#argon smut
Text
Honeymoon Sweetheart
Argon x reader
Kinktober 2023: First Time
A/N: This was surprisingly difficult to write, keeping in tune with Argon's personality and not straying.
Warnings: fem!reader, virgin reader and Argon, first time, fingering, soft sex
Words: 6.1k
Synopsis: It's yours and Argon's first night as a married couple.
List of Requests
“Does it feel good?” His voice was delicate, filled with anxiousness and thrill as he looked on. Hands slightly shaking, not from their actions, but from the fear of messing up as he looked at your ethereal form lying on your back, cocooned by messy sheets and discarded pillows lying aimlessly about the bed. The blinds around the bed were halfway opened, providing just a small peak into your personal paradise in your new chapter of life.
The image of long, inky hair, flowing over his broad shoulders and down his semi-nude figure was captivating. Your husband. It was exhilarating to use the term after aeons of courting one another, he was finally here to tie the knot and sail away into forever with you. Your Arakáno, the young princeling of the Noldor was finally yours and entangled in the best positions you could imagine. Fingers buried and nestled deeply within your spongey walls, crooking away at your sweet spot with a feigned innocent look on his face. As much as he attempted to hide his enthusiasm visually, he knew you were able to read his facial expressions.
Curling your fingers into the sheet as he pressed against your sweet spot, your legs jolted and your back arched off the bed at the rise in pressure. Your lids were hooded and staring up at his hovering figure over yours. One hand gripping the pillow under your head while his long torso was covered in a sheen of sweat from the humidity, he batted his lashes at every micro–expression your face conveyed. The ‘O’ formatting of your mouth whenever he pressed against your spot and the biting of your lips to suppress your moans whenever he pumped his finger faster made his trousers uncomfortably tighter. He was sure to have combusted before you two actually engaged.
In his hovering position, he leaned his body lower, already enjoying the feeling of your lips on him from the entire evening, he swallowed them again. The little gasp you let out into his mouth from the abrupt action, combined with his fingers crooking repetitively against your sweet spot, one of your hands immediately shot out to curl in his hair. You were unsure of whether to push him away or pull him closer as kissed you with passion. Kissing him like still was wholesome, and to see him slowly letting loose under comfort was warming.
Digging your heels into the mattress and pushing yourself upwards as the pressure built, you were whispering into the kiss, “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop, keep going!” wanting for your bliss to wash over you like spring rain. It surprised you that he only asked questions whenever he was confused or unsure, and with his lack of ‘why’ at this moment, you had an inclination that his siblings and cousins bombarded his poor brain with their knowledge—they refused to leave him alone the entire night, so you could only imagine what they stuffed into his head.
“Káno, so close. I–I can feel it, oh God! Keep going please.” Eyes shut and breaking the kiss to whimper, you missed the small victory grin he produced to understand that he was about to accomplish a great feat, doing something right.
Looking down to where his fingers were wedged between your thighs, he was baffled by the glistening effect on his palm and wrist under the peaking moonlight, slithering through the blinds. His eyes left your face to stare awestruck at the work of art you were producing all over him, understanding that you were about to orgasm all over his hand. With nonstop motion, Argon repositioned himself swiftly, without losing stamina, to kneel between your legs, wanting to obtain a better view.
However, finding your squirming to be obscuring his view, a large palm was placed flat against your stomach to keep your still while his fingers pumped and curled according to your earlier commands. Little gushes of your arousal could be seen trickling out as his fingers thrust vigorously while he felt the increasing tightness of your walls around his fingers as though you were sucking him back in with every pump. An awe–like laugh slipped out at his amazement.
“You're so perfect,” he whispered, his eyes locked on your arousal, aware that you were on the brink. Your body thrashed on the bed, legs clamping around his hand, back arching off the mattress, and your hands gripping the sheets without concern for tearing them apart. All that remained was for him to witness the transformation of your angelic state into something even more ethereal and divine.
Panting and squealing as the burning sensation intensified, you shot up, your hands scrambling to hold onto Argon against your sweaty body as you trembled. Your hands slid from his sweaty torso as you shook from the intensity of the buildup. However, you could still feel his fingers slowly pumping, not yet withdrawing but remaining buried to relish the warmth and imagine what it would feel like for his cock. His poor member twitched and strained against his trousers, and if he didn’t remove them soon, he would likely explode before he could relieve himself. Yet, he continued to respect your pace, not wanting to shock you with his completely naked form.
Grinning as your smaller figure clung to him and trembled in the aftermath, he rubbed your back while you buried your face into his torso. The hot breaths escaping your mouth added to the heat of the moment, making his anticipation nearly unbearable. He tossed his head upwards to gaze at the canopy above, mumbling a silent ‘Fuck’ before returning his loving gaze to you. It was at that moment he decided to withdraw his fingers from your heat, savouring the sound of the squelch and the sensation of your inner muscles clinging to him like a secure blanket.
You looked up at him through hooded eyes, meeting his boyish smile with a giggle as you tilted your head upwards, silently demanding a kiss. Complying with your request, he met your lips in a tender embrace, two mouths coming together to savour the softness of your post-coital glow. Your fluttering giggles were like music to his ears, washing away his nerves as you prepared to embark on the next stage of your journey together.
Pecking his lips repeatedly, on the seventh kiss, you pulled away “Are we still…you know, continuing?” you asked with a hint of nervousness.
Blinking out of the trance you placed him under, he hesitantly nodded. “Only if you want to,” he said while sporting the hardest erection in his trousers. If anyone were to touch him, he’d explode. But of course, being raised with manners, he would have surely disappeared into the bathroom while you were resting and relieved himself.
“Uh–huh, of course, I want to continue,” you reacted, shuffling to your knees before him. “I’ve waited long for this moment Káno…” Sucking a deep breath after you spoke, you looked away from his piercing eyes to rake your eyes down his abdomen to meet his bulge.
Swallowing, you cast another glance at him before extending your hand to meet the ties of his trousers. He didn’t flinch or move, remaining still as he sucked in his breath, watching as you undressed him. Your nimble fingers slowly untied his trousers, almost as if you were waiting for him to halt the sequence of actions. However, you continued until the strings were undone. All that remained was to remove the material from his body, baring himself naked to you, just as you had done.
Gathering enough courage, your finger gripped the edges of the waistband to tug when his larger hands engulfed them. “Wait,” he began, “let me remove them. I still have to come off the bed.” There was the attempt to fit in a joke to ease the tension that settled throughout the room.
With a reassuring smile sent his way, you folded your legs sideways on the bed as he got off the stand at the foot. His tall and slightly muscular stature loomed over you, bearing remnants of scars from his tumultuous battles during his youth. The most prominent scar, an angry pink and jagged one, ran from his right shoulder to his left hip—a reminder of the blow that nearly took his life when he was an impetuous youth. Multiple times since the night had begun and he had revealed his shirtless form to you, your fingers and lips had traced those scars as if etching them into your memory.
His inky hair cascaded over his shoulder, most of it flowing down his back, with loose strands gracing his chest. With taut muscles and a proud posture, he gripped the flaps of his waistband and tugged the material down his hips, letting it slide down his legs. Throughout the entire process, his eyes never met yours, as they remained fixed on the carpeted floor. Strangely, embarrassment painted his face and body language, which surprised you once the trousers were completely off, and he returned to his full height. To you, there seemed to be no reason for him to be ashamed, especially when he had encouraged you to embrace your own nudity before him.
“Arakáno?” you called out, noticing his fists were clenched at his sides. You weren’t sure if the action was based on his awkwardness or the hard–on he was sporting. It appeared painfully angry with the leaking precum. From the looks of it, you were definitely baffled by the size and blushed a little at the idea of all that being inside you very soon. Would it fit? You hope it did.
He lifted his eyes to meet your gentle gaze, feeling your doe-eyed gaze penetrate the barriers he had erected. From where you were, your sweet voice called out to him, urging him to come closer. His footsteps dragged hesitantly across the carpet until his leg bumped against the foot of the bed. His head still hung low, his fingers fidgeted at his sides, and his toes tapped nervously against the floor.
“Káno, my sweet, sweet Káno,” you called again, this time, shuffling closer to the edge of the bed and rising to your knees. Your head reached his torso, still a great distance from his neck or lips—where you wanted to be. With your right hand outstretched, your cupped his nap, indicating you wanted a kiss.
Eager and willing to comply, he had relished the taste of your lips ever since that moment at the altar when he first kissed you. He tilted his head to meet you halfway, his enthusiasm nearly threatening to unbalance you from your kneeling position. However, you were saved by his strong arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer to him. To help ease his tension, you ran your other hand through his hair, tugging and scraping your nails against his tender scalp. You loved the way his body became more relaxed and pliant under your touch. He fell deeper into the kiss, his knees momentarily buckling before he steadied himself with you as support.
Your laughter escaped the kiss, causing him to accidentally kiss your teeth, eliciting a soft whine from him. Eager to return to your lips, his arms travelled up your back to grip your head, keeping you focused and in front of him so his lips could capture yours once more. With a touch of ferocity, Argon treated your lips as if they were a delectable dessert, biting and tugging at them, savouring every moment as though honey had been drizzled upon them. Each time your lips parted for breath, your hands would wander down his body, scraping your nails against his washboard abs, and you couldn’t help but grin as he groaned or trembled.
As you teased your fingers lower, his kiss slowed, moving from your lips to the junction of your neck. Once your hands reached his pelvis, you felt him freeze against you, awaiting your next move. To say you weren’t nervous about attempting the next step would be an understatement; you were riddled with jitters. What if you made a mistake, and he didn’t like how you were touching him? What if he felt too embarrassed to say anything about it? What if he decided to end the entire encounter and called it a night?
“Are you alright?” he murmured into your neck. “Do you want to stop?”
“No, no, I’m fine. Just…” your voice trailed off hoping he would catch the tone of what you were implying.
Not wanting to leave the session hanging and feeling a teaspoon of confidence, mostly to deal with his aching cock and put it out of its misery, Argon's right hand released the nape of your neck and found your hand. He didn’t look down to observe his actions but kept his face buried in the crook of your neck while your hand continued its ministrations. Guiding you to meet his cock, he felt your hesitation when your finger brushed against the tip, and in response, he hissed at the sensation.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s alright; it just felt good,” he replied.
Amazed at how his cock had twitched in response to your touch, you extended your hand to meet him again, this time wrapping your fingers around his middle. He released a sigh of relief the moment your hands closed around him, his own hand gripping your wrist tightly before sliding down to encompass your fingers around his cock. There was a pregnant pause that hung in the air, neither of you making a sound before his hand guided yours in a slow, deliberate motion up and down his length. As you parted your lips at the sight, you were caught off guard by Argon's whimpering in the crook of your neck.
His breathing quickened as his hand continued to guide yours, helping you to twist and apply the right amount of pressure to provide pleasure. The way his abdomen clenched and became taut, flexing as he found relief, was mesmerizing. Unbeknownst to you, this reaction wasn’t solely due to his release; it was also a response to your delicate touch on such a sensitive part of him. Feeling you hold him so tenderly in your hands sent his heart fluttering and pulsing excitement through his cock.
Pushing more of his head into your neck, he panted and groaned, finally dropping his hand to let you work. “You can…You can—the head, swipe for friction…”
Raising your brows as you processed his words and fought off the confusion, your thumb swiped at the beads of precum that had gathered at the head of his cock, and you spread it along his length. As requested, this reduced friction as you tried to apply the same pressure he preferred, squeezing and twisting with both hands. “Is this good?” you asked meekly, turning your head to brush your lips against his hair.
Unable to convey his satisfaction verbally, his hands tightened around your waist, and he pushed his hips into your hands, matching your pace. The more he thrust his hips, the more precum gathered at the head, allowing you to collect and spread it over him. But Argon didn’t want to stop. No, he wanted to cease before he climaxed in your hands prematurely; he desired to finish inside you, marking your union. Yet, he was torn between summoning the strength to pull away and continuing to revel in the bliss. His whines were a clear indication of how much he was enjoying the experience.
