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jibitzlesscrocs · 1 month ago

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chris sturniolo x reader

warning : suggestive information

referencing the wedding tiktok trend

wedding polaroids

in which, chris gets polaroids of his wife

After what felt like years of Pinterest boards, late-night planning calls, and a million shared photo albums, the day Chris and his fiancée, you — had been dreaming of finally arrived. The wedding was everything the two of you (mostly you) had envisioned: timeless, intimate, and dripping in elegance without being flashy. Just close friends, cherished family, soft music, and a setting kissed by nature.

The theme? Subtle garden romance. Delicate strings of fairy lights twinkled above long wooden tables adorned with soft cream florals, sage green runners, and golden tableware. The venue was tucked away in the hills, just enough distance from the world to feel like your own little universe.

You wore a bridal gown that could only be described as ethereal — form-hugging, delicate lace, elegant with a hint of sultry — just enough to make Chris’s jaw drop when he saw you walk down the aisle. His own outfit was crisp and clean: a sleek black suit and tie, and hair falling just a little messy in the way you always said drove you wild.

The vows? Personal and tear-worthy. You both poured your hearts out in front of everyone, and when Chris slipped the ring on your finger, it felt like the world sighed in contentment. The kiss you shared — long, passionate, full of promise — sealed forever.

But of course, there was one tiny detail Chris didn’t know about…

A few weeks before the big day, you saw a TikTok trend that sparked a devious little idea. A playful challenge. You enlisted your bridesmaids, and together, you shot a few private Polaroids — sultry, cheeky little glimpses meant only for Chris. The plan: deliver them discreetly during the reception to see just how long your new husband could keep it together.

********

The reception was buzzing. Guests clinked champagne flutes, laughter danced through the air, and Chris looked like sin in human form — suit jacket off, sleeves rolled, a few buttons undone, collarbones peeking through. His hair was tousled and carefree, that post-ceremony glow making him look like something out of a romantic fever dream.

He was walking around, graciously accepting congratulations from relatives, when your maid of honor slipped the first Polaroid into his hand with a cheeky wink. Chris glanced at it—and froze.

There you were, wearing his favorite black bikini that barely covering anything, kneeling with your head tilted slightly, that soft pout on your lips. The lighting, the pose, the subtle glisten of your skin — it was art. His face flushed crimson instantly. Jaw slack, he pressed the photo to his chest like a lifeline and began scanning the room for you, eyes darting around until he spotted you casually chatting with his grandmother, all innocent and glowing.

He looked back at the photo again, his lips curling into a stunned, crooked grin, eyes full of disbelief and heated affection.

Next came dinner. You sat beside him, both of you enjoying your meal, smiling and toasting with everyone. Then another bridesmaid slid the second photo across the table under a napkin.

This time, it was you in his favorite oversized hoodie — nothing underneath. Your nipples teased through the thin fabric in the photo, and the knowing smirk on your lips said everything. Chris’s breath hitched. He coughed lightly, shoved the picture into his pocket, that seem to have gotten tighter. He ran a hand through his hair, cheeks tinted pink. You pretended not to notice, calmly eating your food, your hand resting on his thigh — supportive… or so he thought.

He leaned in slightly, gripping your thigh now with intention. “You’re evil,” he whispered, biting his lip, his voice shaky.

You just smirked and gave him a playful shrug, locking eyes with your girls across the table who were holding back giggles.

Then, moments before the first dance, the final photo arrived. This time, it was bold.

You sat with your legs spread, wearing his favorite black lace lingerie set — the one that made him lose his mind every single time. The photo angle was suggestive, intimate. One look and Chris’s pupils blew wide. He groaned under his breath, immediately slipping the Polaroid into his jacket. His hand found your waist and yanked you close with a possessiveness that made your breath catch.

As the soft opening chords of your first dance played, he held you tightly in front of him, body pressed flush to yours, angled just so that no one could notice… how much he was affected. You could feel it — thick, hard, and impossible to ignore, pressed right against your upper thigh.

“You have some nerve with those pics, baby…” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly in your ear. “You better know one thing.”

“What’s that?” you whispered back, trying to hide your fluttering heart and heated skin.

Chris leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. “You’re mine tonight. All night.”

You whimpered softly at his words, heart pounding as your fingers gripped the back of his neck, melting into his arms as you swayed together. The world around you blurred — just the two of you, in love, tipsy on champagne and each other.

Then came the kiss.

It wasn’t just a kiss — it was the kiss.

He dipped you slightly as the music swelled, his lips crashing onto yours in a searing, possessive, breathtaking kiss that left you trembling. Tongues tangled slowly, teasing, claiming. His hand tightened at your waist while yours threaded through his hair. The kiss was messy in the best way — a public declaration of the chaos and love brewing between you two.

And as promised, the two of you didn’t sleep at all that night.

The next morning, as sunlight poured through the honeymoon suite, your body ached in all the right ways, and walking? Well… let’s just say the only steps you took were straight back into bed with your husband grinning proudly behind you.

taglist : @courta13

MAI’S STORE

i love seeing this trend on tiktok AHAH lemme know what you think of thisssss

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the-unidentified-author · 5 months ago

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Like Northerners | Cregan Stark | House of the Dragon

Cregan Stark x Southern Noble Reader

Warnings/ Tags: SMUT[NSFW], smut, minors DNI, established relationship, p in v, creampie, cum play, a little rough, Cunnilingus, fingering, consensual!, hes a big man, orgasm denial, one orgasm after another.

You're the wife of Lord Cregan Stark and you share an intimate moment together

Words: 5,644

A/N: This is feral and fithy and I have nothing to say for myself.

Not my gif, if its yours and you would like me to remove it just ask <3

As laughter and music swirled around you, the candlelight danced like flickering fireflies, casting shadows across the bustling hall. The room hummed with energy, filled with the chatter and movement of people, yet you couldn't recall a time when you'd felt more alone. Your husband thrived in this setting, effortlessly navigating the festivities with the ease of one accustomed to grand gatherings since childhood.

You watched as he mingled with the Northern men who had pledged their loyalty, their voices rising in camaraderie as they spoke of allegiances and battles. Each interaction was smooth and natural, his laughter a deep, comforting sound that mingled with the clinking of goblets. His face crinkled into a warm smile as he clapped a man on the back, their goblets clashing together in a celebratory toast.

In that moment, he unexpectedly turned his gaze to you, his grey eyes finding yours across the room. The connection, filled with unspoken affection and recognition, caught you off guard. Flustered, you let your eyes drop back to your plate, your heart fluttering with a mix of longing and shyness under the weight of his attention.

Cregan rounded the head table where you were seated, moving with an easy grace that belied his formidable presence. As he approached, he paused just behind you, leaning in so that his mouth was close to your ear.

You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, sending a thrilling shiver down your spine. The air was thick with the hum of conversation and music, but Cregan’s closeness seemed to draw you into a world of your own. His subtle scent—a mix of leather and fresh pine—wrapped around you like a familiar cloak. A moment passed, charged with anticipation.

Suddenly, a soft touch on your shoulder broke through your reverie. You turned to find Cregan leaning closer, his storm - grey eyes glinting with mischief. "Enjoying the festivities, my love?" he asked, his voice a low murmur. "Have you eaten your fill?"

"It’s quite the gathering. The preparations are… grand. And no, my lord." you replied, nudging the chicken leg and roasted potatoes on your plate with your fork. "I don't have much of an appetite."

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. "Grand? Or tedious?" His gaze was playful, yet there was an undercurrent of seriousness in it.

You smiled softly, glancing at the bustling crowd. "A bit of both, perhaps. But the company makes it bearable. It's just so different from what I'm used to."

As if on cue, there was the sound of smashing tableware and the crowd parted in one of the corners, two men at the centre appearing to be making at attempt at a fight. The evening had been long and the two men clearly having indulged a little more than they should have, each throwing slow unbalanced punches that the other could easily sidestep even in their drunken state.

Cregan let out a deep sigh, and he leaned closer. "I was hoping you’d find a moment to escape with me," he said, his breath brushing against your ear, sending tingles down your spine. "There’s a terrace outside, away from all this. Just a few minutes, I promise."

Your heart raced at his suggestion, excitement, and nervousness coiling within you. You nodded, unable to speak for fear of betraying the fluttering in your stomach. Cregan reached for your hand, his grip warm and reassuring as he guided you through the throng of guests.

As you stepped outside onto the terrace, the cool night air enveloped you both. The stars shimmered overhead, twinkling like diamonds scattered across the deep blue sky. Cregan released your hand, and you both leaned against the ornate stone railing, looking out over the vast expanse of Winterfell. The night was cold, your breath leaving your lungs in great white clouds that were pulled out and away from you by the chill wind. On your first night, Cregan had presented you with a beautiful black cloak made from the fur of a dire-wolf he had hunted in the weeks before your wedding. It did a wonderful job at protecting you from the frigid temperature.

“This is more peaceful,” you remarked, taking a deep breath of the crisp air, feeling liberated from the clamour inside.

He turned to you, the moonlight accentuating the strong lines of his face. “Just us here, away from the talk of war and duty.” There was a heaviness to his words, a reminder of the trials that lay ahead. “I needed a moment with you, away from the eyes of the Northern lords.”

"Well, husband," you started, and you could see the flicker of happiness in his eye as you spoke the word. "You are more than welcome to use me as a means of escape whenever you like.”

A flicker of appreciation flashed in his eyes, and he stepped closer, the distance between you diminishing. His gaze softened as he studied your face, the laughter, and merriment of the hall dissolving into the background. “You always know how to ground me,” he said softly. “In these uncertain times, you are my anchor.”

"I think there is at least another hour before I can depart from this celebration without suspicion." he started, looking from you out over the castle.

"Why, would you want to leave the festivities early?" you asked.

His lips curled into a mischievous smile, his eyes sparkling with an intoxicating blend of affection and raw desire. The low rumble of his voice sent a pleasant shiver coursing down your spine. "Well, my love," he continued, his breath still warms against your neck. "I have a new wife, who, I believe, is in need of attention." A playful glint shone from his stormy grey eyes. "We have tried your soft southern way," he continued, leaning in, his breath warm against your skin. "Tonight we fuck hard,” he paused, your breath catching in your throat as he met your eye. "Like Northerners."

His voice was deep and gravelly, rich with the promise of pleasure. The light of the party in the great hall spilled from the doorway behind you both. He stepped forwards and cupped your face in his large hand and kissed you. The kiss was filled with promises of the night ahead. His free hand moving to grip your waist, it was firm and possessive, as though he couldn't bear the thought of letting you go.

Then he stepped away from you, moving back through the doorway into the throng of people enjoying the evening. Your breath caught in your throat, and a rush of warmth flooded your cheeks as you glanced around the empty balcony, terrified for a moment that someone might have overheard his words. Anxiety swirled within you, but there wasn’t anyone out here with you; the lively music spilled from the doorway as you attempted to steel yourself to reenter the celebrations. Yet, the heat in your face lingered, a vivid reminder of the raw emotion he’d stirred in you. The vibrant laughter and clinking of glasses felt distant, as if you were trapped in a world where only his words resonated. You pushed forwards back into the crowd, your eyes searching for him.

As he moved, the shadows in the room seemed to cling to him, accentuating the sharp lines of his features. The orange - hued light made his storm grey eyes appear darker, betraying the unbridled desire that lurked behind them as he glanced over at you. A shiver ran down your spine, not just from the sudden absence of his hands on your body but from the electric anticipation that now filled the space between you.

As the feast continued, the laughter and lively chatter around you seemed to ebb, leaving you cocooned in your thoughts. The golden glow of the torches flickered like fireflies, casting playful shadows on the ornate tapestries that lined the walls. You returned to your seat and absentmindedly picked at your plate, the food forgotten as the thrill of Cregan’s words danced in your mind.

The hour had dragged on, so much so that you began to think it was the longest sixty minutes of your entire life. But finally Cregan returned to your table, excusing himself from conversation with a couple of Lords that stepped into his way on his path to you. He leaned over the back of your chair, placing a kiss on your cheek.

"Shall we?" he asked, looking at you then back to the crowd.

You nodded quickly standing and accepting the arm he offered you. One of the Lords, likely drunk, didn’t accept that Cregan was no longer in the mood for conversation and blocked the two of you before you had managed to make it to the exit.

"My Lord," he slurred, standing unsteady on his feet. "I think we really must talk about this war with the inbred white haired foreigners." he mumbled, gesturing with his goblet so wildly that some slopped out onto the floor at your feet. He looked down at the puddle on the floor and then into his cup as though he were perplexed as to how it had fallen out.

"My Lord," Cregan replied in a tone that almost hid his irritation at the man. "My wife and I are to retire to our chambers for the night, and I believe it to be in your best interest to do the same. Lest someone other than myself hear the treasonous words you so confidently let leave your lips."

The lord's face contorted with fear, and despite his inebriated state making his actions difficult to control, the respect and fear he held for the Warden of the North shot through his haze, sobering him just enough to regain his composure.

""Yes, yes," he replied meekly, pretending someone in the crowd was calling him over. He gave you and Cregan a curt nod before slipping away.

