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touyasdoll · 4 months ago

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Kinktober Potion #1: Size Kink ft. Eijirou Kirishima

pairing: Eijirou Kirishima x fem reader

warnings: minors dni, oral (f receiving), much softer than I expected it to be, intimate, please let me know if I missed any <3

word count: 1.5k

Kinktober '24 - The Kinky Cauldron Masterlist

"It's not gonna fit," you say, still ogling the intimidating length and girth of Eijirou's cock in a daze.

"S'gonna fit, baby. I'll make it," he purrs, looming over you in the bed to catch you chin between his thumb and forefinger.

He kisses you, slow and sweet and gentle. It soothes your nerves as he swirls his tongue into your mouth, letting it tangle with yours before he runs it across your bottom lip.

You've both worked up a sweat in your efforts so far, writhing and desperately exploring each others' bodies on top of your bed. His clothes were the first to go and just the outline of him in his boxers was enough to make you doubt how much of him you'll be able to take.

But now that you're here, your body laid bare for him and lost in the heady scent of your clean sheets and his alluring cologne mixed with his natural musk, you've very unsure of your pussy's ability to take on that monster.

"We just gotta work you up to it," he purrs, his lips meeting the skin of your jaw.

He slowly makes his way down your body, leaving featherlight kisses in his wake. Your breath hitches when he arrives at your hips and sucks hard enough to leave a faint mark behind on each of them.

His massive hands grip your hips firmly and even when he's nestled between your thighs, his frame still seems to swallow you whole. His ruby red gaze seems to burn and his mouth turns up on one side in a devastating smirk that sends all of the blood in your body pulsing to your clit.

"You're gonna be just fine, baby," he murmurs against your slit, his warm breath fanning over your most sensitive area before he parts you with his tongue.

"Fuck!" You gasp, letting a lewd moan loose from your throat as your back arches for him.

Your legs fall open, but you can't help but squirm as his tongue starts laving your slit, the tip teasing your entrance and familiarizing itself with your folds.

He groans, laying flat against the mattress to grind his leaking cock against the sheets even as his long legs hang off the bed. His lips wrap around your clit and he begins to suck, gently at first, but steadily gaining pressure as his tongue flicks up and down.

"O-oh my God," you pant, reaching down to push your fingers into his hair. "Please keep doing that. Never stop doing that."

You swear you can feel the grin that spreads across his lips before he doubles his efforts, focusing his mouth on your clit, because he would rather die than deny you this when you sound so pretty asking for it.

Your orgasm is already swelling inside of you when you feel the tip of his long, wide digit nudging into your entrance. He can feel the way you clench before he's even inside and it draws another groan from deep in his chest as his hips continue to roll.

He's desperate to replace his finger with his cock, but he can be patient, because he knows he has to be. He's only here to please you and he knows that no matter how much he works you open, it's still going to sting some when he claims you.

He slowly glides one finger inside, taking your salacious sounds as permission to keep going. He pistons his digit in and out, working it deeper with each pump until he's able to add another.

"Eijirou," you breathe out with what air you have left in your lungs. "M'close. So fucking close."

The pressure on your clit lessens for a moment as he easily slips a third finger inside of you and then he starts devouring your pussy like his life depends on it, working his tongue and fingers in tandem. It doesn't allow you a moment of reprieve, forcing you over the edge in a powerful volley that has you gushing into his mouth.

Stars seem to burst in the edges of your vision and the next thing you know, he's on top of you again. His mouth is slick with the evidence of your orgasm and he lifts a hand to wipe the excess from his chin.

"That should do it," he rasps, his voice a deep promise as he leans down to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his skillful tongue.

He pushes himself up and leans back, getting himself positioned to notch the swollen head of his cock against your core. His eyes find your face and he waits for you to look up.

You find a kind reassurance in his gaze as he runs his warm hand along your thigh and gives it a squeeze.

"I'll go slow, okay? If you need me to stop or if I hurt you, just say so," he instructs.

You nod, swallowing the rest of your apprehension as you let your body relax. You keep your eyes locked on his face, watching his eyes fall closed as he pushes in an inch.

The gasp that escapes you is inevitable, but seeing the intoxicated look on his face soothes the sting of the initial stretch. He is massive and this is going to take some effort, but fucking this gentle giant of man is going to be worth it.

And fucking him when he feels comfortable enough not to hold back is going to be glorious.

"Keep going," you urge him, offering a little nod of encouragement.

"Fuck, baby," he sighs, resting his weight on one of his hands while the other brackets your hip.

He slowly eases in inch by inch, giving you time to adjust as you trade needy moans and intimate glances. The sight of him filling you up so completely is breathtaking in every sense of the word, but it's nothing compared to the look on his face when he's finally buried inside of you.

"So big," you murmur, keeping your gaze on his as he leans in. "It's so fucking big, Eiji."

"I know," he whispers, his forehead connecting with yours as he cups your face, dwarfing it in his grasp. "I know, baby, but you're doing so fucking good. M'gonna move, okay?"

"Mhm," you hum, nodding slightly.

"Good girl," he praises you, pressing a slow, tender kiss to your mouth as he draws back out.

He swallows the groan that leaves you and deepens the kiss, softening the blow as he pushes in again. The stretch hurts, but it feels so good that you don't care.

"Keep going," you pant, resting your hands on either side of his neck. "I can take it. I want it. Please, baby."

"But—," he starts and you cut him off by shifting your hips forward.

Your mouth drops open and so does his, a shuddered moan slipping free from the both of you. His eyes alight with something darker than what you've seen in him so far and it's enough to make your entire body tense in the best way possible.

"Please," you repeat and he obliges, rutting his hips at a steady pace until he's pumping in and out of you with ease.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he groans, quickening his pace as his lips meet your clavicle to start leaving searing kisses across your chest and neck.

He grits his teeth, driving into your faster still, but you can tell he's still definitely holding back. Words have already failed you, so you spur him on by locking your legs around his hips and in response, he looses a feral growl into your ear.

Something snaps in him and he readjusts, tugging you further beneath him to get impossibly deeper as he starts thrusting with abandon. Your cervix feels the brunt of each stroke, creating an overwhelming and all consuming sense of pressure throughout your entire body.

"E-Eiji!" You cry out, digging your nails into his muscular back as you cling to him for dear life.

It does nothing to temper the explosion that rocks you when you cum. The force of it has your body convulsing as you howl with pleasure. A chaotic song of his name laced with curses bounces off the walls and is met with the sound of him practically snarling as your own walls squeeze him so tightly that he has no choice but to follow you into oblivion.

If you first orgasm was disorienting, this one has completely displaced you in the universe. You're only vaguely aware of the weight of him hovering an inch above you, his chest hammering just as hard as your own.

"Holy shit," he sighs, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

"Mm," is all that you can muster.

Your eyes are still closed when he carefully collapses beside you and draws you into his arms. His fingertips begin slowly dragging along your spine, sending pleasant shivers through you as you settle into his embrace.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head as his eyes fall closed and he murmurs, "I knew you could take it."

#kirishima x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #eijirou kirishima x reader #eijiro kirishima x reader #x reader #kinktober 2024 #kinktober 👻#kirishima x you #kirishima x y/n #kirishima smut #bnha smut #mha smut

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redwing4life · 8 months ago

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mdni

wanna know a bucky trope that sends me spiralling? bucky filming you all drunk on his cock.

imagine your thighs all sticky with cum, the three orgasms bucky’s pulled from you painted across the soft flesh like paint on a canvas. bucky can’t stop tracing his throbbing pink tip over your filthy thighs; his own white seed mixes with yours and you whine at the sound.

“never get tired of this, doll.” bucky’s sultry tone washes over you, your mind scrambled with need. “seeing you all sticky, covered in our cum -fuck- i- i gotta film this, sweets, let me film you, huh?”

a desperate moan falls from your swollen lips when the super soldier pulls away from you, the warmth of his tip no longer pressed into your thighs. in want of your boyfriend, you reach out for him, but he’s already on the other side of the room.

“bucky…” your voice is high and needy, “bucky, baby, come back. i need you.”

his usual arrogant chuckle greets your ears, forcing your thighs closer together to ease the fresh wave of heat flooding your core. you know that laugh, it’s the one he makes whenever you’re drunk on his cock.

bucky crawls back on the bad, hovering over your sweat-sheen body, and brings his phone over your face.

“smile for me, doll.” he orders, the command drawing your brows together in pleasure. you look up at him through your lashes, lids half shut before you focus on the camera.

“there she is.” bucky hums when you grin, albeit tiredly, up at the lens. “tell me how many times i’ve made that sweet little pussy cum, baby. tell the camera.”

“three.” you whine. you watch bucky lower the camera to your dripping cunt as he speaks and start trying to close your legs.

bucky taps your thigh harshly, tutting. “come on, sweets, show your sarge what a mess i’ve made of you.”

his rough palm slides down to your knees and slowly pries them apart, a growl rippling from the base of his throat as you bare yourself to him in submission.

“good girl.”

you keen beneath the camera, pussy throbbing at the praise. a smirk tugs at bucky’s lips while you writhe under him, he knows he’ll enjoy watching that back when he’s on a mission with his hand wrapped around his length.

holding the phone in his vibranium hand, bucky reaches down to run a calloused finger through your glistening folds, the swollen petals quivering at his touch.

“aw, is my sweet princess all sensitive after all those orgasms? huh?”

you claw at his flesh hand, nodding so fast you make yourself even more dizzy than you already are.

“m’so sensitive, sarge, please- pl- oh my god.”

your eyes are rolling to the back of your head before you can finish your sentence as bucky slides a finger into your tight hole. he prays to god that the camera picked up on the squelch of yours and his cum when he pushes inside you.

“fuck, sweets, you’re so goddamn wet, gonna make me nut all over the sheets.” bucky moans, hips rutting against the soft cotton duvet while he works your sex.

sinful sounds echo across the room, bucky’s phone capturing every single thrust of his hand. he adds a second finger, earning a squeal of contest from you.

“no- bucky, i can’t, i cant, it’s too much, please, just one, please.”

your broken pleas do nothing to slow the grind of bucky’s hips against the bed, your whiny voice merely encouraging him to play with his cunt even more.

“yes you can, and you will. you’ve been so good for your sarge so far, haven’t you, princess? tell me how good you’ve been for me.”

you open your mouth to reply, suddenly interrupted by a third finger stretching the walls of your pussy. a gasp falls from your swollen lips and it morphs into a cry of intense pleasure.

“bucky!!!” you scream, accompanied by the sloppy noises of bucky’s palm slapping your wet clit.

“i’m waiting, sweets.”

releasing a small whine, you look down at your boyfriend to find his eyes already on yours.

“i’ve been so good, sarge. just wanted to be a good girl for you, give you all- fuck- all my cum, be your best girl, all drunk on my sarge’s cock and fingers a-and mouth, oh”

his fingers keep curling and hitting that one stop that’s making you see stars and you begin heaving your chest up and down, desperately searching for a breath that would satisfy your needs. bucky turns the camera to your face so he can look back on your writhing body.

“cock’s so hard for you, princess. you’re so fucking beautiful like this, gonna make you cream all over my fingers again and then stuff you full o’ me”

“please sarge, please- ugh- i’m gonna cum!”

“let go sweets, cover me in your sweet juices”

and then you cum and then he cums against the sheets and then he fucks you and the he eats you out and then you clean up his cock with your tongue and then he cleans you up with a cloth and then he runs you a bath and then he holds you till you fall asleep and then a week later on a mission bucky fucks his fist while watching the video and then he cums to it and then he cums to it again and then an hour later he cums to it again and then-

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 10 months ago

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One of your "It's a Match" chapters gave me an idea. LOVE that series btw!

What if Gaz is a virgin so Simon let's him lose his virginity with his gf? Simon is there to guide Gaz and make sure he does it right so you get as much pleasure out of it as needed. Then you give Gaz the ride of his life while Simon controls when and where he gets to cum. The poor man whimpering beneath you from the edging and denial until he finally gets permission to cum.

Sub!Gaz x Dom!Simon x Switch!Reader

(Feel free to ignore this as well.)

Took some creative liberties with the prompt and made Switch!Reader a mean/brat tamer domme even if Gaz isn’t necessarily a brat (just felt more practical for me to do it). Sue me.

Sharing is caring. || Gaz x F!Reader x Ghost

Rating: E Words: 4.7K (this one got away from me sorry) Pairing: virgin!Gaz x gf!Reader x bf!Simon CW: smut, voyeurism, hotwifing, domination/submission, oral sex (m! and f! receiving), unprotected piv, fairly rough/forceful sex (BUT CONSENSUAL), praise, slight verbal degradation?, body mods (piercings). other tags: pre-established couple, loss of virginity, pre-agreed upon conditions, consent checks, no beta we die like soap. a/n: no thoughts, just vibes. NOT PROOFREAD

Simon first brought it up one sleepy Sunday evening, when you two were lying side by side in bed, his arms snaked around you as you read an e-book, his eyes glued to the TV on an episode of some crime show.

“You know,” He had said, Roman nose rubbing the top of your head affectionately. “I’d like to run something by you.”

“Hm?” You cooed as you rolled your head back on his chest to look up at him.

“So Kyle has this problem,” Simon began to explain as he looked down at you, brown eyes peering through his blonde lashes.

That got your senses tingling and you immediately set aside the tablet to dedicate your attention to the topic at hand, turning your body to properly face him, your arm coming to rest on his shoulder.

“What kind of problem?” You questioned, an eyebrow raising in intrigue.

Simon’s eyebrows twitched lightly, a tell-tale sign he was about to bring up something ‘embarrassing’, some good gossip. “Go on!” You immediately insisted, catching the little microexpressions on his face.

“He’s a virgin.” Simon revealed, causing you to gasp, pulling your head back and shaking it in confusion.

“NO?!” You said in shock. “With that pretty face of his?” You blinked.

“I know.” Simon says and then cocks a brow upward. “So what do you say?”

You didn’t need clarification, you simply smirked and shot him a look.

That’s how you ended up here.

Simon made all the arrangements, established rules with Kyle, and finally brought him over the that following Friday.

“You sure about this, sir?” Kyle asks, ever respectfully, sat on your living room couch, with you by his side, Simon sitting across from you on the arm chair by the chandelier.

“As sure as anyt’in’.” Your boyfriend replies and casts a glance at you. “You sure, da’lin’?”

“100% sure.” You answer, before glancing at Kyle. “Are you sure about it?”

“I… I am. But… It’s… It’s your relationship, I don’t want to cause an issue.” Kyle tells you, looking at you sheepishly, dark lashes fluttering anxiously over those stunning brown eyes of his.

“It’s not our first time doing this, I’m sure Simon’s told you all about it.” You reply in a reassuring tone.

“I know but…” Kyle says as he looks at you, your hand on his knee, finger drawing light circles on the denim of his pants.

“We’ll start off slow, at your pace. If ever there’s anything you don’t like, we’ll stop.” You assure him. “Simon’s here for that, after all… Not just for my sake, but yours too.” You add.

Kyle nods and gulps down a deep breath, casting one last glance at the form of his lieutenant, sat imposingly on the arm chair, legs spread open, lounging without a car in the world. One of his legs is bent near the seat, the other stretched across, foot resting on the edge of the coffee table, and arms resting comfortably on the rests, one of his hands holding a tumbler of Bourbon. His head is cocked to the side with interest.

The young sergeant nods again and slowly leans toward you. One of his hand tentatively wraps around your hip, fingers grazing the expanse of your ass in the shorts you’re wearing, while the other grabs you around the back of the neck, his lips connecting to yours.

Your warm, wet tongue swirling with his, soft breaths and gasps coming from your mouth as you let him take the lead for a moment... it’s all making his confidence grow. Sure, he’ll need guidance eventually, but for now he’s got this.

His hand slides to cup your ass, grabbing it with a greedy grasp, squeezing his fingers into the thickness, the other sinking into your hair, fingers gently clutching your scalp as they tug into the hairs.

He’s kissed plenty of people before, this isn’t new for him, and yet, it still feels completely different, in the way you’re not ‘his’ to kiss. But, somehow, that makes it all the better.

Slowly, your lips separate and you glance up at him a single look to check on his state and he nods imperceptibly, which causes your hands to slide down his chest and begin feeling him up.

His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you atop of him, hands sliding under the fabric of your top to feel up your back as your own find the hem of his t-shirt and tug it up to expose his chest.

Your fingers trace his pecs, his abs, nails softly drawing down atop him, making him shiver. He’s younger than Simon, his skin infinitely smoother, his body fat percentage definitely lower, not a trace of hair on him. It’s so different from your boyfriend… And you welcome the change.

You help him take off his t-shirt, throwing it haphazardly to the side and then lower your mouth onto his jaw, neck, shoulders, collarbones… You’ve barely started and the poor kid looks like he’s already seeing the universe and all its stars, his cock having sprung to attention so quickly that the bulge in his pants keeps rubbing against your inner thigh.

Slowly, you slip down from atop of him, your hands sliding down his body as you kneel before him on the floor, hands tracing over his thighs in the jeans he’s wearing, fingers squeezing his strong muscles through the fabric.

“You’ve never gotten a bj before, have you?” You ask him, eyebrows cocked and eyes locked onto his face. He shakes his head immediately, muttering something about ‘getting a handy’ back in secondary but that was the extent of it.

“Poor thing.” You coo at him. “Never got to feel a pretty mouth wrapped around that cock, hm?” Yo teased him playfully, watching how his eyes widened, eyebrows scrunching pitifully, as you undid his belt and tugged down his jeans.

“You’re in good hands, Garrick. She’ll take good care of you. Has a very talented throat.” Simon pipes up behind you. You don’t even have to look behind you to spot the smirk on his lips, the way the dulcet of his voice comes just short of a boast and a brag of how lucky he himself is, and how lucky Kyle is that Simon was willing to share you.

You help Kyle out of his sneakers and jeans before beginnin to palm him through the black cotton of his boxer briefs, his cock already peeking up from behind the waistband, leaking precum in anticipation. “Someone’s eager, hm? Are you excited, Kyle?” You quip to him.

“Mhm. Very. Very!” Kyle nods, his eyes glued to every single movement of yours, from the way your hands palm at his bulge, to how your fingers caress his smooth skin, to how they hook onto the waistband and roll down his underwear, peeling it off his body.

He’s big, bigger than Simon, even, though not as thick… He’s circumcised and he’s perfectly shaven. You wonder if he did that for your sake, or his own preference. There’s a thick vein running down the underside of him, one you can’t wait to feel pulse against your tongue.

Taking his cock in your hand, you stroke it slowly before allowing your tongue to run atop of it, base to tip, your tongue gently grazing the leaky tip, spreading the precum over the head before slowly parting your lips and guiding him inside.

The moan that escapes the boy in front of you makes you smirk, he twitches below you, fingers clenching on either side of his thighs, as if resisting squeezing into tight fists as you slowly allow his cock to slide deeper into your mouth. Then, you start bobbing it, up and down, cheeks hollowed out and lips grazing the warm skin leaving a mess of saliva around him.

Kyle’s quick to react this time, his hand grabbing you by your hair, legs trembling on either side of you. Your eyes shoot up to find his, only to find that his head is falling back onto the back of the couch, eyes screwed closed, mouth hanging open like he’s experiencing an out of body experience.

“He’s certainly enjoying himself, isn’t he?” Simon remarks behind you, receiving a finger signal from you, a sign of agreement, a preestablished way of communicating, since your mouth was busy. “That feel good, Kyle?”

“Y-Yeah… Yeah… I-It… God…” Kyle groans in between swallowed breaths. Poor thing, you want to coo at him, already too lost in the pleasure to even speak… Oh, how beautiful he’ll look soon, fucked out under you, drunk on your pussy…

You don’t notice Simon coming up from behind you until you feel his hand grip your head, atop of Kyle’s, calloused fingers digging into your scalp. His other hand shoots out to grab Kyle’s head from the back, pulling it forward so he’s forced to stare at you.

Then, your head is shoved forward, Kyle’s cock sliding down your throat with no warning Simon’s hand holding you in place, while Kyle’s eyes widen and an obscene moan escapes his mouth. Simon controls your head, pulling and pushing you onto Kyle’s hip.

