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troublesomesnitch · 1 year ago

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Meeting Vhagar - Drabble

Aemond x Wife!Reader

Much to your dismay, Prince Aemond insists on bringing your little son to Vhagar. Set sometime during the Dance.

Contents: Just a little practice thing... Dad!Aemond, Targaryen parenting, subtle fluff. Little bit of subtle angst too. No filth this time..

Words: 3000, and very sloppily proof read.

The carriage can only take you so far as to the Iron Gate.

Beyond its massive doors, the Rosby Road winds North, poorly maintained and full of potholes, as it is the shortest of the main roads, and thus the least important. It is not as busy as others, and the gate is not guarded as well - clearly, as the men who should be protecting it are presently engaged in a game of cards, laid out on top of a large, flat rock.

That is where the driver will wait, but it is not your destination.

There is another little trail. One that runs in the opposite direction, scarcely used and partially hidden, visible only to those who know it. No horse or wagon can make the journey, and there is no option but to walk - first along a narrow, trodden path, and then further still, down treacherous steps, carved into the very rock the city rests upon. Past the watchtower, and across the Northern beach, to the vast caves of Maegor the Cruel, where Vhagar has made her nest.

You walk alone, just the two of you. The prince in his coat and boots, and yourself in attire much less suited for the occasion. Fine shoes, fine skirts, and with your little son cradled in your arms.

The gentle rocking of the carriage has lulled him to sleep. Four months old, he is, and a source of such joy that your poor heart can scarcely contain it. From his first high-pitched cry when you brought him into the world - oh, the pains of labour were all but forgotten, as was the threat of the raging war. And when the prince came to see his son, you could hardly even bear to let him hold him.

He wanted to bring the boy much sooner, but both you and the dowager queen staunchly put your foot down against that. Children should not be brought outside the home until they have at least lived through the first perilous weeks, and possibly even their first fever. And even then, most would argue, they have no business being around ferocious animals.

“I don’t like it,” you say, for the umpteenth time, taking the hand offered to you by the prince to help you cross a treacherous stretch. “It is mad, bringing an infant to such a beast - ”

“Vhagar should know him,” he says, steadfast and determined. As he has done whenever you voiced your concern.

It does nothing at all to calm your nerves. But it is his most compelling argument, and the only reason you have allowed this lunacy in the first place. So the dragon would recognise the boy as his, and as one of her own. So she would know to protect him, if - something should happen.

You make it halfway across the pebbled beach before the prince pauses. And you do too, lifting your gaze to follow his line of sight; see what he is looking at.

An enormous, greyish mass, some yards away, that at first you thought was a moss-grown rock, or years of washed up seaweed. But the mass makes a rumbling noise and begins to shift and lift itself, slowly and carefully, as though with much effort. Part of it becomes a leg, another part unfurls into a great wing, and the rock nearest to you becomes a head, with a mouth full of jagged teeth, and two eyes opening slowly. Amber in colour, and with slitted pupils staring straight at you.

“She can sense me,” the prince declares, with no small amount of pride, lifting his chin and straightening his back.

You, however, are paralysed, utterly shocked by her vastness. You have never seen Vhagar this close before, and though you knew of her impressive size, it is one thing to see her soaring across the sky, and quite another to be right next to her, unprotected and vulnerable.

It seems to you that the span of her wings could cover half the city, that entire buildings could fit in her mouth. And certainly, she could end all three of you with her fiery breath, or with a single swipe of her claw or her massive tail. One wrong move, even if accidental, even if she did not mean to - you would all be dead.

“Come,” the prince says, pushing at the small of your back. But you stall, digging in your heels, frozen in place at the sight of her.

“I’ve changed my mind,” you stammer. “We should go back - it is not safe…”

The prince gives an overbearing, if somewhat irritated sigh.

“Dragons are loyal beasts,” he reassures. “Vhagar is loyal to me, she obeys me - ”

“She is a beast,” you hiss, hugging your drowsy son closer to your chest. “She cannot be trusted. It is too dangerous - I won’t let you bring him any closer - ”

Prince Aemond does not like to be challenged. He turns around to look at you coolly, his voice low and scornful as he speaks.

“Is your opinion of me so unfavourable, wife, that you think I would risk harm to my own son?”

