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frenchkisstheabyss · 1 year

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♡ 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝕎𝕖𝕣𝕖 "ℝ𝕠𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕤" ♡

♡ Mature Content! Minors DNI! Warnings below the break ♡

♡ Pairing: ot8!boyfriend!ateez x chubby!fem!reader

♡ Summary: A nice, calm, wholesome movie night with your boyfriends except I lied and nothing but absolute filth happens.

♡ Genre: smut with a sprinkle, a smidge, a barely visible flake of plot

♡ Word Count: 3.6k-ish

♡ Warnings: (issa lot happening so pls lmk if I miss anything) masturbation (f), use of toys (f receiving), oral (f & m receiving), anal penetration & eating (f receiving), unprotected sex (ya'll know not to do that irl!), creampies, edging, double vaginal penetration, things get rough, scratching, gagging, pet names (good girl, bad girl, slut, le usual)

♡ A/N: I wrote this with the intention of writing this soft, romantic piece but my mind got lost in the gutter and built a home there so here we are. Thanks to @anyamaris for supporting me in my nonsense as she always does.

Even with the air conditioner on, a wave of heat washes over you. Two fingers---your fingers---press firmly against your clit. You know your body better than anyone in this room. Every flick of your wrist makes your walls clench around the vibrator Hongjoong’s fucking you with. The ultra-soft silicone curves to rest its flat tip directly on your g spot. He keeps it at medium speed, the low hum of the toy a hypnotizing instrumental to the weakened moans leaving your lips. “You’re so beautiful” he whispers, delicately kissing your thigh. And you are.

Lying in the middle of your living room floor on a pile of the fluffiest pillows, you’re the prettiest thing any of them have ever seen. The plan had been to watch a movie. Horror---comedy---who cares? How could they watch anything but you? Legs spread wide. Pussy weeping, begging you to keep going just like that. Your panties, moist beyond measure, are looped around your ankle. The tight plaid mini skirt you wear is pushed up, not denying them a bit of your plush belly. Your nipples are two, tightly beaded indentations in your black crop top. They brush against the cotton each time your chest rises, turning you on even more.

It’s getting harder to play with your clit. Your muscles are tensing like a rubber band stretched near its breaking point. Your wrists are going limp. Your legs are shaking, causing your thighs to jiggle so deliciously that Hongjoong can’t resist nibbling at them. What he loves, what gets him off the most, is simply to watch you make a mess of yourself. “Mmm, Joongie. I’m gonna cum---” you gasp, arching against the pillows. Hongjoong’s laugh is nearly undetectable but you hear it, oozing lust. He’s happy with himself and with you. Pulling the soaked vibrator from your core, he pushes three fingers into you.

“Cum for me, princess. Cum around my fingers.” Hongjoong moves your hand away from your clit, wrapping his lips around it in a small O shape. Your arms fall above your head, your head turning to catch Yunho staring at you from the couch. Yunho looks spaced out. It’s as if his mind is off somewhere far away but that couldn’t be further from the truth. His mind is on you and no one else. It's fixated on the way your eyelids flutter when Hongjoong suckles at your clit. It’s committing to memory that sweet little smile you shoot him right before you lose control of your body.

Hongjoong’s been edging you for an hour all for this moment when he can finger you hard and fast, tonguing your clit as pleasure rips through your body. You’re grabbing at nothing---at anything---to ground yourself but it’s no use. “Hongjoong. Fuck” you whine, struggling to find your breath, “I can’t. Too much. Too---fuck.” Wooyoung rises from his spot on the recliner to kneel above your head. “Let me help” he coos, kissing you on the forehead. His fragrant sable locks dance around your cheeks like curtains, shutting out the rest of the world.

Smooth hands massage their way up your arms, loosening your muscles as they tighten. Fingers press into your shoulders---tickle your collarbone---traverse the arches of your breasts to circle your nipples. Woo slips your shirt up, laying his hands flat on your breasts. He kneads them, pinching your nipples in his palms. “Woo---” you moan, “Joongie---ah.” You mindlessly writhe beneath them. Hongjoong’s knuckles are grinding against your slit. His fingers---they’re so deep---spreading you open even wider.

Woo smiles down at you and there’s something so genuine about it because it is. “He’s right---” he says, “You’re so beautiful.” Woo drags his tongue across your lips just as Hongjoong’s tongue swirls between your pussy lips. There’s an audible squelching sound when his fingers pop out of you, the suction of your walls holding onto him for dear life too relentless to let him go quietly. Hongjoong gets up on his knees, sucking at his fingers, and admires the way you’re still clenching for him. He’d edge you more---keep you like this all night---but he knows he has to share.

With one last kiss which he plants on your lower belly, he leaves you in Woo’s capable hands. Woo reaches over you to run a finger across your slit and you giggle at how much it tickles. When he leans forward you get a clear view of how hard he is and catch yourself salivating. You bring a hand up to rub against his bulge. A groan emerges from somewhere deep within him, “Bad girl.” Still a tad loopy from your orgasm, you fumble your way up onto your knees. “But you love it, don’t you?” you tease, your hand reaching down to rub against him again.

Woo nibbles at his bottom lip, pulling you closer to him. You run your fingers through his hair, tucking a rogue strand behind his ear, “Up.” One word spoken in the singsong voice of an angel such as yourself has him up on his feet without question. Just as you reach for Woo’s zipper, strong arms grab you from behind, locking you in their embrace. “Choi San!” you gasp, admiring that dimpled grin of his, “I’m kinda trying to focus here---” San kisses down your neck, dipping one hand between your thighs.

His other hand cradles your chin, fingers pinching into your cheeks, and turns your head back towards Woo where a throbbing cock, arousal moistening the tip, waits for you. “Then focus---” San says, lightly squeezing your cheeks. You let your tongue fall free, resting it on the underside of Woo’s cock. Rolling it around his sensitive tip, you collect the warm salty liquid on your tongue. San lets go of your cheeks, giving you the room to bring your hand up and grip Woo’s base. You glance up at him and he’s already fixed on you. They stay that way as your fingertips trace the veins traveling up his shaft, stroking back to his base and starting all over again.

San raises your ass enough to slip his cock between your thighs. Somehow he’s even harder than Woo and you haven’t even touched him yet. “You wanna fuck me, Sannie?” “Hmm, is that how we ask?” he growls into your neck, grinding against you. Poking your ass out, you lay your head back onto his shoulder, “I want you to fuck my tight little cunt, Sannie. Please.” San grips you by the hips, sinking into you with zero patience. A vibrator has nothing on San’s cock. Woo tangles his fingers in your hair, sliding his thickness between your lips.

