#blooming violets fic
Note
private #5 bent over a table while somethings baking in the oven. is it too much to ask for tasm peter parker bending reader over?
[location based smut prompts]
The To-Do List
[tasm peter x fem!reader]
(reader is described as having a ponytail that is long enough for Peter to wrap around his hand and use as leverage)
His birthday cake was nestled happily inside the heated oven.
She got up early to make it for his special day. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail to keep out of her face while she had prepped and she was still in her pajamas from this morning. She had planned to have the cake in the oven, get her shower done, and place out his presents on the table all before he woke up.
Peter, of course, had other ideas.
He leaned against the kitchen doorway with a lopsided grin as he sleepily took in the sight of her. She paused when she saw him there, silent as ever, and crossed her arms.
“You are not supposed to be awake for another hour,” she chastised.
Thirty-five looked good on him. Every year he seemed to get more and more handsome.
His eye wrinkles grew as his smile widened. A strand of dark hair fell down his forehead and he absentmindedly brushed it away. He was shirtless with nothing but a pair of dark boxers to keep him decent.
She admired how defined his chest was. A hinting of his six pack was peeking out from just under the surface of his lean body.
“I smelled cake.” His voice was thick and scratchy with lingering sleep. Peter’s morning voice was one the sexiest sounds she’d ever heard.
She smiled as she rolled her eyes. It had hardly been in the oven for more than five minutes and it was already enough to get him out of bed.
“The kitchen is a mess. I was going to clean it all up and have your presents out and I was going to be all dressed up and looking extra cute. You ruined it all with your stupid nose.”
Peter laughed as he strode across the room to slip his arms around her waist. She looked up to admire him and wiped at a staining of toothpaste still clinging to the side of his lips. She caught it with her thumb and shoved it back into his mouth while he licked it off.
“You already look extra cute,” he mumbled around her thumb.
“I’m literally wearing your old, hole filled shirt and bright pink fluffy pants. This is not how I wanted you to see me this morning. It’s your birthday. I wanted it to be special.” She tugged her thumb back with a huff.
Peter stepped back to appreciate her outfit in the morning light. She had already been in bed by the time he crawled through their window last night.
“I like it,” he stated. “It’s hipster.”
She let out a laugh in response, “I don’t think you know what hipster means, babe.”
Peter shrugged, “It means you dress like a bum, right?”
“Oh my god, why don’t you go back to bed and try this again in an hour when everything is all set up, okay?”
“No,” he whined. He latched himself onto her back, snaking his arms tightly around her stomach to press her against him. “I’m up. It’s my birthday. Say happy birthday to me and tell me you love me.”
She grinned, snuggling back against his bare chest, “Happy birthday and I love you.”
“That sounded insincere but I will take it.” His hand slipped up under her loose shirt to cup a warm hand over her breast, lazily palming it while he nibbled at the edge of her ear. He always liked the feeling of her nipple coming to life and growing harder against his hand. He held onto her chest like one might cling to the safety of a favorite stuffed animal.
She groaned, “Your presents were supposed to be all set out nicely on the table. Instead you’re just greeted with a kitchen disaster of my cake baking. Are you sure you don’t want to sleep for another hour? I know you’re tired from last night. You were out late.”
Peter began to slowly waddle them back and forth towards the kitchen table, refusing to release his grip from around her waist or remove his hand from her breast, “I know of a present I can unwrap right here…”
She gasped under her breath, “Peter. This is no time. I’ve got a list of things to do.”
She felt him laugh quietly against her ear.
“Yeah and I’ve got a list of things to do, too. A whole list. Let’s see what the first thing to do is…” he pretended like he was reading off an imaginary piece of paper as he checked it over. “Ah, yes!”
He slipped his hands out from her shirt and placed a gentle hand between her shoulder blades to bend her over the kitchen table. With a quick swoop, he tugged down both her pants and underwear, leaving them hanging around her ankles. She let out a shocked cry.
“Unwrap presents…check!” He chuckled to himself, giving her bare ass a soft slap. “And what a beautiful present it is. Couldn’t have asked for anything better. Wow, you really know me, baby, I’m super impressed.”
“Peter,” she whined, pushing herself back up. “Not fair. I haven’t showered. I’ve got to get ready. I’ve-”
He cut her off with a kiss. His lips crashed against her and his tongue forced its way into her mouth to stop her from trying to protest further. She could taste the mint from his toothpaste still clinging to his tongue and she moaned as he pressed his hips into hers. He was growing harder by the second.
“Shut up,” he mumbled against her lips with a smile. “My birthday. My rules.”
“Okay,” she said with a dreamy sigh. It wasn’t hard to convince her. Her complaints were more for show than anything else. If Peter wanted her, he had her. “I love you, Pete.”
“If you love me so much then why don’t you take off that shirt so I can see my second present.”
She did as she was told, stripping it from her body, until she was standing naked before him. The bulge in his boxers twitched which made her smile. She loved the fact that she could make him so hard from sight alone.
Peter’s hand reached out to brush a calloused thumb across her hardened nipple, “Beautiful.”
He lifted her up onto the table so she was sitting closer to him and he moved between her legs. They wrapped around him so she could feel the heat of him soaking through his boxers and against her pussy. His eyes traveled down to her chest, taking in the sight, and sighing happily. His head dipped down so he could capture the waiting bud between his wet lips.
She let out a satisfied moan and ran her fingers through the back of his hair while suckled on her. His tongue bathed her breast, teeth nipping at her nipple, and soothing it over with quick kisses and light sucking motions. His mouth was magic. He didn’t even need to touch her pussy for her to already be soaking through his boxers as she ground against him.
“Feel that?” He groaned, bucking his hips. “Feel how hard I am?”
She whimpered.
“All for you,” he whispered, finding her lips once more to kiss her deeply.
All for her.
It was his birthday. She should probably be getting down on his knees for him and sucking him off or tending to him in some way but she was nothing but putty in his hands. Lost in the feeling of seduction he was casting over her.
Peter dragged her down off the table, smirking at the wet spot she had left behind, and spun her around. He folded her back in half over the table, scraping his nails down the length of her spine and over the swell of her ass.
“The next thing on my to-do list,” he breathed, his voice low and deep. “Is you.”
She heard him discarding his boxers and suddenly felt the wet, hot tip of cock slide up her open folds. She was more than ready for him. He never had to do much to have her begging for more. Her hips grinded against the air as if trying to draw him in closer but he only continued to tease her with the tip.
“Someone’s eager,” he commended, giving her ass another slap.
“Peter, please,” she gasped.
He kept up his tantalizing torture. Every time his cock bumped over her aching clit, her hips would jerk backwards, and she’d let out a quiet cry.
“Please what?” He asked with an air of innocence.
She groaned at his teasing, “Please fuck me! I want you to fuck me.”
“Aww,” he cooed. “Does my poor baby need my cock?”
She whined and nodded.
“You got up so early, didn’t you?” His nails dragged along her hips, making her squirm, as she humped frantically in an attempt to get at his cock. “You got up early to make my birthday so special. You baked me a cake. It smells amazing, doesn’t it? Smell it, baby.”
Her eyes widened in frustration, “Peter! Fuck me! Please, stop it.”
He ignored her pleas, getting off of them, as his cock twitched between her thighs, “Did you slip that cake into the oven just for me?”
She was nearly sobbing from her own arousal, ready to attack him if he didn’t shut up and fuck her soon. She arched her back to better entice him, wagging her ass and rubbing it against his hips. She pushed herself up with her arms so he could get a peeking view of her tits swaying in wait for him.
That seemed to do the trick because he had gone silent as he stared.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “Happy birthday to me.”
“I want it hard, Peter. Use me,” she whispered in an effort to finally push him over the edge. “I’m yours.”
He lined up his cock to her entrance and eased himself inside. She nearly doubled over against the table at the delicious feeling that flooded through her body.
“Yes, yes, thank you, baby, thank you,” she cried.
“You really love this cock, don’t you?” He breathed. “Do you love this cock more than me?”
“No, baby, never. I could never-”
He pulled out and rammed the full, thick length back into her with a loud slap.
She shrieked, falling forward into a flurry of mumbled moans, “I do, I do, I do. I love it more than you. I love it more than anything.” Tears pricked in her eyes from the overwhelming sensations taking over.
Peter chuckled to himself, “That’s my girl.”
Her ass slapped against his body with each plunging drive of his cock as he took her. Fast and hard, just like she asked. Every thrust felt like it was reverberating through her, waking up all her senses, making her feel more alive than ever before. It was sheer bliss. Anticipation already began to build. He knew exactly how hard to take her. Peter could be rough but he never went past her limits. He knew her inside and out. He knew just where to push her before retreating back to safety. The sounds of her tumbling moans and each inhale of breath was all he needed to direct his path.
He was filling her body, stretching her, taking her, building her up to that beautiful place of divinity. Her nails clawed at the table, scratching at the wood, trying to find some kind of purchase to steady herself with.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Peter!” She cried.
“That’s it, baby,” he panted. “I got you. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
He wrapped her ponytail around his hand and jerked her head upwards. She arched her back to accommodate the move as he held her against him. She could feel his ragged breaths against her cheek and listened to his erotic panting in her ear. The sound was enough to almost send her flying straight into an orgasm.
The hand not keeping a tight hold of her ponytail wrapped around her to grab at her chest. He molded her breast between strong hands.
She loved taking his cock. Loved it so deep. Thrusting. Hard. Stretching her. Forcing her to take him. Peter was thick. Thickest man she had ever been with. He pushed her walls to their max. His beautiful body and the sounds he made when he fucked her where like heaven to her ears.
That familiar, sensual pressure began to grow inside of her with shallow waves lapping at the edges of her mind. Soon they would turn into giant swells. Taking her over until it was all she could feel.
His hand slipped from her ponytail to wrap around her neck. He gave a gentle squeeze. Nothing too forceful but enough to send her flying even faster towards that tsunami of pleasure. She was so close. So ready.
“Harder, Peter,” she sobbed. “Hard. Please. I’m-I’m…close…need it hard. Take me.”
Peter was never to deny a request like that. He shoved her back over the table and tumbled on top of her, humping frantically with long, heavy strokes into her cunt. He could feel her walls tightening. He could feel her body changing.
“Come on, baby,” he urged her. “Cum on my cock. Cum for me. Let me feel you.”
The universe exploded into blinding light.
She didn’t care how loud she was. Didn’t care if the neighbors would hear. In fact, she wanted them to. She wanted them to know exactly how well Peter Parker could fuck his woman.
Her toes curled and her legs kicked up as the sensory overload rocketed through her with golden waves of pure dopamine.
Peter took her straight to the edge and held her there, spasming and sobbing, as he continued to fuck her through the orgasm. Even as the waves slowly receded, they still lingered in tiny aftershocks, due to his relentless pounding. He had gotten her where she needed to be and now it was his turn.
He reangled himself into her, getting a better grip as he held onto her hips, and switched up his rhythm to slow. Peter liked to feel everything. He wanted to drag it out and feel her body wrapped around him. From fast and hard to slow and steady. His change of pace caused a low, drawn out moan to escape from her throat.
“You like that, baby?” He panted. “You like feeling every inch of me?”
All she could do was whimper in response as her sex spasmed again around him. This was a man who knew how to lengthen an orgasm. She was completely helpless to him. Her body was his play thing.
“Let me hear how much you love me, baby,” he whispered down in her ear as his cock buried straight to the hilt inside of her. “Let me hear you.”
She struggled to make any noise besides sobbing whimpers and broken cries.
He moaned in response, “That’s it. Those are those sounds that I love so much. My poor baby, all ravaged on my cock. Can’t even speak.”
He gave a small shudder and she knew he was close. She did her best to work her hips to meet his thrusts, squeezing him with her walls, sucking him in, clenching down.
“That’s good, baby, that’s good.” He moaned, his voice slowly losing itself as he got closer to the edge. “Ooh, fuck, keep that up. ‘M gon’na cum inside ya’kay?”
She loved it when he filled her. She loved feeling him drip down her leg as she carried him around with her. She would bathe in his semen if he wished it. It was his birthday, after all. The birthday boy could come wherever he pleased.
His long, slow strokes worked her up as another, tiny orgasm rippled through her. That seemed to be all he needed to follow.
Peter let out a low groan, his thrusts become more unrestrained with each passing second, and she took him. All of him.
With the sweetest of cries, he emptied himself inside of her. She could feel him swell and pulse until she was impossibly full. That tiny orgasm grew into something much bigger, taking over her body along with him, as she felt him collapse on top of her, both shaking, as he bit at her shoulders with soft, love bites until he finally calmed down.
He stayed like that, laid against her back and squishing her into the table, until he cock began to soften and he sadly slid back out. She tumbled back into his arms as they both fell to the spooning position against the kitchen floor. Naked, wet, and breathing heavily.
Peter’s hand found the comfort of her breast once more.
“Mmm,” he hummed. “Best present I could ask for. Thank you, baby. You’re too good to me.”
She grunted in response, still finding words to fail her. Instead, she rolled over in his arms, hooking her leg through his, and leaving a trail of kisses across his face to show much she adored him.
His eyes closed as he smiled happily at the feeling.
Eventually she would have to get up. Eventually she would have to shower and get dressed and clean the kitchen and set up his presents and frost the cake…but for now…
For now she was happy to just lay here on the floor in his arms.
#andrew garfield#the amazing spiderman#tasm#peter parker#tasm peter parker#tasm peter#tasm x reader#tasm smut#peter parker x reader#peter parker smut#tasm peter x reader#tasm peter smut#tasm peter parker x reader#tasm peter parker smut#tasm fic#tasm smut fic#peter parker fic#peter parker smut fic#andrew garfield fic#andrew garfield smut fic#location smut prompts#the to do list#blooming violets fic#blooming violets
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Andrew Garfield with his beard.
I’m simply addicted to posting pics of Andrew with this look to suggest @blooming-violets to develop a plot about certain werewolf...👀
#andrew garfield#werewolf vibes#he's fucking sexy werewolf anyway#werewolf arc#blooming violets fic#blooming violets help me!#mob peter parker au#peter parker fanfic#peter parker#tasm#the amazing spider man#spider man#tasm peter parker#tasm peter#tasm spiderman#andrew peter parker#andrew peter#andrew spiderman#tick tick boom#jonathan larson#under the banner of heaven#jeb pyre#licantropia#sincericida
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Ñuha Zaldrīzes
summary: future & facesitting || discussing wishes for your baby with your husband turns into something more
pairing: daemon targaryen x f!reader
warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, pregnant reader, oral sex (f receiving), allusions to piv sex, dirty talk, daemon being soft and loving we love to see it, let me know if i missed anything!
word count: 1.8k
a/n: happy day eight of 12 days of smuff!!! surely this counts as future otherwise i'd have them fucking in a spaceship & that just didn't sit right with me
12 days of smuff masterlist!
gif creds to @pedropcl
likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!
🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!
A soft giggle bursts from your lips as Daemon’s hand skirts over your large belly yet again, his soft touches tickling your skin as his hand ghosts lovingly over your bump, the delicate lacy fabric of your nightgown bunched around his wrist.
“Okay, okay, so,” you say breathily, finally calming down as his touch seems to settle on your hip, “If it’s a little girl, perhaps Vaenera? And for a little boy… Vaenor?” You suggest, your breath warm against the prince’s neck as you rest your cheek against his shoulder, tucked safely into his side atop your silk covered bed.
“I still think we should name her Visenya,” the blond drawls, tracing soothing patterns into your hip as he holds you against him, “With a nice strong name like that, she will grow to greatness.”
You stay silent for a moment, your eyes locked onto the fluid movements of the sheer curtains that lead out onto the balcony, watching as they blow in the breeze carried in by the Narrow Sea. Daemon can’t help but notice you still against him and he smiles softly when he sees that familiar, far off look in your eyes – always his dreamer.
“Where did you go?” He asks gently, all traces of the usual brash, cocky tone with which he speaks gone.
“Nowhere,” you smile, tilting your head up to peer at him through your lashes, “I was merely thinking of what kind of person this little one will grow up to be.” You stroke a hand over your belly as you speak, your smile only growing as you feel a soft, barely there kick against your palm.
“If they’re even half as kind and gentle as their mother, the world will be a much better place with them in it,” your husband whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. A pink blush blooms across the apples of your cheeks, as it always does when he speaks so tenderly.
“And if they’re half as hard headed as their father, well… somehow, I will love them all the more,” you whisper, laughing yet again as Daemon trails his fingers over your side, tickling you purposefully this time.
“Me, hard headed?” He teases, laughing along with you, “I’m not the one that nearly sent the kitchens into a tailspin this evening when they demanded duck, now am I?” His violet eyes sparkled in the low light of the candles that flickered around the room, a teasing smirk etched across his face.
“That’s very unfair!” You giggle, leaning up to properly look at him. “You know how I am when I’m with child,” you huff, your blush only deepening when you see his eyes darken just slightly as his gaze flits over you, “Especially once it’s this far along; all I want is roast duck and–”
“And lemon cakes at every meal,” Daemon finishes for you, softly smiling, “Yes, sweetling, the entire castle is most aware.” He chuckles.
“Then the kitchens should know to have duck, that’s all I’m saying…” You grumble, sinking back down into his embrace. The two of you relax into a comfortable silence for many minutes, your husband’s breathing so steady and calm that you assume he’s fallen asleep. When he speaks again, his soft voice almost startles you.
“The kitchens did particularly well with the lemon cakes this evening…”
Your eyebrows furrow together at the statement and you lift your head again, meaning to give him a confused stare. The cakes were exceptionally good this evening, but you can’t help but notice the teasing lilt in his voice.
You open your mouth to speak, but the darkness in Daemon’s eyes gives you pause, a breathy, barely audible whimper escaping your lips before you have a chance to stop it.
“However, I can’t help but be in the mood for a much different type of dessert, little wife.” He says lowly, gently pulling you up until your faces are level, careful to be ever conscious of your growing stomach.
“Daemon –” You start, only to be cut off with a searing kiss as he presses his lips to yours. You whimper against his lips, your head already spinning in his embrace as his tongue toys with yours.
“It’s been so long,” he starts, trailing kisses down your jaw and neck, nibbling at one spot that always has you seeing stars, “Since you’ve let me have what I want.”
“H-Husband,” you gasp breathlessly, your nails digging helplessly into his chest as you cling to him, “You had me just this, Gods, this morning for breakfast, if you’ll recall.” You managed to say between whimpers and gasps as he practically feasted on the sensitive spot on your neck, his hands softly kneading and caressing your breasts.
He makes a small, displeased hum before he pulls back to look at you, his dark eyes studying you carefully before a small smirk grows on his lips, “You know very well that’s not what I’m after.”
Your eyes widen just slightly as you finally catch his meaning; you shake your head with a small chuckle. “Surely you can’t be serious,” your smile fades as he holds your stare with a small, unchanging smirk, “Daemon, I’ll crush you!”
“And what an honorable death that would be, sweet wife,” he chuckles, his hands firmly grasping your hips as he lifts you up and onto his lap, your head spins as you feel his already hard length pressing against you through the thin linen breeches he has on, “I’ll be fine, it’s not as if this is exactly new territory for us…” He teases, gently skirting his hands over your belly.
“We’ve never done it when I’ve been… like this, though,” you shyly point out, looking down at your bump.
“Do you really not see how insatiable I become every time you’re with child?” Daemon asks, his voice soft and gentle, “I will only ever have you like this a scant few times. Please, sweetling, let me savor it.”
Biting your lip, you gaze down at him, eyes trailing across his bare chest and shoulders and up the strong column of his neck before they finally settle on his face – the look in his eyes nearly making you gasp. His violet eyes are fixed on you, roaming over your body with so much love and adoration that you feel as if you may melt from it.
Before you even register the movement, you’re nodding.
Daemon’s eyes instantly flick up to yours, sparkling with victory. His hands grip your hips again, gently guiding you up his muscular form as he silently thanks the Seven that you wear nothing beneath your Myrish lace nightgowns. A loud groan practically bursts from the prince’s chest once you’re positioned over his face; he loves being surrounded by you — loves the way your soft thighs bracket his head, the way you position your dripping center perfectly over his mouth, and the way the only thing he sees when he looks up is your belly, swollen with his seed, his child.
If it were up to Daemon, he would happily spend the rest of his days here.
Your chest heaves as you grip the headboard of the bed, your heart hammering in your chest from the anticipation of it. You whimper softly as his hands, rough from so many years of sword fighting and dragon riding, grab at your thighs and hips.
He presses soft, sweet kisses to the inside of your thighs before licking a slow, steady line up your center; you can feel him smirk triumphantly against you as moans and whimpers spill from your lips.
“Oh, Gods, Daemon!” You gasp, voice already ragged as you white-knuckle the headboard. Your thighs tremble with the effort of holding yourself even a fraction of an inch above your husband’s face, something he notices quite quickly. A displeased growl rumbles from his chest, making you pant as it vibrates against your core.
“Fucking sit,” Daemon rasps, tugging you against his mouth, his tongue roughly spearing into you as he grinds your pearl against his nose, hands moving your hips against his face.
Your mind all but whites out as he rocks you against him, nose and tongue working in perfect tandem to send shivers down your spine. Your eyes squeeze shut, frantic moans pouring from your mouth as a fire steadily builds within you.
“H-Husband,” you pant, walls clenching tightly around his tongue as he groans into your heat, “I— Fuck, I’m—!” You can hardly get the words out as Daemon seals his lips around your sensitive bud, suckling it at a maddening pace as his hands move down to cup your ass, kneading it roughly.
Your face flushes at the slick sounds pouring from between your thighs as the prince growls against you, sounding as if he’s gaining as much satisfaction as you are. Your core clenches at the thought, pleasure threatening to consume you.
“Daemon!” You cry urgently, shaking above him, a thin sheen of sweat covering your body. You want so badly to thread your fingers through his hair as you normally would, but you can’t even see his face around your protruding belly.
He groans loudly beneath you once more and fucks his tongue back into you, causing the knot in your belly to pull tightly before finally unraveling. Sparks burst behind your eyelids, your back arching as your whole body tenses and relaxes in time with his movements.
The prince moans appreciatively, messily drinking down your pleasure as you peak on top of him. You jump when one of his hands smacks against your ass, the tingling sting extending your release, the intensity of it nearly making you go mad.
Finally, once your signs of relief have turned into whimpers of overstimulation, Daemon releases you with a pleased hum, helping you shuffle back down his body until you’re straddling his hips once again.
You laugh softly at the sight of him — his cheeks flushed a light pink, hair sticking up at odd angles, and a pleased, self-satisfied grin on his face.
“You look as if you were the one who was ravished, my dragon,” you tease, your heart rate slowly returning to normal as you trace over the muscular dips in his chest and stomach.
The prince chuckles lowly, his violet eyes still dark with lust as he takes in your curves. “Ravishing you is a pleasure in and of itself, sweet wife,” he drawls, smirking as you gasp at the feel of his cock against your sensitive core as he rolls his hips against you, “I trust you’ll allow me to feel it again?” He asks, that all too familiar cocky tone back, as if asking is merely a formality.