“No,” you respond, quietly, but truthfully. Since you were married, your opinion of the prince has only risen, slowly but surely. And it continues to do so, still - though perhaps not right now. “I don’t like it - ”

“Mhm - so you said,” your husband says dryly, all but wrenching the swaddled boy from your arms.

He does not complain, the boy. Prince Aemond comes to visit often, at least once a day, and sometimes more. He sits with the child, reads to him, lets him fall asleep in his arms - not for very long each time, but it is at least enough for the little boy to recognise his father’s low voice and stern face as something safe and comfortable. As is evident from the way he now settles against the prince’s leather-clad chest, tangling his little fist into a lock of his hair.

The beast remains still, pensive as her rider approaches, her serpent’s eyes fixed on the thing in his arms, on what he is bringing her. Your most precious treasure, your life’s very purpose, completely at the mercy of the greatest dragon in the world.

You might have felt more at ease if the soft, sparse hair on his head had been silver like his father’s, but alas, it is not. It is exactly like yours, and only the bright violet of his eyes gives away his true inheritance.

And that seems like too little a thing for such a large creature to notice.

Prince Aemond calls out in that strange language of his, with the open vowels and the rolling R’s. It is beautiful, especially in his mouth, and the dragon responds at once, contorting herself to let him touch her wrinkled neck with affection. Which is a strange sight, but what is even stranger is the way she grumbles - as though she likes it. He speaks to her as if she was another person, in long, full sentences that are much too complicated for you to even attempt to understand. There is only one word you can make out, for the sole reason that he says it twice - yoreliatzeh, or yorelatzya, or something akin to that. You haven’t a clue as to what it means.

Vhagar snorts once, and the prince steps back to give her room to move, to rise up onto her legs and bring her head closer, her nose almost touching his hip. While you stand at a distance, staring at the utterly bizarre scene playing out in front of you. A fearsome, vicious beast, sniffing the child like a dog would. Gently and carefully, only she is so big that each of her cautious breaths is like a small gust of wind, making your husband’s hair billow about his face. When she makes a grunting noise, he carefully unwraps some of the swaddlings, holding the child up to let her see him better, smell him better.

He is bright, your darling boy, and curious, like all babes and children. His eyes are wide as they take in Vhagar’s scaly form, and he gives a soft squeal of surprise or wonder, kicking his little feet under the blankets. Reaching his arm towards the beast's massive head, her massive teeth -

“Aemond, please - ” you gasp, clutching your hands to your throat.

The prince turns his head to give you a stern look, one that clearly shows he is running out of patience. And maybe this time it is justified, because your fearful outburst startles the boy, who begins to squirm unhappily in his father’s arms. Fussing and whimpering; a sound that is as painful to you as salt to an open wound.

“Bring him to me,” you plead, “can’t you see that he is frightened - ”

“He is frightened because you are frightened,” the prince says, as soft spoken as always, but with a hint of something sharp underneath.

He cradles the boy closer to his chest, bouncing him gently, holding his head and murmuring soothing words. Exactly as you would do, and to the same effect. It calms him down, and his big, round eyes start darting around again, taking in his surroundings. The dragon, the grey sea, the fine silver clasps on his father’s clothes. It does seem that the latter intrigues him the most.

Vhagar lifts her neck and tilts her head just slightly, seemingly very interested in the child, in this tiny little creature; the way he moves his little limbs, and his soft coos and noises. There is an almost… thoughtful look in her eyes, or at the very least a curious one.

It makes you wonder about the extent of her perception. Whether she truly knows that this is Aemond’s child, that it came from him, from his body, his flesh. If she can sense it somehow, through the bond they purportedly share, or if she understood it when he spoke to her.

How intelligent is a dragon? Are they like dogs or horses, able to learn the meaning of certain words, but not the full breadth of language? Or do they think as people, with nuance and emotion, and a mind as vivid as your own.

You do not know. You suppose no one really does.

“Come,” the prince calls, reaching his arm towards you, beckoning you closer. However, a single glance at Vhagar, whose mighty gaze is now focused on you, is enough to inspire disobedience in even the most well-behaved wife.

“I would really rather not - ”

“She must know the both of you,” he insists.

