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pretty-little-mind33 · 9 months ago

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James Potter x best friend!fem!reader

Summary: You and James stumble upon an ancient book of spells rumored to enhance pleasure.

Genre: SMUT (nsfm) + hurt and comfort

Warnings: sex while under an 'aphrodisiac' of some kind, unprotected sex, penetration, cock warming, quickie, public (not seen by anyone), riding, insecurities, porn with plot ✨

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

"Someone is gonna see us," you whisper, feeling James Potter's hand in yours, his thumb occasionally soothing circles over your palm as you stumble in the dark corridors under his invisibility cloak.

"That's the point of the cloak, love," James answers, holding in a laugh as he guides you towards the entrance to the library and he mutters the spell for the lock as you hold your breath.

"Hear us then," you counter, unconsciously squeezing his hand for reassurance.

James doesn't hesitate to return the squeeze and he smiles when the lock opens with a click. He opens the door and you both squeeze inside.

Once the door shuts behind you, James drops the cloak and you let out a shaky exhale, adjusting your hair. The room is dark and it smells like dust. You hold in a cough as James mutters, "Lumos," and then grins like he'd gone mad.

"Told ya we'd be fine," he sing-songs and kicks your shoe in a playful manner as he walks by you to look at all the restricted books.

You groan and take out your wand, walking along the shelves as you pick up dust with your index. "Are you looking for something in particular?" you ask, your voice low as you read the names of books, realizing just how dangerous this could become.

James nods. "Yeah, I bet Sirius I could find "Moste Potente Potions" so we could make some Polyjuice potion," he says casually.

"And you needed me, why?!" you turn to glare at your best friend.

James looks at you with a smile. "Didn't really. I'just like your company."

You bite the inside of your cheek and go back to looking at the books. "Polyjuice is dangerous, James. Are you sure you want to meddle with that?"

James nods again and he hums, "I'm top of the class in Potions, I'm sure I can handle some Polyjuice." He sounds smug and you roll your eyes at his behavior.

James is reckless and impulsive and honestly, you're worried about him making that potion with his friends. You don't dare bring it up, because who are you to tell James what to do? You aren't his girlfriend or anything—

"Woah," James's voice interrupts your thoughts as he walks over to you. You turn, standing in front of him as he flips the pages of some old dusty book. "These spells are ancient—and completely forbidden—" he mutters, his eyes round with excitement.

You tilt your head and read the title; "Antiqua Cantus." Ancient Spells.

"Bloody Hell, there's a pleasure-enhancing spell–like a sexual thing—" James exclaims and holds the book open to you so you can see. You walk over and stand next to him, looking over his shoulder at the spell. James begins to recite the spell and you read along, entranced by the words on the worn-out parchment.

By moonlight's glow and stars above,

Ignite the flames of lustful love.

Let passion's heat our bodies bind,

In ecstasy, our souls combined.

Whisper soft this sacred plea,

Unleash our wildest fantasy.

Once he's finished, you glance around the page and frown. "Shit." You grab the book from James and then look up at him with wide eyes, "James, this is a wandless spell!" you whisper and his eyes widen like yours did as he realizes what happened.

He grabs the book from you and reads the instructions. His shoulders relax and he points to the small print— "It says the participants must have already existing feelings for this to work," he mumbles and looks up at you, smiling reassuringly and unsure all the same. "So—"

"Yeah—" you whisper, stepping away from him.

"I feel fine," James starts.

"I do too," you say, feeling completely normal.

James shuts the book with a slam and his smile returns. "Thing is probably too old to work, anyways," he says confidently. You nod, less confident than he is but you push those worries down.

He doesn't like you like that—so why would it work?

Once James finally finds the book he's looking for, you both cram under the cloak and you make your way back to the dorm. You ignore the feeling, but your head feels fuzzier than it should. Every brush on James's arm against yours sends shivers up your spine. You're extra aware of how he smells and it's intoxicating. You bite your lip, hoping the pain will distract you from the pleasure building.

The spell.

James looks normal. He's even humming the Hogwarts song under his breath, his eyes trained forward as you make it to the Common Room. It feels so unfair—that he's fine and your stomach twists with butterflies as your nipples harden painfully against your bra.

It isn't fair.

As soon as you have the chance, you pull away from James and sit on the couch, pressing your thighs together. You glance up at the stairs to the girl's dorms, wondering if you should run up and take a cold shower to quench the ache.

"Hey, you okay?" James asks, folding up the cloak as he looks you over.

Bloody fuck, his voice.

"Mhmm," you nod, focusing your attention on anything but how turned on you are or how hot James sounds and looks. How much you want his lips on yours.

You clench your thighs again, nervously pressing your hands in between them and your breath hitches when James sits next to you, his hand flat on your thigh. You inhale.

"Are you sure?" he asks, looking at you behind his glasses with a look that makes you want to pounce on him. This is so humiliating. You move your thigh so his hand slips onto the couch and James's frown deepens. "Hey," he whispers again, "What's happened?"

You feel like your entire body is on fire. You need to touch yourself or throw yourself out a window—you can't make up your mind.

"The stupid spell—" you say, your voice soft as you avoid his gaze and stare at your knees, feeling your hands shake. "it's working and I- I can't handle it, James,"

He doesn't answer for a moment until you hear a familiar laugh. "Oh, darling," he says, his hand finding your chin as he turns your head around, grinning. "Look at me."

You do so but he shakes his head, his eyes shimmering. "No. Look at me," he whispers, his voice husky and deep and your eyes widen when you understand what he means. Your gaze falls from his eyes to the painful-looking bulge tenting his trousers and you inhale sharply, the sight causing your mind to haze over. How had you missed this!?

"Look at what it's done to me, love," James finishes as his thumb strokes your cheek. "We really messed up this time, didn't we?" he hums.

"You messed up," you whisper, leaning into his touch. Thank Merlin no one is in the Common Room at this hour because your desperation is embarrassing.

"I messed up," James says with a strained smirk and he twirls some of your hair in his fingers. "Can I make it up to you, darling? Can I make the ache go away?"

James knows this is wrong. You're both under some kind of sexually enhancing spell—this is so many shades of messed up. Still, his heart and dick yearn for you. Somehow, he's managed to hide it well, most likely because he'd had experience in that department—James was constantly turned on to some level when he was around you. He can't help himself.

"H-how?" you ask, the idea of giving in to the desires not even crossing your mind.

James smirks, looking at you as his glasses fall down his nose. He pats his thigh. You look down, your eyes widening. You shouldn't. This is wrong. Still, your body responds to him without your brain's permission as you lift yourself to straddle his lap. Your skirt bunches up your thighs as your arms wrap around James's shoulder. You gasp for air at how sensitive you are and you can't look him in the eye.

You can feel him hard and needy against you and you swallow.

"Look at me," James whispers once more, his voice husky and deep as his hands grip your hips and he moves you up and down his trousers. You whine and bury your face in the crook of his neck, your skin clammy and flushed from need.

Suddenly the movements stop and your grip tightens around his shoulders.

"Look at me," he says again, lips pressed to your ear as he sounds as desperate as you are. "O-or I'll stop," he threatens, not sounding convincing considering the spell is starting to hit him hard and he's about ready to come in his trousers.

You pull away, looking at him as your mind buzzes and you search his eyes for some hint that you both need to stop this. You see none so you say, your voice strained, "James. Fucking need you, please."

You lift your hips, finding his zipper and fumbling with his trousers as you push aside your panties. It's rushed and sweaty and not at all romantic like you'd planned—not to mention public. You pray everyone else is asleep and won't walk in on you sitting on your best friend's cock.

With a moan, you press down and he slides in easily. "Shit, you're so wet," James mumbles as he kisses your neck, holding you close as his cock twitches inside you. You both don't even think of the fact he's not wearing a condom or anything. You're too lost in the pleasure for any rational thoughts.

"Fuck," you groan, keeping him inside you without movement for a while. You hold him as close as possible, needing him. Needing his warmth.

James groans, his eyes shut in pleasure as he holds himself back from fucking you roughly. He's going to explode at any moment if he doesn't feel you move. "Y/n," he warns, his hands tightening even more on your poor hips.

You take that as an invitation and you move, your movements slow and languid in the beginning, feeling every pull and stretch and you can't tell if James's cock just feels so much better than any others you've been with, or if the spell is messing with you.

Perhaps it's a little of both.

"Bloody hell," James grunts, losing control, as he moves you with him, his hips snapping up into you. You gasp, falling onto his shoulder as you hold him even closer, the pleasure almost unbearable.

You don't know if it's been hours or mere minutes but once James spills himself into you, his hands around your back as he continues to move your body to his liking, you can't hold it in and your mouth opens, a silent moan catching you by surprise as you finish around him. You feel weak and fuzzy almost instantly as if the string master that kept you aware suddenly cut you loose.

James's hand soothingly runs in your hair as he pants, his eyes shut. The only sound you can hear is your and James' ragged breaths and all you can smell is the burnt-out firewood and sex. You feel much calmer now as your brain tries to catch up with the events that just transpired, and when it does your blood runs cold.

You sit up, looking down at your best friend. He's looking at you, not daring to speak. You'd just fucked him with such want and need and yet all you can think about when you look at him is how you did all that without knowing the feeling of his lips on yours.

Shame burns your skin and you scramble off him, the feeling of his cock leaving from inside you makes you wince as you hold in all the emotions that threaten to overwhelm you.

"Hey," James whispers, his hand reaching for yours as he stops you from running away, standing up in the process so he's looking at you. He drops your hand and, clearly embarrassed, tucks himself back inside his trousers. You stare at him, feeling dirty from an experience you'd wished had been amazing.

And it was more than amazing if you were honest with yourself. You'd never been more satisfied in your life, but it also wasn't what you'd really wanted. Was it too cliché to want roses and candles? A steamy kiss and some swoon-worthy romantic confession?

Instead, you'd gotten love bites and finger dents.

"What's going on in your head?" James's voice interrupts your thoughts as he moves closer.

"Hmm?"

"Darling, come on, please talk to me," he insists, wanting to know exactly what you're feeling so he can understand his own feelings.

You cover your face with your hands, head dipping down as your body finally calms down from the surplus of hormones you've experienced.

"We shouldn't have done that, James—I–it was wrong," your voice fades as his hands find your wrists and he pulls them down. He looks hurt, sad, and guilty all in one emotion painted on his handsome face.

"Do you regret it?" he asks, his voice wavering.

You open your mouth to say yes but hold yourself back. It's more complicated than that. "I don't know– I just didn't think it would happen like this and—we didn't even kiss," you ramble, avoiding looking at him. You should have been looking because then you could have seen his next move coming.

James gently takes your cheeks in his hands, pulling you into him so he can kiss your lips. For something surprising, it isn't forceful at all. He doesn't kiss you longer than a few seconds and he doesn't use his tongue. He's delicate with you, making sure he isn't crossing any boundaries.

When he moves away, your eyes are open and you're silent for a moment. Then, you grab his collar and pull him in, crashing your lips onto his. You kiss him like he's your last meal on earth--like you've been starved of him. He feels so good pressed against you, his hands in your hair and then your cheeks again, and then your waist. You feel dizzy and you pull away. Your lips feel swollen and love-bitten and you're a flustered mess.

James continues to hold you close as he presses his forehead to yours, his thumb rubbing your waist. "You're amazing," he speaks so softly as a faint smile graces his lips.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I don't tell you enough, do I?" James smiles and tilts his head. He leans in and kisses your neck. "You're amazing—so wonderful," he inhales your scent but doesn't comment on it and a shiver runs up your spine.

"I– we–" You want to bring up the fact you had sex with him but James puts his finger on your lips, his thumb rubbing under your chin and he shakes his head.

"Stop worrying so much, lovely. It's okay. I promise it's okay. I didn't hurt you did I?"

You shake your head and James's smile turns into a grin.

"Good. So we're okay, hm?" he looks at you expectantly. "You're still my best friend."

Your heart thumps loudly in your ears. Best friends. "Y-yeah, you're still my best friend, Jamie," you say, your voice strained as you smile reluctantly.

You want to be so much more than best friends.

James can sense your hesitation and he takes a breath. "W-would you want to try to be more than just friends, Y/n?" he pauses, and then his voice picks up, "and I'm not saying that because we just fucked. No. I'm saying this because I'm hopelessly in love with you and I think you love me too. You kissed me like you love me. I want to try to make this work."

You feel like the world is crashing around you. Your skin feels clammy and your head is dizzy. Still, an unfamiliar warmth spreads all around you. You feel blissful and you reach for James's hand, needing to hold him. He lets you hold his hand and he intertwines his fingers into yours. He looks nervous like he's expecting a rejection.

"I do love you, James. So much. I want to try this too," you whisper, looking at him with a shy smile.

James's grin widens and he picks you up, spinning you around as he keeps you close when your feet touch the ground again. "I'll do right by you, my love," he whispers in your ear and you hold your hands behind his neck.

"So no more late-night trips to the restricted sections and trying old, dangerous, spells?" you tease.

James nips at your ear. "I kinda liked this one."

You laugh and swat his pec, your hand trailing down his chest as you fist his shirt and look up at him with a mockingly stern look. "Don't be a smartass, you wanker."

James returns your laugh and kisses behind your ear. "No more trips to the restricted section and trying old dangerous spells. Pink swear."

You pull away and hold out your pinky, which he takes and you grin.

"We can still have sex though, hm. We don't need a spell to do that, right?" he teases but the question almost sounds serious.

You roll your eyes. "James."

"I'm just making sure!"

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khaire-traveler · 2 months ago

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May Dionysus Androgynous look after my trans brothers, sisters, and siblings who need it the most right now. May He bless you with the comfort of knowing you're not alone and the ability to remember how much strength you truly possess. May He grant you a glimpse into the memories of the millions of trans souls who came before us, as we have always existed, and remind you of how incredibly resilient our community has always been.

Hail Dionysus, the Great Liberator! May He break the chains that bind us all and ignite the spark of revolution within our hearts. 💜🍇🥂🏳️‍⚧️

#helpol #hellenic polytheism #hellenic pagan #dionysus deity #dionysus worship #dionysus androgynous

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ladybirdswritings · 3 months ago

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LITTLE WITCH, FIC — xaden riorson x reader.

DESCRIPTION: you wake— a captive girl with untamed power and no recollection of its origins. before you is a scarred, shadowy figure, whose taunts ignite your abilities—binding your fates in a dangerous encounter. NOTES - fourth wing fic!! leave me all your thoughts and opinions. i love them <33 | next part

one;

“Wake her up.”

Water. Cold as ice, constricting your rigid bones like snakes coiling tighter with every stolen shiver.

A gasp tore from your throat, water spewing from your lungs as your body heaved against the jagged floor. Your eyes fluttered open, disjointed memories playing like a fragmented reel in your mind.

“Her power exceeds that of every living vernin on this planet!”

“Promise me you’ll fix this, darling.”

Promise me. Promise me. Promise me.