Sighing happily, you bite your lip as you stare down at him, the knot in your belly beginning to tighten again as you feel his length pressing hotly to you.
“I believe that can be arranged.”
tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @alerisc @fan-goddess @wickedfrsgrl @moonriseoverkyoto @echos-muses @schniiipsel @avidreader73 @marvelescvpe @imawhorecrux
(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)
#daemon targaryen#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen x you#daemon targaryen smut#daemon#daemon x reader#daemon x you#daemon smut#house of the dragon#house of the dragon fanfiction#house of the dragon fanfic#house of the dragon smut#hotd fanfiction#hotd fanfic#hotd smut#hotd#fanfiction#fanfic#fic#smut#my writing#12 days of smuff
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Daylight
Halsin x Tav // Halsin x Reader
Summary: Tav misinterprets Halsin’s declarations, thinking he must not want her as much as she wants him. Can Halsin convince her of his love?
A/N: Well, my first Halsin fic is here! Based off this dialogue from the game, featuring a classic miscommunication trope. When I first came across this dialogue, I found myself rather disappointed by Halsin’s declaration, and I realized I was focusing on all the wrong parts of it. I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, so here we have a scenario in which Tav has done the same. This fic is so self-indulgent it should be a crime.
Warnings: Hurt/Comfort (emphasis on the comfort—I promise all’s well that ends well). Pretty spoiler free, except for the opening dialogue if you’re romancing Halsin and you want all that to be a surprise.
“Relationship?” A deep chuckle rumbles in Halsin’s chest. A sinking feeling settles into your gut. You weren’t sure what to expect when you broached the topic of a potential relationship, but a laugh? A direct blow from an enemy sword would have hurt less.
“Such terms belong to civilization—a little unfamiliar to my lips.” His words continued, but that soft smile, those kind eyes, the strong, steadfast shape of Halsin, it all begins to shift, distorting just slightly as traitorous tears prick at your eyes. A quick bite of your inner cheek reminds you to hold steady, to not let the tears fall—by every star in that gods damned sky, you are not going to let him see you cry.
“…you and I should each seek happiness wherever it lies…”
He’s still going on? You think to yourself. How long can one rejection take? You bite your cheek even harder, a coppery tang bursting on your tastebuds.
Halsin’s words echo in your mind, despite the fact that his monologue seems to continue, piercing your heart again and again, the pain stealing the breath from your lungs. You will yourself to take in another breath.
“Let others know the happiness of being with you.” Halsin smiles down on you, not an ounce of malice in those soft green eyes. The staunch difference between his kindhearted gaze and the red-hot pain radiating in your chest was nearly laughable. In fact, at that very moment, you were unsure if your next steps would include crying, laughing, or launching an all out assault on the mountain of a man before you—an action that would surely not work out in your favor given the comical size difference between you two.
In the end, it was all you could do to offer a small, meager, “I see.” It’s a notable effort to keep the emotion from your voice, but you’re proud of the attempt all the same.
A frown breaks out across Halsin’s face, his brows knitting together in confusion. “Have I said something wrong, my heart?”
Those two words are a slap to your face. You don’t trust yourself to speak, not again, so without a word you turn and make your way to your tent as fast as your feet can take you.
The fabric barely has time to fall in place behind you before the warm tears finally break free.
_________
Two days had passed since the incident. While you wanted nothing more than to mope about on your bedroll and avoid Halsin altogether, your situation doesn’t exactly allow for such luxuries.
Which is how you find yourself in the woods with Shadowheart, foraging for ingredients to top off your party’s supply of potions and tonics. Though you left early in the morning, the sun glares bright overhead now. Wiping a bead of sweat from your brow, you crouch low beneath a bush and scan the area for the bright violet blooms Shadowheart had you scouting for.
“I just don’t understand why you had to drag me out for this,” you fuss at your friend as thorns from the underbrush prick your side. Your clothing offers little protection against natures most irritating defenses.
“Surely there’s…someone more suited to this than I.” Your following scowl can’t be entirely blamed by the literal thorn in your side, not as thoughts of Halsin flash through your mind once more.
Shadowheart hums absentmindedly. “Yes, this is true. Halsin is more in tune with the forest,” she mutters, collecting something from the earth too small for your eyes to make out. A soft clink tells you the specimen makes it into the glass bottle. “I was actually hoping to talk to you about that,” Shadowheart continues, popping the cork back on the bottle and tucking it away.
“About what?” You hiss as another thorn embeds itself in your palm. You toss a scowl her way before distracting yourself from the conversation as you fiddle with removing the thorn. You’re not sure which hurts worse, the abrupt change in conversation topic or the wound in your hand. Impervious to your dirty looks, Shadowheart makes her way over to you.
“Well, you two were nearly inseparable. Absolutely enamored with each other—anyone could see it.” She takes your hand into her own to assess the damage.
“And now, well, if I’m being completely honest dear, you’re rather dour, you seldom leave your tent, or you’re looking for any excuse to get away from the party—sorry this’ll only hurt a second.” You wince as she pulls the thorn free and presses hard on the wound to stanch any bleeding. “And, well, Halsin’s been…unusually forlorn. Like a poor dog that’s been kicked in the stomach.”
With a scoff you withdraw your hand, taking care to apply pressure to it just as Shadowheart had done.
“I couldn’t care less what Halsin’s been doing.” The lie is ash on your tongue.
Shadowheart looks at you then, really looks at you. You try your best not to fidget under her assessing gaze.
“What happened?”
“I—“
“And don’t bother lying to me,” she’s quick to interrupt. “Save it for someone else. I know something has been bothering you.”
Resignation floods you. Leave it to Shadowheart to see right through your bravado and into your heart.
“I was a fool for thinking he could ever be happy with me.” The words are soft as they fall from your lips, but they burn your heart all the same. A firm weight falls on your shoulder as Shadowheart offers an encouraging hand.
“Tell me everything.”
_______
Halsin’s voice calls out your name from just outside Shadowheart’s tent. His low timbre still brings a tightness to your chest, but you will yourself to breathe normally. You’d been doing your best to avoid him since getting back to camp with Shadowheart, but you suppose now is as good a time as any to rip that particular bandage off.
“Yes, Halsin?” You ask matter of factly, not even looking up from the array of ingredients you’re currently sorting through. You pointedly ignore his gaze as he steps into the tent, taking up a majority of the albeit limited empty space.
Halsin clears his throat, clearly uncertain how to proceed. You two had always shared such an easygoing openness between you, but the last two days had left him scrambling for purchase.
“I was hoping we could talk,” Halsin smiles down at you, undeterred by your clear avoidance.
“Mm, we are talking.” You collect up one of the empty potion bottles, wiping at a smudge spot with the edge of your tunic.
Halsin forces a chuckle, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Of course we are, but, erm, perhaps we could go for a walk? Enjoy some of nature’s company for the evening?”
“That won’t be necessary.” Your tone is sharper than you’d intended, but the guilt passes over you in a second as you replay his words in your mind, his scoff when you so much as mentioned a potential relationship.
Halsin sighs. He had hoped that his 300 odd years of experience would give him a leg up in navigating this prickly conversation, but—as is usual when you’re involved—his heart and his tongue seem to be tripping over one another.
“My heart,“
That gets your attention. Your gaze snaps up to his, laced with venom.
“You do not get to call me that. Not anymore.”
Halsin feels his own chest start to cave in as the hurt flashes across your face—you master it a moment later, but the damage is done.
“I’m not sure what I’ve done to upset you,” he starts, but you interject again.
“It’s fine. I’m not upset,” you force some neutrality back in your voice. “You weren’t interested in things continuing between us, and that’s fine. Nothing to apologize for.” You gesture to the flap of the tent. “You can take your leave now.”
Halsin does the opposite, braving another step closer.
“Of course I need to apologize. It appears my words have caused some confusion. Worse yet, I fear they’ve caused you pain.”
At that, you still, finger pausing over the bottles set up in front of you.
“You must know that I would never intend to hurt you.” Halsin’s tone was bordering on pleading. “Even now, it physically pains me to know that I’ve hurt you so.” He draws a hand to his chest, moving as if to soothe an ache that’s nestled beneath the surface there.
You glance up to see the hurt now reflecting in his eyes. It’s enough to bring forth a sigh from your lips, your shoulders caving in as resignation takes over your body. Even now, you can’t find it within yourself to hate him, no matter how much easier it would make this.
“You’re not responsible for my feelings, Halsin,” you sigh. “They are my own.”
“No, but I do take responsibility for my words,” he counters.
“You don’t want a relationship with me and you said as much. There’s nothing left to be said.” Despite your best attempts, your voice breaks on the last word. You close your eyes, clinging to the blunt words, mentally rebuilding your armor to power through the rest of this conversation.
“There is so much left to say, my heart.” Halsin’s gentle words caress your face like the sun’s rays on a warm summer day. “I have so much left to say.”
You keep your eyes closed, focus on taking another breath, keeping your heart steady. “Then speak.”
“I love you.”
Your eyes spring open, and Halsin is before you, close enough to touch. A large, tentative hand reaches up to cradle your face. You don’t pull away, and that’s enough to bring relief to Halsin’s heart.
“I don’t understand,” you whisper, afraid your mere voice would crack the perilously thin ice you suddenly find yourself on. “You said—“
“That I would not keep you to myself,” Halsin is quick to finish the thought.
“That we should seek out other people,” you correct, a touch of anger shading the words as you step out of Halsin’s grip.
At that, Halsin’s eyes widen. “No.” His voice holds more sharpness than the druid had ever shown with you before. “I said no such thing.”
“Well, maybe not exactly, but the sentiment was there,” you grumble, the frustration seeping through at your hazy memory.
“That ‘sentiment’ is misguided.” His tone leaves no room for argument, but you do it anyway.
“Well, forgive me if I don’t have it memorized word for word—I was a little busy having my heart broken,” you snap.
Halsin pauses for a heartbeat and you watch the pain shine in his pale green eyes at your words.
“And I will never forgive myself for the pain I’ve caused you these last few days. But listen to my words now. I beg of you.”
Another heartbeat passes. He takes your silence as permission to continue.
“I don’t abide by these conventional rules set in place by society. My home is in nature, and I follow the path the Oak Father has set before me. These ideals of what relationships should or shouldn’t be, you’ll have to forgive me if they're all but foreign to me.”
Another wave of disappointment washes over you and you close your eyes in a futile attempt to deter the familiar pinpricks of tears. A warm, familiar hand caresses your face before tilting your chin up to bring your gaze to his.
“But trust me when I tell you that I have never met someone like you. My heart does not stir lightly. But it does for you. What I feel for you pales in comparison to those who came before you.”
There is no doubting the sincerity that lies in those soft verdant eyes.
"It feels as though I have been asleep in a centuries long dark night, and now I am finally seeing daylight,” Halsin’s deep voice soothes, each word repairing the aches and tears of your heart.
“There is no one else for me, my heart. Call it what you wish; you are all I want. Nothing would make me happier than to have you by my side for the rest of my days, if that is what you desire as well.
My love for you runs deep and true. Never doubt it, my heart.”
And then his lips are on yours, and every thought eddies out of your head, but one: Halsin loves you.
Pure joy and relief floods your body and you don’t even bother trying to stop the tears of joy that follow. Halsin pulls back from the kiss just enough to swipe the tears from your cheek.
“I love you, too, Halsin,” you whisper in the space between you as Halsin presses his forehead to yours.
“Forgive me, my heart. For the pain I have caused you.”
You smile up at that handsome face you’ve grown to hold so dearly. Your slender hand reaches up to caress his cheek, tracing the swirls of his tattoo. “Only if you’ll forgive my foolishness for doubting you.” You feel the shame rise up, bringing a heat to your cheeks.
“My heart, there is nothing to forgive,” Halsin murmurs before pressing another kiss to your forehead.
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AAAA are you planning on continuing the "How They Kiss" series? If so could you please do my sweet baby Hitoshi next? :cccc
Ooooo yessss - I've been wanting to write some Hitoshi fic for a while!! 💜
Shinsou x Reader | Headcannon: How Hitoshi Shinsou Kisses 💋
The first time Hitoshi kisses you – you totally don’t see it coming. It happens in the library on a quiet Sunday afternoon. Hitoshi is sitting in your favorite spot of the city's library – a cozy corner hidden from view behind the oversized art book section. He’s dragged two large beanbag chairs into the tiny space, waiting for you to join him as he studies for an upcoming Pro hero rescue certification exam. He’s flipping through flashcards when you arrive bearing a purple travel mug filled with his favorite caffeinated beverage. You know your friend is a chronic insomniac – with his permanently baggy eyes and constant yawns - so you decided to get him a refillable mug so he can keep his coffee close throughout exam week. You’ve stuck a cute sticker of a black cat with big eyes to the side of the mug, knowing his TikTok algorithm is almost exclusively cat videos.
“’Toshiiiiii!” You warble quietly as you drop your school bag next to your beanbag chair. “I brought you a ‘lil treat for studying so hard!”
Hitoshi looks up in surprise, his forehead still wrinkled in concentration. He puts down his flash cards and when he realizes it’s you standing over him, he smiles easily. Things have always been like this between the two of you – soft and comfortable.
“You brought me something?” He instantly locks on to the steaming mug of coffee, his eyes crinkling into a smile when he sees the cat sticker. “Is that the cat from Kiki’s Delivery Service?”
“Yup!” you hand him the cup as you plop down into your chair and start shuffling through your bag for your notes. “You told me it was your favorite movie as a kid, so I found a little sticker of Gigi on Etsy.”
After a few moments of digging through your bag, you finally find the sheaf of notes you’re looking for and you yank them out – sheets of paper flying all around you. “Whoops!” You hastily gather the papers back into a neat stack.
When you finally look up, you meet Hitoshi’s eyes – he’s giving you an intense, searching look. His eyes are wide, and there’s a soft pink blush across the high points of his cheeks. He absentmindedly smooths a hand through his wild hair, seemingly lost for words.
“What?” You say, a little startled at the sudden tense atmosphere. “Everything okay? Is that not your preferred flavor of coffee?”
“Of course you remembered my favorite flavor.” His voice a quiet rumble and seems to catch in his throat.
You swallow, suddenly feeling hot around the collar as he continues to gaze at you through those bright violet eyes. You can see him biting back his next sentence, seemingly steeling himself to say something.
After a few moments, he takes a steadying breath and his eyes sparkle with a look of resolve. Hitoshi softly places the hot mug of coffee on the ground before leaning towards you. Instantly, he’s a breath away from your face – his delicate features magnified as he tilts his face towards yours.
“You’re just so…” He whispers, moving to brush his thumb against your cheek. Your skin feels like it’s blooming with tiger lilies at the contact. “…sweet.” His tired eyes flutter shut and he leans into you – guiding your lips to his.
The first kiss is feather light – tentative. He wants to make sure you want him back – he needs you to want him with the same deep intensity he’s been feeling in his gut for you for so long. His lips are impossibly soft and taste like a light berry lip balm, and you find the flavor absolutely delicious. When you respond eagerly he smiles into the kiss, blissful. How lucky is he to get to kiss your pretty face?
Hitoshi climbs into the beanbag chair with you deftly, moving his hands to cradle your face. He moves his mouth against yours slowly, purposefully – almost lazily. It’s such a Shinsou way of kissing that it makes you giggle.
“Hey, now.” He breaks the kiss, bringing his forehead to yours as he takes a shaky breath. “Is my kissing that bad?” He’s smiling, but you can tell he’s the tiniest bit nervous for your answer.
You lean in to kiss him again and he pulls back, his lips just out of reach – teasing.
“Your technique can use some refining. But I know someone who can help you practice.” You grin, winding your arms around his neck and pulling him back in for more. He loves that – the banter, the ways you are able to both make him feel comfortable and keep him on his toes. He deepens the kiss, and you know it will be a while before you get back to studying. His flash cards lay abandoned on the floor by your stack of notes.
---------------------
After that, he’s hooked on you. Any trace of nervousness is nonexistent. In just one afternoon, Hitoshi Shinsou has become a lean, mean, make out machine. He absolutely cannot be stopped. He kisses you everywhere he can – in the library, in dark corners of your favorite bar, at the convenience store. He’s constantly trying to sneak away with you so he can crash your lips together in that way that makes his brain feel all blissed out and fuzzy.
I think we’ve all seen just how much determination Hitoshi has – it takes a lot of unwavering dedication to claim a spot in the hero course. He’s just as determined to figure out how you like to be kissed. He pays attention to what makes your pulse race – maybe he kissed your neck a certain way and you moaned? He’s filing that away in his brain so he can do it again and again and again. You don’t like it when he bites your lower lip? He takes note and never does it that way again. He’s committed to figuring out exactly what makes you tick and how he can maximize your pleasure every time. He can’t believe how lucky he is to have the affections of someone like you – someone so sweet and gorgeous and goddamn perfect.
Of course, once he realizes you find him irresistible – he’s smug AF. He becomes such a goddamn tease. You’ll get a rare private moment and move in to kiss him, only for him to dodge your advances until your lips form a disappointed pout. He absolutely revels in how much you want him and loves to build up the tension between the two of you. He’ll kiss you playfully on the cheeks before your disappointed look causes him to concede. “Sorry, Sweetheart.” He says in his low, gravely whisper. “You know I love to tease.” And then he’ll kiss you with as much passion as he can muster, until your legs turn to jello. After all – it’s not in a hero’s nature to do anything half-assed.
#boku no hero academia#my hero academia#bnha#bnha manga#mha#anime#boku no academia#boku no hero#shinso hitoshi#shinsou hitoshi#hitoshi shinso x reader#bnha shinso hitoshi#shinsou x reader#mha shinsou#hitoshi x reader#shinso x reader#mha x reader#bnha x reader#my hero academia x reader#mha fluff#hitoshi shinsou#boku no hero acedamia#bnha x you#bnha x y/n#mha x you#mha x y/n#hitoshi shinso x y/n#hitoshi shinsō#hitoshi shinso kiss#mha kiss
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Wild flowers | s.p
pairing: Sejanus x gn!reader
summary: Sejanus finds you in the meadow
warnings: mainly fluff, small mentions of the games and some light spoilers for the movie and book
word count: 800
a/n: saw the movie a few nights ago and wow, I’m me fashion i did like the book better but the movie was still amazing and I have the old therebefore on repeat . I wrote this for my bestie because she couldn’t find Sejanus fics. This probably could be edited better
MAIN MASTERLIST | REQUEST OPEN
The summer air was sweet, the flowers of the meadow had bloomed overnight, as far as the eye could see. Lily of the valley, young primeroses , deep purple violets, and dozens more you couldn’t name.
Hidden behind a massive tree, its leaves shading you from the harsh sun. This time of year in district 12 was unbearable. Only the rich could afford to keep cool, and you certainly wasn’t that.
Six days out of the week you worked in the local doctor’s. It couldn’t quite be called a hospital but it was one of the only places people could go and get medical care.
You lent back against the tree, weaving your hands through the tall grass and flowers. Bees buzzed but gave no mind to you. The day was turning out well, you had brought some fresh bakers bread and a lump of cheese, and a jug of water. Simple and delicious.
The mockingjays song hit your ears, the tune was familiar but the name escaped you. Humming along, some words came to mind.
Here it's safe, here it's warm
Here the daisies guard you from every harm
Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you
Deep in the meadow, a song a local brand was known to play, you had only seen them a handful of times but the songs stuck. Like it had for the birds.
The sound of stones falling and fallen twigs snapping pulled you out of a dream and jumping to your feet, frowning in the sunlight you spotted, Sejanus Plinth.
Sejanus had been a peacekeeper once but shortly after he had found his way to the doctors, where he was training to be a medic. He rarely spoke about this life before 12 but from the times he had (and from what the doctors said) he came from a rich family in the capitol.
“You following me, Sejanus?” you asked. Your tone was serious, his whole body went still. Then you laughed. “Come sit with me then, might even share my food with you”.
In his hand he carried a brown paper bag, “then I guess you can have some of mine”. He dropped the bag in your lap, opening the bag you found cookies.
Now this was proof he was rich, the baker sold cookies but only the other merchants could afford them Sejanus went on to explain, his Ma had sent them, blushing the whole time.
The shy blushed look made you laugh, “that’s very sweet of her, she must miss you an awful lot”.
“Just as I miss her” he replied in a sad voice.
“You might see her again, learn enough and you could go back to her” you said, laying a hand over his. His hands were cold, cold hands warm heart you mama used to say.
“I don’t want to go back there” he said.
What you said next came as a surprise to even her, “I can teach you a few things, like what plants heal and where to find them”.
“You’d do that” he asked unsure.
“Of course. We don’t have many doctors here and if you’re planning on staying I’d teach you”. You stood, putting the cookies on your bag. “There’s a lake deeper in the woods, you’ll find all the best stuff there”.
He followed and stood up looking through the trees, maybe he didn’t trust you and thought you were leading him to his death.
“Hey” you touched his hand again, “keep north and you’ll find the lake then it’s south to get back, you can trust me”.
He smiled and suddenly the sun seemed dimmer, he took your hand and squeezed it ,“okay, I trust you”.
The hike took a few hours, but the sight of the lake proved it was worth it. You found a patch of herbs close by one of the old houses, it might have been someone’s garden once.
You showed him peppermint that helped with nausea, liquorice to reduce swelling, lemon balm for sleep and any others you could make without the book of herbs and flowers you had at home.
“Where did you learn all this?” He rubbed a peppermint leaf between his finger and thumb. You pick a lemon Balm inhaling the smell, smiling.
“My mama was an apothecary, always been my dream to follow in her footsteps. What about you? Do you have any dreams?”.
“To help people anyway I can”
It was so easy to talk to him, somewhere in your heart you knew he’d understand. Maybe it was his eyes, brown the colour of chocolate. Sejanus was sweet, too sweet for the world, you thought that if it rained he’d melt away like sugar.
“I have a feeling you’re gonna do wonderful things Sejanus” I smiled and he smiled back.
