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byhuenii · 1 year

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✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮ SECERT LVER BOY

prompt— “text me when you get home”. (WC: 1.2k) pairing— shuntaro chishiya x gn!reader warnings— not proofread, fluff, maybe ooc chishiya, typos, secretly whipped chishiya, maybe more im missing. a/n— i actually took that writers block hiatus and now i’m back because i miss chishiya and the new season just got announced and i’m so excited BUT I DONT THINK CHISHIYA WILL BE IN IT BC HE WASNT IN THE MANGA :heartbreak:

dating chishiya is like what you could imagine dating a mix of a rock and black cat boyfriend. people ask “oh how do you date someone like him” or “oh does he even care?” even “he’s so stoney..it’s scary do you need help?”. sometimes they’re funny and sometimes they’re straight rude, people assume he is rude and mean bc that’s his front but in reality he is a big fluffy ball.

he is so cat like it’s cute, when he knows nobody is watching he has that personality switch from stoney bored i don’t like yall persona to a quiet clingy boyfriend.

he always wants you to text him when you leave to be out with friends, when you come home, and every hour he makes you text him making sure you are okay and your friends are there with you, it’s funny because he has your location but he thinks they lack.

when you were out with him arisu and kuina he had that obvious stoney ‘i want to go home’ persona/look. the hangout was fun and it was enjoyable. the four of you went cafe hopping, acting like tourist in japan doing the most touristy things and food (which were not the best compared to the authentic mom and pops). you hadn’t realized how long the four of you were out until you got a little buzz on your phone reminding you that you had a work meeting in less than 30 minutes.

freaking out you quickly packed everything you had with you and said your goodbyes. “oh shoot. im going to be late if i dont head out now.” your eyes had widened at the reminder, luckily you had a small bag with you so it wasn’t much to carry. arisu had looked at you with a confused expression titling his head to the side. “what? are you leaving?” a small frown formed on his lips.

“yeah i have an important meeting to attend in 30 minutes..” you chuckled nervously shoving ur phone in your back pocket, kuina whined dramatically pulling you into a tight hug. “can’t believe you are leaving me with THESE two” she sighed dramatically letting you out the tight hug so you can make your rounds with the other two, a giggle escaped your lips “mm sorry maybe next time i’ll be able to stay longer”

arisu pulled you into a tight hug before grabbing your shoulders forcing you to look at him, “make sure next time you have NOTHING to do.” he scolded shaking his head teasingly, rolling your eyes dramatically you waved him off. turning to chishiya you smiled at him before hugging him lightly, he wasn’t a big fan of pda so you didn’t do much about that.

he gave you a knowingly look that you already knew what he wanted to say but didn’t say it. “yeah yeah i’ll let you know” a slight blush flushed his cheeks before quickly disappearing so kuina doesn’t make fun of him. you pulled out your phone checking the time making your eyes widen out how much time passed. you said final goodbyes before quickly rushing back to the metro.

the three watched as you rushed off the the public transportation, as your figure got farther and farther the two turned their heads to chishiya who had his hands stuffed in his pockets little movement, “no kiss? no i love you goodbye?” kuina stared into chishiya’s empty eyes. no thought behind then as he shrugged “not a fan of pda plus there’s no reason for me to tell her. she already knows” arisu hummed a slight acknowledgment.

chishiya felt a buzz in his pocket his hand already fiddling with it whipped it out checking what it was. it was you texting him. a small smile formed his thinned lips “ah too much social event im going home. it’s late anyways” he excused himself walking away with one hand in his pocket the other on his phone,

“—but its barely 4pm…” arisu grimaced before laughing at chishiya. kuina let out a long sigh it may not look like it but chishiya just wanted an excuse to leave to go see you. “alright arisu. shopping spree we go!” arisu tried to protest but seriously who was gonna save him?

3:52 PM

YN : i just got onto the metro praying it goes by fast im running slightly late …. YN : praying that my laptop is all set up and ready.

chishiya loved “i just got onto the metro praying it goes by fast im running slightly late …”

4:00 PM

YN : okay i made it to my stop i just need to speed walk home..i have 20 minutes CHISHIYA : isn’t the walk 15 minutes? YN: YES. speed walking this bitch RN. CHISHIYA : okay don’t get hurt.

4:15 PM

CHISHIYA : i’m on my way over. CHISHIYA : did you make it? i’m on the metro.

4:20 PM

CHISHIYA : YN? CHISHIYA : hello? CHISHIYA : your location is off.

4:28 PM

CHISHIYA : im on my way over

4:43 PM

CHISHIYA : i’m here open the door. CHISHIYA : you’re in a meeting nvm im going to use the spare key.

with each text being ignored made him visibly frustrated, he knows you gotten the message when he gave you the look before you left. why didn’t you text him you were home? the lights were on but you didn’t answer.

he twisted and turned the key opening it slowly, he didn’t know if you were still on the meeting so he tried to make it as quiet as possible, he somewhat succeeded. you still heard the door. muting yourself and turning off your camera you placed the laptop on the couch with a confused expression picking up pepper spray on the coffee table infront of you.

“who’s there..” you grumbled hearing a man’s voice grain trying to take off his shoes before entering, the voice sounded oddly familiar. you walked to the back of your coach and towards the door getting ready to spray them in the face but it was just chishiya.

you threw the pepper spray onto the coach before smiling at him throwing your body onto him, his face was fluttered with kisses as soon as he stepped in. “i didn’t expect you to come now, im still in my meeting.” you pointed to the screen not paying a mind to it. the comfort of your boyfriends warmth was enough for you to forget about the whole thing anyways,

“i texted you but you didn’t respond” his voice was laced with a tad bit concern. your mouth let out a small oh, untangling him from your body you went to go check your phone and it was dead —

a small chuckle escaped you “it’s dead” you smiled innocently before sitting on the coach patting the side, chishiya let out a huff not of annoyance but disappointment. “and you didn’t bother to charge it?” “well..i forgot.” “how when it’s in front of you” “don’t ask me questions!”

the meeting was completely ignored, not like they called on you anyways. “you are supposed to text me when you get home” he stared at you before pulling you closer to him. he wanted your warmth, “i know i’m sorry i just forgot to charge it i was already running late” you wrapped your legs around his torso planting more feather kisses onto his cheeks.

dating chishiya in the privacy of your own home or his is a different side many don’t know about. he is so much softer it’s almost as if he is completely out of character and flipped a switch. he is completely out of character which seems weird from someone of his caliber.

a/n — i was lwk just writing shit…let me get back into my arc they’ll get better i think…nyways !

#i miss my stoney no expression bbg #UGH I HC HE IS A BLACK CAT IN PUBLIC BUT HUSKY IN PRIVATE #chishiya x you #chishiya imagine #chishiya x y/n #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya fanfic #chishiya shuntaro

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justsomerandomfanfic · 10 months

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Crazy For You - Stoney 'Stanley' Brown X GN Reader

Title: Crazy For You

Stoney 'Stanley' Brown X GN Reader

Additional Characters: Reader's mother, Dave (Mentioned), Link (Mentioned), Mrs. Freadrick (OC) (Mentioned), Robyn (Mentioned)

Requested By: @zachizthegoat!

WC: 3,478

Warnings: Reader has a mother, flirting, banter, nicknames, prom, Reader's attire is not described (wear whatever you want), very small bit of suggestiveness, Reader is given flowers, brief mention of spiked punch, perfectly choreographed dance, based off the song; Crazy For You by Madonna, and fluff

Stoney let out a sigh, clearing his throat as he waited in the hall, standing by his locker. He had asked you in math class to meet him at his locker a few minutes before lunch let out. And now, Stoney normally wasn't normally a nervous person, he was usually a pretty confident, wacky guy. But, right now he was fidgeting with his fingers and turning his head at every little noise in hopes to see you walking down the hall with that perfect smile of yours. You had been friends with him and Dave since freshman year, and ever since meeting you, Stoney was hooked; line and sinker.

Stoney was pretty obvious that he was interested in you, and you seemed to have noticed. You and Stoney would end up flirting every time you guys hung out; which would also always annoy Dave. And yet, nothing really came out of it. But Stoney really liked you, more than anyone else, really. He was crazy for you, if you wanted, he’d walk all the way to the ‘Food 7 Mart’, just to buy you a burrito; and split it fifty-fifty with you.

But, seriously, you were perfect. He loved the way your hair framed your face, the way your eyes lit up when you told him about the newest movie you saw, and how you’d bite your lip when concentrating on something. And you understood him and his weird sayings, which was awesome. You were so understanding and sweet. You were always there for him if he needed someone to talk to or just hang out with, and you never judged him; as most people at the school and in the small town did the opposite of.

Stoney, though, was so stuck in his head, thinking about you, that he didn't even hear you come up and stand beside him. His eyes stared down at the floor tiles, thinking about the time you shared a roll of SweetTarts with him, when he finally recognized your beat-up black Converse next to his, only then did he snap his head up to meet your gaze with his; his curls bouncing as he did so.

You gave him your stunning smile, one hand holding the strap of your black, canvas backpack as you looked at him expectedly, "So..." You began, tilting your head slightly to the left, "You told me you needed to tell me something." Your voice sounded hopeful, yet curious as Stoney gave you a sheepish smile. “And you sounded pretty… I don’t know, anxious…” You added, tilting your head slightly. This whole scenario surprised you slightly, for all the years you've known Stoney, you'd never seen him so nervous. He was always the self-assured one of your tiny friend group; the voice of reason. Seeing him fumble a bit was something that took you aback.

"Well, I actually have a question for you, babe." He corrected, clearing his throat; the little nickname he had for you, which he gave to you back in freshman year, always made you smile widen ever-so-slightly and your cheeks burn. "I was just wondering if you'd like to go to Prom with me? And maybe after we can swing by and wheeze the jui-ce." He asked nonchalantly, a huge weight being lifted off his shoulders as he said the last part; almost as if he was having any other conversation. He let a grin then spread across his face, which did help calm his nerves slightly.

You grinned back at Stoney and you couldn't help but let out a little giggle, "I'd love to go to Prom with you, Stoney." You replied, your stomach filling up with butterflies as you mentally cheered; you had been hoping Stoney would ask you. "And I'd love to wheeze the juice with you as well." You teased, giggling again when the tips of Stoney's ears turned a deep shade of pink. He tried once more to just brush it all off and act like he wasn't that affected by your angelic laughter, but he was; he always was.

"Well, I can pick you up at seven,” He finally spoke, his hand coming up to lightly scratch at his cheek, feeling the room heat up to an almost scorching degree; was the school hot, or was it just you? "We'd have to walk to the school, my scooter is broken," He then brought up, feeling bad but you only shook your head lightly, raising both your hands to grasp the lapels of his blue denim jacket, pressing the fabric down and smoothing it over.

"Don't worry your cute curly head about that," You spoke softly, the smile still on your face as you looked up into his honey-brown eyes from the colorful patterns that lay on the fabric; your hands resting on his shoulders, "Just relax, we’ll just have more time to hang out then." You reassured, squeezing his shoulders gently before letting go of him. “Plus, we can get some steps in.” You joked, as Stoney gave you his trademark smile.

Nodding, his curls bounced with him, "See you Saturday, babe."

You just let out a small huff, your eyes narrowed playfully as you tugged on the hanging purple fabric of the bandana wrapped around his temple, "See you Saturday, Stone." You answered back before passing him and walking away.

Watching as you walked down the hall, Stoney couldn't stop his grin from growing, and once you turned the corner and were out of sight, Stoney let out a small cheer. Doing a small victory dance before he went in search of Dave for the last five minutes of lunch to tell him the good news.

~~~

You brushed down your attire, you turned every which way as you looked into the mirror. It was nice, ignoring the anxiety, you felt very confident in it. Fixing your hair again and double-checking that you had everything you could possibly need, you heard a knock on your open bedroom door. You looked up at the mirror, your hands fidgeting with the soft fabric of your clothing as your eyes met your mother's. She stared at you, with a small smile on her face, making you feel a little bit better.

"You look wonderful, honey," She softly spoke as you turned round to face her, "You chose well." She complimented, reaching forward and taking hold of your hands gently, stroking them with the pads of her thumbs. The gentle gesture helped calm your nerves greatly.

You smiled and nodded your head, "Thank you, Mom." You answered, taking your hands out of her and clasping your hands together before you.

Your mother nodded before she raised an eyebrow, a small grin on her face, "You going with that Stanley kid?"

You felt your face heat up at her question as you nodded, "Yeah, Stoney asked me Friday," You answered once more, and your mother nodded. She knew the young man ever since you became friends with him and David, you wouldn't stop talking about him some days. She knew how much you cared about him. Her eyes softened, watching as you stood there with a proud smile on your face. Your excitement radiates through the air around you.

"Well," She let out a sigh, "I'm happy for you two. He knows to bring you back at ten, right?" She asked and you nodded, the anxiety you were once feeling dissipating to a point that you were able to speak without feeling your words trip on the tip of your tongue. "Alright, then," She paused, thinking over what she wanted to say next, "Be safe on the way home, yeah?" Her voice came out almost teasing and you rolled your eyes. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, people also drive at night. I don’t want you to get run over - and no funny business.” She added, shaking a finger at you half-jokingly.

"I’ll be fine, Mom," You said bashfully, "And we’re just friends.”

Your mother just stared at you, giving you an all-knowing look, "Really? Friends don't ask each other to Prom." She spoke and you just let out a small chuckle.

"Actually, they do, Mom," You corrected, only to see that she was just playing with you, making you let out a sigh of your own, "He'll be here soon, I should-"

The sound of the doorbell interrupted you, and your mother couldn't help but smile before pulling you into a hug. "I'll see you soon. You two have fun."

You nodded before you headed down the stairs and to the door. Letting out a shaky breath, you felt your nerves bubble as you reached out for the doorknob. Taking another deep breath, you opened the door and saw Stoney waiting for you at the door. You were sure your heart skipped several beats seeing him. He looked like his perfect usual self, dressed in flared pants, a fancy button-up over a white shirt, and a purple scarf. You felt a bit overdressed, but that didn't seem to matter to Stoney cause once he saw you, his jaw dropped. You just smiled, feeling your cheeks warm up as Stoney ran his gaze up and down your form.

"Woah," He breathed out quietly and you chuckled, "You look gorgeous, babe." He spoke sincerely and you blushed at his compliment, you almost thought he'd wolf howl at you like he did most of the time at school but tonight seemed different.

"You look great too, Stone." You answered, noticing that Stoney had a hand behind his back. Raising an eyebrow, you spoke again, “You hidin’ something, Stone?” You asked, watching as his eyes lit up in realization and he brought his arm out to reveal the small bouquet of what looked like wildflowers.

“Oh! These are for you,” He answered, offering the small bouquet out to you as you couldn’t help but let your smile widen.

You took the flowers in your hands, pretending not to have noticed when your fingers brushed against his, “These are beautiful, Stoney.” Your smile then turned into a small smirk as you gave Stoney a look, “Did you get these from Mrs. Freadrick's yard?” You asked, referring to the sweet old lady who lived just down the road from Stoney's house.

Stoney let go of the breath he'd been holding, smiling sheepishly as he nodded, "Uh, yeah."

You only shook your head, letting out a small laugh, “Well, thank you nonetheless, Stone.” Stoney gave you a toothy smile, which made your heart race as you let out a sigh. “I’ll quickly put these in some water.” You added, rushing inside to find a vase. Stoney looked around the entrance of the home, taking note of the pictures hung in nice frames around the room. He hummed some sort of tune as he looked around, his eyes then landing on you as you exited the kitchen. “Alright, let’s head out. Don’t want to miss any of the good songs.” You joked, grabbing your small bag from the table near the door.

“Alright! Party time!” Stoney cheered, making you laugh as you headed back to the door with him. Turning at the door, Stoney raised a hand to the side of his mouth, “Have a good night, Mrs. L/N!” He called out to your mom, making you grab him arm and pull him out of the house.

Closing the front door behind the two of you as you stepped out. “You’re killing me, Stoney.” You looked up at him with a smile, as Stoney offered you his arm and you took it, wrapping your hand around his bicep.

Stoney only looked down at you, wiggling his eyebrows, “Softly, I hope.”

~~~

The beginning of the walk was nice, quiet, and peaceful; you really enjoyed it. "I hope you're not cold," Stoney then spoke up, gaining your attention. "I'd offer my shirt," He gestured to the button-up with his free hand, looking down at you to gauge your reaction only for you to shake your head.

"I'm good, but thank you, Stoney." You replied, glancing up at him with a smile.

Stoney couldn't help but smile back, "If you say so, babe. Just know the offer is always on the table, ahh-wooooooo!" Okay, there was the Stoney you knew and loved. You couldn't stop the laughter bubbling inside of you, as you tried to stifle it, which resulted in Stoney chuckling along as well, his smile widening before he spoke up once more, "Do you think they'll have the four basic food groups?" He asked, and you shrugged your shoulders.

"Maybe, I don't think they'll have burritos or Milk Duds there though," You commented and Stoney let out a hum, nodding his head slowly, "But they'll probably have punch," You suggested, looking up at Stoney who was staring at you, "What?" You questioned, tilting your head slightly to the side as you waited for his answer.