Bobbing your head back and forth, you suck your cheeks in---fan them out---mimicking the exact thing your pussy’s doing to San’s cock. It’s a flawlessly choreographed dance between the three of you. San bucking his hips, feeding you every inch. You rolling back against him, taking him like a--- “Pretty little slut---” San’s panting, the slobber dripping down your chin from sucking Woo off making you look like exactly that. Woo holding your head steady while you pump his glistening length, your hand and mouth working together to put his stomach in knots.

With Woo stuffing your cheeks, your screams are muffled when San picks up his pace. “Is this what you wanted, baby?” he says, slapping you on the ass. “Mmpphh” is all you can manage, Woo’s cock hitting the back of your throat. Woo and San bounce you back and forth, whispering praises that have you back on the edge in no time. Your hips stutter, cluing San in that you’re close, and his pace becomes unforgiving. Woo scoops up one of your breasts, pinching your nipples, feeling their weight in his hand. “Don’t stop---shit---y/n. So good. Don’t---” Woo twitches between your lips, pumping his seed directly down your throat.

Never one to be wasteful you drink him down, massaging his balls with your free hand. “Fuck---pussy’s so good y/n---gonna cum” San hisses and you’re cumming again. He cums with you, ropes of white painting your insides from the other end. Woo leans forward, kissing your puffy lips, “I’ll get you some water.” “And a popsicle please.” Woo and San look at each other---back at you---at each other---back at you. San straightens out your skirt, “What for?” Your gaze dances over to Seonghwa and the two of you immediately begin to blush. “We---uh---” Seonghwa stutters, “Don’t worry about it.”

Yeosang politely moves Woo and San away from you. “Excuse me. Sorry” he apologizes, moving between them to sweep you up into his arms, “We’ll get the water.” It’s not that you don’t know Yeosang can pick you up but every time he does you melt. Yeosang carries you toward the kitchen and Seonghwa’s right behind him. “And the uh---yeah.” Jongho hops up to follow them, pushing through San and Woo with zero of the politeness Yeosang offered. “Thanks though” he grins, patting Woo on the shoulder, “But not really.”

“Oh my---that’s---that” you gasp, pleasantly surprised at how much you enjoy the sensation. Seonghwa bending you over your dresser and swirling a popsicle in your asshole wasn’t on your 2023 bingo board but he has you wondering why it never was. The chill of the popsicle is calming in a way. You were overheating for a bit there but now? You feel tingly all over. With the popsicle melted and your thighs coated in drips of sticky, strawberry syrup, Seonghwa goes to work licking it off of you. His long tongue trails up your left thigh---down your right thigh. It comes back up to your ass, nibbling at the plush cheeks and making you squeal. He stays there for a second kissing them, massaging them, tickling them with the tip of his tongue.

“Hwa---mmph” you moan, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he tongues your candy-coated asshole. Imagine having an itch. Not just any itch. One of those itches that makes it difficult to focus on anything else. One of those itches that refuse to be ignored. But you can’t reach it. No matter how hard you try, your arms just aren’t reaching until---oh god---you finally do. You scratch it and it’s so good that your legs could give out. Nothing, not a single thing, compares to how uniquely amazing that feels. That’s what it feels like to have Seonghwa making figure eights in your ass like his tongue's a professional figure skater.

While you’re bent over seeing stars, he maintains a shaky hold on his cock. Each stroke is slow and deliberate, in sync with yours. “Fuck, you taste so good” he mumbles, fully prepared to smother himself if it means tasting as much of you as possible. You hear a moan you’ve heard a dozen times before. Seonghwa tries to suppress them when he cums even though you wish he wouldn’t. Usually, he hates being messy but his cum has already glazed over his hand and the afterglow is heaven. “Fuck it,” he says to himself, falling across the bed. Spinning around you come face to face with Jongho. “Hey ya cutie” you beam, poking his cheeks.

Sometimes people say that he’s scary, mean even, but when you look at him all you see is your cuddly bear. You drape your arms over his shoulders for support, “Your turn?” Jongho effortlessly lifts you onto the dresser, kissing you like he’s been waiting forever to do it. And he has. “My turn.” He presses the head of his cock against your clit and there they are again. The hot flashes. That thin layer of perspiration on your skin. Jongho grabs your arms, pinning them behind you, and drives into you. “You’re still so wet.” “Not still” you whisper, “This is just for you.” Jongho thrusts into you and you’re full again, his cock much thicker than you remember.

Your exhausted muscles can hardly hold up to being fucked this hard but you don’t have to worry about that. In his arms, you don’t have to worry about anything besides feeling good. He could keep you steady all night if Yeosang weren’t snatching you away, tossing you on the bed. “Yeosang!” you shout, sliding back on the bed, “You can’t just throw people around like that!” Yeosang climbs on top of you, pushing your shirt up, “I can’t?” He brushes a thumb across one of your nipples, lapping at the other as his fingers massage your breast. “You can---shit---do it again” you surrender between shallow breaths.

Yeosang slips into you, his cock pulsing in time with each rise of his hips. His defined arms slip beneath your body, hands locking just behind your back. When he flips you over on top of him, it’s like your whole world’s been turned on its side. He bounces you up and down in his lap, the tremors traveling far behind your core. Just as he picks up a rhythm Jongho tears you away from him, propping you up against the wall. You’d make some smartass comment about Jongho not being good at sharing. If only there were time enough for that.

His arms are already tucked behind your knees, supporting your weight as he fucks you against the wall. “You’re such an addictive little slut, you know that?” he says, and your heart flutters. You just love when he sweet-talks you. The angle he has you at is perfect for stimulating your g spot. He’s bumping right up against it and you’re clamped down around him, as addicted to him as he is to you. “Can I borrow this?” Yeosang asks, peeling you away from Jongho and tossing you back onto the bed.

This time you’re on your knees. All fours is simply out of the question with how completely destroyed you are. “Are you just gonna toss me around all night?” you whine, burying your face in the blankets. Seonghwa lays his head beside yours, nuzzling up to you. “Of course not” he assures you, his voice warm and comforting, “I won’t throw you around when I have you. A light roll maybe---”

“Pirates! Cowboys! Biker gangs!” you mumble incoherently, jolting awake. Shaking off those incredibly strange dreams, you realize that you’re still in bed. Judging from how dark it is in your room, it’s well past midnight. You must’ve fallen asleep after what your aching muscles are telling you was a wrestling match with a bear. A barely awake Yunho tightens his arm around you from behind, “Cowboys? I’ll do anything for you but I am not putting on a cowboy costume.” “I will,” Mingi yawns, cuddling up closer to you from the other side, “I get nice boots. Probably a cool jacket. Ooh, some guns---”

“There are no guns!” you interrupt, “When did you two even get in here?” Yunho shrugs, “A few hours ago. You never came downstairs and we missed you.” The “we” he’s referring to is obvious when you notice how hard he is against your back. “You fell asleep on us” Mingi pouts, a hand running up your thigh to squeeze your ass. You drape a leg around his waist, smooching him on the nose, “Don’t do that.” “Don’t do what?” Mingi pouts even more, knowing how soft you go for him when he does this. “That! You guys are both being so---” “So?” Yunho asks, his long fingers reaching between your legs to stroke your pussy.

