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libary. + master. + AO3.

[eyerisiris]

iris, she/her, queer, nsfw, part-time writer★

★ to-do list: jon snow, daemond targaryen, aemond targaryen, basically the entire targaryen bloodline, ellie williams, joel miller, leon s kennedy, jill valentine, claire redfield.

★ AO3 ★ Masterlist ★ Recs

i don’t have a taglist. follow @eyeris-library and turn on post notifications for all story updates. ⭐️🧿

★ thank you :)

[bertharussellgf]

Leon S. Kennedy in RESIDENT EVIL 2 REMAKE (2019) dev. Capcom

[lsklvr]

LEON S. KENNEDY in RESIDENT EVIL, dev. Capcom

[eyerisiris]

i changed my username for the first time in like 5 years

[eyerisiris]

Love Bane [3]

| 1 | 2 | AO3 | CONTENT WARNING: SEXUAL ASSAULT & VIOLENCE

a/n: we're going into more slow-burning territory here on out. with some smut. This chapter is kinda long af, I went a little overboard with the world-building, but oh well. enjoy xoxo - eyeris

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The bed gave one last protest beneath you. Leon pulled from between your thighs, dropping onto the mattress beside you with a cushioned thump—a shared groan at the loss of connection.

His chest rose unevenly, breath still catching.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Simply listening to the quiet grumble of traffic and the soft patter of rain past your window. Your fingers ghosted the column of your throat and lips, then tangled weakly in your hair. The strands felt too warm and clung damply to your neck; you raised them, letting out a quiet breath as cool air finally touched the skin.

A thin layer of sweat coated both of you.

Strips of moonlight peering through your blinds, highlighting your frames in pale silver. 

From the corner of your eye, you watched as Leon raked a hand through his hair, uneven pieces sticking up—messy and mussed. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were still flushed.

Your head turned lazily toward him. However, he was already staring, curious and stoic.

The moment stretched—quiet and suspended—half-lidded eyes meeting yours with a kind of heaviness that wasn't just exhaustion. Your hand drifted to the space between you, tapping the damp sheets. A lazy grin painted your lips.

"...You can stay," you said, licking your lips. "If you...want?" 

The offer sat briefly, though Leon didn't hesitate.

"Can't."

Harshness didn't bore his word; it was simply—immediate.

Still stung, though.

He pushed himself up, a sharp wince catching in his movement before quickly disguising it. He reached over to the nightstand and grabbed his watch. You watched the moonlight emphasize his chiseled statuette, his arms. The way the pale light daubed the ends of his hair.

Leon leaned back onto the bed, sitting up.

"Got work in an hour."

"The hell…” You grumbled to yourself, reaching for your phone on the bedside table, squinting as you flipped the screen. 

"Jesus… It's three-forty?"

You snapped the phone shut, shifted to match his posture, and pressed your back against the cool headboard. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. Maybe it was the sex that brought on your delirium, or it may have very well been the absence of sleep. Probably both. When you looked up again, Leon was already watching.

His eyes darted away shyly the moment you noticed.

He cleared his throat with a flat cough. 

Your brow raised at that, then you dug your palm into your eyes again and yawned. You sniffed and glanced over.

"So...what kind of job has you working at five in the morning, anyway?"

Leon let out a breath through his nose. "The kind that doesn't wait."

Your eyes raked him—slow, thoughtful, before you exhaled and let your head fall back. He watched you in return—your collarbones, the sheet barely covering you. His jaw shifted, teeth pressing into the inside of his cheek before he tipped his head back against the headboard, steadying his breathing.

The room grew quiet except for the steady hum of the heater and the soft voices from the television set next door.

You hummed softly, opening your eyes and turning your head towards him again.

"...Hey, can I ask you something?"

Leon met your eyes, then gave a soft nod.

You titled your head curiously. "What do you...do?" 

He stilled.  It was instant and brief, something most people wouldn't notice. But you had. Your lips pursed over to the side in thought.

"For work, I mean." You clarified, glancing pointedly toward him. 

Leon tipped his head slightly, then let it fall back once again. There was a pause before he answered, voice low and measured.

"The government."

“Hm.” You didn't find satisfaction in that answer; it was too clean, too vague. 

You puffed air towards him. "Well, no shit."

There wasn't disbelief in your voice, because you had already guessed. It was either that, working in the military, or some fine line in between.

"But I mean, what do you do?" 

A quiet huff left him—almost a short laugh. 

"Mostly the stuff nobody else wants to do," He said, eyes flickering to you.

"Reports, Paperwork, coffee—if I'm lucky. That kind of thing." 

You raised an incredulous brow. 

"Is that a good enough answer for you?" He questioned.

You droned and shrugged lightly in thinking. "Can I be honest with you?” You leaned in.

You teased in a low whisper. “I think you're a really bad liar." 

That got his attention.

Leon wrung his head fully toward you now. His expression softened, brows low, cerulean eyes searching yours. There was a small tug at the corner of his lip.

"Yeah?" He beckoned.

"Yeah." You stated back, confident, and mused.

A muffled chuckle slipped out of him.

"What are you? A detective?"

You laughed shortly. "Hm, I do love a good mystery." 

The corner of his mouth tugged upward more. You smiled at yourself. Pleased that you could have the effect. Leon regarded you, then leaned forward—not by much, but enough for you to smell hints of vanilla and musk. His fringe fell into his eyes as he peered through them and up at you.

For a moment, your heart skipped a beat.

"What exactly are you trying to get at?" He asked quietly; he was amused yet cautious. Perhaps even a bit paranoid.

"Nothing." You answered truthfully. "Just trying to get to know the stranger that I let in my bed every now and then." 

Your cheeks blushed at the candid confession.

That pulled something closer than a laugh. You found the heat across Leon's cheeks returning, flushing his neck and chest.

He shook his head in disbelief at the joke.  

"Thought we were doing just fine."

You hesitated, thinking. "...Listen, I don't want this to be..." You gestured vaguely between you, "like this."

Leon's chuckle caught in his throat. His brows knitted together, his expression softened, and his body still. His speech came out slow and unbending.

"...Then what do you want it to be?"

"I don't know. Something different," You admitted. "We can talk like how we are now, but more like—" The skin between his brows wrinkled, and your mind scrambled for the words.

Because frankly, what were you trying to say?

"—friends." You say finally.

The words hung for a moment.

"...Friends that happen to benefit each other time to time." You said, hoping to sate the awkwardness.

Leon repeated it under his breath, like he was testing it, "friends."

Your cheeks burned. Somehow, in your sleepy state, you had properly friend-zoned yourself in the most fumbling manner possible.

"Yeah," You damned yourself for speaking so willingly. "Friends." 

Leon lifted his head. "If that's what you want," and slowly nodded in agreement.

He looked to you. "Okay."

His smile was paper-thin, though, kind. That settled a painful sting in your chest. There was something off in the way he said it. Not wrong—necessarily—but like the word didn't quite fit right in his mouth.

"It's getting late..." He whispered.

"Right." You swallowed down the lump in your throat and watched as he sat up, legs lowering off the side of the bed.

Maybe the wording came off wrong, and you scared him away?

With his back turned to you, your eyes instinctively screwed shut—fingers curling into a balled fist. You silently screamed in agony. Stupid. Your fingers came to your temples and massaged the skin and muscle.

With a sigh, you reopened your eyes to Leon's back flexing. He rolled his shoulders and twisted to his side with a soft grunt.

The moonlight gave you more access to him—highlighting him like a canvas. Splotches of pink and purple bruises like oil lacquer. Your gaze fluttered, shooting to his shoulder blade, down to the maroon bruises tracing his sides and the middle of his spine.

A quiet breath escaped from you. Paperwork couldn't have done that.

Your lips frowned as you studied the patches. 

You wanted to kiss the skin, wrap your arms around him, and make him stay. There was an innate instinct within you—one who desired to shield him from any wrongdoing in this world.

Your view gets replaced as Leon climbs into his t-shirt.

But even then, right at the hem, you could see bruises dusting the flesh. Had you been so blind? You wondered if you had hurt him during itamacy, adding a wound to the field on his back.

You gnawed on your lip, unsure whether to speak or to let this go.

You watched carefully as he trudged on his pants. He dipped down to grab his jacket and lace his boots.

There was a soft churn in your abdomen, and you twisted towards your side of the bed. Reaching for your shirt, which had been discarded on the floor earlier.

When you put it on, you hear the soft sigh from Leon as he gathers the last of his things. 

"I'll see you around," he said, looking at his watch. His hair was back to framing his face.

"Yeah," You agreed silently, not sure if he truly meant his words.

You faced him now, tucked your legs below your chin, arms loosely wrapped around them as you watched him.

Leon gave a final nod and swallowed once before turning toward the door.

"Hey, Leon..."

He paused.

One hand on the handle, but he hadn't opened it yet. He looked over his shoulder.

"If you ever need someone to talk to..."

You hesitated—

"...about work, I mean." You corrected. "I'm here. I'm sure it's stressful."  

Leon didn't answer right away. He studied you for a moment, weighing your words.

"Yeah." He said, finally.

It sounded noncommital and a kind way of saying no; it made the pit of your stomach sink.

He opened the door, and then he was gone.

For how long, you wondered, and the thought of time made you nauseous. Silence quickly rushed in.

Then, you collapsed into the pillow.

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2007

Nearly a year had passed since the last time you'd seen Leon.

You remembered that you had written sparse texts to one another; it wasn't anything relationship-worthy. Just seeing when the other was free for reconnection, until the texts eventually fizzled out—then ceased altogether. 

And if anything, it was you doing the reaching and Leon occasionally offering his time.

So much for friendship, you thought as you wiped a table with a damp rag. You spun it until it mirrored your reflection along the amber wood. 

"How are we doing on table six, chops?" Your manager, Spike, came up from behind you. 

You grumbled as you clutched your basket of cleaning supplies and moved along to the next table. You swiped a bead of sweat from your temple and applied cloth to wood. Spike followed.

"You know," You wiped hard. "I have a name spike."

You threw a look, and he threw back a bone of a glance. 

You always wondered what it would be like to throw a punch at his face. Mangling his jaw and skewed nose, you swallowed and discarded the idea.

"But I like calling you chops?" He shrugged his shoulder as if it were an obvious thought. 

"They're fine." You bit shorter than you intended—or maybe you had.

You gestured towards the back of the restaurant, where the kitchen opening is. From where you stood, you could hear the distant clanks and clambers of pots and pans, the grill sizzling, and cooks talking as they prepared meals.

"I'm just waiting on Pete to finish re-making the steak."

Spike sucked his teeth and nibbled on the toothpick that hung nimbly from his bottom lip.

Spike was short for Spencer. He was tall, with greasy black hair and a straggly beard. Despite the grease, he was easy on the eye, but not to your personal taste. He was the owner's son, which meant he hadn't worked a day in his life and didn't understand the meaning of strenuous work.

Spike abused his ability as the de facto manager, which annoyed you most, as he considered himself superior to you.

He'd constantly make digs at you for being an undergrad at your current age, but he'd always forgotten the detail of when you took a gap year.

You currently have a job—an internship that was under forty hours a week. But you took this diner opportunity less than eight months ago to cover the remaining rent expenses and make ends meet.

It was a temporary solution.

At least you considered your education; Spike was nearly in his mid-thirties and still spoke of high school glory days as his present ones.

You threw the rag in the basket. "Anything else I can help you with?" 

Spike put a finger to his chin. "Yeah, could you actually help Mary's table? She's feeling a little under the weather." 

You flexed your jaw just as Mary skipped past, but not before waving her fingers suggestively at Spike. Your brows creased into a scowl as his shoulders bounced with a soft laugh.

You shoved the bin into his chest.

"Ow!—"

"Sure thing," You pressed your lips into a fine line and ripped a notepad from your apron.

You approached one of Mary's tables. The one that had regulars George and Paul. You grimaced as you grew close.

These two had a reputation: robust, handsy, overly flirtatious, and it made your skin crawl every time they came. You had to play at their game to keep them at bay, which was a masterful line to play.

Spike would always say they brought good business and just needed to 'lower their booze intake'.

"Hey, boys, what can I get you started with today?" You spoke confidently, despite the effort dripping down your back and the roar of the late dinner rush.

Paul leaned back in the booth, grinning, and spoke for the two of them. He was slender from years of smoking, "Two drafts." 

He wiggled two fingers in the air.

You nodded, pen poised. "Got an ID on you, Paul?" 

He barked with laughter. Crooked teeth and all. "Aren't you a cutie?"

You didn't miss a beat. "Yeah, I get it from my dad."

George snorted at that. You balanced the pen between your fingers, your smile paper-thin now. "Anything else I can get you?"

George parted his legs, gave a quick skim of the menu, and then wandered towards your frame. His eyes wandered invasively, then settled on your face.

"Mm," He feigned a thought, then "on second thought, are you on the menu, darlin'?"

Your mouth twitched at the corner, hand wrapping around the pen tighter. George rasped into a fit of laughter, his face red and brown eyes blown wide and glassy. His stomach collided with the table as he laughed, and you swallowed thickly, trying to remain composed.

You loosened your jaw and shoulder; this job was a constant reminder to yourself that all was temporary.

"No, they took me off the menu a while back. Said it was tainted meat," you spoke dryly.

George laughed harder at that. His palm smacked the table as he wheezed.

"Well, let me give you some good meat, sugar. Put you back on." He patted his thigh.

Paul cackled from across him, loud and pungent with alcohol.

You were certain they went to the bar across the street—the very one you and Leon had met at on occasions.

You exhaled through your nose. "Had a lot to drink tonight, huh, George?"

"I'm just messing with you," George waved his hand dismissively. "We're all friends here."

"I'll get the drinks," you deadpanned and slotted the notepad in your apron and trudged over to the bar.

"Oh, come on," George called out as you walked away. "Don't get pissy on me now, sweetheart!"

Their cackling followed you to the bar. You pushed past one of the bartenders, grabbed two glasses, and began filling them to the rim— golden liquid sloshing to the edge.

Spike rounded the corner and headed right to you.

"God, I just had to comp that lady's whole meal. Total bitch." He leaned against the counter, eyes anticipating your response. "Chops?"

"That's great, Spike." You didn't spare a look at him.

Just rolled your eyes, grabbed the beers, and quickly walked down an aisle until suddenly a hand reached out for you, latching onto your wrist.  

A yelp slipped out of you, and one of the glasses went shattering to the floor. The dinner grew quieter as heads snapped towards you.

"Shit, sorry!" It was your customer from table six.

"Was just wondering where the steak was, sweetie." The man squeaked.

You let out a rough breath and tightened your jaw. "One moment."

You stepped over broken glass, beer already spreading stickily onto the floor. You placed the remaining drink in front of Paul. The restaurant was back to its volume again.

George snapped his eyes to you.

"You punishing me now, is that it?" He joked, though underlined with genuine vexation.

"I dropped one if you didn't notice."

"Oh, I noticed," George muttered under his breath.

"Just a moment." You turned sharply, weaving past broken glass and sticky beer and into the kitchen.

"Eyes on table six's steak?" you called to the kitchen.

"Up there," a cook pointed, and you quickly grabbed it.

"Fuck—!"

You sprang your hand back, palm and the rims of your fingers a radiant red. You quickly ran your hand to the sink and snapped the faucet to cold —the water doing little to ease the pain.

"—Shit, sorry, it was hot. Here, let me," Pete gave you a dry hand towel. "Let me see."

He tried to pat your hand dry, but you tore away.

"I'm fine." You barked a little more harshly than you'd like.

"Just get a new one started, please."

Pete threw his hands in the air and backed away.

"Yes, ma'am." He muttered low and submissively.

Towel over hand, you walked over to the utility closet, grabbed a broom and dustpan. You passed through the kitchen doors and back into the main floor.

Spike intercepted, nose high in the air as he spoke low to you.

"You know you dropped a beer, right? There's like booze and glass everywhere."

"Well aware," you said, lifting the pan and broom. You brushed past.

Spike hummed in disapproval. "What if somebody stepped on it? God—imagine the lawsuit. My dad would fuckin' choke."

"Spike. I'm about to clean it—" You bit and went to sweep the glass. The beer had already left a sticky residue, and the lint off the broom was not assisting.

Spike mumbled something, but besides the adherent floor and noisy chatter, you hadn't heard or had the time to care. He drove to annoy someone else, elsewhere.

You lifted your head to table six as you cleaned the mess. "The steak will be out in a few more moments."

The man parted his lips to speak, but maybe it was the brewing anger etched on your face or the heat that showed in your neck and ears. His lips pulled back into a line—he knew better.

You scraped the floors, removed any glass debris, and mopped by hand with the hand towel. Your hand had grown two shades pinker at work. Deeming it finished, you tossed everything back into the closet, went back to the bar, and poured another draft beer.

Until finally you placed it on the table.

George sucked his teeth. "Took you long enough."

You look at the table and see two empty glasses. A sigh escaped you as you glanced over to Spike, leaning against the bar. His eyes darting away as you met his gaze. Intervening asshole.

You curled your lips inward and huffed.

"Sorry. Can I get you started with food?" You flipped your notepad to a new page.

George rolled his eyes at that. Paul, on the other hand, looked eager to eat.

"Single burger. Medium well, go easy on the onions. Everything else on it."

You scribbled on your pen pad, turning your attention to George, "And you?"

"Hm. I’ll do the steak dinner. Medium.”

“Your sides.”

George scoured the menu, then had a thought. "You know what, maybe you didn't hear me earlier," began George, leaning forward. "But I'd love if—"

"Jesus Christ, order or get out."

There was a baffled chuckle. "...Excuse me?"

"I said," You repeated more clearly, order or get the fuck out."

Silence flickered at the edges of the room.

You could hear your manager clear his throat from afar. Your eyes narrowed, and your skin was hot. You felt a familiar tremble of rage in your bones as your finger indicated towards the door. Fuck it.

"Out."

George inclined back in his seat, seemingly surprised. "You're a feisty one, aren't you?"

He eyed you as if you were sport.

You recoiled, "Alright, this conversation is over."

You gathered the menus and turned to walk away.

You felt the jolt first, then a stern smack to your hip.

Without even realizing what had happened, you teetered back and slapped George across the face. The smack—distinct and loud, sending his face to the side, cheek rubicund like your scorched hand.

It wasn't until the fire blazing across the skin of your palm that everything connected.

Your finger trembled as you pointed to his face.

The diner was truly quiet now.

"Touch me again," You said, voice low and shaking, "and I'll fucking kill you." There was that familiar lump in your throat, and moisture at the corner of your eyes.