Cregan glanced at you, a soft warmth in his stormy eyes, before placing his free hand gently over your arm that was entwined with his. With a subtle nod to the guards, he signalled them to open the doors. As they swung open, you both stepped out from the crowded room, moving towards the quiet comfort and privacy of your chambers, leaving behind the clamour and revelry of the feast. The anticipation of solitude and the closeness of his touch made your heart beat a little faster as you walked side by side.

As you both reached the quiet solitude of your chambers, the door closed softly behind you, shutting out the distant echoes of the night's celebrations. The room was dimly lit by a fire flickering in the hearth, the flames cast lively, warm shadows across the ancient stone walls, it made the space feel cosy, the stress of the day melting off you. Cregan guided you to a chair covered with furs near the fire, the heat a striking contrast to the persistent chill that lingered in Winterfell’s expansive halls.

He knelt beside you, his eyes roaming your face with affectionate tenderness. "I’ve been wanting to steal you away all evening," he murmured, his voice tinged with relief now that you were finally alone.

You smiled, reaching out to entwine your fingers with his. "I’m glad you finally managed it."

Cregan chuckled softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "The whole night my thoughts have only been of you. "

He stood up, drawing you into his arms. The warmth of his embrace was comforting, grounding you amidst the uncertainties beyond these walls. "For now, let's forget everything else," he said softly.

Cregan's fingers traced slow circles on your hand, his gaze soft and focused solely on you. You could sense the shift in the atmosphere, the intimacy between you both becoming more palpable.

"What do you think, wife?" he murmured, his voice a warm caress that matched the heat in his gaze as it returned to yours. "Do you think we should retire to bed for the night?"

You smiled and stood, allowing him to draw you close, pulling you against his solid frame. His arms wrapped around you securely, and he gazed down at you with a tenderness that made your heart flutter.

"I assume sleeping is not what you have in mind?" you teased, your eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"No," he whispered against your hair, his breath warm and inviting, "that is not what I have in mind at all."

You tilted your head slightly, playful curiosity painted across your features. "You mentioned the northern way. Would you enlighten me on what that means?"

He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling in his chest. "In the south," he explained, his voice deepening with affection, "it seems to be the duty of the wife to satisfy the husband. Here in the North, it is the duty and responsibility of a husband to ensure his wife is well taken care of."

"Taken care of?" you asked.

With a gentle chuckle, he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "Let me show you," he murmured, his voice a soothing promise. His fingers wove into your hair, guiding your gaze back to his as he captured your lips in a kiss, before pulling away.

Slowly, he took your hand, leading you toward the bed, each step a silent vow of what was to come. The room was a sanctuary, the flickering fire painting playful shadows across the stone walls. As he drew you near the bed, his touch was both gentle and firm, conveying strength and tenderness in equal measure.

His hands lingered on your waist, tracing the curve of your back with reverence. He paused for a moment, his stormy grey eyes locking with yours, silently asking for permission, for trust. You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips, and together you sank onto the bed, your back welcomed by the soft furs as he moved over you.

Cregan leaned in, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart flutter. Your breath caught in your throat, anticipation swirling within you as he moved closer.

His hand reached up, gently cupping your cheek as he tilted your face towards his. The kiss that followed was unhurried, achingly slow exploration of lips and breath, each movement filled with an emotional depth that seemed to transcend mere physicality.

His lips were warm and soft against yours, the slight roughness of his stubble creating a delicious friction against your skin. A low, breathy sound escaped from the back of your throat as you leaned into him, your hands finding his shoulders, holding on to him as if to anchor yourself amidst the swirling current of emotions.

With the kiss deepening, Cregan's hands began to explore, tracing a line from the curve of your waist to your lower back, pulling you closer. The sensation of his touch sent a shiver racing across your skin, heightening every sense.

Breaking the kiss just long enough to catch his breath, he smiled against your lips, a mixture of warmth and desire in his eyes. Gently, he began to slide the fabric of your dress from your shoulders, the soft material whispering down your arms as it slowly fell away.

His fingers were sure and tender as they traced the newly exposed skin, leaving trails of warmth in their wake. The cool air was a stark contrast to his touch, enhancing the sensation and causing the hairs on your skin to stand on end.

"You are beautiful," he whispered, his voice a husky murmur that made your heart race. His large hands spanned your waist, drawing you closer still, his breath mingling with yours in the intimate space between you. "Out there I am a Lord and you are a Lady. In here, you are my wife, and I am your husband, do you understand me?"

Your breath hitched, words stuck somewhere between thought and voice. You nodded, a small, affirmative gesture that spoke louder than any words could. A soft laugh bubbled from his chest, rich and warm.

"There won't be an inch of you left untouched tonight, not a part of you that doesnt know my touch" he murmured, his voice a soft promise carried by the crackling of hearth flames. His fingertips continued their exploration, memorising every curve and line of your body like a map he intended to know by heart.

His hands traveled down your arms, featherlight across your skin, stirring electric anticipation with every touch. As he reached the intricate fastenings of your dress, he took a moment, fingers moving with careful skill. The complicated ties and loops gradually gave way under his gentle yet assured attention, each undone knot a quiet act of unfolding trust between you.

Despite the complexity, there was no rush. Each movement was deliberate, a testament to the patience and reverence he held for you. As he finally loosened the last of the fabric, it cascaded slowly away, finally revealing your body to him.

As he gazed down at you, lying nude beneath him, Cregan's eyes were filled with desire. The sight of you ignited a fire within him, a fire that burned hotter with every curve and line of your body that his eyes explored. He leaned forwards, placing another kiss on your lips before his lips moved across the contour of your jaw and down below your ear towards your neck.

He nipped playfully at the curve of your neck, his breath hot against your skin, igniting a primal fire within you. His hands were everywhere, gripping your hips possessively as he worshipped your body with an intensity that made you feel both alive and claimed. His hands were large and rough, the sensation of them driving you to buck your hips towards him, an action that earned you a smile from him.

His mouth found your breasts, and he lavished fierce attention there, his tongue and teeth teasing your sensitive skin with a raw, untamed passion. You gasped, arching into him, caught in the delicious tension between pleasure and the edge of pain. Unfamiliar ground, but a place you desperately wanted to explore.

Moving lower, his kisses trailed down your stomach, his rough stubble leaving a faint, delightful sting in its wake. His tongue flicked out, tasting your skin, savouring every moment like a beast intoxicated by the scent of his mate. The Wolf of the North was becoming a more fitting title with every passing moment.

As he descended, his hands traveled over your thighs, gripping firmly, spreading you open with a commanding authority. The heat of his breath lingered over the most sensitive parts of you, promising a wild, primal ecstasy that set your nerve endings aflame.

As he spread you open with a commanding authority, his eyes never left yours, locked in an intimate connection that intensified the already potent atmosphere. His breath was hot and ragged against your skin, the sound of it echoing in your ears like the primal growl of a predator claiming its mate.

His fingers dug into your thighs, the sensation both possessive and possessively pleasurable, a reminder of the raw, animalistic passion that coursed through his veins. The anticipation was almost unbearable, the heat of his breath teasing you with the promise of the wild, primal ecstasy that awaited you.

And then, without warning, his tongue darted out, tasting your most sensitive flesh with a skill that belied his seemingly untamed demeanour. You cried out, the sound a mixture of shock and pleasure, as if the very air had been set alight.

Every lick, every touch, served to fan the flames of your desire, the room around you seeming to grow hotter and more humid with each passing second. Your heart was racing, your breath coming in ragged gasps that echoed in the charged silence between you.

Then, just as you thought you might shatter from the intensity, he stopped. The sound that left your lips was a mixture of desperation and longing as you lifted your head, peering down at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

His focus shifted to his attire, hands moving with a fevered urgency as he worked to free himself from the confines of his clothing. He shrugged off his cloak, the fabric falling away followed by the soft sound of it hitting the floor.

Next came the leather armour, the buckles, and straps relinquishing their hold under his skilled hands. Piece by piece, it slipped away, revealing the well-defined muscles that lay beneath, each movement unveiling more of the powerful physique that had surprised you the first night you had met him.

Finally, he reached for the linen shirt, the last barrier between you and the man beneath. He pulled it over his head in one fluid motion, the fabric tousling his dark hair before falling forgotten to the floor.

Your breath caught at the sight before you—his chest, broad and strong, the muscles shifting beneath the skin like a promise of the power he possessed. His skin gleamed softly in the firelight, each shadow and highlight accentuating the raw, masculine beauty of his form. The light played across his chest, catching on the subtle scars that marked his skin, each one a testament to his strength and prowess as a warrior. They told silent tales of battles fought and won, accentuating the sinewy resilience of a body refined through conflict and survival. The body of a Northerner.

With nothing left to hide, he met your gaze once more, his storm-grey eyes locked onto yours, reflecting a hunger as deep and consuming as your own. He swept his hair from his eyes, a movement filled with deliberate intent, and closed the distance between you in a heartbeat, his body descending like a promise of passion unspoken.

He was rougher with you than he had been before, his tongue moving with firm skill that served only to push you towards the precipice of pleasure. His arms were circled your thighs, his fingertips digging into your skin, right to the point that lingered between pleasure and pain. He chased you to the edge of ecstasy, your hips bucking upwards in response, the intensity of your climax completely overwhelming you. But he didn't relent, his tongue persisting in its relentless pursuit, never wavering from its mission, as though he was driven by a primal need to bring you to the brink of pleasure again and again.

The room seemed to swirl around you, the air thick with the scent of desire and the sounds of your ragged breaths.

"Cregan," you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair as you arched your back, the muscles in your legs tensing as you rode out another wave of pleasure. Your other hand clutched at the furs beside you, as you bucked your hips and rode out another wave of pleasure.

His mouth drifted away from yours, and you thought the unrelenting rhythm had finally paused. But then, his finger pressed into you with a gentle insistence, a sensation that was teasing rather than painful. As if sensing your reaction, his mouth returned to your sensitive spot, and his finger curled upwards, creating a blissful mix of sensations.

You found yourself gripping the sheets, your jaw tight, as you tried to hold back the temptation to cry out. The intensity of his actions sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, leaving you breathless and utterly captivated in the moment.

His mouth moved from you, and you thought that the relentless cycle had come to an end, you felt one of his fingers gently press into you, it wasn’t painful, but tender. His mouth returned to your clit just as his finger curled upwards towards your bellybutton. It made you grab at the sheets and clench your jaw as you resisted the urge to scream out at the overwhelming pleasure both actions made wash over you.

As his mouth returned to your clit, your hands found the sheets, gripping them tightly as you steeled yourself against the onslaught of sensations. The sensation of his finger curling upwards towards your bellybutton was an exquisite mix of pleasure and anticipation, the intensity building up within you like a tempest.

Your jaw clenched, your breath coming in ragged gasps that echoed in the charged silence between you both. In that moment, it was as if the entire world had shrunk down to just the two of you.

His mouth moved from you, his breath hot on your sensitive flesh. "I want to hear you." he whispered before returning his mouth to you. His finger flexed up, and you again resisted the urge to cry out in pleasure.

His mouth lifted away, and you felt his hot breath on your sensitive skin. "I want to hear you," he murmured softly, his voice like a tempting promise, before he returned his mouth to you. His finger flexed upward, drawing out a surge of pleasure that tested your restraint.

Then he began to kiss and suck relentless again, as if attempting to draw the screams from you. His finger curled upwards, touching something inside that made your vision go white at the moment your climax once again washed over you.

"Cregan," you yelled, your hand grabbing his hair so hard it must have hurt, but he didn’t flinch.

Finally , he pulled away from you, looking up your body and meeting your eye. His mouth was slick with you. His shoulders flexed with a subtle, powerful grace, he slid another finger alongside the first, his touch both careful and deliberate, igniting a new wave of anticipation.

Rising to his feet, he maintained a slow, deliberate rhythm with his fingers, each movement sending shivers down your spine as the fire inside your stomach began to build again. His other hand skilfully worked the belt, the buckle coming undone with a precise flick of his wrist. As he slipped it free, his gaze remained locked on the mesmerising dance of his fingers moving in and out of you. His hand found its way into his trousers, fingers curling around himself, the heat of his own desire evident in his touch. The intensity in his storm-grey eyes reflected the deep, consuming hunger that mirrored your own.

You yearned for him, no, you needed him. The anticipation he had teased out in you ignited a craving deeper than you'd ever imagined possible, reaching into the very core of your being.

He withdrew his fingers from you, leaving you aching with unfulfilled desire. With a decisive movement, he pushed his trousers down his hips, the fabric hitting the floor with a soft thud. His thick cock sprang free, the sight of it causing a fresh wave of lust to surge through you.

You moved to climb off the bed, your desire to take him in your mouth burning bright within you. But as you sat up, he stepped forwards with an air of quiet authority. "No, you stay." he whispered, as he caught your hand as you reached to touch his cock.

"Please?" you whimpered, your eyes falling to his cock, thick veins bulging along its surface.

"Lie back, I told you. Tonight we fuck like Northerners.” he breathed, and you swallowed, sinking back onto the soft furs as you lay on the mattress.

He stepped forwards, grabbing your hips and pulling you roughly, so your pussy was in line with the edge of the bed. His thumb moved to circle your clit. The action causing you to draw in a sharp intake of breath as his rough thumb rubbed the sensitive pearl of flesh.

tThen, his hand shifted, the intensity replaced by the hot head of his cock now sliding up the length of your pussy. He paused momentarily, drawing a sharp intake of breath from you, before he delivered a single swift thrust. Then, he began to glide the length of his cock over your sensitive clit, his movements slow and torturous, each deliberate stroke arousing torment against the bundle of nerves.

