#lave salt

[blueywrites]

18+

Thinking about riding Eddie after one of his shows.

He's drenched in sweat, curls plastered to his cheeks and jaw, strong shoulders braced against the scratchy back of the bench seat in his dimly lit van. His body thrums with leftover adrenaline beneath you - the same that still buzzes in your veins too, ignited as you watched him perform from below the stage platform. You gazed up at Eddie's face and voice and body, seeing him raw and nearly feral in his element, and a hot-blooded thing purred low in your belly, ready for the promise of after. Yet despite the needy glint in his eyes and the steady pulse between your thighs that grew throughout his set, you and Eddie aren't fucking furiously now. Instead, the way you move your hips against his is deep and slow and unhurried, like you have all night to wring each ounce of pleasure out of him, and he out of you. You savor the taste of musk and sweat as you lick up the thick vein in his neck. In reply, his fingers tighten on the fat of your ass, dimpling the flesh as he drags you forward and up only to drop you back down against his hairy thighs, over and over.

You let him help you for awhile, preoccupied by lavishing his neck and jaw with your mouth before leaning back and taking over. You roll your hips at a languid pace, dragging your puffy lips hard against his pubic bone and squeezing his length tight inside you until his head falls forward onto your chest. You hold the back of his wild curls, tucking in your fingers and urging him close as his breath huffs against your sternum. You're just as sticky as he is now, wet with sweat dewed between your breasts and with slick now dripping down his heavy balls, squelching each time you pull and push.

Eddie's tongue laves a thick, hot path between the valley of your breasts, and your breath deepens when he seeks for more after that first taste - licking, nipping, mouthing at the plush of your breasts, rooting restlessly for more of your salt against his teeth.

Nights like this, Eddie doesn't run his mouth the way he usually does. There are no murmurs of endearments or filthy praise, and part of you mourns the lack even as you sigh when he finally takes the tight bud of your nipple into his mouth, sucking firmly and looking up at you from beneath the tangle of his damp bangs. His gaze remains intent on your face as he works your nipple deeper in, and your breath hitches when he pulls it between his teeth.

That's where bliss is: your head hanging back, lolling uselessly on your neck as every roll of your hips coaxes out a delicious sting to mix with the pleasure of his fat tip rubbing against that sensitive spot inside. Because Eddie keeps your nipple trapped there between his teeth as you continue to ride him. He rumbles his satisfaction when you moan and quicken your pace so the rhythmic tug becomes a little meaner.

And it's hardly a sacrifice that he can't speak when he can watch you fall apart on top of him. You crush his head to your chest, arms wrapped tight around his ears, writhing and whimpering as you cum on his cock. After, once you loosen your grip, he soothes your abused nipple with soft wet licks, pressing a little kiss right to the peak before grinning up at you with that crooked, manic smile of his.

[artdcnaldson]

patrick hive to the rescue because im thinking, as i often do, about friends to lovers with patrick where you're kind of upset because he and art have gotten around and you're still struggling on the dating scene, maybe you're shy, probably you just have standards, and its really just all starting to bug you because you're worked up!!!!! imagine hanging out with patrick during the summer - the room is sticky with humidity, despite the air conditioning being on full blast. you're hot and irritated and sexually frustrated. patrick being half clothed isn't helping, either - you can see the gleam of sweat on his bare chest - the dusking of hair on his thick thighs as he lounges back with a cigarette. you're going mad, it feels like you could detonate at any second your clit is so on fire - throbbing and achey and everytime you press you sweat slick thighs together it makes it worse.

patrick is looking at his phone - so you take the chane - just a small touch - just for some relief. you're on the bed, there's a plushi blocking his view - it cant hurt just to slide a sneaky hand down the band of your shorts and panties. just to stroke your swollen slit. surely he wont noitce if you just...... rub yourself a little. while you sneak glances at his toned body - just peeks, really. if you're very quiet (you do realize the sticky squelch of your cunt can be heard across the room, right? you dont) you might even be able to cum undetected

GODDDDD FUCK!!!! This was supposed to be a chill, normal, short response. Instead I ignored 2 work calls bc it’s that serious.

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (exibitionism/voyeurism, f!masturbation, not fingering but a secret third adjacent thing, extreme levels of horniness)

A/N: Patrick Hive we Linked and Built <3

Patrick thought it was so sweet that you invited him to visit your home for the summer. Apparently you’d sung nothing but his praises to your parents, because even though you were both eighteen, they let him sleep on the floor of your room on a blow up mattress, trusting him that much.

Which was annoying. You weren’t fucking Patrick (not for lack of wanting to), but they could’ve at least given you the benefit of the doubt and assumed that you might have some sort of sexual urges. It made your stupid fucking celibacy that much more embarrassing.

You’re home alone with him and the power’s out— a stupid, heat-induced rolling blackout. The open window only seems to usher in more hot summer air, so you’re both down to as few layers as would be appropriate. You, were down to a thin T-shirt and your panties. Patrick was only in a pair of grey nylon shorts. Sweat was beading down his bare chest, which was so fucking unfair.

Because it was Patrick, whose chest hair and happy trail made your mouth fill with drool any time you were treated to the sight of it. It was summer, and he was frequently shirtless, and you still hadn’t gotten used to the sight. Any sane person would want to lave their tongue along his chest, tasting the sweat and salt of his skin. That was… so totally normal to think about.

Patrick fucked your neighbor— the cute one who was going to a state school so she could be a kindergarten teacher. You didn’t know, but you were pretty sure. You’d been swimming in the pool during a cul-de-sac cookout, and they’d disappeared after a while. Patrick didn’t say anything that night, probably to protect your delicate sensibilities, but you could just kind of sense it.

God, it was unfair. All of the guys your age had girlfriends, or something. And the single ones were cute, but Patrick always seemed to fuck things up for you, either actively, or because you would always wind up talking about him. And because your parents thought it was totally fine for him to sleep in your room, you were surviving off of weak, rushed orgasms in the shower.

It was supposed to be a fun, sexy summer before you went off to college, and Patrick was totally ruining it. How was it fair that he got to fuck around and get his rocks off while you spent your summer feeling like you were wearing a fucking chastity belt?

And you were so wet it was uncomfortable, sticky between your thighs with absolutely no relief. Patrick was sitting on the fucking Air mattress, propped up by your cute, pink pillows and plushies that he’d stolen, watching a rerun of The Hills on MTV. His hand dangled out the open bedroom window so the smell of smoke wouldn’t get stuck in your innocent little bedroom.

He stretched, and you watched with an open mouth as he blew the cigarette smoke out the window. Pretty fucking lips, his muscles all taut as he turned. He looked back at the TV, and you exhaled a shaky breath. Fuck, you were so turned on you wanted to scream. Your pussy was just drooling into your panties, clit throbbing and aching for attention, your entire body felt empty, desperate to be filled up.

You were practically buried in your stuffed animal collection, which was embarrassing on any other day (Patrick had nearly laughed at the sight, but you’d insisted that you couldn’t just throw all of them away… they were nostalgic), but you’d never been more grateful until that moment.

You were already pretty well covered, thanks to the near life size bear sitting beside you— the perfect safety net. Your pulse was thundering in your chest, making you feel a little dizzy with anxiety or arousal, or a strange new mix of both.

You were burning hot between your thighs— throbbing and soaked all sticky and slick. Your legs twitched instinctively as your fingertips dipped into your core, where a pool of your arousal awaited. A shaky gasp escaped you as you moved your slick fingers up to your neglected clit, and you quickly muffled the noise into your pillow

It was like you’d never really touched yourself before. The level of need and desperation within you was completely unknown until that point. Your eyes rolled back as you began grinding up against your fingers. Your teeth dug into your lip to stay quiet as you played with your clit as discreetly as you could.

Patrick shifted to get more comfortable. Flexing his thighs just slightly, rubbing sweaty palms against the muscles there. He ashed his cigarette with his gaze locked on the TV. “This shit is so boring,” he muttered.

And fuck, his voice. You considered arguing with him, just so he’d get louder, and his voice would get more intense, and you’d be able to fuck yourself to completion to the sound of him speaking.

Your poor, neglected pussy clenched around absolutely nothing, begging to be filled by his dick, his fingers, your fingers, a toy, a hairbrush, fucking anything. Your panties were absolutely sodden— drenched to the point of forming a transparent little spot right above your cunt.

If Patrick had looked over, or, if he had unfocused his eyes just right and peered into the reflection of the TV screen, he would’ve been able to make out the sight of your fingers, moving steadily, desperately against your clit. If he had done that.

Your toes curled just slightly, thighs closing around your hand as you got closer and closer. It was loud— just how much you were moving. You needed— god, you needed so much in that moment. You grabbed a random plushie— a pink rabbit that you probably got with that years’ Easter basket— and held it over your lap. Yeah, that worked. Super casual, perfect way to hide the way your hand was working your clit.

And the pressure. Jesus Christ, the pressure of the warm stuffed animal over your cunt was too nice to resist. You’d have to throw it away after, you knew, but you couldn’t help but grind yourself up against it. If you closed your eyes, you could imagine it was his lap, or his thigh, or something warm and soft and hard for you to rut against.

But you couldn’t close your eyes, because you had to watch Patrick. To make sure he didn’t know what you were doing. An arm slung behind his head, the muscles highlighted by the shiny sheen of sweat there. You whimpered pathetically, muffled into the pillows. He probably heard, he pretended he didn’t. It was that level of feigned ignorance that let you keep going.

He probably knew, you could pretend he didn’t. The razor’s edge between you and a much needed, earth-shattering orgasm hinged on that level of ignorance.

So you pathetically humped against your fingers, and the stuffed rabbit, and chased at the bliss that was so fucking close you could taste it like metal on your tongue. Your thighs squeezed around the rabbit as you came, soaking through and making even more of a mess of your panties, and the rabbit, and your sheets, and your fingers.

You hadn’t realized how loud you were breathing. It was like someone had been holding you underwater and you could only just now hear the world with a shocking sense of clarity. Your body felt hot all over, your legs felt like jelly. You hid the stuffed rabbit beneath a discarded blanket, a problem for later. Legs crossed so you could hide the soaked mess between your legs.

Sure, you could play that off.

“You could’ve asked me to leave,” Patrick said around his cigarette. There was a twist to his lips, a sense of amusement. “Nah, you probably didn’t want me to. Too busy eye fucking me while you defiled that poor little bunny.”

He stood, noticeably hard in his shorts, which you weren’t looking at weren’t looking at weren’t looking at. He grabbed your ankles and pulled your legs apart, all while wearing the smug sort of expression that got you to this position in the first place. Really, it was all his fault. His eyes trailed up your legs, to the glistening mess coating your upper thighs, and the sheer mess of your panties.

“Huh.” His hands moved up your thighs and you exhaled shakily, parting them more to accommodate him, whatever he wanted, whatever he was thinking. You could come a thousand more times just for him, at his every whim. But that was the repression talking, not just because of him.

Your breath caught as his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties and he peeled them down. His expression held the same sort of concentration that you saw him exhibit on the court. Focused on you, it made your heart pound.

“No wonder you were so loud, huh?” He teased, fingers gliding through your slit. It was embarrassing how wet you were, coating his fingers and palm in your arousal. Each light brush against your clit made your thighs twitch, made a desperate keen escape you. “I could hear it the second you started, by the way. But even before that, I could fucking smell how turned on you were. You could’ve said something, you know. I would’ve taken care of you, made it real nice.”

You moaned softly, eyes wide as you peered up at him. When he removed his hands from your pussy you fucking whined— pouting as he held his fingers up to the light and grinned at the glistening mess left behind. You watched those fingers disappear between plush lips, tongue sweeping out to clean them up. His cock jumped behind the shorts he wore from want.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” you insisted, sitting up to rub him through the fabric. “It’s hot, we’re both horny and bored. Just use me. It’ll feel nice.”

He didn’t take much convincing. He’d been rubbing his dick raw on that stupid fucking inflatable mattress every night when you were asleep anyway. How could he not? You were just too adorable.

@poppy-metal your mind amazes me no words no thoughts just this <3 thank youuuuuu for this in my inbox it truly kept me fed

[roanniom]

forearms thoughts: Eddie bracing himself over you with his hands on either side of your head, fucking into you slowly and deeply. You’re so far gone, just moaning unintelligibly and writhing beneath him. You don’t have the energy to kiss him properly but when you tilt your head to the side your lips touches his wrist, his forearm, so you just start sloppily mouthing at his skin there. Eddie laughs above you and teases you for how cock drunk you are- “just need somethin’ in your mouth, princess?”

OH MY ACTUAL FUCKING GOD THIS IS SUPERB.

I also know exactly what that feels like. You are not capable of controlling yourself, just know you have to touch something but you’re so weak from pleasure, so weak you can barely hold on to whatever you’re holding, let alone make an intentional, concerted effort to grab on to a part of him.

