#(as much as they snarl they don’t have the power to bite)

[whumpsoda]

Coming Back To Bite You, Part 4 - Caught in Her Web

Masterlist

cw: hypnosis, vampire whumper, coarse language, emeto

——————

Marshall hummed, a sort of sound of agreement. He didn’t really know what he was agreeing to, possibly the buzz in the back of his mind, but couldn’t reach enough of himself to decipher it. Not that he could really care at the moment, mind swirling in circles along with the fingers on his temples.

He was floating, gently dancing through the wind of his head like a cloud. His limbs were somehow numbed, disconnected from the rest of his body. All Marshall could feel was the flutter of his eyelids and the grunt of his voice, echoing beyond the emptiness.

Someone was speaking, and he recognized it, clawing out for it. The voice was smooth and kind, something he was unable to make sense of. His face scrunched, wriggling his body awake.

The buzzing grew clearer and clearer, and so did his mind with it. “And up, up, up.”

A gasp, sharp, slipped out from his lips, eyes falling wide. “Get-,” Marshall shot up, rushing out from his spot the vampire’s lap, brain dashing back to it’s full power. “Offa’ me!”

She rolled her eyes, as if she had the right to be irritated. “Okay, dear. No need to shout. I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to.” Putting her arms up, she held them in the typical stance to say I won’t hurt you.

“Yeah, sure. Like I’d believe you after-,” the memories slapped him across the face, and he hung his head. A flame lit in his chest, toiling around the lump in his throat. “You-,” fucker.

“You-,”

The word wasn’t coming out. It was hanging there, right in his mouth, on the tip of his tongue, he just couldn’t push it into reality. Brows furrowing, Marshall’s hands twisted over the fabric of the mittens into fists.

“You-!” He shrieked, the end sticking in his throat like a weight, heavy and sticky, unable to push any further. It was as if it was choking him, blocking air from getting around it.

And the vampire wasn’t speaking, her mouth was stuck in a firm smirk, like she was enjoying his confusion. At the same time, he heard her words.

You mustn’t call your betters by such foul names, my dear. I am your sir, and you will treat me as such.

“S- sorry. Sir.” He muttered, sheepishly.

Marshall clamped a hand over his mouth, unbridled shock plastered across his face. He just-

Apologized?

To her?

Shaking, overtaken by fury, he sipped in a quivering breath. Again, stopped by the strength of chains, he was prevented from tearing her face right off with his teeth. All he was really able to manage was a rippling snarl.

He had called her sir, sliding right over his teeth like an instinct. The bile was bubbling, growling up from his tummy.

“It’s alright, dear.” She cooed, swift and nimble motions grazing his cheeks. “Oh, surprised?” She was taunting him. He grit his teeth. “I may have done just a little bit of quality control while you were under. Just enough to keep you from calling me names, and establishing my title.”

“You-,” he spat, voice trembling. “Um, you-!” The words were piling up in his mind, vile curses, but none of it was breaking through her blockade. It just couldn’t.

“As much as you try,” she started, eyes sweet and glittery, catching him in them, “you won’t be able to get around it. I know that must be scary, but you must accept it.”

“I-,” he sputtered, before he hardened. “Let me go! Let me out!” Shrieking, he fought his very best with the restraints, diving at her.

“Goodness, me.” She scoffed, pushing herself to her feet as he slipped around the wooded flooring of her bedroom, growling and squealing demands. “You really aren’t the smartest, are you? I suppose that only makes my job easier, though, so I should be thankful.”

“Anyways, I want to have a little talk, if you would humor me.” She crouched back to a kneel, a safe distance to where he couldn’t reach her, gracefully keeping her skirt in place. “My name is Evangeline, although you may call me sir, and for the time being I will be your vampire owner.”

He scoffed. “Like hell you will.”

“Oh, you will see, dear. Once under enthrallment you’ve already proved to be very polite and willing. I’d be surprised that you were still up for grabs if you weren’t a hunter. But that didn’t last long, did it?”

Five years. Five years, which seemed like a mere blink of the eye for a vampire.

“I want you to be comfortable here, and I can assure you, if you stop fighting me and just accept it, you will be.”

“Go-!” Fuck yourself! Again, nothing came out, throat shriveling up in a second. He roared nonsense at her, wriggling helplessly at the chains.

Evangeline shook her head. “If that’s how you want to be, then I will simply have to change that.” With the clap of her hands, her sired were back to surrounding them. “Ladies, please escort him back to his enclosure. I think we’re done here.” Crouching above him, she gifted him a little, delighted smile, before pressing a finger to his forehead. Fuck. “And, a little something to keep him complacent on the way.”

When Marshall came to, tired eyelids creaking open, he was walking through the tallest, widest hallway he’d ever seen in his life. Gold encrusted candles littered the walls, keeping it lit as he followed behind the vampire’s sireds. One of them, the one in front of the group, held the end of his chain, guiding his body along on autopilot.

His feet, bare and chilly, followed along dutifully beyond his own accord. Every couple steps they tripped over each other, and a yank on his chain was the only thing to bring him back to obedience.

He needed out, and fast. She already had him calling her sir, what could she have him doing in one more session of conditioning?

Marshall didn’t even want to think about it.

He did his very best to imitate being entranced, although a part of him still was, drowsiness pulling at him like gravity. Scanning the walls for anything to aid him in an escape, he lit up.

A door, humongous and made of dark wood stood between Marshall and the outdoors, between him and freedom.

A breath in, a breath out.

A yank on the chains with all of his might took them right out from the vampire’s grip. The closest vampire, looking to him in shock, was clocked to the floor by his two fists and connecting cuffs, allowing him his very own chance at freedom.

He wasn’t exactly the fastest around, but he managed, even with a fucked up knee. That was until he reached the door, and realized no one was so much as chasing after him. His brows furrowed, slowing down as he reached for the door handle.

His legs ceased any and all movement, right then and there.

Marshall could still reach the door handle, going right for it, before his arm stopped as well, unable to move any further.

And his head-

Marshall lurched forward, gagging on an oncoming of burning bile, bitterness washing ip his throat.

“You are already proving to be a real pain in my ass, you know that?” Evangeline called, stepping up behind him.

He had to get out, he had to get out-

But-

Keeling over, grabbing at his belly, Marshall was unable to handle the searing pain splitting his head in two. What was going on? He managed a weak, shaking laugh, loud and sharp, spit flying at her high heeled boots. “Good.”

“Listen to me.” She hissed, gaze glowing with enthrallment, calling him to her gaze and trapping him in it. “You are a pet as much as you are a food source for us, for vampires as a whole. That is what you are made to be, that is what you were put on this Earth to do.”

“I’m not-,” his fight was melting, just as his mind was under her control. “Not… not a… pet…” jaw losing the fight, a dribble of drool peeked out from the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, why don’t you look at that. All of this talk of lives and futures seems to cease once you’re under even just a smidge of enthrallment, doesn’t it? That is because you are merely a lost soul requiring a vampire’s guidance. None of you are fit to live on your own, to make decisions.” She cupped his face, and the thought of biting at her vanished in an instant, in favor of her swirling bliss. “You all fight for the lives you want to keep, that only make you sad and unhappy creatures. That is why I do what I do, dear. To give you the help you need.”

“H… help…?” Innocence scrawled over his features, and he looked to her with a hopeful glint in his eye.

“Yes, my dear.”

Her fingers dipped into the delve of his temple, bringing his eye to a falling flutter. “Need… help…” he mumbled, with the last of his consciousness, before slipping his mind back to sleep.

——————

Previous

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[the-organ]

hey!

last time i checked, i was neither female nor a dog

– 🖤

(you’re an asshole then smartass)

[igbylicious]

under the new moon [yunsan x reader]

pairing: yunho x f reader x san

rating: 18+

genre: werewolf au, smut, hurt / comfort

summary: an altercation with a hunter leaves you wounded, trapped in an aggressive frenzy, but Yunho and San know exactly how to safely bring you back home to them.

wc: 2.9k

general warnings: established relationship, supernatural werewolf strength for everyone, she/her pronouns for reader, pov switches, mentions of blood & injury, reader killed a werewolf hunter in self-defense, a pinch of angst, reader is literally feral and tries to fight yunsan first, they calm you down w/ sex yay

smut warnings: dom Yunho & San, feral sub reader, rough sex, manhandling, scratching, choking, biting, breeding kink, belly bulge, they got big dicks ofc, cum inflation, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, knotting, DP (vaginal & vaginal / anal), vaginal / anal fingering, bodily fluids as lube, unprotected sex, pet names (good girl, darling)

a/n: idk yall, it’s not even themed for the mv i don’t know what happened??? maybe it was San’s fur coat maybe it was just the wolf living in my chest cavity. either way this was written in an unedited frenzy in the dark hours of the night, have fun! ( ˘ ³˘)♡

The forest is dark. Only stars shine overhead, the new moon casting no light on the trees and underbrush. Two large wolves prowl through woods, their path guided by the thick, metallic scent of blood.

The forest is quiet. Even during a new moon, its wildlife knows better than to cross the two predators. Even when unable to tap into the full height of their powers, they are dangerous.

Even more so when they are agitated with anger — and worry.

Yunho sniffs at the blood streaked over the bark of a felled tree. It’s still fresh. It’s yours.

San whines in concern, pressing his snout into Yunho’s neck to hurry him along. His black fur makes him near invisible in the cover of night, yellow eyes shining in the darkness. Usually the younger wolf is too rash, but tonight his impatience is justified. They don’t know how badly wounded you are. How much time you still have.

They found the hunter about two miles back, or what was left of him. Torn apart; a gaping hole in his abdomen opened by furious claws, his neck shredded by sharp teeth. (Deservedly so, Yunho had thought with quiet rage, when he saw a bloodied spearhead by the hunter’s side. The wooden shaft was shattered to pieces.)

Your trail leads them deeper and deeper into the forest, the night cold doing its best to penetrate Yunho’s thick silver fur. He tries to keep his head clear, to focus on finding you. He can’t afford to be distracted now, not by anger, not by fear, not by guilt.

It was a mistake, to let you go off on your own tonight. He knew the pack would be vulnerable tonight, he knew the human village nearby has been restless.

But Yunho can punish himself for his regrets later, because he also knows two other truths; the blood is still fresh, and you are strong.

They will find you. Alive. They will.

San growls in frustration when your bloody trail dissolves into a shallow river, the scent lost. The two wolves shift back into their human forms, wrapped in large fur cloaks, the ones they can take with them even when they turn. San’s pitch black, Yunho’s streaked with silver, matching the colour of their fur; and now their hair.

“She’s close,” San murmurs lowly, restless as he looks around the seemingly abandoned forest. “I can feel her.”

You are close. Closer than either of them realised.

The underbrush rustles, and San doesn’t even have the chance to blink before a shape pounces him from the shadows, snarling wildly. San curses as bloodied nails claw at his face, grabbing at his assailant to hold them at bay — to hold you at bay.

Yunho’s eyes widen at the sight of you, feral and growling; your body human, but pure primal aggression in your mind. Fur cloak tattered, skin covered in scratches and bruises, an ugly gash on your shin. The injury does nothing to slow you down, momentum and surprise on your side as you pin San to the ground.

Yunho swears under his breath, leaping forward to help San to subdue you.

Fuck. You went too deep.

Had to push yourself too hard under this new moon, dug too deep for the power you needed to survive. Your wolf has overtaken you; and she is too frenzied to recognise friend from foe. To recognise her mates.

You yowl when Yunho grabs you by the scruff, yanking you away from San. You instantly turn on Yunho, scratching at his chest while you try to bite at the hand on your neck.

“San,” he grunts, hissing at the red marks your nails leave on his skin. “Now.”

San throws himself around you, pressing against your back as he grabs your wrists and locks his arms around your waist, engulfing you in his black furs. You snap at him, teeth flashing, but Yunho’s hand slips around your throat and he forces you to face him.

“Calm. Down,” Yunho growls, his own wolf instinctively rearing up against yours.

You can’t calm down. You can’t. Something is familiar about the two figures surrounding you, their scent like an itch in your memory — but it can’t penetrate the feral haze that’s taken over your mind. Your wolf trashes against their hold, howling danger, pain searing through your injured leg.

The bleeding has stopped by now, your regenerative powers feeding off your frenzy, but no matter how you struggle, you aren’t strong enough to break free from the two men and their strangely enticing smells. The hand on your throat tightens, your growls forced down to a weak wheeze as your body sags in their hold.

“Good. Good girl.” The hand relaxes, but does not release you entirely. Slowly they go down on their knees and lower you to the mossy forest ground, keeping you propped up between them. Long fingers brush up against a scarred patch of skin in the crook of your neck, and sudden heat lashes through you at the touch, drawing a sharp moan.

The one behind you groans and presses his nose into your hair, breathing in deeply. “Yunho…” he rasps, pulling you closer into him. Familiar name. Familiar scents. Familiar touch, fire licking sharply at your core. He is naked under his furs, same as you — and the growing hardness that twitches against your lower back is not unknown to you either. “F-fuck, she’s…”

“Yeah,” Yunho murmurs, rubbing his fingers into the mating bite he left on your skin years ago. “Her body remembers who she belongs with. Come, Sannie, let’s help her mind remember too.”

He pushes your tattered furs away to drop on the ground, and San takes immediate advantage to lap at his own newly exposed mark on your shoulder. You jolt in his hold, your wolf pulled in two directions. Yunho instantly tightens his grip again when you snarl and try to bite at San again — but he can smell your other, stronger instincts flare to life. His free hand finds wet slick when it slides between your thighs, a strangled whine torn from your obstructed throat.

San whines at the soft squelch when two of Yunho’s long fingers press inside you. Relief and hunger melt together inside him. You’re safe, back in his arms. They will take care of you now.

A primal need stirs in San’s blood as his teeth scrape over your skin, suckling at his old mating bite like his tongue can tease the memories out of you. Maybe it can. Or maybe it won’t be enough — maybe he needs to fuck them out of you. He groans, feeling dizzy on your scent, and ruts harder against your backside.

You’re trembling, gasping sharply as you’re pushed deeper on Yunho’s fingers by San’s humping. Every noise only fuels San’s need to fill you up, to ram his cock into your leaking hole until his knot catches, reminding your sweet cunt how the shape of him was made to fit inside you.

“Wanna touch…” he groans, gathering your wrists in one hand so he can reach down the other. Weakly you squirm against his hold; but it’s barely a fight, your aggressive haze subdued by your two mates.

Yunho grunts at the sight; he can’t deny it, his wolf preens at your submission. An animalistic urge to claim you, like he’s mating you for the first time all over again. Blood rushes down to his cock, revelling in your whimpers when San pushes another finger into your sopping cunt alongside his.

He watches how your stomach tenses and your thighs shake, telltale signs of a budding release, and he knows damn well his hand on your throat has long become unnecessary. He does not take it away.

Instead Yunho tilts up your head and he leans in, slotting his lips over yours. He groans when your lips part willingly for him, desirous for your mates. You whine as Yunho filthily licks into your mouth, adding another finger as he and San stretch you open for them. They’ll both take you tonight. Together. It hasn’t been said, but Yunho knows that San also knows this.

Mindlessly you grind into the fingers opening you up. You pant into the heated lips pressed against yours, a greedy tongue mapping out the wet cavern of your mouth. Wanton moans spill freely, growing louder with every added finger to your twitching cunt. Every time you think this must be your limit, and every time they prove you wrong, sending your head spinning.

You’re chasing something, barely knowing what it is, but hunting it down with every buck of your hips all the same. Something familiar again, pulling taut inside your aching cunt. It pulls, pulls, tighter and sharper until finally the strings snap. You cry out a ragged yowl as electrified heat tears you asunder, convulsing in the strong arms that hold you up.

You don’t even notice those hungry lips pulling away from your mouth — not until two pairs of teeth sink deep into your shoulder and neck, into those two scarred spots that make your heart sing like it can finally come home.

With a wretched sob you clutch onto them, your hands finally released from San’s iron grip. He presses rough, reverent kisses against the broken skin of your shoulder, clumsy with urgency as he slips his fingers out of your cunt and grabs onto your waist. He barely waits for Yunho to pull his hand away, too frenzied to finally sink his cock into the wet hole where it belongs.

Yunho chuckles with dark fondness at San’s impatience, running his slick fingers through San’s hair as he presses a kiss on his matted forehead. “That’s it. Show her,” he whispers, and San whines at the encouragement, fingers digging harder into the meat of your hips.

“Y-you too,” he grunts tightly, strained as the last shreds of self-control slip through his grasp. “Our mate— she needs you too.”

Yunho hums in acknowledgement, pressing another kiss on San’s forehead before he pulls back. He takes your arms and loops them around his neck, and his cock twitches at how pliantly you let him move you, nuzzling into his chest. Still trapped in your delirious haze, but your wolf tamed and rendered docile by their command over your pleasure, willingly surrendering you to them.

You whine beautifully, your glistening folds parting to make way when Yunho guides his thick cock inside your loosened cunt. For all their efforts to stretch you open, both of them are big, and Yunho groans when he sees how your stomach bulges as he presses deeper inside. He takes San’s hand and guides it so he can feel the swell of them in your belly.

And something snaps inside of San.

He bares his teeth with a wild snarl, bucking his hips as he fucks into you recklessly. Fresh bites litter your shoulders, future bruises forming under his grip on your waist. You’re jostled by his rough thrusts, whimpering loudly as you claw at Yunho’s shoulders.

Yunho growls at the sting of your nails, meeting San’s violent pace. You’re moaning helplessly against his chest, hiccuping soft “ah ah ahh”s as they hit deep inside your needy, sopping cunt.

“Gonna fill you up,” San growls, lost in his frenzy. “Fill that belly with every drop of seed we got. Not gonna stop until we got you stuffed and bred. Won’t even know whose litter it is, won’t even matter. Ours, you’re ours.”

You whine in mindless agreement, trembling between them.

“You like that, hm? Like the thought of carrying our pups?” Yunho chuckles, though it comes out more a groan. You’re still so tight around him, San’s cock sliding against his in the snug space they made for themselves inside you. “You remember who you belong with now?”

His last question causes a hesitation in your squirmy moans, but it only spurs Yunho on harder. He can’t feel his knot begin to swell yet, so he just slams into you, drowning in every wet squelch of your leaking hole, only needing a few hard thrusts before he groans and spills inside you. Yunho hisses when San does not slow down — but his own cock does not soften. This night is far from over.

San moans at the smoother slide as he fucks Yunho’s seed deeper inside your hole. It does not take him long to follow, his hand on your stomach feeling every thrust as he buries himself into you, hips stuttering when he comes with a low growl. He pants against your shoulder, nosing at his mating bite, barely even slowing down through his release. Yunho starts moving again too, drawing fresh moans from your lips.

You feebly gurgle something against Yunho’s chest, the foggy haze in your mind consisting of nothing but white-hot pleasure now.

It’s overwhelming and yet you can’t get enough of it; addicted to the stretch, to the fullness that grows every time they cum inside you, until you can’t take more, their seed leaking out past their thick lengths and bubbling at the rim. You’re losing count, just as you’ve lost count of all the times you’ve clenched around them, milking their cocks as another orgasm was ripped from your worn-out cunt.

You can’t tell anymore where you end and where they begin, their hands and cocks melded into your body — until one hand wanders, first down to your sodden folds to slick up his fingers, then back to your ass. You whine as a thick finger eases past the tight muscle; but your body is so pliant and relaxed, melting away in the haze of pleasure, and soon the slight burn only makes you greedy for more.

San groans when you weakly press your ass back into him, two fingers now working you open, and then another. He will knot soon, he can feel it pulsing at the base of his cock; and no matter how well they prepped you, they will tear you apart if they both knot in your cunt.

But San does not mind taking your ass instead — he can feel the beautiful swell of your stomach, distended from the sheer amount of cum that you took so well from them. He did his part there, now happy to bury himself between your plump asscheeks.

You whimper when San pulls out, a sudden emptiness at the loss of him, but bite down a gasp when he pushes back inside your other hole. His cock is slick with cum, smoothly continuing his rough pace.

Yunho sighs contently at the loose and easy slide of your cunt, using this chance to fuck harder into you. He pulls you away from his chest to sit upright, and holds your chin to steady you. He tilts your head up, giving himself a good look at the blissed-out expression on your face. Nothing but empty pleasure behind your teary eyes, all your earlier fear and aggression wiped clean. Leaving yourself vulnerable and exposed between them, knowing you are safe here. That you can let it all go.

“Got one more for us, darling?” he grunts, trying to hold back a little longer. “Show us how good we make you feel?”

It feels like the words are coming to you through a thick fog, but you heed them all the same. You can’t help it, not when nimble fingers suddenly press against your clit, pinching at the swollen, oversensitive nub. Your entire body seizes up with a strangled cry, and you sob at the pure, overwhelming fullness as two knots swell up inside you, plugging both your holes.

You’re shaking, tears spilling down your cheeks as you slowly come down. Four hands move warmly over your body; rubbing your back, your shoulders, the distinct swell of your belly. One of those hands cups your cheek, lifting you up to meet a pair of shiny brown eyes.

Yunho’s eyes.

He smiles tiredly with rounded cheeks, long fingers gently caressing your jaw. Your breath catches at the recognition, staring back at him with wide eyes before you whip your head to look back. There, San gives you a slow, satisfied grin, his cheeks flushed and sweat beading on his forehead.

Relief breaks through your haze, and the sudden outpouring of emotion is too much for you to carry.

San startles when you hiccup a weak sob, and he immediately presses soothing kisses on the scattered bites he left on your shoulder. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. We’re here,” he murmurs. “We got you.”

“I know, I know” you snivel, grateful for Yunho carefully wiping away your tears. “You found me. I knew you’d find me.”

“Of course we found you,” Yunho smiles as he gently rubs his thumb over your cheekbone. “You wouldn’t let us lose you. You always find your way back to us.”

Your shoulder shake silently as their arms wrap around you, engulfing you in their body heat. You slump into their solid, strong frames and relish how they’re still connected inside you. It will take time for their knots to come down, and they fully intend to use every second of it to lavish you with tender affection. You sink away into the comfort of them, knowing you are safe and home again.

[eupheme]

— on the fence [into the fire, part ii]

part i | masterlist

cooper howard / the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 3.8k

tags: dubcon, power dynamics, vault dweller!reader, bounty hunting, pwp, restraints, sex for favors, oral (m), exhibitionism, spanking, biting, hair pulling, light choking, sub/dom elements, PiV, irradiated creampie

a/n: hi! I had a couple ideas I wanted to explore, which turned into a mini-series. I have them all mapped out & I hope to have them up for you soon! 💖

“Why don’t you show me again,” He husks, “What you’re so good at.”

Your breath catches - eyes flicking warily towards the door, but he’s quick to call you back.

“Hey, now. Eyes over here.” The Ghoul snaps, “You need to worry ‘bout me more than anyone out there.”

(Or - the Ghoul gets you out of your Vault Suit.)

You’re not sure you like the look of this town.

It sprawls wide and low across the desert, the inhabitants gathering in the shadows to escape glare of the sun. A low buzzing murmur that carries with you through the streets.

