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#secret passages and rooms are hot
ah0rmone · 1 month
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Alhaitam x fem!reader
warnings: minors dni! dubcon, drugs (aphrodisiac), fingering, piv, no condom, multiple orgasms (fem)
"Ah!" you rushed to cover your face but it was too late - a pink cloud had already engulfed you, the sweet scent tickling your nostrils, powder substance descending to your lungs. In a futile attempt of saving yourself, you quickly stumbled backwards only for your back to meet warm chest of Alhaitam.
"What did you do?" the man asked with a flat, uninterested voice like a tired babysitter would ask a mischievous toddler.
Usually you would get angry or, at least, irritated at his dismissive tone but at that moment you were too scared of possible consequences of a suspicious substance invading your organism.
"I think i just got poisoned. We have to go back!" you turned to him, hands still clutching at your throat as if you could stop the poison from spreading.
Alhaitam slowly scanned your form from feet to a worried face and then walked right past you to a wall you've just touched. He didn't seem concerned for your well-being (not like he ever did), but then again, why would he? You weren't close.
Tonight both of you came to inspect newly discovered ruins in the desert and, possibly, learn more about the history of your homeland. Usually Alhaitam had no interest in such expeditions and you used to come with your fellow students but this time, to your immense disappointment, the one who got to accompany you was no other than the acting Grand Sage himself. Honestly, you had no idea why he had to go with you but you assumed that it was none of your business. Either way even if he wasn't the friendliest academic, he still was very smart and, not to mention, hot. So you didn't mind him joining THIS much.
After going through a bunch of tunnels and dusty rooms you two had successfully found a bunch of secret passages and puzzles that you easily cracked. That was until you encountered what was looking like a hidden storage in a wall and tried to open it. Unsuccessfully.
"Alhaitam?" you called to his back while he was scrutinizingly inspecting the wall.
"You're not going to die, it's not a deadly poison," he said after some time.
"What is it then?"
"Not a deadly poison."
You felt your irritation rising. You were trying really hard to keep your panic in control, so him being evasive didn't help much. As you opened your mouth to curse at him, he finally faced you:
"But we should go back, we're done here."
And then he left the room.
Even though you felt a slight dissatisfaction because you didn't complete your research, you hurried after him. Not a deadly poison was still a poison and you wished to get as much closer to civilization as possible when symptoms started to kick in. You wished you knew what you were dealing with but Alhaitam was the hardest person to crack, so you didn't even try to.
That was until after some time of walking back you started to feel impossibly hot. The feeling of your clothes was weighing you down, the fabric unpleasantly rubbing your skin. It wasn't the worst though. The worst part was when you noticed how good Alhaitam was smelling, even though he was walking far forward from you. How his back muscles flexed under his top. And how wet your pussy got from just thinking about him embracing you in a tight hug, pressing your bodies together.
Stop.
Wet?
You tried to get back in control of your emotions, but your head was spinning and you were losing the grip on reality. Absentmindedly, you realised that you leaned on a cool corridor wall. It didn't help much. With your eyes closed you started to take in all the feelings around you: a loud thumping of your heart, a tender caressing of a draft emerging from a small hole in the ceiling, an uncomfortable rubbing of your panties across your clit and, then, rough fingertips tilting your head up.
You slowly opened your eyes meeting a scrutinizing gaze of Alhaitam. His alluring lips, his strong neck that you would very much like to pepper with wet kisses, the warmth of his body that was calling out to you...
You wanted to tell him to get away, to not let you use him while you couldn't even control yourself, to not cross the line in your relationship of fellow colleagues but you couldn't. Instead you put your hands on his shoulders, a barely audible whisper leaving your lips "Please, help me, it's unbearable." And leaned in for a kiss.
Alhaitam wasn't the victim, however, but more than a willing participant: he pulled you closer by your neck deepening the kiss while the other hand quickly worked its way into your pants. When his fingers brushed over your clit you whole body jerked. So far it was nothing but a light indirect contact and yet you already felt on the edge. You were already soaking wet, desperate beyond words, your mind struggling to keep up with your body and your body rushing to get release. The shared kiss was becoming sloppier and wetter, his whole body was pushing into you, leaving you no room for maneuver. His finger slipped in, then another. Alhaitam didn't like beating around the bush, instead he enjoyed going straight to his goal - this time it was for you to cum. His lips moved to your neck, sucking and licking, his other hand slithered under your shirt to your breasts. He knew what he was doing, where he should touch and where to kiss. It wasn't surprising that the Sage was a really smart man, however, you'd lie if you expected him to be this skilled in sex.
Because of the aphrodisiac - now you knew what you were dealing with - your sensitivity was increased tenfold, so everything felt unbearably overwhelming. His hot breath, strong, confident fingers, the feeling of utter submission because you were quickly turning into a wet, sobbing, whining mess with only one, very pathetic thought in mind:
"Make me cum!" you begged choking on your moans and felt Alhaitam smirking in the crook of your neck.
However, he didn't resort to teasing, instead he increased the speed of his fingers and few seconds later you got what you begged for: the white flashed before your eyes, you orgasmed, intensely and overwhelmingly, your mind blanking, hips shaking and vision blurring.
But it wasn't enough and he knew it:
"This was one. Two more to go," Alhaitam said pulling away. His fingers left you with a "plop" and you saw how wet and sticky they were.
"Two?.." you asked, voice shaking. A temporary relief had gone already, your lust coming back quickly.
However, Alhaitam didn't waste a second as he picked you up and brought to the nearest room. It was stuffy and dusty and the only source of light was an ajar door to the corridor. Naturally you would stop him and say that it was unhygienic but right now your thoughts felt like melted marshmallows: they were mixing with each other, tangling and as much as you tried to concentrate it seemed that all the blood had gone to your genitals.
You felt him taking his cape off and dropping it somewhere before he lowered you on a cold stone table. The fabric wasn't thick enough to soften your uncomfortable position but, at least, it was less dirty this way.
"I'm going to take your clothes off," not a question or even a suggestion, just a fact. It seemed that Alhaitam's uncompromising attitude carried to the bedsheets as well.
Before you realised it you were laying bare-naked in the underground ruins with the Great Sage hovering over your squirming form. His soft lips touched your ear shell as he began licking and sucking, all the while his left hand was circling and playing with your nipples. While you were focusing on his ministrations on your upper body, he spread your legs and his fingers slipped in again.
"Oh my-! I'm so sensitive, Alhaitam, please, don't stop!" you cried out, gripping his shoulders for support. If you were in a more mindful state you would definitely try to give back to him but not now. Now you were giving yourself to him, allowing him to have full control of your body.
"Stop squirming," he growled while his fingers were repeatedly penetrating you. You didn't listen (you really couldn't), so he pressed you down with his own body. This close proximity made you realise that even if he wasn't subjected to aphrodisiac he still was turned on by this situation. You felt his bulge as he rubbed it upon your naked thigh.
Never in a thousand of years you would think it was possible but just a mere thought of him being hard from this, because of you, tripped you over the edge.
"Hm, it was even quicker," he mumbled like you weren't a fellow researcher but just a test subject. Perhaps, that was exactly what this situation was for him - just an experiment. Yet a shiver ran over you. Somehow the realisation that you were completely at his mercy, utterly submitted to him, made you go completely crazy with lust. You couldn't pronounce words anymore, it took everything in you to look him in the eyes, brush your palm over his bulge and beg:
"This!"
You thought it was the first time you saw him actually surprised. It showed only in his eyes and only for a mere second but that brief moment of your assertiveness not just caught him off guard but made him see you from a different perspective. Yes, it was a rather embarrassing and needy request. But at that moment you didn't feel like a subject at all. No, you were an equal partner. You saw him freeze for a second, visually contemplating.
"Alright, if you insist," he smirked after some seconds.
His hands left your body to tug down his pants a little. Your eyes darted down in a horny attempt of seeing his dick but you managed to catch only a glimpse when his hand tugged your chin up, his body laying back down on yours.
"Have some decency," he accused before his tongue slipped in your mouth.
While his left hand was cupping your cheek keeping your kiss messy and hungry, another parted your knees apart, allowing him to sneak between them.
You felt it. His penis pressing on your entrance. It felt hot and big and you couldn't take it anymore so your hips rose up to meet his. A palm pushed you back down.
"Behave," he growled strictly, his mouth lowering to bite your shoulder.
You were almost crying, unable to wait anymore, ready to beg and whine and promise him anything in the world if he just puts it in.
But you didn't have to. AlHaitam didn't see a reason in waiting a second longer either.
He didn't rush in though, he entered you slow, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust. When he finally bottomed out, you cried, feeling full and warm and impatient, though you tried to stay obedient, and when he finally started moving you begged for his lips again.
At that point Alhaitam stopped holding back, his pace increasing, becoming rougher, it was impossible to keep kissing anymore, instead he bit your lip.
"So good for me," he praised, pounding you into the table.
You legs were trembling, your tired arms gripping his shoulders. Waves of pleasure were crashing you and you couldn't hold back anymore orgasming the strongest you have ever had: your whole body spasmed, a loud scream escaped your lips and your eyes rolled back so hard, you stopped seeing for a moment.
When you came back from your high you realised that Alhaitam stopped. His dick was still inside you, hard, but you felt completely spent.
"How do you feel?" he looked at you attentively.
"Tired," you managed to mutter.
Everything ached: your head, your body, your pussy. You really wanted nothing but a good cold glass of water and a comfortable bed. However, you couldn't not feel sorry that Alhaitam didn't cum. After all, you could still feel him inside of you, hard as rock.
"Listen, if you want to-," you tried saying that he could finish if he wanted to, you could endure it a little bit longer, but he cut you off pulling out of you:
"I'm good."
You could see his big dick now that showed that he was definitely good before but not now.
"No, let me-," you attempted to stand up but your body didn't seem to listen to you. You would have fallen down if Alhaitam didn't catch you in time.
"Don't be ridiculous, you can't even stand," he helped you to seat and pointed at a pile of clothes next to you. "Put your clothes on and let's leave."
"But you helped me. I feel obligated now to return the favour," you protested weakly but followed his command.
"Good. Because you will return it. Just not here right now."
You turned to look at him in surprise but wasn't fast enough to see a smirk on his lips. To you he appeared characteristically stoic and cold.
"You squirmed all over my cape."
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shallyouobeyme · 6 months
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Spider
Miles Morales, Hobie, Pavitr, Gwen + (mentioned) Platonic!Yandere!Miguel x child!reader (GN)
Summary: Deciding to cause some Mayhem, Hobie, Miles, Gwen and Pavitr go looking through Miguel's office in his absence, only that what they find there, isn't quite what any of them expected. Who'd have thought Miguel was the type to have a secret Apartment...only that that might not be the worst thing in there...
TW: Kidnapping, dark!content, yandere, threat of violence (not towards reader), MDNI, I do not condone this behaviour, this is just fiction
Day 2 of my Yandere Writetober
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After Miles' official introduction into the Spidersociety, he’d loved spending his time there. Not only because he’d be able to hang out with Gwen, Hobie and Pavitr, but also because he felt like part of something bigger. He’d made up an after-school club to his parents and had somehow managed to keep the lie up to this day, which took a lot of studying and doing his best to actually attend class to make his parents trust him.
One afternoon the four spiders were hanging out when Hobie suggested doing something less boring, like breaking into Miguel’s office and checking out his hologram Programm. And while Miles and the others knew that there were some serious consequences if they’d get caught, the energy Hobie had was infectious and they soon found themselves sneaking through his door after making double-sure that Miguel and Jessica were on a mission.
The thrill of sneaking through his office, using his floating platform and the holographic floor to show each other nice or funny memories from their respective universes was just the thing four teenagers needed to have the time of their life’s.
About half an hour had passed and they were strewn around the room looking around. Hobie was probably dismembering and taking components from the different machinery, Gwen was trying to use the holographic floor to look at some classic concerts and Pavitr was playing around with the floating platform. Miles had taken to exploring the shelf’s in one of the corners of the room. Usually the room was so dark that you’d hardly be able to see them which is why
Miles had to use his phone's flashlight to see around. The shelves were filled with some gizmos and gadgets, some files strewn around, some boxes and blueprints. Nothing of particular interest to Miles, or at least nothing until his light hit a picture frame standing about where Miguel's eyes would be level with it.
Given that Miles was not quite as tall as Miguel, he had to rise to his tiptoes to even get an idea of what it depicted, he thought he recognized the image from the video Miguel had showed him when telling him about the dangers of ignoring canon events. It was a picture of his late daughter.
Miles had to swallow hard. He tended to forget what hardship Miguel went through because of how much of a douche he was to him. Something in Miles compelled him to take a closer look at the picture so he reached out to it and tried to take it, but instead of coming down from the shelf, he was only able to pull it slightly into his direction. Then there was a quiet but noticeable ‘click’ before the shelf with the picture on it opened a gap.
"Guys? Uhm, there’s something over here,” Miles called out to his friends who all ran over to him.
“What’s up?” Pavitr asked as he looked around, without seeing anything.
“Well, I think this shelf- let me just-“ he stuttered as he took a hold of the side of the shelf where the gap had opened and pulled.
“Whoa, a secret room? Cool,” Gwen mumbled in awe and slight confusion.
“I knew that bloke had somethin’ to hide, he ain’t right kosher, y’know,” Hobie shrugged and was the first to take off into the secret passage, the other three hot on his heels.
Miles wasn’t sure what he had expected to hide in the secret room, but he was sure it had been anything but what they found there.
Behind the shelf was what seemed to be a full apartment, with a nice open concept as Pavitr noted offhandedly, which in itself wasn’t so strange, after alle, maybe Miguel just liked his privacy.
Or at least that was what the four would have thought if it wasn’t for the plushies, toys, coloring books and other children’s stuff strewn throughout the different sections of the big room.
“Maybe Miggy over here is a bit more kinky then we gave ‘im credit for,” Hobie joked as he picked up a princess coloring book from the kitchen table and leafed through it.
“I don’t know, something about this seems weird, right guys?” Gwen looked around and received nods from Miles and Pavitr, “Maybe we should leave…”
Miles wanted to agree, wanted to get out of there and act like they’d never been there, but his stupid spider-senses had to start going off the charts right that second as he heard something from behind one of the three doors leading out of the room, the only door with more locks on it then on an average New Yorker apartment door.
“You guys feeling that?” Pavitr asked, confirming Miles’ fear that he wasn’t the only one whose senses were acting up.
Not bothering to answer, Hobie and Gwen were the first ones to go towards the door, quickly followed by the other two.
Hobie had already taken hold of the door on both sides ready to take it off its hinges when Gwen stopped him.
“If we break it, there’s no denying what we did anymore, maybe we should try this differently. These locks seemed to be electric, maybe we could overload them to reset them or something.”
Miles quickly realized that with ‘we’ Gwen meant him so he pushed himself to the front and got ready to electrify the locks.
A few seconds later there was a shrill beep and a click and with high anticipation, Miles took hold of the door handle and… It opened without problem.
With bated breath, he opened the door.
“Daddy?” a soft, quiet voice, doubtlessly that of a child, called out to them and all of them stood there like frozen as they stared towards the small kid sitting on a fuzzy blue rug surrounded by dolls and plushies. The child tilted their head, looking at them in confusion.
“Hi, are you friends with Daddy?” they asked, but none of them were in the mental state to answer them, all too shocked.
Suddenly a voice called out from speakers somewhere in the room.
“Y/N go into your room immediately please,” a voice - all of them recognized it as Lydia’s - said and after a slightly disappointed ‘okay Aunt Lyd’ from the child they left through a sliding door in the wall opposite of the four spiders which immediately closed (and probably locked) after them.