#the hunger games#a ballad of songbirds and snakes#the hunger games fanfiction#the hunger games fanfic#a ballad of songbirds and snakes fanfiction#sejanus plinth#sejanus plinth x reader#sejanus plinth fanfiction#sejanus x reader#senjanus fanfiction#gn!reader#hunger games gn!reader
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any chance of a part 2 of opportunities arisen? perhaps tighnari finds out who we are? or someone else comes after us? 👉👈 i love him sm and ur characterization of him is perfect, that fic is 100% canon in my mind for every imposter au now
prime fortune
a/n: hope this one didn’t absolutely destroy your expectations anon. it took a hard left turn halfway through and i couldn’t bring it back—
word count: 3.1k oh wow-
-> warnings: minor spoilers for sumeru archon quest (3.0-3.2), dubious medical facts that you should not follow, likely ooc cyno, excessive use of the word ‘something’ with little reasoning to show for it, cyno’s excellent humor
taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie
<< part 1 || < masterlist >
adapting to life in the forest was easier said than done.
you’re often paired with collei, who’s in the middle of a bad eleazar flare that keeps her confined to the village, and though she teaches you the different salves and plants, a lot of it goes over your head.
you’re interested, you are! the liveliness with which she speaks, and the animated gestures from tighnari as he explains proper safety when preparing medicine easily capture your attention, but when she hands you two mushrooms and asks her to tell you which one is morchella….
by some strange luck, you often guess correctly, your intuition knowing more than you do, but when she nods with a smile and asks you to repeat the differences…
your mind falls blank.
something about the density of the fibers inside the mushroom floats through your mind, but you can’t remember whether the true or false mushroom is heavier.
collei’s smile falters, and yours turns sheepish. when she takes you out on walks, slowly walking up the paths so you don’t strain your ankle, you can point at the differences between portobello and death caps, you can pick out holly and honeysuckle and marigold, but here…
you pass the field practice with flying colors, but your basic by-the-books forest ranger tests always end in failure.
tighnari picks out two plants from a small case, holding them up in front of you.
“you come across amir sitting just off the side of a path, clutching his stomach. after some questioning, you determine he has a stomach cramp from dehydration, and spot these two plants nearby. you’re about a 15 minute walk from the village; what do you do?”
one of the plants has many flat white flowers blooming from the top, with yellow centers, while the other has orange petals that form a ball shape on top. you know one of them is yarrow, but not which one…
you pick the latter on a whim, spinning it between two fingers as you think. “pick the petals and crush them into a paste, taking care not to overwork them. give him about a spoonful, which should be most of it, then help him up. report to shirin once we return.”
the blank mask on his face falls into confusion. “how do you even mix up marigold and yarrow?” he asks, picking the flower—marigold, you now recognize—from your hand. “you got the procedure correct, at least, but marigold is bitter and will only worsen his aches. oh, and additionally, the leaves of yarrow—however small they-“
the door to the cottage slams open, jars rattling on their shelves, and tighnari whips around to face whoever it is, one hand steadying a stack of reports.
“and just what do you think you’re- w- collei? is everything alright?”
collei’s violet eyes were wide, her shoulders heaving with breath, when she spoke, exhaustion was evident. “m-master tighnari! the matra are here on behalf of the akademiya! i tried to tell them to wait so i could get you but they just-..”
emotions flashed over tighnari’s face faster than you could catch, eventually setting on a sharp determination. “alright collei, calm down. go find amir and do your best to delay them, but don’t seem too suspiscious, okay? just remember what we planned, i’ll take care of things here.”
her eyes flicked to you, worry evident, but she quickly turned away.
the moment the door closed, you and tighnari sprung into action. he collected the plants from your test and tucked them into their proper places, you standing to help return a mint plant back to its place.
he caught your wrist, taking the pot. “don’t. take your bag and go, don’t worry about this.”
you hesitate for longer than you should, then nod. he lets you go and returns to his case, and you move to crouch by the bed. feeling under it, your hand eventually brushes against a cloth handle, which you grab. you take a step to unlatch the window with one hand and sling the pack over your shoulder with the other, leaving with your good leg first. as you carefully close the window behind you, you can see tighnari moving to hide all the notes you’d taken, the only sign of his worry being his tail lashing behind him and the slightest flick of his ears.
with a soft smile, you turn away.
tighnari checked over his room once more, ensuring that every trace of your presence was scrubbed clean. your laundry was out and mixed with the rest of the rangers’, but your notes and records were carefully hidden under patrol logs and his own personal binders. he knew everything was tucked away, he had explanations lined up and answers to every conceivable question the akademiya could have, but his heart still beat frantically against his ribs. even as he pulled apart and neatened up a stack of patrol logs, repeating the action to look like he was doing something whenever the matra came to his hut, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he missed something crucial.
he had to fight to keep his tail from betraying his emotions, the energy not going into mussing up and then fixing the papers spent on hiding the symptoms of his distress. he knew he didn’t miss anything. the moment you told them the sages were on active lookout for you and he knew you weren’t a threat, he had memorized the plan. he was foolish to worry.
he hasn’t known you for long, barely over half a year, yet his mind is clouded with the same worry as when collei collapses out on patrol. the same numbing sort of adrenaline, the icy feeling in his bones even as his skin starts to burn up, the apprehension in every movement, as if at any moment-
somebody knocks on the door.
tighnari takes a steadying breath and fusses with the papers a final time. “come in!”
the door creaks open and he taps the papers on the table, turning slightly to speak over his shoulder. “sorry, you caught me in the middle of something.”
“no matter,” a familiar voice says, and he can’t stop the way his body freezes at the speaker.
he carefully tucked the papers into a folder, finally turning around. “general mahamatra. to what do i owe the honor?”
cyno crossed his arms, red eyes surveying the room. “oh, nothing at all. just somebody from vimara village reporting somebody that looked suspiciously like the primo fortuna walking around with collei when they’re supposed to be in liyue.”
tighnari stares. the primo fortuna…? he thought they were after you, but you couldn’t be…
“are… are you suggesting somebody is attempting to imitate the creator?”
sure, he wouldn’t deny you shared some features—you had the same shape of nose, you were around the same height and build—but for you to be the creator? no, it wasn’t possible. your eyes were much kinder, you stopped and helped nasrin when she couldn’t find the proper forms, you directed shirin to the area of the forest where you and collei found nilotpala lotuses, you were nothing like the creator he saw at pardis dhyai. you didn’t stare with glazed eyes as padisarahs and sumeru roses were brought forth, you listened in earnest when he spoke about the differences between the various kinds of ferns.
if anybody were to meet you, they’d know in an instant you were not the creator.
his heart itched within his chest. he ignored it as worry.
“that’s exactly what i’m implying. as i’m certain you know, their identity is hallowed, and anybody attempting to infringe upon it needs to meet justice.” the golden eye on his headpiece flashed, the sides beginning to narrow into eyes before he shook his head and it passed. “but in truth, that is not why i am here.”
tighnari stared. despite having a fondness for jokes, cyno was never one to laugh about his duties. “what do you mean? collei told me you were here on behalf of the akademiya.”
“the matra are here on behalf of the sages,” he clarified. “i… i am here for other reasons. personal ones.”
his eyes flicked around the room again, and tighnari’s narrowed. “well, don’t hide behind double meanings, then. what is it?”
cyno’s jaw flexed as he chewed at nothing, his arms uncrossing. his eyes focused somewhere around the bed, and he seemed lost in thought. whatever it was, it had to be a big deal, but for him to hijack the matra’s arrival instead of coming on his own time…
“the one on the throne is not our god.”
he said it with such conviction that tighnari found himself agreeing, waiting for whatever had gotten him worked up, and it was only when cyno’s eyes closed as he braced himself that it registered what he said.
“what?”
“i have gathered evidence across many sources, both academic and religious, common and exclusive, and i can’t bring myself to kneel at their feet any longer. i have been ignoring my own mind for too long for the sake of my conscience, and i am confiding in you now what has been brewing in my mind for months.”
in the silence that stretched, tighnari almost wished he hadn’t spoken.
the way he spoke, from his words to his tone, reminded tighnari of when he reported to the sages, like he wasn’t tighnari to him and was instead an authority.
“cyno, i don’t.. is this why you didn’t go when they were at pardis dhyai or sumeru city?”
he nodded. “i can’t be in a place where they’re being worshipped when i’m so conflicted. i thought about pulling you aside in the city, but…”
tighnari didn’t think he’d ever seen cyno so meek in his words, none of his normal power behind it. he’s… tired, a quality he knows he’s felt but has never seen on him, the almost nervous way he keeps glancing around the room edging on alarming.
“alright.. uh, moving past that for a moment, what does that have to do with why you’re in gandharva ville? wouldn’t you want to not be involved?”
cyno’s eyes dragged from where they were locked behind him with uncharacteristic slowness. “the person you’re hiding may be the real creator.”
the simplicity to his words had tighnari believing it, even as it didn’t fully register in his mind. he knew cyno attached a religious aspect to his work, to the point the people in sumeru city sometimes calling him an extension of their judgement—even as it was more like the akademiya’s, most time—so he knew that whatever he said on the topic was both well thought out and reliable.
which is why he was silent even after it clicked.
“what are you saying, cyno?”
“they’ve been staying here, haven’t they? in this room?”
“this is my and collei’s-“
“don’t tell me you haven’t been able to feel the difference in the air? the way it seems to flow slowly, lingering, like it has something to wait for? there’s no heavy blankets on the bed, and yet everybody else is talking of how cold the weather’s been lately.”
“that’s because this is an insulated room, and we’re right up against a cliff.”
the quick pace to his heart was back, this time less of worry and more of confusion. you couldn’t be the creator, not when you bore so little resemblance to the one on the throne. you were good at what you did, plants thriving under your care even if you forget to water them. call him selfish, but tighnari almost wished the creator could go back to wherever they’d been, since they’d been much kinder there, both to their vessels and the world.
you weren’t them. they weren’t even close to being you.
“you’re considering it.”
he crossed his arms, forcing himself to still. “i’ll admit—not that you didn’t already know it—that we have taken a refugee into the village, one the sages might call a criminal-“
“that’s not what i mean, tighnari, and you know it.”
“can you give me a minute? you can’t just drop a massive load of information on me like that and expect me to continue like it didn’t happen!”
“you’re reacting oddly.”
“well of course i am, you’re telling me the same person i took in and sheltered from your bosses is somebody you want to take away back to them, and that’s not even covering their injuries- they’ve barely been able to walk outside of the village, and you want to take them to the city?”
“when did i say anything about the sages?”
tighnari stopped, his chest heaving. his hands froze mid-air, his tail still flicking in a mix of irritation and stress, thoughts moving quicker than he could understand them.
“what?”
“i never said anything about the sages. i never said i would take them.”
“w- well it’s implied, if not in your words then-“
“i don’t deal in implications. you know this.”
he did.
he knew cyno. he knew how he spoke and acted, he knew that the small emotion in his eyes was indicative of empathy and not ruthless justice. he knew he held reasoning in high standards, he knew that if he stopped and thought about the words coming from his mouth then he would agree.
but he couldn’t think.
all of his usual composure had faltered and faded, leaving him grasping for a hold as his thoughts swam like a raging river around him, even standing a struggle amidst the tide. all he could do was watch, his head racing and hands shaking, as cyno stood on the bank of rationality, with his crossed arms and cool eyes that dared him to step forward and sink beneath the waves.
he had no real reason to fear so much for you. by now you were gone, by now you were safe and far past the statue of the seven by the chasm, hidden in a place where even cyno would struggle to find you. you were crafty, clever, and you had more than enough supplies to last until he could go to find you.
he had no reason to be afraid.
yet his heart still raced a rhythm he couldn’t follow, his mind tripping and skipping with worry.
why?
his tail wrapped around his side and he picked out a cluster of petals from it, mostly just to give his hands something to do.
as he did, he noticed it was a full flower, likely knocked off one of the samples on the desk. it was small, blue, with smooth petals, and he recognized it after a moment’s pause.
“this is a hydrangea. what is it used for?”
the flower quivered in your shaking hands. “root and stem are for… for medicine. petals are tea.”
collei nodded, smiling brightly. “exactly! you’re a quick learner, aren’t you?”
you smiled sheepishly, trying to hand her back the flower, but collei held up a hand, closing her pack with her other hand.
“no, you keep it. take it as a congratulations for all your progress!”
you were hesitant to accept it, that much was clear, and tighnari tied off the small parcel in his hands before speaking.
“you really have done well. you’ve only been here for a few weeks, but you’ve learned a lot.” he set down the packed herbs beside where he was leaning on the table, directing all of his attention to you. “i know it’s mostly for safety, and you’re not going to be a ranger-“ too much paperwork was required, he couldn’t risk it “-but still. i’m proud of you.”
you smiled.
it likely wasn’t the same flower—that ‘class’ was months ago, now—but it dragged a realization to the surface of his mind.
in the short, fleeting time he’d known you, he had come to care for you as he did collei.
even then, only after a week or two of you being there, a certain fondness had taken root in his chest. something bright, something that bloomed like a rose yet without any of the thorns. something that he watered every time you winced when you walked, something you fostered when you helped treat collei’s eleazar when he was out clearing a withering zone.
something that grew as he realized the poultice you had made had helped clear the pain faster than anything he’d made, even as you both used the same recipe, something that lashed out when kamran questioned your place in the village. something that spurred him to action when he thought you were in trouble, even if it was only cyno.
something that burned bright, something hot that blurred his reasoning even when he knew it was wrong, something that made him want to bare his teeth and keep you safe by his side.
something that should be impossible for him to feel towards you, as it was a golden and warm feeling that did not exist in teyvat, only ever glimpsed at altars.
tighnari looked up from the flower and into cyno’s knowing eyes.
“alright.”
relief washed onto his face, a small nod the only other sign that he’d heard.
“i’ll report nothing to the team—i trust you’ve gone over this, given your reaction?”
he let the comment slide. “yes, everybody here knows what to do in the case of the akademiya or the millelith coming here. it was collei’s idea, actually, and she took care to make sure that everybody had it memorized.”
cyno nodded, taking a step towards the door. “good. and if you ever need to collei matra, just get me instead.”
“…”
“do you get-?”
“i got it, cyno.”
#this is not the norm but i am having Thoughts[TM] about cyno so…. here#genshin sagau#sagau#genshin#genshin impact#self aware genshin#sagau impostor au#genshin imposter au#tighnari#tighnari x reader#sure why not#sagau tighnari#collei#sagau collei#cyno#sagau cyno#to anybody that’s wondering: a hydrangea symbolizes family/familial love. so. there’s that for all you tag readers#‘primo fortuna’ is just prime fortune—probably the title of this piece; depends—and has been bouncing in my head for a while#while i believe cyno would swing more for ‘prime /justice/‘… i didn’t think of that and this sounded cooler#actually cyno might fuck with the ‘first law’ title. ‘divine balance’ -> ref egypt mythos: anubis weighed hearts on a scale.#may or may not do a thing touching on preferred titles of the vessels bc this got me thinkin#this piece reminds me of that clip where it’s like ‘she’s doing girlboss shit!! all in the name of allah of course’#dunno why. it does though.#me pointing at cyno and tighnari:#‘they are gatekeeping; they are slayqueening; they are doing all of this in the name of allah of course;#but! they are doing girlboss shit!’
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soft hands
heyyy 🤪
i started this in the midst of my other writings- forgot about it and then i recently found it again and fell back in love with it so.. here it is finally!! // also my first request ever which is really exciting and special so i hope this doesn’t disappoint, i’ve spent the last two days perfecting it so if there is mistakes- idk man I have to stop looking at it before i go crazy 😭
requested by: @endlessvoidd
an angsty/fluffy/!!smutty!! fic based on this song - i.e. my interpretation into this.
18+ content
••
love is a fickle thing.
coming in many forms but always ending in similar fashion: heartache.
atleast that’s what it felt like to you. it was as if the whole world remained stagnant while your own went up in flames. but that’s what pain does to one, isolating them so only they feel as if there was no one else who could ever feel the way it made them.
this pain often took the shape of another human.
one that claimed another name, promising safety and care but never keeping to their word. it was a cycle they used, a ruse to get you under their control and you fell for it everytime.
a faux charming smile mixed with poisoned sweet words held in devilish hands.
your colorful heart so open for loving that it made you vulnerable to the ones who were willing to hold it. their rough hands gripping so tightly till you’d bruise only black and blue.
so now as the whole world burns, you had found solace in your own. it no longer felt like you were underwater, suffocating in the abyss of darkness that always seem to swallow you.
you’d been pushed to your limits, forced to become stronger and bolder in your decisions. you had too- in order to survive this new world where the only thing that mattered was living to see the next day. it was no longer a place that required such care or attention to minuscule feelings like love.
until you met him. daryl dixon.
someone with no smile, spoke very little words but otherwise soft hands.. someone who you never thought you’d fall for, especially in this seemingly mundane world.
but here you were..
it was like those pieces you left behind had come crumbling back into existence.
the colors of your broken heart, blooming together for another and no matter how hard you tried to deny the feelings, they would always be there, lingering into every touch, every gaze, every moment you had with him until it became too much to bare.
but even then, you’d do nothing.. never to push or pull him, you’d take whatever you could get because even without him reciprocating any feelings, it was the happiest you’d ever been.
••
violet, the selfless lover.
sweat glistened over his muscled arms, his sleeveless shirt accentuating his broad shoulders before dipping at his waist and hips that shift as he fiddles with his belt.
a familar sight: his back turned to you.
you lie in bed in the aftermath of your indulgences. the only covers having survived your rushed intimacy were the thin sheets that you pull up to your chest, shielding parts of yourself that he has already seen but now, not in a fit of hurried passion, it felt too vulnerable.
especially now, in the moments he quickly slips away into the night, void of live beings and caped into darkness.
your eyes flutter shut, ears catching the light sounds of his shuffling as he gathers himself. you swallow the suffocating words, the ones that ask him to lie back down with you.. to hold you, love you, touch you.
just this once, stay.
you repeat the words over and over in your head, hoping that somehow he would suddenly be able to read your mind but like clockwork, you hear him pause.
his motions freezing as you feel his gaze struck on your body, casted in the moonlight revealed from the open shades of the window that releases the heat of the room. you always wondered if in these moments he ever thinks about it.. staying.
laying down beside you as his hands caress the parts he had once gripped tightly in desire. your head upon his chest so you could listen to his heartbeat thudding softly against your ear. his arms wrapped around your frame, caging you in protectively.
but alas, it’s only seconds later, he’s moving again.
you steady your breathing, fighting every urge to twitch and allowing him to believe you have fallen asleep. you really aren’t sure who you do it more for: him, so there are no awkward goodbyes or yourself, so you don’t have to endure the pain that comes with his departure.
he always leaves though so your troubles never really vanish so you guess, in a sense it’s more for him.
you remember the first time it happened, after traveling together for so long with tensions high whenever you were near each other- it seemed inevitable. grappling at one anothers bodies in haste as you fought to stay quiet in hershels now cleared out barn.
embarrassingly that same night, you had expected something different. that it meant you no longer had to tip toe around the supposedly feelings between you both- except it appeared one sided when he left hurriedly after your secret escapade.
then you supposed it should have remained a one time thing but something kept pulling you both back towards the other and as time passed with more people added to your group, you figured you two would grow even further apart but no-
it wasn’t like he ever seeked you out but it was almost like he was always waiting, finding hidden spots wherever to succumb to your primal states before parting and acting as if you weren’t just moaning each others names in bliss.
maybe that’s the reason you continued to hold on so tightly, he kept coming back and despite his inability to show anything but desire towards you.. it felt like enough.
you felt like you could make it enough.
so you would act like it was all just a passing fleet of passion when it came down to it.. for him.
you can hear his steps around the room before a new pressure of weight covers your body, the welcomed warmth of the duvet setting your heart to burn.
only to be sizzled out by the sounds of his descending steps as he leaves the room, shutting the bedroom door softly before making his way down the stairs and out the front door, locking it with the spare key.
you sit up, gripping the thin sheet around your body as you move to stand at the open window. the streets remain dark but if you squint your eyes enough, you could make up the shape of his body, moving easily through the pitch black night.
the physical distance he puts between you rivals the emotional one that always sits heavily in your chest.
you watch as he approaches his home, the porch light turning on, making his body freeze at the bottom step for only a split second before he’s moving again, disappearing under the porch awning and eventually into the home.
your own home remains silent, quiet, still. completely void of anyone and anything but your soft breaths.
with the loss of some members of the community and the consistent rebuilding, new homes were becoming available. you once resided with the grimes family, michonne, carol and daryl.
until rick approached you all, offering you a place of your own. even before the world went to shit, you never lived alone. having a roommate of sorts or living with a boyfriend, and even when things got rough, your parents invited you in. the idea was unnerving, especially after living in close quarters with your newfound family. it was a change and you couldn’t understand why it made you so unsettled.. but a lot of things have changed since before and you assumed that everyone was trying to settle in more firmly, the grimes family deserved that more than anything so you figured you’d try.
maybe you, carol, and daryl could move into one home together?
but it was never spoken as an option, so you stood with shaky legs in the back of the living room as everyone looked to you in confirmation. you had refused to make eye contact with any of them, especially after carol piped up that daryl was welcome in her new home. isolating you without notice but you didn’t blame her, how could you?
there was plenty of chances for something to come of you and daryl but it didn’t. it wouldn’t, it seemed.
that leap of possibility lingered at arms length, yet felt untouchable.
so you agreed, following rick as he guided you to your very own home, placed conveniently right across the street from carol and daryls new home.
seemingly a physical representation of your inner battle, so close yet so far.
blue, the understanding lover.
there’s an overwhelming amount of yearning in your body as you watch him caress her forehead before pressing a soft kiss to it.
his hand is gentle in his touches, even from afar you can see the way in which everything he does is tender towards her.
for a second, you too, can almost feel the ghost of his touches, equally as soft but less loving and your heart aches at the thought.
you feel a bit ridiculous at being jealous of a baby. a sick baby at that.
“you ready?” your attention is pulled from the bittersweet scene to the woman that’s approaching you.
“‘course, you?” maggie hums with a grin before following your gaze that’s found it’s way back onto him.
“he’s always so good with her, hm?” you can only nod mutely, that ache beginning in your heart, falling to the pit of your stomach as you watch him conversate with rick who gently holds his babygirl in his hands- daryl loves on her with an equally soft touch.
one, your body desperately craves.
despite his hands physically being rough from the countless amount of hours he spends working with them, he had a way of knowing just how to handle you: so soft with the right amount of pressure to still excite you.
the only part missing was the consistency; the knowledge that he was yours as much as you knew he owned every bit of you.
even if he didn’t know it.
you shake your head as if it will physically rid your hopeless thoughts, changing your regard for checking your pack and making sure you’re prepared for the run.
shortly after everyone splits in farewells, six of you pile into a black suv for the trip. you settle in the furthest seats with maggie, rosita and tara infront of you as glenn drives with daryl in shotgun.
an unfortunate sickness had fallen on the community, not yet as severe as the one that had tragically taken place at the prison- but whatever it was spread fast and had sent a dent into the infirmaries medication.
so a pharmaceutical run was needed, especially after little judith herself fell ill.
the six of you volunteered, immediately finding a small community pharmacy close enough that had been scoped out as potential. it was a no brainer when it seemed nearly abandoned, very little walkers surrounding and every bit as hopeful as life could give right now.
upon arriving to the building, you split off into groups of two. you had expected to go with tara but found her already linking and walking off with rosita- and you’d never break up the dream team of maggie and glenn so.. you found yourself left with daryl.
there are very few moments where it’s ever just you two like this, without that fire burning between your bodies. you aren’t sure if that was just dumb luck or something daryl arranged so he never had to be with you alone. either way you never questioned it because sooner or later he would be in your bed, pressed skin to skin as you shared sharply sweet kisses and the feeling of being unwanted vanished.
green, the caring lover.