Next, he shifted his position, leaning down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss as he continued to slowly thrust over you. His hand cradled the back of your head, his fingers gently tangling in your hair, while the other hand braced his weight against the bed. His lips trailed down your neck, before his hand left your hair to take his cock in his hand. With meticulous care, he guided the head of his cock into you, letting out a deep, throaty moan as he began to move into you with agonising slowness. His determination to make you feel every inch of his thick shaft was evident in his every deliberate movement.

The sensation of him slowly entering you was a mix of intensity and closeness. He seemed to relish the way you moved beneath him, the gradual pace allowing you to adjust to his presence comfortably. Your eyes were drawn to the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deeply, the tension evident in his firm grip on the bedding beside you, his knuckles turning white. You took comfort in the fact that this was just as torturous for him as it was for you.

With a low grunt from him, he fully seated himself inside you, the sensation an overwhelming mix of pleasure and an indescribable sensation. You revealed in the way that you could take all of him, and the way that he filled you up so completely.

Then he began to rock his hips, slowly, barely any movement at all to begin with, as his grey eyes searched yours asking a silent question. You grabbed the wrist of his hand that was still clutching your hip and nodded.

As his rhythm quickened, his restraint fell away, replaced by a raw, instinctual drive. His hands gripped your hips, anchoring you to him as every thrust sent waves of pleasure cascading through your body. Your fingers found his wrists, holding on tightly, each touch grounding you in the exquisite intensity of the moment.

He leaned forward, the heat of his breath mingling with yours, every exhale punctuated by a low, primal sound. The connection between your bodies was electric, a shared surge of desire that spurred him to move even faster, each movement more powerful, more consuming.

His hands shifted, one pressing gently on your lower stomach, sending a delightful pressure radiating through you. The sensation heightened your awareness of him, feeling the rhythm of his thrusts and the warmth of his body as it melded with yours.

On the brink of climax, his furious movements pushed you ever closer to that edge—a presence so consuming it threatened to unravel you completely. When the wave finally crashed over you, pulling you under in a rush of explosive sensation, he didn't stop. The relentless rhythm continued, driving you beyond the familiar boundaries of pleasure.

Overwhelmed, you tipped your head back, an almost guttural scream escaping your lips, a testament to the raw, unfiltered intensity coursing through you. You found yourself dancing on that delicate line where ecstasy and pain blurred, but you didn’t dare tell him to stop.

You whimpered softly, your fingers clenching into a tight fist as you bit down on your knuckle. The waves of pleasure threatened to consume you whole, yet in this moment of raw intensity, you found unexpected strength.

Cregan's voice, low and gravelly, resonated with a heady mixture of desire and reverence, punctuating the rhythm of their intimate dance. "Come on now wife," he murmured between breathy moans, the sound of his words blending with the symphony of gasps and sighs that filled the air. "You're the lady of Winterfell. You can take its Lord."

His words were a potent reminder of your role, your status, and what this act would hopefully lead to.

You gritted your teeth, clutching the sheets tightly as another wave of pleasure surged through you. Looking up at him, you marvelled at the way his muscles rippled, flexing with every powerful thrust. The firelight danced across his skin, highlighting the sheen of sweat that accentuated his strong, chiseled form.

In that moment, there was an undeniable sense of possessiveness that bloomed within you—he was yours, completely yours.

His thrusts grew increasingly needy, each one carrying a fiery urgency that filled the quiet room with its resonance. His grunts grew louder, breaking through the stillness, raw and primal. He breathed heavily, the oxygen fuelling his relentless pace.

You watched as his jaw clenched tightly, the muscle in his cheek flexing, a clear sign of his nearing peak. The intensity in his eyes spoke volumes, revealing a vulnerability rarely seen—a moment where desire and emotion intertwined, leaving you both on the cusp of something beautifully potent.

Then he reached his peak, a loud grunt escaping his lips as his final, powerful thrusts rocked through you. The rhythm became a series of uncontrolled, yet intimately satisfying movements, until he nestled deep inside you, your hips aligned perfectly.

He leaned down, the heat of his breath mingling with yours as he captured your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. You cupped his face tenderly, feeling the warmth and tenderness of the moment, his kiss sloppy but passionate.

He released himself gently, collapsing onto the bed beside you with a satisfied sigh. Rolling over, he wrapped an arm around you, drawing you close against his chest, his heartbeat a comforting rhythm beneath your ear.

In the soft glow of the firelight, you nestled into the warmth of his embrace, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. It was a moment of peace and connection, where words were unnecessary, and the world seemed to shrink away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in a cocoon of shared warmth and tenderness.

A link to my Complete Invetory

#cregan fanfiction #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #cregan smut #hotd cregan #cregan x reader #cregan x you #hotd #hotd fanfic

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mead-iocre · 4 months ago

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Lover Girl | Leah Williamson x Spolied!Reader

synopsis: you might be spending valentines day alone

warnings: a veryyyyy spoiled girl <///3

word count: 3.5k

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

Picking at your nails, perfectly filed into almond-shaped, and painted in your favourite sheer blush pink colour, you frown. You hate the sight of your cuticles growing in. Looks like you are due for an appointment soon. You mentally remind yourself to give your favourite salon a call.

Your girlfriend sighs over the phone. The screen blurs for a moment before you hear shuffling, sheets rustling. She was probably making herself comfortable in bed. The sight annoys you. Your girlfriend should be getting ready for bed beside you, in your shared bed, slipping into sheets made for two.

Soon her face pops back up on the screen. Her back was propped up against the headboard, and she’s turned on the lamp beside the bed letting you see her face a little clearer.

The sight also annoys you.

Her stupid face should be right beside you. Not in some hotel room, not a whole plane ride away.

“Quit frowning, baby” Leah breaks the brief silence. You don’t say anything, the frown on your face deepening, your eyebrows furrowing. “You’ll get wrinkles”

You relax your face immediately.

“But you promised, Lee” You whine, thumping at the empty space on the bed beside you. “You said we’ll be spending Valentines Day together”

“I know, princess” She chides, her voice gentle. “but it’s a bit mental out here— almost all the flights at the airport are delayed”

You don’t relent. “So rent a private charter then”

Your girlfriend chuckles, low and throaty, even though you don’t find anything funny right now. She rubs a hand over her face. “Baby, private jets have to follow the no-fly rules too”

You roll your eyes, audibly huffing at the absurdity of the situation. Did Mother Nature seriously expect you— YOU— the epitome of a lover girl, to spend Valentines day alone?!

Valentines Day was one of your favourite holidays. Top 3, actually. For a a girl whose heart beats in soft, rhythmic thumps; your world is bathed soft candlelights, scattered rose petals, and heart-shaped everything— you were the embodiment of romance. You believe in love like others believe in the stars.

And, oh, the way you give love—it’s like generosity flows from an endless river of affection. You love hosting intimate dinners with Leah’s teammates, and cosy brunches with close friends, complete with your Ginori 1735 Oriente Italiano pink porcelain tableware imported from Italy. You love writing handwritten notes, sealed with a pearly pink wax and kissed with a custom wax seal stamp with your signature.

When you love, you love deeply.

And that’s why it pains Leah to not be with you on one of your favourite days of the year.

“I’m sorry, baby” Your girlfriend croons over the phone, the shitty signal of the hotel room only making the distance between you more obvious. “I’ll make it up to you next year, okay?”

She continues, “We’ll take a week-long trip so we can spend Valentines Day on a beach somewhere…."

You hum in response, nodding—albeit reluctantly. You heard what she was saying but you were still sad. It wasn’t your girlfriend’s fault that the weather was so bad that it made for unfavourable flying conditions. It wasn’t your girlfriend’s fault that she was currently stuck in a hotel room, instead of at home with you.

But that didn’t mean you had to like it.

She tries to lighten the mood. “You still didn’t tell me how your day went. Did you—“

You cut her off. “Actually, Lee, I’m a bit tired. I think I might head to bed”

Now it was her turn to frown, her brow furrowing as she absorbed your dismissal. The screen flickered slightly, casting a soft glow on her face, but her expression was anything but relaxed. Her lips tightened, eyes narrowed in thought. Her fingers absently ran through her hair, her posture stiff. She bit her lip, clearly processing, before she cleared her throat.

“Oh. okay, baby” She looked like she wanted to say something else, her mouth opening once before she closes it abruptly. “Yeah, yeah I’m sure you must be tired”

You rarely ended your FaceTime calls together early. If anything, you could probably count the number of times you had ended your calls early before the usual, drawn-out goodbyes on one hand. Tonight was getting added to that tally. The usual warmth in the conversation had faded, replaced by a quiet tension. You found yourself glancing at the clock, then back at her face on the screen, unsure of how to fill the growing silence.

You hated doing this to her, so you gave her this one thing. With a tight-lipped smile that barely reaches your eyes, you mumble a quiet “Night. I love you”

She mirrors your expression, although you can see the regret swimming in her eyes. Her gaze drops briefly, as if she’s trying to avoid the weight of what’s unsaid. “Goodnight. I love you. Call me tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“We’ll see. Maybe the storm will ruin that too”

Her mouth drops open at your unexpected sass. You were rarely mouthy, always so pliant and have to go along with the flow of things. “Oi, enough with the storm—“

End call.

Throwing your phone to the empty space beside you, you huff audibly as you turn to fluff your 25 momme mulberry silk pillow.

Ping.

You ignore your phone, the glaring, physical reminder that your girlfriend is thousands of miles away. Burying your head under one of your pillows, you will yourself to sleep. Maybe it would hurt less if you stopped thinking about how you will be spending tomorrow lover-less and alone.

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

You awoke slowly, the rays of morning sun filtering through the sheer curtains. Shifting beneath the covers, your body was still wrapped in warmth, but a strange heaviness settled on your chest. Blinking your eyes open, you let them adjust to the morning light.

Reaching for your phone on the nightstand, you hope for a message, a call, something—a sweet "Happy Valentine’s" from her.

But the screen is dark.

Your heart sinks just a little, and you slide it closer, hoping it will come to life, but it doesn’t.

She was probably still asleep. London was five hours ahead anyway.

The bed beside you is empty, untouched. The space where she should be feels painfully cold. You sit up slowly, the soft sheets slipping away from your body as you swing your legs over the side of the bed. Your feet touch the cool marble floor until you slip your feet into your favourite shearling slippers. Standing, you moving across the room with graceful steps, but slightly sluggish in movement. The softness of your pale pink lace nightgown, vintage Dior piece, swirl around your legs as you walk. There was no rush, no excitement.

You walk toward the window, parting the curtains with delicate fingers, letting the morning light fill the room. You glance out at the London streets below, alive with the usual bustle. The city may be awake, but you feel like you’re in another world entirely—one that’s quieter, lonelier.

Your gaze drifts to the gifts on the coffee table— her favourite Lindt chocolates, a beautiful bouquet of fresh flowers, a new watch gift wrapped in the familiar red and gold signature packaging, and a handwritten card filled with love. None of it feels as special without her. The love you’d hoped would fill the day feels miles away, even though she’s only a flight away.

You turn away from the window, and sit back on the bed. The silk sheets cool against your skin as you sink into them. You had spent weeks preparing for today—perfectly arranging the flowers that filled the flat with the soft scent of roses, every corner was filled with heart-shaped balloons and seasonal candles made special for the occasion. You had even bought a new dress for the holiday: a velvet dress in the deepest shade of rose, paired with diamond earrings that costed a pretty penny.

Leah’s pennies, of course.

Your mind wandered back to the night when you had last seen her off at the private airport lounge, waving goodbye as your girlfriend boarded the plane. "I’ll be back soon, baby," she'd promised, her voice soft and sincere.

Clearly that was not the case, you thought bitterly as you moved to start your day.

You went through the motions of the day, trying to fill the empty spaces with something—anything—that will take your mind off the feeling that lingers. Luckily, you were able book a last minute slot with your personal pilates instructor, so you slip into your workout clothes, a soft pink set that hugs your body. The fabric feels cool against your skin as you pull your hair into a neat ponytail, eyes still tired from a restless night. You’ve done this a thousand times before, but today it feels different. It’s like you’re moving through a haze, your body here but your mind somewhere else.

The Pilates studio is bright, the floor-to-ceiling mirrors reflecting the sleek décor. The instructor’s voice, calm and steady, fills the room as she guides everyone into position, but it doesn’t quite reach you. Your movements are precise, but they’re mechanical, lacking the usual grace. You can’t focus, can’t clear your mind the way you usually do.

Instead, you think of her.

You push through the hour, sweating through each movement, but it’s more about distracting yourself than anything else. The deep stretches and controlled movements don’t offer the release they usually do, and by the time the session ends, you’re not sure if you’ve achieved anything. You gather your things—your expensive water bottle, the soft towel—and head out, the cool air hitting your skin as you walk back to your car.

The day drags on, the clock ticking slowly. You scroll through your phone, checking it periodically in hopes of some update from Leah, but the hours pass with no word. You think about calling her, about filling the silence with her voice, but you resist. You don’t want to seem needy, don’t want to burden her with how much you’re missing her today.