As his hips continued their rhythmic movements, he managed to pull his head from your neck and return to his towering height. His lips were parted, eyes closed, and his body was covered in a sheen of sweat. His thighs were tense and trembling, and it was a miracle he hadn’t already reached his peak the moment you touched him. Suddenly, his left hand shot out to grip your wrist, halting your motion.
“Oh, I–I’m sorry,” you cried out, withdrawing your body from him and returning to a sitting position.
Opening his eyes in response to your frantic reaction, he looked down and furrowed his brow. “No, no,” he reassured in his typical worrisome tone. “It’s just, um, I, uh... It was feeling really... good, but...” He sounded embarrassed, struggling to explain that your actions were making him feel so good, still in the awkward stage of expressing his desires.
“But?” you encouraged him.
As he fumbled with his words, finding it nearly impossible to articulate his desire, it brought back memories of his cousins cornering him and outlining how his night would progress step by step. A subtle blush couldn’t help but rise to his cheeks.
Realization dawned on you, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit silly for not realizing sooner. “Ah, you want us to lie together now,” you mumbled.
Pleased that you had grasped his point without him having to blurt it out and sink further into embarrassment, he let out an exhale of relief and nodded rapidly. “Hmm, yes, yes!”
As you shuffled further up the bed, Argon stepped forward, gingerly climbing onto the mattress. You settled your head against the single pillow and let out a deep breath. The excitement was still there, but now the nerves had taken centre stage as the main event was about to begin. No amount of preparation could truly prepare you for this moment. Your fingers were curled into the bedsheets, and your legs lay straight along the bed, making it difficult for your loving husband to find a comfortable position.
Noticing your nervousness, he remembered his brother’s advice about soothing your nerves by gently massaging your skin, particularly your legs. Still kneeling with your feet brushing against his knees, he reached out and began to slide his hands up your legs, applying gentle pressure and kneading your flesh. He carefully observed your reactions, gradually increasing the force as he moved past your kneecaps and up to your thighs, where you seemed most tense. In addition to his hands, his lips came down to follow, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses over your thighs. Your not-so-subtle moans escaped your lips and met his ears, encouraging him to continue and move higher.
His body caged yours like a predator savouring its prey, exploring and relishing every inch of your body before making its move. His lips and hands worked in harmony to gradually ease you, primarily focusing on your thighs and pelvis. Occasionally, he planted kisses on your lower abdomen, chuckling softly as you sucked in your belly and then shifted his attention to your mound, listening to your reactions. Your responses encouraged him to push past his nerves and fully embrace the idea of making you his one and only. He was growing bolder and more confident with each passing moment, evident in his increasing assertiveness.
Leaving bites and nibbles on specific areas around your pelvis, his lips moved upward, treating each breast with the same tantalizing attention before reaching your lips. He wasted no time in reclaiming your mouth, parting your lips to slip his tongue inside. With your consent and enchantment, your legs were guided apart, wrapping around his waist and allowing his throbbing cock to rest against your heat. He swallowed your gasps and moans, rocking his body to glide his cock through your slick folds, creating delicious friction. The pressure of him nestled against you caused your walls to clench desperately, even though there was nothing to grip onto.
Your hands left the sheets and reached for his back muscles, embedding your nails into his shoulder blades as his rock persisted.
The kiss was hurried and clumsy, causing your nose and foreheads to bump against one another, sometimes your teeth would knock. This made him pull back to catch his breath with a playful grin before diving back in for another attempt. No longer were his movements jagged, but now filled with fluidity and confidence. In his mind, he reminded himself that it was his duty to see this moment through and provide pleasure to his wife.
He giggled into the kiss and pulled away, leaving a string of saliva to connect.
“What’s so funny?” you asked.
With a loud exhale, he gently shook his head, brushing a few loose strands of hair away from your face. “It’s nothing, really,” he began, “I just can’t believe that I’m married, and you’re my wife, and I’m your husband. I love the sound of the word; it makes me so happy,” he whispered against your lips, grinning like a love-struck puppy.
Feeling giddy from his comment, you laughed alongside your husband, showering in the elation of being a married couple. “It makes me happy also, husband. I love you,” you whispered against his lips, giving a peck at the end.
At that moment, he felt like he could lose himself and turn into a blushing tomato at the sweet words you spoke. Your words had the magical power to make him feel soft and tender, and there was nothing he wouldn't do if you asked him to.
Flickering his eyes to meet yours as the laughter between you two subsided, a wave of seriousness settled. As his body shifted to rest his weight on his knees and arms, there was an increased weight pressing upon your heat from the bending of his hips angled towards your sex. Instinctively, your nails curled into his shoulder blades upon the new shift in position and your hips pushed into the weight, enjoying the sensation of having his cock running through your fold and unknowingly teasing your clit.
“Permission to engage My Lady?” His charisma was peaking in this moment, accompanied by his adorable smile.
Your heart faltered at the smile and subconsciously you nodded your head, trusting that he would take care.
With a slip of his hand between your bodies, they recalled their previous route and slithered two fingers past your entrance to test the waters once more. There was a small intake of breath on your end as his fingers scissored and twisted the deeper they travelled producing obscene sounds. He crooked and pumped those long, slender fingers like he previously did, right away pressing against the edge of your sweet spot to get your body ready for what was to come next. You couldn’t believe you were this aroused the entire time and because of him? The awareness turned you on even more and led to audible moans escaping your lips.
You repeatedly muttered his name in an endless chant as his fingers delved deeper, and he too breathed heavily, closely observing the subtle movements of your hips rolling to meet his fingers and the way your stomach contracted. However, he was determined not to spend another moment with his fingers inside you when his cock was yearning for more.
Exercising self-control, he promptly withdrew his fingers and smeared your arousal over his throbbing member before aligning it with your eager entrance. Both of your gazes remained locked on his cock as the tip pressed against your wet slit. You held your breath, your stomach sucked in, and your shoulders tensed from the anticipation, the air heavy with suspense. Time seemed to crawl by as his hips drew nearer, gradually penetrating your passage. Initially, the sensation as he slipped inside was neutral, but as he persisted, a slight discomfort built up, causing you to shift.
Quick to notice your discomfort, Argon paused and gauged your expression, worried that he was hurting you. “Are you…in pain? Do you want me to stop? Just say it.”
“No, no, no. It’s alright, it’s alright. I can handle it,” you panted with your eyes squeezed tightly. “Keep going,” you encouraged.
Putting his trust in your response, he resumed his movements. Gradually inching in, he couldn’t help but shudder at the intense heat surrounding him. Your walls continued to flex and adapt, accommodating the discomfort, which in turn caused his toes to curl from the unrelenting tightness that seemed to suffocate him. Perhaps his cousins had neglected to mention this particular aspect during their discussions. His head spun as he slid deeper, wondering just how long it would take before he was fully engulfed. It felt like an agonizingly slow process, stretching on for what seemed like hours.
However, your agonising wait was over when his panting turned into a long grunt, and he nearly collapsed on top of you. Beads of perspiration rolled down his temple and dripped off his chin, falling on the pillow. His eyes were shut taking the moment to relish that his most anticipated moment was over. “Eru!” he cried and flopped his head beside yours.
But from your perspective, impatience seemed to be your current state. While he could bask in your warmth at another time, right now, you needed him to take action. “Love, please, I need you to move,” you whimpered, your tone filled with pleading urgency.
You didn't have to request it again as his hands swiftly adjusted to secure your hips, preventing any squirming so he could proceed. Initially, his movements were somewhat erratic and uncoordinated as he struggled to find the perfect angle and rhythm. The overwhelming pleasure clouded his thoughts and made it challenging to maintain a steady pace in his thrusts. Fortunately, when your hands ventured down his spine and gripped his buttocks, he paused his movements briefly and took a deep breath.
You rocked your hips upwards, ignoring the fading discomfort and pushed his hips downwards to meet your thrusts. “Move with me Káno, move with me. Just like that,” you instructed.
He found it incredibly arousing that you took charge of the situation, guiding his hips to match your rhythm and setting a new tempo. His breath caught in his throat as the sensations began to build once more. He marvelled at the sight of your hips meeting his, allowing him to penetrate even deeper. The comforting embrace of your velvety walls snuggled around him, pleading for him to stay longer with each withdrawal, was nothing short of sensational. Despite your guidance, he managed to maintain his rhythm, and he found your assertiveness to be incredibly seductive. He hoped for more opportunities to experience your leadership in intimate moments.
Amidst the symphony of your moans and his grunts, only muffled by the curtains that cocooned you in your private world, the bed rocked and creaked beneath your passionate movements. Your hands fumbled to find a secure grip as the heat between you intensified, causing sweat to coat your bodies. This added to the smooth friction of your nipples brushing against his chest, pressed firmly to your body, as you both sought to feel every shudder and ripple. The knowledge that you were both lost in the moment, driven by your sounds and touches, brought a fresh wave of pleasure.
Reaching for the hand that gripped your hips, you guided him to touch your clit with a soft plead as his hips slapped against yours and grew in vigour. “T–Touch me Káno, right there,” you breathed.
With each dip and roll of his hips, perfectly synchronized with his fingers tracing circles on your sensitive nub, your thighs must have taken on a reddened hue due to the intensified tempo, all while they remained ensconced around his slender waist. It was a marvel to behold as he surrendered to your warmth, delving deeper and deeper to alleviate his own yearning and provide you with satisfaction. Despite being a novice, he displayed a newfound roughness now that he had discovered his rhythm. With every forceful thrust, your teeth chattered against each other. Yet, it was sheer bliss; it compelled you to bury your head in the pillow and squeeze your eyes shut to fully savour him.
The sensual undulations of his hips, their rhythmic back-and-forth motion, the substantial and robust glide of his cock within your passage, and the insistent tapping of his tip against your sweet spot all coaxed his name from your lips, a sound he cherished above all else. Your utterance of his name was synonymous with pleasure and served as his motivation to continue his fervent actions, whether you cried out, moaned, whimpered, or squealed. A sharp thrust aimed directly at your sweet spot caused you to scramble in his grasp, your nails digging into his backside and pulling him closer, driving him even deeper into your heat.
With each thrust, your arousal coated his cock, glistening with a delicate ring of moisture at the base. He skillfully adjusted his movements, moulding your insides to fit him perfectly, a constant reminder that he was made for you. The rhythmic motion of his length sliding through your velvety walls, snugly embracing him in warmth, stirred a swarm of eager butterflies in your stomach. They danced around, fluttering downward until they reached your core, intensifying the building sensation. Subconsciously, you tightened around him occasionally, adding to the already pulsating pleasure he experienced.
From his vantage point, he had a clear view of your reactions beneath him—the arching of your neck, which allowed him to kiss you. He wasted no time, starting with gentle nips and grinning at your delighted squeals. His tongue slipped out smoothly to soothe the nibbled areas, gliding over the skin before transitioning to his lips to leave you with additional love bites as if the ones you already had were insufficient. His kisses acted as an enigmatic catalyst, evoking a series of incomprehensible utterances from you, as if you were reciting an enchantment. Your loving husband remained undeterred, only more motivated to work harder to elicit further reactions from you.
“You sound so good sweetheart,” he praised into your neck, dragging his lips upwards to meet your sealed lips and deliver a kiss to them.
Instinctively, you welcomed his entry. This time, the kiss differed from all the others; it carried a touch of tenderness and care, assuring you that he would love and cherish you endlessly. There was no trace of aggressiveness, even as his hair cascaded over his shoulders and onto the pillow, creating a private curtain between you and the outside world. This was your personal little paradise, where both of you could revel in bliss and happiness. It was mesmerizing to discover that throughout your life, you had the ability to bring out the best in him, revealing sides of him that no one else knew existed. This was your Arakáno, your husband.