You blinked hard, but the image didn’t fade.

You were tied.

The rough ropes bit into your bony wrists, leaving searing, ring-like burns. Every labored movement set your nerves aflame. Your gaze darted upward, breath hitching as the world slowly came into focus.

A girl stood above you, silver-dipped hair framing a weary, glaring face. Beside her, a man with raven-black hair and a severe jaw hovered like a dark sentinel, his pale skin nearly glowing in the dim light.

And then there was him.

A scar slashed across one onyx eye, his expression cold and unreadable. Caramel skin adorned with swirling ink that climbed every visible inch of him. His presence suffocated the room, shadows pooling at his feet as if he commanded them.

You inhaled sharply.

“Do you think she speaks English?” the girl asked, her voice wary.

Your wide eyes locked onto her as you pulled against your restraints, panic rising. The three of them stepped back in weary unison.

“Be calm.” His voice—low, smooth, commanding—cooed like a bird singing a song only you could dance to. It scraped against the fragile walls of your resolve, but you clung to the shreds of your sanity.

Your eyes darted around, desperate to piece together this fractured reality. You tried to speak, tried to form an identity, but your name—your very sense of self—slipped through your fingers like quicksand.

“You have me tied,” you rasped, the words tasting foreign in your mouth.

Another synchronized step back.

“Xaden…” the silver-haired girl’s voice was cautious, her eyes glassy with an emotion you couldn’t yet name. But it was fervent, pulsing. You could sense it.

Lust. Love. Betrayal.

The man— Xaden’s jaw ticked, his gaze piercing as it lingered on you.

“We’ve already discussed this,” he said, his voice devoid of hostility but heavy with finality. “Take her, Garrick. I’ll handle the girl.”

She only bristled at his words, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. “You lost the right to give me orders when you—”

“I’m well aware, Violence.” His voice cracked with strain, the facade of calm splintering for just a moment.

The girl—Violence—swayed slightly, but her resistance faltered. With a deep, resigned exhale, Garrick gently guided her out of the room.

And then it was just you.

As the door slammed shut, Xaden’s features transformed. The fleeting agony that had marred his face dissolved into a cold mask, his expression as unreadable as the void of shadows around him.

His gaze roamed over you, scrutinizing every inch with an intensity that made your skin crawl. When he was satisfied, he dropped to one knee before you, the motion deliberate and predatory.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his voice low, as if any louder would break you. As if you were a precious thing, needing to be preserved. And though he asked you for it, you had a fleeting sense that he already knew.

He was testing you.

Your trembling hands tugged at the ropes, panic stabbing through your mind. A flash of white burned behind your eyes—a memory.

A woman with electric blonde hair and a gaze colder than ice stared down at you. You were tied, gagged, and helpless.

“Shall I strike her again, General Sorrengail?”

The memory vanished as pain lanced through your wrists, the ropes burning like scorched iron. Your teary gaze met his, desperation clawing at your chest.

“Please untie me,” you begged, voice raw and jagged.

His head tilted slightly, but he didn’t so much as twitch. “I can’t do that.”

Your breath quickened, chest heaving as your head fell back against the pole that anchored you. The room blurred, warmth suddenly flooding your cheeks.

When your eyes snapped open, he was closer. His thumb brushed away the tears streaking your face, his touch surprisingly gentle. Shadows coiled tighter around you, suffocating yet oddly soothing.

“What’s your name?” he repeated, his thumb grazing your trembling lips as if trying to still them.

“I… I don’t remember,” you whispered.

His brows knit together, his silence heavier than words. For a moment, his gaze softened, as if he saw something tethered within you he’d searched to find for a millenia.

You’re coddling her.

A voice, unfamiliar and swelled with a power you found yourself connected to— it sounded throughout the confines of your mind. And then another voice. His voice.

Trust me, Sgaeyl.

And yet his lips did not move, set in a hard line. Perhaps you had a name, and the world had simply forgotten. Who gave any attention to the sick and mad? To those who had phantom voices roaming within the confines of their skull? Suddenly, like a curtain falling, his expression hardened again. He rose to his full, imposing height, towering over you like a specter.

“Get up,” he commanded, voice sharp enough to slice you in two.

“I’m tied,” you protested, voice trembling.

His eyes narrowed. “Get up and face me, and I’ll free you from all your binds.”

Hope fluttered in your chest, fragile and fleeting. You braced yourself, using the pole for support, and pushed. Your legs buckled instantly, sending you crashing back down.

Again.

And again.

By the eighth attempt, your knees were raw, your wrists throbbing, and your patience gone.

“You’re trying to humiliate me,” you hissed, glaring up at him.

“It seems to be working,” he said with a ghost of a smirk that made your blood boil.

Something stirred deep within you, a dormant fire roaring to life. His words, his condescension—they fed it like kindling to a flame.

“Aiming to embarrass ourselves today, are we?” he taunted, his voice dripping with mockery.

The fire ignited.

“Let me go.”

Your voice was guttural, commanding, a force that reverberated through the room like a shockwave.

And time stopped. Only for a moment, but even so. Still, not a life in sight daring to breathe. Sudden, suffocating, swelling.

Then over.

Xaden dropped to one knee, his hands moving to untie your restraints as if compelled by an unseen force. His breath hitched as the ropes fell away, but the closeness of him—the warmth of his hands against your bloodied wrists—froze you in place.

He leaned in, his forehead brushing against yours, his breath mingling with your own in a dangerous dance.

“Look at that… we’ve finally found you, little witch…” he murmured, his voice a dark promise.

And somehow, you knew him then. Even free from all memory, you knew well that whoever he was— he was just beginning to unravel you.

#xaden riorson fic #xaden riorson fanfic #xaden riorson smut #xaden riorson imagine #xaden riorson x reader #xaden x reader #fourth wing xaden #xadenviolet #violet and xaden #xaden riorson #xaden and sgaeyl #violet sorrengail #fourth wing fanfic #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #onyx storm fanfic #onyx storm #iron flame fanfic #iron flame

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azen13 · 2 months ago

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CW: Yandere Themes, Arranged Marriage, Stalking, Forced Kiss

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

You had thought for years that the prophecy wouldn't be true. It hung over your head like a crimson moon, equal parts beautiful and haunting, words lingering on your lips like a young lover.

As decreed by the Mnestia long ago, Kephale would one day take up a lover who would wield witticisms and words as weapons forged in an ever-burning mind. At the time, it had seemed preposterous that a Titan, much less Kephale, would take up a lover. If not for a servant scribbling those utterances down and telling his children, who told their own children, who told their children, so on and so forth, the prophecy would have been lost to time.

If it had, would you still be in this predicament?

The first time you had heard of the prophecy when studying poets of old, you had brushed it aside as a simple legend. Kephale had already laid down a prophecy of his own by this time of how new heroes would soon conquer Coreflames to inherit the Titans' divinities, but you knew none of the Chrysos Heirs.

After a period of study, you soon began to craft your own verses. You much preferred the solitude of your home to the bustling crowds of the city, so you didn't hear how quickly your works began to gain popularity. Bards had a new repertoire to learn, and schemes and conceits never once imagined flowed through the air.

When one of the Chrysos Heirs himself began knocking on your door every day, demanding your attention, you realized your popularity had shattered any preconceived zeniths. Phainon was his name, he said, and from what he had heard of you, he was enchanted. The look in his eyes was such a hazy, skylit blue, it seemed like he truly had been the victim of some bizarre spell.

Every day he came and encroached more and more upon you and your home. At first, he stayed outside of your door, but eventually, he began to barge in, sitting at your table or searching amongst your shelves for any subjects he could strike a conversation with you on.

Despite his idiosyncrasies and his forthright behavior, despite the occasional memory igniting in your mind, reminding you of the prophecy, you didn't worry about it. Phainon had told you many times how he longed to take the Coreflame of Nikador, not Kephale. When word spread through Okhema over Nikador's defeat, whatever lingering doubts seemed to be extinguished. You were fine. The prophecy wasn't true, or perhaps it was meant for another Chrysos Heir, another poet.

Weeks later, you found yourself regretting your assuredness. It started, as many no-good things did, with a knock on your door. As you begrudgingly walked to open it, expecting to see perhaps a bard or a fool, you instead were greeted by Phainon. Despite the weariness in his eyes, his hands shot out and clenched your shoulders with such speed and strength, you nearly leapt out of your skin. His nose nuzzled into your neck, taking a deep breath. For what seemed like hours, he mumbled and babbled and blathered and prattled about Coreflames, Nikador, Kephale, and the prophecy. After his tirade, his grip tightened.

"But, at least you're mine now." The words seemed to shackle themselves around your wrists, binding you and your attention.

For a moment, you were so dumbfounded you couldn't find the words to express what you wanted to say. Had your situation been any less confounding, you would've found your speechlessness a wonderful little paradox. "Phainon, wha-what do you m-?"

Before you could finish your sentence, Phainon sealed away any remaining restraint he had with a brutally tender kiss. He seemed to push against your lips with the goal of wearing them down until they molded perfectly against his. The kiss itself seemed to metamorphosize with how long it lived; at first it was tender, like new shoots of life growing in spring, but as it grew in age, so did its greed. Phainon seemed intent on savoring every second as an eternity in its own right.

When he did break the kiss, he gazed at you with an otherworldly devotion. It was a look of such sweet softness that it could kill. "I might not have Kephale's Coreflame yet, but I will. I'll do it. Just for you." Though he said he didn't have a Coreflame, his eyes burned with passion brighter than the sun. It scorched your tender skin, branding you with illusory markings of possession. A declaration, almost, that you were, in fact, the subject of Mnestia's dreadful prophecy.

#yandere phainon #yandere hsr #phainon x reader #hsr phainon #phainon #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere drabble #yandere imagine #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x you #yandere phainon x reader #i LOVE prophecies so much asodkgjsogj they're such a fun trope imo #especially when they're tragic like...YES we love #also so sorry if there are grammar errors? i promise im trying my best but i v much tend to flop when it comes to editing sobs

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moonlight-joy · 2 months ago

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The Rogue’s Claim

Fandom: House of Dragon

Summary: You are a noblewoman from a powerful Valyrian house that rivals the Targaryens. Your betrothal to another man doesn’t sit well with Daemon, who has desired you for years. On the eve of your wedding, Daemon sneaks into your chambers with an outrageous proposal.

Pairing: Reader/Daemon Targaryen

The grand halls of your family’s estate shimmered with opulence. Gilded candelabras lined the walls, casting a golden glow over the silk tapestries that depicted the glory of your Valyrian lineage. Tomorrow, the estate would host a wedding—your wedding. Yet as the eve of your union approached, you felt no joy, no anticipation. Only dread.

You sat by the window of your chambers, the soft light of the moon spilling over your silver hair, a trait that marked your Valyrian heritage. The weight of your betrothal hung heavy on your heart. It was a strategic match, one that would secure your family’s power and elevate their standing even further. But it was not a match of your choosing.

And it was not with him.

Daemon Targaryen. The Rogue Prince. The man who had haunted your thoughts and your dreams for years. His presence had always been magnetic, his charm as dangerous as the fire that ran through his veins. You had known from the start that he was trouble. Yet, no matter how much you tried to bury your feelings, Daemon had ignited a flame within you that refused to die.

Tonight, that flame would consume you.

The soft creak of the door startled you from your thoughts. You turned sharply, your heart pounding as a shadow slipped into the room. The firelight caught on silver hair and violet eyes, and you knew instantly who it was.

“Daemon,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “What are you doing here?”

He smirked, the corner of his mouth curling in that infuriatingly confident way. “You didn’t think I’d let you go so easily, did you?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said, though your words lacked conviction. “If my family finds you…”

“Let them find me,” he interrupted, stepping closer. His voice was low, dangerous, filled with the kind of promise that made your pulse race. “If I can’t have you, no one will.”

You stood, your hands clutching the fabric of your gown as if it could anchor you. “Daemon, please. Tomorrow, I—”

“Tomorrow, you’ll bind yourself to a man you don’t love,” he growled, his eyes blazing with anger and desperation. “A man who doesn’t deserve you. Do you think I’ll stand by and watch that happen?”

Tears stung your eyes as his words cut through you. “And what would you have me do?” you asked, your voice breaking. “If I leave with you, I lose everything.”

Daemon reached for you, his hands warm and steady as they cupped your face. “No,” he said, his tone softening. “You gain everything. You gain freedom. You gain love. You gain me.”

Your breath hitched as his words settled over you. For years, you had dreamed of this moment, of him choosing you, fighting for you. Yet the weight of duty and family loyalty bore down on you like chains.

“They’ll never forgive me,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “My family… the realm…”

“Let them burn,” Daemon said fiercely. “You are fire itself. You don’t belong to them. You belong to me, as I belong to you.”

The intensity in his gaze, the raw vulnerability beneath his defiance, broke something inside you. Tears slipped down your cheeks, and Daemon’s thumb gently wiped them away. “Say the word, and we’ll leave tonight,” he urged. “We’ll run far away from all of this.”

“And where would we go?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

“Anywhere,” he replied. “Everywhere. As long as we’re together.”

Your heart warred with your mind. The life you had been raised to embrace, the expectations placed upon you—they all paled in comparison to the man standing before you, offering you his heart and his freedom.

Finally, you whispered, “Take me away from here.”

The night air was crisp as you and Daemon slipped through the shadows of your family’s estate. Without dragons to carry you, the journey ahead would be long and treacherous. But Daemon had planned for this. Two horses waited just beyond the gates, their breaths misting in the cold night air.

Daemon helped you mount, his hands lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. “Stay close to me,” he said, his voice firm. “No matter what happens.”

“I will,” you promised, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and exhilaration.

The two of you rode through the night, the sound of hooves echoing against the silence. The world seemed to blur around you, the weight of your decision pressing against your chest. Yet, for the first time in years, you felt alive.

As the journey stretched on, you found solace in Daemon’s presence. Around campfires under starlit skies, he spoke of a future where no one could dictate your fate. His words painted a vision of freedom, of a life where you could simply be together without the weight of expectation.

“We’ll make a new life,” Daemon said as the first light of dawn crept over the horizon. “One where no one can tell us who to be or how to love.”

For the first time in years, you felt hope bloom in your chest. The path ahead was uncertain, but with Daemon by your side, you knew you could face anything.

“I’m yours,” you said, turning to look at him. “And you are mine.”

Daemon’s smile was soft, his eyes filled with a love that burned brighter than dragon fire. “Always,” he vowed.

Days turned into weeks as the two of you made your way farther from the reach of your family. Each village and town you passed through seemed to blur into the next, but the freedom you felt was intoxicating. For the first time in your life, you weren’t just surviving—you were living.

One evening, as the two of you rested near a quiet stream, Daemon handed you a small, carved trinket—a dragon made of polished obsidian. “I saw this in the last town,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “It reminded me of you.”

You turned the small figure over in your hands, touched by the thoughtfulness of the gesture. “Because I’m as stubborn as a dragon?” you teased, smiling.

