#stained crown moulding
Photo
Kitchen in Chicago
#Large country single-wall medium tone wood floor kitchen pantry photo with recessed-panel cabinets#dark wood cabinets#quartz countertops#multicolored backsplash#mosaic tile backsplash and no island black and white#white trim#stained crown moulding#brass#mosaic backsplash
0 notes
Text
#interior#dark interior#dark#dark aesthetic#gothic#gothic architecture#wood#wooden#spooky#stairs#window#stained glass#brown#old#worn#abandoned#abandoned house#crown moulding
207 notes
·
View notes
Text
Library - Beach Style Family Room
Mid-sized beach style enclosed medium tone wood floor and brown floor family room library photo with no fireplace, blue walls and a wall-mounted tv
#gray blue sofa#water view#nesting tables#blue white area rug#wood crown moulding#decorative throw pillows#stained wood french door
0 notes
Photo
Bathroom 3/4 Bath Sacramento
Mid-sized trendy bathroom design example with 3/4-inch beige tile, ceramic tile, brown cabinets, beige walls, a vessel sink, a wall-mount toilet, and shaker cabinets.
0 notes
Photo
3/4 Bath in Sacramento
Example of a mid-sized trendy 3/4 beige tile and ceramic tile limestone floor bathroom design with brown cabinets, beige walls, a vessel sink, a wall-mount toilet and shaker cabinets
#brown vanities#brown stained vanity#white crown moulding#round bathroom mirror#brown vessel sink#metal wall art
0 notes
Photo
Austin Walk-In
Inspiration for a large mediterranean gender-neutral ceramic tile walk-in closet remodel with raised-panel cabinets and medium tone wood cabinets
0 notes
Text
New York Beach Style Family Room
Example of a mid-sized beach style enclosed medium tone wood floor and brown floor family room library design with no fireplace, blue walls and a wall-mounted tv
#tv mounted on the wall#family room#stained wood french door#blue leather#area rug#blue area rug#wood crown moulding
0 notes
Photo
Enclosed - Traditional Kitchen
#Enclosed kitchen - mid-sized traditional l-shaped medium tone wood floor and brown floor enclosed kitchen idea with raised-panel cabinets#distressed cabinets#granite countertops#stainless steel appliances and an island white stained cabinets#white crown moulding#under cabinet lighting#dark wood stool#granite kitchen counters#medium hardwood floor#grey granite counters
0 notes
Text
I love you handmade crown moulding, I love you arched doorways, I love you stained glass, I love you bay windows, I love you brass hardware, I love you teak wood, I love you quirky chandeliers, I love you crystal doorknobs, I love you brightly colored tiles and appliances! Petition to bring back apartments and houses with CHARACTER!!
966 notes
·
View notes
Text
Better Than Any Fantasy | Ruhn Danaan + Tristan Flynn
Ruhn Danaan x Tristan Flynn x Plus Size Reader
Y/N’s been avoiding Flynn like the plague, and Ruhn knows why and is more than happy to tell him. Especially when that conversation leads to something much better than any of them could have hoped for.
Here's to all my thick, fat, plus-size girlies who want some SJM men love too xo
Warnings: mature themes (18 +) swearing, body-image issues, eventual smut and the Ruhn and Flynn being utterly infatuated with their thick, beautiful lady.
MASTERLIST
“Ruhn!” The sound that escapes Y/N is like sunlight, the kind of goodness that could be bottled up and sold, a cure for the worst and darkest parts of a person’s nature. “Seriously, how can I flip the pancakes if you won’t let me go?”
“Then forget the pancakes,” I grin against the column of her throat, inhaling the feminine scent of her as I hold her to my chest, my fingers digging into the soft flesh of her stomach, keeping her giggling figure close. “We both know they’re going to taste like shit anyway.”
“Asshole! I can’t believe you!” Y/N exclaims, slapping my hand but she does mercifully drop the spoon in her hand, pouting as she turns off the gas, saving us from having to grin and bear through eating them. “Well, no pancakes for you- The Crown Prince can starve.”
“Ouch, that hurts Princess,” I croon, smirking as I turn her to face me, my hands running along her lush body, down to her soft ass, “Looks like I’m going to have to satiate my appetite some other way then.”
“Really?” She whispers, biting her lip and I can smell her arousal in the air, my smirk deepening at the way her chest rises and falls fast, and she clamps her thick thighs shut, trying to stop the ache between them.
“Really,” I slowly nod my head, watching as her eyes flutter shut as I kiss her cheek, peppering and trailing my tongue over her jaw up to her lips. She gasps into the kiss, her back arching into the counter behind her and it takes everything in me to not lift her onto the edge and feast on the sweetness between her thighs.
I slip my tongue into her mouth, tasting the bittersweet hues of vanilla and coffee and it ignites something in my chest, a dark and intense pulse that burns all the way down to my cock, already hard and throbbing against my jeans.
My fingers curl around the curve of her ass, my nails digging in hard enough to make Y/N moan, and I revel in the feeling of her large tits pressed against my chest, and her stomach too, so comfortable and perfect moulding against me.
The sound of footsteps echoing down the hall toward the kitchen has Y/N halting, and the second her hands push gently at my chest, and her lips draw away from mine, I groan. She giggles at the dejection in my voice, on my face, before pressing a chaste kiss to my cheek as she peels herself away from me- those footsteps infinitely closer now.
“You really have the worst fucking timing, Flynn,” I spit, my dark eyes lifting over Y/N's head, to the brown-haired, golden-skinned pretty boy smirking as he leans against the door pane, looking more than amused at my irate glare.
“By all means, please continue,” Flynn shrugs nonchalantly, teasing us but my lip quirks up at the way Y/N’s body freezes, her cheeks turning an adorable shade of red at Flynn’s words- at the secret between us that made her so perfectly embarrassed.
“Hm, what do you think Y/N?” I mutter gently, my breath running warm against her cheek, and I have to bite my lip to force down my bellowing laughter at the murderous scowl she gives me.
“I need to go get ready, I’m meeting Bryce in a few,” She bites back, ignoring my knowing stare as she pushes at my chest, brushing past me, the stains of red deepening as her gaze meets Flynn’s, before immediately looking away.
“Hey, Y/N,” Flynn smiles softly, but his brow furrows as he takes in her fast-paced footsteps and the way her head is pointed down, unable to meet his eyes.
“Hi, Flynn,” Y/N mumbles back quietly, and before he can open his mouth to speak again, she’s rushing past him, her curvy body curling in on itself like a flower so as not to feel every inch of him against her.
I fold my arms over my chest, trying to blanket my expression as her footsteps bound away and Flynn stares after her, his face a mixture of hurt and confusion, so unlike the usual carefree nonchalance and humour we were used to.
“Okay- she’s barely said five words to me in days, any room I enter she leaves, and she can’t even look me in the eyes,” Flynn frowns, frustration locking his jaw as he comes to lean against the counter-top, staring at me in expectance. “What the hell did I do wrong?”
“You’ve noticed all of that, huh?” I muse, cocking my head at him, and the way his frown deepens, and he leans forward makes me smile. “She’s not upset with you, Flynn. But she is distracted- she sees you and her mind turns to something I said.”
“And what exactly would that be?” He demanded, folding his arms across his muscled chest, seemingly relieved that Y/N wasn’t angry with him, but the glint in his eyes had sharpened, and I knew he was interested, knew he couldn’t help but be intrigued by my devilish smile.
“Well…” I run my tongue across my teeth, my mind racing back to that night four days ago, and Flynn’s eyes darken with shadows as I recall every last detail.
“Ruhn,” Y/N moans, her head tossing back to rest against my shoulder, and I nibble on her earlobe as I fuck my hips up into her, the sound of her wetness mixing with her breathless gasps driving me insane.
I groan as she rolls her hips, my fingers gripping into the meaty flesh of her thighs and hips, guiding her back and forth, up, and down, and the feel of her back and ass pressed against my sweaty bare chest is like heaven.
“Don’t stop, please, please,” She pinches her eyes shut, and I love the sight of her face as she takes me, the TV light casting over her, highlighting every expression she makes- every time she bites her lips, or rolls her eyes, or opens her mouth to release the most delicious sound for me.
“Look at you, such a good girl, so fucking polite,” I croon, my right hand sliding up to cup her heavy breast, bouncing wildly with her movements, and I grin as I pinch her pebbled nipple, rewarded with another whimpered moan from her. “And yet you’re riding me like a slut right now, making a mess of my cock and in the living room, for anyone to come in and see.”
“Oh fuck,” Y/N cries, her body sweating and her breathing erratic and I know her peak is close, know by the way her knees start to give out, her fingers cutting into my arm as she tries to anchor herself. I chuckle, my voice low with headiness and I take it upon myself to drive up into her faster, deeper, to hit that spot that has her seeing stars.