Stoney shook his head slightly, tsking, "That's not part of the four basic food groups, babe," He answered before throwing a hand in the air abruptly, "But! We're going to wheeze the jiu-ce after this fiasco, so I can reteach you then." He trailed off, right as you got to the school.

~~~

Though the gym was dark, colorful lights made it possible to see as the music from the band played loud enough for it to fill your ears. You held onto Stoney, tightening your hold on his arm as you entered, feeling anxious once more. But, Stoney was quick to distract you, steering you right over to the hopefully not spiked punch bowl. As you took sips of your punch, your eyes landed on Dave, Link, and Robyn, already dancing on the dance floor. You watched Link boogie down and turned to Stoney, watching as he bobbed his head to the beat and shimmied a bit in his spot; his eyes narrowed in on the dancefloor.

You knew he wanted to go over there, have a good time and you didn't want to stop him. Finishing your drink, you began to feel more and more comfortable before turning back to Stoney. "Hey, you can go and dance. I'll be alright here." You spoke, his chocolate brown eyes meeting yours.

Stoney looked at you, eyebrows raised as he glanced over to the dance floor and back at you, uncertainly, "Are you sure, babe? Don't want to leave you hanging."

Your brows furrowed as you shook your head, "Don't worry about it. Go and have some fun, you deserve it. And besides," You added when you noticed Stoney's worried expression, raising your hand to let your fingers gently brush his cheek, brushing back some curls, "You can save the slow dance for me." You teased, causing Stoney to chuckle lightly, and you found yourself smiling, glad you had put a small bit of levity back into things.

"Thanks," Stoney muttered as he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering there for a moment, "See ya later, ba-be." He trailed off, almost song-like before he then slid into the dance circle, masterfully joining Link in his dance.

You watched with a fond smile, unable to take your eyes off him as he helped Dave and Link lead the dance mob. You felt your heartbeat increase, your breathing a little irregular, as you watched him sway with the crowd, dancing with ease as if he belonged there. You felt your stomach grow tight, and your mouth growing dry as your gaze lingered on his strong, lean build. Your eyes followed every move he made as he moved gracefully across the floor. Yeah, you were definitely in love with Stoney. It was impossible not to be.

Before you knew it, the band finished their song, and another fun song came on. Robyn noticed you on the sidelines and dragged you in, swinging hers and your arms together to the beat. You did your best to let go and have fun, letting the music flow through you. Another three songs followed before finally the slow song echoed throughout the speakers; one that you recognized. Other students and their dates found each other on the dance floor, arms around waists and necks as they swayed. You looked around the gym, unable to spot Stoney at all until you felt someone tap your shoulder. Turning, you almost sighed with relief as Stoney gave you his charming grin, offering out his hand to you.

"I believe I owe you a dance," He spoke and you took his hand without question as you both walked towards the dance floor. His hand fit perfectly in yours and you couldn't help but feel a tingle run down your spine at his warm touch.

On the dance floor, Stoney slowly placed his hands respectably on your waist, your arms going and wrapping around his neck; following the other couples' movements. As the song continued, Stoney's moves became a lot smoother; it wasn't long before he was leading you in small circles. The song, a favorite of yours, 'Crazy For You' by Madonna played, making you smile lightly, your fingers moving with a mind of their own to twist into Stoney’s curls. You felt Stoney's thumbs gently brushing over your waist, soothing you yet also leaving goosebumps in their place, and allowing yourself to take a small step closer to the weasel.

Looking into his eyes, you realized he was looking straight at you, a light flush dusting his cheeks as his thumb still softly brushed over the fabric of your attire; the warmth of his hands seeping into you. Your mind went blank for a moment, as if you couldn't think properly, trying to focus on the beat of the song and the slight sway Stoney was doing. But all you could think about was him, and how he made you feel safe, cared for… Loved. How he could calm you down and even make you flush just by being near. As you kept on dancing, you couldn’t help but look at the beautiful man in front of you. Your eyes drifted over his face, from the dimples in his cheeks to the small smile that played on his lips.

Stoney felt like he was dreaming, watching you dance with him made his heart race. You were so beautiful that it hurt, you were the definition of perfection; everything else fell away and he couldn't help but admire your beauty. Your smile was infectious, your laugh was melodic, and your eyes held his future. Even your fingers in his hair were hypnotic. There wasn't anything he wanted more than to spend the rest of his life with you by his side.

At the height of the music, even though it was still a slow song, Stoney abruptly twirled you out; surprising you and earning a giggle from you as you spun around. Once you came back to his side, he continued to surprise you as he dipped you low before slowly bringing you back up. You let out a breath, your chest heaving slightly as you stared up at Stoney with a smile. He did the same, reaching out with his hand to brush away a couple of stray hairs before he cupped your cheek.

You leaned into his palm and he leaned toward you, your lips nearly touching before your noses bumped together instead. The contact sent shivers down your spine, making your body temperature rise slightly. Your eyes fluttered closed as you felt his lips ghost over yours; moving against yours with such care and delicacy that you forgot all of the noise around you, only focused on Stoney and you. When he pulled away, your eyes opened slowly; fluttering. The corner of your lips turned upwards at the emotion in Stoney’s eyes, holding so much admiration and warmth. A flush crept its way onto your face as you continued to gaze into his chocolate-colored eyes; they were shining bright as they bore into your own.

Suddenly, he tilted his head back, letting out another wolf howl, immediately making you laugh; covering your mouth with your hand. Stoney looked back down at you, admiring how happy you looked, eyes closed and a huge smile on your face. The colorful lights hit you gracefully, casting soft shadows and highlighting your features perfectly; painting you in pinks, blues, and yellow. As if in slow-motion, he watched as you opened your eyes, calming down from your laughter; Stoney wondered if this was what love felt like.

He grinned back at you, giving you a playful wink before he rested his forehead against yours. "Let's get outta here, yeah?" Stoney mumbled, and you gave him a nod in response; not trusting your voice. Taking your hand, waved goodbye to Dave, Link, and Robyn before leaving the gym and the school entirely to get your slushie.

#cute #fluff #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #requested #x you #x y/n #stoney brown #stanley stoney brown #stoney brown x reader #stoney brown encino man #encino man #stoney brown x gn reader #stoney brown x you #stoney brwon x y/n #x gn reader #encino man x reader

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lavcndcrmoon · 2 years

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first kiss (tygot)

Margot was sitting on her roof with the boy she was going to marry. And she didn’t care that he might not know it yet. She didn’t care that she had never so much as held his hand. She didn’t care that she was 15 years old or that her brother said she was crazy.

Margot was sitting on her roof with the boy she was going to marry.

And she wouldn’t hear otherwise from anyone.

......

Because she was sitting on her roof with the boy she was going to marry, and he was telling her about the stars and how people in the Mediterranean had used them in their ancient architecture, and she was staring up at him while he talked because she decided that she could watch the way his face lit up when he spoke for the rest of her life.

When Tyler looked down at her, Margot realized he had caught her staring, but she was so sure around him that she couldn’t find it in herself to care. How rare it was to be around someone who she never found herself critiquing every move she made in their presence.

“Which one is your star sign, again?,” he asked.

“Oh! I’m a Libra.”

“Oh, no, I knew that, I meant the constellation - it’s out tonight, right?”

“Yeah,” Margot said, warmth rushing to her cheeks. “You… remembered my star sign?”

“Of course!”

“Wow - that’s…” she sighed happily, allowing herself to relish in the moment. And maybe it was selfish, or self-centered of her to crave the way his attention was so unwavering, but she couldn’t help but be willing to follow him to the ends of the earth if it meant another minute of his time. “That’s really sweet of you, Tyler. Yeah, it’s um, right up there.” Leaning down, she pointed a small, manicured finger at the sky, and he leaned down with her. Following the direction she’d pointed, he held his hand out.

“Right there?”

A giggle escaped Margot’s lips and she shook her head. “No - um…” and then Margot was holding his hand, moving it to the right - just so - and she thought maybe the world had frozen on its axis. “Right there.”

“Oooooh, okay, I see it now!”

And without either one of them making the conscious decision to do so, they kept their hands looped together as they rested against the shingles of the roof. Margot kept her eyes up towards the stars, not sure she could survive meeting his glance in that moment, but the smile she was fighting was apparent to Tyler when he looked over at her. Her bottom lip pulled between her teeth, the dimple that came out every time her smile took up her whole face. He looked up at the stars, too, a comfortable quiet settling between the two.

“Were you-“

“Which one-“

Speaking at the same time, they managed to turn towards one another simultaneously, and their faces were closer than they had been the entire evening.

With Margot’s bright red cheeks, and Tyler’s sparkling eyes, neither of them bothered to finish theirs sentence. Wouldn’t be able to if they’d tried.

“I was gonna-“

“Do you think I could-“

They both laughed their breathless laughs, forgetting the ends of those sentences, too.

And without either one of them making the conscious decision to do so - hands still intertwined from the last mindless, unspoken choice - they leaned in, bumping noses, laughing softly, and finally, their lips met.

And finally, Margot was kissing the boy she was going to marry.

It was a little bit clumsy, and was over before either one of them really knew what had happened, but she tumbled into a fit of elated giggles, melting into his side as they both waited for the awkwardness to settle in.

It didn’t.

They sat there, looking at the stars until the moment Warren stuck his head out the window.

“Mom and dad are on their way home. You two wanna come downstairs and pretend we’ve been watching Hawaii Five-O?”

Tyler helped Margot climb through the window before following, tumbling into her bedroom with all the grace of a 15 year old boy.

“Thanks, Warren,” Margot cooed, hugging her older brothers arm, bouncing into the hallway to turn on an episode halfway through for the illusion of a successful binge. “Oh, by the way, the body spray worked, but you might need some eye drops.”

#weed tw #( margot x tyler ;; i still look at you like the stars that shine )#( margot ;; answered )#( margot ;; if i lived in a house with no mirrors )#tw for warren being a lil stoney bologna at the end

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targaryen-dynasty · 3 months

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VIOLENT DELIGHTS.

Aemond Targaryen x twin sister!Reader

"Being summoned to your brother's most recent council meeting as a means to intervene should the rising tensions between your brothers turn into a serious problem, you find another way to de-escalate the situation."

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MDNI; dubios content, canon typical incest/targcest (twins), p in v, fingering, table sex, semi public sex, high valyrian, female reader (described with valyrian attributes)

WORDS: 2.3 K

NOTES: First day of PTO and your girl is spending it wise! 💅 Watch me being utterly distressed by episode four but giving you all some delicious smut to make up for it. This is not beta read!

You should have grown suspicious when you’ve been called as cupbearer for Aegon’s most recent small council by your mother, attending it in the background while she can not. It’s clear you’ve been summoned by her to be a means to de-escalate should it be necessary, for even a fool could notice that the tension between your brothers is high, teetering on the edge to turn into a serious problem.

And it’s almost your turn to intervene when your twin brother decides to best your older brother, humiliating him in a language none of the other members of the Small Council understand.

A clearly struck Aegon strides out of the chambers in the following, his councilmen quickly filing out as well, leaving just you and your twin. He leans forward, running his nail across the stone in what appears to be deep contemplation.

You step out of the shadows, the chalice filled with Arbor Red placed on the table. “Ziry gōntan daor hae bona, ao gīmigon,” you speak first, breaking the thick silence. He did not like that, you know.

He lets out a sigh, his sharp gaze flickering from his hand up to you. “Well, he never does. He’s weak. Incapable,” he replies, purposely speaking in the Common Tongue. “A coward, really. Bisa iksis vīlībāzma, daor iā tymptir. Emi naejot act adere lo jaeli naejot ērinagon.” This is war, not a game. We have to act quickly if we want to win.

“Kessa, bisa iksis vīlībāzma,” you say, approaching him with your arms crossed and a roll of your eyes before leaning against the table. The tip of your tongue presses against the inside of your cheek as you contemplate your next words. “But Aegon is still the King, and you will need to tread more carefully. It does put neither of you in a good light.“ Yes, this is war.

The way he studies you so carefully would make any other person crumble, but not you, you‘ve shared a womb, and his cruelty and snideness is not reserved for you. Usually.

“What would a woman such as yourself know of war and politics? You speak with the naivety of a child. You might have claimed the Bronze Fury, but that does not make up for your lack of true war experience.“

An eyebrow raises in response to his condescending tone. You look back at him confidently, challenging, and don‘t hesitate to speak your mind. “Oh? I could say the exact same thing about you, brother. Vhagar has helped conquer Westeros, but that does not make you Visenya come again. And just because I do not revel in war and politics does not mean I do not understand them.”

The way he sets his jaw is subtle, barely noticeable, but makes you well aware that you‘re playing with fire, and when there doesn‘t come an answer, you can‘t help but stoke the flame.

Running your fingers along the stoney surface, you allow your eyes to follow them, not daring to meet his gaze as you poke his soft spot. “You have been awfully insufferable lately, brother. Ever since you… killed the little Lord Strong that is.“

With his smirk beginning to falter, Aemond rises from his seat, towering over you. Both his hands grip the edges of the table, capturing you between it and his firm body. “Watch your tongue, idaña,“ he snarls through gritted teeth. “You speak of things you don’t understand.“ Twin.

You don’t back down. Letting out a scoff, you hold your chin high as you lock your gazes, looking at him defiantly. “No? Then, by all means, enlighten me, oh mighty war scholar. Teach me the tales you have learned while I stayed cooped up in the castle. Tell me all about your brilliant plans for war you have hatched with Ser Criston Cole behind our King‘s back.“

Aemond reaches to brush your hair from your shoulder, fingers ghosting along the warm skin of your neck, making a shiver run down your spine. Where annoyance has danced in his eye before, there‘s now something else simmering right beneath the surface.

“Insolent, spoiled, naïve and ignorant,“ he hums, breath fanning over your skin as his eye roams over your face. “Do you know how badly I wish to shut that mouth of yours?“

Not the least bit impressed, a scoff leaves your lips. Your heartbeat, however, betrays your stern facade, all but hammering inside your chest. “You could try,” you challenge, voice smooth as silk but eyes filled with a dangerous spark. “What, with that silver tongue of yours?”

In one quick, unexpected movement, Aemond has his hands on your waist and hoists you up, not-so-gently splaying your body out over the table. With his body looming over yours, one hand pins you to the table at your hip, while the other grabs your jaw, forcing you to withstand his burning gaze. “I have something far, far more effective in mind.”

You’re suddenly unable to bite back the sharp intake of breath that escapes your throat as everything changes in a split second. Heat rushes through your body, and without thinking, your legs part, welcoming his body in between them. Your mouth is dry, but you try to keep a level head. “Do you truly think yourself capable of shutting me up?”

“Yes, I do… but perhaps I prefer you this way. My sweet, defiant sister who always needs to run her lovely, impudent mouth.”

Wetting your lips, you stare up at him with half-lidded eyes. The grip on your jaw is firm yet gentle, his fingers digging into your flesh. A faint tremor runs through your thighs at the feeling of his body pressed so tightly against yours, the hardness of his cock not hidden by the sturdy fabric of his breeches.

Despite being pinned to the table by him, you scramble to reach some of his coat, fisting it tightly to pull him onto your body and capture his lips in a heated kiss. Albeit grunting, Aemond’s body responds instinctively at the action, putting his weight onto yours, his hips grinding leisurely against yours.

He lets out a low groan, and the hand that has rested on your hip greedily tugs on the skirt of your dress, pulling it up enough to grant him access to what lays between your thighs. Swallowing every sound that may spill past your lips, his tongue delves deeper into your mouth in a demanding, possessive kiss.

You wrap your arms around his neck, keeping him close as his one hand makes quick work of your smallclothes, the seams too easily giving in with the sheer force he uses to yank them off of your body.

Gasping for air as you pull away from him, you lick your kiss swollen lips. “What if anyone sees us?”

Aemond grins, his lips trailing a hot path down your throat. “Ivestragī zirȳ,” he breathes. His hand slips between your legs, dragging through your soaked folds before he eases two digits inside, chuckling when you clench around him. Entangling his other hand in your silver curls, he pulls on it slightly to tug your head back, exposing your neck to his hungry kisses. “Ivestragī zirȳ ūndegon skorkydoso jorrāelagon iksā syt nyke.” Let them. Let them see how desperate you are for me.

That’s all the conviction you need, not that you’d do anything for him anyways at this point, being putty in his hands already.

Responding to his touch, your body shudders and arches against him, your eyes fluttering shut in pure bliss as his fingers push in and out of you, brushing your sweet spot. But he’s not having any of it. Aemond’s hand leaves your hair and captures your jaw again, fingers digging into your cheeks. “Jurnegon rȳ nyke. Jaelan naejot ūndegon aōha laehurlion skori nyke renigon ao.” Look at me. I want to see your face when I touch you.

You stare up at him with wide, dark-blown eyes, gripping his shoulders tightly to keep yourself grounded. “Iksā iā mittys,” you gasp, yet there is no ill intent behind these words. You are a fool.

The heat emanating from him is maddening, causing your whole body to tense and your peak approach you so abruptly. But Aemond would not be your twin, if he didn’t know you better than anyone else, and just moments before you’re toppling over the edge, he withdraws his fingers from you, tsking.

“You weren’t just peaking, were you?” he teases, taking his hand off of your jaw.

You pout at the sudden loss and the pleasure slowly but surely fading away again, leaving you aground and full of conviction he’s just riled you up for his own sake of enjoyment.

You’re positively surprised when you follow his hand down between your bodies, joining his other to swiftly undo the laces in front of his breeches and the last buckle of his coat.

“I shall not waste the first time you peak for me with my fingers,” he grunts, placing one hand on the stoney surface of the table, propping himself up, as the other aligns his hard cock with your cunt, forcing himself inside in one, swift thrust. It’s an instinctive mechanism as you wrap your legs around his waist, desperate to keep him close.

The intrusion has you both groaning; you, because of the delicious sting that comes with accommodating his size, and he, because he has barely filled you up and you’re already squeezing the life out of him.

“Gods, no,” Aemond pants, taking a moment once he’s fully sheathed inside of you. “You will wet my cock when you peak, is that understood?”

It’s almost pathetic how eagerly you nod your head at that, causing your twin to scoff.

Despite this being the first time you lay with him, neither of you lacks experience. The pace he sets up is merciless, and reasonable for the both of you, bringing you quick to something you’ve craved for so long.

Aemond’s cock hits the spot inside of you that makes your jaw slacken over and over again, bringing you closer to completion. He bows forwards, capturing your lips again. The kiss is passionate, all teeth and all tongue, and full of unsaid words and hidden actions.

