rush. Your cunt aches, clit pulsing as your orgasm threatens to reduce you to your knees. With your eyes rolling back into your head, you struggle to keep circling your clit, but Kaminari's fingers replace yours without you asking.

His movement is clumsy, but he manages to fuck you through your high either way. 'Holy, holy fuck... You feel, feels so – fucking Hell.' Stuttering, he struggles through, pouring his focus into you as you milk him relentlessly, bringing him closer and closer to his own end. With a tight chest, you reel back, glancing over your shoulder.

Kaminari's face is flushed, his cheek bones brushed with a pink that makes him look boyish and young. The edge of his mouth is twisted, a cause of his teeth gnawing at the inside of his cheek and his jaw is clenched, bringing out the cut line of his jaw.

He's close. You can tell. The thought thrills you, your cunt tightening on impulse as you await your prize.

'Where, fuck, fuck... I can't cum on your dress, you're – you're gonna have to move, or, or -.'

Reaching back, you grab at the edge of his suit jacket and pull at him, forcing his hips against your ass. 'Inside.'

He doesn't get a chance to think, his body makes the decision for him. His balls tighten, pulsing as he cums, emptying himself inside of you. Curling over, he presses a kiss to your shoulder, teeth scraping against the exposed skin as he pours himself into you, pumping you full.

With your stomach full and his lips grazing the base of your neck, you relax into a bone-deep kind of satiation you'd not felt since that night. It's surreal. Absurd as you come crashing back to reality as realise that the party has begun to quieten inside of the tent.

He's still dripping out of you when you hear the high pitched whistle cut through the air.

Kamiari turns. Tearing his suit jacket from his shoulders, he drapes it over your hips, covering his own mess.

'You two made up then?' Sero's smile is blinding. His hands are dug into his pockets, thumbs poking out over the material as he shrugs himself into his shoulders. He's plastered, his hair mattered and a mess as it falls from its bun, but even the alcohol making him stagger doesn't put a stop to his mischief.

Kaminari panics. His voice is still breathless, shaking slightly from the force of the orgasm that had almost had him seeing static. He should have made you cum quicker, shouldn't have slowed down the way he did. Fuck, he should have asked you to come back to his hotel. You deserve better than a quick, forgive me fuck outside of a tent in almost freezing temperature. He curses himself and cringes. 'How long have you been stood there?'

'Long enough to be pitching a tent, you guys don't fuck around huh...' He chuckles to himself. 'Well, I guess you do but -.'

Struggling with your dress, you can't help the smile that breaks your lips when Kaminari shields you and helps get your tits situated and hidden once more. Stepping from behind him, you slide a hand down his arm and twist your fingers in his. Hoping this time he won't run away. 'What do you want Hanta? We're just about to get out of here.'

Even if you had been trying to miss the smile that brightens Kaminari's face, you wouldn't have been able to. He re-adjusts his jacket, now slung over your shoulders and squeezes your hand tight.

Sero chuffs. Still too drunk to know better. 'When I first came out here I just wanted to smoke, but now I'm thinking of asking to watch.'

Reaching down, you pluck one of your heels from the floor before turning and throwing it headlong at Sero's head.

He ducks, laughing as the shoe goes wide. 'That a maybe then?'

'Hanta...' Kaminari whines, but Sero is already backing away holding his hands up in a mock surrender.

'Woah, woah...' A cheeky smile tugs at his lip, bringing his left dimple out in a way that only happens when there's real mischief up his sleeve. 'I guess now would be a bad time to tell you that the lights out here cause a pretty solid shadow to be cast on the side of that tent then, huh?'

The colour drains from both of your faces. 'No...'

Sero's eyes shine as he reaches into his pocket and removes his phone. 'I've got a video of it if you don't believe me...'

-> Masterlist

#kaminari smut #kaminari x reader smut #kaminari x reader #mha smut #saturnsorbits #saturnscribbles

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fan-goddess · 6 months

Note

aemond + sex pollen + getting caught + public sex 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

aemond is betrothed to reader (who he only v recently met after she comes to KL), they had no intentions to bed each other before the wedding bc honor ofc it’s aemond lol but the pollen gets them and they dont even get to make it out of the gardens before they started getting freaky 😭

Authors Note: oooh great idea nonnie i like how you think! The setting is similar to the small garden with the gods wood tree, but it’s A LOT more secluded than that. Plus changed Aemonds morals a little but it’s still the same man we know and love ❤️

Warnings: P in v sex, public, getting caught, praise kink, breeding kink, praise, degrading, mentions of aegon being bad, alicent shows up surprise! (I know I’ve missed a lot let me know what though so I can add them!)

Taglist: @sofiyathecunt, @marvelgirl123, @sylasthegrim, @arcielee, @mochi-rose, @valeskafics, @humanpurposes, @watercolorskyy, @blue-serendipity, @omgbrcat, @lovelykhaleesiii

Ever since you were a young girl, your duty had all you’d ever been taught.

It was what your whole childhood had been preparing you for. Your septa’s had taught you what you must do to make t your husband happy and content with you, whilst your mother had insisted on taking on the role of teaching you the acts of the marital bed.

It was graphic, how she told you that you must simply lay there and allow the man to enter you, allowing him to do whatever it took to for him to impregnate you.

It was those teachings alone that haunted you for days when you were informed of your newest betrothal to the young Targaryen prince.

You had heard the gossip of the eldest prince Aegon. How maids that were assigned to his quarters left mere months later with not only a coin purse, but a swollen stomach hidden under their dress too.

It’s probably was why you found yourself as shocked as you were when you met the prince Aemond, and fell in love with him as deeply as you did.

When you kissed him one late night in the depths of the library, it felt like everything was right. Aemonds hands felt perfect as they held your waist and chin respectively as he could. Yet no matter how disrespectfully you wish for him to hold you, your duty once again held a tight grip on both of your senses.

You knew that the morning after your wedding night, the bed would be checked to see if you had bled. And if you haven’t, you would bring a great shame and dishonour on your house, no doubt passing onto your own family you and Aemond would create.

So no matter how deliciously sinful it is to feel Aemonds lips on yours, that addictive forbidden feeling of his hands beginning to roam your body in between the tall bookshelves flowing through your veins, you know your duty as of now holds you hostage.

“Aemond, we-we cannot do this here…” You murmur between kisses and heavy breaths, trying your best to keep your composure as you lean away, only for Aemond to immediately follow your head with his own eager lips.

“Please my love... just five more minutes alone with you... then I will be satisfied. I swear it!”

“You swore you’d be satisfied nearly an hour ago my dragon! You’re never satisfied whatever it is you do! Whether it is your books, your training, and now even me it seems!” You grin, biting your swollen bottom lip in a teasing motion that only makes out betrothed more undone as he groans slightly in frustration.

“I am a prince of the realm! I could easily demand there be no checking of your blood!” It is almost amusing how desperate Aemond looks in that moment. His eye blown wide as he looks at you. His lips nearly swollen like your own. Even his cheeks now a deep shade of red.

“Aemond my love, it is because you are a prince of the realm that they check my Maidenhead!” You laugh lightly, stepping away from Aemonds heaving form that leans on the space you stepped from.

“I-I’m sorry darling. The moment got away from me… I will see you in the morn. Do you wish to break fast together? I could tell the chefs to prepare your favourite?”

“Aemond my love, we have broken fast together for nearly two weeks now! You must spend more time with your family before your mother believes I’m taking you away from them!” You laugh, intending for a small joke, only Aemond looks serious as he responds.

“I don’t care. You’re my family too. Married yet or not.” It leaves a heavy blush on your cheeks as you move to kiss his scar with devotion.

It takes the two of you a while, but eventually you find your own ways back to your respective chambers, where the both of you much to your respective guards reliefs, stay till the next morning.

Aemond to his chagrin meets with his family, while you dine with your own.

Your mother can’t help herself but talk eagerly on the debates of your wedding. What colour gown you shall wear and what food will no doubt be at the feast. But instead all you can think of, is meeting your betrothed later that day in the gardens, just as he suggested before the two of you parted.

Eventually you escape your mothers questions, and when you make your way to the gardens, you can’t help but admire the bright flowers as you walked past.

You turn your head, and when you spot Aemond standing there smiling by the godswood tree as he watched you, you can’t help but smile seeing the small bouquet of flowers in his hands.

“Here you go my love. They’re flowers newly shipped from Lys, that have not even had the grace to sit in Westeros soil yet. I thought you deserved the first bouquet of them before anyone else…”

“Well thank you darling…” You smile, grinning slightly at Aemonds out of character bashfulness before leaning forward slightly and sniffing the bright flowers.

Only, you can’t help but gasp slightly when you’re suddenly hit with a strange smell. One akin to dark chocolate and a slight tinge of salt. It was odd, given what it was you were smelling, but what’s even stranger is that you find yourself already addicted to it within mere seconds. Already eager to bury your head into the arrangement and practically live there in order to smell that delightful thing as much as you could.

The only reason you find yourself not, is because Aemond quickly takes the bouquet out of your hands to sniff it himself.

Only when you see his eye widen and look at you, you can practically see it turn from a light lilac to a dark shade of purple, and you realise it’s not just you whose affected by the strange aroma.

“My love… I wish I could be sorry for what I am about to do, but I’m not.” Is all he says, before dropping the arrangement somewhere and shoving you against the tree, his lips eagerly connecting with yours in a passionate embrace.

Yet even with the vow of keeping your honour and your maidenhead screaming at you in your head, the feeling of Aemonds hands roaming your entire body is doing something to you that you cannot help but embrace wholeheartedly.

Your own hands eagerly take grasp of Aemonds hair and tugs, allowing a deep groan of his to practically resonate throughout your whole body.

“Aemond…” You murmur, “I want this. So much… but are you sure?”

He growls as he speaks, as if taken over by some other being, and you can’t deny how it makes your smallclothes feel strangely sticky and wet against your skin, and how much you like it.

“Of course I am ñuha jorrāelagon… but I must say that with what is coursing through my veins, I will not be gentle with you, like how I know you would enjoy. I will be rough, and animalistic. Do you think you can handle that?”

“Yes Aemond… I think I am able to handle all that… and more-“

You don’t even get to finish, as Aemond takes ahold of your face and kisses you harsher than he ever has done before. His teeth clash against yours, and you almost swear you can feel a tinge of blood on your tongue as he forces his and your own to move in some strange type of dance.

It’s so intense that feeling, that you don’t even realise entirely when Aemond rips the front of your dress open, allowing your front body to be revealed to him whilst you shiver slightly at the cold. Though you begin to quickly warm up when Aemond hot mouth leaves wet kisses all gone the length of your chest, trailing all the way to your breast that heave under the harshness of your sudden breaths.

“Good girl… what a good fucking girl I have for me to marry, and fuck my seed into…”

You whimper, and it all seems to turn into a sort of heavenly haze.

The taste of his lips on yours are like pure heaven, and his touch feels almost sinful as his fingers tweak and kneed at your breasts with hunger.

It’s only worse when he practically rips your soaked through smallclothes from your body, and stops a moment to smell them. The sight alone shocking you whilst you hang your mouth open in surprised arousal, a small breathless sound you don’t even realise you’re making being all you can say in that moment in response.

When he stuffs them in his pocket though and quickly undoes his leather trousers, allowing them to fall to the floor, the desperation in your entire body making you feel as if on fire when you catch sight of his cock, which smacks against his belly with a slight wet sound.

“Do you wish for it wife? Do you wish for me to fuck you senseless and fill you with my seed, until all you can feel is me? Until you’re stomach is swollen with our babe? Our heir?”

You’re breathless, but you don’t know what else to be. All you can focus on, is him, and nothing else.

When you nod your head enthusiastically though to his question, his brows furrow in some type of anger, and quick apologises and pleas spill from your mouth.

“I’m sorry husband, yes yes yes please fill me with your seed! I want all of kingslanding to know who is my lord husband, and who has claimed me as theirs! I want your cum dripping down my thighs and to remain inside of me until a child is born from us! Please husband allow me to carry your heir!”

Your pleas certainly seem to affective, as Aemond releases a roguish growl of approval and quickly moves to position his weeping almost pretty looking cock at your entrance, before looking at your face carefully whilst he inserts himself slowly.

You can feel your face scrunch in a painful way whilst you make a wounded sound, but Aemonds soothing touch and words make you preen so much you almost find yourself forgetting about it all.

“Doing so good for me ñuha ābrazȳrys… my sweet wife’s going to be dripping of me…”

You let out a broken moan, and yet in Aemonds eye it is too loud, as he swallows it with his own mouth. His tongue prying you lips open and practically dancing with yours.

He ruts into you like a madman, the thrusts having no true rhythm as he allows himself only to have his mind sink into the feeling of pleasure only you can give him. The feeling that consumes him better than anything in the world.

It’s deadly, and hot, and sinful, which is why it is such an addictive thing to be feeling at that moment as he groans into your mouth. The frantic rutting of his hips becoming somehow more manic as you feel his cock throb deep inside your heat.

However, such an addictive thing is dangerous, as when Aemonds grip on your upper thighs tighten to become near bruising whilst his cock spasms slightly as he groans in completion, your own face hidden in the sweaty curve of his neck as you feel your own walls tightening around him. However, the sudden realisation of a voice being heard, leaves your eyes suddenly widening in horror.

It’s a shrill feminine voice that speaks. “What in the seven is going on here!”

You can feel Aemonds spent still hot in your womb, aswell as your own juices dripping down your naked legs, which is why it is so horrifying to turn your head to see who the voice belongs to, and make eyes with the queen. Who stands before you and Aemond with a stern and scared face, her eyes seemingly unable to continue to stare at the scene before her as they look to the sky.

You and Aemond quickly move to correct yourselves, even though that feeling of desire in yours and his’ bodies almost seem to force you to want to continue. Though the shame quite forcibly overwhelms it.