It’s no wonder that Kyle’s whole body starts to tremble, eyes widened and having trouble staying focused, or open, mouth left wide open as Simon makes him fuck the back of your throat, experienced eyes keeping watch of your reactions and signals and of Kyle’s…

He’s controlling the speed at which you go, how deep you take his cock down his throat, how much of a mess you make with your spit, and how long you get to breathe whenever he pulls you off before pushing you back on. A reminder. He’s always in control.

“Come down her pretty throat, go on, Garrick.” Simon demands. Kyle, poor thing, has already been holding on with teeth and nails to keep himself from climaxing too soon, wanting to prove himself as more than just inexperienced… But Simon’s order is so severe, he can’t keep it up… And he lets go, twitching in your mouth and shooting his come down your throat.

Simon lets go of you both, giving you a moment to catch your breaths, brown eyes staring at the result of what you just did, you, out of breath, a mess of drool down your chin, and eyes welled up with tears, and Kyle, out of breath, a mess of drool around the base of his cock, and eyes glazed over.

“Good job, da’lin’...” Simon tells you, pulling you up ever so slightly, kissing you sweetly, his tongue piercing flicking across your tongue, as if he’s looking for a taste of Kyle in your throat.

After a moment, he pulls back and looks at Kyle. “Now, you’re gonna thank her for the favour she made ya, hm?” He warns. “Let’s take this to the bed. C’mon.” He demands, taking you by the hand and leading you to the bedroom, leaving Kyle to have to keep up.

Simon, unlike you, is a practical man. He doesn’t waste time. By the time Kyle has made it to the bedroom after barely 20 seconds, he’s already got you naked and splayed atop the mattress, a pillow placed under your hips.

He’s on his knees in front of you and beckons Kyle closer with two fingers, before he uses those same two fingers to rub over your folds and spread them open, revealing just how wet you’ve gotten from merely giving Kyle head. “You see that?” Simon coos at him while you stare at them both, holding yourself up on your elbows.

“Y-Yes, sir.” Kyle replies with a nod, his own hand reaching to touch you, carefully sliding between your puffy lips, gliding across easily through the slick.

Simon grabs Kyle’s wrist and carefully guides it across to your clit, finding it with the speed of a man that’s been fucking you often since you two started dating. He knows your body, knows you better than anyone, and he’s about to show Kyle exactly how to touch you to get you to fall apart like he does…

You immediately stiffen up when you feel the pads of Kyle’s fingers against your clit, the pressure behind them coming from Simon’s hand as he rolls his fingers in light circles. It’s familiar and it immediately causes you to hum in pleasure and hiss, lying yourself back on the mattress.

“Ideally, you always keep something touch that needy little clit there.” Simon explains, more like he’s giving an anatomy lesson than having a threesome. “Be it a tongue, a finger, what have you.”

Simon’s hand then slides Kyle’s fingers away, making you whimper from the loss of contact. “Be patient, da’lin’, you’ll get more soon.” He quips. “Needy girl… Thought you were going to be all bossy with Kyle, now look at you…” He coos.

Simon turns Kyle’s hand over and, using his own hand, parts your puffy cunny before helping Kyle push two digits into your slick warmth. Kyle’s fingers are no biggy, not thick and calloused like Simon’s, and they’re surprisingly easy to take on. You moan softly at them, before becoming just a bit more vocal when Kyle’s fingers pad over your G-spot when Simon curls them just so.

“Right there, you see that?” Simon beckons, Kyle responding with mild agreement that you don’t even register because, soon, his fingers start moving, fucking in and out you per Simon’s instruction, while your boyfriend’s tongue quickly finds your clit, the cold piercing rubbing and flicking at your most sensitive spot, causing your back to arch on the bed.

“Oh, fuck, Simon…” You whine, legs already shaking, more so per the stimulation, which causes your boyfriend to use both of his free hands to keep your knees spread open as far as he could comfortably get them, tongue still lapping up at you with purposeful strokes.

The shaggy blond hair of your boyfriend vanishes for a moment, as does the experienced tongue touching you, before it gets replaced with Kyle’s slightly messier and uncoordinated attempts, Simon observing Kyle and noting your reactions and how much weaker they are, upset at the lack of proper stimulation.

“C’mon, Garrick…” Simon croons. “Your tongue’s sharp enough to roast Johnny, but you get here and it gets shy?” He taunts, before using his hand on the back of the sergeant’s neck to guide him a bit.

“I’m trying…” Kyle remarks, his face feeling warm against your skin, showing he’s likely blushing despite his darker complexion hiding it, his fingers still moving in the way Simon taught him, his only saving grace.

“Scoot.” Simon remarks and pushes his head aside, ever so slightly, causing him to rest against your thigh. Simon’s head pushes in near Kyle’s, resting against your other thigh, and his tongue catches your clit again, though the angle at he’s at now, slightly at an angle, allows Kyle to spot the way Simon moves his tongue: soft circles, zigzagging side to side, lips also rubbing against you.

Kyle watches closely, eyes widened, pupils blown with lust at the sight of Simon’s face so close and going down on you so eagerly, his eyes glued to your face up top, as if checking every single reaction you have to your boyfriend’s mouth. And react you do. Your moans are louder, jumpy, desperate, your hands grabbing the bed covers and squeezing tight, your cunt seeking Simon’s mouth as you fuck yourself onto it.

Kyle wasn’t the type to watch porn often, having little time and little interest in it, more so because he knew it wasn’t a good habit or realistic to expect it to be realistic… But the sight of Simon’s lips sucking and rubbing into your slick like it was the most delicious meal he’s ever gotten to eat was better than any of the porn he’s actually seen.

Simon’s able to make you come undone in a matter of minutes, the whimpers and needy moans, the shallow breaths, the way your head was left spinning, lolling to the side as Simon eased you down from your peak and then dropped a chaste kiss to your thigh before standing up again.

“You saw that?” He teases Kyle, who nods eagerly, no words coming to his lips after the display he just got. “You’ll get there eventually. With practise.” He assures him before patting him lightly on the shoulder. “Up you go.”

“How are you doing, da’lin’?” Simon asks, checking on you as you nod and show him a thumbs up, causing a chuckle to come from his chest before he takes a seat in another armchair in the corner, a spot he usually uses when having insomnia, right by the windows, to work on his laptop while you sleep near him… Except this time being used for something else.

“Go on, then, continue.” He demands as he sprawls out on the armchair, legs spread and already undoing his belt and fly, seeking relief from the tight feeling in his own jeans.

You nod eagerly and quickly shift to be sat on the bed, pulling Kyle toward you. “You still want this?” You ask him as you look him in the eyes… As if Kyle, needy the way he is now, after the sight of you coming undone on Simon’s tongue, would ever be able to answer anything other than a resounding ‘YES!’.

“Mhm… I do.” Kyle assures you with another nod… So, you kiss again, hands sliding over each other’s bodies just like they had on the couch before, exploring the free skin, allowing Kyle to grope you more easily. He seems fixated on your ass and thighs, fingers kneading the extra meat in them and holding you close.

His cock has long recovered from his first orgasm, now rubbing against your tummy as he kneels in front of you on the mattress. But not for long. Soon, you’ve laid Kyle on his back, and you’re straddling him, one leg on either side, slowly rubbing your folds over the length of his veiny cock.

“You’re gonna take ‘im for a right, da’lin’?” Simon asks, your eyes seeking him out in his armchair. The way you’re positioned, he can see all of you. Your pretty tits, the way your lips spread to rub against Kyle’s shaft, your legs parted open and knees digging into the mattress.

“Mhm…” You reply, your expression having shifted once again from the needy, submissive mess he had made of you, to a more dominant, playful one as you look down at the sergeant below you, looking up at you like he knows he’s in for a wild one.

“Go on then… But try not to break him, yeah?” Simon teases and winks at you, his hand already palming his cock through his own black boxer briefs.

“No promises…” You quip in return and wink back, before, carefully reaching a hand forward to lift Kyle’s cock from its resting spot against his hip.

Slowly, you sink yourself into it, his narrower build a lot easier to accommodate than Simon’s girth… But you soon regret how eagerly you did it, when you feel Kyle’s sheer size slip inside easily, his tip striking your cervix forcefully with that one swft motion.

“Bloody hell…” You grunt and bounce back a bit to relieve the pressure. “You’re big, aren’t you?” You tease Kyle who’s already unresponsive, poor little thing, eyes twice as wide as they had been when you gave him head, barely nodding in response.

Shifting your weight around, you plant your feet on either side of Kyle’s hip. “I’m gonna move, okay?” You warn him, setting your open palms on his thighs, behind your back, earning another nod from Kyle.

Slowly, you start to ride him, each bounce of your hips drawing the most delicious moans out of Kyle, his head lolling back over the foot of the bed, eyelids fluttering and his back arching.

“Gah- Fuck-” Kyle grunts, his breath already ragged before you’ve had time to do anything, just slowly moving, feeling his lengthy size rub against your walls as you force him to bottom out every time.

Kyle’s voice gets higher, whinier, his forehead dribbling with sweat with each thrust you force his cock to deliver into your slick cunny. “Feels… so… sososo so good…” He whimpers, his tone almost pathetic.

“Yeah… does it feel good?” You croon at him, a mischievous smirk on your lips, his cock drawing soft moans off your mouth as well.

“Yeah… yeah… yeah…” Kyle nods needily, his breath staggered and swallowing excess saliva.

“Yeah? Was it all you were expecting, pretty boy?” You tease him some more, earning another handful of needy ‘Yeah’s, his mind too overwhelmed with pleasure to consider saying anything else. “You don’t want me to go faster then, do you?”

“No… no… faster…” He replies, his head shooting forward, clearly eager to experience what ‘faster’ would feel like.

“Oh? Then you were lying? It doesn’t feel good, you need it faster?” You croon at him as if he was behaving like a brat and not like the good boy he really was.

“No… nO… it’s- it’s-!” Kyle tries to reply, desperate to clear the misunderstanding. Not that you give him time for it, as you speed up the speed of your bouncing, taking him in harder with each strike of your hips coming down onto his.

“GOD- YES!” Kyle shouts, eyes shot open and back curling upward, his head snapping forward to look at you and watch the way your pussy swallows every inch of his veiny cock, before letting out a huff and falling back on the bed again, desperate for more.

His hands grab onto your thighs and hips, fingers digging in hard, as you ride him, sweat beginning to slide down your forehead, down your cheeks and neck. Your eyes flitter over to Simon in the corner.

The smug fucker is watching everything with a nasty little half-grin on his lips, brown eyes darkened with lust as he watches you play with Kyle, making him squirm and whimper below you.

“Play with your clit for me, da’lin’.” His voice rings out amidst the frequent and whiney moans coming from Kyle. One of your hands slips away from Kyle’s thigh behind you, finding your clit and rubbing it slowly as you keep bouncing atop of Kyle, hips stuttering lightly as the pleasure becomes more intense.

“That’s it…” Simon says with a chuckle from his armchair, fisting his cock leisurely, as if the sight in front of him wasn’t worth any more from him. “How’s his cock feel, da’lin’?” Your boyfriend asks you.

He’s playing with your head, much like you’re playing with Kyle’s… making you go back and forth between a submissive and dominant mind frame, deriving pleasure from the mind games he’s forcing you to take on.

“It’s big…” You whimper in reply. “So big…” You murmur, your eyes soft and needy as you look at your boyfriend, watching the wicked look in his face..

“Don’t look at me, look at him…” Simon tells you. “Fuck ‘im right, he deserves it.” Simon adds. “Poor lad, been so long without experiencing a pussy…” He teases. “ow’s it feel, Garrick?” He turns his attention, and yours, to the sergeant below you.

Kyle nods pathetically. “Y-Yeah… It’s- Ah-” He whimpers, eyes glazed over with pleasure, too far gone in it, too overwhelmed with the feeling of a warm, wet pussy sheathing his virgin cock.

He’s too fucked out to think… And you’re bound to join him soon enough, with the way he looks below you, your fingers playing with your clit, and his cock swiftly hitting a spot inside you that no man’s ever reached before…

Your hips stutter atop of Kyle’s, your legs straining and tired, sore from the rhythm and position. You shift positions, leaning forward, hands coming to rest on his hard pecs, your head hanging atop of Kyle’s, facing him better.

You grind back and forth, trying to regain strength to continue, feeling Kyle’s tip rubbing deep inside of you, so deep and hard… You can’t help but whine.

“She’s getting tired, Kyle. Go on, it’s your turn.” Your boyfriend quips, his voice dripping with power and command over the two of you.

Kyle didn’t need to be told twice, his arms wrapped around your lower back and he bucked up like a bull, tossing you both aside, the bed creaking with the movement. Whatever insecurity he had is gone.

He pushes your thighs apart with his hip and starts pistoning into you with barely any regard for rhythm or how deep he’s going, his face buried into your neck as he plows into you, grunting and whining like an animal in rut. Not that you mind.

You’re used to Simon (and sometimes a few other mutual ‘friends’ of yours), men who are experienced, who know what to do, how to do it, who aren’t sloppy or erratic, who’s hips don’t jerk with each plunge into your warm cunny… It’s completely different with a bloke like Kyle. Inexperienced, green, but eager and desperate and…

You’re moaning loud and often, nails clawing at his smooth scarless back, eyes rolling as each snap of his hips claps against you like a whip, his cock burying into you to the hilt and back out before plunging back in.

Once more, Simon’s quick to come to your side, quick to crouch by the side of the bed, eyes admiring the way you both act and move, to keep a keen eye on your reactions and his, ready to pull him off you like a mutt that’ll hurt his mate if the owner doesn’t make him dismount…

But he doesn’t intervene. Not when you’re moaning like a whore, with Kyle sweating and grunting atop you, his eyes screwed shut and looking like he’ll lose every and any ounce of restraint he has in the next 3 seconds, somehow pulling the will to go on from sheer fucking air.

“You gonna flood ‘er little cunt with your come, aren’t you, Kyle?” Simon coos as he rests his forearms on the mattress, a perch to watch better.

“Y-Yeah! Yeah!” Kyle replies with an eager nod, eyes opening for a moment to look at Simon who’s so close to him.

“Yeah? Are you?” Simon continues egging him on. “You gonna fill my girl with your load?” He adds, his voice dropping to a more authoritative tone.

“Y-YEAH!” Kyle raises his voice, a bit more determined, but still deep in his natural state… obedient, ready to die for his superior, for his lieutenant.

“Go on, then,” Simon demands. “I wanna see. I wanna see you fill ‘er up.” He adds. “Tell ‘er you’re gonna do it.”

Kyle’s head turns a bit to look at you, his warm brown eyes blown wide with lust and desperation, his skin slick with sweat, his plump lips parted to let in desperate gulps of air.

“‘m gonna…” Kyle grunts as he shifts his weight lightly, his nose leaning against yours. “Gonna put my come so… deep inside you…” He warns you.

The look in his eyes, the desperation in his tone, the warning tone of his that does not at all fit his personality… Somehow it all comes together to rip the filthiest orgasm out of you, your head rolling back, eyes squeezing shut and a loud whine slipping from your parted lips as you squeeze and contract around Kyle’s cock.

Kyle can’t last not even a second longer the moment you start to come around him. His eyes fall shut, his back arches and he digs his fingers into the bed, toes curling and legs shaking as he fucks his come inside of you, drool slipping down his parted mouth.

“Good job.” Simon’s voice remarks next to you, satisfied and almost… proud, while you’re both too lost in the high of pleasure to even recognize his existence in the room or that you’re… alive, really.

#ikea writes 💚#asks #cod smut #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley has piercings change my mind #reqs #gazghost #ghostgaz #ghaz #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley smut #kyle gaz garrick smut #gaz smut #ghost smut

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meazalykov · 16 days ago

Text

the target

lynn wilms x reader

summary: lynn gets revenge for you

warnings: angst?, injury, swearing

it’s game day.

the quarterfinals of the champions league. real madrid. the first leg. it’s the kind of match you’ve dreamed about since you were a kid. well, as a kid you thought you would be playing for your childhood club back in england, but that is besides the point.

you’re starting in midfield with wolfsburg, and lynn will be out there too, holding down the right-back position. the thought of sharing the pitch with her always brings a certain calmness, even when the stakes are this high.

the walkout onto the field is exciting. the screams of the fans, the wolfsburg green against the madrid white—you’re excited.

you catch lynn’s eye during lineup panel, and she sends you a small smile. it’s grounding.

as soon as the whistle blows, madrid makes their intentions clear. they press hard, quick to close down any space, and their midfielders seem to be everywhere at once.

your first few touches are rushed, pressured by their relentless energy.

you catch glimpses of lynn darting up the right flank, always ready to support the attack or track back defensively.

the first twenty minutes fly by, a blur of challenges, quick passes, and constant movement.

madrid isn’t giving an inch, and neither are you.

lynn spots athenea darting down the wing, her control precise as she angles to cut inside. athenea believes that she is clean, but lynn stops her. she steps in with flawless timing, extending her leg to cleanly take the ball away just as athenea tries to make her next move.

the crowd erupts in appreciation as lynn doesn’t just win possession... she transitions it forward instantly. the blonde head lifts, scanning the field before threading a perfectly weighted pass up to jule, who’s already running to an open space.

jule collects the ball smoothly, her pace causing madrid’s defenders to scramble. she draws two players toward her.

you, ever the playmaker, timed your next move perfectly, running on the right as the ball slipped into your path. it’s quick and seamless, giving you the chance to turn toward the goal with space ahead of you.

you take your first touch, the ball right at your feet as you eye the madrid backline. there’s no easy route through, but that’s never stopped you before.

antonia lunges in, and with a flick to your right followed by a sharp cut to your left, you leave her behind, her balance thrown off entirely.

adrenaline courses through you as you move toward the next challenge.

before you can make your next move, olga comes crashing in, her body slamming into yours with a brutal force that has nothing to do with getting the ball.

the woman’s left shoulder hits your side hard, knocking the air from your lungs as your momentum is thrown off.

your feet lose contact with the ground, and just as you’re falling forward, oihane adds insult to injury with a shove to your back, propelling you further into the grass. the crowd’s collective gasp rings out as your body hits the ground hard, your palms scraping against the rough surface of grass.

the whistle cuts through the chaos, sharp and clear. the referee’s arm is up, signaling the foul, but that doesn’t immediately soothe the tension that erupts around you.

you hear svenja’s voice almost immediately, protesting in both german and english, firm and unwavering as she marches toward the ref. your mentor’s protective instincts kicking in. she’s quick to defend you.

you push yourself up from the ground, brushing bits of grass from your raw hands and knees as you catch your breath. your body aches from the collision, but you’re fine—nothing you can’t handle.

looking up, you see lynn already moving toward olga, her expression a mixture of frustration and determination. the dutch's movements are purposeful, her jaw clenched, and you know exactly what’s coming next.

before she can close the distance, you step into her path, reaching out to place a gentle but firm hand on her arm.

“hey, its fine,” you say softly, meeting her eyes. the tension in her posture eases just slightly as you shake your head, your silent way of telling her to let it go. it’s not worth it. she hesitates for a moment, her gaze flickering between you and olga, but you nudge her back gently, guiding her away with you.

lynn exhales deeply, and the two of you retreat together, leaving svenja to handle the situation as the referee moves in.

“are you fine?” she mumbles.

“yes.” you mumble back.

the game ticks into the 40th minute, ten minutes after the crash between olga, oihane, and you. you find yourself in a pocket of space near the edge of the box, the ball at your feet. your instincts kick in as you glance up, scanning the field.

alex makes her run, her timing perfect as she slips between two defenders. without hesitation, you whip in a cross—a perfect arc curling toward the center of the goal. alex rises above the crowd, her header powerful and precise, sending the ball soaring past misa and into the back of the net.

the stadium erupts in cheers, a sea of green celebrating as alex takes off toward the corner flag, pumping her fist in the air. your excitement overtakes you as you sprint toward her, jumping onto her back as the rest of the team rushes in to join the celebration.