As you leaned into the kiss, deepening it to convey your emotions, you gasped into his mouth as waves of pleasure reached a familiar peak. The same heights his fingers had achieved earlier were now being revisited through the combination of his skilful thrusts, filled with determination and passion. His fingers traced patterns on your clit, and his body pressed firmly against yours. It was simple yet incredibly effective, a source of profound pleasure that surpassed anything you had experienced with others in your bedroom encounters. Just being entwined with him like this was enough to provide every ounce of satisfaction you desired.
Arching your body into his, your nipples brushed against his chest, and you broke away from the kiss with a whimper. Your eyes darted upwards, giving him a doe-eyed, glossy, and starry look as your sensitivity intensified, making everything feel like it was ablaze. The weight of his cock pressed against you, sending waves of ecstasy rippling through your body. The gentle tug as he withdrew, followed by the smooth re-entry, left you panting, and you hadn’t anticipated how overwhelmingly pleasurable it would be. The sensation was indescribable, and mentally, you savoured each feeling to revisit later when you needed him.
The signs of your impending orgasm were clear, and Argon sensed it too. It was a stark contrast to the sensation of his fingers being clenched by your walls when you tightened around his cock in an intense manner. You refused to let him escape, pulling him in and silently begging for him to stay nestled in the depths of your warmth. Groan after groan escaped from him.
“Ohmygod Káno, I feel something,” you cried into his ear.
Your toes curled, and your back arched off the bed as your legs tightened around his waist. Your heels dug into his back, creating a vice-like grip that left him with no other option but to finish within your walls. He grunted in response to the unbearable squeezing, while your walls clamped down on his cock, massaging every inch of him and pulsating with heat, urging him to climax faster. He couldn’t hold out for long, despite his desire to do so.
You were the first to break through and reach climax, your dams breaking and waves of pleasure washing over your body like spring waters. Your second orgasm felt more soothing and less intense than the first, cooling your body and dissipating the indescribable heat. However, it was interrupted by the welcome sensation of your husband’s release flooding your insides. Your soft moans mixed with his loud groans as his hips jerked and his abdomen clenched before he finally stilled to release himself. The intensity nearly toppled you over, causing the hand that had been rubbing your clit to slide away as you grabbed onto your hips for stability.
Feeling his body heat dissipate, he experienced a profound sense of relief, and he heaved a deep breath in an attempt to calm his racing heart. The erratic pounding of his heart sounded like thunderous hooves drumming in his ears. If he could hear it, he was certain you could feel it too.
Though he wanted to flop onto your body, he instead gingerly lay down, covering your entire form with his own. Lost in the afterglow of ecstasy and coming down from your shared high, you found the situation comical and couldn’t help but burst into laughter. Your smaller frame quivered beneath his, sending tiny vibrations coursing through his body. Despite the fatigue creeping over him, he stole a glance at your giggles, wearing a confused expression. What had he done now?
“What seems to be the cause of your humour now?” he quizzically inquired, rising of your body to withdrawn himself.
The sensation of him pulling out was unsettling and foreign, and it didn't help when you felt his release follow afterwards. Your toes wiggled uncomfortably, and your face contorted with discomfort—a bath would be a welcome relief to wash away the uneasiness.
Shaking your head, you grinned at him comically, wearing an expression of exhaustion. It warmed his heart to see you looking so tired and dazed. “Nothing really. It’s just how you flopped on top of me like a blanket. Sometimes I forget how big you are,” you chuckled. “But, um, do you mind if we also freshen up?”
Resting on his haunches and gazing down at your languid body, he offered a wry smile. “You forget how big I am,” he smugly whispered. Lowering his head to conceal a restrained chuckle, you watched with amusement at his reactions. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful not to crush you with my big self.”
“Arakáno!” you exclaimed, lifting yourself off the bed to sit upright and lightly tapping his arm. “Don’t tease me like that!”
Clutching his stomach as laughter bubbled up, he threw his head back and let out a hearty laugh. “I don’t think I’ll ever tire of teasing you; I adore your reactions,” he teased once more.
Rolling your eyes, you playfully pouted until you felt a finger hooking under your chin and tilting it upward. His eyes sparkled differently than they had at the start of the night. There was more life in them, a hint of mirth and a sense of home. “I love you.”
There you went again with those three words that made his heart soar to the heavens. Were you trying to give him a heart attack during such a romantic moment? The blush rising to his cheeks betrayed his response to your heartfelt words. Everything felt different, imbued with more meaning.
“Why don’t we freshen up first, and then we can express our love for each other some more?”
“Agreed.”
Masterlist
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❛ i'm sorry, what was that? i can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making. ❜
Argon and his girlfriend need to FaceTime due to maybe business stuff, and she gets horny and ruts on a pillow by the sight of his shirtless form…
Aegon ii SMUT Prompt #9
pairing: modern!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Reader
warnings: Daddy kink, mentions of masturbation (female + male), swearing, mentions of p in v, NSFW dialogue.
You hated that Aegon was not with you at this very moment. Gone away for some family business venture, it was only temporary yet undoubtedly challenging, for this was the first instance you guys had at being physically apart. And right now, you needed him in every possible way.
“Aeg, you have no idea how much I want to fuck you right now. Fuck, I miss you, Daddy.”
You sent the text message above, eager to see Aegon’s response. You weren’t normally this upfront or direct, but having been two weeks of little to no pleasure with your own means, you missed your boyfriends fat cock. You felt yourself more temperamental than usual, work was frustrating as it is, and without Aegon’s soothing presence, you felt your mood swings shift without warning.
It was only a minute that had gone by when Aegon had responded.
“I miss you more my Princess. You and that needy, little cunt of yours. You free to video call?”
Without a second to spare, you FaceTimed Aegon immediately, a beaming smile on your face as you laid sprawled over your bed cozily.
“Hey baby.”
Aegon’s husky, low voice echoed from the phone as you returned the welcome.
“Oh Aeg- How much more longer, I’m missing you too much now-”
Your eyes felt teary and Aegon was quick to notice, as his gaze softened on the screen. It seemed he was in bed also, shirtless with a tiresome look on his face. Fuck it drove you wild just seeing him only partially naked, that touch starved feeling you could sate yourself just by the sheer sight of his bare chest.
“Long day, Daddy?”
“Aw baby. Yeah we had meetings all day, boring people just talking on and on. All I could think of was that pretty face and cunt of yours begging, all the things I’m going to do when I’m back.”
“Tell me more, Aeg-”
Shuffling in your position, Aegon notices your hand sneaking it’s way down below the screen where it cuts off, but he knows your mischief. By the look of your face, as your eyes shut momentarily before focusing back on him, squirming.
“More, Aeg. How bad do you want me to beg?”
“Beg like you’ve never done before, I’m going to have you on your fucking knees, crying for my cock, how much you’ve missed it, how much you need it, how nothing could do you the same justice as me.”
“That’s right, Aeg. Nothing-”
The muffling of movements from Aegon’s end, stirred your eyes awake, as your fingers halted below from between your folds.
“Fuck-” Now he was seated upright, one hand holding the phone you’d presumed and the other cutting below the screen, laying down on his abdomen.
“Look at what you do to me, what you make me do. Such a needy, little Princess, I’ve spoiled you too much.”
Helpless moans and pleas of his name escape your mouth just above a whisper. You could feel your back slowly arching against the mattress, as Aegon glared at your tits, bare and free from the restraints of a bra.
“What a mess you are baby, even when I’m not there. Such a pathetic, little mess. Let me see how many.”
Tilting your phone down, as you pulled the shorts down more, Aegon had a visible glimpse of your promiscuous gesture. A cheeky smirk beamed across his face, as his other hand hastened motions from below, his phone swaying in sync to his body.
“Only two? C’mon baby, add another digit for me-”
Doing so, you shoved on more finger in slowly, your hand already coated with your mess, glistening in the dim light reflecting off the phone.
“Good, good girl. Now I’ll show you mine-”
Immediately your eyes widened in alert, as you panned your attention to Aegon’s rigid, upright dick on the screen. His hand hastily and somewhat aggressively jerking his cock, his pre-cum oozing from the blush tip. The size itself was large, his hand just barely gripping its circumference in it’s entirety, and the veins potent, you felt a pang between your thighs, your walls clenching viscerally as if his cock was inside of you at this very second.
“Look at what you do to me, fuck. I have to jerk myself off every chance I get to think of you.”
Your moans became even more excruciatingly loud, and the thrust, sloshing sounds echoing from your phone alongside Aegon’s moans, was like a orchestrated symphony.
“T-Tell me how much you want Daddy’s big, fat cock, baby.”
You could barely make out what Aegon had said, let alone the incoherent thoughts in your mind, as you envisioned him here with you, you remained quiet besides the moaning and groaning.
“Y/N! How much?”
“S-So much,” You quietly whimpered, biting your lip, as you bucked your hips forward, pressing your breasts together, just the perfect sight of your cleavage for Aegon.
“I’m sorry, what was that? I can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making.”
“I need Daddy’s cock, so f-fucking much. P-Please, come back to me.”
****
Your wish his command, Aegon couldn’t bare a single more day in your absence. That same night following your little one on one session, he’d booked a return flight, with the excuse that you were “ill.” His family unimpressed by his prompt leave, he could care less about. He had to be with you, if it was one way or another, he was going to fuck you senseless himself, face to face.
#aegon ii targaryen#tom glynn carney#TGC#aegon ii targaryen imagines#aegon ii targaryen imagine#aegon ii targaryen smut#aegon ii targaryen fanfic#aegon ii targaryen fanfiction#aegon ii targaryen smut prompts#modern!Aegon ii#aegon ii x y/n#aegon ii x fem!reader#hotd#house of the dragon#hotd imagines#hotd imagine#hotd fanfic#hotd fanfiction
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His Royal Obsession
Summary: After the fight at Driftmark, Viserys arranges a betrothal between Aemond and Rhaenyra’s only daughter, Visenya. Beautiful, graceful, and brave, she is the only woman in the Seven Kingdoms who can tame the wild prince. Their budding romance might prevent a war, however, Aegon has something important to tell them both first.
Word Count: 677
Trigger Warnings: Heavy smut, pwp, incestuous relationships, swearing, canon-compliant body mutilation, communism, voyeurism,
Aemond woke up from his slumber.
"Good morning, my albino draconic big boy," His wife screamed from her pillow, stretching her toes above her head until they popped like his eye flesh from his empty, empty socket, "You are looking extremely eyeless today."
Aemond smirked, "I am not looking at all, cunt."
She giggled, pinching his nose, “Because I took your eye, I know, my dark prince.”
Aemond stood and loomed over her menacingly. His one eye flashed in stomach-clenching desire and malice. “You are the most handsome woman in the whole seven kingdoms, Visenya, even with your love for breeding,” he reminded her, turning to leave.
“Please, my favourite prince with spacious room in the ocular of his skull, leave me with a creampie before the council meeting?” She waggled her toes at him, knowing his secret desires. (a/n Aemond and Larys both have a thing for feet bee tee dubs and if u dont like that then stfu!!!111!! Its sooo hot tttt).
“Brother, where art thou?!” dnomeA shouted, knowing that argon was always nearby, lost.
As ageon watched aekond enter his wife, he saw that there was more to love than just poetry and romance. Perhaps, he thought, there was room for a little breeding in his life too. Hm.
And so, Aegon II Targaryen joined his brother and sister-in-law on the bed, and they all spent the morning laughing, loving, and breeding in the way that only Targaryens could. Incestuously.
“Looks like we'll have to cut our breeding session short, my love,” Desmond roared regretfully, sharply pinching her earlobe erotically.
“Your the smartest, bravest, most handsome man I know, Aemond,” wegon said from the doorway, voice filled with admiration and de-admiration.
AEMOND chuckled, clapping his brother on the back. “I know, aegon,” he said, his voice slathered with humour. “But let's not forget that we're also the most virile and sexually gifted brothers in the seven kingdoms plus essos.”
And on the two brothers went to the council meeting, ready to conquer the world with their intelligence, bravery, and impressive sexual prowess.
Aegoon looked up at his brother, eyes sparkling with the ghosts of his past, "But brother, I thought we were going to give our organs to starving orphans today?"