“Bet you’d love that, huh?” I mutter, kissing her neck, running my canines down her throbbing pulse point, “Bet you’d love for someone to walk in right now, to watch you get fucked like a good little slut, your entire body on display.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” She nods her head erratically, fucked dumb and swimming in the clouds of her mind as I slip in and out of her, her wetness almost ridiculous, her walls clenching me so goddamn tight.
“Yeah? Does my Princess want an audience, does she want to be watched?” She gasps as I bite against her sweet spot, that hurt turning to pleasure as I lap my tongue there, feeling her racing pulse. “What if someone came in right now… what if Flynn came in right now, you want him to watch? Or do you want him to join?”
The whimper that escaped her at my dark words surprised me, the way her entire body arched and trembled against me surprised me- because she did want that.
“Huh? You want him to join? You want to get fucked and worshipped by me and my best friend?” The idea makes my core burn, and I know we’re both reaching that climax, that euphoric tipping point where she comes around my cock, suffocating me and milking me dry. “Answer me, Y/N, or I’ll stop.”
“Ruhn,” She pleads with me, and the sound almost makes me give in, give her what she wants, but I don’t relent and when my hips start to slow down, pausing, she groans, and the satisfaction that fills me as she nods her head, almost makes me finish right there. “Yes! Yes, yes, I want that, Ruhn, I want that.”
“Want what? Be specific, Princess,” I coax, groaning, guttural and low as I move inside her, her pussy throbbing around me, her body so happy, so fucking relieved at the feeling of me moving again. “Tell me.”
“I want you a-and Flynn, I want-want to be watched,” Her voice is shaking as she speaks, the sound of her ass slapping back against me so lewd in the air, and I have to grit my teeth at the pressure building in my gut. “I want you both- to touch me an-and fuck me, I want you t-to worship my body.”
“That’s my girl,” I praise, knowing that my encouragement was feeding into her pleasure, heightening it and I know she’s imagining the both of us fucking devouring her, “bet you'd look so good with his cock stuffed in your pretty mouth, or fucking in and out of this tight cunt,"
My cock, my words, the images tip her over that edge with a devastating cry.
“Ruhn, Ruhn, Ruhn-“
“That’s why she’s avoiding you, Flynn,” I state hoarsely, ignoring the way my cock aches, the image of her body and the feeling of being inside her tormenting me now that I’d opened that box up, allowing myself to remember it. “Because when she sees you, she pictures that fantasy all over again.”
“Shit,” Flynn mutters and I recognise the roughness in his voice, recognise the intense, unsatiated gleam in his eyes and the way his entire body has gone hard with restraint. He’s imagining her- her body, her tits, her cunt, her mouth, and everything he could do to her.
I would’ve thought the idea of my best friend fantasising about my girl would make me furious, make me murderously jealous and yet, the more I thought about it, the better it all seemed.
“So, Flynn,” I know he sees the challenge in my eyes, the hot mischief as I grin at him, and I see his brows raise in shock, in interest, as I lean forward. “How do you like the idea?”
***
“Ruhn?” I call, my heels clicking against the floor as I walk down the dimly lit corridor toward Ruhn’s room, my voice echoing through the silence of the empty house. “Hello? Ruhn?”
My phone beeps in my hand, startling me, and I pause a few yards from his ajar door, not hearing the familiar sound of my boyfriend's voice or any other person's voice for that matter. I click open our text thread, and heat instantly fills my body.
‘Come inside, shut the door behind you and close your eyes- no peeking.’
Another game. Ruhn loved his games, loved watching me pant and sweat and blush under his ministrations and my body pulsed in excitement, knowing that as long as I followed his rules, as long as I played my part, I would get my reward.
I bite my lip, discarding my phone on top of the bookcase outside his door and my knees felt weak as I slowly walked over, the anticipation clogging the air. I close my eyes as I step over the threshold, my hand on the doorknob as I close it behind me, the wood creaking before clicking firmly shut.
It was a mixture of terrifying and thrilling, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, but knowing that he was in here with me. That his eyes were on me, watching me, smiling, his gaze running over every inch of me as I stood there.
I hear footsteps echo against the floor, getting louder, and closer, and my nipples harden, the crisp air feeling hot and thick in the silence- knowing he was coming, what he would do, heightened everything.
“Always so obedient,” Ruhn’s voice ran over me like a caress, prickling my skin and I shivered under it, knowing he was inches from me. I swallow as his cold hand traced up the sleeve of my dress, moving slowly before resting against my chest, right over my thundering heart. “Nervous? Or excited?”
“Both,” I whisper, my voice breaking under the pressure of it all, his fingers teasing against my hot skin, barely touching me and yet it felt like I could feel him everywhere.
“Good,” He praised, and I inhaled as he slipped his hand into mine, tugging me forward. I followed, blindly, obediently, walking forward as he led me further into the room before eventually stopping, likely only a few feet from his bed.
His hand slipped from mine and the need to open my eyes intensified, the desire to see him almost overwhelming, especially as he circled me, like a predator, not speaking as he came to stand behind me, his hands clamped down like a vice on my waist.
“Do you want to open your eyes, Princess?” He whispers against my ear, and I can smell the mixture of alcohol and apples on his breath, it intoxicated me, and I whimpered quietly, arching my ass into his already hard cock.
“Yes, yes please,” With anyone else I would have been mortified by how my voice shook, at how desperate and helpless I sounded, but not with Ruhn, no, I couldn’t ever feel anything but thrill and need and comfort when with him.
“I think you’ve more than earned your reward,” Ruhn nibbles against my ear, his favourite tactic to make me dizzy, to fill my head with clouds, distracting me wholly. “Go ahead, open your eyes for me, Y/N.”
I inhale once, deep and steadying, and then with a long, slow exhale, I flutter my eyes open.
And my heart stops in my chest.
“Flynn?” I choke out his name, jumping at the sight of him sitting on the bed before me, leaning back on his strong arms, his eyes racking over me like I was prey, “What the fuck?”
“Breathe, just for a second, breathe,” Ruhn instructs from behind me, and my body seems to melt into calm, melt into him. It was as if I were predestined to trust him, to obey his words. I force the air back into my lungs as I stare at Flynn, my body shaking at the look in his eyes- for me.
“I don’t understand,” I mutter, my throat drying out as I glance over my shoulder up at Ruhn, to the pleased smile he wore. I watch as his gaze meets Flynn’s and something passes between them, some unspoken conversation I wasn’t privy to. “Tell me, Ruhn.”
“Flynn was upset that you’ve been avoiding him, he thought he had done something wrong,” Ruhn informs me, looking far too smug. It would have annoyed me if I didn’t feel so guilty for hurting Flynn. “I was more than happy to fill him in on the real reason you were being so distant.”
The real reason. That night, Ruhn’s words, his taunting, seductive, torturous words that have me picturing it all again- Flynn and Ruhn, all over me, touching me, tasting me, fucking me, absolutely ruining me.
“I see you remember it well,” Ruhn chuckles- the prick was taunting me, and I almost hated myself for how my body responded, how my arousal scented through the air, so obvious to the two arrogant males before me. “And we wondered if that certain fantasy was one, we could fulfil for you, Y/N."
“Oh,” It was an idiotic response, one that Ruhn would no doubt endlessly mock me about later, but I was speechless, breathless, my entire being trembling and weak at his words, at the insinuation, nervous under Ruhn’s watchful eyes.
“Is that something you would like, Y/N?” Ruhn mutters, and I sigh as he runs his nose down the vein of my neck, inhaling the scent of me. My eyes glanced to Flynn, patiently waiting, and the sweet smile he wore told me it was all up to me.
“Is- is that something you would want us to do, Ruhn?” My voice is weary as I glance back at him, and upon seeing the fear and concern in my eyes, that he would think I wasn’t happy with him, Ruhn smiles- one that warms my heart.
“I’m yours and you’re mine, Y/N, always,” He kisses my cheek, tenderly, and it’s enough to drive me mad, “But that doesn't mean I can't share, in fact, I'm more than willing to see you being pleasured by us both."
Excitement and thrill- that was always what I felt with Ruhn.
“Then yes,” I breathe the words and instantly the air in the room changes, the two males change and the predators in them, the hunters in them, the instinct of the Fae comes roaring out, their eyes latching onto me.
A low, rumbling sound reverberated through Ruhn’s chest and I felt it vibrate through me, straight to my thrashing heartbeat. I clench my hands as Ruhn turns my face toward his, and the second his lips connect with mine, every worry withers away.