“Is that - necessary?” you squirm, wringing your hands, very much aware that you are not a dragon rider, that you haven’t a drop of Valyrian blood. “Vhagar has no reason to think fondly of me…”

The prince scoffs.

“Are you not the mother of my child?” he says. “Now, come.”

You must go to him. He is your lord husband, and he is a prince, and such is the way of things. But you are not at all glad to, and you walk with shaky, reluctant steps, gripping onto his elbow and cowering behind him like a frightened child.

You close your eyes when the dragon lowers her head once more, bringing it towards you. A sudden, low-pitched growl makes your heart tremble, but the prince speaks a soft command. Lykirī, Vhagar. Lykirī.

It has a calming effect on you too. As does the arm he keeps outstretched in front of you - solely for your comfort, you assume, as it would make no difference whatsoever, should Vhagar decide that she does not like you. But you appreciate the gesture nonetheless.

The air is warm, this close to her, and your skirts move around your legs when she breathes, slowly and deeply, while the prince speaks to her in soft tones. That word again, the one from before, and many others. You know the words for wife, for king, for father, brother, sister, even for dragon, but he says none of those now, so you have no guess as to what he is telling her. Or if she understands. Or what he would call you, if not his wife.

This woman is my - spouse? lady? lover?

You do have a kind of love for him, and sometimes you think he does for you, too. Sometimes. One can never be sure of anything with the prince, who keeps himself so closely guarded. Even after more than a year of marriage. Even now that you have given him a child.

The birth went mercifully well, but your recovery was long, and he has only recently begun to come to your bed again. And so far, only a handful of times. The first time, it was so painful for you that the act could not be completed, and the second time, he finished so quickly that it barely even counts. The third was better. Pleasurable for both of you, but still strange after going so long without it - at least for you. It is both likely and possible that the prince satisfied his urges elsewhere while your body was indisposed. You do not know. Nor do you wish to.

The ground shifts beneath your feet, and the heat around you lessens, as does the heavy smell of burned flesh and brimstone, the very same one that so often clings to your husband’s clothes. When you open your eyes it is to the sight of Vhagar, settled onto her belly, her head laid atop her claws. Calm and docile, and with a deep rumble coming from her chest - one that is probably a sign of contentment, even if it sounds utterly terrifying.

“Touch her,” the prince commands, giving a gentle push to your back. “You have nothing to fear, touch her.”

It is quite clear that Vhagar is unruffled by your presence, that she is resting. But with her eyes heavy and half-closed, it makes her look so menacing, so evil - even though you know that evil does not exist inherently in any beast. Only in those who train it.

You draw in a steadying breath, gathering up your courage, reaching your hand out - only to then think better of it and let it fall.

“I am afraid to,” you whisper.

The prince sighs. But his hand closes gently around yours, bringing it to rest on the side of her nose, first the tips of your fingers, and then your whole palm.

It is like nothing else you have ever felt, her scales. You always imagined that a dragon’s skin would feel like leather, but Vhagar’s skin is so much tougher, so much rougher, like running your hand over little rocks. And she is warm - so warm, as though a fire is always burning somewhere in her throat.

She does not object at all to your touch, even when the prince withdraws his own hand, leaving only yours. Only you and Vhagar. The largest, oldest being in the world.

To think, the things she has seen. The conquest, the Dornish Wars, the very founding of the realm of the Seven Kingdoms. Dozens of castles have crumbled in her fire, and thousands of people have perished, and she has fought and won hundreds of battles; torn through stone, rock and earth as though it was boiled jelly.

It is at once terrifying and romantic, like something from a fairytale, or stories of ancient times. A creature of such myth and legend that you almost feel as though you should bow down to her, as one does before a great matriarch.

Vhagar the Conqueror. Queen of all Dragons.

She closes her eyes when you draw back.

“He might ride her too, some day,” the prince says quietly. Wistfully.

“But dragons only have one rider - ” you protest, cutting yourself off when you realise what he meant. What he left unsaid.

This is war. The realm is at war. Death is everywhere; at the end of a blade, in the point of an arrow. And if not on the field of battle, then in tainted water or plague-ridden camps; empty bellies or festering wounds.

“You shouldn’t say such things,” you mutter, looking down at your feet. Your dirtied shoes.