You shiver at the contact. Having Yunho behind you, his cock pressing into the small of your back, his fingers teasing you, makes your heart race. Mingi spreads your thighs, giving Yunho more than enough room to curl his fingers into you. “Finish what you were saying.” “I---uh---” “Uh---uh” Mingi mocks, petting your cheek. You move to playfully slap him but he grabs you by the wrist, kissing you before you can even consider trying anything else. Yunho eases a third finger into your core, “You like it when I play with your little cunt, don’t you?” “Mm-hmm” you hum, lidded eyes glossing over.

Yunho stays focused on tapping your sweet spot while Mingi hypnotizes you with his lips. Mingi has you so drugged, so completely entranced, that you don’t even notice when one of Yunho’s fingers is replaced with his. It’s not until there are four of them inside of you, two of Mingi’s and two of Yunho’s that you feel the difference. Feel the intensity of the stretch. “I think she likes it” Mingi grins, rubbing his thumb against your clit. Yunho follows suit, slipping a thumb into your ass. “Fuck---yes---Yunie---Mingi---mmm!” you cry out, so overstimulated that your eyes begin to water.

They grind into you harder, forcing out screams louder than any you’ve made tonight. “Please---inside of me---wanna feel you. Both of you” you whine, so lost in how badly you want them that you don’t realize what you’re asking. Mingi slides his hand out, smearing your juices between your folds, “Aah, she’s adventurous tonight. You sure you can handle that?” “I-I can. Ah, shit. I need it.” Yunho spreads his fingers in a V, rolling them around inside of you, stretching you from every angle. Mingi brings the head of his cock to splash in the juices leaking from your needy core and Yunho pulls out of you, focusing instead on freeing himself from his pants.

For a fleeting moment, it occurs to you how fucking insane you are. Mingi and Yunho at the same time? It’s not only the thickness, it’s the length. You wonder if you have a death wish. Mingi guides himself into you, only the first inch, sending shockwaves through your system. If this is how you die, you figure, at least you’ll die happy. Yunho spits into his palm, moistening his length before he brings it to meet your already occupied slit. Mingi slides in another inch or two, keeping his cock flush against the roof of your walls. Yunho raises himself into you, taking his time to watch for any signs that you’re uncomfortable, “Let us know if it’s too much, okay?” You make a little squeak to acknowledge how nice it feels to be protected, even when he’s in the process of tearing you in half.

He begins to slide up into you, pausing to let Mingi push in a little more, then taking his turn again. It’s a toe-curling, lip-biting back and forth to get them both inside of you. Once they are, you're falling apart, screaming, digging your nails into Mingi’s arm. Pulling his shirt up over his head, he gathers the material and shoves it in your mouth. “We don’t want them to think we’re killing you.” You’re so full, stretched beyond your limit, that only one of them can fuck into you at once. There’s no room for anything---or anyone---else. You belong to them. “You’re always worth waiting for but shit” Mingi grunts, his length throbbing, as much as it can given the space.

There’s moisture on your cheeks. You’re crying. Not from pain. No. That initial sting gave way to pleasure once they were both finally inside of you. You’re crying, drenched in your own tears, because parts of you are shifting that you didn’t even know could. Every stroke has your ears ringing, your heart in your stomach. You feel heavy and weightless all at once. The darkness of the room swallows you while somehow managing to be blindingly bright. There’s an explosion somewhere inside, releasing the building pressure. You’re at your peak again, legs kicking like you’re dangling high up. It hits you hard. So hard that you’re not breathing. Breathe, girl, breathe!

Just as you catch your breath and think that you’re maybe---maybe---coming down, Yunho's filling you up like a donut. Mingi pulls out, tapping his head against your clit as warm cum sprays against you. Correction: Filling you up like a glazed donut. The three of you collapse, unable to do much else besides make a series of broken noises. “Hmph mmm mm hmph,” you say? Scream? Mumble? Mingi throws his arm across his chest, understanding your incoherent huffs, and takes the shirt out of your mouth. You pat him lovingly on the head, “Thanks.”

Readjusting yourself on the toilet, you rub the partially melted popsicle between your legs. This is nowhere near sexual in nature. You’re just in desperate need of relief from how sore you are after the day’s events. “Aah, yup, that’s the spot” you sigh, “Seonghwa really was onto something.” “Was I?” Seonghwa asks, rubbing his eyes. You jump a bit, startled by his sudden appearance in the doorway. Seonghwa stretches, dragging his feet into the bathroom.

As adorable as he is in his pajamas, his hair a complete mess, seeing him right now isn’t ideal. He shakes off the sleep, taking his time to process what’s going on. “Is that a---” “Ssh, if you tell anyone---” Seonghwa’s cheeks turn rosy, a smile spreading across his face. He takes you by the hand, bringing you to your feet, “Come on.” “Hwa, hold on, do you think? I wasn’t--no. No!” You reach back to drop the popsicle in the sink but Hwa pulls you along. “Hold onto that.”

#ateez smut #ateez x you #ateez x chubby reader #ateez x y/n #ateez x reader #ateez ot8 #ateez oneshot #hongjoong x y/n #mingi x y/n #jongho x y/n #yeosang x y/n #yunho x y/n #seonghwa x y/n #san x y/n #wooyoung x y/n #chubby reader

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soracities · 1 year

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what are your suggestions for starter poetry for people who dont have strong reading/analysis backgrounds

I've answered this a few times so I'm going to compile and expand them all into one post here.

I think if you haven't read much poetry before or aren't sure of your own tastes yet, then poetry anthologies are a great place to start: many of them will have a unifying theme so you can hone in based on a subject that interests you, or pick your way through something more general. I haven't read all of the ones below, but I have read most of them; the rest I came across in my own readings and added to my list either because I like the concept or am familiar with the editor(s) / their work:

Staying Alive: Real Poems for Unreal Times (ed. Nick Astley) & Being Alive: The Sequel to Staying Alive (there's two more books in this series, but I'm recommending these two just because it's where I started)

The Rattlebag (ed. Seamus Heaney and Ted Hughes)

The Ecco Anthology of International Poetry (ed. Ilya Kaminsky & Susan Harris)

The Essential Haiku, Versions of Basho, Buson and Issa (ed. Robert Hass)

A Book of Luminous Things (ed. Czesław Miłosz )

Now and Then: The Poet's Choice Columns by Robert Hass (this may be a good place to start if you're also looking for commentary on the poems themselves)

Poetry Unbound: 50 Poems to Open Your World(ed. Pádraig Ó'Tuama)

African American Poetry: 250 Years of Struggle and Song (ed. Kevin Young)

The Art of Losing: Poems of Grief and Healing (ed. Kevin Young)

Lifelines: Letters from Famous People about their Favourite Poems

The following lists are authors I love in one regard or another and is a small mix of different styles / time periods which I think are still fairly accessible regardless of what your reading background is! It's be no means exhaustice but hopefully it gives you even just a small glimpse of the range that's available so you can branch off and explore for yourself if any particular work speaks to you.