Then you turned and stomped to the back of the kitchen and shoved yourself into the employee restroom. You latched the door with shaky hands and crumbled into a dark corner on the floor, legs coming up to your chest. You tested your breathing, allowing your head to fall back as you hyperventilated.

A knock came. "Are you alright in there?"

Then another. "Come on out."

You stayed there for a few minutes—frankly, you weren't sure.

Spike and other colleagues tried to convince you to leave, but you were bitter in your stance. Eventually, their voices had faded, and so did the sharp pain in your lungs.

You walked out after a while. Pete and others swiftly walked up to ask if you were okay as you ambled out, though you ushered them away with thankful nods and a hollow, "I'm fine."

"I kicked them out for the night, just so you know," Spike would say.

But your mind had become numb, and so had your ears. You grabbed your personal belongings and remembered him pithily saying,

"...But that still doesn't warrant slapping a customer in the face..."

And at that point, you had briefed Spencer to "go fuck yourself" and stumbled out into the evening air.

The night had grown cool.

You blamed yourself for not packing a jacket. Your arms folded in on themselves as you walked, hands slipping into your pockets every so often.

You strolled a short distance, not far from the restaurant and bar, passing the warm streetlights overhead. Your shadow followed along.

You sniffled as you walked further, then your feet hesitated—one foot wavering before the other.

A breath caught in your throat as a figure appeared from the shadows. You looked to the other side of the street—vacant.

Your eyes and ears scattered and searched; there was no one else around. You pivoted toward the curve, one foot landing on the asphalt. Better to be safe than sorry.

"Leaving, sweetheart?"

You whipped and stumbled back as Paul materialized in front of you. He looked sweaty, pit-stained, and drunk—sour with alcohol.

Your brow knitted in thought. Was Paul following you? The thinking made you sick.

"The hell do you want?" Your skin itched at the sight of him.

You clutched your purse closer to your shoulder, backing away, feet finding themselves returning to the sidewalk.

"We..." You twisted around to George, and a startled gasp escaped you. "...just want to talk."

His front pressed into you, and with a disgusted snarl, you sent yourself lurching to steady your feet.

You glanced back between the two of them. There was a premature thought that crossed your mind. The night was desolate. You were alone and surrounded by two drunken men.

A cruel realization crept in.

"Stay back," you muttered, your voice quiet but tighter.

George sucked his teeth. He raised his hands in defense, a rattle of laughter escaping his throat.

"I just wanna talk, that's all," he said softly and seized a step forward. His tone was more gracious—it felt false and put on. Sinister and threatening.

You backed away.

"Then fucking talk."

There was an unease in your gut, a nauseating one. It made the hair on the back of your neck stand.

George shook his head as he laughed, a bent finger pointed towards you. "You always had a mouth on you."

You sucked in strained breath, neck angled.

"Alright, you had your fun." You tried to add more bass to your voice.

"Just let me go." You licked your lips. "It's been a long night."

"Yeah." George agreed, then slowly brought a hand to his cheek. "It has."

There was an eyeful exchange between the pair. You took the chance to spear past, but George was quick to snatch you by the arms, his hold tight and unyieldingly.

"—Let go!" You hissed and separated yourself.

George pressed his tongue against his cheek. "You're ungrateful, you know that?"

Your chest rattled with fear.

"And you're drunk," you spat.

George closed his eyes and inhaled.

"I've got a sound mind."

You blinked at that.

You wondered if he could register the fear within them, or whether you had camouflaged it quickly enough.

George began to stroll around you. Your body quivered as you stood. Paul pressed himself against your backside, your neck flexing as his breath met the shell of your ear.

Your jaw clenched, face turned as George stood in front of you now, his breath reeking.

A shudder escaped you.

"You're a pretty little thing." George explored you with his eyes, then he looked past your shoulder. "Ain't she, P?"

Paul laughed behind you, troubled and sadistic. Your head jerked, cheek turning away from the putrid whiff.

"Please."

"You said somethin', sweetheart?" George mocked and lightly grazed the pads of his fingers along your waistline.

"I think she wants somethin', Paul. What 'd'ya think?"

That made Paul chuckle. “Yeah.”

Your body stilled, then a shiver of dread coursed through your veins.  

It became inflamed like pins and needles, biting your skin, turning your lips into trembling numbness. Like an alarm, your brain hollered for you to move as George's hand crept higher.

"Stop, please, just—"

The hand pressed flatly into your skin.

Finally, a part of your brain acquired a signal, and you brought your knee between George's legs.

"Sonofabitch!" George blurted, staggering back, knees knocking together as he held the preciousness between his legs.

You gave Paul a forceful elbow back, but the move left you unbalanced, and you plunged to the wet floor. You scrambled to your knees, hands scraping the jagged asphalt. A grunt tumbled from your lips.

Paul was swift and barred onto your hair. He pulled you upright, swinging you into the alleyway.

Your back met the brick wall.

Air knocked out of your chest, you let out a disgruntled groan, clutching your abdomen and back. You nimbly tried to find your footing as nerve endings flashed. Your hand screamed as it scraped the harsh surfaces of the walls and floor. A hoarse cry fled your lips as Paul grabbed hold of your wrist and yanked your arm.

He pulled you towards the center of the alleyway. Hands struggling to hold you down.

"Let go of me—motherfucker!" Your legs thrashed.

He used his knees to pin you.

A primal yell erupted from your throat, raw and taut. You scratched at his hands and arms, but found success on Paul's face.

His hands drew away.

"Bitch!" He roared, holding his cheek.

His fingers trembled as he pulled away, blotches of blood on the skin. Two lines of torn flesh on his cheek.

You cried again, trying to crawl away on your elbows. The ground was wet, and soaked into your clothes in patches. But Paul stapled you down again. You're back smashing into a puddle of water. His hand pinned harshly on your wrist as he hovered over you. You kicked and flailed, shouting into deaf ears.

"Hold her down, god dammit!" George spat as he trekked over.

Paul fought to keep you tacked; he bore his weight onto you, your back arching in discomfort at the added pressure.

"I'm tryin'," He dralwed. "Bitch is strong."

You screamed again, voice wrecked and tired. Your voice wasn't familiar anymore; it hurt to wail or even to utter a word. Your voice splintered as you spoke.

“Stop, stop—let go—please!—" A cry tore out of you as you sobbed. Face red, neck tight as you pleaded. "You don't have to do this—"

George huffed through his nose as he stood over you, with yellow teeth and a snarl.

"I gave you so many chances," he spat. "So many—!”

Paul brought your hands above your head.

The backs of them painfully pinned against the asphalt. Your nose wept with snot, and you could taste saltish tears on your lips. You licked at them as Paul hovered over you, his eyes meeting yours.

An intrusive hand came down to your side, and you found yourself incapable of speaking coherently. Your legs stilled, the breath in your chest toiled. You froze in place, terrified you might shatter at the next inhale.

"Paul, you know me." You blurted out in a cry. "Please, I'm begging you—wait, wait, I'm sorry," Your eyes snapped to George. "I'm sorry!—Okay, just please don't do this, I'm begging you."

You watched as George shifted his attention towards the street. Your eyes flickered to it, but Paul's shoulder blocked the view.

“…The fuck.” George whispered from above you, and it was that moment you could hear the thump of boots hustling over.

Then, like a shadow, Paul was picked up and hurled into the brick wall. He collided face-first, then fell back, splashing into a puddle. He groaned miserably, lifting his head from the water.

Then, without a second thought, a kick to his shoulder and back. Thundurous and loud, then again and again. You crawled away, distancing yourself.

You watched as the shadow—broad shoulders, tall —landed blow after blow on Paul. Fist meeting flesh, bone grinding on bone.

"Jesus Christ, you're gonna kill him—" George cried out, rushing over to offer aid.

“Hck—" But the punch to his throat and diaphragm had him buckling over in pain.

You sat up, fixing the collar of your shirt, and crawled to the nearest wall, using the jagged brick to steady your balance.

Your eyes whipped from George then to the shadow before you, overcast by the dark shade of the night, shoulders squared, and fists rounded. The shadow turned his shoulder, then familiar blue eyes met yours.

"Leon?"  

A hand came to your aid, beckoning you to stand. Leon put an arm around you and kept you behind him.

George wheezed as he quivered beside Pau's limp state.

"I don't want any trouble. I swear! I wasn't going to hurt the girl," George pleaded on his knees.

Your eyes slipped to Paul, then George, then to Leon.

Leon was looking at you now; his mouth moving, but there was a deep-rooted ringing in your ear. After a moment, you finally heard your name yelled.

"You okay?" Leon asked again.

Your voice was gravelly.

"Yeah." Your eyes ran frantically over the scene again, and your hands settled on your throat. "Yeah, I'm good."

"—I just wanted to teach her a lesson," George added. "That's all!"

Leon took an intimidating step forward, hands raw from wear and tear and streaked with Paul's blood. George cried into himself, hands coming protectively to his head. Standing off to the side, you could see Leon's face twitch with anger.

You quickly clasped his arm. He looked over his shoulder; you shook your head, tired and weak.

"Let's go." Your words came out strained. “Leon, please." You begged.

He exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening for a brief second—then gave a short nod.

"Class dismissed," he said, voice low and even as he glanced toward George.

The older man flinched under it, shrinking back without another word.

Leon didn’t linger. His hand found your arm—firm, steady—and guided you back onto the main sidewalk. You’re not sure when he layered his coat over your shoulders. But it was there, warm, and carried his scent. You pulled the leather closer to you, fingers numbed as you held tightly. Leon's arm held it in place as he tucked you against his side, arm wrapped around your shoulder.

Your eyes kept low for most of the walk, trembling and shaking like a leaf. When you finally lifted your head, your brows lowered into a frown.

"We missed the turn...my apartment is that way." Your voice came out thinner than you implied.

Leon redirected your shoulders. "I know, I'm taking you to mine."

"Okay." You whispered. Mind numb and no fight to the matter.

You walked longer than you expected. Far enough that the streets started to blur together, unfamiliar buildings replacing anything you recognized.

Leon stopped at a door, unlocking it quickly. He stepped inside first, giving the place a quick once-over before motioning you in.

You followed, slower.

The apartment was dark. You let the door shut behind you with a dull thud.

Leon walked deeper into the home, flipped on a switch, and dropped his keys on the counter. Your feet hesitated to move, but you heeded.

"Take a seat wherever you like," he muttered.

"...Alright."

You pursed your lips and looked at his bar stools at the kitchen counter and the couch in his living room.

Leon strolled away down a hall; you could hear him rummaging through his cabinets—the sound of the sink. Your feet nimbly traced the floor as you walked.

You opted for his couch and plopped down, keeping your hands in your lap. They still trembled with nerves and pricked from the burn.

Your eyes bounced around the apartment.

It was clean—no plants, no decor, truly. No pictures on the wall, just plain.

Except for one on a bookshelf: a little girl with her blonde hair pulled back and similar cobalt eyes. She grinned in the photo, but there was a familiar sadness in her eyes. She looked lost, just as you did in the past. You could barely muster a thought, but your mind wandered if it could have been a sister or his daughter. However, Leon didn't seem like the type to have a kid.

Not now, at least.

You wanted to comment on it, but your mind was still fuzzy from the assault.

Your teeth bit into your bottom lip. Don't cry, you swore.

Though your eyes watered, and a tear betrayed you, slipping down your cheek. You quickly swiped it away as Leon approached.

He sank to his knees with a soft grunt. “...Let me take these off you.”

You sucked in a breath as he touched the back of your leg.

He pulled away, watching you. "...Is this okay?"

Your head nodded. Then his hands returned; you noted they were clean now, no trace of the men before.

The ringing in your ear hadn’t left, and the numbness in your bones kept your eyes concentrated on nothingness: an emptiness, a void.

Leon worked off your boots, unlacing them, then pulling them off gently.

He moved to sit next to you and placed a first-aid kit on the coffee table. You avoided eye contact, head low, staring at the red splotch on your palm.

"Hey," a brief touch on your shoulder. You lifted your gaze to meet his. "It's over now. You're safe."

His words offered little comfort, but you appreciated the help.

"Yeah." You whispered.  

Your hand went for your throat to massage the muscle, but you winced at the swift motion—a reminder that you were still wounded. 

Leon watched you with careful sadness. "Can I see?"

You nodded weakly and placed your hand on his lap. The pads of his fingertips grazed your skin as Leon examined the wound and the surrounding area—burned and scraped. He turned your hand, continuing his inspection. 

“...Is it bad?” You asked.

"You got it good," He reached over and retrieved a small container of aloe and petroleum. "But it should heal in a few days." 

You bobbed your head to show that you were paying attention. 

He gathered the aloe first on his fingers.

“This might sting a little." He warned, and you nodded.

The gel was cool on your skin, but it didn't sting as much as you anticipated.

Satisfied, Leon then applied a small amount of petroleum to the affected skin. He grabbed non-stick bandages and began to wrap your hand. He worked quietly—now and then stealing glimpses at you, but you weren't there. Not physically, at least, your mind was elsewhere, still racking on what had happened.

He wrapped the last piece up neatly. 

"Good as new." There was a gentle smile across his lips—faint though still there.

He was kind, you thought.  You drew your hand back and laid it limply in your lap.

"Thank you." Your voice came out small and hollow.

A small breath fell from his lips. He placed a hand on your lower thigh and gave a gentle pat to your knee.

“Hey, you did well." 

You shook your head and stayed silent for a long moment. “I didn’t."

You continued. "I just stood there and let them—" You exhaled a shaky breath, “I froze and I— " your words caught in your throat.

You felt your esophagus close in on itself, your skin pricking again as nerve endings fired. Your mind clouded in judgment, and you blinked haphazardly and sucked in a breath, hand clutching to your chest. 

You could see Leon's muscles begin to lurch into action. 

"I'm fine." You snapped.

You shook your hand towards him dismissively. "Panic. Attack. It'll go away." Your words trembled and came out unnaturally.

“Alright.” He leaned away, allowing you space.

You saw something flicker within Leon's eyes—something familiar. After a long beat, he took your hand and placed it on his chest. You could feel his heartbeat, low and strong.

"Breath in."

You watched him with tear-soaked eyes as he inhaled and held it.

"Then out."

He exhaled.

His eyes told you to follow, so you tried. But it was difficult when your mind struggled to hit the brakes. Your breath stuttered on the first two tries, but by the seventh time, you got the hang of it. You gave a final exhale.

His hand still wrapped around your wrist, holding you to him, feeling the steady drum of his heartbeat.

You pulled your hand. 

"I should go home, you've already helped me enough."  

Leon looked as though he wanted to ask you something, but he decided against it.  

Instead, responding with, "You can take the bedroom down the hall."

He started gathering his first aid kit.

"Leon, I'm fine, really—" You countered.

He sighed, closing the box shut, "I wasn't really asking."

He watched you awkwardly. Then, you huffed your shoulder. Truthfully, the thought of walking home in this state scared you—it would for a long time. So you chose to take his advice.

“Fine." 

You moved your feet first, testing them, and began to stand. From the corner of your eye, you could see Leon prepare to help you. 

"I'm fine." You splintered again. Your mind fractured into anger, embarrassment, and fear. You wondered how you would survive till the morning.

You grumbled a breath and shuffled past him, making your way to the hallway.

You sighed in annoyance as you heard the couch as Leon stood, following closely behind you. Your hands braced the wall and door frame as you walked in.  

You stood for a moment, the room dark, except for a candle that illuminated it in a soft glow. The room was like the rest of the apartment, clean, minimalist, and all-purpose.

Leon came up behind and grumbled, “Forgot that damn candle." 

You looked over your shoulder and peeked at him. There was a quiet breath of a laugh shared between the two of you. You grunted as you shuffled towards the bed and collapsed with a heft.

Leon followed in, though directing his attention toward the closet.

"Bathroom is over there." He pointed before he disappeared inside.

You sighed as you lay on the sheets—face cooling as you pressed into the pillows. Leon came back from the closet with a blanket tucked under his arm. He walked over to you, the candlelight illuminating him. 

"You okay?"

"Yeah." You answered lowly.

But his expression believed otherwise, though he wouldn't press. He moved his hand and placed folded clothes onto the bed.

"There's fresh clothes if you..." He cleared his throat.

"—Okay." You answered.

His eyes darted awkwardly.  "I'll be in the living room if you need anything." 

You nodded as he strolled to the door. 

"Wait, Leon."

His fingers pressed on the doorframe. He turned to you.

You turned to face him. "…Thank you."

You twisted back to your side. "Goodnight."

Leon stared at you for a moment. “..Night."

The door closed behind him.

For a while, you stared at the wall, then gradually a broken and wretched cry came from your throat, soft and hushed. You heaved in a breath and cradled yourself. A sob raked through you, your shoulders trembling, as reality hit you.

You sniffled back a cry, cheeks wet as you wiped your tears.

You wondered if Leon could hear you now.

The embarrassment made you tighten your shoulders. You inhaled deeply, maybe sleep would help you, presumed. You exhaled. Then lifted your chin and blew out the candle. 

[eyerisiris]

Im almost done with chapter 3 of love bane and its definitely more plot and character driven with a dash of angst. im reallyyy excited for you guys to read :)))<33

[umbransister]

When a fanfic has good writing, 10k words a chapter, slowburn and an author who is active

[eyerisiris]

Love Bane [2]

a/n: leon is an eater. | also, changed the name cause im indecisive af. | edited.

If you noticed the year change from 2008 to 2006. mind you business pls i forgot how to do math lmfaoo

| 1 | now cross posted on ao3, I'll also be posting to ao3 first and then tumblr from now on.

2006

Winter

Six months had passed. 

The weather in Washington had grown cool. Sidewalks rimed with ice and snow. There was an occasional snowman if the kids permitted. 

You hadn't seen Leon since that night. There was never a run-in in the streets, the grocery store, or the bar where you had both met. Quickly, you learned to accept that Leon had become a distant memory. But still, the recollection would come to you. To which it'd leave you with flushed cheeks and wetness between your thighs.

You threw your head back.

Alcohol scorched the back of your throat. Your friends cheered you on as the brown liquor vanished from the glass. Tipping the glass fully, you gleamed a bright smile and wiped your lips with the back of your hand. You raised a finger. "I think," You mumbled and gulped down a burp. "We need more shots!" 

Your friends practically howled like a wolf pack and shuffled away in laughter towards the bar. 

"Hey Joel!" Your hand grabbed the bar first. Your balance wobbled, and your ankle rolled–you thought it might be best to leverage both hands on the wood instead.

A scruffy older man waddled over to you. His beard was long and pointed. His emerald eyes were sharp and unkind, with hard wrinkles on the corners. 

"Another round, kiddo?" His voice didn't match his appearance. Joel spoke softly; his personality was like that, too. He was protective of his patrons, especially of his girls.