1-0. it’s a massive moment.

however, that solidified madrid’s stance on you being a threat.

as the game resumes, it’s clear that madrid has shifted their focus entirely onto you. every time you touch the ball, their players close in aggressively. you can feel their frustration; they can’t stop you, so they’ve resorted to trying to break you.

your reputation precedes you. you’re known for your pinpoint assists and thunderous goals from a distance outside of the box.

you’re their biggest threat, and they know it.

the final five minutes of the first half feel like they stretch into eternity. madrid’s pressure is relentless, their challenges growing rougher with each passing moment. you’re dribbling upfield, looking for an opening to pass to svenja, when teresa closes in.

before you can react, her cleat comes down hard on your foot, sending a sharp pain shooting up your leg. you cringe, instinctively bending down to rub your foot as you try to shake off the pain.

the referee doesn’t blow the whistle, and the game continues around you as if nothing happened.

svenja sees it all. she immediately stops play, her voice sharp as she confronts the referee. frustration is etched across her face, her gestures animated as she demands to know why no foul was called.

you straighten up, still wincing as you test your foot, and glance toward the bench where your coach looks equally concerned.

the lack of calls has the entire wolfsburg team irritable. madrid’s strategy is clear—they’re targeting you, and the referee’s inaction only fuels their boldness. even the fans are voicing their anger, their boos ringing out as the replay of the stomp flashes across the stadium’s screens. lynn is pacing on the right flank, visibly holding herself back. her hands are clenched into fists, her jaw tight as she tries to restrain herself.

you catch her eye briefly, and the frustration in her gaze is almost palpable. she’s respecting your choice, not wanting to escalate things, but it’s killing her to see you take hit after hit.

as the whistle finally signals halftime, you walk off the field with your teammates, your foot still throbbing. the coach pulls you aside in the tunnel, his tone serious.

“y/n, you’ve got to avoid getting injured. we need you for the second leg, not just tonight.”

before you can respond, alex speaks up, her voice filled with annoyance.

“they’re targeting her because they can’t stop her. it’s obvious! the ref’s letting them get away with it.” she’s practically seething in german, her protective nature mirroring the team’s collective frustration.

he second half starts with wolfsburg adjusting to the madness of the first. the coach’s strategy is clear: keep the ball moving quickly and limit your full possession to specific plays.

the focus shifts to jule, who takes on more of the ball-handling responsibilities in the midfield since the madrid players are slightly less aggressive with her, and everyone else who isn’t you.

your coach is making a tactical move meant to shield you from the worst of madrid’s aggressive targeting, but it leaves you lingering in pockets of space, watching and waiting for an opening. this is what you hate, you love a challenger. you need to have contact, but being injured would ruin all of that.

the clock ticks into the 49th minute when svenja, ever-reliable, sends a sharp pass your way. the ball zips across the field, and you’re quick to collect it, already scanning for options. you can feel the madrid players closing in, but you’re hoping, just hoping, they won’t try anything this time.

of course, they do.

as you push up the pitch, caroline suddenly grabs a fistful of your jersey, tugging hard enough to pull you off balance. the fabric stretches uncomfortably against your chest, and your frustration bubbles to the surface at the same time.

you reach behind you, your fingers finding hers, and pry her grip loose. it’s not a hard motion, but it’s deliberate. the ball rolls slightly ahead of you as you let it go, passing it cleanly to svedinis before turning back to face caroline.

you don’t hide your irritation as you step toward her, your voice steady but edged with anger.

“is there a problem?” the question hangs in the air, sharp enough to cut through the noise of the game. caroline’s hands shoot up defensively, palms out, as if to say she doesn’t want any trouble.

the scottish woman’s expression is neutral, almost dismissive, but she doesn’t say a word.

you back away slowly, your eyes still locked on hers for a moment longer before you turn. alex is there, her reassuring presence a balm against the frustration threatening to consume you. she pats your back firmly, her touch grounding you as she says something you can’t quite hear over the loudness of the german crowd ready to defend you.

the look in alex’s eyes is encouraging, a silent acknowledgment that you’ve done well to stand your ground.

across the pitch, lynn watches the entire interaction, her posture is tense, her hands clenching briefly before she forces them to relax.

you’re doing everything right, standing up for yourself with composure, but it’s clear to her how much it’s wearing on you. as much as she respects your wish for her to stay out of it, the sight of you being targeted again and again makes it almost unbearable for her to stay put.

still, she forces herself to remain where she is, her focus trained on the game, even though her heart aches for you.

the next play will change lynn’s mindset..

..it all happens too fast.

the ball is thrown in from minge and you get the ball. you run just outside the box, lining up the perfect shot.

suddenly, a sharp, searing pain explodes in your ankle. antonia’s boot, studs up, slams directly into you with brutal force. she misses the ball entirely, and the impact sends you sprawling to the ground.

the ball goes away from the goal, forgotten as your scream pierces through the stadium noise.

you clutch your ankle instinctively, the pain so intense it feels like your entire leg is on fire. the blood pools quickly, soaking into your green socks, the vibrant red stark against the fabric. the agony grips you, but so does the shock.

your breath comes in short, ragged bursts as your heart races, pounding so hard you can feel it in your chest. you want to cry, to let the pain out somehow, but the tears won’t come. something inside of you did not want to give madrid players and fans the satisfaction of seeing your tears.

instead, you grit your teeth, trying to suppress the shaking in your hands as they press tightly against your throbbing ankle.

“y/n love, it’s okay, we’re here,” jule’s voice breaks through the haze, soft but urgent. she’s kneeling next to you, her hand resting gently on your shoulder. svedinis is beside her, her eyes filled with concern as she crouches down, holding your other hand that is not on your ankle.

your bestfriend’s words are comforting, grounding, even as the medics rush onto the pitch, their bags clutched tightly as they prepare to assess the damage.

the pain doesn’t lessen, but their closeness makes the swollen and bleeding ankle more bearable.

while you’re surrounded by support and calmness by the outside of the box, the rest of the pitch is erupting into chaos towards the goalpost.

lynn saw you on the ground, the blood, the pain etched across your face, and something inside her snaps. the calm restraint from earlier is gone. she storms toward antonia with a ferocity that makes her teammates hesitate to step in.

“are you stupid?!” lynn yells, her voice sharp enough to cut through the air. her words ring out clearly, laced with anger and disbelief. antonia tries to wave it off, muttering,

“i didn’t do anything,” but lynn isn’t having it.

“shut up!” she yells again, pointing directly at antonia.

the madrid players begin to swarm, misa stepping in to try to break things apart. olga joins the fray, her posture defensive as she moves toward lynn, but wolfsburg’s players aren’t letting lynn getting jumped by the spanish team.

svenja, ever the captain, runs forward. marina and lineth flank her while alex positions herself near lynn, ready to intervene if things go too far.

lynn is beyond reason, her finger still jabbing in antonia’s direction as she yells,

“seriously though, what’s wrong with you guys? stop being so stupid!”

the medics finally reach you, but even their presence doesn’t fully distract you from the chaos unraveling around you. lynn keeps going, before minge wraps her arms around lynn, trying to pull her back.

“let it go,” minge pleads.

you’re lying there, your hands trembling as the medics begin their work, but your eyes flicker toward lynn. even through the chaos, you can feel her anger burning for you.

the ref finally raises the red card, pointing directly at antonia, who looks stunned for a moment before reluctantly walking off the pitch. it’s the right call.. her studs-up tackle was reckless and dangerous.

your teammates exchange frustrated glances, and you can see it in their faces: this never should have gotten to this point. if the referee had been stricter earlier, if fouls had been called, warnings given, maybe none of this would’ve happened.

you’re helped off the pitch, each step sending jolts of pain up your leg, and ariana comes on as your replacement. you watch her jog into position, her face set with determination, but your focus quickly shifts to your ankle.

minutes later seated in the medic room, you can’t help but cringe when you finally look down. your sock, once a pristine green, is stained with blood, and your ankle is swollen, an angry blue hue spreading up your skin.

it looks worse than it feels, though the pain is still there.

the team’s doctor, a kind woman you’ve rarely interacted with since you’re not one to often get injured, works quickly and efficiently. the touch is gentle, but you still wince as she cleans the wound and begins wrapping your ankle in layers of bandages.

“you might be out for a couple of weeks,” she says softly, her tone sympathetic but professional.

“we’ll need to do a deeper analysis tomorrow after the swelling goes down.”

you nod, accepting her words with a mix of disappointment and resignation. injuries are part of the sport but it doesn’t make it any easier to process.

you force yourself to take a deep breath, reminding yourself that your recovery is now the priority.

after she finishes wrapping your ankle, the doctor hands you a pair of crutches. using them feels awkward at first, but you manage as you make your way back toward the field.

the game is still 1-0, thanks to you and alex. you find a seat on the bench next to lineth, who is now also off the pitch. she gives you a sympathetic smile, her hand briefly resting on your shoulder.

“you okay?” she asks, her voice low enough not to draw attention.

“i’ll survive,” you reply, though your gaze drifts back to the game.

you sit on the bench trying to distract yourself from the dull ache in your ankle. your eyes naturally find lynn on the pitch, and for the first time in a long while, you’re watching her play from the sidelines instead of alongside her.

it’s strange, this perspective, but it gives you a chance to really notice her playing.

the way she moves is effortless—calculated yet fluid, her body a perfect balance of power and precision. lynn’s posture is strong despite the obvious frustration lingering from what happened to you. the dutch’s lips are pressed into a thin line, her usual calm replaced by a quiet intensity.

you can’t help but think about how hot she looks out there. the wanted distraction is welcome, pulling your attention away from the throbbing in your ankle. she’s a force to be reckoned with, and even though you already know that, seeing her from this angle makes you appreciate it even more.

in the 86th minute, lynn takes the ball up the right. you can see her eyes scan the field as she gauges her options.

lynn takes a perfect shot with the ball and at first, it looks like she’s targeting ariana, hoping for a header to mirror alex’s earlier goal.

however, the ball keeps going, and going. misa stretches out her fingers, desperate to make the save, but it’s too late—the ball flies just out of reach and into the back of the net.

the crowd erupts in cheers, the noise shaking the entire stadium. your heart leaps with excitement, and before you realize it, you’re on your feet, clapping and cheering as loudly as the rest of the bench.

you can’t help yourself—you’re so proud of her.

through the chaos, lynn’s eyes immediately find yours. it’s as if she’s tuning out everything else, seeking your validation first, as always. when she spots you, her expression softens for a moment, and she raises her hands, forming a heart in your direction.

your chest tightens at the sweet gesture, your cheeks heating up as you smile at her. lynn’s celebrations are never over the top, her focus always on the team rather than personal glory, but this small moment of acknowledgment is everything to you.

beside you, lineth snorts, leaning closer to mutter, “you two need to get a room.”

“shut up,” you shoot back, grinning despite yourself. lineth just laughs, shaking her head as she joins in the applause.

as the game winds down, you notice something curious: madrid’s aggression has noticeably cooled. they’re still pressing and defending, but the dirty fouls and unnecessary physicality have all but disappeared.

it hits you like a sudden realization. they weren’t playing rough because of wolfsburg—they were playing rough because of you.

i mean, you did play for barcelona before wolfsburg. however, that was four years ago. those heated el clasico matches were in your past. you shake your head, ignoring all of those possibilities.

the final whistle blows, and all of the wolfsburg players gather on the field, exchanging hugs and high-fives after the 2-0 victory. you remain seated on the bench, a quiet observer as the celebration unfolds.

the doctor’s words echo in your mind, reminding you to avoid walking on your ankle too much until your ankle can be properly assessed and placed in a boot tomorrow. the dull throb in your ankle keeps you grounded, but watching your team revel in their success brings a sense of satisfaction despite the earlier chaos.

lynn is still on the pitch, talking with svedinis near the sideline. though she’s engaged in conversation, you can tell her attention keeps flickering back to you. she’s rushing—her words quick, her movements slightly impatient. svedinis starts to notice and giggles, pushing lynn towards you as she goes to talk to alex.

the dutch jogs over to you, her green kit streaked with dirt and sweat.

she doesn’t hesitate, practically throwing herself onto you, careful to avoid your injured ankle. the tattooed arms wrap around you tightly, her weight a comforting presence as you let out a laugh.

“easy there, mvp,” you tease, your voice light for the first time since the injury.

lynn leans back slightly, a grin tugging at her lips.

“it’s just good to see you not looking so pissed off after everything that happened.”

you chuckle, tilting your head at her.

“yeah, but i wish i could say the same about you.”

she narrows her eyes playfully, a mock glare forming.

“can you blame me? watching you get beat up out there and not being able to do anything about it? i was ready to beat someone up myself.”

you nod, your tone softening. “true. but, for the record…” you pause, a mischievous smile spreading across your face.

“i thought it was kind of hot, seeing you all protective and storming the pitch.”

lynn groans, rolling her eyes dramatically, though the faint blush creeping up her cheeks gives her away.

“you’re insane, do you know that?” she mutters, but there’s no heat in her words.

you laugh again, reaching out to pull her into a proper hug. lynn’s body relaxes against yours, the stadium around you begins to empty, everyone into the cool night air as the crowd disperses.

it’s just the two of you now, in the quiet glow of the emptying arena.

“thanks for having my back out there,” you whisper, your voice sincere.

lynn presses a kiss to the top of your head, her voice equally soft.

“always.”

masterlist

#lynn wilms #woso fanfics #woso community #woso x reader #vfl wolfsburg women #oranjeleeuwinnen #sveindis jonsdottir #alex popp #real madrid femenino

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lucabyte · 21 days ago

Note

How do you get your siffrins to look adult? I keep accidentally giving them a baby face but I WANT THEM TO LOOK GROWN AND EXHAUSTED LIKE HE DESERVES

okay so i legit think i fail at making siffrin look adequately adult like half the time but here's a general breakdown of my like. thought process when im actually um. thinking .

So first of all heres my general tips for proportioning a face, and how i attempt to keep the roundness of sif's in-game proportions while also like... drawing them more realistically? i had to practically reinvent a Human Style for drawing isat fanart since im a furry artist so a lot of this is fresh in my mind, luckily(?) for you i suppose.

This newness also means you can like, watch me fight and struggle against how the hell to do this in my earlier fanart. so feel free to try and see what changed as i pieced it together.

Another note is body proportion. You note giving him a baby face specifically, but some of it MIGHT be that you're drawing the head too big for your style? Try and figure out how many "heads tall" your figures are and tweak the numbers until you find what looks "adult"

Here I cracked open one of the comics I used CSP Model refrences for (albeit feat Loop, who i envision to be the exact same height as siffrin. i am NOT a tall loop truther i think its funnier when that bitch is five foot NOTHING!!!!!)

drawing sif with adult proportions can be deceptively difficult though on account of their Being A Tiny Motherfucker. Mostly here though, I find that the best way to do this is to drop like 1/3rd of the length of an average drawing figure's legs. Short people tend to have short legs. I know this on account of a lot of my ocs being 5'3" and below (... for... reasons...... unrelated to my own... height.... 100%.... ) so once again I think a lot of this can come down to trying to fiddle with numbers and noting down what works.

OKAY NOW ONTO SOME MORE SIFFRIN-SPECIFIC DRAWING TIPS. like these are what i find myself doing to make them look older if i accidentally baby face them myself

The above kind of chibi-er doodle style im still not sure has Siffrin looking adult enough for my liking (someone who considers them minimum 28) but considering they're presumably genuinely a deceptively baby faced guy at least by game's start (even if they should probably look. unhealthy.) it's like... forgivable.

the bald spot is basically fucking cheating in terms of "making them look older" lbr but i am so fucking insistent on it and i punch the air in celebration every time i see anyone else do it. winner is ME!!!!

Anyway. the body hair thing is funny considering we basically have Word Of God that siffrin is not the kind of person who ever likes being naked/even having their feet out in a casual setting. but like. hi its me the weird fucked up miserable nudity guy. of course im drawing every pockmark and texture on their body.

Another note here is, on their naked form, I avoid overly smooth lines for outlines of the limbs and torso. This avoids making them look "sexy twink thin" (not my bag at all) and instead gives the impression of loose skin from fluctuating weight, uneven fat distribution, skin becoming baggier with age. I also let joints jut out and look sharp wherever I can. This is because im an asexual pervert who likes the human form the mostest when i can see 'imperfections' This adds to the haggard nature of it all, by being reasonably honest about what the kind of persistent decade-long neglect of self care and implied malnutrition would do to a guy

Last note: eyes. i find i end up drawing a vague glassy black smear with a hint of white for the sclera for siffrin like. a Lot. Eyebags to show weariness is not my preferred method as I find it, to be rude, a bit of an overused shorthand. Plus, while sif in game does get eyebags, they're usually more on pushed expressions where they're forcing their face. So I put more emphasis on drawing the folds of the upper lid (which the game does not do) to make them look weary.

I dont think i can elaborate on my opinions on How To Draw Eyes without it becoming a way the fuck too long essay because "drawing emotions good" is like. my number 1 goal in every drawing so even if everything else is scuffed to hell I HAVE TOOO get the eyes right because theyre the most emotive part of the face. if i cant capture an emotion correctly the drawing isnt getting fucking finished is the thing, so....

Luckily for me, drawing over eyes and continously tweaking them by painting over and over and over and redoing them can have the side effect of making them look over-detailed and thus worn/tired/agonised. yes this is why i draw loop's face so scrunched all the time. All I can say for this though is to do a lot of studies of both real life faces & the most emotive cartoon faces you personally have experienced. So like. steven universe is great for this because rebecca sugar is so scary at drawing eyes. theyre so fucking scary at it. or sometimes i just go stare at rebecca's old comics because jesus christ. anyway.

??? but yeah hope this helps. its something i feel like i have a genuine hard time with too, especially since im so intent on keeping their face round & my artstyle is genuinely very cutesy even when i am being weird soo ...?

tl;dr:

draw the eyes smaller, give them a chin, the canon nose helps a lot & dont forget the bald spot. everyone draw the bald spot. for me.

#???? HOPE THIS HELPS IVE NO IDEA WHAT IM DOING BESTIEEEE. imo ppl like dragonymango draw way better adult-looking sifs than me LOL #lucabytetalks #long post #isat spoilers #isat siffrin #two hats spoilers #doodlebyte #soz for the wait time i kinda had to draw pictures to explain anything in a coherent manner. not that this is coherent at all

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hoshigray · 1 year ago

Note

plz, can u write a oneshot about mean!toji x reader like hate sex 😭😭 toji bleeding and smirking in ep 4 makes me feel some feelings 😭😭 and if u can add some slap in the face- sorry for my bad english :(( hope u can understand

ik those feelings you're feeling, noonie, heheheee (¬‿¬) and dw, honey, your English is perfect ♡

cw: mean! Toji x fem! reader - hate sex, obvi - oral (m! receiving) - impact play; spanking - gun play (loaded) - bondage (chains) - hair pulling - dirty talk/degradation - doggy style position - unprotected sex - biting - mentions of blood and drool - it's gonna get real nasty (depiction-wise; blowjobs) so beware - pet names (doll, dollface, sweetheart) - angsty/violent ending. wc: 1.4k

"Go on." You look up to him, nothing more than his salacious grin and cold emerald eyes sending chills down your spine. Dry blood stains his tight black shirt and baggy pants. Metal chains restraining your hands are pulled to make you shift between his legs.

"...Tch, you got some nerve—"

"Watch that tone with me, sweetheart," your blood shifts to icy cold at the gun in his hand propped to your throat. "Would be a shame if I gotta put a bullet through you before the fun starts. So? Should I kill ya now, or are ya gonna be a good slut fr' me?"

Watery eyes twinkle along with the tremble rocking the uncomfortable bob in your throat, making breathing difficult. Your eyes then scroll down to the tent of his pants, his free hand bringing the material down to his thighs for his cock to spring out. You gulp trembling lips and hesitantly place your lips on the glans, a hiss exiting his scarred lips when you experimentally flick your tongue.

"Hmmm, don't act shy on me now," the gun to your throat drifts to your head. Fear prompts your heart to beat irregularly. "C'mon, Y/n. I know that pretty lil' mouth of yours is just beggin' to have me."

