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ellecdc · 27 days

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Surprise! We're Making Love

6.8k words

this is my first real like... real smut fic? so do take that into consideration [and please be nice to me lol] but also feel free to send me a message if you have any feedback or pointers.

this is a fic based on this trope that was sent to me by @bobluvbot like a million weeks ago and became my hyper fixation for far too long. I finally decided to put it into words. thanks to @unstablereader for championing me as I wrote this and convincing me it was decent enough to post lol

Remus Lupin x fem!reader

CW: smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, coming inside of someone, AFAB reader, reader is a Pureblood Slytherin, has hair long enough for Rem to feel it on his shoulders when you're straddling him, reader has hair texture that sticks to you when wet, mentions of smoking weed and being high, mentions of drinking and alcohol, mentions of arranged marriages, use of mudblood and blood supremacy

Remus doesn’t know how exactly this thing started for him.

Perhaps it was the day after a full moon when he forgot to lock the door behind him to the Prefects Bathroom and you let yourself in, nearly fully stripped before you realised he was sitting in the steaming, bubbling pool-sized tub with a spliff hanging lazily from his mouth.

“Circe’s tits!” You screeched as you hastily pulled up your towel to keep your modesty. “You didn’t think to alert me to your presence, Lupin?” You sneered half-heartedly at him as you tried to regain your composure.

“Sorry.” Remus chuckled, voice gravelly from a mixture of last night’s howling and tonight’s smoking. “My brain is moving a little slowly right now.”

You looked between him and the spliff and sighed. “Think you’ll be much longer?” You asked him quietly, cautiously, reticently. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen you look so dejected.

Slytherin princess; though you never really let that dictate how you treated people, just that it levelled you with a certain notoriety within the school. You were the only one who could talk sense into Barty Crouch Junior; Pandora Rosier’s biggest defender and advocate; Snape, Mulciber, and Avery’s biggest adversary; the one who encouraged Regulus Black to reach out to his estranged older brother; and the least likely to enact revenge on the Marauder’s for their pranks.

Though Remus had never shared more than a few words with you in passing, he knew a lot about you. In addition to the aforementioned qualities, you were a Pureblood, the eldest daughter and heiress to your family’s name and fortune, Prefect, received top marks in Charms and Transfiguration, and hated the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

Knowing all of that made Remus rather rueful that he hadn’t spoken to you before now.

“Listen, this tub is nearly the size of an Olympic swimming pool.” Remus started, causing you to furrow your brows in confusion. “It’s big.” He clarified. “I don’t mind...sharing if you wouldn’t be too uncomfortable; otherwise, I’ll pack up and leave it to you.”

He didn’t really want to leave; not whilst he was still nursing his post-moon hangover and the warm water was finally starting to relieve some of the tension in his bones. But you looked forlorn, and damn Remus and his bleeding heart, he’d give it up if you needed it.

“I don’t want to kick you out... you were here first.” You murmured, apparently weighing your options in your head.

“I will leave if you want, L/N, but I’m more than willing to share.”

You searched his eyes for what, Remus wasn’t sure, but you seemed to come to some decision. You threw your head back and let out a strangled groan which Remus was certain was more for dramatic effect than it was indicative of any real ire.

“Fine, turn around.”

Remus smirked at you and tried to ignore the protesting of his joints as he stood in the pool and turned to face the opposite wall, allowing you to drop the rest of your clothes and your towel and sink into the water.

“Okay...” You whispered quietly. “You can sit back down now; thank you.”

Perhaps it had begun then; he’d offered you a puff from his joint, causing you to move closer to him. He was a gentleman and avoided noticing the way your breasts sat high on your chest, buoyant in the bubbly and fragrant waters.

He ignored the feeling of your elbow brushing against his. He ignored the way your hair, damp from the steam and humidity, stuck against your skin. And he definitely ignored the way that as the weed started to affect you, you leaned your head onto his shoulder.

What he couldn’t ignore? When you asked him what you could do to help him.

“Help?” Remus asked you bemusedly, jostling his shoulder and forcing you to sit up and return his gaze.

“Yeah; you seem tense, stressed.”

Remus let out a confused chuckle from his nose. “That’s really not anything you need to worry about.”

You laughed back at him, nudging him with your elbow. “Lupin.” You chided. “You were willing to give up your private pool time, you’ve shared your weed with me, and you’ve let me intrude on your bath; let me worry about it.”

And he doesn’t know how you did it, he’s not even sure he remembers how the rest of the conversation went – one moment the two of you were sitting an entire swimming pool apart and pretending the other wasn’t there, and the next moment he was sitting on the edge of the pool with his hands tangled in your hair as you took him in your mouth.

“Christ, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He tried warning you, tapping your shoulder to get your attention.

Like the watery siren that you were, all you did was moan and take him deeper, and in another moment, he was spilling down your throat.

Remus was sure he looked absolutely wrecked; naked, soaking, exhausted, a few fresh wounds from last night, and his permanent eye bags a more dramatic purple today on account of his lack of sleep last night.

Not you though; somehow even though you’d just done all the work, you looked ethereal. Wet hair pooling in the water around you as you sunk into the suds up to your collarbones, your lips swollen and glistening from your fantastic work if you asked Remus, and eyes a mischievous magnet nearly luring Remus back into the pool completely against his will.

“Godric, you’re good at that.” He breathed embarrassingly. Thankfully, you only laughed at with him.

“I’m sure you meant that as a compliment, Lupin; but it sort of sounds like you’re calling me a whore.”

Remus cackled at that, thankful that his time in the water eased the soreness in his ribs before doing so.

“If you give me a few moments, I’ll return the favour dove.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You offered, moving back to the other side of the pool to retrieve the book you’d deserted in favour of pot, and then in favour of cock. “I’ll just take an I.O.U.”

Or maybe it started at the Ravenclaw afterparty following their win against Hufflepuff. You showed up with your friends fashionably late and clearly having pre-gamed to some extent if Barty’s uncoordinated movements were anything to go by.

He noticed you every once in a while, flitting around the party with various friends, dancing to various tunes, participating in various games over conversations; but something was different about you. You weren’t as...glowy.

Your smile never met your eyes, and your laughs weren’t carefree – not like they were in the tub. Not like they ought to be.

But hey, you helped him when he needed it, and he did technically owe you.

He brushed past you and gently pulled on your elbow as he continued moving. When you turned back to see what had happened, he nodded toward the exit.

He didn’t bother turning around to see if you were following him, he just carried on down the stairs of Ravenclaw tower before turning the corner to an empty corridor.

“Oi, Lupin; your legs are longer than mine. Slow down!” You called.

He didn’t realise at that time how much it meant to him that you had followed; hindsight being 20/20, and all.

“Where are we going?” You queried as you caught up and walked in step with him.

“You’ll see.” He said simply, cutting across the hall and opening the door to an empty classroom.

“Going to teach me how to translate Ancient Runes, Lupin?” You joked, though your affect was clearly lacking.

“I’m going to help.” He responded simply, leaning backwards against the professor’s desk.

“Help?”

“Right.”

You smirked and raised a singular perfectly manicured eyebrow at him, looking him up and down with a suggestive glance.

“What exactly are you to help me with?”

“You seem worried, tense.” He repeated your exact words from the tub a little over a week ago.

You offered him a half smile that, once again, never met your eyes. “That’s not something you need to worry about.”

He offered you a soft smile in return. “I do owe you, though.”

Remus doesn’t know what it was that convinced you to accept his offer. One moment he was leaning casually against the professor’s desk as you watched him warily from the door to the classroom, and the next moment he had you splayed out on the desk before him with the skirt of your dress bunched up around your waist and his head between your legs.

Now, it’s important to note that Remus is a humble and modest person. In fact, he’s really quite self-conscious. He didn’t come from a notable family and compared to his friends he was basically a pauper, he was scarred and tall and lanky, and due to his lycanthropy, he avoided meaningful relationships; meaning that whilst his friends all enjoyed relationships and situationships, he stayed religiously single.

All that being said, there was something Remus knew to be true that he felt worth bragging about.

He was fucking good in bed.

So his ego was properly stroked when you threw your head back so hard that it made a painful whacking sound against the wood of the desk with just the first stripe of his tongue through your folds.

Like a man starved, he buried his face between your legs and hardly ever came back up for air. He pulled your hips flush to his chest with your legs thrown over his shoulders and his arms hugging your thighs that he used as earmuffs.

Remus could easily call this one of his new favourite places to be, especially with the sinful sounds escaping your mouth.

He used his thumb to tease your clit, thrusting his tongue in your hole a few times before bringing it back out to run through your lips.

“Oh, Merlin!” You cried, causing him to chuckle, which caused you to flinch slightly at the feeling of his cold breath against your cunt.

“Come now, L/N; you know that’s not my name.”

You let out another cry as he wasted no time diving back in, his nose rubbing at your clit as his tongue continued its assault.

Remus’ efforts were rewarded in the form of you cumming on his face and your body falling limp below him.

He allowed you to catch your breath as he fought to catch his own, ignoring his knees crying in protest from having spent the last however long supporting his weight on the hard stone floor.

“Oh gods.” You breathed finally, opening your eyes and stealing a shy glance at Remus, still stationed near your core.

He smiled wolfishly at you. “Better?”

You laughed; a real, hard laugh that had been missing from you all night. “Much.” You agreed readily, accepting his outstretched hand and sitting up on the edge of the desk and pushing your skirt back down to cover yourself. “Thank you, Lupin.”

Remus shrugged nonchalantly as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a snap of his fingers, pushing open a window with a flick of his wand. “What are friends for?”

You snorted inelegantly; a far cry from the proper Pureblood heiress you’d been raised to be as you pulled your panties back on and took careful, albeit slightly wobbly, steps to join him at the window.

“Are we friends now?”

“Were we not friends before?” He countered, offering you a drag from his smoke that you easily accepted. He was sure his lips, tongue, and now the end of his cigarette still tasted like you.

“I didn’t think your kind was supposed to be friends with mine.” You offered, not looking at him as you passed the cigarette back.

“Blood status, really L/N?”

You scoffed derisively. “Please, Lupin. Give me some credit.”

It seemed to Remus that you looked almost hurt at his insinuation.

“I meant Gryffindor’s and Slytherin’s.”

“Perhaps we can be the first.”

“Do many of your friends see you naked, Lupin?”

Remus grimaced at that. “Honestly? More than I’d like, yes.”

And there it was again, that uninhibited laugh. Remus felt vindicated in his task for this evening.

“Alright, friends then.” You agreed, reaching out for his cigarette and taking a long drag before returning it to him. “Let me know when you might need my help again, Lupin.”

“Likewise.”

And maybe it was the day that he had Avery pinned against the wall by the collar of his shirt for calling a first year Hufflepuff a Mudblood.

There was blood dripping from Remus’ nose onto the collar of his uniform shirt from an elbow to the face as he spat various threats promises of pain and maiming, when he felt a gentle hand on the small of his back.

Due to the tension radiating through Remus’ body considering how close it was to the moon, his first reaction was to throw an elbow behind him. He thanked every deity possible that you were shorter than him when you ducked expertly to dodge his assault.

“Let him go.” You said simply.

Remus felt his brows furrow as he let out a protesting grumble.

“McGonagall is coming.” You continued.

Remus looked from you back to Avery who was now smirking at him. If Remus left now, Avery would tell McGonagall what Remus did; if Remus stayed, he could tell McGonagall what Avery had said.

“He won’t say anything.” You argued - as if you had heard Remus’ internal conundrum - causing Avery’s face to fall and both boys to whip their heads to you.

“And why the bloody hell won’t I, L/N?” Avery spat.

Your eyes moved from Remus’ to Avery’s where they took on a horrifyingly cold quality, no doubt the result of your cold and indifferent parents raising you like a proper Pureblood heir.

“Because I know where you sleep.” You spat lowly.

Remus watched as Avery fought to remain defiant, but as he heard the sound of McGonagall’s footsteps approaching, let out a frustrated groan.

“Fine. Sod off.” He barked, pushing Remus away from him roughly and stalking off towards the Slytherin dungeons.

Remus angrily picked up his book bag and began stalking down the corridor in the opposite way.

His blood was boiling, the tension in his shoulders and neck was starting to give him a headache and every step he took aggravated the matter.

He turned hastily around a corner when the strap of his book bag was pulled off his shoulder.

“What?” He hissed when he turned to see you with the other end of his strap in your hand.

“This way.”

“L/N.”

“Lupin.” You countered severely, voice intoning no nonsense.

Remus allowed you to drag him by his bookbag like a dog down a seemingly abandoned corridor and into an empty classroom before you locked the doors and threw up a silencing charm.

“What are you doing?” He muttered admittedly far more petulantly than you presently deserved from him.

“Helping.” You answered simply as you began undoing your school tie.

“I’m fine.” He spat, plopping himself down roughly into a chair.

“Right.” You said sarcastically. “And you wouldn’t have continued to punch the first arse you saw on your way back to Gryffindor, huh?” You asked as you started pulling off your top and exposing your lacy black bra. “And I may not be an expert, but you’re a long way from Gryffindor tower which means your chances of running into an arse were really rather high.”

Remus held his hands up to his face and pinches at his temples, trying to stave off the incoming migraine and the overwhelming urge to tell you to fuck off, which he knew he really didn’t want to do.

Suddenly you were in nothing but your bra and panties, kneeling before him and fussing with his belt.

“This really isn’t necessary, L/N.” He offered without much fervour.

“What are friends for?” You asked quietly as you pulled his belt from the loops of his trouser.

“You don’t have to.”

“Do you want me to stop?” You asked pointedly, pausing your movements and looking up at him. You were giving him a choice; an out. Did he want to blow off some steam, or did he want to spend the rest of his day pissed off and tense?

Did he want you to stop?

“No.” He admitted.

Your eyes softened, though everything else about your face remained impassive as you undid the button and zip to his trousers and began encouraging them down his legs.

He decided to give up on his temper tantrum and assist you in the unenviable task of disrobing him and pulled you up into his lap.

“I don’t need anything.” You squeaked as he had you straddle his lap, your hair falling over your shoulders and tickling his own from your place above him.

“I’m not going to get in a fight and be a selfish lover all in the same day, L/N.” He said in faux admonishment. “Friends look after each other, yeah?”

And he’s not sure what swayed you. One moment he had you perched precariously above him as he gently nipped at your neck, and the next moment he was brutally thrusting up into you with no lack of desperation.

“Fuckin’ hells you feel amazing.” He grunted as you mewled above him, eyebrows furrowed and eyes screwed shut causing Remus to worry momentarily.

“Are you okay?” He asked breathlessly. You moaned in response and dropped your chin onto his shoulder.

“Hey, dove, you okay?” He asked again, pulling you from him and slowing his movements.

“Don’t you dare fucking stop, Lupin.” You barked before you pulled his face to yours by the ends of his hair for a searing kiss.

He grinned somewhat maniacally into the kiss and lifted you from his lap as he stood with his cock still lodged deep within you and perched you on the edge of the desk.

“You’re a bossy girl, aren’t you?” He taunted, pushing roughly into you from this new angle and causing you to cry out. “You like telling men what to do, dove?”

You gasped as Remus found the magic little spot he’d been searching for and he doubled down in his thrusts with renewed vigour.

“That’s okay.” He continued, brushing a strand of hair away from your face that had gotten stuck in some of your lipgloss. “I like being told what to do.”

“Please! Please, please please.” You whined, a pretty sheen of sweat dusted your skin and began to pool on the divot of your collarbone.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck me.”

“Working on it.”

You were apparently coherent enough to laugh at that which was torture for Remus who was currently hanging on by a fucking thread as your giggles caused your cunt to clench torturously around his cock.

“Come on, pretty girl. Come on, cum for me, yeah? You’re close; I can tell. Cum for me.” He started chanting, moving his hand that was currently holding your knee up near his ribs to rub circles around your clit.

“Cum for me, L/N.”

“Oh fuck.” You shouted as your orgasm tore through you; Remus felt almost sick from the effort not to follow you over the edge immediately, wanting to help you ride out yours to fruition, but your walls pulsating around him left him very little control over the matter.

“Fuck.” Remus growled, and unfortunately that was the only warning you got before slammed into you once more, twice more, and was then spilling inside you causing your cunt to grow impossibly more wet and warm.

You let out a desperate breath and fell forward into Remus’ chest; he was ashamed to admit how much he relished in the intimacy - ignoring the very intimate act that had already taken place.

“Fuck Lupin, you’re an animal.” You breathed out with a laugh.

Remus let out a surprised bark of laughter as he looked down at you.

“You have no idea.”

And if it wasn’t any of those, perhaps it was a few weeks later, when Remus saw a regal looking owl fly into the Great Hall over the Slytherin table, and with a grand war cry dropped an important looking letter in front of you, causing the rest of your table to fall silent.

Remus watched as Regulus Black’s jaw tightened and Barty Crouch Junior’s spoon fell back into his porridge as they watched you open it.

Remus watched as all colour seemed to drain from your face and your jaw fell slack, though not open.

The rest of the Hall seemed completely unaware of the turmoil taking place over at the Slytherin table; everyone but Remus and, apparently, Sirius Black.

“Shit.” Sirius whispered under his breath quietly, alerting neither Peter nor James who were currently in a heated debate about whether pumpkin pasties or sugar quills were the better treat from Honeydukes.

“What is it?” Remus asked him quietly. Sirius seemed nearly surprised that Remus had noticed, though schooled his expression quickly.

“Marriage announcement, she’s been betrothed.” He sneered the word, his nose actually wrinkling in disgust. “‘Sold off’ is a more appropriate term. It’s too bad, I quite liked her.”

Remus didn’t really like the feeling that settled in his stomach when he considered you being married off, but he didn’t have time to think on it too hard before he watched you storm over to Avery, Mulciber, and Snape before grabbing the former by the nape of his neck and slamming his head down into the table.

Remus was up and over to you in an instant with Sirius close behind, beaten only by Barty and Regulus who had the advantage of proximity.

“You miserable fucking wanker! You’ll fucking rot for this!” You screamed as Regulus fought and nearly lost in his battle of holding you back as Barty began sparring with your newfound enemy.

“I’ll fucking kill you for this Avery! You watch your fucking back!” You screeched. Regulus - for what reason, Remus couldn’t know - thought now a good moment to put you down, and as you launched yourself once again for what he was sure was Avery’s jugular, Remus threw you over his shoulder and took off out of the Great Hall.

“Put me down!” You shouted.

“No.”

“Fuck off, Lupin.” You cried, grabbing at his jumper and slamming your fists into his lower back as he took the stairs two at a time.

“You’re fine, L/N.”

You squealed and began kicking your legs out, causing him to use both arms to pin them to his torso.

“Stop it.”

“Put me down!”

“Stop it. Stop fighting me.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s fine.” He said, though it felt anything but. But he knew, you weren’t really mad at him, you perhaps weren’t even really mad at Avery.

“I hate you.” You said quietly this time.

“That’s alright.”

You had given up on your fight by the time Remus got to his destination. He was sure his shoulder in your stomach was causing you issues and the blood had to have been rushing to your head, but you remained placid as he hoisted you back up right and set you down on the floor of the Astronomy tower.

Your face was wet and your hair was a mess as you took gasping breaths.

This was beyond Remus’ wheelhouse when it came to you; he was good for eating you out, blowing off some steam, quickies, and the odd toke or two, but this? This was beyond his area of expertise.

He decided to sit down beside you - both your backs pressed against the cold stone of the castle in a way he was sure felt good against your skin that was sizzling and crackling with fury. He didn’t say anything; there was nothing to say, nothing that he could say, and nothing he’d really know to say at a moment like this. Perhaps he should have left you to your friends; to the Purebloods who got it. Though, Regulus seemed willing to let you help Barty kill Avery, so perhaps it was better that you were up here with him instead.

That's what he’d tell himself for now.

It could have been minutes or even an hour before you finally took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Why’d you do that?”

“Do what?” Remus asked quietly.

“Stop me.”

“You stopped me first.”

You let that sit in the air as you looked out into the horizon.

“What do you need, L/N? What… what can I do?” He begged desperately.

Remus was certain the entire school could hear the sound of his heart breaking at the devastated expression that graced your face when you turned to make eye contact with him; your eyes seemed to beg Remus for something but he couldn’t decipher what it was that you were asking of him.

“I want to…to forget.” You sobbed. “I want to not think, I want to turn it all off for a fucking, god’s damned minute. I want it all to stop.”

“Okay.” He offered readily.

“I want it to stop.”

“Okay.” He repeated, taking your hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I’m right here.” He encouraged you. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need to forget.”

“Okay.” Remus said again, pulling at your hand and encouraging you into his lap. “I’m right here; take what you need.”

And Remus wasn’t sure what went through your mind as you searched between his hazel eyes. One moment you were carefully perched above him in his lap; tear tracks staining your cheeks and eyes full of sorrow. And in the next moment, your uniform skirt was hiked up and panties pulled to the side, and Remus’ belt was undone and his trousers were pulled low around his thighs as you bounced up and down on his cock like it was the solution to all of life's problems.

Remus wished it were true, he really did. But if all he could do at this moment was help you turn your brain off and forget the unpleasantness waiting for you back in the castle for just a little bit, then that’s what he would do.