But in any case, for individual collections, I would try:

anything by Sara Teasdale

Devotions / Wild Geese / Felicity by Mary Oliver

Selected Poems and Prose by Christina Rossetti

Collected Poems by Langston Hughes

Where the Sidewalk Endsby Shel Silverstein

Morning Haiku by Sonia Sanchez

Revolutionary Letters, Diane di Prima

Concerning the Book That Is the Body of the Beloved by Gregory Orr

Rose: Poems by Li-Young Lee

A Red Cherry on a White-Tiled Floor / Barefoot Souls by Maram al-Masri

Deaf Republic by Ilya Kaminsky

Tell Me: Poems / What is This Thing Called Love? by Kim Addonizio

The Trouble with Poetry by Billy Collins (Billy Collins is THE go-to for accessible / beginner poetry in my view so I think any of his collections would probably do)

Crush by Richard Siken

Rapture / The World's Wife by Carol Ann Duffy

The War Works Hard by Dunya Mikhail

Selected Poems by Walt Whitman

View with a Grain of Sand by Wislawa Szymborska

Collected Poems by Vasko Popa

Under Milkwood by Dylan Thomas (this is a play, but Thomas is a poet and the language & structure is definitely poetic to me)

Bright Dead Things: Poems by Ada Limón

Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth by Warsan Shire,

Nostalgia, My Enemy: Selected Poems by Saadi Youssef

As for individual poems:

“Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver

[Dear The Vatican] erasure poem by Pádraig Ó'Tuama // "The Pedagogy of Conflict"

"Good Bones" by Maggie Smith

"The Author Writes the First Draft of His Weddings Vows (An erasure of Virginia Woolf's suicide letter to her husband, Leonard)" by Hanif Abdurraqib

"I Can Tell You a Story" by Chuck Carlise

"The Sciences Sing a Lullabye" by Albert Goldbarth

"One Last Poem for Richard" by Sandra Cisneros

"We Lived Happily During the War" by Ilya Kaminsky

“I’m Explaining a Few Things”by Pablo Neruda

"Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening" //"Nothing Gold Can Stay"//"Out, Out--" by Robert Frost

"Tablets: I // II // III"by Dunya Mikhail

"What Were They Like?" by Denise Levertov

"Those Winter Sundays" by Robert Hayden,

"The Patience of Ordinary Things" by Pat Schneider

“I, too” // "The Negro Speaks of Rivers” // "Harlem” // “Theme for English B” by Langston Hughes

“The Mower” // "The Trees" // "High Windows" by Philip Larkin

“The Leash” // “Love Poem with Apologies for My Appearance” // "Downhearted" by Ada Limón

“The Flea” by John Donne

"The Last Rose of Summer" by Thomas Moore

"Beauty" // "Please don't" // "How it Adds Up" by Tony Hoagland

“My Friend Yeshi” by Alice Walker

"De Humanis Corporis Fabrica"byJohn Burnside

“What Do Women Want?” // “For Desire” // "Stolen Moments" // "The Numbers" by Kim Addonizio

“Hummingbird” // "For Tess" by Raymond Carver

"The Two-Headed Calf" by Laura Gilpin

“Bleecker Street, Summer” by Derek Walcott

“Dirge Without Music” // "What Lips My Lips Have Kissed" by Edna St. Vincent Millay

“Digging” // “Mid-Term Break” // “The Rain Stick” // "Blackberry Picking" // "Twice Shy" by Seamus Heaney

“Dulce Et Decorum Est”by Wilfred Owen

“Notes from a Nonexistent Himalayan Expedition”by Wislawa Szymborska

"Hour" //"Medusa" byCarol Ann Duffy

“The More Loving One” // “Musée des Beaux Arts” by W.H. Auden

“Small Kindnesses” // "Feeding the Worms" by Danusha Laméris

"Down by the Salley Gardens” // “The Stolen Child” by W.B. Yeats

"The Thing Is" by Ellen Bass

"The Last Love Letter from an Entymologist" by Jared Singer

"[i like my body when it is with your]" by e.e. cummings

"Try to Praise the Mutilated World" by Adam Zagajewski

"The Cinnamon Peeler" by Michael Ondaatje

"Last Night I Dreamed I Made Myself" by Paige Lewis

"A Dream Within a Dream" // "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe (highly recommend reading the last one out loud or listening to it recited)

"Ars Poetica?" // "Encounter" // "A Song on the End of the World"by Czeslaw Milosz

"Wandering Around an Albequerque Airport Terminal” // "Two Countries” // "Kindness” by Naoimi Shihab Nye

"Slow Dance” by Matthew Dickman

"The Archipelago of Kisses" // "The Quiet World" by Jeffrey McDaniel

"Mimesis" by Fady Joudah

"The Great Fires" // "The Forgotten Dialect of the Heart" // "Failing and Flying" by Jack Gilbert

"The Mermaid" // "Virtuosi" by Lisel Mueller

"Macrophobia (Fear of Waiting)" by Jamaal May

"Someday I'll Love Ocean Vuong" by Ocean Vuong

"Still I Rise" by Maya Angelou

I would also recommend spending some times with essays, interviews, or other non-fiction, creative or otherwise (especially by other poets) if you want to broaden and improve how you read poetry; they can help give you a wider idea of the landscape behind and beyond the actual poems themselves, or even just let you acquaint yourself with how particular writers see and describe things in the world around them. The following are some of my favourites:

Upstream: Essays by Mary Oliver

"Theory and Play of the Duende" by Federico García Lorca

"The White Bird" and "Some Notes on Song" by John Berger

In That Great River: A Notebook by Anna Kamienska

A Little Devil in America: Notes in Praise of Black Performance by Hanif Abdurraqib

The Book of Delights by Ross Gay

"Of Strangeness That Wakes Us" and "Still Dancing: An Interview with Ilya Kaminsky" by Ilya Kaminsky

"The Sentence is a Lonely Place" by Garielle Lutz

Still Life with Oysters and Lemon by Mark Doty

Paris, When It's Naked by Etel Adnan

#ask #anonymous #beginner guides

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thosetwofirefighters · 2 years

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🎶 Music Tag 🎶

meeeeegs you know I love this kinda shit, thanks so much for the tag! @the-likesofus <3