"Yes, please!" You answered singly, then adjusted the hat on your head. It was a cone atop that sat askew–you adjusted the clear string attached to it beneath your chin.

"Comin' right up." He tapped the bar and spun away.

Your eyes looked down at the glossy wood. You made strange faces at your warped reflection and stuck out your tongue, laughing at yourself.

There was a soft chuckle that came from your left. "Hey, stranger?" 

The voice was gruff, calm, and collected. It oozed with grovel and sexual poise. 

Your eyes wandered. Holy shit. The world stilled for a moment. "Leon?" 

He hadn't changed at all, still handsome and strong. Arms nearly busting at the seams of his top. There was one change at least; his cheeks were more flushed, and his energy just seemed...lighter.

You cleared your throat. "H-How've you been?" 

"Good." His eyes motioned to you and to your group. "Looks like you're havin' quite the night."

You grimaced. "God, you saw all of that?" You indicated to your makeshift crown and gave a crooked smile. "It's my birthday." 

Leon brought a glass to his lips. "Yeah, I gathered that." There was an amused smile behind the goblet. "Happy birthday."

You blushed. "Thank you." 

Leon licked his lips and swallowed a breath. "How old are you now?"

"Twenty-four." You mind thought for a moment, "Shit, how old are you—?"

"Turned twenty-nine in July." 

Your mind calmed. Then it began to swim again. "So, what brings you back to Washington?" You rocked on your heels, waiting patiently for an answer. It'd be a lie to say you weren't curious about why he'd been away so long. It was natural, you thought.

Joel had his back to you, and you wished he would take his time preparing the liquor. 

"Work."

"Pfft—What are you, a government spy or something?" You mumbled to yourself and rested your cheek in your hand. You meant it in jest.

"Heh." Leon let out a breath and downed a gulp of his booze. But there was a noticeable shift in Leon's expression. You caught it before he adjusted. Douly noted.

A woman danced towards you. Her skin was like dark chestnut. She had long, tight curls that flowed down her back and a radiant smile that blinded even the blind. "God, where are the shots?" She whined and wrapped her arms around your frame, rocking you back and forth as she sang along to the music.

Her eyes then coasted over to Leon. She took a moment, "Oh wow," Her eyes darted to you, then back to him. "Who is this beautiful Caucasian man?" 

"Jesus-christ." You hung your head in embarrassment.

Leon raised his brows and chortled softly. Your friend stuck out her hand to him. Leon took it carefully, but was careful not to kiss it. You were watching after all.

"And you are?" She inquired, raising a playful brow.

You spoke for him. "This is Leon," you motioned to him. "And this is my best friend, Melanie."

Her jaw loosened. "This is Leon?" Her eyes grew bigger. "Like," She grinded herself onto your hips. "This leon?"

"—Mel!" Your face scowled in abhor. She never quite had the dexterity for reading the room.

Melanie giggled and shifted to him. "Well, it's nice to meet you."

"Likewise". Leon shook her hand, and Melanie giggled like a schoolgirl.

"God, even his voice is hot," Melanie mumbled towards you. She misstepped between you and Leon; he braced to catch her, but Melanie drunkenly corrected her footing.

Your eyes caught one another, and you concealed a laugh behind your hand.

Joel luckily brought the shots at the same time.

Melanie greeted him sweetly, like she always did. "Thank you, baby!" Melanie took the tray and pointed her chin at Leon. "I'd offer you one, but it's a girls' night. But it was nice to meet you, again!" 

She practically skipped away to your table. The others cheered when she set down the drinks on the table.

"She seems fun." Leon turned to you.

"Yeah, she is." You could see Melanie murmur something to the party. The girls were now watching you and whispering amongst themselves.

Leon gave them a short wave.

Quickly, they all diverted their attention to the ceilings and walls. They pretended to be interested in the bar's architecture. You giggled at them. "They're all amazing." You twisted to him again. 

The conversation had run its course. "Well, I should probably go…" Your words came out slow and labored. You didn't want to leave at all.

Leon nodded to himself in understanding.

"It was nice running into you again." You gave an awkward smile and began to walk away. 

"Wait." Leon grabbed your hand. "Are you doing anything tonight—after this?"

You shook your head. "The bar is our last stop." 

His thumb rubbed the back of your hand. "Meet me before you leave." There was a soft demand behind it in his tone.

"O-Okay." You swallowed a smile, nodded, and pulled away. You ambled over to your friends and took a seat at the booth. When you raised your head, you caught Leon watching you. His legs parted, eyes roaming over you, fingers rubbing at his chin and jaw as he watched. He blinked and then smiled, bringing his beer to his lips. You watched as he drank, swalloing down a huff of arousal.

Leon's shoulder shook with a gentle laugh in his chest, his lip curled at the edge, he turned his back to you, and you grumbled at the familiar wetness between your legs. 

There was a dull squelch between your thighs. A hand massaged your chest; Leon was still rough and calloused from what you last remembered. Golden strands entangle between your fingers. You gave his roots a gentle tug. You liked the way the tips of his hair tickled your skin.

He looked so perfect like this, between your thighs—feasting on you. You took a mental image and let your head sink back onto the pillow. 

Your hips involuntarily rolled, back arching slightly as Leon lapped at your juices. His hand dragged away from your breast and slid down to the side of your leg. His fingers pressed into the skin, drawing them further apart. He hummed to himself and glanced up from your cunt to allow himself a breath. 

"Doin okay?" There was a shine to his lips and chin—the tip of his nose. A thin string of saliva connected to his bottom lip and your swollen cunt. Your cheeks flushed as he placed a kiss on your inner thigh, leaving a patch of wetness.

"Mmhm." You brush his hair back from his forehead. The soft strands loosely fell back to their original place. "Never better." 

Leon's right hand massaged you. "Good." He littered another kiss onto your thigh. "You taste good." 

Your chest burned, and you breathed heavily in your diaphragm. Leon spoke so indifferently that it made you dizzy. "God, are you always this dirty?" 

He chuckled, his breath dusting over your folds. "On occasions," His hand stroked your sides, up to the curve of your waist, and back down to your thigh. "Especially on birthdays." He smirked and brought his mouth back to your center. 

You gasped at the familiar aphendage, his tongue parting you. He flattened himself and licked slowly. Dragging up your clit in a slow, sensual stride. As he neared the top, he closed his lips around your bud, suckled and kissed you, and then repeated. 

"Leon," You muttered and let your back arch and let out a soft moan.

His tongue darted, flicked, and circled your heat. The sounds he made with his mouth were obscene, disgustingly slick and wet.

He sulked at your clit and let you go with a soft pop. He exhaled a drag as he came up for air. You could feel him pant against your core, the way Leon sucked a short breath and went back for more.

You breath hitched as a hand began to probe itself into you with two fingers. Leon's other hand kept your thigh parted. 

The fingers were a welcome intrusion. You loved the way the pads of his fingertips stroked your inner walls, or how his length had that mouthwatering curve that reached deep within you and struck that spot right. You hummed in satisfaction as he had his way.

Leon ate upon you like it was his last meal, moaning roughly into your heat as his tongue and fingers operated in unison. When your pleasures grew in ocative, so did Leon's. It felt like he was egging you on to be louder for him, without articulating a word. He lapped at you again, rasping into your cunt, sending warm electric vibrations up your spine. Your mind became stymied, and your thighs naturally began to quiver and clamp down around his shoulders.

Though Leon wouldn't allow and didn't dare break, he shook his head 'no'—nose brushing against you as he did so, making you whimper. He removed his fingers and used both hands to spread your thighs apart, his fingers dimpling the skin. He replaced his mouth on your cunt, licking the underside of your clit, and flicking the small bud. He whimpered in arousal, flattening his tongue and sucking.

"Oh fuck," You wept and massaged your chest—gripping his roots more tightly. The hold was enough to elicit a sharp hiss from Leon. You'd normally apologize, but the bliss he was stimulating out of you was—"Hah." Your head dug into the pillow as your back arched, you let out a strangled moan, and let your eyes roll behind your head. 

Leon returned his fingers into you, pumping and sliding. 

His hold felt more permanent this time.

"Leon," You let out a choked cry. He glanced up at you, mouth still at your center. You nearly came across the image. His sweaty fringe—strands of it concealing his blue eyes. His lids lowered in need. He looked ungodly.

You ran your hand over his hair and watched it roll back and away from his face. "There we go." You whispered in a broken rush. You licked your lips. "I can see you now." 

Leon raised his brows at that and returned to his meal.

You let your head plunge back and let Leon finish you as you came down from your high. He stroked your thighs as they shook.

You let a few puffs of air out—desperately trying to regain breath. While Leon still worked below, lapping the last bit of your juices. Your bud became overly sensitive, and you attempted to pull away. Satisfied, Leon sat up and fit himself between your legs.

Your lids had grown lazy.

"Hi." You whispered. 

Leon crawled atop you. "Hi." 

"Hm," You sighed.

Leon's hand came to your cheek, his thumb stroked the skin there as he studied your face. He brushed away loose strands of hair where they clung to your skin and then placed his strong hands on either of you. 

His jeans were still on. You could feel him, how hard he was against you. Your cheeks burned at the feeling of the hardened bulge. He looked in thought as he continued to explore your face.

Then he requested something that surprised you.

"Can I kiss you?" There was honest curiosity behind it.

Which confounded you since he had just kissed you in a very different way mere moments ago. But it dawned on you that you hadn't kissed. The one-night stand you shared was more so, you came home, tossed him on the bed, and then intercourse ensued. Yet, you hadn't kissed, and you were thankful about it at the time because kissing felt more intimate. Even more than the act of sex itself.

Your hand touched his cheek gently, and you nodded. There was a softness to your voice. "Okay." 

Leon observed you again and then gradually lowered himself. You felt his breath grace your lips before he kissed you. They were softer than you thought; you tasted yourself on them but didn't mind. He exhaled into your mouth and brought his hand to your chin. Your head tilted as tongues became involved. 

You whimpered at the force. You'd break for a quick breath of air, and Leon was already crashing his lips back onto yours. Keen and starved.

Your hand at his cheek had rubbed at his neck, then to his chest, and down his torso. Leon's own hand had also begun to roam down your body. Fondling your breast, massaging the mound, and pinching at your perked nipple.

Your fingers felt every detail of the dips and curves that made up his sculpted physique. Your hand eventually settled on his zipper. You tugged at it. Dammit.

You broke away from the kiss with a soft smack, though Leon quickly followed and placed a chaste press of his lips onto yours before pulling away. When he leaned back, his lips were swollen and puffy. His gaze trailed downward between your thighs, where your hand sat annoyingly caught. 

"Off." You let out a frustrated command. Since your fingers couldn't tug the zipper down, you opted to palm him with your hand instead. 

Leon brought his gaze back to you, smirked, and kissed you again. "Who's dirty now?"

"Shut up." You return the kiss and press your lips back onto his. Unyielding and needy.

Leon obeyed, leaving open-mouth kisses on the corner of your lips and neck. His hand simultaneously worked between you both. He pulled at his zipper and grabbed himself. You grew impatient and grinded down onto his hand. "Wait," He whispered your name and chuckled. "Wait."

You listen, but you sigh in protest.

Leon broke the kiss. "Condom." He said breathlessly and reached over to the nightstand. 

You grabbed his arm and licked your lips. "You don't have to." Your eyes shyly glanced to the side. "I'm on the pill."

Leon took a moment. "Alright," He re-slotted himself between your thighs. As he hovered, his eyes scoured again. His brow creased as he spoke, "Are you sure about this?"

"Mmhm," Your hand rubbed his shoulder and tricep. Honestly, you were done talking, but you offered a soft smile. "I want to feel you." It was a gentler response than what you had in mind.

Leon gave you one look over to be sure, then took your lips again. He nipped at your bottom lip with his teeth, and you let out an audible gasp. He beckoned your thighs apart with brutish hands. Experienced, Leon lined himself up as you kissed. You could feel the thick head of his cock part your lips and stroke against your entrance. Your stomach churned and flipped in anticipation.

Leon pressed forward, and you silently thank his work from between your thighs earlier. He worked you apart deliciously and slid inside without too much of a fight. Leon exhaled into the kiss, his lips apart, and his eyes closed shut. You smiled at him softly, opening your mouth to suck in his breath—worshiping the way your cunt had this effect on him.

Without the barrier of protection, you felt every vein, indent, curve, and the jerk of his cock as you clamped around. He was thicker than you remembered. 

His hip met yours at the hilt—his arm gave a gentle shake. "Fuck." His head hung over you. His eyes struggled to open—panting, he tried to speak. "You're really tight."

He gave his hips a test roll. Instinctually, you clamped down on him and gasped. "Oh, fuck me." Leon mewled and let his head droop into the crook of your neck. His breath is hot on your skin.

He licked and nipped the skin. Your hand found its way into his hair, and you gave it an encouraging pull. "You feel amazing."

Your core swallowed him as his hips began to pull and push, thrusting into you. "Christ," You moaned as Leon fucked into you with fever.

The headboard thumped against the wall rhythmically. Your neighbors were going to grow exhausted of you, you were sure.

Leon's hand hiked up your left leg. The palm of his hand was holding the back of it in place. The new angle allowed him to reach you deeper, attacking your nerves over and over. You became a blubbering mess. Kissing him, rolling your hips to meet his, scratching long lines into his back.

The night stayed this way for a long time until Leon drew himself from within you and pumped his substance onto your stomach. 

He'd ask you for a towel, and you'd lazily point to your bathroom. Drained and fucked out of your mind. He came back with a damp cloth to clean your skin, then cleaned himself.

"You should stay." You mumbled drunkenly from sex. You were on your side now, back to him. You felt the bed shift from Leon's weight on the other side.

You wished you had turned to gauge his reaction, but you couldn't bear the thought of the latter. So you denied yourself that. But to your surprise, you felt the bed dip and a strong arm pull you into his side. You felt the sheets pulled right below your chin.

You hummed and interlocked your hand with his across your waist. 

There was a soft kiss placed on your hair. "Happy birthday," Leon whispered. 

And then the world went dark. 

Beams of sunlight peered through your blinds. You groaned in protest and covered your eyes. Your body pivoted away, and that's where you felt the absence in your sheets.

Your eyes opened, and Leon was nowhere to be found. His clothes and shoes were off the floor.

You swallowed thickly. Your apartment was quiet, except for the steady murmur of the heater. There was a feeling in your gut; it felt like a glimmer of disappointment. Which was foolish, Leon was merely a stranger after all, the most you had spoken to him was last night. He didn't owe you anything, and neither did you.

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and were about to get out of bed when something grabbed your attention. A crinkled receipt, like it'd been in a pocket for a day too long, lay on the nightstand. You picked it up and examined it. There were numbers written on the back in pen.

202-XXX-XXXX HBD :) - Leon Kennedy 

You broke into a grin.

[eyerisiris]

Love Bane

a/n: you hook up with leon a couple years after re4. |2| thinking about making this a series, idk, and have it end at re9??? lmk i guess. also holy shit, i haven't written in forever. not edited cause youngho.

now cross posted on ao3

Washington D.C

2006

The bed creaked and groaned. You were convinced scratches would embed in the finewood. However, there was hardly a care, not when your hair was pulled taut by rough, calloused hands. Your insides battered into you like an abused concubine. 

"Fuck—" Your jaw went slack.

Never in a million years could you imagine a stranger you'd stumbled into at the bar would be in your bed. Let alone—unbelievably experienced and evidently thorough.

You swiped loose strands of hair out of your face, peered over your shoulder, and studied the stranger. The blonde pieces that framed his face, the scarred wound on his shoulder blade, and healed lacerations on his chest and arms.

Your brows creased.

There was curiosity about how he acquired these. A part of you wanted to latch onto his eyes and find the explanation within them. But his eyes were focused on the space between you both—or lack thereof.

Leon. 

He hadn't introduced the second part of his name.

Honestly, he hadn't introduced himself at all. Your drunken state had admittedly demanded a name, to which he responded with a sip of his beer and a soft chuckle behind it. 

Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, you lustrously introduced yourself out of obligation, and Leon had followed your lead. 

You tested it now, on your tongue.

Like a retort, Leon rasped and latched tighter onto your mane. The bend shot a sharp pain of arousal down your spine. 

Despite the small shadow of a smirk, you remembered a serious glint in his eyes and body. He talked like something had worn him down, labored and intimidating. You noticed in the way he walked beside you to your apartment—like a man who had lived too much of life. Which was illogical— he looked young, late twenties at most, you considered. 

There was something about him that you couldn't quite grasp. 

"Wanna dance?"

You had pointed behind you to a group of women dancing between the stools. Leon squinted his eyes; the women had hooted in celebration. You raised your voice,  "I said," Do you want to dance!"

His voice was resonant as he spoke. "Not much of a dancer." Leon took another drink. 

"Okay…" You rocked on your heels and glanced around the bar. You debated on taking this as a rejection and moving on. You blamed the alcohol for making you this bold in approaching a stranger. Your heels turned to walk away, and you gave the man another look over, and with liquid courage, you sauntered between his parted thighs.

Leon's hand instinctively latched onto your waist, and your own brushed against his outer thigh. His brows raised in surprise, but they settled as you brought your lips to the shell of your ear. The edge of his lip curled. "Or maybe..." You whispered, "...You should fuck me tonight instead?" You feigned innocence, letting your eyes search. Your other hand grazed his arm. 

With a sound mind, this was entirely inappropriate. But the words had been spoken, and honestly, you were left deprived for these last few months—not that it was an excuse. But any woman—or person, for that matter—would be damned stupid not to try their chance at Leon.

You tilted back to gauge his reaction. His lip was still curled in amusement.

Leon's eyes narrowed. He watched you carefully and adjusted himself in his seat. You noted the hand at your waist still lingered. He surveyed you as he swallowed the remainder of his glass. His tongue ran over his bottom lip, and he set the mug down with a clank.

Leon regarded you for a moment with the tilt of his chin—his eyes roamed over you like he was removing your clothing piece by piece. He leaned back for a brief moment of thought. 

You swallowed and let out a breath, you hadn't realized you'd been holding. Your top lifted as you did so, revealing a patch of soft skin.

Leon's thumb ran across it, soft and gentle. Your eyes locked, but this time, there was a hunger to his.

The memory faded now. 

You were sober—mostly—and properly sexed by now. You silently thank your drunken self for her recklessness. You let out a strangled cry. Leon met your hips with precision and strength.  He fucked you senseless without a care. Your head bobbed back to its original position.

Leon was physically favored and well-endowed. You wondered if years of training had given him this stamina. If he fucked a stranger at a bar like this, you wondered how it would be if you were properly his. Your mind spun at the thought.