“shit” daryl curses as you wrap his leg is gauze, covering the wound he inflicted when a shelf fell onto him.
there’s an alarm blaring over your heads and the familar ghastly groans pounding on the pair of front doors that the rest of the four lean against to keep them out.
“did anyone check the back door?!” rosita yells.
“could hear them clawing at it too but i think it’s our best choice.. didn’t sound like too many but if we wait any longer, that could change” glenn speaks through his teeth as his feet slide against the linoleum flooring.
daryl winces when your rushed hands put too much pressure and you mutter a quick apology, “i can clear it”
“nah” you look up at him as he brushes off your offer.
“i don’t think we have much of a choice daryl, i can do it” your voice is quiet against the harsh banging, “we can’t wait it out, they can see us through the doors”
“i said ya ain’t doin’ it. jus’ let me think of somethin’” he makes to get up, his leg nearly collapsing under him in pain but your quick to reach out, grabbing onto his waist to steady him. you’ve never had your hands on him in this way, it feels different yet familar- heartwarming even as you brace his body against yours.
“well, can you think faster because i don’t know how much longer we have until they push through us!” rosita smarts at him, agitated with concern by the situation.
you lift your head to the flashing red lights above then twist it to the back of the pharmacy, “it looks like the alarms are set only upfront, they will be more attracted here than in the back.. i can do it”
you go to release daryl hastily, going to make a break for the back but he grabs your arm, clear irration oozing into his words, “are ya hearin’ me? … you three hold ‘em doors, we’ll let ‘em in one by one”
you stare in disbelief as everyone listens- tara and rosita holding onto one door while glenn has the other, maggie coming to stand next to you readily with her knife in hand.
your attention is then drawn to daryl who pushes your helping hands away in attempt to steady his stance alone, finding a comfortable balance as he readies his own knives.
the echoed alarm has nothing over the sound of your own heartbeat through your ears. there’s mild annoyance that builds in your stomach, in result of daryls doubt of your ability to do anything by yourself.
you find your feet moving backwards on their own accord, watching as they all follow directions but it’s not going to be enough against the growing dead outside- getting close enough to consider a horde. one of them slips, allowing two walkers to stumble in and as maggie and daryl are distracted, you take your sudden leave.
sprinting towards the back before anyone can say anything. the relentlessly pounding is just as loud and the hinges of the back door rattle but the piercing siren has lessened, giving you enough head clearance to search the back room for something to hold against the door. you plan to use the same tactic except it’s just you against the many that stand on the other side.
it’s the only way you can think of to ensure that everyone makes it home with the supplies, a hell of a lot quicker too.
the only things in your vincity is shelves stuffed with random boxes but it will have to do. you yank some down, hoping to lessen the weight of it before you’re shoving at it.
“come on..” you grunt in frustration but with one final harsh shove, it collapses over with a loud bang- a heavy box toppling down along your arm, cutting open a clean laceration from your inner elbow to your wrist, “fuck!”
ironic enough the fallen box now lays crumbled at your feet, busted open and spilling out its contents of bandages. there isn’t time to perfect the wrapping of your arm, nevermind control the consistent bleeding that quickly seeps into the cloth but it works for now.
adrenaline runs through your veins, keeping the pain to a minimum as you drag the shelf to the door, angling it so that it only has a sliver of space to crack open once it hits the fallen piece of metal.
your body feels heavy, exhaustion settling into your bones from this trip already. the idea of crawling into the warmth of your bed, sounded better than ever but it’s not time yet. there was still work to do and your people needed an out, you’ll be damned if daryls remark held you back from a potential opening.
you heave a deep breath, turning the knob just so the door is loose before backing up and readying your knife.
the first few walkers stumble through the crack one by one, easy enough to take out. in a short amount of time, you’d killed a dozen or so and you’re beginning to wonder how many more reside outside the door as you begin to tire out. there’s a pause and no more push through but you can hear them, their monstrous groaning floating through the crack.
you decide to take a breather, dropping your arms in fatigue but it’s the wrong time to rest as another walker squeezes through, having been forced through by another that stumbles in quickly after. you shove tiredlessly at the first one, gripping the second and collapsing to the ground with it as you stab it in it’s head. your knife is a lost cause inside the skull of the walker and you scramble back as the second one stumbles after you, it’s unstable body crumbling ontop of yours.
you have your hurt forearm rested on it’s neck as it’s teeth snaps at you grossly while the other hand pushes at it’s forehead. it’s been awhile since you’ve been so close to a walker like this. since arriving to alexandria, you and maggie worked along with deanna on building a new brighter future for the community.
as time passed, you found being inside the walls wasn’t so bad and the only time you itched to be out was when daryl would be gone on his weeks long recruiting trips.
he is what made alexandria feel more like home to you.
his insane judgement of character made you feel safe, so if he found that trust within those walls- so did you and every other person in your group.
that’s why you needed him to get back, why they all needed to make it back. alexandria would never be the same without him- without any of them.
you internally scoff at your overly ridiculous thoughts, even as you sweat so close to death itself, all you can think about is him.
but with thoughts of getting him out safely, comes a newfound strength as you let it’s forehead go, the walkers head dropping dangerously closer to your face as you scramble for the gun on your hip.
it’s a clean one shot before your throwing the walkers body to the side with a grunt, scurrying back in fear as your heart thuds painfully in your chest.
no matter how many times you’re faced with this new reality, it never fails to scare you shitless with the constant reminder of how living isn’t a promise and looms so dangerously over your head- or directly in your face.
a refreshing soft breeze comes from the cracked door, snapping you from your building anxiety and you hastily crawl to it, pulling it open more and finding the alley clear.
you smile in relief and as much as your body screams to rest, you’re running to grab the others to make a swift escape before anymore walkers can show up.
red, the passionate lover.
the thunderous clouds open for the loud torrents of rain creating a solemn ambience among the community.
similar to the way you feel as you lay on the couch, shades open to watch the droplets that hit the window before sliding down.
freshly showered with a clean bandage on your arm, wrapped in a sweatshirt far too big for your figure and fuzzy socks, you wallow in the warmth of your own home.
there’s a pounding at your front door that interrupts your thoughts, one that could almost rival the thunder released from the sky.
you pull a thin blanket from the couch, wrapping it around yourself as your sock covered feet slide across the wood flooring to the door.
pulling it open, the sky’s weeping shower is louder but what takes your attention is the soaking wet man that stands before you.
“daryl?” head to toe, his body is drenched. his clothes clingling to him, dripping onto your front doorstep. his hair beginning to wave as the tips leak water onto his shoulders and face, in which you finally take in his exasperated expression, “what’s wrong?”
“wha’s wrong?” his tone is full of frustration, “let’s start with tha’ stunt ya pulled earlier today, hm?”
confusion covers your features, your fingers gripping the blanket tighter around your body when a gust of wind and rain blows through, “what do you mean?”
daryl huffs, a hand coming up to swipe over his mouth roughly, “i mean.. ya makin’ a stupid decision tha’ could’ve costed ya, yer life!”
“what?” you can tell your inability to make sense of the conversation only frustrates him more but given that last time you saw him, you guys were fine- as far as him ignoring you, nothing seemed out of the ordinary and now he shows up at your home to yell at you? so yeah, you had a right to be a little confused.
“dun’ play dumb, i told ya the plan and ya ran off! decided playin’ with ya life was the way to go instead!” although it was just hours ago that you laid face to face with death, it felt like days and you no longer cared to linger on it anymore as you stand within the safety of alexandria.
“i made a choice. you have no right to insult me! it saved us, didn’t it?!” you hadn’t expected him to praise you for what you did, but his response to your actions that helped you guys make it back safely was unbelievable, had it been anyone else-
“at what cost?!” clearly you aren’t understanding what he’s saying as he grows more agitated by the second.
“what does it matter? it’s over daryl!” you grip the blanket in one hand as you toss the other out in annoyance.
“ya shouldn’t be risking ya life lik tha’.. fo’ anyone!”
“well i did!”
“why?!”
“because that’s what you do for someone you love!” your chest heaves with rattling breaths, “i-i wasn’t thinking about me, i just knew you had to get out, that’s all i cared about.. you getting home” you turn your head as you feel tears burn in your eyes.
it’d be silent if not for the rumbling downpour coming from the sky above as if the universe too, was upset.
“… ya love me?” bewilderment makes up his otherwise timid tone.
but you can’t face him, the humiliation of outing yourself too much to bare so you just nod your head abashedly, tear-filled gazed locked on a chipped part of the doorway.
“look at me” you can see his body move closer from the corner of your eye but you make no move to change positions.
body aflamed with embarrassment, frozen in time as your mind races through every outcome of this situation. all ending in familiarity: your heart laid crushed in the open, bleeding the many colors it holds. it’s like you can feel the ache of longing that follows as you rethink every moment you guys had together, clinging to the memories to cope with the overwhelming sadness that withers into your chest.
there is no time to mourn something you haven’t lost yet when a pair of hands cup your face gently, forcing your gaze to the sharp blue eyes of daryls.
the distance between your faces closing as his thumbs absentmindedly wipe the tears from under your eyes. the rise of your heartbeat causes your chest to heave with your deep breathes mixing with daryls as his body sways closer. his eyes never leave your face, taking in every inch as if he still can’t believe the words that you uttered so effortlessly in your emotional fit.
“ya mean it?” with your gazes locked, you can finally take in the hidden vulnerability that lies in between his mumbled words. unable to speak with the lump that settles into your throat, you can only nod feverishly in his grip but it isn’t enough as he shakes his head, “say it again” but you respond with your own head shake, finding it hard to grasp onto any words. his rough thumb brushes over your trembling bottom lip soothingly, his tone soft yet encouraging, “ya can, baby.. say it again”
the pet name slips from his lips seamlessly, breaking your resolve as your hand releases the blanket and instead, both reaching out to grip his forearms with soft dry sobs of the words over and over.
i love you. i love you. i love you.
daryl is quick to match your distress with comfort, wrapping one arm around your waist to hold your body flush against his, “i know, i know, i know.. ’s okay baby”
you allow yourself to fall into his arms with a light flush to your cheeks from embarrassment, so quick to fall apart at the slightest coaxing but you needed this. him. you needed him to understand just how much you felt for him and how overwhelming it all was.
his arms are strong, encompassing you in his body heat that lights a fire in your own. your arms snake around his neck, pulling his face closer and it’s enough for him to finally slot your lips together.
despite the growing fever of desire, the kiss remains slow but your grips on each other tighten as he shuffles your bodies into the house, shutting the door all the while keeping his lips attached to yours.
one of his hand slides down your body, gripping your thigh as a signal for you to wrap your legs around him, which you do with a quiet huff.
with blinded knowledge of the layout he takes you to the living room, laying your body gently on the couch.
you shiver at the lack of contact and his piercing stare as he takes in your delicate state. your hair fanning behind your head as the oversized sweatshirt you wear hikes up to your upper thighs, your legs bent yet closed innocently- revealing just the cusp of your bottom to him.
your eyebrows furrow at his longing gaze, poking his leg playfully with your sock covered foot which he grabs. you meet his sharp blue eyes and that growing fire in your stomach heightens at the hunger that lingers in them.
he seems to want to take his time, enjoying the sight of you but the need in you burns painfully for his touch.
tilting your head, you look at him from under your lashes, fluttering them prettily as you reach your hands out towards him.
he comes easily, settling over your body- it should bother you that his clothes remain wet and cold but it soothes your otherwise hot skin when his broad frame settles between your legs.
you’re pulling his lips to meet yours again, letting out a gasp at the sensation, sometimes you forget just how good you guys are together.
having spent years learning how each others bodies work; he knows exactly what touches will have falling apart while gasping his name and you know just how to move to have him desperately coming back for more- you two work together like a well oiled machine.
he lifts off of you, a whimper escaping your throat, “‘s okay baby, jus’ gotta take this off” he’s only able to swipe his signature vest off before you’re sweeping your upper body up to help him unbutton his sleeveless top, “eager, ain’t ya sweethear’?” his hand brushes pieces of your hair behind your ear, finger sliding down your neck and hooking into the crew of your sweatshirt.
you ignore his truthful remark, settling for pushing his shirt off his shoulders before pulling him back over your body, his bare chest pressing through the thick material of your own top yet you feel like you need more.
“more..” you squirm under him as his hands softly wander over your covered frame.
daryl only hushes you, his rough hands sliding under your sweatshirt, meeting the soft skin of your lower stomach, dipping up at your waist, tickling at your ribs until his fingertips skim just under your breasts. you arch beautifully into his hands, eyes hooded in lust as he watches your lips part in a quiet gasp.
your own hands grip at his muscled biceps, fingernails digging in- in anticipated pleasure. your body rolls, thrusting your hips into his in a desperate search of something to ease the throbbing pressure building between your legs.
he seems to take pity on you, lowering his body until he’s eye level to your stomach. his hands bunch up the fabric of your sweatshirt, lifting it just enough to reveal your belly button.
he places kisses under it, a warm and gentle peck that has you sucking your stomach in at the gesture. your hands grip his as you look down, his unruly hair falling into his face, slightly covering his now darkened blue eyes that glanced up every so often to enjoy the way your features contort in bliss. his lips remain on your skin, pressing sloppy kisses wherever he deems fit as he travels up. he keeps up with the lifting of your top, every new layer of revealed skin is left with heated, wet kisses that the air cools over- the sensation of it all, sending a thrilling shiver throughout your whole body.
you can’t seem to control your hips, bucking everytime daryl stops and takes a nibble at your skin before licking over it soothingly.
with your sweatshirt finally bunched under your pits to reveal your breasts to the open air, nipples hardening at the change of temperature. daryl kisses in the valley of your chest before humming to himself when he gets his lips around one of your nipples, his scruff scratching over the soft skin while one of his hands finds your other breast, calloused fingertips running over the nipple.
the change of position has daryls hips pressed right against yours, his jean covered bulge digging into your thinly covered core. a simple roll of your hips has your eyes rolling back, a choked gasp releasing from your mouth at the newfound pleasure.
daryl has switched to the other nipple, giving it the same attention as the last before he can’t take anymore of your quiet noises- lifting up to take your lips into another biting kiss. his hands grappling to rip off the sweatshirt over your head as he settles back on his haunches, only a sliver of blue visible in his eyes as he takes in your body - only softening a little as they gaze over your bandaged arm.
your legs settle over his thighs but the more he stares, the more unsure you become and you find your knees turning in- in an attempt to hide the most vulnerable part of yourself but daryl doesn’t let you get far, immediately gripping them to push them back out. one hand holds the crease of your knee, keeping your legs apart while the other slips down to your covered core, fingertips dancing over the wet patch of your panties.
the same way he seems entranced by your figure, you can’t take your eyes off him. on normal circumstances, he never took his time: seemingly too overwhelmed with desire to play things out, only taking exactly what he came for and never lingering after.
now though, his hands eagerly pause to truly appreciate whatever details he’s found of your body. his eyes lost in the way you move, the way you look.. finally he gets the chance to fully indulge the parts of you he never got to take advantage of in your unspoken situationship.
you huff as your hips press more firmly into his hands, daryls eyebrows raising in amusement at your clear impatience.
“jus’ wanted ta look at m’ girl” his mocking tone only burns the flames hotter in your body, “tha’s wha’ ya are, hm? mine?” he pushes your panties to the side, your dripping core pulsing in anticipation. he drags his fingertips through the wetness, collecting it before spreading it messily over your lips. he barely skims over your clit but the teasing has your senses on high and you find yourself unable to stop the twitch of your hips, “say it” his motions stop, fingers hovering over you as you meet his darkened gaze.
“i’m yours” your voice is broken, meek and so so beautiful to him, “please, ‘m yours”
maybe another time you’d feel embarrassed about being so desperate but the softness of his hands: the loving way he tends to your neediness has you on cloud nine.
“mm, ‘ve got ya” his gravely voice is only getting deeper, rumbling deep into his chest as he allows two thick fingers to slide into your pulsating hole. after years of being together, your body takes to him easily, opening to accommodate his digits.
“yes…” you hiss as you toss your head back, legs twitching as they threaten to close around his hand, a weak attempt to lock in the pleasure somehow.
daryl only grunts before his fingers are moving, hooking them everytime they slide out to target your gspot, thumb brushing against your throbbing clit. his pace is slower than normal, dragging out the sensation until you forget your name.
your impending orgasm is closer than you thought, his previous teasing ministrations having more of an effect on your body than the rushed ones you’ve endured before- not that those weren’t good but this, this felt stronger and harder to hold back.
as if sensing the same thing, daryls fingers pick up the pace until a slight squelch of your slick is heard over your gasping moans.
“gunna come fo’ me?” it’s sort of useless of him to ask as your eyes threaten to fall into the back your head, your body rolling into his hand uncontrollably and the obvious mewls of pleasure that spill from your lips- yet, you answer in a clumsy nod.
daryl doubles down in his actions, somehow shuffling even closer as he keeps his fingers inside of you and only thrusting deeper with curled fingertips, thumb messily moving over your sensitive clit.
the choked out moan you let out breaks in half into a high pitched squeal, knees helplessly knocking together while your hands reach out to grasp any part of the couch, you could get your hands on as your high hits.
“tha’s it..” the words are more of a growl as daryl watches you fall apart, your cries a muttered mixture of his name and sobs of pure pleasure until your left sinking into the couch with watery doe eyes, flushed cheeks, messy hair, and the heavy rise and fall of your naked chest.
his fingers only linger inside you for a moment more before pulling them out, lifting them to his mouth in a seemless action. he hums happily around his soaked digits as you whimper at the sight, shaky thighs opening back up despite your still throbbing core.
his hands fall to caress the smooth surface of them, eyes lost in the mess of your cunt until your hands reach out, fingers barely tickling over the bulge in his jeans. his hips push forward more and the response is enough for you to lift up, scrambling to unbutton his jeans and hurriedly pulling his cock out from his briefs.
he sits heavy in your palm, angry red tip with decorative blue veins down his shaft. your mouth waters at the sight and you go to lean forward, prepared to make him a mess as much as he did you but a hand grips the back of your head, fingers tangling into your hair to tilt your eyes up at him.
your eyes are lust blown and so very eager, only to twinkle with confusion at his next words, “i’ll come too soon”
you pout, “want you too”
at your indignant tone, he cracks a small smile. hand coming up to cup your chin, thumb brushing softly over your lips before falling onto your tongue when you open your mouth- keen on showing him exactly what he is missing out on when the slick muscle swirls around his finger, cheeks holllowing sharply as you bob your head sinfully.
you can feel his cock twitch violently in your hand, your own thumb swiping over his tip to the oozing precum that continuously drips out.
entranced by you, it takes daryl a second to fully pull away: enjoying the suction of his digit and the soft pull of your hand on his cock but he finds the control to back away.
your eyesbrows pull together in confusion, a flash of hurt covering your features when he stands up from the couch- a sudden doubtful feeling that this isn’t what you thought it was settling into your head.
“not going anywhere, jus’ takin’ my jeans off sweethear’” his reassuring words ease the tension in your body as you melt back into the couch. his briefs come down with his jeans, revealing his familiar broad body to your eyes, except now, you’re able to fully take him in: fully appreciate his scars, his muscles, his tattoos.. everything that makes him- him. the many reasons you’ve found yourself falling for him before you could even catch yourself, “wha’s that look for?”
you hadn’t even realized you were staring at him a certain way as he settles back inbetween your legs after helping you disgard the last few articles of clothing on your own body.
you squirm under his tickling hands as they graze over your body in a loving manner, you release of sigh of bliss at the motions. his fingers dancing around your waist until you look back into his eyes that hold a questioning gaze.
“just.. love you” you shrug nonchalantly, breaking the intense gaze as your fingers reach out the fiddle with the ones still at your waist- an uncertainty to your already fragile tone.
an obvious fear that you may say the wrong thing, running him off to the hills after getting only a sliver of what could be.
your not sure what to expect but it isn’t his fingers tangling into yours, locking them together and squeezing to gain your attention again.
his chest presses against yours as he leans closer to your face, pecking your lips softly a couple of times before mumbling the words bashfully against them, “love ya too”
you’re at a loss of words, gasping softly as your hands untangle from his to grasp at his face, fingers brushing the stray hairs away so you could get a clear look of his face.
his sight lowers, staring more at your chin in obvious embarrassment, alongside the flash of red that spreads over the apple of his cheeks.
you bite your lip in hopes of curbing your amused smile but you can’t- too overjoyed with his words as you force him to look at you and as if seeing the clear happiness of your own features, he fights to hide his own.
“say it again” you sweetly mock his words from earlier, making daryl rolls his eyes playfully, grumbling as he shifts above you. the new position having his cock pressed against your core- sending a thrilling shock of heat through both you as if you had forgotten where you guys were.
a gasp releasing from both of your mouths as you move against one another, searching for that pleasurable feeling again.
you’re just finding a good rhythm, timing the roll of your hips perfectly with his so that the head of his cock nails your swelling clit everytime but he sits back- an action that has you whining in protest.
“quit tha’” he slaps a hand on your thigh, your body jerking at the delicious sting it brings, before he is guiding his cock to your slick hole. your senses are in overdrive after your first orgasm, the slow stretch of him pushing into you is a tad overwhelming as you reach out for one of his hands. his expression softens, his free hand rubbing soothingly up and down your thigh, even leaning over to press a little kiss on your knee.
your eyes are closed, chest heaving in deep breaths as you feel him enter you inch by inch slowly. in a normal fit of hurried passion, driven by nothing but lust, these moments are easily skipped over. fast paced with only one goal; release.
but now, as you grip onto one hand, his other softly grazing over your body with the odd kiss: it’s nothing but in the rawest form of love.
the simplicity of intimacy.
pressed all the way in, you find your body quickly morphing around the intrusion of him and your eyes finally open, finding his own on your face.
“‘kay?” physically feeling his small loving touches give no justice to the way his eyes glimmer fondly, a small hint of relief in them as if he has been waiting equally as long for you as you have for him.
maybe he has.. maybe his lack of emotions was a protective wall around his heart incase you didn’t truly feel anything for him- other than the odd fleeting need of release.
but you do, you always have and you try your best to convey that through your own expression while nodding to his question.
he chooses in that moment to move, sliding his cock out and slowly thrusting back in.
“ah..” your lips open in a blissful gasp, hips rolling down to meet his.
“yeah?” his tone is soft, hand coming down so his thumb could rub at your swollen clit, the shock of pleasure having you clench around his sensitive cock: a reaction that has him groaning, body slouching until his naked chest rests against yours, his face falling into your neck as his thrusts become more desperate.
your free hand comes to rest on the back of his head, tangling into the unruly strands as he bites at your collarbone with growls of pleasure. your still linked hands press further into the couch, now next to your head as this new position only allows your bodies to slide against each other but it’s enough. your sensitivity bringing your second release faster than the first while daryl heads for his first one after holding back for so long.
his hips stutter against your constant rolling, an attempt to make this last a little bit longer but you only torture him further- intentionally squeezing your walls around him.