“Miguel has been informed of your intrusion, I’d advise you to take your leave immediately, and if you enjoy your heart beating I’d tell you not to mutter a word of this to anyone, now leave.”
With a heavy heart and many questions the four ran out of the secret apartment, making sure to close the shelf after them, before they disbanded and returned to their original universes. All of them couldn’t get the child out of their head, but especially Miles couldn’t help but feel he’d seen them before.
Only when he was lying in bed that evening mulling over the events of that day again did he remember.
Months ago his father had taken one of his files home with him, a missing persons report, a little child had disappeared right out of their childhood bedroom without any hint as to what or who had taken them.
In the upper corner of the report was a picture of a smiling toddler with an white area below where their name was…Y/N.
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“A Strange Little World”- Loki x Reader
As the walls of duty and destiny close in around you and your secret lover, Loki proposes that you wash your hands of it all and start your own palace of dreams out in the realms.
Pairing: Loki x Asgardian!F!Reader Content Warning: sexism, forced marriage, military conscription, Odin is a massive c**t, some lusty thoughts, mostly longing and comfort fluff Word Count: 5.1k
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You liked to ‘play house’ with Loki, but it didn’t mean the same thing to you that it would to other couples.
Whereas the mere mention of the game for most would conjure images of naughty romping and playacting in the buff, for two good little citizens of Asgard’s elite, it was a bit more literal than that for you.
Your lives were already so chaotic, with expectations raining down upon you like hot stones, forcing you to duck one way and leap another every waking second. Loki, as a prince of the realm, was moved around by his family and tutors like a pawn on a chessboard. He was kept constantly on his feet with everything from physical training to seidr sessions, diplomacy lessons, holding court, touring the front lines, etc. Odin had even begun to parade possible brides before his second son, evidently refusing to accept your rank as worthy of the royal family. 
For your part, you were also being tossed about the whipping winds of life as a courtier. Finishing school had been rough enough, but your quest to join the Valkyries had only just borne fruit. Alas, this was against your father’s wishes to marry you off instead. Your days were spent doing everything in your power to convince your family to release you from a marriage contract made to a distant cousin years ago in order to join the elite team of fighters. 
Not to mention, Odin considered Valkyries to be worthy of a prince’s hand.
What you never understood was how Odin, in his supposedly infinity wisdom, couldn’t foresee that allowing two youths to run around as playmates in childhood could possibly lead to a romance as adulthood took hold. As children, you and Loki joked about what you would name your own sons and daughters. When you both began to realize the jokes were turning into sincere wishes for your future, it all changed forever. Odin began eyeing you with suspicion and disdain where he once smiled with fatherly affection. He’d outright rejected your suit when Loki brought it to proposal.
Once it became all but apparent that your affectionate interludes with Prince Loki were temporary at best, you refused to give in to it. Instead, you began meeting in secret, which was easier than imagined for a Prince and his muse, for behind the armoire in his bedchamber was a hidden door, which led to a small winding staircase. The hidden passage led to a cozy sitting room with only a few chairs, a table, and a fainting sofa over by the window. The room was trimmed in gold, the walls a faded, light green. Perhaps once it had been used for the same purpose it now was, but for one of Loki’s own ancestors (you only hoped they approved of you more than the Allfather did).
Nothing brought you or your princely lover more joy than to sit in his private parlor and regale one another about your stressful days bowing to the whims of the Allfather’s court. Thus, like a married pair, you chose to sneak away after supper each night to Loki’s chamber to have dessert and tea, and to pretend that the hard, demanding world outside his window wasn’t there, perhaps dissolved away in an after-storm fog. Perhaps his sitting room was flying through the clouds, up, up, and away from Asgard…
The lovemaking was always sublime, but even at your quietest, sipping tea and sharing a slice of pastry, you were in paradise as long as he was beside you. You hung on Loki’s every word, no matter what he was describing or how well you understood it. In return, he smiled and took your hand whenever you expressed your own fears for your future. 
“Like a husband and wife,” Loki had tenderly whispered once, a grateful smile unrolling like a banner across his lips. “I cannot tell anyone else what I express to you every night with perfect ease.” 
You and Loki did what no one else in any of the nine realms bothered to do: you listened to one another. Loki wove a tapestry of emotion, conflict, and dreams whenever he spoke.  Even describing the most mundane of daily activities was like listening to a sonnet. He observed the world differently from most people. His mind was beautiful (as was the rest of him). If only his wonderful thoughts weren’t wasted on unreceptive ears like the King’s. 
Additionally, it was obvious that he found your own rambling monologue like the preface to a grand story in which he just had to immerse himself. Whether you were bemoaning your betrothal plans or how itchy your ceremonial robes were, he drank in your every word like a rich, intoxicating wine. 
However, not every night was for unloading your troubles. Some nights, like the one you presently found yourself in, were for fantasy. You and Loki had just finished making love in his bed, and now you were wrapped only in his bedsheets and sitting in his secret room, waiting for dessert to be delivered. Loki had only covered his lap for the sake of the servant when he came with tea. 
“Did you take the contraceptive I sent?” he asked once the servant left. 
“Of course,” you replied, sighing to yourself. “I always do.”  Of course precautions would be necessary if you were to continue sleeping with the Prince, but it sometimes drove home a fact that gave you great sorrow: one day soon, someone would be proudly carrying Loki’s heirs, and it wouldn’t be you. 
He sat back in his chair and spread his legs apart, rendering the small lap blanket he’d halfheartedly covered himself with entirely useless. He looked out the window into the fading summer light with a dreamy gaze in his eye. “I’ve been thinking, and I don't like Henrik for a boy after all.” 
You rolled your eyes and reached for the teapot, at least until Loki instantly sat up in order to get to it and pour your cup before you could do it yourself. “Thank you,” you said softly, taking a sip of the hot, floral tea, letting its mellow aroma settle your nerves for a moment before adding your thoughts. “And I told you before I won’t EVER allow a child of mine to be named…ergh…Henrik.” 
Loki gave a hearty chortle as he reached for a handful of candied pecans from a small bowl. “Too common for my Princess’ babe, is it?”
“Too common for a stable raker,” you retorted. After a moment of silence, you added, “Out of curiosity, do you have anything better in mind?”
“There are hundreds of names worthy of a child of the royal family,” answered Loki, popping two nuts into his mouth and taking a moment to chew and swallow them before carrying on. “However, there are far fewer names worthy of a child of ours.”
You wanted to move forward with your scenario, naming your offspring, planning your household, raising your future higher than it could ever be in truth. However, you had something you needed to tell him now, before anything got too difficult for you to say. 
“My father has summoned Birger for the official betrothal,” you blurted out, causing Loki to startle and put down his tea cup with a little too much force. “He says he shall arrive tomorrow.” 
He scoffed, leaning back again in clear disapproval. “Does your dear father know that marrying one’s cousin is nothing short of repulsive?”
“You know he is of the old ways, he knows most disapprove of his plans,” you said sadly, looking at your reflection in the cup before you, a single tear falling suddenly from your eye and landing in the middle of the brown liquid. “But that still doesn’t save me from it!” 
Loki grunted like a frustrated boy, biting his lip to keep from letting the entirety of his unflattering judgements loose on you. He was still your father, after all, and Asgardian custom always demanded respect from one’s children. But something was occurring to him: an idea slowly coming into focus behind his eyes. 
You’d expected him to say something by now. “Loki? Darling? What is it?”
“It suddenly makes sense,” he answered, leaning over the table and extending his arms out to you, open-palmed hands asking for yours. “My dear, I’m afraid they’re plotting deliberately against us, your father and mine both.” 
“What do you mean?” you asked, gasping with surprise as you folded your hands into his from the other side of the table. 
“Odin informed me over breakfast today that I am to serve my military conscription, beginning four days hence.”
“No!” you nearly shouted. “Please at least say he’s sending you to Vanaheim or Alfheim--”
“--regrettably, Thor and I are both being shipped like common rats off to Svartalfheim. There’s rustling in the air of an invasion.” The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable. 
For you, the tears came more freely now. “But it’s dangerous there! You could die on the front against the Dark Elves!”
Loki shrugged. “Even Odin wouldn’t sacrifice his sons so thoughtlessly. We will be fighting from the tents, my darling, please believe me.” 
“So, the King is sending you away to fight at the same time I am to be formally engaged,” you realized. “Tearing us apart forever.”
Loki squeezed your hand as his skin turned cool. “A mandatory conscription is for ten moon cycles,” he reminded you. “You will be wed by the time I return.”
“And you can’t get out of your duty?” you asked frantically. “You’re a Prince! Use your privilege to revoke it!”
He shook his head and brought your right hand to his lips, where he placed a sweet, tender, sad kiss on your fingers. “Desertion is death, even for one such as I.” 
“Then what are we to do?” 
He shrugged, at a loss as much as you were. “I have no idea, I’m afraid.” 
After a moment’s awkward pause as you contemplated your dilemma, Loki added, “And your cotillion, which I presume your father will hold with all the appropriate pomp?”
“The day after tomorrow.” 
Loki looked over his shoulder, toward the setting sun in the window, which cast orange beams of light about the room behind your heads, giving the room a peaceful glow as night set in. “Truly, I thought Thor would have at least had his engagement gala by now with Sif. Meanwhile, I’d only imagined my own with you.”
You bit on your lower lip to keep it from trembling. 
“However,” he went on, running his thumb casually over your knuckles, “I can imagine they are a rather dull affair. After all, every debutante ball I’ve been dragged by the ankles to witness has had the energy and excitement of an execution. A betrothal ceremony and celebration can hardly be better, can it?”
“As if that sentiment helps how I feel,” you mumbled. 
You tore your hands from Loki’s grip, getting up from the chair and going over to the window, your back to Loki. After a moment, you sensed him moving in behind you before wrapping his arms around your belly, swinging you softly back and forth. 
“You know it’s a crime to turn your back on your sovereign, Princess,” he said, his deep, gentle tone mismatching his words. 
“Sadly, you aren’t my sovereign. Odin is,” you whispered, barely audible even to him. “And it seems to me that he has us like flies on his web.”
Loki’s mind was floating away the more he touched your warm body. “How lovely the sunset is tonight, chasing the fog away. Wouldn’t it be divine to walk down to the orchards on the edge of the city to watch it from the rolling knolls?”
You smiled and closed your eyes, losing yourself in fantasy. “I can almost hear Juni and Vali giggling and running around one of the fruit trees. Vali always tries to steal a lemon to throw around at her, the rascal!” 
A moment of silence. “Juni?”
You turned your head, jerked out of your luxurious inner tableau. “Yes, Juni.” 
“Vali is considerable,” Loki admitted, “But Juni? Is our daughter a cat?”
You giggled as Loki’s silly ramble reached a climax. “Can you see her debut? ’Now announcing to the court and the Nine Realms…Her Royal Highness, Princess Juni of Asgard?!’” His mock horror nearly brought you to your knees in laughter. “I’d sooner name her Thora.” 
You turned around, facing your Loki and slowly cupping his cheek with a gentle hand. “Maybe we should stop this. It doesn’t matter now, does it? Juni will never be. Nor will Vali or any other of our ghost-children.”
“Ghosts are dead,” Loki stopped you, leaning into your cheek and shutting his eyes. “Our children are merely yet-to-be.” 
“Never to be,” you corrected him, leaving the pair of you in depressed silence for minutes until he broke it with a kiss and a sigh. 
“I should leave you,” you said, your eyes flooding with hot tears again. “Maybe it will be better if we never see each other again.” 
He looked hurt by your decision, even frightened. “I can’t do that. I want to spend our last hours together in your arms and weaving our false hopes together in this strange little world we’ve made together.” 
“Tell that to your father, and mine,” you snapped back, turning away again, not wanting for him to see you break down entirely. “It would make the separation even more difficult for us if we don’t just ignore one another until you leave for the front lines.”
After yet another uncomfortable pause, you felt Loki put a hand on your shoulder. It felt cold. 
“Perhaps so,” he finally agreed. “But if you ever need me, I’ll come to you before your heart beats again.” 
With nothing to say that wasn’t an outpouring of pleas and love, you quickly abandoned him in his secret closet, crestfallen and lonely once more. You didn’t make it back to your rooms in the palace, needing to hide behind a statue of Allfather Bor to hide your sobs.
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Your father, Njord, was descended from one of the lesser branches of the Asgardian elite families. No royal blood to speak of flowed through your veins, but just enough nobility to warrant membership of the highest social class, and some degree of access to the court and King. 
There was also just enough prestige in your lineage to call for a formal debutante ball when you reached majority, as well as a formal engagement cotillion to acknowledge the arrival of your bridegroom, complete with a banquet barge that spent the day floating carelessly in circles around the palace moat. 
Njord, social climber he was, spared no expense for the revelries in order to show off the little status he held, going so far as to dare to extend an invitation to the royal family themselves. The barge was decked in your family colors: sapphire blue and silver, in the form of perhaps a few too many banners and garlands. You thought the decorations were so many that the yacht could sink under the added weight. 
You were arrayed in the finest sapphire silk your parents could find, which, as it turned out, was merely a gown borrowed from a relative who’d never worn it. Still, between the soft, clingy fabric and the shimmering silver family crest hanging at your throat, you were a radiant sight. 
Traditionally, the barge made three laps around the palace without the bridegroom on board. On the third go-around, he would embark and make a presentation before you and your parents, after which the boat would continue circling all afternoon as everyone aboard flooded their minds with wine. Those first three laps took nearly an hour to complete, and each second that passed, each inch that was sailed, you grew more and more nauseated. 
You may as well have jumped into the water. You were already drowning in a sea of insincerity, lost in waves of mindless chatter about dish patterns. Meanwhile, your soul floated above your head, looking for Loki in each window of the castle, wondering which room he sulked in. Was he watching as your yacht floated by? Was he trying to get a good look at you in your dress? Or did he turn away and flinch as you rode past? 
Birger and his mother, a widow with a perpetually-puckered lip, boarded without incident as the barge made a temporary berth at the palace gate. He was dressed in matching color to yours, his shiny blonde hair swept back into a bun, a gold chain obscured by a few to many ruffles at the neck. He was handsome, but his big brown eyes looked somewhat vacant, as if he was only partially aware of his surroundings. Or perhaps, he was looking for you. 
Led along a red carpet, Birger and his sour-faced mother bowed at the waist before you and your parents, beginning the formal engagement ceremony, 
“My father-to-be,” mumbled the hapless groom, “I am here to present myself as a suitor for--”
Trumpets sounded suddenly from within the palace in the musical chord that always announced the approach of the Allfather. It was so well-known that everyone turned and bowed at the knee in reflex, aside from yourself and Birger, who was still standing dumbfoundedly in front of you. 
“It can’t be!” exclaimed Njord excitedly. “Y/N! Bow! The Allfather is here!” 
Odin sauntered regally to the barge with his usual entourage following adoringly behind. The King was flanked on each side by his sons. Thor wore his usual light armor and red cape, looking as dashing and prideful as he ever was. 
Loki, of course, had dressed himself as formally as possible, wearing every piece of princely insignia he owned, flaunting his rank like a peacock’s tail. His dark green jacket was buttoned to the chin and had nary a wrinkle. He’d braided his hair in a rope down the back of his neck, a style he knew all too well that you adored. Over his chest laid a gold sash tied at the hip, and around his legs were black trousers lined at the hem with gold trim. He even wore the tiny gold earring studs you once gifted him with for Jol. 
You wanted him. You needed him. And he knew this ceremonial outfit of his drove you wild. 
You scoundrel, you thought to yourself, your eyes unable to detach from his image as he drew closer. 
“Lord Njord of the Westlands,” Odin called out, his booming voice going against what would otherwise have been expected from his old man’s frame, “I greet you in jubilation at the engagement of your only daughter, and my sons and I hope to join you in your revelries this afternoon!” 