Rules: Make a new post and spell out your url with song titles, then tag as many people as there are letters in your url

That Bitch - Sizzy Rocket Hate Me - Miley Cyrus Oblivion - Zolita Screwed - Janelle Monáe (feat. Zoë Kravitz) Egoist - Jenna Holiday

Tongue Tied - Lauren Sanderson What I Need - Hayley Kiyoko (feat. Kehlani) Orange Trees - MARINA

Four in the Morning - Cassidy King Invisible String - Taylor Swift Rainbow - Kesha Edge of Seventeen - Stevie Nicks FOOLS - Troye Sivan I Hope You Know What You're Doing - KiNG MALA Girls Girls Girls - FLETCHER Honey - Kehlani T-- Edit: Deleted because they protect predators Explosion - Zolita Religion - Zand & Shurk Swine - Lady Gaga

that was way harder than it needed to be but also so fun!! definitely not tagging the amount of people as there are letters in my url though sooo @paqerings @diazreyes @two-cut-lines @ajunerose @thisbuildinghasfeelings @yelenasbuddie if y'all want to join in, I'm curious to see your choices 😅

#I tried SO HARD to not repeat any artists #but O and E got me man #I don't have a lot of songs that start with O and Explosion was just calling my name so Zolita baby you're on there twice #issa badge of honor though innit #i love her music so much :')#music #me #not 911 #tag game #omg it was also painful to capitalize some songs that are NOT capitalized #but i figured consistency in the post was more important than consistency to the actual titles #fuck my editor brain though why do i overthink these things #(its because I love to overthink these things but still)

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cambion-companion · 2 years

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Hear me out, mild but super passionate after sex where aemond lets reader braid his hair 😩 while keeping her on his lap (her straddling him), caressing her body, holding her for dear life and softly kissing every inch of skin he can reach… just please I could die for thisss (specially if you make him use valyrian here and there), he deserves the purest, most desperate love

GOD I had to address this one real quick good lord over here fanning myself! This is a shorter drabble, but I plan on revisiting very often in future fics.

Aemond x female!reader | Smut leading to fluff...leading back to smut I got carried away | post-coital bliss | Breeding kink?

"Aemond!" His name spilled from your lips, as it had many times during the course of that warm night. You came undone around him as he thrusted erratically up into your heated core, spilling his warm seed deep inside you. Your hands pressed against his chest, Aemond gripping your hips so tight you expected marks would show the next day. You straddled him, milking his cock as you rode out the last of your orgasm.

"Y/N." Aemond breathed your name like a prayer, staring up at you, his silver hair splayed on the pillow. It was one of those rare, vulnerable moments he allowed you to be on top. With a shift, and his arms coming to hold you against him, Aemond sat up, so your chests brushed, his member still deep within you. He pressed a searing kiss to your lips. "Issa jorrāelagon, you were wonderful."

You took a lock of his hair in your fingers, pulling it over his shoulder as you began to braid. "I'm a natural at dragon riding."

Aemond snorted, not seeming to mind your attention to his hair as he littered kisses along your neck and shoulder. His arms were tight around you, holding you against him as though he wished to mold your bodies together. You chuckled wickedly as you felt him growing hard inside you once more, his cock twitching as you moved your hips teasingly. Aemond groaned, sucking the skin at your throat, his teeth and tongue working to mark you as his.

You continued weaving small braids into his long hair. "You have the loveliest hair, Aemond. It's quite unfair."

"Hmm." Was your only reply, he was busy kissing each freckle you had within reach of his lips. You let out a breathy gasp of pleasure as he began rutting gently into you. With firm hands at your back, Aemond guided you backwards to lay beneath him as he continued moving againt you with languid strokes.

He grabbed your legs, encouraging you to hook them around his torso, opening you further to his administrations. Aemond placed sloppy kisses to your breasts, his pace quickening, angled just right to hit the most sensitive part of you. Already you felt your core tightening with anticipation, your eyes rolling back as your mouth fell open, uttering a blissful sound halfway between his name and a moan.

"Aemond, I don't think I can." The sensation was so overwhelming, you could hardly think much less breathe, your vision going blurry as he drove himself deeper into you.

"You can, again. As many times as I will have you." Aemond's hand encircled your throat gently, his violet eye hooded as he looked down at your enraptured face. His pace was punishing now, the sound of your heavy breathing accompanied by the lewd wetness of your cunt already full from his last climax. "Take me, Y/N. I want you to bear me a child." Aemond was close, you could tell by the way his words slurred as he spoke. Your walls tightened around him, the feeling of overstimulation giving way to blinding ecstasy as you reached your limit. "I want to see your belly swell with my seed."

Those low, rasped words sent you over the edge. You cried out his name, falling apart once again, taking Aemond with you as he pumped more of his cum deep inside your aching core. His movements stilled, hand moving to cup the swell of your breast, kneading your plump flesh. After savoring the feel of your heat around him several more moments, Aemond reluctantly pulled out, leaving you feeling oddly empty.

"My, we've made quite a mess." Aemond got off the bed, walking to the water basin, grabbing a washcloth and soap as well.

You smiled with ardent affection for the man, watching him clean your body with tender care. He finished, frowning at the bedspread. "Yes, these sheets are quite ruined." Setting the bowl of soapy water aside, Aemond joined you on the mattress once more. "Does my little dragon rider desire a bath?" He placed a warm hand upon your stomach, ghosting his lips against your ear.

You reached up to comb your fingers through his hair, undoing the loosened braids you had made there. "I would love to bathe, but only if my dragon joins me."

"Hmm, you are in luck then, my love." Aemond chuckled softly, bringing your hand up to place soft kisses against your wrist. "Now you've claimed me, I will never leave your side."

#aemond smut #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x oc #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen smut #aemond drabble #aemond imagine #aemond stannies #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond lemon #aemond targaryen x reader #prince aemond x reader #prince aemond targaryen #hotd smut #aemond targaryen x you

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superprincesspea · 2 months

Text

Courted by the Dragon

Chapter 13 - Issa Jorrāelagon

Aemond Targaryen is both the cause and witness to the greatest humiliation of your life. You would rather die than see him again. Yet summer at court and the precipice of civil war have other ideas.

Masterlist

You’re not sure Aemond will be in the library so early in the day but there's a familiar face waiting by the door.

“Lady Baratheon,” Aemond’s guard says and, though part of you is relieved, you almost turn back.

Last night, when you’d received the invite to meet him here, you hadn’t intended to take him up on the offer. But that had been easy to say when your anger had been fresh, and your clothes were not drenched with rainwater.

“You never told me your name, Ser,” you say, teeth chattering as the cold of the storm seeps into your bones.