So your mouth - which hangs open in a heavy pant - is the next best option. Turning your head, Eddie’s strong forearms are right there. Bracing him and holding him up above you. Giving him that leverage that lets him thrust so slowly and so deep, giving you those exquisite strokes he knows you love so much.

And you love him for knowing what you love, and you love him for giving you what you love. Your brain is fuzzy. Empty, save for cotton and arousal and the humming buzz of EddieEddieEddie repeating over and over like a mantra.

So you’re dropped into your basest form. The need to feel and taste and have. So you press your open mouth against his skin, breathing raggedly in some form of relief that you’ve been able to find this additional point of contact. To lave your tongue over his sweat-salted skin and feel the muscle contract underneath.

You drag your lips side to side, drooling almost as he thrusts another particularly intentional thrust deep into you. You groan against his arm as your eyes roll deep back into your head.

“You still with me, Princess?” Eddie asks above you, humor probably evident in his voice though you’re well beyond the point of comprehension.

You nod absently, lips mashing against his skin with the movement. He laughs.

“That’s it doll. Just lose yourself in it. I’ve got you.”

[ichorai]

little dragon ; aemond targaryen. (m)

part two ; water dragon.

pairing ; aemond targaryen x tully!f!reader

synopsis ; he was your fire, and you were his sea, willing to push and pull the tides at his behest.

words ; 5.8k

themes ; fluff, smut (minors dni!), fantasy, established relationship (married), pregnant au

warnings / includes ; unprotected sex, tiny bit of oral (f recieving), breeding and praise kink, pregnancy/childbirth, vhagar cameo, aegon being a menace, foul language, aemond being a good husband/dad unlike his own father, so sorry if the valyrian grammar isn't completely correct ;-; if anyone gets the bert & ernie tully reference you deserve a million dollars

main masterlist.

It happened in the dead of night. When the winds quietened to but a feathery whisper, when the moon shone white and gold and silver, when the fires in the hearth of your chambers had waned to a soft orange glow.

“Ñuha jorrāelagon,” he whispered against the flushed skin of your neck, traveling downwards to softly kiss along your clavicle. His voice was gravely and rich, soaked with honey and ocean salt. The sapphire within his eye glinted with the dim lighting of the sparse candles scattered around your chambers, and you craned your head to press a kiss upon his scar, your nose slotted against his cheekbone. 

My love was what he’d said—you didn’t know much Valyrian, still trying your best to study during your free hours, but your husband called you that often enough for you to recognize the affectionate words. 

One of your hands was buried within his silken silver hair, tugging in tandem with his swift, fluid motions. The other clawed down his toned back, leaving angry red trails in its wake. A strained cry fell from your kiss-swollen lips as you rocked your hips against his. 

Aemond held your waist in a tight grip, thumbs brushing against the sides of your ribs with every stroke of his throbbing cock within your slick, heated cunt. His lips, his tongue, his teeth—all blistering, scorching, searing with need. 

“Sīr sȳz syt nyke, ñuha embar.” So good for me, my sea. He was your fire, and you were his sea, willing to push and pull the tides at his behest. A guttural groan tapered his voice to a close when you clenched around him, his susurrating praises mumbled against your breast sending jolts of arousal straight to your core. His rapid, desperate string of Valyrian fell upon deaf ears, buzzing with pleasure. Stars colored your vision a blinding white when one of his hands relinquished his hold on you to snake down your abdomen, pressing his long fingers against your clit.

“Aemond!” you just about sobbed, legs curling around his waist to pull him closer. You were insatiable, cracking your eyes open once more, a thin film of tears warbling over your widened gaze. “Oh, please, please—!”

A gasp caught in your throat as he thrust into you with more power than before, but froze once he was completely sheathed within your throbbing cunt. “Please, what? Have I fucked you stupid already, jorrāelagon, hm? Dragon got your tongue?” he hummed in mild amusement, regarding your beautiful, sweaty form with a hungry, lustful expression, eyebrows cocked as he waited for your answer. 

Part of you wanted to snarl at him, tell him to keep moving, but the other half of you wanted to cry and plead and beg for his cock.

Knowing your husband, he would’ve been quite pleased with either. 

“I want you to finish inside me,” you breathed out, lips brushing the shell of his ear, eyes half-hooded with want. “Fuck me full of your cum, valzȳrys.”

His cock grew impossibly harder within you, throbbing almost painfully—whether it was because of you calling him husband in his native language, or because of your devilish tongue laving upon a sensitive spot on his neck, he couldn’t quite tell. Expression hardening, he grabbed at your hips and yanked himself out of you, before flipping you onto your stomach and swiftly breaching your entrance in no less than three seconds, earning him a shriek of surprise which winded into a litany of breathless moans and blubbering pleas. 

And yet, he remained still, cock stretching you out so deliciously well—but he wasn’t moving. You sobbed with frustration, burying your face into the feather-pillow in front of you, muffling your desperate cries. Aemond’s growl thundered through his throat, and he slid his hand into your hair and tugged you up flush against his chest, so he could hear your obscene noises loud and clear. His free hand creeped down between your trembling thighs, where his middle finger only barely grazed over your clit, despite your fruitless attempts to buck your hips up to meet his touch.

“Ask me again nicely, ñuha embar,” he whispered, placing a loving kiss to the side of your temple. “In my mother tongue—you remember all those lessons I gave you, no?”

You wanted to curse at him. Your Valyrian lessons with him were the very last thing on your mind at the moment. Thoughts hazy, you murmured out a bit shakily, “Kostilus, qogralbar nyke, Aemond. Ta… Tatagon iemnȳ, kostilus.” 

Please, fuck me, Aemond. Finish inside, please.

He hummed in satisfaction as he pressed sweet kisses along the curve of your shoulder. He gently pulled out and began to roughly thrust back up into you as soon as you moaned out, “Nyke jorrāelagon ao!”

I need you!

A broken sigh tumbled from your throat when he finally began to fuck you just the way you wanted, knowing that your climax was drawing near. You had no chance of lasting when he began to circle the pads of his fingers against your clit. 

“Iksā sīr sȳz. Sīr, sīr sȳz, ñuha embar,” he said, chest rumbling with each word. You feel so good. So, so good, my sea. “Avy jorrāelan, avy jorrāelan, dōna ābrazȳrys.” I love you, I love you, sweet wife.

You preened with his praise, arching your spine and pushing your hips back to match his quick pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin, of your arousal rang loud and true throughout your chambers, bouncing off the stone walls and ricocheting back to you, heat spidering over your skin upon hearing your own lust. 

“Tatagon syt nyke,” he growled, motions growing erratic and hurried. Cum for me.

With one final moan, you collapsed against him, cunt spasming tightly around his dick as you toppled down from the edge, pushing Aemond over the brink as well, spurts of warm cum painting your cunt. Despite the both of you already coming down from your highs, Aemond rocked into you a couple more times, kissing your sweaty hairline over and over again as he showered you with muted praise. The sticky substance dripped down the insides of your legs once he gingerly pulled out of you with a low sigh. He reached down to collect it and abruptly stuffed his cum-slickened fingers back into your cunt, wrangling a sharp intake of breath from you.

He chuckled lightly, pulling his hand back out and dragging his tongue over his finger to taste the filthy mix of your essence with his seed, before winding his arm around you to allow you to do the same. You whimpered around his fingers, sucking on the digits slowly—Aemond could feel his cock growing hard again. 

With a pleased hum, he languidly set you back down on the bed so he could lay beside you, pulling his hand away from your mouth with a lewdly wet pop. 

“I love you,” you croaked, throat parched and voice hoarse from all your moaning, an utterly blissful grin stretching your swollen lips.

Aemond cupped your face within his palms and pressed a chaste kiss to your damp forehead. “And I you, my dear sea.”

MOON ONE.

“It’s been a moon since you’ve bled, my lady,” your handmaiden, Lailena, commented, a knowing excitement to her gaze. “Could that mean…?”

In truth, you haven't told anyone about your pregnancy just yet. Nobody knew except you and the maester, who’d sworn himself to secrecy with a kind, understanding smile. It’d been a couple days since you found out, and you were still trying to find a way to tell your beloved husband. In the meantime, you were enjoying the peaceful privacy of knowing that it was only you who knew of the babe growing within you. No doubt when the news would inevitably break out, Alicent and Aemond would be hovering over you like overprotective hawks. 

Not being able to contain your smile, you grasped your handmaiden’s hands within yours. “You’re not to tell a soul, Lailena. I still have yet to inform the prince.”

Your handmaiden mimicked locking her lips shut, a beautiful smile etching across her features. “I am so happy for you, my lady. If you need anything—anything at all, please do not hesitate to let me know.”

“Oh, you’re too kind, my dear,” you hummed, patting her cheek affectionately. You had a soft spot for your young handmaiden—having stopped her from being sold into a whorehouse against her will at the ripe age of ten-and-two. “Will you please draw me a bath? I’d like to wash the day’s labor off of me.”

Not ten minutes later, you were sighing in relief as you sank into a tub of warm water, the heat a relief for your tense muscles. You let your eyelids slide shut, lolling your head against the bath’s edge. 

A familiar pair of hands settled upon your bare shoulders, and you didn’t have to look to know that it was your husband coming to check in on you.

“Rytsas, ñuha jorrāelagon,” he hummed, kneeling by the gilded tub’s edge and pressing a swift kiss to your cheek. Hello, my love.

“Aemond.” You shifted so you could face him, the water sloshing about with your movements. Nervousness was eating away at your insides, and you thought that no time would be better than now, where nobody else would bother you. “My darling husband, I have something to tell you.”

For a brief moment, worry flashed across Aemond’s expression, afraid something was wrong. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing bad,” you reassured him, a soft smile hanging onto the corner of your lips when he leaned forward to rest his forehead over yours. “At least, I hope it’s not.”

He remained mute, wordlessly urging you to continue. 

“I am with child.”

There were exactly three seconds of silence, presumably Aemond taking time to fully comprehend what you’d just told him. And then, a rare, beautiful smile overtook his usually impartial expression, his heart skipping over several beats with the realization that he was going to be a father. 

“You’re not jesting, embar?” he whispered, nose nudging yours. “Because this would surely be a cruel joke.”

Mirroring his growing elation, you let yourself beam brightly, craning your neck to kiss him properly. “I’m not jesting, Aemond,” you murmured, trailing your lips up to freckle kisses over the marred skin of his scar, and around his eyepatch, which you itched to yank off. 

“My love,” he said, struggling to find words for how he was feeling. Overjoyed? Shocked? Scared? “This is… you’re so… wonderful. This is wonderful. Avy jorrāelan. I love you, more than anything—and our little dragon.”

You scoffed, pulling away from him with raised brows. “Dragon? You forget I am a Tully, dear husband—they will be half my blood.”

With an affectionate roll of his eye, Aemond lifted his hand to tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. “Alright, alright. Half-dragon, half-trout, then.”

“Fire and water.” You nodded in satisfaction at the compromise, your jubilated smile stolen away with a kiss from your sweet husband.

MOON TWO.

Aemond felt the bed shift as you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and swinging your legs over the edge of the mattress. A small noise of discontent rumbled in his throat as he propped himself onto his elbow, vision still adjusting to the darkness. 

“Where are you going?” he whispered, voice still gravely with slumber, twinged with confusion. “The hour is still early, my love. The sun has yet to rise.”

You hummed, leaning down to kiss his cheek, before rising onto your feet, shrugging on a silken green robe. “I have a sudden craving for honey cakes. I’m going down to the kitchens to see if they have any left from yesterday’s supper.”

“Now?” queried your husband, seeming partially miffed, and partially amused. He roused from the bed himself, sliding on a loose tunic so his chest wasn’t bare, and followed you out of your shared chambers and into the hall. “What brings about such a queer craving? You’ve never been particularly fond of honey cakes before.”

Subconsciously, you rested a hand on your stomach. “It must be the babe. I’ve been having the strangest cravings the past few days. Around a fortnight ago, I wanted to have nothing but apple fritters—those ones with cinnamon glaze, you know? For a while, everything else made me feel sick.”

A ghost of a smile graced Aemond’s lips. “I remember—mother said you were looking rather green at the mess table.”

You scowled at the memory, which spurred Aemond to huff out a laugh and tug you closer into his side. 

“My little dragon is a picky one,” he murmured, glancing down to where your hand hovered over your belly, still having yet to show physical signs of the pregnancy. “This is a good thing, ñuha dōna embar. They must already know their worth.”

Once in the kitchens, a part of the castle neither of you had ever ventured in before, Aemond scoured around for the blasted honey cakes you craved for so badly, and found them in a small container on the highest shelf. He pulled them down and handed one to you, grinning ever so softly when you didn’t even give yourself time to properly thank him before shoving one into your mouth and moaning around the pastry. 