You had your face shoved into his neck and he was quite sure you were biting down on the junction between his shoulder and his neck - in an attempt to quell your moans, your crying, or just out of frustration, Remus didn’t know, and quite frankly he didn’t care either way. You grinded down onto him and he felt you applying pressure to your clit against his pelvic bone, prompting him to start rubbing it with his thumb.

“You can let go, gorgeous. No one’s here.” He whispered.

You bit down harder in response and began riding him with an air of desperation.

“I’m right here.”

And then he felt it. First, he felt your tears fall onto his shoulder, then he felt your teeth break his skin, and finally he felt your walls clench around him.

You stayed latched onto him; your arms around his waist, your hands clenched into the fabric of his jumper, your teeth on his skin and your cunt on his cock as he thrusted up into you and found his own release with very little effort on account of the aftershocks still shuddering through you.

You sat like that for some time afterwards; the gentle breeze causing goosebumps to cover each of you as the sweat began to cool on your skin, and Remus rubbed circles into your bare thighs with his thumbs.

Unfortunately - for reasons Remus wasn’t willing to ponder on at present - you pulled away, a string of spit connecting your lips to the place on Remus’ neck he was sure now adorned the shape of your teeth.

“Sorry.” You rasped, running a hand over the newest of many wounds now decorating his skin. He didn’t want you to be sorry, though, he thought perhaps this might be his favourite one; it wasn’t the result of some hideous monster who took out its rage on him, but instead marked a tender moment between him and his…friend.

You pulled your wand to cast a healing charm over it when Remus grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t.”

Your reddened and swollen eyes looked at him inquisitively, causing Remus to flush in embarrassment.

“Leave it, I’ve already got so many; what’s one more?” He tried to joke, though he could tell as you looked back down at the bite mark, it fell flat.

“I’m sorry.” You said again, and Remus shook his head.

“Don’t be.”

“Thank you.” You said quietly, looking into Remus’ eyes imploringly, as if trying to convey your gratitude through your very soul. “For stopping me.”

This moment suddenly felt too charged for Remus; it was different somehow, something had happened, though he wasn’t sure what.

Not then, at least.

“That’s what friends do.” He said noncommittally. “It was an I.O.U.”

He managed to force a small smile out of you for that, and he was grateful.

So perhaps it was all of those together, in addition to the many blowjobs, many quickies, many quiet, loud, rough, or awkward fucks the two of you had in between.

But maybe…

Maybe it was the way your smile lit up the room when Barty or Pandora said something particularly outlandish or funny; your laughter echoing through the halls like an invitation to experience a secret joy that only you and your friends knew about.

Or maybe it was the way you seemed to be the only one who could weasel a smile, a laugh, or a fond eye roll out of the notoriously cold and apathetic Regulus.

Or maybe it was how a dimple in your left cheek only appeared when you were particularly proud of an achievement you made or a grade you received.

Or maybe it was the kind way you sheltered the younger Slytherin’s from the brunt of the Marauder’s pranks without impeding their more good natured ones.

Or maybe it was the way you hexed McLaggen for hitting on Lily Evans, and then again for calling her a filthy Mudblood when she refused his advancements.

Or maybe it was the way that you could always tell when Remus was feeling sad or low and needed help, needed something, needed you.

And fuck.

He needed you.

Remus wasn’t exactly sure how this thing started for him.

One moment you were on your hands and knees in his bed and he was fucking into you from behind; his body curled around yours as he rubbed at your clit expertly to push you over that edge for the third time tonight. And the next moment you were spread out and pliant beneath him, head thrown back in ecstasy as he lazily pushed into you.

He didn’t often get moments like this; moments to just sit and admire you.

This thing he had with you, it was delicate, precarious. It was precious. And he wasn’t going to go fucking it up by forcing it to be something it wasn’t.

You were friends.

You were friends who helped each other.

You were friends who have seen each other naked; who have tasted each other’s sweat, skin, flesh, blood, and cum.

You were friends who have spent time with each other, on each other, and in each other.

You were friends.

That’s what you had agreed to, that was the arrangement, that was all this was supposed to be.

And then Remus’ stupid sodding heart had to go and fucking yearn for you.

It ached to sit beside you in the library without it being a precursor for one of you to be on your knees in the stacks moments later.

It ached to ask you about your day for the sole purpose of getting to hear about it and not just as a means to help you take your mind off it by bending you over in an empty classroom.

It ached to watch you, uninhibited throughout the day, without it causing grief, or angst, or hungry looks being exchanged.

It ached to taste your lips without tasting the leftover sex from previous actions.

It ached for you to climb into the shower with him after this, to throw on one of his ratty old band tees, and to stay.

It ached for you to stay.

He wanted you to stay.

But you guys were friends.

And that was enough, it had to be enough. He would make it be enough.

So sue him; sue him for taking this extra moment to admire your form below him, when you were only his in this moment. Sue him for memorising the way your hair pooled around your head like a halo even after all the tugging and ruffling that it has been subjected to. Sue him for watching the way your breasts bounced with each gentle thrust of his hips, the way your ribs expanded and contracted with each breath, the way the two of you fit so perfectly together; your body accepting him with grace and ease as he slotted the two of you together over and over and over again.

He ached for you.

And damn him - damn him and his bleeding heart and this beautiful girl beneath him - he reached out to pull a strand of hair that laid plastered to the side of your sweaty face.

He didn’t just ache for you.

He yearned for you.

He loved you.

He was in love with you.

And Godric only knows how far gone he was or for how long now. But it didn’t matter; none of it mattered. All that mattered was this ethereal being that, for just this moment, was all his.

He doesn’t know how long your eyes had been returning his gaze. He supposed it didn’t matter, because he knew; he knew it was written all over his face.

He may as well have been flashing a neon sign on his forehead: “My name is Remus, and I’m wildly in love with you”. And if the sign hadn’t been enough, he was sure his actions were.

There was no longer any desperation in his actions; no destination in mind as he slowly pulled out of you and pushed back in again. His hands weren’t placed in precise locations to elicit a specific reaction of any sort, but rather roved languidly over your body in meticulous worship.

And if that hadn’t been enough, he was sure that the way you were staring deep into his eyes, into his soul; you saw. You knew.

The jig was up.

He had been outed.

Your eyes widened minutely and began to flit around Remus’ face as your grip on his arms stationed on either side of your body loosened.

You knew.

Though it was all for naught at this point, Remus scrunched his eyes closed as if he could save any of his remaining dignity; not that there was much left.

This was it, it was all going to be over.

He lowered himself over your body and pressed his face into your neck, hiding like the coward he was as he picked up the pace of his thrusts.

Gently, tentatively, he felt you press a cautious hand between his shoulder blades and another to the nape of his neck.

Somehow, the tenderness in your touch hurt more.

He came with a strangled cry, feeling humiliating tears fall from his eyes as he filled you up for what he was certain would be the last time.

He melted into your hold and cried silently into your shoulder, and you let him.

Your hand that was stationed between his shoulder blades never moved, but your hand in his hair kneaded gentle, soothing circles into his scalp.

He wanted you to stop; he wanted you to stop because this was all he really wanted... to be here, with you, like this.

He wanted the rough and the fun and the biting and the hair pulling, sure. But he wanted the gentle, the soft, the affection, and the innocent intimacy, too.

That wasn’t fair though; it wasn’t fair to you. You never asked for it, and you never offered it.

You never asked for it.

You never offered it.

He decided that he’d been hiding in your neck for far longer than he had any right to, and slowly pulled his face away from its sanctuary.

He looked up at you through his curls in shame to see you had tear tracks down your cheeks too.

What a fucking mess.

He was a fucking mess; and he’d dragged you down into it.

He slowly pulled out of you and summoned a tissue to clean up the cum leaking from your folds. You hissed at the sensation and he whispered an apology before pulling on a pair of pyjama pants and throwing you a t-shirt that he hoped to fucking God was clean, and sat on the edge of James’ bed; facing you, though his head was bowed in shame.

“I’m sorry.” He offered pathetically, knowing it was not even close to helpful in this situation.

“When…” You started, voice both gravely from the sex and tight with emotions as new tears fell. “When did this happen?”

He didn’t have an answer; he didn’t know. He couldn't say.

“When,” you tried again. “When did this change?”

Your face fell into your hands as you began to cry in earnest.

He wondered what part of this upset you the most; the loss of this friend that you had in him? The pressure to offer him more than you were willing to give? The feeling of guilt over not being able to return his feelings?

You didn’t seem to be waiting for an actual answer from him, but were rather voicing the thoughts running through your head as they came to you.

“I should go.” He whispered, even though this was his room, even though you were wearing his shirt.

“Don’t.” You demanded harshly, eyes blazing with a fire he never imagined ever being shot at him. “Don’t you dare leave me here like this; not after that.”

He nodded quickly, sitting back down on James’ bed as you wiped angrily at your face.

He wished you wouldn’t; he wished you’d be more gentle.

He didn’t get to wish things like that, though.

“When, when did this become love?” You asked in a mixture of shock and bemusement; the thought of an equation you couldn’t solve was clearly insulting to you.

Remus shook his head in disgrace. “I’m sorry.” He offered weakly.

You scoffed out a sarcastic laugh. “Sorry for what, exactly? Making me fall in love with you? Making me fall in love with you and not telling me about it?”

“You... too?” He rasped, looking at you with a slack jaw.

“Fuck.” You seethed, standing up and beginning to pace the dorm room for a few moments as you seemed to think back on the entire duration of this situation.

“When!?” You demanded again after a few moments.

“I don’t know.” He admitted honestly, placatingly.

“Fuck.” You paused in place, bringing your hands to your mouth. Remus hated it, but you paused right in front of the hearth, causing your form to be illuminated by an ethereal glow. He thought you looked beautiful.

“I’m sorry.” He said, for daring to even think such a thing.

But, maybe…maybe if you loved him too, he could think such things?

“Fuck.” You said again, still staring unseeingly at the wall of his dorm as you stood in nothing but an oversized shirt in the middle of the room.

“What-” Remus started, taking a cautious step towards you as if you were a wild animal poised to run at any given moment. “What do you want, Y/N?”

Not one muscle in your body moved save for your eyes as they shot over to him.

“Anything.” He whispered.

I’ll give you anything you want; be anything you want. Say it and I’m yours. I’m yours.

I’m already all yours.

“I need to pee.” You said plainly.

Remus’ chest deflated in relief that you weren’t asking him to obliviate this memory from your mind.

“And then…” You took a shuddering breath that made Remus want to fold you up and keep you safe in his breast pocket for the rest of his life. “And then I want to talk. About this, okay? Please?”

Remus nodded quickly, readily, so unbelievably willingly.

“Don’t leave, please. Please be here when I get back.” You whispered; eyes, voice, and body language far more vulnerable than he ever remembered seeing from you (and ever cared to see from you again).

“Always.”

And he kept that promise.

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itsbuckytm · 2 months

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Little Accidents / Paul Atreides

Summary: Paul's obliviousness was soon shattered when frequent visits to the nursing room revealed the true essence of love at first sight.

Ps: This is a short fluff I had in mind, but I hope you enjoy and also english isn't my first language so bare with minimal errors, (once upload i always make sure to update now my works, if there is any errors) Enjoy! XOXO

As the heir of the Atreides' House, Paul effortlessly following in his father's esteemed footsteps. He possesses an acute sense of ownership, ensuring he's well aware of everything under his purview. Whether it's news of your battle injuries or workplace mishaps, Paul is always the first to know, abandoning any prior engagements to rush to your aid. While you're being tended to, his concern is palpable; his eyes scan for any signs of harm as he utters all while using the voice. ‘Where?’ This gesture of worry has become familiar, a reassurance you've grown accustomed to, especially when your visits to the infirmary often serve as an excuse to steal moments with him. ‘Dropped a weapon on my foot,’ you explain with a hint of ruefulness, ‘guess my impatience got the better of me, inadvertently knocking out one of the armories. Pity.’

Indeed, quite a pity. Paul couldn't help but notice your composure, devoid of any telltale signs of injury. It either seemed that the nurse had efficiently tended to you before his arrival—a stroke of luck, perhaps. However, Paul wasn't fooled; this wasn't the first time you'd urgently summoned him to the infirmary. Today, he harbored suspicions that you might finally reveal the true reason behind your frequent visits. “If you'd prefer I refrain from using the Voice," he remarked, a hint of seriousness in his tone, "you'll need to be more forthcoming than simply labeling it an accident, my dear."

However, you eventually reassured the head nurse, explaining that it was merely a minor issue requiring attention. Your heart fluttered with a mixture of nerves and affection as Paul insisted on tending to your wounds himself, rather than delegating the task to anyone else. As the room cleared, leaving just the two of you alone, Paul attempted to devise a plausible excuse while discreetly observing your work. This added another layer of challenge for him, yet he remained determined to keep a watchful eye on you. “Now tell,” A pregnant pause was felt soon as he sat next to you. “How I am suppose to know, that there is probably more reason than just a visit at the nursery?”

You find yourself drawn in by his innocence, but observing Paul working alongside his father and their associates, it becomes evident that innocence was not his defining trait anymore. In fact, there's a possibility he understands more than he lets on. Maybe he's even willing to engage in the game you're playing. You nonchalantly dismiss any concerns, offering the excuse that you're just adding a bit of spice to the situation. However, Paul's reaction suggests that perhaps it's not the right moment to discuss such matters, especially anything related to the Spice itself.

Paul tilted his head, almost taking offense at your attempt at humor. Despite his awareness of your desire to spend more time alone with him, he understood that convincing him to stay a little longer each time wasn't as simple as it seemed. Even if his attempts at pampering you, like tending to invisible wounds that morphed into cuddle sessions, were charming, he recognized that your discussions about the 'Spice' were more about politics than relaxation. Poor thing– that was all he knew about out. This realization led to a soft chuckle from you, followed by an apology for bringing up the topic. However, Paul dismissed your apology, urging you not to discuss such matters, especially around him, as he couldn't help but wonder why you frequented the nursing room more often than before. “Now tell me, or I might just become as impatient as you’ll be when demanding kisses..”

His voice trailed off, almost seductive when Paul was right about to expose this little game of yours. Instantly you could feel his lip curve slightly into a smirk as he saw your expression, your eyes winding in shock, trying your very best to obliged. That you were the one who meant to shock Paul out of his work for some time but, perhaps you were indeed right about your wonders. That in fact, Paul knew that the exact reasons why you obliged yourself to the nursing room more often than ever. Only to find out, it was to spend more time with him. But Paul being himself, being the type of guy that he is, did not to confess his wrong at first or to be completely oblivious. After all– he is the duke’s son.

"So, let me get this straight," Paul Atreides began, his tone tinged with a mixture of disbelief and introspection. "I, Paul Atreides, am so easily ensnared by your little charade? It's rather disheartening, truth be told." There was a hint of a pout on his lips as he contemplated your adeptness at expressing your desires, though he couldn't entirely fault you for it. With the constant demands of dealing with the Harkonnens and managing CHOAM affairs, finding time for you had become more challenging than he and you had anticipated.

Unlike his parents, whose marriage was purely political, Paul had chosen a different path, one where your presence held a significance beyond mere political alliances. For him, building a future within the confines of the Atreides' House with you by his side was a deeply personal and cherished desire. Material wealth could wait; what mattered most was the connection he shared with you. With a sigh, he reached out to gently caress your cheek, a silent acknowledgment of your correctness all along. Perhaps it was time to prioritize his own happiness, even if it meant putting paperwork aside momentarily. "Maybe you're onto something," he admitted, his voice softening. "Perhaps you’re right, perhaps it's time for me to take a break from the endless bureaucracy and spend some quality time together. After all, even I need to unwind–."

Paul's words carried a weight of remorse rarely heard, especially within the esteemed Atreides family. As he neared the end of his sentence, you leaned in swiftly, feeling the soft brush of his lips against yours in a lingering kiss. The longing shared between you both was palpable, though circumstances often made indulgence impractical, intensifying the desire even more. When Paul finally pulled away, he gently nibbled at your lower lip, a playful chuckle escaping him at the sudden surge of hunger between the two of you. There was an undeniable yearning to touch, caress, and love you. "Perhaps I'll request a day off," he murmured, his voice laced with a hint of promise. “Perhaps you will.” You both end up chuckling as he cups your face, his eyes gazing from your eyes to your lips. Paul confessed once more,

“And perhaps, we don't always have to use the excuse of happy accidents, so I can exile from paperwork every now and then.”

#timothée chalamet #dune x reader #dune part two #dune imagine #paul atreides imagine #paul atredies x reader #paul atreides x you #duke leto atreides #jessica atreides #lady jessica #dune part 2 #paul atreides x reader #paul atreides smut #timothee x reader #timothee chamalet #timothee x you #feyd rautha x reader

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navybrat817 · 9 months

Text

We'll Always be Friends

Pairing: Best Friend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: It's time to have dinner with your friends, but your mind keeps drifting to Bucky. Word Count: 1.9k Warnings: Light angst, tension, friends reconnecting, unrequited feelings (or so you think), slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (yep, he's a warning) A/N: More Dreamboat and Butterfly from my Reconnect AU and a direct continuation of Waiting a Little Longer! ❤️ Beta read by @whisperlullaby, but any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You found it difficult to leave your room, even with your friends waiting downstairs. Reconnecting with Bucky though, it made sense why you wanted to be alone with him a little longer. That wasn't fair to everyone else. The group didn't hang out quite as often during the duration of Bucky and Dot's relationship, but you were looking forward to spending time together and catching up this week.

We've weathered through tough times and deserve some fun.

Bucky put his hand on your lower back as you made your way down the stairs. The man could hardly hug you when he was with his ex, but now he wouldn't stop touching you. Just like in your room minutes ago. Not that you were going to push him away. You more than missed the affection that used to exist between you two and each minute that passed seemed to make you fall back in sync. As long as you didn't get too comfortable, it was fine.

Everything is fine.

Everyone was gathered in the brightly lit dining room, food already spread out on plates as chatter filled the room. Steve, at the head of the table, chuckled at something Sam said. Sharon laughed as well and you couldn't help but smile as you observed them. Perhaps you were imagining it, but the atmosphere wasn't as thick as it had been over the last couple of years. Even Natasha's subtle smile was gentler, more relaxed.

Like old times.

"Hey! Finally!" Sam smiled once he spotted you, bringing everyone's attention your way. Steve's smile didn't quite reach his eyes when the girls greeted you, making you tense up a little. "We were about to send a search party after you two."

"No need for that," you smiled a little when Sam pushed his chair back. "No need for that either," you teased as he walked toward you, but to no avail. He enveloped you in a hug before you could stop him. The man was almost as tall as Bucky and Steve and just as muscular. The three of them were beautiful giants in your eyes.

"Nope. Not getting out of a hug," he said, dropping his voice to a whisper. "Give Steve one, please. He thinks you're upset with him."

You felt a little sick to your stomach as he pulled away. You hadn't meant to make Steve feel bad. "I will," you whispered back before you gave the blonde a small smile. He looked like a golden retriever who had his bone taken away. "Do I get a hug from you, too?"

Steve's shoulders dropped in relief as he got up. "Of course, you do."

Like Sam, Steve's hug was warm and friendly. They never held onto you for too long or linger the way Bucky did. A quick embrace and nothing more.

"It's good to see you. I'm sorry I rushed off when you got here," you said, wanting him at ease.

Steve shook his head and gave you a rueful smile. "I'm the one who should be sorry," he said. You didn't get a chance to ask him why before he went back to his seat. "And it's good to see you, too."

You turned your attention to the girls instead who looked perfectly at ease on their side of the table. Natasha and Sharon were as gorgeous as they were intimidating. A sultry redhead and a blonde bombshell, they could come across as unapproachable from a first glance. But they were fierce and loyal friends. You were lucky to have them in your life.

"Please, don't get up. I will hug you both after dinner," you begged when they scooted their chairs back. "I appreciate you waiting for us to join you."

"So the boys get hugs, but we don't. I see how it is," Natasha teased.

"No one hugged me," Bucky pointed out.

"No one likes you," Sam chimed in, drawing a laugh from the girls.

"Butterfly likes me just fine," Bucky said, making you nod and bite your tongue so you didn't blurt out how much you really liked him. "Sit next to me?" He asked hopefully, pulling out your chair for you.

"Since these are the only two chairs left, sure," you teased, gazing up at him as you sat down. He stared back at you before he took a seat. "How was the drive?"

"The storm slowed us down, but Steve got us here safe and sound," Sharon answered as everyone began to eat. Steve wasn't one to brag, but you caught him grinning for a split second. "But what about you two? Did you get up to anything before we got here?"

Just snuggled with Bucky and fell asleep in his arms.

Bucky looked up from his plate as you glanced at him. "We wanted to go swimming, but the rain ruined that plan and we ended up taking a nap," you said.

Natasha's eyes darted between the two of you. "You ended up taking a nap," she repeated slowly. "You slept together?"

Bucky coughed and shook his head as your eyes went wide. The redhead looked pleased with herself as she waited for an explanation. "I. We. No?" You answered.