It was nearly too much—the humidity of sex, the sharp arc in your spine, the unforgiving rhythm of his hips mashing into yours. 

He could discern it too. The way your form tried to pull away. How your mouth hung open in a soft 'o', eyes squeezed as waves of sensitivity drilled you.

But his hands would only tighten and drag you back onto him. The mattress dipped beneath your weight, the springs whining softly as his rhythm presumed. For a while, he didn't slow. "Hah, ah—don't stop."

The pace stayed relentless—each motion had left your breath more ragged and uneven than the one before.

Though eventually, Leon would slow. He wouldn't let you both come undone that quickly.

He took his time and practiced revising his pelvis to elicit that sweet sound of your pleasures. He drew back slowly, exposing his length to the chilled air. Letting only the tip of his cock brush against your puckered rim. He teased you as he ran the head of his cock between your folds. You grew frustrated as Leon dipped himself back inside your heat. He played with you like some toy, or maybe you were—you didn't mind that either.

His absence left your body strangely hollow. You quickly missed how tightly he pressed against your inner walls, or the way he'd reach just enough to hit that bundle of nerves. Inpatient, you pushed back, letting your cunt swallow him inch by inch. 

"Oh fuck," A low hiss slipped through his teeth. Low in his throat, he growled and allowed his eyes to snap shut. His bottom lip was trapped between his teeth, and he audibly groaned as he matched your intention and pressed forward.

You mewled out an intelligible mantra of yeses and belligerent expletives. The feeling of being full again had your mind spinning. Your head drooped in satisfaction as he met your hips again.

Leon savored your verbal cues as you both became one. Skin to skin—heat to heat. The hand tangled in your hair loosened, and your upper body collapsed forward. The sheets clung to your damp skin. 

Leon's hand slid down your side. His fingers spread across your waist. When your hips began to sink, he coaxed them upwards again. He guided you back into position with an ease that made it clear he wasn't finished yet.

Your hands searched the mattress for balance. Arms began to tremble beneath. "I can't." You cried in between thrusts. There was that knowing twitch in your thighs. Your breaths became labored, even the feeling of him inside had become sensitive. 

But Leon would only exhale, behind you, steady and composed. There was more force behind his thrusts now. Both hands held your hips in place. You could tell by how hard the headboard vibrated the wall and the way your breast rocked back and forth roughly.

You wondered if your neighbors could hear all of this. If they knew how intricately Leon was undoing you—piece by piece.

Your core pulsed around him. There was that familiar coil again in your stomach.

Leon made no effort to hide the sounds leaving him now. Rough breaths slipped from his chest, quiet curses underneath. You felt intoxicated again,  on the drug of his moans and soft ahs—the way his breath grew louder in pitch with each thrust. Delirium overcame you, and your gasps and cries grew more clamant in volume. 

His hips snapped one last time, and then he stilled—his moan, rough and choked. You flexed around and milked every last drop. 

You found yourself collapsing on the mattress. Empty and used. Leon crumpled beside you. You watched him lazily rustle the condom off and discard it in the trash pail.  The room was quiet, the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the lull of both your breathing.

It was like this for a long moment and then another.

He sighed. "I should go." Leon began.

He sat up and began to grab his clothes from the bedside table. You still lay—thoroughly fucked and complacent. You stared up at him and brought the thin sheets across your body. 

You darted your tongue across your lips. "Okay."

You watched as he stepped into his jeans, and the scars littered across his torso disappeared as he put on his T-shirt. He began towards your door but stopped and glanced over his shoulder.

His voice hung low. "See you around." 

You didn't have a chance to respond.

Leon had already left.

You lay there for a moment and massaged your temples—for a long time, you wondered if you would ever learn the second half of his name.

Or would you end up strangers again?

[starwilliams-deactivated2025112]

eating out loser!ellie for the first time.

content: established relationship, ellie x reader, tlou universe (jackson patrol), pussy eating (e!recieving but she is usually topping. so it’s like yall switching it up), idk lol kinda subby ellie and loser

with the groaning sounds of infected unheard, you and ellie headed to the watch tower to do a little ‘scribble’ in the book log and move on. patrol was long, tiring, and tedious. “come on. we just have to get to the tower then head back. easy peasy.” you said, but ellie groaned.

“easy peasy? my legs are aching already.” ellie had taken a nasty fall on patrol not many days before. so you didn’t roll your eyes too much when she complained.

at the watch tower, you and ellie wrote your names and the date down in the little book, and she sat down on the dusty sofa. “we can wait here for a bit so you can rest. i’ll just radio maria.” you said, and ellie nodded. she took off her khaki jacket, dropping it beside her.

“do i have to get used to you being so messy?” you say with no real bite.

“yeah. you do.” ellie quipped, her eyes scanning over you. this was all new, and exciting. “babe…you’re not gonna come sit with me?”

of course you would. you shuffled across the room, taking a last look outside of the window before sitting and smiling at her. “let me see that leg of yours.” you said oh so gently. ellie nodded hesitantly, lifting up her jean leg, her calf was bruised and used, but nothing major. what you’d expect from having to do fucking parkour every other day.

“and this is from..when you ‘miscalculated distance?’”

“shut up. the jump looked doable.” ellie said; a soft smile on her lips at the way you touch her leg. she didn’t want to make you uncomfortable now, when you two were so fresh, but fuck. she wanted to kiss you.

so she did. she grabbed the back of your neck gently, pulling you towards her, you gladly accepted opening your mouth for her. your tongues slid together and you both giggled as you pushed her back onto the couch. “what’re you-“ she asked with a smile but you just shrugged, straddling her. “let me. you’re the one with a fucked up leg.” she smiled at that, you ran your hands underneath her hoodie, her little tits so sensitive under your touch. her eyes stayed trained on you, watching your own drop to her belt.

you two had fucked by now of course. actually..a bit more like that ‘making love’ shit. but you hadn’t tasted her. she would always get so excited to just fucking worship you, or lay her cunt on yours. and for days, weeks, that’s been great. but fuck. you needed your mouth on her. she looked up at you, “you don’t have to.”

“i want to.”

so you kissed her, undoing her belt while you straddled her. her jeans fell to her knees, and you helped her take them off over her ankles. and her boots. so she sat back against the couch, in socks, a hoodie and her cotton boy shorts.

her thighs were slim, pale and freckled, a scar across her thigh, her eyes were lit up from the wintery beams from the window, you looked back at the door, to make sure you had put the plank over the door handle. that’s when you saw her, looking at you like that, on top of her, her chest rose and fell quickly, “you want this?” you whisper in her ear, and she nods, her eyes looking at all of you in awe. “yeah, i do. just…be gentle.” she whispered, a pink tinge across her cheeks. you nodded. and you kissed her neck, and her cold, chapped lips, her chest again, rose and fell quicker, as you hooked your fingers in the waistband of her briefs, but she nodded desperately against you, lips still tangled. she lifted her hips and you pulled them down completely. you looked down. a patch of wavy, auburn hair covered her perfectly, she ran her fingers through your hair. her eyes completely fixed now on your mouth. she watched you step back to kneel just on the floor infront of her. you threw off your sweater, letting her see you in your bra. “oh my god…” she murmured, you used your hands to spread her legs, parting the auburn hair with two fingers, slick stringing between her folds.

“oh…fuck” ellie said immediately as you dove in. one of her legs hung over your shoulder, the other she propped up on the edge of the sofa, knee bent. her legs shook immediately. she was so warm on your tongue. slightly salty and sweaty, she tried to stop herself from rutting her lips up against you. she just fought to keep her eyes open, neck strong and faced to you. at all times. she watched you. “holy shit…babe…” she grunted and moaned as you flicked your tongue over her purple clit.

she quickly took off her hoodie, leaving her in only her tank and socks. she was sweating so much suddenly, compared to the cold bite of the outdoors.

you slid your tongue up and down her, side to side, and around her clit, and she stared. stared down at your nose pressed against the patch of soft auburn, her abs tensed as your flicked faster, you could see her stomach muscles moving and flexing, before you fluttered your eyes closed again. her hand stayed in your hair, before it flew out, it clenching into a fist as she tried to keep strong. but every fucking time you licked her, or she looked down at your face, she almost lost it.

her jaw was open, her eyebrows furrowed together.

“i can’t. im gonna fuckin’- fucking cum.”

“it’s okay…let go.” you whispered against her, sucking on her clit.

you swore you could feel it throbbing between your lips. she grunted and moaned, then let out a yelp which she quickly shuts her mouth to stop. her legs shook like fucking crazy. “oh my god!” you heard muffled against her hand. you only released her clit when you felt her hand desperately lift your chin away from her sensitivity. she just cupped your face and pulled you up into a kiss, which she breathed shakily into, trying to calm down. “since when are you so good at that…?” she asked, out of breath.

you laughed softly against her mouth, “you liked it?”

“liked it?? fucking saw jesus. or stars or whatever. neptune.”

you laughed and kissed her again, she kept her shaky arms around you, and you crawled back up to sit on her lap.

“dude, did you radio maria and tell her we’d be resting here for a bit?” ellie said anxiously and your hand flew to your mouth. oops!

“they better not have sent out a search party or some shit.” ellie laughed, looking around the dusty floor covered in her clothes to find the radio.

[eyerisiris]

Move Out

college au! and they we're roomates..

a/n: i haven't written in months dudes. enjoy tho. also not edited.

You were never a fan of Ellie Williams.

It wasn’t for a particular reason, per se, but more so an accumulation of estranged interactions with the green-eyed stranger. The stranger you had been assigned to live with months prior. Even as roommates, you’d hardly even label yourselves as "acquaintances." You'd sneer at the thought of anyone thinking the latter.

Ellie carried herself with an awkward, boyish charm—hands shoved in her pockets, always rubbing the base of her neck, and deflecting conversations with her half-hearted shrugs. It was endearing in the first few weeks; you figured it was awkward quirks, and the two of you surprisingly got along for the most part…

Until you didn’t.

There came a moment when Ellie asked if a 'friend' could come over. Dina. Whom you met sparingly in group work during economics class. 

You had barely looked up from your desk when you shrugged and murmured, 'Sure, whatever.' Because what harm could be done? Ellie didn't exactly scream social butterfly, and you couldn’t imagine the evening being anything but uneventful. 

That was until you woke up at two a.m. to muffled kissing, the rustle of sheets, and soft gasps across the room. Your chest burned with embarrassment and unrequited anger. The fact that she'd be intimate only a  mere foot away with you— of alla—people, sent you into a frenzy. 

It was disrespectful. 

Beyond it—so much so that you'd go on to confront Ellie about her nightly activities. 

Freckled-Ass-Face—you'd call her— didn't take to your words kindly, and things soured between the two of you. The awkward small talk was replaced with curt nods, side glances, or simply nothing at all. And as much as you complained about the growing number of girls that passed through your dorm, Ellie only seemed to get off on the fact that she could infuriate you.

It seemed in just a few short weeks, Ellie had gained immeasurable confidence, and you despised giving her that power.

The two of you were polar opposites. You were steadfast in books and study, while Ellie would rather be nose-diving into Space exploration videos, all while being between a girl's thighs. 

By mid-semester, you’d seen too many half-dressed classmates stumble out of your dorm with bras in hand while finding Ellie sprawled on her bed, smug and sexed. 

After two months, you tried to go about it the right way. You spoke to an RA. Who came to find out was an accomplice to the matter. Then you spoke to the higher-ups at your university, who all but numbly worked at their laptops as your cheeks grew red about your roommates ‘doings’.

But nothing changed. 

Ellie went on as if the room was hers alone, headphones always on, head bent over her stupid guitar—and that egregious journal she scribbled in right before bed, all while you stewed. Angered that dorm 1126 now had a reputation because of a freckled sex maniac.

"We need boundaries." You’d state. Arms crossed, and feet pacing across the chestnut wood. You watched Ellie carefully. She sat with her legs spread wide apart, watching you with a quiet resolve. 

You despised how well the gray short-sleeved looked on her. Displaying both her tatted sleeves for your pleasure. It’s your favorite. Cropped enough to get a glimpse of her toned figure and her arms. Selfishly enough, you wish the jorts on her waist were shorter—or may even be off completely. Of course, you'd never admit that.

Ellie exhales. "Look," She shags her hair and begins to stand. She briefly glances at her phone. "I've got shit to do, so..."

"So do I." You bite back. You stand firm in the middle of the room.

Ellie stares for a moment then saunters up to you. 

Her boots, thumping hard against the wooden floor—shit—no, maybe that was your heart? She stands before you. Ellie had you beaten by a couple of inches, but not by much; you figure the boots have granted her height. 

She eyes your frame up and down, then her lips twist into a lopsided smirk. You furrow your brows in contempt.

"Cute." She says. It's mocking. "You know..." She starts and begins to bend down. Her lips meet your ear. "I feel like a part of you is jealous." 

Ellie glances towards her bed. Her eyes coming back to yours. There’s a glint of mischief.

This cocky motherfucker must be stopped, you’re mind cursed. 

Your jaw slacks, confused about how the epitome of awkwardness is able to seduce others so easily with just her eyes. Now you feel offended. You’d nearly fallen under her spell. 

You straighten your posture and tilt your chin, “I have standards.” 

Ellie snorts at that. “What a fuckin hypocrite,” Ellie takes a step away, and you instinctively curve towards your bed. “You know what gets me about you? It's how you act so fucking innocent in all of this. You don’t think I see what you’re doing?”

Your heart stammers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

Ellie mocks with a hand hovering over her privates. “Oh, Ellie!” She moans flamboyantly. “Right there, don’t stop. Fuck!” Her lips press into a fine line. “I have ears, you know.”

Your cheeks flush a deep crimson. Sure, you had indulged in some self-pleasure, but you never thought Ellie would actually hear them. You're far too overwhelmed—your hands act on instinct and push her away. 

Your fingers splay against her chest, but Ellie’s hands are quicker, stronger. They grip your wrists, halting your motion with a firm grip. You let out a jagged breath. Your eyes meet hers, emerald and piercing.

“You done?” Her voice is firm. The room seems to hold its breath, the air thick.

Your gaze flickers to her lips, full and inviting, begging to be kissed. In a swift moment, you lean forward, your lips meeting hers with a hunger that surprises even you. You pull away. 

“Fuck—sorry—I wasn’t—” Your words stumble.

Ellie touches her lips, then glances at you. Her pupils are blown.

“Ellie,” You start to apologize, but are quickly silenced as she closes the distance and matches you. Her lips molding to yours, soft and insistent. You’re not sure what’s hotter: the sound of your breath mingling or the way Ellie hoists you onto her hips, strong fingers digging into your outer thighs.

Your fingers curl into the short auburn hair at her nape, tugging at the roots. She gasps, a sound that sends a jolt of pleasure through you, and you let your tongue explore her bottom lip and taste the sweetness of her mouth. Ellie guides you both towards her bed, your back finds the cool, patterned sheets. She hovers over you, her eyes search yours.

“You sure about this?” Her voice is low. 

The room is silent except for the sound of your ragged breaths. 

“Yeah,” You rest your elbows on the bed—voice steady. “I’m sure.” 

Ellie leans back, her eyes tracing the curve of your lips, swollen from the kiss. “Fuck…” Her voice drops with satisfaction and a low appreciative growl. 

She stands, her hands moving to the hem of her shirt, pulling it off in one fluid motion, revealing smooth, taut skin beneath. You follow her lead, stripping down to your underwear, trying to serve her a favor by pulling the garment off, your fingers fumbles with the fabric in your haste.

She stops you.

“Keep it on, baby.” Ellie kicks her pants to some corner of the room. You turn your body to the length of her bed. Ellie closes the distance between you both, her body pressing against yours as she climbs on top of you.

To your surprise, she slots between your thighs like a puzzle piece. Her hands press on either side of your bed, her muscles taut and defined.  You can't bear eye contact, and your eyes look off to the side. Ellie chuckles, and uses one hand to bring you back to her, her touch gentle. “Eyes on me.”

“Oh god,” You groan with a roll of your eyes, a mix of exasperation and amusement. “Not the dirty talk.”

Ellie makes a face at that, her brows furrowed in mock annoyance. “What’s wrong with my dirty talk?” Her right hand works its way down, fingers and thumb tracing a path from your jaw to your neck and then your chest. Her thumb sweeps over your nipple. You let out a soft moan as she massages your breast. Ellie leans in, her breath hot against your skin as she kisses the crook of your neck, her lips soft and gentle. Her hair tickles your skin. You roll your hips.

“I thought you’d like it.” She mutters against your skin, her voice a low, sultry drawl, her lips then moving to your collarbone, then lower, until she’s at your chest. She glances up at you, her eyes dark. “Do you like it?” She whispers.

You lift your head, nearly losing your mind at the sight of her. The disheveled hair, the intense eye contact as she slowly takes you into her mouth. Your head falls back onto the pillow as her tongue plays with the bud, a slow, teasing exploration that sends waves of pleasure crashing through you. Ellie lets it out with a pop, a satisfied smirk on her lips. “Guess so.”

Ellie comes back to hover over you, her hand caressing your sides. “You know,” Her voice is a low purr. “I like when you’re vocal.”

“Shut up.” You mumble as her hands slide between your thighs. “Never.” You display an amused grin—eyes sparkling with a challenge.

Ellie’s grunts at that.. You feel her fingers press into the cloth of your underwear. Slowly rubbing back and forth, a teasing, tantalizing motion that has your body aching with need. Your hand grips her forearm at your side—nails digging into her skin. Her fingers circulate and find a rhythm that has your hips arching towards her touch. 

“You’re so fucking wet…” She dips towards your neck. Kissing and sucking the skin.

You feel the throb and ache in your lower half. “Please.” You let out a groan of satisfaction as Ellie pulls away the fabric to insert a finger between your folds, her touch cool and slick against your heat. “Fuck…” You let your body roll to take more–hips arching towards her touch,.

“Easy, baby.” Ellie pecks your lips. “Eager one, huh.”

“Shut up,” You exhale. “Fuck me already.”

Ellie chuckles again, “Oh, we’ll get there.”

She sinks lower towards the cunt between your thighs. You brace yourself on your elbows, watching nervously as you chew the inside of your cheek. Ellie notices this 

“You’ve never done this before?” Her breath fans your thighs. 

You bite your lip, nodding slightly, a small, embarrassed smile playing on your lips. “With a guy, yeah…not with…” You blush, the heat spreading across your cheeks as you shake your head. 

Ellie laughs, the sound low and throaty. She litters kisses across your inner thigh. She takes hold of one of your hands, interlocking your fingers. “Just breathe,” She murmurs. “It’ll be better,” Another kiss closer to your core this time, “Promise.”