Where previously the voices of the councilmen advising the king on their plans for war have bounced off the walls, there now are the sounds of skin slapping skin and wanton moans and groans, filling the otherwise quiet and empty chamber. Neither of you cares if your little act can be heard outside of these thick doors – with the realm being in a state of uproar anyways, there surely are more important matters that keep the keep’s residents occupied.

With the hem of his tunic rubbing so perfectly against your sensitive pearl each time his hips meet yours, you can feel the pressure inside of you returning, making you even more desperate for relief.

Your hips start to rut against his in a haze, chasing the hope of completion. You swallow each other’s sounds of pleasure, greedily drinking down everything the other has to offer without daring to tear away from each other. So much for him wanting to watch you fall apart.

As the pleasure soars through your body, your thighs lock around his hips, making it impossible for him to keep up his reckless pace. But there is no need for that anyways, for you can feel your peak’s contractions practically forcing the seed out of his cock. Your convulsing walls milk him for every drop of his spill, coating your insides.

It’s when the liquid fire inside of your veins subsides that you pull away from each other, allowing you to fill your lungs with air again. He leans his forehead against yours, still looming over your frame. Gathering his own bearings, he’s closed his good eye, trying to steady his labored breathing.

Lust still lingers thick in the air, hence he’s not pulling out of you even after his cock has grown flaccid again. Instead, he enjoys the proximity, the feigned moment of calmness, as if there isn’t a war raging right outside of this very keep.

While he presses gentle kisses to the faint marks he’s left on your cheeks and jaw, “Nevertheless, my opinion has not changed, brother,” you mumble in between heavy breaths, a tinge of teasing in your tone.

Aemond chuckles, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh, of course not,” he says, voice thick from your previous activities. He moves with slow, languid movements, rolling his hips against yours. It’s enough for some sense of overstimulation kicking in, yet you can’t squirm away from him. He bows his head down, bringing his lips on a level with your ear. “But there still is some time for me to change your mind before I have to sit on dragon back.”

Bringing your hands to his shoulders again, you arch against him. “Gaomagon daor pendagon sīr eglie hen aōla, lēkia,” you tease. Do not think so highly of yourself, brother.

“Nyke pendagon hen nykēla vok.” I think of myself quite appropriately.

It’s a back and forth between you for as long as it takes, and even then, your twin’s diligence has not been able to surpass your stubbornness. But perhaps that is not what you both want anyways?

Only when it’s time for him to set off to the Riverlands, mounting his dragon to support your brother’s forces, do you two part – but not without the promise of him living up to his words once he returns, determined to make himself at home between your legs once more.

Aemond Taglist: @persephonerinyes @dr-aegon @schniiipsel @thekinslayed @baizzhu

@legitalicat @eponaartemisa @peachysunrize @blackswxnn @odairtrqsh

@mfedits @luvdella @jays-bullshit @justarandomgal

@decaffeinatedparadisepost @gelacat0413 @dracaryxzs

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gtgbabie0 · 3 months

Text

-Benjicot Blackwood x Arryn!Reader

{Benjicot doesn’t mind getting his hands bloodied if it means protecting your honour}

word count- 1.7k

!CW!//vulgar language, descriptions of blood// Enjoy my lovelies💕

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The Vale was all harsh winds and rain since the sun had first begun to rise above the horizon, a thick layer of fog rolls through the high mountains and over the hills creating a rather eerie atmosphere around the courtyard of Raventree hall.

You sit on the balcony that overlooks the training grounds with your sister, Jeyne Arryn, protected from the light rain by the stoney overhang. You both had been asked to unite your houses for a few days in hopes of getting the men more accustomed to the sword and shield a little faster.

It had been going great in all honesty, they seemed to have lifted each other spirits despite the pressure of the looming war.

“Is your friend down there?” Jeyne smirks, looking over at you with a playful gleam in her eyes.

She takes joy in the way your eyes widen ever so slightly, how you move away from the edge to slouch back into your chair. “No, not yet.” You mumble, crossing your arms over your chest in a harrumph.

You roll your eyes at Jeyne and the sound of her chuckles, smiling into her cup whilst she continues to tease you. Her jabs are soon cut off by the sound of men cheering and metal clanging together in excitement.

You immediately lean back over the stone railing of the balcony, looking down at the group of men searching for…

Benjicot. He had made quite a name for himself over the past few moons, his way with a sword was… wild to put it more kindly. He was a madman on the battlefield, charging in with absolutely no fear, the complete opposite of the shy boy you grew up with.

For a small second your gazes meet. He waves softly, sending you a sweet smile which you happily return before he’s dragged away to the training yard by his friends.

The sound of your sister’s giggling snaps you out of the moment, your face twisting into a small frown. “Do not start.” You huff, slouching back into the chair with a pout.

Your sister makes small conversation, keeping it light as you watch over the training. Benjicot found it hard to stay focused, his mind drifting over to the fact that you were watching him with your pretty eyes.

The pair of you shared plenty of fleeting moments together, lingering touches and sweet whispered words. You danced along the line of friends and something more but neither of you took the leap, too scared of ruining the deep friendship you have.

Benjicot sits on a tree stump, cleaning his sword with a rag as his eyes glance between the balcony where you sit and the men around the training yard. He was miles away, thinking about how he could see you tonight… perhaps a walk through the garden… or maybe sneaking you into the kitchens.

His mind soon gets away from him, all of his thoughts consumed by you… but then again when are they not?

The sound of two rowdy men snaps him out of his trance, his expression immediately darkening with his brows pinched together tightly. They sound drunk as they speak horrid nonsense about women, barely able to hold their swords let alone stand on two feet.

“I’d fuck her… bet her cunt is tight too, ey?” The taller one says, harshly nudging the other man's shoulder almost sending him tumbling to the floor.

Benjicots fingers tighten around the hilt of the sword, his knuckles going white with anger. He hopes for their sake that they’re not talking about you. “Mhm… bet shes a squealer.” The other man agrees, the pair of them chuckling.

The sound goes right through Ben, his blood running cold as he watches them cast their predatory gaze over to you as you lean curiously over the edge of the balcony.

The sword that he was cleaning drops to the floor with a dull thud. He acts way before he thinks, his body moving without hesitation and before he knows it he’s coiling back his arm, colliding his tight fist down against one of the taller drunkards face as the other scurries off.

A crimson colour stains his knuckles, the blood warm and wet in between his fingers. The adrenaline overshadows the pain that shoots down his arm, reducing it to a mere tingle that he’ll surely feel later on. He watches the fool drop to the damp, cold ground, writhing in pain whilst clutching his nose as it weeps a thick red.

Benjicot opens and closes his hand, trying to lessen the ache. “Perhaps next time you’ll hold your tongue.” He sneers before storming off with a mean glare that makes everyone step out of his way.

You had watched the whole scene unfold, worry immediately settling in the pit of your stomach, etching across your face. Your sister tells you to ‘stay put’ however her words fall upon deaf ears as you rush back inside, running down the halls and the twists and turns of the castle.

The Maesters chambers are where you find Benjicot. His aunt walks out of the room with a displeased expression, however, the candlelight gives away the amusement that flickers through her dark eyes.

She greets you with a warm smile, nodding her head. You return the action before slipping into the room, your gaze immediately finding his as he gives you a sheepish smile.

“Hey…” his words break through the silence, the crackle of the hearth taking over once more as you wordlessly walk deeper into the room.

His hand was submerged in a dark oak basin, the water inside had long turned murky with a minty almost medicinal aroma. You sit down on the chair adjacent to his own, brows pinched together in concern.

“Where’s the Maester?” You ask, looking at him with a small smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Gone to get some sort of balm… I don’t need it.” His words make you tut, shaking your head as you watch him pull his hand out of the water. He seethes a little in pain, teeth clenched.

You reach over for a cloth, drying off his hand but whilst being careful to not cause him any more discomfort, he was already shifting and squirming in his chair.

“What even happened?” You sigh, holding his injured hand against your lap. Your thumb ever so gently caresses his palm in such a way that it makes his mind spin and his heart skip a beat.

He swallows, clearing his throat. “They— they were making… distasteful… comments towards you. I won’t repeat them.” He tells you, shaking his head firmly.

“How silly… look at your hands over some words.” You scold lightly, although there was no real bite to your soft tone. You couldn’t be, in fact, the thought of him defending you like this sends a pleasant warmth blooming through your chest. Although you wouldn’t tell him that, for his own sake.

“I’m fine, I have no regrets. They deserved it.” He states, watching the way you bring his knuckles into the candlelight to assess the damage.

They were red raw, the skin split open at the tips of each knuckle save for his thumb. A purplish colour tints the delicate skin, the shade darker around the cuts then fading off into a more dull colour. It certainly was not fine.

“You should be more careful.” Your words are hushed, whispered into the air, so soft that if he weren’t sitting so close to you he probably wouldn’t hear you. His eyes meet your own once more, admiring the way the candles cast an orangey light across your pretty features.

His fingers itch to reach out and tuck a loose curl behind your ear, to graze the back of his fingers along to warm cheek. But he refrains, even the mere thought has his stomach swarming with nervous butterflies.

You take another thin sheet of cloth, edges ragged with loose threads and the fabric an off-white colour. He looks at you with a quizzical expression, watching you dip one end of the cloth into the basin.

Before he can ask any questions you’re already leaning closer to him, knees bumping together. Your hand reaches out to ever so gently cup his jaw, fingers curling against his cheek to hold his head still whilst you wipe away a small mud stain just under his eye.

“Thank you…” he says, breath hitching in his throat at the way your thumb brushes along his warm cheek.

“No, I should be thanking you, really.” Your words make him smile, his eyes softening. “Thank you,” You add, your eyes searching his own.

He doesn’t speak, he can’t, not with you so close to him. He fears that he might have ruined the moment when silence wraps around the room. He suddenly doesn’t know what to do with himself or if he should move the hand that rests upon your lap.

He lets out a small noise in the back of his throat, trying to will the words from his lips but none come and it only serves to cause his mind to spiral, cursing himself and his inability to speak.

The feeling of your lips against his cheek brings him back, his worries and fears ebbing away until the only thing that was on his mind is your flowery perfume and the softness of the kiss. He finally lets out a breath. His hand rests against your knee as you pull back, a pang of disappointment hitting his chest.

“You don’t need to thank me… I’d never let anyone slander your name, but either way, you are welcome.” He finally manages to speak, the words tumbling out of his lips rather ungracefully.

You entwine your fingers with his own, minding his roughened knuckles, holding his hand ever so gently with your own. His thumb caressing the inside of your wrist, the calluses feel strangely nice.

“Perhaps afterwards we could walk through the gardens?” The suggestion makes his heart skip a beat, the image was already vivid in his mind, walking arm in arm with you.

“Of course, if it would please you, my lady.” He replies, hoping the words sound more graceful than before.

You hum in agreement, nodding your head. Your warm hands still in his own, the kiss lingering on his cheek, your knees pressing against either side of his own and your honeyed gaze still upon him… he realises he’s completely doomed, you hold his heart in the palm of his hand.

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razrbladekiss · 2 months

Text

HITS DIFFERENT | Chapter One - Summer Bummer

A/N: i’ve never written for mr. miller before, so i’m super nervous for how this’ll be received by everyone…but i enjoyed conjuring this up, and i hope you guys find it not-all bad! any feedback is welcome. i looove getting asks and anons. <3

WORD COUNT: 4.8k

PAIRING: no outbreak, single dad!joel x afab!reader (age gap relationship, joel is in his late forties, reader is mid-twenties.) strictly no use of y/n.

SUMMARY: your neighborly duties begin to stretch farther than simply offering a greeting whenever you and joel cross paths. after he recently becomes a single parent, you take it upon yourself to assist mr. miller in this new, completely terrifying endeavour.

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI, 18+ WORK BELOW THE CUT. angst. tiny bit of fucking on the first date (that isn’t anything reminiscent of a date LOL), fingering, finger sucking, joel being a dirty old man, unprotected piv sex. it’s kinda cute kinda cunty. i’ll leave you guys to decide what you think.

MASTERLIST

He’s the very last person that you’d be asking for help today, and he knows that. Joel knows that you’d rather claw your own eyes out, or rip your flesh away from bone and heave it in the fucking dumpster at the end of the street, than knock at his door and request his assistance.

He’s the cranky guy that lives across the way. The guy that, really, you know very little about aside from the fact that he has an attitude problem, a daughter, and his partner doesn’t seem to show her face all that often anymore.

You’d heard—from your busybody neighbor, Clare in No.13–that Joel’s wife had left for a younger, more attractive man from Tennessee. And though you hate to pry, and aren’t very nosy, you can’t help thinking about it the more you see Joel leave the house without the woman that was once fastened to his hip.

Maybe that’s why he’s been so miserable lately.

Ugh. You hate to call on him. But you’re desperate. It’s hot—like, the flaming crevices of hell are fighting to burst open the sidewalk outside of your house hot—and you’re dying. You’re sweating from places that you didn’t even know could sweat, and it’s disgusting.

You step onto his front porch—donning a knee-length sundress and a pair of chunky sandals—and wipe moisture away from your forehead as it beads against your skin, using the back of your arm to do so.

Joel’s house is significantly more drab than your own. It boasts the same stoney exterior as yours, and ivy flows over the eavestrough above the front door, only it's a little unkempt. And while your humble abode has so much curb appeal, the entire HOA board is actually envious, Joel’s man cave…doesn’t. It has a porch swing, a trough planter full of random succulents, a couple of Texas flags, and a door mat that simply reads “Fuck off.” Which is against the rules, you often remind him.

But Joel doesn’t care. About anything. And that’s why you can’t find it in yourself to even try to get along with him. Not because of the doormat—you don’t care about that—but because he’s always so mean. To your neighbors, to the mailman, to anyone that sets foot on his property.

To you.

It isn’t all the time, but you catch it every so often. The way Joel looks you up and down when you’re chatting with Mrs. Kavanagh over the fence on a Sunday afternoon about your week. How he always makes snide comments about the way you drive like a mad woman, or when you offer a friendly ‘hey’ to him each morning when you cross one another’s paths before work.

You don’t recall a time where you pissed Joel off to the point of blatant ignorance, but you did. And though Tommy believes that the reason for his brother’s more rash behavior is the fact that he might have a crush on you, you feel otherwise. Because Joel is so rude—so crass, on occasion—and nothing about that screams “I want to fuck you.”

Or maybe it does and you’re just oblivious. But regardless, Joel is renowned—street-wide—for being a miserable old grouch.

You can’t figure him out. And you’re not entirely sure that you want to, either.

However, he’s the only man on this street handy enough to fix your A/C unit.

So you press the buzzer—minding you don’t tread on a pair of worn-out work boots that are lazily placed beside the front door—and wait for your miserable neighbor to grumble and groan, when he catches sight of you through the glass.

You smile when you see some of his daughter’s toys scattered across the wood beneath the swing. You don’t even know her name, that’s how little knowledge you have of the man that’s lived across the street from you for the past year and a half.

Joel swings open the door, a cigarette pinched between his lips, and a rag over his shoulder. His sweat-slick torso glistens beneath the Austin sun, pecks slightly muddied with oil and whatever other substances that he’s working with, while his shirt is wrapped around his waist.

He exhales smoke around the stick, swiftly taking it into his left hand. His right comes up—with the rag—to rub at his face.

“What?” He rasps out.

It kills you to admit that you think that Joel is attractive—in an unconventional, dirty old-man kinda way—but, fuck. He’s rugged, and rough, and his body looks so inviting. You hate yourself for staring at him like this.

But you’re only human. Right? And the way he speaks to you, most certainly cancels out any physical attraction that you may have. Right? Right?

“Good Morning to you too, Miller.” Bitchy, you retort. “I just came over to ask if you’re willing to help me fix my A/C unit, but I see that you’re busy being a cunt—“

He laughs, flicking cigarette ash to the ground. Joel leans against his doorframe, watching you, watching him.

“Your language is vile, little lady.”

You hate when he calls you that. It’s so patronizing. It’s also one of the only times that Joel addresses you with actual words and not just a glare, or a groan.

“I don’t care.” Trying your hand at being just as blunt as him, you say. “I just need cool air in my house because the three fans, several wet towels, and kiddie pool in my backyard just aren’t cutting it anymore, and I think I’ll die if I have to put up with the heat any longer—“

He holds a hand up, begging you to shut your mouth.

“Fine.” He capitulates and you just blink at him, not being able to believe that he’s agreeing to help you with minimal begging and not even needing a bribe.

Because the last time you trudged over to his house in the downpour—soaked all the way through to your bra—and asked if he could do anything about the water leaking through your bedroom window, Joel billed you for your time.

And when Clare needed her lawn mowed because her husband was out of town and she’d dislocated her shoulder, Joel sent an invoice through the door for his forty-seven minutes work.

But you try to forget all of that. Because he’s helping you from the ‘goodness’ of his own heart.

“Thanks.” You reply, watching him shirk the cotton from his shoulder. “I know you don’t really want to help, but I’m grateful—“

He waves you off when he shrugs the tank over his head, the material immediately sticking to his damp chest. Your eyes linger over his form for a few seconds while you fiddle with the keys between your fingers, not being able to tell if Joel is being charitable, or just trying to get you to stop complaining about the fucking weather.

But you don’t mind. Because when he works his magic, you’ll be able to able to relax in your own living space, and sleep peacefully without worrying about waking in a ravine of your own sweat.

“I don’t have cash, but I’ve got beer in the fridge—“

“I don’t want your booze.” He says while closing the front door. Joel traipses past you on the steps, padding toward the open garage.

You watch him grab a box of tools, wondering how that one man acquired every single skill beneath the sun—well, all but the art of being able to properly communicate with his fucking neighbors—and offer a hand because the thing looks heavy. He waves you off—again—and you nod.

“Well, then what do you want?”

“Nothin’.” He says honestly. “Gotta start showin’ all you people that I’m not just some haggard old man, and can actually help every once in a while.”

“Oh.”

Suddenly, you feel bad. Awful, actually.

Had he recently become privy to the fact that everybody knew of his business? Because—try as you might to avoid the buzz—it was difficult, living on such a tight street. And the trials and tribulations of each individual living on Bluebell Drive are always public knowledge, at some point.

It only took five days for the neighbors to find out when your last relationship fizzled out, and only seven for them to know how and why it ended.

“We don’t all think you’re haggard.” You say, trying to lighten the mood. You see Joel’s back muscles contract as he pulls the garage door closed, and then turns back to face you with a look that resembles an emotion that you aren’t familiar with.

“Just old?”

He starts to chuckle after a few seconds, and so do you—once you realize that he’s joking. You’re a bit more comfortable, now. Your attempt to diffuse the sudden thorny tension has worked, and Joel is starting to see that you’re not that bad.