“No,” he said, his gaze locking with yours. “Because you’re as fierce and beautiful as one.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. “And you’re impossible,” you whispered against his mouth. “But I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

Despite the joy you found in each other, the shadow of your family’s reach loomed ever-present. One fateful day, as you and Daemon rested at an inn far from the capital, a rider arrived bearing your family’s sigil. You spotted him through the window, the sight sending a chill down your spine.

“They’ve found us,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Daemon was at your side in an instant, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Let them come,” he said, his voice a low growl. “They’ll regret it.”

You placed a hand on his arm, stopping him. “We can’t fight them, Daemon. Not here. Innocent people will get hurt.”

His jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Then we’ll leave. Again.”

And so, the two of you vanished once more into the night, leaving behind the life you had started to build. But even as the road stretched endlessly before you, one thing remained constant: the love you and Daemon shared. It was a fire that refused to be extinguished, no matter how many forces tried to snuff it out.

As the sun set on another day, you turned to Daemon and said, “Thank you. For choosing me. For fighting for me.”

He pulled you into his arms, his lips brushing against your forehead. “I’ll always choose you,” he said. “No matter what it takes.”

And in that moment, you knew that as long as you had Daemon, you had everything you needed.

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batboysanonymous · 3 months ago

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Shadows Between Us (Pt. II)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: As Y/N wrestles with the pain of Azriel’s rejection, Nesta uncovers a dangerous way to break the bond. But some bonds are unbreakable, no matter how much they hurt.

Pt. I

Pt. III

The walls of the house seemed to close in around Y/N as she hurried down the hallway, her pulse thrumming in her ears. Azriel’s voice still echoed behind her, low and gravelly, tinged with something she couldn’t quite name.

“I didn’t mean for it to hurt you.”

The words had lingered, clinging to her like his shadows often did—unwelcome, unshakable. She shoved open the door to her room, the cool air hitting her skin like a slap. Her chest heaved as she tried to push the confrontation from her mind, but it was no use. His face, his voice, his shadows haunted her every waking moment.

Y/N pressed her back against the door, sliding to the floor as her breathing evened out. She felt like she was falling apart piece by piece, the bond a cruel thread keeping her together, forcing her to endure when she wanted nothing more than to break free.

She’d thought that maybe, somehow, Nesta would find an answer in those ancient books. That the words scrawled across the brittle pages could untangle the threads binding her to Azriel, freeing them both from this torment.

But every solution comes with a cost.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Azriel leaned against the doorframe of his room, his hazel eyes staring unseeingly at the shadows curling and coiling at his feet. They whispered to him, voices too low for him to make out but insistent nonetheless.

Elain.

Her name flitted through his mind like a fleeting warmth, but it didn’t ignite the fire it once had. The soft smiles, the lingering glances—it was all… different now.

He closed his eyes, his head falling back against the wood with a heavy thud. The space Elain once occupied in his mind felt smaller, quieter. And Y/N—gods, Y/N—was everywhere.

She’d always been there, hadn’t she? On the training grounds, her laughter light and free when she sparred with Cassian. At family dinners, where her sharp wit rivaled Nesta’s. Even in battle, fierce and unwavering, her determination cutting through his chest like a blade.

Azriel groaned, raking a hand through his hair. He couldn’t—shouldn’t—let his thoughts stray to her. She was Cassian’s sister, his best friend’s family. And, worse, she was his mate.

The word felt like a brand, scorching him with its weight. He hadn’t wanted it. He hadn’t asked for it. But now, the bond sat heavy in the air, a faint hum he couldn’t quite ignore.

The way she’d looked at him earlier—her eyes filled with fury and heartbreak—made something crack inside him. He’d hurt her, over and over again, and still, she stood there, defiant and strong.

And yet, she hated him. She had every right to.

“Azriel,” Cassian’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts, pulling him back to the present. His brother leaned against the wall, his wings draped lazily behind him, though his gaze was sharp.

Azriel straightened. “What?”

Cassian’s lips twitched into a humorless smile. “She’s breaking.”

His chest tightened, though he kept his face blank. “I know.”

“Do you?” Cassian pushed off the wall, stepping closer. “Because I don’t think you have a godsdamned clue what you’re doing to her. You’re the most calculating bastard I’ve ever met, Az. You know every move before your enemies make them, but when it comes to her, you’re blind.”

“I didn’t—” Azriel cut himself off, the words catching in his throat. “I never meant for this to happen.”

Cassian laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “You didn’t mean for it? You think that matters to her? You think she cares about your intentions when you’re tearing her apart every time you push her away?”

Azriel looked away, guilt churning in his gut.

“Fix it,” Cassian said, his voice low and dangerous. “Before there’s nothing left of her to fix.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Y/N sat at the edge of her bed, the book Nesta had left her lying open on her lap. The language was incomprehensible, the words twisting and curling in ways that made her head ache.

Nesta entered the room without knocking, her arms full of more books. Her face was pale, a bead of sweat sliding down her temple.

“You’ve been at this all day,” Y/N said quietly, closing the book.

Nesta’s jaw tightened. “I’m not stopping until we find something that works.”

Her voice was resolute, but Y/N saw the exhaustion pulling at her features. She reached out, placing a hand on Nesta’s arm. “You need to rest. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

“There might not be a tomorrow,” Nesta snapped, her voice cracking. She let out a shaky breath, closing her eyes. “If we don’t act soon, this bond will destroy you.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her throat burning. “It already has.”

The admission hung heavy in the air between them, the weight of it pressing down on her chest.

Nesta set the books on the bed, sitting beside her. “I think I’ve found something. But it’s… dangerous.”

Y/N’s blood ran cold. “How dangerous?”

Nesta hesitated, her fingers curling into the fabric of her dress. “It’ll sever the bond. But it could kill me in the process.”

“No,” Y/N said immediately, shaking her head. “I’m not letting you risk your life for this.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Nesta said fiercely, her eyes blazing. “This is my choice, and I won’t watch you suffer any longer.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Azriel was walking down the hall when it hit him.

A searing pain tore through his chest, and he staggered, clutching at the wall for support. The bond—the bond he’d spent months ignoring, dismissing—roared to life, a fire burning through his veins.

Y/N.

Her name tore through his mind, her presence flooding every corner of his being. The bond wasn’t just a hum anymore. It was a roar, a deafening, undeniable connection that consumed him.

He saw her.

Saw her curled on her bed, her face buried in her hands as Nesta sat beside her, gripping her shoulder. He felt her heartbreak, her anguish, her desperation.

And he knew.

He’d been wrong.

Elain had been a distraction, a mirage he’d clung to because it was safe. But Y/N—Y/N—she was everything.

Azriel stumbled back, his wings flaring as his shadows shrieked around him. He had to get to her, had to—

But when he reached her door, he heard Nesta’s voice, calm and determined.

“This will work. It has to.”

And then Y/N’s quiet response: “Do it.”

Azriel’s heart stopped.

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youraverageaemondsimp · 1 year ago

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“Made for me.” // Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Thank you everyone for 1K followers, I am so grateful for all the support I've received for my fics, it's kind of an emotional moment for me cause I never thought I'd get this far, so here is the fic from this poll! this is short since I did not have much time and I do not want to delay my 1k celebration fic further! <3

MDNI // DD:DNE // reader discretion is advised.

Summary: As far as Aemond can remember, he had liked you, not in a way a brother loves his sister, no, in a way a man loves a woman, finding out that you were soon to be betrothed to a Tully for alliance, he feels devastated, until he decides he can prevent it, by ruining you.

WARNINGS: heavy noncon to dubcon, mindbreak, mindfuck, canon typical incest, creepy aemond(?), possessive aemond, dark!aemond, jealousy, obsession, breeding kink, tiddy sucking, virginity loss, mentions of blood, purity culture, medieval age standards (no smut until 18+), cum eating, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, porn with little plot. + not proofread.

block the tag #MAE:DARK!CONTENT to avoid seeing dark content from me.

WC: 3k

For as long as Aemond can remember, he had always been smitten with you, his little sister, someone very dear to him, he had loved you since the moment you were born, immediately becoming someone he swore to protect.

He was rumoured to have some romantic feelings for helaena, which wasn't entirely false but if anyone were to look closely, they would realise that the longing gaze he holds for helaena is nothing compared to the one when he looks at you.

As he grew into a man, these feelings developed further, and as he watched you grow into a woman, desire managed to get a hold of him. He remembers the first time he felt carnal attraction towards you, it was your sixteenth nameday, you had worn a beautiful green dress that showed a little cleavage, something his mother would've been against but she let it slide that time, he remembered as you bent over in front of him to get something from the table, giving him full view of your tits which he immediately looked away from.

That night he had rushed back to his chambers as fast as possible to tug on his length at the thought of you.

He was never the same after that, every touch ignited a fire in him, when you would lay on his thigh as you both sat beneath the godswood while he read, he had to fight the urge to take you right then and there, taking your maidenhead in front of the gods to bind you to himself forever.

As the years passed, his feeling for you grew stronger and stronger.

“Aem!” There was your sweet voice calling him once again, his gaze lifted from the book on the table to your form which stood a few metres away from him, you smiled when you noticed his gaze was on you, walking over to him so you stood next to him, peering down on the book he was reading.

“What are you reading?” you ask curiously, voice leaking with inquiry, he looked down at his book before glancing up again, “Just a book about our history, valyria.” he tells you and you lean down slightly over his shoulder, your platinum blonde locks falling over and curtaining the side of his face as you read the text.

“Would you read it to me?” you inquire and he nods, before you shoot him the bright smile that never seemed to leave your face, and pull the chair beside him, causing the wood to make a noise as it glid against the floor, and sitting down on it.

He began reading and you listened to him for quite a while, before your eyes started becoming droopy and closing as sleep tried to overwhelm you, it wasn't because you were not interested in the history, no, it was due to the fact that your older brother's voice was extremely comforting.

He chuckled when he tried your efforts to keep yourself awake and closed the book, “Sister, you must not fight when sleep finds you, go to thine chambers and rest.”

“But brother! You have just gotten to Aegon's conquest.” you pout, and he chuckles, “I shall read it to you tomorrow, now go rest.” he manages to convince you and obey his word.

Aemond sighs as he watches you walk away, you were the Apple of his eye, everyone knew, he had been protective of you since you were younger, though he developed certain type feelings, the kind that a brother shouldn't develop for his sister, but alas, targaryens have queer customs, after all, his elder sister was married to Aegon, their older brother.

It was only time until mother betrothed you both, and he would wait patiently for that, he would often imagine how married life with you would be, it would be perfect.

But all those dreams were crushed when he finds out that your mother was planning to betrothed you to a tully, to get their alliance in case of Aegon's claim for the throne. Angry was an understatement, he was extremely pissed off, and what did you do? You gladly accepted it, even managing to look happy at the proposal.

Just then he remembers his elder sister's words. ‘If one possesses a thing, the other will take it away.’

He could not have that.

He can not have you be taken away from him, that too by an undeserving house such as tully.

You knew something was extremely odd when Aemond came to your chambers at night, he never did that, always deeming it inappropriate for a lady and a man to be together after the moon has risen unless they were husband and wife. So it was extremely shocking as to what he was doing in your chambers, knowing he took the secret entrance since the guard did not mention Aemond at all when you entered.

“Brother? What are you doing here so late?” you ask as you approach him, he is sitting on the chair near the fireplace, turning his head to the side as if to acknowledge your presence, the light bouncing off his face making his features look much more angular and intimidating.

“I have missed you, dear sister.” he stood up and turned to face you, and you peered up at him confused, “I had heard about your betrothal to a tully, though I do not remember his name, I came here to wish you pleasantries and a prosperous marriage.” he tries his best to not scowl.

You smile widely.

And that immediately sets him off.

“Thank yo-” before you could finish your sentence, Aemond grabs you harshly by your cheeks, pulling his face towards his own, “You're happy? You're fucking happy?” he growls as his breath fans your face, “Aemond-” before you could say anything, the same hand that was gripping your cheeks goes to your hair, pulling your head back, your hands fly up to his to make him release his grip as the tug at your strands were incredibly painful.

He doesn't say anything but slams his lips against yours, moving against yours in a frantic rhythm, your eyes widen at this and you push at his chest to pull him off, but he uses the grip on your hair to further push you against him, and soon you're all flush against him, weakly trying to pushing him off while the hand in your hair keeps tightening as the other holds your waist gently.

A true contrast.

He pulls away to breathe and he looks at your teary eyes, as you look at him, “Aemond- you're scaring me.” you say weakly, shaking as his eye narrows, “I love you.” he blurts out and you look at him shocked, “But- we're siblings–”

“We're also targaryens.” he cuts you off, and lets go of your hair.

You squeal when he lifts you up roughly, before making haste over to your bed and throwing you on it, and before you can get up, he traps you in his arms.

“I do not wish to see you married to someone else, you have been mine, since the day you were born, sister.” he whispers in your ear before pressing a kiss to it. You gasped when you felt his hand grope at your clothed breast giving it a tight squeeze and you tried prying his hand off to no avail.

“Aem- please stop-” you beg but he doesn't listen and his eyebrows are furrowed as he looks at you, “Sister, tell me the truth have you not felt anything when you stay with me? A warm feeling in your heart?” your breathe hitches as he asks you that question, and you look away from him, feeling ashamed that you held feelings for him, they very well hidden, you felt ashamed whenever you would feel heat pool between your legs as you watched Aemond do quite literally anything.

He undoes his breeches and pulls his cock out, undeniably hard, “If I ruin you then mother won't marry you off to him, besides, no one would want a woman that is ruined, especially by her own brother.” he says and you sob, shaking your head and you gasp as you feel his dick pressed against your core.

Your silence gave him the answer he needed, he tore your dress apart, the stitches popping off with a noise, as he changed his grip and undoes your clothing.

You try to push him off and hit his chest, in defiance, but he is much stronger than you, pinning your hands above with his one hand as the other pulls off the shredded clothing, with your final strength, you deliver a hard kick to his crotch which causes him to groan and plop on the bed next to you in pain, and you use that change to try and scramble up and off the bed but to your disdain, he immediately recovers and pulls you down with a tight grip on your leg but pushing them apart, placing himself between them and then wrapping his hands around your neck, the grip cutting off air circulation rapidly as you struggled against him.

“Fucking cunt.” he says before spitting on your face and you cry, you feel your brain go dark as you start loosing consciousness at the lack of oxygen only for him to let go, cause you to take a deep breath on relax, snapping you awake at once.

“Sister, look how much you are leaking, way too much for someone that pretends like they hate it.” he rubs his cock against your folds, coating it in your juices and he groans, before he leans in, kissing your neck and then your breasts before pulling back.

“Brother please- ah!” you gasp when you felt his hot fingers press against your bud, rubbing it, making you squirm as you grip his hand and try to push it off but his grip stays firm and you eventually give up, hands falling to your sides and gripping the sheets below as he plays with cunt.

