#hm other than that not much to say ???? its pretty ??????

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

jorrāeliarzus (beloved) │ Chapter 4: Liberty

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5  (In Progress!)

Synopsis: Daemon guides you on a journey of healing and self-discovery as you learn to raise your children and build a family of your own. You give comfort.

Hello, my little creachers! Welcome back to a new chappie! I was intending for Baby #3 to make its entry this time around, but plot got in the way. Much apologies. Another time jump here that is kept vague, but Reader is on the verge of giving birth, pretty much. Make of that what you will! This one moves away from smut and focuses a little more on the background stuff, which I hope makes a welcome shift. It was time to address this thread, after all! ESSENTIAL REVISION: if you are confused who the minor character in this chap is (you'll see what I mean), go back to ilibītsos (little slut) Chapter 8, 'Deal'.

Thank you to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for betaing this chapter for me!

Triggers: only the general. Incest, age gap, purity culture.

Though your skin is clammy beneath your woollen gown and your heart is pounding, you are at least faring better than Lord Olyvar. The Dornish man, so unused to the chill of waning spring upon the isle, is audibly shivering, his golden chain rattling with the shaking of his body. The sound forms a sort of harmony with the sharp thump of wooden swords.

“Hm. Your prince lacks skill,” he says. The words ought to carry with it a degree of disdain, you assume, if it were not for his vain attempt to stifle his reaction to the weather. “Though he is determined.”

You eye the scene below. In the courtyard, Jace is occupied running through drills under Ser Harwin’s tutelage. Even from here, you can see the look of concentration on his face. He knows he is being watched, and that he must do his best to perform this morning. The boy he is up against—the son of the master at arms, and rather solid for one so young—swings his makeshift weapon down hard, and Jace ducks and spins away, out of reach.

“I am but a woman, my lord,” you say dryly, “and perhaps my understanding is as lacking as my nephew is by your estimation—but I am not aware of a man alive nor dead who had mastered the blade in only thirteen summers.”

Lord Olyvar chuckles. “I do not intend to pay insult, Your Highness. Only to observe.”

You sigh. Conversing with this man is a battle in and of itself. If only Prince Qoren had sent Lord Uller instead. Intemperate as he may be, there would be much less of this feigned civility. You have little patience for it in your present state.

Jace strikes a blow on the other lad’s shin, causing him to cry out. A rumble of approval can be heard from Ser Harwin as he circles the warring pair, keenly watching his teachings being put to use. You hum approvingly.

“He is match for any his age.” Glancing toward your companion, you cannot help but add, “And it is my observation that kings are not known for their prowess on the battlefield. They are known for their rule. That is what Dorne is negotiating this union for, is it not?”

Lord Olyvar holds his spread hands up, amusement twisting his thin lips.

“Peace, Your Highness,” he insists. “I am ill-equipped to clash with an opponent as formidable as you have become.”

“I hardly need pandering to, even if it is appreciated.”

You wince as the child in your belly delivers a firm kick upward, temporarily robbing you of breath. He or she squirms within you, pangs of discomfort radiating as their head settles low. Patting them through your skin is the only thing that quietens them down when they are like this, and so you set up a soothing rhythm along the expanse of your middle. Agreeable as the babe is, it is not long before they will greet the earth, and room is sorely lacking.

You pointedly ignore the lord’s stare, gesturing casually to the focus of this outing. “Are you satisfied with your findings thus far?”

“I should like to speak to the boy,” Olyvar says, turning away. It is not the first time he has needed to pretend he had not been looking at your belly. “My niece is most interested to hear of her betrothed’s disposition. And of her future goodmother and… goodfather.”

The latter part of his statement arouses your suspicion. When you follow his line of sight, it is easy enough to understand his meaning—he no longer peers down at Jace, but instead at Ser Harwin, another sly smirk playing upon his face.

Your response is sharp.

“The Princess of Dragonstone and her consort, Ser Laenor”—you take care to emphasise his name just as much as is necessary, for it would not do to let him think this is a point of weakness—“are indisposed. But I am sure you will have occasion to meet my nephew properly later.”

“Ah.”

Sufficiently rebuked, his expression flattens to neutrality once more. You release the stone parapet and step back, wordlessly signalling your intent to depart. There is no need to await his notice, for he moves beside you almost instantly, a half-step behind so that you may lead him. Further back come the heavy footsteps of Ser Lorent, ever vigilant but hardly obtrusive as he tails you both through the halls of your home.

You walk in silence, mostly to preserve your own strength. Your back aches with the weight of the child, but this meeting had been a necessary one—and with the state of things as they are, you had been the only one able to deliver upon it.

“Perhaps I will encounter them later, also,” Lord Olyvar says, somewhat abrupt. You search your mind, trying to recall the context of such a comment. Your confusion must show, for he clarifies. “My esteemed hosts.”

Rhaenyra and Laenor.

You tip your chin. “Perhaps.”

A lie. The likelihood of seeing the pair in the same room together is doubtful, not since the almighty row that had reached its boiling point during supper the other night. You have never seen either quite so wroth with one another.

“… and you must be sure to show off all your exemplary qualities when he arrives,” Rhaenyra says firmly.

Jace nods, trying and failing to conceal the apprehension from his eyes. “Yes, Mother.”

It is mayhaps not the best occasion for your sister to prepare her son for the Dornish party’s upcoming visit. Neither is it the worst, you suppose. With Baela and Luke engaged in spirited conversation at the other end of the table, and with Rhaena and Daeron listening intently, there is enough diversion that the other children are not paying attention.

How startling, you think, then. Jace no longer is a child, is he? He is near full-grown.

Your nephew is earnest and thoughtful, ‘tis true, but his recalcitrance this evening is uncharacteristic. Previous delegations had been of minor consequence, mere messengers dispatched to discuss the finer points of the contract initiated moons ago. This time, they come for one purpose and one purpose alone: to decide once and for all if he will make a suitable husband for their beloved Princess. Now that she has flowered by all reports, preparations must begin, and they will only do so if Jace is deemed worthy. No wonder he is afraid.

“Do not let your thoughts trouble you, Jacaerys.” Your uncle’s voice is resolute, warm and reassuring. He does not smile, but there is a confidence in his regard that even you feel heartened by. “Jordayne is cunning, but he wants his niece to be your queen. You have as much right to take your measure of him as he does of you.”

“Yes, nuncle,” is Jace’s reply. He takes a deep breath, placing his cutlery down. The pallor of his cheeks and the compulsive manner in which he swallows is telling.

From beside Laenor, Harwin grunts. “You’ll do well, lad. You’re a… fine young man.”

It seems all the adults have taken it upon themselves to impart some kindness to your nephew. You have no wish to exclude yourself from proceedings.

“Just be yourself,” you say gently. “That is enough to make any one of us proud.”

Jace’s answering smile is wan, and you note the reflexive clench and release of his fist as it rests on the table. Words cannot ease the tension, no matter how much anyone present might wish it.

Rhaenyra lifts her cup to sip her wine. When she places it back down, her lips are red. “Laenor?”

The man in the seat next her does not acknowledge the utterance of his name, staring steadfastly at his empty plate, his eyes glazed over. If not for the fact his own cup has been left untouched, you might presume he is drunk.

“Do you have any words of wisdom for your son?” your sister asks, an edge to her tone.

She does not look at him. Not once. You have noticed the mutual refusal of husband and wife to take so much as a single glimpse of one another, but prudence has stayed your tongue thus far. It has been like this all evening.

Laenor scoffs, a subtle sound.

“Of course.” Then, he schools his expression, turning to Jace with a familiarly encouraging disposition. “You are the captain of your own ship. Do not let anyone else take the wheel.”

You frown, perplexed. From across the table, you can see Rhaenyra twist her rings over and over again. Her posture is stiff, shoulders back in a pantomime of courtesy. Still, she does not turn to him.

“Unless the captain’s judgement has lapsed,” she says, “in which case it is wise to stand aside and let another steer.”

Unease roils within you. Something tells you this is not a conversation that ought to take place here and now. “I don’t think—”

“And who decides if the captain’s judgement has lapsed?” Laenor asks. “One might call that mutiny.”

Civility has been near wholly cast away, it would seem. There is no mistaking his indignation. Before you can even attempt to discern the meaning of this strange double-speak, your sister fires back.

“Mutiny? Is it not mutiny for a captain to abandon his crew before the journey has ende—”

“It is not up to you to decide my doings, Rhaenyra!”

You still have no idea what is going on. Neither do the other occupants of the table, all of whom have fallen silent. Rhaena and Baela vacillate between watching the calamity taking place and glancing at each other; Luke openly ogles, an expression of great alarm on his face; Daeron has shrunk himself to nothing in his seat. Harwin and Jace appear to be pretending to find some minute detail on the wall interesting. The only person with no reaction of note is Daemon, who seems quite content in nursing the contents of his own cup, brow raised and mouth curled in wry entertainment.

Whatever is the matter, you know it is serious enough that it warrants considerable hostility from your goodbrother. Finally, he has given up all pretence, staring incredulously at his wife. But Rhaenyra is not one to yield.

“Who else will temper your folly if not me?” she demands.

“Oh! It is folly now to come to another’s aid, is it?”

“When it means deserting your family, then yes!”

“He is my family, too!”

“Do you not think I wish to be in King’s Landing right now? But I have duties here, I understand that there are sacrifices to be—”

“You may believe it acceptable to forsake your father,” he snarls, “but I will not forsake mine!”

With a rattle and a screech, Laenor all but shoves himself from his chair, rising so quickly it is almost as though he bypassed action entirely. He seems to freeze as he takes in the occupants of the room—the children, wide-eyed and silent; the servants shrinking into the walls; the remaining occupants of the table, avoiding eye contact as best they can—and then, without a word, nudges the seat out of the way and storms off, the door banging behind him.

Rhaenyra had followed swiftly, their shouts loud enough to be heard even from an entirely new floor of the Keep. It had been up to those remaining to shepherd the children to bed, for no evening well-wishes would come from the Princess of Dragonstone or her husband that night. And, ever since, there had always been one or the other absent from convivial gatherings.

Thoughts of this—the fight, your sister, how angry she had been—fuel you to seek her out once you have delivered your farewells to the visiting lord. He returns to his chambers and the company of his retinue while you take the familiar path to the nursery, where Rhaenyra has been spending her spare time as of late.

The room is filled with sunlight. Dust whorls like dragons in flight, spiralling down to blanket Corwyn and Joff’s heads as they bend together over their model of the Keep. There is something synchronous about their interactions, reminding you starkly that, despite appearances, they share a father. They move in harmony, waving about wooden figurines in facsimile of whatever battle they have conjured up.

Your sister murmurs to them, laughing at whatever it is that Corwyn replies with, though her smile is weak. It is not often that she looks so disconsolate, so beaten. A part of you wishes to scold Laenor, to defend her, but you know he too is unhappy with the present state of things. He too has cause for melancholy.

She is startled when she notices you.

“Sister!” she exclaims, standing. “You ought to be resting!”

“I have too much to do,” you say, grumbling good-naturedly as she ushers you to the lone settee beside the rug on which the boys play. You grunt as you adjust yourself, obligingly accepting Rhaenyra’s fussing over the pillows supporting your neck and shoulders. “And if I lay about for too long, this babe sits on my bladder.”

“I remember that all too well.” Her hand touches her middle, quickly and away, memories held in the cradle of her palm.

Motioning vaguely toward her, you say, “Soon it shall be recollection no longer, but reality. How are you feeling?”

“Whomever this is to be”—once more her fingers glide to her belly, and she looks down at herself—“they are far less agreeable than their brothers were. I spent much of my morning bent over a basin.” The words themselves are remonstrative, but the tenor soft, pleased. Her ease in hardship is enviable. “And then I was positively ravenous.”

You grin. “A girl this time?”

“Possibly. Visenya or…” She hesitates. “Or Viserys.”

Papa.

No.

You do not think of him. You cannot think of him.

Instead, you test the flavour of the name upon your tongue, the name of the child-to-be and not the man lost to you. “Viserys Velaryon.”

“It has a ring to it, does it not?” she asks.

“Hm.”

Truthfully, it sounds a little bizarre to you. Then again, her youngest son is named Joffrey. Perhaps she simply wishes to return to tradition with a tried-and-true Valyrian name. There is battle enough in persuading the lords of the Realm that her boys are her husband’s ilk. Bestowing another common moniker may be tantamount to a declaration in the wake of that night on Driftmark.

Speaking of Velaryons… Days have passed, and you are no closer to learning of Corlys’s affairs in the Stepstones.