At home, you head straight for the bathroom. The day has already stretched on too long, and the silence is starting to feel suffocating. You run the water, the steam filling the air. The hot water cascade over you. It feels nice, but it doesn’t wash away the ache in your chest. When you step out, you slide into the plush bathrobe that’s always waiting for you—lavender-scented and soft as a cloud.

You settle in front of your vanity and slip into your facial routine. First, the cleansing balm, then a serum, and a moisturiser after. The jade roller comes next, the cool stone soothing your tired face as you massage it in gentle upward strokes. The mask you apply next is made with organic, rare ingredients that promise to lift and brighten.You need some of that desperately right now. Allowing it to sit on your face for the recommended fifteen minutes, you flip through a copy of Vogue to pass the time, but the words blur in front of you.

Reaching for your phone again, you stare at it as if willing it to light up, but there’s still nothing.

When you wash the mask off, your skin feels fresher but your mood remains unchanged. You slip into a soft cashmere robe next, pale pink and muted. You stand in front of your closet, looking at the endless rows of pieces, each one precisely selected to be part of your personal collection.

Then, your eyes catch it: the dress.

The one you had received weeks ago, the one you’d been imagining yourself in all day. A stunning Valentino piece in a deep, rich red. The kind of red that demands attention. The silk catches the light in a way that makes it shimmer like liquid.

It’s a dress made for a night to remember, and for the person wearing it to be remembered.

But today, it feels out of place. Today, it feels like a contradiction. You stand there, staring at it for a long moment, your fingers hovering just inches from the fabric.

Pierpaolo Piccioli. Valentino SS25. A one-of-a-kind piece.

You wonder if it’s just a waste to just leave it on a hanger. There’s no dinner reservation with your love tonight, no laughter shared over wine, no promises whispered under the dim glow of candlelight. It feels absurd to even consider wearing something so special when the one person who deserves to see you in this dress is not here.

However, you had paid a lot for this dress, to have it tailored for you and the occasion, and it feels like a travesty to not put it on at least.

You can’t help but reach for the dress.

Forget it. You put it on.

Your fingers trail over the lace again as you slip it on, the silk gliding against your skin. When you saw the model strut the runway in it, immediately you turned and whispered to your personal show consultant to schedule a meeting with the designer. It was a couture piece tailored to your measurements, every single curve, ensuring a perfect fit.

Pausing, you take a long look at yourself—and the dress—and think, Why waste such a pretty dress?

The dress clings to your body like it was meant for another life, another version of today—a version where she’s by your side, laughing, holding you close, making everything feel right. Instead, the silk and lace feel like an echo of something that could have been. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, twisting, watching how the fabric flows. You run your hands over, smoothing the fabric, appreciating the way it glimmers and glows in the mirror.

With an affirmative nod at yourself, you decide to leave it on for the rest of the day. Maybe it’ll help you feel better, maybe it won’t. But you owe it to the dress—and to yourself—not to let the day slip by without at least trying to make the best of it.

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

The clock ticks, loud and constant, each second passing like the breeze in the wind. The city continues to hum with life—couples holding hands, flowers being delivered, the world celebrating love. But here you are, dressed up and alone, gazing at the lone bouquet of flowers sitting on your vanity table.

The silence in the room is almost too loud.

And then, you hear it.

A soft sound. A familiar sound. A key turning in the door.

Dashing out of the closet, you run like you never ran before. You can’t breathe. Impossible.

You fly down the stairs, barely able to stop yourself as you skid to a halt by the hallway, the door swinging open just in time.

You step toward the door, your pulse racing. Your fingers tremble as you grip the back of the sofa next to you, barely able to believe what you’re seeing.

She’s standing there, suitcase in hand, eyes wide with disbelief—and then, when she sees you, her expression softens.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Leah's home. She’s here.

“I thought I’d missed it,” she says softly, stepping inside, her voice full of apology, but also relief. “I... I didn’t think I’d be back in time.”

Your eyes fill with sudden tears, the emotions that have been swirling inside you all day finally spilling over. “You’re here,” you whisper, voice trembling. You take a step closer to her, the floor cold against your bare feet but you did not care.

Leah smiles, her eyes softening as she sets her suitcase down and reaches for you. The moment her arms wrap around you, pulling you close, you felt like you could breathe again. Her warmth envelopes you, and you close your eyes, breathing in the scent of fresh pears and mimosas. You cling to her, feeling the familiar rhythm of her heartbeat against your chest.

“I couldn’t let my girl celebrate Valentine’s Day alone,” she murmurs, her breath warm against your ear. She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like nothing could have kept her from being here with you.

You draw in a shaky breath, your heart pounding in your chest, your fingers trembling as you reach to touch her, as if to confirm that this moment is real, that she’s really here. You look up into her eyes, still in disbelief that your girl was home.

She brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, her fingers soft against your skin, and with a smile so radiant, so genuine, it lights up her whole face. She whispers, “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.”

And in that moment, you realise that this—the two of you, together—is what makes this day perfect. The dress, the plans, the expectations—they all fade into the background. All that matters is that she’s here, holding you.

“You made it…”

She pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes never leaving yours, the intensity of her gaze making your heart race.

“Of course I did,” she says, voice thick with emotion. “I promised you, didn’t I?”

Her words, so simple, but so full of meaning, fill the spaces inside you. You reach up, brushing your fingers gently across her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin under your touch. She’s here, in your arms, and nothing else matters anymore.

You reach up on your tiptoes to kiss her, slowly at first, tentatively, as if testing the waters. The kiss deepens, slow and intimate. Her hands slide to your waist, pulling you even closer, her body pressing against yours as if she’s afraid you’ll slip away. Your fingers slide through her hair, the feel of it familiar, grounding, as you kiss her deeper.

You pull back slightly, just enough to breathe, but your forehead rests against hers. Her breath is warm against your skin, and for the first time today, you feel the peace you’ve been longing for.

She smiles softly, brushing her thumb across your bottom lip. “You look incredible,” she says, her voice low and husky.

You smile, your fingers still tangled in her hair, your heart swelling with a love so deep, it fills every part of you. “Y’like it?”

“You know I do, baby” She smiles, her hands gently cupping your face as she presses a soft kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering for just a moment. And in that quiet, tender moment, you realise: this is what you’ve been waiting for. Not the day, or the dress, but her.

Leah leans back just enough to study your face, her eyes tracing every line as if committing it all to memory, as if she’s been waiting for this reunion just as much as you have.

“God, I’ve missed you,” Leah murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers brush over the side of your face, so gentle, so tender, like you were the most precious gold to her.

“I’ve missed you too,” you reply, your voice trembling just slightly. You can’t remember the last time you felt so full of love. You don't know why you ever doubted that your girlfriend would ever leave you alone on Valentine's Day. “I didn’t think I’d make it through today without you.”

Leah chuckles softly, the sound like music to your ears. “Well, I couldn’t let you,” she teases, her hands running down your arms, sending a thrill through your body. “You’re stuck with me now.”

Her lips curl into a smile, and you can’t help but return it. You bury your face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the warmth of her skin, the familiar scent that has always made you feel like you’re home.

You pull back slightly, enough to look her in the eyes. There’s something raw in her gaze, something that mirrors your own feelings.

“You’re all I’ve wanted today. All I needed was you,” you whisper, your words thick with emotion.

Your girlfriend tilts her head, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Whatever you want, baby. Y'know that.”

Her words settle into your heart, and in that instant, you realize how right she is. It’s not the grand gestures, the fancy plans, or the expectations of the day that make it special. It’s this—her—standing in front of you, her love wrapping around you like a blanket, making everything else fade into the background.

You kiss her again, but this time it’s different. It’s desperate, it’s hungry, and it’s everything that’s been building between you for the past week. Her lips are warm against yours, her touch possessive and tender all at once.

Leah pulls back just slightly, her forehead resting against yours, both of you gasping for air.

“I love you,” she whispers, her voice thick with raw emotion.

Your chest tightens at the words, but you smile through the tears that threaten to spill once more. “I love you, too.”

In that moment, all the pain, the distance, and the time apart melt away. It’s just the two of you now, and that’s enough.

She smiles softly, her hand resting against your cheek as she gazes into your eyes, her expression more tender than you ever thought possible. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.”

happy (late) valentines day, my lovers (you). tell me if you hate it and I'll rewrite it

・❥・- kisses, butter

*This work is my original creation. Please don’t copy, share, or translate it without asking for my permission first. Thanks for respecting that!

#leah williamson #woso #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso blurbs #woso community #leah williamson imagine #my fics #woso one shot #leah williamson fanfic #leah williamson x you #spoiled!reader #spoiled!reader stories #leah williamson x reader

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secretgardenfox · 2 years ago

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Give it to anyone who likes it💕

#ceramic tableware supply #wholesale supply #tableware sharing #face value tableware #high value cup #mug recommendation #wholesale tableware

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tallulahneale · 1 month ago

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Wade in the water

Summary: Sammie and Ellita (Reader) reconnect after years of distance.

At the age of 6 Ellita was adopted by George Moore, the father of Elias and Elijah. They restored life to the lost love she didn’t know she needed or missed. Her brothers always looked out for her and made sure she had the confidence to survive in any situation life presents. The rest of the Moore dynasty were receptive and accommodating through her transition into the home, especially Sammie. They were the closest in age; 10 and 14 respectively, which created a partners-in-crime type friendship. After skill class, they would walk home together sharing stories and pranks to play the following week. This weekend was the expansion of the church, Sammie’s father was the preacher and that meant he would be spending more time at the parish than with her. But no worries, she’ll see him on the Saturday.

For as along as she could remember, Saturday evenings at the Moore residence has always been busy and vibrant. Her role was in the kitchen with the other ladies preparing lunch for the community, while Elias and Elijah arrange the church schedule for tomorrow. She deslimes and debones the catfish, placing them in a bowl for the other women to continue slicing and seasoning.

“Guess who?” Sammie says tiptoeing behind her.

“Sammieee” Ellita squeals with glee.

The women glance across at her with a warning ‘not to leave the kitchen’ stare but Ellita runs out before they could get a word in. She hugs Sammie like she hasn’t seen him in months and begins to yap.

“Slow down” Sammie laughs at her rambling

“-and then” She pauses, taking a breathe in “Sorry, I get carried away sometimes” she twiddles her fingers nervously, while looking at the floor.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” She asks.

Sammie had being preparing a new song for the service, in hope that his Pops sees his passion for crooning. His voice is harmonious and powerful, she even gets goosebumps when he talks.

“Yep, Pops said I can play at the end” He smiles while swings their hands together.

“I’m really glad for ya’ Sammie maybe you-”

“Ellita!” Elijah bellows from the hallway, sighting her and Sammie yapping.

“Quick run!!” She hears Elias say from behind his twin, as she and Sammie dash to the porch into the front yard giggling.

“Tasks need to be completed little sis” Elijah reprimands loudly “If everyone ran off with their friend, then no work would get done.”

She rolls her eyes, crouching behind the store shed with Sammie as they watch the twins walk back into the house.

They spend the rest of the evening laid out on the warm green grass, staring into the navy blue sky scattered with stars. Sammie reaches over to grasp her hand, which she squeezes gently.

“I’m glad Unc found you”

“I’m glad he did too” She agrees with a nod, as they share a fleeting look at each other.

“Sammie, Ellita!” They hear from the porch “Meal time”

He stands up putting his hand out to pull her up as their names are called for supper. She follows him closely as they make way to the house. Eyeing the food, she sights Elijah who looks at her with a squint. She grins cheekily making a silly-cute face and moves to sit beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. He tugs her ears playfully and mutters something along the lines of her being a handful.

“You’re not meant to talk with food in your mouth” She says, poking at his dimples. A smile creeps at the corner of his lips as he glances down at her, shaking his head.

Supper is in full swing, with chatting across the table and excitement for the upcoming event.

“Don’t be late tomorrow, Ellita” Sammie says, giving her a tight hug as he heads through the front door.

“We’ll walk you back lil cousin” Elias and Elijah say simultaneously, Elias hangs his arm across Sammie’s shoulder.

Elijah whispers to Elias briefly before turning to Ellita .

“Make sure you was-“

“I know, I know. I’ll do them dishes” She mutters, carrying the plates and tableware to the sink. She speeds through the cookery, Pa helps her dry before departing just in time for the twins to return. By the time she is done wiping down the table and sweeping the area, the twins are back smelling like ash and a pungent trail of carbon.

“Pa’s not going to like that” She tells them “Y’all stink!”

“Shhh, go hang your blue gown on the line and wrap your hair tonight” Elias reminds her. She tends to forget and has to waste more time in the morning fixing it. The blue gown in question is only for special occasions, the material is quite delicate so she isn’t allowed to iron it. She places the rich cotton fabric beside the other linens Elijah has beside him. He has taken the mantle of iron-King.

Ellita yawns quietly placing a kiss on the cheek of the twins and Pa too, walking sluggishly to her room. It’s been a long day.

‘Another day in the house of the lord, full of dancing merriment and love’ Ellita thinks to herself walking in with Pa and the twins. She takes her seat close to the front of the hall, looking around for her best friend in the whole wide world. In the midst of the choir team stood little Sammie Moore. His smile was a bright, dressed in clothing too pristine for such a young boy. He leads the team by humming a tune for the first gospel, the timbers of his melody are soothing and full of vigor.