"We fell asleep together on the couch. That's it," Bucky explained once he recovered from his cough. "Nothing happened."

That's it. Nothing happened.

You curled in a bit on yourself when Natasha frowned. "Yeah. What Bucky said," you agreed, ignoring his gaze.

You had no reason to feel sad. It wasn't as if Bucky meant anything by his response. He gave Nat an honest answer. So why did it feel like a brush off?

Steve cleared his throat when the silence stretched on. "Well, I'm glad we're all here."

Good ol' Steve breaking the tension.

"Yeah. When's the last time we all went to the beach together?" Sam asked. "Was it last year? The year before?"

Bucky moved his chair closer to yours, but you didn't acknowledge it. "Two summers ago for Steve's birthday."

Right before Dot.

Everyone was either kind enough not to voice the connection or didn't want to talk about her.

"That's right. You guys bought him a red, white, and blue Speedo," you said, remembering the redness in Steve's cheeks when he opened the present. A few drinks in and he ended up wearing them.

"They looked good on me. It would've been rude not to wear them," Steve defended himself as Sam laughed. "That was a good day."

"It was," you agreed, glancing around the table. "Perfect weather and company."

We'll always be friends.

Bucky caught your eye when he nodded. "You found a seashell on the beach and you were so excited because the color was the exact same shade of blue as your bathing suit," he said, smiling to himself as you listened. "You said it had to be some sort of good luck charm and made it your mission to find one to match my swim trunks so I'd have some good luck, too."

He remembered that?

"That was why you kept running back and forth between Buck and the water," Steve grinned, nodding to Bucky. "He wouldn't tell me what you were doing. Just that you were looking for the perfect shell."

"I was determined to find it," you giggled as Natasha and Sharon shared a look. "I must've brought dozens of shells over."

It was silly when you looked back on it, but Bucky obliged and let you have your fun. In fact, your whims and nature never once seemed to bother him. He supported them.

"You didn't give up. And about twenty minutes later, you found one," he said, rubbing the back of his neck when he added, "I still have that seashell."

You took a breath before a bashful smile crept up your face. "You kept it?"

"Well, yeah," he replied, casually putting his arm around the back of your chair. "You gave it to me."

The room went quiet and you felt everyone's eyes on you, but your focus was on Bucky. "I had no idea."

The thought that Bucky held onto something so small and seemingly insignificant because it came from you had your mind running a mile a minute. Why not get rid of it? Maybe the shell reminded him of Steve's birthday and he didn't want to let that go. The voice that led with your heart said he kept it because you gave him a tiny gift.

He kept something because I gave it to him.

Your smile widened before the flash of a camera went off, the softness leaving Bucky's eyes as you both blinked.

"Sorry. Couldn't help myself," Sharon said with an innocent stare when you tore your gaze away from Bucky. "Need photos for the scrapbook. You understand."

Bucky kept his arm on your chair as everyone began to eat again. "You're making one for this trip?"

"Yeah, I want to take as many pictures as I can."

In the past, Sharon had put together photo albums and scrapbooks full of memories of the group. Sometimes for herself, others as gifts to her friends. Each one was beautiful and special, a way to reflect on the past and appreciate the time together.

"No rain tomorrow, so plenty of chances to get some outdoor photos. Maybe we can play some beach volleyball. Three on three," Sam suggested.

"You just want to show off," Natasha smirked. She wasn't wrong. The guys enjoyed the competition. "But let's make it interesting. We win, you boys have to do all the chores this week. You win, we'll take care of them."

"And if we win, you boys also have to take us to the carnival in town and win each of us a prize," Sharon added, pointing at Steve. "I know you had the carnival on the list of things to do."

"And if we win, you'll win each of us a prize?" Steve asked.

"We have to win because I'm terrible at those games," you said. They were fun, but you couldn't remember ever winning a prize.

Bucky leaned over as the group began to debate whether or not carnivals rigged the games. "I'll win you a prize no matter who wins the volleyball game," he promised.

"I'll hold you to that," you said, giddy at the thought of him winning you a teddy bear or some other stuffed animal.

"You two up for a little drinking tonight or do you plan on falling asleep on the couch again?" Sam joked, interrupting your private conversation.

"I will drink. But if I have too much, Bucky has to carry me to bed," you said.

"What happened to calling me 'Dreamboat'?"

He's pouting and it's adorable.

"Okay. You carry me to bed if I drink too much and tuck me in, Dreamboat."

"Deal," he easily agreed.

"To the best week ahead!" Steve announced.

"And get ready to get your asses handed to you tomorrow," Sam added.

As everyone began to playfully argue again, you made a mental decision not to drink too much. Alcohol had a way of making people lose their inhibitions and the last thing you needed to do was blurt something personal out in front of the whole gang. Bucky promised that the two of you would talk and you would. Sober. But a fun night could be what you needed to kick off the rest of the week.

Things will start to come to light in the next part or two. A calm before the storm, if you will... Love and thanks for reading! ❤️ Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #best friend!bucky barnes #best friend!bucky barnes x reader #reconnect au #dreamboat and butterfly #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes au #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female!reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan

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alittlebitofsainz · 17 days

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me (and you) and my guitar

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

summary: just a little drabble; you’re shy about playing guitar around other people, but charles desperately wants to hear your hidden talent

masterlist

“I didn’t know that you play the guitar?”

your cheeks immediately flushed red, instinctively trying to hide the instrument behind your back, a task you didn’t really achieve considering the instrument in question was a guitar roughly half your height. you glanced away, not meeting charles’ eyes, feeling his curious gaze flitting between you and the fret of your guitar peeking out from behind your back.

“I don’t. well, not really.” came your reply, words bordered by a nervous chuckle. charles was unconvinced, raising an eyebrow, but your response was only half untrue. you didn’t play guitar, as far as most of the world was concerned; you didn’t play in front of other people, preferring to keep your favourite hobby to yourself. this was the first time someone had stumbled across you, hiding in a corner of the ferrari motorhome, trying to while away the minutes that were threatening to turn into an hour. the rain wasn’t letting up, and the race didn’t look like it would resume any time soon. charles didn’t seem to think so either, judging by the way his fireproofs were hanging round his hips, and by the way he was hanging around the back of the garage instead of discussing data with his engineers. there’s only so much you can talk about, he once told you when you’d asked him about it.

“you won’t keep playing?” he asked, the wounded expression on his face worming its way into your heart, even if you knew it was mostly playful, “not even for me?”

you couldn’t help but laugh at his fake pout, bottom lip sticking out and eyebrows curving upwards to give you those puppy dog eyes that he knew you couldn’t say no to. or, rather, he hoped you wouldn’t say no to. you had a tendency to be stubborn from time to time. and this? this was one of those times.

“sorry, charles.” you shook your head, even as he blinked imploringly at you. but his expression changed after a moment, an expression that always worried you. charles leclerc was coming up with a plan.

“if I play first for you, will you play for me after?”

it was tempting, you had to admit. there was a time, a few months ago now, that charles had been obsessed with learning guitar, could barely be pictured without one attached to his back. you’d always known he’d been musical, something you’d bonded over. but then he’d picked piano back up, and guitar seemed to have fallen by the wayside. charles had that personality where he liked to be good at things. so you’d dropped it, never asked him about it, despite your curiosity. so this offer? and combined with the pleading look in his eyes? well, how could you refuse?

his face lit up when you agreed, reaching for the guitar with an outstretched hand. he sat beside you, shoulder to shoulder, weighing up the instrument in his hands, fingers finding their way over the fret. okay, so the chord changes were a little clumsy, his fingers, clearly made for piano, fumbling a little over the barred notes. but there was an undeniable musicality to it, an underlying reminder that charles had a good ear and pure rhythm, no matter what he turned his hand to. you rewarded his piece with a quiet round of applause and a broad, genuine smile.

“you ought to practice more!” your tone was enthusiastic, but charles tilted his head with a confused expression, clearly expecting something a little more… complimentary. you quickly backtracked, shaking your head,

“no, I mean-“ you stumbled a little, becoming tongue tied in your attempt to reassure him you meant it positively, “I mean you’re a natural, charles, really. if you really worked at it, you could be incredible; as good as you are at piano.”

his expression changed, understanding, and he flashed you a rueful smile.

“if only I had the time.” he replied softly, his words carrying a hint of wistfulness. you hummed in reply, a soft sign escaping you.

“yeah, fair enough.” you agreed quietly.

but charles wasn’t going to forget your end of the bargain in a hurry.

“a deal’s a deal. your turn.” he handed the guitar over to your reluctant hands, an expectant grin spreading across his face. it was rare you saw him get this excited over anything that wasn’t a podium finish or a puppy; it almost felt like an honour.

“okay, fine.” you replied in a way that let him know that you really didn’t want to do this.

he sat there, enraptured, eyes alternating between following the way your fingers danced across the strings and being glued to your face, your expression concentrated yet relaxed at the same time. when you finally finished, he sat there for a moment, quiet, as if processing the last couple of minutes. you rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly, shifting the guitar off your lap and propping it up beside you.

“thank you.”

“yeah, like I said, I’m really not that good, and- wait, what did you say?”

you paused as his words overlapped yours, both speaking at the same time.

“I said thank you.” he repeated, quieter this time, as if almost embarrassed by the words. “I mean, for letting me listen to you play. you’re really good.”

you opened your mouth to disagree, but charles cut you off with a shake of his head.

“and don’t say you’re not.” he told you with a warning glance. you chuckled; he knew you too well. he paused for a moment, his gaze wandering across the garage to focus on the rain still falling on the tarmac outside. he had that look on his face again. his thinking look.

“could you teach me?”

he said suddenly, and not for the first time today, you had to ask him to repeat himself so you could make sure you’d heard him right.

“I mean, I don’t have time for formal lessons or anything like that, but moments like these…” he turned to face you, gesturing vaguely around the garage, “the little moments in between races. sometimes… well, let’s say it would be nice to think about something other than driving for just a few minutes.”

when he put it like that, how could you say no?

“I’m not exactly a qualified teacher.” you tried to protest, but it was a losing battle.

“you seem good enough to me.” came his reply, as if he’d lined it up, already anticipating your argument. “I don’t need to have a perfect technique. I just want to be able to play every now and again. like you.”

you ducked your head to try and hide the blush creeping up into your cheeks, feigning the need to tune a string on your guitar. the rain was starting to ease outside: the race would begin soon.

“okay. you’ve got a deal.”

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x y/n #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 fic

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writtenfangirl · 6 months

Text

Car's Outside

Inspired by Car's Outside by James Arthur!

This went through an extensive rewrite/editing process so hopefully, it's good!

I tried matching up the dates as much as possible so hopefully things don't get confusing <3

Edit: I posted this before qualifying for the Mexico GP thinking “I need something to make me feel better” after the inevitable news that the GP will break my heart only to wake up to news that Charles is on Pole with Carlos at P2 and Danny Ric at P4. I just need this to happen so bad I will literally cry if this happens

I'm packin' my bags that I didn't unpack the last time I'm sayin', "See you again," so many times, it's becoming my tagline But you know the truth, I'd rather hold you Than try to catch this flight So many things I'd rather say But for now, it's goodbye

“I’m sorry,” Charles frowned. His breath fanned across her face, his forehead connected to her own. Y/N’s eyes were closed, head tilted upwards as she breathed him in.

Y/N knew Charles had to leave. It’s his job. Unlike most couples, she didn’t have the luxury of spending every minute of every second of every day with her boyfriend. Not when he was a world-famous Formula One driver whose job meant he was in a different city every week. And though Y/N enjoyed the privilege of freely going in and out of every paddock in the world because of her connections, it wasn’t a privilege she could exercise frequently. Not when she was an international lawyer also tasked with jet setting to other countries of the world.

But they loved each other and so they made it work. Or, at least, tried to.

“Don’t apologize,” Y/N said with a rueful smile. Beneath the musky smell of his cologne, Y/N could smell him, familiar and deep, as if the very essence of him had lodged itself in her nose, up her brain, and made a home for himself. “I understand.”

“I wish I didn’t have to go,” Charles sighed, voice deep, as he, too, breathed her in deeply. “I’d rather hold you, here, forever, than catch a stupid plane.”

“You say that now, but when you win a race, you’ll forget all about me,” she teased, opening her eyes to meet Charles’s brilliant greens.

“Not true, cherie. You’re always the first thing I think of when I win. Every win is for you.” And, as if to emphasize the point, he placed a soft kiss on her nose.

Y/N rolled her E/C eyes, a wide smile stretching across her face at the kiss despite herself. “Charles, I’m already your girlfriend. There’s no need for your sweet words to convince me to be yours.”

“It’s the truth, cherie,” he chuckled, “I always think of you first, win or lose. That’s how much I love you.”

“I love you, too.” And then she pulled his face to hers, placing a kiss on his lips that had him grinning against her like a little school boy offered candy by his mother. He pulled her to him tightly, his arms wrapping around her waist as her hands wound itself around his soft hair. Kissing him always made her feel so dizzy, like the very air in her lungs left her to make space for him. She didn’t mind it one bit. She’d make space for him in every inch of her if she could.

But one of them had to be responsible and it certainly wouldn’t be Charles. So, despite not wanting to, Y/N found herself pulling away, breathing heavy as her hands trailed from his head, down his neck and on his chest. She resisted the urge to smirk at finding his heart beating just as fast as her own.

“You’re making it harder for me to leave, cherie,” Charles panted, his hair mused where she threaded her fingers.

“Good,” she grinned as she reached up and flattened his head, “you should miss me as much as I miss you. Now go, Leclerc, or else I’ll receive a phone call from Carlos complaining that you kept them waiting.”

“I’ll see you again, cherie,” he smiled, eyes tinged with sadness.

“Of course you will. Good bye for now, mon amour.”

“Good bye for now.” And with one last kiss, Charles left. The door to their house closed behind him, the click echoing around their empty living room. All Y/N could hear was the sound of her own breathing, and when she was sure that he was far enough away, she finally released a sob that had her chest caving, her heart suddenly feeling like beads inside a hollow rattle.

I'm starin' at the same four walls in a different hotel It's an unfamiliar feelin' but I know it so well Oh, but you know the truth, I'd rather hold you Than this mobile in my hand But I guess it'll do, 'cause for you I would run up my phone bill

You say I'm always leavin' You, when you need me the most But the, the car's outside

Y/N didn’t think he was serious about getting on a flight back home, especially when she knew how busy he was on Friday on a race week. Not to mention the fact that the race this week was in Mexico, halfway across the world. But here he was, in the flesh, staring at her with those bright green eyes that she adored so much.

Of course, she should have expected this. Charles was nothing if not determined and when he said he was going to do something, he usually did it.

“You wanted to talk, so let’s talk.” Charles said as he barreled into their shared apartment, pushing past her and towards the living room, “I can’t stay long. Joris and Enzo are waiting outside to take me back to the airport.”

Past the front door, Y/N saw Lorenzo leaning against an expensive looking sports car next to Joris. Enzo as lifted a hand in greeting while Joris smiled at her. Y/N returned the greetings before she closed the door and turned to her boyfriend. Her brows were furrowed as she frowned at him, following him to their spacious living room. “What are you doing here? You have a race!”

“You wouldn’t answer my calls and I can’t race properly when I know we’re not okay.” Charles said as he ran his hands through his curls, sticking them up in odd angles. With a jolt, Y/N realized how long his hair was. The last time she saw him, he had just gotten a fresh cut from Pascale but now his hair was touching the nape of his neck. Has it really been that long?

Y/N took a deep breath before she spoke, gathering her patience as into a tight ball like freshly spun yarn. “Charles, this can wait—“

“No, it can’t,” Charles interjected, his words clipped and his tone sharp. “You were the one who wanted to talk and I’m already here so let’s talk. Do you want to end things or not, Y/N?”

“What?” She exclaimed, surprised at the sudden question. She wanted many things to happen but breaking up was definitely not on the list of things she wanted to do with him. Yes, they had their issues but she couldn’t imagine any of them could be solved by ending their relationship. “Of course not! Do you want to end things?”

Charles looked offended at the question. “No! I don’t want to end things. I want us to be together!”

“You sure don’t act like it!” She snapped before she could think about her next words. Part of her wished she could gobble up the words, stuff them back in her mouth before he could hear them but it was too late. Charles’ expression turned wounded, but his words held anger when he spoke.

“I told you about this before we started dating! I told you about my busy schedule. You came into this relationship with both eyes open, Y/N. Don’t act like you didn’t know about how busy I get!”

Y/N looked at him as if he’d grown two heads. She was beginning to get irrationally angry, and though Y/N was usually very good at compartmentalizing, there was something about the argument that had her wanting to scream. “Dammit, Charles! I know I signed up for this when we started dating but I also signed up for the breaks in between! I thought we could make it work then. But even during the breaks, you’re not here! And I make the time and I make the sacrifices to be here so imagine my disappointment when you don’t!”

“I told you to come to my races!” He yelled, his voice loud and echoing in their living room. His face was beginning to flush in anger, green eyes blazing as he spoke to her. “You’re always welcome there. I don’t know why you never come!”

“It’s hard to find any time to come to your races when I planned all of my time off around your breaks, Charles!” She yelled back. “Because, believe it or not, I don’t want to share you! Not when I barely see you as is. When I come to your races, I know you’ll be too busy doing your job to accommodate me and that’s okay. It’s more than fine. I’m happy to watch you do what you love to do. But, I want to at least see you. To feel you and hear you and talk to you. And I can’t do that during a race weekend because you’re busy and I refuse to be the clingy girlfriend trying to catch all of your attention. I planned my days off around your break period because I figured, that’s when I’ll see you more and actually spend some meaningful time together. But you’re never around! I get it, Charles. Ferrari comes first. I know what I signed up for. But lately, they’ve been coming second and third and fourth. When will it be my turn, Charles? Am I even on the list of your priorities?”

“Of course you are!”

“It sure doesn’t seem like it.”

Charles looked at her as if she’d struck him. “How can you say that when you know it’s not true. I love you, Y/N. You know that.”

She sighed, some of the fight leaving her body. “I do know that, Charles. I never said you didn’t love me. But just because you love me doesn’t mean I feel loved by you. I want to make things work. I try to make things work. But, sometimes it feels like you’re never around. And, I get it, you have a demanding job—“

“Don’t put all of this on me like your job is easy.” He scoffed, his eyes flashing in annoyance once again. “Your schedule is even more demanding than mine, and I’m sure that with your new job, you’ll have even less time for me.”

“Are you serious, Charles?” She hissed, her anger coming back in droves at his words, “You’re putting this on me? I make the time for you! Rather than seeing my family and friends during my breaks, I’m in Monaco for you and you always cancel on me at the last minute and I never complain! You were the one who missed our anniversary dinner!”

“And you miss my races!”

“You missed my promotion!”

“You never told me about your promotion!”

“How can I when you ditched me on our anniversary!”

“I told you why I missed it! The upgrades were important—“

“AM I NOT IMPORTANT, CHARLES?” She screamed. Briefly, she wondered if their neighbors could hear them, if Enzo and Joris could but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, couldn’t bring herself to lift her gaze at him as she said her next words softly, the fight leaving her body. “The anniversary wasn’t the only thing you missed. You missed my birthday, too. You didn’t even greet me but I took it to stride because I knew you were busy. I didn’t complain until now because I understood. Even when you promised me you’d fly home for your birthday so we can celebrate together and then you cancelled because of the Ferrari party and the interview, I understood. I plan all of my time off around you and never around my family or my friends, who, by the way, live in another country because I know you want to spend time with me. I always understand, Charles. I understand so much that sometimes I feel like I’m always making the sacrifices for our relationship and never you. And whenever I think to myself, I wish he’d choose me for once, it makes me feel like I’m a terrible person because I know you’re out there trying to achieve your dreams just like me and yet here I am, complaining that I don’t get enough time with you. You’re always promising to make it up to me but you never do and—” A familiar lump formed at the back of her throat, choking her words as a searing heat prickled the back of her eyes.

She loved Charles, she really did. But it was beginning to feel like that love was one sided. She wasn’t stupid. She knew what loving a man like him entailed. She expected that they’ll rarely see each other but at the rate things were going, they didn’t see each other at all. And judging by the way Charles was looking at her, with the anger in his eyes replaced by shame, he was beginning to realize that too.

“I missed your birthday?” Charles said taken aback.

“You were in Canada,” she shrugged miserably, “you were busy. I didn’t think I should remind my boyfriend when my birthday is. If you couldn’t remember, that just means you had more important things in mind.”

Shame coated his eyes as realization dawned on him. “I can’t believe I missed your birthday.”

She sniffled as she swiped at the tears that began to collect in her eyes. “It’s fine—“

“No, it’s not. I am an asshole, cherie,” Charles groaned as he pulled her in his embrace. His chest was warm, his arms even warmer as he tucked her head under his chin. “I’m so sorry. You’re right. I’m always apologizing to you and it’s not right. None of this is your fault. I’m sorry for saying those terrible things to you. I can’t believe you put up with me treating you like this for a whole year. Missing your birthday, and my birthday and our anniversary. Fuck, you’re right and it doesn’t make you a bad person to think those things because you’re right. I’m so sorry.”