It feels suffocating, after the open miles before.

Following the dark figure of Ghoul, as you wind through the streets. Partly because you have to - that leash still pulled tight, wrapped around a fist.

Partly because you want to stick close, always.

“-don’t need you slowing me down.” The Ghoul gives the rope a yank, and you scowl, “You get hurt doing some stupid shit, and I’m leavin’ you behind.”

Your frown softens. His words still just as harsh, snarled out. But they’re a far cry from before.

Before, when you were certain he was going to hand you right back over to your Vault, in spite of how far you’ve come. Something significant passing in the journey through the desert, as he had taken what you wanted.

The taste of him has since faded, but he still lingers.

“Gotta earn your keep, too.” His head turns, eyeing you from beneath the brim of hat, “You good at anythin’?”

Unable to help it, you smirk - a brow raising. He scoffs in response, eyes narrowing.

“Anyone can be good at suckin’ cock, sweetheart.” He drawls, unimpressed, “’m not so bad at it, myself.”

Your lips part in surprise and he’s the one that grins, now.

The Ghoul picks up another bounty here. A shady, alley-way deal - keeping you close to his heels as he snatches the faded paper contact off a tattered board.

Running into another pair looking for jobs - a fresh scar splitting across the nose of a man who tries to start a conversation, before quickly retreating.

“Fuckin’ amateurs” muttered in reply to your heavy, silent judgement.

The client is tracked down for more information, after. Wasn’t hard to find the man with cage over the lower half of his face. Spikes that scream Raider with the way they jut through his clothes.

Fifty caps for the “goddamn no-good thief” that wiped out his stall in the night, taking every last bullet and can of cram. Last seen about two days ago, heading north.

Dead or alive, the client doesn’t care.

“Did you see ‘em?” The Ghoul frowns, “What they look like? Give me somethin’ to go off of.”

“Course I did,” The man huffs, “Looks just like me, don’t he? He’s my own damn brother.”

You can’t contain your own sideways look in disbelief, only to see The Ghoul returning it.

He bargains for a hundred, and gets it.

It’s hard not to wonder if he had taken your bounty this way. If your face had been scrawled across a piece of paper. Exchanged in a no-nonsense, disconnected way.

How much had your life been worth?

You never asked him. It’s something you’re not sure you even want to know.

The rest of the afternoon is spent stocking up. Caps exchanged for some more ammo. A couple bottles of watery chems, shoved deep in his bag to join the others.

A way the ease the cough that rattles him every few days. The smallest bottle kept out, wrenched open with a tight fist.

It snags at you - the way he swallows it like ambrosia the second he steps away. Gasping and groaning as if it’s air he needs to breathe.

“I’m good at medicine,” You tell his back - following again. Memories of the Vault pushing their way to the surface, “Could make that for you, if we find the stuff. Wouldn’t have to dilute it.” You almost run into him, with the way he’s gone still. The tilt of his head, a single sharp eye piercing through you under the brim of a hat.

Shifting over your shoulder. Narrowing.

His hand fists in the collar of your jumpsuit instead, hauling you down the nearest alley and into the shadows.

“Hey!” You protest, your back knocked against the wall. He cages you in, knuckles pressing into your jaw with his tight grip.

The vial is pinched between his fingers, dangled in front of your face.

“You can make this?” He confirms.

You’re able to confirm it now, never quite getting a good look before. RadAway. It would be simple, compared to some of the stuff you’d had to cook up.

“Get me to a lab, some supplies,” You nod, “And I will.”

“Huh.” He’s close - you can’t help squirming in his grip, as he considers you, “Ain’t that something.”

A second, before his grip eases - but he doesn’t let go. Your bound fists rest against his chest, but there’s no force behind them to drive him off.

“Could’ve just asked.” You huff, “You don’t have to man-handle me.”

He almost smiles - his voice coming low, with a tilt of his head.

“Don’t I?”

It flusters you, how his body presses against yours. Your heartbeat kicking up a notch, your chest brushing his with each short breath.

His thumb sweeps, ghosting against your skin. Those sunken eyes dropping to your collar, with a frown.

Another glance down the aisle, before they’re dragging over you - voice lowering.

“Need to get you out of this suit.”

His words make stiffen in his arms, a sharp inhale of anticipation.

“Not so smart, are you?” He husks, his gaze dragging from your parted lips, up to your eyes, “Runnin’ around like this. Downright advertising you’re a Vaultie, when someone’s lookin’ for you.”

He’s not wrong. He tracked you down easily enough. You nod is small, a pang of regret as his fingers drop - as he steps away.

“Come on, then. I know a place.”

The place is an old saloon, the windows blasted out over two centuries ago. The gutted insides filled out with a patched-up bar, the mended tables and scattered chairs filled with patrons. Rooms to rent lining the first - and second floor - if you were brave enough to risk the staircase.

A few stalls set up alongside a wall - a barber ran by a Mister Handy with a looping stutter, the second by another Ghoul. Her few racks are filled with a patchwork of fabric, all in stained and faded patterns.

He gestures, a tilt of his head at the racks, “Pick something out, quick like.”

You’d gape at him, if you weren’t afraid he’d change his mind. Serious about your suit - you’re quick to grab a shirt in your size with only two holes. A pair of trousers, a rip at the knee.

“This ain’t for you.” The Ghoul clarifies darkly in your ear, “This is a trigger-happy town. Don’t need to be wasting my bullets.”

You hum in agreement - undeterred by his tone. The package clutched to your chest as he hands over a couple caps. Stuck over a full two weeks now in the same suit - you’re itching for the soft cotton against the skin.

Turning to leave, but then you’re halting. A couple of the patrons look familiar, hovering just inside the door. Something about that scar-

You’re trying to recall, in the crowd of people you’ve seen today - when a hand clamps down on your shoulder. Wheeling you around as the Ghoul turns to the shop owner.

“You got a room she can borrow?” There’s a change in his tone, almost a sticky-sweet edge to his drawl.

It must work - you’re shown to what used to be an old parlor room. An array of broken chairs, a heavy wooden table. The wallpaper torn and faded, the shades of cream long stained a dull, dirty yellow.

He fills the doorway - an arm propped against the frame, and you hold your wrists out to him dutifully.

You’ve worked at the knots before, to no avail - only to scowl now, as he undoes them easily with one hand.

A moment of silence hanging then, as you give him a pointed look - rubbing at sore wrists.

“You gonna leave so I can change?” You ask, “I’ll just be a second.”

The Ghoul steps forward instead, pulling the door shut behind him. An audible click, as he thumbs at the lock.

“Oh, I don’t think so, darlin’.”

A heat flares to life in your cheeks, “You’re staying?”

“That’s right,” He sinks into an old loveseat, propped up on concrete blocks near the boarded-up window, “Can’t leave you alone in a place like this. Fuckin’ vultures would swoop right in.”

You hesitate, watching him warily as an arm slings across the back, legs stretched out against the floor. If you didn’t know better then you think it was something almost akin to concern in his tone.

Or then again - he might just want to keep your bounty to himself. You had hoped you were past that, but-

“What?” His tongue pokes at his cheek, tone taunting, “Gettin’ shy again?”

The clothes are dropped unceremoniously on the table, your Pip-Boy following. A glare, as you reach for the zipper of your Vault Suit, starting to yank it down.

“Hey, now.” His hand raises, “Slowly. Got it?”

There’s an immediate urge to resist, to test him - but then, you’re catching the look on his face.

It’s hungry, beneath the brim of his hat. You start to feel like you did in the desert, and then the alley - intrigue, and desire, and an ache from his words, all melding together.

So, you take it slow. The zipper slipping from your throat, to breasts, then belly. A roll of your shoulders as you slip your arms from the tight sleeves.

His eyes follow, lingering on each inch of bare skin that’s revealed.

“Turn around.” He growls when you reach your hips, and for him - you do.

Bending at the waist as you unlace your boots and step out of them. Back arched as you wiggle, pushing the suit down past your knees. Down soft legs that part, so you can step out of them.

A glance over your shoulder, then. His head tilts, eyes sweeping from your ankles to fix on the crux of your thighs. They press together on their own, a thrill at being on display for him.

He catches you looking, his hand lazy as it drops to his lap. A lift of his hips as he adjusts, palming himself. The other hand leaving the revolver shotgun that rests on the cushion next to him.

Crooking two fingers at you, silently beckoning you over.

You fit between thighs that inch wider. His hands curl on his lap, before he’s slowly peeling his gloves off. Warm, against your hips, biting into your skin.

“Don’t make ‘em like you above ground anymore,” He idly comments, a flatness to his tone that betrays nothing.

Soft and smooth skin. You wonder if he’s thinking about ruining it - sinking his teeth in and taking a bite. Leaving a mark that you’ll carry.

You think you’d let him.

His grip dents your skin, before his hands are dropping. A heated look thrown your way, as his face tips up to yours.

“Why don’t you show me again,” He husks, “What you’re so good at.”

Your breath catches - eyes flicking warily towards the door, but he’s quick to call you back.

“Hey, now. Eyes over here.” The Ghoul snaps, “You need to worry ‘bout me more than anyone out there.”

It sends a heat rushing through you, knowing that he’s right. You’re locked in a room with the most dangerous man in the city, and it does something to you.

A boldness, in the way you reach behind. His growled out “fuck” when you let bra loosens - joining the blue and yellow suit on the floor.

The wood is rough under your knees. Letting your hands wander, lifting his hips while your work open his belt. Drawing down the rusted zipper.

You grasp at his hips, tugging the faded fabric until he’s free. Fingers tracing over thighs, just as rough and reddened at the rest of him. It’s still not much, but it’s more of him than you’ve ever seen.

Bare beneath the stained pants, cock already thick and full where it curves against his hip. All from just watching you - perhaps a strange thing to be proud of, but fuck, you are.

Your hands curl around his knees, as your head dips. Taking more time than you did before. Lips pressing against the taut base, as a hand twists in your hair again.

“Come on and thank me, sweetheart.” He growls - urging you upward, “Gettin’ those clothes for you. Make it worth my while.”

It’s different this time. A familiarity in the way your tongue presses against the flushed head. The taste of the salt on your tongue, before your lips are part around him.

A soft groan, when he’s filling your mouth again. You’ve thought about it often since last time. Wondering when he would have you on your knees again. If he’d want more, the next.

Your heartbeat thuds between your thighs, with the shift of his hips into your mouth - chasing his pleasure.

An urge to make him feel good. Without thinking - your hand wraps around his shaft, as your head eases back.

“Easy, now.” He grits, though his eyes are fixed on how your fingers curl around him. How it pumps, squeezing him with spit-slick fingers.

Jerking him into a mouth that parts so prettily for him. Your other hand slipping against his thigh, with feather-light brushes. A short inhale before you take him deep again, your fist sliding down to the base.

The next time you pull him from mouth for a breath, drool stringing from his cock to your lips, he hears himself growling out, “Stop.”

You’re being too tender, and he finds that he can’t stand it. Should have kept you bound, like last time.

The Ghoul’s fingers bite into your chin, your mouth glossy from how you swallowed him down.

“I’m taking you this time. Know you’ve been just aching for it.” He husks, his thumb pressing against your lip. Watching your tongue peek out to taste it, “Go on. Get up, and get your ass over to that table.”

Your desire nearly eclipses everything else. Pushing on his thighs for support, crossing the three steps to the side of the table.

“No,” He follows - the gun clattering on the table top, brought over from the couch. His hands at your hips, guiding you until you’re facing the door, “Right here, sweetheart. I’ll be keepin’ watch.”

It has you remembering where you are - that you’re just supposed to be getting changed. Wondering if you should worry that you don’t care - the thought of piping up, having the risk of losing this chance and denying pleasure again has you quickly adapting.

A hand presses at the small of your back insistently, bending you over it. You can feel him against the curve of your ass, sticky against your skin.

“Cross your wrists,” His thighs shift against yours, as you fix your hands that has flattened against the tabletop.

Making it easy for him to grasp at them with one hand - stretching them further, pressing them against the wood as he kicks your thighs further apart.

Leaving you on tip-toe, arched against him.

“Look at you, listening.” He almost coos, with another lazy rock. His cock shifts, fitting between your thighs, nudging against you.

“I think-” You start, but it’s punctuated by a moan, “Think you just like tying girls up.”

“Now you’re gettin’ it,” He drawls, “Though I don’t discriminate. Theres just something ‘bout havin’ you like this-”

The Ghoul leans over you then, his grip tightening. Pinning you firmly between him and the table, unable to do more than squirm as his free hand slips between your thighs, cupping you.

It’s the first time he’s touched you like this, and your muscles string tight - trying not to buck into his palm. Against fingers that rub against your clit, pressing the sticky fabric to your skin.

“Fuck.” He rasps in your ear. Nails bite into your hips, as he tears the fabric down to your thighs.

Coming back to press against your bare cunt, fingers slipping against your folds. You’re unable to help the soft whimper as he parts you, two fingers teasing at your entrance.

“Please,” You whine, as he pets against you. Smearing your slick up to your clit again, his fingers parting just as he reaches it.

His cock presses against your leg, thick and stiff. A roll of his hips until it’s pressed snug against your cunt - jutting between your thighs just below his hand.

“Your pussy is downright leakin for me, sweetheart,” He growls, “You need it that bad?”

You whine, your head turning to look - watching how he arcs over you. That blown-wide look in his eyes again, as you nod.

There’s a split second as his hand leaves you, before it’s cracking down on the meat of your ass. You gasp in shock as you go still beneath him, the pain unexpected and swirling with your heady need.

“Say it out loud,” He barks out, “Tell me just how much.”

Your skin stings, his fingers twitch before he kneads roughly at the flesh - the burn of it akin to way you ache for him.

“I need it,” You keen, “Need your cock. Want you to fuck me-”

The words cut off - a rough hum of approval before he’s lining himself up, a hand curving to grip your hip. The other flexes around your wrist, before he’s driving himself deep with a single, powerful thrust.

Your cry is loud, this time. Low and rough, pushed from your lungs as your pussy makes room for him.

“Fucking christ, you’re tight,” He grunts, unable to help the shallow buck of his hips, “Better than my goddamn dreams.”

It makes you moan - the gritted-out admission not lost on you.

Even with how wet you are, you still feel like you’re stretched wide. An ache radiating through you, sparking to life as he inches out, only to plunge deep again. The table bites into your hips, back arching as he sets a rough rhythm.

The sharp twinge starting to fade, as you begin to accommodate him. Growing accustomed to the heavy weight of him inside you, the steady stroke against your walls that has you starting to clench down around him.

Your breathing grows shorter, faster. Face turning to bury in the curve of your shoulder, muffling the moans that are pushed from you - until his hand is leaving your hip, twisting in your hair with a sharp tug.

Forcing your head back, his grip anchoring you.

“Don’t think so, darlin’. Know you saw those eyes on you,” He’s lost the steady edge to his voice, words turning rough, “Go on, be loud.”

The Ghoul’s hips pound harder, the rough texture of his cock stroking deep. Each sending a current through you, leaving your fingers and toes flexing, aching for just a little bit more.

“Saw you come in with me. Show ‘em who you belong to.”

“Fuck!” You cry, wishing you had a name to scream. Unable to muffle your ragged breath, the moans he pulls from you.

It fills the room, melding with the slick punch of his cock into your wet and needy cunt. Better than before, because his hands are on you now - leaving your hair, blunt nails dragging down your back. Ghosting across your hip, where your skin presses into the wood.

“Touch me.” You beg, again, “Let me touch myself, I can’t-”

His hand withdraws, and you whine - backpedaling. Afraid that he’s going to pull from you, finish himself across your back or your ass for asking.

“Please. Fuck, please. Don’t, I’m so close-”

He groans at your plea through clenched teeth.

Releasing his grip on you, only for his hand to slide to the base of your throat. His other arm looping beneath you as he hauls you against him, flattening against your ribs.

Palming at a soft breast, as you’re pulled up and pressed flushed to his chest.

“Listen to you, miss manners,” He grins - teeth bared, “That’s more like it, honey.”

The bandolier cuts into your skin, the wood into your thighs. And change in the angle that has your cries growing louder as his cock pounds against a soft spot inside you. Warm breath ghosting against your neck, deep rumbling growls in your ear.

Everything fades, growing hazy. His fingers tighten, but not enough to fully choke the air from you. An implication - your own hands wrapping around his wrist to anchor yourself to him. 

You can hear him inhale you, the scrape of teeth against your skin above the heavy press of his fingers. Salvation in the way the hand splayed beneath your chest drifts lower, his voice smooth in your ear.

“This is for listening,” He husks, “You understand?”

Relentless, when his fingers press against your clit. Slick and circling until you’re grinding into his touch, meeting the hard slap of his hips.

The gasping chant of “fuck, fuckfuckfuck,  please-” turning into mindless whimpers, his rough rhythm growing sloppy.

“Goddamn, you feel good.” It’s a ragged sigh, “Feel your tight little cunt squeezing me. Gonna make a mess, sweetheart?”

It sounds muted, layering with a ringing white noise. Your nails bite into his wrists as the swiftly building tides breaks. Almost missing the sweet growl in your ear.

“Let them hear how a pretty thing like you sounds coming on a cock like mine.”

You do, with the next swirl of his rough fingers - the sound broken as he rips it from you.

Bearing down around the cock that fits so deeply into you, with each blissful pulse of your release. Forgetting about the rest - about the outside world - as your nerves alight with pleasure.

His hand drops from your throat to brace against the table. Bending you flat again as he feels you flutter and gush around his length, crushing you against the top as blunt teeth close against the pulse point of your throat, biting down.

The sounds of his own orgasm muffled - a ragged groan as his cock throbs, as he fucks himself deep into you. Tasting the salt of your skin as you yelp, clenching around him - milking him until your walls are coated with his spend.

He hadn’t meant to - but the urge to pull from you had wavered the moment he buried himself in your cunt. Abandoned completely, after feeling you come so sweetly around him. An instinct lingers even now - to enjoy the soft press of your body against his, your warmth.

You shiver as his lips brush your neck, the closest thing to an apology as you’ll get - before he’s pulling away from you, leaving you clenching and empty.

A ragged hand slips between your thighs as you prop yourself up on your elbows, catching your breath. Pleasure still radiating from your core as fingertips swipe through the come that is just starting to leak from you.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” He laughs - the sound ragged, with a flash of yellowed teeth.

“Guess this means you better start cookin’.”

The Vault Suit is left beneath the table, a crumpled up reminder that you’re happy to leave behind.

Your cheeks burn as you leave the saloon - the strangers from before cleared out. A definite wobble to your steps - something that The Ghoul certainly notices, the low tilt of his hat hiding the curling pull of his lips.

Outlining the path towards the next bounty as you find your way out, guessing where you might find a lab along the way.

And it’s only as the city starts to fade, that you realize -

He never bound your wrists again, after.

I have the brainrot for this man for sure! Thank you for stopping by & reading 💖 (and I have also been reading so much about the new chem the Ghoul takes! For plot & smut reasons - I am going with RadAway, haha)

[beenbaanbuun]

tied up w/ choi san

words - don’t ask, i don’t know

genre - smut

warnings - restraints, brat!reader, fem!bodied reader, mommy kink, dacryphiliIa, thigh riding, stomach riding, choking

(not proof read)

—————————————————

“you’re a fucking brat, you know that?” san spits through gritted teeth as he stares up at you from the mattress. if his hands weren’t tied to the bedposts maybe you’d care a lot more about the bite in his words. there’s no doubt that if his hands were free, he’s waste no time in pinning you down and fucking you into the mattress, but they’re not free, and all you can do is giggle at him.

“you’re the one that said i could tie you up and do what i wanted to you, sannie,” you bite your lip, holding back a moan. it would’ve only driven him even more insane to hear your sounds of pleasure, and as much as you’d love to hear him growl out yet another threat that won’t come to fruition, you have more to say. you swallow down the pleasure you feel as your clit grinds up against his tensed-up abs, pushing you closer and closer to your second orgasm of the night, “you can’t say things like that and then get mad when i do the thing i’ve been dreaming of for so long.”

you can’t help the little whimper that comes out when his muscles twitch in anger. it’s a more subtle sensation that when you were sitting on his thigh, pinning it down as he desperately tried to wriggle free from his restraints, but it still feels fucking heavenly. who knew that pissing him off would feel so good?

your hands rest either side of his head, making it easy enough for you to drag one over to his neck. you wrap it around, giving it a tiny squeeze. he growls, deep and guttural and perhaps if this were any other situation you’d be intimidated. but you’re in charge, and he’s tied up, and so you just smile down at him as if you haven’t a worry in the world. as if his eyes aren’t blazing with a fire so intense you’ve never seen the likes of it before. you grin wide, clearly proud of yourself and the situation you’d put your boyfriend in.

“well i’m sorry that i thought you were a good girl,” he snarls, lips pulling back like a dangerous animal. you roll your eyes and give him an exaggerated moan. again, his muscles twitch in annoyance and it feels so good; you slow your hips right down to stave off your second orgasm. you don’t want it yet. “yet you won’t fucking touch my cock,” his voice cracks and he sucks in a shuddery breath to calm himself. you watch as the aggression melts away from his expression, giving way to the desperation that lies behind it. your hips stop all together as you watch him crumble; fuck, it’s magnificent. “baby, please, what do i have to do to make you sit on my cock?”

you freeze, never having thought you’d get this far. you were more than prepared to cum a few times then give up and untie him. he’d fuck you into oblivion, releasing all his pent up anger on your already fucked out body before scooping you up into his arms and taking care of your broken form. this was a twist you never expected. you never even considered that he might be the first to fold, but as you watch him blink back his tears of frustration, you realise that it’s you that has the power right now.

you take a moment to consider your options. you could give in, sinking down onto his cock and riding him until he cums deep inside of your walls. it’s the safest option, going back to being his good little pet that responds to his commands with a snap of a finger. its what you know how to do, and whilst you’re enjoying teasing your boyfriend, maybe giving into him and giving him what he wants is the best option. you almost consider it, but then san draws in a sob and you freeze.

any semblance of frustration on his face has melted into nothing, making way for an expression you can only describe as pleading to take its place. his brows are furrowed, and his eyes are wide, the big brown irises that you love so much glazed over with tears. you tug your lip between your teeth as a few spill over his lash line, tumbling down his cheeks pathetically. he looks so pretty like this, you decide. you want to see more.

“you want me to sit on your cock?” you say, voice barely above a whisper. perhaps the shock of seeing him like this, a wet, pathetic mess beneath you, has stunned you into silence. you wouldn’t be surprised; the sadness in his eyes really is beautiful to see. san nods, a tiny whine spilling from his puffy lips. you pout at him condescendingly, in the very same way he does when you’re the one crying beneath him. it feels good. “that’s a shame, sannie, because i don’t think i’m ready to sit on your cock.”

you shift your hips experimentally, watching as he squeezes his eyes shut and sobs once again. his chest heaves as he cries, and holy fuck his abs ripple just like before, sending a bolt of electricity up your spine. you moan, and it draws a pained whimper from your boyfriend’s pout. you can’t help but let yourself grin as you grow more comfortable with this newfound power. it’s easy to see how san gets off on your submission when he looks like this beneath you.