It’s overwhelming in fact, when you attempt to make yourself modest and realise Aemonds eager attempts to caress you made it so the front of your dress is ruined. It’s even worse when you quickly realise you have no smallclothes to stop the trail of Aemonds spent flowing down your thighs.

An almost amused expression taking over him when he sees your dilemma, and an even stranger reaction seems to take over him when his mother turns her back for a second and he flashes you a glimpse of your smallclothes from his trousers pocket.

“I have excused Aegons debauchery for many years, and for it to go unpunished-“ The queen starts as she can now finally look at the two of you, her hands fiddling with themselves whilst she does so in what can be described as a nervous manner. “Which is why I cannot allow this sort of thing to go unpunished now with you Aemond. I would have never of suspected this of you my son, and this is the reason I feel so shameful of you. I expect this of Aegon, not you.”

You turn to your betrothed, and the man flashing you a view of your smallclothes with a smile on his face is gone. What instead stands beside you is a grim faced gentleman, who is an image of solemness and dishonour. It is obvious how much the queens words have affected him, no matter how much you know he’ll deny it later.

“I shall make it so that the two of yours betrothal to be hastened. As quick as moon tea is to be made and drunk, we cannot allow gossip to be weaves into our already, dare I even say it, hellish society. Is next month too quick? I only say as as much as the two of you would like to deny, it only takes one time to conceive a babe. That much your brother has proven to me…”

The queens words shake you, and yet when you meet Aemonds own anxious gaze, the two of you cannot help but nod heads in agreement.

“Splendid! I do believe this soured castle is in need of a happy day or two…” The queen smiles, almost looking lost in thought for a moment at the idea, before walking away without a glance behind her. Allowing the two of you to stand in the seriousness of the moment.

Aemond turns to you with sorrow, and you almost find yourself gasping in shock when he begins to get on his knees and grasps his hands on yours. “My love… I am so sorry! I have dishonoured you greatly with what was supposed to be a gift, which I why I completely understand if you wish to-“

“Aemond my dragon, you must not be sorry! We both had been struck with whatever was in those dreaded flowers! Yet it does not matter now! I love you, my dragon, and this will not change that…” You kneel with him in the dirt, and it’s like his whole personality changes, as he pulls you into a deep hug and buries his face in your neck.

Your hands move to cup his head where it lays, and you almost swear you can feel the fabric of your dress dampen with possible tears. But you say nothing to spare him the embarrassment. Instead, you allow him to stay there.

Your dragon, your Aemond, will always be safe in your arms.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen/reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x reader #prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #my works #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #my kinktober #house of the dragon smut #hotd fic #alicent hightower

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aemondtargaryenonlyfans · 7 months

Text

KINKTOBER SLEEPOVER.

No. 3 -> GIF.

Modern!Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTEN-MINORS DNI; oral (fem receiving), face sitting, masturbating, licking cum off body (cum eating?), exes to lovers

WORDS: 1.2 K

NOTES: Thank you @chattylurker for this request! I love that you requested it to be In The Space Between Aemond and Reader.

Even before you had the chance to answer, Aemond’s hands hooked beneath your armpits to effortlessly throw you over his shoulder. The eagerness of his actions had you squealing which quickly melted into a fit of giggles.

“Seven months without that sweet cunt of yours,” he mumbled, his boxer briefs getting lost on the way towards your bed. “Need to taste you… fuck.”

Every sound you had made before died in your throat at his words, and a shiver ran down your spine to the soles of your feet. You’d most definitely be sore when morning came, turning the wedding into a living hell for you. “What?” you whispered, almost inaudible. “You’ve heard that right,” came his cocky reply.

When he dropped you on the bed, you were quick to make yourself comfortable in the fluffy pillows, spreading your legs once your flimsy thong was flung through the room. But then, the mattress dipped beneath his weight, and, while you were more than certain he’d shuffle to lie down between your legs, he lay down next to you.

Aemond had an eyebrow raised as he met your eyes, and even without him saying anything, you knew what he had in mind. “Sit on my face,” he commanded, causing embarrassment to color you from the inside out. A bright red tinted your cheeks and neck, your teeth digging into your bottom lip.

During your relationship, you both had tried out more than enough positions, some of them lewd enough they’d make other people blush in shame. And yet you were hesitant to climb his face, not that you had done so in seven months. Aemond tilted his head slightly as if to encourage you to move, his hand clasping around your wrist to gently pull you towards him. “Don’t make me repeat myself, bunny,” he said. “You know I don’t like that.”

You did as he told, and moved to straddle his waist, even if you were hesitant to do so, bracing both your hands on his chest. You looked down at him with more or less widened eyes, seeming as if you had forgotten how it all worked – as if he hadn’t fucked you over the railing of the balcony just a few minutes prior. The man beneath you sighed, and both his hands wrapped around your thighs. Gripping them rather tightly, he flexed his biceps and hoisted you up, positioning you on his face himself.

Another squeal — or perhaps even a startled gasp – left your lips, and soon enough you found yourself hovering over his face with both hands tightly clutching the headboard.

“T-Tap me three times when you need air, yes?” you asked, an edge of nervousness in your voice.

Aemond just rolled his eye, but nodded still, knowing damn well he didn’t have to rely on the tapping if he ever felt the need to breathe. He’d gladly die with his face buried between your legs, swallowing every drop of your delicious juices while he perished.

“Are you quite finished now?” he asked, and the way his eyes crinkled gave away that he was grinning. His breath fanning over your soaked folds had anticipation bubbling in your stomach, your body on full alert. “We’ve done this plenty of times before, sweets, c’mon.”

You meekly nodded, and bit your bottom lip before you lowered yourself on top of him. The first few flicks of his tongue had you mewling, the anticipation quickly turning into a heat that spread through your veins like wildfire. No matter how badly you wanted to keep your eyes locked with his, yours fluttered shut at the pleasure, a shuddered breath leaving your lips. “Fuck, yes… Aem,” you moaned, your inhibitions quickly toppling over.

His tongue probed deep enough to make you whine, and each time you gently rocked your hips against his face, his nose nuzzled against your aching clit so perfectly, amplifying your pleasure. One of your hands entangled into his silver strands, the tug you gave him harsh enough to make him groan. The reverberations of it against your core elicited another moan from you, and you liked his confidence, knowing he felt no shame in showing just how much he enjoyed pleasuring you.

It seemed as if Aemond conquered you anew, reclaiming what he had lost a few months ago, spurred on by all the sweet sounds you made because of him.

“That’s-That’s it,” you whimpered. Your thighs clenched around his face when his tongue dragged through your folds, his lips wrapping around your clit to suck causing your body to twitch. “So, so close, Aem. Just-Just like that… please.”

In your state of ecstasy, your other hand slipped beneath your tanktop up to your breasts, teasing your nipples and squeezing your flesh only to be joined by his large one not long after.

With the coil inside of you tightening, your muscles tensed, and your hips started to move on their own accord, rocking against his face with new-found vigor, much more confident and determined than before. No words left your throat, only whines and whimpers that heralded your orgasm.

You felt your legs trembling from how tightly they clenched around his face with the force of your orgasm, having passed the stage of soreness and overstimulation so quickly, there only was pleasure. You rode out your high on his face, and only once you came down from it, you noticed that he was stroking himself frantically to the sight of you falling apart all over his tongue.

“Fuck,” you whined at the realization, a new wave of arousal dripping out of your core. The ministrations of Aemond’s tongue had long seized, prompting you to raise your hips, his hot breath caressing your soaked folds. His breathing was heavy, a string of grunts and groans escaping his parted lips when he eventually reached his climax, his eyes squeezed shut. “That’s it,” you spoke gently, coaxing him through his own orgasm.

And while he caught his breath, you climbed off of him, avoiding to lean in to connect your lips in a kiss. On your way towards his stomach, you caught a glimpse of his chiseled jaw, glistening with your arousal in the dim light of the room. You had successfully claimed him.

His eyes widened when you positioned yourself between his legs, his mouth agape as he watched you carefully. Your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, sucking gently while you swallowed the remaining drops of his seed. Releasing it with a lewd pop, you tilted your head a bit and kept your eyes locked with his, before you followed the trails of seed on his lower abdomen, licking him clean.

You moaned at the salty taste on your tongue, and quickly climbed over him to capture his lips in a searing kiss, mixing both your juices and tastes. His husky groan was swallowed by you, and your lips merely parted for you both to draw in a deep breath.

“Don’t fucking know how I managed to live without you,” he rasped, propping himself up on his elbows as his lips chased yours for yet another kiss. You smiled against them, dragging your tongue over his bottom lip. “You no longer have to, Aem.”

491 notes · View notes

sapphire-writes · 1 year

Text

The Au Pair (modern!HOTD) part 2

Part 1 ~ Part 2

pairing: Daemon x fem!Reader x Rhaenyra

summary: Your job nannying for the Targaryens takes an unexpected turn.

warnings: 18+ (explicit sex, oral fem receiving, fingering), slight power imbalance as they're your bosses, language

word count: 4.0k

note: part 2, it's about to get spicy in here! I hope you enjoy!

Days go by like you’re living in a dream. You’ve fallen into a solid routine with the boys, ushering them out to the school in the morning, and taking them to the park (mostly to gossip with Shae). You can’t help the gnawing feeling inside you, waiting for the shoe to drop. It’s almost been a month and you’re still around. As Shae said, previously unheard of.

“They’ve got some wedding this weekend,” Shae says waving to one of the kids.

You’re sitting on your usual bench with her, sipping on a hot drink, rocking Joffrey’s carriage with your foot slightly. He’s out cold, snuggled up with his favorite plushie, a soft dragon egg. You raise an eyebrow at Shae.

“A wedding sounds fun!” you tell her.

“There'll be some drama, that’s for sure,” she teases, “I’ll have plenty of gossip to spill when we get back.”

“If I’m still here,” you joke, causing her to frown.

“It’s still going well though, right?” she asks.

“Yeah it's literally perfect,” you tell her, “though I feel like I’m walking on eggshells now.”

“Keep your head up, you’re doing great,” Shae says, rubbing your shoulder.

You glance at your phone, noticing the time.

“Shoot, I should get them home,” you tell Shae, calling to the boys.

Jace and Luke bound over to you. You hand them their jackets, helping Luke with his. He enjoys the extra attention as you zip him up. Luke is such a little love. He thanks you, and you wave goodbye to Shae, heading back to the highrise. It was such a nice day you decided to walk to the park not far from the Targaryen home.

Daemon and Rhaenyra aren’t present when you arrive, though the home office door is shut so you assume Rhaenyra is finishing her day. You sit the boys at the counter in the kitchen, plating the dinner that has been prepared by the chef. You lean against the counter, joining them.

“I don’t like peas,” Luke says, pushing them about his plate.

“They’re better if you mix them with your mashed potatoes,” you tell him.

Jace reaches over to Luke’s plate, swirling his fork in his mashed potatoes and gathering some peas on his plate. Luke lets his elder brother, before scooping the mix onto his fork and shoving it into his mouth.

“Much better,” he says through a bite, causing you to smile.

The front door opens then, and Daemon walks into the kitchen, phone against his ear.

“Then we’re going to have to figure this out,” he says roughly, to whomever he’s on the phone with.

He smiles at the boys, before continuing his conversation. Daemon sounds stressed, and you think it's best to remove yourself and the boys from the kitchen.

“Let’s go to the theater room,” you tell them, clearing their places, “and give daddy some space.”

Daemon wasn’t paying attention before, lost in his conversation with his partner, but you have his attention now. His violet eyes meet yours and you feel a blush begin to warm your cheeks. Daemon smirks slightly, before returning to his conversation.

You hope you haven’t put your foot in your mouth. You take the evening to yourself after the boys go to bed. A bottle of champagne with a silver bow was left in your bathroom as you returned to your room for the evening. Rhaenyra is too kind to you. You pop the bottle and pour yourself a glass, settling into a soothing bubble bath.

Long after your soak, as you’re reading in bed, a soft knock comes to your door. You had just reached a rather spicy chapter, your mind completely entranced in the text, lower lip caught between your teeth. You jump slightly at the knock, before opening the door and revealing Rhaenyra.

Her silver hair is flowing freely over her shoulders and she wears a red silk pajama set. She smiles at you.

“Hey, Rhaenyra,” you say, feeling warm from the champagne.

“I just wanted to apologize for being so absent today,” she tells you, “work just got away from me.”

“There’s no problem at all,” you tell her, shaking your head, “seriously, it’s what I’m here for.”

Rhaenyra smiles.

“Daemon and I wanted to offer you tomorrow evening off. Laena has agreed to take the boys for a sleepover, and we figured you deserved a night off,” she tells you.

“Thank you so much,” you tell her, unable to stop yourself, “seriously, you’re so thoughtful with the gifts, and now the day off- I really appreciate the kindness.”

Rhaenyra cocks an eyebrow slightly at the mention of gifts, but you don’t really notice. You’re too lost in the sparkle of her violet eyes, her playful smile, and the way her eyes flicker around your face. She watches you with such rapt attention it makes your heart beat faster in your chest.

“We really like you,” she tells you, reaching out to stroke your cheek.

Your lips part, and you cannot help but let your gaze fall on hers. Pink, plump, and waiting. You blink rapidly. She’s your boss.

“We would really like to keep you,” she tells you, “So we like that you’re happy.”

She strokes your cheek a final time before pulling away.

“Enjoy tomorrow night, have fun, and go out!” she tells you.

As she turns her eyes flicker to the champagne bottle, the half-full glass. She smirks.

“Enjoy the gift,” she tells you, bidding you goodnight.

You leap back onto your bed as she leaves, rummaging in your nightstand drawer. Your hand finds your vibrator immediately. Surely, fantasizing about your boss isn’t bad? I mean, you’re only human after all. It takes a couple of rounds before you’re finally able to find sleep.