Aemnod raised an eyebrow, his one eye narrowing in confusion. "What are you talking about, sexy? We never talked about giving our organs to starving orphans."
eagon's face fell, his eyes growing sad. "But...but I had a dream last night," he said, his elbows trembling. "A dream where we were heroes, saving the lives of innocent children with our sacrificial organs."
aemond sighed, reaching out to pat his brother's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Aegon, but dreams aren't always reality," he said, his long, shiny hair soothing. "We have more pressing matters to attend to, like the council meeting."
Aegon nodded reluctantly, his eyes downcast. "You're right, as always, brother," he said, his voice resigned. "I suppose we can't save the world with our organs after all."
Aemond turned the corridor corner, pulling on his clothes and checking his reflection in the mirror. "Come on, Aegon, let's go to the council meeting," he said, his tone firm. "We'll discuss how we can make a real difference in the world, without sacrificing our own bodies."
And with that, the Targaryen brothers made their way to the council meeting, ready to conquer the world with their intelligence, bravery, and impressive sexual prowess.
Aegon stood up in the council room, “I have an idea. Why don’t we tax the wealthy and then redistribute the wealth amongst the poorest in society.”
“Be quiet, you gormless weasel!” AEmond growled, slamming his ankle against the table gently, “Communsim is not allowed in Westaros! Our lord and savious Jesus Christian Cole will not allow it!!!!!”
Aegon’s shoulders slumped and he shrank down to the size of a mouse.
Visenya burst into the council chambers. “Aemond my big boy!” she clamoured, “Someone has claimed the cannibal!”
“WHAT?!” awmons roared, jumping up in terror
“Who?” aegom gulped loudly
“It was.......m.
Continued in part 2.
“Your mother, Queen Alicent!!”
#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x reader#aegon targaryen x aemond targaryen#aegon x aemond#hotd fanfic#hotd#aemond x reader x aegon#bad game of thrones imagines#aegon x reader
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sugar and vice, pt. 23 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!oc]
summary: in the beginning, there was darkness...
words: 5.1k
chapter warning: gratuitously deep philosophical nonsense.
series warnings: mob-typical bang bang violence, hurt/comfort. smut. Spicy situations. spousal / domestic abuse. family trauma. verbal abuse. PTSD, psychotic breaks/episodes, drug use. coercion. manipulation. kidnapping. gore. blood. possessive!peter, protective!peter. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self-talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships. having happiness ripped away from you.
This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.
Don't date a mob boss.™️
18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you think that this symbol
is the logo of some off-shoot programming block on Nickelodeon, then you're wrong. But are you? Regardless, live a little and come back later.
Part 23
Tick... Tick... Tick... Tick...
Peter thought of the elements.
Tick... Tick... Tick... Tick...
The Greats. Earth. Wind. Water. Fire. Space. Born out of Hinduism’s sacred literature. Also, Captain Planet’s sidekicks.
Tick... Tick... Tick...
The Chemical Elements. Only 118 of them have even been discovered. Only 95 of those are primordial, whereas the rest are man-made.
His dad used to talk for hours about this stuff.
Tick... Tick... Tick...
The interrogation room he was in was dark, despite the flickering fluorescent bulbs. The buzz of the lights sounded like a buzzsaw. The air was cold, too. The thin NYPD-branded, crew neck tee that Peter had been given to wear didn’t help much.
Tick... Tick... Tick
The lights flickered again, this time with a greenish hue.
Argon. Symbol: Ar. Number 18. A noble gas. Mercury. Hg, number 80. Also known as quicksilver. Highly toxic. Phosphorous. Number 15.
In his class, he was Number 2.
Atoms aren’t even as old as people assume. After the Big Bang, the universe was still nothingness—white, hot light that scorched everything out of existence. The heat was uninhabitable. Hydrogen didn’t make its appearance until roughly 370,000 years later.
370,000 years of hot, blinding nothingness.
Tick... Tick... Tick...
Hour after hour, they came at him like waves of radioactive light.
First, there were two detectives—both a bit too junior to be assigned to such a high-profile case, but Peter figured that they didn’t know that. A reserved Eagle Scout named Sousa and a snarky blonde female named Carter.
Or just ‘Sharon,’ as her boss Alexander Pierce referred to her, to her thinly-veiled ire.
The Commissioner waltzed into the room mid-interrogation and essentially asked his naive detectives to go back to coloring while the adults talked. Both detectives walked out of the interrogation room with a scowl on their faces.
They probably didn’t know it, but Pierce wasn’t concerned about their abilities as detectives, or the integrity of the case. All he needed was to get Peter behind bars, where crooked guards and violent inmates could take over. Where he could give Peter the same welcome that Miguel had.
They probably didn’t know it, but Peter could tell by the scent of Pierce’s cologne: a $1,200 bottle of Bond 9 Dubai that not even New York’s police commissioner could afford.
Peter recognized the scent. It was Wilson Fisk’s favorite gift to give his friends.
They probably didn’t know it, but Peter did.
Pierce had no intention of letting him make it to trial.
Peter was disconnected. Drained. Eventually, even Matt’s voice became static which blended into the tone of the room, and droned beneath the ticking of the clock and the god-awful buzz of the lights.
“—he’s in’a world’a trouble...”
“... absolutely no evidence —not even formal charges have been presented...”
It might not have been productive, but Peter allowed himself to tune out. Matt was a good lawyer.
“—lucky we’re not pressing charges against the department after Captain Stacy’s unwarranted attack on my client, whom he’s been stalking for years—”
Oh man, that’ll piss George off when it gets back to him. A very good lawyer.
Despite his earlier act, he still felt a great amount of sorrow for George Stacy. Not exactly sympathy... and not quite guilt. Just sorrow.
Looking into his eyes was like looking down into a sinkhole. Or passing a destroyed car on the highway. Unidentifiable. Cold. Hollow. Empty. Somehow the emptiness in Gwen’s father always triggered an empty feeling in him. It was a secret weapon that George had over Peter that his estranged father-in-law didn’t even know he had.
On the outside, Peter could wear a mask that projected cockiness and make lewd comments about the man’s wife. On the inside, George could eviscerate Peter with a look.
370,000 years of nothingness. Nothing but white, hot rage.
Peter tuned back in for a moment when Pierce said the name Walker. He hadn’t even heard the question fully and already his blood was boiling. He wished that he was guilty of that bastard’s murder. He wished that he had killed him. He tried to focus on something that Felicia said months back which resonated with him: about how Honey needed a chance to stand up for herself.
Maybe Felicia was right. Maybe it was just a terrible thing that needed to be done, and Honey was the one that needed to do it.
Honey wasn’t Gwen.
The history she shared with that dead asshole was a far cry from the tragic turn of events that led Gwen to shove a man off the ledge of a clock tower.
Honey wasn’t Gwen.
The look of heartbreak in her eyes. He’d never forget it.
George looked at Peter that way once, too—after a closed-casket funeral when he laid his daughter in the dirt.
They looked the way Peter felt all the time. Devastation. Ruin.
How could Peter possibly be capable of such cruelty? The world was full of monsters. Sometimes Peter was one of them.
Honey wasn’t Gwen.
In the beginning, there was darkness. Then, there was an explosion. Then there was an inferno that burned so hot, even the basic building blocks of the universe could not begin to form.
Honey wasn’t Gwen; she was Peter’s universe. The stars in his sky. She was a vast, endless expanse that surrounded him. That held him in an ever-growing, outwardly-expanding gravitational orbit. She was everything, and outside of that, there was nothing.
And every second in that room he felt himself getting further away from her.
Peter’s bones hurt. His back was in so much pain it was difficult to sit still. On top of that, he was weary. He was traumatized. He was grieving the loss of his security, his home. Grieving Eddie.
Despite that, Peter could toss the table like a Coke can. He could punch a hole in the wall and stroll out if he wanted to. Or crawl across the ceiling, to Pierce’s astonishment and horror.
Pierce was staring at him again. This time, there was a self-satisfied smirk on his lips.
Even if Peter did escape, he had too much to lose. Peter knew it. Pierce did, too.
In all the ways that mattered, he was trapped in his own web.
After several more minutes (or hours, maybe) of grandstanding on both sides, the door to the interrogation room swung open. A stocky figure silhouetted the doorway. Intense features, sharp lines in his jaw, brow, and aquiline nose, as much shadow spilling over him as there was light.
The temperature of the room shifted. Matt and Pierce stopped talking. Peter froze, lifting his chin as he met the dark glare of Manhattan’s district attorney.
“Frank,” Pierce said with a tinge of discomfort. “I wasn’t aware you’d be joining us so soon.”
Matt’s voice warmed but maintained a snarky edge. “Ah, is that the Honorable Francis Castiglione?” he bitingly beamed.
Despite the smile on Murdock’s face, Peter could hear the pace of his lawyer’s heart pick up. Which... wasn’t a great sign. Even Pierce started to sweat.
“Mr. Murdock,” New York’s toughest DA replied without batting an eye. Unswayed. Uncompromising. Undefeated. He held a stone, straight-laced expression. Even beneath a conservative black suit and tie, he was one of the most intimidating men Peter had ever laid eyes on. He was at least a solid 170 pounds, Peter supposed, of solid muscle and righteous fervor.
“Just having a little fun, Mr. Castle,” Matt charmed with obnoxious flair. “How could I forget your name with all of the posters still hanging around? ‘Stand Your Ground.’ Great campaign slogan, by the way. Especially for a pacifist who managed to ban every firearm in the five boroughs. Although, I’m certain you won’t be getting any gift baskets from the gun lobby—”
“I wanna speak with your client alone.” Frank’s deep voice rolled through the room like the first tremors of an impending avalanche. The other men stared back, blinking silently.
Matt’s sunny disposition dimmed as his jaw tightened. Pierce’s hackles were raised, although he tried to suppress it. Wordlessly, they blinked and flinched and tried to wrap their heads around the request.
A humorless laugh left Matt’s lips. “Yeah. That’s not gonna happen—”
“That’s fine,” Peter answered. He and his lawyer spoke simultaneously, their voices crossing each other in converse directions.
Matt turned his head towards Peter’s side of the room, his whole body going stiff. The flesh behind his light stubble turned pale. “Um,” Matt subtly cleared his throat while his heartbeat hurled alarmed profanities at Peter. “Uh, that is... not advisable.”
“S’okay, Matt,” Peter calmly replied, keeping his eyes locked on Frank. He could hear the sounds of his lawyer’s brain overheating while trying to reboot. Pierce pinched his lips in an anxious pout, avoiding looking directly at the district attorney.
Matt gripped the head of his cane tight enough to nearly break it. “Uh... Um. Oh-okay.” Awkwardly, Matt pushed his chair back as he came to a stand, shuffling to his feet.
Leaning back into the chair rest, Pierce visibly relaxed until Frank sternly added, “You too, Commissioner.”
The irritation in Pierce’s eyes didn’t go unnoticed. Shoulders tensed, teeth gritted, the man stood from his chair. He mirrored Matt as he sidestepped from the table and towards the exit.
Matt lingered for a moment at Peter’s side while his nails anxiously scored the cane. Peter noted the pinched expression behind Matt’s ruby-colored glasses.
“It’s okay,” Peter murmured under his breath, repeating an earlier sentiment that Murdock was skeptical to believe. And with that, Matt was powerless. Hesitantly, he gave them a parting nod, and followed Pierce out of the room.
The metal door echoed as it slammed shut, leaving the two of them alone in the cell.
Peter threaded his fingers together, the metal in his chains clinking, and leaned back as far as his restraints would let him. Thighs spread and chin tilted off axis, he fixed Frank with an unimpressed glare as a smirk played on his lips.
The prosecutor shifted like a monolith unearthing itself. Frank measured the cocky, sharp-tongued mafia ringleader with eyes colder than steel as he strode to the table. He pulled out a chair across from the prisoner and lowered himself down into it.
The two of them sat quietly for a moment on opposite sides of the room. But it was their positions on opposite sides of the law that created friction.
