#Double Chin Correction | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

soullessdianthus · 1 year ago

Text

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭 | 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐱 𝐊ö𝐧𝐢𝐠)

Summary: During the mission somewhere in Austria, König takes an interest in TF 141 medic. Little did he know, she's Lieutenants Riley's girlfriend.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐

A/N: Possessive/Protective boyfriend Ghost? Yes, double and give to the next person. Also inserted Hank/Connor "lieutenant" reference, I just find it funny. Y/C ━ Your Codename (have fun, pick something babes) Poorly translated German ━ correct me if needed!

Warnings: nothing, reader is eastern european coded (we deserve more recognition as reader inserts ꃋᴖꃋ )

Word count: 1.8k

The tree line of the thick forest melted into the base of the rocky mountains. Your gaze traveled across its pointy shapes and up higher - there hadn’t been a single cloud on the sky that day, causing a slight heatwave.

You let your body slightly wag as the car passed over surface bumps on the earthen road. The dry lump grew in your throat as the dust hovered all over the convoy and all you could think of was a sip of cold, mineral water.

Soon, you reached the small town in Austria, secluded from the ring roads. The cars were parked near the surrounding forest at the entrance of the village. Lieutenant Riley's sight crossed with yours as he helped you get out of the truck.

He could be such a gentleman sometimes.

A handful of soldiers gathered near the vehicles - some of them wearing a KorTac patch on their shoulders, the other ones (from your unit) a Task Force 141 badge. But besides those sigils, none of them were wearing full battle gear.

There was no active fighting against the enemy at the moment. It was just a careful chase after the terrorists - following their footsteps, interviewing associates, gathering proof. Because at the end of the day, the military (or army related organization) cannot shed blood over a defamation.

But KorTac and TF 141? Quite an unusual partnership between the two groups, right?

━ Ghost, Y/C you’re goin’ with me ━ Captain Price announced, adjusting his hat as he closed the car’s doors behind him. ━ Gaz, you’ll stay here, is that clear?

Captain heard a firm ‘yes, sir’ from your teammate Kyle who was to stay at the parking spot. Meanwhile the KorTac colonel gave an order to his soldiers in German. “Such a tough language” you thought to yourself. Only two of his people went along the wood road with the rest of you.

The Colonel.

Exceptionally tall, Austrian man who served many years for his country. The one you found yourself in on the latest mission.

Each time you wanted to look at him while Colonel König was speaking, you had to chin up. And even though, a black hood with a red paint on it covered his whole face besides his cold, blue eyes. He was lowkey intimidating with his massive size, but just like your captain, the Austrian’s rough looks didn’t reflect his character. At least to you and your comrades he was quite nice.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t say the same about his teammates.

You didn’t have to walk for long as the isolated, one floor house emerged behind a hill. By the quick peek at that building and the noises coming from the inside you knew, it felt like a warm home.

As you approached the building, you heard a child’s cry.

Price knocked at the front door and soon after a man with dark bags under his eyes opened them slightly. He was peeking through the crack.

━ Jakob Hausner? ━ The Captain asked with a playful smile under his mustache, his thumbs interlocked with the gear straps over his chest.

━ Ja, wie kann ich helfen? [ger.: Yes, how can I help?]

━ Can you ask him if he speaks english? ━ John looked over his shoulder towards König, asking for a favor.

━ Yes, I speak english ━ master of the house answered with a thick accent, before colonel could translate. ━ What do you want?

He wasn’t trusting at all, well, how could he? You were all strangers at his doorsteps, two of your partners wearing scary looking masks. But it all had a purpose - they were supposed to look… intimidating, yes?

A loud wailing made their ears hurt, it was that damn baby again. Jakob sighed loudly, his shoulder collapsing as he opened the doors a little bit more.

━ We just want to talk about the company you were working for. ━ Price continued talking.

━ About them again? ━ Mr. Hausner frowned his eyebrows and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Poor man was exhausted apparently. ━ Okay, okay, ja, come in.

The man let you all inside, however König told his soldiers to have a look outside the plot - to make sure it’s safe here and you’re not being watched. Poor Jakob wasn’t even fully aware (because of his state) that he let in a group of military people inside of his home.

As soon as you crossed the hallway into the dining room with a big, wooden table, you noticed a struggling toddler in a children’s chair. The girl was crying, her face red from the tantrum.

━ I’m sorry, it’s just my daughter, she… she doesn’t want to eat her–. Lina, bitte. [ger.: Lina, please.]

Being a parent. Must be tough, huh?

Not when you were forced to babysit your siblings or cousins since you were a teenager.

━ She’s not hungry. ━ You noticed the way the little girl pushed her plate away and how she tried to climb out of the seat. Christ, that man really had to be exhausted. ━ Can I?

You took a few slow and calm steps towards the sitting child - a warm smile painted over your face. Even your boyfriend Ghost was slightly… surprised? Seeing you drop the apathetic shell, then becoming more warm and gentle towards the little girl.

━ She’s our medic ━ your Captain explained to the worried father ━ let her take the kid and we’ll have a talk. In peace.

Mr. Hausner let you take care of his unsettled daughter, so they could have a conversation about his former employers. You took the girl out of her chair and placed her over your left hip, pushing it outward.

━ Come, Lina ━ you addressed the girl by her name, even though she probably couldn’t understand what you were saying ━ let’s leave the stinky men alone, ja?

You left the dining room and entered the seemingly endless garden behind the house. Since you took that girl in your hands she already began to calm down, perhaps a woman's touch was all she needed?

“Where was your mother? Was she at work working a long shift? Did something happen to her? Did the bad men–” your thoughts seemed to take a rather pessimistic route, so you had to quickly change it.

You didn’t know much German. Well, you didn’t know any at all.

Fuck.

But at that moment you were thanking the heavens that your father watched movies about Hans Kloss or war on a regular basis. You were happy that your father was taught some phrases and somewhere in your subconsciousness he passed them to you.

You sat on the wooden bench somewhere in the garden not far from the building. Then, you placed the child on your lap and began talking to her - mostly in your mother tongue. Then you added some words in German that you knew, like:

━ Schau, schmetterling! [ger.: Look, a butterfly!]

Soon you grew more comfortable around the girl named Lina, even though there was a language barrier. Without your knowledge, your legs began to bounce her, pretending she was riding a horse.

If anyone would point that out later, you would certainly deny it. You, getting soft for a child? No, no, no.

You were so occupied with entertaining her that you didn’t even notice a looming, black figure in the corner of your eye. Watching the scene from somewhere nearby.

König was standing just next to the doors, leaving against the white plaster on the outside walls. He listened to your attempts to speak German, finding it… adorable?

Never did he meet a woman in his profession so empathetic and gentle. Especially the one who managed to catch his attention. Let’s be honest, most of them were cold blood murderers and he was a colonel - he couldn’t let himself have such a luxury of having a family.

Until now.

His imagination began to play a nasty and stupid trick on him - just because he saw you speaking German with a kid. What if it was you to take care of his children? Were your hands usually this delicate? Would you care for him as much?

The tall soldier was intrigued by you and his dreamy stare exposed him for it.

━ Don’t even think about it. ━ Ghost voice snapped him back to the reality. The British soldier emerged from the building the same way the colonel did after the conversation came to an end with Mr. Hausner.

Simon Riley wasn’t a fool. He noticed all the little peaks at his girlfriend other soldiers usually would take, she was in fact a pretty thing. So it didn’t take much to notice that the tall guy from KorTac took a liking of you. Too much liking in Ghost’s opinion.

━ Verzeihung [ger.: Excuse me] ━ König apologized, flustered slightly by obviousness of the situation. He instantly understood the reference. ━ didn’t know she was… taken.

━ Yeah ━ British lieutenant scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. His dark irises didn’t even dare to stare at him. His eyes were on you ━ she’s very much taken.

There was a dead silence between the two of them - for a short moment, before Ghost gave you a heads up.

━ Y/C, we’re moving.

The rough and firm tone of Ghost’s voice made you snap back into reality. You were in the middle of something, right? Yet, you almost jumped on that little bench painted in floral patterns.

━ Coming, lieutenant. ━ You declared quickly, before putting the little girl over your hip again and heading inside of her home.

Ghost was a few steps ahead and so you had to pass the massive figure of König to go inside again. You pressed the child’s head into your cleavage as she was a little scared of colonel’s hood.

Well, you would be too, if you saw his cold stare in the middle of the night from under that veil, right?

━ Don’t worry, he just looks scary. He won’t bite. Isn’t that right, sir? ━ You sent him a polite smile as you tried to comfort the petrified girl. Your hand caressing her golden locks.

But he was speechless at the moment. He couldn’t form a simple sentence. A fucking grown ass man. “So fucking pathetic”, he thought to himself. Your lips twisting into a wide smile for him. It wouldn’t be easy for him to erase that sight from his memory. König would have trouble falling asleep that night, thinking of you.

A/N: ♪ Two big guys and they grab on my thighs ♪

#reader insert #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #konig #konig mw2 #konig cod #könig #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig x reader #konig x reader

6K notes · View notes

d0youc0py · 1 year ago

Note

Heyyy. This might b triggering so it’s okay if u don’t do it, but how would 141 + Konig react if reader was @ her friends house and got in the middle of an argument between friend + her bf and friends bf ended up hitting reader? (Kinda self indulgent 🫣)

“You always do this Simon!” You growled, shoving some clothes into an overnight bag.

“Do what?” He snapped back. He stood in the doorway, trying to slow his breathing. He was upset- more than upset, but he refused to loose his patience with you. “Just want to keep you safe kid.” He reminded.

“You’re trying to isolate me!” You shouted, making your way towards the bathroom. “Every time I try to do anything you always tell me it’s not safe- or that I shouldn’t trust this person. Newsflash Simon I have been able to survive on this earth without you.”

“I don’t like him.” He held strong. He wouldn’t compromise with you if he felt you were at risk. Your friend had invited you to spend the night at her house for a sleepover, and when you broke the news to Simon his first question was: ‘will that slag of hers be there?’ To be honest you hadn’t even thought about it. Why did it matter if he was there? You knew Simon trusted you but his constant distrust of other people was starting to wear on you.

“That doesn’t really matter Simon.” You sighed. You stood in front of him expectantly, waiting for him to move out of the frame. “Besides what evidence to you have against him?”

“He’s a strange man.” He responded.

“He’s not a stranger Simon. We’ve been on like three double dates with them.” You huffed, taking it upon yourself to push past him when he refused to move. He growled to himself, following you around the flat. Suddenly his hands gripped your hips pulling you back towards him. His neck bent down and you instinctually made room for his head by tilting yours to the side.

“Just stay home with me tonight, yeah?” The anger left your body at his soft words and the small kisses placed against your neck. “Or at least say you can’t spend the night. No reason for you to be away for that long.” You turned in his arms, placing a kiss against his chin.

“Simon I’ll be fine, yeah?” You murmured, causing another huff to escape him.

•••

That turned out to be a fat lie.

“Do you think Simon’s going to propose anytime soon?” She asked causing you to flush. “You two have been together for what, three, four years?”

“Just two.” You corrected politely. “I don’t know honestly, haven’t really thought about it much.”

“Such a lie.” She snickered, wiggling her brows at you. You rolled your eyes waving her off.

“Keep it down in there!” You both jumped at the sudden boom from the living room.

“Sorry Rick!” Your friend shouted, seemingly unbothered by his nasty tone. A pit formed in your stomach.

“He always talk to you like that?” You asked, keeping your voice down. She looked at you with a small smile.

“Just when I’m bothering him. Surely Simon snaps at you.” She explained. How could she not realize how out of touch her statement was.

“Not like that.” You said.

“What’s that suppose to mean?” You winced as Ricks voice rung out from behind you. How the hell were you suppose to get out of this one? “You comin into my house, filling my girls head with shite?” He snarled. You quickly stood up.

“No, course not.” You smiled, making your way towards the door.

“I’m good to her.” He huffed, following your footsteps. You nodded your head in agreement.

“I’m sure you are.” You offered a weak smile, peaking behind you to make sure you didn’t trip over any furniture. His arm darted out gripping yours, tugging you close to him.

“You’re sure?” He pressed. You were a quivering mess at this point. Fear and adrenaline being to much for your body to process.

“Rick!” Your friend yelled. He threw a harsh ‘shut up’ over his shoulder. Your mind raced trying to remember even just one technique Simon had showed you. You wished you had payed more attention, instead of just staring at his arms the whole time.

“You’re sure?” He growled again giving you a shake.

“Stop!” You shouted. It was met with a harsh smack to your face.

“I’ve got neighbors you little”- His words were cut off as Simon’s words finally rang through your head:

“When in doubt, aim for the balls or the throat.”

You decided the first one was the most viable option. It had caught him off guard enough to loosen his grip and it was all you needed, slamming the front door shut behind you. You had made it down the flight of stairs, your hands searching your pockets for your phone only to realize you had left it inside.

“Fuck.” You whimpered, trying to make heads or tails of where you were. You weren’t overly familiar with this area. But you were familiar with the fast approaching figure heading towards you. “Simon.” You gasped, hurdling yourself towards him. You didn’t know why he was here but you sure as shit weren’t complaining.

Even through your own shakes you could feel him tremble against you. You let out a sob as he tried to pull away from you.

“He touch you?” He growled, none of it’s malice towards you. Your cheek burned and you could only imagine the mark it had left.

“I want to go home.” You sputtered, burying your face in the safety of his shoulder. He swallowed down his anger to the best of his ability.

“Alright, sweetheart.” He murmured against your head. He carried you to the truck, buckling you up. He continued to let you cling to him until you had calmed, and the loudest thing between you two was his pounding heartbeat. “Tell me what happened, yeah?” He hummed, trying his hardest to fake some calmness.

“He grabbed my arm.” You whispered. His chest heaved. “And”- you cut yourself off. Taking a small breath you pulled away from him, his heated eyes quickly falling on the bruise already spreading over half your face. His face flushed, but he was able to hold in the burning of his body.

“Sweetheart.” He said slowly. He pressed his lips against your forehead. “Give me the apartment number.”

“1G.” You said, with surprisingly little hesitation. Whatever Simon was about to do, it was deserved.

When Simon came back he was shockingly clean, and shockingly poised. He tossed your overnight bag into the back seat and handed you your phone when he got into the drivers seat.

“Simon”- he cut you off by tangling both your hands with one of his, pulling out of the parking garage. You didn’t need to know. You didn’t need to know that he had broken down a door- and almost every bone in that man’s body. That he had been waiting outside the apartment building for the past three hours, stewing in his own protectiveness. Your friend wasn’t even mad. She didn’t bat an eye when Simon asked to use her bathroom to clean himself up a bit- not wanting that man’s blood anywhere near your precious body.

He brought your hands up pressing a kiss against your knuckles, pulling into the grocery store parking lot for a bag of frozen peas and ice cream.

He wasn’t suppose to be home yet. He had at least another week away- another week for your bruised face to heal. It had just began to look better, the harsh purple color fading to more of a greenish yellow color.

He opened the door, steadying himself for the only attack he actually enjoyed. Your pressing yourself as close to him as you could, tangling your limbs with any part of him, your lips suffocating any thought he had other than he was finally home with you. His stomach dropped when it never came, shutting to door behind him his bag thumping loud against the floor.

“Sweetheart?” His voice boomed, the worst running through his head. He reminded himself he wasn’t suppose to be home for another week and that you weren’t expecting him. Yet your car was in the driveway and there was still no sign of you.

“I’m here.” His shoulders relaxed, your voice melting his brain just right.

“Where are y”- he stopped himself. You were standing in front of him. The realization as to why you weren’t all over him right now crashing down on him harder than a bullet. You- his literal everything- adorned with a sickening brush on your cheek. The same cheek he would brush his beard against to make you laugh. The same cheek his fingers would stroke to self soothe when his brain was just too loud. The same cheek that would flush berry red when he mumbled certain things against you.

“I can explain.” You said quickly, allowing him to maneuver the two of you to the couch. You quickly found your designated spot on his lap, hoping your touch would cause the storm that was about to ensure lighten.

“I want a name.” His voice was calm. Too calm.

“It was an accident. Fell in the garden and hit myself on that big rock you keep telling me to look out for.”

He wasn’t buying it. His face stone cold, as his thumb traced over the healing brush gently.

“I’ll be good.” He assured. He couldn’t fathom why you wanted to protect this person. Must’ve been someone you knew. “Name, please.”

“John.” You whined, clawing at his shirt. He huffed and relaxed you against him, resting his cheek against the top of your head.

“You don’t want to tell me because you think I’ll overreact.” He couldn’t even blame you for that. The man would happily start a war over you. “I won’t touch ‘em, I promise.” He whispered. His hand rubbed up and down your back and you realized just how much you needed the comfort. His hand stopped at your neck, massaging the tense muscles. “Just need to know who hurt my love, hmm?”

“Promise you won’t hurt anyone?” You insisted using his chest to cover up a yawn. He hummed, nodding his head.