The next evening you call your best friend, letting her know you’re free. She’s more than excited that you finally have a break. You decide on a pretty fancy club, for drinks and dancing. A much-needed night with your friends. A short silk dress clings to you, the perfect going-out dress. You’re wearing your favorite heels, strappy black ones that creep up your calves.

You’re having a good time, a couple of drinks in when you notice a flash of silver. Daemon Targaryen is there, clad in his signature suit, with rings on his fingers catching in the light. You turn quickly as his head turns your way, tapping your best friend.

“I’m getting another drink!” you tell her above the music, heading toward the bar.

You lean against it, putting in your drink order, trying to steady your nerves. You take a sip from your drink as someone comes up beside you. You know it's him before you look, from the smell of his cologne paired with some expensive cigars. You’ve heard Rhaenyra scold him for smoking but know he does it anyway when out with his investors.

“I can go somewhere else,” you tell him.

“Why would you do that?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” you answer, clearly flustered, all batting eyelashes and rosy cheeks.

Daemon wants to devour you whole. Leave nothing behind. Trailing you across the club and over to the bar has made him feel like a predator chasing its prey; his cock hard in his pants.

“I just imagine you don’t want to see your au pair when you’re trying to have a night out,” you tell him, nervously licking your lips.

Daemon watches you, taking a sip from his drink.

“I don’t mind at all,” Daemon murmurs, leaning closer, “in fact, it’s nice to see you having fun and enjoying yourself.”

You shiver at the feeling of his breath on your ear. You shouldn’t be so turned on by this, he’s your boss. You really like working for them, working with the boys and you really like Rhaenyra. This is wrong. This is wrong.

“Thank you again,” you tell him, moving away a bit, “for the night off. It’s really nice of you.”

Daemon nods, noticing your retreat. You glance at the section of the club your friends stand in, they wave at you, beckoning you over.

“I should go,” you tell Daemon.

“Behave yourself,” Daemon tells you, “and have fun. I’ll see you at home.”

You can’t stop the jolt of pleasure that lands between your legs at his tone. You nod, not trusting your voice, and make your way over to your friends.

“Who was that Daddy you were talking to?” your friend asks, eyes wide.

“Girl!” you hiss, “That’s my boss.”

Her mouth drops open in surprise as she cranes her neck to get a better look.

“How do you even work, with all that walking around?” she asks.

You chuckle, taking a sip of your drink.

“You should see his wife,” you tell her, blushing.

She squeals.

“Dirty girl! How do I get your job?” she whines and you laugh some more.

The evening is spent drinking and dancing, harmless fun. Daemon remains in the VIP section, lounging on a couch, sipping his whiskey while conversing with colleagues. His eyes remain on you throughout the evening, keeping you under a watchful eye. You catch him looking several times, a thrill running through you each time you do. It’s harmless fun, right? You’re not actually doing anything.

As you’re dancing with your friends you feel a hand snake it's way around your waist and you turn, meeting the eyes of a man with dark curls and warm brown eyes.

“Hey there sexy,” he murmurs, not removing his hand.

He’s cute. You blush, flattered by the attention.

“Um hello?” you say, eyes flickering to his hand on your waist before giggling.

“I’m Quoren Martell,” he tells you, continuing to dance with you.

You tell him your name, enjoying his boldness. You converse with him for a while, and let him buy you another drink. He’s charming and goes out of his way to make you laugh. Quoren Martell is just what you need to get this thing with Rhaenyra and Daemon out of your system. You’re just desperately horny, and a one-night stand will cure that.

“You want to get out of here?” Quoren murmurs in your ear, “Head back to mine? I have a spectacular collection of streaming services, all the movies and shows you can dream of.”

“Oh really,” you say chuckling, “you want to watch a movie with me?”

“I want to do a lot of things with you,” he answers honestly.

“Let me just run to the bathroom, and let my friends know,” you tell him, smiling.

You are pushed by people in the club and find your best friend in the bathroom, fixing her makeup in the mirror.

“I’m going home with that guy, Quoren,” you tell her.

She groans, giving you a quick hug.

“What about your sexy boss?” she asks, pouting.

“Haha,” you tell her rolling your eyes, “I love you, you good?”

“Yeah I’m good,” she says smiling, “have fun, be safe, and leave your location on please.”

“Always,” you tell her, kissing her cheek.

You walk out the door and down the hallway, heading back toward the music, when a figure walks toward you in the opposite direction. You expect them to keep walking by you, but suddenly hands are on your waist, pressing your back against the wall. You gasp, looking up at the stranger’s face, startled. There’s only a second to realize who it is before he slams his lips to yours.

Daemon.

His mouth is warm and demanding as his tongue splits your lips apart before darting into your mouth. You moan as his hands squeeze the meat of your ass, pressing you closer against him. Dameon brings one hand to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss. Your arms wrap around him, nails dragging against the expensive fabric of his suit.

Daemon releases your lips, tugging on your lower one harshly with his teeth before bringing his attention to your neck. Whimpers leave your lips and you thrash against him desperately. You can feel him hot, and hard against you- holy shit he’s huge.

It’s enough to rip you from your thoughts previously clouded by lust and you push against him, wiggling out of his grip. Oh no, oh nonononono.

Daemon lets you go, though a surprised expression is on his face as you flee away from him down the hallway.

Shit.

You’ve ruined everything.

You’re going to get fired. Maybe slapped. Probably both.

Oh no, Rhaenyra.

You hope you can somehow make it back to the highrise before Daemon and explain yourself. Your leg nervously taps in your Uber and you fly out of the car once it stops in front of the building. You push by the doorman and stress the entire elevator ride.

You don’t bother to remove your heels, running straight for Rhaenyra and Daemon’s room, crashing through the door. Rhaenyra is seated on the couch, feet tucked up underneath her. She looks up as you enter, her brow furrowed in concern.

“Darling-”

“I need to talk to you,” you gasp, “right now, I- Rhaenyra I am so sorry.”

She gets up, embracing you as tears leave your eyes. You hate that you’ve probably hurt her. She seats you on the bed, sitting next to you, stroking your hair as you tell her what happened.

“I would never, ever want to betray your trust,” you tell her, “I love this job, I love working for you so much, and this will never happen again, I promise.”

“Oh, sweet girl,” she says, holding your face in her palms, wiping away your tears with her thumbs.

Your eyes search her face, trying to gauge her feelings, but her expression gives nothing away. Like always, you can’t help but look at her lips, so pink and rosy and begging to be kissed. Rhaenyra’s eyes flicker to yours quickly and you blink. Surely, you’re now seeing things.

But then she leans forward.

Her lips are just as soft as you have imagined, and you let yourself get lost in the kiss for a moment, before pulling away just as she slips her tongue into your mouth. You gasp, standing up from the bed, trembling.

“Well,” a voice says, causing you to turn.

Daemon leans in the doorway, smirking at the sight in front of him.

“Getting started without me?” he says, loosening his tie.

Rhaenya makes a clicking sound with her tongue, reaching to grab your hand. You look at her in confusion.

“It seems you were getting started without me,” she purrs, tugging you closer.

Daemon throws his tie on the bed, moving to loosen his cufflinks.

“It wasn’t my fault,” he tells Rhaenyra, “I had to do something, did she tell you the whole truth of it?”

“What?” you say, now thoroughly confused.

“Ah,” Daemon says, shaking his head, “See? She’s trouble, I told you.”

“I don’t understand,” you tell them, feeling Rhaenyra stroke the back of your hand.

“She was being a little tease,” Daemon says, ignoring your statement, “about to go home with some silly little boy.”

His words sting. For some reason, you feel embarrassment flood through you. Rhaenyra looks up at you, noticing your pout. She places her hands on your waist.

“We’ve been interested in you for quite some time now,” she tells you, rubbing circles against your hips, “and we believe you’re interested as well.”

Oh shit.

They know you’ve been thinking about them. Both of them. Your eyes flicker between the two of them.

“I-I’m sorry-”

“What did I tell you about being sorry?” Rhaenyra scolds, “You’ve nothing to be sorry for. We just need to know. Do you want us, baby?”

This is not happening.

“She asked you a question,” Daemon tells you impatiently.

Rhaenyra gives him a stern look before her gaze softens as it returns to you.

“I’m not…” you pause, trying to wrap your brain around the situation, “I’m not losing my job?”

Rhaenyra chuckles softly.

“No dearest,” she answers, “we very much wish to keep you, sweet girl.”

You look between them once more.

“Okay,” you breathe, “Yes. Yes, I want you.”

Rhaenyra purrs happily, like a pleased kitten. She pulls you between her legs, grabbing your ass with both hands. She captures your lips in a kiss once more.

“We should be punishing her,” Daemon scolds as Rhaenyra pulls you closer.

“Hush you,” she says to Daemon, as she begins to kiss your neck, “She didn’t know she did something bad.”

“Then she’ll learn for next time,” Daemon says, watching closely.

You whimper at her touch, as one of her hands snakes up your back to the zipper of your dress. She drags the zipper down, letting the silky material pool at your feet. You’re not wearing a bra, the dress didn’t allow for one, so your breasts hang heavy and needy, nipples pebbling as the air touches them.

Rhaenyra drags her hands up your sides and you bite your lip, trembling under her touch.

“Don’t be so cruel, my love,” she scolds Daemon, “not during our first time. We must be gentle with new toys.”

Her hands reach your breasts and she massages the soft mounds in her hands, eliciting a moan from you. Daemon walks closer, you can feel him pressing in behind you as Rhaenyra takes your right nipple into her hot mouth, swirling her tongue over the hardened peak. She sucks the puckered bud hard and you arch your back into her.

You feel Daemon’s lips caress the side of your neck and your lips part as you tilt your head to allow him better access. Rhaneyra moves her mouth’s attention to your other breast as Daemon sinks his teeth into your shoulder. You cry out, flinging your hand back and grabbing a fistful of his silver hair, the other hand gripping Rhaenyra’s head against your breast.

She laughs against you as Daemon’s hands move to your panties, dragging the lace material down your legs. The noises you’re making are obscene already at their attention and Rhaenyra releases your nipple with a wet pop.

“Needy little thing you are,” she murmurs, dragging her hand across your dripping folds, “and so wet already.”

Daemon has crouched beside you, hands on the straps of your heels.

“Leave those,” Rhaenyra tells him, “I like them on her.”

You feel her slender finger teasing at your entrance, and Daemon lifts your leg, spreading you wide in front of Rhaenyra.

“I want to see this pretty cunt of yours,” she tells you, curling a finger inside of you.

Your hands dig into her shoulders, your mouth falling open as she slips a second finger inside, slowly curling them against your silky walls. The pleasure blooms in your abdomen like a rose stretching toward the sun.

“You’ll spoil her rotten,” Daemon says, before capturing your lips in a kiss as Rhaenyra continues curling her fingers inside your pussy.

She merely chuckles at Daemon.

“Oh I will, hmm?” she teases, “I’m not the one who’s been leaving her special treats. You think you’re clever, don’t you? Sneaking around at all hours, thinking I won’t know.”

Daemon’s hand moves to your neck, deepening the kiss for a moment before breaking away.

“Are you angry with me?” Daemon asks her, as Rhaenyra dips forwards, circling her tongue on your clit.

“Please,” you moan, thrashing against her mouth, against his hands that hold you firmly in place.

“Of course not,” Rhaenyra says, answering him, ignoring your plea with another small lick of your clit, “She’s been so good to us, she deserves it.”

Daemon’s hand travels from your neck to toy with your breasts as your orgasm creeps nearer with every stroke of Rhaenyra’s fingers, every flick of her tongue. It’s all too much and suddenly you’re crying out, clenching around her fingers, your arousal dripping down your thighs.

“You taste as sweet as you look, darling girl,” Rhaenyra praises, removing her fingers from your center.

Daemon flips you on your back, dragging you to the edge of the bed by your thighs. Your eyes widen at the sight of his massive cock, as he fists it in his hand. The flushed tip is weeping, anxious to split you open. You nervously glance at Rhaenyra who strokes some hair from your face.

“He’ll be gentle, sweet girl, won’t you, my love?” Rhaenyra says, stroking your face.

Daemon drags his cock along your sopping folds, from your entrance up to your clit. He taps the sensitive button with his fat tip, chuckling as you squirm from the sensation.

“For tonight, at least,” he says, watching his cock spread your folds once more.

Daemon presses the tip against your hole, pushing into you slowly, stretching out your tight walls. You moan at the stretch his cock gives you before you are silenced by Rhaenyra’s fingers in your mouth. You suckle them, gazing into her eyes as Daemon presses your thighs into the mattress, spreading you wide. The sleek black materials of your heels catch the light as he begins to thrust into you.

You whimper around Rhaenyra’s fingers as his cock splits into you so deliciously, Rhaenyra whispering sweet praises into your ear all the while.

“Fuck you feel fantastic,” Daemon groans, rolling his hips.

Rhaenyra removes her fingers from your mouth, trailing down between your breasts, down your stomach to play with your clit. You moan as her nimble fingers circle your clit, a juxtaposition to the hard thrusts Daemon gives you.

“Such a good girl,” Daemon praises, “She should put that pretty mouth to better use Nyra.”

He swats away Rhaenyra’s hand, replacing it with his own, large fingers pinching at your clit. It’s rougher than Rhaenyra’s touch but you find yourself twitching against him at the pleasure it gives you. Rhaenyra rises from the bed, riding herself off her bottoms before crawling up toward your face. She straddles it, lowering her dripping cunt onto your mouth.

You greedily part her soaked lips with your tongue, nose nuzzling against soft silver curls to nudge at her clit. You dip your tongue inside her, relishing the taste of her, the sound of the soft moans that leave her lips. Your tongue explores every inch of her, pressing into different places that elicit more pretty sounds, more desperate grinds against your face. Your chin is dripping with her as you suckle her clit.