Aemond kissed your temple and took a bite of his own piece of honey cake to appease your pleading urges for him to try it, even though it was far too sweet for his taste.

MOON THREE.

 You were beginning to show, and Aemond couldn’t be happier.

“Our dragon is growing,” he’d say every morning without fail, a prideful gleam to his eyes. “And you have never been more beautiful, dōna ābrazȳrys.” Sweet wife. 

That afternoon, he brought you down to the dragonpit where Vhagar was nesting with her brand new clutch of eggs, wanting to introduce his little dragon to his much larger one. You watched with wide eyes as her bronze, spiny tail curled around four scaled eggs, each a different shade of copper. It was a miracle that a dragon of her old age laid a clutch of eggs at all, much less four of them. 

“Do not be afraid, embar,” he whispered, noticing your stiff movements and your hesitant steps, despite the brave facade you tried to hold on. “Vhagar will not hurt you.”

At the sound of her name, the dragon lifted her head, bright green eyes shifting to her master, then to you. She huffed out a small plume of warm smoke in greeting.

“Lykirī, Vhagar,” commanded Aemond, placing a hand on her snout and gently urging you to come closer. “It’s alright, love. She can sense the dragon inside you.”

Still a bit tentative, you shakily lifted a hand and laid it beside Aemond’s, stroking the warm scales of her large nose. Emerald eyes shining, Vhagar’s chest rumbled, and she dipped forward ever so slightly, slotting her hot muzzle against your belly, as if acknowledging the babe inside you. 

Aemond smiled, his one eye creasing at the corners. “She likes you.”

“Though I have never been more petrified in my life…” you began softly, patting Vhagar’s snout and grinning widely, “I like her, too.”

“What do you say we pick an egg for our little dragon, hm?” asked your husband, commanding Vhagar to stay as Aemond led you to the beautiful quartet of shiny eggs. 

MOON FOUR.

You leaned against the intricate stone railing of the balcony attached to your chambers, breathing in the fresh morning air. You had woken up early—much earlier than you usually did, unable to fall back asleep because of the baby constantly moving inside you. 

Not too long after, your husband stepped out onto the balcony as well, wrapping his arms around you from behind and pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek. Neither of you said anything, perfectly content on basking in each other’s comfortable silence. 

His hand laid upon your slightly rounded stomach, rubbing gentle circles over the thin fabric of your sleeping shift. The first birds of the day chirped as the sun rose, spilling golden light over the two of you. 

You leaned back into him with a pleased sigh. “Helaena has asked me to come watch the twins today. I’m rather excited for them to meet the babe.”

Humming, Aemond nuzzled his nose into your cheek. “I’m excited to meet my little dragon, as well.”

MOON FIVE.

Since you’d been having trouble sleeping as of late, Aemond found that fucking you to exhaustion was one of the few ways to get you to sleep soundly throughout the night. It was either that, or he could read philosophical books to you in Valyrian. 

And though he quite enjoyed reading to you, the prince much preferred the former option.

“Ñuha gevie ābrazȳrys,” he hummed deeply, bordering on a growl, thrusting back into your sensitive, slick cunt. My beautiful wife. “I’ve fucked you full hundreds of times and yet you always want more. I’ll give it to you, I’ll give you everything, sweet embar.”

A low moan slipped from your throat and you desperately pulled his face to you, your lips meeting in a feverish manner. He grunted into your mouth when you clenched around his lengthy girth, nails raking angry red lines down his shoulders to the middle of his back. 

“Aemond!” you cried, bucking your hips up to meet his, lips parting in a tantalizing manner. 

Your eyes slipped shut with the overwhelming pleasure, but Aemond grasped your chin, softly grunting out, “Keep them open, love. I want to see you when you come all over my cock.”

The intense eye contact made your body flush with a certain heat, hurtling you ever so close to your climax. Your husband snuck a hand between you to draw slow circles on your aching clit, and you were abruptly slammed into your third orgasm, the first two stolen from Aemond’s silver tongue and long fingers, respectively. 

Utterly spent, you trailed kisses over Aemond’s cheek, up to his scarred eye. He had slowed down to a gentle rock, cock still stiff and aching within you. “You can move, Aem,” you whispered, placing a tender kiss to the very tip of his nose. “I want you to cum inside—I want my cunt to be dripping with your seed.”

And he groaned at your lewd words, dipping back down to meet your lips once more, all teeth and tongue. His breath hitched as he began moving once more, your soaked core feeling like absolute heaven. 

“Mmh, fuck!” he growled, emptying inside you, catching himself with his elbow when he collapsed, thankfully before he could crush you or the babe. “So good for me, dōna embar.” 

A low whine emitted from your lungs when he slowly pulled out, holding your legs apart to observe his spend leaking out of your fluttering cunt. 

Much to your simultaneous dismay and pleasure, Aemond just couldn’t resist, swiftly moving down to drag his tongue from your cunt up to your clit, grumbling an expletive at your taste. 

“Aemond!” you yelped, flinching away with overstimulation, lightly swatting at his shoulders with a laugh. “Gods, you’re going to be the death of me,” you said, grinning when he moved back up with an apologetic smile, dark sapphire glinting with the flickering candles lit about your chambers.

“Sorry, I just couldn’t resist. You taste heavenly.” Finally, he settled back onto the bed behind you, pulling you flush against his chest. “Get some rest, Y/N. I plan on tasting you on the morrow. Perhaps you can ride my face again.”

“Sounds wonderful,” you murmured in response, not having listened to anything he’d said, already drifting halfway into sleep. 

You slipped into a deep slumber with Aemond’s arm protectively slung over your baby bump.

MOON SIX.

You were grateful that you no longer grew sick at the sight of a regular supper. You weren’t quite sure how long you would’ve lasted on honey cakes and apple slices alone. 

Dinner that night was a warm, peppered vegetable stew with loaves of steaming bread to mop it up with. There were other courses, such as honey-glazed venison, and slow-roasted pork belly—the latter of which Aemond avoided entirely despite Lucerys’ hushed giggling from across the table. Initially, he’d wanted to stride across the room and strangle the smug expression off the younger boy’s face, but one look at your stern, disapproving countenance made him hesitate, before begrudgingly digging back into his food.

He was to be a father soon. What example would he set for his child if he were to go about beating his nephews every other minute?

Lucerys was not the only one who stirred trouble at the table that evening. 

Rhaenyra and Helaena were pleasant for the most part, querying about your pregnancy and giving their own advice from their previous experiences. Baela and Rhaena were also kind to you, eagerly asking if you had any names picked out for the babe. You told them that you haven’t yet thought about it, sheepishly smiling. “If you have any ideas, I’m more than willing to listen,” you told the younger girls, which made them beam brightly with excitement. You didn’t know the two nearly as much as you wished to, but you were willing to try and build bridges between the steadily distancing sides—bridges that Aemond, as much as you loved your husband, was keen on burning. 

Alicent was silent for most of the time, only pitching in every so often to make passive-aggressive remarks to Rhaenyra, and occasionally trying to compliment you with a strained smile. As Aemond was her most beloved child, she’d always wanted to be closer to his dear wife, but found it troublesome to bond with you when you were so very fond of Rhaenyra. 

The men at the table, on the other hand, were an entirely different story. Jacaerys and Daemon quietly spoke to one another, but were rudely interrupted by Aegon spilling wine all over Jace’s lap. He drunkenly proclaimed it to be a slip of his hand, a mere accident—but everyone at the table knew he’d done it on purpose. Jacaerys was visibly stiff, but held his tongue, fist clenching and unclenching around a silver fork. 

“I pity your betrothed, I really do,” simpered Aegon to his nephew, hiccupping as he downed some more wine. The rest of the chatter at the table halted to watch the drunken Prince blubber on further. “How will you please her in bed if you haven’t the faintest clue where to put your cock?”

“Aegon!” Alicent admonished sharply, eyes wide and jaw set.

The eldest Prince waved his mother away, standing up abruptly, brandishing another chalice full to the brim with alcohol. You briefly wondered where all these cups were coming from. Then, Aegon rounded his gaze on you and Aemond at the other end of the table. “See, my dearest brother has figured out how to do it! Look, his wife is all round with his first child—perhaps the next could be mine. It matters not which Targaryen fucks you, it’s not like you can tell the difference when the babe comes out. Your Tully whore of a wife probably wouldn’t even mind, brother! I’d bet all my coin every guard in this room has sullied her already!” 

In a blink of an eye, Aemond was on his feet, lips curled into a snarl. Alicent also stood up, glancing between her two boys worriedly, afraid a fight would break out. 

You were the last one to rise, placing a hand on Aemond’s arm. He seemed to soften beneath your touch, glancing back to look at you briefly, nonverbally making sure that you were alright.

You shook your head, glaring harshly at Aegon, before turning on your heel and marching out of the mess hall, leaving a portion of your dinner largely untouched. 

It took everything within Aemond not to clamber onto the table and throw his fist into his older brother’s arrogant, drunken face. He longed to resort to physical violence—after all, Aemond was taller and stronger and quicker than him, and would easily best his brother in a fight. But his urge to be by your side was far greater, so he settled with scathing words and a lingering threat.

“You are a foul excuse of a brother, Aegon. If you ever dare to insult my wife again, I will carve out your tongue myself and feed it to my dragon.”

With that, Aemond stormed out of the hall, strides quickening so he could catch up with you. On his way out, he faintly heard his mother trying her best to patch up the situation, rambling in a panicked fashion, “Aemond doesn’t mean it, Aegon. Sit down and finish your supper, will you?”

Aemond rolled his one eye. He’d meant every last word of what he said. 

When he finally caught up to you, you were already in your chambers, gently wiping the dampness of your frustrated tears from your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, tugging you into his chest and stroking the back of your head. “My brother is a drunken fool. Do not take his crude words to heart. He is not worth your tears.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Aemond,” you murmured into the fabric of his tunic, blowing out a calming sigh. “You didn’t have to follow me, though… you didn’t get to finish your supper.”

He blew out a mildly amused huff. “Neither did you, dōna embar.” Sweet sea. How you adored the affectionate nickname he called you. “I love you. And I would follow you to the ends of this world if I had to—even if it meant missing a bit of supper.”

It felt as if your heart was melting through the confines of your ribs, and you could only lean forward to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “You are everything to me, my darling Aemond. I love you, too.”

MOON SEVEN.

The baby was kicking again. Nonstop, for the past three hours.

You glared down at your swollen belly, before uncomfortably shifting on the bed until you were sitting upright. The babe kicked once more, as if sensing your annoyance. You couldn’t help but huff out a small laugh. 

From beside you, Aemond looked away from the thick history tome he was reading and tilted his head. He’d thought you were already asleep. “The hour grows late, ñuha jorrāelagon. What troubles you so?”

With an exhausted sigh, you laid your head upon his shoulder, and Aemond immediately shut the book and placed it off to the side. 

“The babe,” you said, threading your hand with one of his and tracing shapes along the back of his palm. “They haven’t stopped kicking since I got out of my bath and I can hardly sleep more than a few winks. Though, I can’t say I can complain—Lailena says the ones who kick more will grow to be strong warriors.”

A small, satisfied smirk flitted over your husband’s sharp features. “Of course they’re kicking around—they’re a dragon after all.”

“Trout-dragon,” you reminded him, a soft smile to your lips. 

Aemond barked out a laugh. “Dragon-trout.” His free hand came around to place it on the center of your belly, and he sucked in an astonished breath when he felt the baby moving around beneath his palm. He met your eyes, shining with pride and adoration—for both you and the babe within you. “They’re a true Targaryen. We’ve never been too keen on sitting still.”

“So this is your fault,” you bit out, drawing yourself away from his shoulder to narrow your tired eyes at your husband. “I just want to sleep!”

His purple iris glinted salaciously. The hand on your belly began inching further down between your legs. “Maybe I just need to tire you out, hm?”

“No, I’m already so very tired,” you murmured, melting beneath his touch. Immediately, Aemond retracted his fingers, cupping your face and pressing sweet kisses over your heavy eyelids. 

“I’m sorry, love. What can I do?”

With a grateful slant of your lips, you settled yourself into his side once again. “Read to me, please. You have a very beautiful voice—it’s especially soothing in Valyrian.”

Humming, Aemond reached over to grab the history tome once more, flicking it open to where he’d left off. 

The Prince began reading the tale of Aegon’s Conquest out loud for you, his Valyrian effortlessly smooth, like pure honey to your ears. Not even three pages deep, you had already given into the alluring promise of sleep, cheek smushed against his shoulder. Aemond kept reading anyway, placing a hand on your belly, certain that his child could hear his low voice.

“One day you and I will be in one of these books,” he told the babe, a wistful smile on his face. “And our great, great, grandchildren will be reading about us and the many adventures we’ll go on.”

MOON EIGHT.

The fire crackled hungrily as Aemond kindled the greedy flames with a fresh wedge of wood. 