“please,” he blathers, voice whiny and sounding almost nothing like his own. it’s music to your ears, fuelling you hips to move faster as you chase your orgasm that lies only just out of reach. you can taste it on the tip of your tongue; just a little more and you’ll be there. “please touch my cock,” god he sounds so pathetic; you almost wish for him to keep rambling, the sound of his sad little voice leading you closer and closer to the edge. “please let me cum… please,” you take in a shaky breath as that know in your stomach tightens. just a little longer and—

“please… mommy.”

the knot snaps in two and you can’t help but topple forwards, hardly managing to catch yourself before your forehead collides with san’s. it lasts a few seconds, sending your brain fuzzy as it wracks through your body. that name… fuck, you want to hear it again. you want san to chant it like a mantra, over and over until his throat is raw and you can’t cum anymore. you barely catch your breath before you sit back up and gaze down at his beautiful form.

“is that it baby?” you purr, a new found confidence taking over, “you want me to ride you? you want mommy to look after you?” you bite your lip as he nods desperately, “such a good boy, asking so politely. for that, i think you get a reward…”

[youtellmeman]

Hello ma’am 😈 I am here to request 😈 I’m thinking neteyam and reader are like enemies😡 they do not like each other okay but somewhere somehow they accidentally perform tsaheylu with each other and then they bang 😦

Yuh first request done-zo I really enjoyed writing this so i hope you like it.

Neteyam Sully x Fem!Na'vi!reader

Rated R

includes- smut, ma as a pet name, baby as a pet name, fingering, p in v, dirty talk, fem genitailia, accidental tsaheylu

In this tsaheylu is only explicitly erotic the first time around and it can be used to simply better understand what your mate is thinking/feeling.

Na'vi word translations

tiwan- love, wiya- damn, tewng- loincloth, knalu- fuck, Uvang- damn, skxwang- moron,imu’ta- bitch

italics= spoken in na'vi

Hating Neteyam, had been easy. After all it was all you'd ever known when it came to the blue boy. You’d always seen him as so, so irritating.

He always thought he knew better, better than his siblings, better than the other kids in the village, and better than you. That being eldest son to the Olo’eyktan made him so much smarter than those his age and unfortunately it seemed that trait would follow him to his grave as even now, after being accepted into the clan as an adult,he held himself to be so all knowing.

“What are you doing out here?” the voice came from behind you, his voice. “This area of the forest is dangerous, you should have someone with you.”

“Why, because I am incapable of taking care of myself?” It's a loaded question,but you can't help the way he is so quick to get under your skin. Whipping around to meet his citron eyes, raising a brow when you hear him scoff to himself.

“Why must you make everything into conflict?”

“Why must you be an imu’ta who refuses to let me live in peace.” I bite back and the air between us grows tense, eyes boring into eachothers waiting for one of us to break.

“Damn it, you are so difficult for what? I am simply looking out for you, it is dangerous, we both know this.” he huffs angrily out his nose and his tail thumbs against the ground with his growing anger.

“Have you considered that perhaps I don’t need anyone looking out for me? Especially not you, now leave me be and let me hunt in peace.” You roll your eyes and without waiting for a  response you start to walk. Slinging your bow over your shoulder as you search for a new, quiet place to hunt.

“How dare you turn your back to me!” You can hear his steps speeding up after you resulting in your pace speeding as well until he manages to catch you. His slender fingers wrapping around your wrist spinning you face him. “You dare disrespect the future-”

“Future! You said it yourself!” You cut him off hissing the words at him angrily, “You hold no authority over me Neteyam so cease this useless display of power. Power that you do not have.” You spit. And maybe if you’d been less focused on the current shouting match you were having you would’ve noticed the small hand wrapping around your queue.

“Regardless of whatever you may think I am owed respect!” He snarls back and before you can you feel a sudden rush through your system, something so new yet familiar and immediately your eyes leave Neteyams face to focus on finding what's caused this surge of energy and what you can only describe as feeling. You find it immediately, honing in the little blue hand wrapped around your queue, your queue that was currently connected to, to…

“Tuktirey!” It's Neteyams voice that cuts through the silence though you can barely hear him,you can barely hear him with the wave of shock that flows through your body clogging your ears like water.

 You can tell he's scolding her for a minute or two before she's shooed away, leaving you two alone still connected and you can feel it starting to ebb its way to the surface, the lust. Pupils blown wide as you find Neteyams eyes once more.

You can't find the words to ask why in the world Tuk would think that it’d be okay to connecther brother and yourself. All you can do is search his face and body for any sign he’s feeling what you are, and boy do you find it. Whether it be the rapid rise and fall of his chest or the tent in his tewng growing by the second. 

Opening your mouth trying to find the words but you fail once more, or really you're cut off by the feeling of lips against yours as his hand finds its way to the base of your neck holding you close while the other pulls you in by the waist. And as his hips slot themselves so perfectly against yours you try to find some sliver of restraint, a tiny ounce of strength that will let you rip yourself away from him. You come up empty handed.

Hands finding their way to his hair pulling at the roots as you press him closer, pulling a heavenly groan from his lips.You find yourself pulling him back with you until your back meets tree, pulling back for a ragged breath. 

“Holy mother.” You huff out in between breaths, Neteyam on the other hand has let his mouth wander from your jaw to neck, sucking dark purple marks onto the sensitive skin about your collar bone intermittently letting his fangs drag against the new purple markings, before coming back up.  Neteyam kisses like he wants to consume you completely, it's a mess of teeth and spit as you both battle for dominance, it’s when he bites at your bottom lip that you give up  on grasping at the reins letting him take complete control.

As your mouths clash Neteyam gets busy with his hands pulling the knot at the side of your loincloth before hoisting one of your legs up into his hip. Letting the arm that's not holding your leg slide between your bodies, finger sliding down your slick dampened lips, moving between tracing around your clit to moving downward to tease at your fluttering entrance. He does this a few times before you grow tired of his teasing. Pulling back to let your head rest on the bark of the tree.

“Quit it and do something, or are you just as incapable of pleasing a woman as you are at leaving me alo- ohh!” A surprised moan escapes your lips before you can finish the taunt.

“Wiya, you talk a lot.” The smug look that covers his face would have you rolling your eyes if you weren’t so focused on trying to keep them open enough to see anything at all. The annoying bastard had slipped in a finger while you were mouthing off, curling it to hit that spongy sweet spot within while letting his thumb rub lazy circles on your bud. “If I knew all it’d take to shut you up would be to stick a finger in you I woulda done it long ago.” He’s the one taunting now.

“Shut up you skxwang- hah- For you to think I would’ve ever let you touch me like this before. You clearly don’t know everything you claim.” You bite back best you can, and while you know your words hardly have any merit while you’re literally humping the palm of his land looking for more.

“Such a smart fucking mouth, lets see how that changes after I have you cumming around my fingers, hmm?” He leans close while growling out his retort, sliding in another finger as he speaks. And god, it should be criminal that it's him making you feel so incredibly good.

“Fuck Neteyam.” You whimper out and his fingers speed up their unrelenting attack, consistently hitting that sweet spot and thumb moving so quickly against that bundle of nerves it has your knees ready to buckle. “Shit, I-I need more.” You're whining against his neck now, head resting against his shoulder as he continues his assault and you can feel his chest rumble with the groan that leaves his lips.

“You want my cock baby? You want it real bad?” You can only imagine the pride on his face , but none of that matters right now, not when you really really do. So all you can do is nod as moans and groans slip from your lips at the thought.

“No, need to hear you say it. You had so much to say earlier ma , what happened?” It’s the smugness in his voice that leads you to fight against what he wants from you.

“Fuck you.” It’s practically a pant as you pull your head back from the crevice of his neck and rest it against the tree that has you sandwiched between Neteyam. Peering at him from your lidded eyes.

“Tsk tsk, not what I asked for.” He shakes his head and the small grin he wears is nothing but predatory. “You want to cum by my hands, you're gonna do what I say.  " The pace he's picked up at the point is unforgiving, his fingers barely even thrust the tips simply rubbing against your most sensitive spot in a way that has you seeing stars and you can feel the coil in your stomach growing dangerously taut. But it's like he can see it on your face that you're growing close, and unfortunately he stands true to his words because as soon as you feel yourself about to teeter over the edge he stops. Leaving you withering against him.

“Nete-” 

“Say it.” There's no room for negotiation in his tone, “Say it or you don’t get to cum and if you dont cum on my fingers first you sure as hell aren't getting my cock.” 

It's almost pathetic how quick your resolve crumbles.

“I want you, please. Neteyam I want you please.”

“Say you need it.” Now he's just being mean cause he can.

“Fucking hell, need your cock so bad Neteyam, please.” Your breathing is ragged as you practically beg and he can hear the aggravation behind your voice.

“Not so hard is it, Tiyawn?” He quips as his fingers start to move again, thumb finding your clit as his index and middle continue the assault on the inside. And with you being so close prior it doesn’t take nearly anytime at all before your ether again, on the edge of complete euphoria just needing one last push. Push coming in the form of the third finger that ends up slamming into you, filling you up so completely and sending you crashing into waves of ecstasy. Hands finding his shoulders, nails leaving crescent marks in the blade of it as you ride your orgasm. Neteyam helps you through it, paying attention to your complete reaction while his fingered pump inside of you. 

Sliding out once he's sure you’ve enjoyed the best of it,dropping your hip to your side, giving you one more openmouthed kiss before spinning you around leaving you to brace yourself on the tree that was once digging into your back. His hand finds the small of your back pushing you to be bent, arching subconsciously, readying yourself for what's to come.

You look over your shoulder just in time to see him rip the string of his tewng in a rush to move it out the way, letting his length spring up and hit his stomach.

To say that Neteyam was well endowed would be an understatement, youd heard rumors before but holy mother they didn’t do him justice. He made eye contact with you as he grabbed himself by the base getting ready to line himself up with your core.

“Like what you see?” And of course he’s cocky about this too. Neteyam raises a playful eyebrow.

“Thought you'd be bigger.” It's a lie, but you can't let his ego go unchecked. Though it doesn't seem too much as he simply sucks his teeth in response, letting a toothy grin spread across his face.

“Mhm, that’s why I can see you clenching at the sight of it then?” He retorts, still smiling as he moves, letting his tip slide between your lips, catching at your entrance. A move that has both of you shuddering in anticipation.

“Neteyam!” you whine out tired of waiting, pushing your ass back with a wiggle in anticipation and to hopefully get him to act sooner.

“Fuck, yeah okay i'm coming.” You can hear him mutter behind you. Properly lining himself this time before pushing in slowly, the girth of his head alone has you gasping for air. He’s slow to work himself in, not wanting to let his desperation for release lead to you being hurt. Eventually however he does bottom out and once he does the both of you let out sighs of relief. He gives you a moment to adjust before beginning to move, pulling back to grind back into you. 

Usually this soft caring pace would leave you purring, but this is Neteyam and the fact that he just spent his time finger fucking you so good you see stars just to treat you like glass has you grinding your teeth in want for more.

“More.” You demand throwing a lust filled glare over your shoulder.

“Uvang, you feel so tight around me.” You're not even sure Neteyam heard you, his brows are pulled together and eyes scrunched in pleasure. 

“Knalu Neteyam, harder!” You snap, punctuating your sentence by pushing back onto his cock which seems to break his trance. 

“Eywa, why can't you let me enjoy this in peace?” His nostrils flare and eyes snap open boring into your own. Leaning forward he braces holds you by your shoulders. Sliding out till only his head is left inside of you before slamming back into you with enough strength to bruise. Switching from his heart shatteringly slow movement to thrusts that could shake Pandora itself. Thrusts that leave you gasping for air that's being knocked out of your lungs with every slam of his hips into yours. 

“Oh Eywa! Neteyam fuck, yes!”  Your moans are practically prayers as they fill the air around you, Not that he's being any quieter than you are. Moaning and groaning as he leans down to press wet kisses to your spine.

“Shit you feel so good Ma, fucking hell. Its like you were made to be wrapped around my cock, my perfect fucking pussy for the taking ain’t that right. ‘M gonna ruin you baby, mold this cunt to my cock. No one else could make you feel this good right Ma, c'mon tell me i'm right.” It’s hard to make out most of his rambles as he ruts into you like something feral, but you manage nonetheless.

“Fuck,  yes Neteyam no one’s as good as you. No one could make me feel- oh my- feel half as good as you, shit!” You say back telling him whatever he wants to hear, telling him the truth. And it has him speeding up at which point you thought was impossible as he continues to ramble on and on about how good you feel around him against the skin of your back. One of his hands manage to find their way around your waist and to your clit, rubbing tight circles while his noises grow more animalistic by the minute and it has you fluttering around him causing him to twitch within you. The both of your peaks growing increasingly closer. 

“I'm gonna cum, Net, fuck dont stop!” you warn him of your upcoming release and you can feel the way the knowledge fuels him, his grip on your shoulder tightening as he drills into you with fervor. 

“Cum for me tiwan, wanna feel you cum around me, cmon.” He urges you on and soon enough it comes. Surginging through you like electricity, punctuated by a high pitched whine as your legs tremble. Neteyam fucking you through it fighting to hold off his own upcoming orgasm in lew of making sure you can enjoy yours to the fullest and soon enough you start to come down, the way you clench becoming softer and more spaced out as you begin to take deep breaths in order to ground yourself. 

It only takes a few more pumps before the euphoria is hitting him like a splash of cold water and he’s quick to pull out and spill his seed on the curve of your ass and back, groaning your name slowly as he works his way through it.

Eventually you both restore enough air in your lungs to disconnect yourselves and get cleaned up. Finding a small and unoccupied pond to wash his essence of yourself along with the sweat you'd worked up along the way before slipping your clothes back on and helping him repair the string of his loincloth well enough that it would not fall off on his trek through the village. 

Still once you're both clothed you both take a few moments to be together and fully grasp the fact of what this connection means for the both of you. It's then that you finally find the words you’d lost earlier.

“Why did tuk do it? Why did she connect us?” You ask, your eyes finding his in confusion.

“Our parents.” He starts, “ Sometimes they fight and sometimes when they do they perform tsaheylu. In order to better understand what the other is feeling. She thought it would help us ‘get along’” he finishes explaining and you can't help but laugh at the childlike innocence of it all.

“How sweet in theory I suppose.” You smile up at him stifling a few laughs.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “Remind me to thank her when we get back.” At that you roll your eyes and smack him in the shoulder. “Hey!”

——————

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[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Practice On Me — Part Fifteen — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel and Reader are really enjoying being in L-O-V-E, which makes them a little careless. Daddy Fin likes to make gestures. Kaeda thinks she’s smart but she fucking AIN’T. The night of the ball arrives.

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Some very light depictions of sex (not really smut). A light sprinkling of the ol’ violence.

Fingers rake slowly through your hair.

They belong to hands that have felt such torturous agony, and have been left with scars to show for it — but their touch is as light and as loving as a warm summer breeze.

Azriel’s body shudders against yours as he stares down at you. The hand that toys with the strands of your hair moves to brush a tender caress to your cheek, and his panting breaths land on your lips.

“I love you.” He whispers, not for the first time that morning.

Barely morning, in fact. The sun is not yet up, and even the dorms are still blanketed in silence. It’s the third time in a week you’ve snuck away to steal a few hours with Azriel — with Rhysand’s valued help. Your friend will return you to Velaris before Fin can even discover you left.

You push up onto your elbows, capturing Azriel in a languid kiss. And you murmur through a smile, “I love you, too.”

He also smiles. Your body is aware of his every touch as he pulls out of you and settles at your side, tugging the sheet over your naked bodies. The dorms aren’t the most romantic setting for you to lose yourselves in each other, no, but the mutual need for one another’s touches is getting—

Well. Quite frankly…out of hand. In a good way. The best way.

Gone is the endearing, nervous Azriel of that first sexual encounter. In his place is a male who knows your body like he’s been painting it with love for years — and not the mere two weeks since you first slept together.

Perhaps it wasn’t practice he needed at all, but rather…you. Just you.

He rests his head beside yours on the pillow, and his hand is clasping your cheek and turning your face towards his. “Sleep here with me.” He says.

A soft groan leaves you. Never would you have thought a night in the dorms would sound like heaven, but with Azriel, it really does. “I wish I could. I have to go back.”

“For how much longer?”

“I think Fin will make his decisions on the night of the ball. He knows what I think…what I want him to decide. And whatever choice he makes, I’ll come back here after — to you. I just hope I don’t fail in convincing him where Tathaln is concerned.”

Az twirls a strand of your hair between his fingers. “You will not have failed. Whatever the outcome.”

You stare back at him. “We’ll be together regardless.”

“Yes.” He agrees. “We will. Let them screw with the camps, if they must. But wherever you go, I go, too.”

There is such ease in reaching forward to slant your mouth over his, that you almost forget how close you came to losing the opportunity of that simple gesture. The thought has you leaning in closer, throwing everything you think and feel into that kiss. You feel Azriel gasp against your lips, and you can’t hide your smile.

“One more week until the ball.” You say as you pull back. “Just one more week.”

Azriel studies you, sliding a hand over your cheek. “I want a life with you.”

Gods, you want the same. And it takes everything in your power to keep thoughts of war at bay — to push away the conversation you had with Fin concerning humans and uprisings and battle being inevitable. Happiness sits right here in front of you, and you…you’re going to throw yourself into its open arms. Think about the bad stuff later.

But before you can kiss Azriel again, the door is flying open, and Rhysand’s leaning against the frame.

“Time’s up, lovebirds.” He says, biting into an apple. “I have to get the damsel back to her tower before first light.”

“For fuck’s sake, Rhys.” Az scrambles to pull the sheet tighter around you. “You ever heard of knocking? We need to get dressed.”

“I’ve seen Y/N’s tits literally so many times.”

A snarl comes from the shadowsinger, and Rhys’s violet gaze glitters with amusement.

You roll your eyes, sitting up and clutching the sheet to those tits he’s seen literally so many times. “Stop winding him up, Rhys. I’ll be right out.”

“You sure you don’t need help dressing—”

There’s another deep snarl, and Azriel is launching a pillow in your friend’s direction. Rhys is out of the room before it can hit him, bellowing a laugh that causes a sleepy, disgruntled resident of the dorms to call out, “Shut the fuck up!” Rhys shouts back, “You shut the fuck up!”

You make to push off the bed, but Az tenderly catches your wrist and kisses you again. “Go careful with the High Lord.” He pleads.

“Always.” You peck him once, twice. “I’ll be back in your arms before you know it.”

He tries his best, to his credit, to smile. But you recognise the worry that lurks behind it, exists in a glowering streak on his beautiful face.

It’s the same worry that prowls in your veins.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Rhys winnows you straight into your bedroom at Fin’s palace and parts with a kiss to your cheek — and a playful thank fuck you and Az sorted your shit out.

To which you’d promptly told him to go get his dick sucked by Zakai.

To which he’d promptly told you that he most definitely planned to.

Alone in your room, now, you feel…light.

Staring down the large bedroom filled to the brim with luxuries, you feel…content. Content to know you will soon be walking away from this and back to where you may have the bare necessities, but you — most importantly — have love waiting for you.

Perhaps you are a naïve fool in love. But with that love…anything seems possible, somehow.

You quickly change into your nightgown, not wanting to rouse suspicion by bathing too early in the morning — even if Fin does consider himself privy to your sleeping habits, he knows also that you have a routine. Doing anything outside of that may just pique his interest a little too close for comfort.

So you’ll sleep. Not for long; a few hours, maybe. And when daylight bathes Velaris, you’ll return to your scheming.

One week to go.

One week.

That thought becomes loud — too loud — the second you slip between the sheets. You want to shove a pillow over your head and attempt to block it out, but one urgent thought turns to another, another, and any tiredness that may have begun to bleed into your bones is interrupted by the very realisation that soon…things will be happening, moving along, soon.

You toss under the blanket, huffing quietly to yourself. But a slow, measured inhale of breath brings with it the lingering scent of Azriel, and it’s an immediate relaxant, a soothing presence of cedar and frost and—

You jolt at the click of your door echoing through the room. The sound of it opening.

The sky has lightened enough outside to lend little shafts of daylight to the room, but not bright enough to see much. You sit up quickly, watching the door inch open.

Footsteps thud against the floor, and Fin is emerging, his tall, muscled outline undeniable even in the dimness of the room. Your body tenses. You watch, stunned, as he strides further into your room, an object clutched in his hands. He heads straight for the desk.

Perhaps it’s foolish of you, but you reach over and lay your palm over the small orb on your bedside table. The touch has faelight blooming in the area, a golden glow that illuminates it just enough for you to see Fin stop in his tracks and turn towards you—

Flowers. He holds a bouquet of gorgeous, peach-coloured flowers in his hand. He meets your gaze, and pink dusts his cheeks.

“…did I wake you?” He swallows, shifting on the spot. “I’m sorry — I was trying to be quiet.”

You swallow, also. You eye him. The flowers. Him again. It makes you feel strange to have him here, in your room, at this hour. To think he came with a nice gesture.

It takes you a second or two to remember the role you’re playing. You force your shoulders to relax and plaster an airy smile on your face, drinking those flowers in with genuine surprise.

“Those are for me?” You ask.

Fin glances at the bouquet like he forgot, entirely, that he was even holding it. He clears his throat and nods. “Yes — I, uh…I got them from the Summer Court. You can only find them there. They’re called—”

“Dusk-Light Blooms.” As you kick your sheets away and stand, your reaction isn’t entirely for show. “I know — I’ve read about them. They’re beautiful.”

The male’s brown eyes study you, and then the peach petals, and then you again. He inclines his head a little. “Almost as lovely as you.”

“You say such kind things to me, Fin.”

“I think you’re owed twenty years of kind things.” He straightens himself, handing the bouquet out to you. “I meant to leave them as a surprise for you to wake up to. A parting gift, also. I’ll be away on business for the next couple of days and I…I didn’t want you to assume I left without thinking of you.”

There are such warring, conflicting feelings inside you that they almost knock you off your feet. Make you want to sit down.

Firstly, you almost feel like a wretch — for playing a game, and playing it so well. Who knew that you could charm a High Lord, make him so besotted by you? His kindness is not for show. He genuinely holds you in high regard.

And then a little bit of anger slips in. Because whether he and Roza honour their bond or not, Roza is his mate — his very pregnant mate. His very pregnant mate that’s currently sleeping in her quarters of the palace. It sits funny inside you that he’s not leaving her a beautiful bouquet of Dusk-Light Blooms before he parts for business. That he’s not more concerned about leaving her and the babe behind when he leaves.

But you suppose that means you’re a temptress, a wretched, seductive little thing. You have filled the High Lord’s brain with such sweet things that he can currently see no one and nothing but you. Manipulative, yes. But if it gets you your crucial result…if it saves Illyrians from Tathaln Baralas’s cunning mind…so be it.

Your voice is like syrup as you lift your gaze to his hickory-hued one and curl your lips into a smile. “I’ll look at these flowers while you’re gone.” You say. “And I’ll think of you.”