He knew you'd eventually break.

He did not want to hurt you or force you.

But you weren't making it easier and he did not have much time either, so he had to resort to this.

You reach your peak with a loud moan of his name which went straight to his cock, he leaned down and kissed you once more, holding your legs apart by force and then grabbing his cock before lining it up against your entrance, slowly pushing the thick head in, your hands shot up to his shoulder to grab them, nails digging into the skin as he rips you apart on his cock, bullying into you without mercy, his hand covering your mouth as you let out painful whines to shush you up. You whimper when you feel him fully sheathed inside you, feeling too full, your cunt clenching around him painfully tight to push him out but he stays there.

“Look at you, taking my cock so well, like you were made to.” he whispers in your ear before pulling his hips back and snapping them forward, causing you to let out a scream, although it was muffled, at the pain. The orgasm before had only helped a little, he was too thick and big.

At first he starts slowly, pulling back and snapping one at a time, trying to give you time to adjust until you whimpered his name, which made him lose any and all control he had as his pace became faster, brutally slamming his cock inside you as you whined and moaned beneath him.

The sound of wet slapping noises soon fill the air and the smell of sex starts taking over, your mind becomes all hazy at what was happening to you, you watch as Aemond takes one of your breasts in his mouth, suckling on the nipple, drool spilling all over it while his hand gropes the other, massaging it. Your hand travels to his hair and you arch your back, shoving more of your breast in his mouth, making him groan in delight.

He pulls back with a pop and you look at him gasping and wide eyed as he thrusts into you, eyes dropped as slight drool leaks from the sides of your mouth, letting out moans when he hits that sweet spot inside you.

“Fuck- you're so perfect, made just for me.” he grunts, supporting himself on his hands above you, hair curtaining around your face as you stare directly in his eye, watching him close it in pleasure, gasping when he feels you clench around him.

“You're mine right?” his eye opens and he looks at you intensely, you nod, agreeing with what he was saying, your mind losing all of its ability to think rationally the moment he entered inside you, you felt your stomach tighten.

“Use your words.” he commands and you gulp, “Yes only yours— ah! Fuck aemond!” you throw your head back as your second orgasm hits you, moaning out loud and he let's out a shaky breath before you felt his thrusts become sloppy, “Fuck, I'm gonna fill this cunt up, watch my seed take root in your womb, you're mine, mine to fuck, marry, breed, you'll give me many heirs won't you?” he goes off, voicing his thoughts and you feel warm and turned on at his words, “Yes- brother, I'm all yours, only yours.” you say, grabbing his cheek and rubbing a thumb on his scar and he finishes inside you with a loud moan, pushing himself to the hilt as his cock spurts thick ropes of cum inside you.

He pulls out, still somehow hard and lays down beside you, and you feel so empty without him inside you, so you whine, “Aem- I need you.” you pout and he looks at you wide eyed, and you don't know what comes over you, but you find your patience running thin as you wait for him to do something, so you take matters into your own hands, getting on top of him, grabbing his blood soaked cock before rising your hips and sitting down on it.

“Sister?” Aemond asks questionably, as he grabs your hips, watching you bounce on top of his cock, breasts moving up and down as you moan loudly into the chambers, only his name, on repeat and that's when he finally understands what happened.

He broke you.

He fucked your mind.

He should feel bad, knowing how now you're seeking him and his cock out like a bitch in heat but he doesn't, he feels more accomplished at that, knowing you desire no one but him. He moans when he feels your cunt spasm around him as you reach your peak, and instead of stopping, you continue riding him, wanting to bring him to his peak as well, you take one of his hands and guide it to your breast, making him grip it and play with your nipple.

“Brother please! Please cum inside me, I want you to fill me up.” you beg and Aemond groans at that, “Want- want you so bad! please haa, I need to have your children.” you moan and Aemond felt himself reach his peak harshly at that, filling you up once again.

Aemond changes the position, getting on top of you again, cock still inside and you give him a small smile before grabbing his face and pulling him in for a kiss, his lips move passionately against yours, before he pulls away, kissing down your neck and to your breasts, he pulls out and slowly trails kissing down to your down, watching as his loads of cum leak out from you, he pushes his tongue out and collects his juice on his mouth, before shoving it inside again, engulfing your cunt in his mouth, you grab his hair and grind your hips against his face, moaning his name loudly as he works his mouth, his nose shoved against your clit, creating friction whenever he moves his head, and soon enough, you reach your peak once again, “Brother!” you moan as you arch your back and he groans into your cunt, lapping up at the juices being secreted from you, before pulling away from it, placing wet kisses on your inners thighs and coming up towards you again, and kissing you, shoving his tongue inside your mouth, making you taste both your combined juices, and you groan into the kiss at the taste.

You both spent that night just like that.

Your mother was horrified when she had heard about this, and tully had walked in on the conversation, scrunching up his face in disgust and calling off your betrothal, you stood with your arm wrapped around Aemonds arm as he explain his mother what happened, looking away and hiding in his arms as she yelled at him for ruining and spoiling you, before inevitable deciding to betroth you both as result.

And you both were married, two moons later.

The maesters were extremely confused when you went into labour earlier than what they had predicted, they thought that it was going to be a stillbirth, yet they were confused to see when a healthy silver hair babe popped out, crying and cooing. They considered it a miracle but only Alicent and Aemond knew the truth.

Aemond stood there with his child in his arms as he gazed lovingly upon him, a son. You smiled at him as he cooed in high valyrian.

“Maester, When can I take her again?” That question caught the maester off guard and he cleared his throat before speaking up, “I would suggest waiting 6 weeks until she is fully healed, or 3 moons time.” and Aemond hummed.

The maester leaves the room, leaving you, aemond and the babe alone, the baby cooing at his father, small hand entangled in his hair.

“After you heal, I shall put a babe inside you again, dear wife.” He comes down and sits next to you and you smile, “As you wish, husband.” you tease and press a kiss on his lips.

———

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faesdreaming · 5 months ago

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𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐥𝐞𝐭’𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 - 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐕𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐱 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

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content warnings: yandere themes/behaviours, possessiveness, forced companionship, threatened self harm (not reader), reader can be read as afab or amab

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆:

His royal highness, your sworn liege. You swore an oath, forever binding yourself and your service to him. Knights, of course, he has a plenty. But you? You’re different. Special. He sits above all upon his throne. The burden of his crown is a heavy toll. And unlike the other knights he has in his command, you don’t simply act to obey.

You’re his most trusted advisor alongside being his most loyal soldier. You act to soothe his woes and offer insight. You traverse not just his kingdom but many others on your journey, enabling you to provide a different and rather refreshing perspective. Knights are made to uphold values of honour, loyalty, and nobility but the King has never met one quite as earnest as you.

He remembers the day you were knighted. How you knelt before him and pleaded your eternal loyalty. It’s a fond memory, one he replays whenever your admirers fawn over you or when you go on quests. It acts as a balm to soothe the possessive jealousy that rears its head. And how he loathes your seemingly never ending desire to go on quests. Certainly, before you endeared yourself to him, he hadn’t cared. Attain glory, uphold your honour. It is what knights are meant to do.

Alas, now, he cannot help but detest when you leave. His attempts at making you stay only delay it slightly longer. His orders for your aid, for your company all interrupted by the endless demands for your talents. It drives him mad. You’ve won more than enough glory. You’ve proven your honour and how noble you are countless times.

Stay with him, he’ll grant you every knight’s dream. A castle, large and built with grandeur. And what better castle than his palace? He’ll construct an entire wing, or perhaps an entirely new palace for you. He’ll shower you in all the gold and jewels you could ever want and more. He’ll throw the grandest of feasts and balls in celebration. Whatever your heart desires.

Or perhaps he’ll lock you away in a tower as all mad kings tend to do. Keep his knight all to himself, dressed in the finest silks and draped in exuberant jewelry. Oh, but you’d hate him wouldn’t you? Eyes once filled with shining loyalty showing nothing but contempt and bringing him despair. He couldn’t take it. Yet, he’s slowly and surely waning. Look at what you’ve done to him. Your mighty king beholden to your wishes.

He’s desperate, hungry, yearning for you. His knight, his soldier, his advisor, his confidant. His. Heed his commands, won’t you? For even the kindest rulers committed the worst atrocities when driven mad, and you’ve certainly ignited his descent.

“𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠.”

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒:

The loveliest damsel across the lands, her highness, the princess. Locked away in a tower by an evil wizard, waiting to be saved by you. Her gallant knight. Do you know how long she’s awaited your arrival? It’s to be expected, of course. Princesses being kidnapped by evil wizards, dragons and other malevolent entities are a common occurrence. As is a knight saving them. It’s destiny.

Certainly other knights have tried before. But all perished at the hands of the wizard who abducted her when she was but a girl and locked her away. She was beginning to think it was hopeless until you came along. Silly her, she knows how it goes. Damsels are saved by honourable knights, then, they live happily ever after. Her entire life she has waited to be saved by you. And now that you have, you’ll wed her of course!

Except you don’t. You refuse to, politely declining her advances. She doesn’t understand. Do you not know how these stories are meant to end? She’s supposed to be your reward, your prize for your heroic deeds. But then, you tell her she’s not a reward, eyes shining earnestly. And oh, even that doesn’t make her fall harder.

No one has ever afforded her autonomy before, she’s always been an object, a prize. It’s like a switch is turned. Suddenly, it’s not a duty, but a desire. She needs you to be by her side. You’re the only person who sees her for who she is.

The princess grows obsessive. She wants to be with you and will do anything to achieve it. Thus, she schemes. She fakes kidnappings and attempted assassinations, all conveniently timed and placed so you’ll be the one to save her. Yes, it may be a tad suspicious but you wouldn’t question her. She’s a hapless damsel and you’re a noble knight, after all.

Of course, she’s not the only damsel you’ve ever saved. She isn’t the first either. But the princess is determined to be the last. Whatever true dangers that require your skills will be shoved to the side when she grows more dramatic with her plots to gain your attention. You must see she’s in need of you. Always in danger. She needs you by her side to protect her.

And if you still refuse to be with her? The princess will have no other option than to take the most drastic measures. You’ll find her up at the edge of the top of the castle’s towers. Dagger poised above her chest, plump eyelashes wet with tears, and a wobbly bottom lip. But in her eyes, all you can see is the madness only lovesick lass could have. She can’t live without you. Thus, you must choose: to be with her or to have the crushing guilt of her death haunt for eternity. Either way, you will hers. Whether through life or death.

“𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞, 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐨.”

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐃:

The fiercest creature known to man, the dragon lord is your natural enemy. He is able to shift from dragon to man in a matter of seconds. Not that it matters, of course. For all knights will fall to his prowess. Then, you come along. At first, the dragon lord dismisses you as yet another fool attempting to slay him. He sighs, bored. Stupid mortals and their useless prides. Did they not understand they would never be able to win? He is the best of both worlds, the mightiest of dragons and men.

Yet, you don’t. You don’t try to slay him. You don’t try to steal his treasures. You reason with him. Your sword is a powerful tool, but you’re a reputed charmer for a reasons. Your words are crafted from a silver tongue. There isn’t a hint of the usual arrogance that men of your station usually hold. This intrigues him. Genuineness is something he hasn’t encountered for centuries. Especially not from a mortal. So, he entertains you. He leaves the village he’s terrorizing, not because he’s swayed by your words, more so you amused him. Yes, that’s it. He returns to his cove of golden treasures, not anticipating to waste a single moment thinking back on you.

Unfortunately for the dragon lord, you plague his mind. He’s an old creature, far older than even your kingdom. And he’s been so very bored for so very long. It leads to him shifting into his human form to gain more information. Only to sate his curiosity, though. Certainly not for any other reason.

His interest is once again peaked when he hears tales of your immense talent. You were holding back against him, weren’t you? Oh, how vexing you are. A simple knight, daring to try and swindle the dragon lord. And how vexing it is for him to have fallen for your coy act. It should irritate him far more than it does. But he’s lacked true companionship for so long. Dragons are a dying species and mortals are unworthy. Well, except for you.

Yes, you’d make a suitable companion. The dragon lord decides that you are his new companion and sets off to find you. Shifting back into his dragon form, he scours the land for you. Upon recognizing your scent, the dragon lord swoops down and nabs your unsuspecting form. You try and protests but he’s far too strong and large for you to fight off. He flies you back to his trove of treasures. The dragon lord sets you amongst his precious possessions, at the center, of course. For you are the most precious of all.

You’re smart, aware you cannot escape him with strength. So you try with wit. You bide time, keep him entertained and try to slip out. It’s a process you repeat multiple times, with the dragon lord catching you each time. He’s never cross with you, if anything, he’s amused. You truly are entertaining. The dragon lord will never take your attempts seriously. You’re a game to him. You may be his companion, but you’re more akin to a bird in a cage than an equal. You’re still his possession, after all. He’s a dragon lord, possessive instincts demanding he hoards you away from everything and keep you all to himself.

“𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞.”

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇:

The mistress of the black arts, the witch doesn’t expect to fall for someone such as yourself. She doesn’t expect to fall for anyone at all. Witches are, by nature, deceitful. They are beautiful and cruel. They engage in the dark arts. However, they are not all pure evil. Some have a modicum of compassion in their hearts. And you seem to draw out hers. Perhaps it’s because she’s known you since childhood. Before you were a glorious knight and she an infamous witch, you two were just children with seemingly impossible dreams and the weight of the world on your shoulders. But time changes things, it’s made what should be enemies out of you by the nature of your positions. Yet she cannot bring herself to hate you.

Not when you are truly noble, as knights are supposed to be. She’s encountered many a proclaimed knight in her time. All eager to vanquish her. Yet they all fail. And they all contribute to her disdain towards the blinded citizens of kingdom and the selfish aristocracy. What are knights but dogs to the nobility and monsters to the innocents? She’s seen knights and paladins set villages ablaze, slaughter innocents in the name of either their king or their whims. All knights disgust her. All except you, of course.

You’re her dreamer. You’re her innocence. You’re still the same person who believed in fairytales and noble values because you uphold them. That’s why you’re so beloved. By everyone, but most of all, her. You’ve never turned on her. You understand her nature as not evil. You even go as far as to bring her potion ingredients. She’s your dearest companion. The witch relishes in the thrall she has over you. In the thrall you have over her. You two, bound by mutual past, shall be intertwined in the future.

The witch strives to protect you. She patches up every wound you receive, regardless of how small, with her potion brews. She enchants a charm to ensure your safety— and if it happens to allow her to watch over her at all times, then it’s only because she wishes to keep you safe. And perhaps she may curse her rivals for your affection, so what? A light hex never hurt anyone. She’s indefinitely more relaxed than your other options, though. Witches, while some join covens, prefer independence. She would never want to stifle you.

So, the witch does what she does best. She casts curses and creates enchantments to keep you out of harms way. You may embark on your quests, you may indulge in your whims, but she is certain you will always return to her. And if you don’t? Well, she is a master of the dark arts. She can easily summon you and tether you to her. But she won’t. Probably.