“She’s a delight,” Rhaenyra moans and Daemon angles his hips, thrusting against a spot that paints stars behind your eyelids.

You moan against Rhaenyra’s sweet cunt, burying your tongue inside her, stiffening it so she can swirl her hips around it. As her moans reach a new pitch you know she must be close. Eager to please you lap at her greedily, bringing all your attention to her clit until she’s trembling on your face.

“Such a good girl,” Rhaenyra croons, “Daemon, be sweet to her.”

Daemon snaps his hips against you and Rhaenyra leans down, pressing her tongue against your clit as the head of Daemon’s cock rubs against your spongy walls. The pleasure is too much and you’re cumming once more, clenching around Daemon's fat cock. He thrusts into you a few more times before pulling out and finishing on your stomach.

Rhaenyra pulls herself off of you, and Daemon releases your legs. Your heels are still on, the feeling of being naked with just them on is strange. Daemon walks to the bathroom and you hear him start to fill the tub before he returns with a towel. He gently cleans you, as Rhaenyra draws shapes on your stomach with your fingers.

“We’d like it very much if you stayed, darling,” Rhaenyra tells you, “the children adore you. We adore you.”

She places a kiss on your shoulder. You want nothing more than to stay with them. Both of them.

“I want to stay. With you. Both of you,” you tell her, and she smiles.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Rhaenyra tells you.

“As am I,” Daemon agrees.

______________________________________________________________

note: hope you enjoyed! as always, comments, likes & reblogs are greatly appreciated, I love hearing your thought! until next time, ily!💖

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@coldcomputerkoala, @louislouve, @alicetargaryen @fidelias, @earthangels-things, @shinypoetryface, @klara-lily, @ensnaredinwonderland, @bubblyabs, @green-lxght, @cheerbaitromanjosi, @billiesbeans, @hufflepuff1700, @asumofwords, @angelheavensblog, @natashaobo, @zavriocibrouku, @tssf-imagines, @delilah92590, @shit-posts420, @evattude, @heyykarolina, @brie-annwyl, @wondergal2001, @herondale-girl7, @teteminne, @euphoriahoesss, @mercedesdecorazon,

BOLD MEANS I COULD NOT TAG

1K notes · View notes

heartthrobin · 1 year

Text

please love me, like the wave does the shore

aaron hotchner x female!reader

wc: 7.9k

warnings: fake!dating, SO much pining, mentions of murder, only one bed, Hotch is very whipped lol, this is so cliché it should be a crime

an: the moment y’all have been waiting for! i hope you kids enjoy! this will probably become a lil series so stay tuned for part 2 :)

summary: murders along the glistening white coast of Cape Cod was not a good look for anybody. especially not the BAU. the case needs a turn around, a big break, but most importantly: a Mr and Mrs.

Portraits of grinning faces watched you from the whiteboard.

Women’s eyes twinkling. Husband’s grinning to the camera. At their wedding, in the woods during a camping trip, on a birthday.

"We have fucking nothing!"

Names and dates lined the edges of what used to be treasured memories in red marker. Memories each couple was not around to remember anymore.

"We have the profile." Hotch's voice was stern. It made the hair on your arms stand on end.

Outside, the ocean crashed loudly against the shore. Seagulls gabbled in the distance near the dock.

"You know that's not enough."

Chatham was one of the most influential and wealthy suburbs in Cape Cod, if not the whole state. Discovering strung out bodies on the crisp white beaches almost five times that month wasn't fitting for the shoreline that housed some of the most elaborate mansions in the county.

The BAU had been in Cape Cod for nearly three weeks. Two weeks too long in the bureau's opinion: a view shared by the team.

Derek slammed his hand loudly against the white board, over a photo of a tall, cream, wood-boarded resort sprawled over the edge of the coast. Seagull's Rest: Couples Retreat and Spa.

"Seagull's Rest is the only place that connects them.” He huffed, pressing his finger into the printed photo. “Every day that passes is another honeymooning couple that's in danger."

Emily sighed somewhere behind you. David lingered by the edge of the desk where Spencer was driving his eyes over some Greek mythology textbook, working the human sacrifice angle he’d been insistent on sharing with you over coffee that morning.

Police chatter busied the space between you and the other agents.

"Morgan," you pressed, "we have no idea what that even means. It could be maids, spa staff ... for all we know, it could even be other guests."

The room was warm, bright: through the window you could overlook the ocean. A scene too beautiful to deserve the blood painted across it’s portrait.

Nights dissolved into mornings at the sheriff's station. Coffee mugs finding purchase in the maze of photos, medical reports, staff lists: all leading back to the one place all four couples were spending their vacation.

"You know what this means, don't you?" David's voice carried over from behind you. You turned to face him, his gaze set hard upon Hotch's.

The team leader's jaw was tight.

He looked like he was considering David's words closely, sucking in a breath like it hurt him to do so.

Emily's chair squeaked where she leaned forward in it, "What is he talking about?"

Hotch's narrow eyes turned to face the team again. "We need to go in. Work the case from the inside."

"Undercover?" You probed, jaw loosening in surprise.

The team hadn't worked an undercover project in almost two years. Everyone understood that they were a last resort, when general good-old detective work wasn't doing the trick.

Hotch nodded stiffly.

"We're gonna need a couple to go in. Two of us. The pair has to match the preference of the unsub."

There was a heavy quiet before a collective understanding, a collective resignation.

"Fine." Derek nodded. He turned to face the board again. "The husbands, what are we looking for?"

"Alpha males, domineering personalities." David lifted a photo off the desk, examining it closer. "All high-power careers, wealthy. They have a handle on these women. Other couple's in the course with them reported the husband being out of touch, unaffectionate."

Spencer rose to stand, "But no specific physical traits. Unlike the women, they share a specific appearance: the hair, the height, the body shape. They all look like—"

Cold passed over your whole body from the highest point on your head. Like ice water had flooded your shoes.

"Like me."

Teeth sunk into the corner of your lip, the metal taste of blood nipped at your tongue.

It was impossible not to feel the weight of the team’s gaze, how they flickered quickly between where you sat and the photos against the board.

Spencer shrugged, nodding slowly. "Yes, like you."

You chuckled softly, missing most of the humor in the situation as you sunk further back into your chair. "I guess that's settled then."

It wouldn't be your first time working undercover, but you couldn’t say you were as experienced as your colleagues.

You'd joined the BAU last, working every possible hour and chasing down every possible lead to try stay in one of the most coveted positions at the bureau.

It definitely wasn't the easiest thing you’d ever done.

Yes, the team was welcoming - Emily worked hard to make you feel at home, empathizing with you about the difficulty of transitioning into such a team: a team that knows each other's every move and every thought before they themselves have moved or thought - and Spencer was always a friendly face.

Derek was considerate and David was a genius in the line of duty, a marvel to watch work.

What really made it difficult, was Hotch.

In the beginning, he was wary of you. You could feel him lingering when you worked, every decision you made or observation you gathered was held under the magnifying glass of Aaron Hotchner.

With time, he eased up. Trusted you with more, scrutinized over less.

It was then that the next - considerably more concerning - problem began, when you began to miss having his presence over your shoulder.

When your eyes began to linger over his hands where they rested on his holster, or fixate quietly when he brought that steaming morning mug to his lips - sipping oh, so gently.

You were so sure he'd kiss with the same tenderness. The thought kept you up at night.

The feelings you so embarrassingly held for your boss were pushed deep into the corners of your brain.

You felt secure in the knowledge that you acted as casual as possible. Nobody had mentioned anything, and the thought of Hotch ever catching even an inkling of an idea would be enough to never walk back into BAU headquarters ever again.

The only person who really knew anything was Emily.

It had slipped after a drunken night out, on the couch in her apartment, your fat tears staining her blouse: "he's so fucking hot I can't do this!"

And there he was. Silhouette dark against the cast of the sunlight through the window, looking down at you from his towering height. "You're sure you're ready for this?"

His voice wrapped carefully around your throat and you almost choked on its softness.

You coughed instead. "Ready as I'll ever be."

He nodded once, turning back to Derek. "The male?"

Derek shook his head, "Rossi and I went over there a couple days ago to question the owners. They know we're FBI."

The room turned to Spencer, who blinked big hazel eyes at the room innocuously.

You did little to suppress the giggle that bubbled out from your chest. Your heart knocked loudly when you felt Hotch's eyes flicker over his shoulder back at you.

"You wanna be our dominant alpha, Reid?" Emily's lips tugged into a playful grin, clicking the end of her pen loudly.

Soft laughter permeated the room, David knocked Spencer’s shoulder teasingly.

Spencer flushed a light pink, his gaze finding purchase at the open space between his two feet. "Yes. Very funny."

It took more than a few seconds for you to realize that without Spencer, there stood only one other possible candidate.

Your eyes climbed the length of Hotch's long black blazer sleeve. When you reached the top you found him already looking at you. You shivered.

"I suppose that means it’s me then."

Purposefully avoiding his gaze, you found Emily staring right at you - a grin curling up at the corners of her mouth.

"Mr and Mrs Hotchner." David chirped, a mischievous edge to his words. "Congratulations."

You managed to squeak out a sarcastic "thanks Rossi" but Hotch stayed quiet. It made you want to sink into the crevice of your desk chair.

Instead, he turned back to Spencer.

"Get Garcia on the line. She needs to set up aliases and get us registered for the next couple's course as soon as possible."

Spencer nodded once before disappearing into the next room wordlessly.

Next, he turned to you - sucking all the breath out your lungs.

God, he made it so hard to act normal when he showed up in that fucking suit and that perfectly professional haircut.

"I want you to go over the backgrounds of the women again. Get a feel for the unsub's preference, there may be a personality type that he likes best. I'll do the same with the men." You nodded, going to stand and finding yourself always just a little too far from his chest.

"While we're away, the rest of you need to work off the intel we feed. Let's solve this before there's more bodies."

Agents began moving in every direction: out the door, back towards boxes of evidence, but Emily crossed the room to you: eyes wide and alight with mischief.

She grabbed your hand, pulling you from the room and leaving Hotch behind. "This is going to be so fucking good."

Your stomach churned.

Just shy of two days later, you found yourself sitting in the front seat of a Mercedes Benz - god knows the bureau has its ways - only two streets down from Shellshore drive, where tucked into the curve sat Seagull's Rest: the beautiful lodge on the Cape Cod coast that offered couple's courses for new and old marriages that delve into the depths of the soul and connect partners in love and touch.

At least that's what the pamphlet said as it stared up at you from your lap.

It sat at the top of the stack of case files, documents and photos hidden beneath. You pulled out the ID from the midst of the stack.

The photo you'd taken the previous afternoon glimmered up at you: Mrs Eleanor Thompson.

With less than a couple inches of space dividing you, in the driver's seat, sat Hotch.

Penelope was talking over the car speaker.

"I signed you guys up for the Honeymooner's Retreat. It's six days long, but I'm sure you'll be out by then. There are five other couples doing this course with you, you'll find their names in the documents I sent. All their records are clean."

"Garcia, I want you to cross reference all the course instructors with anybody who has—"

Hotch's voice faded from your surroundings, your brain stuttering electrically as your eyes raked over his outfit.

A tight fit black polo that was hugging his chest and chino pants begging for relief over those long thighs.

The last two days had been painful.

You'd slept almost nothing: tossing and turning for hours over the idea that you'd soon be in much closer proximity to Aaron Hotchner than you'd ever been. Too close.

Emily had tried to calm you down, "just ... focus on the case, okay? whatever happens happens."

It was easy for her to say.

Her legs didn't liquify every time Hotch sent small praise her way, like they did on you, and she didn’t have flashing images of taking care of him in the way he never does himself plague her in the small moments of quiet throughout her day.

Making him breakfast, or taking his blazer off after a long case ... undoing the buttons down his shirt—

"They're expecting you for check in at five o clock."

Your eyes found the digital clock on the dashboard, it blinked red at you: 16:47

"Thank you Garcia."

"Yeah," you added quickly, "Thanks Garcia."

"Good luck lovebirds." The teasing lilt in her voice did nothing to calm the high power washing machine your stomach had transformed to.

Heat rushed over your face.

You could feeling Hotch watching you from the corner of his eye. "Are you sure you're ready to do this?"

Sliding your stack of pages into the Louis Vutton handbag at your feet, you forced a smile to press up into your lips.

"To marry you, Hotch?" You feigned a soft sigh, "I've only waited all my life."

The bubbling in your stomach simmered only slightly when Hotch rolled his eyes, what was almost a smile teasing at his lips. "I'll take that as a yes."

The car rumbled to a start beneath you, the expensive engine purring.

"We know what to look for. Keep your eyes on the guests, the instructors, anybody we interact with."

It was hard to focus on Hotch's advice when his wide hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly.

But you nodded anyways.

It felt like less than a few seconds before the car was being pulled into a luxurious white cobblestone driveway. A sign etched in ivory-coloured wood overhead marked the road: Welcome to Seagull’s Rest.

Bellboys stood in the distance under a grand arched entrance in cream uniforms, luxury cars stretched out in every direction of the parking lot.

The car rumbled to a stop. A valet attendant was already approaching before you’d even a second to gather what was left of your courage.

Hotch turned to you, slow and deliberate as was his manner, leaning precariously over the console. "Remember, we're being watched."

The door opened abruptly on your side, you glanced up to meet the face of the young man holding open the door. He couldn't be older than twenty.

He smiled. "Good afternoon and welcome to the Seagull's Rest."

Your eyes flickered back as Hotch climbed out from the other side, you smiled up at the boy before lifting the end of the olive-green sundress you'd been coerced into wearing and stepped out.