For moons after Laena’s passing, there had been no word from the Lord of the Tides. Communiques to and from the Velaryon seat were either ignored or would bear the seal and signature of Rhaenys in his stead. He would brood, silent and sorrowful, whenever his lady wife deigned to force him from his desk in his chambers and away to Dragonstone to see his grandchildren. Baela and Rhaena had always seemed to pain him, for he would turn away at the merest sight of them. He bore the loss of his daughter hard, and none could blame him for his behaviour. Then, abruptly—or so you have heard, for your association with Laenor’s father has thus far been mostly limited to tourneys or feasts—those days at his chair were revealed not to have been mere musings over quill and parchment but active plans to set out to sea once more, to recapture the territory your uncle had been victorious over many years ago, the same territory that had not long stood free before the forces opposing the Seven Kingdoms had regained control of it. Rhaenys had barely been afforded the opportunity to row with him before he had taken the fleet entire and sailed off, away, gone.

And that is how it had been for close to a year, the occasional letter tracking the progress of his war efforts with nary a sign of triumph nor defeat. At least, until recently. Until word had come to High Tide—to Rhaenys, and by extension her son, your goodbrother—that the tide has turned against the Sea Snake.

You see no reason to vacillate. Turning properly to your sister and loading your words with weight, you ask, “How bad is it?”

For a second, she appears not to have heard you. She watches Joff and Corwyn, unblinking, expression carefully neutral, the pads of her fingers twisting at her rings again and again. Then, she opens her mouth, prepared to speak.

 Interruption comes in the form of her son, who stands and presses the wooden figure in his hand into her grasp as his free fist winds tightly into the skirts over her knee.

“Tyrakee,” he says with all the seriousness a child of near three years can muster. The pronunciation is unfamiliar, wrong. Whatever he means by it, you know not.

“Yes, my love,” his mother coos, moving the miniature dragon about in the air as though it is flying. He stares, transfixed, deep brown eyes gleaming. “It looks just like Tyraxes, doesn’t it?”

Of course—it is the very same shade of red as his mount. At her words, your little nephew nods enthusiastically, inciting a chuckle from Rhaenyra. She hands the toy back.

“We shall go see him later. How about that?” she asks.

“Fost!” Corwyn shouts from the floor, smacking his own carved dragon into the topmost tower of the replica fortress before him. It collides with a sharp thwack, emphasised by his imitation of a roar. There is such glee in it that you cannot help but be roused to jollity, yourself. “Fost, too!”

“Yes, sweet boy. Skyfrost, too. We will go see them both.”

“Yeah!”

With what can only be described as a mad cackle, little Joff patters away with unexpected speed, and Corwyn hoists himself up to follow. The nursemaid rises, pursuing her charges with a pleading entreaty to slow down, to stop, to return. Lost in their shared fantasy of some great quest, neither child heeds her demands, instead leading her on a merry gallivant throughout the room as they split off in separate directions. If it were not for the great encumbrance of your babe nestled in your womb, you may well be tempted to assist in herding them back to some semblance of quiet.

“The situation is… grave.”

You snap back to attention. Your sister’s gaze remains fixated upon a point past you, her lips curled into a slight scowl. She looks tired—if not in appearance, in disposition.

“The Triarchy’s forces have withstood siege for longer than Corlys anticipated,” she continues quietly, mindful of the small eavesdroppers in the room. “Munitions are low. Rations, even poorer. If he flees, the enemy’s fleet will pursue him, and he is more like to perish than not. Neither can he remain without aid.”

Your heart sinks. She is apt at downplaying things. The situation must truly be grave.

“What will you do?” you ask. “Will you let Laenor go?”

She shakes her head, sighing. “His sons need him. I need him.”

It is not a ‘no’. Indeed, it is true that she has always relied on him far more than he had ever relied on her. Their marriage had brought Rhaenyra security in her tenuous position as heir and solidified the support of one of the most powerful Houses in the Realm. Their arrangement had ensured she could produce sons that would be recognised as legitimate, their true parentage irrelevant in the face of her husband’s assertion that they were his by blood. Their friendship had provided her with a steadfast ally through the summers of rising tension between the factions at court, a source of succour when she had thought all the world against her. Even you. In contrast—what gain is brought to Laenor’s feet? Without her, he would still inherit his father’s titles. He would remain prominent and powerful by virtue of his Valyrian ancestry, his own Targaryen claim. He would arguably be freer to act according to his whims, uncaring of plots and schemes that seek to destroy his influence and destabilise his proximity to the Iron Throne.

You have long considered your goodbrother to be an exemplary sort of man, an invaluable source of humour and conviviality and affection. Of family. But his loyalty has not yet been paid for, not in a way that truly counts. Perhaps it is time he receives what he is owed.

“He wants me to give him leave to fly off to battle. How can I?” she whispers, more to herself than to you. “But how can I not?”

You wish you could reach out and take her hand, but doing so would rob you of more effort than you possess. She sounds afraid, more afraid than you recall her being in a long time. It is different than any other occasion in which she has rightfully found distress, for even the most fraught moments had seen her carry on with admirable fortitude in the face of danger. She has always been a warrior in spirit and in deed, rising to every challenge with her head held high. But this? She shrinks upon herself like a beaten youth, or a hare trapped and waiting for the wolf’s jaw to close over its neck. It is as though the walls are closing in on her and she is helpless to stop it happening.

“Laenor has lost a great deal,” you tell her gently, thinking of Lonmouth and Laena. Even his liberty.“He is not ready to lose his father. Not yet.”

Her chin bobs absently, a far-off look in her eyes. “I worry.”

Such a simple turn of phrase, though her meaning is not lost on you. She worries for herself and her status should she birth a child he is not present to once again claim as his own. She worries for her sons, absent of the man they call their father, no matter the truth. She worries for Rhaena and Baela to be without their beloved uncle, the last truly tangible link to their mother left to them. And, mayhaps greatest of all, she worries for Laenor himself, someone who has become her dearest and closest companion. A soulmate, of sorts.

“We all will,” is what you finally say, just barely audible over the squeals of the boys in the background. “But we cannot despair what has not come to pass.”

Not yet, anyway, you cannot help but think.

When you return from the privy, you find quite a sight to take in.

Aelys has pulled herself up to stand using the cabinet beside the bed and rifles greedily through the plate upon which her father’s rings lay. You note dourly that Valnissar appears poised to assist, his body extended from where he sits on Daemon’s pillow and his neck craned to inspect their shared prize. Naturally. Where one falls into mischief, the other is sure to be following. Meanwhile, Rhaenar is crawling about the room in naught but his underthings, laughing hysterically as his father trips up after him while attempting to pry Azorion off his leg.

“Fucking thing,” Daemon mutters to himself, hissing in pain as he is nipped on his prying fingers. He bops the creature on the head with a snap of, “Rȳbās!” Obey!

“What—what is going on?” you ask, torn between amusement and bewilderment. You think he might have better luck commanding his son, who sits and waits eagerly for the chase to resume. “Where’s Freda?”

In a thoroughly vexed tone, he says, “She fed the twins pudding. It’s all over them, so she’s gone to get fresh clothing. I undressed him and tried to put him in the cradle”—he makes a noise of triumph as he finally extricates the dragon from his skin, holding it aloft by the base of its tail—“but this little shit sabotaged me.”

Azorion screeches and bares his teeth when he is released back to the floor, skittering across the stone to return to his future rider’s side. You find it exceedingly difficult to fear him, however much he wishes for it.

“Ah.” Nodding, you bite your lip and glance back to Aelys. She is utterly absorbed in the sound of rattling metal that comes from each flex of her pudgy fingers. “You… do know what your daughter is doing, yes?”

“In a moment. I’ll deal with these two”—he stares down at the pair immediately before him—“first.”

Unfortunately for your boy, he has allowed himself to be distracted by your arrival, mumbling “mama mama-ma-ma” while flexing his fists towards you in a plea to be lifted into your embrace. You wish you could give him what he wants, but your belly prevents you from such things now—and you do not wish for another occurrence in which your elder two spar with your youngest through the layers of skin that separate them. You wince at the memory of it, of the bruises that had blossomed afterward.

Rhaenar does not see it coming when Daemon snatches him up, growling and pretending to bite at his cheeks. His father’s mock-menacing voice chides him through his squeals, saying, “Kōz taoba iksā.” You are a wicked boy.

That familiar ache in your chest grows stronger as you watch the display, so wholly untethered from the notions of propriety and distance you had been raised with. Here is a father and son who love one another, who know one another. You never truly could say the same of your own.

“Mama?” Aelys grabs your attention, face alight with inquisitiveness.

“Issa, dōnītsos?” Yes, sweetling? you ask her, twisting inside as you look upon her dear little features, innocent and pure.

She does not make further attempts to babble or elucidate, simply stares and continues to clutch at items that do not belong to her. You clear your throat, staring pointedly at her and her mischievous companion.

“Bonyz renigon avy sytilības?” Should you be touching those?

She does not understand you, but that is not the point. Your unsmiling expression and the deepening of your voice are enough to ensure that she glances uncertainly between you and her hand, almost as if pondering upon what the best course of action is.

“Daor,” you emphasise. No.

Her hand withdraws, demeanour decidedly put out from being scolded. Valnissar chitters, neck craning even closer until you click your tongue warningly. No doubt he had been intending to steal something for himself, the naughty beast. Having lost his chance, he slinks from the mattress to the floor in a tangle of limbs and wings, bowling full-bodied to knock against Aelys’s legs. She giggles when he growls, untwisting himself and shaking himself out like a waterlogged cat. With a soft thunk, she plops onto her bottom beside him, gumming at the scales on his head as he twines himself around her.

“And you—”

Daemon’s solid frame enters your line of vision as he strides forth to hoist her off the ground, tickling her belly to make her squirm. “Ñuhor līr renigon daor, turgītsos,” he says, a poorly concealed quirk to his lips. Don’t touch what is mine, little worm.

It is straightforward enough for him to divest her of her soiled dress. He casts the offending item upon the table carelessly on his path, placing her down beside her brother and nudging Azorion out of the way to make extra room. Not one to be left out so easily, Aelys’s dragon scales up your uncle’s leg and into the cradle in a flurry of movement, heedless of the pained grunts it elicits from the individual he had climbed. Azorion screeches as Valnissar lands on him, wings flapping in his outrage. Before the creature can scrabble over the side and away from all those expertly entrapped within their wooden enclosure, Daemon pushes him back in.

“Ah-ah. Umbās.” Stay, he commands, lowering a finger to Aelys so that she might take hold of it. With his free hand, he taps Rhaenar’s nose. “You two are fortunate that I’m your father—otherwise, I would throw your lizards off the balcony.”

You roll your eyes. Nudging one of the chairs into place with your hip, you pick up your daughter’s discarded outfit and drop it into the nearby basket for the maids to take care of later. “No, you would not. Dragons are sacred, and there are far too few of them for you to risk such a thing.”

Almost instantly, your twins have quietened down, and with them their winged beasts. You would not be surprised to venture over and find them yawning and tilting to the side, starting to ready themselves for an afternoon nap.

Meanwhile, Daemon ambles over to you, a weary smirk on his face. “Yes, yes—but the little fuckers need to think I’m a threat, do they not? How else will they learn?”

“You are incorrigible,” you say with a shake of your head, nudging him playfully when you feel a wandering touch ghost along your rear. “Our children will have the very worst manners, and it will be all your fault.”

He levels you with a hooded stare, the curve of his mouth relaxing. “You flatter me, niece.”

A warm palm settles on your middle, and he glances down to follow the path of tiny ripples along firm flesh. The babe has awoken at the sound of their father’s voice, it would seem.

Impossibly softly, he asks, “How are you both?”

You try to conceal your wince at a particularly hard kick from within your womb. “This one seems to have developed a particular fondness for playing about with my insides. I cannot go an hour without needing to make water.”

His nostrils flare, lips twitching. “Not long now,” he says.

“Hm.”

You study him, abruptly noticing streaks of filth accumulated in the lines on his forehead, ash darkening his hair and mouth. Come to think of it, there is dirt all over him—spattered on his jerkin, blackening his nail beds, smearing on your gown.

“Why… why are you so filthy?” you ask, frowning. “What in the heavens have you been doing?”

He grins widely, demeanour shifting to one of almost childish excitement. ‘Tis animation you have not seen in him in an age, if ever. He does not even have the wherewithal to look apologetic for the mess he has no doubt trekked in.

“I’ve brought you something,” he tells you. “Come.”

No question, no prompting—he takes you by the hip and by the arm and steers you to the hearth, and you find yourself reliving a scene from moons ago. But this time, you are the one to be led to the brazier in which a dragon egg is kept safe and warm, awaiting the arrival of its intended Targaryen.

Beside you, Daemon looks unbearably proud of himself. “Syrax has laid a fresh clutch. All good, by the looks of them… though this one caught my eye.”

It is not difficult to see why. Though the scaled pattern is always iridescent in some fashion, the colouration of each egg is usually distinct and uniform. Red, blue, green, yellow, purple, white, black. This egg does not seem to know which hue to choose. In fact, it appears to fluctuate so much so that you could not possibly tell what underlying colour it is meant to be. Perhaps it is all the colours of the rainbow, or maybe none of them.

Even so, its mere presence is confusing—not that he has deigned to select one for your child, but that he has gone to such effort unnecessarily.