“What do you think of Jacaelar?” your husband asked. “It’s a fine name for a son.”

You wrinkled your nose. “I don’t know—their nickname would be Jace, and you’re not particularly fond of the Jace we already know. What about a Tully name? How does Bert sound for a boy?”

“No.”

“Ooh, what about Ernie?”

Aemond grimaced. With a laugh, you playfully rolled your eyes. “Alright, alright. We’ll stick to Valyrian names.”

After a moment’s silence, Aemond suggested, “Vaeron?”

“Yes, I rather like that one.” You grinned. “Do you like Daera for a girl?”

Your husband sat down on the plush chaise beside you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “That’s a good name—though my younger brother Daeron might think we named our child after him, and I’d really rather not inflate his ego. I like the name Visera. There’s also Rhaelor, Jahaela, Haerys, Saelyra—”

“Oh, it’s just too many to choose from!” you exclaimed, cutting his extensive list off and sinking further into your seat. “We can just call the babe Aemond the Second and be done with it.”

With a chortle of laughter, Aemond shook his head, fine silver strands of hair tickling your cheek when he drew you close into his side. “And what if our little dragon is a girl?”

“Then we call her Aemonda. I don’t know,” you harrumphed, crossing your arms. Aemond lightly pinched your thigh. After another second, you gently proposed, “... Syraena sounds lovely. Don’t you think so?”

Humming, Aemond bowed his head. “Syraena. It is a lovely name.”

You rubbed your hands over your distended stomach. “Do you know if you’d rather have a son or a daughter?”

He took a moment to consider your question before quietly replying, “I care naught for the babe’s sex—they will be my blood, regardless. My little dragon.” Before you could correct him, he hastily added, “Trout. Dragon-trout.”

The two of you began cracking up with silent laughter, and you turned to watch the fire burn away, small golden embers floating up from the hearth. 

You heard your husband murmur Syraena beneath his breath once more, clearly content with the name. A glowing beam graced your expression. 

NINE MOONS.

The birthing was the most painful experience you’d ever gone through. There were tears streaming down your face, and your hair was damp with sweat. Aemond was by your side, loyal as ever, clutching your hand and murmuring sweet words of encouragement, uncaring of the impropriety of a man in the birthing room. He’d gone so far as to threaten the guards when they first told him that he should be waiting outside, enjoying the celebration being held in your and the babe’s name. 

“Try to keep me from my wife and I will decorate the floor with your guts,” he growled, his single eye burning with a thirsty flame.

The guards didn’t bother him after that.

“Oh, it hurts! Aemond, Aemond, please, it hurts,” you sobbed, another wave of pain washing over your body. “I need the baby out! Come out, come out, come out!” you screamed, skin burning hotly as more sweltering tears meandered down your perspiring face.

“It’ll be over soon, embar, you’re doing so well,” assured your husband, even though he looked every bit as terrified as you did, perhaps even more so. Gods forbid such a thing to happen, but if Aemond were to lose you to the perilous task of childbirth, he didn’t think he could ever live with himself afterwards. 

The midwives began telling you to push, and you happily obliged, eager to get the labor over and done with. 

It was said that your screams shook the very ground, but that might’ve just been Aemond exaggerating the truth out of proportion. 

“Congratulations, my Prince,” said one of the midwives once you’d pushed and pushed and pushed until you nearly passed out from the strain, the babe finally coming out of you with a shrill cry. Aemond could feel his heart lurch at the sound. “You have a beautiful, healthy girl.”

“Do not congratulate me, it is Y/N that did all the work,” muttered your husband, kissing the back of your clammy hand and sweeping the hair sticking to your face aside. “You were wonderful, jorrāelagon.” His face bore nothing but radiant pride, a rare beam stretching his lips wide. 

He stood up, turning to the midwife to look upon his small, screaming daughter, who was quickly bound in a red woolen blanket. She handed him the babe, and Aemond gently situated her into his arms.

“You have the lungs of a dragon, little one,” he crooned, expression bearing little else than raw love and adoration for the tiny thing. With fluid movements, he kneeled down beside the birthing bed once more, easing the baby into your awaiting arms. 

An exhausted smile made its way onto your face when you took the baby, cooing, “Oh, so you’re the one always kicking around during the night. It’s nice to meet you… Syraena.”

The baby—your daughter—sported thin wisps of silvery hair, much like her father and her grandsire. Targaryen blood ran thick, after all.

You turned to grin at Aemond. “She has your nose,” you murmured, voice thick with emotion and love.

Little Syraena’s wailing began to wane away as you bounced her, and she cracked open her tiny eyes for a brief moment, blinking up at the two of you with a wide gaze.

“And she shares the color of your beautiful eyes, embar. Rytsas, Syraena,” greeted Aemond, expression soft and ever so tender. One of his fingers reached out to gently stroke her soft, chubby cheek. For several moons, he’d read to her when she was still in the womb, and he wondered if she could recognize the sound of his voice. 

“My little dragon…” Aemond murmured. “My sea dragon.”

[itiswormtimebaby]

Here’s what I’m thinking about: 

Biker!Bucky (who also happen to be your brothers best friend) fucking your thighs. 

TW: 18+ oral (fem receiving), pussy job, thigh job, virgin reader (Bucky is very into it), no piv No YN, Reader is referred to as Bug and is described as being plus size but there are no other physical descriptors. Takes place after Biker!Bucky comforts you when you get way too high. 

Things had shifted after that blessedly damned brownie but despite all the begging you’d done for Bucky to finally split you open and take you apart on his cock he was valiant in his efforts to take it slow. Slow somehow including licking into your mouth at the back of a movie theater while two knuckles deep, having you ride his thigh at the food truck festival, and spending countless hours in bed between your spread thighs. 

It’s where you are now, the soft cotton of Bucky’s bedspread dampening under your sweat soaked skin, his tongue working sinful circles over your swollen nub causing you to clench, almost painfully, down on the two fingers he’s currently working you open on. 

And jesus fuck there’s enough slick dripping past them and onto your thighs for him to drown in; he’d happily go that way, buried face first in the creamy mess you’ve left just for him. 

Alternatively you could just smother him with your thighs, fuck, your thighs- his brain feels like mush as he turns his head just enough to begin placing wet open mouthed kisses to the soft skin of your right thigh, laving and nipping at each stretch mark as he moves across them, furthering wetting his face with you as he does so. He grunts as you pull particularly hard at his hair, arching your back and trying to redirect his mouth to your clit but he ignores you as he begins to lick long stripes across the meat of your thighs, tasting musk and salt and something unconventionally sweet. 

This could be the day, he thinks, your mewls going straight to his dick. He could finally fuck you open, carve out that space inside he now knows you’ve been saving just for him, claim you but- 

“Bu-u-ucky!” Your whine sounds nearly petulant, still wiggling to try and get his mouth back on you, “please!” But no, no  you’re not ready yet. 

Instead he sits back on his haunches, watching for a moment as his fingers disappear and reappear as he fucks you with them, each thrust a little harder than the last before his hands find their way up your body, spreading slick across the ample swell of your stomach before he’s cupping your face and half pulling your upper body off the bed to meet him in a filthy open mouthed kiss. 

“Let’s try something new, Bug.” 

You release a soft oomph as he pushes you back on the bed with little ceremony, back flat. You rub your thighs together in sweet anticipation, the sound of his belt buckle coming undone making you whimper, this could be it, this could be it, this could be- 

But no, instead of pressing the spongy head of his cock inside of you he uses it to circle your clit, thumb guiding it around and around before he begins to languidly thrust his cock through the messy lips of your gushing pussy. The flat length of it provides a friction like you’ve never felt before, your gasps and moans joining in with Bucky’s labored breathing each time the tip nudges your clit on each up stroke. After a few minutes of this, of clenching painfully around nothing, awareness only awarded to the pleasure he gives you and the pain he causes by leaving you empty inside, he pushes both of your thighs up to rest on your plush stomach and begins to fuck them. 

There’s no other way to describe it. Bucky is fucking your thighs, he’s gripping them painfully tight, pushing them together, and driving his length in and out between them, plenty lubricated by the slick that continues to escape you. The tip of his cock still manages to kiss your clit at each stroke. You're delirious with pleasure, keening and moaning and raking your nails down whatever bit of inked skin you can reach, and though his cock feels like heaven between your thighs it’s his voice that ultimately sends you over; 

“Fuck, Bug” he rasps “Fuck, Bug, you feel so good, my beautiful girl- my-Fuck”

His dark hair is limp against his forehead, plastered to it by his own sweat, and his mouth, that sinful mouth is still glistening with proof of his devotion to your pleasure as he continues to talk you through it.

“If it feels this good now just- fuck, just think about when I’ve got you stuffed full of my cock. Christ, I can’t wait, I’m going to fucking ruin you, Bug.” 

With one particularly hard nudge from the head of his cock to your clit you let go with a cry, something that vaguely sounds like his name and has him also reaching his end, painting the messy lips of your pussy white with his cum. 

[freelancearsonist]

salt, shot, lime

➔ Dieter Bravo x afab!Reader

➔ 2.3k words

➔ You meet your celebrity crush in a bar; he turns out to be a lot more fun than you expected.

➔ Rated MA for protected p in v, public sex acts/public nudity (they fuck in a bar y’all), body shots/alcohol consumption, pet names (baby, honey, sweetheart) // reader has female anatomy (afab - no pronouns used), wears a bra, is generally able-bodied but is otherwise a blank slate.

“Go on. Don’t be shy.”

Your fingers work slowly at the buttons of your blouse, so readily and eagerly baring yourself to this man who–for all intents and purposes–is a complete stranger.

He’s familiar, though; to you, not the other way around. Dieter Bravo lives very publicly, after all. You follow him on Instagram and Twitter; you see bits and pieces of his life throughout yours. When he approached you at the bar, he had no clue who you were. But you knew him.

And now he’s eyeing you over the rims of his sepia-lensed sunglasses, ringed fingers idly tracing the rim of the empty shot glass that sits on the counter next to him. He looks at you like he wants to know you, and that’s exactly why you’re in this position.

This is crazy. This shouldn’t be happening at all. But he’s hot, and he’s interested in you. And you’re not nearly drunk enough to not understand the risks and consequences associated.

You can see the gulp that traces down his throat as you set your shirt on the counter and it gives you the willpower you need to keep from crossing your arms over your chest to cover yourself. Dieter fucking Bravo is effected just from this simple view of you in your cute yet simple bra, and it’s the headiest confidence boost you’ve ever received.

“You’re so pretty, baby.” His voice is breathless, lips parted in awe. “Fuck.”

The bartender clearing his throat and setting down a tray next to Dieter’s right hand is enough to snap the actor out of his dazed reverie. Dieter clears his throat and wrenches his eyes away from your half-naked torso, scanning the contents of the tray before humming his satisfaction.

“Ready, honey?” He asks, and you hum your approval as you lean back over the bar.

This is the first time you’ve done this, and you don’t think Dieter follows standard protocol. Or maybe he does—it’s not like you would really know, this isn’t your typical Saturday night activity—but there’s hardly anything that can be called standard about the way his wet tongue laves quickly and wetly over your sternum to give the salt something to stick to. Just that little bit of contact is enough to make you squirm, and it takes every out of restraint you possess to sit still for him as he pours the shot into the dip of your belly button.

It’s messy and sticky and not very comfortable, especially when you position the lime between your lips, but you’ve never been so turned on in your life.

He gives you a look—dark and pleading—and you take a deep, aroused breath as you nod your consent.

Again, his tongue is between your breasts, but this time it’s languid. He takes his time and flattens the length of the muscle against your skin to collect every last grain of salt.

Then he purses his lips and slurps the tequila from your belly button—but really, all you can focus on in the moment is the weight of his hand resting dangerously high on your thigh under the guise of steadying himself. His fingertips are so close yet so achingly far from where you’re wettest, and the smirk on his face says he knows it.

Finally, after a moment that seems to last at least three years, he moves up your body and bites into the lime waiting between your lips.

With him this close you can smell the heady, woodsy scent of his cologne, and it only serves to turn you on further as he sucks the juice from the tart fruit.

The way he takes the lime from you with his teeth and spits it out on the countertop should be a crime but you really can’t be fucked about it because suddenly he’s kissing you. You could isolate all three flavors on his tongue if you cared to, but you don’t in the slightest. All you can really focus on is those hands as they slide up your sides and come to rest at the base of your skull, thumbs swiping simultaneously over your cheeks to anchor you while he licks deeper into your mouth.

The cocky bastard actually smirks against your lips when you moan. The sound is soft but it only serves to motivate him; he shoves his tongue deep into your mouth like he’s trying to lick your molars as your hands wind around his neck to tug him closer to you.

And then, just as suddenly as he started kissing you, he pulls away.

“Your turn, sweetheart.” There’s just a faint little smirk to his lips, but it’s enough to make you want to smack him. It’s also enough to make you want to suck him so deep into your throat that he never fully recovers.