Hotch had rounded the car before you'd even straightened out. He tossed the keys at the attendant.

You were taken aback by how quickly he could escape his usually impeccable manners.

"Be careful with the luggage. There's things in there worth twelve times your salary."

You sucked in a sharp breath when he took your hand into his, sliding his fingers between yours. His palm was pressed so firmly you thought you might collapse.

He made matters worse when he cleared his throat loudly, "Come on, honey, let's go."

The reception was a bright open room, preceded by a tall oak arch, and a high ceiling loomed over the expensive wood of the front desk.

A small framed woman stood behind it, smiling as you approached. "Good afternoon, welcome to Seagull's Rest."

Hotch only nodded curtly in greeting, pulling you abruptly up against his side so that his hand wrapped over your waist. You only hoped he couldn’t hear your heart thumping hysterically against your ribs.

"James and Eleanor Thompson." He grumbled, "We're here for the Honeymooner's Retreat."

"Of course sir, if I could see some identification please?"

Hotch slid over the two fake ID's and the woman began to tap away at the computer.

Your eyes slid up to the view from the window beyond the desk, how the sun was almost setting over the ocean visible through the crystal-clear window.

Unsure if it was driven by purpose or simply instinct, your arms snaked up to rest around Hotch's hips, letting your head lull against the side of his chest just softly.

His chest swelled. You tried not to read into it.

"Baby," it took a moment, presumable for Hotch to realize you were referring to him, but he hummed in response, not looking down at you.

"Hm?"

You motioned to the window, "Look how beautiful it is. You couldn't have chosen a better spot."

Instead of Hotch, the woman at the front desk spoke in response.

"We boast one of the best spots along our coast. The morning yoga sessions are spectacular if that's something you enjoy, and we have cocktail evening tonight at our restaurant on the beach." Her voice dripped in sugar, sliding the two ID's and the keycard to the room back over the counter.

"That sounds wonderful—"

Hotch's stern voice pierced through your own, "Yes, well, we'll see."

The woman - Leslie, as her tag suggested - glanced carefully between Hotch and yourself. She offered you a quietly sympathetic look before meeting Hotch's face again.

"Y-Yes, of course sir."

You stayed quiet after that, allowing her to direct James and Eleanor to their room. Second floor at the end of the hallway.

Hotch huffed dramatically, grabbing the cards from the desk.

His hand slid from your waist and you almost had enough time to mourn the loss of his warmth against your side before that large hand wove itself back between yours - simultaneously warming and chilling every blood vessel in your body.

Hotch pulled you in the direction of the elevator. Nothing was said between you, only the swish of your dress and the heavy step of his leather shoes against the floors.

You two followed the corridor as instructed, gaze flickering curiously up to your fake husband every few moments before your interest caught the better of you.

"You're a little too good at playing the asshole, James." Your hand squeezed gently against his, "Something you want to tell me?"

He shook his head, "Nothing comes to mind."

The luggage was already waiting at the foot of the bed when Hotch pushed the door open, allowing you to step in first.

A gasp escaped you.

The room had to be the most exquisite thing you’d seen in all your life.

It was lined in crisp white and cream decor, a velvet couch along the one wall and a sprawling balcony that overlooked the ocean - the sound of the waves filling every crevice of the space.

There was a thud and you turned to find Hotch opening his briefcase, pulling out the neatly packed pressed shirts that lay within.

"Hotch—"

Quicker than it took you to blink in fright, Hotch's hand closed over your mouth. He shook his head, tapping his ear. "Wires." He mouthed.

You nodded quickly, feeling stupid.

His hand dropped and embarrassment flushed hot over your neck. You looked away from him.

This wasn't a holiday and Hotch wasn't your husband.

Eight people were dead.

Unease burnt at your chest, the same kind that had been building with every passing day and every piling body. You moved in silent to unpack your own handbag where you'd placed your files.

Hotch watched you carefully, as you leaned over the bag - silhouette forming against the red and purple tones of the picturesque sky behind you.

He stared a little longer than necessary, capturing the view to his mind.

It was something he found himself doing too often. Whenever he could find a moment, an excuse. His gaze would linger on your frame, your face.

When your fingers would twitch against your necklace or when you laughed a little too loudly for the Quantico office when Spencer told his terrible, very specifically not funny jokes.

But he was Aaron Hotchner, BAU Unit Chief, and nothing if not the epitome of professionalism.

He planted himself far enough from the line to where he could go about his day and pretend like he didn't lose sleep at night thinking about you.

"James, did you pack the charger?" Your voice was loud, but wavered slightly. You didn't look up to his face as you usually did.

Hotch tried to convince himself that he didn’t notice.

"Yes, honey, it's in the side pocket."

There was no charger and definitely no need to ask about one besides making casual conversation in the case that wires tapped the room.

Reminded of the very real circumstance, Hotch abandoned the shirts on the bed to move around the room.

Behind him you were doing the same.

He lifted lamp shades, checked under drawers, desks and the headboard for any listening device that could have been planted before they came in.

You shuffled around behind the television stand and at the railings of the curtain before slipping into the bathroom.

Twenty minutes passed in silence before Hotch climbed back to his feet from where he was crouched down under the bed frame.

"We should be in the clear." He announced to you where you still occupied the bathroom.

"Check what I found." You emerged, sundress flittering around your ankles.

He cursed the sway of the material. Somehow you'd arrived in that green dress to the sheriff's station and it had made every nerve connecting his body to his brain turn fuzzy and the man of steel that was Aaron Hotchner was having a harder time than usual keeping his eyes to himself.

You waved a white envelope at him, "It was stuck to the window."

Hotch took it from you, it was addressed to a Mr and Mrs Thompson.

"That's us." He muttered, finger sliding to break its seal.

You stood against his side, close enough to read the letter where he slid it out but also just close enough to make Hotch's head spin from the waft of your perfume.

Good afternoon Mr J and Mrs E Thompson,

We welcome you to Seagull's Rest and want to thank you for choosing to participate in our Honeymooner's Retreat. The next few days will work to strengthen the bond of love and trust between any new married couple, and of course up the intimacy!

Tonight we will be hosting a champagne evening where you will be afforded the opportunity to meet the couples that you'll be spending the next six days with.

Meet us at the Pelican Perch Restaurant on floor 1 at six o clock. We look forward to meeting you!

Kindly, Seagull Rest Staff.

The page crinkled beneath his fingers.

"This is perfect." He muttered, looking sideways at you. "It'll give us a chance to see the unsub in a social environment if he's here."

The unknown subject (unsub) was clarified before you and Hotch had left the station that morning.

David's voice still rung in his ears:

"Someone who is calm and casual in social settings, easy to get along with but holds a position that allows people to trust them. It's what he uses to lure two people at a time to their deaths."

You glanced up at the antique clock on the wall hanging above the television. "That means we should leave soon."

Hotch nodded, "Leave the packing, we'll do that when we get back."

The sun was disappearing behind the glittering ocean surface when the door shut behind you and Hotch again.

His hand slipped down over your wrist before sliding into your grasp, between your fingers and over your knuckles.

Hotch could spend all night convincing himself that holding your hand was imperative to maintaining your cover because you were married and that was in the best interest of the case, but it would still do little to calm the way his heart began to beat from his throat when your grip tightened gently around his.

You made small talk on the walk down to the restaurant, as any couple would.

Mentioning the spa and the interior designs of the glamorous hallways you passed on the walk down to the Pelican Perch restaurant on the water.

The views of the lodging was almost nothing compared to when you two walked under the green vine archway into the restaurant.

Hotch heard your little gasp beside him and was sure it made his heart grow two sizes.

Above your heads hung a glittering maze of white fairy lights overviewing a large wooden floor with tables set in every corner. The bar glittered with bottles of every colour, size and shape that lined the shelves and the wide stacking doors were opened out onto the shoreline.

A soft jazz played and near the center of the room, ten chairs were stacked in a semi-circle around a small podium.

"This is so beautiful." You whispered, almost so soft he didn't hear it.

He looked down at you, enamored by the way the lights reflected off your eyes and your lips were parted in surprise.

"It is." But his eyes never left you.

Already, three or four couples had taken seats, keening over each other as if they two were the only people in the room.

It was almost six. Hotch tugged your hand gently in the direction of the expensive looking chairs, leaning down close to your ear: "Keep your eyes on the people."

You giggled as if he'd said something naughty, putting on a good show for the surrounding guests before leaning down to sit.

The lull of the music in the room almost convinced you that it was all real.

That as you sat and Hotch settled his arm over your thighs, pulling you close against him: that it was because he wanted, not needed, to be there.

Your eyes flickered over the people, a man and a woman were ushering people to take their seats and a tall thin waiter was sauntering around with a tray of champagne glasses.

You took two from his tray, handing the other to Hotch. He gave you a look to remind you to be careful, you could practically hear him chiding "remember, we're on the job."

The champagne was as close to velvet as you'd ever tasted, sliding down your throat far too easily as the man and woman took to the podium in front of you.

The room quietened.

"Good evening to all our lovely young couples!" The man's voice was smooth, warm.

He was older, every spit of hair from his body a stark shining white. The woman was the same, they matched the decor of the resort in the cream beach sets they adorned.

Wrinkles crinkled around her eyes when she smiled, "We're so glad to have you with us. Thirty years ago, we opened the Seagull's Rest to help any couple who felt they needed a place to connect with nature and each other, and since then it's become not only a home to us - but a home to every couple who steps through our doors."

You met Hotch's eye. Owners.

Laurie and Howard Ralph. The founders of the Seagull's Rest.

Howard spoke again: "every class is taught by a qualified, friendly and helpful instructor to make you feel safe in what Laurie and I like to call the education of love."

You'd seen their photos in files and on your tablet, somehow they looked even more pretentious in person.

While you knew you weren't looking for an unsub team, their demeanors didn't put them completely out of range for being possibly responsible.

At least that's as far as your brain could conjure up with Hotch's wide thumb rubbing circles into the side of your thigh - a motion you weren’t entirely convinced he realized he was making.

"We'd like to start off the evening with a few introductions, just to break the ice between you."

They were looking down the line of people, pointing to a Hispanic couple closest to the edge. "How about you two? Tell us your names, where you're from, how you met and your favourite thing about your partner."

The man stuttered, looking to his wife for support. She smiled up at him and you couldn't help the momentary swooping ache to have somebody to look at in that warm, soft way.

"Well I'm Alice and this is my husband Marco." She patted him fondly on the chest, "We're from New York."

"We met when we were kids, we lived next door to each other for fifteen years." The husband was a shyer speaker, but his adoration for his wife leaked through his words. "Before she left for college I asked her to be my girlfriend. The rest is history, I guess."

Laurie and Howard smiled plastically, like the grin was surgically attached there.

"That's lovely, and your favourite thing about one another?" Laurie pressed, before adding, "Remember ladies and gentlemen, this experience is about making yourself vulnerable to each other and to yourself!"

"I love how he can make me feel brand new after a terrible day."

"I love the way she knows me in little ways that nobody else does."

Slowly, the couples spoke down the line.

You were introduced to the Taylors, the Andersons, the Fletchers, the Schmidts.

As the line drew shorter, your breath grew faster.

Of course you knew your story, you'd had it drilled into your brain for the last two days, but your favourite thing about Hotch?

No, you corrected yourself, not Hotch. James.

Your brain fished for a lie, dipping past the bundles of things you loved about Hotch that could so easily be picked from the bush.

But would it be so out of line to admit something honest, something he'd never even realize was true?

Eyes fell on you.

Hotch cleared his throat, his grip over your thigh tightened.

"We're the Thompsons. I'm James and this is Eleanor. We're from Colorado."

His voice was strong, stern. Someone who didn't know Hotch might say it was how he always sounded, but there he held a jagged edge to his tone. "We met at—"

"Woah, woah," Howard interrupted, chuckling nervously. "James, you're running a bit away with us here. Why don't you let your wife tell us how you met?"

Hotch mustered the audacity to look affronted. "Alright."

You fought hard to suppress a laugh. Hotch was an abnormally good actor.

He turned to you, "Darling?"

You sighed, practically scribbling ditzy airhead over your forehead and lifting a hand to fiddle with the buttons on his polo, "Well, I met James in my last year at college—"

"Screwing the professor, very classy."

The whisper came from somewhere to your left and surprised you.

It was soft enough that you were sure Howard and Laurie hadn't heard.

The look on Hotch's face, however, proved that he had. He'd grown completely stiff under your hand.

You fought to regain composure, "H-He was working at a law firm that I was doing an internship at. It was love at first sight, right baby?" You patted his chest slowly.

He nodded, eyes darting anywhere but you.

The owners nodded, urging you to continue. "That's beautiful."

You looked up, met with the side of Hotch's face - he didn't look like he was going to speak first.

"My favourite thing about James is ..." your mind flickering between some cliché or just spitting out what you really wanted to. "The way he looks out for me. Always makes sure I'm safe, even if it's risking himself."

It was mild enough to pass off for just a casual comment but nearly specific enough that if he knew how you felt that he'd catch on.

He pulled his gaze from where it was fixated on the foot of the podium, sinking it into yours and making the room feel suddenly ten degrees warmer.

"My favourite thing about Eleanor is her laugh."

It was short and sweet and deep down you really hoped it was laced in truth.

By the time you looked away from your partner, the introductions had already moved down a couple. Judging by the way the tall blonde woman who'd just announced herself as Jade Atkins was staring at you, you could already gage that she'd been the one to make the professor comment.

You could still feel Hotch's anger radiating off of him. He was hard, tense and his jaw was set tightly.

Hotch was older than you, sure. You knew that.

It was one of the things that assured - plagued - you that he would never reciprocate your feeling.

He was mature and worldly, handsome in a way no man you knew could even remotely compare.