Overall, the witch is concerned about your safety. She may guard you from a distance, but she guards you viciously. You are the only connection to her past, you are the only one who understands her. She cannot bear to lose you to anyone or anything.

“𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞, 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜.”

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍:

A rival, a friend, an equal. This is what they are to you. The paladin, once a squire alongside you, now a sworn knight of the Holy Order. How your paths have differed. Yet, in some ways, you remain the same. Namely, the competition between you. The paladin is always one step behind, has been since your days as a squire. You best them at spars, at races both on horse and foot, in accolades as well. They’re a paladin, and yet, you receive more recognition than them. It drives them mad. You drive them mad.

For one, they should be above the petty jealousy you stir. They should be satisfied with their status. But they are not. They always compare themself to you. They want so desperately to share the light you unwittingly bask in. Alas, none of it is for them. They resent you, they loathe you. Even worse, they respect you. Beyond your skill, you’re the paradigm of a true knight. You’re noble and good-hearted in a cruel world. You’re pure in a way no one else is. It inspires nothing but admiration. The paladin has admired you since your shared youth, they even tried to convince you to take up the Holy Vows

They’ve yet to succeed, but they won’t stop trying. After all, you’re all they’ve been chasing after. You’re the peak they seek. They train relentlessly to improve. Not to become your equal, but to become your better. They want to surpass you, to prove themselves worthy. They want you to look at them the way they’ve looked at you. The paladin wants to be the center of your world.

They work tirelessly. And yet, you always seem to far away. Their obsession grows deeper, more dangerous. The more attention you gain, the more desperate they become. How can the paladin reach you if you’re so far away? It calls for more drastic measures. Perhaps sabotaging your reputation, or ruining your quests. Ensuring you have no one to turn to beside them. Maybe even a maiming is in order, something to incapacitate you and keep you in the paladin’s grasp.

Don’t worry. They’ll be worthy someday. Until then, the paladin will watch from afar, stewing with jealousy and yearning. Be careful though. One wrong move could have the paladin turning towards the more unsavoury means of attaining you. They’d be remiss to, of course, but they cannot let you slip from their hold.

“𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧, 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬.”

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a/n: I’m back, from a very long hiatus. Special thanks to @forbidden-sunlight for motivating me to get back into writing :)

more yandere fae + new works coming soon

#yandere x reader #yandere romance #yandere headcanons #yandere #tw yandere #yandere drabble #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere oneshots

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littlest-w01f · 6 months ago

Text

Demonic

"Monster Fucking" with:

Sylus x Reader

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Summary: After hearing what the common folk of the N109 zone think Sylus truly looks like, you didn't believe them, then, you took him up on his offer to take his brooch the easier way.

Cw: Size difference, Demon!Sylus, MxF, Smut 18+ MDNI

You knew taking the crimson brooch from Sylus' clutches would be hard. But you hadn't realised how hard as you sat on the floor, restrained by his red-black energy Evol tendrils for the third time in 5 hours.

The tendrils tightened around your wrists and ankles, holding you firmly against the cold stone floor. You struggled, but the energy only seemed to grow stronger, pinning you down like an insect caught in a spider's web.

Sylus loomed over you, his chiselled face twisted in a cruel smirk. "Did you really think you could outsmart me, kitten?" He hummed as he sat, reading from his newspaper, careless of your presence, your fully loaded guns sat completely useless on his coffee table.

As you squirmed helplessly beneath Sylus' unyielding grasp, a shiver ran down your spine at the predatory glint in his eyes. The tendrils coiled tighter, biting into your flesh through the thin fabric of your clothes. Your heart raced, pounding against your ribcage as panic threatened to overwhelm you.

But even in your vulnerable state, you couldn't ignore the heat pooling low in your belly. Being at this man's mercy, completely powerless before him, ignited something primal within you. A forbidden desire you'd never dared acknowledge until now.

Sylus set aside his paper, rising languidly to his feet. He approached slowly, each measured step sending your pulse skyrocketing. When he reached you, he knelt down, one hand reaching out to trail along your jawline. "Shall I show you out? Or..."

Your jaw clenched, he had offered you two options, to either steal the brooch off him, or let him fuck you for it. You blushed at the thought, you had denied it instantly, but after the hours of him manhandling you so easily, throwing you about, demanding you to get out. You didn't mind the thought much, in fact, it was quite appealing.

His fingers traced down your neck, feeling the rapid beat of your pulse under his touch. With a sly smile, he leaned closer, his hot breath ghosting across your skin as he whispered, "Or perhaps we should skip straight to option B."

Your body betrayed you then, responding eagerly to his proximity. His musky and masculine scent filled your senses, making your head spin. Your chest heaved with each shallow breath you took, straining against the confines of your top. And lower still, between your thighs, warm arousal seeped through your cotton lingerie, betraying the height of your arousal.

A wicked smile played upon Sylus' lips as he watched you struggle between pride and surrender. With a swift movement, he snapped his fingers, and the tendrils binding you shifted slightly. They loosened enough for you to move, if only minimally. It was clear who held the power here.

His hands roamed across your curves with bold intent. His touch was firm yet gentle, igniting a fire that coursed through your veins. He leaned closer, whispering huskily into your ear. "I bet you've never been fucked so thoroughly as I will."

You looked up, you could give him a false sense of compliance and steal the brooch off him before he could register it. Slowly, deliberately, you nodded your consent. "Okay," you breathed, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "Fuck me. Take what you want."

A triumphant gleam lit up Sylus' eyes at your surrender. With a low chuckle, he released the last of the restraints, allowing you to sit up. He pulled you flush against his chest, his arms wrapping around you possessively.

"You're playing with fire, kitten," He murmured, his lips brushing against your earlobe. Sylus' strong hands gripped your hips, pulling you roughly onto his lap. You gasped as you felt his hard cock pressing insistently against your cunt through his pants. He ground his thick cock against you, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through your sensitive skin.

One hand slid up to cup your breast, kneading the soft skin through your shirt. His thumb brushed over your nipples, teasing them to stiff peaks. Leaning in, he captured your mouth in a dominant kiss, his tongue delving past your lips to claim yours.

As he ravaged your mouth, his hand slipped beneath your skirt, seeking the warmth between your thighs. His fingers found your drenched cotton piece and ripped them away with a harsh tug, exposing your slick folds to his touch.

Breaking the kiss, he gazed at you with lust-filled eyes. You froze as he pulled back and you took him in, the horns that grew from his head, dark contrasting against his silver hair, the furrow of large crow wings on his back. You had thought the people in that shop were lying about how they thought Sylus looked, but he sat under you like that. Skin as pale as flour, eyes as red as blood.

Sylus grinned wickedly, revealing sharp fangs. "Like what you see, kitten?"He stood abruptly, lifting you effortlessly in his strong arms. In a few strides, he had you pinned against the wall, his hard body caging you in. One hand slid up your thigh, pushing your skirt out of the way. His fingers teased along your dripping slit, gathering your juices.

"Mmm, so wet for me already," he purred, bringing his coated fingers to his lips to taste you. "Delicious."

His large wings caged you in, and you hoped he had the brooch you were looking for on him, trying to distract yourself from how different he looked and from all the pleasure his hands made you feel.

Sylus' hands trailed up your stomach, pausing to palm your breast roughly, rip your shirt open, before continuing their journey upwards. He gripped your chin, forcing you to meet his burning gaze, his hand covering your entire neck. "Keep your eyes on me while I ruin you," he commanded gruffly.

His hand reached down your bare body again as you tried to keep looking into his sharp bloody eyes and he plunged two fingers deep inside your tight cunt without warning. A loud moan spilt from your lips as he began pumping them in and out, stretching you open. His thumb circled your clit, applying delicious pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Leaning in, he nipped sharply at your bottom lip, drawing a bead of blood. "You're mine now," he growled possessively. "And I'm going to enjoy every moment of claiming my prize." Withdrawing his fingers, he quickly undid his belt and freed his enormous cock.

You tried to focus away from his fingers, and the dark horns at your eye level. You supported yourself on his broad chest, feeling it up for the brooch as his fingers stretched you for his girth that you only caught a glimpse of. Your legs twitched around his waist from his fingers alone.

As your hands explored his chest, you felt a slight bulge where the brooch should have been. With a triumphant grin, you pinched it and tugged, freeing it from his clothing. Holding it up for both of you to see, you saw that it was indeed the crimson brooch you sought.

The momentary distraction was all Sylus needed. With a smirk, he thrust his pulsing cock against your entrance, not bothering with any further foreplay. With a single powerful push, he sheathed himself fully inside you, stretching your walls impossibly wide.

You cried and shook from the sudden stretch, the brooch falling to the floor, only to be caught by his Evol, the brooch floating in red-black hue. Eyes screwing shut as you clenched around him, pushing him out and pulling him in with rythemic pulses.

A guttural groan rumbled from his throat as he felt the clenching heat of your cunt envelop him completely. "Fuck, kitten, you're so tight," He panted, a smirk playing on his lips. He paused for a moment, letting you adjust to his size before beginning to move.

Slowly, he started to pull out, only to plunge back in deeper than before. Each stroke was relentless, designed to stretch and fill you to your limits. His hands gripped your hips tightly, leaving marks that would serve as reminders of your first time being taken by him, a little bulge in the shape of his cock already forming on your lower abdomen.

"Sy-" You gasped, pressed against the wall as he took you, pain mixing with pleasure, head thrown back, his horns scratching at your cheeks a little as you tried to grip onto his hair.

Sylus gripped your hair tighter, tilting your head to expose the tender column of your neck. His teeth grazed over your skin, marking you as his own. "Say my name," He demanded, punctuating each word with another deep thrust. "Say it when I make you cum on my cock."

With renewed vigor, he picked up the pace, fucking you mercilessly against the wall. His wings spread wide, creating an intimate cocoon around you both. Each thrust hit deeper, triggering waves of pleasure that radiated throughout your entire body.

"Sy- Syl- Mmm-" You could do nothing but brace yourself against the wall, taking all he gave you. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the room, accompanied by your muffled cries and his lewd grunts, leaning down to bite softly at your exposed neck. His wings covered you both, letting you bask in his darkness.

Sylus continued to pound into you relentlessly, his cock driving in and out of your clenching cunt with brutal force. The sound of your mixed moans and grunts filled the air, mingling with the slap of flesh against flesh.

Reaching down, he grasped your thigh, hoisting your leg up higher to wrap around him. The new angle allowed him to sink even deeper, hitting a spot within you that sent shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your veins, nudging against your cervix with each thrust.

"Look at me," He commanded, his red eyes blazing with primal hunger. As you met his gaze, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue plundered your mouth, mirroring the intense rhythm of his thrusts.

Breaking the kiss, he growled against your lips, "I can feel you tightening around me, kitten."

"I'm so close..." You gasped almost inaudible. The coil of tension in your lower abdomen wound tighter and tighter until finally, it snapped. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your inner muscles clamping down around his thick cock rhythmically.

"That's it, let go for me," Sylus coaxed, his voice a low, seductive purr. He angled his hips, grinding against your clit with each powerful thrust. His fingers dug into your ass, holding you steady as he pistoned into you faster and harder.

"SYLUS!" You screamed, seeing stars behind your eyelids from the intensity of your release. Sylus snarled in satisfaction, feeling your silky walls flutter and squeeze his aching cock. He didn't slow his pace, instead using the extra lubrication to rut into you with wild abandon.

Sylus' thrusts became erratic as he chased his own climax, driven mad by the exquisite sensation of your cunt milking his cock. With a final, savage plunge, he buried himself to the hilt and groaned his release, spilling his hot seed deep inside you.

His hips jerked and twitched, pumping load after load of his potent cum into your willing body. The sheer volume threatened to overflow, trickling down your thighs as he emptied himself completely.

Panting heavily, Sylus slowly withdrew, his softening cock slipping free with a wet pop. He steadied you, your eyes closed, keeping you upright as the aftershocks of your combined orgasms rocked through your bodies.

"You took my cock so well, kitten," He praised, brushing a strand of sweat-dampened hair from your face. "I think we'll get along just fine." When you opened your eyes, there was no sigh of his horns, wings or fangs, his eyes a little less sharp and his skin regaining colour.

Sylus smiled almost warmly at you, his sharp features softening into something a little more approachable. "Let's clean up and talk business, shall we?" He offered you his hand, helping you straighten your clothes and gather your wits.

"There, much better," Sylus straightened his own attire, tucking his spent cock back into his trousers. He retrieved the fallen brooch, examining it briefly before pinning it securely to your blouse. "Mmm, guess you did manage to steal it off me on a technicality. I must say, I'm impressed. The sex was just for fun though right?"

You were still a little out of it from the fucking and the overwhelming sensations that followed, but you did manage a little nod as your cheeks filled with colour, because you had deep down, fucked him simply because you wanted to, even if you hadn't expected the leader of onychinus to turn into the pure demon that he did, it act like that didn't just happen. And as you stood there, shirt buttoned up once more and seemingly composed, despite the hammering in your heart matching his own ungodly rate, Sylus couldn't help but admire the way his brooch looked on you.

"Come here, I think I fucked you dumb, sweetie." He wrapped his thick arms around your waist and threw you over his shoulders, "Let's talk further later." You let him carry you, nodding along still.

{LaDs Kinktober Taglist: @m00nchildwrites}

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lady-lauren · 6 months ago

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❥ DONQUIXOTE DOFLAMINGO X FEM!READER

❥ WORD COUNT: 1.4k

❥ WARNINGS/TAGS: bondage (thank you string-string fruit), dub-con, you bleed a little but I promise it's hot, rough penetration, creampie, the pink feather coat is here to play

your honor I love him

→ Kinktober Masterlist ←

Watching you struggle is his favorite part. You writhe against his strings, forcing them tighter, twisting them into skin. His control gleams like sharp silk against your nakedness.

A fly finally caught in a web, toiling and trying.

“I’m starting to think you like this little game.”

Doflamingo’s middle finger bends back with a sharp tug, snapping a string to his will. The length of the binding loops around your leg, jerking your knee to curl against your chest.

“I’m not your toy,” there’s such a delicious fury in your eyes, “I’m—”

“—a warlord, yes, yes, I know. But now I’m your enemy, and I’m tired of playing nice.”

Escaping his underwater prison was easy; capturing you was a delectable challenge.

He vowed vengeance on those who betrayed him, and he has pictured his plans for you over, and over, and over again against the stone ceiling of his cell.

Rarely does fantasy pale in such dull comparison to actuality.

Your flesh is pliant, beautiful, gleaming with the sweat of your battle of wills against him. He ties both your legs now, making sure to squeeze his strings into the back of your thighs so he can watch your succulent fat press against the binds.

Your hips roll back as he secures your bondage, pussy wet and gooey as he parts your labia with his fingers.