Njord looked about to urinate. “I…ugh….YES YOUR HIGHN--”
“--we greet you most humbly and invite you to our feast!” interrupted your mother, much more calm. “We are honored by your attention, Allfather!”
“Then let the festivities continue!” Odin declared with joviality. A cheer rang up from everyone aside from yourself, your intended, and your soul mate. You and Loki were tense and sorrowful. Birger was nervous now that his presentation would be witnessed by the most powerful man in the Nine. 
The royal procession moved onto the barge, and once the boat sailed once more, Birger was invited to continue his formal proposal. He had come with a poem of his own creation: a simple, four-lined stanza about marriage that didn’t even rhyme. Afterward, he took out a lyre and began stroking out a painfully simple song that was traditionally taught to children as a first assignment at a music lesson. Loki was cringing from the stern of the boat, near a door that led down into the hull. You tried hard to stifle a giggle, and the urge to reject the man right out only grew as the insipid ballad went into third and fourth reprises. 
You were so distracted that Njord had to recite your line for you after the presentation was (finally!) finished: “My daughter accepts your suit, and four cycles hence, you will wed before the Allfather and share in your joys and sorrows until the end of time.” 
Your sadness reached an apex when you realized that not only would Loki be away for ten cycles, but with your wedding so soon, you could be well into a pregnancy by the time he returned, and what image would that be with which to greet your soul mate? 
Another cheer rang up, but your nausea was making your face turn hot, and you only had a moment to absorb the event before the world turned to watercolor before you, and you sank to your knees. In your stupor, you could hear a few gasps, your mother calling your name, and a few scuttling feet. 
Taking off like a shot, Loki got to you first in spite of the distance between you, using his godlike speed to ensure that he would be the one scooping you up instead of your fiance. 
No matter, he was still standing on the red carpet, dumbfounded, a string having snapped on his lyre. 
Loki ran with you into the hull, slamming the door behind him and seeking out anything on which to lay you down. He came across a cushioned bench under a porthole, and as soon as he set you down, you came back, smiling at the view of his face. 
“Oh, I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t eat this morning out of nerves.” 
“Understandable, Princess,” Loki muttered sweetly, taking your hand in both of his, closing them around yours as if they held a precious jewel inside that needed to be protected. “You should know that this was all Odin’s doing. He’s trying to motivate me to turn my back on you by bringing me here.”
“I thought so.”
He went on. “Yesterday, he tried to tell me that you were excitedly preparing for your wifely duties with your…cousin. When I didn’t believe him, he forced Thor and I to attend the party today, as if rubbing my nose in your engagement would rend my love from me!”
Loki leaned down to kiss your forehead. “Do you need water, love?”
You nodded, even as the haze around your vision faded and your senses returned. 
“Have another fetch it then, and leave us.” 
Odin’s darker, authoritative voice was enough to force Loki to stand at attention, conditioned to do so from the first day he toddled upright. He’d followed you below decks. 
Loki looked at you with concern, but you replied by stubbornly shaking off his offered arm as you got to your feet. “It’s okay, love,” you said to Loki. “I presume the Allfather wishes to personally congratulate me on my engagement.”
“Indeed, and to see to your health, of course,” Odin replied with a frown, looking expectantly at Loki again. This time, upon hearing your release, Loki defiantly kissed your brow again before looking his father in the face, brushing past him angrily to go upstairs. 
After he was certain that Loki was gone, Odin turned back to you. You did give him a small curtsy. “I am glad to see you on your feet again,” remarked Odin. “Tis a pity to see a bride fall ill at her own cotillion.” 
You didn’t answer him with words, instead refusing to look him in the eye deliberately. 
Odin went on. “Of course, it is the proper course of action for you to move forward with the marriage, and I am glad to see you obeying your call to be a wife.” 
Again, you refused him a reply, shifting your feet uncomfortably, wishing Loki would return with water for you. 
“You would have made a poor valkyrie,” he continued, musing as if it weren’t an insult but a mere fact, “You lack the discipline and swiftness. I’m unsure why Brunnhilde accepted your bid at all. Perhaps it was a kindness.” 
“Because she knew after I was inducted, you’d have no further excuse to refuse my suit,” you finally replied. “She and I are friends enough that she knows my heart.”
“I am the King of Asgard, I need no excuse to refuse any suitors who wish to taint my son’s lineage with their common blood!” 
You shrunk back a little, genuinely hurt. 
“You will both come to realize in time that I am only doing what is right. Your cousin is a suitable husband. Perhaps if you agree to end this silly affair with my son, I will double the worth of your wedding gift in gratitude.” 
You scoffed and ignored the bribe. “So tainting Loki’s lineage with my blood is a mortal sin, yet tainting my own with incest is not a crime?” you asked incredulously. “My King, your logic repulses me. Please execute me instead.” 
Odin didn’t seem to expect this. “Well, being so rash would hardly be appropriate here.” 
You nodded, rolling your eyes and completely losing your decorum. “I should have known a creature with no heart wouldn’t understand!” 
In the heat of the moment, you put your life on the line to brush past Odin, turning your back on him and immediately running back into the open air. 
Loki was not far from you, but you didn’t move toward him, instead running to the ship’s railing and looking over the side. The moat wasn’t particularly deep, but no one, not even your father, knew you could swim. 
Maybe, I could--
Turning back to Loki, running toward you full-tilt, you winked at him before leaping over the railing in one move. Your sapphire silk flew up behind you like a banner as you dove headfirst into the moat, swimming around the bend and out of sight. 
You didn’t hear the splash from behind as Loki executed a perfect swan-dive in after you. 
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Moving quickly, you were able to find a small portion of the moat’s edge where you could hoist your body onto the side without climbing. By then, the barge was on the other side of the palace and wouldn’t be due to double back for nearly an hour. 
Still, you could hear the chaotic shouts for you calling out from behind, and you quickly snuck behind a bush in order to wring out your soaked dress. You didn’t want to wait too long, and you were able to sneak your way out of town without being noticed or taken for anyone other than a soaking-wet maid in a ruined ceremonial dress dashing toward the beach. 
The shores of Asgard were littered with waterfalls that poured out into the open sea. You hid behind one, tucked in a small cavern in the rock, waiting for Loki to come to you. There, no one else would find you and drag you home. However, you’d been here with Loki before. He knew the significance of the spot. He only needed to bide his time until he could slip away from Odin’s attention.
Father will whip me for hours for this, and then move up the wedding to tomorrow, you thought woefully. 
The sun began its afternoon descent, and while you could occasionally hear guards and search parties calling out from the sandy shore, no one thought to look behind any of the cascades for you, and by teatime, it sounded like they’d given up or moved on. You were beginning to get cold, wondering if you would have to find a room in an inn for the night. Hopefully, no one would recognize you…
Fortunately, when the faint green glow of seidr began to split the falls open from the middle outward, just before the sun dipped below the horizon, you knew Loki had found you, and just in time. 
There he stood, about ten feet below you on the shore giving you a dry spot to climb down the cliffside. He held a horse’s reins in his free hand, and the huge white stallion he had in his captivity was saddled and antsy to run. 
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he apologized as you fell into his arms. “I swam after you, but you try getting past an entire city of people when you're Prince. Plus, I had a few things to gather for our ride.”
“Ride?” you asked, wiping away a tear with your closed fist awkwardly. 
He nodded with a wink and a sneaky grin that was laced with excitement. “I think after today, we’ve both had enough of this nonsense, haven’t you?”
You smiled and stepped up to pet the beautiful creature on the snout. It leaned into your hand with a gentle exhale, indicating his contentment. 
“Indeed.” 
He helped you onto the horse, and then took his place in front of you at the reins. You’d never ridden before, and so you wrapped your arms tightly around Loki’s waist, which made him chuckle. 
“Normally, I would protest that this was too tight a grip. However, it being you…you may hold me even closer if you can manage it.”
At first, you maintained a death-grip on him as you began riding off along the beach, away from the palace. Quickly, however, your trust of Loki and relief that you were putting distance between yourself and your intended gave you confidence, and only after a few minutes, you began to relax. 
“Loki, when will we return to Asgard? Tomorrow?”
He brought your hand up to his lips, where he took a moment to kiss every finger. Each touch of his soft lips against your skin sent tiny bolts of lightning up your arm and down your spine. 
“I was thinking, perhaps, my sweet Princess, that we would never return to Asgard. Let us find a new plot of land and make ourselves the King and Queen of it!” 
“But your conscription!” you protested. “You cannot submit yourself to the axe on my account.” 
“I won’t,” he insisted. “My projection will, however, be most glad to lose his head on our behalf.”
You rode vigorously along the coastline for a few miles until the sun was setting over the watery horizon, when you slowed to a trot, convinced that you weren’t being pursued by Odin or your father and Birger. Asgard itself was no longer visible behind you, and only the faint glow of the city’s hazy aura polluting the indigo sky indicated its continued existence. 
“Loki, my love?”
“Yes, Princess?” he cooed back, squeezing your hand affectionately before returning it to the reigns. 
There was nothing but the beach and sky before you for as far as you could see. “Do you…do you know where we’re going?”
A brief pause. You couldn’t see it from behind him on the saddle, but you knew Loki was grinning. 
“Of course not, my dear. But isn’t that the best part of all?” 
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I'm back and revitalized (and married)! :D I hope you enjoyed my little return fic! HAPPY NEW YEAR!
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iamnotoriginalphil · 1 year
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Strangers (Larissa Weems x Reader)
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Synopsis: Sometimes secrets just have to be spilled
Words: 1.8k
Warnings: none
Warm lips pressed to your pulse point and you let out a breathy moan. Fingers tangled in hair, holding the warm body close to you. Teeth scraped against your skin sending a shiver down your spine. Your knees were turning to jelly and if it wasn’t for the body pinning you to the wall you weren’t sure you’d still be upright.
Soft hands grasped your hips in a rough grip. Fingers began to wander up, pushing past the hemline of your shirt. You whimpered, bringing her lips back to yours, need spreading throughout your body.
If you closed your eyes you could almost trick yourself into believing the woman in your arms was the one you wanted.
Kissing her felt dangerous, explosive, as if you knew this would end badly but couldn’t stop. Strong hands lifted you until your legs were wrapped around her waist, groaning into her hot mouth. Someone wolf whistled and the sound of the bar came back into focus.
You blinked, her lips trailing back to your neck, and it became clear the dark hair threaded through your fingers was all wrong. You made a small noise, pushing at her shoulders. Her hand began to wander back up your torso, ignoring your shirt as they sought skin. You pushed at her shoulders again.
“Stop.” You weren’t sure she heard you over the sound of people.
She tried to kiss you again but you turned your head, really shoving at her now. She stepped back, letting you drop back onto your feet.
“I’m sorry,” you said, slipping around her, “I’m so sorry.”
She called your name after your retreating back as you stumbled out onto the street. The night air was cool against your skin and you drank it in, letting it help calm your racing heart and your muddled thoughts.
You sunk down onto a bench, putting your head into your hands. You’d been hoping, nay, praying, that this would work. Over and over again you went out, found someone, hoping to drown in their kisses until she was out of your head. Larissa Weems. Your boss and the woman who consumed all of your waking thoughts, and many of your dreams.
You let out a long breath. The cold air hadn’t taken from the throbbing between your legs. You tilted your head back, staring up at the moon. Saturday night, like so many Saturday nights before, and yet all you wanted was her. All you ever wanted was her.
From the first moment you’d seen her you’d known how fucked you were. Tall, statuesque, the most beautiful person you’d ever seen. Warm eyes, red lips smiling at you, and a sturdy handshake welcoming you to the school. A voice that sent shivers down your spine. Six months on and you still had the same reaction every single time.
You knew it was wrong, but by all the gods you couldn’t stop wanting her.
You stood on wobbly legs, beginning the long walk back to Nevermore, and back to your cold, empty room. You resolved to stop going out every weekend looking to forget your own desires, doing your best to sate them. No, now you felt like doing something dangerous.
You took the stairs two at a time, walking down the dark hallways. It was late, most people already asleep, or at least pretending. Luckily, your destination wasn’t likely to have anyone around to notice your passage.
Fist clenched, you pounded against her door. You stood yourself up straight, your confession ready on your tongue, until she opened the door. Confusion marred the perfect face before you and your breath caught in your throat. Her hair was down, curling about her face, and rather than the usual dress you were expecting, she had on a satin robe, cinched at the waist but offering a tantalising view of pale skin in the moonlight.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, and you could understand why. This was hardly usual.
“I…” Your voice failed you and all the confidence you’d been building on the walk home fled your body, “I’m sorry for disturbing you.”
You shook your head, turning away and scurrying down the hall. Or at least you would have if a warm hand hadn’t closed around your wrist, freezing you in your tracks. She murmured your name, soft and confused and you had to squeeze your eyes shut or be overwhelmed.
“Has something happened?” There was care in her voice, the same care you knew she felt for every member of the Nevermore family. It wasn’t specific to you.
“No.” You shook your head again, “sorry, it’s not important.”
“Stop apologising,” she said, turning you towards her. You couldn’t bare to look at her.
“Sorry.”
She gave you an indulgent smile, those red lips practically begging to be kissed. She was looking down at you, blue eyes trying to catch yours. You wouldn’t let her.
“How about you come in?” she suggested, “perhaps a cup of tea would help settle you before bed.”
“No, I’m fine. Honestly,” you said, trying to tug out of her hold, only her hand tightened around you.
“Come in,” she requested, “please.”
You never had been good at saying no to her. You let her lead you into her rooms and it was already too much. A roaring fire, a low settee in front, a bottle of wine and a single glass on a side table. The air was scented with her perfume and everywhere you looked you could see her influence. It was like standing inside of her head, or her heart.
She sat you on the sofa, facing the fire as she put the kettle on. She passed you a steaming cup of tea, allowing the silence in the room as she worked. Sitting beside you, her hand gently landed on your shoulder. You shoved the cup back at her, standing from your seat, needing escape more than you needed air.
“I really am sorry,” you said, “I shouldn’t be disturbing you so late. I’ll just go.”
“I was hardly in bed,” she said with a soft laugh and heat filled your cheeks, “how about you tell me what brought you to my door?”
“It’s not important,” you replied, turning your face away from her. The last thing you needed was her seeing it written all over your face.
She said your name again. You hadn’t realised she’d risen until her fingers on your chin tilted your face back to her. You were going to combust, and you were certain she had no idea what she was doing to you. Your fingers clenched at your sides.
“Tell me,” she asked, lowering her head towards you, “please.”
You were going to curse whatever power she held over you, because you still were unable to say no to her.
“I can't keep kissing strangers pretending they’re you,” you said, too quiet for anyone to hear.
“What was that?”
“I can't keep kissing strangers pretending they’re you,” you exploded, tugging out of her hold.
You couldn’t bare to look at her once the words were ringing in your ears. You turned away, covering your face with your hands, certain you’d just ruined everything. You shouldn’t have said it, your earlier confidence having been mistaken. There was no way this was going to end well.
Soft hands pulled your hands away from your face. Red lips formed a small smile and you tensed, waiting for the polite but firm rejection.
“I must admit, this wasn’t what I was expecting from tonight,” she said.
“Sorry,” you said again, not liking to be the reason her evening was going terribly.
“What did I say about apologising?” she asked, that smile still in place.
You shook your head, looking down at your feet. With a finger under your chin she lifted your head again until you were looking at her, properly looking at her. Your heart clenched. No one should be that beautiful. It was dangerous.
“Unexpected but not unpleasantly so,” she continued as if the interlude hadn’t occurred, “rather I’d call it a pleasant surprise.”
“You would?” Your mind was not comprehending what she was saying, it couldn’t be.