And fuck, you really want to tell him fuck it and ask if he wants to get out of here, but you also want to give him a taste of his own medicine.

You nod to the bartender, who sets down another shot for you. And then you nod to Dieter’s chest, and he starts tugging his baggy shirt over his head without a word.

He’s pretty. You’ve always admired his physique, sure, but it’s even better in person. There’s an unkempt quality to the smattering of hair on his lower stomach, and the soft curve of his belly has you eager to get your hands on him.

You haven’t even gotten your shot yet, but you’re hoping and praying that he’ll want to drag you into the bathroom to have his way with you after this.

He leans back and lets you prep him–smiling slightly at how careful and neat you are about laying the salt and pouring the shot. There’s a tender reverence in your touch that makes his heart pound in a way it hasn’t in years.

“You good?” You ask, looking into his dark eyes when he takes off his sunglasses, neatly folds them, and sets them on the bar.

You watch his throat bob around a thick swallow, and then he nods; and you can’t help the sick satisfaction you feel over how breathless he already is. Too easy.

You make a point of dragging your nails over his treasure trail, under the guise of steadying yourself, as you lick the salt from his firm chest. You spend a little more time there than strictly necessary; but you want to get him clean, after all. And if your tongue trails off course to drag over a taut nipple–

“Oh, fuck!” His voice is muffled from the lime wedge perched between his lips; he’s so sensitive that his hips actually jolt at your ministration, but your hand on his lower belly steadies him to assure his shot isn’t wasted. “Baby that’s not fair–”

His protest is breathy and trails off into a useless little whine when you move down to suck the tequila from his belly button. You can actually see the way his cock springs to life under his trousers in your peripheral vision, and you think you deserve an award. A big world cup-style trophy, with an inscription that reads “I made Dieter Bravo hard just from licking his fucking belly button”.

He spits the lime out before you even get a chance to taste it, but that’s okay because you’d rather taste him anyway.

His grip is firm as he cups your face in his big, meaty hands and pulls your lips to his. There’s a desperation to this kiss–a frantic meeting of lips and tongue and teeth as he tries to pull you closer to him than it’s physically possible to be. And you let him, let him take everything you so desperately want in return as you feel the scratch of his beard against your chin and the firm grip of his hands guiding the angle of your head.

“W-we should… take this somewhere more private,” you pant when you finally muster the courage to pull back for air.

He shakes his head, and you feel a twist of disappointment in your gut. But then he looks over your shoulder; you hear a deep, guttural voice–and before you know it, the entire bar is empty. Not a soul in sight, not even the bartender

“This private enough for you, honey?”

You nod dumbly, still kind of starstruck over such a powerful display of the way the entire world dances to Dieter Bravo’s tune.

He pulls you in for another deep kiss, this time backing you up into the bar counter. You can feel the insistent press of his arousal against your hip like this, and it makes you moan needily into his open mouth.

“Wanna fuck you,” he murmurs into his mouth, rolling his hips against you in a way that makes you moan again. “Please baby, lemme fuck you.”

“Fuck me,” you murmur back with a nod.

You’re definitely not normally the type that would strip down completely in the middle of a bar to fuck some man you just met, but there’s something about him that has you disregarding all common decency to toss aside your bra and wiggle out of your jeans so he can see every inch of your exposed skin.

It’s all worth it for the pleased moan he makes when he takes you in with his eyes, hungrily eating up miles and miles of flesh that he wants to touch and kiss and appreciate. But there’s not enough time, not here; so he lifts you up sideways onto the bar like you’re weightless and then presses you to lay down flat against the counter top, completely ignoring the sticky glass-sweat rings that press little cold patches into your flesh.

You get a good view of him as he loses the rest of his clothes, flinging them to the corners of the room with a ferocity that makes you giggle. The sound brings a smile to his face, too; and then he jumps up onto the sturdy bar counter with you, spreading your legs with eager hands so he can slot his hips between yours as he continues to kiss you.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he grumbles as he shamelessly ruts his hard cock against your wetness–his voice is so deep it’s almost gravelly. And then he produces a little foil packet from seemingly thin air and winks at you like a hammy cartoon character. “Safety first.”

He’s so silly it’s sexy, and he laughs with you as he presses his lips back to yours. He fumbles a little bit as he tries to roll the condom onto his impressive length while simultaneously kissing you, so you reach down with steady hands to help him; he whimpers at the way you take his girth into your hands and so easily sheathe him.

“M’not gonna last long,” he whispers as he lines up with your entrance, and you’re surprised he can’t actually feel the way it makes your cunt sob with arousal.

“That’s okay,” you reassure, one hand coming to tug firmly at the curls that compose the nape of his neck. “Just make it good.”

He nods, gently bites at your lower lip, and then he thrusts into you smoothly all the way to the hilt.

There’s a bit of a stretch to accommodate him and it makes you moan; the feeling of your tight heat sends a physical shudder down his spine.

“Oh, fuck–” he scoots his knees up further towards your ass, shoving himself as deep as he can get while simultaneously trying to let you adjust to his sudden intrusion. “Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so good–”

You feel the slight scrape of his thick curls against your clit, and it yanks a desperate little moan from your lips. “Move, Dieter, fuck me–”

He’s nothing if not obedient. The first needy little thrust is hard enough to jolt your entire body–he scoops a hand under your head to soften the blow, and then he starts moving with reckless abandon.

It’s hot, it’s sweaty, it’s desperate. He thrusts hard and deep into your soaked core, mouthing uselessly at your mouth and jaw, whimpering with each rut of his hips. He watches your face when he can actually keep his eyes open and finds the exact spot that makes you writhe and squirm underneath him, angling his hips to hit it with relentless accuracy.

He looks pussydrunk, it’s the only way to describe the expression created by his glassy eyes and his parted lips. He nuzzles his face in between your tits and looks up at you like you created the moon and the stars, like you’re something to revere. You’re scared that if he keeps looking at you like that, you’re going to fall in love with him.

“I’m close, Dieter…” you warn, the hand that's not clutching desperately at his messy hair reaching down to put your favorite kind of pressure on your clit.

He tilts his head down and watches to the best of his ability, making mental note of exactly how you like to be worked over–storing that information away for next time. He so desperately wants there to be a next time.

He feels it a second before you do and angles his hips just right to hit that toe-curlingly pleasurable spot right as you come. It sends you sky high, the way he pounds mercilessly into you while the pleasure ebbs and flows over you.

He comes hardly a minute later, grunting and whining and cursing under his breath as his balls draw up and he empties himself into the condom, shoved as deep inside you as he can physically get.

There’s a long, heavy moment of silence as you both pant and try to come down from the clouds. He scatters little feather-light kisses over your sweat-slicked chest, and then he looks up at you with those big brown puppy eyes you’re starting to adore.

“You wanna grab dinner?” He’s so earnest in asking, like he’s not balls-deep in your cunt right now.

It’s so ass-backwards that you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up your throat, but you don’t consider any other answer than, “Yeah, sure.”

It’s worth it just to see the smile that lights up his face. “Amazing.”

➔ dividers: @saradika-graphics

➔ Want to see more from me in the future? Follow @freelancearsonist-updates and turn on post notifications to be notified when I post new fics!

➔ Want to support me? Please reblog this fic! It helps boost it in the algorithm and gives it more circulation no matter what your follower count is :) any feedback or comment is always greatly appreciated!!

[yandere-yearnings]

Truly cannot think about anything else rn than just absolutely COVERING Sun in hickies fr

Throat, titties, inner thighs, literally anywhere this man will let me

Bonus points if I get to finger him or give him a handjob while i do it because honestly i need him to be whiny and needy and pathetic like rn or I will go insane ty

your mind honestly,, bringing all the good ideas to the table😌💕 this was getting lengthy so it's handjob, leading into implications of fingering bc the imagination is a wonderful thing haha🤧 i can do a continuation sometime if you want tho❗❗sun really isn't hard to make fall apart tbh you could breathe in his ear the wrong way and he's basically gone😔💔

NSFW under the cut!

Skin between teeth had never tasted so good to you. Fingers digging into damp flesh, curling into tense thighs, Sun gasped and his back pressed to the sheets. "Y/N," he whispered, and you could feel his Adam's apple bob against your lips, breathless, "I can't anymore..."

Underneath you, his body lay a mess, blooming mulberry and red where you couldn't stop yourself from biting. Your nails indented in the shape of crescents, on his hips and calves, marked into a heaving chest. You thought he looked the prettiest picture of debauched — but it still wasn't enough.

"Of course you can," you kissed at the tears on his cheeks, a devilish grin unraveling at the way his abdomen spasmed when your fingers brushed it, just shy of his leaking cock. "You can take it, you're always so good for me, aren't you?"

Sun's whine was broken, sounded like a sin where it tapered into a moan as your fingers finally gripped him. From base to tip, languid strokes that had him writhing. Candlelight could not catch his beauty, but the flames flecked spots of orange over wet skin; made him look ethereal.

"Please," voice choked, shaky fingers wrapping ever so loosely against your wrist, barely stopping you from the ministrations that were driving him mad. "Fuck- Please, Y/N, I won't- I won't last," his eyes squeezed shut, panting so hard it wracked the frame. Sun tasted of the salt in his sweat, but he oozed sweetness when he looked at you. As though the earth was opening up in the encompassing brown you'd fallen for, so tender when you placed a kiss to his neck, licked a trail down his sternum all the way, just to sink your teeth over his heart.

"Prettiest thing," you cooed when he whimpered, when your thumb played with that spot just under his glistening head, and you watched transparent fluid bubble up from the slit. "This is all you need, isn't it? All you could ever want."

"Y-Yeah..." Sun gasped, going entirely spineless, "g'nna come, fuck- Y/N," his head lolled to the side, lidded eyes barely able to focus. "Need you inside. Please."

Your brow cocked, hand stilling. "Oh?" You smiled. "You're honest today."

At those words, he glared, although the action didn't hold much weight with how hard he was trying to keep the sounds of his pleasure contained. "I always am," Sun muttered a second later, causing you to laugh.

"My bad," you kissed behind his ear, "you're right." Swiping at trails of spit leading to slick lips, and gently pushing your fingers into his mouth, you felt a surge of pride at how easily he took you in. His tongue laved at the digits with familiar ease, fluttering his lashes at you in that same provocative way as always. "Such a slut," you mumbled, amused.

"Just for you," he rasped as you retracted your hand. Little breaths puffed out slow, Sun watched with unbridled desire as you slid down between his legs, exactly where he wanted. "Isn't that how you like me?"

You hummed in agreement, planting a hickey just shy of his groin, somewhere on his plush expanse of inner thigh, "it's how I love you."

[zorosdimples]

zoro’s form hovers above your own in the early hours of the morning—long before the sun rouses from its slumber and greets the earth with smiling beams. a dewdrop of exertion trails between his glistening pecs and drips onto your sternum as he thrusts into you steadily.

after a long day, you are both filled with bone-weary exhaustion. but you crave one another (and a much-needed release). the swordsman’s movements are languid, but he fills you deeply. he’s thorough, meticulous, and intense; his gaze is molten steel and insists on holding your own—until you reach climax. he quickly follows suit with a growl, eye squeezing shut and head hanging low, sharp nose brushing your neck and leaving gooseflesh in its wake.

something possesses you in your satiated haze. you catch the gleam of your lover’s earrings, then watch them spark and clink together—a tinkling wind chime to soothe your soul in the dark salt air. you lean up to his ear and nip the shell before wrapping your lips around his jewelry, sucking the trio into you mouth.

the gold is cool against your sultry tongue. while you blindly lave at the metal, zoro groans, chest rumbling against your body. without warning, he flips you over flat on your belly; you squeal. he spreads his broad, calloused palms on the fat of your hips, digging his thick fingers into the softness. he lifts you up by the hips—just barely—before sliding his already-hard cock against your stretched, creamy hole.

“if you do shit like that outta nowhere,” he rasps before hunching over your prone body, “be ready to face the fuckin’ consequences.”

[nanamiscocksleeve]

15. with hiromi? 🥺 I need somethin good after work

You crawl over Hiromi's leanly muscled body, dragging your lips down his chest, his happy trail, pausing just short of his boxers. You rock your hand over the tent in the fabric, watch him close his eyes languidly like a cat.

“Aw, poor baby, do you want me to take care of this for you?” you ask teasingly, drawing a chuckle from him as he caresses your cheek.

"I'm in your care darling." he says in a low voice, tinged with anticipation. You nose at the bump before sliding your hands on the elastic and slipping off his boxers, enjoying the feeling of his veiny cock springing free, softy hitting your cheek.

"So tense Hiromi...we need to remedy this right away." You lick down one side, then the other, cupping his balls and squeezing softly before taking him into your mouth. A strangled groan leaves his throat, his hips rolling as you take him into your mouth, feeling his tip just start to enter the back of your throat.