And it’s not an outright lie, because you probably will. You won’t be able to take in the beauty of those velvety petals without considering the fact that the High Lord of the Night Court went to the trouble of getting them for you in the first place.

“I’ll be thinking of you, too.” Fin turns, placing the bouquet onto the desk. He pauses with his back to you. “…I think of you a lot, in fact.”

“And I, you.” And Tathaln, and Fenlaros, and what a shit show this could turn into if things aren’t righted—

“If I could give you anything you wanted, Y/N, what would you ask for?”

He pivots so he’s facing you again, and the question leaves you stumped for a moment — even though the answer sits on your tongue.

You blink. “Anything?”

“Anything.” He dips his chin. “A house, a business to set you up for life, your father’s head on a spike for all to spit at—”

“I just want Tathaln Baralas to leave the Illyrian camps and their inhabitants alone.”

Fin stares at you. His head falls into a very slight tilt.

“It is by no means a glamorous place, Fin.” You breathe your words, unable to stop them pouring out of you. “It’s certainly not a gem like Velaris. But it works. The way it is has worked for hundreds of years — thousands. And where Tathaln thinks merging the camps would be the making of Illyria…I think it would be the death of it. In numerous aspects. Not just in the strength and training of its armies, but…in the strength of its families, too. There’s a lot to be righted about that place. Turning into one, huge cesspool of chaos and anger is not the way to do it.”

He knows all of this, of course…that you feel this way. But he stares at you like it’s the first time he’s hearing it, and he purses his lips. You can see the cogs turning in his mind. You let him think.

And when he steps closer to you, you do not step back. When he comes to within touching distance, you do not balk. Even when he raises a hand and taps the centre of your forehead with his finger.

“This,” he murmurs, “this mind is a brilliant thing. It should not go to waste.”

“I’m just speaking from the heart—”

“And from a logical standpoint, too. Your brain should be put to work on the council of a court. Not in a war camp where your excellence isn’t even seen, let alone appreciated.”

Your eyes dip to the floor. There’s no hiding the blush that creeps up your neck. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do.” Fin draws even closer, and his hands are suddenly cupping your face, forcing you to gaze up at him. “You remind me so much of—”

He stops short.

For a moment, you can’t tell what cuts him off. You study his face for the answer.

And then you catch the very slight twitching of his nose. His brow furrows.

“You smell…different.” He says.

It is such a gargantuan effort to stop yourself from stiffening under his touch. To keep your expression mild, unperturbed.

“I don’t know what it is.” He sniffs again. “Familiar, but also…not.”

You swallow. Hard. “I used a different soap when I bathed before bed. I didn’t like the smell of it, so I threw it out.”

He leans in closer, and you stand still as his nose bumps the skin of your neck. He inhales deeply, slowly.

“…Cedar?” He guesses. “Cedar and…something else.”

“Yes.” You clear your throat. “I bought it from a market in Windhaven a while back. Like I said…I wasn’t fond of the scent.”

Such a lie. Such a godsdamned little lie.

But you will not give that away as Fin considers your words. You remain unflinching in your answer. You silently plead with him to believe you. If he could just believe you…you’ll kick yourself after he’s left, for not washing Azriel’s scent from your skin.

He slowly moves up your neck until his lips are at your cheek. Brushing the skin. “Interesting.” Is all he says, before pulling back. “I much prefer your scent.”

You bow your head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He studies you. Closely. It seems to last for ages — so long that you grow restless on the spot.

But then a strange smile tugs his lips up, and he pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger — a tender gesture. “Enjoy your flowers,” he says, “and don’t think of me too hard while I’m away.”

“I’ll try not to. And thank you — for the flowers.”

A deep laugh leaves him, and he’s brushing past you, striding back over to the door. Your heart is galloping inside your chest.

He stops with his hand rested on the doorknob, turning back to you. He tilts his head.

“If you have any more trouble sleeping,” he says, “just think about the night of the ball.” He opens the door. “I can do a great many things with my tongue.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You’ve reread the note at least ten times, now.

Something just feels…off about it. Churns your gut.

Perhaps it’s that it’s your father’s handwriting that glares up at you, dark and ugly and smeared on the page. Even his hand is threatening, domineering.

I need to see you urgently. Meet me at the mead hall this afternoon, three o’clock.

Of course, you consider simply throwing the note into the fire and giving it no further thought — that’s certainly what your father deserves — but…you don’t know. For all his flaws, your father is not a hyperbolic male. You can’t imagine him stressing urgency without good reason. You can’t imagine him wanting to see you without good reason.

Azriel flies you from Velaris to Windhaven, his arms a supportive band around you. He can feel the tension tightly coiled in your body. As his shadows guide his way through the skies, he leans in and presses a kiss to the crease between your brows.

“I love you.” He says, and those three little words loosen some of your restlessness. “You’re sure you don’t want me to meet your father with you?”

Yes, you want him to. But whether or not it’s a good idea is a different story entirely.

“It’ll only make him more hostile.” You smile apologetically. “You know…how he feels about you.”

“And he should know how I feel about him. That I hope he gets eviscerated. Slowly.”

He’s not joking, but a quiet, nervous laugh rasps out of you, and that laugh softens the fury in his eyes and causes him to squeeze you tightly against him.

“Alright,” he concedes. “I’ll stay away from the meeting. Not too far away, though. I’ll be nearby, and when he’s said his piece, I’m getting you straight out of there. We’ll go and buy hot chocolate.”

A smile curls your lips. “From the market stall?” The very one the two of you have been frequenting for years.

He leans in, kisses you again. “From the market stall.”

He sets you down a few buildings away from the mead hall and vows to wait. Something in his gaze as you part from him tells you that while he may not encroach on the meeting, his brilliant shadows will be putting the feelers out, keeping him updated. You expect — nor want — nothing less.

So close to Starfall, even Windhaven is mild enough that your heavy overcoat is starting to feel like a bad choice. Or perhaps the clamminess of your skin is from raw, nauseating anticipation. You do not want to do this. You would happily never see this male ever again. You wonder if it’s better to ignore his request and go running away from the building—

But you open the door and step inside before you can talk yourself out of it.

It’s always empty this time of day, when the Windhaven residents are finished with their lunch. The smells of roasted meat and potatoes still linger in the air, the warmth of the hearths still permeating the building. But it’s dark, and a little eerie, and that’s why you jump at the clipped footsteps that emerge from the kitchen.

The strange concoction of emotions you feel in that moment is jarring.

You’re both shocked and not shocked at all. Annoyed. Anxious. A little sick to your stomach. Kaeda holds your returned note in one of her hands. She chucks it onto the closest table.

“Wasn’t hard to imitate your father’s handwriting.”

You purse your lips, watching as she slides her hands into her pockets. You suppose you hadn’t considered this side of things — that she’d want to confront you about you and Azriel. But luring you here under false pretences…using your father to taunt you—

“Why.” You bite out. “What do you want?”

“I want you to stop messing with my fucking work.”

Straight to the point, then. You take in her beautiful features, and oh, she’s angry. Her face is so pinched that it’s almost…not beautiful at all. Her vibrant hair is a flash of her temper.

But you’re angry, too. Livid. That she would use Azriel the way she did, play on his emotions, try to separate you…

“Azriel,” you snap, “is not your work. He’s not your anything.”

She stares at you, and her lips twitch. There’s amusement there, but it’s a sneer. A cold, calculating sneer.

“I knew, from the very first time he mentioned you, that you were going to be a problem.” She removes her hands from her pockets to fold her arms over her chest. “Azriel’s loyal little lapdog who’s so down bad for him that you’re loath to let him experience anyone else.”

“That’s bullshit, Kaeda. He didn’t want you. That had nothing to do with me.”

“Except it does. Because I could have convinced him if it weren’t for you, and then he would have come back to Fenlaros with me, and my fucking livelihood would not be hanging in the balance.”

Perhaps it makes you cold, but you don’t feel bad. It doesn’t grate on you that she may go from having everything, to having as little as you do. You feel…nothing.

She can sense that, you think. Just looking at you seems to incense her even more.

“If I can’t give my father what he wants,” she hisses, “I will lose everything.”

You shrug. “You play dumb games, Kaeda, and you win dumb prizes.”

“And what of the games you play? Word on the street is you’ve been cozying up to the High Lord. Does Azriel know just how far you’re willing to take it?”

If she’s trying to strike a nerve, it works. You try not to let it show as you straighten your back, hold your head up high. You may not be a seasoned schemer like she so clearly is, but your actions as of late are nothing to scoff at.

“Azriel knows,” you say, “that I am doing what I have to in order to stop your father destroying Illyria as we know it.”

“My father is trying to help Illyria—”

“Your father is power hungry and wants nothing more than to rule Illyria. Anyone can see that. And he’s using you to do it.”

“Shut the fuck up. You know nothing.”

A laugh breaks from you. “I know a great deal more than you do. And I know that if your father gets what he wants — and that’s a big if, because I will do whatever I have to to stop him — he will drop you so fucking fast, Kaeda—”

In the blink of an eye, she’s moving, and you’re suddenly slammed against the wall, her fingers wrapped around your throat. Her perfectly manicured nails bite into your skin as she squeezes.

“I didn’t come here to listen to your bullshit. It’s all steeped in jealousy, anyway, because my father actually loves me.”

“Your father,” you choke out, “needs you, Kaeda. He doesn’t love you.”

“Shut the fuck up.” She repeats, slamming you against the wall. Her hand squeezes your throat harder, tighter. “And stay out of the High Lord’s head. This is a warning. You do not want to cross me—”

Air punches your lungs so suddenly that you don’t even register the fact that Kaeda is ripped off of you. You slide down the wall, coughs shuddering from you, spotty vision just catching the way dark shadows snake out and launch the female across the room.

Azriel doesn’t even move from the spot he winnowed to. His shadows do all the work, shoving Kaeda against the opposite wall and pinning her there.

“This is a warning,” he intones quietly, dangerously, “that if you ever touch so much as a hair on Y/N’s head ever again, I will fucking destroy you and take great delight in doing so. Do you understand?”

Kaeda says nothing. Merely tries to fight against those shadows that only tighten the more she struggles. Az takes a step closer.

“We’ll attend your father’s little ball and face whatever he’s planning head-on.” His face is a sheet of icy rage. “But if you think we won’t retaliate, you’re sorely mistaken. It’s not too late to switch sides, Kaeda, and you’d be wise to do so before things really get out of hand.”

“Oh, fuck you—”

A shadow snaps out, and you can only watch in quiet horror — and delight — as it forges itself into a weapon that slices the skin of Kaeda’s cheek. Draws blood.

“I do not mess around where my loved ones are concerned, and you’ll do well to remember that.” Azriel watches with indifference as the blood trickles down. “You will never come for Y/N again. Won’t even look at her, in fact. Do you understand?”

The shadow-knife-sword-thing that cut her cheek now sits precariously at her neck. She tries to move, but her arms are bound to her sides. She’s backed into a corner and well and truly knows it.

“Don’t make me ask you a third time.” Az says.

“…Yes.” Kaeda grits out as the shadow presses against her neck. “I understand.”

And just like that, upon Azriel’s command, those shadows are loosening their grip on the redhead female, letting her go. She releases a staggered breath.

“You’ll regret this.” She seethes, pushing away from the wall. “Both of you will.”

She disappears before either of you have a chance to respond. All you can do is watch and watch those incredible shadows — watch as instead of returning to Azriel, they swim through the air, over to you. Their cool, gentle touch brushes the skin of your neck.

“My love,” Az is kneeling at your side, and he, too, brushes your neck. “I should have known. I’m sorry—”

You don’t allow the needless apology to linger between you — not as you reach out and pull Azriel into a heavy, heated kiss. It seems to knock him speechless for a moment, before he’s gripping your face and kissing you back.

And that kiss says everything. Tells him that you will not be intimidated out of loving him, out of wishing for a future with him. You will not stop until you get it.

You kiss him and kiss him until you’re both gasping for breath, your lips swollen and a little tender from the exertion. When you finally break away, just enough to meet his gaze, question swims in his hazel eyes. He wants to know what you’re thinking.

“We’re going to destroy them.” You promise breathlessly, pecking him once. “We’re going to stop them before they can stop us.”

He nods vigorously, hair falling into his eyes. “Yes.” He pecks you back, quick. “We are.”

“We’re going to tear them apart.” Another kiss, two, three — growing in desperation with each one. “Limb from limb.”

Your love, your heart, your soul, does not answer you with words. But rather, he answers by meeting your fire, your intensity.

His mouth captures yours again, and he’s scooping you up into his arms. And with the promise of a future lingering on both your lips and his, he lays you down and moulds his body to yours, exactly where this all first started.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

A week later — the night of the ball — you stare at your reflection in the mirror. You can’t help wondering if…if you wouldn’t have been able to pull off this dress a mere few months ago. If this garment is only to be worn by the person you’ve grown into. It’s like seeing it for the first time all over again. Its glimmering beauty knocks words straight from your mind until you can only gape at yourself.

You are beautiful. You are brave. You are strong. You are capable.

The gown, the makeup, your hair…it only encourages you. Encourages you to be the kind of person who whispers honeyed words and brings High Lords to their knees.

As if right on cue, the door inches open behind you. Fin strolls in and stops a few steps away. Stares at you.

You meet his gaze in the mirror, and your coy expression is not for show. He picked out everything about your appearance. You want it to be pleasing for him.

And his will certainly be pleasing for anyone who claps eyes on him. The blue of his tailored suit matches the blue of your dress. He looks resplendent, regal, kingly — a High Lord through and through.

He seems to remember how to walk, how to talk. He blinks out of his daze, and his feet are moving again, carrying him closer to you. He stops just behind you, his body more or less pressed against yours.

“You—” He clears his throat, shaking his head. “You are a vision. I think I might be lost for words.”

Your painted lips curl upwards. “I imagine that doesn’t happen very often.”

“No,” he agrees. “It does not.”

He falls silent, his eyes drinking in your reflection, and you allow him the time to do so. If he’s aware of your trembling, he doesn’t let it show.

“You are a vision, too.” You tell him, watching as his eyes flick up to yours in the mirror. “Truly.”

His smile is, perhaps, a rare one. One so few people get to see. It gives away the softer side to him that you genuinely believe exists. The one that takes the compliment to heart.

But then his expression sobers, and he’s closing the minuscule gap between your bodies — pressing his front to your back and allowing his chin to drop to your shoulder. You try not to tense.

“Where the ball is being held,” he murmurs, his voice vibrating through you, “The Hewn City — Morrigan’s home…she calls it the Court of Nightmares.”

You’ve heard of it, of course. Its callous residents. And you would have happily never paid it a visit. But…needs must, and all that.

“I’ve heard it’s not the most pleasant of places.” You say, standing still against the warm hand that brushes your hip. “Is that why you don’t want Roza there while she’s pregnant?”

Fin hums in response. An agreeing noise. “Partially.” He concurs, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder. “But also because of what tonight will be.”

Your two reflections lock gazes with an intensity that turns your blood cold. “What will tonight be?”

The High Lord takes a moment to answer. He continues to stare at you, all the while stroking a thumb over the curve of your hip.

“Tonight, Y/N, will be one for the history books.” He eventually answers, and another kiss falls onto your shoulder. “Of that, I can assure you.”

pom tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-agirlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @hihelloitsbooktimeppl @mybestfriendmademe

[shelbgrey]

✨POOKIE✨ can you conjure up a fic of the very lovely very handsome very shrexy lip biting man also known as Killian Jones? Get that steamy boat time in his bedroom on the Rolly Joger. He’s a pirate so…😳🫣give that man some rope cause he knows how to tie a knot alright😏 also get that bed tapping. He got accent…a hot as hell accent, get it all deep and raspy then you can sign me the hell up. Man can hook me in numerous ways, I’d thank him🫢😳😏

Smut fic with Killan Jones

Paring: Killian Jones x reader

Summary: Smut with captian hook

Warrings: SMUT, gn!reader, bondage, Dirty talk?, desk sex, unprotected sex, rough-ish sex?, getting it from behind.

MasterList

“what should we do with them Capitan?” a crew member grunted as the 'trespasser' wiggled and struggled in the grasp of the pirate's grasp. Y/n fought, kicking and clawing at the dirty man, and no matter how much it hurt the man he didn't let go.

“take our prisoner to my chambers, then I'll decide what I should do with them” Killian commanded.

The pirate nodded and dragged y/n down to the lower part of the jolly Roger, he tossed y/n into Killian's private part of the ship and grabed some rope. Before they could get to far the pirate forced y/n's arms behind their back and tied their wrist together. Y/n snatched their arms out of his grasp and tired to make a run for it. The pirate just snarled and pushed them back it on the room, locking it so they couldn't escape. Moments later the sounds of boots aproching the room filled their ears. Y/n perked up and tired to think of an escape plane quickly, before the plan could be formed the door flew open revealing a tall handsom pirate with blue eyes and black hair. Y/n looked down at this left hand, It was a hook. They now knew who's ship they were on.

He had a wicked grin as he walked towards y/n. His muscular form, encased in leather armor. He had a look of power in his eyes. “I usually don’t allow trespassers to live, but you’re quite beautiful”

Y/n's had nothing but fire in their eyes, staring at the pirate. They showed no fear. “Whatever you're gonna do, might as well do it… On Second thought why don't you just kill me and get it over with”

Killian leans in, whispering menacingly against their neck sending shivers down their spine. “I can think of a few ways you can convince me to let you live”

Y/n stepped back, standing their ground. The pirate's gaze was intimidating, but they didn't let it show how much it affected them. Y/n stepped back till their body hit a table with a large map on it. Y/n's hands had been tied behind their back from when the crew abducted them, y/n had barely kept their balance when she was bound then thrown in the small room.

Killian chuckled darkly when he saw the daring look in y/n's eyes. Y/n stood their ground watching his every move. Killian moved closer, leaving very little room between them. He had a devilish grin as he stared down at his prisoner. He reached out and ran the side of his hook down y/n’s cheek, tracing the line of their jaw. The metal was cold and intimidating “you've got fire…”

Y/n's heart pounded when the hook that replaced his hand ran cold down their cheek. Y/n had heard too many stories about that hook. They leaned back further against the table, keeping their eyes stony, staring into his eyes. “if your looking for gold I don't have it, I have nothing to offer you”

Killian let out a dark chuckle at y/n's comment, he stepped closer still so that his body was pressed against theirs. His free hand slid around their waist, his rings felt cold against their skin. He pulled y/n's body flush against him. I think we can come to an arrangement…”

“And what is that?” y/n asked, not amused.

Y/n shivered as his hook trailed up their thigh, the metal was cold against the hot skin of their inner thigh. “What do you want, Capitan?”

“I think you know what I want…” Killian chuckled darkly, his lips brushing against their neck, nipping at y/n’s skin, leaving marks. Their cheeks became crimson and their heart raced when his lips and the scruff of his beard brushed against the sensitive skin.

Y/n bit their lip, trying not to show the effect the pirate had on them, Killian grinned at the resistance they had. his eyes were darkening with desire when he stared at them. He ran his free hand through y/n's hair, pulling their head back slightly to expose their neck further. “It seems like you're already starting to fall under my spell…”

“You wish…” Y/n argued back, lying to both him and themself. Their heart was pounding and if their hands weren't still tied, y/n knew deep down they'd be grabbing for any part of him or that leather coat they could reach.

Killian chuckled darkly, leaning in to place a soft kiss on y/n’s neck. He pressed the curved end of his hook against the middle of their collarbone and slowly trailed it down their chest then slipped between their legs. Y/n's breath hitched as he rubbed slow circles against their clothed sex through the thin fabric of their pants. “if you want me to stop I will, you have my word… If not there's no turning back”

y/n shuttered and quickly nodded, their mind working over time and was too cought up in the moment to form a proper awnser. Killian's grin widened as he saw the submission in y/n’s eyes. He leaned in, his lips claiming their's in a fierce kiss that left them breathless. Y/n lost balance momentarily, but the desk that was behind them didn't let the fall happen.

Killian pulled away from their lips, whispering as he stared into their eyes. his hand slipping under their shirt to rub against their bare skin, the cold rings that were wrapped around his fingers made y/n shiver. “turn around, bend over the desk.” He nipped at their bottom lip, demanding there obedience.

y/n didn't understand why they responded so quickly. They leaned forward and pressed a quick soft kiss against his lips before submitting to his command and bending over his desk, her ass and tied wrists now pointing towrds him.

Killian smirked as he watched y/n bend over his desk, their ass on display for him. He walked around to stand behind them, his hard cock pressing against their as through his pants. He Hooked his hook on the part of the rope between y/n's wrists, securing them between the desk and his body. y/n got inpacent and pressed their ass against his hardened erection.

Killian growled, his hands moving to grip y/n's hips roughly. He lifted them up slightly, pushing their legs apart with his own. His other hand came down, slapping against her ass hard enough to sting. “don't move”

A shiver ran down y/n's spine as Killian forced their pants down their thighs. Killian groaned, moving his hand to wrap it around his hard erection. He went slow just to tease as he guiding it towards y/n's wet entrance. Y/n's moans encouraged his fast, rough movements as he thrust forward, pushing into y/n's ass with a groan of satisfaction. “Bloddy hell, your perfect”

His thrusts became more forceful, punctuated by harsh grunts of pleasure. He leaned his arm next to y/n, his free hand gripping the desk tightly for balance. “I'm going to make you scream my name, Love”

y/n pressed their forehead against the wooden table as Killian thrusted roughly, stretching them out. “Killian…” they moaned.

Killian groaned at the noises they made as he continued to fuck y/n from behind. fingers gripped their hip tightly as he pushed forward. His breath was ragged against their neck as his hips pistoned back and forth, driving into y/n with force. Y/n's skin felt like it was on fire and they could no longer control the noises that fell from their lips.

"Hell... You like this, don't you?" His voice was raspy and full of lust. He looped his Hook on the rope that binded y/n's wrists and tugged them up. Their back was pressed against his chest and he captured their mouth in a searing hot kiss. He forced y/n against the desk again, but didn't bend them down like last time just continued to pound into them.

“fuck, feels so good” y/n moaned.

“That's it, moan for me…” Killian's words were lost in a string of curses and moans as he felt himself getting closer to the edge. His thrusts became more erratic, each one hitting y/n's sweet spot perfectly.

“killian!” y/n's moans became higher and more desperate, their heart was pounding and they felt themselves about ready to fall over the edge as the knot in their stomach got tighter. “Damn, I'm close”

Killian panted heavily as he thrust into y/n one final time, his entire body shaking with the force of his orgasm. He held onto y/n tightly, feeling his release pulse through him as he growled out his satisfaction. “Fuck... Fucking perfect…”

feeling Killian's release within them, y/n cried out in pleasure as they came as well, their head fell back in pleasure against killian's shoulder as their whole body shaked with the force of it. As they leaned back against him, their chest heaving up and down as they caught their breath “your so perfect, Love”

Killian gently pulled out of y/n, his cock slippery with their combined fluids. He turned them around, pulling them into a warm embrace. His fingers traced gentle patterns on y/n's back as he kissed their forehead. “I've got you” he whispered as he reached behind them and untied their wrists.