“The hatchery already has eggs to choose from, though,” you murmur, fingers itching to reach forth and trace the shimmer flickering upon the hard shell. You refrain. Your uncle likely would not appreciate any reminder of that unnatural trait of yours. “And the Keepers usually retrieve them from the nests.”

A noncommittal sound reverberates through his chest. It seems a little too casual. “There’s nothing wrong with a little adventure.”

There it is.

You had been waiting for a sign, an inkling. Something to suggest that all the talk of battle and glory about the Keep as of late might have left its mark upon his thoughts. Might have started to settle in the back of his mind like rust, tainting the fulfilment has found with the allure of bloodshed, of power—of freedom.

Growing up, you remember hearing that your uncle was a creature of violence, a monster, a rabid dog frothing at the mouth for the chance to revel in carnage and slaughter. Though knowing him as you know him now has dispelled many of the tall tales told at court, it does not fully exculpate you from the lingering notion that, for all his many qualities that you admire and cherish, he is not exactly made for peace.

He loves you, yes. He loves your children, yes. He loves the life he has built, yes. But is all this enough for him? And will it be enough for him forever? These are questions that trouble you fleetingly from time to time.

At this moment, however, Daemon does not allow you to linger upon such things.

“Do you like it?” he asks, full of restrained eagerness.

You do what you do best and imagine your worries as trinkets you can lock away in a chest, out of view, to be confined in the dark until you forget they exist—or until they fight so fiercely that they are released in an explosion of uncontrolled emotion. On the surface, you smile to hide your discomfort, praying that he does not notice the beads of sweat collecting on your temples or the frenetic pace of your pulse racing to an unknown finish.

“Of course I do,” you say, because you really do, even if any gladness is secretly marred by what he cannot see. Taking a silent breath to steady yourself, you turn away from the brazier, from the egg, from the reminder that it serves as.

“Now”—your brow arches as you look upon your husband critically—“go take a bath. I cannot believe you touched my children with those hands.”

He snorts. “I suppose I won’t convince you to let me touch you, then? Alas.”

You know exactly what he means by that, and it has little to do with tickling or innocence of any kind. Thank the gods that the room is silent, which means the babes are asleep. One day, they are sure to overhear something thoroughly untoward.

Pointing toward the door, you level him with your best attempt at a command. “Go!” you exclaim.

He heads to the door to call for a servant who will help him do your bidding, chucking all the while. The ash from his lips is bitter on your tongue.

Days later, you find yourself in the Great Hall, doing your best to stand tall and unaffected as the Dornish delegation makes their official farewells. In truth, you wish you had pleaded illness so that you would not need to stand so long. This child within you is pressing so heavily upon the mouth to your womb that you are concerned they will birth themselves onto this very floor. Sharp twinges spread throughout your lower body, and you just barely master the temptation to reach beneath your belly and lift to seek some relief from the pressure forcing down and down. It is most difficult to pay attention to proceedings, though you are by no means the only one paying little heed to the careful conversation taking place between Olyvar and Rhaenyra, and Jace by extension.

Daemon shifts on the balls of his feet, angling his head to the side so that you may see his mouth as it shapes his words. His eyes wander aimlessly, but you know his primary focus has been you.

“Yne gūrogon dēmavos jaelā?” he whispers, gaze meeting yours fleetingly. Do you want me to get you a chair?

You shake your head minutely. Even now, you cannot afford to look weak. The alliance that has been built is still tenuous at best, and Sunspear must believe that the price they pay for a tie to the Throne is worthwhile. You must be as stone. You have no choice.

“… pleased.” The Jordayne lord dips his chin, bending forward at the waist just enough to pay the barest of respects to his hosts. “Prince Jacaerys is a sensible and solicitous young man. You have… much to be proud of, Your Highness.”

To you, the praise seems forced. You wonder if it curdles his stomach to admit it aloud.

Rhaenyra is disinclined to give him quarter. Her response is positively haughty, spine as straight and proud as ever. “I agree. He will make for a fine husband, and even finer king.”

You can almost hear Olyvar grinding his teeth, his eyes narrowing. Your sister carries on, unaffected.

“I presume I will be looking forward to my gooddaughter’s arrival in due course?” she asks.

“As agreed,” he says, and then, much louder, proclaims, “When Princess Alliandra reaches her majority, she will make the journey to Dragonstone, where she will be wedded and bedded, and our pact sealed.”

The nobles who have deigned to take temporary residence on the isle—now congregating as an audience in this echoing space—applaud, though you do see several tense faces among the crowd. Distrust runs deep in Westeros, and enmity is not soon forgotten. Still, what has occurred here is a great achievement, one that had taken many meetings and countless compromises to arrange and concur to. Negotiating the terms of the treaty had been largely out of your hands, but you were the one to have initiated it. The thought brings you great pride.

 Lord Olyvar steps closer with a funny twist to his lips. It is only your relative proximity that allows you to hear him say to your sister, “For the first time in our shared histories, the blood of the Rhoynar and Old Valyria will unite as one. Curious, how the winds change.”

A single nod of acknowledgement. “Then it is done?” she asks.

“It is done.” He glances at Ser Harwin in the far corner of the room, something you feel certain only you notice. “Barring any… complications, of course.”

“Naturally.”

Rhaenyra steps back. You admire how she takes her space without it seeming like a retreat. On the contrary—it is nonchalant, an act of consideration, almost, like she is doing the other some great favour by releasing them from the spell of her immediate nearness.

“Safe journeys, my Lord,” she says, smiling pleasantly. It does not reach her eyes.

Finally, he bows, forced by common courtesy. She outranks him, after all. “Until we meet again.”

And, with a final flourish of spears and the fading sounds of accented voices barking orders from the shore, the Dornish depart once and for all.

The collective atmosphere in the Keep automatically improves. For days, it seemed that every move you had all made was assessed and somehow found wanting. Nothing had been good enough; not the climate, not the accommodations, not the food, not the entertainment. Certainly not the people. It had taken all your courage to forge on ahead with every sneer, every whisper, every calculated remark that your visitors had levied as a weapon against you. But all you had to do was outlast the contempt. Now, you are free of them. You already feel it is easier to breathe without the shadow of old enemies darkening the doorstep.

What better time to finally begin your lying in?

It is a relief, in truth, to close yourself up in your chambers, to know that you need not mind anything except ensuring you are well-rested and strong enough for the labours ahead. You sink into the familiarity of it almost instantly: the heat of the air around you, the constant readiness of the baths you sink into, the frenetic burst of energy that compels you to arrange your haven just so before you sink once more into fatigue, curled around yourself with a possessive hand on your belly, waiting, waiting. Others surround you—Ūlla, the maester, your ladies—but they seem unimportant compared to what is happening within you. Even Daemon, always present, always watching, full of anticipation, fades from the forefront of your thoughts as your mind and your body prepare to shift to that strange realm where life and death hang in the balance.

Less than a sennight passes—at least, you think so, though time has begun to melt together in your confinement—when Laenor arrives to your rooms, shoulders stiff and arms behind his back. While not out of the realm of possibility, it is certainly unusual to see him venture in search of you without the company of at least one of his sons.

“Can I join you?” he asks at the door, hesitant.

You think it is a moot point, for he has already let himself in. Still, you smile from where you lay, gesturing at him to enter properly.

He sits himself on the mattress beside you, scrutinising the room. You allow the silence that lingers. Sometimes, there is no need to force words from the mouth of one who clearly has something to say. It is merely a matter of patience. And, with Daemon in the nursery with the twins, you have as much latitude as you wish in exercising it.

After further prevarication, he murmurs your name. He stops. His mouth opens and closes. He will not look at you.

You make it easier for him. You had known this was coming.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” you ask quietly.

“Yes.” Laenor exhales in a shudder, wilting as he hunches over. Then, he schools himself, turning his head to stare down at you from the edge of the bed. “Take care of your sister, won’t you? She is rather cross with me at present.”

An understatement.

“She loves you.” It seems inadequate, but it is the best way you can describe how she feels for him. “She does not wish to see you harmed.”

He closes his eyes. “I know.”

A hush falls upon you both once more.

“Are you angry?” he asks.

‘Are you angry that I am abandoning you all?’ is what you hear.

“I am… disappointed,” you say carefully, trying your best to convey the tumult in your head. “Not in you, or anyone. More so that you must go at all. But I understand it.”

Of course you do. If it were your family in danger, would you not muster every ounce of courage and vigour to strike down the ones who threatened them? If it were Rhaenar or Aelys or Daemon or Rhaenyra or Daeron, would you not seek to remedy any wrong done unto them? Or, if your own father faced death—even now, when you and he are so at odds and there seems to be no recourse to bridge the gaping maw that has grown between you—would you not rally to his aid?

You would. You would, and so too would Laenor. To you, there is no choice, not really, not when it comes to what one does for love.

“If I die…”

You shake your head, tensing full-formed at the mere thought of it. “Don’t.”

“I must,” he insists. “If I die, Rhaenyra will be in danger. The boys… my boys. They will be in danger, too.” He trembles as though his words will bring the gods’ wrath down upon your nephews. His jaw tightens in resolve, demeanour suddenly as steel and begging with his eyes. “You and Daemon—you need to protect them. Promise me you will.”

It reminds you of a time long ago when he was just a lord’s son and you a little girl, side by side in a hall in a Keep you have since effectively been barred from. How ironic that so many years have passed, and you still find the hurt in a simple ‘goodbye’.

“I trust that you’ll set me right, should I behave in a manner less than what she deserves,” he had said that night, full of hope and a desperate desire for the approval of his bride’s sister.

“I will,” you had told him then.

“I will,” you tell him now. Reaching across the mattress, your hand finds his. You hold onto the warmth of him, committing his face to memory. “I promise.”

Eventually, he departs as he must, a gentle farewell accompanied by an even gentler embrace. You try to temper your despair with the knowledge that Seasmoke is sure to protect him as hotly as any dragon protects his rider. This does not stop the river of tears from falling when the door closes. It feels like an ending.

 As you listen for the faint sounds of his convoy sailing further and further out to sea, you wonder if you will ever see him again.

Read on AO3:

Taglist:

Now in the comments!

To be on the taglist:

Click here to apply for the general taglist! Click here to apply for the terms of endearment taglist!

#terms of endearment │ daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon x reader #daemon x oc #daemon x you #daemon fanfic #daemon targaryen fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd #hotd fanfiction #asoiaf #asoiaf fanfiction #a song of ice and fire #a song of ice and fire fanfiction

[hinamie]

forget me not | 勿忘草

#my art #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo #fanart #jjk fanart #quick gojo before bed i will make myself faster at art if it kills me #checks clock hm. 5hrs >:( #sighs sighs sighs #real talk tho these little crosshatchy lines ive been doing r HARD carrying i can put so much less effort into the render this way #so im already cutting my time there ... how can i get faster smh #ill never be a speedrunner at this rate :< #hm other than that not much to say ???? its pretty ?????? #its certainly periwinkle #periwinkle is not my fav colour ever but i think its ok for this #lmao going from the sukuna piece 2 this VGHDFSH #duality

[sttoru]

𝝑𝑒 synopsis. after being married to satoru for two years, you still giggle and (secretly but not so secretly) fangirl about him whenever given the chance. your husband absolutely loves indulging you.

tags. husband!gojo satoru x wife!female reader. fluff, sfw, tiny bits of angst. tooth rotting fluff yeah. reader gets called ‘princess, baby’. inspired by this ask.

“and and and, his smile ‘s just so beautiful,” you sigh dreamily, resting your head on satoru’s lap. you’re both enjoying the cozy night in your shared apartment. with no one bothering you—with no regards for the world that’s continuing its cycle outside.

satoru chuckles as he pats your head slowly, taking his time to appreciate every feature of yours. from your pink-ish lips to your pretty eyes. he’s so in love with the creation god has gifted him. he nods attentively, “yeah? what else?”

you giggle as he indulges you. it’s a habit of yours, to fangirl over your husband like you’re not literally his wife. satoru finds it absolutely adorable. plus, it boosts his ego. in a very good way.

“aaaand, he’s caring. that’s the one thing i love most about him,” you continue to ramble about your little ‘crush’ on that so-called mysterious white-haired sorcerer. satoru wishes he could capture this moment and keep repeating it over and over in his head.

the way you talk about your crush - him - is filling his stomach with butterflies. the tall man can’t deny the faint blush on his cheeks and the fuzzy feeling in his chest. you keep getting cuter and cuter the more time passes.

when he thinks you’ve reached a state of perfection in his eyes, you once again prove him wrong and go beyond that. “caring, hm? he must treat my princess real good then,” satoru hums and continues petting your head. his other hand rubs your stomach—fingers creeping under the material of your nightgown.