“Rick. Remember Kelsey’s boyfriend? I went over to her house and he showed up drunk yelling at her about some fight they had earlier. I should’ve just kept my mouth shut and before I knew it he hit me.” You explained. The normally comfortable body under you had turned ridged, his heartbeat drumming against your ear. “John?”

“That wasn’t so hard was it?” He chuckled slowly against your temple. “Did you”-

“Put a frozen steak on it? Yeah.”

“I’m sorry that happened darling.” He sighed. His large hands gripped your sides pulling you away from him just for a moment. “If something like that ever happens again you call me, understand?” His eyebrow rose to show his seriousness.

“Yes sir.” You swore a small smile on your lips.

He had kept his promise- he didn’t hurt anyone. But he couldn’t allow someone who hurt you live a comfortable life. It would go against his oath to you if he did.

And besides, someone has to make the enemy afraid of the dark.

He should’ve know better than to leave you alone. He thought that for just one moment while he went to the bathroom it would be safe. You had been tucked under his arm the whole evening, so everyone knew who you were there with. It was his fault for assuming his physique was enough to keep any unwanted advancements away. Time slowed as he came out of the bathroom, his trained eyes spotting you right where he had left you, except you were on the floor. Tears streaming down that perfect face of yours, your own hand cupping your cheek. He didn’t even need to see your best friend pulling at her boyfriends arm in shock- or the way his green eyes stared at his own hand like it had just appeared out of thin air to know what had happened.

Johnny was by your side in an instant, pulling your hazy body to its feet. He’d experienced this before on the field. Everything moving in slow motion- hyper focusing on the important things. Right now it was you.

“Mac.” You gasped, your fingers curling into his shirt sleeve. Like a shockwave he was pulled back into real time. The loud chatter of the bar. The smell of cigarettes and stale beer. The fear rolling off of you. It made his blood boil. He turned to look at Rick his mind going into autopilot. His hand shot out grabbing him by the shirt collar on flinging him backwards. The bar went dead silent the only sound was Ricks body slamming into the wall of liquor bottles behind the bar. Johnny took a few steps forward wanting to finish what he had just started. That wasn’t enough of a punishment. He wouldn’t be happy till he was unrecognizable. “Jo.” Your pleading voice snapped him out of it once more.

In that moment he realized how selfish he was. You were scared and needed assurance, not seeing your husband nearly kill someone. He wrapped a sturdy arm around you guiding you out of the disheveled bar. The cold felt good against your heated bodies.

“I don’t know what happened.” You sputtered, letting the Scot support your body weight. “Camilla was making a joke about how angry Rick gets when she folds his laundry wrong and I made a joke about how she still does his laundry and then he”-

You couldn’t even get through the story.

“Let me see.” Johnny hushed, gently removing your hand from your face. He leaned forward pressing a light kiss against the throbbing flesh. “How bad does it hurt?”

“Six out of ten.” You responded, nuzzling your way back into his strong chest. All you wanted was to be home in bed in the safety of his arms. The smell of pine tickled your brain enough for the tears to stop.

“Should go back there and”-

“No.” You huffed.

“That number is too damn high for me to let him off easy.”

“Easy? You threw the man across the room with one hand.” You reminded.

“Should make it so he only has one hand.”

“Johnny.” The use of his full name stopped the unintelligible Scottish rambling that was sure to ensue. “Can we go home please?”

“Hey sweetheart, need me to come pick you up?” Kyle spoke into the phone that was resting between his shoulder and his cheek. When you sniffled into the phone he didn’t even bother to pause his game, his fingers gripping the device in his hand.

“Ky.” You mumbled. You mumbled in that specific tone that cracked his heart in such a wince worthy way. “I need help.” His blood ran cold.

“Stay on the phone with me, yeah.” He demanded, shoving his feet into a pair of shoes. “What happened?” The sound of his car starting settled you a little bit. “You still at your friends house?”

“No, I’m down the street, by the library.” You sniffed. “He hit me, Ky.”

A sound let Kyles throat- a mix of a growl and a whine. His foot pressed even harder against the accelerator, running straight through a red light. His body was shaking, adrenaline heightening his senses. He wished the two of you didn’t live in such a big city with so much fucking traffic.

“Who’s he?” Kyle snarled.

“Jess’s boyfriend.” You emphasized. “They got into a stupid fight about which Pizza to order for lunch and all I did was fucking agree with her.”

He felt sick. He’d seen a lot of gruesome shit in his life, but the thought of someone hurting you took the cake. He could imagine how scared you were- how scared you are. He can see the tears welling up in your eyes and he imagined your heart rate was about the same as his right now. He can imagine you scrambling to find a way out of there- away from the danger.

“After this we’re practicing those damn self dense moves.” He gritted. You mumbled an ‘okay’ before seeing a familiar sleek, black car pull up next to you.

“How’d you get here so fast?” You questioned, hanging up the phone as he got out of the car.

“Let me see.” He insisted, pressing the back of his palm against your heated cheek. You winced, shying away. “Let’s go get you some ice.” He said mostly to himself. He rested a hand on the back of your neck guiding you to the passenger side.

He kept his hand in your lap the whole drive to the grocery store. “What pizza did he want?”

“Pepperoni with mushrooms.” You replied. The rest of the ride was silent, Kyle went into the store without you.

“Hold this against your face.” He pressed a bag of frozen peas to your cheek. He unwrapped your favorite candy bar, placing it in your lap. Even with your swollen face you couldn’t stop a smile. “I need to make a quick stop before we go home.” His eyes flickered over to you, the same flash of anger striking through him as he took your appearance in. You didn’t think anything of it till he turned down your friends street.

“Kyle.” You mumbled. The last thing you wanted to do was be back here.

“I know baby, I know.” He tried his best to soothe, but he was so riled up. He needed to get this out of his system. Besides he couldn’t just let people hurt you and get away with it. “Stay here, I’ll only be a second.” He closed the door behind him, grabbing a frozen pizza that you didn’t even know he got out of the backseat. You watched anxiously as he made his way up the driveway ringing the doorbell.

The door opened to reveal Rick and Kyle wasted absolutely no time shoving the frozen pizza in his face. The strength of it sent Rick flying backwards and Kyle took the upmost pleasure in the loud crack of his nose breaking.

“Traffic is bad mein Herz. I’m going to be a little late.” You huffed at his words.

“Drive safe I’ll see you soon.”

“He running late?” Your friend questioned as you made your way back into the kitchen.

“Yeah, should be here soon though.” She smiled, taking dinner out of the oven. “Help me set up?” She asked over her shoulder, making her way to the dinning room. You began grabbing the silverware out of the drawer.

“No, Konig?” Rick asked, sitting down at the kitchen island. You shook your head.

“He’ll be here soon.” You assured.

“That’s too bad.” His hand landing on your hip followed his slimy words.

“What are you doing?” You spat, backing away. He shushed you.

“Keep you’re voice down. Don’t want her to find us out, yeah?” He said, nodding his head towards the dinning room.

“There is nothing to find out!” You must’ve said it too loud, because Ricks hand flung forward connecting with your cheek. You dropped the spoons in your hand, then clattering loudly on the floor. You didn’t even have time to feel scared, catching sight of the colossal figure in the doorway.

Rick followed your gaze and it was almost laugh worthy at how quickly he lost all confidence.

“Schatz?” Konig held out his car keys to you. “Wait in the car, please.”

Gentle blue eyes watched you, almost chuckling at the way you skipped over to him. Konig reveled in the way you trusted him. Trusted him to take care of you- to protect you. Later he would wrap you up in his arms and hold a bag of ice to your face, but right now he had other things to deal with.

“And turn the music up. It might get loud in here.”

4K notes · View notes

howlyourmelancholy · 1 year ago

Text

Talking Bodies

summary: in which there are four of you (+ toys)

warnings: poly!marauders, with remus taking charge. foursome. sex toys (bullet vibrator, mentions of nipple clamps). rough sex. anal sex. double penetration. pet names; (princess, sweet girl). brief hints of subspace.

words: 1k.

notes: sent a snapchat to my real life bestie for suggestions, she originally picked remus. a few more snaps and it spawned into the poly!marauders and their collective girlfriend. it's short and brief, so i might need to write something full length to give this trope some more love.

It felt like the pleasure was literally about to kill you. The buzzing of the toy held firmly against your throbbing clit, coupled with the two cocks splitting you open and the third nudging the back of your throat, was going to kill you.

"You can give us another, can’t you, sweet girl?" Remus said, his voice a combination of utter tenderness and complete authority that made your eyes roll back into your skull. If he'd been able to see the expression of pleasure etched upon your facial features, he might have mocked you, cooing about how pretty you looked with tears and spit smeared on your face. He liked seeing you messy and cock-drunk.

As it was, James obscured his view. The dark-haired boy was standing on the bed at your side, his fingers threaded through your hair as you bobbed on his cock, your lips stretched prettily around his girth, spit dripping from the corners of your mouth and down your chin. As you swallowed more of him, his cock nudged the back of your throat, and he exhaled a huff of pleasure.

You moaned around him. The salty taste of his pre-cum was like heaven in your mouth. You ran your tongue along the underside of his shaft, tracing the prominent vein with the tip, making his hips stutter. You could tell that he was close and wanted to taste more. "Shitshitshit," he growled beneath his breath, his fingers tugging hard on your hair to pull you off before he could cum.

A harsh slap on your inner thigh brought you back to reality, reminding you that there was more than James here. Sirius' calloused fingers rubbed your skin to soothe the sting of his slap. Sirius had always been fond of anal and had relished the training of your tight hole. The process had taken a considerable amount of time and lube, but you managed to fit all of him, feeling like his cock was stuck in the back of your throat.

He thrust roughly into you, making you moan loudly. The pleasure made you clench, which in turn had Sirius hissing in your ear as your tight hole got tighter still. “He asked you a question. You gonna cum for us?”

It was almost as though the three of them were intent on killing you. They'd already pulled four orgasms from you, leaving your bones turned completely to jelly and your mind wandering out of your body. You were so high in the clouds that you didn't think you'd ever come down, but another wave of heat was starting to simmer in your abdomen.

Sirius slapped your thigh again, making you squeal and buck. It was at that moment that Remus brought your attention back to him by pressing the buzzing toy more firmly against your throbbing clit. Warm honey seemed to snake through your veins, causing your muscles to twitch, a tell-tale sign of the orgasm about to rip through you.

Remus had his cock buried deep in your cunt, enjoying the feeling of Sirius moving so roughly through your walls. Your legs were wound loosely around his waist, your feet dangling limply in the air as the three of them used you. When you found Remus' eyes, they were blown wide; there was something feral in them that made you clench somehow even tighter. He had asked a question but was demanding an answer, and the correct answer was that you came again right now.

As though sensing how close you were, he began to move. Remus pulled back in time with Sirius, leaving you feeling empty and squirming between them. And then the two of them slammed forward, both of them hitting that sweet spot inside you but from different angles. You keened loudly, head thrown back, and James took the opportunity to shove his cock back into your mouth.

His hand tightened around your hair and held you, your nose pressed into the wiry curls at the base of his shaft. You gagged violently around him until he finally let you up for a much-needed breath. It lasted only a moment before he thrust back into your mouth, setting a gruelling pace that had your jaw aching. “Fuck, her mouth s’too good. Got me so close, sweet girl.”

Sirius dug the fingers of one hand into the doughy flesh of your inner thigh, leaving bruises of his fingerprints behind while the other rose to palm roughly at your tit. Your nipples were hardened peaks that crowned the tops of your tits, still throbbing and aching from the earlier pinch of the clamps Remus had made you wear during your first four orgasms. Sirius pinched one of them while James rolled the other one between his thumb and forefinger, but it was Remus and that wicked vibrator that finally did you in.

The knot in your stomach unravelled quickly and suddenly, coming undone all at once. The vibrations of the toy could be felt through your gummy walls, which twitched and spasamed around the boys, sending them both over the edge with you. You tasted James' cum first, the tang of it hardly penetrating through your senses; you felt Sirius and Remus fill you with their thick cum, but you were gone.

Completely and utterly gone.

“That’s it,” Remus growled through is teeth. “Told you you could give us another. Such a good girl for us.”

Your body was a slave to the pleasure; it ripped through you, making your muscles twitch and spasm. The vibrations of that toy against your clit were merciless and unrelenting, sending you sky-rocketing as you struggled to swallow around James' cock.

You must have blacked out; in fact, you are sure you did. When your eyes next opened, you found yourself lying on the bed, your head resting in James' lap, his fingers carding through your hair. Remus was rubbing a warm palm up and down your spine; your skin was sweat-slicked and burning. Sirius had a warm cloth in his hand, using it to clean between your thighs, earning a whine from you and a relentless wriggle of your hips as he moved over your sore clit.

Remus leant down to press a kiss against your temple as your eyes closed again. “Did so good tonight, princess.” His voice was sweet like honey, dripping over your sensitive skin in a way that was sure to lull you to sleep. You hummed softly as you felt the bed dip, shift and bounce as somehow the three of them settled in around you.

#the marauders #poly!marauders #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders smut #poly!marauders imagine #poly!marauders x you #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter smut #sirius black smut #remus lupin smut #james potter x you #sirius black x you #remus lupin x you

2K notes · View notes

occamstfs · 8 months ago

Text

Ain't No Place For A City Boy

Well this one was quite a bit longer than I intended it to be, Here's a ranch hand TF! Hope y'all enjoy and Happy Eclipse Day! -Occam

Day One

Buckley would never deign to visit a ranch of his own volition. Apparently once he left for college his dad visited this place quite frequently, but a habitual indoor kid Buckley never sought to join him. His father recently passed and his last request for Buckley was to give this place a chance. Homebody he may be Buckley was not going to ignore a deathbed request to just try some manual labor so here he is, luggage packed standing outside Stockman August’s Ranch.

He fights back a grimace as he reminds himself to keep an open mind, eyes going slightly wide as a massive man starts approaching him from the homestead. He repeats various mantras under his breath; I can do anything for a week yeah? It’s for dad, it’s not like they’ll have me do something I don’t want to do.

Buckley throws up a performative smile as August approaches close enough to see it, he stands there frozen waiting for the man to offer some pleasantry. He throws out a hand to shake and asks, “You Austin’s son?” steely eyes under a furrowed brow observing and assessing the weak man before him. Buckley quickly goes to shake August’s hand, doing his best to manifest the strong handshake his dad had always endeavored to teach him but his hand simply cannot near the strength this man expects of his ranch hands. August makes no attempt to hide his own grimace looking at the sorry state of Buckley.

He turns to go back to the ranch, hands in his pockets expecting Buckley to get his own luggage as he shouts back, “gotta room for ya upstairs. Ya missed dinner, but we’ll get a plate for made. Work starts tomorrow.” Buckley just stares blankly as the cowboy wanders off, biting his tongue as he forces a smile onto his face one more. If he keeps it up maybe he’ll trick himself to not be stewing in irritation. He struggles behind August with his heavy luggage trailing behind, taking great care not to disparage this whole experience as he feels his open mind already being tested.

Finally stumbling into the doors, Buckley finds a friendlier face in a younger ranch-hand Beau. All smiles, Beau welcomes him to the Ranch “Yew must be August yeah? August said yew’d be around, did’ya need some help with yer bags?” Buckley firmly latches onto the helping hand wordlessly taking all the help Beau is willing to offer, blushing as the man easily hauls all of his bags up the stairs and into his room.

Finding his accommodations, Buckley is less than pleased that there are three beds in the room. The light drops from his eyes as he realizes what a scam this whole mess is. He’s paying to share a room with two men? Seeing disdain painted across Buckley’s expression he quickly goes to assure him, “Hey now, ‘s not so bad Buck! I know there’re three beds but it’ll just be you and me in here and cross my heart I’m a terrific roommate! Or I was, uh, in university?” Buckley squints his eyes at the man before him, seeing his eyes go blank as if he’s adrift in his own mind and scratching at his chin. Rather than addressing his clear state of confusion, Buckley instead goes to correct his new roommate, “It’s Buckley actually, if you don’t mind.”

This snaps Beau out of it as he returns to assuaging Buckley without missing a step, “Sorry partner! I’ll try to remember that. How ‘bout I go on and get yew something to eat. Think there’s still some chili left. ‘ll that work for yew?” Buckley nods and Beau quickly makes to grab him a bowl from downstairs, repeating Buckley’s name to himself under his breath to avoid calling him Buck. In his absence Buckley begins to less than sneakily snoop around the room for anything he can learn about this horrible camp or his theoretically not abhorrent roommate. It is shockingly hard to find any personal effects of Beau, he thought he saw a degree on the wall but upon a double-take and closer inspection it just turned out to be a list of chores for the upcoming week.

As he inches over to Beau’s part of the room he smells something horrible from his closet, sure he can quickly sneak a peak before his roommate returns he opens the door to see pair after pair of dirty overalls filling the floor of the closet. As he opens the door a few spill out into the room proper as Beau returns with supper for Buckley. He looks away out of embarrassment and exhales out of his nose, before chewing out Buckley, “now why’d yew hafta go and do that there Buck- Buckley. Coulda just asked ‘S plain rude.” He stands tall over Buckley as he walks over with food. Buckley sees genuine anger appear in the eyes of the man towering over him before it fades to a smile and he pats Buckley on the back, “Not that yew’ll mind soon,” laughing, “I’m sure after a week here there’ll be at least this much laundry!” He rolls his eyes at this and begins to ask Beau about the ranch.