The thumb circling the back of your hand now finds its way back to your thighs, gently unfolding your legs wider. 

Her fingers hook underneath your underwear, pulling it aside with a slow, teasing need. When the cool air hits you, your skin prickles. Ellie lets out a sigh of satisfaction as your body reacts.

She fits herself between your thighs, not daring to break eye contact, her gaze intense and unyielding. Her hand loops underneath your thighs to take your hand again, her touch reassuring. Your core throbs with an ache of anticipation, but you relax your shoulders. 

She’s tender in her comfort, and when she takes you into her mouth. Her tongue flattens a long swipes between your folds. Swirling and exploring the craveses of your core. You gasp, your head hanging back as a wave of pleasure crashes  over you.

“Shit—” Your hand is quick into Ellie’s hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you hold her close. 

Ellie exhales at the tug with a low, satisfied moan, and you gasp again at the flick of her tongue. The way it laps at your essence, and suckles at the needed nerve, sending shocks of pleasure through your body. Her finger pulls apart your folds, revealing your clit.

You’re not sure when your back is flush with the bed, but it is, and your grip in Ellie’s hair is tight, as is the coil in your stomach as your hips begin to press down and onto her face. Your other hand roams at your chest. Ellie uses both palms and fingers to knead your thighs apart, her touch firm and possessive, as she allows herself to devour your center.

Ellie’s tongue darts inside of you, cool against your heat. You moan aloud as a finger inserts itself, then followed by another, stretching you apart—making you feel full. You note how much you like her slender fingers, how they feel against your walls, pleasuring you into a full stretch. “Feels so good—right there” you moan as Ellie pads a bundle of nerves, her fingers working in a fast, trained rhythm, a sensation that has your back arching and your moans becoming a chant. 

You feel her smile against you as her fingers begin to work, fast and trained, building a rhythm that has your body trembling. 

Then it’s gone, and you’re left abrupt and fingerless, your body aching with need.

“…Fuck you.” Your voice is delirious, your eyes heavy-lidded as you watch her climb out of bed. “I nearly came.” You pout.

You tilt your head back to watch Ellie through the cutout of her bed frame. She bends over and opens her dresser drawer. Your eyes trace the lines of her body, the muscles shifting beneath her skin. 

“Just stay there, I’m coming back.” Her voice is a tease. You roll your eyes, a small smile playing on your lips.

You take a moment to find the humor of it all, your eyes tracing up her side of the wall. The posters of Nirvana, Space, and Savage Starkight. Your fingers glide over polaroids, some familiar faces like Dina and Jesse, who you see on campus time to time. Your finger hesitates on one polaroid in the bunch. It was of you and Ellie, the first day you had both moved in. Your parents had long gone, and you remember Ellie's father, Joel, telling you both, "Get closer." to take the photo. Your smile was too wide, and Ellie's was still lopsided and sheepish.You hadn't realized all these months she had the image taped to her wall.

You're cut from your thoughts as Ellie climbs back into the bed, her body pressing against yours, warm. You swallow thickly at the strap adjusted to her hips. Her hands come back to your thighs, her touch firm and possessive.She glances over at the polaroid.

"I always liked that photo." She hovers over you. "Always thought you looked pretty."

You swallow at that, moving a piece of loose hair behind her ears. You liked her more than you cared to admit. 

"Still good?" Ellie gestures between you both. 

You nods  "Still good." Your hands wrap around her back, pulling her close, hating that she kept her sports bra on, wanting to feel her skin against yours. You feel lubricated silicone at your entrance, cool and slick. The tip goes past your rim, and you let out a sigh, a sound of relief and a moment of surrender.

"Relax, baby." Ellie kisses your collarbone, then your neck, her lips soft.You gasp as she begins to fill you, slow and steady, her hips moving in a rhythm that has your breath hitching and your nails digging into her back. "There we go, atta girl."

Her hips begin to move, slow and tender at first, building in intensity and speed.The room is filled with the sound of your breaths together, the stick of skin on skin. Ellie brings her hips back and snaps them into yours, firm and unforgiving. Your head throws back in a moan, your fingers nails dragging down her back, leaving red marks in their wake.. Ellie is relentless, knowing exactly where to pinpoint her hips and angle them to hit your nerves—her body a masterful instrument of pleasure.

"Ellie," Your eyes brim with tears.. "Fuck right there—don’t stop!" You start to ramble into a mantra of yes, and oh fucks, your body writhing beneath hers, your hips meeting her thrusts with a desperate need.

Ellie smiles down at you, a thin layer of sweat painting her skin. “You’re taking me so well," She murmurs, her voice a low, approving purr, a sound of satisfaction and desire as she kisses up to your lips. You part your lips to cry out.

"Fuck—you look so fucking pretty like this." Ellie squeezes her hand around your throat. 

The bed creaks into a steady rhythm, your hand pressing into the small of her back, holding her close, never wanting to let go. Your moans grow louder, more insistent, a wild, untamed sound, a symphony of pleasure.. You feel the pit of your stomach coil—tighter and tighter. "It's too much," You gasp at another thrust, your body trembling with the effort of holding on.

Your fucked core was becoming to sensitive. The way Ellie effortlessly lifts a leg atop her shoulders, makes your eyes roll. Her strength and agility was  a sight to behold. You squirm as her hand snakes between your bodies and down to your heat, her fingers finding your clit, rubbing and teasing in a rhythm that has you moving away from the sensitivity. 

“Don’t run from it.” Ellie fucks intro your harder. 

You cry out as release crashes through you, your body clenching around her. Ellie doesn’t stop—she rides your orgasm out, hips relentless, her gaze locked on yours as though nothing else exists. 

Her own climax comes moments later, her rhythm faltering into sharp, desperate thrusts before she finally collapses against your slick body. Both of you shaking and spent.

For a while, only your ragged breaths fill the room. Her head rests against your chest, hair damp, breath warm against your skin. You wrap your arms around her, holding her tight. 

“Don’t move out,” she murmurs.

[veichua]

hate-fuck with els

“you're always so fucking mean to me—” you blurt out, voice cracking as you lie pinned beneath ellie her strap buried deep inside you, hips rocking steady as she rolls her eyes, a sharp scoff escaping her lips.

“you act like you hate me—mph—” your whimper cuts through as she thrusts deeper, the strap stretching you tight, sending a jolt of pleasure pain up your spine.

“because i do.” ellie grunts, snapping her hips roughly the strap hitting deep enough to make you gasp. “you think just ‘cause i fuck you, that means i don’t hate you?” she lets out a chuckle, leaning closer, her breath hot on your neck.

“i can fuck you all day and still hate every inch of you.” your smile drops, brows furrowing as her words sting

“fuck you, ellie.” you mutter voice shaky, trying to push against her, to move, but her hands clamp down on your hips, holding you firm.

“you’re such a—shit!” another thrust cuts you off, her strap dragging against your walls, making your moan betray you, loud and needy.

“such a what?” she taunts, smirking now, all smug as she grinds into you, slow then hard, watching your face twist with pleasure. “go on, say it. call me a jerk.” her hands slide to your thighs, spreading them wider, giving her better control as she picks up the pace, each thrust a little meaner.

“you’re a jerk,” you spit, but it’s weak your voice breaking into a whimper as she hits that spot that makes your back arch. “you—fuck—you don’t have to be so cruel about it.”

“cruel?” ellie laughs. “you’re moaning like you love it, sweetheart, don’t act like you’re not into this.” she thrusts harder, the bed creaking, and you cry out, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity. “what’s that? you gonna cry now? thought you could handle me.”

“i can.” you snap, defiant despite the way your body’s trembling, your pussy clenching around her strap. “but you don’t have to—fuck—talk like you hate me.” you try to squirm away again, but her grip tightens, one hand pinning your wrist above your head, the other guiding her strap with precision.

“oh, but i do,” she says. “hate how you’re always in my face, always pushin’ my buttons, and yet—” she thrusts deep, holding it there, making you moan loud enough to echo. “you’re takin’ my strap like you’re made for it, kinda fucks with my head, y’know?”

“then stop,” you challenge, voice wavering, but your hips buck up, chasing the friction, betraying your words. “if you hate me so much, just—fuck—just leave.”

“leave?” ellie scoffs, her hand sliding to your jaw, forcing you to meet her gaze. “and miss this? nah, im good right here.”

she thrusts again, slower and easing, watching your face contort. “besides, you’re so wet and your pussy’s gripping me, baby.” her hand slides between you, fingers brushing your clit, and you scream, the sound raw and desperate. “yeah, that’s what i wanna hear, keep it loud for me.”

“ellie, please,” you beg, not even sure what you’re asking for, your body’s shaking,every thrust pushing you closer to the edge, her fingers circling your clit with just enough pressure to make you lose it.

“please what?” she teases, her voice all mock sweetness. “please fuck you harder? please make you cum? ‘cause im already doin’ that, atta girl.” she thrusts deeper holding it, her fingers speeding up, and your moans turn to sobs. “go on, tell me what you really want.”

“i—fuck—i want you to—” your words choke off as she hits that spot again, your orgasm so close you can taste it. “just—make me cum, ellie, please!” she smirks, leaning down, her lips grazing yours but not quite kissing.

“that’s more like it,” she murmurs. “but you gotta earn it, tell me you’re mine.” you hesitate, pride warring with need, but another thrust breaks you.

“im—im yours,” you gasp, voice raw, and she groans, her own arousal clear in the way her eyes darken. “good girl,” she says, and that’s it—she’s relentless, thrusting hard and fast, her fingers working your clit until you’re gone.

your orgasm crashes through you, a loud, broken wail tearing from your throat as you cum, your pussy pulsing around her strap, legs trembling, ellie doesn’t stop, working you through it with slow, deep thrusts, her fingers easing off your clit.

when you finally go limp, panting, she pulls out, quick and efficient, already grabbing her shirt from the floor. “there you go,” she says, voice back to that cold, detached tone. “don’t say i never gave you nothin’.” you’re still catching your breath, sprawled on the bed, when you mutter.

“you’re such a fucking jerk.” she smirks, tugging her shirt on, already halfway to the door. “takes one to know one,” she shoots back, and she’s gone, leaving you there, fucked out and fuming, her strap’s absence as sharp as her words.

[xjdkg89q]

[lizzyiii]

His Mother's Sister

pairing | aemond x aunt!reader word count | 4.7k words summary | aemond becomes instantly captivated by his alluring and enigmatic aunt upon her arrival in King’s Landing, his fascination growing into a consuming obsession. one night, he sneaks into her chambers intending to claim her, only to find himself ensnared and wholly claimed by her instead. tags | 18+ MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, obsession, incest, oral (f), aemond being a simp, aemond being obsessed, older woman/younger man, reader is in her early 30s a/n | haven't written smut in a while, so here's my smut piece before I continue with my normal angst and fluff

likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“I have summoned your sister to King’s Landing.”

Aemond’s attention sharpened, his gaze lingering on his mother’s face as Otto spoke. He watched as the blood seemed to drain from her cheeks, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the edge of the table.

“For what purpose?” Alicent’s voice held a strained note, attempting to maintain a composure that clearly wavered.

Aegon, lounging at the head of the table, raised his head, intrigued. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, eyes flicking between his mother and grandsire.

“Marq Ambrose commands one of the most powerful armies in the Reach,” Otto stated with an offhand shrug, his eyes giving nothing away.

“And he would serve us best by keeping that power in the Reach, where it may be summoned at need,” Alicent interjected, her tone unyielding, her eyes locked on Otto’s. There was no mistaking the tension in her voice, a chill that crept through the words.

Aemond’s brow furrowed slightly as he observed his mother. His aunt had always been something of a mystery—whispered about in brief conversations that faded when he entered the room. A few years after his birth, she had been wedded to Lord Ambrose of the Reach, her presence a vague shadow on his life, a name he had heard only in passing. And now, with her impending arrival, he sensed a thread of something forbidden—a story that remained carefully locked away, just out of reach.

Aegon chuckled, breaking the taut silence. “Let Lord Ambrose come, then, if he so wishes to make merry in our halls. He is but my uncle by marriage; surely, we ought to welcome such kin to the capital.” His gaze gleamed as he spoke, and his smile widened. “And I would be most pleased to meet my aunt, at last.”

But Aemond’s mind lingered elsewhere. His mother’s discomfort stirred his curiosity, yes—but something deeper, a whisper of anticipation he could scarcely name, took root.

A week had passed since that conversation, and now the family gathered in the throne room, awaiting Lord Ambrose’s arrival. Aegon sat with careless authority upon the Iron Throne, his gaze sharp with the amusement of expectation, while the rest of them stood beneath the shadow of the dais.

The heavy oak doors creaked open, and a knight’s voice rang out through the hall. “May I present Lord Marq Ambrose and his Lady Wife.”

A stocky figure stepped forward, his hair streaked with white and black, his girth almost comical in its fullness. Aemond cast but a cursory glance at the man, unimpressed by this swollen lord from the Reach, before his gaze shifted past him.

And then, Aemond stilled. His eye widened, his brows lifting as he fought to contain his reaction. His heart gave an unbidden jolt, nearly betraying him. If he had chanced a glance at Aegon, he would have seen his brother’s mouth agape, struck silent.

Beside Lord Ambrose stood his lady—a woman of such beauty that she seemed almost ethereal in her presence, like some creature of starlight veiled in fine silks. You could have been Lord Ambrose’s granddaughter, and yet here you were, his lawful wife. Aemond’s mind spun.

From what he understood, this aunt of his was five summers younger than his mother, yet you bore not a trace of age. Your beauty held a captivating allure, tempered with a regal composure that only added to your mystique. You appeared no older than five-and-twenty, though your presence held the calm authority of a queen.

"Lord and Lady Ambrose," Aegon declared with a broad grin as he rose from the Iron Throne and descended the dais, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Welcome."

Lord Ambrose, with a thick and lumbering step, inclined his head and spoke in a voice as stout as his frame. “We thank you for your welcome, Your Grace, and pledge our loyalty to the one true king.”

Aegon waved a dismissive hand, barely seeming to heed the man’s words. “Yes, yes, the crown is grateful for your loyalty and your… soldiers,” he said, his tone absent, as though the promise of men-at-arms meant little to him in the face of his aunt.

Then Aegon turned his attention to you, his expression shifting to one of eager charm. He stepped closer and took your hand, lifting it to his lips. "My aunt," he said, his voice thick with pleasure, “it is an honor to finally make your acquaintance.” He kissed your hand, his gaze lingering on you as he released it.

Your lips curled into a slight, knowing smile, your sharp eyes gleaming with a trace of amusement as though you found the entire display mildly amusing. “The honor is mine, my king,” you replied, your voice soft but rich, laced with an elegance and confidence that defied your role as the wife of a lesser lord.

Aemond, standing nearby, felt his pulse quicken at the sound of your voice. It was smooth, sultry, and held an unspoken promise, a warmth that washed over him and stirred something deep within. His gaze lingered on her, captivated, as if drawn to some unnameable force.

Otto cleared his throat, a subtle warning in his gaze as he stepped forward, sensing the direction of Aegon’s attentions. He inclined his head politely. “Lord Ambrose,” he greeted, then turned to the lady beside him, his tone softening. “Daughter.”

Aemond watched with surprise as she stepped away from Lord Ambrose without hesitation, her face alight with joy. “Father!” she exclaimed, her voice warm and bright. She crossed the floor with graceful steps, her skirts sweeping behind her as she embraced her father.

Otto’s usually stoic expression softened, his arms enveloping her with an affection rare to see from the Hand of the King. “How I’ve missed you,” he murmured.

Aemond, along with Aegon and Helaena, exchanged startled glances, astonished by the depth of feeling Otto revealed.

She broke away, casting a radiant smile at Otto before her gaze shifted, and she found Alicent. Aemond watched as his mother’s expression flickered, caught between awkwardness and reluctance, her shoulders tense. But his aunt moved toward her with the same confident warmth. “Sister,” she greeted, wrapping her arms around Alicent in a sincere embrace.

Alicent seemed to steel herself, managing a strained smile as she endured the hug. When they pulled apart, her expression remained stiff as she forced a cordial tone. “Sister,” she said carefully, “you look… as though no time has passed at all.”

The amusement in your eyes deepened, a subtle spark of mischief that curled your lips into a nearly smug smile. “And yet,” you replied, voice gentle but pointed, “it seems that time has left its mark on you."

The words were soft, yet they carried an edge that struck the air between them. Alicent’s face faltered, her polite mask slipping for an instant. Aemond watched the exchange, captivated by the intricate web of tensions and histories unfolding before him. He had thought his mother impervious, yet here she was, visibly discomforted under the gaze of her younger sister.

“Well,” Aegon’s voice broke in, strangely lively, “this calls for a celebration.” He clapped his hands, grinning widely. “A family supper, to welcome Lord… and Lady Ambrose to King’s Landing.” He glanced between his aunt and mother with a glint in his eye, as if relishing the simmering tension.

Aemond glanced toward his aunt, your eyes alight with a confidence that drew him in, entangled with memories he could only guess at. You seemed utterly unperturbed by the uneasy reception, holding yourself with an assurance that only deepened the fascination you stirred within him.

The supper was, in truth, a strained affair. Lord Ambrose quickly drank himself into a state of merriment, his voice growing louder with each goblet of wine he downed. He boasted endlessly of Ambrosia, their ancestral castle in the Reach, extolling the grandeur of its halls, the strength of its walls, and the might of his armies.

It was painfully clear that neither Aegon nor Otto paid him much heed; Aegon’s eyes glazed over with feigned interest, while Otto offered only the occasional nod, his mind elsewhere.

Aegon, however, deftly steered the conversation back to you at every opportunity. “But tell us, Aunt,” he said with a sly smile, “what tales do you bring from the Reach? Surely there are more interesting things than castle stones and soldiers.”

Across the table, Aemond found his brother’s persistent attempts at flirtation grating, yet he could not fault Aegon for giving you the attention. Your voice, like a song in his ear, drew him in each time you spoke, its smooth cadence addictive.

You spoke easily, your words painting scenes of courtly life in the Reach, of feasts and tournaments, your radiant smile outshining your husband’s drunken ramblings. Every eye at the table seemed drawn to you, but none with the quiet intensity of Aemond’s single, focused gaze.

He was captivated by the way you commanded the room, with a poise that cast Lord Ambrose’s bluster into the shadows. And when you looked his way, even for a fleeting moment, he felt as though the world quieted around him.

“And what of you and my mother in your younger days?” Aegon asked, a mischievous, drunken grin on his lips, his words slurring slightly as he leaned forward in his chair.