“here, let's get you somewhere more comfortable” he murmured, kissing y/n's forehead again before carrying them over to the small leather couch that was in his room. He laid them down gently, his eyes never leaving their face as he brushed some hair out of her face. His fingers tracing gentle patterns on their cheek before pulling the covers up around them, letting them rest. “your no longer a trespasser… if you decide to stay a bored my ship you can guarantee protection from me and the crew”

Y/n smiled softly, their eyes getting heavy. “I'd like that..”

[bucknastysbabe]

Hi hello I had brain rot and popped this out! Idk if it’s an incoherent horny ramble or not but SKIDIBOP MM DADA BOOM💥💥🤯🤯🤯

Rating: Explicit

Tags: A/B/O, Alpha!bucky, omega!reader, reader is inhuman and former hydra asset, confessions of love, mating cycles, TW//non-descript sexual assault, horrible self talk, hydra trash party tendencies, Sweet fluffy big boy Buck, breeding kink, marathon sex, pnv!sex, kinda feral ass behavior, scenting n marking

@lovelykhaleesiii @godrakin @borikenlove @ilikeitbetterangsty @connorsui I think I got my Bucky slores all counted out ;)

Feral. - B. Barnes

Bucky was panicking, sour pheromones leaking from his pores. He was an alpha, technically, but would be entering his first rut after years of chemical castration by Hydra. Rendered him beta. Now it was coming up on him, soon— you could smell that much.

Being one of the few omegas around that offered to help him out, your own powers would ease the inevitable roughness of a feral Alpha. Bucky chose you due to your close friendship, both Hydra superpowered assets. You guys could relate to each other. Although you never had to miss a heat, your handler taking full advantage of your needy state.

Bastard.

Bucky had all the signs of rut coming up; aggression, hypersensitivity, appetite, and smelling up the entire room. Stark had banned Buck to his apartment citing, “It fucking stinks, go wear him out for the love of God.” You had grabbed your clothes and favorite nesting blankets to join the brunette soon after.

Subtle cramps made you shift, the fuckers scent alone would send you into a synced heat. He smelled good, like a woodsy smell, a winter’s day, all that sappy nonsense. Bucky grunted, “What if I hurt you? Like bite your mating gland without meaning it?”

You tapped your neck, nail clicking on an invisible collar. Bucky stopped in his tracks, brows furrowing. “They have guards for that. You can lick and scent all you want but no bitesies Barnes.” He groaned, “Thank god for the future, I guess.” Another cramp hit you, hissing involuntarily at the pain.

Blue eyes flicked to you, him coming close to you. He asked gently, “What’s wrong?” You clenched your teeth and gritted out, “You. Going to send me into heat soon so stop fighting it and worrying.” Bucky’s eyes widened and he gulped, coming to terms with the reality of the situation. Fucking his good friend, you, who he had intensely mooned over for a while now.

The brunette nodded and gestured, “Do you need to nest first? I’m just going to, uh, eat a little more.” You rolled your eyes at his obvious stress eating. He was cutely fluffy now from the transition of Romania to the Avengers compound, trying to adjust. Cramp, ow. Grabbing the blankets you mounded and moulded them to your own liking. Bucky’s scent only made it better, you taking a deep inhale.

You cried out as the first real pang of heat hit you, slick gushing forth, sending you into the nest face first— drooling and whining for Bucky. Usually you used suppressants, hating how submissive and fucking stupid you got, the intense emotions brought up old memories. But not this cycle, waiting for Bucky had you back to stupidtown.

Bucky almost snarled in concern, swallowing down his protein bar and crawling onto the bed. You clawed at your clothes, ripping off the top easily. “Buuuck, help, leggings, stupid!,” you managed. The brunette yanked down your legging and underwear, growling, “Don’t call yourself that— fucking hell!”

Oh. There it was. He’d finally hit it. 

Bucky groaned deeply, taking off his clothes haphazardly, you could hear the ripping and tossing while drooling on a blanket, biting down in agony. You whined, “C’mon Alpha, knot, need it, fill my pussy up!” The normal you cringed on in the inside, but Bucky nodded along. He rasped, “Fuck yes, yes, gonna fill my pretty ‘mega up.”

You could almost purr at Barnes referring you as ‘his’.

Buck’s mismatched hands gripped your hips, sliding an impossibly fat cock between your weeping folds. A shiver wracked your spine, mewing and crying his name at the feeling. He rumbled in that Alpha timbre, “Be a good omega and just take it, make it look easy, please.” By the end of the sentence your sweet Bucky had leaked out some. Turning around to gaze at him he slid in your cunt with a grunt, fangs bared and eyes blazing.

Swollen and fucking hot he speared you fully, stretching and overfilling underused pussy. It had been so long since you’d fucked someone and damn you were glad it was him. Your pussy ached and widened around him, gushing profuse slick. Buck groaned and snapped his hips forward, dragging along everything. He let out a strangled moan, “Fuck, dolly, so goddamn tight. Gonna bl-blow fast.”

“Hurry up and fuck me then!”

A rough smack to your ass had you shutting up with a whimper. Bucky jackhammered your pussy, grunting and gasping, poor thing’s dick probably hurting. His hips smacked into your own, a metal hand pushing at the small of your back for a different angle. You wailed, Bucky cursed and pressed his soft belly to your back, chomping and nosing eagerly at the protected mating gland.

He couldn’t get enough of it, moaning and lapping like a baby alpha fucking his first rut toy. Big hands explored your body, one coming down to toy with your oversensitive clit, making you gush further. The closeness and angle had you whimpering, need forcing you to whine, “Oh, Buck, kiss me, please!”

He blinked dumbly at you, lips swollen from mauling your scent glands. You whimpered, emotions immediately jumping to: oh he hates you, used up omega. The alpha frowned and seized forward clumsily, noses mashing together as he kissed you. He still fucked you raggedly, cock swelling and pulling at your walls.

A pink tongue darted out to claim you, Bucky getting the point and tilting his head for better access to your mouth. He moaned desperately, lips driving across yours wet and messy. You threw back an arm to cradle silky-soft brown hair, fucking back onto that thick cock. “Fuuuck, knot me up baby, need it.” Bucky rasped back, “Yeah?”

“Want it, wan’ your knot, feel s’good,” came the resounding whimper.

Bucky kissed you harder, moaning into your mouth as he fucked deeper, more shallow thrusts than anything now, thick fingers pulling at your clit. He growled, “Omega, so tight— mine.” He shoved your hips flush to him, groaning chest deep and guttural as his knot popped and blew inside. You wailed and scrambled around him, that hot cum painting your insides.

Bucky whined deep in his chest, gasping against you, holding squirming hips still as he filled you up. The Alpha lapped and scented you further, murmuring dazedly, “Won’t be able to smell like another alpha again. Never.” His fingers dug into the softness of your hips, locked in now. You panted and shoved your face into the blankets, overwhelmed.

“Jus’ move to the side,” you said quietly. He gently, so very gently, eased the pair of you to the side. The knot pulled a bit, making both of you hiss. Now spooned in the fucked up nest, Bucky seemed to be dozing off, nose shoved into your mating gland, puffing softly. He slung an arm around you, making sure his entire body was plastered to your own.

Some alphas were clingy like that. Not many. Heat abated by Bucky’s knot— your mind inevitably cleared up. Emotions and old thoughts swirled in your brain. Sometimes you’d have to go through heat with a random elite of the world, them getting a present with the inhuman omega. Once you’d been through the humiliation of being used they’d dump you off with your handler, Sitwell.

He made sure to let you know you were nothing but a whore for Hydra. Used to the point where you were nothing but an easy fuck. “No self-respecting alpha would mate you,” he’d tut while inside you. Your chest clenched up, stupid stupid stupid emotions making your eyes burn.

In the same horrid voice as Jasper your mind hissed. Bucky wouldn’t want you. He knew you were easy and used to ruts. You couldn’t wash off the years of filth and scars on your nape. The great Bucky Barnes would get through this first rut and go find a more demure, self-respecting omega. Hot tears pricked at your eyes, chest beginning to heave.

Bucky’s hand came up quickly, cupping your cheek to get a look. His thick brows furrowed at your likely pitiful expression. “What’s wrong sweetheart? Woke me up when ya’ soured, you hurting?” His concerned expression made you cry harder— chest aching for this to never end. The alpha tightened himself to you, a big thumb wiping your tears. His sculpted lips pulled into a frown.

“I-it’s stupid, been a long time for me too, sorry,” you apologized.

He didn’t seem phased, concern wafting off him in waves. The former assassin practically cooed, “Hey now, seriously, what’s wrong? Spit it out baby, I know you better than that.” You stared into dead serious eyes, knowing deep down Buck would win this contest. Mouth gaping in horror you had no clue how to respond.

“C’mon ‘mega, breaking a man’s heart,” he begged soft and sweet.

Turning away from his gaze, Buck’s hand gently pulled you back with a huff. Taking a deep breath you rambled manically, “I stopped my heats after getting out of Hydra. It brings back…stuff. But I wanted to be there for you and I know I’m an easy option and all, I mean being the pass around for whatever need obviously I know how to handle Alphas.” A titanium thumb in your mouth had you rendered mute with a sudden squeak.

His face softened, pheromones swelling and making you feel woozy. Strong fucking Alpha. The anxiety in your chest abated from the scent. He asked, “Do you really think I’d care about your past?” You shrugged lightly, unsure. Blue eyes turned hard, “Give me a list and if they ain’t dead I’ll personally go castrate them.” Bucky took a deep inhale of you again, relaxing some.

“Look at me.”

You peeped nervously.

“When you offered to help I thought my dreams were coming true,” he pecked your temple, “You’re the only one I want, was gonna tough it out if the only girl I care about didn’t volunteer.” You smacked a big shoulder in shock, squeaking, “No- no you’re lying- this is a joke.” Bucky shoved his knot a fraction deeper inside of you, still swollen to hell.

He deadpanned, “Does this seem like a joke to you? I wish the damn thing would deflate so I can fuck your pretty self already. Been lovin’ you for awhile now.”

Whimpering in desire you clenched down involuntarily, Bucky’s eyes rolling back with a groan. He kissed you again, breathlessly laughing, “I thought you’d think I’m too crazy, overweight, and a load of baggage.” Smooching him back you shook your head to declare, “No, no, you’re perfect as is. This is perfect. Don’t want it to end. Love you too.”

“It doesn’t have to, babydoll,” he cooed into your lips.

After confessing one’s feelings, fucking your official Alpha was much more intense. You’d talked it out with him waiting on the knot to deflate, both of you self-conscious balls of anxiety causing the miscommunication. In full, fuck Hydra with a fiery sword.

You’d grown more heat dazed first, losing any touch to speak normally, writhing around. Buck played with your clit until you’d cum two times, chanting his name like a litany. He was goading you on with a smirk the entire time, cocky as hell now, “Yeah, that’s it, squirt for your fuckin’ Alpha.” Or he’d groan in your ear, “Good girlll, yeah, smell so sweet.”

His knot finally went down and now half crazed you rutted back on Bucky’s cock with hoarse shouts, biting into a blanket. He met you eagerly, slapping your ass and talking non-stop. The brunette moaned, “Goddamn baby, fucking ah, sh-shit!” He nudged thick thighs inside your own, using strong hands to pull you onto him. The whole place smelled of sex pheromones.

“Gonna be my big Alpha and breed me up?,” you teased deliriously, not even sure where this came from.

Bucky rumbled deep in his chest, one of those possessive hands pulling you upright to lock around a slim throat. He rasped in your ear, hot breath puffing, “I’ll fuckin’ give you some pups, s’that what you want?” His hips stuttered, cock beginning to swell again as you wailed. Please please please.

“Make you mine for good,” he nipped at the covered mating gland again, “I’d kill anyone who’d take my precious omega away from me, killing anyone who hurt you, mhm.” You turned your head to kiss his swollen lips, hand digging into his hair as the Alpha dug into you. His soft belly fit perfectly into the arch of your back, hips clapping against your slickened cunt and ass. Your brain purred about how big and perfect he was, a good protector.

Bucky begged suddenly, thrusts sloppy and stilted, “Rip th-that collar off, lemme bite, c’mon love— only one I want, make you a mama.” His lips insistently kissed, hands almost frantically grasping you. A bolt of heady arousal spiked up your belly, the need to be claimed and mated taking over. Bucky as yours sealed with his pretty white teeth, you dripped more at the thought.

Pressing the release on the collar you rocketed into a perfect, quiet, blank euphoria at the feeling of Bucky’s teeth piercing your skin. Things felt complete. You sighed in relief, the held on disgust and shame floating away. Coming back to within seconds you snarled and locked onto his pulsing neck, sealing the bite with a lap. Bucky gutturally groaned, knot popping once again, him following you down to the bed.

The pair of you didn’t speak for what felt like an eternity, hoarsely catching breath, living in the moment. Bucky nosed at the now swollen patch on your neck, commenting dopily, “Wonder what Tony’s gonna say when you pop back out with this.” You hummed and squeezed the big arm around your waist.

“He’ll probably stutter for a minute and then act like he knew all along. Steve won’t be surprised.”

Bucky laughed, “He never is.”

His hand splayed out against your stomach, murmuring, “I know you’re on the pill but I meant what I said. Wanna make the ‘mega I love bred up.” You possibly couldn’t get another orgasm out but his gravelly tone and words made you clench. Touching the bond mark you replied, “Wanna make the alpha I love a daddy.”

He groaned, blues rolling up, “Fuck, yes.”

[starlightsuffered]

Toxic

Warnings - stalking, toxic Tim, lack of boundaries, oral (female receiving), smut, unprotected sex, breeding kink

“What are you doing here?” I snarled at Timothée. I’d moved my stuff out of his place weeks ago. It’d been radio silence, and now he was outside of my new apartment.

“Let’s talk,” he said, his tone dark.

“There’s nothing to talk about. Also how did you know I live here?”

“I’ve been following you,” he said as though it were a completely normal thing to say.

“Excuse me?” I demanded. “You know Timothée, shit like this is EXACTLY why we broke up.”

“Shit like what?” He snapped. I began to unlock my door. I tried to shut him out, but he was too strong, and powered in.

“You have no boundaries!” I screeched. “I could never go out. You were insanely jealous of everything and everyone. You had a tracker on my phone.”

“God forbid I’m selfish with the woman I want to marry,” he retorted

“You wanted to marry me?” I asked, feeling my fondness for him return, for a moment. I shook my head, I had to be strong.

“Of course I did,” he said. “I want everything with you. I want you every second, of every minute, of every day.”

“That’s not realistic,” I said, but he could hear the weakness in my tone.

He leaned down and kissed me.

“Timothée,” I warned. He began to kiss down my neck.

“Tim,” I said helplessly.

“Tell me to go then,” he said, taking me in his arms. His hands caressed my body. “Mmm, I love you.”

“I want you to g-“ I couldn’t finish the sentence.

“What do you want baby? Tell me, you know I’d do anything for you,” he said.

“Kiss me,” I breathed. With this consent, his lips were on mine. It was not slow, the kiss was bruising and harsh. He was biting my bottom lip.

He was pushing me back, until we were at the couch. He was ripping off my skirt. I was heaving. He wasted no time diving into me.

His mouth was relentless. I could hardly stand the pleasure he was giving me. He was lapping at me, eating me so well, I almost had to scream

“Timmy, you’re going to make me come. Please, don’t stop,” I panted. His mouth continued moving, nails digging into my thighs.

“Fuck!” I shouted as my orgasm crashed into me. I convulsed as he licked me through it.

“See how fast I made you come?” He growled. “You wanna give this up?”

“No, Timmy, I was wrong,” I whimpered. “Will you fuck me, will you please, please, fuck me.”

“Of course,” he said gently.

We were tearing off each other’s clothes, the movements urgent and needy. Soon he was inside me and he was pumping in and out at an ungodly speed.

“Fuck, Timmy, so good,” I whined, as he stretched me out. My arousal was dripping down my thighs.

“That’s right baby, I’m so good for you aren’t I,” he teased.

“Yes,” I gasped.

“I’m going to fill you baby. I’m going to breed you,” he snarled.

“What?” I moaned.

“That’s right, I’m going to fuck you so much that you’re full of me. You’re going to be so swollen. You’re going to be full and round,” he growled as he continued to thrust into me.

“I want it,” I groaned. “I wanna be full.”

“You’ll look so sexy pregnant. Your breasts will be full of milk, and sensitive. I’m gonna suck on them all day,” he threatened. The erotic picture he painted made me even wetter.

“Timothée, oh fuck, breed me!

“Don’t you want it? Don’t you want to be so full that you’re always leaking? My, white, sticky, cum filling you to bursting.”

“Oh I want it!” I moaned, his hips still jackhammering in and out of me. His hands went to my breasts, massaging my nipples.

“Then you’ll never be able to leave me. You’ll be stuck in my apartment, taking me seed, and growing. I’ll keep you fucked up so well, you won’t have a chance to leave,” he told me. It was a toxic idea, one I should have hated, but it made me fall over the edge. My walls were spasming.

“Oh fuck, I’m going to cum,” Timothée moaned, and he was spilling into me. He was fucking his cum deeper inside me.

“You’re never leaving,” he growled, as he continued to thrust.

“Never,” I promised.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Dark!Rhysand x reader: mine.[***]

A/N: Razzled, dazzled and frazzled my mind

(This isn’t dark dark, but just be wary!)

Warnings: dub-con, hate sex?, dark!Rhysand, CNC kink

Word Count: 5,297

“Where the hell were you last night?”

Blink wearily, attempting to locate the voice. Head is pounding, floor swaying ever so slightly. Gods, you should have watched how much you drank. Blearily stumble forward, clutching your purse tight to make sure you don’t misplace it again. Intricately detailed shoes peek into your vision, the dark leather neatly indented with swirls and dots. You look up; violet splashes across your world, head twinging at the startling colour. “Mother, Rhys. Your eyes.”

Hands press over your own, soothing their ache, providing pleasant reprieve from the bright vibrancy. He steadies you as you sway, roughly holding you straight by your hips. Hear as he scents you. “You drank too much again, didn’t you?” You groan at his protective nature, batting his hands away. “I’m fine, Rhys,” you snap, “I’m capable of looking after myself.” Squint up at him in time to catch a muscle feathering in his jaw. “Forgive me for doubting you, Lady.” He steps aside, gesturing with his arm for you to walk past. “I trust you’ll be perfectly capable of making it to your chambers?”

Scowl at his arrogant tone, warily eyeing the staircase. Pride won’t let you back down, though, so you put one heeled foot in front of the other, steadily marching away. Until the room tilts, and you stumble.

His scent engulfs you, firm warmth wrapping around your middle, large hands gripping your waist, keeping you upright. You regain your balance, then push out of his hold. “Seriously, I’m fine,” you snap again, embarrassment warming your features. He scoffs, still holding you to his warmth, “you were about to shatter your nose on the marble.”

“I was not!” You insist. He stares at you hard, pinning you to the floor with that sharp, violet gaze of his. Dips his head once, and releases you.

Your legs give out, making you yelp as you drop to the floor, knees surely going to bruise from the impact. Spine hurting, too, from how you landed on it. Curse at him under your breath, then glare upward. “You’re a dick, Rhys.”

“You’re irresponsible, and clearly unable to handle your alcohol,” he growls softly, violet taking on an icy hue. “Do you even remember any of last night? Anything you did? Where you went?”

Brow narrows; lips purse. You look away from him.

Jaw tightens. “I thought not.”

Glare up at him, getting to your wobbly feet. “That’s my choice, Rhys. Quit being so controlling. I can do what I want, so stay the hell out of it.”

His temper flares in response, hands gripping your hips, hard. Pulls you tight against his chest. Releases the damper on his power, pressure weighing on your bones as your knees again turn weak, relying on his strength to keep you upright. Grip shakily onto his arms, steadying yourself as your heartbeat spikes.

“Prove you’re capable of being responsible for yourself, for once, and I’ll stop,” he snarls, gaze turning indigo. “But as it stands, any number of things could have happened to you, and you don’t even seem to care.”

“It’s not your business to care,” you manage, voice straining beneath him. He snarls roughly, fingers biting into you, putting bruises into your hips. Suck in a sharp hiss at the sting, flattening your palms over his chest, attempting to push away from him. He grips harder; you whimper.

Muscle stiffens at the sound, sharp arousal piercing his mind, watching from an elevated view how you squirm in his hold, how you fit against him. So clearly made for him. Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you feel how well you mould against his body?

“What if some other male had you like this, huh?” He growls, softly. “There’s nothing you could do. Do you not understand that?” His own heart spikes at the idea alone. If you were somehow subjected to even a fraction of what he went through Under The Mountain… Rage pounds in his heart, fury ripping at his insides. That will never happen to you. Never.

You tip your head upward, craning your neck to peer at him. “You’re the most powerful High Lord in Prythian’s history. That’s hardly a fair example,” you snap weakly, having a hard time resisting his pull. His upper lip curls back, showcasing sharp, gleaming canines. How would they feel on your skin? “There are many other males out there. Certainly nowhere near as powerful as I am, but strong enough to take you if they wanted. And yet you insist on putting yourself at their mercy.”

A snarl rips from your throat. “So it’s my fault they’re like that? Fuck off, Rhys. You’re better than that.” His grip tightens further, your hands flying to his, attempting to push him off you. Tears blur from the pain, but anger surges quick behind. “Get off me. You’re hurting me,” you manage, glaring up into darkened violet, pupils dilating before your eyes.

He can feel the heat from your body, feel the supple press of your stomach as you writhe against him, how you’re inadvertently rubbing over him. Cock twitching behind the seam of his fitted trousers. “What would you do?” He repeats, staring down at you as you squirm, chest rising and falling lightly. “What could you do?”

Breath pants softly from your lips, the swell of your breasts pushing against the crisp dark linen of his neatly pressed shirt. Mouth parted invitingly, your own eyes dipping briefly to his own, flicking over curiously—absently. Something flits through your gaze, resistance draining from your form, almost melting against him. At last.

His heartbeat spikes, temperature raising as your hands raise from his chest to his shoulders. Almost inquisitively, hesitant of what’s happening. Push up onto your tiptoes, eyes again flicking down to his mouth. His head quietens, memories of what you were talking about vanishing, zeroing on the offer you’re laying out before him. How your eyes are clouding, and you’re…

A snarl rips from his throat as you slam your heel on his toe, landing a brutal kick to his shin. Darting out of his hold, stumbling backward. “I could do that, for starters,” you huff, breathing heavily as you regain your sense now that his power isn’t utterly overwhelming you. He could expand it to reach you, though. “I’m not as helpless as you might think, Rhys. So piss off.”

Fury clouds his vision, darkness wrapping around his mind.

Sharp, glittering talons breech your mind, keeping you frozen to the floor. Back turned on your High Lord. Can’t even swallow, rooted to the spot.