“Have you not yet noticed my preference for your company?” she asked, “I was under the assumption my feelings were unrequited.”
“Why would you think that?” She wasn’t letting you look away from her.
“You did a wonderful job at hiding how you felt,” she said, “although knowing how you feel now.”
Her hold on your chin tightened. You whimpered, clearly surprising her as her eyes widened. Her eyes darkened and she tugged you forward.
“Time for you to stop pretending.”
Her kiss was all consuming, no easing in to it. Tugging you forward into her body, all thoughts fled your head. Heat coursed through your body and it was better than you could have ever imagined. Her free arm wrapped around your waist, pressing you against her tightly. You wrapped your arms around her neck, pushing up onto your toes, never wanting to let go.
Her tongue swept into your mouth, not bothering to ask for permission. You made a small noise, only to be hauled up into strong arms. You wrapped your legs around her waist. You allowed your fingers to bury in her hair, tugging on it, earning a moan from her lips.
Her teeth sunk into your bottom lip until you were trembling. A throb had started up between your legs, so reminiscent of earlier that night, but real. You groaned, fire in your veins and need settling deep in your bones.
She sat herself on the settee, your knees falling either side of her lap. Her hand travelled up your spine, sending electricity over your skin. You gasped, shifting your hips, needing more, needing her. Her other hand grasped your ass, pulling you more firmly against her.
Her lips began to trail down your neck, finding the exact point the other woman had been sucking on earlier, only this time it was her sending intense jolts of pleasure to your core. Your head fell back, giving her easier access as your fingers tightened in her hair. She growled, teeth sinking in to your skin. You gasped, her name falling from your lips.
“I hate the thought of a stranger with you like this,” she ground out, making you shiver.
“No more strangers,” you murmured, trying to guide her back for another kiss.
“Not when you’re all mine, love,” she said, giving you a piercing look.
“All yours,” you agreed.
She kissed you again, words no longer needed.
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harbouredsoulss · 2 years
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UNHOLY | DAEMON TARGARYEN
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Did I use the gif of Daemon and Rhaenyra... yes I did. They're both so fucking hot. I don't care how wrong it is. If I believed in hell I'm sure I'd be going there 😅
This fic was inspired by the recent episode of House of the Dragon and Sam Smith's unreleased song 'Unholy'.
Please, please please, do not forget to like, comment and reblog!! 🥰
Pairings: Daemon Targaryen x OC [Elaena Targaryen]
Summary: A secret rendezvous between a Prince and Princess. What more could you want?
Warnings: 18+; incest (sorry?); sex; penetration; unprotected sex; minor mention of blood; oral sex; mention of bodily fluids; teasing
I also want to add that I used a website for the High Valyrian, so I apologise in advance if it is incorrect.
AO3 link
Word Count: 2.8k words
There was a charge of electricity that sizzled between the Prince and Princess, the anticipation almost palpable. They stood across from one another, gaze never faltering, the vacant iron throne their only witness.  
It was late in the evening, the sconces on the walls burned dimly, casting shadows across their faces.
Her eyes, a violet light, guiding him. 
The princess had escaped her room, guards none the wiser. 
She had evaded them at every turn, with their voices too loud, footsteps a thunder with every step taken; no doubt which path they would take.
Though if she were to be found, unaccompanied by her Kingsguard, it wouldn’t come as much of a surprise. She was known to been found on many occasions traveling empty halls, reading in odd places, the novelty of finding her unchaperoned, wearing off as the years went by. 
Except tonight was different, for tonight had purpose. 
There was no aimless wandering, marvelling at the surrounding view of the keep, the endless library offering no more a temptation than that of the kitchens. Her interest for the evening had already been garnered. 
It was a note left by her bedclothes, written on a piece of cloth, a scrawl of writing requesting her presence, no signature at the bottom.
There needn’t be a name for she knew who called for her. 
It was agony waiting for time to pass, letting her lady’s maid wash and clothe her, all the while pretending to grow weary with sleep. 
As the evening went by, and the castles inhabitants wound down for the night, Elaena found herself readying to leave her chambers. 
It didn’t take much to prepare as she went dressed as she was, taking a robe as a sort of shield and source of warmth, given the corridors of the keep grew especially cool of the evenings. 
Her aim now was to leave undetected. 
Men of the Kingsguard remain posted outside her chamber door throughout the night, protecting her from those who may mean her harm, yet they also protect her from herself and any shenanigans that may befall her. Tonight, it was Ser Harrold Westerling who stood guard. 
It was often Ser Harrold that lingered when she couldn’t sleep, following her about the castle, making sure she did not find herself in any trouble.
For many reasons, this being but one, brought them closer, brokering a trust that wounded her to break.  
Familiarity aside, Ser Harrold could not know where she went this night. 
Much to her surprise, there was a secret entrance, one her conspirator made clear was there, hidden in her chambers, the details written in the note they had left. It concerned her to think of a secret door having been there all along whilst she has remained none the wiser. 
The hidden passage, not too difficult to find, was dimly lit, the torches on the walls offering little in the way of light. The cool, frigid air howled all around her, skin turning to gooseflesh, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand. It did little to deter her or to wane the excited she felt humming through her. She was more than ready to reach her destination. 
The map, if it could be as called such, what with it having been scrawled roughly on the scrap of cloth, guided her perfectly, though she felt the journey was never ending. A sigh of relief escaped, just as her path was met with a door, one that stood ajar.
Voices, that of drunken guards, drifted through, alerting her of passers-by, beseeching her to bide her time till they had passed. 
It took only a moment or two of silence before she declared the coast clear. Stepping out from the darkened passageway, she found herself illuminated in the light of the great hall, the iron throne a stone throw away. 
“I see you found your way,” a familiar voice called out. 
There was a figure perched on the throne, face obscured by shadow, the flames of light illuminating just enough for her to see it was The Rogue Prince awaiting her arrival. Elaena took a hesitant step closer, surveying the space around them, making sure they were truly alone. 
“Issa sepār ao se nyke.” It is just you and I
Daemon Targaryen pulled himself to his feet stalking his way towards his princess. 
He stood before her now, back to the iron throne, mouth quirking to the side, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, the necklace that adorned it shining dimly in the light. 
He drew closer, each step an echo in the empty hall, eyes never straying from hers. 
“What a beautiful Jewell,” he whispered, fingers thumbing the Valyrian steel, “the person who gifted you such a thing, must think very highly of you.”
Elaena stood as still as her body would allow, doing her best to control her breathing. 
“An admirer indeed,” she answered in turn, a gasp escaping as his finger teased the tender flesh of her chest.
He smiled wickedly, the corners of lips rising. 
Spreading his fingers out, Daemon discarded the necklace, turning his attention to where he could feel the steady rhythm of her heart, the blood of the dragon thrumming through her veins. 
Flexing his fingers, Daemon moved them lower, thumb kneading the softness of her skin. 
Her heart beat quickened, thudding, harder and stronger against the cage of her ribs, as his touch lingered. 
Fingers merely an inch from the curve of her breast, Daemon delighted in teasing her flesh; pinching and kneading as he went along.
Her robe a disastrous shield, bared to him the thinness of her night dress, the exposed buds of her breasts, hardened by the rawness of the night. There was no fire to mind the cold, the heat of each other’s bodies their only source of warmth.
Maintaining her gaze, Daemon eased his thumb lower, rubbing against her hardened nipple, teasing and tugging, forcing a whine to escape the princess as pleasure spiked right through to her core.
Both their eyes widening as the sound echoed around them.
The thought of the guards – anyone happening upon her in this state of undress, so exposed – drove him wild. The attention-seeker, deep down inside of him, wanting them to be found. 
Elaena looked down at the hand caressing her breast, watching his attentions, unable to comprehend the magnitude of the situation.  
Pleasure wasn’t novel to her, she had sought it on numerous occasions either on her own or in a pleasure house, but with Daemon it was something profound. Each time always like the first.
“It’s… madness.” She managed to uttered, voice husky with desire.
She struggled to find her words, thoughts growing more erratic as her lover inflicted his attentions further, bringing his lips to her breast, tongue teasing her through the thin fabric of her shift. She was being driven mad.
There didn’t seem to be much room for coherent thought. 
Daemon used his tongue to tease the Princess, suckling her sweetly, using his unoccupied hand to venture up the column of her neck to the expanse of her jaw, gently prying her lips open, slipping two fingers inside. 
Wetness pooled between her thighs as she swirled her tongue around the pad of his fingers, sucking and biting them lightly. 
“Iksis bisa skoros jaelā?” Is this what you want? He asked. 
Daemon’s voice a steady rasp against her flesh.
He slipped his finger from her lips, smearing saliva across them, leaving a trail across her cheek, down her neck and back to her breasts, swirling carefully around the perked nipple. 
“Kostilus.” Please. She begged.
Her whimper was enough to undo him. His plans to savour her – this moment – almost ruined. All by the sound of her neediness. 
Eyes boring into hers, Daemon brought himself to his knees. He grabbed the hem of her shift lifting and gripping it tight in his fist, the wet between her thighs exposed.
He stared, mesmerized, and leaned his face closer; lips close enough to touch.
He breathed in deep, taking in the musky scent of her.  
Elaena was sure her face burned red, cheeks warming at the sight before her, mortified by what he was doing.
Out of the many men she had taken to bed none had shown her this close attention. Daemon had never done so in the past. It was a first for them.
His name, a moan on her lips as he used his tongue to tickle the flesh above her clitoris, fingers, two of them, teasing the seam of her, rubbing her slickness all around. As she looked down, she could see the hardness of him, straining against his pants, begging for attention. 
She longed to have him – taste him. 
A whine escaped her as he inserted his two fingers, introducing her to a steady pace, pumping inside and out, thumb rubbing lazy circles on her clit. All of his attention focused on finding that secret spot inside, one he hoped to become very well acquainted with. 
Elaena was a mess as Daemon continued his torment, fucking her slowly with his fingers. 
She gripped the back of his head, tendrils of icy blonde hair, tangled in her fingers as she kept him close.
He managed to maintain his cunning smile, his wicked, ever-present grin never faltering. His tongue caught between his teeth as he looked up at her, admiring the reaction he elicited with his touch. 
“Kostilus.” She begged again. 
Much too soon a feeling of emptiness found her as Daemon withdrew his fingers. He brought them to his lips, relishing the taste of her. 
Elaena watched on in an overwhelming haze brought on by her impending gratification; her climax begging and clawing at her now, demanding release. 
“Come,” he commanded, bringing himself to his feet.
She took his hand, allowing him to tug her toward the Throne. He sat down carefully, manoeuvring himself in a way that would avoid the sharpened blades that made up the Iron Throne. She kept his gaze, watching as he made himself comfortable.
They were silent for a moment, Daemons heated gaze washing over her. Moving his hand beneath his trousers he took hold of his cock, rubbing it up and down slowly, teasing himself before her. 
Elaena watched on, bottom lip caught between her teeth, hands itching to take his place. Wanting more than anything to be the source of his pleasure.
He released his cock, freeing it from the confines of his trousers and beckoned her forward with the tilt of his head, a silent invitation.
Arousal slicked between the apex of her thighs, desire begging her to move forward, and mount her prince. 
Looking over her shoulder, wanting to be careful, Elaena made sure they were alone. Afraid of what would happen if they were found, less afraid of fucking him on the Iron Throne. 
 “Iksā ȳgha” you are safe, he assured, eyeing their surroundings carefully. 
She made to move towards him, her decision having already been made the moment she agreed to meet him after dark. 
He held out his hand, guiding her closer.
“Take off your robe.”
An easy command, one she had no qualms in following. Elaena eased the heavy material from her shoulders and offered it to him. He wrapped it around his back, lifting his bottom half up, doing his best to be shield them both from the sharpness of the blades. 
His thoughtfulness tugged at her, the love she had for him intensifying – her love already regarded as limitless, ever expanding, in that moment, overpowered every fibre of her being. 
Carefully she begun to straddle his waist, griping the hem of her dress, allowing it to pool at her waist. He placed her hands on his chest, squeezing them gently, guiding her, just before letting go. An unspoken offer of assurance. 
“Avy jorrāelan, ñuha dōna,” I love you, my sweet.
Daemon cupped the backs of her thighs, pulling her closer. 
They sat like that for a moment, taking in the erotic scene before them. Daemon’s cock lined against the seam of her, rubbing gently, up and down, coating itself in the slickness of her. Biting her lip Elaena let a groan escape as he guided himself inside her, finally giving in.
She threw head back, the throes of pleasure overwhelming – driving Daemon wild. 
Elaena squeezed her eyes, a faint hiss escaping her lips as he guided her down, engulfing his length. He fucked her slowly, trying to build a rhythm they could both enjoy. Her pleasure just as valuable as his own.
He eased himself, inside and out, unhurried, and ignorant of her pleas, enjoying the unhurried pace he chose to set.
Daemon moved his hand to where they joined, palm flush against her stomach, thumb rubbing circles furiously, placing all his attention on her sex. 
She quivered in his arms, voice hoarse, pleasure drenching every sound that escaped her. 
Blood rose where her nails scarred his skin, Elaena’s lust manifesting through her hands, marking him. 
Daemon quickened their pace, the sound of skin on skin, echoing throughout the hall, the sound bound to alert any guard patrolling nearby.  
“I’m… I’m... fuck.”
She was at a loss for words. 
Meeting him, thrust for thrust, bucking wildly as his cock found the right place, nestled deep inside her.
Hard to find if ignorant, effortless if one took care. He found her point of release, taking her hard, with every whimper and moan she threw his way, bringing her to the precipice of release. 
His own pleasure mirrored her own, his composure threatening to crack as the heat of her tortured, clamping down around him. 
Drunken laughter, barely perceptible, reached Daemons ears. He did not slow his pace, determined to bring her the release she desperately craved.
Instead, a plan began forming in his mind, as he gripped her waist, preparing himself to stand, only stalling his thrusts to take her with him as he stood.
He swallowed her shriek in a sloppy kiss, refusing to allow her to draw attention to their antics. He slid out of her, placing her on unsteady legs.
The sudden absence caused her to whine and pout her lips.
He eyed her playfully, clucking his tongue. 
“You’re a greedy thing, aren’t you.”  
Not allowing for a response he grabbed her hand leading her swiftly and silently, to where she had entered, the door of the secret passage hidden by shadows in the far-off corner of the hall. It offered enough protection should someone enter to investigate.
He backed her onto the door, one hand gripping in his lovers, the other lifting her shift, exposing the apex of her thighs, her glistening sex taunting him. 
“Come…” she whispered, voice husky – breathless, “finish what you started.”
He let go of her hand, all but driven to madness, and gripped her backside, the palm of both hands kneading her softly. She wrapped a leg around his waist, tugging him closer.
“Jaelan aōha orvorta iemnȳ nyke.” I want your cock inside me.
There was no hesitation.
Daemon lifted her roughly, wrapping her legs around his waist. 
“Gaomagon ziry aōla.” Do it yourself.
Biting her lip Elaena rose to the challenge and gripped his length in her hand and used the other to squeeze his arse and pull him closer, guiding him back home. 
He fucked her relentlessly – almost furiously, intent on finishing what they had started. 
Their lips lingered close to one another, their ragged breaths mingling, fanning across their faces.  
“Iksā ñuhon.” You are mine. 
He liked to remind her of that when they were like this, rutting against one another like animals, his cock buried deep inside, both of them feral for one another’s touch. 
The declaration always gave her chills, the reminder never needed, yet craved deeply. 
Daemon brought her closer to her climax, the need to own her release almost turning him into an animal. 
It was oft a beautiful, messy thing, watching her release. Her eyes were often scrunched tightly, gaze avoidant as it washed over her.