I melt into the way his tongue laps against mine, smooth and graceful, so skilled in making something as simple as a kiss feel as intimate and real as when he fucks me, and it makes me just as wet.
“Why don’t we show Flynn here what’s under this dress, hm?” Ruhn muses against my lips, and I can feel Flynn’s intense stare and it’s almost terrifying how still he is. “Let him see what he's been fantasising about all day."
I gnaw on my lip, nodding my head and turning to watch Flynn’s reaction. Ruhn begins to tug at the zipper at the back, and immediately Flynn’s beautiful face turns lethal, feral, sharpening in a way that made me clamp my legs shut, so desperate to stop the ache there.
He tugs the zipper to the end, and together, we pull the material down my arms and chest, letting it slip over my wide hips and thighs before it pools to the floor at my feet.
“Shit,” Flynn curses, his jaw locking hard enough I can hear his teeth grating, and at that moment, wearing nothing but a black bra and panties, I’m glad that I hadn’t chosen something silly or unflattering to wear today- because he was looking at me like I was the beautiful one.
“I know,” Ruhn says, agreeing with his best friend, his brother, and my cheeks heat at the pride in his voice, the sheer masculine satisfaction. He was pleased with Flynn’s reaction, pleased that his chest was racing wildly, that his throat bobbed as he traced over my skin, pleased at the hard length imprinted against the seam of his jeans. “She looks even better without these on.”
Nausea fills me at the thought of Ruhn unclipping my bra and slipping off my underwear, nausea at the idea of being wholly naked before Flynn, every single curve and roll and stretch mark, all my cellulite and uneven skin and bumps on display.
It had taken me a long time to be comfortable enough for Ruhn to see me naked, and I loved him. Letting Flynn see me that vulnerable seemed like such a big leap to take.
"Is that alright, Y/N?" Flynn asked, and the tenderness in his face almost made me sob, the kind and thoughtful gleam in his eyes that told me that I could trust him told me that he would respect any choice I made.
"It's alright," I nod slowly, pushing down the insecurity and when Ruhn's gentle hands move to the clasp of my bra and he unhooks it, letting my aching breasts fall free of the material, I'm glad for that choice.
I recalled Flynn once stating he was a tits-over-ass man, and right now I could tell he was being honest. I watched as he ran a hand over his jaw, his gaze flickering back and forth between both of my breasts, a deep groan escaping him at the sight of them.
Ruhn chuckles, far too happy as he kneels behind me, his fingers gently hooking into the material of my underwear and began slowly tugging it down, over the curve of my ass and my wide hips, down my thighs, the material getting stuck between the places that touched and eventually down to the floor.
I curled my hands into fists, my nails cutting into my palms as Ruhn held onto each calf and slipped off my heels, one by one, and I giggled at the sound of him tossing the shoes behind us, my clothes and underwear flung back to some faraway corner as well.
"You were right, Ruhn," Flynn states roughly, his tongue lapping out to wet his lips, and I smiled under his eyes, the way they moved over me, over every inch, not blanching at any of me. "She's definitely better without anything on."
Ruhn stood behind me again, running his fingers up and down the length of my back, and something in me purred.
“I think Flynn should get a better look," I mutter, my confidence spiking as I glance back to Ruhn and his smirk is proud, arrogantly proud, "Or a better feel?"
The air went taut as I sauntered toward him, Flynn looking almost nervous as I came to a stop before him, staring down at his perfect form. I place a hand on each of his broad shoulders, my knees weak as I climb onto the mattress, his hands not hesitating to grab my waist and guide me to straddle his lap.
My sore nipples brush against the material of his shirt and my wet, aching core sits perfectly over the seam of his zipper igniting red, hot embers through my entire body. Flynn remains silent as he stares at me, his hands moving over my naked hips and thighs, waiting for me to make the first move.
Even if I could hear his heart racing, his eyes telling me that he was on the very precipice of his control.
"Kiss me, Flynn."
And by Cthona, he kisses me.
The way Flynn kisses is different to Ruhn, his mouth moves against me, all tongue, and teeth, suckling and biting and tasting, and I moan into it, relishing every second of him devouring me, every second of his hands all over me, palming and kneading my flesh, slapping, and clawing at my ass.
“Fuck me, Y/N,” Flynn growls in appreciation and I don’t have a second of reprieve as he kisses down my neck hastily, not hesitating to pluck a nipple into his mouth and suck at the taut bud. Gasps slip past my lips as he rolled it, bit it, lapped at it, the nerves alight as he moved between each, looking damn near giddy as he toyed with them.
The ache between my legs intensifies as he sucks at my breasts and I start rocking back and forth to ease the feeling, the material of his jeans and the hardness of his cock underneath rubbing against my puffy clit perfectly.
"Tsk tsk tsk," Ruhn muses from behind us, and my eyes flutter as I glance at him, moving to sit on the bed beside us, his shirt gone and stars gleaming in his eyes as he watches us. "The poor girls rutting against your clothed cock, Flynn, give her what she wants."
"And what do you want? Hm?" Flynn taunts, trailing his tongue over my nipple, his dewy eyes looking up at me as he does so, and I groan at the sight, and at the hold he has on my hips, halting any movement I try and make.
“Your fingers,” I croak, gripping his large hand and watching his breath catch as I drag it down my stomach, whimpering as I run his calloused fingers over my wet folds. “Right here.”
“You’re going to kill me,” He snarls, and my eyes clamp shut when he circles my clit, firm and sure, his fingers knowing exactly how hard and fast to go, and he has me arching my back and moaning, glad for the hand he had keeping me from toppling over. Flynn smiles, kissing my lips and cheeks, moving his fingers against my clit faster.
It was almost embarrassing how quickly my orgasm seemed to approach, and I knew I wouldn’t last long, not as that fire fanned in my core, edged on by every smooth flick of his fingers at my clit.
“You wanna come, Y/N?" Ruhn asks darkly and when my head turns, I see him palming his hard cock over his jeans, the muscles in his chest clenching and flexing in restraint, watching his best friend finger his girlfriend, and loving every second of it. "Be a good girl and ask Flynn if he'll let you."
"Please, please," I mewl loudly, my head throwing back as Flynn slips two fingers into my sopping cunt, the friction of him fucking his fingers in and out forcing me closer and closer to that edge, "Please, Flynn, let me come."
"So polite, asking me so nicely," Flynn croons and my thighs quake when he crooks his fingers inside me, pressing that magic button that has a swarm spreading through my stomach and core. "How could I possibly say no?"
He hooks his fingers against that spot again, and again, and his thumb brushes my clit and before I know it, I’m falling off the edge of a cliff.
“Flynn, oh-“ I cry out as his fingers drive into me repeatedly, hitting a spot that has my core exploding, hitting me hard and fast and lasting so long that my head starts to spin.
“Atta girl,” Flynn praises, and I feel his smile against my skin as he slows his fingers inside me, feeling every pulse and quake of my orgasm, before slowly slipping them out of me.
I sag forward, resting my forehead against his shoulder for support as I catch my breath, tendrils of release still coiling through me and gradually melting into oblivion. Flynn’s touch is soft across my back, waiting for me to come back down to Midgard.
“How are you feeling, Princess?” Ruhn asks quietly, his hand running through my messy hair, brushing it from my sweaty face and hooking the strands behind an arched ear. I flutter my eyes and meet both their gazes and again, that vicious, relentless monster of need rears its head.
“I feel like I want more,” I whispered, my voice hoarse and the heat that filled their eyes made my entire body ache. “Please.”
“Shit, Ruhn, you weren’t lying when you said she was a good girl,” Flynn growls and I giggle when his hands clamp down on my hips, lifting me with ease to sit on the bed between them both, the two of them rising from their seats. “She does deserve all the praise and rewards.”
“That’s my girl,” Ruhn winks at me and my cheeks burn at his words, joy and shyness filling me at the smile both males wore, looking at me like I was a fucking dream come true. “Move back on the bed, Y/N, we’ll give you what you want,”
Flynn chuckles as I rush to do so, my tits bouncing as I crawl backwards toward the headboard, stopping when I’m in the middle of the bed, space on either side of me.
My mouth waters as the two boys before me begin to reach for their clothes. I watch as Flynn unbuttons his shirt, one by one, almost agonisingly slow before he peels the material off his body revealing inches of muscle and rippling packs.
Where Ruhn was slender and lean, with hard abs and glorious tatted skin, Flynn was bigger, corded muscle and a six-pack for days. My pussy soaked at the sight of them both, grinning like they knew what they were doing to me.
I bite my lip hard enough to hurt as they both reach for their pants, the only sound in the air is my haughty breaths, the clinking of their unlocked belts and the sound of two zippers gracefully sliding down.