“fuck” he pants hotly against your neck, “‘m gonna come if ya don’ stop”
“want you too” you huff back as your motions double down, the combination of your cunt clenching around his thick pulsing cock and the consistent sway of your body against him only pushes him closer to coming but he no longer fights it.
your stomach is tightening in heat as you yank his hair, forcing his head to come out from your neck, teeth clashing a bit clumsy as you pull his mouth to yours.
“do it” you egg him on, lips barely brushing his as he grits his teeth, “‘m yours, yeah? show me”
your bodies slide easily with the building layer of sweat on your skin from the amount of exertion you both use to challenge the other.
“fuckin’..” daryl presses his lips harshly against yours before his hips jerk sharply as he cums, groaning loudly and dropping his forehead on yours as he pants through the buzzing pleasure.
the sight has you nearing your own orgasm, gasping brokenly as you feel his cock twitch, painting your walls white and claiming you in a primal way that sends tingles from your stomach to your toes.
“please.. ‘m so close” you beg prettily as daryls orgasm passes, his attention immediately focusing on your approaching second one as he thrusts shallowly: so deep you feel him hitting spots that bring tears to your eyes, momentarily blurring your vision.
the quick build up has you babbling nothing but nonsense and the odd slip of his name. he has to lean back to take in the enticing vision you’ve become, head thrown back with your eyes shut tight, pink plump lips open to let out the most delicate sounds.
both of your hands now hold his biceps in a deathly grip, trying to find something to ground you as your high gets closer.
daryl tips forward to bite playfully at your chin, “look at me sweethear’”
you whimper before complying, dropping your head down heavily to peer up at him through wet lashes. he holds the eye contact as his hips increase in pace and force, now with his hands free: one settles next to your head, balancing his body above you while the other grips at your waist, pulling you down to meet his.
your second orgasm teeters on the edge of release and it’s like daryl can sense it, leaning down to connect your lips once more before mumbling against them, “‘m girl looks so pretty, hm? tha’s it… gonn’ come one more time fo’ me? promise i’ll take care of ya, let me see sweethear’.. told ya i love ya”
the heartfelt words send you over, your hands pulling him closer as you arch up into him. your eyes roll to the back of your head, cunt clenching tightly around his sensitive cock and thighs trembling around his hips. your cries of pure joy are followed by dry sobs as you try and catch your breath after such an intense high.
daryl is quick to meet your fragile state, petting your hair down as he places small kisses all over your cheeks, nose, corner of your lips, chin, neck, anywhere he could reach as you go through the full motions of your orgasm.
when your body drops heavily back into the couch, your eyes are shut in exhaustion, fully residing in his sweet pampering. the ticklish feeling of his scruffy beard against your neck has you giggling breathlessly, which only results in him groaning in response as you unconsciously squeeze around him.
he lifts to fully pull himself out of your body, both of you hissing in mild discomfort. for a split second as he removes his body completely and stands, you expect him to begin putting his clothes on, preparing to take his usual swift leave but instead he reaches under your body, lifting you bridal style.
“daryl!” you squeal as your arms wrap around his shoulders, an amused smirk falling onto his face as he carries you up the stairs to your ensuite bathroom in silence.
your next actions are equally as quiet, him leaving to grab towels and clothes while you use the restroom and begin the shower. standing infront of the mirror, you take in the new lovebites that scatter around your naked body, luckily in spots you can hide easily. a flush taking over your features even more when he appears in similar fashion: completely nude with scratches and nail indents- a true mess you’ve made of one another.
he hides a coy smile as he saddles behind you, taking in the mere sight he created upon you. you shiver when his hands settle on your hips before slipping to wrap around your front, pulling your back into his chest as he pressing a soft kiss on your shoulder.
all of his motions tender and loving- something you’ve yearned after for years from him.
and it’s finally happening, a little quicker than you thought too but maybe a little bit of coaxing from both sides is all you guys needed to fall into the right rhythm.
you feel a bit ridiculous that it took this long but the reality of it happening now, you can’t seem to linger on anything other than pure happiness as he holds you so closely.
his blue eyes peek up from behind your shoulder, “‘kay?”
your eyes sparkle with newfound warmth, “i’m okay, you?”
he playfully nibbles at your shoulder, tightening his hold on you even more as you laugh delightfully in response.
the shower is quick, intimate, soft and loving. both of you tending to one another as if you’ve done it for years and maybe you have in your own odd ways- daryl always keeping an eye out for you on supply runs, making sure you had enough for dinner even if it meant giving up some of his, bringing back things he knows you’ll like but gifting them anonymously while you loved him unconditionally, selflessly more giving than taking, accepting his many flaws and mistakes, understanding when he needs space, caring for him in all the ways he would allow you from afar.
he felt like he had a lot of making up to do but once again, you didn’t care as you laid upon his naked chest. freshly cleaned with minimal clothing on, your bodies lay above the sheets, basking in the cool breeze that flowed through the cracked window of your bedroom. the aftermath of the storm bringing glimpses of sunlight and light wind.
a certain calmness relaying over the both of you.
your leg was thrown over his hips, warm body pressed entirely to his side as your head rose with the slow rise and fall movement of his chest, the beating of his heart thudding softly in your ear as one of his hands softly rub your back, the other splaying across his own stomach, loosely wrapped around the wrist of your hand that continues to trace hearts on his chest.
if there was a way to touch you, he was doing it- enjoying the fact that you too, wanted this and diving head first into everything clumsily but oh so sweetly.
the heavy weight of his arms around your body and the warm consistent press of his hands was only a constant reminder that this was infact real.
he was here to finally just stay.
and while you know that this only the beginning, that both of you had to have real, long, uncomfortable conversations about your feelings- this was more than enough for now.
just you, him and his soft hands.
#daryl dixon#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixon fic#daryl dixon x female reader#daryl dixon x reader fic#norman reedus#the walking dead#twd x reader#daryldixon#rite4fun#romantic pairing#light angst
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Smoke, Fire and Ash
Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.
This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.
Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)
Masterlist
Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.
Note: Hello hello hello! Behold, another chapter, I know these ones are quite heavy, and so I am doing my best to post as often as I can so that we aren't all left in the pit of despair. <3
Chapter 76: Unlikely Ally
The soft brushing of hands through your hair drew you up to the surface of consciousness, a gentle stirring that did not jerk you to the front, but caressed you. Sandalwood and musk, smoke and leather, hints of dragon, all curled around you, creating a feeling of safety.
It was him.
It was okay.
It was over.
Your eyes cracked open, your limbs heavy and tires as you looked up.
Long silver hair, deep black leather robes, a scar through cheek and forehead, a shining sapphire eye and a stormy violet one. Aemond sat as he had the day before, back stiff and seeing eye still on the chamber doors.
He had not slept.
And he had not taken his eye from the doors, not even for one moment.
His other hand however, was not clutching the side of the chaise as it was when you drifted to sleep, but instead cupped your face, thumb smoothing the soft skin along your jawline.
You blinked at him and shifted, dull pain sparking in your neck, and throbbing through your core. At your stirring, the Prince turned his sight away from the door, to cast his eye down to look at you, jaw clenched as his gaze slipped to the bruises upon your neck.
Slowly you moved to sit up, ignoring the way your body begged to stay still, to keep laying on the chaise, to go back to rest and exist in a world of non-existence. To sleep in the emptiness void and bask in the silence of your dreams.
Your uncle made room for you to sit beside him, feet moving down to brush against the cold stone floors.
“Easy.” Aemond breathed as you winced from the movement, your eyes finding the fireplace, with no sight of Lucerys or Helaena.
They were gone.
He lifted his hand to brush a lock of your hair behind your ear, evidently pleased that you did not flinch at his touch. But how were you to flinch when you had no one else to go to.
There was an emptiness that settled in your chest, a hollowness that lingered around you and had not left, despite his presence.
Aemond's violet eye searched your face, looking at your profile before he whispered your childhood name to you. A soft coo. A gentle command. A come hither of the kindest notion.
You turned your head to face him, and watched as he softly gripped your chin, tilting your head up, pain in the movement of it, allowing him to see the bruises that marred your neck.
Cause by his brother.
The King.
He breathed a sharp breath through his nose as he looked at the purple blotches. Long angry lines marked the shape of fingers around your neck, pink and purple blooming around the skin, with tinges of yellow creeping along the edges.
“Skoros ēza ziry gaomagon naejot ao.” What has he done to you, He murmured, and you shut your eyes.
You didn’t want to think of what he had done to you.
You didn’t want to think about the feeling of his hands on you.
The feeling of him inside of you.
A knock rattled the wood of the doors, echoing in the solemn space. You jumped beside him, heart lurching in your throat as you spun to look at the entrance.
It was him.
He was back.
He was back.
It was not o-
“It’s alright.” Aemond whispered before turning his head, but his posture said anything but it. His spine had stiffened more than it already was, and he looked as though he was ready to jump from his spot beside you. It set you on edge.
“Come.” His voice boomed across the room.
The two large doors opened, and the knight who guarded your chambers entered meekly, eyes on the floor, not daring to look at you or Aemond.
Where was he?
Had he heard?
Did he know?
“My Lord, My Lady.” He greeted you both, finally raising his eyes to look across the room. “The King has requested your presence this morning to dine with the Small Council.”
The King.
The King.
To Dine.
To Dine.
The King.
The words caused nausea to roll through you, tears springing to your eyes. Please Gods, not again. Please. Please. Your breath quickened as you stared, heart racing against your ribcage.
Aemond inhaled deeply, with anger.
“Has he commanded it?” He growled.
“Yes, My Lord.”
“Leave.” Aemond grunted.
The world around you got smaller.
The King.
The King.
You were to see him again.
Two large hands grasped your face and turned you to gaze upon Aemond’s.
“Paghagon, zaldrītsos.” Breathe.
A sob broke through you as you tried to steady your breathing.
The King.
The memories of him on top of you.
His grunts.
His hands.
His-
Aemond murmured your nickname and you looked into his eye.
“Do not show that him that he has broken you.”
One hand released your face and came down into your lap, pulling your hand into his own, finger sliding up and down on the scar of your palm.
It was intimate, it was soft, and it grounded you.
“I promise, he will not touch you again. I give you my word.”
You said you wouldn’t leave.
You promised I would be safe.
Your breathing quickened again.
You said I would be okay.
I told you.
I told you.
I to-
“Where is your fire?” His eye searched your face.
You blinked at him, tear rolling down your cheek.
“Skoriot iksis ñuha zaldrītsos?” Where is my little dragon?
Where is she?
Where is she?
Snuffed out.
Tired.
Broken.
“Gone.”
“You and I both know that is not the case.” He whispered, thumb still smoothing the scar on your palm, “Iksā se ānogar hen Uēpa Valyria. Perzys dakogon rȳ ao. Iksā se tala hen Rhaenyra Targārien, se se Rogue Dārilaros."
You are the blood of Old valyria. Fire runs through you. You are the daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, and the Rogue Prince.
Aemond leant forward, eye determined and shadowed as he spoke, with conviction, slowly, sternly, and reverantly.
"Iksā ñuha ābrazȳrys.” You are my wife.
My wife.
You blinked again, heart still thumping a racing rhythm in your chest.
“My wife is not weak. My wife is not broken.” He squeezed your hand and you squeezed it back, trying to calm the awful anxiety that caused your stomach to tie up in knots.
“We will dine with the King, and we will show him… Who you are.”
Who you are.
Who are you?
Zaldristos.
Dracarys.
You sniffed and nodded, swallowing thickly as you began to push down the tide of overwhelming terror.
Where was your fire?
Where is your fire?
Where?
The Amala and Joanna came to dress you, and had sat you gently at the vanity to brush and braid your hair together, both there to support you. There to offer you support with their mere presence alone, and although it did not relieve the trepidation that you had, their non verbal show of care was a stepping stone you had not known you needed.
When you looked at yourself in the vanity, your eyes scanned the bruises along your neck and the visual state of your wellbeing. Your eyes were dark, heavy shadows beneath them, and your cheeks had lost a fullness to them, as though the life had seeped out of you.
The bruises told a story of its own.
Dark purple blotches of fingers along your neck stood out as a reminder to you, mauves and blues pressed harder in some places than others, like splatters of paint, and yellow bleeding at the edges. You had to suck in a shaken breath and turn your head away, not wishing to look at the evidence of his touch on your flesh.
It is over.
It is over.
The gown they dressed you in was high necked to cover the bruises, to hide his crimes. To hide the horrors that you had to endure. To hide your sorrow
The dress was long and heavy, sleeves tight against you with silk threads of black flames that were embroidered along the sleeves, skirt, and bodice. The high neck buckled at the front with silver clasps, and a large chain of Valyrian steel was secured around your waist, the head of a dragon biting down on its own tail.
When you were dressed, you sat once more in front of the vanity and looked at yourself.
Though the dress hid the bruises that marred your body, your face betrayed you with your hollow eyes and gaunt cheeks. But the gown helped in a false sense of power and pride, and the hair made you feel closer to your family in a moment when you needed them most.
Do this for them.
Do this for them.
What more could be done?
The worst has already happened.
Endure.
Endure.
Endure.
“Are you ready?” Aemond stood behind you, one hand on the side of your shoulder where his thumb rubbed against the junction of your neck.
You swallowed.
Were you ready?
You would never be ready.
But you had to be.
For them.
For yourself.
You nodded and stood, turning to face Aemond.
Shock crawled through you.
Today, he was not in his leather robes that he always wore.
Today Aemond wore something similar to you.
All black.
Your eyes roamed over his body.
The tunic and pants were similar to yours with a black vest tightened at his front. Large silver clasps held the tunic and vest together, and from one point of his shoulder down to his waist was another steel chain.
One dragon head on each end, their jaws biting down on the black to hold to the material.
Aemond was wearing black.
Not his black leathers.
But black robes.
Matching black robes.
He was wearing your colours.
Aemond’s eye was half hooded, and his sapphire eye twinkled lightly as he shifted his head to look at you. His hair had been braided back, away from his face and fastened at the back of his head half up and half down.
It reminded you of your father.
The Prince held out his hand to you, palm up. The scar ran across the expanse of his large hand, the pink skin raised and delicate. His hands were so much larger than yours, and he had calluses from years of sword training, and the wear of Vhagar's reins upon his skin.
Placing your own in his, you felt the two of your ceremonial scars press together.
As one.
And so you walked together, as one, in unlikely circumstances fated by the Gods or others, to the small Dining Hall.
His grip grounded you as you counted the steps.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
You breathed in with every second step and out with every fourth, trying to set an easy rhythm to concentrate on and follow.
The walk passed quickly, and by the time you stood in front of the two doors, Aemond’s eye was set on the entrance in front of him, his hand tightening around yours painfully. You watched as his jaw clenched, and the lips you had come to chase, pursed.
“Dracarys.” Came the familiar whisper of Lucerys.
Dracarys.
Dracarys.
The doors opened, and you struggled to keep your fear in check, but you pushed it down, as you had many times before. As you have always had to do. And the cold steel mask that you had grown accustomed to wearing in your time, since even before the war, slipped on.
There was something about entering a chamber full of the Greens Small Council, and having all eyes on you. All eyes on the treaty bargaining piece, and her husband, the One-Eyed Prince, dressed head to toe in matching robes of black.
A symbol of unity.
A symbol of rebellion.
A symbol of hope.
When your eyes landed on Aegon, your stomach lurched into your throat, hand jerking in Aemond’s grip, who thankfully kept it tightly in his as you ascended the small stairs.
Aegon continued to stare at the both of you, a wide smirk on his pale face as he looked at the state of your dress, focusing on the neck of the gown, which split his face into an even wider smile.
“Brother! Welcome home.” The King boomed.
Alicent sat nervously at the seat beside him, hand tucking a thumb into her palm on the table. A nervous habit.
Aemond did not reply, and pulled out the seat for you to sit in. You sat down and held your breath, heart rising in your throat as your eyes could not tear themselves away from your eldest uncle.
“How do you fare, niece? You look unwell.” Aegon falsely asked, and the shift in the chambers was palpable.
You swallowed thickly, teeth grinding down against one another in your jaw as you dug your nails into Aemond’s hand.
Dracarys.
“Tired, Your Grace." Your voice crackled, "Aemond’s return was swift and unexpected. We had much to catch up on.” You felt your teeth slide across each other roughly.
Aegon grinned, “I am sure you did.”
Otto inhaled deeply, and Aegon leant back to snap his fingers at the servers, having them bring the food to the table.
The food was brought over and piled high, the smells of the meats and fruit turning your stomach. There was even a bowl of starfruit on the table, which you dared to not touch. But most notably, there was a large roasted pig sat in the middle in front of you and Aemond. You felt his own hand clench in your grip, whilst Aegon watched with bright eyes, waiting for the reaction he desperately sought out.
“Mother, a prayer?” Aegon looked to Alicent, who’s eyes nervously danced between all of you.
You wondered who else in the Small Council had known of what had happened.
Anger began to stir inside of you, and Lucerys’ whispers got louder.
Dracarys.
“May we pray to the Crone for wisdom in these times, may she carry her lantern to us to guide the path in which we move forward. May-“
“We pray to the Mother,” Aegon began, interrupting the Dowager Queen, and all eyes flicked up to him, “For a healthy babe and fertile womb for the Princess.”
It was a blur of black and green.
Black and Green.
Green and Black.
“Hen Kasta, Hen Zōbrie.” Of Green, Of Black, Helaena whispered.
The world around you spun.
Breath caught in your throat, the sound of guards being summoned and the yells of Alicent and Otto Hightower brought you back to the present.
Aemond had launched himself across the table, fist catching the Kings jaw, sending the Conquerors Crown flying across the floor with a clang. The chair he had been seated on swung backwards, and the two brothers landed on a heap of fists on the floor.
You could scarcely move, standing as you watched punch, after punch was thrown by both men on the stone floors of the Small Dining Hall. The other Council members stood watching, others sitting, unsure of what to do as Ser Cole rushed over to the blur of silver hair, trying to yank the youngest brother from the King.
“Aemond! Stop this!” Alicent screamed, watching as the One-Eyed Prince wrapped his hands around the King’s throat.
“Aemond!” Otto bellowed, hand raised to stop the King’s guard from reaching the two.
Dracarys.
Dracarys.
Dracarys.
“Aemond.” Your voice felt foreign as it left your lips.
The two men struggled still, the king beneath Aemond who's hands only continued to tighten on around the King's neck.
Hands around your neck.
Aegon's hands around your neck.
His grunts.
His breath.
His-
"Aemond!" The yell escaped you without a second thought.
You watched as the Prince stiffened and jerked his brothers head down onto the stones, rolling off of him to stand. His chest heaved as he looked down at Aegon who was pulled up by Ser Cole, blood dribbling from his lips and nose.
Dracarys.
Hen Kasta, Hen Zōbrie.
Aemond was yanked backwards by Alicent, his shoulder jerking her hold from him as he breathed staring at his brother who sneered.
“You dare put a hand on the King?” He growled, “I could have your head.”
"Touch her again and I'll-"
"You'll what?"
A tear slid down your cheek.
Dracarys.
“Enough! Is it not bad enough that we are at war with your half-sister, that now you seek to war with your own brother? Have you gone to madness?” Alicent snapped at her son, staring Aegon down, who spat a glob of bloody spit onto the stones at Aemond's feet.
“I will not have this family fallen over the petty grievances of two men grown behaving as little boys.” Alicent snapped her head to the Council members who watched on awkwardly, “Leave, and do not speak of what you have witnessed.”
“Not a word to anyone of this.” The old man had bowed his head, and uttered a quiet, “Your Grace” in acquiescence.
“Return to your chambers,” Alicent spun around looking at you and then to Aemond, “All of you.”
You blinked, once, twice, three times.
Aemond was at your side, lip split and hair tousled, though the braids holding firmly. His knuckles were bloodied and bruised, his attire was messed, but his face checked over yours to see if you were okay.
To see if you were safe.
You had an ally.
Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3
Tag List:
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#aemond targaryen fic#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen x y/n#aemond x reader#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x you#aemond x y/n#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond smut#hotd smut#dark!aemond targaryen x reader#dark!aemond x reader#dark!aemond targaryen#hotd#house of the dragon#hotd fanfic#dark!aemond#dark!fic#fic#series#aemond one eye#aemond the kinslayer#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond#smoke fire and ash
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THE PREMIUM DATING EXPERIENCE
Scaramouche x GN! Reader
Summary: sometimes babygirl can be a 161cm guy with some serious mommy issues
"~*💌 Tags: Fluff, slice of life kinda fic, short, gn!reader, modern au
You and Scaramouche were having your regular Saturday ghibli marathon movie date. A little routine the two of you had created back when you first started dating. A little while ago he stood up saying he wanted to get some snacks.
He went to the kitchen 6 minutes ago, surely it wouldn't take that long to grab some refreshments from the fridge? As a few more minutes flew by, you started feeling a little bit anxious. As the wait reached the 15-minute mark, you shouted an "all you alright?" which was met with a: "Be patient!"
Now the clock was reaching the 25-minute mark and you went to go check on him.
Hastily wearing your cat slippers (that the two of you got as a matching set), you quickly make your way to the kitchen. The mix-matched tiles thumping against your slippers.
"Scara, is everything all righ-"
Your voice dies down in the middle as your body stops to scan the sight in front of you.
There your usually snarky boyfriend was sitting, violet eyes scrunched up in focus as he....
Puts icing on cookies?
"Darling, what are you doing?" You ask quizzically, the sight of your bitter partner wearing a pink apron was not something you were used to.
"There were no snacks in the fridge, so I took it upon myself to make you something." He grumbles, continuing to ice the cat shaped cookies. "Be grateful" He adds. The frills of the pink apron ruffling as he moved to one baked treat to another.
The sight makes your heart melt. Your prideful snobbish boyfriend was doing all this. For you? They grow so fast, you silently think to yourself.
"You're such a sweetheart aren't you." You teasingly coo, moving in to peck his cheek. A little token of appreciation to commemorate the rare moments where he lets his guard down.
You couldn't help yourself.
It wasn't everyday you got to see him without his eyebrows furrowed with disgust.
Or his violet eyes heavy with exhaustion and stress.
The moment your lips come in contact with his cheeks, his face blooms into a rosy red.
"Yeah Yeah whatever, just shoo and wait." He mumbles under his breath, as you pinch his cheeks and walk back to the living room, you don't miss the way he gently caresses the location you kissed.
He might be a sour ass sometimes, but that's what makes the sweeter moments that more precious.
After a while, he returns with a batch of freshly baked cat shaped treats. He sets the tray down as he undoes the ribbon at the back of the lacy apron, throwing it to a nearby chair. Plopping next to you, as you feel the couch sink down under his weight.
"So what do you want to watch" He inquires, tilting his head as he chews on, what you assume to be the cookies he made.
"I was thinking we could watch Spirited Away-"
"I want Ponyo" He interrupts, as he throws a little glare your way. A look you don't miss.