A shrill gasp greets his ears, “I swear I’ll—”

“You’re in no position to swear anything,” he cuts you off with a push of his fingers into your squishy, tight cunt. A smirk splits his face as he feels the suction around his knuckles.

“Feels like your little body wants me.”

His words ignite you to struggle again, arms above your head tugging against his strings. He cinches them tighter, wraps more of his power around the length of your body, cutting into your curves. Your nipples harden as his strings whisk over them to circle around your tits.

“Come now, princess. You always knew it was leading to this,” his chuckle is deep in his chest and he pumps his fingers in and out of your body, “there’s no sense in struggling now.”

His cock throbs with delight as you twist against your restraints even more, gasping and grunting and wiggling. Your tender flesh is wrapped with him, trapped in his bed at his command.

The pink of his feathered coat tickles your skin as he leans across your body to leer at his masterpiece.

He puppets your face, makes you tilt your chin to meet his mouth as he tastes your lips for the first time. He licks between your teeth and doesn’t miss the sigh you breathe into his throat when his fingers curl against your walls.

He grabs the plush fat of your tit, squeezing because he can. Softness swells between his mean fingers and you preen beneath him.

Yet still you struggle when he shifts back, panting until he finally grapples his strings so tightly around you that droplets of blood well from the most delicate places. Thin crimson lines drip down your upper arms, pools so sweetly down the backs of your thighs.

Doflamingo’s head tilts in curiosity as you moan against his hold, dark satisfaction brewing at the sight of you wet and bloodied by his actions.

“You like the pain? Then I can make it hurt.”

There’s no time to think about his words.

His thick cock bullies into your pussy in an instant, pushing past the first tight ring of muscle with a vicious grunt. The mass of his body pounds into the suck of your cunt.

“Fuck!” You scream at him, poignant and loud. Yet so quickly your fight fades as the pleasure of his stretch within your body slams into your senses.

“That’s it, pretty baby, just take it.”

He likes how you feel like a cocksleeve, perfectly bound and placed and helpless to his onslaught. Like so many others, he��s far bigger than you, yet somehow you feel especially tiny in his hands. His fingertips are as ruthless as his string, pawing, plucking, pinching every part of you that’s prettier than any sordid dream.

Your eyes close against the power of his thrusts. Instinctively, he backhands your cheek, ire flaming at the thought of you not watching him. The sound you make is too perfect, a painful gasp bleeding into a shrill little sob, like he’s actually hurt you beyond just the sting of skin.

He’s wounding your pride. What true pleasure that is.

Abused, gummy walls suck him in deeper, fluttering as your belly tightens with the pleasure he’s coiling inside of you.

“Do you think I should let you cum?” he asks dangerously, tongue pressed against the tip of his canine.

He dips his fingers into the little rivulets of blood on the back of your thighs, using his strength to bend your legs back further and open you wider.

Suddenly that rage he adores is sparking in your eyes again, hotter than before.

“Don’t you dare,” you hiss.

“Don’t I dare what?” He feigns innocence as he pushes harder into your body, groaning as his cockhead pulls against the snugness of your pussy. “You don’t really think you, ah, deserve it, do you? Stupid girl.”

He traps you beneath his behemoth body, the feather of his coat slipping off his shoulders as he mounts your thighs with his. The angle is just right, has the girth of his cock pounding into the most sensitive places inside you.

You groan and stare into your reflection in his glasses, jaw tensing as bliss becomes overwhelming.

“Admit you want this, and I’ll consider it,” he grins, cheshire and sickening.

Time becomes lost as he continues to use you. Strings shake against his weight, his power, your moans vibrating down the strands. Eventually the bloody pads of his fingers grip your face, squishing your cheeks and making you kiss him until you can’t breathe.

His cock has become too heavy to bear, balls swelling with need.

Your poor clit is swollen against the shove of his cock, spread around him and begging to be touched. He flicks against it with his middle finger and smirks at how you scream.

He loses himself again, mind going hazy at the feel of you around him, body begging for him to claim it.

Your bruised lips press against his shoulder for attention and his ears perk at the softness of your voice.

“Please.”

Oh, he could be so mean, he could pull away now and jerk his cock until he cums on your captured tits and leave you bare, open, empty.

“One’s not enough, pretty baby.”

Doflamingo lifts himself from your body and sits back on his heels, reinvigorated to thrust harder as you choke back a sob.

“Enough,” you gasp for air, “please, please.”

His knuckles crack as he activates his power, shifting his strings until your back is arched from the sheets and your head hangs.

Helpless, he loves you so helpless.

He presses his thumb roughly against your clit, a mean, singular point of pressure against the most delicate piece of you.

“Few more might do the trick.”

Pleas burst from your lips, pouring into the cacophony of slick sex in the room. Chokes of his name intermingle your cries for release and he wonders for a moment if he’s heard anything more beautiful.

He gives in without any warning, rubbing against your clit until you gush and your cunt clamps his cock so tightly that it makes him explode.

His breathing actually stops as your pleasure milks his, your limp body held in his web shaking, sucking the cum from his balls.

Gripping you too tightly, he forces your hips flush to his, cum bursting from the seams of where your pussy grips his cock.

Control fades from his grasp, his threads snapping in shrill pops as he nearly collapses on his knees. His knuckles are turning white as he refuses to let you entirely free of his hold.

You’re panting, sweat and blood shimmering down the indentions his strings have left behind. Yet you don’t struggle, you don’t move, just let him hold you and fill you.

How glorious. He always wins.

#kinktober #Doflamingo smut #donquixote Doflamingo smut #Doflamingo x reader #tw.bondage #tw.dubcon #Doflamingo x you #doflamingo #donquixote doflamingo #donquixote Doflamingo x reader #donquixote Doflamingo x you #one piece smut #op x reader #one piece x reader #one piece x you #op doflamingo #op Doffy #dripping banner by @/adorenedwithlight

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tacticaldiary · 2 years ago

Note

Can you do a fic where reader and simon are kidnapped and simon has to watch reader be tortured and creeped on by their kidnapper for information.Happy endibg with them being rescued.Ignore if it makes you uncomfortable :)

Captured In Tandem

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Content Warning: Torture, Men being creepy, mentions of sexual assault

"I'll give you a choice." He says, cocking the gun. "Shall I put a bullet through you, or her?"

He's been trained to keep his mouth shut, taught himself from enough pain to span a lifetime, but never did he fathom she'd be dragged into it with him. It's unforgivable.

Masterlist, Part 2

A/N: This is literally one of my favourite tropes-

The first thing he registers is the pounding in his head. Squeezing his eyes shut, Ghost claws his way back to consciousness, sluggish mind attempting to click the pieces swimming in his head together into a cohesive narrative.

He was asleep...no, he was unconscious. Why? Ghost doesn't open his eyes for a moment, gathering his bearings. His senses snap to him quickly. The metallic smell of blood, the scent of gunpowder. The hard wood under him...a wooden chair? He exhales sharply, charting the sharp stinging in his side.

Injured.

He can't move his hands, ropes digging into the skin above his gloves. Once he's grasped back his control, steadied his breathing into something calm and acceptable, he takes a second to listen. There's nothing but the steady dripping of what he assumes is water on the floor. A pipe?

He's cold. His hands are freezing and so is his face-

His face?

Ghost's eyes snap open at the realisation.

His mask was gone, ripped off and on the floor by his feet. He's tied to a chair. He doubts he'd have gotten such a warm welcome if he was back at base right now, so where...?

An RPG, he suddenly remembers, a sour taste in the back of his throat. They had been on an OP with Price, the team had been split into two, sent to clear out a building on the outskirts of the city, tasked to meet in the middle.

An unaccounted armed squad had aimed at them with an RPG. Ghost remembers barking out an order to his partner, shoving her roughly out of the way behind a beat up car. The rocket hit the car, igniting the engine causing it to explode, the both of them thrown back against the brick wall behind them and-

Her.

His blood runs cold at the sound of a small groan from in front of him.

Shit.

Slowly, he raises his head and his stomach drops at the sight of her opposite to him in the same state.

Shit. No, this was all wrong. The RPG must have knocked them both out. They'd been captured.

"Fuck, my head." She groans, blinking herself awake. Like him, he can tell she's charting up the extent of her injuries, piecing together the events leading up to their capture.

Price would find them soon. They can't have hauled them too far away under the threat of them waking up mid transportation.

"Sleep well?" He rasps, watching her still, head snapping up to look at him.

"Best I've ever had." She responds dryly, looking him up and down. Her eyes linger on the dried blood staining his shoulder. It's a miracle the both of them ended up as unscathed as they did. Only bruises and scrapes, miraculously. She yanks on her bindings, scowling when they don't budge. Ghost can see the angry red marks around her wrists, the same as his. "We're in for a treat, huh?" She laughs humourlessly, leaning back in her chair. "Don't suppose you keep any knives hidden in your sleeves, L.T?" Half joking. She wouldn't be surprised if he did.

"Can't feel 'em." He grunts. "Must have searched us."

Of course they did.

She shifts in her seat, hating the idea of hands touching and probing at her when she's not awake to bat them away. Ghost would be just as, if not more uncomfortable with the thought, if the angry furrow in his brow is anything to interpret.

Voices. Footsteps. Both of them go rigid in their chairs, eyes snapping to the other. No words are exchanged, but a slight raise of the chin from her. They would not break.

She knows exactly what's to come for them for the next however long it took for their team to retrieve them. She's been through this before, been trained for it, seen it happen, hell she's even participated on being the one not in the chair.

They wouldn't break. The knowledge they have could compromise more than just their current operations. Ghost acknowledges the shaky exhale she lets out, casts her an unreadable look before the door swings open behind him, his eyes turning cold once more.

If she notes the tension in his shoulders, she doesn't mention it.

Three men walk into the room, mumbling under their breath. Russian. A quick glance to confirm the other caught it.

The thing with the both of them is that they worked better together than anybody else in the team. Working in tandem, information exchanged with just a glance, seemingly in tune with every thought and movement of the other. It's why they were almost always paired together.

"Some of the best your the military has to offer, you are.." He smiles, flicking through the file. "It seems I have struck a goldmine." The file snaps shut, is handed off the someone else.

She hopes the motherfucker gets a nasty papercut.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

They come twice a day. Once for him, once for her.

Ghost keeps his mouth shut, isn't surprised when she does as well. The both of them have been trained for situations like this, have both gone through a lot of shit that renders them capable of handling it.

It's her that he hasn't been trained to account for.

Ghost had only jeered at the men that interrogated him. Drenched after being waterboarded, bloody from being cut and beat, he had not given them a single thing to work with, taking what they threw at him with a calm, strong, cool exterior.

It was when they turned to her that he felt that crack.

Every knife turned against her, every crack of her bones, each small sound of pain that left her had an anger he'd never felt before bubble up inside him. Glaring death into the people who lay their hands on her as they questioned her, he stayed silent, unmoving as they put her through the same routine as him.

"Not long before they find us now." She'd said hoarsely after the second day. They'd just left them after being unsuccessful in loosening their tongues. Again. He takes in how her arm bends at a strange angle (He'd never forget the scream that teared out of her throat when they snapped it in half), the cuts dripping blood onto the floor and on her tattered clothes (Each one he'd pay back tenfold, he swears), and the exhaustion lining her face the same way he's sure he looks.

Being unmasked...it makes him more on edge than usual.

It's nothing she'd never seen before. She'd touched his bare face countless times, mumbled promises and declarations they had no business making against his lips at night. It had always been in private, shielded from the eyes of others. Now, out in the open, he was more aware of his reactions than ever before, refusing to let out any reaction except for the occasional grunt of pain.

"They're sure taking their damn time." He spits out.

"Gonna give them an earful when I get back." She cough, watery. Ghost's eyes widen when blood splatters to the floor. "Shit." She breathes, inhaling shakily.

Internal bleeding. A telltale sign.

He yanks against his bindings for the hundredth time. Nothing changes aside from more blood trickling down his torn open skin.

"Don't think about it." He orders. "Look here." When she doesn't listen, just blinking at the blood she coughed up as if in a trance, he repeats himself roughly, drawing her attention.

"Right here. Keep your eyes on me." He commands, and it's all she can do to let instinct take over and listen to his low voice. "That's it, love. Good."

She opens her mouth. Shuts it. Swallows dryly and tries again. "If I-"

"Shut up."

"Ghost." She says weakly, "It's a possibility, and if-"

"I told you to shut up." He hisses, fixing her with a glare.

She was in a much worse state than him. Far bloodier. They were rougher with her, thinking she'd be the first one to break, to concede under pain and answer their questions.

Safehouses, plans, locations, inner workings. The intel they stole a month ago. They wanted to know answers that neither of them would ever give them.

The door swings open. The man from the first day walks in, in crisp clothes, wrinkling his nose and the sight of them.

The sight makes Ghost pause. He was in charge here, clearly. This kind of work wasn't normally put on people like that, which meant that things were getting serious. Something had sparked urgency in them if they were seeing this guy. Something had changed.

The 141.

As if on cue, there's the distant sound of gunfire, and the building trembles slightly, dust cracking down from the ceiling. It's ignored by the man completely.

"Admirable, you are." He addresses them. "But I'm afraid there's not time for a soldier's pride during war." They stiffen when he pulls out a revolver from his pocket, clicking open the empty chamber. "I require answers. Call it compensation for what was stolen from me. I don't think you understand that I will get my way in the end. By whatever means necessary."

A single bullet. Loaded into the chamber. Ghost follows the movement with his eyes.

"I'll give you a final chance to be cooperative before I give you a choice." The Russian says evenly, looking at them both in turn.

"Go to hell." Ghost drawls. In his bloodied, beaten state, weak from blood loss and in a disarray from being tortured, he seems to look even more intimidating than usual.

The man sighs deeply. He clicks the chamber shut.

He aims at her and fires.

She barely has the chance to tense before a click fills the room. Nothing. It's when he turns the gun to Ghost that her breath catches in her throat, panic clawing it's way up and through her veins.

Ghost does not flinch. Does not wince or react, merely holds her gaze calmly, in that reassuring steady way he always has.

Click. Nothing.

He continues moving back and forth between them until there's only one chamber left. An undeniable bullet inside. The man turns to Ghost, a smile on his face.

"The choice you have, my friend, is which one of you I put this bullet through."

Ghost visibly stiffens in his chair, fixes him with a scathing stare.

"If you refuse to answer, I have no issue shooting you both." He says evenly, weighing the revolver in his hands. "So who will it be? You, or your lady?" He points the gun back and forth, her heart in her throat.

Me. She thinks. Pick me. The thought of him taking that bullet when there's a choice for her to instead makes her sick.

But it's Ghost. And he's selfless in the most annoying of ways.

"Me." He says tightly, the words forced out and full of venom.

The Russian grins, pleased, raising the gun. She's about to yell at him, tell him to shoot her instead-

She doesn't have to.

The gun turns to her, fires, and pain explodes in her right thigh, wrenching out a scream from between her clenched teeth as she doubles over. Her vision goes black for a second and she can't breathe.