“How long have you been visiting here Beau?” Beau smiles and answers as he puts the bowl down, “I've been here for years bud! Originally was just a visitor but I loved it so much August went ‘n hired me and I’ve loved it ever since.”

Buckley’s eyes narrow in suspicion as he starts to eat, “I see, so you worked here while doing your studies?” Beau just briefly looks in confusion before bursting out in laughter, “my studies? As if kid, I ain’t a city boy like you ha! Anythin’ I need to know I learned from August! I’m sure you’ll learn a thing or two from him as well, certainly already eatin’ like a country boy haha!”

Buckley looks down to find he’s already nearly done with this bowl that had enough meat to stuff him two times over and burps in embarrassment. How could he possibly have scarfed it down so quickly without even noticing. Beau laughs once more seeing how embarrassed the newbie is and goes on to explain exactly how things work around the ranch. “It’ll be a long day tomorrow but I’m sure you won’t do nuthin’ too hard. Probably gardenin’ s’where he usually throws weaklings like you. Oh, uh sorry ‘bout that Buck- ah! Buckley.”

Buckley smiles kindly at his roommate as he stumbles through this attempt at helping. It’s not like he minds being called a weakling, and if all he has to do tomorrow is garden he certainly won’t mind. He yawns as he continues to listen to Beau, slightly tilting over as he starts to fall asleep. Surely there wasn’t something in that chili, he thinks as he tries to stay conscious. Seeing him begin to drift asleep Beau goes to catch him and carry him to a bed, “boy all that eatin’ sure tired yew out huh. Dontcha worry kid, I’ll wake yew in time for chores tomorrow.”

In his presumably chili-based stupor Buckley dreams only briefly. He’s back in the office watching as papers and contracts pile up on the desk. Phones ring incessantly and a crowd of people demanding things of him as they walk towards him shouting. He turns over in bed uncomfortably as in the dream he turns to look out the window and sees an open field with horses running free. He sees Beau riding a stallion and motioning for him to join. Or it looks like Beau? He looks larger, his beard has filled out. Before Buckley can even think to react he’s awakened by his roommate, blushing as he realized he dreamed of him beckoning. There must have been something weird in that chili.

Day Two

Hearing August downstairs Beau sprints out the door to hear the day's orders. Not having the awareness, or at the moment desire, to rush to attention Buckley takes his time getting ready. As he changes into an outfit to garden he finds himself thinking of his roommate. Didn’t Beau seem taller standing over his bead to wake him up today. He sure didn’t have that beard yesterday, though he did in the dream. God, did that shirt really flatter his pecs as well. Buckley finishes getting ready and struggles to shift his attention from the warmth growing in his crotch. Maybe there’s something to be gained from visiting this ratty camp after all.

Stepping out the door he bumps directly into August who just grunts in response. Buckley falls backwards to the floor and the Stockman just glares down at him as a command issues from deep in his chest, “Be ready tomorrow morning. Don’t care who yer daddy is, I ain't gonna let some city pansy sit around and distract my boys. Today yer gardenin’ do good and maybe you’ll get to try some real man’s work tomorrow.” Buckley recoils as August spits on the floor next to him, sneering down and grumbling about how much he hates city tourists. Buckley grits his teeth as a strange new feeling begins to grow in his chest.

Rather than the persistent voice in his head demanding he just back out of this hellhole, after bumping into the Stockman he finds himself wanting to prove the old man wrong. He rolls up his sleeves and rushes to the vegetable garden and gets to work. He doesn’t question how he knows the way or how proficient he seems at harvesting and tending to the vegetable garden. His mind grows pleasurably numb as he roots out weeds and plucks out food enough for tomorrow's dinner. He feels his mouth water in excitement at the upcoming meal as he wipes sweat from his brow, getting dirt all over his face and jarring him out of his apparent trance state.

Buckley looks out in shock at the garden that he has somehow expertly cared for. There’s a large basket full of greens ready to be washed and a pile of trimmings as proving h that he’s even pruned the garden. He stumbles back knowing he couldn’t possibly have done that to any degree of success, with any amount of self-interrogation he would find that even greater than shock was a fear of disappointing August. His mind recovers both from the numbness and the shock as he goes to check whatever damage he’s done. Looking closely however he is filled with a degree of pride in his work, he’s really done a superb job here! He grins to himself seeing what adept work his hands have worked, consciously or not. No real surprise though, after all he’s been doing this for- Uh, well this can’t be the first time he’s gardened right? Did his dad teach him how to do this? He must have. Buckley wipes dust from his hands as he looks out to see whatever work the other ranch hands have gotten done.

His gaze turns strangely wistful as he sees them herding the animals through the pasture. Just like in his dream he sees Beau atop a stallion controlling the beast like the paragon of a ranch hand, sweat dripping from his brow as he pulls down a bandana to smile and wave at Buckley. He starts to shout “Hey Buck-” before being interrupted by a sharp whistle from August standing at the edge of the field. Every man, Buckley included, knows that must mean dinner’s ready. He rushes to change into something not covered in dirt and finds an outfit on his bed, he didn’t remember packing this ratty tshirt or hat, maybe it’s Beau doing a favor. Regardless he throws it on so he can try to make it on time to dinner.

Arriving just in time the Stockman gives him a curt nod and gestures to the empty seat next to Beau. He happily sits and meets the other ranch men. He can’t feel deep inside that something about these boisterous men should put him off but the thought slides off his mind as their energy only riles him up more. The oldest ranch hand shouts over the rest to chat with Buckley, “Now Buck, you shoulda seen Beau when he first started workin’ here. Was a beanpole of a kid he was and look at him now!” Beau looks away from Buckley as he tries to hide his embarrassment, this however only highlights the power of his traps and neck that only entices Buckley more. Staring at his roommate he doesn’t even think to correct the old man for calling him Buck.

One of the other ranch hands tosses Buckley a beer, normally he would never stoop to drink the swill but if there’s nothing else handy he might as well. He finds himself thinking that he could use the calories, as if that’s something he’s ever been concerned about. Buckley starts to down the bottle before Beau puts his arm over him and shakes him shouting, “Look attcha Buck, er Buckley, already one of the guys! And what’d I say yer already less prissy, got some dirt right on yer face.” Beau goes to do Buckley a favor and wipe it off when he finds it's not dirt but sideburns growing on a face that was unmissably clean-shaven this morning. Buckley feels it too and quickly goes to rub his cheek in shock.

At the head of the table August sits silently and takes in all the chaos happening in front of him. His small horde of ranch hands all scarfing down their meals and chugging their beer so they may get back out there and finish their chores. He rubs his gray stubble as he appraises the spirit and physicality of the men before him. His eyes shift to Beau, pleased at how well he’s already filling out his clothes, clearly ready to move up a size or two.

He then looks towards the freshest meat sitting next to Beau. He was impressed with the work the kid got done, not of his own accord of course, August’s eyes sparkle imperceptibly as he feels proud of his own work spurring the man to be better. This ain’t no place for some city boy, but Buckley’s already starting to carry his own weight. August wanted to see just how fast he might go beyond that. He’s Austin’s kid after all August thinks before grumbling to demand the table's attention as he walks to stand behind Buckley. “Tomorrow. Buck’ll join the rest of ya in the fields. Ya’ll go on and show him the ropes then. Needs to get rest so he can start real work. He’ll go on and turn in now.”

Buckley starts to speak and protest, not of the opportunity but of being told to turn in early. He opens his mouth to speak but turning to look at his Stockman he feels the weight of sleep overcome his mind. His eyes grow heavy and his stomach grumbles. Bickley turns to find that he has well finished his dinner. All the other ranch hands have vacated as he sits in front of a few discarded cans of beer and multiple servings of the meal, August pats his shoulder and dismisses him, “see ya tomorrow youngin don’t let me down. Don’t let your old man down. Become the man you ought to be.”

Buckley stumbles up the stairs drunkenly and bloated before collapsing into his bed once more. Immediately drifting to sleep he feels his body lie there dead as a rock as a pervasive soreness and itch fills his subconscious. This easily shifts to a primal lust-filled hunger. The feeling of his chest itching against his bedsheets becomes grinding against Beau’s body in his mind. His stubble pushing out into a scruffy beard in the waking world goes unnoticed as dreams of his tongue forcing itself into his roommate's mouth, knocking the hat off his head as he throws all his weight against him. The musk of many hard-days work and that of a lustful slumber merge as a copious amount of sweat swiftly stains Buckley’s sheets.

The ache in his stomach begins to dissipate as his body forces itself to grow. He humps his bed as he does Beau in his dream, each time his arms press larger. His scrawny chest begins to grow real weight, each grind into his bed straining his new t-shirt as it too begins to change, revealing the growing pecs as well as hair pushing out all over his chest, and a forest that is never to smell fresh again growing in his pits. His cock was already filling his jeans when he collapsed into the bed, as his jeans grow to accommodate his growing waistline they struggle to keep up with the constant surges of growth in his crotch. He moans loud enough to wake his sleeping roommate as he loses control in his dream. Beau smirks to himself as he knows what it’s like to get so riled up and palms his own cock wondering what Buckley’s dreaming of.

Day Three

Buckley awakens at the first light of day, his hand shoved in his pants covered in still drying cum. He hops out of bed wiping his hand on his sheets and he tosses on a hat before racing down the stairs, excited for another- No. his first day on the ranch outright. He passes some new luggage in the living room, just like that he had brought all that time ago. He briefly tries to remember why he didn’t think to grab clothes from it this morning before remembering instead he wasted time watching Beau stretch and get ready. He meets August on the porch who hands him a mug of coffee and sending him off towards a stable.

Just as the day before Buckley’s eyes glaze over and his mind is overcome with a comforting thoughtless buzz as he starts going about acting with an unconscious precision. He pulls all the levers and gates to release the cows to graze. He wanders around checking for any peculiarities of the stable, confident he would notice anything out of place, his foggy mind obscuring his personality growing brasher and more self-assured by the second. He meanders alongside the cows, petting them all in the right spots as if he reared them himself. He feels his lips move without his input, calling specific cows by name, recognizing them as soon as their names leave his mouth.

While his mind remains adrift he finds himself thinking once more of his dream and Beau, his Beau? He tries to maintain focus on inspecting the cows, but as his pulse quickens as the thought of disappointing August hits him like a shot of adrenaline, he is no longer able to move unknowingly as his thoughts race and his hands shake as he remembers. He stares at his shaking hands as they are unquestionably too large, dark hair crawls up from his wrists making way to soon grow onto his upper arms. He sees the muscle filling his biceps quiver and flex as he ambulates at all. He puts his face in his hands, feeling the beard scratch against them, as he tries to recall further. His shirt suddenly itches beyond imagination and it tosses it to the floor, baring his chest as it expands even more powerfully with each heaving breath. Hair thickening in dark waves down the whole of his torso.

His ears ring as if there was an explosion as he struggles to stay standing, this isn’t who he is. Right? He’s been here for like a week? His mind blaring as it contradicts itself saying he has been here even less than that but also so much longer. Buckley stamps his feet down in rage as he tries to remember any truth at all. He, he was supposed to train to be a rancher today, right? But it can’t be his first day, he did his part like he’s a professional. He is a professional no? He’s been doing this for- He can’t remember, he was gardening just yesterday wasn’t he?

Buckley scans the farm looking for Beau, or August, anyone who can offer some immediate answer. Instead the only figure he can see is one he can’t recognize, some kid that’s doing the gardening. Buckley sees him grimace as he makes his way through the garden, harvesting quickly but efficiently. He rolls his eyes, sure that he could do a better job than whoever that little bitch is. The thought that he is a spitting image for the man that Buckley was not but twenty-four hours ago does not even begin to occur to him. For Buckley is not that man anymore. He looks down to see veins trailing across his arms, pumped from the effort of moving hay bales and readying all the dairy cow equipment.

August whistles once more calling everyone inside for dinner, this time Buckley can’t bring himself to care enough to change or even throw some deodorant on. Beau’s prediction of it being one week before the man would put work before hygiene has been blown out of the water, but neither could begin to recall. For this is who Buckley is, this is who he has always been. At dinner he is sitting directly across from the new gardener, Colton.

He stares daggers into him as the crew begins to dig in. He isn’t quite sure why he feels such rage at the weak man across from him, but it only grows worse as he starts to scarf his dinner. Words that August never even said to him echo in his head as he stares at the young man eating, this ain’t no place for a city boy. Seeing his roommates eyes darken under his thickening eyebrows Beau hits him in the shoulder, “Hey now play nice, Colton’ll be staying in our room so y’all two need to get along, right Buckley?” Averting his rage at the anxious twink across from him Buckley takes sudden umbridge at being called Buckley.

“Y’know, I think you may have had a point yesterday, Beau. Think it’s fittin’ if I just go by Buck.” Beau smiles at his roommate, playfully punching his arm before pulling him into a side hug. Neither man notices as an accent has suddenly imposed itself onto Buck’s voice. Across though Colton rolls his eyes as he sees the cowboys staring at each other so intently, more focused on them than the haste at which he is cleaning his plate.

Tonight, rather than sending one ranch hand to get some rest, August decides to treat his crew and give everyone the rest of the day off. To celebrate, all indulge in even heavier drinking than usual, Colton as the newbie is required to prove himself to the other ranch hands as Beau grabs a couple six packs and motions for Buck to follow him. The two head off towards a quiet corner of the ranch, where August would not be able to watch and the two just sit together and talk. There is a palpable gravity between their bodies as they sit and watch the sunset. Buck wants nothing more than to give in but his mind is suddenly murky once more. He struggles to ask Beau, “Beau, what, or how long have I been here at the ranch?”

Beau tossing back the last of a bottle just looks coily at his partner, “Now yew know as well as I do hon-”

“No! I just want you to tell me.”

Taken aback Beau opens a bottle and offers it to Buck before continuing, “Well, y’see it’s just a little foggy ain’t it?” Buck’s eyes widen as if he’s cracked a case before saying as much though his mind is thrown into disarray as Beau goes on, “I remember you being new, but also, you’ve done worked here for years Buck?” The words hit Buck’s mind like a hammer on the anvil, the idea of him working at this ranch searing red hot into his mind as he coughs up the beer he was drinking. His eyes glaze over immediately as he drops the beer bottle, he doesn’t remember anything else of the night, at least not in the conscious world.

The last words of reality he remembers; Haven’t you worked here for years Buck. what is his mind to do besides stew on them, now given total creative liberty. He remembers first coming to the camp, he was the weak scrawny dweeb, but that was a time so far removed from the present that it may as well not be him at all, he was surely a teen at the time anwyay yeah? In his dream he remembers meeting Beau very soon after, the two hit it off immediately and become the exemplar ranch hands they clearly are today. Bizarrely he remembers seeing his father with August, but this is, it’s a dream? Surely his subconscious is just throwing spaghetti at the wall. He sees himself caring for the cows, feeding chickens, showing Colton how to garden. He sees Beau tending to the stallions, helping out in the kitchen, repairing the stables as is often needed.

He sees wrinkles start to appear in the corners of their eyes, white hairs start to speckle his beard as the years fly by in his mind. He watches as both he and Beau grow and maintain their bodies, every day working hard for the ranch, for August and Austin, and becoming the ideal that any cowboy, that any man should be. He remembers playfully mocking Beau as he went in to get another tattoo. He remembers Beau teasing him for the pride he takes in sculpting his body, and for plucking out his gray hairs. He is taken back to the first time they had sex, taking an uncharacteristic break from working in the stables to fuck behind the pens. His mind is filled with encounter after encounter, day after day of working hard together and retiring each night to the same room. He sees himself now, body still, lying in a bed next to a man he has clearly loved for longer than the entire life he lived before the ranch.

Day Four

Thus is how awakens. Nude in his thankfully private bedroom with his partner, his lover, Beau. He brushes Beau to help him awaken as he throws on some comfortable clothes for another day of work. Scratching his beard and offering a large dad yawn he makes his way to the common area where he sees Colton already dozing once more, lazy freeloader. Inspecting the new kid though he is pleasantly surprised to see that he must be going through a growth spurt, his midriff is exposed and he seems to be scratching his chest in his sleep. August must really know what he’s doin’ hm.

Speaking of the devil August rounds the corner and looks to Buck with a twinkle of pride in his eye. Both for the work he has done and will continue to do, and at the vitality and virility of the man before him. His father would be proud. Beau soon follows after, squeezing Buck’s shoulder and tossing his forgotten cowboy hat on the couch next to him, his scent in the air as he stomps by is more than enough to get Buck to think with his balls. Before he’s too far gone though August clears his throat and goes over the plans with the two clearly seasoned ranchers.