Alicent shot him a pointed look, her expression tightening as she cleared her throat. “Aegon,” she murmured, her voice gently chastising, “perhaps my sister would appreciate a moment to enjoy her meal.”

But you merely laughed, dismissing her concern with a wave of your hand. “Oh, it’s quite all right, Alicent,” you said warmly. Turning to Aegon, your eyes sparkled with a hint of nostalgia. “You see, in our younger years, your mother could barely stand to be near me.”

Alicent’s discomfort grew visible as she shifted in her seat, her voice soft but strained. “That is not true, sister.”

“Oh, but it is,” you replied with a soft, almost wistful laugh. “Not that I hold it against you, Alicent. I was terribly fond of her then; I looked up to her as one might look to a mother. But every time I tried to spend time with her, she would run off with Princess Rhaenyra, laughing at my expense.”

“Those were mere childish games,” Alicent interjected, her voice taut as she worked to maintain her composure.

“Indeed, they were,” you agreed with an unbothered smile. “Children can be so prone to envy and jealousy. You see,” your tone lightened, yet held a playful undertone as your eyes drifted back to Aegon, “I was often called the ‘Diamond of Oldtown,’ and perhaps such adoration left its mark on dear Alicent.”

The words were spoken with an air of casual jest, yet there was no mistaking the edge beneath them. Aemond watched as Alicent’s mask slipped, her cheeks flushing as she struggled to keep her voice steady. It was clear you were savoring Alicent’s discomfort, a faint glimmer of amusement lighting your eyes as they traveled slowly down the length of the table.

And then, your gaze found him.

“And what of you, dear nephew?” you inquired, your voice as smooth as wine poured in darkened halls. “I’ve heard many tales of you in the Reach.”

Aemond felt his heart thud within his chest, a warmth rising unbidden to his face as he fought to maintain his poise. “Tales of what, Aunt?” he asked, his voice low, striving for calm.

A smile curved upon your lips, one that was as inviting as it was knowing. “A great warrior, fierce and unmatched across the Seven Kingdoms. The rider of Vhagar, queen of all dragons,” you murmured, your words laced with a hint of admiration.

“That’s all, my lady,” Aemond replied softly, his gaze never wavering from yours.

And in return, you tilted your head ever so slightly, an amused glint in your eyes as though you were looking beyond the surface, into the very marrow of him. It was a gaze both alluring and unsettling, one that sent a shiver down his spine.

Before you could speak again, however, your husband’s voice cut through the charged silence. His tone was slurred and irritated, clearly displeased by the lack of attention on him as he clumsily launched into yet another tale of his supposed valor. Aemond noted how you sighed softly, a look of resignation crossing your features as you turned your gaze away from him.

But then, as though unable to resist, your eyes drifted back to Aemond. You held his gaze for a heartbeat longer than propriety allowed and, with a barely concealed smirk, you winked.

Aemond’s heart skipped a beat, his lone eye widening ever so slightly as he blinked, wondering if he had imagined it. He looked back, only to find you now watching your husband with a look of faint distaste, a grimace twisting your otherwise perfect features. It was a small, subtle gesture, but one that spoke volumes, and Aemond felt a surge of something dark and possessive stirring within him.

In that moment, he realized that this supper was not simply an introduction; it was an invitation, a challenge, and a temptation all at once.

These thoughts lingered long after, spiraling in his mind with an intensity he couldn’t quiet. Later, as he passed through the halls, he overheard a quiet murmur from a maid: Lord and Lady Ambrose had chosen to sleep in separate chambers. Aemond’s pulse quickened.

The knowledge seemed a silent invitation, a doorway left just ajar. He recalled the way you had spoken to him, your voice holding layers meant only for him. The look in your eyes—hungry, as though you sought to devour his very soul—left him craving to be consumed by that gaze again. No, this was not his imagination. He was certain of it.

And it was this certainty that drove him through the darkened halls of the Red Keep, slipping past drowsy guards, cloaked in shadow, his steps muffled by the silence of the sleeping castle.

When he reached your door, he eased it open, careful to make no sound, and stepped inside with the stealth of a shadow. Yet he halted at once, caught off guard by the sight that greeted him.

There you sat, reclining on a velvet chaise, a goblet of deep red wine in hand, eyes cast down at a leather-bound book resting in your lap. The faint candlelight painted your skin in warm gold, and your attire—a red nightgown, translucent and clinging to every curve—left little hidden, casting a spell of allure around you.

Aemond’s throat tightened as he took in the sight, the image searing itself into his mind. But the quiet gulp betrayed him, and your gaze lifted, pinning him where he stood.

“Your Highness,” you murmured, your voice laced with a seductive warmth. “What a surprise.” The knowing smile on your lips told him this was no surprise at all.

Feeling the weight of your gaze, he steeled himself, adopting the guise of confidence. “I could not find sleep, my lady,” he replied, his voice steady. “And it would appear you are in the same predicament.”

You set down your goblet and closed the book in your lap, your every movement deliberate. Rising from your seat, you let the robe slide from your shoulders, the fabric pooling at your feet. “You know,” you murmured, teasingly, “it is most improper for a man to visit a married woman at such an hour.”

Aemond took a step closer, his gaze never leaving you. “But you are my aunt—my family.”

A small, knowing laugh escaped your lips as you slipped past him, your arm brushing his, a soft touch that sent a jolt through him. He closed his eye briefly, savoring the warmth, and when he opened it again, you had moved toward the bed, your smile one of invitation.

“The Targaryens are known for their peculiar customs when it comes to family.” You glanced back at him with an amused, daring gleam in your eye. “Tell me, what is it that you desire?”

He took another step forward, drawn like a moth to flame. “I think you know what I desire.”

“And if I were to say yes,” you purred, sitting upon the edge of the bed, “what would you do?”

He moved closer, his voice low with reverence. “I would do whatever you asked of me.”

Your lips curled, eyes glinting with a barely concealed command. “Then kneel for me,” you whispered.

For a brief moment, his brow furrowed, but any hesitation vanished. He lowered himself to his knees before you, his head tilted upward, gaze reverent. “As you wish, my lady.”

You studied him, a look of satisfaction crossing your face as you gathered your skirts, parting your legs with a languid grace. Tilting your chin, you gave a single, soft nod. “Then go on, my sweet prince,” you murmured, your voice a quiet command, heavy with promise.

He hesitated for a moment, then slowly leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to your inner thigh. His hands came to rest on your hips as he began to place soft kisses along your skin, working his way higher.

When he finally reached the apex of your thighs, he paused, looking up at you, his eye hooded.

"Are you certain about this, Aunt?" Despite his words, his body language betrayed his eagerness - his breathing quickened and his fingers tightened their grip on your hips ever so slightly.

You let out a soft moan as he kissed your thighs, your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him on, "Yes I am certain, now continue before I change my mind."

With a low growl, he surged forward, burying his face between your thighs. He wasted no time in finding your sensitive bud with his tongue, flicking and circling it expertly.

One hand slid up to cup your breast through your thin nightgown, kneading the soft flesh as he continued his ministrations below. He alternated between long, slow licks and quick flicks of his tongue, gauging your reactions to find what felt best.

The other hand gripped your hip more firmly, holding you in place as he devoured you like a starving man at a feast. Wet sounds filled the room as he worked tirelessly to bring you pleasure, lost in the taste and scent of your arousal. Your back arched as he licked your cunt, a loud moan escaped your lips, "Oh gods, yes."

Your fingers tightened in his hair, as you bucked your hips against his face, seeking more of his skilled touch, "Yes, feast on me."

Spurred on by your moans and the encouragement in your voice, Aemond redoubled his efforts. He sealed his lips around your bud and sucked hard, his tongue lashing over the sensitive nub in rapid circles.

Two fingers slid deep inside your slick heat, curling to stroke along your inner walls as they thrusted in and out. The obscene wet sounds of his fingers pumping into your dripping core mingled with your increasingly desperate cries of pleasure.

Aemond could feel you tensing and shuddering beneath his touch, teetering on the brink of release. He doubled down, sucking harder and fucking you faster with his fingers, determined to push you over the edge into blissful oblivion.

Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, screaming out in ecstasy as your body shook violently, juices gushing out and soaking his face, "Oh fuck! Aemond!"

You clutched at his head, grinding your cunt against his mouth as you rode out the waves of pleasure, your skin glistening with sweat, "Don't you dare stop until I tell you to!"

Feeling your body quake and spasm around his invading fingers, Aemond drank in every drop of your sweet release, lapping at your pulsing sex greedily. He prolonged your climax with relentless strokes of his tongue, coaxing out every last tremor of pleasure.

Only when your spasms subsided does he finally pull back, his chin dripping with your essence. He gazed up at you with a triumphant, almost feral glint in his eye, his own arousal straining against the confines of his breeches, "Have I pleased you, Aunt?"

"Yes, yes you have," you said breathlessly.

Without a word, he rose to his feet and began to strip off his clothes, revealing a lean, muscular physique honed by years of training. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed with blood, the tip already glistening with pre-cum.

"You have such a pretty cock, nephew," you said, taking in the sight of him, as your hand reached out for his cock.

Aemond's breath hitched as your hand wrapped around his throbbing length, his hips instinctively bucking into the touch. He watched, transfixed, as your fingers traced the ridged veins and delicate skin, marveling at how small yet firm your hand looked compared to his engorged member.

"It's yours," he rasped, his voice strained with need. "Do whatever you want with it."

He stepped closer, pressing the heavy weight of his erection against your palm, the heat of his skin seeping into your touch. Leaning down, he captured your lips in a hungry kiss, his tongue delving deep to tangle with yours as he grinded against you.

You broke the kiss, panting heavily, as you pulled him onto the bed. Then you straddled him, rubbing your dripping cunt along his cock, coating it with your juices, "I've never ridden a dragon before. Tell me, do you want me to claim you?"

Aemond's single eye blazed with lust and something deeper, darker, as he gazed up at you poised above him. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, the muscles flexing beneath his pale skin.

"Yes, Aunt," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Claim me. Make me yours."

His hands came up to grasp your hips, guiding you to position yourself over his straining cock. His head nudged at your entrance, smearing your slickness across it.

"Do it," he urged, his gaze intense and unblinking. "Take me deep."

So slowly you sank down onto his cock, letting out a loud moan as you stretched around his girth. You took him inch by delicious inch until you were fully seated on him, "Fuck, your cock was made for my cunt."

Aemond threw his head back with a guttural groan as you sheathed him completely, your tight heat enveloping his throbbing length. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking at the tender skin as he reveled in the feeling of being utterly filled in you.

"So tight," he panted against your throat.

His hands squeezed your hips, holding you steady as he began to thrust up into you, meeting each downward plunge of your own hips. The bed creaked beneath you, the sound mingling with your mingled moans of pleasure. And feeling a tinge of frustration, his hands met the top of your nightgown as he pulled hard, ripping it in half completely, making you gasp.

You rode him hard and fast, your breasts bouncing with each powerful thrust. the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, mixed with your high pitched moans, "Yes, yes, fuck me harder Aemond!"

Aemond leaned forward, sucking on your breast as if he was a babe desperately seeking milk. He suckled greedily at your breast, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak as he drew the sensitive flesh into his mouth. His hands roamed your curves possessively, one sliding down to grip your ass while the other tweaked and tugged at your neglected nipple.

He met your wild riding with equal fervor, pistoning his hips up to meet your downward thrusts. The force of his movements drove you upward, impaling you again and again on his thick cock. Your cries of ecstasy spurred him on, his own groans of pleasure growing louder and more desperate.

Suddenly, he flipped you over onto your back, looming over you with a predatory gleam in his eye. He pinned your wrists above your head, holding you captive as he pounded into you with renewed vigor, the new angle allowing him to penetrate even deeper.

You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, locking him in place as you grinded your hips upwards to match his frenzied pace. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you clung to him, urging him on, "Fuck! Right there!"

Aemond let go of your wrists, leaning down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss as he continued to ravage your cunt. He swallowed all your screams and moans, relishing in the taste and feel of you.

"Cum in me aemond! Fill me with your seed!" You screamed into his mouth as another orgasm ripped through you.

The sensation of your inner walls clenching and rippling around him sent Aemond careening over the edge. With a hoarse shout, he buried himself to the hilt and erupted, his hot seed flooding your womb in powerful jets.

"Ahh, gods," he gasped, his body shuddering with the intensity of his climax. He continued to pulse and twitch within you, ensuring every drop is deposited deep inside your welcoming heat.

As the aftershocks subsided, Aemond collapsed onto you, his weight a comforting press against your satiated form. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his breath coming in ragged pants as he struggled to regain his composure.

"That was...incredible," he murmured, his voice low and husky with satisfaction. “You are truly remarkable.”

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, reveling in the warmth of his body against yours as you both sought to catch your breath. A delicate shiver coursed through you, remnants of your shared ecstasy still fluttering within.

“There, there,” you purred softly, running your fingers through his silken hair, enjoying the feel of his softness against your skin. Aemond lay on your chest, his face buried in the crook of your neck, the intoxicating scent of you mingling with the fading heat of your shared intimacy.

Once Aemond had calmed his breathing, he lifted his head to meet your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue dancing with yours in a fervent exploration, igniting a spark that flickered between you. His hand traveled down your body, the warmth of his touch setting your skin alight.

When his hand paused on your stomach, he broke the kiss, a frown creasing his brow as curiosity flickered in his violet eye. It was well known that you had been wed to Lord Ambrose for fifteen years without bearing a child. Whispers of your barrenness had circulated through the halls of the Red Keep, and Aemond could not suppress the question that hung in the air between you.

"Is it true you are barren?" he asked, his tone laced with concern.

You regarded him with a playful smirk, the corners of your lips lifting. “No,” you murmured softly, your fingers gently caressing his long silver hair.

There was amusement in your voice, and as you laughed lightly, the sound was like music in the dimly lit chamber. “Do you truly think I had ever wished to be filled with a child by that fat cunt?”

Aemond’s single violet eye widened in surprise at your boldness. You continued, your tone shifting to one of quiet confidence. “Each time I’ve lain with him, I’ve taken moon tea the morning after.”

You leaned closer, your hand reaching out to caress his cheek with a gentle, deliberate stroke. Your fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw, igniting a spark that sent a wave of absolute pleasure down Aemond's spine. “Yet I don’t think I’d mind bearing your child.”

The very thought of your bearing his child sent shivers of exhilaration coursing through him. The idea that at this very moment, his seed might have taken root within you filled him with a sense of possessiveness that was both intoxicating and primal. In that instant, it became clear: you were his, and he was yours, bound together by an unspoken promise.

Aemond’s mind raced with possibilities. He would need to find a way to rid you of Lord Ambrose, but that task seemed deceptively simple in the face of what awaited him. Once the obstacle was removed, he would claim you as his wife, securing a future that felt destined.

You were made for him, and in his heart, he knew you had been waiting all this time—patiently, silently—for him to come to you.

HOPE YOU ENJOYED!

[thekinslayed]

A Moment's Reprieve

summary | Aemond just can't seem to get a moment alone with you, driving him to the point of madness.

pairing | aemond targaryen x wife!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI!, lil quickie, rough sex, aeggy cameo <3, slight exhibitionism, semi-public sex, not proofread :P

wordcount | 3.3k

note | hi, it's been a minute <3 feeling kinda meh about this but i hope u guys like it!

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

It was hard to fuck while wearing leather. The heat from Aemond’s body was so easily trapped in its wall, dissipating into fat droplets of sweat cascading down his back. Moving around was no easy feat either, but the momentary suffering would have to suffice. He was easily lost enough in the fire in his loins that burned hotter than the damp flush creeping up his chest. His thrusts were hasty, his grip on your exposed breasts tight as he slammed himself in and out of your core.

On better days, he would have taken the time to take you apart piece by piece, perhaps starting with his mouth on your sweet cunny, but you both hardly had time to even undress. Your skirts were carelessly rucked up to your hips, neckline haphazardly unbound just enough to free your teats, while your husband had lowered his breeches just enough to expose his hard, swollen cock before he drove into you. Your grip on his bicep was tight, while your nails dug into the bedpost with the other for support as you stood by the bed’s edge. The pulsating of your core was enough to drive him mad, the dizzying haze of desire overwhelming his wife just as it did with him. 

“H-husband, I’m so close,” you moaned in his ear, head leaned back into his chest. He must have grunted something in response, though he wasn’t sure he even heard himself, voice lost in the din of loud smacking of his trim hips against your plump arse, and your sweet melodic mewls. The rising heat in his belly let him know he was right with you, only a few thrusts behind the release that threatened to overtake him. It was easy to get lost in it all— in you, in your warm, perfect walls. So much so his thrusts turned even more desperately erratic as his body moved in its own accord, his usually alert mind hardly registering the creaking of wood and the sudden breeze into his marital chambers.

Then he heard cackling.

“Seven fucking Hells, brother!” 

Aegon stood at the threshold, one hand still on the doorknob and the other clutching his stomach as he doubled over in laughter. The younger whipped his head at the intrusion, eyes widening before shifting to cover you with his body. He heard you gasp, before scrambling to cover your exposed chest away from Aegon’s curious eyes. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Aemond barked, turning to move to storm over where the idiot stood when he caught his brother eyeing the exposed flesh of your upper thigh, but your firm hand on his wrist kept him where he was to save yourself the last bits of dignity. 

“I… ha!” the elder snorted, laughter finally dying down into low chuckles that rumbled from his chest. He exhaled a deep sigh, dramatically wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Mother sent me to call on you because court starts in five minutes and she believes the Seven Hells have cooled over when she found me ready before you, but I guess you were preoccupied, eh?” he shrugged, amethyst eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint that irked Aemond to no end. “Dear me, fucking before noon? And I thought I was oversexed.”

“Shut up before I make you,” Aemond seethed. His wife sighed, peeking over his shoulder to speak to Aegon.

“Would you give us a few moments, brother? Let Her Grace know we will be right out,” you asked softly, smiling sweetly enough to earn a tight squeeze on the hips from your dragon in warning. 

“Of course, best to, uh, finish up then,” he responded, wagging his finger mockingly before turning to leave, snickering. “Good to know I had you taught well, Aemond!”

“You fucke–”

The door slammed shut before Aemond could finish, sighing against your temple in exasperation from the ruined moment. The soft kiss on his cheek was hardly enough to make up for it, the humiliation in his chest killing whatever drive in his gut. He begrudgingly tucked his softened length back into his breeches before helping you with your laces. You turned to face him once your dress had been rightened, hugging his waist and leaning your chin against his chest. 

“Such a shame, everything was feeling so good,” you pouted up at him. Aemond grunted in agreement, head still running hot in annoyance.