Oh, darling, all of the city lights Never shine as bright as your eyes I would trade them all for a minute more But the car's outside And he's called me twice

Guilt, heavy and shameful, curled in his insides.

No wonder she was so upset with him. Every iota of her fury and more, he deserved for the shitty way he’s been treating her.

“I’m so sorry, cherie,” Charles mumbled against her hair. The smell of her shampoo, as familiar to him as his own was, invaded his sense. “I’m so sorry.”

He could feel her hands begin to wrap around his midsection. It was soft at first, tentative, before she tightened her hold on him like she was stuck in the middle of the sea and he was the lifeboat that saved her. He could feel her leaning her weight against him, the feel of her body a reassuring weight he didn’t realize he lost but was finding his whole life.

“I’m staying,” he said, pressing kisses against her head in between his words, “we’re going to celebrate everything. Your birthday, mine, our anniversary, even your promotion. You deserve as much. You deserve even more. Come fly with me, baby. Let’s go, wherever you want.”

“What do you mean?” Y/N said as she pulled away from him, eyes wide as she peered at him through her lashes.

“I’m staying here, in Monaco, with you.” He said slowly, conviction filling him as he said the words.

She gave him a dubious look. “Charles, it’s a race week. We both know you can’t miss that. It’s in Mexico for crying out loud! That’s why halfway across the world. You need to be back on the plane now if you want to make it back by Sunday.”

“I don’t care.” He said stubbornly. “None of it matters without you. Ferrari already took my breaks. I can sacrifice a race or two” And then his lips pulled into a rueful smile. “Besides, I’m not in the running for the championship anyway.”

Her eyes were still twinkling from the unshed tears, and despite the frown pulling at her lips, Charles had never thought she looked as beautiful as she did today. “But Charles, I have a job to do. I’m set to leave for London two days from now.”

His phone rang, interrupting their conversation. He fished it out of his pocket with a sigh, seeing Enzo’s face flashing on the screen. His arms were still wrapped around Y/N as he answered the phone

“Charles, nous devons partir,” Enzo urged.. (Charles, we need to leave.)

“I’m not going anywhere,” Charles replied, eyes trained on Y/N, who was watching the whole exchange with wide, reproachful eyes. “I’m right where I need to be.”

“Quoi?” (What)

“Cancel my flight, Enzo. I’m not going back. You and Joris can go home. Tell Maman I love her,” he said, ending the call before his brother could protest.

“Charles you can’t just leave in the middle of the weekend.” Y/N said, looking at him like he’d grown two heads.

“Yes, I can.” He said determinedly as he placed his hands on the side of her face, caressing her cheek as he stared deeply into her eyes in an effort to try and make her understand just how serious he really was. “I’m not racing this week. Or next week.”

“You’re going to miss Brazil too?”

“Yes. It’s time I choose you for once. I’ll race back in Vegas and Abu Dhabi but they’re lucky they’ll get even that. I chose them time and time again, cherie, and it’s not right. This is me making it up to you.” He pulled her face to his, placing a kiss on her lips. It was slow and languid, like the winding of a stopped clock that you’re trying to make right. Charles knew how lucky he was to have Y/N and she didn’t deserve to be forgotten, especially not like this. All he’s done was give her empty promises and if there was anyone in the world that deserved the best, it was her.

She pulled away from the kiss, loss of her making him groan. “What about my job? I have so much to do when I get to London. I won’t be in Monaco until the first week of November and the breaks will be far and few in between.”

“Then take me with you. Wherever you go, I’ll follow,” he said before pulling her into another kiss, this one searing and needy. He felt her pull him towards her, closing whatever distance was between them until their bodies lined flushed against the other. He could feel her figure through their clothes, feel the way her breath hitched as his hands found themselves on her waist, thumbs skimming the soft feel of her skin. She gasped at his touch and the feral feeling that seized him had the tether in him snapping. He kissed her harder, hands winding down to the back of her legs and lifting her. Almost instinctively, Y/N’s legs wrapped around his waist, her feet crossing at his back. Her hands wound themselves around his hair, pulling at the strands in a delicious way that made him shudder.

How could he choose Ferrari over and over again when they would never be able to make him feel this way? He doubted not even winning a race in Monaco would feel as she good as she does.

His phone rang again, interrupting their moment. Charles groans as he pulled away and Y/N’s laugh rang around their living room. If another phone call interrupts them again, he’s getting rid of this thing. He clicked the green button, Fred’s face flashing as he answered the call with one hand while the other continued to grip Y/N.

“Charles—“

“I’ll see you in Vegas, Fred.” Was the only thing he said before Charles clicked the red button and tossed the phone aside, focusing his whole attention back on his girlfriend.

But he's gonna have to wait tonight I'm not gettin' in the Addison Lee Unless you pack your bags You're comin' with me I'm tired of lovin' from afar And never being where you are Close the windows, lock the doors Don't wanna leave you anymore

“You mean it? You’re really skipping Mexico and Brazil for me?” Y/N asked, her voice hopeful as she spoke. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, fingers playing at the strands of his hair.

“I am.” He said with all the seriousness he could muster. “I love you, cherie, and I want to love you by your side. You’re my number one priority and I’m sorry that it took me so long to remember that. I know I’ll have to leave again but that doesn’t mean I have to leave you. I love you, cherie. Will you let me come with you?”

“Of course I will.” She smiled, before she leaning her face to him, continuing their kiss right were they left off.

407 notes · View notes

kckt88 · 6 days

Text

You Really Got Me.

Summary:

After being dragged to a club by his brother, Aemond meets the girl of his dreams.

Warning(s): Alcohol, Flirting, Banter, Kissing, Smut, Oral Sex M & F Recieving, Multiple Orgasms, P in V sex.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x Y.N

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Word Count: 3384

A.N - Shout out to @zeciex for suggesting I write this!!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

As the bass thumped through the club, Aemond Targaryen leaned back against the plush leather booth, a tumbler of amber liquid swirling in his hand. His older brother Aegon was at it again, prowling the dance floor in search of his next conquest, his laughter mingling with the music and the chatter of the crowd.

Aemond couldn't help but shake his head at Aegon's antics, a small smirk playing at the corners of his lips. Some things never changed, no matter how old they got. But then, his attention was caught by a figure sitting at the bar.

She was captivating, with long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders and a leather jacket over her dress only adding an edge to her ensemble.

Her fingers tapped against her thigh in time with the beat, a subtle rhythm that drew Aemond's gaze like a moth to flame and he found himself unable to look away.

As the music pulsed around them, Aemond felt a surge of courage wash over him. With a glance towards his brother, who was still lost in his pursuit, he made his decision. Setting down his drink, he straightened his jacket and approached the bar, a newfound determination in his step.

It had been a good few months since he’d last took a woman to his bed and tonight, he would take a chance, and see where the night would lead.

With a steady resolve, Aemond made his way through the pulsating crowd towards the bar where the captivating woman sat. As he approached, he couldn't help but admire the graceful way she moved to the music, her presence commanding attention.

Just as he was about to speak, fate intervened in the form of a misstep.

The woman turned at the wrong moment, her sudden movement catching Aemond off guard. Before he could react, their paths collided, and the contents of her drink went tumbling through the air, splashing across the front of his shirt.

"Whoa, I'm so sorry!" Aemond exclaimed, his hand instinctively reaching out to steady her as they both stumbled back from the collision.

The woman's eyes widened in surprise, a look of mortification crossing her features as she took in the mess they had created. "Oh gods, I didn't see you there," she apologized, her voice tinged with embarrassment.

"It's alright, really," Aemond reassured her, offering a warm smile despite the dampness seeping through his shirt. "Accidents happen."

Together, they shared a rueful laugh, the tension of the moment dissipating into shared amusement.

As they both cleaned up the mess, the woman offered a sheepish smile. "I'm Y.N," she introduced herself, her voice soft but carrying a hint of warmth.

"Aemond," he replied, offering his hand with a gentle shake. "Nice to meet you, Y.N, despite the unconventional start."

Y.N's smile widened, a glint of amusement sparkling in her eyes. "Likewise, Aemond. And I must say, you handle unexpected collisions quite well."

Aemond chuckled, a hint of colour rising to his cheeks. "Years of practice," he quipped, enjoying the easy banter that flowed between them.

Feeling a sense of camaraderie growing between them, Aemond gestured towards the bar. "Can I make it up to you by buying you another drink?" he offered, hoping to extend their conversation beyond the initial mishap.

Y.N's lips curved into a playful grin. "I suppose that would be fair compensation," she teased, a sparkle of mischief dancing in her eyes.

With a shared laugh, they made their way to the bar, the music and chatter of the club fading into the background as they continued to get to know each other.

As they settled into a more intimate corner of the club, Aemond and Y.N continued their conversation, their laughter blending seamlessly with the music.

"So, what brought you here tonight?" Aemond asked, genuinely curious about the woman sitting across from him.

Y.N's expression softened, a hint of wistfulness crossing her features. "Honestly, I was just about to leave," she confessed, her voice tinged with a touch of disappointment. "My friends bailed on me, and I didn't really fancy staying here alone."

Aemond's brows furrowed sympathetically, but a playful twinkle lit up his eye. "Well, I suppose luck was on my side then," he remarked with a charming smile. "Because you're not alone anymore."

Y.N's lips curled into a smile, touched by his sincerity. "I suppose you're right," she conceded, a warmth blossoming in her chest at his words.

As the night wore on and their conversation deepened, Aemond and Y.N found themselves drawn to each other in ways they hadn't expected. With each shared laugh and exchanged glance, the spark of attraction between them ignited into a blazing flame.

Aemond leaned in closer, his voice low and husky as he teased Y.N with playful banter. "You know, I must say, you're quite the captivating presence," he remarked, a hint of admiration in his tone.

Y.N's cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and delight as she returned his gaze, her eyes sparkling with a newfound confidence. "Flattery will get you everywhere," she quipped, her smile playful yet inviting.

Their flirtatious exchange continued, a dance of words and glances that spoke volumes without the need for further explanation.

Aemond couldn't deny the magnetic pull he felt towards Y.N, her wit and charm captivating him in ways he hadn't anticipated. And as he watched her laugh and playfully toss her hair, he knew that he wanted nothing more than to explore where this newfound attraction would lead.

For Y.N, the feeling was mutual, her heart racing with excitement as she found herself falling deeper under Aemond's spell. In his presence, she felt alive in a way she hadn't in a long time, her every nerve tingling with anticipation.

As the night progressed and the chemistry between them intensified, Y.N found herself drawn to the subtle intricacies of Aemond's appearance. With a gentle touch, she reached out to tuck a stray strand of his long, silver hair behind his ear, her fingertips lingering against his skin.

"You know," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, "You have to be one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen."

Aemond's breath caught in his throat at her words, a rush of warmth flooding through him at the sincerity in her gaze. He met her eyes, his own blue orbs reflecting a depth of emotion that words could scarcely capture.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice tinged with a mixture of humility and gratitude. "That's-quite the compliment."

Y.N smiled, her gaze softening as she took in the sight of him. "I mean it," she insisted, her fingers trailing lightly along his jawline. "Your sharp features, the colour of your eye-it’s truly mesmerizing".

“-And the eyepatch and scar?” mused Aemond.

“Proves that you’re a survivor” replied Y.N smiling.

Y.N's gaze lingered on Aemond's profile, the soft glow of the club's lights casting gentle shadows across his features.

With a small smile playing at the corners of her lips, she couldn't help but voice her admiration.

"You know, Aemond, your side profile is absolutely incredible," she remarked, her voice hushed yet filled with genuine appreciation.

Aemond turned to face her, a faint blush tinting his cheeks at the unexpected compliment. "Really?" he replied, his voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and pleasure.

Y.N nodded, her eyes tracing the elegant curve of his jawline and the noble slope of his nose. "Yes, really," she affirmed, her tone earnest. "There's something about the way the light catches your features-it's like you were sculpted by an artist."

Aemond's heart fluttered at her words, a warmth spreading through him at the sincerity in her gaze. In Y.N's eyes, he felt seen in a way that went beyond mere physical appearance, a recognition of the uniqueness that defined him.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice soft yet filled with gratitude.

Aemond found himself unable to resist the magnetic pull drawing him closer to Y.N. With a silent exchange of longing glances, they closed the distance between them, their lips meeting in a fervent kiss that ignited a firestorm of passion between them.

In that moment, the world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the sensation of Y.N's lips against his own, soft yet electrifying. Aemond's heart thundered in his chest as he deepened the kiss, his hands instinctively finding their way to Y.N's waist, pulling her closer to him.

Y.N responded eagerly, her arms winding around Aemond's neck as she melted into his embrace.

As their kiss finally broke, leaving them both breathless and flushed with desire, Aemond gazed into Y.N's eyes, a question lingering unspoken between them.

"Y.N," he began, his voice husky with emotion, "Would you like to-go back to my flat?"

Y.N's lips curved into a knowing smile, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Yes," she whispered, her voice filled with a quiet longing that mirrored his own.

With a surge of elation coursing through him, Aemond took her hand in his, his fingers intertwining with hers as they made their way through the throng of people towards the exit.

As they reached the door, Aemond fumbled for his keys, his fingers trembling with anticipation. With a satisfying click, the door swung open, and they stumbled into the dimly lit interior, their bodies pressed together as their kisses grew deeper, more urgent.

“A-Are you sure?” asked Aemond.

“Yes, I’m sure-“ replied Y.N as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him for another kiss, the tongues gently caressing one another.

Aemond’s hands then slipped her leather jacket off her shoulders and draped it over the back of a chair before he took her face in his hands and ran his tongue over her lips, eliciting a low moan from Y.N.

His long fingers sliding up the back of her neck and into her hair, his forehead resting against hers.

“So beautiful” whispered Aemond.

“I-I want to see you” muttered Y.N softly.

Aemond hesitated, he never took his eyepatch off around anyone except his mother, brothers, and sister.

But there was something about Y.N that instantly made him feel comfortable, so with a deep breath Aemond slipped his fingers under the strap of his eyepatch and pulled it from his head.

Y.N stood silent she stared at the scar the bisected his cheek, extending through his eyebrow. The sapphire that he’d placed in the eye socket, glinted in the moonlight.

“You are-so-beautiful” whispered Y.N as she leaned forward and placed a number of kisses along his scarred cheek and over the sapphire.

Aemond closed his eye in delight at the tender gesture, a contented sigh escaping his lips.

“Hmmm” rasped Aemond as he ran his thumb over Y.N’s bottom lip, his eye going wide as she opened her mouth and nipped at his thumb before sucking it into her mouth.

Aemond could feel his eye roll into the back of head, fuck his cock was throbbing.

“Please-“ moaned Y.N

Aemond removed his thumb and quickly shed his jacket before throwing it on the sofa.

Wasting no time, he pulled Y.N to him, his lips once again claiming hers.

He put his arm around her waist and kissed her passionately, deepening the kiss as she moaned into his mouth. His tongue pushing against hers.

Y.N ran her fingers across his lithe body. His muscles rippled under her fingertips.

She unbuttoned the white shirt he wore, placing feathery kisses on his sparsely haired chest as the shirt was removed.

Her fingers toying with the silver cross chain he wore.

Groaning against her creamy smooth skin, he kissed her neck, sucking on the delicate flesh as she leaned into him, enjoying his every touch.

Her dress felt heavy on her. She wanted to be rid of it. She wanted to feel his skin on hers. She reluctantly broke free of his embrace and turned her back to him moving her hair out of the way.

His fingers trembled as he grasped the zip to her dress and pulled it down, the sound echoed through the quiet apartment, and he pressed his lips to the back of her neck.

Using his long fingers, he freed her from the confinements of her dress, and it fell to join his shirt on the floor.

She wasn’t wearing a bra, which excited him to no end.

Goosebumps appeared where his fingers moved over her. Cupping her ample breasts from behind, Aemond pulled Y.N against his chest. Burying himself in the crook of her neck, sucking on the skin whilst his fingers massaged the soft mounds and played with her hardened nipples.

Aemond turned her to face him. Kissing her again, he trailed kisses down her body and took a rosy nipple in his mouth. Sucking on the aroused bud, he bit down lightly, earning a low moan from deep within her.

He continued his actions on the other breast and kissed past her stomach until he knelt before her. Her fingers in his hair tightened as he ran the tips of his fingers from her stomach down to her core.

Slowly he hooked his thumbs on the sides of her knickers and pulled them down.

Fuck she was dripping, and it was all for him. He could not wait to taste her. Somehow, he knew she would taste delicious.

Y.N delicately stepped out of the lacy material, and Aemond's long fingers grasped her buttocks. His fingers dug into her delicate flesh.

He felt her lean in eagerly. Gently he swiped his tongue across her hairless pussy, instant gratification as her fingers tightened their hold on his head, and a low moan left her lips.

Aemond smirked. Using his tongue, he gained access to her wet, pink folds. She tasted fucking amazing. Aemond enthusiastically ran his tongue along her slit, flicking his tongue over her swollen clit.

Y.N effortlessly placed a leg on his shoulder, spreading her thighs for better access. Oh, how he welcomed it.

Her clit was a swollen mass of pleasure waiting to explode. He pressed his tongue hard on it and sucked on her pulsating womanhood. Again and again, he felt her squirm. He felt her heat, she was so close.

Y.N felt the flow of heat accumulate behind her navel as she hovered on the cusp of orgasm. She let out a loud moan as she intricately spun a bundle of nerves that exploded within her.

"Fuck!" Y.N cried and buckled under the weight of her release.

Wave upon wave of unbridled passion unleashed within her as an earth-shattering orgasm tore throughout her body. Her slick juices dripped down his lips and chin. He didn't stop until she was utterly spent.

Pushing his tongue further in, he fucked her with his tongue till her orgasm ceased.

"Aemond," whimpered Y.N as she began to wobble.

Smirking, Aemond rose to his feet and kissed her, letting her taste herself on his tongue.

Y.N regained her composure and keenly clung to him, returning his kisses while undoing the button of his trousers.

Not skipping a single step as she directed him backwards towards the sofa.

Kissing him full on the mouth, her fingers stroked his body, not missing an inch of flesh.

She marvelled at the feel of his body. It was so lithe and fit. Trailing kisses past his stomach, she came face to face with his sizeable bulge.

Biting down on her lip, kneeling between his legs she pulled his trousers and boxers down his shapely legs and threw them next to her.

Even in the dim light, Aemond could see she was impressed. His rock-hard shaft stood up, eagerly awaiting its reward.

Y.N bent her head and licked a line from his balls to his pulsating head.

Aemond groaned aloud as she clasped her fingers around his girth and moved her hand up and down the hard shaft. Y.N enjoyed his slow torture. She smirked and licked the underside of his cock.

"Y.N-" whimpered Aemond.

His eye closed, and he felt her tongue at his head, licking the pre-cum that oozed out.

Without warning, she took him in whole, deep-throating his length. Aemond knew he would not last, he could not hold back any longer, but gods he did not want her to stop.

She was sucking on him, her lips tightening around his cock as she built a beautiful pace.

"NO!" groaned Aemond and Y.N withdrew.

She barely had time to react. Before he grabbed her around the waist and moved her on top.

“I-have condoms-somewhere” mumbled Aemond.

“I’m on the pill and clean-“ exclaimed Y.N her eyes going wide as Aemond lined up his cock with her entrance and sheathed himself inside her with one hard thrust.

Y.N moaned as Aemond withdrew and entered into her repeatedly.

Faster and faster. Harder and deeper, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips.

"Please don't stop," cried out Y.N

"I have no intention of stopping" growled Aemond, his feet planted firmly on the floor to allow him to increase the intensity of his thrusts.

A satisfied smile spread across his face as he quickened and angled his movements, so his cock rubbed on that special place inside her.

Aemond was mesmerized by the sight of Y.N’s breasts bouncing in front of him and unbale to resist any longer he surged forward, his mouth wrapping around one rosy bud.

His teeth and tongue teasing the stiffened peak.

“Gods-yes Aemond” shrieked Y.N as she bounced on his cock, her hands coiled in is long silver hair.

“That’s it baby-take it-take all of me” growled Aemond leaning back as he moved Y.N’s hips in time with his thrusts.

“Oh gods-” wailed Y.N.

“That’s it-FUCK Y.N” groaned Aemond as he took hold of her and quickly manoeuvred her onto her back, his cock never leaving the warm wetness of her as he began to pound into her, the sounds of skin slapping on skin echoing around his apartment.

“P-Please Aemond. Don’t stop. Don’t stop-“ whimpered Y.N.

“Come for me baby-come for me” growled Aemond as he felt her clenching around him.

“AEMOND” screamed Y.N as she exploded, her nails digging into his back.

Aemond held back for as long as he could, but his release was upon him.

Surrounded by her wetness, he closed his eye.

With a final hard thrust, he spilled rope after rope of his seed.

He muffled his groans into her mouth as she hung onto him, kissing him fervently.

Only once she milked him dry did he collapse on top of her. She held him close to her body, whispering words of comfort and satisfaction while running her fingers down his back.

The sweat on his back stung against the scraps her nails made.

As they lay entwined on the sofa, their bodies bare and glistening with the remnants of their shared passion, Aemond and Y.N savoured the quiet intimacy of the moment. The soft glow of moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle halo around their entangled forms.