You sometimes wonder how you put up with him and even share a roof with him. You're starting to understand why the Childe was so surprised when Scaramouche introduced you as his significant other.
"But-"
"I made you those cookies, didn't I? "
What else were you expecting, it's Scaramouche. Of course, he'd guilt-trip you, using the adorable cat shaped confection.
"I thought you made those because you were trying to be a better boyfriend!" You state in disbelief, putting a hand over your mouth to emphasize your shock.
"Do I look like I do charity? Ponyo. " Scaramouche aggressively hisses.
Realizing there was no point in arguing, you begrudgingly huff and mutter a small "you win..." underneath your breath.
"Ponyo it is." you say, grabbing the remote and setting up the TV.
What an adorable boyfriend you have.
I would have never waited 25 minutes. I ain't that patient. Why'd I lie-
#genshin x reader#genshin impact#genshin#cat-toess writes!#genshin impact x reader#genshin imagines#scaramouche x reader#scara x reader#scaramouche#genshin scara#wanderer#genshin scaramouche#kunikuzushi#scarameow#kabukimono#kunikuzushi x reader#wanderer x reader#x gn!reader#gender neutral reader
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DPxDC prompt #1
(Or baby’s first fic prompt that’s more of a ficlette. It’s going under the cut because it ended up longer than a prompt. Sorry.)
Jazz is reincarnated in the DC Universe. Her new family is no longer in the picture and she doesn’t remember her past life at all. She ends up taken in by the League of Assassins. She is named Yasmina.
She grows up there, learning to be a skilled fighter and trains to be Talias bodyguard. Sometimes she helps protect baby Damian, even though she is only a teenager.
She grows up to be a tall girl with a strong build. Not willowy like Talia. She still has red hair but it’s darker now and naturally violet eyes because of a latent meta gene.
Talia eventually switches her to helping Jason during his training, acting as a go between. She occasionally has Yasmina spar with Jason to gauge how his training is going. The two teens get close, Talia sees this as a chance to manipulate Jason. She encourages Yasmina to pursue her interest in Jason, and encourage Jason to do the same.
(Talia is also kind of hoping Jason decides not to leave because she’s started to think of him as her own. Son, apprentice, just something intrinsically hers. She doesn’t want to give him back to her Beloved. She’s also seeing a bit of herself and Bruce in Yasmina and Jason. It’s nostalgic, but painful. She kind of wants them to have a better end than her.)
Yasmina and Jason end up spending a lot of time together. Feelings get stronger. They find a kind of happiness in each other for a time. It might be love blooming.
Then Jason’s training comes to an end. He still chooses to return to Gotham. Yasmina’s heart is broken, but when she looks in his eyes she knows Gotham is his first love. He’s just as Talia described The Bat to her, on one of her vaguely vulnerable days. Too determined. Too focused. The mission will always come first, even as he says he’s nothing like his father.
They fall into bed for the first time, desperate with the knowledge that they might never see each other again; And if they do, it might be as enemies. She sends him off with memories of her, and he ends up leaving something behind unintentionally.
That’s right, Yasmina is pregnant. But she doesn’t know that for a while. She hardly has any symptoms and miraculously, no miscarriage during all her training and any fights she gets into in that time.
Until her luck runs out.
She takes a killing blow for Talia, and earns her first dip in the Lazarus Pit. She goes in complete loyal to the League, she comes out with her memories as Jazz Fenton, and the soul of Danny inhabiting her unborn child.
She gets a medical check up after her Lazarus Spa day and look at that! Pregnant! Talia is kind of having flash backs. At least when She got pregnant and sent Bruce away, she Knew she was sending away the father of her child.
Talia helps Yasmina through her pregnancy and with the care of the baby; all with the understanding that this child will become Damian’s right hand. A couple years pass. Damian has gone to live in Gotham, and now 5 year old Danny (who kind of remembers his past life) is showing sighs of having suspiciously Lazarus water adjacent powers. Ra’s is getting nosy, uh oh. So Talia sends Yasmina away to Gotham.
Armed with the knowledge of her past and the skills of her present, Yasmina is determined to introduce her son to his father. Weather or not Jason will help convince The Bat to let them stay is another matter.
She also has to deal with her dip in the Lazarus pit activating her meta gene. Now she has her own Liminal powers to deal with on top of Danny’s ghost powers resurfacing.
(I know that was long. I know it’s practically a fic. I have no intention of writing more myself. If you want to, go ahead. But Tag me please I want to read a fic like this. This premise has been swimming in my brain like soup for days.)
#dpxdc#dp x dc#dc x dp#dc x dp prompt#dp x dc prompt#anger management ship#Jazz is reborn in the Leage of Assasins#Assassin Jazz#Danny is her son this time#and Jason is the father#lol. he got damian’d#free to good home#just tag me and give credit if you pick it up#jason todd#jasmine
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For Inexperienced Smut Prompts
“I can’t believe you’re this innocent…”
With Andrew! Peter Parker x reader ❤️❤️❤️ !!!!!!
Not So Innocent || Inexperienced Smut Prompts
[tasm!Peter Parker x fem!virgin!reader]
Warnings: Alcohol use and depictions of being intoxicated, a lot of dry humping and fingering
A/N: I changed the quote just a tiny bit to “I didn’t know you were so innocent" because it fit better. Same vibes though.
You weren’t used to being dragged along to parties, especially one’s held in a large penthouse overlooking the city. The host of the party was a friend of a friend of a friend. At least, that’s what your roommate said. She desperately wanted to attend with her boyfriend but was too nervous to go without you. She promised to find you a date so you wouldn’t be third wheeling despite your claims that you’d rather not attend at all. Somehow she had managed to convince you to get dolled up in clothes that weren’t your own and make an appearance. You trailed behind her and her boyfriend as the three of you walked out onto the wrap around terrace.
The night air was warm and the sounds of the heavy bass booming out of the speakers reverberated inside your heart. You couldn’t even make out what music was playing; it was too loud. You scrunched up your face in distaste, fidgeting with the bottom of the short skirt of your dress, and pushing your way next to your friend.
“Is this really worth it?” You shouted over to her.
She either couldn’t hear you over the noise or was choosing to ignore you, “Look! Over there!”
She grabbed your hand and dragged you over to an elegant, glass table in the middle of the terrace. It was completely covered with different types of alcohol. You weren’t really educated well enough to be able to tell the difference between them all. She poured you something clear and shoved the cup into your hand.
“Drink this!” She practically forced you to tilt the cup to your lips and held her hand under the bottom while you drained the contents.
You were sputtering and gagging by the time it was finished, “That was horrible!””
“I know, it was pure vodka,” she laughed. “But it will get you loosened up.”
You felt like vomiting. She poured you something else.
Her boyfriend leaned between the two of you to point over at someone. “Matty is over there. Why don’t you go talk to him?”
You turned to see where he was pointing. Matt was the guy who was supposed to be your date tonight. He played college football with your roommate's boyfriend. You gave an unenthusiastic smile. That was supposed to be your cue to leave the two of them alone so they could enjoy their night as a couple. You weren’t sure what the point of your coming was. It wasn’t like your friend was planning on actually spending time with you.
You reluctantly made your way over to Matt and gave him an awkward wave, “You’re Matt, right?”
He nodded, “Yeah. My friend’s call me Matty, though.”
“Great,” you replied. You weren’t a friend so you thought you’d stick with Matt. “Uhm, nice to meet you, I guess.”
He looked you over, overtly eyeing up and down your body. You curled into yourself under his gaze and quickly started drinking whatever was in your cup. It tasted like bleach and lime. You did your very best not to make a face of disgust and keep drinking.
“You’re supposed to be my date then?” He asked.
“I guess,” you shuffled the toe of your foot against the ground. “Do you-”
He cut you off, “I was told you were really hot.”
You laughed at that. It was a self deprecating, uncomfortable laugh. He was already heavily intoxicated, swaying on his feet. You wanted to go home. The forced smile faded from your face as you turned your sights to look out over the city.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” you stated, feeling like shit.
Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him shrug, “Nah man. It’s cool. You’re still hot but, like, a prudish kind of hot. Like how the pastor’s daughter is always smokin’ hot but you know she’d never actually go down on you, so you don’t even try to bark up that tree, ‘cause it leads nowhere. Not really fuckable, ya feel me?”
You didn’t feel him. You felt insulted for some reason. As if being called unfuckable by a drunk stranger was the worst thing you could ever be called. Matt was clearly looking for one thing tonight. He wanted someone easy. He took one look at you, uncomfortable in your roommates clothes, and could instantly tell you weren’t that kind of girl. She could dress you up but she couldn’t change your personality. You were self-conscious and fidgety. Even this dumb jock could see that. Before you could reply, Matt’s attention got pulled away by a group of giggling girls throwing heart eyes at him. He didn’t say a word as he stumbled away, already forgetting your entire existence.
And, just like that, you were left alone at a party you didn’t want to be at.
You finished the drink in your hand despite wanting to gag every time it touched your lips. You were already starting to feel the effects of the two drinks. You had never drank in your life so it didn’t take much to make you feel funny. Your skin sort of felt tingly and your thoughts were slow and lazy. Even though you were left on your own, you felt a sudden rush of happiness pushing away the shame. The music was starting to sound less terrible, too. It made you want to dance. You were beginning to feel invincible. Confident. Matty could go fuck himself. You were totally fuckable. You were hot. This dress was super sexy and slutty and short and you were an absolute babe with it on. You could do anything you wanted. You felt like if you stood up on these rooftop railings and jumped, you would simply sore away into the sky like a bird.
“I didn’t expect to see you here.”
A vaguely familiar voice popped up behind you before you had time to test your theory of flight.
You turned around to come face to face with Peter Parker. He was your lab partner for biology. You two usually only ever spoke about class related topics but it was still nice to see a familiar face. You always found him to be very sweet.
“I wouldn’t expect to see you here, either,” you responded with a big smile.
Peter laughed, “I guess us nerds don’t usually get invited to rich people’s rooftop parties.” Once the words left his mouth, his eyes widened, afraid that he offended you. He quickly added, “Not that I think you don’t belong here! Or that you’re a nerd. You’re very pretty. Not that nerds can’t be attractive. That’s just a dumb stereotype. I think you’re really smart and you have a nice smile and you look really pretty tonight. Not that you don’t look pretty other days. And not that it matters what you look like. Or…well…I mean…I don’t remember what I was originally talking about…I think I’m drunk.”
The crimson blushing over his cheeks was incredibly endearing. You found yourself leaning in closer. You knew he was always handsome but, tonight, he looked beautiful. Radiant. Mesmerizing.
You think you might be a little drunk, too. That first cup your friend made you chug was causing your thoughts to swim. The second cup only sealed the deal.
“Thank you!” It was all that needed to be said. Also, because you sort of forgot what he was saying, too. You got distracted by the way his lips formed each word. They were lovely lips to look at. “I think…”
His blush deepened and he hid behind the beer bottle in his hand as finished off the contents, “Do, uh, do you want to dance? With me, I mean. Or by yourself is fine too but I’d hope it was with me. That’s why I’m asking. For your hand. Not in marriage! To dance with.”
You weren’t a dancer but you didn’t think Peter was either. That made you feel more confident in accepting his offer.
“Okay,” you nodded, laughing at how he managed to out awkward you.
He took the cup from your hands and put it onto the first table he saw along with his own empty beer. Then, he took your hand and pulled you inside, onto the dance floor that had been set up in the living room cleared of furniture. The feeling of your hand in his, the way he easily maneuvered you through the crowd, sent an excited, pulsating electricity shooting up your spine. Peter found a nice spot off to the edge of the crowd. There, you two could still enjoy the energy without being trampled on by all the sweaty bodies.
An unspoken tension settled in the air between you and Peter. You were drawn to him. Captivated by him. You’d often spend the two hours of your lab huddled up close to his face while sharing a microscope but this felt different. Stronger. You couldn’t stop staring at the way his body moved. It might be the alcohol talking but he seemed to have a natural flow to his movements. You felt in sync with him. Your eyes shamelessly traveled down his body, much like Matt had done to you earlier. Only instead of feeling nervous like you had, Peter merely smirked, the smile flashing over his lips. Without his usual oversized sweatshirt, you could easily make out the strong muscles of his biceps as they pulled the sleeves of his t-shirt tight against his arms. You would have never guessed he was hiding those under there.
You got lost in the music, loving it a million times more than when you first entered the party. You were moving, swaying, and bouncing along to the beat. Peter was right there with you like he was reading your mind, or reading your body, able to anticipate which way you were swaying and following your lead. The rest of the party faded around you as your eyes locked with Peter’s. It was just the two of you and the unfamiliar sensual tension clouding the air, growing thicker with each passing second.
You were not a prude. You were not the preacher’s daughter. Matt could go fuck himself. He had no idea what you were like. All he did was take one look at you and thrust his own narrative on your shoulders. Yeah, maybe you were still a virgin, but you gave a guy a blow job. Once. In your senior year of high school. That qualifies you to be a part of a Non-Prude Club. Fucking Matty, that piece of shit. A big giant turd. That’s what he was. His brain had probably been hit one too many times during football anyway. You didn’t even think he was that attractive. Maybe he was the one who wasn’t fuckable? You bet he never thought of that!
Peter didn’t think you were a prude. He thought you were pretty and he wanted to dance with you. That means…well, it doesn’t mean much, but your vodka fueled brain was trying to connect some kind of dots together. Peter wanted to fuck you. That was probably it. Or maybe that was Matt who wanted to do that. Not Peter. You were getting them confused.
No, no, Matt didn’t want to fuck you. Or he did but he didn’t think you would let him.
And he was right. You wouldn’t have let him. He was kind of gross.
But, Peter…
“Am I fuckable?”
His eyes widened, “Excuse me?”
“What?” Did you say that out loud? Shit. “I didn’t say anything!”
His smile grew. He leaned down to speak directly into your ear, “Yes. You are.”
Heat flooded your face. Holy shit. A nervous, intoxicated laugh tumbled from your lips. The song changed to a new track and your eyes lit up.
“I know this one!” You excitedly bounced on the balls of your feet.
“Everyone knows Britney Spears,” Peter laughed at your enthusiasm as I’m a Slave 4 U blasted out the speakers.
Someone bumped into you from behind and sent you tumbling into Peter’s chest. He steadied you back onto your feet. Instead of moving away, you embraced the closeness, feeling bold, and wrapping your arms around his neck. His eyebrows raised, slightly taken off guard, but he quickly settled his hands comfortably around your waist. The electricity in the air heightened. You wanted Peter to touch you forever. There was not a single other person in this party except for him. You smiled up at him through hazy eyes.
“I never drank alcohol before tonight,” you confessed. Something in his eyes felt safe, like you could tell him all your secrets and he wouldn’t tell another soul. He would keep you safe. A protector. “I don’t think I’m too drunk, though. I think I’m just happy. I could still totally drive a car.”
That was a lie. You didn’t even have your license. It felt pointless when you grew up in the city.
Peter chuckled. It was a nice sound.
“I didn’t know you were so innocent,” he teased. “Never had a drop of anything before?”
You feigned a gasp at his comment, “I am not innocent! Why are people always assuming that about me tonight? What vibes am I giving off? My roommate told me these were some of her favorite slut clothes. Apparently they’re doing nothing to help my image.”
“Oh, trust me, they are,” He nodded with appreciation for her tight fitting outfit. Then added, “You’re at a happy drunk level. Me too…but that might just be because you’re here with me.”
Your stomach tumbled with excited butterflies. With Britney Spears cheering you on, you pushed your body closer, brushing against his. As you swayed to her hypnotic beat, you purposely rubbed your hips into his. The moment you made contact, you felt his arousal. Solid and hard against you.
You let out a tiny gasp, eyes widening in shock. You hadn’t been expecting that. That was because of you. You had given him that. You. Peter’s eyes had closed and his lips parted when you pushed against him. For a split second, it looked like he was going to let out a moan right there in front of everyone. His eyes shot open when he realized what was happening and a slew of slurred, bashful apologies tumbled out of him. Before he could get too embarrassed, you silenced him by repeating the movement. This time, locking eyes with him with a defiant stare, as you rubbed your pelvis over his erection as if you were daring him to stop you.
You would show him you weren’t innocent. You would prove him wrong.
He licked his steadily drying lips and swallowed the lump in his throat. He was completely speechless, utterly in awe. This was a new side of you, one you hadn’t even known existed before tonight. A horny, needy side. It only took him until the chorus to snap out of his stunned daze. His hands traveled up your sides, curving around your waist, then traveling back down. He hovered over your butt, watching your reaction to see if you’d object. When all he got a quiet smirk urging him on, his large hands cupped your cheeks. You could feel your dress riding up your thighs as he squeezed you, bunching up the fabric. He pressed you closer, holding you tightly against his erection. You tightented your grip around his neck, smooshing your breasts against his chest, and feeling the flood of wetness rush to your core.
I’m a slave for you. I cannot hold it, I cannot control it. I’m a slave for you. I won’t deny it, I’m not tryna hide it.
Britney was always right. You really were trying to have him dance up on you. You could not control it and you won’t deny it. Truer words had never been spoken.
You felt weak. A good kind of weak. Like your knees might give out at any moment and your head was spinning but everything felt wonderful. A happy drunk. That’s what Peter had called it. Or a horny drunk. Maybe both.
The more you held his gaze, the more attractive he became. You didn’t think that was possible but here you are. The flecks of sparkling light reflected off those beautiful hickory colored eyes. You were lost in them. Lost in his magnetic pull. His lips were centimeters from yours. He wanted to kiss you but he was letting you close the gap, giving you the choice. You took a shuddered breath and smashed your lips together. It might have been a little too eager and aggressive but Peter easily remedied your attack. He softened his lips and gently eased open your mouth with his tongue. The butterflies in your stomach turned to a frenzy at the feeling of his warm tongue gliding across yours. It reminded you of a dance. Much like your bodies were still pressed together and swaying to the music, your tongues were having their own party.
When your breath became short, you carefully pulled yourself back with a dazed smile.
Peter’s smile matched your own. The alcohol swam in vision, giving him adorable bleary eyes. He looked more relaxed than you had ever seen him.
“Have you had your fill of dancing?” He asked once the song ended.
You had forgotten you were even in a room full of people. You glanced around you, noticing Matt eyeing you from the other side of the room. He looked impressed, wondering if he had gotten the completely wrong impression of you. He raised his drink and winked in your direction as if to apologize for his own mistake. It made you giggle. You flipped him off with a smile.
You turned back to Peter, the smile still lingering on your face. You were enjoying the tension between the two of you. You liked the dangerous excitement of rubbing up on Peter in the midst of a crowd. You were afraid of the moment ending if you left but your head was spinning and you needed some fresh air.
“Let’s go back outside,” you offered. “The music is just as loud out there.”
Peter nodded in agreement. You had the feeling he would have gone anywhere you asked him to. He took your hand and tugged you towards the terrace. The entire glass wall opened up to make a seamless transition from the inside of the penthouse to the out. The night air felt cool in your throat. It helped soothe the pounding heartbeat in your chest. A coiled up excitement resided in the pit of your stomach from your adventures on the dancefloor. You wanted more.
Peter pushed his way to the corner. It was the one place the lights failed to reach. It felt like a very purposeful spot to bring you. He turned around, leaning against the railing, and studying you with burning, passion filled eyes. His gazed forced your own downward, like he was a blazing fire, too bright and hot to stare at for too long. Except now you were now looking directly at what had been pressed against you.
His dark, skinny jeans left little to the imagination. While the stiff material kept him from achieving his full potential, the bulging outline over his inner thigh was more than enough to get the idea of what he was working with. Truthfully, you had no idea what was considered large or small when it came to dicks. Like with alcohol, your knowledge was limited. But Peter looked quite big to you. He was clearly very excited to be in your presence. That was the nice thing about men. You could always tell when they were attracted to you. You were enjoying the power it made you feel. You felt sexy. Fuckable.
You had been staring at it for too long. You needed to avert your eyes back to his face.
When you finally forced your gaze back where it belonged, Peter was smirking at you. He had enjoyed watching you get lost in the sight. He liked knowing that his body was showing you how attractive he found you. He wanted you to know. It wasn’t a secret. Before you could allow yourself to be embarrassed, you twirled around, letting your skirt flare up around your thighs and started dancing again to the music. The perfect distraction. He caught you in his grasp, spinning you away from him, and then pulling you close. He was more suave than you gave him credit for. He might actually have some decent moves.
You turned around in his hold, leaning your back against his chest. Peter’s arms naturally snaked around your waist to hold you to him. He tightened the hold so your bottom was rubbing once more against his bulge as you lazily swayed back and forth. Your dancing was more of a gentle rubbing at this point but you didn’t mind. Whatever kept you locked to Peter was okay in your eyes. You wanted to keep him excited.
His face leaned down, his cheek brushing against your hair, and you heard him inhale the scent of light, floral perfume. You could have sworn you felt his bulge twitch. You had to refrain from squeezing your own thighs together at the thought. Tingly, hot sensations were flooding your core. The need to thrust your hips or rub yourself on something was becoming stronger.
You swore Peter could sense the subtle change in your breath because, as if he knew how aroused you were getting, his hands started to travel. They slid down your thighs until they reached the bottom of your dress, gliding the material through his fingers.
“I’ve never seen you wear a dress like this before,” he breathed, voice ragged, in your ear. “I like it.”
Your ears felt like they were burning, your chest was tight, your toes wanted to curl in your flats. All from the sound of his voice. Of course he had never seen you wear a dress like this. The only other time he saw you was in your early morning lab. He was used to your oversized cardigans, comfy leggings, and a permanent sleepy expression.
His hand slipped under the loose hem of the dress. He hesitated, testing the waters to see if you’d say something, when no objects came he glided over your underwear to rest on your bare hips. The back of your skirt lifted with his wrists to expose the bottom cheeks of your butt. You could feel him lean back enough to get a quick look. He seemed to like what he saw because he almost immediately ground his hips against you.
You couldn’t stop the gasping moan that fell from your lips. Your body felt alive. You could feel the jolt of electricity shoot from your nipples down to your clit. You pushed back, grinding your bottom into his erection. You had no idea what had gotten into you but you couldn’t stop. His obvious arousal only fueled your own spreading fire.
Even your nipples were painfully erect. Your friend had assured you that this dress had a built in bra and you wouldn’t need to wear one. That was a load of bullshit because it was obvious how hard your nipples were poking out. Your breath was becoming labored. You were in the middle of a rooftop party, actively grinding on your lab partner, and drunk on whatever the hell energy Peter was giving off. It wasn’t even the alcohol that was making you act like this. It was all Peter Parker.
You turned in his grasp, throwing your arms around his neck, and finding his lips. He fell back against the railing with your sudden enthusiasm. He managed to keep himself from falling and slid his leg between yours. Without even thinking about it, you rested your core against his thigh. The wetness seeping into your underwear was now blatantly evident to you. Give it a minute and Peter would surely become aware of it, too.