The prince does not answer. A heavy mood has settled over the rocky beach, something vast and bleak and empty, only compounded by the surroundings. The colourless sky, the sombre crashing of waves. Even Vhagar gives a doleful sigh, as though she too is weary of what is to come.

She has been the prince’s companion since childhood. He was born to the queen, but Vhagar made him what he is, made him ruthless, made him brutally ambitious. Made him Aemond One-Eye, Aemond the Kinslayer. Prince Regent, Protector of the Realm. She has known him boy and man, as well as any, and better than most. She has known him in life, and she may yet know him in death.

You push that thought away as forcefully as your mind allows. You shouldn’t think such things.

A coo from your son breaks the tension, and his eyes turn to the sky, where a large heron is flapping its wings. The afternoon is turning to evening, and soon the bell will ring for supper - something warm and comforting, you hope. You are cold, your breasts feel sore, and you have most certainly had enough excitement for one day. For several days, in fact.

“Can we go, please,” you breathe, looking up at your husband with wide, pleading eyes.

“She is tired,” he says, with a soft glance at Vhagar’s terrifying face, and a gentle touch to her side. “Yes, we should.”

—

You walk slower on the way back. Uphill, with sore feet, and your boy now fast asleep in your arms. Safe and snug where he belongs.

“My Prince,” you begin, sweet and innocent. “What does… yoreliatzeh mean?”

There is a sly little smile on his face when you look at him, a self-assured look in his remaining eye.

“Jorrāeliarza,” he corrects, with an artful pause before he continues. As though to keep you in suspense. “It means dear. Or… beloved.”

If he sees the sudden blush on your face, he does not let on.

“Jorālitzeh.”

“No,” he says. “Jor-rāe-liar-za.”

“Jor-rāe-liar-za,” you repeat, trying your very best to mimic the exact movements of his mouth, the way he gently rolls his tongue. “Jorrāeliarza.”

“Better,” he nods, and then you round a corner, just in time to see the guards hastily hide their cards away, and the driver shuffling back towards the carriage, eagerly shoving his winnings into a pocket.

Jorrāeliarza. Jorrāeliarza. Jorrāeliarza.

Dear. Beloved.

You like that very much.

Please feel free to come into my asks or DMs with critique of my fics! Constructive is preferred, but not required.

Tags. @arcielee, @targaryen-madness, @aemondsbabygirl, @qyburnsghost, @blackswxnn

I am a mess with the tagging, I'm so sorry if I forgot or wrongly tagged anyone. Let me know, I will fix it.

#aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond fic #aemond targaryen fic #aemond fluff

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anantaru · 2 years ago

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GENSHIN + HOW LONG THEY LAST DURING NNN

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — how long they last during no nut november

— ꒰ including ꒱ — childe, heizou, wriothesley, scaramouche, alhaitham, neuvillette

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — fem! reader, oral (fem! receiving), petnames: baby, princess, darling, good girl, doggy style/prone bone, hitting it raw, pussy drunk genshin men & touch starved, very filthy & loads of cum, mean boys and teasing you a lil

SHORTEST

— ꒰ CHILDE ꒱ + one hour

in the early stages of your plan, meaning when you first proposed the brilliant idea to childe to try out this little challenge and see how long you'd be able to make it work without being all over each other, you were confident that the two of you would at least make it till the two weeks mark— and much to your delightful surprise, the eleventh harbinger turned out to be quite motivated to prove not only you, but prove to himself that he can get through it.

fundamentally speaking and going from childe's point of view, crossing dangerous paths with a resilient fighter on a blood-thirsty battle field surely must be the same thing as resisting his darling princess day in and out— resist the urge to pin you against the mattress and fuck the living hell out of your body.

well, before moving forward to what had happened to be the worst hour of childe's entire life, so only a pure and simple hour into this, he catches the first glimpse of you in a dress as you walk towards the desk in your room, staring all dazedly over the bewitching garment that was framing your pretty figure just the right way and hugged you tight on just the best places.

alas, that's all it took your boyfriend to forget what no nut november was all about in the first place.