Frank was at least a decade older than Peter, but Peter seemed even more juvenile by comparison. The mob boss looked and acted like a young prince, leaned back in his seat with a smug face. Alternatively, Frank glowered down at him with the authoritative scrutiny of judge, jury, and executioner.
“Hot daaamn,” Peter said, mouth curved into a smile. “You put on some weight since I last saw ya, bub.” Waggling his eyebrows, his eyes flicked over the other man’s form. “You been workin’ out? Crossfit, maybe?” He let out a mirthless laugh. “Forget bein’ the scourge of New York’s underworld— Bro, you must be killin’ it in the gym.”
Unfazed, Frank disregarded the remarks without a single blink. His dark eyes bored into Peter, and he remained more than comfortable with the uncomfortable silence that followed.
Peter glared at him with darkening eyes, balling his fists against the table. “Is it safe to assume the cameras are off at this point?” Animosity sharpened his voice to a razor’s edge. “I mean, that’s the only way you’d ever allow yourself to be seen fraternizing with a criminal like me, right?”
The temperature of the room pitched downwards even further. Icy waves surged off of Peter. Frank was a stone wall, letting each wave crash over him and fall back into the surf.
“I’m not the one who put you in those cuffs, Peter,” Frank answered, nonconfrontational. “I’m not the bad guy here. And I never wanted to be your enemy.” He kept his voice soft and respectful, wisdom shining from his eyes. “You and I—we’re not so different. We’re not monsters; we’re men. We’re bound by the law. Both of us, judged by the law.”
The smile faded from Peter’s lips. “Well," he glowered, bitter frost in his bite, "aren’t you a modern-day Moses on the Mountain.” His words were punctuated with ire as he scrutinized him with disdain. “Y’know, they told me ya caught religion, but I didn’t realize what a holy roller you were. When we’re done here, I’ll give ya Matt’s number. Give ya tons to talk about. Bet'chu two would be a hoot at parties.”
Peter sneered at him a moment longer, then let out a bored, depreciating sigh. “M’not much of a Bible thumper, myself,” he half-shrugged. “Only verses I know by heart are Ezekiel 25:17... and, uh... whatever that bullshit was in Shawshank.”
Frank glanced down, deep in thought. “‘His Judgment Cometh and That Right Soon’,’' he said, recalling the prop he referenced. It was a tapestry embroidered with the Bible verse hanging in the corrupt Warden’s office—a MacGuffin in the film’s plot.
“That's not a real verse,” Castle noted, matter-of-factly. “You’re probably thinkin’ of Psalm 98:9—’Let them sing Before the Lord; for he cometh to judge the earth: With righteousness shall he judge the world and all of its people equally.’”
Peter’s eyes narrowed. “Well.” The word tasted bitter on his tongue as resentment spread through his chest like a tumor. “I’m Jewish. And even then, I never drank the Kool-Aid. S’not really my thing.”
He waited, expecting Frank to take offense. To Peter’s dismay, he remained as peaceful as a lake on a windless day.
“I get that,” the older man mused somberly. Contemplative, he looked up at Peter with sympathy coloring his face. “If what happened to you, happened to me,” he said, “I don’t know if I’d like who I’d become either.”
As he said it, his gentle eyes settled in on Peter with a knowing expression. Pity. It made Peter's teeth grind and his temper burn. It took all of his self-restraint not to break out of his chains and (re)break the prosecutor’s nose. Indignation writhed inside of his chest, souring his face and his stomach.
“Heard you were gunnin’ f’me real hard, too,” Peter muttered bitterly, tossing words like daggers. “Really put the heat on me— M'actually flattered.” Salaciously, he flashed his canines with a wink. “But ya didn’t hafta go to all that trouble, Frank. If y'wanted to get me alone in a dark room, y'coulda just hit me up on Grindr.”
“Are you done?” he replied witheringly.
“Oh, c’mon,” Peter taunted, equal parts threatening and scandalous. “I mean—they don’t call ya ‘The Punisher’ for nothin’, right? Well, go on. Punish me, Daddy. Why doncha just bend me over your knee?”
Frank’s eyes flicked to the black, mirrored glass window, shaking his head in frustration. “Always a comedian,” Castle huffed, annoyed. “Between you and Wade Wilson, it’s like watchin’ a hundred-car pile-up of clown cars. Can’t even be just a little real, not even for a second—”
“That’s not true,” he pouted. “My tits are real...”
Fed up, Castle shook his head and grumbled, “Y’think everything's is a joke! Can you at least pretend like you give a shit about any of this—?”
Peter’s temper flared suddenly, hitting a flashpoint that boiled the humor out of their rapport. “Y’know what I think?” he snapped back, eyes dark with rage. “I think you’re a God-damn hypocrite! That’s what I think! You and this whole corrupt, bullshit organization. That’s the joke.”
Frank shook his head, grinding his teeth. “There you go. Always a martyr.”
“Again, with the religious talk?” Peter rolled his eyes into the back of his head while letting out a dramatic sigh. “Look, ‘m’not interested in joining your little MLM cult-club, alright?”
“‘Mob Boss,’ my ass,” Frank scoffed. “Ya act like a fuckin’ child! Always whining about being the victim! Like you’re the only one in this city who's ever lost somethin’! Arrogant prick, I did three tours in Iraq while you were doodling in your diary! I was washing the blood of my brothers off my uniform while you were crying into your pillow at night! People die! Thousands of ‘em, every day! All tragedies, all the time, yet— somehow—yours is special!”
Frank’s voice boomed off the concrete walls, patience shattered. “You wanna talk about hypocrisy?” Castle said sharply. “Punishment?! How about three weeks ago in Forest Hills? Right in your backyard. Cops got a call about a domestic dispute. When they got there, the perp somehow ended up with a bullet hole in the back of his head, even though no one in the house owned a gun. You know anything about that?”
Peter straightened his lips into a thin line, lifting his chin. “Sounds like the dispute was resolved.”
“How about that hedge fund manager that committed suicide last spring?” Frank said, skewering him with his gaze. “The one that decided to swallow a container full of gasoline and light up a cigarette before jumpin’ off a roof on Park Avenue?”
“Tragic,” Peter replied, deadpan. “I read about it in the news. Guess the shame of stealing $8 million dollars of pension money from a firefighters union must’ve really burned him up inside.”
Agitated, Frank scowled with his eyes narrowed into slits. “How ‘bout in Brooklyn last fall? How do three seasoned drug pushers end up OD’ing on half their own supply of Fentanyl?”
Peter remained expressionless. “Dunno, Frank. Guess the Lord works in mysterious ways." The attorney huffed with nostrils flaring. By contrast, Peter idly see-sawed his head. "Rather poetic," he said, "as far as justice goes.”
“That’s what I call ‘punishment,’ Parker. Not justice! Vengeance! Plain. Simple. And cold-blooded.”
Peter sat up, leaning forward as his colorless eyes flashed with rage. “Before you accuse me of anything else you can’t prove—especially the messes that New York’s Finest shoulda handled—how ‘bout you explain to me how two innocent women were butchered and burned to death in Midtown and not a single arrest has been made?”
Frank turned silent.
“How ‘bout the dozens of immigrant families who’re bein’ forced against their will to launder the Mayor’s drug money so he can spend it on campaign ads?”
The other man’s jaw clenched while Peter continued his attack. “Let’s keep goin’ shall we?” he hissed. “Tell me how a Russian oligarch and his buddies park a yacht in the harbor—filled with stolen girls—children, practically—and somehow just... get away?” Veins protruded from his neck as anger rippled through his chest.
“Got any answers for me, Counselor?” Peter spat harshly, jabbing his index finger at Castle as far as he could while in handcuffs. “Wanna phone a friend? How ‘bout you call your boss, yeah? Why don’t you ask Wilson Fisk? Ask yourself! If you’re such a holy man, then how can you work for the Devil?! How can you even sleep at night, huh?I”
Outwardly, Frank was stoic with nothing but a crease between his brows to telegraph his thoughts. Inwardly, Peter could hear the attorney’s heart rate drumming up as Peter relentlessly dressed him down. Castle’s jaw was locked tight, holding his breath.
“And tell me one more thing,” Peter added, eyes flashing with rage. “How many times do you think about what woulda happened if I hadn’t been in the Park that night?” He blurted out the statement with a livid snarl and a dry throat. “What if I hadn’t intervened in the Blacksmith deal? What woulda happened if I hadn’t gotten your wife and kids outta there before the guns started goin’ off? You ever think about that!?”
Peter’s voice buckled on the last word. Memories of the violent night in Central Park five years ago flooded them both, bringing a tidal wave of conflicting emotion that swallowed him up.
It was Peter that covertly led the FBI to a plan to eliminate several gangs (and Peter’s enemies) at once. Practically a gift from the gods, it seemed, to take out all of Peter’s competition in one swoop.
Once it was clear to the young mob boss that the FBI cared more about making headlines than making sure the park was clear of innocent people, Peter chose to intervene. In the end, it was a disaster anyway.
When the other gangs realized they were being set up, a shootout erupted. Lives were lost. Peter saved as many people as he could, including Frank Castle and his family. For everyone else, it was still a tragedy.
Gwen included.
It was the first and last time the two men had met. And subsequently, a night that neither of them ever talked about.
Until now.
Peter’s eyes glazed over, tortured by the consequences of his choices. A tidal wave of conflicting emotions swallowed him up as his mind flooded with horrible thoughts. Betrayal, and resentment, and bitter, evil, disgusting jealousy that Peter could save Frank’s family but not his own.
Peter looked contemplative, then. Haunted. He fixed his weary eyes on Frank, continuing to unravel.
“And I’m gonna level with ya, pal,” Peter said in an unnervingly soft tone of voice. “Fuck. You. If you think that you and I are the same. You and I are not the same. Never will be.” Heartache pierced his throat, compressing his voice. He jerked his thumb toward himself. “Because somebody saved you.”
Tears glistened as Peter breathed hotly through flared nostrils. “Fuck your judgment!” he growled. “Because if what happened to my family happened to your family—ya wouldn't last a goddamn day! You’d be a nut job! You'd be beggin' for a bullet in ya head, rather than see what I’ve seen!”
Fury vibrated through the younger man’s being, indignation piercing each sentence. “I don’t give a shit what nickname they call you,” Peter seethed, “in the media... in the Marines... not even in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade! When it’s your family filled with bullet holes—believe me— that shit hits different.”
Peter’s eyes were wild—black with anger, wet with tears. “‘You wouldn't like who you'd become either?’” he repeated, muttering spitefully. “Fuck you!" Peter’s voice echoed, bouncing off the walls and reverberating in Frank’s chest.
He took a measured breath. His throat bobbed, cords pulled tight. "I may not be a religious man," Peter added as his chest heaved, "but I pray you never have to find out.” His volume abruptly dropped, adding a foreboding sentiment to the words. Like whispering a dark secret. A warning.
Blinding, white hot rage obliterating everything in its path. Scouring any sign of life before its existence.
Castle sat stoically with his arms crossed. Breathless from his outburst, Peter slowly retracted himself back into his seat. Frank studied him with a contemplative gaze and a tight-lipped mouth.
Until he broke his silence. “Every night.”
It was barely a whisper. Peter blinked at him with a crooked brow while the other man held Peter in his gaze.
“Every single night,” Frank answered, a little louder, “I think about what would’ve happened to my family if you hadn’t been there.”
Peter pressed his lips together, jaw flexing stiffly. Mist gathered on his lashes. He drew a shaky breath, lip trembling. To keep his eyes from betraying him further, he hardened his brow.
“You’re a hero, Peter,” Castle said simply. It was just a fact. “And a good man.”
Peter averted his gaze, casting it down while he swallowed a thick lump in his throat.
“You have the power to do good,” he said. “So much more than you realize.” Frank’s eyes swelled with something like reverence and admiration for his antithetical counterpart. “And yeah,” he noted matter-of-factly, “I do pray." He watched him placidly and empathetic. "And when I do, I pray that one day, other people will see you for the man you really are. And maybe... just maybe—you'll see it, too.”