Aemond's fingers traced lazy patterns across Y.N's skin, his touch tender and reverent as he explored the contours of her body.

With a contented sigh, he pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, his heart overflowing with gratitude for the unexpected twist of fate that had brought them together.

In the stillness of the night, a silent thanks drifted through Aemond's mind, directed towards Aegon, who had unwittingly led him to the club where he had found Y.N.

Aemond couldn't shake the feeling that he didn't want this to be just another fleeting encounter. With Y.N nestled against him, her warmth radiating against his skin, he felt a longing stir within him—a desire to see her again, to explore the depths of their connection beyond the confines of this single night.

Gathering his courage, Aemond brushed a stray lock of hair from Y.N's face, his voice soft yet resolute. "Y.N," he began, his heart pounding in his chest, "I don't want this to end here. Would you-would you like to go on a date with me?"

Y.N's eyes lit up with delight, a soft giggle escaping her lips as she looked up at him with a sparkle of excitement. "Yes," she replied, her voice brimming with warmth and affection. "I would love to."

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond smut #aemond x reader #hotd smut #aemond #aemond targaryen smut

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even-disco-baby · 1 year

Text

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “Hello again, gendarme.” He smiles at you— not from his usual post, but from one of the cafeteria tables. A small sketchbook is laid out in front of him, along with some odd gray sticks.

ENCYCLOPEDIA — Compressed graphite. Not quite as bold or blendable as charcoal, but certainly less messy.

EMPATHY — Garte will appreciate it.

“I’d like to talk about the case again.”

“You moved! I didn’t know you could do that.”

“What are you drawing?”

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “That’s the question, isn’t it?” His smile turns a little rueful. “I found one of my old sketchbooks and thought I’d like to fill the last few empty pages, but I’m finding myself a little… uninspired.”

CONCEPTUALIZATION — The accursed artist’s block. Staring down an empty page only for it to stare back, mocking you.

EMPATHY — He is unsure of himself. He said this was an old sketchbook. Maybe he’s afraid of drawing something new beside his old work and seeing that nothing has changed.

“Ah, yes. Artist’s block. I know it well. In fact, I don’t know when the last time that I actually *made* any art was.”

“You could draw the cafeteria.”

“You could draw one of the other diners.”

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “A life drawing exercise, huh? And who would you pick as a subject, gendarme?”

“I don’t know. You’re the artist.”

“Maybe Garte? The skua could be a fun challenge.”

“You should draw the guy with the wig and sunglasses over there. He looks pretty funny.”

“Lena! She’d probably love to model for you. It would take her mind off things.”

“Kim, how about you pose for him?”

[Suggestion - Medium 10] “Why not me?”

KIM KITSURAGI — “No.”

He has nothing more to say on the matter.

“Aw, why not? You’d make a great model!”

Let it go.

KIM KITSURAGI — “I do not get paid to model for portraits. I get paid to solve murders. Such as the one we came here to investigate. Several days ago. Which has not been solved yet, for some mysterious reason.”

ESPIRIT DE CORPS — In case you couldn’t tell, that was sarcasm.

“Come on, Kim. You’re the perfect subject! A true man of the people. And there’s this sort of radiance about you… I can see the portrait already, just looking at you. Really clearly, actually.”

Maybe don’t say that. He’s just not gonna get it.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — He shrugs. “Sorry, gendarme. It’s not right to use someone’s image without permission, you know? Maybe some other time.”

KIM KITSURAGI — “No.” And then, a little awkwardly, “But thank you.”

“I don’t know. You’re the artist.”

“How about Garte? Though, you’d have to draw the skua, too…”

“You should draw the guy with the wig and sunglasses over there. He looks pretty funny.”

“Lena! She’d probably love to model for you. It would take her mind off things.”

“Kim, how about you pose for him?”

[Suggestion - Medium 10] “Why not me?”

CHECK SUCCESS

YOU — “Why not me?”

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — He considers you with some amusement, but still, he does consider. “You’re not too busy?”

“On second thought, you’re right, I have some work to do right now. Another time, maybe?”

“Nope. Not at all.”

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant sighs audibly.

ESPIRIT DE CORPS — What did I *just* say?

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — He chuckles to himself, apparently quite tickled by the little comedy act you two are making of yourselves. “Beautiful. Why not? Have a seat. I’ll try not to keep you too long.”

KIM KITSURAGI — “Much appreciated,” he says drily.

YOU — [Take a seat.]

SAVOIR FAIRE — Time to strike a pose. Let’s go with something cool. Something that really captures what you’re all about.

ENDURANCE — But make sure it’s something that you’ll be able to hold comfortably.

Wink and shoot him your signature finger guns.

Look at him with big sad eyes like a shamed puppy.

Look thoughtfully into the middle distance, as if contemplating your own future masterpiece.

Stare straight at him with eyes that have seen how this world will end.

Hold your head up high. With *honor.*

Just sit and act natural. No need to put on airs.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — He looks you up and down, thumbing his bottom lip. His eyes look brighter and more alert than you have ever seen them. And then, he picks up his graphite and begins to work.

His eyes dart between you and the page, his hand sweeping across the page in bold, practiced strokes. All traces of his earlier hesitation have vanished.

VOLITION — Sometimes, a little push is all we need.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — Every now and then, he pauses to look up at you, and it’s almost unnerving to be the subject of whatever calculations are going on behind his eyes. He holds out his graphite, squinting just slightly.

VISUAL CALCULUS — This is called sighting. He’s roughly measuring the relative proportions of your figure and checking them against his sketch.

KIM KITSURAGI — Even the lieutenant is watching now, interested in spite of himself.

“Are portraits your specialty?”

“Have you been drawing anything for school lately?”

Better not distract him.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “Hmm…” He ponders this for a moment, not looking up from his work. “Not exactly. I’m more interested in the graphic arts than this sort of thing. But it’s best to build a strong foundation before branching out, you know?”

YOU — “Graphic arts? Like what?”

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “Printmaking.” A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he speaks, seemingly without him even noticing. “Monotype, especially.”

ENCYCLOPEDIA — Monotype is a printmaking technique that is singular from other techniques, in that it produces only *one* unique print, rather than an edition of multiple prints.

YOU — What, really? What’s the point of printing it, then?

ENCYCLOPEDIA — I don’t know. I didn’t invent it.

“Why monotype? Wouldn’t a different technique be more… practical?”

“I see.” [Drop the subject.]

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — He shrugs slightly, smudging a bit of graphite with a bare finger. “Depends on how you define practical, I suppose. If I had my own studio, and I was selling my prints, then maybe. But we make do with what we have, gendarme.”

EMPATHY — And what he has is very little.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “Besides, I think monotype has its charms.”

The young man does not elaborate, instead focusing on the work at hand. He picks up an eraser that has been shaved down to a point for fine detail work, and begins on what are likely the finishing touches.

EMPATHY — He has already talked at uncharacteristic length about this. It’s making him a little uncomfortable.

SAVOIR FAIRE — He doesn’t like to share too much about himself because it makes him feel *uncool.* He prefers to maintain an air of mystery.

RHETORIC — It’s safer, too, that way. He’s learned that passion exists to be exploited. False promises and admiration are the offerings of Sunday friends.

“If you say so.” [Back off.]

“What kind of charms?” [Press on.]

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — His eyes flit back to you, sizing you up now in a different way. And then he looks back down at the page with a quiet bre ath.

“Well, it doesn’t take as much time or labor as other methods. Or expensive tools, or dangerous chemicals. Just paper, a plate, ink, and something to apply it with. And I can use the same plate over and over again, even use it to create different layers for the same print.”

RHETORIC — In other words, it’s cheap and can be done from home. An attractive option.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “And with monotype, it’s not so hard to go back and change your mind. You can start over as many times as you’d like, right up until the moment you lay the page on the plate.”

INLAND EMPIRE — That really does sound attractive. To be able to wipe the slate clean, over and over again…

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “There aren’t as many limits on what kind of textures you can create, too. Brushstrokes and fingerprints… They can really come out beautiful.”

His brow creases a little, and he picks his graphite back up to rework a particular area.

DRAMA — He’s still holding out on you, sire. Too self-conscious to admit what he really likes about the medium.

YOU — Which is what?

EMPATHY — Fragility.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — An image which is only complete after being mirrored and translated, never to be recreated except as a ghostly afterimage. An exercise in surrendering to chance. What will be, will be. And then the moment will pass, and it will be time to start the next piece.

VOLITION — This man knows disappointment intimately. It is his closest companion. He has learned to make peace with it. He passes the time with his Sunday friends, lays his paper on the plate and hopes, despite himself, for the best.

YOU — Is that… a good thing?

VOLITION — …It’s hard to say. But we make do with what we have.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “There.” The young man sits up straight, and it’s only now that you realize just how close he brought himself to his work.

DRAMA — His face may not betray him, but the body does not lie. He was having *fun,* my liege.

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “All done.” He tears the page from his book and holds it out to you with a small smile.

ITEM GAINED: Portrait of a Disco Holdover

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — “Hope I didn’t keep you too long.”

KIM KITSURAGI — “Don’t worry about it,” Kim says, rather resignedly.

ESPIRIT DE CORPS — If you’d declined, the lieutenant thinks, my partner would have just found some other way to get sidetracked.

KIM KITSURAGI — Still, he cannot stop himself from glancing at the portrait over your shoulder.

PORTRAIT OF A DISCO HOLDOVER — It’s you! Unfortunately. Not even the most masterful hand could make the Expression less unsettling to look at. Your posture is poor, your face is swollen and blotchy, your hair is thinning, your clothes are shabby and out of place… I could go on.

Oh god, you could?

Please don’t.

PORTRAIT OF A DISCO HOLDOVER — But, you know… it’s nice. The smoker’s technique is bold and rather lovely, broad strokes of graphite intersecting in just the right places to create surprising depths. Somehow, even though it’s you… it’s not hideous.

EMPATHY — Because you’re seeing yourself through another person’s eyes.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — There is an odd tenderness to the portrait. Something amusing in your grimace, a touch of sympathy in your hunched shoulders. With the eraser, he has lifted small spots of pigment from your face, as if it were illuminated by flecks of light from the karaoke disco ball.

There are no disco lights tonight, but still, he sees them when he looks at you. Your moment has passed, but it left quite the impression. A ghost print, superimposed over you.

“Not bad, but the bicep girth is off. Right, Kim?”

“Oh god, is that really what I look like?”

“Hmm. It’s okay, but you should consider a backup career plan.”

“Whoa, you’re amazing! Can you draw me again, but this time in the costume from the cover of Man from Hjelmdall and the Devil Woman? And like, with a really cool warhammer? And Queen Lydiaana standing in the background, all like, ‘boohoo, where will I ever find another man like Ha— I mean, the Man from Hjelmdall?’”

“Beautiful.”

SMOKER ON THE BALCONY — His smile climbs up into the corners of his eyes, warming his entire countenance.

CONCEPTUALIZATION — If you were to capture a portrait of him in this moment, it would be beautiful, too.

#disco elysium #harry du bois #the smoker on the balcony #kim kitsuragi #this one is. so self indulgent. i like the smoker i like to think abt him #and assign him my art student interests #anyway. oh the joy of making art and showing ppl what they rlly look like in your eyes #and oh the beauty of monotypes and printmaking and hoping for the best #GODDAMMIT I FUCKED UP THE FORMATTING AGAIN AND DIDNT CATCH IT UNTIL LIKE 12 HOURS LATER.#if you saw that. no you didn’t.

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broke-art · 2 months

Text

Macaque x Silver tongue reader.

Macaque studied the scene thoughtfully. As y/n sat next to tang.

"What if....I don't bring anything to the team?" He asked cleaning his glasses.

"Mr. Tang how can you say that?" She asked touching his shoulder. "You bring you. We like you. You don't need to have powers or something exceptional to the team to be wanted."

"But-" tang sighed and handed her a paper. "He didn't even put me in the picture."

Y/n's gaze slipped over the paper and for a moment she went quiet.

Macaque leaned closer raising a brow. There it was. The truth. How would she ease away the pain of this?

After a moment she offered the picture back to tang.

"Mr. Tang if I recall correctly m.k had tossed out at least fifty of those crumbled papers. All of which has some version of you. Which tells me he just didn't know how to make you look the way he wanted. And as far as art goes why would you try so hard to draw someone, and so many times, when you didn't want them in the final piece?"

Macaque's eyebrows rose.

Tang smiled a bit and after the two of them talked a bit Tang walked away.

Macaque frowned. How did she do that? Tell the truth to fix the truth? He shook his head. That made no sense. He turned to look at her for a moment only she was gone.

"It's rude to eavesdrop." Her voice came behind him.

Macaque swiveled only to pause and chuckle at your jest.

"Yeah well. Sneaking up on people isn't too kind either."

You smiled and nodded.

"And yet you persist to do that very thing."

Macaque's smile failed him as he walked over to you.

"How did you do that?"

You blinked.

"Do what?"

Macaque thought for a moment.

"I wouldn't say Tang is useless but-" he cut himself off.

"But?" You urged raising a warning eyebrow.

A sigh escaped him and Macaque folded his arms leaning against a nearby wall.

"Tang brings little to nothing to the group. So how did you still make him feel like a contributing member by just....existing? That can't be enough."

You blinked.

"Tang is our friend Macaque."

Macaque scoffed bitterly.

"Oh come on-"

"I mean it. Friendships aren't just transactional." You stepped up to him and touched his shoulder gently. "Tang has been there when he was needed....that's enough." You smiled at Macaque. "And so are you."

Macaque stared at you a moment looking almost awestruck before he shook his head with a rueful smile.

"You don't mean that. I mean come on." Macaque stepped around you his black tail curled around your left forearm and urged you to rotate it slowly. So your inner arm faced upwards revealing a long scar. "Look what I did to you. And that doesn't include all the bruises."

You stared at the scar for a moment your mind flashing back to when Macaque reforged the Samadhi Fire and his ice slitting your arm from your elbow to your wrist.

You shook your head to clear away the memories. And instead focused now on his tail gently curled around your arm.

"It's funny you mention that." You smiled wistfully. "Almost like you're reminding yourself....not me."

Macaque's tail bristled slightly at the observation and you smiled.

"You're so busy torturing yourself over your past mistakes you don't seem to get that...no body else is using that against you."

Macaque stared at you for a moment and pulled his tail away looking almost guilty for having reminded you. But you touched his left hand and then took hold of it gently.

"You know m.k told me you said sometimes you need to talk things out. And yet you don't do it. Maybe you should."

#lego monkie kid #lmk #lego red son #jttw sun wukong #jttw #lego #jttw wukong #lego monkie king #redson #lego nezha #lmk macaque x reader #lmk macaque #lmk monkie kid #lmk monkey king #lmk mk #lmk mei

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inexplicifics · 3 months

Note

my lady inex, hows the morvraan fic going? shall bear the crown reminded me

Still in beta! It's long & complicated & full of Politics, so it takes a while.

A small snippet, as thanks for your patience:

“Quick question, my heart,” he says as a thought strikes him. “How discreet ought I be about being consort to both of you?”

Geralt and Eskel exchange a look - one that Jaskier is quite sure speaks entire volumes. He may know his Wolves well by now, but they know each other so deeply it’s nearly telepathy.

There’s a song in that, or ought to be. The wolves who hunt together, they know each other well / they need no word nor whisper, they need no warning bell -

“Frankly,” Yen says, “the chances of you managing to keep up the pretense for an entire winter are miserable, little flower. You’re not subtle.”

“Hey,” Jaskier protests, and then subsides with a rueful grin. “I’m a bard, we’re not meant to be subtle.”

“Let them draw their own conclusions,” Treyse suggests. “It’ll be informative. We could see if any of them try to blackmail you, for instance.”

Jaskier snorts. “Oh, horrors, someone might tell my terrifying lord, the White Wolf of the North, that I am sleeping with his own most trusted lieutenant!”

Geralt raises an eyebrow at him. “What, without me?”

Eskel chuckles. “We’ll reenact it for your amusement.”

#questions answered #accidental warlord au

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havemybackanyday · 1 year

Text

I started thinking about Buck texting Bobby every time he woke up, and my hand slipped.

---

Bobby is just beginning to prep breakfast at the station when his phone pings.

7:26am hey everything ok

It doesn't click right away—Bobby’s first assumption being that Buck is missing the job, maybe feeling a little left out.

7:27am Yeah, everything’s fine here. Shift just started, you’re not missing much. Are you ok?

He watches as the three dots pop up and then disappear a couple times, and then puts his phone down to stir the eggs. He’s almost forgotten about it by the time the response comes in.

7:34am just checking

It’s then that the penny drops, and the realization breaks Bobby’s heart a little. He opens his camera and flips it around, taking a surreptitious selfie with A shift seated at the table in the background. Chim is gesturing animatedly, and Eddie is chuckling into a coffee mug while Hen rolls her eyes. In the foreground is half of Bobby’s own face, forgetting to smile as he concentrates on framing the shot.

He sends the picture off to Buck.

7:36am We’re all here, all safe. We miss you. thanks bobby. miss you guys too

The next one comes in the following morning, just as Bobby is pulling into his driveway.

7:31am hey Hey, kid. All good here. ok, great sorry thanks No need, Buck.

Bobby knows there’s something Buck isn’t telling him about the coma dream and his place in it. When Bobby had asked him about it at the hospital, he’d been cagey, and since Buck got home, Bobby feels like he’s being tracked—like if Buck doesn’t know where Bobby is at any given moment, Bobby might vanish into thin air… or Buck might.

Bobby can be an anchor. He’s had practice.

2:12pm all good? All good.

They fall into a routine, where Buck will text “hey” whenever he wakes up and Bobby will reply with a checkmark emoji. It’s soothing for Bobby, too—this way, he knows Buck is sleeping, and gets a rough idea of when and how much. There’s always a text in the morning, and more often than not, a message also comes through in the afternoon.

A couple days in, the afternoon text arrives while the 118 is on a call. Nothing serious, but several cars are involved, and Bobby is flitting around the scene, directing his people back and forth to where they’re needed. By the time he wraps up, Eddie is sitting half inside the truck and holding his phone, a concerned look on his face.

“Cap?”

Bobby pulls his own phone out of his turnouts.

3:42pm hey

3:48pm hey, bobby?

3:52pm i know it’s fine and i know you’re probably on a call but lmk if you’re ok when you can

3:54pm please sorry

Bobby takes a quick selfie with Eddie. Neither of them is smiling, but it’s not annoyance—it’s the same way they’d be looking at Buck if he were here, handling the call with them. No performing, just an ordinary moment in time.

He sends it over.

4:09pm Sorry to make you wait. We’re good.

He looks up from his phone, and Eddie is watching him with pinched eyebrows. Wordlessly, he flips his phone around to show Bobby his own string of texts from Buck. Bobby sees his own name in the thread several times.

“How’s he doing?” Bobby asks.

Eddie blows out a breath and settles his elbows on his knees. “He’s… working through some stuff,” Eddie says, looking back at the text thread. He’s silent for a long moment, and then huffs a rueful laugh. “He seems rattled, which is pretty understandable. But beyond that, I don’t think he knows what he needs yet.”

“Well, until he tells us differently, the best thing we can do for him is to be here, and be us.”

Eddie nods, and they both swing into the engine.

That night, the ping of Bobby’s phone wakes him from a deep sleep in the station house bunks.

2:20am hey you awake

Bobby rubs a hand across his face. I am now. You ok? sorry i woke you No, don’t be. I’d rather you reach out.

Buck doesn’t respond; the three dots don’t even appear.

2:22am Did something happen? You alright?

2:24am just a nightmare You want to tell me about it? nah maybe later glad you’re ok, get some sleep

Bobby locks his phone and stares at the ceiling in the dark. He isn’t sure how much time passes, but at some point he resigns himself to the fact that his swirling worries won’t resolve themselves into anything legible right now. He swings his legs out of bed and heads upstairs to the kitchen.

Five hours later, he pulls into a parking spot outside of Buck’s apartment complex, a pan of cinnamon rolls in the passenger seat.

“Hey, Bobby.” Buck looks tired when he swings open the door, circles under his eyes, smile a little faded.

“Hey, kid. Brought you something.” Bobby peels back a corner of the foil covering the cinnamon rolls, and watches as Buck’s eyes brighten.

He laughs and gestures to the piles of food on the kitchen island. “I don’t know if I’ve even got space for those, but I’ll move some of this out to the balcony if I have to.”

Bobby hands the pan over, and Buck lifts out a roll immediately, taking a huge bite that leaves icing on his lip. “Mmmmh. God. Thank you.”

He can’t help a smile at Buck’s enthusiasm. “Anytime.”

There’s a moment of quiet while Buck wedges the pan onto the overloaded island and finishes his roll. He’s licking his fingers and avoiding Bobby’s eyes when he says, “Sorry again for waking you up.”

“Buck.” Bobby waits for him to look up. “Don’t be. We’re all here for you—and not just because you got hurt. We’re here whenever you need us.”

Buck pauses, index finger still in his mouth. He pulls it out and says in a rush, as if racing his own hesitation: “You were dead. In my coma dream, you were dead. Because Hen and I never came to your apartment that day.”