His hands roved hungrily over your body without any more hesitation. You opened your mouth, letting in his tongue, as he fervently attacked your lips. You angled your hips downward and thrust them against his jeans. Your aching clit screamed in pleasure at the delicious friction. Peter was back under your skirt and cupping your bottom. He helped push you along, easing the aid of you grinding against his thigh.
His mouth left yours to leave sloppy, wet kisses along your cheek and down your neck until he found a spot he liked. He suctioned his lips to a pulse point and began sucking and nipping at your soft skin. Your eyes rolled back, mouth parted, at how wonderful it felt. A mix of pain and pleasure. He was bruising your neck, claiming you as his own with a visible mark. You let him dominate you, manipulate you however he pleases. You were his. A slave for Peter Parker.
When he slowly pulled back from your neck, a trail of saliva connected your skin to his bottom lip. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the corner of his lips tugging into a satisfied smile as he admired his work. It was the sexiest thing you had ever seen in your entire life.
“Do you need a break?” He whispered, his voice hardly heard above the obnoxious techno music now playing.
You swallowed. You probably should stop. You should probably slow down. You were getting too lost in your own feelings. But you shook your head “no”. You didn’t want him to stop. You didn’t want to have to pull yourself away from him.
“I told you,” you whispered back, resting your forehead against his. “I’m not innocent.”
“Are you sure about that?” He asked, the amusement coating his voice. “If I dragged you into the nearest coat closet right now, what would you do?”
You didn’t hesitate in your reply, lust dripping with every syllable, “I would let you touch me however you wanted.”
That was it.
Peter shoved his way past any person who stood in his way. He lead you through the crowd, swerving and weaving between sweaty bodies. The penthouse was huge. The first door he opened was the bathroom but it left too much probability of someone potentially needing to use it. The next was a guest bedroom. That one was already taken. The three people inside of it weren’t too pleased to see two more show up unannounced. The third was nearest to the elevator. It was a narrow, walk-in closet filled with fancy coats and shoes.
“Jackpot,” Peter muttered under his breath.
He pushed you inside and shut the door behind him. It was decently sound proofed in here with all the jackets. The music instantly muffled into the distance. You tugged on a gold chain hanging from the ceiling to flick on a single bulb. It wasn’t much light but it was enough. You turned to face Peter, the spell from outside starting to crack as the nerves set in. You might not have been entirely truthful when you told him you’d let him touch you however he wanted. The thought of losing your virginity in a closet wasn’t exactly how you envisioned it.
Peter’s smile softened when he caught the apprehensive glint in your eye. He reached out his hand and tugged you close to him as he leaned against the door, making sure no one could enter. He placed a gentle kiss to your forehead.
“Remember when I told you were fuckable earlier?” He asked.
You nodded.
“Well,” he continued. “I didn’t mean to imply that you were nothing more than a quickie in a stranger’s closet. I hope it didn’t come off that way and that was the impression you got. This might have gotten a little out of hand. We might have gotten a bit carried away.” He took a step away from the door so you could leave if you wanted to. “If you want to go, it’s okay, I won’t stop you. I had enough fun tonight to last me a lifetime. Just being able to dance with you made my day.”
You gave him a light shove, pushing him back in front of the door to act as a human lock, taking back control, “I never said anything about leaving.” You took a deep breath, being brave, and trying to advocate for exactly what you wanted from him. “What I said still stands. You can touch me however you want but just with your hands. Okay?” You trailed a finger down his forearm, grazing over his wrist, and locking fingers with him. “If you want to go, it’s okay, I won’t stop you.”
His smile grew when you repeated his own sentiment back to him. To help build back up the same electric energy from outside, you pressed closer to him and grazed your breasts against his chest, letting him feel how erect your nipples were. He tenderly cupped your cheeks with his large hands and captured your lips with his.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time,” he mumbled against your lips. His kiss was slower than the other two like he was really savoring the moment. You felt special. Wanted. Beautiful and sexy all at the same time. The way he worshiped your lips made you feel like the only woman left in the world. Maybe you were. Maybe nothing existed outside of this closet. All that was left was you and Peter.
“Mmph,” was all you could manage back. Very articulate.
And, just like that, you were back under the Parker spell.
His hands made a slow descent away from your cheeks. They traveled down your neck, pausing for his long fingers to gently wrap around it, making you feel small inside his grasp. They brushed over your shoulders, toying with the thin straps to your dress, inching them to the side until they fell down the slope of your arm. The back of his fingers traced over the swell of your breast, letting the hard nub of your nipple feel every bump as he dragged each of his four fingers slowly over it. He was taking his time, carefully watching your every move and listening for every hitch of your breath. He was treating you like a precious piece of art that was meant to be admired and painstakingly inspected under a magnifying glass so as not to miss any precious details.
The pooling wetness between your thighs caused your soaked through underwear to cling uncomfortably to you. You wished you could remove them but still felt too nervous to make any moves and distract Peter from his work. You stood still as a statue, lids half closed, as he molded his hand to your breast. Your eyes gazed up at him, helpless under his touch, the sounds of your heavy breaths the only thing you were now able to hear.
A quiet moan whined in your throat when he pinched your nipple through your dress, capturing it between the knuckles of his middle and pointer finger. He shuddered at the sound, giving a sharp inhale. He wanted to hear it again. His free hand wrapped around your thigh to close the miniscule gap between your hips. He thrust his hips forward, rubbing himself against you, as he molded your breast in his hand.
“Can-” he breathed. “Can I?”
His fingers slipped into cups of your dress, starting to tug them down to imply what he was asking, and pausing to look to you for confirmation. You gave a silent nod.
Peter nearly stopped breathing as he tugged the top half of your dress down to reveal your naked breasts. His eyes were alive with flames while he took in the new sights. He tenderly cupped under your breast, giving it a gentle squeeze, watching as your flesh melded to his touch. His mouth opened and closed a few times, like he was begging to capture your nipple between his lips, but he stuck to the “only hands” rule, using his thumb to flick over it instead.
Your hardly audible moans hit his ear. The sound must have awoken something in him because he responded to it with a whimper of his own. You glanced down to his crotch. His erection was thicker than before. It looked painfully locked up behind the confines of his jeans. You wanted to unleash it, let it be free, but you were too scared to take that leap.
Peter didn’t seem to care about what his cock was feeling. He was too focused on losing himself in your body. He was more of a giver and a taker, you could tell. His hand still gripping onto your hip started to get more daring. You felt him sliding closer to your core. His fingers traced over the elastic band of your underwear, circling around the tiny, ribbon bow adorning the top. If you had known this was how you would end up tonight, you would have bought something sexier. That concern immediately flew from your thoughts as his fingers slipped between your thighs. His palm rested over your mound while the pads of his finger tips traced along the drenched material. His ragged inhale was all you needed to know to understand how turned on that feeling made him.
“You’re so wet,” he growled in your ear.
“Mm,” you croaked out, eyes closed. Words were no longer something your brain had access to.
You bit your bottom lip the harder he pressed your panties against your slit. The thin cotton material was the only thing holding him back from entering you.
Peter lifted his other hand to brush under your chin. He lifted your head so you were forced to look up at him. You pried your eyes open, staring at him through heavy lids. Your mouth hung open to accommodate your panting breaths. He locked eyes with you, looking into your soul, as he slipped the wet fabric to the side.
You gave a silent, wide eyed cry when his finger grazed over your bare slit. Your stomach seized, nearly doubling you over, in excitement. You felt your folds open to his touch. His leg resting between yours nudged your ankle, telling you to spread your legs open a little wider for him. You clutched onto the front of his shirt, grabbing a fistful of it into your grasp. Without it, you felt like you might collapse. The look of lust etched into his features caused you to nearly orgasm on the spot. Your body was trembling, craving more, nodding your head as if that would make Peter work faster instead of slowly dragging everything out at a crawling pace.
He leaned down, whispering in your ear, “I’m going to make you cum for me.”
That nearly did it. You whimpered, letting your eyes close again. Peter tugged your underwear down your legs. They stopped at your knees, the width at which you were standing not allowing them to go any further. It was enough. His hand cupped between your thighs, rubbing you, teasing you. You grind your hips, thrusting your clit against his palm. He gave a soft chuckle, enjoying how desperate you had become.
“Fuck, you’re pretty,” he mumbled to himself.
His long fingers moved gently on you, caressing your wetness, feeling how easily they slid through the slickness you were creating for him. All for him. He continued to simply feel you until you gazed back up at him. He was waiting for your eye contact. Your heart was pounding, waiting for the inevitable, and surrendering yourself over to him. The moment you locked on, he eased his middle finger between your parted lips while his thumb brushed slow circles around your clit. It was the first time a man’s finger had ever touched your sex. You felt the pressure, felt the fear, felt the excitement and the slight searing of pain at how tight you were. You whined as the pain and pleasure mixed to create an intense, swirling storm deep in your sex. Your pussy felt like it was sucking him in, trying to eat him whole, the deeper he sank into you.
You clung to the front of his shirt, balled up fists, and tears spiking in your eyes. It felt so good. More intense than anything you’d ever felt. You’d touched yourself before but Peter was different. Better. You were sharing the moment, giving up control, and letting someone else learn the intimate details of your body. Your legs were shaking. Your knees felt weak.
You buried your head into Peter’s neck as he started a steady, slow rhythm of easing his finger half way in and out of you. He focused most of his attention on servicing your throbbing clit. He could tell you were a virgin, he could tell how tight you were squeezing him, and he wanted to go as slow as possible so as not to hurt you. Even a single finger felt like it was filling you up. You were moaning against his neck, whimpering, whining, beginning for more. Your hips worked with each small thrust of his finger, trying to push it deeper. You thrust your clit against his thumb. Your body was taking over as you tumbled towards a climax.
Peter’s lips were pressed against your ear. He whispered quiet words of encouragement, urging you on, praising you, comforting you. The night was all starting to meld together. The slutty dress, vodka, the obnoxiously loud music, how easily Matt rejected you with nothing more than a few words, finding Peter, dancing together, Britney Spears, the passionate terrace make out, the closet and how sweet Peter had been to quell your obvious fears, the way his finger felt so big inside of you. The entire night was swirling around your thoughts. A tornado building inside your brain. Ready to wipe out anything it touched.
“That’s it,” Peter whispered over your pathetic whines. “There you go. Cum for me. You’re right there. Let it go. Let it happen.”
You gave a sharp cry as light exploded in your vision. The tornado tore straight through you, ripping your mind from your body. You were floating in the air. High above everything else. You had no control of the way your body jerked and spasmed, held tightly against Peter’s chest. You’d never experienced an orgasm this powerful. It would have brought you straight to your knees had Peter not been holding you upright.
He wrapped his arms around you, tracing his fingers over your back and up your neck. He soothed you with a quiet humming until your mind came crashing back down to earth. You were shaking, shivering, eyes glued closed. Peter was your one tether to cling on to. He kept you grounded as you let the tornado fade off into the distance.
When you finally managed to get your bearings once more, you took a shaky step back from him. He kept his arms outstretched in case he needed to suddenly catch you if you decided to crumble. You shrugged the straps of your dress back up and adjusted the chest so your breasts were back to being concealed.
Peter had given you a gift you didn’t even know you were looking for. You wanted to repay the favor but you didn’t think your body could handle anything more tonight. Instead, you slipped the underwear still clinging around your knees down to your ankles. You carefully stepped out of them. He watched in a silent curiosity as you closed the gap between you two, stuffing them into the pocket of his jeans.
“To give you something to remember me by,” you stood on your tippy toes, planting a kiss on his cheek. A sweet, innocent kiss.
He looked at you with an awe, loved filled gaze as you pushed open the closet door and stumbled into the hallway.
When he didn’t follow, you glanced over your shoulder with a sly smirk, “Well? Are you coming?”
#tasm x reader#peter parker x reader#tasm#the amazing spiderman#peter parker#tasm peter parker#tasm peter#tasm peter x reader#tasm peter smut#tasm peter parker x reader#tasm peter parker smut#andrew garfield#spiderman#tasm fic#peter parker fic#blooming violets#blooming violets fic#not so innocent
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Do you have any favorite Peter smut fics to recommend? I'm in need something spicy! I'll take anything you can think of!
Dear, if you want to turn up your temperature with some of the smut fics I’ve read recently, here are a few:
So, So Mean, by @lovelettersforthedamned
Smitten, Peter's Angel, The Ruler and The Killer, Peter and a Cam Girl, Enraptured, Doing so Well, Not so Innocent, The Goddess, In The Dark, Cheating With Peter, Phone Sex, and my favorite ever Back to Basics, by @blooming-violets
Love on the Brain: Sugar & Vice, vol 2, Sugar and Vice, Sweet Dreams, These Violet Delights, by @liz-allyn
Bondage, Mattress Acting, by @reysdriver
August Slipped Away by @peterthepark
Symbiote mini series by @mrshipsmcgee
Florence series by @periprose
Dulcet by @jamespottersdaisy
Quiet Temptations by @parkerpeter24
Sparks Fly by @mortwig
Jawbreaker by @witchywcmans
The Angel In The Garden of Evil series, In Your Boss’s Office, Professor Peter Parker by @backtothefanfiction
'Til Kingdom Come by @pedrito-friskito
Masterlist of @withahappyrefrain
This fic of @deviouz
Going to The Edge of Heaven by @multifandomworldsposts
Another Love series by @abibliophobiaa
Too Close For Comfort by @lovelettersforthedamned
Thick and Thin by @ficthots
Daddy Issues seeries by @venus616
I’m Holding my Breath for You by @lxinesux
There must be others I’ve read, but I’ve read so much fanfic… You must find more things in this tag [peter parker fanfic] that I usually put in the fics I reblogged.
Thank you to all the writers on Tumblr!
#ask box#ask request#peter parker fanfic#spiderman fanfiction#peter parker smut#spiderman smut#andrew garfield#peter parker#spider man#the amazing spider man#tasm peter parker#andrew peter parker#tasm peter#andrew peter#tasm#tasm spiderman#andrew spiderman#andrew garfield peter parker#andrew garfield spiderman#writers on tumblr#thank you writers#ask anon#ask response#sincericida#fanfic's compilation#request
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Your Love, Like Birth and Death
cw. jjk faerie au, banshee!reader (she/her pronouns, afab), seelie prince!gojou, mutual pining but gojou's love is heavier, descriptions of blood and injuries
pairing. gojou x reader
notes. i should be working on the unseelie lord toji fic but this concept is still wracking my brain so y'all are getting this right now instead. lovesick faerie prince gojou for you, you and you! (also, spot the furuba and mirai nikki references lol.)
This Court is dyed in the colors of Life, you note this particular morning.
Of course, this is something you’ve noted every morning since you’d been brought to this palace nearly a month ago. Yet you aren’t tired of noting it.
The Court you have found yourself in is beautiful. From the ledge you lean against, it almost feels like you can see everything in Faerie.
You see the royal gardens, a mass of long grasses and moss dotted by colorful wild blooms. Overgrown and yet each flower seems right where it is supposed to be.
Beyond the walls of the castle, you see stretches and stretches of blue spruces and just beyond that a lake that almost seems purple. If this were a palace in Unseelie territory, you might have thought a kelpie lived in it.
Across the courtyard, souls living and deceased move as if in a dance. The living with their duties for the day, unaware of their ghoulish companions drifting about. Some have the ever permanent dribble of poisoned wines falling from their lips, others' have blood seeping into their clothes from their torsos and others are missing limbs although they find no difficult in moving.
The sight of death faeries is one that gruesome. A mixture of life and death, the path you folk walk on until you return to nothing.
Neat yet unkempt, wild yet tame, expected yet unexpected ー that is the beauty of Faerie you’ve grown accustomed to in the centuries since your creation.
A beauty you rarely have the opportunity to appreciate when you often find yourself in the realm of humans, heralding death.
You wonder how much time has passed there since you’ve come to the Court of Reckoning. All while the skies have lost the traces of violet, peach and marigold that painted the dawn skies and have begun settling into a lovely shade of pastel blue.
“I see I’ve finally found you,” when you look over your shoulder, it’s one of the prince’s advisors that greets you. The one with the long raven-black hair and brown eyes that remind you of humus-rich soil. You see the makings of a black tail with a tuft of fur peeking from his cloak and believe him to be some sort of phouka. “I almost thought for a moment our honored guest had disappeared,” his voice is light and airy, but he seems relieved to an extent. “I’m glad my concerns were proven untrue. Satoru would be quite unmanageable if that were the case.”
You shake your head, smiling politely, “I enjoy watching dawn turn into morning.” You look at the large bouquet in the phouka’s hands ー an assortment of lavender roses, baby’s breath and ferns.
“Our prince is too busy to deliver these himself this morning,” Suguru explains once they’ve caught your eye. You make sure to not let your fingers brush against one another when you reach for the blooms carefully. “Love at first sight, purity and fascination it is supposed to symbolize,” the advisor recounts the meaning of each bloom dutifully. He’s exasperated, you can tell. “Do you like them?”
“Yes, they’re quite lovely,” you believe so truly. Everyday since your arrival to the palace, the prince has had bouquet after bouquet gifted to you. Even if he cannot deliver them himself. “As were the rest I’ve received.”
“I’ve never seen Satoru so smitten,” you avoid the phouka’s gaze. “You should have met him when we were younger. He was adamant that he’d never be besotted with anyone lest he become a fool.” There’s a light pause as Suguru recalls the evening Satoru brought you to this palace. You who are cloaked in death and all of her colors. “Look at him now. He’s certainly caused a stir in his insistence you’ll be his queen. He’s a charming fool, though, I am sure.”
You prefer to think of the prince as a ridiculous fool but you cannot deny that he is charming. Dangerously so. If you hadn’t known better, you would have thought him to be a gancanagh, a love-talker.
“Please marry me,” came the soft request as sky blue eyes stared into your very being. “And I’ll love you more faithfully than any man, fae or otherwise.”
You try not to remember the way your chest clenched in surprise. How you were so surprised it almost felt like your skin had warmed. It’s best not to focus on that memory at all.
It’s a ridiculous notion, a seelie prince in love with a banshee.
“The prince is simply confusing gratitude with love,” you return Suguru’s gaze with a polite smile. You hope he believes you. “He’ll realize that soon and I will leave this place.” You know that will bring palace staff a great sense of peace. If there is one thing you’ve learned in your long life as a banshee it is that even if the Folk spurn mortals and their blink-of-an-eye lifespans, there are many things faeries and humans have in common.
A fear of death is certainly one of them.
As such, to the vast majority of faeriekind, Death Folk like yourself are not looked upon favorably. Banshee and dullahans alike, you’re more like pests in their eyes.
You banshee women who scream and keen if death is near.
The dullahans who hear those screams and arrive when that final hour has approached.
Yes, you know how death fae are viewed. You’ve heard the whispers in the palace, how you are an omen of malevolence to come. That your kind are like roaches. Should one appear, others will soon follow suit.
This is why you’ve come to appreciate this private ledge on the castle walls that receives less foot traffic than the rest. You’d rather the staff of the palace have peace of mind in your absence while you live in the palace even if their prince insists you can venture the halls as much as you’d like.
Once the promised revel he hopes to throw in your honor comes to pass, you know the prince will lose his interest in you. Then you will leave and continue about your existence until you fade into nothing but a vague memory in his subconscious.
That's what you truly hope when you see the prince in question later on in the day for lunch in the garden.
How his eyes light up and he stands to his feet as Cypress, a lovely pixie tasked with being your attendant, announces your arrival. How he doesn't even wait for you to reach the table before he comes to meet you. You are unused to being treated like royalty and yet their prince insists that you are. "You won't believe how the old hags go on and on," he sighs, remnants of annoyance dancing in his tone but his voice is soft with you. Cypress takes the dismissal in stride. "I couldn't even come see you for breakfast. Did you like the flowers?"
He wraps your hands in his own large palms, seemingly unaffected by your corpse-cold skin, as he has done every time you've met since your arrival. "Yes, they were beautiful," your smile is small and doesn't quite reach your eyes. You hope this ridiculous yet charming fool realizes that loving one such as yourself is more trouble than good. That his love truly is just misplaced gratitude. "You really don't have to send me flowers every morning."
The prince disregards your words the way water rolls off the back of a duck, "next time I'll bring you the flowers myself." He guides you to the table filled to the brim with food you aren't accustomed to eating. "Will you tell me your favorites finally? I've been going out on a limb with my guesses."
"My tastes in flowers are unique, to say the least," maybe it's your nature, but your favorites tend to circle around the prevailing theme of your kind. Lavender to give the dead peace in passing on, calendula for blessing and love. Dandelions in the seed head stage were quite popular with ghost children, still finding them just as amusing as they did when they were alive. "The flowers you send me are more than enough." The prince pouts but he decides to let you skirt around his request once more. You bring focus back to the spread, "it looks like you've demanded everything in the kitchen."
There are strawberry-and-whipped cream filled pastries, cold cut platters and buttery biscuits to name a few things. The tip of the iceberg of everything on the table.
"I wanted to make sure our bases were covered," the prince grins, teeth as white as his hair. "I hope you like lavender chamomile, that's today's tea. I've never had it before." He drops cube after cube of sugar into his cup, drizzles the contents with honey before finally pouring in a splash of cream.
You take your tea plain and enjoy the gentle fragrance. Lavender buds are just barely visible below the tea's surface. You close your eyes as the flavor hits your tongue. It tastes as wonderful as it smells. "Yes, this is quite nice. I really like it."
"Should we have it for tomorrow as well?" He's too eager to curry your favor.
You open your eyes to dissuade him but your attention is instead drawn to a headless hob nearing your table. You've seen this hob before, skirting about the palace bitterly as he carries his head in his hands much like a dullahan. He's old, even by fae standards, with a long beard. There's no question as to how the man died, beheading. You hope it was quick.
His beady eyes glare at you with a quiet rage similar to how most fae spirits do. You wonder how long he has been like this, refusing to board the carriage of any dullahan that may come to collect him and bring him to the Otherworld.
You personally believe that faeries leave behind ghosts more than humans do.
It's why you've often seen ghosts from a distance at revels, dancing from dawn til dusk even if they will not be perceived by the living. Even if they can no longer don the fancy dresswear they were able to dress in.
Time and time again, they will do this. Staunchly refusing death even after they're already in its hold.
"Oh, is there a ghost with us?" The prince notes how your eyes dart between him and the space he perceives as empty. "What's it saying?"
"Tell this lout that I sooner hope his rule is contemptuous and brings the Court to ruin!" The hob's head seethes. "That his many days are fraught with danger! Gakuganji is my name and this is the curse I cast upon him!"
Folk can't lie, but you you prefer not to relay the bitter message. "He hopes your rule is one that is," you lick your lips and raise your cup to your lips. "Filled with exciting thrills," not an exact lie. Perhaps to this radical prince, those sorts of threats are exciting. "He says his name is Gakuganji."