“he does,” you nod in agreement, “he treats me so well. i don’t know how i got so lucky to have met him.” you squirm a little as you feel satoru’s slender fingers graze your midriff, going back down to your belly and then back up your chest again. his touch is so intimate and loving. you’re spoiled. spoiled rotten by his affection.

satoru sighs. his white lashes flutter shut for a second. hearing you say such stuff makes him want to check if it’s reality he’s in. if it isn’t another too-good-to-be-true dream of his. no one had loved him as much as you did.

it feels good to know that he’s wanted. needed.

“no, i think he is the lucky one,” satoru continues. his hand petting your head stops and he moves it to rub your cheek tenderly. he leans his head down, the tips of your noses touching. he whispers, “having a pretty girl like you love him so dearly… yeah, he’s won the lottery.”

your heart skips a beat. satoru’s words leave you speechless. you don’t know if you can keep up the little silly act anymore. his flirting, the teasing and the genuineness behind his words—it’s all too much.

you grab the back of his head and push his lips down against yours. satoru’s breath hitches for a second before he gives in to you. he visibly melts, eyes closing and hands tightening their grip around your body.

“mmh,” satoru lets out a content moan. he loves you. he’s glad he’s met you and he’s glad he made you his wife two years back. you’re the only one for him. death won’t do you apart—no—he promised you on your wedding day that it wouldn’t.

you kiss him like it’s your last kiss on earth. the spark between you is still as warm and strong as it was when you met. the people who’ve warned you about the ‘honeymoon phase’ are clearly all wrong. they aren’t aware of the strength your bond with satoru has. you’re inseparable.

“i love you,” you sigh against satoru’s glossy lips and he deepens the kiss after that.

somebody loves him. somebody cares for him. that’s all he needs in life. his life is complete with you in it. he smiles against your lips and says the three words back, with more passion than ever before, “i love you too, my angel.”

nothing will ever separate you. not fate. not anyone.

#sttoru writes. #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #jjk x you #gojo x y/n #jjk x y/n #jjk fluff #gojo fluff

[altruisticalastor]

↳˗ˏˋAlastor x Readerˊˎ˗ ↴

☒ Summary: Alastor didn't like sharing your charm with the others. Which often led him to get needy. Craving extra special attention from his darling girl, which you happily supplied.

☒ Warnings: fem!reader, she/her pronouns, established relationship, heavy breeding kink, praise kink, soft!alastor, creampies, dirty talk, fingering, light biting, nipple play (reader recieving), begging, making out

☒ Word Count: 1,564

Your peers swore you had cast a spell upon Alastor. He was wrapped around your little finger, and you lost count of how many times demons who stayed at the hotel would come up to you and ask if you owned his soul. 

You may not have owned his soul, but you certainly owned his heart.

After the initial shock wore off, your counterparts left it be. Angel would joke often about how Alastor was "pussy whipped". But that was as far as the teasing went. Everyone else knew not to step on The Radio Demon's toes. 

It wasn't hard for your peers to catch on; to why exactly Alastor loved you so dearly. You were an absolute sweetheart, caring and compassionate in every way. You always offered a hand to any of your counterparts who required assistance, and your actions proved that you were constantly thinking of ways to make everyone feel valued. 

Alastor rather despised having to share your charm with others. Which often led to long nights of your lover being clingy and needy for you. Much like tonight. 

You were flat on your back atop the plush duvet. Alastor surrounded you with his frame, slender arms enclosing near your head. Your lover placed soft kisses across your face. Humming one of his favorite tunes in the process. "Absolutely breathtaking, my doe," Alastor whispered, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck. 

A chill ran down your spine at the feeling of your lover's bare body pressing against yours. His cold flesh was a nice contrast to the warmth you emitted. You let out a soft whine as Alastor's erection grazed your lower tummy, making you needier than ever for him. Which was The Radio Demon's goal all along. It was only fair to make you feel just as desperate for him as he was for you. 

"Do you know how much I cherish you, my dear?" Alastor cooed, nipping at your neck. Leaving pretty marks in his wake. His sharp teeth grazing along your pulse point caused your breath to hitch. Your lover trailed lower, still pressing his body close to yours. 

"Yes," You sighed, burying your hands into his fluffy tufts of hair as Alastor's lips wrapped around one of your nipples. His hands began to wander. One slipped between your legs, gathering your slick with his deft digits. His other hand trailed to your other breast, tweaking your neglected nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

"Good girl..." Alastor released your nipple with a loud pop before darting his tongue out to circle around your areola. A cry of his name slipped past your parted lips as Alastor's ring finger eased its way into your pussy. Your grip on his hair tightened as you held him closely to your chest, pulling a deep groan from your lover's lips. 

"Feels so good, Al," You babbled, raising your hips to meet the slow cadence of his finger plunging deep inside you. Alastor's lips shifted to your other breast, giving it the same treatment. Only this time, his sharp teeth skimmed along your sensitive nipple. A sultry moan ripped through you from the sensation, urging Alastor on to add a second finger inside your inviting heat. 

Alastor slowly rutted his hips against the plush duvet, letting out groans against your marked-up flesh. "Please, my love... need you inside," You whined desperately, pulling his face up to have him meet your gaze. A string of saliva connected Alastor's lips to your hardened nipple. His cock twitched at the look of desperation you gave him. You scored your bottom lip with your teeth, eyebrows knitted with emphasis; eyes half-lidded. 

"How could I say no when you ask so graciously, hm? I intend to give my little doe everything she needs." Alastor's smile widened as he pulled his fingers out of your dripping heat. He didn't waste a beat wrapping his slick-coated fingers around the base of his cock. A whine escaped you as your lover ran the head of his flushed length between your folds.  

"Hmm, you're so wet for me, darling. Do I really work you up that much?" Alastor quipped, allowing the tip of his cock to push past the tight ring of your pussy. You nodded your head in agreement, pushing your hips closer to his; but to no avail. Alastor's hands came to hold your waist, keeping you in place. "Use your words, my dear."

"Y-Yes! Always, Al. Just you... only this needy for you," You were already stupefied by the pleasure your lover granted you, and he barely even began. A deep chuckle escaped Alastor. The radio crackle reverberated through his chest. "I hope you are aware that the feeling is mutual, my precious little doe,"

With that, your lover pushed deeper inside you. Stretching your walls to accommodate his length. "F..Fuck, so tight. You are squeezing me so greatly, darling." Alastor hissed through gritted teeth. Your thighs came up to wrap around his waist, pulling his pelvis flush against yours. 

A gasp fled you as you felt your lover twitch from deep inside you. His full balls kissed the underside of your pussy, making your head spin. "Al, you're so big, feels s-so good..." Your hands enveloped the back of his neck, drawing his face close to yours. Alastor's lips ghosted your own as he delivered his first thrust deep inside your fluttering heat. 

"You take me so well, my darling. Your tight little hole was made for me- and me alone." Alastor whispered against your lips, finding a slow but steady rhythm. Desperate whines escaped you, and your lover drank up each and every single one. Alastor was infatuated. His crimson orbs held so much adoration for you. 

You kept your gaze fixated on him as he fucked into you sweetly. Your legs narrowed around his waist as Alastor began plunging into you with more vigor. "I'm going to breed you, my sweet little doe," Alastor huffed. One of his large palms wrapped around your hand before he dragged it down to your tummy. A sharp gasp fled you as you touched the prominent bulge your lover was causing. "Feel that, my dear? I'm in so deep. Surely you'll get pregnant when I spill my seed inside you." 

You clenched harshly around him from his crude words. The thought of Alastor knocking up caused the coil within you to unravel. "P-Please, breed me! Fill me up, make me yours for good!" You cried out, thighs trembling around your lover's waist. Your words diminished the last of Alastor's resolve. Before you knew it, his large hands hooked under the back of your thighs. Pushing them tightly to your chest.

A sharp gasp escaped you from the change of position. Alastor's cock reached even deeper from this angle, intensifying the heat in your lower tummy. "Such a good girl you are! You're so pilant, so willing... so eager for me to fuck a baby into you." His words caused your walls to flutter wildly around his length. You were on the edge of cumming all over his cock. The pleasure Alastor provided you was becoming too invigorating to bear. 

"Al, ah... I'm close! K-Kiss me, please!" You begged as his hips pistoned harshly into yours. The lewd sound of his balls slapping against the underside of your drooling pussy sent a pleasurable chill down your spine. Alastor wasted no time capturing your lips. The kiss was hot and messy, tongues intertwining with one another as the coil within you finally snapped. Your lover drank up all of your whines as your pussy pulsed and gushed around his cock. 

Alastor wasn't far behind you. His release was triggered by yours. The feeling of your hot, wet walls trying to milk him for all he was worth made him feel lightheaded. His thrusts became sloppy before his hips ultimately stilled against yours. Alastor groaned into the kiss as his cock twitched from deep within you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your skull as the first ropes of his cum spilled into your pussy. 

There was so much, and the feeling of being bred by your lover was heavenly; ironically so. Alastor slowly broke away from the kiss as he attempted to catch his breath. His cock was still nestled deep inside you as he stared down at you lovingly. You couldn't help but smile widely at your lover, allowing your palms to capture his cheeks. Rubbing Alastor's face gently with the pads of your thumbs. 

"Alastor, that was... wow," You giggled as your lover slowly released his tight grip on your thighs, allowing your legs to lie flat against the bed. "You are truly perfect, my dear. I simply cannot get enough of you!" Alastor's praise caused your heart to flutter in your chest. He was so gentle with you and you alone. Pride surged through your soul at the notion that Alastor only had a soft spot for you.

Your train of thought was cut off by the sensation of your lover's cock hardening from deep inside you once more. A smirk crossed Alastor's features as he reveled in your look of shock. "What's with the look of awe, my darling? I told you I was going to breed you. I don't intend to leave this room until I am positive you have been thoroughly bred."

tags; @danveration

#hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel smut #alastor smut #alastor x you #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor imagine #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x y/n

[d3arapril]

“cover her mouth and make her listen to how wet she is” aka jackson!ellie putting in WORK. i’m sick.

⭐️ warnings: smut(obviously), dom!ellie, language, ellie has a dirty mouth, an ass slap. think that’s it? 18+ minors dni <3

you’re pretty sure you’re dead, or at least you will be soon at this rate. you don’t even realise the obscene noises you’re making until ellie slaps a palm down onto your ass.

“shut the fuck up,” ellie hisses from behind you, breathless. she’s fucking into you at a speed that you’re certain she’s never met before and if she goes any faster you think the bed might break the thin wall separating the both of you from the bathroom.

“fuck,” ellie’s voice snaps you back into reality and you find yourself reaching back to push at her stomach, looking for some relief from her practically bruising your cervix. “you really want me to stop?”

you whine, but don’t respond. she knows you don’t want her to stop, especially when your legs give way and you slip forward onto the bed, chest pressed against the mattress. she knows you like it like this.

she slows her pace, switching to slower, deeper strokes and she leans back slightly, sucking in a small gasp when she sees how wet you’ve gotten. it’s all down your thighs, between your ass cheeks and ellie’s thighs are beginning to get sticky and she can’t tell if its from your or her but she doesn’t really care.

“you’re wetting the fucking bed, babe.” she teases, leaning forward until her chest is pressed against your back and you’re almost sticking together from the sweat. she shuffles closer to you until your ass is flush against her lower stomach and raises a hand to push against your head, keeping you flat to the bed.

“ell-fuck, please, please..” you’re whimpering at her, trying to look at her from the corner of your eye but she’s just out of sight. you feel her though, her breath hot against your ear.

all she does is scoff and draw her hips back before pistoning in, somehow even harder than before, and you’re basically fucking crying at how good it feels.

“i thought i told you…” ellie leans down and you think she’s going to brush the hair from your eyes or give you a quick kiss but instead she grabs a fistful of your hair, arches your neck up and slaps her palm against your mouth. “to shut the fuck up?” she whispers in your ear and you practically gush against her, the wet noises coming from your pussy echoing through her room.

“you hear that?” she’s still in your ear, breathing heavily as her hips slap against your ass. “hear how fucking wet that pussy is? how much she loves me?”

you’re definitely crying now, nodding frantically against her hand. you’re gripping at the sheets so hard you’re certain you’ve ripped holes into them and your eyes have rolled so far back into your head you don’t think they’ll ever go back to normal again.

ellie knows she has a dirty mouth and she uses it to her advantage when she’s fucking you like this. knows that you could cum alone just from the dirty shit she says to you, and she’d have it no other way.

the squelching noises coming from your pussy are so loud - you’re thanking heavens that joel opted to cancel his garden party tonight. both of ellie’s hands are now covering your mouth and she’s leaning back, using her grip on your cheeks and jaw as leverage to fuck into you.

she’s hitting right against your g-spot and you’re biting at her palm, trying your best not to scream bloody murder but it’s becoming increasingly difficult when she’s fucking you so good. she leans forward again, hard nipples pressing into your back and you feel her lips ghost the shell of your ear,

“want you to make a fucking mess for me. can you do that, hm?”

you are absolutely going to die tonight.