Buck squeezes Beau’s ass as he heads out to the pastures, excited to prevail through another day at the ranch. He feels an outpouring of gratitude towards his dad for bringing him to this place. It made him who he is and he is more than eager to show other men exactly what they can be. No, what they should be.

#male tf #cowboy tf #masculinization #age progression #mental change #muscle tf #male transformation

554 notes · View notes

hesperisms · 16 days ago

Note

helluuu~ first off all - I love your writing! U write incredibly well and I love how you characterize Zayne and Sylus (anything u write shall be canon to me🧎🏻‍♀️🛐)

second off all, a slightly more specific request, bc I just recently saw a really cute set of nipple clips and a small buttplug that had matching pink bows on everything ahhh

How would Sylus and Zayne react coming home to reader waiting for them on the bed like that, wanting to surprise them and spice things up? (Especially with how u wrote in your Zanye ABC that he probably wouldn’t be into anything anal, but I’d guess that this wouldn’t be something he’d outright say before it comes up and reader obviously didn’t know)

// Mixed Messages

"Is this one of your tricks again? I didn't say I wouldn't look..."

// summary: a double imagine! how Sylus and Zayne would react to you surprising them with some cute kinky toys.

// content warnings: 18+ (mdni), toys, bondage, fluff, dominance, embarassment, shame, kink, nipple play, finger stimulation, vaginal sex, THE IMPLICATION

// a/n: oh stawwwp you're gonna make me blush anon! I'm so glad you love my writing, I hope this lives up to your expectations!

likes, reblogs, comments are always appreciated!

It arrived the morning he was due to get back from his conference in Chansia City and you'd been staring at it in the little velvet baggie it came in as you sprawled out on Zayne's bed, inhaling the scent of him from his pillows. Your pulse quickened as you played with the smooth cold weight of it, hearing the clinking muffled by the luxurious fabric. The stage was set for your surprise.

"I'm sorry Zaynie I've been called to work, I can't meet you at the airport like I planned to. I promise I'll come straight over at 3 when I'm done?"

"Alright," came the soft reply down the line, a hint of anticipation in his tone. "Don't be too late though, I'm bringing you home a surprise."

"I'll be there with bows on!"

You giggled with a conspiratorial rush as you hung up the phone - you hadn't lied to him, technically correct was still correct after all - you would be there with bows on, they just happened to be bows on a matching set of a little buttplug and nipple clamps.

Having spent the morning picking out one of the cute sets of lingerie that Zayne had bought for you, you'd settled on a baby pink gingham print teddy, deciding the cute soft pink matched the naughtiness of the toys well. Slipping the stainless steel plug out of the velvet bag, you took the lube from his nightstand and slipped it in. You only had a about half an hour before he was due to get home and you wanted to be ready for him.

His key turned in the lock right as you were slipping on the matching nipple clamps and you let out a loud moan of anticipation. You clapped your hand over your mouth, holding your breath in the hopes you hadn't given away your presence. Damnit, you thought as you heard his travel case hit the floor with a loud thud and confident footsteps clicked down the hallway towards you. You had been caught.

"This is one of your tricks again?" The mirth shines in his soft voice as he steps into the bedroom, looking you up and down appreciatively. As you blush and turn away coyly, he chuckles and reaches out to cup your chin, bending over to kiss you. "I didn't say I wouldn't look."

Zayne takes his jacket off and tosses it onto the chair near the window, tugging his tie loose and unbuttoning his top two buttons before he settles onto the bed, sitting with his back against the headboard. He reaches out to you, sighing that he missed you as he pulls you into his lap. You gasp as the steel plug clinks against the metal of his belt buckle and he's so confused his head tilts.

Holding your hips in his firm hands, he pulls you up off his lap and then puts you back down on it, listening again to the metallic CLINK as the toy pings against the buckle. "Y/N...what did you do?" he asks in a dangerous low whisper, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. Play wrestling you out of the teddy to inspect your body, he tugs it down from your breasts roughly while he tickles you in his lap and there's a little stereo set of PLINK PLINK sounds as the nipple clamps snap off your sensitive buds and you cry out a loud needy moan.

Zayne's eyes widen in shock, looking down at the little sliver clamps with their petite pink enamel bowties, rolling them in his fingers as his brain puts together your line from the morning's call. "Be there with bows on, hmm?" he says with his lips curling into a smirk of understanding. He looks down at your nipples, red and swollen, flushed full of blood and clicks his tongue at you. "Do you want me to kiss them better?"

He doesn't wait for your answer, his mouth greedily wrapping around your nipple and sucking tightly, swirling his tongue playfully across it as his other hand travels down your hip and around the curve of your ass. He's moaning against your delicate bud in his lips, lapping at it and licking wet sloppy kisses all over it when his fingertips on your backside hit metal and he stops mid-suckle.

"Wh-What did you do?" he mumbles against your breast, his mouth pulling back from you, a string of saliva hanging between his lip and your nipple as he tilts his head up to look at you suspiciously. "Is that what I think that is...?" he asks, his tone a mix of apprehension and curiosity.

Zayne flips you off his lap and onto your back beside him on the bed and starts tugging the bottom half of the teddy off you, your legs up in the air over his shoulder as he untangles the lingerie from your ankles and that's when he finally sees it; the stainless steel plug, nestled snuggly into your ass, twitching with your quivers of anticipation and you see his brain buffer as he tries to comprehend the situation. A deep crimson flush has surged its way up his ears.

"My love..." Zayne begins with an exasperated sigh, one hand rubbing your legs up over his shoulder, the other pinching his brow as he winces. The air hangs heavy between you two for a moment.

"Surprise?" you giggle awkwardly, your cheeks flushed red with embarrassment and you bite your lip as you hold your breath, realizing that he doesn't seem as into it as you'd hoped he would be. You cover your eyes with your hands, not wanting to see disappointment on his face and that's when he sighs again, reaching down to pull your hands away from your face.

"I appreciate the gesture, my love..." Zayne starts to collect his thoughts, wanting to reassure you that you haven't done anything wrong, while also cementing what he had thought was an unspoken boundary with you. "But this...this is not for me." Your eyes start to well with embarrassed tears and he quickly wipes them away, shaking his head at you with a gentle smile, his golden-green eyes gazing at you adoringly. "My favorite place to be in the whole wide world is an inch away from this," he emphasizes the last word with a tap on the plug, then strokes his fingertips delicately through your wet folds lovingly. "...so I don't need anything else but that, okay?"

You bite your lip and nod up at him, sucking in a deep breath before giving him a blushing smile.

"There's my good girl," Zayne coos at you with a smile, stroking your glistening pussy and nipping kisses against your ankle. He rocks back onto his heels, releasing your legs. "Do you want to go take that out while I strip off? I'm feeling very overdressed compared to you." He gives your backside a gentle pat and watches you waddle towards the ensuite with a chuckle and a shake of his head.

"Oh and Y/n?" Zayne calls after you and you pause, turning back to him and tilting you head questioningly.

"On your way back, grab the little ringbox out of my luggage won't you? We can't forget about your surprise..." He smirks.

"Sweetie," Sylus drawled smugly, swinging the little velvet bag by it's loops around his long index finger like a lasso. "You know nothing can be hidden from me inside my own home. In fact," he looks down at you with a wicked smirk on his face, crimson eyes full of mischief, "I'm impressed you bought it from a store in person instead of having it delivered online. It seems my kitten is getting bolder the more time she spends with me."

"You could've at least pretended!" you pout with a huff, elbowing him in the ribs and he laughs warmly, handing the pouch back to you. "It was supposed to be a surprise but now you've ruined it."

Sylus' eyes light up with love at your grumpy little pout and he strokes your hair affectionately, cooing to you. "Don't be mad at me y/n, it's my nature to know all comings and goings in my circles. I tell you what," he says, shifting your weight off him and getting up out of bed. "I'm going to go check on some transactions, when I come back in about ten minutes this whole conversation never happened and I promise to be very surprised. Deal?"

"Okay, deal."

When Sylus slipped back into the room ten minutes later just as he'd promised, he let out an appreciative growl at the sight that waited for him.

You were bent over, hands splayed out flat on his expensive silk sheets, legs shoulder width apart and locked straight so your ass was in the air towards the door. You were completely naked, save for the steel buttplug with the little pink enameled bow on it, and the matching nipple clamps that were making your chest flush and your buds ache.

"My my," Sylus murmurs seductively, trailing his fingertips up the back of your thigh and watching you shiver under his touch. "You know I normally prefer to unwrap my own presents, but I won't complain when my gift looks this succulent.." His hand reaches the curve of your backside and he gives it a firm squeeze, his strong fingers digging into your flesh possessively and he smiles when you let out a needy little moan.

He leans down to take a closer look at the plug, his hot breath fanning across the backs of your thighs and your heat as he clicks his tongue appreciatively. "It seems I was mistaken," he teases in a sultry chuckle, a tinge of huskiness to his tone that makes your walls ache with longing. "My present has a bow on it after all."

You gasp as he suddenly presses on the plug and swipes a slow finger through your aching folds, bringing his finger up to his lip to suck it. "Tastes good too." Sylus purrs, licking his lips, watching as you clench at nothing.

Sylus stands behind you, his right hand slipping through your rapidly soaking folds, as his other hand strokes down your back like he's petting a cat. You moan and press back against his hand and he lets out an exhaling growl. "So needy kitten," he teases in a dangerous whisper. "Are you trying to say you want more?"

You whimper and moan as he starts to slip his fingers into you, teasing your entrance and you clench greedily, trying to draw him in. "Please Sylus..." you whine at him and he laughs, his fingers hooking in and pressing deeply on your front wall and your moans get louder. As his fingers stroke deeply, confidently and your arousal surges you feel his erection pressing into your hip. He slips his fingers out of you and presses his thumb down on the plug, rotating it in slow circles and pressing it into you deeper as his fingers slide down through your wetness to press on your clit.

Right when you're about to orgasm, he lets you go and moves behind you, grinding his hips into you and reaching down over your ribs to cup your breasts, pulling you up against his chest. You pout at being edged and he leans down to kiss you passionately as you whine against his lips, head tilted back against his chest, a deep arch in your spine. He rubs your breasts and squeezes them in his strong palms, unclipping the clamps and your breath catches in your throat at the relief. He tosses the clips onto the bedside table and rubs slow circles on your nipples, his predatory gaze staring down at you before he releases you.

"Hands back down on the bed Sweetie," he commands. "And keep them there." You shiver in anticipation and do as he tells you to, palms flat, pressing your ass up against his twitching erection. Sylus smirks and pulls back from you to give himself space to stroke the head through your folds and he groans at how inviting your heat feels. Pressing himself into you, he starts to inch in, letting you settle and adjust to his size as he moves inside you.

"You always feel so good Y/n." He praises as he bottoms out against your cervix, hands roaming appreciative massaging patterns on your hips. Sylus grips you tightly and starts thrusting and you cry out in pleasure, the lewd sounds of him slapping into your wet walls echoing in the room sinfully. The noises that are coming out of you drive him wild and he slides his hands up from your hips to cup your breasts, pressing his chest down against your back, rutting into you. Sylus hot breath fans out over the back of your neck as he lets out heavy panting moans.

Feeling you clench and tighten around him as your heat builds desperately and your moaning gets louder, Sylus thrusts harder, his hips slamming both himself and the plug deeper into you and he bites down on your neck, moaning into it with a lick. "You can, go on, do it...let me feel you fall apart." he whispers wickedly into the back of your neck as your tightly wound heat snaps and you buck underneath him, the orgasm ripping through you making your walls grip him tightly as your thighs shake unsteadily. Sylus lifts himself off you to throw his head back and lets out a deep guttural moan, joining you; the last of your waves of rippling pleasure meeting his hitching thrusts as he tries in vain to keep pace while he fills you.

Sylus looks down at your sweating, quivering back below him and reaches down to pull you towards him, nuzzling into your neck as you stand up, letting out a moan at the ache deep in your thighs and your lower back from the position. He wraps his arms around you possessively, cuddling you back against his chest as he catches his breath, his panting flooding your ears. "I liked your surprise, Kitten..." he says with a breathless chuckle. "We should let you surprise me more often."

267 notes · View notes

cherubfae · 23 days ago

Text

𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔟𝔢 𝔪𝔶 𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔶 𝔟𝔬𝔶? || {𝔧𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔰 𝔰𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔡}

tags: smut, NSFW, fem!reader, subby!James, dry humping, riding, blowjobs, James is more than a little pent up, reader wears a skirt and makeup fyi, established relationships, post SH2 events (no spoilers), breeding kink, mentions of wanting a family, praise

"gimme the wet cat man" we all say in unison

"I need it, baby.. I need it please.. I'm already begging... Please, don't make me wait any longer."

James looked so pretty, his cheeks flushed pink and lips sweetly glossed from a mixture of your saliva and sparkly silver lip oil. The marks from your lipstick trail down his chin, to his neck, and end just at the start of James's unbuttoned collar. His hands clutch the arms of the chair tighter. You told him he couldn't touch, he's trying to be a good listener... But you make it so fuckin' impossible looking as good as you do.

He's painfully hard beneath you. Cock throbbing desperately behind his jeans, which currently feel like a prison, he can't feel your wet pussy grind against him in the way he needs. Your stupid skirt is in the way, hiding from him exactly what he is desperate to touch, to lick, to fuck. But you're being mean, grinding that cute cunt up and down his clothed cock and not allowing him to see any of it.

"Please.. Need to see it.. I need to see how wet you are for me. You," James takes a pause to swallow a big gulp of air. "You know that I can't feel your pretty pussy through my clothes.. Please, baby. For me?"

Your heart almost aches at his words. Desperation muddled in his crystal blue eyes. He was being so good, so patient, letting you have your fun. You were successful at getting him nice and hard and ready. An easy job to do, admittedly. He was practically almost always ready for you.

"Alright, I'll have mercy on you, James." You're grinning wide, watching his shoulders visibly relax as you slide off of his lap. A noticeable wet patch of your combined fluids stains the crotch of his jeans, his cock hard and tented under the fabric. Sliding the zip down, you sink your hand past the opening, cupping him through his boxers.

James moans low, a desperate needy thing, rutting his hips into your palm. He radiates warmth and greed as his cock chases your hand when you pull away.

Already begging, "Wait-- baby, waitwaitwait--"

"Shh, love. Wouldn't you rather have the real thing?"

James immediately shuts up, nodding eagerly. His mouth drops open when you finally, finally tug down his jeans and boxers. His pretty cock, flushed pink and dripping, stands proud between his legs. His balls are heavy and swollen, twitching with sheer excitement, demanding your touch instantly.

Grinning, you wrap your lips around his leaky tip reveling in the moan that spills from his lip, luring you in like a siren's call and doubled your efforts. His hips stutter, hand pressing back against your nap to encourage you to take him a little further down that sweet, tight throat of yours.

"Yes.. Fuck, yes. It's been too long, baby. Too long." James sighs and tilts his head back, his thighs widening to allow you better access. He was correct, it had been a while since you two had been able to do anything as simple as relishing in the other's company.

Humming around his length, you take him down your throat fully. His heavy balls pulse against your chin, already throbbing, threatening to spill every last drop of cum he'd been storing inside of them. James often inadvertently blue-balled himself. He says it doesn't feel the same when he touches himself versus when you do it. Everything was so much more pleasurable with you, so it doesn't always cross his mind that he can do that instead of waiting.

"C'mere-- don't wanna cum yet," James grumbled, gently removing you from him only to tug you onto his lap, swollen cock notching at your wet entrance, his reddened tip sliding against your dewy folds. Two fingers slowly push and curl into your entrance, sliding in to caress your walls. He stretches you nicely on his thick fingers, thumb swirling at your achy clit. "God... So fuckin' wet and sweet f'me.."

Rocking yourself against his hand, your arms coil around his neck. James met your lips in a searing kiss, slowly removing his fingers to guide his cock to you, feeding his tip into you slowly. Keeping his fingers at your clit, James kisses you sweetly, whispering small praises against your mouth as you moan into each other. He was always a bit of a stretch.

"That's it.. Good girl, taking me so well. I know, baby, I know.. I'm almost in. Fuck!" James moans as he bottoms out, fingers still lazily circling figure-eights. Your little bud throbs, a moan billowing out of your throat. Hands gripping your hips, James guides you up and down his length, heavy balls soon thudding wetly against the crease of your ass. Wet skin smacking against each other, the sound of your coupling soon fills the room accompanied by both of your needy, wanton moans.

"James..!" You pant, burying your face at his neck. You sway your hips, slamming yourself down on him over and over again. His grip tightened on your hips, leaving crescent-shaped marks beneath his fingertips. He's greedy, kissing and sucking and moaning, trailing deep purple marks all over your pretty skin, nipping at you playfully.

Smiling, James pants, "Ride me, baby. Fuckin' ride me.." He moans and leans back, allowing you to attack his throat and Adam's apple with your own barrage of kisses and love bites. You double your efforts, James's hands move to grip your ass, kneading the globes as encouraged you to move faster. "Gonna cum inside. Want that, baby? Want me to fill you?"