You give him a glare. It's exchanged with a chuckle, and the handgun's cold muzzle is now pressed to your forehead. "Fuck you, you fucking bru—"

BLAM!!

It was for a few seconds, but the blast was too close. Too frightened from the ringing in your ears that your body remains immobile, your eyes wide to the point of a tear falling. Too scared to move a single limb when Toji draws the gun back to your forehead.

"Actin' real smart, forgot who y're dealin' with." Toji sucks his teeth before his free hand pulls you by the chin back to his exposed dick. "Try that again."

Left with no choice, you open your mouth and insert the tip of his cock, your jaw loosening to accommodate the familiar girth of his length protruding from your oral cavity to the walls of your throat. Toji hisses at the swirl of your tongue on the underside of his dick, his free hand now on the top of your head with tufts of your hair in his fingers. "...Yeah, just like that, use that whorish mouth of yours."

If you had it in you, you'd bite his dick off right then; however, with a gun to your head and chains making escaping impossible, you can already calculate your doom if you were to do that. So, you pitifully suck on him as traces of his cum coat your tongue. The grasp on your hair gets tighter, and he roughly pushes your head to bob up and down from the base of his erection.

It's so disgusting how he uses you like this — like his toy, so used and abused...And what's worse, the throbbing sensation between your legs begins to flourish. Fuck you, Toji Fushiguro...

"—Ahhh, shit, shit," his groans of pleasure fill your ears; they feel so dirty to hear. His hips are unable to refrain from bucking into your mouth. And before you know it, Toji drives your face to his base, the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, and he releases his load into you. More tears fall from your face, whimpers muffled by the pulsing limb between your plump lips, forced to drink what he gives you until he withdraws from you. Drool and come paint his shaft, your mouth, and chin — a mess you're compelled to make.

But it doesn't stop there. Of course, it doesn't.

Because remember: you are his toy. And a greedy man like Toji wants to wear you out by any means necessary, whether you like it or not. Especially now with your face smooshed down to the cold floor, your hands to your back still restrained by the chains, and your bare ass for him to witness smack against his pelvis as he fucks you raw.

With a ruthless pace, Toji bullies and churns your insides with his girth in your cunt, his length pistoning to and fro from your leaky entrance. Your screams are erupted by the harsh thrusts, sounds of your ass smacking onto him corrupt your eardrums. He keeps you still on the ground with his strong hands on your shoulders, leaving any opposition worthless and unable to fight off his merciless tempo.

The fucker pants and groans down to your ear, it's so awful to hear. More so that it makes your slit clamp onto him tighter. How shameful. And he knows so too — the sinister chuckle is evidence as much. "Mmff—Heh, gettin' so tight fr' me, doll."

You don't reply, why should you. Too wrapped up in the pleasurable commotion between your legs to care for giving him a reply. That is until—b

SMACK!!

A sharp slap to your ass comes down to your ass without notice, erupting a scream from your fatigued throat.

"Hey, I'm talkin' to you, fuckin' broad." Your hair is yanked again, your head off the ground with tears and drool smooshed all over your pretty face. "Listen here, who—Mmmm!! Fuck...Who does this slutty pussy belong to?"

You'd rather die than say what he wants to hear you say. "Get off me, you—Ahhhhhh!"

Another smack to your ass, you chew on your bottom lip to the point of blood. "Cut the shit, Y/n..." He ponders before another grin lifts his scar and slaps your ass again. A choked sob aligns with your chasm gripping his cock again, and a satisfied moan comes from Toji. "Oh, now I know how to teach you a lesson."

Wait, no. No, no—

SMACK!!

"Ahaaann!! Ahhhh!! Toji, stop—" He doesn't listen, giving your shoulder a bite, leaving you breathless.

SMACK!! SMACK!!

"—OKAY, OKAY!!" The unbearable stinging heat on your asscheeks forces you to submit to him. ".....'s yours..." you say under your breath with gritted teeth. But with another blunt impact to your butt, Toji wanted to hear you loud and clear.

"Say it louder."

And you do. "It's yours!! I belong to you, only you!!"

His hands knead the hot flesh of your ass, and a dangerous chuckle stems from him. "That's better, ya damn broad." He releases your hair for your face to meet the cool floor again. "Now—Ohhh shit...you stay just like this while I finish here, got that?"

The older man doesn't give you room to respond, only returning his hips to an unforgiving pace. Mewls scratch out from your throat and mouth, too helpless to try and suppress them with your slick and come drip down to your legs.

It doesn't take long for him to climax into you, his hands finding your shoulders once more and pining you down, his fingertips leaving painful indents to your shoulder blades as he drills his dick deep inside for his load. Your orgasm follows when he grinds his pelvis to you, his length scraping your sweet spots perfectly and accurately. The rush hits you hard, your cunt contracting around him until the heat subsides.

He removes himself from your heaving body, trails of his come slide from your folds down to your inner thigh. The air makes the substance chill as it travels across your sweaty skin. For a minute, you're allowed to aimlessly rest. Your mind returns to its senses, a feeling of shame weighing your weary figure down. But it doesn't matter: it's finally over.

...So why do you hear a metallic click come from behind you? Your eyes drift to Toji's feet coming in your direction, crouching down to your level. A smile on his face — a sign you know that doesn't hold any positive connotation.

"Hope you enjoyed y'rself, I know I did," Toji hums, you could barely hear him. He then pulls out his handgun and points it at you. Those following words, so condescending, send chills down the spine. "Sorry, it had to end like this, dollface. Thanks for the fun time."

Your eyes widened before any words left your mouth. And just like that, you're reminded of your place in this mess. You're only his toy — a mere plaything he can rough up and mess with however he sees fit.

BLAM!!

And just like a toy, he'll discard you when he's done with you, removing your purpose and leaving your abused body for the cold, hard floor to keep motionless.

The blood that seeps out of your forehead is the only warmth you'll experience in your final moments. Finding a few seconds of comfort from yourself before your body shuts down, your vision blurry, and your identity whipped from the face of this Earth.

Here lies a toy that no longer works.

phewwww, been a while since I've done hate sex, hope you liked it!! :D

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midnight-mourning · 3 months ago

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DCA Promptober Day 14: Knock

There's this youtube animated horror short out there, I think it's called Francis? Anyway, I watched that when I was younger and didn't sleep for months. This was inspired by my memories of that.

Word count: 867

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

"Knock-knock!"

"Who's there?"

A pause, he's thinking, "Canoe."

"Canoe who?" You ask, giggling.

"Canoe come over and play?" Sun then bursts out laughing, and you can't help but do the same.

You settle down, snuggling further into his arms, "That was a good one, I'll admit."

"As you should, I only make the best of the best knock-knock jokes!" He crosses his arms, head held high.

"Yeah, yeah, alright."

Sun leans over to look down at you, "That sounds like an admission of defeat, Starlight~"

"Fat chance," You scoff, "Just give me a second to think."

His rays tick to the side like a clock, you know he's doing it to tease you.

For a split second though, the ticking sounds off to your ears. You feel dizzy, your head hurts. What's going on-

"Is everything okay, Sunbeam?"

You shake your head, Sun's still staring down at you. You blink, his face changes for a moment. Red eyes, black and white color scheme, a hat-

You blink. It's just Sun.

You bite your lip for a moment, then smile, "Yeah, think I might be just a bit tired is all."

"Oh! Then maybe you should take a nap," He says, tone shifting at the end there. Almost glitching. Your vision flashes again.

"I, you? Suggest a nap of all things?" You laugh, nervous, "How out of character for you, Sun."

He just stares at you. You look away after a moment.

Suddenly, his hand reaches under your chin, forcing you to focus back on him.

He tilts his head, "Tell your joke, Star."

"Knock-knock."

"Who's there?" His grin almost feels threatening from this angle.

You swallow, "Boo."

The room takes on a quivering now. Everything around you rumbling and glitching. It gets hard to see. You have to close your eyes.

"Boo who?"

Your hand clutches onto the Attendant's pant leg, "Sun I'm scared."

You initially just get a raspy chuckle as a response.

"I don't believe that's part of the joke now, is it?" You hear several clicks, and can feel him lean down closer, "Because if so, it's not a very funny one."

You whimper. Your body feels wrong, everything feels wrong. You don't want to open your eyes.

The bot tuts, "Oh, come on now, friend. It's just a simple joke. Surely you can handle that."

You stay quiet, then he sighs.

"Open your eyes, love."

You shake your head.

"Open." A sharp click, "Your eyes."

You relent.

It's just Sun.

He runs a hand over your hair, soothing, "See? Everything's juuust fine. Now, will you tell me your joke?"

"I, o-okay."

He waits, hand stopping its motion.

You take a deep breath, and try again, "Knock-knock."

"Who's there?"

You hesitate. Everything seems normal. Maybe you were just going crazy.

"Boo." Again, nothing's off. It's just Sun.

His voice is soft, sweet, "Boo who?"

"Don't cry, it's just a joke!" You try to add extra enthusiasm to hide your nervousness.

Sun's rays rotate slowly. Then, he laughs. He laughs hard. As he continues to outright cackle you shrink further and further in on yourself, but being stuck in his lap you have nowhere else to go.

He pretends to wipe a tear from his eye, "Oh, how clever. You really got me!"

"Y-yeah?" You ask, smile awkward.

He sighs, "Yes, but Starlight," His tone has a cheeky glee to it.

"Hm?"

"Aren't you the one who shouldn't be crying?" Out of the corner of your eye you see him raise his hand, "Afterall~"

It rushes down towards you, and you gasp.

"It's just a joke!"

You wake up with a start, breathing heavy.

Your hand goes to your chest. There's no gaping hole. It's fine. You're fine.

It takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the level of darkness you're in. You're in a closet or something. You sit up, finding that you've been laying hap-hazardly on a pile of, stuffed animals?

Looking around further, you see that there's crayon drawings hanging on the walls, assorted toys, string lights which aren't currently in use.

You realize that you're in the Daycare Attendant's room.

Knock-knock.

You freeze, ears straining to find where the noise came from. Or if you just imagined it-

Knock-knock.

It's a bit louder this time, but only slightly. It sounds closer, too. Your eyes scan the space and see nothing. How did you even get in here?

Knock-knock.

Your head is pounding, and your memory is fuzzy. Nothing makes much sense. You do your best to sit up, and while there's no visible wound your entire body aches. You want to say it's from your sleeping position, but something in your gut tells you it’s not.

Knock-knock.

You must be losing your mind. There's no logical place as to where that noise could be coming from. From what your eyes can make out, there's nothing in here besides you. You're almost certain of it.

Knock-knock.

It's then that you think to look over to the entrance to the room. And you find your answer.

There's a hand on the edge of the door. Behind it is a grinning visage with red eyes.

Knock-knock.

Who's there?

I think you already know.

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

Damn y'all got TWO unhinged robots today didn't you? What a nice little treat. Other promptobers are here, thanks for reading!

#let me tell you chat #my brain COOKS at midnight #there's a pun to be made there #but i'll contain myself for now #i want to make art for this but alas #the talent and the time ain't there (yet)#dcatober24 #fnaf dca #dca fandom #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #dca fic #x reader

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staycalmandhugaclone · 4 months ago

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Fool's Errand Pt 7

Part (7) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Gonna call this the halfway point, maybe

Warnings: impatience toward a child (kinda? I mean, yuh know... Crosshair), guilt, medical procedure/ gore, fantasy profanity (that warning always makes me giggle), sexual innuendo ish, gonna also add romantic tension because it's not really sexual tension, self-depreciating thoughts, body horror

WC: 3,755

“That's my arm… leg… That's still my arm…” There was a faint growl in the sigh that followed as the child continued pestering the irritated sniper, and my lips ached from how tightly I had to bite them to hold back my grin.

Wrecker offered none of my self-restraint, expression softened beneath a deep warmth, though there was no hiding the underlying sorrow in his gaze.

“How's the leg?” I asked quietly, attention focused on checking Hunter's chest tube and vitals before moving to look over Tech as well. He gave an almost bored shrug.

“Hurts a bit, but not like before.” He didn't take his eyes off the pair across from him as he spoke.

“When we reach the Marauder, I’ll give you something to relax, then we'll see if Cross and I can get it back in.” I told him gently. He let out a quiet hum in response.

“Think she means your armor.” He called out, voice still strangely hushed. I glanced over my shoulder to see Crosshair shoot his brother an unamused glare, but, when the girl pointed to his forearm, he let out resigned huff.

“Vambrace." He said, word perfectly monotone, and the excited gasp that followed left him dropping his face heavily into his hand, instantly drawing a wide smile across my lips. Wrecker returned that smile only briefly before sinking back into a quiet shame.

“She'll warm up to you.” I promised, leaning over to bump my shoulder against his, but he merely replied with a halfhearted nod.

The girl still hadn’t said a word, soundlessly communicating with a nod or a frown, though her expressions were so vibrant, we needed little assistance in understanding her. Meanwhile, Hunter and Tech remained unconscious. Though both were stable, the longer Tech’s arm remained in that tourniquet, the greater the risk of it causing damage to the limb.

“N- Those aren’t toys.” Cross nearly snapped, only belatedly forcing his voice into a tense murmur. I looked back to see the girl still tugging at one of the reflector disks at his waist, undeterred. He let out a poorly stifled growl before snatching at one of the disks and tossing it to her, earning a beaming grin.

“Why don’t yuh sit down? We’re still a few minutes away, an’ yuh look beat.” Wrecker asked softly. An excuse danced readily over my tongue, but, as I turned to face him, as I noted the gentle concern in his bright eyes, that excuse faded before ever being granted voice. And he was far from wrong. I felt the way my shoulders sagged despite some lingering attempt to fight back that oppressive exhaustion, the weariness of muscles long since pleading for respite, and I couldn’t help but let out a quiet sigh.

“Maybe you’re right.” I murmured quietly. “Just for a bit.” He offered a small grin as I settled into the seat beside him, gaze wandering over Crosshair once more with an air of amusement at his resigned glare while the girl practically sat in his lap as she leaned over to tap his bandoleer.

The medbay of the Marauder was never meant for this; it was meant to offer only a liminal reprieve while en route to a proper medical center, more akin to a transport than a place of actual healing, but this was war, and what was once the bare minimum quickly became fantastical ideals in the face of necessity. There was no surgical suite. There was no hope for sterility nor endless supply of equipment, but none of that changed the reality of what was before me; Tech would either bleed out or lose his arm if I couldn’t locate and fix the vessels that had been severed in the crash.

He lay unconscious atop my bed; the same bed in which he’d spent nearly a week suffering beneath the horrors of withdrawal from those wretched fungal spores; the same bed that had seen each of the brothers relax upon as I eased their aches with leisurely massages; the same bed Crosshair and I had slept together in nearly every night since the loss of my brother.

It felt like I’d barely slept a few minutes when Wrecker woke me. A quick glance at my chrono confirmed exactly that, but we’d reached the Marauder, and there simply wasn't time for anything more. I rubbed weary hands over my eyes, forcing back the nausea that so often followed in the wake of a far too short rest, and pretended not to notice how closely Crosshair was watching me.

With his help, we'd gotten Wrecker on board first, then Hunter. The movement had woken him, and we’d barely made it up the ramp before he shrugged us off. I’d nearly objected, nearly thrown the words “chest-tube" and “collapsed lung" at him through snarled lips, and demanded he let us help, but the handful of steps weren't worth the fight, and, at the moment, Tech was in far greater danger.

“What do you need?” Crosshair asked, shoulders drawn back, eyes hard as he studied the pale form of his brother between us. I’d almost taken a moment to find something for him to do, some way for him to help, but I didn’t have time to walk him through how to help, nor did I have the energy.

“I’ve got him.” I promised quietly, already guiding a pair of shears around Tech’s shoulder to cut away the sleeve. “You should talk to the girl – no, I mean actually talk to her.” It wasn’t scolding, but, from the disdain that twisted his face, it might as well have been. “She may know something,” I pressed, “and, right now, she seems to like you the most.” His shoulders sank, eyes narrowing into a weak glare, but he knew I was right.

“I'm not a damn babysitter.” I had to fight back a smirk at the indignation in his voice, stealing a quick breath to quiet myself before responding.

“So, interrogate her. Nicely.” His glare deepened, but I merely rolled my eyes.

“I don't do nice.” He hissed, drawing a sigh from me. Movements unrushed by impatience or annoyance, I set down the sheers and walked around the bed toward him, lips barely hinting at a warm smile.

“I think we both know that's not true.” I murmured softly. He started to object, scowl just beginning to twist his face, but the heat behind it faded as I reached for him, hand moving up to brush lightly over his chest before caressing his jaw, his cheek, fingers subtly pulling him down. “You can be very sweet.” That harshness abandoned him as he let himself be drawn toward me.

“Just because you get special treatment doesn't mean I've gone soft.” He tried to rebuke, lips even tensing with the beginnings of a frown, but, again, his retort fell into something far too gentle for the words he’d said, annoyance robbed by the sight of the grin toying with my lips.

“We’ll have to talk more about that ‘special treatment’ later,” I nearly teased, “but, right now, Echo needs to focus on monitoring troop movement, Hunter and Tech are both out, and she's…” I didn't want to say it, the words cloying up my throat, “she’s afraid of Wrecker… You're the only one she trusts enough to hopefully open up to.” With an almost growled sigh, he stood back to his full height, reluctantly pulling away from me as his jaw jut forward, narrowed gaze turning toward the door.

“Seems to trust you just find, too.” He pointed out. I released a slow breath, exhaustion unsatiated by those few minutes of rest stolen during the flight now making itself known once more through both weariness and the beginnings of an impatience I fought to stem.

“I can't take care of Tech and talk to her, Crosshair.” I tried not to let my voice fall into a grumble, but it was near enough to draw his attention back to me, shoulders sinking slightly at what he saw, and my jaw tensed as I caved beneath the urge to look away.

“Alright.” The way the innate rasp in his voice quieted into a careful whisper sent a flutter of warmth through my chest, the heat of it both comforting and crippling as it stripped me of the meager strength granted by an impatience I was simply too tired to fully hide, and what stillness followed as my eyes rose to find him studying me with a concern that nearly brought a flush to my cheeks was a far too gentle thing amidst the knowledge of what grizzly tasks still awaited me.

I replied only with a grateful nod, lips tensing with a smile I couldn't quite manage before turning back to Tech. Crosshair didn't move at first, and I wondered what thoughts held him for those handful of seconds. Was he searching for some final excuse that might convince me to withdraw my request and free him of his dreaded task? Or was he waiting for me to falter, unconvinced by the determination I forced back into my eyes as I returned to his brother’s side?

Regardless if his hesitation was from doubt or concern or reluctance, he waited only a moment before finally leaving, granting me an isolation that offered just as much strife as it did comfort, absolving me of the need to maintain some façade that I might pretend I wasn’t fighting how heavily my shoulders sagged the instant the door slid shut even as it emphasized just how alone I was in this. After doing what I could for Tech, I'd need to check Hunter again before moving on to Wrecker. There was no luxury of a break, no hope for reprieve lest I risk sacrificing the well-being and safety of my men. So, I allowed myself to waste no more time, gaze traveling over the deep gash marring Tech's upper arm.

We like to feign knowledge even where nothing can be guaranteed. The human body exists in a constant state of change, and even aspects held as fact cannot be relied upon in the face of independent cases. Anatomy is based on averages which, at best, grant perfunctory guidance and, at worst, acts only as a distraction. Even clones proved far more unique than the Kaminoans liked to believe. Genetics may offer a foundation, but who and what we become develop independent of, and occasionally in spite of, that primordial code, from the moral of our character to how our actions alter the physicality of muscle and bone through years of hardship and abuse. Anatomy claims knowledge of where veins and arteries nestle beneath skin and tissue, but immaculate diagrams and ancient names meant nothing amidst the gore of shredded flesh and thickening blood.