Though not this time. This time her eyes remained wide and defiant as she held his gaze. Her voice was hoarse, moans of pleasure turned to whispers, teeth digging into the skin of her lip, blood threatening to spill. Daemon found it mesmerising. 
He slipped out, finishing himself on her stomach, the heat of his release sticking to skin and cloth alike. A smile tugged at her lips as she looked down taking in the mess he had left, and looked back up meeting his heated gaze. 
They stood like that for what felt like an eternity, chests heaving, bodies convulsing, vision foggy – moving in and out of focus. Their releases washing over them. 
Him holding her.
“You, Daemon Targaryen, are mine.”
And to him, truer words had never been spoken. 
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proverbsss · 7 months
Text
reading you right (father paul hill/john pruitt x reader) -nsfw
Father Paul Hill, Midnight Mass
prompt(s): "Me. You. Bed. Now." [from this post]
[Pt. 2 Out Now!! Linked Here :)]
anon: I had a normal amount of fun writing this, hope you enjoy :) i wanna do a pt. 2 because ofc i do,, honestly I got a lil hot n bothered lmao
notifs: paul hill is a tease!! ; shoe-grinding ; fluffy smut ; hierophilia ; you're father paul's dirty little secret ; denial ; reader begging ; reader's down HORRENDOUS ; terms used: good girl, slutty thing, pet
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"You've been lying there moaning for ten minutes." Father Paul chuckles, trying to focus on his reading.
You feel your leg twitch as you lay on your stomach, looking a bit dazed across the room. A giggle escapes you. In your mind's eye a constant stream of images plays- every dirty thing you’ve done with Father Paul in the last 48 hours, a rare weekend’s reprieve from prying Beverly Keane, sitting bedside with her sister or aunt or who-the-hell cares on the mainland. It was too easy to sneak into the house behind St. Patrick’s, and too goddamn pleasurable to leave after the first night. A delightful ease of domesticity has settled over the two of you. And you’re even more whipped for the Father than you were when this whole messy arrangement began.
"I can't help it-"
"It's understandable to whine like a whore while I'm still inside you, but cooing like that when I'm not even touching you is a little ridiculous." Smug, he licks his finger and turns a page. "A man's ego can only grow so big."
“What are you reading?” you ask, completely uninterested, and your voice betrays it. You might enjoy a good book now and again, but something worlds more tempting is sitting before you. In his jeans and tee shirt, only his glossy ankle boots remaining, Paul is a rare sight out of uniform, like something sent from heaven. Or Hell. Both, somehow.
“You asked me that fifteen minutes ago. Or did you forget already?” He shoots you a disapproving, but playful look. He can hardly resist you more than you can him. Hardly. There is that last smidgeon of reserve that Paul prides himself on. He can’t be bothered to think of you as a sin, because life’s become far, far more complicated in the last few months than any one man can hold in his head, and because it feels like paradise to touch you.
Caught in your inattention, you abandon the ruse of asking about his book. "You fucked me too good...." You whine.
"You're going to complain about it?" He laughs at you.
"You're laughing at me." 
"Of course I'm laughing at you," he admonishes. Not to be taken in by your wiles, Paul's eyes trace the paragraph he's started unsuccessfully three times.
"You whine before I fuck you, you whine while I fuck you, and you whine after I've fucked you. You're silly."
The vision renews itself in your mind of last night creeping around in here, your excitement waiting in the antechamber of St. Patrick’s late at night, Paul sneaking up on you in the dark and taking you in that muggy little den where they keep the wine and spare things. You want him to grunt against your ear like that again, to fuck you like he needs you in order to breathe.
"I'm not silly!" You gasp out. He hears the difference in your voice and scans your body with his eyes. Grinning. He licks his bottom lip and pretends the fool. “I want it, please, I want it, I don’t caaaare…” Your caterwauling would be annoying if it wasn’t so bone-deep genuine. Paul could probably keep you here forever as a pet, a secret from innocuous parishioners, visitors from all walks of life, and you’d be satisfied as long as he used you from time to time. Fed you.
“Oh, that’s undignified.” He smiles, turns the page and hopes he can pick up without the aid of the passage his mind simply refused to retain.
You get on all fours and start to crawl over to him. You tug on the leg of his jeans, utterly debased.
“You’re insatiable, you know that?” his tongue flicks and flutters around the word in a musical way that you know you could find better uses for. You nod. His voice. He could guide you anywhere with it. To make things worse, he imitates you. The facsimile of your lust in his voice is enough to make you jump him. “‘Father, I can't focus on my book....Father, please fuck me with your fingers, I can't without it, I need it...I told you pack things to stay because I imagined I’d be enjoying some downtime other than between my sheets.'"
You bite your lip, the adoring way you look up at him unfairly reminiscent of Biblical portraiture, the Madonna (too ineffably ironic), Saint Lucia, devout, suppliant little succubi. Paul’s heart breaks a little, and his cock twitches with interest, which he endeavors to suppress. 
“What’s that look for, child?” He plays up the religious bent of your dynamic, something that presses inexpressibly sinful and delicious buttons in your dirty mind. 
"I do need you."
You pout. Your words with Paul repeating them was enough to rev your proverbial engine. You shift just the littlest bit, yet the friction of the floor underneath you is enough to tease out a whimper. Not totally on purpose, but not totally by accident. John chuckles again. 
“Present tense?” He pretends to turn a page, but he’s not reading a damn thing now.
"I need you all the time you're not in me.” It’s filthy, but it feels true in these moments when all the thoughts are leaving your head empty. 
He smiles one of his private smiles. His eyelids crinkle as he reaches up to scratch his cheek. "Let's not be pornographic, huh?"
"I wanna fuck again..."
"What else is new?"
"You've ruined me." He looks at you then like you’re something to eat. The book is shut and put down. You have your beloved hot priest’s attention. His eyes ask, smoldering, what will you do now you have it?
“You have my boot. Or aren’t you smart enough to get yourself off.” His tone shifts and a shadowy, serious dominance settles in his countenance. Every behavior, every quirk of his expression, curve of his smile, owns and owns you. He may plead and beg to bury his head between your thighs from time to time, on one occasion he may have shown up at your door, his satchel a deceptive front for rope and ribbon, which you were to restrain and blindfold him with. Life’s too short for dynamics that don’t shift and change like the tides. But in this moment, this energy, you are his. And he intends to impress that upon you.
You gape at him just a moment, heady lust clouding your already addled brain. Then slowly, carefully, you adjust your position, grab the upper part of Paul’s calf, and hoist your lower body up onto his shoe, your pelvic bone bumping his shin. Any hesitations or embarrassment that linger in you drown in the deeper, sweeter excitement of feeling some real friction as you roll your hips. Oh. God.
This might be the senseless, reckless need talking, but fuck. Just the sensation of the toe of his shoe right between your thighs, exactly where you need it, makes you feel a little bit crazy. You look up at him in awe, and thank God he’s not picked up his book again but instead is sitting comfortably, his gaze dropped low to watch you, his groin thrusting the tiniest bit forward at nothing, too much nothing. He groans, and you chase your pleasure like a thing possessed.
Words slip out of your mouth without a shred of logic behind them, and Paul tells you to repeat yourself. He bites his bottom lip as he watches you. “Hello? Still a brain in there?"
“I said you make me so sensitive,” you mumble, finding a new groove in the contour of his shoe, where it meets his ankle, and leaning on his knee, shaking, groping for his thighs, all involuntarily. Your dripping, dripping on his shoe, and the thought of how uncivilized that is makes Paul bite his fist.
"Uh huh, so it's all my fault, then."
"Yes..."
"Yes, 'what'?"
"Yes it's all your fault, Father."
“It’s my fault you’re going to cum on my shoe?”
You whine again. Your soul’s leaving your body, want spreads through every inch of your body, intense and blinding, high, so high.
“C’n I cum, please, can I cum?” You pant, feeling his hands wrap around yours, warm and loving. 
“Look at me, pet.” He orders. You obey. His irises envelop you. You steady yours on them, trying to get a grip, breath filling your belly and leaving your parted lips in rapid gasps. “No.”
Your brows shoot up in surprise. Disappointment isn’t the word for it, desire lets itself out as a sound. You slow down, somewhere in a high place you hear him say:
“Stop grinding, slutty thing. Your Father told you ‘no.’”
You sink against him, laying your head on one of his thighs. He kisses the top of your head, and murmurs, “Good girl. Good girl, good.”
Fireworks are setting off under your skin, your thighs are trembling, every bit of you is sticky. “That wasn’t easy, I bet.” He says, voice condescending and sweet, but every bit as needy as you are. You make another noise in response. 
“I’m not done with you, you know,” he takes your chin into one of his hands, lifts your head. He kisses you again, with a fierceness that just sharpens your feeling. “I’m not even close to done with you.” He rests his in your neck, kisses you once, twice, up your jaw, on your cheeks, the ear he can reach. He bites your earlobe and almost hisses, “Me. You. Bed. Now.”
[Pt. 2 Out Now!! Linked Here :)]
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undertheorangetree · 8 months
Text
Love in the Dark
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Summary- Aemond must speak with his lover following the events at Storm’s End
Warnings- MDNI. Female reader. Angst. Hurt/no comfort. Unhappy ending. Thoughts of war, death and sex. Reader is from the Reach. Aemond is being a dick.
Author's Note- This came to me in the car while I was blasting Love in the Dark by Adele so I’ve decided to make it everyone else’s problem. It’s just a little guy so this excerpt is short and the full thing is on AO3 in the link below :)
dividers created by @firefly-graphics
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Though they are not stained, Aemond can feel the blood on his hands. Rainwater has been the only thing to soak through his clothes, gone cold with the wind chill, but it may as well be blood. Hot, red blood, coating his hands, staining his clothes.
It had been an accident, that much he knows. Some convoluted attempt to gain the upper hand and frighten his bastard nephew that had gone horribly wrong. Some dark part of himself thinks that perhaps Lucerys deserved it, but that is masked by a sickening twist in his gut. Shame, guilt, horror. The realm will be plunged into war now, that much he is sure of. Truthfully, he knows it was inevitable, despite what his mother wanted. War was always going to be how this ended, but there is something akin to guilt eating away at him now, knowing that he is the one who has brought it upon them.
He had not truly been in control of himself when he came here. It was as if he was possessed as he made his way through the secret passages and into her rooms. It is the middle of the night, she is fast asleep and curled into the plush of her pillow, and yet here he stands, watching over her like a spectre. He isn’t sure how long he has been standing here. It feels wrong and he almost turns and makes his way back into the passage, to put as much distance between them as he can, but then her eyes open, blinking up at him blurrily. She is still half asleep and in that daze but still, she smiles at him, so affectionately that he thinks his heart may burst. He does not deserve her affection, to ever see that smile again, and he is almost relieved when it morphs into confusion, brows drawing together as she notices his appearance.
Slowly, still stunted by sleep, she pushes the quilts away and stands from her bed. He sucks in a heavy breath as she comes toward him, clad only in a nightgown. It is one that he has gifted her and he does not know if he can take the sight of her in it. Her hands come up, cupping his face for a moment and he closes his eye, relishes in the feeling of her skin against his own, warm against the chill. They leave him far too quickly, running over his neck, his shoulders, wrapping around his arms and tugging him closer. He sucks in a breath as she moves him but he does not dare touch her. He will not stain her with this blood. It is his alone.
The confusion on her face is apparent, voice flooded with a concern he does not know if he deserves. “You’re soaking wet. What-”
“I killed Lucerys.” The words come out of him without permission. He still does not know why he has come here, not really. For comfort, maybe. To speak the words aloud and make them true. To reveal the truth of it to someone kind as when word spreads in the morning he will never be treated with a tender hand again. “He arrived at Storm’s End not long after I did with demands from his mother. I- we, Vhagar and I- followed him out into the rain and… and I killed him.”
The horror on her face is apparent immediately. Her hands freeze where they are on his arms, face dropping and whole body going rigid. For a moment he thinks she is about to retreat, to put as much distance between herself and a kinslayer as possible. But then her hands tighten on his sleeves and she lifts her face to look him in the eye.
“The storms there are legendary. If you were both out flying in poor conditions, no one could blame you if-"
“I meant to.”
He doesn’t know why he says that. He hadn’t. At least, he does not think he did. Perhaps a part of him- one full of anger and malice- had been the only part of him Vhagar could feel and she had acted on that deep hidden urge within him. As it had been Vhagar who had truly acted and that was something no one could ever know. No matter what others think of him now, they cannot know he lost control of his dragon, that she acted without his word and that he could do nothing but sit helpless upon her back and watch. That would be worse, he thinks, to look weak in that way. A dragonrider was a god among men, a dragon a weapon more powerful than any other, and he cannot afford to look weak. Not even to her.
Suddenly the reason for his arrival here is obvious. It is clear now, excruciatingly so, what will happen. He has brought war upon them all, has condemned them all to a fate worse than death. The realm will be plunged into chaos, but he could spare her from it. If she were far from it all, she will not suffer the consequences of his actions. And perhaps that will be enough for him, to see her safe.
Read the rest here
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nasty-quillz · 1 month
Text
Bad Man Aizawa: Sloppy Seconds
AO3 Mirror
tag: non-con, Dirty Talk, Daddy Kink, Shinsou is Aizawa's biological son, Incest, Voyeurism, forced cheating, UA is A Hero College
Summary: Shouta Aizawa is not a good man. He wishes he were but well... That's a useless thought, when he takes his son's sloppy seconds in his lecture hall
Aizawa groaned as he lifted your skirt to expose puffy brown lips, oozing with his son’s cum.
“Look at you. Late to class because you couldn’t stop fucking my son, Y/n? And where are your panties, you lil’ whore?”
You whined at the tight grip on your thigh, big rough hands forcing them open. “Hitoshi took them. He said I had to keep his cum in me, but if I didn’t then I deserved for everyone to know what a dick hungry bitch I am.” There were tears in your eyes as from the humiliation of being exposed to your boyfriend’s father like this.
Aizawa spread your lips apart and felt his dick twitch as his son’s nut oozed out of you. Without preamble he undid a secret zipper on his Hero Suit and pulled his stiffening dick free.
It leaked with precum, as he stroked himself to full hardness, dripping onto your pussy to mix with his son’s. The fat tip poked from the foreskin and Aizawa spat  on it to lubricate his stroking.
He pressed the head into your pussy, relishing in the hot gooey sensations of Hitoshi’s nut slicking the way. 
“Fuck,” Aizawa groaned out as he buried his thick long girth into your sweet young cunt. He looked at your face and smirked at the tears he saw streaking down your face, at the strain of his dick in your inexperienced pussy. He grasped you by the backs of your knees and began fucking you.
He was so hard from the feeling of Hitoshi’s cum slicking your sloppy passage. He thought of how he must have looked, locked in some supply closet, your hot lil’ pussy stretching around his dick. How it must have looked as he rutted into you in pure adrenaline filled ecstasy, at fucking in UA.
“Hitoshi’s nut made you so slick, Y/n,” Aizawa teased meanly, loving thow the dirty wrongness of your circumstances made you ripple around his dick.
You cried harder and Aizawa sucked his teeth. “What Y/n? Don’t like to share your boyfriend’s nut wit his Daddy?” He set his hands on your hips, rutting into your rigorously. “Because this pussy sure feels like you’re fine with it.”
At the Hero’s words your grow wetter, squeezing him as he fucks you roughly.
“Uh huh Y/n, that’s what I thought. You like when I force you into some dark corner to get at my son’s sloppy seconds. I’ll make sure the next time you’re set to come over to study to let you bounce in my dick in his bed.”