His words were enough to make you clench around him like a vice. James groaned deeply by your ear, warm breath caressing your skin, gently nipping at your lobe. It had taken some time, but James had gotten pretty confident in how he expressed himself and his desires. The urge to start a family with you had become a primal need of his.

Nodding eagerly, you tighten your arms around him. Your hips meet his in deep, fervent thrusts whiny moans tore from your throat one after the other. Pressing tight circles to your clit, James is eager to make you cum before him. He wasn't sure how he'd made it this long without cumming.

"Yes! Please, please, please, honey!" You whimper, swiveling your hips and taking him as deep as you possibly can. You come first, a sharp cry echoing throughout your home as you gush for him. Pulling back, until James is nearly out of you, his tip barely touching your labia and then sinking down atop him in one fell swoop. James held you fast, dropping you onto his length repeatedly, chasing his eager, impending release.

Crying against your neck, James fucks into your hard and fast, slamming himself home one more time. He came with a shout, teeth sinking into the juncture of your neck and crushing you to his chest. His balls pulse, releasing every pent up drop inside of you until he's spasming and giving nothing.

Thrusts slowing to gentle, rhythmic sways James holds you to him, stroking his hands across your back. He brushes your sweaty hair back, running his hand down your bare body to your thighs where you still sit atop his lap; his member still deeply-seated inside of you. Pretty blue eyes dazedly searching yours with a small smile. It was amazing how much emotion could be held in two simple things like sensory organs. They truly were the window of the soul.

Breathlessly, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. "Still with me?"

"Always." You grin back, sharing a soft kiss.

|| ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ, ʀᴇᴜꜱᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴇᴅɪᴛ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ɪɴ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴀʏ! ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ. ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ꜱɪᴛᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ ᴘᴏꜱᴛ. ᴀʟʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴏᴡɴᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ © ᴄʜᴇʀᴜʙꜰᴀᴇ 2024 ||

#silent hill x reader #silent hill smut #james sunderland smut #james sunderland x reader #cherubfae 2024 #Spotify

247 notes · View notes

unconventional-lawnchair · 1 month ago

Text

Dear Future Husband {Blurb}

Barty Crouch Jr. x Reader

Wc: 2895

Cw: Cussing, use of {Y/N}, Barty could be seen as pushy, minor argument, Jegulily agenda

The sound of heels against the cobbled floor of the outside halls of Hogwarts seemed to set a tone for conversation. You, Lily, Mary, Dorcas, and Marlene were walking through the empty halls, everyone taking jabs at the poor redhead who just had to endure James Potter making an absolute fool of himself for her.

None of you could bring yourselves to feel bad for her, finding out she had both James Potter and Regulus Black wrapped around her pale finger. Still, she remained steadfast to say she felt nothing for them, a horrible lie. One you tried to keep quiet about after finding Lily openly kissing the youngest Black in the library.

It's a marvel James hadn't caught on to their game yet.

“I'm just saying, if I ever get on the tables to profess my love to someone and she walks out?” I think I'm ending my life right then and there.” Marlene cheeked and looked around the group to look at the still very flustered Lily.

Dorcas was walking beside Marlene, giving her a sideways glance from where she was hugging her arm, slipping her dark hand into Marlene’s pocket to interlock their fingers with a teasing smirk.

“It's so romantic!” Mary practically purred from the other side of Lily, you gave a laugh.

“What is with everyone being so enraptured by his stupidity?” Lily scoffed, trying to hide her smile.

Marlene shrugged, tilting her head slightly as she regarded Lily- scandalized, with a smirk that reached her eyes. “Maybe it’s the way he trips over his own feet just to get your attention. It’s charming in a sort of disastrous way, don’t you think?”

“Charming?” Lily rolled her eyes, but the hint of a smile tugged at her lips. “More like embarrassing. He’s constantly making a fool of himself- it's like he thrives on it.”

“I have to agree.” You pipe up. “I'm certain if he didn't have you to pine over; whatever else he'd channel that energy into would surely kill him.”

“I second that.” Dorcas chimed in, her voice light and playful. “You'll kill the poor boy, Lily.”

“Oh ho ho! I know you aren't speaking on this, {Y/N}!” Mary challenged, hugging Lily's arm and shooting a look at you as you all settled to the grass. “Where is your own heart being taken? Last I checked, you were the one hiding behind the stacks in the library. Away with a certain RavenClaw.”

You face fell the second all eyes shot to you. Okay, maybe what you were doing to Lily was cruel.

Quickly, you corrected your expression and scoffed. “Come off it! I was just trying to find a quiet place to study! He insisted on looking over my notes.”

“Away to hear his constant declarations of love?” Marlene prodded playfully as she laid her head on Dorcas’s lap, you gave a huff and looked away in a fluster.

“Or to eat some of those muggle chocolates?” Mary prodded, smirking at your face changing color. Lily gasped, like the idea of you eating your muggle delights without her was sin.

“Or perhaps she fancy’s his more forward approach?” Dorcas sighed airily and Lily gave a roll of her eyes.

You buried your face in your hands, groaning in dramaticized despair. Marlene prodded Dorcas in the shoulder and she looked down at her curiously.

“Hey, lovely, how many times has Barty brought up {Y/N} today?” She smirked and you groaned even louder and aggressively began to shuffle around your papers and books out to properly study.

“I'm not listening!”

“I think he said he was going to ask her to Hogsmeade again at the game. Once he wins, of course.” She faked indifference to the memory as she tapped her chin. You groaned.

“For once I'm rooting for James. May his broom be quick and the snitch magnetic.” You huffed and Marlene laughed. Glancing just past you before her smirk doubled in size.

“Speaking of your little lover boy. I think he's started it up with Sirius again.” Marlene cooed and your face dropped. Turning sharply to see just that.

Regulus Black and Evan Rosier, standing at the entrance of the courtyard watching as Barty butted heads against Sirius Black, who was practically fuming at his taunting.

You threw your head back and rubbed your temple while Mary gave a giggle.

“Well, {Y/N}. Seems your dog needs wrangling.” Mary mocked in a terribly done southern American accent. Laying back on the grass as if to show her complete lack of help.

“Do I have to?” You mumbled.

“If you don't want him getting detention.” Dorcas mused and gestured back. Now, it seemed Barty had tossed off his robe and rolled up his sleeves. James had his arms locked under Sirius’s arms, keeping the fuming boy back. You took a deep breath and tried not to admire Barty’s pale inked forearms.

You huffed and began to pack up your things before you stood up, leaving the circle of giggles behind you as you crossed the field.

The sun gave you a warm glow of a backdrop, like a halo, Barty thought. He wasn't the only one, as Remus and James watched you walk over to Barty’s discarded robe and picked it up. James giving a dramatic sigh of relief and Remus smiling softly at you.

“Bartemius.” You called over.

The tension in the air between Barty and Sirius was palpable from yards away, but the second you greeted him, Barty turned practically dog-like. You could hear the murmurs of the other students as they began to disperse from their weekend entertainment. It wasn't the first time you had ruined their fun as the residential dragon tamer.

You walked past him, carrying his robe, and Barty gave a scoff. Smiling at Sirius’s scowl as he flipped him off with both hands, walking backwards to were you wandered off. His tongue sticking out of his crooked grin, showing off his butchered tongue piercing.

He turned sharply on his heels and ran after you, ignoring Sirius’s taunts as he peered over your shoulder, his chest brushing against your arm as you walked.

You both walked down the hall in relative silence. You could tell it was bothering him, having to be quiet for once. His fingers interlocked behind his head and leaned half back midwalk. Hurrying to correct his posture as Professor Slughorn walked past.

You walked to the library, setting yourself up in the far back. You unpacked your bag and set his robe on the table.

He didn't bother to grab it, instead, he crossed his arms and leaned his head on the table, watching as you set yourself up to study. You ignored him for the most part, allowing him to stare at you, it wasn't like he didn't spend every other hour of the day doing so-

Then, he gave a huff and a sigh. Like he was trying to get your attention. Again, you ignored it, and he just did it again. Making you sigh and close your book, setting it aside and looking him in the eyes. “Crouch?”

“Barty.” He corrected, as he always did when you addressed him as anything other then his first name. You arched your brow at him and his confident smile faded a bit. You slowly relaxed and sat up, crossing your arms.

“So…” You trailed off. “What did Sirius say that made you so mad this go around?” You mumbled.

He gave a nonchalant shrug and rubbed the back of his neck. “Nothing, just said something that needed correcting.” He nodded as if agreeing with himself for making the right move, looking at you as if he expected praise for his idiocy.

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Nothing? You were about to duel him in the middle of the courtyard, Barty. I highly doubt it was just a friendly chat about the weather.”

He gave a low groan and his smile slipped away completely. “He was being an shit, talking about the girls he could swoon. Bragging to the other assholes-”

“Some of those assholes are my friends-”

“How they ever got that lucky infuriates me.” He growled and you glared at him.

“Crouch-” You warned.

“Barty.” He corrected without losing flow of his story. “Made some comments about birds. Then he had the audacity to bring you up. I had to remind him that no one will ever be worth your time, let alone Sirius Black-”

You felt a flush of warmth spread across your cheeks at his words, but you quickly masked it with a frown. “You didn’t have to get into a fight over me, Barty. You know I can handle myself.”

He leaned in closer, his expression earnest. “I know you can, but you shouldn't have to, star. I don’t like the way he talks about you, like you’re some trophy to be won. You deserve better than that.”

“Better than what, exactly? A bit of banter and teasing among friends?” You sighed, crossing your arms defensively. “It’s just Sirius being Sirius.”

But Barty shook his head, more determined. “So I had to remind him that you're light years better then him. That you're my girl-”

“I am not-”

“Not yet.” He soothed out in a softer tone before going back on his tangent. “And he said that if he wasn't worth your time then I certainly wasn't.”

You gave a weak huff. “Is that all?” You asked in a bland tone, rubbing your temple.

“Regardless.” You finally spoke up again. “Don't start fights in the halls, Barty. You should know not to do that.”

Barty tilted his head, considering your words for a moment before he leaned back in his chair, a playful grin returning to his face. “You know, it's my responsibility.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you with a hint of a smile. “And why is that, Crouch?”

“Well, you're my future wife, can't let him disrespect you.” You gave a small laugh and rolled your eyes.

Barty had made a habit of declaring his love in… unconventional ways.

It started in year two, he made a big stink about his father and his bloodstatus. He found the first muggle born closest to him, unfortunately you, and proposed marriage.

Now, younger you was mortified. It's not every day you're sitting at the Gryffindor tables eating lunch and suddenly a rather cute RavenClaw boy asks for your hand in marriage. Now, knowing Barty better, you could admire the absolute ridiculousness of it all.

You refused flat out, and he was shocked- as if it was that simple.

Though, you'd never let him know about the growing fondness. He's got a big enough head already.

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms and giving him a playful glare. The creak of the old wooden chair seemed to punctuate your previous statements. “You think you can just declare it and it becomes true? Maybe I want to marry someone who doesn’t start fights in the hallways.”

Barty feigned shock, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “Oh, but darling you would never be so boring.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to suppress the smile threatening to break free again. He seemed to be just loving it, the subtle tells that you enjoyed his presence after years of your fake hatred. “Boring? I’d say you’re the one who thrives on the more ludicrous things in life.”

“Absurdity is just excitement in disguise.” He mused, his expression serious for a moment before it broke into a grin. “Besides, who says I can’t be both exciting and devoted?”

You shook your head, pretending to be annoyed, but deep down you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of warmth at his words. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It means that when I’m in charge, I get to choose who I spend my time with. And I choose you.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you met his gaze. Your cheeks flushed much to your own dismay. “Barty, you’re impossible.”

“Impossible to resist?” He cheeked, raising an eyebrow.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your lips betrayed you. Trying to lift your hand to cover it he gave an audible sound of displeasure. Just as you were about to retort, he suddenly straightened up, a serious look crossing his face.

“How many times must you make me beg?”

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanor. “Beg? What on earth are you talking about?” You knew you were blushing, but fought against the embarrassment creeping up your neck.

His expression turned earnest as he leaned closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “I’m talking about asking you to marry me.” He concluded as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Just marry me and no other men would dare even look your way, I can guarantee that.” He pushed like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Barty, this is starting to not be funny-”

“It was never a joke.” He assured, expression so serious you lost the words in your throat.

“You're 16.” You challenged and he shrugged.

“So are you.” He returned and you gave a scoff of a laugh.

“Barty, we're kids. There are a million girls witches and non pureblood that you could be pining over. Some you haven't even met yet.”

He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms defiantly as if he were preparing for a debate. “But I’m not pining over them, am I? I’m pining over you. You’re the one I want to be with.”

“You're a brute!” You huffed.

“Not with you.” He defended slyly.

“You've clearly lost it years ago.”

“When you first told me no, I remember the date down to the time you said it.”

“Horseradish.”

“I do!” He shot back, leaning closer. Both of your body languages creating a small chorus of squeaking chairs. “December 12th, it was your Lunch hour and I was skipping study hall. You were wearing your tie with the tag out and was trying to fix it when I asked. You had a red ribbon in your hair. It was 12:36 exactly.”

Your jaw dropped a bit. You hadn't even thought he noticed you before that stupid declaration.

You stammered for a moment before you gathered yourself. “Barty, you hardly know me.”

“I know everything about you! You're the one thing I study in this bloody school!”

You felt a mixture of warmth and confusion swirling within you. Barty’s intense gaze was unwavering, and you could see the sincerity in his eyes. “But this is all so… drastic. We haven't even dated!”

“So why don't we?” He shot back, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. Both of you shooting back retorts so quickly you didn't have time to think before you shot back.

“Because you haven't asked! You just keep asking to marry me!”

Barty’s eyes widened slightly as he processed your words, and then a broad grin broke across his face. “Is that what this is about? You want me to ask you out first? Why didn’t you just say so?”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden change in tone. “I-” You stammered, feeling the heat in your cheeks worsen. “I mean, yes! I want to date someone first, not just jump to marriage! That's comment ritual I fear.”

“Right, right!” He nodded enthusiastically, leaning forward as if he were about to make a grand announcement. “Then let’s date! How about I take you to Hogsmeade this weekend? We can have a proper outing, just you and me. No more silly declarations of marriage until we’ve had our first date.”

You sighed and rubbed your face. Would you really do this?

There was a long pause, but Barty stared at you with a patient and sweet look.

You couldn’t help but feel a flutter of excitement. The thought of going out with Barty felt both thrilling and terrifying. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” You whispered, searching his face for any signs of a joke- what a long prank if so.

“Absolutely.” He nodded, his voice steady. “I want this. So bad. I think it’s time we stop playing these games. I mean it when I say I want to be with you.”

You looked down, contemplating his words. The idea of spending time with Barty outside of the usual chaos made your stomach flip. “Alright,” you finally said, trying to keep your tone light. “Let’s do it. But you have to promise to behave and not start any fights.”

“Deal.” His grin widening.

“And… I was sweets.”

“Anything.”

“Chocolate frogs. And more of those muggle chocolates you snuck in too.” You pushed and he laughed.

“I did say anything. I mean anything. I'll bring you a Graphorn if you're patient enough.” His voice was determined and serious.

“... fine.” You whispered with a sigh, giving into it all.

Barty had been ecstatic the second you agreed. He was charming and polite the whole time, an absolute darling.

Though, the second the date ended, his questions came back with more vigor. You couldn't help but enjoy it, knowing your future husband was so horribly whipped.

223 notes · View notes

octuscle · 2 months ago

Text

Accountant wanted

Let's not kid ourselves: no one expected Dylan to have a career. He'd barely managed to get through school, and probably only got his bachelor's degree out of pity. But he really did look like he needed to be pitied. Slightly overweight, bad skin, a squeaky voice and an annoying laugh. Most of his fellow students who were not doing a master's degree had job offers in the bag before they had even started their bachelor's thesis. Not Dylan.

In the beginning, Dylan kept his head above water with his old student job. Cashier at the supermarket. Sometimes he was also allowed to help out in the accounting department. Sometimes he also helped restock shelves. Nothing you'd need a bachelor's degree for. Sometimes Dylan also checked the supermarket bulletin board, but aside from tutoring jobs or babysitting for babies or pets, there were rarely any offers. Until that one day. There was the note. Handwritten. Blotchy. Not quite grammatically correct. But it said “Accountant wanted”. And Dylan could do accounting. Sort of. While he was working, Dylan didn't dare to use the phone. But right during the first break, he called the phone number listed. Someone answered whose English was rather broken. In a mixture of Spanish and English, Dylan conducted a kind of job interview. However, his Spanish was even worse than the English of his interlocutor. But somehow it seemed to have worked, because in the end Dylan received a WhatsApp message “Come mañana at 8:00 oficina. We looking forward to seeing you. I'll send the address later.” Dylan was so excited that his puny little cock actually got hard.