“And what about now?” He growls, softly. Shoes tap lightly along the marble floor, leisurely and refined. A beast who knows his prey is trapped. “What would you do against another with my set of gifts, hm? Your mental walls are as strong as tissue when you’re drunk.” Mind is pulsing, awareness prickling your skin as those talons scrape menacingly against your walls, cupping your conscious in the palm of his hand. As if those claws encapsulate your entire body, skin littered with goose-pimples.

“Rhys…” Your voice is strained, dragging against the rawness of your throat. Heat radiates into your back, powerful arms snaking around your middle, keeping you tight to his chest. Hips pressing into your ass. Spine curves subconsciously, pushing into him. “Why do you insist on making me worry so much?” He whispers beside your ear, one hand gliding up over your front, brushing up the line between your breasts. Cupping your throat; holding, lightly. Tipping your head back so it’s resting against his shoulder. “Do you enjoy seeing me like this? Enjoy these arguments, hm?”

A shiver licks its way down your spine at the softly-spoken roughness of his words. “I don’t…” Swallow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Fingers are trembling with indecision. You should pull him off you, shouldn’t allow this type of touching. Blatant and unrestricted. Burning through your clothes.

“No?”

Heart spikes at the lilt. Swallow again beneath his palm, wrapping around to the base of your neck. “It’s my choice is I want to go out…” you manage, breathing heavier. Head spinning from how his scent is overpowering you, power thrumming in the air, buzzing beneath your skin. Zapping at your clit, making you ache. “It’s my body, Rhys…”

“I don’t think it’s truly yours right now is it, little lynx?”

Awareness prickles at your skin, nipples peaking beneath your dress—there’s no way he could miss it. Neither that nor the stiffening of your body as you try to regain some control over yourself. Try to find those lethally sharp talons, and push them from your mind, one at a time. “That’s not fair… Let me go,” you manage steadily, hands overlapping his own, fingers settling between his own, attempting to weakly tug him away.

His lips part in a smile, brushing against your cheek, the weight of his piercing gaze heating your features. “Do you really want that?” He asks, hand tightening around your throat, possessive ownership. Like a collar. Your temperature spikes at the low implication—how could he possibly know… “Rhys…” you warn. Try to. It sounds a little too close to a whine for your tastes. He hums against your back, something turning to molten liquid between your thighs.

Grit your teeth, pulling harder at him, attempting to squirm away. Shifting in his tight hold, one arm still wrapped flush over your abdomen, pressing you back into him. “Rhys, let go of me.”

Quiet stretches between you, then his hold tightens almost imperceptibly, giving you a suggestive squeeze. Like he won’t let you go, like your demand means nothing to him, because he doesn’t need to listen to you. You’re already his, he knows you completely and utterly; he knows you don’t want him to listen to you.

But then he releases his hold on you, and cold rushes your back. Steps in front, towering over you. “I may have let you run free, but I doubt you would have enjoyed being held captive by another male,” he drawls lowly, hands sliding into his pockets, the portrait of lethal grace. Pulls back, standing to his full height, marking how the breath puffs from your parted lips, peering up at him hungrily. Do you even know how you’re looking at him?

Takes a step back, then turns on his feet, prowling off deeper into his home. Aiming for his office, if you remember correctly. Peers at you from over his shoulder, lips twisted into a feline grin, “you know you’re always welcome to spend a night in. I’m sure the alcohol in the cellar will be of a much finer quality.”

Then he’s disappearing off through a doorway, leaving you staring after him. Body unnaturally flushed, despite the lack of wine in your system.

————

It’s long past midnight and you’re long past sober.

Not enough to be blackout but rationality has long since left your body.

A droplet of wine trickles from the corner of your mouth and you hastily lower the bottle to feel as it drips down to your chest, seeping into the fabric of your night robe. Quickly dry the wet spot, disliking the way the material stuck to you. Wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, gripping the neck of the wine bottle, wondering what havoc you could wreak.

You could go out into the night…nose scrunches at the idea. You’re all cozy and tucked away in here, no way you’re going to change into a tiny dress and heels that make being out and drunk even more dangerous. You could go to bed…but that’s boring, and you’re wide awake. Slightly hungry, too. Lick your lips as an idea springs to mind, grabbing another bottle as you go. Mouth quirks upward as you imagine the chaos you’ll get to inflict upon your unsuspecting High Lord.

————

Push the door wide without knocking and saunter in, drunkenly wobbling on bare feet.

“Morning, Rhys,” you greet, violet eyes flicking up to meet your own the second you were in view. He switches his attention to the antique clock ticking on a wall, checking the time. You are, unfortunately, correct. It is, technically, morning. “Good morning,” he drawls, sitting upright, attention skating to the tops of your thighs, the hem of your silky night top barely swaying over the skin. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

You’re already at his desk by the time he’s finished his question, pushing the bottle over. “How well can you handle your liquor, High Lord?” You ask mischievously, challenge gleaming in your gaze. Violet dips to how your hand is wrapped around the neck of your own bottle, raising it to your lips; drinking deeply. “Better than you, at the very least,” he replies, noting the patch of damp fabric around your neck.

A scowl creases your brows as you glare at him, taking another sip before you do anything rash. “You’re being disagreeable,” you snap, drying the edges of your mouth with your thumb. Enjoying how intently he’s watching. He quirks a neatly groomed brow, challenge lighting his violet eyes. “I am?”

“Just drink the damned thing,” you mutter, folding your arms over your chest stubbornly. “Shouldn’t you be leaping for joy that I’m not ‘putting myself at some other male’s mercy’,” you mimic, lowering you voice in a poor attempts to match his own.

Lips quirk as the stopper vanishes from the bottleneck, leaning back in his chair, taking a decadent drink of the lovely wine. Heat pools between your thighs at the roll of his throat. Then he’s lowering it to his desk, setting it down on the mahogany. “So you’ve decided to put yourself at mine instead?” Nose wrinkles at how he’s phrasing it. “I should have poisoned yours.” Violet eyes gleam with mischief. “It’s not too late,” he hums, attention flicking to the wine before him.

Roll your eyes, muttering under your breath, taking another gulp…and you’re out. Scowl deepens as you glare. It was practically full five minutes ago. Grumble to yourself, on the brink of turning to return to the cellar, when he winnows to be at your back. Arm is again pressed over your abdomen, except this time his hand is splayed lightly. Breath catches in your throat as he keeps you tight to his chest.

“Where do you think you’re going, little lynx?” He asks beside you ear, breath feathering over your skin. Brow narrows, head instinctively tipping back to rest against his shoulder, trying to peer up at him. “I’m getting another,” you respond, practically jumping at the opportunity to lean back against him; relieve the weight from your tired feet. Lips quirk, feeling you sink into him. Magic zips across your skin, then he’s raising something to your mouth.

Eyes flick down, spotting how he’s called over his own bottle, gently putting it against your lips. Encouraging you to drink. And maybe— No, you definitely flick your tongue out over the head, guessing at the kind of reaction it will evoke from the male. Hand tightens over your abdomen, but other than that, he merely tilts the bottle higher, watching as the liquid pours into your mouth. Raises it higher, greedily marking how a drop or two trickles down the corner of your lips.

Scowl at him when he steps away, moving to wipe away the dampness before it can splash down onto your night robe. But he spins you around, violet eyes commanding you not to do a thing. Damn him.

Instead, he grips your chin, tipping you upward. Feeling at the droplet cascades down to the hollow of your throat, reaching your collar bones— “Rhys!”

Muscles tense as he attaches his mouth over the bare skin, lightly sucking away the alcohol. Swallow as his tongue flicks out, softly, with slow, gentle strokes. Lapping up the warm path. Hands tremble at your sides, caught between shoving him away and tugging him closer. “Rhys…” you mumble, voice fragile in the quiet. Travels up your neck, flicking out beneath your jaw, tasting your skin, licking the corner of your mouth. Pulls away with hunger in his eyes. Knees feel weak, trembling at the thrumming intensity about him.

You swallow heavily, heartbeat spiking at that male look. “What…?” Peer up at him, spine tingling with anticipation, fingers trembling with uncertainty. His tongue again flicks out over his lip, heat flaring between your thighs, observing cautiously. Clear your throat, trying desperately to pull out from his hold. “Bold move.”

The High Lord raises a single brow, violet sparkling in his gaze. “It was nothing of the sort,” he counters smoothly. You frown up at him, “do you do that with all you lady friends, Rhysand?” Stars glitter in his eyes, mirth dancing, “male friends, too.”

You scoff, batting his chest once, “I’m being serious.” A low chuckle drags from his throat, his hands settling on your hips softly, touch like a brand. “Are you interested in seeing a truly bold move?”

Lips part at the blatant invitation, staring at him. Eyes flick away temporarily, considering. Return to his after a second of contemplation. Shrug your shoulders nonchalantly. “How bad could it be?”

A feline smile graces his hellish mouth, then he’s pushing you backward, walking you until his desk digs into backs of your thighs. One hand steadies yourself on the surface, the other landing high on his upper arm, over the swell of well-earned muscle. Quirk your brow in competition. “My, my, Rhysand. How brazen you are—”

His mouth attaches to the sensitive skin of your neck, sealing over a point between your shoulder and throat, sucking and nipping.

Mouth parts in surprise, back arching into him. One of his own hands winding around your waist, making your spine curve as his hips press against your own. Fingers press into him at the abrupt move forward, the way he’s pinning you to his desk as he laps over your skin. Taking what he wants.

“Rhys…” you murmur, breathing a little faster than you were a few moments ago. He doesn’t pull away, switching to a spot lower down, bringing his canines out this time. Gasp as they prickle at your throat, scraping across your skin. “Rhys, stop,” you mumble, pushing lightly at his shoulder.

He doesn’t budge.

Heart picks up a beat as he bites harder, making you hiss. Legs turning weak as he keeps you still, hips pressing tight into your own while he occupies himself with your taste. “Cut it out,” you hiss, temperature rising as you push harder. “I know you’re not that drunk, Rhys. You’ve barely had anything, so—”

You get a little dizzy as his hand slides down the curve of your ass, settling over top with male propriety. Squeezing with interest. Back arches, arms twisting up over his broad shoulders. He growls softly against your throat, nosing at the bruises he’s already begun painting onto you. Nips at a space beneath your jaw. Breath catches in your throat as he pulls away, standing up to his full height. “Bold enough for you?”

Heart picks up speed again, uncontrollable heat pooling between your legs, surely dense enough he’ll be able to scent it by now. Blatant want.

Raise your hand before you can think twice, smacking him square across the jaw.

Violet eyes widen, staring at you. Gingerly raises his fingers to feel the sting of the skin. Watches you, features unreadable.

“I told you to stop,” you grit out, pulling your hands to your chest, shielding yourself. “What’s wrong with you? You’ve been acting off since this morning.”

A low snarl drags from his throat then, hands gripping your hips tighter, pressing into the earlier formed bruises. “So you’re back to acting like this, huh?” You swallow at the tone, the rough drag of the letters as they leave his tongue. Straighten your spine. “Like what?” You snap, attempting to edge away as much as you can, shifting your weight more onto the desk. Legs parting a little in the process.

It’s space he quickly takes advantage of, stepping to be closer between your thighs, pushing you back so you’re almost seated atop the surface. “Pretending,” he growls. “Teasing.” Hands settle around your waist. “Taunting.”

Lip curls back from your teeth, “you aren’t entitled to my affections, High Lord.” He laughs, roughly, palms splaying flat against your skin. An arrogant presumption. Shifts you so you’re fully on his desk, allowing him to press between your thighs. “How much wetter did you get from having my title on your tongue?”

Arousal turns molten in the pit of your belly, hands flatten against the mahogany, steadying yourself as he presses in. “That’s none of your business,” you breathe, shifting backwards. “Even in your position, you keep your nose out of my life, Rhysand.” He hums, the sound rumbling in his chest, peering down at your from his vantage point. “Weren’t you the one to come drunkenly stumbling into my office?” He drawls, mouth so close to your own you can practically feel its softness. “Barely dressed, at that. What sort of message do you think that sends?”

Brow narrows, attempting to glare up at him. “I think it shows that I expect basic decency from you, and that I don’t think I’ll get taken advantage of for respecting your request to be a little more careful where I drink.”

“Maybe I should listen to what you’re saying,” he growls softly, peering down at you. “But I don’t think that would be the right way to bed you.”

A wave of arousal crests over you, washing over your body, ravishing it with heat. Thighs part wider for him, speechless from the brazen answer. “That’s a hell of a lot of assuming you’re doing,” you manage weakly, on the verge of succumbing to him entirely. Mouth quirks into a distinctly Rhys-like grin, “tell me I’m wrong.”

The challenges ripples across your skin, prickling beneath the intensity of his gaze. As though he’s stripping you naked, inch by inch. Swallow around the pressure that’s contracting your throat, violet tracing its roll. “I…” Heart kicks up, heat bubbling between your thighs, anticipation thick enough to be cut with a knife. Swallow again.

“I thought not.” Then his mouth is forcefully crushing against your own, hands roughly gripping your waist; your hips. Dragging you to be tight against him, thighs pushed so ankles lock at his back. Tongue pries your lips apart, stroking over your own, gathering, tasting you. Groans roughly into the hot, open-mouthed kiss, holding you flush to his chest. The swell of your breasts rises and falls with the hurried pants, temperature spiking as he invades and conquers, waging war on your body. Taking it for his own.

Eyes flutter shut, and he’s shoving you back onto his desk, ink pots spilling, papers scattering, shooting up before raining to the floor. Mouth detaches from your own, only to reattach to that— “fuck…” He targets it mercilessly, scraping the sharp point of his canines over the sensitive patch, biting roughly, marking. Spine arches upward, legs locking firmly around his hips as he thumbs away the straps of your night gown. Pushing them off your shoulders, practically tearing the material away to make room for his tongue; his teeth.

The High Lord leaves a path of bruises in his wake, nipping and kissing his way to your breasts. Gasp when his licks over a peaked nipple, fingers threading in his hair, nails scraping. “Rhys…” you pant, hips winding, bucking against his own, feeling the prominency of his own arousal. How big he is. Good Gods.

Pulls away, chest rising and falling slightly, staring down at you with dilated pupils. A beast taking in his catch for the night. Staring down at his meal. It makes heat swarm your body, breathing quickening. “What are you waiting for?” You pant, staring up at him, trying not to think about how ink is almost certainly staining the soft fabric of your night shift.

Teeth flash in a vicious smile. “I thought you didn’t want this?” Brow narrows, lip pulls back from your own teeth. Move to shove away from him, but his palm presses down over your sternum, pinning you effortlessly to his desk. “I don’t,” you snap weakly, the pressure from his hand keeping your voice soft. He hums in response, then your legs are being forcefully unhooked from his hips. Fingertips bite into the underside of your thighs, and then they’re pushed back, positioned close to your sides, bent at the knee.

“Rhysand!” You snarl.

Palm smacks over your mouth as he licks up your centre. Hissing at the pleasurable violation.

He pulls back, grinning arrogantly from between your thighs, lips glistening. “You taste like you want it.”

“Well. I don’t,” you manage to grit out, hands clenching into fists. His brow quirks, seeing through your lies, but makes to retract from your aching cunt. You hiss softly, ankles locking as your legs hook over the broad width of his shoulders. “You’ll damn well finish what you started, High Lord.”

Rhys chuckles roughly, sending fire licking between your thighs, more wetness pooling as he drags it out. “So demanding,” he taunts, “and here I was, thinking about giving it to you for free.” He stands up to his full height, pulse spiking as his dexterous finger drop to the ties of his leathers, slowly pulling them loose. “But I suppose if I’m going to give you something, it’s fair to get something, in return.”

Throat dries out as he pushes away the constriction, large hand wrapping around his cock, allowing it to rest heavily over your cunt. “Don’t you dare,” you hiss, attempting to push up from his desk. Sharp talons pierce through your foggy mental walls, forcing you back down. Laughs cruelly, heat pounding between your thighs. Almost begging for him to slide home. To slam in to the hilt. The idea alone nearly makes your eyes roll form pleasure.

His grin widens as if he’s read your mind, arousal wrapping around your senses, filtering into your body through your lungs. Your own personal aphrodisiac.

“Don’t I dare what?” He taunts. Lethally quietly. Marks the roll of your throat.

“You know what I’m talking about,” you manage shakily, fingers gripping the edge of the desk, thighs subconsciously parting. His hips pull back, tip catching on your clit as he goes, making you flinch. Presses himself to the soft, wet dip. Positioning himself at your entrance. “I don’t think I do,” he murmurs back, leaning over your body, caging you in, hands wrapping around your wrists. “Tell me. Tell me what you don’t want me to do.”

Need pulses in your veins, short-circuiting your already hazy mind.

“Fuck me,” you manage, eyes glued to his lips, close enough to brush your own should you rise from the surface. “Don’t fuck me,” you breathe, struggling to keep your lids from fluttering shut. He offers a non-committal hum, violet dancing with mirth, lips quirking into a smirk. “What a shame.”

He slams in to the hilt.

A long moan drags from your lips, involuntarily tightening around him, hips pressing flush to the backs of your thighs. Spine bows from the furniture, eyes squeezing shut to keep in the tears of pleasure. You can only imagine how he would crow with cockiness if he saw how good you’re feeling. Breathe out shakily, and immediately suck another down. Open your mouth to speak, but he draws back, and slams in.

Air is shoved from your lungs, needing to make room for him, to accompany his size. Head tips back, eyes squeezed shut, fingers grasping at something to hold on to. His large hands grip your hips, pressing against the painful bruises, setting a brutal pace, pounding into you again and again. Pleasure blinds your vision, wildly grappling for something to hold onto, to keep you steady, ink wetting the pads of your fingertips.

He doesn’t allow you time to rest, not even a second. Slamming into you, touching those spots that make you sob, tears cascading back into your hair. He curses, low and vicious, attention glued to how you’re taking him. Wet squelches ring through the office, shallow pants and rough groans accompanying in the background.

Manage to crack your eyes open, peering up at him: flushed skin, colour tinting his cheeks, dark, inky swirls peeking from beneath the slightly unbuttoned shirt. Hands using your hips to slam you back against him, making certain he gets everywhere you need him. Thumb brushes over your clit, and you gasp. Nails pierce the wood, crying out in pleasure as he completely overwhelms you. Mind goes dumb, narrowing in on the feel of him, how he’s pressing against every delicious place. You don’t stand a single hope of lasting.

“Rhys…!” You whimper, teeth biting down into your lower lip.

Violet latches onto you, pinning you beneath him. “Close?” He smirks, thumb gently circling your clit, just adding that delicious edge for you to ride on. Cocky bastard. You would tell him as much if you had any capacity left for speech. “I thought you didn’t want me to fuck you?” He mocks, the lilt of his voice causing you to tighten around him. “I thought you would have hated this. Are you going to cum while hating me, too?”

Leans closer, the angle of his cock shifting within you. Tilting your hips upward a little.

Lips part as your orgasm lights your entire body, waves of pulsing heat and pleasure rolling through. Toes curl, eyes roll, spine bows. Arcing toward him like he’s pulling at your waist. Dear God above me… His violet eyes weight down on you, practically able to feel as they rove across your body, taking in your pleasure as it crashes into him.

Hips stutter, throwing you off, sending fresh, stronger waves coursing through your thighs. Hot cum spills into you, feeling how it fills you up, putting himself inside of you. Marking his territory. You’re his. His to pleasure, his to fuck, his to own. Utterly submitted.

Teeth bite into your throat as he rides out the aftershocks of his orgasm, tugging your head to one side to give him clear access. Stamping his ownership into every available point on your body. There’s no way he’ll allow you to cover those. He’d only create more, in increasingly obvious spaces, until his bruises are scrawled across every inch of skin. Scent infused with your own.

Rhys’ mouth finds yours, lips parting, tongue flicking over the roof of your mouth. It’s slower than before, a more leisurely exploration. There’s no hurry now. He’s taken you for himself. Can have you whenever he pleases in his mind. You moan softly, worn out from the strain of withstanding such intensity.

He pulls away, hand tangling in your hair, raising from the surface. “I suppose you positively despise me now?” He asks, tone lilting with mocking grace. Eyes gleaming with mirth. You scowl, inky fingers threading in the soft, silky locks. “I fucking hate you,” you snap in response, tugging his mouth back over your own.

Rhys laughs into the kiss, hips pressing back against your thighs, keeping his cum deep inside. Reminding you of the power he now has over you. Legs tighten, encouraging him to use it. To take advantage of it again.

Stars dance in violet eyes, a dark promise conveyed with a single look.

He’ll make you cum again and again until you’re begging for reprieve. And even then he’ll force one after the other, until you’re turning limp in his arms.

It’s not something you fear.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022

Rhys Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

[pursuitseternal]

“To Slice the Tension:” Astarion x Shadowheart knife play smut🌙⚔️

Act 1 Astarion x Shadowheart | E | 2.7K

Summary: irritation comes to threats at dagger point. Tension grows with sharp words and blades, and finally resolves in the night with hot tempers and even hotter smut

CW: knife play, hate smut, keep quiet, semi-public, dry humping, quickie, poor Gale

Ao3 Link | Masterlist

“You! Cleric!” Astarion snarled, blood smattering his chilled face and clotting in his perfect silver curls. “You have one job! Cast your powerful light spell… thing… and don’t miss!”

Shadowheart lifted her head, glowering where she knelt over Gale, the poor wizard having taken a beating from the ghouls and Death Shepherds that ambushed the lot in the Mountain Path. “Shut it,” she snapped back, her glowing blue hands landing on the wizard’s soft belly with more force than necessary. He sputtered even as she healed his wounds.

“You almost got me killed!” Astarion growled, hovering over her, fingers twitching and fangs snapping with rage. “Again!”

“Not my fault you can’t take the heat of a little radiant damage, undead cretton,” she smirked. “Now do you mind? We have companions that can’t heal just by biting the nearest vermin.”

Astarion growled, feral and deep in his chest. “I should bite you, Cleric…. See if you taste as bitter as your demeanor.” He hissed his words between clenching teeth. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, little pain-craving Sharran…” he swiftly moved, crouching just beside her. “You tell me to bite vermin, and here you are…” he dragged his fangs over her neck, a threat born of hunger and rage.

But before he could sink a fang, something sharp pushed across the base of his own throat. Holding his breath, Astarion recoiled slowly, Shadowheart’s blade remaining pressed against his own scarred jugular.

Closing his fangs on nothing, Astarion’s lips peeled back in a snarl. “Careful… I don’t just bite,” he purred, colder in tone as his hand moved swiftly, jabbing the soft of her belly through the one opening of her armor.

“Hmmm,” she hummed happily, gripping his blade-holding wrist and pulling him closer. “Seems we’ve come to an impass, Vampire. Unless you want to admit you put yourself in the thick of the carnage just so I’d have to heal you first.” That black braid shook as she wriggled her head to mock him. Like a child. Like a brat. “Does somebody need attention?”

The wizard on the ground beneath them cleared his throat. “Would you mind terribly if you didn’t bicker … or flirt… or whatever this is… over my injured person? Thank you so much.”