"ugh, you know what?" before you can even properly register it, childe had risen up from his seat to move closer to you, and under what felt like a split second, you could already smell his maddening fragrance, namely a costly perfume purchased from fontaine, crossing over your flaring nostrils as he greets you with a handsome, smirking face— so much more handsome than you have seen him before, it's like he really tried his best to get his way now.

the thought of the challenge died with the rasp of a groan scraping alongside your lips as he presses you between the furniture and his strong chest, initiatively making you sit on the wooden desk.

"you're fucking making me lose my mind, you know that?"

he hides the rich blush on his cheeks as he slants into your neck, the hint of teeth in the open-mouthed kisses on the thin skin turning you into a mere tremble, pouty lips breaching due to a faint mewl slithering past your tongue as you notice how one large palm slowly cups your clothed sex and rubs small circles on your little bolts of nerves.

you sigh deeply through your mouth before following the fragile breathes by a slow roll of your hips meeting his moving hand all scattered across your sensitivity, "we— we're about to lose the challenge, ajax," you whine out and try to reason, even though all you wanted was for him to just continue— the way you said it to him as well, sounding like you're trying to keep yourself from making it go any further yet at the same time, wrapping one arm around childe's neck to keep him secured against your quivering body at all costs.

"hm? what challenge?" the man feigns a sweet innocence with a smirk as you roll your eyes at him, "you're unbelievable," and shake your head with a smile as you let yourself lean into his blistering touch, the vibrations of his flaming trace on your cunt thrumming right into your complete bloodstream.

"well, yes," ajax whispers against the wet flesh of your neck— gratefully gathering your clothed pussy on his finger pads to play with your fluttering hole, eliciting a harsh sob of arousal from you.

"unbelievably sexy, you mean."

before he quickly pushes two fingers into the waistband of your panties to reach into your wet sex— exploding his hot digits over your wetness with a sudden snap of his fingers into your hole, a deep, guttural groan that nearly sent you into a daze buzzing into your ears.

fuck, you were just so adorable, so utterly alluring when you attempted to do the 'right' thing, miserably pushing through the challenge as good as you were able to, while also giving childe those dreamy and sweet doe-eyed glances through under your lashes when he freely roams his fingers through your slicked pussy, groaning into your neck when your hole spread so pretty for him, practically waiting to be taken.

— ꒰ HEIZOU ꒱ + three days

it's almost infuriating with the way heizou was teasing you all calculated and especially throughout the complete next three days into the challenge you had proposed to him— without even giving you one try to catch your breath from him, how he deliberately made sure to always give you his bright, unnecessary insight on all the lewd fantasies he'd absolutely love to do right now.

although of course, sadly he couldn't!

until now at least, you see, your boyfriend heizou was a hypnotic, not to mention clever individual, and he made sure to tease you just enough, just right to have you practically twitching and pressing your thighs together as you're attempting to fall asleep next to him— his hot crotch brushing over the expanse of your ass when he pseudo-innocently leans into your neck, slowly sliding the tip of his tongue to tease the shell of your ear and listen to your quickened pulse.

"hmm, what's wrong?" heizou dares to ask you, and it's shameless when he idly hooks one hand around your hips to pull you deeper into his semi hardened erection, a breathless laugh falling from his pretty lips as he pretends like he didn't know that it was because of him and only him that you're in such sensitive state, unable to recollect yourself, catching how your ass was grinding back to place little, desperately movements on him— pressing into him much deeper and precise, your neglected and puffy folds sliding to the shape of his clothed cock now visible through his boxers as you messily soil the fabric, leaving behind a film of sheen whites.

heizou drawls at you, teasingly rocking into your heat which was fluttering around nothing at all, but wishing to just feel him instead— a constant longing to have his thick shaft roam freely through your walls and mark you through within with his warm cum oozing down your used hole.

"oh baby, my baby," he slurrs into your ear, "you're so wet, i thought you were a good girl, you know?" he continues in accessory to ruthlessly dragging the length of his dick across your weeping cunt sensually, the sudden twitch of your figure and a desperate mewl making him hiss out his hot breathing through clenched teeth.

"what do you want, princess? you gonna say it or not?"