Your tongue laves the underside of his meat, changing the pressure in your mouth by tightening your lips, enjoying the way he bucks and his hand grips your locks. You name falls from his lips as he chases his high.

You let go for a brief second, seeing his weeping with desire, the milky beads of precum gathering like salted candy. You suck the tip greedily drawing more out of him, finger gently massaging his perineum, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

His eyes lock on yours, doe-eyed and gazing at him like his cock was the best thing you've ever had and with a few more slurps, he moans and shoots bullets into your ready mouth, twitching, groaning with satisfaction.

[writefightandflightclub]

Suddenly got hit by the thought of Leto taking his sweet time eating his cum out of you after fucking you over and over for hours…

Um. Excuse me? Ok. Um. Help?! Like. My God. Um. Yes?!

(Thank you for this delicious thot, Erika, and please accept this hastily scrawled offering in return for your kindness in sharing this 😝🧡 Also sorry for typos or incoherence. Wrote this in a haze and I’m about to go to bed so no time to proof!)

P.s. I’m keen to write more for the Duke atm so anyone (18+ ofc) feel free to hit me up with requests 🧡

Word count: 1.1k ish

Warnings: SMUT: oral, cum-eating (lots) 18+ only, Minors DNI

Plenty: (Duke Leto Atreides x fem!reader)

You’re sure his tongue is tracing the shape of the Caladan coastline as it shivers through your folds, pleasure blooming through your core like the surge of waves into your deepest coves.

You cry out, clamping your own hand over your mouth to quiet yourself, the sound digressing to something muffled against the palm of your hand.

You feel Leto chuckle warmly against your cunt, before sucking a puckered kiss over your clit. “What is the use of a palace so grand as this if my concubine cannot make noise, hmm? Who is it that will hear you, all this way from the halls?”

“The guards, perhaps.”

“Let them hear you.”

Your breaths grow ragged as he works at your folds with his tongue. “I think they have already heard plenty from me for today, my Lord.” Leto knows well how to please you. Perhaps he does not care as to who knows it.

“There’s no such thing as ‘plenty’ when it involves you, my dove.”

He must believe that, for all day he has not tired of you. All day he has bred you, filling you over and over with his seed until you were full of him. Until, when he shoved inside of you with his throbbing cock, his own release was forced out around him, coating your thighs, his balls, his abdomen, the silken sheets - both your writhing bodies.

And, now that you have finally drained him dry, he settles himself over your sensitive cunt, his tongue laving the apex of your thighs, licking up his own spend.

He huffs his warm breath against your folds again as he adjusts, settling his head more squarely between your thighs. Your legs are folded back towards your chest by the firm press of his warm, broad palms, your Duke laid out on his front - in an undignified manner, quite unbefitting a man of his position.

You take pride in it. In him. At stately functions you have gossiped with other concubines - or, rather, have allowed them to gossip in your presence, as that would be unbecoming of your position. You’ve heard them tell that their Lords are more than content for their concubines to sink to their knees in service, but that the equivalent act is never bestowed in their favour.

And then, there’s your beautiful Leto.

You could count out whole calendar months against the time he’s spent between your thighs, and you know you are endlessly lucky to be at his service, when he gives you so much in return.

Indeed, you moan as his tongue probes greedily at your sensitive, fucked-open entrance, humming as his lips and beard glide over the mess he’s made of you. “Leto,” you gasp, as you realise he must mean to suck you clean of him.

He hums and you hear him swallow, the idea of him tasting himself sending a wild, throbbing want to your over-worked clit.

You throw your head back on to the propped stack of pillows he’d arranged you on when, moments ago, you had grown limp and boneless through your earth-shaking release. Your body positioned so that his seed must be gradually eking out of you, you now realise; taking a slow, honeyed surge down to his wanting lips.

You lick your own lips, imagining the moreish salt-tang of him, and once again pleasure crests as his tongue shivers through your folds. His ministrations dance over you in a gentle, teasing pattern; then, he flattens his tongue, licking a hot, greedy stripe along the full length of your throbbing slit.

Even the air is full of sex, just like you are, the room salted like the sea, a rousing musk which fills your lungs and makes you think of home.

You whimper, clamping your hands either side of his head, twisting your fingers into the regal, grizzled waves which undulate between the slack grasp of your fingers. You know not whether you mean to pull him closer or to push him away, but in the end you do neither, instead bucking your arousal up and into his mouth, grinding your heat against his beard and chin and nose until he is coated - a mess of your juices and his own seed as though he is the shore now, and you the dragged, liquid tide coursing over his stony face.

Leto does not complain, however. Instead, when you look back down to him his eyes are glinting wickedly - like black stones winking out of rock-pools. He hums into your heat, the sound low and drawn-out; sending vibrations singing through your core and reminding you you are empty of him.

“Leto!” you squeal suddenly as he swirls his tongue against you, flicking and thudding against your clit. Using all the power and finesse in his lips and tongue to stake his compelling argument.

You grow breathless, an impossible pleasure building as he writhes his tongue along your sensitive folds, meticulously cleaning every last drop of him from you.

“Do you like to taste yourself, my Lord?” you ask as a warm heat blooms right through your middle.

“I like to taste how full I made you, my dove. I like to taste how many times I claimed you as my own.”

From his position, you watch crinkles radiate out from around his eyes as he looks up at you - with a wicked amusement at the growing state of you, already a mess and about to become further undone. Then, he resumes his focus, his proud nose nudging against your clit as he sinks back towards your entrance.

The blooming pleasure makes you clamp down on nothing, empty of him, squeezing more of his seed out of you. You feel it trickle out of you, moments before it is met eagerly by Leto’s lips and tongue. You shiver as you feel the pleasant scrape of his drenched, coated beard, flattened to his shapely chin as he laps up every drop.

He grunts, pushing your thighs further back, opening you up to him further, and, as his tongue curls and slides and probes against you just the way you like, you fist your hands into the sheets in desperation. “Leto! My Lord! What do you mean to do to me?” You can barely take it, so overcome with pleasure already. “Do you mean to clean up every drop?!”

He chuckles warmly, a sound only you are ever privy to. He grips your thighs to manoeuvre them downward, settling them either side of his ears for your comfort. Allowing him to twist and to plant a delicate kiss to your inner thigh.

“I plan to keep going until I can only taste you, my love,” he rasps into your skin, and his words cause your eyes to roll skyward once more.

Leto dips his eager mouth towards your cunt once more too, entirely unrelenting.

You interpret that you are going to be here for some time at his service; but that suits you just fine.

When it comes to Leto - and his supple tongue - there’s no such thing as plenty. Never such a thing as enough or too much.

He shoves his tongue inside of you, finally through with his teasing, it appears. Indeed, the benevolent Duke finally grants you a consistent pace and motion, carrying you forcefully skyward as your pleasure lifts - like a hawk tossed aloft by the graze of the wind under its wings.

And, this time, when you come undone, you do make enough noise to befit a palace of this size.

In fact, by the time your Duke is done with you - which won’t be for some time - they may even have heard your gracious, lilting moans from all the way down in the halls.

[poppy-metal]

My sweet baby angel boy mdlb art who calls blowjobs special mommy kisses 🥺 begs for them every night before bed

OH THIS ONE GOT ME.

pulling his jammies down because of course you have to give your babyboy his kisses. sometimes you pretend to forget just so he'll jut his bottom lip out in a pout and look at you like a wounded puppy - "no special kisses?" and you tease him by leaning in and kissing the tip of his nose, which he scrunches.

"like that?" you ask and he shakes his head.

"no." his cheeks start to pinken and he shifts against the bed. wiggling his hips under the blanket you'd tucked him under. "down there." he glances down so you'll understand but because you're feeling mean you just hum and lift up his shirt - kiss his pale tummy which twitches under your lips.

"right here?" you ask.

he huffs - frowning. starts getting fussy because he's hard and he can't sleep when it's hard - reaches down to shove at his blankie until it's puddled around his knees and gently cups his bulge through his pajama bottoms.

"h-here." he says, squeezing himself to try and soothe the throbbing. "want mommies kisses here."

hes so cute. asking like a good boy. you draw his bottoms down until his pink cock bobs free and it's obscene - how large and thick he is, how he's so engorged his cock stands all on its own - making your mouth water.

"ohhhh." you breathe, and wrap one warm hand around his base - loving how he shudders at your touch, hips immediately rocking, like he's seeking more attention from you - like he's already trying to thrust inside something warm and wet. "of course, how could I forget my baby needs my special kisses."

he tastes clean and warm - like the bath he'd taken earlier- and faintly of salt from the pre beading at his tip - his toes curl and his golden head falls back as soon as your warm wet mouth sinks around him - bubblegum pink lips falling open in a moan -

you slurp loudly around him - knowing he loves when you get messy - and pet his hip as you begin to slowly bob your head up and down.

he looks down at you, tears lining his lashes, and you feel one of his hands slide into your hair, playing with the soft strands between his fingers - "mommy." he gasps. and some of his 'little boy' persona slips, you can see it just in the way his pupils are blown wide - hungry as they watch how your lips spread wide around him - can barely take him all the way down without gagging - "you're so warm - ohhh -"

you hum around him and pop off, stroking what you can't take all the way down - "you're such a growing boy," you tell him, gasping. your voice already a little ragged from taking him in - "can't even fit you all the way down my throat, baby. when did you get so big, huh? you like seeing mommy struggle to take your cock?"

you slide back down on it - laving your tongue on the underside of him as he grips your hair tighter and moans high in his throat. "uh -" he twitches in your mouth - "momma - fu - please -" he cuts off before he curses, good little boys don't use bad words - biting his bottom lip as his hips buck helplessly into your mouth, his balls drawing up. "s'good - so good - hh -"

when his cum hits the back of your throat you swallow it all languidly - gently sucking and sucking around him until his soft cock slips from between your lips.

you kiss his wet tip sweetly.

he'll be out like a light in five minutes tops.

and your wet needy pussy can be tended to by daddy when he comes home later.

[yopossum]

NEVER LET ME GO

Main Masterlist - Ao3

Summary: Loving, reverent domestic smut with sweet, submissive Ezra. A oneshot.

Rating: E

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect) x Reader

•••••••••• detailed warnings below the cut!! ••••••••••

Warnings: SMUT; no plot that’s it just porn but with FEELINGS; sub!Ezra; established relationship; super duper in love; domestic fluff; comfort; gratuitous pet names; praise kink; body worship; body hair; grinding; breast and nipple play; teasing/edging if you squint; light bondage; riding; PIV; no condom (there’s come y’all); religious language and imagery as literary device; Ezra the human thesaurus; prose gettin purple; making grown men whine and cry; reader is not gendered, has breasts and a vulva/vagina, is described as having puffed nipples and dimpled thighs, can straddle Ezra, but no coloring, size, appearance, age, or ability is otherwise noted; Ezra is an amputee and healed and we love it (no gore or trauma or background re: his arm); but I did write this because I was watching Prospect without actually watching and was inspired by *~*those sounds*~* out of context tho; Beatrice is not reader’s name, just a nerdy Dante reference; I stole this title from Florence Welch; old person on tumblr; is this spacing wack?; not a beta in sight; 18+ only no minors

Listen: Florence + The Machine’s “Never Let Me Go”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Panting, Ezra blinked hard, stinging brow sweat running out his deep, hooded eyes and into the creases at their corners.

“My treasure,” he rasped, “please.” He clenched his teeth and swallowed thickly, Adam’s apple sliding up and down the length of his taut, tanned neck. He lay splayed on his back on the mattress while you straddled his narrow waist, his wrist lightly restrained with a strip of fabric knotted to the head of the bed. His eyes remained closed tight, delicate black lashes fanned over high, flushed cheekbones.

“Patience, darling boy. Be good for me.” You poked punctuation with the firm point of your tongue deep into the dip at the base of his throat, tasting the shallow pool of salted desperation that collected there as Ezra writhed underneath you. He was so rarely speechless, but at the mercy of your ministrations, the typical thesaurus of his mind was muted by melodic, crackling whimpers.

You flattened your warm wet tongue to the golden throb of Ezra’s neck, laved it from the right slice of his collarbone up along his jugular to the silky soft patch of skin behind his ear, swirling gently around the faded inked green flower there before sucking his lobe into your hot mouth and biting gently. Ezra keened, his hips bucking involuntarily as his spine curled in on itself.

Sitting back and upright astride his firm body, you ground down subtle and slow against his straining length. “I thought you were going to behave, beautiful,” you smirked down at him. A shattered wail tumbled from his plush parted lips and landed heavy in your cunt, the thrum radiating out from your core like ripples in a pond. You rolled your hips languidly again, tipping your pelvis forward and dragging through the thatch of coarse dark curls at his root. The delicious friction made your clit pulse greedily and you tilted your chin back and breathed a sigh like heady birdsong.