#*wolf ripping tshirt off meme* #AGGHHHHHH #ellie is a dirty dog #😛 #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #the last of us #the last of us smut #ellie #the last of us fic #my writing

[kana-de]

★ summary: arlecchino nsfw hcs since her banner is almost out.

☆ cw: nsfw. wlw (fem terms like cunt and pussy used). choking. dirty talk. cunnilingus. strap-on. a bit of belly bulge. arle's hands appreciation.

☾ a/n: this is a repost of the same work bc the first one didn't get any attention at all. also, this is like, the most smut i could write for now so yeah.

— arlecchino loves loves loves holding eye contact with you during sex, especially if it's missionary. her stare is intense, like she'll stab your heart right here and now, but she knows you're only getting more turned on by it. even if it's doggy, she'd bend your back and press it to her chest and she would make you look into her eyes while fucking her strap up into you. her other hand would also slide to your lower belly to feel the bulge of the strap in it.

“don't take your eyes off me. look away once and you aren't cumming tonight.”

— arlecchino knows damn well you get off from just looking at her hands. and she also knows that you love having her hands wrapped around that pretty little neck of yours, so she uses this knowledge every single time. every time she begins with foreplay, her hand sneaks its way to your neck, squeezing it experimentally until she feels your knees weaken or hears a choked whimper leaving your mouth. arlecchino just knows that simply using her hands would be enough to make you cum over three times already.

“you have a very nice neck there, you know. i'm sure that if i'd squeeze a little bit harder, it'd make you squeal nice and loud.”

— is a master at dirty talk, prove me wrong. arle uses her hands and mouth just perfectly. always the low voice, whispering some very hot and dirty things right in your ear. when she's in the mood, she may even use some pet names to flatter you. but usually, she doesn't use anything other than 'dear', 'darling' and 'princess' — the last one is used especially a lot when she wants to pamper you like the princess you are.

“let me guess... you were having so many wet dreams about this, were you not? daydreaming about this for days on end. i bet that now this cunt is soaked already.”

and then:

“what's wrong, dear? cat got your tongue, hm?”

— when arlecchino comes back from work either overworked or mad, she knows she doesn't even have to explain herself to you as she buries her face into your cunt the moment she sees you. i wouldn't call it "taking her stress out on you" though, i think she does it more to calm herself. she eats you out like she's been starving for days even if she did it just yesterday. holding your hips down so you will stop squirming so much after she just gave you your third orgasm. you're becoming too sensitive, but arle doesn't look like she gives a damn, because she knows that if she was hurting you, you'd already say the safe word that you two have.

“shut up and take it. you know i can't help myself."

#genshin impact #genshin x you #genshin x reader #genshin smut #arlecchino genshin #arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino genshin impact #arlecchino x fem reader #arlecchino smut #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x female reader #genshin impact x you #genshin wlw

[lovebugism]

istg that “just because you’re beautiful and a good kisser does not mean i forgive you.” “you think i’m beautiful?” is sooooo eddie coded.

i'm picturing a sorta enemies to lovers with eddie pulling yet another prank on reader (we all know this boy has the emotional maturity of a five year old when it comes to making a move on the girl he likes) but he really does hurt her feelings this time so he tries to make it up to her and they end up kissing.

from what you've written before i think you could put a great spin on this sorta scenario, if you feel like it <3

hope you like it! :D — you're eddie munson's biggest enemy. and, yes, you're also his soulmate. (enemies to lovers, secret relationship, 0.9k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

You storm into the bustling lunch room, having traded your pretty corseted blouse for a piece of oversized Corroded Coffin merch — definitely not by choice. “Do you have a death wish?” you ask when you reach the Hellfire table at the very back of the cafeteria, zeroed in on its leader at the head of it.

Eddie turns slowly, blinking up at you with innocent button eyes. His chews through the hamburger wadded in his cheek. “Potentially,” he answers, muffled before he swallows it down.

You huff, too easily frustrated. It isn’t any wonder why he likes to mess with you so much. “Where are my clothes?” 

“The ones you left on my bedroom floor last night or…?”

“No, you idiot— The clothes you stole from the girl’s locker room. Which makes you a total perv, by the way.”

“Oh, that sexy little number?” he croons, turning in his seat to face you more. “It’s in my locker, actually.”

“Well, get it out,” you say with gritted teeth.

He thinks for a moment, pursing his lips to the side. “Hm… I don’t think I will.”

Your jaw tightens. “Why?”

“‘Cause it’s a little revealing, don’t you think?”

“Well, yeah, that’s kinda the point, Munson.”

He smacks his lips against his teeth, then scrunches the bridge of his nose. He wags a sarcastic, ringed finger at you. “See— Those aren’t the values a nice girl like you should have—”

“God, you’re infuriating,” you groan and stomp off again.

Eddie smiles to himself while he watches you go, cheek tilted lazily to his shoulder. The only thing he likes better than seeing you come (in more ways than one) is watching you leave.

He sighs a deep, contented sigh and turns back to the rest of the table. They’re all wide-eyed and silent, still musing on the sudden interaction with the disbelief that it had happened at all.

Eddie only grins, wider this time. “Ah… She’s obsessed with me.”

—————

By the end of the school day, your blouse hasn’t yet been returned to you. You’re still stuck in the stupid shirt Eddie had left for you — all black, too big, and obviously his. You know it belongs to him because you’ve worn it thousands of times while sleeping over at his place. It smells just like him, like weed and cologne and boy.

You’re heading towards the exits when a hand pulls you into an abandoned classroom around the corner — pale, ringed, and lanky. As if you needed any further confirmation it was Eddie Munson. 

You stumble in, and he locks it behind you.

“Don’t you think you’ve bothered me enough today?” you squint.

“Oh, so you don’t want your shirt back?” he teases, waving the thing in his free hand. You reach for it, and he snatches it back, smirking softly down at you. “Uh-uh. What’s the magic word, sweetheart.”

“Give me my shirt back,” you answer in a monotone.

“Not even close, but I’ll give you a kiss for it.”

You sigh like it’s a chore for you and lean in to kiss his cheek. Your lips just barely graze his stubbly jaw. Eddie shrugs. “You missed, but I’m feeling nice today, so—”

You snatch it from him when he hands it to you. “You can’t keep doing this, Eds. We’re supposed to hate each other.”

“Well, one, we do hate each other. Obviously,” he scoffs and leans back on one of the desks. It shifts under his weight, and he stumbles. He decides to sit on it completely while you laugh. “And two, this was, like, a genius prank on my end. I made my arch nemesis walk around in my shirt all day— you’re not giving me enough credit for this, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, except I got called the freak’s girlfriend all day.”

“By who?”

“Who do you think?”

He ponders for a moment. “…Jason?”

You nod, all slow because it’s obvious. The only one who hates Eddie more than you do is Jason Carver. You wonder if he’s secretly in love with the town freak, too.

“Well, it’s about time he knows who you belong to,” the boy says with a laugh. “He’s only been trying to get with you for two years.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t belong to anyone— I’m not a toy.”

“Well, yeah— only when you wanna be,” Eddie teases, reaching out for you. His ringed fingers curl around your wrist to pull you closer. You sigh in annoyance but walk between his thighs anyway.

“You’re so annoying.”

Eddie grins, pink and boyish. “But you like me anyway. So who’s the real loser?”

“I thought we hated each other,” you quip with narrowed eyes.

“I was kidding— Just kiss me.”

You giggle quietly and lean in to peck his lips. He tastes like nicotine and spearmint, mouth soft like flower petals. You get lost in him too easily. One peck becomes two — then three — then a longer, languid, and more drawn-out thing.

You feel Eddie smile against you, knowing he’s won now that you’re melting for him. You pull away with a smack when you regain your senses.

“Just because you’re pretty and a good kisser, doesn’t mean I forgive you, by the way. You know that, right?”

“Mhmm,” he hums mindlessly, already leaning forward to kiss you again.

You pull softly back. “And that I’m totally getting you back for this?”

“Yep.” He pecks your lips once, with a lot more self-restraint than you’d had. “So… When are you coming over to get the clothes you left at my place last night?”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: bug turns one

[ghostfacd]

SAVE THE GIRL

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!mentor!reader

summary: when you start to feel bad for the tributes, it’s when snow slowly starts to crack. when you snuck into the arena to properly send your goodbyes to one is when he loses it, making it his mission to get you out, even if it means costing his life

warnings: SPOILERS. descriptions of killing, Snow being a bad friend to Sejanus and manipulative, reader essentially replaces Sejanus in the movie’s original scene

“We all know how this works right guys?” Lucky Flickerman says, his eyes held a sparkle within them. “As soon as your tribute dies, you’re out!”

The screen flickers on the arena, its dusty surroundings filled you with a sense of dread.

You had gotten Lamina, a girl who you were afraid would die as soon as the timer went off. But she managed to impress you, and completely won you over when she had speared the other tributes’ pain and suffering by killing them with an axe.

“Coryo,” you whisper to the blonde hair boy who was almost drifting into sleep. “Coryo.”

“Hm?” He fixes his posture, “is something wrong with Lucy Gray?”

You shake your head, and only pointed to the empty desks surrounding you. “Many died.”

“Your point?”

It almost seems as if Coriolanus was bored of your commentary, he probably was, you did wake him from his sleep.

“This doesn’t feel right Coryo. Not at all. Any of it.”

Coriolanus lets out a breath of annoyance. It was always like that with him, he seemed always to be one step ahead—or at least he presented himself in that way, and he seemed like he was annoyed with anyone who wasn’t on the same level as him.

You and Coriolanus went way back. You were the first few to have known of the death of his father, Coriolanus had told you about it with tears in his eyes. Not because he missed his father, not really, but because he was afraid that there would be nothing left of the Snow family by the time the war was over.

When you first entered the Academy, Snow linked himself with Clemensia Dovecote, a pretty black haired girl who he had gotten close with, and if anyone didn’t know better, they might’ve been more than just friends. But Coriolanus and Clemensia came off as acquaintances by association to you more than anything.

He stopped doing group projects with you so he could do it with her, and he had made himself friendly with Sejanus, a boy who was originally from the Districts but managed to buy his way into the Capitol. Or at least, that’s what all of your seething classmates said as they looked at him in disgust.

“You sound like Sejanus.” Is all Coriolanus says, glancing back at his small television screen.

“Sejanus is our friend, Coryo.”

“Sejanus is district.” Coriolanus slams his hand on your desk, making you flinch. “No matter how much money he has, no matter how much he tries to fit in, he will always be district. And you? You might as well be district with him if you keep acting like this.”

Your brows furrow, and you start to get angry. Who the fuck does Coriolanus Snow think he is?

“And I suppose you’re so well off Capitol yourself, Coriolanus?”

The way your words drip with such venom makes Snow almost crumble, but he doesn’t, instead, choosing to inch his face just a meter over yours. “Don’t say anymore things you don’t mean, Y/N.”

And that was the end of it. Coriolanus Snow wins every argument, and you hated him so much. Why couldn’t he see this was wrong? You knew he had a heart in there somewhere, which was why he was helping Lucy Gray Baird in the first place. Unless he was doing it all for the Plinth prize, for the money.

As you watch your tribute fall to her death, the loud crack adding all to your misery, you wanted to throw the television and desk across the room, just like Sejanus had previously. They were monsters, all of them.

“I’m sorry Y/N.” Coriolanus says, his eyes flickering up to meet yours.

But Coriolanus Snow can’t be sorry, he can’t feel empathy, he can’t feel pain, and most importantly, he can’t feel love.

As the games went on, Coriolanus was slumped into his chair, sleep overcoming his senses.

Dr. Gaul clears her throat, her loud but snake like movements made Coriolanus jolt awake, hissing as he accidentally hurt himself on the edges of the desk.

“I see you’re still here, Mr. Snow.”

“Is something wrong?” Coriolanus asks, eyebrows furrowing. “Is Lucy Gray okay?”

“Oh her? She’s fine.” Dr. Gaul waves the girl off like she meant nothing. “It’s your friend, I’m worried about.”

“My friend?” Coriolanus whips his head around to try and find you, but you were gone, leaving no trace.

“Yes.” Dr. Gaul motions to the wide television in front. “She’s in the arena right now. Doing this goodbye thing for her tribute.”

Coriolanus doesn’t want to believe Dr. Gaul, but how could he not when you’re shown so clearly in the cameras, putting flowers into the hand of your tribute. Almost as if you saw her as human.

“Now Miss. L/N hasn’t done anything like this in the past, so it does spark questions in my mind as to why she’s suddenly..” Dr. Gaul pauses. “Rebelling.” She says this as if it were poison on her tongue.

“From Sejanus, I would expect this. But from our own people, Coriolanus? Now this is absurd. I’ll make sure to get the name of the peacekeeper who let her in and have them executed.” Dr. Gaul gives him a smile, one that sends chills up Coriolanus’s back. “Now I happen to know you two are friends, close friends even; so I need you to go into the arena and fetch her out.”

“Me?” Coriolanus stutters out, hesitance clearly showing in his voice.