The guard looks you up and down, no doubt thinking you look more like a stray dragged in from the street than a high-born lady of house Baratheon, but he answers you just the same.

“Ser Willis Fell, if it pleases you, My Lady,” he says, opening the door to permit your entry despite the state of your appearance.

“Thank you, Ser Willis,” you smile, and before the door shuts behind you, you’re struck by the sheer majesty of the room, and gasp, your head tilting to take it all in.

The vaulted ceiling is so high, it's impossible to imagine how anyone could have painted the giant dragons which command its dome, and they are so striking. One black, one bronze, one silver.

From their colouring alone you know they must be the dragons of Aegon the Conqueror and his sister wives. Which means one of them is Vhagar, the bronze one, ridden by Visenya and so fierce it was hard to imagine a small boy could ever dare to tame her. Then again, that boy had been Aemond, and he was nothing if not extraordinarily arrogant.

You laugh softly at the thought, your gaze slipping down the dark oak walls to where the panels merge with the bookcases. There are so many, all so tall they need a ladder to reach their highest shelves, and stretching so far back you can’t even count the rows.

It's hard to believe there could be so many books. But there must be thousands, and you can smell the comforting scent of musk and leather which seeps from all the bindings while the warmth of a fire crackles somewhere out of sight.

Inching into the candlelight offered by the brass sconces which flank the first row, you hear distant footsteps quickening on the stone floor.

"I was wondering when you might arrive,” Aemond says, appearing five rows down, with a book in each hand.

Sighing, you scrape your fingers across your forehead to push the wet tendrils of hair from your eyes. “Even your company cannot dissuade me from books."

“Then I shall carry them with me always,” he says solemnly, his hand reaching to push back a piece of hair which you have missed, and you’d be annoyed by the intrusion, if his fingers were not so deliriously warm compared to your skin.

“I trust my lady did not take a dip in any bodies of water before she arrived?” he says, eyeing you with both intrigue and delight.

Now you do push his hand away, “it's raining.” Though you cannot hear the downpour from within these sturdy walls, “ and... if you must know, I was trying to escape from Tyland Lannister.”

“Hmm , ” his eyebrow raises with amusement instead of surprise, confirming a suspicion which had begun to fester in your mind as you walked in the rain.

The letter to Maris and your conversation with Tyland Lannister could be no coincidence. They were both related to things you had complained of last night. But did Aemond really think he could rectify all his mistakes in a single morning?

"You said something to him,” you say, wanting to be certain.

A smile plays at his lips, “you are not pleased by his renewed interest?”

“I was never pleased by his interest to begin with,” you scoff, annoyed that Aemond could hold so much sway over another man, “now I also think him weak and a little pathetic, which I'm sure you will find amusing.”

He doesn’t hide his delight, “ good , now you see him as I do... but does that make me even more repugnant to my lady?”

“No ,” you pause, narrowing your eyes, “the smug look on your face does that all by itself.”

Aemond bites back his smile, and you begin to wring out your hair though the water has nowhere to go but the skirts of your dress.

Still, it's better than nothing and Aemond watches you with some strange fascination, his books clutched in front of him with the long fingers on a single hand enough to support both volumes.

“Did your sister get my letter?” he says after a time.

“Yes ,” you glare at him, still annoyed, “and she thinks I’ve been hatching some ridiculous plot to win your favour!”

His smug look returns, his eye so animated as he teases, “have you?”

“Be sensible!” you say tartly, pushing past him towards the fire.

“There was no mention of your name in my letter,” he calls from behind, as though it occurs to him that you might think he’s placed all the blame for his actions squarely on your shoulders.

“I know,” you admit, standing close enough to the flames to feel the heat seeping into the fabric of your dress. “She was upset that we played Cyvasse,” you tilt your head to meet his eye, “though if she knew what a loathsome player you were, she would not be quite so jealous.”

He moves closer, the gold buttons on his doublet glinting in the firelight.

“I'd say Cyvasse should be the least of her worries... and I promise my lady will find me far less loathsome in our next game.”

"Then I am lucky we are here to read,” you retort, deciding you will never play another game with him so long as you live, “though I wish I had not walked so long in the rain first.”

“You could take off your clothes and let them dry by the fire?” he suggests, his eye gleaming wickedly.

You glare at him yet again, but you don't find nearly as much embarrassment in his words as you would have done a few weeks ago. “And if your mother joins us, as she is so apt to do whenever we are in conversation? What will she think then?” you counter, brow raised.

Aemond snorts out an unexpected laugh, bracing his ribs, “that I am finally submitting to giving her a grandchild?”

You laugh too, but your laughter is made up entirely of nerves, “in that case, I shall be certain I allow my clothes to dry on.”

He tuts, disapproving of your choice and you turn away, your cheeks flushed.

“You seem to be feeling much better today,” you say as though it is an accusation, before you move towards the bookcase which is stacked with the thickest books you’ve ever seen.

"It’s merely a bruise,” he replies but you know he's downplaying the truth, not that you say anything more. You're not a Maester or his mother, so he can do as he pleases as far as you’re concerned.

Pulling one of the volumes from the middle of the shelf, the dust threatens a sneeze as you inspect its sturdy black cover without any understanding of the words printed on the front.

“It’s High Valyrian,” Aemond says, standing beside you. “Do you read it?”

You huff softly, “in Storms End we are lucky we learn to read at all, anything more would be considered a complete waste of time, especially for a girl.”

“Udrizi Valyrio ȳdrā?” he says, the strange words rolling like silk from his tongue.

Your eyes snap to meet his, surprised. Though you knew he must speak High Valyrian, you’d never really imagined what it would sound like or how it would elicit a tickle of warmth right into the centre of your chest.

“What did you say?” you ask, curiosity peaking beyond any dislike you want to harbour for the one-eyed dragon.

A slow smile inches into his cheeks, as though he relishes every drop of your undivided attention. “I asked if you spoke Valyrian and I’m surmising your answer should be ‘daor’ .”

“Daor ,” you repeat, liking the way it feels on the tongue even if it doesn't spark the same sensation in your chest as when Aemond says it. “And how do I say ‘yes’?”

“Kessa.”

“Kessa ,” you slide the book back onto the shelf, repeating the words again, committing them to memory. “Kessa, Doar.” Yes, No.

“I can teach you more if you like, issa jorrāelagon? ” he suggests, gesturing to the chaise by the fire.

“Issa jorr... a-”

“Jorrāelagon.”

“What does that mean?”

He considers you for a moment, his finger tapping on his book, “it means... my lady .”

“Issa jorrāelagon,” you say, and his expression, though it had never been hard, still softens like ice in the sun. Leaving you to wonder how much more difficult he would be to hate, if he had two eyes looking at you with such devotion.

You turn away, heart pounding as you force your attention back to the shelf, but all the books are the same. Thick, black, unreadable.