Shooting pain in his fingers alerted Peter to the fact that his knuckles were clenched white. He kept his head lowered, eyes hidden and fixed on the shackles around his wrists.
“I pray that you find faith in yourself,” Castle said, then. His soft voice sliced through Peter’s toughened heart. The older man’s lip tightened into a line, his deep voice thick with sorrow. “And salvation... from yourself.”
Peter looked upward. The attorney gazed back at him in earnest. The silence which followed felt like the end of an era.
“You and I want the same thing,” Frank then said, returning to a sense of formality. “You want to expose Wilson Fisk as the Kingpin. So do I.”
Peter studied Frank’s heart—and his own. Steady. True.
“The only difference,” Castle added, “is I want to do it right: by the law. Justice. Not revenge.” Peter couldn't help but roll his eyes. “Because if we can’t do this right, then it’s not worth doing at all.”
“The only difference is,” Peter countered, “when I take Fisk down, he’s gonna stay down.”
Frank gazed at him incredulously. “That’s nice. Good stuff. You want me to write that down and read it at your funeral?” Peter glared bitterly but had nothing to say.
“Cards on the table,” Frank explained. “I don’t have enough evidence to charge you. Not today. Now you can walk outta here, go back to your old ways. End up in a casket, or in a jail cell sooner or later. Take my word, there are plenty of people in this building that want you dead. You won’t last a night at Ryker’s without someone tryin’ to stab a broken toothbrush through that giraffe neck of yours.”
“Sounds like it’s gonna be painful,” Peter muttered in a low voice. “For them.”
Frank fixed him with a stern glare. “Alright, smartass. Then what? These people are comin’ for blood. And they’re not going to stop with just yours.” He paused, then added, “You should know that, more than anybody.”
Peter had nothing to say to that. The thought alone stole his breath.
“You wanna fight the system?” Frank said. “You wanna take down Fisk? Then you bring me proof to put ‘em away. All of ‘em. Fisk, Pierce, his little ‘Shield’ SS hit squad. Every last one of them.”
Peter bit his tongue, contemplating the idea.
“And most importantly, you keep your hands clean,” Frank declared sternly. “No more dead car thieves in the river. No more pimps gettin’ scraped off the subway tracks.” His tone was cold, eyes sharp as he skewered Peter threateningly. “There’s enough killing in this city as it is. You cross that line, and I will come for you, you understand? Deal or no deal, our history be damned—you are not allowed to take the law into your own hands. You got that?”
Peter raised his chin, peering at him through the fringe of his slitted eyes.
The clock ticked on. Primordial elements as old as time surrounded them. And for reasons that Peter could not fully understand, he walked into a coffee shop one day and walked out with hope. A dangerous seed.
A force that could save the whole city. The world.
Maybe even his own soul.
The district attorney came to a stand, holding the mob boss in his stare. “You’re a free man, Peter,” Frank said. “What happens next is up to you.”
After another moment, he headed for the door. As soon as he placed his hand on the doorknob, he glanced back at the man who he owed his life. With a stone expression, Castle made one final plea.
“Whatever you do... Don’t let me catch you.”
It was half past noon when Honey walked into her modest apartment in the Theater District off 45th Street.
Flipping on the lights, she peered hesitantly inside. Stepping through the threshold felt like tumbling down a wormhole through time.
More or less, the studio apartment looked exactly the same as it did nearly a half-year ago, when she left for work at the coffee shop.
It was a bit tidier than how she’d left it—her cheetah print throw blanket neatly folded on the edge of her thrifted loveseat. The smell confirmed that all the perishable food had been discarded. An empty vase sat alone on a scuffed, white, gateleg table that was crammed into a corner of her kitchen. The daisies that it once held had wilted and been tossed long ago.
The world was alien to her. It was like walking through a dream, or onto a theater set piece constructed for a play about her life. These were the possessions of a person she didn’t know anymore.
“We had someone come by earlier with groceries,” a voice said from behind her. She turned as Karen Page strolled into the apartment wearing camel wide-leg wool trousers and a matching double-breasted blazer from The Row paired with Salvatore Ferragamo Vara-bow pumps. “A maid came in once a week to tidy up, but other than that everything should be as you left it.”
Honey blinked with wide eyes as she watched the strawberry-blonde haired woman breeze through her home—former home. She pulled a rolling carry-on case behind her filled with a small portion of Honey’s wardrobe. Karen came to a stop in the center of the apartment. With neatly manicured nails, she produced a keyring from her blazer pocket.
“New keys,” she explained, handing it over to Honey. “Any pertinent mail has been left for you on the counter. The new wifi password is on the sticky note next to it, along with your new cell phone number.”
She had almost forgotten. Honey reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the latest model of iPhone. She stared down at the foreign object queasily. This one had no spider decal, she noted.
“There’s also a debit card, too,” Karen explained methodically, as if reciting a monotonous dialogue. “New bank account information is in the folder. We’ve made a small deposit to compensate you for your troubles, at least until you find a new job. But you shouldn’t have any more problems from here on out.”
A few seconds of silence passed as Karen eyed the peeling paint on the walls. “Well. I’ll leave you to it, then,” she said, straightforward.
Honey’s eyes darted over to Karen as the woman turned to leave mouth “Wait!” she called out, her forehead creased and mouth hung agape. Karen stopped in front of the doorway. “Wait... is that it?” she said, dismayed.
Karen blinked her radiant blue eyes. “Was there something else you needed?”
Her nose crinkled at that. “What about Peter?” Honey said, almost in a demanding tone. “What happens to him?”
Karen cast her eyes to the floor, sighing uncomfortably. “I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for that.”
Honey glared at her crossly. “Well, can I at least talk to him—?”
“It would be best to limit contact at this time.” The pleasant formality of her voice made Honey want to punch her.
“For how long?” she scoffed.
Karen gazed at her for several moments of silence. Which continued on, until Honey realized that an answer wasn’t coming.
“We’ll be in touch,” Karen added gently.
As the woman stepped out into the tenement corridor, Honey nearly jolted after her. “Wait... M-Ms. Page?”
She waited.
“What do I do now?” she asked meekly. Her voice sounded timid to her own ears.
Karen stared back at her then lifted up one of her shoulders. “Whatever you want.”
And with that, Honey was left alone for the day.
And the next.
And the next.
And the next.
Continue to Epilogue
#Lizzy writes.#Lizzy writes! sugar and vice#peter parker x reader#peter parker x you#peter parker au#peter parker angst#dark peter parker#mob peter parker#Mafia peter parker#Mob spiderman#peter parker x oc#mafia au#mob au#spidermafia#tasm peter parker#tasm peter parker x reader#tasm peter parker x you#tasm peter parker x oc#andrew garfield au#andrew garfield peter parker x reader#andrew garfield spiderman#andrew garfield x reader#peter parker andrew garfield#andrew garfield#the amazing spider man#the amazing spiderman#Amazing spider man#spider man au#tasm au#tasm spiderman
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everyone should read the Silmarillion Among Us AU close encounters of the fourth (base) kind. I cannot recommend it enough. 38k; russingon with background canonical couples; porn with extensive plot; premise: Maedhros has just moved in with Fingon on Fingon’s-side-of-the-family’s spaceship, and is adjusting to that life (which includes several big and many little deaths). It has everything you could possibly want in a Silmarillion Among Us AU:
Creative and interesting xenobiology and xenopsychology, in a sexy way and just in an ‘aliens are neat’ way
Moral issues that make me genuinely uncomfortable
Quite good (hot) smut
I literally laughed out loud repeatedly
A significant period of the fic where you have to wonder if Finwë genuinely prioritizes the lives and happiness of one set of grandchildren over the other (while Maedhros decides Not To Think About It)
A much shorter sequel (5k) starring clone!Glorfindel
And most importantly of all, a basic premise which would INSTANTLY start a fight in late YT Tirion!
Excerpt 1:
Fingon reaches past him and Maedhros nearly startles at the sound of the door sliding closed, close enough behind him he can feel the pressure of the air displacing on his back.
Cornered, some part of his mind yelps, nervous. Predator, another part points out wryly, already resigned to the reality of shacking up with an alien with active prey instincts. Fingon, most of him sighs in strange, newfound contentment at having this latest addition to his tiny circle of loved ones practically cuddled up into his space.
Excerpt 2:
“You know,” Argon interjects again, longsuffering, “maybe we wouldn’t know so much about your ‘sexcapades’ if you just kept it to the bedroom like literally everyone else on the ship.”
“Oh, that is a blatant lie!” Fingon scoffs. “If you knew where Turvo and Elenwë used to—”
“Okay!” Turgon calls over from the next table, “maybe we should just change the subject!”
“What’s this ‘we’ you speak of, you aren’t even involved in this conversation,” Fingon calls back. “Stop eavesdropping!”
“If our names get mentioned, we’re involved!” Turgon insists. “Honey, tell them.”
Elenwë twists in her seat to look at them properly, expression supremely judgmental. “You don’t get to claim you’ve had epic sexcapades until you’ve made love in the captain’s chair. You’re like babies to me.”
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𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧
BASICS
name: laura
pronouns: she/they
zodiac sign: aquarius
taken or single: single
THREE FACTS
one: i'm using my go-to ice breaker ones because i'm not creative. i did gymnastics for 16 years
two: i haven't eaten meat in over a decade
three: i can read french really well
EXPERIENCE
platforms used: i've only used tumblr
plotting / winging it / memes: i always say memes, and i do think they're perfect for ice-breakers and for trying out new combinations that maybe you hadn't thought about until you found a meme that just Works. i really love sending memes, too. i feel at my most creative sometimes there. BUT. i am definitely starting to see the value in plotting or at the very least having an idea of what a dynamic is like / development to help answer memes easier
MUSE PREFERENCE
gender: so many of my muses are nonbinary. hope that helps.
multi or single muse: multi. i like having a place where i can just Be. i might have muses that dominate this blog over others, but I'm not much of a single blog person
least favourite fcs: i don't tend to really...put too much weight on fcs. i do cringe a little at dianna argon bc of a previous group rp char. sorry
FLUFF / ANGST / SMUT
fluff: i have definitely found the value in fluff and do find that i am very into it at times. esp chars that have never really experienced fluff before, i find that it's something that's so important to me. i think i can get swept up in how angst helps development (see below) but fluff absolutely can, too! how do these chars respond to fluff situations, what are the components needed for them to trust and give in to it, when does this stoic char completely melt, how do they respond to kindness/love/fun. so yeah i've def become team fluff over the years let those chars be sappy in love. let them go out and enjoy fun things. there's so much Bad and finding good in the bad is soooo fun to me.
angst: yeah <3 angst is just gritty and let's me really dig into chars and their thoughts and a good angst plot just gets the muse flowing and really helps push development and stories along imo
smut: it gives me the ick and will not be written xo. absolutely no shade to people who like it / like writing it just def not the blog for that!
tagged by: @bruiseeasily
tagging: you
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So I sent this earlier but I just got a notification that it didn't go through so if you see two of these then rip, that being said Happy birthday!!!!! I hope you have a wonderful day! My Friday smut submission for you is who do you think would be interested/into their s/o deciding to 'milk them dry' (keep having sex until they're dry cumming)? Thanky and again have a lovely and restful day 💜
THIS IS RIGHT UP MY ALLY!!