“Okay,” Bobby says, nodding neutrally as the memories wash over him. The shame of waking in the shower. The helplessness of placing his pain in his coworkers’ hands. The rock-steady warmth of Buck and Hen on either side of him.

A vise tightens around his heart.

“Is that why you’ve been checking on me?”

Buck has the gall to sound ashamed of himself when he says, “Yeah.”

“Buck, you know—hey. Look at me, this is important.” Buck, who has shifted his gaze to someplace over Bobby’s right shoulder, drags his eyes back. “You know that my sobriety isn’t your responsibility, right?”

Buck nods. “I know, and I’m not trying to… fix things, or control things I can’t. I just…” He trails off, and his eyes are shining. “I don’t want to wake up again in a world that doesn’t have you in it. This version of you, I mean.”

“Oh, kid, c’mere.” Bobby steps forward and wraps Buck in a hug.

God damn anyone who ever told this kid that his heart was a problem.

When they finally let go of each other, Bobby holds on to Buck’s shoulders. Buck sniffs, and swats a tear off his cheek with the palm of his hand.

“You’ve been through a lot, and I know you’re still sorting it out. But I also know how stubborn you are when you’re chewing on a problem,” Bobby says, drawing a wet laugh out of Buck. “I know you’ll find your way through it. And we will all be here for you. Every step, however long it takes.”

Buck nods, and breaks into a hesitant smile.

“And in the meantime, let us spoil you a little.” Bobby gives Buck’s shoulder a light jab with his fist. “We don’t want to wake up in a world without you, either.”

#911 fox #911 spoilers #911 fic #my fic #we love captain dad in this house

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theshotsheardacrossworlds · 6 months

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A Night of Firsts

In which you, dear reader, are the object of a certain druid's desires and agree to meet him for a night of passion...it also happens to be your first time. NSFW

You’re so nervous as you walk through the woods.

What if he hates what he sees? What if I’m awful? What if—

You were snapped out of your thoughts by the sight of the man who had asked you to meet him---the tall druid with the kind heart. Leaning against a tree, you noticed the very large muscles in his arms seemed tense. Is he nervous? Surely not? He’s older than you’ll ever be, and surely…

“Forgive me.” He offered a rueful smile as he turned to face you. “I was afraid you wouldn’t show.”

You were taken aback by his words. Didn’t think I’d show up? For him? “I-I wouldn’t dream of it.” You tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, trying desperately not to appear just as nervous as he is. “Sorry to have kept you waiting, Halsin.”

He holds up his hand and smiles ruefully. “Oh! I didn’t mean to imply you’re late. Tis a beautiful night.” Chuckling, he looks apologetic. “Forgive me once more, my dear. It’s been some time since I’ve been with a lover.”

Before you have time to think, to consider what words you would say next, they tumble out of you. “Well, I’ve never even had one!”

Oh shit.

Oh fuck.

OH GODS!

Why did I say that?!

Halsin, thankfully unaware that you wish the earth so he loves would swallow you whole, stares at you with his mouth agape. “You…truly? It’s not that it’s a bad thing, mind you. I’m simply surprised. Surely there are those in the city who have…” He chuckles again, and you cannot help but notice how seemingly boyish he looks in that moment. “No. Maybe it’s your choice, and it’s—”

“Not by choice.” You say quietly, looking down at the ground. You remember all the times your affections were rejected---both gently and not---and your heart breaks a little. Sometimes it was as pleasant as it could be. Sometimes it was awful. Other times, though, you were told that no one would ever love a woman of your size. “No one chooses to fuck a fatty” was what the last one said to me. You did not realize you were crying until a rough, calloused thumb touched your cheek.

“My heart, let me dry your tears.” He gently wiped away the tears with one hand, while the other rested on your waist. “You are loved…and desired. Very much so.” As your eyes met his, you felt reassured by his warm smile. “I will be gentle of course. I want this to be—”

You cannot help yourself. “Just as nature intended?” You grin, your nose wrinkling just a little.

He barks a laugh. “I was going to say, ‘wonderful for you’ but sure, my heart, that works too.” His other hand fell to the other side of your waist, and he squeezed gently. “So beautiful. I am honored to be your first, dear one.” His large hands traveled up and down your sides, only the thin fabric of your nightshirt between his touch and your skin. “You’re so soft and inviting…” He stepped back and within a moment his clothes were off.

Oh.

OH.

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

You could not help but wet your lips upon seeing him.

He is so big. Everything about him is big. His heart. His kindness. His gentleness.

HIS HUGE COCK.

“Cat got your tongue, my heart?” Halsin teased, stepping back towards you, his massive hands on your shoulders.

“More like a bear, love.” You hesitate for a moment, trying to gather the courage to remove your own clothes. What if he—

He placed a gentle kiss on your head. “Take your time. We’ve no rush.”

Oh, you sweet, wonderful bear elf man. You hesitate for a second before speaking. “I-it’s not that. I’m just being silly…”

Enveloping you in his arms, he shook his head. “Whatever it is, it’s not silly or else you wouldn’t be so bothered, my heart. What troubles you?”

What’s been troubling me since I was a little girl. What troubles me every time I express interest in someone and get rejected. What troubles me when I feel the stares every time I eat. You close your eyes, screwing them shut. “I want this…want you more than anything…I-I’m sorry about how I look.”

“Why be sorry when you have nothing to be sorry for?” He buried his head in your hair, breathing in your scent. “You are the loveliest of nature’s creations.” His large hands roamed over your thin nightshirt. “And you feel…” Halsin moaned. “Incredible.”

With how close the two of you were, you could feel his enormous muscles and how hard he was. If he truly believes that I’m beautiful, then I should trust him. Believe him. Let him love me because gods do I want him. “So do you, Halsin.” You whisper, tentatively running your hands up his chest. Karlach said to be bold and brave in love, so I shall! Getting on the tips of your toes, you lean up to kiss him and wrap your arms around his neck.

As his lips meet yours, he grunts and lifts you off the ground slightly in a massive bear-like hug. OH MY GODS!!?!?! Though it ends as quickly as it began, you feel like your heart is going to beat out of your chest not out of nerves but because you never thought that would ever happen. “Gods,” you breathe, your generous bosom rising and falling rapidly. “I—”

He smirked a little, still holding you. “I take it you liked that then?”

If anyone doesn’t like that, then they should have their head examined. You chuckle, step back, and begin to pull off your nightshirt. Halsin licks his lips in anticipation, watching your every move. While you still feel self-conscious, Halsin’s presence does calm you slightly. The cool night air sends a shiver up your spine, your nipples hardening due not only to the temperature but also your arousal.

Just as you are about to pull down your trousers, Halsin shakes his head. “Please, my heart. Allow me.” His voice is soft as he pushes your hands off the waistband. He hooks his very large fingers inside and ever so slowly pulls them and your smalls down. “Oak Father preserve me, such beauty!” You gasp as he gets on his knees, pulling your trousers and smalls past your big fat butt. He stops for a moment, his extremely large hands cupping your behind. “Nature made you so supple, so soft, my heart.” Spending a few moments rubbing your ass, he places several kisses along your lower belly.

Gods, I’m burning up. He hasn’t done anything yet, and I’m already a quivering mess. You glance down at him and notice his hazel eyes glowing gold. “Love?”

He continues his ministrations, small growls escaping him. “The bear grows more wild every second. All because of you.” Halsin closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “But I will not go into wildshape tonight. Not for your first time. There will be other nights…other nights when,” he groaned, burying his face in the curls at the apex of your thighs. “I can put a ‘cub’ or two in you.”

You blink. You did not think it was possible for you to be even more turned on, but somehow the druid managed it. You manage to get a squeak out as you unconsciously rub your thick thighs together.

Halsin chuckles. “Does that excite you, my heart? Your scent tells me yes. Your movements tell me yes.” His hands gripped her thighs as he pressed kisses to them. “But do you say?”

Taking yet another page from Karlach, you lean down and tilt his face up, “Fuck yeah.” DEFINITELY INTERESTED IN THAT. “Should I, erm…my pants…?”

He nods quickly. “Forgive me, of course. Let me,” he pulls your trousers all the way down, admiring you. You step out of them (finally) and are completely bare to him. And he likes this. Likes me. I can’t even believe it, but it’s true. You cannot help but blush, your arms crossing your ample chest. “You truly are nature’s most beautiful creation, my heart.” He clears his throat, still looking at you at a goddess. “Let’s lie down.”

When he’s in wildshape, then I’ll get my ass cacked in dirt and mud. Tonight however, it’s a bed. You smirk as you snap your fingers, and within moments, a king-size bed, surrounded by candles and lanterns, appears in the forest. I’m a sorceress. This is child’s play.

Halsin begins to laugh and then pulls you into a hug. “Don’t fancy a romp on nature’s floor tonight, my love? Though I must say, this is quite romantic.” Kissing your head, he sighs happily. “Here’s hoping I can live up to it by giving you everything you deserve and more.”

You kiss his chest before sitting at the edge of the bed, slowly pushing yourself backwards up to a pile of fluffy pillows. “No matter what it will be, love.”

“That you have such confidence in me is reassuring.” He teases, grabbing his rock-hard cock and squeezing the tip slightly. “But before we begin, you need to know that all this,” he moaned as he ran his hand up and down his swollen length. “is because of you. You’re beautiful inside and out. So, so beautiful…” He murmurs and begins to crawl up to you. “When I look at you, I see a goddess of abundance---in kindness, heart, courage,” he pushes your thick thighs apart and stares hungrily at your throbbing cunt. He grips your thick, soft thighs, kneading them. “Softness…such sweet softness, my heart.” He looks at you expectantly.

You can only nod in return. You are seemingly unable to find your voice as he grins and then starts to utterly devour you. Without thinking, you begin to tug his hair. “Oh gods, I’m so—” You say quickly and loosening your grip.

“Pull if you wish, my heart. I don’t mind.” He chuckles, his hazel eyes full of mirth. He then returns to licking and sucking you, moaning loudly all the while. As for you, you cannot stop tugging on his long hair, the feel of his braids on your fingers somehow sexier than seeing them. Gods, Halsin… His hands squeeze your hips to prevent you from moving too much, and you not so secretly want him to hold your hips more often. It’s hot. Him touching me likes this makes me feel so sexy. So desirable. Never felt like this before.

“Hal-Halsin, fucking hells…” You manage to get out as one of your hands starts to knead one of your breasts. Want more. Want him all over me. In me. Any way I can have him.

He lifts his head slightly, the amused look still in his eyes. “That’s it. Good girl. Keep touching yourself. There’s a good girl.” As he dives back into your cunt, one of the hands on your hip travels to your lower belly.

The coil inside you seems to get tighter and tighter as his tongue laps at you, as he touches you, and as you touch yourself. And all too soon for you, the coil snaps and you thrust upwards into Halsin. You feel as if you black out for a moment or two, and when you come to, Halsin has the remnants of some of your spend on his lips.

“You taste sweeter than honey, dear one. I cannot wait to find out how you feel around me.” He leans over you, and you suddenly feel so small and I’m not small! Though no matter how imposing his size is, his expression is gentle. “I’m going to use a finger or two first, my heart. As you can see, I’m quite…large. I don’t want you to be in any pain. However,” he offered a toothy grin. “I think you’re wet enough for me.”

As one of his fingers enters you, you determine quite quickly that you are not prepared for even how large the finger is. You squirm and gasp, feeling so deliciously full from just one of his fingers. “Love, please…need more…”

“You’re sure you’re in any pain, my heart?” He asks, his nose nuzzling yours.

“No, just want more of you. Please.”

His lips gently kiss yours, a second finger now entering you. You moan wantonly as his inhumanly large and very sexy fingers stretch you. “Do you think you’re ready for me?”

FUCK YES! “Gods yes, please.” You beg, panting as he removes his fingers.

Within seconds, you can feel the blunt tip of his engorged member at your entrance. “I will go slow, my heart, and be gentle.” He seems like he’s more telling himself that than me. Oh Halsin, I trust you. Slowly, he moves inch by inch.

I believe Astarion would call this “exquisite torture.” It feels like he’s tearing me apart while I want more. More. More of him. Gods, please. You babble incoherently, ranging from praise to sweet nothings.

Loud grunts and honeyed words fall from Halsin’s lips as he finally is fully hilted inside you. You both moan at the same time, and you nod at him to continue.

He thrusts gently the first few times, but then he picks up the pace. His pelvis collides with yours, faster and faster.

“My love, come again for me. I know you can do it. I know you can.” He pants, his hazel eyes gazing into yours. “Be a good girl and come for me. Just one more time. You can do it.”

That is all you need as you scream your second release, and your vision turns white. You are vaguely aware of Halsin burying his head into your shoulder, his nails digging into your wide, soft hips. He comes yelling your name. You can feel his cock twitching inside you, his seed spilling in you. When he is finished, Halsin wraps his arms around you and rolls you both on your sides. One arm is snugly around your thick waist, while the other is caressing your cheek.

“Well, that was,” you smile softly. “amazing. Will it be like that every time, love?”

He chuckles. “If that is your desire, then yes. We still have so much to explore together, my heart. In fact,” his eyes turn golden as he grins. “should you desire it, more of myself would like to—”

Halsin does not finish the sentence.

You are already kissing him passionately.

It’s bear time.

And yes, I do desire it.

#plus size reader #halsin bg3 #halsin #halsin x reader #body image issues #this fic literally took on a life of its own and i'm not sorry #plus size unnamed tav #halsin wants you just as nature intended #plus size reader bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfiction

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fayes-fics · 1 year

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Innocence: Pt IV

Innocence series masterpost

PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict finally takes his wife's innocence

Warnings: 18+smut, minors DNI, innocence/corruption kink, sex education, loss of virginity, dirty talk, smidge of exhibtionism, oral sex (m to f), vaginal sex.

Word Count: 6.2k (oops)

Authors Note: Here we are, it's the wedding night and sex finally happens. I hope you enjoy <3 Thanks as always to makaylan for the beta read.

There’s a persistent feeling the whole of your wedding day. As if, in some ways, you are waiting for it to be over. Yes, your ceremony is lovely and emotional, and yes, the reception after is a terrific party filled with family and friends, but it’s not what you are anticipating.

A wedding lasts but one day; a marriage lasts a lifetime.

You are eager to get to the part where it’s just the two of you; starting the rest of your life together.

So, as you ascend into his, now your, horse-drawn carriage to return to his, now your, London home, the wait is finally over. His hand feels warm through your glove as he assists you, well-wishers waving you farewell as the carriage jolts to life.

He is smiling at you, sitting in the opposite seat, and you pout at him.

“What’s wrong, Mrs Bridgerton?” he teases, knowing how much you love your new title.

“You are quite far away,” you huff with mock indignance. “Can you not sit with me?”

There is a brief chuckle. “I am but a foot from you,” he points out, your knees touching, “and this carriage ride will be five minutes at most. It would be rather cramped if I were to sit next to you, and I doubt you would be comfortable. Now that I think on it, this is a carriage designed for one, really. We need to upgrade now, especially if we start a fam….”

He stops mid-sentence, his mouth falling open fractionally and his pupils rapidly dilating. You have quickly straddled him and sat on his legs, just like you did on that fateful night of the Bridgerton Ball.

“Husband,” you purr with a raised eyebrow, enjoying the look of surprise and desire on his face.

A large hand lands on your thigh, warm through your silk dress. “Is this how it’s going to be?” He fires you a lopsided grin. “My wanton little wife just climbing into my lap on every carriage ride?”

You tilt your head with a knowing smile and a raised eyebrow. “Is that a complaint or a compliment I hear, Mr Bridgerton?” you volley playfully, champagne making you louche and just a little bold.

His eyes sparkle in the low light of the passing street lamp as his face erupts into a proper grin. “Oh, I married so very well,” he opines and leans in to capture your lips with his.

You shuffle forward as the kiss deepens, and he makes a noise into your mouth as you rock the apex of your thighs on his crotch.

“How long did you say this carriage ride would be, husband?” you check as you break the kiss.

“Five minutes, more like three now,” Benedict replies, sounding almost rueful.

“Pity. I was rather thinking of fulfilling your wish,” you tease, running your fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck.

“What wish?”

“For me to suck your cock in our carriage,” you breathe right into his ear.

He makes a low noise, and his fingers dig into your hips.

“Another time, my love,” he murmurs, “tonight is when you truly become a woman. Are you looking forward to it?”

“Yes, husband,” you whisper, diving back in for a hungry kiss as the carriage jostles you slightly to the left; you have to shoot out a hand and hold the roof to keep on him. His hands band around your bottom and pull you snugly over his rigid cock as you again plunder each other’s mouths. Endless kisses as you grind each other unhurriedly, building a simmering tension that threatens to boil over.

So engrossed in each other, neither of you realises the carriage has stopped moving until there is a polite throat clearing as a footman stands expectantly outside the door.

“We are here, my love,” he coos softly, not a shred of embarrassment about being caught in a passionate clinch.

In his arms, you duck down to look through the carriage window at the red brick townhouse that will be your London home. It looks homely, handsome even.

“It looks wonderful, Benedict,” you exhale, turning back to face him and placing a light kiss on his lips before detangling yourself from his lap.

He assists you down the steps to the pavement, but as you move towards the door, he sweeps you off your feet bridal style as you squeak in surprise.

“Do you honestly think I wouldn’t carry you over the threshold Mrs Bridgerton?” his tone honeyed with an undercurrent of heat, his body solid against you.

You stare at him mesmerised, your mouth open in surprise as he shoots a lopsided grin and takes a few purposeful strides towards the now-opened door.

“Thank you, Smith,” he nods to his valet as you enter. There is a friendly-faced elderly gentleman already in his outdoor coat and hat, “Provided all is how we discussed, you may leave for the night.”

“It is all set. Thank you, sir.” The elderly man bustles away, closing and locking the front door behind him.

“Should I not have been properly introduced to your valet darling?” you ask as he moves towards the stairs, your attention pinging around the hallway, admiring the decor of your new home.

“You will,” he guarantees, “but I have given all my staff the night off, so we may have our privacy. Mr Smith is well aware that our attention will only be on each other tonight. He will meet you when it is appropriate to do so. And that moment isn’t while I am so hard and eager to be inside you,” he whispers.

You giggle into his neck and kiss the warm skin there, enjoying the flex of his body as he carries you upstairs.

“Your home is beautiful, Benedict,” you sigh, craning your head to look around.

“Our,” he corrects, “our home. And if there is anything not to your liking, we can change it,” he offers as he moves down the corridor and sweeps you into a large room with a roaring fire and a four-poster bed. “This is our bedroom, my love,” he explains softly as he delicately pulls off your shoes and places you back on your feet.

“It’s so lovely. But I shall not have my own chambers,” you query in surprise, cataloguing the room, already enamoured with it, “as my parents do?”

“If you wish it so, you may,” he shrugs, “there are other rooms, but… I was rather hoping you would always lay with me,” his face suddenly tinged with a touch of vulnerability.

You look up and throw your arms around him. “That is what I want more than anything,” you rush out. “I am just getting used to being married, and I only have my parents to go on. I have no idea how all this works, Benedict; you will need to teach me,” you confess ardently.

“I will, but I think there are some more important things I need to teach you tonight, my love,” he says duskily, his voice dropping to a tone that vibrates right to your core.

Thoughts of anything else scatter as he walks you backwards, his lips ghosting over yours, the room suddenly notching up a few degrees as heat prickles over your skin, making the little hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You feel your spine brush solid wood and realise he has pressed you against a pillar of the four-poster bed.

Still kissing you, you feel his large hands unfastening the dress buttons between your shoulder blades.

“This wedding dress is stunning,” he murmurs, “but it is time it came off.”

You nod as he moves his lips down to your throat. Nudging your chin upwards with his nose and delicately nipping the skin over your windpipe, moving around to the side of your neck with soft gossamer kisses as his hands pull the fabric from your shoulders. Your dress relents, falling to a heap on the floor,

“Benedict,” you gasp his name as he tugs you roughly to his body, just in your chemise now. Fingers spider up your spine through the thin material.

“What is it, my love?” He asks, his breath hot on your skin, his teeth gently worrying the spot below your ear as his fingers push the chemise loose from your shoulders.

“Am I supposed to feel so, so overwhelmed?” You whisper, your body a riot of sensation. You feel flushed, and the ache between your legs has not been this intense before when still this dressed.

He chuckles richly, the sound vibrating into your bones as he surrounds you.

“Oh yes, my love, you should feel overwhelmed, drunken almost on sensation,” he explains, his words gusting into your ear, your earlobe between his teeth. “If I do this right, I don’t want a single thought in your head; I want you chasing the feelings your body is giving you. Don’t think, my darling, feel,” he advises, and with that, your chemise floats down to the floor to join your dress.

He grabs your hands and steps back; you watch as his gaze runs down over your body, just your stockings and stays left now. You feel somewhat self-conscious under his heavy appraisal, but he is holding both your hands out so you cannot cover yourself up.

“Am I still acceptable to you, husband?” You check, same as you had a few days before when he visited your bed chamber.

“You already know the answer to that,” he answers, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he places one of your hands over the bulge in his trousers.