“I don’t think you look old.” Honestly, you tell him. You begin to walk onto the street, holding tightly the hem of your dress as a gust of wind threatens to blow it up to your waist. “How old are you, Joel? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Not at all.” He follows you onto the path, watching the white linen lift as another gust flits over—showing just the slightest bit of pink lace against pert skin—and smiles. “I’m forty-nine. Never really cared about gettin’ older, but it’s harder with a little one.”

“How old is your little girl?”

“She’s about to turn one.” Joel says—almost gushing with pride. He pads along the pavement and toward the pathway, watching his footing because there’s so many plants and flowers that scatter the sidewalk outside of your house, and he knows that he won’t hear the end of it if he crushes one of them this morning. “She’s a handful, but she’s worth it.”

The way he speaks about his baby is enough to make you see that there is a heart beneath such a tough exterior. There’s something so vulnerable—so candid—about the way he speaks about her. It’s refreshing.

“Does she spend much time with anyone else?”

“My brother.” He tells you. “Yeah, Tommy and his girlfriend have taken her out this mornin’ actually. To some petting zoo, I think.”

“That’s so sweet.” Truthfully, you say. You’ve never seen Joel so at peace, and you wonder why you ever hated him in the first place.

He’s a tough nut to crack—that’s always been a given—but perhaps he’s not as hard-faced and complicated as you once thought that he might’ve been.

“It is.” He replies. Joel follows you through the front of your very well-to-do home—wondering why he can’t seem to keep such a tidy place—and admires how much pride you take in your living space.

Everything—from the crown molding, to the baseboards—is in a more than pristine condition, and your floor is so clean Joel swears he could eat his dinner off of it.

“I bet it’s hard to keep up with chores when you’ve got a little one.” You say almost reading his mind. “I find it hard sometimes, and it’s just me living here.”

It sounds almost sad. He catches the way you not-so-fondly declare your living situation, as if you owe him any sort of explanation or insight into your life. You don’t.

“It ain’t that bad. Tommy helps out a lot.” Joel tells you and you lead him up the stairs—but not before asking him if he’d mind taking off his dusty work boots. “Just neither of us are very good at cookin’. I mean, I can do the basic shit, but Tommy is fuckin’ awful. Sienna—Tommy’s girl—is an amazing cook, but she works long hours, and she’s got a kid of her own to worry about, so—“

“So you guys are just stuck living on pasta and fries?”

Joel snickers, though he does nod. He likes that you can be direct sometimes.

“I can teach you how to cook. I mean—“ you show him to your bedroom quickly. “You’re doing me a favor by fixing my aircon, the least I can do is show you how to make a pie, or some kind of casserole that you can stick in the freezer and use in emergencies.”

“Thanks.” He’s taken aback. Not for the fact that you’re showing him your boudoir—despite that being where your faulty machine is located—but because you’re offering pleasantries where they’re not usually seen. Joel isn’t one to complain, though.

He is, however, the type of man to somehow offend somebody on a whim, and so he shuts his mouth when you open the top of the unit.

“It’s kinda old—ignore that, it came with the house.”

He nods, taking out one of his torches from the tool bag.

“So…” you watch over his shoulder—irritating him a bit—as he putters and fiddles with the internal mechanisms. “Can I get you anything?”

Some fuckin’ space.

“No thanks.”

Tight-lipped, you smile.

Joel’s fingers work the fan to ensure that it’s still able to spin, and you marvel at his uncharacteristic gentleness. With fingers as calloused as his own, you’d be sensible in thinking that he has a tendency to be heavy handed. But apparently not.

And that just adds to the fact—as blatant as anything—that you really don’t know the man that you share a zip code with.

“It needs refrigerant.”

“Oh—“

“It’s a quick fix. I can run to the hardware store and pick some up—but you’re gonna have to wait ‘cus Tommy’s taken my truck.”

“We can take my car?” You offer, leaving him to mull it over for a few seconds. “But I’ve just gotten it valeted—“

“I’ll wait for my brother to get back. Should only be another few hours.”

You blink at him. Your stare is blank, completely fucking empty. How does he expect you to sit—to simmer and literally marinate—in your own sweat?

But before you can whine and make Joel’s day ten times worse, he proposes an idea.

“You can uphold your end of the bargain, in the meantime.” Smug, he says. “My A/C works—and I got fans in my kitchen. If you come ‘n help me out with making some cookies and a pot roast, then I can go get you what you need when Tommy gets back.”

You don’t even need to consider the offer before you’re running downstairs and grabbing vegetables and spices, and whatever else you’ll need that you know Joel won’t have in his pantry.

He gets you to take a few beers across the street, too. And you do because you’re kind, and want Joel to feel comfortable when doing something that he’s not all too familiar with.

You give him time to clean up when you get back to his house, and find all the appropriate utensils to start cooking. Joel spends at least fifteen minutes in the shower, and you take time to indulge yourself with the icy flurry in his kitchen.

It’s a feeling almost orgasmic in nature. The bitterness against your skin—cold and lurid, almost—and breeze that catches the hem of your dress, hiking it to the middle of your thigh, is wonderful. You find yourself leaning into it like an embrace, letting the skin of your chest catch the cool.

And in your moment of pure superfluity, you somehow drown out the background noise of footsteps approaching the linoleum floor of the kitchen.

Joel clears his throat. “Nice?”

You spin around—the neckline of your dress slightly garbled—and bleed crimson into your cheeks. “Yes. It’s lovely.” You stutter, completely embarrassed. “Sorry—“

“Don’t be. You’ve been meltin’ all day, sugar. You need this.”

Sugar. Your heart skips a beat at the pet name.

Joel walks to the refrigerator—like he hasn’t just rocked your entire fucking world after doing a brilliant job of convincing you that he hates you over the last god-knows however many months—and puts his hands on his hips.

“Can we use Chuck Roast?”

You nod, not being able to formulate a verbal response.

You’re still trying to cross the sugar bridge.

“Fantastic.” He says. Joel reaches down into the cupboard beside the range and takes out a roasting tray that you’re sure has never been used before. “This?”

“Yes.” Finally, you manage. And though the cool against your flesh is lovely, you can still feel heat stippling across the apples of your cheeks.

You wonder if he heeds it.

Joel turns back to you with a shit-eating grin. He does.

“I can’t wait to make this. Sarah’ll love it.”

You lift a brow.

“My little girl. That’s her name.”

“Oh.” Your eyes soften. “That’s beautiful, Joel. She’s a cute kid.”

He nods, padding over to stand beside you at the counter. “She is. And she loves her food, so this’ll go down a damn treat…And if you’re lucky, then you can stay ‘n eat with us.”

“Joel, I couldn’t—“

He raises a hand as you pull oil, salt and some more herbs from your bag. “I insist. We don’t really know one another, and I can’t help feelin’ like we’ve got off on the wrong foot. It’s the least I can do, especially ‘cus of how nice you’ve always been to my brother.”

It’s true. Tommy has always been somebody that you’ve regarded highly, because he’s such a delight. He might’ve accidentally stumbled into your life—and your back—at the supermarket last year, but he’s been a lovely permanent fixture in your life. And you can’t seem to think of having it any other way.

He’s a good friend. And even better confidant, with a brother whose chocolatey hues are scrutinizing your form—top to bottom—while you oil your pan, and throw in a handful of onions and carrots.

Joel’s head grows fuzzy, the more he watches and listens to you. He can’t seem to wrangle any rational thoughts, now. Because you’re actually down-to-earth—when it’s just the two of you—and he wonders why it’s taken this long for him to invite you into his home.

The angsty nature of your relationship has always put a downer on things. Whenever he’d catch sight of you talking to his brother, Joel’s green-eyed monster would consume him and any sense of reason would become distorted. And he always knew that he was the sole reason for the bitter tension—because you’re never this way with anybody else—but can never bring himself to admit just why he feels this way.

Tommy’s inconceivable idea about him having a crush on you—that, really, isn’t so odd now—might be ringing true.

You explain to Joel each step that must be taken in order to achieve the perfect pot roast. From browning the vegetables, to adding the beef and stock and all of the herbs that contribute to the meaty flavor, Joel listens intently to your every word.

He’s completely lost in you, now. The way you speak. How you explain things with metaphors, and examples that Joel will understand. How you use the back of your arm to wipe away perspiration as you stand over the broiling pot, never taking your eyes off of the meal that you’re helping your neighbor to prepare.

Joel is infatuated.

“Now we let it sit for a few hours.” You say while walking over to the sink to wash your hands clean of any food. “Did you still want to make some cookies?”

“Maybe later. I’m kinda fed up of being in this kitchen now.” He lets out a laugh and puts down the big spoon that you’d given to him to stir the pot. Because that’s his job, now. “You want a drink?”

“What’ve you got?”

“Wine, beer, lemonade, orange juice.” He recites from memory. “Not sure what else is in the refrigerator.”

You glance at the clock. It’s barely pushing one in the afternoon, but you’re gasping for a cool glass of white. Or red. Or whatever the fuck Joel has cold.

“Wine, please.”

He pulls out a bottle of Merlot—not something you’d associate with Joel—and you reach for two glasses from the open cabinet above the stove.

“I didn’t put you down as a wine drinker, Miller.”

“Well, I guess that I’m full of surprises.” He says teasingly, sliding over your almost-completely-full beverage.

You hum when you pull the glass up to your lips, indulging in the heavy-handed pour from the man who can’t take his fucking eyes off of you as you stand at his kitchen island, helping him make dinner.

Joel is transfixed by the way that your chest—shiny and glistening—raises as you take each breath. How the strap on your dress falls to the middle of your arm when you lift the stem of the glass, or lower it back to the island.

He’s kicking himself. But he’s enjoying the sight too much to look away.

“See something you like?” You ask and lick your lips, almost pandering to the internal quandary that he has suddenly found himself entwined with. And you’re never usually this forward, so the ventricles of your heart begin to seize as the organ batters against the cage of your ribs, pulsating vividly beneath your sundress.

Joel is surprised by the tone of your voice, almost pinching himself to ensure that this isn’t some kind of convoluted alternate reality.

But he soon realizes that this—you in his home—is not a figment of his imagination, but something very real.

“I guess.” Joel says, and rounds the island until he’s standing beside you. He looks you up and down, setting his glass against the wood grain. “What about you?”

You nod, letting your gaze flit between Joel’s face and the protruding bulge in the taught denim decorating the lower half of his body. He feels his heat begin to temper, getting strangled by his jeans the more he eyes you.

Joel urges you to sit on the counter—his hands affix to the meat of your ass as you lift yourself up—and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist in a bid to pull him impossibly close to your body.

“Is this a good idea?”

“Probably not.” Joel all but growls before he’s fastening his lips to your own, and you’re moaning into his mouth while he’s starting to unbuckle the belt on his pants.

It’s needy. God. It’s so fucking needy that you’re at risk of unraveling right here, but you manage to contain your arousal, and allow yourself to add more intensity to the embrace.

Joel’s tongue is blanketed by the taste of wine, cigarettes, and a hint of the broth that the two of you made before he was trying to get into your panties, and you’re basking in it. You’re basking in the way that his nose pushes into your own as he adds more force—more desire—to the kiss, and how much he craves you after so many months spent despising your presence.

“Joel—“ You whimper out when he comes up for air, putting your hands against his as he palms his cock through the material of his underwear. “Joel, this isn’t right—“

“‘Course it is, baby.” He croons in your ear, seeing the goosebumps stipple down your neck and across your shoulders. Your head falls backwards. “See how much you like it? This is just fine.”

You take a deep breath when his prick—still endowed in his Calvin’s—dances along your clothed heat. “But—But what if Tommy gets back.”

“Then we’ll have to make it quick.” Joel states, letting his member spring free of the confines of his boxers, and your eyes widen. It’s bigger than you thought—not that you had thought much of it until this moment—and the girth is commendable. You’re not sure whether you’ll be able to take him in one fluid motion, but you don’t doubt that Joel will try.

He lifts the hem of your dress until it’s sitting just above your panty line, and rubs his thumb over your clit that suddenly feels trapped beneath pink lace. Joel massages the bud for a few measly seconds before remembering that this was meant to be a quickie, and pushes your underwear to the side.

“Wow.” His jaw drops. He lets his forefinger run up and down your seam, gathering the pooling wetness on the tip of it. Joel brings it to his lips and sucks it clean, before he’s going back in with another.

Joel’s fingers pump slowly—seductively—in and out of your pussy, knuckle fucking deep until he’s pushing at the spongiest part of your cunt. He feels resistance, and you begin to tighten around him, but he continues.

He paws at his cock in time with the hilt deep finger-fucking he’s giving you, moaning your name. You claw your nails against the counter, hardly able to hold yourself up while you begin to leak liquid arousal around Joel’s calloused fingertips that’re working you to your finish.

“If you—Joel—don’t fuck me, I’ll cum all over your hand—“

“Is that a threat?” He digs, hastening his pace. He curls and contracts his fingers within the chasms of your core, unravelling you very quickly. You whine and write beneath his hold, striving to keep onto your dignity for a little bit longer than this. “‘Cus, darlin’, I can live with that—“

You cut him off with a moan as he pulls his fingers out and—like the dirty old man that he is—makes you suck them clean. He shoves them down the back of your throat until you’re gagging with tears in your eyes, lining his cock up at your slit while he’s choking you like a fucking masochistic psychopath.

But it’s hot.

Joel is so hot, and you can’t believe that you’re fucking him—in his kitchen—when, really, you should be spending your afternoon trying to get your A/C unit fixed. Because that’s the only reason you left your house, today.

He pushes into you—filling your cunt nicely—and you can’t help hastening your movements at the first ounce of touch. Because you’re growing impatient now. He worked you to an—almost—premature release, and now he has to let you have it.

Joel grips firmly onto the flesh of your thighs, pushing and pulling you into him as his cock spears you open—rutting into you like a mad man that hasn’t felt the warmth of a pussy since the dawn of time. But it’s been three months since Joel Miller got to dive into a woman—fingers first—and he’s determined to get every last ounce of pleasure out of you.

“How does it feel, pretty girl? How does my cock feel, pounding into you?” He asks, knowing that you won’t be able to formulate a verbal response. Joel writhes above you when your walls start to clamp down around him, giving him the answer that he craves.

He hums his approval—hammering into your cunt—letting his knees hit against the island as he doesn’t miss a beat. Joel pulls down the neckline of your dress and exposes the supple flesh of your breasts, immediately taking your right nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He massages pebbled skin, eliciting a string of broken moans from the deepest fissures of your chest.

“So beautiful.” He praises, urging you to moan louder. Joel’s cock stutters at the sound. He can feel his release looming and, though he hates the thought of finishing after not even a whole five minutes of driving into you, he knows that prolonging is no longer an option.

“Joel—I’m—gonna—“

“I know, darlin’.” He reassures, still relentlessly fucking into you. Still hitting you hilt-deep, and fighting against the fluttering walls around him. “You just let it go when you’re ready.”

And just from that—the way that his velvety tone oozes consolation—you find yourself unwillingly unraveling beneath your sexy older neighbor, giving your entire self to him on a random Saturday afternoon.

“That’s it, baby girl. Cum for me.” Joel coaxes you through your orgasm, praising your movements and the way you shamelessly coat his cock with your sweetness that he can’t help but taste. He moans around his finger, letting his movements hinder slightly as he works toward his own release.

But watching you—how the sensitivity is consuming you and making even the slightest touch the most overstimulating thing in the entire fucking world—is enough to drive him to the edge.

“Give it to me, Joel. Fill me up right here.” You brandish the man whose prick is threatening to spill inside of your cunt.

He ruts into you for a few moments more, before his spend is exploding into you like the most erotic of fireworks, and threads of cum paint your walls, thighs, and clit as he pulls out and rubs his head along your warmth one last time.

Joel collapses into your chest, sticky and dripping lust.

“That was amazing.” You say through bated breaths, panting like a fucking dog.

“Bet you didn’t think an old guy could fuck that good, huh?”

Your head shakes and a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

“Think we’ll have to make a thing of this, don’t you?”

Without hesitation, you’re nodding at him. Your arms lazily drape over Joel’s shoulders, and he pecks kisses along your neck and chest. “Absolutely. I’ll never be able to fuck a man my own age, now…”

For the first time since forcing his way onto this street, Joel Miller feels like he didn’t make a mistake moving back to Austin.

#hits different `♡´#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fic #joel tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #joel miller smut #tlou x reader #tlou x you #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x afab!reader

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kishibei · 1 year

Text

GUYS MY AGE ...

dilf! toji x reader | smut, 18+ | 1.6k words

summary: toji loves everything about his younger girlfriend, all except the overly friendly relationship she has with his son. to curb his unspoken fear of losing you, you fuck him.

cont: jealousy, possessive language, affectionate toji, missionary, mating press, no resolution, creampie per usual

Toji loved your body; he could never fight that little nagging thought sitting in the back of his mind— the one telling him to touch you.

Your boyfriend's hands were strong, holding a roughness that was tender in its own right— the honest pads of his fingers hardened from years of dirty work.

His fingerprints were practically committed to your memory, each one just a little different from the next. Uneven swirls and ridges winded into each other; tips tacked with scars and deeper indentations from his gunslinging days.

You could feel them all when he walked his hands down your body; even more so when he had you spread open across his thighs, teasing you with just a couple of fingers.

...

Toji appreciated the softer parts of you and paid more attention to them. Your chest, your ass, and the slight pinch of your cheeks constantly reminded him of your youth compared to his— a youth that appeared long gone when you'd met his gaze now; thin black eyes adorned with crow's feet.

His eyes held a vision that was faraway, a distant kind of look he'd always given when he was upset about something. That stoney face he wore never failed to betray his emotions, bearing them on his sleeves despite his best efforts at swallowing them down. There was only one thing that could've been bothering Toji; the same thing that had been eating him up for weeks— his irrational fear of losing you.

Toji really had nothing to worry about when it came to keeping you to himself. You were a one man kind of girl, ignoring the advances of any others who set their sights on you. He often scorned your younger peers, making fun of them without second thought, especially taking joy in tormenting the very man who introduced you to himself: his own son.

...

His first and only, Megumi was beyond fit. Clever, agile, and full of much more life than he was; Megumi was the spitting image of Toji in his younger years. Their striking resemblance was never quite something he saw as a bad thing, at least not until he began to date you.

It was the spoils of his own labor he envied— so much younger and almost perfect for you.

With the kind of drive that came with youth, Megumi easily had a long list of goals he fought fiercely to achieve; ones that he was never really shy to let you know of. He was shameless in this right, not even trying to hide his willingness to impress you in front of his father.

Toji would have been an idiot to not notice his son's infatuation with you. Only a fool would've choosen to ignore the longing glances, the lingering hugs, how the younger man always managed to look away whenever his father kissed you.

At times your boyfriend wondered if you’d prefer someone who wasn't this much your senior, mumbling his insecurities into your chest when he thought you’d already fallen asleep at night.