Ok so-
Amros
Elrohir
Lindir
Maeglin
Beleg
Rumil
Meludir
Finrod
Argon
Penlod
Finarfin
Elrond
Celebrimbor
Please for the love of god use them like their bodies are spank banks and swipe their dicks like debit cards
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NSFW
Amongst the elves who are
The ass admirers
The breast appreciation club members
The thigh treasure hoarders
And the belly enthusiasts
So sorry I took this long to answer your question. Okay, hear we go. There were so many elves to point out in this >.<
Ass admirers
𑁍 Fëanor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Fingon, Angrod, Egalmoth, Beleg, Elladan, Gil Galad
Breast appreciation club members
𑁍 Fëanor, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod, Celebrimbor, Fingon, Turgon, Argon, Finarfin, Aegnor, Glorfindel, Ecthelion, Galdor, Elrond, Elrohir, Erestor
Thigh/Legs treasure hoarders
𑁍 Celegorm, Amras, Celebrimbor, Fingolfin, Fingon, Finrod, Thingol, Beleg, Glorfindel, Ecthelion, Rog, Egalmoth, Elladan, Gil Galad
Belly enthusiasts
𑁍 Maedhros, Celegorm, Turgon, Finarfin, Finrod, Egalmoth, Rog, Thingol
#📭{question}#silm smut#elrond#thingol#egalmoth#rog#fingolfin#finarfin#elladan#finrod#turgon#maglor#celegorm#maedhros#argon#fingon#aegnor#beleg
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Late
Genre: smut
Warnings/ Kinks: surface sex, degredation, oral, rough sex
Length: short :(
A/N: girl I’m sorry it’s been in my drafts for idk how long and I just want it out I’m sorry ugh have a broken lil shitty thing that doesn’t have all the juicy part but it would have if I wasn’t such a lil bitch!
You lied to Junho about going out. You promised your friends you would party with them one last time before one of your girlfriends left for another state. So you snuck out of the house before he could come home. When you came back you thought you had made it back before he did. Relieved that he was working late you quickly changed out of your dress and took a quick shower. Throwing on a t shirt and leggings you decided to head downstairs and fix yourself something to eat. Entering the kitchen you opened the fridge to look for some food. You hear someone clear their throat and jump to see Junho seated in one of the chairs at the table
“Jesus Junho, you scared me.” you said shutting the fridge. “How long have you been sitting there?”
“You’re home late.” he spat. You gulped watching the look in his eyes.
“What do you mean?” you ask innocently. Junho shifts forward in his seat resting his hand on the table. Through the dimly lit kitchen you can see his gaze on you. “You came home two hours ago. I heard you come in and I heard your friends call out to you before they sped off. I could tell you were all drunk. So, where were you?”
“I was out with friends. We went out to dinner and-” you trailed off as Junho slowly stood up and made his way towards you. You backed into the counter.
“Don’t lie to me slut” he hissed the last word. Your heart sped up and you felt a damp spot in your underwear. Junho wrapped your hair, gently around his finger at first and then grabbed a fistful from the back and pulled hard. You yelped at the sudden harshness. Your eyes met with Junho’s. They were dark, his brows were furrowed and his jaw was tight. “You know what happens when you lie. If you tell the truth I might go easy on you tonight.”
You gulped. You could tell that he knew you were lying. However you still had the marks from his last punishment he gave you when you were lying and you weren’t ready for another. You thought you could get away with it this time. You just had to change your tone. “Don’t be so fucking rough. I told you I was out with friends, god.”
He let go of your hair and gripped your jaw in his hand squeezing it slightly. “Drop the attitude slut.” he hissed through his teeth. Whether or not he believed you didn’t matter now because you were in for it. “I guess I’ll just have to force the truth out of you.” He smirked for a quick second, and your eyes widened as he slipped his hand down into your panties and began roughly rubbing your clit. “You smell like alcohol and cologne. Where was this dinner?” he asked his eyes boring holes right through you.
Your eyes darted around the kitchen not wanting to look into Junho’s eyes. He wasn’t normally so rough with your clit like this, he was always so gentle with the sensitive parts of your body but tonight you must’ve really pissed him off. He was rubbing your clit so rough you seriously thought it was gonna fall off. You bucked your hips into his thumb and reached over to grab his hand. “baby, please-”
“I see you had enough time to change out of that slutty dress huh? So which club was it? Or perhaps it was a bar? How many guys did you flirt with? How many drinks did you accept from the guys there?” With each question he rubbed your clit even harder.
“baby please.” you whined. You gripped the edges of the counter for support. Your clit was throbbing in pain.
“I see why you wore a dress. Pants always get in the way.” you gasped at Kain roughly slipped both your pants and panties off helping you step out of them. He looked up at you from where he knelt down on the floor. “You should see the view from down here slut. I can see you getting wet and I’ve just barely touched you. He stood up and picked you up off the floor setting you on the counter. He grabbed your knees and yanked your legs apart causing you to scream.
“Stop being so fucking rough, the men at the club weren’t that rou-” you quickly cut yourself off realizing that you slipped. Grinning in the most unsettling way you’ve ever seen from him he grabbed your wrists and held them both above your head against the cupboards.
“Don’t you dare close your legs.” he said before sticking his first two fingers into you. You closed your eyes ready for the torture but it didn’t happen. It didn’t happen. You opened your eyes and saw him just looking at you smirking. He had his fingers in you and that was it. It was silent for a long time, just him grinning at you. The longer you stared at his grin the more scared you were.
Then he dropped the grin. “What’s the matter princess?” The way he said princess was not sweet at all, it had a darker undertone. “Are you scared of me now? Don’t be afraid. It’s not like I’m some strange man you met at a club.” You glared at him which caused him to smile. Then in a quick second he went from sighing to pumping his two fingers in and out of you as fast as he could.
#argon#kain#baek junho#no i swear is does not have the same name as zuho ok#i swear#i just call him kain#ugh now that he's a dancer for epipen tho i just can't stop thinking about having him bone you against a mirror after his practice ahhhhh#kain shut#hes so sexy#argon fanfics#argon smut#kain fanfics#kain smut#baek junho fanfics#baek junho smut#kpop fanfics#kpop smut#fanfics#smut#please hes a fav daddy ugh
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your second cym ;D
cym as other mutuals???
Oh God why is cym this hard????
@herondalesunsetcurve as @kitandtyarelife your smuts smh
@ganseys-jane as @adams-left-hand honestly, so emo
@buttcrflys-rose as @im-someone-i-guess so nice
@ghafa-dale as @haline-of-troy great to talk to!
@darkshadowqueensrule as @blackasmysoul you are literally soulmates
@our-insentient-touches as @chrysalism-sonder my talented fantasy writers
@like-we-are-made-of-starlightt14 as @the-good-ones-argon so cool
@revvs-trash as @queen-born-out-of-fire the chaos babies
Alright, that's it!
Thanks for the ask sephy❤️
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I’m obsessed with the elves from Silmarillion book (which are from middle-earth 😂) I was thinking of doing a series of one-shot of them. They will be smut, angsts, fluff, etc.
What do you guys think? Are you interested?
Most of the stories will be a Disability!Reader, like blind!reader, paraplegic!reader, amputee!reader, depressed!reader and etc (Because everyone deserves happiness😊). You could send a request or give me more ideas.
//
Characters:
The Valar
Manwë x Reader
Melkor x Reader
Mandos x Reader
Nienna x Reader
Tulkas x Reader
Yavanna x Reader
Lórien x Reader
Varda x Reader
Oromë x Reader
House Of Fëanor
Fëanor x Reader
Maedhros x Reader
Maglor x Reader
Celegorm x Reader
Curufin x Reader
Caranthir x Reader
Amras x Reader
Amrod x Reader
House of Fingolfin
Fingolfin x Reader
Fingon x Reader
Turgon x Reader
Aredhel x Reader
Argon x Reader
House of Finarfin
Finarfin x Reader
Finrod x Reader
Angrod x Reader
Aegnor x Reader
Others Characters
Glorfindel x Reader
Ecthelion x Reader
Thingol x Reader
Beleg x Reader
Maeglin x Reader
Ororpher x Reader
Mairon x Reader
Tuor x Reader
Dior x Reader
So these are the character!
Masterlist!
Request Here!
Also, taglist is open!
XOXO
#The Silmarillion#Silmarillion fanfiction#house of feanor#house of fingolfin#house of finarfin#elves#middle earth#middle earth imagine#middle earth x reader#x reader#arda#the valar#eru iluvatar#fanfic#fantasy#hobbit fanfiction#lotr fanfic#lord of the rings#the hobbit#glorfindel#maglor#glorfindel x reader#glorfindel fanfic#feanor x reader#feanor fanfic#maedhros fanfic#tolkien#JRR Tolkien#masterlist
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17 >:)
17. Opinions on smut?
Going right for the fucking throat, huh? Lol.
I think it’s sad that romance/erotica gets considered the “trash” genre when just as much effort goes into writing it as everything else. Unless it’s Sandra Hill, in which case it’s Eye of Argon levels of bad a lot of the time and impossible to read without cackling like a hyena.
#don't actually read sandra hill#do not encourage this woman#too many time traveling viking marines have been sacrificed already
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I Sulfur When You Argon
by SequoiaLane
Purgatory University AU
Waverly is on a mission to lose her virginity on Valentines Day.
Words: 1657, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Fandoms: Wynonna Earp - Fandom
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: F/F
Characters: Waverly Earp, Nicole Haught
Relationships: Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught, Waverly Earp & Nicole Haught
Additional Tags: Consensual Sex, mature - Freeform, Valentines Day One Shot, One Shot, No Plot, Porn Without Plot, Loss of Virginity, Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught Smut, Purgatory Uni, AU, WayHaught Au, wayhaught oneshot, valentines day, Title is just a bad pun, Waverly Earp is a horny virgin, Nicole to the rescue, Science Nerd Waverly, nerdy Waverly, Nerd!Waverly, Jock!Nicole
source http://archiveofourown.org/works/22722970
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I Sulfur When You Argon
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/37olBsx
by SequoiaLane
Purgatory University AU
Waverly is on a mission to lose her virginity on Valentines Day.
Words: 1657, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Fandoms: Wynonna Earp - Fandom
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: F/F
Characters: Waverly Earp, Nicole Haught
Relationships: Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught, Waverly Earp & Nicole Haught
Additional Tags: Consensual Sex, mature - Freeform, Valentines Day One Shot, One Shot, No Plot, Porn Without Plot, Loss of Virginity, Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught Smut, Purgatory Uni, AU, WayHaught Au, wayhaught oneshot, valentines day, Title is just a bad pun, Waverly Earp is a horny virgin, Nicole to the rescue, Science Nerd Waverly, nerdy Waverly, Nerd!Waverly, Jock!Nicole
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/37olBsx
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Take This Job (and shove it out the airlock) Chapter 3
Exit Interview
Title: Exit Interview [entire fic x]
Square: K3 - alien planet
Warning: Space travel, anal sex, infinity stone
Pairing: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes
Summary: Captain America was down there, in the ice. Tony and Bucky are going to get him, or die trying. Tony’s not so keen on the dying part.
Link: A03
Word Count: 2,176
“Here,” Bucky said, tapping the tiny little nav chart and blowing up the destination. Some destination, if you were interested in seas of near-frozen argon and a toxic atmosphere that could corrode most ship plating in about ten minutes.
“Yeah, well, at least you have an accurate drop-point,” Tony said. “The less time we spend here, the better.”
“How long can we spend there?”
“Theoretically, about eighteen minutes,” Tony said. “But in actual facts, you are not going anywhere. You are going to keep the pod at the lagrange point so that I can have a speedy extraction. Dive straight down, hook onto Cap’s pod, grab the Tesseract if I can find it, and haul jets out. That’s the plan, we get one chance, one attempt.”
Tony didn’t specifically say that he was trusting Bucky with both their lives, because Bucky knew it. If Bucky so much as moved the ship a mile from the extraction point, Tony was going to die.
On the plus side, it wasn’t going to hurt for long.
Steve was probably not going to die, but he was still going to be stuck down there, and so Tony was hoping that was enough leverage. Because really, the pod’s autonav wasn’t that great. The kind of Weather that came from these uninhabitable crappy little balls of incomplete rock were beyond its capacity to reason out.
Mostly because sane people didn’t come to these sorts of places, so there weren’t really a lot of records to study and emulate.
Anyway--
“Plot in the course,” he told Bucky. “The trip’ll take a few hours with this dinky little hyperdrive, so I’m going to have a last shower, a last meal, and a last nap.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow. “It’s gonna take four hours, you honestly think you can sleep?”
Tony had slept under worse conditions. “You have a better idea?”