FAILED HALF-WAY THROUGH

— ꒰ WRIOTHESLEY ꒱ + one week

"wriothesley—ahh, please.." you babble out as wriothesley forces one of your thighs up to bend and rest against his shoulder, while now, opening you wider with a nudge at your other leg— the delicate scent of you was certainly much more penetrating now, and he easily rolls his tongue between your folds to collect your messy slick, dangerously tempted to just press his face off your cunt so he could fuck you like he means it, like he wanted to this entire week.

a deep moan slips past his lips as he frames his hot mouth over your aching clit, the deep vibrations of his noises nowhere near as powerful to him as they were to you as they continuously bounce off and course through your bloodstream.

you're practically riding his face and it's something wriothesley always needs you to do— until his rosy cheeks were stained in your warm arousal and his chin dripping of it, revealing desire curling in your lower stomach when he fucks his sloppy muscle into your hole and parts it effortlessly, forcing you memorize just how impossibly fine it felt to be pleasured by him, focused on the overstimulation he'd thrust into you.

"never doing this a-again," he groans, "fuckin' never,"

his dark hair falls over his eyes as he pushes his tongue back and forth your pussy— being so filthy to you and a hot mess when he collects your dribbling slick on the flat of his tongue before parting his mouth, letting it ooze down his bottom lip while he glances up through a hungry gaze, a mix of his spit and your arousal drooling onto your swollen clit before he digs his face back into you again.

your hole moulds after the shape of his pink muscle as the deepened coil in your stomach begins to tighten each time wriothesley would shake his head from left to right, suckling away your last hard spasms— your vision thoroughly blurred now, your thighs beginning to ache from the position wriothesley had you bend in as he places his hands on your ass to greedily squeeze and press you into his face.

he's so pussy drunk now— the soft tip of his tongue is kissing every part of your silken walls and you feel it become faster, parting your clenching hole to coax out every single orgasm you could give him.

— ꒰ SCARAMOUCHE ꒱ + two weeks

as one might know, your boyfriend scaramouche had a habit of overestimating his strength in quite a few scenarios— and even after two weeks of consistently dodging every little possibility to touch and kiss that lovely body of yours, he thinks its cute how eager you were to make him fail.

on top of that, kuni was always pushing his own pleasure aside, meaning, before he would allow himself to cum, he'd have to make you climax at least two times— apart from that, what made him ultimately fail the challenge you placed on him was when you started to drown him in sudden praises, randomly add petnames to each sentence, forming them so slurred and sensual, whispering them against his ear shells before he couldn't take it anymore.

"f-fuck, that's what you wanted, huh?" scaramouche desperately tries to keep himself together, but how was he able to do this after two weeks of resisting you, his words now subdued in a whimper and his hips stuttering into your hole when your walls finally wrap around him again.

it was intoxicating to feel your body change whenever he fucked you, it's like someone really wanted him and it strengthened his ego— when he senses how your muscles were beginning to relax at the precise candid squelches of your warm pussy slobbering around his sensitive cock, your mouth parted as you rasp into his ear, dropping your head into his neck before kissing and nibbling down to his collarbone.

despite that, you were honestly surprised that you were able to resist your boyfriend in the first place— that realization coming to you now that he's back at pleasuring you, his hands squeezing at your tits before he thrusts into your plushy cunt, his rigid length throbbing inside of your sensitivity until your sensitivity was weeping, squeezing and oozing out slick as his hands clung bruisingly to your hips to move you on his shaft.

the voice in your ear was deep, rough with lust, "take it— that my fucking cock, fuck,"

scaramouche groans and was on the brink of crumbling into one million pieces, his eyes fluttering close as you moan shamelessly into his neck with his entire weight pressed into your chest. relentlessly fucking his twitching shaft into you until he's sure you're seeing stars, until scaramouche knows you're becoming addicted of his cock again and on how nice and good it felt whenever he split you pretty and open, another greedy rock of his hips making you tremble, but you're squeezing finer still— because he was simply irresistible.