You had loved him just as much as he did you; your heart swelling with an appreciation for all things Toji. So here in his lap, you humor him; giving him a small reminder of just who you belonged to.

The man had softened up over the years but his strength still remained, thick corded muscle staying firm beneath the thinning skin he had cursed so much.

You hardly blinked; watching intently as he fingered the hem of the shirt he was wearing, peeling it off slowly to expose his muscular chest. His pecs were adorned with light blue branches of veins that shone through his patinaed skin.

Despite how perfect, almost god-like he appeared in this moment, the sight reminded you of his humanity.

You're not sure of what exactly he did before he settled down with you, how many people he’d really killed, or the curses that followed him in his lifetime; but it was a reminder that blood still ran thick in those veins of his, and that they sustained the heart that bled only for you.

“I love you…” he whispered, the sudden confession making you laugh. A giggle bubbled up in your throat before bursting forth into the air, a sound reminiscent of wind chimes escaping your lips. It was an infectious thing, lifting the corners of Toji’s lips to form a gentle arc that stretched from cheek to cheek.

He's impatient when he tugs your jeans off, not even bothering to remove his as he opens his fly just enough to pull his heavy cock out. You know he’s hard despite the fact it barely stands erect, his leaky head bowing under the weight of the rest of him.

You can't help but lick your lips as you stare down at it, eyes already lidded with hazy vision as he grips onto the base, slipping into you without much of a fight.

A shaky breath leaves Toji's lips as he settles in, hissing at how your hole flutters, already clamping down on him.

"Shit..” he sibilates, “so fuckin’ wet for me…”

The words seem to go straight to your pussy as you clench around him, whining a bit from the praise and the mind-numbing feeling of him sinking into you.

He’s so big, he knows he is. Toji’s fully aware of how he fills you to the brim, how deep he reaches, practically prodding at your cervix as he lowers you down on him. He’s teeming with confidence now, pressing down on your tummy to show you just where he’s sure the tip of his length reaches.

“Mm, you feel that, baby?”

You blink slowly, trying to clear your head enough to find the words to respond. Pushing past little whimpers, you stumble over all the syllables you need. Deciding it's best to give up on speaking, you nod profusely, craning your neck to rest your head on his shoulder. Upon revealing your stupefied expression to him, he laughs like he always does; a low rumble that just drips in arrogance as it falls from his lips.

“That’s all me…” he purrs, deft fingers slowly caressing the rest of your body, stopping to squeeze at your soft chest.

His unyielding touch moves down to your legs; strong hands finding purchase on the back of your thighs as he practically folds you in half, pressing your thighs to your chest like nothing.

It's so much, and you can feel him even deeper now, every inch of him plunging into you at a disconcerting pace. You squeal as he pounds into you sloppily, pressing messy kisses to your cheeks, the tops of your ears, down the expanse of your neck, and just about every bit of skin he can get his lips on from this angle.

He loves you, this you know. And even if he hadn't said it earlier, the way he’s fucking you says it all.

“Ooohh, shit Toji!” you sputter, eagerly bouncing on the man’s lap as you try to match his thrusts. Your body shakes with the force of each pump, moaning wantonly as he slowly drags his cock out of you, ramming it back in your dripping hole again and again.

You seem to be growing dumber by the second, incoherent babbles and whines leaving your lips as he fucks the shit out of you. If you could focus on one thing, you would; but your eyes shift everywhere, rolling into the back of your head before meeting with the place where your bodies connected, watching in a trance as Toji’s thick cock disappears into your sopping wet cunt.

Toji grunts, his hips bucking wildly as he clings to you tightly, your back against his broad chest as he uses the force of his pounding to bounce you on even harder than before. He grits through his teeth, eyes shutting hard before they open again, his lips at your ears as a string of expletives leave them.

“Fuckin’ hell, ease up, you’re squeezin’ me…” he strained, jaw clenched so tightly that it looked like it might just break.

Toji looked like he was reeling, so close to the edge but still holding on, trying to push you over yours before letting himself go.

“Fuck…whose pussy is this?" he panted, chewing on his bottom lip as he tried keeping his pace, his hips stuttering as he got closer to finishing now.

You couldn’t answer, mouth preoccupied with moan after the next as you tried anyways, babbling at him like an idiot.

“Mmngh! Y-yours! Yours, right?!"

It was difficult to even answer him straight, just saying anything, you jumbled up the first few words that floated into your hazy mind.

Toji laughed, taking in a shaky breath as he kept going, pulling your legs back even further as he slammed into you with a force that was overwhelming.

"Mine… all fuckin’ mine, you hear?!"

His pace was grueling and you were surely at your limit, crystalline tears pricking the corners of your eyes as he fucked you. Your skin felt like it was on fire, a deep familiar knot in the pit of your stomach just threatening to break.

“I hear! Hear you, Toji!" you yelped, mouth hung open in a perpetual 'O' as you teetered over the edge, right at the cusp of your orgasm.

“I can't! Can’t take any more, please!"

Toji amused you with a crooked grin, using his rough fingers to circle your puffy clit, the extra stimulation giving you just what you needed. You came with a cry, electricity coursing through your veins as you moaned wantonly, gushing around him with a shudder.

The force of your orgasm sent Toji straight into his own, groaning loudly as he emptied himself inside you, filling you to the brim with thick spurts of cum.

He huffed, chest heaving as he kissed you messily, slotting his tongue into your mouth just before he pulled away to speak.

“You’re so good… but just for me, yea?"

He pressed his lips against yours again and the corners of your mouth turned up in a satisfied smile, loving when he got like this. Toji grew soft, cuddling up to you as he slipped out of your cunt, a runny mix of both his and your fluids dripping onto his lap.

“Only for me…”

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thewritetofreespeech · 4 months

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hello. I read your bg3 marriage headcanons and was wondering if you could do a follow-up on what their first anniversary would be like? also add rolan, even though he wasn't in the original. only if you want to.

BG3 - 1st Anniversary Headcanons

[original ask in question X]

Gale

What does Gale ‘grand gestures are my love language’ Dekarios have planned for your first anniversary? Oh nothing special.

Just all your favorite meals cooked & ready for you. Starting with breakfast in bed. A small, light picnic at your favorite shoreline spot to watch the tides come in and enjoy the sea air. Ending with a romantic candlelight dinner that would put some of the finest Baldurian restaurants to shame.

He gives you a book of love poems as your present. Paper is traditional for the first anniversary after all. It is furthermore inscribed with his own, original poem on the front cover for you.

Astarion

He actually isn’t aware it’s your anniversary. Until he is reminded by someone. It’s not that it’s not important to him. Astarion has just never celebrated one before. How could he, when none of his previous lovers ever even stayed the whole night?

He has to work fast. But luckily Astarion is extremely clever and resourceful.

Playing it off like it was his plan all along to ‘pretend’ to forget, only for you to be further surprised is simply part of his plan. He plays it off so well that you believe him when he tells you that he got you a new necklace because ‘it reminded him of your eyes’. He makes a mental note to remember next year and be more genuine in his efforts.

A!Astarion

Of course, Astarion remembers the day you officially became his. Body, soul, and now legally.

Part of it may just be the celebration of having something that’s his. He hasn’t had anything for so long that he goes overboard. And with you, his most prized treasure, he can’t help it either.

The day, like all your days, is just about the two of you. He has a portrait commissioned for the two of you and commits to having one done every year, so you remember what you look like & how happy you are together. The old ones are kept in an archive below for safe keeping.

Wyll

He’s been looking forward to this day almost as much as getting married to you, the love of his life.

If he chose to stay in the Gate and become the new Grand Duke Ravengard, Wyll will host a ball so that you can celebrate with all those you hold dear. Old and new friends. He has the bard’s college compose a new song to commemorate the occasion, one that he can lead his partner out to the dance floor with and waltz them around all night.

If he went to Avernus to continue as the Blade, they will waltz together, alone, on the stoney rocks of the Hells. While Wyll hums a private tune between them to keep the music going.

Halsin

Halsin isn’t much for ceremonies or constructs of time. Nature and time move hand-in-hand with one another without making much note of their relationship, and he feels that they should do the same.

But…he can appreciate that something like this should be marked & remembered.

He will make time to get away from his duties as ‘Daddy Halsin’ to be a husband for a while; no matter how short it might be. He carves them a beautiful ornament. Something of a remembrance of their year to hang on a tree by their home. Halsin tells them that he hopes, one day, it will be filled with as many happy memories as leaves. The tree growing as with their love for years to come.

+Rolan

Who has time for such frivolities? Rolan has an acclaimed magic shop & literary archive to run, along with the magical commitments he has as the new caretaker of Ramazith's Tower. Surely, as his partner, they must understand that.

Lia gives him an extremely firm talking to about how selfish and narrow-minded he is being. That it’s not just about him anymore it’s about them.

Though Rolan will never admit that she’s right, he does make it up to his spouse. Apologizing to them for being so callous and making an effort to be more ‘traditionally romantic’. He presents them with a single white rose. Enchanted, so that it will never die, never wilt, and never fade. “It will always be as pure and radiant as my love for you. Should I forget to tell you every day, look upon it and remember. Though, I will try to remember to tell you everyday until my last ones.”

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ellecdc · 4 months

Note

Hello! I absolutely adore your writing, I’ve binged like all of your fics 😂. If possible could you do maybe a poly!moonwater x reader where said reader maybe gets hurt (maybe someone says something negative about Remus and she gets hurt defending him?) I just absolutely adore your moonwater fics! And when Barty gets involved is hilarious. thank you so much! No pressure if you don’t feel the Inspo for it!

I've not written for moonwater in a while, so this was a sweet treat! thanks for your request, lovie <3

poly!moonwater x gn!reader who defends Remus' honour

CW: Snape's a wanker in this and we hand his ass to him for it [sorry to my Snape apologists out there - don't hate me!], alluding to blood but no actual mention of it? small injury to hand, Regulus sharing Sirius' DNA trait for mischief

You sucked in a pained breath through your teeth which was quickly replicated by your boyfriend in some sort of weird comradery.

“I know, I know; I’m sorry dove.” Remus murmured softly as he continued dabbing gently at the broken skin on your knuckles.

“S’not your fault.” You mumbled petulantly as you tried to ignore the stinging of every swipe he made; the once pristine white cloth now quite decorated in red.

Remus snorted as he eyed you pointedly before affixing his gaze back to your hands. “It sounds as if it sort of was.”

It was your turn to snort as you glared at the wall behind Remus as if it had been the one making derogatory comments in the halls a mere ten minutes ago. “You’re not the wanker who was begging to be punched.”

Remus shook his head in admonishment, but you could feel the [painful] puffs of air dancing across your open wounds as he breathed out a laugh. “He’s going to be furious, you know?”

Remus didn’t clarify who he was, but he didn’t need to. “Yeah well, if you would bloody hurry up and cast an episkey on this already, he’d never have to know.” You taunted only half teasingly [and half very nervously about how long it was taking to close up the few scrapes lining your hands from your minor scuffle].

Unfortunately, he walked in through the door before Remus had finished patching you up.

“What in the bloody hells is this I’m hearing about a brawl between you and Snape?” Regulus demanded with a stoney face as he stalked towards your form; face falling as your hands came into his view.

“Amour! What in Salazar’s name- On dirait que tu as combattu un nundu.”

“Okay, well, I think that’s a little dramatic.” You deflected quickly at the insinuation that you walked away from a fight with a nundu with nothing but a few cuts and scrapes to your knuckles to show for it.

“Dramatic?” Regulus drawled as he levelled you with an unimpressed look. “I’m not the one who jumped another student in the hallways after Potions! And Snape of all people; you know to ignore his usual drivel, amour.”

You shared a guilty look with Remus who gave you a sad smile.

“It wasn’t the usual drivel, Reg.” Remus offered, causing Regulus’ breath to leave him which he had at the ready, no doubt, to continue his admonishment.

“I didn’t think that sod had the brain cells left to come up with anything new.” He offered noncommittally, causing Remus to snort a laugh. “Still, sweetheart; I’d really prefer you just ignore him.”

“So I’m just supposed to ignore a tosser who has the audacity to speak about my, quote, half-blood half-breed freak and his blood-traitor servants who he no doubt imperio’d to be with him?” You challenged; tone both soft yet firm as you looked at Regulus imploringly.

Regulus stood there staring back at you before you noticed his jaw tighten. “Bâtard.” He spat as he looked down to where Remus was sitting on a footstool in front of you as he finished wrapping your hands.

“He’s just jealous that he can’t find one person to put up with his black hair and brooding personality, let alone two.”

“Did Regulus Black just make…not only a joke, but a joke at his own expense?” You teased as you kicked one of your feet out at him, only for him to catch you by the ankle and run his thumb over your ankle bone.

“Of course I did; I’m hilarious.” Regulus agreed in monotone causing both you and Remus to chuckle.

“You’re all fixed up, dovey.” Remus announced as he stood, bending to press a kiss on your head before pressing one to Regulus’ too. “No more fights at my expense, okay?”

“Can I fight at Regulus’ expense?”

“No.” Both boys chorused, though Remus pointed at himself as he nodded and mouthed “tell me first”.

“So, where can I find Snape now?” Regulus asked as he dropped your ankle, earning him unimpressed looks from both of you. “What? I’m not going to go find him, I just need to tell Barty where he can find him.”

“Junior doesn’t give a niffler’s arse about what Snape has to say about me, Reggie.” Remus admonished as he leaned against the headboard of his four poster bed.

“Perhaps not.” Regulus agreed readily before his gaze moved to meet yours; the horrifying glimmer of mischief present in his icy grey eyes sending shivers down your spine. “But he will care to know that his precious Treasure lost blood over that foul git.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” You hissed.

But Regulus had already turned on his heel and was rushing out of the marauder’s dorm room; as you stood to chase him, two arms wrapped an iron grip around your middle and pulled you flush to his chest.

“No more fights, dovey.” Remus murmured into your neck as he pulled you back into his bed with him.

“I’d only be fighting our sodding boyfriend! You know I’d win!” You whined petulantly, though your body traitorously melted into Remus’ frame as he nuzzled impossibly further into your neck.

“No more fighting.” He repeated.

So you acquiesced; you stopped fighting and fully allowed yourself to be cuddled by your half-blood half-breed boyfriend that you were so unbelievably and willingly in love with.

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starsinmylatte · 5 months

Text

This man is giving me terminal brain rot, istg.

There are so many blurbs and fics about Veritas being rude to an "inferior" significant other, but please think about him with a significant other who is just as smart in an opposite way.

Aka, I want to lovingly bicker with him about our respective areas of medicine and science SO BADLY

Veritas Ratio x GN reader married science bickering and fluff

"Veri, dearest...... Can you explain that theorem one more time? I'm still slightly confused," you sigh, tracing your fingers along the side of the spiral notebook you'd been using to take notes.

As always, your notebook is filled with page after page of scrawled formulas, stray doodles, and hastily added mnemonics. To almost anyone else, they'd be illegible, but to you, they were perfect.

Ratio sighed, resting his chin atop his hand in mild exasperation as he leaned over your shoulder and checked your work. "We should come back to this later if you don't understand it by now. As you well know, beating the information into your brain does not lead to true mastery of the subject."

Your husband certainly had a fearsome reputation as a pedagogue, with some of his students even going so far as to add his name to the word's adjective list in the Intelligentsia Guild Databank, but you knew better. Veritas Ratio could certainly be vitriolic at times, but his actions were always used to benefit as many people as possible. At first, his heart seemed cold and stoney, but there was actually gold hidden underneath the rough surface.

"I didn't say that to you the last time the tables were turned," You pointed out with a softly admonishing smile. "I seem to remember spending all night in the library to help a certain someone finally understand oxidation-reduction reactions."

Veritas scoffed derisively. "You're right, but I do feel the need to point out that you had fallen asleep at the table and were drooling onto my textbook when it finally clicked."

"So..... you're going to deny that my many patient explanations helped?" You looked at him with vague amusement, remembering the way he'd launched a piece of chalk across the room after incorrectly identifying the electrophile in one of the practice problems.

"No, no. Just food for thought." His face softened, and a small, indulgent smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Although, I am afraid that I'll have to insist we at least get something to eat after this attempt. You, of all people, should know that your neurons need proper fuel to work at optimum levels."

#lyria rambles #smug bastard science man my beloved #Oh to be the two married Doctors ratio #veritas ratio #hsr veritas #dr ratio #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio hsr #veritas ratio x reader #hsr x reader

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jamminvroomvroom · 1 year

Text

stress.

ln x fem!reader

finally finally finally uploading this! returning from my fic hiatus with some good old fashioned lando smut. feedback is always much appreciated! love you guys, thanks for being here <3 (pls tell me if the format is weird)

in which lando is stressed and so are you.

warnings: 18+!! smut, language, lando being an annoying little bitch, sliiiightly inappropriate workplace relationship, tiny bit of angst

1.7k words

he’d barely spoken since he’d jumped out of the car, helmet shoved at the first person he saw. his fingers worked through his sweat dampened curls, sheer frustration coursing clearly through his veins. they’d failed him, yet again.

your eyebrows were furrowed, the tension in your face conveying your deepest sympathy to him. it only angered him further. you gulped.

lando didn’t look at you again.

you trailed behind him awkwardly, every step he took seemed to shake with rage. he’d strutted from interview to interview, hardly biting his tongue. your warning eyes did nothing to soothe the sting of his words, he wasn’t even checking himself, just spitting sarcasm, his own personal venom.

you were quietly seething yourself by the time you made it into the hotel lobby, huffing as he continued to ignore you. the way your heart ached for him did little to ease your growing anger. you caught him as he ducked into the elevator while you were speaking to the woman at the front desk, trying to lose you. you snapped. you apologetically excused yourself, darting across the floor and into the metal box, the closing doors jolting back open.

“where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“don’t want to talk to you.”

“oh, for fuck sake, lando. are you five years old? we let you leave the track but we still need to debrief. you have duties.”

“yeah well, the team has a duty towards me, too.” he sneered.

“don’t you dare take it out on me. i didn’t build that tractor.” you bit back, pointing your finger at him.

he looked down at you, smirking, perhaps at your offhand comment. he looked evil, you couldn’t think of a better word. you felt hot, face red. working with him was, more often than not, headache inducing, especially lately.

“maybe i want to take it out on you.” his voice had dropped an octave, sultry, nostalgic.

your mouth was dry, lips parted. you felt like gasping for air, thighs clenching at his suggestion.

you swore this wouldn’t happen again. oh well.