Ezra’s wavering tolerance cracked with a cry. He yanked at the smooth silk tie that looped his wrist, loosed it enough to slip from, allowing him to wrap his strong arm around your waist and yank you forward, your slick sex sliding a sloppy kiss against the soft swell of his lower belly. Your breasts fell pendent over his heaving chest, and Ezra’s eyes on them were a bottomless sea, fathomless agate brown and shimmering like moonlight with unshed tears. He looked up reverently, eyebrows furrowed, rosebud mouth falling open pleadingly.

“My divinity, my light, my Beatrice…” he croaked in a ragged whisper, his voice rough around the purple prose. Ezra’s rhythmic breaths were a fervent prayer as he supplicated to the heaven of your chest. “Relieve me of my agony, this exquisite anguish, I beg of you.”

You leaned forward further, pressing your lips to his crown like a blessing, pulling back only slightly to brush a wet white-blonde curl from his clammy skin before returning your forehead to his and closing your eyes. Ezra fought to stay still, but his cock throbbed furiously where it was squeezed between your bodies. Against his will, a silky drop of precome leaked from the fat tip of him, finding home in the slit of his belly button, and the whole of his strong, solid body quivered with need.

You looked down again, and oh. Ezra’s pupils were blown wide, his gaze impossibly dark and rich, dripping with the rawest, rarest awe. His pink tongue darted out and he gulped. “Please.”

You nodded, and before you could find the words to grant him verbal permission, Ezra lurched forward and took one puffed nipple into the soft heat of his hungry mouth. He teased it between his teeth, scraping gently, before swirling his tongue around the peak and suckling. Your breath hitched and Ezra moaned around you, sucking once more before releasing you.

“I do swear,” and he planted a kiss on your breastbone, interrupting himself. “There is,” he murmured, nosing a second kiss into the heavy underside of one breast, “no known embrocation…” He repeated the action on the other breast. “No salve,” as he pressed his teeth to the upper swell of the left, “nor balm...” A testing bite on the right made you suck in sharply. “That can soothe the weariness in my soul,” he ruminated. He traced a wide circle with the tip of his nose around your dark areola before opening his mouth over it, his tongue cradling the heft of you, and breathed his words into your skin. “None that can compare to the solace I find when I sink into your perfect bosom.” He closed his lips around your nipple and sucked again, eyes fluttering in sated delight, luxuriating in the feel of your swollen bud on his tongue. Your cunt clenched, petal-soft folds hugging along the underside of his shaft, and you hissed in tandem at the sensation.

“Now, Ezra,” you tutted, chastising reluctantly. Taking his face between your hands, you pulled him off your breast with a pop, watching his expression transform to a needy pout as you encouraged his face up to meet yours. “I didn’t say I was finished with you yet, my star. Don’t be hasty.” Your palms held firm along his jaw, fisting into the ebony curls at the nape of his neck, while your thumbs rubbed through his scratchy stubble, and he simpered apologetically.

Your playfully admonishing look softened, and you smiled down at him. “There he is. You’re so good, dove,” you hummed, pressing your lips tenderly to the heart-shaped bare patch near the corner of his mouth. Ezra closed his eyes, preening. You peppered his perfect face with small attentions as you praised him. “So sweet for me.” A buss to his boyish dimple. “So brave,” to the thin white scar on his cheekbone. “So clever and charming,” to the laugh lines feathering around his eyes. “So gentle and kind,” to the twin creases between his eyebrows. “And so, so lovely,” to the strong bridge of his classical nose. “My angel,” to the cherubic cleft of his plump lower lip. “My Ezra.” You slotted your mouth with his and kissed him slowly, savoring his delicate sigh before knotting your fingers in his tousled waves and bringing him ever closer.

Ezra’s hand moved from its place around your waist to your head, his broad palm cradling the side of your face while he ran a wide thumb along your cheekbone as he deepened the kiss, licking indulgently into you. The pads of his fingers rubbed rough circles on your neck, twisting your hair into rings around his thick knuckles.

Open mouths slid against each other, growing heated and harder, spit-slick and lewd, lips swelled with bruising force of each kiss and bite. Ezra shifted his weight to sit more upright, scooting back slightly and straightening his spine against the headboard, sliding his painfully hard cock back down your slit and nudging at your dripping entrance, forcing a low moan from the depths of your throat. “Rhapsody,” he murmured, breathless, and he crashed another desperate kiss to your face.

“You’ve done so well, precious one,” you cooed into him, unraveling his hand from your hair and placing it at the flare of your waist. “So good for me.” You gripped Ezra’s shoulders for balance and recentered yourself on his lap, kneeling, caging him in between the dimpled plush of your thighs and rocking your dripping center firmly into the cradle of his hips. His abdominals seized and he gritted his teeth, nostrils flaring as he tried to calm himself for you. Letting your hand slide lovingly down his right arm, you trailed a finger over the blunt end of his residual limb, delicately tracing along the lines of the scars there before lifting his arm alongside your face and nuzzling into him affectionately.

“You deserve every good thing, Ezra. This world and every other.” You kissed him softly at the end of his arm and continued up along the cut of his bicep, over the round of his deltoid, along the slope of his shoulder, and rested your open mouth at his pounding pulse point. “If I could, I’d give you everything.” Pressing your body flush against his torso, you began circling your hips down against him. His body was shaking with restraint, perspiration beading at his temples when you lifted your lips to the shell of his ear. “I’d give you everything, but all I have to give you is myself, and so I will. I am yours, my love.”

Ezra rutted up into you with a shivering howl and you smothered it at the source with an achingly passionate kiss. All control abandoned, he grabbed the meat of your hip and dug his fingers in deep, canting his hips to slip himself frantically through your wetness. You snaked a hand between your bodies to swirl the pearl of your clit before dipping two fingers deep inside yourself. You plunged them in and out, curling them against that soft spongy coral of your wall until they were coated in you, and in a single movement withdrew them and wrapped a tight fist around Ezra’s thick cock, spreading your slick over the feverish velvet skin. Angling your fist to position him properly, you pressed your nose into his and looked directly into his glimmering lust-glazed eyes, punctuating each word with a long firm stroke. “I. Am. Yours.”

Ezra pushed inside your heat with a staggering thrust and a wheeze. You slammed down onto him, crying out at the burning stretch, your hands suddenly scrambling for purchase again on his broad shoulders. He buried his face into the well of your collar and growled at the blistering vice of your pussy, straining to hold back to allow you a few seconds to adjust to his size. You met his lips again and let him slide his tongue lazily into your mouth as you slowly lifted yourself off his shaft until only the thick head remained in your channel. You dropped back down onto his cock with a shivering exhale, taking him all the way to the hilt.

Ezra worked into a smooth but brutal rhythm and you met his thrusts in earnest, your thighs burning as you rode him while he slammed up over and over again into the deepest part of you. You could feel you both rapidly unraveling as he held you tight, pressing you down into his pelvic bone and grinding against your sensitive clit while you gasped into each other.

Ezra planted his feet flat on the mattress for leverage and punched up into you urgently, pace starting to falter as his breaths turned jagged and shallow. “I have been,” he huffed sharply, “an aimless and indulgent vagabond.” He choked down air as if drowning. “A derelict wastrel, a wretched… grunt… ne’er-… grunt… do-well.” Ezra ranted, half-conscious in his carnal frenzy like a shark in blood, dragging his mouth and tongue over your body wherever he could reach as cunt-drunk ramblings poured from him.

You felt yourself careening toward your release, spots clouding the edges of your vision, and attempted to ground yourself to Ezra, pushing your face into the crook of his neck and breathing him in, salty and sun-drenched and woody, the tang of sweat baked by his radiant heat, creating something resinous and animalic and ambrette and intoxicating.

“You are an oasis. A… font… of renewal,” he gritted against you, thrusts sloppy as you groaned and wound against him, ready to hurl yourself from your peak. “In you,” he whined, pained, “I am a man remade. Let this poor wretch, oh, fuck, be cleansed, fuck, in your waters.” Ezra nearly wept now. “Please, redeem me. Drag me under.”

You fell apart around him, coming hard with a loud shout of his name, the roof of your mouth tingling and vision blurring with each crashing wave of your orgasm, scrambling to hold on as Ezra frantically chased his own salvation. You chanted your devotions in precious promises against his throat. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I’m yours, my beautiful boy, I’m yours.”

Ezra sobbed as he came, body wracked with convulsions as he spilled violently into you, rope after impossible rope of white hot spend a libertine absolution. He leaned back, pulling you forward with him, and continued to pump weakly and intermittently, mewling at the oversensitivity as his come began to seep out around his softening cock, dripping down where your bodies joined, into the muscled cleft of his ass and soaking into the sheets underneath.

When his movements finally stilled, he let his arms fall back and open over the mattress with a quavering sigh, like he meant to make a snow angel in the soiled linens, a few errant tears slipping out into the furrows at the corners of his eyes. You crawled up his chest and tucked yourself tight into his side, wrapping his short strong arm around you and nestling into the sweat-matted hair at his armpit, blissfully ignoring the heavy blanket of still, sticky air that hung in the room. You rested a palm on his smooth, freckled chest, and he covered it entirely with his own massive hand.

Ezra was never silent for long. After a moment, he took your hand from his chest and brought your knuckles to his soft lips. “I am eternally indebted to you and the… vast expanse of your benevolence,” he chuckled softly, still catching his breath. “And I am forever grateful that you have made a happy home for this prodigal son in your boudoir.” The tip of his tongue poked out to wet the cleave of his lip. You smirked and thumbed it open, and he licked at you playfully before giving your fingers a soft nip.

“Thank you for letting me take care of you, little bird,” you lilted, the quiet words full to bursting with adoration. “And I meant what I said.” You took his scruffed chin pointedly and turned his bashful, blushing face to yours. “I would give you everything, if I could.” He exhaled, eyes falling closed as he let himself be momentarily overwhelmed with your affection, pulled into the sea of it. He swallowed wetly, his throat bobbing as he cleared it.

“Oh, beloved,” Ezra purred, low and warm. “You have.”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[courtingchaos]

This was just a little blurb I wrote the other night for a prompt competition thing however, I was stuck at a concert and wasn’t able to actually participate like that! So y’all can have it! Though I must say, @fracturedarkness has already claimed him as their boyfriend, so the slimy boy is off the market. Sorry ladies.

A/N and Warnings: It’s monsterfucking. I don’t know what else to tell ya. Mentions of said monsterfucking. Go cautiously, have fun, don’t complain about it, it’s just river monster Eddie, he loves you.

You can hear the chittering before before you see the flash of his eyes hidden under the mossy brown hair. The river is murky enough to keep the rest of him hidden until he wants you to see him, until he’s ready to pull you down the slick embankment. His hand is smooth and scaly, fingertips rough when they shoot up out of the water and snatch your knee, pulling you waist deep. You gasp at the cold, at the feel of his cool skin sliding against yours, waterlogged eyes curiously searching your own for recognition.

He can feel your heartbeat pressed up against him, can feel the rush of heat between your legs where his hand rakes up further. The pointed tips of his claws scratching lightly against sensitive flesh.

This is a game you two play, ever since you found him. Alone the way he thought he wanted to be until you came along, tromping through his underbrush and disturbing his peace. You smelled like sunlight and dry earth, things he rarely occupied. He’d only been curious at first but then you’d cut yourself on the rocks and he could taste that sunlight in the water. It hadn’t taken long to track you downstream, follow you up the rocks you’d climbed. His den wasn’t far and he thought he could have his fun with you before pulling you under the current, but something was different. You didn’t scream like all the other humans. You didn’t try to fight out of his grip on your bleeding ankle. You’d watched with wide, curious eyes. Run your mouth at him like he couldn’t understand you but when he pulled you close abruptly you’d stopped, watched his pale lips form around familiar sounds. Watched those sharp teeth move in closer to you.

He’d had his fun though, had let you go that first time to slink back to your civilization but you’d slunk back to him. Found him in his home, bringing that sharp sunlight with you and he was fascinated with your missing fear and warm skin.

You’d kept coming back and he kept playing along, tracking you down when he’d catch a whiff of you on the wind. He liked how you tasted after a trek through the woods, long tongue laving up the side of your neck to gather the salt there while you moaned. He’d drag his claws up your sides, pulling at useless clothing hiding you from him. His favorite thing was to get you laid out on the mossy rocks under his stars, nose buried deep in your cunt where you tasted the most like earth. He’d make you scream like the cicadas in the surrounding pines and then pull you down into the water, big hands keeping your head afloat and pinning you to the edge where he could fuck you, knows this is why you keep coming back to find him in the dark. He fights the urge to pull you under the surface, wants to fill your lungs with the same cool water and mate you but he knows he can’t. Not if he wants to keep chasing you, keep finding you. So he pins you and ruts into you hard, holds you in place until you’re clawing at the wet earth and getting it under your nails and in your hair. He wonders if you hold on to his scent like he does yours when he bites down on your shoulder, long row of sharp teeth breaking that fragile skin and filling his mouth with sunlight when he comes. He marks you in a lot of ways, ways he knows don’t matter to where you belong. Ways that matter to him though, and to you too. So he’ll pull you out of the water and bring you to your things and when you’re finally conscious enough to get dressed and leave, he’ll watch from under his rocks and wait. Wait for you to step on moss and leaves and mud again and bring him his taste of sunlight.