Yelling. There's yelling over the ringing in her ears. Ghost shouts profanities at the man, threats and growls as his chair scrapes against the floor at his attempts to get loose.

He breaks.

The Russian simply laughs, tucking his gun away.

Where the fuck were they? Where were the others? The team? They were close, that much was obvious, so why the fuck weren't they here yet, then?

She gasps when her head is wretched back painfully by her hair, pain thrumming through her like sharp needles as she's forced to straighten up. It hurts, fuck, it hurts worse accompanied with every other goddamn thing wrong with her right now.

"You just couldn't seem to stop looking at her. I thought It'd be more of an incentive to loosen your tongue." He chuckles at Ghost's fury.

"They won't find your body." He hisses, low and threatening, eyes wild. "I'll make sure you're in so many pieces you-"

"I understand why, though." He continues on like Ghost isn't threatening great bodily harm on him. "She's quite the beaty isn't she? Even under all that gore...so easy on the eyes."

She had taken beating after beating. Cracked ribs, cuts and bruises, waterboarding and being prodded with a hot poker, but this? The lecherous way he looks her up and down, yanks he head back farther to expose her neck? It makes her blood run cold, her heart stop.

His breath fans across her face, acrid and disgusting. A choked sob tears out of her lips when his hand trails up her body, grabbing and yanking and pulling in places he has no right to touch. Her head spins from the bullet wound and the pain, and it takes a lot to gather her thoughts.

"Motherfucker-" Ghost snarls.

"I know you're bad at sharing but you wouldn't mind if I had a taste, would you?" He croons at Ghost, who jolts in his chair, pulling at his bleeding broken skin to get loose. "Not that you can do much but watch." He laughs.

This, she would not let happen. She would not let him take something that was hers and hers alone to give to whomever she decided. When he leans down farther, she gathers all her remaining strength and rears her head back, smashing it into his nose.

The satisfying crunch of bone and yell of pain makes it all worth it, draws a smile from her, even if his blood splatters the side of her face.

"Bitch." He spits out. A hand cracks across her face so hard black spots float over her vision. She cries out as it jostles her leg, her broken arm, all her cuts and and he ribs. Before she can gather her bearings, a searing pain pierces through her side, the Russian's knife driving straight into her flesh. She can't help the choked scream that leaves her, hears the way Ghost shouts, his struggling intensifying.

He wretches her out of the chair, shoves her to the floor. Tears track down her bloodied cheeks, not out of fear, but out of pure pain and anger. Disgust, pain and rage is what she feels when the Russian straddles her hips, keeping a hand on her broken arm to keep her down. His other one wraps around her neck, squeezing roughly to cut off her air.

"Answer my questions." He seethes at Ghost. "Your safehouses, the intel you fucking stole from us. Where are they!? Tell me or you'll see this pretty thing die." As if to prove his point, he squeezes harder, making her choke.

Ghost spits out threats that would make any normal man quiver. He would rip this man apart. Rip into him slowly with all his knives, prolong it as much as he could. Days, maybe even weeks. He deserved to die by his hands for what he's done to her, for touching someone so wholly and utterly his. Every single cut he'd return tenfold, twice as deep.

Part of her wants to succumb to the darkness edging her vision, but she's afraid if she does she might never wake up. She couldn't die. Not here, not like this. Ghost...Simon would blame himself, she knows it. He'd replay it over and over again, wonder if he could have done anything to prevent it.

"Get the fuck off of her!" He seethes. Seeing her under him, red in the face and bleeding, dying makes panic tear through him, a horrible desperate feeling he can't help but succumb to. She wasn't going to die, he wouldn't allow it.

Not her. Not her. Anyone but her. Take me instead.

The world was fucking cruel.

The past year had been the best of his life. The lightest, the most at peace he'd ever felt. Loving her came easily, naturally. Something he couldn't help even when he tried to push her away.

Her eyes catch Ghost's. His are desperate and frantic in a way she's never seen before. That...that was panic. But that couldn't be right because Ghost? He didn't panic. He planned and adapted, got angry and was calm. Panicking? She'd never seen it before.

Fuck. She wasn't going to die. She...was, wasn't she? Already, her vision was slipping away, her hearing going muffled. No. No, this isn't it. Not here, not like this.

If she died, Simon might, as well, and she loved him to much to leave him in a situation like this.

Clenching her jaw, she blindly reaches her bound hands to her side. When her fingers brush against the hilt of the dagger inside her flesh, she pauses.

It was the only thing keeping her from bleeding out faster than her bullet wound was already doing...

She yanks it out with all the strength she has left, slams it into the throat of the man above her. He's too busy with Ghost to chart her up as a threat. The way his eyes bug out of his head as he releases her throat in favour of clutching his own has a sob ripping through her mangled throat as she gasps in greedy gulps of air.

She shoves the man off her and in movements wild and jerky, climbs on top of him switching their positions. Ripping the knife out of his throat, she yells a broken shout as she brings it down over his chest. Then his shoulder, his neck. His chest. Over and over again, tears blurring her vision, adrenaline making her shaky, she drives the knife into him again and again thinking about nothing but killing him, taking his life so he couldn't take theirs, so she could feel her skin stop itching from the way she was touched.

"-dead, he's dead!" A voice floats to her, far, far away.

A name...her name. Her movements slow down as she recognises Ghost's voice calling out at her. Confused, disorientated, she glances over her shoulder, pausing, chest heaving.

"You're alright, sweetheart." He says, his eyes a fraction wider than usual. "Here, look at me. Right here, love." He waits till she drags her gaze up. "He's dead. It's enough."

Enough.

The word cracks something in her, the knife clattering onto the stone floor and she looks down at the bloody, unrecognisable mess under her. Scrambling off of him, she leans over and vomits up bile; acrid and burning her throat as it comes out. A strangled sob leaves her as she finishes, realising the sheer amount of blood on her. Her hand shakily goes to her side, comes back bloody in a way that makes her head spin.

"Grab the knife." Ghost urges, looking ready to try to snap the chair under him himself to reach her. "Can you do that for me? Pass me that knife." When she doesn't respond the way he wants, Ghost takes in a shaky breath and repeats himself, voice hard.

"Sergeant. The knife." He commands, low and deep and urgent.

Still a soldier despite her trembling, her body reacts to the order automatically, head clearing. Swallowing, she moves slowly, agonisingly to reach the knife.

"You're doing good." Ghost praises when she drops the knife for the second time from her shaky fingers. "Bring it here."

The moment the knife reaches his fingertips, he cuts through his bonds, kneeling in front of her, cutting hers off too. "I've got you." He murmurs, pulling her close, laying her over his lap as gently as he can as he looks over her. He doesn't really need to, it's more instinct to do so. Ghost was watching her the entire time. He knows the location of every single one of her injuries.

Swearing under his breath, he leans over, roughly rips part of the dead man's shirt off, bunching it up and pressing it against each of her two wounds. She whimpers, a strangled sound that makes him clench his jaw in rage and worry.

"I know it hurts." He consoles her while he secures another part of the shirt around the wounds. "You did well, it's over now." Mindless talk. He just needed to keep her awake.

Her hand closes over his, stilling him as he ties the final knot.

"'m sorry." She breaths, shallow and short. "Can't...Just go." She shoves weakly at his shoulder, and the incredulous, angry look Simon gives her would have been funny if everything wasn't on fire inside her.

"I'm not fucking leaving you, you dolt." He snaps, slowly pulling her up so she's sitting. The way she bites her lip hard to keep in the whine of pain doesn't escape him. "Easy." He says, supporting her despite his own screaming ribs. His left leg was mangled up, ankle dislocated so Ghost doubts he'd be walking with her out of here.

It was too risky. They could run into someone armed, and at such a disadvantage...no, it was better to stay here and wait for the others to show up.

Her eyes flutter, panic slams into him.

"None of that." He demands, prodding her forehead to make her focus. "Keep those pretty eyes on me, love."

A small huff from her that might have been a laugh sends her into a harsh coughing fit. "'m trying Simon." She whispers, words slur.

"Try harder." He squeezes her closer to him, keeping an ear out for footsteps.

"So hard to please." Barely a whisper. "You...you're okay?"

"Christ, woman," he huffs, leaning down to press his lips against her bloody forehead. "I'm better off than you."

A slight smile, her eyes fluttering shut. The loose grip she'd had on Ghost's vest slackens. His bloods turns to ice.

"Hey." He tries, calls out her name. "Hey!" He yells it this time, shakes her gently. Then rougher when she doesn't wake up, breath stuck in his throat. No. No, she was still breathing, he chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

This wouldn't work. Ghost steels himself and stands up, gritting his teeth at the pain that radiates up his leg into his whole body. Ignoring it, he hauls her up in his arms, stumbles slightly.

Staying here wasn't an option anymore, not when she was unconscious, not when the small puffs of breath against his neck could stop at any moment, not when he could lose her.

Gripping onto the small bloody knife, he limps towards the door, pushes it open without hesitation.

He'd walk for a mile like this if it meant he'd get to hear her laugh again. Fuck his own injures, her wellbeing was more important. Ghost moves the knife between his teeth, bone clacking against metal, metallic blood on his tongue. Hiking her up more securely, he starts down the hall, intending to find his team before they found him.

He'd die before he ever let her bleed out on his watch.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Her hearing comes to her first. Muffled, but still present. Under the dark haze of sleep, she hears muffled noises. The steady beeping of a machine, the rustling of bedsheets nearby. A voice talking int he distance, something she's unable to make out.

It takes too much out of her. Her mind is sluggish, thinking is hard, so sinking back into the arms of whatever is pulling her down is easier. Painless.

The second time her sense of touch returns.

Someone's holding her hand. Rough, calloused fingers, running up and down her palm, soothing gestures than accompany the beeping that she realises is a heart monitor. The familiar pressure, the roughness of those hands, the soothing movements...it lulls her back to sleep almost immediately.

The third time is quick.

Her sight returns last, One moment she's seeing darkness, the next she's blinking up at white florescent lights, the clean scent of hospital waking her up. What...?

Pushing herself up, a gasp tears out of her throat when she finds herself unable to move. Blinking and looking down, she swallows as she sees herself.

Covered in bandages, a cast around her arm. Heavy wrapping around her thigh and chest. All of her is stiff and achy. It all comes back to her in a rush.

The chair. The ropes. The bullets and beatings.

The blood.

Her stomach lurches at the memories. Simon? Where was Simon? He made it out, right? What if-

Her mind immediately settles down when she spots him. Ghost lays on the hospital bed next to hers, eyes shut, chest steadily rising up and down. Relief slams into her so hard tears prick her eyes. They made it out. Both of them. For a moment she thought...

The need to be near him, to touch him, to make sure he's real wins over her desire to stay put and ward of any discomfort. Her second attempt at moving is successful, only because of the strong pain meds dulling the edge of pain she's feeling.

Slowly, she pulls herself to the edge of the hospital bed, gingerly lowering herself onto the ground. She gasps when her leg protests, the one she was shot in. Testing her weight, she glances desperately at Simon, still sleeping. She needed him, needed to touch him, to feel him under her hands, solid and real.

She uses the walls to support her, shuffling over until she's in front of his bed. After taking a moment to gather herself and breathe, she reaches out with a shaky hand, places it on his cheek. Her throat closes at the feeling of his warm skin.

Ghost being Ghost wakes up instantly at the touch. Eyes snapping open, instantly alert even when just waking up.

Relief fills his face, something so powerful it makes a small sound push past her lips, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. "You're okay." She whispers, hoarse from not talking.

"You shouldn't be up." He responds, propping himself up with a wince she doesn't miss. He frowns at the way she trembles, looking her up and down slowly.

"I just..." She brings a hand up to wipe off her tears. "Sorry if I woke you." A watery chuckle. "Just needed to make sure, you know?"

"I do." He admits. Ghost's hand slips up her uninjured arm, guiding her onto the bed with him until she's laying down. A long, shaky exhale pushes itself out of her as she lays her head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat, quicker than usual but still steady soothes her instantly. He was familiar, the dips in his body, the hard muscle and those arms. It was so achingly familiar she wanted to cry.

Having her here, having her in her arms and holding her...it was almost too much to bear. Ghost had never felt relief like this.

11 days.

11 days she hadn't woken up, each one made him more irritable, restless, snappy. He was ordered to stay in bed, but he got out of it every night to sit next to her, holding her hand, just silently watching over her. 11 days was plenty of time for him to think, to run through everything he did to figure out a way he could have prevented this.

It was plenty of time to realise that he'd never take her for granted, even if there was a gun to his head.

He'd carried her all the way out of the building until he'd spotted Gaz. The poor bloke had done a double take at them, shouted something frantically in his comms and ran at them.

Ghost had forced himself to stay awake as the others arrived, forced himself to make sure she got the care she needed, sat awake with the the entire time on the heli, until they got to the hospital. Only then had he let himself get checked over and crashed hard, exhausted in a way that ran deep into his bones.

"I'm glad you're okay." He says quietly into her hair, strong arms pulling her close, their bodies intertwined.

"Are you sure this is okay?" She asks, though the way she sinks into him says she wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. "Don't want to accidently hurt you or reopen anything."

"You're worse off than me, I think I should be the one worrying about that." He responds, rubbing small circles on her waist. Soothing. Calming.

"I'll always worry." She mumbles against his chest, already feeling sleep pulling her in.

"Your downfall." He huffs, pressing his lips to her forehead for a long moment. "Thought I lost you." The admission is something vulnerable, real. Painful.

"Rather me than you." She responds, eyes slipping shut.

"Say that again and see where it lands you." He grumbles, arms tightening around her. Being as helpless as he was in that situation wasn't something he'd ever forget. Having to sit there, watch those bastards touch her, hurt her, forcing himself to look impassive and cold. Unreacting.

It had been a worse torture than any of their knives.

The second he was cleared to leave the medbay, he was going on a nice little trip back. He'd retrace his steps, get Price to get him the name of every. Single. Motherfucker that had been in the building that day.

Every single one would meet a fate worse than death itself could present them with.

They'd pray for the reaper before Ghost was done with them. He'd make them beg, draw out every single scrape they left on her until they begged to be spared. Only then would Ghost let them bleed out, nice and slow. Maybe he'd even do it one at a time, make the others watch.

They're dark thoughts, but the fury that had been boiling inside him for the past two weeks needed to an outlet, and what better place than the very bastards that had dared to lay their hands on her? The thought pacifies him for now.

He's assured his revenge, but she's more important than anything like that could ever be to him.

"I'm sorry I scared you. You can't get rid of me that easy, though. Thought you knew that by now." Completely unfazed by his threat.

"I wouldn't want to." He assures her, rolling his eyes. "It'd be a bloody shame to lose someone like you, love."

It makes her smile against him, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. Safe. She was safe here.

It doesn't take long before she's drifted off again, securely in his arms.

Requests Are Open! Reblog, Like and Comment!