The next morning, Dylan got up at 5:30 a.m. It was quite a distance to Little Cuba. And he wanted to be on time and look good. With his white shirt, unfashionable tie, and tassel loafers, he looked a bit out of place on the bus. But he was at the specified location at 8:00 a.m. sharp. Dylan. No one else. Dylan checked the location again, which he had received via WhatsApp. He was exactly at the agreed place. It was 08:15, it was 08:30. It was 08:45… At 09:30, a man on a motorcycle stopped in front of Dylan. “You Dylan?” Dylan's mouth went dry. The guy was a mountain of a man. Muscles, hair… Tattoos… Leather… The man got off his bike and gave Dylan a fistbump that nearly knocked Dylan to the ground. “Soy Enrique. Pero call me Lobo. ¿Qué pasa con esa clothes tan silly?” Opened the rolling grille of the store they were standing in front of. Lobo pulled Dylan behind him. He went to the back. Dylan stood a little unsettled in the empty room. A mixture of cafe, leather clothing store and motorcycle repair shop. It smelled of oil, leather and sweat. For whatever reason, Dylan got a hard-on again.

Lobo came back and put a pile of clothes on a counter next to Dylan. A pair of jeans, a T-shirt, a leather vest. “Take them off! Get dressed!” It wasn't a request, it was an order. Dylan looked around for a sheltered spot. But there wasn't one. And Lobo barked more than he said: Here! So Dylan stripped. Thank goodness Lobo wasn't watching because he was looking for something. When Dylan put on the jeans that were loose-fitting on his legs, Lobo put a pair of boots in front of him. Dylan shielded his soft pale man-boobs from Lobo's gaze. He could hardly take his eyes off Lobo's steel-hard, tanned pecs. Lobo noticed this and made his muscles dance. Small damp patches from his precum formed in Dylan's jeans. Dylan pulled on the T-shirt, which was actually a cut-off tank top, and the leather vest. A mirror hung next to the rack of leather jackets. Dylan looked into it. He looked so ridiculous. His pale, chapped skin didn't match the masculine clothes at all. Since he was freshly shaved, his double chin was even more visible. And the gelled parting just didn't fit in at all. Not with his outfit. And not in the store!

Dylan asked Lobo what he should do now? Lobo looked at Dylan as if he wanted to eat him. “¿Soy yo el maldito contable? ¿Sé usar este puto ordenador?” he asked. “Todo lo que necesitas está ahí, en tu despacho.” Dylan had to make an enormous effort. Dylan didn't exactly speak the Spanish he had learned at school either. But he replied, somewhat haltingly and with a heavy accent, “¡Lo tienes, jefe! ¡No te defraudaré!”

In the corner that Lobo called his office, there was a surprisingly new and high-quality laptop with a Post-It with “clave: Lobo” stuck to it. Not exactly a high-security wing, Dylan thought to himself. But then, he wasn't employed for IT security. There were a few pieces of paper with notes next to the computer. Maybe there was a folder somewhere where he could file the notes. Dylan opened a drawer. And dollar bills poured out of the drawer. Small, large, hot off the press, worn… There had to be thousands of dollars. Lobo called out to him that he would like to know what yesterday's takings were and what outstanding debts there were. Well, counting the money was still the easiest task. Dylan was done with that by lunchtime. Then he had 18,743.00 dollars neatly bundled on his desk. His hands stank of money. It was hot and stuffy in the store. Dylan's hair was wet with sweat. He was hungry and thirsty. Lobo called out to him to get some tacos. And a few bottles of beer. Dylan took 20 dollars from the pile, made a note in an Excel spreadsheet and ran to get lunch. For Lobo, himself and, just in case, one or two of the guys who occasionally came into the store between errands.

Miguel greeted Dylan with a fist bump and asked if he wanted the usual. Dylan replied “¡Claro, amigo! Para cuatro personas, por favor. Y dame una botella extra de cerveza, estoy sediento como un buey hoy.” The two talked about the usual while Miguel prepared the tacos at his street food trolley. Soccer, the cursed Republicans, motorcycles… A few of the other guys, who were already eating or waiting in line behind Dylan, joined in the passionate discussion. Gringos rarely strayed into this neighborhood. Especially when it came to talking shit about Trump, there was no need to mince words. One of the guys asked Dylan how he spoke ghetto Spanish so fluently. Dylan shrugged his shoulders. He had no idea. It was just the Spanish he knew not only from Miguel, but also from Lobo and the boys. And Lobo was now snapping at him on the phone in exactly the same Spanish. He wouldn't be paid to blaspheme and gossip.

Dylan said goodbye to Miguel with a fist bump. He would have preferred a deep French kiss. But Miguel was a prude. Too bad, really. Well, maybe Dylan would be able to suck off one of the boys in the store later. As the youngest in the team, he was the one furthest down the hierarchy. And as an accountant, he was worth less than the money collectors, pimps or protection racketeers on the team. The others chose when and how he was allowed to have fun. When he arrived with the tacos, he took a quick look in the mirror: yes, he was the gringo on the team. But he worked hard on his body, his language and his attitude. He did everything he could to fit in.

It was only a short bus ride to his apartment. He shared a room with a couple of guys who worked in one of Lobo's restaurants, with whom he laundered money. They were cool. They helped Dylan improve his Spanish, they always brought food from the restaurant in the evenings and if none of the guys from Lobo's headquarters felt like playing with the gringo, Dylan always had the chance to fill a hole or get one filled. Not that early though, the guys rarely finished work before 10pm. So Dylan took the opportunity, swapped jeans for nylon shorts and boots for sneakers and headed for the pull-up bar in the small park around the corner. Time for a little workout.

The next morning, Dylan's morning wood led him straight to the bathroom. The boys hadn't come home until around 02:00 and he didn't want to disturb them. But fuck, his morning wood was almost painful. He stood in front of the mirror, sucked in the smell from his armpit and jerked off with his other hand. Shit, he was 19 years old now, this permanent horniness of puberty had to be over by now. But…. No… It…. Was… FUUUUUUUCK! Not over yet. Dylan wiped the mirror and the sink clean. Shit, too late to shower again. The boys had probably dropped off the last day's takings by now and if he didn't finish booking them by the time Lobo arrived, there'd be trouble. So he quickly wiped his upper body with the washcloth, brushed his teeth and set off.

When Dylan arrived at the store, no one was there except Juan. Juan repaired the boys' bikes. He'd been doing that since Lobo was still shitting in his diapers. And now he was working on Dylan's baby. Technically, it wasn't his yet. But if the month went as he expected, it would be his bike by the end of the month. Finally, no more of this damn bus driving. He hated riding the bus, almost like he hated that his parents had given him that silly name “Dylan”. That's why he'd been nicknamed “Gringo” by Lobo and his boys right from the start.

17,776.00 dollars. Less than the day before. Lobo would be fuming. But Dylan's job as an accountant was done. All the income had been properly booked to the restaurant, the laundry and the motorcycle workshop. Even though he himself stank of sweat and musk, his books were all clean and tidy. Maybe he could give Lobo a blowjob to thank him when he arrived. And then Dylan would take care of booking the expenses.

Pic by @ki-kink

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #inked man #ai image #age reduction #leather tf #biker tf #thug tf #race change #racial tf

211 notes · View notes

daylite-writes · 11 months ago

Text

A Healer’s Blunt Teeth - Yan!Capitano x Healer!Reader

(Pt 2 here)

In your homeland, the nation of war, healers are highly valued, highly sought after. This, however, does not grant them autonomy. Traded, won, and bought. That has been your life thus far. Now though, you’ve fallen into the possession of a man you know will never lose a battle.

cw: societal-typical captivity, Yandere-esc behavior, background death, non consensual touching/kissing, sharing a bed (romantic, but not sexual), consensual relationship, brief use of the word ‘master’ until Capitano shuts that down, time skip.

2.8k words

~~~

The sun was relentless, on the battlefield. Glaring down from the horizon, it was blindingly bright. It’s heat was so palpable it warped the rocky terrain around you. Your face, back, legs, all were drenched in sweat. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

The worst part was the smell of the fallen bandits cooking under it.

You choked back a sob as another waft of the scent passed you. Rotting, seared. The battle was over, but didn’t dare to move from the spot behind a jagged rock you’d taken. Quietly, you cursed to yourself, “stupid, fucking—stupid. Gods, archons, fucking, idiotic—”

Idiotic team leader, idiotic fucking team. The scouts were supposed to make sure backup wasn’t within range, the talkers were supposed to intimidate them into to fork over their supplies, and the front liners were supposed to not fucking die should a altercation begin.

Apparently none of them did their job, because the moment swords were drawn, one of them sent a signal to a larger group of Fatui a ways back—the moment their backup arrived marked the start of the bloodshed.

They cut through your group with far too much ease. Trained. You didn’t dare peek out from your hiding place, but you listened to the ‘shirk, shirk, shirk’ as each bandit was double-tapped.

You bit your bottom lip hard, hard enough to draw blood, as footstepped creeped closer.

As a healer, you’d never been afraid of defeat. Even ones that had the entirety of the group you were with dead. But those defeats came at the hands of other Natlan people. Those were people who would spare the healer, finding better uses for you than death. The Fatui? No such promise. Surely they had their own, and in turn, you held no use.

The air was tense, silent, except for your stifled breathing and the click of the rifle as you struggled to load it. You swore internally, fumbling with the damned thing, before you heard a click.

You froze. The click was not from your gun.

“Drop it.” The Fatuus barked. You did so, weapon clattering on the ground, raising your hands in surrender, you kept your head dipped low. Unsteady breaths spilled from your lips.

“Please.” You begged, you weren’t a threat, you prayed they knew that.

One grabbed you, roughly, forcing you to stumble along as you were dragged into the blood smeared slaughter grounds. The sun, glaring in your eyes, made it hard to see. Eventually, the Fatuus shoved you, making you fall to yours knees—which sunk a little into the blood soaked mud under me.

The Fatuus said something, which you didn’t hear between your heavy breathing and rapid heartbeat pounding in your ears. It wasn’t for you—too formal and professional. You lifted your head—

The largest man you’d ever seen. Well, probably a man. Towering, with a helmet that looked like a shark’s metal maw shrouding his face in darkness. The blood pounding in your ears intensified. He was looking at you—he was looking at you—

You dropped your head down immediately, terrified of the man you’d been tossed before. Their leader, undoubtedly. It was a short lived reprice from his fearsome figure, as he soon grabbed your chin, dragging you to your feet and forcing your eyes to meet his void—

“You aren’t a bandit. You’re too scrawny, not toned, and you can’t load a rifle. You are for some sort of utility.” He tilted his head to look down over your body, before his eyes locked onto yours again. “Am I correct?”

“Y-yes—yes sir.” Your chest shook with every heavy breath. “I-I’m their healer.”

“Hm.” He said simply. The hand clasped around your throat and jaw twisted slightly, moving your head and body as he pleased. You let slip a sharp whimper, but didn’t dare say a word. He looked over you, appraising you like one would a horse or a fine good. Trying to determine your value.

“In the Natlan wilds, healers are usually bought, traded around between groups.” He lifted your head a little higher exposing your neck. What was he looking for? “Or taken, when a group died to another. Just one thing from which a victor is entitled to take. Hm. I wonder where you’ve been, healer.”

Too many places. From the moment you showed an innate ability for healing. Traded, won, bought off, defected to. Your knees threatened to buckle beneath you as you met his eyes.

His mask hid all but the slightest trace of blue eyes and a sharp, but you swore you could see the glint of sharp teeth as he dropped out, letting you collapse onto your knees in the dirt.

He turned to his soldiers, with a booming voice yelled; “Kill any left alive, take all supplies of theirs you find.”

Then, he turned back to you, voice quieter, but pleased. You hadn’t moved an inch from where he dropped you.

“What do you think of the cold?”

~~~

Capitano was your new boss. Not the Fatui—Capitano specifically.

You stayed in his tent during the day, and slept in the corner at night. It wasn’t like you were told to sit there, but you’d rather not risk punishment for asking for a bed. You weren’t sure how cruel the Fatui were, how cruel he was.

Besides, it was familiar. Sleeping at the foot of your latest warlord. A decoration when you were not working. Like a fancy vase, or an exotic fur blanket.

He came back to the tent one night, the troops reeling from a small battle. You didn’t know what against, only that he took a seat on the side of his bed, undoing his armor, and turning to you, silently beckoning. You approached, sitting beside him on the bed, beginning to heal his wounds.

You wondered how many had seen under the armor. He was strong, toned, and monstrous. Scars etched out of his back held veiny black scars that had to be from the void, his teeth, at times, seemed shinier than his blades and twice as sharp. His eyes…

Oh his eyes.

There was nothing wrong with them. Not visually, but…

You shuddered as you felt them on you again, your muscles threatening to lock up. Heal, right, you needed to heal him. Don’t disobey, don’t refuse, don’t show fear.

“Calm down.” He commanded, and you suddenly realized how your limbs were shaking.

“Apologies, master.” You took a small breath, forcing your hands to move steadier across his ribs. A gash, probably from some rifthounds. They’d been hunting the abyss deeper into the mountains.

“Hm.” He said simply.

He never showed any pain as you fixed him, despite healing—against most people’s assumptions—being no pleasurable experience. You wondered if he even staggered when the beast cut through flesh. You wondered how many he killed before one landed the lucky shot.

Scars faded, having curled up into themselves until they dissapeared, you pulled your hands back. You were on his bed, on your knees as he sat on the edge, legs planted on the floor. You were practically under his arm, in order to gain access to his ribs, but you didn’t move away, and wouldn’t. Not until he dissmissed you.

“Done?” He asked, voice even. Gods, did he even feel any of it?

“Yes, master.”

“Good.” He inclined his head slightly. A thanks. You, nervously, lips parted slightly, looked up to him, taking a second to glance at his maskless face. Was… was he going to dismiss you, or?

He met your gaze, and this time you could not stop your limbs from locking up. You felt like a rabbit, with the eyes of a wolf locked onto you.

He lifted a hand, his fingertips abyssal, dipped in black ink. Gently, he cupped your cheek. The little gasp you gave was one of fear, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Once again, he considered you, tilting and moving your head as he liked. “You’ve done well.”

If you could speak, you’d thank him. Call him master as the others you’ve served prefer, maybe bow your head. But no. Something in you, needed desperately, to remain very, very, still.

“You’ve served me well, for weeks, now. Not a whisper of what I look like among my men, not a peep of disobeyal from you. You haven’t so much as asked for a bed. I must wonder what has happened for you to be so… tamed.”

You said nothing.

“I think I could take you to the most beautiful place in Teyvat, and you wouldn’t dare ask to step outside my tent, instead awaiting my own permission. Hm.”

He tilted you head to the side, exposing your neck. This time, you began to shake. You’ve seen his teeth at times, they could tear your head free from your body—

“Captain?” You pleaded.

“Shhh. I’m not hurting you.” He whispered, you felt it more than you heard it, his hot breath across your skin. “Remain good and you can sleep in my bed tonight.”

He… kissed you. Your brain almost short circuited when his lips dipped down to your neck. It was gentle, even when sharp canines nicked your skin.

Slowly, your body relaxed, and he pulled you closer, he kissed your neck, like a lover. A reverent one. Before you knew it, you were sitting on his thigh, whimpering as he placed a hickey high on your neck, one not able to be hidden. Between your beating heart and his… affection, he stopped for mere moments, not to breath or take respite, but instead to murmur soft nothings, “good,” “thank you,” “my healer,”, before he planted another kiss somewhere new.

His attention continued on for far too long, you weren’t sure what to do with yourself, or where this was going.

“Master…” you said, panting, it took everything in you to not bury your head in his shoulder and bite your lip. You felt deeply embarrassed. This wasn’t the first time a member of the people you’d been claimed by paid… special attention to you. But it was

“Captain. You will call me captain.”

“Captain.” You forced out, softly. “Can…”

He waited, not kissing your skin as you figured out how to work your tongue. It would better, right? To be with him than against. A healer alone is doomed. You thought for a moment, before quietly speaking.

“Can I kiss you too?”

“Yes.” He growled out, far too fast. A little aggressive, but, okay—you lowered your head, planting your own kiss on his neck, as gently as you could.

He groaned a bit, the vibrations of it tangible against your lips. “Bite down.”

For a moment, your brain short circuited. What?

“Bite.”

Well then. Slowly, nervously, you sank your teeth into his skin.

His hand cupped the back of your head—archons you swore there were claws on them—and pressed your head a bit further down, forcing you to bite down harder.

The sound that forced its way from his throat was guttural, not quite a growl, but deeply animalistic and satisfied.

“Good… healer. Good.” He huffed out. The hand left the back of your head, and you took that as permission to release the crux of his neck from your teeth.

You couldn’t help but be shocked at the sight you left. A perfect set of teeth marks against his neck, little beads of blood dotting it. If you hadn’t seen it yourself a few times, you wouldn’t be sure he could bleed. At least, bleed red. He held himself like a god among men, and his soldiers seemed to put him on a similar pedistool.

Your mind circled back to his previous praise. Good. You did well, he was happy with you. You wondered if you would be allowed to sleep in his bed tonight. You wondered if he’d let you refuse.