"Exciting thrills, you say?" The prince barks in amusement, shoulders shaking with his laughter. "That doesn't sound like the traitorous scoundrel I know. You don't have to lie, he's probably cursing me and my bloodline for generations to come as we speak." The hob growls at the lackadaisical nonchalance of the elf. But it seems he has had his fill as he stomps off before he can hear more insult to his person.
"Gakuganji has lost his touch even in death," the prince's amused chuckles turn into light sighs "You wouldn't have liked him very much when he was alive," you're sure you can agree with that much of the prince's words. Gakuganji, as you now know him, has been one of the more unpleasant spirits in the palace. "He was very stuck in his ways. What's it like, seeing ghosts all the time?"
Normal?
You can't quite remember what it was like when you were a newly-made banshee and everything was new. Nor can you remember the life you once led as a human. You simply remember your death was a terrible, terrible thing. "It's as normal to me as it's normal for you not to see them," you set your cup down. "If someone asked you what's it like to see the blue sky everyday, it would be a strange question, correct?"
The prince takes in your words thoughtfully, not slighted in the least. "I guess that's true," he nods to himself. "I just wondered if it was something that took some getting used to." The prince removes his darkened spectacles from the bridge of his nose. "I told you before I have pretty good eyes. I'm able to perceive a lot of things no one else can from mana to the shape of one's soul. But the spirits of the deceased are exceptions to my eyes, it seems."
"Your Highness," you begin.
"Satoru," the prince corrects you swiftly.
"Your Highness," you insist. This boundary you won't cross for yourself. "I'm not sure it's really wise for you to tell me about your eyes. I'm not a member of this family or your closest allies."
"But you will be," he tells you as if he's simply remarking on how pleasant the weather is. "I will become king of this Court and you'll be by my side as my queen." You're quite sure that if his mother, the High Queen, has anything to say about it, she'd sooner relinquish her throne to a random nixie than allow a banshee to wed her son. "I trust you as much as I trust Suguru or Nanami."
You wish he wouldn't.
A Seelie prince and his banshee queen? That sounds like the start to a ballad meant to insult him.
It's misplaced gratitude, not love. That's what this prince feels for you. You tell him as such once again as you have everyday since you were brought here. "You'll realize that soon, maybe even before the revel you plan for me," you whisper ー no, you pray. "There will be another you yearn for and you'll realize the difference."
The prince will fall deeply, truly, unapologetically in love with someone and he'll discover the truth.
Perhaps it will be a lake maiden of Spring whose dreadlocks drip with water droplets that fall onto dewy cinnamon-brown skin. Who sings of the beautiful red and pink of the roses and of love.
Or maybe it will be a selkie man who doesn't mind living far from the sea as he's brought a love as deep as the ocean along with him. Whose coat is donned in scars and scratches from battles past, a reflection of his form as a seal.
Or maybe he can grow enraptured with his phouka advisor whom he trusts more than anyone in this life.
Someone dyed in Life's colors.
Someone beautiful.
When that time comes, you'll be happy for him. Maybe then the ache that resonates through your heart and bones will end.
The prince isn't the only fool here, you admit reluctantly. You're just as much, if not more so. But this feeling will come to pass, "this is just gratitude. Fascination. Not love."
"You think I don't love you?" The prince asks quietly, resting his chin on his palm as he looks at you. He says he has good eyes, he wonder what you look like to him through them. You who once was dyed in Life's colors but have since become painted over by Death's brush.
Death folk with death folk.
Life folk with life folk.
"I know you don't," he can't. You can't allow either of yourselves to do so. "A banshee by your side as queen," you want it sound ridiculous to both of your ears. "It's absurd."
There are no rules that state your union is forbidden, this you know. But the laws of nature are simple. Life and Death co-exist separately, unable to exist without one another. But there has never been a tale where the two joined together as one.
Maybe you're just too scared to be the first.
"I want the woman that I love by my side as queen," the prince replies smoothly. "Your species is of little importance to me. All that matters is that my love is returned in full. Please, allow me to be yours," he reaches for your hand once more, stepping out of his chair in favor of sitting on bended knee. "More than anyone has or ever will, I love you. This is an unwavering truth."
The blood of the love-talker must run through his veins. Why else do you feel like this? Your desire for this prince will eat away at you until you become undone and return to nothing. "You're a prince. It's the duty of the royal family to provide heirs," even the smallest sprite knows this to be fact. "Are you asking me to stay with you and have them?"
"Please have my children," azure stares seriously into your pale eyes that were once [color] when you were human.
Your skin feels warm at his unabashed request.
Gojou Satoru has no shame, that you have become sure of in the near month of knowing one another.
He had no shame when he asked you to be his bride when you first met.
There was no shame to be found when he insisted that you stay in the palace as an honored guest he owes his life to.
Nor is there any shame to be found in him now when he cups your cheek in his furnace hot hands to guide your lips down to his, long white lashes fluttering shut.
I shouldn't, your mind screeches at you. I shouldn't allow us to get even one millimeter closer. Yet you make no move to do so as your lips are just barely touching whenー
"Your Highness, your mother is requesting you," Nanami's mild-mannered drawl saves you at the last minute.
You jerk back into your chair in relief, heart pounding. You aren't able to make eye contact with anyone, least of all the overworked horned elf-kobold hybrid brought to receive the Gojou heir.
The prince clicks his tongue in annoyance, glaring over his shoulder at the advisor, "she can't wait? We haven't even begun eating yet."
Nanami looks just as annoyed to be there, "the faster you heed her call, the quicker you can go back to fawning after the object of your desires." He tells his prince. "And the faster I can get back to resting."
The prince with snow-white hair clicks his tongue once more, but he doesn't argue against it. He turns to you regretfully, "I'll have to leave again. Perhaps we'll have more time together at dinner," you hope the wait for dinner is longer still. You know the prince hopes the time passes as quickly as he can blink.
Warm lips press against the back of your hand, lingering for five seconds longer than they should.
The bones of your hands ache.
Extra:
Title comes from a Nizar Qabbani poem: [Your love / Oh you with fathomless eyes / Is extreme /mystic / holy / Your love, like birth and death / is impossible to repeat]
My favorite bit in this is having the reader refused to call Gojou by name even in the narrative dialogue, in a futile attempt to keep distance between you both. I hope you guys found that riveting as well
Part 2? Should there be one? Perhaps there should be... y'all let me know
#look she's writing#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk faerie au#gojou x reader#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojou satoru x reader#faeries#gojo satoru x you#gojou satoru x you#fair folk#mythology#i had a lot of fun writing this
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Congrats Martha!! 🎉🎉
Could I request Rhaenyra x reader with the prompt “Spread your legs for me, I want to see all of you” pretty please?
Thank you 😍
Absolutely, Fae my darling! I hope I brought your prompt to life and gave it justice! 💖
Honeyed Promises
Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem reader
Word count: 2.8k+
About: While visiting your great uncle, Lyman Beesbury, at King's Landing, you weren't expecting secondhand stress to affect your lord husband so. Princess Rhaenyra takes notice and is happy to steal moments away with you.
Includes: Unhappy political marriage, mentions of verbal fighting, and smut. Featuring reader's first sexual experience with a woman, oral sex, vaginal fingering, and scissoring
Note: Hello lovely reader ❤️ This is my very first time writing a wlw fic - ahh! It's a complete honor to do it as a request for Fae! Story takes place during Rhaenyra's marriage to Laenor. It is implied she hasn't had children yet. Reader is nondescript. As always, I hope you enjoy this story!
-
Little had changed since your last visit to King’s Landing when you were a young girl. The Red Keep, in all its sprawling glory, loomed just as large as you remembered. A rarity, you were beginning to understand – for things you thought grand as a child were all but normal to you, now. The Keep was a being of its own, however. Almost a living, breathing, sentient thing. For an outsider its walls seemed to morph into the dark; changing, shifting… holding onto its secrets like the dragons its Kings bonded with.
You weren’t a stranger to politics. But, you were a stranger to the volume of aristocrats which surrounded the Targaryen dynasty. Lyman Beesbury, your great uncle, served as master of coin on King Viserys’ small council, and before him, King Jaehaerys, and was as deep into politics as a man of a smaller House could be.
A great honor.
-
Uncle Beesbury extended an invasion to his nephew, your lord husband, to attend a royal affair at the capital. He gladly accepted. Using it for not only an excuse to get out of Honeyholt for a while, but also to catch up with family, the long journey felt worth it.
Your marriage had yet to bear fruit. Little love bloomed between you and your husband. It was a marriage of duty rather than love, and it showed it more ways than you two cared to admit. If only you could swell with his child to put an end to all the talk of furthering the bloodline.
Each passing day at King’s Landing showed you a different side to your husband. Whatever he and his uncle conversed about in private soured his mood, and his harsh tongue somehow grew harsher towards you. No matter how you tried to soften him with gentle touches, tender words, and initiating marital affections, he was unsatisfied and dour.
“Your lord husband seems quite the ray of sunshine, my lady,” princess Rhaenyra whispered to you one night during dinner. Her voice lilted with sarcasm and her violet eyes dazzled with amusement when she met your gaze. She held it with confidence. With a softness. Knowing.
“Is it that obvious, princess?” You asked with some of her same amusement. “He was so excited to come here. I thought he’d be happier than…,” you waved your hand in a sweeping gesture, adding, “this.”
She smiled softly. “Have you had the chance to explore? There are many wonderful things here to distract you from tetchy husbands,” she said and tipped her goblet towards you, sipping to hide her smirk.
“Perhaps on the morrow I will,” you said, heat and butterflies filling your blood at her tone and implication. Could the princess be… flirting? Your heart quickened a tick. Surely you’re mistaken. Your bedtime stories of suave knights must be getting to you.
“I’ll gladly show you around. I too could use a distraction from the small council.”
She didn’t touch you, but the way her gaze lingered from your neck, up to your lips, and down to the exposed swath of your chest, made gooseflesh pebble your skin as if she had.
-
Nearly a week went by and unfortunately Rhaenyra had yet to keep true to her word. You couldn’t blame her, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt. Each day passed with a sting. The only thing that made it better was the conversations you were able to steal at dinner. The lingering looks, the briefest of touches, Rhaenyra reaching to brush away dust from your gowns… you thought your heart might truly leap from your throat when she wetted the corner of her napkin with her mouth to clean a drop of sauce from your chest.
And, all the while, she sat by her husband, Laenor Velaryon, and you sat by your lord husband; the men either uncaring or none the wiser to the simmering attraction and tension between you and the princess.
The following day, after a particularly curt argument in hissed voices, you stomped away from your lord husband and left him in one of the numerous corridors. You didn’t stop your angry pace until you were standing in the gardens. Unchaperoned, unguarded, and completely alone. Just how you wanted to be. Heavy gray clouds began to gather over the castle. It didn’t deter you from wanting to make the most out of the remaining blue sky.
Your mood lightened by the minute. Flowers, shrubs, and trees bloomed everywhere. Heady scents filled your nose and it made you yearn for home. King’s Landing was lovely. But, to you, there truly was no place like home.
Akin to your married name, you quietly followed a trail of honeybees until you found their hive. Deep and hidden in the gardens, you wanted nothing more than to simply stay there for the remainder of the day. Perhaps even the rest of your stay. Honeybees were busy and gentle creatures. As long as you didn’t disturb them or their hive, the working girls were unbothered by your presence.
Finally, with one final whisper of goodbye to the bees, you left the secret spot and began to make your way back to the Keep. Raindrops started to fall and you knew a full on downpour wasn’t far behind.
Then, right there in your path, stood Rhaenyra. Her head was tipped back, her eyes were closed, and her palms were open up towards the sky as if in prayer. You felt like you were interrupting something sacred. Excitement jumped to your throat and before you could stop yourself, you asked, “princess…?”
She turned to look at you with partially lidded eyes. “What ever are you doing out here right now?” She asked with genuine confusion.
“I needed a breath of air. My husband, he…”
Before you could finish she held a hand up and offered a small shake of her head. “Needn’t worry to explain, then,” she said, appearing to come back to herself. “If the storm didn’t brew out of nowhere, and if I knew I’d run into you, I’d insist on taking you astride Syrax with me,” she said as she stepped into your space, eyes bright and dark alike. She freely reached for your hands and grabbed both of them. “There’s nothing quite as thrilling as dragon flying.”
This is more thrill than I’ve felt in a long time, you wanted to say. You wondered if the words flashed across your face. Briefly flustered, you smiled. “I, uhm… thank you, truly, princess. But I much prefer the ground.”
“That’s because you’ve never tried being in the sky,” she said, voice soft, so soft, as she leaned into you. “You cannot deny something so quickly if you haven’t tried it…”
Desire, excitement, and wonder filled her pretty eyes. Violet, and silver, and always donned in the loveliest gowns, you understood how the rumors of Targaryens being closer to Gods than men traveled all over the Seven Kingdoms. She was close enough that you felt her breath tickle your face. Smelled the oils of her skin. Something electric pulsed between your almost pressing bodies. “This is the closest I’ve been to a dragon and I am positively thrilled,” you whispered in reply, gently squeezing her hands.
“Sweet girl…,” she cooed as she tilted her head and pressed a delicate kiss to your waiting lips. Whatever pulsed between you before thrummed to life like a wardrum, now. You returned her kiss and that’s all she needed. Both her hands cupped your face as she deepened the affection, savoring the smoothness of your lips. Your tongue.
Just then the sky opened and emptied warm rain on the city. Within moments you were both soaked. Shock led to laughter as you both ran to find cover. Rain water dripped from your nose as you looked at Rhaenyra with renewed delight. “It came out of nowhere!” You said once in the dry safety of the Red Keep’s walls.
“Which part?” Asked the princess, mischievousness alighting all her features. She pulled you along, now, looking over her shoulder and daring you to keep pace with her.
Challenge accepted.
Arm in arm, you kept pace with Rhaenyra and paid little mind to any onlookers who might be giving you curious glances. She was light and quick on her feet and you were beginning to have a hard time keeping up with her. Still, the light air of playfulness danced around both of you.
An ornate door was guarded by a single man and the princess was quick to say, “you may be relieved from your post for now, ser.” He offered a bow before turning to leave. She opened the door and latched it once you were both inside. Locking it, she turned to face you with a smirk that had you giddy.
“What of your husband, princess? And mine?” Despite it only being the two of you in her private bedchamber, you whispered.
“Laenor and I have… we have found common ground with a pact, you see. He would be happy that I found joy and thrill in chasing you. No one will know of our kiss. That, I promise,” she said, mirroring your tone, as she traced the backs of her fingers along your jaw. Your neck. Whispering them over your collarbone. “As for your husband? Well… I haven’t even seen him kiss your cheek since you’ve been here. Such a shame.”
Your heart was doing flips in your belly. Your lord husband never made you feel like this. Not even on your wedding night. “Th-this–,” you started, uncharacteristically stammering, “–I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve only ever been with my husband.” Heat warmed your cheeks and you hoped she didn’t see it.
“That’s okay,” she purred. “Let me show you, my lady.” Her eyes searched yours. As soon as consent passed between you, she began to help you out of your wet gown. You helped her out of hers, too, and before too long you stood in front of each other in only your chemises; thin material doing little to hide your bodies.
Now on her bed, your curious fingers trembled over her skin as you explored her body. Your lips shuddered atop her flesh as you grazed tentative kisses along her. Your breath caught in your throat when she did all the same, and more, to you. She was so soft, and so warm, and so unlike anything you’d experienced before. Her hands on any and every part of your body had you melting further into her mattress. “Can you.. Can I…,” you said dreamily. “Can I feel your skin on mine?”
Grinning like a cat, Rhaenyra pulled your chemise over your head. She tugged hers off too. Leaning down, she balanced her weight atop you as she crashed her mouth to yours in the neediest hungriest kiss you’d ever experienced. Your breasts squished together, and your bellies, too, and it was the single most exciting thing you’d ever felt. “Can I finish taking all your clothes off?” She asked, half breathless, one hand snaking down to the ribbons of your smallclothes.
“Yes,” you panted. “Please,” you begged.
Having neither the will nor the want to keep you waiting, she obliged. She tugged the ribbons open before sliding the final garment down your legs. Kneeling on the edge of the bed she looked from the center of your body to your face, violet eyes dark with desire. “Spread your legs for me. I want to see all of you.”
A wave of shyness washed over you. Now, you were praying doubly that she didn’t see the blush of your face. Your legs parted with hesitation; butterflies roared from your scalp to your toes. It shouldn’t be embarrassing. It shouldn’t make you timid. But the intimacy, the lewdness, made your teeth sink into your bottom lip.
Rhaenyra watched all the while. Despite the clawing arousal in the pit of her own belly she let you go at your own pace and made no move to hasten or startle you. “Men often don’t appreciate the true beauty of a woman,” she said, low and gentle. “But I am no man and you are beautiful. Be a good girl and open them further. It will be worth it, I promise.”
Her words struck a chord in you. Before you fully realized what you were doing, your legs spilled open to expose the fullness of your eager cunt. It glistened with your arousal. The pink at your very center begged to be touched. To be spread. To welcome whatever Rhaenyra might bless you with. “Will you also take yours off?”
“Soon,” she answered all too quickly, already leaning forward between your parted thighs. “But first I want to kiss this pretty cunny.” And she did. She kissed the tender flesh at the inside of your thighs, your mound, your budded pearl. Her smooth mouth kissed again and again until you were squirming beneath her, and it was then, and only then, that she traced her warm tongue up your slit.
Your breathy gasps turned into a choking mewl at the sensation of her tongue. “Gods…!” You looked down at her and burned even hotter at the sight. “Please don’t stop, princess. Please don’t stop.”
Rhaenyra licked and lapped again and again, making no move to stop even as you shuddered beneath her. You were too warm, too lovely, and too responsive for her to even consider stopping. When she eventually ceased her licking, she instead sucked on your clit until she felt your entire cunt convulse and throb. Your sounds of pleasure were everything she imagined and more. As soon as you relaxed from your first peak she slid two fingers into your empty cunny. Working her tongue and digits in tandem, she gave you another climax. The natural tang of your body gave way to the sweetness of orgasm, and with that taste on her tongue she finally crashed her mouth to yours once again.
You whimpered into the affection, smiling and purring like a spoiled cat. “You’ve got a magical mouth, princess,” you said dreamily.
“How do you like your taste?” She asked, kissing you again, slower, deeper.
“Like I want more,” you said. “Let me taste you. You can guide me along. Show me how to make you feel good like you just did me.”
She giggled into your neck. “I know a way to make both of us feel good at the same time. Do you trust me?”
You nodded, the darkness of your eyes glittering with desire.
Rhaenyra discarded her smallclothes and positioned herself between your legs. “Relax and let me show you how to hold your legs, yes?” She spread yours a little wider while moving one of her own beneath your leg. She spread her other one wider and hooked it over your waist.
It was an odd position, one you’d never been in before, but one that immediately sent your blood soaring. She rolled her hips once. Once. And that’s all it took for you to feel the slickness of her cunt slide against your own. If you thought her mouth was magical it was only because you hadn’t yet felt her cunny against yours. You gasped sharply. “More,” you croaked, eyes black with lust.
“Move your pelvis with me,” she said thickly, lust darkening her features just as much as yours.
You happily obeyed. Your pleasure was her pleasure, and hers, yours, as you both rolled and ground your hips and pelvis in a delightfully obscene rhythm. Moans and whimpers were accented by the slick echoes of your centers. Your breasts started to bounce with the effort; both of your hands pressing and digging into any soft flesh it could find. You felt drunk. High. Buzzed on the saccharine scents of her skin and your combined arousal.
The shared pace grew firmer, quicker, sloppier. Sweat sheened your bodies. You both chased your high on the other’s cunt. You tumbled into orgasm first, white hot fire exploding out from your belly to every nerve of your body. Rhaenyra quickly followed.
You both rode it out slowly. Intensely. Savoring every second that passed between you.
When your limbs finally managed to untangle, she collapsed beside you and smiled. After a few moments of breath catching, she asked, “which was your favorite, my lady?” Her words breathless, her tone playful.
You hummed in thought. “I don’t quite know… I think I’ll need a reminder again, just to be sure.”
“I think we can arrange that,” she said with a laugh.
“Can we do this again?”
“As many times as we can sneak away together, I am happy to explore with you.”
You laid together for as long as you could, until the golden hour summoned you to the day’s final meal where you both said next to your husbands; relaxed and sated.
-
Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥
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Masterlist
Main taglist: @watercolorskyy @melsunshine @girlwith-thepearlearring @arcielee @barbiedragon @dreamsofoldvalyria @bel-bottoms @fan-goddess
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hi, i'm Pins! please enjoy this masterlist of TLOU works.
follow @seventeenpins-updates and turn on notifs for new fics/chapters
✨ never pegged you for a quitter ✨
never pegged you for a quitter (pt i) • ✨ knock him down a peg (pt ii) ✨ | Joel x f!reader x Tess | smut | Joel gets pegged. Repeatedly.
a slight miscalculation
Chapter I • Chapter II - Joel x f!reader | 8.3k | ongoing series | Sarah is off to college, and Joel is about to be living in an empty nest. Letting go of his inhibitions for the first time in a long time, he tumbles into a one night stand that becomes very complicated, very quickly.
west
Prologue • Chapter I (upcoming) - Joel x nb!reader | ongoing series | Dakota Territory, 1879. Joel Miller, a widower, lives on the outskirts of Deadwood with his brother and daughter. The end of the world arrives piece by piece, and then all at once.
triptych
part i • part ii- tommy x f!reader x joel | 2.5k | after a shitty day, you chat with a man at a bar. after a surprisingly nice night, you go back to his place only to discover he lives with his brother who happens to be an old flame of yours.
stepdad!joel au
bad girl (part i) • practice makes perfect (part ii) • bloom (part iii) • blanch (part iv) - you're staying in your hometown for a couple of months and your stepdad walks in on you watching porn.
forget-me-not
forget-me-not (part i) | qz!joel x f!reader | 3.3k | angst/smut | joel's about to travel west to wyoming in search of his brother, and you're not sure you're ready to say goodbye.
violet (part ii) | older qz!joel x f!reader | 5.8k | set seven years after joel's departure from the boston qz, you've been forced to flee the city. you come across the town of jackson, wyoming.
drive me home
Tess x f!reader | 1.7k | smut | You drive back home with Tess after she brings you to her holiday work party. She makes it hard to concentrate on the drive.
give em a show
Joel x f!reader | 1.5k | smut | Joel watches you as you dance with a stranger in the bar. It goes a little too far, and Joel makes sure everyone knows exactly who you belong to.
wanna be felled by you, held by you
Joel x nb!reader | 4.7k | smut | Joel has always issues with relinquishing control. Time in the safety and community of Jackson has changed him, though, and he wants to give all his control to you, let you pull him apart.
vampire!joel au - upcoming
*****
most recent fics indicated with ✨
prompts are always welcome, and I will be updating this list periodically~
updated 23 Apr 24
#joel miller smut#tlou#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#no use of y/n#joel miller fanfiction#tlou fanfiction#tlou fic#joel miller x f!reader
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Last Seen Blogs
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