Astarion huffed and rolled his eyes. “Oh Gale, you always ruin anything that’s actually fun… I can’t believe anyone as much of a wet blanket as you ever bedded a goddess,” he taunted, voice edged with playful venom.

“Perhaps you could learn from my divine experience and sleep off your tempers, both of you,” Gale smiled, annoyed and yet polite, “your impulses will be tamer come dawn.”

Shadowheart snorted through her nose, rolling her shoulders back as she resheathed her blade. “Fine by me, but I’ll be sleeping with this under my pillow…” her bright green eyes narrowed at Astarion’s smug, dastardly smirk, “and I’ll keep a stake in my fist, just for extra measure.”

“Sounds like you’re so very sure I’ll come for you in your bed, Cleric…” his silver brow arched. “I do like a midnight snack, but I prefer my treats a little sweeter than you.”

“I prefer my lovers a little more alive than you,” Shadowheart fired back before turning on her heel fast enough to whip that black braid around her shoulders.

And it only made Astarion’s smirk twist more deviously.

The rest of the evening passed in tranquility until the pop and hiss of the campfire was the final spark of movement and vitality.

But given the way his body pulsed from blood in his belly after his hunt today, Astarion noticed the soft hush of sandals in the dirt as he laid, meditating in his trance. The moment that blade pressed against his throat once more, he spread his lips in a fang-baring grin. “Come to kill me again, darling?” he whispered, eyes still shut even as Shadowheart straddled his waist.

One crimson eye opened just a sliver to see the Sharran Cleric smirking down, dagger’s edge caressing his throat gently.

“You’re reusing the same stunt you pulled on the Gith?” Astarion tutted his tongue, closing his eyes and settling back into his bedroll, wriggling his shoulders against his pillow just for show. “Run out of new ways to threaten the campmates that arouse you?”

“You annoy me,” she hissed down at him. “Different a-word, bloodsucker.”

“Oh, but I think you’re too a-a-addled to realize just how a-a-aroused you are,” he flashed those red eyes open at last, the intensity nearly disarming the Cleric on his body. That shit-eating grin rubbed her wrong, pissed her off. And it made her shift on his hips.

That thick upper lip pulled taut as she moved, baring even more of his teeth. And only then, did she realize where she sat…. That unmistakable outline of a hardened cock jutted against her thighs. “Oh, Astarion… I think I’m not the only one who can be accused of a-a-arousal?” Those green eyes glinted, bright with mischief.

Lighting quick, he pulled his hand from under his head, another small dagger pushed against her pulsepoint, the one he knew would taste extra delicious if only because he was having to work for it. And, gods, did he love a challenge, especially by his own terms. “Hmmm, this seems familiar,” he crooned up at her, letting his knife blade skate its sharp edge up and down her neck. “Fortunately for you, I’m quite skilled at how to let blood from these delicious veins just enough to leave you weak and begging for more…”

Shadowheart eased the blade off the base of his neck, using one hand to brace herself on his chest as she brazenly rolled her hips. The growl that reverberated in his ribs beneath her splayed hand confirmed her suspicions. “Familiar, yet not identical. Earlier, you didn’t have a prominent erection, I don’t think…”

The slip of her hand provided just the right opportunity, and Astarion seized it. Well-fed as he was, it was less than an eye’s blink before he caught her wrist and wrenched it behind her back, staying her blade. Disarming her. Pinning her on top of his waist. “You were saying, Cleric?”

She tried to put up a good fight, wrenching her wrist, even as his fingers locked it firmly behind her middle. One exasperated grunt, followed by a “Fuck you, Astarion,” only made that feral and wicked smirk deepen as he smiled up at her. Her pulse was accelerating, her sweat gathered on her brow, and, with every desperate movement she attempted to free herself, another scent permeated the night air.

“Hmmmm,” he purred up at her, all innocent tone long gone as he rolled his hips into that gathering heat between her thighs, “you let your guard down, all because now I’m… dual-wielding?” He gave that insufferable, inane giggle, even more annoying as he kept it quiet. She bit her quivering lower lip as he thrust upwards again. “Ah yes, that’s right, keep it hushed and quiet. I wonder if you’d be more embarrassed to be caught with your legs spread for me or to be caught disarmed by a man you tried to threaten in his sleep… tsk.”

“Dual-wielding?” she scoffed, leaning forward so she could hiss her spite closer to his smirking, arrogant face. “You’re going to compare your cock to a weapon, conceited arsehole that you are?”

“Afraid? It could destroy you, if you’re not careful,” he sniggered. And this time, the way she rubbed her clothed sex over his length caught him just in the right place… right in that spot on his cock head. He swallowed the curse, still audible enough to make Shadowheart grin, “Hells below.”

“What's the matter?” She taunted, that sheen of sweat gathering on his brow encouraging her to move faster. The hand on his chest pushed harder, firm enough to feel the slow dirge-like thump of his undead heart race with arousal. “Don’t tell me your blade is dull…” she taunted, a childish pout on her impertinent lips, “or are you known to work too quickly with your blade to leave your victims unsatisfied.”

A breathless laugh from his slack jaw, and Astarion twisted her wrist captured behind her until it let go of her blade altogether. “You have no idea what I can do, do you little Cleric?” He growled, pulling her lower by the small of her back until their faces were inches apart, his own dagger blade still kissing her neck.

“I have little interest in learning,” she snapped in reply.

That only made him grin and pull her closer, “But you have… some… interest…”

She gasped, feeling those plush lips brush their cool fullness against her mouth, the slightest jerk of her head causing his blade to bite flesh. Just a little, just enough to run down the line of her jaw to her lips… to share a few drops from her mouth to his….

“Gods,” he groaned the second her blood was on his lips and over his tongue.

That one nick in her skin sliced the tension, and it left them both aching and starving. “I need more…” he practically whined, blade skating a little deeper to let just a touch more blood flow. Blood he eagerly lapped by kissing her roughly. He devoured her, exploring those parts of her warm wet mouth that tasted of copper and whatever it was that was her… her essence.

A flick of his wrist, and he tossed his own blade away, that hand now pressing into the back of her head. Turning, twisting, he needed to drink, to lick and suck up every bit of her blood that dared to well from the wound. Rapid, open-mouthed kisses on her jawline, he cleaned her. “More,” he rasped nearly silently against her skin, his tongue laving the path from her jaw to those panting lips of hers.

Fingers in her hair, he yanked her, rolling her over and into the dirt beside his bedroll. Her gasp of surprise made him smile, his mouth locked to hers, their tongues tangling, dueling with their own thrusts and parries. And she was his to pin and cage beneath him.

Shadowheart’s pulse raged, in her ears, her chest, even her cunt as he kept grinding against her sex with more and more need. Rutting, that’s what this was, his strong frame, a crush of pure muscle, pinning her to the dirt. Every snap of his hips grew increasingly desperate. Hungry. Harder. His hand gripped into her trousers, yanking them roughly lower over the curve of her hips. Her flushed skin prickled at the cool night air touched where she dripped and burned for more. And every little buck of her hips she made helped wriggled them to her knees and then ankles, letting the cool leather of his trousers press into her sex. Gods, he throbbed, still clothed and contained as he grinded against her.

Little growls tickled her ear with every frantic snap of his hips, that cool, wet tongue still sucking and cleaning the nick he drew in her flesh.

A single, cool digit slipped inside her cunt, and she moaned, loudly and wantonly, earning a heavy palm over her mouth to silence her. But its gag only allowed her to open that impertinent mouth again to whine louder even as his finger found that sweet spot of nerves in her channel and crooked his crooked touch right over them.

Walls clenched, wet arousal soaked his hand, and his palm vibrated with the muffled, half-swallowed whines he coaxed from her throat as she came. He could taste the change in her blood as it still seeped from neck, that heady tingle of arousal in her system as it coursed in her veins.

“More, I need more,” she mouthed beneath his grip.

Astarion chuckled, slowly as she tried her best to shimmy his own pants down. It was just enough to let his cockhead free, a little more and his erection pushed, flushed and rock hard, against her belly.

Another needy whine ripped from her throat, filled with eager hunger, a different kind than the ache in his belly. He needed to be inside… and the whimpers from her lips and the scent on his fingers all screamed her agreement. Astarion had to bite his own tongue to keep quiet as he slotted himself into her. But it wasn’t enough to keep her own desperate keening quiet.

A sound slipped from under his hand as it shook, grasp slipping as he was seated fully inside her cunt. Shadowheart whimpered, high pitched, loud enough to make Gale in the next bedroll rustle his sheets and puff in his slumber. Nearly waking. One heart raced as they both froze… both sets of lungs holding their breaths as they stilled and waited.

“Mmhmmphmm magic touch,” Gale muttered, sticky-mouthed in his sleep…. Then he snored in that rhythmic way of his.

Astarion wasted no time, determined not to let the wizard spoil his fun a second time. He gripped her waist, thrusting into her, sheathing to the hilt as those green eyes widened and rolled back in silent ecstacy. “Good girl,” Astarion dared to whisper, right into the creases of her short-pointed ear. Then, he swallowed the groan that nearly escaped as he started to fuck her in earnest. Elbows in the dirt, mouths pressed together, tongues fighting for taste and dominance… they battled to be the first to finish, to quench the teasing need that had simmered to boiling. “You like this, don’t you… speared on my cock?” he rasped, nearly breathless from the rapid pace he set as he fucked. “Feels good to lose every now and then, doesn’t it?”

Her blunted teeth sank into his lip, drawing a genuine hiss of cool breath from him, making his hips stutter in their timing. “You, vampire,” she growled against his devouring lips. “Bite me.”

His deep-chested laugh rumbled into her own frame. “Now with you, vicious minx, I need to know… ‘bite me’ as in piss off, or…” Trailing off, he let his silent, smirking lips press against her racing pulsepoint. “You just want to feel the attack on two fronts, don’t you? Fangs in your neck… split on my cock…”

She pulled his mouth up to hers and nipped him again, drawing a taste of his blood from the slit she made in that fleshy corner of his mouth.

He snarled into her near-silent laugh, a hand wrapped around her blue-black braid, and he pulled her neck back into reach, his cock hard and throbbing the moment his teeth bit flesh and blood gushed down his gullet. Tasting her climax first, he groaned against her skin as he sucked more and more from her, pushing her through that creating bliss. Fluttering walls, a belly filled with fresh blood, and Astarion’s fucking hitched and slowed and deepened as he flooded her. A few final thrusts, and all that tension released, leaving them bloodied, breathless. He rested his head in the curve of her shoulder, feeling the remnants of her warm blood pooling yet down her neck.

The night quieted back down until it was only the soft snuffle of snores and steadying out of her heartbeat beneath him.

Then she opened that insolent mouth again. “You’re cleaning this up,” she taunted. “Blades too.” Astarion lifted his head; eyes half-mast and chin sloppy with her blood. “And before you begin, no,” Shadowheart smirked, “you can’t just lick them clean…”

The next morning, gathering round the campfire, Gale couldn’t help but notice the way the Cleric and the Vampire sat near one another. “You two look the very picture of camaraderie, if I must say!” He handed Shadowheart a buttered bun and a hunk of cheese. “I am so very gratified you took my advice to sleep off your tempers. Now look at you! Thick as thieves!” Gale gloated, hands on his hips in a pose of triumph.

Astarion just snorted, pulling out his dagger to sharpen as everyone ate. And much to Gale’s mortified chagrin, he replied, “Yes, very clever. But a good midnight fucking works too…”

[eupheme]

Um I don't know if anyone's requested this yet but uh.... The Ghoul x Reader cockwarming? 😳 Maybe she's being punished and has to sit in his lap... And we all know how patient Cooper can be.

oooh omg yes!! 👀💖 I couldn’t stop thinking about this!!

— he’s a demon, he’s a devil

cooper howard | the ghoul x f!reader

rated e | 900 words

tags: power dynamics, cock warming, begging, mirrors, punishment, references to rough piv & overstim

“Stop your squirmin’.”

Cooper’s voice is harsh - a hot fan of breath in your ear, as his fingers tighten against your hips, “Supposed to be your punishment, for runnin' off like that.”

Too curious, too foolhardy. You hadn’t meant to leave his sight, but the pull of the empty house and the possibility of food inside had been too great.

He had been furious with you - bared teeth and snarling when you’d nearly upset a nest of radscorpions.

“Teach you a little somethin’ about patience.”

Teeth nip at your neck, then - a reminder to pay attention to what he’s telling you. Knowing that your mind is currently more occupied with much more pressing matters.

Like how he has your thighs spread wide, hooked over is. Unmoving for some unknown amount of time now - you’re not sure if it’s been minutes, or if time has been creeping closer to an hour.

It’s almost as if time has no meaning for him. As if it stopped ticking a long time ago.

Content to keep you here, just like this.

But all you can think about is the thick stretch of him inside you. Stuffing you to the brim while three fingers tuck against possessively against your cunt.

Two split to frame, the middle pressed right up against the tight, slick bud of your clit. Just enough pressure to keep you leaking around him, wound up.

Pinching, whenever you move. A silent warning.

You wonder if he can feel your pulse. The rapid racing of your heart, how it flutters behind your ribs. How much you need him.

The rough texture of his skin nudges against your walls each time you squirm - an effort to feel him move, just a little. Exactly what he was scolding you about now.

It’s not your fault. You’re not used to this.

Too used to him taking. Cruel thrusts that seem to carve you out from the inside, only so he can fill you himself.

Bruises that match the grip of his fingers, denting your skin. The too much of him giving you one, and then another, and the one more - just to hear the way you beg, only to turn around and sob with overstimulation.

This withholding - it is more torture than you can say.

Your toes curl inside your boots. Fingers pinching against your bare thighs, nails biting into your palms until they leave crescent-moon marks.

Trying to ignore the brush of his broad chest against your back as he breathes. The rough sound of it in your ear, making you shiver - resting the urge to clench down around him, because he will feel it and he will know.

Even trying to distract yourself brings no relief.

The room is plain - yellowed peeling wallpaper, a sun-bleached floor, broken furniture. The patterns all ones your eyes have already grown tired of tracing over.

Always going back to tipped-over vanity against the wall, the mirror spider-web cracked in its frame. It’s impossible not to look into it, at your angle.

To be drawn to it.

To the spread of his thighs reflected within, the lean stretch of his legs in the oversized chair. Fractures of where he splits you open. The broad cup of his weathered hand. The thick base of him, his sack beneath hanging full and shining with your slick, where it’s dripped down from your pussy.

Seven years bad luck, and right now it feels like you’re the one that broke it.

His fingers twitch and you can’t bite the soft moan back, as it slips from your throat. The slightest buck of your hips before the hand at your waist tightens. Pinning you firmly against him with a growled-out warning.

“Don’t make me start over.”

The thought of that has your heart plummeting, your words coming in a rush.

“No, I’ll be good. I’m sorry-” You beg, voice pitching up with your whine.

He clicks his tongue, and you swear you can almost feel him throb inside you.

“Are you, now? ‘m not so sure.” He rasps, “Can feel just how much your cunt wants to squeeze me. She’s aching’ for it’, ain’t she?”

A low drawl, as his fingers press slightly against you again in a cruel tease. Trying to coax you into moving again, though this time you try hard to stay still.

But you still can’t help the desperation that tinges your words, the syllable drawn-out.

“Please-”

The hum he makes is paired with a long sigh of mock-disappointment. As if this is torture, in any way, for him. As if he’s not getting off to it.

Just how needy you are for him. Testing the limits of your obedience.

“Maybe when I see some tears leakin’, sweetheart.” Cooper husks, his drawl making each word come out syrupy-slow. Sealing your fate.

“Then I’ll know you’ve learned somethin’.”

The ragged sound you make is pathetic.

Eyes flitting to the mirror again, and they meet his this time - a kaleidoscope of hazel in the cracked pieces of glass.

Where he’s been keeping an eye on you this whole time. Each greedy glance at where you’re joined, every shift of your hips.

Cooper hums, a rough sound of amusement, when he sees your expression. A silent answer with the tilt of his head, a sharp peek of teeth.

It tells you that you can whine all you want.

He’s got all fuckin’ day.

thank you so much for sending this in!! so perfect for him! 💖

[bitebitekxll]

Kinktober ‘24 || Day 2

NSFW || MDNI

public humiliation | cum inflation | priest kink

Priest!Cyno x AMAB!reader

Notes: I SPENT THE ENTIRE MONTH JUST TRYING TO WRITE THIS. Idk WHY I got stuck on it so badly, but it’s finally here. The next one will not take as long I promise I’ve already gotten half of it written (tho there’s no telling if it’ll still be this year by the time I finish this year’s kinktober)

CW: NONCON/DUBCON. Whether you see this as reader having incubus thrall powers or not (it’s never specified) Cyno is clearly coerced and unable to escape after multiple attempts to pull away. Mind break/corruption I guess??

Masterlist . Kink list

So, AU where it’s still teyvat as we know it, but Cyno is a priest for Kusanali. I can’t imagine Cyno not being a fighter so let’s say he still enacts judgment on criminals as a hobby.

And everything is as it should be UNTIL he stumbles across a group attempting to summon a creature from the abyss. He deals with them, of course, but ends up accidentally spilling his blood on the ritual site, inadvertently binding himself to you.

Countless hours upon days upon weeks of searching for a solution prove fruitless. But when he realises that you can’t harm him or anyone else as long as you’re tied to him, he decides that for the safety of everyone he will bear the burden of your presence. You’re determined to prove this beloved priest isn’t as pure as he pretends to but to no avail. Wealth, power, cruelty, none of these things sway him from his duties.

Sure, bothering Cyno is always fun, but you start to tire of the same song and dance, of being little more than a nuisance. So you try the one thing you haven’t tempted him with yet: pleasure.

You catch him while he’s praying, wanting to take advantage of him on his knees. It’s easy to drape yourself over his back, to trace your palms down his chest while he tries to ignore your touch, whispering taunts in his ear.

He tries to grumble about your behaviour, but his words cut off with a sharp inhale as you slip his earlobe into your mouth. Your arm is a brand around his waist, too strong from him to successfully jerk away.

“I can make you feel so much better than your precious piety,” you purr, hooking a claw in his collar. It tears through the fabric like butter and, while you shove one thigh between both of his, you realise despite all his objections he’s rock hard.

He would glare at you after you slam his back onto the floor, snarl and try to fight while you pin him down. But all his strength is no match for an inhuman being like yourself.

“What are you trying to accomplish?” His ruby gaze looks up at you through snowy eyelashes. It would almost be pretty if not for the scowl that marred it. “The bond won’t allow you to harm me.”

“But it’s not harm if it feels good, is it?”

He looks gorgeous, wrists pinned by one of your hands above his head, hair disheveled and clothes torn open revealing his defined chest. With your free hand, you lightly circle the expanse of his neck, pondering what to do with him at your mercy.

He threatens you, tries to ward you off, but the second you get your fingers in mouth he goes still. You don’t even need to hold open his jaw— the man doesn’t even try to bite down.

For a man so proud, so stoic, he falls so quickly the second he gets a taste of the sin he’s been avoiding his whole life. Even gagging around your fingers, tears beading in the corner of his eyes, he’s limp and unwilling to fight back. Push down on his tongue and watch his eyes roll back into his head, grind down on him and he groans so prettily.

He looks even better once you replace your fingers with something bigger. The mere sight of your cock makes his eyes go glassy, gets him panting like a dog as you fist his hair, pulling him close. He doesn’t know what to do, that much is obvious, but it’s nothing some gentle encouragement can’t fix.

“Let me in baby, just like you did with my fingers,” you murmur, a sweet tone hiding how thoroughly you were planning to wreck him. Cyno tongues clumsily at your tip before letting it slip past his lips, slowly taking your length into his mouth.

Too slow, in fact.

He chokes as you slam into him, making him take you to the hilt. He cries around your cock, words muffled and barely intelligible— “Ngh♡~ ‘oo ‘ig~” —but you don’t let him move away as you start to fuck his throat without remorse.

He whines and his throat constricts around you, struggling to take it all, but he remains hard throughout. Eventually, he goes limp, hands curled into the material of your trousers as he accepts his position. Cyno can choke and cry but he can’t hide the fact he’s hard, his usual cold exterior stripped away and reduced to a wet, desperate mess. Even after you cum down his throat, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he struggles to swallow everything, he still can’t get enough. Pulling away only leads to him whining, following you to close the distance once more. He babbles around your cock, words unintelligible, but his actions make it clear he refuses to be dragged away.

Such a pretty little priest just for you… how could you possibly resist stealing him away for yourself? It’s not like he’d be able to go back to his previous life after all, after such a hard fall into sin and depravity. The scattered thoughts in his head can barely come together and when they do, the only thought in his head is getting to be used by you.

[novaursa]

A Lion's Leap (unplanned, unbroken)

- Summary: The king announces the betrothal of his youngest daughter, you, to Tyland Lannister. But even the Lannister Lord is taken off guard, as there has been some miscommunication regarding the proposal.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+ (just to be safe)

- Previous part: flight of fancy

- Next part: strategic truce

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @misspendragonsworld

The battle over Rook’s Rest was supposed to be a decisive, calculated move by Aemond and Aegon, a show of strength to remind the Black faction who truly held power in the skies. But “decisive” and “calculated” went out the window the moment young Daemon and Alyssa joined the fray.

As Viseron and Grey Ghost appeared in the sky, Rhaenys, locked in a furious dance with Aemond and Aegon, spotted her cousins, racing forward as if this were some friendly game. Rhaenys’ lips twisted into a smirk; they had inherited the Targaryen penchant for dramatics, that much was clear.

“Uncle Aemond!” Daemon’s voice echoed through the sky, far too cheerful for the middle of a dragon battle. “Having fun, are we?”

Aemond scowled, tightening his grip on Vhagar’s reins. “You two again?” he shouted back, his voice strained with a mix of irritation and surprise. “Have you nothing better to do than interfere in matters beyond you?”

Alyssa cackled from atop Grey Ghost. “We’re just here to help Rhaenys, Uncle. Thought you could use a little… family support.”

Rhaenys, barely suppressing a laugh, swooped down on Meleys and called out to her young relatives. “Now don’t do anything reckless,” she teased, though her grin betrayed her amusement. “Or do, and give Aemond something to complain about.”

Aegon, astride his golden dragon Sunfyre, had been watching the unfolding chaos with mounting disbelief. As Viseron darted under Vhagar’s massive wings, narrowly avoiding a bite, he let out a bark of laughter. “Oh, this is rich! Aemond, you’re being swarmed by Lannisters!”

Aemond shot his brother a withering glare. “Silence, Aegon,” he growled, struggling to keep Vhagar under control as Viseron swooped up and circled, taunting them with graceful, nimble maneuvers. “This is hardly the time for your amusement.”

“Oh, but it is,” Aegon drawled, grinning as he watched his nephew zip around them. “They’ve made a mockery of you once already; might as well make it twice.”

Aemond’s temper flared as Daemon and Alyssa moved in unison, Grey Ghost darting in to distract Vhagar while Viseron took another run at Sunfyre. Alyssa called out, her voice carrying over the battlefield, “What’s the matter, Uncle? Vhagar getting tired?”