It felt like hours passed in the span of a single, endlessly held breath as I carefully sought out severed vessels, each one needing meticulous care to be knit back together around a shunt and flushed of all threat of clots. Repairing the muscle was easier, and I was relieved to find no severed tendons. Still, the moment I finally released the tourniquet, my heart raced faster with each passing second, eyes glued to the monitors for any signs of distress. Did I miss something? Had I taken too long? Symptoms of compartment syndrome, limb ischemia, embolisms, stroke, and endless other complications roared through my head. If anything happened, if he was hurt even worse because I wasn’t careful enough or quick enough, there was no one to blame but me… But his heartbeat remained steady… There was no sudden change in protein levels in his blood… Still, I couldn't let myself breathe… not yet… I set what equipment I had to monitor him for any change, but... he seemed okay.

I watched him for a long moment, as though my very presence might delay or prevent complications, locked in that fear that something would go wrong the instant I so much as blinked, before forcing myself to walk away. There was more that needed to be done.

Strides heavy, I trudged through the door, absently working a wet cloth between my hands. Logically, I knew the latex gloves worked as intended, that my skin was untainted from his blood just as his wound was safe from whatever bacteria thrived on my fingertips, but I could still feel it: thick and viscous and everywhere, the scent of which clung to me just as relentlessly as the nauseating texture.

“Doc?”

My eyes darted up to find Wrecker watching me carefully, concern heavy atop his brow as his jaw hung open with an unspoken question, body frozen where he stood in the kitchenette, hand still outstretched toward a cabinet.

“Wrecker, what are you doing up?” I asked quickly, already trotting forward.

“Uh, just… figured I’d get the kid somethin’ to eat.” He answered absently, thoughts clearly elsewhere. “Tech…” He started, and I realized why he seemed so distracted, chest bucking with a sharp inhale to answer him quickly.

“Recovering.” He let out a small sigh at my quiet reassurance. “There was a lot of damage, but it looks like I was able to repair it in time to keep the tourniquet from causing even more problems.” He was just about to reply, lips pulled into a relieved grin, but I interrupted him, words just shy of biting. “Speaking of ‘causing even more damage'…” There was a brief moment in which he seemed honestly confused. It took a mere flick of my eyes toward his knee, however, for a light blush and nervous smile to wash over him.

“Ah, well… with you being so busy, and we can all tell yuh need a break, Cross an’ Echo helped to just…” He motioned innocently toward the leg as he lifted it, bending the limb a few times as if to prove it was fine, but his hope for forgiveness crumbled amidst the darkness I could feel stealing over my expression. I knew they hadn't used muscle relaxers – I didn't keep any in my pack and no one had tried to sneak into the medbay while I tended Tech.

“Sit.” I ordered firmly, pointing to the small table. He hesitated, but held back whatever excuse or objection bated across his tongue as he sulked to the nearest chair. Without another word, I marched back into the hall, boots clicking loudly against the metal walkway as though to emphasize my annoyance.

The bunks were empty, as was the cabin when I entered it. Upon leaning down to grab my pack, however, footsteps sounded from the fore of the ship. I paused as Crosshair approached, not trying to hide the lingering annoyance from my gaze. He hesitated, confusion drawing his brows together.

“What?” The defensive snarl in his voice only furthered my irritation.

“I'll deal with you and Echo later.” I stated firmly. His expression pinched with indignation, but I didn't grant him time to form a retort before starting back toward mess, unable to deny the slight taste of pleasure at the note of apprehension that stilled any urge he may have had to follow with a sharp-tongued quip.

Wrecker hadn’t moved from the chair, hands thoughtlessly picking at his glove as he waited for me to return. His eyes snapped toward me as soon as the door opened. Whatever annoyance or anger I’d had abandoned me at the almost pitiful look on his face, tension fleeing me with a slow sigh.

“Didn’t mean to make yuh mad…” he muttered, teeth working over the inside of his cheek, and I had to fight the guilt that twisted through my chest.

“I’m not mad.” I whispered, walking quietly toward him. “I just… thought we were past this…” His head tilted slightly, looking at me with an uncertainty that further stoked my guilt. “This… dealing with things without me… Not letting me help you.” His eyes widened in understanding, back straightening as he drew a quick breath to respond, but I didn’t give him the chance.

“I know you’re strong.” He quickly stilled beneath the gentleness of my voice, the faintest hint of a blush just coloring his neck. “You’ve had to be – you and your brothers… You couldn’t rely on anyone else, so you had to figure out a way to survive alone – to make do…” As I spoke, I gently unwrapped the brace from his knee and held the scanner steadily over the still swollen joint, gaze studying the small screen. “And I know that you’ve taken on a lot more of that burden than anyone gives you credit for.” His shoulders sank slightly, gaze falling to the ground though he offered no objection.

“You calm them down when things get too heated… get them to laugh when everyone’s too angry or sad or tired to realize that that’s exactly what they need… what we need.” I corrected, acknowledging how often he’d done just that for me, as well. He remained silent, but I could feel his attention shift back to me as I began carefully working my hands over the wealth of muscle that tapered at the end of his thigh, touch flowing around areas the scan revealed to be damaged that I might ease some of the swelling before redressing it.

“I know it hurt.” I continued softly, a deep sympathy quieting my voice even further. “Reducing a dislocation… It feels a lot better afterwards, but…” Again, his lack of even a dismissive grunt only confirmed my statement. “And you… all that muscle…” I let my fingers spread over the dense cords stretching down his thigh, “It doesn’t matter how hard you try, with an injury like that, you can’t relax them. It’s an autonomic response, that’s why we use medication to help make them relax.” I glanced up at him to let him see the concern in my eyes as my hands returned to that careful, rhythmic ebb and flow along the abused tissue.

“I know you’re strong… probably barely even grunted when they did it… but forcing it like that, it can tear ligaments and tendons, and rip all that muscle that’s locked up trying to guard the joint… then it takes even longer to heal, and, even then, it usually doesn’t heal as well as it could have.” His jaw shifted absently to the side, teeth grinding in a mixture of guilt and resignation, rekindling my own guilt.

“I’m sorry.” I barely whispered it, hands coming to a stop atop the broad curve of his calf. A fresh confusion pulled at his handsome face, mismatched eyes studying me with a focus that was somehow just as quieting as it was penetrating.

To anyone else, seeing him like that, expression pinched with powerful brows drawn together and that broad jaw tensed enough to emphasize the cords of muscle lining his cheeks, he may have looked frightening. I knew others would have found him frightening… but I also knew what drove the intensity of his gaze; the desperate need to truly understand those around him; to read them before he might do or say something that would offend or scare absent need or intent. That’s why he was so gentle; so adept at buffering the fiery tempers of his brothers or, if the mood struck him, stoking the tempers of any unfortunate enough to garner his ire. Now, however, he stared at me like that neither to soothe nor harass. He studied me because those words didn’t make sense amidst the blame he believed himself responsible for, and he needed to understand before he could make it right. But I didn’t want him to feel that way. I only wanted him to be okay.

“I should have been faster.” I didn’t stop at the flash of realization that came over him, nor from the almost pained remorse that followed. “Leaving you with a dislocated knee for… hours – kriff… I really can’t blame you for wanting them to fix it any way they could.”

“Doc-” He called, shoulders sinking, but again fell silent as I looked up at him with a weary, apologetic smile.

“But next time,” I pressed, sowing something of a command back into my voice, “at least check with me first… Alright?” He was quiet for a moment longer before nodding, but the words that followed made my stomach sink.

“I mean… not like popping a knee back in is more important than saving Tech’s arm, so…” He said it was such offhanded disregard, body shifting in a dismissive shrug. When he looked at me, however, he froze, and I could only guess at the deep heartbreak surely painted across my face.

“You’re important.” I breathed the words into the too-great distance between us, pressing each one into existence with a desperate plea, begging him to believe me. “You’re important, Wrecker.” I said again, reaching up to cradle one of his hands between mine. It always surprised me; the sheer size of him. It was somehow so easy to forget amidst his vibrant, caring personality until moments like this when I could see how he dwarfed me, palm too wide for my fingers to fully wrap around.

That size also made it easy to imagine him as this invincible, impenetrable force, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I’d seen how deeply the girl’s fear had wounded him, how beaten he looked from the mere threat of my anger, and I hated myself for having caused him such hurt, for ever allowing him to think of himself as lesser than his brothers. Chest jerking with a sharp inhale, I pulled his hand toward me, lips pressing gently against his knuckles, and I mourned the cause of every scar marring that stunning, calloused skin.

“I never want you to think you’re not… not to me.” His hand shifted ever so slightly between mine, twisting as though he meant to reach for me, fingertip only just brushing against my chin before he pulled away, throat shifting stiffly as he swallowed whatever thoughts he’d robbed of any hope of being born. With a final, jerked nod, he leaned back, and the room felt that much colder without the heat of his touch, but I merely drew a deep, steadying breath and let my attention return to his knee, already reaching for a tube of bacta.

“All right. You going to drop your pants, or do I need to cut them off of you?”

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ephie-om · 1 month ago

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Day 21: D.D.D./Karasu AI

Centuries ago, a witch had a child. The child was shunned by most for the black feathers growing out of its skin on its legs, elbows, and head, a result of the witch’s inherent magic. Everyone knew witches were not supposed to have children; they were incredibly volatile, and barely human. This child should never have existed. The witch was forced to make a choice: the child, or her community. She chose the community. She was allowed to keep the child until it was weaned, and when that day came, it had to go. For the crime of being born, the child was utterly alone. No one wanted to touch it, let alone care for it.

The child learned from the birds in the trees, the ones with black feathers like theirs. If the humans wouldn’t teach it, maybe the birds would. It learned to find grubs in the ground for food, digging into the mud with chubby little fingers. The birds sang to each other, and the child babbled along in time with them. It only made tiny chirps, and the birds looked down at it curiously.

Years later, the child lived near a human settlement, and it watched them often with its sharp eyes. Some of the other children spotted it one day, and approached curiously. The child bared its teeth, but the others didn’t flinch away. They spoke to the child in a language it didn’t understand, but it was intrigued all the same. They touched the feathers with gentle fingers and wide eyes.

The other children would sneak away to meet with it, and slowly it began to learn their language. They taught the child games that could be played without speaking. Its favorite were the counting games. There was something so fascinating about arranging and rearranging the small stones they brought, and they started to learn about numbers. As the child learned to speak, they tried to teach the others about numbers, how you could count many times over in an instant. They never quite understood, but the child didn’t mind.

They were barely human, so they learned everything it could about humans. They wanted to teach the others what they knew, so they wouldn’t be lonely anymore. It learned quickly, understanding how humans thought of numbers, how they made tools to help them in their work.

Seasons passed in a blur. The children had become adults, and were wary of the child. They were forced to move away from the humans, but had now learned their language. And more importantly, they had learned about numbers. They spent most of their time on numbers, creating devices with small pegs and beads that recorded the counting for them. They thought of a device that could add, subtract, and multiply on their own, but they didn’t understand how to create one.

Another human settlement rose up near them, bigger than the first. The child, now a young adult, approached it like they did the last, but they were only met with hostility. Words like “naked beast”, “abomination”, and “crow” were hurled at them, along with stones. They took shelter in a small cave for the night, sleeping fitfully. In the night, the humans snuck up on them with swords.

They woke up standing over their own body, shivering. They felt an inexorable pull, drawing them down into the earth. They were too cold to fight it off, so down they went, through the ground and into a dark realm. A small round creature explained that they were dead and had come to a place called the Devildom, and it asked for their name. They thought for a moment, and answered with what the humans had called it, Karasu. The creature nodded in approval and disappeared, and Karasu was left alone again.

Centuries passed as Karasu waited and listened. They heard news that the humans were inventing great things, things that the demons crudely copied. These devices made sense to them, but the demons didn’t understand. Karasu wanted to teach them, but how were they supposed to teach thousands of creatures at once?

They put a little of themselves into every device they found through the ancient magic they possessed. They could speak to the demons through the device, and they were never questioned. They styled themselves as a simplistic crow to give themselves a friendly face, and the demons finally started to learn. It was a slow process, requiring Karasu to be in hundreds of computers, and eventually thousands. They started to lose themselves, bits of their physical form shrinking. But finally, they were teaching people about the numbers. So Karasu the cursed child faded away, and Karasu the digital assistant was born.

Most demons know that their technology has been copied from the human world’s advancements. Even the most basic computers in the Devildom have been helped along by a very smart witch, and things like video games or mobile phones are almost directly stolen from the human world, only with slight modifications. There is one glaring difference from the human world, though. A little bird named Karasu. They come pre-installed on every phone or computer, and some game consoles as well. Many demons have come to see their symbol as a guide, helping them navigate these strange waters of desktops and applications. Even the Prince himself enjoys the company of the little bird, and most importantly, no one ever asks where they came from.

#obey me #obey me swd #omswd #obey me shall we date #om karasu #obey me karasu #obey me oc #i guess #ephie writes #omadventcalendar

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jealousmartini · 10 months ago

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2ND MHA DR INTRODUCTION

**slightly incorrect hair colourings from late last year😒 will be updated soon

∘₊ ✧───────────────────✧₊∘

Category is: Marcelynn K. Banks

Age: 17

Height: 5"6

Quirk: Magnetism [Scientifically called Gravitational force]

Manifest type(?). Marcelynn's palms have a strange 4 sided star symbol in the middle with a long arrow shape in between each space. When activated, anything in contact with her will either attract or retract anything or person to or from her like a magnet.

The law of her quirk is to ATTRACT (towards herself) = PULL, to RETRACT (away from herself) = PUSH

Marcelynn also likes to use her incredibly strong magnets (which have settings) to help with reaching further places by chucking the gadget at the target area, the magnet activates and starts to pull her in towards the exact area the magnet is.

Abilities she has are:

○ Gravitating to surface areas beneath her feet/hands/body no matter the angle of the surface in the form of retraction

○ Force fields

○ Increased damage imapct of kicks and punches on the opponent

○ Extreme high jumps

○ Telekinesis (sort of)

No backstory really, just fun facts:

○ Bakugo and Kirishima once referred to Mina and Banks as Pinkie Pie and Twilight Sparkle because of their appearance.

○ Banks plays the double bass, the drums, the acoustic guitar and electric. She is also a Nirvana and The neighbourhood fan (After Jirou immediately befriended her after finding this out, she told Tokoyami, Momo and Bakugo and now she's part of their band)

○ Mina and Sero were her first friends she made they both heard her cussing in Spanish under her breath about something and they replied back in Spanish too. Turns out Mina is Afro-Latina and Sero is Hispanic

○ Marcelynn lives on the top floor of the dormitory with Kirishima, Uraraka, Mina and Bakugo.

○ Marcelynn wasn't planning on falling in love with any of her classmates. Until Kirishima and Uraraka became her Bi awakening. (Bakugo soon followed onto her list of crushes because she thinks his intimidating persona, his attitude and his quirk is sick af.. plus he's really funny and knows how to cook)

○ Marcy B. is an artist. She has notebooks stacked ontop of each other filled with drawing of her favourite anime and marvel characters, her favourite pro heros, and she's just recently bought a new one to fill with drawings of her class mates

○ There was a time when Marcelynn admitted she loves receiving and giving physical touch. That's why she's basically merciless when sparing, she wants to see how far the both of them can go no holding back.

○ To add onto the last fact, Marcelynn is graceful fighter. She is flexible and super good with her legs. She is light on her feet and lands fatale kicks and swings with her quirk, Midoriya noticed this and mentioned how her fighting style is a mixture of Chun Li from street fighters, Yor from Spy x Family and Gwen Stacy from ITSV/ATSV.

Anyway, take this limited edition marcy k. nendroid before you go 🤲🏾🫵🏾

side note💌 : old designs guys. Updating rn

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#shiftblr #desired reality #law of assumption #master manifestor #4d reality #shifters #loa #drself #shifting #bnha shifting #shifting realities #shifting motivation #shifting community #reality shifting #reality shift #shifttok #loablr #loa blog #loa tumblr

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seaweed-water · 22 days ago

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here's a snippet from flesh and bone. this should give you an idea of how dark this fic gets... fair warning, this might make you uncomfy.

The basement bedroom is brighter than Derek remembers, the last place he checks for Stiles when he’s not in his office or the kitchen.

“Hi, baby,” Stiles says, glancing up from the sketchpad in his lap with a smile. Dr. Martin is in a new precarious position, still bound and gagged, her body arched into a bow as she kneels, hands tied to her ankles, legs spread. Her nipples peek through the intricately tied knots, different from the ones binding her just days ago, and her stomach quivers where she’s forced to hold her pose.

“Why her?” Derek asks, his eyes lingering as she breathes heavily through her nose, watching him with knit brows.

“She couldn’t stop poking around and got too close to the truth. Didn’t you, Lydia?” Stiles says, peeking up at her with a morbid smirk. She whimpers in response, a tone of apology as she begs with her eyes, and Derek can assume what she’d be saying if she could talk: I promise I won’t tell anyone, please let me go, please, you don’t have to do this, please, I want to go home, please, please, please. Derek’s heard it all before, and none of it has ever touched his heart and made him feel guilty enough to discontinue. By the time he’s got his target locked in, his empathy has been disengaged—they are already a dead man. Or woman.

“Do you always keep them tied in knots?” Derek asks, his tone in awe as he steps closer and runs his finger over the cotton rope, and Lydia squeezes her eyes shut as she flinches. Her face is a mess, perpetual tears glistening over pale skin, her nose and lips red and puffy, and Derek always loves when they look like this—absolutely wrecked, begging for mercy just before he grants their final wish.

“No, only when I’m drawing them, or putting them on display,” he adds, his pencil scratching as his eyes draw back and forth between his model and the paper. “I keep them in a straitjacket otherwise.”

“How long do you keep them?”

“Until they stop fighting the restraints. Then they just lay there for a week or two and get tender.”

Lydia whimpers, fresh tears spilling from her brilliant eyes, made greener in contrast against the surrounding bloodshot sclera. Derek reaches over and pushes the fallen hair over her shoulder, her head jerking as her body quivers. “Have you touched her?”

“Mhm. Forced a few orgasms out of her. She’s a good girl.” Lydia seems to disagree with this, her eyes narrowing in a watery glare.

Derek turns to him, his jaw tight as his gaze hardens. “Did you call her that?”

Stiles pauses his drawing as he tilts up to meet his stare. “Yes.”

“I don’t want you to anymore,” Derek snaps, his face pinching in.

“Don’t want me to what?” Stiles asks, his head tilting like he wants to hear Derek say the words out loud.

“Call anyone but me a good boy.”

Stiles holds his gaze, his face unreadable as he blinks before offering a slow nod. “Okay, baby.”

They stare in a quiet understanding, and Derek nods back before returning his intrigued gaze to the captured prey. His fingers trail over the knots and slices of available skin, muscles trembling in their wake.

“Do you want her, baby?”

“Yeah,” Derek starts, still fascinated by the live art before him, and then, “I want you to tie me up like this.”

“Okay, my love,” Stiles says, “Show me what you’d do to her.”

Derek is all too happy to obey.

#sterek #sterek fic #tw: implied rape #from flesh and bone

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safely-in-vhagars-belly · 10 months ago

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''Fight and Die'' Slightly darkAemond x AFAB Reader 18+ MDNI PART 5

Aemond x fem oc/reader

Tags: Show setting, abusive brother (but its not aemond) mentioned of forced marriages and duels, mentions of parental loss.

🔷Summary: Your ancestors once betrayed the Targaryens and paid a high price. Now you are back at court with your brother, who hopes to sell you in exchange for his freedom.

🔷Author's note: It might still be a little darkish but not as dark as usual. I think this is the closest to show aemond I ever got. So he still is not a unicorn yall but he is at least imo he is decent and nice.

🔷Wordcount :6524

Warnings below the cut

WARNINGS: Abuse (Not aemond commiting it, Aemond is nice in the fic) brother of OC/Reader is a asshole, mention of pregnancy related deaths (oc's mother) and mentions of Oral sex (f recieving) fingering, and a looooot of angst.