Surely, the court wouldn’t be too curious if his brother strolled in with a bruise on his face. He’d been in worse shape before, what was a little marked-up cheek?

There must be some sick game the gods were playing on Aemond. They were teasing him, testing to see how long he could withhold being unable to have a moment alone with his wife before going completely mad. Court took up a better part of his afternoon, long hours of appeals and hearing whatever problems their people wished to voice. It took much of him to keep his eye forward, ignoring the heat radiating off the flesh of your arm that was warmed by the sticky air of the mid-summer sun filtering into the throne room, while you stood by your husband’s side, his nose engulfed by the flowery sweetness wafting from your hair.

Supper was just as torturous, though having you sat by his side slightly made up for it, and teasing you under the table was a good way to pass the time. Aemond’s rough fingertips crept up your skirts and took hold of your thigh, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t relish in the way you swatted his hand away in panic, cheeks growing adorably flushed. With dessert promptly served and devoured, the one-eyed prince all but jumped from his seat, your hand in tow to lead you back to the privacy of your chambers, but the deep drawl of his grandsire’s voice halted him before anything else, inviting him to the Tower to speak on a matter of the utmost discretion. He let your hand go with a scowl, helplessly watching you walk off into the direction of your apartments.

His grandsire sat him down to talk until well into the night, speaking in hushed tones of a matter of concern in the Reach. He was to fly to Oldtown to settle brewing disputes in the Hightower seat in his grandsire's stead, a task entrusted to him that required his sharp eye and his partiality to matters of politics. 

His steps were heavy on his return, his chest even heavier, and when he finally crossed the threshold of your spacious apartments, you were deep into your slumber. You snuggled up into his side of the bed, arm extending to where he should have been. When a responsibility like this would’ve once had Aemond eager to fly out at first light, he found himself unable to tear himself away from you when duty called, having found a home in your arms that sheltered him with warmth and lightness his reality was so deeply void of. 

He was gone for a sennight—a slow-passing, cruel week.  

The separation was torturous, and not a moment passed where your husband’s mind didn’t wander to his sweet wife. He’d tucked one of your handkerchiefs into his pocket before his departure, tracing the embroidered curves of your initials with his thumb when he grew agitated within Oldtown’s walls. They had given him a comfortable accommodation, a bed much too large to sleep in alone. Aemond had grown spoiled with your warmth, and with this temporary withdrawal, sleep came miserably.

At the week's end, disagreements were smoothed and hands were shaken. Aemond took to the skies, not a second too soon after the Lord Hobart thanked him for the crown’s aid, his longing for home shamelessly showing itself in the tension in his shoulders every minute he was there. Daeron would have to forgive him for not flying together as much as the younger wished, but his brother, ever the kindest out of all the dragon princes, saw him off with a nod of understanding and a firm pat on the back, whispering the promise of his own return to their family. 

Vhagar traversed the horizon at a speed unexpected for her size and age, but his old girl shared her rider’s wish for home. They cleared the distance in a day, and the returning prince was greeted by Ser Criston and a wheelhouse that would take him back to his home, to you.

But the gods wouldn’t grant Aemond reprieve that easily. 

The streets bustled with life as the carriage rolled through the cobbled streets. He had returned just in time for his father’s nameday, a week-long celebration for the ailing king that called for the grandest celebration, with music, wine, and dancing for guests hailing from all over the realm. Aemond watched through the thin slits of the carriage— faces passing in a blur, voices of every pitch overlapping the other. His brow furrowed in perplexion when they took a sudden turn, an unexpected route that led him away from the hill leading to the Keep, but right to the middle of the celebrations— the melee.

“Queen’s orders, my prince,” Cole explained, standing stoically in front of the brooding prince. “She wished to have you join the celebrations as soon as you returned, have the family all present in front of the people.”

Aemond grumbled under his breath all the way up the steps to the royal box, plopping exhaustedly into his seat beside Aegon. The elder patted him hard on the back, adding to his aggravation, clearly oblivious to his dampened mood. “Good to have you here in time to join us, brother, Reyne’s just about to fuck Tarly up,” he cackled, taking a big swig of his wine. 

“A change of clothes first would have been nice,” Aemond huffed, ignoring the battling knights as he looked around for his wife. He twisted around his seat in confusion at the absent sight of you, earning a look from his grandsire that had him uncharacteristically slumping in his seat.

“She’s with Helaena,” Aegon said, whose eyes stayed glued to the violent display before them. “Orwyle said it was ill luck for pregnant women to look upon violence or whatever he was on about. Your wife’s keeping her company.”

Aemond sighed defeatedly, his chest twinging with annoyance. Of fucking course. Everything seemed to be working against his wishes, toying with his already short patience. Gods be damned, they would know better to keep a man like him away from his wife. Perhaps this made him seem like an addict, no better than a drunk stuck to his bottle or a pervert to a whore, but he was well past the point of denying it. You were a part of him, whether either of you could help it or not.

He turned to his mother, who sat frowning with a hand half-covering her face as she watched on, muttering some half-excuse of wanting to freshen up and be rid of the smell of dragon on his skin before enjoying the festivities. The queen granted him leave with the ghost of a quirk on her lips and a knowing look, waving him off dismissively with a ringed hand.

He all but dashed the way back to the Keep, strides large and booming through the halls back to Maegor’s Holdfast. His pulse thumped heavily in his ears, his chest sparked with a renewed lightness with every step closer. Aemond found you in his sister’s apartments, sat on the settee as you embroidered. 

Your head shot up as the door swung open, eyes brightening like a starry night when they landed on him. “Aemond!” you gasped, promptly jumping up from your seat and into his arms. With how tight your arms wound around his neck, it was clear his dearest wife was just as tortured as he. 

Aemond nuzzled his nose into your hair, breathing in the sweet scent of your skin he had missed dearly. With you back in his arms, right where you belonged, everything felt warm. He felt near bursting at the seams, his body immediately responding to the heat of your body pressed against his. His lips found yours on instinct, hungrily devouring the sweet taste he’d grown starved for. Large, calloused hands wandered on their own, finding purchase on your rear with a tight squeeze. It made you whine, pulling away in haste to glance at a sleeping Helaena.  Her third pregnancy often had her weary, as she was now, laid on her bed, with the twins tucked on either side as they slept through the peaceful haze of the late afternoon.

“Come,” your husband ordered, grasping your wrist to pull you out of the room. The growing fire in his loins left him too impatient to lead you up another flight of stairs where your apartments were, urgency nagging at him to hasten lest someone called for him to return to the melee. He led you with quick steps to the end of the hall, in a quiet alcove where he pressed you against the wall, caged between his arms.

His mouth devoured yours, tongue slithering into the warm cavern and dancing with your own. It soon descended onto the length of your perfumed neck, nipping and biting at the spots that pulled deep, pleasant sighs. Your hands gripped his doublet, subtly pushing him away as you called his name.

“Husband, h-here?” you asked, mewling as he sucked on a particularly sensitive spot below your jaw. You were right, this wasn't exactly an ideal location for your reunion, but he was pressed for time, and having to wait to have you until nightfall would drive him to insanity.

“There’s not one soul around, dearest,” he said into your skin, parting with a kiss on the fresh mark. With the inhabitants of the Keep all away at the tournaments, the halls were empty enough, save for the occasional passing servant and the knight standing guard outside Helaena’s door. With the near ravenous state Aemond was in, he could give less fucks who could witness him taking his wife. Your skirts were messily rucked up to your hips, wandering hand dipping past your smallclothes and finding your heat, already dripping in sweet arousal. “Did you miss me this much, wife? You’re already soaked,” your husband chuckled devilishly, eye darkening when you bit your lip as he teased your slit. 

You nodded at him eagerly, a whine rising from your throat when his fingertip brushed against your pearl. “You were gone for too long, husband. It has been miserable without you. When I saw Vhagar fly over the city I could have dashed to the gates myself if Helaena didn’t need me,” you pouted. His heart swelled at your sweetness, peppering adoring kisses onto your hairline as you pulled him in even closer.

“I have been tormented just the same, my love. Every day that passed, you were all I thought about,” he whispered. “No one will keep me away from you now, sweet girl, I promise you.” 

Somewhere in the frenzy of tongue and spit, your smallclothes fell to the stone floor and his breeches were aptly unlaced. Your smaller, dainty hand wrapped around his hardened length, stroking his leaking cock. Gods, it was pathetic how he could come from your slightest touch. He grasped your wrist to stop you, gulping as he continued to twitch in your hold.

“Wait,” he huffed. The need possessed him with a primal urge, prompting him to grab hold of both of your thighs to lift you off your feet. With you pressed against the wall and holding onto his shoulders for dear life, Aemond sunk you onto his cock, down onto the hilt. There was little time to savor the subtle pulsating of your walls, his hips taking on a steady pace from the start. “Fucking... finally,” he grunted.

You bounced in his firm hold, lower back rubbing against the rough stone, but you didn’t seem to mind one bit. Quite the opposite, rather, with the way you openly moaned, your voice echoing through the dim hall. “Gods!” you whined. Your husband’s pace suddenly shifted, hips starting to slap more ferociously against yours. Any soul who would have the misfortune to walk these halls at this very moment would hear you from the opposite end from the resounding rhythm of skin against skin.

“There are no gods here, wife, just you and I,” Aemond growled against your ear, before biting down on your shoulder, making you squeal even louder.

“I– mmph! Ah, Aem–” Any semblance of coherence on your usually pretty head dissipated in a heady jumble. It made your husband smirk, despite the heat starting to tingle in the back of his neck.

“Something to say, my love? Or have I already fucked you into a loose whore, hm?” he taunted, chuckling under his breath when you merely whined in response. He was starting to overheat in his leathers, the sharp warmth in his nape slowly trickling down his spine to signal the start of his end. Something deep within his core made his abdomen flex, the ache in his thighs no match for the utter bliss of the warm embrace of your lovely cunt. With your legs wrapped around his trim waist, his hand raised to the back of your head, fingers wrapping around your hair to pull your forehead against his. He quickened his pace to spur you to your end first, thumb rubbing your pearl in tight circles. “Come for me, wife. I want to feel you spill around me. Go on,” he rasped, breath hot in your ear.

His wife was a moaning mess. You were never this loud, even in the privacy of your own chambers, but the separation had you desperate, heart sticky with need in a way you had never let yourself be before. He and you were both the same in this way, never too forward with what you wanted, until desire ate away at you from within and you started to lose better thinking.

With a particular harsh thrust, your release broke with a moan that Aemond was sure had echoed to the White Sword Tower. He came no second later with a lower, quieter grunt into your neck, spilling thick ropes of his warm seed into your quivering cunt.

You both stayed there for a second, breaths heavy and minds still in a cloud. Aemond placed you back onto your feet, though wobbly. He huffed amusedly, earning a warning smack on his chest as you furrowed your eyebrows playfully. His lips placed a kiss on your damp forehead, and you kissed his scarred cheek in return. For a second, you only looked at him, your flushed cheeks lifted in a smile, and it made him happy. 

An echo of clinking steel let Aemond know his time was up. He made sure your dress had been rightened and your hair smoothed before tying his breeches back up. The prince peeked to see Cole coming up the staircase, no doubt sent by his mother to take him away again. He sighed heavily, nuzzling one last time into your neck as you rubbed his back comfortingly. “You should go. Mustn’t let your mother fret,” you said softly. Your husband merely grunted in response, savoring the feeling of your fingers running through his hair. 

A clear of the throat from the knight made Aemond finally pull away, frowning despite the pleased smile on your lips as you smoothed his doublet. He parted with a kiss all-consuming, and whispers of a promise to fetch you the moment he could. 

His return to the royal box came with much reluctance, though his demeanor visibly changed. The tension was gone in his shoulders, his aura different, and his face not so grim anymore. He settled back into his seat with a deep exhale, directing his attention to the faceless lordlings swinging swords much too large for them, though his mind stayed in an alcove somewhere in the Keep. 

Beside him, Aegon yawned loudly, having grown deathly bored with the melee. Sensing the younger’s subtly brighter demeanor, he snickered under his breath. “Feeling rather refreshed now, are you?” he teased. 

Aemond’s gaze flickered to him in a glance, turning back to watch the young Bolton land the winning blow. “Hm, yes, quite.” He lifted his hand to a squire for wine, taking a small sip to quench his parched throat.

“Even without a proper change of clothes?” Aegon pushed, raising his brow mockingly. He cackled as Aemond shifted in his seat, a warning glare in his lone eye. The elder, unbothered, merely patted his brother’s knee as he shook his head. “Good for you, brother.”

[eyerisiris]

Fire and Blood (Embers of us* Special Chapter)

summary l you claim a dragon and confront your uncle. *takes place after ‘embers of us’

paring: very brief aemond x neice!reader

note: dividers by (@zaldritzosrose ) :)

not edited.

Things are dire.

And the greatest threat to your mother’s throne is your uncle.

Aemond.

His tenacity, his unyielding strength, and his relentless loyalty to his side of the bloodline has made him your most dangerous adversary.

His dragon, Vhagar, is a weapon few could hope to match. And your mother— the queen, needs more dragonriders. But there is one problem that sets you apart from your family: you’ve never ridden a dragon.

Like your uncle Aemond, you have long been teased for this. For years, the absence of a bond with a dragon was a source of mockery—something that stung in silence. Something you found comfort in with your uncle. But now, with a war at hand it is no longer a laughing matter. Your queen needs you.

But despite several harrowing attempts to claim one, you still remain dragon-less…at a point, it begins to feel futile.

You sit in the strategy chamber of Dragonstone,its ancient carved table etched with the map of Westeros. The dim candlelight underneath casts flickering shadows over the carved sigils of houses. You trace the lines of it with your eyes—north, south, the rivers, and mountains.

“At least the child is well-versed in swordsmanship,” Lord Corlys Velaryon comments, his voice steady.

Rhaenyra turns her head to him, her gaze silencing him before he can say more.

His lips press together in regret. “Perhaps I misspoke?”

You chew your lip, frustration rising within you. “My sword means nothing in this war if I cannot bring fire to my uncles and their army.” You rest your hands along the table. “What does it mean to be Targaryen if I fight on the ground and not in the skies?”

“You’re being cruel to yourself.” Baela says from across the table. Her voice is sincere, her eyes filled with compassion.

Baela’s kindness is something you’ve always admired, but it offers little comfort now.

But you can’t shake the feeling that claiming a dragon is no longer a distant dream—it’s now a necessity, and time is running out.

You’ve walked the grounds outside of Dragonstone for hours.

It had taken some effort to sneak past the guards, but you managed. You needed space, the pressure was beginning to crush you thin. Your mother’s expectations, the impending war, the sense that something terrible was looming just over the horizon.

Your feet lead you toward the cliffs beyond the castle. The air is cool, the night sky blanketed with stars. You glance toward the distant mountains, their silhouettes just visible against the dark sky. You let out a puff air and sigh. And then, something catches your eye.

A shadow— a speck in the distance, growing larger with every passing second.

You squint. Your heart quickens as you rub at your eyes.

A dragon.

As the creature draws nearer, panic rises within you. It’s heading straight for you, its wings beating the air with terrifying force. You turn and run, your feet pounding the earth as fast as they can carry you.

The sound of heavy wings flaps louder behind you, accompanied by the dragon’s screech.

A blast of fire scorches the ground beside you, and you bank to the left just in time to avoid its flames. The scent of smoke fills your lungs as you sprint, your chest burning with the effort. But you can’t outrun it.

The dragon barrels its head into your back, sending you sprawling forward onto the ground. You feel the earth slam against your face, grass and dirt scratching at your cheeks and clinging to your lashes. You roll onto your back just in time to see the massive creature descending upon you.

Its talons encircle you, its black-scaled legs pinning you to the ground. The beast hovers over you, its body vast and dark, like an endless shadow. Its nostrils flare as it sniffs at your face, its hot breath washing over you. It bares its teeth, a low growl rumbling from its throat. You brace yourself as it screeches, the deafening sound reverberating through your body.

When the sound finally fades, you dare to look up at the creature. Its talons dig deeper into the ground around you, its eyes glowing with a fierce intelligence. You can see the orange hue of fire gathering in its throat.

This is the end, you think. And you haven’t even had the chance to fight for your queen. It’s tragic and ultimately pathetic. You dreamed of an honorable death—in battle on dragon back. Much like your great aunt.

Something inside you shifts. Instead of surrendering to fear, rage boils within you. You rise up as much as you can, staring directly into the dragon’s eyes, and scream—not out of fear, but fury.

The scream is raw and guttural. Filled with ureteral frustration and defiance. And for a moment, it feels as though the dragon is screaming with you. Both of you locked in a primal exchange.

And then, the dragon stills. And your chest heaves, catching your breath.

There’s a long pause. You and the dragon stare at one another, breathing heavily, an awkward tension hanging in the air. Your heart pounds as you size each other up, the beast’s eyes narrowing as if considering what to do with you.

Slowly, you stand, your legs shaky beneath you. You swipe the dirt from your clothes, your eyes never leaving the dragon’s. There is still fire in its gaze, but it doesn’t strike.

“Ao henujagon issa,” You say, your voice rough with exhaustion. You nearly killed me.

The dragon growls, a deep, guttural sound that rumbles through the earth. It snorts, nudging your stomach with its massive head.

You push back instinctively, your hand pressing against its snout. The dragon snaps in retaliation, its teeth flashing in the moonlight, but you hold your ground, your eyes never leaving it. “Lykirī,” you command, your voice taut. Calm.

The dragon’s eyes narrow, but it listens. Slowly, the tension drains from its massive form, and it lowers its head enough for you to touch it.

Tentatively, you raise your hand and place it on its snout, feeling the heat radiating through the rough black scales. The connection is fragile but present. There’s an understanding between you now, one built on fire and blood.

You now realize what dragon you face—The Cannibal, the wildest, most feared dragon of them all. Unclaimed. Untamed.

A part of you wishes you would run far away. No one had seen this dragon in years, many had predicted he passed long ago. And maybe that would be for the better, he was unpredictable and ferocious. And yet, the other half of you is curious about the possibility that maybe…

“Dohaeris,” You test the word on your tongue. Serve.

The Cannibal huffs in response, as if contemplating the word. There’s a flicker of defiance in its eyes—this is no ordinary dragon, no creature easily bent to the will of man. But something in your voice, in your presence, seems to reach it.

You meet its gaze, refusing to back down. You lick at your lips. “Dohaeris,” you repeat, your voice stronger.

Cannibal lowers its head slightly, allowing you to run your fingers along the rough, black scales of its snout. He lets out a long breath, his body shifting as if in acknowledgment. Acceptance.

You let your lips curl into a smile.