You sobbed harder, knowing the man will follow through. Can imagine him blackmailing you to arrive early. Dragging you to Hitoshi’s room and laying you face down ass up. Flipping your uniform skirt up to get at your pussy and fuck you with the scent of his son in your face.
 Getting fucked by your boyfriend’s father, in his bed, with the older man violating the trust his son has in him, by violation his girlfriend. His dick driving into you with vindictiveness  as he whispered to you that Hitoshi would be home soon, so you’d better cum on his Father’s dick before then.
The very thought was enough to send you over the edge and you found your mouth covered by the Hero’s big rough hand, to quiet your wailing. 
Your pussy spasmed and clutched at his as your vision whited out in ecstasy. All the While Aizawa was drilling into you, with a single mindedness that was near suffocating.
He moaned as he continued to thrust into your sloppy heat. He watched, captivated, as you  creamed on his dick. The sight of your cum mixing with his son’s pushed him over the edge and he pressed his dick in deep, as he filled you with jet after jet of hot cum.
He watched as cum oozed out around him, taking pleasure in the fact that he cum was now mixed with Hitoshi’s. 
When he starts to soften, he pulls out. When the deluge of nut starts to spill, he pushes it back into you with his fingers. “Don’t waste all our hard work, Y/n. What would our ‘Toshi think if he knew you were so wasteful,” he asked as he removed his hand from your mouth. 
You whimpered doing your best to keep their cum inside you, as you sat up. Without warning Aizawa shoved his dirty fingers in your mouth.
“Clean up your mess,” he ordered as he put himself away.
You do as he said, licking and sucking the cum from his fingers. 
“You’re going to come to our apartment tonight, before he gets home. I meant what I said about taking this pussy in his bed. Understood Y/n,” he said as he pulled away from your mouth.
You feel yourself ready to cry again. “Sensei please—”
Lightning quick, Aizawa grabbed you by the jaw, in a grip you knew would need to be covered with makeup. 
“What did I say?” It’s bit out as an angry growl. Faintly his eyes flash red and you feel a tear roll down your cheek, as you shut your mouth and nod silently.
Aizawa lets you go. “Good. Now get out.” 
You sniffled, scampering away, trying to hold back silent tears. You left so fast you didn’t see the person who’s just listened to your entire interaction with your Sensei.
a/n: I wrote this months ago. It didn't get a lot of engagement on ao3 so it prolly won't get a part 2. Hope yall enjoy it though.
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eddiemadmunson · 1 year
Text
Little mouse part 5
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Paring: Aemond x reader
Warning: 18+, dirty talk, oral sex
A/N: English is not my 1st language
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
You were late. It was past midnight when you were sneaking through the cold corridors of the silent castle. Helaena kept you busy all evening and when she finally went to bed you had to take a quick bath. You didn’t want to visit Aemond and smell like child’s vomit. Jaehaerys felt sick and threw up all over your dress. 
And it wasn’t that easy to sneak into Prince’s chambers. He was heavily guarded by the royal guards. You were able to reach his door only because you knew the secret passage. 
He will be so angry at you, or maybe he got tired of waiting and left his rooms and went to the city to find some willing girl to fuck. That idea disturbed you more than you wanted to admit. He wasn’t your lover, he was a Prince, you were only a distraction for him, you had no claim on him. He will marry some noble lady sooner or later. You were nobody, just a servant girl. Sure, you had some privileges because your father was a successful merchant and Helaena was spoiling you, but you were not a match for king’s son. And he certainly didn’t want to marry you he only wanted to have fun with you. You sighed sadly and finally reached his chambers. 
You suddenly felt really nervous. 
“Do you really want to do this?” you asked yourself for the tenth time today. Your doubts were interrupted by echoes of a distant footsteps. You knocked on the door, quickly slipping inside, before you were spotted by ser Criston Cole. 
You looked around the room and immediately spotted Aemond sitting on the small sofa in front of the fireplace with huge book in his lap
“You are late!” he said calmly, but you could hear the anger in his voice.
“I am sorry my prince, your sister…”
“I don’t care, come here, you will be punished for it later,” he interrupted you, his eye shinning with wicked glint. You quickly walked to him, not wanting to make him more angry
“Sit!”, he said and his gaze followed you as you walked on wobbly legs towards him. You sat next to him and he looked away from you and continued reading his book.
You tried to see what he was reading but you were scared that he wouldn’t like your curiosity. You took the opportunity of sitting so close to him while he was reading and discretely admired his beauty. 
Suddenly he closed the book with loud “bang” and tossed it away, making you squeal.
“Do you know that it’s rude to stare at people?” he asked you, his eye burning holes into your soul.
“I, I wasn’t staring,” you stuttered, blushing wildly.
“You were staring at me and you were distracting me from reading my book,” he added and leaned closer to you. 
“Was that book an interesting one, my prince?” you barely whispered, when you felt his hot breath on your cheek.
“It was interesting until you came here and started distracting me, little mouse. It’s not easy to read when you feel someone’s curious eyes on you,” he whispered against your ear and inhaled deeply.
“You smell like vanilla, my dear little mouse. Did you find a time to take a bath? Is that the reason why you were late?” he asked you and your breath hitched in your throat when he licked the sensitive skin behind your ear.
“I had to do it, my Prince. Little Jaehaerys is sick and he threw up all over my dress,” you said and immediately regretted it, it wasn’t the best conversation topic. But Aemond only snickered.
“I told Helaena that she gives them too many sweets, but she never listens to me,” he shook his head. 
“Where did you get vanilla scented perfume, it’s expensive?” he asked curiously and his long fingers grazed the skin on your neck, lifting your chin. 
“Maybe you got it from an admirer?” he suggested, his eye darkened with jealousy.
“My father is a merchant my Prince, he brought it from Asshai. Do you like it?” you asked and he simply nodded.
“And what is your favorite scent, my Prince Aemond?” you asked him boldly.
“Isn’t it obvious? I love the smell of a dragon. The smell of freedom, when you are flying on its massive back, the smell of power, when you know that nothing and no-one can stop you. Have you ever smelled a dragon, little mouse?” he asked you, his lips so close to yours that they were almost touching.
“No, your sister never takes me with her when she goes flying on Dreamfyre, but I once saw Sunfyre real close, he is so beautiful,” you said dreamily and Aemond rolled his eyes. 
“What about Vhagar, do you find her beautiful?” he asked you darkly.
“Oh, she is beautiful in her own way,” you said nervously.
“So you think that my dragon is ugly,” he said in a voice laced with anger.
“What?? NO!! She is just really old dragon. Beauty isn’t her strongest virtue,” you said and quickly added.
“But beauty is not the most important attribute for a dragon, my Prince. She is the largest, strongest, oldest, the most powerful dragon in the world. She is very intelligent, cunning and loyal to her rider. There is no other dragon in the world who would win against her!” you said and Aemond’s tension lessened. 
“And Sunfyre may be pretty, but Vhagar has much more beautiful rider, my prince,” you flirted and he scoffed. 
“Hmm, I didn’t think that you are a liar, little mouse,” he said, making you frown in confusion.
“I am not a liar!!” you said loudly and he grabbed your chin painfully in his strong lean fingers. 
“You think that I am prettier than Aegon?”
“Of course you are!!”
“Ladies at the court have a different opinion”. 
“Then they are idiots and they don’t deserve your attention,” you said fiercely.
“I am sorry, my Prince. I shouldn’t talk like this about the ladies,” you added quickly, remembering that you are servant and you could be punished for saying something like this. 
Your apologies were interrupted by his lips smashing against yours. 
You moaned at the now familiar taste of his lips, your eyes widened when you felt Aemond’ tongue plunge into your mouth, completely dominating it. You tried to fight with him for dominance, but he pulled at your hair, making you moan, deepening the kiss. He lifted you from the sofa and sat you on his lap, straddling him. You wrapped your hands around his neck, kissing him back with so much passion that you felt like you’re burning. You tried your luck and your hand found its way into his long silver hair. They were so soft, you just wished to spent the whole day playing with his beautiful hair. You pulled at it little bit and he groaned and it was the sexiest sound you have ever heard. 
You were kissing for a while when he finally let you take a breath. Your heart was beating wildly, but he didn’t let you take a break and started placing open mouth kisses on your exposed neck, his teeth grazing across the sensitive flesh, making you moan his name. You instinctively rolled your hips over his, gasping when you felt how hard he is. 
“You just reminded me, that you owe me, little mouse, get down on your knees!” he commanded and you quickly obeyed with fear mixed with excitement running through your veins. 
He took off his pants and you gulped when you saw how big he was. You have never seen man naked but you were sure, that Aemond was not average
“Do you like what you see, little mouse?” he smirked when he saw your fascinated look.
“Touch me,” he ordered and you hesitantly wrapped your hand around his thick cock and he hissed in pleasure. You started moving your hand up and down his impressive length, watching with fascination that he was growing even bigger. 
“Fuck, little mouse, where did you learn what to do,” he asked suspiciously.
“You are not the only one who likes reading, my Prince,” you said shyly, proud that he seemed to like what you were doing. 
“What kind of books do you read, little mouse?” he gasped when you licked his head slowly.
“Forbidden ones,” you answered and took him in your mouth. With tear-filled eyes, you moaned onto his cock that only seemed to fit in half of your mouth before you started gagging. 
“I think that you need to learn, that books won’t teach you everything you need to know, little mouse!” he grabbed a fistful of your hair and forced your mouth lower down on his cock.
”Just relax your throat, it will be easier,” he suggested and you tried your best to do it, because you were choking. 
He pushed you deeper, his head hitting the back of your throat
“Breath through your nose. That’s it, what a good little mouse, taking my cock so good, taking it so deep inside your mouth,” he praised you and you felt your pussy clench. You were so wet from the moment he started kissing you, your arousal sliding down your thighs. 
Your slightly red eyes darted up to his face, he was staring right back at you, with so much desire in his eyes, that you tried to take him even deeper, choking around him, which sent vibration through his body. 
“You are the real treasure, little mouse,” he groaned and closed his eye when your curious tongue licked the underside of his cock
·You felt so proud of yourself to see him like this, that it was you who made him feel like this. You kept sucking him and your hand snaked discretely into your undergarments, your fingers started circling your clit. 
“What are you doing, little mouse?” he roughly pulled you up from your kneeling position. 
“I thought that I made it clear! You are not allowed to touch yourself. This pussy is mine, I am the only one who can touch you!!” he growled and you trembled, he was terrifying when he was angry. 
He grabbed your hand, bent you over his knee and hiked up your skirts.
“You need to learn, that when you disobey me, there will be punishment!” he said and you squealed in surprise as his hand smacked your ass suddenly. You heard a dark chuckle from him. The next smack was harder, you yelped in pain, but it felt surprisingly good. You whimpered and tried to push your hips away which earned you another hard smack against your ass cheeks.
”Stay still,“ he smacked you again and you couldn’t help yourself and let out a low moan.
”This was supposed to be a punishment, little mouse, but it seems you enjoy it,“ he smacked your sensitive flesh again and you moaned loudly.
“Kinky little mouse, I guess the best punishment would be to send you back to your room like this. Unsatisfied, with throbbing pussy and aching ass,” he smirked devilishly, landing another smack this time on your pussy which almost made you cum.
 “You are lucky, that I don’t have the patience to wait to be inside you any longer,” he purred into your ear as he picked you up and walked towards his bed.
Part 6  
Tag:   @moonmaiden1996 @andreeasancheez @nomugglesallowed @powellssaturn @filmelunar @schniiipsel @itzwhatever123 @cl-0-vr @ipadkidsworld @kitkat-writes-stuff @cullenswife @scaraza   @abcdefghi-lmnopqrstuvwxyz @random-human02, @schtrambotik @lilostif16​ @m0onchildsworld @hansensunshine​​
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stargazer-sims · 16 days
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Kovac House - Photo Tour (part two)
-> part one -> part three
__________
The second floor hallway looks like it belongs in a hotel.
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This set of glass doors leads into a storage area and up to the attic. The door at the right of this picture is Stan & Milena's bedroom.
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They like to say this is where the magic happens. Their bedroom has a sitting area, ensuite bathroom, king size bed, and of course the notorious hot tub.
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This is Milena and Stan's bathroom. This one is only accessible from their bedroom.
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Next on the tour is the second upstairs bedroom. This one used to belong to their daughter Alzbeta (known as Betka), who's now a young adult with a family of her own. These days, this room often gets used for guests as much as the downstairs guest room.
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Here is the other upstairs bathroom. This was Betka's bathroom, but is essentially now a guest bathroom as well.
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The last upstairs room is the fitness room. Stan loves having his own private workout space, and although Milena isn't as sporty as her husband, she also enjoys being able to have a bright, airy room to do yoga or work out on her stationary bike.
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Next is the attic. This has two rooms, connected by what Milena and Stan's grandsons, Lukas and Marek, like to call the "secret passage". First, here's the smaller of the two attic rooms, which is mostly used for storage. You can see the doorway of the secret passage at the back of the first picture.
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Marek and Lukas have taken over the second room and turned it into their secret hideout. They love to have sleepovers at their grandparents' house, and sometimes they even sleep in the attic. This spot is a cozy place to play on a rainy day.
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Last, but not least, is the basement... which will be in part three because the remaining number of available photos in this post won't do it justice.
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kpopnstarwars · 5 months
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Took You Long Enough: Kit Fisto x Reader
A/N: omg guess who finally decided it was time to move some star wars stuff onto here!! btw reader is a Nautolan too so can understand Kit's special pheromone tendril language (also the pic is not mine but erm its hot)
Edit: artist's website is here
Warnings: kit fisto's abs, swearing, kissing, water and swimming,
Word count: <1200
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You jump at the knock on your door. Kit, no doubt. You can sense the excitement he's emmitting, the eager joy unique to your fellow Nautolan when the two of you are about to go for a swim. It's not often that both of you are on Coruscant at the same time, and you'll take any chance you can get to spend a few moments with each other. To be honest, you wouldn't be surprised if he's jumping up and down outside your door, in nothing but his swimming trunks, scandalising anyone passing by. Your cheeks warm - you're used to Kit's toned body by now, but your want for him comes paired with a deeper feeling, an emotion forbidden to Jedi like you.
Grabbing your towel, you bound through the doorway and find yourself dazzled by Kit's smile, his large eyes shimmering with sheer enthusiasm as he presents you with his signature grin. He leans against the wall, hands jauntily on his hips, in his swimming trunks, a robe haphazardly pulled over. The brown fabric is not quite closed, and the narrow parting at the front reveals a sliver of smooth green skin which your eyes slip far too easily over.
'Took you long enough, sweet,' he teases, and you smack his shoulder. 'I take as long as I want, Fisto.' He laughs. 'Well, let's make you hurry. Last one in the pool is bantha fodder.'
He sprints off in a flash of brown robes, his green tendrils flying out behing him. Muttering a very not Jedi - ish curse under your breath, you sprint after Kit, hoping no senators lurk in the corridors to catch sight of two Nautolans in swimming wear racing through the hallways. Or worse, Master Windu. You're pretty sure he wouldn't approve of two high ranking Jedi careering around like younglings.
Skidding around a corner, you catch sight of the longest of Kit's tendrils just disappearing down the corridor. Maker, either he's gotten faster since you last raced, or you're getting slower. Determined to catch up, you put on a burst of speed and run after him, dodging past a droid and darting left, smiling to yourself as you tumble down an old set of stairs.
It's your secret shortcut - one you found quite recently, when a youngling knocked your lightsaber from your belt. You'd accidentally activated an old door and found the stairwell when you went to scoop your trustworthy weapon off the ground, which turned out to be a direct passage to what must have been some old chamber but is now you and Kit's playground - a massive room taken up with one thing and one thing only - a pool.