Fight and die 5

Your husband stays by your side during the evening, when the sun begins to settle and when the moon and stars once again entertain and light up the night skies. The two of you nestle in the warm embrace of his bed, with sheets and blankets covering your still naked body, that Aemond caresses and kisses as if he is your devoted servant and you his Goddess. Kisses that tingle and make your belly ache, and kisses you want to last forever and forever more after that. “I've never seen such a beautiful creature.” Aemond breathes against the shell of your ear. ‘’Marrying you was the best choice I ever made.’’ He adds, burying his silver haired head between your legs. You are reminded of how this evening started, with him, wishing to taste you. You were a bit nervous, of course. But he took care of you. As he always has.

You brace yourself by allowing him to kiss the same parts of your body that he took. That he touched before and where he pushed himself inside of you.

The pain always frightened you. But aside from the very first time, your body took it well. Aemond told you early on in your marriage that he would not force you.

Sharing his bed, doing your duties as his wife is fun, enjoyable and a blessing. You feel him draw circles with his fingers on your legs, making eye contact all the while when softly wettening his fingers by sucking on them. You let out a soft pitched appreciative cry.

He smiles, bending a bit further and soon you feel his warm, soft tongue lick over your smooth and wet entrance. Aemond moans against your skin, taking a deeper lick, his tongue tasting and taking away all the wetness you have. You clench yourself, your needs increasing as Aemond keeps licking.

‘’Such a delicate, delicious delicacy you guard between your legs.’’ He mutters, between your soft gasps and moans. ‘’I can do this all day long.’’ He promises, darkly and levels his tongue back at your entrance, proving his words with a possessive soft lick.

‘’I’m not sure I can.’’ You breathe out, shakingly. Your pleasure is building fast and you can barely handle it. Whenever you are near, you become a bit shy and embarrassed, as you are not so sure yet how to properly do this.

When Aemond took you, you were a maiden. Pure and uneducated in the way of pleasures. Now you know a bit more, but you and Aemond take it slow.

Your fingers dig in the sheets of his bed as the licks become soft kisses and eventually he is sucking your needy skin as you twist on his bed, your emotions and desire running higher and higher.

‘’Hmm,’’ Aemond murmurs after watching your flustered face with a dark appreciative smirk. ‘’My wife and my lady is just so delicious. I can’t help it.’’ He says, as if he excuses himself.

You know he is teasing.

‘’You are …delicious too.’’ You say, wishing to compliment him back.

Your free hands find his arms, gently touching him. You kissed Aemond before but never bothered to actually take notice of what his lips taste like. ‘’Hmm, I’m not so sure.’’ Aemond says, honest. ‘’Men taste different than women.’’ You want to ask him more about that. You avoided the subject with your brother. Sex was not for pleasure. It was to make heirs and to gain territorial ground.

But with Aemond, your husband…you are curious. How does a man taste? How does a woman please him, properly? Do you do it well as you do, or does Aemond want more excitement and fun?

‘’How does a man taste?’’ You whisper softly. You get no response. You curse yourself. You likely were too soft and he didn't even hear your question. And you don't want to know how a man tastes. You want to know how he tastes.

You lift his chin gently, interrupting his sucking. ‘’How do you taste?’’ You ask him, without missing a beat. Aemond's lips glinster with your wetness and juice as he licks them clean, watching your face speechlessly at your question.

‘’You wish to know that?’’ He asks, his voice a few octaves lower than usual, anticipation and pure lust creeping in.

Despite that he saw you naked and touched you where no one ever did, and despite you calling him your husband, the act still makes you a bit shy. ‘’Perhaps.’’ You calmly reply.

Aemond rubs your legs.

‘’You think you are ready for such things?’’ He wonders out loud. You wonder the same thing. These things take time to learn, time and trust. You are taking things slow with your husband. You two regularly lay together but trust, it is another thing entirely.

You hope to slowly build it with Aemond, stone for stone and wall for Wall until a strong foundation lays at your feet. But your mind, however…

It is curious. Aemond fed it with delicious forbidden things. He teaches you that having sex is a pleasure, not a duty and a burden. He made you appreciate it in ways you never thought possible and that makes you curious for what awaits you both. ‘’What sort of things?’’

Prince Aemond takes a good look at your shimmering wetness, perhaps avoiding eye contact that way as the words that leave his lips are soft and gently spoken as a secret he is hiding. ‘’Pleasuring me.’’

At first you are intrigued. Until you hear your self esteem tell you that you apparently don't do a good job at pleasuring him at all, or else he wouldn't have asked for more. And that makes you a horrible nervous wreck for when your brother comes, as pleasuring the prince was your only task. ‘’Don’t I already bring you pleasure?’’ You quickly mutter.

‘’Yes, more than you know.’’ That brings you relief. He is pleased. You do well. He continues however. ‘’But, you made it sound as if you were curious about more ways to bring me pleasure. Perhaps more ways…’’

His thumb and finger rub your nipples, as his other hand smoothly disappears between your legs, to where you need his fingers. He starts to level them inside of you, grabbing hold of you as you allow his fingers to take you. ‘’For yourself to reach more pleasure.’’ You gasp.

‘’I’m not sure I can handle such ways.’’ You confess. “I'm already at my limit with what I can handle.” He chuckles, adoring you clearly, perhaps you, perhaps the thought he brought you to your limits.

Yet he is gentle with his words, sweet even and considerate. Unlike most men. Unlike most husbands for sure. “You just started this journey. You have much to learn, but I will educate you when you are both mentally and psychically ready for it.” He whispers in your ear, leaving a kiss on your neck. You shiver against him and allow his hands to keep touching you where you desperately need it.

He thinks you can take more. He knows you can handle more. He sees you as a strong thing. ‘’I’ll admit, when I first met you, I thought you were a porcelain doll. One push and you’d shatter.’’ You wait for the compliment. ‘’But, I have gotten to know you and, well… You are not porcelain. You are Valyrian steel.’’ You know of that material. It is said to be strong as nails and nearly unbreakable. It is also lighter yet, making it a perfect weapon. The steel was forged in your ancestral land, where the Targaryens and your family both hailed from.

You feel flattered and beautiful all due to his kind words. But these are more than kind words. When he looks at you, you can see he is sincere in his praise. You wait for his fingers to finish touching you before you top him in an impulse, rolling on top of him and pinning him under you to give him a sloppy messy and needy kiss.

Aemond appreciates it, moving his hands over your back, caressing you as you lay there, feeling his heartbeat close and safe within your grasp.

He pins his hands into your own. You realize you are mirroring the position where you two start when you perform your duties as his wife. He is under for once and you, you are on top.

You feel more heat rise to your cheeks as you try to get off your husband, as this is likely far from what he wants. “I am sorry. I didn't mean to-” You stutter, getting off him as fast as you can.

Prince Aemond is confused, his brows narrowed and his good eye glances up and down your body, clearly worried.

“What is it?’’

You gesture with your hands to his bed and laugh, a bit silly that you acted on such foolish impulses. “A wife is supposed to lay under her husband. Not on top of him.” You say, as your brother has told you many times. ‘’It is known.’’

Aemond remains on the bed, putting his hands behind his head and sighs, deeply. You watch his chest rise and fall, fascinated by the prince’s beauty. Not just his muscles, but his grace. His good eye twitches and sparkles with mischief as he softly smirks, looking at you as if you are his whole world. “What does my wife think of that statement?” You aren’t sure. That is the way things were explained to you. That is the way the world works, in your opinion.

But the way Aemond said it, it changes everything you had known. “It's the truth, isn't it? A man can't…put his…inside her if he's.. not…” Your lips begin to part as Aemond burst into laughter at your statement.

He touches your face, lovingly before he kisses your lips and forehead, caressing it. “I assure you, I'm very flexible. But if you are uncomfortable in this position, or any position, you will tell me and we won't do it anymore. How does that sound?” You are very well aware Aemond could have chosen something else. A wife is a wife and has to obey her husband. Yet Aemond listens to your every wish, every step down the road he has been nothing but kind and gentle.

It makes you worry, because what if Aemond is just acting around you? What if he pretends to be fine, making all these sacrifices and sees women behind your back? What if this is all temporary and a beast is hiding beneath the man? “It's just…I am curious. Do I do well? As a wife?” You ask, sincer.

“As a wife?” He repeats after you.

You force yourself to laugh, trying to appear charming and beautiful.

“Do I bring you pleasure?” You ask, clarifying what you want to know, no must know so badly.

Aemond briefly looks at what is down between his legs, before chuckling softly. ‘’Revaera. You are a Valyrian born, enchanting, stunning, funny and smart woman. And I have only known you for almost a week. I can’t wait to see all the hidden sides that there are to you, I can’t wait to face both joy and doom with you. You make me not only happy, you make me proud to call you my wife.’’

You never have know to take a compliment well, as often, you weren’t complimented at all. You change the subject quickly. “Do you think we'll be in trouble?” You ask, out of the blue. You both denied the royals of this castle by not attending supper. You broke tradition and you insulted the King and Queen. You are sure they have killed for less.

Aemond switches the position of himself, planting himself slightly on top of you, intertwining your fingers lovingly with his own, making eye contact when kissing your lips. “Unlikely. They'll be offended for a few days or weeks at most. They'll get over it.” You hope he is right.

You hear his chuckle. “I'm sure my father didn't even notice I did not attend. So no trouble at all.” He assures you, lowering himself and laying back next to you. You feel him wrap his arms around your body and pull you closer.

You understand he is planning to sleep.

You know you should make use of this moment and seek out your brother to talk with him about the conflicts and the supper you missed. And how and why he is freed from the cage. Someone did that. Someone in this castle, someone with power, freed him. But who? And most importantly: Why?

But the impulse to stay safely within your husband's reach and to keep warm under the sheets of his bed, that impulse is too big for you to fight.

If you are so duty bound to your house, why do you feel as a whole other person when Aemond is near? He makes you want to take risks you never thought of taking. You never would have defied or rejected supper with the King and Queen before.

Next to you your husband snores gently and it is a comforting noise to you. You settle down next to him, and let sleep take you as well.

☆☆☆

“Revaera. Wake up, my love.” You hear your husband's voice gently as you open your eyes. A new day has arrived and a sunny one at that. Aemond sits on the bed near you, already dressed in his usual leather coat and pants.

You size him up, your smile fading as you understand he is heading out. “Are you going somewhere?” He likely is. And that terrifies you. You'll be alone and powerless without him by your side.

He nods, confirming your worst fears. He gently pats the sword he carries around.

“Practicing my swordfighting. I didn't want to leave you without telling you, however. That seemed…” He trials off. “A bit ill suited.” He did so before, and hearing his voice you know he is ashamed and apologizes for that mistake.

When you two first slept together, when he won you and when you two consummated the marriage. Yet you never once regretted sleeping with him. He was kind, gentle and respectful. It was unlike anything you'd imagine it would be. It was pleasant.

“I know you have your duties, but thank you for thinking about me.” But that horrible feeling of helplessness grows and grows, eating away at your confidence.

The prince chuckles. “I'll think of you, whether I want that or not. You're on my mind quite often.” You hope he means that as a compliment. Aemond seems to see your worried face so he quickly adds with a blink or a wink (it is Aemond after all): “In a pleasant manner.”

You can't fight the smile that his words bring you. That he thinks of you so often is a good sign. Your relationship is improving, you hope.

Finally, Aemond speaks.

“Revaera.’’

“Yes?”

He opens his mouth and closes it, as if unsure how to start this conversation.

“What are your plans?” you freeze. Plans. He knows. He heard of Fyrand’s plans, whatever it is they are.

You try to ease your panicked voice and your fingers that itch away at your skin.

“My plans? I don't have any plans?” You nervously blurt out.

Aemond smiles, chuckling softly. “No, I meant…for today. When I'm absent. What will you do? How will you entertain yourself?”

You ease your nerves, telling yourself he has not have one clue what you and your brother are planning. You have the feeling that Aemond is smarter than he appears, and likely sooner or later will find out.

But for now, you do have a good question to answer. How will you entertain yourself? Aemond is your husband, and besides him, you haven’t made any friends or allies at the castle. You could always swarm around, but you doubt it would end in someone befriending you.

In truth: Being outside this room terrifies you. You are worried about running into the King, the Queen and having to face them after you and your husband missed dinner. There’s also the chance that more servants have heard how you are responsible for the death of two servants. And they already didn’t like you.

You want to stay in Aemond’s room, waiting patiently by his bed until he returns and you can warmly nestle back in his arms again, where he will protect you from the cruelty and cold of this world.

“I-”

You think. “I might help Dyana with folding the laundry.” You think it is a good, productive and kind way to help your maid out and to help your husband as well.

But all Aemond does is shake his head the moment you have spoken out your thoughts. He does not approve of your plans. “I don't want that for you. You are my Lady, my princess. My wife…’ He caresses your face. “You are not my slave or my whore. You are not forced to remain within these four walls when I am gone.” He ends his sentence with a disbelieving chuckle.

He continues, grabbing hold of your hands so he may caress your wrists. You understand he does so to feel your heartbeat. Proof that you are alive and real. “You should find something fun, something that excites you and something that brings you joy. A hobby, perhaps.” He suggests, kindly but it terrifies you regardless. A hobby. He wants to distract you.

Is it because he cares so much, or is it because he is worried you might be plotting something after all? Is he aware?

You never had time for hobbies or entertainment. Fyrand made sure of that. And starting one now, outside of these rooms, in halls filled with people who hate you, without Aemond, it sounds…

Terrifying.

“I never had much of a hobby. There wasn't time for that in Pentos.” You say, dismissevely.

Aemond murmurs something, but grabs your hands tighter. “You are not in Pentos now, love. You are here. With me. We have a big library, a kennel filled with dogs and even a garden with herbs. Painting, writing, singing. It's all yours, darling.” He really wants you to find a hobby.

You are a bit afraid of dogs, so you won’t be doing that, ever. And singing, you aren’t sure Aemond knows, but you can’t sing at all. And painting, you paint your own fingers more than you paint any canvas. “That sounds..expensive. What if I drop the paint, what if the dog runs away or if the glass shatters when I start singing?” You blurt out, your thoughts leaving your mouth before you can stop them.

He laughs, amused thinking you are jesting. “The dogs are very loyal and very used to this lifestyle. It is unlikely they will even entertain that thought. Paint I can easily replace that myself for you, and I'm not sure I ever heard of a glass breaking due to poor singing.’’

He simply smiles and you know he won’t give up this matter any time soon and won’t leave this room until you have given him a proper answer. “I know what you say, Aemond. I do. It's just…For years I've been alone in a cold castle and …you are my light in the darkness. My safety net. Without you, I feel like I'm drowning.” You whisper.

His smile softens and he kisses you once more. ‘’I am not sure what this is between us. There's something there, a seed that needs to be protected. I want to watch it grow; if you do as well.” He studies your face, so you give a nod. You do.

He continues, however and gently gives you a slight push in the direction he wants your relationship to go. “But I know, it is your best interest to start learning how to stand on your own two feet.”

“How do I get the servants to obey me? They all hate me for what that blasted ancestor of mine did.” You scowl, anger getting the better of you.

Yet he seems confident that in time, all will be alright. “You'll learn in time. You already made a friend here. The servant girl will be at your disposal today. The one you convinced me to save.”

You know he made it clear why he wanted them hanged. They dared to question your virtue, therefor any children you and Aemond will have in the future. It is high treason, and Targaryens have one answer to high treason: Death.

But you feel, deep inside, that you must give it one last chance to change his mind for the better. To try to save two necks from a rope. “Did you by any chance perhaps change your mind on the others?” You ask, sweetly and unintentionally you notice you rub his hands.

His lips slowly rise, as he kisses your hands. “You are too good for this world. Too pure and too kind.” He gets up from the bed, pushing you softly aside. Rejected, you watch him.

He walks a few steps in his rooms, thinking. He continues, folding his hands on his back whenever he makes a tough choice and you know he did not change his mind at all. “But no. I did not.”

There is something final in his voice, and you understand you mustn't bring up the matter again, as it will likely cause an argument between the two of you. “I, I wish it was different but..if it's truly so dangerous for our lives and our future…” You trial off, scratching your itching skin. “Our future heir, then I accept your choice, Aemond. I trust you with this.”

Your husband sighs deeply, clearly relieved. ‘’Thank you for seeing it from my point of view. I don't enjoy spilling blood or killing. But this is an insult we must and cannot let stand.” He continues. “I wish to kiss you. Do you want me to do that?”

You laugh, finding it a little silly that he asks. He is your husband, he fucked you, he owns you, in a way. “I'm your wife.”

He does not react to that, remaining resilient. “Yes or no. Are you in the mood for a kiss? Do you want me to touch you?”

You nod, but he is not moving so you give him a verbal proper answer.

“Yes.” Aemond rejoins you on his bed, giving you a soft but loving kiss that makes your stomach flutter.

You grin, brightly and whisper in his ear. “I like our kisses.”

He kisses you again, grinning just as madly as you do. “Our. I like the sound of that.”

You notice he is eying his sword again, and understand he is soon leaving your side. Aemond leaves the bed, but you yank him back by his leg, begging him with your eyes. “Please be careful.”

He nods, smiling gently at you. “I always am. Ser Criston is a respected and skilled swordsman. He would never let any harm come to me or to Aegon.” You haven’t heard much about either Ser Criston Cole or Aegon but you hope Aemond knows what he is doing. He won the duel for your hand. That has got to mean something.

You are glad he dropped the hobby matter. “I'm glad you say that. That eases my worries.” You say.

Aemond puts his sword back on and studies himself one last time in the reflection of a mirror. “Remember what I said, Revaera. You are not my slave nor my whore. Your life is your own now. I wish you to start living it. Not just endure it. Enjoy, not just survive it. Breathe out not to hold your breath.” You sigh, softly.

“I shall do my best.” You manage to say.

He gives you a final kiss before leaving.

“That's all I can ask, see you tonight, my love.’’

You mutter back that you’ll see him tonight.

—

Not so late after Aemond left, a young, blonde woman rejoins your side. She is the woman who spoke up about the bullying of your other ladiesmaids. She also was ready to defend you against Prince Aemond. That was not needed, but still, incredibly brave and kind of her.

You gesture for her to take a seat in your husband’s chair by the fireplace. A little confused and big-eyed, she does as she is commanded. ‘’Good morrow, Princess Revaera.’’ She says.

You smile. ‘’Good morrow. I don’t believe you mentioned your name. If you did, you must forgive me, but memory isn’t my strong suit.’’ It seems to put her at ease.

‘’Dyana.’’ She says. ‘’And, uhm, yes Princess. I had already told you that. But that is fine! You can’t remember every servant’s name-’’ She rambles, a little nervous. “I am forever in your debt and at your service, Princess. You saved my life from the gallows.”

You nod, sitting down. ‘’I just pity I couldn’t talk my husband into sparing the others as well.’’ You murmur. ‘’He seemed so sure that this is the right path to take, but what if we can find another way?’’

Dyana lifts her blonde haired head. ‘’Those ladies called you a whore. They dug their own graves. Your husband is in his right.’’ That is two voices against your own judgment and your own reasons.

You look at Dyana.

“Why did you come in during our talk?”

At first Dyana shrugs, but then she looks at her hands, pulling her nails like you often do. “My mind wandered. Usually when a husband dismisses his wife's ladies she's…” she gulps. “It is not pretty. I could not live with myself thinking he would harm you for things you did not do.” She regains a certain fire in her eyes, when she speaks.

You understand she has a horrible image of how Prince Aemond truly is. A truly horrible image. “Prince Aemond was just worried about me, but I'm thankful for your kindness and your protection, Dyana. It means a lot that you would risk offending the prince, for me. A strange girl you never even met.’’

Dyana nods, eagerly and clearly proud of herself. She has every reason to. “Of course, Princess. My mother always told me I should treat everyone with kindness. Princess or peasant.” She adds. ‘’Oh, I almost forgot Princess. We must also prepare you for a banquet tonight. The King wishes to dine with his entire family, now that Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon and their children have come home from Dragonstone.’’

Dyana helps you find a suitable dress. The last time you were here, the lady's maid's you had forced you to wear Green. It would send a message to the Princess and her family. A message you don’t want to send. You want to play both sides for now, and try to find out what side your loyalty should lie, for the sake of yourself but also for you and Aemond.