I whimper at the sight, a high-pitched, needy sound that makes them both look at me, Flynn raising an amused brow as he reaches down, tugging off his jeans and throwing them to the side, Ruhn following suit.
They were big, both of them. Big and thick, gloriously hung with strong veins and white pearly pre-cum leaking down their tips.
It took me a long time to adjust to Ruhn’s size, and even now my pussy was always too tight, always wrapped around him so painfully that he said it was the sweetest torture. And as I eyed Flynn’s cock, saw how red and angry it looked, I knew he would feel the same.
“Such a pretty girl,” Ruhn muttered, his blue eyes darkening to a tidal wave, a terrifying tsunami as he rounded the bed, his body glorious under the lights as he climbed onto the mattress, settling just behind me. “So, fucking pretty, right Flynn?”
“I can’t argue with you there, Ruhn,” Flynn smirks, and my thighs clench when he crawls onto the bed, his cock rising and hard as he settles just before me, looking down at me like he couldn’t believe his eyes. “I’m very jealous of your boyfriend, Y/N.”
He runs his hands up my calves, his touch bare as he moves up and down, going as high as my hip bone before swiftly moving back down, all the way to my ankles.
“Poor Flynn,” Ruhn laughs, and I groan as his hand slips around my neck, curling his fingers to grip my jugular, tipping my head back to meet his face above me, “You wanna help make our friend feel better, Princess?”
I grin, and Ruhn’s face is a mirror of mine as his hand slips away and I roll over and onto my front, my knees spreading and ass arching into the air. Flynn’s breath audibly catches, and the sound he makes is animal, purely Fae, at the sight of my pussy wet and bare, waiting for him.
“Flynn,” I mewl, my head sagging forward and resting against Ruhn’s stomach as Flynn runs his hands over my ass, scratching and fondling the flesh, but he doesn’t move further. “Please just fuck me, I can’t wait-“
“There we go,” Ruhn mutters and I can hear his grin as Flynn rubs his tip over my wet fold and before I can even moan, he’s pushing the head into my entrance, choking on a rough laugh as my pussy immediately sucks him in.
The sounds that escape me are high-pitched and restless as Flynn shoves the rest of his length inside me, not being gentle or slow, and I’m glad for it. Glad for the way he stretches me so thoroughly, glad that I can feel him sink all the way in, brushing a spot far and deep inside.
“Gods above,” Flynn growls, his nails cutting into the flesh of my ass as he draws himself out, nearly to the tip before plunging back in, the sound of skin slapping and my wetness making Ruhn groan. He swears lowly, watching as I suck up his length inch by inch, starting to move faster against me now.
Ruhn runs his hands over my hair, his face full of pride as he watches me kneel before him, my body wrecking back and forth, my tits bouncing as Flynn pounds into me, our moans a melody.
“Ruhn, Ruhn,” I plead, my wide eyes meeting his and he runs his thumb over my lip, a knowing gleam in his eyes, “Fuck my mouth, baby please, fuck my mouth.”
He didn’t say anything, nor did he wait, and my entire body trembled as his fingers gently collected my hair behind me, easily guiding me over his erect cock, waiting so patiently before me, and I closed my eyes as he brushed the tip over my lips and then pushed into my mouth.
“Shit, Y/N,” Ruhn groaned as he fisted my hair, guiding my head up and down his shaft, hitting the back of my throat more than once. I gagged and then moaned, Flynn spreading my thighs wider, and sinking deep into a tender spot within me.
There was so much spit drooling from my mouth, making a mess of Ruhn’s cock and stomach as he bucked his hips up, fucking my mouth just the way I liked, and as Flynn moved behind me in tandem, his cock slipping in and out, in and out, relentlessly, I was a whimpering, breaking mess.
It felt so good, felt so fucking right getting fucked at either end of me, and Ruhn swore, his body twitching as I moaned around his cock, the sound vibrating through him, bringing him closer and closer to that sweet edge.
“Shit, Y/N, shit,” Flynn gasped, his voice rasping and hoarse, breathless as he gripped my ass, as he had his way with me, still so painfully big but the hurt felt good, brought me closer to my end. “Look at that pussy, wrapped around me so fucking tight.”
His words encouraged me, and I suckled against Ruhn’s cock harder, tasting the familiar saltiness of his pre-cum, loving the ache of his fingers yanking at my hair, the pain at odds with the fullness of Flynn pounding into me, that dam inside me starting to fill.
“Princess, I’m not gonna last,” Ruhn warns, his fingers tightening in my hair, his hips stuttering, and I take it upon myself to get him there, to hear him moan my name as I suck against him, hard and fast, hollowing my cheeks and taking him even further down my throat. “Oh fuck- Y/N.”
He growls an animalistic, rugged sound that echoes through the whole room and makes my clit throb, his body jerking as I feel the warm, salty liquid squirt from his cock straight down my throat. I swallow, I always swallow, moaning happily as I do.
“Flynn, I’m so close,” I call out, Ruhn’s semi-hard cock resting against his stomach now and my face burying into his hip, feeling the tender touch of my boyfriend's hand in my hair, so opposing to the brutal, bruising hold of Flynn behind me.
“Me too, Y/N,” Flynn hissed, his cock starting to hammer into me quicker, and I can barely stop the shaking in my knees. I gasp when his thumb reaches around me, rubbing messily at my clit, and the angle changes, moving further and every single touch is too fucking much.
“There, there, there-“ I call out again and again and again, teeth biting against Ruhn’s thigh, something he fucking loves, as I’m hit with my release, a wildfire that starts at my core, and just erupts, moving through my veins and blood and bones and I can’t stop the sounds coming from me.
Flynn’s hips start to falter, curses endlessly falling from his lips as my pussy clenches around him like a vice, so tight and unyielding that he roars, stilling and growling as his cock spills inside me, filling me up.
Pleasure, hot and white and blinding, dying out so slow as Flynn moves inside me gradually, spreading his hot cum all over me, and it all feels like heaven.
I huff out a huge breath of air, my eyes clamped shut and head spinning and when Flynn ever so gently slips out of me, his hands holding onto the flesh of my hips and guiding me to turn and lay flat on my back, I don’t even fight it.
Pure exhaustion riddles me, so much so, that I lay there, my head against Ruhn’s thigh and my body trembling and weak against the mattress, unable to stop how my core throbs with the aftermath of my orgasm.
I blink open my eyes after several seconds and I’m met with the two males before me, their eyes returned to their usual bright shades of blue and brown, and their lips tilted up, sweet and wonderful as ever.
We’re all covered in sweat and panting, but as Ruhn look down at me from behind, and Flynn sits between my legs, rubbing at my weak thighs, I know we’re all fucked out- for now.
“Did that live up to the fantasy?” Ruhn mutters, his smile adoring as he brushes the hair free from my sweaty forehead, his fingers so gentle as he rubs the spots on my scalp he had yanked at before.
“Better than any fantasy,” I breathe, my cheeks hot as I grin, and Ruhn’s eyes brighten as he takes me in. I gnaw on my cheek, glancing forward to Flynn, his eyes never once leaving mine, “And for you, Flynn?”
“I agree, Y/N,” He smirks, his grip tightening around my thigh, and the look is so telling, that even Ruhn laughs, “So much so that I’ve got a few more fantasies that we could try.”
----------
@mis-lil-red @hyemishii @assaultsofthought @starswholistenanddreamsanswered
#crescent city#ruhn danaan#tristan flynn#ruhn x reader#ruhn danaan smut#ruhn x plus size reader#acotar#plus size reader#smut#throne of glass smut#plus size y/n#crescent city smut#sarah j maas#sjm books#ruhn danaan x tristan flynn x reader#plus size smut#plus size girl
384 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi Amaya!
I don't know if you've already gotten. One of my previous requests but I'd like to send another one in, if you don't mind.
Could you write a one shot with Kiyotaka Ayanokouji, from Classroom of the elite?
I'd really appreciate it if the reader could be kept fem! And the one shot was fluff/angst, but it's ultimately up to you.
Have a nice day/night/afternoon!
Notes: I haven't written for Ayanokouji in forever omg so I just had to do this!
Warnings: slight angst, reader doesn't realise she's being used
Characters involved: Kiyotaka Ayanokouji
Fem reader, you/yours
He tried ignoring your advances, Kiyotaka really did.
At first it was easy to simply drop a small peck or two on the crown of your head as you shifted impossibly closer to him. But you were just so needy.
"Kiyotakaaa."
The way you whined his name made the boy in question sigh as he felt you shift beside him, but he still mustered the energy to lock eyes with you.
"You're behaving weird today."
Your proximity made it easy for him to feel your skin heat up at his words, but your sudden embarrassment unfortunately did nothing to trump your neediness.