Shooting through another doorway, you shuck off your outer robes as you run, picking up speed across the tiled floor until you launch yourself into the air with a whoop. You land neatly in the water with barely a splash, bubbles rising around you in silver spheres as your gills open. Taking a moment underwater, you allow yourself to sink to the bottom, dragging your fingers along the bottom of the pool, letting the water muffle all the sounds above, letting it calm you and clear your mind.
With strong, practiced strokes, you swim back to the surface, shaking out your tendrils in a spray of glimmering droplets as you surface. Glancing around, you see that Kit hasn't arrived yet, and with a smirk, you drop below again, emptying your lungs of air so you sink like a stone. Once you hit the bottom, you cross your legs and sit there, on the pool floor, just waiting.
Barely moments later, you hear a muted splash and Kit appears just in front of you. His tendrils stream behind him, and the shock on his face is mirrored by the surprise in his pheromones at you presence. Devilishly, you grin, tilting your head and wagging a finger at him.
'Took you long enough, Fisto,' you say, throwing his words back at him. He huffs, swimming over to you. 'Teach me your secrets, sweet. How'd you slip past me?' You laugh. 'That's for me to know, and you to not find out.'
Getting your feet under you, you push them against the pool floor and shoot towards the surface, Kit not far behind. His head bursts up right next to yours, and you grin over at him, eyes dancing as he flicks water at you. He looks beautiful on land, but here, in his element, he's fucking stunning. Water traces down his ridges of muscle, dripping down his tendrils and slipping over his skin. A droplet lands in the space between his collar bones, and you have to clamp down hard on your pheromones before he senses how much you want to just dip your head and lick it off, to taste the sweet salt of his skin and hear his deep laugh.
'You still in there?' Your head snaps up. 'Why would I not be, Kit?' He narrows his eyes. 'What were you thinking about, sweet?' 'Nothing,' you say - too quickly. 'Mhmm,' he hums, but seems to let it go.
Dipping below your eye line, he disappears, and you feel the slight change in water current as he swims somewhere below you, before a strong hand wraps around your ankle and pulls you down. You laugh, hooking your leg around his neck, so his head rests in the crook of your knee. Spiralling down under the surface, you glance down and catch his eyes.
He looks up at you, and the expression on his face makes your heart ache. It's the awed gaze of a padawan to their master, yet also the wise gaze of a master to their padawan. It's sweet, sweet adoration, and yet beneath it, there's something deeper, something firey, something burning, his chin resting against your skin, his tendrils floating around him like a halo, his lips still upturned in the traces of a smile. He's glorious.
If you were breathing air, you'd have choked. You've never caught him looking at you like that, never seen such pure emotion in his eyes. The galaxy seems to have stopped, seems to have fallen away around you, so it's only you and Kit, the water bridging the gap between you, joining you, surrounding you. Trance like, eyes locked on his, you reach down, tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone with your fingertips. Your pinky finger accidentally brushes one of his tendrils, and -
And suddenly all of the feelings he's emmitting subconsciously register in your brain, and the two of you crash into each other, hands roaming over warm skin as your limbs tangle, your bodies pressing together as if they were never separate. His lips taste like home, like the comforting gloom of the sea floor and the gentle press of water against your skin, like silver bubbles and luminescent waves.
There's only a few things that you can fathom right now: he loves you, he wants you, and you love him and want him too.
It's those things that stay in your mind. Not the infernal Jedi Code, not the war, not the Jedi Council, not the Republic, not the Senate, not the Separatists, not even the Sith - no, just Kit, just Kit and his hot mouth and his wandering hands as he kisses you, seven feet underwater.
And then he pulls back, the corners of his glorious mouth pulling into a grin as your hand trails down his abdomen and over the ridges of muscle, pausing when your fingertips to catch in his waistband. His obsidian eyes dance, a whirlpool of passion.
'Took us long enough, didn't it, sweet?'
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kindofwriter · 2 years
Text
Literally impossible to pick a favourite OFMD character because, like, Lucius is the definition of blorbo from your shows; he’s so cute and flirty and smart and helpful, and ships the main ship just as hard as the audience, and he carries himself like he’s cute, and he tries so darn hard to help everyone with their issues.
But then there’s Frenchie, with his little tunes and his left-field superstitions, and his brilliant tactical mind for schemes, who’s willing to fuck up a bunch of rich people because they offended a man he’d just met, and who gave all his riches away to help others escape a life of servitude.
And Jim, who’s badass and soft, and just the most delightful nb rep, and whose favourite colour is teal because of Oluwande’s earring, and who goes back to their old home despite it feeling haunted just because their shipmate asked nicely.
And Roach, who sleeps with his onions, and figured he may as well be the ship’s doctor because meat is meat, right? Who accidentally let the prisoners he was totally down to murder escape just because they asked, and who threw himself off the ship’s mast in the spirit of frat boy camaraderie.
And Oluwande, who is just the world’s most adorable character, who sees the good in everyone around him and they see it in him in turn, who likes when captain does the voices, who values Jim’s safety even more than they do themself, and gives his room away when they leave, and who’s voted the new captain despite not wanting the role.
And Black Pete, who secretly whittles, and tells silly little tales about a man he saw probably one time that absolutely no one believes, who, upon meeting said man, didn’t seem to mind in the slightest that he wasn’t everything he’d imagined, and who’s so head over heels in love with Lucius it’s adorable.
And Wee John, who wants to design his room with Frenchie, and was willing to dress up as a cat for him, and who wants to get stabbed by Jim, and who, upon meeting the dread pirate Blackbeard for the first time, just stared him down, unflinching.
And Buttons, the man, the myth, the legend himself, with his some-are-teeth, and his relationship with Karl and Olivia, and his moonlight basking, and his use of actual Scots, and his own brand of superstition, and his belief that he can hex people and talk to seagulls.
And the Swede, with his beautiful singing voice, and his just along for the ride attitude, and the way his crew mates seem willing to do anything for him, and his bandanna in the colours of the Swedish flag.
And that’s without even mentioning Stede, fancy soft-boy who just wants everyone to be happy, even if he doesn’t always know the best way of going about it. Who pays his crew a wage. Who has secret passages on his ship. Who played pirates with his children and they loved it. Who fell in love with the concept of a fearsome pirate, and then with his soft, silly best friend. Who burned a ship of people alive for being cruel. Who gave up everything to make both his old and new families happy.
And Ed, literally tumblr’s manic pixie dream girl. Tactical, strong, and intimidating, but also warm, loving, lost. Terrified of a world that is terrified of him. Tragic backstory and a hopeless romantic. A massive pushover who’s convinced himself this is the life he wanted. Likes things that are sweet and soft, both literally and metaphorically. Oh, and hot. He’s hot.
But still!!! There’s more!!! If you like little freaks who are confused about their own emotions and motives then Izzy is right there! Badass on duty and big softie in their downtime? Fang and Ivan! Mary, taking control of her own life. Mary’s cool and quirky friends. Spanish Jackie, with her 20 18 husbands and her knife-hand. Nana, teaching Jim how to be an assassin.
They are all so good and I adore them all.
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barbiedragon · 3 months
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Aōhon iksan se ñuhon iksā (I am yours, and you are mine)
Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen (HOTD)
WC: 1.5k
Merry Christmas to @letoghanima from your secret Santa!
Warnings: NSFW content including minor blood play
Daemon and Rhaenyra run away together, fleeing to Dragonstone to be wed
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“Cut through my father’s Kingsguard. Take me to Dragonstone and make me your wife.”
The words fell tauntingly from Rhaneyra’s lips. A smirk curved across her mouth as her eyes bore into his, yet he could see the desperation behind them, her silent pleas to steal her away. Daemon’s fingers tightened across the back of her neck. Blood ran hot through his veins as the commotion began. The screaming, the shoving, fists clashing as panic surged through the room. This was his chance. He could finally have what he wanted. Her. His precious little niece. As chaos took over, it was easy to flip Rhaenyra over his shoulder and run out of the Great Hall with her. Anyone would think it was his way of keeping her safe; by the time they were gone, it would be too late. She would be his wife. Daemon damned the consequences. Targaryens were above the rules of men.
Rhaenyra clung tightly to him, heart pounding in her chest. Words stumbled and died in her throat. She was unsure of what to say, but she did not want him to put her down. She wanted him to take her far away from this place. Once Daemon reached one of the secret passages, he placed Rhaenyra on her feet, grasping her small hand tightly in his own. How delicate she appeared in her wedding dress and ornate hair. Daemon’s fingers grasped her chin, consumed by the desire to kiss her sweet lips. Surely, there was time for that.
Her lithe body curled into his while she mewled sweetly into his mouth. Her first real kiss. One filled with passion and desire. One that made her belly tighten and a need pulse between her thighs. Her hands gripped the red sleeves of his tunic, wanting to claw her way inside him. To burrow deep and become a part of him. A delighted laugh toppled from her mouth as they ran through the dark passages once the kiss broke, escaping through the streets toward the dragon pit.
Syrax’s brays sent joy through Rhaenyra as she stroked the golden beast’s snout. “It is time for us to be free,” she whispered to her dragon before turning to Daemon. “I require your assistance, Uncle. I need you to cut through my dress.” 
He walked closer with a smirk toying on his lips as he removed the dagger from his waist before kneeling in front of her. With an expert hand, he ripped the fabric of her white gown using the sharp blade. Two splits were made to allow her to straddle Syrax comfortably. His fingers took a moment to stroke the milky skin of her legs. The ride wouldn’t take long, and she would tolerate the chafed thighs.
“Thank you, Uncle.” Rhaenyra’s voice lilted sweetly before mounting her dragon.
Daemon led the way on Caraxes as the Blood Wyrm snaked through the inky sky. The night wind whipped Rhaenyra’s cheeks, turning them rosy. The dragons landed on the beach's soft sand, each letting out a rumbling roar. Rhaenrya found herself in Daemon’s embrace, his arms cradling her against his chest as he carried her into the castle. It seemed foreboding in the dark of night, but this was her ancestral seat. Her birthright. Her claim. Ancient blood and magic were embedded in the soil, which seemed the perfect place to begin her life with Daemon.
“Send the Septon to the Dragonmount,” he ordered one of the servants.
“What are your plans, Uncle?” Rhaenyra whispered, her lips feathery light against his neck as she spoke.
“You told me to take you to wife, and that is precisely what I shall do, niece,” Daemon stated, shifting her in his arms as he continued to carry her up to the Dragonmount.
The soft wheezing of Septon Allard could be heard as the man completed his trek. He was elderly but versed in Valyrian traditions. Rhaenyra’s feet sunk into the soft, volcanic earth as it dawned on her that Daemon truly meant to marry her. What would the consequences of this be? She quickly shook the thought from her head. Surely, her father’s ire would simmer when he realized she would be secured in a strong Targaryen union. She was no longer a child, and Daemon had long held her heart.
“Come, let us not waste any time,” Daemon informed the Septon. There was no time to arrange for everything to be done correctly, but the vows should suffice. Not even a king could break a union performed and blessed by a Septon.
Daemon’s large hands took hold of her smaller ones, cradling them almost tenderly as she gazed up at him. A smile tugged at his lips as the gentle, night breeze wafted through his shorn, silver hair. Nerves twisted in her belly as the Septon recited the binding vows.
“Hen lantoti ānogar. Va sȳndroti vāedroma (blood of two, joined as one).”
Daemon picked up a sharp piece of dragonglass, his thumb tracing across Rhaenyra’s lower lip before cutting. She shivered at the pinch of pain, tasting the hot, metallic tinge on her tongue. He placed the dragon glass in her hand and looked at her expectantly. Her fingers trembled as she sliced his lip. Their palms were sliced next, and blood markings were placed upon their foreheads. Their blood was joined, two halves becoming a whole. Time stood still, and Rhaenyra hardly remembered the words as she gazed into Daemon’s eyes. She was now his wife. The blood of Daemon’s lips mixed with hers as the kiss rooted her back in reality. 
“Nykēlo syt ūndon daor luo valzȳro ñōghossi ōressiks (I find myself held by the arms of a husband I never expected to have),” she smiled at him.
“Aōhon iksan se ñuhon iksā (I am yours, and you are mine),” he whispered, enveloping her close.
Chill settled over the island, so they sought warmth inside. Flames cracked in the hearth as Daemon removed her sullied wedding dress until she stood bare before him. Her breasts fit perfectly in his palms, thumbs grazing across her pink nipples until they pebbled under his touch. One hand slipped down her taut belly before cupping her cunt, fingers sliding through the sparse, silver hair.
“Ñuhon (mine),” he growled.
“Aōhon (yours),” she gasped as his fingers teased her entrance. Heat blossomed across her skin and deep within her belly.
He pulled his hand away with a deep chuckle before leaning back on the ornate red velvet chaise, guiding her naked body between his legs with her back towards him. Rhaenyra drew her knees to her chest, hugging them close as Daemon undid her hair. It took time as he removed the jewels and pins, slowly unfurling the braids until her hair cascaded down her shoulders in silver waves. She made a beautiful bride, and she would make the perfect wife.
“Now it’s time for you to undress your husband, little one,” he cooed into her ear.
“I want a kiss first,” she demanded, turning in his arms with a petulant look etched across her delicate features.
He cupped her chin, drawing her close before claiming her lips and making his sweet niece mewl with pleasure. Her fingers began to undo his leather overcoat after taking care to remove Dark Sister and his daggers. She toyed with the leather belt before slipping the red tunic over his head. Her breathing grew ragged as she unlaced his breeches. She slipped a palm inside, cupping his hardened flesh. Her dainty fingers stroked him until his cock stirred to life.
“Take me, Uncle.”
Daemon pushed the breeches down his legs before taking hold of Rhaenyra’s hips, “Mount me, sweet girl.”
Slowly, she lowered herself onto his cock, groaning and whimpering as she stretched wide across him. He fit her like a glove. Her milky skin flushed pink as he was seated fully inside her. He cupped one breast and slapped the curve of her arse.
“Ride your husband.” Fire blazed into his lilac eyes.
One of her palms pressed against his smooth chest as she bounced, rocking her hips, gasping softly at the feeling. His hands roamed over her blazing skin as fire pulsed through her. Her blood smeared across his pale flesh, crimson mixed with ivory. A familiar tremble ran through her as pleasure bloomed deep inside as Daemon lifted her palm to his mouth, lapping the blood droplets away. They were as one now. The flesh and blood of the dragon melded together.
Daemon’s hand pressed against her belly as he filled her, imagining her stomach growing round with his child. How he would cherish her and their future children, but she meant more to him than a simple broodmare. He would not reduce her to such. His Rhaenyra. His niece. His wife. His queen.
She clung tightly to him once nestled beneath the soft sheets in the aftermath of their wedding night. Neither knew what the dawn might bring; it was possible they would suffer under Viserys’s wrath. For now, they wished to take pleasure in each other and cherish this moment. A small victory in claiming what they had longed for. Velvety darkness cloaked Dragonstone as Daemon tucked Rhaenyra in his arms, his lips grazing over her forehead. Tranquility settled over him, a feeling he had long forgotten, as he closed his eyes while his bride slept in his arms.
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laxmiree · 8 months
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[CN] MLQC Lucien’s High Temperature ASMR translation
⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️
This post contains a detailed  spoiler for an ASMR that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to  notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~
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This ASMR accompany Blooming Amidst Desire MQ (Top Up SP). Contain spoiler of the MQ.
🔞 NSFW Warning!: The content of this ASMR is VERY VIVIDLY EXPLICIT and NOT suitable for individuals under the age of 18. It is recommended that those who do not meet this age requirement refrain from proceeding beyond this point.