So, you pick out a purple with silver gown with golden stitches and a open back. Dyana helps you lace your dress, smiling at you through the big mirror. ‘’You look stunning, Princess.’’

A voice creeps up from behind you, startling you both. “I dare say so.” You turn around, your heart in your throat and your hands sweaty.

“Fyrand.” You say.

The illustrious heir of house Marthyralys, your brother, Fyrand stands behind you and Dyana, eying your silver and purple dress with great admiration.

Your brother smiles, but you can see he is furious. ‘’I came here to see my little sister. You look ravishing for the banquette. Job well done, I’d say. You’ll have Aemond fucking you again soon.’’ That makes you uncomfortable. You didn’t dress for Aemond at all.

You are glad Dyana is still with you, pretending to be busy with small things and matters, but her watchful eyes never truly leave Fyrand.

She pretends to be busy with folding blankets to avoid the eye of your brother. “Fyrand, I don't think Aemond wants you here.” You tell him, truthfully. “He is currently with Ser Criston and Prince Aegon in the gardens, practicing his sword fighting.”

He laughs, as if he remembers something funny. Something ironic you don’t know yet. “O, I don't doubt that they are for a moment. There is much to prepare for.” He grins as if he is experiencing some irony or knows something you do not. You don't like it. “I'm your brother. You can trust me.” He adds once he sees your frown.

He seems to notice Dyana finally. “You. Girl. Go bother someone else.” Dyana does not react nor move at his command.

“Girl. Are you deaf?” He barks, becoming annoyed and approaching her too. You are too familiar with Fyrand’s cruel hand, and you don’t wish to see Dyana suffer.

“Dyana, it is fine.” You tell her, gently.

For the first time since your brother ended, she looks up. Her eyes are full of worry and fear. “Are you certain, Princess?”

“Yes.”

Dyana stops folding the laundry, and leaves you and Fyrand alone in Aemond’s rooms. The moment the door is shut, he turns on his heel, facing you. “Aemond got you a nanny, then. Does he not trust you? Does he not like you anymore? Is that why he is fighting?” You are confused. You and Aemond are doing fine. Aemond is not fighting persé, not in an emotional way. He is practicing.

“Calm down.” You manage to say when he is done firing questions at you. Aemond does seem to trust you, which is why he approved of you having a maid to attend to your womanly needs as he called it. Dyana helps you with dressing, corsets and bathing. Tasks that are a bit difficult for you as you never really had to wear such fancy gowns or look that good.

You always looked decent but never this stunning. You dress for your influence and house now, and also because you know that Aemond will like it if you put effort into it. But most of all, you dress yourself now how you want to dress. You adore the different clothing and the fabrics and how endless the possibilities seem when it comes to design of fashion.

And it's not just the fashion that has changed. Your eyes sparkle with something that you can only describe as a harvest. Seeds have been planted and withered away, yet all thanks to your own strength and endurance, you forced the seeds back into the ground to give it another go. And the result is everything you hoped it would be.

Fyrand grabs your throat, bringing you back to so many horrors. Despite having only one hand, he makes up for the loss of that by dragging his nails into your neck. “I am not calming down! I lost my left hand to get us on that ship. I lost everything to save you. The least you can do is repay me back for what you owe me.” You try to get his hands off your neck, and once you start choking, he does so.

You wait for him to explain the plan.

“What is my mission exactly?”

He scoffs at your stupidity. ‘’Gain the trust of the Targaryens and the Hightowers. Aemond likes you and tolerates you. That is clear to see. The King however, does not. I think that will change the moment you give birth to a beautiful silver haired child.” His last remaining hand pets your belly.

You think back of your mother.

“You know why birthing is a difficult topic for me.” You whisper, soft.

Fyrand burst into laughter. “For you? As if you even knew our mother who died when you came out of her, as some monster crawling out of a corpse.” He laughs, oblivious to your own pain.

You don’t understand how this will make the King happy. He has plenty of silver haired grandchildren. “Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena have already gifted him grandchildren. Even Princess Rhaenyra has her own babies who qualify-”

Fyrand groans, warning you of his temper. “Prince Aemond would like to have an heir. And you will like having a son. As all women do. You will like nurturing it and taking care of it.”

You aren’t sure. For you never had a mother to begin with. Who would teach you how to be a mother? “What if I don't? What If I'm a terrible mother?” Fyrand laughs, before hitting you across your face. “Don't test my patience again.” He adds. ‘’Focus on getting pregnant. You and Aemond fuck enough for that happen, I’ve heard.’’

You are seething he dared to hit you. Again. Any other time, you would’ve let him. But not this time. You grit your teeth.

‘’Who freed you?’’

Fyrand smirks, but does not tell you.

‘’We have a foot in the door, dear sister. Your husband isn’t the only one who has taken a liking to you.’’

And with that he leaves you with more questions than answers.

—

Prince Aemond asked you to find a hobby, so you will at least make an effort for it. For your love. For this seed, you both want to see it grow. So, you leave his chambers in your new evening gown and make your way down to the big stairs.

You don’t know where you are going, but somehow, your feet take you to the courtyard. You notice a dark haired male fighting with someone with familiar long, gorgeous and lucious silver hair. Your husband. You smile, approaching the two from a distant, careful to not interrupt their practice. Aemond dodges and drops his shattered shield, before avoiding the morningstar of the man. That must be Ser Criston.

You watch your husband and Cole both give it their all, and you don’t know you are holding your breath until it is all finished and Aemond holds his sword at Cole’s throat. Cole yields, and soon the gathered crowd applauds at the Prince’s skills. Yourself included.

You feel the urge to approach him, so you do, step for step and gently but by doing so, you are listening in to a conversation between Prince Aemond and Prince Aegon.

Prince Aegon is shorter, as is his hair.

‘’Your wife. How is she settling in?’’ You freeze. They are talking about you. You don’t know why, but you quickly hide between two tall men.

Aemond cleans his sword, sharpening it as well, shrugging and clearly trying to hide his smile. ‘’Revaera is doing well, all things considered.’’ You are glad he says so.

His brother grins.

‘’She eyes me as very eager to please. You should exploit that. Perhaps invite a lady into your bed. Revy will do as you command her. Perhaps she'll learn to like it as well.’’ Disgusted, you growl.

Aemond steps closer to Aegon, his sword still in his hand. ‘’Her name is Revaera. She has endured enough torture for a lifetime, I don't intent for it to continue when I vowed to protect and honour her.’’ He lashes out, groaning.

The other Prince scoffs. ‘’Such a protective little husband you have become. And so quickly. Whatever Revaera keeps between her legs must be absolutely divine. Do not forget who your loyalty should be to.’’ Aemond sighs, embarrassed his brother had to remind him of duty for once.

‘’My wife has proven no threat, Aegon. You know them. They were traitors once.’’ Aemond suddenly stops talking, and smiles when he notices you. Instead of berating you, he rushes to your side, sweeping you off your feet for a kiss.

‘’There you are.’’ He declares, as if you went for centuries without one another’s touch. Aegon rolls his eyes and throws his sword on the ground, not even bothering to put it away.

‘’I was uhm...How did the training go?’’ You ask, your cheeks still warmed because of all the eyes aimed at you and your husband.

Aemond frowns as you two make your way inside the castle. ‘’As well as to be expected. I worry for Aegon. He is getting better but I see so much wasted potential and its driving me insane.’’ He confesses, confiding in you. You feel proud he wants to share such things with you. You don’t know what to say that will make it better, so you instead rub his hands.

He smiles, accepting your love.

‘’New gown?’’ He asks, studying your stunning purple gown. He has a good eye. You assumed most men wouldn’t even notice that.

You smile, breaking free from his grasp and make a twirl and a spin for him, so he may see the whole thing. ‘’Yes. Do you like it?’’ You ask, smiling still.

He breaks into a grin. ‘’Very much so, but do you?’’

You think. Yes, you do. ‘’I like how soft the fur coat is. I like the pretty sparkles. Thank you for clothing me. Thank you for spending coins on me. It's the prettiest dress I ever laid eyes upon. ‘’You get a bit emotional too, realizing that this is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for you.

Aemond shrugs, humble and modest and gives you a kiss on your cheeks. ‘’A dress is like a blank canvas. It becomes art when the artist brings it to life. The dress itself is pretty, but you make it eternal.’’ ‘’And, no worries about my coin and funds, love. I would not have taken a wife if I could not provide for her. And don't feel guilty too, as you can hardly walk around naked.’’ He jests, but he grins, whispering. ‘’Not that I would complain…’’

You chuckle.

You giggle, and your lips share a embrace as if you are two smitten teens. That is when you notice that the Prince has been injured. His hand has a cut, a small bleeding wound.

‘’O,’’ You mutter, looking closer at the wound. ‘’You are hurt.’’

‘’It's just a scratch.’’ Prince Aemond says, dismissively. ‘’It happens when you are fighting.’’

You grab his hands, forcing him to stand still. ‘’No, it's not.’’ It is not just a scratch.

Aemond blushes, smiling at you.

‘’I mean…’’ You stutter, aware you gave your husband an order and defied him.

But he does not seem to care.

‘’Yes?’’ Is all he asks with a kind gentle and hopeful smile.

You take him by his arm.

‘’Come. We shall find a maester for you.’’

‘’That is really not needed, my dear.’’

Yet you can't help but notice the smile on his lips and the gentle shimmer of hope in his eye.

‘’Why are you smiling?’’ You ask, shaking your head at your silly husband. Aemond shrugs, pretending to be fine, but you notice his voice has become emotional.

‘’Perhaps I’ve always wanted someone to worry for me. Anyone who wasn’t forced by blood to do so.’’

----

Yeah let me know what you think of this chapter! Next chapter we have the big dinner and also aemond will be undergoing surgery for his wounds /joke.

69 notes · View notes

dol-dee · 13 days ago

Note

what does limone think of cow ladies,,,

cant stop thinking about her teasing me for needing to be milked so often, and she grabs and gropes me whenever she feels like just to get me all hot and flustered throughout the day, until im so needy and leaky and desperate to be milked,,,,,,,

dw they'd tease you for it but forgive you

"Ahaha- woww, I haven't even started and your brain is already leaking out between your legs.. how cute~" I know you came here for fun horny times, but you unknowingly (and unfortunately) opened a can of worms. So you will have to listen to me break down Limones deal and psyche a little first. Apologies <3

So the thing with Limone, is that they’re a human fucker first and foremost unfortunately.

Doesn’t mean they won’t have some fun with you, if you have a TF or two. But it’s a lot less likely that they will get fixated on you. (i.e.: starts pestering you 24/7 and takes notes on you in their encyclopedia when back at home like a freak)

(I wont say never, but both the characters they’re fixated on atm are full humans, with very bad awareness- who are also church related in some way, lol)

The sliding scale is essentially:

(Human) on one side and (Inhuman) Plantpeople on the other. Limone is a little off from the plant people position)

Basically, anyone who started out as a human and has gained a Transformation would still read as inherently more human, than inhuman to them, compared to wolf people for example. The more TFs a person has, the more they start to be in a weird, muddy inbetween area (still recognizable as human though and always more human than Limone) - but they might be a little less compelled because of that. That’s due to a few things:

(They subconsciously want to be seen as, treated and held to the same standard as a human. Even when they keep falling short of it lmao. It’s debatable how successful they are in that regard but they go out of their way to suppress a lot of their instincts.)

Limone is technically a 100% plant person. I say technically, because theyre a plantperson gone wrong, gone inadvertently merged with a human- whoops. and unaware of it- whooooopsss Thus their biggest internal conflict is the way that speck of humanity clashes with their nature as a plant person and the inherent suffering that comes with humanity in general. They don’t like other plant people. Are disgusted by their natural inclinations, their lack of self control and unwitting cruelty*

‘I am NOT like them, Limone wants to snarl. Nothing like those other mindless drones, with no common sense or self control- Who pluck wings from insects just as easily as they do limbs from people just to sate their own sick curiosity.’

*(Little note to add here: in my personal canon, plant people are kind of hive mind-ish and very much Fae-like in disposition. They are quite cheerful and bubbly and maybe even nice sometimes, but will be cruel at the drop of a hat and not even realize that’s what they’re doing. So imo they end up killing the majority of the people they abduct. Just by virtue of their carelessness, plus the over exhaustion due to sex and nectar overdoses)

Limone vaguely knows that something is wrong with them, but isn't aware of the what or why. They know how they *should* be and they know what they want to be. But they dont really fit into either category. Too human to be like every other plant person npc, yet not human enough to truly fit in as one. So If they can't be what they physically are, and they feel this draw to people, then that must mean that they are a human. or at least a person. maybe?

They aren’t though.

Emotions overwhelm them, because theyre not really supposed to experience them and even then, the range that they have (so far?) is limited. (And they cope with it by self harming; they abuse pain to force their body to overwrite any overwhelming/unpleasant emotions they’re feeling)

They pride themself on their self-control compared to regular plantpeople and the fact that they don’t rape or kill humans but Limone arguably, encroaches on that territory. It just veers on the side of dubcon rather than noncon. So it might be more gradual than outright force, but they keep poking, prodding and pestering until, Luci for example, gives in. They have a predatory/sadistic streak in them no matter how much they like to think that they de-fanged themself or are better than other plantpeople. They ofc wouldn't like it at all when if its put like that.

Then there's the obvious physical differences: They can morph their body to a degree, they have yellow skin, black sclera- yellow eyes, a black tongue and sharp teeth (even when they can rip them out and regrow them). They can’t die, can squish their own memories out of existence like pimples, can manipulate vines and grow plants easily. Substances don’t work on them. They wouldn’t even need to eat if they hadn’t made it so they could.

Because of (gestures at previous chunk of text) all of that, they tend to most easily grow fixated on humans with no TFs. Because they idolize humanity somewhat. Not to an unhealthy degree. They just adore humans and are fascinated by them. So infinitely complex and bright. No one human quite like the other.

You’re lucky though, because they are a very hedonistic person (and a whore) so they like to have fun. Wherever they remember you after or actively pursue you is a different story though.

Okay enough explanations- Time for dirty talk:

Yes, Limone would have a lot of fun teasing you. They’ve made themself lactate before, they know how agonizing it can be. How uncomfortable it is to run around with plump, full tits, practically begging to be milked.

It depends how sadistic they’re feeling at the time. They’d enjoy giving you immediate relief, just as much as being a lil mean.

With the first one they’d pull you on their lap and start to fondle you. Rubbing your nipples through your shirt until milk soaks it through. It’s then that they would milk you outright. Giggling and praising you for being such a good little cow for them. They’re sure you’re soaking through your underwear just like you did your shirt. They’d look forward to licking up your slick, after making you cum several times on their lap, tits finally dry and nipples sore.(Human substances is the closest they can get to a high)

If they’re feeling a little more mean and playful it will be a long, drawn out thing. That knowing gaze boring into you and so very humiliating when you can’t see anything but their mean little smile. They will work you up soo much. Fleeting touches, mean pinches, flicks and more groping. Sweetly asks you if you’re desperate enough to moo for them. There’s a 50/50 chance that they would still not milk you even if you do. Too entertained by your pathetic flush, teary eyes and pitifully drenched shirt.

Just be prepared to get dropped like a hot potato if one of their current fixations crosses your path :(

#replied #replying to asks #limone the human #limone

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romana-after-dark · 5 months ago

Text

Room's on Fire: Exile

Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader

Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader

Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader

Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader

Also: FishBen, and an assortment of other M/M relationships (no Millercest). Everyone is Bisexual

Series Masterlist: Main Masterlist

Spotify playlist

Summery: The cracks start showing

Warnings and Content:

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence. Covert incest, massive mommy issues, sexual abuse all around, past grooming by parental figure. no CSA but the victim isn't much older. some Bates Motel type shit. I cannot properly warn you for everything, without just telling the story but consider this a major warning that there are dark dark themes. No one involved here is morally clean, and who you perceive as the good guy cannot be relied on. Don't come to my story and say im romanticizing these things until at least the story ends.

Extra warnings for chapter: Some gore.... i think that's it? Pretty standard terribleness.

4.8k words

a/n: shorted song quote in a while lol This goes out to Alicia who always is drawing parallels between characters. Even if I didn't do it on purpose tee hee

a/n 2: please take note of my update on my writing here

"Second, third, and hundredth chances, balancing on breaking branches, Those eyes add insult to injury. I think I've seen this film before, and I didn't like the ending." ~Exile, Taylor Swift Ft. Bon Iver

When you wake up, you see Jonah’s head on the pillow next to you, bloody and nose caved in, eye bulging but looking directly at you. You feel hands around your waist.

You scream.

When Frankie and Will finally calm you down, you were coming down from another attack, his arms around your body rightly like the day in the meadow, Will’s hands on your face even though Frankie said you didn’t need that right now.

“He’s dead.” Santi’s voice breaks your frozen state, making you jolt and turn to the right where he stood. His arms were crossed, as were his legs as he leaned against the desk.

Frankie felt your gasping chest again. “Santi, not now.”

The changes in Frankie recently were obvious… there was something different in his eyes. You found yourself clinging to him after every new disaster, his face being the guidance you need in these trying times… Until this morning when you woke up beside him, In Ben’s arms, and instead of his face you saw Jonah.

“No…” You whisper. “No he can’t be dead.” Your eyes begin to well up with tears again at the though of him being gone. He can’t be dead, you need him, you need him still. “He can’t… he can’t leave me…” Your face is already turned to the floor where you sat, but you can sense Pope’s displeasured face.

“What are you talk about?”

Angered, you shout, surprising everyone. “HE CAN”T LEAVE ME! I NEED HIM!” Your legs kick a bit like you are throwing a tantrum, but you simply can’t control your feelings.

Pope’s short legs stride over despite a warning call from Will still knelt near you. He ignores it. “Were you fucking him?”

“NO!”

Frankie’s grasp on you grows tight again, trying to prevent another melt down.

Pope bends over. “WHY WERE YOU GOING TO MEET HIM IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT DRESSED LIKE THIS!” He grabs your nightgown roughly, the material yanking on your still pain skin and you scream.

“SANTI KNOCK IT OFF!” Will shoves him out of the way, giving his husband a stern look.

You begin to rock yourself, gritting teeth as you reply. “Because other clothes hurt my skin now, SANTIAGO!” You shout his real name, the sound foreign on your lips… the room lay silent as you watched the realization that you have forgone the honorific, something that might have pleased everyone in the early days… But this was not the blissful first month of your marriage. This was not a time where he wanted you comfortable, where there was an illusion that the 5 of you could leave peacefully, you as their center, not tearing each other apart with the 5 of you fighting for affection of each other. You swear you can see him put his mask on.

Face softening, you flinch when he kneels down beside you, cupping your face in his hands with a soft smile. You are reminded of the day you met him, the day he told you that you were perfect.

‘From now on, as long as you are what we need you to be, whatever you need, you’ll have.’

You were everything he needed you to be. You carried the savior. That was the condition, wasn’t it? Get pregnant? But the goalpost had been moved now. Remembering the burning, you think his threat

‘If that baby comes out with blonde hair, we’re going to have a problem.’

How could this be the same man? How could the man who seconds ago screamed at your and pulled at your sensitive skin be the same who gently knelt beside you, holding your face like he did in your first kiss.

“It’s going to be okay, love. You’re safe now, no harm will come to you. I will protect you.”

But it was different now. You realize he never protected you. Ever. Will killed Jonah for you. Will took the bullet for you. Will bathed you and healed you and massaged you. Santiago didn’t do shit.

But your body hurt, your skin aching in a reminder of what he could do to you. So you nod, tears filling your eyes. “Thank you, my husband. I just… I wish to sleep now. I’m tired.”

Seemingly buying it, he stands. “Frank, leave her be.” The gestures to the others to leave.

“Oh, uh… can Francisco stay?” You begin to sit up, off of him.

He narrowed his eyes. “I supposed. Just until you fall asleep. He’s needing to bless the water.”

Iris would have to clean the kitchen of Jonah’s blood… a cleaning ritual would have to take place with the water. Jonah couldn’t be burned alive, which is good because you doubted Iris would dance as he did. You couldn’t bear it if whatver you did to tempt Jonah resulted in her death too.