“He is such an old soul” Ellita whispers to herself, eyes twinkling with a smile.

“Yes is his” Pa Moore agrees, she did not whisper as quiet as she thought. Watching from the pew, she beams joyously at Sammie as their eyes meet. He winks at her before turning to his older cousins and uncle with a nod. That simple gesture was how their friendship started when she joined the Moore family.

But as time flew by, they grew in different directions and slowly became just neighbors. Some friendships build a comfortable distance, no resentment or anguish at the lack of contact. That was the predicament for Ellita and Sammie. A decade had gone by with a few brief waves and idle greetings. The past memories of childhood together; running around and playing jest felt like a dream, 10 years could do that.

Ellita felt proud to call herself a Moore and joining in with the Sunday festivities… until she didn’t. She was more intrigued by the spiritually of their ancestors as opposed to the christian indoctrination of her youth. Over the years she followed elders to understand how plants, water and the environment are the keys to good fortune, success, love and safety. Luckily the existence of these teachings were welcome in the community. She had constant support from her brothers Elijah and Elias, who go by SmokeStack twins now and her Pa, but other members of the Moore family did not take kindly to her new growth.

Mainly her Uncle.

Preacher Moore did not approve.

He held back on sharing his opinions, but his actions spoke louder than his words. From subtle ridicule during sermons about her practices to the disdain for Smoke and Stacks ‘new’ money despite their effort in helping the community. Ellita blames him for the rift of her friendship, Sammie had no choice but to follow in the footsteps of his father and join the church as a full time trade. Although she was allowed to attend the sermons, she opted out as soon as Pa dead not long after Stack and Smoke left for Chicago. The longing for the rich timber melodic sounds that escapes Sammie’s voice still call out to her. Sometimes she would listen to him singing next-door and smiles at the now baritone harmony of his vocal cords. Her time was well spent, at 21 she had a learnt more than others her age and picked up skills which were slowly dying off with the elders. Ellita followed the footsteps of her brothers and travelling through many neighboring towns and communities to expand her knowledge on various practices; the art of fertility, health, beauty and divinity. She had taken the mantle as Healer of their community, providing advice and herbs to women and men alike.

Smoke and Stack encouraged her pursuit, seeing her gift and drive for all things natural and close to earth. So they built her a generous log-cabin close to the river where she could grow, forage and cultivate all components used in her craft. Whenever the twins returned from their trip, they would kick back and relax in the scenic surroundings of pine tress and a build a fire under the stars sharing stories of Chicago.

———

Looking up at the sky, Ellita reads the curve of the moon with a look of anticipation and warmth.

“The full moon is approaching” She states softly.

She began to prepare herself, there were tasks to do in order to remain inline with the ancestors and express gratitude to the elders who created this path for her. She gathers her pre-made oil of chamomile, sage and lemongrass extract, powder from grinded yucca glaccua and the cuttings from the bark of banisteriopsis caapi, her herbalist refers to it as the ‘soul vine’.

Taking note of the time, Ellita informs the town that tonight was her day off so she could re-center and prepare for the new month ahead. The message reaches neighboring communities too as well as their local parishes. She had written a letter to the twins a week ago, just in case they would be stopping by for their monthly visit. It was important that tranquillity of her cabin remains undisturbed to regain balance and focus of her emotions, ensuring that the sustenance provided to her community is pure.

With a shiny steel pail, coconut shell scoop and a luffa aegyptiaca, she strolls to the edge of the creek, where brown loamy earth meets the rushing stream of water. She heads back to the cabin to fetch her woven choctaw basket full of oils and powders, placing them beside the pail.

With a deep breath in, Ellita listens to the whispers of the wind brushing along the leaves, the crickets chirping and rush of water along the stones and pebbles.

“Isë” She chants tenderly. (Let it be so)

Stripping down from head to toe, she removes the silk hair tie freeing her luscious locks into its full afro state. The tendrils at the back of her scalp tickling her nape, the cloth that slides along her womanly curves comes next, a pink and red floral print fabric gifted to her by a seamstress.

Not too far away, Sammie is in a dilemma of his own. Clearing his mind after a heated conversation with his Pops, he takes a wander through the pine filled land far from the parish.

“I'm gonna lay down my burden, down by the riverside. Down by the riverside, down by the riverside” He sings passionately. Sammie loves serenity of the outdoors the freedom, the fresh air, it helps create a sublime symphony that blends well with his acoustics. Approaching the riverbank, he sights a shapely figure adorned in an a satin-like material toes shuffling into the water. His eyes trail from her white painted toes to the smooth haunches of her calf, the rest of her covered by the fabric. Her exposed shoulder gleam under the pale moonlight as it shines brightly, a vibrant glow against her deep ebony supple skin. His breath hitches as he looks into the face of the goddess before him.

‘Ellita!’ His soul roars in elation.

His eyes locked on her turned back, Sammie gazes at her fingers as they reach up to her nape to untie the knot of the fabric. And there she stood. Free from the constraints of clothing, free as a school of fish in open water, just free. He remains where he stood, gazing at Ellita as she wades into the water stopping to turn and gather the basket sitting it on a boulder, her luffa floating on the surface of the water. His eyes are glued to her full bosom, nipple looking suckable and tight.

He cannot look away.

His palms are clammy, heart beating faster in fear of getting caught and lust for the woman whom he grew up with. ‘Pearline has nothing on her’, he thinks to himself.

He is in a dazed state at roundness of Elltias hips as she sways, like the water she scoops from the river. The liquid run through her hair, drenching it with moisture just as his feels his own leak from the tip. He rearranges his bulge, hoping to remain stealthily enough to walk away.

But his legs stay rooted in the earth below.

Ellita reaches over to her basket, derriere in the air and tear shape breast hung over the pail adding the soul vine in with the water. The liquid is crystal blue floating against the pebbles and stones of its own origin, unaltered by manmade chemicals.

“Isë” She utters with thanks.

She submerges her body into the water, drenching every crevice and surface of her being. Before returning graceful above, dripping in fresh water. She senses a presence nearby but for some reason it has been welcomed. It is not one that the ancestors or even herself are disturbed by. She hears the voice before she sees the lips that sign the melody;

“Wade in the water, Wade in the water children

Wade in the water, God’s got trouble the water”

“Sammie” she calls out in fondness, standing stark naked in the water as the day she was born. Their eyes meet just as it did whenever she sat along the front pews in church, him in the corner of the choir team. Ellita continues her practices as he winks at her, stepping closer to the edge of the river.

Generous applying yucca root powder across her neck, around her protruding chest, down her stomach and navel to the apex of her cooch.

Her eyes never leave his.

His eyes stay connected to her own.

Spreading her legs, she dips between her thighs, cleansing her folds with a mewl. Then down to her knees and her ankles. Turning her back, she bends over sultry to scoop water from the pail. Sammie grunts.

“Mmh-mmh, Mmh-mmh

God's gonna trouble the water”

A tremor is felt at the vibration of his voice, she rinses the lather and turns to face him. Her desire is visible as the hairs on her neck stiffen, nipples taut and the flutter in her fanny as he leers along her form

“Whatcha doin’ round here lil Sammie?” She asks.

“Ain’t no little Sammie here Ellita” He replies, leaning against the pine tree.

“I can see that…” Her eyes glancing at the fitted curve of his corduroys.

“10 years later and you’re still a handful”

“More like two handfuls” She states with wit, rubbing the oil along her thighs and rear massaging the scent into her skin.

Sammie raising an eyebrow in curiosity, reading her eyes. There’s a subtle look of uncertainty but that fades to yearning as she closes her lashes and tilts her head back. With her back arched, Sammie peers down at smooth curls that hide her lips.

“You know I missed ya, right?” He admits “Don’t like that we drifted apart”

She doesn’t acknowledge him.

“Whatcha doin’ round here Sammie?” She asks again, firmly

“You becoming just as tough as Smoke” He mutters, eye locked on her oiled dripping skin.

Ellita lets out a breath, calming herself before continuing.

“Today’s my day off, no-one meant to be round here boy” she says sassily

“Now that’s the Ellita I remember, cheeky” he says, flashing a smile while inching towards her.

“You been watching me for a while huh?”

“Damn right”

“Wanna to join?”Ellita purrs

He blinks as if to snap out of a trance, reaching down to slips off his dress shoes and socks.

“Mmh-mmh, Mmh-mmh, God's gonna trouble the water” He sings eagerly as the rest of his clothes fall to the ground.

A/n: Currently drafting part 2!!

#elijah smokes x black!oc #sinners #sammie moore #sammie sinners #sinners 2025 #ryan coogler #miles caton #preacher boy #preacher boy x reader #sammie moore x reader #michael b jordan #micheal b jordan #wunmi mosaku #original work #smokestack twins #stack and smoke #tnblog #sinners movie #sinnersfanfiction

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nkyangiehomes · 1 year ago

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Dinner Set Online in India - AngieHomes

Dine like royalty! 🍽️✨ Explore our stunning Dinner Sets collection - where style meets sophistication

#DinnerSets #HomeInspiration #HomeDecor #Tableware #LuxuryLiving #like #share

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marketstudyinfinium · 2 years ago

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#Japan Compostable Tableware Films Market #Market Size #Market Share #Market Trends #Market Analysis #Industry Survey #Market Demand #Top Major Key Player #Market Estimate #Market Segments #Industry Data

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oofmybad · 3 months ago

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Simple joys

synposis: you and billie are hosting a cookout at your shared home. lots of domestic fluff and sweet interactions with family.

warnings: billie x female reader, black!reader, use of patwah (translations included), fluff, lowercase intended

a/n: i made a lil playlist for this fic. it’s mainly jazzy, soul vibes. some reggae here and there. these are the songs that soundtrack the story in my mind, i recommend listening to them while you read <3 but you do you boo

playlist:

i’d like to - corrine bailey rae

why iii love the moon - phony ppl

expensive shit - fela kuti

waiting in vain - bob marley

ajala - ezra collective

tell it like it is - aaron neville

bluh bluh bluh - by.alexander

give me one reason - tracy chapman

get up, interlude - tank and the bangas

natalie - bruno mars

just one lifetime - sting, shaggy

la fat fur - devonté hynes, conan mockasin

carmen - olivia dean

soinlovewithuuuuu!!!!! - 9th wonder

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

today you and billie are hosting a cook out. all of billie’s family are coming, of course, plus peaches and mousse. your chosen family and friends are coming, too. these quarterly cook outs are famous amongst your friends - everyone says that you were born to host. it’s only the late morning, so you are still getting the whole of downstairs ready for visitors while billie remains asleep upstairs - she is NOT an early bird. you’ve set out all of your outside tableware, got the grill warming up on a low heat, and you have begun to take all of the marinated (fake) meat out of their containers ready to be cooked. a light breeze flows through the house, as you’ve opened the sliding doors to the back patio from the kitchen.

your favorite music is bumping through the kitchen, creating a warm, cozy, and happy vibe - you dance around as you complete your little tasks. shark has been attached to your hip all morning, he just wants to be a part of the action - clearly your bubbly energy has rubbed off on him but you love it. he jumps up on his hind legs, putting his front two legs on your tummy, so you hold his paws and dance with him.

billie, with a messy bedhead as her crown, pads her way downstairs to catch you having your sweet moment with shark. she decides not to announce her arrival and pulls out her phone to film a clip of her adorable pair dancing around the kitchen, instead. as she’s filming, she lets out an amused chuckle. this strikes your attention and you throw your head up to look, catching her with her phone in one hand.

“look who’s finally awake, baby!” you say to shark and let go of his paws. he trots off to billie, his tail whacking the kitchen island and creating a rhythmic thump.

“hi, sweet boy” billie coos to shark as she pats his tummy, now sat on her knees. “morning, babygirl” billie looks up at you from her view on the floor.

“hi, pretty. you’re finally awake!” you put your hands up in mock celebration. “it’s only-“ you turn to check the time on the oven “11:45” you say. billie just kisses her teeth at your comment. you ignore her sass and say, “ready, baby? everyone will be here in an hour… well… your gang will be. my gang will be two hours late as always.”

billie nods her head and walks over to give you a hug with a kiss on your neck. “let’s do it” she then says, smiling at your excitement.

after about 15 minutes, you and billie have fully prepared the house for your imminent guests so you both head back upstairs to get yourselves ready. now in your bedroom, you’re both riffling through your individual bikini drawers, deciding which ones to wear. billie lands on a simple black triangle bikini that has a small playboy charms hanging on either hip. you’ve settled on a dainty white scoop neck bikini, a cherry pattern sewn into it. with you both in your chosen bikinis, you turn around simultaneously and burst out laughing at your choices - each of you wearing something so quintesentially you. plus, the pair of you have accidentally dressed in a yin & yang theme - billie wearing a black bikini on her milky white skin, and you in a white bikini on your dark brown, black skin.

you throw a bright coral orange sundress over your body, and billie decides on some long jorts and a baseball jersey. just as you both are fully clothed, you hear the front door open and maggie calls out to the two of you from downstairs. “you go down, baby. i gotta grease my hair first” you say to billie. she walks over to your side of the room and places a quick peck to your forehead saying, “you look so pretty, my love”, before heading out of the room to greet her parents.

after half an hour has passed of you oiling your locs, you can hear the bustle of guests collecting downstairs. happy with your work, you slide on your white birkenstocks and head downstairs.