Instead, you shifted your hands from their previous position on his chest to cup his cheeks as you planted one peck after the other across his face.
"I miss you."
"I'm right here."
Your nose wrinkled in annoyance at the reply. You tried to hide it, but Kiyotaka could see the way your mannerisms shifted from playfulness to a sudden sense of discomfort.
You were getting offended. And that was never a good thing.
A soft hum left his lips as Kiyotaka shut the laptop that had been resting on his lap for the past hour, allowing it to fall onto the mattress as his hands shifted from the keyboard to the nape of your neck.
"You have me now. So, what did you want?"
Your lips morphed into a wide smile as you winded your arms around his neck. Your nimble fingers trailed through his hair, no doubt ruining his style, but Kiyotaka couldn't have voiced his annoyance even if he wanted to, for your lips were on his a moment later.
You weren't a bad kisser.
In fact, most would probably consider you a very good one.
Your lips moulded against his almost perfectly and the way you occasionally tugged on his bottom lip would have probably arose others.
You knew how to use your hands too, and carded your fingers through his hair in a calming manner that would have Kiyotaka melting in your grasp if he actually liked you.
But he didn't. And he wasn't one to lust either. Which was why your perfect kisses were nothing but a nuisance to him.
As you pulled away for air and trailed soft kisses down his neck it was clear you couldn't catch on to his true feelings. After all, if you were smart enough to read people Kiyotaka would have never picked you over the other Class A girls.
He felt almost robotic as Kiyotaka dropped one of his hands to circle your waist, the other shifting from your neck to cheek as he planted a kiss of his own on your lips.
It was chaste and lacked the arousal staining your every touch, but the gesture was enough to make a stupid smile tug on your lips.
You were buying his lies. Perfect.
"Don't you have a study session to get to?"
Your eyes comically widened at his question. The sight made Kiyotaka let out a small scoff as he watched you reach for your phone and mutter soft curses when you noticed time.
"Shit you're right. Bye hun."
You shifted to drop one last peck on his cheek before collecting your things and hurriedly racing out of his bedroom.
A soft sigh tumbled from his lips as Kiyotaka watched the door slip shut behind you.
He was free. Finally.
Kiyotaka's slight smile shifted to display his real annoyance as he turned towards the discarded laptop.
If he knew pretending to be romantically invested with you would be this tiring Kiyotaka would have opted for other methods to draw information from you.
But alas, there were only so many ways to best Class A, and none of them could be accomplished without insider intel.
He needed you. The realisation drew yet another sigh from him.
"Only a few weeks."
Kiyotaka clicked his tongue as he muttered the words, watching his laptop hum to life to display the recording app he had set up in your phone.
If circumstances hadn't forced him to be apathetic, perhaps Kiyotaka could come to actually love you. But for now you were nothing but a pawn dressed up in his queen's garbs.
And Kiyotaka couldn't wait to get rid of you.
#classroom of the elite#mastermind kiyotaka#kiyotaka ayanokouji#ayanokouji kiyotaka#ayanokouji x you#kiyotaka x reader#kiyotaka x you#classroom of the elite kiyotaka#kiyotaka fluff#ayanokoji x you#ayanokoji x reader#ayanokoji kiyotaka#ayanokoji x fem reader#ayanokoji hcs#classroom of the elite x you#classroom of the elite x reader#ayanokoji oneshot#classroom of the elite oneshot#classroom of the elite fanfic
389 notes
·
View notes
Text
of flower crowns and feelings - e.m
summary - in which you make eddie a flower crown and he looks far too pretty in it
word count - 0.710k my shortest fic in a longggg time, but i just wanted to whack out a cute little something
author’s note - my lovely friend @sunflowersteves sent me a thought about eddie and because i’m obsessed i had to write a baby blurb about it!
warnings - i’ve avoided gendered language but i did write this with fem!reader in mind so there may be an undertone to the fic!
‘Baby, what are you doing?’
Eddie’s ring-clad hand squeezes your knee as he lightly questions you. His own, that you are perched between on the daisy-filled grass, squeeze together to teasingly squish you.
You tilt your head back, lashes kissing your brow bones as you look up at him so sweetly that he can't fight the urge to kiss you, lips pecking your nose so quickly that it tickles and you scrunch it in return.
‘I'm making you a flower crown Eds,’ is your soft response, pride filling your features as you flash your teeth at him in a giddy grin.
Eddie moves his gaze from the smile he wants to mould with his own to your hands stained green from flower stems, your pile of flowers at your feet. Content with your explanation you continue your endeavour, fingers twisting to tie little pieces of flora together, tiny white petals flying from your fingertips.
Eddie’s head tilts and a smile grows as he watches you work, oblivious to his stares of ardour, completely smitten with your fascination with the delicate blossoms you’ve made your fixation for your picnic date in the sun.
Watching it grow longer and longer he questions you once more. ‘Baby, why are you adding more?’ He brings his hand to thumb a rogue flower by his mud-stained shoe, the other rubbing circles into the skin of your knee, both so delicate against the calloused tips of his fingers. ‘Surely, this is big enough to fit your head by now.’
At this you twist to face him, the action sending his arm to rest on your back. His eyebrows lift at your abruptness but dip as you pout up at him. ‘Eds, what do you mean for me?’ You lift the flower crown to his face and your eyebrows scrunch further in perplexity, ‘I’m making it for you!’
At this Eddie chuckles, hand coming to rest on your cheek, his thumb choosing the soft skin there as it's next spot to caress. Despite the initial surprise that you wouldn't want to wear such a pretty thing, his heart warms at your gesture. ‘Really, for me?’ he asks softly, voice laced with an adoration only you can conjure up.
A shy smile pulls at your lips at his softness and with an adoration of your own you whisper, ‘Yeah honey, I think you’d look really pretty.’
Eddie’s cheeks turn rosey at your compliment and a bashful smile tugs at his lips. ‘Thanks sweetheart,’ he whispers against your lips, meeting them in a soft kiss, ‘You’re prettier though.’
You laugh against his lips, kissing him once more before lightly swatting his chest with your free hand. You slowly bring the flower crown to the top of his head, placing it gently on top of his wild curls so as not to break it. You toy with his hair for a moment, ‘perfecting’ the look before you deem yourself satisfied and rest your hands on his cheeks. You peck his nose, whispering a ‘perfect’ against the few freckles that kiss his skin.
Eddie’s cheeks grow impossibly warmer and his smile pulls at them so far he fears they may ache after. His eyes crease and dimples adorn his cheeks and he doesn't think he’s ever felt happier than being your perfect boy, sitting in a field with flowers in his hair.
His fingers nip your sides and he lolls his head to one side, a cheekiness to his expression. ‘You sure it doesn't ruin the whole metalhead look?’
You giggle once again, fingers coming to hold the flowers in place, ‘Not at all baby, in fact,’ you bring your noses together whispering against his skin as though it were a big secret, ‘I actually think it’s pretty metal.’
He presses his lips to yours once more, smiles moulding together as he whispers back, ‘Well shit sweetheart, I think I might have to wear it forever then.’
The giggle he so loves to hear falls from your lips once more, the sound spurring on a chuckle of his own. The two of you melt together, sharing laughs between sweet kisses as you sit in a circle of stray petals, a flower crown sitting oh so pretty atop your favourite metalhead’s curls.
#eddie <3#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson fic#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x yn#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson drabble#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson oneshot#hellfire club#stranger things#stranger things eddie munson#eddie munson stranger things#joseph quinn#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fic#stranger things x reader
516 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife
Daemon Targaryen/Original Fem [Targaryen] Character
Chapter 13: Brilliant
MASTERLIST
Summary: Naera has a vision. Unrealistic erotica. An uncomfortable family breakfast.
Word count: 3.8k
Warnings: NSFW, smut, incest, dom/sub dynamics (very minor?), cunnilingus, creampie,
Long, flowing golden hair, tossing in the wind, in the darkness, in the light. Twin braids, that crept from a brow and behind. A face most carefully made, with the right shades, and the correct lights, with a long nose and a beauty all in all, with the most splendid expressions ever seen. Curls and spins and winds rolled down her shoulders, below a crested necklace of pure gold.
Her chin was held high, her eyes narrowed gracefully, her lips curved in a smirk only described as superior, stained with wine.
Pride.
Then, lower, and lower, and she wore satins and silks of the finest merchants. There was red, and gold, and a southern-styled gown, with sinking sleeves and bared shoulders, and flurries of curves and height to it all. There was gold, jewels, and intricacy in her.
Wealth.
A crown, of iron and gold, crested with blood, adorned with ash and rubies, winding through the hair of dark suns. The woman was dressed in red, with a crown of gold. Banners hung behind her—banners of velvet, with an adorned lion roaring through.