you closed the gap, sighing in defeat, lips against his. he smiled, victorious in something, finally. you hated the hold he had on you. he was warm, familiar, hands at home on your waist. he pulled away to nip at your neck, bruising you deliciously. you swatted his arm in annoyance.

“knew you wouldn’t be able to resist after last time.” he taunted. if your eyes weren’t squeezed tightly shut, you would have rolled them.

the elevator dinged, and you were stumbling out, poorly composed. the lighting was dim, dim enough that he thought he could sneak a hand on your waist. you slapped him, hard this time. he laughed.

lando seemed to have cheered up the second you’d dropped to your knees at the end of his bed. one of his hands was wound in your hair, tugging harder every time your tongue ran over the vein that made his eyes roll back. he was panting, his neck flexing every time he threw his head back. you could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter each time he did, his tanned skin dampened with sweat, torso on display, muscles rippling.

just when you thought he was nearing the edge, he yanked you off of him, your balance momentarily lost as he pulled you off your knees on the carpet. lando steadied you in the narrow gap between his legs, glazed over eyes staring up at you, lustful and wanting. he kept his stoney eyes on yours, pupils blown as he ripped each garment of clothing off your body until you were bare, your flushed skin pressed to his. you seemed to prefer each other this way, naked, no talking.

you swallowed hard as you caught sight of your mclaren polo, crumpled on the floor, your mind suddenly riddled with the image of you being fired. as quickly as the anxiety inducing mirage arrived, it was gone, replaced by bright white nothing as you felt his lips hit the soft skin of your stomach. his curls tickled the underside of your breasts, one of your hands threading through the messy strands. you pulled his head back, leaning down to kiss him urgently, his hands finding the backs of your thighs. you were on top of him before you could even process it, your back against the mattress even quicker.

you remembered the last time, the frantic tearing at each other’s clothes, the blurriness, the way his giant hands seemed at home in all the places he touched you. the way your eyes rolled back and your toes curled and the way your name tore from the back of his throat. it had been carnal and desperate and a long time coming. so good, that you’d almost decided it was worth the risk to do it again.

your attention turned back to him as his hands grabbed at your hips, grinding you into him while he pressed open mouthed kisses over your neck, his teeth grazing your sweet spot. you let out a breathy moan, your body moving with his.

“you don’t know how much i’ve missed this. think about that night all the time.” he whispered. “this body, your pretty little noises, god. so perfect for me.” his breath fanned over your neck, your back arching.

“lando, please.” you whimpered, uncaringly desperate for him. he laughed, low.

“i know, pretty girl, i know.”

you were a mess beneath him as soon as his fingers found your core. you could feel him smile against your skin, taking a break from the bruises he was leaving against your neck. presumably he’d felt how much you needed him, your pussy slick. lando ran his fingers through your folds, finding your clit, teasing it between his fingers. you whined, writhing, thighs snapping shut to trap his hand.

lando pulled away, forcing your legs apart once more, snaking down your body until he rested between your thighs. his grip was iron-clad, unrelenting. your eyes rolled back the second he leant in, his tongue meeting your clit just as his fingers glided inside of you. he moved quickly, hard, the sound of your wetness doing nothing to shame you, and everything to get you both even needier.

“you like it like this, don’t you?” he taunted, as his fingers hit that spot your legs kicking out from the pleasure. you couldn’t respond, hearing him snicker quietly. it made you flushed, almost embarrassed to be so vulnerable underneath him, but it felt too good to care.

“please.” you cried out once more, no shame in your desperation.

he pulled away, crawling up your body painfully slowly, the kisses peppered across your abdomen making you shake.

“do you think about that night too? bet you’ve been waiting for this just as much as i have.” he whispered, hovering over you. “god, every time i see you at the track or in the factory, bossing me around like you run the place, i just want to bend you over and remind you who you think of at night.”

you blushed, hard, you lip caught beneath your teeth as he inched inside of you, teasing you further.

“come on, lando.” you groaned, wrapping your legs around him, pulling him deep.

you both moaned, ecstasy, stress relief.

“oh, so that’s how you wanna play it?” he asked, grinning down at you. the smirk painted on your face was wiped away instantly by his immediately unrelenting pace.

he was harsh, filthy, taking it all out on you. one of his hands dug into your thigh, keeping you in place, reminding you who was making you feel so good. the other hung loosely around your neck like a piece of expensive jewellery, making sure you kept your eyes open. the look on his face, that lazy, devious smirk, was enough incentive to keep you transfixed on his face, his eyes gleaming, the dark rings around them framing his intense stare.

just as you were nearing your end, he pulled out, flipping you onto your stomach like you were nothing. he forced you onto your elbows, back arched, ass up, your face lost to the pillows. a haze washed over you, bright white nothingness clouding your vision as he went even deeper. your mouth fell open, your silent scream burrowing into the comforter as you lost yourself, your orgasm beginning to wash over you.

lando felt you let go, pulling you up until you were on your knees in front of him, your back to his chest, the angle change making you whimper into the warm air of the hotel room. he held you still, his hand snaking around you until he found your clit, prolonging your orgasm, your body shaking against his.

you both collapsed into a heap, his sweaty body covering yours. you could feel his curls tickling your shoulder, his heavy breath fanning sending shivers down your spine. an open mouthed kiss to your shoulder blade had your eyes shooting open, your stomach twisting. it was soft, intimate, the opposite of how you usually spent your time together.

this was not like last time.

you needed to leave, urgently, escape before things got worse, weirder, even more unprofessional. it was stress relief, a way of releasing all of the pent up tension your jobs created between the pair of you.

you assumed he’d be happy to see the back of you, now that you were done with what you came here to do. you were proven wrong when he rolled off of you, pulling the duvet over your knackered body.

a complete silence fell between you as he switched off the bedside lamp, rolling over onto his side, facing you. he seemed pensive, like he was trying to decide what to say. and then, finally, he spoke.

“i appreciate you, you know?” he said softly, quietly into the pitch black space between you.

you smiled, thankful for the darkness surrounding you. you knew you’d gone red at his admission. your heart may have skipped a beat; you were probably just tired, you told yourself.

“see? i knew you weren’t a total asshole.” you murmured, back to teasing him. it was the safe option. you kicked yourself immediately. you’d just had sex with him, what good was playing it safe?

“you love it.” you could practically hear the smirk on his face.

“go to sleep, norris.”

thank you for reading! <3

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peachessndreamss · 9 months

Text

A Rose by Any Other Name.

Summery : Princes Aegon and Aemond visit Highgarden to broker a marriage contract for the younger brother, while there Aemond finds himself in need of relief and doesn't care who with.

Characters : Aemond Targaryen x f!Tyrell reader

Warnings : Dub Con, abuse of title/rank, oral sex (male receiving), female masturbation, derogatory terms for women, alcohol consumption, cannon divergent, Aegon slander

Word count : 4.5 k

A/N : Sometimes my dreams are the unlimited pasta caste and sometimes they're this, sorry. While English is my first language I'm also profoundly dyslexic, I've done my best to minimise spelling and grammar issues but I'm there still are plenty.

The ground of a Highgarden stable yard was a mess of mud and straw as the eldest Tyrell daughter rode her horse sedately out of the stables and toward the open door of the outer keep. There had been days of fresh spring rains which had soaked the earth, swollen the rivers and brought the Reach alive in a riot of colour, from the azure blue of the sky to the lush green of the grasses in the animal fields and every colour of the rainbow in the food and flowers that grew and ripened under the warming sun.

“Outriders say the Princes are only a few hours away if the good weather holds so don’t go far,” the horse master reminded her.

“I’ll not go far,” she replied with an airy wave of her hand, the route she’d already set on in her mind was several hours over the roughest terrain the estate of Highgarden had to offer and would have her coming home a good while after the Targaryen visitors had arrived. She had no desire to stand in the muddy yard with her siblings to greet the princes when their wheelhouse rolled in.

Her father had started brokering the marriage contract over 9 months before, ravens flew back and forth between Highgarden and Kings Landing as her father bartered, first, with the Hand of the King and then with Queen Alicent. She’d looked through the letters herself, working out just how much she was worth to her father and the Targaryens. Finally the Queen suggested Aegon and Aemond visit the Reach themselves to complete negotiations and hold a formal betrothal.

If she was going to be sold off to Aemond Targaryen like a cow at a market she would at least spend her final day as an unbetrothed woman in the way she enjoyed the most. As she passed under the gate the horse beneath her gave a shiver of anticipation, as they turned toward the East and the low spring sun that dazzled her eyes the horse gave a snort of impatience.

Despite the lack of visibility Lady Tyrell angled the horse toward a small cluster of woods she knew were on the horizon, she clicked her tongue and gave the horse a short squeeze with her thighs. At this the horse broke into a trot and soon they were hidden by the sun and quickly disappearing over the horizon.

In the West, still 10 or so miles from Highgarden, the royal wheelhouse shuddered and bounced over the pitted road, shaking the two occupants and further fraying delicate nerves.

Aegon groaned and gripped at the set beneath him, his head hanging low and his eyes closed tightly as he tried to stop feeling like his head and body were moving in different directions.

“I can’t see why we couldn’t come on dragonback,” Aegon groaned as he fought the urge to vomit again.

Aemond remained in stoney silence, seething at his older brother and the despicable mess he was. The night before they had slept in a tavern on the edge of the Reach. Aegon has drunk his way through an entire barrel of rose wine and was found in the morning asleep in the stable between two sheep. The smell of him, a mix of spilt wine and sheep shit made Aemond's stomach roll.

“Isn't there some high born hole you can marry in Kings Landing?” Aegon complained as the wheelhouse gave a lurch and bumped over the poorly maintained track.

“Cease your incessant whining,” Aemond finally snapped, kicking his brother in the leg.

“Why did I have to come?” Aegon muttered, rubbing at his calf and glaring at Aemond through the lank locks of hair that had fallen over his face.

“I would have paid good money to leave you behind,” Aemond replied coldly.

“Why didn't you?!”.

“Mother insisted,” Aemond shrugged and turned away from his brother, pulling the window cover back with a long finger and watching disinterestedly at the countryside rolling by. If he ended up marrying into the Lords of this land, the first thing he'd insist on was better roads.

The wheelhouse turned sharply and Aegon groaned again, stuffing his cloak into his mouth to fight the nausea. Once it had passed he spit the fabric out, it tasted like sheep and possibly his piss.

“I fucking hope she's worth it,” he hissed.

The lady returned to Highgarden even later than she'd intended and in a far worse state. Her usually sure mount had startled while riding through a wooded area and thrown her off his back into a sticky quagmire, she’d landed mostly on her back and left side, the clothes had become soaked in mud that had been almost impossible to get off when it was wet. She had washed the worst of it off her face and hands in a small stream but her riding clothes remained caked in the muck.

“My Lady, what happened?” The horse master exclaimed as she trotted the beast into the stables.

“He threw me is all, no lasting damage done,” she replied as she dismounted and patted the horse's neck lovingly.

“Are they here?” She asked after a moment of heavy silence.

“Your father's taken them to his solar, he's not happy you weren't here to greet them,”.

She nodded sharply and handed the reins of the horse over to a stableboy.

“Plenty of hay, water and a few of those early golden apples,” she instructed before turning and heading into the yard.

She entered the building through a servants door, knowing she could make a path between there and her own rooms that wouldn't put her anywhere near her father's solar. She could be washed and changed and ready to entertain Princes long before dinner was served.

She stepped into a small anteroom off the kitchens where she knew she could take off her ruined riding gear, stripping down to her small clothes and riding boots, she left everything in a pile, making a note to tell her maidservant about it as soon as she saw the woman. She couldn't well wander the halls of Highgarden in her shift so she took a clean servants dress from the stack in the corner and pulled the shapeless linen over her head, tying it around the middle with a belt of braided cord. She splashed icy water on her face and did her best to tuck any loose hairs back into their braid before setting off for her rooms.

She'd almost made it back to her own chambers when a voice from behind spoke.

“Girl, come here,” it commanded and she stopped in her tracks.

No one in her father's household would speak to her like that, even if she was dressed as a servant. She turned slowly, the blood racing to her face when she looked at Aemond Targaryen for the first time.

He was still dressed for travel, with black leather trousers and a similarly hardy jacket with a high collar. The patch over his eye hid most of the damage but the deep red scar extended up his forehead and down his cheek, the only mark she could see on his otherwise glass clear skin. There was no flicker of recognition on his face, he obviously had no idea who he was speaking to.

“Come here,” he ordered again when she'd not moved toward him.

She opened her mouth to protest, to ask him who he thought he was speaking to but she stopped, closing her mouth and moving toward him. If she was going to marry this man she wanted to know what type of man he was and how better to learn than to see how he treated servants.

As she moved toward him she kept her eyes downcast, despite being desperate to look at his face in greater detail.

“What can I do for you, my Prince?” She asked meekly.

“Come with me,” he replied bluntly and turned, striding down the wide and brightly lit corridor toward the rooms that had been prepared for the two visiting royals.

At the door to his room he pushed it open and stepped back to allow her inside first before following and closing the door tightly behind the two of them. The sound of the latch clicking into place made her heart pound, she'd never been alone with a man before, she'd always been accompanied by her ladies or sisters but now she was alone in the guest wing behind a closed door.

She stood in the centre of the main room, a fire burned merrily in the grate and the Prince’s trunk stood open at the foot of the bed. She looked up at him from under her lashes and caught sight of his deep indigo eye watching her.

“Wh-what can I do for you?” She asked again, he'd catch on pretty quickly she wasn't part of the serving staff if he asked her to do much more than pour a glass of wine.

“I'm in need of some relief,” he said softly, his left hand moving instinctively toward the laced fount of his trousers and his fingers twitched.

Her brows furrowed in confusion, her eyes following the movement of his hand before snapping back to his face.

“I don't understand your meaning, my Prince,” she said softly, although she was fairly certain she did.

She had been raised her entire life in the safety and beauty of Highgarden, her innocence protected at all costs and her exposure to men limited as far as possible, but she still knew what men and women did together in the privacy of their bed chambers.

“The journey here was long and difficult and my brother is a terrible travelling companion, so before I meet with your sweet lady this evening and make dull small talk for hours I need you to get on your knees, open your mouth and suck my cock,”.

A shiver crawled across her body, she'd never been spoken to like that before and after the initial shock of his crass words she found herself excited by them. But while his words were exciting the reality of what he wanted was frightening, she could tell him who she really was and face the consequences of running around dressed as a servant and tricking a prince or she could do what he asked and face any additional consequences of sucking his cock and having to make dull small talk with him later.

“Did you hear me?” He demanded, his voice harsher now, “get on your knees, I've got no time for your wide-eyed innocent act,”.

“But, my Prince, I've never-,”.

He cut her off mid-sentence, anger flashing across his face.

“Get on your knees,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

The anger on his face and in his voice sent a thrill up and down her spine, making the tips of her toes and fingers tingle with anticipation.

Slowly she lowered herself to her knees, the thin and rough fabric of the dress rubbed uncomfortably on her knees and the cold of the stone floor seemed to soak into her skin like water.

“So you do understand, stupid little slut,” he muttered, moving toward her while unfastening the laces of his breeches.

She watched with wide eyes as he pulled his cock free from the fabric of his trousers and pumped his hand up and down the thick muscle. By instinct her mouth filled with saliva and she felt a rush of wetness and heat between her thighs.

“Open your mouth,” he commanded.

She ran her tongue over her bottom lip before doing as she'd been told, parting her lips and teeth as he came to stand directly in front of her, the head of his cock now bobbing directly in her eye line. There was a bead of clear fluid slipping from the thin slit at the head, she fought the urge to lean toward and lick it up.

The head of his cock was a dark red colour, completely in opposition to the alabaster white skin of his hands, he wrapped his fingers around the base and squeezed.

“Keep it open,” he said as he angled the shaft toward her lips.

This was her last opportunity, the very last second she could back out, tell him who she was, run screaming from the room but instead she relaxed her jaw a little and allowed him to push the head of his cock into her waiting mouth.

His own mouth dropped open in a soft moan as the wet heat of her mouth enveloped his aching cock. He pushed his hips forward, forcing as much of himself between her lips as she could take, the soft, slick slide of her tongue on the underside of his shaft made his toes curl up in his boots.

Her hands went to the front of his thighs and she braced her open palms against the leather, her fingers moulding to the shape of his lithe legs. He could feel the heat from her hands and the gentle curl of her fingertips through the fabric of his breeches.

He drew back a little, feeling the warm suck of her soft mouth, he pushed one hand into the soft tangle of her hair and gripped.

“That's it,” he breathed as he pushed forward again, “take it,”.

Holding her head steady he pumped his cock between her lips, very quickly he was soaked from root to tip with her saliva and he watched transfixed as it slipped down her chin and wetted the rough fabric of her dress.

Tears were forming in her eyes and slipping down her cheeks as he fucked her mouth. The musky and masculine smell of him filled her nose as the salty taste of his bare skin on her tongue made her head spin.

Part of her was disgusted, she was a lady and possibly a future princess but she was on her knees getting her mouth fucked bya man who thought she was a servant. A much larger part of her thought this was the most erotic thing that could ever happen, her cunt was pulsing with the rapid beat of her heart, she wanted nothing more than to shove her fingers between her legs and bring herself to completion, or even better, take Aemond’s fingers and use them.

“You cock hungry little slut,” he hissed as he forced his cock deeper than any thrust before.

She choked, feeling her body suddenly gag at the intrusion so deep into her mouth. She tore herself away from him, gasping for breath. There was pain where he was clinging onto her hair, pulling it hard between his lean fingers.

“Too much for the little whore?” He sneered, cold laughter on his beautiful face.

She nodded as he brought the hand that wasn't still tangled in her hair to her cheek and brushed away her tears.

“Finish me off and you'll be free to go,” he said, pulling her back to him and pressing the head of his cock against her lips.

She opened her mouth willingly and allowed him to continue, pumping faster but not as deeply as before, he began to pant and groan at every pass of her wet lips.

“Fucking take it,” he panted, “take it, take it,”.

With a final shuddering, stuttering thrust she felt his cock kick in her mouth before her tongue was flooded with salty, bitter fluid. She kept her mouth closed around his shaft as his seed escaped between her lips and dripped onto her chest.

“Swallow it,” he whispered, unable to take his gaze from her dripping mouth.