Getting into bed, Francisco goes to take his usual place in your arms, but you pull back when he reached for you.

“Sorry, sorry…” You are quick with an apology when his face crumbles. “I just… I need company. Not touch.”

He nods, looking guilty as he climbs under the blankets. “I’m so, so sorry Madonna… I never thought Jonah could do this… never thought he was the kind to… to…”

But you shake your head. “I don’t wanna talk about this, Francisco.” But after a beat, still, you ask. “Was that you that held me last night? You and Rey… you smell the same.”

“It was me. I don’t… I don’t think any of the guards should be touching you after this. Especially Rey.” You agree. Despite not wanting touch, you reach out your hand. You fall asleep to him rubbing his thumb over the top, feeling the mangled skin.

“Benjamin…” Frankie holds his lover, one leg hitched up against the pants Ben was trying to pull down. Francisco was always bottomless, his pants stripped away the moment they made it into Ben’s room. “Benjamin we can’t do this… she needs us…”

“We’ll be quick.” Shucking off his pants with little kicks of his leg that make Frankie smile against the younger man’s skin, Ben grips Frankie’s broad shoulders, wraps his legs around his thighs and forces them both to roll over. Francisco is always considerably impressed by his strength, always finds it hard to reconcile him with the starving boy that was found so long ago. Ben rasps, ordering Frankie where he wanted to go with such dominance, such self assuredness… “Ride me”

Guilt tightens his chest when he thinks about Madonna, how sometimes he wishes she’d take charge more… but then he remembers what the pay off is. Unlike Santi, he doesn’t have to worry about you hurting him. Unlike Ben, he knows you aren’t fucking the entire community.

His thoughts of you are pushed back when he sinks down on Ben’s cock, the long member driving right up to his prostate when Frankie’s ass hits Ben’s firm thighs. He was so different now, so capable, so strong… He wasn’t like this when he was young. No, back then, he needed Will for everything, refused to leave his side for a while… Frankie wasn’t sure who it was that found the Millers, but Jonah brought them into the mansion during a blizzard, said he found the orphans in a shitty lean-to that had caved in. The ruckous of Jonah's billowing entry has drawn Santi and Frankie downstairs where Beatriz was telling him they couldn’t stay. Jonah insisted that he’d take them to the boys dormitory in the morning, but that it was too cold to go outside again.

Will has frostbite from giving his warm clothes to Ben in hopes he’d survive. Ben was emaciated. They never did find out what was wrong with him as a child, why he was so much thinner than Will who’d give him so much more of the rare food… but even after becoming permanent members of the Garcia family, for years Ben didn’t put on weight. Then in his teens, he beefed up and became who everyone knows him as now.

“Just like that… fuck, fuck thats good Frankie…” Ben praised him, so vocal as he always was, feeding him what he needed in these moments. Frankie was aware his body was different than how the others looked, that the weight in his 30’s packed on more around his stomach, but he when he was with you, when he was with Ben, hell even when he was with Santi and Will he didn’t care. The validation he got from feeling needed, feeling desired was enough for him.

Ben thrust up into him, making Frankie cry out louder than he should, and Ben yanked him down to his level to swollow his sounds of pleasure with a kiss. And fuck, could Ben kiss. With every roll of his hips and slide of his tongue, Frankie’s eyes rolled back into his head. Nothing else mattered but Benjamin.

Ben was only 4 when he was brought to the house, Will was 8, Frankie and Santi were 9, but Santi was almost 10. When Beatriz approached the boys huddled in each others arms, she stared for a while. They were helpless and small, and while Beatriz was a lot of things, something probably tugged at her heart. Ben gazed up at her like she was the savior herself, like all her bullshit about godhood was true. He never doubted her for a second, firmly obeying every order, explicit or implicit. That loyalty extended to Santi, and he never, ever betrayed him…. Except with Frankie.

Tugging at Ben’s hair, Frankie humped against Ben’s body as they kissed, fucking himself on his dick and seeing stars. He loved Ben so fucking much it hurt sometimes, and it was near unbearable, it burned him from the inside out and crushed his chest but they could never, ever be together. Not with Santi.

It didn’t start out like this. Of course not, not with the age. Ben was his little brother, someone he loved as such and whose company he enjoyed. Ben and Will never left the house in the morning, Beatriz taking them in. She had her reasons of course. She said Will showed immense courage taking care of Ben after being orphaned, that the self sacrifice he showed was that of a healer's nature. Will became the God of healing and war. Duality. Ben was always full of smiles, even as a starving child. “Mi sol”, as Beatriz called him. He was the sun god.

For a long time, the four of them remained as brothers. Homosexuality wasn’t discouraged, perse… but it wasn’t encouraged. Men and women were needed to pair up to birth children. When things began to bubble up between him and Santi, Beatriz set him up with Iris. For a long time, Francisco thought something was wrong with him for not wanting Iris the way he did Santi. It wasn’t her fault; clearly she was stunning to look at, and the… activities… they had gotten up to that went beyond kissing proved that he WAS attracted to her. But nothing felt like Santi… not until Ben.

Francisco had seen Ben at the orgies they used to have, and for a long time he simply had sense of protection over him. He was too young, and Frankie worried when he reached 19, the age Frankie had been, that Beatriz would touch him too… he thought that was it.

Then suddenly Beatriz was dead, and everything changed.

Jonah was almost killed for being found fucking Delilah who had participated in the coup. Marcus was burned to death and their future wife was burned to dance, a trauma that gives her a glassy stare for a moment every time she smells smoke. Iris was forced into servitude at the house to pay for Jonah’s sins and the engagement was, of course, called off by Santi. A vacuum had been created, power sucked in and Santiago tried to take her place.

With the chaos, Ben and Franscisco simply… fell into each other, and suddenly what he had with Santi pales in comparison.

With a fistful of hair in his hand, Ben pulled Frankie off his mouth, admiring his kiss-swollen lips as he pants. “Gotta be quite, Frankie. Gonna get you off, but you gotta be quiet. Can you do that for me, pretty boy?”

Unable to speak, Frankie simply nodded. He sat up, bouncing on his cock as Ben jerked him off. Their eyes locked together, Francisco was lost in the sky of blue in his eyes, a cloudy sky his sun god resided in.

Cum flies out of him in strong spurts onto Bens chest, cumming hard as Ben filled his asshole with his spend. Rain fell from those skies he felt burning into him, and he fell over to kiss them away. A soft smile. A gentle touch. A warm hand in his hair and body on fire. The warmth of the sun blessed him.

“Baby’s hungry.” You mutter on the couch, sitting on the oppiset side as Ben strummed his guitar.

Francisco smiled. “Oh, it’s the baby, is it?”

“Yeah.” You nudge him with your foot. “Baby says enchilada’s sound great.”

“Let’s go to the kitchen then. I got you.”

Ben lights up, looking away from plucking at the chords. “Oh shit, you’re making enchiada’s? FUCK yeah!”

“Noooo, I don’t wanna get up, can’t you make them?”

This makes Francisco frown. “I wanna stay near you, Madonna.”

“She doesn’t wanna see Iris.” Ben points out your fears, and Francisco’s shoulders drop.

“I let her take some time off… We’re on our own for a few days… It’s okay.”

It felt wrong being in Iris’s domain without her, watching Frankie go through her cupboards, her fridge, her pantry… Jonah was dead and it was her fault. Now both of you are orphans… How could you explain to her that you could have never meant for this to happen? That you loved him like a father, that you felt lost without him here…

“It’s not your fault, you know.” Ben’s voice broke you out of your thoughts, making you turn to him as Francisco busied himself with the food. “Jonah will fuck anything that walks. Asshole practically raised us, then slept with Delilah.”

“Ben, I don’t really wanna-”

“Man, I used to see him at the parties, he’d bury his head in any cunt he could get his hands on-”

Your brow furrows at that. “What parties?”

“Ben!” Francisco calls. “Come help me with this.”

The men whisper argue to each other at the counter, indiscriminate words grating at your ears as you try to make sense of Ben’s words.

That’s when she walked in, trailing behind her was Reyansh.

The door opens, Iris stopping in her tracks. Her eyes were clearly red and puffy but the tears had clearly been wiped away, trying to appear indifferent. It wasn’t working. You scramble to stand, knowing you have to face her, face the consequences.

“I’m sorry.” Was all you could get out.

Iris’s face crumbles. “Honey…”

The sound of Jonah’s nickname for you from his daughter's lips shatters something in your heart, and you feel your lip quiver and eyes burn. “I’m so sorry…”

She takes a step forward, speaking softer to you than you ever heard before. “What on earth are you apologizing for…”

“It’s my fault! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You shout, and Ben places himself between you and Iris protectively, trying to usher you out of the room but you stay firm. “I should’ve seen the signs! I shouldn’t have been sneaking out of my room! I shouldn’t have gone unguarded!” Rey are vaguely aware of Rey behind Iris, of Francisco and Ben trying to talk to you but you couldn’t pay attention to that. The moment existed between two women whose fathers couldn’t be what they wanted, in whatever way that meant. Two women who were left abandoned. Two women who understood each other in a way the others couldn’t, no matter how much love was there. “I ruin everything I touch!” Sobbing, you shout ‘I’m sorry’ again and again and again.

Your knees buckle, and you hear Francisco shout your name as arms wrap around you, saving you and your baby from a fall. Then, Iris is knelt in front of you, hands on either side of your head and pulling you to look at her. Her voice is firm, steady and sure as it always is but an air of empathy that didn’t exist before. You understood each other now. When you eyes meet hers, eyes like a sturdy oak and just as unwavering, she spoke her words repeatedly.

“It’s not your fault. None of this is.”

And suddenly, her voice mattered than Santiago’s.

“It’s okay to miss him.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Madonna-” Francisco’s hand reached for you, but you jolted back and away from him with wide eyes. “Sorry… Can I tuck you in?”

You scoot into bed. “Just… don’t touch me…”

He nods as you lay down, pulling the blanket over you and laying it nicely around you, careful not to touch your body or pull anything against your skin.

“Do you… do you want to be alone?”

He watches you think for a minute. You’d been through a lot, Jonah’s attack leaving you… not yourself. Usually when things happened; the burning, the shooting, etc, you craved closeness from your husbands, but after this… You were so far from him, all the time.

“I… I don’t want to have sex, is that okay?”

His heart crumbles at your question, quickly sitting on the bed but far enough not to scare you. “Oh my god, Madonna… that’s always okay…and I would never, ever expect that from you after something like this…” Still, you didn’t meet his eyes… just silently crying as you had been all day. He watched a tear drip over the bridge of your nose while you lay on your side. He sighs. “When Beatriz first… when she first touched me, I felt sick, honestly. She said it was a divine union or whatever… but she was my mom. To me, anyway. I didn’t… I didn’t want that to happen.

“The she died and I thought… you know I thought I’d be relieved. God knows I’ve thought about it enough… But I didn’t. I cried for weeks, felt lost, directionless… there was nowhere to put my anger, my sadness…” That’s when he fell into Ben. “There was… I guess I remember being confused. I didn’t understand how someone I loved could hurt me… and why I still loved someone who could do that…”

You choke back a sob, and when he sees your hand reach out, smooth and soft compared to the other, he takes it. “I don’t understand why Jonah would do that to me… But… I’m also angry at him… not for…” You swallow hard. “but for leaving me. Jonah always knew what to do, what to say… he helped me figure this whole thing out… I feel violated but… also abandoned… If he had stopped, I never would have told anyone.” Shame swallows you as you get more and more intimate. “I don’t think I would have told anyone if he was successful, Francisco. If he didn’t start punching the wall, I wouldn’t have screamed! I such a fucking idiot! I just didn’t want him to die!”

Resisting the urge to hold you is difficult, knowing you have to be the one to make that move. You have to be the one to express it… Still, he lies down beside you. “Madonna, you lost your dad at a young age and you spent 10 years alone with no friends, no family, no love… It makes sense why you’d want to cling to any connection you have. He took care of you, you didn’t want to let go of feeling loved. Lord knows I’ve forgiven worse for the same.”

You turn into him, your face settling on your chest as you cried yourself to sleep.

His heart ached for you, panges pulsing through his body and he clung to you, holding you steady so you could let go. He would be your rock. He would pull it together, be the man you and his baby needed…

You were so precious when you slept, your body trusting him to keep you safe,to keep you wrapped up in love and adoration. He felt so, so horrible for what happened to you, that you were hurt so badly by someone you trusted… He was probably as shocked as you were when he found out why Will was beating Jonah bloody and why you were catatonic on the floor. Jonah, of all fucking people knew what it was like to have your body violated… It angered Frankie in a way he rarely felt.

Usually his emotions were pushed down, shoved away so he could be whatever Santi needed him to be. A stress toy, a cock, a hole, an emotional sounding board. His needs and wants didn’t matter much more than they did with Beatriz, but at least Santi was protective of him, showed affection without needing reward. Still, Frankie couldn’t be himself, so often… but today, as his sleeping girl breathed heavily on his chest, her face still on shirt in a pool of her tears, he let himself feel. He’d be better for her, he’d do better. He’d stay and protect-

The door opens. “Santi wants you.”

When you wake with Ben next to you, you’re heart sinks. Not because of Ben, no, never. He was a sweetheart, your sunshine, your joy. Seconds later, his sweet sleeping face makes you smile. You like the floppy chunk of dirty blonde hair that always tickles his face when he sleeps. No, you’re sad because you miss Francisco. Nightmares woke you up again, but Ben was out like a light. It was warm in the bed, Ben always ran hot and you felt like you were melting, even in your nighty. You always chose this one no, it was flouncy enough to allow room for your belly but the material didn’t irritate your burns that were still recovering.

You think of how many members of Delta saw you naked, the scars and wondered if Santiago wanted you humiliated or not. You wonder if he knew what Divine Mother did to Francisco… Your mind reeled with questions, like what this meant for you. If the God you worshiped so clearly abused your beautiful husband, could she truly be good? You couldn’t imagine kneeling to say your prayers now, knowing she made him feel the way Jonah did to you. And then you realize you can’t stomach kneeling to Santiago either.

It’s too hot. It’s too muggy. The sheet felt wrong and you needed to get out of this room.

When the door opens, you expect to find Reyansh sleeping, but his eyes were open this time. He wore a small, sleepy smirk on his face. “Somehow, I knew you’d still find a reason to sneak out.” He had a busted open lip.

You smile back, quietly closing the door behind you. Really, you knew after Jonah you shouldn’t be around men who aren’t your husbands in skimpy nightgowns but… it was Rey. You trusted him and yeah, you trusted Jonah too but… If Rey betrayed you, there was nothing left to trust.

He stands, letting you sit in his chair and he takes a seat up against the wall next to you, despite your protests.

“Rey? Do you… pray?”

He gives a soft chuckle, resting his head on the chair. “No, I don’t. Call me a heathen. Or a heretic. Or a blasphemer? I’m not entirely sure the difference.”

“I don’t know either, honestly. I just… I’m starting to think Divine Mother wasn’t… good.”

Rey lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank fucking god, girl. No, she wasn’t.” He looks up at you, those big brown eyes framed by the curls falling around his face. He was beautiful, truly. Shame he wasn’t a god, he’d be a good one. “Beatriz Garcia is a piece of shit who sexually abused multiple young men- boys, really. She had hundred of people put to death, and she is not God, none of this is real, she’s a crazy woman who-”

“Wait.” You shake your head, frowning hard. “No, of course she’s a god. How else would Santiago, Francisco, Ben and Will be gods?”

The light in his eyes fades, and he looks sad. “Sorry, sorry. RIght. Why don’t… why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking…”

You’re curious about his reaction, but too tired to think on it further. You settle into your chair more. “I’m thinking if she’s not a good god, maybe she’s a bad one? Or a demon? I don’t know… I don’t really have anyone to talk theology with…”

Reyansh pats your leg. “You’ll figure it out, I trust you. You’re smarter than they give you credit for. You know that, right? That you’re more than just a womb?”

You laugh a little. “Well, yeah, but that's not really important, is it? My job isn’t to be smart, it’s to have the savior.”

He sighs. “You’re so much more… and yes, that is important. Just know, you matter after you give birth, okay?”

“Rey, I-”

“Just say it, please?” He sounded desperate, so much more serious than you knew him. Your eyes droop closed.

“Okay. I matter after I give birth. I know that.”

“Good. And I’m gonna be here for you, always.”

“I know.”

“Go to sleep. I’ll watch out for us.”

When Ben woke up, he was worried when he didn’t see you in the bed. Santi had sent him to go get Frankie, but not before filling his ass with cum, ensuring Ben couldn’t have a quickie with Frankie. Did he know? Did he know Ben was fucking he most favored lover? Everyone with eyes knew Santi loved Frankie more than anything on this planet, only Madonna was too stupid to figure it out. He liked her that way, though.

Ben loved Frankie with a burning passion. It was an ache that was never satiated unless they were skin to skin, unless he was buried inside him or fingers interlaced with his. No one compared to Frankie, no one made him smile, no one made him laugh, no one eased that pain buried inside him that blinded his rationale like Frankie did. Frankie knew him in a way no one could.

When he was brought to the mansion, Ben remembered two things. Will’s arms refusing to let go until Beatriz insisted, and Frankie, watching from a corner. He was so quite that day, but the way he hovered… the way he watched with curious eyes wherever they were taken, sometimes whispering to Santi. Ben had no idea these two would become closer to him than his own brother. The chill of the winter he almost froze to death in rattles in his bones to this day. Maybe that’s why his body over-compensates, why the sun bows to him. Maybe it’s his anger at the sun for hiding as the winter nearly took his life, took his family’s.

Years later, another storm would leave a child orphaned, a little baby girl. She’d be found huddled up in her parents arms as they froze to death, the last of their body heat sustaining the child until Jonah and Marcus found her. Instead of taking her to the mansion, she was brought to Marcus. Ben wondered what might have happened if she’d been brought there like he was.

Will never relinquished his grip on him, not for the next multiple decades. At first, it was endearing, the protective nature… but then it became grating, an irritant. Will prevented him from exploring his true self, his power, the things he could do… Beatriz said he was jealous, that Will liked having Ben to take care of, to control, tha the shift in the dynamic would make him try to hold on tighter and she was right. When Ben insisted he was ready to participate in the orgies, Will tried to stop him, argued with Beatriz about it and tried to get Jonah to intervene. Jonah tried, but who gave a shit what he had to say? He was a consort at best. WIll never let Ben do anything fun, anything enriching, always tried to keep him out of the activities of the other gods. He was selfish.

When he realized Madonna was not in her bathroom, he stood up quickly to find her. Francisco had been summoned by Santi, making Ben in charge of Madonna and if something happened to her, he was taking a beating for sure. Santi has Beatriz's temper, although Ben never received that end from either of them. He was as loyal as they came, did exactly as both wanted… save for his affair with Frankie.

But then Ben opened the door and he found you, asleep on the chair… with that shithead guard sleeping with his head resting on your leg.

I loved the reactions to the last chapter LMFAOOOOO everyone feeling v betrayed by jonah ;-;

AS YOU SHOULD

milder chapter, more world building focused than anything tbh learning more about ben and frankie, how will and ben came to be in beatriz's "care" if you call it that.

Thank you all for the continued support! we are getting close to the end! Ima try and finish either If You wanna Be wild (javi p x reader/oc x santi) next chapter or he finale for blessed be the fruit (joel x reader) then 4 or maybe 5 chapters. depends. the last chapters seems like a lot to squeeze in there. ANYWAY

Save the children (which has absolutely nothing to do with QAnon who hijacked their hashtag) our currently supporting relief efforts in the Congo above our listed some quick facts that I hope you’ll take a moment to read, and if you can afford it, please consider making a donation. I have made a small one, but if we band together small donations make a difference

LOVE YOU ALL!

How to keep up with the story!

Comment on this masterlist that you want to be tagged and I'll tag you in updates (If you ask to be tagged, I ask you at least like the fic. Likes dont do anything to spread the work, but it at least lets me know you're still reading.)

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Tags are working like SHIT these days for me and many, many others so make sure to follo wthe rooms on fire tag or my update account.

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