LONGEST

— ꒰ ALHAITHAM ꒱ + the entire month

“fuck love, fucking finally," alhaitham groans, for once, in a tone bathed in gravel and so shameless that it made you squeeze your hole around him as he fucks you hard, your face pressed into the soused pillows and your ass perked up high with the help of two strong palms keeping you up.

his hips repeatedly slam against yours in an animalistic pace, a feral perception that forced its way through your hole that it certainly knocked the hot air off your lungs— and aside from that, he's so impossibly thick and heavy in you that it's almost a little too difficult to keep him in, especially after going without sex for an entire month and taking him raw tonight.

to note, alhaitham was quite fond of foreplay and wouldn't just make you take him without preparation, but the two of you had been impossibly touch starved— and even after he tried to reason and tell you that, "you know it will hurt if i don't prep you," you urged him to just slide himself in, just tonight, and you cannot wait until you're burning from the thick cock stretching your pussy.

in truth, you're pretty much certain you won't even last this single round and from what you can tell from mannerism alone, you aren't even sure if alhaitham was able to get through this one either.

the grip on your hips was almost bruising, and your ass repeatedly bounces back and forth his cock as he rewards your pussy with the heavy spread of his dick coaxing out multiple squeezes from your hole— and alhaitham's hips stutter ever so often, even with all the filthy arousal dribbling down from your hole to all the way his base, the grip you continuously had on him making his mind grow in a haze, warmed by your body nestled underneath his bigger one.

"gonna cum— gonna make me cum," you whine into the pillows and without further warning, alhaitham leans his entire weight forward so you could swallow him as deeply as you could, your velvety pussy sucking mercilessly hard as he groans into your neck, your whines so deliciously loud from the new position— that not only made you tighter, but much more difficult to resist that his mind spins and clouds before him, repeatedly sinking his erection into the needy twist of your cunt, his thickly coated dick stretching you from behind.

fuck, this whole situation was so raw, so unrestrained, it drove you on, made you needier, made you redouble the efforts to take him deeper and better until he brushes over all the sweet spots in your cunt— and you hope for alhaitham to try and please you like that, to work his cock faster because he simply had to, especially after taking this challenge so fucking serious, knowingly teasing you about it and making you live without his perfectly shaped cock for over a month.

— ꒰ NEUVILLETTE ꒱ + the entire month

no one, and i mean no one could ever make neuvillette go against an agreed upon rule— speaking of which, you proposed the idea to him and wanted to try it out, and as a response, the index agreed.

of course he agreed, neuvillette would agree to anything you'd ask him to do, yet for some reason you really believed he would go against something he promised you not to do— and to say it drove you absolutely crazy would be an understatement, the sudden missing of the way his calloused hands would worship your body and curves, placing wet kisses on your skin before spilling sweet nothing into your ears.

it's unfair on how easy he was able to do it while you were weeping and burning from inside and out— up until now, until one month passes.

you rock your hips into him when he presses you down with his hands squeezing the bouncy flesh of your ass, his cock digging deep inside of you with each fresh thrust of your cunt languidly rolling across his entire shaft. neuvillette watches you from underneath through precious eyes, and your breathing begins to stutter when you slant your body forward so your perked up nipples would brush over his chiseled chest.

"w-why did you go on for a month?" you ask out of breath, as well as shakily but curious, feeling his hands squeeze your ass before he rolls you over his length himself, your foreheads resting against each other, your puffy nipples rubbing across his chest and making you mindless in your ministrations with your lips parted and a sheen string of spit oozing along your chin.

"y—you, you wanted it," he drawls back and looks a little confused, "you— ugh, say something and i will fulfill your wish," neuvillette adds earnestly— and he's right, he always will be and that's when you’ve realized that he must be so fucking touch starved right now, it being utterly obvious when his back arches off the mattress to repeatedly rut his hips into your heat, your tits hurdling up and down and going hand in hand with every intoxicating slap of his hips into your neglected cunt, driving himself further.

his words were muffled against your pouted lips as he helps you bounce of his cock— the wet squelches of smack smack smack echoing through the humid room and adding fuel to the fire burning through your passionate desire.

neuvillette's hands greedily squeeze at the plush flesh— fuck, he missed kneading your ass and worshipping your behind just how you deserved it, grunting when you wiggle your hips to engulf him and relieve him of the desperation that built up throughout the entire month, his leaking cockhead grazing inside of your pulsing splotches, making his pace stutter and twist desirably.

"you're breathtaking— i missed this," he grunts at you, a little whispery this time that ended in a crumbling tremble when your walls hug him tight, the movements of your bodies sloppy and without any form of control anymore, the erratic pace having your frame jiggle back and forth his figure as he spreads you apart with the next thrust of his heavy cock,

"missed doing this, so much,"

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