Aemond’s eye narrowed, his voice a snarl. “Enough of this nonsense! Vhagar, show them their place!”

But Viseron and Grey Ghost darted apart just as Vhagar made a powerful dive, her bulk and speed propelling her toward what she thought was an easy target. Instead, she found herself colliding with nothing but open air as the smaller dragons slipped past her grasp, leaving her plummeting toward the ground.

Aegon, who had been thoroughly enjoying the spectacle, burst into laughter as Vhagar crashed unceremoniously into the ground below, dust and rocks flying. “Oh, well done, nephew!” he called to Daemon. “A fine trick!”

Aemond, however, was less than amused. Struggling to right himself as Vhagar recovered, he shot a glare at Aegon. “Are you enjoying this?”

“More than you’ll ever know, brother,” Aegon chuckled, patting Sunfyre’s neck. “Not often I get to see you humbled.”

Meanwhile, Rhaenys seized the opportunity. With a nod of thanks to Daemon and Alyssa, she guided Meleys in a sharp ascent, spiraling up and away from the battlefield. She caught Alyssa’s eye and winked. “Good work, children. I’ll be sure to remember this.”

Alyssa waved back with a grin. “Anytime, Rhaenys! We’re just here to keep things… lively.”

As Rhaenys disappeared into the clouds with Meleys, Aemond seethed, his pride bruised. “You fools,” he hissed, aiming his next attack squarely at his nephews. “I’ve had enough of your insolence!”

Daemon, undaunted, nudged Viseron closer, flashing his uncle a cocky smile. “Oh, come now, Uncle. You’re just upset because we’re faster.”

“Faster?” Aemond spat, his eye blazing with fury. “Do you think speed matters against Vhagar?”

Alyssa piped up, clearly enjoying every second of Aemond’s frustration. “It seems to matter quite a lot, actually.”

Aegon, his face stretched in a grin of pure amusement, waved to his nephews as he steered Sunfyre higher. “Well, I’ve had enough entertainment for one day. Aemond, I’ll leave you to handle your ‘guests’… unless they take you down again!”

With a final cackle, Aegon turned and left, leaving Aemond alone with his meddlesome relatives. Young Daemon and Alyssa exchanged a triumphant look before giving Aemond a mock salute.

“See you next time, Uncle!” Daemon called out, urging Viseron higher.

Alyssa blew Aemond a kiss from atop Grey Ghost. “Try not to be so grumpy next time, Uncle Aemond! It’s not a good look on you.”

With that, the two younger dragons soared back toward the Westerlands, leaving a very battered, very furious Aemond on Vhagar, smoldering in the ruins of Rook’s Rest.

And as Aegon circled back to observe the aftermath from above, he let out one last bark of laughter. “Perhaps next time, brother, you’ll learn to keep up with the family!”

In the grand hall of Casterly Rock, Tyland Lannister sat on the high seat, looking every bit the part of a patient lord holding court—though he would have preferred to be doing anything else. As the younger twin, Tyland was far more accustomed to letting Jason handle the endless stream of minor grievances from vassals, merchants, and local farmers. But with Jason away at Harrenhal alongside Prince Daemon, Tyland found himself reluctantly taking up the role.

To his left, you sat with a serene smile, now visibly pregnant and reclining with all the ease of a princess overseeing her kingdom. Every so often, you would shoot him a look of encouragement, and it was only with your calm presence beside him that Tyland managed to keep his nerves in check.

The first petitioner was a merchant from Lannisport, bowing deeply before launching into his grievance.

“My lord, it’s about the tariffs on spices. They’re higher than last season, and it’s driving away the traders from Essos. They’re going to... to the Tyrells!” he sputtered, clearly horrified at the thought.

Tyland, forcing a diplomatic smile, cleared his throat. “Well, we can’t very well have that, now can we? Though I must remind you that even the Tyrells don’t control dragons.” He gave a quick side-glance to you, as if hoping your dragon-backed presence would reassure the man.

The merchant looked between the two of you, his expression shifting to one of hesitant awe. “Oh, yes, of course, my lord. Dragons. I hadn’t... considered that, naturally. Perhaps I should look into... uh, new imports.”

You gave Tyland a sly smile and leaned over to whisper, “You’re doing well, my lord.”

Tyland managed a weak smile back. “Yes, because spice tariffs are absolutely within my comfort zone,” he muttered.

The next petitioner approached—a plump farmer clutching his hat nervously, his clothes speckled with straw and mud. He shifted uncomfortably before finally speaking.

“Begging your pardon, m’lord,” the farmer began, casting a wary look at you. “But it’s about the sheep. They’ve... been disappearing.”

Tyland raised an eyebrow. “Disappearing? You mean to say someone’s stealing them?”

The farmer shuffled, his face turning a bit red. “Er... not exactly, m’lord. More like they’re... flying away.”

The hall fell silent, and Tyland’s brow creased in confusion. “Flying…?”

The farmer nodded vigorously. “It’s the dragons, m’lord! They’ve been... swooping in from above, taking the sheep right from the fields.”

You stifled a laugh, covering your mouth with your hand. Tyland’s face turned an impressive shade of red as he did his best to maintain composure.

“Ah. Yes.” Tyland coughed awkwardly, casting a quick glance at you. “Well, rest assured, we’ll look into… dragon sheep control. Perhaps, uh, perhaps a fence of some sort? Or… more sturdy barn roofs?”

The farmer scratched his head, clearly unimpressed by the suggestion. “A fence, m’lord? Against dragons?”

You leaned forward with a kind smile, your voice gentle. “We’ll make sure to address it, good man. Rest assured, our dragons will find something else to feast on. Perhaps… less flying sheep.”

The farmer, visibly relieved, bowed and backed away, muttering a fervent prayer to the Seven that his sheep might remain on the ground.

Just as Tyland let out a sigh of relief, a noble from one of the smaller Lannister-sworn houses strode forward, looking far too pleased with himself. Lord Wyllis, a minor lord with an impressive mustache and an even more impressive ego, gave an exaggerated bow.

“My lord,” Wyllis began, his tone full of pride, “I bring news of our recent hunts. We’ve managed to clear the boar from the southern woods.” He paused dramatically, casting a look at you. “M’lady, you may sleep soundly knowing your paths are safe.”

Tyland suppressed a smile. “I’m sure she’s grateful, Lord Wyllis.”

Wyllis straightened, a smug look on his face. “It was a feat worthy of a song, truly. Perhaps the lady would care to join us on the next hunt?”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in your eye. “Ah, but what about the dragons, Lord Wyllis? They might feel… neglected if I went on foot. Do you think they’d appreciate boar over sheep?”

The lord paled, clearly having not considered this particular complication. “Well, uh, I... hadn’t thought of... dragons joining, m’lady.”

Tyland bit back laughter, giving you a conspiratorial smile. “I’m sure we can find a way to keep both the boars and sheep safe, Lord Wyllis. Perhaps we’ll even commission a song for your next feat.”

The final petitioner—a young woman from the nearby village—curtsied nervously, her voice barely a whisper as she spoke. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but there have been... sounds. In the night. Coming from the hills.”

Tyland’s expression turned puzzled. “Sounds?”

“Yes, my lord. Terrible noises… screeching, flapping. We fear it may be some sort of… beast.” She looked over at you nervously. “No offense, m’lady.”

You gave her a reassuring nod. “None taken. I believe those may be our dragons stretching their wings at night. Nothing to fear.”

Tyland added with a nod, “Think of it as… an added layer of security. After all, who would dare invade with dragons patrolling the skies?”

The young woman looked unconvinced but gave a hesitant nod, whispering her thanks before scurrying away.

As the hall began to clear, Tyland leaned back in his seat, looking thoroughly relieved. “Well,” he muttered under his breath, “I think I prefer Jason dealing with the boars and the… flying sheep.”

You laughed, resting a hand on his arm. “You handled it well. Besides, it’s good practice. We may yet have to sort out a great many more dragon-related grievances.”

Tyland chuckled, though he cast a wary glance toward the open window as if expecting one of your dragons to swoop in for a meal. “Yes, and next they’ll be asking us to train the dragons not to take liberties with the livestock. Wonderful.”

You patted his arm, smiling. “You’re handling it brilliantly.”

He gave you a long-suffering smile, though there was warmth in his eyes. “If by ‘brilliantly’ you mean barely keeping my head on straight, then yes, quite.”

And as the last of the petitioners filed out, Tyland let out a sigh of relief, wondering how he’d survive another audience if his dragons didn’t get their fill of sheep sometime soon.

When young Daemon and Alyssa arrived at Harrenhal, perched proudly on Viseron and Grey Ghost, the towering, soot-stained walls of the cursed castle seemed to lean in as if watching them approach. Prince Daemon, already in the courtyard with Jason Lannister and Lord Simon Strong, squinted up at the sky, raising an eyebrow at the sight of the two teenage dragonriders descending.

Jason sighed, rubbing his temples. “Just when I thought we’d left all the chaos behind at Casterly Rock…”

Prince Daemon smirked, watching with a glint of pride in his eye. “Chaos? No, my good man, that’s the Targaryen way.”

The dragons landed with a heavy thud that made the stone courtyard tremble, Grey Ghost and Viseron stretching their wings as if claiming this cursed castle as their own. Young Daemon slid down first, giving a cocky bow to his uncles. Alyssa followed, her face alight with mischief as she took in the grand, eerie structure of Harrenhal.

Lord Simon Strong, the current castellan of Harrenhal, watched the whole scene with a mix of awe and amusement. “A sight, isn’t it? Lannister children… on dragons. I would say Harrenhal hasn’t seen anything quite like it.”

“Likely because Harrenhal would prefer to remain standing,” Jason muttered, giving his niece and nephew a wary look.

Young Daemon grinned, clearly picking up on his uncle’s anxiety. “Come now, Uncle Jason. We’re here to lend our support—and perhaps brighten up these gloomy walls.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Brighten up, you say? Harrenhal’s walls aren’t known to take kindly to… brightness. Or guests, for that matter.”

Alyssa, undeterred, stepped forward with a smirk. “Perhaps that’s because Harrenhal hasn’t seen guests like us.”

Lord Simon laughed heartily, clapping his hands together. “Now that’s the spirit, young lady! Harrenhal could use a little excitement. It’s been dreadfully dreary here since… well, since it was built.”

Jason shot him a look, his tone dry. “Let’s not encourage them, Lord Simon. The last time they were unsupervised, half the Lannister sheep population took flight.”

Prince Daemon chuckled, folding his arms. “It seems my niece and nephew are well on their way to mastering the fine art of Targaryen mischief.”

“And Lannister,” Alyssa added with a grin, casting a proud look at her brother.

Young Daemon pointed toward the castle’s ominous towers. “So, where’s the best place to start? This place is practically begging for some… improvements.”

Jason let out a long, suffering sigh. “Preferably somewhere without structural importance.”

But before Jason could protest further, the two teenagers were already exploring, their dragons trailing behind them with bemused, curious expressions. Grey Ghost nudged one of the ancient, cracked walls with his snout, causing a loose stone to tumble down with an echoing thud.

“Careful!” Jason called out, his voice rising with alarm. “This place is practically held together with curses and spiderwebs!”

Young Daemon waved dismissively. “Uncle Jason, if Harrenhal’s survived this long, it’ll survive us.”

They ventured into the main hall, where the thick, ancient walls seemed to breathe with a life of their own. Shadows twisted along the cracked stonework, the grand structure radiating an eerie silence. Alyssa glanced at her brother, a mischievous glint in her eye. “What do you think, Daemon? A few more dragon perches?”

Lord Simon, who had been trailing behind, chuckled. “Harrenhal might appreciate a few dragon-sized renovations.”

Young Daemon grinned. “You’re right, Lord Simon! Look at these pillars—they’d make perfect scratching posts for Viseron.”

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, “Let’s not add ‘desecrated pillars’ to the list of grievances we leave here.”

But despite Jason’s grumblings, Viseron seemed to take the suggestion seriously. The dragon flexed his claws against the stone floor, leaving deep gouges in the ancient rock. Grey Ghost, not wanting to be outdone, flapped his wings, sending centuries-old dust and cobwebs swirling through the air.

“Perfect ambiance!” Alyssa declared, brushing cobwebs from her shoulder. “A little Targaryen touch, wouldn’t you say?”

Prince Daemon laughed, clearly delighted by his niece and nephew’s antics. “I do think Harrenhal looks more… lively already.”

Jason groaned. “Lively? Harrenhal is liable to collapse in protest.”

Lord Simon, grinning from ear to ear, seemed entirely unbothered by the chaos. “Nonsense, my lord! It’s about time these old stones were shaken up a bit. Besides, who wouldn’t want dragons in the family?”

Young Daemon cast an appraising look around, noting the worn tapestries and crumbling statues. “What’s that saying about Harrenhal being cursed?”

Jason, still looking thoroughly exasperated, muttered, “That it destroys every family that holds it. And I’d rather we didn’t test the theory, thank you.”

Alyssa flashed a grin at Jason. “Don’t worry, Uncle. We’re just here for a visit. Harrenhal’s not going to collapse… we’ll leave a few stones standing.”

As they continued exploring, Viseron and Grey Ghost took turns nudging ancient statues, examining the stonework with what could only be described as “dragonly curiosity.” Each time they knocked something loose, Jason flinched, but Lord Simon only chuckled, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Young Daemon suddenly turned to his uncle with a mischievous smile. “You know, Uncle Jason, you could always take a ride on Viseron. It’d give you a different perspective of Harrenhal entirely.”

Jason’s face blanched. “I think I’d rather stay grounded. Thank you.”

Prince Daemon laughed, slapping Jason on the back. “Oh, come now, Lannister. You wouldn’t want to pass up the chance to see Harrenhal from the sky, would you?”

Jason managed a strained smile, his voice barely concealing his dread. “I… I think I’ll pass.”

Alyssa gave an exaggerated sigh. “Pity. You’re missing out, Uncle.”

As the dragons explored, Harrenhal’s walls seemed to groan in protest, the echoes of ancient curses mingling with the gleeful laughter of two young Targaryens and the resigned mutterings of a thoroughly exasperated Lannister lord. And as they moved through the castle, Lord Simon watched the scene with a twinkle in his eye, a man clearly delighted to see Harrenhal brought to life—even if it meant risking a few more crumbling walls.

By the time the sun began to set, Jason was visibly weary, muttering under his breath as he surveyed the damage. “I’ll never hear the end of this from Tyland.”

Prince Daemon clapped him on the shoulder, his grin as sharp as ever. “Consider it a lesson in family unity, Jason. A true bonding experience.”

“Or a lesson in why we avoid bringing dragon-riding siblings to cursed castles,” Jason replied dryly, though there was a reluctant smile on his lips.

And as the dragons settled, Harrenhal’s walls might have been slightly worse for wear, but the ancient castle had never felt more alive—or more thoroughly unsettled by its wild, Targaryen-Lannister visitors.

In the dim glow of the candlelight, you sat at the writing desk, a sheet of parchment before you as you dipped your quill in ink, preparing to write to your sister, Rhaenyra. Tyland, ever the doting husband, was seated beside you, leaning over with that familiar glint in his eye, clearly intending to distract you from your letter.

He watched as you wrote, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. “You know, sometimes I still can’t believe this is real,” he murmured, placing his hand over yours gently, stopping you mid-sentence.

You looked up, meeting his gaze with a playful smile. “What do you mean?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Our marriage, for one. A match arranged by a misunderstanding—a ‘happy accident’ at Otto Hightower’s hands.”

You laughed softly, remembering all too well how Otto had arranged your betrothal to the wrong Lannister twin on purpose, thinking he was binding House Lannister to the Hightowers’ cause. “I suppose we should be grateful for his ‘mistake’. He wanted us as pawns, but now he’s lost our support entirely.”

“Not exactly a winning move, was it?” Tyland grinned, clearly reveling in Otto’s failed scheme. “Imagine it—he thought he was securing an ally, and yet here I am, hopelessly in love with the most rebellious Targaryen he could have chosen for me.”

You gave him a light nudge, trying to keep your focus on the letter but finding it increasingly difficult with his mischievous smile so close. “Rebellious now, am I?”

“Oh, unquestionably.” He leaned closer, whispering in a conspiratorial tone. “Marrying you has been nothing but a series of delightful rebellions. Every sheep Viseron steals, every minor lord terrified by your dragons… I can only imagine Otto’s face if he knew.”

A mischievous smirk crossed your lips. “Perhaps I should include that in the letter to Rhaenyra—let her know just how unplanned and yet wonderful this marriage has turned out to be.”

Tyland raised an eyebrow, feigning horror. “Oh, you’ll ruin my image as a respectable lord, you know. What will everyone say?”

You laughed, dipping your quill back into the ink. “They’ll say you’ve been properly Targaryen’d, love. Consider it an honor.”

He pretended to groan, though his eyes sparkled with amusement. “And here I thought Lannisters were supposed to be the ones doing the taming.”

You leaned in close, a teasing grin on your face. “Oh, you’re welcome to try, Lord Lannister. But I warn you, Targaryens are notoriously difficult to tame.”

Tyland chuckled, running a hand through his hair in a mock display of resignation. “Well, I’ve certainly noticed. But, you know… I think I quite like it. All of it.” He placed his hand on your stomach, where the newest addition to your family grew, his expression softening. “You, the children, the dragons—even if they’re liable to eat the tapestries.”

You smiled, placing your hand over his. “We’re a family now, Tyland. And not because Otto intended it, but because we chose it.”

He looked at you, his expression tender. “Exactly. That’s the most unreal part of all, isn’t it? We were supposed to be a political alliance. Yet here I am, utterly, hopelessly yours—and completely unbothered by the thought of our dragons terrorizing Westeros together.”

Laughing, you returned your attention to the letter, writing out a few more lines about your life at Casterly Rock, the amusing mishaps with the dragons, and, of course, Tyland’s adaptation to Targaryen life. “Should I include that last part, do you think?”

Tyland made a show of considering it. “Oh, by all means, do. Let Rhaenyra know her former tame and now rebellious sister has turned her proper Lannister husband into a dragon-handler—however unwilling he might have been at first.”

You smiled, your quill scratching against the parchment as you added the line, a sense of warmth blooming in your chest. “Rhaenyra will be delighted. She warned me this marriage might be a mistake, and yet here we are, proving her wrong.”

“Then we owe it to Otto, don’t we?” Tyland said with a laugh. “An intentional misunderstanding on his part, and now he’s left with nothing but our rebellion in return.”

Leaning over, he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, his voice soft. “Here’s to more misunderstandings, then. The best kind—the ones that bring happiness and laughter rather than war.”

As you finished your letter, sealing it with the wax of House Targaryen and House Lannister combined, you couldn’t help but marvel at how far you’d come together. An unexpected marriage, a union born of conspiracy and miscalculation, had somehow blossomed into something real and precious. And though Otto’s schemes had intended otherwise, they’d given you the best kind of happiness—one with dragons, laughter, and love.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Hazbin Hotel Lucifer x Morticia!Reader?

Reader becomes a mother figure towards Charlie as she believes in her dream for redemption, she also finds Hell to be a very beautiful place and is the Gardener in Charlie’s Hotel

She’s also very protective over the residents who live at the Hotel, as she wouldn’t hesitate defending Angel Dust from Valentino with threats to pluck out his eyes, rip off his wings and feed him to her carnivorous plants

Reader does think Charlie being colorful is a bit strange but supports her dream none the less

-Soft humming filled the greenhouse that you had claimed as your domain in Charlie’s hotel.

-You were intrigued with her determination, willing to prove that souls could be redeemed, she was such a bright individual, someone you weren’t used to, but you couldn’t help but like her.

-That’s why you came to her hotel, offering your services with your babies, dangerous but beautiful plants, ones that could easily eat others if they were to get too close- but they didn’t need to know that, and your babies needed to eat.

-Charlie loved having you, as she believed you were a fighter for her cause- while that was only partly true, as you were curious to see if her dream would be realized- but you couldn’t help but like her.

-All the members of the Hazbin Hotel became like a family to you; they all had their quirks, and you had your own and each member fit into the weird puzzle that made up the hotel together.

-Charlie thought you were very elegant, always walking like you floating, carrying rose stems in your arms, the petals removed of course, to decorate the lobby, and speaking with such a soft, soothing voice- and she grew close to you, looking up to you.

-Lucifer was amazed by his daughter’s ambition, seeing how hard she was working to make her dream a reality, and seeing the other members of the hotel staff working alongside her, most of them helping her, in their own ways.

-When Lucifer saw you walking by the first time, holding a potted Venus Fly Trap that was growling and baring its unnaturally large teeth at everyone and everything, he was intrigued by you, approaching to introduce himself.

-Your baby snarled and snapped at him, making him lean back and you smiled down at him, “Careful- he bites- and so do I~” he was surprised by your forward nature, giving you a grin before Charlie came over, greeting you warmly, “Hi Y/N~ are you feeding your baby?”

-Your smile looked so soft as you spoke with her, telling her that you were heading to the kitchen, but Lucifer couldn’t hear anything you were saying as he was mesmerized by the vison of you smiling- you looked so beautiful but also so dangerous.

-Once your baby was fed and fast asleep, snoring loudly and back in his spot in your greenhouse, you picked up your pruning sheers when you heard loud yelling coming from the lobby.

-You rushed there, not even bothering to put your sheers down, and you found Valentino threatening Angel, ignoring the fact that Charlie and Lucifer were in front of him, protecting him.

-You instantly saw red, and you immediately came forward, black thorny vines coming from the bottom of your dress, wrapping around Valentino instantly- making him squeak like a squeaky toy, pulling him to you so you were looking down at him, holding your sheers up, “Oh my- it seems that a weed has appeared in our garden~ and you know what happens to weeds, don’t you?” Valentino looked up at you with fear in his eyes, making you smile, but he was also very turned on, thinking your anger was sexy.

-Charlie quickly hugged you from behind, to make you stop attacking Valentino, despite him deserving it and when you turned to her, you instantly calmed, your vines disappearing, dropping Valentino with a thud before he was quick to scramble away, saying he would be back for both Angel and you.

-Lucifer was quite impressed with your power, you were much stronger than you looked, something Allister commented on with a wide grin, but you weren’t bothered- you knew what you were capable of.

-Angel was a little quiet with you when he came to your greenhouse, doing his own way of thanking you, watering some of your less dangerous babies. He was grateful that you didn’t say anything about the situation, as he didn’t want to talk about it, but he was also happy that you defended him.

-Lucifer sought you out a few hours later, after dealing with a few weeds of his own that needed to be dealt with, to thank you for how quickly you handled the altercation.

-Lucifer was quite charming as the two of you walked around together in the gardens surrounding the hotel, you with an umbrella over you as you didn’t want to get too much moonlight as it would ruin your pale complexion.

-Lucifer took your hand at the end of your walk, pecking the back of it, “Thank you for being here for Charlie.” You smiled softly, leaning over to peck his cheek softly, but you said nothing as you turned, heading back inside.

-You were a mysterious but beautiful mystery, one that he wanted to unravel- he wanted to know more about you.