You smile back at him as you splay your fingers out and squeeze him through the rough material.

“May I?” You ask coquettishly as you move to unbutton his trousers.

The hand over yours bats it away.

“Not yet,” he smiles.

He brings your hands high above your head, forcing you onto tiptoe like a ballerina.

“Turn around, my love,” he instructs, and you do so, his grip changing to your wrists as you turn your back to him. “Wonderful,” he compliments, stepping forward, so your bottom rubs against his rigid cock. He guides both your hands onto the wooden corner post of the bed. “Hold on here, and don’t let go until I ask you to,” he orders, releasing his grip as your hands grasp the wood as asked. It’s polished, smooth and warmed by the nearby fireplace. It feels solid under your palms, something reassuring to cling to.

His hands run over your arms, then over your back, until he reaches the lace of your stays.

“Tell me, darling,” he enunciates languidly as his fingers pluck the strings, “are you wet for me?”

“Yes, husband,” you reply, already feeling your hot, slick desire dripping onto your thighs at the mere mention of it.

“Do me a favour, as my wife?” Anytime you are wet for me, tell me. I don’t care where we are; I want you to lean over and tell me quietly right into my ear. Will you promise to do that for me?”

“Yes, husband,” you whisper.

“Good girl,” the way he says those two words has you in a jumble, and a sound leaves your throat before you can stop it.

“Oh my goodness, what was that delightful noise?” he teases, kissing the back of your neck almost as a reflex, as your stays come loose from his unlacing. “Is that because I called you a good girl?” his voice impossibly low as your last item of clothing falls from your torso.

You nod and bite your lip.

“Oh, then I shall always call you that in the bedroom,” he opines. “I need to hear that noise the way I need air.” There is a desperation to his tone that makes you lightheaded and frantic. As if he is as affected by you as you are by him, and you want to know it, to feel it in every fibre of your being—a mutual burning passion.

Your body is naked now except for your stockings, and his hands feel huge as he smears them down the expanse of your bare back, taking his time, trailing goosebumps in his wake, making you pant in anticipation and hold onto the pillar for dear life.

He drops to his knees behind you, and you feel him plucking the ribbons that keep your stocking over your knee. When they relent, his fingers trail over the back of your calves, taking the white silk with them. You are utterly naked now, yet he is fully clothed; his jacket is still buttoned up.

“Please take off your clothes,” you implore, even though you can’t see him.

“I will, my love,” he responds, “and you will watch me. But first…”

His hands grab your ankles and push them apart. You gasp in surprise as he kisses the back of your knee, and his tongue runs wet and wide up the back of your thigh until he reaches the globe of your bottom and bites it.

“Benedict..” you tense a little, realising he is pushing his nose into the crease between your cheeks.

“Shh, do not be concerned,” he soothes, the sound muffled against the back of your thighs. “Now bend over some more, please.”

You do as asked, your grip lowering on the pillar as you bend.

“That’s perfect” you feel his breath over your damp inner thighs and then feel blinding pleasure as he buries his face between your legs from behind.

“Benedict!” this time, it’s a loud throaty cry as his stubbly chin raps your clit, and his tongue unfurls, requesting access to your channel.

“Yes, wife, yell my name,” he growls into you, “tell the whole world you want me.”

Your knuckles go white from gripping so hard, eyes closed as he literally eats you from behind. His teeth nipping at your labia, his tongue gathering your moisture and drinking it down. You are sure this must be the most debauched tableau, and a thrill ripples over your skin at the realisation that the curtains around the windows are still open; with the sconces lit and the fireplace roaring, you are visible to the neighbouring houses all around the square.

“Benedict, we can be seen!”

“I know. Let them watch; maybe they will learn something,” he replies huskily, then sucks your clit between his lips. It makes you moan hard and push back.

“Yes, moan for me, writhe on my face,” he encourages.

He was right; you are drunk, drunk on sensation, drunk on him. You are dancing close to something amazing and feel it tingling across your skin. He keeps pushing with his tongue spiralling you higher, and then he sucks your clit hard between his teeth, and you are gone. Your legs shake as you drive back onto his face riding the shockwaves that emanate from your core. Waves of bliss tensing and releasing your muscles. You know you are calling his name and a litany of other words, but it’s all a blur as you fight to stay upright, sagging against the bedpost.

Just as you start to float, you are snapped back into the room as he pushes a finger into your fluttering channel, and you squeal at the sudden invasion.

“Oh my darling, I forgot how deliciously tight you are,” he groans into your thigh, “and how delectably wet you get.”

“Oh my god, Benedict, your fingers feel huge. Please go slow,” you plead, breathing deep, still fizzing from your orgasm.

“Darling, that’s just one finger; I will add a second and a third. Then you will have some sense of how my cock will feel.”

With that, you feel a stretch and keen as he gradually adds another finger and rocks into your fluttering channel.

“How’s that, my darling?”

“Fr…From this angle, it feels di…different than when I was in your lap,” you pant, confused.

“I’m reaching a little deeper, that’s why. You are halfway down my finger now, you brave girl,” his voice rough, the pressure inside feeling different.

“Is this what your cock will feel like?” You ask, clinging desperately to the bedpost.

“No, my cock will feel much bigger and go much deeper inside you,” he preens.

“Oh god, Benedict, I don’t know if I can take it,” you fret.

“Yes, you can, and you will do so beautifully.” He insists, “we just need to go slow, my darling. I can do that for you.” He promises and adds a third finger.

“That’s so much. I’m so full, Benedict,” you almost wail.

“Oh darling, you have no idea,” he chuckles against your bottom, teething the skin there.

You breathe in deep as he rocks his fingers in and out of your body, making the most carnal squelching noises, his fingers coated in your juices.

“Well done, darling,” he praises gently. “I won’t push any deeper for now, but in the future, you will take the length of my fingers and love it.”

Suddenly his fingers are gone, and he’s standing up behind you.

“Turn around,” he orders softly, and you do. The post digs between your shoulder blades as you lean upon it, your legs still wobbly. He waits until you look up into his eyes before he places the fingers that were inside you into his mouth and sucks them clean. You watch, mesmerised, until he pitches forward and kisses you deep, the tart, almost sweet taste of you blooming on your tongue.

“Now it’s your turn, my darling,” he declares calmly, “you may undress me.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach as you reach for his jacket and fumble slightly as you slide the buttons loose. He looks down at you with a gentle expression as the jacket hits the floor with an audible thump. Next, you undo his waistcoat, starting to feel the warmth of his skin underneath as your fingers brush his shirt between buttons. Once that is discarded, you decide to surprise him.

You kneel and remove his boots one at a time, taking his socks too. When you glance up and see his gaze hooded, his chest moving up and down more rapidly than before, a warm feeling slides down your spine, and on instinct, you sit up on your heels and pitch your face forward, rubbing your nose over the rigid cock straining under his trousers.

He practically howls as you close your mouth around it, knowing your saliva is seeping through the material onto his heated steely flesh.

“Fucking hell, y/n,” he gusts, and you flood all over again, this need to please him so potent and intoxicating. “Your mouth feels like heaven, but please, no more; I need all my concentration to make this good for you.” You pout up at him, and he affectionately cups your cheek. “I love how enthusiastic you are to have me in your mouth, my love. Believe me. But this is for your benefit, just for tonight.”

You take his proffered hand and stand up.

“Why don't you remove my shirt?” he suggests with a knowing little smile. “You have yet to see my body nude.”

You perk up at that thought, and he lets you peel off his shirt, revealing pale skin with a smattering of freckles. When the material joins the growing pile on the floor, he takes your wrist and guides your hand onto his chest. You feel the play of muscle movement as he breathes. Fascinated, you run fingertips over his contours, his torso so very sculpted and appealing. His skin is warm and smooth.

“Do you like what you see?” He queries, almost demure.

“Very much,” you respond honestly, crawling your fingers up from his abs to his left nipple, puckering as you scratch a gentle fingernail over the nub.

His eyes track you as you begin to circle him, placing a kiss on his bicep as you pass. You trail your hand over the plane of his back, watching as there is a ripple over his skin where you touch.

“I like your body, husband. I feel the urge to touch it, kiss it,” you confess.

“You may,” he offers over his shoulder and somewhat on instinct, you crowd against him and kiss a notch on his spine, your peaked nipples pressing into the curve of his back as you do so. He makes a sound thick with desire. Your tongue shoots out unbidden and licks a line, your hands grabbing his clothed bum as you do. His skin has a salty tang that is irresistible.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters heavily.

“Did I do something wrong?” You whisper over his warm flesh, unwilling to remove your lips.

“Not at all,” he assures, “I love how instinctive you are. So inquisitive and so very carnal. It’s just delicious, wife,” his low tone rumbling from his ribcage.

“I like the vibration when you talk. I want to lean against you and have you read to me,” you sigh, “I love your voice, Benedict.”

He chuckles richly as you complete your circle around him, your lips landing on his pectoral muscle right above his thumping heart.

Two large hands cup your jaw and tilt your head to look at him. His pupils are blown, and his breath is slightly ragged. “I will talk to you as much as you want, my wife. I notice how your eyes darken when I whisper filthy words to you. Do you want me to tell you what comes next?”

Hypnotised, you sway a little in his arms and catch your bottom lip between your teeth as you nod.

“Once we are both naked, I am going to lay you down on that bed and climb between your legs. You will need to spread your legs wide, like when I held you open on my lap in front of the mirror. Are you ready to do that for me?”

You nod again, chewing the lip now, the tingle between your legs morphing into a full blooming ache.

“Good. Girl.” each word is a sentence, and you feel a shiver race down your spine.

“I felt that,” he gusts, tilting his head closer. “I will never ever tire of your body responding to my voice. It’s so very alluring,” he exhales, his hand flexing on your jaw.

“Then what will happen, husband?” you ask, enchanted.

“Then I will take my cock and push it gently into your body.”

You whimper at the thought.

“I still don’t think it will fit, husband,” you worry.

“Darling, a baby can come out of that channel. Believe me; I will fit in.”

“It does what?!?” you exclaim in shock.

“When you have our baby, my love, it will come out of there.” he lectures, a hand moving to caress your hair soothingly. “They really do teach you absolutely nothing.”

You try to put the thought out of your mind as it’s too much to contemplate—one thing at a time.

“Well, perhaps, husband, it is a good thing we are so very ignorant,” you reply, a tick of amusement on your lips.

“Why do you say that?” his tone becomes light and teasing, the hand in your hair slides to the back of your head, fingers stretching wide to cradle you.

“Because if I knew what it was like to suck your cock or have your tongue inside me, I would think of precious little else,” you respond seductively “in fact, I have thought of little else since.”

He makes a needy sound, crushing your lips to his; he devours your mouth as his other hand tugs at his trousers. As your fingers run covetously over his body, his tongue slides over yours, and his wedding ring catches your scalp as you feel his trousers slip away. You are both naked now, his cock searing your belly.

Before you can touch him, he breaks the kiss and picks you up as he did when he carried you into the house, placing you carefully at the centre of the bed. His lips find yours again as he hovers over you.

“Open your legs, darling,” his voice velvet and honeyed.

Slowly you open your legs wide, and he climbs between them. You see his engorged cock bob close to his body as he does so, and nerves fire in your belly.

He settles over you, his naked flesh covering yours, and you stop breathing for a moment. So much heat, and his natural scent floods your senses. You thought it was overwhelming when he laid on top of you fully clothed, but now without a stitch of fabric to separate your skin, it’s even more so. You don’t have adequate words to describe it. His weight pins you down, his cock brands the patch of hair between your legs, his arms cage your body, his hard chest solid against your soft breasts.

“Oh my god, Benedict,” spills from your lips.

“Do you like having my naked body between your legs, wife?”

“Yes,” you hiss as his teeth grab your earlobe and suck it insistently.

“Are you ready for me, darling?” It’s a dark whisper in your ear as a hand trails down over your skin and cups your core. “You certainly feel it to me.”

His fingers tease your bud, and your hips cant towards him, his hipbones digging into your flesh as you do so.

“Please go slow,” you murmur, and his eyes soften.

“Of course, my love,” he reassures, and you feel his hand slip away from your folds and grab his cock.

You feel a sizeable blunt pressure between your legs and gasp.

His other hand caresses your cheek. “Look into my eyes, darling; that way, I’ll know everything you need,” he promises.

You hold his gaze, your body alight with anticipation laced with a silky thread of fear. You feel your body open up a fraction, and the tip of his cock slips inside you. Your world tilts. It is so hot, so hard, so big.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, eyes going so wide, barely able to blink.

“You’re doing fantastic, darling,” he confirms, breathless and shaky from the effort of holding himself back so much, the instinct to plunge into your body so strong.

There is a stretching sensation inside, and you groan as he slips in further, the skin all around your cunt pulling taunt at the invasion. Then you feel a weird tugging resistance, and he stills.

“Darling, I can’t pretend this next part will be pleasant for you,” he admits quietly, “but it will be over momentarily, and you will not have to endure it ever again. This will be your maidenhood gone. Are you ready?’

You swallow heavily, the feeling already so intense. “Alright, husband.”

Sweetly, he takes your hand and kisses the back of it as you feel a sharp stab of pain that makes you whine. It feels like something inside you has snapped.

He is still again. “Well done, darling,” he coaches, “you took that so well. Do you still hurt?”

“A little,” you concede, feeling a residual dull ache around where he broke through.

He kisses the tip of your nose. “It will go away momentarily, I promise.”

Then he pushes in a little deeper, and the feeling is so strange. Not quite painful, but just so much pressure—like you need to burst.

“Relax, my darling.” he tutors, touching your ribs, “it will hurt less if you release your muscles. Breathe out for me.”

You do as asked, and he slides the last few inches more easily. You feel a tickle on your clit; it’s his pubic hair brushing you, his balls resting on your bottom, And you feel so very, very full.

He groans lightly, “See, I told you I would fit”, his voice delicate and soothing.

“Are you all the way in, Benedict?”

The pressure simultaneously feels completely alien but somehow pleasant.

“Yes, my love,” he responds, not moving as you adjust to the sensation.

“My god, it feels like you are in my tummy.” you blurt out, and he groans again.

“Yes, darling, I’m deep inside you now. As far as I can go,” he rocks a tiny spurt forward, and you moan at a different tugging sensation, this one pleasurable.

“That’s your hilt, my love. I’m at the very top of your channel. You see, as I told you, we fit together perfectly.” He smiles and leans down to give your lips an affectionate kiss.

“Now, what happens?” You ask softly.

“If you are comfortable, I will start to move.”

You take stock of your body, and other than the feeling of being so viscerally invaded, so held open in an entirely new way, you feel fine, well, even. The bloom of pain that you felt subsided. “I am comfortable,” you confirm.

“Wonderful,'' almost a sigh of relief. “I shall go slow at first, but I will go quicker when you tell me to.”

Your axis is thrown again as you feel him withdraw, your slick channel clinging to his cock, trying to draw him back in. You feel the ridge of his tip drag over your walls. Then he is surging back in, and all you can do is pant and cling to his body.

“Fuck Benedict,” it’s all your say.

“Does that feel good, my darling wife?” You thought his voice was dangerous before, but now with his cock buried inside you and his lips hot on your ear, it’s genuinely lethal; you feel your heart pounding.

“Oh my god, I never knew… nothing could prepare me for this; it’s breathtaking,” you effuse.

He laughs, and you gulp as you feel the jolt inside you. “Just you wait,” that killer voice expresses throatily.

You twine your arms around his body as he builds to a leisurely pace now. And you go with him, pushing up against his strokes into your body.

“Oh yes, that’s it, move with me.” he compliments and kisses you lightly as he rocks you.

The bedding rucks under your shoulder blades as he speeds up a little, and you both breathe heavily into each other's mouths. Every stroke makes your eyes want to roll back, your feet flexing against the mattress.

Then he changes angle, and suddenly you can’t help the sound that escapes you. It’s a moan and a cry all at once. A blinding surge of pleasure races through your body from your cunt all the way to your scalp.

“Oh, look what we’ve found,” his tone smooth as silk and rich as dark chocolate.

“What is that?” you rasp.

“That, my darling wife, is the spot deep inside you that I’m going to hit repeatedly to make you come so hard you won’t ever want to do anything else for days; just stay in this bed and fuck me,” he gloats, the confidence oozing out of his every pore. If you weren’t so far gone and dazed by that one spike of sensation, you would pull a disapproving face at that line. As it is, you feel your body clench around him and gush down his cock as he says it.

“My god, I love you,” he growls as he wheezes from the pressure you exert.

“You just love my cunt,” you riposte cheekily, grabbing his bum cheek and digging your nails into his tight flesh, then suddenly biting your lip, horrified by what slipped out without conscious thought.

He stills and pulls back. His expression is wild, his mouth dropping open in shock. “Fucking hell, wife. Where did this wonderful filthy mouth come from? And how can we ensure it never goes away?”

The last question is pitched low, and you know, on instinct, he wants you to grab his bum again, so you do.

“We are not leaving this bed for a week,” he snarls, grabbing both your hands and pinning them onto the pillow. “By the end, you will know everything I do and talk filth to me. I can’t wait for you to do that. My darling little innocent becoming my darling minx of a wife. Do you want that?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Good. My god, you were made for me. And I was for you.” He stutters.

He guides your hands back onto his shoulders.

“Are you ready to feel something truly extraordinary, y/n?”

“Yes, Benedict.”

And then he starts to move again, and it’s a blurry tide of carnality. His cock nudges that spot inside with each movement, and you cry out every time, your nails digging deep into his flesh, your legs hitching up around his hips, chasing the high, wanting more. Always wanting more.

You are drowning in him; he is inside and all around you. Pounding into your body now with a force you didn’t think you could ever withstand, but all you feel is incredible fullness and blinding pleasure as each stroke tugs at your clit, filling you up perfectly.

You rasp his name, and he grunts hard, the slippery dew on your skin making you slide against each other. His scent captivates you most; it makes your taste buds prickle and salivate. You want to bite him and soothe his flesh with your tongue. You want to mark him, have him mark you, a primal want of mutual ownership.

“Tell me this is good for you,” his voice implores with a tinge of ferocity.

“This is wonderful; I’ve never felt anything like this,” you answer truthfully, your voice surging with the push of his body roughly into you, wanting more than anything for him to believe you. “Please don’t stop, I feel something building Benedict, and it’s so, so magical.”

He groans deep and long as you tell him that, and you can tell he is hanging by a thread, waiting for you to break so he can too.

“Touch yourself, my darling, just like I taught you,” he breathes, guiding your hand so it is trapped between your bodies.

You curl your fingers into the top of your folds just as he showed you, shuddering as your knuckles brush his moving cock. Blinding, searing pleasure races through your body. Then you can’t stop the noises you are making, the white-hot intensity notching up your spine from your core and turning your thoughts to nothing but this, and now, and oh god, more.

You know your other hand is gripping his back hard, pushing up to meet his thrusts, writhing on his cock, calling his name, but it’s a distant second to the feeling exploding inside and the spots dancing behind your eyes as you screw them shut and scream. You hear him lavish praise on you, a chorus of yes, yes, yes, but the rush of blood in your ears makes everything so muffled.

He is thrusting hard now, feeling impossibly large as your cunt clenches in waves around him. Still floating, you hear his voice call out; he stills and makes the most guttural call against your neck, his mouth slack and hot on your skin.

Then there is a warm bloom of something deep inside you as he reaches his peak.

“Is that you, Benedict? Your seed?” You chant, still feeling under a spell.

“Yes,” he slurs near your ear, “milk it all from me, my darling.” And you do, cunt still fluttering and clinging onto him, as you tumble down slowly from a high you didn’t think possible.

After a few moments of shared panting, he slowly withdraws from your body, and you grunt softly as he slips from inside you, feeling a trickle of wetness leak out as he does so.

As he rolls and tucks you against him, you glance down and see a trace of blood on the pristine bedsheets.

“Don't be alarmed, my darling,” he murmurs in a reassuring tone, “that will not happen again; it was just your first time.”

You nod your understanding and settle into his hold.

“Did you enjoy becoming a woman?” he inquires, although you suspect he already knows your answer.

“Very much so,” you confirm with a satisfied sigh.

“I am so very glad,” his voice soothing as he runs his fingers through your hair.

“What do I learn next, husband?” You drawl a few minutes later, swirling a fingernail on his shoulder.

“In the morning, my love, once we are rested, you will learn how to ride me.” He smiles crookedly at you.

“Is it like riding a horse?” You ask bright with curiosity.

“Somewhat,'' he laughs lightly, “but much more pleasurable.” He kisses your lips chastely. “But for now, let us sleep, my love.”

As he says the words, you feel your bone-deep satisfaction transitioning into a drowsy pull, his body warmth making your limbs feel weighty. And as he twines around you like a vine, your eyes droop.

“You wish to sleep in each other’s arms? Naked?” You check, a little taken aback.

“Oh yes, we shall do this every night from now on,” he states, his chin resting on your head as you curl into him.

“Then why did my mother insist on so many nightgowns for my trousseau?’ you ponder out loud.

Benedict guffaws at that. “Those are not just for sleeping in, darling; they are for me, mostly to rip off your body before we have sex.”