Transcript under the cut~
Context from kiss SP MQ: In the reference room they didn't finish doing it on the chair because his colleagues entered the room. He managed to spacefold and continue it in the garden but probably has a 'regret' about it. So you can say that this ASMR is kind of fantasy fulfilment~
(door opening sounds)
The information you are looking for might be available here
(Lucien's footsteps)
Since I'm your program consultant
I should help you find the information, no matter how difficult it is to find.
The ancient civilizations you are looking for…
I remember it being here.
I also can't understand these ancient texts.
But
Here is a dictionary compiled by research scholars.
If we compare it with what you're looking for.
We should be able to make some educated guesses.
(sounds of Lucien flipping the pages)
It's likely that this map
might be a record of the topography at that time.
As for the murals…
they are probably depicting their ritualistic ceremonies and worship as appreciation to their bountiful harvests.
However, the information here cannot be taken out of the reference room.
So we need to transcribe it.
Let's go to the desk then.
(Lucien's footsteps)
There are usually no people coming here
so it's normal for this place to have only one chair.
Since that's the case,
let us each sit on one side.
I'll try to stick to the back of the chair
And you'll sit on the front half
Mm
That's it
(chuckle) I'll refer to the dictionary for translation
While you will transcribe the valuable information.
(flipping the book sounds)
Is the air conditioner broken?
Yes,
This reference room was planned very early on.
We should inform them later
If the room temperature is too high,
the paper will age or deteriorate more quickly.
(flipping book sounds)
What's the matter?
Do you have any discoveries?
(chuckle) When considering this text in conjunction with the murals…
It is likely describing a secretive…
affair.
Interaction between the two sexes
has always been an important theme in the records of ancient civilizations.
It not only represents reproduction…
but also
love and pleasure
So the two people in the mural…
Both of them have devoted expressions.
This passage of text...
is likely describing the process or events in between.
Touching and caressing each other
Holding each other tightly in embrace
Using each other's touch
to bring pleasure to one another.
(whisper) Feeling the deepest desires within.
Does it feel very hot?
Your palm
is sweating
This handkerchief was the one you gave me
So don't mention it.
I spaced out just now
Perhaps it is because…
You look beautiful in this dress today
You've been looking at this page all along.
Are you very interested in this record?
The ongoing process
is likened to the blooming of vines.
There was once a poet…
who also described his lover in such a way.
Blooming in his embrace
Like a flower
Her skin, like silk…
possesses a touch comparable to the velvety petals.
Her foliages are plump and lush
gently soothing my empty palm
If I were to water her with my sincere soul…
She will
ultimately bloom in my embrace.
When the time comes…
The breeze will shake her pistil*
(pistil is flower’s female sexual organ, so if he compared his lover to a flower....)
And the drizzle will moisten her fragrance
(rustling noises and kisses, which place does he kiss and touch is up to your imagination :)
And she…
Will see them from my devout gaze,
see intoxication,
see faith,
see love.
I will bow beneath her flower stem,
willingly becoming a believer of desire.
I also wish
to become a believer of desire.
You know better than me,
How devout I am at this moment
Would you help
to make my wish come true?
(rustling noises + kisses + just delicious Lucien's noises)
(THE SOUND OF HIS ZIPPER GOING DOWN)
It is indeed too narrow for two people to sit on one chair.
Come sit on my lap.
Okay?
(Lucien's gasps as he slides in + beginning of the chair creaking rhythmically)
(kisses with the chair still creaking)
Sitting like this,
are you comfortable in this (position)?
(kiss)
Then let's continue.
(kisses and Lucien's delicious gasps as the chair still creaking rhythmically in the background)
Your cheeks are completely wet.
It is indeed too hot today.
But it's rare to see
you blooming so passionately.
(kiss+ the chair still creaking in the background)
Very beautiful.
Even if I've seen that expression on your face countless times.
I still can't help but think that…
truly beautiful.
(kiss + chair still creaking rhythmically in the background)
Every part of you….
is tinged with pink.
(kisses+ the chair still creaking rhythmically in the background)
Here too.
(kisses + the chair still creaking rhythmically in the background)
So hot to the point of scorching.
(more kisses and Lucien's delicious gasps as the chair still creaking rhythmically in the background)
The last part…
Let me transcribe it for you.
(kisses + the chair still creaking rhythmically in the background)
Some knowledge you have yet to explore.
I still hope to teach them personally.
(the sound of delicious kiss + the chair still creaking rhythmically in the background)
All I wish is for you.....
to fully and freely…
bloom….
(kisses and Lucien's delicious gasps as the chair still creaking rhythmically in the background before it gradually fades)
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wurzelbertzwerg · 10 months
Text
Is Catherine Morland really incapable to tell fiction from reality?
Bold question, I know. The kneejerk reaction is of course she is, blimey, she even thinks General Tilney is a murderer, clearly, that girl needs to touch some grass... But does she?
Because, except for that ~48h period where she DOES indeed manage to convince herself that General Tilney committed a murder (though I’d argue the reasons behind that part of the story are a lot less fun and quirky, and more unfortunate, dark and truly, deeply saddening... And a very long story that would take up most of this post), for most of the of the novel, she’s more than capable to draw the line between reality and her favourite novels. Indeed, part of her excitement over Blaize Castle, and later Northanger Abbey, stems from the fact that she is very much aware that her life is in no way like that of a gothic heroine. For the most part she’s naive, yes, but her approach to life is a pragmatic  one.
During her first two weeks in Bath she crushes on Henry hard, but that’s it. Catherine knows that one dance with a gentleman, no matter how pleasant, doesn’t actually mean anything at all and she refuses to get her hopes up, even though the heroine always gets to marry the hero. It’s Isabella who makes a big deal out of it, probably a bigger one than it is at that point, and Catherine even tries to tone her down “But you should not persuade me that I think so very much about Mr. Tilney, for perhaps I may never see him again.” To me, that doesn’t read like someone who’s obsessed with the idea to find a gothic adventure of her own and who wants to be a heroine at all cost. That’s actually quite reasonable and down to earth for a girl as young as Catherine.
And when it comes to her visiting Blaize Castle, again, she does not expect anything noteworthy to happen. She doesn’t want to go because surely she must find adventure there... All she really wants is to enjoy the atmosphere: Blaize Castle remained her only comfort; towards that, she still looked at intervals with pleasure; though rather than be disappointed of the promised walk, and especially rather than be thought ill of by the Tilneys, she would willingly have given up all the happiness which its walls could supply—the happiness of a progress through a long suite of lofty rooms, exhibiting the remains of magnificent furniture, though now for many years deserted—the happiness of being stopped in their way along narrow, winding vaults, by a low, grated door; or even of having their lamp, their only lamp, extinguished by a sudden gust of wind, and of being left in total darkness. Honestly? Same. Most people who read fantasy (or a certain kind of horror) novels probably want to visit an old castle, to stand on the ramparts, walk through large courtyards and search for secret passages. And quite a lot of Austen fans wish to visit one of the grand houses that are still open to the public in Britain today, not because they expect to meet a real Mr. Darcy, but again, for the atmosphere. Because these places, which are the natural environment of our favourite characters, are mostly foreign to us. It’s one thing to read about someone standing in a cold stream on a hot summer’s day, sunlight sparkling on the water and something else entirely to have done so. No matter how well written, words cannot translate just how hot the sun feels on one’s skin and how icily cold the water around one’s ankles is in contrast to it. How blinding those sparkles can be and how the air smells of so many things and there’s a constant buzz of insects over the sound of the rushing stream. By visiting places like the ones our favourite characters inhabit we increase our immersion, and to me, that’s all Catherine is looking for, when she wants to visit those places that are just like those one reads about.
So, with that in mind, I don’t think she’s actually super obsessed with novels, no. Nor do I think that Catherine has a problem to tell fiction from reality. And it’s certainly not a major part of her character that she needs to outgrow. If anything, she’s just like us. Someone who enjoys a good story, who wants to immerse herself in the story and fantasize about it, because she, just like we, knows it’s not real. Perhaps this take is actually the commonly accepted opinion and I’m just wrong about perceiving a trend that shifts Catherine more and more into this direction of “wants to be a heroine so badly and has no grasp of reality” but well, now that I’ve written this post I might as well post it.
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all-hail-the-crows · 1 year
Text
Just wrote some Lenzshire smut 🤙
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Wrong Number
The manor fell silent as Mr and Mrs Heelshire left for their evening walk, closing the back door gently in hopes that their son wouldn’t notice their departure. He did though. Of course he did, Brahms noticed everything around the house. It was his world, and yet the times when his parents went out, times like these, were some of the few times he was allowed to freely roam throughout the manor. 
Brahms peeked warily out of a panel in the wall, one of dozens of secret entrances to the Brahms’s passageways throughout the house. The large man crawled out into the living room, eyes resting on the piano for a moment as he stood up before turning toward the kitchen. Whatever hobby he decided to indulge in today would wait till after he got something to eat. 
He brushed a hand against his mask for a feeling of security as his eyes trained on the too-large-for-comfort kitchen windows as Brahms inched towards the freezer where his parents kept the leftovers. After selecting something that looked half decent and heating it up, the porcelain-faced man retreated to the comparatively safer location of his childhood bedroom, he settled on the floor to eat. Brahms glazed around for the wretched thing that his parents had replaced him with, though it didn’t seem to be anywhere in the room. He frowned, jerking his head to the side to kick the bedside table and knocking it over. 
The mix of shame and jealousy followed Brahms as he left his, no the doll’s, room and made his way back down to the library, hoping to find a book to read. He selected a few that he hadn’t already and began reading the back covers while seated on the piano bench. Just as he was deciding which book to borrow for the night (his mum would notice if he took more than one, and he didn’t especially like being scolded), the phone in the guest bedroom upstairs began to ring. At first, Brahms didn’t move, no one ever called on the guest phone. The delivery boys and other off-location staff that the Heelshires had all called on the main phone, so it could only be a wrong number caller. This opened up a whole line of opportunity for Brahms, as he never got to speak to anyone but his parents, and even then under the forced pretense of still being their darling little eight-year-old boy. 
Completely disregarding the books he had been examining moments before, Brahms stood and raced into one of his passages, he made his way out of the guest room closet just before too many rings sounded off, and picked up the phone. Brahms cleared his throat before saying anything, not wanting the person on the other end to be under the notion that they were speaking to a child. Before the could say anything in his real voice though, the person on the other end of the line started in.
“Hhhh, you pig. You fucken bitch…” The caller took a moment to gurgle off unintelligible words, almost like a choking animal. Brahms wasn’t sure what to say to all this, but he didn’t want to hang up just yet, wrong number callers were so rare.
“Billy’s gonna shove his fat cock down your pretty piggy throat… you’ll like that won’t you? Sucking on my fat cock, sucking… sucking till you can’t breathe.  Then Billy’ll-”
“Sir, I’m afraid I don’t think I’m who you meant to reach.” Brahms interrupted, unsure if his cheeks had grown hot out of disgust with what the other had said, or out of shame that he hadn’t hung up already. The caller, Billy, paused. Then he broke out into chortle, followed by a string of words.
“Piggy has got such a voice, would sound even better gagging on Billy's cock though. Such a deep voice, bet you’d beg Billy for more with that pretty voice, beg for me to stroke your dick. You have a dick piggy? Billy wants to lick it, run his tongue up your shaft and lick it, lick it lick it, lick it, lick it.” Billy repeated that phrase for a while, long enough for Brahms to seat himself on the guest bed, his interest building, and any shame he may have felt long abandoned.
“Would you…mista?” Brahms asked, unsure of how exactly to respond to the depraved caller, but unable to ignore the fact that he was enjoying this, as well as the growing mound in his pants. Billy let out a shrieking giggle. 
“You like that, you piggy slut?” He chortled, clearly enjoying that someone was for once indulging in his ‘hobby’. Brahms could hear a rhythmic movment on the other end of the line, a sound that he knew all too well from his own lonely nights in his attic room. Brahms reached down to rub against his still-clothed dick, palming himself as Billy continued to spill out degrading words, Brahms closed his eyes and furrowed his brows in pleasure.
“Pretty-voiced piggy wants Billy’s juicy cock inside him.” It was more of a statement that Brahms wasn’t about to contradict than a question. “Slamming at his insides and stretching piggy out, ruining poor piggy’s pathetic hole.” Billy set off on laughing, screeching jumble of noise, making Brahms wince and hold the phone away from his ear even as he bit his lip to hold back a building moan. 
With reddened cheeks behind his porcelain face, Brahms ducked a hand into his trousers, clutching at his embarrassingly hard cock. He pressed the phone to his ear, letting out a whimper into the receiver as he used his thumb to circle his tip. Billy felt silent at the noise.
“Billy…” Brahms murmured into the phone, his breathing growing almost as heavy as Billy’s as he jerked himself off. 
He could feel pre cum beginning to leak out as he imagined the vulgar man making good on his promises. Working Brahms’s cock with his mouth, licking long stripes up his shaft, and drooling all over his balls. Brahms moaned again into the receiver and thrust his hips upwards into his hand. 
“Filthy piggy,” Billy giggled almost sweetly into Brahms’s ear. “You want me to hold you down so you can’t go anywhere? Fuck you till you can’t breathe, piggy?” Billy let out a string of moans and wails that made Brahms’ heart race and his dick throb in his hand. 
“Yes, please. I do want that.” He moaned, stroking faster, hand gripping almost painfully tight. 
“Billy’s filthy piggy wants him to bend him over and fuck his tight ass till piggy squeals and screams and moans and begs for Billy to stop,” his breathing grew somehow heavier. Brahms stifled another moan, sandwiching the phone against his shoulder. He reached down with his other hand to press against his hole, fingers slick with his own precum as he massaged his entrance. 
“I’ll fuck you till you’re cumming, till Billy’s creaming inside you, making a big mess out of poor piggy’s ass. Billy’ll fill you up with his hot cum, fill up his piggy’s hole until you can't keep it in and it’s dripping out and leaking all over.” He let out a snorting laugh that morphed into a lengthy moan that sent a rush to Brahms’s throbbing cock, the heat in him growing almost painfully. He had begun to press a finger into his ass, opening up his tight hole, stretching it nowhere near as well as he was sure Billy could, but whimpering under his own touch nonetheless. 
Brahms continued to stroke his cock, throwing his head back as the heat inside him overflowed and thick, hot cum shot onto his stomach, the world going blank for a moment. When his mind drifted back, Billy had gone back to moaning and gasping, sounds of slurping and wet rubbing traveling through the phone. 
“You cum piggy? Billy talk you over so well that you creamed yourself?” Brahms could hear the grin in Billy’s voice. Brahms moaned in agreement, fingers tracing through the spilled seed on his stomach. “Filthy pig, Billy’s gonna cum. Pretty-voiced slut wants Billy to fill him up, poor needy piggy.” Brahms squirmed with pleasure under Billy’s words as the vulgar man became increasingly sporadic. “Wants Billy to slam his juicy cock into him, fuck him till he can’t stand, Billy’ll fuck his pretty pretty piggy until it hurts. Filthy piggy… you fucken whore, Billy’s gonna find you, going to make piggy scream.” He snorted. “Scream piggy, scream for Billy… Filthy Billy... Nasty-” 
Slam
Brahms flinched back as the other end of the line went dead. He glanced down at the cum across his midsection and his already growing-hard cock. Billy’s words bounced around his head as Brahms set the phone back into its place, staring at it for a moment, wishing that Billy would call back. His heart raced while staring at the phone, but after standing there for a moment, nothing happening, Brahms sighed, turning back to his secret passageways to hide away in his room once more. He could only wait for the next wrong number and hope it was as interesting as this one, and until then, the memory of Billy’s sickly sweet voice and the threats? Promises? He had made would stay with Brahms for a long while.
___________________________
I never post the smut I write, so I donno. If you made it this far, I guess you liked it, so thanks :)
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