You were younger, not that much, but still. Enough that you could be looked at sideways by stuck-up bitches like Jade Atkins.

You knew you'd never be afforded a chance ... but then why did Hotch look so angry?

He knew he was older, but he also had to know that he left a trail of swooning women wherever he went?

"James ..." you whispered.

He looked quickly down at you, clearly of the impression that it was enough of a response.

"What's wrong?"

The word looked like they hurt forcing itself from his mouth. "Nothing."

You bit the corner of your bottom lip slowly, turning over his response in your mind.

Before you could find the sense to stop yourself, you reached up and took Hotch's jaw into your grasp, pulling it down closer to your face.

Following hesitantly until he was practically leaning over, you whispered into his ear: "ignore her, she just wishes her husband wasn't a cheating alcoholic."

You pressed a warm peck against his upper cheek, close to his eye and pretended that the brush of his almost-there stubble didn't make your heart swoop down into your stomach.

Letting go, Hotch straightened out again. He looked calmer, almost like he could smile.

His eyes flickered over the man, taking in his form. It took him a moment before he whispered back, "You're right."

Within a couple minutes, the last of the couples finished their introductions and the Ralph's were speaking again.

"Thank you all, again, for coming. Please, spend the rest of the evening getting to know each other, enjoying more of our champagne—"

"Imported straight from France!" Howard interjected and the couples laughed sporadically,

"—and savor the rest of your week."

Around you, couples rose from their seats. You detangled yourself from Hotch and did the same.

Initially, you had the full intention of floating around the room together, connected at the arm to analyze the guests quietly.

However, almost immediately, the women had dissected from their husbands to form a small group by the balcony.

The men had done the same, converging near the bar.

Blinking in surprise, you look up to Hotch for further instruction.

He nods towards the women, "You should go join them."

Your face crinkled in reluctance, "Don't make me go over there, James ... our friend isn't even supposed to be a woman."

Amusement was alight in his brown eyes, but his mouth remained a thin line.

"Then," he almost made you jump when his wide hand closed softly over your cheek, dragging the side of his thumb down your face, "go enjoy the company. I'll focus on the men."

Sparked by Hotch's warm touch, slightly dizzy on it, you nodded softly before turning to the women.

It was cool out on the balcony and the women greeted when you joined the circle.

You took a long gulp from your second glass of champagne, listening only half-committed to Patricia Anderson's story about their new condo on the Los Angeles beachfront.

"So, Eleanor was it?"

Recognizing the voice as the one who'd whispered brashly behind you not more than twenty minutes previously, you turned to the woman.

Your grip tightened around your champagne glass.

"Yes. Jenna, right?"

The woman gathered the nerve to look affronted, her tennis skirt swayed with the breeze over long bronzed legs.

"Jade, actually. Jade Atkins." She cleared her throat, "My husband is Richard Atkins, he owns all the Sonja Hotels north of the equator, I'm sure you've heard of him."

Another woman - Anne Schmidt - indulged her. "That's amazing, Elijah and I stayed there a couple months ago in Switzerland."

Jade nodded, looking proud, but seemingly intent on swerving the conversation your way.

"Speaking of husbands, yours is quite the catch isn't he?" The chatter of the other women dimmed slightly, the wives sensing the change of direction.

Taking another necessarily big gulp of your champagne, you nodded. "Indeed."

"He's very handsome ... how did you manage to tie him down?"

Her words dripped in condescension.

"Just got lucky, what can I say?"

Jade nodded, twisting a long golden strand between her fingers. Heat was beginning to curl at your cheeks.

"And he's so much older," she laughed airily, lifting her glass to sip at her drink, "but I guess that life insurance money makes him all the more attractive, hey?"

"Oh definitely. He also got a huge penis which helps."

Jade choked loudly around her glass and the women around you burst into fits of high-pitched laughter.

"Don't mind her," Imani Taylor pulled you aside, "All the Botox has gone to her brain."

You smiled kindly at her.

"So a lawyer you said, what's that like?"

Across the room, Hotch was sitting through a similar game of verbal tennis.

A circus of who's car is newer, bigger, better, who's company makes more money or sells more stocks.

He doubted he'd ever been so bored. That's maybe why his eyes flickered so often to where you were talking animatedly with a short woman in a hijab.

A heavy hand against his shoulder sucked him back into the conversation.

A sandy-topped man who Hotch quickly identified as Elijah Schmidt was patting him boyishly, "Don't worry about the girl, Thompson."

He didn't love the idea of you being referred to as girl but said nothing on it.

Clearing his throat, he shook his head vaguely. "Got to keep on eye on them. She can barely feed herself most days, only knows how to spend my money and crash my cars."

The words were bitter, like hot bile on his tongue but he insisted on maintaining a mutual expression. Nobody promised that playing an asshole was going to be any fun.

A handful of the men grimaced at his comment, while the rest just tutted offhandedly.

While the men were far from the nicest he'd met, in the couple minutes he'd spent with them, Hotch was almost sure that his unsub was not among them.

Despite most of their more than patchy backgrounds - mostly corporate scuffles, dug up by Garcia - none of them spoke with the ease that the suspect needed to have, the charisma and the trustworthy character. Hotch's energy was better placed elsewhere.

"Barely feed herself?" A gravelly chuckle filled the space, "Sure doesn't look like it."

Hotch's eyes narrowed on the short bald man laughing to himself, glancing over to where you stood across the room - a fat cigar between his fingers.

He recognized him as the man who sat with the woman who'd commented when you spoke. Richard Atkins.

Turning his whole body to the man, towering over his structure, Hotch's face twisted - his stomach contents boiling hot at the comment.

"I beg your pardon?"

Pulling at the cigar, the end lighting up, the man shrugged. "Just saying, y'know, she doesn't look like she's skipped a meal anytime recently—"

The expression curling onto Hotch's face must've been cause for alarm, if not the way his fist tightened at his side, because almost immediately two other men stepped in.

One at Richard's side, "Hey, hey, Richard, that's enough man."

The other patting Hotch's shoulder, "Thompson ... he's had a couple drinks, just let him go."

Richard seemed to find the situation amusing because he was chortling still to himself. "Of course, of course. My bad, just locker-room talk you know. No harm, no foul."

Seething white anger was tugging on every muscle in his body, and he fought hard to maintain composure - taking a cautionary step towards Richard Atkins.

"I'd watch how you talk about my wife if I were you. Otherwise we're going to have a problem."

Atkins only huffed, turning back to his friend and his cigar. The conversations started up again around him, but Hotch had lost interest.

His wrist watch told him they'd been standing there for almost an hour.

Cleaning out the bottom of his glass, he set it down on the nearest table before excusing himself, offering handshakes and a couple shoulder pats before moving towards the women.

A handful of men followed him, clearly keen to leave as well.

He found you by the railing, laughing gently at something the woman across from you said.

Hotch's arm slid over your waist from behind, dipping his head closer to your ear: "ready to go?"

You nodded, offering a quick goodbye to the woman and some others.

The walk back to the room was quicker than he remembered, or maybe it was the light buzz of champagne against the side of his head and how you were humming something that sounded like Etta James that made it feel too fast.

On return, the prospect of unpacking awaited.

"Anyone interesting among the husbands?" You asked from across the room, lifting shirts and dresses to stack into the open cupboard.

Hotch shook his head, dislodging the secret compartment at the bottom of his suitcase where the case files had been hidden. "The unsub isn't one of them. They're all, for lack of a better word, assholes. Nobody trustworthy enough to follow to your death."

You chuckled lightly, "The women were alright. Except for this one woman, that one who whispered that rubbish when we introduced ourselves."

Hotch's stomach turned at the thought of the woman's words. Screwing the professor, really classy.

The implication on your character made his blood boil.

"Let me guess, Atkins?"

You nodded, "How'd you know?"

"Her husband's a real piece of work too. I'm gonna find something to arrest him for before the end of the week."

Your giggle permeated the space and it worked to ease the knot in Hotch's stomach.

"Don't be so dramatic, James." You draped a towel over your arm, "Mind if I grab the shower first?"

"Of course." Hotch nodded, desperately trying to fan out the image that was quickly rendering in his mind of you in the shower. "I'm gonna phone Garcia."

The bathroom door clicked behind you and you sighed into the emptiness of the room.

You took your time showering, enjoying how the hot water eased the tension over your shoulders, before drying off and slipping into the most appropriate pair of pajamas you'd brought along.

It took some convincing to let yourself pack the silk shorts and tank top, after all: you would be sharing a room with your boss.

Quickly after you'd walked back into the room, Hotch had slipped into the bathroom himself with a towel and pair of pajamas hanging over his arm.

Images of all the people you'd met that very evening sifted through your mind like a deck of cards, flipping through them and filtering the ones you knew couldn't be involved.

The spray of the shower was loud and your mind reached precariously for an image of what Hotch looked like under the fancy head in the shower that had more than enough space for two ... how the hot water was probably gliding over his long strong arms, down his chest and through the happy trail at the base of his stomach leading down towards—

The water shut off and silence echoed across the room.

You heard shuffling behind the door, wondered quietly what he could be doing, but pulled your eyes back to the case file.

The list of connections between the victims and current guests were numerous, too many to be significant as people in this wealth category generally moved in similar groups.

The door clicked open.

"Put that away, you should get some sleep."

"I—" You looked up to meet Hotch's eye and almost swallowed your tongue.

His hair was still wet, drooping over his forehead in a way you'd never seen before, and his blue t-shirt stuck to his chest with dampness. He wore plaid shorts that exposed those long legs that had been so criminally hidden beneath his usual suit pants.

He looked so ... domestic, and it set every nerve ending in your body alight.

"I ... yes, boss. Was just looking." You set the file on the bedside table.

He nodded at you, a warm look on his face. "Want you well rested for tomorrow."

There was a short silence and the look cleared from his features to be replaced by another.

Hotch's eyes flickered between the bed and the couch, and for the first time in more than a while, a look of unsureness occupied his face.

"I ... I think I'll take the couch."

Your heart sunk.

"Why?" The question chased its way out of your mouth before you could reach to snatch it.

"I don't wanna make you ... uncomfortable, considering I'm your superior."

"I mean, the bed is plenty big enough for the both of us, Hotch." You stammered, desperate to be close to him. "It's probably gonna be painful to sleep on that couch anyways."

He hesitated.

"U-Unless you think it's weird, you can sleep on the couch it's fine." You wished you could sink into the sheets and disappear.

But to your surprise, Hotch nodded.

The bed sunk on his side as he lifted the covers, as close to the edge as he could from what you could see.

His head hit the pillow before he leaned over to flick off the light, you took it as a sign to do the same.

There was quiet for a long moment.

The door to the balcony was open, it was just too hot to close it, and the breeze curled over the sheets, wafting the smell of Hotch's shower gel into your face.

It took all you had within you not to sigh loudly and dig your face into his neck.

You thought the conversation had closed for the evening, but Hotch surprised you when his voice emerged from the darkness.

"You did well today. I know you were nervous."

A smile tugged at your lips. He could read you better than you thought he could.

"You've got a lot more practice at the husband thing than I do at the wife thing."

You could almost see the outline of his face against the light of the moon.

"Well, I hope this wife ends up better than the last one."

The memory of finding Hotch's ex-wife's body came starkly into view.

"O-Oh, Hotch." Your hand came to your face in embarrassment, "I'm sorry, I-I shouldn't have—"

"Hey, hey," he stopped you, "it's my fault. It was a bad joke, I shouldn't have made it."

You couldn't help the small giggle that escaped you, "I've never heard you freestyle a joke before, Hotch."

"Wasn't good?"

"It was terrible." You managed around the now growing laugh.

"And yet you're still laughing. Isn't that the goal?"

You shuffled over in the sheets to face him, even though you couldn't see much - the thought that he lingered there in the darkness comforted you.

"Not at that really bad attempt at a joke, I'm laughing at you."

Maybe it was your imagination, but you swore when the light from the lighthouse flickered quickly over Hotch's face that he was grinning.

"I'm glad I amuse you."

"Come on Hotch, you're telling me you don't have a single good dad joke?"

He was quiet a long moment, and for a second you thought you'd pressed too hard.

"Why do you never see elephants hiding in trees?"

Absolutely surprised by the question, you shook your head in the darkness. "Why?"

"Because they're really good at it."

The light from the lighthouse hadn't passed over his face again but now you were sure he was smiling and every muscle in your body twitched to grab his face in the darkness and kiss him until he was oxygen depleted.

"That's the worst joke I've ever heard, Aaron." But you shook with small laughter.

"Worse than the dead wife joke?"

"Okay, maybe not that bad."

Quiet fell again.

"You should go to sleep. We've got a long day tomorrow."

Fishing for the sheets, you lifted to tuck them under your chin. "Goodnight James."

"Goodnight."