Regal.
“Do you know why all the world hates a Lannister?” A Dornish accent, aged and experienced, mocking and untethered. A Martell's voice.
Lannister.
House Lannister.
Golden lions.
The Queen?
No.
House Lannister. Golden Lions. The Usurper Queen.
Usurper. A Usurper King?
A running stag, running through fires and despairs, and blood and grime and fallen worlds. Ours is the fury.
Baratheon. Lord of Storm’s End. Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. The Usurper King. The Sack of King’s Landing. A Targaryen Bastard.
A child’s cries, screeches, a woman’s wails, a towering mountain, and the ringing of steel blades being drawn, and silence.
The Fall of the Dragon. The End of their reign, destroyed by their own blood.
No.
The Dragon does not answer the Lion. The Dragon does not answer the Stag.
The Dragon burns them all alike.
Fire. The screech of a Dragon, the flapping of wings, great, dark, horrendous wings. One, two, three—obsidian and red, green and bronze, gold and cream. There shall be flames. There shall be blood. There shall be the age of dragons, returned, with a great, wakening light.
Dracarys.
Red stone, red foundations, and flags of red and gold and lions, all burned, and all fell.
There.
The Conqueror—silver hair, braids, and braids, and braids, and the neighing of a thousand horses, and the singular stepping of ten thousand marching soldiers, and on, and on.
There.
The Age of the Dragon.
Flags the colour of ash, with luminescent crests of blood-red dragons, being drawn over the ruins of the palace that once was. A throne made of swords, melted and moulded to never grant any sort of comfort, any sort of support. A King must never sit easy. A Queen must never sit easy, and yet, the Dragon Queen sat atop it with a grace unseen, and a state of completion unknown. A Queen must never sit easy, and yet, the Targaryen Conqueror sat atop the Iron Throne as though she was borne to do it. Indeed, she was. She was the blood of the dragon, and all knelt before her—wolves, eagles, stags, and lions, and even the very sun, the rose, and all that mattered. Even darkness, even death, ever devastation knelt before the conqueror.
Darkness knelt before the Conqueror.
No.
Darkness knelt before Azor Ahai, the forsaken warrior who tempered his own will in the blood and death of his lover. The warrior who ended the long night, the darkest winter, the coldest eternity.
The Conqueror was Azor Ahai.
Naera opened her eyes with a start.
She saw light, white and yellow and green, and a sky the colour of the sea. It was boundless, rolling on, and on, and on, forever, and then some more, behind the edges of the grassy hills. Grass, green and fresh and fragrant, rolled for miles, and acres in every direction, beneath the boundless skies.
Naera sat in a dress the colour of clouds, one that was loose and light. She was staring up at the skies, blue, blue, and blue, and her eyes made funny images of small translucent circles running through and past the skies. A hand reached forth, curled a strand of her silver hair and brushed it away.
Daemon sat behind her, holding her, kissing her, breathing her. His hands were wrapped solidly around her waist, his head carefully placed on her shoulder, and every breath of his taking send shivers down her spine.
“Are you awake yet?” He seemed to ask, hands drawling up, and down her front, her stomach, her breasts. Naera felt lethargic, as though someone had sedated her, tired her, and lazed her away.
"Hmm?” And she let him venture lower with his hands, crawling down to the hem of her dress and slowly, tantalizingly slow, dragging it up to her knees. His hands settled on her thighs, running small circles on her skin that made her throw back her head and sigh. One of his heavy palms crept back up, catching hold of her breast.
“You haven’t answered my question, Naera,” and through his dulcet voice, she felt heat, burning and boiling and toiling, build up from her core. Daemon pressed a kiss to her neck, and his hands found her cunt. Naera moaned, whimpered, really, and he drank it away as though it was his elixir. He set a single finger within her, revelling at how wet she was already, and breathed against her neck, again, in a way that made her wish to jump out of her skin and devour him all the same.
“What question?” And the sun burned warm along her face, her skin, her bones, but Daemon’s touch felt warmer, hotter and more refined than the sun. She heard him chuckle, a low, rumbling sound that travelled down her chest in waves.
“Are you awake?” She felt warm, warmer, and warmest, and Daemon kept on his actions. He curled one, or two fingers within her, circling her clit with his thumb, arduously slow, but it had all the same impact. Naera still thundered out a wheeze and a moan, but her eyes felt heavier and heavier. He repeated his words, the tune only adding to her ecstasy. He really did have a brilliant voice.
Wait.
“What d’you mean awake?” Naera felt cold, cold sheets, cold blankets, cold air, all over her, all around her. She sat up, fighting through the pain and heaviness in her limbs, to witness the light and airiness of chambers which were very certainly not hers. The sheets weren’t hers, there weren’t enough papers for these to be her quarters at all, and it was—oh, Daemon sat next to her, gazing at her with impertinence. Oh, and Naera cursed her first thought as having been carnal. His hair glowed in the morning light, and his eyes, and his—He had a brilliant voice, among many other brilliant things.
“There you go,” and his voice made her core warm up all over again, “You’re awake.” Daemon leaned forward, past the mess of silver hair, to press a kiss on her cheek, and her lips. Mistake, for the simple action made her clutch onto his neck, hot, heavy and reflexive, with a soul-crushing kiss. He did not refuse, of course—how could he refuse his dear niece? –and held her shoulders, driving her back onto the mattress. “Awake and eager,” he taunted against her lips, hands running across her bare body with blistering passion.
Naera wanted to taunt back, something along the lines of can’t say I’m the only one eager, or can you blame me? Yet, the words did not come that easily when her mind felt dazed with lust. Lust, for Daemon Targaryen. How in the world had it gotten here?
Daemon held her hands away from her, pinning them above her head, and his eyes spoke to hers his desires, his urges, all boiled down to promises. One day, I will bind your wrists and take you, and Naera cursed the shudder in her breath at his silent oath.
“Stay still for me.” His words had warning, and a deep, gruesome undertone to his words that made her want to obey, just this once. She let her arms go slack, hands grasped tight somewhere above her head, and she blared silent for his actions. She watched him, the mischief leaking out of his eyes, a haunted sort of eagerness in the lines on his forehead, the smile on his lips, the darkness of his eyes. Brilliant, he was, in more ways than she could count.
Daemon leaned close down, kissing her once again, this time soft, slow and temperate, and his hands dragged lower, and lower, and lower, nose dragging past the curve of her neck, and down, and down to the rise and fall of her breasts. He spared a kiss there but did not linger, and the thrill, the waves, the boil of anticipation in her heart did nothing to assuage her of the heat she felt.
Finally, his hands reached her thighs, pulling them apart, and he settled between them as he had the night before, though this time there was more comfort in his stature—the ability to leer, linger and lie in wait. God, she would both hate and love this—she would both hate and love him.
“Ah,” his grin made her cower, for no reasons defined, “Looks as though my Visenya has a lot of urges in her sleep,” and she felt the need to clarify, to defend herself, to tell him that it was the first time—the only time, and it had been after their night. Yet, what was the point? Somewhere in her mind, lingering, crawling and festering was the knowledge that it would not be the last time she dreamt that way of him.
Daemon ran a finger down her folds, through the slick wetness of hers, and she moaned breathily. He brought his finger up, and her legs twitched and shook, something of a spasm overtaking them.
“Careful, now,” and his warning resonated in her mind. Ah.
He repeated his actions, up, down, and up again, and she held her breath to keep herself from moving. Stay still, and he won’t deny you your pleasure. Daemon let his tongue run up her soaked cunt, muttering another comment about its taste which she could hardly register over the urge to drag his head in. Every careful breath of his collided with her clit in a way not at all unpleasurable, and she strained at the control.
“Good girl,” he praised her, cloyingly sweet, sickening, sugaring and brilliant. Daemon crept his tongue into her cunt, and a finger, and another, and Naera couldn’t help the shake of her hips to meet him in his way. He did not stop, however, as she had dreaded for so long, and only held her thighs with a stronger grace, and it went, his tongue, curling, winding and drinking her in. Naera broke away a hand, brushing it through his hair, revelling in its feel, and she tugged him closer, and closer to where she needed him.
Then, as a match stick does go out, as do a thousand candles in the wind, blowing, cooling, while darkness settled over it all, Daemon retreated, his eyes finding her pleading gaze, and Naera knew that she was at fault. Oh, but is it fault, if it felt as grand?
Daemon left her thighs, her aches and her needs, and he crept higher, taking her hands and holding them with a crushing grasp above her head. He stopped at her face, littering kisses everywhere but her lips, and she knew him—she knew his urges, his wants, his needs, to humiliate, to dominate, to make her give in—and she did not hate it at all.