Realizing he’d been silent for a time, you glanced at him, cold, icy eyes glittering behind lax eyelids. He was watching you.

Your chest was heaving despite the little effort it took, but his breathing was strangely calm, rhythmic.

You felt a hand run through your hair, you closed your eyes and bit your lip.

“It’s late. Sleep in my bed, should you like.” He said simply, and you opened your eyes. His hand was still in your hair, and you’d never felt so calm in his presence.

“Alright.” You spoke, the sound barely a breath.

You slept in his bed that night, his arm around your midsection. You felt like the woman in a painting with a name you forgot. She lounged within a lion's den, resting her head against one’s chest, sleeping beside an apex predator.

~~~

Capitano’s time in Natlan was coming to a close. And in turn, yours was as well.

You laid lazily on the strategy table, your head and chest slumped forward into your arms. Under you, a map of Teyvat, with various pins and marks. The path home. Capitano had been pouring over it even after his generals left, marking it every once in a while, or muttering to himself. You’d been waiting for him to finish for hours now.

For all his animalisticicity, his libido was strangely low. Even after months of his physical attention—kisses, bites, sharing a bed—it took you initiating for him to grant you anything. You were happy for this, you supposed. But it did make him difficult to manipulate, unlike many other men who’d oblige after you puffed out your cleavage and bit your lip.

So, you had to resort to other methods.

“Captain… I’m tired.”

“Sleep then. I’ll carry you back when I finish.” He didn’t look at you.

“At the table? Darling…”

“You were the one that wanted to come to this meeting.”

“Yes, the meeting. Not the… what is this? Were the plans your generals made not sufficient?”

“I’m merely going over them again.”

“Alright.” You weren’t getting what you wanted. Not yet. “Perhaps I should walk back to the tent.”

His body shifted slightly, an action that on him, was like the moving of glaciers, heavy and lumbering. “You stay by me.”

It was a reminder, a weighty one. You did not have to be his lover, but you were his healer, taken by right of combat. The only right that mattered in Natlan. He held dominion over you either way.

You did not have to be his lover, but god was life easier that way.

“Sorry.” You sunk back into your arms, feigning just enough sadness and remorse to make him uncomfortable, even if he was visibly still as a mountain.

“You know you are not allowed to move through the camp alone.”

“I do. I just forgot, the last few chieftains I served didn’t bother overseeing my location or sleeping arrangements.” You lied. They did. Very closely in fact. You were a goddamn healer by blood, very expensive in the country of war. You slept at their feet or in their beds, sometimes in chains. But such facts did not serve you in that moment. “This… supervision is new to me.”

He sighed, setting down his quill. “I suppose this is done. We can return to the tent.” He moved around the table, coming up behind your chair before sweeping you into his arms. Hook. Line. Sinker.

“My legs function, Capitano. I assure you.”

“They did not seem to this morning.”

“I’m a healer, I can deal with some strained muscles.” You bantered back.

“Oh, so me bringing you breakfast was simply a ploy of yours?”

“Of course it was, surely you realized.” You grinned into his shoulder, taunting. “And healing takes time, imagine what the soldiers would say seeing me struggle to walk, coming out from your tent?”

“Hm.”

“Anyways, I said I could walk.”

“I wonder, do you ever accept the fact you may not get what you want? Or must you claw at me until I indulge you?”

“With walking?” You grinned, finding a stance you could sink your teeth into. “Are you afraid I may run?”

“Do you think you could escape?” Capitano met your question with one of his own.

You hummed, eyes closed with a soft smile, not bothering to indulge him until he answered you first.

Your eyes shot open as the warm metal of his gauntlet tilted your head up by the chin. He looked over your neck, scarred with the symbols of his love, and gave a content, “Hm. No.”

You rolled your eyes, a little insulted. “I could escape if I liked.”

“Of course, my healer.”

You pouted as he let go of you, your face falling down into his shoulder again.

“Fear not though, my healer.” His voice had a rasping, growling edge to it, making your body shiver in the Natlan heat. “There will never be anything to run from.”

~~~~~

Just a little thing! Hope y’all liked it <3

#genshin fanfic #yandere genshin impact #yandere capitano #yandere capitano x reader #healer reader #yandere genshin

740 notes · View notes

tongue-like-a-razor · 1 year ago

Text

Brother's Best Friend - Part 5

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

A/N: Thanks for all the ideas you guys have been sending in! They're all so wonderful it's hard to choose what to write next haha Hope you guys like this chapter, inspired by some of the ideas sent in

Summary: The trials and tribulations of falling for your brother's best friend.

CW: Excessive drinking, swearing, slow burn, fluff

WC: 2000+

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Masterlist

“What are you wearing?”

You look up from your spot on the couch to see Jake standing at the entrance to the living room with a slightly bewildered expression. You grimace at him and then look down at your shirt. “Oh,” you respond with a laugh, remembering that you’d changed a few hours ago after spilling tomato sauce on your tank top. “It’s one of Bradley’s band tees.”

“No,” Jake corrects you, taking a single step forward. “It’s one of my band tees.”

You watch him steadily. “Okay,” you say slowly, not really sure what his problem is. “Do you want it back?” You rise from the couch and start pulling the shirt upward when you realize that you aren’t wearing bra. “Oh shit!” You clap a hand to your mouth. “You almost got a show,” you say with a laugh.

Jake’s eyes, which had drifted down to your bare abdomen as you were lifting the shirt, slide back up to your face. He doesn’t appear nearly as amused as you. On the contrary, he looks like he might pass out. “You – you’re wearing just my shirt?” he asks, his voice uncharacteristically brittle.

“Look, what was it doing crumpled up on one of our kitchen chairs, anyway?” you say defensively.

Jake licks his lips uncomfortably. He’s still holding your gaze but he isn’t responding.

You roll your eyes. “Oh god, don’t tell me there was another encounter in my house.”

Jake releases an unsteady sigh. “Would you call strip poker an encounter?”

“Jake!” you exclaim. “You have your own place!”

“It was a double date,” Jake responds sheepishly.

You shake your head. “Well, I hope you enjoyed seeing my brother’s ass.”

“Actually, your brother is surprisingly good at Texas hold’em.”

“Regardless!” You groan in frustration. “How do you walk out without wearing a shirt, Jake?”

Jake purses his lips. “I’m a little hazy on that part, to be honest.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say.

“Well, you look ridiculous,” he counters.

You scoff. “I do not. I can totally pull off” – you drop your chin to examine the front of the shirt – “Pantera,” you finish with a slight cringe.

“Don’t make that face,” Jake says, pointing a cautioning finger at you.

You shrug. “You’re the one who said I look ridiculous.”

“Only because you’re drowning in in.”

“It’s not my fault you’re twice my size,” you retort, noticing that the hem of the t-shirt hangs so low that it hides the shorts you’re wearing underneath.

Jake takes another few steps forward, chuckling. “It’s actually pretty fucking cute that it goes all the way down to your knees,” he says, placing his hand over your head to ruffle your hair. “Keep it,” adds, and then drops onto your couch with a tired sigh.

“I can’t keep it,” you say. “People are going to ask me if I know any of their music –”

Jake waves a hand. “I’ll show you,” he says. “You’re gonna love it, trust me.”

You plop down onto the couch beside him and cross your legs. “Seems a little backwards.”

Jake looks over at you with a grin. “Suits your vibe.”

You smack him on the shoulder and he laughs. Then, there’s a knock on the door and you gasp. “Oh my god, I completely forgot to change for my date!”

Jake’s smile falters instantly. “You have a date?”

You give him a flat look. “Like you don’t.”

He shakes his head.

“Well, give it a minute, I guess,” you respond sarcastically, getting up.

Jake smirks and rises after you. “Maybe he’ll like your new look.”

You let out a nervous whimper and head for the door with Jake right on your heels. You pull open the door and nearly hit Jake with it because he’s so close behind you. You shake your head at him and then greet your boyfriend.

“Hey,” he responds hesitantly, his eyes darting between yours and Jake’s faces. “What’s going on?”

“Not much, come on in,” you say.

Jake remains silent, waiting to be introduced.

“Wow,” your boyfriend says. “What are you wearing?” He tilts his head to examine the shirt. “Pantera? Is that Spanish for panther? That's a lot of skulls.”

You notice Jake making a face at the back of his head and you give him a warning look. “I was just about to change,” you say with a tight smile.

Your boyfriend nods. “Good.”

Jake narrows his eyes and steps around your date to face him. “Hey there,” he says in a loud, exaggerated baritone. He holds out his hand in a gesture that seems more aggressive than polite.

You roll your eyes and rub your forehead irritably. “I’ll be right back,” you promise, eyeing your boyfriend apologetically as Jake throws you a massive grin.

You run up the stairs, taking them two at a time, as Jake begins grilling your boyfriend about the last time his vehicle was serviced.

You pull Jake’s t-shirt off and toss it in the hamper, and then you find a cute, backless top that looks great with your jean shorts. You glance at yourself in the full-length mirror before heading back down and smile. You’re a catch. Even if Jake Seresin will never see it that way.

You rush down the stairs just as Jake finishes instructing your boyfriend on how to check the pressure in his tires. The latter is watching him with a dubious expression.

“Alright, let’s roll!” you say, bouncing off the final step and charging the space between them.

Jake steps back as you crash into him, forcefully shoving him aside. “What time will you kids be back?” he asks as you hook your arm through your boyfriend’s and lead him out onto the porch.

You glance over your shoulder crossly. “No clue,” you say curtly, in response to which Jake gives you a once-over, as if he’s just noticed your attire.

When his eyes meet yours again, he’s wearing a more genuine expression. “Be careful,” he calls.

You wave a dismissive hand in his direction and turn to face your date, who is repeatedly checking to see if Jake has retreated into the house. “Is that your brother?” he asks.

…

Several hours and seven tequila shots later, you’re suddenly feeling extremely unwell. You stagger down the hallway, zigzagging between the walls toward the bathroom and, once you’re inside, you lock the door behind you and slide down the wall onto the floor.

You pull your phone out of your pocket, and it flies right out of your hand. With a groan, you crawl forward to pick it back up. You blink to focus your eyes on the screen, your thumb hovering over your brother’s name. You would call him, except that Bradley has been at the Hard Deck every night this past week, trying to woo the bartender. So, he probably isn’t in any condition to come and pick you up.

You sigh, squinting at Jake’s name in your contacts list. If you call him, he will never let you live this down. But the longer you wait, the faster the room spins around you and, by the time you tap on his number, you feel like you are on death’s doorstep, laying your back down on the cold, tiled floor.

“Hello?” Jake answers. “Y/N?” You can hear the edge in his tone despite the sounds of the bar in the background.

“Jake,” you say weakly.

“What’s going on?” he asks urgently as the background noises fade away. You hear the ring of the door as he steps outside. “Are you okay?”

“Mm-hm,” you lie. “I’m just very, very drunk. And I think I’m dying. The two are probably related.”

“Where are you?” he asks sternly and you hear the beep of his car as he unlocks the door.

“I’m at a house party,” you croak. “On the first floor. In the bathroom down the hall.”

You hear Jake sigh and then his car door slam when he pulls it shut. Next, you hear the engine. “The address, genius.”

“Oh,” you say. “Fuck if I know.”

“Drop a pin.”

“’Kay, hang on.” You lift the phone away from your ear and hold it up to send Jake your location. Only, your grip falters and your phone comes crashing down onto your face. “Ow!” you moan.

“Y/N?” Jake’s distressed voice is muffled by the fluffy bathroom mat on which your phone has landed.

You whimper and pick it back up. “Can you hurry?” you say, bringing the phone to your ear again.

“Y/N, I need you to concentrate, okay?” he says, steadily. “I still don’t know where you are.”

You let out a soft sob. “I’m in the bathroom!”

“For fuck’s sake, Bradshaw! Pay attention!” he yells and you flinch, nearly dropping your phone all over again. “I need the address!”

“Oh, right!” you exclaim. “Hang on.” You sit up and try again. “Did you get it?”

There’s a pause on the other end while Jake checks his phone. “Yeah, I got it. I’m ten minutes out.”

“Okay,” you respond with a slight whine. “That’s a very long time.”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll be there in five.”

“’Kay, don’t speed,” you mutter, closing your eyes as you lay back down onto the floor.

You hear Jake chuckle. “Did you forget who you’re talkin’ to?”

You sigh softly, too tired to actually laugh. “Jake,” you say. “I feel like I’m on a carousel in the middle of the ocean.”

“Hang in there, shorty,” he says. “Where’s your boyfriend, anyway?”

“No idea. Last time I saw him was when he lost at beer pong. Such a sore loser.”

“Classy,” Jake remarks. Then, after a few moments of silence, he says. “Keep talkin’, darlin’, I’m almost there.”

“I’m just going to take a little nap,” you say sleepily.

“I’d rather you keep talkin’, so I know you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” you reply. “What do you want me to talk about?”

“What’s your favorite color?” he asks.

“You know what my favorite color is,” you say with amusement.

Jake chuckles. “Fine. Tell me about your plans for the weekend.”

“A nice, quiet funeral,” you say, willing the ceiling to stop rotating above you. “You’re invited.”

Jake snorts. “You any good at poker?”

“I’m not playing strip poker with my brother, Jake.”

“We can keep it PG for you, kiddo. Besides, Bradley might be too busy for us, anyhow.”

“Aww, did he get a date with the barmaid?”

“He got a date with the barmaid.” You can hear the smile in Jake's voice.

“But he’ll miss my funeral.”

Jake laughs. “Sorry to burst your bubble, cupcake, but I’m here. So, we’ll have to postpone that funeral, if you don't mind.”

The knowledge that he’s close by is a such relief that you let the phone slip out from your hand. In less than a minute, he’s knocking on the bathroom door.

“Y/N?” he says cautiously.

“Yeah,” you respond, rising unsteadily to your feet and unlocking it for him.

He bursts in and you stagger backward, so he grabs your hand and pulls you forward, and you sway right into his arms. Jake holds you tightly as you try to regain your footing. He lowers his face to get a good look at you. “Having a good night?” he asks with a cheeky grin.

You strike his chest with your palm half-heartedly. “Don’t be mean,” you murmur, resting your head on his solid pecs.

He smells fresh and warm and you detect a trace of cologne still infused into the cotton of his shirt; smooth and velvety with a hint of citrus and a hefty dose of ‘I’m about to rip your clothes off’ sandalwood.

“I think I’m going to vomit,” you say, bringing a hand over your mouth.

“It’ll probably make you feel better,” he says, gesturing to the toilet in the corner of the bathroom.

You shake your head, refusing to throw up in Jake Seresin’s presence. “Let’s just get out of here,” you whimper.

Jake leads you carefully through the house, making sure you aren’t bumping into any people or walls. Your boyfriend, of course, is nowhere to be found. Jake brings you outside and steers you toward his car. Without letting go of you, he opens the passenger door and helps you into the seat slowly. You drop your head back and close your eyes as he brings the seatbelt over your chest and buckles you in.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Wow, you smell like a distillery,” he notes with a laugh.

You smile and open your eyes. “I thought you were going to be mad.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “Why would I be mad?” he asks, still leaning into the passenger side of the car.

You shrug. “Because I’m irresponsible,” you try to say, however the words come out very slurred.

Jake chuckles. “You’re probably the most responsible person I know,” he says. He reaches up to tuck back a strand of your hair, his fingers drifting down the side of your face and lingering for a moment at your cheek. “You deserve a night off.”

You stare into his eyes, all the feelings you’ve been trying to suppress bubbling up in your gut, together with your nausea. What’s worse, your head is spinning even harder, if that’s possible. If only Jake knew how much you longed for him. If only he know how much you wanted him to kiss you.

“Cheer up, buttercup,” he says with a wink, pinching your chin affectionately. “You’re going to feel so much worse tomorrow. In fact, we should probably save your introduction to heavy metal until after your hangover.”

Read Part 6

Tag List:

The rest of the list will be in the comments! Please let me know if you don't want to be tagged anymore.

@broketraveler87

@atarmychick007

@wandering-wah

@callsign-sunshine

@shanimallina87

@ghost-heart34

@birdy-bat-writes

@matya4

@wkndwlff

@nyx2021

@bellamy1998

@oliviah-25

@alexxavicry

@army24--7

@thefandomimagines

@dracosluvbot

@smit41

@scenesofobx

@Criminalmindsandmarvel

@lunamoonbby

@malums-trash-can

@creativitybeware

@xoxabs88xox

@Yoyop7

@hallecarey1

@nik2blog

@rrocky0ah

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@lilianashomaresparza

@latetedslesetoiles

@Elenavampire21

@ekeel2016

@starberryhorse

@ginger-gabsq

@sarcastic-sourwolf

@loveforaugust

@adaydreamaway08

@desert-fern

@averyhotchner

@classyunknownlover

@mimisalad

@bubblegumbeautyqueen

@elle-writes-things

@tumblerluvver

@lostcause514

@cevans-winchester

@ssaic-jareau

@catsandbooksandstuff

@fdl305

@letskeepthislo-ki

2K notes · View notes

annwrites · 3 months ago

Text

⸻ sons & daughters. aemond | driftmark outtake. ⸻

· pairing: young!aemondtargaryen x niece!reader · type: outtake from this series · summary: aemond reunites with you at driftmark after your family's swift departure from the red keep. · tw: underage—you have been warned. · word count: 2,319 · ꒰a/n꒱: gif

"I would perform my duty," Aemond states, looking at you over his shoulder. "If mother had only betrothed us."