“Is that hesitance I hear, Mr. Snow?” Dr. Gaul steps even closer. “Everyone in the Capitol is asleep by now, which means they won’t see the foolishness Miss. Y/N is currently causing. You will go into the arena and take her out before she does anything more stupid. I will not let these rebels make mockery of my game, Mr. Snow. I will simply not allow it.”

And Coriolanus knows he has no choice but to obey Dr. Gaul’s orders.

He makes his way quietly into the arena, making sure his footsteps weren’t creating such loud noises to alert the tributes.

“Y/N,” he whispers as he gets close to your kneeling figure. He watches as you slowly put your hand over Lamina’s eyes, closing them for her. “Y/N.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” you reply, not bothering to turn around to face the boy.

“But I am.” He grunts out in annoyance. “I’m here to save your ass because that’s what friends do, Y/N. So help me, and get up.”

You don’t listen to him, choosing to keep kneeling and watching your dead tribute instead. She looked peaceful, and you felt so guilty knowing there was nothing you could do to save her.

“Y/N, I mean it.” Coriolanus says in a more assertive tone. “You’re going to die out here. These tributes? They might as well be animals now, they’re gonna kill the both of us if we don’t get out.”

He grunts in annoyance when he doesn’t see you move, so he carefully walks over, placing his arm under yours, practically dragging your body up from your kneeling position.

“Cmon Y/N, you’ve got to help me.” Coriolanus whispers out. “You don’t want to die here, trust me.”

“HEY! YOU!” The two of you whip your head so quickly at the voice that it sends a dizziness into your head. “HEY!”

The remaining tributes, none of them were Lucy Gray, Wovey, or the boy from 11 with speed so quick that it took the breath in your lungs away.

“CMON!” Coriolanus grabs your hand, the both of you fiercely running towards the doors.

One of the tributes with one of his eyes shut had a sharp blade in his hand, successfully slicing into Coriolanus’s back and your arm. The two of you let out a moan of pain, the frenzy feeling of adrenaline overwhelming the both of you.

Coriolanus lets your hand go for a second, pushing the tribute back harshly, managing to make him drop his weapon. Coriolanus picks up one of the broken poles, repeatedly hitting the male tribute with it until his body stopped moving completely.

You thought he’d be done with it, but he lets out a scream of anger, plunging the pole into the tribute’s body, making you shriek out in horror.

“You’re okay, you’re okay!” Coriolanus breathes out to you, practically limping hand in hand with you as he sees the other tributes catching up from the distance. “Open the door!”

The peacekeepers opened the door, closing it right as one of the more fiercer tribute sticks her trident out. “You’re lucky you’ve escaped this time.” She growls out.

You fall onto the ground as soon as Coriolanus lets go of your hand.

“Hey,” he croaks out, kneeling to cup your face into his hands. “Hey, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

He sounds so reassuring, so kind, and not like the Coriolanus you had despised from earlier.

“I..” you can’t even get a word out before you’re full on sobbing, not caring if you were embarrassing yourself in front of Coriolanus and the two peacekeepers.

“Shh, it’s okay.” He places his hand on the back of your head, bringing you into his chest. “Everything’s gonna be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

“No one will ever hurt you, Y/N.”

And if there’s one thing Coriolanus Snow is good at—it’s ensuring he gets what he wants.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #hunger games x reader #hunger games

[theminecraftbee]

The moon has fully set over the horizon. The howling over the server has stopped. Four Hermits sit in a circle, staring just slightly away from each other, as to not be caught staring. Joe is miserably trying to wring mud out of his puppet. Stress isn't bothering about the mud at all but is despairing at how shredded her jumper is. Somehow, Zedaph has only lost a shoe, which is more concerning than any of the prior people. Xisuma is deliberately not checking himself. The damning lack of helmet on his head, though, means he can't avoid feeling how he underwent the same terrible transformation as everyone else.

"So," he says, finally.

"I could use pants," Joe says, finally giving up on washing out his puppet, and, ah. Yes. Those are pretty well destroyed, aren't they? Xisuma looks away politely, feeling his face heat up. It heats up more when he realizes everyone can see it, gosh, he's–he's not so sure how he feels about that–

"I think we all need pants. Look at us," Stress says, and if Xisuma can be looking away any harder, he sure is now. Wait, she said 'all', does that include... Oh, oh dear.

"Well I don't know about you, but I still have perfectly serviceable pants," Zedaph says imperiously.

"You know, if anything, that's weirder, given the way we were all giant wolves traipsing around in the night just now. Which is strange itself! However, wolves don't normally wear pants, so really, the fact the only article of clothing you've lost is your shoes is less miraculous and more actively impossible!" Joe responds.

"Well you're actively impossible," mutters Zedaph.

"My god, it was real," Xisuma says.

"Well, I mean, I sort of figured it had to be, what with the four of us being all covered in mud and tired and your helmet being gone and all that," Stress says.

"It was real," Xisuma says.

The four of them sit in silence a little longer. The sun continues its steady march upwards into the sky. It's April; the day is longer than the night, by now, so they aren't wasting but so much time compared to the time the moon was up. The time the moon was up feels a bit more like a dream than anything else, too; distantly, Xisuma wonders if this is what spiders feel like when they become angry during the night, or what drives the undead from the ground. It's a disquieting thought, and he'd literally lived in a skeleton!

"So," Joe says. "So. Which one of us is going to yell at Zedaph for biting us?"

"Rude!" Zedaph says. "Very rude, I'm not the one that bit you! You bit me! Xisuma bit me, actually, you all saw him!"

"What? No, I didn't!" Xisuma says. "Gosh, if I were a werewolf, don't you think you'd know by now?"

"Hm. Suspicious," Zedaph says.

"No?" Xisuma says.

"I mean, I'd try to claim it was my fault, what with being a monster and all, but I'm actually a different sort of beastie normally," Stress says. "Being all doggy is new for me. I should show Iskall. Hey, do you think I should bite Iskall?"

"Yes," Zedaph says.

"No," Xisuma says.

"I'll split the difference and say maybe," Joe says. "Also, since we're arguing about it anyway, I'll say that I think I'd remember if I bit someone, although maybe I wouldn't. It's been a weird night. Maybe I should just go ahead and get everyone apology gifts instead?"

"Please don't," Zedaph says.

"Aww, but I like his gifts," Stress says.

"Honestly, yeah, I was–no, Zedaph is right, it'd be too distracting," Xisuma says, thinking of many of the, er, gifts he's gotten from Joe in the past. "Besides, it's not your fault. But if none of us bit anyone, then why on earth are we all werewolves no–oh no."

"That was ominous?" Joe says.

"Oh. Ohhhhhh," Zedaph says. "Whoops."

"It was supposed to be a joke about investment bankers," Xisuma says.

"Wait, what, do you really think the silly name turned us into werewolves?" Stress says.

"I had other season plans, Xisuma!" Joe says.

"Hey, does that make me a sheep in wolf's clothing that's also a wolf that turns into a sheep that turns into a wolf? If so, neat," Zedaph says.

"Do you know how annoying it will be to get a werewolf puppet?" Joe says.

"Gosh, I absolutely have to bite Iskall now," Stress says.

Xisuma, for a moment, considers putting a stop to it. If it really is the silly name, the collective, the hats and the howls–if it really is the collective weight of story bearing down on all of them–then really, it's still so early that it would be very easy to stop.

Xisuma considers the competition the rest of the shopping district poses, and how easy it will be to move as a collective when they're also a pack.

Also, he hasn't actually been a wolf before. That's one mob he hasn't done!

"You should bite Iskall. I want to know what it does," Xisuma says, deciding that he's quite bored with being responsible and that if someone wants to stop it, it will have to be not him. "But, er, first, in the meantime, do you think he or Doc is better to ask for a helmet that'll grow to fit my muzzle instead of nearly trapping my skull?"

"Hm," Stress says. "Well, Iskall is pretty good at head electronics."

"Yeah, but Doc is a better choice for abominations against nature!" Joe says.

"What about me? I like abominations," Zedaph says.

"It's okay, Zedaph, it's just you don't make many helmets, is all," Xisuma says. "We'll run around being abominations of nature, gosh, most full moons together. Is that good enough?"

"Fine," Zedaph says. "I'm bringing the snacks. I have sheep, and I've always wanted to try cannibalism."

"I guess werewolves wouldn't have to worry about prions," Joe says, nodding.

"Well, if you're going to get Doc, I'm going to go bite Iskall. I know I don't got fangs right now but it'll be very funny either way," Stress says.

"Have fun!" Xisuma says, and even though he's still red, and no one has pants but Zedaph, and he feels vaguely sick without his helmet, he also feels something close to pure delight. Gosh. Werewolves, huh? What a concept, having a little pack. He'll have to make the most of it; they've already seen his face anyway, and not one of them have commented or looked him in the eyes. Clearly, it won't matter so much if Doc takes a while with the helmet.

#hermitcraft #hermitfic #xisuma #joe hills #zedaph #stressmonster101 #a bee fic #me vibrating at high speeds: WOLVES WOLVES WOLVES WOLVES WOLVES #the fact today is hermit-a-day-may xisuma day is coincidence i'm not doing it (although everyone should!) #but i figure it decent timing anyway

[elliesgaythoughts]

birthday ellie head😏-cannons

warnings: oral & fingering e!receiving, use of the nickname mama

fluff and smut

The first words out her mouth when she corners you in your room studying, leaning against the doorframe smugly and holding up the phone screen to you showing the time and before you can even say happy birthday she speaks her mind “birthday sex?” as to which you tell her to “fuck off” because you both are so madly in love.

bday!ellie that wakes up to the smell of pancakes and you struggling to get through the room door “g’morning babe” as she rubs her eyes, jumping out from under the covers, only wearing her dino boxers and a white vest, to help you like the little golden retriever she is “sit down baby” you huff “lemme spoil my girl”

bday!ellie that goes into a silent mood at how much you’re doing for her “let me driveee, please babe” your palm turns the steering wheel, taking you both outta the driveway then lands softly, resting on her thigh “nuh uh, you’re my passenger princess for today” she feints a sigh but the little excited giggle she fails to hide doesn’t go unnoticed.

bday!ellie that finally gets her way, having took her bags from you and waddling behind you through the mall.

bday!ellie that drags you into the Lego store only to disappear a few minutes later and reappearing to dangle a little lego you and her on a keychain that melts your heart “for you babe” she smiles softly, blushing like it’s your first date together all over again.

bday!ellie that can’t tell the difference between a day that’s supposed to be all about her and a day that should be spent spoiling you.

bday!ellie that doesn’t care if its her birthday she still drags you into a side boutique buying you a pretty pink pair of stilettos the second you turn your back “they’re not for you they’re for meee” she whines as you subtlety tell her off, she squeezes your hand tighter and nudges your shoulder with her as you both walk down the street, towards her beat up car to dump off her purchases “but I’ll give you a shot if you’d like” she shoot’s you a wink and you giggle under your breath at the thought of her trying to walk in them.

bday!ellie that practically makes your jaw drop as she walks out your shared bathroom in a black suit with a white button up on, open all the way down to her navel, the freckles on her chest taking your breath away as she mindlessly tweaks her cuff links, pretending to avoid your eyes practically fucking her as she gets ready for your dinner date.

bday!ellie that bursts into a nervous fit of giggles, blushing and dragging her chair closer to you, practically hiding being you as she spots a waiter bringing out a sparking chocolate cake and singing. “babeee” she praises as you nod a thank you to the worker “hm?” you scoop a piece with your spoon and she gladly takes it into her mouth, faking thought as she chews and swallows “it’s perfect, thank you” you lean forward, pressing your lips all over her precious face, inbetween your kisses you promise her “you deserve it” another kiss “and more” your hands are holding her flushed face “I love you, ellie” and she breathes a soft breath through her pout, calming herself before she speaks, she nods softly, holding, her ivy eyes meeting with yours “I know” teary as they are, they never leave yours “i love you too, angel”

bday!ellie that also has a little too much to drink stumbling out the taxi with you, hand in hand with you as you open your front door for her, guiding her inside as she drags you in with her, the taste of her wine on your tongue instantly.

bday!ellie that somehow strips faster than you, both your hands roaming each others warm flesh, tippling onto her mattress, tongues tasting one another’s flesh and soft breaths filling each others ears, making the heat between her thighs grow desperately.

bday!ellies that has her fingers in your messy hair as she spreads her thighs further, your breath on her clit and tongue running through her folds, the taste of her satisfying your every need yet making you insatiable.

bday!ellie that whispers “gonna cum” her voice high and the plush of her thighs squeezing your face, wanting to keep you there forever “im gonna cum mama” she squeaks, eyes closed and back arching “ma-uhh” and with your finger tips playing through her folds and lips wrapped around her shes filled with euphoria, sinking her own nails into the skin of her thighs, pushing herself over the edge and gasping at your fingertip pushing into her.

bday!ellie that’s clamps down onto your finger, throbbing as she coats you in her essence, her heavy eyelids squeezing shut as her face twists in pleasure.

bday!ellie that smiles lazily as she watches you lick up every drop of her like a starved woman, her pussy still throbbing contently.

bday!ellie that hides her face behind her freckled hands as you give a sloppy kiss to her puffy clit, a peck to her thigh and crawl up her body, her limbs encasing you and your arm around her shoulder as you play with her auburn head of hair “happy birthday my love”

bday!ellie that will never forget this birthday hums a sleepy hum of acknowledgement as her fingers trail your bare spine “G’night mama”

@dinaissoprettyoml thanks for the idea like 3 months ago😭🫶

@williamellieslilho @yourelliewillms @bready101 @moonalumi @heygrimace @pascals-doll @infiniteinquiries

#ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams #lesbian #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams smut #transgender ellie #ellie x latina!reader #ellie x masc reader #ellie x black!reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #sub ellie williams #sub!ellie #ellie williams x dom reader #ellie williams x masc reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you

[yanderenightmare]

Bakugou Katsuki & Midoriya Izuku

TW: NSFW, dubcon, captive darling, abuse of power, coercion, deepthroating, penetration v, threesome, degradation

fem reader

Thinking of pro-heroes Dynamight and Deku finally capturing the villain they’ve long been seeking, only to offer her a get-out-of-jail-free card if she gives them a little something in return…

You’re on your knees between them.