“I am sorry,” Naera whispered, laying slack for his measure, for his leisure, for his pleasure, and he did not miss the glint of acceptance in her eyes.
“Are you, now?” He held her up, dragging, lingering and smirking, “Good girls don’t make such mistakes, dearest Naera,” and she shivered at his words. Daemon flipped her onto her stomach, running her hands down the smooth expanses of her back, acres and acres of ivory, scarred and healed and faded, and his. He heard her gasping breaths beneath, saw the pooling of slick by her cunt, and oh, she was perfection.
Daemon pulled up her knees, kneeling behind her leaking cunt, and watched, and watched, as she combated the urge to touch herself. He’d made her do it, one day, but not today. Or, not now, at least. He freed his cock, fully aching from the sight, and spread a hand around her ass. One day, but not today. There would be time—there would be endless time for their endeavours. Not today.
“Well,” he ran his hands up her back, through the smooth, saturnine texture of her skin, above the scars and wounds long healed and done, to her locks of dry, wispy silver hair that lay scattered around her neck. He caught hold of a bunch, wound his fingers around the locks slowly, carefully, lovingly, and tugged at it, harsh, painful and stiff.
Naera cursed the sensations, the hastening fairy-like tingles which ran through her back, down her body, through her cunt, at the endowment of pain and ache. She felt him lean close to her neck, whispering words she couldn’t decipher, though she trusted them to be nothing short of salacious.
He leaned back up, playing with her folds, slow, quiet and torturous, but oh, it was brilliant. He was brilliant. With no warnings, no indication and certainly no mercy, Daemon thrust in his cock, in, in, until he had fit himself into her heat by no means other than brute force.
Naera buried her face in the sheets, eyes closed, grunting at the stretch, at the pain, at the delight. She must’ve heard him sing a praise or two or three, about how tight she was, or how well she took him in, but they went unheard, his words went unconceived, but the rumble and thrum of his voice along her body send her reeling for more.
Daemon held her hips with bruising force, as though she did not already have bruises all over, and pulled out nearly all the way, before slamming into her with a grasping panic. Naera clustered as much of the sheets as she could, body writhing in pain, in pleasure, and some cursed approximation of their sum and Daemon went on, again, and again, and again, and Naera cried out a moan.
“Now, was that so hard?” Daemon mocked with hurried breaths, “Was is hard to just stay still for your lord husband?” But oh, she liked this more, he knew. He knew her, and her needs, and her attitude—she wanted roughness out of him, power, brutality, even, though not always—he’d figure her out eventually.
Naera whined out a cry, a moan, a whimper, at the feeling of his cock stretching her walls farther than before, grazing her womb, leaving her weak, wanting and wary for the next thrust. Daemon tugged at her hair again, harsher this time, and his movements lost rhythm as he groaned, leaning on her back. Naera whined when he tugged at her again, and there was a thrust particularly powerful, one that made her see stars.
He felt her tighten around him, close to her end, and he told her, “There you go, come for me, my—” and she took his words to heed, clenching around him in ways unfelt, gasping, wheezing, whining and moaning, mind blurred, but his name made it through. Daemon.
Hearing her chant his name in ecstasy, he followed suit, "My lovely princess," and he resisted the urge to call her his whore, "take my seed, yes? Take your kepa's seed, and we can begin our brood," and Naera did not know why she hissed out a heavy moan at the thought of being round, and full of child—full of him. Giving her a few powerful thrusts, Daemon held her hips tight against him, burying himself as far within her as he could. He filled her with himself, thick, hot, heavy seed filling her womb, holding her warmth, and Naera breathed in the sensation with a shadowing glee.
Naera’s knees collapsed, and she was thankful that he retained enough sense to collapse beside her, and not over her. Her lungs felt deflated, and she flipped onto her back, heart hammering in her chest, searching for a clean breath. She felt his seed ooze out of her in drips and streams, and her cunt clenched around the remnants without her will. She stuttered out a moan, and a gasp, at the tip-tip-trickling of it out of her.
Oh.
Daemon pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, warm and sweaty. He looked over her rising and falling chest, her full and rounded breasts, and her neck, red and purple with marks of his giving, but he’d do it all over again. He'd fill her with himself a thousand times if need be, until she was rounded with his kin, oh, until she was indisputably his.
“Morning, your grace,” Naera greeted her father, as she took a seat beside him. He looked weaker than the previous night, heavier, and less humane. His maesters had certainly failed again. She wondered if she should offer help.
“Ah, daughter,” but he smiled all the same when he saw her, and nothing mattered past that. He also did not mention anything past that, possibly to avert her from calling her by the name good-brother, or perhaps to avert himself from thinking about whatever surely happened following the feast the previous night. Oh, he did not want to think, but the remnants of red along her neck, behind her silver hair, told him enough.
He also learned far too much about their relations, as Daemon took a seat beside her—Laenor’s seat, by all means, but the Velaryon was too occupied by his children to care much. He leaned close to her, lips moving in near-silent whispers, tongue lashing in ways resembling their mother tongue, and no one could miss the way Naera blushed.
“Morning, good-father,” Daemon greeted also, much to his brother’s dismay. Laenor, on the other hand, gutted out half a laugh before catching himself. Viserys did not spare his good son a glare. Naera pressed her lips into a very thin line, chanting something along the lines of don’t, don’t, don’t, in her mind.
Thankfully, the towers do know very well how all joy can be destroyed. “When shall you be departing for Dragonstone, princess?” Alicent Hightower asked, but the glimmer in her eyes could easily be taken for hope, expectation and aspiration. She wanted them out of her way.
Naera smiled, “I believe we shall remain in King’s Landing for a while longer, yes?” We need to…you know. Daemon knew. The downfall of the Hightowers, but with a better plan. He’d take it more seriously this time. He had what he needed now.
“Yes,” he agreed absently, “We have much to do in the Capital.” Though, his words raised more questions than answers. Aemond looked the most perturbed, but the way his single eye followed Daemon’s words and actions could settle for some semblance of aspiration. The boy wanted to be the mirror image of his uncle—strong, unbothered, unpredictable and dangerous.
Naera sensed his predicament—questions were dangerous things, so she added, “I’ve gathered up far too many papers and correspondence. It shall take quite some time to go through it all.” Her manuscripts, her journals, her letters and Wisestone. It would be a tempestuous time, indeed.
“Shall I allot you a squire, to help you through?” There was no malice in the Green Queen’s words, but Naera couldn’t settle with a squire.
“Not unless you can find me one adept with Valyrian,” and she knew that that’d stump her also. Not many in Westeros were familiar with the language at all.
“And her horrid penmanship,” Daemon added, and though his words were playful, they weren’t wrong. Naera glanced at him, ready to mock something of his, but how could she? Her writing wasn’t the finest in the seven kingdoms, after all.
“Perhaps Grand Maester Mellos, then,” and the thought of the old, wrinkly mediator of the Small Council reading through her writings made Naera frown. She refused.
“I shall see to it myself, your grace,” and that needed to be the end of it. She must have had two score letters piled up, and she needed to send her scripts to the Citadel for storage also. It would be arduous and long, but it was nothing new.
“Nonsense,” her father croaked, drinking a cup full of cold water to revise his voice, “Aemond can do it.” Aemond can do it, and Alicent’s face darkened. Aemond himself looked apprehensive, ready to go prattling on about how he’s a prince, not a common knight’s squire, but the panic in his eyes as all at the table considered the proposal prevented him from speaking. “He’s a smart boy, he’ll learn something from you,” and that was not how anyone saw it at all. He was a boy, a young prince, not a pondering young man about to serve a princess.
“I do not think that would be appropriate,” Naera dismissed it already, not missing the way Aemond’s single eye calmed at her words. She’d be fine on her own—there was much to be done. Though, the memories of how Dornish princes are so often sent by their parents to serve the lower houses as a manner of ageing and learning did flicker past. The world was not Dorne, however, much to her regret.
“I’ll help you,” Daemon decided in the spirit of compromise.
“You will do not such thing, my Prince.” Naera stated with a smile. She’d never get anything done with Daemon breathing down her neck, making her burn with desire. There, another round of far too many questions due to her words, and she clarified, “It’ll drive you insane, kepus, it’s dreary work,” not fit for a soldier such as you.
He seemed to laugh, all in those pale lilac eyes that never seemed to leave her movements, “Is that a challenge?” He wanted to play a duel, not one of the swords, but one of the wills, but he had an advantage—he always had an advantage when it came to her, it seemed.
“Do you want it to be?” Naera did not attempt to stop the smile that overtook her—teasing, fighting, winning, and losing all the same.