You part from your siblings, walking down stone steps, hot tears running down your cheeks. You've barely had a moment free of them since father...since Harwin died.

Your mother does not want you, nor your siblings, to speak of it. So you are forced to instead sequester yourself away to lonesome corners, or to your chambers to grieve with no one to comfort you.

You do not even have Aemond to lean on now. Not since your mother also forced your family out of the Red Keep and onto a lonely island instead.

You will never call it home.

He had stared at you through the service—your uncle—the look on his face unreadable. So you had kept your eyes downcast, shifting on your feet, fighting back fresh tears as Vaemond gave his niece her eulogy. A eulogy which had eventually turned into vicious insinuations, which served only to make your stomach twist nervously.

Everything seems wrong now.

You've never felt so alone before.

You walk down a few more steps, looking behind you, and when you see that you are out of everyone's line-of-sight, you double over, sobbing into your hands.

Aemond parts from his siblings in search of you.

You've yet to speak a word to him.

The two of you have been exchanging letters since you'd left home, so he'd been most-assured that being reunited here would finally bring him the vision he's been dreaming of daily of you running into his arms once again.

Instead, you'd stared dead-eyed and lifelessly as Lady Laena's casket was lowered into the sea, like you had gone away somewhere else within yourself. And once the service was through, you'd disappeared from the crowded throngs of people gathered round.

He weaves between bodies, glancing this way and that, looking for one particularly comely face, until he reaches a set of steps leading downward and he hears a familiar, quiet cry.

He steps down them, finding you curled into yourself, shaking and crying, so much so that you gasp for air, choking on your own tears.

"Niece," he calls softly.

Your head jerks in his direction and his heart sinks when he takes in your blotchy tear-stricken face.

You quickly wipe at your cheeks with your palms. "Aemond—"

"Uncle," he says, correcting you, taking a seat beside you.

He then pulls you into his arms, wrapping his green velvet cloak around your shoulders. "It's alright. You can cry if you wish. It's just us."

Your chin wobbles and then you turn into him, burying your face in the crook of his neck as sobs wrack through your body.

He is silent for a moment, rubbing his hand against your back.

"I'm sorry...about Ser Harwin."

You begin to cry impossibly harder, confirming for him the source of your despair.

"I miss you," he whispers.

You wrap your arms around his middle and he presses a soft kiss to your long brown hair.

"I am...glad we're here together. Even given the circumstances."

You nod softly, hiccupping. "Me too."

He rests his cheek atop your head, closing his eyes, feeling—for the first time since your sudden absence from the one place you are meant to call home—at peace. "I've enjoyed our letters. Hearing from you, that is. It makes you seem not so far away at times."

You press yourself to his chest.

"I hate Dragonstone," you state. "I want to go home."

He tightens his arms around you. "I want that as well."

A beat of silence.

"We should be together. We're supposed to be."

There's a soft knock at your door and you set down your porcelain doll, padding over to it. "Who...who's there?"

"Uncle Aemond," comes a quiet reply.

Just then, a lock slides free and you slowly open the door just a crack. "What're you doing?"

He glances behind you. "Can I come in? I thought...you might be lonely."

You consider for a moment, then nod, opening the door wider, allowing him entrance.

You lock it once more behind you as you turn to him. "Did anyone see—"

"They never do," he says, coming back toward you, taking your face in his hands, pressing his lips to yours.

You rear back, stumbling. "Aemond—"

"Uncle," he insists. "It's been...weeks. And we...we miss each other. I thought you'd want to."

You blink at him for just a moment, tugging nervously at the sleeves on your nightgown. "I just don't want to get in trouble. We've never...been here before. It's not like the Red Keep where we had hiding places. And the passages."

He glances around, then settles his eyes on your wardrobe, nodding to it. "If someone comes, I'll hide in there."

He looks back to you.

And then you smile softly, nodding. "Okay."

Aemond's fingers slip clumsily between your legs and he looks to you, his hand trembling as you stare up at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

"Does...does that feel good?" He asks, his voice wavering with unsurety.

You nod, gripping the hem of your nightgown that's bunched up around your naked waist.

He nods just once in return, continuing.

You whimper quietly and his eyes flit to the door. "We...we have to be quiet, Y/N."

"I know," you whisper.

Your body jerks, then settles again and you begin to pant softly. "I...think I'm...almost. I think..."

He leans down, pressing a brief kiss to your lips, his heart hammering away in his chest.

You close your eyes then, concentrating.

He watches your features twitch and your brows furrow, your hips lifting to meet his hand. "I'm—" he pauses. "I'm glad we could. One last time. Are...are you?"

You nod. "Yes."

When you're finally overcome with that wonderful feeling neither of you has a name for yet, it's with you biting your lip and Aemond staring at the door, terrified at any moment the two of you may be caught. Even if the lock is in-place.

Part of him hopes for it, however. If you were, his mother and yours—his father, the King—would have no choice but to betroth you then. To make his beloved niece his for forever.

You glance down to Aemond's trousers, then back to him.

He blushes madly. "I...well, something happened when we were..."

You blush as well. "Oh."

It's happened before—him doing that in his pants without you even touching him. Neither of you are sure if it's normal, but he always seems embarrassed by it, so you don't dwell on it, either.

He lies back, resting his head atop a feather pillow.

You curl against his side, resting a small hand atop his chest, which he takes in one of his own.

"I love you," he whispers. "My niece."

You smile, closing your eyes, feeling content for the first time since leaving King's Landing. "I love you, too, Uncle Aemond."

When you wake, it's dark and you're alone in bed, Aemond's side now empty and cold.

You rise with bleary eyes, yawning, wanting to go in search of him.

He wouldn't have gone back to his chambers, would he? He'd told you he would stay. This was to be your one night together to talk and laugh and enjoy each other's company before being ripped apart again.

You shrug on a small robe, padding over to the door, trying to remember which way he'd said his room was.

Until you see people rushing past you in a frenzy.

And then one of your mother's handmaids spots you. "Princess," she says, voice breathless. "Come, your household has been summoned to the Great Hall."

She takes your hand in hers, leading you that way.

"Where's momma?" You ask quietly. "What's happening?"

"All will be well, Princess," is all the reply she gives.

You wish Aemond were here. You're sure he would know. He always knows. About everything.

There is much commotion when you enter the Great Hall—many familiar faces present: Queen Alicent, your grandsire, Ser Otto, Ser Criston, as well as your brothers.

Your brothers...who have blood on them and seem...frightened. You begin to scan the room in a panic then, and it is only when Queen Alicent steps to the side that you see.

And you let out a scream, many heads turning in your direction, Aemond's own shooting up—only one eye focusing on you.

Tears stream down your cheeks and you cup your hands over your mouth as you head toward him—your feet moving all on their own—until a hand pulls you back.

You look behind you to the Princess Rhaenys, and she merely wraps that same hand around your shoulder, holding you in-place.

"Aemond," you say between sobs and he merely stares back at you without a word.

Your eyes flit to his mother and she meets your gaze briefly before shaking her head, turning back to her son.

You stand behind your mother, clutching at her skirts, trembling violently, watching as blood oozes from her wrist and onto the floor.

"M-m-mama," you say quietly and Jace wraps an arm around your shoulders, shooshing you.

And then Aemond interrupts the tense silence.

"Do not mourn me, Mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye...but I gained a dragon."

You let out a quiet sob, shrugging off your brother's arm, going to step away from your mother, until Aemond gives a small shake of his head and your steps falter.

He stands, taking his own mother's hand, their household exiting the room.

You stare after him, feeling empty.

You seat yourself on the balcony outside, a war raging in your young, tired mind.

You do not know who you should be more upset with.

Luke for taking Aemond's eye—or perhaps he, Jace, Baela, and Rhaena altogether for attacking him to begin with.

Aemond for calling you and your siblings bastards. He...he's told you more times than you can count that he loves you. Why would he say such things, then? Even if they are true, he's never used it against you to hurt you before.

But he himself had been hurt. So, mayhaps, that is why. He was merely lashing out. Understandably so.

Queen Alicent for harming mama. But she was angry. Her son has now been permanently disfigured. Mama would do the same for any of you.

This was not how the night was meant to be. Aemond had promised that come the morn, the two of you would break your fasts together, and then give each other a kiss goodbye.

And now...everything is ruined.

You look up then, watching as Vhagar circles the sky above, and you continue to think of him.

Aemond had, for so long, when you were much younger, seemed larger than life to you. He was older, a prince, your uncle. He seemed to know everything when you were little. You'd often toddle around, trailing after him, holding his hand, babbling incoherent nonsense before you knew how to speak, but every word he spoke to you? It was like magic.

His name had been among some of your first words. A shortened version, perhaps—'mend'—but his name, nonetheless.

You might've screamed like an utter brat at the top of your lungs once or twice when you had gone to his chambers as a little girl, when met at the doorway by his Queen Mother telling you he was busy with his lessons and could not have company at the moment. He'd been the only thing in all the world you'd ever pitched a fit or misbehaved over.

As soon as he heard you wailing for him, however, he always came—your sour demeanor quickly changing to that of smiles and giggles.

So him having claimed the largest dragon in all the world? She was meant for him to have.

And to be punished for it, and in such a terrible way... You blame yourself.

If you had been there when your siblings and cousins went to seek vengeance for him rightfully claiming her...you could've stopped things, you're sure.

What you don't know is that Aemond had left you to sleep, simply because he wanted you to have your rest and to be safe incase his plan with Vhagar...did not go accordingly. If you were ever caused harm due to his actions, he'd never forgive himself.

But if he did manage to claim her, he'd wanted to surprise you in the morn by sailing through the skies with you—listening as you laughed and screamed excitedly in his arms. As he promised you that once he was older and bigger, he would take you away, and the two of you would become husband and wife.

You would no longer have to play pretend at it then.

When will he learn...fairytales only ever exist in books.

Aemond looks behind him—behind Vhagar—as Driftmark grows smaller in the distance and he fills with regret.

He should've met you halfway in the Great Hall. Should've wrapped his arms around you. Should've...should've damned himself further by telling them all what he'd done with you as they slept.

He's sure that with so many bearing witness to such testimonies there would be no other way about it then. Your father would betroth the two of you in an instant—his mother's wishes finally overridden.

But he'd held his tongue, stayed his hand, because she'd suffered enough already—had risked all to find recompense on his behalf as she sliced into your mother's skin with that blade.

He will write to you as soon as he reaches home. Will reassure you of his love for you. Of how he thinks of naught else except you now.

But he does not know, nor you, that such correspondences...will never reach your wanting hands.

Nor yours his.

#fic: hotd (aemond targaryen x reader)#aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader

258 notes · View notes

luveline · 11 months ago

Note

hi love. if you’re taking any requests could i request rockstar!sirius, or sirius in general, like the start of the relationship when everything is cute funny but they're still not a Couple

rockstar!sirius takes you on a date ♡ fem, 1.2k

“If you're here to antagonise me, you can just go home, Sirius,” you warn.

Sirius Black gives you a dastardly grin, sliding into the seat across from you in a cloud of expensive cologne and hairspray. You're ashamed to say he smells nice, if a little sharp.

“Hair explosion?” you ask.

“You're very, very cruel to me, angel. I shouldn't call you that.” The toe of his converse hits yours. He leans forward, covering the pages of your novel with a hand adorned in silver jewellery. “It's no longer accurate.”

“So mean,” you sigh, imbuing it with as much gutted patheticness as possible.

“Hey, I'm kidding.” He pushed his foot between yours. “How long have you been here? Did you wait long?”

You close your book, put it flat out of reach, and fix him with a genuine smile. “No, not long.”

Sirius leans over to kiss your cheek. You'll feel it for the next half an hour, a tingling, crescent moon of contact. “Well, good. Should we go and order? Know what you want?” He shakes his head. “I know what you want. Stay here.”

He pops up and away as quick as he'd arrived. You panic. Cool and collected you may have seemed, but internally you're a storm of nerves, hands shaking ever so slightly as you take the compact mirror from your pocket and check over your features. You're worried you look like you've tried as hard as you have, all your complicated skincare and makeup, sheer shimmers and invisible concealer.

Sirius met you without a lick of makeup and he still acted like you were the best thing since sliced bread. You remember it all in vivid detail, the way he'd looked at you, the double-take, the subsequent flirting. Sirius doesn't neg, but it was hard at first to know if he was being real with you. And what, he'd drawled, unblinking, dark lashes and kohl rings emphasised by his stillness, is a thing like you doing in a place like this?

Thing? you'd asked softly, confused and intimidated by his attention. You'd recognised him immediately.

Girl, he'd corrected himself. Then, with a strange smile, Angel. You're an angel, huh? Must be.

It wasn't some world-bending line but it didn't need to be, his demeanour did the hard work for him. And his appearance didn't hurt.

Even now as he walks back towards you, your heart skips a quick beat. He looks more casual than he has the last few times he's seen you, a leather jacket swapped for ragged black denim, and tight pants replaced with jeans that hug his thighs. You can't believe a thing like him would ever be interested in you, but he most assuredly is.

“Here,” he says, putting a drink down in front of you, and again leaning down to kiss your other cheek. “You look so pretty.” He says it like it’s nothing, doesn't cost him a thing, not a shred of doubt nor bravery. Then he adds, “You're fucking perfect. Can't believe you walk around like this for free.”

“Stop it,” you say with a laugh, pushing him away. You can't bring yourself to be mean about it. Sirius hasn't ever been mean to you, not once, despite the things people have told you since you met. Be careful with that one. Guys like him want one thing.

After three dates and two evenings spent watching films together on his ragtag sofa (and enjoying the laziest, softest kisses a girl may ever have been given), you've yet to find out what he wants. To adore you, apparently.

He runs his pinky down your cheek and under your chin. “Can I kiss you?” he asks.

You lift your chin invitingly.

Sirius laughs into your lips, suddenly kissing you, close and heavy-handed. You rise off of your seat to meet him, only an inch or so but enough to pull a deep sound from the back of his throat. You've never been kissed like this; his hand is steady on your cheek, reluctant to let you go, and he presses down hard with his lips. Nearly too much, never quite there. He rounds it out with a softer one and pulls back to gaze at you fondly.

“I missed you,” he says, sneaking back in to kiss the slight curve of your laugh line. “Not cool, this whole sleeping at your own flat business.”

He isn't your boyfriend, yet. Hasn't asked. So he isn't staying at yours nor you at his. But he has to ask soon, right? Who kisses people like that without intentions of some sort of commitment?

Rockstars, your brain supplies cruelly. Infamous players.

“Well, where else would I be staying?” you ask as he sits back in his seat.

“Good question, beautiful.” He ignores it, anyhow. “I've ordered a few too many things. Don't be mad.”

“I won't be.” You take your purse from your coat. “So long as it doesn't cost more than sixty two pounds and eight p, that is.”

“Shut up, as if you're paying. You're fucking childish–”

“You're childish, I'm trying to keep things fair and you won't let me!”

“Quite right. Look at the state of you,” he says, eyes roving across your face pleasantly, “you think you deserve to pay for dinner? No. I asked you, and I've ordered, and it'll cost a bit more than what you have anyways.” He drops the act just enough to see a sliver of doubt. “Please, let me take care of it. I want to buy you dinner, sweetheart. It's the least I want to do for you.”

You look at him through your lashes, face angled down at the ebony wooden table. “Yeah, alright. I don't mind.”

“Good, because you didn't really have a choice. How can I expect you to say yes if I don't pay for dinner first?”

“Say yes to what?” you ask, frowning gently. He's confused you.

Sirius offers both hands across the table. You place yours softly in his, letting him brush the pads of his thumbs against your knuckles.

“To being official,” he says, a hopeful smile playing on his lovely mouth. “What do you think? Is it too soon to ask?”

You shake your head minutely.

He drops his head a little, meeting your eyes. “Do you want to be together?”

“I'll be your girlfriend?” you confirm.

“Do you want to be?” His lips part but he doesn't add anything more, though he might want to. You understand that vulnerability won't be instantaneous between you both. You can wait. If this is even a hint of the man he is, you want to be together more than anything.

You nod, forcing your smile into a line that soon wobbles.

He leans across the table for another kiss. This one chaste. Perfect.

“Thank you,” he says. When he sits back, he's practically glowing with smugness. “Fuck. I thought that would be harder.”

“I can make it worse for you if you want to ask me again."

“Would you? Let's take it from the top, angel. I didn't suffer half as much as I should've.”

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius x reader fluff #sirius black imagine #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fic #marauders era #marauders #sirius black drabble #sirius black scenario #sirius black oneshot #the marauders #sirius orion black

763 notes · View notes