(Sacrifice for the read more)

[sehtoast]

Indulge Me (Homelander x Reader Powerswap!au Smut)

18+ | 1.5k words | Pure smut, gender neutral reader, oral sex, lazy blowjob, ball sucking, rimming, begging, overstimulation, come eating, HL!reader, oral fixation | Fic Directory

This is your favorite.

He really was so perfect for you. Indulging this little need of yours, head tipped back on the couch, warm breaths escaping between his parted lips.  

Your head rests in his lap while his fingers thread through your hair.  It’s how he grounds himself.  You know he enjoys this, too.  This little… fixation of yours.

You lost track a while ago of how long you’ve been like this.  Head turned toward his body as you suckle the head of his limp cock, tongue teasing his foreskin.  You can’t recall how many loads you’ve swallowed, but you know he’s dazed and you’re in heaven.

Your own arousal has long since drenched your underwear, but you’ll take care of that eventually.  

You roll your tongue lazily over the head, drool spilling down your cheek landing in a dark patch on his pants.  He tastes so good, so sweet, and he’s all yours.  You roll closer to him, letting his soft cock slip further back your tongue. 

The goal was never quite to get him off, but rather to satisfy that little oral fixation of yours. He’d discovered it fairly early on in your relationship.  A thumb pressed to your lower lip after a kiss, the digit sucked into your mouth, your eyes glazing over.

John had looked like a deer in headlights, but he went along with it.  Pushed and pulled his thumb in and out, soft sighs escaping from him as he imagined how that tongue would feel on his cock.

He took your hand back then.  Guided it into his pants, under his cute little briefs, let you grasp and stroke him while you laved over his finger.  He ended up lightheaded and had to sit.  That was when you, filthy little thing you are, traded his finger for his cock.  

You held him in your mouth until your chest was soaked in a slick combination of come and slobber.  Even then, you didn’t want to let off.

You feel him grow against your tongue, twitching again after his refractory period passed.  He uses his grip in your hair to rock your head gently.  

You don’t care.  As long as you get what you want.

He pushes until the tip is at your tongue and you wrap your lips around him, sucking gently.  Can’t be too careless, can’t hurt him.  But you have to have him.

He looks down at you with glassy eyes and red cheeks. His chest heaves, he chews his lip, lets his hands roam.

“Mmm, god, what’d I ever do to deserve you?” He moans.  “That’s so– oh, fuck…”

His cock twitches and you roll to swallow more of him.  Your tongue travels lazily along the length.  You angle your head to catch the bump of the vein that runs on the underside and his hips jerk.

“Hnngh,” he gasps.  He’s sensitive, damn near overstimulated.  His eyes travel to the window of your penthouse, basking in the beautiful blue sky as you work his cock– but not for too long.  

The sight of you is far more gorgeous.

You shift, releasing him to prop yourself on your elbow.

“Pants off,” you tell him.

Without a second of hesitation, he pushes them down to his knees.

“Lay back.”

Once again, John does as you say, kicking his garments away and splaying his legs wide.

Your face is buried against him almost immediately, though this time you take one of his balls in your mouth.  You hold it gently, tongue swiping over it in meticulously slow strokes.  You taste the salt of his sweat and a flavor that is uniquely his.

You can feel him start stroking himself, his skin moving along with the more aggressive tugs.

He’s a moaning mess above you, but he knows not to come.

Not until your mouth is back around him and he can be savored.

His heel digs into your back and he arches up, pressing his sack against your mouth.  He feels your drool slowly dribble down his balls, over his perineum, a small trail painting over his hole.

“Ah, might be a, uh, a weird ask,” he shudders, “your spit feels r-really good when it goes… down there, uh… C-Can you uhm, you know… drool… more?”

You look up at him with a twinkle of amusement in your spaced out eyes. You suck off of his sack with a wet pop, grabbing both of his thighs to push him so that his ass is exposed entirely to you. 

“H-Hey!” 

You press his thighs to his chest, kneeling before him.  You can see the realization in his eyes and it stirs something playful in you.  You drop a heaping glob of saliva on his hole before diving in, tongue swirling around the tight muscle.  There’s more of an effort here than what you’d been doing before.

He deserves a treat for being so good for you for so long.  

Your sweet little Johnny.

He keens below you, hands swatting below his rear to seek any part of you he could grab.  Somehow he manages a handful of your cape.

You press your tongue flat against his rim, holding it there to warm him.  Your hands move to knead his rear, the globes of his flesh so soft and malleable in your palms.  

His whines and whimpers are so sweet, but your name flying off his tongue is by far the most delicious part of it all.  He practically screams it when you pierce that tight ring of muscle, tongue wriggling inside.

How fucking amazing to know he was all yours.  You could take him apart at your leisure, in any way you want, and he’d always beg for more.

Just like now.

“Ah, please! Please– fuck! Fuck!”

Your little birdie loves to sing for you.

“Oh, god, fuck, can– can I t-touch mys– AH!” He cried out as you pushed your tongue further, slipping out to suck hard on his perineum.  “Please, please, oh fuck, please!!” 

Your hand slipped around his waist to grasp his cock, squeezing just enough to make his whole body jump.  You drag your fist over the length of him torturously slow as you tongue fuck him.

He weeps, begging and pleading.

Through his tears, he tells you how close he is.  You angle his body, pointing the tip of his cock right at his mouth.

“Catch it,” you tell him, “but don’t swallow it.”

He nods like the desperate slut he is.  Needy for you, needy for all that you’ll give him, starved until he can have it.

You drag your tongue from hole to sack, suckling his flesh and jerking him in three hard pumps that leave him howling an open mouthed moan, ropes of his come painting his face and tongue.  You trail back to his hole and dip your tongue inside to feel every pulsation of his glorious release.

He feels his body drop and your tongue is upon his face in a fraction of a second, licking him clean.

He’s pretty sure it’s in his hair, too, but he can’t possibly care about that.  Not when your tongue delves between his parted lips to lick everywhere you can possibly reach, desperate for more of his taste.  

You’re like an animal starved for something only he can provide. 

You press him against the couch, tasting your little pet, savoring his sounds and how they echo inside of you.

He’s so fragile looking when you pull away. He’s been undone and put back together over and over again.  So good, so perfect for you.

All for you.

“Good boy, Johnny.” You purr into the shell of his ear.  

He arches against you.

“You’re gonna take such good care of me now, right?”

He nods eagerly, nearly rising from the couch if not for your overwhelming strength keeping him in place.

Your hands slip under the hem of his sweater, pushing it up to reveal his nipples.  You lean down to tongue over one, fingers finding the other.

“That delicious cock of yours is gonna be ready for me soon, right?” You murmur against his chest. You relish the feeling of his hands in your hair, gripping and tugging.

The thought of more damn near scares him.  He’s not sure if he’s got anything left; he might end up shooting dry.  Would you be upset that you didn’t get your little treat if that’s all he had?

“You’re gonna fuck me and take such good care of me, baby. I know it.” 

You suck his rosy bud into your mouth, smirking at his weak moans.

“My sweet little Johnny…”

[artdcnaldson]

Wanna be gross with Patrick ��� want him to come home all sweaty and nasty after a match n wanna sniff his boy smell and lick his happy trail and suck his dick n bury my face in his balls !! Yeah!!

Yeah <3

Greeting him on the court after he has a nice big win after tournament after tournament of losses. Kissing him sweetly, not wanting to get him banned from another country club. He’s dripping with sweat, exhausted from the day on the court. You just give him a pretty smile and tell him you’ll be waiting at the hotel and not to shower.

He’s back to the hotel in record time, finds you in pretty pink lingerie atop the ‘fancy’ hotel duvet (fancy in the sense that it’s not rentable by the hour). You look so sweet— like a fucking wet dream come true.

He groans at the sight of you, drops his bags onto the floor and kicks the door shut. He’s on you in a second, pinning you down to the mattress, all hot and sweaty. “God, baby,” he groans, licking a stripe up your throat. “I don’t even know if I should touch you. All clean and pretty.” His nose presses to your pulse point, breathes deep. “Smell so fucking sweet. Gonna fuckin’ ruin you.”

He’s absolutely disgusting after the match, smells of sweat and musk. But god, you fucking love it. It’s sheer testosterone— he’s so fucking masculine it makes your body go into overdrive. And you’re so sweet, dainty and precious. You shouldn’t want him like this, but you do. You fucking need it.

So he undresses and sits at the headboard, legs spread to accommodate your frame. Your hot little mouth kitten licks at his hairy thighs, tastes the sweat and salt as you make your way up to his cock. He fists your hair into a makeshift ponytail, he wants the perfect view of you as you mouth at his balls.

God, the smell of him is so strong that it floods your senses, makes your heart thud, makes saliva pool on your tongue. You’re all drooly and sloppy as you lave over his sack, moaning at the taste, at the weight of him on your tongue. Your nose brushes against the underside of his cock, you feel it resting heavy and hard on your face as you take one of his balls into your mouth, suckling so sweetly.

“You’re so fucking gross, baby,” he’s practically cooing. A spurt of pre smears against your forehead, into your hairline. You moan against his balls, let them fall from your lips with a wet plop back against his skin. You stick your little tongue out and he’s feeding the head of his cock inside your mouth, all warm and wet and open for him. “That’s it. Take it down that’s tight little throat.”

He tastes heady, musky on your tongue. You moan at the taste, bobbing your head as you take him deeper into your mouth. And god, you look so fucking angelic— lashes splayed on your cheeks as you work your mouth on him, relishing in the feel of him, in the taste. All you want to do is spend hours between his legs, worshipping his cock, showing how much you love him with that pretty mouth and sinful tongue.

When you look up at him with pupils dilated and your lips spit slick and stretched around his cock, he’s content with giving you exactly what you want.

[suguwu]

thinking again about how aventurine tends to spend vs give and how because of that, he has a tendency to pick up the most expensive items for you. they are often incredibly impractical for your day-to-day life.

"where am i going to wear that?" you ask, arching a brow as he presents you with earrings made from fallen stars, the heart of them burned black by their descent. they're massive, like dove eggs in the nest of your palm.

he waves a hand; his rings glitter in the light, winking stars. "i'll take you somewhere."

you watch him for a moment. "you know," you say gently, "you don't have to buy me things to get me to stay."

he stiffens.

"it's not a transaction," you say, because sometimes you like to push where you shouldn't. "this isn't business."

he grins, shoulders loosening. "it's just a gift," he says. "and most people just say thank you, you know."

"thank you, aventurine," you say dryly, because you also know when to back off. you trace a finger over the earrings; they're cool to the touch. "they really are beautiful."

"try them on."

you put in the first one; the backing of it digs into your fingers, a bright spark of pain. the second one slips into place more easily. they're heavy.

"pretty things for a pretty thing," he muses, taking you in. "they look good on you."

"thanks. i still don't know where i'll wear them."

"don't worry," he says, a smug smile curling at the edge of his lips. "i can get us in anywhere."

"really?" you say. "i would have never guessed."

he laughs again, stepping close. his own earring gleams in the low light, a teal ocean. he runs a finger along the shell of your ear.

"i like you wearing things i gave you," he says. "you should do it more often."

"stop getting me things that will get me robbed, then."

he clicks his tongue. "you could always wear them just for me," he says. "you'd look good with nothing but them on. we should test it out."

he hooks a finger into your collar and tugs it aside, revealing more of your skin. he leans forward and presses a biting kiss to junction of your neck and shoulder. you jolt. he hums and laves his tongue over the sting of it.

you sink a hand into his hair; the golden strands spill over your fingers like water. you can't help but pull him closer. it makes him smile against the salt of your skin. you tilt your head back to give him more room.

the earrings clink, a musical chime.

he strips you of everything but them, splaying you out on the bed like a collector's butterfly, his hands the pins. his vivid eyes darken as he takes you in.

"stop staring."

"oh, c'mon now," he says. "i could hardly deprive myself of this beautiful sight."

you huff. "flatterer."

"me? never."

"you're so—"

he leans forward to curl his tongue around your earlobe, hot and wet. your words leave you; you sigh out a breath as the sensation settles under your skin.

the earrings chime again.

he traces his tongue over the stud, then snakes it down to the rounded gem. he sucks it into his mouth as his hand slips higher on your thigh, closer to the heat between your legs. he's moving faster than usual, skipping his usual teasing.

idly, you think that perhaps this gift has its uses after all.