“Aww, now that’s a pretty sight~ ain’t it, Deku?”

“Agree, Kachan~ who’d've known the little felon could be so sweet~”

It’s but a small favor in regard to what they’re giving you in exchange. Suck their cocks, and you go free. You’ve done worse for less before. Being a criminal has never come without costs.

Still… the whole thing is so embarrassing. Mouth wide open with their leaky cockheads hugging for space inside it. They’re way too big to both have room, but they don’t seem all that concerned by it.

“C’mere,” The blonde groans, taking your head for himself – angling your plump lips back and forth on his shaft, sucking his teeth as you suckle on the fat veins found there. “That’s it, street scum- earn that freedom…”

Another weighty palm drapes your head, and you’re steered over to the other throbbing member. He nudges his tip inside your mouth and has the plush head fuck the pocket of your cheek, eerily smiling down at the sight. “Street scum is a bit harsh, isn’t it? I mean, look at that face~” He purrs, petting the abused cheek he was bulging.

Your hair is pulled in the other direction again, and you pop off the one in your mouth only to be invaded by the other again – this time deeper – and deeper again. He uses both hands to hold you down. 

“Still only useful for one thing-” He growls, and you gag, spit bubbles frothing around the shaft as your throat tightens up.

When he lets go, you jerk back with a cough – both your palms splayed flat on the ground, spluttering with hiccups, spit drooping down your chin while sipping sharp breaths that burn in your lungs.

“Aw- where’d all that confidence go, hm?” His hand tangles back in your hair and angles your face up again – now riddled with pretty deep-throat tears. Lips bloated and shivering with short shuddering inhales and exhales.

“’Think the poor thing bit off a little more than she could swallow…” The other man muses, grabbing your jaw and angling you his way again, pushing his slicken cockhead passed your lips. 

He drives just as deep as the former one did, aided by all four of their hands pushing you down until your nose pressed into the stiff muscles of his pelvis, buried in the ticklish green curls there – feeling his cock bend down the gorge of your throat. It does an excited jump each time you gag.

He pulls out slowly – but not all the way – looking down at you as you suck in breaths around the chub of his grith.

“We can always test ‘nother of yer’ holes if it gets too much for yah?” The blonde husks, tapping the weight of himself against your forehead, resting his balls in your hair.

“Don’t patronize her- I think a hardened criminal can handle this much...” The one taking space in your mouth says – beginning to slide himself all the way back down again, hitting your uvula like a punching bag with his balls slapping wetly against the slobber on your chin.

Your hands brace themselves against the stiff muscles on his thighs, feeling them flex through the spandex of his tight uniform. You close your eyes, squeezing them tight as he bores down your jugular again. Spluttering up spit and taking desperate breaths once you’re released.

You’re not given much time before another fist finds your hair again – though this time, your own hands come up to protect you – keeping yourself at arms-length by bracing against the oncoming hips.

“Wah-wait- break- just-” You blub, and the cock slides up your face instead, tapping its hefty weight against your cheek and temple.

“Hm, maybe you were right, Kachan. Maybe I was overestimating her…” The green-haired one mused, his voice sounding suggestive – followed by a soft scoff from the one resting his cock on your face.

“Okay then, up we go, lil’ crook-” He leaned down and grabbed you by the arm, lifting you from the floor. “Wouldn’t wanna make yah pass out, after all...”

He spun you around so your ass was pressed against his crotch, making you rest palms-first against the other man’s swole chest – standing tightly between them while the blonde behind you balled your dress up around your waist.

“No, wait- you’ll still let me go, right?” You stutter, reeling from the feel of his fat shaft, wet with your drool where it slid up between your crack while he softly humped his hips into your rear.

The one in front took your chin. “Oh- don’t worry~ let us have our fun, and we promise no prison.”

The cock is tapped on your asscheek whilst its owner places wet hot kisses up your neck. “Still up for it, hm?” He gruffs hotly at your ear, holding you steady by the hip whilst stroking himself in the other.

You bite your lips, brows doing little tremoring motions as you quickly try and mull it over in your head. Ending up with giving them a little nod.

He bites your earlobe with a rusty chuckle. “That’s a smart cookie.” Ushering you up to stand atop the other man’s shoes, making you just the right height for him to send his shaft down the cleft of your butt. Sliding it in between your thighs, rubbing himself against the puff of your cunt through the lacy silk of your panties.

He’s kind enough to get you a little warmed up first before peeling them aside and lightly slapping his manhood up against the slit. But the way you gasp is just way too cute for him to hold back – making him run his fat cockhead through your lips, back and forth to slick you up, rubbing over your clit – forcing an involuntary buck of your hips. 

He hums at the movement, finding your hole and kissing it with his tip, groaning out a “Yer’ way too pretty for prison…” against your ear – playing with your entrance without pushing in just yet, giving the ill-prepped thing a warning of what to handle. “Poor doll would be everyone’s favorite lil’ jailbird.”

You croon with a whimper when he splits you open, even as he does so slowly – and the other guy takes the opportunity to catch your mouth with his. 

“Wouldn’t stand a chance against the other inmates…” He moans, sliding his hand from your chin to your neck, holding it just tight enough to encourage you to keep your head up – as he slips his own thickness between the doughy fat of your inner thighs, rubbing over your clit on its way.

It makes you ache around the member bottoming out inside you. “Not to mention the guards…” He continued. “They’d all have a ball with fresh ‘n’ tight meat like you.” 

You moan into the mouth in front of you, panting on his lips when he speaks. “It would be too cruel of us to send you to a place like that…”

“Despite it bein’ where all you wrongdoers belong.” The hands placed on your hips keep you planted as he pulls out and lolls forward again.

Your thighs shudder from the feel of it, squeezing the one caught between them tightly. “Poor thing would get passed around from morning to lights out.” His words pour into your mouth where it gapes open – feeling his ridges and veins catch your clit – making your lower belly coil like an adder – clawing your nails into his chest in order to pursue it.

“Tied to the bars of yer’ cell for everyone to have a go.” The one behind grunted, kneading himself into your womb – fucking you deep and slow enough to feel you flutter on his length. “We’ll be a lot nicer with yah.”

 “Promise, sweet thing.” The one in front chuckles when you cum – shaking on both their cocks – weak in their hands – resting your sweet face against his chest with blank eyes glossed over from pleasure.

You’re not going to prison, but you’ll soon find out if you agree that staying locked up in their house as their personal pet is much different or better…

#yandere bakugo x reader #yandere bakugou #yandere bnha #yandere bakugou katsuki #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere bakugo #yandere katsuki x reader #yandere katsuki bakugou #yandere katsuki #yandere mha #yandere my hero academia #bakugou smut #katsuki smut #bakugo smut #yandere bakugou smut #yandere midoriya x reader #yandere midoriya #yandere midoriya izuku #yandere deku x reader #yandere deku #yandere izuku #yandere deku x y/n #daddy deku #deku x reader #deku x you #yandere izuku x reader #yandere izuku midoriya #izuku x reader #izuku midoria x reader

[tetsuslove]

🖤: Can’t stop thinking of Simon with a breeding kink:( so I needed to write this short Drabble about it sobso

Suggestions are always welcome, especially if it’s about Simon <3

︙Husband! SIMON RILEY x Wife!.Reader

Warnings: nfsw! (18+ ; mdni!), breeding, talking about pregnancy, biting, praise, soft! Dom Simon because I love him, pet names, no editing! ( will do it in the morning )

“Go on, love”, Simon groans besides your ear while he speed up his moves, “tell me what we are doing”. Your eyes are maybe closed because how intense everything is right now but you sure can hear and feel his smirk, knowing that he got you there where he wanted you

“Bab-“ you gasps because Simon of hard bites down on your shoulder “what was that, hm? Tell me” he says in a more teasing way but sure sounds like an order to answer him and of course the man he is, he sure gets what he wants

“Baby!”,you scream louder, “we are making a baby!”. And for now your husband is satisfied, loving the idea and action that you can get ( and will be) pregnant with his children, already thinking how you will look all round with his child. Breats full of milk to feed the child. It turns this man into an animal, wanting turn his pretty wife into a pretty mama

“good girl- what a good wife” he chuckles and sits up again so he can see your tits bouncing while you try to hold on the bedsheets with your dear life. “It feels good making a baby, right love? Going to look so pretty with our child- going to spoil you more- urgh.. going to spoil you more than you already are”

And he is a man who keeps his words. Maybe you are already a spoiled wife but you sure can be a spoiled mama too. Trying to make sure you eat and drink enough, so you and your baby are doing fine. You see cute baby clothes? He will buy for you and your child right away. Your feet’s are hurting? Lay down on the couch and he will give you a good massage. Some carvings at 1 am ? Don’t worry, he will drive you everywhere you want, just don’t go by yourself!

— It’s all started when one of his coworkers showed him and the other teammates some photos of his newborn proudly at the pub few weeks ago and somehow the whole baby thing started to haunt him. Like one day, a little boy thought that Simon is his father so he hugged Simons leg giggling while Simon just wanted to buy you some flowers at a flower shop, noticing the child on his legs and calling him “papa! Look at the flowers!! ”. Or when he only saw for a whole day commercials for baby products on the TV and every time he tried to change the Chanel, a new commercial popped up.

But the most important thing why it all started for him to want a baby is because he had a dream of you and him.. and a third family member in your arm. You looking beautiful and carrying the child in your arms, smiling at Simon with so much love that he even fell in love with you all over again in his dream. “Look, Papa is here” you said to your baby in the dream and tried to show your child to Simon but only to wake and to realize what he dreamed about

With all these thoughts he doesn’t realize how strong his poundings are but it sure feels good enough that your brain turns into liquid. He moves a hand from your hips away to massage your one tit. Squeezing it so you feel him everywhere and to make sure if you still have the brain to now what’s going on (spoiler: you don’t)

“Si-Simon, can’t no more” trying to look at him but fail, with the tears in your eyes, you just can see things blurry but that okay, just let your husband take care of you<3

“Go on, love- it’s okay, let yourself feel good.. let go” he huffs and groans while trying to reach his high too, cumming inside your walls and now giving you his babies

“Fucking hell-” he groans while you came too, squeezing his dick inside and finally reaching you climax and relaxes again.. finally your brain can turn into its normal form again

While you both try to catch your breaths, Simon looks at you, at his cute fucked wife. How beautiful you look even if you would say otherwise but no, you are always beautiful and he sure enjoys the view. You and your body in sweat and his cum inside, his babies

He cups one of your cheeks so you look at him, you don’t say anything, just to busy trying to catch your breath but your and his eyes are communicating, telling each other how much you love the other one and giving one last kiss to end the whole making love thing

“You good, love?”he asks, looking a bit worried hoping that he didn’t hurt you in any way but seeing you nodding and smiling, he lets out a sighs of relief. Giving a kiss on your forehead and of course always praising you “you were perfect my love, my sweet wife” and starts his ritual of after care

“Here, something to drink, love. I will now clean you up, okay” he gives you a comforting smile, putting some hair away of your sticky forehead and goes to the bathroom

Now it got you thinking how Simon would be as a dad and you know, that the Lieutenant would do anything to complete his mission

#— su’s writing #devils.eyes #cod headcanons #cod smut #cod x reader #simon riley #simon riley headcanons #simon riley fluff #Simon Riley smut #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader

[rene-darling]

TAKING- advantage of the strongest

He's been having a hard time lately, he's lost Suguru, his one and only, of course- you on the other hand are overjoyed at that fact.

It's annoying, after all, you've done for him, he calls out his name instead of yours, it's time you taught him a permanent lesson on manners.