“Ohhhh,” your eyes wide, now understanding the gleam in the eye of the married ladies in the shop as you picked them up.

There is still so much to learn.

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tadpolesonalgae · 7 months

Text

Dark!Feysand x f!reader: Bloodied Wedding Bonds[***]

A/N: Anything relating to dark!feysand, I am 100% down to write it :)

Warnings: Forced marriage, fingering, smut, making of bargains?, sacrilege, squiring, non-con

Word Count: 4,211

It’s not your place to ask questions.

You know it’s not.

But when your clients are the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court, it’s a little difficult to keep your mind from wondering. A failing marriage? Marital disputes? Hedonism? None of your business. Your job is to please them, and that is all you should be focusing on.

From the fact alone that they’ve been continuously visiting you, asking after you for nearly a year now, seems to be enough evidence you’re doing well. You’d hope so. Anything they ask for, you give. Anything they want to try, you let them. Anything.

So when your High Lady tells you of a scene she—both of them would like to try, you obey.

————

You try to suppress a shiver as you step over the temple’s threshold.

A slight breeze plays with the hem of the elegant white gown that had been left on your bed, the veil fluttering across your concealed features, hiding the light dust of cosmetics you’d applied—a tint to your lips and cheeks, nothing else.

You jolt when you receive a pinch on the ass, but relax when his familiar wash of night finds its way to your senses. Powerful arms wrap around your waist, a strong, male chest pressing into your back, his chin curving over your head, “you look lovely, dear. White suits you well.”

A smile tips the edges of your lips as you twist your head, peering up into his violet gaze, “and here I was, thinking it bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony,” you tut. His eyes gleam in the darkness, the corners of his mouth curving, “I simply couldn’t resist.” His hands grip your waist, and you’re flipped around, the swell of your breasts pressing softly into his chest, “you look so pure in white. I’m having a hard time not forcing you to take your vows bare.”

The shiver that runs down your spine is as real as he is, pleasure warming your skin as you lean in to him. “Isn’t a wedding all about intimacy?” You ask, smiling coyly, “I’m sure you’d be forgiven, Lord.”

A sound of deep, male satisfaction rumbles in his chest, arms tightening and you feel the delicious press of something hard over your abdomen. “Such a tease, aren’t you, darling?” His hand slides lower, cupping your ass and your spine arches. “Only for you two,” you murmur over his soft lips. Breath warms your mouth as he chuckles quietly, “good to know you’re a loyal whore.”

You bristle at the term, but he gives you an apologetic look, “wife.” Amusement glitters in his gaze and you wonder at the sincerity of his correction. “I’m not your wife yet, Rhysand,” you taunt softly, giving him a rueful little smile. This time his laugh is sincere, “I love that about you, you know?” Your smile fades as you peer at him curiously.

Naturally over the months you’ve developed a bond with them, but the kind you’re expected to have with all your clients. To make the transactions easier. You work better if you’re more attuned to them.

“What is it you love, Lord?” His smile widens as he spins you round, walking with you down the aisle, “that you think you have a say in whether you wed us or not.” You laugh at his joke and his arm squeezes you tighter. Pressed to his side.

The High Lady appears at the end of the aisle, and breath catches in your throat. Clad in a silky blue that borders on violet, she’s regal. Hair tied back and curled, a few strands framing the soft, beautiful planes of her face. Lips a rosy red, awaiting patiently as you’re led toward her.

She greets you with a kiss, and you follow obediently. Mouth parts over yours, her tongue sliding in. Rhys’ hands release you, yielding to his mate as he steps around to her side, leaning against the altar as he watches hungrily, arms braced on the hard surface.

“I’m sure he’s already told you how delicious you look in white,” Feyre comments, pulling back a little. You move after her, capturing her mouth again. She hums disapprovingly, but doesn’t scold you for it. Though she does land a light pat to your behind. A small sound whines in your throat; her kisses become more eager. Firmer.

It’s only when Rhys’ hands land on your hips you realise she’s been walking you backward, pushing lightly while keeping attached to your mouth so you drop into his lap. Your spine curves automatically as you feel the hot press of his cock against your backside, winding your hips lightly to give him some friction. Groans rumble at your back, and you melt between them.

Feyre’s tongue strokes over yours and you slide your hand over the nape of her neck, pulling her closer as Rhys moves your hips to his pleasure, using each other as you like. Her teeth nip your lip and you whine, jolting in a way that has Rhys moaning roughly. She’s getting rougher.

Nails bite into your hips; you hiss. The High Lord’s mouth opens over your shoulder, kissing and licking up the bare skin until he’s beneath your ear. Feyre’s fingers skim up your front, working in sync with her counterpart as they hook beneath the straps of your dress. The cold air bites at your nipples as the fabric falls away, quickly encompassed by her hot, wet mouth. Moans spill from your lips as you look down at your High Lady. Her round, blue-grey eyes watching you as her tongue does all sorts of wicked things that should not be done in a temple.

“Feyre,” you whimper, fingers tangling in her hair as she lightly pinches your nipple. She hums; Rhys’ hands slip between your legs, hooking them over his thighs. You lean forward, bracing on the altar beneath you as your spine curves, heat rubbing over his cock. Rough groans grace your ears in response, his hips buck, pushing you forward. “Such a fucking tease, aren’t you?” He grits out, finally putting his teeth in you.

Your eyes widen, then squeeze shut, tugging Feyre closer to your chest, praying for her to copy his movements. A squeal breaks from your lips as her canines scrape the sensitise skin, slowly trailing lower, lower, lower. Hands push away the white fabric with ease, and her mouth opens over your lace-covered heat.

You gasp—they usually tease you for much longer. But she’s giving in so quickly. Thrown off balance, grappling for stability while her tongue dances leisurely over your cunt. “Feyre,” you pant, “what are you—” Pushes underwear to the side. Tongue flicking over your clit.

Rhysand’s hands snake around your waist, grazing up your front. Pinches your nipples. “Don’t think,” he whispers softly at the shell of your ear. His fingers flick deftly over your sensitive skin, urging you to give into them, “just feel.” And by the Mother, you do.

She pushes your legs wider, pulling back only to remove the offending lace then her eyes are drinking you in. You open wider for her, and she moans softly. “Want my mouth, sweet thing?” She asks, pads of her fingers pressing on your inner thigh. Heavy puffs of breath exhale from your lungs, fire warming your veins with addictive pleasure.

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes locking onto hers, “please.”

Her lips curve upward, making your muscles go weak with the dark promise. Canines scrape over your throat, and you’re dragged back to Rhys, so your attention is elsewhere when she bites your clit lightly. You whimper at the pleasure, hips bucking for more. She smiles over your cunt, teeth grazing the sensitive bud. One of Rhys’ hands glides up to cup your throat, tipping your head back, then sliding higher. Covering your eyes.

In the dark, it’s so much better. Imagination runs wild, infinite endings to this path they’ve sent you down. You can’t prepare for when Feyre bites and nips at that sensitive part of you, can’t tense for when Rhys pinches your nipple, tugging. Can’t keep in your soft yelp when one of them smacks between your thighs, the wet slap reverberating off the holy walls.

“Filthy thing,” Rhysand croons, and you flinch when two thick fingers slide between your legs. Feyre’s pulled away, making way for him as he plays with the wetness that’s coalesced there. “Rhys…” you plead softly, wanting him to slide up to his knuckles, curling against that spot he’s had memorised since the first time he’d touched you.

“What do you want, and how badly do you want it?” He purrs, circling your entrance teasingly. Your head tips back onto his shoulder, cool breeze washing over the exposed skin of your top and bare thighs. “I want you to fuck me with your fingers…” you breathe, panting with need.

His hand retracts, smacking down on your tender sex, catching your clit beneath his digits. You flinch, moaning sharply. “How bad, birdie?” He repeats, soothing the pained area with gentle rolls of his fingers, Feyre’s pink tongue helping with the stinging. Muscles melt, and your legs spread wider. “Anything…” you stammer softly, the word catching between your moans.

A low snarl of approval reverberates through his chest, picturing how his lip is curling to showcase perfect, sharp teeth. “Anything?” He repeats, intonation quirking with malevolent interest. “I wonder, how far would you really go for an orgasm?” He laughs lowly, closer to a growl, really.

“I’ll crawl wherever you ask me to,” you answer, and he snarls with approval. “Such a clever tongue,” he croons, fingers sliding down to your centre, again oscillating around your entrance. “Would you promise that to us?” He asks.

You nod drunkenly, too focused on how close his skilled fingers are to where you want them to pay close attention. He’d told you to feel, so you’re feeling.

Rhys hums at your back, then his fingers are retracting, spreading you wide for his mate as she dives back in, tongue lapping and flicking eagerly, suckling your tender clit.

“What about your cunt? Would you promise that to us?” He asks, hunger dragging beneath his question.

“It’s yours anyway,” you moan, spine curving as her tongue swirls over your sensitive bud, dropping lower to push against your sopping hole. He snarls again, and you know he’s pleased. “So well trained, aren’t you, little lynx?” He spits, hand still keeping you in darkness.

“What about you, then? Think that’ll be good enough?” Arousal spikes your pulse, Feyre’s precious little tongue pushing into you, desperate to taste you; be inside you in some way.

“Yeah…” you moan sweetly, winding your hips in encouragement as your clit begins to tingle with heat. His hand smacks down again, Feyre leaving just a moment before. You jolt, not knowing what you did wrong. You open your legs wider in attempts to soothe whatever wrong you committed, hoping if you accept more pain it’ll please him.

It’ll please you, too.

“Say it,” he snarls softly, teeth scraping over your ear as he again spreads you wide for his mate to sweep in. “Promise yourself to us. Prove you’re worth the orgasm.” Sweet pleasure blooms in the pit of your belly, pulse picking up at the danger. “I promise,” you whisper, the words a pained breath from your lips as he pinches your clit, Feyre’s tongue pushing into your hole. “More,” he growls, the demand making your hips buck.

“You—…I’m yours—! All of me…completely!” You whimper between your heavy pants. “I promise! I’m yours!”

His mouth fashions itself into a feline smile beside your ear, fingers finally circling over your clit, void of that edge of pressure. “Yeah? Mine and Feyre’s? Promise you’re ours? Belong to us?” Your heart flutters in your chest, fluttering between your legs, too. “I do…!” You whine, hips bucking, hands fisting atop the altar, “I do…I do! I do!”

Fingers and fangs switch place. Breath whooshes from your lungs.

Her teeth circle your clit, tongue flicking out, just as he sinks in up to his knuckles, dragging the pads of his fingers over those spots that make dark and light swirl in your vision. Eyes roll back into your skull, pleasure finally taking you by the throat as it slams you down. Spine arches, toes curl, mouth drops open.

No words come out as your body tenses, then melts, turns hot and liquid as you flow. Lap at the edges of your skin. Burning. Burning from within as fire scorches your blood, singeing your insides with pleasure so intense it blocks out the sting of the bargain, the promise not registering in your mind.

They hardly let you come down from your high before you’re being roughly tossed onto the altar. Barely a second passes between that last flutter of your cunt and the kick of pleasure as Rhys lines himself up, and slams in to the hilt.

The cold stone bites into your back, despite being covered by a veil of cloth. Light burns your quick-adjusting eyes, before being eclipsed as Feyre parts her thighs over you, smothering you as her heat covers your mouth, clit perched atop your nose.

Sense again leaves you, just the feel of Rhys slamming in, deep enough you can feel him in your stomach, pounding you into the sacred stone. Feyre’s hands tangle in your hair, roughly pulling you against her hips as she grinds over your face, her arousal making the drag over your mouth and nose easier, so she slides back and forth. “Stick that tongue out for me, birdie,” she moans, nails scraping over your scalp.

The words hardly register, pleasure numbing your senses while your eyes remain shut, basking in the wet glide of her heat over your lips; nose. She snarls, lifting up only her knees, looking down at you over her shoulder, landing a harsh pat to your cheek. Her fingers bite into your jaw, gripping tight, “open.”

Pain stings up your spine, buzzing in your head as your body follows her order, while your mind scrambles to keep up. Something had overtaken your will. Something had stolen your autonomy.

Heartbeat spikes, and you land three hurried taps to your High Lady’s hip.

Never once have you used your safe word with them. With others, yes. But never them.

Anything they’ve wanted, they’ve gotten. But right now, you’re panicking.

It’s the first rule of your occupation—under no circumstances are bargains ever to be brought into the establishment. They’re never to interfere with the relationship of prostitute and client. They’re too powerful to be messed with; you’ve always stood by that rule.

Feyre pulls off you almost instantly, Rhys’ hips halting a second later though his hands span the tops of your thighs. Panic blurs your mind as you push up onto your elbows, peering down your body. A dark ring of ink had ingrained itself on your stomach, outlining the circle of your belly. Fingertips drag the dark imprint, and you feel a little sick.

“Get rid of it,” you whisper. Your eyes flick to the High Lord’s, his own gleaming with something that has you shrinking back into yourself. Something dark and malignant.

“Rhys…” you pant softly. Breath catches, arms slide over your shoulders, Feyre’s thighs propping you up. Your head tilts backward, exposing your throat as you meet the blue-grey of her eyes. Rosey lips lift into a quiet smile, “you’re ours, now.”

A shudder that’s unrelated to the temperature shivers down your spine as you shake your head. “No…” you breathe. “No…we can’t—… Bargains are—”

“Shh…It’s okay, sweet thing.” Feyre strokes hair from your face, “it’s okay. You won’t get in trouble for serving us.” You simply stare at her, flicking from one blue-grey eye to the other, trying to recall the words of the promise.

“What—… What…?” In your mind, you’re trying to piece things together, broken bits of conversation. “No. I…I can’t, Feyre.” You look at her beseechingly, but she simply continues gently stroking your hair. Your attention turns on Rhys. He’s High Lord—he has to listen. “Rhys,” you say, voice managing to come out even; firm. “Rhys I can’t—… This is a line I can’t cross for you. Remove it.”

Violet flickers, stars winking out in places as he puts you under a hard stare. You raise your chin: this is something you can’t back down on. It’s a bargain for goodness sake.

“You would disobey your High Lord and Lady?” He asks. You blink.

“It’s not a matter of obedience. It’s a matter of respecting my autonomy. I do not want this bargain mark; I don’t even remember the terms. Remove it.” You sit up fully, back feeling cold as your arms wrap protectively over your front.

“You promised yourself to us,” he replies, eyes narrowing on you. “In return for your orgasm, you promised we could have you.”

Breath halts in your throat, eyes stilling on him. This can’t be happening. Fingers fist over the skin of your upper arms. “Free me from this bargain, or I will refuse to have you as clients. Either of you. It is well within my rights to do so,” you say firmly, despite how hard your heart is hammering.

The edges of his mouth quirk, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Lie back down,” he says, as if you’ve said something funny.

“Rhysand!” You snap, defensively pulling up the straps of your thin wedding gown. “This is serious,” you hiss, “you do not make a joke out of things like—”

“Lie down.” Violet drops to icy indigo, eyes hardening as your own widen, muscle complying wilfully. Grey-blue peers down at you, and your brows curve. “Feyre…” She smiles softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Why are you smiling?” You manage, swallowing bits of your fear, “this is serious.”

Her thumb brushes your lips, pushing on the lower one gently, “you’re our wife now.”

Her hand grips your left gently, slipping that unique sapphire ring onto your forth finger—it fits, like magic. “We’ll do this properly another time,” she murmurs, cupping your cheeks. “Get you a proper ring, have a proper ceremony,” she whispers, thumbing away the wet streaks that are beginning to roll back into your hair. “But you’re ours now. That’s all that matters. So you don’t have to worry about being in trouble with that brothel, okay?”

Rhys’ hands tighten on your hips, slotting himself closer between your legs, his length resting hot and heavily over your wet cunt. Eyes tear away from blue-grey, piercing into violet, “stop. Stop that. You can’t do that.”

He smirks, drawing back, letting you feel the slow drag of his cock over your cunt. As it drags down to your centre, tip pushing at the soft dip between your thighs.

You shiver, eyes going teary as you stare at him. “Rhys…” you whimper. Nails digging into your palms while Feyre keeps her hands over your shoulders, pushing you into the stone of the altar.

Rhysand groans at the sound, pleasure drawling from his mouth, rubbing the tip of his cock over your wet heat, bumping your clit. “Say that again, little lynx,” he orders. “Beg for me.”

The bargain crackles over your tummy and tears roll back. There’s no way out of this unless they release you. “Rhys…” you repeat, tongue forming the word all on its own. Adding the pleading undertone, too. As if you want it as much as they do.

Feyre’s eyes latch onto yours, hands cupping your cheeks as she leans down, kissing your glossy lips—glossy and smeared with arousal from her own cunt.

“How does it feel?” She asks softly over your mouth. “Tell me what it’s like having him inside you.”

More tears roll as your jaw opens on its own, ready to answer her question. “Feels good,” you whimper, brows curving with fear. “Filling me up.”

She makes a quiet sound of pleasure and intrigue in the back of her throat, before she’s planting another kiss to your lips, then—

Oh, gods.

“Open up for me,” she murmurs, thighs parting above you as she crawls to be above your face. “Let me feel that sweet tongue of yours again. She always makes me cum so well.”

Rhys presses in a little deeper, just so his head is inside your warm heat, pushing a whine from your lips.

Your mouth opens for her, tongue pressing over your lower lip so she can glide over you with ease, swipe her clit over the rough wetness of the hot muscle. She moans at the sight, lips lifting into a distinctly Feyre-like grin, “good girl.” Before her things widen, and she sinks down onto your mouth.

Tears roll back into the cloth that’s coating the altar as she uses you for her pleasure. Rhysand’s hips drag back, then push in roughly, shoving you further up the stone. Feyre winds over your mouth, finding her pleasure on your tongue.

“Go on,” she goads, sweetly. As if she isn’t degrading you to just a toy for her to put her cunt on. “Start licking. Like you mean it, too.”

The wet muscle flicks out and starts licking at her heat, just as Rhys picks up the pace, graduating from rough pushes to heavy poundings, slamming himself into your pussy until he’s buried to the hilt, creating a bump in your tummy.

Your High Lord groans, his hand splaying across the bulge in your abdomen, pressing down lightly as he fucks you into the sacred stone. “Such a lovely, warm cunt, huh?” He drawls, free hand gripping your hip. “Perfectly snug fit,” he snarls softly, “like you were made for us.”

Feyre whines as you suckle her clit, knowing well what types of sensations get her heating up, winding that coil tighter so she can soak your mouth. Your tongue pushes at her entrance, and she grinds against your face, hands playing with your nipples, pinching and flicking lightly while your own hands grip her thighs.

Rhys thumbs at your clit, drawing an embarrassing whimper from your throat. They both moan in response, Feyre tightening over your lips, needing to come on your tongue, needing to have her sex fluttering from your mouth.

His cock touches all those lovely spots, kissing and dragging over them, the slight curve enabling him to abuse them over and over, until you’re at the edge again.

“Come on, sweet thing,” the High Lady hums, grinding her hips over you, clit swiping over your tongue, sinking her entrance onto your nose as you suckle the sensitive bud. “Make me cum, won’t you? Make it so I’m coating your face, yeah?” She moans, and you cry beneath her.

Rhysand continues pounding into you, and with the feel of him inside your heat, the pad of his thumb playing with your clit, and her fingers on your nipples…you shatter.

Whines and moans spill from your lips, hips bucking wildly, trying to keep up with him while he slams into your cunt over and over until you’re being send scattering into overstimulation. He twitches inside of you, just as Feyre cries out, the liquid of her release spilling into your mouth just as Rhys does the same into your cunt.

You cry at the pleasure, white robe still adorning your skin, though it’s crumpled and wrinkled now. Fourth finger burning beneath the brand of the sapphire wedding band. Skin tingling where the bargain ink marks your skin.

Feyre moans loudly, the sweet sounds of her pleasure bouncing off the temple walls as she squirts, splashing over you as your eyes squeeze shut, continuing your attack to her sensitive, puffy clit, nipping at it whenever you can.

Hot spurts of Rhysand’s cum spill into you, both his hands gripping your hips to keep himself as deep as possible. “Such a good, well-behaved cunt,” he drawls, thumb swiping over your taut bud, muscles jerking at the sensation. “Think she’ll drink all of that up, huh? Keep it nice and deep? All tucked away like the greedy thing she is?”

More tears fall at the demeaning words, but there’s no time for sorrows as he pinches your clit tightly, making you flinch. “You’re forgetting part of your services, little lynx,” he purrs, making you whimper into her heat.

Reluctantly, holding back more tears, you manage to lift your shaky legs, bending at the knee so you can cross them round his hips, like you would normally do with whichever was between your legs that occasion. He groans with pleasure as you tighten your hold on him, keeping his cock deep inside your cunt.

The two of them lean forward, meeting above you as they taste one another, Feyre’s hips rock over your mouth, easing out her aftershocks while Rhys grinds himself against your heat, the tip of his cock dragging over that sensitive spot repeatedly.

You can’t stand the way they now touch you, with possessive ownership. Soft pathways trace onto your skin beneath their fingertips, as if stroking a pet to sleep.

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