“As much as I would enjoy learning a new language, what use have I with High Valyrian when you are the only one I know who speaks it?”

“You know Helaena.”

“Barely ,” you reach for a book on a different shelf, brushing your finger across the ribbed edge of its dark green spine, “but I’ve wanted to explore this library since I arrived in Kings Landing, and I may never get another chance.”

Aemond leans in, and you don’t just smell the scent of the books, you smell the soap on his skin. Cedar and sage, so clean and masculine, as the heat of his words caress your ear with an unexpected whisper.

“Skori ao issi issa ābrazȳrys , ao shall māzigon se jikagon hae ao kostilus, issa jorrāelagon .”

You have no idea what he’s saying but you cannot ignore the tone, sensuous, commanding. As though he’s making you a promise, yet you dare not know it, and couldn’t ask even if you wanted to.

Words seem to have fled your brain. Your breath hitching in your throat while your fingers grip tightly onto the shelf as though it is the only thing keeping you upright. But Aemond doesn’t seem to notice any of those things, and how could he?

He does not feel that same spark of warmth which begins in your chest before flickering outwards, its progress licking through your veins until it lands in the pit of your stomach and a thousand butterflies spark into life.

Instead, he turns back towards the fire as though nothing is amiss, when everything feels wrong .

You're still holding your breath and the swirl of butterflies are beginning to make you feel as though you might burst at the seams. But the worst part is, though you have never found anyone more infuriating in your entire life, you seem to have forgotten all Aemond’s previous misdeeds and almost trail after him.

In fact, the only thing stopping you, is how tightly you’re holding onto the shelf, as you watch him settle into the chaise with the company of his books, his eye sliding to meet yours as though he’s wondering why you’re still standing there.

It’s a good question. Why aren't you moving?

Cheeks flushing again, you kick your legs into action as you disappear into the safety of the giant stacks.

What was wrong with you? You wonder, squeezing your eyes shut and taking a deep breath, but you don’t really want to know the answer to that .

So, you push the question away, thankful the library is large enough for you to avoid Aemond for the rest of the morning.

Yet that doesn’t stop you feeling his presence in the room as you walk along the rows, trying to ignore him, and focusing all your attention on devouring as many first pages as possible.

Some good, some terrible, some intriguing, but nothing singing to your soul in the way Queen Nymeria had from the first instance. You’re desperate to find a book you can love as much as that, but the choice is overwhelming, and it would take years to work through even the tiniest corner of the library.

Still, you’re determined and you're not sure how much time passes, but it must be quite a while, before Aemond finds you sitting on the stone floor between the rows, with books by your side, books resting on your knee, and one in your hand.

“Are you lost, or do you always do your reading on the floor?” he says, leaning against the shelves with his arms crossed and a small huff of laughter rolling from his chest.

“I simply cannot decide what to read first, there’s too much choice,” you reply with some urgency, as though it might be the worst problem in the entire world, and he laughs again before stalking towards you and offering his hand.

Sliding the book from your knee, you know you really shouldn’t accept his help, you can stand on your own. Yet you take it anyway, surprised by his strength as he pulls you to your feet. Then surprised again when he does not let go.

He holds you securely, pulling you through the stacks and picking up books here and there, which you carry in the crook of your arm before he deposits you on his chaise, though there are plenty of other seats dotted around the fire. Seats which would not have his knee pressed with yours.

“Read this first,” he says, and you look at the cover, realising it's the second volume to the book of songs you’d enjoyed so much.

Already you know this is an excellent choice, and you’re annoyed to think you should have asked him to pick for you all along.

“Have you a favourite in this one?” you say, flicking lightly through the pages and regretting your question the moment you said it.

Aemond smiles when he steals the book back from your hands and returns it opened a third of the way through.

“A Song of Storms,” you read out loud, meeting the teasing look in his eye before your gaze returns to the page.

Then you recite the rest, and Aemond is a captive audience as much as the song is very beautiful. Too beautiful, and far too melancholy to be chosen by a dragon prince.

In fact, his love of songs almost lulls you into thinking he might not be entirely repugnant after all. Yet he is. He must be.

“What is the word for storm?” you say, deciding you would have been far safer with a book on history or science. Safer still if you were sitting on your own chair.

“Jelmāzma.”

“Jelmāzma,” you repeat atrociously enough to make him laugh, but you laugh too and then your stomach growls so loudly you both laugh again.

Him out of amusement, you out of embarrassment.

“If you must know, I was forced to abandon my breakfast this morning after your scroll arrived for Maris,” you say, ensuring he’s aware of the part he’s played in yet another humiliation.

“How repugnant of me,” Aemond says with the twitch of another smile as he stands, his hand bracing against his rib.

He moves to a cord by the fire, pulling it three times before a servant arrives at a door hidden in the panelling.

You cannot hear the whispered list of instructions and pretend not to be watching his every movement. But you are watching.

The way he saunters, so cocky. The way he looks back at you, half teasing smile, half breathtaking intensity. The way his leg stretches out as he sits down, so it just touches yours.

Fresh nerves flutter in your stomach where the butterflies had lived, and you swallow, staring down at your book but finding you can only pretend to read.

Luckily, it does not take very long before the food arrives and there’s tea, wine and delicate little pastries, but it's the fruit which catches your eye. So colourful and perfectly prepared into bitesize pieces.

There was hardly any fruit at Storms End. Only apples at harvest time and blackberries in the summer.

Your stomach threatens to growl again as you pick up a strawberry, careful not to let the juice drip onto the pages of the book before popping it in your mouth.

Aemond reaches for a piece of fruit you've never seen before, telling you its name in High Valyrian before he throws it up and catches it in his mouth.

Such an unbelievable show off, yet you can’t help but smile, because the only person he’s trying to impress is you, and though it makes you nervous, its intoxicating too.

You both reach for more fruit and he tells you the High Valyrian for all the items on the tray. Cup, plate, wine and, though you know you’ll never remember them, you let him teach you anyway, melting a little with every word, until you’ve had your fill, and return your attention to the book.

You recite another song, this one about a lark, then you find yourself asking him about the book he’s reading, then about his trips to Dorne, if he as ever seen The Wall, if he has ever sailed on one of the ships bobbing in the bay, and just about a thousand other things.

Talk comes easy and Aemond is a natural storyteller. His stories all seem to contain so much excitement and vibrancy, and you consume them as though they are more delectable than the fruit on the tray. Barely noticing your clothes have long since dried, or the three times the maid arrives to add more logs to the fire.

You certainly don’t have as many exciting stories as Aemond, since your entire life has been contained to Storms End. But the subject doesn’t seem to matter as much as the sharing.