“y/n!” the whole patio calls out over the music when you walk through the open sliding doors. you can see all of billie’s friends and family chatting in their own formed bubbles, so you let out a wave with both of your hands as a way of greeting everyone at once. billie doesn’t miss the way the apples of your cheeks ball up from how shy you have suddenly become - she opens one of her arms for you to step into, immediately giving you relief. bille squeezes her arm around your shoulder, her hand snaking to your neck as she whispers in your ear, “feeling shy, princess? you know you love it.”

you turn your head in search for her eyes. once you’ve found them, you subtly roll your own then spin out of billie’s grip - heading over to the big table next to the grill. you stand with maggie helping her grill some of the food you prepared last night. “it smells so good, sweetheart”, she says. “thank you” you giggle, “i stole the marinade recipe from my auntie, i hope i’ve done it justice.”

“i’m sure she’ll let us know once she gets here” maggie jokes with you - she knows that your auntie is not one to hold back an opinion. “go hangout with the kids, sweetheart, i’ve got it covered” maggie shoos you away. you giggle at her calling y’all ‘kids’ because no one here is younger than 21.

as you turn away from maggie, billie calls out to you, “baby, come get in the pool. i miss you.”

“alright, alright, i’m coming” you reply while bunching up your dress in your hands, ready to take off once you reach the poolside. you dip your toe in testing the temerature, then walk all the way down the steps, happy with the soothing temperature. billie wades over to you and wraps her arms around your waist while you droop your own arms over her shoulders. “you really did miss me, huh?” you tease her. “sure did” she states, matter of factly. suddenly, you’re getting scooped up into her arms, water splashing around you as you yelp, and your legs wrap around billie’s waist for stability. “you look so so pretty, baby. like a pretty painting” billie says looking into your eyes. “you know i looooove you, right?” you jest in return. “oh yeah?” billie says right before her knees buckle and she dips you both underwater. still underwater, you push yourself off of billie and open your eyes to stick up your middle finger at her. billie makes a heart with her hands in return and pulls you in to quickly kiss you. as soon as you both have your heads above water again, you yell, “what the fuck, billie?! i got water up my nose!”

“sucks to suck” billie retorts with a shrug. you scrunch up your face in faux anger and shake your head agressively from side to side so that you can spray water on billie’s face, your locs creating a sprinkler effect. you can hear finneas and claudia laughing at billie as she uses her hands to shield her face - everyone cackling in unison. she tries to chase you around the pool and tickle you, but is unsuccessful because you moved to the deep end where you can stand but she cannot. amidst your back and forth teasing, you hear your auntie’s sweet accent coming from inside the house. “ahh!” you gasp and snap your head around looking for her. you run (slowly wade) out of the water and up the pool steps, quickly grabbing a towel to wrap around your torso. “auntie!” you call out with your arms wide open as she walks through your garden and into your arms.

“urgh! you’re wet!” she feigns annoyance, but keeps her place tucked in your arms. you ignore her comment and say, “i made your jerk. wollah di bikkle de ital” [all of the food is vegan] pulling out of the hug, a smirk on your face. “mi pikney! goodas, eh smells criss!” [my child! good girl, it smells good!] she says as she takes a sniff of the smoke coming off the grill.

“i saved you a spot in your favorite chair” you say to her, leading her arm to the cushioned deck chair. “duh yu waah sum ginger beer?” [a/n: do i really have to translate that?] you ask her as you walk over to the cooler, already knowing the answer. your hand rustles through the scratchy ice cubes in search of the browny-gold foil can. when you turn back around to give your auntie her drink, you spot billie leant over, giving her a hug. your feet freeze and you watch in admiration, grateful that your girlfriend and the woman who raised you get along so well. watching them both laughing away, surrounded by all of your chosen family and friends mingling, sends a wave of love coarsing through your veins. you’re in love with your girlfriend and the family that you’ve built together.

you walk over to the two of them, handing your auntie her drink as billie cuddles into you. “she treats you well?” your auntie asks you, using her eyebrows to point at billie. “… yes, auntie. she treats me very well”, you laugh at her protectiveness and smile at billie. “good gyal” your auntie says to billie, as she reaches up to her tattooed hand, “mi pikney treats yu well, too?” [a/n: again, surely that’s not worth translating] she asks billie. “yes, ma’am. more than i could ask for. she’s perfect” billie says looking into your eyes. “stop with that gay shit!” you shout out as you fake wretch and clamber out of billie’s hold, all three of you laughing now.

#billie eilish #lesbian #black!reader #billie #billie eilish fic #billie eilish x y/n #billie x reader #billie x you #billie eilish fluff #playlist #Spotify

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count-on-mi · 5 months ago

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Twice Interactive Story Part 9 Welcome Home (Jihyo, Mina)

You go out to buy some takeaway for lunch, then you and Mina share it in your room, won't disturbed by other. You guess Mina will be happy about it.

Once you enter the lift, you see Tzuyu in the lift alone. She blushes when she sees you enter the lift, looking to the floor pretending she doesn't know you. You know it is a chance for you.

“Miss Tzuyu, I’d like to have a word with you. Pertaining to what you saw a little while ago.”

Tzuyu looks nervous when you talk to her, 'Sorry sir, do I know you? I don't know what you are talking about.'

Tzuyu replies to you while slowly walking towards the door, ready to leave immediately once the door is open.

I grab her arm firmly but not roughly. Whispering into her ear, "I know what you saw. I've done my research Miss Tzuyu. Please don't lie."

'OH, you have investigated me? Interesting, seems I can't pretend it anymore. Yes, I know what happens in your room, so what do you gonna do huh?' Tzuyu whispers to your ear, slightly pushes you away from her.

When the doors open, Tzuyu smirks at you and then pretends to be scared by you again, rush out the lift immediately.

I let it go for now and go on to get food.

You just let Tzuyu go, nothing else you can do at this moment. You then go to the restaurant, buying some food that Mina likes before return to the office.

Once you back, you see Mina is still sleeping on the sofa, just like a sleeping beauty, but fully naked, and the cum you shoot on her face was dry already.

I take a wet cloth and wipe her face clean. After that I start eating my food.

You clean Mina's face and then start your lunch, you sitting on your armchair, admiring Mina's beauty.

Feeling you staring at her, Mina slowly wakes up. Mina rubs her eye and smiles at you, but soon blushes after she knows she is naked. Mina just hugs herself, trying to her naked body. 'Don't look at me, boss, it's so embarrassing.'

"But i like looking at you, you're beautiful Mina"

Mina blushes again, but this time peeking out her head from her hands, 'Really? Boss thinks Minari is beautiful, I think I am too thin, and my tits are too small.'

"Nonsense, you are beautiful." I walk over with her food in hand and give her forehead a kiss. "Here, eat"

Mina hugs your waist and take the food, 'Wow, it's all Minari's favorite, thank you boss.'

'I thought you said treat me lunch is pumping all your cum for me this morning, I didn't expect you will buy my favorite food. I love you so much, boss. Let's eat together.' Mina grabs you down to the sofa and try to feed you.

I'll eat a couple of bites before saying I have my own food. "I appreciate you feeding me, but I'm fine Mina."

Mina puts down the food and hugs you, rubbing her head on your chest. 'But Minari wants to eat with boss, how about Boss feed Minari.' Mina then hands you the tableware and opens her mouth.

"Okay Mina" i take a piece of the food and tease Mina with it, pulling away from her mouth just as she tries to take a bite.

You use the food to tease Mina, you always withdraw the spoon when Mina is going to bite.

Mina gently hit your chest, and hugs you again, looking at you like a puppy, 'Boss, stop teasing me! Minari is hungry.' Mina then try to kiss you.

I give her a quick kiss before actually feeding her. "How is it Mina?"

'Minari feels so good, when boss with me together, everything is all good.' Mina sits on your lap, awaiting you to feed her.

You gently place the spoon before her lips, she tastes the food for a bit, and then fully bites it.

'Can Minari have some drink?' Mina points to the tea, you take it for her, Mina sips a little, and then kiss you again, try to feed you with her mouth.

I'll accept it, but laugh afterwards saying she's being silly trying to share the tea.

'Why silly? Minari loves boss, so Minari wants to share everything with boss.' Mina sips another bit of tea and try to feed you.

Meanwhile, your phone buzzes, you take it up and check, it's Jihyo's reply, she said 'I will be jogging tonight too, see you tonight.'

But this makes Mina wait, and she's not happy with that, she grabs your cheek to focusing on her face, and try to feed you again.

I drink the tea, and stick my tongue in her mouth. "It’s a little silly sharing a drink like this Mina. Maybe I'll get a little silly too" I say as my hand squeezes her ass.

'Boss get silly is good, then no one can steal boss from Minari.' Mina giggles and adjust her position, so you can play with her ass easier.

'Minari is still hungry, please keep feeding me.' Mina says while let her tongue out, looking like a dog.

With one hand I feed Mina while I continue playing with her ass.

So you just play with Mina's body while you are feeding, and she seems to enjoy your caress so much.

Mina still sitting on your lap even after lunch is finished, she rests on you and asks' When will Boss's family starts to stay at your home, I wanna know how much time left for me to make the alarm.'

'And I am looking forward to Meet Boss's family too, your step sisters, right?'

"Yeah my step sisters, I'm not sure when they're coming but it should be soon"

'What if your sisters found that we hook up, will they think I am a bitch that seduces other's boyfriend? I am afraid that it will affect your relationship with them.' Mina says while caressing your cheek.

'But I am also a little bit excited about that if we fuck while they are sleeping in other rooms. Is Minari too horny, boss?' Mina asks shyly with her red face, too embarrassed to look at you.

"You're not too horny Mina" I say as I spank her gently. "Let's get back to work Mina.”

'Minari needs one more kiss before getting back to work.' Mina says while start wearing her clothes.

'And can we do that while your sisters are at your home? Yeah, umm just what I said before.' Mina asks again shyly. ' I will obey every order from boss, it's ok if boss don't wanna do it.'

"Right" I give Mina a kiss and go back to work.

'Boss, see you tomorrow.' Mina leaves the room.

You finally have time to reply to Jihyo, confirming the time of tonight, you then focus on your work until 6.

You drive Mina back to her home after having dinner together. When you are on your way home. Your stepsister, Dahyun calls you that she would like to move to you before Chaeyoung is back, probably this weekend. While Chaeyoung should be back on next week.

I tell Dahyun that's fine, and I message Mina telling her my family will begin their stay this weekend.

Mina replies that she will start planning what breakfast she should cook for you next week.

You encourage her to cook other things than Omelets, but she just replies '😏😏'.

When you just thinking about how to reply to Mina, You meet Jihyo and Daniel downstairs of your home, both of them seems look angry, probably just finish an argument.

I won't try to talk to them yet, i feel like trying to would only cause problems.

You just simply nod at Jihyo and quickly walk pass them, not wanting to have any interaction with Daniel.

You change your clothes and head to the park, Jihyo is there already, sketching like last time, her shaking breast is always eye catching, but you notice she looks a bit sad today.

Noticing her sadness, I say "something wrong Jihyo? You seem sad."

'No, nothing, just some small conflicts between couples.' Jihyo pretends to smile and answer you.

'Do you always have conflicts with your girlfriend? Perhaps it's my problem that I always argue with Daniel?'

"Occasionally yeah, but it looked like it got pretty bad between you two. I know it's not my place to intrude, but if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here for you Jihyo."

'Thanks, Y/N, but I think it's not the right to talk about it right now. I want to apologize that I can’t visit your house with My husband.' Jihyo seems don't want to talk about what happen.

'Well, life after we got married is not as good as I have imagined. I shouldn't have trusted him.'

"I'm sorry to hear that. I'll always be close if you need help. For now though let's start our jog."

You two start jogging in the park, and you try to cheer Jihyo up, so you just keep developing some interesting topics, Jihyo looks much better after spending time exercising with you.

'Let's not talk more me, Y/N. How about you and your friends with benefits, that naked girl, can she back home now?'

"Yeah, she's back home, I'm starting to get that under control."

'I'm glad that you two have fixed the problem, so you two are still friends with benefits now? Does your girlfriend know?' Jihyo seems interested in this issue.

Maybe you should distract her by mentioning Daniel is approaching Momo?

"Our relationship is a special one, we have a strong bond. We go the same gym. Oh, speaking of which I think Daniel works there. I've seen him approach my personal trainer a lot while she trying to help me."

OH, another one? I know he always do that, I should not have trusted him, damn.' Jihyo does not have any reaction to the news, seems Daniel is always flirting other girl while he is with Jihyo.

'He even told me that you always disturb some female Staff at the gym, he wants me to stay away from you.'

"That would be Momo, he's talking about. She's the personal trainer I mentioned."

Jihyo stops running, laying on the railing, looking up at the sky. 'Daniel is a player all the way before, but I can't stop loving him. He promised me he will change after we married, but....' You see tears dropping from Jihyo's big eyes.

'I just pretend I don't know anything, but he seems just to do it more often.'

I put my hand on her shoulder "I'm sorry, Jihyo. You don't deserve that. I-I don't know what else to say but if you need any help, I'm here for you. I know it isn't my place but you shouldn't have to be dealing with that sort of man."