He watched as her throat bobbed and she swallowed his remaining seed before leaning back and gazing up at him. Her cheeks were marked with the tracks of her tears and her mouth and chin were wet with his spend and her own spit. The tip of her tongue appeared between her lips and gathered a drop of him before disappearing again between her used lips.

Aemond's cock was now rapidly softening and she watched with fascination as the long, thick muscle seemed to retreat back toward his body, the hot, round head disappearing under a hood of skin.

He tucked his cock back into his breeches before reaching down and brushing his thumb across her lips, his touch surprisingly tender.

“You can go,” he said bluntly before stepping away from her and turning his back.

She sprang to her feet and dashed to the bedroom door, yanking it open and not bothering to close it behind herself as she raced toward the sanctuary of her own rooms. The soles of her riding boots seemed to boom on the hard stone floor and she believed as if everyone in the castle would hear her desperate escape.

Although she kept her head down and didn't acknowledge anyone she passed she felt as if she'd been branded across the face with the awful names he'd called her. Surely everyone she passed knew what she'd just been doing.

Her heart was thundering and her cunt pounding, the sensations she'd never felt before were making her head spin. Once she was in the safety of her own room she threw herself onto the bed and drove her fingers between the slick lips of her cunt with an urgency she'd never known. She bit into the feather pillow as she brought herself to orgasm within moments of touching the throbbing and engorged pearl between her legs.

She lay panting on the bed, the smell of him still clinging to her like perfume, now mixing with the smell of her own arousal.

Her ears still burned with the names he'd called her, she should feel humiliated and insulted but instead she longed to hear those names again. She longed to taste his cock again and then to explore his body, to take time to undress him, observe him and touch him. She wanted him to do the same with her, call her names, strip her naked and explore her virgin body without restraint.

When her maidservant arrived to get her dressed for dinner she could barely lift her head from the bed. She wanted nothing more than to hide under the sheets and touch herself again and again while images of the prince flashed through her mind.

She was scrubbed clean in the bath, her hair washed and treated with sweet smelling oils. Her maidservant noted the bruises where she'd been thrown by her horse, but the marks on her knees were harder to explain away.

She was dressed in a gold and green gown embroidered with roses, the usual soft cotton and silk felt like sand abrading her skin. She insisted her hair be styled in the same way it had been when she went riding, in case the Prince didn't recognise the lady he was forced to make small talk with.

She waited by the door to the great hall, the princes had been announced and seated, then her father and his wife, her siblings next and finally it was her turn. Her name was called and she stepped into the hall. The room was full of the great and good of the Reach sitting on the tables that filled the room, at the top table, positioned above the others on a dais sat her family and Prince Aegon and Aemond.

She looked directly at Prince Aemond as she walked toward the top table. There was a flicker of recognition followed by a moment of complete horror before he took back control of his face, a mask of neutral passiveness dropping over his features. She took her seat between the prince and her young sister.

“My Lady,” he greeted softly.

“Prince Aemond,” she replied.

“Prince Aegon,” she added, leaning around Aemond to address his brother who only nodded in acknowledgement, he was swaying gently in his seat and his eyes were glazed over.

Aemond could have throttled his older brother for being drunk before the meal had been served.

“It's a pleasure to meet you my Lady,” Aemond said softly, drawing her attention back to him.

“The pleasure is all mine,” she replied politely, “but I do hope my small talk doesn't bore you,” she added, dropping her voice so only he could hear. She enjoyed the look of mild panic that crossed his face before she turned to speak with her sister.

As the food was served the noise levels in the hall increased and she felt able to return to speaking with Aemond without being overheard.

“How have you found Highgarden so far?” She asked.

“Most accommodating,” he replied, taking a sip of rose wine.

“Please forgive me if this question is indelicate,” she started, running the tips of her fingers up and down the thin stem of her wine glass, “if we're to marry, do you intend on taking your pleasure with the servants or your wife?”.

The hand holding Aemond's wine goblet visibly shook before he placed it back on the table. He cleared his throat and turned his eye to the woman beside him.

“I would take my pleasure nowhere but my wife, and she would take a great deal of pleasure with me,”.

“Because if I were your wife and found you'd been sticking your prick in the serving girls I'd bite it off,” she said as softly as possible.

Aemond cleared his throat again and gave a small inclination of his head.

“Understood, my Lady,”.

After the meal there was music and dancing. As expected of her, she danced with her father and her brothers. She'd expected to have to dance with Prince Aegon as well but he was too drunk to stand straight let alone follow the steps. Aemond, on the other hand, was everything a prince should be, dancing with her step mother and sisters before asking her to dance.

The music changed to a fast paced peasant tune that meant they needed to dance in a small circle of others before being paired off. Once alone and moving around the floor they were able to speak again.

“I just want you to know,” she started as she stepped around him, before coming to face him, their toes almost touching, she looked up at him, taking in the curve of his lips and a sharp shape of his chin, “the way you spoke to me, when you thought I was a serving girl made my cunt ache,”.

She went to twist away from him to continue the dance with the man beside him but he caught her hand and held her, letting her twirl around him again. The line of dancers they were part of muttered and tutted as they scrambled to sort themselves without the Prince and his lady.

When they were face to face again Aemond held her still, placing his hands on her waist.

“When you are my wife, it will be my utmost honour to make your cunt ache every day,” he breathed before leaning down and placing a soft kiss on her cheek before adding “my slut,”.

A shiver of pleasure ran down her spine and settled deep in her belly, making her cunt throb again. If she really was a slut she could drag him away somewhere quiet and make him repay her in kind for earlier but she was a lady, and he was prince and they were in a room full of gossiping courtiers.

“Is that a formal proposal?” She asked as he straightened.

“I think it is,” he replied, a small smile turning up the corners of his lips.

“Then I accept,” she said, before twisting around him again in time with the music.

The other dancers had moved on, leaving the two of them in their own space on the floor, undisturbed by anyone else. The swirling dancers around them made it feel like they were the only two people in the room, trapped by a colourful snow storm.

Aemond didn't care that he wasn't in a position to officially offer marriage to her yet, his meeting with her father hadn't straightened out all the details but suddenly the dowry, the lands and the titles of their future children didn't matter anymore, these details were nothing compared to how badly he wanted to take her to wife.

The song ended in a final flourish and the dancers clapped and called out requests for the next piece of music.

“Another dance? I certainly prefer it to small talk,” she teased with a smile as the music started again and the dancers around them took their places.

“And is there something else you’d enjoy even more than dancing?” he asked before bowing to her and offering her his hand.

Her neck flushed with heat as she took his hand and the two of them moved in a slow circle.

“There are many things I enjoy more than dancing, my Prince, and I suspect you’ll show me a great many more,”

For the rest of the night Prince Aemond danced with no one else and while it certainly earned some raised eyebrows from the more modest members of the Highgarden court neither Lady Tyrell or Aemond could bring themselves to care. They only had eyes for one another and as they danced the rest of the world seemed to melt away.

At the top table Lord Tyrell watched his daughter and the prince with great interest. He was thinking he might have saved himself 9 months of bartering, letter writing and hand wringing if he’d just invited the prince to visit in the first instance.

“They make a fair couple, don’t they?” his lady wife asked from beside him.

“When I met with him this afternoon I’d never have believed he could be so taken with her,” Lord Tyrell said, “he was so cold I didn’t think he could look at someone with anything other than contempt but she seems to have won him over,”.

It was the small hour of the next morning by the time the music and dancing ended. Lord Tyrell and his lady had gone to bed hours before but the revelry had continued. Prince Aegon had staggered from the table and made toward a door at the side of the hall, he’d only made it through the door before tripping on his feet, falling on his face and deciding to stay there.

As the musicians played their final notes prince Aemond kissed the back of his lady’s hand, looking up at her and smiling.

“Until we meet again, my Lady,” he said softly, she opened her mouth to reply but he pulled her toward him, bringing his cheek to hers, his lips touching the shell of her ear, “my whore,”.

additional A/N : this has the potential for a part two if anyone's interested? Just putting it out there, letting the universe know.

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stormhearty · 7 months

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Pairings: Azriel x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Triggers: pregnancy trope, longing, mention of death, thoughts of suicide, blood, baby’s death, open-ended ending

Summary: Hiraeth definition: “homesickness, longing, nostalgia and a wistful desire for something irretrievably lost.” It had been several years since your passing, one that he cursed the Mother and the Gods for. Now he wanders the world, endless and lost, waiting for the day you would whisper in his ears to come home — home to you.

Note: From this request! Thank you @soulsansang (I cannot tag you for the life of me), for sending this request! I fought every urge to connect this to my Seer!Reader fics. The idea of hiraeth fit perfectly with a mourning Azriel; however, I needed something else. Needed an Azriel who was mourning not because of his actions, but due to unforeseen circumstances that fate seemed to have placed him in. I’m sorry for the “pregnancy trope”, I didn’t think I would be writing this one like this. If you do not like that trope, I completely understand and I respect you not reading this. But I do hope you enjoy, and I hope it fills the angst and sadness that you had requested!

“Azriel~!”

He looked over his shoulder, his name echoing in his ears, as he stepped out of his apartment and into the pouring rain. Dull hazel eyes stared at the gray skies as the rain poured down, relentless and unforgiving.

It had been days since this rain had started, and it seemed as if it would never stop. It was torrent, heavy with the mix of strong that howled through the empty alleyways. Valeris was almost like an abandoned city — its inhabitants were locked indoors due to the storm that shook its walls.

Azriel’s form shuddered, the wetness seeping into his clothes. He barely wore something that would keep him warm in such icy weather — a simple black jacket, a long-sleeved tee hidden underneath, and black jeans. His leather shoes were soaked in the rain as he stepped into another puddle, not caring that the wetness soaked into his feet.

He walked through the deserted city, only a few who braved the torrential storm were running through the streets. Those out looked at the Spymaster with confusion and worry, but none voiced them out loud — he wouldn’t have listened anyway.

He had one destination — and he would make it there — despite the storm.

Stepping across the Sindra River, the cobblestone bridge was overrun by the river below. Waters crashed upon slowly decaying rocks, splashing over the sides and onto the bridge. Traversing it might seem impossible for any normal Fae, but for Azriel, it was easy.

He stepped onto the bridge, not minding how the cold waters of the river splashed onto him. He paused, at the arch of the bridge, leaning over the stoney rail to look at those rapid waters that raced down the riverbend. They crashed and crescented over rocks, splashing against everything and anything that stood in its way — and the downpour only amplified the river’s maelstrom.

Azriel looked into the waters below him, barely making out his reflection in them. He blinked out the water that tricked into his eyes, and when he looked back down into his reflection — instead he found a familiar figure — hair blowing in the raging wind, eyes looking up at him, hand reached out as if to tempt him into those frigid cold waters below him.

It was tempting, to say the least, the call to be submerged into the depths of the river, to feel the icy liquid deep into his skin — and make the river his grave.

He couldn't help it — the image was like a siren with its sailors, tempting them to their end. Leaning across the cobblestone rail, he leaned down — down into the depths of the water. Azriel had every mindset, every want to drown in that very river.

However, he felt his body pause, as if a tiny hand tugged on his shoulder — a child’s laugh echoing in his ears.

His body snapped up, his head whipping over his shoulder, frantically looking around, only to stop. Eyes noticed a fallen blue-violet on the drenched cobblestone. Azriel felt his body go rigid at the flower, remembering what it had meant. He turned around and knelt, shaky hands reaching down to pick up the soaked flower. He felt his eyes prickle with tears as he turned it in his hand, before bringing it up to his lips and pressing a kiss on the petals, standing up and pocketing it.

Dull hues stared at the river below him, noticing his reflection once more — and not the mirage that tempted him to death. A frown tugged on the edge of his blue-tinged lips before making his way across the bridge once more, the call of death barely whispering in his ears.

He turned, his feet bringing him off paved grounds into a mud-soaked one. The mud squished underneath his feet. He weaved through familiar trees, and as he delved further into the forest the canopy above him blocked the gray skies above, the pitter-patter of rain on soil lessening. There, underneath the canopy, Azriel shook his wings out — the rain that had drenched his wings flying off in droplets. He raised a hand, running through soak locks, pushing them back away from his face. He fixed his jacket, dusting off the moisture from its soaked fabric before he continued walking.

Hazel hues saw the familiar clearing, watching as the downpour continued to drench the soil in its never-ending attack. He stood at the edge of the clearing, hues staring up at the sky once more. He silently cursed the Mother and the Gods above for this rain — all he wanted was to see the clear skies for once.

Azriel stepped into the clearing, the rain drenching his clothes once more — not that he minded anyway.

He stepped into the middle of the clearing where a lone headstone stood. A simple one, nothing to extravagant. Azriel felt his heart race in his chest as he got closer to the headstone.

Azriel kneeled in front of the headstone, a tearful gaze as he read the words that were etched onto the stone: Here lies (Y/N), the wonderful wife of Azriel. Mother of their unborn child. May the Mother and Gods bring her safe passage to the Havens.

It had been two years since he had to bury your body, along with your unborn child.

The Mother was cruel to him.

You and Azriel had been married for over three centuries — his life was full of color, full of happiness and full of love. You were everything to Azriel. He would miss you when he went to missions, kiss you silly when he got home from said missions; he would spend lazy time with you, your head on his lap or vice versa — just spending time with each other. And for those three centuries, both of you had tried for a child, but because Fae menstrual cycles were so sporadic, it had been difficult.

But two years ago, your miracle baby happened.

“Azriel!”

Azriel turned around after shutting the door to your apartment, only to catch your body that flung towards his way.

“Hey love,” he greeted you, a chuckle escaping his chest as he wrapped his arms around you, looking down and noticing how your head tucked into his chest. He could feel your excitement vibrate through your body and he couldn't help but wonder what had gotten you so happy.

But at that moment, he just leaned down and pressed a kiss on the crown of your head, watching your head tilt up to look at him, your eyes shining.

“What is it?” he hummed out with a raised brow.

He watched as you bit your lower lip, fighting the smile that tugged at the edge of your lips.

“You know how I have been feeling unwell the past few weeks…” you had started off.

Azriel hummed out, shifting you in his arms so that you were at his side, his arm wrapped around your waist before leading you into the kitchen. He maneuvered you around, grasping your waist and lifting you with ease onto the countertop next to the stove.

“Azriel!!” You shrieked in surprise, your hands grasping his shoulders to stretch yourself.

He smirks up at you, settling himself between your legs, “Now what were you saying, love?”

He watched you huff softly before continuing your story, “Well I went to Madja earlier today and I told her of my symptoms—-”

“Nausea, headaches, bloating…” he listed off.

Azriel knew your symptoms, it had worried him to the max. Both of you didn't know what had happened — he was worried about some sort of poisoning… he thought of the worst-case scenarios. And you had to be the one to calm him down from those spiraling thoughts.

You hummed and nodded your head, “Well… it looks like you didn't have to be so worried about that poisoning scenario, my love…” you whispered as you leaned down to press your forehead against his.

He felt your hands slide down his shoulders, down his arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Azriel always loved how you touched him — there was no hesitancy in the way you held him, touched him — whether it he sexual or intimate. You had always initiated touching him and now, he can't live without your hands or body near his own.

He felt your hands grip his own, sliding then to your lower abdomen, pressing his hands against the soft skin.

“… I’m pregnant, Azzie…”

Your words were a whisper and Azriel felt his eyes widen at the words that had left your lips. He stared up at you and watched as your eyes sparkle light the night sky at your confession.

Hazel hues looked up at you before sliding down your body to where your hand lay over his own. A wide smile tugged on his lips before he slipped his hands away from your own, cupping your cheeks and kissing you.

He poured everything into that kiss — all his love for you and this unborn child.

When his lungs screamed for air, he was content with pressing kisses on your skin while you giggled, feeling your hands run through his hair.

“We’ll be having a child…” he whispered in disbelief.

He heard you let out a hum, feeling your head nod, “Yes we are… after centuries… our beautiful child…”

Every word that you whispered was full of happiness, adoration, and excitement. He knew, from hearing you speak, that you'd be a wonderful mother… one that would dote on that child.

He was elated — after centuries of both of you trying, watching your family build their own little families — Azriel was worried that both of you would never be blessed with a child. Yet now, the Mother seemed to rain her fortune on the both of you.

But deep within him, worry festered like mold, slowly growing. He worried about the complications — he heard about it with Rhysand and Feyre, Nesta and Cassian. And he worried for you — and all he could pray to the Mother that you would be spared from it.

“What color should the baby’s room be?”

Azriel hummed and raised a brow, turning his head to gaze at you. He fought back a smile — he had found you so adorable. You had waddled, your belly large protruding your tiny stature. Your hand tucked in the crook of his elbow protectively.

Azriel had ensured you were in good hands during your pregnancy; and that he would always prioritize your health and safety. He would never let you go out without him, either himself or his shadows. He always had a hand on you — whether it be around your waist or, like now, your hand tucked into his elbow.

Your features glowed despite the exhaustion he knew you felt — you had looked so beautiful during your whole pregnancy and Azriel worshiped you like the Goddess you were to him.

He watched as your gaze went up to him, your head tilting slightly at the look he gave you. Azriel shook his head, “You know I'd be biased if you asked me, love…” he answered.

Azriel would choose blue, even if it was a girl or a boy, his siphon colors would be that room’s color.

He watched as you rolled your eyes, and felt your hand pat his forearm, “Why am I not surprised that, out of all the colors, you’d choose your siphon?”

The two of you walked into the paint shop, the doorbell ringing above you. You were greeted by a Fae, one who was shocked and nervous to meet the Spymaster and his wife.

Azriel patted your hand and slipped your hand from his elbow, “Go ahead my loves… I'll be here…” He watched you smile before following the Fae to the color room, and he watched with adoration.

“You can't leave me, (Y/N)…” he sobbed, grasping your flaccid hand in his, pressing a kiss on cold skin.

The room was deathly still, his sobs echoing in the loud shared room.