You’re telling him about the time when you were eleven, and had fallen from a tree, fracturing your arm. You still have a scar, its faded path hidden beneath the sleeve of your gown. But Aemond has your arm in his hand as though he can see it, and you’re laughing as you admit how pleased you were that the injury meant you didn’t have to practice embroidery for several months.

He laughs too, and you imagine he’s thinking of those wonky cornflowers when Ser Willis walks in, his entrance masked by the laughter which has been echoing around the giant room all afternoon.

"I’m sorry to disturb you, Prince Aemond,” he bows, “but there is a Ser Maurin Selmy at the door, looking for your lady.”

Only now, under Ser Willis’ gaze, do you realise that, on this chaise made for two, you’ve crept close enough to Aemond to allow room for a third, a little fortress of books surrounding you, the fire ready for another log.

You jump up, snatching your arm from his grasp, and feeling a little flustered at the way Ser Willis’ head is bowed, as though the scene is far too intimate for prying eyes.

“Excuse me,” you say, hurrying towards the door with Aemond’s long legs catching your escape but not blocking it.

Outside of the library, Ser Maurin gives you a shake of his head, his eyes filled with the concern of a man who’s known you all his life. Not a father, but close enough.

"We’ve had all the men scouring the keep for you, my Lady,” he says, and you glance to a nearby window to see that the afternoon sun has faded towards dusk.

When had that happened?

How had you spent all day with Aemond?

Past lunch, past tea, and well past the realms of propriety.

You swallow hard, heart drumming in your chest in anticipation of your father's fury, while Ser Maurin looks to the prince.

His old eyes are fierce with warning, but he doesn’t offer a word to his grace before turning on his heel, his arm held out to escort you home.

“Your books,” Aemond says, handing you the three he had selected as though he had not a concern in the world for anyone's disapproval.

“Thank you,” you say stiffly, careful not to meet his eye.

“You will return tomorrow?” he asks, hopeful .

Tightening your arms around the books, you hold them to your chest as though they are a shield, “these books shall keep me busy until I leave in three days time, and I shall return them then, your grace.”

At that, you turn, taking Ser Maurin’s arm, your mind racing with a hundred different thoughts before it lands on one .

“Please don’t tell them you found me with the prince.”

“May I ask why?” his old stare fixes on the side of your face, and your cheeks begin to heat before you pause, remembering how upset Maris had been this morning.

“They will get the wrong idea.”

He gives you a pointed look, “and what is the right idea?”

You turn to him, eyes wide, words like dust on your tongue. Honestly, you didn’t know. You could hardly even comprehend how you’d spent the entire day in Aemond’s company without feeling the need to kill him or run away.

“Just tell them I was alone, ” you decide.

Alone was easy to explain and even easier to believe than the alternative. But you knew the truth. That you’d spent an entire day with a dragon and enjoyed every moment.

~~~

Thank you for reading! Let me know if you're enjoying this story :)

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #ewan mitchell #romance #female reader #enemies to lovers #aemond targaryen x oc #prince aemond #slow burn

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roanniom · 1 year

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Issa! I was rereading your fic about Eddie’s ears being really sensitive and it got me thinking: what is Steve’s most sensitive spot?

Maddie you are a DREAM for asking that. I kept trying to think of different things but for some reason my brain would not let go of the idea that it’s his chest??

Steve Chest Hair-rington

Like he’s lying with his head in your lap while you sit on the couch. He’s reading a magazine and you’re reading a novel. It’s a lazy weekend, warm in your apartment because you have the heater on and he never put on a shirt this morning when he rolled out of bed.

Absentmindedly you lay your hand on his abdomen after flipping a page, shifting in your seat beneath him. He hums and reaches up to play with your fingers for a second before also reaching to flip his own page. Without the weight of his hand on yours you slide it up and begin thoughtlessly combing through the hair dusting his chest.

You don’t think anything of it. You’ve passively touched his chest many times before. But as you continue smoothing your hands up and around his chest, you begin to notice that it’s begun moving up and down a little more. His breathing is getting shallower beneath your palm.

Without turning your head you cast a glance sidelong to take him in. Though he still holds his magazine aloft, his eyelids are closed. You experimentally caress him, with more intention, and notice a quiver in his bottom lip. Your brain lights up in immediate interest over your new discovery. But you don’t want to spook him, so you continue at the same rate.

In the next circling sweep of your hand, you make contact with one of his nipples and you feel his body shudder. The sudden movement has you looking over at him more fully and your mouth waters when you realize that in the time since you’ve started touching him, he has fully tented his sweatpants.

“Stevie. You got something to tell me?” you coo. Steve drops his magazine flat on his stomach and looks past it to his raging erection.

“What? You mean the fact that I’m hard?” he asks. So fucking casual. He even looks up at you from his reclined position with his head on your lap, a lazy grin on his face.

“Yeah. The fact that you’re hard,” you say, rolling your eyes. “What did it? You looking at something dirty in that magazine or…” you trail off and scratch your nails lightly through the thicket of hair on his chest again. Steve’s hips shift impatiently and he huffs a laugh.

“Well obviously it’s that,” he says, gesturing up to your moving hand. “I get turned on whenever you touch me.”

You let your fingers ghost over his nipples again and his hips buck. You smirk down at Steve and a deep red blush colors his cheeks and neck. You quirk a brow and he frowns.

“Ok, maybe I like you touching me there. Specifically.”

You delicately pull Steve’s magazine out of his grasp and place it, and your book to the side. He watched you, confused, but when you pull at him to have him shift on your lap he silently lets you maneuver him.

He ends up with his head on the pile of pillows that had been sitting besides you on the couch, his back now rested fully across your lap. Steve’s breath catches in his throat as you simultaneously do two things - 1.) you slide your hand across the hairy plane of his chest with your left hand and 2.) you reach and palm his cock through the fabric of his sweatpants.

Steve let’s out a quiet groan, his eyes rolling as he shuts them. He reclines in your arms. Completely at ease in your grasp.

“My my, Stevie. Have we discovered a new sweet spot?” you tease, playing lightly with his nipples again and loving the affect it seems to have on him.

Steve opens his eyes and grins up at you. In spite of the warm flush that’s spread from his neck, down his cheeks and onto the chest you’re attending to, Steve doesn’t look embarrassed.

“Guess so, baby,” he agrees. He brings his hand on top of your right one, squeezing to make you grasp the shaft of his cock in a firmer grip. “Wouldn’t mind if you kept discovering more.”

Your stomach flips pleasantly over his casual dominance. Even in this extremely vulnerable position - in your lap, melting under your hands, turned on by something so simple - Steve still finds a way to make you feel like he’s running the show. Arousal pools between your legs, but you’ll get to that. For now, you think, pulling your hand out from under his so you can shove it under the waistband of his sweats and grasp his cock - you want to explore some more.

#steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things smut #steve harrington discourse

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