“It’s settled, then,” he had grasped an early victory, “I shall be your squire, princess.”
MASTERLIST
#daemon targeryan#original female character#house targaryen#house of the dragon#daemon x oc#daemon smut#daemon targaryen smut#team black#house martell#dance of dragons#melisandre of asshai#melisandre#daemon x y/n#daenerys targeryan#azor ahai#dreams#fanfiction#archive of our own
9 notes
·
View notes
Note
Baaalllard- 7 and 22? 😊
7. What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?
I think Ballard is a very scent-oriented person, for all that he doesn't much care about perfumes or soaps or anything for himself. There's not much in Baldur's Gate that triggers nostalgia from his childhood--damp stone and fungal growth is hard to emulate--but sometimes he will be walking by Stormshore Tabernacle and someone has lit an incense that smells so familiar that he is convinced he could turn a corner and run into someone from House Halvyriin, child-sized against an adults bulk again. The nostalgia is novel, for this, and he does maintain some fondness for his early childhood at least, so it's not unpleasant.
Wysteria is another one, though the nostalgia is much more recent: the summer he and Gortash began their partnership, a decade and more in the past. This one is mixed, some fondness and some frustration. On the one hand, it marks the beginning of the most important era of his life thus far--on the other, so much has changed since then, and his life is much more complicated.
22. How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)?
I've said a few times before that I don't think Ballard (or Gortash either really) experiences jealousy very often--mostly it doesn't occur to him to feel envious or resentful of someone else, because it's just the way that it is if they have and he has not, even in terms of relationships. Sometimes it can be changed, sometimes it can't be. Life goes on.
I think one of two things happens when he IS jealous though, which is not often. If it's a mild upset, Ballard is the worst pouter. You get the silent treatment, you get the plaintive sighing, you get the pointedly-in-your-vicinity-but-ignoring-you that a cat will do. 50/50 whether or not he realizes that he's jealous in these moments, but some focused attention solves it fairly quickly.
The other thing that happens is, predictably, gruesome murder. The first time that happened surprised Ballard more than it did Gortash, in all honesty, and Ballard never did put it together that that's what motivated that particular bout of blind rage (killed a potential business partner stone dead at the negotiations table)(took ten seconds)(exploded the guys skull and and punched a hole in his torso)(still stains in the crown moulding from the gore).
Gortash figured it out like a week later and still feels unfettered glee about it.
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
Soft
No monthly challenge would be complete without them...
Characters: Daeron x Maglor
Words: 250
Warnings: Slight sadness, some crying
If it hadn’t been for the crown of foam on the cresting waves, whipped into a frenzy by Maglor’s impassionate song, Daeron would have believed himself entirely cocooned in a bubble of indistinguishable, murky grey.
He understood the wrath that poured out of his friend and lover in a twisted torrent of white-hot agony, but the pale veil of autumn called for softer melodies to blanket their raw nerves.
Weaving his own song into the sharp-edged verses, defusing and mellowing them by wrapping notes of love and forgiveness around the shards of splintered bones that Maglor was conjuring up, Daeron smiled at the vast nothingness of the impassible ocean.
In an unprecedented act of self-sacrifice, he abstained from moulding his own pain and resentment into blades to cut through the frail filaments of another’s memory; instead, he embraced the ire and the hollow fear and gave them wings to soar above their bowed heads.
“I’ve never taken you for one of those singers,” Maglor hissed snarkily. “When did you grow so soft?”
“Balance,” Daeron reminded him tenderly as he cupped his tear-stained cheek. “It’s the heart of all things worth preserving. When I howled, you hummed soothingly—if you need to break, I’ll spin a net of light and music around you, so no piece gets lost in the storm of our own making.”
When they finally collapsed in each other’s arms, sobbing quietly, the ocean seemed to reverberate with a thousand soft notes that fell like rain around them.
@fellowshipofthefics here we go with the next one!
-> Masterlist
𝙻𝚘𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 <3
#og post#FOTFICtember#Fotfics September Event#Soft#DaeMags#Daeron#Maglor#IDNMT writes#fanfiction#writing#tolkien writing#jrrt
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
South Downs, revisited
The garden faces south.
Wisteria and lavender. Borders of delphinium. Brilliant violet asters, peonies and shock-white hydrangeas. Hostas that could use splitting come spring. Hollyhocks thriving, standing ten feet easy. Lady’s Mantle, climbing roses, snap dragons. Yarrow, a lot of yarrow.
Grow you a garden. Start from seed, from the beginning, the inception. Dirt under fingernails, cracked terracotta pots, noon sun high. Watch stalks rise and flowers bloom, creation, something new and whole and yours.
There’s lattice-work arches too. A little neglected, water-warped wood imprinted with decades of climbing tendrils tattooing the grain. The clematis has fallen back, overstretched and thinning at the apex, but still the stains of its vines remain on the wood, revealing past summers. The patio stones that dot the perimeter are smoothed almost slippery from years of use and rain. Initials are carved in the trunk of the overgrown birch that shadows the back gate. SM + RB dug deep in testament, a fine layer of moss creeping at the edges.
Loved, this garden was loved by its former caretakers. Could be loved again, certainly.
There’s room enough to spread out. Add some colour — daylilies, cosmos, bellflowers. Coax some ivy up the brick. Mint as ground cover, along with flowering thyme, lily of the valley, phlox.
He could build an awning off the back wall, offer some more cover. Move the hostas – they’d be happier under the protection. Plant some astilbes, coral bells, some begonias in the summer. Add a few lounges, a place for an angel to read while it storms.
Maybe an apple tree, if he’s feeling bold.
-----
“I quite miss the country,” Aziraphale says one afternoon. A sip of tea, the familiar clink of cup on saucer. “It’s been centuries.”
“Tadfield?”
“Centuries since I’ve holidayed properly. The occasional day trip hardly counts.”
“You can’t leave this shop.”
“Not permanently, maybe just to get some air. See the sky again.” Saucer meets desk. A smile his way, blue eyes alight,
“And I will make thee beds of Roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of Myrtle”
“For Satan’s sake, you’re invoking Marlowe of all people?”
“And why shouldn’t I? Just because he’s been a smidge overshadowed by —”
“You know he was an atheist, angel?”
“Even a broken clock is right twice a day.”
“And that broken clock can write poetry too?”
“Quite.”
The bell above the shop door rings, and Aziraphale is off.
-----
The third bedroom is just a nook really; it peaks out of a dormer window overlooking the back garden. It has built-in shelves along one wall, inset and bordered with the sort of colonial crown moulding that Crowley imagines only Aziraphale would truly appreciate. Grandmotherly; shelves seemingly meant to house sun-faded doilies and ceramic cats.
But it could be a library. Granted, a small one, but there was space enough for a collection of the essentials with room to spare under the window for a desk. An angel must keep up with his correspondence, after all.
Dear angel, he’d written once, centuries ago. Then scribbled it out.
Dear angel, he’d written again, not long after. Then burned it.
Dear angel, he’d written again and again and again. Wasted paper made pulp made paper again, never sent.
-----
He buys the damned cottage.
Dumb idea. Impulsive, really. Like a lot of what he did, what he still does — gets a notion in his demonic skull and just charges on, unencumbered by reflection. As if he trusts some higher power is looking out for him, has his back – the absurdity of it. Once upon a time before the beginning of the world, he’d sauntered vaguely downward without really considering all the consequences, the ramifications of it all; hadn’t weighed and measured, worked out the celestial maths. No, he made a choice and paid for it without knowing the price.
(he would have kept sauntering on anyway, knowing where it would ultimately lead — earth and humans and their wonderful cars and Aziraphale and and and — but he hadn’t known then, couldn’t have known, just what shape his damnation would take, and that was rather the point; he was a careless idiot)
Here too, on earth. We can run away together — Alpha Centauri. Get an idea, a cocked up, stupid thought and go all in on it.
The Bentley, raging down London streets. A sharp, nearly blind corner. Is there oncoming traffic? Could he stop if he wanted to? Who’s even in control, has he ever been? Has he gone from one master to another to another?
You go too fast for me, Crowley.
So he buys the damned cottage, because what else can he do?
-----
Aziraphale gets in the elevator and Crowley gets in the Bentley. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but it’s not South Downs.
Also on ao3 for anyone interested.
#good omens#ineffable husbands#good omens season 2#good omens spoilers#today i chose violence#south downs happily ever afters are my fav candy of choice so hey let's ruin that just like season 2 ruined me
21 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
i-forget-how-to-human
Chelsey Layne
cod-dump
The Cod Dump
arftwoodcraft
Lead A Quiet Life and Work With Your Hands
pretty-bratty
bratty. boyish. baby.