P.s I TOLD YOU ITS NEVER GOJOVERRR RAHHH- [credits- __3aem on insta]

Also, follow my insta r3xni3 n text me, let's talk, im bored!!

...gojo Satoru...

Seeing Gojo with his head in his hands sitting at the edge of the school stairs wasn't a new sight for you, in fact for the past week you've been seeing him sitting there.

Crying, sobbing, or simply sitting in misery. He's always thinking of that damned suguru. Honestly, it was hard to get him to show you any affection with suguru around, and now that he's gone it's gotten even harder!

It's not that you hate suguru, you just love gojo, and seeing your gojo in pain annoys you, but. It also makes for the perfect opportunity to shove yourself in his life, when he's most vulnerable and make him rely on you

"what up 'toru?" Sitting down next to him gently touching his shoulder, you can't be too forward now. "..mhm, it's nothing." Hmm, well you knew it wouldn't be that easy, of course he wouldn't open up to you just yet! So you'll just keep trying- "come on satoru, this isn't like you, you're the strongest-"

"Can you leave? I'm not in the mood y/n." Running his hands through his hair he groaned as he hid his face. You got up without a word, it's fine, if he pushes you away you have many more ways to push back harder.

The continuing weeks during classes you would always make small talk, distracting his mind from geto. Then you'd buy him sweets saying that there was some buy one get one free offer, which is why you had brought one over for him there wasn't

You occupied him on the missions he'd usually go to alone, keeping him from feeling lonely. No matter how hard they were and no matter how much strain they put your body through you'd reassure him, you're fine!

He'd notice how you'd push yourself for him, it made him- feel. Feel something other than the constant sorrow due to Geto's absence.

He started reciprocating your 'kindness'. he would let you rest your head on his lap after a stressful mission and sometimes..he'd rests his own head on yours.

Shoving yourself in his life to replace the sorrows he felt didn't only include platonic relations. Every once in a while, whenever the feelings of loss came back too harshly, all he wanted was to forget. Get lost in pleasure, in anything, just- just please make him forget.

His tears which usually stained his face due to sorrow, now stained his face due to mind-numbing pleasure, his body was yours for the destroying, just please, please make him forget. Even if just for tonight!

" 'toru, use your words now, tell me what you want, hm?" You moved your hand ever so slowly, it hurt. "Just- just please, touch me, ruin me, do whatever you want. I'm yours, yours all yours- Suguru please.

Hah- fuck. He's so lucky he's Gojo Satoru. your gojo Satoru. You can feel yourself growing numb as you let out an unhinged chuckle "Sure Satoru." You try pronouncing his name with that same softness, to replicate that tone of pure love and kindness geto had, but alas, you never truly get it right.

Still, it's close enough for him. as he whines, bucking into your hand. You have half the mind to leave him like this, writhing on the bed, but you never do. This isn't the first time, and certainly isn't the last. You're sure every single fucking time you've seen satoru he's called out his name,

But, as you gaze down at him and as he stares up at you with his pretty blue eyes which spill with tears by the second, you can't help it. Perhaps you pity him, or perhaps you simply don't care if he's using you as a means to an end, since in return, you get to be the one fucking him dumb. And not Suguru, 'cause he's dead. But that's beside the point.

Rocking his world as his vision blanks, eyes rolling back as sweat covers him. You don't mind the pain of when he bites into your shoulder, you don't mind the fact that Suguru's name slips out of him more than your (can be fake) cock

But, for some reason you just can't take it today. Something takes over you, you swear, as you grab harshly onto his neck, gasps leave his throat as he huffs for air. "Wh- Ah pl- EAse- hah."

"say my name." "Wha- AHh-" pressing your hand down harder you're sure it'll leave marks. "Y/n. Fucking say it you dumb bitch." Tears fall down from his cheeks and onto your hand but it only seems to egg you on "Ah- mhm y-y/n please?" As you let go gits of his coughs fill the air as his pink chest rises up and down for air

Suddenly he gasps once more as you push against his prostate, you're far too pleased with him saying your name to let him rest, even to catch his breath.

His cries ring in your ear as his hands scratch onto your skin, leaving deep bloody marks in their wake he stares up at you with his tear stained eyes, mumbling only your name for the rest of the night.

You hope he's learned his lesson, and if not. You wouldn't mind teaching him another one.

#sub gojo #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #sub gojo satoru #gojo satoru #getou suguru #geto suguru #jjk x reader #jjk smut #sub jjk #jjk #satoru x reader #x reader #top reader #dom reader #sub character #jujutsu kaisen satoru #jujutsu sorcerer #jujutsu kaisen #sub char #yandere reader #yanderer #redflag

[cindylcuwho]

“ your recent pics ★ “

— ★ matt sturniolo x afab! reader

★ ) summary ; matt couldn’t help but enjoy himself to your recent instagram pics .

★ ) warnings ; sub-ish! matt, jacking off, semi-pervert behavior if you squint, imagining you in certain scenarios, dirty talk, half- phone sex but not really . not proof-read so please msg if spelling error or i missed a warning !

★ ) madds note ; i think i went off topic and there’s boring parts all over so apologies in advance- i tried my best but writing smut is so awkward for me 😭😭

— matt couldn’t help it. the pics had been posted, and a million other people had seen them.

— matt immediately noticed how your body, your curves, fitted perfectly into a lavender silk dress. you were posing in the mirror with a wide smile, the same smile he has seen dozens of times as you’d swallow his cum

— matt couldn’t help with the thoughts, i mean could you blame him? you were the finest woman he has ever been with. he was obsessed with you and even more with your body

— other people had thought of you like this, this had been confirmed in a cut clip from the car videos where he and his brothers were reading fan fictions and nick found a juicy threesome involving you two.

— would it be a big deal if matt had touched himself to your recent photos? it’s not like he’s a stranger, he knows what’s underneath the silk, and knows it’s all for him. practically owned by him.

— matt could feel himself growing the more he stared. it didn’t make matters any better that you two were doing a steamy call earlier, the sound of your delicious moans rang through his head. god, if matt were with you he could’ve sucked those moans into his throat, taking pride in being the one to cause them as he thrusts into you.

— giving into his sinful thoughts, matts hand slowly slithered its way down into his sweats, tugging the slightest bit at his hard on.

— his movements were a copy of what you would do, only less enjoyable because he had to do it himself.

— matt finally slid his hand into his briefs, letting out a quiet hiss, grabbing his cock with a firm squeeze.

— matt let out moan after moan, teasing himself with the way you had before. sliding his hand up and down his cock before squeezing the tip.

— his hand was covered in pre-cum. it was a delightful sight, something you would’ve begged to take a picture of.

— fuck, you begging. images of you on your knees, begging for matt to throat fuck you. you on the bed, saying nonsensical blabbers that contained “please” and “put it in me”

— matt fastened his pace, bucking his hips up as if you were on top of him, taking all his inches like the good girl you were.

— just as he was on the verge of orgasming, his phone rang. a call from you, how ironic.

— “ baby, whatcha doing right now“ your raspy post-nap voice didn’t help matts situation.

— matt could barely respond. he didn’t even bother to stop his jacking session, his hand only going at a slower pace.

— “ i- uh-“ he let out a whine as his fingers rubbed against his now overly-sensitive tip. you instantly picked up on the clue, a small smile crept on your face as you pictured matt all pretty and laid out on his bed.

— “ hm, maybe i should come over then? ” you teased. you had already slid slippers on and were looking for your keys as you spoke.

— matt only whined more at that, his way of showing he would’ve loved if you were there.

— “put your phone next to it, i wanna hear you get off “

— matt did as told, moving his phone down next to member before hurriedly rubbing on the member up and down.

— “ what were you thinking about baby? “ you knew the possible answer, but still wanted to hear the words leave his mouth

— when nothing other than whimpers left his mouth you repeated your sentence, only harsher.

— “ your- fuck- your recent pics ” he quickly raised his phone, swiping back to instagram to get another peek at the pic before resting it next to his shaft again.

— “ awe, you like them that much you had to take care of yourself without me? ”

— matt could hear your smirk, but didn’t care.

— “ i’m gonna cum- can i come, please ple—“ matt began blabbing out pleas, not wanting to let even a drop spill out without your permission.

— it was like fireworks has bursted when you gave the okay. matts chest heaved up and down, his hips slowly bucking into nothing as streams of warm white liquid landed on his stomach.

— “ please say you’re almost here- i’m already hard again thinking of what you’re gonna do ”

#matt sturniolo fanfiction #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo

[itadeis]

hm hm.. thinking about The Gang(tm)

#mostly #my man s/asori.. i guess i get why people would ship us but he is WAY too much older than me for any actual relationship #id be lying if i said his true form isnt hot but once youve spent as much time with the guy as i have his personalitys kindof a turn off #did he hate me? i mean probably but cant really ask now can i #as nice as the thought of the a/katsuki being a found family is well hm #shinobi world isnt like that any soft spots will get exploited #i think it was like. if one of us died itd mostly just feel weird yknow? #cuz the whole point of that group was we were all pretty damn powerful #so once you lose someone while i wouldnt say its 'sad' since deaths just a part of the job #its just like. huh. didnt expect that. #regrets? nah i like change honestly so there isnt much i wouldve said to the ones that did die #but maybe some other time we couldve been actual friends #maybe even here who knows. finding other fictives is a pain in the ass and a half #but hey! who knows #hm

[osachiyo]

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 & 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — fem!reader, aphrodisiac, masturbation, unprotected sex, begging, insatiable reader, honorifics (sir), dom! dottore • this is for @dazaisslave !! so sorry for getting to it this late, tysm for being patient with me ichika :3 apologies if he's ooc, this is my first time writing for him :) happy reading and i hope you enjoy !! minors dni

DOTTORE never expected to see such an.. interesting spectacle when he walked into his lab. There you were, perched on top of his table — some of the vials of who-knows-what knocked over to the ground. Small whines and moans of his name escaped your glossy lips, while two of your fingers plunged in and out of your drooling cunt in a rapid pace, the small digits seemingly not enough to fulfill your craving.

"and what do we have here..?" the masked man smirked, clearly amused by the alluring view you had to offer. your head snapped up in dottore's direction, clearly shocked to see your lover standing in the doorway.

"don't tell me you're shocked to see me, pet — what do you think you're doing in my lab, hm?" his lips parted to reveal a sinister grin, teeth glinting from the dim lighting of the room. "dottore, i —" you struggled to find the right words. what the hell were you supposed to say? that you sneaked in his lab to see what he was working on, then accidentally knocked over a vial with bright pink substance in it and suddenly started feeling dizzy and hot? like hell he'd buy that.

as if the man could read your mind, he stepped closer to the broken glass on the floor — a sigh leaving his thin lips, "what you knocked over, my darling, was a vial of aphrodisiac," he grumbled with slight annoyance, now looking up at you through his mask. "a very strong kind, to be clear."

oh.

well that explained why you were feeling so.. hot all of a sudden — but that didn't make it much better. the aphrodisiac was strong indeed, so strong that even the doctor himself could feel himself succumb to it, pale face flushing as his breaths get heavier, it didn't help that you looked to damn ravishing too — staring up at him through those pretty tear-soaked lashes, a pout settled on your lips — it made him want to bend you over his table and —

"f-fuck, hold still, pet —" dottore groaned, hips slamming against your plush ass from behind, gloved fingers digging deep into your hips to keep you in place. but how could he blame you? you were practically buzzing with arousal — hearts floating in your eyes as you drooled all over his desk.

"feels — mmh-! s'good," you slurred, a dumb smile finding it's way to your swollen lips when dottore sped up his pace, landing cruel slaps on your ass while you both get closer to your highs.

fuck, the damn aphrodisiac was taking its affect on him too — making his cock extra leaky and sensitive than usual, causing him to go even harder, and groan even louder into your ear. both of your bodies were covered in a sheen of sweat, dottore's hands finding your tits to pull and tweak at your nipples, before landing a mean slap on them, making you cry out in pained pleasure.

"f-faster — sir, please —!" dottore let out a guttural groan at the honorific, speeding his hips up at your request — broken moans leaving the both of you as he did.

"cum f'me, girl," dottore growled against your skin, palm of his gloved hand pushing your back further down into a mean arch — your ass bouncing with each thrust. as if right on cue, you squirted all over his cock, and the harbinger followed not long after — muttering curses in the snezhnayian language whilst spilling his load inside of you.

you two stayed like that, dottore's face buried in your neck — breathing in your sweet smell, pants leaving each other.

"..ain.."

dottore quirked an eyebrow, moving his face away — "come again?"

you looked back at him, eyes glazed over with lust and lashes clumping with dried tears, voice breathless as you let out a pitiful whimper — "again, fuck me again! — fill me up."

#𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒... ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 #genshin impact #genshin #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin x reader smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x reader smut #dottore smut #dottore x reader #dottore x reader smut #dottore #il dottore #il dottore smut #il dottore x reader #il dottore x reader smut