Over the following days, the queen has built an army of new dragonriders—bastards, they call them. Three of them. Three men. They were fearless, driven by the fire in their veins and the promise of glory.

And you—you became the fourth. The only woman among the bastards.

The word that once boiled your blood. You and your brothers were always ridiculed for not having the Targaryen silver hair. But, unlike your twin brother who worries about his legitimacy as heir— you now wear it as a badge of defiance.

After all, you had claimed a dragon—the wildest and most dangerous of them all.

Cannibal stood with you among the others as equals, a new fearsome weapon in the queen’s arsenal. But even with your newfound strength, the threat of Aemond loomed like a shadow over every decision.

Your mother had commanded Ulf White, the rider of Silverwing, to fly over King’s Landing as a show of strength. Meanwhile, you all waited near the cliffs. Your mother stands before you, her gaze sharp and expectant as she awaited Aemond’s arrival.

You watch as Silverwing flies above, wings cutting through the bright sky.

And as expected, you see him—Aemond.

He’s not far behind, flying high above, mounted on the back of Vhagar. Her massive wings blot out the heavens, and the roar of the dragon reverberates the very clouds as she descends. You take a guarded step towards Cannibal as Aemond gaze fixes on you and the rightful heir to the iron throne.

The unspoken history between you clings to the air. Now, standing on opposite sides of this war, it feels even more dangerous than before.

But before he can make his move, your mother steps forward. Syrax, her golden dragon, looms behind her. A silent challenge vibrates in the air.

For a moment, time seems to stand still. Aemond’s eye flickers from Rhaenyra to the dragonriders assembled below. His gaze lingers on you again, longer than it should. He sees you. He sees Cannibal. And for a heartbeat, you brace yourself, thinking he might strike.

But then, without warning, Aemond pulls Vhagar away with a sharp jerk of the reins. You watch as he veers off into the distance. You hesitate, watching his flight as Vhagar’s colossal wings beat against the sky. He’s not attacking. He’s retreating.

You watch even as he turns into a small spec of black in the blue sky.

Relief threatens to wash over you. But just as you’re about to turn back toward your mother, you see it—Aemond changing course, his flight path shifting toward the distant horizon. A wave of dread settles in your chest.

He’s heading for Sharp Point.

The small village that’s loyal to your mother. A village full of innocents.

Without thinking, you climb onto Cannibal’s back, your heart racing as you urge the dragon forward. “Sōvēs!” you shout. Fly!

Cannibal surges into the sky, his wings slicing through the air with deadly grace. Your mother’s voice calls out to you from below. “Don’t!” Her words are strained with urgency. “Stop!” she cries, but you don’t listen. You can’t. Not now.

Higher and faster, Cannibal climbs through the sky, the wind biting at your face as you race toward the horizon. Fear claws at your throat, and your heart thunders with every beat as you try to close the distance between you and Aemond. You push Cannibal harder, faster, but by the time you reach Sharp Point— it’s already too late.

The village is consumed by flames.

Screams echo down below as the smallfolk flee, their homes reduced to ashes. Their lives torn apart like paper in the wind. You watch in horror as the flames devour everything in their path. The stench of burning wood and flesh fills the air, heavy and sickening. Your stomach churns as you see the bodies of those who couldn’t escape—charred and lifeless. Tears prickle your eyes.

And then, in the distance, you see him.

Aemond.

Perched atop Vhagar, watching the destruction with a chilling detachment. Vhagar’s wings beat slowly, lazily, as though the chaos beneath them is beneath her notice.

Fury ignites inside you. You push Cannibal forward, gripping the reins tightly as you close the gap between you and Aemond. He watches you approach.

“Aemond!” you shout, your voice barely cutting through the roaring wind as you fly across from him.

Vhagar lets out a screech, but Aemond steadies her with a hand. “Daor,” he commands. No.

“This is what you’ve come to do?” You yell, your voice strained as you try to be heard over the winds. “Burn innocent smallfolk? Did my queen happen to hit a nerve?”

He sneers at this.

“They are nothing,” Aemond shouts back, his voice as cold and detached as ever. “Collateral. Casualties of war.”

“You think this will make you king?” you seethe, your fury burning like wildfire in your chest. “A king that’s too emotional for the throne when he’s been bested?”

Aemond’s expression grows serious, his one eye hardening as he looks at you. “Bantis ōños issa,” he says, his voice low and filled with dangerous promise. This is only the beginning.

Like a final warning, he pulls Vhagar away. Her massive wings beating against the wind as they disappear into the sky.

…And all you can do is, watch.

[eyerisiris]

Embers of Us

summary | you plot to kill your uncle aemond and avenge your fallen brother.

paring: aemond x neice!reader

warning: kissing, p n v, very smutty oh and some angst, spoilers for s1e10

note: i haven't written smut in like a year. bare with me cus it's pretty ass.

word count: 2.8k

not edited

Gold coins fall into the rat catcher’s palm, his fingers quiver as you release the last two. The cold steel of your gaze pierces through him.

“Now leave,” you command, your voice sharp and hushed.

He nods hurriedly, retreating into the shadows from which he came. Your eyes lift to the second floor—the royal floor.

You ascend the stairs silently, each step filled with the weight of your purpose. The air feels thick, almost suffocating, as memories flood your mind—of Luke, of the war, of what was taken from your mother. The dagger beneath your cloak feels heavier with each breath.

When you reach Aemond’s door, your fingers shake as they graze the frame. Taking a sharp breath, you push it open just enough to peek inside. And there he is—Aemond Targaryen, your estranged uncle. The man that would meet his fate by the end of your dagger.

The room is bathed in the warm glow of scattered candles, their flames flickering against the stone walls. Aemond sits at a table, his back to you, his silver hair catching the light. He doesn’t turn when you slowly close the door behind you and seal the space between you.

Each step you take is measured, deliberate, as you approach. As you reach him, your hand shoots out, grabbing a fistful of his silver hair. You yank his head back sharply and raise your dagger to his throat, the cold steel pressing against his skin. He hisses a breath through his teeth, unfazed.

“Niece,” Aemond murmurs, a low, cruel chuckle rumbling from his throat.

You tighten your grip on his hair, your voice taut with fury. “Uncle.”

Aemond raises his hands, a gesture of surrender. “Easy.”

Your wrist moves to swipe across his neck and then, with a swift move, he disarms you effortlessly–your blade goes clattering to the floor.

Before you can react, he’s on his feet, facing you with your own weapon pointed at your chest. You unsheathe another dagger, stepping back, trying to create distance.

His gaze locks onto yours, a faint smirk curling his lips. “Did Rhaenyra send you to do this, or are you foolish enough to act on your own?”

“My mother—your rightful queen—” you spit, your eyes burning with rage. Aemond scoffs at the words, but you press on. “—has nothing to do with this. I came for Luke.”

Something flickers in Aemond’s expression, but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared. His face hardens, cold and controlled. He steps slowly around the chair, voice lowering but steady.

“Luke was... a casualty of war,” he says, his tone almost detached. “War does not care for innocence. I am a soldier, and soldiers do what must be done. Blood is spilled, and it claims whoever stands in its path.”

“Casualty of war?” you seethe, your voice a mix of anguish and fury. “He was just a messenger! He wasn’t a threat to you, and yet you—” Your voice cracks, your chest tightening. 

Aemond’s face hardens further, his hand drifting toward his eyepatch as if by reflex. “The war,” he snaps, “began the day I lost my eye to your brother’s blade. A debt was owed.”

Your heart pounds in your ears, your hands shaking as anger courses through you. “But his life?” you choke, your voice faltering as tears well in your eyes. “He was just a boy!” You place a hand on your chest and spit through gritted teeth. “…We had nothing to burn.”

Aemond’s gaze softens for a brief moment, the flicker of guilt in his eye is buried beneath layers of pride, but it’s there.

You steady yourself, swallowing the sob threatening to escape. With trembling hands, you tilt your chin high and raise the dagger once more, whispering, "Se iā daor." (And now, you must die.)

You plant your feet firmly and charge towards him. Aemond catches your wrist midair, but you’re ready. With your free hand, you unsheathe another hidden dagger and swipe it across his side, the blade cutting through the fabric of his clothes and into his skin. A grunt escapes his lips as he staggers back, and the two of you tumble to the ground in a fierce struggle. The cold stone presses against your bodies as you grapple, breaths heavy and ragged, hands clawing and striking.

Aemond throws a punch, but you block it just in time, your arm bracing against the blow. In the chaos of tangled limbs, your fingernails catch his face, tearing away the eyepatch.

Everything stills.

Aemond freezes, his breath hitching as your gaze falls to the scarred, hollow space where his eye once was. But instead of a void, a sapphire gleams in its place, glowing faintly in the candlelight.

For the first time in years, you see the familiar tremor that runs through him. Fractured memories of child Aemond floods your mind, the Aemond you had once comforted when no one else dared to look at him.

Your heart slows as you reach your hand out to trace the scar and the sapphire embedded in his eye socket. But just as your fingers near him, Aemond’s hand shoots out, grasping your wrist.

His grip is firm, but not harsh. He holds your hand there, inches from his face, and the tension in the air thickens, the crackling candles the only sound between you.

The memory returns again—the quiet moments after Aemond had lost his eye. When you had been the only one to ask if he was in pain. The only one to sneak past your mother and Alicent to see to him—to offer him kindness when others turned away. That boy still exists, somewhere beneath the man who hovers before you now.

Aemond’s remaining eye flickers with something unreadable. Guilt, sorrow—perhaps, buried beneath his pride. “I’m letting you live,” he murmurs. “I won’t give you or your mother the satisfaction of my death. Nor will I give my brother the pleasure of yours.”

He loosens his grip, gently releasing your wrist. The violence that once filled the room moments ago now dissipates like smoke.

You continue to lay on the cold stone floor as grief overwhelms you, your body withers as bitter tears stream down your face. Damn him. Damn him for not giving you the chance to avenge Luke.

“No,” you sob, weakly striking his chest, the blows are soft and ineffective. Aemond doesn’t stop you. “No!” you cry again, your words spilling out in a broken mantra. “No.”

Aemond watches you, his expression unreadable. But something shifts in his gaze, something softer, more fragile than before. For a fleeting moment, you think you see unshed tears glistening in his eye, but the moment passes quickly.

In an unexpected gesture, Aemond reaches down and brushes a silver strand of hair from your face. He tucks it gently behind your ear. His thumb then swipes at the wetness beneath your eyes, lingering a moment too long. His fingers ghost against your skin.

His eye lowers, tracing the curve of your lips. His thumb brushes softly across your bottom lip. You taste the faint salt from your tears. He pauses, his eye searching yours, waiting—asking without words.

More tears threaten to spill, your heart torn between bitter betrayal and the love you had buried deep within.

But agaisnt your better judgement, you allow yourself to relax.

And then his lips meet yours, soft and careful, as if there’s a possibility you’d reject him. But you won't. You exhale a quiet sigh, melting into the warmth of his touch.

The kiss holds a thousand unspoken truths. It’s not just born of passion, but of release—of grief, regret, and love. For all the war, all the bloodshed and losses, the love between you had always lingered, hidden beneath layers of denial. Now, at this moment, it rises to the surface, undeniable.

Your fingers slip into his hair, pulling gently at the roots. Aemond’s hand cups the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he deepens the kiss with quiet desperation.

For this fleeting moment, the storm outside the walls, the weight of the crown, and the shattered bonds of family fade into nothing. It is just the two of you, suspended in this moment where the war; your mother’s throne, and the blood between you are now distant echoes.

Aemond breaks away from the kiss and leans back. You watch carefully as he strips his top half bare. Your eyes roam over every inch of his chiseled form, taking in the smooth curve of his waist and the firm lines that make up his frame. Your gaze lingers on the wound of your doing. It sits right above his pelvis, off to the side.  It's not a deep cut, but it left specks of blood on his pale skin. 

Your fingers tremble as they reach for the strings of your top. Taking a shallow breath, you begin to remove your outer clothing. Aemond senses your anticipation and helps you out of your trousers. His touch sends shivers down your bare skin, as your naked form is fully revealed for his eyes to bare. 

Aemond slots himself between your legs and peppers kisses across your face, neck, chest, and abdomen. His silver hair tickling your skin as he continues downward. He slides his face in between your thighs, leaving soft kisses on either side.

He glances up at you for approval once more. Your cheeks flush and you give a quick nod before laying back down completely.

Aemond delicately parts your legs, his rough calloused hands gently brushing against the soft skin of your inner thighs. A low moan escapes your lips as his skilled fingers spread you apart. He begins to massage and tease at your bud. Your back arches in pleasure as Aemond flattens his tongue and slowly licks you up in a long, sensual strip. 

"Gods," you mutter breathlessly.

Both of your hands are in his hair now, tight and pushing him deeper into your heat.

Aemond is undoubtedly skilled. You can't help but feel a twinge of envy as you wonder if some woman from his past, maybe someone from his court, had taught him these tricks. He moans against you and a rush heat of heat glides up your body. Your eyes roll back, as he continues to devou you like you’re the last meal on earth.

You move a peice of silver out of his face—you want to see everything.

Your fingers tangle in Aemond's hair once more as waves of pleasure course through your body.

His tongue moves with expert precision, alternating between teasing flicks and long, languid strokes. Your hips buck involuntarily, pressing yourself closer to his eager mouth.

His hands grip your thighs firmly, holding you in place as he increases his pace. The room fills with the sound of your ragged breathing and muffled moans. You feel the familiar tension building deep within your belly, threatening to overflow at any moment.

Aemond reaches towards your breast, his hand massaging the mound. His fingers pinching and twisting at your hardened nipple. His tongue swirls and darts in and out of your wet heat, in perfect unison with his fingers. “Aemond.”

Just as you approach the precipice, Aemond pulls away, leaving you gasping and desperate for release. His mismatched eyes, one sapphire gem and one his familiar ocean blue, lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart race.

His lips glisten in the light with your slit.

You watch as he stands tall and wrangles himself out of his trouser. Now, completely baring himself to you as you do him. Aemond's manhood is long and thick, standing with attention and glistening with a bead of precum at the tip. You note the thick veins along his shaft. Your mouth waters at the thought of tasting him.

You chew on your lips in anticipation as Aemond brings himself back down to your level and hovers above your face. You both don’t pay any mind to your centers brushing against one another as he situates himself between your legs.  Both of you are too caught in each other’s gaze.

Instinctively, your fingers reach up again to trace the scar across his eye—the one that defines so much of who he is now. 

This time, he allows it. His face melts into your outstretched palm, eyes fluttering closed as your thumb brushes the sensitive area near the socket of his lost eye.

His hair falls like a sheer veil, cloaking the two of you. “iksā gevie” You say the words so softly it’s a mere whisper. (You’re beautiful.) 

Aemond's eye soften and he gently removes your hand from his face. 

But instead of letting go, he lifts your wrist to his lips and kisses the thin skin there. His lips linger for a moment before he lowers your hand back down to rest at your side. Aemond grabs himself between you both and positions himself at your entrance. 

You mentally and physically prepare yourself for what is about to happen, knowing it is an act of betrayal. Not only to your family, but to yourself.

Slowly, he enters you with the tip of his cock, causing a simultaneous moan from the both of you. Him from feeling the warmth of your walls and you from the pleasurable intrusion. You watch as his hips move, his skin glistening with sweat as he sinks deeper into you. You watch the intensity in his gaze as he looks down at where you both meet, his face contorted with raw desire.

Your legs spread wider when your body’s are fully flushed. The sensation of being so full and heavy of Aemond is heavenly.

You cry out in bliss as he begins to move inside you. His hips rolling out and snapping into your cunt.

The rhythm of Aemond's thrusts are deliberate and powerful, each one rolling and snapping with increasing force. You feel the tension building within you, a fire that is threatening to consume you both. Your chest bounces as he growls into the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

Your legs and hands cling around him, trying to hold on as his pace quickens. Your fingers claw into his back, leaving red marks in their wake. Aemond sucks at the salty flesh on the curve of your neck, biting down hard before meekly replacing his tongue and lips to ease the pain.

"sīr vok," he whispers into the shell of your ear in between thrusts, his voice low and rough. “se mirre syt nyke.” (So perfect, all mines)

You moan in response, unable to form coherent words as pleasure overtakes your senses. The world around you fades away as Aemond continues to assault your inside, each thrust bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

Aemond reaches a certain depth inside you–hitting that one spot of nerves. A wave of pleasure washes over you and you cry out his name. Your back arches off the floor as you shake in ecstasy and gasp for air.

But Aemond doesn't slow down. He continues to fuck into you, through your orgasm, his grunts becoming more guttural and primal. He leans down to capture your lips in a fierce kiss, his tongue dancing with yours . Your hands roam over his body, feeling every ripple and muscle as he brings both of you closer to the brink.

You wrap your legs tighter around him, urging him on as he pounds into you with an urgency that matches your own. Aemond buries himself between the curve of your neck, his moans loud and desperate. The familiar coil in your stomach begins to tighten once more as Aemond relentlessly drives into you.

“ivestragī ñuha—ah” You gasp at the sensitivity between your thighs. “laesi jurnegon jemome.” (let me see you). You beckon him to remove himself from your shoulder blade. 

Aemond obliges and turns his face towards yours. You stare as his features twist with pleasure. How his body tenses as he reaches his own peak, his hips stuttering against yours as he spills himself inside you. You feel the warmth of his seed filling you to the brim. You let out a sigh of satisfaction. He nearly collapses on top of you, but manages to gather the strength to withdraw from your body. You both watch as your essence coats him and his own drips between your thighs.

He falls down beside you in exhaustion.

You miss the warmth of him inside you, the feeling of him being close to you. 

The silence stretches, only your breathing echoing in the vast emptiness of the room, both of you lost in your own thoughts. 

After what feels like an eternity, you glance over at Aemond. He lies still, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, his expression unreadable.

Without shifting your gaze from him, you say the words slowly, each syllable deliberate. “I’m going to kill you one day.”

It was a promise.

You expect a reaction—a sudden turn of his head, a flash of anger, perhaps even the feeling of his hand reaching for the dagger beside him, and driving it into your throat. But none of that comes.

Instead, Aemond remains as he is, his face serene, his eyes still locked on the ceiling as if it held all the answers. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even blink.

“I know.” His words are soft and matter a fact. 

You slowly turn your head, your eyes tracing the same path his do and stare at the ceiling above. The silence settles again, heavy and suffocating, but beneath it lies a quiet understanding– one neither of you are yet ready to confront.

[thekinslayed]

ahhh so beautiful! 🥹

[eyerisiris]

OMGGG😭😭 i love ur work so much tyty!!💗💗