Part 2

(09/07/2023)

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cowgiri · 2 months ago

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the room fogged with lust thick enough to capture the air in your lungs and settle in your throat. you are completely and utterly at his mercy and just the mere thought of it shallowed your breathing and quickened your pulse.

ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum.

the sound of your heart pounding against your ribs and echoing in your ears drowned out everything but his slow and sensual touch against your skin. the tips of his fingers teasingly danced along your most intimate parts—igniting the faintest sparks of pleasure.

“‘gonna wrap you up nice and pretty for me to use,” he murmurs, his brass voice dripping with possession. the fibers of the ply rope slither on your skin. taunting you almost like a serpent priming its prey before devouring it.

your breath hitches in your throat from the suffocating anticipation of what is to come and what is to be. your mind nearly melting from the bubbling lust brewing in the pit of your stomach—manifesting itself as slickness between your thighs.

he skillfully laces the rope against your flesh. each knot, loop, and tie weaved together as if it was a masterpiece of his devotion to you. true to his nature, he never misses the chance to teasingly brush against you, leaving you trembling with need.

the empty yet long minutes are filled with lewd praises and sweet nothings.

he steps back to admire his work. his eyes darkened with something between obsession and depravity. like a predator pleased with its trapped prey. you feel exposed and vulgar with the vulnerable way he has tied you up.

you lay on your back with the rope binding your hands behind you. it cinches around your breasts and digs into you thighs, spreading them apart for his gaze to feast on your dripping and throbbing cunt.

“you look perfect like this,” he exhales, his voice laced with dark admiration. “all tied up, all mine.”

the room rings with the clink of his belt as he draws closer. his breath grazes against your ear as you feel the heat of his cock tease against your entrance—drawing out your lustful need.

“you can't move, can't escape. just how i want you,” he whispers with his lips pressed against your ear. his hand trails against the side of your face endearingly and entangles in your hair with a tight grip. he yanks roughly on your hair, forcing your lustfully drunken gaze to meet his possessively darkened one.

"now, lets see how much you can take before i break you."

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace x reader smut #lads #lads x reader #love and deepspace x reader #caleb x reader #caleb smut #caleb drabble #caleb love and deepspace #caleb x reader smut

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melondecarabia · 22 days ago

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⋆˙⟡ hotarubi nsfw headcanons

mdni!

fem reader

authors note: teeheehee :3 it's so late rn

tw: hotarubi is the horniest dorm, lowkey crazy subaru, masochism, zenji's third leg

smut under the cut!

subaru

no experience, which is pretty expected. he's waiting for the right one! which is you.

what if i told you he's a dominant top. if you ask, he can bottom, but by default he wants to top. gets incredibly horny to be the one to bring you pleasure.

speaking of pleasure, he would ask you to not masturbate! he wants you to seek him out whenever you're even slightly in the mood. tug on subaru's sleeve while he's talking to someone, and he'll politely excuse himself to help out. it keeps him assured you won't leave yandere coded

you might not notice, but he's horny at pretty much all times. first he's looking at the flowers around hotarubi, thinks about how you'd like their scent, and then he's thinking about the scent of sex that filled his room last night. oops.

he's into shibari. i just know it. he has the patience to make all those intricate patterns to bind you, and even finds it a good form of meditation. and when he's done tying you up? well, there's a powerful, state of the art vibrator with your name on it. it's in your favorite color too :)

his dick is very pretty! slightly longer, a soft rosy pink, and keeps his hair minimal, with usually only a bit of peach fuzz. he's so pent up he cums buckets.

seeing you laugh with some classmates might first ignite insecurity, but as his confidence strengthens with your help, subaru becomes possessive. that night, he's experimenting to find out how many orgasms it takes for you to forget the day's events.

he doesn't have much stamina, so the tactic is this: extend the foreplay and teasing for so long you start crying and begging for him to do something, and after getting you to the brink of overstimulation, he finally fucks you. cums even faster if you cry. a gentle sadist. though, even the slightest amount of overstimulation for him quickly results in quiet sobbing.

praises you constantly. calls you beautiful, says you're taking this so well, etc etc. will never degrade you. if he's jealous, he quietly insults the people who caused the ugly feeling.

very quiet, and communicates pleasure in hums and deep breaths. tries to get you to scream his name!

only has sex when there's plenty of time, and it has to be either in his or your room. preferably at his, since he's gone through the trouble to soundproof the walls and set up a hook for rigging.

very rarely lets you go down on him, not because he doesn't like it, but because he loses his composure so badly that he might even (gasp) let out a curse word!

for aftercare, subaru bathes you, and feeds you treats while pampering you with headpats and compliments.

haku

opposite of his captain, haku's… experienced. he has hooked up plenty of times, but hasn't even had a friends with benefits situation. commitment is scary.

when haku was in his slut era, he often topped. now that he's in a relationship with you, and he's comfortable? he's a submissive bottom. you can do whatever you want with him!

what if i said masochist haku. he's into bdsm. he calls you princess all day, but in private, your title is mistress.

his dick is average. keeps the hair tamed enough, nothing special… he's already disappointed his family. that is to say, he has 3 jacob's ladder piercings.

haku's not that horny! but then you walk in or send him a text or he looks at his lockscreen… he's down diabolical. sends thirsty texts, even in class.

the two of you had attended a tea tasting ceremony, featuring high quality matcha. it was prepared by subaru, and zenji had recited poetry for entertainment. as soon as you close the door to his room and turn around, haku is already kneeling and asks you to spit in his mouth for another taste. and you do, because he managed to keep it in his pants for the day. he swallows and thanks you.

teases you by wearing a leather harness under his shirt, and flashes it to you during the day.

favorite hobby? making out with you. even if it doesn't lead to sex, being around you is comforting. also likes to cuddle and listen to your heartbeat.

moaner final boss. kissing him? moan. slapping his dick? moan. sucking his nipple? you already know it. loud!

he would do it anywhere, but due to his volume, it's better to do it in private.

date idea! getting an r&r permit, and visiting a new novelty love hotel room. his favorite so far was a castle themed one.

as he likes to be tormented, aftercare is on you. icing any bruises, words of love, etc. he looks adorable while sipping on a juice box under the covers.

zenji

let's say he can touch you. brought back to life or whatever.

has had a few experiences, and remembers them fondly! would tell you about them if asked.

switch vers. does whatever feels right at the moment, with very strong enthusiasm.

that being said, zenji would very much like for you to sit on his face at all times. or let him eat you out in any other way. will beg on his knees, and he might be into that. reminds him of old courting rituals. also nicely asks you to not shave, saying something about wild nature?

absolutely cums untouched while doing it too. scent, taste, touch… he gets lost in the sauce, and whines if you move away.

his obsession with pussy might be for the better, as his dick is actually huge. the biggest out of the ghouls, or entire campus actually. also goes au naturel, hair wise. the happy trail he has… hehehe.

only practices penetrative sex after a lot of preparation. thankfully, he's self aware of what mother nature has given him.

if the two of you do go for it, he absolutely holds hands during it. cries openly while repeating your name, and babbles broken poetry about stars in your eyes.

constantly ready. not actively horny, but very easily aroused. a simple sentence whispered in his ear will get him to shiver with anticipation.

keeps pen and paper closeby to immediately write about your tryst between sheets, and even does it between rounds.

if zenji's frustrated that the words aren't flowing on paper like they're supposed to, sitting on his desk and opening your legs will immediately cheer him up. there's practically a wagging tail visible as he lifts your skirt up and gets to work.

sensitive nipples. you could get zenji to cum just by playing with them.

whimperer supreme! also extremely talkative, and not just with compliments. he gets off by describing how your body reacts to each action.

frequently suggests outdoor sex, especially on sunny days. if you're away for a while, he uses the time the two of you made love in an apple orchard as fodder for… self love. he misses you already :( writes about it and gives the letters to you.

aftercare with zenji? calming down in each other's arms while making eye contact. he'll eventually move to get a towel to wipe you down and fetch some water, but he loves these moments so deeply. just a moment more.

#tkdb #tokyo debunker #tokyo debunker x reader #subaru kagami #haku kusanagi #zenji kotodama #subaru kagami x reader #haku kusanagi x reader #zenji kotodama x reader

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ladybirdswritings · 3 months ago

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LITTLE WITCH, FIC — xaden riorson x reader.

DESCRIPTION: you wake— a captive girl with untamed power and no recollection of its origins. before you is a scarred, shadowy figure, whose taunts ignite your abilities—binding your fates in a dangerous encounter. NOTES - fourth wing fic !! leave me all your thoughts and opinions. i love them <33 | next part

two;

“What are you doing?” Your voice trembled, unsteady—a ballerina with mangled feet, poised yet painfully unnatural.

Xaden’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smirk, as his fingers grazed the mahogany brush in his grasp. He didn’t answer, his dark eyes narrowing as he closed the distance between you. He seemed amused by all of this, or perhaps prideful.

You sat there, unchained but weak-hearted—though he had kept his promise. You were unchained.

Unchained and seated on an unfamiliar bed with grand, imposing posts and onyx-silk sheets. After an excruciatingly tense dinner, where every set of eyes at the table had cut into you like blades, Xaden had led you here. The silver-haired girl, in particular, had clutched her dagger tighter each time his gaze drifted toward your slouched figure.

Their whispers had danced around you like a ghostly waltz—sharp, feverish murmurs about your bruised wrists and hollow eyes. But you’d been too exhausted, too hollow yourself, to care. The soup in front of you had demanded all your focus.

You didn’t trust them. You didn’t trust him either—this man of shadows. Yet, inexplicably, he had fed you, given you a bed. And now he was… brushing your hair?

It was matted, straw-like, and stained with memories you couldn’t quite pluck free. The brush snagged against a knot, yanking sharply, and you winced. Xaden tensed, his patience fraying at the edges.

“I’m going to run you a bath,” he decided after a moment.

You didn’t protest.

He left, disappearing into the adjoining room, and when he returned, his outstretched hand was waiting for yours. Calloused, steady, and strangely anchoring. Against your better judgment, you placed your trembling palm in his.

“Come, little witch. If I wanted to bite you, you’d be bitten already.”

But as you rose unsteadily to your feet, his words stirred unease. He intended to join you.

The thought snagged on a sharp edge in your mind, but you were too weary to resist.

“Choose, Y/N,” a voice whispered from the corners of your memory, harsh and grating. “Kill him, and your power will be imminent.”

The agony hit like a tide, crashing over you until you clung to the onyx countertop for support. Xaden’s hands twitched at his sides, but he made no move to steady you.

When you raised your head, the mirror greeted you with a face that was hauntingly familiar: your own, but hollow, bruised, and unrecognizable.

“Y/N.” The name fell from your lips like a prayer, fragile and disbelieving. “My name is Y/N.”

Xaden nodded once, his towering presence unmoving.

“Yes, it is,” he said simply.

A flood of questions threatened to spill from your tongue, but you turned to him instead, accusation lacing your voice. “You know me.”

His expression didn’t falter as he began rolling up the cuffs of his midnight-black shirt, exposing veined forearms.

“No,” he said, his voice like gravel, “not personally.”

The irony wasn’t lost on you, given that he was about to bathe you. He looked at you expectantly, yet you made no effort to move. He needed to answer your question. You needed to know why.

“Strip,” he ordered, his tone firm but not unkind.

You remained still. His jaw twitched.

“If you’re going to sit there rotting in gods-know-how-long a time worth of grime, it’s going to be a great inconvenience for me. So you need to wash yourself— with or without my help. Your choice.”

Heat flushed your face, and the protest died in your throat. “Not. Personally,” you muttered under your breath, mimicking his earlier words. Were you to just sit wide eyed while he ran those awfully mangled hands down your skin? Your breasts, your— well.

For the first time, the corners of his lips lifted in genuine amusement. Slowly, he stepped forward, tucking a stray strand of your tangled hair behind your ear.

“Trust me, little witch. To me, you’re nothing more than a finely honed blade— sharp, useful, and exactly what we need to—” he stopped himself, and though you did not recognize much— you knew it was apprehension flashing in his eyes. “My desire belongs to the silver-haired girl downstairs.”

And your love, your mind supplied.

If that were true, why had they treated each other with such loathing at dinner?

Though Xaden’s words were an attempt at easing your hesitance— you still remained unmoving. Yet your prolonged silence seemed to unnerve him. He shifted on his feet before offering a compromise. “I’ll turn around.”

True to his word, he faced the wall, giving you the privacy to peel away the tattered cloth clinging to your starved body.

“Don’t turn around,” you whispered, tension straining your voice.

“I won’t,” he said softly, his shoulders rigid. “In the tub.”

The water enveloped you like an old lover, soothing every ache and gnawing pain. You curled into yourself, knees to chest, but when he turned back, the shadows didn’t entirely conceal you.

Xaden knelt by the tub, cupping water in his hands and letting it cascade over your hair. His touch was careful, deliberate, as he massaged circles into your temples. The silence between you was fragile but strangely comforting.

“You know of me,” you said at last, rephrasing your earlier accusation.

He hummed in acknowledgment, his hands moving with practiced precision.

“What am I?” The question hung between you, heavier than the steam rising from the bath.

Not who. What.

He paused, his fingers lingering on the sharp angles of your collarbone before he answered. “You’re very special.”

The words were maddeningly vague, but you didn’t have the strength to push. Instead, you murmured, “How did you find me?”

His hands resumed their work, scrubbing soap through your matted locks. This time, he didn’t pause.

“It took a very, very long fucking time.” He sounded exhausted at the idea of it.

“But you found me,” you pressed, desperate now. “Why?”

And then, the madness prickled at your very mind once more. Phantom voices humming… his voice— and his still lips. All within your head.

She doesn’t know her worth yet.

You think you do? This voice belonged to a woman.

She’ll learn soon enough.

Better hope she survives the lesson…

Before you had even a moment to ponder those ominous words, he tipped your chin upward, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“I told you, you’re special, little witch. But don’t make the mistake of thinking you know what that means yet.”

Your breath hitched as his words sank in. But before you could respond, he draped a washcloth over your trembling hand.

“Wash yourself,” he said, his voice dropping an octave.

Your cheeks burned as you obeyed, turning your body away from him to complete the task. When you finished, exhaustion pressed heavily against your fragile frame.

You knew your name, but not your home. Your love, your family or friends. Did you have any? This cage with its high stone walls and scrutinizing creatures, it frightened you.

“Please,” you whispered, tears blurring your vision. “Help me understand. I—I’m afraid.”

His eyes raked over your expression for a long moment— a mixture of admiration and pity flaring within them. He cupped your face in one damp hand, his thumb brushing away the tear that slipped free.

“Stop crying. I’ll help you understand,” he said, his voice soft but unyielding. “And you’ll hate me for it. But make no mistake, little witch: what my rebellion does to you won’t be wasted. You’re a weapon, dormant for too long. It’s time to wake you up. It’s time to win the war.”

🏷️’s: @emryb

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