Tags:

@montyfandomlove @aurorastuffsstuff @cdizzleswzzlebonzy @pureblood-blake @kad00x @lena-1895 @marimorena06 @farrah-444

#Aaron Hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #criminal minds #fake dating #criminal minds fanfiction #Spencer Reid #emily prentiss #David Rossi #Derek Morgan #penelope garcia #only one bed #mutual pining

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scribbles-ink · 12 days

Text

it took me nwar 5 hours but i finally got the reference sheet 4 aphmau in my redesign done 😎😎 under the cut will have some explanations 4 my design choices 😎😎

(reblogs>likes)

first off-why is she red? in pdh and occasionally in mystreey aphmau has a few red clothes n they just look sm better than the purple im sorry im not wrong,,,,anyways i decided that it would be cool if irene n aphmau wore red instead of purple/blue

markings:the markings aphmau has

first contact:i like that she just appears in the woods i think its funny n whimsy (and also a lot more but thats another post) the only thing she has is a cloak that encompases the entirety of her, nothing else, no memories, no belongings, just a cloak and a name.

loaned clothes: when she arrives at the town of phoenix drop the people give her simple clothes that they can spare, a shirt, a skirt, and a belt. she declines the offer of shoes after trying a pair on.

lordhood: in my rewrite phoenix drop deeply respected their previous lord and their family, leading to them not choosing another lord from the citezens of the town. they refused to choose from outsiders aswell, weary of their motives for seaking loedhood of their village. when aphmau shows up and helps them all, without even knowing what a lord is or what power it could give her, they decide she would be a good fit. because of how deeply phoenix drop respected their previous lords they kept the headpiece bangles and shawl indicitave of the lord status. why is it red? irene is red and its seen as a very lucky color

sleepwear and hair length:just small things i wanted to showcase. the sleepwear is red and aphmau has long as hell hair because she deserves it

formal:in my rewrite, thwre are at least some events, like neighboring weddings of lords or important people, or even meetings of lords to talk business, that means aphmau would have to dress up for.

armor:aphmau was fighting constantly, she wears this most of the time while traveling and if she knows thwres going to be a fight

irene: i wanted something that showcased the glowing tattoos, and looked suitability extravagant. the cloak she wears does have space inside of it, because thats cool. she has wings and the golden horns come together in an almost halo like shape.

the cloak:the cloak, when she wakes up, is the only thing aphmau owns. she wears it with every outfit of hers, aside from the sleepwear. and yes that is space n the universe inside it i love whenever thats a design choice

shoes:where the fuck are they??? idk she hates them. the only time she wears shoes is with her armor n thats it

#scribbles' post #scribbles' art #minecraft diaries #mcd #aphmau #aphblr #irene mcd #irene #aphmau redesign #mcd rewrite #IM SO PROUD OF ALL OF THESE RAGHHHH

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mamayan · 8 months

Text

★Mouthy☆

Kyojuro Rengoku x GN! Reader

tw: NSFW • Oral (M) • Praise • Overstimulation • Deep Throating • Marriage

You stared silently out into the court yard, eyes flicking back and forth like a pendulum.

The autumn air was just becoming crisp, leaves dotted with signs of changing colors, vibrant greens, yellows, oranges, and reds painting the trees. You tightened the blanket draped around your shoulders, keeping in the warmth as you watch Kyojuro and Senjuro dance with their wooden blades.

Despite the cooling temperatures, Kyojuro had forgone his top in favor of flexing his sweat coated muscles.

His younger image likely dressed too warmly, and the one to blame was you of course. He seemed cold this morning, and you’d pushed him to add layers in case he caught a cold. Now you wondered if you accidentally aided in some sort of punishment, Kyojuro’s strikes more harsh than usual as they spare.

Senjuro is no where near his older brother’s level, too cautious and overthinking each little movement until he’s late in reacting. You wince as Senjuro is struck again, though you know Kyojuro withholds nearly all force in favor of tapping his brother to bring awareness to his openings.

Kyojuro looks frustrated though, despite his smile and blazing eyes focused on the training and quality time with his brother, he’s radiating a tension even Senjuro notices.

He’d returned from a mission almost a week ago, having been gone for a month hunting a particularly elusive demon, and he’d been silent. He’d merely come through the door and grasped onto you like a life line, holding you so tight you worried he’d crush you, but staying still and pliant because he needed it.

He’s become more vocal and active as the days went by, refusing to acknowledge your worries when you brought up his shifted behavior.

He’s been placating you for an entire week, but it’s not difficult to see he’s bothered by whatever happened during that month.

He just normally opens up to you.

“Right! Senjuro, practice your stance again, you need to keep your stamina up even when feeling exhausted!” Kyojuro kindly fixes his form, and renews Senjuro’s confidence. He still can’t help but ask, the younger brother more sensitive than the older.

“Brother? Is everything… alright?” Kyojuro’s smile wavers for a fraction, before he’s yanking his lips back up into a familiar smile as he chuckles and lands a pat to Senjuro’s back.

“I’m good! I’m going to train hard too!” It’s as if he’s trying to convince himself, and Senjuro’s face likely matches your own twisting into disbelief.

Ever the patient and respectful child though, the smaller male relents with a small bow, returning to his stances.

Your eyes don’t leave his figure even as he tries to ignore you and walk past to gather his top. He seemed to have forgotten who he left his actual blade with though, the katana resting across your lap as you cock a brow at his sheepish expression as he comes your way now.

“My love, as beautiful and blazing as—,” you cut him off with a raised hand, finger pointed up to the sky as you frown.

“Our room please.” You sigh softly, standing up and leading the way inside while Kyojuro sits to take off his shoes. He quickly catches up, legs carrying him faster as he closes in just at your back, quiet and almost solemn as you slide the shoji open.

Your shared bedroom is neat and tidy, decorated by fine furniture gifted for your wedding and calligraphy drawn by Ubuyashiki-sama and even your father in law Shinjuro himself.

You turn, not moving back even as his close proximity startles you. He’s not giving you any space as you both stand in the doorway. Your eyes flick up, taking in his impassive expression, nearly as flat as Tomioka-san.

It’s not like him in the least, especially if he’s not honest how he’s truly feeling.

His hands are clenched into fists, and you have enough of an idea to figure out your sweet husband is angry.

He’s frustrated and mad at something or himself, and he’s bottling it up.

You reach both hands out, cupping one of his clenched fists to curl around and lift to your lips where you place a chaste yet suggestive kiss on the knuckle.

You tug him into the room, his eyes hot as he stares at you, follows your lead even as you turn him and push him into the chair you use at your vanity. The memories of him learning how to draw your brows at this very spot will last forever, sweetening your heart as you sink down to your knees in front of him.

He looks confused now, brows furrowed and a bit irritated.

“Flame, get off the ground, it’s too cold now to be playing on the floor.” You roll your eyes at his pandering tone, realizing this situation is more dire than you expected. He’s nagging you.

“But if I’m not on the ground, how am I supposed to please you?” You ignore his tone, purring your words seductively as you let your hands smooth up from his knees to his upper thighs.

His eyes widen, mouth parting slight but he’s not objecting as you tug at his pants, happy he’s already bare from the waist up for you.

You’re happy to remain clothed, eyes narrowing in delight as he obeys and slips his belt off and lets his bottoms drop.

You drink in the sight of your husband’s strong muscular thighs, taunt with tension and leading up to his now slightly chubby cock, seeming to awaken with your invitation.

You smirk, slyly looking up at him as he sits back down, eyes hooded but lips still pulled tight into a line. His facial expression is tight, jaw clenched and restrained.

“Do you want this love?” You whisper like it’s a secret between you both, leaning your torso into his lap as you let one hand palm his warm growing erection, aiding in the blood flow and you curl your fingers around it and pump him languidly. “Do you want me to use my mouth and kiss it better?” You’re soft and gentle as you leave wet kisses across his thighs, eagerly sliding in between his thighs he spreads for you, letting you come closer and kiss the soft tip of his now engorged rod. His scent is musky and earthy, his sweat and earlier workout only making it more noticeable as you rub your thighs together greedily.

“Or…” he groans as you lick from the base to the tip, swirling your tongue around his frenulum and lavishing it with saliva to trickle down.

You move back down to his inner thigh, looking up as he stares down with flushed features, smile dripping honey just for him.

“Would you rather fuck my mouth and use me?” You bite deep into his thigh, his sharp hiss and flinch almost violent as he jerks, one hand twisting into your hair and jerking you up and off the abused flesh from between your teeth. “Fuck—!” He growls furiously, face twisted into a grimace as he eyes you with a dangerous gleam.

“You’re asking for it flame,” his tone is dark and no none sense despite the tight smile on his face.

And with your own mischievous smile, you nod, agreeing.

“I am.”

He grunts, a deep groan vibrating in his chest as he drinks in the sight of you on your knees before him. Each gurgle and gag punctuated by a wet slap and squelch as he sinks into your warm little mouth, cock twitching as he grips your face with both hands and works his hips deeper. “You’re doing so good firefly,” he’s delirious and overstimulated, cock aching for rest like your tear and cum stained face was. He couldn’t stop, you wouldn’t let him, every time he pulled out after coming down your throat or on your pretty face, your lips and hands would chase him and have him hard again too quickly. The desperation and affection you seemed determined to shower him with driving him to the brink of madness. His hips bucked, pushing down your sore burning throat as he moans, huffing as he notices the room became humid with the heat radiating off you both. His glutes burn too, muscles straining from his earlier workout and now this, sensitive tip still eagerly bullying into your mouth as your tired tongue moves to lick and cheeks hallow to suck.

Drool and cum mix around your lips and drip down your chin onto your nice kimono, but he can’t find it in himself to care, captivated by the erotic image of you covered in his release. He knows you’re tired, smaller hands digging into his thigh for purchase and he uses your face like a sex toy, titling your head a little to the left to rub at the inside of your cheek as his hips spasm in pleasure.

“Yes— ah, just like that and I’ll cum again, but you’d like that won’t you?” He’s normally never this rough and unyielding, always so careful with you like your porcelain he could shatter. His eyes are hazy and lustful, so transfixed by the sight of you swallowing his cock it left him breathless as he works towards another release.

“Do you want to taste me little flame? Or should I paint this pretty face again?” With his thumb he smears some still wet cum from earlier across your cheek, tapping his dick through the skin and moaning as you suckle greedily, teary eyed and pupils blown as you stare up at him. He chuckles, “In your mouth then,” he hisses, chills nearly forcing him to his knees shooting down his spine as his balls draw tight and he comes, groin pressing up against your nose, public hair tickling and distracting as he twitched and spurts his load down your throat.

He holds for just a second longer than usual, letting you cough and gag before he pulls out and yanks your face up.

“Open for me,” he orders gently, grinning as you do and show you swallowed every drop.

“So good for me,” he coos, leaning down and filling your mouth with his own wiggling muscle, as if to ignite your arousal higher with his filthy kiss. When he pulls back, he catches the string of saliva connecting you both for a second, feeling his cock twitch again as he drinks in your swollen puffy lips, where his cock had been between just moments ago.

Where he wants to be again now.

He tries to step back, give you space to think and breathe, but you just crawl closer again. Pressing your lovely face up against his thigh, begging him to slip his cock back into your awaiting mouth.

“Kyo~” your hoarse tone is so sexy he almost moans, loving how it’s all because of him.

“Take a break for me firefly, I need you awake tonight. I need to apologize to you—tsk, really?” Your hair is once again caught and pulled tight, his face scrunching in irritation and disbelief as he looks as the visible bite mark now resting freshly renewed on his inner thigh.

“Fine little flame, but don’t cry to me later,” he grits his teeth, cock already hard as he taps the tip against your closed smiling lips.

“Open that pretty mouth, I’ll show you why biting there isn’t nice.”

You do, with glittering eyes matching his own now, you open nice and wide as he works his thick rod back into your throat while your eyes roll back in bliss.

You awake the next morning a bit achy, jaw and throat sore but as your eyes flutter open, the soft smile of your husband greets you.

“Good morning my love,” he’s holding a tray, tea and breakfast present. “I thought this might help ease the soreness… would you like to eat?” Your heart warms, smile blossoming as he matches yours now, happiness radiating off him.

You both enjoy a lazy breakfast in bed together, chatting of this and that, until you’re both laying down, heads turned to look at one another.

He looks away, frowning for a moment, but seeming to steel himself as he looks back to you.

“I’d like to talk now…” your hand brushes his, his fingers quick to snag yours as he intertwines them.

You listen, even if his words bring sorrow and pain, because you’re content to share with him in everything.

Post dividers/@cafekitsune

#Kyojuro Rengoku smut #kyojuro rengoku x GN! reader #Kyojuro rengoku #kny Kyojuro smut #kny Kyojuro fluff #kny smut #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba drabble #x GN! reader #kimetsu no yaiba smut #demon slayer Kyojuro #demon slayer smut #demon slayer fluff #kyojuro rengoku x reader #Kyojuro rengoku x reader smut #Kyojuro rengoku x y/n

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thesugarsoiree · 8 months

Text

Of Winter’s Flame | CHAPTER FOUR

When Y/n arrived back in the King’s quarters she was confused, seeing a small dining table set up near the fireplace. Apparently her first supper was to be exclusively with the King and Queen, slowly easing her into the Targeryen family.

“The King and I have been pondering this subject since you left on your journey from Winterfell,” The Queen began after the second course was served, pleasantries and idle chatter out of the way, “but we have finally settled on it. In the coming days we shall throw a weeks-long festival in honour of your arrival.”

“Are you certain?” Y/n smiled, a bit taken aback by such a gesture.

“A great celebration for a great Lady.” The King said, taking a sip from his goblet. Y/n never knew anyone to be as frivolous as southerners, especially as frivolous as Targaryen’s. Such a large event should be saved for truly important occasions, such as a nameday or wedding, not the arrival of an estranged family member.

“I thank you, uncle, aunt,” Y/n tested the new title on Alicent, the woman doing nothing but offering a humble nod, “your kindness is unexpected given my fathers past actions.” Viserys sighed at that, Alicent’s pleasant expression dropping for a moment at the mention of Y/n’s father.

“My brother has made hideous oversights the past few years, and I hope that we may show that not all of your family is quite the same.” Viserys shook his head, a disappointed frown wrinkling his face.

“Yes, we shall appreciate the greatest gift the north has given us.” Alicent beamed, calling a servant forward. He handed her something he had been holding all dinner while dessert was being served, Alicent giving an ornately decorated box to Y/n.

“For you, my dear.” The Queen said as Y/n opened the box with a snap. She gasped, the case opening to reveal a shimmering necklace, adorned with black and green jewels the colour of which Y/n had never seen before. Her usual jewelry contained white diamonds and deep blue sapphires, perhaps the occasional blood-red ruby to honour her fathers house, but a green such as this was rare to find in the north. She felt the cool stones in her hand, watching the way the firelight reflected off of them in quick bursts.