'Can you lend me your shoulder?' Jihyo rests her head on your shoulder before you answer, still crying.

'I don't know who I can talk with, all my friends and family told me not to marry him, that's why we move here. Once I was thinking that maybe we should divorce, but we just marry less than 3 months, I feel ashamed if I tell this to my relatives.'

'What should I do? Y/N, can you teach me?' Jihyo turns her head to look at you.

"I think you should get away from him for a while at the very least. I know you may not like it but divorce might be the only option. He said he would stop but he hasn't. It might've only gotten worse. I know you may not like having to be away from him, but I think that it's what's best for you. I don't want to see you crying, I want to see a happy Jihyo, and that would mean leaving him." I give her a small hug. "Whatever you choose to do in the end, I'll be there to support you understand?"

Jihyo hugs back you tighter and starts cry again, 'Thank you Y/N, thanks for staying by my side, but I don't know where I can go. I don't know anyone else in the city.’

“I-I can always offer you a room at my place or I could put you in a hotel if you’d like. I’d pay for the room.” After a small pause I start to pat the back of her head. “It’s okay Jihyo, I’ve got you. You can let everything out.”

'I don't wanna bother you, but I'm afraid Daniel could find me at the hotel, I am sorry that I may need to stay at your home.'

'I would do anything to thank you, and I will leave as soon as we divorce, your help really means a lot, Y/N.' Jihyo leaves your arm, and slowly wiping away her tears.

"It’s no problem Jihyo. I'm happy to help you, you can stay as long as you'd like. I guess we should head home then."

Jihyo smiles when she hears your word. You two then head to your home, you can feel Jihyo is too proximate to you than normal, but you thought she just wants some comfort, so you didn't say anything.

You two first go to Jihyo's flat, trying to pack all Jihyo's belongings before Daniel is back. When you two are ready to leave, Jihyo stands still in front of the door, seeming hesitant to go.

I stand on the other side of the doorway "No going back after this Jihyo." I hold out my hand for her. "Ready?"

Jihyo takes a deep breath, holds your hand firmly, and closes the door. 'Let's go home, Y/N.'

You have never seen Jihyo smile so brightly after you have met her, her smile is so contagious, you smile at her too. You open the door of your home and let her in, 'Welcome home, Jihyo.'

I give her a small tour and tell her she should probably take a shower and relax. I'll cook her something in the meantime. I also tell Jihyo that my secretary comes by un the morning to wake me up so she shouldn't be alarmed.

'Wow, I don't know the job duties of a secretary include waking up her boss too, you got a good secretary huh.' You don't want to share too much about Mina, so you just nod and quickly move on to other topics.

Once you two finish the food, you say goodnight to Jihyo and head to your room, spending some time to text with Nayeon and Momo before you fall asleep.

#minasaiyatis #twice smut #girl group smut #kpop smut #female idol smut #m reader #twice imagines #mina smut #twice mina #jihyo smut #twice jihyo

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saulocept · 6 months ago

Text

an introduction to intimacy (i)

pairing: botw! link/f(reader)

rating: m

summary: You knew what you were getting into when you first married him. You just didn't know it'll be like this. Luckily, or unluckily, he's there to refute it.

notes: there's a hint of spice near at the end, but it's nothing too explicit. there might be a sequel, depending on the inspiration.

Marriage isn’t easy. You’ve always known that, of course – some sort of knowledge hidden in the depths of your mind, vague enough to never cross your thoughts. Until now. If you’re perhaps smarter than you’d been, you would’ve thought twice before jumping into it and agreeing. You’ve got a general idea of what you’re getting into: your new role as a wife, the responsibilities expected of you, but you’ve never once thought it’ll be this exhausting.

If you’d known any better, you wouldn’t have jumped into it as easily as you had. Blame your mother for instilling all these ideas onto you, and blame your friends for romanticizing the Hero of Hyrule. He’d be a perfect husband, they’d told you. With how sweet and caring he is to strangers – people whose name he doesn’t even know, imagine how sweet he’ll be to his own wife. Bah. You’d imagined, indeed, and now you regret it. Not that it isn’t too late for regrets, but still. It’s not like this is something you’d wanted to happen in the first place. This has been, after all, a marriage of convenience, rushed and impulsive, something you had actually no say in no matter how much your mother tries to pretend otherwise. It hadn’t been your idea; it had been your mother’s, tinged with desperation as she tried to find a way to settle your father’s debts after he ran away from your mother and you, eager to hide and start life somewhere else.

Looking back at it now, it’s a bad idea, but at the time, there’s very little you can do. Stuck in a house where your mother resents you for reminding her too much of the man who’d left her, the choice had only been to get away. And so you’d agreed. The marriage had been quick, private, with little ceremony. Attended only by your mother and a handful other villagers, there were no vows spoken, no kisses shared. Everything was stiff and formal, quick and hasty. Before you know it, you’re being driven off into Hateno Village, with all your belongings packed into a single rucksack, your old life growing further out of reach with each second.

Three year later and you’re stuck in a house as cold and hollow as the one you’d left behind. You doubt there’s any real love involved between you, not even an ounce of fondness or attraction. It’s not that Link isn’t nice. He’s nice, exactly like a hero is nice. He’s helpful, considerate. He washes the dishes, puts them back the same way you’d left them. He fixes his bed every morning so you don’t have to. He doesn’t leave any mess behind for you to clean up. He’s exactly how your friends describe him – the ideal man, a hero.

But they don’t know that he could be distant too, cold as ice. Perfect and flawless. Like a statue, meant to be admired only from afar. This close, everything you know about him falls apart. He’s like a ghost in your home, a phantom presence you’ve learned to coexist with in the course of three years. He wakes early in the mornings, long before you, and sleeps late at nights, in the room across from you. He’s never around enough for you to share your meals with, or for you to get to know. You can’t remember a single time where you’d sat across from each other on the dinner table and talked. Even when the two of you had shared your meals together, which was rarely, perhaps a once in a blue moon occurrence, he was quiet, mostly just keeping to himself. He’d eat his meals in silence, and you’d do the same, listening to the clatter of the tableware as you do so. Some days, when you’re feeling particularly friendly, eager to get to know him on a more personal level, you’d strike a conversation, telling him things about your old life, asking him about his own in turn. He’s never offered much about himself, and after a few times, you’d finally given up on your attempts to get him to open up to you more.

But he listens. He always does, even as you ramble on with your mouth full of food, getting carried away with a that he hasn’t asked for, or even cared enough to know. You wonder if he finds your life more interesting than his – highly doubtful and you’re sure of that, or if he’s just humoring you, trying to be polite to make you feel better, but he listens. Or maybe he just knows how to look like he is. With how quiet he is around you, you never could quite guess what he’s thinking. Or feeling.

Even now, if pressed, the only thing for certain that you know about him is that his name is Link, and that he’s the Hero who saved the world from the Calamity a hundred years ago. Things that could be found just from listening to the people alone. Nothing personal, nothing intimate. You never knew how he was raised, never knew the kind of village he’d grown up in. The things he likes. The things he dislikes. Whether or not he’s really okay with this arrangement.

You do know, however, how he likes being away from home. Years of observation have made you jumped to that conclusion, at least. You could almost count the hours he’s here in your home – his home, one that he’d graciously shared with you; just one, sometimes three, and only to rest and recuperate. He never stays the whole day, not even a half. Most nights, he doesn’t come home at all, preferring to spend the rest of his days elsewhere, without your company to keep him.

Not that you could blame him, of course. He was probably forced into this as much as you had been, and the only reason he’d agreed with this was because he was too nice and couldn’t find it in his heart to say no to your mother, with her crying and whimpering. Oh, well. You suppose there are worse men out there for you to marry. At the very least, he doesn’t hit you. Or scream at you, or take his anger out on you in all the worse ways one could imagine. You’ve heard of tales from your old village, where women escape to get away from their husbands’ anger. You suppose it’s only luck that you’re not considering the same course of action.

Still, that doesn’t make this life any less lonely than it is. Surrounded only by women your age, married happily to their own husbands, sometimes even with children on the way, makes you feel envious. All your life, you’d never imagined you were going to be married to anyone, preferring to live a life of solitude and freedom, but now that it’s the kind of life you live, you can’t help but feel some kind of resentment. How different your life would’ve been had you married for love and not convenience? If you’d listened to your heart instead of your mother?

Two years ago, back when you were younger, more impatient, you were certain you would’ve been happier with running away, living somewhere in the woods, alone and free. As old as you are now, you’re not so sure anymore; besides, it’s already too late to change courses, and it’s not as if Link is a bad husband. It’s not a bad life, by all means. You live in relative comfort, and the people in the village are as nice as you’ve always imagined. You’ve got food, shelter. In fact, you even have people you call your friends now: two women around your age, married and with children, eager to visit you in your empty home to keep you company when their own husbands are away and their kids are busy with schooling. They stay until the sun begins to set, and the three of you would do all sorts of things together, trying to pass the time: sewing the tattered clothes from your respective husbands’ closets, gossiping about the other villagers, exchanging details about your lives as married women.

They’d egg you on and tease you, pressing you for more details about your life with your husband, asking you all sorts of things: whether or not the hero’s good in bed, if he’s that good of a kisser as they’d imagine him to be. You don’t have an answer for any of that, and it’s the truth; ever since the two of you had got married, there had been no chances for intimacy. You’ve never even kissed, not even once, nor have you ever held his hands in yours. The most he’s ever given you as an act of affection is a nod and a polite smile – which isn’t an act of affection at all, according to anyone who’s ever had a shred of romance in their bones.

Realizing you’re speaking the truth, your friends give you a look of sympathy. The teasing soon turns into consolation, and you can’t tell which is the worse. He's just busy, they tell you. Maybe he just doesn’t have the time; he’s a hero, after all, and a knight too, at that. He’s already got so many things on his plate. You know all of this, of course, and more. They always forget to mention how this is a transaction, a marriage of convenience, something he doesn’t even have to like, or even reciprocate. Or maybe they’re just trying to be considerate, not mentioning it in your presence. Everyone in here has no doubt learned of it; it’s not as though it’s a secret anyhow. Not like it changes anything.

It shouldn’t be surprising to learn that he’d do something like this. It should be unthinkable, to discover that someone like him would cheat, but the truth sits in front of you nonetheless. There’s no refuting it, not when all the signs are here, flashing in front of your eyes. How he never seems to be around lately, how his clothes seem to smell differently now, not like the usual, at least, and certainly not the one you’ve grown to memorize. The red marks at the collar of his shirt, obvious to nearly no one else but you. Isn’t this, too, a kind of truth?

Still, you’re not sure why you care. There’s no reason why you should feel this way, as though you’ve been hollowed out and left empty. No reason why dread sits in the bottom of your stomach, heavy like lead, or why your heart hurts, as though a thousand needles pricked it all at once. It’s not as if he owes you any loyalty, and it’s not as if you love each other. You’ve established that, early on in your marriage. You’ve never talked about it, not explicitly, but it’s always there – a lingering knowledge, something you both know but have never said out loud.

And yet it doesn’t stop you from feeling this way. You’ve tried to rationalize it, sitting there on the dinner table, holding his tunic in your hands, glaring at the very obvious lipstick stains on the collar, feeling both angry and heartbroken at once. But there’s no reason to, you know there’s no reason to feel like this. You don’t love him, you’re sure of it. You can count all the times you’ve shared a conversation with him with one hand, and it’s not enough to justify whatever feelings of possessiveness you have over him. As far as you know, he can do whatever he wants. And so could you, for that matter.

And yet it doesn’t stop your heart from hurting. Nor does it make your anger abate even for just a second. You hold the tunic tighter in your hands, glaring angrily at it, not sure what you want to do with it. You’re meant to sew it, initially; it had looked to be in poor condition the first time you’d laid your eyes on it, tattered and ripping at the seams already, but now you want nothing more to do with it. Another irrational thought, one you’re supposed to quell, crush beneath the weight of all your other worries.

You exhale a breath, stand up, leaving the tunic where it is as you fetch a drink.

He comes home for dinner that night. Another rare occurrence, one you don’t even dream of happening, especially now that you’ve learned of the truth. You imagine he’ll be out and about at this time, busy making love to whatever mystery girl he surrounds himself with. Wide-eyed, naïve. Doe-like and innocent, she’d be younger than you for sure, this mystery girl whose only mark of existence is the lipstick stains she keeps leaving on your husband’s clothes. Even just the thought of her makes you annoyed, though you’re not quite sure why.

You’re quiet as you serve dinner, quiet even as you sit across from him and eat. Normally, you’d at least try to make some conversation, just to ease whatever awkwardness lingers in the air. He wouldn’t speak, like always, though he’d listen to you go on about your life even if he’s heard the same story more than once. But you don’t. Not this time. With your mind circling back toward this so-called mystery girl, you can’t even bring yourself to speak. Or enjoy your dinner. Each bite seems almost bitter, the taste of blood lingering on the tip of your tongue long after you’ve swallowed a spoonful down. It takes you more than a few minutes to realize that you’ve been biting your tongue this whole time, stewing too much in your own jealousy to pay proper attention to your meal. Hurriedly, you excuse yourself, grabbing a nearby kitchen towel to wipe at your mouth.