“If we’re plannin’ our last Will an’ Testament, then yeah, I got a better idea.”
(More below the cut)
[smut]
Tony would never have imagined that Bucky could kiss like that. Or maybe it wasn’t that he couldn’t imagine it, it was that he hadn’t previously done so. It was deep, devouring, devoted. A lot of D words. It took Tony’s brain a second to realize what was going on, reboot into action mode, and get with the damn program, but in that time, Bucky had peeled his own shirt off and was working on the buttons to Tony’s without waiting for so much as a yes, a please, or anything.
Tony’s arms went around Bucky’s neck, running smoothly on autopilot, and his hand speared into that dark hair. It wasn’t love at first sight, Tony told himself. It wasn’t even lust at second glance. It was sheer survival instinct. Copulating either just before, or just after, a near death experience.
It was fine, it was good, and God, Bucky tasted like wine and promises, his tongue sweeping into Tony’s mouth possessively. Tony surrendered unconditionally, gave himself over to the moment. That was always his way, to leap first and look later. Sometimes you gotta run before you can crawl.
One warm hand, one chilly metal hand were on Tony’s hips, tugging him closer until he could feel the definitive pressure of Bucky’s interest. Tony’s heart was trotting along in his chest, obedient to the pace-maker and power source that kept him alive. It was always a strange feeling; he should be out of breath, he should have a racing pulse. And it seemed odd that he didn’t; but the hormone dump was happening anyway, waves of desire and eagerness coming over him in steady pulses.
“How about it, is this a better idea?”
“Maybe,” Tony whispered, because he couldn’t resist being an asshole whenever possible.
“Maybe,” Bucky repeated, grinding on Tony’s thigh and smirking when Tony answered that with a needy moan. “Maybe, he says.”
“Well, I’d just be using you for sex,” Tony explained, flippant, and possibly lying. He wasn’t sure. It’d been a long time for him, out on the Rim of Known Space, where any lover could have been an assassin.
This one, he thought, was one. Honesty. It was novel.
“Think I’ll survive,” Bucky said. “Ain’t a wilting flower.”
Tony slid his hand down the front of Bucky’s pants. “I’d say you’re not, at least.”
Bucky rocked into the touch, groaning.
“Still, this is probably a bad idea,” Tony said, which didn’t keep him from rubbing his palm against Bucky’s length, stroking and teasing and feeling himself getting hard, getting ready. “Attachment can cloud your judgement. You might make a stupid mistake, if you let yourself like me.”
Bucky found Tony’s ear, nipped at the shell, lavished it with warm breath, nipped at the lobe. “So tell me no.”
“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” Tony said. “What I’m about to tell you is more, faster, harder.”
“I can do that,” Bucky said, and Tony found himself backed up the few steps until his knees hit the tiny bunk, and then he was pushed down on it. Bucky pushed himself into the vee of Tony’s thighs, rutting down against him, rubbing. Sweet friction, with sharp nips of his teeth against Tony’s neck, shoulder. “Like that?”
“More,” Tony said, and struggled to get his pants undone. They shifted and squirmed around, cursing the lack of space, the number of snaps, the sharp corners that seemed to find elbows and knees to catch at, but eventually enough nudity happened that they could curl together in the bunk, skin to skin.
Bucky stroked his skin, licked at his body, as if he already knew everything that Tony wanted, as if he’d done this a hundred times before. He touched, rubbing with just the right amount of friction, teased with just the right amount of amused cruelty, until they were both aching for it, needy and sweating and thrusting at each other.
Tony dug around in the bedside cabinet, thinking he would curse Fury with a lifetime supply of bad food and decaf if there wasn’t-- ah, there, lube, thank the stars.
“Roll over,” Tony ordered, and Bucky was keen enough to obey. Tony ran a hand down his body, livid scars and thick muscle. Beautiful, really. Like a map of the stars. Tony straddled him, his knees bracketing Bucky’s hips, rubbing them together. “You want to do this, or let me get us ready quick?”
“You,” Bucky said, his blue eyes all but black with lust-shot dilation. “Wanna watch, you do it, baby.”
“I’m just using you for sex,” Tony reminded him, his mouth twitching up in a sardonic smirk.
“So use me already.”
Tony lubed up his fingers and reached between his legs to start the process. Wet and stretch. He wasn’t gentle with himself, he didn’t take time to build up to it. He wanted, and he wanted it now, so now was what he was getting. He was almost grateful that Bucky’d refused the offer to tease him, even if they would learn each other better that way. Or maybe not. Maybe those soft, sniper’s eyes of his were memorizing everything that Tony did, every movement he made, ever sound that came out of his throat.
Didn’t matter. Soon enough, Tony was balanced over Bucky’s hips, hands planted on his chest, lowering himself onto Bucky’s cock.
They moved together, slick and slow. The liquid sound of their lovemaking filled the small cabin. Sometimes Bucky moaned, sometimes Tony gasped, and it kept going, thrusts and slides, the way they moved together, the way they were together.
Dreamy, languid, hot and slick, Tony lost himself in it, moving as if the whole goal was to move, to belong, to be with someone else. And not just someone, but that specific person. As if he’d lived his entire life for these few precious moments.
When pressure built, a tingle in his hips, a clenching of his thighs, curling of his toes, Tony was almost surprised.
Like he’d forgotten where all of this could lead.
Bucky was breathing harder, hips snapping up to meet Tony’s, his hands digging in, fingers tight on Tony’s thighs, and--
Tony shuddered all over and clenched, everything building to one pinprick of white hot, molten pleasure, before he gasped, quivered, and came, spurting over Bucky’s chest, dripping along his side, spilling onto the bed.
Beneath him, Bucky thrust up, again, the tight, hot feel of it almost too much, and then he was crying out, too, their sounds and screams intermingled into a song of wanton joy.
Tony collapsed onto him, trying to pant for breath and his chest aching when the modifications to his heart and lungs wouldn’t let him.
But it was okay. They could rest here, for a while.
They could rest.
Bucky chuckled after a while, petting Tony’s hair fondly. “I’m jus’ using you for sex,” he told Tony.
Tony managed to lift his head and give Bucky a not-particularly noteworthy glare. “Best news I’ve heard all day. When do you plan to use me again?”
[end smut]
Tony hooked the space-cable up to the coffin-like sleep capsule. He’d already checked and double checked. Cap was alive, in perfect hibernation. “Rogers is ready for transport,” he reported.
“Copy that,” Bucky’s voice filtered down to him through miles of space, atmosphere, under tons of ocean. “Seven minutes, eighteen seconds remaining on my mark. And mark.”
“No sign of the tesseract. Are we sure it’s down here?”
“It’s presumed. Five minutes, Tony, that’s all we can spare.”
“I’m looking, I’m looking. You got any readings for me on unusual energy output?”
“Everything on that ice ball is a fucking unusual energy output,” Bucky complained. “This shit’s wreaking havoc with our systems. Pretty lights and sounds, but useless.”
“Going to have to do it the old fashioned way, then,” Tony said. “Grope around and hope I get lucky.”
Tony searched, even as hard as it was to move under the sea, as cold as he was -- and he knew that the liquid around him was even colder -- and as dark as it was. He was pretty sure he’d read something, somewhere, about the tesseract glowing, so he should be able to see it, if he just got close enough.
“Four minutes, Tony.”
He looked under the pilot’s chair, around Cap’s fridge unit, in corners where it might have drifted in the tide.
“Three minutes.”
“Copy that.”
He half-swam, half pushed his way into the second bay, even darker with no windows to catch the glow of the primary, so far away.
“Two minutes, Tony, go back to the capsule.”
“I hear you.”
“Tony!”
“Wait, wait, I’ve got it,” Tony said, seeing a glimmer of blue, impossibly far away. He’d never make it and make it back in time, but-- he had to try, didn’t he? If he didn’t get it, he was as good as dead in less than a month anyway, right?
“One minute, Tony, turn around!”
“I told you not to get attached.”
“Tony, please!”
Tony’s hand closed on the cube, which flared to life and awareness in his hands.
“Haul him up, Barnes,” Tony said, staring at the device in his hands, the sheer power of it shaking him all the way down to his core. “I can’t get back, you have to save one life.”
“Tony--”
Tony touched his ear, turning off the comm unit.
“Show me,” he said to the tesseract, twisting the cube and letting the stone inside it float in mid air near him. “Show me everything.”
Tony almost didn’t make it in time; the suit’s integrity was showing at less than three percent when he finally made the Space Stone take him where he needed it to, just inside the airlock.
He stepped through the portal, a rip in the fabric of space, just in time to see Bucky, standing over Cap’s pod, slam that metal fist into the reinforced wall.
“Uh, can I convince you not to compromise hull integrity?” Tony wondered, letting the helmet dissolve and gasping for air.
“Tony, you son of a bitch, what the hell?” And then Tony was being hugged too hard to explain. “Stars, you’re cold--”
Bucky pulled away, already shivering.
“Yeah, it’s not comfortable down there,” Tony said. “Luckily, I found a faster way to travel.” He held up the cube with the Space Stone tucked back neatly inside.
“Is, uh… that--”
“Yep.”
“So, now we can travel to anywhere in the universe?”
“In seconds.”
“Great. Because Steve needs a doctor,” Bucky said, nodding slowly, like he was planning out a route. “And I need a great deal of Asgardian meade. And then we need a really nice, big bed.”
“Still just using me for sex?”
“Once you warm up a bit,” Bucky said.
“Sounds like an agenda,” Tony replied. “I think I can rig this into the hyperdrive as a temporary measure.”
“I’ll get you a cup of coffee and let you get to work,” Bucky said.
“I think I might be using you for more than just sex,” Tony said, reverently.
“Best news I’ve heard all day.”
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Hi Mina!!
For elves and or Ainur… most to least likely to engage in cat x mouse style chase, or <bite back> at S/O who likes to play with fire(figurative) ?
Nsfw or fluff(or both) at your discretion~
I just love seeing your interpretations.
I hope this wasn’t too open ended in who, sometimes you have random assortment but others are specific houses.. wasnt sure how to put this one.
a/n: Which elf doesn't enjoy a game of cat and mouse. The size difference between us would feel as though any simple game is a chase 😂. I believe I did this with the Ainur already, so elves for this round (NSFW)
The game is on. You're getting a countdown and headstart by an entire five minutes before they come searching for you. Your heart is racing, blood pounding and your insides turning at the revelation of what they'll do once they caught you. You want to be caught, but you want to prove to them how great you were at playing the game. You could feel them gaining on you, the faint breaths and lips ghosting your skin. Your time was running out and if they caught you right where they wished for you to be, you became their meal. “I hope you know that I'm famished right now...so if I took a bite, you'll forgive me. Sample a meal before devouring is important.”
FEANOR, CELEGORM, Caranthir, Amrod, Amras, Celebrimbor, FINGON, Argon, ANGROD, Aegnor, GLORFINDEL, Galdor, ROG, Maeglin, BELEG, ELLADAN, Gil Galad
They are chill about the entire gameplay. Chasing you they are, but silently stalking like the professional predator they were known as. You could see the hunger and lust glinting in their eyes and glittering under the dim light. Wine glass to their lips, they look your way and you fold. No words but they're hunting, no touch but they're winning and no growl but they've pounced and claimed you. The game was over before it started, you were bound to lose. No helpless bunny like yourself was escaping their claws. “Tired of running bunny, can't hop anymore? Come on now, you know I like my prey feisty. Give me a good fight before I make you mine.”
Maedhros, MAGLOR, Curufin, FINGOLFIN, Turgon, FINARFIN, Finrod, ECTHELION, EGALMOTH, THINGOL, Elrohir, ELROND, Erestor
#reactions#silm smut#erestor x reader#elrohir x reader#egalmoth x reader#finrod x reader#turgon x reader#curufin x reader#maedhros x reader#elladan x reader#maeglin x reader#galdor x reader#aegnor x reader#argon x reader#celebrimbor x reader#amrod x reader#celegorm x reader#doodlepops responds
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