“A welcoming present, we know that you shall wear it well.” Viserys held his hand to his chest, easing his breath as Y/n placed the necklace back within its case.

“This is the most beautiful shade of green I have ever laid eyes on, your grace.” She almost couldn't contain her girlish giggle.

“I believe that you will come to find that green is the most attractive of colours.” Alicent laughed, and Y/n laughed with her. The rest of supper was spent discussing the celebration which was to be held at a nearby forest, only the royal party joining while the small folk enjoyed an excuse to be drunk in the streets without reprimand from the Citywatch.

That night while she tried to fall asleep Y/n tossed and turned, body too excited to force sleep now. Y/n wrapped a shawl around herself, taking a lantern and going for a short walk. Her guards once again tried to accompany her but Y/n declined, taking Tohrren with her instead. The halls of the Red Keep were surprisingly quiet during the night, its darkness illuminated by the occasional torch. She would have thought the Red Keep was far more busy during the night than Winterfell, but it seemed just the same, with no one up but the guards who stood watch for their Lady’s and Lord’s.

She often found herself on these walks, strolling alone with her thoughts and without duties to attend to for the day. It was a moment of calm; a moment of peace. This time, her peace was interrupted. He was like a shadow against the wall, Y/n didn’t realize he was there at first, looming like a scorned specter. She caught a glimpse of him in the corner of her eye, the current area of the hall darker thanks to its unusually spaced torches. She was left with only her flickering lantern to illuminate the frightening figure, something blue glinting briefly in the light, like a fire of warning.

Y/n gasped, Tohrren standing on guard, and whipped herself to face him. He was leaning against the wall, sharp features aggressively outlined in the dim lighting of her small fire. The shadows moved against his well defined face, and although there was not much light the darkness filled out the rest of him for Y/n to see.

The Queen was right, green was the most attractive of colours, especially on the one-eyed prince, for he wore green like he had never worn another colour in his life. They were nightclothes, light and airy, his white linen shirt halfway tucked into deep green trousers. His hair was pulled back into a loose braid, rouge strands framing his face and the smirk that held firm on his lips.

“My Lady Y/n.” His voice was a smooth timbre, soft in tone as not to echo through the empty halls. He stood from the wall and approached her with confident strides, taking her available hand and putting it to his rosy lips.

“What a pleasure it is to finally meet you.” He leaned down into a bow, gently kissing the skin on the top of her hand. Y/n was at a loss for words, entirely caught up in the sudden meeting and sudden attraction to her estranged cousin. He looked up at her with one eye, the other covered by a soft eye-patch with subtle hand-stitching on it; no doubt his mothers work.

“Prince Aemond,” Y/n curtsied, finding her manners, “I did not expect to run into you so suddenly, I was merely clearing my head before I slept.”

Aemond stood to his full height, a head taller than the girl in front of him, and chuckled, “I find I have the same problem during late hours, perhaps it is a trait we Targaryens share, hm?”

“Perhaps, I have not known my uncle to wander about Winterfell as I have.” She looked away from him, nervous at their proximity to each other with no one else around.

“Then I should hope we can accompany one another on our sleepless nights, would you care to walk with me?” He offered out his arm, cool lavender eye unwavering in its gaze. Y/n looked down at his arm, taking it with hesitance but smiling nonetheless.

“Of course, your highness.” She said as they began walking, silent at first. Tohrren was close by her side, still on edge although trained enough that he did not attack unless instructed.

“So, I hear that you arrived yesterday, correct? I apologize I was not there to greet you, my mother has taken it upon herself to make sure you are settled before you join court.” Aemond commented, taking her down another stretching hallway.

“I am glad that the Queen has such a fondness for me, I would not want to be one in her bad graces.” Y/n breathed out a nervous sigh, holding tighter onto her lantern.

“You’re smart, being one that the Queen likes is always favourable. I have heard that my sister Rhaenyra also holds a certain appreciation for you.” He uttered his sister's name with less love than she expected.

“The Princess did visit me as a young girl, that is true. She will make a fine Queen one day, and I hope that I shall be in her good graces as well.” Aemond tensed up at the mention of Rhaenyra ascending the throne, mouth twitching subtly.

“I’m sure you will be.” There was silence for a moment before he spoke again, “You are more northern than I expected given your parentage.” He hummed, looking down at her.

“So I have been told. I respect my Valyrian blood but I do not respect who gave it to me. I was born into the ways of the north and I shall not forget them simply because I am here.” Y/n said resolutely, furrowing her brows as if to challenge anyone who would suggest otherwise.

“Loyalty; a trait of the Starks.” Aemond grinned in a sort of childish way before speaking again, “It is getting late, my Lady. I do not wish to keep you for long, I can walk you back to your chambers.”

“Of course, my prince.” Y/n agreed switfly, leading him back to her room. Her guards were on edge as soon as they saw her arrive with the prince, stiff and unmoving save for their eyes which trained on him.

“Good night, my Lady.” Aemond bowed, kissing her hand again.

“Good night, my Prince.”

#x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd x reader #x fem!reader #hotd aemond #house of the dragon #hotd #game of thrones #aemond targaryen smut #aemond one eye #asoif/got #aemond targaryen #ofwintersflame

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violetrainbow412-blog · 10 months

Text

Dear Theodosia [S. R]

Dad!Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 2k

Summary: Spencer stays one afternoon to care for your three-month-old twins and reflects on how much he loves them.

This idea is entirely @lucreziaq2001 and is inspired by the song with the same title from the fic. Thanks for sharing! It was honestly very sweet to write.

taglist: @navs-bhat

Spencer Reid never imagined being a family man. When he started his career at the FBI, he was excited to discover this new world and become a valuable, skilled agent who could help catch the worst criminals. That is why he prepared himself so much academically, he read and read, he delved deeply to be able to learn as much as possible to be able to improve his profiles; in the equation he didn’t see a space for sentimental relationships and honestly it wasn’t something that he believed a necessity.

He liked being able to handle cases for weeks and then come home to go straight to bed; no noise, no mess. He liked that his only responsibility was to take care of his mother and the goldfish that lived in the huge fish tank next to the kitchen. It was a good and quiet life, but very lonely.

Until he met you.

Now, after years of being alone, he was about to spend a whole afternoon with his two little three-month-old twins: Charlotte and Jacob. You hadn't even completed your first wedding anniversary when the symptoms arrived and you have to admit that when you looked at the two red lines on the pregnancy test, you felt a little panic rather than happiness.

How were you going to raise a child? Were you even fit for that? In addition, there was that concern of your husband that his genetics would affect your children, or that, in his absence, your children would be forced to deal with the same thing that he had to go through with his mother.

But after a day or two, the shock of the news wore off and suddenly the two of you were laughing out loud as tears filled your eyes as you weighed in on the news: you were having a baby. Spencer almost fainted when, after several months, you went to the doctor for a checkup and the echo revealed that it wasn't one baby growing in your womb, but two babies.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" you had asked him that afternoon, before you left the apartment to get into your mother's car, which was taking you to a doctor's appointment. It's not that you didn't trust Spencer, but you were worried that one of the three of them needed you and you weren't there.

He responded by giving you a kind kiss on the lips and asking you to get out of there without any worries, telling you that the FBI could manage a couple of hours without him. He honestly felt excited to be able to enjoy his little rays of sunshine, as he called them all the time, because since they were born Spencer had only been able to be with them a few nights when they cried and he had seen you too tired to go calm them down.

Spencer went to the room that you had set up for both babies and smiled when he looked at the two pink and blue cribs that the team had given you when they heard the news. They both had mobiles that his mother had decorated in the sanatorium, because, in addition to her intelligence, she had always had manual skills, and the blankets that covered them had been woven by Spencer and you; unfortunately for Charlotte, as hers was more neglected than her twin's.

The man leaned in to look at both of them, careful not to make a sound so as not to wake them, and smiled widely when he noticed Jacob moving his little hands in his sleep. Thanks to the books on motherhood that he had read, he knew that, even after research, it wasn’t certain when babies began to dream, but he wanted to believe that his son was doing it.

After eating something Spencer sat on the sofa in the living room while he put together a puzzle to pass the afternoon and from time to time he walked into the room to check that both of them were okay. He wasn't belittling your work, of course, but for the first few hours he didn't really suffer too much, since during one of the long naps it was a good time to take care of his duties as a father. Until the sound of crying startled him, he practically ran to see what had happened, only to find that the noise was coming from the pink crib.

"Hey, Lottie," he whispered, reaching out to pick up her daughter, careful to hold her head so he wouldn't hurt her. "What's up, honey?"

Spencer walked into the living room, the last thing he wanted was to have to comfort two crying babies while rocking the little girl in his arms. He wondered what the crying was about, as it was unlikely to be due to hunger. You had breastfed them before you left and you were very strict about schedules so as not to spoil them. After checking he realized that he did not need a diaper change either and the doctor had said that the colic would improve after three months, so it could not be due to stomach issues. He felt scared for not knowing her motives, but his fears were quenched when after rocking her for a couple of minutes she finally calmed down.

“It was a tantrum. You just wanted me to hug you, is that it?" he laughed, speaking softly to the little girl. She was very intelligent, because she was already looking at everything carefully and Spencer thought it was because she was already beginning to see the colors of things and was curious "Let's go with your brother, but promise you won't cry or he's going to wake up" he exclaimed, with the same sweet and careful tone, as he walked back to your children's room.

Jacob was still sleeping peacefully when he pulled a chair over to the side of his crib, so he could watch him, still holding her twin in his arms.

"My babies, so pretty..." whenever he had the opportunity, he would have one-sided conversations with the newborns, claiming that communication with them was very important because that way their brain would learn more words, but a part of him did it for the simple pleasure to talk about the things he felt. Sometimes he even liked being discovered by you in the middle of a pep talk for your kids "I haven't had much time to spend with you, but today mommy had to go out and I'm taking care of you"

With a smile on his lips, he leaned down to kiss the lump in his arms on the cheek, hearing the baby babble at the sensation of her father's stubble scratching her skin and finding that the most tender sound.

Spencer had been very happy holding and caring for her godson Henry when he was a baby, but he never knew how wonderful it was to care for his own until he met Jacob and Charlotte. Every day they were the first thing he thought about when he woke up and the last thing he worried about when he slept, or sometimes even in his dreams he found himself searching like crazy for the well-being of his children.

He suddenly looked at Lottie, much calmer now that she was wrapped in her father's warmth, and he realized how much she looked like you, but with eyes identical to his. Sometimes he was completely amazed by how wonderful nature was: those two little ones had come out of your body, they were the fruit of you and him.

It's no secret that Spencer hadn't had the most pleasant childhood and because of this he always thought that he wouldn't be able to raise a child. His father had never shown love, he had abandoned him, he had mistreated him... was that the example he would follow? Would he risk ending up being that to your children? Spencer knew that, statistically, a child who grows up with violent patterns and behaviors is more likely to imitate this type of behavior in the future. And that terrified him.

“Do you want to load them?” he remembers that you had asked him, just as the nurse had handed you a set of healthy twins on the hospital gurney. They both had these little bracelets with their names on them to identify them and, honestly, they were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He finally understood why all parents so proudly showed off their bald little ones with wrinkled skin.

"But I don't know how to do it, what if I hurt them?"

“You won't, Spence. Try” you had smiled at him, putting your entire trust in him. When he took Jacob in his arms and saw him, so small and so fragile, he was certain that he would do anything in the world to protect him.

And from that moment he knew that he wouldn’t be like his father, that he could die for those two babies if necessary, and that he would take care of filling them with all the love that existed in his body.

He couldn't help crying inconsolably and he even apologized to you for behaving like that after all the hours you had to go into labor, but you didn't care at all because that was also the moment you realized that he would make a wonderful father, as well as a kind and understanding husband. It was everything you could wish for.

"Jake" Spencer exclaimed, when he noticed that his son stirred on the cloth "You're awake too, that's wonderful"

There was a trace of irony in his words, because he didn't even want to imagine what he would do if both babies began to cry, although luckily the boy was less sensitive and it was enough to rock the cradle a little for him to laugh.

Every time Spencer came home and found his little family, he felt very happy and lucky, with the memory of that lonely life as something far away. He had been happy before, of course, but now he really felt that he was coming home.

His mind wandered a little over the thought of what his children would look like once they grew up. He thought about when they would say their first words, take their first steps, when they would be old enough to beg him not to go to work and instead stay and watch cartoons with them. He imagined them playing, possibly Charlotte dressing him as a princess and Jacob as a superhero, he imagined them living with other children and even smiled when he thought at that age that why? becomes the children's favorite question.

And suddenly he, too, thought of all the evil they would have to face. The last case the team had dealt with was related to the kidnapping of babies and Spencer honestly had to take a moment to calm down just thinking that this could happen to one of his children. He now understood the frustration of the parents of the victims and the desire to make the criminal pay, but still he couldn't do anything but wait for justice to do its part. His children had inevitably become the main motivation for him to arrest all those criminals. He was going to build them a safe world, a better world where they could grow up in peace.

He got up to leave Charlotte in her crib, now that she was more asleep than awake, and heard Jacob complain from his place.

"Here I am, baby," he said immediately, reaching out to almost cover his little boy "I'm here with you."

Spencer didn't know what kind of fate awaited those two babies, but he wanted to help them fulfill their dreams and he hoped they would be even better than him and you: smarter, kinder, stronger. Still, he would be proud of whatever they became, and if they strayed, Spencer would help them get back on track.

He leaned down and kissed both of their foreheads, murmuring to them individually that if they were afraid of anything, Daddy would always be there to protect them. And that was a promise that he kept until the end of his days.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jason gideon #JJ #penelope garcía #david rossi #emily prentiss #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #dad!spencer reid

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