He doesn’t say anything as he watches you go, though you could feel his eyes on your back, eyeing your every move. You don’t have to look back to know that he wears the same expression as always. Opaque, unreadable. Far out of your reach.

You find him in your room after dinner. He sits on the edge of the bed, his hands on his lap, staring at something on the floor. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he looks like he’s deep in thought. You lean against the door, cross your arms over your chest. Taking a glance at your surroundings, just to confirm you are indeed in the right room, you clear your throat, catch his attention. “This isn’t your room,” you say stiffly, your voice flat, empty.

He looks up at the sound of your voice, eyes boring straight through yours. The blue of his eyes seems even brighter in the semi-darkness, piercing as he continues to stare at you, through you. Does he know then? Does he know that you know? Does he know how you feel about it? “I know where my room is.”

You raise an eyebrow, purse your lips together. “There’s no reason for you to be here.”

He shrugs, looks away, casts a curious glance around him. He takes it all in, at once, as if for the first time. “I came to visit.”

You frown. He’s never come to visit your room before, at least not when you’re around, and you can’t imagine why he’d want to now. Not when he has something else to keep himself busy – someone else. “I don’t see why there’s a need to.”

His voice grows quieter, nearly a whisper. Still, every word rings loud against your ears, echoes and reverberates in the hollow of your soul. “I came to check up on my wife.”

The words catch you off-guard, and for a second, your mind blanks out, unable to find the right words. He’s never referred to you as such before; you can’t confirm if he’s ever done so in front of other people, but it’s not as though you’re outside often enough to ask. And even if you are, it’s not an appropriate question. Still, that doesn’t make you any less surprised. “Your… wife?”

He nods his head, gives you a lopsided smile. You’ve only ever seen this smile of his on a handful of occasions, and it always makes you feel conflicted each time. A flutter in your heart, a knot in your stomach, a sudden jump in your pulse – things you could never quite explain how, note even to yourself. “There’s only one of her, isn’t there?”

You snort, unable to keep the bitterness out of your voice, your words. “I don’t appreciate you thinking you could fool me again, mister.”

“I see.” His voice grows quieter, softer. He lowers his head, stares at the floor. He doesn’t speak for a second, and once again, you could never quite tell what he’s thinking. “That’s why you’ve been quiet.”

You scoff, feeling your temper rise at his sudden shift in attitude. Still, you’re careful to keep your voice flat, refusing to give in to the heat of your anger, the excruciating burn of your jealousy. “I don’t think you know me as much as you claim to.”

He lifts his head, looks at you. He meets your eyes this time, and something in his gaze pins you to your spot. You’ve never seen him look at you this way before, and something about it makes you yearn for it and deny it at the same time. “I’ve watched you,” he says. His voice is calm, steady. Soothing, almost, though it only does the opposite for you. “You didn’t see me, but this afternoon, after you ate your lunch, you laid on the couch and napped for an hour.”

You shake your head, look away, crossing your arms over your chest. “You watching me like a stalker doesn’t prove you know enough about me.”

He doesn’t falter. “You take your coffee with three sugars and no less because it’s too bitter for your taste.”

He’s right, like he’d been right the previous time, and yet the same problem remains. You exhale a sigh, growing more exasperated by the second. “I don’t see what that has to do with any of this.”

His eyebrows furrow. A hint of irritation flashes in his expression, rare and quick as a lightning bolt. Frustration creeps into his voice, makes it rise just the slightest bit. “That I know you as much as I claim to.”

You shake your head, exhale another sigh, shoulders slumping in resignation. There’s no point to this argument, is there? The boundaries of your relationship had been clear from the start; you knew what you were getting into the moment you’d agreed to the marriage. “Even if you do, we’re still strangers.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then he stands up, takes a step forward, and another, then another. Until he’s standing in front you, just barely out of reach. “Are we?”

“Yes.”

He takes another step, closes the distance between you until there’s none. “Even if I know everything about you?”

Does he? Even the thought seems almost unbelievable. Laughable, too. He has too much on his plate to bother learning everything he can about you. And even if that were true and he truly did do all of those, what difference would it make? Still, you can’t help but be curious, one eyebrow raising as you keep your eyes on him. “And what do you know about me?”

He nods, smiles. A different kind this time – tiny, a subtle twitch at the corners of his lips. One you’ve never seen before, and yet one that sends an unexplainable thrill through you. “That you’re jealous.” It’s a statement, a simple fact, one that makes your ears burn in offense.

“There’s no reason for me to be,” you snap, glaring at him. Heat rises to your cheeks, and you take a step back, attempting to mask it in the semi-darkness of the room. He follows after you, takes another step forward when you take a step back, refusing to let you maintain that distance you’ve been trying to keep. The game continues on for approximately a minute before you finally hit the wall, rendering all chances of escape null. You glare at him instead, annoyed at the look of amusement flickering in his eyes. “I know what I got myself into when I agreed to marry you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Look,” you begin, taking a step to the side, refusing to play his game any longer. He doesn’t let you, stops you before you can go any farther, placing both his hands on either side of your head, caging you in. “I’m not sure why you’re here in my room right now, but I’m not going to be your entertainment tonight just because you’re lonely and in mighty need of company.”

He looks almost surprised at your implication; you catch the widening of his eyes, the shock that flickers behind them, just briefly before it fizzles out, disappears once more. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

“It’s not worry,” you say, pinching the bridge of your nose in exasperation. Has he always been this annoying and you just never even know it? Is this a side of him you would’ve killed to know a few years back? You would’ve been certain of the answer years ago, but now you’re not so sure. Everything’s too confusing, conflicting, and you’re not sure what to think, especially not when it comes to him. “It’s called—”

“Jealousy,” he finishes for you. He gives you another small smile, and it looks smug, victorious. You’ve half the heart to wipe it off, and the other half to kiss it away. You’re not entirely sure where the thought comes from, and it makes the heat in your cheeks rise, grow warmer.

You glare at him instead. It’s easier to mask whatever embarrassment you feel with anger; it’s familiar, comfortable, and it’s something he expects. You open your mouth, try to protest, but he stops you this time, refuses to let you speak. He shakes his head, presses a finger against your lips, shuts you up. His smile grows wider, and he leans down, close enough that he could look you in the eye. This close, the blue of his eyes seems infinite. Mesmerizing, as though it would swallow you whole if you forget to look away. He removes his finger from your lips, moves to cup your cheek, cradling it in his hands. Your vision swims. Your breath steams. Your heart stops. There’s a split second where everything grows still as he touches you for the first time.

Every feeling after this is magnified. The warmth of his hands burns like liquid heat against your skin. Your flesh sings. Your bones ache. You feel like a livewire at this moment, coiled and very much alive. You fear you’ll explode, turn into sparks if he touches you any longer.

You take in a shuddered breath, lifting your head just a bit, enough to meet his gaze. When he looks into your eyes, could he tell how badly you enjoy this? How much you’ve yearned for it, subconsciously, and in secret? Whatever he finds there must not be satisfactory enough because he’s leaning even closer, just enough that his breath steams against your cheeks. He’s close enough to kiss, to touch, the way he never is for the past few years.

You could tell him to stop. You won’t be his plaything tonight, and you’ve made it clear from the start. Just because he’s the hero doesn’t mean you’d bend to his whims, even if he has you at his mercy. He traces your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, and every retaliating thought in your mind disappears, along with every half-formed protest you might have. The gentleness with which he touches you opens up a valley of desire in the pit of your stomach, hollow and greedy. It makes you lean against his touch, like a moth waiting to be burned.

He leans in, brushes his lips against yours. Tentatively, like he’s waiting to see how you’d react. Seeing as you’re not pushing him away, he leans in even more, and kisses you fully. There’s hunger with the way he kisses you, mirroring the desire that sits in the hollow of your stomach. You grab the hem of his shirt, balling it into fists as you pull him closer. He responds by cupping the back of your head and pulling you against him, kissing you more greedily.

You don’t know how long you’ve kissed, but you’re breathless by the time you’ve pulled away. Catching your breath, you give him another glare – a last show of strength, even if it’s futile in the end, especially with how putty you are now in his hands. “I’m not going to be your plaything tonight.”

He shakes his head, looking almost annoyed at your comment. “You’re not.”

He doesn’t let you protest anymore. He leans down, latches his lips on your neck, peppering kisses all over: the underside of your jaw, your pulse, the curve of your neck. Your skin singes and burns with every kiss, but he doesn’t stop there. He kisses his way down: from your collarbone to the slant on your shoulder. He runs his tongue along your skin like he’s eager to taste you, and it sends another spark of thrill through you. You let out a shuddering breath, not quite expecting that; absently, you reach up, grab hold of his hair, tugging on it just so, and it only spurs him on, feeds into his ego. Impatiently, he pops the buttons of your blouse, not caring that he’s nearly ripped it off in the process. He doesn’t apologize. Instead, he moves to kiss his way down your body: the valley of your chest, your breasts, your navel until he’s kneeling down in front of you. With your skirt in the way, he’s unable to go further. Hurriedly, he tugs it down, pulls it off your ankles, then throws it somewhere in the room.

“Hey!” you protest, but he simply ignores you. Or maybe he’s just simply too far gone to care. With you left only in your underwear, there aren’t much obstructions left. He runs his eyes up and down your form, and something in his eyes makes you want to cower and hide. There’s greed in there, mixed with something else, something you can’t quite name. Hunger, perhaps? Or maybe even desire? Either way, he doesn’t let you linger on the question much longer.

He’s much gentler this time, slower than he’d been just a while ago, when he was practically ripping your shirt and your skirt off of you. Now, it feels as though he’s got all the time in the world. He tugs at your underwear, pulls it off your ankle, no longer impatient. He takes his sweet time as he leans in and presses kisses on the inside of your thighs, each one leaving you more breathless than the last. Soft, teasing, each one a kind of agony that only makes you yearn for more. You’ve lost count after the first one, every rational thought pushed out by the impatience to feel something. You glare down at him, only to find him already watching you, his gaze glued to your face, drinking in every reaction you make. You’d have blushed if you’ve still got some semblance of dignity left somewhere in you.

“Hurry up,” you say, the words a breathless rasp as they spill out of your lips. He gives you a dark look, but he listens anyway. He inches his face closer to your bare cunt. He doesn’t give you a chance to complain this time. He buries his head between your thighs, catches the trickle of arousal spilling out of you with the tip of his tongue. Heat rises once more to your cheeks. There’s a part of you, embarrassed and shameful, that wants to run away and hide, push him off you. There’s another part that wants him closer, wants all he could offer. Right now, you’re not entirely sure which is which.

And he’s still going torturously slow. It feels intentional, mocking. He moves with the patience of a saint, all his earlier impatience forgotten in a flash. You hate it, but you can’t bring yourself to speak when he blows against your cunt, making your mind blank out. “Link,” you say, your voice thick and raspy. You’ve never imagined you’ll call for him like this – a mix of desire and desperation, and it’s so unlike yourself that you’d have laughed if you hadn’t been

You glare down at him once more, and you could almost swear that he gives you a smug smirk in response. He doesn’t let you dwell on it any further; he dives back in, surprises you this time, delving his tongue deep into you. A shudder leaves you, and your eyes flutter shut, your head hitting against the wall behind you. You could barely register the pain; there’s a dull throb in your head, but all is quickly lost in the sea of pleasure that surrounds you.

You tug a fistful of his hair, hard enough that it’s sure to hurt, and he responds by burying his tongue deeper, lapping you up like a man starved. Every part of you feels hot, every nerve ending alight and on fire. You should tell him to stop, but your body aches for more. Your hips buck, involuntarily, against him, and he lifts one of your legs to rest it upon his shoulder. He places his hands on either side of your thighs, keeps you in place as he furthers his assault, delving into you over and over until he rounds in on that spot that has your legs shaking, the entirety of your body overwhelmed with feeling. “T-there!”

He doesn’t stop. Eager to discover what’s made you tick, he only grows rougher, hungrier, zeroes in on that spot over and over until your mind is spent with pleasure. Your stomach tightens, coils. Everything’s too much, too sudden, and everything in you breaks at once. With a sharp cry, you fall apart, limbs shaking, legs trembling. He’s there to catch you, keeps his arms around you as he holds you steady against him, his tongue ready and waiting to catch every drop that spills out of you, his throat bobbing with each swallow.

And then it’s over, and he’s leaning back, wiping his mouth the back of his hand. You stare at him dazedly, too busy trying to catch your breath to pay him proper attention. You could barely find it in yourself to move. Every part of you feels paralyzed. Your chest rises and falls. Your mind is still empty of any thought; distractedly, you watch him as he picks himself back up, stands up so that he’s in front of you again. You swallow the lump in your throat, lick the dryness off your lips as you find the right words. Nothing comes. All that spills out of you is a breathless noise that falls somewhere between a croak and a whimper, nothing that resembles anything coherent.

He doesn’t speak either. Instead, he leans in, presses his forehead against yours, cups your face in his hands once more. You’re just about to ask him a question before he’s kissing you once more, soft and slow, coaxing. Like he’s trying to apologize. Or maybe he’s tempting you to follow his lead. You’re not sure which is which, but he’s convinced you anyhow, and so you lean in, and kiss him back.

#renwrites #link x reader #breath of the wild #botw x reader

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