You had gone into labor hours ago, and that labor… was difficult on your weak body. The babe, as Madja had warned you and Azriel all those months ago, had taken a toll on your body. You had been sick and bedridden for most of the pregnancy — Madja had stressed for you to terminate the pregnancy — it was either you or the baby.

Azriel had fought for you to terminate the pregnancy; begged and cried you to.

He could live without the unborn child but without you?

Never.

He watched you cry, begged him to let you keep the babe — he listened to your bargains, and promises; he listened to you cry in the night whispering to the baby all the while rubbing your stomach.

He watched everything… but he couldn't lose you.

But you had been stubborn, wanting to keep the pregnancy — pushing it to term — despite the consequences of it.

And so when you went into labor, the amount of blood you lost… was too much for Madja to replenish with her powers. The baby that was born was already too blue to try to bring back alive. Azriel was by your side the whole labor, watching you push your body to the brink — all for the child.

He felt your pulse slow underneath his fingertips, his hazel eyes frantically trying to find yours as he watched them roll backwards.

“No…No!” he yelled, dropping your hand onto the mattress and cupping your cheeks, “My love… (Y/N)…” he whispered, leaning in to press his forehead against yours, trying to pull you from the call of death.

Azriel watched you smile up at him, your eyes focusing on him, crescenting as you looked up at him, “…Azzie…” you whispered.

He fought back tears as he nodded his head, “Hey, my love, yes, I’m here… I’m here…”

“I’m sorry…”

It was as if you knew… this would be the outcome of your decision.

“No… Don’t be sorry… Please don’t… Just… Please don’t leave me… You can’t leave me…”

He watched as your eyes roll again and he brought your face closer to his own, watching them focus on him again, “…I don’t want to… But, I’m so tired Az…”

Azriel felt a heart wrenching sob escape his throat. His thumb caressed your pulse point, feeling it slow more. He looked up at his High Lord and the Healer and both of them looked at him with a somber look.

A shake from his High Lord gave his answer.

The tears finally fell, as he looked back at you — and you back up at him. He watched your brows furrow in confusion as you stared at him.

All he did was shake his head, leaning down to press one final kiss on your lips.

“Sleep… My love… if you’re tired. I’ll wait for you to wake up…”

He felt you take one last breath, a smile tugging on your lips as you whispered, “I love you, Az…”

Azriel felt your body go limp in the bed, your head roll back and your pulse stop completely. He watched your eyes dull, that smile still on your features.

His body shook, and tears never ended as he pulled your body into his arms, cradling your head as he let out a cry, pressing his face into the crook of your neck — the final time he’d ever feel you against him.

Azriel never thought heart break would be so painful.

He stared at the tombstone, pulling out of his thoughts and memories to reach down and caress the marble stone.

“… Hi my love…” he greeted you, like usual, “It’s raining again… It seems that Valeris is in a typhoon of rain recently…”

Azriel sat himself down on the muddy ground, not caring if the mud and rain soaked through his clothes again.

He had sat there, talking to you about his day, what had happened recently with the family, what was going on with Valeris and Prythian in general. He talked for hours until he felt his voice go sore and his body shake due to the cold from the rain, but he didn’t leave… not until the skies turned dark.

Azriel laid himself down on the patch of dirt in front of your grave, laying on his back as he stared up at the sky. It seemed the rain ceased and the beautiful starry skies of Valeris peaked through the rain clouds.

He watched the stars twinkle, before a shooting star blazed through the sky before another one — much smaller — followed it.

“…Was that you, (Y/N)?” he whispered, thinking that those two fallen stars were you and the child, reaching out to him from the Havens above.

Azriel had been searching for signs, for the past two years of any sign of you in the Havens. Looking for signs that you were calling for him — looking for him. All he wanted to know was that you were out there.

And that shooting star was it.

He smiled and closed his eyes, “I’m coming back home to you…”

#acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fic #acotar angst #azriel x reader #azriel angst #azriel acotar #( .inbox request : when you call me home )#( .inbox request )

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am3ricanh0rrorwh0re · 2 months

Text

Loosen Up | Warren Lipka

warren lipka x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, unprotected p in v, p in v, smut with some plot, aphrodisiacs, edibles, not proofread

a/n: here you areee @evanpeterswifeyyy !! i’ve been working on this for a hot minute, tryna cook it nice and good for ya, lovely 🖤

there you stood at the front doorstep of Warren’s parent’s place, which was also his place. Warren answered the door, clearly still upset from the nervous-breakdown-induced fight you two had about the heist. He had invited you over to work out mapping plans for the aforementioned and upcoming heist you were pulling with a few mutual friends. He dragged you down to the basement, sitting down on a couch that was down there

“So,” Warren started, holding out a bag. “You want some? Maybe it won’t be as awkward or somethin’…get us to loosen up,”

The bag was yellow, dawning one-eyed Sour Patch Kids that looked like they were on shrooms. In big, green, leafy letters, you read the words ‘Stoney Patch’ printed across the bag. That type of edible was such a Warren thing to buy.

You look at him wearily. You weren’t one for recreational drugs (or just drugs period), but for Warren? Totally. You slipped a few fingers in the bag, pulling out one, blue, blob. not even a Sour-Patch-Kid-looking blob, just a blob. You pop the small candy into your mouth, eyeing Warren wearily.

You noticed him watching you, his dark irises greedily raking your frame from your lips to your hips. The bag was already opened when you got here, meaning Warren had been eating from it since before you got here. Maybe he was zoning out and his vision just landed on you?

“Can you f-fuckin’ pay attention? We’re wastin’ time,” He stuttered, rolling out a large paper sheet that had mapping plans on it. You nod, hoping the effects of the edibles would kick in soon.

“You haven’t even started saying anything important..” you mumbled back.

You watched Warren, your hearing panning in and out as you focused on him instead of what he was explaining. You never noticed how..how goddamn hot he was. His hair, his face, his body. It was all so appealing to you all of a sudden.

The feelings were reciprocated on Warren’s side. He could feel himself trailing off, becoming enthralled in the sight of you. Well, the sight of your tits. You two tried to push off the thoughts until you finally couldn’t take it anymore and snapped in his face.

“Stop staring at my boobs!” You exclaim, crossing your arms. Warren huffs, dragging a hand over his face.

“Crossing your arms isn’t gonna help! You’re just pushin’ ‘em up!” He exclaimed, slamming his hands on the table.

“You’re such a bastard!” You yelled back. Warren’s eyes widened as silenced engulfed the two of you. Warren stared at you and you stared at him, neither of you breaking eye contact.

“C’mere..” He whispered, his voice low as he motioned you over. You immediately crawled over to him, sitting on his lap.

Warren looked down at you, playing with your hair slowly. His fingers teased your scalp, making their way to the back of your head. His other hand went to your hip as he leaned in to kiss you.

You felt his hard-on bulging through his jeans, making you whimper into his mouth. You felt your panties immediately soak, your sex practically contracting in on itself.

Warren continued to kiss you, pushing you down on the couch. You let out a soft squeak as he climbed onto you, fumbling with the button on your jeans before practically ripping them off. He moved his lips to your neck, licking, kissing, and biting the sensitive skin.

He moved his large hands between your legs, dragging his rough fingers between the covered folds of your pussy, a visible wet spot left in the fabric. Warren shivered, feeling the touch of your hands on the back of his neck, your fingers threading through his hair as he played with you.

Without hesitation, Warren sat up, straddling your hips. He pulled his shirt off frat-boy style, smirking down at you. ‘Fuck fraternities’ was what he had said one night when you two were talking about colleges, but now he looked like that on top of you? You should’ve expected it. He kicked his jeans and boxers off before peeling off your shirt and bra viciously, eager to fuck you.

Warren didn’t even take the time to line up at your already soaking entrance. He pushed himself deep inside you, letting out a moan that had been trapped deep in his throat. He tilted his head back, rocking his hips. You let out a string of high pitched moans and obscenities, holding onto him as to not squirm too much. Warren slammed his lips down on yours, your mouths moving in sync as you both bit at each other’s lips.

Warren had been waiting patiently for this day. He knew the day would come when he’d finally get to stretch you out, mold you to his shape. And now, he wouldn’t let any other guy touch you. Warren continued his thrusts, the wet smack, smack, smack of skin hitting together, of his cock thrusting into you, was the only other sound. Well, besides the way you two moaned into each other’s mouths.

You felt him speed up his thrusts to just pure attacks to your cunt. You could tell he was getting close. His movements were jerky and unstable, not following any rhythm or pattern anymore. You pushed his lips off of yours, whispering shakily to him. “i’m gonna cuh-come, Warren,”

He let out a small scoff which built up to grunts and moans until you were given one final thrust into your now stretched hole that finished the both of you off. Warren pressed his head to your shoulder, kissing your collarbone.

“guess those really did loosen us up..didn’t know weed could do all that..” He panted. You chuckle, playing vacantly with his hair as you grab the bag. Your face pales as you read over the ingredients.

“Warren..?”

“Mm..what?”

“These—…these’re laced with aphrodisiac..”

tags: @fear-is-truth @dangeroustaintedflawed @newwavesylviaplath @slutforgarlogan @nickrhodeslittledarling @coentinim @lacucarachapisser @evansonlylove @dearlizzies @oceanblvd111 @foreverviolets @emmasshitblog

#evan peters #warren lipka oneshots #warren lipka #warren lipka x reader #warren lipka smut #warren lipka imagines #american animals #american animals smut

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tahliafox · 9 months

Text

Only you.

Natasha Romanoff x Reader.

Summary: “Oh, baby. It's only you. My special, little girl.” Natasha whispered into your ear, like a dirty secret.

Warnings: Angst, Making out.

Word count: 1938

This is an add on to Dirty Secret, my last published story.

Your finger flitted gently over the F# a couple times before a light pressure caused a horrendous off-key sound coming from the G in front of it. Your eyes tightly closed shut at the mistake.

“It’s an F#, darling.” The deep voice that appeared beside you made you flinch into a pair of thin, delicate hands that came to rest on your tender shoulders. A green-flecked gaze ran over Natasha’s perfectly polished nails. From instant perception, the older woman's voice seemed to be aroused with disappointment.

The hand that once rested on your shoulder came and grasped at your shaky hands to place them onto the right keys. “A, then F#, then back to A. The notes are in triplets, play it rhythmically and evenly. That may prevent you from slipping again.” You took in a quiet breath, drying out your wanting lips.

“I'm sorry, I have been trying to play it for ages now. I just can't get it right.” Your voice came out shaky, the breath taken in did little to calm your nerves- further prevented by the divine presence behind you. Natasha ran her hand back over to your shoulder and comfortingly caressed the tiffany blue, cotton shirt. Nimble fingers played with the satin collar that had been folded neatly, framing your porcelain neck. It was unfolded and folded again in exactly the same way, however it seemed to look neater after Natasha’s touch.

“Why don’t you take a break, sweetheart. Maybe we could clear your head a little.” Natasha looked into your eyes through the gold-framed mirror in front of you both. You blushed under her gaze, as always, and nodded your head. “Fancy a walk?”`

You found yourself thoughtlessly agreeing.

Dancing ballet through thin plaits and red ribbons, the wind seemed to cool your forever flushed cheeks. Golden shards of light peaked through the patterned skyline created by browning leaves. The tree's trunks were home to a blanket of moss that creeped its way up through the branches. Ruby red heels clicked along the stoney, concrete road - that had been framed roughly by brittle leaves fallen from adjacently-lined rows of tall autumn-stained trees.

Your hand fiddled with the fur lining at the end of your coat, nimble fingers occasionally brushing against the coffee-coloured, plaid skirt you had on. Your eyes were trained on the floor, watching your every step, dear God don’t fall over. You were oh-so careful, trying not to trip over any loose stones that may have been in your way- after all, embarrassing yourself in front of Natasha any more that you already had was the only thing racing through your mind.

Covered in a ebony-black trench coat, Natasha looked glamorous and rich as always, with a cherry cigarette hanging from her lips. Her hair was tucked neatly into a french beret, secured by two pure gold clips. Everything she owned was so expensive, so expensive that you started to feel worth something every time Natasha layed her gentle fingers against your scarred skin.

“The sunsets are always beautiful this time of year.” Natasha put forth. Her hand was gently intertwined with your own, repeatedly rubbing her thumb over the back of your hand. The unconscious movement managed to both calm and panic you at the same time. The overwhelming being of Natasha never ceased to leave your frame of mind, she was always there.

Natasha was not expecting the silence she was met with after her remark. You clearly had not cleared your mind yet. “Please try to stop thinking, darling. You have been ever-so stressed recently and it's starting to worry me- and believe me I need nothing less than more worry lines on my forehead.” she chuckled. Your gaze whipped from the gravel path into Natasha’s eyes.

“You are beautiful.” You spluttered. Natasha blushed softly and raised her eyebrows- making you choke on a dry throat. The soft cigarette smoking coming from Natasha’s mouth weaved its way through the air. “I- I mean that you shouldn't worry about getting lines on your face. You’re already so beautiful and I- well there's nothing that could happen to your face to erase that.” You un-methodically rambled.

Natasha listened with a sweet smile on her face. Her eyelashes fluttered as she took in the wonder in your eyes as you spoke about her. “Well, thank you very much, sweetheart.” Natasha squeezed your hand tightly in hers with the intention of comfort.

You smiled and looked back at the floor, the disorder of thoughts slowly clearing. “Did you talk to Darren about my sleeping arrangements? He asked me to clear out the guest room downstairs for whilst he is away- to keep you company.” You changed the subject. Natasha’s smile sunk a little at the mention of her husband.

“Why don’t we take a trip away as well. Nobody is needing us here, we could go to Rome. I know you speak italian.” Natasha mumbled. You nodded your head at the option. Rome was always lovely at this time of the year, and your apartment there looked over the skyline perfectly.

“I have a place there.” You mentioned. Natasha looked at her, surprised.

“You do?”

“Well, it used to be my Nonno’s, but after he passed away I inherited it. It's completely paid off and everything.”

Natasha smiled at you as you both got to the end of the gravelled road, reaching a perfectly preserved fence. A bay horse lifted its head from the grass, looking over to see you and Natasha standing over the fence. Natasha clicked her tongue at her horse.

The horse came trotting over with its head held high.

“How come I don't look after the horses as well as the house?” You asked.

“I assumed you were not trained with equine animals. If you had mentioned it in your resume I would have discussed it with you.” Natasha ran her hand along the stripe on the geldings head.

“Oh- I am not trained with horses, I just assumed I would take care of everything.” You hesitated for a second. “You have other maids?”

Natasha furrowed her eyebrows and tilted her head a little at the tone of your question. “Well, yes. It's a rather large estate and it would be impossible for you to clean it yourself, especially because you're not a live-in maid.”

The realisation that there were other people that could possibly be this close to Natasha shot its way through your stomach like a bullet. What if you weren’t special? What if Natasha was just overly kind, overly giving? What if she’d been with another woman? A concerned look settled onto your face and, unbeknownst to yourself, Natasha was watching every twitch, every little movement to try and read what you were thinking. So lost in thought, you didn't even realise that Natasha's hand had let go of your own hand, and was now reaching its way onto your cheek.

The juxtaposing smells of Natasha’s cherry wrist and the horse's mane were able to pull you out of a trance. Natasha held your face ever-so delicately and lifted your chin so she could look directly into soft eyes. Like the scent of Natasha, a cherry shade flooded onto your cheeks- all the way to the tips of your ears.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” Natasha kindly demanded.

“Do you talk to everyone like this? Do you… well, are you with anyone as well as this?” The innocence of the question, followed with the despair that painted its way onto your face made Natasha pull you into her firm hold. You wrapped your arms around Natashas waist as one of her hands made its way into your hair, scratching at your scalp softly.

“Oh, baby, only you. My special, little girl.” Natasha whispered into your ear, like a dirty secret. You burrowed your head into Natasha’s neck, allowing the sweet smell to dissipate your thoughts. Natasha rested her chin on top of combed hair and swayed you in her arms, whilst continuously stroking a line from the base of your neck to scalp.

After a long moment, you pulled away from Natasha’s neck, keeping the woman close in your arms. Your head turned away from Natasha’s gaze, scouting the area to see if anyone was with the two of you.

“Kiss me.” You stated.

Natasha seemed to know everything, but at this moment she went foolish, you hadn't asked her for anything since that night. Often pervaded with words, she found herself speechless. She’d kissed you before, she’d fucked you before yet this was different, thought through- intimate, less impulsive. Sharply inhaling through her nose, (the sweet smell of you not helping her state of overwhelm) went blank, and opened her mouth.

“What?” The older woman's voice, unlike her face, was filled with emotion and expression. It held a tone of something that you’d never heard before- disbelief maybe, so abnormal that your stomach started to curl. Her voice went- she tried to respond but all that happened was an opening of pretty, pink lips and the release of a cut breath. Natasha stared with shock for a few seconds, her mouth had dropped open the same. Her eyes flicked around the property they were on, after realising they were truly alone she nodded.

“Ask- ask me again and I'll give you anything. I’ll give you everything, just ask me.” Natasha’s voice was desperate. The young girl stole her thoughts and replaced them with images of what could happen. Breathing out of her nose, she closed her eyes and dropped so her forehead was resting against yours. “Please, baby. Ask me again.” The desperate voice dropped to a pleading whisper.

“Kiss me.”

Despite the sheer desperation swimming within Natasha, she was gentle and kind. Soft, moisturised lips kissed themselves on your shaky mouth, pecking twice- why was she being so damn gentle- until it got too much. You whined, feeling the older woman inhale against your mouth as the noise registered in her ears. Her legs subtly got closer, almost crossing.

Your eyes were closed, so tightly- as if you were making it up in your head and the permission of sight would cause a decay of the dream. But it was real, as real as Natasha’s nose brushing against yours, her lips intertwined, sucking on your lower lip. As real as her bold, undiscouraged hands gripping at your waist, forcing an arch in your back as she leaned into you.

Your slender arms draped over her neck, the crinkles in your shirt, the dip in her knees. Raphael couldn't paint a prettier picture than what was standing in broad daylight.

“Please.” You begged, not knowing what you were actually asking for.

More, anything.

“What, baby?” her mouth drew a millimetre away from yours. “Tell me what you need.”

You stuttered. Her, just her.

“You, please.” so frail, so inexperienced. What were you supposed to ask for other than her? You just wanted her again.

Yet the world seemed so unkind, as the faint tapping of boots against cobbled stone started to get louder. Natasha withdrew herself from you completely, and in the matter of seconds you seemed to go through withdrawals. Your eyes widened, then welled.

The older woman had you at almost arms length, she consistently observed the surroundings. You begged that no one had seen the both of you together. Once so tender, she went cold, then started walking away from you.

“Go back inside, finish your duties.” she ordered, as if she was talking to staff. You then realised she was, and that's what you were to her, an employee.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #older!natasha romanoff #older!natasharomanoff #tahliesfics

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